#she did say she appreciated how i just decided to write my paper in script form rather than use an academic tone. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nyctophilin · 4 years

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Fake affection | I

sweet anon: Can I request a dom! Han Jisung smut? Where he and the reader are fake dating because Jisung want's to make someone jealous but ends up fucking the reader instead? I love your writings so much!!

Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III, Chapter IV, Epilogue

Description: Han Jisung has been rejected by the girl he likes one to many times. He decides that he has had enough and is set on making her want him back. What could possibly make her want him more than seeing him with her rival after she boldly assumed he can’t find anyone better. That way Jisung and Y/N are stuck in a fake relationship until Jisung’s crush falls for him. Or he falls for someone else.

Pairing: Han x fem!Reader, Hyunjin x fem!Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Genre: College!AU, Fake dating!AU, Angst, Fluff, eventual Smut

Warnings: swearing, mention of masturbation

A/N: Wow, so it looks like I am unable of making short fics, haha. I planed for this to be a one-shot but it’s already this long and I don’t want to bore you guys with long fics so I will make a second part and a third if needed but I doubt. I really hope you guys like this one. Feedback is very much appreciated.

Y/N was tapping her finger on the desk, her head resting in her palm. She was watching the professor walk around in front of the class explaining something but she wasn’t paying attention. Her mind was filled with thoughts about whether or not she was going to get the role.

Some people from her university that were majoring in Film Production had to write a script for a short movie and the best five got chosen to be produced. Initially, she believed that only Theater and Film Majors could participate at the auditions but the administration of the school made an announcement one morning informing them that everyone could take part in the audition process. That meant she had to deal with more competitors for the role she wanted.

Initially, Y/N was the only one who wanted to audition for the main role of one of the movies since people didn’t really catch its concept that well. When the audition day finally came, one Modern Dance major showed up out of nowhere and auditioned as well. The apparition of that particular character made her blood boil with anger.

Her competitor for the role was none other than Mina, her so-called enemy. They weren’t enemies in the real sense of the word. They just simply didn’t click with one another and silently agreed a long time ago to ignore each other. They weren’t pulling childish stunts on each other, they didn’t speak each other's names unless necessary, they didn’t try to win each other in grades or parties or body counts. They were just mutually ignoring one another. And everything was fine until she showed up there.

Y/N wasn’t going to lie and say that Mina wasn’t good. Her performance wasn’t exceptional but for someone that has never done that before, she was fairly good. That had her worried about her chances of getting chosen.

When the bell finally rang ending her suffering she got up in the split of a second and left the room. She could not bear to hear any more of the professor’s babbling. Her boots let out quiet thuds every time they touched the concrete floors. She found herself in front of the announcement board but the paper that was supposed to tell her if she got chosen or not, was missing. Thinking to herself that they probably will put it up later she turned on her heels and made her way towards the cafeteria.

She met her friend Hayoon there and they sat down at a table situated in the centre of the cafeteria. They talked about how they had been up until then and Hayoon complained about one of her classes and how she’s going to fail it.

The chatter in the cafeteria died down when the door was slammed open and Mina stomped in, a bitter expression on her face. “I can not believe that they made me a stunt double! What does that even mean?” Her voice was louder than it should have been as she addressed her friends. Her intention was most probably to attract attention.

A smirk crept on Y/N’s face as she realised that she did, in fact, get the main role. She gave her friend a suggestive eyebrow raise as she slowly took the chopstick to her mouth. Her face dropped when she heard the stomping approaching her. “Hey, loser, what’s a stunt double?” Mina’s voice was scratching her ears. How she managed to sound like one of those toys for dogs sometimes, she’ll never understand.

“I can’t believe you’ve auditioned for a role without knowing what a stunt double is.” Y/N rolled her eyes at the other girl and a few people from around them chuckled. Mina’s face caught a crimson colour as the embarrassment settled in.

“Haha, you are so funny!” It was clear by now that the girl was trying to mask her flustered form by trying to embarrass Y/N back.

The truth was that she didn’t mean to make fun of her. She just let her first thoughts leave her mouth. “I wasn’t trying to be funny.” A sigh left her lips. “A stunt double is a person that executes all the dangerous or action scenes for the main actor so they don’t get injured. Stunt doubles are usually gymnasts, people that know martial arts and all that jazz. They probably chose you because of your dance background.”

“I can’t believe it. Not only they didn’t give me the role, but they are also going to use me to protect you?” Mina had an annoyed expression.

“Oh please! Did you really think they were going to choose you? You entered that room without even knowing the concept and somehow managed to get the feel right a couple of times. Meanwhile, some of us actually prepared for that audition.” Y/N was fed up with Mina’s princess behaviour. Always thinking that everything is rightfully hers and expecting everyone to kiss her ass. All that just because her father was donating a big sum of money to the university every term. They are donations at the end of the day and she should not be expecting special treatment just for that.

Mina’s face became a crimson red for the second time in ten minutes and she stomped away from Y/N’s table. The few people that were watching them averted their eyes when Y/N took a look around.

From the corner of the cafeteria, someone was watching them with a smirk on their face. Oh, how he got just the perfect idea.

Y/N sat in the second closest row to the professor. She was in “Canto class” as she liked to call it. It was one of the optional classes she chose to take that year. It wasn’t a compulsory class for Theater and Film majors since you don’t necessarily have to know how to sing to be an actress but she took it anyway because she thought it would be fun. And so far it was.

A loud bang invaded her left ear and she turned to find Han Jisung having his back to her and chatting with his friends that were seated a few rows behind them. She raised her eyebrow but didn’t question it. It wasn’t like the seat was occupied and she definitely had nothing against him sitting next to her. He probably just wanted to pay more attention since he and his friends are always distracted during class.

Y/N turned back to her stuff and opened her notebook to take another look at the notes from last class. Soon after the professor entered the classroom and the chatter died down.

She was vigorously writing in her notebook everything the professor was explaining to them. Suddenly she felt a touch on her left elbow and stopped for a second. She immediately resumed her writing, convinced that he probably did that by mistake. Not even a minute later she felt another touch on her elbow this time more evident. She ignored it again not paying much mind to it. Jisung’s elbow collided with hers causing her to push her notebook and scribble on it.

She snapped her head towards him and felt anger overcome her when she noticed the smirk on his face. “What?” She whispers yelled in his direction.

“Hi!” He did a short wave of his hand in her direction and she clenched her jaw. She closed her eyes and exhaled deeply before going back to her note-taking. She had only five minutes of peace before he poked her side again. She smacked his hand away from her and continued to mind her own business.

Throughout the class, Jisung kept bothering her and trying to talk to her despite her obvious wish to let her take notes. When the bell rang she got up quickly, her blood boiling and left the room in a hurry hoping she could lose Jisung on the busy halls. As she was hurriedly making her way between the sea of people she felt an arm going over her shoulders and she crashed with the owner of the arm.

“Why are you in such a hurry babe?” Jisung’s voice rang in her ear as they were practically glued to each other. She grabbed his hand and swung his arm away from her shoulders.

“For the love of God, what do you want from me Han Jisung?” Exasperation was present in her voice as she threw him an ugly look.

She couldn’t guess what he needed from her to annoy her to that extent. They were acquaintances and nothing more. They knew each other from that one class they shared and the longest interaction they had was when the professor prepared an interactive class once and they had to work in groups of five.

He was the university’s “heartthrob” as people liked to call him. Y/N personally thought that that title should be given to Hwang Hyunjin who was majoring in Modern Dance. He was more mature than the rest of his friends, he was friendly with everyone and wasn’t pulling pranks on innocent people to entertain some brainless creatures. But who was she to oppose the masses?

On top of doing all those things, Jisung was also in a relationship with Mina. Every time they are together they will target someone and will start making fun of them. More Mina than Jisung but he was still entertaining her actions and that made him as guilty as she was.

“I need to ask you something. Or better, make you a proposal.” He winked at her and she felt an uncomfortable shiver run through her. How disgusting.

“Ok, and what is it?” She threw him an expectant look and he started looking around.

“Let’s talk outside where there are fewer people. You got a free period, right?” Confusion made its way on her face.

“How do you know that? Are you weirdo following me?” She has never talked with him as friends and they share only one class. How on earth would he know her schedule?

“What? No! I see you hanging out around the university all the time after our class.” She rolled her eyes at his answer and gestured her hand towards the closest exit out of the building signalling him to lead the way.

Very soon they were seated on a bench under a tree somewhere behind the university. It was her first time coming there. Y/N usually liked to remain at the front of the building since couples usually liked to come there and make out sometimes even fuck.

“I think we should start dating.” He blurted out and she froze for a second before jumping to her feet startling the man.

“I knew you were fucking weird. I’m leaving!” What in the actual fuck did she think when she came here. For a second she expected a real conversation but Jisung’s main skills were flirting and making bad jokes. She set her expectations way too high for that conversation.

She picked her bag from the bench and started leaving only to have Jisung grab her wrist and stop her. “Wait, let me explain. I swear you’ll understand better after.” Y/n wanted to turn and leave but the puppy dog eyes he gave her made her stay and listen to him. Now, don’t get her wrong, his expression didn’t soften her but if he was desperate enough to try the puppy eyes on her then it must be important to him.

She plopped down on the bench and waited for him to start talking. “Look, I’m pretty sure you know Mina. And I know you two aren’t on great terms. I say we date so you can get back at her for all the things she has done to you.” He raised his eyebrows at her and pursed his lips.

Y/N was the one that raised her eyebrow next as she leaned her head to the side. “Aren’t you and Mina dating?”

“Obviously not.” Jisung used a tone that pissed Y/N off. A tone that said ‘It was so obvious, how can you not know?’ and she didn’t like it one bit.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I must have read the signs the wrong way. I mean, it's not like you are always together and you carry her backpack around and you hang out outside of school six days out of seven and kiss before classes and make out behind the university probably right on this bench.”

A smirk appeared on Jisung’s face. “Who’s following who now?”

“Don’t flatter yourself. Mina’s voice is so annoying I could hear her every time she talked. When I would turn to see what was up now you two were most times engaged in some sort of PDA.” She spoke fast trying to prove that she wasn’t following him. She didn’t know why she felt the need to do that but the thought of Jisung thinking that she has some sort of interest in him was terrifying. He completely humiliated the last “unpopular” girl that confessed her feelings to him and at that moment the last thing she needed was for him to go around saying she is a stalker.

“Well, we are getting there. I asked her out and she said that she’ll love to but it’s too fun to tease me. When I asked her ‘What if I get a girlfriend?’ she told me I can not find anyone better for me than her. When I saw you fighting in the cafeteria earlier I knew I found my perfect girl. Not only are you hot, but she also hates you.” Y/N raised an eyebrow at his words.

“Hot?” Her tone was untrusting as this was the first time someone from uni had said that to her.

“Yeah. You didn’t think that guys came to last year’s theatre spectacles because they were actually interested in theatre, right?” A laugh left his mouth at her dumbfounded face as she registered his words. A blank expression adorned her face immediately after trying not to seem so surprised.

“Well, not anymore.” She let her tongue trace her bottom lip before biting the flesh. “Ok, so tell me what you actually want us to do.” Uneasiness settled inside Jisung as he watched her bored face.

“Well, I mean what I said. We should date. Or fake dating if you will. That way I can make Mina jealous and push her to run into my arms. I bet she can’t stand seeing me with you for too long.” He looked into her eyes hopefully thinking that maybe he convinced her but his hope was quickly shattered when she opened her mouth.

“What are you? Five? I don’t want to get back at her and I have absolutely no reason to help you in your sick plan. I’m out of here!” Once again she picked up her bag to leave only for Jisung to grab her wrist and stop her, again.

“Please Y/N! I’m desperate. I’ve been trying to date her for a year and a half already.” That was pathetic. She had absolutely no reason to help him. None at all. But something pushed her to stay and accept his offer. Maybe she could take advantage of the situation.

Turning her head towards her she tried to keep a straight face as best as she could. “What do I get out of it?”

Jisung’s face brightened instantly at her question and he held her hand with both of his. “Anything you want. If it’s possible I’ll do it.” His eyes were pouring into hers and a stupid sparkle was present in them.

“I guess you were going to do that anyway but I want you to present me to your friends.” The same bored expression that she had on for almost the entirety of their conversation was adorning her face. Jisung was amazed at the lack of emotions she managed to show but she was an actress. Maybe she’s just good at her job.

“Why? Do you have a crush on any of them?” A smirk was enveloping his facial features and he had a teasing tone. Y/N rolled her eyes at his comment.

“No. Some of them seem like really interesting people but their only defect was hanging out with you. Now that I have to hang out with you too I might as well start talking to them.” She shook his hands off hers before putting it in her front pocket. “Now I have to go to class cause my free period is almost over. See you later, babe!” She winked at him before turning around and making her way to her next class.

The next day she met with Jisung in front of the cafeteria so they could walk in together and “announce” their relationship. Somehow he got hold of her number and they texted the night prior about the terms of their little deal. She felt like laughing when she saw how serious he was about it. If he really did end up dating Mina she’ll be convinced that both of them are idiots.

His arm was over her shoulders as they walked through the tables. Multiple people were staring at them but she decided to ignore them. Upon reaching the table she placed her tray down and took a seat. The people at the table were looking confused at one another and some were throwing Jisung questioning looks.

“Everyone, meet my girlfriend.” He spoke gesturing with a hand towards her. She smiled at them and waved her hand, muttering a soft ‘Hi!’.

One of them, who she recognised to be Lee Minho, a Modern Dance major cleared his throat. “Hey. It’s nice to meet you.” He had an awkward smile on. “What are you majoring in?”

“Yeah, I don’t recall seeing you around campus.” Seo Changbin, a Music Production major added.

“Oh, I…” She started talking but a puff coming from her left stopped her.

“Seriously dude? You share a class. She’s L/N Y/N from your Theory and Improvisation class.” The voice belonged to Hwang Hyunjin and she felt a funny feeling in her stomach at the realisation that he knows her. Everyone around the table was throwing him weird looks.

“You are right but how do you know that? I’m pretty sure you don’t take that class.” There was a trace of embarrassment in her voice.

“I don’t but sometimes when I wait for those guys outside of the classroom I see you walking out.” He said that with nonchalance taking a bite from his food.

“And how do you know her? She’s not a Music Production major otherwise we would have known. And she’s not a Dance major either otherwise Minho and Felix would have known about her as well.”Changbin’s tone was almost provoking as if Hyunjin had done something bad and he was about to reveal it.

“She’s a Theatre and Film major. Last year when we went to all those theatre spectacles to support Jeongin I was actually paying attention to the plays. She had either the main role or the lead. I remember her being really good.” She felt her cheeks heat at his comment.

“Thank you!” She threw him a smile. However, she got ignored as Lee Felix started talking.

“Do you know her Jeongin?” She somehow felt offended by his question. Maybe that wasn’t his intention but he should have used a different tone.

“Of course I do. We share almost all of our classes and last year we worked on multiple plays together.” Annoyance was present in his voice caused by his friends' ignorance.

She knew Jeongin from the first day. He was the first to speak to her although they didn’t exactly become friends. They kept on working on plays together throughout the entirety of the first year of college but they kept everything mostly professional since they both had their own group of friends and she kind of disliked most of his friends.

“Then how come you never talk about her?” Now, wasn’t Changbin an annoying one? She rolled her eyes discreetly at his question.

“Because we are not the best of friends. Why don’t you talk about Kim Gina from your degree?” The youngest question was a good one. They were acquaintances and barely knew something about each other. What was he supposed to talk about?

“Gina is not hot. What am I supposed to talk about?” The older male said calmly with a shrug of his shoulders.

The water she was just drinking got stuck in her throat and she started coughing violently. Jisung started hitting her back repeatedly trying to help her swallow. When she finally calmed down she looked at him annoyed.

“Who she is, is not important. What’s important is that she is my girlfriend” he gave Changbin a side look ”and you have to accept that. Stop talking about her like she is not sitting right in front of you.” A few of them raised their hands in defeat while some of them averted their eyes. Minho and Changbin rolled their eyes.

She felt her blood pressure spike up at their action. She remembered why she never wanted to talk to any of them. Arrogant pricks.

“Ok, Mister protective boyfriend. Just tell us when you break up.” Minho took a bite of his food done with the younger man’s antics. Everyone knew that he was in love with Mina. The moment she shows some interest in him he would probably leave this one in a heartbeat.

Y/N sucked in a breath discreetly. He really got her worked up and she hated it. She put an arm around Jisungs shoulders and yanked him towards her, his face close to her chest. With her other hand, she grabbed the sides of his face making him look up at her and forcefully pursing his lips.

“Break up? Do you wanna break up with me, babe?” Y/N’s voice was mocking as if she was talking with a child. Jisung swallowed hard before shaking his head. She smiled at his response and used the hand from around his shoulders to ruffle his hair. “That’s what I thought.” She placed a short kiss on his lips before releasing him and turning back to her food.

Everyone at the table was looking at both of them shocked, especially Minho and Changbin. She wanted to let a proud smile escape her but she controlled herself.

For the rest of the lunch, she decided not to engage in any more discussions with Jisung’s friends. She continued eating her food and listened to them talking about things that didn’t involve her, occasionally responding to Hayoon’s texts.

She was the first one to get up, impatient to go to her next class and not have to see them. “Bye guys. It was lovely meeting you!” She smiled at them, a smile half true because she did like some of them. “Bye babe. See you later!” She grabbed the sides of his face again placing another kiss on his lips before taking her empty tray and leaving them alone.

The men all watched her as she made her way out of the cafeteria. When she closed the door behind her they all burst into laughter. Jisung was biting the inside of his cheek irked by their action. When the laughter stopped, Seungmin that was sitting next to him put his hand on his shoulder.

“I absolutely adore your girlfriend. She knows how to keep her ‘babe’ in check I see.” Seungmin tried cupping his face as Y/N did but Jisung slapped his hand away.

“Are you her good boy, Jisungie? Does she give you rewards if you listen to her?” Minho cooed at him and Jisung held back an insult.

“Shut the fuck up. It’s not like that. She surprised me as well. Who the fuck knew she was going to do that?” When he proposed the whole fake dating thing to her he thought it would be easier. Looking at it now he can’t understand why he thought that. He saw the way her fights with Mina unfold and he knew she was an actress which meant that she was probably either crazy confident or really good at faking it. For some reason, he thought she would be easier to tease and control but it would be a lie if he said it didn’t intrigue him. He liked a challenge and if the prize was Mina he would try his best.

“And you man” Chan spoke for the first time “what the fuck was that? Do you know her entire biography?” He was looking at Hyunjin who rolled his eyes.

“I told you I paid attention to last year’s plays. On top of that, she’s hot. I remember that after one spectacle I and the guys from my dance group at the time talked about her for like a month. She was so..” The man let out a groan and threw his head back trying to explain what he meant.

“Sure, tell me more. Did you masturbate to the thought of my girlfriend? Perhaps got any wet dreams about her?” Jisung commented, raising an eyebrow.

Hyunjin winked at him as a smirk made its way on his face. Some of the guys simultaneously let out disgusted sounds at his gesture.

“But how did this whole thing happen? I can’t remember a moment when you talked about her or when you were together.” Felix’s deep voice rang making everyone pay attention to him.

Changbin suddenly let a gasp out and dramatically covered his mouth. “Yesterday our little Jisungie sat next to her in Theory and Improvisation and when the class ended he ran after her. I think he might have had a secret crush!” The older man teased.

“Yeah, but she looked really annoyed with him. Hence why she sprinted out of the class. Why would she accept to date him if she looked like she’d rather listen to Mr Jung talk about the first piano ever invented.” Chan intervened making Jisung shrug his shoulders.

“She was annoyed with me but what can I say? I’m so charming she couldn’t refuse me.” He leaned back in his chair putting his arms over the back of the chair.

“I think she did it out of pity. When she realized you’ve been trying to get Mina for a year and a half now she probably felt so bad for you she decided to sacrifice herself so you look less like a loser.” Hyunjin said his tone way to serious to be a joke.

Jisung threw the man a deadly stare. “At least I didn’t masturbate to the thought of her like a fucking virgin.” He spat in the other man’s face.

“Touche.”

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chloelucia13 · 3 years

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It’s Nice to Have a Friend

Pairing: Steve Harrington x platonic!Henderson!reader, Jonathan Byers x reader (mentioned)

Prompt: After Jonathan had abandoned you so he could go god-knows-where with Nancy, you found comfort in the boy who had also been ditched and a beautiful friendship began to bloom.

Warnings: this is some nice comforting fluff, maybe a tiny bit of angst, some language, pretty chill

A/N: So this is a sort of deleted scene that I couldn’t fit into the Stranger Things rewrite, but I felt like it was still important to the character development with the reader and Steve, so I’m deciding to post it separately. You don’t need to read the whole rewrite in order to understand the plot (it’s based in season 2, so if you haven’t watched it then there will be some spoilers), but I would appreciate it a lot if you did read my rewrite! As always, requests and tag lists and my inbox are all open!

“Y/N, hey!” a voice shouted to your right, prompting you to turn your head and look at who was speaking.

Steve rushed over to you, his backpack hanging on one shoulder and a couple of crinkled papers held in his hand.

You furrowed your brows slightly in confusion, stopping at the side of the hallway and waiting for him to catch up. “Hey, Steve,” you drawled out, slightly confused by his presence.

Steve had sat at the bleachers with you that day after both of you had been ditched. Steve was ditched by Nancy and you by Jonathan, both of whom were now attached at the hip.

It was nice to talk to Steve about everything that was going on and, frankly, it was nice just to have someone there. You two seemed to have more in common than you once thought, and though some of that common ground was the fact that you both were abandoned by the person you loved, it was still something.

However, you thought that lunch was it. It was surprising that Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins himself, wanted to spend time with you.

"What’s your next class?” he asked, nervously shifting from one foot to the next.

“It’s, uh, English. Why?” You tugged on the strap of your backpack.

“I was wondering if you maybe wanted to help me with something?”

A look of hesitation washed across your face for a moment. “I don’t know, Steve. I really can’t miss class-”

“Please? I just need help on this essay for my college applications and I have no one else woh can help me. I just... Please?”

You let out a sigh, glancing around as you mulled it over in your mind. “I... I guess. Should we just go to the library and rent out a study room?”

He let out a sigh of relief, all of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you so much. And I already did.”

“Oh, so you were planning on me saying yes?” You squinted at him and tilted your head.

Panic crossed over his features. “No-no, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“Steve, I’m kidding. Chill out.”

He let out a chuckle, nodding as the two of you began to walk to the library. His actions were clearly fueled by anxiety, with his shifting gaze and his hands constantly going in and out of his pockets.

“Why are you so nervous around me?” you asked, glancing up at him as the two of you stepped through the entryway to the library.

“What do you mean?” he scoffed. “I’m not nervous.”

You arched an eyebrow at his response, falling behind his step so he could lead you to the study room he reserved. “You’re fidgeting and you won’t look me in the eye. You weren’t acting like this earlier at lunch.”

He pushed the door open and waited for you to step inside before he also entered the room, closing the door behind him. A small sigh left his lips as he set the papers down on the table. “I don’t know, maybe... I guess I’m just not used to spending time with anyone other than Nancy. Especially when other people see me.”

You gave him a sympathetic look and nodded, sitting down at one of the chairs and taking the papers in your hand. “Well, there’s no need to be nervous around me. You know that. I’m not exactly some cool person that you have to act perfect around.”

Once again, he scoffed. “You are a cool person.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you searched in your bag for a pen. “Come on, Steve. I’m already helping you with your essay, you don’t need to butter me up.”

He sat in the chair next to you. “But you are cool. You don’t give a fuck what people think about you, and I think that’s pretty damn cool.”

You sighed, beginning to scribble a few notes on the paper. “If only you knew, Steve.”

“What do you mean?”

“God, I care so much about what people think about me all the time. It’s exhausting.”

He was silent for a moment, watching you mark the paper as he thought. “Do you care about what other people think about you, or do you care what Jonathan thinks about you?”

You were about to argue with him, but once you realized that he was right, your mouth shut. Instead, you lifted your pen from the paper. “Did someone else edit this already? There’s pen all over it.”

He stiffened awkwardly in his chair, his lips pursing into a fine line. “Nancy was, uh... She was helping me out with it. Until, ya know, everything happened.”

You nodded slowly, slipping the cap on the pen before setting it down on the table. “But why are you having me check the draft that Nancy already checked?”

He let out a sigh, a hand combing through his hair as he stared at all of the markings on the paper. “I think Nancy wasn’t being honest with me about it. I thought that you would be more blunt about what you think about it.”

You searched his expression, leaning back in your chair and taking the papers in your hands. “You want me to be honest about it?”

He gave you a nod. “Please.”

A heavy breath fell past your lips. “Steve, it’s awful.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Geez, at least sugarcoat it a little!”

“You told me you wanted me to be honest!”

His mouth opened so he could retaliate, but no words came out. Instead, he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What-What’s wrong with it?”

“It... It just seems very disingenuous. Shallow.”

“What’s shallow about it?”

“You wrote about a basketball game for one of your biggest struggles that you’ve overcome.”

“And then I said it was like how my Grandpa fought in the war! That’s genuine and powerful!”

You stared at him for a moment, completely at a loss for words. “At least you’re pretty, Steve.”

“Okay, fine. What should I have done instead?”

“Steve, we’ve fought literal monsters. There has to be more to talk about than a basketball game.”

“But I can’t write about that. Can you imagine how crazy they’ll think I am?”

“That’s just an example. We’ve gone through a lot this past year. There has to be something from that time that you can write about.”

He nodded, silently thinking over what had happened in the past 12 months. “Do you think that leaving your bad friends and becoming a better person is a good example of overcoming a struggle?”

You gave him a kind smile. “Absolutely.” You crumpled up the papers you had in your hands and tossed them in the trash can before pulling out a few clean pieces of looseleaf paper and sliding them over to him. “Let’s get an outline going. What made you realize that you should change?”

He thought for a moment, a sad look settling on his features. “Last year. I uh... I did something really mean to Nancy.”

Your head tilted in confusion. “What do you mean? What happened?”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes flashing from left to right as if he was reading from a script, when in reality he was trying to find the right words to say. “After Nancy had ditched me for Jonathan, Tommy and Carol thought that it would be funny if I spray painted ‘Nancy the slut Wheeler’ on the marquee sign at the theater. So I did it.” He risked a glance over at you, noticing the look of disappointment on your face that you failed to disguise. “Nancy and Jonathan saw it, and it escalated.”

His words slowly sank in, and your eyes widened in realization after a few moments of silence. “That’s why you were all beat up? Because Jonathan fought you?”

Steve nodded, his lips pursing closed as he didn’t know what else to say.

“Well, I can’t say you didn’t deserve it.” Again, he nodded. You reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But I can say that you’ve gotten a lot better. And ditching Tommy and Carol definitely helped a lot.”

“So should I write about that?”

It was your turn to nod, a kind smile on your face. “Absolutely. Should we get started?”

He mirrored your smile, leaning forward and pulling a pencil from his backpack. “Let’s do it.”

#Steve harrington #Steve x reader #Jonathan byers #Jonathan x reader #Nancy wheeler #oneshot #drabble #imagine #stranger things #st imagine #st fanfiction #st fanfic #Steve x platonic!reader #Steve x henderson!reader #Steve x you #Steve x y/n

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capitainelevi · 3 years

Note

omg 21!!! GOOD LUCK HAHAHA

Thank you for your ask!! ❤️❤️ Drabble challenge: Followers send a number to your ask and you write a drabble using that sentence/prompt in your piece.

“He’s a bad kisser.”

Do I wanna know? Modern AU. Movie stars.

Word count: 1457

"Captain, this may be my last night alive."

Levi shifted to her suddenly, and his expression softened at the sorrow painted on his subordinate`s face. He wished he could be a solace for her, same as with every mission, and he tried not to let guilt eat at him. The operation was crucial, as it always had been. More significant than even the undying trust Petra felt towards him.

"Shut up, brat."

He wished he could make promises of an unrestrained future, but Levi never believed himself capable of it. How could he pretend he was Humanity`s Strongest Soldier when so many of his comrades had to sacrifice their lives for the dream they all shared? When the tears started rolling on Petra`s cheeks, Levi took her face in his hands, determined to give her a reason to live. He could taste the saltiness of her tears as he pressed his lips to hers in a desperate attempt to show her he was always hers.

"Let`s take a break, people."

Hange`s obnoxious voice pulled Levi out of the fantasy, and he broke the kiss abruptly. His scene partner only smiled at him before making her way out of the set. Levi could feel his heart pulsating faster than before, and he decided not to trade precious hours of sleep for caffeine anymore. As enjoyable as the kiss had been, he refused to think it could have had any effect on him. Levi was not afraid to admit it: he was not fond of acting. It was nothing more than a job to him, one he found himself in since his early childhood. Being the wonder child of Hollywood set Levi up on a path of success through adulthood, but there was no movie or even scene that left a mark on him. He was about to refuse the odd script when he took a glimpse at the small photo of the ginger girl attached to the papers.

Petra Ral. A rising star of Hollywood and the first actor to piquet Levi`s interest in years. Unbeknownst to him, Petra used to refer to herself as his biggest fan in her teenage years. Petra would never admit being the admin of one of his online fan clubs or kissing her Levi poster goodnight, of course. She yelled at the phone when her agent announced Levi had accepted the role, that she would get to play in a movie with THE Levi Ackerman.

But disappointment hit her on their first day on set. While she knew all about her greatest infatuation`s cold exterior, Petra had hoped she could break through his walls. Not only was Levi cold towards her, but after a week of working together, she was sure Levi despised her. When Hange, one of Levi`s childhood friends, found her crying in her trailer after they shot Eren`s accidental transformation, Petra had to let it all out. She ranted to Hange for more than an hour, and the only reaction they had was to laugh at Petra`s distress. She thought Hange was trying to console her by deceiving her, that they had never seen Levi so open towards a fellow actor before.

Petra almost salivated at the sight of the extra coffee cup in her makeup artist`s hand. Nifa always knew how to make Petra`s day better.

"I love you."- Petra whispered to Nifa as she pulled the cup out of her hand greedily.

Petra was surprised her friend had managed to keep quiet for so long, as the smirk plastered on her face kept growing more and more by the second.

"So, how was it?"

Petra decided to take a long sip of her coffee, letting Nifa boil in her curiosity a bit more. The kiss had been breathtaking, exceeding even her incredibly high expectations. Petra found a smile growing on her lips at the thought of Levi`s on hers. At Nifa`s groan, Petra decided to end her suffering.

"Alright, alright. It was... better than I ever expected."

Nifa giggled, equally excited at Petra`s opportunity to lock lips with one of Hollywood`s hottest eligible bachelors. She hit Petra`s shoulder playfully- "You lucky dog!"

Petra couldn`t help but smile at her friend`s adorable pout- "I`m almost jealous."

"Please, I had to work with Oluo before this. I deserve it."

Petra couldn`t help but sigh at the memories locked away in her mind, the ones she brought up every time a scene required her disgust- "He`s a bad kisser."

"It`s the tongue, isn`t it?"

The two girls burst into laughter, missing the sound of her trailer door closing after the short man. Levi strolled away angrily, throwing the coffee cup he had brought for Petra in the nearest trash can. He couldn`t help but feel hurt at her words. His stomach churned at the idea that the only girl he had liked in years thought he was a horrible kisser. And the tongue? Levi couldn`t recall having used it. Or was it the lack of it that made the kiss disgusting?

"Hey, did someone finally piss in your coffee, Shorty?"

Levi was too caught up in his turmoil to offer Hange an answer, ignoring them and Erwin setting bets on who hated him enough to go to such length. He had trouble controlling the grimace on his face at the sight of Petra`s smiling figure making her way to them, and he felt guilty when he noticed her deflating on the spot. It was not the girl`s fault for not finding their kiss enjoyable, after all.

Hange embraced the ginger girl- "Petra, darling, the crying was on point! But we do need to redo the kiss scene." Petra studied Levi`s reaction, and his lack of any left her confused. She thought the kiss had been astounding.

Levi couldn`t believe his luck. Not only Petra thought he was a bad kisser, but he was also going to put her through it again. As Levi was standing in front of the pretty ginger, he made up his mind. He was determined to make it up to her.

Levi hungrily pressed his lips against hers as one of his arms embraced the girl, pulling her closer towards him. Petra was surprised at the sudden passion behind Levi`s kiss, but she reciprocated in a matter of seconds. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and when Levi nipped at her lips, she opened her mouth to let his tongue explore. Petra moaned, making Levi kiss her deeper.

Hange and Erwin kept looking between themselves and at the couple, perplexed by the sudden show of passion. Hange checked their files again- "Erwin, did we have a sex scene next?" Erwin shook his head no, both stunned and intrigued by the couple so lost in each other they forgot their surroundings.

Hange laughed awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed next- "Hey, guys, appreciable commitment! But I think we`re done for now."

Levi and Petra ignored their calls, only breaking their kiss after the third time both Hange and Erwin intervened. Levi left the set suddenly, without saying any word, and Petra exchanged confused looks with the people left.

When she spotted him walking around in circles outside of the building, Petra was unsure if she should approach him. She wasn`t even sure what to make of his reaction. Petra closed her eyes and gathered all the courage she had before she made her way to him.

"So... hey. That kiss was really..."

Levi cut her off- "Look, I`m truly sorry it was a bad experience for you. I tried to make it up to you."

Petra was left wordless. Bad experience? Their kiss had been so astounding she was sure if levitating was possible, she could have achieved it.

"Bad experience?"

Levi sat down on the bench with his head between his palms. He just wanted to get home and forget he had made a fool of himself. Twice.

"I heard you and Nifa talking earlier in your trailer. I was on my way to bring you coffee."

Petra couldn`t help the laughter erupting from her, and when she noticed Levi`s pained expression, she tried her best to gather her words. She took a deep breath- "Levi, it was out of context. We were talking about Oluo, my former set partner."

Levi`s mouth dropped open, surprised at his stupidity. He could feel his cheeks growing red from the embarrassment his impulsiveness caused him. His reaction didn`t go unnoticed by Petra, who decided to take matters into her hand.

Petra sat down next to him with a cheeky smile painted on her lips- "But how about we kiss again, and I can give you my opinion after that? You know what they say: third time`s a charm."

#this is bad crack I`m sorry #petra ral #rivetra #rivetra fanfiction #rivetra fic #my writing #rivetra drabble

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

oh my god literally every single prompt on that list is gold and i'd love to see your obikin take for all of them. hmmm... if i had to choose i guess first 13. co-stars au?? thank you lots of love !!!

ah bless!! thank you so much!! i'm slowly working my way through most of the prompts on that list so you might see many many more before I'm done with my ask box. I think after two more, I'll put em on ao3 to keep em more organized too. this has been soooo fun!!

13. Co-Stars AU(/7. Fake Relationship AU)(2.5 k)

“No.”

“Ani, darling, you can’t say no.”

“Don’t call me that. And secondly, I can. I just did. This is my personal life, the company has no control over that.”

“While you’re filming its movie and it’s giving you money, you’ll actually find that it does, Anakin.”

Anakin sits down heavily on the bench outside his trailer, leaning forward until he can put his head in his hands. He wants to run his fingers through the mess on his head, but they’re in between takes right now and the make-up department will definitely kill him if they have to fix him up again.

“Asajj, please. You know how hard it was to get to come out as bisexual. If the first person I date after that is a woman, no one will remember! It’ll just be completely erased, and I’ll be Anakin Skywalker, Playboy Actor again.”

“But you do like women,” Asajj points out. “So either way, you’d be confirming your sexuality.”

Anakin sighs and leans his head back against the metal of the trailer. “And it would be different if I was actually in love with Padme, but she’s just my co-star and--”

“Anakin, she’s your co-star. You’re in a blockbuster movie where you dramatically save her life and then kiss her as the credits roll. This is just business. You like her. You’re friends. Think of it less like dating, and more like going to grab lunch together. And coffee. Maybe a fancy dinner. Several times a week.”

“For how long?” Anakin asks, resigned and despairing and hating the fact that he ever got into acting.

Asajj sounds relieved. “Just until the movie’s out and sales are doing well.”

That could be months. That would be months. “And I have to?” he asks.

“Yes,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Anakin doesn’t say it’s fine. It doesn’t feel like it is fine.

“They’re not looking for anything to be confirmed. If asked about your relationship with Padme, tell them you think she’s a great woman and you’re enjoying spending time with her. No comment on any sort of serious relationship.”

“Because a break-up afterwards might hurt the chances for a sequel?” Anakin asks drily.

“Exactly! We’ll get you a head for the business yet, Anakin. Okay, I have to go, but I’ll send you the information now, just so you know what you’ll be expected to do. We’re thinking a dinner tomorrow to start things off strong, and then slow afterwards!”

She hangs up before he can say anything else and he slumps back boneless against the metal trailer. God.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Padme. Ventress is right. They were friends before this project and Anakin knows they’ll be friends after as well. They genuinely get along, and it’s probably one of the reasons Anakin was cast in such a big name production: the chemistry between them when they’re acting is undeniable. She’s one of his favorite people in the entire industry.

“Anakin?” One of his other favorite people in the entire industry asks hesitantly from in front of him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” he says.

“May I sit?”

“Yeah,” he says.

Like he’d ever turn Obi-Wan Kenobi away.

“Are you wearing your costume?” he asks, without opening his eyes. Obi-Wan’s playing the villain of the movie, and Anakin has a hard time focusing on anything else when Obi-Wan’s around him wearing that skin-tight white turtleneck and cape combination, with his hair slicked back and fake glasses perched on his nose.

Obi-Wan sounds amused. “No, I’m finished for the day. Heading home now. You don’t have to see how silly I look today.”

Anakin smiles slightly, despite everything. In one of his better acting moments, he’d told Obi-Wan that his costume was distracting because it looked so funny on him. Really, it was just hot.

(Of course, Obi-Wan had taken his criticism seriously and gone to the director and the costume department. They had decided that it would make Obi-Wan’s character more threatening if he pushed up his sleeves in almost every scene to reveal heavily tattooed forearms. Anakin had hated himself and his big stupid mouth for days afterwards.)

“Is...there anything I can do to help, Anakin? I hate to see you like this,” Obi-Wan places a hand gently on Anakin’s knee, and Anakin has to fight a shiver at the touch.

They’d met at the script-reading for the movie, a handful of months ago. Anakin had set two clocks in his head the moment their hands grasped each other and Obi-Wan smiled charmingly up at him. “So you’re the one to kill me?” He’d winked. “Tall order.”

One clock signified the weeks it would take for him to fall in love with the older man. The starting number was pitifully small, but Anakin had been watching Obi-Wan’s movies and interviews for years before meeting him. He’d known something about the man, which of course had paled in comparison to knowing the man himself. They’d spent two weeks choreographing the steps of the final fight scene, just the two of them in a repurposed ballet studio.

Looking back, Anakin isn’t sure how he’d survived. And he had never wanted it to end.

Which is the other clock, still ticking down in his head. The moment filming ends, and they go their separate ways. They’ll probably keep in touch, but Anakin won’t see him constantly, won’t be able to lean into the weight of Obi-Wan’s hand on his shoulder, his knee, sometimes even on his cheek when he leans down in between takes to tell him how good of a job he’s done.

“Anakin?”

“Sorry,” Anakin snaps to the present. “Sorry. I was in my head. I. I don’t think so, no.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan says, tensing his hand as if he’s planning to remove it, which Anakin wouldn’t appreciate in the slightest.

“My agent says that the executives want me to date Padme. To drum up hype for the movie. Because I guess people will think it must be good if the co-stars start fucking each other?” He runs a hand across his face. “Um. Sorry, excuse my language.”

“Anakin, I’m forty-one, I think I’ve heard someone say fuck before,” Obi-Wan sounds amused again.

“Yeah, I just. Don’t want to? I guess maybe--I mean you probably didn’t see, but I came out as bisexual a year ago, and I haven’t dated anyone since, and I just know the way the rags will write about me and Padme if we’re seen together. And it’ll be like I just. Never came out.”

Obi-Wan makes a sympathetic noise but doesn’t interrupt. It’s one of the reasons Anakin loves talking to him.

“And my agent just sent me this contract, or I don’t know, list of things I have to do because there’s no way for me to get out of this and it just makes me feel trapped. But they don’t even want me to confirm if we're dating or not dating, they just want to create rumors about it, but it’s my life. I want to do what I want to do with my life, date who I want to date.”

“Do you...have anyone you want to date?” Obi-Wan asks, hand stilling from where he’s been casually rubbing circles on Anakin’s knee.

“No,” Anakin says too quickly and then grimaces. Does he really get paid for acting? He’s always so terrible at lying.

Obi-Wan hums. “I could...take a look at whatever papers your agent sent you?” He suggests. “I’m obviously not really an expert, but I have been in the business a fair bit longer than you.”

“You’re not that old,” Anakin responds by rote, but hesitates, curious despite himself. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“I’ve nothing planned tonight except to have a glass of wine and pet my cat, Anakin. It would be a pleasure to help you any way I could.”

“Okay,” Anakin says, reaching out to lay his hand gently on top of Obi-Wan’s. He’s never done that before, never responded so openly to Obi-Wan’s touches. It’s an amazing thrill.

Obi-Wan flips his hand around until they’re holding hands, basically. In the middle of a public area. God, Anakin’s letting his crush get the best of him when Obi-Wan isn’t even gay. “Thank you,” he says, standing up and pulling away from the older man. It’s the right thing to do. The last thing he wants is for Obi-Wan to think he’s...predatory.

A harried looking crew member spots him as he stands and gestures to him to get back to the set. He smiles ruefully at Obi-Wan who gives him an unreadable expression but also a soft goodbye.

Later, in between takes, he forwards Obi-Wan the emails Asajj sent him, both the papers and the message at the top that says “dress nice for tomorrow at Delfino’s!” followed by a little smiley face he can’t believe she’d ever mean.

He knows nothing’s going to come of it, but. But he has to try.

----

Padme’s dressed to the nines in front of him. He’d compliment her outfit, but he’s already complimented her hair and her make-up, and he thinks she’ll scream if he continues to act as stilted as he’s being now.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly after the waiter leaves with their drink orders. “I know I’m being--awkward. I just.”

They’re seated in the middle of the restaurant, and Anakin knows there’s two paps already outside, taking pictures through the windows. The rest will have arrived by the time they pay the bill and leave. It’s a circus and he’s the main event.

“I understand,” Padme responds, the angel that she is. “I don’t particularly want to be doing this either.”

Anakin presses his hand to his chest, jokingly wounded. “What are you trying to say, Padme, my beloved, my dearest?”

She laughs and he does too, but in the back of his head he can hear the sound of a camera’s shutter clicking. Everything feels fake, and he feels like he’s about to crawl out of his skin.

A hand lands on his shoulder with startling familiarity and for a second he thinks it’s a very brave member of the wait-staff, before Obi-Wan Kenobi is swinging into his field of vision, pulling up a chair from god knows where and sitting right in between Anakin and Padme, never once removing his hand from Anakin’s jacket.

“Sir--” someone says in distress, “This is a two-person table.”

Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow and looks down at the table. “Well it certainly can fit three, so I would go as far as to say that tonight it can be a three-person table. Anakin, what did you order to drink?”

“The house white,” Padme supplies when Anakin makes no move to respond, instead choosing to gape at Obi-Wan like a fish out of water.

“Excellent choice, darling,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing at his upper arm absent-mindedly. “I’ve never been here, tell me. Do you serve a good seafood dish?”

The waiter stammers. “We have an acclaimed oyster platter, sir--”

“Oysters?” Obi-Wan smiles at the man, all teeth. “The aphrodisiac? What are you trying to get these kids in the mood for?”

Anakin blushes. “Obi-Wan!” He hisses, aghast. Obi-Wan’s eyes cut to him for a second before he smirks back at the waiter.

“I’ll take the oysters for the main course,” he says dismissively.

Somehow it’s that sentence that tips Anakin off, more than anything else he’s done tonight. Obi-Wan spends hours talking to the people that run the crafts table. He would never be so cold or rude naturally. He’s...playing a character, one that Anakin recognizes as being the villain from their movie (although without all the blood and murder).

Anakin only recedes into personas when he’s nervous about something. Can the same be said for Obi-Wan?

Padme, at least, looks amused. “Hello, Obi-Wan,” she says. “I see you’ve decided to crash our very romantic date.”

“Well that’s interesting, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan replies, turning to face her but keeping his hand on Anakin, although it slides down to rest on the crook of his arm. “I had Anakin send me the paperwork, mild curiosity, you know how it is, and I realized the strangest thing while I was reading over it.”

“Oh?” Padme asks.

“It never states which co-star Anakin should be seen with, just that he must be seen with a leading actor. And I don’t want to focus on the numbers here, of course, but in the rough-cut of the movie, I have thirty-four minutes of screentime. And you, my dear, have thirty-two and fifteen seconds.”

“Tragic,” Padme says, taking a sip of her water. "You may be considered more of a leading actor than I am."

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan gives her a friendly smile. Anakin is still stuck on the fact that Obi-Wan is here, that he read the paperwork, that he’s arguing semantics for the purpose of--of--

“And I suppose you’re here to offer yourself as a replacement?” Padme asks, leaning her head on her hand as she watches the two of them.

“Only if Anakin wouldn’t mind,” Obi-Wan says, turning to face him.

Anakin isn’t sure what he’s thinking right now. “But you’re not interested in men.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“But...you’re not interested in me.”

“I am,” Obi-Wan says.

“You are?”

“Excuse me,” Padme says. “I’m going to go to the restroom.”

“We’ll wait to order until you come back,” Obi-Wan reassures her, without taking his eyes off of Anakin.

Anakin bites his lip and hesitantly brings his hand up to sit palm up on the table. Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate to intertwine their fingers again, like they had been just yesterday.

“I’m a very private person, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says quietly, all traces of any sort of persona dropped from his voice. “I’ve never come out, never wanted to. But I was so proud that you had when you did. And I--well. I suppose. You already get to fake-kiss Padme on screen, I thought that perhaps you’d like to try to fake-kiss someone else for a change.”

Anakin ducks his head and gathers his courage. He can’t not ask. A fake relationship with Padme would be awful, but one with Obi-Wan? That would be torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. He’s still reeling from the information that apparently Obi-Wan does like men and apparently he likes Anakin enough to come out for him.

But does he like Anakin enough to touch him and mean it? He has to know. He looks up at Obi-Wan’s earnest face from beneath his eyelashes. “What if I want to real-kiss you?”

Obi-Wan blinks, and a smile breaks out across his face. “Then you don’t even need to have to ask, darling. Kiss me all you want, if you’re okay with a clingy old man in your bed.”

“Not that old,” Anakin argues, smiling so hard he’s afraid his face will crack in two. “But I don’t want to kiss you tonight.”

Obi-Wan turns solemn, although his grip on Anakin remains tight. “We can go as slow as you’re comfortable with.”

“Oh, you can have me later,” Anakin says, waving his free hand in the air. “I just don’t want our first kiss to be for the cameras.”

Obi-Wan catches Anakin’s palm and brings it up to kiss lightly. “You’re right, Anakin. That should just be for you and me.”

The rough brush of his lips over his skin causes Anakin to shiver. He’s never felt so on edge, as if his body is a live-wire. “Good thing you ordered the oysters,” he mumbles, blushing bright red as Obi-Wan laughs loud enough to fill the whole restaurant with its sound.

#asks #my fics #obikin #the next prompt is gonna be wayyyy more angsty so enjoy the fluff rn is all im saying #prompt fill

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tomthesoftie · 3 years

Note

Hi! I've recently discovered your blog and I love it 😍. I was also wondering, if you could write a fic (obviously if you like the idea, no pressure at all) where the reader is a an assassin, in love with mob!tom. Her last mission was a failure and she came home injuried. Tom was scared to death because she didn't text him or call him (obviously). She was trying to help Tom with his business but she underestimates the other mob. Tom helps her cleaning the wounds, they argued at first but I'm a puddle for happy endings. Thank you for your time, have a nice day 🥰🥰🥰

her blood-stained bodysuit

❧ prompt: all you wanted was to help your mobster boyfriend. you never expected your plan to go all wrong and result in failure. when you return home with blood soaking your suit and drying in your hair, how does Tom react?

❧ pairing: mob!tom x assassin!reader

❧ genre: angst, fluff, action (?)

❧ warnings: mentions of blood, mild gore, fighting, mentions of guns, mentions of hickey, language

❧ a/n: though i should’ve worked on my script for my final, i worked on this instead. i’m not procrastinating, i have everything planned out lmao nah. this fic wasn’t supposed to be as “gore-y” as it came out as, but, like, it’s whatever. hope you enjoyed this fic because i worked on it for like three days lmao. alright bye xx

part 2!

masterlist prompt list

Walking into the run-down building, you gripped your gun tightly, eyes open for any sudden attacks. Your ears strained as they listened for any sounds.

You were suited in an all-black bodysuit, handgun holster around your waist. Your hair had been tightly tied into a bun, no loose hair out to get in your face. A mask had covered half of your face, hiding your identity.

You barely knew the place you were heading into, but you knew it enough to assassinate your target and escape. You had planned the entire event out. First, you’d rid the place of any cameras and enemy attackers. Then, you’d set a distraction opposite to where you were heading. Finally, once you reached your destination, you’d quickly shoot your target, leaving them a milli-second to breathe before falling cold to the ground. Your escape was easy. You’d climb out of the window and fall right into your vehicle, allowing yourself a fast escape.

As you stepped into the dark, musty building, you saw the first cameras you needed to shoot out. What didn’t occur to you was the loud echo traveling through the entire building: your first mistake.

You continued on, hiding when you saw the first sign of your enemy’s men but continuing once they passed. Unexpectedly, when you began to carry yourself further, you felt a presence watching you. The butt of your gun swung back, hitting someone in the side. They let out a loud groan, alerting everybody nearby. You quickly shot the man dead, rushing to the nearest exit. Unfortunately for you, there was no path for you to escape. There were men in every exit you planned to use when in case of an emergency.

It was like they already knew you were coming.

Deciding to take your chances, you ran, shooting and dodging bullets being shot your way. Luckily, you were a trained assassin with much experience. You found yourself at an exit when someone was able to land a shot in your thigh. Groaning in pain, you perspired on, not letting them take you in. Throwing the broken-down doors shut, you limped your way to the doors out of the building. Thinking you had escaped all the men, you let your guard down for a second to tend to your wounded leg.

In the midst of your pain, you didn’t notice the man coming up from behind you. He threw a harsh hit to your head, knocking you off balance. With your already injured leg, you fell over easily, head hitting the rugged ground beneath you. You felt a sharp pain spike the side of your head before feeling a warm liquid run down the side of your face.

Reaching a hand up to feel the warm liquid, you saw red and fired your gun at the grinning man above you. You shot him dead, bullets continuously lodging into his chest. His shirt soaked with his blood.

“Asshole,” you muttered before getting back on your way.

When you finally reached your car, you took off as fast as you could, knowing that if you didn’t get going, they would be trailing you all the way back.

Tom was in his office, reading over some papers when the door abruptly opened. He snapped his head up in anger, knowing that his men knew not to barge in without knocking or they’d face the consequences.

“You better have a good reason as to why-” when he saw Harrison panting and wide-eyed, he paused, worry taking over his thoughts. “What happened?”

“Y/N’s missing,” the blonde said, breathlessly.

“What do you mean missing?” Tom asked, attention fully on Harrison.

“She isn’t in her room or the gym. I’ve tried calling her multiple times, but it keeps going to voicemail,” Haz explained.

“Fuck,” Tom whispered, rushing out of his office to find you.

You threw the car door shut, feeling hazy at the loss of blood. Holding your head in pain, you limped before the doors of your home before falling over, vision going black.

“Tom, the system says someone’s entered the code into the gate,” Haz said as he saw the notification pop up on the security system.

“That has to be her,” Tom said before running to the home’s main doors.

Pulling open the large door, he was revealed to your limp body laying on the cold floor, with dried blood covering you and fresh blood tangled in your hair. For a moment, Tom assumed the worst and thought you were dead, when he brought himself back to logicality. He placed two fingers to your neck, successfully locating your weak pulse. He let out a happy sigh but remembered that you were still bleeding heavily and needed to be treated right away.

He lifted you up in his arms, carrying you into your shared room. He passed a concerned-looking Harrison, telling him to get the medical supplies.

You woke to the feeling of a wet cloth wiping down your cheek. Flinching away from the contact, your eyes weakly shot open to see your brunette boyfriend.

“Tom,” your voice came out weak and hoarse.

“Shh, darling, you need to rest,” he silenced you as he wiped you clean from your blood.

Tom wasn’t mad at you, only a bit frustrated. He wondered why you put yourself at such risk. He knew you to make logical, smart decisions, but here you were, lying in bed severely drained of your blood. He sighed aloud at your recklessness.

His weight lifting off the bed, he stood to put away the bloody towelette, shaking his head as he was consumed by his own thoughts. You watched his back, and you could practically see the disappointment radiating off of him.

“I know I fucked up alright?” You croaked, sighing in shame.

“It’s just so unlike you to be so, so-” a hand reached up to massage his temples, “Just be more careful next time.”

“No,” you bit back, hearing the irritation in his voice, “please, finish your sentence.”

“It doesn’t matter what I was going to say becau-”

You cut him off, “It does matter. What were you going to say about me?” You suddenly felt a surge of energy run through your veins.

“Why are you trying to pick a fight with me right now? You need to rest,” he tried to tuck you under the covers, only to be pushed away by a weak hand.

“I’m not trying to pick a fight with you. I just want to know what you thought about me,” you snapped.

“Fine, if you want to know so much, I was going to say reckless. It’s so unlike you to be so reckless. There, I said it,” he fired back, annoyed by your consistent nagging.

You scoffed in disbelief, “I was not being reckless. I had a plan, a well-thought out plan at that, but they somehow intercepted it. I can’t predict things like that happening. At least I had a backup plan or I wouldn’t be here right now.”

You shifted in bed, trying to sit upright, flinching when your head spun at the sudden movement. You grabbed the aching side, trying to subdue the pain.

“Lay down. You’re only going to hurt yourself more, if you sit up,” the accented voice said demandingly.

You sneered at the demand but listened, regardless.

“I know what I’m doing, you know? I’m a well-trained assassin, not to mention one of the best ones yet,” you said in a hushed tone.

“I know that. That’s why I’m confused about how you came back so heavily injured. I expected you to know better,” he huffed, turning the light of the room off.

The last comment had hit you harder than you expected. You knew he had high expectations of you, but you never thought he would put you down for messing up once.

Glancing at his silhouette, you never felt as much dislike for a person than you did Tom, at that moment. You liked being critiqued but not insulted. Your line of work was very important, and your pride was big.

He slid into his space beside you, laying flat on his back, arms crossed over the covers. You remained laying on your side beside him, not sparing him a glance.

A wet streak slid down the side of your nose, another following over the bridge of your nose. Reaching a hand up to wipe the liquid away, you realized it was your tears. You tried to quietly sniffle away your tears, but Tom heard them clearly in the radio silent room.

You weren’t supposed to be weak. You weren’t supposed to shed tears late at night. You were an assassin for fuck’s sake.

“You know, I was doing it for you,” you whispered. “I was trying to get rid of that stupid asshole that’s been targetting you this entire time,” your tears began to come down harder.

“Darling, why would you do that? As much as I appreciate it, I’d prefer it more if you came home safely and not bleeding out,” he spoke, turning to wrap an arm around your waist.

“I just wanted to help,” you sniffled, cuddling into his warmth.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I was just worried about you,” he murmured as he planted wet kisses on your bare shoulder.

“I know, but it still hurt,” you replied, lifting a hand up to wipe away your excess tears.

“I’m sorry, princess. Can you forgive me?” His lips attacked the supple skin of your neck, gently sucking and leaving a purple mark behind.

You hummed, a hand snaking behind you to push him away, “Yes, I forgive you. Now, leave me alone. I’m tired.”

“Alright, love. Let’s sleep,” he smiled into your neck, arms encasing you in a warm hug, and before you knew it, you fell into a deep sleep.

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wonhaebunny · 3 years

Text

tws // mentions of nightmares and canon-typical stuff regarding kamino. not a very feel good fic. takes place shortly after kamino, before the dorm system was implemented.

it starts with a doctor's appointment, surprisingly.

a regular checkup, the irritating kind where the hag drags him off to see their family doctor and asks all kinds of embarrassing shit while the doctor reassures her of her son's perfect health and katsuki fumes in the background.

these types of appointments are routine; they've happened the same way since katsuki can remember, and will continue to for as long as he remains legally a minor. maybe this is why he's so surprised when his mom goes off-script this time.

"katsuki's been very quiet." she says suddenly, interrupting the doctor's rambling about katsuki's physical health. the words are abrupt, like they've been sitting at the tip of her tongue, pushing to be heard. the doctor, a frail old man with kind eyes that sit behind thin-framed spectacles, blinks at her.

"what was that, mrs bakugou?" he asks after a bewildered pause. katsuki very much resonates with his visible confusion, turning to give his mother a glare.

"he's quiet," she says again, ignoring her son's accusatory eyes. "he's been staying in his room all the time, doesn't eat as much anymore. it's concerning."

katsuki's palms start to spark, defensive words already rising in his throat. he doesn't know why this bitch is deciding to make a fucking scene in front of the doctor when he's been fine. he barely even feels different, other than being goddamn tired. and sue him for being tired, when he got kidnapped by a motherfucking villain group not even two weeks ago! he's allowed to sulk.

but his arguments die at his lips when his mother turns her gaze to meet his. her eyes are serious, something genuine and heavy and vulnerable in them that has him faltering.

"shut the fuck up," he manages to bite out sharply, still feeling somewhat blindsided by the unfamiliar array of emotions displayed across her normally unreadable face.

she doesn't shy away from him, lips pursing tightly.

"i don't know what to fucking do, katsuki." her voice shakes.

and this, the utter helplessness threaded through the words, is what has katsuki sinking back down to his seat numbly.

he doesn't understand, not really. he's had less of an appetite since kamino, been unable to sleep or focus or... really do anything but mope, now that he thinks about it. but he'd assumed it would pass with time, along with all the other shit he'd accumulated from the event. he hadn't given it more than a few moments' consideration, fully willing to stew away in his room for the majority of the summer break.

but now his mother is looking at him, her once-impenetrable gaze wavering and lost and he feels like the air has been punched out of his stomach.

"i'm fucking fine."

the words come out too quiet, too unsure.

"you're not acting like it," she replies flatly.

"i hear you crying through the walls at night."

katsuki's cheeks heat up at the words, head dipping low as the doctor's gaze falls onto him, heavy and penetrating.

he hadn't told his mom about the nightmares, or all the other shitty feelings he's had since kamino. he'd assumed he was being subtle about it; evidently not.

"shut the fuck up," he spits again, glaring at her venomously. the gaze of the man on the other side of the table feels like lead, boring into him and rooting him to his seat.

mitsuki doesn't meet his gaze this time, having the decency to look guilty as she stares at the floor. he burns holes into the side of her head anyway, refusing to feel an ounce of sympathy.

"mrs bakugou," the doctor interrupts gently. "would you mind leaving the room for a moment? i'd like to speak with katsuki privately."

katsuki is ready to protest, ready to argue that he has nothing to fucking say to the asshole, but his mother is already standing.

"okay," she says quietly, and the easy admission, if nothing else, is what has katsuki's mouth snapping shut as she slips out of the room.

in her absence, the doctor leans back in his seat.

"how are things with you, katsuki?" he asks gently. the teenager glares intently at the grain of the dark wood table between them, refusing to meet the inevitably pitying gaze of the other.

"fuckin' peachy," he snaps.

"are you experiencing any issues in your life? girl problems? or perhaps... boy problems?"

"fuck no."

"and is school stressing you out much?"

"no."

"if you don't mind my asking, is your home life-"

"everything is fucking. fine."

"okay. okay. and... how about... the events of kamino? how have you been dealing with the aftermath of that?"

katsuki's jaw audibly clicks with the speed at which it slams tightly shut.

after a terse moment, he huffs.

"nothing to fuckin' deal with," he mutters.

the doctor makes a small noise in the back of his throat at this.

"it was a traumatic event, katsuki," he emphasises gently.

"they didn't do shit to me," katsuki snaps. "kidnapped me, kept me locked up for a day or two, then the heroes came. nothing to fuckin' deal with."

there's silence for a long, long moment.

then, slowly, wordlessly, the old man leans over to pluck a pen from his desk. he scribbles something onto a sticky note pad before him, and peels the layer of paper away.

"katsuki," he says quietly, offering the paper to the teenager with soft, sad eyes. "i would like it if you talked to someone. this is a very good friend of mine, and she-"

the sticky note is going up in flames before he can finish his sentence.

"i am not," katsuki spits venomously, raising from his seat as the charred remains of the paper float to the ground, "going to see a fucking shrink. i'm fine."

the doctor doesn't look upset, and the fact makes katsuki even angrier. the blonde watches irately as the man patiently peels another sticky note from the pad, writing down the details neatly and offering the new paper again.

katsuki doesn't reach to take it, fists curling at his sides.

"i'm fucking done here." he says roughly. "keep your bullshit psychoanalysis for the losers who ask for it."

he's just turning to storm out when the man's words stop him in his tracks.

"are you tired, katsuki?"

he doesn't answer, jaw clenching tight.

(tired? he always is, these days.)

"you look it," the man continues guilelessly.

"i've been your personal doctor since you were in elementary school. i don't think i've ever seen you this exhausted."

katsuki doesn't move away from where he stands in the middle of the room, but his hand drops to his side from where it had raised to wrap around the doorknob.

"are you experiencing difficulties sleeping?" the man presses.

(every night.)

"or perhaps a loss of appetite? motivation?"

(god, every damn minute.)

"katsuki," his doctor says, rising from his seat to round the table and face him. he's so small, so delicate in his withered, wrinkly body. the man takes katsuki's hand in his own, and presses the sticky note into his palm.

"please talk to her. i think it's quite clear you need help, and there's no shame about it. all heroes do."

katsuki thinks back to all might's emaciated form at kamino, standing alone with his finger outstretched to the world.

you're next.

his tongue grows heavy in his mouth, and when the man calls mitsuki back in, he lets himself be ushered out of the room smoothly.

mitsuki doesn't ask, even though katsuki sees her eyeing the crumpled sticky note fisted in his hand as she drives them home.

he would appreciate it, in any other moment.

now, he's too preoccupied with staring at the tiny yellow square distantly.

he eats healthy. trains hard. studies daily. sleeps eight hours a day. katsuki has always, in every way possible, done what was necessary to be the best, to stand alone. so why are these scrawled contact details staring up at him right now?

where did he go wrong?

why wasn't it enough?

katsuki is no stranger to feelings of inadequacy; he's grown more familiar with failure than anyone could ever imagine. it's an occupational hazard which accompanies the standards that he holds himself to, he's smart enough to realise that.

but somehow, defeat has never felt heavier than the crumpled paper in katsuki's fist.

#this is a vent fic #sorry #i had a rough day

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darling-i-read-it · 4 years

Text

Kaiseki

2x01

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, jail, angst

Author’s Note: Season! Two! This may be a little harder cause Will is in jail and it’s to big a plot point to change. But i love will graham so much dudes. I hope you guys enjoy!

I took lines directly from the script so some may seem familiar. Those sentences are not mine.

Official Episode Summary : The psychological thriller based on the Hannibal Lecter legend returns. FBI profiler Will Graham has been framed for Lecter's crimes and wants revenge.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director

Tag List: @llperfectsymmetryll

(not my gif)

“Kaiseki. A Japanese art form that honors the taste and aesthetic of what we eat,” Hannibal said to Jack Crawford as he sat at his table. The lighting of the room was pleasing but also semi threatening. Not that Jack noticed. He wasn’t very good at noticing things. Hannibal himself had noticed that.

“I feel guilty eating it,” Jack said, looking down at the dish. It was amazingly well put together. It was no surprise that Hannibal had done it.

“I never feel guilty eating anything,” Hannibal said with a small mischievous smile. Jack took a bite and chewed a bit.

“Can’t quite place the fish.”

“He was a flounder. I last prepared this meal for my Aunt Murasaki under similarly unfortunate circumstances,” Hannibal said. Jack waited for him to go on and when he didn’t he nodded.

“What circumstances were those?” Hannibal shrugged.

“A loss. This is a loss. Will is a loss. We’re mourning a death,” Hannibal said gently.

“Will’s ‘death’ is on me,” Jack said. Hannibal took a bite of his food and chewed for a moment, considering this.

“It’s on both of us.”

“I doubt that Y/N would consider you had anything to do with it,” Jack suggested. Hannibal smiled a tad at the mention of your name and the fact that you likely wouldn’t suggest Hannibal was much to blame.

“I tended to be kinder to her and more compassionate to Will,” he said.

“Abigail thought that you liked them both a bit more,” Jack said chuckling. Hannibal shrugged.

“We’re all friends.”

“Do you have friends Hannibal?” Hannibal shrugged.

“I had Will. And of course Y/N.” Jack pointed his fork at Hannibal.

“I don’t understand how you managed to stay in her good graces.”

“I suppose she had about as many friends as I did.”

“I still can’t comprehend it. Will’s gonna be convicted of five murders. I’ll be convicted of one,” Jack muttered.

“You’re not on trial.”

“I will be. In the halls of the FBI. So will you. According to Will Graham, this was all you. Another place where I’m not sure why Y/N continues to see you.”

“Will was your bloodhound. You can’t ignore where he points.” Hannibal smiled at his plate. “And I do believe you’ll be on a trail in her mind as well.” Jack sighed.

“What’s one more person to convict me,” Jack said.

Alana stood beside you. You had a few papers in your hand. The only reason you were still Hannibal’s secretary at all was so that you could have the hours off to come and advocate for Will. Alana handed you another piece of paper and you looked over it.

“You’re a goddess Alana,” you muttered. In your hands you held all the complaints and disagreements Alana had ever had with Jack about Will. Behind the scenes she had been formally sending in a few letters when she believed, like you, that Will should not have been put into the field.

“You can give Jack all the hell you want but until the FBI looks into it, nothing will happen. And Will’s entire life has changed due to Jack’s actions. It deserves to be documented.” You nodded, a smile gracing your face. She put her hand on your cheek and made you look at her which you did. “You don’t look so good.”

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “This has put a rare smile on my face,” you promised. She pursed her lips. She looked into your eyes and moved her hand away but she still looked concerned.

“I’m doing everything in my power to make sure that Will Graham has a fair trial and that he isn’t convicted.”

“Because you think he did it but he wasn’t in the right mind,” you muttered.

“You do too right?”

“I don’t think he did it period.” She shook her head.

“Then who did? And don't’ say Hannibal otherwise I’m going to have to throw you in the hospital.” You shook your head. You felt tired. You hadn’t been getting much sleep. It was probably an attachment issue when it came down to it. Not being able to sleep beside Will was harder than you thought it would be. The bed always felt cold. Other than that, you had been worried about Will here. Your mind wandered when you tried to sleep about everything that was going through his head. You had the dogs. He had Frederick Chilton.

“I don’t know who did it Alana. I would like to converse with my boyfriend about that but Chilton has limited visiting hours the bastard.”

“I’ll try and talk with him. We’re sort of friendly. I think I yelled at him about something a while back but he doesn’t seem to remember it.” You nodded and handed her back the papers on Jack.

“Make him pay.” She nodded.

“I will.”

The phone rang as you sat on the porch with the dogs. Winston sat in front of you while the others played and whined at the door. He had been doing that on and off since Will was arrested. You picked up the phone and pet Winston, trying your best to calm him down.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Bev said. You tried to make some emotion come out when you spoke next but nothing emerged.

“Hey.” Bev cleared her throat. You didn’t want to fight her. You truly had no interest in it. In fact, Bev had always been in your corner so the worry that she might not be today would have made your heart hurt if it wasn’t already pretty numb with bitterness.

“I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” she said.

“As well as you may expect. But I appreciate you calling.” She hummed.

“I’m sorry this happened. I know you didn’t ever agree with Jack.” You scoffed.

“You could say that again.” She laughed lightly.

“I’m going to see Will soon. For help on this case. Jack doesn’t know. But I kinda wanted to tell you first so that he didn’t tell you and then you were by default pissed at me.” You weren’t very pleased to hear that but there wasn’t much else you could do.

“I would go in saying you support him or something. He might help you more.”

“Thank you.”

Hannibal noticed you at the desk. He wasn’t having many patients and didn’t expect to see you. You still had on your coat and looked like you weren’t staying. But still, you looked over the computer and let out a sigh.

“Do you need something?” he asked. You looked up, surprised to see him. He also didn’t look like he was staying. “I thought I gave you a few days off.” He knew he did. He did it explicitly.

“I just thought I left the necklace Will gave me here. I guess not. It’s probably in his car but I have no idea where he put the keys,” you said and laughed dryly in remembrance of sweeter times. “Where are you off to?”

“I have to go and see a crime scene,” he said. Your eyes went wide and another dry laugh left your lips.

“Nice to see you ‘the new Will Graham’,” you muttered.

“I don’t think Jack intended it to be like that.” You shook your head.

“No because you can’t be nearly as good at it as Will was.” Hannibal was the only person to notice the shift in your emotions correctly. Not from happy to sad. It was from normal to bitter. He would likely see the same shift in Will Graham if he decided to go see him.

“Would you like to come?”

“Is that the best idea? Doing my boyfriends old job with Jack Crawford watching me like I was going to slip up at any given second?” Hannibal shrugged.

“Perhaps it would be good for you. Step where Will once did.” You shook your head.

“Thanks Hannibal but I can’t today. Maybe another murder.”

“Off to see Will?”

“Off to attempt to see Will. Perhaps have a fist fight with Frederick Chilton. I’ll decide in the car.” Hannibal laughed lowly and walked over to you. He put a hand on your arm and you leaned into his touch, happy someone was touching you.

“If you ever need a dinner,” he started and you nodded.

“I’ll call.”

“You’re not worried about what Will says about me are you?” he asked. You shrugged.

“I don't know yet. I just have to talk to him.” Hannibal nodded and you looked up at him. “I care about you Hannibal.” He was silent for a moment and then hugged you, placing his hand on the back of your head.

“I care about you as well.” And for once, Hannibal was not lying.

Chilton shook his head.

“You will only hinder his therapy,” he said simply. You shook your head and walked up to his desk.

“Do you think for one second I would do anything that could cause Will to be this bad ever again? I can’t simply not see him.”

“What if he doesn’t want to see you?” Chilton asked. You were stumped at that. Your face fell.

“Did he say that?”

“Not in so many words. Just maybe that it would be better for you to live a life on your own.” You shook your head and a small smile went over your lips.

“You’re lying.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I know Will Graham better than anyone in this whole world and he is just conceited and rude enough to tell you to go to hell before saying that about me.” Chilton looked up at you from his spot behind his desk. You stared hard into his eyes.

“Alright,” he muttered. “Once a week. Thirty minutes.” You nodded, happy your point had been made. “Come back tomorrow.” You nodded and turned around, taking your small victory with you out the door.

“How was Dr. Bloom’s visit?” Hannibal asked. He sat across from Chilton at dinner in his home.

“He asked her to hypnotize him to recover memories. This is delicious,” he muttered, pointing at the food.

“Was he successful?”

“Only in playing Dr. Bloom. It’s sad to see a brilliant psychiatrist fall for such hoary old chestnuts,” Chilton said simply.

“She wants to believe him. I do, too.” Chilton looked disappointed at that and looked down at his plate, then back at Hannibal.

“Will’s girlfriend paid me a visit earlier. She seems like a piece of work. I understand why they go so well together.” Hannibal shrugged. Chilton could tell he was acting as though he were indifferent despite clearly having a side. He just wasn't sure which side that was.

“She’s stubborn but rightly so,” Hannibal said.

“What, you think I should let her see him? I agreed to once a week but I’m still on the fence.” Chilton chewed on a bite.

“I don’t see how it could hurt. In fact, if you plan to utilize the cameras and audio you might get something out of it,” Hannibal suggested. He was very aware that Chilton wanted nothing to do with something he couldn’t get a thing out of.

Chilton thought this over.

“Perhaps I could give her a few extra minutes. If you think that would be wise.” Hannibal shrugged.

“Maybe I could think about it.”

Hannibal sat in the car with you outside of the hospital.

“Will has made accusations against me. Very serious ones,” Hannibal said.

“Again, I’ll make up my mind about those when I talk with him.” You weren’t sure why you were so nervous. It was just Will. You weren’t scared of Will or anything. Perhaps it was the anticipation.

“But bear in mind who you know me to be,” he said. You nodded and thought really hard about what you knew Hannibal to be.

“You hid the fact that Abigail killed someone,” you muttered. “Who says you weren’t the murderer after all?”

“You and Will also hid that. Perhaps you’re the murderer.”

“If I was the murderer Jack Crawford would be sprawled very neatly across a particular place,” you muttered bitterly.

“I don’t doubt that,” Hannibal said chuckling. You turned to him and he held your hand, squeezing it once. “Best of luck.”

You got out of the car.

The walk to the cell was a long one. It was odd, the anticipation of knowing Will was so close. When he came into view his eyes were closed. At the sound of your footsteps they opened.

He turned to you slowly and you smiled subtly.

“Where were you?”

“Fishing,” he whispered.

“Sorry I interrupted.” He shook his head.

“I’m glad you’re here. I missed you.” You walked up to the bars and put your hands on them. He did the same, your hands touching. He was warm but not boiling as he had been when he had that nasty fever.

“I only have like, 30 minutes.” He nodded.

“Step back to the white line ma’am!” the guard at the end of the hall called. You turned around but didn’t move an inch.

“No!” you called back. Will laughed dryly.

“You’re supposed to be scared of me,” he whispered. You shook your head.

“Ma’am!” The guards walked over to you and you shook your head angrily, stepping back to the line, so far away from Will. But you didn’t want to be kicked out.

“I’m not scared of him,” you said to the guard.

“Doesn’t matter. The white line,” he said to you. You nodded stiffly and he walked away. The distance felt greater than it really was. When the guard closed the door at the end of the hall you stepped back to the bars.

“You’ve never followed any rules have you?” he asked, laughing.

“Not once. Now go on.”

“I resurfaced a memory.” You nodded, gesturing for him to go on. “Chilton can hear us.”

“That was the memory?”

“No,” he said and laughed a bit. “Just telling you we need to be quiet.” You nodded. “Hannibal shoved that ear down my throat.”

“Abigails?”

“No the other one.” You nodded, accepting your ignorance.

“And you think he did all this?”

“I know that they already looked at him and Beverly looked over everything but I know he did this. When i remember what happened to me I can tell you more.” You looked at the ground.

“Did he do stuff to you while I was in the other room?” Will shook his head.

“Don’t blame yourself.”

“I do. I blame myself for letting this happen and if Hannibal, no matter how much I like him, did this to you than how can I ever-”

“Just don’t trust him.”

“He’s all I have out there. Him and Alana. And the dogs.”

“How are the dogs?” he asked.

“Winston misses you. Sometimes he thinks he misses you more than I do,” you whispered.

“You don’t look like you’ve been sleeping.”

“Neither do you. But I like not cutting the hair,” you muttered and messed with his curls. He gripped your hand tighter around the bar. “I wish you could come home.”

“Me too. Honestly.”

“Soon,” you promised. “Alana has some things she wants to look into.”

“And I keep firing lawyers.”

“FBI lawyers,” you corrected. “I would too.” You looked at your watch and he glanced over to it as well.

“20 more minutes,” he whispered. His eyes caught yours and he gestured for you to sit down. You both did. “Tell me about your day.”

2x02

#will graham x reader #will graham imagines #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecter imagines #hannibal lecter x reader x will graham #will graham x reader x hannibal lecter

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agir1ukn0w · 5 years

Text

My favorite parts from the SFX Good Omens issue:

“Perhaps surprisingly, our destination is the Garden of Eden...Here in the midst of the spectacular Atlantis Dunes and the worst drought in Cape Town’s history, is a little oasis of green that will be expanded later by the magic of CGI. This is where Adam and Eve eat (possibly) the most important apple in human civilization, and where angel Aziraphale (Michael Sheen) and serpent/demon Crowley (David Tennant) begin an unlikely millennia-spanning friendship as the representatives of their respective factions on Earth.” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“23 September 2010 was a red letter day in the history of Good Omens...After many years of trying to get the book made into a movie - most notably with Terry Gilliam at the helm - it was on this day, in a Cardiff restaurant, that Pratchett and Gaiman agreed that TV might have a better home for their story. ‘The Terry Gilliam one should have happened,’ recalls Gaiman...‘They had a really good script. Johnny Depp was going to play Crowley and Robin Williams was going to play Aziraphale, Madame Tracy and Hastur...[But] this was February 2002 - 9/11 had only just happened. He went around and said that it’s a funny film about the end of the world, and people said, “Go away,” and it died.’” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“Indeed, when streaming giants are throwing seemingly infinite quantities of cash at TV shows, we’re at a point where the only limitations to what goes up on screen is imagination. That’s exciting in many ways, but when you’re adapting a novel as beloved as Good Omens, it brings its own unique set of challenges. Just think about all those fans who feel like they know stuffy bookshop owner Aziraphale and his not-quite-as-cool-as-he-thinks BFF Crowley better than anyone else - and feel any deviation from the pictures in their mind is an aberration.” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“‘Good Omens absolutely belongs to the world,’ admits Gaiman. ‘Terry and I wrote a book that was 100,000 words, and that’s probably not more than 1% of the wordage of the total fan-fiction generated about these characters - even excluding the pornography. And I think that’s great. I love that. I’m pretty proud. When we started shooting, I did a post on Tumblr, and said, “Look, your head canon is your head canon. Nobody’s trying to fuck with that. We’re not coming in and saying ‘Our Crowley and Aziraphale is your Crowley and Aziraphale.’ You can still have a platonic Hamlet in your head after seeing five different Hamlets, with thin Hamlets and fat Hamlets and black Hamlets and white Hamlets and old Hamlets and young Hamlets. Your Hamlet can still be your Hamlet.” And that’s how I feel about Crowley and Aziraphale. We are lucky to have Michael Sheen and David Tennant,’ Gaiman adds, ‘the finest Welsh actor of his generation, and the finest Scottish actor of his generation. Watching them acting is like a fucking masterclass. I write something that I think is pretty good dialogue. I hand it to Michael and David, and it becomes better.’” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“Gaiman explains, ‘When I write a scene, the first thing I’m going to do is go to the book, and go, “Okay, what did we do? What are the great lines I need to keep in here? What’s key? What matters?” That’s occasionally been really weird - there’s at least one place where I found a huge goof in the book that I’m planning to quietly correct on future editions, without ever pointing it out to anybody, including you in this interview! You find that kind of thing when you get that deep into it. So there are a few jokes that I lost, where I went, “This is a thing of its time.” Or there were some lines that I looked at and went, “You wouldn’t let this line go through now. Therefore I feel no compunction in losing it.” And then there are other places where you go, “The book is our bible!”’” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“Neil Gaiman had never been a show runner before Good Omens and he says he’s unlikely to be one again. ‘I’m very much looking forward to retiring from show running,’ he admits. ‘I have promised my wife that I will go back to being the novelist that she married. And I look forward to that.’...‘I’m incredibly proud of what we’ve made,’ Gaiman adds. ‘Some bits are better than I could ever have dreamed. So it’s probably been worth it. On the other hand, I also look back at 20 months of not writing, no family life and all these ridiculously long work days, and I go, “Would I have done this for anything other than a promise to Terry to make it?” I don’t know. I might not have done this. It’s been work, you know? I occasionally remind myself that one reason I love being a writer was that you don’t have to get up too early in the morning!’” - Richard Edwards, SFX

“On paper Crowley’s the bad guy because he’s a demon. Do you see him that way? I don’t really see him as a villain. He would very much identify as a villain because that’s the team that he works for, and that’s what he’s supposed to be doing. And yet he keeps confounding that, because actually I think what’s the great charm of Crowley and Aziraphale is that they are not very binary. And that’s their great tragedy: over the thousands of years they’ve lived on Earth, they’ve sort of slipped from their primary mission. That’s, of course, what makes them such good friends. Although they wouldn’t even admit to being friends, and that’s what makes them the yin and yang for each other. Aziraphale is actually a bit of a bastard, and Crowley is quite kind-hearted at the end of the day. There are bigger villains in the piece than Crowley, and some of them are supposed to be the good guys!” - Richard Edwards Q&A with David Tennant, SFX

“What’s it like playing in a world of very personal beliefs and philosophies while also looking at these characters from a human point of view? Crowley’s very much within the infrastructure of Hell. Part of what I think is glorious about the way Neil sets these characters is, it’s supernatural but at the same time, it’s like an episode of The Office with the politics and the mundanities and the small-mindedness of the characters. From an acting point of view, that’s very easy to key into. Crowley is very much about his corner of existence, and protecting it.” - Richard Edwards Q&A with David Tennant, SFX

“How did you tap into Aziraphale’s personality? I decided that he’s someone who has an appreciation of craft and quality. Because he’s been around for so long, that’s something that he really responds to. Whereas Crowley just manifests his clothes, and is very much of the moment. Aziraphale has worn items of clothing over the centuries that he likes. And then if he’s an angel, and therefore a being of love, how does that affect his relationship with Crowley, someone who supposedly on the opposite team, but who he can’t do anything but love? What are the specifics of that in terms of how he relates to Crowley? You start to develop a very real person with very real qualities.” - Richard Edwards Q&A with Michael Sheen, SFX

“Did you approach playing Aziraphale and Crowley as if they were a kind of odd couple? I can’t imagine Aziraphale without Crowley. More than anything I’ve ever done, I can’t think about this character on his own - he only exists with Crowley. So from the very beginning, when we sat down at the table read, my Aziraphale was totally shaped by what David was doing as Crowley, and vice versa.” - Richard Edwards Q&A with Michael Sheen, SFX

“Does Aziraphale want to be Crowley a little bit? I think there are things about Crowley that he really admires and covets, but I don’t think that he wants to be Crowley. I think he just loves Crowley. He would never admit that, and Crowley would never admit that about Aziraphale. He admires certain qualities about him - he would like to be a bit more rock ’n’ roll, but he knows that it doesn’t really suit him. He also really enjoys being Aziraphale, I think.” - Richard Edwards Q&A with Michael Sheen, SFX

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entertainment · 4 years

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Entertainment Spotlight: Will Vought, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

Actor, comedian, and writer Will Vought stars in the most recent season of the critically acclaimed dramedy series, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel. Additional television credits include The Good Wife, The Good Fight, both Lipstick Jungle and Love Bites, Bones, and Wilfred. Will is also an accomplished comedian, having toured the country opening for Wayne Brady. He got his start in the entertainment industry by contributing to Scott Shannon’s #1 morning show on 95.5 WPLJ, offering David Letterman updates and recaps, which opened the door for him to work for Late Night with Conan O’Brien. Following his work with Conan, Will was offered a position in the West Wing of the White House, working for former President Bill Clinton, where he still continued his radio work on the weekends as the youngest morning show host in the country at just 22 years old. Will went on to serve as head writer for Wayne Brady during his time hosting the The Late Late Show prior to James Corden in 2014 on CBS, and he continues to collaborate with renowned actor and comedian Paul Reiser, including shopping a television pilot they wrote together with Julie Bergman. We got the chance to ask him some questions. Check it out:

Do you have a favorite character arc from season 3 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel?

For Season 3, I’m finding myself really interested in Susie and her journey. I don’t want to spoil it for those getting ready to start the new season or binge the series; however, in the first two seasons, Susie’s been hustling and primarily being of service to Midge while her personal life hangs on by a thread. In season 3, there are so many more layers introduced and opportunities that will ripple into not only her clout as a comedy manager but also her personal life. Also, I’m really invested in Lenny Bruce. Having read so much about him to see his plight on screen told through Amy’s lens is incredible. I don’t know anyone in comedy that doesn’t appreciate what Lenny Bruce did for comedians. The end of the Season 3 premiere is absolutely priceless seen thought the eyes of Tony Shalhoub’s Emmy Award-winning performance as Abe Weissman - Midge’s father.

If everything that you did was narrated, whose voice would you want narrating your life?

HA! That is a great question, and I’ve had to think about it. At first, I thought of the late great voice-over artist Don LaFontaine who moviegoers would remember as the “In A World…” guy who made millions voicing almost every movie trailer ever! BUT…truth be told I think that I would love Seinfeld's voice and lens, and I think it would make my day to day activities far more entertaining to listen to, especially when on the phone with my therapist.

Can you tell us about a time you bombed (on stage or in an audition)?

Well…the thing that pops to mind was an audition for NBC’s series called Lipstick Jungle. At the time, I was living on Long Island and decided to make the mistake of driving into Manhattan for the audition. Traffic was abhorrent, and you would think that there were mass casualties on the Long Island Expressway resulting in me being almost an hour and forty-five minutes late for the audition. The director of that episode was the one and only Timothy Busfield, whom I loved on Arron Sorkin’s The West Wing. Tim played reporter Danny Concannon - Senior White House Correspondent.

I had no idea that Timothy was going to be at the audition and was mortified when I showed up and saw him in the room because I was so late. It’s not unheard of to not be seen at all if you are late, let alone hours late. I read for the part and left. Tim was gracious. A month later, I got a call saying that I didn’t book that role; however, they were writing me another role and wanted to hire me for it. While on set shooting, Tim told me that when they asked him if he had any ideas for the part and he said, “That guy who came in 2 hours late. He was great. Hire him.” So I thought I bombed — but it worked out in the end.

The USO Tour scene from The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel broke the record for the most number of background actors used in a scene for tv in the state of New York (850). What was it like being a part of such a huge production?

I’ve never worked on Star Wars, but that’s what I was thinking of when we were filming that. It was by far the largest set I’ve ever been on, and yes there were almost 1000 background actors there for almost an entire week, who made up the audience of the USO show that you see in the season 3 premiere. When I met with Amy and Dan for the final audition for the role of Major Buck Brilstein, it was at Steiner Studios in Brooklyn in a small room that’s not much larger than a small studio apartment in Manhattan. It was the three of us and Emmy award-winning casting director Cindy Tolan. We did all the material from the episode, and to juxtapose that to being in an actual hanger with 1000 extras essentially filming a USO show that’s scripted — it was a historic moment in television that wasn’t lost on me.

What was the audition experience like for your role on The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel?

I kind of talk about that above. I had a great experience. As with anything, you have to go in a number of times, and then the final callback is with Amy and Dan Sherman Palladino. You are 2 feet away from her, there is a camera, and Cindy Tolan, the casting director, and you create the world and do the scenes — WORD PERFECT! That is a huge thing, and something I was told going in. Be word perfect every time. Their words are like notes on a page. Each one carefully picked and placed, and my job is to take them off the page and bring them to life with a sensibility of 1959 and a guy that’s a major in the army who always wanted to be a comedian but never really got the chance. So, my character is literally living his dream in this episode. Beyond that, you bring your A-game, nail it, and it’s up to Amy and Dan. It happened to go my way, and as I told Amy, I was grateful to get the invitation to play in her world. She wrote and directed this episode, so it was extra special.

Is there a specific role or moment that you feel has defined your career up to this point?

We’ll — this is pretty significant re: working with the Palladino’s. I thought that The Good Wife was a big deal at the time — as I was part of Bob and Michelle King’s storyline that revealed Josh Charles’ character was murdered.

It seems that I’m only allowed to act opposite actresses that have won 2 Emmy’s and 2 Golden Globes for Best Actress. LOL. It’s truly a hard question to answer as each project is different, and as an actor, you hope that one job will open a door or opportunity to another. That’s what I’ve found, at least over the past few years, so it’s certainly a slow burn.

Years ago, I was the low man on the totem pole at NBC’s Late Night with Conan O’Brien. I was an intern in the writing department under John Groff and often got the chance to appear in sketches on the show. This was an invaluable experience. There was an afternoon where I asked Conan (as I was cleaning his office) if he knew this was what he was going to do from the beginning. I’ll never forget what he said. He told me that, “In his wildest dreams he never thought he would be hosting a late night show.” He described show business as being on a highway. He was a writer in college, wanted to be a writer and set off on the highway with the goal of writing in mind. Along the trip, there were exits: Mad Magazine, The Simpsons, SNL. After each exit, he gets back on the journey. If you want to be a teacher or doctor or lawyer, you know exactly what to do. Go to X school for X years, and then they declare you as such. Boom. You’re it. Hollywood is not like that. Everyone’s path is so different, and how we get to where we are is almost inconsequential when compared to the culmination of the journey. I’ve been blessed to do a lot of different things so far and work with incredible talent that truly moves the needle in this business, and I hope for more opportunities.

What’s your favorite bit or joke from one of your stand-up sets?

I have a new bit I’m working on that’s fueled by my natural anger toward this situation.

I hate paper straws.

If this makes me a horrible person, so be it. If “they” think I don’t care about the EARTH or ENVIRONMENT and support the extinction of humanity because of this — so be it.

Paper straws? Really? Who did this make sense to? Who thought it was a good idea to combine PAPER and WATER?

I’m sure it seemed like a good idea at the time — but it doesn’t work. Three sips into my iced coffee and the thing has disintegrated, and I’m now drinking iced coffee and paper!

If you think paper straws are a good idea, let me ask you one question. Would you like to use a paper condom?

In the future, you’ll be standing in the rain telling your friend you can’t understand why she’s pregnant and soaking wet from holding the paper umbrella.

I will say that if we do switch to paper condoms …. I don’t know about the environment, but we will absolutely ensure the survival of humanity.

Lighting round! Describe each of the following in one word: Who you are, what you value the most, and what you’d be if you were a food item.

I AM WILL VOUGHT.

I VALUE MOST: MY SON.

IF I WAS A FOOD ITEM, I’D BE A BEYOND BURGER!

What are you working on right now?

Right now, I’m working on sending out subliminal messages via Transcendental Meditation to Adam McKay for a coffee meeting that would result in being cast on the 3rd season of Succession on HBO. I’d text him, but I don’t have his cell. Do you?

Thanks for taking the time, Will! Catch Season 3 of The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel on Prime Video.

Photography: Emily Assiran | Grooming Laila Hayani | Styling: Natalia Zemliakova

#entertainment spotlight #will vought #the marvelous mrs. maisel

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 4 years

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Dignity & Disposition

(Author’s Note(s): I struggle publishing Sherlock fics because as a Christian I blatantly disagree with his statements about God on the show and find it insulting actually. I love Jesus! He has saved me and worked in my life as well as those around me!

I otherwise enjoy the show Sherlock and enjoy writing fics with his character.

Someone told me they appreciated my last fic, and not sure if they’d like to be named, but I hope they enjoy it! You know who you are!

Just a warning, this is kind of a long fic. About six pages in my doc, soooo be prepared! It is riddled with Pride & Prejudice references, hence the title. Also, side note, I could see Benedict playing a pretty good Mr. Darcy... Enjoy!)

His piercing gaze filled you with warmth as his lips parted to recite the words you were so ready to hear. “I love you, most ardently… Please do me the honor of accepting my hand.” His voice was deep. It had a calming effect, and yet was still unsettling in such a good way.

Your eyes remained locked with his as you responded. “Sir,” you stated, breathless. “I appreciate the struggle you have been through, and I am very sorry to have caused you pain. Believe me, it was unconsciously done.”

His brows furrowed. “Is this your reply?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you...are you laughing at me?”

“No.”

“Are you rejecting me?”

Just then, the moment you had so persistently rehearsed was interrupted by footsteps up the stairs. It was none other than John Watson who entered the room, looking rather bewildered. He looked at you, then Sherlock.

“Am I...interrupting something?” he inquired, brows raised incredulously.

“Yes,” you and Sherlock chorused.

“Is this what I think it is?” He shifted his stance.

“I was cast as the part of Elizabeth Bennet for a Pride and Prejudice short film that a friend of mine is working on,” you informed him with a smile. “Sherlock was helping me rehearse.”

“Oh,” John stated. His mouth opened wide as he gave a nod of understanding. “Right, I thought this dialogue sounded familiar. For a split second there, it looked like…Nevermind.”

You rolled your eyes, though felt warmth in your face at the implication that this could have been an actual confession of love from the consulting detective.

As if, you thought to yourself.

It was true, you were merely rehearsing. However, the part of it that you couldn’t believe was that Sherlock actually volunteered to assist you after you entered the flat worrying aloud about your performance later. There’d be a camera crew and everything, though a small one. Sherlock claimed that your worrying was distracting from his latest case, so he agreed to go over the lines with you a few times until you felt more comfortable.

As much as you wanted to read into the thoughtful gesture, you decided to just take his word for it: he was just trying to get you quiet to refocus on the case. He was Sherlock Holmes, after all. He was no romantic like Mr. Darcy, swooping in to save your honor and gain your affection.

John’s confusion seemed to be replaced with an amused curiosity. He took a seat and looked at you, smiling. “Well, go on then. Don’t stop on my account.”

You looked at him and sighed. “Really, John? I feel awkward as it is.”

“You’re doing this for a film, right? Why not do it in front of a friend first?”

You sighed again, but turned your eyes back to the script in hand. “Okay, well, Sherlock, if you don’t mind. Let’s move onto the next section.”

“Indeed,” he nodded, flipping the page.

As you picked up on the next conversation between Elizabeth and Darcy, you couldn’t help but notice how well Sherlock played the part. He could be awkward and quiet and appear prideful. He was arrogant like Mr. Darcy seemed to be at first, but just like the book character your friend was often misunderstood. Only when one got to know him did they realize that he was merely socially awkward. Okay, and also still a tad arrogant.

After the scene was complete, John clapped. "You're going to be great, ___________."

"I sure hope so," you replied. "I just hope I don't freeze in front of the camera."

"Stage fright is quite common," Sherlock muttered. "You've faced many strange situations and villains while working with me and John. I am sure you can overcome this. If you should feel overwhelmed in the moment, imagine you are rehearsing here in 221b."

Sherlock Holmes giving you a pep talk?

He set down the script and returned to the table where his case files were scattered about, just as he had left them before. You looked at John questioningly, and he only returned with a pointed look and amused smile. You had both known Sherlock for quite some time, but even so he could be confusing.

----

Later that day, you met up with your friend to begin the filming process. This was only part one of four, each part being filmed on a separate day. By the end of the week, she'd have everything she needed to edit it together for her university project. It was more of an educational film for younger students to better understand the themes of Jane Austen's story, with you acting out major scenes to show character development and to demonstrate these themes.

So far, it was going well. There were a few times where you feared you'd forget a line or got distracted, but you pictured in your mind reciting the lines to Sherlock instead of the stranger in front of you. It wasn't that the man playing Mr. Darcy was doing anything wrong. There was simply a lack of chemistry. However, you didn't want to dwell on that too long because it brought up the possibility of you feeling chemistry with Sherlock. There was no way. Anything you felt had to be because of how surprisingly well he got into character. You'd seen him do it on cases when he was undercover. He could throw on a different expression and speak in a tone to feign emotion. It was important to remind yourself that when you started to get swept away with these strange feelings that you'd been fighting long before this project.

"____________?" The Mr. Darcy actor in front of you (what was his name? Brody?) waved his hand in front of you. "Everything alright?"

"Oh um yes," you nodded. "I'm sorry, where were we?"

"Actually, we're about to wrap things up!" Your friend, Emma, interjected. "Go ahead and get out of costume, Brady." She turned to the rest of the people in the group. "Thanks everyone! It's been a good day."

You waved at Brady as he walked away, and Emma came over to give you a knowing look.

“What?” you asked.

“I know that look. You’re smitten. I’m honestly surprised because Brady doesn’t seem like your type.”

You shrugged. “Well, that’s because he isn’t. It’s just that Mr. Darcy’s romantic tendencies would make any girl swoon.”

“For sure,” she agreed. “But really, ___________, who were you thinking about? Is it that dreamy detective you work with?”

You glanced around as if he would be standing right there. When the coast was clear, you gave her a look. “You can’t say stuff like that. He could be anywhere. And trust me, there’s nothing developing there.”

“Oh, _________, you need to relax. It’s okay to have feelings.”

“No,” you sighed. “It’s not. Not around someone like him, someone who notices everything.”

“Ohhhhh,” she raised her brows. “I get it now.”

You glanced at a clock across the way. “Wow, would you look at the time? I need to get back to the flat. Talk to you tomorrow?”

She laughed. “Alright, I’ll let you off the hook this time. See you tomorrow for filming!”

You waved and hurried off to call a taxi.

There you sat, in a stylish yet comfortable nightgown. John was sitting across the way typing up a blog entry while you indulged in a book. It was a relaxing night in the flat. Sherlock was out, most likely gathering information for a case. It was nice to catch up on some reading since there hadn’t been much time lately. John excused himself to the loo. With the click-clack of his keyboard absent, the room was silent for a few minutes.

Suddenly, the door flew open. Sherlock rushed into the room, causing a gust of air to rustle some papers on the table next to you. You had learned not to pay him any mind when he was running around solving cases, but his entrance was more abrupt than usual, so you peeked up from your book to see him standing there a few feet away. He was already looking at you, and so your eyes met.

“Hey, Sherlock,” you greeted with a smile. “How’s it going?”

He was silent for a few moments before finally responding. “Fine. It’s going fine.”

You gave a slow, confused nod. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Should I ask Mrs. Hudson for some tea?”

“No, thank you.”

“Okay…” You watched him stare at you for a good thirty or so seconds before he turned and headed to his bedroom. He flew past John who was emerging from the restroom looking rather bewildered. Sherlock’s door slammed shut behind him.

“What did you do to poor Sherlock?” John joked, knowing full well it was more likely the other way around. You shrugged, turning your attention back to the book.

“I have no idea.” You felt John’s eyes on you for a while longer, prompting you to give him a look. “What?”

“Nothing,” he replied. “It’s just that Sherlock’s been acting strange lately. Well, strange for Sherlock.”

“I can’t say I’ve noticed.”

“Really? Because I notice it mostly happens around you.”

You put the book down, curious. “Like what?”

“He’s been staring at you an awful lot. It’s only for a few seconds, but for Sherlock, that’s ages. He normally pays no mind to the people around him, just evidence.”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled.

“Here’s a thought,” John leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands. “And it’s a crazy one because Sherlock has this no-sentiment rule, but...what if he likes you?”

You fought the warmth that rushed into your face. “I think you’re right. That is a crazy one.”

“Hear me out.” John cleared his throat. “He helped you rehearse for your short film.”

“He told me he did that so I’d quit worrying and let him work.”

“Well, think about it. What does he usually do when people are talking and he needs to think? He usually just tells everyone to shut up.”

You nodded. “He used to do that to me too when I first met him.”

“But he hasn’t in quite some time. Instead of telling you to shut it, he went out of his way to help you.” John chuckled.

“So, what? Am I supposed to swoon because he doesn’t tell me to shut up?” You laughed. “This is ridiculous, John.”

“I’m just saying,” he continued. “I think he has grown to like you, even if he is terrible at expressing it.”

“Well, I guess I do appreciate it. Even a little.” You leaned back in the chair. “It’s still silly. He’s probably got something else on his mind.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “Maybe give it some time and things will return to normal.”

The question was; did you want it to return to normal? John seemed to assume that you didn’t have any interest in the consulting detective, but the fact of the matter was you still had feelings...

You thought back to how Sherlock appeared to you when you first met him. He really did seem arrogant. After getting to know him better, you realized a lot of his conduct was due to being clueless on appropriate social etiquette...Although, some of it was indeed due to arrogance.

Eventually you warmed up to him, and he seemed to be less obnoxious toward you.

Was it possible there was more?

A part of you hoped it was the case, and the other side wanted to bury the thought out of fear that he’d notice and have something to say that you didn’t want to hear.

-----

Sherlock seemed to go back to normal. Or at least, as normal as a crew like that could be with all those cases. Two days after your conversation with John, you received an upsetting text from Emma.

“Oh my goodness,” you gasped. “I cannot believe this.”

Sherlock’s violin playing ceased, and John poked his head around the corner.

“What’s wrong?” John asked. “Was it another theft on that street we were talking about?”

“No,” you sighed, dropping your phone onto the chair. “That guy, Brady, who was playing Mr. Darcy decided to quit out of the blue. We only had a few scenes to go, and now we need to find someone else quickly to re-shoot everything in time for Emma’s project. We were already set back a few days from unexpected complications. Emma’s such a good student, and a bad grade would screw up her class.”

“That’s awful,” John shook his head.

“That must be frustrating indeed,” Sherlock agreed quickly, setting down his violin as if he couldn’t care less. “I am going out. Hope all works out for you.” His footsteps disappeared down the stairs, and you sighed.

“I’ve got to start looking for someone, or else Emma’s grade is in trouble.”

“Good luck with that, then,” John sympathized.

You took a look through your contacts to see if there would be anyone else suitable for the role who would have the time to help out. The search resulted in dashed hopes, and you briefly considered putting out an ad.

Not minutes later, you received a phone call.

“Emma? What’s up?”

“Hey! I’ve got a volunteer for the role of Mr. Darcy. It turns out, there are some shots we took of you alone, so we’ll only need to add a voiceover to those. There are still a few scenes I need with you and the new Mr. Darcy, so please get your butt down to the square in an hour while we still have light!”

“That’s great news!” You exclaimed. “How’d you find someone so fast?”

“I’m not supposed to say… He says he’s a friend of yours.”

“Oh, I wonder who that is. Could be Harry. He made a joke about wanting the role a while back, but I didn’t think he was serious.”

“I can’t say~” she practically sang into the phone. “Just get down here!”

You explained the situation to John and gathered your things with plenty of time to call a cab. By the time you arrived, Emma and a few of her classmates were getting things set up.

“Hey,” you said. “Where’s this replacement?”

“He said he’d be here any minute now.”

“I’m here.” Your heart stopped at Sherlock’s voice joining the conversation. There he stood, hands in the pockets of his big coat, gazing at you.

“Thank you for volunteering on such short notice!” Emma told him gratefully. “We don’t know what we’d do if you hadn’t stepped in. _____________ and everyone else has been working so hard, and it would have been a shame to cancel or switch projects so quickly.”

“Yes, well,” Sherlock sighed. “What do I need to do?”

“If you’d get in costume, that would be great.”

Sherlock took the bundle and disappeared in the tent Emma’s classmate set up for costume changing. You were frozen to the spot as you waited your turn, processing what was happening.

“But...Sherlock...He…” You blinked and turned your attention to Emma who shrugged with a huge grin plastered on her face. She giggled and set to work getting everything else ready.

When all was taken care of and the actors were lined up, you began filming what scenes were left and re-filming a few shots that Emma needed to complete the video. You were lost in reciting your lines, and thoroughly impressed by Sherlock’s take on Mr. Darcy. He really did fit the part well.

Things became strange when you started filming Mr. Darcy’s second proposal to Lizzy after he rescued her family from humiliation by the younger sister and the awful Mr. Wickham. Sherlock’s tone softened, and something in his eyes was different. There was a certain intensity you hadn’t noticed before.

“...My affections and wishes are unchanged. But one word from you will silence me on this subject forever.”

Before you could say the next line, Sherlock did something unexpected. He cupped your cheek and brought your face closer to press his lips to yours. It was firm, but his kiss was soft. You were utterly shocked, but instantly reacted to the gesture, bringing your hands up to grasp his shoulders.

“Wait,” Emma said. You heard the sound of pages turning quickly. “There isn’t a kiss in this scene- oh…” She giggled. “Well, well, well.”

Sherlock pulled away, eyes traveling from your lips to meet your gaze. Still dazed by his unanticipated actions, you said nothing. Instead, he spoke first.

“____________, let me explain. I set aside sentiment to pursue my work. It was very easy because I worked alone. Then, you and John came into the picture and insisted on becoming my friends. You both saw past my exterior. Beyond the machine to the man inside. But you specifically, I feel something different for you. My old self has been trying to block it, but it’s something I can no longer ignore.”

You were in disbelief, but glad. “I have feelings for you too.”

“I know,” he said quickly, and you raised a brow. He cleared his throat and uttered a quick and quiet, “sorry” before starting again. “I mean, there were signs that indicated you felt similarly, but I did not want to assume.”

“So where does this leave us?”

“Perhaps we can socialize, and not while on a case. Dinner?”

“It’s a good start.”

You exchanged glances, and you could have sworn you saw the slightest hint of a smile on his face before Emma spoke up.

“So,” she began, clasping her hands together. “As happy as I am for you, _____________, we still have to finish this last scene. You guys up for it?”

“Oh right,” you nodded, putting some distance between you and Sherlock. “Sounds good. Ready Mr. Darcy?”

At that, he cleared his throat. “Indeed.”

#Sherlock #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock x Reader #Reader insert #bbc sherlock #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock imagine #romance

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runefactorynonsense · 3 years

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[50 Followers Request 2 of 2] @twig---verginix suggested: Congrats on the follower benchmark!!!!!!! Could I request Lynette somehow getting to meet her grandkid(s) (building off the hc that Kyle's her son) 🥺🥺

This one is in writing! This is from... forever ago. I've sat on this, finished, for probably two months now, just too anxious to submit my writing online. Well. Today, I've decided, screw it. I've read and proofread and reread this, and today, I'm done. It's going up. I post my artwork all over. Why am I so anxious about sharing headcanons in writing? Not anymore.

♦~----------------------------~♦

♦ Eleven Years ♦

It’s been a decade since Kyle came to Alvarna, and a couple weeks since he was pulled from the Forest of Beginnings. His body is healing. Memories are trickling back to him, many from before he arrived... Including how he can now potentially reconnect with his mother. [Oneshot exploring the headcanon that Kyle is the son of RF1’s Commander Lynette.]

Word count: 10,746 words Rating: G Characters: Kyle, Lynette, Aaron & Aria, Rosalind, various others only mentioned

Read Below, or on A03! [ A03 link ]

♦~----------------------------~♦

"Kyle-"

A harsh breath. The sting of magic. The sound of water and wind tearing through the forest.

The rumble of the earth beneath his feet.

"Run!"

So many times, he'd had that dream. Darkness, somehow shaped into a tunnel, one he could never reach the end of, no matter how hard he tried. He was never fast enough. He was never lucky enough. And so on. And so forth. Countless times, he awoke after the darkness smothered him, awoke with his heart racing and his hands shaking, ready to grasp and claw at anything nearby... But there was no need- there was no crumbling earth or stone...

...yet he felt it. Every time.

Every time.

Except-

Lightning flashed, near, blazing, overwhelming, its presence bleaching the world before thunder arrived to complete the dance. Kyle’s eyes remained glued on the bedroom window. Droplets raced down, the grilles were shadowed, and he could only wait as another flash came- as another rumble rocked the world outside, rocked the home-

Yet he was the only one awake because of it. That was an assumption, but he didn't hear anything from the twins' room, he didn't feel anything from beside him. So far as he knew, or cared, he was alone. All he could do was stare forward, the window an unwitting focus as something at the back of his mind worked... As thoughts raced in that confusing, exhausted way they often did when one woke up after a dream that threatened to slip away, or after a night where one swore they would remember something in the morning... So close... So important... Within a metaphorical grasp, yet the idea of it slipping away created more terror than any lost dream ever did-

-and then, with the third strike of lightning, he knew.

He knew.

Lightning didn't touch down in town that time, but behind nearby mountain peaks, causing them to be silhouetted against the window from however far away. Those mountains- those trails- the country beyond-

The tunnel was real.

He knew where the tunnel was.

In no time at all, he was out of bed, dressed, grasping for his shortsword and for two thinner tomes. A coat was tossed around his shoulders without any care as to what type it was- a coat was a coat. There was no drowsiness, no leftover sluggishness in his limbs- no. Sleep had been chased away into irrelevance. He had to move. If only he had time to write something down, to explain- but he couldn’t. There would be too much to write. He had to get to the end of that tunnel. He had to dig. He had to find-

"Dad?"

One hand still on the doorknob, Kyle spun around, eyes wide, vision adjusting to the darkness. From the stairs, a soft light flickered, the sort created by a candle meant to be carried in a small dish. Aaron was the one who held the candle, while his sister lingered just in front of him, already at the bottom of the stairs, her hands on the stair rail. Aaron had to rub at his eyes while Aria's gaze, accented by two different colored eyes, found Kyle's, with the beginnings of the curiosity they had inherited from their mother--

"What are you-"

"Stay inside, please," Kyle said as the wind turned, as some rain came inside the front door before he put himself in front of the stream. He tugged his hood over his head, though it was already nearly soaked through. Didn't matter. Not in the least. "The storm is heavy, my two. Please-" A weight settled into his chest. As much as that need to go still pulled at him, as wild as the wind, he found himself frozen. As he looked at his two, at the twins he had helped raise, he felt dread. Helpless. He couldn't say anything. How could he explain?

He didn't know what was about to happen- but it wouldn't be simple.

"I'll be back," It was almost a lie and he knew it. "Go back to bed, please-" Another flash of lightning. "-or please, be quiet until you go back to sleep-"

"Why-?"

"I'll explain later," That wasn't a lie- if he could, he would. He just. Didn't know if. Or when. Or-

He had to just go.

So he did.

"Stay inside!" Kyle repeated, his voice half lost in the rain as he slipped out, as he shut the door, and as he followed lantern and lightning to the barn just up the hill. Cold and wet didn't bother him as he let himself inside, his boots creating dark prints on the floor below. Around, a few buffamoo raised their heads, a few woolies paid no attention, a few cluckadoodles snoozed away. Near the front, however, a set of golden eyes found him, more thoughtful, almost startlingly intelligent.

Kyle beckoned the silverwolf forward. After a short stretch, the wolf rose from their sleeping place - a haphazard collection of hay and blankets - and came to his side. Around her neck was a pink fabric, a scarf or shawl that resembled the sort Aaron had experimented with. Kyle's gaze lingered on it, on the patterns stitched within- but that was all. And not for long. No need to worry about a saddle. He had no time. No time. One swing of a leg later, Kyle was on the she-wolf's back, and out the swinging door. Claws tore through wet earth with more traction than hooves would have allowed. Through wind and rain, Kyle and the wolf rushed through the upper roads, then past the town border, into the wilderness that lay beyond, and then further. Untamed territory tried to fight back with thorns, branches, and stone, but it wasn't enough.

Miles out of town were covered in minutes while the storm surged. Only when he spotted a few squared, colored stones sticking out of the earth did Kyle urge the wolf to slow. Those colors, that shape... Those were building materials taken back by the earth.

It was the lost end of a tunnel.

A tunnel lost years ago, an infrastructure not worth excavating or replacing due to the earthquakes.

On his feet, Kyle fingered those tomes he had grabbed. Earth magic. Some folks would be able to clear the mountainside in no time- he wasn't one of them. He could only encourage a wheelbarrow's worth of ground to the side at a time- but it was better than nothing. Back and forth, little by little, he dug at the hillside, working his way up, then in between those stone markers. Part of the way through, his wolf even lent her claws to the effort. The roof of their self-made cave began to loom and block the rain, but he had to keep going. He had to keep looking. This end of the tunnel, the one that had come down, the one that had blocked out the light, been the cause of those dreams, he knew what he was going to find-

-and finally, as another flash lit up the sky, he saw the softest shine of metal on tattered fabric.

The bag.

He used his hands to dig this time, and out of the wall he pulled an intricate tote that had seen better days. Dirt and discoloration had attacked once vibrant blue and white fabrics, brass buckles were all but destroyed, but- but- but it was in one piece. Undisturbed, save for a few small insects that he brushed away, uncaring. Inside, he found more books, journals and two more tomes, fragile and stained, but in one piece. Able to be read.

Thank goodness.

But he had no time to celebrate. He swapped the papers around until he had a file covered in Earth Script, the letters faint, but there. Still there. Still able to tell their stories.

He turned his attention back to the wolf, who had sat down not far behind him. For a moment, he was quiet, and looked at his companion, who stared back with a loyal, curious gaze. Panting. Filthy. Yet, despite this, she was ready to go. Despite being dragged out and soaked through, she was still ready to follow him. To do what he asked.

He couldn't bring her any further. She didn't deserve what was to come.

So he pulled some magic around one hand. "I need you to go back home," He told the wolf as a white glow filled with intent surrounded that palm. "Go home, keep an eye on everyone, keep everything safe until I come back-" If he came back. "-please." He put a palm between her ears.

"Go."

A whine and then a high-pitched hum later, he was alone. He let out a breath, steeled himself, frowned, and then turned back to the wall he had created.

He wasn't strong enough to do this- but there wasn't any time. No way to get help. Not before disaster. He could buy a little more time. A little more time for someone stronger to come.

So he followed the ancient instructions as they directed him toward a long ago buried temple, and prayed to Terrable and Ventuswill and whatever other gods there were, that he was doing the right thing.

♦~----------------------------~♦

A pen rolled around between his fingers, the smoothness of it, the weight, the tangibility, all so incredibly mesmerizing. After spending so long trapped in that plane, with nothing but that void and the voice of that dragon outside of his own awareness... He appreciated every little detail. In fact, everything was astounding. Color. Sound. Texture. He found himself staring at the pen as if it was a masterpiece- and though its craftsmanship was nothing to ignore, it coming from the desks of the Sainte-Coquilles, the writing implement was hardly a work of true art, such as the paintings on the wall, a well forged blade, one of the ships in the harbor, or one of the novels over on the shelves. It was just... a pen... And yet it meant so much more.

Kyle closed his eyes with a deep breath and forced himself to set the pen down. (Where it clacked softly against the table, which was cool under his fingers, and...) Pressure in his head made him lean back in his chair, though not too far back, not enough to lift its feet from the ground. His eyes were tired. His body was tired. If he had a soul - and, well, he was pretty damn sure he did, after all that had happened; magic alone couldn't have held that beast - it was worn out. Existing took up so much energy. Answering questions, to the best of his ability, took up more. Then recovering, for he could feel that he'd gone so long without food, water, proper sleep- All of that left him with a headache that had persisted for the past week-

Or was it two?

At least the pain had begun to fade. He could sit up and bear sunlight where it had previously burned his eyes and made his head pound. Not right then, however. Right then... Maybe he needed more water. That's all it felt like. A benign headache he never would have paid much attention to before. Water would make it go away. Or at least help. Couldn’t hurt. In fact, there was a cup on the table in front of him, near the hand that had previously held the pen. He took a few careful sips, then with the same hand, pressed fingers against his forehead.

"Do you need to take a break-?"

"No," Came his honest answer as he leaned forward again. Rosalind's voice pulled him back on track where his mind had wandered - again. He craned his neck in a stretch, and before he was done, her hand found his shoulder. He dropped his own hand to rest on hers. His heart in his throat, he murmured, "Where was I?"

"You... said you remembered why you were out here," She prompted, her voice now low. "Way back when."

Right.

"Did you still want to talk about this now...?" Curiosity pulled at her voice; he knew she couldn't help it. There was nothing that she didn't want to learn, no topic that she wouldn't read about, no end to the stream of facts that she could pull out about this, that, or another... And, well, now he had gone and vanished, and there were a host of answers that she not only wanted to know, but that she deserved to be told.

"We can stop, if you need," She continued, without missing a beat. "You've been up most of the morning and did some work, good work, and Natalie said not to stress yourself-"

"I can talk," He didn't so much as interrupt as slip the answer in, in a way he'd grown used to doing. All of that knowledge and all of her opinions could come out as lengthy, absentminded rambles when she got comfortable. After the time he'd spent with her, he'd learned how to mix his words in, how to redirect, how to ask about a new topic, a smooth verbal dance that those closest to her all seemed to learn. To be back in that pattern, as if he'd never left... Focus. Focus. Talk. He could talk. "I just... don't think I can take any more stairs." He'd probably take a nap on the couch in a little while. Not a bad idea. Not at all.

She hesitated, her brows furrowing, but let out a slow breath and relaxed, that hand still on his shoulder. After a few quiet ticks of the clock in the corner, she leaned forward enough to put her forehead on his shoulder. Not sure of his own balance, not yet, he merely tipped his own head to rest his cheek against her hair- the motion itself soothing him further.

His eyes open, he stared across the front room of his home, toward the windows, toward the cracked door that let in the late afternoon sun, though he didn't focus on any of those details. Why he was here, Rosalind had reminded him. Why he had been near Alvarna. "Do you remember that nightmare," He asked her, matching her previous volume. "The one I kept having?"

She nodded against his shoulder. After a short stretch of quiet, where branches scraped gently against a window, where one of the woolies brayed in the distance, she sat up. She moved not in a quick, rough motion, but in a way that said she was fully alert. He paid attention to her, to the way she tilted her head. "It was a memory, wasn't it?" The conviction in her voice was palpable.

"Yes." The half-dream, half-memory remained hazily confusing in his mind. Some days the dream felt more distant, more false- other days it was as if he'd never lost his memory to begin with. Everything had been real, the darkness, the running, the fall which led to him closer... "I had been a researcher," The words stuck in his throat when he finally spoke. A disconnect spanned across his mind, from memories that came before and after. Why did pulling from both sources at once make him feel so strange? And at the same time, he found himself hesitant to speak of what he had once known, especially to his wife of all people. Someone who hadn't been a part of that life before...

Dragons above, what a thought.

"You're serious?" Rosalind's voice helped close some of that distance. Or, at the very least, it helped fix his attention once more. He had to bridge the gap.

"Yes."

"...That makes sense, honestly," There was some amusement in Rosalind's tone. "You always were better at finding what I asked for than other people were, and you went more into detail than anyone else taking those requests..." It was her turn to mess with the pen. "What was your focus? Did you have one...?"

"Runes. Runeys. Though I wasn't- I'm not a strong enough Earthmate to do too much with them." He laughed a little bit, then. "I was an aide, most of the time- I catalogued or added supplemental magic. And made a lot of phone calls for the more powerful Earthmates." He missed those calls. Missed the paperwork. Missed his logs and his sketchbook....

He missed his small team.

Their faces came to him, clear as the day he had been separated from them. Fascination faded. Heart heavy, he leaned forward, just slightly, enough that Rosalind was quick to notice. One of her hands rubbed slow, careful circles near the top of his neck.

Part of him felt so alone.

"The thunder woke me up. I... Maybe it triggered something. But. I remembered where my partner and I had been, just before I wound up here." The sun may have been shining outside, but he swore he could hear the rain and feel the chill. He kept his eyes open and focused on a ray of sunlight on the floor. He whispered, and Rosalind leaned over to hear, "I went there. I found the landslide the earthquakes had caused." That Fiersome had caused. "The bags were still there- buried." He worked to open and close the fingers on one hand. "We hadn't told anyone we had changed course to go toward here. We planned to call once we got here- got to the Inn. Otherwise, we camped. We... had been camping. I don't think my partner survived, otherwise- they'd have looked for the notes. They would have looked for our wolves. They... "

"...They would have come looking for you."

And no one had. No one had come to Alvarna asking for someone who matched his description. Healing from a fall, a hit to the head, and memory lost, he had gone unmolested in the town for a decade. He had always wondered why that was- now, the possibilities were more grim than he had ever considered. No one who could have inferred where he had gone had survived.

Only him.

“Or they just assumed me dead, too.”

Rosalind didn’t let that thought linger in the air for long. "Enough about work," she said as her hand continued to move across the top of his neck. He was grateful for the contact, for the mild stimulation her fingers provided, for the way she gave him a brief hug before she settled her one arm across his back. "That's just one part of everything. How about..." It was her turn to hesitate. "How about family?"

Family...

"You've always been so good with mine," Rosalind continued. "It always made me wonder, you must have been used to dealing with so many different people... A big family, maybe? Or close family friends? Found family? Or..."

Family.

All that time in the clinic or resting, and he had simply... not thought about that word. He hadn’t connected those dots. No one had thought to ask him, either. (Not yet, perhaps?) As Kyle let out a breath, it dawned on him that family wasn't just Rosalind, Aaron and Aria- no. He had more. He had people out there he could reach out to, that he could pull into this new little corner of life-

-people who hadn't heard from him in a literal decade. People who it hadn’t occurred to him to think of, not until that question-

Oh my gods.

"Kyle? Are you-?"

"The seal," He said as he sat upright, a little too quickly. He closed his eyes as the headrush came and went, he shook his head gently. "I- the seal. Wax seal," Came his correction when he realized seal could mean something entirely different, and he didn't at all mean the damn dragon. Not this time. "Can you get me some paper? And your seal? The family seal?" The wax seal that belonged to the De Sainte-Coquilles.

"You... want to write to someone?" She may have been confused, but that didn’t stop her from getting up anyway.

"Yes!" That was what he wanted. "Yes," he repeated, more quietly as he reached for the pen that had slowly rolled away.

Muscle memory took Rosalind to the desk that lay at the back of the room so she could fetch the writing materials from a desk that lay just out of the sun. She returned with several sheets of parchment, a square of wax, and then the gaudy stamp used by the most powerful merchant family within the kingdom. Never before had Kyle used the seal for himself, even if Rosalind had given him her name at their wedding. He hadn’t felt it necessary- nothing he did warranted something that important. However... If there was ever a time to use the name as his own, it was now. But before he could touch pen to paper, the implication of reconnection came down on him, like endless, frigid water pressing from all sides... It threatened to overwhelm him after spending so long without the physical form to feel anything of the sort- and- It’s okay, he told himself. He breathed slow, then shook his head, the tiniest motion. He could do this...

"Who do you want to write to?"

"My mother.” His mother. The only direct family he had...or, she had been the only family, up until a few years ago... He had more now... “But I- I need the seal because...” Another pause. Rosalind didn’t rush him. Rather, her eyes were gentle as she urged him to continue, and he mentally thanked her. “If... she gets a letter claiming to be from her son, I don’t think she’ll believe it. Not after so long.” If his mother was anything like he remembered, she would rip the letter to bits without bothering to finish it. “But the seal- If the letter says it’s from a De Sainte-Coquille...” He trailed off, his mouth pulled into a thin line. “That...”

Beside him, Rosalind leaned closer, her shoulder against one of his. “That carries weight?”

Kyle nodded. “It... should make the letter feel more real. At least, I hope...”

From her place beside him, Rosalind raised a brow, and he could tell she was holding back, restraining herself from asking any number of questions. In the end, she simply mused, “Does your mother know of the family, or...?”

He laughed.

The sound came so loudly, so suddenly, that Rosalind leaned back in her chair while he quickly composed himself in order to mutter a quiet, sincere apology. That was it, though, that was just it. The fact came to him in a flash, as had so many other details had since he had returned. “She does. Know. Did. At least-” He collected himself. Collected his thoughts into a sensible sentence, not the scattered diction he had almost gone on. “We lived in Kardia for a short time when I was a kid...” A kid no older than Aaron or Aria- younger, maybe? Yes, likely younger...

“Kardia-?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait- she knew aunt Bianca?”

“Knew might be a stretch...” Once more, he was amazed at how he could actually retrieve memories. When he wasn’t comparing old to new, the past settled in his mind like an old friend, undisturbed by the paradigm shift that had happened when he’d lost his memory. There was less haze, less confusion as to what was real. Instead, he could see Kardia through a child’s eyes, see the steps, the lamp posts, the cherry trees, the sea shells, the farm fences... The homes at the top of the hills... “But my mother knew the family was there. She would know the name. Know it is important. She’s smart enough for that... But we moved to the Capitol before long...”

“And aunt Bianca took her estate to Trampoli,” Rosalind added, half to herself, because Kyle wasn’t quite sure if that was correct. (There were a lot of aunts in her family tree.)

“I doubt she ever knew my mom had a kid.” Bianca hadn’t been a name he’d really known as a child. He could remember the maid, Tabatha, and the spreads of food at a couple festivals... But other than that, other townsfolk had left more lasting impressions. Though he was close to getting lost in the old memories - and, honestly, almost did, recalling which homes he got the courage to spend time in... - he forced himself to listen to the ticking clock once more.

“Bianca does tend to have blinders on things that don’t directly interest her,” Rosalind didn’t miss a beat as she laughed softly and rolled her eyes, a motion reserved for when she playfully chided members of her own family. “So... That would make sense- but-” She tapped her fingers against the table. More thinking. Those fingers crept over to his own.

“That’s why... no one found me.” So close. One degree of separation. A family that spanned the entire kingdom - and more - had, at one point in time, met him, met his family. However, it hadn’t been enough. Not back then. He had been too hard to find. Now, though... Now the family knew him. “But...” Kyle stared down at the paper again as a rush of determination began to creep through his core, pushing away that despair. He’d gone to dinners and reunions and festivals, he’d talked with cousins and uncles and nieces and nephews and grandparents. They could confirm his identity. “If she reads it... She can contact the family, and they’ll know about me... If this works... It would...” But it was so much harder to put those thoughts into words. Possibilities were just that- possibilities. He could think about chances or hypotheses all he wanted. Was he confident enough in the idea to voice it? He wanted to write to his mother, that was an idea, a fact. But would this work...?

“It will.” There was such faith in Rosalind’s voice that he had to look at her again. A small, warm smile grew as she laughed softly again. “Kyle, if everything else worked out to bring you back, this- this letter will, too.” She squeezed his hand one last time before she removed her hand, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. From there, she leaned so that her elbows were on the table, so she could watch the parchment as he wrote. A greeting came first, a rank accompanied by his mother’s name, before a comma and an opening paragraph that held as much tact any paper he had written before...

“I’ll get some tea going while you write,” Rosalind murmured after a pause, and the promise of leaf and citrus made Kyle nod approvingly. “And maybe you can tell me about your time in Kardia and the Capitol...?” She was out of her seat by then, her head tilted back, her eyes shifting as the gears in her mind began to turn. “Or what your mother was like?”

“...Want to know something?” It was the greatest rhetorical question he could ever ask, but it always got Rosalind’s attention in the right way. “She- we- aren’t from Norad.”

Wide eyes found his as Rosalind breathed, “Really?”

“No.” More writing. A pause. “She’s from the Empire.”

“Sechs?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I can get food, too. I want to hear it.”

♦~----------------------------~♦

“Two more coming!”

Luckily Aria was used to the game of ‘catch the apples Aaron was throwing down, and avoid getting hit on the head with them’. He may have been several branches higher, basically near the top of the dang fruit tree, but she could still see him, see as he reached behind him - without looking - to drop his bounty toward her. She had a sheet ready, and caught the two multicolored apples with expert care. Softly. Without the apples slamming into each other and bruising one another in that unappetizing way. After a glance to double check, Aria grinned and then lowered the sheet so the apples could roll into a basket down on the ground below. Said basket was near full with apples and oranges gathered throughout the day, and before long, it would become too heavy to carry. Not without the wolf there to help, but the wolf was at home. Normally, they took her with them essentially wherever they wound up, and the wolf was happy to follow- but ever since they had brought their father home, the wolf had wanted to remain by his side. Kyle had tamed her, so it made sense.

Even if it meant a basket of fruit would be a little more annoying to bring back.

Aria cupped her hands around her mouth and called “That’s enough!” up to her brother. Her twin stopped, looked down at her, stood on his branch, grabbed one more apple, and then bit into it, held it in his teeth. Only then did he begin to climb down; Aria cackled at him the rest of the way. “What are you, a chipsqueek waiting for winter?”

“Nuh!” His reply was muffled as he dropped to the ground beside her, then as he chewed the chunk he had taken from the fruit. “Jus’ wan’ed ‘un.”

“That’s a good idea,” Aria grinned, brows raised, and her amusement only grew as she saw Aaron narrow his eyes. She reached out, fingers moving in a demanding motion. “Gimmie.”

“No.”

“Why not?” She reached for the apple; Aaron held it away from her. “We share the same germs!”

“It’s mine!”

“Just one bite!”

“No!”

“C’mon!”

“I’ll bite your hand!”

“Not before I-”

Both children froze as they heard the call of a monster, equine in nature, followed by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Equine monsters weren’t native in the wild to their area - they’d done enough prowling around the ruins to know - but they had seen travelers go through on their backs. Their relatives had some lovely horses and related beasts at the manor and then at events. Carriages or merchant carts came through every so often. Still, a whinny was a foreign sound, one that had both children silent and turning to stare at the nearest road. They may have been, what, fifty yards away from the edge of town? They had crossed the large, well used road, and gone a short distance more before they found the tiny orchard in between monster populated areas. Unwilling to go right to the road, Aria and Aaron shared a glance before they began to climb back up the tree they had just been in. Aaron’s apple fell, discarded in the grass as the two came to a high branch, thick enough to support them both, and without leaves that would normally block their view.

Aaron looked left, Aria looked right, and it was in her direction that she spotted something. She tapped her brother’s arm rapidly. She pointed toward a series of signs some distance from them, and it was near those signs that someone had stopped; a single someone, a traveler on a singular white unico.

Aaron was squinting, though, which made Aria look back toward the rider.

“They’ve got like a uniform, or something,” Murmured her brother. “I wish I had Roy’s spyglass.”

Aaron was right- now that Aria took a second glance, the cloth - from what she could see at that distance - had the sharpness and detail of some important uniform, along with a sheath tied around their back, half hidden by a cloak. Logos or emblems, however, were far too tiny, even to see their colors. “Maybe here to see Byron? Or Tanya? Or the Inn?”

“Tanya or the Inn, I’d bet.”

The traveler encouraged their unico to move once more. Soft hoofbeats came down the road, almost obscured by the wind at that distance.

Oooh, she couldn’t resist. “Wanna bet?”

Aaron returned her challenge with a small smirk, and none of the previous annoyance that had surrounded the apple. “I’d bet a week of helping dad clean the barn.”

“You’re on!”

Aaron dropped to his knees, grasped the tree branch, moved so he hung by his palms, then let himself fall toward the ground. Aria clambered down, herself, her path a sort of zig-zagging hop as she raced after her brother. Aaron reached the road sign, now vacant. He put a hand on the pole, which pointed into Alvarna in most directions, along with signs east and west which directed toward nearby smaller towns (which, at that moment, didn’t matter).

“I’m betting they’re going to the Inn because they’ve got some kind of meeting tomorrow.”

Aria caught up and tried to lean to the side to see which direction the unico had gone, however, all she could see was treeline, and the shine of the nearby bay beyond it. The hill was too tall, the vegetation beautiful, but too thick. “I think they’re some sort of representative, and they’ve got a message for Mayor Byron.”

“And if they go to Tanya, we both lose.”

“But anything else, nothing.”

Aaron stepped away from the signpost. Aria took up step alongside him. Her arms swung gently at her sides. “What if they go to multiple places?” She mused. “Like if they see Byron, but then go to the Inn? Or Byron then Tanya?”

“...I dunno,” Aaron rubbed his neck. “Maybe we just lose.”

By then, they both entered a dense line of shade, one which led south and toward the academy building. The academy would be to their right while their home would be somewhere left, a bit further down. Below that would be the turn into town. The walk was a comparatively short one, and an enjoyable one, especially since it was a holiday with no school in session. Floating leaves, lost from nearly every tree in the area, only added to the serenity. A soft crunch sound underfoot didn’t hurt, either. As the first glimpses of the school building crept through the trees, however, Aria couldn’t help but stare at it. Could the traveler be going there, too? Maybe they had more books or scrolls to donate to it, or the library? Important looking people carried important books, right? Hmm..

Aaron grabbed her arm. Her eyes flashed toward his gloves, then up. He stared back at her, wide eyed, before he looked away, and raised a hand to point. “Aria,” came his voice, a swift, hushed whisper, almost lost in the autumn sunshine that surrounded them. “They’re in front of our house.”

“Our...?” but she trailed off when she saw that Aaron was right. The twins inched to the edge of the road, and took advantage of familiar foliage in order to peer down the hill, toward the property their parents owned. There, on the slope that led from the main road to their front yard, stood the traveler, now dismounted, their unico obediently still beside them. Aria wasn’t quite sure what she felt right then; it wasn’t fear, not exactly, because they didn’t have any reason to fear someone who randomly came to town... Wariness, though? Absolutely. She eyed that unico, eyed the horn, and knew it could produce some high powered magic- on top of how unicos had terrible tempers, too. For someone to tame one... Then, there was that uniform... the striking navy blues, the white gloves and footwear, the eyepatch, the dagger that hung at their back, the glint of some sort of metal accessories...

Their bet was forgotten.

“Maybe... they’re looking for mom?” Aria posited, a hand on her chin. “They look official. Mom might need help with a project again? Or maybe it’s family business things.” ‘Business’ was always something that was going on, right-?

“That makes sense, actually,” Aaron shook his head to dislodge a couple leaves. “Should we go help them?”

Confidence was a more natural feeling than wariness. That, and, after all they had been through below ground, what was one stranger up here in plain daylight? While Aria did hesitate, it wasn’t long before she took a quick breath, put her hands together, and decided, “I think we should.”

“Before Roy and Cammy tell them the wrong way.”

“Let alone the others.”

“Let’s-”

The traveler moved before they did. Before either twin could pull themselves out of the familiar foliage, the traveler approached the home with a determined, maybe even angry stride. In one hand they held parchment, maybe a letter and its envelope. Before they got close to the home, they glanced down at the paper one more time, then up at its mailbox. Whatever they saw made them square their shoulders, and give the door a series of powerful, booming knocks.

Despite the effort, there was no yelling to go along with the sound. No complaining. No argument. In fact, the way the traveler had knocked, then stepped back, made the twins fall silent and reevaluate. Now the stranger stood away from the front door, down the stairs, but still in between them and their home. They could go around back, sure, easily, the hill wasn’t that steep- but. But. Had they been wrong? Was this actually someone they needed to be concerned about? Beside her, Aria could feel as Aaron pulled magic around one hand; he usually had the magic discs or pages with him, and had gotten quite good with them, but she, herself, was disarmed. What had she needed a sword for anymore? It was home, tucked away in a compartment, and Aaron’s more detailed magic books were in the same place. A small wind spell was useful to bring with when gathering fruit from trees... but what would such a low level spell do against someone who could potentially counteract it? The eyepatch had Aria’s full attention. Are they a soldier? Was that why they had the unico and the uniform and-?

“Hello?” Came their mother’s voice, soft only thanks to the distance. Rosalind sounded polite, yes, but both children could hear the edge in her voice. The front door was open, then, and their mother kept the knob in one hand while she stepped out onto the small porch. Behind her, in the home, hovered the wolf’s shape. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Is this a Sainte-Coquille residence?” came the woman’s voice in reply, to the point, authority laced through her words.

“In a manner of speaking,” Rosalind gestured toward the road, and up, somewhat toward the visible bay. “The actual manor and center of this area’s business, however, is near the southeastern portion of town. It’s just past the inn. My husband and I live here, but the property isn’t under the family name.”

“Then why does mail from here have the trade seal? Do you know of this?” They presented the letter, its contents turned it toward the front door. Their voice also became sharper, as if the letter itself made them angry. “I want to know who wrote this-”

Rosalind leaned back, upright and stiff, her eyes wide and mouth partially open. Honestly, the way the stranger spoke should have made their mother mad- Aria had heard embarrassing customers at the general store and restaurant before. She’d heard both her mother and uncle Max turn down “incompetent business wannabe-associates” before, after that sort of tone had been used. But her mother, right then, wasn’t angry, or bothered. Instead, she brought up one hand, fingers splayed. “Ma’am, I- I think I might have some answers. Just- give me a moment. Please. Wait right here?” Without closing the door, Rosalind took a step back and vanished from view. “I’ll be right back!”

♦~----------------------------~♦

Kyle was at the bottom of the stairs when Rosalind had turned and strode back into the home. He stood with one shoulder against the wall, and one palm covered the top of a newel post. For an instant, the wolf hovered at his side, before she wandered back toward the front, antsy for some reason. Sleep weighed down his own limbs, but his head didn’t hurt - not yet - and he was able to take himself down to the first floor. Though he had improved over the previous season, stairs took a lot out of him, and he was glad for the support walls offered. He had begun to will himself to walk once more when Rosalind noticed him. Her mouth turned down for a heartbeat before she put one foot on the lowest stair. She held out an arm, and he laced his arm in hers. That contact gave him the final bit of balance he needed.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Not much,” Kyle admitted as he was guided toward the door. “Just... the knock. And a yell. It woke me up. Is there trouble?”

Rosalind stepped around a side table and drummed her fingers against his arm. “I don’t think so.”

Huh? She met his gaze, and he... for the life of him, he couldn’t read that expression. That meant she wanted to know what he thought... right? If she didn’t fully explain whatever was going on, she would get a better answer- and normally he would bother her until she said her opinion anyway. Right then, that didn’t feel like the right move. The feeling only grew as Rosalind allowed him to stand on his own, and as she allowed him to go to the door, first, her own hand now on the wolf’s back, encouraging it to stay still. He looked over his shoulder at her, brows raised, but didn’t wait.

If he hadn’t grasped the door frame, he would have fallen. Despite that, he came close- a wavering grip, leg muscles that suddenly felt weak, and not because of his recovery, no. He wasn’t that tired, not yet. It was all in his mind. Shock? Surprise? Because- Outside- On the path, the person he saw-

His mother had read the letter.

Her attire had changed, newer, bolder, with additional decorative medals on one shoulder, but there was no mistaking that deep blue motif, the white accents, the way her hair still had most of that color- and then the eyepatch which did nothing to lessen the strength of the one visible eye, still sharp after all that time-

Commander Lynette Laurent.

She had read the letter, she had tracked down the address, had followed the instructions.. And whatever she had thought of it all didn’t matter, right? In the end, she saw him, didn’t she? Him, in the door, her, just stairs and strides away... Undeniable proof. After a moment, Kyle smiled, the expression askew and completely nervous. No confrontation with a monster or spell or dragon god could compare to the way his heart raced right then. He gave a short, shuddering laugh, the sound all he could muster. As he lowered himself down so he sat on the first stair, he covered his face with one hand “I-” Another laugh. The hand fell into his lap. He shook his head, a tiny motion accompanied by glossy eyes. She was still there. This was no dream. He could feel warmth from the sun and then a small push from the breeze, and hear as the paper in his mother’s hands fell, softly, to the ground below.

He cleared his throat, then tried again, and managed the first words that came to him; “Mom.

“I’m sorry.”

If she had turned and left without a word, he would’ve understood. He would’ve waited. He would’ve written again, and hoped that one day, she would be able to reciprocate. He’d have hope. After all he’d seen, after where he’d been, having a bit hope wasn’t a stretch-

But she didn’t leave.

“You-” Anger had laced her words when she had first knocked on the door; he’d heard the muffled complaints from the upper floor. Right then, her tone had lost its edge. “You should be-” Her voice, normally so strong- did it waver? She closed her eye, she shook her head, she mouthed words no one could hear... She took one step backward- and stopped. Kyle was afraid to speak again, not too soon, not when he might ruin the moment, or push her away. Her turmoil filled the air, circulating like an oppressive cloud, powered by whatever was going on in her head. “It’s been...”

“Ten years...” He commented as she paused to breathe, his voice low, as if he was once again a child being lectured for some wrongdoing.

“Eleven,” She corrected, power and pain in her words as her volume returned. That tension, the atmosphere- they broke as she steeled herself. Sunlight and wind seemed to return to his senses as she stalked forward a few strides, close enough to kneel down, able to look him in the eyes. She lingered in that spot for a moment, her eye searching. He didn’t move, not down the stairs toward her, not back up toward his home, nor did he pull away when she reached out. One hand touched one of his knees. “Goddammit...” It was her turn to cover her face with one hand. “I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry,” he was repeating himself, but what else could he say? So much, honestly, but the words didn’t come to him. He’d never expected the letter to be answered, let alone... Let alone... Gods above, Rosalind had been right, hadn’t she? Things had worked out, hadn’t they? At least, so far. Yet, for all the good, a melancholy settled over him and put pressure behind his eyes. A decade. He had been gone- others had been gone- for all that time. How long had she searched for him? How lost had she been? How angry had she become? And what if she had been on the right trail? If she had found him sooner, would he have believed her? If he had sent her away, would she have ever come back?

Those were answers he didn’t want.

With a small sniff, he leaned forward, far enough to touch his forehead to her arm. Her other hand came up to rest on the top of his head. That hand on his head soon turned into an arm around his shoulders, and then a hug, and in that instant he really did feel like he was a boy, sitting on a kitchen chair after some stupid stunt that left him needing to be patched up. No bandage would be good enough. Not when he needed to talk to... to fix everything? To fill the gaps? To make up for time? Something like that, all three? Where to start? The day he vanished, and what had happened? Why he didn’t try to find her sooner, knowing his mother had dealt with folks with lost memories before? Why he had finally written out of the blue...?

“Come inside,” He said, at last. “Please.”

“I plan to.” There was a more familiar sternness to her words as she leaned back. She glowered at him - an expression he didn’t fear at all, he knew better - as she came to her feet with an outstretched hand. “You owe me that much.”

He did. He accepted the help up, only to let out a harsh breath when he realized just how much he needed it. Just the act of trying to stand made him waver, and Lynette had clearly not been expecting to support so much of his weight. An instant later, she had a hand under that same elbow so she could haul him upright. Once he was settled on both feet, she tilted her head, that false anger replaced by raised brows and a searching gaze. “Kyle? What’s wrong?”

“It’s a long story- but- I’m fine.” At her narrowed eyes, he amended, “I’m getting better. I promise.”

“The kitchen isn’t far inside the door,” It was the first time Rosalind had spoken since she had gone back inside. Both Kyle and Lynette turned their attention to her, and Kyle dipped his head in thanks.

“Inside and to the right,” He instructed. The stairs cooperated with him as he went up, though he was thankful for the way his mother kept that hand on his arm, just in case. Support like that helped him move more boldly, as bold as a man rebuilding muscle mass could manage. He gave Rosalind a glance and a small, thankful smile as he passed her. (Lynette’s gaze also lingered, though she said nothing.) Rosalind returned the smile with a slow nod at them both before she slipped out the front door. Part of Kyle wanted her to follow, she could help fill in so many blanks- but at the same time, he appreciated the space. That would mean even more answers for her later, more added to the pile of endless stream of questions he’d answered since he’d returned.

♦~----------------------------~♦

Once she closed the door behind her, as quietly as she could for how old the wood was, she heard small footsteps coming down the road. Sympathetic eyes found her children, cautious, quiet, in a way that made her let out a slow breath. Oh goodness. “Where were you two?” Her question was somewhat rhetorical; as Aaron neared, she was able to reach and remove two small leaves which were stuck in his hair, then another off of Aria’s shoulder. Small leaves, round, dark in color- they obviously came from one of the wild bushes scattered through the area...

Aaron paused beside her and leaned against her side, while Aria kept her distance so she could still see the front of the house. Rosalind let one hand rest on Aaron’s shoulder while she tried to pull Aria closer with the other. As usual, the girl didn’t let herself be caught.

“Mom...”

“Who was that?”

“Why did they go inside? But you’re out here?”

“And-”

“It’s alright, my dears,” She shushed. “Nothing is wrong. It’s just...” Oh, how to even begin to explain, especially when she didn’t fully understand, herself? For a moment, her attention went to the unico; it was still loose. The equine seemed harmless, however; it had wandered further into the property, into an area fenced on the other three sides, where it had found a patch of grass to work at. At least for right then, it wouldn’t need to be tied or put in the barn... So she didn’t need to think about it. Instead, she lifted the hand that had been on her son’s shoulder, and tapped him gently. That time, even Aira looked over, and when Rosalind had their attention, she asked, “Where is the basket?”

As expected, they were distracted by the sudden change in topic. Aria blinked up at her. Aaron turned his head, narrowed his brown eyes, then realized, “Oh- the fruit basket?”

“Yes- didn’t you all take it?”

“Up the road,” Aria pointed past the Academy. “We went to the orange trees, then the apple ones behind the signs.”

At least those groves were away from the monsters. (Not that monsters gave either of them trouble... but... that was something she preferred not to think about too much.) Rosalind stepped away from Aaron, then motioned with her head up the path. “Why don’t we pick it up, before the critters decide they want a bite?”

Neither child seemed particularly enthused about being guided away from home. They followed her anyway, though more slowly, their steps in time with her own, instead of yards and yards somewhere up ahead. For the most part, they were alone. Once, Rosalind gave a small wave to a small tourist group, but they quickly went on their way. Dirt and gravel then gave away to those well-kept grasses, and then beyond that, the taller, wilder foliage. Aaron split off then, tugged at the basket arm, brought it into the open. Rosalind murmured a thanks to him. On one knee, she turned over the fruits at the top of the pile; none of them seemed distured, damaged, or bitten into. Good.

Honestly, the sunlight felt pleasant, enough to make her sit down. For a moment, she mussed with an apple in her hands. As she put it back, she looked at one child, then the other. Aaron had taken a seat across from her, on the other side of the basket. Aria remained slightly more distant, on her feet, half turned away. Both of them shuffled their feet and tried to sneak peeks back the direction they had come. She smiled sadly at their discomfort. “You two- you... You know how your father has begun to remember details about his life?”

That brought Aria closer, though she remained standing. Aaron’s hand mindlessly fidgeted with a loose thread on the basket. “Yeah...”

“Well. That woman is someone he knew before.”

“Before?”

“Before he lost his memory and came to Alvarna.”

They had already dealt with the whirlwind of preliminary questions the previous season- When did he come to Alvarna? Where did he live before? Why live somewhere else? What happened? What was it like? Is he going to leave? -so none of those came pouring out. Instead, Aaron leaned forward and wondered, “Who is she?”

A good question.

“We thought she was going to go to see the Mayor- or Tanya.”

Why was she not surprised that they’d seen someone come into town?

“She...” Rosalind was glad to see both children ease, as their energy seemed to return, as they began to look more curious than wary. Answers were a powerful comfort, as limited as they could be. She let her own hand rest on the basket, across from Aaron’s. One finger tapped at the cross hatching. Part of her still felt stunned at the answer, part of her perhaps still didn’t believe it- but not in a bad way. In a good way, an incredible way. Everyone needed time to process-

Maybe Kyle and Lynette most of all.

“That’s his mother,” She said, at last. “He-”

“Wait wait wait-” Both children blurted out, almost at once, in that more chaotic, familiar way they often could. Aaron was on his knees and more upright, while Aria trotted close enough to lean down and put her hands on one of Rosalind’s shoulders. Rosalind glanced down at that shoulder, a brow raised, but it wasn’t enough to deter the girl, who rocked with excitement, her dual-colored eyes shining. “His mom?”

“That means we have a grandma?”

“Like Grandad, but, a cool lady-”

“That’s way different than Granddad Herman, Aaron!”

“You know what I mean!”

The fact that she understood what both of them meant made Rosalind laugh softly, quiet enough that she didn’t interrupt the small squabble. They carried on for a moment, their noise filling the surrounding area, as natural a sound as the birdsong or skittering that was drowned out. Well, that was good, right? Their immediate acceptance of the idea? She really shouldn’t have worried about anything different- the twins were resilient. But... she’d had reason to worry, right? What other families got to go through change like this? (Hopefully none.)

“You two,” Rosalind grabbed one handle of the basket, and dragged it forward slightly. The sound of wicker across grass silenced both children. “Why don’t we get this back to the house, and talk on the way? You’ve heard me say it before- ‘the sun is still going to set’.” Though, this time, the context was so very different, so much better than when she had used those words to console herself. “We still need fruit, Max still wants you to bring him some, and we can’t let the pomme pommes take the basket."

“We need to make a new one,” Aaron mused as he grabbed at one handle. “The handles are getting all ragged.”

As she hoisted the other side, Aria made a noise of agreement. “Or maybe we can buy a tough one.”

Rosalind walked off to the side, out of their way. “Talk to Mana, she’ll know what you can do.”

That started a small discussion about what she had meant by that- have Mana teach them how to make a new one? Go by the shop and see if one was in stock? Both? -which lasted most of the way back down the road. Once they could see the corner of the house’s roof, however, they stopped and shared a look.

“Keep going,” She encouraged, though she had to gently nudge their shoulders before they would walk again. “There’s no reason you can’t take that inside. It’s your home too, remember?”

“The sun’s still gonna set,” Aria said, and Aaron nodded at her. Rosalind walked ahead to open the door - which creaked in its charming way - and the twins lugged their bounty inside.

♦~----------------------------~♦

Aaron and Aria could feel the eyes on them once they had set everything down, as their mother drifted away, up to the second floor. A softly spoken conversation had carried on at the kitchen table, which was semi-separated from the rest of the home by a short half-wall. Words slowed the further into the home the twins went, until there was just quiet. They’d been noticed. Unlike when they encountered folks in town - folks who were generally glad to see them - they weren’t quite sure what to make of this. At the same time... if what their mother had said was true... That... was their grandmother, right? Lynette? They ran into the manor’s dining room and talked to their grandfather all the time. Talked to their grandfather, and uncle, and aunt, and cousins, and Cecilia-

Aaron tapped at Aria’s shoulder, and his expression said he felt the same way.

What was all this business being uncomfortable? Screw it. They’d go in there, and they’d talk, right now.

“Dad?” Aria asked as she went to the corner. Her hands on the frame, she leaned forward, enough to peer around. She could have stood on her toes and put her chin on top, and normally, she would have. Right then... well, she didn’t. And wasn’t quite sure why not. (Aaron, on the other hand, propped his chin up right away.) Either way, Aria could see her father and his mother at that table. On the tabletop sat a couple books and a bunch more papers, including that one that one letter, which sat up thanks to its folds. “We, ah... brought the stuff back.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled softly then turned toward... toward her grandmother instead. (Wow was that weird to get used to right away, as much as she liked the idea.) At the wall, Aaron did the same. They could see as her one brown eye flickered slowly between them both.

“Aaron and Aria,” Kyle said, which confused Aria- but then she realized that wasn’t a beckon, but an introduction.

“The two little Earthmates?”

Their father nodded. “More than I am.”

“Still don’t know how that happened.”

“...How what happened?” Aaron asked, which made Lynette tilt her head. She was a serious thinker, Aria noticed- sort of like how Barrett was, but even more, if that made any sense. Not the fun sort of thoughts like either of her parents. Then again, she had that soldier uniform, so of course she’d be serious-

“How any of you are Earthmates.”

“Why not?” Aria looked at one of her hands, then back up.

A pause. Lynette sat back in her chair. “...I never thought of it that way.” She turned her head away. “ ‘Why not.’ ”

“So, you’re not?”

“No.”

“Can you use magic anyway?”

“Yes, like many.”

“Are you going to stay for dinner?” Some guests did, some didn’t.

“Not right now.”

“Where do you live? Is it far away?” It had to be far away if they’d never seen her before... even on accident.

“...The Capitol.”

“What is-”

“Kyle?” The call came from the stairs, normal sounding, but enough to make them hush. Then, steps down the stairs. Rosalind wore an apologetic smile once she came close. “That’s Natalie, on the phone- I’m sorry, but she wanted to check on you. Should I tell her to call back...?”

Their father considered it, but he wound up shaking his head. “I slept through the call yesterday.” He had himself upright, which made Aaron and Aria admittedly a little nervous- but he took the rise rather well. “I’ll be right back.” Aria came around the half-wall so she was out of the way as Kyle took himself across the room and to the stairs without trouble; he seemed balanced and a bit stronger. Only half way up, when they were almost out of sight, did their mother reach out to one of his arms to help support him. Then came the distant, muffled sound of a phone conversation - a positive one; their father usually laughed while talking on the rotary phone - but... that was pretty much all.

Lynette looked away from the stairs first. Aria offered a small, nervous smile. “That’s the doctor... probably just making sure dad is still okay.” Out of habit, she went for the chair that was left unoccupied, left pushed where Kyle had left it. Aaron followed her, grabbed a third chair, and sat next to her. Normally, she’d tell him to scoot - and use a foot to push him away until her leg was straight - but... But she didn’t want to kick him into Lynette.

“He’s not sick, is he?” Lynette’s voice was quiet, and Aria couldn’t have shaken her head faster.

“Not sick!”

“Just tired.”

“Is that because of the dragon?”

She knew about that? The twins shared a nervous glance, and at that, Lynette narrowed her eye. Suddenly, they felt as though their uncle had caught them doing something stupid- except uncle Max didn’t have an eyepatch and a dagger draped over the edge of his chair. But no lecture came, and instead, their grandmother smirked.

“You two are terrible liars.”

“Hey-”

“Even if I hadn’t been told, I would have known the moment you two flinched.”

“Dad told you-?”

“The letter he wrote explained just about everything.” She tapped at the edge of the familiar parchment, whose body was covered in flowing handwriting. “As far as explanations go... It’s... a decent excuse.” Those words came with far less amusement, and she may have added something along the lines of though nothing involving those dragons is ever any good under her breath. (Honestly? Both kids agreed.)

“Is that how you lost your eye?” Aaron ventured. “A dragon?”

Oh, that would make sense-!

Except that Lynette faltered. She raised her brows, looked between them both, then shook her head. A combination of wind, the soft chimes and ticks of the clock, and crackling of a lantern chased away complete silence, and helped make the pause just that... a pause, a harmless gap in speaking, not an uncomfortable one. Some adults were nothing but uncomfortable or awkward to talk to, so this? This was preferred. Instead of being put off, Aria merely wanted to know more, wanted to wait until the talking started again-

“I didn’t lose my eye,” Lynette finally said. Both siblings made a startled noise, one what? and one huh?

“A story for another time.” Her eyes drifted toward the clock on the wall, and after a moment to study it, she let out a breath. “I need to be gone, for now.”

“Why?”

“I need to claim my room at the Inn,” Lynette was on her feet, ready to slip that weapon around her shoulders. “Before they give it to someone else.”

“Can we show you the way?” Aaron’s suggestion surprised Aria, but she loved the idea. Absolutely. Hadn’t they been standing on the road, not long ago, wanting to help what they thought was a normal traveler? The previous rush of excitement returned, and she found herself tapping her feet in her seat. “We know where it is- our friend lives there!”

“Would you mind if I came along?” That was their mother. She had once more slipped through the fog of their excitement, and reached the edge of the room before either of them noticed. To Lynette, she explained, “The family manor is next to the Inn, is all.”

Lynette quietly worked to put her holster back in place, and secure a cloak around her neck. Once that was done, however, she nodded, once. “I’ll come back to talk to Kyle later.”

“That’s fine,” Rosalind took a step back and opened the front door; the twins pushed themselves out of their seats at that, as if the light from outside was an unspoken cue. “He’ll like that.”

#Twig I am so so so sorry I sat on this for so long #I didn't forget I promise #I hope this gives some entertainment as I absolutely loved your ask- and realized that no one singular drawing would encompass #all that I wanted to show with that prompt in mind #So I turned to writing #And this is the result #And there's still SO MUCH I couldn't fit in because of context or the sheer length of this so far #I am gonna draw that 'you terrible liars' moment as soon as I'm not job hunting- or sooner because I just w a n t to #And just... this family in general #Favorite headcanon #Thank you for encouraging it and for being so nice in your interactions and tags #Have the best day♥♥#Margot Writes about Rune Factory #[First ACTUAL use of that tag]#Rune Factory 2 #RF2 #Rune Factory Kyle #RF Kyle #Rune Factory Lynette #RF Lynette #Rune Factory Aaron #RF Aaron #Rune Factory Aria #RF Aria #Kyle x Rosalind #[necessary for my headcanon and I just like it shh]#Margot's RF Headcanons

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aaliyah-babe · 3 years

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The One With The Thumb: Part One

parings: eventual joey x reader

authors note: i own nothing from friends, all credit goes to their respective owners. all feedback is appreciated!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together!

you guys were hanging out at the coffee house when pheebs walked in, and headed straight to the counter where rachel was working,

“hi, guys!” she smiled at you all,

“hey pheebs!” everyone said,

“hey! oh, how’d it go?” ross asked about her date,

“um, not so good. he walked me to the subway and said “we should do this again”” you all groaned at that,

“i’m sorry pheebs,” you smiled sadly at her,

“what? he said “we should do this again” that’s good right?” rachel asked in confusion, you all shook your heads,

“uh no, loosely translated, “we should do this again” means “you will never see me naked”” monica translated for her,

“since when?” she asked, walking around the counter to come stand by you guys,

“since always. it’s like dating language,” joey said, “you know like, “it’s not you” means “it is you”” he gave an example,

“or “your such a nice guy” means “i’m gonna be dating leather-wearing alchoholics and complaining about them, to you”” chandler said,

“or, “i think we should see other people” means “haha i already am”” pheobe said aswell.

“and everybody knows this?” she asked,

“oh, yeah... cushions the blow,” joey said.

“yeah it’s like, when you’re a kid and your parents put your dog to sleep but tell you they sent it to live on a farm,” you explain,

“that, that’s funny!” ross pointed at you, “no, because our parents actually did send our dog to live on a farm,” ross said but we all knew what actually happened,

“uh... ross?” monica asked,

“what, hello? the milners farm in connecticut?” he asked, but nope, “the milners! they had this unbelievable farm. they had horses and rabbits that he could chase and...” it hit him, “oh, my god chi chi!”

you were getting bored hanging out in your apartment on your own so you decided to head over to chandler and joeys, assuming they were doing something interesting, walking in you heard joey say,

“....that you sent an honest man to die!” he said dramatically,

“woah who died?” you asked them.

“nobody,” joey laughed, “i’m rehearsing,”

“oh, fun,” you smiled, standing next to chandler.

“hey, that was really good!” chandler exclaimed sitting down on the table opposite him so you sat on the couch,

“yeah? thanks! let’s keep going!” joey said,

“okay,” chandler said before reading off the script, “what do you want from me, dimone... huh?” chandler read,

“i just want to go back to my cell. because in my cell, i could smoke,” joey acted

“smoke away!” you yelled, reading off the script.

joey picked up the box of cigarettes that sat on the arm of the chair before taking one out and putting it in his mouth, he picked up the lighter but instantly flung it past you on accident, you grabbed it and handed it to him,

“thanks,” he said before lighting it, he instantly coughed,

“i think this is probably why dimone smokes in his cell, alone,” chandler said,

“what?” he asked chandler,

“relax your hand,”

“yeah, let your wrist go!” you told him, he did so but too much,

“not so much!”

“woah,” he said,

“hey,” chandler said,

“woah,”

“all right now try taking a puff,”

joey took a puff but coughed it out, not doing so well with this smoking thing,

“okay, no give it to me,” chandler instructed,

“no! no, no, i’m not giving you a cigarette!” joey said,

“it’s fine, it’s fine- look, do you want to get this part or not? here,” chandler took the cigarette off joey before talking again, “all right, now. don’t think of it as a cigarette, think of it as the thing that’s been missing from your hand. when you’re holding it, you feel right. you feel complete,” he said,

“you miss it?” you asked him,

“no, not so much,” he told you, lying obviously “all right now we smoke,” he took a puff and let the smoke come out easily, as if he never quit. “oh, my, god,” he sighed.

“we probably shouldn’t have gave that to him, joe,” you said to him, he nodded before putting an arm around your waist,

“mhm,” he said, chandler was about to take another puff when you got up and snatched it from him,

“no! i am not letting you become addicted to this again chandler! now both of you get your coat, we’re going to the coffee house!” you instructed as you put out the cigarette.

once you guys got down to the coffee house, you walked to the counter to order your usuals, an iced tea for you and whatever the boys wanted, monica, rachel and ross were already there so they had the couch like usual,

“no, i’m serious! they say it’s the same as the distance between the tip of a guys thumb to the tip of his index finger,” she said holding up her thumb and index finger, you immediately caught on to what she was talking about,

the men looked around at each others fingers before joey sneered, “that’s ridiculous!”

“can i use either thumb?” ross asked,

rachel walked over with the tray of drinks before speaking up, “okay, don’t tell me, don’t tell me!” she picked up your iced tea, “iced tea for monica,” you sighed,

“decaf cappuccino for joey,” she handed the wrong one to joey, “coffee black,” she handed it to ross, “latte,” she handed it to you, “regular tea,” she handed it to chandler, handing all the wrong drinks out to the wrong people, “i’m getting pretty good at this,” you all nodded, “good for me!” she walked away,

monica handed you your iced tea, you handed your latte to chandler, he handed his regular tea to monica. joey and ross then swapped their drinks aswell.

pheobe walked in, muttering to herself before sitting down, in between ross and chandler, you leant on joeys shoulder, with a confused look on your face,

“you get any of that?” you whispered to him, he shook his head,

“no, you?” and you shook your head, “nu-uh,”

“you okay, pheebs?” you asked her.

“yeah. no, i’m.. it’s not even worth it- okay it’s my bank!” she said,

“what did they do to you?” monica asked,

“it’s just... okay. i’m going through my mail, and i open up their you know monthly, statement!” she snapped, ross putting a hand on her knee,

“easy,” she calmed down,

“and there’s $500 extra in my account!” she says as if it was a bad thing.

“oh, satan’s minions at work again,” chandler joked.

“yes, cause now i have to go down there and deal with them!”

“what are you talking about? keep it!” joey suggested,

“it’s not mine. i didn’t earn it, if i kept it, it would be like stealing!”

“yeah, but if you spent it, it would be like shopping!” rachel said, handing her the cup of coffee.

“okay, okay, let’s say i bought a really great pair of shoes. do you know what i’d hear with every step i too? not mine, not mine, not mine. and even if i was happy, and skipping, i’d hear, not, not mine, not, not mine, not, not mine,” monica cut her off,

“we’re with you! we got it,”

“i would just never be able to enjoy it. it would be like this giant karmic debt,”

they all noticed that chandler was bent over the back of the couch,

“chandler, what are you doing?” monica got up, “hey! what are you doing?” she pulled him to sit upward and he sat with his mouth shut.

everyone looked at him confused before he opened his mouth, letting smoke come out of it. everyone gasped and groaned,

“what is this?” ross asked,

“i’m smoking, i’m smoking.” he admitted,

“oh i can’t believe you! you’ve been so good for three years!” pheobe reminded him,

“and this is my reward!” he held up the cigarette.

“hold on a second, think about what you went through the last time you quit.” ross reminded,

“okay, so this time i won’t quit!” he said and everybody groaned at him.

“put it out!”

“alright, i’m putting it out!” he dropped the cigarette into pheobes coffee,

“oh, no! i can’t drink this now,” she sighed placing it on the table.

“alright, i’m gonna go change, i’ve got a date,” monica said, getting her coat.

“with alan again?” rachel asked, “how’s it going?”

“it’s going pretty good, you know. he’s nice, we’re having fun.”

“so when do we get to meet him?” joey asked,

“let’s see, today’s monday. never,” she started to head for the door,

“oh come on!” you yelled,

“no! not after what happened with steve!”

“what are you talking about? we loved schteve!” he imitated the lisp that steve had, “schteve was schexy!” making you all laugh,

“okay, look i don’t ever know how i feel about him yet. just give me a chance to figure that out,” she told them,

“well then can we meet him?” you asked,

“hmm... nope! schorry!” she imitated the lisp before leaving the coffee house.

you and everybody else decided to join monica in her apartment while she waited for alan. ross was staring sadly at a picture of his old dog,

“let it go ross,” joey told him,

“yeah? well, you didn’t know chi chi!” ross yelled.

“do you all promise?” monica asked, walking out of her bedroom,

“yeah, we promise!” you all yelled,

“we’ll be good,” ross said,

“chandler, do you promise to be good?”

chandler crossed his fingers over his chest, as monica walked away from the window. it started to rain and chandler was still outside, smoking. he knocked on the window,

“you can come in, but your filter-tipped little buddy can stay outside!” joey yelled to him, chandler quickly put the lid of the trash can over his head,

pheobe walked in angrily, sitting in between you and joey.

“hey, pheebs!” you smiled at her,

“dear ms. buffay,” she started to read off the paper she was holding, “thank you for calling attention to our error. we have credited your account $500. we’re sorry for the inconvenience and hope you’ll except this, football phone,” she held up the football phone, “as our free gift. do you believe this?!” she snapped, “now, i have $1000 and a football phone!” she set down the phone,

rachel walked over before picking up the letter,

“what bank is this?” she asked.

the buzzer buzzed, “okay it’s him,” she walked to the buzzer, “who is it?”

“alan,”

“chandler, he’s here!” joey yelled to chandler who came in, soaking wet.

“okay, please be good, please,” monica pleaded, “just remember how much you all like me,”

there was a knock at the door, monica opened it, “hi, alan this is everybody,” in walked a tall man, he had brown hair and a beard.

“everybody, this is alan,”

“hi,” he said, you could tell he was nervous,

“hi, alan,” you all said,

“i’ve heard scho musch about all you guys,” he imitated steve’s lisp and everybody started laughing,

the date went by pretty quickly and monica walked him to the door, all of you quickly whispering,

“okay remember the plan?” you asked, they all nodded, “okay, let’s do this!”

she walked back, “okay... okay, let’s let the alan-bashing begin! who’s going to take the first shot? hm?”

“i’ll go,” ross said, “let’s start with the way he kept picking at..” he stopped, “i’m sorry, i can’t do this. i can’t do it, we loved him!”

“really?”

“yeah, we love him!” everyone yelled,

“what? wait a minute we’re talking about someone that i’m going out with?” she asked,

“yes!”

“and did you notice?” rachel held out her index finger and thumb, the men grumbled at this.

“you know what was great? the way his smile was, kinda crooked,” joey said,

“yes! like the man in the shoe!” pheobe pointed out,

“what shoe?” ross asked,

“from the nursery rhyme, “there was a crooked man, who had a crooked smile, who lived in a shoe for a.. while”” she stopped,

“so i think alan,” ross changed the subject, “will become the yardstick against which all future boyfriends will be measured,”

“what future boyfriends?” rachel asked, “no, no i think this could be... you know,” she said,

“really?” monica wondered

“oh yeah, i’d marry him just for his david hasslehoff impression alone!” chandler said, “you know i’m going to be doing that at parties right?” he started to do a very bad impression of david hasslehoff.

“you know what i like most about him?” ross asked making everybody turn their attention to him, “the way he makes me feel about myself.”

everyone thought of it for a minute before agreeing,

“yeah...”

let me know if you want to be in future tag lists!

taglist: @zestygingergirl

#chandler bing #friends series #friends #joey tribbiani #monica geller #pheobe buffay #rachel green #ross geller #x reader #funny

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yuvon-writes-letters · 3 years

Note

Hey guys :)

Maybe I'm going chronological for one time, so I can sort my thoughts easier.

Yeah, Goldie's much mire active than I would've thought, too. But they did all those things to keep me alive and kind of save, since we still don't know who they are exactly working against. (I mean, we don't know who Goldie exactly is either, but you get my point)

Honestly, I am pretty sure the TSB timeline is continuing, at least if my theory that Goldie just set me back in an alternate timeline is true. In this case I feel sorry for TSB, though..Extremely sorry. He still was 'my' Jake back then, even though he acted weird in the end (maybe was manipulated by entities). I mean, if what he wrote was true he went with authorities. And in the end..this could've been his downfall.

And yeah, maybe I'm not exactly safe, but I just have to go back. If I go, and if I lose my job, I have some things to sort out. And Jake luckily agreed with me that clearing up my desk isn't the worst thing I can do before leaving. We're still thinking about a location, which I could luckily deside myself. Max agreed on that. Even though he still has some doubts. (I mean, of course...His cousin opened the door with bruises all over her face.) He did promise to not ask any questions until I feel ready, though. That gives myself and Jake some time to figure that out.

And also, Jake is right! We have three Jakes and three smart people. YUVON. And of course Goldie, like you said Yu :) And some information about the previous timeline. (And that was it with being chronological)

So yeah, like I said, Max and I'll go. And I also think we can be pretty certain now that the message came from Goldie not the MWAF (which is relieving). I saw the messages and they didn't make Jake the bad guy. I honestly just don't think I can quote them yet. (They're too good, but I probably start daydreaming if I do) But they talk about Jake being an important part of my life and my heart and Max protecting me when he cannot. My dear cousin jumped to conclusions when he saw my bruised face. About Max' phone...I'll probably throw it in a river or something if he brings it with him. I told him not to, also because of Jake (he's not only worried about the MWAF apparently...He didn't exactly say it out loud, but I think it's pretty obvious) but he loves this device.

And I emphasize with you about the being kidnapped thing, you'll manage it, I know it :) And if I need to jump dimensions and box some sense into your Crow-Crew xD

No but for real, you can do that. I know it :)

Jake, find a good point in time to talk to her. But do it :)

Otherwise, I still think the 'underlying desire' theory is a possibility! But, like always in the moment, we could be wrong.

As for my stasis, I really do not wish to talk to more people who think I've been kidnapped. And I am a bit scared that could somehow lead to either them or me being in more danger again. But for now we have to wait.

I for now will pack some important things and paper & pens xD I don't want to leave y'all behind :P

Liska🐾🔥

[A screenshot is glued to the back of the letter and the quick sentence "Jake wants to talk to Jake" is written above]

Hello Jake, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am not quite sure in which way Liska will handle giving you my message, but she promised me to not read it for now.

I don't know whether she told you before or not, but as far as I am concerned she realised I am not only worried about the MWAF chasing her.

With me breaking out of this stasis I am sure that my followers aren't that far behind. And I know you can't do anything from where you are, but cross checking way to protect her doesn't seem to bad to me. Especially since we are similar but still fairly different from each other. At least it seems like that from what I have read.

For my part, I recently improved and updated Nym-OS which allows me access to Liskas whereabouts. If Yuvon should read this, she knows and agrees to it.

Still I am yet stuck on one little detail: I am trying to help Nym-OS in counterattacking. So, even though I am sure you already knoe this yourself, Nym-OS gets the ability to access location of the people attacking Liskas phone. I am almost done with that, so we are able to see a bit easier if and where people are that could be a danger.

Do you have any other ideas for ways I could help? Or even improve what I am doing momentarily. I wouldn't normally ask this since I know and trust my skills, but I think that this is fairly different from a 'normal situation'.

~ Jake

Lis,

Um. I don't know if you've seen the newest person to send in a letter, but we now have an issue.

Jessy, if you're reading this, I was sort of trying to avoid talking about this right away but I'm sort of trapped in a weird place, and Jake's here too because I'm a dumbass. I did not, so you know, let him read your letter or my reply. I figured you wouldn't want that. Sorry for dancing around the issue earlier :/ But at least you can get a good sample of the complete insanity we go through on the regular now!

Yeah... you're getting thrown into the deep end right now, aren't you. Sorry. There's no way to ease into this. You should probably either stop reading these entirely or start reading the letters from the beginning, so this will all at least make some sense. The first letter should start with the words "To whoever reads this," just so you know you get the right one.

Back to you, Lis. Yeah, I feel pretty bad for TSB Jake too. I honestly can't imagine being in his position right now.

Alright. So, you can choose the place. Great! There's way less chance of you being caught that way...

Tragedies just seem to be happening to all us Duskwood detectives, recently, don't they? Rai is chronically overworked and barely has time to sleep, I'm stuck in this hellhole and I've been forgotten by most everyone, you were shot, and poor Matt died and... well.

I never knew him, but I feel really bad for him :(

You could give Max half the truth. Tell him you have a stalker, and he's starting to get physical. Jake has been trying to help you get away from the asshole. It's not even a lie, just... not the full truth. Because. You know. The whole truth is completely fucking insane.

Writing to Jessy just put into perspective how insane everything is, I think. Gimme a sec.

Oh, fuck. My Jessy just texted me. Great timing.

Jeez that whole thing with me leaving myself out was just a joke XD If I knew you and Jake would take it so seriously, I'd never have said anything. I'll steer clear from now on.

Yeah, okay, definitely Goldie. That makes way more sense. I don't think you have to be quite so drastic as destroying the phone. Just get him to leave it at home for the trip.

Ahaha, thanks. I don't think that's necessary, though. Actually, seeing future!Jessy's perspective has caused a bit of a paradigm shift. I think I might need to reconsider what all to tell and not to tell the Crow Crew. I just sort of default to keeping things secret, now, but you've seen how well that worked for me with you and Rai, and with Jake.

Again, you probably should wait for them to contact you first, but you WILL need to talk to them when that happens. What you say to them and what you don't is up to you.

Pack a couple different pens XD We're all a bit long-winded.

That's all from me :)

(The handwriting changes to Jake's.) Hallo, Lis.

Yuvon refuses to tell me what precisely she means about Jessica. Was she somehow contacted by an alternate version of Jessica? If so, how?

I am glad it was Goldie who contacted Max. Yuvon's suggestion for an excuse seems a good one, as there are far less things to remember that way. You simply need to oversimplify everything.

I do not, unfortunately, entirely believe that Yuvon was joking when she made that comment, based on previous comments and her ongoing guilt. I can't understand sometimes why she feels the need to lie so much. It is difficult for me to read people, much less her.

I will speak to her eventually. Early tomorrow, perhaps, if nothing else rears its head. Yuvon looks tired, and I am also admittedly not at my peak. I sincerely hope she does not wake up as early as she does every single day. It may get somewhat taxing, what with the lack of coffee here.

I think that is all from me to you, Lis. If you would kindly find a way to send the next section to my counterpart without looking at it, it would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you :)

—Jake and Yuvon

Jake,

It is a pleasure to meet you as well, despite the unusual circumstances.

That our pursuers may be freed from the stasis is a logical conclusion. Seeing as the last known location I had on them in my universe was approximately five hundred miles from Duskwood, they will likely be some of the first to free themselves from the stasis. I do not believe I need to warn you that time is of the essence.

It seems as if I am a small distance ahead of you in the development of countermeasures, perhaps because I have had more linear time to develop them. If you are where I think you are at in the development, you likely have or will soon hit a bug you cannot pin down that makes the pinpointing mechanism simply refuse to work at all. Presuming your and my version of NYM-0S are similar enough, the issue should lie in the public bool set in line 132 of the third part of the targeting script, the script that decides what constitutes a target; you have it defaulted to "false" where it should default to "true".

As for additional countermeasures: I was attempting to work on a rudimentary automated system of pattern detection when I was brought here. Essentially, its function would be such that it would be able to triangulate using the locator features already installed to find a rough estimate of where their headquarters might be. However, I have not found any way thus far to eliminate outliers, and as such the feature is currently next to useless. I am no longer able to work on the code, but perhaps you will have more luck than I did.

That is all I can think of for the moment on that subject. However, I have an odd theory on what may be part of the reason we vary so. If you have a moment to spare, please answer me this:

When I was very young, back when Mother was still around, she took me to a doctor for odd behaviors. This included not looking people in the eyes, but there was a list. I was given a diagnosis; if you had the same experience, you should likely know which one.

Did you have this experience? If so, please prove it by stating what the diagnosis was.

Do not worry if you do not know what I am talking about; I would rather you did not guess. Simply state that you don't know. It will confirm my theory.

Good luck with your pursuers.

—Jake

(The letter tucks itself in the paper clip with the others.)

#duskwood letter game #yuvon writes letters #duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #lis #this isn't precisely a puzzle #it's a genuine question on jake's end #you aren't expected to answer unless your jake is the same

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writingmyselfout · 3 years

Text

Because I Could Not Stop for Death - Chapter One

Language: English

Rating: Teen+

Pairing: Hermione Granger/Harry Potter

Tags: AU - Canon Divergence, Reptilia28′s Don’t Fear the Reaper Challenge, Manipulative Dumbledore, Black Hermione Granger, Slight Ron Weasley Bashing

Prologue

Chapter 1: Death Tore the Pages All Away (2/?)

Summary: Harry's final chance begins...

HARRY Potter awakes to the sound of heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs, alerting him to the fact that his cousin Dudley was awake. Soon, either his Aunt Petunia or his Uncle Vernon would note that he had not yet gotten up and call for him. Unless they very specifically didn’t want to see him, he wasn’t allowed to linger in bed late into the day unlike his cousin. Still, he finds himself not quite ready to get up as he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming of just moments ago.

He has this lingering sense of déjà vu, but can’t quite place why, and a niggling feeling in the back of his mind makes him think that whatever he’d been dreaming of was important. Try as he might, though, he just can’t recapture any of it. Not a word or image to even hint at what it might have been. Finally, after a few minutes, he heaves a sigh, opens his eyes, and sits up in bed, careful not to hit his head on one of the shelves.

Not for the first time, he wonders what the Dursleys will do when he becomes too big to fit in the bed wedged into the cupboard. A part of him hopes it will force them to give him the spare second bedroom upstairs, but another worries and thinks it more likely that he will have to forever fit himself into this tiny little space. It might be best then for him to stay rather small as he gets older.

“Get up, boy!”

There it is, Uncle Vernon realizing he’s still in bed. Without further hesitation, he gets his glasses on and gets up out of bed. His nose wrinkles as he opens his door and the faint whiff of whatever is happening in the kitchen. It’s not until he’s finished washing up and goes into the kitchen that he finds out that the smell is coming from his soon-to-be new Stonewall High uniform. Hopefully, his looking like he was dressed in giant flabs of elephant skin wouldn’t keep him from enjoying his Dudley-free school life, but somehow he doubts it’ll do much in the way of keeping him from becoming the target for other bullies. At least with bullies unrelated to him, he’ll only have to deal with them at school, and if he has to fight back, he’s less likely to get in trouble the way he would if he tried to ever hit Dudley. He can already imagine the amount of trouble that even just thinking about hitting his cousin back would result in, even if it is in self-defense.

There is suddenly the sound of the mail slot opening as the post arrives, and without looking up from his newspaper, Uncle Vernon says, “Dudley, go get the mail.”

Unsurprisingly, his cousin whines and Harry instead is the one made to get it. His inner grumbling about his cousin’s laziness is halted as he spots his name in the pile, written in fancy script on an envelope between what is likely a bill and a postcard from Vernon’s nightmare of a sister, Aunt Marge. The green ink on the thick yellow paper--unlike any he’s seen before--sparks that same déjà vu feeling from before, only this time he does remember something.

The Dursleys will take this letter; hide it.

It’s as if the words are spoken in his ear, and he doesn’t quite know where the thought comes from. He’s certain as soon as he thinks it, however, that it’s right. Who hasn’t the faintest idea of who might be writing him, but whoever it may be, he can’t imagine his aunt or uncle allowing him to know the contents, regardless of whether it was meant for him or not. They hadn’t asked him about the school he wanted to go to, he was never allowed to go anywhere even on the rare occasions over the years that he’d been invited by other students or their parents to partake in birthday parties or outings, and aside from his sometimes-babysitter Mrs. Figg and the other kids or adults he encountered at school, he was virtually kept isolated from strangers otherwise. No, it is best he keep this to himself, at least until he’s gotten a chance to read what it says.

With no hesitation, he slides the letter under the doormat, checking to make sure that stepping on the mat makes no sound, before quickly heading to the kitchen. He’d considered hiding it in his pants, but his clothes are so loose and baggy, he can’t be sure the letter would have stayed unnoticed. Instead, he hopes by hiding it under the mat, he can get to it later when no one is paying him any attention. It takes every ounce of patience he has to sit through breakfast, listening to Uncle Vernon tell Petunia about Marge’s postcard, and for them to discuss her vacation and whether or not they should look into a trip as well. He’s careful to not let his eyes stray out of the room or seem impatient, but he nearly groans when he’s ordered to clean the kitchen up while Petunia goes to hang her horridly home-dyed uniform for him in the yard to dry. His uncle and Dudley go to watch TV, their version of father-son bonding time, as Uncle Vernon always took additional days off throughout the summer to spend more time with Dudley.

He had hoped to immediately grab the letter to read upon finishing the dishes, but as soon as he’s done, he’s roped into helping in the garden. His aunt insists on keeping the garden as immaculate as possible, but it’s Harry who does most of the work to maintain it, and during the summer it meant slaving away at it in the middle of the hot afternoons. Normally, he only minds the heat, but is otherwise fine with it as it means he’s out of sight when Dudley’s friends arrive and his cousin is unlikely to interrupt him mid-chore. Today, however, his mind strays to the letter waiting to be read. All he wants is to get a few moments alone to read it, sate his curiosity, and decide if it’s worth telling his family about.

Of course, that means today is a day he is kept busy non-stop. After washing up, he’s sent upstairs to wash up because his aunt can’t stand the smell of him, and then told to clean the bathroom while he’s up there. Nevermind that he missed lunch while out in the garden. He’s lucky she remembered to set out a glass of water for him. When he’s done, he’s set to mind the dinner Aunt Petunia began cooking, as the phone rings and she instead sits gossipping on the phone. Then he’s made to clean up afterwards again, only for his aunt to call for him to make some tea to bring in to them before he’s even finished.

He comes in just as the show they’re watching cuts to a commercial break. Shots of a family in a circular raft on water, shouting and laughing as they go down a river to some upbeat music that then cuts to a newly open ride called the Dive Bomber, and an announcer enthusiastically encouraging all and sundry come and check it out with the kids, assuring great family memories were to be made. It is barely over before Dudley is on his feet, demanding his parents take him. Harry appreciates the excited shouts, sure that his aunt and uncle will pay him little to no mind as they attempt to placate their spoiled son.

“Duddey-kins,” Aunt Petunia starts. “Ilkeston is quite far, my darling.”

“Near three hours,” Uncle Vernon agrees. “Not sure it would be worth the money.”

Dudley stomps his foot and Harry slowly moves back to leave the room. “I don’t care ! We have to go! I want to!”

Petunia is the first to cave, as she always is, and turns to Vernon. “We could rent a room, do a short weekend trip?” She stands up to put an arm around Dudley, the both of them giving Vernon their own pleading looks. “A late birthday gift, to make up for that horrid trip to the zoo.” Harry freezes where he’s standing just inside the doorway at the mention of the zoo trip as eyes flicker briefly in his direction. He shifts from one foot to the other, trying to seem semi-interested in the conversation if only to not arouse suspicion, but he’s frankly more interested in the letter.

“I suppose a small trip would be nice,” Vernon says slowly.

He may as well have said yes, and they all know it. Dudley breaks out into a grin, going on and on about how jealous his friends will be. Then he stops, throws a malicious grin in Harry’s direction, and suddenly adds, “But he can’t come! He’ll ruin it like he did the zoo!”

This time, Vernon half turns on the couch to look at Harry, then back to his wife. “Mrs. Figgs is better, right? See if she can take the boy for a few days in a week or two--”

“A week ?” Dudley is indignant. “It’s Wednesday, why not this weekend? Let’s go this weekend!”

Aunt Petunia places a calming hand on his shoulder. “I’ll call tomorrow, sweetums, and we’ll see what she says. If she can take Harry, you can invite Piers to come with us.” She is careful not to specify that it might not be that weekend.

It does the trick, and soon their attention is back on the television. Harry slips out of the room, grabs the letter from under the mat, and then makes his way to the cupboard. Finally, he can see what this is about.

The light in his cupboard is dim, but he can still make out his name on the front in the fanciest script he can ever recall seeing.

Mr. H. Potter

The Cupboard Under the Stairs

4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

He only now notices the rest of the address and frowns. How do they know where he sleeps? He flips it over and runs a finger over the wax seal, feeling the ridges of its design and holding it up closer to his face to study the seal, only just making out that there are four animals surrounding a capital letter ‘H’. The snake and lion are easy enough to make out, but he can’t quite make out the last two. A bird and a fox, perhaps? He’ll have to try and see it in better lighting later.

Carefully, he picks at the seal with a nail until he can get a finger under, trying to keep it as intact as possible. There’s a novelty to getting his first ever letter, addressed to him personally. Once he gets the seal off, he opens it, smoothing it out and moving the letter closer to his face to better making it all out.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry blinks at the letter in disbelief, not quite believing what he’s reading. If it weren’t for the fact that he knows how much they despise magic and such, he might think this was an elaborate prank his aunt and uncle were playing on him. It could still be a prank, he thinks, but by who and for what purpose? Dudley wasn’t smart enough to pull something like this off, and his friends wouldn’t think to do something like this either. He also doubted that his cousin could’ve managed to not give something away had he been keeping a prank secret. No, this was either someone else’s doing entirely or the thing was real.

That previous feeling of déjà vu hits him again, though he can’t quite place what about the letter is causing it. He flips to the second page, curiosity momentarily overtaking his confusion and doubt.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils’ clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS.

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions

Very carefully, he folds the letter back up, then folds it even smaller to hide it under his pillow. His mind is racing, trying to process it all. If this is a joke, it’s a very thorough one. It looks so official, though, that it’s hard to think who would go through this level of effort to fool him. And to what end? He can’t figure that out.

If it’s real, though, he’s not sure that’s any better. A school for witchcraft and wizardry, accepting him as a student? He remembers talking to the snake at the zoo on Dudley’s birthday, and the glass disappearing, plus all the other weird, unexplainable things that had happened to him before. In light of this letter, it all suddenly seemed to make much more sense. But how? Perhaps from his parents? It might explain why his aunt and uncle refused to talk about them or the accident that killed them, considering how much they despised all talk of magic.

He couldn’t imagine, then, that they would be happy about this letter, much less at the thought of him even attending. No amount of begging on his part has ever worked to get them to give him anything he’s ever wanted, and somehow he doubts this will play out any differently. But without their approval, how can he hope to afford even half the things on this list? Where would he even buy it all even if he could somehow convince the Dursleys to not just let him attend this mysterious school, but also part with enough money to buy him his supplies?

The questions plague his thoughts, keeping him awake long after the rest of the house has turned in, and he’s sure they haunt his dreams for he wakes up still thinking of the letter. It keeps his mind occupied and distracted from all else, earning him a few shouts when he fails to do as he’s told all morning, until finally Vernon takes Dudley’s smelting stick and hits Harry with it.

He yelps in surprise, instinctively moving away as he rubs at his shoulder. Uncle Vernon is holding the stick out, arm almost fully extended, and the thinks the shoulder blow might have been a hit to the head had he been slightly closer. He wonders automatically if Hogwarts has dorms. They probably do, right? Meaning he could live most of the year away from the constant threat of verbal and physical abuse, and maybe that was worth trying to make the impossible possible after all.

“Are you listening, boy?” Vernon demands. Harry mutters an apology. “Pack a bag. We’re dropping you off in the morning to Mrs. Figg’s for the weekend.”

Harry nods his head, wondering if he can use the time away from the Dursleys to his advantage. If he can’t figure out a way to make this school work without telling them, he can at least figure out how to bring it up once their trip is done so that they might be inclined to let him go. After all, the letter had clearly stated a response was required by 31 July, his birthday, so he only had six days left to work something out.

~~~

WHEN they drop him off at Mrs. Figg’s house, it’s all Harry can do to hide the fact that’s actually quite glad to not be going on this mini-vacation with his family. Especially as any sign that he was happy while they were all grumpy would likely not go over well. Dudley had made his displeasure at having to wake up early on a vacation day quite plain, and no amount of pointing out that it was for the trip he’d wanted was going to change that. But Vernon was also not much of a morning person, and his own patience had worn to the point that he’d threatened to cancel the trip when Dudley had finally complained one too many times. Which resulted in a minor tantrum, until Petunia promised him all sorts of treats would be bought at the park that they couldn’t get at the store. She’d been pinching the bridge of her nose the way she did when she had a headache, so she was ready to promise just about anything to get some quiet.

They were going to be in for a long trip, Harry thinks. They still had to pick up Piers, and then drive three hours.

“Come on then, Harry,” Mrs. Figg tells him after they’ve watched the Dursleys drive off. “You have breakfast? ‘S quite early, I imagine you might have been too tired for it.”

“Breakfast would be nice,” he agrees.

Really, he wants to put the plan he thought up into action. He had slipped the letter into his shoe, just in case Petunia wanted to check his bag before they left this morning. All night, he had pondered over his dilemma and perhaps actually reached a solution. Plenty of the more expensive schools offered scholarships, so perhaps he could reach out to the headmistress and ask about it. Having never heard of the school, he isn’t sure what requirements for scholarships they might have, but he figures asking won’t hurt. Plus, at least he can make his wanting to attend clear, so maybe if he can’t get his aunt and uncle to agree by the deadline, he might buy himself some extra time to convince them. He really wishes he’d received the letter more than a week before they needed his response.

So he plans to write to them. Coming to Mrs. Figgs would help, as she would likely agree to let him use some pen and paper of hers to write it, and if he said it was for a school thing, maybe she wouldn’t bring it up to the Dursleys, figuring it was something they already knew about. At the very least, she’s not likely to stop him from writing the letter. Perhaps she might actually help him send it out, considering the one he’d received has no return address, and so he’s not sure how to actually get his letter to the school.

After breakfast, she shows him to her guest room so he can put his things away. She’s barely left him when he pulls the letter from his shoe and then follows her back out into the living room, where she immediately sits down, sets her crutches aside, and props a leg up before reaching for some knitting next to her couch.

“Mrs. Figg,” Harry starts. “Could I get some pen and paper? I needed to write something for school.”

“Oh? Homework already?” She looks up at him, smiling. “There’s some stationary at the desk over there. Help yourself. I hadn’t asked, where are you going to school after summer?”

Harry goes over to the desk, hesitating for a moment before he says, “Well, that depends.” He sits down at the desk, half turning to look at her. “I was supposed to go to Stonewall High, but I was accepted somewhere else I want to go to.”

Mrs. Figg frowns, hands stilling as she looks up. “Stonewall, huh?” At his nod, she goes back to knitting as she asks, “But there’s another school?”

“Yes, maybe. I, uh, don’t know if I’ll be allowed to go,” he says, trying to decide how much to say. “Maybe my aunt and uncle might let me go if I can get a scholarship to attend.”

“So you’re writing to the school?” At his affirmative, Mrs. Figg nods her approval. “Good. Just let them know and I’m sure that he’ll-- they’ll help you attend.”

“I hope so,” Harry admits. “I’m not sure where to send it, though. There’s not an address on the envelope for Hogwarts.”

She stops knitting again and gives him a smile. “You just write that letter, dear. When you’re done, I’ll take care of sending it out and you can try and get some more sleep, okay?”

Something about the certainty with which she says she’ll send it out has him agreeing to her plan. He pulls out a pen and some of the stationary located in the desk’s middle drawer, then stares at the blank page for a moment before pulling out the original letter and opening it. He pauses in his re-reading to frown at the headmaster’s name, which immediately gives him that same niggling déjà vu feeling once more, and then moves on. He decides he’ll write back to the one who signed this first page, the deputy headmistress, and begins.

Dear Mrs. McGonagall,

He hopes it’s ‘Mrs.’, but wonders if he shouldn’t address it to her title? Too late, he’s already written the beginning, so he just continues.

My name is Harry Potter, and I just received the letter from your schools, Hogwart. It is very nice of you all to accept me to the school, although I have never heard of the school and never applied. It seems like it would be an interesting school to go to, but I am not sure my family can afford to send me there. Does Hogwarts offer scolarships? If so, could you tell me what I might do to get one?

If not, then I don’t think I will be able to go there. Maybe if my aunt and uncle say yes, but probably not if it will cost a lot. Since you needed an answer by 31 July though, I wanted to send this letter just in case.

He taps the pen against his chin in thought, rereading his letter. He notes a few mistakes, but decides to leave them as opposed to scratching them out. He considers asking if he can use a different page, but he doesn’t want to push his luck on the older woman’s generosity when he still needs her to send the letter out for him. Harry thinks he should just keep it short, then remembers that letters are supposed to have return addresses and he frowns again.

Should he address it the way they sent it to him? It shouldn’t need where exactly he sleeps, at least he doesn’t remember anyone mentioning that in class, but he worries if he doesn’t give them the same address, they’ll think maybe he’s a different Harry Potter. He decides then that he’ll put the full address as they put it inside , but keep the cupboard part off the letter on the outside .

You can write back to the same address where I got the first letter:

Harry Potter

Cupboard Under the Stairs

4, Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey

Hope to hear from you soon.

Harry Potter

He hasn’t yet mastered writing his name in cursive, so he doesn’t sign it, only writes his name. His other mistakes are embarrassing enough; he doesn’t want to make the letter look worse than it already does. Instead, he folds it carefully, find an envelope in one of the desk drawers, and slips the letter inside. He licks it closed, then stares at the front for a moment. Putting the school’s full name would probably be best, but he worries that Mrs. Figg will see it and change her mind. Plus, shouldn’t he address it to the deputy headmistress, to make sure she gets it? Finally, he decides he may as well write both her name and the school’s full name, just in case there happens to be more than one place called ‘Hogwarts’, and scribbles it across the front directly in the middle. On the back, he puts his return address without the cupboard line. Then he stands up and walks over to Mrs. Figgs.

“Finished, then?” she asks, smiling at him as she lays her knitting on her lap. She holds a hand out and he passes the envelope over after only a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll get this out. Why don’t you go get some sleep? I’ll wake you for lunch.”

She glances at the envelope, but doesn’t bat an eye or ask any questions, and Harry finds himself relaxing. If she’s not saying anything about the name, maybe it’s not as weird as he thinks? Or maybe she’s more open minded than his family. Regardless, he isn’t as anxious anymore and he agrees that a nap would be nice. He can only hope now that the school gets his letter and can help him.

~~~

A MERE hour later, the sound of the heels of a pair of well worn boots echo off the stone walls of the hallway their wearer is hurrying down. Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration, Gryffindor Head of House, and Deputy Headmistress does not like to be caught by surprise, especially where her students are concerned, and that one had done so before ever setting foot inside the school did not bode well for the coming school year. With a letter written on flimsy Muggle paper in hand, she heads for the office of a certain wizard who has some questions to answer.

In a few minutes, she is barging into his office with barely a knock. “Albus Dumbledore, you have some explaining to do.”

Two men look over at her as she storms in. Severus Snape half turns, an eyebrow raised at her tone. It’s well known that she and the headmaster are close friends, but the woman is very careful about being respectful even when she disagrees with a decision so long as there are students or colleagues around. Yet here she is, speaking to the older man as if he’s one of her wayward students.

For his part, Albus only raises a single eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. “Why, Minerva, whatever is the matter?”

“This, Albus. This letter I just received, and you’ll never guess who from.” She waves the offending letter in the air. “Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. How has he never heard of Hogwarts? And asking about a scholarship ! Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, how does the Boy Who Lived not know about this school?” She slams the letter down on his desk, finger pointed down at it as she adds, “And look at the address. I checked the outgoing letters, and that is how his letter was addressed. Care to explain that?”

Albus looks down at the letter, and although he is quiet as he skims it, the amused smile is no longer on his face. He’s done in a moment, looking back up at the angry face of his deputy headmistress. Snape moves forward, holding a hand out to look at the letter for himself. He knew the boy would be among the incoming students, but it hadn’t occurred to him the boy might arrive completely ignorant of the world he would be entering.

“It appears that my instructions to inform Harry of his heritage have gone unheeded.” His calm demeanor only serves to further annoy McGonagall.

“I told you I didn’t like the idea of leaving him there,” she reminds him. “Horrid, horrid Muggles. I couldn’t imagine a more unlikely sister to Lily Evans--”

“You left the boy with Petunia .” Snape did look up now, surprise evident on his face as he stared at the headmaster. It had never occurred to him to ask where the boy had been placed. He hadn’t cared, to be quite honest, but that had been because he never imagined Dumbledore putting the hero of the wizarding world with someone who had so openly despised all things magic.

Albus frowns. “It is the safest place for him.”

“They have him in a cupboard , Albus! I hardly think that’s the safest place for him.” Unbidden, Snape recalls some of the cruel things Petunia had called her sister, someone she had once grown up with and been close to, and tries to imagine her with Lily’s son. Somehow, he can’t see her being any kinder to the boy. “Is this the first you’re hearing of this?

“Didn’t you go to see him, ever? In these last ten years?” McGonagall’s question draws Snape’s attention to the headmaster, who stands up and looks over at neither of them as he walks over to his phoenix, who sits on his perch in a corner watching them all.

“I have been too busy these past ten years,” he admits, “to go see the boy. Plus, it would have only served to confuse him. I thought it best he grew up as normally as possible before he could enter into a world where his fame will follow him around forever.”

McGonagall scoffs. “Normal? He isn’t normal , Albus, and now he is completely unprepared for joining the world he belongs in.” Snape finds himself silently agreeing, imagining all the things the boy won’t know the first thing about. “What’s more, what’s ‘normal’ about being shoved into a cupboard? I don’t even want to think of what else he may have endured there,” she adds, voice low as she shakes her head, clearly imagining what else people who put a barely 11-year old boy to sleep in a cupboard might be capable of doing.

She shakes her head, then asks, “Is Gringotts in possession of the Potter vault key? A scholarship, as if the son of James Henry Potter and only heir to the Potter estate would need one.”

“I am in possession of that key,” Dumbledore informs her.

McGonagall frowns. “I will need that, then. I will have to go see Mr. Potter this week about his letter, and I imagine he’ll need to be taken to Diagon Alley. Really, if I had known what his situation was like, I’d have included him on my list of visits along with the Muggle-born students.”

“There’s no need, McGonagall, for you to go out of your way. Hagrid was going to handle some school business at Diagon later this week. He can take the boy.” Dumbledore was still facing the phoenix as he spoke, and behind him McGonagall and Snape shared a look.

“If I may, sir,” Snape spoke up, although he did not wait before continuing. “Sending Hagrid to speak with Petunia Evans will hardly help the situation.”

“Dursley,” McGonagall corrected. “Her married name is Dursley . And I insist on going. The boy wrote to me, and after leaving him there all those years ago, I would feel much better seeing how he’s fared firsthand.” There was a pause, then she added, “Perhaps you should come with me, Severus? Since you know Lily’s sister.”

A sneer crossed his face, “Knew. I knew her sister. We were hardly friends.” Frankly, he had hated her from the very beginning, and it seemed unlikely time had changed the girl he’d hated into anything other than a woman he would hate as much, if not more.

“All the same, I never met Lily’s sister as she was out when I went to go speak to the Evans’ when she was accepted. A familiar face might help persuade her that Mr. Potter will be coming to Hogwarts. Besides, you knew the boy’s mother and can tell him about her time here.” She knowingly said nothing of telling him about his father.

Nevertheless, Snape’s immediate instinct was to deny the request. He wanted nothing to do with Potter’s son beyond what was required of him as a professor at the school. Dumbledore looked back then with a knowing look, as if he anticipated the man’s refusal, which only served to rouse the Potions master’s ire. Instead of the no he had been fully prepared, he found himself agreeing to the scheme.

They had things they each had to take care of the next couple of days, but it was decided that come Wednesday, they would venture to Surrey together to speak with Harry Potter.

Story Notes:

Chapter title comes from a Kenny Chesney song.

#Because I Could Not Stop for Death fic #BICNSFD #Harmony fanfic #HP fanfic #Harry Potter

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