#I think Charlie is entirely in grey scale too | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

straighttohellbuddy · 4 years ago

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once you say it out loud it can’t be undone {Corpse Husband/Fem!Reader}

Summary: Non-Fatal Hanahaki AU. Feelings are fair game for nine months out of the year, but God forbid you develop a crush during Hanahaki Season; three months of coughing up petals just because you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you back? It’s a damn inconvenience. You haven’t had an active Hanahaki Season in the four years since you started YouTube, and you think that since you’re in quarantine, not going outside, not meeting new people, you’ll be fine this year too! Except that you start playing Among Us with a group of people you’ve never met before, friends of friends, including the elusive Corpse Husband, who’s kind, and funny, and may be flirting with you, but you’re not quite sure. The point is, you make friends with him not expecting much beyond a streaming buddy, but then you get talking more often, chatting and joking at all hours in DMs, and he’s calling you sweet nicknames on stream, and you wake up on the first day of your Season coughing up flower petals and cursing yourself for falling for a man who’s first name you don’t even know!

{ p l a y l i s t }

A/N: 17,511 words. hello i wrote and ~mildly~ edited this in 24 hours because my adhd said ‘u will write a terrifying amount of words about corpse’ and i said ‘YES SIR, RIGHT AWAY’. anyways, hi, i don’t write a lot for the YouTube fandom anymore because rpf is a trick grey area, but unfortunately i don’t control the hyperfixation and the boy’s sweet personality + his edgy aesthetic hit all of my buttons. this has GRATUITOUS pop culture references, and if you don’t know what Stardew Valley is, it’s essentially a farm simulator but you also make friends with the NPCs in the nearby village. lots of different youtubers are mentioned, but Ethan (Crankgameplays / Eef) and Sean (Jacksepticeye / Spedicy), and I guess Charlie (Cr1tikal / Greaseball) and Mark (Markiplier) are the other more heavily featured folks. god there’s so many words. You’ll have to excuse me for not knowing the others too well, I’m embarrassed to admit that I only really watch Ze and Corpse often in terms of Among Us streams. ANYWAYS, please let me know what you think, I hope you like it! if this ever gets to corpse himself im going to delete this entire blog, just as a warning. no backups. yeet.

Warnings: Swearing. Mentions of illness, of coughing/throwing up flower petals, and foreign objects in the mouth and windpipe, but there is no risk posed beyond an inconvenience, just thought i should warn you.

Citrus Scale: 💚 LIME 💚

Taglist: @slashersdream @divine-artemis @realmejay @lovemelikepercy @balla-deer @miniritzcrackers @loraleiix @ppopty @easygoingtheatre @insanedeathwish @siriuslystupid @losvertown @janiathecat @wineandionysus @moonlightsimp @allylyew @chokingonflxwers @sicnesa @xxniksxx @mishisamess @preciousskye @yashinosakura @meleekabenjamin @whatamievendoinghere01 @lxurxn-02 @liljennyx3 @the-fusionist @benjaminka

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Hanahaki Season was different for everyone. No-one’s quite sure what evolutionary advantage there is to coughing up flowers for three months out of the year as the body’s way of dealing with perceived unrequited feelings, but, much to the entire world’s collective irritation, it was what it was. It begins for everyone when their first romantic feelings arise and aren’t reciprocated. That could be as early as kindergarten, wanting to hold hands with one of the kids in your class more than any other person, but watching them share their launchable with someone else, though middle school is most commonly where those feelings become strong enough to actually activate the bloom. Some people on the aromantic spectrum don’t activate it until their late teens, or college, or even later, and even then they may only experience it once or twice, since the situation in which they find themselves developing romantic feelings like that doesn’t occur often, or doesn’t occur during their Season. You’re kind of jealous of aromantic people who have never had to deal with it.

Hanahaki Season lasts for three months, starting every year on the same date; the date you’d first ever had romantic feelings strong enough to start hacking up flower petals. You’re free to catch feelings for the other nine months without consequences, but watch out if you catch feelings around your Season, because your house tends to look like the opening of Ouran High School Host Club. The amount of flowers really varies depending on your feelings; you’d spent days putting professional florists to shame in the month leading up to your senior prom when you realized you had feelings for your best friend, right up until they asked you to go with them, and the petals had been gone the next day, but your smile hadn’t been.

Your body doesn’t care if they have feelings for you, all it knows is that you think they don’t, despite the feelings you absolutely, definitely have; it needs either a confirmation, or for you to get over it.

You and your high school best friend had dated for about six months after prom, but decided that you were better off as friends, and thankfully, in the years since you’d started college, your Seasons had been a non-event; no romantic feelings, so nothing to worry about. It’s not that you didn’t go out, or didn’t date, it’s just that there was nothing serious enough to warrant an active Season when it actually came up.

You’ve had your YouTube channel since your Freshman year of college, something to do in your spare time, mainly playing videogames without a face cam. During your first year, you managed to develop a modest following of a few hundred, thousand subscribers, thanks to your long, gentle Stardew Valley videos. Even now, four years later, you’re still posting updates and playthroughs of it, which your long-time fans appreciate.

After a year, you quickly gained a lot more traction, mostly because you joined Twitch, and finally added a face cam to your setup. Suddenly everyone knew what you looked like, and holy shit, they loved you! Your aesthetic surprised a lot of people; for your streams and videos, you put a lot of effort into your look, but the look itself was surprisingly in line with the pastel goth aesthetic, when people had clearly been expecting your attire to favour cottagecore. Despite it being unexpected, the look was definitely not unwelcome.

A little into your third year of YouTube, you graduated college, and hit a million subscribers, with a majority of your content still being either stream highlights, or long playthroughs with your gentle commentary over the top. Someone once likening you to Sykkuno in terms of wholesomeness, and after checking out his content, you were more than flattered by the comparison. Being called ‘SFW Cr1tikal’ was less flattering, though that was more to do with how calming your delivery was to listen to, and how your commentary sometimes came a little out of left field, or carried off on = unrelated tangents. You’re the YouTube gaming community’s darling, soft spoken with a kind attitude, someone who makes friends easily, finding yourself fitting in with the big dogs on the platform, despite how abrasive their own playthrough styles may be.

So you hadn’t really thought about playing Among Us, it wasn’t exactly your brand. Oh, you’re well aware of it’s meteoric rise in popularity, and you weren’t against playing it with friends, but it’s not exactly something you’d seek out in your own time. Some of your followers wanted to see you play it, but a surprising majority were hesitant to watch you try it; the game was built on lying and backstabbing, and you, well you weren’t ruthless or cut-throat. You got upset when you gave a villager a gift they didn’t like in Stardew Valley, there’s no way you could kill and lie to your friends! Surely you were far too sweet to be good at Among Us.

The thing is, you’ve worked hard to make your online personality a kind and gentle experience, because for the most part, you are a kind and gentle person. You like to give people the benefit of the doubt, try to see the best in people, and treat others with kindness, because you’re well aware how difficult it is exist in modern society. That being said, it doesn’t mean that you don’t have depth; you’re a human being, one who’s been through college and had your fair share of weird and wonderful experiences. You’re neither as innocent nor as fragile as the world seems to expect, and you know you can be as deceitful and cunning as the next person if the need arises.

In the end, it’s Ethan who invites you to play with a few other YouTubers, Markiplier, Jacksepticeye, and ChilledChaos, to name a few, people you’ve spoken to occasionally and would probably consider acquaintances, though their reach far outstrips your own. Ethan’s one of the first people you reached out to when you were starting to get a following, and since you graduated college, and moved to LA, he’s also been your closest friend. So of course you agree.

Unsurprisingly, as soon as the lineup and streaming time had been announced on Twitter, confusion arose within your own fandom. You tweeted out a reassurance that they shouldn’t be concerned that you’re trying new things, that it’s an adventure, a chance to diversify, and that you’d still be making the content you’re known for. For now the fans seemed placated, and obligingly waited to judge for themselves, trusting your judgement in the meantime.

Before the stream starts, everyone’s joining the voice chat, making sure they’re all at the right levels, all recording, before you all go live. The very first thing Ethan announces for all of you and your collective audiences to hear, is that he can’t wait to see you play Imposter.

“What do you mean?” You played up your innocence in the voice chat, since as far as anyone else was aware, this was your first experience with the game.

“Glad to know I’m not the only one flying blind here,” Mark announces, and you tried not to let the guilt you felt show on your face, to your audience, for having mislead him.

Now, it’s not as if you’ve come into this completely blind; in preparation you’d watched a few Among Us streams by your friends, most notably Chilled’s. At the very least, you knew how the game worked theoretically, which you hoped would translate when you actually played, though you still weren’t certain it would. Ethan’s interest in seeing you in the Imposter role, however, appeared to stem from the fact that your kind persona didn’t seem to betray the conniving streak that you knew ran deep within you; none of the others had ever encountered it, and half even seemed to be convinced you didn’t have it in you. That, at the very least, you knew you could use to your advantage. Showing compassion to single-player horror game monsters was one thing, survival in a multiplayer competition that relied on deceit was something else entirely, and something you were more than capable of, even if the others didn’t realise it just yet.

When the others explain the game in brief, it’s mostly for Mark’s benefit at this point, though you’re glad to get a refresher on the mic-muting system before the game begins.

You’re a crewmate for the first game, doing tasks, keeping quiet during most of the meetings since you’re genuinely not sure of the names of the different areas of the ship. When you can, after spending a full round with him, you vouch for the little red one, Ze, during the second meeting, which only made him murdering you the very next round all the more surprising.

“Betrayal,” you gasp as you unmute your mic. Your chat immediately started blowing up with ‘BETRAYAL’, while Tesh and Wade made noises of agreement. Even as a ghost, you try and finish your tasks, however it’s not long before -

“Who murdered Y/N?” Ethan shouted into chat at the top of his lungs the minute he discovers your body, which is quickly followed by the remaining, living players bursting out laughing, gently ribbing him for making it seem like anyone would just admit to the murder on the basis of it being you.

Poor Mark, not that he’d even killed anyone, is the next to be voted off after venting in front of Sean, since he was still yet to get a handle on all mechanics of the game. Ze, your murderer and relative veteran of the game, still managed to survive, pulling the Imposters through to a victory.

“J’accuse, Ze?” You ask, when you’re all back in the drop ship lobby, and his answering chuckle is coloured by a hint of guilt, before he’s apologising half-heartedly, though you’re quick to brush it off and put it behind you both.

“She defended you!” Ethan pointed out, and to his credit Ze admitted that’s why he felt bad about killing you only minutes later. You tell him that there’s no hard feelings, all water under the bridge, and the next game begins.

You keep getting crewmate for most of the stream, which lasted several hours, though at least in that time you gotten an understanding of the mechanics and controls, as well as the people you were playing with. After everyone concedes to a final round for the night, that’s when the word Imposter appears above your character’s head, alongside Ethan.

You chat is going nuts.

You fake card swipe in Admin, and kill Sean as he’s doing wires, immediately calling a Reactor emergency and venting into Medbay to then run out, alongside Tesh coming from Cafeteria, towards Reactor. After reactor, however, Sean’s body was found, and that’s when you discover Ethan’s killed Wade too.

Discussion follows, where you’d point out you’d come from Medbay and saw Tesh coming from Cafeteria right after the Reactor emergency began, not saying as much as you were implying her guilt. Immediately guided by the sincerity in your voice, the remaining players start grilling Tesh on her movements, not even thinking to question yours.

When Tesh was voted out, sent careening from the airlock, your chat couldn’t seem to believe how earnestly you’d thrown an innocent under the bus. You give a half-smirk, taking in your audience’s reaction, but you don’t feel the need to comment, just plan your next attack.

You find yourself meeting up with Ethan on your way out of Storage, as he comes from Communications, and the pair of you find Tyler by Shields. You and Ethan pause by Tyler, who wiggles at you both once he’s finished his task, and you quietly mutter to chatter, asking whether or not Ethan’s going to kill Tyler, or if he’s waiting for you. As if answering your unspoken question, Ethan hits the lights and you go in for the kill. The pair of you take off immediately, heading north to fix lights and flee the crime scene.

“Holy shit,” Chilled announces when he calls a meeting, only to see that there’s only five of you left, since the lights being off meant no-one had found Tyler, Ethan had presumably killed Ryann in Communications before the two of you had met up.

“I don’t trust Y/N,” Mark said slowly.

“Mark?” You did your best to inject as much betrayal and disappointment into your voice as you could.

“You seem too sweet,” he went on, and okay that was kind of valid, but still, there was no supporting evidence that he could point to for that being valid in the eyes of anyone else.

“Y/N and I were together for most of the last round, we fixed the lights together,” Ethan pointed out; Tyler was probably yelling with his mic off.

“That’s true, I had just jumped on cams and saw Y/N and Eef meet up outside of Comms and go through to Shields just before lights went off,” Chilled confirmed, and Mark hummed, loud and thoughtful.

“Mark, why are you sus on Y/N?” Bob asked, and Mark began to splutter loudly, reaffirming that you just seemed too sweet to be innocent, like you were hiding something. Ethan points out that you had plenty of time to kill him, but didn’t, which only has Mark’s spluttering growing louder as he defends himself.

“Well maybe you’re both imposters!” But it doesn’t land with the sentiment he probably hopes it does, as both Chilled and Bob seem to be convinced that Mark is just throwing out accusations to save himself, and you and Ethan are more than happy to follow their lead and vote him out.

The minute the screen shows that the imposters won, the voice chat is a riot. Loudest of all, unsurprising, was Mark’s vitriolic yelling about how he was right, and to never trust the nice ones, with Tyler asking how you could both betray him like that. All you could do was laugh and offer apologies as the stream was ending.

You’d had a good time, enjoyed yourself, and it seems like your subscribers enjoyed it well enough. If you were to be invited back, you knew you’d be more than happy to jump at the opportunity. That opportunity arose sooner than you’d expected, with Sean sending you a Twitter DM asking if you wanted to play with him and a few friends on a stream in a few days time.

Of course you said yes.

Once news hit of you joining Sean’s usual Among Us crew, a new series of speculation began to occur, most notably people worried about seeing you interact with people like Cr1tikal and Pewds, while others were excited to see more of the Imposter-side of you that they hadn’t realised had been there before you’d played a genuinely competitive game. Until the actual stream, however, you just played your usual Stardew Valley stream, spent another few hours trying to get through more of Star Wars Jedi: The Fallen Order on it’s Grandmaster difficulty.

You enter the Among Us lobby under the name 2sweet, an idea that had come curtesy of Mark’s speculations and ranting last time you’d played, and it managed to get Sean to laugh as he was introducing you to the others over the voice chat. A lot of them had nicknames like that, Greaseball, Spedicy - Charlie and Sean respectively - and CORPSE, all capitals, though you had no real frame of reference for him beyond that.

Your chat was begging you to say hi to him.

“Chat wants me to say hi to Corpse,” you say tentatively, to which you heard a heavy laugh, Corpse’s microphone image lighting up in the corner of your screen at the same time.

“She hasn’t played with you before, has she?” Pewds was snickering, and you reminded them that this is technically only your second time playing.

“Come on, Sean, this isn’t fair on her, you’ve brought her into a big brain server for her second time, no prep, no lube, that’s just cruel,” Charlie piped up, and while his wording left you a little shocked, Sean was quick to defend your skills from your last game, warning them not to underestimate you.

“Anyways,” you gave a laugh once he’d quietened down, feeling a little abashed at the show of support, “hi Corpse.” You returned to your chat’s original request, and there was that laugh again.

“Hi 2sweet,” came his response, and oh okay, chat’s interest makes total and complete sense. You know the suddenly flustered surprise reads on your face because the chat is suddenly spamming the 😳 emoji and ‘GIRL SAME’.

“That makes sense,” you find your voice quickly, trying to play it cool, “I didn’t understand why they were so adamant when like, there’s more than one person in the lobby, but,” you nod, clicking your tongue, “yeah that makes sense.” And almost everyone is quick to chime in with amused agreement. Sykkuno then greets you with enthusiasm, which you return in kind, excited to be finally playing with him after so many people had drawn similarities between the two of you.

The game gets underway, and you’re a crewmate first up once more, but this time you don’t have to wait until the final game to play Imposter.

Maybe it’s because they don’t know you, maybe they’re taking you simply at face value, the kind voice and earnest tone of it all, but you manage to pull through to a victory without anyone seriously suspecting you. The other Imposter is Charlie, who is unfortunately voted off after the third round, however, each time you were asked about your movements, or motivations, or opportunities, or whereabouts, you were able to bullshit your way through an alibi and turn suspicion on someone else without hesitation.

“I was sus on Pewds since the start,” finally, it was down to you, Corpse, and Pewds, the final three; you’d just killed Sykkuno and self-reported.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Pewds hollered while you were trying not to laugh, “2sweet, what the -”

“Pewds, I literally walked past you in Cafeteria like you were coming out of weapons, and then found poor Sykkuno’s body in weapons!” You told him, tone even and sincere, while he screeched in frustration.

“Sykkuno was alive and well and doing the- the pew pew- the laser weapons task when I left! You probably vented in there and killed him and then vented to Admin to run into me leaving Cafeteria,” he accused.

“I don’t even know where Admin is!” You argued back, playing the dumb and innocent card. Even so, the bubble popped up above Pewd’s character saying that he voted, and you knew he’d voted for you before he even announced as such. You voted for him in retaliation, “how could I big-brain like that without even knowing where I am?” You countered, despite the fact that he had guessed your play exactly.

“Corpse, please man, don’t- don’t kill us all; don’t vote for me, I’m innocent,” Pewds finally was the one to addressing the third remaining player, the deciding vote, and Corpse, who for his part, had been quiet during your argument, hummed thoughtfully.

“I wouldn’t kill Sykkuno over Pewds, if I was the imposter,” you lied, in an attempt to play on the loyalties that a few others had teased him about before the round. At least it got him to snort a laugh.

“That’s a good point,” Corpse mused.

“No it’s not!” Pewds scoffed, and you had to press your hand to your mouth to keep from laughing.

“Gotta go with my gut here guys, I was in Electrical so I didn’t see any of this shit go down,” and Corpse voted, without actually saying who he’d voted for. The three of you waited with baited breath as the votes were counted. Pewds was out.

“You doomed us all,” Pewds told him flatly as it showed him getting ejected, followed by the Imposter winning screen.

“Ah, fuck,” Corpse muttered, but he didn’t seem too mad about it as everyone else began unmuting themselves.

“Holy shit, 2sweet, you had me half convinced Pewds was imposter and I was the other imposter, what the fuck?” Charlie snickered, sounding almost proud.

“2sweet’,” Corpse muttered, as if he couldn’t quite believe that he’d fallen for it. You give a soft, sincere apology for lying to him, “too sweet is definitely right.” Your actual name isn’t 2sweet, so why did it send a shiver down your spine every time he addressed you like that?

But you keep that to yourself.

The rest of the stream goes well, several hours and a few more imposter runs, getting to know the other streamers and developing the basis of a few friendships, and getting invited to future streams, much to your delight.

“Bye 2sweet’s chat, bye 2sweet,” Corpse adds as the session is ending, amusement clear in his voice, to which you snort.

“Bye Corpse,” you respond, before adding, “bye Corpse’s chat who didn’t ask about me.” That gets him to laugh, the sound of which fills your ears and warms something in your chest, strangely enough. The rest of the streamers also say goodbye to your’s and Corpse’s audiences after that, before you all go your separate ways.

You finish editing the footage from your first Among Us stream the following day, and upload it under the title ‘AM I TOO SWEET FOR THIS GAME? | AMONG US WITH FRIENDS’, right around the time that the rest of the people that had been featured in the stream begin uploading their recordings of it also.

Suddenly, you seemed to be gaining an influx of followers, you assumed from several of the other big-name YouTubers that were part of the stream. This, of course, also also meant new Twitter, Instagram, and Twitch followers, which, while lovely, was also concerning. Your followers were generally as chill and kind as the content you produced, and of course there were a few bad apples, but you made it known that bullying and harassments was unacceptable within your fandom, and you tried to personally see to that as best you could. But newcomers, viewers used to Mark and Ethan and Sean, who don’t know your content and your vibe, you weren’t sure how they were going to perceive you. While you were hopeful they’d fit in easily, you couldn’t guarantee anything. So you were waiting to see what happened.

With the release of the videos also came a lot of fellow content creators following you too, other gamers who you hadn’t been aware of until now, including the folks from your second stream, last night.

An hour after the video has been uploaded, you check your twitter, only to see that @Corpse_Husband has replied to you tweeting out your Among Us video, replying to the title specifically.

@Corpse_Husband: Yes.

Several people have commented under his tweet, including Pewds, Mark, and Chilled, all in agreement. Sean just comments that Corpse is mad that he didn’t think you were sus when you were the imposter. You respond to the whole thread with a blushing smile and sparkling heart emoji.

Soon enough, fan art began popping up of your Among Us video, a few of which you retweeted; you really liked the ones that made you and Ethan look like a terrifying murder duo, watching Tyler do his little dance of friendship at Shields, while the two of you were holding knives behind your back.

Ethan retweets one that you tag him in, adding that he’s never been so happy to be terrified of himself. The two of you then spend some time in DMs making plans to play something with a few other friends in the near future. You check Discord, and see Sean’s messaged you about another stream in a few days with the crew from last night, and Chilled was messaging you too, about a potential session with Ze, and a few folks you hadn’t played with before. It’s easy to agree to it all, to fit it into the schedule you’d developed at the start of quarantine after your job had made you redundant. Now with nothing but free time on your hands, it was streaming daily; Stardew Valley once or twice a week, single-play streams of whatever took your fancy every other day, and now hopefully two Among Us collabs. Seven days a week, editing when you’re not playing, and keeping up your friendships online when you’re not editing. It keeps you busy, it keeps your mind active so you’re not going stir crazy in quarantine.

“Hey 2sweet, hey 2sweet’s chat,” has become something of a ritualistic greeting from Corpse whenever the two of you played together, which you would return in kind, greeting both him and his chat with a smile in your voice. You’d now played with him in a few streams over the past few weeks, chatting in DMs, and from time to time you found yourself watching his stream highlights, if only to see what had been really happening whenever he had been shady and evasive in the stream. There was something easy about talking to him; for reasons that seemed lost to the rest of the crew, the two of you just seemed to get along. Maybe it’s that he had a growing appreciation for your surprisingly varied set of interests, which he admitted to not suspecting when he’d first spoken to you, given your demeanor.

You also shared a fondness for Sykkuno, and spent two full games attempting to bodyguard him together, leading Charlie, and subsequently a dedication portion of your fans, to start calling you the Sykkuno Simp Squad.

And okay, yes, something about Corpse’s voice, the kind way he spoke to you, the way he seemed to be quick to defend you, it set your heart aflutter, but you could keep that to yourself. You hadn’t even realised it would be an actual problem until someone had brought up -

“Yeah, like a year ago I had to wait, like, a full half an hour for a coffee, I wasn’t mad or anything, it’s not like I had anywhere to be, but it turns out the barista had straight up, like, Kill Bill style blood-sprayed petals all over the coffee machine and they had to clean it off,” Charlie had mentioned; you’re not sure how the conversation had gotten to Hanahaki, but suddenly a cold sense of dread was pooling in the pit of your stomach. Suddenly your harmless feelings became far less harmless.

“Aren’t there, like, OH&S issues around that?” Toast asked, and someone else made a vague comment about paid time off varying from company to company, but Pewds cuts in quickly.

“That’s gotta be one of the best things about quarantine; I mean, I haven’t had to deal with that shit since like, high school, and Marzia and I got together before either of our Seasons hit, but like, going outside less means meeting less people, right? That’s gotta mean active Seasons have been low,” you wished that was the case, and according to Sean, you’re not alone.

“Yeah, you’d think,” Sean muses, “but I don’t know if you saw, Ethan was coughing up petals from March, just because he’s got a thing for one of his local baristas and he keeps wondering if they’re okay in the pandemic, even though he’s not seeing them,” it wasn’t that Sean was outing Ethan, since he’d been taking part in Unus Annus he couldn’t exactly hide what was happening.

Ethan had explained his situation as vaguely as possible, as to not out who this person specifically was, but with enough descriptor that his online friends wouldn’t be harrassed for possibly being the object of his affection. It worked. Mostly. You’d gotten a few weird DMs during those months, but they were easy to ignore.

He and Mark had spent a good few videos actually studying the petals and their properties, as well as Ethan himself. It had even lead to the meme of Mark yelling at the top of his lungs ‘this is what you get for having feelings’ while Ethan made a comically upset face, tongue out with a few petals still sticking to it.

“My Season hasn’t been active since, like, my senior year of high school,” you heard yourself saying, not quite sure why, “I’m dreading my next one, I think I’ve forgotten how irritating they are,” you laugh but there’s no real humor in it, and the conversation quickly moves on.

Your stream chat, however, did not. When did your Season start, they wanted to know, why had you even brought it up, could it be active this year; what does it all mean - ?!

Imposter, first round, with Toast.

The crew votes you out during the second round, and with good reason. Your mind was elsewhere, still on the earlier Hanahaki conversation; you can’t come up with any sort of convincing alibi, and suddenly you’re watching yourself get thrown into lava.

“Warm up round,” you’d laughed, hoping your audience would buy it, hoping you could play off your weirdness as first round jitters, sticking with following Toast for the rest of the game, helping him sabotage. Eventually, and unfortunately, he was voted out during the final round, and as everyone’s unmuting themselves in the lobby, he asks you what happened.

“Head wasn’t in the game,” you sighed, “what team? Not Wildcats, apparently,” you sounded so disappointed in yourself, but thankfully the reference and your dramatics got a few people to laugh.

“’s okay, Sweets, you’ll get ‘em next time,” Corpse adds, and you think you can feel your heart skip a beat at the nickname.

“You’re just being nice because I didn’t kill you,” you responded after a moment, trying, once more, to play it cool.

“Only ‘cos you didn’t get the chance,” he snickers, something in his tone that you can’t quite decipher, but it makes your pulse race, “I know you’d have killed me if you could.”

��On a good day, 2sweet would kill us all and make a delicious fucking pie, Sweeny Todd style,” Charlie adds, giving you time to calm your erratic and traiterous heart, “and be all cutesy about it, too.”

“In real life?” Sean asks, clearly amused.

“Of-fucking-course in real life,” Charlie’s adamantly doubling down, completely sincere, “she sounds like she’s all sweet and innocent, but you guys have seen her on Instagram, she looks like she bites; like a colorful poisonous toad, it’s a warning. I know Mark warned you about her and I think he’s damn right; beware the nice ones.”

“It’s so cute you think I’m nice, Charlie!” You couldn’t help yourself, rejoining the conversation with your tone bright and chipper, only to be suddenly met with silence.

“Fuck,” Corpse breathed, tone on the edge of amused and strangely dazed.

“I’d like to go on record to say that I am afraid,” Charlie added, but you could hear he was grinning.

“You were a little angel before you started playing Among Us,” Sean points out, and now your grin is all teeth, not that any of the other players can see. Chat appreciates it, though.

“Then blame Eef, he’s the one who invited me,” you reminded him, “and for the record, this is the first game I’ve played that’s required lying and backstabbing in order to win; Mario Kart’s not exactly asking people to gaslight their friends,” the comparison, while amusing, does help your point, “just because I never told you I was capable of evil, doesn’t mean I’m not.”

“I like Evil-Y/N,” Sykkuno says with complete sincerity, breaking the silence that had followed your words.

“I like you too, buddy!” You coo, sitting back in your chair, wearing a grateful little smile, hand pressed to your chest, strangely touched by his words as the conversation picks back up right before the next round starts.

During the next round, in which you’re a crewmate, you’re doing your download task in Cafeteria when you chance a glance to your chat, only to see people excitedly spamming ‘Sweets!’ or talking about how they ship you and Corpse. It’s weirdly validating, not that you’d give any indication that you’d seen those particular messages, however clearly it appears that your crush hadn’t formed on the basis of absolutely nothing.

But you’re desperately trying not to think about it, especially not with your Season starting in less than a month.

It’s difficult to not think about when you’re editing footage, listening to him defend you, pay you occasional compliments, joke with you, and it’s like you can already feel the familiar ache of the petals in your chest, your windpipe. There’s no way around it, no way to will these feelings away now that you know they’ve taken root. This Season is going to be Hell.

It’s easy to turn your mind off when you’re streaming Stardew Valley, vibing out to low-fi Spotify playlists. You take care of your farm, give villagers blueberries and jugs of milk, and try and romance Shane, the sad chicken man. Again. This is not your original farm, but you’ve been playing for four years, so it’s understandable that you’ve had a few in that time.

“He likes chilis,” you’ve been quiet for almost fifteen minutes, working quietly and diligently to water your crops, check your crab traps, and collect the produce from your farm animals. Now, you’re in your greenhouse, plucking chilis from the vines so you can gift them to Shane, “it’s why I have literally hundreds, I never want to run out for my sad chicken man,” and as if anyone was doubting your claim, you open your inventory to reveal, among other things, a stack of four hundred normal-quality chilis, and several hundred gold and silver starred chilis right beside them. Point well proven.

“I would like to collect four-hundred chilis for a real person,” you’re not even fully aware of what you’re saying, speaking without even registering the words as they come out of your mouth, “but unfortunately we are in a pandemic and I don’t know what I would collect for...” and you trail off, suddenly coming back into your mind, closing your mouth as a frown creased your brow. Catching yourself before you admitted your feelings, you think that perhaps you have to turn your mind off a little less, lest something slip out that you don’t want the whole world to be aware of. As it currently is, your chat is yelling at you, asking who’s name you were about to say, but you change topics quickly, ignoring their invasive questions for the time being.

Tomorrow, ‘four-hundred chilis’ would be the new, hot meme in your fandom, it will mean love, it will mean forbidden romance, it will mean a relationship kept secret, but for now you’re quiet, humming along to your music, watering your crops.

But still, you can’t deny the fact that it’s gotten you thinking; gift giving was one of your love languages, but you have no idea what you’d get Corpse if -

If.

You’re thinking too far ahead.

You’re starting to think outside of the hypotheticals.

Fuck.

You try to tell your foolish heart to calm down, but it doesn’t seem to want to listen, and now that the fandom has started to connect the dots - you mentioning your upcoming Hanahaki Season, the fact that you’d heavily implied that there’s someone you’d like to ‘collect four-hundred chilis for’ - they won’t let you forget that they know. Part of the fandom is very vocal about how it’s invasive to try and figure out who you have feelings for, but there’s still a few that try and persist, nosy and desperate for information.

When someone brings it up in another one of your Stardew Valley streams, you laugh it off, playing coy, telling them that it could very well be a cute mailman for all the fandom knew. While that did dissuade most of them, the few painfully persistent ones kept at it, albeit much quieter than they had been before. It’s a step in the right direction, but not a big one.

Meanwhile, you’re still talking to Corpse almost every day, through Twitter and Instagram DMs and the occasional Discord message, and by now you’re friendship is truly solid. He’s still calling you Sweets, despite knowing your actual name, though it’s more a pet name than anything else at this stage, and it’s not like you want him to stop.

He messages you once, a few months into your friendship, without warning, halfway through a Stardew Valley stream.

[just wanted to see your reaction live]

It takes a few moments. You read it, then read it again. Surprise blooms across your face as you’re looking at your phone, live, in front of your audience, and apparently Corpse. Quickly, you pause the game, and look directly into the camera, schooling your expression into something that at least looks less flustered than you feel.

“That’s how you tell me you’re watching my stream?” You ask out loud, addressing him without saying as much, much to the confusion of chat. Somehow, you know he’s probably laughing.

[its relaxing as fuck 😂 but i feel like i know too much about a game ive never played]

“Hey, sorry guys,” you say, smiling sweetly into the camera, trying to preserve your composure with you phone held tight in your grip, “a thing has come up, just give me a few minutes and I’ll be back.” And with that, you mute your mic, turning up the low-fi playlist that had been running in the background so you could leave the stream running and move out of frame.

Part of you really wants to scream in frustration. How is he so oblivious to the effect his words have on you?

[dude how long have you been watching? and more importantly WHY]

[i watch a lot of streams when im editing]

[yours are chill as hell tho, like asmr or smth]

[good background noise]

[why’d you message mid stream??]

[idk im taking a break from editing just been watching u fish for eels]

[you’re a menace]

[i can turn it off if you want, p sure ze and chilled are also live]

[they’re rowdy tho. its why im watching u]

[i just can’t believe u messaged mid stream 😂😂😂]

[sorry sweets 😂🖤]

After taking a deep breath, you feel like you can return to your stream. The moment you’re back he sends into chat ‘hey sweets. hey sweets chat’. Neither your name, nor your channel name, is anything close to Sweets, but something about him sticking by the habit, by the pet name, warms your heart. Not that anyone’s allowed to know that.

[if you wanna chill in my stream, feel free 😘]

[if u ever play the game i will happily come to ur farm and water your crops and silently judge your plant choices]

[you’re too kind haha. i might consider it]

“Corpse Husband,” in a tone that implies that you’re addressing him by his full name, yet still somehow as sweet and kind as you’ve ever been, as his name pops up on your screen, along with the little animation for new subscribers, “you are a menace.” You tell him, almost comically deadpan, though right before you sit back, you stop holding back your little smile as the rest of the chat is losing it’s collective mind.

The first fanfic appears on tumblr two days later.

Menace (Corpse_Husband x Y/N)

No matter how intrigued you are, you tell yourself you’re not going to read it. Something about it feels like an invasion of privacy, like someone else has picked up on your feelings and is doing their best to craft a fantasy for you, without them even realising. It feels too... personal, to see how someone interprets your relationship with the person you’re actually harboring secret feelings for.

Except this isn’t the first time you’ve had fics written about yourself and your friends; you and Ethan had been collabing closely in person for about six months, a year ago when you’d first moved to LA. It had been out of necessity, for lack of a better word, since you’d been crashing on his sofa for a chunk of that time while looking for an apartment of your own, and, at least at first, he had been only person you actually knew in LA. So your friendship had been very close, in fact it still is, and it had been the source of a bunch of edit-based Instagram profiles, fanfics, and YouTube edits. You found them endearing more than anything else, even though you and Ethan thought of each other more as siblings rather than anything romantic. Yes, you’d read and watched and consumed the fan content for you and Ethan; there was something enjoyable about seeing how other people interpreted your friendship from the fleeting glimpses of it that they had been given. Both of you were secure enough in your friendship that you would even share your favourites with each other privately.

But with Corpse, it feels.... too real.

Too much like wish fulfillment that you hadn’t earned.

But you’re still streaming with him, and a rotating cast of others, about once a week, despite your feelings, despite your Season looming ever closer.

The messages pop up halfway through a game where you’d been Imposter, following Corpse as an alibi, marinating him. You try to act like you hadn’t seen it, but the knowledge of him apparently using a somehow more endearing pet name for you, without you even hearing, is already burned into your brain. Suddenly it feels like you’re too close in the game, like you can’t stay there knowing what you know, what you think you know, so you run. The reactor emergency is set off as you enter Medbay, and you swiftly kill Rae on the scanner, then proceeding to vent to security to help out with the emergency before the body is found.

[HELLO HI IM HERE FROM CORPSE’S STREAM]

[HE CALLED YOU SWEET PEA]

And when a different body is found, you keep your mouth shut about what you’d read in chat, but vouch for Corpse as he vouches for you.

And you keep your mouth shut about it when the round is over, you win, and he asks how you could betray him. Someone else accuses him of having a soft spot for you, so of course you’d trust him to help you with your alibi. Chat is spamming ‘SWEET PEA’. He doesn’t say anything about it either, so you’re not quite sure if it’s true; you keep it to yourself just incase.

And when he uploads his highlights of the stream, you watch the whole thing through, only to see both of you walk into Admin like you so clearly remember, seeing yourself hover by the wiring while he goes to card swipe. Then you hear ‘I think she’s good; if she wanted to kill me, she probably would have, this has been a long round’ followed by a deep breath, and you think it’s over as he fails the card swipe once, that the chat had been teasing you, but then; ‘okay, Sweet Pea, I’m really trusting you here’. The gentle laugh he follows it with as he fails the tasks a few more times, has your mind reeling. His tone had been so trusting, so sincere, the nickname - Sweet Pea! - sounding so natural. You can feel your heart beat in your throat.

And in a few days you wake up gasping and coughing and spluttering, petals blooming in your throat, escaping your lips, vibrant and purple against your bedspread as a strange sense of embarrassment sits heavy in your chest.

You don’t even know his first name.

It’s so stupid.

“You’ll have to forgive my rough voice and occasional cough, I promise it’s not COVID, I just started my Season yesterday,” you admit at the start of a Super Mario 64 stream the following day, choosing the game for primarily nostalgic, comfort reasons. Chat is spamming chili emojis, dedicated in their quest to never let you forget how you’d almost outed yourself. In return, all you can do is give a faint, pained smile; it feels a little like adding insult to injury, but you know they don’t mean it maliciously.

Now your name’s splattered across blogs that keep track of public figures’ Seasons; it’s like all the requests you’ve made over the past few months about not speculating, about leaving well enough alone, have been forgotten. The comments of your videos, of your streams, of any posts you make, are flooded with questions and speculation, and you’re so tired.

It’s not something you’ve ever wanted to discuss on your channel, it hadn’t ever been relevant before, but you’ve spent years discussing the ethics of confessing during your Season, seeing as you’ve always found it to be a tricky grey area; on the one hand, there’s the lucky ones, whose feelings are returned, and the Season ends early. On the other, however, telling people that they’re in-part responsible for your discomfort, letting them sit with the weight of your confession if they don’t return your feelings, it feels cruel. So you’d long ago, before meeting Corpse, even before your last Season in high school, that you’d rather keep quiet about who it’s about, wait it out until your Season is over, and maybe, maybe, bring it up after. But mostly you just hoped your feelings would fade, to spare yourself the possible embarrassment. Perhaps by next year, you’ll be doing something completely different, with a whole new group of friends, and this will just be a fond memory. Was it cruel to hope that? All you wanted was the least pain and embarrassment for everyone involved.

Corpse messages you before the next Among Us stream asking if you’re feeling up to it, and you remember too late that he may have witnessed you hacking up little, dark purple flowers on your livestream. The flowers are always different, depending on the person, but this time around they’ve left you confused. Last time had been yellow roses, since you’d been in love with your best friend, but little purple flowers? Beyond a vague association of dark colors with his aesthetic, you’re not sure what relation they have. You try not to think about it.

You tell him you’re fine, as long as the group doesn’t mind you being muted more than usual, so they don’t hear you coughing.

Everyone in the stream is sympathetic to you when you explain your situation, and thankfully they don’t ask any questions beyond if you’re okay. You tell them you’re as well as can be expected

Someone in your chat posts the Unus Annus ‘this is what you get for having feelings’ meme right as the round begins and you start laughing so hard you start coughing, and miss the entire first round, doubled over a wastepaper basket.

“2sweet, you doing an AFK-strat?” Charlie asks the minute the body is reported. Reaching over blindly, you unmute yourself while still coughing, and once he makes a noise of comprehension, you mute again, listening to them arguing about the body found in Electrical.

“Okay, I’m back,” your voice is rough after you take a long drink of water, “who - oh Lily, sorry.” You see that it had been Lily who had been killed, and everyone else had voted to skip, and you follow suit, back in the game at last.

You’re killed quickly after that, and attempt to do your tasks, but the Imposters end up talking circles around everyone else, getting innocent people voted out with ease, getting a pretty clean win, and then you’re all back in the lobby.

“Can I ask what kind of flowers they are?” Lily asks, voice sweet and earnest, “if that’s too personal that’s okay, I just think it’s interesting, you know?” And you hesitate for a moment, but decide that there isn’t exactly anything you know of that could be a tell for the object of your affection. You’re gonna go out on a limb and assume that the others don’t have the depth of knowledge about flowers that would mean they could identify a flower from a rough, oral description and nothing else. Hopefully.

“They’re uh, they’re purple,” you say finally, “they’re not lilies,” you add as a joking aside, and she plays at being disheartened, but laughs after a beat, “but they’re like, little and purple, dark as hell, but with white near the base of the petal? I don’t know what type, I should look into it,” you muse, before continuing, “last time I had these big, irritating, yellow rose petals, because I had feelings for my best friend; these are much more manageable.” Despite your laugh, you couldn’t help the self conscious feeling from suddenly settling in your chest, like you’d already said too much.

When your turn as Imposter comes around, you try to hold in your coughing as much as possible during the round itself, keeping your mouth closed and eyes focused as you moved around the map and tactically killed your friends alongside Sykkuno, only bending over to spit out the petal buildup once a body had been found or a meeting had been called. It’s taking a lot of effort for you to keep your mind focused on the game, but something about it must work, since the two of you end up winning, despite Sykkuno being tossed out into the sky on the second last round.

“Can I just say,” Sean begins when you’re all back in the lobby, “and I mean with with the utmost kindness and affection, and Y/N, you know I love you like a friend, like a sister, like a -”

“This is a lot of buildup, why do I feel like I’m about to get roasted?” You smirk, to which a few others laugh.

“All I’m saying, is that you play this game with us, and with- with Ze and his crew, right? So twice a week?” And you confirm as much, confused, “I play, and I know several others of us here play, what some might consider ‘too much’,” but his tone is joking and kind, “and yet you waltz in here, with only, what - let me do a little math here -” he muttered, before announcing loudly, “with about twenty four streams, and you’re literally hacking up lungfuls of flowers as we speak, and yet you’re still a little whiz at this.”

“It’s called talent, Sean,” Corpse comes to your defense without missing a beat, and Sean’s right back in after him.

“It’s called witchcraft, you bloody simp!”

Yet again, you find yourself laughing so hard you’re coughing up another set of petals for everyone to hear - this is the worst it’s been all Season, you find yourself musing. When you come back to reality, to the stream Sean is apologising, while almost everyone else is reprimanding him for setting you off coughing again, though Corpse himself is thankfully laughing too.

“My chat keeps sending me the Mark and Ethan meme, the ‘this is what you get for having feelings’,” you tell them, voice rough but amused, and that’s enough to get everyone off of Sean’s back, knowing, at least, that you could laugh about the situation, rather than be pained by it. You don’t think you need to mention the sporadic chili emojis that also populated your chat, most of them wouldn’t understand.

After the stream ends, you’re surprised, however, to get a message on Discord from Corpse.

Your fingers fly across the keyboard, writing the words that had formed in your mind before you’d actually had time to think about them, only realising what you’ve said once you’ve sent it , once you’ve seen he’s read it. Panic builds in your chest for all of the two minutes it takes him to respond with several smiling emojis. All you want is to not draw attention to it, for him to think you’re too invested in this friendship, which you think you are, but you don’t want him to know that. So you ask what time works for him.

[you said if i downloaded the farm game you’d help]

[and also judge me but im ignoring that part for now]

[but my farm looks like shit and my tools are garbage. can’t even break a big log]

[how long have you been playing?]

[not long? im in the first week i think?]

[how does yours look so nice?]

[ive been playing for five years, and this farm specifically has over a hundred hours put into it]

[yeah that would be the difference 😂]

[you doing anything tomorrow? care to help me out?]

[if youre not up for it thats totally cool]

[i always love spending time w you so i think i should be up for it 😊]

The following day, you find yourself in front of your computer, setting up your impromptu stream, tweeting out about it, mentioning Corpse would be attending as a special guest, as the two of you had discussed. In comfortable pajamas, blanket wrapped around your shoulders like a cape, and no makeup, it’s far from your usual efforts for stream, but you were going through some stuff right now, so you didn’t care about being dressed down. Greeting early birds, you’re doing a little routine maintenance on your own farm before Corpse joins.

The two of you sit in the game’s menu to discuss how to go about it, before Corpse announces that he holds no love for his shitty, little seven day farm, and is more than happy to just start a completely new co-op world. He hosts, and you’re quick to join, excited at the prospect; it’s been a while since you’d started a new farm.

It’s nice, to have his voice in your ear as you work through the familiar routine of cleaning up the farm, so comforting and relaxing to be able to just talk with him that you almost forget that you’re live while you’re chattering away, talking through the tasks, accidentally going on tangents, before remembering to tell him about what the game has to offer. He seems more than happy to just listen to you ramble, and tells you there’s no need to apologise, that if he had something to say, he’d say it, when you mutter about how you think you’ve been talking for too long. There’s a smile in his voice as he reassures you, and you spit out a few petals, hoping that you look like you’re focusing on the game, and not that you’re thinking about how kind he is to you.

“We don’t have that whole sprinkler situation you had set up in your other game, what do we -” he asks at one point, presumably looking through all his different menus for something that may resemble the high-level iridium sprinklers you had everywhere on your main farm.

“We have to level up in farming to build sprinklers, for now we just water the crops ourselves every morning -”

“Every morning? Weren’t you talking about three hundred things of wheat? You don’t water three hundred things of wheat yourself, do you?” He seems baffled at the prospect, which has you lightly coughing where you had meant to laugh, and you inform him that yes in fact you had watered three hundred things of wheat each morning in several of your playthroughs.

“Do you think that’s maybe too many things of wheat?” He asked, tone trying to be skeptical but just sounding more amusement, and you snort a laugh, petal going up your nose in the process.

“I think it’s the perfect amount of wheat,” you countered, “excuse me a minute,” and you mute your microphone, ducking out of frame to grossly blow the petal into the bin.

“You okay, Sweets?”

“Petal up my nose,” you responded flatly when you’re back, “I’d rather have a bad cold for three months.” And he goes strangely quiet in response, before softly, albeit a little awkwardly, apologising for your discomfort, despite him not needing to at all. Of course your instinctual response is to brush it off with a ‘it’s not your fault’ except that kind of feels like lying, so instead, you go with, “it is what it is,” and quickly move on to telling him that you’re more than happy to water the wheat if he doesn’t want to.

“This farm isn’t a dictatorship, I’ll help water the wheat,” he offers, keeping up as the mood shifts back to something light, a smile in his words.

About a week later, you post about how you’d like help finally identifying your flowers, but that you’d rather do it in DMs. Most people were more than understanding; identifying Hanahaki flowers can be very personal, and you found yourself with an influx of messages, overwhelmed, until you spotted one from an actual florist offering to help. You send a photo, and it takes less than five minutes to get a response.

[listen, I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure you’re coughing up Sweet Peas. colouring that dark isn’t super common, but yeah.]

Immediately, you’re googling, hoping that that isn’t true, that it’s been mis-identified, but no, the abundance of images on Google of Sweet Peas all seem to look like the petals in your waste paper basket.

You feel like you’re going to lose your mind. Also you officially realise that the rest of the world is never allowed to know; you’re coughing up a dead giveaway. For the moment, you’re allowing yourself to be petty, wishing the universe could have given you a more subtle flower this time around.

Right after that, however, you post on Twitter that you’re taking a few days off from streaming for personal reasons, and immediately follow it up by texting Ethan.

Though you and Ethan don’t hang out in person as much as you once did, that’s more due to how busy his schedule had gotten, rather than the two of you growing apart, for in reality, you still considered him one of your best friends. You’d always be grateful to him for letting you crash on his sofa for a those few months, and despite how your content has branched out from one another’s in parts, there was no-one who understood what you were going through quite as well.

[eef im having feelings and im sad abt them]

[having an active season in quarantine fuckin sucks]

[wanna come over and hang out?]

[ur too good to me]

So you drive to his apartment, still in your pajamas with a blanket wrapped around you. When he greets you at the door, he he wraps you up in a hug without question. He’s assuring you that you’re going to be okay, and asks you if you want any food or drink; you decline, just glad to be here, glad to flop on the sofa, glad for his company.

“Did anything happen between you and that cute barista?” You asked, face half-mashed into a cushion where you’d curled up on the sofa, mentioning the woman who had been the reason for Ethan’s own active Hanahaki Season earlier in the year. In response, he heaved a sigh, moving your legs so he could sit by you on the sofa, but moving them back across his lap once he’d settled in his seat, brow furrowed.

“I haven’t been to that Starbucks since lockdown, it’s like an hour away and I don’t wanna risk anything just to get a glimpse of a girl I barely know, you know?” He pointed out, picking up the TV remote from where it had been wedged between you and the sofa, “but what about you; you wanna tell me what this is all about?” He asked. As you start coughing, he reaching down beside the sofa with his free hand to pick up and offer you a little bin. He puts on The Good Place while you’re still coughing, curled on your side, head hanging over the edge of the sofa; he’s not rushing you for an answer.

“It’s stupid,” you mutter finally, face still in the bin, though he can hear your pout without needing to see it.

“Stupider than a cute barista I only saw once a week for three months whose name is escaping me right now?”

“Much,” you told him, dejected, though it seemed to intrigue him, “at least you know what she looks like, at least you knew her actual name at one point.” At this, he shifts how he’s sitting, turning to face you fully with one foot tucked beneath his thigh. Finally you look to him, twisting awkwardly so he could see your full, dejected expression, legs still in his lap. Judging by his expression, he seems to have already figured most of it out, but you can’t help putting the final nail in the coffin; “I’m coughing up fucking Sweet Peas, Eef.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs, wiggling so he can wrap you in the least awkward hug possible, without you needing to sit up that is. If he finds your dramatics a touch amusing, you don’t mind, he’s put up with you long enough that he’s earned that right.

“I don’t blame you, dude,” he mutters from where his face is pressed against your shoulder, “Corpse’s voice is out of this world; if he was as nice to me as he is to you, I would be in love with him too,” he assures, and you groan in frustration, but appreciate the comfort nonetheless. The two of you binge through half a season of The Good Place before switching to Disney+ to watch Ant-Man with the pizza you get delivered for dinner.

You take a photo of Ethan with a mouthful of pizza, smiling so wide it’s unflattering but full of joy, and you show it to him, asking if you can post it on your Instagram story, to which he agrees. It’s captioned ‘get u a bes fren whose house doubles as a hanahaki recovery center’. It’s followed by a video you take immediately after, of Ethan looking directly into the camera that is slowly zooming in on him as he whispers ‘this is what you get for having feelings’.

Then, an unflattering selfie of yourself, captioned ‘the flowers are a pain but its the yearning that’s messing me up tbh’.

Then, an even closer selfie, ‘am i allowed to talk abt this??’, immediately followed by a blurry selfie of you pulling a face like you’re shouting; ‘its not eef!! thas my bes fren boi!! no romo!! stop askin me!!’.

Then, a black screen; ‘im in my feelings tonight sorry lmfao. coughing up flowers as a constant reminder will do that to you. feelings are gross. like i don’t regret them, but i just dont want to be a pain to the person who they’re directed at, you know? im in my feelings :/ ‘.

The final video is taken by Ethan, and is of you holding his phone and facetiming Mark, who hollers ‘this is what you get for having feelings’ across the line, as both you and Ethan cackle with laughter.

At his insistence, you spend the night on Ethan’s sofa, which you’re quietly glad about; you hadn’t realised how much you’d needed this familiar comfort until you’re lying in the dark living room and it feels like your second home. The following morning, the two of you swing past your apartment to pick up a change of clothes after you’re invited you to hang out at Mark and Amy’s while they’re filming a few Unus Annus videos for the next few days.

Last night, you had put your phone on airplane mode after posting to your Instagram story, and the moment you take it off, sitting at Mark and Amy’s kitchen island, your phone starts buzzing for what feels like a full minute, going off with responses and messages on every and any social media platform you were a part of.

But there only one you really cared about. He’d liked your Tweet. He’d seen your full Instagram story. He’d messaged you on Discord.

You message Corpse back, telling him that you’re fine, and it only takes him a few moments to message back a thumbs up.

[you okay?]

[sweets]

[seriously]

[you alright?]

It says that he’s typing for a very long time before he responds with a very short sentence.

[sorry to worry you]

[thought for a moment that you’d fucked off to live as a hermit in some european mountains]

[then i remembered they wouldn’t let you in over there]

[once again my plans are foiled by covid]

[you okay otherwise?]

“Are you messaging him?” Ethan calls out from the backyard, startling you out of your texts, your thoughts. Looking up, through the open kitchen windows, only to see Ethan squinting rather dramatically at you, and Mark standing a few feet behind him, head cocked to the side in confusion. Honestly, you’re a little confused too, but to how he knew, “we can see you spitting up petals and grinning,” Ethan, however, seemed to anticipate what you’d been wondering, and Mark makes a sudden noise of understanding, going back to whatever they’d been fucking with before Ethan had decided to call you out. When you look down at the counter you see a small pile of delicate, purple petals that you hadn’t even realised had been fluttering from your lips out with each breath. Damn.

[woke up with a cold]

[if there’s a low register that human ears can’t hear, i think my voice is gonna get there]

“Go back to carpe-ing the diem!” You call back, to which Mark beams, giving an enthusiastic thumbs up, and Ethan shakes his head with fond exasperation.

When filming is done for the day, you help out with cooking dinner for the four of you, and Ethan drives you both back to his place.

“Listen, you’re more than welcome to go home if you like, and you know we’ve loved having you at the Ethan Hanahaki Recovery Facility, but,” he paused, “if you wanna stay, you’re also more than welcome to do that too. I’ve missed the hell out of you, and you know my sofa is always open.” He paused for a moment, giving you a slight frown, which you mirror, confused at his sudden concern, “and dude, you know I love you and your dedication to your work, but I also think you’ve been in self-imposed isolation for possibly too long.”

He wasn’t wrong; thinking back, you realise that this might be the first time you’d left your house in the past month. At this point you were getting all your groceries delivered and focusing on your stream and upload routine, mainly getting your steps up around your apartment while you waited for videos to render.

“One more night,” you agreed softly, taking his words to heart, thankful for his company. Once back inside, he does mention that he had been planning to stream for a few hours, but is quick to assure that you’re more than welcome to join, or just hang out on the sofa and watch TV if you’d rather just relax. Instead, you ask if, you could not play, but still provide commentary from beside him. It’s doable, it means you don’t have to focus on actually playing while trying to hold in your coughs, and it means you’ll get to spend time together, which is always a bonus.

You’re half-draped on Ethan to fit into the face cam box, even though he widened it as much as possible. With your chin on on his shoulder, you find yourself leaning heavily against the left arm of his chair, eyes trained on the screen, watching intently. Since you’re not playing, you’re able to keep track of everyone’s movements as they pass, feeling as though you’ve got several players’ voices in the back of your mind, Charlie and Ze and Chilled, all chiming in with theories to consider as you watch other players dart around while Ethan works on tasks.

“Ross is sus,” you mutter quietly to Ethan as the game is still going, “he was still doing card swipe when we left from Admin, through to Storage on the way to Lower Engine, but then he comes out of Electrical ahead of us? He had to have vented in there. Check for a body,” you direct, expression uncharacteristically serious and alert, and Ethan, unused to, but respecting your laser-focus, follows your instruction, doubling back to look in Electrical, sure enough, finding a body.

As soon as Ethan relays everything you’d pointed out to him, Ross huffs a defeated sigh.

“I don’t like that you’ve got a second pair of eyes on your team,” but it’s clear he’s not truly upset, more upset that he was caught out so clearly.

“Not even gonna defend yourself?” Dan snickers.

“He’s got a fuckin’ one-thousand IQ lobby regular actually watching what’s happening for him, and I’m a little pea-brained idiot, used to playing with other pea-brained idiots;” he laughed, and more than a few of the others snorted in self deprecating agreement. Clearly Ross wasn’t actually taking issue with the situation, “I did it, okay? And she definitely caught me, without even seeing me slit Arin’s throat.” And he proceeded to vote for himself.

“That’s my girl,” Sean sounded like he was beaming with pride, “Charlie would be so proud.”

“Just watch; next time we play I’ll be in Security reading the logs better than Charlie, and he’ll either try and fight me for superiority, or bust a nut right there on stream,” you snorted, to which Ethan’s eyes widened, unused to such directly vulgar implications coming from you, a blush rising on his cheeks.

“Can I ban you from ever playing with them again?” Ethan’s tone is scandalised, much to Sean’s amusement.

“Not a fan of hearing about Greaseball nuts?” You smirked in response, and Ethan choked out a laugh, asking Sean who was responsible.

“Blame Charlie,” Sean offered without missing a beat, before conceding, backpedaling a little, “and probably me and Corpse,” he says with a self-deprecating laugh, and Ethan’s eyebrows raise somehow even higher at that, right as you move away to cough up a few petals.

“I fully intend to! Y/N in my ear talking about Greaseball nuts, never thought I’d see the day -” he’s muttering over Sean’s pleased cackling, even as Ross is ejected into space. You sit back, half out of shot and catching your breath, holding the little bin in your lap, frowning at Ethan.

“You waxed Marks pubes and have drunk your own piss, what is so bad about-?”

“I know, I know, it’s just... it’s you, Y/N,” is Ethan’s only defense, focusing back on the game as he heads to Lower Engine to refuel the ship, “you’re like a soft bunny rabbit -”

“I crashed on your sofa for too long last year for you to say that like you genuinely believe that,” that gets him to shut up, turning pink around the ears. Nothing scandalous had happened between you in the time you’d lived together, but living with someone did tend to expose their less personable traits. In the silence that followed, you relax back against him after making sure he was okay with it, that he wasn’t weirded out, and he gives you a fond glance, assure you that it was fine.

“All I’m saying is that I’m not used to you, like, publicly saying risky stuff. Like I know you, but hearing you talk all banter-y about- about Charlie’s nuts,” he stumbles over his words, like he was surprised he was even saying them, “was like seeing a woman’s ankle back in, like, Victorian times; felt like I should be clutching pearls or something,” he laughs, and you hum in understanding, resting your head against his as best you could while you were both wearing bulky headphones.

An hour into the stream, you take off your headphones, simply resting your head against his shoulder, writing down your thoughts on the game instead of saying them out loud, since you couldn’t hear anyone’s response, but your eyes are growing heavier as the each moment passes. You’re not sure when you fall asleep against him, but when he gently jostles you awake and tells you it’s time for you to go to bed, the team in-game is waiting patiently, running around the lobby. He helps you up, walks you out to the sofa, and petting your head gently as you curled up with the blanket you’d brought from home before he goes back to the remainder of the stream.

By the following afternoon, you’re home. The morning had consisted of making a pretty solid breakfast for Ethan as a thank you before the two of you parted ways, Ethan heading off to Mark’s to keep filming, and you heading back to your apartment. The drive home is short, you do a face mask and have a shower, and graze on some snacks in favour of an actual lunch before you decide to message Corpse. No matter how much time you spend questioning what in the world had possessed you to reach out, you can never quite figure out the answer beyond some indescribable, masochistic yearning.

It comes of far sketchier than you’d intended, but unfortunately the message is sent by the time you realise this. At least he’s quick to answer, to agree, with no comments about your final message, thank God.

[how’s your cold]

[persistent and irritating]

[you up for playing something?]

[im not up for streaming anything, kinda just wanna lay low for a few more days]

[yeah understandable]

[still, you wanna hang out and play something?]

[noone else has to know]

When the call connects, he’s yawning down the line, giving a quick apology after he clears his throat, voice lower and rougher and sleepier than you think you’ve ever heard it.

“Farm work?” He sounds tired, and you shrug before realising he can’t see it, quickly filling in that you don’t mind, happy to play whatever. Honestly if he’d just rather watch something and have company you’d be cool with that too. You hadn’t considered how much you’d missed hearing his voice until he’s humming with consideration, though even the thought is enough to trigger a coughing fit in you, muting your mic so he doesn’t hear most of it.

“Sweets, you okay?” He asks, all kinds of concern in his voice, and you mutter to yourself about how he’s probably going to be the death of you before unmuting.

“I’m about as okay as can be expected,” you say, far more candid than he’s probably used to you being, but he takes it in stride.

“Yeah, I feel that,” and it’s his turn to mute himself and cough for a few minutes. In the meantime, you open up a new browser tab to look through what shows and movies seem interesting on Netflix.

“Hey, actually, I’m kinda working on this song and I’m just in the middle of editing it -” he comes back, sounding actually a little sheepish.

“Oh,” your stomach sinks but you hope he can’t hear it in your voice, “if you wanna go and do that instead -”

“No, I mean, it’s just the minutiae at this stage, little edits, I can do them while you’re on the line that’s not an issue, just if you wanted to do something else, but keep hanging out, honestly I could use the company,” he admits, and you can feel your heart swell in your chest as you agree, asking if he’d be okay with you cleaning up the farm and starting to set things up without him, “you’re the expert,” you can hear his smile - and you’re coughing up petals again. It’s relentless. If he could stop making your heart race from the simplest kind words, that would be great.

He’s humming as he works, the same few seconds over and over again you’re pretty sure, concentrating, and it’s nice background noise for you to be planting crops too. You’re not quite sure how long the call’s been going on for, but it’s not a short amount of time, when you finally work up the courage to ask what it’s about. He is very hesitant to answer.

“I’ve been working on it for a while now with a friend of mine, Savage Gasp, but like, the s in Gasp is like a dollar sign,” he’s explaining as a way to put off actually telling you about the song. You keep quiet, giving him time to work up to telling you about the song itself, “I can send some through to you to listen to if you want, just a bit, it’s not done yet.”

“I’d love to hear it!” You’re quick to answer, and he goes quiet again, though you can hear him frantically typing.

“I feel like I’m about to show, like a nun or something,” he mutters with a surprising touch of self consciousness, followed by a small cough. Unfortunately, however, you’re more than a little tired of everyone thinking you’re a prude, or a nun.

“I’m not going to be offended,” you tell him, trying to keep the sudden irritation out of your voice, “I’m not some pearl-clutching Victorian woman,” you mutter, Ethan’s words fresh in your mind too. Corpse does try to backtrack, tries to say that’s not what he meant, that he’s just got this idea of you stuck in his head from when he first met you and that it’s hard to shake that -

“I went to college,” you tell him flatly, “had the full college experience too, and all the less than sweet things that implies,” He’s very quiet at that, “is it because you’ve never heard me swear? That’s a choice, I can swear, I used to swear a lot; fuck, Corpse;” you give a breathless laugh, not quite believing the words tumbling from your mouth, “fuck; is that better?” You tone is final, but for the barest moment you’re terrified that you’ve scared him off, which is baffling considering who he is, but the fear lingers, that he prefers the idea of you that he’d had in his mind, and with each word you’re straying from her. Instead, he mutters something under his breath that sounds amused, but that you don’t catch, right before he mutes himself, you assume to cough.

“I don’t think you’re a prude, Sweets,” despite the roughness of his voice, you can hear the notes of fondness in it. You slowly, quietly, let out a breath that you hadn’t realised you’d been holding, “but I think why I’m, like, hesitant and shit, when you hear it, okay? I don’t know what you’re tastes are like, but just...” He trails off, not quite sure how to finish that sentence, and you the thought hits you, ‘oh, he’s nervous’; it’s more endearing than you had thought it would be. Moments later, you get an audio file sent over Discord.

E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE.mp4

You click play.

Nothing in the world could have prepared your for the visceral, unholy feelings that passed through your body as the song, his voice, those lyrics, filled your ears. You let out an audible gasp, only to smack your hand to your mouth. When the clip he’d sent ends, you press play again immediately, heartbeat embarrassingly erratic in your chest.

“You okay there?” He finally asks, voice almost lost amongst the music. You give a muffled noise of affirmation from behind your hand, nervous as to what noise would come out if you took your hand away. The clip ends, and you resist the urge to play it again.

“Sorry, just had to listen to it twice,” you say with a breathless little laugh, surprised and dazed and how in the fuck were you meant to deal with this. You’re pretty sure you should tell him it’s good and hang up, to save yourself from potential embarrassment, “it’s... fuck dude,” the words fall gracefully from your lips as you rest your chin in in your hand, still trying to process, “that’s cool as hell.” And you’re far too aware that you probably sound all dazed and dreamy, barely registering the faint coughs that had been steadily covering your keyboard with rich, purple flowers. What reaction he could be hoping for with that? From you? You hope the one you’re currently providing will suffice. Pressing play again, you ignore the voice in the back of your mind urging you to end the conversation, instead letting your eyes glaze over.

“Sorry, I’m listening to it again,” you explain your silence midway through listening to the clip, and you hear his faint laugh just beneath the music. When you resurface, the words in your strangely awe-fogged mind tumble from your lips before you can even think about stopping them; “I think I’m jealous of the girls who get to know you IRL - e-girls -” you correct yourself quickly with a snort, “after hearing that.”

“Fucking hell, Sweets,” there’s something in his tone that you can’t quite place, something raw and strangely familiar, amid the amusement and pride, “you can’t just say shit like that!”

“And you can’t just send me something like that with no warning!” You’ve given up all pretense of hanging up, grinning from ear to ear, “how was I meant to react?”

“I don’t know!” He’s laughing now, surprisingly sounding a little flustered, like he wasn’t the one who had just sent you a song about incredibly rough and kinky sex, “I didn’t- I didn’t expect you to fucking relate,” he splutters, and you rolls your eyes, you can’t help yourself.

“Dude, I wish I related, believe me, no-one in college knows how to choke half as well as that song implies,” you dismissed with a smirk; perhaps part of you was trying to disprove his earlier nun comment, but he didn’t seem to be particularly unhappy about learning these things about you. He does, however, mutter that you’re killing him, while sounding both like he was wearing the biggest grin in the world, and like he’s covering his face with his hands.

And then he’s muted himself, and you take the moment to do the same, sweeping up the considerable pile of petals that had managed to make it’s way from your mouth without you really realising. Putting the petals in the bin, you take a good few moments to cough, trying to dislodge a few that had been stuck and irritating the back of your throat.

“Wait, this might- like, this might be a weird question, but I have to ask, you know?” He’s back in your ears, and there’s a sudden nervousness in your stomach, “were you being forreal when you said you were jealous?” He’s laughing a little, like he’s ready to play it off as a joke at any minute; you hesitate.

“Not if it’s weird,” you hear yourself say, and something’s starting to make sense in the back of your mind, but you’re not quite sure what. He does not seem deterred by your answer, which kind of surprised you.

“Okay, another super weird question, but bare with me, your flowers, the little purple ones, could you send me a photo?”

Before you even pick up your phone to take a photo, you act on instinct, on a hunch that had formed only moments ago, finally starting to make sense of the dots connecting in your mind.

“Counter weird question, and if I’m reading this right, you’ll know what I mean,” you prefaced, stomach twisting into knots are you psyched yourself up, “did you call me Sweet Pea on a stream a while ago?” And when you ask, he’s dead silent. You swallow your pride, fully ready to be told you’re reading this wrong, to be let down, but still choosing to go all in on this hunch, letting the words spill from you unrehearsed; “because those little purple flowers I’ve been coughing up for the past month are Sweet Peas, if you get what I’m trying to say here.”

The moments that follow feel like the longest of your life, convinced that you’ve completely misread the situation -

“Sweets, I’ve been into you for months,” he confirms frankly, though you’re pretty sure you can hear him smirking. Internally, you are screaming.

“Oh fuck,” the words come out breathless and hopeful and disbelieving, “for real?” Voice soft, you can’t quite believe this is happening, that this is real; he confirms with one word, laughing faintly, “this is not how I thought this conversation would be going,” you admit, dazed and pleased and elated all at once, “where do we go from here?”

The high that that conversation, that confirmation, gave you is something you’ll be riding for at least a full week, you think, waking up the next morning with a grin as you recall the previous day’s events, not a hint of a petal in sight. The smile doesn’t leave your face while you’re editing through the morning, or when you start streaming Borderlands 3, fully intending on trying to get through the Shatterdome on Mayhem Difficulty 2 in one sitting.

Someone asks how you’re feeling, noting how happy you seem, and you can’t quite answer, all that leaves you is a little giggle, an actual giggle, and you tell them you’ve never been better.

[SHE FOUND SOMEONE TO GIVE 400 CHILIS TO]

Someone else posted that in the chat. You ducked your head, if only to hide your embarrassed, elated smile, which served as confirmation enough in your current state. In the next moment, a Discord notification to pop up;

They’re calling your mystery person ‘chili boy’, and there’s a strange sense of contentment that settles in your chest as you read through the supportive comments, holding your phone to your chest.

[youre gonna melt my fuckin heart you know that]

[you can’t send me things like that mid stream]

[not my fault youre being cute as shit]

[it LITERALLY is]

“Yes, I spoke to...” you hesitate for a moment, “chili boy,” you chose to go with, before opening your mouth wide and sticking out your tongue, “and see, no more petals!” And the chat is flooded with congratulations, and people demanding to know who it is, to which you respond coyly, “who it is is my business; could be a foxy mailman for all you guys know.”

The chat is a wellspring of kindness and positivity, and you’re pretty sure it’s personally one of your favourite streams of all time, despite the few people still demanding to know who it is; you didn’t owe them shit.

And the next day, you message the Among Us Discord in the morning and tell them you’re back and ready to jump into a game whenever they’re up for it. More than a few suggest an impromptu gave, feeding off of your enthusiasm and with nothing better to do.

“Hey Sweets, hey Sweets’ chat,” you can hear Corpse’s damn smile the minute he joins the voice chat.

“Hi Corpse, hi Corpse’s chat that didn’t ask about me,” you manage your usual response through a grin of your own.

“They ask about you,” Corpse says, playing at being a little defensive. If you smile any brighter you’re gonna give yourself away to your audience.

“About time,” you responded loftily, nose in the air, and then muted yourself to say hi to a few folks in your chat, people who were donating or subscribing.

Just to be able to hear his voice, knowing that all the kindness he’s shown you, all the offhanded flirty remarks and messages, they were all leading here. On purpose. All the flowers you coughed up had not gone to waste, the feelings you’d been embarrassed to harbor had not been in vain. There’s something different now about how he calls you Sweets, something knowing, something... more. Your heart sings to be able to call him yours, even in some small way, even if it can’t be loud.

Thankfully, no-one else in the stream catches on.

But after the stream ends, he messages you privately, asking if you want to come over, and suddenly it’s like your nerves are alight with nervous anticipation. Of course he prefaces it by saying he would have preferred to take you on a real date first, but the world’s kind of shut down, so he’s working with what he has.

As soon as you send him your number, your phone buzzes with a text. It’s a photo. An actual photo. Of Corpse. Followed by his actual name.

[you’re not gonna murder me are you?]

[what??]

[i still dont know you from a bar of soap; if u murder me, noone will ever find me, noone knows what you look like]

[ah]

[yeah i see what youre saying]

[no im not going to murder you]

[whats you’re number]

Ethan swears solemnly that he will guard this secret with his life, and that he’ll message you every so often to make sure you’re okay. But then he also gets all fond and sappy when he tells you he’s glad everything worked out.

[send those to someone you really trust]

[if they dont hear from you in a few days they can call the cops]

[legit tho im serious abt the trust thing]

[like 3 people in the world know who i am so im putting a lot of trust in u and whoever you pick]

[you invited me to your house dude. i have your address.]

[......]

[my statement still stands]

[i appreciate that]

[im sending it to eef, is that okay?]

[you trust him to keep it to himself unless i murder you?]

[i trust him with my life]

It’s early evening when you leave your apartment, sky turning from gold to lilac, to something as dark as the petals that had filled your throat, the last rays of sunshine like fingers of light reaching out to turn the clouds a glowing pink as you get into your car.

You’ve showered, dressed nicely, your heart’s in your throat. You’re doing this. You’re really, truly doing this.

His place is about half an hour away, closer than you’d been expecting, even though you were vaguely aware that he was in Southern California too. You’re fidgeting with your fingers once you ring the buzzer on his building, nerves building in the elevator ride to his floor, hesitating before you knock on his door. A few moments pass, and the door opens, and - you smile as relief floods through you. Corpse, bright eyed and seemingly effortlessly handsome, is standing before you.

“Hi,” you breathe, and his whole expression brightens at your voice.

“Hi,” he grins, and steps aside, welcoming you in. The butterflies in your chest seem to calm at the sound of his familiar voice, and you step through. You don’t want to move to fast, or touch anything, for fear that this is all an illusion, that one wrong move could shatter at any moment.

It’s awkward at first, of course, finally seeing each other in person after knowing each other online for months, developing far more serious feelings than either of you had anticipated, and then actually admitting to those feelings. It’s awkward as hell, but there’s no pretense set for tonight, no expectations, and the awkwardness fades thankfully fast.

It’s lowkey, watching movies and eating take out; he’s so warm, so nice to be close to, his arm around you, curled up against him on the plush sofa. You’re trying to pay attention to the show, but there’s a thought in the back of your mind that just won’t leave you alone. To be in such close proximity, but not - Wanting so desperately to -

You act on impulse, pressing a kiss to his jaw. His lips twitch, as if he’s suppressing a smile, but he doesn’t look away from the TV. The hand that had been resting on your shoulder begins tracing patterns on your upper arm, but that’s the most of a reaction that he gives. Undeterred, you trail kisses down his throat before pressing your nose to his shoulder, before the reality of it all overwhelms you and it’s all you can do to grin against the fabric of his shirt, simply basking in the moment, in the fact that you’re actually, really here with him.

When you look up, he’s looking back at you, faintly amused, but with something gentle and affectionate in his eyes as he studies your face. He takes careful hold of your jaw, leaning in slowly to kiss you, giving you time enough to push him away if it’s not what you want, but you meet him halfway instead, kissing him. You wonder if he can taste how much you’ve wanted this, wanted to just be close to him, how even now it doesn’t feel close enough, though you’re terrified to push too hard, too fast, terrified of wanting too much - But he seems to know, seems to understand, because he’s nudging you, gentle but insistent, and you follow his guiding, suddenly in his lap, sitting back for a moment to check in, to make sure this is okay. His hands are on your thighs and he’s smiling so fucking wide at you, before, without even saying a word, he beckons you back to him, and you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him hard.

Something had been unlocked in your chest, want and need so insistent you think you can feel it in your blood. You’re far too aware of the fact that you’ve known him in person for all of a few hours, but it’s hard to tone down your feelings, to pull them back, when you’ve got his voice in your head ‘I’ve been into you for months’. You don’t want him to think you’re just using him for his body, but these feelings have been with you for months too, and knowing now that you’ve both been wasting time, too scared to be rejected, you can feel those months like an ache. But his hands are on your hips, fingertips just beneath the hem of your shirt, barely scandalous until he’s digging his nails into your waist and you gasp against him.

“Too much?” He asks carefully, so close, so intimate, your forehead pressed together, your nose nudging his - all you can do to answer is to kiss him again, to tangle your fingers in his hair and give and experimental tug as a noise of appreciation escapes him.

You both decide that it’s probably for the best if it doesn’t go too much further, seeing as how it’s technically only the first date. When you sit back, heart fluttering and lips tingling, you curl up beside him like you had been before, but a little closer, his arm around you a little tighter; you bring your hand up to rest against his chest, and you can feel his pulse racing too.

He sounds pleased when he admits that he’d underestimated you.

How are you already so gone for him?

It’s about one in the morning when you decide to head home, quietly disappointed to leave. He reminds you that you’re always welcome over, and you extend the same invitation to him, writing out your address.

“This was fun,” you grin, far more comfortable now that when you’d arrived, and he agrees easily, wrapping his arms around you as you step into his space to kiss him goodbye.

You feel lighter than air on the entire drive home, and when you flop into bed, you’re so giddy you can barely get to sleep, before texting Ethan to reassure him you were fine.

[definitely not murdered]

Things fall back into a routine after that, albeit with a few new elements. You’re still streaming almost every day, editing and uploading as much as you can, but sometimes you take a night off to hang with Corpse, either at his place, or at yours, depending on the night. You try not to hint at anything when you stream together, but sometimes you can’t quite help yourself, though thankfully any playful banter between the two of you can be played off with an eyeroll and a mention of ‘this is how we’ve always talked to each other’. The rest of the world has thankfully taken that at face value, and so they still have no idea that now you get to wake up some mornings to the sight of him, sleepy and gorgeous, next to you. They don’t hear the love in his voice, or see the warmth in his eyes, none of them know how content you feel in his arms. It’s ridiculously sappy, but you’ve never been happier.

One night, a month in, he’s playing a game with Sykkuno and a few others while you’re editing some footage on your laptop next to him, when you stand and whisper so his mic won’t pick it up, that you’re getting yourself a tea, asking if he’d like one.

“Thanks babe, would love one,” he says, apparently forgetting he was still live. Whatever was being said in his headphones, however, must have reminded him, because he swears quietly. You gesture awkwardly, as if asking if there was anything you could do to help, but he looks to you with an expression that was equal parts amused and hopeless, shrugging; there was nothing that could be done now.

“My girlfriend offered to get me tea,” he says by way of explanation, refusing to elaborate further. It’s still early days, neither of you want to confirm anything to the public just yet. If something goes wrong, not that you hope it will, there’s so much more at stake. The weight of the world’s expectations and assumptions is a heavy thing to bare; with someone by your side to help bare the load, somehow it becomes both easier and harder simultaneously.

Later that night, curled up in bed, you’re scrolling through your Twitter mentions when you come across ‘is it weird that im kind of disappointed that @Corpse_Husband and @Y/N aren’t together? glad theyre happy but they would have been cute’ and you know you can’t like it because that would absolutely give too much away, but you desperately want to. You’ve got a quiet appreciation for the dramatic irony of the whole situation.

Some time later, almost three months in, you’re streaming Among Us with Ethan and his friends when there’s a knock at your door. It doesn’t surprise you when you come back from letting him in, to find that you’ve been killed and a meeting had been called, but you jump on to say you had been AFK before you mute yourself, and move out of the frame to properly greet your boyfriend.

“Sorry guys, Chili Boy arrived,” you said, the settling back into your chair as you were all in the lobby waiting for the next round. The nickname had initially been used by fans to refer to you ‘mystery partner’ but soon it became the widely used nickname among your friends.

“Keep your disgusting feelings away from me!” Ethan responded dramatically, to which you stuck your nose in the air, matching his energy.

“Absolutely not; I’m in love and I’m making it everyone else’s problem,” as your words settle in, as Ethan’s retching into his microphone, you hear Corpse’s laughter, followed by him telling you that you’re cute as shit.

He doesn’t whisper it.

“I know that voice, who was that?” Sean’s voice is the first to break the silence. Meanwhile, you’re chewing your lip, suddenly nervous, before you turn your gaze on your boyfriend. He’s sitting a few feet away, carefully casual in your spare gaming chair, looking right back at you, seemingly nonplussed about the whole situation. You mute yourself, both on Discord, and on the stream itself, much to your audience’s surprise as you’re addressing someone off-camera.

“They heard you,” your words don’t seem to phase him, “Sean wants to know who that was.”

“Do you wanna tell them?” He asks, voice heavy with the implication of what that would mean for you both. You blink quickly, processing what he’s asking.

“Are you sure?”

In your ear, the others are asking questions, though Ethan is thankfully being very quiet. Finally, you beckon him over. Now or never.

Corpse joins you, taking his place right by your chair, tall enough while standing that his face is out of frame for your stream, but he’s resting a hand on your shoulder, half his torso visible before he’s out of frame. He gestures for you to unmute your mic with the hand the audience can’t see. You plug in a second pair of headphones so he can hear what’s happening before you unmute youself on both the stream, and on Discord, and lean your head against him for some sort of support, nerves suddenly spiking.

“Hi Sweet, hi Sweet’s chat,” at the sound of Corpse’s well known greeting to you, everyone on the voice chat was dead silent, “hi Sean,” he added pointedly, smirking, “I’m Chili Boy, if you couldn’t guess.”

In the silence that follows, you’re holding your breath. His hand move to the back of your neck, thumb rubbing a gentle, comforting rhythm there that goes a ways to calming your nervous heartbeat. Then;

“Oh shit!” Sean announces at the top of his lungs, and you hear a crash, and then Sean yells again, “Corpse, my boy!” Though that sounds much fainter, like he’d stood up fast enough to send his chair cascading back and onto the floor, now pacing around like he couldn’t quite process this sitting down, “good for you guys but I was not expecting that,” he laughed, loud and bright and fond. You turned to press your forehead to Corpse’s hip in an attempt to hide your smile, and to finally breathe again after the anticipation has passed.

“This was the biggest secret I’ve ever kept in my life!” Ethan yells, somewhere between proud and exasperated.

“You knew?!” Sean’s gasp of betrayal is loud enough for the whole voice chat to hear, right as Corpse himself offers Ethan a sincere thanks for his discretion.

“She’s my best friend! What was I meant to do?” Ethan cries, and Sean concedes on that, before he huffed a disbelieving laugh.

“Sweet, eight-bit-farm-simulator fuckin’ wunderkind Y/N, and ‘E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE’ Corpse,” Sean mused, still turning over the information in his mind, “just unexpected, is all.”

“It’s cute that you still think she’s sweet -” Corpse was grinning mischievously, not that anyone else could see, to which you leaned back, leveling a warning look at him.

“You keep your dirty little mouth shut,” you ordered. He just laughed, while both Ethan and Sean made loud, horrified noises at the implications. The others in the stream were voicing their own disbelieving reactions amid the other two, but you mute yourself for the moment, expression softening as you looked up to him, to see his faint, contemplative smile.

“I guess it’s out there now,” he mused as he considered what this will mean for you both. The future is terrifying, but something about letting the world finally know who had been making you happy, it feels right. You hum, pleased, nerves melting away to contentment, to a strange sense of serenity. You don’t have to hide how much you love him anymore.

Standing, you step into his space, wrapping your arms around him with nothing but pride and adoration in your gaze; he was actually blushing.

“Stop looking at me like that,” but even in saying it, he couldn’t stop smiling, voice going all quiet and uncharacteristically bashful, “you’re such a fuckin’ sap.”

“Yeah, but you love me,” you teased in return. When he looks at you this time, his expression is almost painfully unguarded, searching for any hint of insincerity in your voice, your face, your words. He finds none, you can see it in his eyes, can see the realisation him him in real time, the slight smile -

“God fuckin’ help me, I do,” he leans in to kiss you, even as the next game starts, even as Ethan murders you right by the emergency button; you don’t notice and you don’t care.

In about an hour, after the stream finally ends, your respective corners of the internet were going to be losing their collective minds as word will be starting to spread. For now, to see his smile, to be the cause of it, to be able to make him laugh, and fall asleep next to him, that’s all that matters in the world.

#corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse imagine #corpse #corpse_husband #corpse husband imagine #ethan nestor #crankgameplays #shut ur pretty mouth #cyltlanp

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canyouhearthelight · 3 years ago

Text

The Miys, Ch. 152

I’m not going to jinx it, I’m not going to jinx it, I’m not going to jinx it...

Okay, maybe I am. I managed to queue up the chapters I had in the barrel! Yay!! Which also means that I have a super duper exciting chapter coming up, which I can’t wait to write and can’t wait for y’all to read. I just need it to be perfect.

That said, thank you to @baelpenrose and @charlylimph-blog for your help with this particular chapter. I love when we are all three in one of these sessions and just descending into chaos in the chat. Also, @mamayoda (who I can’t tag but I do want you to know I see your likes in my notes!) for love-bombing my notes recently.

“Is it just me or is everyone really jumpy?” Charly asked as I set my food down across from her. It was our thrice-weekly lunch dates in one of the public mess halls, and she definitely had a point. I had already noticed three people scowl distrustfully at the food consoles, hugging closely to the prepared food side of the room instead.

I sighed. “It has to have been Derek’s stress test. It wasn’t supposed to impact systems we didn’t design, but…”

She snorted loudly. “Tell that to the week I spent taking cold showers again. At least this time, the doors didn’t play any music when I walked through them.”

“Did your doors at least open consistently? I was stuck in my quarters for a whole day until we figured out that I could walk through if I had an escort.” I laughed and shook my head before digging in to my food. “And, come to find out, we actually do manage the water systems, thanks to BioLab 2.”

Contrary to myself, Charly was entirely unperturbed at this revelation beyond sniffing her hoodie and shrugging. “My doors worked fine as far as I know, but Coffey and I tend to work the same hours, so… Maybe that was it. Oo!” Her cheer of enthusiasm caught me off guard as she started bouncing in her seat. “OOOOO! I bet he activated the routine Xiomara had running when you and Jokul weren’t friends yet!”

“There was a routine!?” I asked, exasperated. “I behaved, thank you. It wasn’t necessary.”

“Meh. Just in case. What do you think her deal is?” She tilted her head to the side, at a table near us.

Sure enough, the woman at that table was darting glances around the room, her shoulders hunched, elbows close to her body, eyes wide. I could practically feel her shaking from where I was. “I can’t tell if she looks suspicious or afraid,” I murmured, hoping the woman couldn’t hear me. “But the fact that I’ve met mice and chihuahuas who shook less, I’m going to go with afraid.”

As I watched the woman, weighing whether or not a stranger trying to comfort her would make it better or worse, Mona’s familiar face approached her instead. She was speaking softly enough that I couldn’t make out words, but the woman clearly recognized her and only jumped slightly.

I was so focused on the sight of Mona comforting the woman that I nearly hit the ceiling when Parvati’s voice came from entirely too close to my right shoulder. “Rebecca. She lost her family twice, first her parents, some cousins, and an uncle when the hack happened, and then her partner and children in the After. It’s understandable that she’s terrified right now, after the stress test. Too many bad memories.”

My face flushed in humiliation. “Pranav and Zach sent a ship-wide alert that the stress test was happening - “

A perfectly manicured hand clapped over my mouth, one dark eyebrow arched in eloquent disbelief. “Sophia. You of all people know that mental scars do not heed logic.”

Charly’s hair flew around her face as she nodded enthusiastically. “After day three of cold showers, I flinched every time I went through a door in case that stupid song started playing again, no matter how many times I reminded myself that it was a stress test and I had decidedly not given Derek boba tea again.”

Both my hands flew up in surrender. “I stand corrected, I just feel awful to see people react like that.” Gazing around the room, I was suddenly much more aware of all the darting eyes, protective postures, seats turned so that backs were against walls.

Charly had obviously seen the same thing. “We may need to talk to Pranav about limiting the tests to one or two systems at a time.”

“I wish we could,” I admitted, stabbing a potato out of my pie slightly harder than necessary. “His department was passing the tests with flying colors when Derek was limited to one or two systems at a time. But they failed this last test miserably, it turns out. As soon as they would react to one thing, Derek would switch to another system, and they couldn’t be everywhere at once as well as they convinced themselves that they could. And they can’t just be good at small scale attacks: the revolt that happened before the End brought everything down at once, from multiple access points. It was… kind of elegant, in a terrible way. Very clean.”

Charly squinted at me and Parvati in suspicion. “Are you supposed to know that they crashed and burned in the test.”

I rocked my hand back and forth while I chewed on a mouthful of crust. It had way too much butter in it, but at least it was actually crust this time. A week ago it had been something pretty close to paper mache. “Technically we don’t officially know that. Officially, all we know is that Pranav has requisitioned enough additional staff to increase his team of programmers by seventy percent.”

“Asses handed to them, got it,” Charly nodded in understanding.

“We also officially know that Pranav currently owes Hannah quite the enormous favor,” Parvati confided.

“How big?” Charly ventured slowly.

“Big enough that his grandchildren may be indebted to hers,” came the laughing response.

Charly shook her head and clucked her tongue. “He should know better than to bet against Derek. He breaks the systems for fun, and they asked him to really go for it. What did they expect?”

“Apparently to put up a better fight at least.” I forced a smile, but guilt weighed on my heart as I studied the room again, fully seeing the microexpressions of anxiety, fear, and anger. It felt like the entire Ark was constantly swinging between hope and fear. The random drills weren’t really helping, either.

“They aren’t,” Parvati agreed, letting me know that I had been thinking out loud. “Everyone is sleep deprived, on high alert, and then all of a sudden all the computer systems went on the fritz for a week.”

I sighed and rubbed my forehead, pushing what was left of my pot pie away from me, appetite gone. “We need to talk to Grey and Antoine about getting counselling for everyone, seeing as how Xiomara and Pranav pretty much just triggered the entire ship. I mean, everyone knows counselling is available, but I think allocating training and resources to the therapy teams is going to take priority over Pranav’s request for the moment.”

Charly tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Do we have the space for some quiet rooms, like you set up for the Food Festival a few years back? That may be a good idea.”

Snapping into work-mode, Parvati flicked her datapad open, bangles clattering as she started making notes. “The quarters left by those who relocated closer to the Archives are still uninhabited, those can be used. We may be able to convince some people to relocate so we can spread the rooms out more evenly, but even if we can’t, just having those rooms available will help.”

“Make a note to add in the proposal for Grey: possibility of having specific vendors permitted to serve food in BioLab 2. Encourage mental health days and picnics.”

Parvati nodded in acknowledgement of my request, before adding her own spin. “As a contingency plan, find vendors who will pre-package picnics. Between the current distrust of the consoles and the fact it will remind everyone of the annual Festival, the good emotions will help.”

“I like it,” I confirmed. “What else?”

“Paintball tag day in the corridors,” Charly announced, without preamble or warning. “Make it a holiday, everyone is off work, limit it to one end of the Ark.”

I shook my head. “Guns, not the best idea.”

“Ew, no. No pew-pew.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was thinking more paint-soaked splash bombs.”

Finger guns deployed, dual wielding. “I am so here for a paintball tag day in that case. The flavored paint?”

“Not the scotch bonnet please,” Parvati begged. “I just know someone will get that in the face, I don’t care how much Else likes it.”

“Got it, no more pepper spraying people,” Charly agreed seriously. “OOO! I could test the new arrows out! With something like buttered popcorn paint, obviously. Maybe kiwi on the other team.”

“Just limit the pull on the bows, okay? I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“Fiiiiine…”

Parvati smiled and added to her notes. “So, we probably want someone to correlate the current date to whatever the date would be on Earth… Just in case we need to get a consultant for Holi.”

“Good point. Conor is alarmingly good at that, so I can ask him. It would be a nice cultural event if we could do that. If not, we can totally work on celebrating Holi when it comes around.”

“Final suggestion for right now, because I have to get back to work,” I sighed happily. “This is going to be the biggest ask, and the smallest at the same time…” Both nodded at me to continue. “Care packages, for everyone. And I mean everyone on the Ark.”

“Sophia,” Parvati scolded me. “That’s almost ten thousand people and sixteen animal companions.”

“Well aware,” I forged on, “We’ll talk to Sam about the bows, I can wrap them. Commission some of those really nice chocolates, or maybe some taffy from Simon. And something salty. I know there is someone on the Ark who makes aromatherapy candles, Tyche is bananas about them.”

Shaking her head, she added it to the list. “If you insist on that, I insist on a celebration for the drop out of FTL. Hannah and I can use some of the plans from the Food Festival, include Charly’s paint tag - “

“And Kink Night!”

“- and Kink Night, apparently… have several events going on across the Ark, since we already discussed declaring a holiday.”

“Get Bash’s permission to use the Undine again, and I won’t object,” I surrendered before standing. “On that note, I really do have to get back to work. Come on, Vati, we have work to do apparently.”

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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maybankiara · 5 years ago

Text

HOW YOU LIKE ME NOW? (for @ptersparkers writing challenge)

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

summary: Rafe falls for you at the beach. He’s nothing like they say he is, and he just so happens to turn a new leaf with you.

word count: 2k

additional: this is pure fluff with soft!rafe. doesn’t entirely ignore the addiction and other issues, but doesn’t exactly address them, either.

masterlist | tag list

written for an anon

Rafe Cameron walks up to you at the beach, on a sunny day, with hair styled with a little too much gel, a pair of sunglasses on top of it, a curious smile on his lips, and a reputation that precedes him.

He greets you with a simple ‘hello,’ and your mind gives you a brief summary of all the things you know about him.

Being two years older than you, he was at your high school for half of your time there. Most of your friends drooled over his fancy car, polo shirts that screamed American money, and how his tongue was allegedly made of silk. He’s renowned for being a notorious party boy, a massive flirt, and someone who hasn’t faced any legal charges yet because of who his daddy is.

Personally, you’ve never had any particular opinions on him, but considering he’s now standing mere three feet from you and waiting for a response, the situation is calling for it.

You decide to smile. ‘Hi.’

‘I’m sorry if this seems a little weird,’ he admits, ‘but I saw you from where I was standing with my friends and I had to come say hi.’

This makes you chuckle, because his cheeks and his nose turn red, and he stumbles over his words. It’s nothing like the suave Rafe Cameron you’ve heard so much about.

‘Well, that’s certainly a way to get a girl’s attention.’ You give him a warm smile and extend your hand, which he takes. ‘Y/N.’

‘You have a really pretty name, Y/N.’ He repeats your name once more, as if testing the way it rolls in his mouth. ‘I’m Rafe.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m guessing my reputation precedes me.’

‘You’d guess correctly.’

Rafe makes a grimace and sighs, shaking his head slightly. ‘And here I was thinking I’d make a great first impression.’

You laugh because there's something so easy and unexpectedly relaxing about the boy in front of you. With his hands in his pockets, a crooked smile to his lips and a sheer layer of redness covering his face, he is nothing like you’d expect.

So you shrug, leaning against the wooden fence with you arms crossed on your chest. ‘It’s not a bad first impression. I don’t really care about what I’ve heard.’

An eyebrow shoots up. ‘You don’t?’

‘I’m not naive enough to think everything people say is the truth. I like seeing things for myself and then judging them.’

‘That’s a smart way to do things.’ He sounds impressed enough to bring an even bigger smile out of you.

The conversation continues, somehow turning from small talk and introductions into a discussion about the importance of other people's opinions on one's own. It’s a pleasant surprise when you find Rafe as engaged as yourself, with a little wrinkle between his brows whenever he takes a pause to think, or the same crooked but curious grin when you tell him something he finds interesting.

‘Don’t your friends miss you?’ you ask, nudging your head in the direction of the two boys he pointed at earlier.

Rafe glances over, before turning back to you. ‘Is that your way of telling me to leave?’

‘Kind of,’ you admit with an apologetic smile. ‘It’s getting late and I only planned on coming here for a few minutes, not almost an hour.’

‘Has it been that long already?’

‘You know how it goes, time flies when you're having fun.’

He nods.

You don’t know if he’s aware of how the opposite of subtle he is, but you’re as far from oblivious as he is from unnoticeable. His eyes glaze over you more than once, with the same curiosity that is in his smile when you speak. It’s a look you’ve seen on many boys’ faces. A mixture of attraction and interest, with a little bit of wonder and perplexity. is she worth my time? the look is asking. is she someone i am interested in?

If this were all, you wouldn’t have looked at him twice, let alone held a conversation this long. The difference between the look you’re so familiar with and the one on Rafe’s face is that as the conversation goes on, whenever the corner of his mouth quips, the look becomes a little less wonder and a little more certainty.

It’s this particular thing that lands him a ten-digit number in his contacts, and a promise of a continuation of the conversation. He walks with you until the end of the beach, which is where you leave for the town and he goes back to his friends. He leaves as he came – hands in the pockets of his shorts and a face with a red tinge to it. There is nothing smooth or Casanova-like to him, and it is that very fact that makes you realise that finally, after four years of hearing about him, you finally have an opinion on Rafe Cameron.

And it is this: nothing you’ve ever heard about him is true.

★

The relationship between Rafe and you develops at a steady rate. True to his word, he calls you less than twenty-four hours after your conversation, and it’s one of the very few times you’re glad someone calls instead of texts. He has a nice, soothing voice, and he doesn’t drag out the conversation. It’s more of a confirmation that the promise he gave you was not empty.

He asks you out after a few days of scarce conversation. He isn’t much of a texter, you notice, and he tells you it’s because conversations over message cannot even compare to those held in real life. You are almost certain that if you the two of you were closer, he’d call.

It’s not a date. The two of you talk about everything, realising you’ve got some mutual friends. Just like the first time, talking to him is effortless. It makes your brain unwind in a was that is comfortable and soothing – you assume this has something to do with the softness in his eyes when he looks at you.

Despite your expectations, the curious twitch in his smile doesn’t go away, weeks into hanging out. He’s lived a life different than yours and sometimes, it feels like he’s hearing of struggles of the middle of the chain for the first time. You’re not poor like the people from the Cut, but you’re not Figure Eight–rich, either.

With time, Rafe starts walking closer, looking at you with the same gaze full of admiration, taking the eyelashes off your face instead of telling you it’s there. It’s the simplest touches, never crossing the line of just friends, even if threading on it.

When he tries taking you to an expensive restaurant, you stay the night at his place and order takeout instead. His hair stops being gelled around you and you stop putting a lot of effort in the way you look when you come over. Hanging out turns into hanging out, as if there’s something more to it.

Rafe kisses you on a Tuesday night. You’ve been waiting three months for this, ever since you caught his eye at the beach that sunny day. He’s gentle and reserved, giving you nothing more than a chaste peck.

It progresses from there. One month down the line, you’re official, and nobody is surprised – even the people you’ve heard talk about him before as if he weren’t the one to be tied down. With you, he has been nothing but gentle and patient, taking things at whatever pace both of you felt comfortable with.

There are times when you wonder what people think of you, all the same ones who had so many opinions about him that were little other than lies. Of course, you’re not a fool – you know there had to be some truth in them, too. You see it for yourself when Rafe shakes his head at parties to Topper and Kelce and you see them doing lines in the kitchen ten minutes later.

Whatever Rafe was like before you met him, it doesn’t matter. In the time you’ve been with him, Rafe has started to feel more comfortable on a wider scale. His shoulders tense less when he's around his father, he is kinder to his sister, he doesn’t support his friends doing things that could bring harm to them or to others.

It doesn’t matter what people say. You know your truth.

★

Rafe Cameron likes the beach, even when it’s autumn. He likes to wear tight turtleneck sweaters, usually in dark earth colours, and he likes to wear black skinny jeans, surprisingly. He likes the grey weather, when it’s cloudy and a little chilly, and the breeze pushes away the dry heat of the sun. He likes being cosy, playing rock songs and playing cards.

This is the opinion you have on Rafe five months into knowing him. You look at the boy in front of you, shuffling playing cards while lying on his side, propped up on his elbow – you can’t picture this being the same person you spent so long only hearing about.

He catches you looking and darts a card at you. ‘You better be thinking about how you’re going to treat me once I’ve won.’

‘It’s not fair,' you say. ‘You’ve been playing the game for far longer than I have.’

‘That’s life. It isn’t fair.’

Rafe smiles and deals the cards. It’s yet another round you lose in a row, but it’s not just because of the lack of experience.

He takes the cards and puts them away, lowering the volume on the speaker. ‘What’s bothering you?’

You sit on the blanket with your legs crossed and his fingers playing with the bottom hem of your jeans. It’s cosy, with wind whistling as the background to the song currently playing.

‘It’s not bothering me,’ you say, ‘but I guess I’m wondering how someone like Rafe Cameron, the Casanova and Charlie Sheen of Outer Banks becomes the boy who wears turtleneck sweaters and skinny jeans.’

Rafe laughs with ease evident on his face. He tugs on your jeans playfully, grinning wide. ‘Is that what you’re thinking about right now?’

‘You asked.’

He turns on his back and props himself on his elbows, switching his gaze between the moving sea and you, sitting next to him, close enough to feel the heat of his body.

One of his hands goes back to your ankle. He traces the skin underneath the jean fabric with his thumb, while his eyes give you the same glint they’ve had in them since the moment you met.

‘I thought you didn’t care what others thought of me.’

‘I still don’t, but it’s not something that’s easy to forget,’ you confess.

Rafe gives you one of the modest smiles, shy and tentative. It wrinkles the skin around his eyes and gives him the slightest dimple and lines around his jaw, but it’s all so soft you barely notice.

It’s the smile you feel like belongs to you only. You wouldn’t be surprised if it did.

‘That day at the beach,’ he begins. ‘I saw you standing there, and something in me said that I needed to talk to you.’

You laugh, because you think he’s joking, but his smile remains earnest and he waits until you stop. The hand that was on his ankle moves to your wrist, his touch just as gentle and soft.

‘Please don’t say it was love at first sight,’ you say, because you haven’t even said the words to one another.

Rafe shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t like that. It was just...’ He scratches the bridge of his nose, sighing lightly. ‘You know when you get that feeling in your chest like everything is possible?’

You nod.

‘It was that.’

‘Rafe Cameron, you’re a hopeless romantic,’ you tell him. There’s a smile on your face, and you think about how he hasn’t actually answered your question, but you let him place a kiss on your lips nonetheless.

He rests his forehead against yours. His fingers are right below your ear now, soft and gentle, like always. His breath is hot against your lips, and you think maybe that saying those three words isn’t going to happen far from this moment.

He kisses you again, just like that first time, only now you feel him smile into it.

‘Not hopeless.’

★

tagging. @jjtheangel @teenwaywardasgardian @thelocalpogue @jjmaybanky @sacredto @chasefreakinstokes @drewstarkey @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @margaritatimebaybee @outrbank @yourlocalauthor @justawilddreamerchild @snkkat @mynamewontwork13 @sunwardsss @storiesbymads @koufaxx @drewstarkeyobx @ilovejjmaybank @jjmaybanksbaby @mahleeyuh @starkeymarkey @nicolewithasoul @kiarawilliams127 @butgilinsky

#rafe cameron #outer banks #obx #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fic #ppwritingchallenge #rafe cameron fanfiction #obx fic #outer banks fic #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #obx fanfic #outer banks fanfic #f: obx #c: rafe #my fic #requested

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varietywritings · 5 years ago

Text

SOLACE

Draco Malfoy x OC!Esme Prewett

Solace Summary

CHAPTER ONE: THE SUNSET IS THE SAME FROM BRISTOL TO LONDON

Esme Prewett sat at her desk; the wood color was unknown even to her as it was covered in spare parchment, books, quills, and some liquorice wands—these were her favorite wizarding candies. Her audacious tabby, Sebastian, tried to fit his massive body between a pile of muggle books and an open bottle of ink. The ink tipped, spilling all over Esme’s notes from the wizarding book, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Though this would be her third time reading the book and the notes weren’t for anyone but herself as it was summer, she cursed at the cat; Sebastian looked satisfied by his accomplishment.

A loud peck on the window startled Esme, causing her to forget all about her desecrated notes. Ron’s fiery owl, Pigwidgeon, stood on her window sill, staring at Esme with his gleaming amber eyes. She smiled, sliding the window open so the small bird could enter her room. Esme untied the letter and small parcel from his leg and he began to bounce around impatiently as she read it.

Dear Essie,

We miss you over here. Mum has been intense, making us clean all the time. We’re so bored. I don’t know if they’ve written to you, but Fred and George have created loads of new joke products and we’re the test subjects. Professor Lupin nearly ate a fainting fancy. Luckily, George smacked it out of his hand. Mum was furious; it was truly hilarious.

Professor Lupin? She thought. Why would he be at The Burrow? Why is Molly making them clean? Her house cleans itself. She shrugged her confusion away and continued reading. Pigwidgeon began rapidly flying around her room; Sebastian followed him with his eyes.

Oh, Dad and Percy got into it the other day. He was promoted at the Ministry. He’s so far up Fudge’s arse that he neglects his own family. What a load of bollocks. Have you heard from him? Mum and Dad are very upset. Dad’s broken countless muggle artifacts and mum will not stop crying. He said some really awful things about not accepting us as his family anymore.

Bill is back home by the way. He took a desk job at Gringotts. I think he misses Egypt more than he lets on. You remember Fleur Delacour, right? He’s been giving her English lessons. I think he fancies her, but he won’t admit it.

Why on earth would Bill have taken a desk job? He loved the tombs. He loved Egypt. Things weren’t adding up to Esme; nevertheless, she kept reading.

It’s weird not having you spend the summer with us. I’m guessing you’ve got a lot of reading done. Hermione has too. How has your mum been? Is she even home?

I’ve attached a bag of liquorice wands. I figured you were running out. Tell Seb I miss him and I wish he were here in place of Crookshanks. Are you packed and ready for Hogwarts?

Can’t wait to hear from you,

Ron

PS: Pig couldn’t wait to visit. I’m sure he’d love it if you let him stay for a bit.

Esme sighed as she looked around her messy room. She wasn’t leaving for Hogwarts for a couple weeks, so she didn’t feel a need to pack just yet. She added Ron’s letter to the immense stack of letters she had received since her mother cut her off from the Weasley’s. There were several from Bill and Charlie, Ron sent her one weekly, Fred and George sent a couple, and Ginny sent almost as many as Ron. Esme loved receiving letters from her cousins as she was used to practically living with them until reports of Voldemort’s return surfaced via Harry. Esme believed him even though it pained her to admit. Sadly, her muggle mother believed him too and refused to let her interact with the wizarding world. As a result, Esme carefully hid the letters in her sock drawer.

She had been trapped in Bristol all summer while her mother traveled on business. As nice as the silent—apart from the occasional meow from a hungry Sebastian—house was when she was trying to get work done, she was lonely. She missed the terrible pranks Fred and George played, helping them plan those pranks, talking with Ginny, chess with Ron.

Esme laughed to herself at the sprightly little owl who had now landed back on her nightstand. Sebastian, still on her desk, was starting to drool on the parchment. Esme snarled her nose slightly, but she refused to bother him. She grabbed a clean piece of parchment and some fresh ink and began thinking of her response to Ron. She took her time so Pig was well rested.

Dear Ron,

I miss you guys too! I’m sorry you’re bored. I am too. Can only read so much. Fred and George haven’t written to me in a few weeks. Are they still apparating everywhere? They told me they were using each other as testers and Aunt Molly thought they had been fighting.

Why was Professor Lupin at the Burrow? Is everything okay? And Bill? Why did he move back? Egypt was his favorite place on Earth. I’m happy for him and Fleur. He hasn’t written to me in a bit.

Percy has written to me, but he didn’t mention the promotion or his quarrels with Uncle Arthur. I can’t believe Percy would say things like that.

I wish I didn’t tell me mum about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She freaked out. I get it, but she has to let me live. She’s not even here, and if she was, how could she possibly protect me?

I can’t wait to get out of this gloomy house and out of this town. Sebastian misses you guys. He is restless without you and the twins torturing him. He misses watching me destroy you in wizard’s chess and frankly I do too. Tell everyone I love and miss them. Tell Gin I’m awaiting her next letter.

Pig was a delight to have today. Thank you so much for the liquorice! Also, of course I am packed for Hogwarts. You know me, always prepared.

See you soon,

Esme

Esme threw the quill down on her desk and quickly rolled up the smudge-free parchment. She reused the leather strip Ron had sent to tie her letter to Pigwidgeon’s thin leg. His excitement heightened as she tightened the knot. He almost looked as if he was smiling. She petted his grey and white feathers before he took flight out the window and back to 12 Grimmauld Place—or the Burrow as Esme thought.

✶✶✶

Esme was up rather late redoing the notes Sebastian so gracefully destroyed. She didn’t mind though; it gave her a chance to make them neater. Esme could swear she heard the front door creak open, but decided ultimately that she had just stayed up entirely too late and was incapable of proper cognitive functioning. She closed the newest ink bottle she was using and got up from her desk. She saw a sleeping Sebastian on her bed and decided to join him until she heard a loud thud from the living room downstairs. She quietly ran to her desk and pulled the middle drawer open, grabbing her spruce wand with a white-knuckle grip.

It’s probably just your mother home early from her trip. She thought. She checked the time: 1:34 A.M. Her flight could not have landed this late. She was hesitant to open her bedroom door. It could definitely be your mother, but it could also be a murderer or two. It’s probably fine, right? How often do bad things truly happen? But Voldemort is back. Bollocks. She reaches for the door knob, but then pulls her hand away and backs up. The staircase creaks as if multiple people were walking up it.

“It’s going to be less dangerous to take her than Harry.” An unfamiliar female whisper came from the hallway.

Esme furrowed her brows and adjusted her ever-tightening grip on her wand. Less dangerous? Where exactly do they think they’re taking me?

Esme’s bedroom door flew open and a gust of wind disturbed Sebastian. The light from the hall made it difficult for Esme to see because her room was dark. Once her eyes adjusted, they met with the eyes of an unfamiliar face. She was a witch with violet hair. Esme froze before her, her heart beating at an unnatural pace.

“Ron said you’d packed already.” This violet-haired witch sighed, leaning against the door frame.

“I’m so��who are—” Esme tried to gather her thoughts to speak.

“Ms. Prewett.” A familiar voice came from a tall wizard standing behind the witch.

“Professor Lupin?” Esme smiled. Her shoulders relaxed; she didn’t even notice they were tense. Lupin was her favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to date. “What are you do—”

“No time to explain, sweetheart.” Arden, tenacious auror, Harry’s godmother, and Esme’s hero stood beside Remus Lupin reaching his chin. The Arden Walker is in my home. Esme was ecstatic as she hadn’t seen her idol since she visited Lupin’s class as a guest speaker in her third year.

“I’m Tonks.” The violet-haired witch smiled. “We have to get you packed.”

Esme smiled back at her. “Where are we going?”

“London,” Lupin chimed.

“London? Where are my aunt and uncle?”

“London.”

Esme gave the three an incredulous look. “Why?”

“Again, no time. Let’s get you packed,” Tonks declared impatiently.

Esme motioned for Tonks to enter her bedroom. Lupin and Arden went downstairs to get the brooms. Esme opened her brown trunk and began shoving clothes and parchment into it. Tonks waved her wand and everything Esme needed—books, parchment, dozens of ink bottles, her cauldron, scales, clothes, and even her postcards from her mother—chucked themselves into her trunk.

“That works.” Esme shrugged. “Thanks.”

Tonks nodded. Esme picked Sebastian up and shoved him in his blue carrier. He was less than excited, so she placed a few treats with him.

“Locomotor trunk.” Tonks said with her wand in hand. The trunk hovered and followed her wand motions downstairs.

“Ready to go?” Lupin questioned.

“I need to leave a note for my mother. She’d figure out how to contact the ministry just to spite me if I didn’t.”

“Nonsense, I already left one explaining the situation,” Lupin reassured.

“Well, then I’m ready!”

“Can you fly?” Arden asked.

“Uh—”

“No, she’s terrible,” Lupin teased.

“Hey!” Esme yelled in defense.

“Well, can you?” Tonks questioned.

“Well, no. Not well. I don’t even have a broom. I—er—borrowed George’s for class my first year and nearly snapped it in two only three feet off the ground.” Esme looked to the floor.

“You can ride with Arden. Tonks will take your trunk and Sebastian can come with me.”

Esme was elated to ride with her idol. The trunk stayed just behind Tonks as she led it outside into the streets of Bristol. The Hogwarts Crest on the lid beautifully reflected the moonlight. She used her wand to place it in the harness hanging from her broom. Lupin started to put Sebastian’s carrier into the harness below his broom.

“I’m not sure he’s going to be okay with that.”

“It’s a straight shot. Less than an hour,” Lupin reasoned.

“Your point? He’s a cat. A very pretentious cat I might add.” The three aurors looked at her with blank expressions. “He’ll be screaming the entire way there.”

“He’ll be okay.” Arden placed her hand on Esme’s shoulder. Esme relaxed and gave in.

Remus carefully placed Sebastian’s carrier in the harness. Everyone mounted their brooms. The night was warm, but windy making the flight a little rough. Arden was amazing at controlling the broom. She landed it serenely and methodically in front of a row of houses not so different from the one Esme and her mother lived in.

“I forgot to get Dumbledore’s deluminator from Moody.” Lupin grumbled.

“It’s almost three. I’m sure there aren’t any muggles looking out the window.” Tonks justified.

“Plus, they’re the least of our worries at this point.” Arden maundered.

Esme and Tonks removed her trunk from the harness while Arden grabbed Sebastian and his carrier.

Lupin moved his head back and forth to ensure there was no one around. He leaned closer to Esme and whispered, “12 Grimmauld Place. Where would it be?”

Esme, confused at first, looked to the house numbers in front of her. She found they were labeled as 11 Grimmauld Place and 13 Grimmauld Place. She blinked and all of a sudden, houses eleven and thirteen parted and an identical—except for the dirt and grime—one appeared in the middle labeled 12 Grimmauld Place. The dark night was as silent as ever before. The muggles didn’t seem to notice the sudden movement.

Lupin swiftly walked to the front door, holding it open for Tonks and Esme to carry the trunk in and Arden to carry the large cat in. Lupin checked his surroundings before joining them and quietly closing the door behind him. The hallway was dim and empty. The house was silent. Arden sat Sebastian’s carrier down and opened it. He quickly darted out of the carrier and across the room.

“Let me show you to your room. I can imagine you’re just yearning to get to sleep,” Arden said in a hushed tone; her Southern American accent almost disappearing into a more plain American accent. “Hope you don’t mind sharing a room with Ron until Harry gets here.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Esme whispered following Arden upstairs. Arden placed her trunk and the now-deserted cat carrier in the hall outside the room. Why does Harry get to take my bed? Where am I going to sleep when he gets here? Esme was too tired to figure that out. She snuck into Ron’s room as best as she could—he was snoring lightly, but she didn’t mind as she was used to sharing a room with Sebastian. She didn’t bother to change and plopped down on the bed which had what seemed like a centimeter of dust garnered on top. She suppressed a cough. I thought they were cleaning all summer.

✶✶✶

After breakfast, Esme found Bill in the lounge going over some parchment.

“What’s that?” She asked hopeful to get some information from him. No one had explained why they were in a dingy old house in London.

“Jus’ some stuff for The Order.” He quickly rolled the parchment up and sat it in his lap.

“The Order?” Esme questioned.

“They haven’t explained everything to you?”

“Nope. Just arrived early this morning.” Esme sat on the couch diagonally from Bill.

“The Order of the Phoenix: they’re a group of retentive witches and wizards fighting against You-Know-Who’s cause. They were active during the Wizarding War.”

“Who was in this group?”

“Well, Remus, Sirius and Arden, James and Lily Potter, The Longbottom’s, and—erm—your father and Gideon. Of course, there were others too, but their names are escaping me.”

Esme’s olive-green eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly; she was nearly the spitting image of her father, Fabian Prewett; she had a long, thin face accompanied by a long, protruding nose. “My—my father?”

“Yep.” Bill smiled proudly thinking of his uncle’s accomplishments.

“Is that why death eaters killed him?”

His smile quickly faded and he dolefully looked at his cousin. “Yeah.”

Esme looked to the floor. “And now you’re a member?”

Bill nodded realizing Esme wasn’t looking at him. “Er—yeah. Along with mum, dad, Charlie, Tonks, and a bunch more. Charlie’s staying in Romania trying to recruit witches and wizards.”

Esme looked at Bill again. “And Percy?”

He hardly winced at the mention of his name. “Don’t bring him up in front of mum and dad.”

“I know. Ron mentioned the promotion and his fight with Uncle Arthur in his last letter.”

“It was horrible. Mum hasn’t been in a good mood since. Percy doesn’t believe Harry saw You-Know-Who because Fudge doesn’t believe it. Dad tried talking sense into him, but it was no use.”

“That’a a shame. So, how do I join?”

“The Order?”

Esme nodded.

“You don’t. Mum won’t let you; you’re too young. Besides, we’ve got this handled.”

“Do you? You had to leave your job—one that you absolutely love—to join this Order. I want to help.”

“Es, you can’t help. Maybe when you’re of age, but hopefully by then this will all be over.”

Esme wanted to continue arguing but decided it was best to bite her tongue as she still had information to get from him. “So, Fleur Delacour, hm?” She smirked.

Bill was surprised Esme didn’t debate him more on joining the Order but ultimately didn’t want to question this refreshing turn of events. “And who told you about her?”

“Ron. He told me you’ve been giving her English lessons.”

“She just wants to improve at her English and I’m fluent, so what’s the big deal?” His cheeks were an almost unnoticeable shade of pink, but Esme noticed.

“Do you like her?”

“Of course I like her. She’s extremely kind, really smart too.” Bill was looking off into the distance, daydreaming of Fleur.

Esme started to further inquire about her, but a loud crack interrupted her thoughts and made her jump out of her seat. The twins appeared in front of the couch. Fred was holding Sebastian.

“You arseholes.” Esme’s voice quavered. Her heart was beating rapidly. “You apparated with my cat?”

“He was fine,” George said calmly.

“He rather enjoyed it actually,” Fred reasoned. “Jumped right into me arms.”

Esme’s blinks were slow as she was trying to comprehend what exactly went through Fred and George’s minds. “I’m going to take my cat now, if you don’t mind.” She didn’t wait for a response and reached out for her traumatized tabby who gladly snuggled into her chest.

“So, what have you two been talking about?” George asked.

“Sod off.” Esme sat back down on the couch; Sebastian curled up in her lap and started purring.

“Woah, Esmie. That’s a bit harsh don’t you think?” Fred smiled.

Esme playfully rolled her eyes at the two who sat on the couch on either side of her. “Congrats on passing your apparition test!”

“Thanks,” the twin boys sang in unison.

“Is it freeing to practice magic whenever you want?” Esme asked longingly.

“Not when mum yells at us for doing it.” Fred forced a laugh.

“Speaking of unbearable, how’s Margot?” George sneered.

“Don’t know. She’s been gone on a business trip the past week, s’posed to come home tomorrow.”

“We’ll see about that.” Bill laughed through his nose causing Esme to smile.

✶✶✶

The next couple of days were monotonous; this made Esme a tad anxious. She was almost joyed by Harry’s arrival as it was something that didn’t have to do with dusting every surface on every floor of 12 Grimmauld Place. Sebastian rapturously greeted Harry at dinner evoking a groan out of Esme.

Esme sat in the center of the table between Ron and Fred. Molly droned on and on about them all, especially Harry, being too young to be a part of the Order. She could tell Harry felt it was a load of rubbish as she did too.

Sebastian jumped into Harry’s lap, prompting Harry to shift to the left side of his seat to make room for the pudgy tabby. Sebastian sat in the empty space of the chair facing the table as if he were trying to join the conversations.

“He doesn’t need to be at the table.” Molly ordered.

“Sorry.” Harry mumbled.

“What is he harming?” Esme questioned.

“We’re trying to eat here.” Molly’s tone was stern.

Sebastian seemed to be offended as he glared at Molly.

“He hasn’t seen Harry in a while. They missed each other.” Fred chimed in.

“Yes, well, we’ve all missed Harry, but he needs to get down.”

Harry carefully picked Sebastian up and placed him on the cold floor. Feeling defeated, he curled up underneath Harry’s chair.

Esme carried on with Ron and Arthur throughout dinner. The conversation in the kitchen was trifling and whimsical until Sirius told Harry it was okay to ask questions. Molly blew up causing Esme to jump slightly.

“He’s too young.”

Esme rolled her eyes as Molly always used the same argument. Sebastian didn’t even want to be a part of it; he ran off to disturb Crookshanks.

Molly started to give in and decided Harry could stay for a bit and learn a minimal amount of information about just what the Order and Lord Voldemort have been doing.

Arthur convinced Molly to let the twins stay and Ron convinced Molly to let him and Hermione stay with, “Harry will tell us anyway.”

“Fine. Ginny, Esme go to your rooms now.”

Esme knew she could do better than Ron. “I don’t have a room. Harry took it. Besides, I was stuck at my house this entire summer because you made me tell my mother about You-Know-Who, so the least you could do is let me stay.” Molly’s face was an unmistakable shade of red. “Let me just add that I spent my summer researching legilimency.”

“Fine. Ginny, bed now.”

Esme regretted staying for the conversation because they weren’t given any information the Extendable Ears didn’t already hear for them.

She went to Ron and Harry’s room to gather her belongings, but found that they were already neatly placed in the hall. She exhaled deeply and turned around to find Arden walking up the steps.

“I can make you a bed.” Arden offered.

“Really?” Esme asked hopefully.

“Yep. Come on.” Arden’s accent, though subtle, was especially discernible in the last two words. She led her downstairs to Ginny and Hermione’s room where Hermione was telling Ginny everything that occurred in the kitchen.

“I’m going to make Esme a bed in here, if that’s okay with y’all.”

“Of course it is,” Ginny said.

With a wave of her wand, Ginny’s bed turned into a bunk bed. The top bunk, with white sheets and a comforter perfectly made, was for Esme.

“Thank you.” Esme smiled.

“Anytime.” Arden returned the smile.

She left the three girls to converse until they heard the creak of the floorboards that meant Molly was coming to check on them. They all dove under their covers and didn’t make a peep until they heard her heading upstairs.

✶✶✶

“Esme, you’re going to help me wash the dishes tonight.” Molly ordered.

Esme looked to Fred and George with pleading eyes, but they laughed and then vanished with a loud crack. She groaned quietly so Molly wouldn’t hear.

Esme stayed silent with every plate she washed. Finally, Molly was concerned as Esme was usually a garrulous young witch.

“Have something on your mind?”

“Hm?” Esme’s mind had trailed off to random things, such as which Ravenclaws would make prefect, which books she would need for this year, who Dumbledore would have hired for Defense Against the Dark Arts which brought her back to Harry not being allowed in the Order of the Phoenix.

Molly repeated herself.

“Oh, um just thinking about things.”

“Such as?”

“Just Hogwarts and stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Esme knew she was going to regret the next thing she said, but she couldn’t not confront her aunt. “Harry deserves to be a member of the Order of—”

“This is not up for discussion.” Molly almost dropped the rag she was holding to give Esme a flinty stare which was ignored. Molly began vehemently scrubbing the dining table.

“You-Know-Who does everything in his power to spite Harry. That’s all he wants: world domination and Harry dead. It’s inhumane to keep him in the dark about it.” Esme continued to scrub a bowl riddled with leftover food particles.

“Esme, I am warning you.” Molly nearly had steam coming from her ears.

“The ‘you’re too young’ excuse is a load of bollocks—”

“ESME JOANNA.” Molly had stopped cleaning altogether.

Esme didn’t flinch and continued, “—and you and I both know it. He’s the best at Defense Against the Dark Arts in our year, besides me of course.” She knew Harry exceeded her talents at the subject but couldn’t pass up the chance to rag on him.

Molly took a deep breath before speaking. “It doesn’t matter how good he is; I have a right to protect him.”

“You don’t have a right to control him and his every move. He’s not your chess piece. He’s not your son.” Esme put the sponge and the bowl into the sink and turned to her aunt.

“Well, I am the closest thing that poor boy has to a mother. I will not continue this conversation with you.”

“He has Arden.”

“Who didn’t take him in after they died.”

Esme rubbed her brow. “—and Sirius—”

“Who was gone for twelve years.”

“Locked away in Azkaban against his will, framed for thirteen murders. And Arden was told by your beloved Dumbledore that she wasn’t allowed to have him because she was a target.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point. He has both of them now. His parents named Sirius and Arden his godparents because they wanted them looking after him.”

“I’ve been looking after him for five years. I can’t stop now.”

“I’m not saying you have to stop caring for him. He just deserves to know what is happening. You can’t keep that from him.”

“He needs to be protected.”

“How is he to be protected when the Order isn’t around and he knows nothing?”

Molly didn’t have an answer for this and Esme knew she had struck a nerve.

“Enough. I’m done having this conversation.”

“Because you know I’m right. Harry needs to be in the know, so he can be safe.”

“Esme.”

“If you keep him isolated from all of this, not only will he resent you, but he won’t ever be able to handle You-Know-Who.”

“Go to bed.” Molly pointed toward the kitchen door. Esme stayed silent and headed for the door. “Why must you argue me on every little thing?” Molly lowered her voice as Esme was leaving.

A/N:

Sorry this took so long, but the wait is over. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!

-Ghost

TAGS:

@virgiill @yourfriendly-neighborhoodfuckup

5 notes · View notes

artsyld · 7 years ago

Text

The Snake, The Bombs, and the Mongoose

A Hazbin Hotel story, about Sir Pentious, his Egg Bois, and the night they met @modtime‘s OC, Roxane.

It was the same monotonous cycle, year in and year out. Faceless exterminators, tall, lean, and mechanically deadly, would take out a few denizens or so once a year, regardless of what they were doing. It seemed like with each passing purge, more are attacked and lose whatever little they had left, after crossing over from Earth to the hellish world they'd been sent to. Sir Pentious knew it all too well. He recalled a time when extermination wasn't even a thought. Sure, an unlucky soul would be destroyed every now and then, but that, he recalled, was often fueled by carelessness, not by social motives. With the coming of the twenty-first century however came an apparent lack of morality, faith, and forgiveness on Earth (at least, that's what some of the newer denizens would propose), and now the bleak, red world that the black and gold cobra was stuck in just felt overcrowded. Overflowing with humanoids and talking creatures alike, who never atoned and made amends for their past mistakes, the world around Sir Pentious grew increasingly uncivilized, chaotic, and, in his opinion, unintelligent. Sir Pentious wouldn't allow it; not in this bloody dimension where destruction seemed to be the top priority in everyone's minds. If only it could learn from him. After all, the snake was a brilliant inventor, acclaimed and respected during his career on Earth. In the world he longed for again, gentlemen held doors open for ladies, and many were not inclined to be so destructive and reckless in good company. No one seemed to think much of these qualities the way Sir Pentious did. Even some of those who'd passed on from within his time period had given up a long time ago to try and maintain that sense of discipline that had been instilled in him since childhood. But the snake simply wouldn't. As long as his long slithering body was shaking, as long as the eyes on his tail and the blinking one on his hat still moved and pondered like he did, no matter what their prideful "Leader", his current Queen Lucine, or anyone else thought, he would no longer sit idly by, while his former world, basking in its title as being what he'd describe as "a beacon of civilization and culture," would completely disappear. This very thinking led Sir Pentious down his road of villainy, a path as long and as winding as his serpentine tail. He knew it would be tricky; the very idea of trying to take over a city-a kingdom, in fact- was no easy task, but to take over one of this scale? It would be an experience for sure; perhaps an enjoyable one? On the night he had resolved to make these choices, the clever creature couldn't help but grin. He could only imagine what the heavenly hosts would think. Nevertheless, he would follow through with his claims. If he was going to be stuck here in a place he found quite awful, he was going to make it fit his standards. He knew better than to try it alone. Even some of the most ambitious fellows he'd ever read up on, Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan, Brutus of Rome; even fictional men, like King Claudius and Fagin the old pickpocket, had others, With that in his mind, it wasn't long before he found his own others in the form of the Egg Bois, a collection of talking eggs, who came to appreciate Sir Pentious. The broken cracks of their shells served as their eyes and mouths, and they too pulled off dark gray suits lined with long gold stripes like the cobra they now followed. They even matched their small golden eyes, full of enthusiasm and contentment, at being considered useful by someone at last. Over the decades, Sir Pentious and the Egg Bois would conjure up very complex schemes to try and dismantle their monarch. Some schemes involved infiltrating a recently approved organization; for others, their approach included the growing influence of Pentious's side businesses. Though the growing population was helping his businesses grow in profit, the overwhelming crowds and cacophony did nothing to soothe the cobra. And apparently not even the one who first thought of those inconvenient killers. Though his small gang never did get far anyway, Sir Pentious was ambitious and incredibly determined. Even when the destructive exterminators came along to take the lives of their fellow citizens, Sir Pentious kept his focus; even when territorial genocide became a factor in this fallen kingdom he wanted. Especially when he was truthfully inconvenienced by the conception and birth of Lucine's daughter, Charlie, he wouldn't give in. Over this period of time however, the more Sir Pentious and the Egg Bois failed, the more he began to feel that sense of lacking; as if somehow, having henchmen, his engineer's mind, and his never ending desire for power, were no longer enough. One day, as he silently watched his fellow citizens from his red, dark gray, and golden home, quietly noticing a recently deceased goth with big silver hair, ranting at what appeared to be a pink and cream colored spider creature with a smirk on his face, he suddenly considered something he hadn't before. Perhaps the reason why he frequently failed to mold this cacophonous dimension to his liking was due to a lack of a co-conspirator. Someone he can exchange ideas with and show off his skills to. He looked over at the Egg Bois, seeing them pop open bottles of champagne after a long day of working. Sir Pentious frowned and quietly scoffed at them. They were suitable henchmen, he supposed, but certainly not partner material. He needed a quick-witted someone. Or it could be that he was just overthinking things; most likely. For now though, he walked off from the scene, putting his thoughts away for awhile. "Bois, gather around!" he exclaimed, beckoning the Bois from all over their meeting room. It was a tall, glistening place with shining gold and pink windows, mismatched by deep grey walls. Each of the bois crowded near a red monitor perched on a pedestal, paired with two levers. "Out of the way-out of the way," he said, as he pulled on the levers. "Tonight, the Captain of the Guard of our fearless 'leader' is visiting the Purge Messengers," he explained, pointing as a map of the Inferno appeared. He pointed to a small rectangle on the map, on completely opposite ends where the Royal Family's castle sat. "We've managed to find out that the Captain will be carrying the procedures for the purge commencing next week. Now, if we can drug or distract the Captain-or blow him up if possible- and get ahold of those plans, we can present ourselves to the population, and present this year's escape routes and how-to's! For a price of course; I could be the one to settle the chaos this year and keep people in one piece. People like to be looked after, you know. Everyone will look to me for guidance! More guidance, means more respect, which means more being 'hip', as some people say! And being 'hip', means more influence. And where does influence lead? Power! And with that power can quickly lead to-" "Domination?" an Egg Bois asked. There was a sudden silence, as Sir Pentious practically stared him down with an annoyed scowl. The boi that spoke sank back down into his stance, and pointed his head down.

"DOMINATION!!" Sir Pentious replied, instantly rising his voice. "YEAH!!!" the Egg Bois all cheered and clapped. The mouthy fumbled with his hands. "Brilliant, Sir Pentious!" "No one will stand a chance!" The blinking hat on his head grinned as the serpent did. This, in particular, was a moment he looked forward to each day; his collection of minions appreciating him as the knowing eyes on his tail, clothes, and cobra hood looking at his face. It was a comforting thing; temporary, but comforting all the same. ...

The blood red sky loomed over Roxane, as she maneuvered from street lamp to street lamp, carrying a leather purse over her shoulders. She wanted to rub her back from the ache of a newly stitched patch of skin on her lower back, where her tail used to be. Regardless of the pain, the mongoose used her keen sense of smell to sense any followers; any who might've seen her swipe some loot just after her operation. Thankfully, there were none. Now that she was far away from the scenes of her crimes, she decided to simply walk down the sidewalk and try to relax. Walking near various creatures of different types, her head pointed towards a collection of televisions behind a window, all featuring a blonde haired demon with a smile too wide to be comforting. "And finally, the Annual Purge is just five days away. I'd say 'hope and pray you don't die', but let's face it. We're already dead!" she announced with an oddly cheerful tone. "And as usual, we'll be presenting live coverage of the event, from our studio of course! I'm Katie Killjoy, for the 6 o'clock news," Roxane wrinkled her little black nose, more out of distaste. Leave it to crazy Killjoy and her coworkers to sit tight in their studio while the rest of their dimension had to run and hide. "Ah, who am I kidding?" she thought to herself. "They've done it since the start of these stupid purges. Why change now?" After a quick growl of her stomach, she hurried past the televisions and down the street, holding her bag close, without trying look too suspicious. Warning posters, and demons indulging in various vices, from lust to wrath to gluttony, lined the sidewalks, and clumped themselves under streetlights, either ignoring her entirely or looking at her either with mean spirited ridicule or judgement. No matter, she always thought. She lightly stepped across the street and mumbled an 'excuse me', as she slipped by people. Most didn't bother with a response or even the turn of the head. She didn't care much these days. She hadn't known an entirely pleasant face since before the end of her life on Earth. Granted, she couldn't have expected anything better; not in this place. She pulled her hat a little further down onto her head, and glanced over her shoulder one last time, just to be safe. Roxane only sped up her walk once she left the busy epicenter of downtown. As she pulled her large cap over her head, suburbs gradually took their places as she grew closer to her apartment complex. She happened upon a three story apartment building, dirty and sad looking, on the other end of suburbs, where the houses and strip centers sat near open fields and one solitary skyscraper, a secondary meeting place for employees of the Royal Family, Roxane had once been told. The building was also littered with demons, partaking in smoking, drinking, screaming at each other, and throwing a punch or two. The latter of which took place just by her usual flight of stairs to get to her own little apartment. She rolled her eyes, but before she could use the flight of stairs on the other end of the building, she noticed something she found particularly odd. A collection of talking ovals scurried from street corner to corner, whispering among each other as they crossed the streets. Roxane, tired as she was, could've sworn they were...no they couldn't be. She slipped behind the building and watched them giggle at each other about a joke she didn't quite catch. They certainly did look like eggs, but surely they couldn't be...scrambled eggs sounded really nice right about now, she thought. She sank to her arms and knees and hid behind large, fallen debris, in hopes of getting a better look at them. Just as she suspected, they were four Egg Bois, with broken cracks for their mouths and eye sockets. The bois stopped at a corner a little close by the skyscraper, giving Roxane the chance she needed to get close enough to verify what these creatures were. "There's just one thing I don't understand?" the first one asked, albeit grouchily. "What's that, Curtis?" another, Martin, asked, sounding tired. Roxane watched them from behind and smirked a little. The more she looked at these eggs, however animate, the more she felt her hunger spike. Nasty little thoughts entered her head. "Why exactly would the Big Man Downstairs get a random skyscraper built all the way out here in the trashy suburbs? Isn't he just begging for trouble?" "Have you seen the demons around here?" another asked, trying to stay focused on looking out. "They're too busy smoking and drinking with their pals. No sensible crook from Downtown would bother doing business with a lazy gaggle of bums. Though I doubt they're worse than that Angel Dust-" "Oh yeah, I can't stand that guy!" Curtis cried. "If that arachno-jerk ever shows up again, I oughta cave his head in! I'd go 'wham!'-" he cried, throwing a punch. "And a 'kerpow!'-, and a-ugh!" There was a sudden quiet. "...finally he shuts up," Martin whispered. "Bois-" Sir Pentious whispered, as he appeared from the shadows and beckoned them. "Hello, Boss!" the third of them, Samuel, replied. "How many times do I have to tell you bois, that you have to be quiet? Especially on these jobs?" he asked strictly. The eye on his hat practically glared at the trio. "Wait a minute..." Sir Pentious did a head count. "One, two, th-...are we missing someone?" The Eggs Bois looked around them. "Where's Curtis?" the fourth of them, Frederick, asked. "Excellent question," Sir Pentious grumbled. "...well, it could still work with two...Frederick!" "Boss?" "Go find Curtis! I don't want anyone seeing him and getting suspicious," he ordered. "Yes, sir!" Frederick replied before speeding away. Sir Pentious hid the remaining bois, including himself, at the sound of footsteps, clacking on the pavement. Slipping towards the side of the skyscraper, Sir Pentious and Samuel peeked over the corner and found a well dressed demons wearing many medals approaching the sliding doors of the skyscraper, looking very smug. He was a very handsome gentleman, very humanoid in appearance, with long flowing dark hair. His eyes were a flaming red, and around his chest was a satchel; one that Sir Pentious stared at intently. "There he is, bois. Captain Mermeoth, one of the original Fallen Angels from before the Creation of Man. They say he was there the moment the Princess's father first proposed his rebellion." "He looks awfully impressive, Boss," Samuel replied. "Yes, but not for long," Sir Pentious told him with a grin. "Get ready to distract him." "Yes, sir!" Martin agreed. "And Samuel, take your place on the other side of the building. Wait for the moment I nod my head. Trigger the bombs, and it'll send them to his knees. Then, when he's preoccupied, grab the plans. He always keeps them in that satchel of his. You boys ready?" "Right!" Samuel replied. Martin was silent. "Martin?" Sir Pentious looked behind him and Samuel. The hat's eye widened in shock. Samuel looked left and right. "Where did he go??" the boi asked. Sir Pentious's face was thrown left and right, and his face expressed a look of confusion, frustration, and maybe even a little worry. "What is going on here?!" he demanded. "HELP!! HELP!!!!" "That sounds like Martin!" Samuel cried. Sir Pentious hummed in suspicion. His hat glared a cold dagger. ... "HELP-HELP-HELP!!" "Shut up, dude, huh?" Roxane snapped. Wrapped up in her arms were three squirming egg bois, kicking their feet and struggling. Using her paws as well as she could, she gathered a collection of trash and a pan, and attempted to start a fire on the opposite side of the street parallel to the skyscraper. Hiding in an alleyway, she kept her eyes open and alert, should any particular cobras show up. "Shh-shh, sorry, fellas, nothing personal. I'm a mongoose, you're some eggs, and I'm starving. Don't be so sore about it." "NO, YOU CRAZY BROAD! LET. US. GO!" Curtis cried. "WAAAHHH I WANT SIR PENTIOUS!" Martin wailed. Roxane rolled her eyes as she tried to light up a match and make a fire. When the matchstick was lit, she flung it into the trash and watched the flame flare up. "There we go! Now, bois, try to relax. This will only take a-OW!" Roxane felt a clawed hand grasp her bare shoulder and turn her around. Sir Pentious clutched her skin with a terrible glare on his face and hat.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING??!!" Roxane jumped, causing the bois to fall from her arms. "HOORAY! The Boss has come to save us!" Curtis cheered. "YAHOOOO!" the other bois cried. They crowded around Sir Pentious and beamed at him. "We love you, Sir Pentious!" "Yes, yes, yes-" he said, putting them all behind him. Roxane couldn't help but smirk as she pushed herself away from him. "Aw, the big bad Egg Dad protecting his sons." The cobra's muscles tensed up at such a response. "Sons?! Who do you think you are, snatching my henchmen, young woman?" Roxane frowned at him. "Well, that can happen, when you're wandering around Hell, stuffed full of mischievous demons." Her smile was bold, and filled with sharp pearly whites. Sir Pentious curled his fingers in, taken aback a little by her courage. The mongoose seemed pleased at her apparently unexpected sass. "That may be, my dear, but you don't just simply steal a man's minions, Hell or no Hell," he snarled. Roxane squared her shoulders a little, in preparation for a fight. "Well, I-" She pushed away her bag, causing it to tip over. Sir Pentious briefly noticed some of the items inside; two brown and black wallets, a bag of chips, a crowbar, and a debit card with a masculine name etched in it. "Perhaps, this isn't your first theft, is it, my mongoose?" he asked, with an arched eyebrow. Roxane tied her hair up just in case. "You clever cobra, you," she replied, not frowning for a second. "Thanks," he replied arrogantly. His tail nudged Curtis to snatch her bag. "Hey!!" she exclaimed as Sir Pentious took the bag and looked through it with an evil smirk on his face. "I can't stay long, but I'm interested in your repertoire. Let me see," he opened up the wallets and found ID cards that clearly didn't match her face. "Two hundred Hell Credits, a crowbar-useful for thefts, I will admit-a bag of salt and oil, and...Garrett Kane," he grinned at her, upon reading the payment card. "You don't look like a Garrett Kane."

Roxane lunged for the bag, before Sir Pentious slipped out of the way, tripping her with his tail. His hat beamed with malicious pleasure before Roxane grabbed on his arm and tugged him to the ground. The Egg Bois huddled together, gasping and worried. The mongoose pinned him to the ground, giggling with mild ridicule. "You know that the mongoose is your natural enemy, right?" She clenched her fist up and sent it sailing down towards his face. However, the serpent grabbed it, as his hat fell off and rolled away from him. His mouth and eyes widened with a deafening hiss, as he sat up, jerking her back. He pinned her to the wall, holding her by her wrists. "The Laws of the Earth don't apply in Hell, my dear." Roxane's chest heaved up and down as she briefly analyzed her situation. His clawed fingers pressed down on her skin, but strangely enough, not too deep that it drew blood. Looking at him and all of his eyes falling on her, she felt wouldn't break, not in front of this slithering creature. "I'll give you that," she breathed, still smirking. "Sir Pentious...right?" The snake was silent, not expecting her to utter his name. "You're in one of those gangs that are always fighting for terf. I saw you throw a grenade at a girl once. Tall woman, long blonde ponytail, one red eye?" "You know Cherri?" he hissed distastefully. "I know of Cherri, and her buddy, Angel Dust," she explained. She noticed the scowl on his face, his grip staying as tight as possible. "I'm impressed. Yes, she and Angel were plotting to take my side of town for the millionth time. Can't say, I approve." "I don't blame you. If someone were trying to steal my apartment, I wouldn't receive them well either. If you've gotta steal, you gotta be sneaky about it." Sir Pentious hummed. "And smart about it." "Exactly," Roxane replied. "I saw you throw it at her, the night I pickpocketed some Hell Credits from an aristocrat, one of those old school Fallen Angels from waaayyy back when." "You stole from a Fallen Angel? How?" he asked in a low, doubtful tone. Roxane chuckled. "I'm too quick. I've been at this since 1980. I used it to buy that purse of mine; a nice deep one to hold aallll my treasures," she replied, almost flirting. She winked at him, causing another flicker of doubt in him. "I see. I wish I'd caught that Cherri even more so now. You'd have seen how great a shot I am." "I believe you," she assured him. They stared at each other for quite awhile. The Egg Bois weren't sure what to make them both. This random mongoose girl keeping her cool and teasing the Boss, like he was a common demon. Yet, the Boss just stands there, keeping her pinned by her bare shoulders, no thanks to her loose gold colored sweater. Yet, he does nothing. No hitting, no venomous bites, not even an apparent scratch to the skin under her thin layer of fur; all there seemed to be as they teased each other were snarky smiles and subtle pink tints to their cheeks. Even his hat seemed a little confused. “Nice hat, cobra,” she replied with a grin. Neither Sir Pentious nor the Hat seemed to expect this, but the latter was plenty flattered. “Yours isn’t so bad itself.” Sir Pentious began to question himself. His reluctance to retaliate or say anything more, baffled even him. For a moment, all he did was stare, before he shook his head and held out her bag with his tail. "I think...I'm beginning to like you, Miss..." "Roxane; now what are you doing out here anyway?" she asked in a gentle tone that surprised even her. "And that's how I lost my dog, Scruffy!" Roxane, Sir Pentious, and remaining Egg Bois, looked around the corner and saw Samuel trying to talk to a very impatient looking Mermeoth. Sir Pentious grinned. "Perfect! Martin, get over there and hurry to the bombs," he whispered to Martin. "Yes, sir!" Martin replied.

"Bombs?!" Roxane asked. Sir Pentious shushed her. "Can I go get the satchel, Boss?" Curtis asked in a redemptive tone. "No! You've been too careless lately. Frederick, you go get it," Sir Pentious snapped. Curtis shrugged lowly. Frederick saluted and took a ready stance. Samuel could see Martin creep behind Mermeoth. His heart skipped a beat when the captain turned his head for just a brief moment, only for Samuel to remind him of a rabies shot this 'Scruffy' had. Martin sprinted towards the other side of the street, parallel to the right side of the skyscaper. Sir Pentious watched Martin, who made eye contact with him once he made it to a long winding wire extending from the building. Roxane saw the grin on his face as he picked up his hat and brushed it off. Roxane noticed it blink at her for a moment, before Sir Pentious gave him the signal. One head nod was all he needed. Huge spheres of fire and smoke exploded from the ground, causing Mermeoth to stumble and Samuel to try and reach for the demon's satchel. His lack of grace caused him to fall over. "WOAH-OOF!! I-I'VE FALLEN! HELP! I CAN'T GET UP!!! HELP!!!!" he cried. Sir Pentious groaned and was about to enter the scene before Roxane sped towards the rubble from behind him. Sir Pentious reached his tail inside in hopes of reaching for the satchel without detection. Instead, he caught Martin. When he retracted the tip of his tail, he hovered it, allowing the egg boi to dangle. "Phew! Gee, thanks, Boss!" "You idiot!!! Where's the satchel? And where's that-" Roxane staggered from the collection of fire and ash, with the Captain's satchel over her shoulder. Looking exhausted, but nonetheless determined, Sir Pentious really stared at her, shocked and perhaps even a little in awe. The flames from behind her gave her a bold, yet regal appearance as she wearily stepped towards him. Her hair flew around her thin face and the fire matched her bright, brilliant red and orange eyes. He couldn’t look away from them.

She was beautiful.

The mongoose stopped at the feeling of something behind her. Sir Pentious extended his tail at the sight of a clawed hand reaching out from behind her. Roxane lifted her fists to fight. After a hard punch to Captain Mermeoth's face (at which even the cobra himself had to smirk a little), Roxane's ankle was tugged away by his tail, causing her to be fall away, back to the alley where Sir Pentious stood. He grabbed both her purse and the Captain's satchel and took her away from the scene. The Egg Bois followed him. The collection of demons hurried from alleyway to alleyway, until they were far enough from the wreckage for Roxane to struggle in his grip and rip her hand away. "Let go of me!" she whispered. She shook her hand to help ease away his tight, though strangely warm grip. "There," she breathed in and out, tired from running. He briefly glanced at her, a little dumbfounded, before reaching inside. His smile spread from side to side as he pulled out what looked like a one hundred page document covered in tiny words, blue prints, and maps detailing the entirety of the Inferno and the best places to hide from the purging creatures. The Egg Bois climbed on top of each other, forming a ladder of sorts, with Curtis on the bottom and Samuel on top. He and Roxane looked over Sir Pentious's shoulder and 'oohed' and 'ahhed' over the overflow of information. The cobra looked over at Roxane and quietly pondered her. She was quick on her feet, evidently smart, and extremely capable, and the strangest part about it was, he didn't necessarily disapprove of her taking a look.

Sirens suddenly rang at them, causing Sir Pentious to grab the bois and Roxane and bolt away as fast as he could, leaving a ranting Captain of the Guard.

...

In the days following the annual purge, Roxane walked cautiously towards Sir Pentious's home, making sure she wasn't being followed. The bruises and scratches from wearing shorts during her initial conflict with the serpent were all nearly healed, now that the dust had settled. In time, people came out of their homes and gave into the same vices they'd fallen for in the past. Some let their hands wander upon the bodies of others, other stuffed their faces with food and drink, and a few spewed blatant falsehoods. "Oh yeah, you should've seen it. I smashed 'em and I ripped those purgers to pieces. No demon killer can sneak up on me and get off scott free!" Roxane softly scoffed. "I will admit; it was really neat of Sir Pentious to tell people where to go and how to prep for the invasion," a pink and yellow demon woman with one eye piped up. Roxane smiled as she turned towards his house. "Sounds like his plan is working," she thought. She dashed to the front door of his two story home. Though she knew she could walk right in, she knocked on the door anyway, quickly parting her feet and extending her arms. When the doors opened, an Egg Bois holding a shotgun answered. "Y-Yes?" he asked. "YIPES!" "Ooh lunch!" Roxane replied, almost teasing. She lunged for the boi, who kicked his legs around at her firm hands on his egg shell. "Oh no not again!" he cried. "Save me, Boss! Save me!!" "Roxane," Sir Pentious replied, standing in the foyer with his arms folded. Roxane dangled him over her open mouth before looking at an annoyed cobra. "Drop him." The mongoose groaned and dropped the egg, who dashed behind the snake, holding his tail from behind him. "That's right, egg. Scramble to your Boss!" Roxane replied with a facetious wink. The boi trembled, and Sir Pentious rolled his eyes. "Matthew, go find the others. See if they need anything." "Yes, yes, of course!" the boi replied, hurrying towards the meeting hall. Sir Pentious curved an eyebrow at her, as she put her hands behind her back, appearing innocent. "Now, don't you start with that little smirk, silly mongoose," he warned, as she winked at him. She walked up to him, looking pleased at the smile trying to grow on his lips. He took her up the stairs to a door in the hallway, which he opened to reveal a gold and dark gray colored office. "Close the door behind you, if you please," Sir Pentious replied. "Oh, sure," she replied as he slithered past his blinking hat on his rack. It watched Roxane as she briefly glanced at it. Once she sat down in front of his desk, it grinned at him. Sir Pentious noticed and squinted at it, causing it to give him a knowing look. "So, Roxane-" he began, as she put her hands in her lap. "Mmh-hmm?" "I can safely say that my purge plan is working just about as well as I hoped it would. I heard on the radio that even our good friend, the Captain, had a less than pleasant experience during the actual conflict," Sir Pentious replied with a diabolical grin. Roxane chuckled at a beam she found rather amusing. "I think so too. I heard someone compliment you on the way here,” she pointed out. "Good, good, I had deduced that someone would. While I've got you-" Sir Pentious replied, beckoning her to lean forward, with his finger. She did so, and emphasized her ear with her own to listen in. "-though I've got a jump start of popularity going around, I need you to do me a favor." "Might as well; I've done a few for you already," Roxane replied in a teasing tone. Normally, Sir Pentious wouldn't have approved, but at this point, he expected it. "And I've done a couple for you, don't forget! I had hoped that you appreciated hiding here during the purge as an expression of my...thanks, I suppose," he replied. The hat grinned at him, at which he stared it down. Roxane nodded. "I did, thank you, and I appreciate you letting me get out and get some nice warm air after those creeps left," she returned. A mild blush almost flared up before he turned his head around. "Of course; I mean, it wouldn't have been very gentlemanly of me to keep a relatively new acquaintance of mine cooped up here in the aftermath of the worst inconvenience I get all year. In fact, now that the worst is over for the year, I have a job for you." "Aah, good, the commission you promised," Roxane reminded him. "If you succeed of course. Task first, payment second; that was our deal." "Fine, fine," she admitted. The cobra smirked as he handed her a map of Katie Killjoy's television studio and dressing room, plus a picture of a light pink, ovular pill. "Last night, one of my bois," he said this with a hint of aggravation. "-lost a very powerful sedative I asked him to pick up and present to me. I had intended on planting it in Angel Dust's regular drug intake. My boi's partner saw Killjoy's co-anchor, Tom, pick it up and take it to the studio before he could grab it. It's not a lethal drug, but it can put its consumer in a powerful sleep. It would give me more than enough time to surround his gang, overtake them, and claim his terf. But before I can do that, I need to take back that sedative and any footage their cameras may have of it. Knowing Killjoy, her crew are probably working on a big story about it right now. This is where you come in: I want you to sneak into the station, find the sedative, and bring it and any footage her cameras may have picked up of it. Better yet, if you find any, bring the cameras to me. A good dismantling should do the trick." Roxane nodded and hummed, as he explained his story, and placed her hand on the desk. "Consider it done, and don't forget: 20 credits/hour, starting as soon as you send me out." "If you succeed." "I think I will. I'm a quick, tough lady, sir," she explained, flexing an arm muscle. She tapped her fist to his cheek, causing him to lose control of that light pink blush to his cheeks. Her gentle fist on his skin helped him feel strangely warm before he cleared his throat. "Yes, well, if I were you, I'd get going. Your commission starts now. Don't die on the way back and hands off my bois." "Alright, alright," she said. She walked towards the door, and spared him one last glance, before she smiled. “Oh and Sir Pentious?” He looked up at her. "Thanks."

With that, she was gone. The snake's muscles stiffened, before he noticed his hat grinning at him. He loosened them and flexed his jacket.

"Yes well...pleasant girl," he assured himself.

#Hazbin Hotel #modtime #Sir Pentious #vivienne medrano #Roxane #fanfiction #vivziepop #OCs #the Egg Bois

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multi-fandom-geek-deal-with-it · 7 years ago

Text

Hi, I’m Ginny Weasley and This is my story-Fanfiction

AN: Hey there, I am Ermory nice to meet Y'all. So this story is a story that is originally translated from Italian so I am terribly sorry if grammar or dialogue that comes from the book is wrong.

Disclaimer: I do not own either the plot or the characters, the plot is from EmPotter and the characters are from JK Rowling's mind

Link to the original story: https://efpfanfic.net/printsave.php?action=printall&sid=1166371#17

Fanfiction Link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12927209/1/I-m-Ginny-Weasley-and-this-is-my-story

Prologue

The frogs croaked in the small green pond, the hens below amusedly cackled here and there creating havoc among the chickens, as the warm summer breeze blew pleasantly, rippling through trees and grass. A red-haired figurine was facing her window sill, absently looking out over the garden at the pond - the same pond in which her elder brothers had tried to drown her if it had not been for his mother's hoarse screams.

Ginny Weasley had just turned eleven: she was a thin, petite girl, her pretty face sprayed with freckles, below her big brown eyes and thick red hair: a flame red that went on orange, which Ginny liked to compare with the sunset.

Although she had received the letter a few days ago, the girl wanted to try herself to control her magic, and, furrowing her brows in contraction, made the petals of flowers on her windowsill open and close like a kind of submarine coral.

If only her mum had seen it!

Her mother would have certainly disintegrated her and since Ginny had received her letter she had become, if possible, even more, paranoid and hysterical. Not to mention the thrashing screams thrown into the kitchen when the girl had waved her Hogwarts letter all over the house, shrieking with happiness.

One thing that had made her crazy was the fact that her older brothers, Fred, George and Ron, had been spending hours making bets to guess which house their sister was going to end up with.

In short, it was bad on their part to reiterate that she would never be a Ravenclaw because she was too stupid, and the girl nearly burst into tears and cursed for that because now she should have to learn that her brothers liked to joke, even if she was not sure that this was really a joke.

Although it was hard to make her parents proud when their six sons had already done everything before her, the little Weasley had confidence in herself and would never let them down.

"Empty beds!" the mother's voice from the courtyard echoed in the room. "You could have crashed ... I was out of anguish ... But what did you care?"

What else had her brothers done?

Although curious to immediately rush down to investigate what they had accomplished this time, she was too angry. Angry with them for the fact that they excluded her yet again, like playing Quidditch.

She dominated her impulse of curiosity, giving way to pride and arrogance dominate, but she could not. After five minutes, she had opened the door impatiently and ran downstairs.

"The sky was overcast, mum"

"Do not talk with your mouth full!"

"But they were starving him to death, mum"

"The same is for you!"

Ginny quickly entered the kitchen, even more, intrigued by the words she had just heard, but stopped short: her eyes were immediately drawn to a boy, a boy who had no red hair of the Weasley, a boy who looked incredibly like... the famous Harry Potter …

She could not believe it.

The mysterious boy turned to the girl and Ginny saw that it was him, she let out a little scream and ran away again.

She made the stairs two at a time, even three at risk of falling and breaking all her teeth, and immediately shut the door to her room hoping not to have attracted too much attention, even if it seemed impossible. The girl noticed that the floorboard outside the door is still bobbing, because she heard the noise against the wooden door.

She tried to focus on the 'Ginevra's Room' name plate to change it in her mind - she hated her entire name of baptism (not to mention the second 'Molly'), but failed.

So, Ron, Fred and George had flown to Harry Potter's house to take him here to the Burrow? Was that why my mother was so angry? Yes, and Ginny should have imagined it. She had heard her brother scoff at the fact that his best friend did not answer the letters, while a certain Hermione Granger did. The reason for the lack of answers to all those letters, Ron attributed to Harry's bad guardians. She had to expect something like that.

However, at the moment, it's needless to say that her little heart was beating at a thousand miles per hour: she had seen the most famous wizard of the world, live!

Not that she had not seen him before, because Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter had met once on the first of September of the previous year, at the King's Cross station before taking the run-up and emerging on the track nine and three quarters.

"Excuse me"

A trembling voice came faintly behind Ginny's shoulders and the little girl turned around: a thin boy, with messy black hair and shining green eyes, looked at her and her family through his round glasses.

Ginny stared at him for a long time, childishly attracted by that boy ... but she did not have the slightest idea that it was Harry Potter. She knew nothing about him but it seemed he had already left a mark in her mind ...

"Hey mum, let's see if you can guess who we just met on the train!" exclaimed Fred excitedly, getting off the train. "You know that black-haired boy who was near us at the station, do you know who he is?"

"Who is it?"

"Harry Potter!" the twins answered in chorus.

Ginny's heart gave a somersault.

Who would have thought that the boy she had long observed was Harry Potter?

"Oh, mum, can I get on the train to see him?" the little girl asked her mother in her most desperately pleading tone, because the boy's eyes had almost stunned her. "Mum, please ..."

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and that poor boy is not a zoo animal!" the mother blurted out and Ginny told herself that this was absolutely a lost case, and that it was probably not worth the trouble.

She thought desperately that maybe he would see her again in passing in the corridors at Hogwarts, when it was also her time to go to school, the following year …

But she was wrong. He would see her again, yes, but at her house for a month!

She turned towards the window and leaned over to see what was going on downstairs, past the kitchen garden that could be seen outside her bedroom: the twins and Ron were teaching Harry Potter how to get rid of the garden gnomes.

She even had the idea to get on the desk for a better view, but then told herself it was a bad idea. If Mum came right in then she could even think of suicide! She would not have thought the girl was looking at Harry Potter, right? Even if she had done nothing but talk about him all summer with her brothers ...

Daydreams of the two falling in love reigned in Ginny's mind indefinitely …

Life with Harry Potter at the Burrow was a paradise for Ginny Weasley, even if the girl did not remember not to making a fool of herself in the boy's presence: she tended to drop everything when he was around and so appeared more clumsy than usual; she got used to going purple and not saying anything, which was not in her nature; otherwise, if she had to say something, it was mostly nonsense.

But the worst moment was when Ginny caught Harry looking at himself in the mirror above the fireplace, and the mirror roared, 'Put your shirt inside your pants, shaman!'. Ginny began to laugh like crazy, much to the irritation of Percy (who was trying to study who knows what) and the impatience of his brothers.

On Wednesday, Mrs. Weasley woke up early to go to Diagon Alley. But at that moment, the group, which also included a certain Hermione Granger and her parents, had split up.

Ginny and her mother, after going to Gringotts with the others, were walking alone into Diagon Alley to buy all the school supplies that she needed - except the books, which they would buy all together at Flourish and Blotts.

"Mum, Madam Malkin's!"

"No, we will not go there," said the mother. "Your uniform will be second-hand. Remember, we've already talked about it!"

"But mom ..."

"Ginny, do not act spoiled! I'm sorry, but this is decided. Here we are!"

She dragged her daughter into a shabby-looking shop that seemed to be standing solely by magic. If the mother had not dragged her there, Ginny would never have noticed that there was a store at all: it didn't have a sign, and inside there were very few lights that made it seem all dark and claustrophobic.

"Hogwarts?" asked a smiling little witch. "I have what you need ... follow me, follow me"

Ginny obeyed and followed her into the back, where she was made to try the ugliest tunics she had ever seen. Even those of Ron (which were also second-hand) were not so ruined! In the end, she had to settle for a grey and little frayed tunic, as well as a pointed hat (as the list said) a pair of gloves similar to those in dragon leather, and a winter coat.

Leaving the shop, Mrs. Weasley noticed her daughter's afflicted face.

"Well, when you grow up I'll buy you a new, shiny black tunic," she said encouragingly, and Ginny smiled as she consulted her list.

"Um ... uniform, textbooks ... accessories yes, then: brass scales"

"We already have it at home"

"Telescope"

"You will use Bill's"

"Set of glass or crystal tubes"

"Charlie had so many ... and we do not even miss the main ingredients for the potions!"

"A cauldron?"

"We have to buy this, the store must be right ... here, around the corner"

They entered a shop crowded by students, which was full of scales, telescopes of mixed sizes (Ginny was immediately fascinated by one that was very large) as well as cauldrons of all kinds: from solid gold to pewter.

Despite the crowd that were there, they got out quickly. Ginny, in the joy of having finally bought something new, bumped into a tall, thin girl with thick, brown hair and big hazel eyes, making the girl's cauldron shatter by her feet.

There was a terrible noise and everyone turned to them: some boys, who also seemed to be of the age of Hogwarts if not of Ginny's age, giggled loudly. Ginny helped the unfortunate girl pick up her cauldron, ignoring the puffs and laughter of the others. Mrs. Weasley shouted reproach at her daughter as the other girl's mother tried telling her that it could happen to anyone.

"Sorry ..." Ginny muttered embarrassedly, red to the root of her flaming hair. "Did you get hurt?"

"Oh, it's nothing!" the girl replied gently.

"Let's go, Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley hissed.

"Demelza, let's go too: this place is too crowded" echoed the girl's mother, much softer than Mrs. Weasley, and the two girls looked at each other.

"Then we'll meet at Hogwarts," said the girl named Demelza, with a gentle smile.

"Yes ... see you!" Ginny greeted her and hurried out of the shop hoping that the crowd will already forget everything.

They did not talk about what had happened in the store, and Ginny only tried to imagine what was going on in the mother's head: having children making more noise than a Centauri herd was exasperating.

They walked for more than ten minutes without saying a word, only throwing occasional glances at each other.

They passed theEeylops Owl Emporium, which sold all kinds of animals, though owls dominated. Ginny's eyes were immediately caught by a white and fluffy cat, but did not dare to breathe: she know that her mother would never buy it. They also went by the pharmacy and then back to the Leaky Cauldron, then Ginny, stopped short and rushed to the window of Quality Quidditch supplies.

"Oh, Quidditch!" blurted her mother with disapproval.

"Look mum, look! The new Nimbus Two thousand One! Mum, look!"

The handle of the racing broom gleamed in the sunlight, and it was the last one still unsold. Ginny, knowing as much as she did about Quidditch and brooms, saw from a glance that it was far ahead of the old Two thousand model.

"Just like your brothers ... come on, let's not waste time with these broomsticks!" Mrs. Weasley said impatiently, but Ginny did not seem wanting to move from the window. "Come on, you can't even ride a broom like that!"

How many things you do not know about me, thought the girl irritably. Her mother didn't know that it was since she was six that she snatched, whenever she could, her brothers' brooms to train for Quidditch: she wanted to be prepared for when, one day, she would present herself to audition for her House at Hogwarts.

Her mother now got mad and Ginny told herself maybe it was time to move.

They continued to the end of the street, where a cramped and dirty shop stood. A sign, with faded golden, said Ollivanders, wands of superior quality from 382 BC.

The two entered and a little bell announced their entry.

The shop was just like itself on the outside and an old man with big light eyes peeked out of the gloom.

"Hello, Mr. Ollivander!" Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully.

"Good morning," he replied softly. "So what do we have today? A Weasley, is it not ?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded vigorously.

"What's your name, miss?"

Ginny stared at him puzzled, then said her name specifying to call her with the diminutive.

"Oh, Ginny ... short for Ginevra ..." Mr. Ollivander pulled out a long measure tape. "So, what's the arm with which you use your wand, Miss Weasley?"

"The right one, sir," she replied.

The wand maker set about taking measurements from the shoulder to Ginny's fingertips, then from the wrist to the elbow, from the shoulder to the dusty floor, from the knee to the armpit and finally took the head circumference while Ginny had her fist in her mouth to stifle the laughs: her mother gave her a look of pure threat.

"Here, that's enough," Ollivander announced. "Miss Weasley, try this: maple and dragon-heartstring, ten inches, very flexible."

Ginny took it, with shaking hands, and waved it.

The disaster was imminent: the shelves burst into the air and Ollivander snatched the wand from her hands.

"Try this"

The girl obeyed but caused the destruction of an oil lamp.

Ginny tried, tried, tried again and finally ...

"Eleven-and-a-half inches, willow and phoenix tail feathers." Ollivander handed her a beautiful black wand and Ginny grabbed it.

She realized that it was the right one when a sudden heat ran through her arm with a pleasant tingling and from the tip of her new wand a trail of red and blue sparks emanated like miniature fireworks. Mrs. Weasley smiled and Ollivander had a satisfied expression on his face, he then said in a croaking voice:

"It's the wand that chooses the wizard"

After paying seven galleons of gold for Ginny's wand, the two hurried through Diagon Alley to reach the others at Flourish and Blottsfor the textbooks: Ginny obviously would have them secondhand, like all the stuff she owned.

They met Fred and George in Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop and Percy's in a crowded, junk-filled shop, and they headed off to the bookstore where they were sure they would find Mr. Weasley in the company of Mr. Granger.

"Oh, that sounds like a fascinating book," Fred mumbled, chuckling and pointing to Percy's new book: Prefects who gained power, A study of Hogwarts prefects and their later careers.

"Stop it," he snapped.

"Oh-ho, very ambitious, boy," George said back.

"Stop that nonsense"

"But Percy!" Ginny intervened, who could not help eavesdropping on their conversation, leaving her mother's hand. "Did you not always say you wanted to be Minister of Magic once Fudge was dead?"

"Ginny, for God's sake!" her brother hissed, looking around in terror. "Shut up too and walk with mum!"

The girl could not understand.

They walked for more than five minutes (Fred, George and Percy argued all the way but that wasn't really new) and reached the bookshop, which was crowded with an unusually long line. The boys could not figure out what that crowd of middle-aged ladies like Mrs. Weasley was doing, but Ginny had guessed it from a big sign, hanging from the windows of the upper floor:

Today, from 12.30 to 2.30

GILDEROY LOCKHART

will sign copies of his autobiography

Magical me.

Mrs. Weasley was now fixing her hair very nervously.

"What's wrong with her?" Fred said, widening his eyes, amused.

Ginny laughed and pointed to the sign.

"Oh, damn it!" Fred moaned, too disgusted to laugh, "If I knew I would have came in ..."

"Guys, here you are, good!" said her mother while Ron, Harry and their friend joined them. "In a minute we'll see ..."

The girl craned her neck: Gilderoy Lockhart emerged from the shelves and sat down gracefully at a table. The wizard had a head of blonde and wavy hair, and wore a turquoise dress bringing out his eyes. He showed a radiant smile, while winking to every witch.

Ginny blinked, thinking he was really beautiful.

The first words of the man were:

"Is it ever possible, but is that Harry Potter?"

Ginny turned to the boy but Lockhart leaned forward, took Harry by the arm, and dragged him until he found the boy with himself in the front row: Harry went as red as Weasley's hair; Lockhart shook his hand; the photographer of the Daily Prophet took countless photos one after the other; and the audience burst into loud applause.

Ginny joined the applause in an excited way and Hermione Granger smiled at her, clapping her hands. Ron gave her a look of profound contempt as Fred and George laughed at Percy, who was livid, covered with dense gray smoke from the cameras.

It seemed that the vision of Harry and Lockhart was perfect.

"Smile, Harry!" the man exclaimed, exposing his very white teeth. "You and I, together, are worthy of the front page. Ladies and gentlemen what an extraordinary moment this is! When young Harry entered Flourish and Blotts this morning to buy my autobiography, which I am now happy to present to him", the crowd applauded again. "He had no idea that he would go away with the entire collection of my works, for free. Ladies and gentlemen, I have the great pleasure and pride of announcing that in September I will assume the position of Defense against the Dark Arts Professor at the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry of Hogwarts! "

Lockhart put a stack of books in the arms of the boy. Harry came out of the crowd, staggering slightly and approaching Ginny, who clutched her cauldron (full of second-hand books that were bought by her mother) in her fingers so hard that her knuckles went white. Harry Potter threw her Lockhart's books into the container, gasping from the effort.

"You take these, I'll buy them ..." he muttered.

"I bet you liked it, did you not, Potter?" Suddenly said a shuffling voice, and Ginny turned: a thin, pale boy with a pointed chin and blond hair that was nearly white turned to Harry mockingly with a perfect grin on his face. "The famous Harry Potter can not even go into a bookstore without making the front page!"

Ginny stared at the boy: how dare he? Now it was not Harry's fault that even a famous writer of works, Gilderoy Lockhart, admired him because he was famous. She noticed that she hated that blond to death and didn't even know why that affirmation gave her so much trouble, so much that ...

"Leave him alone, he did not want all this!" she snapped and the boy turned to her.

"Oh, look Potter ... you got yourself a girlfriend!" he exclaimed and Ginny blushed violently.

Why had she intervened? Yes, the blond's statement had bothered her particularly without a reason and it had been very brave of little Weasley to rebuke him, since it was the first time she went by saying something logical in the presence of Harry Potter... but now why did she have to become an all-one with her red hair?

"Guys, it's crazy inside, let's go out!" said Mr. Weasley struggling through the crowd, with Fred and George on his heels.

"Well, well, well ... Arthur Weasley," said another shuffling voice, and Ginny looked up.

"Lucius" greeted her father in an icy tone.

A man identical to the blond boy was standing behind him and holding a hand on his shoulder with a sneer exactly identical to what his son had: Lucius? Then it was him Lucius Malfoy! But then... the kid with the pointed chin must had been Draco Malfoy, the bitter enemy of her brother Ron!

"Overwork at the Ministry, Arthur? All those inspections ... I hope they pay overtime," said Lucius Malfoy mockingly, and taking the second-hand Transfiguration Practical Guide for Beginners from Ginny's cauldron, then continued. "Of course not, what's the point of dishonoring the wizard name if they do not pay enough?"

"We have a very different idea about what dishonors the wizard name, Malfoy"

"It seems clear to me ... Going around with Muggles ... I thought this family could not fall any further"

Ginny opened her eyes, mortified and horrified, then her cauldron flew in the air: her father had rushed onto the man, hurling him against a shelf while dozens of books fell on their heads.

"Take it, dad!" Fred and George shouted in unison.

"No, Arthur, no!" Mrs. Weasley shrieked.

Ginny, Harry, Draco, Ron, and Hermione all stared at the scene, frozen and speechless as the crowd withdrew: Hagrid was telling others to step aside as he separated the two injured men. Mr. Weasley was cut on his lip and Mr. Malfoy in one eye, still clutching Ginny's Transfiguration book.

He looked at her with malignant contempt and gave it back to her.

"Keep this little girl ... take your book ... it's all your father can give you!"

Ginny, whose eyes were full of tears, thought she had never had a worse day than that.

When they got home, Ginny immediately dived into her bed, flipping through the pages of her second-hand books with curiosity and forgetting what happened at Flourish and Blotts even though she did not really want to read them all like Hermione Granger, whom Ron had often talked about how much of a nerd she was.

She was amusedly went through the images in Thousand Herbs and Magic Mushrooms, then took the Transfiguration one, and something slipped out from inside, landing with a thud on the floor.

Ginny picked up a diary.

It had a shiny, shabby black cover with a date that was fifty years old and the girl wondered if it was worth opening. Her father had told her so many strange stories, like a little book that burned your eyes when you opened it, or there were books like Sonnets of a Sorcerer that caused the unfortunate to speak in verse for a lifetime ... maybe Ginny would have made the end of the old witch who lives in Bath: forced to stay with her freckled nose glued to the pages.

But mum would never have put a diary like that in her cauldron!

Ginny opened it and noticed that on the front page was written 'T.M. Riddle '. She flipped through the pages but realized, with dismay, that there was nothing written. The pages were yellowed and was visibly empty.

So her mom had not bought it! Someone had bought it to the bookstore and in the joy of seeing Gilderoy Lockhart had forgotten it in her cauldron. Yes, it had to be like that.

The girl still flipped through the pages impatiently, as if expecting to see any message appear, even just 'Dear Diary' or "Eleven thirty: Hogwarts library' or maybe a name, a surname and an address- but nothing. So, she took her quill and ink and wrote something on it.

My name is Ginny Weasley.

Ginny's eyes widened: her writing was gradually disappearing, as if the page had been of an absorbing material. She felt the point where her quill had made contact to see what was wrong but quickly withdrew her hand: on the page, there were forming other words she had never written and with a different writing from hers, a firm and neat writing.

Hi, Ginny Weasley. My name is Tom Riddle. How did you get my diary?

Her eyes in fright and surprise, and went almost close to screaming.

How the hell did that journal answer? What was she supposed to do? Should she show it to someone before using it? What was that little diary that looked so harmless, dangerous or bewitched?

She could even hear the screams of her mother inside her head; her father's reproaches; the snorts of her brother Percy who repeated to her that she had been too unwary, that she ought to grow up someday... but she could also hear the applause and the congratulations of the twins for listening to her instinct, without worrying too much about the consequences, like a real Gryffindor.

I found it by mistake in my cauldron in Diagon Alley, she replied. When I went to buy school supplies for Hogwarts.

Oh, Hogwarts! First year?

Yes, it's my first year but I already know a lot of things: I have six brothers older than me.

Are you excited?

Very. I've dreamed of going to Hogwarts since my older brother went there. But I must say that I'm also a little nervous for this first year.

Why should you be?

Well, I have to live up to my parents' expectations: Bill was a head boy; Charlie captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team; Percy is a Prefect; Fred and George are a bit 'combines school disasters but have good grades and everyone loves them; and Ron has a fantastic best friend. Do you understand? In the family, it is expected that I will live up to the others but if I succeed then, nobody will consider it a great thing. Above all, because I am the only girl. I just want to make my parents proud and I will succeed in spite of everything!

Oh, but you're very smart, Ginny Weasley! Tom Riddle commented. We must always have confidence in ourselves, that is how we achieve our goals and goals.

Ginny smiled happily: gullible, idiotic, paranoid ... the diary was absolutely harmless!

What was wrong with a diary on which someone had imposed a spell to make sure that it answered and that, moreover, it gave advice? It could not do any harm, in fact, it would be of great help to let off the pressure and to tell all the things she could not say to anyone but it, which certainty would not have opened his mouth otherwise. It had been fortunate that someone had forgotten it.

Sbe decided not to discuss it with anyone, a wise decision too, because surely Fred and George would have confiscated it: an object so curious certainly would not go unnoticed, especially in the eyes of all her brothers.

"GINNY! LUNCH IS READY!" her mother cried out suddenly and the girl winced.

I have to go, they're calling me for lunch. See you soon! she threw down a few lines and answered her mother.

"COMING!"

But before doing anything, she hid the diary beneath the bed for good: that thing was hers. It was the first time that she possessed something exclusively of her own and she would give it her heart.

So that is the end of the first chapter, nice. Do you like all the hints?

Please do a review but don't be too harsh, English is not my mother language and I still need an editor, I will try to update every week but I have my GCSEs starting in two days, so wish me luck.

Again the link to the original story in Italian is this: ?action=printall&sid=1166371

Have a nice day

~Ermory

Editor: Helena Haansilton

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