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heyyyharry · 3 years

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Till Death (a Halloween one shot)

…in which Y/N and Harry share a flat but he cannot see her.

Warning: DEATH, MENTAL ILLNESS, MENTION OF SU1C1DE AND SELF-HARM (inexplicit). There's a happy ending tho 😬

Inspired by Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride and this song.

Word count: 3.9k

“Oh, you’re home!” she said as he shut the door and kicked off his shoes. His hair was a mess, his eyes dark and weary. He leaned against the wall and released a long heavy sigh.

“Trouble at work?” she asked. He didn’t answer. He never did. But it was okay. She was used to it.

She watched him trudge toward the couch and slump into it with his head buried in his hands. It was so quiet. It was always quiet here, and most of the time, she enjoyed the silence. After all, it was all she ever knew. But she also liked his laugh and his voice when he talked on the phone. He never talked to her. He was a great listener though, and she liked to talk anyway, so she had nothing to complain about. He never interrupted her, never commented; he only listened.

He rested his head on the couch with an arm over his closed eyes. She sat down beside him, her legs together, her hands on her knees.

“Guess what I did today,” she said.

He let go another long breath.

Silence.

“Alright, alright, I’ll tell ya.” She rolled her eyes, suppressing a grin. “I made a new friend. A bird. I saw him on our balcony this morning. I named him Steve. Can you imagine? A bird named Steve. I think Steve likes me as much as a bird could like someone–”

“Oh, shit!”

She flinched as he jumped to his feet.

“Where are you going?” she asked, slightly worried.

“Shit, I forgot,” he murmured, shoving his fingers into his already unruly hair as he reached for his phone on the coffee table. He sat back down and unlocked the screen. His handsome face was illuminated as he typed something into the chat. She rested her head on his shoulder and stole a glance at the screen, just enough to see who he was texting.

It was that name again.

She’d seen him text this person every day for the last couple of weeks. She didn’t know who they were or what they looked like or if they were male or female. All she knew was that they always got Harry’s full attention.

She thought it’d be rude to read other people’s texts, so she never did even though he would never stop her. Still, it didn’t mean she wasn’t dying to know what they said to each other. She would watch Harry as he talked to the person either on the phone or through texts. And he would always look so happy whenever a notification came and he saw the person’s name.

She bet they talked about more interesting topics, not just birds with human names. That thought alone gave a throbbing feeling in her hollow chest.

Sometimes, when she was with him, she forgot about its absence, which was good, because she wanted to forget.

But whenever she saw his eyes sparkle as he talked to this person, she would remember that there was somebody else out there with that thing in their chest, somebody he could feel and see and hear…

...and love.

Then she would remember what he was, what she was, and what they could never be.

After all, she was dead.

She didn’t remember how long she’d been dead. She only knew that she’d been alone for too long. Time didn’t really matter when you stopped growing older. She was stuck like this. Forever 21, as she would joke to herself. She didn’t know how old Harry was, but he had a job that stressed him out every day, so she assumed he was older than she’d been when she’d died.

She’d been trapped in this flat ever since. She’d watched people move her stuff out and other people move their stuff in. She’d forgotten about her loved ones or if she’d ever had them in the first place. She didn’t have any recollection of the life she’d had. She couldn’t even attend her own funeral. If she’d known that she’d be stuck in the place where she’d died, she would have probably not chosen to die here. She missed being outdoors, seeing new people. She wondered if she’d still be in love with Harry if he weren’t the only person she knew.

Honestly, she had never been in love when she’d been alive. She knew that, because even though the memories ceased to exist, she still would have remembered what being in love had felt like. It was funny, actually. When she’d had a heart, she hadn’t been able to use it, and now that she didn’t, she could feel it every day. Could someone love without having a heart? She didn’t know what love felt like to be sure that this was love, yet she knew that she’d rather spend an eternity with this man than to reincarnate into someone else.

They’d been living together for two years. Before him, there had been an elderly couple and a family of four. They’d been fun and lovely. But Harry was...different.

He was alone like her. She felt a deep connection with him in that way, as it was rare to find a person who appreciated isolation and not let it drive them insane. Almost everyone was terrified of being alone. Harry, however, found comfort in being alone. He always knew how to entertain himself. He read books. He sang in the shower. He cooked dinner for himself. He’d call his family to tell them about his day.

Sometimes, as she watched him talk to his mum and sister, she wished she remembered her own family. Would she still want to be alone if she remembered them? Well, she didn’t want to be alone now that she had him. It scared her sometimes. An attachment was a scary thing when you knew that you’d forever be temporary to the people around you. Like the elderly couple and the family, one day, Harry would leave, and she’d have to get used to new flatmates who would most likely leave again.

But that was for the future. Right now, what they had was enough.

“I’m seeing someone,” Harry said one day.

Y/N didn’t want to eavesdrop, but she was sitting by the window talking to Steve while Harry was on the phone with his sister. It was the first time Y/N heard him say the person’s name. He was smiling the entire time as he talked about her. Y/N loved seeing Harry smile, so it didn’t matter what made him smile. She just wanted to see him happy.

He told his sister that the woman he was seeing was coming over tonight. He seemed excited. Harry had only ever looked this excited except for when his favourite show came on. That was how she knew he loved this woman as much as he loved that show, which was a lot.

“Can I join you guys tonight?” Y/N asked him when he ended the phone call.

He put his phone back down and looked right at her. If she had a heart, it would combust right then and there. But what she didn’t expect was him marching towards her, thrusting his hand right through her chest and shutting the window. Steve flew away. Harry turned and left.

The place where his hand had been burned with its absence, leaving her frozen as she watched the bedroom door fall shut. He couldn’t feel her, but she could feel much more than a dead person was allowed to feel.

Dinner was nice.

And so was the other woman.

It was funny how Y/N would refer to her as ‘the other woman’ when she’d been the one getting all Harry’s attention. She was sweet, blond-haired, great smile. She sat at Y/N’s spot at dinner. Y/N didn’t mind as she wasn’t eating anyway, yet it saddened her that she didn’t get to tell Harry her boring stories; the other woman was doing most of the talking.

Harry listened to her and laughed at her jokes. He never responded to Y/N that way. She’d been fine with it before, but seeing how he interacted with someone else made her want to vanish into thin air.

It was the first time in two years that she’d seen another living person beside Harry, and yet she had never felt lonelier.

After dinner, Harry asked if the woman wanted to spend the night and she said yes, so Y/N retreated to her spot – the bathroom. For some strange reason, she found comfort there. She would just get into the empty tub and lie there until morning.

Before Harry had moved in, she’d stayed in the bathroom at night while the living were asleep. Since Harry, she would usually spend the night outside his room. He’d always sleep with the door open and a lot of pillows. She didn’t want to be intrusive, but she’d heard him crying one night. His stepdad had just passed away and she’d stayed with him to keep him company, even though he hadn’t been aware of her presence.

She’d sat beside him on the bed as he’d cried. She’d told him that dead didn’t mean gone, that his stepdad might still be around, or have gone to heaven to get a new better life.

To be honest, she didn’t know if heaven existed for she didn’t get to leave this place, but maybe heaven only existed for the ones who deserved it. She was too good for hell, not good enough for heaven, so she was still here.

That night, as she was lying in the tub, gazing at the shadows of objects cast on the ceiling, she couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d seen at dinner. A happy Harry. A truly happy Harry.

She’d always wondered what he looked like when someone made him laugh so hard he forgot about everything else, or when he blushed because of the things someone said to him, or when he looked at someone like they were the only person that mattered. Now that she’d seen it, it felt like torture.

She would never make him laugh. She would never get to hear him call her beautiful or tell her jokes just because he wanted to see her smile. He’d never get to know her. That was the worst part. It hadn’t bothered her before, and now it was too late to undo her feelings for him.

She didn’t have a heart, but as she lay her palms on top of her chest and shut her eyes, she could feel it breaking.

Ever since that night, the other woman would come over very often. It had hurt at first, then Y/N learned to get used to it. It didn’t mean it stopped hurting. She’d still feel invisible tears rolling down her cheeks every time they kissed in front of her. She’d spend most of the day avoiding them. It was hard to do so when she couldn’t leave the flat. She’d tried before. She’d tried to follow Harry outside, but the second she stepped through that door, she was back in the tub.

She was imprisoned in her own home where she felt like a guest. She had no one to talk to, and it had never been a problem before but now it was driving her insane.

Sometimes, she even wished that the other woman was dead. It was bad that love made her blind and envy made her cruel. Whenever that malicious thought crossed her mind, though, she’d think about Harry and instantly felt bad about wanting his girlfriend dead. It wasn’t a nice thing to wish onto anyone, especially when Y/N herself knew how overrated death was.

It wasn’t a solution. Just more problems.

And at the end of the day, it shouldn’t matter if she was hurt. After all, she was dead. Dead people couldn’t feel pain. This was just an illusion. Her pain wasn’t real. If Harry lost someone he loved, that would be real. And she’d take all the hurt just to keep him happy. Always.

Tonight, Harry came home alone.

She asked him what was wrong, knowing he wouldn’t answer. He went straight to the couch and buried his face into his hands. She wondered if he’d forgotten to take his pills again. She’d call them his happy pills. He’d been taking them for a couple of months now. He was always so sad and numb without them. Lately, it seemed like he hadn’t been taking them.

“I wish you’d tell me what’s on your mind,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

Silence sank in. The heaviness in her hollow chest became too much to bear.

Then, his shoulders began to shake.

He started crying.

She’d seen him cry before, but this time she could feel everything he was feeling. And it was even worse for her because she could not do anything about it. When a person cried, they’d feel better afterwards. There was no better for the dead. Just forever numbness. Forever pain. Maybe she hadn’t gone to hell because this was her hell. What had she done to deserve this?

Whatever. This wasn’t about her.

She wished she could wipe away Harry’s tears and tell him things that’d make him feel better. She felt powerless. There was nothing she could do to help.

She sat and watched him cry for what seemed like forever. When he finally stopped, he took out his phone and texted the other woman.

This time, Y/N read.

They’d broken up. The messages didn’t say why. All Y/N knew was that Harry was madly in love with the other woman. He’d sent so many messages asking her to stay, telling her he couldn’t live without her. And she never responded to a single one.

“Harry…” Y/N murmured.

Harry shook his head gently as if he’d heard it. Then, he got to his feet and padded to the bedroom. The door fell shut, leaving Y/N with the uncomfortable silence that could smother her.

She started pacing back and forth outside his bedroom. Her head swam with half-formed regrets. She wished she’d done something to stop him from getting to know the other woman and falling in love with her. But what could she have possibly done? She was dead. She was a ghost, floating around, haunting this place. She couldn’t keep two living people from falling in love. She couldn’t stop the woman from breaking Harry’s heart.

But that was one thing about not having a heart, you’d hurt twice as much trying to protect a heart that wasn’t your own.

Something crashed.

Glass shattered.

The world stilled for a second as Y/N burst into the bedroom.

There he was. Staring right back at her.

But there was also him. On the floor. The real him.

Those weren’t his happy pills.

“Harry!” she screamed and rushed towards the Harry on the floor. His ghost stood there watching in silence as she tried to wake him. She couldn’t touch him. She could only scream and if he’d never listened before, he wasn’t listening now. “Harry, please wake up...Please wake up…”

She lay her palm on his chest. He wasn’t dead. She could still feel his heart beating. His skin pale and his breathing slowed. Half of him was still fighting to live and as long as the other half didn’t overpower him, he might be saved.

“Who are you?” asked the ghost standing beside her.

She looked up. The other Harry was looking right at her, not through her. This one could see her.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, still in shock.

“Y/N,” he echoed.

She’d heard him tell the other woman that he would repeat a person’s name so he wouldn’t forget it. He could hear Y/N, see her and now he knew her name. Her invisible heart swelled for a second, but then she could feel it, the beating of that living thing under his chest. He was still half-alive. But he wouldn’t be for too long.

“You must hold on,” she told his ghost, panting heavily as she started freaking out. “You can’t...you can’t die...you must...I don’t know....get back into your body before it’s too late.”

“I don’t know how, and I don’t want to,” he said, staring at himself, and then at her. She didn’t like the look he was giving her. It was as if she was an exotic animal and he was a curious child going to the zoo for the first time. “Are you a ghost?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, rising to her feet, trying to avoid his gaze. “I-I died here…”

Silence.

“How long have you been here?”

She shook her head. “I don’t remember. When you’re dead, your memories start to fade. Now I don’t remember anything from when I was alive.”

“So there’s no afterlife?” Harry asked, his voice breaking a little. She looked up and saw him staring at his own body with a pained expression that could be regret. “You just...stay here?”

“I don’t know about the other ghosts, but that’s what it is for me,” she said, rubbing her arms.

“Aren’t you lonely?” he asked.

“Well, not really. I’ve got you.”

Her answer seemed to surprise him. He blinked. “But I couldn’t see you or talk to you.”

She raised a soft smile. “But I could see you and talk to you. That was enough.” Harry was giving her an expression she could not interpret, so she hurriedly went on, “Believe me. Death is overrated. You don’t want it.”

“But what if I do? I lost my job and someone I loved. I have struggled every day for the past few months, so why bother?”

“So you think it’s easy for me?” she asked. “I don’t have a heart, yet I still feel things and I can’t cry and the feelings won’t go away. They’ll still be here when everyone else leaves. Dead doesn’t mean gone but it’s the end of second chances. I’ll never get to celebrate my twenty-second birthday. I’ll never get to graduate. I don’t remember my family or if I ever had one. I don’t get to make friends. I don’t...don’t get to be loved…

“And if that doesn’t sound bad to you, just think about all the people you’d leave behind. Your mum, your sister. You won’t remember them but they’ll remember you. And they’ll have to carry the pain of losing you until it happens to them. I didn’t get to see them one last time because...if I tried to leave this flat, I’d just...just keep coming back here. I’d never get to apologise to them for abandoning them. I regret it every single day. And I don’t want it to happen to you.”

The Harry in front of her was quiet for a moment. The Harry on the floor was struggling to breathe.

“If I die,” he spoke, his eyes meeting hers, “you won’t be lonely anymore. Why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

She took a moment to think. Then, “Because I love you.”

His eyes widened as he parted his lips. He didn’t believe it. For the first time, Y/N could see herself in him. She wouldn’t believe it if someone told her they loved her, either. She thought she couldn’t be loved. That was why she’d chosen the easier way out. It wasn’t easy; she knew that now. So she wasn’t going to let him make the same mistake.

“You think no one cares, but I do,” she said, reaching for his hand. She held it, lacing her fingers with his. “So please hold on. If you fully give up, you cannot be saved.”

He looked at himself and then back at her. “Where did you die?”

A pause.

“The bathroom.”

Sadness set over his features. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she said, smiling. “I’ve never been better than I am now.”

“Harry!” shouted a female voice as the front door burst open suddenly and frantic footsteps rushed into the room.

The moment Harry saw the woman he loved, hope lit up his entire face. The woman screamed as she collapsed by his body and pulled out her phone to call an ambulance. She kissed his face and told him how much she loved him, that she was sorry, that she’d take back all the things she’d said, that she wanted to spend many more years with him.

Y/N felt herself losing grip of the other Harry. He started to fade. She tried to hold onto him, but it was no use.

And before he was completely gone, he smiled at her and said, “Thank you.” And she thanked him, too. For seeing her. And not giving up.

Harry didn’t remember anything when he came back from the hospital. He got back together with his girlfriend, who finally moved in with him. They lasted for two years and their relationship ended on good terms. After that, Harry, now with the job that he loved, started seeing other people and stopped taking his happy pills. He’d got better. He was happy all the time. He didn’t remember his conversation with Y/N, but sometimes she’d catch him staring at the bathtub. She’d pretend that he could see her and she’d smile and wave. Maybe he could, but he didn’t want to freak her out. Who knew?

He moved out of the flat after a few more years. The last night he was there, she’d lay on the floor beside his bed as he slept.

The ones after him were fun. Y/N liked meeting new people. One couple even had a pet and she finally had someone to talk to. Still, sometimes she would think about Harry and wondered what he might be doing now.

One night, while lying in the tub, she discovered a tiny word someone had written on the bathroom wall.

Hello.

She’d been here long enough to know that it hadn’t always been there. She recognised that handwriting. Though she wished she’d found it sooner, it made her happy as she traced her fingers over it and imagined him thinking of her.

Y/N didn’t know how much time had passed.

But Harry did return.

When he came in, she almost didn’t recognise him. He was an old man in a wheelchair. She’d overheard him talking to his caretaker that he wanted to spend his last days in this flat. He stayed in bed for that whole first week and she’d lie beside his bed and talk to him each night.

He died of old age.

One night, he went to the bathroom and lay down in the tub and fell asleep and never woke up.

She stood in the doorway, watching him.

Then, she felt a tap on her shoulder. When she turned, she saw the same Harry who was young and handsome and wearing the same clothes as the day he’d first seen her.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hi,” she said.

Apparently, when you died, you got to choose the age you wanted to be. She’d chosen to be twenty-one, the age she’d died. Harry had chosen to be twenty-four, the age he’d met the ghost girl who had saved his life.

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storiesforallfandoms · 3 years

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man’s world ~ harley quinn;birds of prey

word count: 1965

request?: no

description: every bad guy in town is after harley quinn after the announcement of her breakup with the joker, but harley is about to make a very powerful friend to have on her side

pairing: harley quinn x female!reader

warnings: swearing, violence, mentions of murder

masterlist

There was no need in counting the money given to me. I could tell by the size of the tack that it wasn’t enough. “You stiffed me again.”

Roman rolled his eyes at me. “I told you I’d pay for a clean kill, that wasn’t a clean kill. You’re lucky I paid you at all.”

“What do you mean? How can a kill be any cleaner than arsenic poisoning? I even framed that chemist guy that had a grudge against the target, it’ll never be traced back to you.”

“Sorry, did I say clean? I meant I wanted a messy murder. Your plan was smart, but I love the theatrics of it all. Next time, I want a show.”

I rolled my eyes and started to walk away. I really wished I could find a new employer. Roma was the absolute worst boss. He was an asshole misogynist that overworked and underpaid me. But he had a lot of leverage on me, what with me being his hitwoman and all, so until I could find a new employer, I was basically bound to Roman.

“Wait!” Roman said. I sighed and turned back to look at him. “I do have a pretty big job for you. If you do this, I promise you I will pay you in full. A large sum, too.”

“I’ve heard that before, Roman,” I said and turned to walk away again.

He stood from his desk and quickly approached me, grabbing my arm to stop me. I raised an eyebrow and yanked my arm away. Most people were too afraid of Roman to behave like this around him. However, most people weren’t his hitwoman, meaning they didn’t have the dirt on him that I did.

It was a balanced relationship we had, whether Roman wanted to admit it or not.

“I mean it, (Y/N),” he said. “This is a big job. If you do this, I will pay you double, no triple the original price of this hit.”

I should’ve walked away, I could’ve walked away. Roman wouldn’t stop me if I did. But I couldn’t lie, the money sounded good - if Roman actually gave me what he was promising this time.

I sighed and motioned with a hand for Roman to go on. He smiled like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Do you know who Harley Quinn is?”

~~~~~~

It didn’t take long to find where Harley Quinn decided to live after the Joker kicked her to the curb. It was severely under protected, unless you classified a sweet Asian man as “protection”.

He tried to stop me as I made my way to Harley’s apartment. “Who are you?”

“I’m an old friend of Harley’s from Arkham Asylum,” I responded. “I wanted to surprise her, I just got out.”

“She’s not home right now.”

“Even better! It’ll be a big surprise!”

I hurried away before he said anything else. I knew he’d be suspicious, but I trusted him to not tell Harley I was there.

I picked her lock and let myself in. The moment I stepped into her apartment, her pet hyena sat up at attention, assessing the stranger that had just entered his home. I pulled the hamburger I had bought from the bag in my hand and offered it to the hyena. He raced over and excitedly gobbled down the food.

I knelt down to pet his coarse fur. “Good boy. I’ll take you in when I finish with this job.”

Luckily, I didn’t have to wait for her long. Shortly after my arrival, the sound of the doorknob turning alerted myself and her hyena that she was back. I pointed the gun as the door swung open. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

“Hello Harleen.”

Roman’s words - “I want a messy kill” - echoed through my head as I pulled the trigger. Harley quickly jumped to the side, just narrowly avoiding my bullet. She dove behind her couch and I continued to shoot bullets into it, causing feathers and fluff to fly into the air. Harley’s hyena let out a laugh-like bark that was drowned out by my gunshots. When my clip was empty, I quickly changed it to a full one.

Knowing that the gunshots would’ve alerted Harley’s landlord, I quickly crossed the room to her open door and closed it, locking the door and even breaking the knob a little for good measures. I wasn’t going to let this job bust, not with so much money on the line.

“Look, whatever Mista J did to you, I’m sorry!” Harley called from somewhere in the room. “Haven’t ya done your research? He brainwashed me! I only did what he said cause I thought I loved him!”

“Joker never did anything to me,” I told her. “I’m just here on someone else’s behalf.”

“That’s a long list to narrow down,” she responded. “Mind giving me a hint? Maybe an initial?”

I traced her voice to a desk that was turned to face me. This wouldn’t have normally been suspicious, if it weren’t for the fact that the desk was pushed right up against a wall, rendering it technically useless. In the small slit between the bottom of the desk and the floor, I could see Harley’s colorful shoes peaking out.

“Actually, I have a message from him,” I said. “Roman says ‘Good Riddence.”

She must’ve known I had found her, as, just before I pulled the trigger, Harley jumped up from under the desk, successfully launching it at me. The sudden movement startled me enough that my shot lodged itself in the ceiling instead of in her head.

“Oh, Romy!” Harley exclaimed. “Couldn’t even be bothered to come kill me himself? What hurts!”

She dove behind another plush chair as I took another shot at her. I exclaimed in frustration and went to approach the chair. Before getting close enough, Harley raised her hand, which was now holding the white t-shirt she had arrived in.

“Truce!” she called. “Just for one minute, give me a truce. And then you can decide if you want to continue with your killing. I won’t stop you, you ain’t the first to try and off me today.”

Against my better judgement, I sighed and shoved my gun back into the waistband of my pants. “You have five minutes to say your piece, Quinn. I have a lot of money on the line here.”

She popped up from behind the chair like a Whack-A-Mole. She was now in a plush, pink sports bra, her suspenders pulled over it now instead of the white t-shirt she was holding in her hand.

“I can’t blame you for wanting to cash in on a good paycheck,” she said. “I wanted to get a look at ya for a minute. You know, without the bullets and whatnot obstructing my view. I wanted to see if I recognized ya.”

“Why would you recognize me?”

“I frequent Romy’s club a lot. I think he only tolerated me because of Mista J, which would explain why he sent a hitwoman after me when I announced our breakup,” she explained. “You do look familiar. Do you frequent the club, too?”

“I don’t tend to talk with Roman about business in public. It’s not exactly the smartest move.”

“I suppose not, but I’m sure I’ve seen your face there before.” She thought for a moment before snapping her fingers. “Oh! I know! You were there the last time I was! I broke a dude’s legs and you were talking to Romy at the time!”

Oh wait, she’s right. I was there that night.

I could remember well: I had just finished a job. Roman had called me to his club for my payment. I guess he knew I wouldn’t lash out in front of all those witnesses when he stiffed me again. I was furious when he handed me less than half of what he had promised. That job had almost gotten me killed, but he viewed that as a failure. He told me he was debating not paying me at all, but knew I’d walk if that was the case.

His smug as smile as he walked away still infuriated me to that day. I wished I had punched him right in his stupid fucking face, made a scene in his club and announced to the world that Roman Sionis had hired a killer to take down the people he didn’t like. I’d go to prison if it meant Roman went with me.

“Man, you were angry,” Harley said, leaning her arms against the chair and resting her head in one of her hands. “What were ya talking about? Did a hit go wrong or something?”

“Nearly,” I responded, looking away from Harley so she wouldn’t see my anger again. “Listen, I gave you five minutes and they’re almost up, so maybe you should - ”

“He stiffed ya, didn’t he?” Harley cut me off. “I bet he does that a lot. He doesn’t exactly treat his female employees all that nicely. You heard the stories from that singer he has? The Canary? I can’t believe she quit working for him and made it out alive.”

She almost hadn’t. I had to save her ass from Roman that night. It was the night I almost walked out, too. The first time, anyways.

“He’s a misogynistic prick,” Harley hissed. “Thinks women are objects that should be beneath him. I don’t know why you let him treat you like dirt when you do all the dirty work for him. You should be the one stiffin’ him for cash!”

“It doesn’t work like that,” I told her. “Being the killer for hire for Roman Sionis, he has too much dirt on me. If I tried to leave, or if I did anything he didn’t like, he could ruin my life in a second. I’m stuck with him until I can know for sure that I’m safe.”

“How do you know you wouldn’t be safe with me?”

I scoffed at her question. “You’re wanted by everybody - every villain, every hero, and every regular pedestrian. You don’t have the Joker to protect you right now. You’re a walking target, being with you is the unsafest place to be.”

“Safer than with Roman Sionis,” she said. “Sure, I can’t pay you top dollar for killin’, but I like to get my hands bloody myself. I ain’t here for this hitman/hitwoman shit. You and I, we could do some serious damage together.”

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like her proposal. Even if it would land me in a world of danger, working with Harley Quinn was a lot better than having to work for Roman Sionis anymore.

“The two of us alone, no matter how powerful or how...psychotic, are not enough to go up against Roman,” I told her.

Harley smiled brightly, knowing that what I was saying was technically an acceptance to her invitation. “Way ahead of you sister! I’ve already recruited Romy’s ex-Canary, and that legendary Crossbow Killer. We’re puttin’ together our own little girl gang.”

I raised an eyebrow at her. “Sounds like you were prepared for this.”

“Let’s just say, you’re not the first person Romy has sent after me.”

I had a feeling there was a reason Roman didn’t warn me about the first person sent after Harley Quinn.

She approached me and threw an arm over my shoulder, as if we were magically best friends. I looked at her close proximity before looking back up at her smiling face. “I could kill you right now, you know.”

“I know, but you won’t,” she said. “We’re best friends now, and we’re gonna take down Roman Sionis together.”

I couldn’t help but smile at her as she said this.

#Harley Quinn #harley quinn x reader #harley quinn imagine #margot robbie #margot robbie imagine #margot robbie x reader #birds of prey #the emanciption of harley quinn #suicide squad #imagine #one shot #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom

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mooncustafer · 3 years

Text

Recover, Regroup, Roadtrip

Agent Dale Cooper disappeared in March 1989. The case is still open. Agent Dale Cooper disappeared in October 2016. The case is still open.

for @laughingpinecone /

/ @countdowntotwinpeaks‘ WONDERFULXSTRANGE 2021

“Diane, I am uncertain of the date and time, or indeed if such concepts have any meaning in this place. Nor do I have my recorder, but I find verbalizing my thoughts helps me to resist the confusion and lethargy. As for addressing my words to you, even though you’ll never hear them— well, old habits die hard.”

It pleased Wally Brando on a profound level to discover that a few pay-phones remained in Philadelphia, that reaching out was not yet the prerogative only of those who could afford a landline or a mobile. He could also have checked his email on a terminal at one of the city’s Public Libraries, and indeed, made a note to do so within the day so that he might catch up on the news of parents and former school friends. The pay phone was also blessed with both the yellow and the white pages, and the number he sought appeared under “F.” Getting transferred to Dr. Albert Rosenfield was a more complex quest, but he was persistent as well as polite, and after a few minutes he was able to speak to Dr. Rosenfield’s voice mail, if not the man himself.

He introduced himself with salutations, and was about the explain the nature of his request when a beep signalled that the allotted time had run out.

“To listen to your message, press one. To re-record your message, press two,” said the voice of the machine.

Silently cursing his volubility, Wally pressed two. This time he simplified the introduction, and asked if Dr. Rosenfield would be good enough to meet him that evening at the Morimoto Japanese restaurant not far from the FBI offices, to discuss a matter of deep concern connected, he believed, with the little town of Twin Peaks. When the beep came this time, he listened to his message and then, satisfied, hung up. The restaurant he’d named was slightly above his means, but he was meeting a friend of his godfather, and wanted to do justice to the occasion, even if the reason for it was one of peculiar anxiety to himself.

“Diane, I have tried so many times to escape— on the last attempt I really did get out into the world, but my plans, I fear, had dire repercussions for you, and to no end— my course still led me back to the Black Lodge. Some flaw in my own nature keeps trapping me in this loop; perhaps it’s what they sometimes call Saṃsāra.”

It was Agent Tammy Preston’s custom, when scraping the internet for information relevant to one or more recent cases, to check her email inbox every seven minutes— to do so every five minutes would disrupt the flow of her work, but ten-minute gaps might let something important go unanswered for too long. Just now the inbox was due another glance, and switching tabs she saw that two minutes earlier Director Bryson had replied to Tammy’s email of that morning with an invitation to come by her desk at her earliest possible convenience.

Tammy locked her screen, paused ‘Soft Fuzzy Man’ on her playlist and removed her headphones. Picking up the folder marked Missing Persons, 1989– Palmer, she slipped back into her pumps and made for Bryson’s office. The door was open but Tammy stopped at the threshold and rapped on the wall.

“Come in,” said Director Bryson, looking up from a folder. Bossa nova music played softly in the background as Tammy entered and pulled up a chair. It sometimes puzzled Tammy that apart from herself and Director Gordon Cole, no one in this particular division of the FBI seemed to have any interest in music recorded after 1979. (The first few times she’d heard ‘Du Hast’ pounding through the walls of Cole’s office, she’d wondered if this taste for metal was the result, or perhaps the cause, of his hearing loss; but after he’d joked to an unamused Agent Rosenfield about how these were difficult times and difficult times called for Dave Brubeck, she’d looked up the reference in case it was a coded message, and then the next day had overheard Gordon whistling ‘Mister Sandman,’ a song she knew primarily from an internet meme, at which point she concluded that the ear wants what it wants, regardless of demographic.)

“You told me you’d found some serious inconsistencies in the records surrounding Twin Peaks and the Palmer case?”

Tammy nodded, hesitated:

“I believe there may be inconsistencies as well in my own perceptions of the case.”

“Well now, that I find a little harder to believe.” Bryson smiled, but then her voice grew serious: “I’ve looked over the notes you made, and it confirms my own doubts about events.”

“Worse yet— the fact that I truly left the Lodge and then returned to it, will enable the beings that inhabit this place to take another twenty-five year turn in my likeness, unleashing even more evil on the world. The only thing stalling them is the doppelgänger I had MIKE make for the Jones family, but I don’t know if he’s still under the White Lodge’s protection.”

After all these months it still surprised Harry Truman there was so little physical pain, and so much boredom, to dying. Oh there’d been pain at the beginning, when he’d started treatment and had had to stop drinking; the memory of detoxing still made him shudder. But now he only felt a tiredness too huge for sleep to make any dent in it; and since he couldn’t sleep all the time, there were a great many hours during which all he could do was lie in the hospice bed or sit in one of the hospice chairs, and think.

At this point dying didn’t even sound so bad— it wasn’t like the past three decades had been all that great. He imagined going to sleep, just filling up a big bowl of silence and darkness and sinking into it, and then he felt bad for thinking that because Frank had already lost enough people without Harry lighting out too. Anyways, with the things he’d seen over the years he’d be a damn fool to think there was anything peaceful about death and whatever came after. So he’d lie awake trying to find some other topic to ponder, and that’s generally when the boredom set in.

Right now, courtesy of the nap he’d had in the afternoon after today’s treatment had left him especially exhausted, he was lying awake in the wee small hours. 3:52 am, said the clock on his bedside table beside the stack of paperbacks Frank had brought him on his visits— Harry wasn’t afraid of e-readers the way Lucy was of cellular phones, but he found the smell of paper comforting. It reminded him of the Bookhouse. The hospice tended to smell of disinfectants and sweat and soup. The food actually wasn’t as bad as the food at the hospital in Twin Peaks used to be, not that any food could be as bad as the hospital food in Twin Peaks used to be, but it made no difference to Harry, whose appetite had been gone for months. Frank always brought a slice of Norma’s pie too, carefully sealed in an old cookie tin to keep it fresh, but Harry could never manage more than a couple of bites, and they didn’t always stay down.

Being awake in the middle of the night in a hospice wasn’t as bad as being awake in the middle of the night when you were alone at home— the occasional voices or footsteps from the corridors beyond were reminders that whatever might be happening to Harry, life went on for the staff; and the lights from the city outside showed that life went on for others outside the hospice walls. When he’d first arrived, those city lights had made it hard to sleep, but now they substituted for the starry sky above Twin Peaks. There were fewer birds to watch in the city, though sparrows, pigeons or a starling sometimes lit on the ledge outside his window and peered in at him, or maybe at their own reflections. The frequent rain pattering against the glass— well, that sounded the same here as it did in a cabin.

Frank had called to tell him about Margaret Lanterman. Harry sometimes wondered if he should have stayed in Twin Peaks and died in his own home like her, instead of lingering in this hospice like the doomed heroine of some nineteenth-century novel. Or like Annie Blackburn. Or Audrey Horne.

The rain was spattering now against Harry’s window, bending the light from the Japanese stone lantern in the pocket-sized garden below. Harry couldn’t remember what the hospice building looked like from the outside, but he guessed it was similar in style to the mid-century one next door where the day-patients came for their treatments. A flash silhouetted the roofline; five seconds later came the thunder-crack. Harry settled back and closed his eyes.

Sleep pulled him into dreams of an espresso machine, like the one in the coffee place down in the lobby next to the gift shop for visitors. This machine filled a whole room, metal pipes feeding back on themselves like some kind of espressouroboros, neither steam nor coffee escaping from the grotesque contraption. Agent Cooper stood wearily before it with two empty coffee-cups. Harry was just wondering who the second cup was for, when Coop looked up and met his eyes:

“What year is this?!”

Harry sat up in bed, listened intently for two full minutes, but he didn’t hear Coop’s voice again. He sighed. Sometimes the mind pulls imaginary sounds out of the background noise. False pattern recognition or something— Coop would have known a word for it. Harry had little hope left they’d ever find Cooper, or if they did, that he’d still be the man he’d known. Yet he’d carried on, more (he told himself) out of habit than any real hope. He’d kept in touch with Agent Rosenfield, even when it meant letting him know about the cancer— not that Albert would blab the secret to anyone in Twin Peaks.

“Hello?”

“Good, you’re still alive.” Albert’s personality hadn’t mellowed with the years, exactly, but familiarity had worn the edges off his jibes.

“Shut up, Albert. So what have you found?” Albert’s calls generally came every three months, but never at nine in the morning, and he’d last spoken to Harry only two weeks back. Something important must have happened.

“Actually, Sheriff Truman, I’m the one coming to you for information.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, it’s not easy to do investigations from a hospital bed. What can I tell you that you can’t get from other sources?”

“I need you to summarize the Laura Palmer case back in 1989, and the actions of Agent Cooper in Twin Peaks at that time.”

“Albert, is this one of your damn cognitive tests? You already know—”

“We’re both too tired to argue, just humor me.”

“How detailed do you want?”

“An outline will suffice.”

Harry took a deep breath and briefly listed the finding of Laura’s body, and the living but dazed and injured Ronnette, and the arrival of Agent Dale Cooper to lead the investigation. He skimmed over the crimes of Jacques Reneault and some of the other peripheral drama that had occurred in the town around that time, noted that Leland Palmer had murdered his own daughter, albeit while not fully himself, and was beginning to recount Cooper’s temporary suspension and Windom Earle’s campaign of terror, when Albert interrupted:

“You’ve still got the unofficial version, then.”

“Unofficial?”

“According to FBI records and your colleagues at the Twin Peaks Sheriff’s Office, Laura Palmer is an unsolved missing-person case.”

Harry began to feel sick.

“Goddammit, Albert, you did the autopsy. I punched you and you fell across her body. You found a broken poker chip in her stomach—” Albert broke in:

“I hadn’t disclosed that detail to anybody I’ve questioned about this.” His voice was a little shaky. “Listen, Harry,” he continued. “Last Friday I was contacted by a young man wearing motorcycle leathers and talking like Jack Kerouac on quaaludes.”

“Wally.”

“Naturally I supposed him to be from your iodine-deficient neck of the woods even before he introduced himself as your godson and the offspring of those lieutenants of yours. He told me he’d come because he wasn’t sure where else to turn. Apparently he keeps in touch with his parents as he rides across the continent, but in their most recent conversation he’d noticed their memories of certain events had become confused. I was about to tell him I wasn’t the least bit surprised, when he added that he’d checked with other townsfolk, including your brother, and they all seemed to have had the same— how’d he put it? ‘The walls of their memory painted over like a childhood bedroom converted to a study.’”

”That sounds like Wally, all right.”

”Eventually he got round to explaining why he’d come to me. The message that had prompted him to call home was from Lucy; she said she’d shot a suspect who was attacking your brother Frank. She’d also mentioned some FBI agents arriving a few minutes later.”

Harry swallowed. He tried to imagine Lucy shooting anyone:

“Frank never said anything about this.”

“And when Wally called home, Andy and Lucy not only denied it had happened, they had no idea what he was talking about, not that I’d guess that to be an unusual state of affairs. Anyway, after I sent your godson away, I began to have contradictory memories myself of what Cooper had told me about the case. I remembered the poker chip after waking in the middle of the night from the worst dreams I’d had since medical school. I’ve been telling myself it was a false memory, maybe a composite of all the young female murder victims I’ve had to examine in my career, but I told myself I’d make one more phone call, just to check. And now you confirm it. Also, in my recall you knocked me across Leo Johnson’s body. Thanks for the correction. Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, glad he was already sitting on his bed.

“Now that that’s established,” said Albert’s voice on the other end of the phone: “here’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question: when do you remember Agent Cooper disappearing?”

“March 1989.” Harry tried to keep his voice steady, as though he was giving evidence in court. He briefly explained about the Black Lodge and Coop’s reappearance and unsettling behaviour and how he’d checked himself out of the hospital and was never heard from again. There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. “Are you still there, Albert?”

“According to FBI records and, up until two days ago, my own memories: Coop disappeared this past October while driving to Odessa, Texas for a case. The last record of him was a credit-card charge at a motel just outside the city.”

“What was he investigating in Odessa?”

“Missing person. I’ve tried looking into that case, but it seems to be a dead end, especially since Coop never seems to have arrived at the diner where the man he was looking for had allegedly been running drugs.”

“Sounds like the kind of establishment where nobody’d admit anything. Maybe Coop did get to the diner.”

“Gee, you’ve cracked it Sheriff, we would never have thought of that. The diner was old-school, but not so old-school they didn’t have a security camera trained on the front counter. We went over three days worth of footage. I admit we can’t be sure he didn’t slip in through the back for some reason; but you knew Coop— can you honestly picture him entering a diner and not ordering a coffee?”

“Not the Coop I knew, but— I already told you he was acting pretty erratically just before he took off.”

Harry heard Albert sigh.

“I’ve been checking with a few of my colleagues who were involved in the original Palmer investigation. I think Gordon knows something, but being Gordon he’s saying nothing, and as loudly as possible. Denise— Director Bryson, now— remembers the unofficial version, and according to her so does Agent Preston— oh right, you never met Agent Tammy Preston, the poker-faced glamazon computer hacker— I��m not sure she was even born yet in 1989, but she was on a case in Twin Peaks in October 2016, and during the course of the subsequent paperwork, she started noticing a lot of records and statements didn’t match up, and then she realized her own memories didn’t match up. Which brings up another problem with trying to reason this out by conventional methods: something in that Salem’s Pacific-Northwest Lot of yours is rewriting memories, documents, maybe the facts themselves. But so far it’s predominantly affected the people who were on the spot this past October.” Albert’s voice rasped a little from the long phone call, and he paused to clear his throat. “Unfortunately, that also means the people most likely to remember the original version of events are people who weren’t in the Sheriff’s Office during the incident that seems to have triggered the change. At the risk of sounding like one of those bullshit shows on the History Channel, we may never know exactly what happened that night.”

“Wait, what even was the case that brought you all back in 2016?”

“That’s the problem— I’m one of the people who was there, and I only have vague and disconnected memories of a British man with a gardening glove, the chorus of Guys and Dolls, Agent Cooper leaving the room with Diane, his secretary who quit the FBI decades ago, and Gordon, and only Gordon coming back.” Albert paused again. “It goes against my personal feelings and medical opinions, but would you be willing to let me visit you in person? I’ve some vacation time and enough frequent-flyer miles that the trip will probably cost less than the long-distance charges if we continue this conversation.”

Harry opened the drawer of his bedside table and took out the key to Coop’s old hotel room:

“Yeah, come by.”

“Diane, I am currently alone. I realize that statement implies that I’m not always alone here, and indeed I sometimes have a companion, who I still think of as Laura Palmer, though I don’t know if that’s her identity anymore; I’d hoped, after my last attempt, that Laura would no longer be in this place at all. She comes and goes, or perhaps we both come and go and our orbits occasionally intersect. I’ve tried to find some pattern to it, but with no reliable way to measure time, I’ve had little success.

The last time we met she told me about a room she hadn’t seen before, all white walls, in which a dark-haired woman was contemplating a mirror with a puzzled look. I can’t help but feel this parallels my own situation.”

“Frank sent me this last month. But when I thanked him the next time he called, he didn’t seem to know what I was talking about.” Albert hesitated before taking the room key:

“Great Northern Hotel,” he read, turning it over. “Twin Peaks. Isn’t the front desk going to want this back?”

“Unless I miss my guess, it’s from 1989 when Coop was staying there.”

Albert’s ears stuck out more noticeably, or perhaps it was his face that was thinner. He’d spent the first part of his visit scrutinizing Harry and questioning him about his case and what the doctors were doing for it, until Harry told him to quit it or he’d run out of time to discuss Coop’s disappearance before visiting hours ended, and anyway weren’t Albert’s patients usually dead to begin with?

The trouble with the subsequent discussion was that it went in a circle— the people who’d been present for the 2016 Unknown Event had uncertain memories of what had actually happened; and the people who clearly recalled the 1989 Palmer case as a murder hadn’t been present for the Unknown Event. The one thing that seemed likely was that there was some connection between the 1989 case and the 2016 case, particularly since both had been followed by the unsolved disappearance of one Agent Dale Cooper.

“I hate to say it, Albert, but I’ve given up hope on ever finding Coop.”

“What’s hope got to do with it?” Albert asked. His tone was not sarcastic.

“Diane, I’ve decided that, if only to keep my mind occupied, I will go looking for the white room and the woman with the mirror. I’d feel happier if I had a ball of twine or some breadcrumbs to leave as a trail back to the waiting room, but I’m coming to terms with the idea that’s there’s no advantage to remaining or returning here— it’s not as if I need food or drink in this place, and I cannot be any more lost than I already am.

So far, I believe I’ve walked down five identical red-curtained hallways, and turned left five times. It therefore seems likely that I’m following a counterclockwise, roughly spiral path, although I’m uncertain if I’m proceeding inwards or outwards.”

“If this search is going to require juggling two sets of memories, then I’d better come along so you don’t get brainwashed again.”

“Sheriff Truman, if you haven’t noticed by now, you’re in a cancer hospice.”

“I just finished a round of treatments, I’ve got a couple of weeks free.” Albert snorted and Harry added: “You can monitor my health while we’re on the road.”

“I’m already thinking of your health. You’re immunocompromised, travel is too risky.”

“We’re crossing a few state lines, not going to the other side of the world.”

Albert pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. I’m driving. Which also means I get to choose the music.”

In fact, they went most of the way by plane, after Albert weighed the odds and decided five hours in a tube of recycled air would still be easier on Harry than a two-day road trip. Some of the passengers threw suspicious looks at Harry’s N95 mask, but they’d cleared it in advance with the airline, and Harry had briefly removed it when he went through TSA, and Albert was prepared to flash his FBI badge, but the flight crew were understanding.

They picked up a car at Midland International. Someone, presumably an employee of the car-rental company, had left a bundle of tourist-attraction pamphlets on the front passenger seat.

“According to these, Odessa has replicas of the Globe Theatre and Stonehenge,” Harry observed once he’d got himself settled.

“Why?” Albert asked.

“Got me there. The pamphlets don’t explain the motivation.”

Albert reached up and pulled down the car’s sunshade on Harry’s side, though the Sheriff insisted his cowboy hat was protection enough for his pale scalp:

“We’re not in the northwest where it rains every fifteen minutes,” he muttered, “and I’ve been looking up the side effects of your meds— you sunburn easily now.” Albert’s driving skirted the city, and they did not pass the Globe or Stonehenge.

The Pearblossom Motel, last recorded location of Agent Cooper, proved to be closed down. They’d noticed the papered-over windows as they pulled up, the sign unlit, not even to say NO VACANCY, but Albert got out to knock anyway. Harry watched him from the car; eventually he clambered out and slowly walked over to join him.

Albert was peering through a spot where the paper had torn away behind the window-glass. He stepped aside for Harry, and the sheriff took a look into the motel’s dim interior. He saw an ordinary, rather old-fashioned registration office, wood-grain panelling on the walls along with a few faded posters for local attractions. Rows of keys still hung on a board behind the desk, and a daily calendar read October 15, presumably the date the motel had closed, or the approximate date— Harry could imagine a concierge might not bother to keep tearing off the pages if they knew it was their last week on the job.

“I now realize that despite everything, I’ve still been harbouring hopes of finding my way back to the waiting room, hence my continual choosing of left-hand turns, as if attempting to mathematically navigate a maze. I must make a true leap of faith if intuition is to guide me, so I’ve closed my eyes and spun around several times in this corridor, first clockwise and then counterclockwise.

Now that I no longer can tell which direction I’ve come from… Diane, can you hear that? Of course you can’t, I don’t really have my tape recorder. I’m going to fall silent and listen for a bit.”

There seemed little else of interest at the motel (Harry, feeling a bit silly, had even tried the Great Northern’s room key on all the doors), so they turned back towards Odessa to look for the diner Cooper had been investigating. The motel was only a mile behind when they saw, ahead of them, a tall woman walking along the highway, her fire-engine-red hair, black t-shirt and pencil skirt out of place in a locale that was rural to the point of emptiness. Albert swore under his breath.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” he told Harry. “Roll down your window, I’m pulling over.” But the woman only threw a glance at the car as it slowed, flipped them the bird, and kept walking, though she stepped gingerly and Harry noticed she was barefoot on the asphalt. Albert leant across him and stuck his head out the window:

“Diane!”

“Fuck off, guys. I’m not Diane, and whoever she is I bet she’d tell you the same.” Harry gently pushed Albert back and leant out the window himself:

“Sorry, ma’am, mistaken identity. Are you all right though? I see you’ve mislaid your shoes.”

“Looks like somebody ran off with them,” the woman answered, her tone mocking despite the tired set of her shoulders. “I haven’t been up to anything illegal, officer. Just a bit of fooling around.”

“We can give you a ride into town,” Harry offered. “If it helps, you’ll be alone in the back seat— means you can get the drop on us if you start to feel nervous.”

The woman narrowed her eyes at the offer, then abruptly barked out a laugh and opened the back door of the car, took a seat and folded her long legs in after her. “Only because I need a lift,” she insisted, rubbing her bare feet. “I knew office romances were a bad idea, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it. Nothing to do now but go home and drown my sorrows in Hallowe’en candy.”

“You’ve still got candy left over from Hallowe’en?” In the mirror above the dashboard, Harry saw Albert raise an eyebrow and the woman in the back seat frowned, insulted:

“No! I may not have a maternal bone in my body, but I’m not going to give the trick-or-treaters candy that’s a year old.”

“Ma’am,” Harry asked, thinking about the calendar back in the Pearblossom Motel office, “what date d’you think it is?”

“Mid-October,” she began. Harry saw her reach into her purse with her black-and-white nails and pull out a mobile phone. Her eyes widened at the date: “No, it’s March. The fuck?—” She ran a hand through her scarlet hair. Harry wondered if it was dyed or a wig. Perhaps she was bald too. “Must be losing it. I was so sure it was October. And it’s not like I’ve could’ve been wandering around this desert for five months.” She tapped her phone screen. “5,230 messages?!” She looked frightened now, raising her head to meet their gaze in the mirror. “Where the hell have I been? And you guys— you’re feds, aren’t you?”

“No,” Harry began.

“I am,” said Albert. “He’s not.”

“Well, can you tell me what’s going on? Or is it classified? God, it’s not aliens, is it? I always assumed alien conspiracies were bullshit to cover up real conspiracies.”

“It’s probably not aliens,” Harry answered, unable to keep doubt from his voice as he remembered Major Briggs, “but I afraid it’s not going to sound any less weird.”

“To start with, we’re in the area investigating a colleague who disappeared in October,” began Albert, “and then you turn up, apparently amnesiac since that date.”

“And with my messages unchecked since then.”

“Yes, but there’s another detail— you look exactly like a former colleague of mine who was close to our missing man. That’s why I called you Diane when I slowed down.”

“I need a smoke.”

“No.”

“Albert,” Harry interrupted, “I’ve already got cancer, what’s the worst that can happen?”

“Do you want me to answer that in detail?”

“No I don’t.” Harry turned to look over his shoulder at the woman in the back: “Just roll down your window first.”

“We’ll pull over and she can step away from the car,” said Albert.

He stopped on a shoulder, and their passenger got out and lit a cigarette. Examining the packet, she called to them:

“Three left. That’s fewer than I remember having on me in October, but not by much.” Albert, meanwhile, had pulled a shopping bag from the back seat:

“You should eat something,” he said to Harry, producing a sealed cup of applesauce and a box of plastic spoons. Between rounds of treatment, Harry’s nausea receded, but his appetite was still pretty weak. “There’s saltine crackers, too.” Harry chuckled in spite of himself as he tore the foil off the applesauce:

“This all makes me feel like I’m home from school with the ‘flu.”

“You’ll have to watch Roadrunner cartoons on your own phone, I’m not paying for the data,” Albert snapped.

“I’m surprised we even get reception out here.” The red-haired woman had strolled back to the car with her cigarette, though she took care to stay downwind from Harry’s rolled-down window. “Guys, is it just me or is this highway really deserted— like, Rod-Serling-voiceover deserted?”

“We were just thinking Roadrunner cartoons.”

“Can’t be, there’s no weird rocks.” She flicked ash onto the pavement, “Though it does feel like if someone painted a tunnel entrance on a wall around here, you might be able to drive into it. If you weren’t a coyote.” She took another drag and glanced at the power lines humming above their heads. “Maybe it’s the hum from those wires that’s giving us brain cancer— oh sorry, dude.” She broke off and looked at Harry in apology.

“It’s all right, ma’am,” he said when he’d finished swallowing his mouthful of applesauce. “I’ve got leukaemia, not brain cancer. And the sound from those lines is unpleasant. Like the whine of mosquitoes in the woods.” As he spoke the hum intensified, becoming a loud crackle. Albert glanced up as a shadow fell over the three travellers and their car.

In the sky a dark, nebulous shape twisted, circled, formed a comma or an apostrophe, and dove towards them.

The first few grackles, out of thousands, came down on the roof and hood of the car. Harry could see one pecking at the windscreen and glaring at him with hard yellow eyes. He suddenly remembered Coop had been afraid of birds; until now, he’d never been able to imagine why. He turned and pushed open the back door as the woman dove inside the vehicle. Around them, the flock blotted out the landscape.

“Hope they don’t scratch up the finish,” Albert shouted over the sound of wing-beats, “or I’m not getting my deposit back.”

“Is this nesting season? I mean, are the grackles round here normally this—”

“Oh fuck, one got in!” came a yell from the back seat. Eardrums ringing, Harry turned to see a small black shape ricocheting around the car’s interior as the woman flailed her long, bare arms. The grackle made for the gap between Albert’s seat and headrest.

And got stuck, its beak not quite touching the back of Albert’s neck.

Harry reached for the little feathered body, thinking of how to pin the wings against the bird’s sides to avoid injury to it or the surrounding humans, but the moment his fingers touched it, it crumbled. At the same time the din outside the car ceased.

“That— that’s not natural.” Their passenger was covering her mouth with her hand. Even Albert looked shocked. Harry stared at the palmful of ash that was all that was left of the grackle.

“Let me get a sample bag,” Albert muttered. He pulled out a small clear plastic bag, and held it out while Harry poured the remains in. Then he handed him a packet of wet wipes. “You all right, Diane?” The woman in the back seat did not correct him on the name this time.

“Couple of scratches,” she said, examining her right arm. Albert passed her a mini first-aid kit. Got to give him his dues, he prepares for everything, thought Harry, adjusting the brim of his cowboy hat.

“Y’know,” he said, “This could be a good sign. In that it’s any kind of sign. There’s nothing worse than working in the dark, waiting for some hint you’re getting warmer or colder— that’s the kind of thing makes you wonder if the thing you’re looking for is even out there at all. But this—”

“Someone tipped their hand, you mean, when they tried throwing a Hitchcock movie in our faces,” Albert cut in. “But what exactly did we do to worry them?” His glance, and Harry’s, moved to the dashboard mirror’s reflection of their passenger.

“You think the birds were after me, or wanted to break up our merry band?” She raised an eyebrow. “Trouble is I know a token effort when I see one.”

“Or a warning.”

“We found the Pearblossom Motel;” Harry thought he saw the woman flinch at the name. “And then left it, to head for Odessa.”

“Are you suggesting we drive around in circles and see if they attack again?” Albert muttered.

“I think that’d be a little unfair to our passenger.” Harry turned to her: “Ma’am, I believe Albert when he says he knows you; but I also believe you when you say you don’t remember him. We can drop you anywhere you like— your call.”

“Give me a few minutes, fellas. Given all the weird shit I’ve just been through, I’ve got to think about whether I’m safer away from you two, or sticking close by. Plus I’ve got messages to check.” She took her phone out again. Without taking his eyes off the road, Albert pulled his own phone from his suit jacket, passing it to Harry:

“You’d better check mine. Maybe Tammy’s got some news—she’s been looking up everyone connected with events in Twin Peaks, but not living in the area. She even emailed some couple in Japan, though I’m still not sure what they’ve got to do with this.”

Harry peered at Albert’s phone screen, occasionally commenting if something looked to be of interest:

“Gordon’s sent a grudging OK, tells you to be careful. Also tells you to look after me. I’d always imagined he’d type in uppercase— didn’t realize it was him at first. Hm. Do you know a coroner?”

“I know lots of coroners, we get together for an annual poker tournament and lucky draw. And when I say draw…”

“Do you know a Dr. Talbot in Buckhorn?” Harry interrupted. “Autopsied a headless body last September that turned out to be Major— wait, he— is this one of those revised timeline things?”

“Not exactly.” Albert brought Harry up to date as best he could on Major Briggs’ disappearance and decades-later reappearance. “I certainly remember meeting Constance,” he added, after a pause, and cleared his throat again. “According to Tammy, I made a favourable impression on her, which is… unusual among my acquaintances, even those who share my profession. So what does she have to say?”

“Something about a wedding ring and Schrödinger’s Cat?” Harry looked at the message again. “She says Tammy spoke to her, and was going to contact you too… a gold ring they found on Briggs… sorry, in Briggs… keeps disappearing from her office’s records and the FBI’s evidence files, then coming back again?”

Albert frowned in thought as he drove: “Does it have anything engraved on it?” Harry tapped a message on the phone screen, CC-ing Constance and Tammy.

Outside the car, suburbs, or at least car dealerships and big-box stores, were beginning to sprout up along the highway.

Albert’s phone pinged and Harry read the message from Constance:

“Yes, scribbled it down last time I could find the record. This ring any (wedding) bells? TO DOUGIE, WITH LOVE, JANEY-E”

“Janey-E,” said Diane from the back seat, and Harry heard her drop her phone. Turning around he saw her wringing her hands, the nails now robin’s-egg blue. “Albert,” she gasped, “Oh, Albert, I was almost lost again.”

“I believe the change in method may have led to a breakthrough: I haven’t found any rooms leading off of the corridor I’m following, but the decor has gradually changed from black-and-white flooring and red curtains, to dark brown linoleum flooring and institutional green walls hung with large relief maps of different parts of the world. The maps appear to have been manufactured some time between 1954 and 1965, as they show North and South Vietnam as separate nations. I’m just passing the continent of Antarctica, now, and… oh. I think there might be…

Diane, I found the white room, and when I call it that, I’m not simply echoing Laura’s name for it. It was like a cross between a sanatorium and a snow cave, if a snow cave had furniture. There was a bed with white blankets and a white metal frame like a hospital bed. Audrey was sitting on one end of it, wrapped in a white bathrobe and looking at a round mirror that stood on a little white table. She turned as I entered, and her face was older, drawn and, for a moment, frightened. Then she looked at me again and relaxed, saying ‘Oh, it’s really you.’ I fear she must have met one of my nastier doppelgängers at some point.”

At Diane’s request, they stopped to eat at a fast-food chain before approaching the diner Coop had been investigating in at least one timeline.

“I’m hungry, but I’d be too nervous to eat at the place where Dale might have… well, if they’re a front for something, then the food’s either spectacular or terrible, and I’m not feeling lucky right now. I want to be someplace as bland and mundane as possible for a while, so I can regroup.”

“Well this place has a twenty-minute limit.” Albert jerked his thumb at the sign.

“That’ll do.” Diane curled up beside Harry in the booth as Albert went up to the counter to place their orders. She still wore her pencil skirt, but on on of their stops she’d purchased tennis shoes and a couple of fresh t-shirts— the one she was wearing at the moment read NOT TODAY in flowery letters. “Now he’s got two of us to worry about,” she said under her breath. Harry decided to reply:

“Someone needs to worry about him.” Diane nodded, and Harry offered his hand: “Sorry, we never did the proper introductions did we? Harry S. Truman.”

“I know.” Her expression relaxed slightly. “I see why he likes you.”

“Not sure Albert likes anybody, exactly—”

“That’s not who I was talking about.”

Albert returned with a eye-searingly-orange plastic tray:

“Mushroom burger, cheeseburger, buttered biscuit for you, Harry, because they can’t just serve toast like a real restaurant and those things they claim are bagels are made out of lies.”

“Don’t worry Albert, I’ll survive a biscuit.” Harry picked up one half of the baked item and took a bite. It wasn’t too bad, actually.

“Diane, the ring that jogged your memory—”

“My half-sister and her husband. Don’t ask me how they’d be mixed up in this though, Janey-E’s aggressively normal.”

“And her husband?”

“Never actually met him. Janey-E and I don’t talk much,” she explained. “But from her comments he’s… passively normal. Works for an insurance company, drinks too much sometimes, the whole man-in-the-gray-flannel-suit thing.”

“I’ve been talking with Audrey, or the version of her that existed in the white room. You’ll notice I use the past tense. Still sitting on the bed, she raised a finger and pointed to the mirror in front of her, saying:

‘The other me— she ran away from home, like she thought Laura had done. I’m amazed she survived her first year in the big city, but look:’

Diane, I saw Audrey searching records online, tailing suspects, testifying in civil and sometimes criminal courts. It’s a life that can make a cynic of the kindest soul, but there are situations the police don’t or can’t investigate, and those were— are, I suppose— Audrey’s bread and butter, in that mirror world. And they seem to pay well enough she can afford to do some pro bono cases.

‘I wish I were out there,’ she said, and the mirror clouded and shifted. She patted the bedspread, and I sat down beside her. ‘You know how,’ she began, ‘when you’re a kid, and you’re reading your favourite book, and a little after the halfway point, you start to think ‘I’m getting near the end of the book?’ And really, you’re not— there are pages and pages left of scenes and pictures. You’re always surprised just how much more there is. But it’s not enough to shake the feeling it’s putting off the inevitable. Dawdling before bedtime.’ She stood up suddenly, bent and kissed me on the brow. ‘Say hello to the other me, if you ever run into her.’ And then she was gone, Diane. Not in flame or fadeout, just gone.”

I look up, and Laura is beside me.

The diner, when they found it, was not what Harry’d pictured. Instead of a lonely Edward Hopper tableau, or a grimy spoon where toughs whispered to each other along the lunch counter and cast knowing glances in the direction of the men’s room, “Wispy Dreams Cafe” was a blandly cheerful donut shop, the logo rather obviously altered from that of a national chain.

“Looks like they’re under new management.” Diane observed as they got out of the car. “Or else they got tired of paying for the franchise?” The three of them made their way across the parking lot the cafe shared with the landscaping company next door. Inside, the sound of chattering customers and a hum from the coffee machine both soothed and overwhelmed. Harry steadied himself against a gleaming, cream-colored formica counter. The woman on the other side— not a fresh-faced high-school senior or a kindly-faced matron, just a woman with her hair in a ponytail and circles under her eyes, doing her best to smile— threw him a glance and Harry nodded.

“I’m ok. Albert, Diane, what do you two want?”

A couple of minutes later, they sat by the window, feigning interest in their donuts and coffee.

“Well, we’re living the cop cliché,” whispered Albert. “So, what do you think? Soulless suburban hangout, or den of villainy?”

Harry gingerly sipped the brew in his cardboard cup and eyed the other customers. You couldn’t say the place wasn’t busy; the woman at the counter had already served a family of four in the time it had taken Harry, Albert and Diane to seat themselves with their coffees, and another customer had just come in the door.

“That counter’s been installed recently. Deep-fat fryer’s been replaced too.”

“And they don’t know how to use it yet. You could wax skis with these donuts. That’s hardly a crime, though.” Diane looked around at the blue and yellow walls painted with large trompe l’oeil sprinkles. “Doesn’t seem to be anything else funny about the place— I hate to say it but this place might be legit.”

Harry watched the new customer lean in to the counter. Harry couldn’t quite make out what he was saying— presumably the man was placing his order, but it seemed to be taking a while and there was something tense in the woman’s expression. Beside him he heard Diane swear under her breath, and faster than he could turn his head, his peripheral vision took in that she was getting up. She strode towards the counter and Harry had a glimpse of the angry red scratch on her arm as he struggled to his feet.

Diane was leaning on the counter now, trying to insert herself between the customer and the worker.

“What did you just say to her?” she was asking.

“Look, I come in here all the time, we joke around. What makes you think it’s your fucking business?”

“What seems to be the trouble?” Harry loomed up behind the customer— he might have only half his usual strength but he was still a good six inches taller than the other man. Behind him, he guessed, Albert was approaching. Harry knew the agent was unwilling to use physical force and not exactly skilled at defusing situations through diplomacy, so he turned his gaze on the customer with all the quiet confidence he’d used as Sheriff. In his ear Diane hissed:

“It’s nothing to do with the case, this asshole’s just creeping on the staff.” She must’ve locked eyes with the man too, for he was staring at her now, his bland pink features shifting expression from anger to terrified fascination.

Rather an unimpressive face, thought Harry, and then, what’s Diane doing? He turned to look at her sharp, smiling profile, and saw a tear slide from her eye.

“No,” she said loudly and abruptly, and blinked hard. “Do you want us to escort him out?” she asked the woman behind the counter; but the man was already out the door and running for his car.

“Diane,” Harry whispered.

“Diane,” whispered Albert. Diane was passing one hand across her eyes.

“I could have fried him. Just now. Something wanted me to; but I just wanted him to back off.” She beamed at them as Albert held out an arm for her to steady herself. “I think I’m back to normal. Well, normal for me.”

“Are we the only two left here now?”

“I’m not even here anymore.”

“I don’t know how to get back to the waiting room.”

“It doesn’t matter, the coffee’s cold.”

Somehow, the white room has become even more featureless, despite that being both a logical and a grammatical impossibility. Only the bed, the table and Audrey’s mirror remain. A moment in the glass catches my eye, and I look to see— oh Diane, I’m so glad you escaped! I see you travelling with Albert, and… oh, Harry…

…the cafe’s fluorescent lights flickered as the background hum, noticeable since their arrival, now rose to an ear-splitting volume then died away just as suddenly. As the three of them looked on, an old-fashioned hospital bed, its steel frame painted white, materialized between the counter and the booths, replacing two unoccupied tables. At one end of it sat Agent Dale Cooper, fully dressed in his suit and tie, a look on his face of mild surprise that turned to the familiar joy as his gaze met theirs. Coop had grown older like the rest of them, sharper angles in his face, but he looked hale and well, and his eyes did not have the cruel gleam that chilled Harry’s memories of their last meeting.

“Harry,” he said, as though a quarter-century hadn’t passed. In response Harry silently doffed his cowboy hat, revealing his pallor, his naked scalp. Coop’s smiled wavered a little. “I’m sorry I was gone so long,” he whispered, and rose from the white bed. In the background, the cafe staff and patrons continued to chat and serve and drink and eat coffee and donuts as if nothing out of the ordinary was going on right in front of them. Albert made a hesitant noise in his throat and Coop raised his hand in that just a moment gesture he always used to make, and in that moment Harry knew his friend really was back from wherever he’d been all those years.

“Apologies for being brusque,” Coop said, “but there’s a family in Las Vegas who I’ve reason to believe are in danger right now—”

“Janey-E?” Diane asked.

“Right on the button. For personal reasons which I’ll explain later, I can’t get in touch with them myself. The Mitchell brothers might be able to help, but I don’t know how much they’ll be able to recall of our last meeting.”

“Tammy and Constance are already on it.”

“Good,” Coop looked relieved, and Harry stepped forward, shaking a little in spite of himself, and as if the motion had at last given him permission, Coop sailed forward and embraced him— very gently, as if he feared Harry might break. He’s gauging by touch how much weight I’ve lost, thought Harry, but it’s all right. He’d forgotten how warm Coop was. He became aware of Albert and Diane joining in, arms circling his shoulders and Coop’s. If I died right here and now, it’d be all right.

But this embrace was not an epitaph, or an epilogue. Outside, somewhere else in the city, was an imitation of an ancient stone monument; and a copy of an old theatre where real audiences watched real actors. Somewhere the forces that had sent the dark cloud of grackles prepared another attack, and somewhere Tammy Preston was moving to protect Janey-E and Dougie Jones. Elsewhere Audrey Horne walked the mean streets and was not herself mean. This was an interlude, but let them have it for a while.

A couple of patrons turned their heads to smile at the reunion going in their midst.

#wonderfulxstrange #@laughingpineapple #twin peaks #@laughingpinecone

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fandom-necromancer · 3 years

Text

Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder

This was prompted by a wonderful anon! I hope you enjoy! Also big thanks to @headfulloffantasy for giving me the idea to make this about birds!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 [Part2] [Part3]

It was one of the first sunny days of spring and after being holed up in the house the entire winter, Gavin enjoyed sitting on the perch of their house. The sun had just risen, and it was still cold, but as soon as the first light would hit them, he knew he wouldn’t need his jacket anymore. He smiled as he heard footsteps and a cup of coffee entered his field of vision. He smiled as he looked up in the android’s face and scooted to the side a bit to make room for Nines to join him on the bench. ‘You are a life saver’, Gavin moaned, taking the first sip of his coffee. ‘Pretty sure indulging your caffeine addiction does the exact opposite’, Nines commented. ‘Take the damn compliment.’

They watched the sun rise over their neighbour’s houses and Gavin had to blink as it finally hit his eyes. He had never thought to leave his shitty apartment and definitely never had thought to move into some suburban neighbourhood with orderly lawns and driveways that looked the same with every house. All thanks to the massive departure of people getting to safety during the revolution. He doubted he could afford such a house otherwise, even when they were both working for it. Still he was glad. He leaned back, enjoying the view – Nines next to him more so than the other houses. He smiled as the android seemed fixed on a specific point. He knew from how his brows furrowed, he would soon share his discovery with him.

‘Look, there is a nest over there. A bird’s nest.’ Gavin followed his finger and indeed saw a small nest sitting on a second storey windowsill of the house. ‘Yeah, isn’t that one abandoned? Water damage I think the saleslady told us.’ Nines nodded, and Gavin shrugged. ‘Well, at least it’s undisturbed then.’ ‘As long as they don’t decide to demolish it’, the android mumbled. ‘Yeah, but who knows. The company probably still struggling with the fact they need to pay their working androids now. Could take months. When they start, the birds will be long gone.’ ‘I hope so’, Nines said and stood up. ‘I’ll go check in with Connor. He wanted to talk with me about a case, best to get it out of the way so we can enjoy our free day.’ ‘Do that, I’ll sit here and do nothing as I do best.’ Nines smiled at him and pressed a kiss on his forehead. ‘We both know that’s a lie.’

It was evening about two weeks later and the sky looked like it would start to rain any moment as Nines drove home from a crime-scene he had been called to. He was ready to go straight to bed and enter stasis with his human next to him. Instead he frowned as he found the street partly obstructed by construction fences and machinery. He drove past, watching humans and androids walk about, holding tablets and preparing everything to demolish the building. He was surprised it had happened so quickly, but he guessed some bureaucracy could solve itself quite fast if humans were embarrassed about their past actions. He was about to drive past and park the car as usually when his HUD highlighted something in the second storey. The nest was still there, the brooding bird nowhere to be seen. Likely abandoning the eggs due to the sudden activity and noise. It was something that happened every day, he shouldn’t care about something like that. But… But he did care. He had a soft spot for animals, he wasn’t gonna lie about it. All living things held an absurd fascination for him, a being of metal and plastic. So, he parked the car on the pathway and stepped out, approaching the construction workers.

‘Hello. Are you aware there is a bird nest on the windowsill?’, he asked someone standing in front of a foldable table that looked important. The man turned around and looked him up and down. ‘And?’ ‘Are you going to demolish a building with it still in place?’ ‘It’s just pigeons. Little pests are everywhere.’ Nines stared at him highly doubting he had understood him correctly. He thought about starting to argue with him, but decided it would be wasted time anyways, so he just bolted for the house. A perfectly preconstructed jump against the pillars supporting the roof over the porch followed by another push in the right direction brought him up to the second story windowsill, where he held onto the rim and a drainage pipe before carefully lifting up the nest with three intact eggs. Only then he allowed himself to exit preconstruction mode and slid down the pipe to the ground.

Disregarding the construction workers, he held the nest in his hands like the most fragile treasure and walked back to their home. He rung the bell with his elbow and hoped Gavin wouldn’t be too angry. ‘Hey Nines! Long day? How- what the phck?’ ‘I couldn’t let them be destroyed’, Nines stated and pushed past him before Gavin could say anything. ‘Yeah, okay, but…’ The man closed the door and followed Nines to the kitchen table where he carefully put down the nest. ‘But what are you going to do with them now? I know jack shit about birds. I always had cats, birds were a no go most of the time. What kind of bird is it even?’ ‘Pigeon’, Nines answered, holding his hands over the nest and heating them up. Who knows how long the mother had been gone already. ‘Seriously? You rescued some pigeon eggs?’ ‘Yes. They deserve to live like any other being.’ Nines looked up at Gavin, challenging him to say anything different. ‘I- well… Aren’t they carriers for diseases?’ ‘A myth. Very little diseases the could carry are affecting humans.’ ‘Okay, but they shit everywhere.’ ‘All birds do.’ ‘Phck, Nines, I’m not raising wild animals in our house!’ ‘City pigeons aren’t wild animals. They are leftover pets you didn’t want anymore. And don’t worry, you won’t be raising them. I am!’ With that Nines stood up, the nest still in his hands and left to a secluded corner in their living room where he set up an improvised heating via an old hot-water bottle. He didn’t care that Gavin likely was still staring at him, thinking of new arguments, but he was done. He had made his decision when driving by and he would stand up for it.

That night he didn’t enter stasis, as planned, but sat with the eggs, watching over them.

He still sat there watching over them the next day, when Gavin came down from their bedroom. He made himself coffee and looked at Nines completely invested. He sighed. He still couldn’t understand why it was so important for the android, but it was. He felt a bit bad about how he had reacted. He still didn’t think this was a good idea, but who knew if the eggs were even fertilized. If anything he didn’t want their argument from the day before to linger. So when he drove off to work, leaving the android behind, he had a plan how to make it up to him.

‘Nines, I’m home!’ He pulled the key out of the lock and struggled to close the door with the huge box in his arms. He didn’t get an answer, but found Nines in his corner like before, exchanging the hot-water bottle. He sighed shaking his head and toed off his shoes before walking towards him. ‘Hey, tin-can, you set up all this stuff and I’ll get the coffee table.’ He basically dropped the box in his lap and walked off. The android frowned and opened the box. ‘Gavin, what is this?’ ‘Everything the clerk from the pet-store said you needed to hatch birds. Incubator, lamp, food and litter.’ ‘Why did you get all this?’ ‘Listen, I’m still not convinced of this. I don’t want some featherbrains flapping around the house shitting everywhere. And you won’t see me anywhere near the eggs. But it’s important to you, so I got you the stuff you need.’ Nines looked down on the box, then back up to Gavin, who was already pulling the table over. ‘Thank you.’ ‘Don’t stress it.’

A few hours later the incubator sat neatly on the coffee table in the corner, eggs placed inside and heated to the perfect temperature. Nines and Gavin sat in front of it and looked through the glass. ‘Do you know if they are even fertilized?’ ‘Two are’, Nines answered. ‘And quite far in development, too. They could still die; I don’t know how long they’ve been sitting in the cold.’ ‘I really don’t know a thing about pigeons’, Gavin sighed. ‘They are very intelligent’, Nines said softly. ‘They can pass the mirror test and distinguish different humans. They are outstanding at navigation and mate for life. Also, both parents equally care for their young.’ Gavin huffed. ‘Well, they will have to do with a single dad I guess.’ ‘Why don’t you like them?’ ‘I don’t know. I just never thought about it, I guess. Likely would phck it up.’ Nines smirked and laid an arm around Gavin, pulling him close. ‘I think you already did a great job.’

‘Gavin! Gavin, I need your help.’ Gavin blinked his eyes open and cursed. He was sleeping on the couch for quite a while now since Nines was sitting next to the incubator night and day. ‘What is it?’, he asked sleepily. ‘Fowler just called, I have to go.’ ‘I thought you were on vacation?’ ‘New lead to a cold case, I have to go. But if they are quick, the eggs could hatch today already! I don’t think so, but it is possible, and I can’t watch over them! I-‘ ‘Yeah, yeah!’ Gavin sat up, holding his head. ‘Go, I’ll watch over the stupid eggs.’ ‘Thank you, I’ll hurry!’ Gavin looked after the android that basically ran out of the house, then turned towards the incubator, throwing back his blanket to drape it over his shoulders instead. ‘Sorry, need coffee first.’

He made himself a cup and walked back to the incubator. The eggs still laid there completely motionless. ‘Well, nothing’s changed so far. Maybe you’re not even alive. At least that would solve my problems, hmm?’ Although the next thought was Nines’ reaction to that. All that work for nothing. He wanted to see his husband happy, that was a large part of his motivation in life now. Well, he couldn’t do much else than sitting there watching them and drinking his coffee. ‘Hope you like metal’, he mumbled, switching on his radio to let the time pass quicker. An hour later he was lost in his phone playing stupid games and reading the news. His stomach demanded for instant noodles after another hour and he caved in.

As he came back, he almost didn’t recognise the change. Only as an egg moved, he looked up and saw the cracks. ‘Oh, you gotta be kidding me! Your damn father isn’t home yet!’ He put the bowl down untouched and scooted closer. The cracks centred around a patch of shell that was soon lifted up. A beak became visible as the cracks widened and spread, slowly circling around its breadth. Gavin stared in fascination at the pink flashing between the shells, moving and breathing. There was something alive in there.

Only when the shell was being pushed open, he thought to grab his phone and call Nines. ‘Yes?’, came the immediate answer. ‘What’s happening? Are they-‘ ‘Yes’, Gavin answered. ‘Yes, they are hatching. One is getting out of the egg. The other one is moving.’ ‘I’ll come home immediately!’ Gavin smiled without noticing. ‘Congrats, Nines. Guess you are a dad now.’ ‘As are you’, the android answered before hastily ending the call.

Nines was sure to break some speed regulations, but he didn’t care. Of course, he had to miss the eggs hatching. He had had a feeling this would happen from the very beginning. At least Gavin was there. But he hadn’t been on board raising these baby pigeons from the beginning. What if… No, he would care for them surely. Still Nines didn’t put any effort in parking neatly, jumping out as soon as the engine was killed, and the break pulled. He unlocked the door and ran in, searching in panic for a while as the chair in front of the incubator was deserted.

He found Gavin sitting on the couch then, holding a blanket with the hot-water bottle underneath in his lap and smiling as he kept his hands on two tiny baby pigeons. ‘Look at our two bastard children’, Gavin cooed lovingly and Nines carefully sat down next to him. ‘They are beautiful’, Nines nodded. ‘No they are not’, Gavin chuckled, gently petting one of them with a finger, the grey-yellowish hairs not even close to covering the tiny fleshy body with overly big eyes.

‘But I love them.’

[>next part]

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Okay that was super self-indulgent #my favourite animals are pigeons cats donkeys horses and orca #and pigeons are kinda my special interest because it's just sad how they are treated #My great-grandfather had pigeons and the only photo that made it through the war and out of eastern germany is of the pigeon house #from him at least so there's that #so yeah maybe not what was expected but I had my fun #I can write you a cute story about kittens or doggos too I just thought to take my chance because when will I ever be allowed to choose XD #so hit me up if you wanted something else anon!

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hollenka99 · 3 years

Text

Introductions

Summary: Ghostbur arrives in the Void and meets the half of Alivebur that never returned to the Overworld. It is not always plain sailing. Chapter 1 of Unequal Halves.

Warnings: Implied/referenced self harm, derealisation(?), unreality, death, smoking, alcoholism mention

There is the low hubbub of quiet conversation in the air. All around him is rubble and he can't quite recall how L'Manburg came to look like this. If he asked Phil, his father would likely explain. Something bad must have happened if he can't remember. So... maybe it was for the best that his mind goes blank whenever he thinks about it. It was probably just the result of Alivebur blowing the country up anyway, he didn't get a great vantage point before he died so the theory is feasible. Ghostbur must be misremembering how L'Manberg looked before- Huh, no it got restored at some point, he knows that. Not Alivebur's doing then. Phil would know. Phil knows a lot of things, including how to potentially bring back Alivebur. Speaking of Phil, his father was stood next to Eret, both of them lingering by the little recreation set. Ghostbur isn't paying much attention but his best guess is that the topic revolves around their third resurrection attempt today, the reason they've all gathered here once more. He wonders whether the others like Tommy, Fundy and Tubbo will join them. He wouldn't mind leaving for a few minutes to make absolutely sure he's said his goodbyes to them and others. That said, he has had nearly an entire week between the last attempt and today to do that. Not to mention the few days prior to that after he and Phil had organised the first round of re-enactments. Perhaps if this works out, he could influence Alivebur somehow and say goodbye posthumously. "Well, if we're going to do it, better sooner rather than later. Unless we're waiting for the exact time of day he died." "No, let's do it now. I've got the totem and sword, we're all here... there's no point in waiting for the stars to align." "And if it goes like the last two times?" "Then we deal with it. I'll take the blame for wanting to use our third and final chance." There is a pause and in the corner of his eye, he can sense Phil looking his way. "Ghostbur?" "Hi, Phil." He floats over. "Is it time to try again? I've been going over my lines so nothing can go wrong." "I'm sure you have, mate." Phil takes his arm so it is outstretched with an open palm. Into his awaiting hand, a small figurine is placed. It resembles a villager with tiny wings poking to the sides and eyes made of emerald. He believes the closest he's come into contact with one of these totems is that time some citizens of L'Manburg locked Techno in a cage as a prank. Was that thing he saw Techno use a totem? He can't recall correctly, he's not even sure he was fully paying attention since he was watching Friend sniff around at the time, but the light show had been very pretty. "This is a totem of undying. It's going to help us with resurrecting you. Do not drop it at any point. Hold it as tight as you can, got that mate? You holding on to that totem is more important than any lines you might have rehearsed." He playfully tosses it between his hands. "Okay." "Ghostbur." Phil snatches the item from mid-air. Ghostbur catches a glimpse of his father's scornful expression and instinctively averts his eyes. "This is serious. Do you understand how important it is for you to hold this totem or not?" "I do, Phil. Sorry." The item is returned to him. Like he's been instructed to do, he grips it tightly and refuses to let his hold on it weaken. Their little dramatisation goes well. He says the crucial line, the button gets pressed and even more impressively, Ghostbur doesn't flinch in the slightest when the sword meets his semi-corporeal being. This is the third time he's properly died as himself and the sixth since Alivebur's birth. He's sure that if there's any deity in charge of death, they'll be going 'oh it's you again' in a second. ---- It's an odd thing to see your doppelganger in front of you. Wilbur is certainly not a twin and he's never met anyone he's shared a particularly strong resemblance to either. Even during the genetic mishmash that created him, both sides of his family tree had won their battles yet neither claimed true victory over the other to represent themselves more heavily within him. So sure, there were traits you could see he'd inherited from his mother but it wasn't as if he looked like her. However, he was yet to meet someone whose similarity in appearance took him by surprise. The first time had been a shock. He'd been tolerating Schlatt's company with Mexican Dream making the experience a little easier to endure. The Wilbur duplicate had randomly appeared while the three of them had been sitting around, wasting time at a table. The guy is only there for a matter of seconds but it's enough to register his appearance. There's the matching dull grey skin and the hair that's darkened with death. Wilbur's vaguely aware he used to own a sunflower yellow jumper like that in life. It's certainly not the chequered top he's wearing. It happens again shortly after. Wilbur Two doesn't stay long but he appears at the exact spot where Schlatt was sitting. A flimsy connection seems to form, strong enough for the ex-emperor to speak through the ghost and have an extremely blurred view through his eyes. Wilbur sits there as his political rival talks bullocks about jacking off, protein powder and cigarettes. Wilbur would tell him to cut it out if he had cared enough about his counterpart being used like that. All he says when Schlatt seems present within himself once more is impatient prompting to continue their game. They'd anticipated another visit but his clone hasn't shown up since. By now it's been... months maybe? It was hard to tell with the only natural variables when it came to the passage of time being whether it was day or night, sunny or raining. He's been stuck in what he believes is the transition period between spring and summer ever since he got here. Which is absolutely ridiculous given that he has some creative control of this place. Regardless, he's honestly half forgotten about the incident when they truly reunite. The clone sticks out in his bright jumper. It's one of the days Wilbur's dragged himself away from whatever tree roots he's picked to curl up besides. Upon spotting the other Wilbur, he follows from a distance. He ascends a nearby tree. He swears he's been here before, amongst the highest branches to observe someone who didn't know he was there. It's the kind of deja vu he hates, the one with not even the slightest hint of why he might feel that way. Well, maybe one reason but he'd rather not dwell on that. Listen, he tells himself after travelling through the treetops, he's not going to be whole until the two of them interact so he'd better just get on with it. Well, here goes nothing. He pushes off and hops down with a thump. ---- It's peaceful here. Daisies are dotted around, as are oak trees. Despite not knowing where exactly he is, he appreciates how at ease the occasional sounds of wildlife or the leaves of trees rustling in the wind make him. Well, at least for a while, that is. He swears it's just birds. Honestly, what else would it be if not birds? He's being silly. Although, maybe he should escape from any potential creature's line of sight. A part of him he can't reach urges him to not seek out any dirt walls, to head in the opposite direction of them in fact. He's pretty sure he doesn't have anything to protect here other than himself but the instinct to fool potential pursuers directs his movements. A weighty object impacts the ground behind him and he abandons his efforts. Ghostbur risks peeking over his shoulder. And that is how he finds himself face to face with the man who'd been following his movements. "Well, took you long enough." The stranger was certainly not there a moment ago. The fact they are his mirror image is naturally the most striking detail to notice. Although, he will say Alivebur doesn't look too well. His beanie helps with hiding the full extent of his hair's dishevelment despite said hair potentially being able to somewhat distract onlookers from noticing how permanently exhausted his face was. It doesn't matter to Ghostbur. Regardless of the disapproving crossed arms he is met with, he politely introduces himself. "Hi, I don't think we've met before. My name is Ghostbur! What's yours?" "You know our name." He's rifling through his pockets, seemingly unconcerned by the momentous occasion. "Oh, you're Alivebur then." "Ali-" The other Wilbur's head whips up to glare at him. "Do I look alive to you?! We are both the same person, a person who is very much dead." "Deadbur then." "Wilbur is fine. It's our name so I don't see why you can't use it." "It doesn't matter anyway." Wilbur abandons his quest to locate whatever he was try to find. Instead, he sticks out his hand, offering for it to be shaken. "Since you haven't disappeared 2 seconds after showing up this time, I think it's high time we wrap this little charade up, don't you? My best guess is we need skin contact or something along those lines." "Charade?" The hand's altitude falters slightly, almost as if the disgruntled sigh it was paired with had caused it. "Us being apart. I'm sure you've had your fun but it's time we fused back." He should take Wilbur's hand. He really should. This is what Phil, Eret and the others were working towards. People wanted Alivebur back as it was. So that meant he had to go. Think of all that time and effort to prepare everything for something he suggested they do in the first place, wasted by cold feet. Was he the first one to bring up resurrection? He honestly has no clue. There isn't a guarantee that this will work anyway. Same as... something he's sure has slipped his mind. Oh wait no, the button! He hadn't been sure about whether that would be successful either. But it had been. So this would likely be too, right? Except, he doesn't want to. He's not ready to give up the feeling of sunshine as he strolls around, the aroma of ingredients as he brews potions, the ability to chat with his friends while checking in on them or any of the other things he's enjoyed while himself. It was him who helped make the lanterns that once floated above New L'Manburg, him who attempted to collect enough books to start a history-preserving library and it was him who tried to build Tommy a nice holiday home to cheer his brother up during their time away from their nation. He knows he told Phil he was willing to relinquish his existence to return Alivebur to everybody but... maybe he didn't entirely mean it in his heart. They'll never be enough time, regardless how much the universe may wish to grant him, yet this doesn't feel like it's close to enough. "...No." "No?" "I don't want to go back yet. I..." He isn't too keen on that scowl. Perhaps if he makes up an excuse, things won't be so tense. "I just got here so why would I leave before I um, explored?" Shoulders loosen and Wilbur is back to absentmindedly rummaging through his pockets. "Guess I won't force you. And well, if you're going to be here for the indefinite future, I can give you a tour of this place." "That would be really helpful. Thank you." He breaks into a grateful smile. "Okay so to the north is grass and trees, to the west is grass and trees, same to the south. Oh but the east is actually quite exciting. You'll find trees and grass there." "I... see. Sounds great." Keep smiling, no need to ruin any potential future rapport so early. "I can't wait to look around." "Ghostbur, was it?" "Uh huh!" "Guess I'll be seeing you around." Having finally found his cigarette, the one native to these lands waves him off, the soon-to-be lit stick inbetween his fingers. He begins to stroll off into the cover of forest. He's sure he's being silly but Ghostbur could have sworn the quantity of trees gains density as it conceals the other man. Still, Ghostbur has seemingly been left completely to his own devices so he comes to the decision he will spend the rest of the day exploring. It can't hurt to get a feel for his surroundings. Honestly, how monotonously repetitive could this world really be? --- This is fine. All this is a setback but not one they can't overcome. He'd meant it when he said he wouldn't force Ghostbur to do anything. This was all a waiting game, to be honest. He could win it with the mouth that had long ago rallied people to a cause. He once believed in the phrase 'words over weapons' and how nobody in L'Manburg should wear armour because they shouldn't need that level of protection on a daily basis. The reality of tyrannical violence had proved him wrong. However, it was a negotiation that ultimately won them the war, albeit not one he was part of. He still likes to think Tommy's success that day was potentially due in part to Wilbur rubbing off on his right hand man. So in the pursuit of victory, Wilbur vows to stay civil where possible. --- As Ghostbur wanders, he comes to realise how true Wilbur's summary had been. The longer he explores, the longer the green persists. This world truly seems to be comprised of forests and open fields. It's his third day of checking what each path may offer when he finds himself in the midst of trees. However, the woods here were familiar. All around him was birch bark. They're scattered about and nothing about them indicates a natural path that can be made. Yet, as Ghostbur walks, he seems to know instinctively how to navigate the area and the way in which he should weave through the trees. It surprises him to eventually discover a stream flowing by these woods. Yet, at the same time, he feels like he should have been expecting to find it. Why does this place feel familiar? Oh. This was where Alivebur met Tommy, wasn't it? He could almost picture it. He had been wandering around the area surrounding their latest base. At least this part of the world tended to have fairly warm Aprils. Even better after the two months Phil had made them spend in a tundra during winter. It was completely nonsensical and Wilbur had made sure Phil knew his thoughts on the matter beyond any doubt. But they'd evaded any of nature's potential attempts to make them hypothermic long enough to get through it. Now all Wilbur needed to focus on was enjoying the not-yet-scorching sunshine while Phil was... off collecting resources, he believes. He's sure he's slightly lost. The general direction of their temporary base, that was no problem to discern but the actual way to reach his destination? Who on earth knew. It was just birch tree after dumb birch tree. There weren't any of those markers that he'd been taught about either so it was like he was destined to get lost. But then, a break in the tree line? A stream, actually! He's sure Phil has the essentials like water down already but it wouldn't hurt to gather a bucketful more. Phil did lend him a chest for a reason, after all. It's not the cleanest nor clearest body of water he's ever seen. Who really cares when there's ways of purifying it. It does seem to go on for a great distance, further than Wilbur's eyes can tell. The stream itself isn't particularly wide. He reckons he could easily leap over from one side to the other. On the opposite side of the bank, there's a hole that seems to have been hollowed out by hand amongst all the mud. Rather bizarrely, there's also a random child lingering there. Wilbur was hardly an expert on determining someone's age, especially when it came to younger children. However, he'd soon know with hindsight that the little boy in front of him had been roughly 4 years old at that moment. Blond hair messy to the point it might be easier to shave it all off than attempt brushing it, clothes tattered and dirt visible in several spots of his skin, it was evident from this kid (regardless of their isolated surroundings) wasn't meant to be here. "Hey, are you lost?" "No. Go away." A thin branch makes an attempt at threatening him. "Are you planning to hit me with those sticks?" The little boy glances back at the pile nearby. "They're my Scary Ouchers." "Scary Ouchers. Uh-huh." He forces himself not to laugh. This kid must have undoubtedly been through a lot if he's out here on his own seemingly long term. "And am I scary?" "Maybe." "What if I tell you my name, will that help me be less scary?" "Dunno." "Well, I'm Wilbur. And I promise I'm not here to hurt you." The kid seems to shrink within himself slightly as he weighs whether this 11 year old stranger is worth trusting. "Tommy." "Tommy? Okay. Hi, Tommy. Do you want me to take you home?" "I have a home." "Then let me bring you back there. I'm sure your Mummy and Daddy are worried about you." "Got a home." He repeats, banging the stick in his hand against the earth. "Tommy," Wilbur sighs. "You get that this isn't a good home, right? Come on, I can take you to my camp. Me and my dad will help you out." Tommy's confliction persists until he tentatively raises a hand, all fingers folded inwards except for the smallest one. Wilbur giggles as understanding dawns. One pinky encompasses a much smaller one. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you, Tommy." "You sure?" "Just pinky promised, didn't I?" Tommy considers this then nods with all the solemnness that only a child his age could treat such a practise with. They gather up all of the so called 'Scary Ouchers', god Phil will probably get a kick out of hearing the story tonight, and dump them in the chest. With Tommy tasked with guarding their wares upon the shoddy wagon Wilbur had constructed himself ages ago, the older boy guides them back to camp. Phil is understandably confused when he sees another child by the tents. He quickly resigns himself to their new reality. The conclusion that there are no parents to speak of, at least not anymore, is kind of obvious. Any memory of them will be stolen by time and the inability of a developing mind to store any event for potentially lifelong recollection. It's fine though. The four year old has a new family now, one that will love him for years to come. And after they return home to the little house situated in a valley? Well, Wilbur's little brother only gains volume when he speaks and far too much energy the more comfortable he becomes with his new life. In response to this memory, he longs to have Tommy here, to be the good Alivebur who can be trusted to be on better terms with his little brother. The two of them used to be really close, despite how often they drove each other up the wall. But Ghostbur had seen how Tommy didn't seem too fond of Alivebur anymore. There was also the fact Alivebur had become bad at some point down the line, driving Tommy as well as others away. Because nobody is born bad and Ghostbur struggles to reason that an 11 year old boy who genuinely wished to help a homeless kid approximately a third of his age was bad too. Here, in this secluded area full of birch trees with flowing water as part of its soundtrack, Ghostbur imagines a teenager obnoxiously laying across his lap in the gentlest of ways. Tommy calls him a bitch through chuckles and playfully chastises him for being 'all sappy and shit'. It's reminiscent of moments that truly did come to pass once upon a time. His little brother once made him a daisy chain while in this very position but unfortunately, this was back when Fundy was still tiny and all it took was little hands being allowed to inspect the item before the stemmed links broke as a result of tears. It had still ended well, the remnants were sprinkled in Fundy's then-wispy hair while the baby's giggles joined the laughter of his father and uncle. God he misses Tommy. He hopes that one day, if- when he and Wilbur manage to reform into Alivebur, things will improve and they can have that again. --- By now, he knows not to expect Wilbur to look his way. It's okay, he's used to it. People would talk to him then struggle to continue fully politely hiding their desire for him to leave them to their own affairs. At least Wilbur is more willing to be upfront with it, he supposes. Wilbur has things he wants to do and so must Ghostbur. When the rain descended upon them yesterday, their conversation resulted in them clashing. Wilbur can come out with a spiteful anger without much provocation. It usually lies restrained on the surface but Ghostbur dreads when it is fully unleashed on him. For the most part, there is an understanding that for whatever reason, Ghostbur is not inclined to view him fondly. He wonders if his rejection of the merging request has anything to do with Wilbur's negative bias. Perhaps it is best that Wilbur keeps his distance. He doesn't want to believe that is the case though. It is for this very reason that Wilbur approaching him with an friendly offer takes him by surprise. "I'm going to visit Schlatt and Mexican Dream. Want to come? I think it would be interesting to see how you'd affect our dynamic. Plus, an even number of players means we could do teams." "Of course." A grin bursts onto his face. He follows Wilbur's lead as they traverse the path. He's getting used to the scenery but when he notices a mushroom his eyes had previously missed when passing by, he knows he's far from done yet. There is no time for admiration right now and he's fully aware Wilbur will outwardly make known his frustration otherwise. When they reach their destination, Wilbur tears a section of the bark off from a spruce tree. Instead of revealing more inner layers, a fully lit pathway stretches in front of them. "Well, go on. It's not like I can hold a rip in our reality open forever." "Oh!" He slips past obediently, watching Wilbur join him immediately afterwards. "You must be quite strong then if you do this regularly." "Sure. Became a real bodybuilder out here." The deadpan causes Ghostbur's attention to flick momentarily to the black sleeves that certainly aren't filled, least of all by muscles. The corridor practically belongs in an aquarium. The arching walls are made of glass, allowing for full view of all the dolphins, turtles and large variety of fish on display. The pathway itself is unusually wide but since they were heading to meet with Wilbur's friends, he can only assume they liked spending time here and therefore needed the space. Following each pair of glass panels were strips of wood upon which torches were hung. It created a lovely ambiance along with the shadows from the waves outside. To be fair, his only complaint is the temperature. It's freezing, nearly unbearably so. Perhaps they are in the sea by a tundra, sheets of ice floating above them on the surface. That would seem like a plausible answer. Ghostbur could spend a good long while here if he found a warmer outfit. "It's very pretty." "Yeah. Just wish I didn't keep having to see it for the first time each week." He wants to harness the inquisitiveness of a toddler in order to learn how exactly Wilbur would ever be able to forget a sight like this. But something tells him it's not the time nor place. Maybe the view out of the windows shifted with each visit. That seems like a decent explanation. So instead he comes out with "I like the lighting too." "Ghostbur," He momentarily glances back over his shoulder. "You can't expect me to create a dark single-file pathway. There's no steps to a dead end either, see." It's muttered with such quiet sincerity that Ghostbur questions what happened to the Wilbur who scorned him and carried an air of resentment towards everything. He wishes he had some blue to offer him right now. Whatever Wilbur's issue with dark and narrow corridors was, Ghostbur can tell it's awful, too awful for him to ever understand. As they make their way between areas, Wilbur debriefs him on what to expect. It nothing too elaborate, simply a few rounds of card games. Until they get too bored or fed up with each other. They mostly stuck to solitaire and poker if he's going to be honest. Sometimes they'd pull out board games for the sake of variety. The three of them had promised Monopoly was for when they wanted to watch the world burn which hadn't happened yet but there'd been threats to manifest a game the next time they all met up. First there was Schlatt. When Ghostbur completely blanks at the name, it is begrudgingly explained to him that this was the guy who succeeded Alivebur as president. No effort is made to hide the fact Wilbur does not view Schlatt's continued presence in his post-mortal existence in a positive light. He even admits to the game he played whereby he attempted to guess what the J in JSchlatt stood for. It did nobody any good but it served its purpose of annoying Schlatt quite well. The ex-president was a poker kind of guy which also caused clashes between them. Ghostbur is told to expect alcoholic drinks being available, especially the stronger varieties. The man's fatal heart attack hadn't been helped by his drinking habits so honestly, it seemed pretty much on brand. Either way, the less Ghostbur allowed himself to do with Schlatt, the better in Wilbur's opinion. The other member of the group was Mexican Dream. Ghostbur remembered Quackity, right? Well, Mexican Dream was his cousin. He'd been generous enough to allow Wilbur the opportunity to learn Spanish as a way to pass time. He shrugs when he says it's something to get up for. He wasn't the best student because he frequently missed scheduled meet-ups by accident or simply let practising what he'd learned when he did show up slip his mind. Regardless, Mexican Dream was an alright guy who tended to hang around Schlatt and Wilbur more for the sake of company half the time. You just had to watch out for when he began going on about his love life. Ghostbur's new, Wilbur warns, so as fresh ears he'd be a prime target for the laments regarding Mamacita. The other half of Alivebur wishes him luck if that becomes the case. Oh and before he forgets, don't ask about his death. Touchy subject apparently. The civilities go well. Given the warmth (or lack thereof) he receives, Ghostbur would say Wilbur's assessments of temperament weren't too far off. Ghostbur sticks by Mexican Dream's side throughout their games, chatting as they attempted to ignore the tension ever brewing between the former political leaders of L'Manburg while they played. Wilbur does not take long to lose his temper at Schlatt. "You can't put a joker directly under a king. Also they're both spades so not only are they in the wrong position of the sequence, they're the wrong colour and suit for that move to be legal." "You know, Wilbur, this is why I always say we should start with poker." "Oh you and your poker. If you love poker so much then why don't you make it your vice president so it can leave you the minute you piss it off one too many times." "You don't like poker because it's too hard for you to understand." "Says the one who can't even understand that a black king can't be immediately followed by a black joker." "Well at least I don't have a tell that even a newborn could recognise." "And at least I'm not so untrustworthy that two-faced is an understatement." Wilbur glares before adding an ever so succinct "Wanker." as his closing statement while he collapses back into the chair. "Asshole." "...I have a joker and it's red. Would you like it, Schlatt?" "Thank you, Ghostbur." Schlatt grins in a way that somehow makes Ghostbur wish he wasn't in his company. Wilbur's face gently slams into open palms. When his fingers are finished with their journey down his face, he plucks the offending card out of his counterpart's hold. "Put the card down. We can't start mixing packs like this." Wilbur abruptly rises to his feet. "Actually, you know what? Sod this. Between you and Tweedle Dum here, I feel like he's the lesser evil. Come on, Ghostbur, let's go back." Like a plus one whose only way in and out of the event was their invited friend, he has no choice but to follow Wilbur's lead. He would rather stay and get to know Mexican Dream better but it would seem it wasn't on the cards for today. He waves the pair goodbye. Mexican Dream returns it genuinely. Schlatt's smile comes across as sinister and his attention appeared to be on Wilbur as it was. "...I can see why you like Mexican Dream more." He comments in the tunnel home. "Yes, guy's less of a twat." He distracts himself from this disaster of a meeting with the marine life outside. It doesn't prove as effective as he would hope. --- He doesn't understand why or how but it seems that Wilbur has developed the ability to have a hunch as to where Ghostbur could be found. Today this hunch led him to a peaceful stream. The water flows uninterrupted and he can't recall the last time he was in the presence of such clear water. He suspects it goes on for a while before meeting a larger area of water. Ghostbur himself is seated by the bank, admiring the scenery surrounding them. He periodically remembers himself and returns his focus to a little notebook he was scribbling in. "What's this?" "Wilbur." The ghost lights up at the sight of him for whatever reason. He pats the ground beside him. "Come, sit here. It'll be fun." "I'm... I'm good thanks." "If you're sure." There's that wide smile again. There's no way he can't call major bullshit on it. "Has anyone told you how unnerving your constant good mood is?" "You're just saying that because you like being moody." "I'm saying it because it's the truth." He scrutinises his other half. "Nobody has the ability to be that positive 24/7." "I- Well, I do." There is an argument he could begin having with Ghostbur but he hasn't got the patience for it. "What are you writing about?" "Oh, this is my diary. I don't want to forget what I've been doing while here." Wilbur is struck with the desire- no, the need to discover what Ghostbur has been writing about him. As a general, intel was everything and as a fugitive, every bit of insider information had the potential to prove useful. Ghostbur correctly interprets his extended hand but still hesitates before adhering to the request. It's pointless though as there is nothing regarding himself to analyse. Day 8 (24/1/21) I am in the Void so I think the plan worked. I wish I could tell Phil because he seemed quite worried about the process failing. I have been counting the days at the back of this book because they all look the same and there doesn't seem to be any calendars anywhere. So I'm guessing it's January 24th right now. I think I'm getting used to the Void. Everything is very green but I like it. Exploring has been quite fun and Wilbur introduced me to a couple of his friends for a games night. The tunnel to get to them is beautiful but I think I'll need to craft a few campfires to help combat the cold there if I want to watch the wildlife. I also need more cornflowers to make blue with but they seem to be difficult to find which is a shame. I will have to keep looking but that's okay. Maybe I can convince Wilbur to help me if he's available. I'm at the stream where Alivebur met Tommy right now. I really like it. It reminds me of the picnics Alivebur used "A picnic?" "Yeah! Alivebur used to have lunch on a raft with his mum whenever they could find one. It was fun." "Good for us, I guess. I wouldn't know anything about that." Except maybe, it seems, he might. The feeling of feet bounding against the earth. Excited yelling. Ruffling of hair with something that wasn't an arm around his shoulder. An exasperated chuckle while something sweet was on his tongue. Playing lookout by a window. A contest that ends with a soggy lap. Surrounded by laughter and happy chatter. He realises what this is too late. As it fades, he chases it. No, come back. Don't leave. He needs it, even if it's the vaguest of scraps. Please, please, come back. "Wilbur?" "Sorry, I might have just spaced out for a minute. I was thinking about... about... I don't know, something." "Here." Ghostbur presents blue dye. "I haven't been able to find many cornflowers to make it but I think you should have some." "What's this for?" "You look like you're about to cry. Blue's very good at absorbing all your sadness away. You let it soak it all up and then throw it away. I promise it works. Honestly, try it." "Thanks but I'd rather not stain my hands with blue dye for the sake of humouring you. That shit takes forever to get off. Although... this does explain why your clothes are like that. I thought we'd be smarter than to wear something bright while frequently handling a substance that stains easily." "Well okay then. The offer's always there if you want it though." "I'm fine. Just need a breather. Don't uh... don't wait up for me or whatever." The worst thing is he has no clue why he's suddenly upset. Sitting on top of a hill, he overlooks land with the potential to be built upon, land that had seen construction in a world similar to this one. He's not sure if he's in the exact spot but it's close enough. In his mind's eye, L'Manburg springs into existence, a diagonal line cuts through the wall as it is destroyed by Fundy's pickaxe. Their country had come close to death before but that day had arguably been its last one. The reason why Tommy wasn't by his side in that moment is lost to him. A spark of resentment temporarily roars into a flame as he thinks of how his former right hand man should be present for this in a way more than simply joining in at the end of the anthem over a voice call. Oh who cares anymore? It doesn't matter now. Alone, he witnesses L'Manburg die before him for the... how many times was it now? At least if he's going to be mournful, he should mourn something he actually knows he's lost. --- The entry concludes with a final paragraph. I've also met Wilbur. He's the other part of Alivebur and he wants to fuse so we can be Alivebur again. We will have to eventually but he seems willing to wait. I hope he stays that patient because I don't know how long it will take me to say yes. In the meantime, I want us to become friends. He can be so dismissive and angry but despite how mean he seems, I think we could still get along if we really try. I think getting more blue should be on my list of priorities because he really needs it. Which reminds me, I need to draft a list of priorities. I think I should get on that as soon as I can so goodbye for now. --- Ghostbur makes the decision on the... well he needs to check his memory book to remember exactly what day it is but whatever today was, that was when he sets himself the goal of working on a house. It'll be a nice place, not too fancy (at least not at first, he can add to it later if he so desires) but it can be a lovely base for himself. Maybe Wilbur too, if he can get the other half of Alivebur to join him. The problem was he wasn't sure where to take inspiration from. He built a house for Tommy during their holiday and he really liked how that simple little place turned out. He also recalls Tubbo's house from when he and Tommy were messing around shortly following his arrival in the area. Now that house was very pretty. It would take some more effort to get right, especially when all he had for reference was the memory of it, but he feels it would be worth it if he wanted to go down a similar route in terms of design. Oh! Didn't Techno have a lovely looking cabin too? Perhaps he should keep that building in mind as well. Or he could come up with something new entirely. He wasn't sure yet. He thinks it may be best to experiment first. It's as he is figuring out the size and shape he'd prefer the ground floor to be that Wilbur comes across the soon to be construction site. Arms crossed, he doesn't look too impressed. But then again, when does he? "What is this?" "Oh hi, Wilbur. I thought I could build myself a house. It could be our house if you'd like. Or... Or maybe I could add a bedroom just for you if you already have a house." "I think I'll pass. Though this does explain all the missing oak trees around here." His gaze flicks to the pile of wood Ghostbur has gathered. "Anyway, you're just doing this by hand?" "How else would I be doing it?" "I have my ways. You probably have the same ones." The two of them venture through a taiga until they reach a hill overlooking an empty field of plains. Even before he truly lays eyes on their expanse of their destination, he can sense how far of a drop it would be to reach it without caution. "Wait!" The warning comes too late to have any effect. Wilbur leaps from the edge. Rushing forward instinctively, Ghostbur dreads the scene he is sure will be upsetting to witness. He shuts his eyes but risks a peak regardless. It's to his utter shock that Wilbur stands waiting, perfectly fine. "I know we pretty much have all the time in the world but I'd rather not spend it waiting for you to get on with it and jump already." "You're not hurt?" "What? No, of course not. Why would I-?" Realisation arrives and Wilbur's only reaction to it seems to be an eye roll. "We're dead, you idiot. When was the last time your feet actually touched the ground? In fact, when was the last time you even had feet?" "Oh." "Yeah." Wilbur continues to walk ahead, using an arm to beckon Ghostbur in the right direction. "Now come on." Once they settle on a spot for the demonstration, wooden blocks materialise without warning. They arrange themselves into an empty birch cube that is perhaps twice as tall as they are. It's not a complex structure, pretty non-descript. Ghostbur had been hoping to be a bit more ambitious with his construction work than this. However, he supposes Wilbur is simply only showing him the basics. There's no need to go overboard in an attempt to show off. "It's pretty simple, really. All you have to do is picture what you want and boom," A final block of birch comes into existence. "It shows up without much effort. It saves a lot of time and hassle. Got it? How about you summon a torch to test it out." He imagines a stick. Even a branch will do, he feels. As he does so, a weight grows in his hand with the appearance of a long brown object. The stick he summons is actually fairly substantial once it solidifies. For extra measure, he concentrates on the tip. He devotes his thoughts to warmth and autumnal bonfires and an orange glow then- Oh! Well, next time he should make sure he's careful when causing spontaneous combustion. "See? Easy. Now toss it here." With the rudimentary house completed and torch in hand, Wilbur carelessly allows the flame to linger too close to the wood. Ghostbur is unable to cry out a warning before the building is set alight. It gradually dawns on him that, somehow, this was a deliberate action to achieve this consequence. It leaves Ghostbur more lost regarding the workings of the other man's thoughts than ever. "What is the point in this? I don't... I don't understand." "It's warm." He acts as if this is the obvious answer. "Do you feel it, Ghostbur? Do you feel the cold, the way any and all sources of heat seem to be sapped while you try to make the most of them? You've been here days, you must feel it. Took me a day to recognise what it was. It's the Void, Ghostbur, it's the Void. It- It- It takes the heat from this place. We could be standing in the middle of the fucking desert right now but you'd still feel a chill, like someone left the window open and caused a draft. I... you know, I made this place to get away from it but it followed me regardless. Just... got muted, I guess. I carved out a little bit of the Void. Not even that big. It simply feels that way because it's like in those drama productions where you have the scenery on a rotator or whatever it's called. Not using it? Just poof, gone on standby or- or taped over. Mixing my metaphors here." "Stop standing there before you're on fire." "Hmm? Oh, don't worry about that. Doesn't scar or anything. I can reverse any damage, make it seem like it never happened." "Just get out of it." The ghost reaches out to his friend. Wilbur steps back to avoid him. "Ghostbur, I'm fine. I only want to be warm." "I can make a fire if you want. A normal one, in a pit." "Like I haven't made a bonfire before. You really think I haven't tried that?" "Let's get some water. You just have think about it, don't you?" "Wait, no! I tend to watch it burn. Gives me something to do." "O-Okay." So they witness the structure's demise to fire. Ghostbur mourns the loss of the materials that seem to be going to waste for the sake of entertainment. He can't help but succumb to the desire to be enraptured. The flames dance with curls and bows and sways. He breaks his gaze away to glance at Wilbur, curious to see if he is having a similar experience as him. His companion has only a hardened expression to show, one that pairs a set jaw with calculating eyes. Yet a light, separate to that reflected from the fire, can be spotted dwelling within those same eyes. What one finds aesthetically pleasing albeit wasteful, the other studies as if he can learn how to tame it in order to command it to do his immoral bidding. --- Wilbur thinks of buttons. How technically easy they are to press. How, despite this fact, he'd been getting closer and closer to a dozen attempts before bailing. How one of his last memories (from the ones he'd been oh so generously permitted to keep) was that of burning. Fire is destruction, the chaos of something that aims to consume indiscriminately, a means to an end. But at the same time this is safe, controlled, something he can force to stop if it goes too far. There are 101 reasons why he has every right to hate Ghostbur. More, he'd argue actually. Since they became two, he's been left with the shortest end of the stick. Ghostbur got to go have fun and enjoy himself, got the opportunity to act like everything had always been alright since he'd deliberately discarded the evidence that suggested otherwise. And the personified form of the discarded evidence had simply been forced to endure the nightmares, to desperately avoid triggers he's not willing to confront in any shape or form yet, to attempt to find comfort in familiarity regardless of why an object or location may seem familiar to him. He's done this before. Not every day, mind you. He's not that big of a masochist to pull that shit. Perhaps once or twice in the span of what might be considered a fortnight, if that. Other times he's simply not done anything for a while. But Wilbur has gone through this process before. He has stood in flammable structures and allowed the flames to take their course. He hacks when the smoke increases to the point of becoming overwhelming. It hurts, of course it does (it's fire for crying out loud). Yet when he leaves the scene of arson, any blisters that have begun bubbling on his skin disappear at his command. The main incentive to act so stupidly is to remember. He can recall bombs and the devastation of witnessing his safety being ripped away before his eyes. Over and over, he attempts to confront the things that keep him up at night. The door is always right there, waiting to be flung open the second he decides it is more than enough for that session. In Albert Einstein's eyes, he could qualify to be called insane. He would disagree but then again, they are using different definitions. While alive, he had developed a smoking habit. It began as something to help alleviate stress. Then not inhaling nicotine ironically became a source of stress for him. That's how addictions form, he supposes, with stupid destructive cycles such as his. The inherent need to risk slowly killing his lungs for the sake of feeling relatively decent didn't seem to carry over to Ghostbur. Lucky bastard, always getting the better end of the deal. By his design, most likely. Be civil, he reminds himself, since it will increase his chances of securing victory. Now that Ghostbur is here, he is a step closer to getting what he's wished for since they'd died. It is only a matter of time before he rediscovers the peace of being whole once more. What he hopes will be peace. Wilbur thinks of buttons and fires and explosions. Most importantly though, he thinks of how nice it must be to witness something subjectively beautiful and not question a myriad of life choices. --- Ghostbur didn't appreciate the loneliness. Back down with everyone else, his friends and family either tolerated his company or told him to leave them alone. Even the friendlier ones had a habit of getting tired of him hanging out with them for too long. Sometimes he happened to catch them when they were busy. It was fine and certainly no big deal. Everyone needs alone time. Wilbur, for instance, likes a lot of alone time. Then there were those that Alivebur hurt and struggled to not be reminded of the man they once knew whenever Ghostbur was around, like Phil and Tommy. It was nobody's fault. He did have a striking resemblance to his pre-death counterpart. All this in consideration, Ghostbur could really a friend. Or perhaps more specifically, a Friend. He's seen Wilbur do this practically effortlessly so how hard could this be? He thinks the best way to go about this is to take it slow and begin at the bottom. He brings himself to an open space so he can have as few obstacles during this important moment as possible. Two pairs of hooves appear, already upright on the grass. With them comes four legs then a torso adorned in naturally blue wool which is accompanied by a tail. When the process comes to an end, Ghostbur is met with a familiar face. He wraps his arms around the neck of his closest companion in a hug. "Hi, Friend. I've really missed you. We can hang out whenever Wilbur is being grumpy or wants to be alone. Would you like that? Maybe we can even convince him to like you too. But that might be hard since he doesn't seem to like anyone." He feels it should be common courtesy for Ghostbur to introduce Friend to Wilbur. After all, his twin had already extended that courtesy to him the other day. --- "Wilbur!" There is no need for him to acknowledge the voice calling out his name. Even if he didn't recognise the owner of said voice, there is no-one else it could be. Yet when he does, he isn't sure whether to curse his reflexes for making him see the sight in general or be grateful for the minute's forewarning it grants him. Encouraged to tag along with Ghostbur is an affront to nature. "So..." He begins when the two visitors are near enough. "The sheep." "Yeah! His name is Friend. I had a sheep just like him when I was with everyone else so I thought he could keep me company while I'm here." He's not even sure how to respond to this development. He simply stares at the animal as he attempts to process it. It's so weird because he swears the sheep has one of those rare genetic variations where their wool is quite literally blue naturally. It's obviously not been dyed at all because you can tell with that sort of thing. Somehow, Ghostbur has straight up manifested a sheep with a rare coat colouring. He wants to be more thrown off by it than he is. Yet he struggles to do so. Because, in the several days since he's met the one he shares a face with, he can't truthfully claim he's surprised. "Friend, huh? Well, you really have a knack for coming up with names, don't you?" "I guess." "You asked me the other day what you should call me. You seem to love these cute little versions of our name. Given the way I treat you, I'm surprised you haven't been tempted to call me Meanbur or Sadbur or even Why-The-Fuck-Won't-You-Take-A-Hint-And-Just-Leave-Me-Alonebur?" Ghostbur hesitates, clearly a little shocked by this outburst. He quickly corrects himself, changing his expression instead to something more akin to content thoughtfulness. "Oh, I know! What do you think of Soulbur? I like Soulbur. Because you're half of his soul." "Fine, whatever makes you happy. Though if you really need to bother someone, I'd rather you go to Schlatt or MD." "But do you like Friend?" He glances back at the sheep for the sake of humouring his twin. "I... I suppose it's alright for a sheep. Don't want too much to do with it though. It's your pet." "He is more than a pet." And it comes off as if he's offended him. "He's well, he's Friend." "Gho- It is a sheep. I get that you're attached to it- him so you're hardly planning to serve mutton anytime soon but he's still just a bloody sheep." As he distances himself from Ghostbur to escape this nonsense, his ears catch muttered assurances that 'Soulbur' was not worth listening to. Plus, what kind of name was 'Friend'? His ghostly counterpart sounded like a child who'd decided their stuffed toy deserved a name to fit the role of lifelong companion. He'd retaliate but he's far from in the mood. --- Okay, as it turns out, he does begin to get used to the new moniker. For one thing, it's easier to differentiate himself from their pre-death self (though Ghostbur seems to have that covered thanks to his insistence of using 'Alivebur'). Soulbur likewise continues to tolerate him for the sake of civility. Hence why he's sat by a small fire and performing the absolutely redundant task of eating a meal. No matter how much he attempts to explain neither of them physically need sustenance, Ghostbur remains persistent on his thoughts regarding the issue. "No cows were harmed in the making of this steak." "Oh that's good." Ghostbur beams. "And you made a joke. You don't do that often." "Listen, I might not have a reason to laugh anymore but I do still have a sense of humour." "You know, you sound like Techno when you speak. All serious and bored." "Doesn't surprise me." He mutters. "Besides, you're the one who kept the happier emotions in the split. I'd be worried if I didn't sound like I have the more exhausting ones." "What?" "What are you confused about? You said you can't remember upsetting things, right? Well where did you think they went, the back of your mind, left stranded in the void- no, actually I suppose that one is technically true. Either way, the oversimplified version of events is that you got the good stuff and I got the bad." There is silence but there is also calm. From it, Soulbur gains the courage to put forward one of the questions he's been deliberating on for a good long while. "Ghostbur…" He frowns. "How did we die?" "You don't remember?" "No. For some fucked up reason, we apparently thought so low of ourself that it was a good memory. That or you took it to spite me." "I-" Soulbur holds his hand up. "No excuses, no rambling in the hopes you can beat around the bush. I just want the truth. Because all I can remember is Phil showing up, us getting frustrated then this unbearable pain as if... as if something was cooking us from the inside. I don't know I- it just hurt. A lot. Then we were dead. So what the hell happened to us?" The ghost is focused on fiddling with the sleeves of his yellow jumper. "I don't want to say." "Bad memory then. So... an unnecessary theft. As much as I hate to admit it, that was supposed to be mine if it was traumatic." "Wasn't nice but it was a good moment." "Well, was it good or bad? Make up your mind! I told you, I didn't want any messing around. I'm not expecting an essay from you, only a sentence or two." He groans. "Okay, how about this since you can't give me a straight answer. Did we press the button, yes or no?" "We did." "Brilliant! We got somewhere. I suspected it was burning debris but couldn't be sure. That's all I wanted." Soulbur manages only a handful of steps before his twin's voice is heard once more. "It wasn't debris. The explosion didn't kill us." "Then what did?" If his patience wore any more thin, somebody would have to pull out a microscope to view it. Ghostbur appears conflicted, ever tugging on his sleeves. "Phil was the Saint George to our dragon. He stopped us from hurting anyone else." "Whoa whoa whoa, hang on that's- Phil wasn't always the best parental figure to us, I know that, but he would never... kill us. That is not the kind of guy he is." "We asked him to." "Why would we-" "Don't ask me. You're the one who's always grumpy. You should know." Ghostbur argues back. "Even if we begged him on our hands and knees, as shitty as he could sometimes be, Phil would never cause us deliberate harm." "But he did." Soulbur visibly mulls this over in his mind before a scowl settles on his face. "Can't win, can you? Unbelievable. Couldn't even trust Phil to be on our side." "But he-" "He was supposed to take care of us. I can excuse him not being father of the year because he only took us in out of pity so we wouldn't end up on the streets. But the bare minimum I would have expected from him is to not kill the kid he's raised since they were little." "I don't know what you want me to say. You said you wanted the truth? Well the truth is Phil stabbed us with a sword because we asked him to. It was a... it was a sword with fire aspect, I think. That's why you think it hurt." "I don't think it hurt. I know it hurt." "Can we stop talking about this? I don't like it." "No. No, we are talking about this. I'm not letting you slink off at the first hint of something upsetting, Mr Repression." "I'm not slinking off. I just don't want to think about this." "Well, welcome to my life, every single bloody day since you ran off. At least you have the privilege of avoiding it." "Stop it! Stop it! Why do always have to be so- so- I'm going to find Friend. At least he's nice to me." "You are literally proving my point right now." "I don't care." "Fine! Piss off then. That's what you seem to do best, cry and run away at the slightest bit of trouble. But you can't do this forever, you know. You're going to have to accept we've been through a lot of shit one day." And for the first time in what he believes has been roughly two weeks, Ghostbur frowns. It is not the slight frown from whenever he is unsure or downtrodden, Soulbur's seen that before. Those times had been more akin to a pout. No, this expression has been witnessed by him before. He saw this occasionally in his reflection while alive, especially in the lead up to the festival and war between Manberg and Pogtopia when he'd been steeling himself to play his role in it all. So perhaps frown is not the most accurate word for it. Ghostbur glares, he scowls, he glowers. And then the fa��ade breaks as if the universe cannot permit an angry Ghostbur to exist. Dark blue pools by his eyes and begins to spill down his face. Soulbur doesn't think he's seen his other half cry either actually. It doesn't feel right, watching the one who kept going about everything with a smile cry and descend into sobs while he's at it. The universe doesn't swiftly correct itself at this though so Soulbur will have to make of that what he will. "I'm going to find Friend." Ghostbur repeats. And that is that for the calm dinner between both halves of the same person.

#dream smp #twobur au #wilbur soot #ghostbur #my writing #tw self harm #tw death #tw smoking #tw unreality

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d-l-dare · 3 years

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“Vultures”

It's interesting how the collectives mind works. A disaster takes place. It may not affect the mass or they may believe it to be fake, and they ignore the warnings that follow. There's so much mistrust of authority and so many conspiracies that it's now normal to believe the higher up's staged something to get new rules in place. It splits people, and instead of the conversation of why, we point fingers and break relationships. This is why wars don't end, not because it's nature, but because it's easier to fight than to resolve.

After I got out of bed, excitement filling me as it was Halloween, I got my costume ready and threw it on. It was a cut up shirt with some fake blood in spots to look like I'd been stabbed. I got out my tube of fake blood and applied it over my exposed skin, only making it look more realistic. Then, for the finishing touch, I grabbed half a package of hamburger meat from the fridge and draped it over myself. As you had probably guessed by now, I was aiming to be a zombie.

I knew my school probably wouldn't allow the hamburger meat as part of my costume but I didn't care. It looked cool anyways. I said goodbye to my parents and headed out the door. The school wasn't too far away, so I always walk just about every day. Besides, what better way to show off my costume before the school potentially makes me get rid of half of it?

As I walked, I passed under some trees that sounded like some birds or squirrels were fighting in there. I ducked down, hoping they wouldn't bring me into this. When I was about a block from the school, I was excited to see what everyone else had as costumes. I could see one of my friends up by the entrance. I was about across the street from the school when I heard a bird above me, trying to swoop down and grab me. I ducked a couple times. I tried swatting it away only to realize it was a vulture.

It pushed me to the ground and landed on me, digging its claws into my back. I cried out in pain, but found nobody was coming to my rescue. I tried swinging at the bird until it dug its beak into my flesh. It was eating me, alongside the meat around my neck. It pecked and ripped at me until there was nothing left.

*** Me and many of my friends stared in horror as we watched my close friend, Brendan, being eaten alive. We wanted so badly to help, but the teachers held us back and locked the doors. They said they didn't want us to get hurt, yet refused to help. All they did was call the ambulance. We had moved on to our first class of the day before the ambulance finally showed up. We all rushed over to the window to see his body being carried off. All I could do was cry. He was my closest friend and I saw him die.

Midway through our second period class, an assembly was called. It was odd for this to happen so early in the day, but I knew what it must have been about. I kind of expected it to go unmentioned today, but I don't think there's a way they could ignore a fellow student dying in view of everyone at the school.

Of course, I was right about the assembly. Some teachers talked about Brendan. They said if anyone needs to talk, the councilor's door is always open. They let us go home early today. It was heartbreaking that some of the students didn't care much until they got to go home. I called my mom and asked her to pick me up. I was sobbing so much I was lucky she could make out anything I was saying. As I waited, one of the teachers put their hand on my shoulder. She didn't say a word but I knew she felt bad for me.

Returning home, somehow, people were still planning on going out for Halloween. I wasn't sure I could stomach it. I was too devastated by the events of the day to have the temporary joy of dressing up and collecting candy. All I could think about was Brendan. My mom encouraged me to go out anyways. She hated seeing me like this, saying I deserved to have fun tonight. I hugged her and got dressed in my costume.

As I was getting dressed, my mom had the television on. I could overhear a reporter talking about another vulture attack that had happened not too long ago. This was followed up by saying that they're urging people to stay inside this Halloween night. There was no way anyone around here was going to listen to that. I know I wasn't. But I didn't want to head out alone, so I asked my mom to come out with me. I told her I was afraid the vultures might attack out there tonight. She agreed.

Walking around the neighborhood, I got plenty of compliments about my costume before receiving a bunch of candy. With fewer people coming out, there were more houses to hit and more candy to collect. I was midway to another house when I heard bloodcurdling screams coming from behind me. Everyone on the streets turned to see a man running toward us, screaming that one of his friends was just attacked by a vulture.

We all took off running toward our homes, frantically. As we all ran in a swarm, several vicious birds swooped down and attacked various people. There was a mix of screaming and ripping flesh flooding the air. Nobody had time to look back on the horror, we just kept running.

My mother and I were some of the lucky ones to survive the night. Running through the door, I crawled up into her arms, sobbing.

VvV Story Behind the Horror VvV

This story began with me walking to work one morning. If ever I’m outside walking, I’m wearing my red and black beanie. One day as I’m walking past a tree with some low branches, I hear some animals, either birds or squirrels, scampering around viciously. The first thought that enters my mind is, what if it was some animal trying to eat me?

My logical side of my brain jumped to the conclusion that vultures are one of the only birds that would come down and eat me. Maybe it was attracted to my hat, thinking it was exposed flesh, and wanted to eat me.

This was such an outlandish idea that I had to do a horror story about it. Upon planning, I gave it a worst case scenario twist, it taking place on Halloween, and people advising kids not to go out that night.

This story had a darker epilogue, ending with a parent telling their kids the story as well as the aftermath. There were so many bodies lining the streets and blood painting the roads that even under normal circumstances, it was unsafe to be out. The vultures fed on the bodies for at least a week. Everyone was told never to leave their homes. After a few weeks, the vultures left and the town was safe to come out and could finally return to normal life.

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juniebjoneswrites · 3 years

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Bring Me Home // Harry Styles

Steps From The Past (4)

Just one chapter from ya boi’s big debut!

T/W: brief gross teacher

/the past/

It’s been three weeks since Eli’s death, a week ago they declared him a missing person. I haven't spoken in five days, haven't left my bed in three. I watch the sun rise and set, rise and set like a melody that if maybe I can get it just right, I won't have to hear it anymore. I won't have to hear anything, not my sister crying in the room across the hall or my parents arguing in hushed tones in the dead of night. I won't have to hear my ragged breaths or the stomach pains from not eating. But I do hear. In the mornings when the birds wake I try to find comfort in their tunes and the warmth of the sun but I'm so frozen over that it can't penetrate my ozone. I like to think I have gravity as if the dust is being pulled down, settling over my body, and sinking into my skin. I imagine it trying to absorb my energies and become whole again but I tell it if that were possible then I wouldn't be lying here. At night I don't hear anything for long periods. Time is broken up by sirens and stray animals foraging in trash cans. I try to listen for whispers that come from just out of reach in case he wants to speak to me or to let me explain. But I know that if he didn't want to listen in life then he's definitely not going to in death.

It's the middle of the day and my mom brings me another sandwich I will not eat. My sister's room is loud and heavy with her music. She sets the plate on my night stand and picks up the old one. My eyes are closed but I can feel her staring at me as she makes her way to the door. I let out a breath as I think she's left, but she puts the plate on my dresser and crawls into bed. She wraps her arms around me and pulls me close and tight. She smells of lavender and honey and I feel her warmth trying to seep into my bones. I want to cry and scream and make her hurt because I can't make anyone else hurt. I need somewhere to direct it but there's no one to blame but myself.

I watch myself thrash, yell, and cry. The snot from my nose is uncontrollable. I am inconsolable. I watch as I lash out at her, she feels my pain but she doesn't run away like I want. I want her to be afraid, to leave me, but she pulls me in hard. I push back harder. I want someone to hurt. If the anger can't escape what will be left of me in the end? Will the heat melt my ice? Boil me over and spill my secrets?

But I am frozen. My anger and pain are locked away under my cold skin and a sunken face. Moving would give way to screams and emotions that I don't deserve. So I let my mother hold me and do the only thing she thinks she can. I let her warmth radiate as it tries to thaw me. When the tears come silently, still with enough coldness to become snow, I slowly bury us alive. The thing with moms is that even as I bury us here I know she won't flinch.

On day eight I find myself in the kitchen standing in front of the stove. The blueing hues from the window tells me the sun will soon rise. I shuffle around maybe aimlessly, maybe not. I'm not sure. I don't realize my hands have a plan until I'm sitting at the table with them wrapping around a steaming mug of hot chocolate. The smell is dark and sweet, making my mouth water. I take a sip and let it scald my mouth and warm my belly. More shuffling comes from behind me.

"Josie?" I croak, slightly startled by my voice.

"Mmm," She sits at the table across from me and stares at the mug. I can see her thinking it over before she grabs her own. I watch her pour the boiling water and mix it with chocolate powder. When we were younger we tried to eat the packets with a spoon and ended up choking.

I want to talk to her. Or do I just want to hear her voice? I don't know. Either way she doesn't speak and neither do I. She pulls my chair away from the table and climbs on my lap. I wrap my arm around my sister's waist and press my face into her side, letting out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. She slides her arm around my shoulder, resting her head on mine. I sip my drink. She sips hers.

"We should shower today," She softly says after a long while. We do smell.

"I haven't cared,"

"Me either,"

"You do smell pretty bad," I say. I might be grinning. She lifts her head up and makes a pained sound. I finish my hot chocolate. We don't take a shower, just walk to her bed and fall asleep until the sun sets again.

I finally take my mom's advice to run but I don't initially start this first time out of the house. I take labored step after labored step and push my legs forward like a puppet. I'm groggy and hazy and the world won't slow down. It's kept going at the same pace it always has. It didn't take time to mourn or review it's checks and balances to see if it made the right choice. It just kept going and now we have to find our way back in like jumping on a train at full speed. I don't check my footing or where I'm placing my hands as I Jump, I go blindly.

Being in the everyday motions feels like hitting the train car at full speed. My palms are sweaty and my breath comes like a punch to the gut. I find things to latch on to. I sit on the bench at the library we use to go to and pretend we're all there people watching. "That woman over there looks like she tells the birds her life as she feeds them," Mia once said, I can hear us laugh but I can hear Elijah laugh the loudest. When I see my reflection in the library's windows, it's just me. I walk away.

I find myself at the skate park where Josie taught me to skateboard. I wiped out, taking most of the blow to my knees. I think there's still a rock in there somewhere. In high school I watched Isaac ask Allie to be his girlfriend before Isaac realized he actually liked Jonah. We joked that Allie must have been a bad girlfriend. When Mia was 13 she told me that a neighborhood guy tried to feel her up behind the drop in ramp without asking. Elijah overheard and the next day we saw him with busted knuckles; when we asked him about it he just winked and shrugged. Mia blushed.

I walk by the elementary school we grew up in, only a mile or so from the high school we graduated from years ago. I wonder if our names are still under the desk in math, room 104. There was a scandal there about a teacher seducing a student and allegedly trying with others. No one found out who the girl was, they kept the information closed. But I can't see the science building without remembering how Allie never went back for Mr. Samuel's lessons after he asked to see her after class, she wouldn't tell me why. It wasn't until my sister broke down his classroom door after school that I realized. She saw his hand on my thigh and kicked the chair from under him. She pushed his chest down, "You'll get what you deserve." And he did.

The ice cream shop across town was walking distance from where my father worked and he would give us money on Fridays to get some, so long as we brought him back one after. That's where, in 10th grade, Jonah and Isaac found a dog with three legs wandering around eating from the garbage. They managed to entice it with ice cream and take it back to Isaac's. He had a dog already but his parents took him in anyway. They named him Berry after the strawberry flavor they captured him with.

Once at a roller rink Jonah fell and Josie accidentally ran over his finger. She stumbled to a stop and crawled back to him, screaming. He was laughing so hard from her reaction, and probably the shock, that he hadn't cared about the blood coming from his fingers. I sped us to the hospital while Elijah called his dad. By the time we got there the shock had worn off, leaving him with the pain. We called him hook for the rest of the year on account of how the bandages made his hand look. He just smiled as Isaac held his other one.

Once Sam told me I should be nicer because no one would want me. Sam is three years older than Elijah. Josie is two years older than me. Sam and Josie used to spend a lot of time together in her room listening to music really loudly. I knew what they were doing but I was still angry that she didn't ever want me to hangout with them together. So when Sam came over I went to see Elijah. Two can play that game, I thought. And two, they played.

Elijah kissed me one afternoon on winter break after we played outside for hours. My whole body was freezing but his lips were soft, albeit cold. As he took my hand and brought me back inside I thought of Mia and her secret glances his way. Blushing when he'd sit next to her, how she always seemed to have just what he needed, when he needed it. I couldn't look at her the next time I saw her but Elijah acted like nothing happened so eventually I let myself think nothing did. That following summer he took her to the movies and she told me that when they went back to his house they had sex. I smiled and told her that as long as she wanted to, then I was happy for her. On the drive home I thought of his bed.

When I got back I wanted to talk to my sister but as usual, Sam was there so her door was shut. I banged and banged until finally she opened it. "What?" She asked annoyed and out of breath. I guess she could see my youthful confusion and anger, I was 16 and she was 18. I knew what they were doing but I didn't know what I was doing. She sighed and opened the door wider, Sam looked annoyed. I shot him a dirty look and he stood up defensively. She was my sister.

"What's your problem?" He asked. My sister raised her eyebrows at him.

"You're my problem," I sneered.

"I was just sitting here,"

"Yeah well now you're not, so you can leave," I threw him his sweater. He laughs, "You know what?" he snatches his shoes, "No one's going to want you if you're going to be such a bitch all the time," With that my sister smacked him across the back of the head and pushed him from her room. He whirled around, "Why do you think Eli didn't choose you?"

"Because he was too busy hiding from you!" I screamed at him, slamming her door in his face.

I leaped face down on her bed and screamed into the pillow. Asking what happened, she crawled on the bed and rested her body on mine. "He slept with Mia," I told her through pillows and tears. But I didn't tell her that on that winter day on break, I did also.

(1) / (2) / (3) / 4 / (5) / (6)

#harry styles #harry 1d #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #liam payne #niall horan #zayn mailk #louis tomlinson #larry stylinson #larries #fanfic #1directionfanfic #one direction fanfic #fanfiction #onedirection #lovestory #sweetcreature #bring me home

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imaginetings · 4 years

Text

if you love me don’t let go - eggsy unwin

Y/N - Your Name

M/N - Middle Name

L/N - Last Name

M/O - McDonalds Order

Word Count - 2471

Requested? - Nope

Warnings? - Swearing, mention of dying and injury, flashbacks that may get you in feels

Notes - I’m in my feels okay :( also it’s formatted more space for paragraphs and i canny be bothered to fix it sorry. also would you guys want a second part of this in eggsy’s pov??

part two

When they say you’re meant to see important parts of your life flash through your head before you die, they weren’t wrong. Yet after all that I’ve done there is one common denominator in these flashes, Eggsy. The man that has held a significant part of my heart for most of my life ever since we met in infants and he had that glimmer of hope in his eyes, we were the terrible twosome as Michelle loved to call us.

I never believed this would be the way I would go, alone in an alleyway, bleeding out because of a mugger or possible enemy of Kingsman. The details I didn’t care for, all apart from the fact that I didn’t have Eggsy with me.

Yet with the strength I have left, I reach for my phone and whilst my initial thought was to call Eggsy I know that if I am to get out of here alive, it’ll have to be the emergency services. After all, Eggsy is probably out with someone who’s most definitely not me. Best friends, that’s all we’ve ever been yet I love him more than that and I guess he’ll never reciprocate because it’s just plain old me.

Smearing blood on the phone screen as I typed in the one digit thrice I could only feel myself start to grow weaker as the time flew by. I can assure you that although time is flying, i’m not having fun.

“Hello, Emergency Service Operator speaking, which service do you require?”

“erm, the one with the ambulance thing. Yeah that’s it, ambulance please,” I ask and the operator who connects me instantly “Hello? I’m currently in an alleyway on Chiswick High Road and I was attacked and I’m bleeding really badly and I think they might have shot me, I don’t know it happened so fast and I just need help please,” I explain swiftly to the operator who keeps a calm tone.

“Okay miss can you stay on the phone? There’s an ambulance heading your way now. Can you stay on the line as I ask you questions?” The operator asks.

“I can try, but things are getting fuzzy.” I explain.

“Okay, so what’s your name miss”

“Y/N M/N L/N”

“What’s your age?”

“Oh erm what year is it again? Oh yeah 2015, so I am 23” I figure out.

“Okay miss, now what’s your blood type?”

“Red? I don’t know for the life of me Jesus Christ this is bad, i’m sorry,” I say to the operator as things start to fade in and out and I try to fight it, I really do yet black spots cover my vision and as I feel myself start to fall the last things I can hear is the operator on my phone asking me to stay awake.

——

“Okay class settle down today we are going to be doing work with partners so buddy up!” The teacher explains and I look around to see everyone buddy up with their best friends whilst i’m on my own. “Y/N, come here. Now you’re going to pair up with Gary okay?” I nod and we sit down at his table.

“My names not Gary, it’s Eggsy. It’s such a cooler name than Gary,” Gary, no. Eggsy says to me. I smile at him.

“Okay, Eggsy. I’m Y/N and you’re going to be my new best friend.”

“But you’re a girl.”

“So what if I am?”

“Do you pinky swear that you’re not gross like other girls.”

“I pinky swear.”

“Now we can be best friends,” Eggsy says with a toothy grin and I return it with him and we begin to work on the poster that the teacher had set for us.

——

“Wooo! Go Eggsy!” I shout in the stands next to Eggsy’s mum. Both of us cheering him on in his gymnastics competition.

“That’s my boy!” Michelle shouts and I shout alongside her cheering for my best friend as if the noise I make will make him win even more.

He pulls off the routine effortlessly as per usual and I sit there restlessly with a cheshire grin on my face, waiting until I can congratulate him because that’s some talent needed.

It was no surprise he won the competition, again, yet to congratulate him we went to the one place anybody goes for celebration, McDonalds. He orders a big mac whilst I get a M/O and we sit down and eat across from one another and Michelle is sat next to Eggsy with her meal as well.

“Well done babes,” Michelle says.

“Yeah, well done Eggsy!” I say with a mouthful of food and Michelle gives me a motherly glare. “Sorry.”

“Did you see me out there? I was flying like a bird and just swinging and it was amazing!” Eggsy explains rushingly which Michelle just chuckles at and I nod and carry on eating my meal.

——

“Oh come on Y/N what’s one night going to do to your study plan? We’ve literally only just started year eleven you’ll be fine, you’re a clever clogs anyways.”

“Eggsy, we had this conversation when it came to mocks in year ten and what did I do? I flunked it, so we are not going there.”

“Don’t be a spoilsport love come onnnn, you know you want to,” Eggsy eggs on with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Fine. I’ll take the day off and we can do what you want.”

“Oh you’re going to regret saying that now,” Eggsy chides and I roll my eyes at his antics.

“Are you trying to make me change my mind?” He shakes his head and we leave my room to go and follow whatever antics he had in store.

That night ended up with us in A & E because Eggsy got into a fight and I attempted to break it up and a for sale house sign ended up hitting me in the face.

A busted lip with a scar to remember it with since the sign managed to break through into my mouth.

The look on Eggsy’s face when it happened seemed to be one of pure anger and fear, but I could’ve been seeing things. Yet at fifteen I knew for definite after all the years I’d known Eggsy Unwin, I loved him. For the following weeks he was so protective of me that it was almost overbearing. Almost.

I managed to get him to watch some movies with me and we even ended up eventually on watching My Fair Lady which I fell asleep to within ten minutes whilst Eggsy watched the whole thing.

——

It was one of them nights, I instantly knew when the phone rang. It was Eggsy, Dean was being a dick again. He came over to my house and I put aside all of my a level revision and brought him into a hug. “Why did she pick him of all people Y/N?”

“I don’t know Eggs, it’ll get better eventually, I promise.”

“How can you promise that?” he asks and that’s when I know he needs a pick me up.

“Because i’m psychic okay, and obviously I can see your future which is extremely blinding to the naked eye that you’d need factor a thousand sun cream okay?” I explain to him with a sorrowful smile on my features, he simply nods and I pull him back into a hug although it’s an awkward angle due to the height difference.

“I was thinking about joining the marines.” Eggsy blurts out.

“That’d be great for you Eggs, I mean it’s what you want to do right?” I ask him looking into his green eyes.

“Yeah, but.” He stops.

“But what Eggsy?” I ask.

“I don’t want to leave you or mum.” He explains.

“Look, if you do just know I’m with you every step of the way regardless, and i’ll be there for your mum as well. I’ll look after her.” I explain and rub his back soothingly. He gives me a incredulous look. “Oi, don’t be cheeky. Need I remind you on how I got this scar?” I nudge him and he chuckles.

“Okay, you’ve got me,” he sighs and loops his arms around me and brings me in tightly. “How do you always know to say the right thing?” he asks.

“I’m an a level student, I’m smart what can I say?” I say cheekily with a wink and that causes him to tickle my sides and I have no escape. “Eggsy! Stop! Please!” I plead.

“Say uncle!”

“Neverrr!” I laugh out and it starts to pain me. Yet he is relentless in tickling me. “Okay okay! Uncle,” I relent and he laughs before launching himself on my bed.

“So… rom com or horror?” he asks.

“which would you prefer?” I return.

“Romcom.”

“Horror it is then,” I retort and he gasps from behind me. “Deal with it Eggboy, you prefer the romcoms and I like the horror movies I thought we had established this by now. Okay, now pick. Left or right.”

“Right.”

“It’s…. Saw!” I exclaim pulling the movie out from behind my back and he rolls his eyes at my excitement for the franchise. “Don’t worry, you can hide in my arms if you get scared,” I tease as I put in the dvd.

“Oi!” he shouts and throws a pillow which hits me square in the face as I turn around.

“What? It’s the truth and you know it,” I chastise.

——

Eggsy was halfway through training before his mum went mental at him not wanting to lose him like how she lost his dad and I could understand and so did Eggsy to the point that he dropped out.

When he returned home I had my final exam of my whole a levels. Three and a half hours of pure writing and by the time it was done my hand had cramped up into the position of how I hold my pen. Yet when leaving the building he was there waiting for me in casual clothes. “Eggsy!” I exclaimed as I ran to him to which he brought me into his arms with ease.

“Hello love,” he states with a smirk on his face. “Pub?”

“Yes, you read my mind. Especially after that exam,” I state and we head to my car that I had saved up for with work.

——

All throughout the time I was in university, Eggsy was by my side. Even when I dropped out because the band that I had been working with was starting to take off and I decided it was for the best to drop out of my degree.

He was there when my family kicked me out after learning of me dropping out and helped me find a flat as well.

There were many lows and many highs. There was always the almosts. The almost love, the almost kiss. Yet it never happened.

And thus darkness, the only familiar thing throughout, when I was attacked it was dark and that’s what it’s like for me without him, dark.

Yet in the near distance a rhythmic droning beats. It sounds almost like a heart monitor. Wait. I must have made it to the hospital. I was found in time.

Fighting to open up my eyes was probably harder than it should have been but I was determined. Although it was bright, I soon adjusted and I’m met with the clinical space of a hospital bedroom. Flowers are dotted around the room and I notice a small teddy bear in a suit amongst them all. I smile at the gesture. Then the door swings open where two nurses are chatting amongst themselves and that’s when they notice i’m awake.

The next few days were a blur and before I knew it I was heading home, alone. Although the days were a blur, nobody visited. Lying in my bed for the first time in what felt like forever was luxurious yet it was interrupted by a knock at my door and a groan from my mouth following suit. I grab my crutches and hobble to the door, ready to tell the person to fuck off yet when the door opens I’m met with the familiar green eyes.

“You’re okay!” he exclaims and goes to hug me which I recoil against.

“Yeah, as much as someone who was attacked can I guess.” I say and hobble back in leaving him to follow me in and I head back towards my bedroom where my bed beckons me.

“Are you okay?” he inquires. I just nod and sit on my bed. “Okay now I know you’re not okay, talk to me Y/N.” Tears start to well in my eyes.

“I don’t know okay. One minute I’m walking from Amy’s and the next I know someone is attacking me and asking me about your job and then I was alone and it just felt so cold and it felt horrible, like I haven’t felt like that since my parents were screaming and shouting at me for dropping out of University. Yet I was on the verge of death. But the worst thing Eggsy, it was being there bleeding out in the middle of London alone. I don’t think I can be alone again if I’m honest.” He pulls me into his side gently and motions for me to carry on. “I realised that all of the best moment in my life are with you and I don’t know what I am going to do with myself if I don’t tell you that I love you Eggsy. I have done since we were kids and I mean in a romantic way, not a platonic way and if you leave i’ll understand but I had to say it.”

“Y/N, when I got the call from the hospital saying that you were there, I froze. I don’t freeze. I was with Merlin and Roxy and I broke down hearing that news because guess what, Y/N M/N L/N I am in love with you and I have been for years okay?” He confesses and we lean into one another, it was like it went in slow motion and then the next thing I knew we were kissing. “God i’ve waited years to do that,”

“I can bet I have been waiting longer than you Eggs,” I smirk and cock my eyebrow at him. That’s when he tries to lay me down. “Ah ah ah, nope mister. I’m not allowed to engage in any physical activity for six weeks until the stitches can be taken out.” I explain to which he huffs and decides to just cuddle me instead. “But this, I can get used to,” I mutter and lay my head on his chest.

“I love you Eggsy.”

“I love you too Y/N”

#imaginetings #eggsy unwin x reader #eggsy x reader #eggsy unwin imagine #eggsy imagine #kingsman imagine

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angelicmichael · 4 years

Text

Imminient Annihilation Sounds so Dope, Chapter Six

Michael Langdon x reader

Summary: Pure Madison and Micheal content. They decide what to do after the whole fiasco with Micheals soulmate. There is implied smut in this near the end of the chapter!! This chapter is also another MICHEALS POV chapter so keep that in mind when reading!! This chapter is also incredibly angsty.. basically this chapter is just showing how soft and whipped Micheal is for Madison lmaoo

Words: 3.3k+

A/N: If you read this fic on AO3 then you know I’m literally just copying and pasting my chapter summaries lmao. Anyways, likes and reblogs always appreciated and let me know if you wanna be on the tag list!!

Previous Chapter

Next Chapter

Your typical morning routine consisted of you waking up around 7 or 8 am, checking your email to see if anyone from the cooperative contacted you, and then carrying on with your day. However, your mornings were looking really different lately.

Over the past two days, you let yourself wake up naturally - or if you heard Madison stir or wake up first you would wake up too. It was nice to let the rays of the sun and chirping of the birds naturally lead you out of slumber, not to be awakening by your deafening alarm clock or feel groggy from over sleeping.

However the circumstances you were now in weren’t too nice though. Waking up was probably the nicest part of your day, sadly. Cherishing the fact that your girlfriend was even still alive would be another highlight of your day.

After you got your bearings together after that night that you had met your soulmate in person, you contacted the cooperative and told them you would need a couple days of a break - without any contact during the break what so ever. Yesterday was the last day of no contact. Today, in a couple hours actually, you would be meeting Jeff and Mutt to get a matience update on Ms. Mead which would be your introduction back into working with the cooperative.

However, you still had a couple hours left until you had to leave Madison. After waking up naturally a couple minutes ago, you lay in Madison’s bed.. trying to get the motivation to actually open your eyes and wake up.

After the events that had occurred two days ago you basically had moved in with Madison, sure it wasn’t official but you were here 24/7. She never asked you to stay but she didn’t have too, you knew it was the right thing to do. And even by reading her mind you knew it was what she (not so secretly) wanted you to do.

After she nearly died you felt insanely guilty. If it wasn’t for you having all of these fucking soulmate issues she wouldn’t have been in that situation in the first place. But you knew there was no way for you to predict what happened.

When you met your soulmate, you were supposed to get to the house to meet her before Madison did. The whole point was for you two to arrive at the same time, or atleast you to show up first so that you both could ambush your soulmate at the same time but obvisouly that didn’t happen.

Everything that could’ve gone wrong, did go wrong. Of course your soulmate wasn’t supposed to have such strong powers either. You knew she had powers but when you switched with her and you were in her body, her powers weren’t strong at all. She only had two powers that you were aware of which were fire and the ability to bring people back from the dead. but then she showed up a couple days ago and apparently had even more advanced powers than you did? You were beyond baffled and so fucking angry. Angry that her powers grew so fast and angry that you didn’t pick up on it somehow. How could you have made mistake like this? You couldn’t help but blame yourself for not knowing about your soulmates powers, and than having Madison pay the price for it.

Unpredictability was a characteristic that you despised of the most. Not being able to predict someone made you feel helpless and out of control. You supposed the feeling of wanting to be in control came from the lack of control you felt while growing up. The situations you were put in and the hatred your family felt about you were totally out of your control. And now, you were really starting to feel out of control once again.

You’ve never met anyone who your powers didn’t work on and you honestly never thought that you would.. That’s why you felt so baffled on what to do now. You first had your suspicions about your powers not working on her when you saw her on the porch a couple nights ago.

The first thing you did when you met someone was read their mind. Sometimes it was a conscious act, sometimes not. However, when you met your soulmate you weren’t able to read her mind. No thoughts of hers filled your mind when you looked into her eyes, only your own thoughts seemed to echo in your ears.

You should’ve known then but you wrote that off as maybe one power of yours being defective. However, when you tried to kill her your suspicions became true.

At first you felt stupid for thinking you would be able to take her out so easily. Then you figured it was probably impossible to kill your own soulmate, even if you did hate them. Now you would just have to wait for the apocalypse to take her out you supposed, since she seemed to be invincible towards you. However that felt wrong. It felt wrong to just wait out her death, you felt even more angry and vengeful towards her more than ever that she fucked with Madison. You felt it would only be right if you were the one to take her last breath from her, not some generic bomb that would take out the entire population as well. You wanted to see the life leave her eyes, you wanted to see her be tortured and cry and writhe in pain in her last moments on earth. No one hurt your girlfriend and got away with it, the bitch had to pay. Actions have consequences after all. You just had to find a new way to make this happen but you knew if there was a will there was a way.

She could block your powers, yes. That was a fact but if you physically attacked her? Like with your fists? There’s no way she could be immune to that if you actually manually killed her with your own two hands.

It’s not like you couldn’t choke someone out, hell, you did it to your own grandma and nearly killed her in the process.. You guess that was the plan then. It seemed simple enough, easy even. Almost too easy. You felt stupid for returning back to L.A if you were just going back to Lousiana but you knew that the choice to come back was necessary. Madison needed time to rest, even though you healed her pretty much instantly after the incident happened.

You finally stretched in your bed. Or Madison’s bed, actually. Your arm wandered over to the left side of the bed where Madison typically resided, your hand reaching out for her to pull her close to you - but she wasn’t there. Instead your hand only felt the semi cold bed sheets and your stomach dropped. Where was she?

In normal circumstances you wouldn’t be so irrational and think the worst but after knowing that someone existed who was stronger than you, you were a little on edge.

Sitting up straight so quickly on the bed made you slightly light headed, but you quickly focused instead on trying to hear her thoughts. If Madison was still in her apartment or atleast in close proximity, you would be able to hear her thoughts.. and you did. You didn’t bother listening to exactly what they were, you just heard them - like a slight buzzing or humming noise.. like a swarm of insects almost. You got out of the bed and decided to check the kitchen first, the door to the master bathroom was empty and obvisouly vacated.

The smell of coffee started to grow stronger as you approached the kitchen. The wooden floors nearly stung your feet with how cold they are - as you were barefoot. In fact, the only garments you happened to be wearing was a pair of tight fitting black boxers.

Then when you turned the corner into the kitchen you saw her. You smirked, she was nearly naked. She wore ‘clothes’ (if you could even call them that) that matched yours. She sported only a tight black bra and matching black underwear, with a white sheer robe that was thrown over that was very loosely and lazily tied around the waist - a pathetic attempt in your opionion to remain modest. I mean after all, you did have neighbors. Madison lived in the city in a apartment with so many windows you even bother to count them all.

She didn’t even notice you when you came into the kitchen. She close to the sink, looking over the city through one of the big windows with a mug in hand. Moodily sipping.

That was when you started to notice that something was off. Off with Madison. Something was wrong, very, very wrong. Madison was never the type to get up at 8 or 9 in the morning and make coffee and then - do whatever the hell she was doing now. Drinking coffee and looking at the view? Who was this? It certainly wasn’t the Madison you grew to know and love.

As of late, She always slept in until 11 or noon, and then she would try her best to convince you to stay in bed with her all day and take care of her.. And you had no problem doing so - in fact you were the one who insisted on watching her since you felt so guilty. It was your fault she got hurt in the first place. It was just.. very unsettling to see her like this.

You slowly approached her silently until you were just a couple steps behind her. You even stopped breathing to avoid making your presence known.

“Darling”?

You spoke. Your voice cut into the crisp morning air like a knife. Madison jumped nearly a foot, letting go of the coffee cup but mere seconds before it hit the ground - you were able to catch it with your magic and put it safely on the kitchen island counter. Thank god for your cat like reflexes your father graced you with. The coffee was defintly spilled on the floor though.. Dammit.

Madison whipped around,

“Fucking shit Micheal”.

Her arms folded over her chest. Her eyes looked tired, they were rimmed with dark circles and there was residue from mascara under her eyes. You wonder if she got any sleep last night at all... you thought she got sleep last night since you slept next to her but perhaps not. The expression on her face was more than just being tired though. Her face held some other expression that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on.

“what are you doing up this early? Are you okay”?

You asked. You were expecting some kind of sarcastic rebuttal, or atleast for her to roll her eyes but she did neither of those things. Instead she briefly looked at her nails, licked her lips and tried to not meet your gaze. She was nervous, that was easy to tell. You were about to open your mouth again to try and pursuade her to communicate with you but she beat you to it this time.

“Ever since.. that situation happened, I’ve been having nightmares Micheal. Horrible nightmares, and if it’s not nightmares than it’s insomnia but you haven’t even noticed have you? You’ve been so fucking distant lately-“!

You felt as if a rug was pulled out from under you. Feelings of anger and confusion started to rise within you and it was starting to get hard to control yourself. You’ve always had zero patience when it came to other people blaming you or getting upset with you.

“What are you talking about? You’ve been my number one priority Madison. I put the cooperative on hold once again, and now for the second time the end times are being put off for you-“

You started but Madison cut you off, she was now nearly screaming. Her voice rang throughout the apartment - shrill and sharp.

“No Micheal! I have never been your priority. Do you really want me to start listing people who are a bigger priority to you than me? Because it’s nearly fucking everyone”.

The anger you felt, first in your chest and now starting to spread throughout your body was getting harder and harder for you to control. You knew that you didn’t want to hurt Madison, but it was starting to become difficult to really convince yourself of that. You could feel your shoulders and your jaw tense up, your hands were clenched into tight fists as your teeth gritted together. When you spoke it came out as a hiss.

“Madison. Everything I’m doing is for you, it’s for us. The whole point of trying to end the fucking world is so that we can live a better life without having to deal with all of this bullshit. The fact that you can’t recognize that is fucking alarming, to say the least”.

You swallowed and crossed your arms, and tried to shake out the tension you felt by rolling your shoulders back. Madison sighed and frowned. She walked closer to you and put her hand on your shoulder.

That was another thing you loved about Madison. She wasn’t scared of you. You knew that was the only reason why Jeff and Mutt, and most others, listened and obeyed your every command. It was more than just respect, they feared you. You knew within a split second you could obliterate their soul - like they never exsisted. Madison knew this and yet she didn’t cower. She wasn’t afraid to tell you no, it made her unique. It made her stand out.

“I know that, Hun. It’s just.. that’s not it. That’s not the point I’m trying to make here”.

She said and she paused and stared at you. Her eyes narrowed, she seemed deep in thought - as if she was trying to find the right words to say. Easily you could read her mind and just find out what she was trying to say but out of respect for her and this situation, you chose not too.

“Micheal.. Ever since.. you switched you’ve been different. Your close with me physically but your distant. You’ve been depressed and I think we both know how to solve this problem, we just don’t like the answer”.

The anger you felt washed away once you heard those words. It was replaced with fear, worry and abondenment. That one thing you fucking feared the most, probably more than death or even disappointing your father - being abondend again. You couldn’t take it - you couldn’t. Tears started to prick at your eyes and you hated yourself for it. You hated being weak. You could feel yourself shaking ever so slightly, and Madison having her hand on your shoulder still, felt you shaking.

She brought you in for a hug, her skin was cold but it was still a comforting gesture. You felt her lips softly kiss your cheek and then she whispered into your ear,

“This isn’t goodbye, I would never do that to you. I would never leave you Micheal”.

She parted from your hug just so she could make eye contact as she spoke. You felt a stab in your heart as you saw her eyes were wet, she was crying. Something that was extremly uncharacteristic of her.

“But we need to take a step back. At least for now because you need to figure this thing out with her. I can’t stand to see you so distant and depressed Micheal, you need to see her and atleast try to have some kind of relationship with her. Whether that’s friendship or dating, that’s up to you but you need to try. I’ll always be here for you”.

You felt yourself start to breath faster and faster as you shook your head, in total disbelief. There was no way what she was saying was real, there had to be some other way.

“No. No, There has to be some other way Madison. I have a new plan to try to kill her, we don’t have to use magic”.

You pleaded, your voice sounded strange from you being upset. You wiped away your tears with the back of your hand as you sniffled. If it was anyone else other than Madison (or perhaps Ms. Mead) you would have killed them on the spot for allowing them to see you cry. No one saw you cry. Execpt Madison.

Madison shook her head at your response.

“Micheal, we both know that’s not a option and that’s not going to work. The fucking bitch can seem to block your powers, I’m sure she would find some way to defy death even if you did choke her out”.

She grabbed a pack of ciggerates from the island counter and took a ciggerate, and with the wave of her hand lit it. She took a hit and slowly exhaled and then continued talking,

“Trust me, I want that cunt dead just as much as you do but.. I also know you Micheal. And I want you to be happy and as much as I’ll be jealous, she’s what you need right now”.

As soon as you felt a tear slip onto your cheek, you moved in to kiss her. Hard. Of course you took the ciggerate away from her first though. You put both of your hands on the side of her face as you first felt her freeze, then quickly melt into the kiss as she swiftly crossed her hands over the back of your neck.

Your intentions were to give her one last good kiss but this was quickly turning into more. One kiss turned into two and before you knew it you full blown making out. Tongue and everything. The kiss was sloppy and full of emotion, too much emotion than you liked. You pulled away, partially to get a breath and partially to talk to her. You moved your hands from her face but her hands still lingered on you, not letting you go.

“Madison I don’t want anyone else. I don’t care if she’s my soulmate. I want you, your all I need”.

You pleaded. Your swollen lips made it difficult to talk.

“Less talking, more kissing”.

Madison growled, and pulled you in for another kiss. You lifted her up by grabbing the back of her legs and having her jump so that you could put her on top of the kitchen island. She scooter back so that she could lay down and pulled you on top of her. you heard the coffee cup you placed ealier on the island hit the ground and shatter but you didn’t care. The ciggerates along with many other belongings were also now on the floor as well but lust was now starting to consume you and cloud your judgement to the point where you just didn’t fucking care. The only thing you cared about was making Madison the happiest woman in the world, currently.

After seeing Jeff and Mutt and letting them know all future cooperative meetings would be done via zoom, you returned back to your penthouse. You thought briefly about going back to Madison’s apartment to get your things but if what she said was true then you would be able to get your stuff back anytime.. At least you hoped. You tried to not think too much about that.

But right now you sat in your home that was currently lit by candles - you were prepping to talk with your father to hopefully get some insight about this situation.

You had your laptop in front of you that you just booked a one way flight to Lousiana with that would be leaving tonight. Here goes nothing.

Taglist: @mindlesschicca

#imminient annihilation sounds so dope #michael x reader #my fic #my works #michael langdon x reader #ahs

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q-gorgeous · 4 years

Text

Danny Phanturd?

fanfiction

Prompt by @phandom-phriend false hope

Words: 1591

this is a more light hearted false hope but i hope its still fun sdvfygah

Dash was walking home from school. No football practice today, no Nasty Burger hangout. So he had to walk all the way home and start working on his dreaded homework right away. He wished that everyone wasn’t so busy.

Just as he was about to cross the street, Dash saw a figure gliding through the sky. Looking up, Phantom was flying through the air, looking this way and that. Probably looking for some ghosts to take care of. What a guy, protecting the city like he does.

Suddenly an idea crossed his mind and a grin spread across Dash’s face as he started waving Phantom down from where he stood on the sidewalk.

“Phantom! Phantom! Hey!”

Phantom looked down at Dash, an indescribable expression on his face, and flew down to meet him.

“Uh, hello! Citizen… What can I do for you today?” Dash squinted at him. “Did you forget my name?”

“Huh, what? No, of course not.”

“When we got chased by that hunter robot you knew my name. Why would you not be using it if you didn't forget it, hmm?”

Phantom scratched the back of his neck. “Uh… Professionalism?”

Dash nodded vigorously, his mouth the shape of an O. “Ohhh okay, that makes sense. Anyways, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out later? At the park or something?”

Phantom looked away. “I don’t know… I’m sort of busy, and I have a lot of stuff I have to do…”

Dash clasps his hands together. “Please, Phantom! All my friends are busy and there’s no football practice right now. Please? Can’t we hang out for just a little bit?”

“I guess…” Phantom sighed. “Did you have anything in mind that we’d be doing or would we be chilling?”

“You like stars, right?” Dash asked. “I thought we could meet at the picnic table near the big tree around nine and stargaze or something.”

Phantom smiled and his freckles lit up a soft green. “Yeah. Stargazing does sound kinda nice, actually. See you later?”

“Yeah! See you later!”

Phantom waved goodbye and shot back into the sky.

Dash turned back to face the crosswalk again, smiling. Finally, something to look forward to today. He just had to get his homework done first.

QQQQQQQQQQQ

On his way to the park, Dash was smiling big and bright. He got all his homework done for once, he had a nice dinner, and now he was on his way to hang out with Phantom! Danny Phantom! He couldn’t believe he got the ghost boy to agree! When he got to the park he was prepared to point out the big dipper to Phantom in display of his constellation skills.

As he walked up to their meeting spot though, Phantom was nowhere in sight. He wasn’t sitting on the bench or floating in the air nearby.

Ok, ok. Maybe he's just running late. Phantom’s a busy guy, always disappearing to who knows where all the time. He probably just got caught up in something.

Dash sat down on the bench and started picking at splitters in the table. And waited.

After he had gathered a hefty pile of splinters, Dash checked his phone to see the time.

10 pm.

Where was Phantom? Did he have to go fight a ghost or something? He hoped he’d be alright.

Dash moved to lay on top of the picnic table and looked up at the sky. His eyes traced the constellations that dotted the black abyss until he finally found the big dipper. He looked around more, taking in the other stars. Perhaps he should have looked up more than one constellation.

Another half hour later, Dash lay on his stomach, reaching down towards the grass and plucking it up and whistling with it. Phantom still wasn’t here. What if he forgot? Yeah that could be it. Maybe he’d remember soon and they could finally hang out.

11 pm.

Dash sat on top of the picnic table, feet resting on the bench below him looking somberly at his phone. Shoulders hunched, his grip tightened on his phone before he sighed and tucked it in his pocket.

Maybe Phantom really didn’t want to hang out.

Slowly, Dash stood up and started his trek home. What a waste of a good couple of hours. He could have been at home playing video games but instead he was here chasing some false hope he had. Why would the town hero wanna hang out with him? There’s nothing special about Dash Baxter. He’s just a normal civilian.

He trudged the rest of the way home, where he promptly flopped directly on top of his bed.

QQQQQQQQQQQ

The next morning Dash woke up, blearily blinking until he could see. He didn’t get much sleep last night and his face hurt in tired.

He throws back his blankets and stomps his way downstairs. Once in the kitchen, he pours himself a hefty bowl of cereal and grumpily chomps it down.

Why’d he have to get his hopes up? This is the problem with that whole “dream big” phrase. This dream wasn’t even that big of one! What’s the point of dreaming big if it goes nowhere?

Maybe today would be better once he got to school, if you could imagine that. Today’ll be some prime nerd wailing. He could get a few rounds in with Fenton, that’d be nice.

Finishing his cereal, he plops the bowl down in the sink and gets ready for school. After gelling his hair back and brushing his teeth, Dash smiles in the mirror at himself before running down the stairs and out the door, pulling it closed behind him.

QQQQQQQQQQQ

Slamming the door shut, Dash fumed and threw his backpack on the ground before falling onto the couch in front of the tv. Fenton wasn’t even at school today! His favorite nerd to wail on! It wasn’t the same as beating up the other kids, they didn’t make it interesting. Now he’s been building up steam all day, with nowhere to let it go to. Angrily, he hits the power button on the remote and watches as the news flickers on.

Dash leaned his head back onto the couch. Did life just hate him? Why was it making him suffer?

He glanced back at the tv and furrows his brows when he saw the tree he had been waiting by in the park last night. Did somebody get mugged? That’d be tragic. He turned the volume up.

“-Fenton boy was found passed out in this tree all the way at the top. A passing couple found him this morning and called the fire department when the boy did not wake up to their calls. When helped down and asked what he was doing up there, he simply replied ‘tired’ and went on his way home.”

Huh. What a coincidence. When did Fenton get into the tree last night? The exact tree that he was supposed to meet Phantom at. Fenton surely couldn’t have known Phantom was going to be there. So why was he…

Slowly, the cogs in Dash’s brain began to turn and he held his chin in his hand.

“Phantom… Danny Phantom. Danny… Fenton?”

His eyes blew wide open.

“Danny Fenturd is Danny Phanturd?!”

How the hell would that even be possible?! It would explain how Fenton got to the top of the tree, coincidentally in that exact spot. Ghosts are supposed to be dead! Not still alive and going to school and getting the breath knocked out of them when they got punched in the stomach.

“How the FUCK!” Dash yelled, ignoring the call of his name from his mom upstairs. How’s the dude even still alive…? He’s fighting ghosts all the time and getting knocked into the pavement and through walls!

Hurriedly, Dash pulls his phone out of his pocket and brings up a contact with a picture of a black haired boy giving him the bird and pressed the call button.

It rang a few times until a voice spoke.

“Hello?”

“What the fuck, Fenton!” Dash yelled. “You, Phantom. Tree! The park!”

“Dash?” Danny sounded confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You were supposed to meet me in the park yesterday! Well, Phantom was. But then they found you in that tree this morning! How the fuck did that happen?”

Dash heard an intake of breath over the line and a nervous chuckle followed. “What do you mean, Phantom? I’m not Phantom.”

“No, you can’t deny it now! You guys have the same name and everything! Why else would you have been in that tree?”

“Didn’t you hear? The fire department had to get me down. Phantom wouldn’t have needed that help, no siree! Haven’t you seen how brave he is? I’m sure not brave!”

Dash groaned. “Why can’t you just admit it? It’s not like I don’t already know now. Heh, maybe I’ll go easier on you when I’m… When I’m-” Dash’s face falls and he stops talking.

He’s been wailing on his hero. All this time. All this time! Dash has been beating up the guy he’s looked up to since freshman year!

“Uh, Dash?” Danny’s voice called. Dash didn’t respond. “Well, uh, I’m gonna go. I, Danny Fenton, not Phantom, have lots of homework to get done. I’m a very busy man, so I gotta go.”

Just before Danny hung up, he could hear a yell and the cackle of that… techno ghost? Over the line and then the call was over.

Dash gaped at the phone and just sat there.

#gorgi writes #danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2020 #team ghost #danny fenton #dash baxter #fanfic #fanfiction

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wonjaekook · 4 years

Text

What the Cat Had to Say

A/N: This wasn’t something I was entirely comfortable with writing because I was never the biggest HP fan (I never finished the books oops) and I was unsure about some of the lore, but hopefully this is an okay take on it ^^ yes, the switching between past and present tense is intentional. Sorry if that makes it a bit difficult to read at times.

21 Tropes: 10. Harry Potter AU + white w/Taeyong

Description: Eight years ago, in your Care of Magical Creatures class, you met Taeyong.

Word Count: 9.6k

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: umm, there’s a pistol mentioned at one point? but there’s no actual violence, near-drowning?

You first met Taeyong in your Care of Magical Creatures class in your third year at Hogwarts. Actually, that’s a little bit of a lie.

You first saw Taeyong on the train to school in your first year. You hadn’t known him at the time, but you saw him through the window of the sliding door into the compartment he was in, sitting alone. Your childhood friend and a Ravenclaw one year older than you, Moon Taeil, pulled you along, taking you to sit with him and some other kids you didn’t know. It wasn’t much of an impression, but you can still remember a lonely boy looking out the window, his head resting on his fist as the forests and hills passed in a blur outside. You were later sorted into Ravenclaw and he into Hufflepuff, so you didn’t see much of him that year anyways.

Your second year, you heard a lot about Taeyong. At the beginning of the year, he was known for excelling in Herbology, but that reputation quickly shifted. As Taeyong likes to call it, second year was his “mean year.” He was still talented with herbs, but nasty rumors spread about him cursing another student who hadn’t re-enrolled that year. People started looking at him differently. You admit that you were influenced by what you heard as well, but it later came out that the people who started the rumors about him did it because his mother is a muggle. But, when people treat you differently, it affects the way you act, too. Taeyong told you he wasn’t proud of the things he said that year. You know he can’t help showing a twinge of the loneliness he remembers feeling when he thinks about those memories. Second year was a cold year for Taeyong.

Third year was when you met Taeyong for the first time. Really met him.

On the first day of class, you were lectured by the professor of your Care of Magical Creatures class for not bringing your textbook to class. Your professor was a hawk-like man, tall and lanky with a crooked nose that looked almost like a beak and he was already terrifying enough on his own without him directly lecturing you. The thing was, he wasn’t what you were most afraid of. You were terrified of your textbook. It was a living, breathing book that could bite off your hand at any moment and you had no idea what to do about it. The best thing you could think to do at the time was lock it in the chest by your bed and pray it didn’t get out. Even with the straps on it secured, you refused to touch it once you got it into that drawer. Your Ravenclaw friends gave you weird looks, as you were usually one of the most studious out of them, and all you could do was wither in shame as your professor lectured you. You remember the incident as if it had just happened yesterday.

“The first day of class and you’re already slacking, Miss L/N? I expected better.” He’s ruthless in his berating and you try to shrink away, as if you could disappear into your robes.

“I…” How do you tell your professor that you’re afraid of the textbook? That’s a pathetic excuse. You know you shouldn’t be afraid of it. You know your professor and classmates would think you a fool if you told them the truth. Luckily enough, your professor doesn’t ask for an explanation, but, to your great misfortune, what he does demand is far worse.

“For your irresponsibility, you will be our first volunteer.” That makes you look up. The rest of the class shuffles on their feet, looking between you and the young dragon a bit deeper into the forest. It’s a small thing, the size of a large dog and probably barely out of infancy, and chained to the ground, but your body freezes when you see it. As if it can smell your fear- which it probably can, now that you think about it- it meets eyes with you, letting out a sort of low trilling sound. Its golden eyes seem to peer into your soul, rendering you motionless.

“I…” You whisper, eyes wide as you maintain eye contact with the beast, “...I can’t.”

“You can’t? You must. Unless,” he pauses, straightening up from where he had bent down slightly to talk down to you, “we have another volunteer?”

A hand shoots up. Whoever it is stands in the back, so you have a hard time seeing, but your classmates murmur as the volunteer weaves through the crowd, emerging at the front, hand still slightly raised. Your professor watches him with sharp eyes.

“Lee Taeyong. You want to take her place?”

You meet eyes with Taeyong for a moment before he looks at your professor. He’s a small, wiry sort of boy with a dark mop of hair that almost falls over his eyes. You might have thought his eyes were scary if it weren’t for the smile that lights them up. “Gladly.”

You don’t know Lee Taeyong. You’re bewildered by the fact that he just volunteered to take your place in an exercise involving a dragon. Does this boy have no fear of his life? Yet, you and the rest of your class watch as your professor orders him to remove the rest of the molting scales from the dragon and he steps forward and does it. The way he moves towards the dragon is almost a dance, with subtle, intricate steps and a little bow. When he reaches the dragon, he completes the task, coming back with a molted dragon scale in hand.

You listen to the way your professor praises Taeyong’s performance with awe before he dismisses the class. Before too long, the grove in the forest empties out and you’re left with just Taeyong. He’s watching the dragon, who is laying down to rest, but your eyes dart back and forth between the two. “How,” you say, careful not to be loud as not to disturb the scaly creature, “how did you do that?”

“Oh, I just read the book.” His own docile beastly textbook is tucked under his arm, barely moving besides the feelers on the edge, and he’s stroking it idly with his free hand. You notice in that moment that his book isn’t even strapped down. “I also practiced a bit during the summer. I had a lot of free time.”

“Thank you,” you say timidly, “for volunteering for me.”

“No problem,” he turns, the smile he gives you outshining the sun in that moment, “I was actually really looking forward to this class. I always wanted to meet a dragon.”

You’re a little mystified by the statement, but you push the feeling aside. “I’m sorry I never introduced myself. I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Taeyong.” He extends his free hand to shake yours, but his eyes follow the way you watch his textbook stir slightly. “Are you afraid of it?”

“What?” You snap out of it, letting go of his hand and meeting his eyes.

“Are you afraid of the textbook? Because it’s… ya know. Alive.”

An embarrassed blush instantly lights your cheeks. “I’m… not…”

His lips part as he understands. “Ooh, you are! That’s why you didn’t bring it today!”

“I’m not afraid of it! I’m just afraid of… well… animals. And that’s...” You shift uncomfortably on your feet, not wanting to look at Taeyong anymore.

“They’re nice as long as you treat them right. The same goes for any other creature. Here,” he says, moving to hold the spine of his book out to you, “it’ll be friendly once you stroke its spine.”

You jump back and your heart beats a little faster when he tries to offer it to you. “No! The way it squirms is just… it’s so… unnatural. I can’t.”

Taeyong’s eyes furrow. “It’s not unnatural, at least not any more unnatural than you and me. You just have to be nice to it. I promise it won’t bite you. Come on.” He demonstrates, stroking a gentle hand down the book’s spine. It makes a quiet purring sound and seems to still even more. He keeps his hands extended to you.

“I can’t do it. Can we just go back? Please?”

“You won’t be able to pass this class if you can’t use your textbook, Y/N.” He says it with such dead seriousness that you freeze. That’s what finally gets you. He watches the expression on your face shift from fear to discomfort to mild panic before you finally shakily sigh.

“...fine.”

He instantly brightens up and has a gentle smile on his face as he extends the book to you. “I won’t let it hurt you. Just stroke its spine.” You slowly, very, very slowly, follow his command, edging forward until your extended hand makes contact with the furry spine of the book. Barely applying any pressure, you run your fingertips down the outside of the book. You’re stiff, but you start to relax a little when it doesn’t make any sudden movements after a moment. The book lets out another low purr at your touch and you slowly retract your hand. Taeyong takes the book back, beaming at you as he tucks it back under his arm. “See? Not so bad, right?”

“I guess not…”

“Let’s go back.” You nod and follow him, falling into step next to him. Dried brush crunches under your feet and sunlight dapples the forest trail as you walk next to him, the distant chirping of birds accompanying your footsteps. After a minute, he turns his head to look at you. “Are you afraid of all animals?”

You make a face, not wanting to admit it, but you figure that he’s only asking to confirm the suspicions he already has. “Yeah. Except Tora.” Taeyong tilts his head, prepared to ask the logical follow-up question, but you speak first. “Tora is my mom’s cat. We’ve had him since I was little, so he’s a member of the family. Mom made me take him to school with me.”

“Ah.” The little sound he makes is so uncharacteristic of the mean Taeyong you had heard whispers of last year that you’re a little confused. Then again, all of the traits he’s shown you in the last while don’t align with what you’ve been told about him. “Magical creatures aren’t mean, you know. You probably just don’t trust them immediately. Do you want my help?”

“Your help?” You frown. You’re almost back to the main school grounds, the forest floor giving way to well-kept grass. “When will I ever need to interact with magical creatures?” From there, you part ways with him, heading to your Divination class.

You sought him out a week later after that when you found yourself frozen in fear again at a phoenix during class.

It took a lot of exposure therapy and time away from studying for other subjects, but Taeyong worked with you. To this day, you’re not exactly friendly with magical creatures, but you can tolerate them and they can usually tolerate you.

At the same time, you learned a lot about your new friend. He was actually quite the soft-hearted boy, with a knack for herbs and animals, and you see hardly any trace of the unpleasant person you had heard about him being during your second year. He had a white owl named Snowball who helped him a lot in his lonely times. He had a Slytherin sister who graduated a few years previous. His father passed away, so he lives with his mother when he’s not at school. He had gentle hands, but he wasn’t afraid to get them dirty sometimes and he wasn’t quite as dedicated in studying as you, preferring to go explore the rest of the castle grounds. You were glad you met Lee Taeyong.

By the middle of third year, you were moving past your fear. You later found out that you couldn’t say the same for Taeyong. You really thought that boy was fearless for how he always volunteered during your Care of Magical Creatures class with even the most dangerous specimens. It wasn’t until the winter that you came face to face with the part of him that he was most afraid of.

Behind Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts is your second favorite class. It helps that your professor is a relatively kindly man, gentle to students and quick to protect them when the time comes. That’s why, even though the concept is scary, you’re not terribly worried about the boggart exercise today. When it’s your turn, an overly large and sharp-clawed lion appears from the closet and, after a moment of mild panic, all it takes is a flick of your wand and the word, “Riddikulus!” before the creature turns into a stuffed version of itself, all fear factor gone.

Then, Taeyong steps up. Though the two of you make a bit of an odd pair, your classmates had gotten used to you studying together and pairing up for activities. Some of your own Ravenclaw friends had befriended him as well, to your delight. But, when Taeyong steps up right after you, you don’t know what to expect. What could the fearless Taeyong that you had befriended have trapped inside?

The boggart morphs into a swirling grey mass of matter for a moment, as if it’s digging deep through his memories and fears, until, finally, it takes a very familiar shape. A quiet murmur goes through the class when, before Taeyong, is another version of himself. This one, instead of a wand, brandishes a pistol, and the look in its eyes is empty, a smear of blood covering its cheek. Its eyes turn towards Taeyong and he, wand stiff in his hand, stumbles back as it points the gun towards him. He falls, landing with his hands supporting his weight behind him.

“Taeyong-” You and the professor warn at the same time, and Taeyong seems to snap out of it, pointing his wand at the creature. The warding spell leaves his lips and a harmless flower pops out of the end of the pistol instead of a bullet as it pulls the trigger. The creature disappears a moment later as Taeyong backs away and another student takes his place, your professor encouraging the rest of the class to continue the activity. You offer him a hand and he takes it, standing and dusting off his robes.

Once the class is dismissed, you try to corner him, but he slips out the door, shouldering past the rest of your classmates. Your eyebrows furrow and you frown, trying to follow him. Despite your efforts, you lose him after a few moments. Luckily enough, you’ve been friends with him long enough that you think you know where he’s going.

You trudge through the snow on the way to the bridge and cross it, shivering as the wind cuts into your robes, before you see him enter the open-aired building where the owls stay just a few moments ahead of you. A minute later, you join him, plopping down on the cold stone floor next to him. Snowflakes dust his hair and robes, dotting it with white. His breath comes out in small clouds and he frowns when he sees you, but doesn’t move away.

“I wanted to be alone,” he huffs out, a larger cloud of foggy breath leaving him. He would never say that if he was feeling fine.

“You’re not okay.” He doesn’t deny it, so you know you’re right. “What happened?” He shakes his head, studying the floor. An owl hoots quietly above your heads. “Taeyong,” you say quietly, reaching for his hands. They’re cold in yours, so you lean down, blowing warm breath onto his fingers and then covering them with your own, trying to trap the heat in. “You’re helping me with what I’m most afraid of. Let me help you.”

He watches your hands for a moment, then his eyes shift up to look at the worried, earnest expression on your face. Finally, he sighs. “You’re right. I guess.” His cheeks are pink with the cold and because, unbeknownst to you, of the way your fingers wrap around his, trying to protect them from the biting winter air. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“That’s okay,” you say, smiling and looking at him with bright eyes, “I’m here for as long as you need.”

That day, in the company of winter winds and owls, Taeyong tells you about his mother, a superstitious woman who, once she found out about magic from his father, took to believing just about every washed up fortuneteller and magician she met. It only got worse once his father passed away and, one day, she took him to a so-called psychic. He hadn’t believed the woman at the time, but a nagging feeling in the back of his head kept him from ever completely disregarding the prophecy she spoke into existence that day. The psychic told him that he would become a killer, someone who takes lives in cold blood, with a glistening pistol in his hand and no fear of god in his soul.

“I know,” Taeyong rasps, swallowing hard, “I know she was just a con artist. That it wasn’t real magic. But, I just… I’m afraid that’s what I’ll become one day.” His confession hangs in the air for a moment, like he’s scared that he’s now speaking his fate into existence. You blink and the feeling is gone.

“Well,” you say, squeezing his hands tighter in yours, “I know for sure that she’s wrong.”

He seems confused, his head instantly snapping up so he can look you in the eyes. All he sees there is confidence and a sort of reassurance that he has been longing to feel for a long time. “You’ve only known me for like four months. How can you say that?”

“Because, you’re Taeyong. You’re the Taeyong who cares about plants and animals and came to the owl sanctuary because you felt bad. You’re the Taeyong who’s helping me get over my fear of animals just because you have that much faith in the good of the world. You’re the Taeyong who cries when you see a bird with a broken wing and tries to go exploring in the Forbidden Forest because you want to meet all the creatures living there. I might not have known you for a long time, but I know that much about you. I don’t think you ever have to worry about becoming that type of person.”

The strong belief you have in your eyes and the way you hold his hands has tears welling up in his eyes. With a smile, you pat his head with one hand, brushing some of the melting snowflakes out of his hair. After a short burst of silent tears on his part, you let go of his hands so he can wipe at his face. “Thanks, Y/N,” he sniffles.

“No problem. But, can we go back inside now? It’s really cold.” Once again, you’re pulling him to his feet. The two of you race back inside together, two figures cloaked in the black of your robes against the glistening white snow.

Thinking back on it, it’s a sweet memory. Perhaps you had feelings for him before you even knew it. It wasn’t long before Taeyong became your closest friend, and you his. It’s strange because, if you just saw him on the street one day, you probably would have been scared of him. But, knowing he’s a gentle Hufflepuff who’s more concerned about taking care of animals than anything else, you know not to be afraid. Even if his eyes and the serious set of his face does make him look a bit intimidating sometimes.

In the last week of your third year, you’re just studying for one of your upcoming exams when Taeyong speaks up from where he’s reading a textbook next to you.

“Y/N,” he says, breaking the silence of the library, “do you want to go on an adventure?”

You try to stay focused on your book, so you keep looking down, but you’re hardly reading the words on the page now that Taeyong is talking to you. “Tae, I’m studying.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ve been studying all day and we have an hour until dinner.” He normally wouldn’t try to drag you away from your studies so easily, so you look up, tilting your head to prompt him to continue. “Johnny showed me the other day. It’ll be cool, so come on.”

“Johnny Seo? Gryffindor Johnny?” Hearing that the idea came from him, you’re a bit nervous, but, by this point, Taeyong is already standing up, tucking his textbook away, and grabbing onto your arm. You know by now that once he gets excited about something, there’s not much that will distract him from it, so you acquiesce, letting him tug you along.

By this time of year, spring is in full bloom, all the ice is gone from the lake, and it’s a breath of fresh air to be out of the stuffy library and into the courtyard. But, he’s not dragging you to the courtyard. He’s going further, crossing into the friendly side of the forest where your Care of Magical Creatures class is usually held. It’s another minute of wandering, him searching intently for something, before he finally finds what he’s looking for. He cracks a smile and lets go of your arm, approaching what you now realize is a massive, full-grown hippogriff. Your eyes widen in panic. From what you’ve read from your beastly textbook - who you had grown to come to terms with using - hippogriffs are extremely dangerous.

“Taeyong, be careful!” You yell, seeing him approach the creature. His grey and white feathers shine slightly in the spring sunlight and he doesn’t stand up from his resting position, his horse and eagle legs curled under him. He just watches as Taeyong bows and walks towards him. Taeyong extends his hand towards the creature and you pull out your wand, expecting the worst.

However, to your surprise, the creature butts his head into his hand, almost like he’s nuzzling him. “It’s okay,” he says, half-turning towards you and stroking him, “we’re friends.”

“This,” you say, exasperated, “this is what Johnny showed you?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong says, beaming while continuing to stroke the beast, “Johnny said the groundskeeper feeds him sometimes and his name is Greyhoof. Come closer, he’s friendly.”

You shake your head, making a slightly pained expression, before you put away your wand and approach slowly, giving in. The creature watches you do your ceremonial bow and he lowers his head towards you as well. Trying to keep your mild panic bottled up, you finally get close enough that you can extend your hand and run it over the feathers of the creature’s neck. He welcomes the touch, so you relax a bit, continuing to stroke him.

“See? Friendly.” Taeyong looks at you, the smile still glowing on his face. “Now that introductions are taken care of, let’s go.”

“Go?” Your relaxed state turns back to anxiety when your friend pats Greyhoof’s neck and he rises to his feet, causing you to jump back and retract your hand as he towers over both of you. Taeyong quickly and easily climbs onto his back, reaching out to you afterwards. You stare at his hand. “No way are you expecting me to-”

“I told you it’ll be fun. Trust me.”

All reluctance leaves you a minute later when you and Taeyong are soaring over the lake on the back of the hippogriff. Your hands are tight around his waist, the wind blows through your hair, and exhilaration fills you. High up, on the back of a hippogriff, there’s only you and Taeyong. Every person is small below you, a dot of color against the beautiful spring landscape.

By the end of your third year, Taeyong had taught you what it was like to fly.

For the first time, during the summer between your third and fourth year, you remember missing being at school. You still have all the letters you and Taeyong wrote back and forth to each other during every summer, but one letter stands out particularly in your memory. In July, right around his birthday, Taeyong had written that he wished he could have celebrated it with you and that he missed you. That “I miss you” written in his messy, boyish handwriting made your heart beat too fast and too hard to be normal. It’s then that you realized you had fallen in love with Lee Taeyong.

When you took the train back to Hogwarts on the way to start your fourth year, you were far more awkward than you like to admit. Taeyong told you years later that he felt like he did something wrong or that you didn’t like his hair - something else that had changed over the summer. Somewhere along the few months away from school, Taeyong had started to style his hair and your poor teenage heart could not handle how handsome he looked when you saw him for the first time going back to school.

Other than the fact that Taeyong made your heart to do cartwheels every time you saw him, which was practically every day, fourth year passed by with relative monotony. It was torturous in the fact, though you felt like you were going into cardiac arrest every time he was near, he never even looked at you differently. In all of your fourteen year old wisdom, you tried everything - changing your hairstyle, wearing your robes a bit differently, applying a bit of makeup. Your fellow Ravenclaws looked at you weirdly every time you came back from studying with a defeated look on your face. You even considered using your skill in potions to brew a love potion to make him fall for you back, but you quickly dismissed the idea. You could never have done that Taeyong.

With all that angst, you never told him. You left fourth year still very much infatuated with him and without confessing your own feelings.

Your fifth year, the Triwizard Tournament was held at Hogwarts. The summer was a good opportunity to settle down and prepare for the festivities to come, and you distinctly remember trying to keep Taeyong off of your mind for most of that time. You didn’t write him as much that summer - only sending the occasional letter - for fear of seeming obsessed and giving away your ever-growing feelings. However, as usual, you sat with Taeyong on the train ride to school. In that time, you remember that he was oddly silent. You feared that maybe he had figured you out and felt uncomfortable. Yet, after a week, things had normalized between the two of you again. Taeyong later told you in seventh year that he had thought you hated him because you didn’t write that often that summer and he had developed his own enormous crush on you.

An older Hufflepuff friend of yours and Taeyong’s, Lee Taemin, is chosen to represent your school in the tournament and you spend your time dragging Taeyong along to support him. Despite your senior being from the same house as him, Taeyong seems unenthused. You try to prod the answer out of him, ask why he isn’t excited about the tournament, but he doesn’t give, just tells you it’s nothing. The first event - a dragon trial - Taemin completes with ease, holding up his golden egg victoriously.

The clue tells him that the next trial will have to do with water. Between studying for your own classes, you try to help Taemin. Your strong suit has always been potions - you figure there has to be a potion out there that will help him breathe underwater and, if there isn’t, you could invent one. Taeyong is with Taemin and some of the other male Hufflepuffs when he opens the egg and hears the song that comes from it. When he comes back from it, he seems off, staring out the window when he would usually be busy studying alongside you. You try to ask him questions, but he just gives you vague answers, always looking out towards the lake, his textbooks unopened in front of him. With your building stress about helping Taemin, falling behind in your own school work, and, as you’ve been reminded by one of your professors who takes the steps of teaching your entire house how to dance properly, the impending Yule Ball and your lack of a date, the sight of Taeyong distracted so often makes you snap.

“If you have so much time to be spending looking out the window, the very least you could be doing is helping with Taemin’s trial.” The words come out far more bitterly than anything you’ve ever said to Taeyong. His normally relatively soft, carefree expression turns hard and he stands up.

“I guess I’ll go help, then,” he says, as if he can hardly move his lips at all, and stares at you with a sort of misty look in his eyes. You immediately regret snapping at him.

“Taeyong…” He’s already several paces away when you say his name, quickly disappearing from the library. With immense guilt weighing you down, you quickly pack up and trail after him, trying to see where he went. Towards the lake?

You’re at the end of the hallway leading outside when you see Taeyong, walking straight towards the dock. Confused and concerned, you follow him from a distance. He disappears into the line of trees that lies between the shore and the castle, so you hesitantly follow him. “Taeyong?” You call out to him, wondering if your voice will reach him. You’re barely emerging from the woods when you see Taeyong leaning towards the water. When he doesn’t stop leaning forward, perilously close to pitching over the edge, your heart flutters with worry. Something more has to be wrong, right? You start to run, feet pounding on dirt and rock and then the wood of the dock. “Taeyong!”

Your shout comes just as he falls into the water. You run faster, skidding to a halt by the edge of the pier. A few seconds pass. Then a few more. He doesn’t come up. Without a moment more hesitation than to strip off your heavier robes and shoes, you dive in.

The water is cold and you feel heavy, but you swim down, down, down, for what feels like far too long, until you see Taeyong. There, close to being wrapped in the shadows of the deeper part of the lake, is a mermaid. Her features are a distortion of a human’s, eyes too big and fish-like, skin too grey and scaly, hair made out of what looks more like the plants at the bottom of a lake than normal locks. She holds Taeyong’s face in her hands, singing a beautiful, haunting song that you know muddles your thoughts and is something an ordinary person shouldn’t be hearing. Taeyong floats in place, still, his eyes wide open, hair billowing around him. Your breath strains at your lungs, your heartbeat pounding in your eyes almost drowning out her singing, so you grab onto Taeyong, catching the mermaid’s attention. She screams at you, a horrifying sound that’s like someone dragging a metal fork against a piece of china, and lets go of your friend. You grab for your wand and lift it, casting a protection spell, before casting a spell of speed, launching you and Taeyong to the surface. You both land with wet thumps on the dock, coughing up the bit of water that had managed to enter your lungs. Taeyong heaves himself up onto his elbows, wheezing and gasping painfully as air fills his body once again. Your lungs burn like nothing you’ve ever felt before and the adrenaline rushing through your body eventually subsides, leaving you colder than before. Lying there for a few minutes, both of you work to catch your breaths, the autumn wind cooling your skin even further. Finally, Taeyong speaks.

“There’s merpeople down there,” Taeyong murmurs, half to himself.

“I could have told you that without you trying to drown yourself!” You cry out, tears starting to mix with the lake water covering your face. You try to wipe at your cheeks with your robe sleeves, but they’re soaked through, proving your efforts fruitless. “Why would you do that? What’s wrong with you?”

Taeyong looks confused at your pained expression. “I thought you wanted me to help Taemin?”

“I would rather you stay safe than hurt yourself trying to help him,” you weep, “I was so scared you were going to die.” It takes you a minute to calm your crying, but you eventually stop, sitting there and shivering with your arms wrapped around your legs. Taeyong watches you, a guilty expression on his face. Once you’re done crying, you remember the heavy robes you had stripped off before diving in and crawl over to them, grabbing them and moving closer to Taeyong so you can wrap them around the two of you once you both stand up on shaky legs. “Are you okay, Taeyong?”

“My head has felt weird since I heard the song in Taemin’s egg,” Taeyong mumbles, looking back at the water. “But I think I’m okay now. That mermaid must have enchanted me or something.”

You nod, leaning to pick up your shoes. “I’m sorry for what I said to you. I know it wasn’t right and I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“That’s okay. You still came to save me, after all.” The smile Taeyong gives you is almost enough to make you believe him. The smile falters as he apologizes. “I’m sorry I made you cry.”

“It’s better I’m crying that you’re alive than that you’re dead.” You huddle under your robe with him, tugging him along so you can get back inside and warm up. Taeyong takes your hand in his and you share the tiniest bit of warmth in that touch.

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?” Taeyong’s question nearly shocks the life out of you.

“Do you still have lake water in your brain?” You laugh, trying to follow if this is a joke. You really hope it isn’t.

He shakes his head, looking at you with slightly wide eyes. “No, I’m really asking you. Do you want to-” “Yes!” You rush out a bit too quickly, interrupting him. You shy away slightly, looking down at the ground in embarrassment. Your heart beats too fast in your chest and you feel like your body is finally warming up, even though your clothes are still soaked. Taeyong’s hand in yours is particularly warm. “...sorry. Yes, I’ll go to the Yule Ball with you.”

The way he looks at you, showing all his teeth, lips curled upwards, and his eyes scrunching together in happiness, almost makes you forget that the two of you had been practically drowning a few minutes ago.

In the few weeks leading up to the ball, you and Taeyong talk in hushed tones in the library about the occasion, wondering about who is going with who and what music there’ll be. Sometimes, you swear you even catch him looking at you when you’re studying and, before you can meet his eyes, he’s looking away, a slight pink on his cheeks. Once, you ask him about it, but he just avoids the topic, jittering out that it’s cold in there or something. Both of you know that the library never gets that cold.

The night itself comes and when your housemates ask who you’re going with and you only respond by smiling and blushing, they know who it is. You spend the time eagerly getting ready, adjusting your dress over and over again. When you had told your mother about your date to the ball, she had sent you a parcel via owl containing a pretty white pearl necklace, the color that reminds you most of Taeyong and matches your white and grey dress. You follow the other girls as they make their way out of your common room. You had promised Taeyong that you would wait for him on the stairs leading to the Great Hall, so you stand there, hands clasped together in front of you and bouncing on your heels excitedly. You watch as other people link up with their partners and enter the hall, as the champions all take their partners’ arms and walk in to the sound of trumpets and string instruments, as the entranceway empties out save for you.

It’s been an hour. Lee Taeyong has left you waiting for an hour. With each minute that had passed, your shoulders had slumped a little more and the bounce slowly left your body, replaced with the heavy feelings of loneliness and embarrassment. You know that it’s not like Taeyong to ditch you and he had seemed so excited, but…

It seems your crush is one-sided after all.

As you trudge back to your room, you rip the pins out of your hair one by one. How could he? Twenty, thirty minutes might be understandable, but a whole hour? You want to cry. You do cry. Your fellow Ravenclaws call you a crybaby sometimes and you know they’re right, but the indignance that you feel at being called that isn’t enough to overpower the growing pain in your heart. Hot, salty tears slide down your cheeks, surely smudging your makeup. You don’t want to use the lacey sleeves of your dress for fear of ruining the material, so you let the tears slip down your face quietly. At the base of the Ravenclaw Tower, there’s a little room with a balcony, open to the outside air. Despite the winter cold, you find yourself in that room, finally mopping at your tears with the heel of your hand, sitting on a bench and being miserable. The cold feels good against your warm face as you cry. They aren’t loud tears this time, just sniffling and rubbing at your face, but it’s enough to fill the silence. If you hold your breath and listen closely enough, you think you can almost hear the music of the ball drifting over from the other side of the castle.

Then, the door of the room is bursting open with Taeyong behind it. He almost looks more distraught than you do, his bowtie slightly askew on his fine tuxedo and his once-styled hair disheveled. He walks over to you quickly but carefully, standing a few feet away and breathing like he had just run across the entire castle to get here. “Y/N,” he says between heaving breaths, “I’m so sorry.”

You’re so shocked that he’s here that you don’t have the energy to be angry. “I didn’t… I didn’t think you were going to show…” You say, voice nearly a whisper.

“I’m so, so sorry. Taemin lost his cat but he had to be at the ball to do the opening dance and I promised I would find her and it took forever and I’m really, really sorry!” His words fly out of his mouth so fast you almost don’t understand them, staring up at him with wide eyes. He stops talking to take a few more breaths, trying to read your face for your reaction. All you can do is look at him, so he starts speaking again, much more slowly this time. “Do you… still want to go back to the ball?”

You shake your head, not breaking eye contact with him. “I just pulled out all the pins from my hair and I’ve cried half of my makeup off. I probably look like too much of a mess.”

“Here,” he still appears upset, but reaches up, mussing up his hair even more, “now we’re even.”

You can’t help sticking out your bottom lip in a small pout, still sniffling a bit as the ghost of a smile pulls at your lips. “That’s not fair. You’re still too handsome.”

His face drops into a look of surprise at the same time that you realize you had just called him handsome. “Ah, well,” he says, nudging at the ground with his foot, his eyes darting away from you, “you’re always too pretty.” Silence hangs heavy between the two of you as you try not to look at each other, both of you too embarrassed by the situation you’ve put yourselves into. “If you don’t want to go back to the dance,” Taeyong says, finally looking at you at the same time that you look at him, “do you want to dance here?”

He offers you his hand, appearing like a prince out of a fairytale. You take it, a smile finally reaching your face. “I would love to.”

When you take his hand, he helps you to your feet, his hand warm compared to yours, which had been cooled by the winter air. “Oh,” he breathes out, digging into a pocket on the inside of his tuxedo. He pulls out his wand and points it towards the ceiling, whispering a spell you’ve never heard before. A flash of light starts in the wood of his wand before quickly shooting into the air, filling the little room with tiny balls of light that hover near the ceiling and cast pale crystalline light on your faces. You had never entered the Great Hall, so you never saw the pretty decorations in there, but you know this is more than enough. He whispers another spell and the room fills with a soft waltz, an ethereal symphony that fills the space, bouncing off the cold stone walls and making the area feel that much warmer. Tucking away his wand, he places his hand on your waist and smiles. He counts off softly. “One, two, three.”

Your feet glide across the floor in rhythm with Taeyong’s, though he’s definitely better at this than you, and you feel like you’re in your very own world. The light of the hanging orbs fills Taeyong’s eyes and bounces off the material of your dress as it trails slightly with your every step. You can’t stop looking at him, to the point where you almost trip on your feet and mess up the steps of the dance. The cold no longer feels so cold at all.

Eventually, the lights start to dim and the music fades out, leaving you standing there, breathless in the best way, holding onto his hand and shoulder. You see him swallow heavily. A moment later, you’re stepping away from each other, hands floating awkwardly at your sides, unsure what to do with them when you’re not holding each other.

“I’m sorry,” he says, his honest apology displayed clearly on his face, “for making you cry again.”

“I’m sorry for freaking out and crying again.” As you stare at each other, the looks on your faces slowly morph until you’re smiling and giggling. You reach forward, taking his hand in yours and tugging him towards the balcony. “Come on, let’s look outside. It’s really pretty.”

When you reach the railing, you don’t let go of his hand, so he takes it as a sign to step closer to you. He moves closer until your arms are pressed together, some of his warmth transferring from his jacket through the thin lace of your sleeve and to your skin. You look out at the scenery, but you’re really not seeing anything because you can tell Taeyong is looking at you and that’s all you can pay attention to. He swings your interlaced hands back and forth gently and his breath clouds as he speaks. “I really like your dress. It reminds me of Greyhoof.”

The comment takes you so off guard that you let out a little noise of surprise before tilting your head back so you can laugh. “Really?”

He flushes at your reaction, but stills the swinging of your hands and presses his lips together tightly before turning to properly face you and continuing. “What I mean is that you look really nice. You always look really nice. I… I like you a lot.”

Your mouth dries up and butterflies erupt in your heart, sending pleasant shivers tingling through your body. You almost don’t remember to respond to him, too lost in the sensation that is really happening. You feel lighter than air, flying, but heavy and tied to the ground. His hand in yours is what keeps you grounded. You finally see his nervous expression and have the presence of mind to whisper it back. “Taeyong… I like you, too.”

Of all the ways you imagined this happening, it wouldn’t have been after you cried your eyes out when Taeyong seemingly ditched you before he created a miniature ballroom in a room at the base of the Ravenclaw Tower. Then again, as Taeyong quietly asks permission and you give it to him so he can lean down to kiss you, you figure that it makes just as much sense as any other part of your relationship.

Above you, the sky opens up and it begins to snow.

You spent the rest of fifth year balancing continuing to keep up with your studies and help Taemin with his trials. It was a little hard to complete a potion for breathing underwater when all Taeyong wanted to do was hold your hand or hug you from behind in the sweetest way, but you managed. You didn’t know until a few hours after the last test that Taemin won the Triwizard Cup because you were far too busy practicing kissing with Taeyong behind the bleachers to spectate. That summer, you spend a lot of time writing to him, trying to make up for all of the letters that you had missed in all of your moping the summer before. As per tradition, every one of his letters was delivered by his owl, Snowball, with frightening speed. Taeil, your friend and neighbor, joked about you falling for a Hufflepuff every time he witnessed Snowball nearly barrel head-first into the side of your house.

When reflecting on it, you call your sixth year your ‘honeymoon year.’ Though you didn’t spend any more time with Taeyong than you did before, a much greater amount of it was spent with his hand in yours as you studied.

In your Advanced Charms class, you and Taeyong make a point of not sitting close to each other. You know by now that you would distract each other too much and that people in your year are getting annoyed with your lovesickness. As he’s passing by you while leaving class one day, Taeyong subtly slips a note onto your desk, continuing his conversation with one of his Hufflepuff friends like nothing is happening. Sliding the note into your sleeve, you start to pack up your own things. Once you’re alone, you pull out the seemingly blank note. All it takes is a tap of your wand before the words, written in what you now know very clearly is Taeyong’s handwriting, reveal themselves.

‘Meet me on the bridge at 1 -Tyong’

You smile to yourself. Upon his own insistence, you had started calling him that. He’s already waiting there for you, leaning on the railing of the bridge and gazing out at the water, when you walk over. Over the summer, he had dyed his hair a brilliant white and, though the roots are showing a bit now, you can’t help but think the color suits him well. Your footsteps alert him to your presence and he greets you with a peck on the lips. “Hi.”

“Hi, Taeyong. Why’d you call me here?”

“Because I missed you.” Those four words melt your heart and make you feel warm in the best way. He continues. “Do you want to go on a Hogsmeade date this weekend?”

“I was going to study, but I suppose I can spare Saturday for you.” You try to act a little coy, but he just uses that infectious grin of his on you and you can’t help smiling back.

“Oh! Also,” he reaches back, digging in the pocket of his robes for a moment. He pulls out a white flower a moment later, twirling it by the stem in his fingers. “I grew this in Herbology today. Professor said we only needed the root of the plant and that I could take the flower if I wanted, so…” He leans forward, fixing the flower in your hair.

“Thank you, Taeyong. It’s really pretty.” You don’t stop looking at him as you say it, the happiness on your face reflected on his.

Sixth year was a good year.

Seventh year, the closest in time to you now, and the most trying of all of them, weighs heavily on your mind still. You wish you had done something differently. Something that would have kept your paths from diverging.

“You’re going to Seoul?”

Plans after graduation is a topic that you and Taeyong tend to avoid. Of course, it’s inevitable that you can’t dodge it forever, no matter how much you want to. Now, you’re nearly heartbroken when Taeyong tells you his plans.

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about it for a while and… I want to reconnect with my dad’s family back there. Plus, the wildlife there is so different from what’s here! There’s a whole other world to explore over there.” The excitement is so clear on his face that it breaks your heart even more. That look falters when he sees the expression you wear. His next question is gently prodding, timid. “Y/N? What are you going to do?”

“I… I was planning on staying here. Working under the Ministry to become a proper Potions Master.” He studies your expression, eyes becoming more weighed down by sadness as the seconds tick by.

“Oh.”

You both know each other well enough by now to know how the other is feeling. Well enough to know that neither of you will change. Well enough to know where this is leading.

You hang on to the few threads of hope and happiness you have left until the winter. Those fall months, the grip he has on your hand starts to tighten, but somehow become looser at the same time. In the snow, on the bridge to the owl sanctuary, you and Taeyong agree to end it.

The few remaining months of school after that passed emptily. You did well on your exams, as expected of a Ravenclaw, and you didn’t see much of him. You tried not to keep eye contact with him whenever you did pass each other in common areas, but you know his eyes always followed you for far longer. It almost hurt more to not look.

Even when it’s one year, two years past graduation, you have a hard time not thinking about it. Snow, owls, herbs, all remind you of him. You keep telling yourself that you shouldn’t be so hung up on a teen crush, but you know that he was more than that. More than anything, Lee Taeyong was the most incredible person you had ever met. And you lost him. No - you let him go.

In those two years, you spent countless hours in your lab, mixing old potions and creating new ones for the Ministry of Magic, even trying on multiple occasions to brew a potion that could cure heartache but always failing, staying long hours into the night because you know that when you go home, it’s more than likely that Taeyong will cross your mind. But, all things fade.

Finally, after three years of not seeing him, Taeyong no longer occupies a lot of space in your mind. As one of the youngest of the Potions Masters, you spend almost as much time traveling on errands to retrieve items from around the world as you do brewing your own concoctions. That’s how you ended up here, in Seoul, four years later, tasked with finding a rare herb that is only grown in South Korea. You push open the door to the shop you were told about, a bell hanging on the handle jingling softly as you enter, letting the cold winter wind in. The shop is warm, tucked in a corner next to an alleyway, and smelling of all sorts of fragrant herbs. Different materials rest in jars lining the walls, arranged by what you think is color. By color? Who would organize by color and not by name or usage?

“Hello?” You call out, finding the shop empty save for a few small creatures running around, including a small grey tiger-striped cat. With a small smile, you reach down to stroke the animal, which arches into your hand when you stroke it. “You’re so pretty,” you say quietly to the cat, continuing to pet it, “you remind me of my friend Tora.”

“Coming!” There’s a small clattering noise from the entryway behind the counter of the shop before a face you know well pops out from behind the doorway, his hair a chestnut brown that you’ve never seen on him before.

And, finally, he’s in front of you again.

He blinks. “Y/N?”

“Taeyong?” You know it’s him - he couldn’t possibly be anyone else - but it’s hard to believe your eyes. In a city of millions of people, you run into the one person in the world you would know here.

If it’s possible, he’s even more handsome than the last time you had seen him, but so much of him is very much the same. He still has that little scar by his eye from when something had gone wrong in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class in fourth year, he’s still thin enough that you want to check if he’s been eating properly, he still has that soft voice that is so, so sweet and familiar when he says your name. Suddenly, all the time you had spent trying to get over him is gone and you’re back in your seventh year again, staring at Taeyong and feeling your heart beat faster and heavier in your chest.

“Why are you here? Not- not that I’m unhappy to see you! It’s really nice to see you.” With those words, your heart tells you that he never really forgot about you, either.

“I’m here to get an ingredient. I work for the Ministry now. Potions.” You feel like you can barely move your lips to answer his questions.

“Oh. Like you always wanted.” He smiles, a thin smile like he’s holding back. You wish he wouldn’t hold back. Not again.

You try to pull yourself together enough to tell him what you want, watching as he walks alongside the shelves until he locates what he’s looking for. You smile a little when you realize that organizing potion materials by color is a very, very Taeyong thing to do. As you’re standing there, patiently waiting, the cat you had greeted earlier rubs against your legs, purring quietly, so you reach down to stroke it. “How have you been, Taeyong?”

“Mm? Good. I’ve been running my uncle’s shop. On the weekends, I do a magical creatures class for kids who are magically inclined. There’s not too many wizards willing to teach that kind of stuff here.” He chats as he locates the correct jar and pulls out the right amount of the material you need. He turns to you. “Is… is this all you need?”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s all.” That’s not really all. You want to stay longer, find out how he’s really been, what he named this cat, how the kids he teaches are, if he still thinks about you.

As he rings you up, handing you your change, he pauses, the bills in his hands. His eyes lift to meet yours. “Do you want to stay for coffee or something? We can catch up. If you want.”

“I would love that.”

In the few hours you spend with Taeyong, sipping at coffee that disappears from your cups slowly, staying long enough so that he has to go make more, the space of the years between you disappears. It feels good to talk with Taeyong again. It feels good to know Taeyong again. Regrettably, the sun dips behind the horizon and you look out the window of the shop, seeing the orange sunset reflect onto the shining silver and black buildings before the daylight disappears completely, replaced by the streetlights that blink on one at a time. As the light outside of the shop flickers on, Taeyong speaks up.

“You could stay with me. We could always use more Potions Masters in Seoul.”

“Taeyong-”

“Please.”

Taeyong has always had too much of a habit of shocking you with his words and now is no different. When he says that, you know that he feels the same way that you do. He’s always felt the same way that you do. Somehow, destiny brought you back together again. It would be insane, but-

You set your coffee cup down. You can tell from his expression that he’s expecting a rejection, even with his pleading. But, by now, you think you’re done running from him.

“Do you think the Ministry takes two weeks notices?”

#taeyong fluff #taeyong angst #nct fluff #nct angst #neowritingsnet #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 angst #this turned out to be another loooong one #not as long as my last but still #i hope you enjoy my attempt #superm fluff #superm angst

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paraclete0407 · 3 years

Text

Going to give away all my story-ideas a la George Johnston’s ‘The Fire Sale’ since I feel as if Lucifer has been unleashed against me for the destruction of my flesh that I might learn not to blaspheme -

‘The Winners 2012′

With the prototype of my ‘Three Kings’ ultimate self-idea-hero, the Vice Principal or Ass’t Headmaster forced to play basketball, also something about a novel about violoncello and female self-satisfaction, inner life or pseudo-inner-life and my attack on Harvard people for their emetic unending self-celebration, which turned out to be a sort of Kim Jong Il three-day massacre-banquet + they really have a huge problem with alcohol, rape, at the same time they were right IMHO to be eating blueberries and protein-goop and so on sleeping 2hrs a night. Princeton students doing math in lucid dreams. I too would have but in retrospect I literally methinks I deduce that my bio-parents and Waqas my Paki roommate were trying to give me heart-failure in the cause of sociohistorical justice and/or ‘family tree’ hyper-narcissism. I was watching ‘Reply 1997′ and that song ‘Confession’ but I thought ‘I am gonna one day hang out with my friend again and drive through the NJ woods and it’ll all be alright b/c they are gonna have theirs and I am gonna have mine and in the end they will still be able to follow my lead and feel I was worthwhile.’ ‘Headmaster’s Wife’ something something Robert James Waller bidding for continued relevance after ‘Madison County’ but even in 2012 I just honestly wasn’t that fascinated with women or their hobbies at all. I like the Korean poem that says to look at your spouse’s brow, check homework, share food. Everyone wants a room of their own in which to produce bad art, get worse as a person, do that which others could do better. USFK bases are like huge campuses with super-nice beds and the soldiers all appear to need like 5,000 KCAL per diem or they’ll pass out. I had been in the habit of sleeping bolt-straight till I got here and liquified my form. ‘Winners’ got totally out of hand where the Ass’t Headmaster started cruising around looking for anyone and everyone to talk to and never got what he was up to - never ever ever realized that he could minimize his life and walk away, that he was manager-material at Cryan’s Irish Pub or sth, that the principal really might retire one day or just let him step up, if he didn’t keep trying to ‘discharge responsiblities’ or lay the ground for some super-daughter-figure to fulfill the mission that he had been waiting to incipit; and too, he was sort of a priest to begin with and avoided his vocation for years and decades for reasons unknown. My ex-friend from Harvard bragged about staying up for 36hrs doing something and there was President Obama saying ‘Heyyy Harvard Columbia but I also like flip-flops, chips, Occidental, jackass, fag.’ Obama had such an uneven series of statements. I used to blow up on the radio like 1000000% affirmative action; Thomas Sowell is 10000% right that the Ivies were disillusioning and damaging generation of Blacks who couldn’t read fast enough - therefore, better to go back to K-12 / HS and try to give younger people a general preparedness so that they wouldn’t leave it to mercenary oft CCP-seduced (Vogel) and it turns out oft pedophilic prof’s (Alexander Theroux is in the habit of calling Dershowitz ‘dirt’ though I actually agree with him about a lot and hope that he is still in favor of rule of law at this bizarre hour) to form or confer their identity and bequeath their sense of mission in life...

‘Thanksgiving Day’

Possibly my ‘most characteristic novel’ that predicted me never being understood or read with my own grain at all though it contained terrorist threats basically. Of all Korean pop-music with its numerous melismas in a way he most ‘abject’ was Sunny’s song from ‘Story of Wine,’ ‘Finally Now’ which made me realize actually I was gonna get cut up at all the dinner-parties, all my understandings would be met with anti-understandings, everything I simplified would be complicated, whether I throw rock paper or scissor all my ex-friends from Gov School are throwing CCP massive retaliation deepfake AI bury-the-scholar-alive fireballs. So they drove to the South Mountain Res where the homosexual pederasts are acting pedagogical and ‘adoptive’ and they are sitting there like, ‘Well soon it will be deer-hunting season + Chris Christie was saying how teachers like to make kids’ faces light up + give them indelible memories but under all his generosity of acknowledgment / crediting all the while CC was also saying / dogwhistling / inciting if not demanding or ordering, “Eat the poor,”which Obama was also arguably saying.’

I still like Sunny or did like 18 months ago - Tizzard and friends are mad at Cho Kuk; I tried to defend the governing class though this actually clashed with my own belief in people that came from dirt being best qualified as long as they don’t turn utterly prideful; and I’m a monarchist megalomaniac b/c I thought of Kissinger saying, ‘The illegal we do immediately the unconstitutional takes a while’ which I did not eve n intend to mean ‘Milwaukee antinomianism misrule carnivalesque total inversion of values’ and IZ*ONE were ‘rigged’ (destined), ‘Sunkyu’ is a good safe name that I know of and at the end she is like, ‘He is a loser; I am going back to the party anyway; he belongs in a Cistercian monastery or somewhere; it is not wrong to have monks and nuns and celibate married couples and/or those who wat a long time after marriage to have a child...’

‘Everything’ (Everything 2015 / Everything 2021)

Words never said, ‘I’m everything’ - therefore how can you not play my games and _ _ _. This was such an abject apprehension(?) in my own life; I had an ideal solution to the problem and in those days I actually had no acute anxiety nor did I feel this distance(d) awe from anybody but only a low-level thrumming or basso continuou worry or ‘meditation’ (Purpose-Driven Life). I guess now if someone isn’t asking a clear question it might be beside the point to imagine it’s worthwhile to answer and if somebody proffers you a certainty in any part of speech it is best it is best just to respond or non-respond without ay semblance of personality; deflection; without wanting to add anything or change anyone’s mind b/c in the end they who open their wings prematurely will get shot down all the more; and will also become their own worst enemies at times due to the conceits of ‘my nobility; fallen flower; I was Elect; I was anointed [sth. from ‘Sentimental Education’ abt women’s hearts]’

When I was 15 I started thinking a lot about reality and who is real to whom; my favorite piano-piece though in retrospect I might’ve ust listened to it then moved on with better things was Frederic Chopin’s ‘Berceuse’ op. 57 a.k.a. ‘Lullaby’ though originally it was simply ‘Variations.’ Simple left hand, very testing right hand. Michelangeli made a version in which nothing was thrown away or left to chance and a lot of pianists add a deep D-flat to the last chord which I disagreeith b/c the whole point of not using that is taht in the end it’s not a big deal. Best is Kempff 1946 because it’s utterly affectionate, fatherly, almost forgetful. I had once regarded this version or ‘rendering’ as being Kempff’s message to post-Nazi Germany saying, ‘Dream a new dream for a while.’ His left hand is spelling and his right hand is tracing. I used to make up words for this piece ‘I’m real God can’t you see / to break your shield’ but that was with a different count or tempo than the actual notation. Also, the version I heard first was Idil Biret or someone and they made the left hand cycle or reciprocate with a false completeness like an underlying clock when the essence of the ‘Berceuse’ is that the inner voices form a tolling or droning. I years later turned to the even more violent psychopathic Chopin that gave me hand-tremors and I think it is very bad for humans of which the apex was the last page or so of Nocturne 55-2 which is basically heart-explosion into embers. After going to KR I never wanted to touch a piano again except for anything related to Kempff and would walk around Lake Park, Wahl Street, considering Russia, simplicity, ‘c/Chimes.’ Didn’t then realize George Frost Kennan grew up around there and was considering Russia his whole life. I saw ‘Cat Street’ and was put in mind of a Singaporean market or square where they let songbirds talk to each other but it’s ancient history now. Maybe in future no one will care about cats, birds - I don’t really except I grew up in white trash degenerate Mass. where they burned frogs for fun (I was like 3) and put skull-flag all over their rooms. I oppose Mao sparrow-genocide, am fond of dandelions and the Ku Sang poem about dandelions from ‘Infant Splendor.’ However my generation and the people of that time were arguably over-equipped and in one way over-covered in another under-covered.

Voice in my head saying ‘They want Maoism man.’ But I really did believe in those days that others’ futures were like my own past and I perhaps overestiated my own chance of any future understanding, ‘trust-ness,’ and, either stable interiority or cognizable reliable plain-as-day face-to-face exteriority.

I also read Somerset Maugham’s critiques of ‘the Russian sense of humor’ which I approved of and my mom recently dreamed of the cat running out with his tail burnt.

There are perhaps only so many possible variations or stories and ‘today’s character’ is a real human being in the present moment and placement not just your favorite actress or whatever or whomever that would follow you to the ends of the Earth. I have almost no idea right now whether others want what I want or not; I had fantasized about writing speeches and always taking my family with me on the campaign-airplane which in retrospect is not perforce responsible and might’ve been mental Bidenism. I had only felt that it would or could be good for people in the future / future Man to be aware of one another’s burdens like let your son or daughter know when you’re working really hard instead of playing / representing Santa Dad when you’re really storing up UncleHammer and CrushFather vengeance, whether motivated by presumption and reactionary atavism or by the Will of God in the case of Mr. David James Johnston must be pulverized in to ‘coulisse bright dark tragic chiaroscuro’...In ‘Coming Home Again’ Changrae Lee’s mom was telling him how hard his psychiatric dad worked in graduate school and that is something I believe kids should know but there again what if immgrant young people really do grow up or ‘come up’ with this ‘Minima Moralia’ (Adorno cf. Vatican Censoriate) sense that ‘wrong life cannot be rightly lived,’ a horrific desolate phrase, that existence is a ‘battle life’ and that evth we do right today is a down-payment on wrong tomorrow.

In the ‘diaspora(?)’ of Evangelical Christianity following the passing away of a very famous and beautifully simply and consistent apologist Ravi Zacharias there was a cataclysmic revelation concerning his treatment of masseuses, first in terms of sexual harrassment and later unless it is all ‘fake news’ the discovery of a trove of actual records of abuse. I‘m Reddit ButBothSides relativism but it really almost feels as if there had been the mentality of a ‘treasury of merit’ but I don’t even want to say anything like that. Strange keepsakes! I feel as though ‘everybody deserves to know’ I am pretty certain I could be indicted for sexual harrassment in the Republic of Korea from a specific instant I recall very vividly + it might be good to do so in view of the current society’s determination to stop driving women toward suicide but IDK whether I ough to say that to anyone in Milwaukee b/c around here they’re racists and polyamorists and it’s more CCP paleo-peudo-Confucian mistress-culture where my dad is checking out my girlfriends and orgy and procurement are considered acts of unconditional love(?). Many years ago I looked at the Joongang Daily and say a ‘diptych’ of ‘T-ARA to release new song in November’ and ‘Uhm Taewoong arraigned for solicitation in [’my last stop’]’ + I adored TIAMO but it made me sad that the yougest member of this group was posing ith little girls all carring playing cards b/c it was lke a Chaim Potok novel that said mutatis mutandis ‘child-rearing is all gambling’ which goes against my sense of what is possible and even practical with a proper chain of care and ‘absolute ownership.’ And there I had been eager to join in the American Families Plan but then it really is still public schools where (Chesterton), ‘ The whole modern world has divided itself into Conservatives and Progressives. The business of Progressives is to go on making mistakes. The business of Conservatives is to prevent mistakes from being corrected.’ Professionalism, fair compensation, training, re-training, good data, involving parents. I am just sad b/c I realized I don’t really get how good or bad the SoE’s are anymore but the costs of Chromebooks and such are immense and I’m almost 100% certain the kids still have noisy homes, no good desks, + many of the staff are single moms nursing etc. + teacher-tenure and ‘middle class wages’ IMHO have been drawing mercenary self-righteous ideologue-automoton mental Boomers for decades and they still don’t get it but I’m super-sad b/c I just have no way I know of finding out!

I like talking to psychiatrists b/c they get stuff about autism as well as in some cases literal demons and matters such as handwriting, Arabic script going ‘backwards,’ but in the end they too appear committed to doing whatever the current overlord(s) of the world order are going to do. At the mental hospital they’re writing stuff like ‘schiz- ____’ nd saying ‘sign I’ll date’ and when I say ‘that’s an official document’ the union pozzers around here are like ‘it’s my document’ like Hell it is. You’re on strike against truth and morality and that’s no joke! You better give me heart-failure tonight or I will eventually bring a suit against your ‘whole host’ but that itself is beside the point because of Delta and drones and the fact that this is a revelating(?) era and a literal Judgment of God, which I had been hoping to weather and eventually execute my long-incubating intention but I truly am concerned what could present roll over and through this city.

This spectre or menace of a saturating, superceding, overriding ‘raison d’etat’ in the earthly world order soon to come and everything going to be unsealed anyway so that your private life is really just ‘a paper heart merit-badge that says “private life” on it’ and in future even a confirmation of something or someone is not really a confirmation. Puts in mind of the MLG song ‘Kiss Me’ about ego and commitment and the valences and intersections(?) of different potential promises or forecasts. My old friend Miles used to write about kissing a lot and I had reflections about kissing and such matters but IDK now if he’s a cultural Maoist advocating to defund the LAPD or he just ‘keeps his virtue to himself’ and feeds trash the ‘Arab Street’ about not protecting weak people from criminals.

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kiddoryder · 3 years

Text

Rimfire

Wow...It's been since I wrote a fanfic huh? Well I'm really sorry about that. I mean you have to admit, 2020 was hell with all the crazy stuff that was happening. I felt stressed and lost my happiness and spark in writing.

But thanks to the new year and new Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel clips and episodes coming out, I feel back and better than ever!

So, this story about my OC Sonya/Liz making a new friend making Charlie feel some type of way.

So, relax and enjoy the story!

At the hotel, Angel was sitting on the couch watching some TV. Then Charlie and Vaggie come in and Vaggie looked very annoyed. Angel noticed the look on Vaggie's face, but he didn't care.

Angel - "What the fuck you want?"

Vaggie - "You haven't been doing your chores in the hotel!"

Charlie - "Yeah Angel. I told you to take out the trash hours ago and you didn't do it."

Angel - "And?"

Charlie - "Care to explain why you didn't take the trash out like I told you?"

Angel - "Cause Vaggie didn't wanted to fucking leave. I mean I thought the princess would have better taste in lovers. Guess trash is her type."

Vaggie fumes in anger and was about to punch Angel, but Charlie stopped her.

Charlie - *to Vaggie* Let me handle this. *to Angel and sternly* Angel Dust, as the princess of hell and heir to the throne, I order you take out the trash."

Angel - *annoyed* "Ugh! Fine."

Angel took the bag of garbage and threw it out the window breaking the glass.

Vaggie - *furious* "Angel!"

Angel - "What? Ya told me to take out the trash and I did."

Vaggie - "We meant by you getting your lazy ass up and actually doing it you motherfucking bastard!"

Angel - "Well ya should been clearer on that and be less of a nagging bitch!"

Vaggie growled in anger and was about to punch Angel, but Charlie stopped her.

Charlie - *pleading* "Guys please. This isn't the time to fight."

Vaggie - *sighs* "Fine."

Charlie heard a ping noise on her phone. She looked at her phone and look a bit dishearten and text back. Charlie put her phone back and sigh a little. Vaggie seem to notice this and said:

Vaggie - *concerned* "Is there something wrong hon?"

Charlie - "Oh it's just Sonya."

Angel - "Sonya? Your baby cousin who's a Gemini and have an awesome side in her head?"

Charlie - "Yeah. I ask her if she wanted to hang out and she said how she's a little busy today. To be honest I'm a little worried."

Vaggie - "Why?"

Charlie - "Don't get me wrong, I'm happy she and her family move in the city, but I haven't seen her in a while."

Angel - "Hey maybe the kid is hanging out with her friends."

Charlie - "Sonya and Liz don't have friends."

Vaggie - *sympathetic* "Aw. They don't have any friends because they are Gemini?"

Charlie - "Actually no. It's their own choice for not having any friends because the other kids don't interest them."

Angel - "Well who can blame them for that? I mean most of the people in hell are either fucking boring ugly freaks or just fucking creepy."

Charlie - *uneasy* "Right…Anyway, to sort of speak, I'm Sonya and Liz only friend. But it's okay because family members can also be friends as well."

Vaggie - "Well alright."

()()()()()()()()

A few days had passed and believe it or not, the hotel was getting more people. Even though Charlie is happy about that, she couldn't help but wonder about why Sonya and Liz haven't been able to hang out with them. Charlie would often be disappointed when they are "busy" or have "other plans''. However, Charlie still has high hopes and spirits that she will be able to spend some time with her baby cousin.

Right now, as Vaggie and Angel was coming down and saw Charlie with Razzle and Dazzle practicing some songs.

Vaggie - *confused* "Um Charlie? What are you doing?"

Angel - "Ya doing a pitch again for the hotel?"

Charlie - *chuckles* "I wish but no. Today is the annual Hell Music Festival."

Angel - "Isn't that the festival where some motherfuckers come and play some shitty music?"

Charlie - *displeased* "Yes, it is Angel."

Vaggie - *to Angel*" And what the fuck you know about music Angel?"

Angel - "For ya information babe, I happened to be an expert when it comes to music."

Vaggie - "How? By picking which song to choose when you fuck the creeps that paid you?"

Angel - "Beside that! I know how to play the accordion and trumpet. Plus, I listen to some pop music by some bitch name Verisoka Mayday. Her songs are pretty catchy."

Charlie - "Well today is the day of that Festival. Sonya, Liz, and I would always practice, play some music, and have fun. It's one of my favorite things to do with them."

Then they heard a loud squawking noise outside. Everybody covered their eyes, and Husk woke up from his drunk nap.

Husk - *annoyed* "What the fuck is that noise?"

Vaggie - "It's that stupid crow bird! I thought Niffty got rid of it!"

Niffty - *popped up* "Oh! I did! But then another one came, and I got rid of that one and I made it into a hat."

Niffty show everybody her new crow "hat". This creep everyone out as Niffty put it away.

Niffty - "That must be a new one that came today."

Then the bird stops squawking. Then there was a knock on the door.

Charlie - *squeal* "It must be Sonya!"

Charlie ran to the door and opened it. She was surprised to see not only Sonya was there but someone next to her. It was some Fox/cat like demon girl around Sonya's age. She has short purple hair, long bangs that covered her right eye. Her eye was red with yellow pupil, her Fox ears was gray but was wearing a safari hat with tooth's in it. She has white fur with a puffy white cat tail, her out was a safari vest, a long sleeve crop top that was black with flames on it. She was wearing camouflage pants which a knife patch strap to her left leg and had on brown army boots.

Sonya - "Hey Cousin Charlie! This is my new friend Rimfire Bloodworth!"

Rimfire - "Sup."

Charlie - *surprised* "Oh! A new friend? Well, it nice to meet you Rimfire. Come inside."

The girls went inside and Rimfire looked around.

Rimfire - "Nice place. What's this hotel for?"

Charlie - "Oh! It's a place to redeem sinners."

Rimfire - *confused* "Redeem sinners?"

Charlie - "Yes. I believe every demon- well most demons have something good deep down inside of them. If I can unlock that good, they can access to Heaven."

Then Charlie bring Rimfire to the lobby living room where Angel, Husk, Niffty, and Vaggie was.

Charlie - Hey guys *the demon began to make noise again* this is *the bird made louder noise* my cousin new *the bird made even louder noise* LITTLE FRIEND THAT I WANT YOU TO- "

The demon bird kept on making loud noises. An annoyed Rimfire took out a gun from her vest and shot the bird straight in the chest. The bird then fell from the tree dead and everybody was shocked on how Rimfire not only has a good for her age, but how she was able to shoot the bird with good aim.

Rimfire - "I took care of it" *blows the gun smoke*

Charlie - "Anyway...This is Sonya's new friend Rimfire."

Angel Dust - "New friend? *teasingly* So she's your new lover?"

Sonya - *annoyed* "No! She's just someone I just met!"

Angel Dust - "Yeah sure kid. It starts out that way and pretty when you soon hit your grown up hears bam! You're both sleeping together in the same bed.

Vaggie - *rolled her eyes* "Augh don't listen to him! He's the type that would sleep with anybody for money."

Angel - *scoff* "Not everybody. I wouldn't sleep with you if you even paid me."

Vaggie - *mad* "I'm a lesbian you idiot!"

Sonya - *to Rimfire* Don't mind them. *points to Vaggie* That's Vaggie. Vaggie is the hotel's manager and my cousin's girlfriend. She also the one who must keep *points to Angel* Angel Dust there in line. He's also the first patient here for the hotel."

Angel - "I'm also Hell's biggest porn star. So, I'm pretty much famous. If ya want kid, I can show you one of my movies."

Charlie - *shocked* "Angel! They are underage!"

Husk - "Oh come on Princess. The weird little boy and his friend here are close to adulthood."

Sonya - "First of all, I'm a weird little girl! And second, I rather watch the 666 news then watch Angel's dirty gross movies."

Angel - *offended* "Hey! They aren't gross! They are very high class."

Sonya - *rolled her eyes* "This is Niffty and Husk. They work at the hotel."

Niffty - *to Rimfire* "Ooh nice to meet you! I'm always happy to make new friends. It was nice of you killed that annoying bird. Although it should have been a strong man that should have done it because that more of a man thing no offensive."

Rimfire - "Uhh...Right."

Husk - "Wow. The little cat girl is a shooter. That's something different."

Rimfire - "I'm a half cat. I'm also part Fox as well."

Charlie - So Rimfire what brings you to Hell?

Rimfire - *shrugs* "I was just actually almost got attack by freaky assholes until Sonya came over and save me."

Sonya - "Yeah she came to Hell with her family a few days ago. Rimfire and I been hanging out with each other."

Charlie - "Oh that's cool! Do you live nearby?"

Rimfire - "Actually I live pretty close to here."

Vaggie - "And how did you end up in hell?

Rimfire - My family are in the poaching business. We still are. It called the Bloodworth Poach and Coach."

Vaggie - "Poach and Coach?"

Rimfire - "It's a store my family owns. My mother would sell the animal fur and meat. My dad will get the animal customers would want, and even coach them on how to hunt."

Everyone - *amazed* "Whoa."

Rimfire - *smug* "Yeah it is pretty cool. It was even like that when we were alive."

Angel - "How you and your family ended up down here?"

Rimfire - "Oh we ended up getting killed in a forest fire."

Charlie - *sympatric* "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry."

Rimfire - *shrugs* "Eh. It's life."

Charlie - "Well...Say why don't we go practice for the festival huh Sonya?

Sonya - "Actually Cousin Charlie I was thinking of just practicing with Rimfire."

Charlie - *surprised* "What?"

Rimfire - "Yeah. I mean I originally wanted to do it myself, but I figure practicing with Sonya can be fun."

Charlie - *uncomfortable* "Oh...okay yeah sure..."

Sonya - "Sweet! Thanks!"

They both went upstairs to Sonya's hotel room. Charlie frowns in sadness and confusion. Charlie didn't think her baby cousin out of all people, didn't want to hang out with her. Or do their usual traditions. Vaggie noticed that sad look on her girlfriend's face.

Vaggie - *concerned* "Charlie what's wrong?"

Charlie - "I-It just weird I mean Sonya always practices music and singing with me. She never done anything like this to me."

Angel - "Hey. She's at stage one Princess."

Charlie - "Meaning?"

Angel - "Well you know how kids are. One minute they are close to family and next they don't want to even act knowledge that they are related."

Charlie - *scared* "Wait, does this mean that Sonya and Liz wouldn't want to spend time with me anymore?"

Angel - *shrugs* "Eh. It could happen."

Vaggie - *mad* "Angel!"

Angel - *defense* "What babe? I'm just saying it's the truth."

Vaggie - "You're not helping, you idiot!"

Charlie - *scared*" Ohh I need to do something! I don't want Sonya to think I'm some lame uncool cousin."

Angel - "Who's stopping you?"

Vaggie - "Well if you are serious about this. Maybe you should talk to her."

Charlie - "Well okay."

Charlie went upstairs and began to think about what Angel said to her earlier. Even though there are sometimes Charlie thinks Angel is just being his regular silly weird self, it could be one of those time Angel could be right about some things.

Charlie - *thinking* Angel could be right. Sonya and even Liz would think of me as an uncool relative. I gotta remind her how much fun I can be and cool! Maybe if I act like how kids are today!"

Charlie then sees Sonya and Liz's hotel room. She went to the door and knocked on the door.

Sonya - "Come in."

Charlie - *acts hip* "Hey hey hey! How are my best girlfriends?"

Sonya - *contused* "Uh Okay…"

Rimfire - *confused* "Uh fine?"

Charlie - *acting hip* "So What's you guys doing? Any new hot digs on music."

Sonya - "Yeah…"

The whole thing felt very weird to Sonya and Rimfire. Especially to Sonya because she never sees Charlie act like this. Even Liz herself was confused about it. The only person they see trying to "act hip" was Sir Pentious.

Charlie - "Hey Rimfire you need to worry about me I'm not some lame regular cousin. I'm one of the cool cousins Ya know what I mean dawg?"

Sonya - *concerned and confusion* "Charlie, are you feeling okay?"

Charlie - "Oh I'm fine I'm cool as ice."

Sonya and Rimfire look at each other in confusion. They can tell something is wrong with Charlie but decide not to make a big deal about it.

Charlie - "So What are you gals doing?"

Rimfire - "Well we were busy writing some songs. But then we decide to take a break."

Sonya - Yeah. We are now just now going over dark magic stuff."

Charlie - "Ooh! Mind if I join in?"

Rimfire - "You know about dark magic stuff?"

Charlie - *smug* "Girl, you're talking to the princess of hell here. Beside What's wrong with mixing up stuff. Sometimes you gotta go insane to out sane the same. You know what I'm saying?"

Rimfire - *confused* "Actually no."

Charlie - "So where this magic stuff you two little wizs are doing?"

Sonya - "Over there."

Sonya pointed to her cauldron. It was boiling and purple smoke was coming out. Charlie took a peak and it was purple bubbling liquid.

Sonya - "Yeah we were just working on a new potion. But I wanted to tell you Cousin Charlie is-

Charlie - "Ooh! Allow me to add some spices to help take this potion high to the sky."

Charlie saw some random potions, liquid and powders on Sonya's shelves. Charlie grabs them and she starts mixing some potions up. Sonya gets worried and so was Liz cause even she knew what mixing up random potions together can do. Even Rimfire was getting a bit scared and concerned on what the princess of hell was doing.

Sonya - *scared* "Cousin Charlie Don't! You're mixing the wrong ingredients!"

Charlie - *scoff* "Relax Cuz there's nothing wrong with mixing things up."

Sonya - "But Cousin Charlie!"

Charlie - "Don't worry! What a little mixing can do?"

Then there was a loud explosion. Vaggie and the others heard it. Looking concerned, Vaggie and Angel went upstairs, and their eyes widen in shock. They saw the room all covered in purple goop and even the girls were now covered in purple goop.

Angel - *confused* "What the hell happened here? Looks like a bowl of rotten oatmeal had sex with guacamole and just have birth in this room."

Vaggie - "I'll get some mops and Niffty. You guys better get cleaned up."

()()()()()()()()

Vaggie and Niffty was cleaning up the goop in Sonya and Liz's room. Angel was even force to clean under the threat his precious pet piggy Fat Nuggets will be sleeping outside. He had to use his four arms to clean the walls and was using rags. Charlie, Sonya, and Rimfire was now clean thanks to taking a shower and now wearing some fresh clothes.

Niffty - "Don't worry! This mess will be done in no time!"

Vaggie - "I'm just glad none of you guys gotten hurt."

Charlie - "You could say that something went a little wrong right Sonya?"

Sonya was so mad that she was ignoring Charlie. This made Charlie a bit shock because Sonya never gave her the silent treatment. Rimfire even felt a little uncomfortable because of the awkwardness. Then she heard a car honk and when Rimfire look outside, she saw it was her parents' car.

Rimfire - Maybe I should head. *to Sonya* We should get rest cause we gotta sing for the pageant tomorrow."

Charlie - *surprised* "What!? Sonya, you got to accept. Why didn't you tell me?"

Sonya - *angry* I wanted to tell you Cousin Charlie, but you were too busy acting weird and crazy!

Charlie - *nervously laugh* "Oh I see."

Angel Dust - "Whoa harsh."

Vaggie - *trying to calm things down* "Okay okay let just be happy that nobody got hurt. We should get back to cleaning this mess up though."

Rimfire - "Well maybe I should head home."

Sonya - "Cousin Charlie…"

Charlie - *hopeful* "Yes?"

Sonya - *mad and serious* "I'm spending the night with Rimfire. And don't even bother coming to the pageant! You really embarrass me."

Charlie - *pleading and shocked* "Sonya Wait!"

Sonya and Rimfire left the room and Sonya slam the door. Sonya got into Rimfire's parents' car and they drove off.

Angel - "Ouch! Tough way to say I don't need ya anymore isn't it?"

Charlie looks down feeling hurt. She sighs in sadness and walked out of the room. Vaggie look mad at Angel for his insensitive comment and punched him in the arm.

Angel - *in pain* "Ow! What?!"

Vaggie - "You're such a fucking asshole!"

Vaggie left the room to go check up on Charlie.

Angel - *mad and rubs his arm* "Sheesh! Try to help people and this is the thanks I get."

()()()()()()()()()

Charlie was in her room sitting on her book feeling sad. She took out a scrapbook from her drawer and open the book. She flips a few pages and saw pictures of her and Sonya and Liz together. When they were younger, or current ages having fun, eating together, comforting each other, or just hugging. Charlie let some tears come out of her eyes and felt like she must sing on how she is feeling. She took a deep breath and began to sing.

Charlie - *singing*

In my hands a legacy of memories

I can hear you say my name

I can almost see your smile

Feel the warmth of your embrace

But there is nothing but silence now

Around the one I loved

Is this our farewell?

Sweet darling you worry too much

My child, see the sadness in your eyes

You are not alone in life

Although you might think that you are

Never thought this day would come so soon

We had no time to say goodbye

How can the world just carry on?

I feel so lost when you are not by my side

But there is nothing but silence now

Around the one I loved

Is this our farewell?

So sorry your world is tumbling down

I will watch you through these nights

Rest your head and go to sleep

Because my child this is not our farewell

This is not our farewell

Vaggie - "Charlie are you okay?"

Charlie looked up and saw Vaggie looking concerned. Charlie quickly wipe the tears from her eyes.

Charlie - "How did you find me? The hotel is pretty big."

Vaggie - "You're the only girl I know that can sing that good. I never forget your beautiful singing voice."

Charlie - *smiles* "Thanks Vaggie…" *sighs in sadness*

Vaggie - *sits next to Charlie* "Are you alright Charlie?"

Charlie - *sad* "No. My baby cousin hates me now."

Vaggie - Hey now she doesn't hate you."

Angel Dust - "She just doesn't want to speak to you again."

They turned around and saw Angel by the doorway. His lower arms were cross, and he had a bored look on his face.

Vaggie - "Where the fuck did you come from?!"

Angel - "Well babe, when a man and broad love each other they fuck each other in bed and then bam! A baby."

Vaggie - "That's not what I meant you cabrón hijo de perra! I meant why did you came here?"

Angel - "What? I can't help out my buddy the Princess of Hell here?"

Vaggie - "Well you're not helping!"

Charlie - *sighs* "I was just trying to remind her on how cool I can be."

Angel - "And that fucking bombed."

In a split second, Vaggie jumped and gave Angel a black eye. She wasn't going to sit back and let Angel make everything worst. While Charlie would have said something, she feels like she would let this one slide because right now she too focusing on fixing the mess she made with Sonya.

Angel Dust *holding his eye* - "Ow my eye!"

Vaggie - "Look Charlie, I get you don't wanna lose Sonya and Liz. But you need to realize something too: Sonya and Liz are growing up. Sure, there would be sometimes they would like to spend time with you, but there are sometimes she need to spend time with kids her age."

Those words made Charlie realize that Vaggie was right: her baby cousins are growing up and do need some friends around their age. There's nothing wrong with them growing up and she will always have a relationship with Sonya and Liz.

Charlie - "Yeah I guess you're right. Maybe I was just trying too hard."

Angel opened his mouth to speak but quickly kept his mouth shut when Vaggie showed her fists as a warning. Charlie wiped the rest of the tears away and stood up on the bed.

Charlie -First thing I'll do is go to the pageant to talk to her."

Angel - "Uh news flash babe: she told you not to come."

Charlie - "Well I'll just try to talk to her before the show starts."

Vaggie - "Where is this pageant anyway?"

Angel - "Oh I it's in a bar called Drink Till you Die. It's not far from the hotel."

Charlie - *confused* "How do you know?"

Angel - *smirks* "Inside intuition."

Vaggie - *facepalm* "Oh god. Why am I not surprised?"

Angel - *chuckles* "Relax I just had to do some dances is all."

Charlie and Vaggie just stare at him in confusion and annoyance.

Angel - "What? I also had to do some shots. And suck a lot of dick."

Charlie - "Come in! Let's go!"

()()()()()()()()()()

At the bar, the stage was all set up nicely for the music pageant. Backstage, Rimfire and Sonya was getting dress up for the pageant. Liz came out in shadow form looking mad at Sonya. Sonya took noticed at Liz looking mad and crossing her arms.

Sonya - *annoyed* "Don't start."

Liz - "So not cool what you said to Cuz Sonya."

Sonya - "Aw come on! When did you became a preaching saint? Besides, you get into trouble more than I do."

Liz - "Yeah but at least I don't make Cuz feel like crap or yell at her! You should of saw her face after you yell at her. She looks like was about to break down into tears."

Sonya - *sighs* "Do you think I was too hard on Charlie back there?"

Liz - "What do you think genius?"

Sonya sighs and starts to feel a little guilty. She was just angry that Charlie embarrassed her in front of her new and first friend she made around her age. But at the same time, Sonya realize she should of just talk to Charlie about it instead of yelling at her.

Rimfire - "Hey. What's wrong are you- *sees Liz's shadow form* Uhh...Who is that?""

Sonya - "Huh? Oh, I forgot to say that I was born a Gemini. I technically share a body with somebody. This is Liz."

Liz wave to Rimfire. Rimfire was a bit confuse but wave back to Liz.

Sonya - "I meant to tell you later, but I guess the best time is now. It just hard to tell people can they don't believe me.

Rimfire - "Well I think it's cool you have another self. I mean, it is Hell after all."

Sonya - *sad* "Thanks...You think I was too hard on my cousin Charlie?"

Rimfire - "Honestly? Yeah. I mean you usually tell me how cool your cousin is, and I was shocked that you snapped at her."

Sonya - *sighs* "I was just mad at her for embarrassing me."

Rimfire - "We all fight with our families sometimes. Even me

Sonya - *surprised* "Really? But your family seem so cool."

Rimfire - *disbelief* "You kidding? Sometimes my dad sticks his hand in a dead animal's body and moves their mouth like a puppet."

Sonya covered her mouth like she was gonna throw up. However, Liz look amaze and giggle a little thinking it was funny.

Sonya - "Oh God

Rimfire - "Exactly. My mom always showing off the fur coats like she's a model. It can get pretty annoying sometimes."

Sonya - "I'm sorry to hear that."

Rimfire - "See? Family supposed to embarrass each other because they are well, family."

Sonya - "Yeah that's true. I'm just still mad at Charlie got what she did. I never expect of her out of all people to embarrass me like that. I honestly thought it would be either my parents or her friend Angel Dust."

Rimfire - "Well as for your Cousin Charlie, maybe in a way she felt jealous of me."

Sonya - *confused* "What? Why would she be jealous of you? She's not like that."

Rimfire - "I don't know I mean based on what you told me, she was basically you and even Liz's only friend. Maybe when Charlie saw me and you wanted to practice with me than her, she probably felt jealous."

Those words strike Sonya right in the head and the heart. She didn't think of how Charlie felt about this. Sonya was just so happy she finally made a friend around her age, she forgot how Charlie would feel about this. Or even talk to her about this. Even felt awful that she didn't do their tradition of practicing and singing for the pageant.

Sonya - *guilty Now I feel bad. I shouldn't have yelled at Charlie like that.

Little did she know that Charlie was listening to time the whole time. Charlie was listening through the window and she had tears in her eyes. But these tears were more heartwarming love. She realizes despite what she did, Sonya and Liz still love her and want to make things right between each other.

Charlie - *touched* "Aw you guys heard that?"

Vaggie - *struggling* "Not really cause you're standing on us."

It shows that Vaggie and Angel was trying to hold on to Charlie while she was quietly looking through the window. Since the window was too high and figure that they would get kick out the place, they thought it would be better to look out the window.

Angel - *groaning* "Man how long are you gonna make us hold you up?! My arms are killing me!"

Vaggie - * annoyed* "You're only use two of them!"

Angel - *groaning* "Well you girls weigh a ton! You should seriously lay off the Bon bons!"

Before Vaggie can say anything, Charlie saw Sonya and Rimfire leaving the room.

Charlie - "Wait they are leaving!"

Charlie got off Vaggie, Vaggie got off Angel, and Angel began to stress his back and arms.

Angel - "You should seriously get on a diet"

Charlie - "We don't have time! Let go!"

()()()()()()()()()

Sonya and Rimfire went to the stage. They set up their guitar and just before they were about to sing, one guy said:

Guy - "Hey that was my beer!"

Guy 2 - "No it wasn't!"

Rimfire - "Hey assholes! We are about to sing here!"

Guy - "And that stupid bitch you were kissing was mine!"

Guy 2 - "I don't care!"

Guy - "You calling me a liar?!"

Then suddenly, an ugly bar fight began to break loose. Sonya and Rimfire managed to dodge some glass bottles that was being thrown. Then they managed to crawl to an abandon table so they can be safe. A demon was not only beat up but thrown out the window and landed by Charlie's feet. That when Charlie began to hear yelling and fighting inside the bar.

Charlie - *worried* "Guys, the girls are in trouble! We got to get in there now!"

They went inside the bar and saw lots of people dodging and fighting. Rimfire took out her hunting knife that was strapped to her thigh. Sonya quickly took out her spell book.

Sonya - "Ready?"

Rimfire - "Ready!"

Rimfire began to use her hunting knife. She managed to cut off some demons' arms, stab them in the eye, and in the gut. Then Sonya shouted:

Sonya - "ventum exponentia!"

Wind power came and blew some of the demons away out the bar. Charlie and the others saw this and was impressed. Even Rimfire was amaze on the spell Sonya cast.

Rimfire - "How did you do that?"

Sonya - "I spent a lot time reading these books. I learn how to use some of these spells."

Rimfire - "That's so cool."

Sonya - "Thanks!"

Sonya kept casting more spells to stop the fight. But unfortunately, one of the beer bottles was thrown and it still had beer in it. The beer bottle splatter all over her book wetting it. Now the pages were too soggy and messy to read.

Sonya - *horrified* "Oh no!"

Rimfire - *shocked* "Your book!"

While the girls were distracted, another demon threw a glass beer bottle. The beer bottle hit Rimfire in the arm much to Sonya's horror. Then another bottle was about to hit Sonya in the head, but to her's and Rimfire surprised: Charlie quickly came and ducked the girls down to a table.

Sonya - *surprised* "Cousin Charlie?"

Rimfire - *confused* "What are you doing here?"

Charlie - "Getting you and Sonya out of here!"

They all saw Vaggie and Angel was fighting some of the demons. Vaggie was using her knives and Angel was using his guns. Even though they were doing well, there was too much demons in the bar.

Sonya - *to Charlie* "There's too many of them. Should I bring out the big guns?

Charlie - *smirks* "Be my guest, baby cousin!"

Rimfire - *confused* "The big guns?"

Charlie - *smiles* "You will see."

Sonya nodded quickly. She began to quickly look around and saw a bottle shard on the floor. Sonya took a bottle shard and pricked her finger on it and passed out on the ground much to Rimfire's concerned. But before Rimfire can say anything, Liz awaken and took out her scissors and fireworks. Liz smile manically and jump on the table where Vaggie and Angel was at fighting.

Liz - "Bada boom! Time for a blood bath!"

Angel Dust - *happy* "Oh alright! My little girl buddy is here!"

Vaggie - "This is one of the few times I'm actually happy that she's here!"

Liz - "Time for a little fun!"

Angel Dust - "Knock them out, honey!"

Liz began to fight the demons in the bar fight alongside with Angel and Vaggie. Charlie was making sure Rimfire stay safe. Some were injured, some ran away in fear and others passed even before she was about to hit them. Pretty soon the bar fight was over. Liz was panting a bit exhausted from all that fighting.

Liz - *little tired* "Boy did that feel good!"

Rimfire - *impressed* "Wow. You are one crazy chick."

Angel - *smirks* "And that's why she's awesome."

()()()()()()()()()

At the hotel Charlie was checking the girls for injuries. Vaggie got out the first aid kit and Angel was cleaning up his weapons.

Charlie - *concerned* "Where does it hurt?"

Rimfire - *wince a little* "Just my arm. I think that bottle cut me."

Charlie saw the cut on Rimfire's arm. She saw how even though it was big, it wasn't deep so that was a good thing. Charlie began uses some disinfectant to clean the wounds. Vaggie was surprised that Rimfire wasn't crying or even wincing in pain as Charlie was using the disinfectant on her wound.

Vaggie - "Doesn't that hurt you?"

Rimfire - *shrug* "Eh. I felt worse."

Vaggie - "You have?"

Rimfire - "After I died in a fire. Trust me, this is nothing compare to my death."

Vaggie - "Tell me about it. *to Liz* what about you Liz? Any injuries?"

Liz - "Oh just some scratches but I'm cool. You don't need your panties up more ass Chica."

Vaggie looked annoyed as Angel giggled at Liz's comment. Then Sonya came out in shadow form telling Liz something.

Liz - "Hey Cuz! Can you do the old switcheroo? Sonya wants to talk to you."

Charlie - *smiles* "You got it."

Charlie hugs and pet her hair at the same time. Sonya is back much to Angel's dismay.

Angel - "Aw man."

Sonya - "Okay. *took a deep breath* Cousin Charlie I wanted to say I'm sorry for earlier. I was just mad and embarrassed."

Charlie - "You don't have to be sorry. It was my fault for messing up your spell...

Sonya - "But I was the one who yelled at you."

Charlie - "I know but I heard you talking, and I know you didn't mean it."

Sonya - *confused* "Wait how did you heard us talking?"

Charlie - "Yeah...I heard from the window and- "

Angel - "I had to held her's and Vaggie's fat asses!"

Vaggie punched Angel in the arm. Charlie rolled her eyes and went back to talking to her cousin.

Charlie - "I was just afraid of losing you."

Sonya - *confused* "Losing me?"

Charlie - "I was a little...jealous."

Rimfire - "Jealous of me?"

Angel - "I know it's a shocker."

Charlie - "I'm sorry girls. I mean I was just scared of losing you because of how we always spend time together. When you wanted to spend time with Rimfire it threw me off."

Sonya - *guilty* "So it's my fault." *she looks down*

Angel - "Yeah kid it's pretty much is."

Vaggie - *mad* "Angel shut up!"

Angel - "What? I'm just saying."

Charlie - "It's not her fault! I mean even before you moved to the city you didn't really have friends other than me."

Sonya - "Still, I wasn't trying to push you away. I mean Rimfire first friend my age."

Rimfire - "And you are the first friend I made since I got here."

The two hug each other for the first time. Which was a weird awkward hug.

Sonya - *uncomfortable* "This feels weird."

Rimfire - *also uncomfortable* "You mean the hug?"

Sonya - "I never hugged anyone my age."

Vaggie - "Oh sorry the pageant got ruined for you guys."

Sonya - "It's fine. I don't know why they did it in a bar this year anyway. Everybody is always drunk and stuff."

Rimfire - "There's always next year."

Charlie - *happy* "Well the hotel does have a music room."

Sonya - *perks up* "Really?"

Charlie - *nodded* "Yeah I put it there so the sinners can gain new hobbies to distract themselves from sling drugs and stuff."

Rimfire - *impressed* "That's so cool."

Charlie - "Maybe you can do a concert for us! So, we can cheer you sing."

Sonya - *perks up* "Really? You let us do that?"

Charlie - "Of course! I mean it also to make up for what happened."

Sonya - *smiles* Thanks Cousin Charlie!"

()()()()()()()()()()

Charlie opened the music room and saw how huge it was. It was the size of an opera theater room. There was red wallpaper, posters of her mother past concerts, poster of her dad singing, even some of her singing on stage as well. There were lots of tables, with cushion chairs, even a bar in its which Husk was already there drinking.

Charlie - "Man it's been a while since I came in here. Thanks for cleaning it up Niffty."

Niffty - "No problem! It was super-duper filthy, and it needed a lady's touch. Which is weird cause you guys being ladies and didn't clean it no offense."

Husk - "Explain to me again why we are in this fucking room?"

Charlie - "So we can listen to my baby cousin and her friend sing."

Angel - *flirty* "Ya know I can always do a show for you Husky."

Husk - "Fuck off!"

Sonya and Rimfire came with their instruments, and just before they got on stage, they heard a strange noise. They turned around and saw something under the table. Rimfire got out her gun, and then a little pink nose came out of the table. Turn out it was just Angel's pet piggy Fat Nuggets just sniffing around.

Rimfire - "Oh it was just a pig. He looks more like the runt of the litter. *shrugs* well looking like we are having pork chops tonight."

Just Rimfire was about shoot Fat Nuggets, Angel took the gun away from her.

Angel - "What the fuck are you doing?!"

Rimfire - "About to shoot a pig."

Angel - "This pig happened to be my pet!"

Rimfire - "You keep an animal like a pig for a pet?"

Angel - "What's that supposed to mean?"

Rimfire - "Animals are only good for food and clothes. Keeping them as pets are stupid."

Angel - *offended* "How dare you! *cooing to Fat Nuggets* it's okay baby, Daddy will always protect and love you no matter what."

He gave Fat Nuggets a hug much to Rimfire's disgust. Then Charlie said:

Charlie - "Okay Rimfire. We actually have a rule here: no one can harm anyone's pet."

Rimfire - "Rules like that are made to be broken."

Angel - *threateningly* "If you break that rule, I'll break you!"

Charlie - *nervously* "Maybe you should get on the stage now with Sonya."

As they all took their seats, Sonya and Rimfire went on stage with their guitar. They plug it in the speaker and fix the microphones. Then Sonya began to speak in it:

Sonya - "Hello! This song was originally meant to sing in the pageant. But that then turned out to be a bust."

Rimfire - "Yeah. Never do a music pageant in a bar."

Sonya - "Agreed. This song Rimfire, Liz and I wrote is for my awesome best friend and cousin: Charlie. Who was always there for me and Liz no matter how bad things get? This is for you cousin Charlie."

Sonya and Rimfire began to play their guitar and they sing:

In Hell there's one moving light that's glowing

Just like a star

Then she keeps on going

The whole place need that hope

People think she's weak but she's tough

You don't want to mess with her when you cross the line

Inside she has that light, she's tough

Her heart whispers do it now

The light comes out and shout out I'm going to do that vow

Oh Charlie, don't you worry

These are bumps you are going to through

Some day you will know what to do.

Oh Charlie, it's alright

Doesn't matter what you do

Just keep on going because I believe in you.

She's ready to roll

Tonight, is different

She'll show some hope but start it off slow

Oh no oh no

Some stupid assholes try to let her down

But she makes the show keep going on

She's not done she will keep on until the end of dawn. Her heart whispers do it now

The light comes out and shout out I'm going to do that vow

Oh Charlie, don't you worry

These are bumps you are going to through

Some day you will know what to do.

Oh Charlie, it's alright

Doesn't matter what you do

Just keep on going because I believe in you.

Her plans are on right now

And she's going to sing amazing songs

Her plans are never going to end and don't care if it takes long.

Oh Charlie, don't you worry

These are bumps you are going to through

Someday you will know what to do.

Oh Charlie, it's alright

Doesn't matter what you do

Just keep on going because I believe in you.

They finished the song and saw how Vaggie, and e others was cheering. Even Husk was impressed on how well the girls sang. Then suddenly, Sonya was grab by Charlie in a big hug. Tears of joy was flowing down Charlie's face because not only she loves the song, but how much her baby cousin mean to her. Sonya and even Liz in shadow form hugged back because they know no matter how many time Charlie will embarrass them; they will always love her no matter what.

Hope you all like it!

#hazbin hotel #vaggie #charlie #angel dust #rimfire #Sonya #liz #my fanfic

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misterbitches · 3 years

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Hello! @flootweed replying to the post from before. the long format was killing me. why does tumblr look like this...

I haven’t watched episode 8 yet...or have I? If it’s the most recent one. No.

Is the hornbill a bird? It probably is but I have a terrible memory and I’m dumb so. I skipped the last few weeks because I’m scawwed. How are you liking it? I did see someone say that the hornbill makes sense (without knowing what it is...at all) bc heart transplant patients only live like 5-15 years after but someone in those comments pointed out that he was so young when he got his and that’s pretty rare so he has a higher likelihood of survival. Frankly, this is the only way I will proceed. Since when did shows ever care about the heart transplant health? Never and it needs to stay that way!

What did we think of ep 6? LMAO. I need opinions! And omg it makes me feel special when I can point things out to people because I so...rarely get to LOL. Editing is like one of my favorite things ever so I can be super particular about it but I try to do the thing you do when you’re supposed to see if it works within its context. I’d like to go in with scissors and glue but alas.

THe mic covering....the rustling....it’s like guys...please. Ironically the audio today wasn’t great. I don’t know why. IDK if you watch c-dramas but I am not even sure what’s worse between them because they dub their dramas. But actually no it’s best to have the dubbing because even tho it is painful they have to put a lot of effort into it. LOL.

Right? @ Aey! It’s just weird if they would show us more about what he’s done instead of saying he’s done sth bad and not even explaining that....like you could even do some shitty exposition. I think if he is to be a true villain then we really need to be privvy. All the warnings make it seem like he’s a fuckin’ serial killer so when we get the scene of him at home it’s like....actually this is really serious? Maybe his pain is like...for a reason. Althought you won’t even TELL US WHAT HE’S DONE WRONG BESIDES BE JUST FUCKING WEIRD AND ANNOYING! So from what we have it’s just a realllllllll fucked up sad person lol. god i forgot about the dinner! and i totally agree. he really needs them to succeed. i like your theory because it would make the scene where he like blocks the twitter user make more sense. he also says they dont really know each other etc so it’s realllllyyyyy probable that he just sees it as a way out. if not then we shall pretend u wrote it :)

god yea i wouldnt say it is art but i also guess we technically have to since it is technically. in the way that technically performance artists are artists but mostly i uh technically ignore them. Also one of my fav BLs is called the best twins. If you do not know what it is I will not elaborate further.t

i want to know more abt poli sci majors lmao but they sound DRAMATIC/ hopefully most ppl in ur cohort arent losers!

hahahha i understand. there was just a thing on twitter about DSA and then the day before about reading discourse. the same thiings. over. and over. and over. and over. we are our own worst enemies but also our own best friends? but i hate tankies and that wont change. but hasan’s a decent guy. he said sth abt black ppl during biden’s primaries in GA or whatever and i was like chill. but he’s insecure and has adhd which means ur more open to being wrong and changing otherwise u will suffocate and die.

and totally about hiding fuck ups. i’ve tried really hard bc of organizing IRL to like...be honest, question, etc but also like...approach it naturally? because if you’re trying to be perfect and so worried you’ll fuck up you don’t realize that puts more stress on you, makes you seem like a robot, and could potentially not make you realize the mistkaes you made. also if we’re privileged in certain spaces there is just no possible way we won’t get something wrong. im light and i know that honestly any way to speak up on colorism is going to be difficult and that’s a space where i have power so i just have to figure it out. we should be uncomfortable because we have to sit with unpleasant feelings and sort through our own whatever. that just makes the next time even better and people can trust u more. i think some people sweat it sooo much or maybe they think their personal life and what theyve been through is more the norm? on the other hand people can be sf reactionary in the worst way and idk what their issue is. there was also a user who said sth very inch arresting about tankies which i thoroughly enjoyed (how like violent lefitsts or tankies / ppl who are like ooh a gun whatever just want to be violent in another space so they have shit tendencies from jump and nothing of substance which i think i agree with tbh fo ra lottttt of ppl. like their anger is actually like “no im about to beat that ass” instead of what we actually want to get done)

sort of in the same vein re: taking it easy...we coudl all be more understanding too. to slow it down like you mentioned about not being privvy to fucking eveyrthing and saying anything on our mind. i saw this person talk about y2k which was a huge deal while happening bc it was the turn of the millenium (bruh were u even alive?) but this twitter user grew up in a super super SUPER religious household and was like why do ppl make jokes about Y2K it was insanely traumatizing? though my first instinct was confused ive tried hard to like look more before i judge especially thanks to a friend of mine. turns out that with the further reading the more we found out he was just really traumatized; it was very common in religious households to be afraid of 2000. so we could have come at him with no understanding and he could have thought that everyone had the same experience with that year that he did. his feelings sit precedent though but i think it was just very hard for him to fathom.

i didnt reply bc he didnt need that and what could i have said? he’ll see what the truth is with exposure and unfortunately this was something he really did go through.

and that’s what makes most people think others could be over the top. because it sounded ridiculous but then it was this huge traumatic thing that we could have never known about. so maybe when someone sounds like actually crazy they have an explanation? of course some ppl are just batshit or annoying but that’s anywhere not just leftists it’ just means more i guess when a ~~librul is annoyed~ but it can be easy to want to make fun of ppl too. lmao. basically what i am saying is the internet? especially twitter? for leftists? in this economy? bitch it’s the wild west out here.

i am 29! idk if i said it or not. i am OLD u probably werent even born in the year i was talking about wah. i know not old-old or old at all but compared to you i’m due for a colonoscopy.

omg i hope u can get vaxxed soon! are you wfh rn? i hope ur also not in a bad state as in state state not state as in ur being :| bleh what a fucking time. it sucks that you have to fucking do work. well unless u like school. which i hope u do. i just assume everyone hates it cos i did lmao

was it the lindsay ellis drama? that bitch is dumb. if there was other drama oh wait the drama i was referring to it all happened on the same day. idk book twitter that well but i saw something from someone who was abt that shit and wowie! the american people are not that.....intelligent to put it lightly.

i’ll get better. ppl tell me they miss me and im like aw. i have insanellllyyy bad insomnia and a lot of stuff happened this year HOWEVER I SLEPT FOR TWO DAYS FOR 8 HOURS AT A REASONABLE TIME. im a new woman. anyways you too! i hope ur not too burnt out with school. we just dont know when the burnout is or we just dont know we are burnt out until we are. the panaramiciccici hit and all the things i was ignoring kind of just fell on me and sooo much happened at once. and frankly it’s hard to take care of ourselves. lord.

Like if you aren’t interested in expanding on the issue in a way that hasn’t been done before all you gotta do it like… spread resources and donate if you can. I dont see the point in having to say something about every issue especially if you (not at you specifically just in general) aren’t immediately impacted by the issue. Like is the 14 yr old white marxist named sarah on twitter really gonna have meaningful insight on anti-asian violence ?

this is part of why i cannot telecommunicate. i dont want to do shit on the internet. i am able bodied so i know that this time has been of such ease for other people. but mentally i just can’t. i don’t have a comment on hand like that and i hvae no desire to engage with ppl that way. i am a super super super solitary person but thats bc it’s MY time so when it’s like all this effort with other people i dont ever want to be alone. it’s the same with the way i approach filmmaking. it isnt a sole thing so i hate it not together. that’s part of how u can get so sucked in and repeat doom scrolling. i was in this webinar last may after [redacted] and this black woman prof said��“read with a community and talk” because otherwise she said we are torturing ourselves. you can’t carry that weight all on your own. unfortunately i hate zoom, discord, slack, signal, whatsapp, facetime. you name it this panera has made it evi.. L

you make a really excellent point. i think the young young gen zers are really really just interesting because it’s like this whole new world for them with leftist politics and they just can’t grasp the horrors of the world and the kind of freedom being a leftist can bring. and so many people don’t grow out of it. those people so happen to be the “least productive” in terms of how much time they spend IRL withe these issues. naturally, younger kids are gonna have a harder time. they are not as mobile as well so the internet becomes this place. but then it’s this echo chamber. and many times just things posted without sources. and social media NEEDS that to exist.

i think of the irony of leftist kids on tik tok and while i am happy it’s reaching them it’s just....different. very different. the growth of social media is so good but also so fucking sad, it’s too much! i think the point about not writing everything is major. even i have to do this which is part of the disappearing.y ou need to detach and make sure your head is on straight again. but when you think eveyrone has to be privvy to every thought and you can’t just sit back....which twitter and social media doesn’t encourage. you have to join in. that’s often why when i have something to say it is dense because i don’t feel like repeating it. ever. lmao ust ever. i cant pay attn. social media is a fucking minefield for my brain u can get so lost in it and absorb it but once u start talking you may not be able to stop.

i think a big part of that is it not being a leisurely thing but sort of just in our lives always. this sounds like a grandpa rant but ykwim. We dont have to see the same thing over and over again. And eventually it gets sincerely diluted or its diluted bc of capitalism or whatever. Or if theyre very young or maybe they don’t have like the greatest way of sharing the knowledge? then it can be butchered. I hope this is making sense...i’m talking beyoond the boring surface-level milquetoast shit. i see really ahistorical stuff on there from leftists (like this thing about NK + africa and it being a beneficial rship as opposed to a um not beneficial one. and it isn’t. beneficial but this young black girl was talking abt it and noname rtd and i was like it’s just too complex. there’s no good/bad here just bc it’s not america. dont get me started on this.)

but Lol that was kinda off topic but I think what I meant in my last reply about not turning off the voice in my head is about when I consume media, not necessarily when I’m online talking about. Even if I have criticism for something, I’m usually pretty chill when consuming fandom content bc I think being serious online all the time is kinda boring. Like sometimes I’m analyzing theme and shit but really most of the time im memeing.

exactly.........gotta laugh. thats why sometimes im like i cant think lmao. unfrotunately i have been ARGUING with ppl on the internet for rly no reason when i could have replied to ur very nice fun wholesome message. i love torture. i miss memes.

“ i think the people who get the least enjoyment out of that are those so obsessed with getting upset with anyone thinking outside of their lines as if it equates to them “ EXACTLYYYYY

kekekekeke im glad u got it. it’s like with conservatives throwing around snowflake. now im beginning to question who the real complainers are.

LMAO exactlyyyy. i posted a screenshot of this writer from twitter saying that exact thing. Like first of all, I’m...an adult? and if you are as well uh? i’m sorry for you but are we 12? But how is it affecting u this viscerally? And if it does why dont u...do...research? pihgofuaipoajghou but honestly everything u said. we’re trained to go into it with nothing. i was only around ur age when i started to get more serious about this stuff but you’re like lightyears ahead of where i was at 21. did i say this but i’m in iww and literally i can tell u in 2016 i did not think 2019 me would be in a union bc i told my friend in a train station that we don’t need unions. i was 23...but the thing is i didnt know what i was talking about. at all. and i knew i didnt know and she knew i didnt know and now i am the clown.

also yes at critical engagement. i had to learn so much through experience and this is tuff that i coudlnt be shielded from. there’s an empathy you kinda have to develop and this understanding that you move through the world as this person who is “nowhere and everywhere; nothing and everything” so i’ve always had to think about things differently just to survive. that’s also what can drag a lot of people towards it like theres so many black kpop fans bc i think a lot of the pain in SK can be mirrored (sort of) through our history. and theres currently a history now but it had to be forged. uh what was my point oh yea however i wouldnt have been able to move further if i didnt have my background to go off of bc i knew something was off when i started getting into all these things (ill give u a hint) but if i had no prior knowledge and didnt have to think about it then the critical approach is either stale or stupid.

i had to research but i dont understand how ppl are so bold with little to no research and understanding? thhey just inherently know with also like ZERO experience in what they need experience in. engaging critically means “how i see the world” with dashes of trying to be open adn understanding or whatever. actually that’s another thing like being afraid of criticizing things bc theyre foreign to you so u give it a pass (like we discussed) but it doesnt hAVE TO BEEEE JUST REAAAAAD and then take all the info ur teensy brain and apply it. be a normal human being and dont be fucking rude and racist. thats it! u can complain abt literally anything without being a dick.

as we start with LW and end with LW.....what do we think (i asked this already) omg please share wbl thoughts i THINK i know what ur talking about. well it could be two things; their rship when they came back and the physicality and then pei shou yi. i almost dont even want to use my brain to fucking look at that. i think wbl can get away with more bc of visual~*~*~* reasons (like literally, the look of the show. there’s more space to get lost in the frames. many thai dramas are a lot more literal? this isn’t the right word but it’s very heavily character focused particularly bc of $ i think) though good production also underscores flaws so i am also wrong. but like do u know what i mean? u have to kinda focus on it? or maybe it’s just cos like.....ur so used to it in thai bl idek. i’ve seen tw bl ofc.

look i swear i will justify this forever bc there are some things we miss right but if u feel like someone’s a bad actor....theyre bad. it’s about tone movement etc etc etc and since most thai bl productions have 0 interest in that....well. they take these newbies and put them in these situations. we dont understand thai but if we see them and we’re like “wow this is really bad” then they’re bad lmao. IDC i will never be like cos idk what theyre saying NO WHY HE LOOK LIKE A ROBOT???????? DOES HE EMOTE? why is he CRYING WITH NO TEARS? and it’s not even a total requisite to cry with tears(i mean for me it is) but it’s just like what is happening on ur face right now young man????????

painful.

the inflection stuff is very valid ooh good point tho but that’s only a part of the piece. plus we get used to the way they communicate. like the ppl from sotus were prtty bad. i dont like that show but thats an ex of ppl liing the actors and the person i thought was better other ppl dont think that? well apparently hes a shitty guy but. um. so when theres decent acting its so glaring.

although i must say even tho i dont care for 2gether anymore and would never like to be reminded about its existence (only bc i just cringe lol) i honestly....didnt think bright was a bad actor? but people keep saying he is and i am much more inclined to believe them than myself. though i am not often dickmatized that could have been it. until he opened his mouth and ruined it and then i stopped paying attn.

although honestly i’m so much more critical than i could be positive. i have ben stumped for the last day about how i wasnt mad at his acting in the show. is it me? is it him? who’s......the wrong one.....(me)

oh shit they have been denied? i haven’t been paying attn to whats been going on recently. i just got into it on MDL because of snowdrop. sometimes i literally cannot engage bc ill just be like alright well im black so this power button in my head is going off when ppl talk abt that shit. back in the day when kpop jawns were saying some real outta pocket anti black shit (now everyone is slick with it) it’d always be THEY DONT HAVE GOOGLE THEYVE NEVER SEEN A BLACK PERSON but really it’s like no...maybe they are just racist? that’s ok too.

also the past 2 weeks have been um atrocious bc how fucking easily people fell into the pit of white supremacy and started to turn their ire towards black people and making a competition between our groups just like they wanted. it’s not about the women who are dead anymore, who were sex workers, their womanhood, being asian, being poor anymore. it’s about how much black people get attention and why people only pay attn to us. i am not feeling very generous this week for ppl to excuse that hsit.

on a lighter note, ppl say that abt the whole husband and wife thing. i dont know how to explain how angry that shit makes me but maybe it’s because i do not want to think of my body in relation to a fucking penis at all hours of the day. if bls could kindly not do that it would be nice lmao

yes there are a lot of those. who are only there to gawk lmao. and just idk worship bc of the cult of personality thing bc of how weird and open they have to be as actors. some of the others are people who /think/ theyre really smart (i think im asmart but i also think i am very dumb and i have adhd to prove that MEDICALLY!!!) but are actually not? or their observations arent great? or idk if they are they arent interesting? but i think well..........we have more refined palettes :P

jk also theres just different personalities. you and i mesh more bc we have a lot of the same beliefs and are coming from the same place. that makes it easier to understand as well. i really try to remember that but some people are really weird so. again just...the perception of certain things even down to acting skills. but i also dont like.......believe this genre can really do anything at all. on one hand i want them to do it right bc it’s a piece of work so they should. be proud of it. cos most things arent advancing us bc representation and culturalism are a lie bla bla. it’s just that when the depictions are negative or not done well it adds to the problem as opposed to the things that are well done are fairly benign and can’t really pull us back (perf example is the black panther film. i woudl definitely not say it was transgressive as a literal work but visually it’s just stunning. and it’s sad that it’s stunning and surprising but still with basically an all black cast of mostly dark people abd like what it means in the zeitgeist yes. it’s also just a good movie. but it’s still imperialist prop and unfortunately and this is fucking pathetic to say it “opened eyes” in other countries where they hate black ppl and ignore their own racialized minorities HENNYWAYSSSS a better ex is moonlight except moonlight isnt mainstream and is indie tho...still thru a funnel of capital bc a24 but who cares bleed the fuckers dry is my motto. my point is moonlight is both a great work and doesnt bring any failures to the table and its existence helps in ways outside of art but they arent the defining things giving us material advancement sooooo i mean it’s complex (this is my conclusion to everything um guys it’s complex)

er i had one more point in conjunction to above. oh yea so i like dont need all these extra things to make it progressive. like people really want more women in the show and i am honestly like i really dont. i dont want them to actively do this. if they cant do it naturally then let someone else do it. i am not asking for more bc i dont want it from them. when something comes along i embrace it but i do not see why women should be represented when the genre RELIES on patriarchy. there is no complete satisfying existence for the women in these series. i dont want it. i dont ask people to show us~*~* or respect~* like fuck no the people who make it make it and hopefully more will make it in the future but i will not beg bc THEY DONT WANT TO DO IT SO WOULD FORCING IT MAKE IT BETTER? just fucking leave them out entirely. that’s the answer if theyre gonna make nasty female characters then those bitches can geaux. we have other plcaes to be. booked. and. BUSY!

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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

Text

What Might Have Been - 8

My ongoing fic for @goodomenscelebration. Crowley has arrived in the post-Apocalypse wasteland, searching for Aziraphale. Angst and destruction ahead.

Parts 1-6 here.

Part 7 here (despite what the lying title might say)

Family

Crowley couldn’t sense Aziraphale.

Or rather, he could sense Aziraphale, knew he was somewhere in the world, but that was as far as he knew. Not the direction, nor the distance, nor anything else.

He circled over the V-cut valley of Devil’s Dyke, looking for anything familiar. Looking for anything alive.

Those cliffs to the left looked like the ones they had chosen for their home, but there was no cottage, no garden, no little copse of trees sheltering it from view. The landscape had been scraped clean to the bright-white stone underneath.

He circled again, over a lake of fire, another frozen but sublimating, like dry ice. A river of sludge that seemed to run uphill. White bones of animals that never lived in this part of the world, looking far too large to be allowed.

Another circle, further out. Over there – the village of Ditchling. Aziraphale dragged him down there for tea at that little café twice a week. He liked to walk down the main street and wave to the humans as if he’d lived among them for decades.

No one lived there now.

With a flutter of black wings, Crowley came to rest at the traffic circle in the center of the village. To one side, that bakery where Aziraphale liked to browse cakes and bottles of wine, windows smashed, shelves bare; to the other, the old Post Office building, which looked as if it had been torn apart from the inside out. What little remained of the brick walls were black with soot.

One whole side of the village was just gone, foundations still smoldering: the little shop where they bought vegetables whenever Aziraphale got it in his mind to try cooking dinner, the jewelers where they would look at rings, had been looking for months, still hadn’t made a decision because Aziraphale needed Crowley’s to be perfect.

Just past the bakery was a little plant shop, which had fared no better. Little pots and planters – once brightly colored, now chipped and faded – held the brown, withered remains of plants. He touched one, and it fell to dust between his fingers. Nothing could survive here.

Except, in the back, he thought he saw a bit of green. Stepping carefully through the shattered window, Crowley moved through the shop to a corner that got little light, but also shielded its plants from whatever happened on the street. And there it was: a tall succulent, most of its green waxy leaves already turned yellow and fallen off, but a few still clinging to life. He tugged at one, and it was still springy, still a little soft.

“Well. I don’t know how you survived this long, but a little water and you might make it.” He picked up the pot. “Doubt we’ll find any. But let’s see what we can do.”

He was easing back through the window and happened to glance back towards the traffic circle –

Something – someone – darted across the street.

Crowley hunched, pulling his wings out again, clutching his plant close, ready to flee. Aziraphale? Probably not; if the angel were that close, no chance his sense would be so confused. Someone else.

He could run, of course, fly away. He was here to find Aziraphale, and nothing else. He would find his angel, take him home, rescue their lovely home from the Archangels, and never think of this place again.

Except…

Except he was here now, and he didn’t know what was going on.

Crowley hated not knowing what was going on.

And the best way to find out was to ask someone.

With one last brimstone-scented breath, Crowley started towards the figure.

By the time he’d rounded to corner, it was empty again – just a long stretch of road, past the little café with the garden in the back, the inn, the church. It was too silent. Wind whistled over broken glass, but that was all. No rustle of paper, no skitter of feet, no birds, no insects. With the sky dark and scabbed over, he couldn’t even tell what time of day or night it was. The world seemed paused, frozen, holding its breath.

A foot scuffed.

Crowley pressed himself to the side of the inn, wings hidden. Something was just around the corner, perhaps in the parking lot. He set the plant down in the window box, among the decaying remains of its kin, and pressed himself to the wall, trying to look without being seen. It didn’t work, though, not only because his glasses got in the way.

“Right,” he whispered to himself. Could be a demon. Or an angel. Or…anything. Be ready to look and run. He had enough energy for one more form shift today, and a rat could very easily get lost in the ruins.

Snapping around the corner, Crowley found the other being was also pressed tight to the wall, trying to peer without being seen. Almost as tall as Crowley, dressed all in black, with short blond hair, just a hint of curl. The boy looked at him with wide – and very familiar – eyes.

“Adam?” Crowley took a step forward.

Mistake. Crowley was, immediately and without passing through any intermediate space, on the roof of the church across the street. He skittered for a second, trying to keep his balance on the impossibly steep pitch, but the building was in ruins, the consecration weakened to the point that he could barely feel it at all.

“Go away! Leave me alone!” The boy shouted, already backing up the street. “I won’t do it any longer, you hear me? I mean it this time! I want – I want to be left alone!”

“Adam, wait!” He shook out his wings again, jumping after the boy. There was no mistaking him, of course – the powers were a giveaway, but he looked almost exactly like the young boy he and Aziraphale had visited in Tadfield only a month ago. Except that Adam had been full of smirks and slouches and bad jokes, trying to convince Crowley to let him drive the Bentley just once around town, no one’ll know but me and Dog. Explaining his idea for a new ice cream flavor even the Americans hadn’t thought of yet. Laughing when Aziraphale asked him if it was possible to get a rotary smartphone.

This Adam stood ramrod straight, body shifting back to attention every time he stopped moving. Older, he seemed, stronger for certain, with a calculating look that took in everything. His eyes darted now, as he frowned, hiding a fear Crowley had never seen in him, not even at the Airbase three years ago.

But it was still him. Still his godson.

“Adam,” he tried again, softening his voice, holding his hands to the sides. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yeah,” he bunched his fists. “A demon. Think I don’t know? You might not be dressed for battle, but it’s obvious. Well, back off, or I’ll put you inside the church next time. I can, you know.” His lip trembled. “And I’m – I’m not going to fight again. I don’t – don’t care what you lot do to me, I’m not –”

“No.” Crowley took another step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you, Adam. You should be able to see that. In my mind.”

“Not looking in a demon’s mind,” Adam snapped. “Not after last time. You keep your nasty – everything to yourself.” He glanced over his shoulder, as if planning to run. But it was a long way to the next town, with bugger-all in between. “Why d’you keep calling me that, anyway?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Crowley adjusted his glasses, almost pulling them off. Would it make the kid more comfortable, or less? “Isn’t that your name?”

The sullen shrug was almost something the real Adam would have done, except without the little smile that always followed it. “I guess. No one’s called me that since…” he waved a hand, taking in everything.

“What happened, Adam?” A Tudor house had stood nearby, white plaster and ornate stickwork, with a brick section said to date back a thousand years. All gone now, except a set of brick steps, rising ten feet to open out onto empty air. Crowley sprawled against the side of it. “To England? To you?”

“Armageddon,” he snapped. Well. That was fairly obvious.

“You didn’t stop it?”

“Stop it? I started it!” He clenched his jaw, face twisting in pain. Both hands pressed to his forehead. “I didn’t mean to. The voices…they get so loud. Until I can’t think. Until I don’t want to think.” He looked up again, tears in his eyes. “I know – we both know they’ll make me go back. Just. Let me have until then. Just a few days.” Genuine pleading, the kind that only comes from real fear.

“Go back where? Tell me what’s going on.”

“Go back to your – your stupid war! I don’t want to fight, I don’t want to destroy angels, I don’t want to kill two billion humans, and I don’t want to declare myself God! I just…I want…” He bit his lip, stepping back, as if expecting to be hit.

“What?” Crowley slid down the wall to crouch just above the ground. That all sounded familiar, something from the books of prophecy Aziraphale had never stopped reading. But all that could wait. “What is it you want, Adam?”

The boy leaned against the brick stairs, and arm length away, and slid slowly down until he was in a crouch of his own. “I want…I want to go home. I miss my mum and dad. Your lot made me send them away, at the first battle.” He shrugged. “Not that they cared about me.”

“Ugh,” Crowley cracked his head against the wall. He did not come out here planning to deal with teenaged self-esteem issues. “Adam. Look. We both know the only reason your parents went away is because you compelled them. For Someone’s sake, I’ve met them. There’s no way they don’t care about you.”

Adam frowned in confusion. “How do you know my parents?”

“Ehhhhh…long story.” Crowley smirked. “You could save us both a lot of time, just read it from my head? No?” He shrugged. “Then you’re just going to have to trust me. I’ve met your parents. And I can tell you, it’s absolutely disgusting how attached to you they are.”

Adam snorted. “I think you’ve got the wrong parents, mate. Mine didn’t need to be brainwashed to take off back to America without me.”

Crowley stared ahead.

Then he turned to Adam, ripping his glasses off. “Did you say America? Did you – back to America?”

“Yeah.” Adam shrugged. “Thought you said you knew.”

Crowley wrestled with a sudden feeling of unease. Somehow, in an Apocalypse-torn wasteland version of the home he’d built, he’d found something that could make it worse. “What’s…tell me your full name. Full human name. What your parents called you.”

“Well, my mum called me Adam,” he said slowly, “but my full name was Warlock Adam Thaddeus Dowling.”

(Note for clarity: This is Adam. In this universe, the switch didn’t go wrong, he was raised by the Dowlings, and I compromised a bit on the name to what I hoped would be least confusing. I also tried to make his personality partway between Adam and Warlock, thanks to those Dowling influences. He’s 14 here.)

#good omens fanfiction #good omens celebration #goc2020 #crowley #adam young #good omens prime #alternate universe #good omens #fanfic #family #post apocalyptic #angst #good omens angst #My writing #What Might Have Been

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