#finally breaking the gray cat streak

[abcwc]

[jujutsukatsuki]

Memories || B.K

|| in honor of someone sending in a hate mail about my writing and specifically part one of this work, which you don’t have to read to understand this. Here’s part two! This is dedicated to that hater! Listen to Memories by Conan Gray to get the full effect! ||

It had been six months since she saw him, since he broke her heart. Since he walked out the door like she meant nothing. She saw him on tv often, Pro Hero Dynamite, every week it was a report about how he saved the city or was accepting a new award for his heroics.

It wasn’t fair.

She stilled lived in the same apartment, mainly cause they had signed a two year lease so she couldn’t leave. She had finally managed to get herself to stop crying when she would look at the old pictures of the two of them.

She watches the rain out the window, a black cardigan pulled around her as she sees the sidewalks puddled with water. She takes a sip of her red wine as a soft knock breaks the gentle silence of the apartment. The cat she had gotten a month after he left her, gently meows and jumped up on the entry table next to the dark oak front door.

The walk to the door is quick from her cozy chair that overlooks the sidewalk. She looks through the peephole and sees red eyes peering through it at her. She jumps before she opens the door.

“Bakugou?” The use of his last name makes his skin crawl, he groans.

“I just.. can we talk? Y/n?” He looks at her, he can watch the gears in her brain turn as she looks at him. She can see how wet his hoodie is and she can’t help but open the door for him.

He slides in and goes to walk into the living room but stumbles over the cat.

“Who put a fuckin’ cat there?!” He grumbled before letting the cat sniff his hand.

She watches him cautiously, like she’s a wild animal and he’s prey.

Somehow they end up on the kitchen floor, Bakugou is wrapped in a blanket, his clothes put in the dryer. Y/n has her back against the cabinets as she watches him, her knees are pulled tight to her chest as if they were a shield guarding her heart from him.

“I miss you.” His voice is rough, she can see the remainder of the black make up he wore under his hero mask.

“I wish you’d stay in my memories.” She bites back, her tone is sharp, callous, calculated.

“I deserve that.” He agrees and runs his hands through the damp blonde streaks, the black cat named Starfire had curled up next to him.

‘Traitor’ Y/n thinks in her head as she eyes her companion.

“I hate what I did to you.. I was trying to pr-“

“So help me god if you say protect me.” Y/n snaps, her eyes watering from the confrontation.

“Y/n.. baby.. you don’t get it..” he tried to reason, his eyes search hers for any hope that he can explain.

“I get it. I got it when I came home to a half empty apartment and you sat me down and then walked out. I understood when you blocked my number. I understood when you had security kick me out of your agency when I wanted to talk to you.”

Bakugou closes his eyes, the alcohol has gotten to his head and he feels ill, or maybe it’s the guilt for his actions.

“You protected me all through out high school and college and I supported you when you were in hero school and starting out and you faced greater threats then whatever it was this time. You didn’t leave me then. So what was it Bakugou? What the fuck was it?!”

His last name on her tongue feels wrong, he wants to hear katsuki from her pretty lips.

“I.. I got scared. I wanted to marry you but I got scared. I wasn’t ready.” He whispers and moves closer to Y/n, he moves to lay on the ground, his head in her lap.

“Please Y/n… I’m sorry… please understand.”

She can feel the tears fall on the bare skin of her thigh, she thinks about the last few months that they were together in her head. The way he had gotten a call about a nine thousand dollar transaction on his card, the way he always would stand in the closet and be staring at something but hide it away when Y/n would come around. His mom texting and asking when they could go get their nails done even when they had never done that before.

Y/n looks down at the sobbing drunk man and sighs, she rubs the bridge of her nose and squeezes her eyes shut. The sound of the dryer going off rips her from all thought.

“I’ll be right back.” She gently maneuvers out from under him and goes to get his laundry. When she returns with the clothes, he’s still on the floor petting Starfire and whispering to himself.

“Your mom is so beautiful, I wish I never fucked things up.. I miss her every day. I know I ruined her but I could fix it.. make it up.. god..”

Y/n clears her throat and Bakugou sits up quickly startling Starfire who scampers off.

“You can sleep in the guest room. You’re in no condition to drive or walk.“

Bakugou stands up, keeping the blanket tight around him.

“Okay,” he agrees and walks to where the guest room was, he loved this apartment, remembered the day the two moved in like it was yesterday. He opens the door and it looks different. Y/n’s things are in here.

“Wrong door.” Y/n says as she crosses her arms over her chest.

Bakugou turns and opens their old bedroom. The guest room furniture was now in here.

“Why?” He asks and looks at her.

“Couldn’t stand to be in there.” She looks away.

He doesn’t say anything else as he goes into the room.

“Oh. Here.” She grabs his clothes from the kitchen counter and hands them to him.

“Thanks Y/n.” He smiles, his head feels gross, he needs to lay down.

“Yeah. Well good night.”

She walks into her bedroom and closes the door, she puts her back against it and slides down it, hands running through her hair.

Y/n lets herself cry, she sniffles as she wipes her tears on the black cardigan. It’s not fair she tells herself that right as she’s fully put back together he comes in here and fucks it all up, it’s not fair that he can ruin her own self image of herself and run back to her like it meant nothing.

She takes her sweater off and puts on a big t shirt and crawls into bed. Within a few minutes there’s a knock at the door and Bakugou peeks his head in.

“Y/n?” He says “I love you.” He finishes.

Her eyes flick to him and she jumps out of bed, the door flying open to see his full body

“No. No. No. No.” she picks up a pillow and starts to hit him with it, all the rage she had built up exploding out.

“You don’t get to say that! You don’t get to come here and ruin my life over again like you did already! You don’t get to make me believe that we could be something again when you already proved that I was nothing! You made me feel like I was nothing! Don’t you understand that you’re holding yourself back from finding someone you actually love?! I was barely surviving after you left! It’s not fair!” She screams at him, tears rolling down her cheeks like the storm that rages outside.

Her face is red and warm and her body feels like she’s laying on hot coals. Bakugou gently grabs her and pulls her into a hug, she can faintly smell the cologne he always used, the one she still kept in her bathroom. She can smell the beer on him as well. She breaks down in his arms, she can barely hold herself up as he strokes her back and holds her.

“Shhh, I got you. It’s okay.” He whispers and pulls her to the bed, he lays down with her on his chest. He keeps a tight hold.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He whispers over and over.

They fall asleep like that. When the sun comes up and shines in their eyes, they lay in the aftermath of the storm. Bakugou wakes up first like he always did. Y/n isn’t far behind when she feels gentle kisses on her forehead.

“Morning sleeping beauty.” He whispers

“Hi.” She muttered and closes her eyes once again.

Maybe they didn’t have to be what they were before, maybe they could be something better.

Bakugou gently sits up and holds her.

“I am sorry Y/n.. and I do miss you. Just please.. one shot..”

Y/n takes a deep inhale of the cologne that sticks to his body. She slowly nods.

“Okay.. one shot, that’s all you get.”

“That’s all I need. I won’t fuck up again. I promise.”

[supersaiyanjedi14]

RWBY COMBAT ANALYSIS: THE RUSTED KNIGHT

“I’m sorry, I… I know I’m not okay. I- I’m not right, but… How am I supposed to be…? I’ve been alone… for SO… LONG! Here… On that bridge… I was the only one that could do it! I was the ONLY ONE! And I… And now I have to live with that forever… In here or back home…”

PHYSICAL

After falling into the Ever After during the Atlas exodus, Jaune Arc stumbled across a Clockwork Orange, an item that forcibly sent him back in time.  Unable to return to the present, Jaune was forced to spend the subsequent years braving the dangers of the Ever After as he awaited Team RWBY to finally join him, eventually taking up the alias of the Rusted Knight, a supposedly fantastical character of the fairy tale The Girl Who Fell Through the World.  By the time he finally reunited with his friends, Jaune had spent anywhere from ten to twenty years in the Ever After, placing him in his early-to-late thirties during the events of Volume 9.  While ostensibly still in his physical prime, Jaune’s aging was far from graceful, his blonde hair and beard streaked with gray and his weathered features betraying the trials of his tenure.  His mental strain was even more pronounced, his failure to revive Penny Polendina driving him into an obsessive preoccupation with protecting those around him, latching on to keeping the Paper Pleasers intact despite their frequent attempts at Ascension.

Despite his premature aging, Jaune still retained his athletic viability as the Rusted Knight, continuing to demonstrate his exceptional strength and agility.  His physical might was sufficient to overpower Jabberwalkers on a fairly regular basis and even stagger the Curious Cat with physical combat after the creature possessed the body of Neopolitan.  While still disinclined to employ acrobatics, Rusted Jaune was quick on his feet, covering ground with running charges and employing balanced footwork and evasions to keep his target in his crosshairs.  Furthermore, he grew into an exceptional equestrian and mounted warrior, expertly working alongside his jackalope mount Juniper on multiple occasions.  Though he failed to catch the Curious Cat before it could possess Neo’s body and was later overpowered by the Furious Cat, this is no sign of weakness in either area given the Afteran’s overwhelming physical might.  Where Jaune's athletic performance differed the most was in his dexterity and reflexes, something he was forced to develop in response to his damaged weapon and no doubt honed by his experience in the Ever After.  With a much shorter blade than he was used to, Jaune was forced to rely more on technique and precision when fighting than brute force, targeting the weakest link and striking accurately.

Regarding Jaune's physical tolerances, he remained an extremely capable endurance fighter, focusing through hits and continuing to fight afterwards.  During the battle with the Curious Cat, Jaune soaked up several major hits from the Cat and was later accidentally hurled from the arena by Weiss, yet he was only minorly disabled by this, regaining his feet and continuing to provide tactical support for Weiss, Blake and Yang.  It was only after the Cat transformed into the Furious Cat, it’s exceptionally more powerful form, and struck Jaune square in the chest that his Aura broke and he was out of the fight.  During his time as the Rusted Knight, he was noted for multiple harrowing adventures that tested his mettle, and he was even able to survive being poisoned by Alyx despite having little in the way of medical attention.  However, Jaune's stamina was surprisingly cut short in his elder state.  While he did not burn out immediately, he was still subdued at the Tree far quicker than his allies, his Aura breaking before any of theirs had even flickered.  Far more detrimental was Jaune’s mental fortitude.  While his will to persevere and fight remained indominable, his previous failures left him with an obsession with protecting his charges, leaving him anxious and prone to angered outbursts.  However, despite his limited composure, the Rusted Knight retained his dogged determination even when under duress, and pushing him to the point of no return would be an uphill battle for anyone.

Despite the severe state of disrepair it had fallen into, Jaune’s armor remained strong and effective, and had in fact been further supplemented with additional plating.  The cuirass was upgraded to provide greater coverage over his abdomen, while his pauldrons were replaced with a heavier set, though the gauntlets remained unchanged.  He added to this with a full helmet, greaves, tassets, and a codpiece, under which he wore a gambeson and beige trousers.

RANKING: Tier 2, Peak Human Fitness

Despite his less than graceful aging and deteriorating mental health, the Rusted Knight has not actually underperformed significantly in the realm of physical ability, and he still solidly qualifies for Peak Human Fitness.  He is a battle-hardened endurance fighter who leverages his strongest attributes for maximum effect, supplementing his grounded stalwart posture with solid mobility and top-notch equipment.  In fact, I'd argue that Jaune’s upgraded armor serves as a solid compromise for his undercut stamina and discipline by bolstering his native durability.  The Rusted Knight may be at greater risk of breaking than he once was, but the only way to put him down would be to shatter him completely.

MARTIAL

As the Rusted Knight, Jaune Arc continued to carry Crocea Mors as his primary weapon, but time and damage had taken a significant toll on it.  The blade of the sword was snapped in half as a result of his confrontation with Cinder Fall, reducing its length to barely over a foot.  Far more noticeable was the severe degree of rust and wear on the blade and shield, with numerous pits and scratches had made their way into the metal.  However, despite this long-term damage, the weapon set retained its combative reliability, as the sword remained sharp enough to dispatch Jaune’s opponents, while the mechanisms allowing the shield to convert into Jaune’s scabbard remained unaffected.  Overall, looks are deceiving, and Crocea Mors remains a lethal killing tool.

When analyzing the Rusted Knight’s capabilities as a martial artist, it is important to note both the substantial degree of development he attained and the significant trade off in his skill configuration.  Due to being thrust back in time, Jaune was forced to spend anywhere from ten to twenty years contending with the dangers of the Ever After, a grinding trial by fire that went a long way towards compensating for his most significant weakness prior to Volume 9, his inexperience and lack of development.  While the reliability and details of Lewis’s recounts of Jaune in The Girl Who Fell Through the World has not been established, even a conservative assessment would place the Rusted Knight as comparable to many of the most experienced and skilled Huntsmen on Remnant.  However, between his damaged weapon and limited resources, Jaune was forced to heavily reconfigure his fighting style to compensate, resulting in a similar but very different combatant compared to what he was beforehand.  Fortunately, the aforementioned decades of isolation gave Jaune plenty of time to refine his new style with his limitations in mind, and his developed skill upon reuniting with Team RWBY was, at bare minimum, comparable to theirs.  Despite the handicaps imposed on him by his weapon, Jaune’s technique remained similar in its core ingredients; a grounded defense-and-counter oriented fighter who leverages physical ability through simple and direct swordplay.  He retained a stalwart grounded posture in his footwork, eschewing acrobatics for sidesteps and evasions.  Where the differences presented itself were in the defense/offense balance.  Rusted Jaune displayed a much stronger offensive component in his style, alternating between shield blocks and sword strikes far more actively.  To compensate for his shorter blade, Jaune adjusted his swordplay to perform swifter and tighter slashes and stabs, getting in close before laying into the target.  The most significant additions to Jaune’s skill set were his expanded use of his weapons, his integration of hand-to-hand combat techniques, and his proficiency as a mounted warrior.  He swapped techniques for his sword and shield, warding parries for the former and shield bashes with the latter, using the weapon set to mor effectively maintain offensive pressure while maintaining defensive coverage.  Though still not a committed unarmed fighter, Jaune was more than willing to throw hands in battle, staggering the Curious Cat with sweeping kicks and headbutts.  His strong bond with Juniper allowed him to coordinate and utilize her for multiple combative purposes, from tackling targets to serving as a cushion to safeguard her master.

While Jaune’s deteriorating mental health made him an anxious wreck in the grand scheme of things, they did nothing to diminish his capabilities as a tactician and strategist.  He continued to demonstrate his strong aptitude for tactical analysis and coordinating with his allies, adjusting his approach to suit the opponent and exploit circumstantial factors.  When confronting the various Jabberwalkers summoned by Neopolitan, Jaune focused on repelling the creatures and warding off their advance before turning around to counter.  Against the Curious Cat at the Tree, Jaune quickly deduced the hallucinogenic effects of its leaves and ordered Weiss, Blake and Yang to set fire to them, forcibly expelling the Cat from Neo’s body.  In single combat, Jaune applied these same tactics to endure the opponent’s assault before retaliating, seizing the initiative rather than passively responding.  However, where Jaune previously relied on the integration of his Dust gadgets to break the opponent’s advance, he now opted for abrupt alternation between offensive and defensive movements, pressuring the opponent while still maintaining coverage.  He will break off to defend if need be, but he will not stop advancing.  What Vomit Boy achieved through leaning on alternative equipment, the Rusted Knight achieved through tested and developed technique.

However, while Jaune’s new approach was more developed overall, it also came at the expense of the versatility he displayed in his youth.  With his damaged weapon and limited-to-unapplicable alternative tools, Jaune’s style and tactics were ultimately centered around leveraging his core technique for maximum effect.  Jaune’s style may have been flexible, but it was also very singular and direct; what you see is what you get.  Additionally, Jaune’s emotional instability manifested itself most profoundly in a resurgence of his youthful recklessness.  Disturbed by his failure to save Penny during the exodus, Jaune became obsessed with protecting his chosen charges from everything around them, including themselves.  Aside from patronizing the Paper Pleasers, this mentality led to Jaune overexerting himself and biting off more than he could chew, his refusal to stop advancing stemming from a pathological unwillingness to give up.  Where Jaune’s Beacon humbling motivated him to pace himself and fight smart, his Atlas failures compelled him to run himself ragged in a misguided effort to keep fighting.  As seen in the Cat’s Penny and Pyrrha illusions, this failure to take a more measured approach fed into a weakness to more subversive tricks and distractions, ironically making him vulnerable to the very tactics he once employed himself.

RANKING: Tier 3: Standard Mastery

While Jaune’s failures as the Rusted Knight seem to point to a middling level of effectiveness, his improvements and experience still more than qualify him for a Tier 3 ranking.  He is a gritty, battle-hardened warrior whose style had been developed and honed into a far more complete package than he once employed, and he remains a highly capable tactical thinker when he puts his mind to it.  Jaune’s problem, like many Standard Masters, is that he has fallen into the trap of going through the motions, basically doing the same thing again and again in every battle when dropped in cold.  To be fair to Jaune, this is more the result of a limited arsenal and lack of comparable enemies rather than damaging oversights.  The baseline reliability of his style and approach cannot be denied; he simply hasn’t meshed it with the versatility he used to have.  Regardless, the fact that he came closer to killing the Curious Cat than anyone else tells me that his fabled reputation is very well-earned.

SPECIAL

And now for the part of this analysis that I’ve been dreading, that being the assessment of the Rusted Knight’s special abilities and powers.  This is the area where Jaune’s development is most unclear simply because, aside from a few uses of his gravity Dust, we never really saw him do anything in Volume 9.  He never explicitly used Aura Amp on screen, and the times he used his Dust could be counted on the fingers of one hand.  This is especially odd given Jaune’s ready use of his abilities prior to falling into the Ever After, especially in conjunction with his martial skills.  However, I do believe that both discrepancies can be reasonably inferred given context.  Firstly, it must be remembered that Jaune’s last recorded attempt to use his Semblance was on Penny Polendina, whose injuries he was utterly incapable of healing.  Given his failure to save Penny was arguably the single strongest contributor to his psychological breakdown in his isolation, it follows that his confidence in his abilities was shattered, and he unconsciously avoided using his powers due to the weight of that failure.  While I don’t believe Jaune’s proficiency with his Semblance truly atrophied, I also don’t believe he developed his powers beyond what he could do in the Atlas saga.  As far as his Dust is concerned, I see his limited use being identical to the limitations of his sword, that being logistical shortages.  There is no evidence that Dust exists in the Ever After, much less the incredibly rare synthetic hard-light variety that powered his shield panels.  With nothing to replenish his stores should his shield get damaged, it’s plausible that Jaune refrained from using his Dust unless he absolutely had to, conserving a non-renewable resource and otherwise relying on physical combat.

However, this isn’t to say that Rusted Knight Jaune has no ethereal talents to speak of.  He did in fact continue to utilize his gravity Dust repulsor in combat, and like his martial skills, his fluidity with it had clearly improved with practice.  Previously, Jaune would simply use the pressure wave from a static position, allowing the shield to do most of the heavy lifting.  Now, Jaune demonstrated a far more active defense, combining the gravity waves with sweeping shield bashes.  Though never outright stated, I believe this technique allowed Jaune to slightly enhance the overall power of the repulsor’s push, getting more bang for his buck.  Additionally, Jaune continued to demonstrate his talent for combining his powers and skills together with one another.  Aside from the basic offensive applications, Jaune also showcased an ability to use his Dust to drive his other weapons, seen when he bounced his sword off the shield to turn it into a projectile against Neo’s clone Jabberwalkers.  These new applications further showcased Jaune compensating for his limited arsenal with greater skill and refinement, sacrificing output in favor of control.

Now, normally I like to stay with concrete information rather than headcanons, but I do believe there may be evidence that Jaune did in fact use his Semblance at specific points in Volume 9, and both of my theoretical examples do speak to him still displaying great skill and power.  Hear me out;

During his early travels with Alyx, Lewis and the Curious Cat, the Cat poisoned Jaune in order to get him off his back and sow distrust between him and the children.  While Jaune’s physical fortitude certainly played a role in his survival, the Curious Cat is not a figure that comes across as leaving a job half-finished.  Given that Aura Amp’s most obvious application was accelerating Aura’s healing properties, it is entirely possible that Jaune’s survival owed itself in part to using his Semblance to help purge the toxin from his body.  Later, during the battle at the Tree, Jaune was confronted with a vision of Alyx after being blasted from the arena.  While this episode was mostly a mental battle forcing Jaune to confront his demons, the flash of light that immediately preceded Jaune breaking out of the vision could have very well been Jaune using Aura Amp to dispel the effects of the smoke.  Assuming I’m right, then this could arguably make Jaune’s use of his Semblance even more potent than before, as dispelling drugs and poisons is easily an incredibly useful talent to have that goes well beyond fixing broken bones.

RANKING: Tier 3: Specialized Combat

Even if my supposition is 100% on the money, it does not significantly change the Rusted Knight’s standing as an ethereal fighter, given his hypothetical applications are so few, far between, and limited to utility.  That said, Jaune’s use of his gravity Dust more than makes up for it.  His applications are not only just as calculated and powerful as they used to be, they are also far more technically sophisticated and pair up much better with his fighting skills.  His only real limitation, as in other areas, is that he lacks versatility, and his more skillful use of his power still mostly amounts to a directly offensive ability that can only do so much.  Jaune may lack the variety he used to have, but the far greater skill he has with the powers he still has firmly establishes him as a force to be reckoned with.

OVERALL RANKING: TIER 3, ADVANCED HUNTSMAN

As in his youth, Rusted Knight Jaune Arc’s overall ranking is determined by his martial skills and special abilities, showcasing both his high improvement and the limitations he still suffers from.  In all areas, Jaune is performing on a very high level, but his methodology is centered on direct application rather than the balanced versatility he used to showcase.  In many ways, I consider Jaune’s most direct analogue in this state to be James Ironwood.  Both are aging heavyweights who leverage their strength and fortitude for maximum effect, both are grounded heavy-handed fighters who focus on maintaining a heavy stalwart advance, and both leverage their special abilities and powers as direct supplements to their offensive advance.  They are powerful battlefield operatives who make full use of all the tools in their arsenals, but their approach is based on the direct application of power, not tactical considerations.  By operating as a one-man crusader in the Ever After, Jaune got so good at what he was doing that he simply couldn’t loose, leaving holes in his skill set and tactics unaddressed because they simply never came up.

Jaune’s greatest strength and weakness as the Rusted Knight is that his previously broad skill set has been significantly reduced, forcing him to throw all of his eggs into one basket to compensate.  The result is a tradeoff.  On the one hand, his fighting method is blessed with a substantially greater degree of developed skill by way of his combat experience, and he effectively blends them together into a singular, high-performance technique.  But on the other hand, this also means that he no longer has the versatility he used to have, relying on a singular method rather than balancing out between his options.  He is skilled and powerful enough to capably overcome the vast majority of challengers, but it also means he could get into trouble very quickly if confronted by someone his style is poorly suited to engage. 

As with most things, this ties directly into Jaune’s mental state as the Rusted Knight.  Between his traumatic experiences, forced isolation, and fixation on preventing the same failure all over again, Jaune simply fell into the motions and got into the habit of doing the same thing over and over again.  This may have been an okay coping mechanism at first, but there is a stark difference between dedication and obsession.  He never really diversified because, not only did he never really need to, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so since he was convinced that he was doing the only right thing he could.  Fortunately, unlike Ironwood, Jaune’s self-destructive stubbornness was the result of improper healing rather than arrogance, and he was the first to admit that he wasn’t in the right headspace to be the hero he was trying to be.  As with the rest of his life, Jaune’s friends were there to pick him up, setting him on the path to properly heal.  Whatever Jaune’s status as a warrior may be upon his return to Remnant, he will at the very least be on the fast track to achieving a healthier self-actualization, and finally move on from his trauma.  The Rusted Knight may not have been the hero, but Jaune Arc still may be.

* images taken from RWBY Wiki and @talia-pumpkinwand*

[she-walks-on-starlight]

Can u write some fluff and comfort for grayson.

i would appreciate it <3

Of course! Thanks for the request - ✨

Duty Bound

a/n: added in some hurt/comfort and a slight touch of angst for this one, it's just how the story came to me :) my requests are still open, send me your ideas I'd love to hear them 😊

Warnings: almost break-up, arguments, feelings of neglect

Summary: Grayson has been busy with work, and you're starting to feel tired of coming in second. When you deliver an ultimatum, will it make or break your relationship?

Word Count: 2k

“I think you are the most beautiful girl I have ever laid eyes on, y/n, and I want to spend my days and my nights making you happy. I will do anything you ask, will take you anywhere you wish to go as long as I can come with you. Just please say you’ll be mine, and nothing could possibly make me any happier.”

A beautiful memory.

You sighed as you packaged the baked macaroni cheese into Tupperware containers and labelled them before putting them in the fridge, yet another dinner you’d eaten alone.

Your cat, Whiskers, wound himself around your legs and staring reproachfully at you with his wide, green eyes. Rolling your eyes, you filled his feeding dish and put it on the floor for him, earning a grateful squeak. You scratch just behind his ears, when you hear the lock turn in the front door and the heavy thud of your girlfriend’s work boots as she finally arrived home.

“I’m home, beloved! Oh, do I smell cheese?”

She appeared in the kitchen archway, her Enforcer jacket slung casually over her shoulder and her pristine white shirt unbuttoned to just above her cleavage. You fix her with faux annoyed stare.

“You do smell cheese…I’ve just put your dinner in the fridge.”

Grayson huffs, running her hands through her messy, silver streaked locks. “I’m so sorry, my love. There was a situation in the Undercity that required my attention.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled. “I suppose I’ll have to let you off then, won’t I? Sit down, I’ll warm up your dinner.”

She obeyed, sitting at your small table as you warmed the macaroni cheese and started a spinach omelette for her lunch the next day. Grayson started unlacing her boots, lightly smacking your ass whenever you passed her because she knew it made you blush. Whiskers however soon realised she was home and pawed at her laces until she lavished him with attention. She looked tired, and you knew she must’ve had a very busy shift. It seemed with every week she was the Chief Enforcer more lines carved their way into her handsome face.

“I swear, more and more Shimmer is being pumped into the Undercity and we still haven’t got a single idea on how, or who is behind it all. Every factory I shut down, two more pop up to replace it! Not to mention how many Enforcers I’m losing to those Shimmer crazed thugs! I’ve had to inform three more wives of their husbands’ deaths today! Three!”

You kiss her cheek and run your hands through her hair, massaging the nape of her neck to help her relax. “I think you need a break, Gray.”

She groaned with pleasure at your ministrations but scoffed at your words. “If I take a break, I think the entire station will collapse.”

You tried to remain bright, placing her meal in front of her and grinning as she dug in eagerly. “Well…maybe we can do something this weekend? Maybe go to that little vegan café we both like?”

“Sorry my love, I can’t. I volunteered to lead a seminar on firearm maintenance on Saturday, and the Council wants me to make an appearance at the charity gala on Sunday.”

“Oh, a gala! That could be fun, it’s been a while since we’ve gone to one, I’ll have to see if I can dig out one of my old dresses…”

Grayson swallowed, eyeing you apologetically. “About that…I’m sorry. I’d like nothing more than to have you on my arm, but as I’m there to represent the Enforcers, it wouldn’t please the Council.”

You try to keep your breathing even, turning back to the stove and flipping the spinach omelette carefully.

“So, I’m not going to see you this weekend at all?”

You hear the scraping of her chair and close your eyes to prevent tears from falling as strong, broad arms wrap around you and the scent of her fresh, citrus cologne fills your nose as she kisses your cheek and your neck, her short curls tickling your face.

“Please don’t be too upset, my love. I have a duty to the people of Piltover.”

You sighed, your entire body filling with leaden disappointment. You were so sick of this. “And what about your duty to me?”

Grayson pulls away from you, her mouth agape. “What do you mean?”

Your hands ball into fists. “This apartment is haunted by you, Gray! I’m only graced with the presence of your shadow!”

“My love, I-”

“You’re always working, and when you’re not at work, then you’re at the gym! It’s like you have no time for me anymore! You’d always rather be doing something, anything else, than spend time with me, your girlfriend!”

Grayson crossed her arms. “That’s not true. My work is very important, beloved. I cannot simply drop everything to indulge in personal leisure.”

“But your work doesn’t have to take over your entire life, Gray.”

Grayson’s eyes were like liquid steel, sharp and cold. “My work IS my life. I have spent years, decades getting to where I am now! I thought you understood that.”

Your chest felt tight, your whole body felt stiff, and a prickling heat was coating your skin. This was a losing battle. Grayson was a woman of honour, a paragon of justice and was bound to her duty. Serving and protecting the people of Piltover was her lifeblood. That would never change, perhaps could never change.

“Then I think I should stay with my sister for a while.”

Before Grayson could reply, you turned on your heel and headed into the bedroom, burying yourself under the duvet and letting your salty tears burn into your face.

The next day had gone by in a blur. Grayson hadn’t been in the apartment when you’d woken up, so you assumed she’d gone into work early. Weary from working so late, but pleased you were able to complete the wedding cake on time for that lovely couple, you stabbed your key at the rusty lock in your apartment door until it finally clicked open and allowed you entry.

The apartment was dark and silent, but you expected that. Grayson was either at her office or she was hitting the gym. Again. The satisfied high from working at your small bakery was ebbing away, leeched from you by the depression radiating from the walls that had once surrounded you with love and warmth. You were too melancholy to cook, so you order chilli oil noodles from your favourite takeout place and trudged into the bedroom.

Opening the wardrobe, you were greeted with several Chief Enforcer uniforms, all starched and ironed to perfection, the belts and buckles gleaming proudly in the dim lighting of the bedroom. You carefully pushed them aside, not wanting to crease them and reached for your jumpers hanging beside them. As you folded them, you tried to ignore the sharp aching of your heart which only intensified when you pushed Grayson’s uniforms back into place on the rail.

You were pushing her out of your life.

You growled internally at the intrusive thought. Grayson had pushed you away first, now you were just letting yourself fall from the impact. If this is what Grayson wanted, then she would reap what she had sown.

On the bed lay your frayed duffel bag, beaten up from the many camping trips you and Grayson took. Used to take. It was open, the soft material hanging apart like a mocking, laughing mouth. However, as you approached it to put the jumpers inside, there was a folded piece of paper that wasn’t there when you’d left for work. As you opened it, you gasped as you recognised Grayson’s efficient scrawl.

Giovanni’s. 7pm. Wear the red dress. Please come.

Your eyes widened. Giovanni’s, a small Italian restaurant where you’d had your first dinner date with Grayson. The red dress she mentioned had been the one she’d slowly peeled you out of that evening, the first time she’d ever touched you like that. It had been the perfect night. Your heart fluttered at the implications of the note. Did she want to recreate that night? Or was this the final goodbye? Glancing the clock, you quickly put on the dress she requested and touched up your makeup before dashing out of the door and hailing a cab.

When you arrived, the waiter smiled knowingly and led you to the private terrace which was lit with candles and fairy lights. There was only a single table, by which Grayson stood wearing a crisp, black dress shirt, matching trousers, and a red paisley tie exactly the shade of your dress. She pulled out your chair for you as you sat, somewhat dazed, and kissed your knuckles before taking her seat opposite you.

Her eyes were serious, her forehead creased with stress. “I came home at lunchtime. I wanted to surprise you, to apologise for my recent behaviour…but I forgot today was one of your workdays. Just another way I’m failing you as a partner, I suppose.”

You reached for her, entwining your slender fingers with her larger ones, the warmth of her hand travelling up your arm and into your chest. “Gray…I-”

“I saw the bag.” Her voice was a whisper, the dreadful confession staining her lips with sadness. “I realised then, that you meant it when you said you were leaving. You were absolutely right. To have driven you to this, it’s unforgivable.”

You can feel your own heart swell at her words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you take in your forlorn lover, such a great, upstanding woman reduced to despair, her eyes pleading and so very remorseful.

“Gray, I do understand-”

Grayson silenced you with a gentle finger to your lips. “Please, my love, I need to tell you. You are the sun that wakes me at dawn, you are the stars that watch over me at night. You are the beat in my heart, the reason I thrive. I love you more than anything I have ever even comprehended. To neglect you this way, is the greatest pain I could have ever inflicted upon myself. You are why I work so hard, so make sure you will always be safe and never have anything to fear. But you were right, I let it consume me. It almost cost me everything I hold dear.”

It's everything you’ve needed to hear, and it takes every shred of your emotional self-control not to burst into relieved sobs. “Gray, I love you. Your sense of honour and your need to fulfil your duty are all part of you, and I love you even more for having these qualities. I just want to be able to share my life with you and know that you’ll always want to come home to me, see me, be with me.”

Grayson leaned forward, cupping your cheek. “I want for nothing more. My soul sings when I am with you, and you alone, beloved.”

Then she kisses you, and it’s just like the first time all those years ago. She cups your face with her warm hands and wipes away any tears falling, her soft lips caressing yours with care and reverence, the two of you pouring your deep love for each other into a kiss that’s been a long time coming.  When you break apart, you’re sure you are blushing, and Grayson’s look of pure adoration warms you from the inside out. You eat a beautiful meal and as you stand from the table, Grayson ceremoniously gathers you in her arms, bridal style, making you squeal with surprise and delight.

“Hey! Gray! What are you doing?”

She nuzzles into your neck. “We are going home. I have a weekend of pampering to spoil you with.”

“But what about your weekend obligations?”

Grayson kisses you, tender and slow. “Marcus is leading the seminar on Saturday, and I’ve informed the Council that I will not attend the gala. They will likely not miss the Enforcer representation anyway. Now come, I have many plans for this evening and many of them involve much less clothing. Shall we?”

Sighing contentedly, you rest your head on her shoulder as she carries you away. “Let’s go home.”

[nightly-ruse]

ART! IVE DONE ART FINALLY! The opposite of Star Crossed Lovers is them, Star Torn Lovers? Sharing their feelings only under the dark moon in fear of persecution. Always crossing paths but still just out of reach. How sad

[Anthro piece of Mothwing and Leafpool from warrior cats, Moth on the left and Leaf on the right. At the bottom is a paw with the left side tinged red with inky blood on the claws and the other with faint stars and blue tinge. A large moon is above Leafpool and a Sun is above Mothwing. Between them is three stars layered on top of each other, the largest yellow, middle on blue, and inner one dark green which has been broken apart. Three diamond stars point towards Leafpool’s belly.

Mothwing is a yellow tabby with rosette spots and longer white claws she’s filed down, her eyes are a bright amber with a streak of icy blue and she’s looking back to Leaf. She wears a blue dress that has a ombré of yellow to orange on the bottom and sleeves. She has a belt across her mid section that’s leather. She has a pouch with a leaf pin holding it closed, a dark purple necklace falls down from it along with a piece of wisteria. Along with a knife holster with her brother’s knife which has a northern goshawk’s tail feather hanging off the hilt. Her left ear is torn in half breaking apart the moth shaped tuft on her ears along with three more scars on her cheek. On her head is a orangish gray bandanna to shield herself from the stars as a show to her not trusting them list most other clan cats. On her paw that’s holding Leafpool’s paw is a leaf bracelet.

Leafpool is a dark brown tabby with yellowish patches under her eye in a moon shape, fringe, and paws. She has very curly hair and folded ears that look like a heart with a fern like shape on the top half of it with a yellow patch. She is looking back to Moth with hazel eyes that are green and amber with a orangish pink heart nose. She wears a flowy green dress with lighter collar and wrist cuffs over it being a apron with a big pocket full of plants. The pocket has a stitched diamond over it. Inside the pocket is a few leaves, petals, burnet sprig, and yew branch along with similar leaves in her hair. At the corner of her apron is a stitched with a patch that has bramble tendrils with claws instead of thorns, being the sign she got for Brambleclaw to be deputy. Beside it under her pocket is the “Blood Will Spill Blood” patch that is a sunset over a red lake with blood dripping into it. Her last patch is of the Moonpool which she found showing the moon over the pool with stars reflected in its water along with leaves around the moon. On her paw is a bracelet with a moth wing on it.

The faint signature “Nightly-Ruse 2023” is near the bottom. End ID]

[harveybwabbit92]

Spiderman Black Cat OC: Màiri Kim

Full name: Màiri Kim

Alias: Black Cat

Occupation: Student (formerly) Clerk at her father's pawn shop and Anti-hero.

Ethnicity: Scottish/Korean

Age: 18

Gender: Fem

Pronouns: She/her/they

Orientation: Pan

Height: 5'5"

Weight: is around 140.

Hair:  Shoulder length black, but she likes to add neon streaks to it.

Eyes: Màiri has heterochromia, her right eye is gray and her left eye is brown

Skin tone: She's has a olive complexion, though she's gotten a little paler due to staying in a dimly lit room all day and only venturing out at night or when her parents want her go outside and touch grass. Hobie often jokes that she's becoming a vampire and might spontaneously combust if she ever comes into direct sunlight! 

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

Likes: Coffee, Going to the pub, hacking, Seeing Hobie's concerts, and playing video-games, She also likes watching 80's horror and sci-fi movies. 

Her favorite foods are Bibimpap, Tteokbokki, Hotteok, Forfar bridie, Cranachan, Blaeberry pie (all made dairy free of course). 

Her favorite animals are bunnies and dogs (she has pet rabbit named Gizmo) and she likes looking out for the weak by causing chaos in the system.

Dislikes: Cops, corruption, the government, needles, being force to socialize and anything made with dairy.....*She's lactose intolerant*

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

Bio: Màiri is a childhood friend of Hobie Brown's who moved to New London from Scotland, they were pretty much inspirable pair until Hobie had became Spiderman started he distancing himself and stopped coming to school, leaving an already socially awkward Màiri feeling alone and abandoned by her friend, So she filled the void in by burying herself in her home and computer work. 

Then one day while studying alone in the library; Màiri was approached by her science teacher Jack Hardy; who she thought was going lecture her for hiding indoors and not socializing with her peers again, but to her confusion he explained how he had noticed her talents with computer hacking (She may have tweaked with a few of her grades) and stealth skills, Màiri would often sneak in and out of class without being noticed...(or at least she thought she was unnoticed.) Instead of turning her into the school’s dean, the teacher encouraged her behavior and allowed her to continue her work.

Over time Hardy gained Màiri's trust and it wasn't long before the teacher told her that he was the infamous burglar known as the Cat! However there was a problem, he was currently dying of cancer and was looking for someone to be his successor, seeing so much hidden potential in Màiri he chose her.

Màiri who was tired of the same game day in and day out; blindly agrees and follows her teacher’s every move. Being young and impressionable Màiri believed she was doing good by helping her teacher break into museums, secret labs and shady companies to steal back what was stolen and unbury secrets hidden from the public.

Then she found out that Mr. Hardy was actually selling stuff they'd 'rescued' to other corrupt people and organizations like; Hydra, the Kingpin, A.i.M. etc. etc... Màiri was disgusted and horrified by it all and wanted to put a stop to it.

So she devised a plan.

The next time she and The cat went on a heist, she purposely botched the hack job and tripped the silent alarms; putting the whole building on lockdown and trapping her former mentor inside which got him caught by the authorities.

She also made sure to drop the locations of where they stashed all of the loot long with a list of his customers and finally Màiri made sure to erase any traces of her involvement with the situation before reintegrating back into a dull and quiet life....

...............................

Just kidding!~

She took up the mantle of Black cat; though in this case she's not an outwardly malicious burglar driven by greed but is instead more of a public nuisance if anything; She crank calls the emergency lines by dropping hints that she’ll be conducting a robbery from the Museum; getting everyone riled up and ready to rumble then not showing up, or has already done the heist and flaunts her achievements publicly before abandoning her loot somewhere for civvies or police to find rather keeping or selling it.

Though there have some exceptions to this. Like if Màiri any evidence about possible Drug smuggling, weapon deals or human trafficking ring, She'll send that data to the proper authorities (Or put a stop to it herself.), or on rare occasions Màiri is hired to find illegally purchased artifacts once found she will then steal it back and have it return to the rightful owners.

When she's not doing that she's often butting heads with Spiderpunk or trying to mend the rift between her and Hobie.

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

Relatives:

Yeong Kim: Father

Aileen Kim (nee: MacAlastair): Mother

Ha-Eun Kim: Paternal Grandmother

Jeong Kim: Paternal Grandfather

Liam MacAlastair: Maternal Grandfather

Edith MacAlastair: Maternal Grandmother (Deceased)

Deacon MacAlastair (Cousin, they are not speaking terms.)

Dana MacAlastair (Maternal aunt and Deacon's mother)

Relationships:

Hobie Brown/Spiderpunk (Childhood friend, crush and super-rival)

Oscar Meyer {Best friend, her man in the chair.}

Connie Yong: (close friend, Oscar's fiancée)

Anne Townsend {Ex-girlfrend, Anne cheated on Màiri (With Màiri's cousin Deacon.)}

====================================

Language Skills: Growing up in a Scottish/Korean household Màiri is bilingual, but due to her parents speaking mostly English around the house her Korean has gotten a bit rusty...like she can still hold a conversation, but brain farts do happen so she often has used a translator app to help her out.

Though the only people she ever speaks Korean to are her grandparents, who live with her parents. And her grandma only ever wants to complain about Màiri's mother which makes her very uncomfortable... But Màiri's grandfather on the other hand is a total sweetheart, which makes her wonder why he ever settled for her shrew of a grandma?

Tech skills: Màiri is a gray-hatter hacker she not a genius or anything special like that, she just has really has good faith in her skills, Oscar on the other hand. Hhe won’t deny that he is waaay better then her and could run circles around her.

Gymnast/parkour skills: Màiri used to be on a gymnastics team from age 10 to 15 and was almost scouted, but was thrown off the team after one of the girls framed her. Claiming Màiri had pushed her down some stairs and broke her foot to get her out of an upcoming competition, it was later found out to be a lie when the girl made a marvelous recovery in time for the competition....But by that time it was too late to get Màiri back on the team.

Musical skills: She knows how to play the violin, her grandpa on her mother’s side taught her, After getting kicked out of Gymnastics, Màiri pretty had nothing to do after school except help her Grandpa on his farm. 

Then she found his old violin hidden away, he had stopped playing after her grandma died but decided to come out of retirement to teach his Sweet-pea the ropes... Màiri often plays when she needs to think on things.

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

Powers: The previous Black cat injected Màiri with a watered down version of the super soldier serum, that gave her a healing factor and super human endurance while also boosting her agility and flexibility....

Fighting style: Màiri/Black cat prefers to go up close and personal when in combat, without any experience or martial art skills, she runs in head on like a complete amateur. Every time she fights, she will attack without a plan, showing that she is a complete amateur.

However, the more Màiri fights, the more she learns on how to adapt and going a step ahead from her opponent, she always manages to outwit her opponent by becoming stronger and is capable enough to block, evade, and attack at the right moment. This makes her a formidable and very unpredictable opponent.

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

Equipment: A white Kevlar trench coat and a black armored bodysuit.

Cat eared headphones: that are designed to hack into private calls, communication lines and radio chatter,

cat-eye goggles: a pair of tactical goggles that have x-ray, thermal and night vision.

Retractable clawed gloves: these allow her climb and grapple onto walls, the blades are strong enough cut through glass and most metals.

Cat tails: which are a pair wrist mounted retractable wire ribbons they're very strong and have high elastic qualities that Màiri can use to swing around the city and keep up with a certain Spider.

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

[raytm]

the girl is an eldritch monstrosity, that is what the man thinks. she does not know his name, it is entirely unnecessary for them to be familiar with one another. she was scrutinizing him, from beneath the soft flutter of her lashes he can see the esurient carmine of her eyes. she hasn’t moved in a while now, so still that the moonlight casts her shadow in long, undulating streaks across the endless gray concrete ocean. he’s sizing her up, preparing for the moment when she will rip out his throat, ravenous and infinitely heinous. his hands are bound, the rope woven so tightly that it carves away at his skin, harrowing red marks encircle his stuttering pulse, elevating higher and higher until he can feel his heart hammering at the back of his throat. he cannot scream, a firm wad of fabric is wedged into his mouth, his jaw aching from the sheer amount of hours that have passed in that stagnant silence. she’s watching him, so closely he can feel it ease under his skin, can feel them flaying it from his bones, that she’s eating away at him without so much as having to move.

when she does move, her steps are light, her eyes shining, baleful. she asks questions of him, her voice a striking lilt of mirth, her hands steepled behind her back, each step she takes around the chair he’s bound to is exaggerated, long strides with bare feet. she wants to know how he works, he doesn’t know how to answer her, her impatient hum fills him with a sense of dread, he’s going to die, the man thinks. she doesn’t intend to kill him, he was far less useful to her dead than alive. this girl, sparkle, wants to become that man. it was such a facile thing, peeling away another’s skin and easing her way into their husk. it was a far more intricate thing to augment herself to their identity, to wring her hands in the fretful way he tended to, her forehead beading with perspiration like his, how it shimmers in the oscillating shafts of light. she leans back on her heels, regarding him now with the inquisitiveness of a predator, toying with its prey before its jaws rend thick slabs of meat from fragile bone. she leans down, picking up the cloth now sullied with saliva and dirt, gets close - so very close to him and shoves it brutally back into his mouth.

this had happened for night upon night, the nameless man was certain he wasn’t the only one in that narrow, dimly lit room, he could hear the wrangled sobs of fear being muffled by similar wads of disgusting fabric. he thinks he’s going to die, maybe he wishes he was already dead. the girl with the cat-eyes doesn’t return for a few hours and when she does she does so with a child in tow. the man doesn’t recognise the child, fear prickles along his spine, what is she going to do with them. nothing grotesque comes from their interactions, the girl gives the child a mask, a wicked fox mask, it’s smile a carving of blistering white. the child holds it tentatively, he thinks the child is speaking to the girl - the girl, seemingly satisfied with their answer, brings out a piece of bread and breaks it in half, offering the other half to the child, like a reward. 

the nights go on like this for what he believes is almost a week, malevolent stretches of yawning darkness only interrupted when the girl walks down those three sets of stairs, thud, thud, thud, before hitting the landing. then, without warning, she wraps a cloth around his eyes, it reeks of something vile, vomit - maybe, and guides him up those precarious steps. he believes this will be his execution, she will slit his throat and his blood will seep into the earth and he will finally, finally, be dead. she doesn’t. It’s such a peculiar thing, the girl wrenches the fabric off of his eyes and he’s momentarily blinded by the flood of light, the moon, huge and luminous, the sky, endless and black. the girl steps back, does a little performative bow and thanks him for all his assistance. he thinks he’s going to be sick, his stomach churns, fear and seething anger. the girl does not fear him, she knows however, that he fears her and when she leaves, he’s abandoned there, in a no name town, alone. he is left with the lingering sense of anxiety - why had that girl thanked him. 

[writersmorgue]

Day 20 - knife wound

read on Ao3

word count: 795

TWs in tags

note: this is SO LATE i am sorry anyway i hope this sweet feels whump makes up for it <3

╞╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╪╡

They’d been so distracted with Mina’s leg that they hadn’t noticed Denki wasn’t with them.

Kirishima had lost it, dragging his girlfriend away from Toga, barricading their small group in an empty meeting room.

At first, they’d thought Kurogiri air-dropping them to a random office building had been a mistake, but rest assured they’ve been proved wrong. When they’d finally found each other, the backrooms game of cat and mouse had begun. 

Two hours later they huddle around a pale Mina and watch as Sero uses his tape to wrap up her mangled knee. 

They might as well rip it off, it dangles by a few tendons like a loose tooth, and Kirishima’s not sure it’s worth trying to save. Naturally, he’s not going to tell Mina that. If Bakugo hasn’t told her, it’s probably not a good idea. 

Sero is the first to notice, looking around glumly, quickly turning frantic as he doesn’t see who he’s looking for in the small room.

“H-hey,” He stands, “did Kami not make it in?”

Kirishima freezes, looking up at Sero and following his gaze to the door.

“I fucking swear he was with us when Mina got hit.” Bakugo curses, looking down at Mina’s pale and glistening face, “Shit what if he-”

Apparently, none of them noticed the air vent in the ceiling, that is of course until the grate busts open in a cloud of dust and crashes to the floor along with a gray and yellow blur.

“Shit!” Bakugo shouts, leaping into a fighting stance.

The intruder is sprawled across the rough carpet, chest heaving, hand gripping a cylinder on his abdomen.

“Shit, Denki!” Sero yells, scrambling toward the boy.

Identifying marks begin to register, the black streak, the uniform, the wide golden eyes.

Kaminari wheezes, angling his head up to look down at what he’s holding.

“Damnit she got him.” Bakugo growls, looking back to Mina who is barely conscious, deciding she’s too compromised to move. “Bring him over here so we’re not going back ‘n forth.”

Sero apologizes quietly, the room collectively wincing when he pulls Deni by his shoulders and he shrieks. 

The handle of the knife jolts oddly, twisting at an angle as he’s dragged.

“Ha- Hanta please it’s through!” He cries, hands vibrating where they rest on his abdomen. He allows Kirishima to unbutton his top and pull it to the side. 

“What- it’s through you!?” Hanta’s eyes are bulging, and he tilts Denki slightly to the side, kneeling down to peer under his back. “Shit, Kiri tear is blazer off, I think he means it’s-”

Kirishima does so without a second thought.

Sero looks under again, pushing Denki further onto his side. The knife cuts sideways into his stomach with the added weight. 

He chokes, a mess of bile and blood spilling from his lips.

“Shit shit shit shit SHIT!” Hanta chants, turning to slap his hand on the floor in front of Bakugo, “It’s fucking THROUGH HIM!” 

Bakugo stares at Denki, eyes watering, “Fuck I don’t know what to fucking do-” he chokes, looking back to Mina.

“Aizawa?” Denki croaks, spitting on the floor, he’s staring blankly in front of him but still seems fairly aware.

“They have to know by now, lunch break was almost over, right?” Kirishima nods, pushing Denki’s hair out of his face.

“But we might not have time, we could be anywhere.” Hanta looks up at the ceiling, “She’s taunting us. She got Denki in here, she could come in whenever she wants.”

There’s another bang from above them.

“Shit they heard you-” Bakugo growls, scooting back on the ground.

There’s a series of dull thuds, like something heavy being rolled around.

There’s a sick squelch, and a squeal as skin drags down the metal tunnel. 

It comes to a stop right before the exit, whatever is in there has become stuck.

None of them move, the heady scent of blood filling the room like a fog. 

The… body- it has to be, jolts in the tunnel, continuing to screech as it heads toward the opening.

An arm flops out, followed shortly by a shoulder. 

The back of a neck breaches into the light, finally becoming unstuck and flopping into the open air. It’s quickly followed by the rest of the body, 

They watch in silence as it drops directly on top of where Denki had originally landed.

The neck is fileted open, the face lax in its features.

His neck is bent at an unnatural angle with how much extra flexibility it now has. 

Blond hair is almost entirely unrecognizable with how its soiled, neatly manicured nails crusted with blood where they lay splayed out towards his friends.

Bloodshot but familiar red eyes framed with crusted tear tracks.

Toga giggles behind them.

[saratogaroadwrites]

For King and Country (1/122)

For King and Country | saratogaroad rating: T total wordcount:  280,466 characters: Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane, Aranella, Batu, Tani, Lofty, Leander Aristidies, Bracken Meadows relationships: Roland Crane & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Aranella & Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum, Roland Crane & Aranella, Batu & Tani, Batu & Evan, Tani & Evan, Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum & Lofty, Rolander other tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Mother-Son Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Place Slowly Becomes Home People Slowly Become Family, Found Family, For Want of A Nail warnings: none

Pulled from his world by mysterious powers, former president Roland Crane finds himself caught in the middle of a coup meant to take the life of the young King Evan Pettiwhisker Tildrum. Joining forces with Aranella, the pair of them set out to aid Evan in making his dream of a kingdom where everyone can live happily ever after a reality.

But the road to peace is a long and treacherous one and there is no promise of success in a world where darkness spreads ever thicker with each passing day. If they are to stand a chance, they must stand together, for king and for country.

(A retelling.)

=

Gunshots echoed through the cavernous space beneath Ding Dong Dell. The sharp cracks were quickly covered by a high, terrified scream.

“Roland!” Evan screamed, his voice near to breaking. Halfway across the cavern, Roland Crane, former president and once-again-20 year old, hissed curses between his teeth.

“Stay back!” He shouted at Evan, but the young boy was in no hurry to move and join the fray. He stood there, paralyzed with fear, as the monster that had been the Black Knight charged at Roland again. They’d been locked in this makeshift arena, trapped by roiling and snapping violet flames, for what felt like an eternity. Roland must have gone at it a hundred times by now but it was almost as if nothing he did to this thing even made a dent in it. His sword forms were rusty, sure, but by now there should have been a lot more wounds on it, a lot more blood on the mossy stone beneath their feet.

Given the circumstances, Roland chose to ignore the tiny, panicking piece of his mind that was screaming “zombie!” at him. Alive or undead, he had to keep this monster focused on him.

If it turned on Evan, the young king wouldn’t survive a minute.

“Hey!” Roland shouted as the creature turned its attention to Evan, “Over here!”

Another shot cracked through the air, catching the creature in the face. A streak of red opened up beneath its eye, but Roland’s triumph—he could hurt it!—was short lived. The creature reared back, and with one massive arm swiped at Roland. He leapt back—too slow!

“Roland!”

The glancing blow sent him flying back, left him landing hard and rolling on the damp, slimy ground. He’d barely come to a stop and already he could feel the bruise blooming across his side as he lay winded on the uneven ground. Everything grayed out for a moment, his ears ringing.

“S-stay back!” Evan. All he had was a knife! He couldn’t fight this thing off!

Feeling the creature’s thudding footsteps through his back, Roland struggled to roll back to his front. He lifted his head, teeth grit; the monster was too close to Evan, taking plodding footsteps towards him like a cat who’d finally cornered the mouse.

How ironic.

���Get out of there!” Roland shouted, struggling to his hands and knees. “Go!”

Evan jolted and scrambled away, but there was nowhere to go. All he could do was run in circles, the pair of them trapped in here with the monster and it knew that. This time, it didn’t give chase but instead seemed to brace itself, purple and aqua flames gathering in its open mouth. Roland’s heart raced: if that hit anyone alive, then—!

“Run!” He shouted again, but it was too late. Aqua and purple flames flared to life in the monster’s mouth. He could feel the heat from here. Roland tried to get to his feet, staggering as his body refused to cooperate. He couldn’t get up fast enough, couldn’t clear the distance between them fast enough and—

Suddenly there was a flash from beside him. Roland jerked, barely catching sight of Aranella as she burst through the barrier of flames around them. In the same instant, the monster let loose its flames right at Evan, stunned into stillness. Without stopping Aranella ran right at her young charge, ignoring his shout of surprise as she grabbed him under the arms and twisted, throwing him clear of the flames without losing her momentum.

But the ground beneath her was uneven, and her foot caught. She stumbled, and Roland could only watch in horror as the blast caught her in the leg. Her scream rang through the cavern in concert with Evan’s shout.

“Nella!” The boy screamed, his voice breaking right down the middle. Heart in his throat, Roland found his gun in his hand before he’d even realized he’d called it. One shot to the face stopped the monster’s blast, and two more drove it back. Roland lurched to his feet and kept shooting, driving it further and further back. He snarled as it roared at him, rearing back, but then—one foot slipped!

It had reached the edge of the platform. The mossy stone crumbled away, leaving one massive leg hanging over the edge. Unable to balance, it stumbled backwards, arms wheeling, head thrown back in a massive roar that echoed through the stone around them. It tried to catch its balance, but it was too late. With one last roar, it tumbled over the edge of the platform and into the depths of the abyss all around it. Roland dismissed his weapons with a growl.

“Nella!”

Body protesting, he whirled around. Aranella was sitting up across the platform, Evan on his knees beside her. Quickly taking stock, Roland ran to join them. He was sore, bruised, and muddy. Evan had a scrape on his cheek and his palms were red, his finery more mud than silk. They would be fine. But Aranella…

“Well,” She grit out as Roland came to a stop beside her, “That was a bit embarrassing. So much for my dance training.”

“Nella…” Evan whimpered. They all looked at her leg then, the one that had been caught in the blast. Roland swallowed hard, his stomach somewhere near his ankles. He’d seen bad burns in his day, the deep red and blistering white of a palm that had accidentally touched a burner but this…this was worse. Her skirt had been burnt away, leaving everything from the knee down of her right leg blackened. Oddly, it wasn’t shrunken or shriveled. Still, it looked painful.

“Can you stand up?” He asked her, grimacing as he realized how foolish a question that was. She swallowed hard, face pinched in pain.

“I’ll manage,” She said as Evan scooted back, reaching out to offer what support he could. Lurching, Aranella began to rise. “We should move while we still—”

As she got her weight beneath her, her knee suddenly buckled. With a short cry she began to topple forward; Roland lunged forward to catch her before she could hit the stone floor. Evan dropped to his knees beside them.

“Nella!” He gasped, “Nella, are you all right?!”

She hissed between her teeth, hiding her face in Roland’s chest. He held her up, looking down at her leg. Was it worse than he’d thought?

Some part of his mind went “yes!” very loudly, even as the rest of it slammed into a screeching halt. Aranella’s burn was moving.

Except, that wasn’t a burn. There was no way it could be a burn. Gleaming purple and green and blue it reminded him almost of an oil slick on the pavement…if oil slicks writhed and twisted of their own accord. Stomach flipping, Roland swallowed hard. He helped Aranella to sit.

“That’s not a burn.” He said. She nodded at him, tucking Evan beneath an arm.

“Forbidden magics,” She said tightly. Her face was pale, the marks on her leg continuing to twist. “Some sort of curse, I’d imagine.”

“A curse?” Evan stares at her, blue eyes blown wide. “What do we do?!”

Before Aranella could answer, she turned around. Roland caught it a second later: in the distance, the clank of armor and shouting. The soldiers had found their way down. Roland cursed but before he could speak, Nella turned to Evan.

“Listen to me,” She said firmly, cupping his face with both hands, “You need to go. Run as far away from here as you can.”

“What?!”

“You have to survive!” She said, then stopped and took a deep breath. “You have to live, and become the ruler I know you will be.”

Roland watched as understanding dawned on Evan’s young face. He shook his head vehemently, ears going flat to his skull.

“No!” He shouted, voice catching around a sob, “No, Nella! I can’t! Not without you!” He hiccuped again, though the sound was lost beneath the clank and clang of nearing armed forced. If they were still here when the soldiers arrived, then…

Roland looked down the corridor, teeth grit. They were running out of time and options. He knew what Aranella was doing, knew that this was a final goodbye to someone she clearly loved very dearly. It was the logical thing to do, but—

He took a breath. They could leave her here and run, leave her to the real risk of being killed, or take her with them.

Leave a young boy bereft of all family…or not.

Mind made up, Roland moved.

“Evan,” He said, startling them, “Move.”

“What—”

“Move.” He said more firmly. Evan’s tail fluffed up as he drew in the breath for a protest but Roland cut him off with, “I can’t pick you both up at once.”

Roland saw the moment it dawned on them. Evan scrambled away and Aranella, well, she didn’t look happy.

“You’ll do no such thing—”

"Sorry about this," He said, scooping Aranella up before she could finish. She was a little heavier than she looked, firm muscle in his arms as he slung her over one shoulder. She yelped in surprise, instinctively grabbing onto his coat to keep from slipping.

“You—!”

“Just hold on.” He said, grabbing Evan by the arm. He stared up at the odd sight, then nodded and turned away. Tail streaming behind him, Evan ran. Roland shifted his grip on Aranella and took off after the boy, leaving the clank of armor far behind them.

[invincible-selfxmade-punk]

Tomorrow is the last day of spring break.

I have had a good one even though I didn't go anywhere or really do anything except house work. But I did get quite a bit done. Saw a lot of movies on SHUDDER and worked my way through the 101 greatest horror movie moments.

Honestly you should see it just for the Tom Savini and Tony Todd interviews. It was really good! There were so many directors and actors from movies that I liked that I had never seen inteeviewed before. IT DOES CONTAIN SPOILERS.

A few days before I had fallen asleep watching Lake Mungo and I'd actually tried to watch it another time and fell asleep that time too. So now I don't have to see it because the show told me exactly how I ended. Which saved me another 2 hours.

I swept and mopped the whole house even though it needs it again, repotted my plant, and cleaned off the top of the refrigerator. I also did laundry, took the cat in for her annual vet visit, and dyed my hair gray again ( I'm already going gray in spots so years ago I said to hell with it I want to control where the gray goes and make it look good so I dyed long streaks all through my hair and colored them gray ) and it looks fabulous. But gray does not last as a dye so you have to keep doing it over and over

Yesterday hubby and I actually had a date day where he finally went to check out one of my favorite restaurants here in town and we came back home and watched My Best Friend's Exorcism together.

I think I liked it more than he did but he liked it okay.💙

I also beat my highest level on Woodoku by seven levels and got a tie for the most awards I've ever gotten on it.

Now I have to go into school and rearrange my room because I want everyone sitting in different places after spring break.

And that's going to take a lot of time just dragging desks around.

And then I have to figure out who I'm sitting next to who. Right now I don't even care who works well together it's just going to be who can sit next to each other without killing each other at this point. In fact I am purposefully putting people together that don't necessarily like each other just because I'm sick and tired of all the talking.

I hope and pray I have many more Spring Breaks to come, but the older I get the more I start looking at things as what if this were my last one. I hope it's not but even if it was it was very productive and I did most importantly get a lot of rest and slept in every single day.

If any of you were fortunate enough to be off on spring break I hope it was a good one for you too and even if not I hope you have a great week next week.

[creek-cryptid-deluxe]

Fun facts about my partner (because it occurs to me that I've not really described him here beyond amazing & severely adhd riddled):

• he is about 5.5 ft tall (we wear the same clothes & shoe sizes; his students thought it was hilarious & absurd that he wore my converse high tops for 3 days when his pumas finally died) with brown hair streaked with gray that is just past his shoulders. He is the very definition of barrel chested & has a full beard (that's also streaked with gray). He has a deep gravely voice with a THICK Texas accent (think south dallas area because texas accents vary).

• he is covered in tattoos all of which are in black ink & all but 2 of which he did himself

• dude is an insanely talented artist but his preference is Turner-esque landscapes. Man can literally sketch or paint anything & is working on resurrecting his painting livestreams. He enjoys teaching and making art accessible to everyone & is currently a middle school art teacher.

• loves musical theater (he was singing songs from Chicago while feeding the cats this morning)

• massive history nerd

• Carrie Fisher was his 3rd cousin (even prior to knowing that, he was a star wars nerd)

• loves LOTR, hockey, Star Wars, a variety of video games & only OG Star Trek (he's currently playing a game where he's a shark with a jet pack & lasers??)

• loves fantasy football because it's all just statistics & competition but only agreed to be in his league because he was allowed to design his own team's logo/helmets. He never watches football nor has the desire to but is intensely competitive. (So competitive in fact that after watching Good Omens, I text him good news that next morning followed by a gif of "Can I get a Wahoo" & he lamented for a week about wanting to be the first to use that gif. Now 7 months later if I bring it up, he rants for 10 minutes.)

• used to play hockey as a goalie.

• loves his chickens... possibly more than me. Like if it came down to eating chickens or me for survival, I don't fancy my chances.

• spent his entire adult life married to 2 women (one right after the other) who were both basically the same abusive narcissist in different physical packages. Poor man still has ptsd nightmares & because he has kids with both we have to deal with both on the regular.

• has adhd so severe that even with medication it still borders on debilitating. Most websites, forms, and admin stuff frustrates him to the degree that he gives up almost immediately. Dyslexia doesn't help. Even before we dated, I was his admin. I came over to help him sign up for insurance & such all the time.

• that last fact makes him react with awe, terror, & the conviction that I'm magic due to the sheer volume of shit I can accomplish & the fact that I generally know where everything is at any given moment. I am the keeper of the stuff.

• he is the most genuinely kind human i know. I've seen him run across the creek behind our house to help people he has never spoken to without a moment of hesitation.

• he is theatrical & flamboyant enough that despite knowing he has kids & a female life partner, his students still openly ponder if he is gay. This isn't helped by things he says. (A student is acting afool & so he says he will become besties with their mom. Kid replies that mom is married. He comes back with "So? I'll be besties with him too. Heck I'll kiss your dad if it results in you doing your actual work. I don't care.")

• is one of those rare teachers that genuinely cares. Like he always provides a refuge, a safe space, & snacks at this middle school in a lower income area. He legit spent 3 days sobbing when the dickhead principal didn't renew his contract because he "doesn't want to leave his kids". The kids found out, staged a walk out protest. He heard about it when it was happening because nobody could break it up, went out there & told them all that he appreciated the thought behind it but what he really wanted was for them to go back to class. They all immediately lined up to hug him & then went to class because he has that level of respect & pull with them. This didn't help his principal's unfounded & intense dislike of my partner.

• he can fix nearly anything but is somehow always floored by my ability to fix or build things. (I watched him rebuild our washing machine when it went on the fritz but he is stunned by my changing out shower heads and skim coating walls and removing shitty backsplash tiles/adhesives or building a cat enclosure) He claims that my smattering of skills makes him want to learn a bunch of those skillsets to "catch up" but that by the time he does, my skill will have probably progressed further in that area. He really enjoys my particular art/craft style because it's so different from what he does & it inspires him.

• loves to be out in nature but is often amused & a bit confused about my passionate rants regarding plant life. (Fucking invasive ass chinese privet has taken over wooded areas. Fuck that noise.) He is impressed by my vast botanical knowledge & likes that when we go out to get reference shots for his paintings, I'm drawn to different perspectives in the same area because it makes him look at things differently.

• will beat a joke/bit into the ground. (He can't sleep in clothes lest he flop around like a tuna in a net at 3 am. However for the last month every time I remind him to take off his pants he says "But [Dr M], I get hot & the pants wick the sweat..." Every. Fucking. Night. If i hear the phrase 'wicks the sweat' one more time I will lose it. He also referred to The Cranberries as 'Sheryl Crow' last night & I nearly beat him to death with a chunk of granite.)

• has an amazing smile that's contagious so it's hard to commit acts of violence during said bits because of the glee on his face.

• is absolutely absurd but with a deadpan/dry delivery that makes that absurd thing semi-belivable. Like when he was on leave from work & when he came back told each class something new about where he was. He can improv absurdities so well.

There's probably far far more but I'm not fully caffeine yet so. That's what you get.

[dapandapod]

You bring me colours

Hello and welcome to mean and angsty hours. Today I bring to you a soulmate fic, but it is sad and hurtful.

Thank you my lovely enablers for helping me bringing this to life, despite my very weak protests. Be mindful, my loves, if you are having a bad day you might want to skip this one. It ends happily, do not worry, but the way there is ouchie.

Warnings; Implied character death (real and not real), vauge description of drinking and depression, just, sad in general. A little bit soft too, and hopeful, but mostly sad. Im sorry.

On Ao3 here

Everybody has a soulmate. When your One comes into the world, they bring colors with them. And when they go, so do the colors. Many a poet sings of a world gone gray, of a love unknowingly lost. Because you don’t always meet your one. For some, it is enough to know they are out there. For some, the hunt lasts their entire lifetime. Some lucky few find each other, and some never do, settling in peace anyway.

---

For Vesemir, he had color for almost a century. But a witchers life is rough, and he knows not to seek them out. Not to give hope, not to feel greed. Just gift them with colors as long as he is able. He has an inkling who is His. His One. They must know too, but they never say.

Vesemir sits at the teachers table. It is lively in the hall, the children are laughing and making a mess as children do. They are his pride and his burden. Not all will be allowed to grow up, but he will do his best to give them a fighting chance. He raises his spoon towards his mouth, the soup smelling warm and rich.

The spoon falls with a clatter to the table.

Everything is black and white.

He is in front of everybody. In charge of so many lives. He was gifted with color for such a long time, this was to be expected. But if his One is who he thinks it is, then….

The screaming begins outside. The sacking of Kaer Morhen has begun.

---

Jaskier has always seen color. Always seen the color of the sky, the flowers and the nuances of snow.

When Jaskier is six years old, that changes.

He runs to his mothers, tears streaking down his face. Her dress used to be a bright green, her eyes a rich blue.

“Where did the colours go?” He cries. He knows he is too big to cry, but he is scared and sad.

Mother seems to be sad too. Heartbroken in fact, and she picks him up and holds him close.

After that day, the only color Jaskier can see is yellow. The color of the sun, of buttercups, some cat’s eyes. Of puss, of stains and of age.

--

There are many ways to die. The old Geralt dies when his knife plunges into Renfri's neck.

Geralt's colors came some years ago. When it happened he didn’t panic. He followed Vesemir's advice and pushed it as far back as he possibly could. It was only a small disappointment that the world didn’t turn grey when Renfri died. Because that is what Geralt felt like.

The colours stay, and he despises them. They glare at him, blaming him for still being there. How can he think he ever deserves happiness?

-----

In Posada, Jaskier finds someone with yellow eyes. They call to him like no other, so he goes. It is the best decision he has ever made, if the most difficult one. But with Geralt around, it is almost as if his memories of colours are springing to life. Sometimes he remembers that poppies are red, that water can be rich blue, and that autumn leaves can look like a fire. The fire he remembers from his past, but around Geralt they are so vivid they almost look real.

His mother told him not to tell. To hold those memories close. She taught him the colors through names and pictures, so that if someone asked, he would know.

Jaskier knows that his lost colours means that his One is dead. Some kind of dead, at least, if the professors are to be believed. If you get to keep a colour, even if it’s just the one, there is a chance. So Jaskier leaps at every chance he gets. He is one of those who chase, and will continue to chase.

----

Geralt is reluctant to Jaskier. Reluctant, because when he is around he is starting to feel alive again. Jaskier pokes and prods and smiles and sings and talks, and it is all Geralt can do to fight it.

---

A hot summer day Geralt finally gives in and they're just being goofy and like wrestling in a river. All the sudden Jaskier can see the color of the grass and he freaks out and scrambles out of the river and just lays down in front of a tuft of grass like 'holy shit geralt look at that.”

The bard is absolutely mesmerized for a moment, but when Geralt comes to look at what caught his attention, before he catches himself. Shit. Geralt can’t know.

So he plays it off, especially when the tuft of grass slowly fades back to grey. There is a lump in his throat, hope so big in his chest he wants to explode. They are out there, his One. They are still here.

---

There are many changes during their travels. Yennefer, for one. It is with her arrival that Jaskier realizes he is in love with Geralt. Deeply, desperately in love with him.

Another change happens on a cold and lonely mountain top. Geralt finally breaks, breaks everything, and Jaskier feels a spark inside himself diminish.

The further away from the mountain he gets, the more muted the world becomes. Even his memories stay out of his reach, as in fear of the pain he feels.

----

The moment Jaskier leaves the mountain, his world goes gray. Things click into place. He closes his eyes against the pain, letting it tear through him, cut him open.

Jaskier was his One.

And he killed him.

---

Geralt doesn’t know why the sky is still blue. He doesn’t understand how Ciris cloak is not grey, her eyes as startling blue as the love he once lost.

He thought he lost Yennefer on Sodden hill, but when he meets her, she is wearing a dress the color of Jaskiers eyes.

He breaks down at her feet, finally crumbling after all this time. He tells her everything, and she wipes his tears with infinite patience. How he deserves that from her, he doesn’t know.

“Why blue?” she asks him. “What relationship do you have with blue?”

And Geralt thinks about it. It is Ciri who finally puts the pieces together. Blue as Jaskiers eyes, he had said. And if you get to keep a colour, even if it’s just the one, there is a chance, or so a bard had told her in her grandmother's ballroom.

---

There are many ways to die. Jaskier is drowning. Drowning in pain and alcohol, sinking to a bottom, looking up at a golden sun. Not even the bright yellow can cheer him up, not when it reminds him so much of Geralt's eyes.

He doesn’t chase anymore. He accepts. Accepts that he will be alone, that nobody wants to be with someone destined for no one.

---

Geralt finds him in a tavern. Geralt walks in, so Jaskier must out. The one thing Geralt asks of him, after all these years. The least he can do is listen.

But Geralt follows him outside. Grabs his arms. Cups his cheeks. Asks for forgiveness. It takes time for Jaskier to register his words, he is deep down, he is drowning. But the sun seems closer now, becking him upwards.

He doesn’t understand why Geralt is here, but his broken heart is held together with Geralt's arms around him.

---

Geralt is scared to tell the bard. After all the pain he caused, how can he possibly make things right.

Geralt does everything he can to get the colours back, but they won’t come. Now that he has had a taste, now that he knows that it was his words, not his hands, that took them, he fights. He won’t make Jaskier follow him anymore. He tries something new.

They walk beside each other, a careful pace forward is set. It takes time, but his colours return. Jaskiers smiles are brighter, his eyes cornflower blue.

Then Jaskier confesses to him, he sees no colours but gold. How he carried it inside all this time, hoping that his One is out there, and Geralt can’t wait any longer.

“I want to give them to you. The colours that you bring to me, I want to give back to you.”

And he tries. Everyday he tries. And Jaskier holds his hand all the while.

[thewidowsghost]

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 8

3rd Person POV

Later that night, (Y/n) crawls under her covers to go to sleep; Marvel lies her small head on (Y/n)'s chest.

"'Night, girl," (Y/n) murmurs, drowsily scratching behind the cat's ears.

. . .

A few hours later, Marvel lifts her head, nuzzling (Y/n)'s face to try to wake her up. She lets out a whimper, pawing (Y/n)'s face.

The girl was sweating and her neck was resting at an awkward angle. Her breath had quickened and her eyes were moving rapidly under her closed eyelids.

Marvel jumps off the bed and streaks into Hermione's room. Hermione had always been a light sleeper, so when the cat jumped onto her bed, she wakes.

Marvel meows, and Hermione's head tilts in concern.

"What's wrong, Marvel?" Hermione asks and the black-and-white feline paws at Hermione's hand and jumps off the bed, stopping at the door, then looking back at the brunette.

What a peculiar cat, Hermione thinks, throwing back the covers and following the cat across the hall to her sister's room.

Marvel streaks over and onto the bed, her green eyes wide as she tries to nudge her companion awake again.

Realization and fear dawn in Hermione's eyes and she walks across the room and switches on (Y/n)'s bedside slight before placing a hand on her sister's shoulder, shaking it roughly.

"Come on," Hermione murmurs. "You've got to wake up."

(Y/n)'s eyes flash open, and she sits up in her bed, her eyes closed, head leaning against the headboard, her hands trembling.

Hermione sits down on the edge of (Y/n)'s bed, and takes her sister's hands in her own.

(Y/n) looks up, her eyes wide with shock - and a bright silver.

Hermione looks at her sister and (Y/n) subconsciously moves over and Hermione slides under the covers, her back leaning against the other half of (Y/n)'s pillow.

(Y/n) leans against Hermione's shoulder; Hermione, used to these nightmares, remains silent.

After a few minutes, she reaches over and turns off the bedside light.

(Y/n) turns on her side, her head resting on the pillow, and Hermione does the same.

. . .

(Y/n) and Hermione don't talk about the nightmare the night before as the two go about the rest of the break leading up until Christmas.

After breakfast Christmas morning, (Y/n), Hermione, and their parents walk into the living room.

"You girls want to pass out gifts?" Mrs. Granger asks and (Y/n) and Hermione nod.

After passing out the gifts, (Y/n) settles back down at her place in front of the couch. (Y/n) pulls the wrapping paper off one from Fred, and sitting on top was a card. It said:

(Y/n), Somebody got this picture of your first Quidditch match, I thought you'd like it.

- Fred

Lifting up the card, (Y/n) smiles seeing a picture in a frame. It was a picture of Fred and George lifting her up onto their shoulders after her first Quidditch match.

(Y/n) sets the picture and card beside her before picking up a gift from Harry. She smiles when she sees a Advanced Charms book and a book on Magical Creatures.

(Y/n) looks over at Hermione as the brunette at her side opens her gift. (Y/n) had given her sister a copy of Hogwarts: A History.

"I have a copy already," Hermione says, turning to (Y/n).

"There's a charm on it," (Y/n) explains. "Whenever something important in Hogwarts' history, it get's copied down in here. Look," (Y/n) says, opening a page. It says, October 31, 1991 - Hermione Granger, (Y/n) (L/n), Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, defeated a mountain troll in a girls toilet.

Hermione stares down at the book and a smile slowly spreads across her face. "This is really cool! I love it! But that's not how that went," Hermione says.

"Ah, but it's better than what actually happened," (Y/n) argues. "That was not my best birthday."

(Y/n) grabs another gift, pulls the paper off, and finds a box of chocolate frogs from Harry, and she sets them aside, promising to have one later.

One of (Y/n)'s last gifts is a package wrapped in glossy blue paper with wolves printed on it.

(Y/n),

Happy Christmas! I'm very proud of what you have accomplished at Hogwarts in such a short amount of time.

-Love,

Uncle Remus

(Y/n) gazes down at the card, a small smile on her face. Then she sets the card at her side and looks at the contents of the box. Inside was a small stuffed wolf with a tag on it's ear that read - (Y/n)'s first stuffed animal, a gift from Uncle Remus. Under that was a new stack of photos that (Y/n) promises herself to look at later.

(Y/n) opens a package and finds a red sweater with a silver (First Initial) on it. Under the sweater was a large box of homemade fudge and a letter.

(Y/n), My sons Ron, Fred, and George have told me a lot about you. My husband, Arthur, and I wish to meet you soon. Happy Christmas! -Molly Weasley

Grinning, (Y/n) pulls the sweater over her head and the four finishing opening all their gifts, both (Y/n) and Hermione take all their things upstairs.

3rd Person POV - with Harry - A few hours earlier

On Christmas Eve, Harry goes to bed looking forward for the next day for the food and the fun, but not expecting any presents at all. When he wakes early in the morning, however, the first thing he sees is a small pile of packages at the foot of his bed.

"Merry Christmas," says Ron sleepily as Harry scrambles out of bed and pulls on his bathrobe.

"You, too," says Harry. "Will you look at this? I've got some presents!"

"What did you expect, turnips?" says Ron, turning to his own pile, which is a lot bigger than Harry's.

Harry picks up the top parcel. It is wrapped in thick brown paper and and scrawled across it was to Harry, from Hagrid. Inside is a roughly cut wooden flute. Hagrid had obviously whittled it himself; Harry blows it - it sounded a bit like an owl.

A second, very small parcel contains a note. We received your message and enclose your Christmas present. From Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Taped to the note is a fifty-pence piece.

"That's friendly," says Harry.

Ron seems fascinated by the fifty pence, "Weird!" he exclaims. "What a shape! This is money!"

"You can keep it," says Harry, laughing at how pleased Ron is. "Hagrid and my aunt and uncle - so who sent these?"

"I think I know who that one's from," says Ron, turning a bit pink and pointing to a very lumpy parcel. "My mom. I told her you didn't expect any presents and - oh, no," he groans, "she's made you a Weasley sweater."

Harry had torn open the parcel to find a thick, hand-knitted sweater in emerald green and a large box of homemade fudge.

"Every year she makes us a sweater," says Ron, unwrapping his own, "and mine's always maroon."

"That's really nice of her," says Harry, trying the fudge, which was very tasty.

Harry's next present also contains candy - a large box of Chocolate Frogs from Hermione which Harry thought was kind of funny because he had gotten (Y/n) the same thing.

Harry's next parcel was from (Y/n). Opening it, he sees a small box. Feeling curious, Harry opens the box to see a couple of photos. One was of a raven haired man with amber eyes, Harry's father, and a red haired women with emerald green eyes, his mother. The two are standing with a (M/H/C) haired women, (Y/n)'s mum; all three were smiling.

Harry looks at another picture of two kids, probably about a year old. One was a boy with raven hair and emerald eyes, the other was a girl with (H/C) and green eyes - Harry himself and (Y/n).

Then, Harry sees a piece of paper sitting in the box.

Hey Harry,

I found these pictures in the box my godfather left me and I made a few copies. I figured you'd want them.

-Love,

(Y/n)

Harry smiles and picks up the final present. He picks it up and feels it. It's very light, he thinks, and he unwraps it.

Something fluid and silvery gray goes slithering to the floor where it lies in gleaming folds and Ron gasps.

"What is it?"

Harry picks up the shining, silvery cloth off the floor. It's strange to the touch, like water woven into material.

"It's an Invisibility Cloak," says Ron, a look of awe on his face. "I'm sure it is - try it on."

Harry throws the cloak around his shoulders and Ron gives a yell.

"It is! Look down!"

Harry looks down at his feet, but they are gone. He dashes to the mirror. Sure enough, his reflection looks back at him, just his head suspended in midair, his body completely invisible. He pulls the cloak over his head and his reflection vanishes completely.

"There's a note!" says Ron suddenly. "A note fell out of it!"

Harry pulls off the cloak ans seizes the letter. Written in narrow, loopy writing he had never seen before were the following words:

Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you.

Use it well

A very Merry Christmas to you

There is no signature; Harry stares at the note, while Ron is admiring the cloak.

"I'd give anything for one of these," Ron says. "Anything. What's the matter?"

"Nothing," says Harry. He fells very strange. Who had sent the cloak? Had it really once belonged to his father? he thinks.

Before he can say - or think - of anything else, but the dormitory door is flung open and Fred and George Weasley bounds in. Harry stuffs the cloak quickly out of sight. He doesn't fell like sharing it with anyone else yet.

"Merry Christmas!"

"Hey, look — Harry's got a Weasley sweater, too!"

Fred and George are wearing blue sweaters, one with a large yellow F on it,the other a G.

"Harry's is better than ours, though," says Fred, holding up Harry's sweater. "She obviously makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"Why aren't you wearing yours, Ron?" George demands. "Come on, get it on, they're lovely and warm."

"I hate maroon," Ron moans halfheartedly as he pulls it over his head.

"You haven't got a letter on yours," George observes. "I suppose she thinks you don't forget your name. But we're not stupid — we know we're called Gred and Forge."

"What's all this noise?"

Percy Weasley sticks his head through the door, looking disapproving. He had clearly gotten halfway through unwrapping his presents as he, too, carries a lumpy sweater over his arm, which Fred seizes.

"P for prefect! Get it on, Percy, come on, we're all wearing ours, even Harry got one."

"I — don't — want —" says Percy thickly, as the twins force the sweater over his head, knocking his glasses askew.

"And you're not sitting with the prefects today, either," demands George."Christmas is a time for family."

They frog-march Percy from the room, his arms pinned to his side by his sweater.

Harry had never in all his life had such a Christmas dinner. A hundred fat, roast turkeys; mountains of roast and boiled potatoes; platters of chipolatas;tureens of buttered peas, silver boats of thick, rich gravy and cranberry sauce —and stacks of wizard crackers every few feet along the table. These fantastic party favors were nothing like the feeble Muggle ones the Dursleys usually bought, with their little plastic toys and their flimsy paper hats inside. Harry pulls a wizard cracker with Fred and it didn't just bang, it went off with a blast like a cannon and engulfed them all in a cloud of blue smoke, while from the inside exploded a rear admiral's hat and several live, white mice. Up at the High Table, Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flowered bonnet,and is chuckling merrily at a joke Professor Flitwick had just read him.

Flaming Christmas puddings follow the turkey. Percy nearly breaks his teeth on a silver Sickle embedded in his slice. Harry watches Hagrid getting redder and redder in the face as he calls for more wine, finally kissing Professor McGonagall on the cheek, who, to Harry's amazement, giggles and blushes, her top hat lopsided.

When Harry finally leaves the table, he is laden down with a stack of things out of the crackers, including a pack of non-explodable, luminous balloons, a Grow Your-Own-Warts kit, and his own new wizard chess set. The white mice had disappeared and Harry has a nasty feeling they were going to end up as Mrs.Norris's Christmas dinner.

Harry and the Weasleys spent a happy afternoon having a furious snowball fight on the grounds. Then, cold, wet, and gasping for breath, they return to the fire in the Gryffindor common room, where Harry breaks in his new chess set by losing spectacularly to Ron. Harry suspects he wouldn't have lost so badly if Percy hadn't tried to help him so much.

After a meal of turkey sandwiches, crumpets, trifle, and Christmas cake, everyone feels too full and sleepy to do much before bed except sit and watch Percy chase Fred and George all over Gryffindor Tower because they'd stolen his prefect badge.

It had been Harry's best Christmas day ever. Yet something had been nagging at the back of his mind all day. Not until he climbs into bed is he free to think about it: the Invisibility Cloak and whoever had sent it.

Harry leans over the side of his own bed and pulls the cloak out from under it. His father's ... this had been his father's. He lets the material flow over his hands, smoother than silk, light as air. Use it well, the note had said.He has to try it, now. He slips out of bed and wrapped the cloak around himself. Looking down at his legs, he sees only moonlight and shadows. It's a very funny feeling.Use it well.Suddenly, Harry feels wide-awake. The whole of Hogwarts is open to him in this cloak. Excitement floods through him as he stands there in the dark and silence. He can go anywhere in this, anywhere, and Filch would never know.

Ron grunts in his sleep. Should Harry wake him? Something holds him back— his father's cloak — he felt that this time — the first time — he wants to use it alone. Harry creeps out of the dormitory, down the stairs, across the common room, and climbs through the portrait hole.

"Who's there?" squawks the Fat Lady. Harry says nothing. He walks quickly down the corridor.

Harry, his heart racing, and thought. And then it came to him. The Restricted Section in the library. He'd be able to read as long as he liked, as long as it took to find out who Flamel was. He sets off, drawing the Invisibility Cloak tight around him as he walked.The library is pitch-black and very eerie. Harry lights a lamp to see his way along the rows of books. The lamp looks as if it was floating along in midair,and even though Harry can feel his arm supporting it, the sight gives him the creeps.

The Restricted Section is right at the back of the library. Stepping carefully over the rope that separates these books from the rest of the library, he held up his lamp to read the titles. They didn't tell him much. Their peeling, faded gold letters spelled words in languages Harry couldn't understand. Some had no title at all. One book has a dark stain on it that looked horribly like blood. The hairs on the back of Harry's neck prickled. Maybe he was imagining it, maybe not, but he thought a faint whispering was coming from the books, as though they knew someone was there who shouldn't be. Harry had to start somewhere. Setting the lamp down carefully on the floor, he looked along the bottom shelf for an interesting-looking book. A large black and silver volume caught his eye. He pulls it out with difficulty, because it was very heavy, and, balancing it on his knee, lets it fall open.

A piercing, bloodcurdling shriek splits the silence — the book is screaming! Harry snaps it shut, but the shriek goes on and on, one high, unbroken, earsplitting note. He stumbles backward and knocks over his lamp, which went out at once. Panicking, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor outside —stuffing the shrieking book back on the shelf, he runs for it. He passes Filch in the doorway; Filch's pale, wild eyes looked straight through him, and Harry slips under Filch's outstretched arm and streaks off up the corridor, the book's shrieks still ringing in his ears.

Harry comes to a sudden halt in front of a tall suit of armor. He has been so busy getting away from the library, he hadn't paid attention to where he was going.Perhaps because it's dark, he didn't recognize where he was at all. There is a suit of armor near the kitchens, he knew, but he must be five floors above there.

"You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library — Restricted Section."

Harry feels the blood drain out of his face. Wherever he is, Filch must know a shortcut, because his soft, greasy voice is getting nearer, and to his horror, it's Snape who replies, "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Harry stands rooted to the spot as Filch and Snape come around the corner ahead. They can't see him, of course, but it is a narrow corridor and if they come much nearer, they'd knock into him - the cloak didn't stop him from being solid.

Harry backs away as quickly as he can. A door stands ajar to his left. It's my only hope, Harry thinks. He squeezes through it, holding his breath, trying to to move it, and to his relief, he manages to get inside the room without their noticing anything. They walk straight past, and Harry leans against the wall, breathing deeply, listening to their footsteps dying away. They had been close, very close, It is a few seconds before he notices anything about the room he his hidden in.

It looks like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs are piled against the walls, and there is an upturned wastepaper basket — but propped against the wall facing him was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way.

It is a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame,standing on two clawed feet. There is an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

His panic fading now that there is no sound of Filch and Snape, Harry moves nearer to the mirror, wanting to look at himself but see no reflection again; he steps in front of it.

He has to clap his hands to his mouth to stop himself from screaming. He whirls around, his heart pounding far more furiously than when the book had screamed - for he had not seen only himself in the mirror, but a whole crowd of people standing right behind him.

But the room is empty. Breathing very fast, he turns slowly back to the mirror.

There he is, reflected in it, white ans scared-looking, and there, reflected behind him, are at least ten others. Harry looks over his shoulder - but still, no one is there. Or are they invisible, too? Is his, in fact, in a room full of invisible people and this mirrors trick is that it reflects them, invisible or not?

Harry looks in the mirror again. A woman is standing right behind his reflection is smiling at him and waving. He reaches out a hand and feels the air behind him. If she is really there, he would touch her, their reflections are so close together, but he only feels air - she and the others exist only in the mirror.

She is a very pretty woman. Dark red hair and her eyes, emerald green eyes. Harry edges closer to the to the glass. Bright green - exactly the same shape as Harry's, but then he notices that she is crying; smiling, but crying at the same time. The tall, thin, black-haired man standing next to her put his arm around her. He wears glasses and his hair is very untidy. It sticks up at the back, just as Harry's does.

Harry is so close to the mirror that his nose is nearly touching that of his reflection.

"Mom?" he whispers. "Dad?"

They just look at him, smiling. And slowly, Harry looks into the faces of the other people in the mirror, and sees other pairs of green eyes like his, other noses like his, even a little old man, who looks as though he as Harry's knobbly knees - he is looking at his entire family for the first time in his life.

The Potters smile and wave at Harry and he stares hungrily hack at them, his hands pressed flat against the glass as though he is hopping to fall right through it and reach them. He has a powerful kind of ache inside him, half joy, half terrible sadness.

How long he stands there, he doesn't know. The reflections do not fade and he looks and looks until a distant noise brings him back to his senses. He can't stay here, he has to find a way back to his bed. He tears his eyes away from his mother's face, whispers, "I'll come back," and hurries from the room.

Harry does for the next two nights and Dumbledore had found Harry the last night. Dumbledore had told Harry the purpose of the mirror, to show the deepest desire of their hearts.

Dumbledore had convinced Harry not to go looking for the Mirror of Erised again, and for the rest of the Christmas holidays the Invisibility Cloak stays folded at the bottom of his trunk. Harry wishes he could forget what he'd seen in the mirror as easily, but he can't He starts having nightmares. Over and over a again he dreams of his parents disappearing in a flash of green light, while a high voice crackles with laughter. What Harry didn't know, was that (Y/n) was having the same dreams. Repetition from the one on Christmas Eve night.

"You see, Dumbledore was right, that mirror could drive you mad," says Ron, when Harry tells them about these dreams.

Word Count: 3759 words

[enragedbees]

@nicerockinkid @nicerockinsideblog @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Happy holidays, Nick!

I had a lot of fun writing this, and I really hope you enjoy it! I hope you don’t mind that I made it just a little bit angsty lol

- love, Anna :)

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pairing: intrulogical

warnings: self deprecation, food mention, alcohol mention, brief vomiting mention, mild swearing

recommended listening: yellow - coldplay

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His chest heaved. His heart hammered. His legs pumped, wheels spinning, pushing faster and faster, trying in vain to catch up with the other bike ahead of him.

      The clouds shifted and the pavement glowed, baking in the hot air, deprived of the temporary relief of cloud cover. Logan squinted. The sun shone in his face. His hands were sweaty against the rubber handlebars.

      Up ahead, he laughed, and the sound blew past with the wind in Logan’s ears. The boy ahead disappeared around a corner.

      Logan turned, his wheels skidding against the shiny black asphalt. He jumped off his bike and threw it in the grass next to the other one, not pausing even a second and running after him.

      His sneakers pounded the asphalt, and then, the pavement. The other slowed to a stop at the crest of the bridge, the occasional car whizzing past on the other side of the concrete barrier, and let Logan catch up.

      He grinned. Two teeth were missing, one in the front and one on the bottom. “I won!”

      Logan pushed his glasses up and tried to catch his breath. “Maybe do it without the head start next time.” His smile was full of metal and rubber bands.

      He punched Logan in the arm, still laughing, and sat down on the hot pavement. Logan sat next to him, their legs draped over the side of the bridge, arms hanging over the lowest rung of the sidewalk guardrail.

      They gravitated towards one another due to sheer convenience. They were in the same grade at school. They lived close enough to walk to the other’s house. They didn’t have a whole lot in common, other than skinned elbows, and grass stains on their jeans, and a desire for companionship. And they both had bikes, and an entire summer to kill.

      The river below sparkled, ripples glimmering in the late afternoon sun. It might have been calmer, but dozens of people were out in speedboats and kayaks and jet skis, making waves and mixing up debris, turning the water to a warm weather greenish-brown.

      A hot breeze blew past, cool against the sweat on Logan’s arms and the back of his neck. Water lapped the riverbank and Logan thought about how nice it would feel to jump in the water. His mom would probably get mad at him for coming home all wet.

      “D’you wanna come over for dinner?” The boy asked. “My brother’s not gonna be home. We can play all his video games.”

      “Sorry, I can’t. It’s my stepdad’s birthday. We could go to the pool tomorrow, though.” Logan kicked the air.

      “I’ll ask my mom.” The boy stood up. He glanced down with a mischievous grin. “Race you to the park!”

      He took off, and Logan was left yelling in indignation and struggling to stand up, almost getting caught in the railing, but laughing as he chased his friend down the sidewalk.

 ~

       “Oh my God, Remus, get down from there!”

      Remus laughed, sitting on the top rung of the railing, overlooking the still, gray river. “Relax, dweeb, I’m not gonna fall!”

      Logan gasped as he started to slip, scrambling for something to grab hold of, eventually latching onto the support rail at his side. He turned back around, face just a little paler, still smiling. “See? I’m fine.”

      Logan breathed through his miniature heart attack. “Would you stop being an idiot? You’re very cool and fearless, now get down.”

      “Alright, alright, but I’m only doing this for your sake,” Remus said, already climbing over the railing, and almost falling again in the process.

      They sat on the concrete barriers on the side of the road, eating out of a brown paper bag of discount candy. Remus said they were “too cool” to sit on the sidewalk anymore.

      Remus was certainly cool, with his detention streak and his popular older brother in the high school and the leather jacket he got for Christmas that he hadn’t taken off in three months. And his perfect, flashing smile, that made every girl in their class ask him for help with homework, and his charming and daring and genuinely funny off-color humor that distracted them from how badly he did with academics. There was no doubt that Remus was cool. Logan wasn’t cool.

      But the view was the same from the concrete, so Logan went along with it.

      Remus rambled on about something, and Logan listened without having to respond. The wind blew, and Logan crossed his arms, wishing he had something warmer than his button down.

      He breathed. It was chilly, but the weather was exactly how Logan liked it. The air was cool and wet, the sky overcast in a sheet of puffy gray, looking as if it could start pouring at any second, but never actually breaking.

      Logan realized it had become quiet. He turned, seeing Remus smirking at him.

      “Sorry, I zoned out. What were you saying?”

      Remus looked toward the river again, still smiling. “Nothing.”

      “No, seriously, I want to hear.”

      “I honestly don’t remember.”

      Logan smiled. “Then what was that look for?”

      Remus shrugged, still smiling out towards the water, arms folded. “I dunno, you were thinking really loud and I wanted to know what about.”

      Logan leaned back. “I’m thinking at least a little about what the hell I’m gonna do for the project in Ambrose’s class.”

      “Oh my God, it was such a dick move to assign that right before the end of the quarter! Is he trying to fail us all?!”

      Remus launched into another tirade, and Logan couldn’t help but laugh. He was happy.

      They’d come out to this spot countless times. It was the only place they were truly safe, the only place they could be themselves together, away from Logan’s too loud, too crowded house that frustrated him to tears, away from Remus’ house that was so quiet and empty, it drove him mad. They were each other’s sanctuary. And other than the infrequent traffic, this place was theirs.

      Remus could have been anywhere he wanted tonight. He could be playing Call of Duty with the other popular boys on the basketball team, or walking around town with any girl he wanted, or possibly even at a high school party with real alcohol, where every upperclassman but his brother loved him.

      But he was here. With Logan. Like he always was. Logan didn’t understand.  

      “I promise you, Lo, one day we’re gonna get out of this small-ass town full of boring-ass people,” said Remus, lost in another in a series of idealistic monologues. “We’ll get jobs, and an apartment somewhere like California or New York, and –”

      “And a cat?”

      “Dozens of them! And maybe some dogs.”

      “Our landlord’s gonna love us.” Logan laughed.

      Remus kept going, painting this incredible future in Logan’s mind, full of a kind of happiness they couldn’t have here.

      And Logan was excited. They knew exactly what the future would look like. They had a plan, and it was airtight. All he had to do was wait to grow up, and they could do it. Logan couldn’t wait.

      But it was still many years away. Right now, they just had to focus on getting through middle school.

      Soon enough, the sky got darker and the candy ran out. The two dug through their pockets and searched the sidewalk and found just enough loose change for a small cheese pizza from the shop down the road. Not ready to go back to either of their homes yet.

      The wind blowing over the water grew bitter as the sun set, and Logan folded his arms, wishing again he’d thought to bring a jacket.

      A weight fell on his shoulders, and Logan looked over at Remus to find him suddenly leather jacket-less.

      “That thing gets way too hot,” he complained. “Hold it for me, will ya?”

      Logan smiled and put his arms through the sleeves, the fleece lining still warm, as the first few raindrops started falling.

 ~

       The rain poured hard.

      Logan sat, drenched and shivering in the dark, teeth chattering and hair plastered to his forehead. His jacket was now soaked through and provided no source of warmth, and his glasses were covered in water. From rain or tears, he couldn’t tell.

      Logan was miserable, but he wouldn’t move. There was nowhere he could go. Maybe he deserved to be miserable.

      It was no secret. Everyone saw the way Remus looked at him. The teasing, the protectiveness, the sacrifices and willingness to drop everything for Logan should have made it so clear. Logan couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to realize.

      But after everything Remus had done for him, Logan did nothing but break his heart, over and over and over again.

      Logan couldn’t see anything but the blurry shine of lights along the bank, and the churning of black water beneath the bridge. It was so dark, and he was so cold.  A tiny voice was nagging at him to get up and leave, that it was dangerous to be out, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

      He hardly noticed the headlights. The car moved slowly down the bridge, stopping a few feet from where Logan sat.

      The driver’s side door opened, then slammed shut. Logan heard a sigh.

      “What the hell are you doing?”

      Logan couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even look up. If he took one glance at him, Logan would start crying. Then he’d be saddled with trying to cheer Logan up, and Logan was so unworthy of his comfort.

      He stepped closer. “Come on, you’re gonna get sick. You get super bitchy when you’re sick.”

      “I’m sorry,” Logan whispered.

      “Come with me.”

      “I don’t deserve you.”

      “Yeah, we know. You say it like it’s not something we’ve known our whole lives.”

       Logan was definitely crying now. Maybe he had been already. Remus sighed again.

      “Come on, Logan. I’m not leaving without you, and I’m getting all wet now too, so you really kinda owe me this.”

      Logan bit his lip. It took a moment to stand, he couldn’t stop shivering. He finally turned towards Remus, and he could barely see him.

      But when Remus opened up his arms in invitation, Logan fell right into them.

      Remus wrapped his arms around Logan and held him tight. He was so warm, and he was stroking Logan’s hair, and Logan felt so safe. And he felt so guilty, so unworthy to be the one in Remus’ arms. To be the one Remus held this close, or spent all his time with, or dropped everything for when Logan needed him.

      He cried into Remus’ shirt, realizing his glasses were no longer on his face, not realizing Remus had slipped them into his pocket and not much caring. He cried silently in Remus’ car, wrapped up in a dry jacket they found in the backseat, heater blasting and radio playing Coldplay, with no memory of how he ended up there.

      Remus brought Logan back to his house, gave him dry clothes and some tea from a box Logan had left there who knows when. Remus held him on the couch and kept him warm and safe.

      Logan knew he could live a hundred of the best lives and never be good enough Remus. But he let himself be held. Even though he hated himself for it.

      Logan was miserable. But Remus held him, because Remus knew Logan needed him, and Remus took care of him, like he’d done their whole lives.

      And Logan hated himself for it.

 ~

       The weather should not have been this nice.

      The air was lacking in the usual hot, sticky soupiness of this time in the summer. The heat had broken earlier this afternoon, and now, with the sky turning orange and the cool wind blowing over the river, it was perfect.

      Logan was already homesick.

      He walked down the sidewalk, Remus in step next to him. There was no rushing, no clamoring to get there first. No hurry for anything to end before it had to.

      They made their way over to their usual spot, taking a seat on the still-warm cement. The highway behind them bustled with a little more involvement than was common.

      Logan looked over the river, deep blue for the first time in weeks and lazily reflecting the dying sunlight. He smelled herbs and dough from the local pizza shop carried on the wind. He laid his hands against the concrete, fingernails scratching at it absentmindedly.

      He turned. Remus stared out into the water, a soft smile on his lips, only surface-deep. But when Remus looked him in the eyes and that fake smile grew, Logan knew the intention behind it was genuine.

      Logan smiled back but turned away quickly.

      Everything between them was different. There was so much he couldn’t say, so much he wanted to say, so much he knew Remus would have liked to say but wasn’t cruel enough to do so. There was so much keeping them apart, and fighting the growing resistance was getting to be too much for Logan.

      That wasn’t the only reason he was leaving. He was leaving for a lot of reasons.

      It hurt, so much. At the same time that Logan was desperate for distance, craving a change in his relationship with Remus that might solve the distress they were in, the idea of leaving him was so painful that Logan wanted to throw up every time he thought about it.

      What would his life be like if he didn’t see Remus every day? How could he live like that?

      Remus wasn’t going anywhere. Even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t have gone with Logan. It was a very competitive application process. Logan wasn’t sure if even he would be accepted.

      Remus said he didn’t want to. That concept terrified Logan, but he understood it wasn’t for everyone. Remus was a creative; he didn’t need any schooling to do what he wanted.

      The breeze blew through Logan’s hair. All his life, he’d been so excited for the day he would finally escape this town. But now it was really happening. He didn’t know how to feel.

      Logan wanted Remus to come with him. He didn’t want to leave him. He couldn’t leave him. What would he do without Remus?

      Remus probably would have been better off without him. Logan was always holding him back. Logan was so needy and Remus was always the one having to take care of him. He owed it to Remus to leave. He had to release him.

      He didn’t want to leave. No, of course he did. He wanted to leave. He had wanted to leave since he was a kid.

      Logan wanted to stay with Remus. Logan wanted to be with him and be happy with him and make him happier than he’d ever been.

      Logan wanted to kiss him again. He couldn’t. It wasn’t fair.

      Logan wanted to feel Remus’ arms around his waist, pulling him close, sliding his hands under his shirt and over his ribs and the small of his back, and he wanted to run his fingers through Remus’ hair and kiss him until he couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t. Not again. It wouldn’t be fair to Remus.

      Logan wanted to kiss him and pull him close and breathe in the way he smelled and feel the security and comfort of his arms, and only pull away to gasp for breath, and see his tiny, bright, out of breath smile, and look into his eyes and –

      Logan’s stomach turned and his hands clammed up. No, he didn’t want that. Remus was his best friend. He didn’t want anything more.

      It didn’t matter that Remus did. It didn’t matter that Logan once again couldn’t get the thought of kissing him out of his mind.

      He ached. It was too complicated. Nothing could be done now, anyway. They didn’t have enough time. Logan had to leave with the knowledge that this wasn’t resolved, and might never be. That his best friend was gone. Irretrievable, at least not in the same way. It was over.

      “Do you want to go on a drive?”

      Logan looked over. “Where?”

      “Dunno,” Remus shrugged, still looking out over the river. “Does it matter?”

      Logan smiled. “No.”

      Remus turned to him. He flashed a grin. Pulled out his phone. “What time do you have to leave tomorrow?”

      “Six.”

      “We’ve got eleven hours.” Remus slipped his phone back into his pocket and stood up, stretching his arms over his head. He went over to his car, looking back when he got there.

      “You coming?”

       Logan took one last look at the view – the deep navy ripples running over the water, the golden sky starting to fade to a soft indigo, the houses and storefronts, the glowing red target logo high on a hill across the valley, the lights of the fracking plant in the distance. He took notice of every tiny part that made up his town, the town he’d hated growing up in, couldn’t wait to leave, didn’t want to admit he’d miss.

      It wasn’t over. Eleven hours. Not enough time to fix anything. Not enough time to preserve anything. To strengthen anything that would last until he got back.

      Maybe enough time to be happy again. For a little while.

      Logan swallowed down his heartsickness, stood, and walked over to Remus’ car, refusing to look back.

      ~

       He hadn’t really expected anything in particular. But he didn’t expect to be back here.

      Logan couldn’t say he minded. His hometown was beautiful in the autumn.

      Logan stood, forearms resting against the top rung of the railing. The river was jade and peaceful. The shining sky was a ringing crystal blue, the clouds wispy and thinner than stretched cotton. The valley was brightened by red and orange and gold blanketing every tree and the grass underneath, each plant in that halfway state between full and empty branches.

      It had been awhile since Logan came here. It was too painful to come alone, and it was too painful to come here with him. For a long time, it was too painful to be with him at all.

      But then, it wasn’t.

      Logan wasn’t really sure what changed. He did, probably. It was like he woke up one day and realized he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. Everything was wrong. Logan had been wrong. Or he just wasn’t right anymore. He still wasn’t sure.

      But with him, Logan didn’t have to understand. He knew it was right. When Logan finally, finally reached him, it was like he’d found what he had been waiting for his whole life. Everything fell into place.

      For now, at least. Logan knew that euphoria wouldn’t last forever. Soon enough the excitement and perfection would burn down, and they’d get calm and comfortable, and they’d have to work hard to maintain it.

      Logan was ready for that, though. After so long, so many years of pain and wrestling, Logan finally had him. Comparatively, keeping him would be a breeze.

      Logan heard footsteps on the pavement, and turned his head to see him by his side. Logan grinned and his chest warmed. He smiled back, and leaned against the railing, mirroring Logan.

      They stayed there together in silence, the air between them that was once full of unvoiced pain and tension now replaced by a quiet and content understanding. 

      He was still a little hesitant, and Logan couldn’t blame him. He’d had his heart broken enough in the past to warrant the uncertainty and distrust. Logan was doing everything he could to prove that this was real, that he wasn’t going anywhere. And it felt like it was starting to sink in.

      They weren’t in a rush. Logan didn’t know how long it would be before he got to see this view again, if he ever did. He knew he’d miss it, even if he was excited to go.

      Even if he came back, it wouldn’t be the same. Leaving marked a separation in his life; a divide between “before” and “after.” He was looking forward to the after, but that didn’t change his hesitancy to leave behind the before.

      Logan took a deep breath of the air. It smelled like home.

      This was right. He knew that.

      The journey was excruciating. But it got him here, and that was exactly what Logan needed, even if it took as long as it did for him to recognize that. Logan would do it all again if he knew he’d end up so happy.

      He had no idea what the future held. He had no idea how much of the past he wouldn’t be able to overcome.

But standing here for the last time, as Remus reached over and took his hand, Logan was ready to see.

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

Part two of my AU! You should start with But What If, Instead, or you may be a little confused. Or just dive in, that's cool too. Be a sexy rebel. It's what BJ would want.

He’s sixteen when green starts to grow on his face. He’s been dealing with the hair for years, now, and it’s mostly stable. Sure, he gets overwhelmed, and sure, it can still change quickly, but it’s not like when he was twelve and threw fits all the time that resulted in fire engine red. He wouldn’t say he’s the best at handling anger, for sure, for sure, for sure. That award will probably always go to his mother, Emily. But he’s gotten better at treating everything like a joke, which totally helps. Can’t get mad at what you don’t take seriously, right? It’s a philosophy that seems to frustrate his dad, who, in Betelgeuse’s opinion, takes everything way too seriously. Chuckster is lucky he’s got Emily to balance him out, or that case of stick in ass might have become terminal. So, yeah, alright, the green. He’s been growing facial hair lately, a thin pathetic little pencil mustache that nine year old Lydia calls his “creepo-stache,” and he’d be the first to admit, it’s pretty John Waters-esque, but it’s what he’s got, for now. That hair, of course, grows in green, and mixed with the corpse purple untertones he still hasn’t quite learned to glamour away convincingly, the effect is that he perpetually looks like he’s ready to put on a zombie remake of a 70’s porno. Metaphors sure are fun. At least the upper lip is starting to fill out, and the chin scruff has been on the rise, too, though he’s a far cry away from Charles’ majestic beard. He’s staring in his bathroom mirror after a shower, admiring his chubby, totally sexy self, when he notices a splotch of green on the left side of his nose. He smooshes his nose down a little with one hand, leans in closer, and squints. Must be somethin’ he ate? On his nose? For some reason? But then he notices there’s the same slight green color at his temples, too. He settles on scrubbing his face until his skin hurts a little, and when he’s done, he’s so flushed he can’t see the color, and assumes the matter is settled. And then a few days later, it’s darker. He’s sitting at dinner with the whole family, chewing with his mouth open to annoy Lydia, who gives him a swift kick to the shin under the table. “Now, if you ever hit me, and I find out about it,” he starts to tease, until he feels his mom flick his ear, and he turns to her. “You got some schmutz on your face, Bug. Come here.” Emily blots her napkin to her tongue, and then wipes at his nose, much to his chagrin. “Ew, seriously? Maaaaa,” he whines, but everyone at that table knows he’s soaking up the attention like a sponge. “I for sure feel so much cleaner with your spit smeared around my face, thank you so much, Emily Deetz.” Emily shooshes him and continues rubbing, but her napkin comes away clean. “Huh,” she glances down at it, and then back to the spot on the side of his nose, and squints. Lydia and Charles are leaning in too, now, and his sister grins. “There’s some on his forehead, mama, get him there,” and she’s successful in weaponizing their mother against him, because he hardly has time for a “Damn you-” before Emily is rubbing at the green stains on his temples, near his hairline. “What the heck is this, ink?” “I dunnoooo!” he winges, wiggling just enough to let her know he’s unhappy but not enough to flail and hurt her. When she finally relents and lets him go, a third hand sprouts from his back to pull the “hood” part of his black and white striped hoodie over his head, and he tightens the draw strings. “No more smearing spit on BJ, now, that part of dinner is done,” he says defensively, and Emily has the sense to look a little sheepish. “Sorry, Bug,” she pats his head, and he hisses in response, but no one, not even him, takes that seriously anymore. It’s a few more days until there’s a break in the case. He’s standing upside down on his bedroom ceiling, concentrating on a certain riff on his ukelele, and Lydia is flopped on his bed, passively watching Coraline on the beat up vintage TV he and Charles spent last summer fixing up. “I can’t get this to sound right,” he complains to her, and in response,

she turns the movie up louder. “Oh, haha, my sister, the fuckin’ comedianne, she’ll be here all week, everybody,” and he flops on the mattress next to her, which makes her bounce a bit before they both settle. He’s laying on his back, ukulele on his chest, mumbling and strumming, and she’s on her stomach, watching that kinda horny scene where the nude old lady with the huge honkers unzips her fuckin’ skin, when she glances over at him. “Your face spots are fuzzy, now,” she comments. “It’s called a beard, short stack. Dad’s had one since you were five, you’d think-” “Shut up, dummy, I meant the schmaltz.” “You mean the schmutz. Different words mean different things.” “Whatever. Your nose is growing hair, like grandpa. It’s barforiffic.” He frowns, and sets the ukulele down besides his bed, and conjures himself a little hand mirror from his pocket dimension. Lydia’s breath hitches, because no matter how many years it’s been, she still loves that trick, the way it’s like he’s pulling something out of nothing. He stares at the splotches in his hand mirror, beholding his face in mock horror like that episode of the Twilight Zone, the one with the pig faced people. All other details aside, she’s right, the splotches are growing hair, sort of. It doesn’t feel exactly like hair, when he reaches an experimental finger to poke at it, it’s sort of.. He can’t describe it. Grassy? Not really hair, more like a short, fuzzy… “It’s moss,” he realizes, positioning the mirror to check his forehead, where the vegetation is growing softly there, too. “Gross. How often do you shower, you neanderthal?” Lydia scrunches up her nose at him. “Careful, or you’re getting a face full of demon pits when you’re tryna sleep tonight,” he bites back at her. “I shower a normal amount. Maybe..” sharp teeth worry his bottom lip as he thinks. “I’m showering too much?” “That can’t possibly be your take away from this.” “Well I don’t know, Ly-dee-uhh,” he drags out her name. “It’s not like I’ve got a handy dandy guide to being an undead demon thing tucked away that explains all the rules that come with bein’ me, okay? I’m just thinkin’, I could count as dead cause, ya know. No heartbeat. Dead people probably.. I mean plants might grow on em, right? Like if one was left murdered and unburied in th’ world, like in a damp forest, and surrounded by nature, maybe somethin’ would grow on their putrid, rotting corpse flesh?” Lydia sits up, and leans over him, pushing the hand mirror out of the way. “I’m picking this off of you so I don’t have to hear about it anymore,” she says, simply, and then uses her surprisingly strong kid strength to dig into the runny splotch on his left temple. She runs a nail up his skin, scraping at him, and he purrs in response, tongue flicking out of his mouth, snake like. “Big scary demon dead guy, and all it takes to tame him is a little bit of attention,” she teases, and he gives another half hearted hiss. “You’re like a cat, BJ.” When she’s finished, she cleans under her nails and looks pleased. “I think I got it,” she nods, and he checks in his hand mirror. They both watch in silence as the moss seems to instantly grow back. “Moooooom!” he whines, sitting up and tossing the hand mirror over his shoulder, where it disappears into nothing without touching the ground, tucked back safe in his pocket dimension. Emily pokes her head in a moment later. “Yeah, what’s up, Beej?” She’s got her long blonde hair all done in a neat bun, and there’s the slight tone of exasperation to her voice. “You kids aren’t fighting, right?” she asks, stepping into the room. “I am literally just sitting here,” Lydia motions to the tv, still displaying the stop motion exploits of her current idol and role model. “The green crap on my face, it’s moss!” Betelgeuse whines to her, outright ignoring her question to begin with. “I’m growing moss on my face, and Lyds scraped it off but it instantly grew back!” “It was kinda cool,” Lydia admits, not giving her older brother the satisfaction of looking at him when she says it. Emily,

meanwhile, puts a finger on her chin, and scrunches up her nose in thought. “Maybe.. Some weed killer might get rid of it?” she suggests, clearly unsure. “So you want me to drink POISON,” Betelgeuse instantly flops back on the bed, left hand thrown over his forehead, all dramatic. “Lured me into the family just to try and murder me years later, huh? You fooled me! With love!” He opens his eyes in time to see both Emily and Lydia rolling theirs. “You can’t just magic it away?” Lydia pokes the moss on his nose. “The way you did your last report card?” “Judas,” he hisses, dropping the glamour enough to glare at her with his snake slit amber eyes. “You did what?” ``````````````````````````````````````````````````````` He’s back at school on Monday with a bandaid fix, which is literally a couple band aids across the spots, one plastered on his nose, the other one a large patch bandage on the spot on his temples where the green was growing in the most clearly. The bandages noticeably don’t blend in with his skin tone, despite touting themselves as flesh colored, because he’s got skin like a guy who never left his basement, and also is freshly fuckin’ dead. For extra cover, he’s wearing his “Guide” hat, a ratty gray policeman’s cap with a metal plate spelling out the word. Charles had bought for him from a Goodwill his first year up top. It does enough to hide the streaks of green, as long as he pulls it down a bit, and he’s not exactly known at school for being a style icon, so nobody thinks twice to see him wearing it, as he slips from the front seat of Charles’ car that morning. “Have a good day, son. Call me if.. If you need me,” Charles reminds him, and Lydia pipes up from the backseat. “Later, Bug beverage. Good luck.” She’s still feeling a bit guilty about snitching, apparently, because she blows him a kiss, which is super uncool and she clearly wants to take it back the second she’s done it, but he grins and pretends to catch it. “Later, family,” he closes the car door, and turns to face his day. School, he had learned a few years ago, is a uniquely breather torture experience thought up by the old to make the young loose out on their precious youths, there by getting back at them for being young and fun. That was his working theory all through his miserable first year of middle school, and high school is not disproving that theory in the least. He’s vaguely aware of the cliques that the breathers his age form, and there’s probably gossip about him, but for the most part, he’s just too weird for most of the humans his age to engage with him. He’s kind of got an aura, an indefinable something he can’t switch off, and it’s getting stronger the older he gets. Breathers are naturally more wary of him than they used to be. So yeah, he is the weird chubby kid in the striped hoodie and matching tripp pants, and under normal circumstances, he has to believe that would lead to bullying, but whatever ancient animal instinct these kids have, it tells them to steer clear of him. So school is, to put it frankly, lonely. It’s probably better to be mostly ignored than hated, he supposes, but that doesn’t make eating lunch in the quad by himself every day any less pathetic. He’s zoning out in first period, relaxing in his slacker seat in the back of the class, when things actually get interesting. Their teacher is a sort of slim, nervous looking man who teaches history, but right at that moment he’s announcing a new student. And it’s someone Betelgeuse recognizes, though he can’t place from where. The new boy, Kevin something Loh, apparently, is directed to take the only empty seat in the class, the seat right in front of Betelgeuse. As Kevin is walking down the aisle towards him, Betelgeuse is wracking his brain, trying to recall. Kevin is Asian, with high cheekbones and short black hair, carefully and deliberately styled. He’s also staring right at Betelgeuse. “You?” he whispers, sounding horrified. “Me,” Betelgeuse responds, propping his history book up on his desk and slumping down behind it, deciding he’s

fully content with napping this period away, and leaving this mystery unsolved. But Kevin is apparently worse at reading social cues than BJ is, because he’s still standing there, looming over Betelgeuse. “What are you doing here?” he hisses, sounding angry now, and Betelgeuse peaks up at him, amber eyes shining a faint amount from under the brim of his cap. “I am literally just sitting here.” “Mr. Loh, is there a problem?” their teacher askes, and the new kid whips around. “I refuse to sit next to this thing.” He points at Betelgeuse, who straightens up, a scowl playing across his features. “You wanna rephrase that?” the demon askes, gravely voice particularly dangerous sounding, because he’s NOT a thing. The humans all take note of the changing vibes in the room, growing uncomfortable. “Does someone want to switch with Mr. Loh, and sit in front of Mr. Deetz instead?” their teacher tries. The answer is silence. No one is giving up their seat next to friends to sit in front of the loner who smells like freshly dug grave dirt. “Well, then. Sit down, Mr. Loh. Mr. Deetz does not bite.” “But-” “Yeah, sit down, Kev, you’re interrupting my mid morning nap,” Betelgeuse scowls, fingers on his right hand twitching, and Kevin falls into his seat with a less than macho sounding yelp. From the glare he gets in return, he’s got a feeling Kevin’s not gonna be his new bff. When lunch rolls around, Betelgeuse finds his usual place in the quad, under the shade of a tree, and he’s about to summon forth his lunch from his little pocket dimension, when he hears a breather approaching from behind him. He’s sitting on the side that faces away from the main area, and all the happy friend groups enjoying their lunches and gossip, and towards the track field, cause if he’s gonna be sitting alone, at least he’s gonna get to watch boys and girls his age work up a sexy sweat. From a quick smell test he can tell the person approaching is Kevin. The guy reeks of some overly applied body spray mess, and it nearly puts him off his lunch. “What,” he groans, annoyed, not even looking back to address the other boy, and Kevin seems to freeze. He’d apparently thought he was being pretty sneaky. “Why are you following me?” is the first thing out of the new kid’s mouth, and that does actually cause Betelgeuse to turn and look at him, staring like Kev’s just proposed the earth is only round because Atlus keeps reinflating it to use like a blow up doll. “I,” Betelgeuse gestures very dramatically to himself. “Don’t knoooow,” he continues slowly. “Who you are.” Kevin, for some reason, seems to wilt a bit. “You really don’t remember me?” “I really don’t. Should I? You do somethin’ interestin’? Besides, single handedly keep Axe body spray in business?” “It’s not Axe!” Kevin stomps over to stand in front of him, offended. “Then axe it, my man, cause that scent is not workin’ for you,” Betelgeuse replies easily, leaning back against the tree to resume his track practice spying. “You juggled your head!” Kevin accuses him. Betelgeuse cocks an eyebrow, and his eyes flit back to Kevin. So he’s someone who had seen him use his powers, at some point? Yeesh. “You brought a field of pumpkins to life and nearly murdered me!” Ohhhh. “Yeah, well, you pushed me down,” Betelgeuse says, suddenly remembering. “So I guess we both suffered that day, didn’t we, Kev?” “So you admit it!” Kevin says tenselely, before sitting in the grass across from him. Betelgeuse watches him quietly. The breather seems confused. “Why are you here?” he asks, and Betelgeuse nods over at the bouncing, glistening track team. “The view.” Kevin glances in that direction and rolls his eyes. “Jackass, I meant at school,” he dead pans. Betelgeuse grins. “Well, th’ way my dad explained it, I have to be in government mandated kid jail, or else he goes to adult jail.” “So you’re a monster who has to go to school?” “Demon, but. Yeah.” Kevin’s eyes widen, and he whispers the word. “Demon.” There’s a beat as he ponders over that. “Those people, who were with you at the store.. Are they demons

too?” “What? Th’ Deetzs? Nah. They’re human as they come.” “And you live with them?” “Yup,” he pops the “p,” quickly growing annoyed with this line of questioning. “And they-” “Listen, man,” Betelgeuse apparates his lunch from nothing, which causes Kevin to flinch, before realizing it's just food. “Can we skip all this? It’s a life changing revelation for you, I’m sure, but forget bored stiff, this is giving me rigor mortis. Yes, I’m a demon. I go to school here cause I’m th’ Deetz’s son, and no, there’s nothing wrong with them.” He grimaces. “Just me. I’m not following you around to torment you, you’re not that special. And yes,” he holds up the sandwich from his lunch. “This is a turkey club on a croissant. My human dad packed it for me, because he loves me.” There’s a small moment of silence. Kevin opens his mouth, and Betelgeuse, own mouth now full of food, groans. “Why do you have bandages all over your face?” “Because I murdered a pedophile four years ago and his vengeful, freak ass ghost won’t let it go.” “Really?” “No. That’s not even how ghosts work. God, breathers are so gullible.” “You’re such a dick,” Kevin replies, but there’s a faint hint of a smile, there. Betelgeuse feels it tugging at his own lips, too. “I’m growing moss on my face,” he admits after a moment. “Wasn’t sure how else to keep it hidden, so. Bandages. Not that I really care what people think-” “I can tell from the tripp pants, yeah,” Kev interjects, and Betelgeuse flips him off before continuing. “I’m not trying to get a bunch of attention for being weird.” “Didn’t seem to bother you before,” Kevin comments, picking lazily at the grass around him, and Betelgeuse shrugs. “I was twelve. I’ve gotten a bit smarter, even if I was dragged kickin’ an’ screamin’ th’ whole damn way,” and this time, Kevin actually does smile. He mimics the other boy. He offers Kevin half his sandwich, and for the first time ever, he doesn’t eat lunch alone. They wait after school together, watching as their peers are picked up or loaded onto buses. “I used to have nightmares about you,” Kevin tells him, and Betelgeuse smiles flirtatiously. “So you’ve been dreamin’ of me. That’s hot.” He receives a punch in the arm for that. When his mom pulls up, with Lydia in tow in the backseat, he throws open the front passenger side door of the car. “Hey, ma, hey Lyds,” but Emily is looking past him. “BJ, is that a friend of yours?” She sounds thrilled. He turns and looks at Kevin, then back to her, and shrugs, but he’s smiling. “I dunno. He’s new, so we hung out at lunch, an’ talked. Maybe. I dunno.” “You should invite him over!” Emily grins, eyes shining. “Now?” “Now! We’re having take out for dinner, we could order more for him, easy! And he’s new, he probably doesn’t have any plans, and-” “Alright, alright, hold on,” he gripes, then waives Kevin over. The breather approaches the car, cautious. “Hey, so my mom, she says you can come over for dinner, if you want,” and God/Satan, he’s never felt more like an awkward, pimply faced teen than he does at that exact moment. If he sounds like a total loser, at least Kevin doesn’t seem to mind, cause he perks up. “Let me call my dad!” he whips out his cell phone so fast, Betelgeuse feels flattered. He actually wants to come over. He wants to spend some time together. Emily’s smile widens until she looks like a slasher on happy pills, and he climbs into the car front seat and nudges her. “Play it cool, ma,” he all but begs, and she looks to him. “I’m super cool, BJ. I’m a cool mom. Right, Lyds?” Lydia gives her best noncommittal shrug, the one Betelgeuse taught her, actually. “He said yes!” Kevin comes jogging back over to the car a minute later. “If that’s really okay, Mrs. Deetz?” “For sure! The more, the merrier!” They moved out of the apartment a little over a year ago. The new place had been a nightmare when they’d moved in, a Tudor style house with a lot of character, a lot of leftover trash, and a lot of bugs. He’d set about fixing that instantly, hunting down the tasty snacks, and Emily had stood in the middle of

the mess, chewing her bottom lip, and thinking. “I know, I know, it’s rough,” Charles had stood there, suddenly looking older than his age in a way Betelgeuse did not like. “But it’s a beautiful old house, with good bones, and room to grow, and.. It’s going to be a lot of work.” Lydia, precocious and eight, shuffled between her parents, and wrinkled her nose. “It’s a dump,” she declared, and both the adults looked down at her. “It’s not a dump,” Emily said. “It’s The Great Pacific Garbage Patch.” “Em!” Seemingly ignoring her husband, she turned and went back to the car, and didn’t return until she had her record player and a sample of her collection of vinyl with her. “BJ! Come give this a shock, please? The power’s not on yet.” Betelgeuse apparated at her side, a new trick he’d been practicing, and Emily, ever Emily, didn’t even flinch. She just patted his head, as he grabbed the cord and gave it a shock of green static. She placed a record in the player, and adjusted the needle. The familiar sounds of Calypso began to fill the house. “Let’s clean up,” Emily smiled, and, singing along and dancing and laughing, the family had begun their first of many clean ups. It’s a nice memory, one he looks back on often. They’re pulling up to the house, Kevin in tow, and despite the unease he feels at having a new person in his space, at least their house, full of love, is a comforting energy to be wrapped in.

They lead Kevin in, and he follows Betelgeuse up to his bedroom.

“So, we got your common bedroom items,” he gestures grandly as they enter his space. “Dead rat, TV, dresser, mirror for inter dimensional travel, severed head for juggling,” he acknowledges that moment in their shared history. “Old trunk full of demon secrets,” he gives the antique steamer trunk by the foot of his bed a kick. It pops open to reveal very normal looking magazines. “All that good stuff.” The wall paper he chose for his room is a black and white pinstripe that dad had called “busy,” and mom had called “him,” and Kevin blinks a bit in surprise. “You, uh, really are dedicated to the stripes, huh? I prefer a simple black myself.. Black is always a statement.” Betelgeuse snorts. “It’s my pattern,” he says, and Kevin sort of nods, clearly not getting it. He tries again. “It’s, you know, important?” Kevin glances at him, and nods again, but seemingly more hesitant. “It’s a demon thing,” Betelgeuse says finally, tired of even his own clunky attempts at subtly. “My animal is a snake,” he explains. “And my colors are black and white.” Kevin looks mystified. “So, what does that… mean?”

“Means it’s my aspect. It’s important.. Demon stuff.”

The teens look at each other. Kevin squints. “You don’t know what it means.” “I got no fuckin’ clue,” Betelgeuse admits, flopping on his back in the air and hanging there, reclining on nothing. “It’s somethin’, somethin’, dominion over th’ beasts that crawl on their bellies, foul an’ tainted, I think was th’ phrase. But I don’t usually get many chances to be around snakes, so it’s not a talent I get to practice much.” Kevin looks insanely jealous of the way he’s floating there, weightless, which was exactly the point Betelgeuse had in mind when he struck the floating pose to begin with. “Point bein’, I’m drawn to black an’ white.”

“Same way you’re drawn to sweaty track stars?” Kevin smirks, and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Fuckin’ exactly,” Betelgeuse grins at him, a smile Kevin matches. He might be out of his mind, but he feels something here. Kevin’s a good looking guy, and Betelgeuse isn’t exactly “picky.” He’s known for a long time his exact type is “someone who will give Betelgeuse attention and affection,” without worrying what exactly that means in the long run. “Gross,” rings a female voice, and the prolonged eye contact between the teens is broken by his nine year old sister, leaning against the door frame. She takes in the scene before her, him floating there, and Kevin.. Kevin seemingly looking a little flustered on the bed. He’s not sure if she gets what that’s about, hell, he hardly does, though he likes it. But she’s a bit young to pick up on romantic vibes, he thinks. Hopefully. “You’re not even trying to hide the whole, being a demon thing, are you?” she scowls. “Whatever, he already knew. He recognized me from the pumpkin patch. You probably don’t remember, you were five, but-” “I remember.” She squints, and then looks at Kevin, who gives a little waive. “What exactly are your intentions with my demon brother?” she asks, crossing her arms. Kevin actually blushes, a reaction Betelgeuse can both see and smell. Smells like blood and hormones, and it’s cute… he’s cute. “He’s just… weird. I’m, you know.. I just wanna know more. About him, and demons, and this otherworldly, supernatural business.” Ah. A little disappointing. He tries not to look let down, but he knows Lydia catches the look on his face. God/Satan, she’s a clever kid. “BJ isn’t your personal encyclopedia of paranormal bullshit. Besides, he hardly knows anything.” “Fuckin’ rude.” “Well!” she throws her hands up, a gesture he recognizes that she’s picked up from Emily. “I’m just saying, you don’t know enough to be that interesting.” He drops to his feet and puts a hand out, and she glares at him as an invisible force gently pushes her towards the door. “That’s enough, I think you’ve fulfilled your annoying little sibling requirements for today,” he grates at her, and she’s about out the door when Charles’ voice booms from downstairs. “Dinner!” Dinner is from Charles’ favorite Thai place, and the amount of food ordered seems to throw Kevin off guard. There’s a tall stack of delicious smelling styrofoam boxes, all of which are systematically set on the kitchen counter in a line, and the Deetz family goes through with plates, and helps themselves. It becomes clear pretty quickly that the amount ordered has more to do with who is eating, and not what they’re eating. Betelgeuse simply picks up two or three boxes instead of a plate, and settles at the table. His excuse for being a glutton has always been that his powers require a lot of energy for upkeep, but he’s not actually sure if that’s true. Also, it’s an excuse he’s never actually had to use, at least not in this house, because despite being somewhat akin to a garbage disposal in terms of food, his parents never give him any crap for eating. When he’d shown up, a skinny feral bitey little fuck, they’d been very encouraging of him stuffing his face. Now he’s older, obviously, and maybe he’s a bit chubby for his age, but it seems the entire family figures it’s better than looking starved, like he did before. He doesn’t think he’ll die if he doesn’t eat, but it feels good to have a full stomach, and he likes the way food tastes, so yes, he eats a lot. The way he sees it, it just means more B-Man to go around. Kevin, meanwhile, takes a polite amount and sits down next to him. “So, Kevin! Today was your first day?” Emily smiles brightly to the teen, who nods. “Yeah, I’m living with my dad now, so... new school,” he explains. Betelgeuse has the urge to pick up one of his boxes of food and take a cartoonish bite, like it’s a sandwich, but he doesn’t think that gag will play, right at this moment. “BJ has never brought a friend over before,” Charles says, unhelpfully. “Have too!” Betelgeuse protests, because he’s not trying to look like a total freak ass loser in front of the one person who seems

interested in talking to him.

Charles furrows his brow. “Who..? Oh, well…” he pauses. “I don’t know if.. If Sam counts…” “Sam was cool,” Lydia interjects, staring at Kevin, the unfinished half of her sentence being, “unlike you.” He’s got no clue why she’s gunning for Kev the way she is, but it’s kinda funny to watch a nine year old intimidate a teen. “He came over, didn’t he? Sure, it was uninvited, through a mirror, but I’m counting it anyways.” “BJ,” Charles starts, but Betelgeuse just shrugs. “It’s fine, dad. He knows. He was at the pumpkin patch.” It takes Charles and Emily a moment, but they both suddenly look nervous. “BJ is a good kid!” Emily blurts immediately, sounding defensive and looking at Kev, who sort of gives a nod. “It’s cool, I… threw tantrums when I was little, too. I mean, mine weren’t like. Cool vegetation apocalypses, but, you know.” He gives an easy shrug, before looking at Betelgeuse. “Who is Sam? Another demon?” “A better demon,” Lydia mutters, and at this point, he’s a second away from teleporting her into the neighbor’s pool. “He’s like Santa for Halloween, if Santa enforced Christmas time cheer with extreme violence.” “He’s Halloween Krampus,” Emily supplies helpfully, and he nods. “He’s the spirit of Halloween, and he’s cool. He’s only around one night, and he’s usually busy workin’, but when he gets a moment he pops in and we hang out. You’d probably-” like him isn’t exactly the right words. Humans don’t tend to feel easy in Sam’s presence. “- get along?” he finishes, but that also doesn’t seem likely. Sam isn’t outright cruel… usually. But his aura is clearly threatening, and he doesn’t play nice. The only reason Betelgeuse isn’t worried about his humans is because Sam has very clear, very structured rules. Rules that Emily had already been following, regardless of demonic threat. Also, last Halloween, Lydia had gone as Sam, orange jumpsuit, burlap sack and button eyes and everything, and Sam, ever a being of few words, had said, Flattered. He figures that probably earned the Deetz family at least one get out of murder free card. “This is all so cool,” Kevin twirls his fork around his pad phak. “It’s like, something from a movie. I can’t believe demons are.. Real. And I know about them.” There is, for a moment, a shine in his eyes that makes Betelgeuse uncomfortable, but it passes so quickly, he starts to assume he imagined it. He gives in, picks up a styrofoam box full of spicy chicken, and takes a bite out of the whole thing. His dad groans. After they’re done eating, they play video games, and whatever that moment was at dinner, he forces himself to forget it. Kevin is cute, and Kevin wants to talk to him, and that’s about as much as he cares to think about, right now. When Mr. Loh comes to pick him up, Kevin gives Betelgeuse’s hand a squeeze. It’s just the two of them, on the front porch, under the stars only he can see, because light pollution makes them invisible to the human eyes. Still, the setting feels intimate, and that hand holding cements it, at least at that moment. He’s not imagining it. “See you tomorrow?” Kevin smiles, and Betelgeuse knows his face flushes a little more purple at that. “Uh, yeah, for sure,” he says, and Kevin steps off the front porch and hurries to his dad’s car, their moment broken, but he stands there a while anyways, even after the car disappears down the street. He takes his own hand in hand, and gives it a squeeze, trying to imitate what Kevin had done flawlessly. He wanders inside after a while, but just stands with his back to the front door, replaying that simple moment over and over, until Charles, passing him on his way up to bed, pauses. “BJ? Your hair is… pink.”

[chaoswillfallrpg]

KEIRA GREY is TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD and a JUNIOR FORENSIC PATHOLOGIST for THE MORTUARY at ST MUNGO'S HOSPITAL. She looks remarkably like ALICE ENGLERT and considers herself NEUTRAL. She is currently TAKEN.

→ OVERVIEW:

tw: death, bodily harm

A Bambi-eyed girl with a mischievous streak, Keira Grey is a lionhearted witch born in East London to parents ANDREW and GINA GREY, the family had a relatively calm and simple life. Gina was a nurse who worked long hours though Keira could never remember hearing her mother complain, whilst Andrew worked as a dentist and regularly partook in moaning enough for both her parents. Their life was pretty clockwork in the little street house they struggled to afford off Brick Lane. Tea was always ready and on the table for Andrew getting in at five made mostly by her grandma PEGGY who took care of Keira around school and lived in their third upstairs bedroom. The only thing to break this clockwork cycle was the birth of her sister, EMILIA when Keira was five. Having a baby in the house was incredibly exciting for Keira and instantly when she laid eyes on her she loved her with all her heart. Keira became something of a second mother to Emilia, picking her sister up like a doll and walking around the house with her on the side of her hip whilst her grandma cooked their evening meal. The birth of her little sister spurred her parents to begin looking outside of London to raise their children and the reason they left the house one day and never returned. 

It was just an ordinary weekend that her parents kissed them on the forehead and left Keira holding a little two-year-old Emilia on her side and drove out to Kent to go house hunting. It was such a normal moment that would stick in Keira’s mind for the rest of her life. Their happy faces, her mother’s laugh, her father trying to hurry her into the car. Keira couldn’t believe they had been taken from them. Her grandma breaking down in the kitchen or the image of the car which flashed up on the evening news announcing they were survived by two children of the same names didn’t allow the realisation to click for Keira. It was one day after the funeral when her little sister asked when their parents were coming home did Keira fully accept they never would be. All Emilia would ever have of them were photographs, newspaper clippings and the memories of Keira and their grandma which made Keira’s heart break all over again. Keira became much older after her parents died. She wore a sullen expression on her face and dressed and bathed her younger sister with the expertise and seriousness of someone twice her age. Their grandma was elderly and although she was a no nonsense woman Emilia was a handful that Keira did her best to try and control, especially when strange things began to occur. 

Around the time her parents died Keira found it hard to contain her emotions, which seemed to spread out from her body. When she sat alone in the garden at times and cried it would snow, if she sang to Emilia as she slept she saw tiny stars and beams of light fly over the ceiling. Her magic always presented itself in a beautiful and visual way that although she had no explanation for she accepted and appreciated. For a time Keira believed it was just her that possessed the same gifts, but when Emilia turned six and she found their cat Marmalade flying through the air as she giggled Keira realised it may have been something that ran through their family. Keira’s letter to Hogwarts differentiated from any other letters that had come to their house. An envelope made from old paper with loopy calligraphy, as she peeled it open a strange sense of excitement built up inside of her she hadn’t felt since her parents passed away. Emilia Gray was a witch and as she went to bed that night dressed in a witches Halloween costume and clutching a plastic wand she felt more alive than she had done in years, her inner child having finally woken up after a long hibernation. Emilia was in love with Hogwarts and although she had no idea what it meant to be in Gryffindor until ARTHUR WEASLEY and TRYSTAN WARRINGTON happily told her over full plates of pumpkin pie. 

A Muggle-Born student, Keira received her fair share of bullying whilst at school but was more than equipped to handle it. A spitfire of a girl, she became known for her kind heart and an East London attitude which meant giving anyone as good as you got, both in the corridor and out on the Quidditch pitch. Keira shined as a Chaser for the team, supported by a gaggle of friends who cheered her on at every game and were more than ready to jump at her side to defend those who dared to bully her. JENNIFER VANE was her best friend and greatest companion as they strolled the halls of Hogwarts, though unlike their friends CONSTANCE SONG and LAUREL LINWOOD they never went looking for trouble, though it still seemed to find them particularly in the form of LACHLAN MCTAVISH, a Ravenclaw student who thought very highly of himself and enjoyed putting Keira down at every chance he got. Bartimus was irritating to Keira, but he was tolerable compared to the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain TOMAS WOOD. Tomas often enjoyed stepping in to defend Keira when she didn’t need his help whilst simultaneously lauding himself around the pitch as the self-proclaimed best player at Hogwarts. Everyone who attended school at the same time as Tomas was in love with him, though Keira had never quite understood the infatuation herself and found him to be quite an arrogant and unpleasant individual. 

Although she loved Quidditch, Keira had another career path in mind and longed to follow somewhat in the footsteps of her parents and enter the medical profession. Graduating from Hogwarts with pleasing grades she began working as a Healer for The Wigtown Wanderers. Keira loved working with the team, bandaging them up and sending them on their way. The injuries were interesting and some of the tasks challenging, but not enough to truly stimulate Keira. Her brain worked in a methodical way, having found she enjoyed figuring out what had caused the injuries rather than fixing them. When a job working in the morgue came up working under PROFESSOR HERBERT SPLEEN, Keira tentatively applied for it, unsure as to how she would feel being surrounded by so much death but after being accepted quickly found joy in what some might consider morbid. As Keira saw it, she used her medical expertise to help catch criminals and enjoyed working with the Auror’s Office to bring about justice.She lived a fairly happy life but it was no small secret that the Grey family had always had financial issues, with Keira working longer hours to support the family as the primary earner and it was that well known fact that someone began to take advantage of. 

The day BOOKER BAGNOLD arrived at St Mungos, Keira had been very sure what had killed him. It was an advanced spell, a one that cut the body like a sword or a set of claws but a spell nonetheless. Keira’s judgement would sadly never make it to the Auror’s Office. Shaking hands with CORBAN YAXLEY they made an unbreakable vow, promising to use his influence to get Emilia her dream job at The Daily Prophet and money in exchange for this change and her silence. A few days later Emilia began her job at the paper and Keira silently paid off the mortgage on their little house in Brick Lane as she watched the chaos she had caused play out in front of her. Since her parents died Keira has always tried to live her life according to what would make them proud, vowing to do her best by them and take care of Emilia the way she always had done. Keira finds it hard to look at herself in the mirror knowing the reason people are looking so closely at SILAS CRUMP is because of the deal she struck, but it has become even more difficult now FRANK LONGBOTTOM and REMUS LUPIN have come back round asking more questions. With her life on the line, Keira knows she has to continue to keep her secret but it’s only a matter of time before someone realises her mistake and her lie begins to unravel with potentially deadly consequences, prompting her to wonder how much it was all worth it. 

→ ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Blood Status → Muggle-Born

Identification → Cis Female

Sexuality  → Up to Roleplayer  

Relationship Status → Single

Previous Education → Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (Gryffindor)

Societies → Sorcerers for Equality 

Family → Emilia Grey (sister)

Connections  → Jennifer Vane (best friend), Arthur Weasley (close friend), Trystan Warrington (close friend), Laurel Linwood (close friend), Glenda Chittock (close friend), Natan Diggory (friend), Daisy Hookum (friend), Constance Song (friend), Mafalda Hopkirk (friend), Tomas Wood (acquaintances/potential love interest), Professor Hebert Spleen (boss), Remus Lupin (friend/colleague), Frank Longbottom (colleague), Corban Yaxley (adversary), Lachlan McTavish (former adversary)

Future Information → Wife of Tomas Wood, Mother of Oliver Wood (subject to change)

KEIRA GREY IS A LEVEL 7 WITCH.