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shelby-love · 3 years

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JAY HALSTEAD

Bomb Squad Alternative

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warning(s): none

Author's note: Here is another crossover between firefighter Y/N and Jay Halstead. Hope you enjoyed since I’m really proud lol. Personally I think this would be a great episode.

Requests for Jay are open again so send in your ideas! I’m thinking about putting out Christmas prompts since I’m feeling festive. Also, I’m quarantied :( went to test yesterday and I’m waiting for the results to kick in. I feel fine so I shouln’t worry but I still do yk? Anyhow, school is a b and I’m doing online atm (maybe high schools will switch to online completely until Christmas but who knows at this point).

It’s also exam weeks so that’s why I’ve been lacking time to get back to writing.

Now perpare for me to get on my knees for you at the end of this one shot. <3

“Everyone get out of the station!” You exclaimed, barging through the train station with the rest of 51. Your loud voices and heavy gear alerted everyone enough to get them to move back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A police officer questioned, throwing an accusing eyebrow your way.

Your lieutenant left you to the police officer’s mercy with a nod of his head. You sighed, turning to the man but still keeping a steady pace with the rest of your team. “There is a bomb threat, we need to evacuate the train station.”

“A bomb threat? I didn’t get a call,” He fought, looking around as if the bomb might be anywhere. Which was true.

“The intelligence is on their way, but I suggest you give us some room to do our job,” Matt joined his voice with you to explain. Although he quickly returned to shouting.

Soon enough, you saw two dark clothed figures march down the stairs towards you. Your boyfriend came striding down towards all of you, his blue eyes assassinating the surrounding situation.

Until they fell on you.

He looks good, you allowed yourself to think. Admiring his lean figure - the leather jacket covering his muscular arms and proud CPD badge at his hip - you watched as he stalked towards you. The old lady that was clutching to your side shakily suddenly became invisible to your eyes.

You weren’t surprised to see his jaw tick at the sight of you, which made you shake your head in annoyance. Helping the lady catch the arms of a fellow firefighter became your priority. You watched as she walked outside on unsteady legs.

“Y/LN, Casey.” Your chief grabbed your attention, “What’s the situation?”

“Still no sight of the bomb chief,” Matt said. “We’re trying to get out as many people as possible.”

“It’s rush hour Chief,” You breathed, glancing at Jay for a second before giving Wallace your full attention. “The next train will be here in 10 minutes. If this bomb has a timer then that’s exactly when it will go off. We need the bomb squad here now.”

“Understood. Voight?”

The sergeant looked at Jay who shook his head. “Stuck in traffic.”

You caught Matt muttering a violent curse under his breath, which only tempted you to do the same.

“Chief we need help!”

Severide’s shout brought you and Matt to your senses immediately. There was no time to think as you both ran towards him with your heavy gear on both your shoulders.

“Y/N stop!”

It was Jay who made you halt in your tracks to turn around. “What?”

He reached for your elbow, and with ease pulled you away. “Look I...”

You knew what was going on in his head. His protective nature over you often interferes with many things, including your job. But not today.

“I know you’re worried Jay, okay?” You reasoned, gloved hands grabbing his forearms in reassurance. “But this is my job. Trust me - I hate that we’re put in this situation but there’s nothing we can do except have each other's back.”

Jay let out a loose breath of fear before masking it under a facade of blankness. He waved his hand at the police officers, giving them a sign to follow him. “Be careful.”

You bobbed your head before planting a kiss to his cheek and running back to the scene.

The sight in front of you broke your heart.

A tiny boy with tears coloring his face sat at the bench with his foot dangling over the edge, connected to what looked like a time bomb. He was all alone - barely even 7 years old, with a bright yellow beanie covering his blonde curls. Rosy tear stained cheeks, and blue eyes filled with fear made you drop on your knees immediately.

Carefully, you approached him. The fear that brew inside was pushed aside and you plastered on a smile. “Hi buddy. My name’s Y/N. We’re here to help you”

You seized the ticking bomb and managed to decipher the numbers. Shaking your head, you ignored the buzzing of your anxious heart and grabbed your radio, dialing. “We have three minutes chief. No time to wait for the bomb squad. I have to do it.”

***

Jay looked at the police officers who surrounded him in an uneven half circle, and shook his head. He could see the men trembling, hands shaking and beads of sweat appearing at their foreheads.

“Alright listen up,” He boomed. “We need to evacuate immediately. Threaten with arrest, I don’t care. Just get the civilians out of here.”

They nodded in sync, each man letting out a different toned response before leaving him be to watch what was revealing a few yards away. Jay wouldn’t admit it, but he was shaking inside. His fingertips itched to grab your heavily clothed body and swing you over his shoulder in an attempt to keep you safe... No matter how chauvinistic that sounded.

But Jay Halstead had decided to date a strong woman. A dedicated feminist at that - a woman that refused to be manhandled unless it was to take her to bed when she desired.

Now he watched her - you - shout and shove around the train station, desperate to do what his job was too. Was he a bad man for not really caring if that man that just brushed his expensive suit against his shoulder came out of there safe? He only had eyes on you, so that’s why he spent moments watching you work around like a hawk.

And then you kneeled, and your colleagues stepped out of the way. Without his permission, his dark brows bunched together and his eyes narrowed at your stature. What are you doing?

His answer fell from the sky quickly - although not literally. Voight and Boden strode to his side to discuss the situation.

“There is no time to wait for the bomb squad,” Boden said roughly, his jaw clenching. “If that bomb isn’t deactivated within the next 3 minutes not only is that boy going to die...everyone on this block will.”

Voight knew what he meant by that. Thousands of casualties. Not only will Chicago lose millions of dollars worth of repair if the block blows up - as first responders what came to their minds were the civilians. How many of them will die or be injured because of a simple mistake of following protocol and waiting? They had a firefighter there, on the scene, ready to disable the bomb and save them.

Only that firefighter was you. And that made their decision ten times harder to make.

But Boden was sure in you, and so was Voight. “Okay. Do what you gotta do.”

Wallace nodded, griping his radio. “Y/N. Go for it.”

Y/N? Jay couldn’t believe his ears. It completely slipped his mind that you had been trained for this. At that moment, his body and mind said no. He forgot all about equality you have been trying to tattoo into his mind. You were you at that moment. A simple girl he fell in love with and wanted to protect.

“What the hell Sarge?!”

***

“Okay,” You sighed enthusiastically, hoping to divert the boy’s attention to your relaxed posture. “I need you to be really still for me. Can you do that?”

The boy could barely nod as Sylvie held his head still in the cervical collar.

“What’s your name?” Sylvie asked him, ignoring the fact that two minutes were left on the clock. You went straight to work the moment his attention was diverted and his leg was no longer shaking.

Swiftly, you grasped the leg of his pants and pulled it up, revealing the leather that was sunk in his flesh. You winced, “His leg circulation is bad.”

“Just focus on the bomb,” She reassured you quietly.

You grabbed the equipment and started to work on disabling it. Each step was more difficult than the other. You felt yourself tremble as the end seemed to never come any closer to you no matter how much you reached for it. “Go.”

“What? We’re not leaving you.“ It was Severide who spoke, only a meter or two away from you. Shaking your head at another trap within the system you decided that you needed all the help you could get.

1 minute.

“Jay?” You murmured against the radio - Jay’s reply was instant.

“Y/N you can do this,” his voice was raspier through the line, more prominent and harsh. Nevertheless, his words soothed you.

“I need help,” you told him. “You said this man is crazy right? Well I think there’s a story here. These wires mean something. Blue, white, yellow.”

You weren’t allowed to go for it... not when so many lives were at risk. This man was smart, that much you knew. There has to be a meaning behind the colors.

Jay could help you more than anyone. You knew it. He knew it too.

Blue, white, yellow.

***

“Blue, white, yellow.” He mumbled, not allowing himself to look at his watch. You didn’t have much time, he knew it - Jay just didn’t want a definite reminder of it.

He rocked his brain for explanations. For a clue within this case. Something.

30 seconds.

“Everyone evacuate now!” Boden shouted into his radio. Jay shut it out. His voice didn’t matter. Only you did.

Like an eagle, he searched for you and found you: crouched in front of the yellow capped boy, acting like his anchor he could hold onto. He couldn’t see how shaky you were from afar, he could only hope you were okay.

10 seconds.

“Jay!”

Yellow.

“This kid was his last target. He looks for the details,“ He explained to you. “Yellow.”

***

Like his beanie. You casted a stray glance at the boy, flashing him a tight lipped smile. The puffy beanie that was supposed to protect him from the cold just became the thing that saved his life. And the poor boy didn’t even know it.

3...

This is it.

2...

You didn’t think, only did what Jay told you. You cut through the yellow wire and stop the ticking destruction at the last second.

No sound is heard.

No man moves.

Only rigid breathing of your own manages to make its way inside your ears.

And then the boy starts to wail. His cries turn into what look like never ending sobs. You were glad he’s crying, and not in a bad way. The sound he started to make was a clear indicator of your survival. The bomb didn’t go off. You were safe. You never felt more alive.

Your friends swiped you in their arms immidiately. Every firefighter gave you a congratulation you never thought you would recieve. You just disabeled a bomb.

And it looked like you were the only one shocked.

Still shaking, your eyes searched for the man that helped you.

But Jay was already there, and by the time you turned around to search for him he had his fingertips around you. With a clean tug he pushed you against his chest and hugged you. His breathing was just as harsh as your own, but inside - he never felt prouder.

“You had my back,” you mumbled. Jay pulled a moment later, his blue eyes gazing down at you before he laughed. Laughed. “You were amazing baby.”

“You really think so?”

“I do. Now let’s get you out of here.” He smiled, slipping his hand into yours and pulling you towards the exit. You were cheered after of course, it made your heart swell with pride.

On your way outside you saw the bomb squad, standing in lines next to their equipment. “Nice work guys.” Jay said sarcastically.

The two of you made your way to the shaky boy to make sure he was alright. People were gathered outisde, now that the threat was removed. Each and every one of them had their eyes glazed with tears of relief.

Their homes were safe. Their families were too.

Boden gave you the rest of the day off, and Jay was the one to drive you home.

“Let’s hope our work doesn’t clash like that ever again.”

“I agree,” Jay said quietly and pressed his lips safely against yours.

MASTERLIST

###

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river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

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Conner Kent Week 2021, Day One: No Capes, Still Alien

“It’s a UFO.”

“It’s not a UFO.”

“It definitely is,” Bart said in a matter-of-fact tone, talking over Tim. “My brother said he once modified a radio transmitter into picking up alien transmissions and convinced an alien ship to come to Earth. And he said the landing looked just like this.”

“Your brother is insane,” Cassie, who’d previously been quiet throughout this mock-argument, spoke up. “Didn’t he blow up the cafeteria when he was in high school as revenge for budget cuts leading to smaller lunch servings?”

Bart stopped his tromping through the wilderness abruptly, and peered at Cassie with a suspicious eye. “How did you know about that?”

“You told us that story on the first week of camp,” Tim said dryly. “And anyway, this wreckage is way too small for it to be a UFO.”

“But it’s too big for it to be a person,” Bart immediately countered. “Or a person-sized being. So maybe these aliens are tiny, so they have tiny little spaceships, too.”

“Why are you two so convinced it’s aliens in the first place?” Cassie lifted a hefty tree branch, bracing it on her shoulder as the two boys scrambled underneath quickly. Then, after ducking under it herself, she let it fall to the ground gently. “I mean for all we know, it could be a drone test or rocket launch or something.”

“Hey, Cassie. Cass. Cassandra.”

“Yeah, Tim?”

“Have you seen any sci-fi movie at all?”

“I don’t like where this is going, but yes.”

Bart interrupted Tim, “It’s never a drone, or a test flight, or whatever the government or business says. That’s always a coverup. It’s usually something much more interesting, and in this case, it’s likely to be an alien.”

“Exactly,” Tim said.

Hefting the sizeable backpack higher onto her shoulders, Cassie sighed. “I feel like I should have stayed with the rest of the camp.”

“No you don’t,” Tim dismissed.

“We’re much more interesting,” Bart said, hopping in front of Tim. “You wouldn’t want to go on this adventure with anyone but us.”

“I’ve known you two for like a week,” Cassie pointed out. “We met at the beginning of this summer camp. Which you two immediately convinced me to ditch.”

“Me and Bart were planning to ditch the camp for weeks,” Tim said as Bart ran ahead. “Ever since we figured out we were going. Besides,” he shot her a cheeky grin, “Is there anyone else you’d rather go off into the woods with?”

Cassie pouted, but there was a mischievous glint in her eye that betrayed just how much fun she was having. She was reasonably certain that this borderline-illegal outcome of a summer camp she didn’t even want to attend in the first place was going to end with her being unquestionably attached to these two insane boys that had dragged her halfway through the forest on a whim. Tim’s train of thought was stopping at the same station Cassie’s was, but Bart’s had long since barged forward and accepted Cassie into his and Tim’s longstanding friendship.

“I think we’re coming up on something!” Bart called from up ahead, then doubled back to meet up with Tim and Cassie. He tugged the strap of Cassie’s backpack in a gesture to stop, the grabbed the water bottle from the side pocket and took a long sip. Wiping his mouth, he said, “There’s a clearing. But not an actual clearing. More like when water falls on a bath bomb and everything fizzles inward and out and disintegrates.”

Cassie squinted at him. “What?”

“He means the clearing didn’t used to be there,” Tim supplied helpfully. “The thing that crashed through the trees and made this wreckage stopped up ahead, and it’s, I don’t know, presence or whatever made all the trees crumble and created a clearing.”

“Like a bath bomb!”

Tim nodded at Bart. “Exactly like a bath bomb.”

Cassie stared at the two of them, then shrugged, taking it in stride. “Alright. Like a bath bomb. How far up ahead?”

“We’ve got four more giant fallen logs to climb over,” Bart informed her. “So come on, we’re almost there.”

“My entire system of speech and thought is going to be messed up beyond recognition by the time this trip is over,” Cassie sighed.

Tim shot her another one of his smirks. “That’s the plan.”

The three of them did, in fact, climb over four logs. Well, Tim and Bart climbed over the logs, while Cassie used her height to jump smoothly over them. Regardless, the they arrived at the edge of the clearing soon enough, halting their steady march for a second to take in the amount of destruction scattered about.

They could see the splintered remains of forest giants that had probably swooped towards the sky for decades, dirt and mud shoveled up and thrown around everything. And there, at the center of it all, was a boy. At least, he looked like a boy. Clad in a bodysuit of some strange, silvery material, he was sprawled out on the ground, seemingly unconscious.

“I told you it wasn’t a UFO!” Tim exclaimed, elbowing Bart. The other boy grumbled and let his hands droop down in acquiescence.

After a solid minute of staring, Bart pushed Cassie forward. “Go poke him or something to make sure he’s still alive.”

“Me?” Cassie hissed. “Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you’re the biggest, so you can protect us if he turns out to be an evil alien who wants to invade the planet.”

“Tim took jujutsu lessons!” Cassie countered.

“Technically they weren’t lessons,” Tim said. “They were more random things my older brother decided to teach me whenever he visited home every other weekend.”

Right when Cassie opened her mouth to argue, the boy on the ground groaned, stirring. The three of them froze, staring at him as he slowly sat up, a hand on his head like he was in pain. He looked around dazedly, as if trying to get his bearings, but let out a little shriek when he noticed Bart, Tim, and Cassie watching him.

For a couple solid moments, nobody dared to move, a deer-in-headlights on all four of their faces. Just when Tim was about to step forward and brave a question, the boy opened his mouth and beat him to it.

“Does my translator chip work?”

More staring, until the question filtered into Bart’s brain first and he responded, “What’s a translator chip?”

The boy’s expression brightened. “So it does work! Awesome! Uh...” Suddenly, his expression turned fearful. “Don’t hurt me! Please! I don’t want to hurt anyone either, and I really don’t want to fight.”

A moment of silence, then Cassie leaned towards Bart and said, “Is he speaking Spanish?”

“Yeah,” Bart said back.

“You know Spanish?”

“One of my friends taught me a little bit when I was a kid, and I kept learning.”

“The alien speaks Spanish,” Cassie laughed a little hysterically. “Reality just doesn’t work right around you two, does it?”

“What’s Spanish?” the boy said.

Both Tim and Cassie turned to Bart, so as designated translator, Bart stepped forward and said in a terribly American accent, “It’s, yknow, the language you’re speaking right now.”

The boy, apparently in Spanish, frowned. “The translator chip’s supposed to turn whatever I say into Earthish.”

Feeling a little like an idiot, Bart said, “We don’t...speak Earthish?”

The boy looked suitably concerned, then suddenly regretful. “Oh no. Am I not on Earth?”

“No no,” Bart said quickly. “You’re on Earth.”

Now the boy just looked confused. “Wait. What’s your planet’s official language?”

“Official language?” Bart asked. “We’re supposed to have one of those?”

At the expression that clearly conveyed the boy was out of his depth, Cassie nudged Bart and whispered, “Ask him something in English.”

“What?”

“Can you understand me?” Tim stepped forward and asked, in English.

“Whoa. Yes,” the boy said, and Cassie breathed a sigh of relief at being able to understand the boy.

However, now that the four of them were successfully able to communicate, neither of them knew exactly what to say. Eventually, Cassie broke the tension with an incredulous, “So you’re really from another planet?”

“Yes,” the boy sighed. “Hopefully you can take me to your embassy? Wait actually,” his eyes widened and he shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

“Are you on the run or something?” Tim asked.

“I...not exactly,” the boy sighed. Shuffling his feet on the ground, he asked quietly, “Do you guys have clones?”

“You’re a clone?” Bart gasped. The boy nodded miserably, but just as he began to respond, Bart steamrolled over him. “That’s so cool!”

“It’s...cool?”

Displaying a bit of tact, Tim asked, “Is it...not supposed to be cool?”

The boy shook his head. “I was supposed to be an experiment,” he said shyly. “Experiments aren’t supposed to think for themselves, but I could. So I ran away. I didn’t mean to crash land on your planet.”

“You were experimented on?” Cassie said, shocked, though Bart and Tim could hear the protectiveness in her tone. Her voice then turned steely. “You’re not planning on attacking us or killing the human race, right?”

“What? No!”

“Good. You’re coming with us.” Cassie turned to look at the two boys. “He’s coming with us, right?”

“Definitely,” Tim said, and Bart shook his head. “We could cross the forest and make it towards the gas station that’s a couple miles away. I’ve got Bruce’s credit card, so we can probably bribe someone into helping us get to an airport or something. From there, he can hide out at one of our places.”

“You’re okay with me coming with you?” the boy asked.

“Well, we already made one new friend on this trip,” Bart shrugged. “What’s one more, even if he’s an alien who crash landed from space and speaks Spanish.”

“I’m speaking Northern Kryptonian,” the boy informed them helpfully.

“Cool!” Bart said, without even hesitating. “By the way, I’m Bart. That’s Tim, and that’s Cassie. What’s your name?”

“Do you even have a name?” Tim asked. “Or identification, or something?”

“My serial number was-” the boy started making a series of clips and chirps. Apparently, alien serial numbers didn’t translate into English well.

“Yeah, we didn’t catch any of that,” Bart said.

The boy seemed to think for a second, then straightened, with a resolved smirk on his face, self-deprecating yet fierce. “Call me Kon.”

“Kon?”

Kon smiled. “Alien inside joke. It’s nice to meet you.”

----------

can you tell i had no idea how to end this? bc i had no idea how to end this. anyway, i am not going to miss a single day on kon week, i’m not. special thanks to jpeg for providing his very loving support and encouragement.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @screennamealreadyused @subtleappreciation @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @bonkybearjpeg @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridge @thatsthewhump

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aswiya · 3 years

Photo

Zeynab Serekaniye, a Kurdish woman with a gap-toothed smile and a warm demeanor, never imagined she’d join a militia.

The 26-year-old grew up in Ras al-Ayn, a town in north-east Syria. The only girl in a family of five, she liked to fight and wear boys’ clothing. But when her brothers got to attend school and she did not, Serekaniye did not challenge the decision. She knew it was the reality for girls in the region. Ras al-Ayn, Arabic for “head of the spring”, was a green and placid place, so Serekaniye settled down to a life of farming vegetables with her mother.

That changed on 9 October 2019, days after former US president Donald Trump announced that US troops would pull out of north-east Syria, where they had allied with Kurdish-led forces for years. A newly empowered Turkey, which sees the stateless Kurds as an existential threat, and whose affiliated groups it has been at war with for decades, immediately launched an offensive on border towns held by Kurdish forces in north-east Syria, including Ras al-Ayn.

Just after 4pm that day, Serekaniye says, the bombs began to fall, followed by the dull plink and thud of mortar fire. By evening, Serekaniye and her family had fled to the desert, where they watched their town go up in smoke. “We didn’t take anything with us,” she says. “We had a small car, so how can we take our stuff and leave the people?” As they fled, she saw dead bodies in the street. She soon learned that an uncle and cousin were among them. Their house would become rubble.

After Serekaniye’s family was forced to resettle farther south, she surprised her mother in late 2020 by saying she wanted to join the Women’s Protection Units (YPJ). The all-female, Kurdish-led militia was established in 2013 not long after their male counterparts, the People’s Protection Units (YPG), ostensibly to defend their territory against numerous groups, which would come to include the Islamic State (Isis). The YPG have also been linked to systematic human rights abuses including the use of child soldiers.

Serekaniye’s mother argued against her decision, because two of her brothers were already risking their lives in the YPG.

But Serekaniye was unmoved. “We’ve been pushed outside of our land, so now we should go and defend our land,” she says. “Before, I was not thinking like this. But now I have a purpose – and a target.”

Serekaniye is one of approximately 1,000 women across Syria to have enlisted in the militia in the past two years. Many joined in anger over Turkey’s incursions, but ended up staying.

“In discussions [growing up], it was always, ‘if something happens, a man will solve it, not a woman’,” says Serekaniye. “Now women can fight and protect her society . This, I like.”

According to the YPG, a surge in recruitment has also been aided by growing pushback against and awareness of entrenched gender inequality and violence over recent years. In 2019 the Kurds’ Autonomous Administration of North and East Syria passed a series of laws to protect women, including banning polygamy, child marriages, forced marriages and so-called “honour” killings, although many of these practices continue. About a third of Asayish officers in the Kurdish security services in the region are now women and 40% female representation is required in the autonomous government. A village of only women, where female residents can live safe from violence, was built, evacuated after nearby bombings, and resettled again.

Yet evidence of the widespread violence that women continue to face is abundant at the local Mala Jin, or “women’s house”, which provide a refuge and also a form of local arbitration for women in need across Syria. Since 2014, 69 of these houses have opened, with staff helping any woman or man who come in with problems they’re facing including issues of domestic violence, sexual harassment and rape, and so-called “honour” crimes, often liaising with local courts and the female units of the Asayish intelligence agency to solve cases.

On a sun-scorched day in May, three distraught women arrive in quick succession at a Mala Jin centre in the north-eastern city of Qamishli. The first woman, who wears a heavy green abaya, tells staff that her husband has barely come home since she’s given birth. The second woman arrives with her husband in tow, demanding a divorce; her long ponytail and hands shake as she describes how he’d once beaten her until she had to get an abortion.

The third woman shuffles in pale-faced and in a loose dress, with rags wrapped around her hands. Her skin is raw pink and black from burns that cover much of her face and body. The woman describes to staff how her husband has beaten her for years and threatened to kill a member of her family if she left him. After he poured paraffin on her one day, she says, she fled his house; he then hired men to kill her brother. After her brother’s murder, she set herself on fire. “I got tired,” she says.

The Mala Jin staff, all women, tut in disapproval as she speaks. They carefully write down the details of her account, tell her they need to take photographs, and explain they plan to send the documents to the court to help secure his arrest. The woman nods then lies down on a couch in exhaustion.

Behia Murad, the director of the Qamishli Mala Jin, an older, kind-eyed woman in a pink hijab, says the Mala Jin centres have handled thousands of cases since they started, and, though both men and women come in with complaints, “always the woman is the victim”.

A growing number of women visit the Mala Jin centres. Staff say that this doesn’t represent increased violence against women in the region, but that more women are demanding equality and justice.

The YPJ is very aware of this shift and its potential as a recruitment tool. “Our aim is not to just have her hold her gun, but to be aware,” says Newroz Ahmed, general commander of the YPJ.

For Serekaniye it was not just that she got to fight, it was also the way of life the YPJ seemed to offer. Instead of working in the fields, or getting married and having children, women who join the YPJ talk about women’s rights while training to use a rocket-propelled grenade. They are discouraged, though not banned, from using phones or dating and instead are told that comradeship with other women is now the focus of their day to day lives.

Commander Ahmed, soft-spoken but with an imposing stare, estimates the female militia’s current size is about 5,000. This is the same size the YPJ was at the height of its battle against Isis in 2014 (though the media have previously reported an inflated number). If the YPJ’s continued strength is any indication, she adds, the Kurdish-led experiment is still blooming.

The number remains high despite the fact that the YPJ has lost hundreds, if not more, of its members in battle and no longer accepts married women (the pressure to both fight and raise a family is too intense, Ahmed says). The YPJ also claim it no longer accepts women under 18 after intense pressure from the UN and human rights groups to stop the use of child soldiers; although many of the women I met had joined below that age, though years ago.

Driving through north-east Syria, it is no wonder that so many women continue to join, given the ubiquitous images of smiling female shahids, or martyrs. Fallen female fighters are commemorated on colourful billboards or with statues standing proudly at roundabouts. Sprawling cemeteries are filled with shahids, lush plants and roses growing from their graves.

The fight against Turkey is one reason to maintain the YPJ, says Ahmed, who spoke from a military base in al-Hasakah, the north-east governorate where US troops returned after Joe Biden was elected. She claims that gender equality is the other. “We continue to see a lot of breaches [of law] and violations against women” in the region, she says. “We still have the battle against the mentality, and this is even harder than the military one.”

Tal Tamr, the YPJ base where Serekaniye is stationed, is a historically Christian and somewhat sleepy town. Bedouins herd sheep through fields, children walk arm-in-arm through village lanes, and slow, gathering dust storms are a regular afternoon occurrence. Yet Kurdish, US and Russian interests are all present here. Sosin Birhat, Serekaniye’s commander, says that before 2019 the YPJ base in Tal Tamr was tiny; now, with more women joining, she describes it as a full regiment.

The base is a one-storey, tan-coloured stucco building once occupied by the Syrian regime. The women grow flowers and vegetables in the rugged land at the back. They do not have a signal for their phones or power to use a fan, even in the sweltering heat, so they pass the time on their days off, away from the frontline, having water fights, chain smoking and drinking sugary coffee and tea.

Yet battle is always on their minds. Viyan Rojava, a more seasoned fighter than Serekaniye, talks of taking back Afrin. In March 2018, Turkey and the Free Syrian Army rebels it backed, launched Operation Olive Branch to capture the north-eastern district beloved for its fields of olive trees.

Since the Turkish occupation of Afrin, tens of thousands of people have been displaced – Rojava’s family among them – and more than 135 women remain missing, according to media reports and human rights groups. “If these people come here, they will do the same to us,” says Rojava, as other female fighters nod in agreement. “We will not accept that, so we will hold our weapons and stand against them.”

Serekaniye listens intently as Rojava speaks. In the five months since she joined the YPJ, Serekaniye has transformed. During military training in January, she broke a leg trying to scale a wall; now, she can easily handle her gun.

As Rojava speaks, the walkie-talkie sitting beside her crackles. The women at the base were being called to the frontline, not far from Ras al-Ayn. There is little active fighting these days, yet they maintain their positions in case of a surprise attack. Serekaniye dons her flak jacket, grabs her Kalashnikov and a belt of bullets. Then she gets into an SUV headed north, and speeds away.

By Elizabeth Flock. Additional reporting by Kamiran Sadoun and Solin Mohamed Amin.

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marvelsbetch · 3 years

Text

Peter Parker’s field trip. Part 1

Warnings: Trans!Peter, Spidypool, sex references, superfamily, transphobia, supportive avengers

Tony POV

I was in my lab waiting for Peter, my newly adopted son, to come home from school when Friday told me I had an email from Peters school. Turning to my phone I opened the email and was completely annoyed. The email read

'Dear Parent/Carer of Patricia Parker,

We are delighted to inform you that we have a surprise field trip for the student to none other than Stark Laboratories. The trip with be a residential starting on March 7th with a trip to Stark Tower, staying the night there with Mr Tony Stark-Rodgers and then having a trip to the Avengers Tower where we will have the opportunity to meet the Avengers and ask them questions. This is a once in a life time opportunity and we hope you allow your daughter to attend. Also, we would like to keep the trip as a surprise for the student so we urge you not to tell them the destinations of the trip.

Yours Sincerely,

Mrs Robbins.'

I was livid. My child Peter is a boy. I do not have a daughter I have a son. I couldn't believe the nerve of this teacher so I stormed out of my lab and in to the main living area of the penthouse and saw my handsome husband lay on the couch watching tv. He looked so calm and collected but I feel this might change.

"Honey, I just got this email from Peters school that I think you should have a look at." I told him handing him my phone.

He looked confused at first but then the anger set in and by time my phone was placed back in my hand he had an evil smirk on his face. I had an idea of why he had that smirk but just to be sure I asked him,

"What's the smirk for?" I asked.

"Tell the teacher our son can go on the trip while I make a few phone calls. Nobody purposely misgenders my son and gets away with it." He is trusted before grabbing his cell phone and walking down the corridor to one of the training room. Probably going to blow off a little steam and anger. Might watch in a little while.

After a second I simply responded to the email stating'

I as Peters legal guardian allow my son to attend this field trip. Is there any additional information that we should be aware of?' It seemed like the appropriate response.

In all honesty I had Pepper invite the school to the towers as a reward for how well they did at the decathlon competition. I was not expecting to receive an email like this.

-5 hours later-

Peter arrived home shortly after the email incident and was greeted to everyone being in the room. Everyone being Me, Cap, Bucky, Nat, Banner, Pepper, Sam, T'Challa, Shuri, Rhodey, Wanda, Vision, Thor, Loki, Clint and Strange along with the Guardians on a Skype call on the tv. We told him it was a spur of the moment gathering as well all missed each other, not an entire lie, but in reality we were plotting to a) embarrass Peter as much as possible on the field trip and b) get back at the teacher for what they did.

We decided to order enough pizza for an entire 3rd world country and discuss Peter's school life as we ate.

"So Peter, has anyone been giving you trouble lately in School? You can tell us the truth." Steve, Peter's other father and my husband, asked.

"No everything just fine." He terribly lied.

"Come on kid. I've known you for almost two years now, don't try and lie. If there's anyone giving you any type of shit for whatever reason please know that you can tell us." I explained to him all of a sudden getting very serious. I could see him fighting with himself on weather to tell us something or not but decided not to as he then said he had homework to do and went to his room.

"So, he's either lying or the teacher isn't as bad as we think." Loki observed.

"No, he was lying. I could feel his conflict and pain in remembrance of what people have said to him. I'm not one for violence but someone needs to pay for what he's been dealing with." Wanda told us with tears in her eyes.

Cap and Barton walked over to comfort her and hopefully stop her crying. My blood started boiling, Wanda was a strong person and if what Peter's going through brings her to tears then that's a lot for one person to go through. What else has this teacher or student done? Why won't he tell us? Does he not trust us? That last question broke my heart.

"Baby, you okay?" I hear Steve ask moving towards me and holding both my hands in his.

"No. I'm pissed. I'm pissed at any one who hurt my son. I'm pissed at us for not making sure he knows he can talk to us. And I'm pissed at the world for making his go through all of this." I told him with tears coming to my eyes.

Steve pulled me close to my chest and held me tight. He stroked his hands through my hair as he tried to calm me down. I could tell he was mad to, we all were, but he was trying to hold it in despite everyone being here to essentially punish this teacher was his idea. Embarrassing Peter was mine.

"Right, so what do we do about this? I'm not letting anyone hurt my nephew and get away with it." Nat said sitting up and pulling a knife from who knows where to sharped her nails. That women scares me so much.

"How about we just drop in during the day and make sure one of us is always with him. If he has one of us always there and we make it apparent that we know and support him the I doubt even someone as bigoted as his teacher is going to say something. Then we can embarrass him when we're with him." Sam suggested.

"I like that. Where are we all going to be stationed?" Loki asked.

"Well if I speak to the tour guide I could get Banner to give them a lesson on Gamma radiation as the first. Then, Barton or somebody drops in. After that they will be taken to a different lab with Shuri and T'Challa. By that time it should be lunch where Thor and Loki could drop in and the guardians land near the level 7 outside cafeteria. Then we can have Sam drop some stuff from above like a water balloon or something and Bucky bake his favourite cookies to bring to him. After Lunch they're looking around some other labs where Shuri could also be along with Banner. I think they're also going to be visiting the training rooms so Nat, Cap, Bucky and T'Challa could be fighting and Wanda, Vision and Strange could be training their magic." I suggested feeling better now that we were planning this.

March 6th

-Peter's POV-

I was in Chemistry faintly heading the teacher, Mrs Robbins, drone on and on about ionic bonding and how it differs to covalent bonding. It was something I already knew so I didn't need to listen until Ned started hitting my arm. Turning to look at him he simply nodded to the direction of the teacher. I turned around just to catch two words that made my heart drop.

"-Field trip!" Our teacher cheered with a big smile on her face.

Field trip? To where and why?

"That's right, we have organised a surprise field trip for you all as a reward for how well you've all done on your recent exams. Only the top 20 student of the entire school will have the privilege of going. The destination will be a surprise but I will say to bring an overnight bag and money for food and such. You're parents have already got an email consenting for your attendance and the bus will be leaving at 8am tomorrow so don't be late." She further explained.

The whole surprise field trip thing made me nervous beyond all belief. I may not technically be a Parker anymore but the luck definitely followed me and the idea of having to go on an overnight field trip made me terrified. Also, our parents got an email. This means that either Dad (Tony) or Pops (Steve) knew about this probably weeks ago and didn't tell me, this only fulled my anxiety.

Soon the bell went signalling the end of the day and our temporary liberation from this educational prison. On the way out Mrs Robins pulled me aside. It confused me at first until she put our most recent test infront of me. My name circled in big red circles, I know what's about to happen.

"Patricia, you must stop this. You're name is not Peter, you're not a boy. You were born a girl and therefore are, there is no picking and choosing with what God gave you. You must understand this by now. This little joke has gone too far that you're name has been requested to change on our register. Get it through you're head that you are not a boy and you will go to hell for thinking otherwise. One more incident like this and you'll have detention for the rest of the year. Got it?" She basically shouted at me pointing to my circled name on the test.

"No. My name is Peter and I am a boy, I don't care what God assigned me because he got it wrong. I am a boy and my name is Peter as we have gotten it legally changed." I rebutted getting impatient with her ignorance.

"Don't speak to me like that young man. You have no right to change Gods idea and destiny for you. Just thing, you're a girl meaning you can have kids and spread God's message to others and have many kids. Just what God planned for all women." She told me trying to sound sweet but came off and incredibly patronising.

At this point I was too angry to listen to her bulls**t (Gotta keep it Steve friendly people) so I stormed out the room. She started yelling for me to come back to the classroom but I didn't listen and continued walking till I reached the car Happy was in to take me home.

I got in the car and started telling Happy about my day while playing classic songs on my phone such as Highway to Hell, You gave love a bad name and Living on a Prayer. He pretended like he didn't care but I could tell he was listening and hanging onto every word I was saying. I love that about Happy, he acts like he doesn't care but in reality he does and he does a lot. He once caught Flash saying stuff about me and threatened to hit him with the car, he almost did as well but we were running late to a meeting I had to go to with Dad. Of course that didn't stop Flash as he still likes to torment me daily but he now does it more secretly making it more bearable.

We soon made it home and I found all of my dysfunctional family,minus the guardians who were on a Skype call, sat in the living room watching a movie on the tv. I quickly set my bag down on the kitchen island and settled right next to Tony (Dad) who was cuddling Cap (Pops). Everyone was asking me questions about my day and school life in general. They focused mostly on if people were bullying on me. It worried me a little because as much as I know I can go to them, I don't want to because I know that if I tell them everything that's happened they'll kill people and I don't want that for my family. Half of them only just got pardoned and I don't want the governments to revoke that.

"Sorry guys but I got homework. The pizza was delicious, is it okay if I invite Wade around?" I pleaded with Pops knowing he's more likely to say yes.

"Yes but that door stays open hound man. Do I make myself clear?" Pops asked in a stern voice.

"Crystal." I responded before taking out my phone to call Wade, grabbed my bag and walked to my room.

"Hey Baby Boy, what's up?" Wade asked after picking up his phone.

"Not much, Pops said you could come around." I told him making him slightly squeal.

"Okay Baby Boy, I'll be there in 10 minutes. I love you." Wade informed.

"I love you to Babe." I said before hanging up with a smile on my face.

-10 minutes later-

I was sat at my desk finishing my algebra homework when I heard someone knock on the window. Knowing it was Wade I turned with a smile on my face and let him in.

"Hey Baby Boy, how was your day?" Wade asked making himself comfortable on my bed.

"It was fine, quite boring if I'm honest. We did get told about this residential field trip tomorrow though. Sorry I won't be here for most of the weekend. I'm sure my Dads will love having you around." I joked sitting on his lap and cuddling into his chest.

"It's fine Pete. I'll just have to savour our time together now." He said wiggling his eyebrows and kissing me passionately.

"My Pops said to keep the door open." I told him pulling away with a massive blush spread across my cheeks.

"Does that rule apply to your en-suite?" Wade asked.

"I don't believe so." I answered getting up from his lap and dragging him into my en-suite, which is where we stayed for the rest of the night.

To be continued...

#adopted peter parker #bi peter parker #gay peter parker #peter parker #spidypool #superfamily #supportive avengers #gay steve rodgers #steve x tony #steveony #ironfam #lqbtq #lgbt pride #trans peter parker #wade wilson #deadpool #pansexual deadpool #field trip #peter parker field trip

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lazuli-bloom · 3 years

Text

Gas Station Souvenir

Beetlejuice x Reader

Word Count : 3868

General fiction, first meeting

You work a few shifts at a shitty gas station off the interstate only to have something follow you.

--=--=--

Creeping darkness snuffed out the remnants of sunlight, and the twilight hours did not flatter that rundown gas station. Ignored grime fermented in the corners. The air carried the harsh scent of chemical cleaners and the pungent odors they failed to mask. The gas station sat cut off from society and seeping in growing shadows. It invoked a buzz of disquiet at the edge of your thoughts. It’s a place where it’s best to keep stops brief. Where the longer one stayed there, the stranger the place became.

But there you were, skulking the aisles of an eerie gas station. Dressed in clothes that could use a wash, with a name-tag pinned to your hoodie.

You needed money, and this place let you pick up a few shifts. They payed cash and didn’t ask too many questions, which was right up your alley. The pay wasn’t anything to write home about. Then again, nothing warranted contact with that lot.

Two weeks of shifts would bankroll you across a few more states. Your first day came with a warning from the full-time clerk training you; if you see anything strange, or unusual, ignore it. Pretend like you never saw it. Also, to stay away from the raccoons. The ones near the gas station were a lot meaner than most.

For most of your shifts, that was a rule you stuck to. It was a good rule to have. One that you really should follow. But on your last shift at the gas station, you broke that rule.

It was late into that last shift where yours overlapped with the night cashier. Running out of things to do, you started cleaning up the counters. You didn’t think you’d make much headway with cleaning, but it helped pass the time.

You reached the coffeepot’s counter and got to cleaning. Empty sugar and creamer packets all discarded into the trash. Amid wiping down spills, you noticed an oddity wedged between containers. A simple business card.

Unease urged you to leave it alone. Throw away the card and forget about it. That would be the smart decision. However, curiosity had other plans. It drove you to pick it up and look the card over. It was a business card, after all. How strange could that really be?

The card’s yellowed paper frayed at the corners. It advertised the services of a “Bio-Exorcist” but had no contact information. The only other detail was an unusual word printed three times. Not much to go off of.

You meander to the front counter, trying your damnedest to decipher that word.

“Beh-tel... Gi-use?” the syllables came out more like a question. A question that caught the attention of the full-time cashier. He glanced up from his book and asked what you said. “Just trying to read this.”

He sat down his book to look over the card.

“Bio-Exorcist? Like some kind of pest control? We have a few guys come in occasionally and do what they can, but the bugs and mice always come back. And snakes.”

“Weird way to phrase it. Maybe they’re trying to make it sound fancy? But that’s not what stumped me, it’s the word on there three times. You know what that says?”

“It’s a star in Orion.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’ve come across it a few times in some of the sci-fi novels I’ve read. It’s pronounced like Beetle-Juice.”

A frigid breeze chilled the two of you mere moments after he answered your question. Both of you turned to the front door, expecting a customer walking in and letting in the cool night air. But there was nothing. He handed you back the card and picked his book up.

“You should just throw that card away and forget about it.”

You want to ask why, but the question dies in your throat. You already knew why. Ignore the strange. Pretend it isn’t there, so it doesn’t cause you trouble. That hitchhiker you passed by several times and never saw him in the rear-view mirror? He seemed alright on his own. The lady at the shitty motel chilling the air on her way passed you to the pool? She obviously wanted to go swimming. That man you saw crawling on the ceiling during your stint here. None of your business. They had their problems, and you had your own.

Still, there was something nagging at you whenever you looked at the card. Something. Was it actually a something? Your burning curiosity? It almost felt as if it was someone telling you to keep the card, at least for a little while longer.

Once your co-worker was back to reading his novel, you looked over the card one more time. You mutter under your breath the name of the star, only to shiver when another strange rush of cold air crashed over you. You slip the card into your hoodie’s pocket and head to a spot of the gas station that wouldn’t give you chills.

The rest of your shift trudged along slower and slower. The closer to your freedom it got, the slower the seconds crept by. Customers became sparse, not helping stop time from dragging its feet. The only thing that you could do to pass the time was to keep up the futile effort of cleaning the counters. That and keep tabs on the one guy lingering in the gas station.

Said guy looked to be another of the ignore and forget them variety. His appearance alone was enough of a tipoff. Dirty suit in a black and white stripe pattern matched oddly with messy green hair. What hit home the message of “mind your own business” was the fact that you caught a glance of the guy gliding through the shelves. Nope. You may have been struggling to find things to do, but dealing with whatever Mr. Stripe Suit was up to was out of your pay grade.

Finally, the end of your shift was upon you. You took off your name tag and slammed it down on the counter to get the cashier’s attention. A grin plastered your face as you turned over the name tag. You asked for your pay, and he handed you your money. You count it to yourself before stuffing it into your pocket. Once all squared away, you waved him a quick farewell.

“Have fun with the stripe suit guy, He’s been looking at all the garbage snacks on the shelves for the past hour,” You mention maybe a little louder than you should have. But you weren’t sticking around, so who cares?

You get out to your car, where there were thankfully no raccoons trying to eat your tires, and hop in. It may have been getting late, but you wanted to at least get a few towns over before you stop at a motel for that night.

The motel you came across was on the cheaper end, but it was “good enough”. You quickly got your room squared away and after a sweep of the room you got into the shower. Once you got out, the air seemed to be colder than you expected it to be. You got your pajamas on and ended up putting your hoodie back on to keep some of the chill off you.

Stuffing your hands into your hoodie’s pocket, your fingers brush up against some worn paper. You take out the thing and look it over, instantly recalling what it was you were holding. The weird business card.

“Such a weird spelling to end up pronounced as Beetlejuice.”

A draft of cool air blew by and you shiver. You huff and go check the a/c, expecting it to be dialed unbearably low. However, you find the stupid thing turned off. You scowl and turn up the heat.

It kicks on with a struggle, but once it gets going you take a seat on the bed. You him to yourself and shift attention back to the card. Why did you even pocket this? Curiosity? Somewhat, but you’ve been curious about countless things before. A strange souvenir? You never collected oddities before, why start now?

Your eyes scan over the words one more time, this time reading the card out loud.

“For the bio-exorcist, call; Betelgeuse,”

Another breeze of cool air got you shivering again. Stupid heater needed to warm the room faster.

“Betelgeuse,”

Another draft, this time accompanied by the lights in the room flickering. Maybe this hotel wasn’t as “good enough” as you previously thought.

“Betelgeuse.” The lights buzzed loud as the last syllable passed your lips, and the next instant all the lights went out.

You grit your teeth and voice your complaints to no one. “Oh, come the fuck on!” You heave out a growl and get up to check out the window. With your luck, your room would be the only one with the electrical issues.

You march a few steps to the window when you heard a gravelly laugh, way too close for comfort. A chill shot down your spine. You whip around to see who was there but only find yourself in the inky darkness of the hotel room. Not even the outlines of the furniture stood out in the dark.

You ball your hands into fists, not planning to go down without a fight. Body shaking, you scan over the room, staining your eyes to find anything. You grit your teeth and bark out, “Who’s there?”

The reply didn’t come as a proper response, just more laughing, right up next to your ear.

You spin and bring your fist up to get as much force behind your punch as possible. You swing blindly, only able to use the sound to aim. And to both your relief and dismay, your fist connects with something cold and scratchy.

The lights flick on the next second, allowing you to see a man in stumbling back a few steps away from you as he cupping his cheek. You look him over and can’t shake the notion you’ve seen him before. Pale skinned and dark rings under his eyes with the green in his hair extending down into his stubble. There was also that ratty old coat that he wore over a monochrome striped suit.

Your brows knit as you piece together why his appearance looked familiar, and when it finally clicked, you took a step back. Shock surged in a fleeting moment, replaced swiftly by raising your guard once more. Your hands still clenched into tight fists, you demand to know who the hell he even is.

“Geez, babes, didn’t expect you’d be so punchy,” he laughed as he stood upright, still rubbing the side of his face. “not that I’m complaining.”

Your glare narrows as you try to not react to his flirtatious tone.

“Answer me.”

“You already know my name,” he said, taking his hand away from his face. He leaned forward with a grin spread across his face showing off sharp yellowed teeth. “You’re the one that summoned me after all.”

“Summoned? But I didn’t... wait. The card?”

“Yep. Said my name three times, spoken unbroken. And now I’m here.”

“You. You were at the gas station a few towns back. Who, or what are you?”

“Gotta say babes, kinda rude to only acknowledge me right as you leave. But I’m willing to forgive ya for that since you summoned me~”

“You didn’t answer my question. What are you?”

His grin faltered, likely due to you ignoring his flirtations. He must have wanted to get a rise out of you.

“I’m a demon. The ghost with the most and the best Bio-Exorcist out there!”

“So you’re a demon, ghost.... bio-exorcist?”

“Yep!”

The bright smile on his face alongside his cheerful tone threw you more than you expected it to. He looked so happy and excited at that moment. If he hadn’t just admitted to being a demon, ghost... bio-exorcist, you might have thought he was rather cute.

“I guess the demon-ghost thing explains why the first thing you did was try to scare the shit out of me.”

“You give quite the warm welcoming yourself babes, with that punch to my face.” There didn’t seem to be any anger in his gravelly voice. Something you took notice of was how the lighting in the hotel room made the green in his hair look more pink on the ends than you thought it should.

You press your lips into a tight line and cross your arms. After a moment of looking him up and down, trying to figure out the strange demon’s motive, you give up and just ask him. “So then Mr. Demon, what now? You wanting to get my soul or something?”

“Nope, nothing like that. You read my card, says right on it I’m a bio-exorcist.”

“That like pest control?”

“Pretty much, get all the breathers out of places so the ghosts there can relax.”

“You going to run me out of my motel room then?” you ask with a pointed glare, “’Cause I swear to god I’ll send your ass back to hell if you so much as try me.”

You weren’t sure what kind of reaction you were expecting from the demon, maybe a haughty display of power or aggression. It certainly wasn’t a purr with hooded eyes.

“So much fight and fire in ya! I like that.”

The growl in his voice when he said that made blood rush to your face. Damn this flirtatious bastard. He took your moment of shock to step closer.

“You don’t have to worry ‘bout that baby. You seem like fun. I won’t do anything, unless you want me to~”

You shake your head and regain some composure. You heave out a deep breath and take a step back. The fire on your face still burned, but you did your best to ignore it.

“How about this, Mr. Demon, pretend like this whole thing never happened? I go my way, and you go where ever to help as many ghosts as you want.”

This guy was full of surprises. You gave him a free pass to go bother as many others as he wanted and not have to put up with you. He should have been overjoyed. Instead he looked deflated, and weirder was you caught blue and purple seep into his hair.

“So soon? Bet we just started hanging out! Come on, we can be BFFFFs Forever!”

You searched his face for any sign of lying, anything to tip you off he wasn’t being genuine. That search came up empty. Furrowed brows, the stare of a hurt puppy, and blue taking over more and more of his once green hair.

“You... actually want to be friends?” you ask more to yourself than him, “I don’t think I’d be pleasant company.”

He tilted his head. At least the blue stopped spreading. That didn’t seem to be a color that suited him.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why wouldn’t you be pleasant company?”

You glance away, a bit thrown by the question. Maybe more by the tone of his voice, still rough and scratchy, but confused. And you could have sworn there was a trace of hurt softening his voice, but you might just be imagining that one.

He waited for an answer, and the longer you waited, the more it made you fidget. Shifting your weight from one foot to the other. He genuinely wanted to know your reason. Just get it over with, then he’ll finally leave and not want to hang around you.

You take in a deep breath and straighten up, holding yourself with strength and confidence. Qualities that you couldn’t fake well enough to even look him in the eye when you explained yourself.

“I don’t stick around anywhere for any more than a month. I don’t make friends, or keep in contact with anyone, I just keep moving. It’s better if I’m alone, that way nobody has to put up with me for very long.”

His head stayed tilted, like he still didn’t quite understand. Or maybe he did and wanted to know more. Either way, his expression stayed soft with brows knit quizzically. For a demon, he looked kinda cute.

You tap your foot and keep your gaze off him. This was stupid. Were you actually going to tell this Betelgeuse guy about your problems? Hopefully, he’ll get the picture and leave once you do. You bite your lip and heave out a drawn-out sigh.

“It’s hard to be around people for long stretches of time. Always being judged and have to walk on eggshells. Otherwise, I end up pissing off everyone for just wanting to be me. I got sick of not meeting stupidly high standard and left.

“There, happy? I’m just some annoying mortal, that can’t fit in. I’d rather not pal around with a demon only to end up pissing you off too. It’s easier if I’m alone.”

There was a silence between you and Betelgeuse. Your hands grip tighter on your arms as you wait for his reaction. Was he finally going to leave? Maybe he’ll try some trick on you before he does. You close your eyes, waiting. Still, there was only silence.

You chance a look up at him and find some blur rushing you. There wasn’t time to move, and you ended up with arms wrapped tight around your body. Before you had the chance to squirm out of the demon’s clutches, he pressed you tight against himself. His body was on the cooler side of what a body temperature should be. There was a unique odor to him as well. A variety of scents mixed; mold, mildew, dust, rot, but the strongest of them was damp earth.

“I knew I was going to like you!”

“Since when?” you ask, still squirming in his hug. He didn’t seem likely to let go of you soon. But that wouldn’t stop you from trying to at least get your arms a bit more freed up.

“When you punched me~”

His sing-song tone with a slight purr was not the tone you expected. Especially when bringing up the subject of you decking him in the face.

Your brain tried to process all the information you’ve got, but it was getting bogged down with too much weird things. You open your mouth to say something, but the words never come.

“So, babes!” Betelgeuse chirped, “What’s the plan? Cross Country road trip? See all the landmarks and weird roadside stops? Scare all the breathers from coast to coast?”

“You seriously want to tag along with me? My life is a train wreck. I can barely scrape by for myself most of the time.”

“Good thing I’m dead. I don’t need to eat. Or sleep. Plus~”

He leaned back and snapped his fingers. Odd, considering his arms didn’t budge from their hold on you.

At the snap the lights flickered once more, this time accompanied by all the furniture not bolted down, raising up to float. You turn your head as much as you can to look over the room. The mattress, table, chair, microwave. Hell, the bathroom door that was barely on its hinges rose and floated with all the other things.

Betelgeuse flicked his hand down and everything came crashing down to the ground with a loud clattering. You had the microwave’s rough landing in your line of sight. It landed on its corner, and that door flew off. You’re going to have to hide that later.

“I can help with that ‘barely scraping by’ thing.”

“How?”

“The finer points can wait, let’s just say I wouldn’t exactly get caught if I take something I like.”

Stealing. Got it. You groan and rack your brain to process all this. This demon-ghost seems very adamant about sticking with you. Not sure if that’s a great reflection on yourself. But regardless, you haven’t exactly had a lot of prolonged contact or socialization in a while. Maybe... ?

“Alright. You can stick with me. At least for a few weeks or something.”

The next thing you knew, your feet were off the ground. Air rushed over you as the room spun. Your feet were back on solid ground a moment later. As your brain was struggling to catch up, he pushed you backward. You latch on to Betelgeuse’s shoulders to keep from falling. His face came in close, planting a kiss before you could even react.

Your lips stayed shut tight as your cheeks burned. When he pulled you upright, you push against Betelgeuse with all your strength. Finally, you broke out of his hug.

He had a stupidly bright grin on that adorably punch-able scruffy face of his. You wipe off your mouth rather roughly before shooting him a glare. You head to the bathroom, where the door lay on the ground. Stepping over it, you grab your toothbrush and brush your teeth.

Betelgeuse peeked in for a moment and frowned when he saw what you were doing. He didn’t linger though, and at first you wondered what he could be up to, only to hear the TV blaring.

You drag your feet out of the bathroom and swipe the remote from the spot beside him on the bed. You thought about just turning it off, but decide to just turn the sound down before handing the remote back.

“I’m only staying here the one night and plan on getting up early to leave. Don’t care what you do so long as you keep it down and let me sleep.”

“You need me to sleep next to ya and keep the nightmares away~?”

“I though you said you didn’t sleep.”

“Don’t need to, but I can. And I’m willing to if I had a pretty little thing like you in my arms while I did.”

“I kick and roll in my sleep, also steal blankets. Doubt it would be comfortable. Seems like causing trouble for the other people here would be the more fun option for you,” you said as you turn off the lights. The one closest to the bed you left for last. You pull up the covers and crawl into bed before turning that light off too. “I might get a room with two queen beds next time, though.”

You yank the sheets out from being tucked in and quickly wrap yourself up in them. You bid him a goodnight, and he says one back. The room got quiet, and it seemed like he was actually going to keep it down so you could sleep. The TV buzzed softly with some show playing and your breathing slowed as you drifted to sleep. You were all snuggled up tight in the blankets, just about to plunge into the darkness of sleep. And the last thing you are half made aware of was an arm snake over your waist.

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice x reader #musical beetlejuice x reader #I chose to edit this instead of sleeping #my writing

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navegandoaciegas · 4 years

Text

California Bound.

Pairing: Bucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, yandere, homeless!bucky, stalking, home intrusion, obsession, loneliness, sad!bucky, disturbing thoughts, dubcon? This is a dark fic.

Words: 4k

Summary: You’re so lonely and isolate in this city that if you died your neighbours wouldn’t even notice, your colleagues wouldn’t care and your boss would probably be pissed that you didn’t put in your two weeks notice before you went to hell. Bucky is tired of being alone and invisible and he knows you are too. He knows you can mend each other's’ hearts.

A/N: set after CA:TWS. I’m not a native speaker so forgive me for any mistakes. Please let me know what you think and like and reblog if you liked it :) feedback is always appreciated!

In the unstable state of his scattered mind he can vividly recall a woman in a red dress.

Some memories are long gone, some are fragmented, and although the lines of her face have been blurred by the passing of time and decades of electrocution, her plump red lips are permanently burned in the back of his brain.

When he closes his eyes, sometimes, he can still see her smile.

Only she’s not smiling at him.

She’s smiling at Steve, his brother, his friend, his mission.

Not even seventy years of brainwashing and torture could get rid of the sadness that filled him when she walked past and ignored him as if he wasn’t there, as if nothing else in that room existed except for Steve.

In his memory she doesn’t see him, and nobody has since.

Perhaps it’s in that moment that he became no one, in that moment he was condemned to an existence of pain, loneliness and invisibility.

He’s a ghost that haunts the dirty streets of Philadelphia, crouched behind the dumpsters of dark alleys, begging the ones who sneer at him for spare change in train stations, lurking in the shadows to pickpocket the rich passerbys of the city.

The hormone suppressants HYDRA forced on him are wearing off.

He can feel himself slipping, his most primal instincts violently surging back after 70 years of being repressed. His brain goes haywire when he catches sight of a pair of legs clad in a short skirt, the blood draining from his brain and travelling straight to his cock, and he wills himself to restrain his urges.

Modern women are so pretty, and they wear so little clothes. They don’t see him, of course, but he sees them.

He sees those tight little dresses, those high heels, those long lashes and bright lips.

In another life he could have been like one of the rich boys he often spots outside of clubs, well dressed and well groomed, and maybe those pretty girls would have fawned over him too.

But not in this life.

In this life he’s been alone for 70 years, and his loneliness consumes him so intensely that some nights, when the cold is unbearable and the streets are empty, he wishes he hadn’t been born at all.

In this life he doesn’t shower and shave for weeks on end, and his hair is so greasy and matted that even if he wasn’t in hiding he’d have to wear a baseball cap anyways. When he looks at himself in the mirror he barely recognizes the handsome soldier in a blue uniform he saw at the Smithsonian. The man who stares back at him in the mirrors of soiled public restrooms has deep frown lines on his forehead, dark circles under dull eyes and a patch of white hair on his beard. Only the startling blue of his eyes has stood the test of time.

Those pretty girls wouldn’t spare him a second glance.

He’s tired of the loneliness that plagues him. He just wishes to be seen.

He wants someone to look at him, really look at him, in anything other that pity or disgust. He wants someone who could hold him at night and take care of his battered soul.

He wants a companion to spend his time with, someone he could talk to; when was the last time he uttered a single word? When was the last time someone touched him tenderly?

You’d think after all he’s been through that being alone would be a walk in the park in comparison, but the emptiness that eats him alive is the most unbearable torture he’s ever been subjected to. It took HYDRA 20 years to break him, it only took the loneliness a couple of months.

He just wants someone.

Someone who sees him.

And you do. You see him.

He’s hunched over in a recess in the wall of an alley, violently shaking. The ground beneath him is frozen, the strong winds are like a slap in the face and the heavy-duty winter jacket he was able to steal isn’t doing much to protect him from the harsh weather. Maybe he won’t survive tonight, he almost dares to hope.

He’s still crying when he spots a pair of crisp white sneakers coming his way, and he looks up. He’s seen you around a couple of times, you’re one of the pretty girls who short circuit his brain.

You’re wearing a bright yellow winter jacket and black jeans. You look young, but he can’t tell how young. People nowadays age different than they used to back then. You’re probably way younger than him, although he has no idea exactly how old he is; he was 27 when he went to war, how much has he aged? How young is too young for a man with no age?

The light of the lamps behind you diffuses a soft halo around your body. You shine on your own light, brighter than the sun; you’re an angel so beautiful, so perfect that he doesn’t know if you’re a figment of his imagination.

You crouch down and hand him a bunch of blankets and a warm cup of something, maybe tea? When he grabs it his fingers brush against yours and it sends a jolt of electricity down his spine. He expects you to grimace in disgust at his touch, but you don’t. You smile.

You smile at him.

Suddenly he doesn’t feel the cold anymore, he only feels the warm tingling in his stomach.

He smiles back, or at least he tries. He hasn’t smiled since World War II, as Nazis didn’t give him a lot of reasons to, to be honest.

And just like you appeared, you’re gone in a heartbeat.

But he can’t simply let you go like that, so he resolves to summon back the Asset’s stealth and gets up to follow you.

That night when he closes his eyes the smile he sees belongs to you.

They say even your worst day only lasts 24 hours; too bad your worst day has become your worst year so far.

They also say when you reach rock bottom the only way to go is up. They lied about that too.

Somehow today you’ve been scraping the bottom of the pit you’re in and have dug yourself even deeper than the lowest you could get.

You want to say your day can’t get any worse than this, but you know there’s always room for worsening.

The feeble March sun shines through the clouds and you’re dreading the flight of stairs that awaits you since your landlord categorically refuses to have the lift fixed. By the time you get to your door you’re exhausted and can’t wait to shower the day away and lounge on your couch.

You open up the door to your apartment and get inside in a rush, only to stop dead in your tracks when you notice something is off about your home. There’s an eerie stillness about the open space, and maybe you’re going crazy but it seems like some of your things are not where you’d left them.

Apparently you just unlocked a lowest level to rock bottom.

It takes you a couple of seconds to register it, but when you do the hair on the back of your neck stand up and your brain screams danger at you.

There’s a smell inside that is not yours. It’s the strong, manly smell of sweat, and it wouldn’t be entirely unpleasant if it weren't for the fact that you live alone and don’t usually have men over.

You never think it’s going to happen to you until it does.

You took self defense in college, you carry pepper spray with you, you always thought if you were in danger you’d be able to defend yourself, or at least bolt away.

They never tell you that fear is paralyzing. They don’t tell that the anticipation of pain roots you on the spot, that your legs feel like they’re made of lead and all you can do is wait for the impact to come. They don’t tell you that the dread that chills the blood in your veins can break the most primal of mechanisms humans have, and the fight or flight response you were counting on to save you abandons you too

When it happens, you don’t even hear it coming; there’s a prickle at the base of your neck and, before you descend into the darkness, two arms envelope you, and you feel the ghost of a kiss on your shoulder.

You try to peel your eyes open when a hand delicately caresses your cheek and lingers on your lips. Your eyelids are heavy, your head is pounding like you’re having the worst hangover in you life and your whole body is aching. You want to speak, you want to shake that hand away, but you are unmoving.

It reminds you of the medicine induced hallucination you used to have, which were an inconvenient side effect of the same prescription drugs that were supposed to help you sleep. It feels like a sleep paralysis, minus the demon sitting on your stomach.

You’re slipping in and out of consciousness when you hear it. There’s a voice speaking.

You suppose whoever it belongs to is talking to you. You strain your ears and will yourself to concentrate real hard, despite your brain pulsing in your skull and threatening to burst out.

The voice definitely belongs to a man, and whoever he is, he sounds very soft spoken and polite. Too bad he broke into your house and drugged you.

“So pretty, so perfect for me.”

“We won’t ever be lonely anymore, I promise you that.”

“...cleaned up real good for you...”

“...can’t wait for you to wake up.”

It’s all you can make out in your drowsy state. He peppers your forehead and the crown of your head with soft kisses. There’s two strong arms holding you. You fall back asleep.

The sun shines brightly through the curtains of your bedroom and you want to flip the universe off for lining up the morning rays directly onto your face, and yourself for forgetting to draw the blinds.

You almost cuss yourself out for being yet again late for work when the events of the previous evening rush back to you. You wake with a jolt and you feel terror enveloping you when you see him.

Fear grips your throat and you want to scream, you want to thrash about and punch him, and yet all you can do is look at him with wide eyes.

You feel your chest heaving but it’s almost like it doesn’t belong to you, it’s not happening to you, it can’t; you breathe but the air won’t reach your lungs.

The man detects your distress and sits next to you. He carefully reaches for your hand and places on his chest, over his heart.

You are immobile.

You hate yourself for it. You wish you could do something about this but your stupid brain refuses to cooperate.

“Calm down baby, I’m not here to hurt you.” says the guy who gave you morphine. “Concentrate on my breathing, ‘kay? Inhale, hold your breath- good, now exhale, and again.”

He guides you through a breathing exercise that suggests you it may not be the first time he’s had to calm himself or others from an almost panic attack. The steady beat of his heart calms you down.

“Don’t cry, please.” he pleads with you.

You’re back at it again with the inappropriate thoughts for someone who’s been kidnapped and might get killed in the next few minutes, but you can’t not think how handsome your captor is.

He’s got dark hair gathered up in an elastic at the nape of his neck. His jawline is sharp and his cheekbones high. His eyes are the bluest you’ve ever seen, his lips look soft and pink and his nose is small and cute for a man so chiselled and intimidating.

“I promise I won’t hurt you.” he tells you, and smiles almost shyly at you.

There’s a look on his face that should reassure you, because it means that you won’t die today, but it can only mean you’re doomed to something maybe worse than death.

His expression is tender, like you’re the most precious thing in the world. He seems so affectionate, so loving, that for a moment you wish this was real, you wish your former partners would have looked at you so devotedly.

He takes your hand in his again and traces soothing pattern with his thumb.

Finally you seem to snap back to reality.

“Who are you?” You manage to squeak out. Your throat is on fire, and you’re grateful for the water bottle he hands over to you.

He frowns and seems to think about it until he manages to mumble a “My name is Bucky.”

He hesitates over his name like it doesn’t really belong to him.

You’re puzzled as to why you’re so calm. You’ve never been a feisty one, that’s true; you spent your life conforming to rules, you always complied to orders because you like to be praised and you hate to disappoint. As a child you feared punishments, being grounded, the look of dissatisfaction on your parents’ faces more than anything else in the world.

But you never imagined you’d be striking a conversation with the intruder in your house like it was an everyday occurrence.

It only takes a look to understand that you can’t outrun the guy, nor overpower him. He’s built like a bulldozer and his biceps are bigger than you. He said he wouldn’t hurt you, and as absurd as it sounds you believe him, but it doesn’t mean you’d come out unscathered if you tried to fight him.

Maybe you could outsmart him? Comply until he trusts you and then take off?

“I’ve been watching you.” Oh shit . “You saved my life.”

You can’t stop the remark from escaping your lips. “A thank you would have sufficed, you know, no need to kidnap me and all.”

You weren’t feisty, sure, but that didn’t mean you weren’t a snarky bitch.

The guy chuckles, and it seems like his own amusement surprises you both alike.

“Two months ago, back in January. I was freezing to death. You came and gave me blankets and tea. It warmed me enough to survive the night. I knew back then you were perfect.”

Oh, God . The one time you decided to be a good citizen and gave the blankets you hogged in your cubicle at work to the homeless guy that was always crouched in the back alley of your office building, then one you’d see when you sneaked out the back to smoke on company time.

You almost don’t recognize him.

“You’re just like me in a way. I saw you so sad all this time, you hate your job, you’re always alone. I saw you cry because you feel so lonely. I know that it feels like. I’ve been alone for so long.” He whispers the last part softly, and your heart clenches because it’s true, you’re so damn lonely, but you can recognize the loneliness in his eyes too. He cradles your face in his hands. “But I promise you won’t be alone anymore. You got me now.”

“I don’t know- I-I don’t even know you. Please just let me go, I promise I won’t tell anyone. Please don’t hurt me.” You start to plead with him and your words get swallowed by the sobs that shake you. Your heartbeat picks up again.

You know fear now, the real one, but it pales in comparison of the one you feel when the implication of his words starts to sink in.

He just smiles at you.

“What do you want?” you manage to whisper.

“You. We’re going to be happy I promise. I read the notes on your phone where you wrote you wanted to travel, remember that?” You nod weakly, recalling the depressive entry about how stuck your boring life is and the bucket list of all the places you’d want to visit.

“We’re going to travel, I’ll take you wherever you want. Just don’t leave me please, be with me.”

You almost ask with what money since you’re homeless my guy, but then a thought strikes you.

You won’t miss your boring life the moment it will slip away from you; you won’t miss being stuck alone in a city you despise doing a job you hate. You won’t miss the homesickness. You won’t miss berating yourself for accepting a job immediately post grad in a city on the other side of America, just because you were scared of being left behind, of being that one person who ends up with no job after college and has to move back to their parents house.

Maybe, had you stayed in your hometown, or accepted that other position in Austin, maybe this shit wouldn’t have happened to you. You’ll never know.

He pulls you into a hug and you’re so startled your crying subsizes.

He shushes you and coos you while rocking you in his arms. “It’s okay baby, I promise you’re going to like it, you don’t have to worry about a thing, I got it all sorted out for you.”

You’re shocked.

He pushes you down on the bed and as your mind elaborates the worst case scenario possible and as you’re on the verge of another panic attack, he simply envelops you in his arms and puts his head on your chest.

You’re stunned again.

Almost on instinct you wrap your own smaller arms around his shoulders and he sighs contentedly. You’re so touch starved and desperate for affection that even hugging your stalkers feels kinda nice.

You haven’t touched anyone and no one has touched you in such fondness in almost a year. Hook-ups don’t count.

You’re so lonely and isolate in this city that if you died your neighbours wouldn’t even notice, your colleagues wouldn’t care and your boss would probably be pissed that you didn’t put in your two weeks notice before you went to hell.

Lost in thought you only notice he’s about to kiss you when it’s too late.

At first he hesitantly pecks your lips, and then he’s trying to pry your mouth open with his tongue. You don’t know what possesses you to do it but you part your lips.

He’s uncertain on how to move around, like he doesn’t know how to kiss or he’s forgetten how, he has absolutely no idea where to put his hands, and it’s honestly kind of awkward.

You imagine this is what it’s like to kiss a middle schooler.

He pulls away and blushes. “Sorry, it’s been a while.”

You’re stunned yet again.

He’s not apologizing for stalking you, breaking in and drugging you, but because he’s a bad kisser?

He slants his mouth against yours again, this time more forcefully than before. And after almost choking you when he pushes his tongue so deep it would have reached your tonsils hadn’t you had them removed, he seems to get the gist of it, or maybe the muscle memory kicks back in, because even if you won’t admit it to yourself, it feels nice.

You feel sick and twisted but it’s good to have someone desire you, touch you so tenderly, kiss you so passionately. The guys you use to entertain yourself in your solitude never kiss you while they fuck you into oblivion. You forgot how comforting the weight of a warm body on yours is.

You don’t push him away until you feel your t-shirt rip.

His hands explore your body ignoring your pleads to stop.

He’s nowhere and everywhere all at once. One hand squeezes your ass and the other kneads your breasts while he leaves open mouthed, hungry kisses down your throat, until he reaches the soft skin between your neck and clavicles and starts sucking in like a man possessed. You automatically jerk forward and buckle your hips until they touch his and he lets out a groan that travels straight to your already dripping core.

You hate yourself for it, but you’ve never been this aroused.

You hate yourself for giving in so effortlessly, for being so damn weak, so damn lonely.

It’s mortifying how easy you’re making this for him.

Your mind tries to will your body to push him from you, but instead of shoving him away your hands grab his shoulder and pull him closer.

You hate yourself because when he dips his hand in your soaked panties as he suckles on your nipple, your body doesn’t even try to protect you.

You’re at his mercy as he pushes his long fingers through your folds and smears your arousal around, before dipping them inside.

“All this for me, pretty girl?”

Cocky bastard.

He moans in your mouth as he grinds his hips on your leg and you feel the extent of his manhood.

“So pretty, so perfect, so good for me.”

It shouldn’t feel this good, but again you’ve been a slut for praise since you came out the womb. You moan and whine in pleasure and he’s clearly very proud of himself for being the one who elicits these sounds from you. His thumb finds your bud and massages it, sending jolts of unadulterated pleasure down your spine.

You’re trembling under his touch. Your legs are shaking, toes curling, and you can’t stop yourself from moaning louder what you ever have. You can feel the familiar tightness in your core that precedes an orgasm, but you need more.

“Please Bucky, please. Faster.” you whine, ashamed of yourself for pleading like that.

You’re so lost in your own pleasure you don’t notice the look of hunger that crosses Bucky’s face at the mention of his name. He never thought he’d be able to give you so much, he never knew his hand could bring anything other than pain and destruction, but his name sounds so sweet on your tongue.

“Cum pretty girl, cum all over my fingers for me, I know you can.”

And you do. You cum so hard your vision goes black for a second as you lose yourself to the pleasure that travels from your core to the rest of your body.

You’re floating, so dazed that you barely notice he’s undressed you and taken off his pants. When you feel something prod at your entrance, you look down in horror only to find him already lined up with you.

He’s got the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen, and it’s so big, so thick you’re scared he’s going to rip you apart. He doesn’t give you time to react before he’s slamming inside of you.

The scream that rips out of you is animalistic, and he stills.

“God you’re so tight, clamping down on me.” He grunts in you ear as he sets a slow pace.

The pain soon subsides and gives place to more pleasure than you’ve ever felt in your life. He picks up the pace when you stretch around his girth painlessly, and rolls his hips around.

“So good for me.”

“Mine, only mine.”

“My good girl.”

“Taking me so well.”

“Gonna fill you up so good.”

“Fuck, you feel incredible.”

Your pussy clamps down on his cock with each praise he grunts in your ear. You’re so overstimulated and he’s so vocal that you feel like you’re about to burst when you cum again and again for what feels like an eternity, before his movements become sloppier and messier.

You cum once more when he swells inside of you, and you feel the tell-tale sensation of fullness when he fills you up with his cum.

He collapses on you, panting.

You’re both satisfied and spent.

He kisses you once more, on your lips, and it’s so sweet and tender that you almost cry because you know deep down you couldn’t take one more day of solitude.

His voice is deep and hoarse when he speaks again.

“How ‘bout we start with California?”

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky fanfic #dark bucky x reader #dark!bucky x reader #dark!james barnes #marvel fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james barnes x reader #james barnes x you #james barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n

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mulderist · 3 years

Text

Everglow

Rated: NC17 || Smut/RST/First-Time || Words 2k+ || tagging @today-in-fic

Unspoken communication results in a less than standard night at a hotel after an assignment. Non-sexual touching leads to first-time sex. (Written for the XF Fanfic Smut Exchange)

A comfortable silence. It was strange to feel so at ease and, god-forbid, actually feel happy. White lines zipped along the dark road in front of them and a tandem of headlights raced down in the opposite direction. They illuminated the interior of the rental car just long enough for her to see him smile. The radio held onto one of the last stations before they left the county and pushed further into the dark.

Hold me closer, tiny dancer

Count the headlights on the highway

Lay me down in sheets of linen

You had a busy day today

“Well, I’d say that’s pretty appropriate wouldn’t you?” Mulder asked while he adjusted his hands on the wheel, flexing his fingers as Elton continued another chorus. Scully grinned and shook her head then thought about how it felt to twirl and sway with him in that small club. Cher sang out about walking in Memphis as Mulder’s arm circled Scully’s waist, innocent like a high school dance. The megawatt smile that could have powered the whole room as he held her hand.

“Maybe the universe is sending us a message,” she coyly replied.

“You mean like our story isn’t over yet?” he playfully countered while turning down the volume on the radio. She hummed in response and shifted in the seat. Another set of headlights swept past, white lines continued their march to the horizon. She placed her left hand on the bench seat of the sedan and slid it across the rough microfiber closer towards the center. He reached his right hand down and linked his little finger around hers. She softened against the back of the passenger side, savoring the small connection. It felt different than so many of the other handholds and caresses they bestowed on one another. With this chaste gesture she realized he wasn’t there as a desperate lifeline; he wasn’t pulling her out of the dark into safety. He was there, simply sharing the same tender moment with her on a quiet highway.

----

Minutes passed by. The cool glass of the window against Scully’s cheek roused her; the radio had lost its signal miles ago resulting in the low drone of tires on the road. Mulder slipped his hand from hers to stifle a yawn.

“I think I might find a place to stop for the night. I’m getting a bit of road hypnosis and you look like you could use some rest.”

“That might not be a bad idea.” She caught his yawn while brushing her hair behind her ears. The green highway signs offered little refuge for several miles, but eventually Mulder spied something of interest and pulled the rental over to the offramp. The first available hotel was a step up from their usual digs while on assignment. Scully offered to wait in the car while he went inside to check-in. She stared at her hands then knitted her fingers together. Her mind wandered back to the quiet moments on the drive. Snippets of conversations, Mulder’s chuckle when she offered a humorous comment about comic book monsters. The feeling of his finger wrapped around hers as their hands rested comfortably on the center seat.

The tide of arousal pulled at her center. She placed her hands between her knees and chided herself for feeling so eager so quickly. Her thigh muscles twitched as she squeezed them against her fingers. Not since their trip to Florida had she felt like this. Although, that night she only found satisfaction by her own hand, fantasizing about his touch as he traced the curves of her body. Scully let her eyes close briefly, remembering the need and desire to be with him that night; conference be damned. And now here she was again, in another rental car, another road trip, and another hotel.

What was taking Mulder so long? Maybe there are no vacancies.

Right on cue, he left the front desk and walked around the front of the car. Mulder got in and started to slowly drive away.

“The room is down on this side of the building. I’ll see if I can get a spot out front.”

“Glad they had something available,” Scully said after clearing her throat. Mulder parked the car and cut the engine. The night air was crisp with a gentle breeze rolling down from the highway. They retrieved their well-travelled overnight bags from the trunk and headed for the door. Scully presented her palm to accept her room key, however Mulder stalled then dangled a solitary key from his index finger. She cocked her head and started to say something but he beat her to it.

“I used my credit card. Didn’t want this little side trip to show up on the Bureau expense report.”

“Mulder, I —” Her voice trailed off. That high level of unspoken communication was making its presence known.

He entered first and turned on the light to survey the modest room, she followed close behind. He tossed his bag on the second bed and she set hers down in the same spot. Mulder stood dangerously close then suddenly reached for her cheek. The topography of Scully’s face could be charted if he was blindfolded. He adored the angles of her cheekbones, the slope of her nose, the bow of her lips. Even in the glow of a harsh yellow hotel lamp she was radiant.

Scully felt her cheeks flush and she leaned into his hand. A ragged exhale surprised her but he didn’t seem to notice. He continued his journey down along her neck, along her shoulder, and ending at her wrist. The brush of his fingers across the dorsum of her hand caused her to hold her breath. Mulder traced the lines of her delicate metacarpal bones with the pad of his middle finger ending at the space between her thumb and index finger. On instinct she turned her hand over and let him draw a line down her palm, charting a course over the heartline. Her skin felt electric under his touch. He then took her hand to his lips and slowly, tenderly, kissed each knuckle. Eyes never left hers, a lust-laden blink was the only thing that separated the connection. She uncurled her fingers from him and brought her hand to his cheek. Without hesitation, Scully pulled him close and firmly kissed his surprisingly soft lips. She had imagined how they would feel against hers. She wanted to be kissed to feel alive, to feel something other than fear and pain. She was tired of the kiss on the cheek, the traditional goodbye kiss, the one that was all too common when she was at the hospital. Now, she wanted to be kissed to feel renewed and loved.

“Wait, Scully, wait,” Mulder said breathlessly as he rested his forehead against hers. She held onto the back of his neck, smoothing the short tufts of hair.

“Why?” The question came fast and her eyes squeezed shut, focusing instead on the tight lines of his neck under her fingertips.

“If we do this... “ he whispered as he blessed her furrowed brow.

“I want nothing more than this; than you,” she answered with both hands framing his face. He pressed back to look at her, the glimmer of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Her thumbs moved to his lips and he pursed against them. Her chin lifted and she pulled him close, kissing him firmly. Oxytocin flooded her brain when his tongue danced with hers. His choreography was on point with subtle twists and turns. She felt like she was floating. She wanted more and boldly started to loosen his tie.

Suit jackets were hastily discarded. Mulder tugged at her ribbed shirt to release it from the waistband of her pants. She gasped when his hands slipped under the material and skimmed her waist then moved up her back. She worked to catch him up, fumbling with the buttons on his dress shirt but he pushed back, quickly pulling the stubborn garment over his head. It fell to the floor along with his tie. She removed her shirt and for a moment had a pang of modesty standing in front of him in a basic bra, wishing she had worn something with a little more lace. Her gaze washed over his torso, admiring him without the physician’s veil. Short fingernails traced the tracks of his abdominals and her soft downward gaze took notice of the generous hard-on straining against his pants.

Time slowed down as they embraced, lips met over and over. His fingers twisted lovingly in her hair. He leaned down and sucked on the side of her neck, the tip of his tongue caressed her throbbing pulse. His right hand cupped the soft fabric of her bra, the sweep of his thumb resulted in a perfectly puckered nipple. She felt a wonderful heat surge between her legs as he tasted her collarbone and nipped at her shoulder. Her knees quivered and her head rolled to the side, allowing him to guide the bra strap down her arm. He was rock hard against her lower abdomen. A mere breath was between them. She moved her hands to his hips though they didn’t stay long and instead ventured to stroke his cock.

“Ooh Scully,” Mulder sharply inhaled. He languidly licked his lips as she undid his belt and unzipped his fly. A well-trained hand caught him and teased the moist head. The ripples of his shaft graced her palm while she stroked, working like a fine-tuned piston. Soon she broke her rhythm thanks in part to his warm fingers pressing into her newly exposed left breast. Her stance wavered and she had to move to the bed, pulling him with her. Finally skin to skin. Lips had to connect once again. He brushed a wisp of hair from her cheek when he pulled away slightly.

“Touch me, Mulder,” she whispered. He gave a wry grin and eased her other breast out of the bra, watching her nipple stiffen when the cool air of the room hit her skin. She hummed sweetly while he toyed with the puckered skin of her areola, pinching the firm bud. He suckled and flicked her nipple with his tongue as she writhed underneath him. Her arms stretched overhead and gripped the bedspread, back arched slightly as he teased. His erection pressed into the valley of her hip and thigh. He echoed her subtle gyrations. Scully could feel the wetness spreading in between her legs. She desperately needed to undo her pants. Mulder took the hint and sweetly kissed her again before unfastening the small hook and working on the zipper.

Her belly hollowed as his hand slid down the front of her damp cotton underwear. Fingers brushed over her curls and dipped into the dewy slit.

“Yes…please touch me.”

His fingertips swirled, one became two when he found the button nestled in damp soft folds. She held her breasts, kneading the soft skin like a kitten. A gasp escaped when his pace quickened and his attention focused on plunging in and out of her pussy. Her hips rolled, the sound of slick skin, the musky perfume of her sex.

“God yes...” she exclaimed, trying to keep her ass pressed into the mattress while a shudder travelled down her core. She knew the buzzer was about to go, her back tingled and her clit throbbed. Her knees wanted to spread further. He reached down to stroke himself for a moment; high on desire. She would have taken over but sparks were collecting at the corners of her eyes.

“Come honey,” he cooed, “Come for me.”

“I want to…make me come,” she replied, “Make me…oh!” The alarm sounded and she let go; hips bucked against his hand as he tamed the hurricane. Moans of pleasure were stifled with her shoulder. She came back down to earth. He kissed her and rubbed his cock with her arousal. Her pants lowered further to give him room to enter. Lips parted, muscles twitched. He filled her up so well; as full as she could be.

“You feel amazing,” he exhaled. She hummed and her eyes closed heavily. He thrusted gently and she joined his rhythm. They drank each other up. Another wave was ready to crash. So many nights she had wanted this exact moment; a simple fuck on a hotel bed. Being half-dressed was even more sensual than if she was naked. Their clothes bunched and bundled, she dug her nails into his hips coaxing him to go faster. He gave a warning.

“I’m so close. I don’t want to…”

“It’s okay. Do it…god do it…”

That was all he needed to hear. He buried himself to the hilt, fucking her hard and deep. She held on as long as she could while he cried out and released. A final tremor sent her over the edge and she tumbled into a screaming orgasm. Her voice sounded different in her ears after hitting that plateau of pleasure.

Mulder smoothed her hair and traced a sweet caress along her cheek while they caught their breath. Slowly, he shifted to her side, soft and spent. She adjusted her pants and lay her head on his chest, arms tucked in close. He embraced her; always the safety net, the light in the dark, the hand to hold. Scully felt a deep vibration against her ear as he said something to the top of her head. She lifted slightly.

“What did you say?” a weary voice asked. He swallowed then said after a beat,

“I said…god, I love you.”

“Mulder…” She felt her cheeks go hot and her heart beat faster

“Just wanted you to know,” he said with a stroke of her freckled shoulder. She untucked an arm and draped it across him, burying her head further in his chest, pulling him closer. With a content exhale she replied,

“And I love you.”

#i wrote this #smut #msr #xfsmut2021 #XF fanfic exchange #season five #first time #friends to lovers #my fic #writing prompt

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1962dude420-blog · 3 years

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Today we remember the passing of Jani Lane who Died: August 11, 2011 in Woodland Hills, California

Jani Lane (born John Kennedy Oswald; February 1, 1964 – August 11, 2011) was an American recording artist and the lead vocalist, frontman, lyricist and main songwriter for the glam metal band Warrant. From Hollywood, California, the band experienced success from 1989 to 1996 with five albums reaching international sales of over 10 million. Lane left Warrant in 2004 and again in 2008 after a brief reunion. Lane also released a solo album, Back Down to One, in 2003, and the album Love the Sin, Hate the Sinner with a new group, Saints of the Underground, in 2008. Lane contributed lead vocals and songwriting to various projects throughout his career.

Lane was born John Kennedy Oswald (later changed to John Patrick Oswald), on February 1, 1964 in Akron, Ohio to Robert and Eileen Oswald. He was raised in Brimfield with four older siblings: sisters Marcine Williams, Michelle Robinson and Victoria Ley, plus older brother Eric, already an accomplished guitarist. With sisters Micki and Vicky and brother Eric harmonizing and playing guitar, Lane taught himself to play drums, guitar and piano by ear by age five. He grew up listening to Cleveland rock station WMMS (100.7 FM "The Buzzard") and was introduced to a variety of music by his older siblings.

With connections from siblings Eric and Vicky in and around the music scene (and with his parents' help), Lane made a name for himself at a very young age. He played drums under the pseudonym "Mitch Dynamite" in clubs by age 11 and with a local band "Pokerface." By that time, his siblings had left for college or marriage, although Vicky was still active in the entertainment industry in northeast Ohio and southwest Florida. Due to Vicky's numerous connections, Lane was able to network with industry execs in pursuit of his dream. Lane graduated from Field High School, in Mogadore, Ohio, a nearby city to Brimfield in 1982.

Lane is credited as the vocalist/drummer on Warrant's Latest and Greatest CD. Throughout his career, Lane would sometimes play drums/acoustic guitar and piano with his band and played the drums in various formats and gigs with other musicians.

After high school, Lane joined the band Cyren, featuring vocalist Skip Hammonds, guitarist John Weakland, bassist Don Hoover (and later Rusty Fohner) with Lane on drums and vocals. Many of Cyren's shows opened for a popular local band called Risque'. When their bassist, Al Collins, noticed Lane's vocal talents, he convinced Lane to form a new band they eventually called Dorian Gray. The new band also included Steven Chamberlin on drums and Dave Chamberlin on lead guitar. Dorian Gray was designed to have Lane as the lead vocalist and to perform original material, but Lane wasn't ready to be the lead singer and quickly returned to the drum kit. Billy Denmead was hired as lead vocalist and rhythm guitarist. After only a few shows, Collins left the band, vowing to put a band together when Lane was ready to be a lead vocalist.

Lane moved to Florida in 1983 with Dorian Gray. He eventually formed Plain Jane with Collins and Chamberlin, adopting the stage name "Jani Lane" (Chamberlin would also soon rechristen himself Steven Sweet). He took the name "Jani" from his German grandparents, who spelled his name "Jani" and pronounced it "Yay-nee."

Lane began vocal training with vocal coach/trainer Ron Feldmann, who introduced him to Creative Engineering, Inc. in Orlando. Lane worked there as a programmer of the animatronic character Dook LaRue, the drummer for The Rock-afire Explosion. His vocal debut was at The Station in Fern Park, Florida.

Lane, Collins, and Chamberlin recorded the first Plain Jane four-track demos at their rented house in Winter Park, Florida. Although reluctant to leave Florida, they rented a trailer in the spring of 1984 and moved to California with hopes of landing a record deal. They were broke by the time they landed at the Hollywood Bowl Motel and resorted to making sandwiches with mustard packets while taking turns calling their parents for cash.

Struggling to make ends meet as a musician, Lane resorted to working in a pornographic video warehouse. The band, along with a new road crew and a few girlfriends, pooled their wages and lived in a two-bedroom condominium rented by new Plain Jane guitarist Paul Noble. At one time there were 13 people living in the crowded space.

By 1985, Plain Jane had become a regular feature on the Los Angeles club circuit and opened many shows for a band called Warrant. Plain Jane's bassist and guitarist both left the band on the same day Warrant's singer and drummer quit. Erik Turner, who had founded Warrant in July 1984, was impressed by Plain Jane's songwriting and vocal performance and invited Lane and Sweet to jam with his band at Hollywood's db Sound in September 1986.

After generating notoriety on the club circuit, Warrant began to attract the attention of record labels. Following an abortive deal with A&M Records over a contribution to the soundtrack for the motion picture Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, the band signed with Columbia Records. The Columbia deal came via the partnering of Warrant and manager Tom Hulett, known for working with The Beach Boys, Elvis Presley, The Moody Blues and others. Hulett became Lane's mentor and friend until Hulett's death from cancer in 1993.

As lead vocalist with Warrant, Lane wrote all of the material for the band's 1989 debut double platinum album, Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich, including four Top 40 hit singles: "Down Boys", "Sometimes She Cries", "Big Talk" and the No. 2 Billboard Hot 100 hit "Heaven." The album peaked at no. 10 on The Billboard 200. Lane also wrote four Top 40 hit singles ("Cherry Pie," "I Saw Red," "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and "Blind Faith") for the second album, the 1990 double platinum Cherry Pie, which peaked at no. 7 on the Billboard 200. Lane also co-wrote and performed with Warrant the song "The Power" in the 1992 movie Gladiator. In 1992, Warrant released Dog Eat Dog, their gold third album, which peaked at no. 25 on the Billboard 200.

Lane left Warrant in March 1993 to pursue a solo career. He returned six months later, helping the band secure a new record with Tom Lipsky of CMC International. Warrant recorded Ultraphobic in 1995, Belly to Belly in 1996, Greatest & Latest in 1999 and a cover album, Under the Influence, in 2001.

Due to personal and business disagreements, Lane left Warrant again in 2004. In January 2008, the band's agent, The William Morris Agency, issued a new photograph of the band with Lane prominently featured, confirming his return to the band. It was the first time that all original members had been in the band since 1993. The band's first show with all original members was in May 2008 in Nashville, Tennessee. Warrant performed a series of shows during the summer of 2008, but by September, the band and Lane agreed to move forward separately due to "too much water under the bridge." Warrant and Lane both continued to perform Lane's compositions live and Lane continued to write for himself and other artists.

Lane became involved in acting in the early 1990s. He made a brief appearance in Caged Fear and appeared in High Strung in 1991.

In 1993, Lane started working on his first solo project. Titled "Jabberwocky," the album represented a significant musical departure from previous work. Between 1997 and 2000, demos of Lane's solo material began surfacing on the Internet, with some bids on eBay reaching an estimated $100 per copy. In 2002, Lane decided to postpone the "Jabberwocky" project and released a new project as his debut solo album. The "Jabberwocky" project remained unreleased.

Lane's official debut solo album, Back Down to One, was released on June 17, 2003 through Z Records and in the U.S. in 2006 on Immortal/Sidewinder Records. It carried a "power pop" sound more closely aligned with the sound of Warrant than "Jabberwocky." Shortly after the album's release, Lane was admitted to a rehabilitation center for alcohol and drug-related exhaustion.

In the fall of 2004, Lane contributed lead vocals for the first ever theme song to a novel, Billy McCarthy's "The Devil of Shakespeare," along with James Young from Styx, Ron Flynt of 20/20 and Chip Z'Nuff of Enuff Z'Nuff.

Lane contributed vocals on the track "Bastille Day" and "2112 Overture/Temples of Syrinx" for the Magna Carta 2005 Rush tribute album "Subdivisions."

Lane had success with the "VH1 Classic Metal Mania: Stripped" discs, where the acoustic version of "I Saw Red" was included on disc 1, a new acoustic swinging version of "Cherry Pie" featured on disc 2, and a new acoustic version of "Heaven" featured on disc 3.

In 2005, Lane became a fan favorite on the popular VH1 series Celebrity Fit Club 2. His problems with alcohol were highlighted and many viewers supported his efforts at recovery.

With the reissue and U.S. release of "Back Down to One" in 2006, Lane attempted to restart his version of Warrant. Although "Back Down to One" was credited as a solo release, Lane assembled a new touring band called "Jani Lane's Warrant." The band's first shows in Michigan were stopped by legal action from former bandmates objecting to his use of the Warrant logo on his posters. Lane subsequently continued touring without the Warrant name and logo.

Lane lent his vocals to numerous tribute CDs during the 2000s. In 2007, he released a solo cover album titled "Photograph," featuring a collection of his tribute contributions.

Keri Kelli and Lane wrote a song for Alice Cooper titled "The One That Got Away." It was recorded by Cooper on his 2008 record Along Came a Spider. Lane also finished work on a side project, Saints of the Underground, which included Kelli and Bobby Blotzer and Robbie Crane, (both from Ratt). Their album, Love the Sin, Hate the Sinner, was released on April 22, 2008 by Warrior Records, and was mixed by producer/engineer Andy Johns, who'd worked with The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin. The album featured additional bass work by Chuck Wright (Quiet Riot, House of Lords). The band was originally called "Angel City Outlaws" when they posted their first two promo singles, "Bruised" and "Exit."

In summer 2010, Lane toured with Great White, filling in for singer Jack Russell, who was recuperating from surgery after suffering internal complications.

On August 11, 2011, the Los Angeles Police Department and local news stations announced that Lane was found dead of acute alcohol poisoning at a Comfort Inn hotel in Woodland Hills, California at the age of 47. Lane was pronounced dead by fire department personnel who responded to a call shortly before 5:30 p.m.

#August 11 #2011 #R.I.P.#Jani Lane #Warrant

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claybefree · 3 years

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Seeing as it's the twentieth anniversary, I guess I should post this again

September Third, Two Thousand and Nine

For years whenever anyone asked me when my son Henry was born I’d start to say September instead of August 25, 2001. Sunday he had his eighth birthday party at his mother’s house, and I stayed here. Most of his mother’s friends don’t care for me much. The feeling is mutual. Tonight coming home from work I started stitching what I’m about to write together in my mind and suddenly got very afraid. I thought for a moment that I was about to go get drunk, which might very likely be death for somebody like me. I was sure I was going to change direction of the truck, that I’d drive the same route I always did back then, that I would stand by the register and stare at the bottle in my hand without really knowing I where I was. I think it has to do with the weather finally changing and perhaps that Henry’s mom and I are no longer together. I sat on the porch of my little house and called a friend and told him all this. He listened and after a while I felt better, which is exactly how these things should go. When we decided we were done he told me I should go in and write all this down.

I worked on through that whole day. Most everybody else on the job had stopped and listened to each of the radios on the different floors or cried. The asshole Turks I was framing a bathroom for wouldn’t let me quit. They had tile to run. I found it made me feel better to keep going anyway. The laborers cussed me when I asked them to move so that I could use the table saw, a natural gathering spot on any job. They seemed to think I was calloused or hard-hearted and it was because I was from Tennessee. It just now occurred to me that maybe they were right.

That afternoon, when it was determined safe to walk across the bridges, most of the job, the other carpenters and trades-people, wandered home to Brooklyn or Queens. Me and the two left to close everything up had it different as we lived in Jersey. Anthony, the boss, was big and red-haired, red faced and lived in Hoboken. Duane was in charge of demolition and waste, was a little shorter and darker, and lived in Secaucus or maybe somewhere west of that I think. They squared off on each other frequently. It always reminded me of two walruses going at it on a beach.

Whenever we went out to the bar afterwards Anthony would have a Bud tall boy in each hand at all times, the waitress would come up with four for him whenever we sat down. On the job we liked to yell at each other, I once told him I was doing him a favor by giving him such an easy target, and he never missed an occasion to oblige me. Duane was a single dad, dark haired with deep sunken yet kind eyes that always seemed to have bags under them. One of the black laborers told him once he was the most Uncle Fester looking motherfucker he had ever seen. I tended to agree.

We locked the job up at four I think, humped it across the park through the smoke to the A-train. There was smoke forming a mist around the trees of central park that day. There were no flower children loitering at Yoko’s “Imagine” monument to barge through. Our thinking was to get downtown to the Path train. We had no idea that two of the stations had been destroyed. It didn’t matter, we were underground fifteen minutes before Anthony vetoed the idea. People were running wild through the stations, on the trains, everything was panic and Oh Fuck and Anthony had no intention of being underground. He had a funny look on his face that I couldn’t figure out. It wouldn't occur to me until later that the big man was very afraid.

In the years since I have always wondered why people have reacted so strongly from that day. Later we would go to war because of a something that happened one day in New York City and this has always seemed really strange to me. I guess what I mean is that I was there and never wanted to kill anybody because of it. Most of the time I just thought it was very strange and sad and mostly just very interesting. I only remember ever crying about it twice. The first time was a few months afterward, I had quit Anthony to stay home with Henry. Part of our routine was to watch Sesame Street. One day in the winter there was a skit where Elmo got very scared because of some smoke and noise that was never identified. I suppose in this case it was a nameless fear. A New York City fireman came on screen and hugged him, told him it was okay to be scared, Elmo, and that everything would be alright. I remember little red furry Elmo hugged the fireman tight. I held Henry in my lap and cried into his fine blonde hair.

It was the fireman that did it. I still get upset when I think about the firemen. I have had a lot of trouble with cops in different times in my life, but I never had a problem with any fireman I ever encountered, drunk or otherwise. They seem to me to be a different animal entirely.

Anthony, Duane and me ran into two firemen on the deck of the cruise boat that carried us across to Weehawken. They came in and collapsed on the painted metal floor, shedding boots and letting their helmets roll away. Some people applauded weakly, others asked questions, they just stared at us and said nothing. It didn’t occur to me until much later they were probably the only ones from their station who lived. Other men that for years they worked with, ate and fought with, got drunk with were dead. There was a bar I frequented in Jersey City a few blocks from our house where a couple of weeks later I saw three firemen in dress uniforms. One was between his partner on a stool and the third who was older and may have been a captain. The captain was clearly upset, swaggering and poking the other two in the chest. Everybody else was trying hard not to pay attention to what seemed about to develop into a fight. I think later I saw the old man leaning against the bar and weeping openly, he must have been sixty at least.

I got drunk in this bar Sept. 10th while my wife and kid slept back home. She’d start nursing and pass out with him and I’d head out to roam. The thing I liked about this place was the Sinatra on the jukebox, so that night I loaded it up and sat at the bar listening. I think it was the first time I’d ever heard “Summer Wind.” The tattooed brunette tending bar must have thought it was cute because she serenaded me, singing along with a couple of the songs. There was another man with a mustache further down the line who was putting the blast on her and didn’t seem to like me much so I got the fuck out early. By “early” I mean I didn’t close the place.

I won’t tell you what we saw on the boat ride across the Hudson, you’ve seen it already. We unloaded at Weehawken and everyone, thousands of high end refugees really, started walking south towards Hoboken where we had been told there were buses waiting to take us home. I noticed that even wearing boots, the three of us walked faster than the others. We were construction workers living and working around Manhattan and we were very good at walking. I remember being comforted by walking with them. Hundreds of buses lined the streets of Hoboken and the three of us walked the length of that town. Anthony broke off about halfway to head home. A couple of weeks later I showed up having laid out drunk for two days and told him I had come for my tools. He looked at me and didn’t say a word. He mailed me my check. I haven’t seen the man since.

Duane and me trudged the rest of Hoboken together. I heard that not soon after I left he was let go to cut costs and that not long after that he got into a bad time with a prostitute on rt. 1 & 9. The smoke in Hoboken was thicker than in the city and the fumes from streets filled with idling buses finally got my hangover to officially kick in. I told Duane about how I’d had “Summer Wind” playing as background music in my head all day. He laughed and began singing the song, each line perfectly. We got through the crowd easily, after hours of walking together we had finally hit a stride together. We were marching, really. There was the giant blue sky of the day broken intermittently by smoke and there was the roar of diesel noise and Hoboken and Duane singing Summer Wind to me; some punk kid from Tennessee who had no business being there.

The only other incident I remember having to cry because of some assholes who decided to fly planes into tall buildings was coming across the Manhattan bridge one night after carrying my sister-in-law home to Park Slope. She would come over most nights to hang out with the baby, and around eleven or so and in various states of sobriety I’d be asked to drive her back home. I never hated the terrorists for invoking a War of Terror, I hated them for causing enough terror that it fucked the roads up. Shit got closed for what seemed no fucking reason whatsoever. One day coming back from the pediatrician’s office, Henry got stuck howling in his car seat for four hours because the Holland Tunnel was handling too much traffic and we were too afraid to take him out of it because of the cops everywhere. My sister-in-law and I spent a lot of time in the Saturn together on the nights I drove her home. I can’t remember what we talked about, probably everything. I haven't spoken to my sister-in-law since I moved out last summer.

This particular night the Brooklyn Bridge was only operating east-bound into Brooklyn so after I dropped her off I was diverted back across the Manhattan Bridge in order to get back into the city and eventually home. The Manhattan Bridge back then was still under renovation and I guess has always been the ugly, cross-eyed cousin of the Brooklyn Bridge. I got stuck on it, moving slower than shit, and staring at trash and old faded plywood encasing the little bit of wrought iron and Neo-Classical elements that were left up by the arch. Off to the left t seemed as though the entirety of Downtown was illuminated from the work lights that were set up down by Ground Zero. Downtown glowed with lights that were set up to look for people that weren’t there anymore. The DJ on WFMU that night was playing a super slowed down cover of the B-52’s Song for a Future Generation. If you’ve heard it, you’ve probably laughed, it’s a ridiculously chirpy pop song. I’ve always loved it. The lyrics go a little like this:

Wanna be the ruler of the galaxy

Wanna be the king of the universe

Let`s meet and have a baby now

In between each stanza, the different members give spoken-word tidbits of information about themselves. For example Ricky, the original guitarist, was a Pisces and “loved computers and hot tamales.“ Ricky also died from AIDS back in 1985 when people still had no idea what the disease was.

The version I heard that night had slowed the tempo to that of a blues song. The dip-shit ironic hipster that sang it reflected this. Stuck on the bridge it felt as though I was listening to a lament. What reduced me to tears, smoking Winstons in my little Saturn station wagon, was the feeling that whatever was left of innocence had recently been or was about to be brutally murdered by pig-face, ignorant men. Wanna be the first lady of infinity. Wanna be the nicest guy on earth. Let's meet and have a baby now.

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sergeant-donny-donowitz · 3 years

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Reasons (Donny x Fem!Reader)

@owba-chan @war-obsessed @inglourious-imagines @tammykelly @struggling-bee @frozenhuntress67 @kwyloz @sodapop182 @marlenemarauders @what-the--curtains @taikawho @spookybearlandtaco Let me know if you wanna be added to the IB or OUATIH taglists! :)

*TW: Single mother, war/violence

Requested by @redrosewritingsstuff

********************

You'd been working with the basterds for a while now as a nurse, though you were an agent for the MI6 once. There was a botched mission, and in order to keep yourself alive, you had to leave the MI6. But, your department also happened to owe a favor to the OSS. For all intents and purposes you were considered a ghost. You did not exist in either organizations' paper work. Anything that could hint at your transfer was heavily redacted. Your aliases and IDs were burned, and you were on your way. You stayed behind the scenes as much as possible. Your mission was now to be the basterds' saving grace.

You didn't talk much, but you weren't quite on the same level as Hugo. But, if any of the basterds could get you to laugh a little, it was Donny.

You were sitting on your own, looking intently at a locket, enclosed in your fist. Donny sat by you, "What'cha got there?" You looked away for a moment, smiling, but shook your head.

Donny's voice was softer when he noticed the locket. To him, (and most people) a locket like that meant there was already someone out there with your heart. He respected that, but he couldn't take seeing you upset. "Shoulda guessed." He chuckled, trying to soften you up a bit. "He got a name?" You shook your head, smiling a little. You were amused. "No. It's not like that." You didn't say anything else, and for once, Donny didn't either. You just sat there together, and he wondered what that meant. In war, most of the possibilities were grim. *********** Time went by, you marched through the forest with the basterds, near the edge of a village. Things had been too quiet lately, especially knowing there was a patrol you had been looking for. You found them, as you always did. The nazis had cornered a family, threatening the life of a child, who was maybe three or four years old. You heard the mother's screams, saw the father being beaten. You didn't think twice, you jumped in between them all, blowing your own cover and that of the basterds. You acted while the boys still hadn't realized what was happening. You were nearly killed, but Donny and Hugo rushed in to help. In the end, you saved the family. Aldo had the nazi scalps to prove it. But, he wasn't happy. You had jumped in without a loaded gun, and no knife. You were the nurse, but you were also a basterd. You could not be replaced. None of them could. "Of all the stupid, wreckless shit I seen done by soldiers, this is damn near at the top of the list. And if there's one thing we ain't need way out here, L/N, it's goddamn impulsiveness." You sighed, lowered your head, and rested your hands against a dusty table top in your hideout. He was right. But you couldn't help it. You had to save that family. That kid had a whole life ahead. You couldn't stand by and wait for Aldo’s orders. Aldo sighed, knowing perhaps he had been a little too hard. After all, you did save a family, as the basterds should, granted, you could have been a little more prepared. "Y/n, there ain't many nurses out here we can trust. We lose you, we lose any chance of us makin' it to the end. Y'understand?" "Perfectly." You murmured, still not fully willing to analyze what had happened that day. *****

Not long after, you were all sharing a drink together in your hideout. After everyone had gone to bed, you hung around on your own, with your locket in your hand. "Y/n?" You needed to say it. You didn't know why. You didn't care if you sounded like a coward, or like a cliche. "I've got to get home, Donny." Donny was caught off guard. From what he knew, you were one of the best basterds. It never crossed his mind that you'd ever say something like that. But he understood. You were all only human, at the end of the day. "We all do, kid." You were silent again, and he said, "If it's about today...you did what anyone would have done. Aldo didn't mean it. We just can't afford to lose ya. We lost Andy, Simon, and Michael. We can't lose any more basterds. That's all he meant by it." You shook your head, "You don't understand..." "Let me." His hand rested on yours, and he looked into your eyes. "He was just a baby, Donny. Three, maybe four at most. What was I supposed to do?" "Y/n." He kept his voice low, warning with his eyes that there were unkind ears around. But, he was also trying to calm you. "You did the right thing." You sighed, your grip around the locket loosened, and you set it on the table. "Go ahead." Donny raised his eyebrow for a moment, then reached for the locket. The moment he looked at the tiny, oval, black and white photograph, his heart broke. It was a picture of a baby. "She'll be four years old in a month." You smiled softly, though your heart was breaking, "She ain't seen me since. This is the only picture of Abby that I have. If I go back at all...she won't remember me." "What? No! Y/n, don't say that, she will! She's...your..." Donny was still processing it, but he managed to say, "You're a fucking hero, Y/n. You're unforgettable..." Donny meant every word. "How can I be when I was never there for her at all? They took her from me, they said I was an unfit mother." You looked down, "I was young. I wasn't married. Her father was killed in the Pacific, he never had a chance to know. I had nothing. Our town was bombed, I couldn't take care of her the way she needed. I couldn't keep her safe, Donny." You looked at him with teary eyes and he shook his head, "Hey, don't say that," as he wrapped his hands around your shoulders. "You did keep her safe. You did the hardest thing a mother could do! She's safe because of that. She's waiting for you. You'll get her back. I'll make sure. I promise." "Don't say things you don't mean." "I don't." When you looked at him you knew he meant that. You couldn't help but cry into his shoulder, and he didn't mind. As the years went on, you became closer to all the basterds, but in Donny you confided the most. You realized then, it was because you loved him the most. It was 1945 now. Wicki and Hugo had been hurt. Bridget hardly had any hope in any of the basterds, but she asked if any of them could speak a language other than English. You spoke Italian. (A lot better than Aldo did, at least.) Donny turned around. He was going to volunteer himself. He didn't want to lose you. He couldn't imagine a life without you. He couldn't lose you, and he knew he wasn't the only one. "Y/n, you can't." "It's the only way, Donny." "No, it's not." "You promised," you didn't have to remind him. You were their only clear chance at pulling off the Italian charade. If the basterds failed operation Kino, the war would go on, maybe even for years. Donny knew that. He knew how much was at stake. So the mission went on. You went with him, Bridget, Omar, and Aldo to the cinema. Things didn't go as planned, but with the basterds, they never really did. "Donny. Don't do this." He looked at you with wide eyes, his voice was soft for a moment, "I'm sorry, Y/n." At the very last second, he locked you out of the theater. You pushed against the door as Donny gripped it, "Y/n don't make this harder than it has to be." "Donny let me in." "You know I can't do that." He looked you in the eyes, but he couldn't bring himself to say it. "Don't..." You couldn't say goodbye either. "Donny don't do this." "I promised." He pushed you and locked the door as he ran back through the inferno to find Omar. When smoke rose to the sky and ash and glass covered the street, you thought it was the last you'd ever see of Donny. But it was only the beginning. When you gave up, you tried to force back tears as your knees grew weak. Then you saw the impossible. Omar and Donny limped out together. "Donny!? Omar!" "Promised I'd make sure, didn't I?" He chuckled as he sat down by you, as the three of you watched the war end right before your eyes. ***** Donny couldn't wait to see his family, but he figured he'd waited so long, he could wait just a little longer. It was the day the basterds were receiving the medal of honor, but Donny was standing with you in a train station somewhere in the countryside of England. He refused to be there if Hans Landa was receiving the medal of honor. Hugo was 100% planning a million ways to get rid of Hans, and a million more to get away with it, but...well, once a basterd, always a basterd.

Anyway, Donny figured he'd get his in the mail, though he did hope his little brother didn't open it before he got home. You wouldn't get one at all, because, well, for all intents and purposes, you were a "ghost,". You didn't mind. You didn't care for crowds.

Besides, you just couldn't wait another day. You called in every favor you could to make this happen. Donny was there for you every step of the way, just like he said he would be.

This should have been goodbye. You were all flown from France to Britain when some of the injured basterds had healed enough. From there, they'd go to Washington D.C for the ceremony, even Archie and Bridget were going. After that, they would all go home. Hirschberg hadn't really thought things through and asked, "What could be more important than a medal of honor right now?" He figured you could at least be there one last time for them. He wasn't really that good at saying goodbye. He never had been. Omar rolled his eyed, and "Dumbass." "What?!" Hirschberg turned in confusion, and Smitty said, "Her kid, that's what!" "Ohhh..." He nodded, finally realizing as he hugged you. "At least promise to visit?" "I will," You smiled. You figured you could make it to a basterd reunion every once in a while. Besides, you'd already promised all the other basterds you would. You watched them all go. Then it was just you and Donny. He looked around excitedly at the city, "Where we headin', kid?" He grinned in excitement. There was not a hint of regret. He really wanted to stay by your side no matter what, and it broke your heart to love a man so much. He'd have to go eventually... "I thought you were just going to stay to say goodbye..." "Well....I could walk you to the train station!" You smiled, "But you have a flight at noon!" "Ah, I can just run back." He shrugged, "Come on, doll." He walked you to the train station, but then convinced you he could stay with you till you got to the country side. He convinced himself he'd just fly home some other day.

**** He looked around at the blue sky, the fluffy white clouds scattered. The incessant hum of overhead planes and military engines was replaced by the chirps of birds and wind in the trees. "Thought England's always gray and rainy," he laughed, and you said, "Not always," You smiled, but your breath escaped your reach, "Not now..." You saw her. You walked toward her, through the crowd. She wasn't the tiny baby you had to give up years ago, but she was still your little girl. You knew that smile anywhere. She saw you before the social worker did. "Mama!" The tiny toddler ran to you before you could even process it all. How she knew you? Well, you'd later find out she slept with a picture of you under her pillow. That picture and a teddy bear you gave her when she was a day old were the only things in the world she could call her own. "Y/n?" Meanwhile, Donny turned around searching for you. He ran through the crowd, and slowed down, and walked with a smile when he figured out what had happened. Abby was basically a tiny version of you, though her eyes were a different color than yours, they had the same light in them. Donny had told himself he wouldn't stay. You had a family to care of. You had a whole life in England. He had a life to get back to in Boston, too. He told himself that for years. It had some truth to it, but you quickly became his world when there were days the sun refused to shine. But, now that the war was over, how could he forget all that you were to him? Just like that? He told himself he'd just walk you to the station. Then he told himself he'd just stay for the train ride, remembering England being nice on the brief time he had been there before being sent to France. But now that it was time to go, he was out of excuses. "Donny, this is Abby. Abby, this is Donny." Abby giggled and saluted him, like she'd seen so many do on newsreels. Donny laughed as he saluted her back, "Cutest soldier you got there, Y/n." You chuckled as you picked Abby up, never wanting to let go, though you realized you couldn't let go of Donny's hand either. "Miss L/n." The social worker waited with a patient smile with a stack of papers. "RIght then," You explained to Abby you would only be a minute, then looked to Donny. You didn't even have to ask. He was a natural, after all, he had a little brother and plenty of little cousins. He had Abby laughing and takling in no time while you signed the papers.

"Donny..." He was sitting on the ground with Abby sitting by him, watching the trains go by as he told her a story that had her laughing and your heart melting. He looked up at you, and his heart felt heavy. He was out of excuses to stay. "Would you like to come over for tea?" You smiled as you picked Abby up. "Tea?" He was caught off guard for a moment, but he smiled and nodded. It was a long trip back to London. Even longer counting the cab ride to your place. The war had gone by in a moment with you by his side, but he wondered, what was wartime to a lifetime with you? "That would be nice," He smiled, taking your hand, seeing a lifetime in your eyes. London, Boston, it didn't matter. In that moment, he knew if he went he would never run out of excuses to stay. You and Abby were all the reasons he ever needed.

#Inglourious Basterds #inglourious basterds imagine #Donny Donowitz #donny donowitz imagine #donny donowitz x reader #aldo raine #hugo stiglitz #Omar Ulmer #smithson utivich #gerold hirschberg #Wilhelm Wicki

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mae-gi-writes · 4 years

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Somebody Loves You | Kevin Moon (The Boyz Imagine)

Bandmates au! in which Kevin finally realizes that the love he’s looking for is standing right here beside him.

Genre: angst, fluff at the end, friends to lovers au, bandmates au.

Words: 1.6k-ish?

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All she could remember were the tears on his face.

And then, then came the heartbreak. Along with that, the sad songs bouncing off his piano keys like soulful siren singing melodies about the dead and haunting her in her sleep. The floor was always littered with crumbled paper and when Y/N had enough courage to smooth one out, realized that they were nothing more than lyrics singing of a broken heart.

The break up had come unexpectedly. A quick slap in the face, as she liked to call it. But after that day, Kevin was never the same. Oh he tried, tried his best to fake it behind a cracked mask that always managed to crumble half-way throughout the day, but Y/N knew him like the back of her hand, knew exactly the slightest microscopic expressions that shifted in his face, which made her even more aware of his countenance every single time.

One time, she found him curled up on the corner of the couch in their small practice room -- tucked away in one of the school’s back buildings that nobody ever ventured to -- with tears cascading down his face in crystal translucent jewels, carving paths along his cheeks and dripping off his jaw as he kept his eyes averted from her own.

“Kevin,” Y/N sighed, before plopping herself down next to him, “did you eat?”

The young man shook his head. Of course he hadn’t. Nothing much interested him these days.

She made a frustrated sound, “you can’t keep doing this to yourself, you know.”

“It hurts,” came his murmur, words choked with tears.

“I know it does Kev, but--” Y/N’s hand landed on his shoulder in a soft, warm caress, “you have to move on. She has.”

He sniffled for a few minutes more. Then, he wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve, gladly accepting the tissue she provided him upon noticing his struggle, “thanks,” he merely mumbled, a breath of words so quiet and weak she feared he might break in two.

“Come on,” Y/N’s hands went to cup his face before pulling up the corner of his lips with her thumbs. She grinned at him, “smile. Come on, it’s not the end of the world. You have me.”

A tear-filled chuckle escaped his chest, “yeah,” the corners of his lips tugged up slightly, “yeah I know.”

The next few weeks were swamped in a constant routine of practice and attending lectures whenever they weren’t too wiped out afterwards, which Kevin accepted the distractions with open arms. Slowly but surely, Y/N watched his expressions clear, his eyes getting lighter and lighter, chuckles coming a little easier to him now, and smiles gracing his face more often times than not. It was relieving, to say the least. Y/N’s heart couldn’t help but jump up in happiness whenever she remembered how far he’d come from the broken mess Kevin once was, though these facts were things she kept hidden like a secret she would carry to her grave.

She’d never tell him; how he’d stolen her heart, and that now she was his entirely if he wanted. No. She couldn’t, never had even before he even started dating his ex back then.

So imagine her shock when Kevin bounded up to her after her Marketing class to tell her:

“Miha texted me.”

Y/N blinked for a few seconds. The name was enough to make her stomach drop.

“What?” a frown fell like a dark shadow over her face, “What did she say? What did she want?”

He shuffled from one feet to another, clearly sensing the unfriendliness emanating from the girl before him, "well, she said a lot of stuff...about how she misses me. And how she wants to talk to me, clear things up because they way we left it was--" his words stopped short upon noticing the scowl spreading over Y/N's face faster than he could utter Miha's name. Instead, he asked, "what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're not going to meet her, are you?" Were the only words that she managed to splutter out of the multitudes of protests ringing through her mind.

"Well," he scratched the back of his head, looking strangely embarrassed, "I don't know, I thought maybe I should go, we didn't have any closure and--"

"Are you insane?"

Kevin blinked, "no, I just thought--"

"She broke your heart," Y/N shook her head and her fists impulsively clenched at her sides in hopes that she wouldn't sock him one. Frustration flared through her, "she broke up with you and left you in this mess by yourself. You-- You were terrible Kev, you weren't eating and you barely slept. Why would you want to go back to that?" She searched his eyes, attempted to seek out what was going on inside his brain, "why would you?"

"Look Y/N," she watched as Kevin's expression hardened, "I'm really grateful for you, I am. But it's no big deal, okay? It's just a lunch to talk things over."

"Just a lunch?" She laughed, though it sounded empty, "there's no such thing as 'just a lunch'. "

"Why do you even hate her so much? She didn"t do anything to you--"

"You know what? No." Y/n threw her hands in mock surrender, "you do what you want. I'm done. I want no part in this."

"What's wrong with you?" Kevin's voice rose with his anger. It was clear that he was just as rattled as she was, "why are you acting like it's such a big deal?"

How dare he say that.

Anger vibrated through her chest. Invaded her lungs.

Suddenly, it gelt all too hard to breathe.

How dare he, when all she had done was be there for him? When she had vaught him with open arms and nursed his bruised heart back to life.

How dare he.

"How dare you," her voice shook with restrained anger, "how dare you say that when all I've done was for your sake?"

"Y/N I didn't mean--"

"Yes you did!" She cut him off with a yell as tears pooled from the corner of her eyes, "you meant every single word and I'm not having any more of it! You--" she let out a slow, shaky breath through her mouth, body practically vibrating with rage, "you don't even see me, not in the way that I do.”

"What do you mean--"

"I love you, alright?" Her hand tugged at her hair, "I always did, Kev. And seeing you so broken, I hated myself for it. It hurt me as much as it did for you. I'm not going to stick around just to see it happen again."

And before waiting for Kevin to answer back Y/N swivelled on her heel and marched away with her head held high, even as tears wlowly dropped down her cheeks and her heart shook every step along the way.

For the next few weeks, Y/N aboided Kevin at all costs.

Not only was she swimming in huge embarrassment at the prospect of having confessed her somewhat undying love for him, but it did not help matters that she couldn't erase the image of his closed-off, hardened expression as they argued back and forth.

--------

It was obvious whom he'd chosen to side with. Y/N wasn't supposed to feel bitter -- actually hated herself for being so petty -- but she couldn't help it. It was like his presence was a ghost that haunted her every day life, a constant reminder that he wasn't here anymore.

So Y/N avoided the band practice room like the plague, skipped classes they shared, so much so that their drummer -- a cute quirky freshmen who went by the name of Eric -- decided to confront her right as she was about to exit her statistics course.

"Why aren't you coming to band practice lately?" Eric asked as he followed Y/N's footsteps echoing down the hall, "something's wrong. You wouldn't be acting this way otherwise. Tell me."

"Nothing's wrong," she muttered while dragging her feet, attempting not to scowl at the wall before her.

"Sure, of course nothing's wrong," Eric rolled his eyes, "that"s why you're sulking like a five year old child."

"Just leave me alone."

"Is this about Kevin?"

She stayed quiet. Reacting to his statement would just confirm his suspicions.

"It is, isn't it?" Eric continued while the girl struggled to keep her face void of emotion, "he's been acting all weird too. Hasn't been practicing as much, and apparently he's still talking to that ex of his-- which, by the way, I do not approve of -- but he looks off, Y/N. Like he doesn't even want to hang out anymore."

"Not my problem."

"Y/N," a hand fell upon her shoulder then. Eric squeezed her softly, "I'm not stupid. I know you guys fought for whatever reason. But for my sake, please come back. Come and and talk to him," he paused, then added a soft, "please."

Usually, a few prods from Eric here and there would prompt Y/N to make the first move. But not this time. She wasn't about to apologize to Kevin for having done nothing wrong. If anything, she was the one who should be apologized to!

Instead, Y/N took this chance to call up her mother who laid just a few hours away in the suburbs, asking if there was any possibility for a visit. A break would do her some good and by the older woman's delighted tone on the other side of the line, Y/N guessed that it would please her mother just as much. The older woman didn't hesitate to gush at the many dishes she would prepare for her only daughter, prompting Y/N to smile despite all the circumstances.

Trust her mother to make her feel loved when nobody else could.

And so, it was a few days later when Y/N packed her things for the weekend. She ambled out into the shared common room, bid a casual goodbye to her flatmates, before starting towards the train station, her heart already lifting with hope with every step that brought her closer to home.

Only for that hope to shatter when a familiar alto burst through the air.

"Y/N!"

Turning towards the sound, the said girl's eyebrows stitched into a frown upon noticing Kevin's figure running up to her as if he was the one about to his miss train.

"What do you want--" she didn't even have time to finish her sentence when Kevin's arms snatched her over to his chest, one of his hands weaving into her hair before he tilted his head and crashed his mouth down onto hers.

"Wha--" the words choked up in the back of her throat as Kevin moved his lips onto her own in the most sensual dance with a desperate, almost aggressive need. His hand at her waist tightened, slipping underneath her shirt and causing her to gasp, electric tingles shooting up her spine.

He kissed her with ardour, with a passion she didn't know he possessed. He kissed her until her knees felt weak and until her head spun deliciously from his attacks; mouth suckling onto her bottom one, nibbling at the skin and -- impulsively -- Y/N couldn't help but kiss back.

A growl vibrated through his chest at her response and she almost fell, pliant in his arms. His tongue pushed at her mouth, delving in without warning and eliciting a soft whimper from the said girl as her own arms slithered their way up his shoulders and into his hair.

He was everywhere. His scent. His taste. He tasted so familiar and warm and just--just Kevin.

She hadn't realized that they'd been moving until her back collided with the cold, cemented wall of her apartment building, the contrast of its iciness and Kevin's warmth sending another surge of hot desire through her chest.

"Don't leave me," Kevin breathed through multiple kisses, his voice hoarse and rough from their kiss, "don't leave. I'm sorry."

It took ever ounce of Y/N's brain cells to figure out what he was sorry for.

"For what?" She mumbled against his mouth.

He drew back with a soft sigh and a whine almost crawled up her throat at the loss of heat. Pressing their foreheads together, noses touching, he murmured, "for everything. For not listening to you, for not seeing you, I-- I was so stupid for taking you for granted and it's only when you walked out on me that I realized--" he exhaled shakily, "that I realized how much...how much I loved you."

Closing her eyes to let his words wash over her wounds, she felt like pinching herself.

It didn't seem real.

Kevin didn't seem real.

And as though she yearned for that clarification herself, her hand reached up to press her palm against his cheek.

The man's eyes closed, taking in the feel of her skin, her warmth, against him.

And when he opened them once more to find her brown orbs swimming with flecks of sudden affection, he couldn’t help but lean forward again.

"I'm sorry," he pecked her mouth chastely, "I'm sorry," his kisses trailed over her jaw, up her cheek while he kept on muttering a string of apologies that caused a troop of butterflies to flutter through her stomach. Her hands fisted through his shirt unconsciously as Kevin continued showering her face in a rain of kisses that left her heart cartwheeling in her chest, heat springing through her cheeks at the way their bodies practically molded into each other.

His firmness pressed against her curves. Sensual heat pooled at the bottom of her stomach.

“Please just--” Kevin’s alto broke at the last word, “just don’t leave.”

To be fair, she wasn’t actually leaving for good. But it seemed like Kevin had understood it all upside down, for he thus nuzzled his nose into the crook of her neck and hugged her close as though fearing that she might disappear at any given moment.

She took a deep, shaky breath. Let it out slowly through her teeth, “I’m not going anywhere, Kev.”

She felt him pause, “why are you all packed then?”

“I’m just going to visit my mom for the weekend.”

Another pause. Then:

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Oh. Fuck.”

Laughter bubbled straight out of Y/N’s lips the moment Kevin lurched back to gaze at her with wide-eyed panic reminiscent to that of a young deer in the headlights. He was just too adorable for his own good and while she pitied the fact that Eric had merely dramatized the situation of her leaving, she was grateful. Kevin would never have acted so impulsively if he wasn’t desperate.

And now, she knew that these feelings were actually reciprocated.

“Stop,” Kevin brought her back, pecking at a spot right underneath her jaw as she kept on laughing, “stop laughing. It’s not funny!”

“Oh my-- Oh my god. You thought I was leaving for good, weren’t you?” Y/N tried, and failed, numerous times to force the laughter down though it was proving to be quite difficult.

Her heart felt so much lighter than just a few minutes ago. It was soaring through clouds, literally floating up to the heavens in happiness.

“I got scared okay?!” Kevin prodded at her tummy, face dropping into a pout, “I thought you were never going to come back because of--because of what happened.”

“I’m not that dramatic.”

“I know, I’m usually the drama queen.”

“So,” a teasing smile lifted at the corners of Y/N’s lips. Her eyes narrowed towards his, mischief dancing in her eyes, “you love me, do you?”

“You’re never going to let me hear the end of it, are you?”

“Nope,” she singsonged, “it’s too adorable to forget.”

“Hmph,” Kevin groaned slightly and she shivered at the contact of his lips against her collarbone. He lifted his head to kiss her cheek softly, mouth traveling over to land on her lips then, “as long as I get a girlfriend out of it, I’m okay with that.”

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jazy3 · 3 years

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Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 17X10

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

I loved this episode! It was so so good! I loved seeing Mark and Lexie on the beach encouraging Meredith to return. I knew Lexie was going to be back based on last week’s promo, but I literally screamed out loud twice when Mark appeared on screen! I was shocked! I like what Mark and Lexie said to Meredith about the sand not being real and that the beach was in Meredith’s head and was her happy place and that it wasn’t real. She was in control even if she didn’t feel like it. Seeing her lost loved ones comforts her in her time of need. When living people she loves come to talk to her she sees them because it’s comforting.

I have a theory about who we see and why. Since this episode establishes that the beach is in Meredith’s head and she can go back if she wants to I think DeLuca appearing on the beach and them getting closer and her watching him reunite with his mother was her brain’s interpretation of people coming into her room and telling her that DeLuca had been injured and needed surgery and that he was stable and then telling her that he wasn't and had died from his injuries.

She needed closure on a tumultuous relationship so her COVID wrecked brain gave it to her in the form of a peaceful COVID fever dream during a difficult team. She sees and hears Hayes because she’s falling for him the same way that he’s falling for her and because he’s talking about her kids who she loves. She wants to go back but she’s doesn’t know how. She sees Richard and Bailey and hears their concerns and how worried they are about her because Richard is like a father to her and Bailey is a maternal figure in her life.

She wants to go back and as George says to her if she doesn’t it will break Richard. She sees Derek because he’s the love of her life and he represents death and passing over which is a real possibility and option. His presence comforts her in a way that no one else’s can. She sees George because what he did and how he died changed her life and they never got to have that closure in life. She never got to tell him that, but in her fever dream she does. She gets that closure and gets to re-examine why she did what she did. Why she goes all out for everyone like he did.

Seeing Mark and Lexie gives her closure too. Lexie provides that joy and that sunny optimism Meredith used to hate but eventually grew to love and missed so much when she died. Mark provides laughter and gives her the matter of fact tough love that she needs to hear in her time of need. Everyone plays a part and brings us joy and closure in the process. I loved Mark’s lines about how sometimes he yells in everyone’s ears to try and get them to listen and see reason. How sometimes people listen to him and think it’s their own idea and sometimes they don’t. How Callie and Arizona’s divorce made him shout.

It made me think of all the times when Lexie and Mark and other characters probably shouted at the living characters for their stupidity. Meredith deciding to waste her time dating DeLuca? Lexie and Derek definitely yelled in her ears for that. Every stupid fight, divorce, break up, date, and bad decision the characters have made since Derek, Mark, Lexie, and George died? They’ve definitely screamed their ears off at them. We now know that George tries to shake the grief out of his mother and Mark and Lexie make a habit of yelling in the ears of their loved ones making horrible decisions. I love it!

There’s something so hilarious and reassuring about the dead who have left us yelling and shaking us from beyond the grave and us taking that as a sign or our own idea and moving forward and making better decisions. I loved seeing Meredith talk about Bailey’s birthday party with Lexie and how what he really wanted for his birthday was for all of them to laugh. That establishes that Bailey’s birthday is in March or April. Which again makes that gelato DeLuca comment from Episode 8 literally impossible because he couldn’t have brought Bailey gelato for his actual or half birthday when he and Meredith only dated for a few months and he only met her kids officially a few weeks before they broke up.

Hayes’ storyline with his sister-in-law Irene was everything! We learned more about her, got to see what her relationship with Hayes is like, and learned more about how his boys are handling everything. He got his own storyline and development. I love it! His tour of the hospital on the way to the OR was hilarious! “And that is a supply closet!” LOL! I loved how supportive Irene was of him moving on. She really wanted to meet Meredith this great General Surgeon he keeps talking about all the time to his boys to the point that she knows all about her and knows that Hayes is definitely smitten. I loved her line when Hayes told her she couldn’t meet Meredith because she was on a ventilator and she looked at him and said, “Again?”

The fact that she knows he likes her because of the way he smiles every time he talks about her to the point that the boys have picked up on it and told her? My heart! Irene really came through for us in this episode! Bless her! Hayes was so distraught this episode. I like that they really showed his process and how upset he was that Meredith was still on a vent and that Irene was sick. His pain when he talked to Jo about how he couldn’t bear to tell his boys that they had lost another person that they love whose been taking care of them was heart wrenching.

Irene is a total badass. The information we’ve gotten about her shows what a fiercely loyal and supportive person she is. Cormac and Abigail meet at the Surgical Innovation Conference in LA when Abigail is a starving artist and Cormac is early on in his medical career. His conversations with Meredith show that he’s unfamiliar with American medical terms and colloquialisms and he talks about growing up in Ireland and how every day is Pro Bono Surgery Day there. We know that after his wife died he took his boys and moved to Zurich, Switzerland where he worked for two years before moving to the U.S.A. to take the job in Seattle.

We also know that Irene was Abigail’s POA when she was sick and that prior to the pandemic she was back living in LA. All of which implies that sometime after Abigail and Cormac met she decided to move to Ireland to be with him and they got married and she gave birth to Liam and Austin while Hayes was a practising surgeon in Ireland. But that when Abigail got sick Irene gave up her life in LA to move to Ireland for several years to be her sister’s POA and support her nephews and brother-in-law.

Abigail ultimately died and following that Cormac took Liam and Austin and moved to Zurich at which point Irene moved back to LA where she was living during Season 16 when they went to visit her during the Conference Episode. When the COVID-19 Pandemic hit the U.S. Irene then insisted on moving to Seattle to care for Liam and Austin while Cormac worked at Grey Sloan. Cormac and Irene drive each other crazy and agree on nothing and her own sister called her crazy before she died and yet she picked up and moved her whole life across the Atlantic and then to a different state for them. That’s love. That’s badass. You keep doing you Irene!

The scenes with Jo and Catherine in the OR cracked me up! "Child, who throws away a kidney? Lord." Haha! I loved Jo’s reaction when Catherine brought up switching careers. At first, I was confused as to why Jo lied, but then my friend Amy who I watch with pointed out that maybe Jo doesn’t want her boss to know she’s considering switching specialties just yet. I’d honestly like to see Jo switch from General to Urology. As Catherine says there are few women in the field and there are a lot of general surgeons on this show.

Jo switching from one surgical specialty to another to find joy and challenge herself makes sense to me. Her switching from general surgery to OBGYN does not. I thought she was going to adopt that baby Luna but then she told Jackson and Link that she doesn’t want to have children now or maybe ever and their scene this episode was pretty short. I thought when she was considering switching to OBGYN that either Carina or Hayes would train her.

But they’ve moved Carina over to Station 19 so completely that her brother died on Grey’s Anatomy and we only saw her briefly at the end of Episode 8 when she attended her brother’s memorial. Prior to this episode I would have described Jo and Hayes as friends, but they were pretty adversarial this episode and at this point they seem to be two people that like each other well enough and who respect each other’s surgical skills and that’s it. So, based on this week’s episode Hayes definitely isn’t going to step up and train Jo in his specialty. They’re not close enough and he’s got enough on the go.

I loved the scene where Jo and Jackson were in bed together and Jo started talking about how scary his Mom was and he was like why are you talking about my Mom when we’re naked together? It reminded me of how April thought his Mom was the coolest and walked on water and would talk about it when they were together. Made me laugh! I love seeing Maggie innovate and find a way to help those poor patients and double the hospital’s ventilator capacity!

Seeing Richard dance it out at the news and then again when him and Owen successfully took Meredith off the vent and she began breathing on her own was glorious! Such joy! Winston’s proposal and Maggie’s acceptance of it surprised me! I like them together and want them to get their happy ending, but this feels a bit sudden likely brought on by all the stress they are experiencing.

I mean Amelia and Link have a child together and are also co-parenting Leo and Allison with Teddy and Owen and are raising a boatload of children during the pandemic and they’re not married or engaged. It was nice that Teddy and Owen finally stopped fighting after half a season of nonsense! That was nice. I loved how Amelia stepped up and supported Teddy and told her what she needed to hear. Yeah therapy sucks sometimes. It can be uncomfortable. So are mammograms.

We still get them! You have to put in the work to get better otherwise it doesn’t happen. I like that they are showing us the process of Teddy getting better while making sure that the kids are looked after. Teddy is doing a bit better, but she’s still not well enough to be looking after Leo and Allison by herself without supervision and since Amelia is at home anyways she might as well help.

Plus, it’s probably good for Leo and Allison to play with Zola, Bailey, and Ellis. They’ve only seen Owen and his Mom for two months. I liked the moment where Teddy said that Ellis looked like Amelia and that they really are sisters. She’s Meredith’s daughter, but she’s clearly picked up some of Amelia’s mannerisms because Amelia’s helping to raise her. Which does happen. Also, she’s Derek’s daughter too and since Amelia and Derek are siblings and share a resemblance it makes sense that she might also share traits with Ellis. I like that we are learning more about Bailey and Ellis this season.

Seeing the joy on everyone’s faces, including Zola’s, when Owen came in and told everyone that they took Meredith off the vent and that she was breathing on her was palpable. Such a great moment! I loved the moment where Tom was holding a rosary praying for Meredith and Owen finally stopped being a jerk for five seconds to comfort him and tell him about his own experience with survivor’s guilt after coming back from Iraq after his entire platoon was killed.

I’d like to see them explore Tom’s relationship with faith more. Something else I loved? The texts from Cristina! Loved it! Owen was like I can read her charts myself and Cristina was like I don’t care take a picture! I love that we’ve seen Cristina through text messages the last two seasons. I really miss her. Also is anyone updating Alex? I feel like they are, but I would love to see them mention or show it on screen. Same with Callie and Arizona. I felt like Hayes was the obvious choice for keeping Cristina up to date but seeing as he has a lot going on this episode my guess is that she texted him and he didn’t respond because he was too busy worrying about Irene so she texted Owen and asked for an update.

Did anyone else feel like it was hypocritical for Owen to be so mad at Teddy for still being in love with Allison and not telling him about their relationship when he’s apparently been texting Cristina about Meredith’s condition and talking to Amelia regularly this whole time? He clearly still has feelings for both of them and they are still very much alive and in communication with him and he’s mad that Teddy didn’t tell him about a dead lover? Jerk.

I loved seeing Levi step up and step into his own as a doctor. He’s no longer the bumbling fool of seasons past. He’s got his crap together and he’s going to do what needs to be done to keep his patient alive and healthy. His song about hump day cracked me up! Link was so happy to be operating this episode LOL! His comment about the poop diaper explosion was something else. Seeing Richard’s anger and frustration and seeing him explain how he was feeling to Link felt raw and really expressed how we’re all feeling like now. The fact that being low on ventilators is a real problem that hospitals have been facing ever since the pandemic started is enraging! I hate that this is real.

I hate that real hospitals with real patients have to make these kinds of calls. Health care providers are real superheroes. I could never make a decision like that. How do you decide who lives and who dies? How do you decide who needs a ventilator most and live with the consequences for you and the patient? I couldn’t do it. I love that Meredith appears to be waking up in next week’s promo. My bet is that she’s going to reunite with Derek one last time and then wake up. I’m interested to see Richard fill her in on what’s being going on and to see Amelia and Link talk about the possibility of getting married at some point. Also, can we take a moment to appreciate shirtless Link? Hot!

Until next time!

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thewidowsghost · 3 years

Text

The Unknown Muggleworn - Chapter 3

3rd Person POV

The next month went by very quickly. (Y/n) and Hermione had spent a lot of time studying their spell books.

(Y/n) took a lot of time trying to learn defensive spells and as well as some simple ones like Reparo, the repairing spell, Alohomora, the unlocking spell, and Lumos, the wand lighting spell, and Wingardium Leviosa, the levitating spell.

The night before the journey to Hogwarts, Hermione and (Y/n) pack up their trunks and carry them down by the front door.

The next morning, Hermione, (Y/n), and Mr. and Mrs. Granger get into the car and make their way to King's Cross Station.

Once they get there, Mr. Granger and (Y/n) pull the heavy trunks onto two trollies, Marvel's cat carrier sitting on top of (Y/n)'s trunk.

"So, if I'm correct, we need to run between Platforms Nine and Ten," (Y/n) says once they reach the two platforms.

"Or we could ask someone," Hermione suggests.

The four look around to see a plump woman walking by with four boys and a young girl, all with flaming red hair, and the four boys are pushing trollies with trunks on it.

"Come on," (Y/n) says, stepping forward towards the family.

"Hello," (Y/n) says, rather shyly, the others though.

The plump woman turns to the group. She studies (Y/n) thoughtfully, catching sight of her scar - (Y/n)'s hair had been pulled into a low ponytail.

"Hello dears, need to get onto the Platform?" the woman asks, continuing to watch (Y/n) thoughtfully.

"Yes ma'am," Hermione answers and the plump woman's gaze wonders to her.

"All you have to do is run into the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten," the women says and (Y/n) shoots a triumphant look at Hermione.

"Ha, I was right!" (Y/n) says, nudging her sister affectionately. Hermione rolls her eyes as the plump women laughs.

We start towards the platform, Mr. and Mrs. Granger starting up a conversation with the plump woman.

(Y/n) jumps slightly as two voices, almost identical, speak up from behind her, "Hello -"

"We're Fred -"

"And George -"

"Weasley," they finish in unison.

(Y/n) and Hermione turn at the same time to study two identical boys, about two years older than the two.

"Hello, I'm (Y/n) (L/n)-Granger, and this is my sister, Hermione Granger," (Y/n) says.

"Twins?" Hermione guesses and the two red haired boys nod.

"Yes -" Fred, (Y/n) thinks at least, begins.

"Of course we are," the other twin, (Y/n) believes was George, finishes.

The group gets to the barrier and (Y/n) catches sight of the black haired boy from Diagon Alley.

(Y/n), Hermione, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger pass through the barrier.

(Y/n) takes in the Platform quizzically.

A scarlet steam engine is waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sigh overhead says, Hogwarts Express, Eleven o'clock.

"Wow!" Hermione breathes, her brown eyes full of wonder. There were so many people on the Platform that (Y/n) nor Hermione could count them all, as well as cats and owls of so may colors it was hard to believe so many existed.

3rd Person POV – With Harry

According to the large clock over the arrivals board, Harry had ten minutes left to get on the train to Hogwarts and he had no idea how to do it; he was stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk he could hardly lift, a pocket full of wizard money, and a large owl.

Hagrid must have forgotten to tell him something you had to do, like tapping the third brick on the left to get into Diagon Alley. He wondered if he should get out his wand and start tapping the ticket inspector's stand between platforms nine and ten.

At that moment a group of people were just behind him and he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"— packed with Muggles, of course —"

Harry swung round. The speaker was a plump woman who was talking to four boys, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry's in front of him — and they had an owl.

Heart hammering, Harry pushed his cart after them. They stopped and so did he, just near enough to hear what they were saying.

Now, what's the platform number?" said the boys' mother.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped a small girl, also red-headed, who was holding her hand, "Mom, can't I go . . ."

"You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward Platforms Nine and Ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it — but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two Platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

"Fred, you next," the plump woman said.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," said the boy. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can't you tell I'm George?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," said the boy, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone — but how had he done it?

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier — he was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he wasn't anywhere.

There was nothing else for it.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the plump woman.

"Hello, dear," she said. "First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too."

She pointed at the last and youngest of her sons. He was tall, thin, and gangling, with freckles, big hands and feet, and a long nose. "Yes," said Harry. "The thing is — the thing is, I don't know how to —"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry nodded.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Er — okay," said Harry.

He pushed his trolley around and stared at the barrier. It looked very solid.

He started to walk toward it. People jostled him on their way to Platforms Nine and Ten. Harry walked more quickly. He was going to smash right into that barrier and then he'd be in trouble — leaning forward on his cart, he broke into a heavy run — the barrier was coming nearer and nearer — he wouldn't be able to stop — the cart was out of control — he was a foot away — he closed his eyes ready for the crash —

It didn't come . . . he kept on running . . . he opened his eyes.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to a platform packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Harry looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it. He had done it.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats. Harry pushed his cart off down the platform in search of an empty seat. He passed a round-faced boy who was saying, "Gran, I've lost my toad again." "Oh, Neville," he heard the old woman sigh.

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on." The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and the people around him shrieked and yelled as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

Harry pressed on through the crowd until he found an empty compartment near the end of the train. He put Hedwig inside first and then started to shove and heave his trunk toward the traindoor. He tried to lift it up the steps but could hardly raise one end and twice he dropped it painfully on his foot.

"Want a hand?" It was one of the red-haired twins he'd followed through the barrier.

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!"

With the twins' help, Harry's trunk was at last tucked away in a corner of the compartment.

Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you — ?"

"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.

"What?" said Harry.

"Harry Potter," chorused the twins.

"Oh, him," said Harry. "I mean, yes, I am."

The two boys gawked at him, and Harry felt himself turning red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mom."

With a last look at Harry, the twins hopped off the train.

Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

Harry had also spotted the two girls from Madam Malkin's Robe Shop.

He could see the mother and father of the two girls, but there was something off about the taller one.

She doesn't seem to belong with them, Harry thinks. Not in a bad way, but she looks nothing like the brown haired girl or the mother and father.

Harry is caught off guard as he overhears the conversation-taking place between the red haired family.

"Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?" One of the red-haired twins says.

Harry leaned back quickly so they couldn't see him looking.

"You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

Harry heard the little girl's voice. "Oh, Mom, can I go on the train and see him, Mom, oh please. . . ."

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?" The mother asks, turning to Fred.

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there — like lightning."

"Poor dear — no wonder he was alone, I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform."

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?" One of the twins asks.

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask him, Fred. No, don't you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day at school."

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

Hurry up!" their mother said, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls." Fred says.

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat." George adds. "George!"

"Only joking, Mom."

The train began to move. Harry saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.

Harry watched the girl and her mother disappear as the train rounded the corner. Houses flashed past the window. Harry felt a great leap of excitement. He didn't know what he was going to — but it had to be better than what he was leaving behind.

(Y/n)'s POV

Hermione and I rush to haul our things onto the train.

We find a compartment but there was someone already sitting there.

I slide the door open, "Mind if we sit here?"

"I don't mind," the round faced boy says. "I'm Neville," he says.

"(Y/n)," I hold out my hand and the boy shakes it. "This is my sister Hermione."

"It's nice to meet the two of you," Neville says, then he continues, "Would you mind helping me find my toad?"

"We'll help look," I answer after exchanging a nod with Hermione.

Time Skip – Still (Y/N)'s POV

We all meet back up in the compartment we started in.

"Did anyone find Trevor?" Neville asks and we all shake our heads reluctantly, not wanting to give the poor boy any bad news. Neville groans.

"What about we all look together?" I suggest, and the others nod.

"Just give me a moment," I say, digging through my trunk, looking for my robes.

I find them, then dart out of the compartment to the bathroom, changing quickly, returning to the compartment.

"Okay, off to find Trevor," Hermione says, a twinkle of amusement evident in her eyes.

All three of us walk down the passages asking everyone if they had seen a toad anywhere.

We reach a compartment where Harry and one of the red-haired boys that we had walked through the station with.

Hermione slides the compartment door open, and we all step in.

3rd Person POV – Harry's Perspective

Ron raises his wand just when the compartment door slides open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him, and the two girls from Diagon Alley. The two of the girls were already wearing their new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," the shorter girl says. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and rather large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sits down. Ron looks taken aback, but the tall girl didn't, her green gaze sparkling with amusement.

"Er — all right." Ron clears his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waves his wand, but nothing happens. Scabbers stays gray and fast asleep.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" says the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? We've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in our family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when we got our letters, but we were ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, we heard — We've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" She says all this very fast.

Harry looks at Ron, and is relieved to see by his stunned face that he hadn't learned all the course books by heart either, but the other girl looks at Hermione, nodding in agreement, clearly meaning that the two of them had learned all the course books by heart.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron mutters.

"Harry Potter," Harry says.

"Are you really?" asks Hermione. "I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Am I?" asks Harry, feeling dazed.

"Goodness, didn't you know. I've found out everything I could if it was me," says Hermione. "Do either of you know what House you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best. I did hear though that Dumbledore himself was in it too, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad. . . Anyway, we'd better go look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

Hermione leaves, taking Neville with her leaving the other girl behind, a glint in her green eyes.

"Sorry about her," the (H/c) haired girls says. "My sister's just excited about going to Hogwarts. I mean, if you couldn't tell. I'm (Y/n) (L/n)-Granger."

"Are you really?" Ron asks (Y/n) curiously. "Do you have a scar too?" he then asks.

(Y/n) pulls her hair back, exposing an hourglass shaped scar on the left side of her neck.

"Why are your glasses broken?" (Y/n) abruptly changes the subject, turning to look at Harry.

"Cousin . . ." Harry explains and (Y/n) walks over to him, pulling out her wand.

"Let me try something," (Y/n) says, pointing her wand in his face, his eyes crossing slightly. "Reparo!" she says, and the glasses mend themselves. Harry takes them off, looking in wonderment between his glasses, Ron, and (Y/n).

"That's better, isn't it?" (Y/n) asks, laughing slightly.

"Uh, yeah, thanks, (Y/n)," Harry says.

"Well, I'd better go find my sister," (Y/n) says, walking out of the compartment, closing the compartment door on the way out.

Time Skip - (Y/n)'s POV

A couple of hours after meeting Harry and Ron in their compartment, we arrived at Hogwarts.

A voice echoed through the train, "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train; it will be taken to the school separately."

The train slows down, and finally stops. People push their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. A lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students and a loud voice calls, "Firs' years? Firs' years over here! All right there , Harry?" It must have been Hagrid, the man who was with Harry in Diagon Alley.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!" Hagrid says.

All of us slipping and stumbling, we follow Hagrid down what seems to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark that I thought there must be thick trees here. Nobody spoke much, the only one making any noise was Neville, we still hadn't been able to find his toad.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid calls over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud, "Oooooh!" I didn't realize that one came from my mouth as well.

A narrow path opens suddenly onto the edge of a great black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling brightly in the starry sky was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid calls, pointing to a fleet of boats sitting in the water by the shore.

Hermione and I follow Harry and Ron into a boat.

"Everyone in?" Hagrid shouts, who has a boat to himself. "Right then – FORWARD!"

Then the fleet of little boats moves off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. No one spoke as the little fleet of boats carries us through a curtain of ivy that hides a wide opening in the cliff face. We're carried along a dark tunnel, which seems to be taking us right underneath the castle, until we reach a kind of underground harbor, where we all clamber out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" Hagrid asks, who was checking the boats as all of us climb out of them.

"Trevor!" cries Neville blissfully, holding out his hands.

We all clamber up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

We all walk up a fight of stone steps and crowd around the huge oak front door.

"Neville, still got Trevor?" I ask, my (H/l), (H/c) hair flying back over my shoulders as the door opens.

3rd Person POV

The door swings open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. (Y/n) instantly recognizes the woman and nudges the Hermione, muttering, "Professor McGonagall. "

The brunette nods in acknowledgement.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," says Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." Professor McGonagall says.

Professor McGonagall opens the door wider. The entrance hall was so big, Harry thinks, you could fit the whole of the Dursley's house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

The new students follow Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry hears the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right – the rest of the school must already be here – but Professor McGonagall shows the first years into the small, empty chamber off of the hall. The students crowd in, standing rather closer together than they normally would have, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," Professor McGonagall says. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you ae here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory, and spend free time in your House common room."

"The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." Professor McGonagall says. "Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours."

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school," (Y/n) and Hermione's gazes all meet at Professor McGonagall's words. "I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Professor McGonagall's eyes linger for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose.

(Y/n) looks over and sees Harry nervously trying to flatten his hair.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," Professor McGonagall tells the nervous first years, "Please wait quietly."

She leaves the chamber, and Harry swallows.

"How exactly do they sort us into Houses?" Harry asks Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking." Ron answers, and Harry's heart gives a horrible jolt.

A test? In front of the while school? But Harry didn't know any magic yet, what on earth would he have to do? He hadn't expected something like this the moment he arrived. He looks around anxiously and saw that everyone else looks terrified, too, except (Y/n), who seemed to be holding an a face of calm on her face for the benefit of everyone else. No one was talking much except for Hermione Granger, and (Y/n) (L/n)-Granger, who were whispering very fast to each other all the spells they had learned and wondering which ones they might need. Harry is trying really hard not to listen to them. He had never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd had to take a school report home to the Dursleys saying that he'd somehow turned his teacher's wig blue. Harry and (Y/n) kept their eyes on the door. Any second now, Harry thinks, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead Harry to his doom.

Then something happened that made Harry jump about a foot in the air – several people behind him scream.

"What the -?"

Harry gasps, and so did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed thought the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. The ghost seemed to be arguing. What looks like to be a fat little monk says, "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to five him a second chance –"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost – I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights seems to have noticed the first years.

(Y/n) raises her hand nervously, and the ghost in the ruff turns to her.

"Yes?" He asks.

"We're new students, we're about to be sorted," She says, shaking a little.

A few people nod in agreement.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" says the Friar. "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," a sharp voice says. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned to the hall, and one by one, the ghosts float away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall tells the first years, "and follow me."

(Y/n) felling nervous, falls in line behind Ron, Hermione behind her. Professor McGonagall leads the first years out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

(Y/n) had never imagined such an amazing thing could exist. Thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, Probably the House tables, (Y/n) thinks, where the older students were sitting, light the Great Hall. On the tops of the tables, there were glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall leads the first years towards the table, so that they come to a halt in a line facing the other students. Hundreds of faces stare back at them like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight, and dotted among the students, the ghost shone a misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looks upwards and sees a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. Harry hears Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in –"

"Hogwarts, A History?" (Y/n) asks her sister with a smile.

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, Harry thinks, and that the Great hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looks down again as Professor McGonagall silently places a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she puts a pointed wizard's hat. The hat was so patched and frayed, and extremely dirty, Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house, Harry thinks.

Harry think wildly, Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, It seems the soft of thing. (Y/n) then notices that everyone is staring at the hat, and she looks towards it too. For a few moments, there was complete silence, then the hat twitches, a rip near the brim opens wide like a mouth – and the hat begins to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, But don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find A smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat And I can cap them all. There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see, So try me on and I will tell you Where you ought to be. You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart; You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffs are true And unafraid of toil; Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, If you've a ready mind, Where those of wit and learning, Will always find their kind; Or perhaps in Slytherin You'll make your real friends, Those cunning folk use any means To achieve their ends. So put me on! Don't be afraid ! And don't get in a flap! You're in safe hands (though I have none) For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall bursts into applause as the hat finishes its song. It bows to each of the four tables and then becomes quote still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispers to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry smiles weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but Harry wishes they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seems to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brace or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the had had mentions a House for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now steps forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"Abbott, Hannah!" Professor McGonagall calls the first name.

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbles out of line, puts on the hat, but before the hat falls over her eyes, (Y/n) shoots her a smile, and Hannah smiles thankfully back. The hat falls over Hannah's eyes, and after a moment's pause –

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouts the hat.

The table on the right cheers and claps as Hannah goes to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. (Y/n) sees ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouts the hat again, and Susan moves to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!" shouts the hat and the table second from the left claps this time; several Ravenclaws stand up to shake hands with Terry as he joins them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" becomes the first Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could wee Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent," then becomes a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they look like an unpleasant lot.

Harry definitely looks sick, (Y/n) thinks. Harry remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. Harry had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

"Finch – Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, (Y/n) noticed, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others it took a while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy that was standing next to harry in line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

(Y/n) smiles warmly at her sister as she runs to the stool and jams the hat eagerly onto her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouts the hat, and Ron groans.

A horrible thought strikes Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon" . . . , "Nott" . . . , "Parkinson" . . . , then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" . . . , then "Perks, Sally-Anne" . . . , and then, at last —

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting. . . . So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that — no? Well, if you're sure — better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

"Thomas, Dean," a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his finger under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry.

There were only two people left to be sorted, (Y/N), and a tall boy with black hair.

"Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin, and at last, (Y/n)'s name was called.

"(L/n)-Granger, (Y/n)!" Professor McGonagall shouts, and the (H/l), (H/c) steps up to the stool. She turns around, and nervously looks around, Hermione meets her gaze from across the hall, and Hermione smiles at her sister softly.

(Y/N)'s POV

I sit on the stool, and the hat falls over my eyes.

I jump a little as I hear the Sorting Hat starts talking in my head. "Well, your ambitious, and a strong leader, I see, qualities of Slytherins, ah, but there is something else here, patience and loyalty, also qualities of a Hufflepuff. But there's something else here, wisdom, wit, and a lot of creativity, all qualities of Ravenclaw. But also courage, bravery, and daring, so where to put you?" The hat asks. "Brilliantly smart father, daringly brave mother."

"You know my dad?" (Y/n) thinks. Though she knew little about her mother, she knew absolutely nothing about her father.

"Your father was a famous muggle," the Sorting Hat says softly, only loud enough for (Y/n) to hear. "Extremely witty and intelligent beyond his years."

"So he wasn't a wizard," (Y/n) comes to this conclusion.

"No," the Sorting Hat confirms.

"What about my mother?" (Y/n) thinks.

"She was a Gryffindor, a muggle-born like yourself."

Hermione's POV

"She's been on that stool for like ten minutes," Harry murmurs to Hermione, who was sitting Percy, across from Harry.

"She's a hat stall," Percy Weasley says softly. "The first since Peter Pettigrew about twenty years ago."

There's a silence for another five minutes before the hat finally shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!"

(Y/n) takes off the hat off her head, then grins.

(Y/n) jogs over to sit beside her sister.

Hermione smiles widely at (Y/n).

"Can't get rid of me that easily," (Y/n) teases.

Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet, and he was beaming at the students, his arms open wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he says. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" Professor Dumbledore finishes, sitting down.

Everyone claps and cheers, (Y/n) and Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or not. Sitting beside Percy Weasley, Harry was thinking the same thing.

"Is he - a bit mad?" Harry asks Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" Percy answers airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes."

"Potatoes, Harry?" Percy asks.

Harry's mouth falls open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never starved Harry, but he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he had wanted. Dudley had always take anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry piles his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and begins to eat. It was delicious.

"That does look good," says the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.

"Cant you -?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," says the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" Ron says suddenly. "My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy —" the ghost began stiffly, but Hermione interrupts, (Y/N) looking over her shoulder.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

"Now, Hermione dear, that's not polite," (Y/N) says, and Hermione grins at her sister before turning her attention back to the ghost.

Sir Nicholas looks extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he had wanted.

"Like this," he says irritably. He seizes his left ear and pulls; his whole head swings off his neck and falls onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had clearly tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking very pleased at the stunned looks on the first year Gryffindors' faces, Nearly Headless Nick flips his head back onto his neck, coughs, and says, "So – new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable – he's the Slytherin ghost."

(Y/N) and Harry look over at the Slytherin table and see a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank starting eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was sitting right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look very pleased with the seating arrangement.

"How did he get covered in blood?" Thora and Seamus Finnigan ask with great interest.

"I've never asked," says Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food fades from the plates, leaving hem sparkling clean as before, then, a moment later the deserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, Jell-O, rice pudding, and an assortment of fresh fruits.

As (Y/N) helps herself to a couple of strawberries and some chocolate éclairs, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," explains Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of nasty shock for him."

The others laugh, and Ron turns to Neville.

"What about you, Neville?" Ron asks.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," Neville begins, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

"What about you?" asks Seamus Finnegan.

(Y/n) looks up, startled, but then speaks. "My mother, that I know of, was Muggleborn. My father was a muggle. I grew up with Hermione here for my whole life. My real parents are dead, well, that I know of."

Harry glances at the (H/c) haired girl as she turns back to Hermione and Percy Weasley, who were talking about lessons.

"I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult –" Hermione rambles.

"You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing –" Percy says.

"What about Charms?" Hermione asks. "What's that like?"

"Well, in Charms, you learn to cast spells that alter an object without changing it's nature." Percy says.

"Wait," (Y/N) interrupts, "so if we were given, like, a teapot, would we have to make it dance across the desk?"

"Yes, exactly (Y/N), that doesn't change how it looks, if you wanted to turn it into a tortoise, that spell would be taught in Transfiguration." Percy explains.

Harry, who is beginning to feel warm and sleepy, looks up at the High Table again. Hagrid is drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall is talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happens very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looks past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes - and a sharp, hot pan shoots across the scars imprinted into (Y/n)'s and Harry's skin.

(Y/n) slaps her hand to the hourglass shaped scar on her neck. Harry does the same, letting out an "Ouch!"

"What is it?" Percy asks, Hermione turning to study her sister.

"N-nothing," Harry mumbles.

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off for Harry was the feeling he had gotten from teh teacher's look - a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" Harry asks, and (Y/n) and Percy's gazes turn to the Head Table.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to – everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape." Percy says.

(Y/n) and Hermione turn their attentions back onto each other and start up a quiet conversation. (Y/n) notices, out of the corner of her eye, Harry watching Snape for a while, but Snape never looked back at Harry.

At last, the desserts disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet, the hall falling silent.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you." He begins.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashes in the direction of the Weasley twins, as he says the last part. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." Hermione's and (Y/N)'s eyes meet at Dumbledore's last few words, while Harry laughs, but he was one of the few that did.

"He's not serious?" Harry mutters to Percy.

"Must be," says Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cries Dumbledore. Harry notices that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twists itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the whole school bellows:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, Teach us something please, Whether we be old and bald Or young with scabby knees, Our heads could do with filling With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air, Dead flies and bits of fluff, So teach us things worth knowing, Bring back what we've forgot, Just do your best, we'll do the rest, And learn until our brains all rot."

Everyone finishes the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins are left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducts their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who claps the loudest.

"Ah, music," Dumbledore says, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years follow Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was to sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climb up more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and (Y/N) was just wondering how much farther thy had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and (Y/N)'s eyes narrow in suspicion. Percy takes a step toward them as they start throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispers to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raises his voice, "Peeves – show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answers.

"Do you want me to get the Bloody Baron?" Percy asks.

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appears, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he says, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swoops suddenly at them, and they all duck.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barks Percy.

Peeves sticks out his tongue and vanishes, dropping the walking sticks above (Y/n)'s head. (Y/n) slides instinctively out of the way, catching the walking sticks in one hand.

Harry and Ron look slightly impressed as (Y/n) sets the sticks on the ground silently, then walks over to stand beside Hermione.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," says Percy as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, and he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hangs a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress. "Password?" she asks.

"Caput Draconis," answers Percy, and the portrait swings forwards to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scramble through - Neville needing a leg up - and find themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directs the girls rough one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase - (Y/n) figured they were in one of the towers - they find their beads at last: four four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up and, too tired to talk much, (Y/n) pulls on a pair of emerald green pajamas, the color matching (Y/n)'s eyes.

Marvel jumps out of her basket, eyeing Hermione then (Y/n) then hopping up into Hermione's bed, curling up onto Hermione's stomach.

Word Count: 8327 words

Bye!

Love y'all! Kaitlynn❤️😍

#hermione granger #hermione granger x sister reader #harry potter #ron weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter various x reader

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