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thescarletnargacuga · 5 months ago

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PLAY PRETEND

A BUNNYDOLL ONESHOT

WARNING: unhinged Ragatha, SO much digital violence, NPCs die

~~~

"CUT!! No, no, NO!! Do it again! Do it right!" An NPC wearing a ball cap labeled "Director" threw a script down on the ground in frustration.

Jax dragged a hand down his face. "We've done this scene 87 times!!"

"And we'll do it 87 more times if you don't do your job and act right!" The NPC gripped the arms of his chair, fit to break. "Go again! Reset!" The movie set came to life with activity. People rushing to reset props and touch up make up on the actors.

"Jax, please, just do what he says." Ragatha pleaded. She was as tired as he was, plus she was standing in bad heels the whole time. At least he got to stay barefoot. "We won't be able to finish the adventure until the movie's finished." She coughed when an NPC powdered her cheeks.

"I agree. This is getting very dull." Kinger said from his position next to them. "Just go with it and it'll be over soon."

"But why did I get this part? Why can't you be the groom??" Jax tugged at the tight tux collar choking him.

"Because I play the part of an ordained minister better." Kinger said matter-of-factly.

"I'm not exactly thrilled about it either, Jax. I'd much rather kiss Kinger. At least he wouldn't complain the whole time." Ragatha sneered.

Kinger had a smile in his eyes. He looked to the maid of honor and best man. "You two holding up okay?"

"My legs are numb." Gangle whimpered. The dress she was forced to wear was heavy on her spindly body.

"I should have stayed at the circus with Zooble." Pomni muttered. At least she got to wear a suit, so she wasn't too uncomfortable.

"Hey! Could we fix the best man's hair?" The director called out. "He looks like he just crawled out of bed!"

"I'm a GIRL!!" Pomni snarled, only to be ignored. Another NPC rushed to her and adjusted her hair.

Jax sighed and pinched the area where the bridge of his nose would be if he had one. "Shut up, you little cross dresser. Yelling at the moron doesn't do anything. Caine made the director a bit too passionate about his movie."

"Tell me about it." Ragatha crossed her arms. "I read the script, we're not even in the final scene! There's a whole other act that centers around our characters fighting a horde of mutant unicorns"

"Say what?" Jax gaped.

"Yeah, once the wedding scene is over, a horde breaks in and we fight. Pomni dies in your arms, Gangle escapes with Kinger but we break into the church's armory and fight them off."

"There's an armory??" Jax grew increasingly interested.

"Yeah? Did you not read the script?"

"Of course not, I have you to do it for me." He grinned. "Do you know where the armory is now?"

"Yeah, it's under the altar behind Kinger." She arched a brow. "Why?"

"Things are about to get interesting. Hey, D-man, we doing this scene or what?"

"If you're finally ready." The director answered incredulously. "From the top! Quiet on set! Camera! Wedding vows take 88 and...action!"

Jax and Ragatha held hands, believably happy looks on their faces. Kinger opened his book that had nothing on it. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to join two hearts and souls to be one in the eyes of God." Kinger raised his hands up, light poured in through the stained glass window behind him that had Caine as this movie world's proclaimed religion. Pomni subtly rolled her eyes. "Mr. Smith, would you say your vows?"

Jax cleared his throat. "Maggie, you've been by my side bringing love and laughter into my life when I've needed it most. I feel like I've known you forever. Maybe even in another life. You have a heart of gold that I intend to have and hold forever. I love you."

The director looked at the script. Jax was improving some of his lines. At least the scene was still moving along.

Ragatha was blushing for real and completely forgot her lines. Jax was so convincing when he actually tried. She almost missed her cue and winged it the best she could. "Oh, Jack, my love. You have been my rock. When life was too much, you'd bring me back to earth and tell me...it doesn't matter. You've put things into perspective for me when my mind would run away. You've stood steady fast against the world, no matter what it threw at you. Your bravery is inspiring, I will always love you."

The director checked the script again. "What..?"

Gangle and Pomni looked at each other, but stayed in character.

"The rings." Kinger said and Pomni handed them to Jax. He slid the rose gold ring on Ragatha's finger and said, "With this ring, I ask you, are you ready to kick some [%$!#]?"

"Huh?"

Before the director could yell "cut", Jax kicked the altar over and pulled out the first weapon he could reach. A good old boot-zooka. He aimed it at the director and fired. The director dove out of the way in time for the boot to turn his chair to splinters, and the crew scattered screaming in terror.

"Grab the camera!" Jax ordered as he reloaded.

Kinger slid over as fast as he could and hoisted the cinema camera off its stand.

"Whatever you do, don't stop rolling! We're finishing this movie our way!" Jax fired again at the director, who took it to the face and was thrown through a set wall.

"This is insane!" Pomni grabbed a random weapon, it looked like a weird water gun.

Gangle didn't grab anything, she hid behind Kinger.

Ragatha could hear frantic neighing over the calamity. She saw horses with an inhumane amount of paint and prosthetics plastered onto them tied to a far wall. They were apparently the mutant unicorns they were supposed to fight in the next scene. She dug into the weapons and found a huge butcher's knife. She looked at Jax, who had run out of boots and was grabbing a shotgun.

"For once, I agree with you. Let's get these [%$!#]holes." She wielded her knife and ran to the horses.

Jax grinned so much, his face hurt. "[%$!#] em up!" Security came to control the situation and Jax leveled his gun at the first NPC that tried to rush him. The gun exploded and a roll of dollar bills hit the NPC in the chest, downing him. "Buckshot. Heh, I get it." He racked another bundle and fired.

Ragatha cut the ropes tethering the frightened horses. One by one, they ran in random directions. They galloped off in straight lines and didn't stop for anything in their way; not NPCs, sets, walls, or Pomni.

"Everybody run!! They're mad!!" An NPC, who Ragatha recognized as the one who constantly did her makeup by shoving powder in her face, screamed. "Oh, you haven't seen anything yet." Ragatha threw the knife and it lodged itself in the NPC's head. They fell backwards to the ground. "By the way, your makeup skills are TRASH!"

She never realized just how much rage burned beneath the surface. It felt so good to finally let go, at least in the moment. She'd probably hate herself later, but right now, she didn't care. She yanked her knife out of the unresponsive NPC and looked for her next target. An NPC was baring down on Jax as he was fighting off three others. She ran up and started chopping.

Jax turned to see the absolute ruin Ragatha had left the NPC in. She was huffing, her hair was disheveled, and gripping the knife like an axe. "Anyone every tell you you're gorgeous when you're crazy?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at him. "Someone has now." She tore at her wedding dress; losing the sleeves and frills. She ripped the skirt so she could move faster. She blushed when Jax wolf whistled at her.

Pomni whimpered as she shakily held her gun up at some advancing security NPCs. She pulled the trigger and hot glitter glue shot out and covered everyone in front of her. They screamed until the glue hardened, turning them into glittery gooey statues.

"Atta girl, Pomni!" Ragatha encouraged.

Pomni did not share Ragatha's enthusiasm. "ARE WE DONE YET!?"

"Do you see a portal? The movie isn't over! Kinger! Get this in frame!" Jax shot another NPC in the leg.

Ragatha chased another NPC past a supply closet. She stopped in her tracks when the word flammable stuck out in her periphery. The door was locked, so she hacked away at the handle like a madwoman. She opened it to find stacks of crates marked for various pyrotechnics and explosives. She gave a grin that would make Jax proud. "Jackpot."

The director was coming to after being booted through the wall. He groaned and climbed out of the hole in time to see Ragatha come out of the fire closet with an oversized roman candle. She fired at some of the few remaining security. Multicolor balls of sparking fire rained down on her enemies.

The director tried to scramble away but the butt end of a shot gun punted him into the supply closet. He crashed into the crates, one dumping half sticks of dynamite into his lap. He looked up in fear to see Jax looming in the doorway. "You know, without that hat. You're no more distinguishable from the rest. You're nothing but an annoying hack rack." He flicked the hat off the director's head with the barrel of his gun.

"Please...please don't hurt me."

"Oh, I'm not gonna do anything. You see, my bride is a bit pent up. You're all hers." Jax stepped back and dropped his weapon.

As if on cue, Ragatha came over and jumped into Jax's arms.

Jax caught and held her like the battle bride she was.

Ragatha aimed the giant roman candle at the director. "And they lived happily ever after!"

"Mother[%$!#]!" Jax held tight as the roman candle kicked back. It sent three colorful fireballs into the pile of explosive crates, blowing them and director sky high. The explosion blew back Ragatha's hair, silhouetting her against the fiery glow.

Jax couldn't help himself. In the literal heat of the moment, he kissed her. He expected to be punched or berated but...she kissed him back. She dropped her weapon and wrapped her arms around his neck. His grip on her tightened, holding her close until the kiss came to an end. They parted only enough to look each other in the eye.

"You don't have to keep pretending, dollface." The usually degrading nickname held a tone of endearment.

"I think we should both stop pretending." She kissed his cheek. "I think this could work if we let it."

"Yeah....maybe it could."

Kinger cut the camera. With the movie complete, the portal back to the circus opened.

~~~

Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please leave a comment or check out my blog for more TADC oneshots!

#the amazing digital circus #tadc #tadc fanfiction #tadc bunnydoll #tadc jax #tadc ragatha

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ghostdiva · 7 months ago

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My Prediction for Episode 2 of The Amazing Digital Circus

heads up, this is purely my own theories based on what I know of the trailer, as well as gooseworx's tumblr posts. this can easily be interpreted as a guess to the plot of the second episode, that said, if any of these guesses are correct, then I'm sorry for the spoilers.

let's get into it.

we start the episode with what I assume to be a dream sequence for Pomni. which makes sense considering what happened in episode 1 (aka the pilot). it wouldn't surprise me at all that her run in with the abstracted kaufmo was traumatizing. Watching that abstraction later get thrown into the cellar, and realizing that abstraction is the digital world equivalent to death, is also a pretty rattling experience. so it would make sense that Pomni would have a dream about abstraction as she tries to wrap her head around it.

that said, her dream sequence starts in the main area of the circus tent, where it is presumably the next day and she's with the gang waiting for Caine to show up and drag them all into an adventure of some kind. And either when Caine shows up, or while they're waiting, something happens that is disturbing to Pomni. what that is, is very much unknown. but this reaction doesn't just naturally happen, it's triggered by something.

so she sees something horrific, and in this dream it seems to start to push her to her breaking point, existentially.

Pomni looks down at herself and her horror grows. part of her is abstracted. Pomni feels a bit of fear and confusion not knowing what to do, and scared about going in the cellar. Caine doesn't care about that though, and upon seeing that she's "abstracting", does the same thing he did to kaufmo. opening a hole in the floor and throwing Pomni in the cellar.

Pomni tries to grab for anything, desperate not to join the fully abstracted. she yells "no", almost as if to plea that she wasn't insane. that there was no need to lock her away just yet.

then Pomni wakes up with quite the start.

I think anyone would be disgruntled with a wake up call like that, but nonetheless, Pomni gets up and joins the others at the main stage area.

Pomni waits with Ragatha and Gangle, asking questions she didn't really get to have answered in the last episode.

now, I have no way of knowing what kind of dialogue the characters will be sharing between each other during this episode, so I don't know what is said until the episode airs. all I have are the episode 2 quotes that gooseworx dropped on their page.

so broadly speaking, Caine gathers the rest of the gang, Zooble opts out of the adventure, and Caine shoves everyone else through a portal into the Candy Canyon Kingdom!

Yippee!

now in this episode we have 3 characters (technically 5 but I'm counting gumigoo and his gang to be all 1 entity here). the list is loolilalu, gumigoo (+max and chad), and the fudge monster. Princess Loolilalu, I believe is the sort of quest giver of the adventure. I think loolilalu will send the gang to deal with Gumigoo, and his compatriots, chad and max. who are bandits, and make a bit of a habit of stealing from loolilalu's subjects, even resorting to violence to get what they want.

Princess Loolilalu simply can't let that stand, and sends the circus crew (minus Zooble) out to apprehend them. giving Ragatha a Key in the process.

now a lot of people speculated that it'd be a key to the kingdom or something like that, but that doesn't make sense considering pretty much all the shots outside of the celebration on their arrival take place outside the castle walls. No, I think that the Key is for a truck, specifically the truck the circus crew use to chase Gumigoo and his gang with. -this also makes sense to the degree of "how would Caine know the visual difference between a door key and a car key? they're both just keys to him"-

also quick side note: during the celebration as the circus crew arrive at the candy canyon kingdom, one of the audiece NPC's is seen absolutely booking it at Gangle, and I think that the NPC is going to run into her, breaking her comedy mask.

anyway, the Gang piles into the truck, Gangle driving, Pomni, Kinger and Ragatha in the backseat, and Jax getting shotgun...

... -ahem- anyway, through a series of whacky hijinks, the circus crew and gumigoo's crew end up in an intense car chase, with Pomni somehow getting on top of Gumigoo's van in the process.

However, something happens to the truck the circus crew are in, that makes it have to either slow down or stop. rather that's a tire falling off or something else entirely is still up in the air. this normally wouldn't be too bad of an issue.

but Pomni is still on top of gumigoo's van...

this is where the circus crew splits up a bit, as Pomni is left to Gumigoo and his gang while the circus crew figure out how to get the truck up and running at full speed again.

So Gumigoo and his gang try to get Pomni off their van. However, Pomni is a survivalist at her core, and a resilient one at that. So the gummy gators have a hard time getting Pomni to let go of their car. they have such a hard time about it that they start doing doughnuts in an effort to spin her off the car.

what happens after is pretty up in the air, but I'm pretty sure Pomni ends up getting flung very far after loosing her grip and literally flying off.

Meanwhile, with the rest of the circus crew. Ragatha's upset on Pomni's behalf, at the fact that they left her with the gator gang. Jax brushes it off, which only upsets Ragatha more.

The circus crew pull over and assess the damage to the truck, which could be anything from a flat or missing tire, to complete engine failure. what needs to happen to fix the truck is unknown, but the truck needs fixing regardless.

-a moderate amount of chaos later-

the circus gang has fixed the truck and started back on the road again, however they are all completely lost. and end up accidentally wandering into the fudge monster's domain... oops.

Ragatha probably tries to reason with the fudge monster in order to not get eaten. it'd be a bit fucked up, but maybe the gang offers to feed some gummy gators to the fudge monster in exchange for freedom? idk, it's anyone's guess.

anyway, after the crew is done getting harassed by the fudge monster, they decide it's time to harass the gummy gators, and set out to find them.

seek and ye shall find, and find the circus crew did. not only do they manage to catch up to the gator gang, but they manage to tie up Chad and Max, leaving Gumigoo by himself.

this is also where the sweet sweet Jax angst is, as we see him just picking at the floor while hugging himself a bit. Not behavior you expect to see from the lanky bastard that makes his existence everyone else's problem. it might also be that he's a bit disheartened that Pomni was not with the Gator Gang, who knows.

anyway the gang start searching for Pomni, and uh...

I think they found her? honestly that small dot flying out of the water could be anyone, but Pomni was the only one missing from the group for a prolonged period of time. so it only really makes sense that it'd be her.

last but not least, we have the most confusing clip of the trailer.

now, strap on for this theory. so I think that this happens after gumigoo's companions are captured (chad and max). now, I think gumigoo was coded as an extrovert of sorts, constantly checking back on chad and max to make sure they're there and stuff. and now that they're gone, gumigoo doesn't know what to do. like his code doesn't have anything for when his compatriots aren't around, and the lack of his friends is maddening. because that is a look of existential dread and shock. and while specifically WHAT happened is a mystery, I do have a few theories as to what it could've been.

maybe gumigoo ended up running into a border of the world and that's what that blue grid is. him accidentally peeking beyond a world border to see a grid with lines and lines of code. maybe this event happens to cause gumigoo to gain a level of sentience, coming to the realization that once the gang is done with the adventure, his world will cease to exist. that all he was, is, and will be are just lines of code, moved around by another AI that is above him (caine). maybe gumigoo just experiences the existentials surrounding the mindset of "I am just a blip in the cosmos, a small insignificant spec in the grand scheme of things". which can ultimately lead to depressive lines of thought. Goose did say this episode would be about depression, I wouldn't be surprised if they also threw in something existential for funsies, or just to hit the point home.

and then the gang finishes the adventure and gets a lovely prize!

some MPPED!

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc episode 2 #tadc episode 2 prediction #the amazing digital circus episode 2 #the amazing digital circus episode 2 prediction #tadc theory #the amazing digital circus theory

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unsoldd · 10 months ago

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𝚃𝙰𝙳𝙲 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙼𝙿𝚃

𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿(𝚜): 𝐂𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐱 Pᴏᴍɴɪ, ᒍᗩ᙭ 𝗑 ℝ𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕥𝕙𝕒 𝚊𝚗𝚍

Ｚｏｏｂｌｅｘ 𝒢𝒶𝓃𝑔𝓁ℯ

𝙰𝚄: Human

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The cast of the digital circus has found an exit deep inside of the circuses code. Not knowing that without that code, hackers and all different viruses and bugs can know enter the circus anytime. Caine, just figuring this out tries to hurry everyone away. But, Pomni, who doesn’t want Caine to be alone in the circus asks him to join them. Caine says he doesn’t think he could as he is an AI and is made of different pixels. Pomni, who isn’t taking no for an answer shoved Caine through the door, along with are boy bubble. And everyone runs through leaving the digital circus to be destroyed by the viruses, bugs and hackers to destroy it.

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Caine gasps as he looks around to see he’s in a small white bland cubical. He’s in the real world, with Bubble. But, where is everyone else?

—————————————

Everyone wakes up from their escape and find they are in the C&A storage room on the top floor and can’t get the lift to go down to work and the stairs are busted and broken down. While everyone is cheering that they have finally got out of that place, they are also scared as they are stuck on the top floor of an abandoned 90’s building of their old work place. Also, Caine and Bubble are missing. Either Caine and Bubble didn’t make it through or they have been teleported to a different part of the building. Can they all get out of the building in time? In time for what you ask? Well, the construction for the building to be demolished into rubble…

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I have tweaked their ages a bit but only so it made sense how they all worked in C&A, except for Bubble. They are as followed:

•Ragatha - 30

• Pomni - 25

• Gangle - 26

• Zooble - 25 (Used to be 22)

• Jax - 25 (Used to be 22)

• Kinger - 48

• Caine - 27 (Didn’t have an age before)

• Bubble - 10 (Didn’t have an age before)

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Their jobs in C&A. Also, I thought of C&A as a Game Developing Company (The C part) and Networking Company (The A part):

[The C’ part of C&A]

•Caine - Animator

•Gangle - Graphic Designer

•Jax - Game Developer

•Zooble - Game Tester

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[The A’ part of C&A]

•Ragatha - Network analyst

•Pomni - Cloud architecture

•Kinger - CEO of Networking

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Real Life Names (Nickname) + Genders + Nationality:

•Ragatha=Agatha(Aggie)Ranger-Female-She/Her- 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿/🇵🇱

• Pomni = Polly Flex-Grantor - Female-She/Her- 🇰🇷/🇺🇸

• Jax = Jackson (Jax) Xeon - Male-He/Him- 🇺🇸/🇩🇪

• Zooble = Zara Charlie - Non-Binary-They/Them- 🇲🇽

•Gangle=Gabriela (Gabi) Linton-Female-She/Her- 🇫🇷

• Kinger = Keith Scotts - Male-He/Him-🇬🇧/🇷🇺

• Caine = Caine Dentó - Male-He/Him- 🇺🇸

• Bubble = Ben Dentó - Male-He/Him- 🇺🇸/🏴󠁧󠁢󠁷󠁬󠁳󠁿

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This is just a prompt for anyone who is struggling with ideas for books they want to write. No need to add credit this is just for fun for me.

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Also! These are the photos I’m using as reference for what they look like (IN MY OPINION). Also, pictures were made by deduukk on Pinterest.

Caine and bubble… when I tried finding one for Caine all I got was Caine as a human, but with eyeballs in his mouth… and bubble is impossible! So, on Ao3 someone has already made a pretty good drawing of what Caine and Bubble will look like. The book is:

#bunnydoll #tadc #tadc caine #tadc pomni #tadc jax #tadc ragatha #tadc kinger #tadc gangle #tadc zooble #tadc bubble #tadc showtime #gangle x zooble #ragatha x jax #pomni x caine #the amazing digital circus #writer prompts #prompt

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spiketheguy · 3 months ago

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'The Amazing Digital Circus' OC:

🎪🔮🎱 'CUE' 🎱🔮🎪

(While I have shared him here a few times, I've not given him a proper introduction here. Allow me to fix that ^^;)

A long-time member of the Digital Circus, supposedly arriving after Kinger but before Ragatha, 'CUE' is a former human who, like the other human members, wounded up being trapped inside the virtual game after putting on a strange headset.

He comes off as a kind-hearted and often upbeat individual, albeit one who's not exactly the smartest person you could meet (or rather, in the words of Jax, he's "about as smart as a bag of rocks being thrown into the Atlantic Ocean")

Notably, Cue has a fascination with fortune-telling. He's almost never without his set of tarot cards lining his pockets, always ready to tell daily fortunes to his friends. Also, since it functions like a proper Magic 8-Ball, his head can off of his shoulders and be shaken about, exposing an answer to the plastic window on the back of his head. Outside of fortunes, Cue likes to read picture books and can play the accordion.

Despite his predicament and the psychological tendencies of the others, Cue adapted fairly quickly to his so-called new home after arriving. Almost too well…..as unbeknownest to the others for the longest time, he had developed a desire to stay at the circus.

In his own words, his time at the circus lets him feel more like "a person who matters", and feels he's been in the virtual space for so long, he's unsure if he could ever go back to his life proper in the real world. He has also considered himself as something of an outcast in the real world, though his memories are fuzzy as to why...........Even still, he has still shown confliction about staying, as he knows that deep down, no matter how hard he can deny it or find unhealthy means to cope, he is still human...... Perhaps what he needs is a guiding hand to bring some proper sense into his head.....

In spite of his unintelligence and personal struggles however, Cue's strong perseverance keeps them going if it means he can be there for his friends. He's even known to personally check up on the others rather consistently during times of gloom, whether its hanging out with 'Checkmate' (Kinger) collecting bugs with him, helping 'Ribbons' (Gangle) fix her comedy mask or giving 'Buttons' (Ragatha) a chance to just get stuff off her chest when barely anybody else lets her.

So if nothing else, though his head may not always be on straight, his heart's in the right place.

______________________________________________________________

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #tadc fanart #tadc oc #TADC Cue

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shadowqueen402 · 11 months ago

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The Maiden And The Huntsman: Chapter 17

(Meanwhile, back with the group)

After weighing the pros and cons, Jax, Reala, NiGHTS, Balan, and Lance had all made the decision to head back to the French kingdom in order to retrieve the spellbook. Kaufmo, Pomni, Gangle, Leo, Phil, Bianca, and Clem all stayed behind in order guard Princess Aria's unconscious form.

Currently, the group were all huddled around the beds, staring sadly at the unconscious princess.

"Why did this have to happen?" Gangle asked, sniffing.

"It's that evil queen," Kaufmo replied. "She let her jealousy get the better of her."

"If only there was a way that we could put some sense into that queen," Leo said, furrowing his brows. "She did this to our new friend."

"I really hope that they can find the spellbook," Pomni pointed out. "Maybe we'll be able to find a way to save her."

"If anyone knows how to wake her up, it's the evil queen herself," Phil said. "But since she most likely won't speak, the answer will have to be in that book."

"We should also hope that Balan, Lance, NiGHTS, Reala, and Jax won't get caught," Bianca said.

(Meanwhile, at the French kingdom)

NiGHTS, Balan, Lance, Jax, and Reala made it back to Queen Primrose's castle. They were now in the dungeon, surrounding the spellbook that Queen Primrose used.

Jax silently flipped through each page of the spellbook. Everyone else waited patiently to see if Jax could find anything that could help save Princess Aria.

Suddenly, Jax had a look of excitement. "I found something!" He exclaimed. He pointed to the page of the Poison Apple spell. Everyone looked at where Jax pointed and gasped in surprise when they read the antidote:

"Poison Apple Antidote:

The victim of the Sleeping Death can be revived only by Love's First Kiss…"

"So, this must mean that someone that truly loves Princess Aria must be the one to kiss her," NiGHTS said. "We finally found the antidote!"

"All Reala has to do is kiss the princess," Jax stated, laughing at a flustered Reala.

"If that is the case, Reala, we do not have time to mope," Balan stated. "You are, however, Princess Aria's only hope."

Reala stared at the spellbook in silence for a moment. Then, he closed his eyes and nodded. "Very well," He said. "I will be the one to awaken the princess."

With a nod, Lance summoned up pink magic into his hands. Then, he shot it up into the sky where it began to travel into the direction of the cottage.

"What did you just do?" Jax asked.

"I simply sent the Seven Dwarves a message from here," Lance explained. "They'll need to know that we found a way to save the one friend that they hold dear."

Aria belongs to me.

Phil, Bianca, and Clem belong to @sundove88

Madame Prim belongs to @kayssweetdreams

#balan wonderworld #ocs #fanfic #balan #lance #reala #leo craig #the amazing digital circus #kaufmo #jax #pomni #gangle #nights journey of dreams #nights

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gryphonanon · 4 months ago

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[thats fine!! take as much time as you need to answer asks]

She stared at the door, hoping she had the right place. Gangle nervously adjusted her cloak and knocked on the door (or at least tried. It's a bit hard to with hands made of ribbon.)

-@goodnight-algae

*Grif's ears pricked up, he wasn't sure if that was a gentle knock on his door or if he was hearing things. But he wasn't going to ignore it, just in case it was a guest. He set the book he was reading aside and opened the door. The biggest smile appeared on his face when he saw who it was*

Oh my goodness, Gangle! It's been so long, how are you?

#the gryphon talks #[thank you!]#[Also I'll say Gangle shows up after the stuff with Carbine]

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thewidowsghost · 4 years ago

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The Unknown Muggleworn - Chapter 3

3rd Person POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or we could ask someone," Hermione suggests.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're Fred -"

"And George -"

"Weasley," they finish in unison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Y/n) takes in the Platform quizzically.

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

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

3rd Person POV – With Harry

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

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

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

"— packed with Muggles, of course —"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry, George, dear."

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

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

There was nothing else for it.

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

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

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

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

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

"Er — okay," said Harry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A boy with dreadlocks was surrounded by a small crowd.

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

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

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

"Yes, please," Harry panted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What?" said Harry.

"Harry Potter," chorused the twins.

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

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

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mom."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

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

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

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

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

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

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

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

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded.

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

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

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

"Only joking, Mom."

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

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

(Y/n)'s POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time Skip – Still (Y/N)'s POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3rd Person POV – Harry's Perspective

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron mutters.

"Harry Potter," Harry says.

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

"Am I?" asks Harry, feeling dazed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time Skip - (Y/n)'s POV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hermione and I follow Harry and Ron into a boat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3rd Person POV

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

The brunette nods in acknowledgement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She leaves the chamber, and Harry swallows.

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

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

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

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

"What the -?"

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

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

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

(Y/n) raises her hand nervously, and the ghost in the ruff turns to her.

"Yes?" He asks.

"We're new students, we're about to be sorted," She says, shaking a little.

A few people nod in agreement.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" says the Friar. "My old House, you know."

"Move along now," a sharp voice says. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned to the hall, and one by one, the ghosts float away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall tells the first years, "and follow me."

(Y/n) felling nervous, falls in line behind Ron, Hermione behind her. Professor McGonagall leads the first years out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

(Y/n) had never imagined such an amazing thing could exist. Thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, Probably the House tables, (Y/n) thinks, where the older students were sitting, light the Great Hall. On the tops of the tables, there were glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall leads the first years towards the table, so that they come to a halt in a line facing the other students. Hundreds of faces stare back at them like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight, and dotted among the students, the ghost shone a misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Harry looks upwards and sees a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. Harry hears Hermione whisper, "It's bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in –"

"Hogwarts, A History?" (Y/n) asks her sister with a smile.

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, Harry thinks, and that the Great hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looks down again as Professor McGonagall silently places a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool, she puts a pointed wizard's hat. The hat was so patched and frayed, and extremely dirty, Aunt Petunia wouldn't have let it in the house, Harry thinks.

Harry think wildly, Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it, It seems the soft of thing. (Y/n) then notices that everyone is staring at the hat, and she looks towards it too. For a few moments, there was complete silence, then the hat twitches, a rip near the brim opens wide like a mouth – and the hat begins to sing:

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, But don't judge on what you see, I'll eat myself if you can find A smarter hat than me. You can keep your bowlers black, Your top hats sleek and tall, For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat And I can cap them all. There's nothing hidden in your head The Sorting Hat can't see, So try me on and I will tell you Where you ought to be. You might belong in Gryffindor, Where dwell the brave at heart, Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart; You might belong in Hufflepuff, Where they are just and loyal, Those patient Hufflepuffs are true And unafraid of toil; Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, If you've a ready mind, Where those of wit and learning, Will always find their kind; Or perhaps in Slytherin You'll make your real friends, Those cunning folk use any means To achieve their ends. So put me on! Don't be afraid ! And don't get in a flap! You're in safe hands (though I have none) For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall bursts into applause as the hat finishes its song. It bows to each of the four tables and then becomes quote still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" Ron whispers to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Harry smiles weakly. Yes, trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but Harry wishes they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seems to be asking rather a lot; Harry didn't feel brace or quick-witted or any of it at the moment. If only the had had mentions a House for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him.

Professor McGonagall now steps forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"Abbott, Hannah!" Professor McGonagall calls the first name.

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbles out of line, puts on the hat, but before the hat falls over her eyes, (Y/n) shoots her a smile, and Hannah smiles thankfully back. The hat falls over Hannah's eyes, and after a moment's pause –

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouts the hat.

The table on the right cheers and claps as Hannah goes to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. (Y/n) sees ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouts the hat again, and Susan moves to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!" shouts the hat and the table second from the left claps this time; several Ravenclaws stand up to shake hands with Terry as he joins them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" becomes the first Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could wee Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent," then becomes a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Harry's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they look like an unpleasant lot.

Harry definitely looks sick, (Y/n) thinks. Harry remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. Harry had always been last to be chosen, not because he was no good, but because no one wanted Dudley to think they liked him.

"Finch – Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, (Y/n) noticed, the hat shouted out the House at once, but at others it took a while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy that was standing next to harry in line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

(Y/n) smiles warmly at her sister as she runs to the stool and jams the hat eagerly onto her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouts the hat, and Ron groans.

A horrible thought strikes Harry, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted, "GRYFFINDOR," Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now.

"Moon" . . . , "Nott" . . . , "Parkinson" . . . , then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" . . . , then "Perks, Sally-Anne" . . . , and then, at last —

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Potter, did she say?"

"The Harry Potter?"

The last thing Harry saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting. . . . So where shall I put you?"

Harry gripped the edges of the stool and thought, Not Slytherin, not Slytherin.

"Not Slytherin, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that — no? Well, if you're sure — better be GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!" Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Harry grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Harry recognized him at once from the card he'd gotten out of the Chocolate Frog on the train. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Harry spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous young man from the Leaky Cauldron. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

"Thomas, Dean," a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined Harry at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Harry crossed his finger under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley pompously across Harry.

There were only two people left to be sorted, (Y/N), and a tall boy with black hair.

"Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin, and at last, (Y/n)'s name was called.

"(L/n)-Granger, (Y/n)!" Professor McGonagall shouts, and the (H/l), (H/c) steps up to the stool. She turns around, and nervously looks around, Hermione meets her gaze from across the hall, and Hermione smiles at her sister softly.

(Y/N)'s POV

I sit on the stool, and the hat falls over my eyes.

I jump a little as I hear the Sorting Hat starts talking in my head. "Well, your ambitious, and a strong leader, I see, qualities of Slytherins, ah, but there is something else here, patience and loyalty, also qualities of a Hufflepuff. But there's something else here, wisdom, wit, and a lot of creativity, all qualities of Ravenclaw. But also courage, bravery, and daring, so where to put you?" The hat asks. "Brilliantly smart father, daringly brave mother."

"You know my dad?" (Y/n) thinks. Though she knew little about her mother, she knew absolutely nothing about her father.

"Your father was a famous muggle," the Sorting Hat says softly, only loud enough for (Y/n) to hear. "Extremely witty and intelligent beyond his years."

"So he wasn't a wizard," (Y/n) comes to this conclusion.

"No," the Sorting Hat confirms.

"What about my mother?" (Y/n) thinks.

"She was a Gryffindor, a muggle-born like yourself."

Hermione's POV

"She's been on that stool for like ten minutes," Harry murmurs to Hermione, who was sitting Percy, across from Harry.

"She's a hat stall," Percy Weasley says softly. "The first since Peter Pettigrew about twenty years ago."

There's a silence for another five minutes before the hat finally shouts, "GRYFFINDOR!"

(Y/n) takes off the hat off her head, then grins.

(Y/n) jogs over to sit beside her sister.

Hermione smiles widely at (Y/n).

"Can't get rid of me that easily," (Y/n) teases.

Professor Dumbledore had gotten to his feet, and he was beaming at the students, his arms open wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome!" he says. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" Professor Dumbledore finishes, sitting down.

Everyone claps and cheers, (Y/n) and Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or not. Sitting beside Percy Weasley, Harry was thinking the same thing.

"Is he - a bit mad?" Harry asks Percy uncertainly.

"Mad?" Percy answers airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes."

"Potatoes, Harry?" Percy asks.

Harry's mouth falls open. The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Dursleys had never starved Harry, but he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he had wanted. Dudley had always take anything that Harry really wanted, even if it made him sick. Harry piles his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and begins to eat. It was delicious.

"That does look good," says the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Harry cut up his steak.

"Cant you -?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," says the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" Ron says suddenly. "My brothers told me about you – you're Nearly Headless Nick!"

I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy —" the ghost began stiffly, but Hermione interrupts, (Y/N) looking over her shoulder.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

"Now, Hermione dear, that's not polite," (Y/N) says, and Hermione grins at her sister before turning her attention back to the ghost.

Sir Nicholas looks extremely miffed, as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he had wanted.

"Like this," he says irritably. He seizes his left ear and pulls; his whole head swings off his neck and falls onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had clearly tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking very pleased at the stunned looks on the first year Gryffindors' faces, Nearly Headless Nick flips his head back onto his neck, coughs, and says, "So – new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house Championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable – he's the Slytherin ghost."

(Y/N) and Harry look over at the Slytherin table and see a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank starting eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was sitting right next to Malfoy who, Harry was pleased to see, didn't look very pleased with the seating arrangement.

"How did he get covered in blood?" Thora and Seamus Finnigan ask with great interest.

"I've never asked," says Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food fades from the plates, leaving hem sparkling clean as before, then, a moment later the deserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, Jell-O, rice pudding, and an assortment of fresh fruits.

As (Y/N) helps herself to a couple of strawberries and some chocolate éclairs, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," explains Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of nasty shock for him."

The others laugh, and Ron turns to Neville.

"What about you, Neville?" Ron asks.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch," Neville begins, "but the family thought I was all-Muggle for ages. My Great Uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me — he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once, I nearly drowned — but nothing happened until I was eight. Great Uncle Algie came round for dinner, and he was hanging me out of an upstairs window by the ankles when my Great Auntie Enid offered him a meringue and he accidentally let go. But I bounced — all the way down the garden and into the road. They were all really pleased, Gran was crying, she was so happy. And you should have seen their faces when I got in here — they thought I might not be magic enough to come, you see. Great Uncle Algie was so pleased he bought me my toad."

"What about you?" asks Seamus Finnegan.

(Y/n) looks up, startled, but then speaks. "My mother, that I know of, was Muggleborn. My father was a muggle. I grew up with Hermione here for my whole life. My real parents are dead, well, that I know of."

Harry glances at the (H/c) haired girl as she turns back to Hermione and Percy Weasley, who were talking about lessons.

"I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult –" Hermione rambles.

"You'll be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing –" Percy says.

"What about Charms?" Hermione asks. "What's that like?"

"Well, in Charms, you learn to cast spells that alter an object without changing it's nature." Percy says.

"Wait," (Y/N) interrupts, "so if we were given, like, a teapot, would we have to make it dance across the desk?"

"Yes, exactly (Y/N), that doesn't change how it looks, if you wanted to turn it into a tortoise, that spell would be taught in Transfiguration." Percy explains.

Harry, who is beginning to feel warm and sleepy, looks up at the High Table again. Hagrid is drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall is talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happens very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looks past Quirrell's turban straight into Harry's eyes - and a sharp, hot pan shoots across the scars imprinted into (Y/n)'s and Harry's skin.

(Y/n) slaps her hand to the hourglass shaped scar on her neck. Harry does the same, letting out an "Ouch!"

"What is it?" Percy asks, Hermione turning to study her sister.

"N-nothing," Harry mumbles.

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off for Harry was the feeling he had gotten from teh teacher's look - a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to Professor Quirrell?" Harry asks, and (Y/n) and Percy's gazes turn to the Head Table.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to – everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape." Percy says.

(Y/n) and Hermione turn their attentions back onto each other and start up a quiet conversation. (Y/n) notices, out of the corner of her eye, Harry watching Snape for a while, but Snape never looked back at Harry.

At last, the desserts disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet, the hall falling silent.

"Ahem – just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you." He begins.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashes in the direction of the Weasley twins, as he says the last part. "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." Hermione's and (Y/N)'s eyes meet at Dumbledore's last few words, while Harry laughs, but he was one of the few that did.

"He's not serious?" Harry mutters to Percy.

"Must be," says Percy, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere – the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cries Dumbledore. Harry notices that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twists itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the whole school bellows:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, Teach us something please, Whether we be old and bald Or young with scabby knees, Our heads could do with filling With some interesting stuff,

For now they're bare and full of air, Dead flies and bits of fluff, So teach us things worth knowing, Bring back what we've forgot, Just do your best, we'll do the rest, And learn until our brains all rot."

Everyone finishes the song at different times. At last, only the Weasley twins are left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducts their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who claps the loudest.

"Ah, music," Dumbledore says, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years follow Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Harry's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was to sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climb up more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and (Y/N) was just wondering how much farther thy had to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and (Y/N)'s eyes narrow in suspicion. Percy takes a step toward them as they start throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispers to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raises his voice, "Peeves – show yourself."

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answers.

"Do you want me to get the Bloody Baron?" Percy asks.

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appears, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he says, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swoops suddenly at them, and they all duck.

"Go away, Peeves, or the Baron'll hear about this, I mean it!" barks Percy.

Peeves sticks out his tongue and vanishes, dropping the walking sticks above (Y/n)'s head. (Y/n) slides instinctively out of the way, catching the walking sticks in one hand.

Harry and Ron look slightly impressed as (Y/n) sets the sticks on the ground silently, then walks over to stand beside Hermione.

"You want to watch out for Peeves," says Percy as they set off again. "The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him, and he won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hangs a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress. "Password?" she asks.

"Caput Draconis," answers Percy, and the portrait swings forwards to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scramble through - Neville needing a leg up - and find themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directs the girls rough one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase - (Y/n) figured they were in one of the towers - they find their beads at last: four four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had already been brought up and, too tired to talk much, (Y/n) pulls on a pair of emerald green pajamas, the color matching (Y/n)'s eyes.

Marvel jumps out of her basket, eyeing Hermione then (Y/n) then hopping up into Hermione's bed, curling up onto Hermione's stomach.

Word Count: 8327 words

Bye!

Love y'all! Kaitlynn❤️😍

#hermione granger #hermione granger x sister reader #harry potter #ron weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #harry potter various x reader

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professorspork · 5 years ago

Note

3 word prompt: blood, break, shiver (is this too dramatic or too easy? lol it’s from a song and was the first thing that came to my mind)

There's blood on her hands.

The world is chaos all around her, everything she's ever known erupting into violence she cannot comprehend, and there's blood on her hands, in her lap, everywhere she's cradled the young prince against her. She'd just--just liked him is all. From a distance. Liked the way the sun beams caught in his hair and the willowy gangle of his limbs and the high, reedy whistle of his laugh. Was that so bad? Could that have tilted the delicate balance of nature off its axis so completely?

The earth splits apart under her feet, and she cannot find her parents, cannot find anyone familiar in the crowd. His was the first friendly face she spotted--paling and sleep-slack (spirits, please let it just be sleep) against a bloodied stone.

She does not know how she finds the strength to lift him. It feels like the wind itself sweeps her off her feet and carries her to the carriage, but--the spirits are in a fury, so that can't be right, can it? Desperate, frightened, she looses the horses from their ties and they careen through the forest, the air turning thick with mist all around them as they flee.

Her home shuts her out like a slamming door, and all she can do is watch as the north woods disappear--

--Iduna wakes with a start.

The eerie ethereal light of the aurora casts pale shadows against the bedroom walls; Iduna sits up and tries to catch her breath as Agnarr slumbers beside her.

Just a dream, she reminds herself, but it's not. It's the past. The truth.

It's been a long time since she let herself think about it. She's not sure what possessed Agnarr to tell the girls that story; it's knocked her off her equilibrium and sent her reeling. Disturbed the quiet of her carefully-constructed denial.

He wouldn't have told it if he'd known it would upset her.

He couldn't have known it would upset her, since he doesn't know who she is.

What she is.

They've been looking together, for ages now, into what could possibly have caused Elsa to be born with her gifts. He obsesses over books of lore and ancient myth; every now and again, she pretends to just happen to find a scrap of knowledge from her own people. It scares him, what Elsa can do--though he tries to mask the fear. His father had tried to help contain the magic of the north, and all he did was throw it into anarchy. Agnarr still dreams of that day, too, she knows--of the rivers roiling and the ground splintering and the fires burning all around.

"What if that happens to Elsa?" he'd asked her once, quiet and desperate, when he couldn't quiet his anxieties. They can picture it all too easily. Elsa, torn apart from within by her own ice. Her magic turning against her for reasons they can't understand. They do their best, every day, to seek balance, calm, composed harmony. Not the easiest task in the world when Anna is a creature of such extremes, and Elsa endeared to her every whim, but they do what they can. What other choice do they have?

Out of nowhere--as if she dreamed it--Elsa's voice breaks the silence.

"Anna!"

No. Surely not. Surely an echo of her own worry, her nightmare not quite faded--

"MAMA! PAPA!"

Agnarr leaps to his feet, awake in an instant, and Iduna chases after him--more swiftly than she thought it was possible to run. As though the wind itself is at her back, urging her forward.

Agnarr has to brace himself and slam against the door once, twice, three times before he's able to break through the iced-over hinges and enter the ballroom. The room is covered in sinister spikes; at its center, Elsa cradles Anna in her arms.

As if from underwater, Iduna can hear Agnarr's voice--"Elsa, what have you done? This is getting out of hand!"--but her eyes are on her baby girl.

She's never seen her so still. Not in her whole life.

"Anna...!"

Elsa wails as they wrest Anna from her grasp, the temperature falling by degrees. "It was an accident, I'm sorry, Anna--"

They rush to Agnarr's office. He's a human tornado, now, grabbing maps and supplies and ancient tomes. He needs to keep his hands busy, needs to feel as though he can still do something. Iduna can't help but be caught up in his wake, but when she turns around to check behind her, to make sure Elsa's followed them--she's nowhere.

"Elsa?!"

She retraces her steps, until the sound of sobbing catches her ear. She follows the voice until she finds Elsa in a bathroom off the west wing, washing her hands.

There's--

There's blood on her hands.

"Elsa, my darling--"

Iduna rushes over and pulls Elsa away from the sink; the water is so scalding hot that Iduna can feel it from even that distance. Elsa's hands are cracked and chapped from the violent combination of heat and cold, bloodied in her desperation--and yet even now, as Iduna watches, the hoarfrost creeps over Elsa's fingers, encasing them in ice once more.

"It won't go away, Mama, I can't get it off. It won't melt, I can't stop it, I don't know what to do," Elsa cries, throwing the whole weight of her tiny body into Iduna's embrace, and all Iduna can do is hold her.

Eight. Her daughter is eight.

"Is Anna okay?" Elsa sobs, small shoulders shaking, and she doesn't have an answer for her.

"She will be," Iduna murmurs, cuddling Elsa close even as the chill radiates off her in frigid waves. "She will be."

She shivers.

#someone put every single member of this family into therapy immediately #frozen 2 #frozen #queen iduna #iduna and agnarr #queen elsa #fic what i wrote #Anonymous

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imalwaysintune · 5 years ago

Text

A Distortionate Tale

Yes the title is a pun and probably not a good one but it’s fINE

I don’t think this is a rarepair, but I definitely don’t see it a whole lot. All I know is that everyone misses Michael and everyone loves Jon and their dynamic. So this was born.

Hope y’all enjoy! Story below cut

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

Jon was sat at his desk that resided in his study. It was cozy, though he was rarely in it these days. He was rarely in his own home, for that matter.

Jon lived in a small flat. It had a living room, one bathroom, a kitchen, and two bedrooms. He didn’t need the other bedroom, so he turned it into a work-away-from-work study, complete with desk, book shelves, and mood lighting.

Rising tension in his life had forced him to stay at the Archives more and more, and it was chipping away at his mental health more than usual.

Jon put down the file he was holding and buried his head in his hands. He pushed the base of his palms into his eye sockets, fighting against the familiar burn of tears rising up behind his eyes. Everything would be fine, he told himself, not that he really believed it.

He sighed deeply and got up from his chair, wiping away the few tears that had managed to escape. He was barely paying attention, and walked towards a door that hadn’t been there when he’d walked in

When Jon opened the door, he didn’t have enough energy to be shocked at what he saw. It was Michael, in all his distorted glory. Jon looked right into Michael’s smile and suddenly he felt light. Before he knew it, he was falling forward into Michael’s waiting arms.

When Jon came to, his head was pounding. He opened his eyes and was met with the ceiling he’d woken up to hundreds, if not thousands, of times. He quickly sat up, a mistake he realized immediately when a jolt of pain went directly through his spine to his head.

He felt a weight on the bed shift, and looked over to where Michael was sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He seemed to have been reaching for Jon, but was now frozen in place.

He slowly lowered his distorted hand, and Jon had to look away. The way his fingers bent and twisted would’ve been comedic if he was staring at a fun-house mirror. But he wasn’t staring at a mirror, only a being of chaos who only followed his own whims. So why had they brought him here?

“Why are you here?” Jon asked what he had been thinking, figuring that there was no point in fighting it. He, it, did what it wanted. It was useless trying to control Michael in any way, unless Jon wanted to end up dead. Well...

“I am here, Archivist, because I started to think about you. I figured there was no reason I should not come, so here I am,” He said. His voice sounded like butter, the way he spoke slowly and precision, as if he wasn’t quite used to having a human mouth yet.

Jon shivered at the thought of Michael pre-distortion, and he felt the tears coming back. He rubbed at his eyes harshly, wondering why his body was betraying him so much tonight.

“Well, you came at a very bad time. I’d prefer it if you would leave me alone,” Jon said, his voice not nearly as steady as he’d hoped. He flopped back onto his pillows and pulled the covers over his head, blocking out the ever shifting form of Michael.

It was a few minutes of him sitting in the darkness under the covers until he felt the weight on the bed shift. Jon thought that Michael had gotten off the bed, but much to his surprise, the weight settled itself next to him. Jon’s breath stilled as he waited for it to make a move.

He breathed out heavily when he felt a single limb wrap around him. Michael was spooning Jon from behind, and he had no idea how to react. Luckily, Michael speaking saved him from having to.

“I’m lonely, Archivist, I’ll tell you,” Michael spoke with a sad inflection, and Jon couldn’t help removing the covers and looking at him. His headache persisted, but it didn’t matter when he looked at the beings face.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about that,” Jon whispered, his eyes locked on the figure in front of him.

Michael’s arm fell away from Jon’s waist, and he found himself missing the warmth that came from the gangling limb. It used it’s hand to brush away a piece of hair that had fallen over it’s face. The being flipped so they were facing the ceiling, a long sigh being drawn out of it’s mouth.

“Nothing, I suppose,” It laughed that haunting laugh before continuing. “You always have a way of making my day, little Archivist.”

“I have a name, you know. Unlike you, my name means something,” Jon all but spat, but he wasn’t angry. He was too tired. He was always too tired.

“You know we’re not really different, Archivist. The Eye has it’s hold on you just as the Spiral with me. It’s all-” He was cut off as Jon glared at him, but with no real malice. "Sorry, Ar- Jon, I’m just not used to interacting with other beings. I mainly lure and capture. There’s no emotional connection in that. It’s purely a business interaction.”

“Do you not feel any emotions?” Jon asked, fully flipping his body so he was facing Michael.

“No, I don’t think so. Do you?”

“I do. At least, I think I do. Recently, they’ve been more muted, though I don’t know if that’s the clinical depression or The Eye,” Jon joked, looking back up at the being. It wasn’t laughing, and instead looked mildly disinterested. “Christ.”

“Have you ever kissed anyone before, Archivist?” Michael asked, and Jon was too worn out to correct him on the name. Instead, Jon’s brows furrowed and he sat up slowly on the bed.

“Why would you ask me that?” He asked, scooting his body towards the headboard.

“I think... Michael, human Michael, always wanted to kiss someone. But he got so caught up with work and Gertrude that his dating life never went that far,” Michael drawled, and Jon looked at him in shock.

“How do you know this? Do you have his memories?” Jon asked, and realized too late his powers were in play.

Michael grunted as the Beholding tried to squeeze the answer out of him. “Not his memories, per say. But I still, I don’t know, feel what he does. What he did,” Michael let out a breath of relief after he got the answer out.

“I thought you said you didn’t feel.”

“I don’t know Archivist! I just do whatever needs to be done. I go on my whims, I don’t know if they’re feelings or instincts or some outside force. I just do whatever I feel compelled to. And right now, I feel compelled to kiss you,” The being spoke quickly, and his words were almost lost with the way his voice twisted and bent.

“You want... to kiss me?” Jon sat baffled.

Michael sat up on the bed and turned to face towards Jon. “I want to see what kissing you will do,” He said.

He was out of his mind, surely, Jon thought. However, he felt the pressure of waves behind his eyes, and knew that the eye was just as curious, if not more, than Michael. Seems almost fitting that the Eye would use Jon as an information vessel, even when it was just about being intimate with other Avatars.

“Why not,” He said as he swung his leg over Michael’s lap, coming to rest with his legs on either side of the being. It felt odd, being this close to the figure’s face. It was constantly shifting as Jon’s eyes roamed it’s face, but he wouldn’t say it was ugly. it was quite attractive actually, considering.

Michael didn’t wait long though and brought it’s lips against Jon’s. And he hadn’t been prepared for the feeling that would follow him.

Jon had been tired, so incredibly tired, yet when Michael kissed him, he felt invigorated. His heart started being faster and his brain was going overtime, and he could feel it. But most of all, Jon felt static. It wasn’t unpleasant, though. The static spread from his where Michael kissed him down to his feet, and it brought Jon’s body to life.

He used his scarred and callous hands to cup Michael’s face, and it was the softest thing he had ever felt. He didn’t know if Michael needed to shave, but if he did, he did a damn good job.

Meanwhile, Jon’s face was scruffy and scratchy, but that didn’t seem to bother Michael as he began to kiss down Jon’s chin. His lips traveled from Jon’s mouth to the bottom of his neck as Jon moved his hands down Michael and rested them on his shoulders.

As Michael kissed along Jon’s neck, he noticed the static in his hands felt stronger. Any exposed skin that was touching the being buzzed, as if Michael himself were vibrating.

He didn’t have too long to think about it though, as Michael bit Jon’s neck and brought him back to the moment. He let out a breathy laugh and leaned back, looking at Michael’s face.

“Will you... stay with me tonight?” Jon asked, curling a strand of Michael’s hair around his finger. It was so golden and bright it almost hurt his eyes.

“You’re not afraid I’ll try and kill you?”

“You know, at this point, I don’t think that would be the worst thing.”

And so the two Avatars lay there. Michael held Jon against him and comforted the broken man. Even as Jon slept, the nightmares would shake him awake, and Michael would whisper words of comfort until he fell back asleep.

Two monsters, comforting and understanding each other more than anyone else could.

- The End!

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

I’m not super duper proud of this one, but it was fun to write! Honestly I love their dynamic, and as much as I love Helen, I definitely miss Michael. So I brought him back in my own little way.

Don’t forget to hit up my ao3! I post my nsfw content there as well as these sfw stories. My ask box is also open! Request away cause I’m running out of ideas lol

Words: 1639

#the magnus archives #tma #my work #Jonathan Sims #Jon Sims #Jonny Sims #Michael #The Spiral #The Eye #idk why im obsessed with making jon pass out #tma fic #also im runnin out of ideas eeeehhhhh

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astralis01 · 5 years ago

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Jason Todd X Reader: Another Universe (Part 6)

Earlier

Jason nodded and with that they were gone and Jason was left alone in the room. He rushed outside to see the show Tim and Damian put up.

Now

That night when Jason returned from his patrol he saw that (Y/n) was reading from a book, looking concentrated and cute. “What!”, he thought to himself. He was not supposed to think about her like that. She was here from another universe for God’s sake. He removed his things quietly, not to disturb her. She was taking out a highlighter from time to time and marking something in her book. The others were yet to come from their patrol so it was silent throughout the cave.

(Y/n) was startled back to reality by Jason’s voice resonating through the cave. “You’re reading Stephen Hawking ‘Brief Answers To Big Questions.’ That is a bit surprising. Do you need to get out have a nerd place all to yourself?” (Y/n) laughed and said, “Nerd place? Jason that is too much. I was just reading that because it might help me to build the machine to go back.”

Jason’s heart fell into the pits of Tartarus. She was eager to return to her universe and here he was thinking that she was cute. Curse him! (Y/n) saw his expression and said, “It's not because this is all really messed up but us being here is really awesome. I mean, who would ever give up their chance to be in their favorite reality.” Jason stepped forward and said, “No worries. But before you go into your nerd phrase, would you like to tour Gotham with me tomorrow?”

(Y/n) blushed a bit. She thanked the dim lighting of the Batcave for not letting her light blush visible to Jason. That would be tremendously bad for everyone and her. Here, her crush, her fictional but now real crush was asking her on a technical date and she was hesitating. Jason looked at her hopefully and she smiled up at him and said, “I would love to Jason. Do you want to meet somewhere?”

Jason was freaking out on the inside but he put on his suave facade and said, “I will pick you up from the manor at 10 tomorrow.” She smiled up at him and confirmed it. At that moment they were interrupted by the gangling bats. She stepped behind a little and picked up her book from the table, bookmarked the page and offered each of them a smile. Damian and Tim came and dragged her away, upstairs after changing, demanding her to spend her time with them and read them books. She grinned at Jason while she was leaving the Bat Cave with both of them.

Dick seeing the grins on (Y/n) and Jason’s face raised an eyebrow and asked, “Any new development that I would like to know about?” Jason turned to him and said, “Go to hell Dick. I have to go. Stop blocking the path to outside.”

While Jason was leaving Dick shouted from behind, “Come on, Little Wing. Tell me.” All Jason did was walk away with more style

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lonely-bored-writer · 5 years ago

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Casper High Ch. 3

Sam Winchester's morning started off like most mornings did- when it was just him and his brother anyway. The first notes of 'Enter Sandman' would play from the alarm his brother would set in Sam's phone the first night that they arrived at the motel. Sam knew that just in the other room his brother would be out of bed quickly and going through a bag as soon as those first notes started to sound from his own phone. Sam would follow suit afterwards, getting out of bed to pick out an outfit for the day, and mumble a good morning to Dean as the elder Winchester entered his room, before making his way to the bathroom.

Ever since Sam turned sixteen, John had made it a habit of getting the brothers two separate rooms rather then a shared one. Not that either Winchester complained- the brothers had fallen into a simple routine after the first few days of the new room. The added privacy was nice, if a bit odd to get used to after years of sharing either a room or a bed with his brother. The separated rooms were only used during the night, making sleep easier for the duo, while they often stayed in either their own rooms to keep to themselves or hung out together in Dean's room.

"Danny coming over?" Dean questioned, shrugging on his worn brown leather jacket that had been previously nestled into the crook of his arm.

"Not sure." Sam responded quickly before taking a bite out of the still warm breakfast sandwich Dean brought in for him. Dean simply nodded, enjoying his own breakfast as the comfortable silence settled over them. Sam's mind wandered a tad in the silence, running over all the odd little things he's seen or learned about Amity Park. With a sigh, the teen turned to his brother. "Any idea how long dad is going to be gone?"

"He said a few weeks Sammy." Dean answered the question without hesitation, eyes landing on the alarm clock on the bedside table. Sam nodded with another sigh, pulling his bag out from under the table. "'Sides, we gotta get you to school. I'll be stopping by the auto shop I saw nearby. Hopefully I can score a job there in order to make sure we don't run short on anything that we might need." Sam knew that 'anything' could mean going out to the movies as a treat, to having to be able to pay extra days for their rooms when John either didn't set enough money aside or inevitably didn't come back in time, or even having to pay for food and any extra supplies that they needed such as salt for the protection lines.

"Sounds good." Sam agreed, following his brother out to the car.

The ride to school was same as usual, Dean playing his choice of rock music for the morning while Sam was going over the assignments he had due today. Once parked, Sam exited the Impala with a 'see you later' over his shoulder after Dean reminded him he might not be there right after school. It was when he was almost to his homeroom class that his day took an interesting turn away from his usual routine.

"I swear I saw him!" A tall gangling teen with apricot colored hair, which had been pulled into a low ponytail, shouted. His blue eyes glared through thick round-framed glasses at someone else. Sam found himself slowly inching closer, trying to eavesdrop in the conversation. "He stopped that green lunch lady ghost from drowning me in meat! I smell like it too!"

"Sure you did Mikey," came the sarcastic drawl of a female student that looked very much like Mikey. "We've gone over this, 'Phantom,'" the girl put finger quotes around Phantom as she rolled her eyes, "isn't real. He's just a stupid myth cooked up by some crazy crack pot." Sam's attention was peaked by then as he always had a deep interest for legends and myths.

"Fine Becca, don't believe me!" Mikey called after Becca as she made her way through the crowd, throwing his hands up in exasperation. The teen mumbled angrily under is breath while he began shoving books into his locker. Sam's eyes zeroed in on a piece of what looked to be an uncooked, sloppy piece of lunchmeat sitting on the teen's hair tie.

"Hey," Sam called out, apologizing when Mikey jumped at his voice, offering the shorter teen an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I just couldn't help but over hear your conversation, and I was wondering what it was about..."

"You believe me?" Mikey looked shocked, mouth left agape. His eyes blinked rapidly behind his glasses, as if Sam was about to laugh in his face, make fun of him, and then turn around and disappear to mock him about what he was talking about.

"Yeah, hard not to with this in your hair." Sam nodded, plucking the gross glob of meat off of the ponytail.

"Finally someone who does!" Mikey grinned, revealing a set of pink braces. He looked around the hallway suspiciously before meeting Sam's eyes. "Let's go to the roof. You must be new because I know everyone- being easily dismissed allows me to know so much more than people would like. Teachers won't notice either, your teacher will probably assume that you got lost so you will be fine." Sam paused, looking towards room 415 before nodding.

He followed the red head through the crowd and up the steps onto the roof. Sam was a tad surprised to see that no one batted an eye as they made their way up and that the roof was unlocked. "Perks of being a teacher's pet." Mikey grinned back at a stiff Sam, taking a seat away from the edge, crossing his legs. "I'm Mikey by the way. Mikey McLean."

"Sam Winchester." Sam offered a smile, accepting the hand held out to him. "So, what was this about a phantom?"

"The Phantom. The 'p' is capitalized 'cause it's his name. Most people who were here since the beginning are in denial, or something of the likes, but I'm not!" Mikey shook his head, jabbing a finger into his own chest, right over his heart. "I remember the fights, Phantom saving lives. But then... people started moving away and the things that happened just became ghost stories, you know? It's really weird- weirder than Amity's normal level of weird anyways." Sam noticed the hint of sadness in the other teen's blue eyes.

"What stories?" Sam asked. Mikey's eyes clouded in confusion before his eyes suddenly cleared.

"Oh yeah, you're new! Duh- I just said that." Mikey chuckled, shaking his head at his forgetfulness. "My freshman year these ghost started showing up right? They were scaring and terrorizing everyone! Causing messes, destroying things- heck the school was always under some sort of construction, don't even get me started on the other buildings and houses that were destroyed constantly. Then Phantom would show up, and he always defeated the ghosts no matter how hurt he got."

Sam's mind reeled, taking in the information. These things were not ghosts- the ghosts Mikey was describing were all tangible and could actually interact with things regularly- they even supposedly fought each other on a regular basis. These things were definitely not what his dad and brother was used to dealing with. That is if any of this was real. "Like a superhero?" Sam asked, taken aback by the excited look on Mikey's face at his words.

"Exactly! He even had an emblem and everything!" Mikey gushed, nodding his head quickly. "He used to pop up everywhere. Then there was a... really bad fight between him and some other ghosts and things changed. People started moving away, and Phantom didn't show up much more after that, so suddenly people started saying he was a fable. That he wasn't real." Mikey took a breath. "He helps us still. Especially us nerds, and I don't think he even realizes it but I notice when he stops the bullies. He trips them and even lured a teacher in our direction a few times by making noise. I'm pretty sure he thinks everyone forgot, or ignores him but I don't."

"How could everyone forget about someone like that?" Sam mused aloud, receiving a melancholy look.

"The adults never liked him anyways... They thought he was a villain."

Sam hadn't caught much of a glimpse of Danny all day until lunchtime. He was on his way to making it out of the building when he saw the familiar black haired teen. Sam's eyebrows furrowed when he caught sight of Danny favoring his right leg and the teen's hesitant movements. They were all things he remembered seeing in his brother after a rough hunt.

"Hey Danny." Sam greeted with a smile when he caught up with the teen. Danny jumped, twisting around quickly, before meeting Sam's smile with his own as his ice blue eyes landed on Sam.

"Hey Sam, I was wondering when I'll run into you." Danny chuckled, the duo quickly falling into step. "I missed homeroom, what'd I miss?" Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

"I was actually going to ask you the same thing." Sam retorted, getting a look from Danny. "I got distracted, you?"

"Same." Danny retorted the vague answer with a light smile, as the two made it to their way into the Nasty Burger, Sam subtly walking slower to allow Danny to take it easy on his leg. The food order to only a moment and they quickly made their way to a booth. "So, what distracted you?" Danny asked, taking a sip of his soda.

"A kid at the school, Mikey, told me some interesting things about the town." Sam responded, taking in the tilt of Danny's head. "He was telling me about Phantom." Sam noticed the shocked look run through his eyes before it was covered with curiosity.

"That fable? What about it?" Danny questioned, and Sam paused. He figured Danny would have an idea about Phantom, and what went on in the town. It seemed that Danny was only shocked that he would be interested in such a silly topic.

"I ran into a kid named Mikey and he was telling someone, who I assume is his sister, that he was saved from a ghost attack by Phantom. Mikey swore he was real." Sam responded with a shrug. "I thought it was interesting as is, even if it is just a story."

"Ah yea, it was an interesting time for all of us." Danny shrugged, and Sam got the impression that Danny didn't want to be talking about this.

"Anyways, what was your distraction?" Sam asked Danny, willing to drop the subject for the moment.

"I actually just didn't want to see Lancer." Danny gave a soft chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I owe him an essay I hadn't finished..." Sam couldn't help the laugh that left him at the sheepish look Danny wore.

"I'm always open to help." Sam offered with a smile, before he remembered something. "Oh hey, do you want to come over today?"

"Wish I could, but my dad wants my help with something after school." Danny offered with an apologetic smile, getting a reassuring look from the taller teen.

"It's alright." Sam nodded, just realizing that all that was left of both their meals were fries. Popping one in his mouth, he continued. "So, how was school so far?"

"Mr. Winchester, can I speak with you for a moment?" Sam's head snapped up to land on his criminal justice teacher, Caleb Moncrief. The teacher was a tall, built, dark skinned man with a laid back attitude. Sam nodded, and made his way over to the desk, glancing over to see the students filing out of the door. "I just wanted to talk to you about the assignments you dropped at my desk at the start of class."

"Did I miss something, Mr. Moncrief?" Sam asked, eyebrows furrowed and mind running through the list. He got a small chuckle and the shake of a head in response.

"Everything was accounted for and seems completed." Caleb responded, looking over the stack with an impressed look. "You actually didn't have to do all the work you missed, but good news is you actually went ahead a bit. So, you'll be excused from the next four assignments." Sam looked up with wide eyes, surprised he happened to get done more than he had thought.

"Oh wow, okay. Thanks, Mr. Moncrief." Sam smiled, sharing goodbyes with his teacher before making his way out of the school. He glanced around at the bustling teens around the front of the school, eyes scanning the crowd for Danny but not catching sight of the shorter teen. A vibration from the small phone in his pocket pulled his attention from the masses.

'Started today, can't pick you up. Let me know when you get back - Dean'

Sam sighed, quickly typing out a response to his brother, letting him know he'll be at the library. It was after all much closer to him then the motel was. A last sweeping look around the dwindling crowd confirmed his friend was nowhere to be seen. Letting out another sigh, the teen made the trek to the library, his mind rolling over all the oddities he had learned about Amity Park.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #superphantom #supernatural writing prompts #superphantom au #danny #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom fanfiction #fanfiction #fandom #fanfic #fanfiction.net #Fandoms #Casper High

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lemontrash · 5 years ago

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Highschool Infiltration AU (4)

@disturbed02girl

(Part 1) (Part 2 & 3)

___

East Woodborough Public High School, Monday morning, the light smacking in yellow sunspots from the glazing. Throb of engines and the bass, ticking of bicycle wheels, the clap and rattle of skateboards - a cacophony. Washed out sky dyed in a blue that is turning white with heat, rubber soles picking up the dust from the concrete. Everywhere bodies turning humid inside of shirts and shorts, faces pinking. The clarion of girls laughing all ha-ha-tee-hee. Girls. Not misses. Girls who walk with their shoulders first, slouching jeans and gemmy eyes, self conscious of acne and braces. Girls with biro down the backs of their hands, boys with trouser hems trodden into soft runnels of thread, boys with secret tattoos.

Children.

Heero wades through them, a small Gulliver encroaching into Lilliput. An old man in a skinny boy body.

He finds breathing space and shade beneath straggling trees on scratchy grass, occupied already by children scribbling final answers to last weeks homework, and stray cigarette butts.

He’d expected more similarity to the other schools. There’s next to none. Kids run here and talk loud, smack their gum, turn up in clothes pulled from bedroom floors. No uniforms. No stables. No fencing. No hush and wood polish.

Heero feels his own anonymity more acutely than he ever has. A good thing, for the mission.

Two girls clapping, singing nonsense, or talking. “No! No!” one says to her friend, signalling with the rest of her body, “Yes, say more!”

Heero has a pen and ten dollars in his pocket, but he should have brought a backpack. It would blend more. It’s part of the uniform, he realises. The uniform that isn’t a uniform. The other of the clapping girls looks back, and then drops a whisper into her friend's ear and they peal away into the chaos.

Laughing at him?

Doesn’t matter. It’s not relevant to the mission, and they’re not potential targets. Heero doesn’t need to know anything about them to know that. They’re too ordinary. Ordinary is safe.

Safe enough. The school is a big white block of a building, Heero blinks and it’s rubble. Blink. Box. Blink. Roar of children’s voices.

Blink.

“The fuck?” someone says. A flash of another face, like all the others. Incredulous at the concept of Heero Yuy.

Heero realises he’s scowling like fury.

Twenty minutes till first bell.

Detaching himself from the trees, he drives himself away towards the back of the school. Time now to focus. Establish territory.

Heero breathes in the dry clay of the earth. Time to choose a sport.

____

It’s a powder blue convertible with that new car smell, as though Santa baby only just dropped it off. It must have been in the garage for several years though, brand new even whilst ageing.

Quatre dismisses Ahmed’s suggestion of an escort, and puts the hood down. It’s a speed control zone, but even a sedate thirty miles per hour creates soft fingers of air that ruffle over his scalp. Sunglasses, chinos, understated but overpriced watch, Quatre supposes he’ll make the appropriate splash when he arrives. First port of call, student services, of course, to make his introduction to the Dean.

And then in turn, Quatre presumes to be introduced to the other high school royalty. Or perhaps they will simply magnetise themselves to his presence, like lions aware of a newcomer prowling into their territory.

Not that he intends to be threatening.

The big houses and lawns give way to smaller lots with bigger roads and untidier kerbs.

‘Why wouldn’t I be at private school?’ Quatre wonders of his character. ‘Money? Character?’ It’s a very nice car. Quatre resolves on personality; a rags-to-riches, Grand-daddy’s alma mater reasoning.

A naif desire for reality and diversity. Get a little taste of the other half before the inevitable route to the board room.

“And in that case,” Quatre says to himself, wheeling the sports car into the parking lot, “I won’t even need to act.”

___

Town planning guidance states that, as the ideal, each household should be within a 500m walk of a bus stop. Wufei has to trudge more than twice that to the main road. A bus the colour of old mustard and half empty.

Wufei takes a seat near the back. Perches really, thinking of gum concealing on the underside. The outskirts slip drearily past the window, strip mall, gas station, drive-thru, then another. The fat man at the wheel meets Wufei’s eye briefly through the rear-view, but with only a bovine attention. He’s been doing this for too long to care one way or another. All he wants is for the kids to sit down and keep their hands and their drinks to themselves.

Tilting his head, as they groan between stops, Wufei finds a spider in the corner of the window, which oscillates into a blur in its web whenever the driver squishes a foot on the accelerator. ‘Go faster, or let me off?’ Wufei muses.

It’s the most relatable thing he’s seen in days.

The bus lurches to a halt, rear skewed into the nearside lane, and more kids tramp aboard, already looking travel worn. Cups clutched in bare hands, books and bags.

“Hey, pay!” the driver yells at one kid. He turns on a heel and flicks -ping! klink! - a dollar fifty in coins into the slot. The driver snorts.

“Eat it,” says the kid, backing down the aisle, middle fingers raised. Cock of the rock. Wufei rolls his eyes. Wonders what it is about the light spectrum that makes neon looks so dead in the daylight.

“Move.”

There’s a tussle and a kid is evicted from the seat opposite Wufei. He goes stumbling up the bus, with the surprised offence of a person hit in the face by an errant bluebottle, and then drops into a new seat. Boots bridge the aisle, thumping onto Wufei’s seat and making the springs bounce.

“What?” Duo challenges.

Wufei, finger and thumb, pulls the edge of his jacket out from under Duo’s heel and scoots over.

“Nerd.”

The glint of a shark’s grin in the corner of his eye. Wufei lets his body go reptilian. ‘Don’t overdo it,’ he warns with his silence. ‘Don’t push me,’

Pop of bubblegum, bleep of a game. Pure theatrics. Wufei stares at the spider hanging onto its threads.

It’s going to be a long day.

___

Trowa changes in a classroom, and returns to the roof to watch the sun rise. He watches staff arrive over the course of an hour, in ones and twos. None of them think to look up. Mostly they look at their shoes.

Then the before-school kids arrive. Parents with morning meetings, the sports kids, the band kids, and kids with reasons that Trowa can’t discern from twenty metres above.

Then the mob. Spooling from buses, the whole hive-like mass of students erupting from the surrounding roads. So many it’s hard to pick out individuals, though he sees Quatre sweep in, shining and spotless. He evokes a bubble through the crowd as he passes through it. People gape and then cling to his wake, taking it all in. As he climbs the steps of the school, Trowa gets a glimpse of sunshine redolent on golden hair, and a smile before Quatre vanishes.

He crowds down a little lower, and trusts no one else will bother looking up.

Duo births himself out the window of a bus not a few moments later, brash and obvious. A distraction that nearly makes him miss Wufei slinking off, having disembarked in a more orthodox manner. Duo stands and scans the building and then mooches away in the opposite direction, towards the bleachers.

Sensible.

He doesn’t spot Heero, but then Heero is always aware of his angles. He wouldn’t expose himself to surveillance like that. Trowa watches the other kids instead.The lonely ones, the bold ones.They make for a curious study. Height simplifies them and their behaviours. He can compare them to cattle, or ants, or apes, but knows that once among them, it won’t be the case at all.

‘Bias,’ Trowa thinks, leaning back from the edge. Under his feet, a bell is chirring. Warning bell. It sounds more suited to a military application than anything as homely as a school. Trowa arranges his face into something nondescript and his body into a slouch. Touch of gangling disorganisation in the limbs, dragging feet. He descends into the school, and takes turns following small groups of children, adding characteristics to Sven until Sven is more alive than conjecture.

When the bell rings again, Trowa mutely holds his note over the desk to the school secretary. “I got lost,” he says.

“First day,” she replies, thrusting spectacles onto her nose and reducing him at once to paperwork. “Right, let’s see where we’re putting you, shall we?”

#myfic #Gundam Wing #Heero Yuy #Duo Maxwell #Trowa Barton #Quatre Winner #Chang Wufei #Gundam Wing fanfic

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robronsecretsanta · 6 years ago

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Under Atmospheric Haze, Just Some Stratospheric Strays

Aaron and Robert spend their Christmas Eve-Eve together at Leeds’ German Market.

Merry Christmas, @aarondingel 🎄

All it took was some gentle persuasion. Well, if you can call a quick fumble in-between meetings and a sex sated, raspy grunt of “suppose I’ll have to say yes now, won’t I?!?,” persuasion.

It doesn’t take much for Aaron to give in to Robert’s extroverted propositions. Especially when he’s flashing that famous winning smile with Aaron’s sparkly, satisfied eyes reflecting right back. The same was happening, now. 50ft in the air in the centre of Leeds. High on overpriced German beer, frankfurters in a bun too big to even fit your mouth round, fancy festivities, and a pre-snog in the back row of the Everyman Cinema like lovesick teens - because of course, on Robert’s agenda, it had to be the place with the plush, leather seats and a hefty price.

“You’ve enjoyed yourself tonight, haven’t you?” Robert proudly pried, slightly turning to the side where his spent husband had his red hood covered head leaning against his shoulder.

Although he’s already wrapped a new novelty jumper for Aaron to open on the morning of the 25th and is internally screaming with giddiness just thinking about it, Robert had insisted he wore the Santa hoodie for the occasion. It carries bittersweet memories but it’s also a damn good garb in the name of all things Christmas and it’s no use stuck at the back of the wardrobe kept safe and collecting dust.

(Robert also sussed Aaron had clung to that hoodie as a way for him to privately recollect and draw comfort from it for a year straight, and that brought him double the bubble of warmth and contentment.)

“How did you guess?!”

Aaron met his eyes with an undeniable smirk painted on his face. There was no getting past this one.

“Hmm, not sure. Could be the fact I’ve not seen you this relaxed in a long time. Or could be your competitive streak I had the pleasure of witnessing during a game of ruthless Hook A Duck with a ten year old kid.”

That earned Robert a light slap to the stomach followed by Aaron cuddling inches closer, one hand let loose and the other nestling against his husband’s knee. Robert’s teasing always ended up being more endearing than insulting, that he can vouch for.

Aaron chose to overlook a witty remark back and that had a lot to do with Robert reciprocating his hand movement with a gentle thumb rub. He swore he lost control of a steady heartbeat in that standstill second. After all these years and marriage signed on paper, it still feels like the first time. It still feels so right he can’t focus on anything but the way their tips touch, the solid connection moulding his senses, the overbearing scent he’s grown to harmoniously depend on.

“Yeah, alright, it’s been nice.” He opted for a flippant eye roll and a blasé attitude. “Summat different innit?! Better than being at home dealing with teen problems and dodgy business when we should actually be prepping for our first Christmas in our family home in two days time.”

Miles better in fact. It’d been the most carefree and genuinely chipper he’d felt in weeks. Yeah, okay, walking hand in hand with zero inhibitions around a crowded winter village full of fairy lights and wooden stalls, finished with a cosy indoor log fire retreat reeking of stale ale and a ride on the big wheel, had been a whole lot of light fun and a boost to the ole spirit system - both the festive and the self-credibility kind - but he wasn’t gonna let Robert know that. He didn’t want to give him the benefit of the doubt and make his self righteous ego any bigger than it already was.

A soft stare and a lopsided smile was what Aaron was faced with when he lifted his head back up. Robert’s eyes had always been Aaron’s uttermost favourite feature for as long as he can remember - the mesmerising sapphire sea green shade setting his soul alive, stamping on his beating heart and rapid pulse - and now, beneath the electric hues of purple and muted lustre shadows, he recalled the intoxicating thrill washing through him when he first realised there was no other visual he’d rather wake up to for the rest of his life.

“Remind me to bring you back here next year,” Robert simpered with a hint of unabashed adoration flashed across his entire face, bringing Aaron out of his brief daydream. “If it’s gonna bring out this soppy side of you I’m already booking the taxi.”

“Shut up,” Aaron scoffed. Failing to hide the spreading flush of his cheeks even in the now moonlit sky.

“No, I’m serious. I’m glad you agreed to it, in the end,” Robert’s voice lowered and his expression earnest. “It’s rare we get to spend proper quality time together now. What with you running the scrapyard whilst I con Graham for all he’s worth. Plus, it’s our first Christmas as a married couple so we’ve gotta start it the right way.”

A mediocre market filled with tacky mementos, sickly sweet air pollution, and rowdy groups of work do gatherings wasn’t the imagined idea of the most high class, romantic Christmas Eve-Eve celebratory date. It wasn’t exhilarating but it worked, because he had Robert beside him. Robert with his windswept hair and goofy grin and gangling limbs and ability to make anywhere feel like home.

“Yeah,” Aaron delicately whispered.

To an outsider, the audible silence weaved between them could be misjudged as awkward but to them, it was laced with meaning. Responsive words weren’t always needed. Especially here, in their own intimate bubble; both metaphorically and legitimately. (They were lucky to bag a carriage of their own on a hustled and bustled Sunday.)

This moment here, so placid they were able to drown out the rest of the world as though they were the only two to exist; even above the noise of jingling bells, booming kids, and classic renditions of songs, was worth its weight in gold.

“So, family home, ey?” Robert’s the first one to break the quiet; nudging Aaron and raising his brows with a light chuckle as though his brain’s been overriding with deep thoughts and he’s attempting to disguise it. “Never thought I’d get to hear that.” Yeah, he definitely had.

“Mad innit?!” Aaron met his eyes for the second time. “Bit different compared to last year.”

“What, when I embarrassed myself in front of an entire pub and then almost met my fate in the hands of a car bumper?”

Aaron didn’t answer, again. Just shook his head frivolously. He knew it probably still affected Robert. He knew he still reacted sensitively and this was a chance for him to momentarily mull over the weight of the situation. How it played a pivotal part to where they are currently, in the here and now.

“You know, I was thinking. Maybe we’d be able to bring our own family here one day. Use the little ones as an excuse to have a go of the swings and the carousel without looking deranged.”

That cheeky demeanour with a hint of hushed emotion had returned. Robert tended to change the subject once he’d evaluated and moved along the lines of his thought pattern. Only now Aaron was the one to be stirred. A shudder travelling down his spine all the way to the forefront of his mind where he instantaneously imagined Robert holding the waist of their toddler, faces radiating with infectious glee and laughter as they waved to the video camera Aaron was holding. Protecting and nurturing, just like the brilliant dad he’d seen him grow to be.

“Maybe. But first can we just savour the peace and quiet whilst we still have it.”

“Good idea. As long as you can admit I most definitely made the best decision of having a night here and I was right to convince you all along.” Robert really wasn’t going to let this one go.

Aaron still wasn’t going to profess the truth, but he was right. Tonight had been a dream. A dream that had somehow converted to real life. Real life he’d have never panned out for himself. The PDA. The gorgeous husband. The aimless yet wholeheartedly significant conversation. The state of serenity and security allowing him to let loose and lap up the jovial atmosphere. The plans for the future. The man he desired and was unconditionally devoted to, returning that with twice the emphasis; looking at him like the stars had gravitated towards his entire being. Having everything he ever needed, right here.

Robert drew Aaron even further towards him so their proximity had reached its pinnacle. Aaron couldn’t help but notice just how perfectly well their bodies fit together as he leaned into the arm wrapped around his shoulder. Their bonded torsos was like a moth to a flame. Like a drug he couldn’t ever get enough of.

“Maybe I can convince you to spill with a trip upstairs when we get home,” Robert was still rambling on in the depths of defeat.

That caught Aaron’s attention, an unavoidable lip bite and a blood rush to the top of his skull right down to his toes, but he still wasn’t giving in.

“You really are a stubborn git, you know that?” Robert accentuated every last syllable. “Good job I love you.”

And with a puckered kiss to his temple, a smooth thumb running over his knuckles, Aaron breathed a sigh of ease with a soft snigger. “I love you too, idiot.”

Maybe, just maybe, he could get used to every Christmas being as traditional and timeless as this.

#robron #robron secret santa #robron fanfiction #emmerdale #emmerdaleedit #aarondingel

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royal-writer · 6 years ago

Text

Lord of Nothing

I took my own spin on things and now have maniacal laughter and me rubbing my grubby little goblin hands in your face. Little play on a different life for dear Lord Amon since Ess’ likes to think ‘how different life would be if only this and that and this didn’t happen’. Or as I put it- joke’s on u bitch >J This has been in my notes since July??? God I’m slower than a sloth.

“All I ever wanted to do, was impress you!”

His howls fell on deafening ears. The stern complexion of a cold man stared out vacantly into the nothing. His jaw shifted, clearly grinding his teeth in a vision of rage. Fists balled at his side, he was breathing with the harshness of wild beast.

Their dark eyes fell upon him, and his blood ran cold.

“You are not my son,” they had said with dripping ice in their voice. “Leave this house immediately, and do not return.”

Like a blinding snowstorm, the wind picked up and streaks of black and white sliced through his sights. He reached for the older man, who had turned away from him. Squinting against a swollen cheek, his heart racing with anxiety.

“I didn’t mean it, father, you have to understand!”

The figure did not stall, nor turn towards him. The swish of their cloak flowed against the cobblestone, and their boots clipped to wood as they stepped into the house.

A woman standing just inside the household cast him a look of disgust and pure hatred. She turned on her heel, following behind her husband and taking a young dark-haired girl by the hand to drag along. Her eyes were bloodshot, and she reached for him, crying out his name. The sharpness of the older woman’s tone shushed her, but she was still shaking with her sobs as she disappeared into the manor.

Helpless. He was helpless. Looking to the only one who could possibly offer him forgiveness. His forehead touched the pavement, face streaked with tears. Shame and guilt burrowed into his chest. It stole him of air that he didn’t deserve.

“I’m sorry, Fontane. Can you ever forgive me?”

The older boy’s smirk grew more twisted. He waited patiently, his gangling little arms crossed before his chest until the other young man had dared to look up from his groveling.

“Farewell, Master Amon, Lord of Nothing,” the lad purred with eager pleasure. He spat in his direction, turning to enter the household and slam the door behind him.

Steadily, the former heir lowered his head to look upon the ground. All his bruised body ached. All his soul was shattered upon the pavement. His hopes and dreams, dashed.

Placing his face low to the ground, he wept. A final mourning of self-pity.

The last of his pride, and who he was, was now gone, forever.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Jerking himself awake, the disowned Illiad gave a heavy grunt as he tossed an arm over his face aged face. The freshness of that day ever-lingered in his thoughts, and the nightmares for it came with a heavy vengeance. It arouse from the blank ink of his self-loathing from time to time, but it seemed to have grown more aggressive the past few months. Doubt and humiliation. Fear and distrust.

Amon turned over in the bed, spotting the blonde hair of the woman bunched up in the blankets on the other side. A grateful smile fell over his features, and he reached out for her. Wrapping an arm around her full bust, his mouth pressed to her throat as she gave a tired moan.

“It’s too early for that, mister Clermont,” she barely mumbled.

The mortifying shame reared its ugly demonic head once more. Apologetically, he leaned further back from the resting beauty as gave a sleepy sigh.

“I’m sorry, Gwyneira, go back to sleep.”

A longing deeper made of the deepest, wider crevice reached for her. Sumptuous curves and sweet lips. He could bathe in such illustrious magnificence. She was the picture of a man’s deepest want, and was kind and thoughtful. Even when the rest of the town whispered of him, the speculation always swirling of what sort of man he must be to be thrown out by his own family, she still let him in her bed.

As he rested on his side; contemplating the ceiling above him and his place in the world after such a dreadful dream, Gwenny flipped over to face him. Her dark chocolate colored eyes stared upon him with a groggy regard, until she thrust an arm around him and nuzzled into his side.

“I love you, Amon, you know I didn’t mean to snap, right?”

“Of course, dear.”

With a little wriggle, his lover rested her body completely against his. He stroked her plump frame beneath the duvet, placing a kiss upon her brow.

“I love you too, Gwenny.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Amon didn’t raise his eyes up to the sight of the Briarton Lord. Dripping with wealth, Fontane was wearing the finest garments of gold and red that money could buy. His sharp smile and five o’clock smile was making all the lady’s go wild as he passed them with a kiss on the hand. Unwedded after the passing of his first wife a few years ago, women still flocked at his doorstep desperately hoping to be the next Lady of the Estate.

Though he bore no honorable heir, there were rumors of an illegitimate child swirling throughout town. Those too stupid to realize his place in the family tried to ask Amon what he knew of this rumor, and he scoffed and shouldered them off. He knew very little; what secret messages and quiet meetings he had with his sister that he felt he barely knew anymore. Years passed without seeing her, and months would go by before he would see her again knowing that even if she wanted a connection, it was a burden to her family to have one now.

He hauled up the clipped wool from the sheep, and gave her bald rump a pat to send her back into the pen. Picking up the pace, he latched the gate before hurrying to get inside the small cottage before his once half-brother spotted him and tried to grind him further into the dirt then he already was.

Gwyneira looked up with some surprise as Amon shut the door roughly behind him. He dropped the wool into the basket left out near the front door with a huff, adjusting his patchy coat around his shoulders.

“Baarbara behave for you today?” the woman asked with concern, knitting her eyebrows together.

“Not a fuss,” he commented, moving over to join her by the sink.

With a half-smile, Gwen’ pulled her hand out from the soapy sink she had been washing dishes in. Her hand patted his unkept beard, leaving bubbles sticking to the side of his face.

“You look unhappy,” she murmured. “Are you sure everything’s alright?”

Amon offered a crooked smile. His face expressed his exhaustion, and he leaned in to press a lingering kiss to her lips. She gave a sigh, melting into him.

A resounding cheering began to raise from just outside their window, and Amon wrapped his arm tightly around the woman.

“Amon-” she growled, pushing him back. After a moment of glimpsing to his closed expression, her eyes moved to look out the window into the street. The familiar figure of a nobleman strolled the streets, cooing and laughing with his following entourage.

“Oh. Pumpkin, you know he’s bound to come around sometimes… Don’t let it get to you.”

Flexing his jaw, Amon muttered beneath his breath and kept a firm hand wrapped around his lover’s body. His dark eyes clouded as he stared out the window with a bitterness in his heart. As much as he disliked himself, he still loathed Fontane just as much. Unable to forget the times the man teased him when they were young; how he’d push him around and taunt him.

Even as the parade passed, his posture could not relax.

And Gwenny watched him, a flicker of unease in the corner of her eyes as she silently cleaned the dishes.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Silently, Amon held out the small pack filled with coins to the nobleman.

He had not seen hide nor hair of Fontane in months, thank Pelor. Up until today, when he showed up out of the blue at his house to personally see to gathering the month’s taxes from him.

“Thank you, mister Clermont,” the lad stated with zeal as he accepted the purse. “I appreciate your services. And congratulations on your engagement with the fine miss Subliril. She is a very attractive woman.”

Curtly, he nodded his head. Both of his arms dropped to his sides, where they remained anchored like a statue. His hands formed and deformed the signs of claws or a fist, wanting to throttle the smug grin off the lowly asshole’s face.

“Well thank you, Lord Fontane,” his fiance giggled, allowing him to take her hand and press a kiss to it.

Little did they know, it would be their undoing.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Amon, stop this nonsense! You don’t need to protect me from anyone. I can take care of myself.”

“Gwen’-”

The door slammed in his face. He stared, mouth hanging ajar after her. After a moment, he walked over to sink into the sofa, placing his face in his hands and sighing.

It only grew worse from there. Any chance he caught sight of Fontane, or heard his suave voice, he couldn’t help himself. He looped an arm around Gwyneria and held her close. He tried to tell her, but held his tongue from the truth. Every time she demanded answers to why he was so fixated, his guilt came rushing back.

The one woman who never questioned what he’d done to be removed from the household no longer could stop herself. As he clung to her with desperation, she moved further and further away. The more she asked, the less he spoke.

Fontane hovered in the side of his thoughts. Any time he passed the house, no matter how swiftly on horseback or slowly on foot, he held a lingering sense of sickening joy. He watched them burn and unravel with a twisted smile. His hand he offered out to his lady, and he would kiss it and praise her with poetry and wonderful words and spout of his gleaming intelligence from well-read books. In the very same breathe, he would question Amon’s own, and thrust his stupidity and lack of being a ‘man with an honest past’ upon his fiance’s questioning thoughts.

“What is it you’ve done?” she would ask. “You can trust me with anything.”

But he could not formulate the words. Her love became pity, and then her pity became annoyance.

She slipped more and more from his grasp each and every day.

The only thing that held his sanity was a dove longing to spread her wings of his possessive grasp, and yet he could not learn how to hold to her with honest care, try as he might.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Barnabus pushed another ale in front of him.

It had been a bit over a year since Gwyneira had left him. Their engagement was called off, and she moved out not only to escape him, but leave Briarton behind her too.

“You’re not who I thought you were,” she had said.

And he wasn’t. He had turned. No longer Master Amon, no longer mister Clermont. He had went to a sniveling wet dog into a clinging jealous monster. Afraid to see her leave him, scared of what the truth would do.

When her bags were packed and her love gone, Amon was left alone to rot. The seams of his mouth had been sewn shut from the ugly truths he could not speak. He held to her too tightly, and she had broke free of his curses and vices. To his only relief, she did not run to Fontane even as the sultry maniac tried to tease her into his home with open invitation. Anything to rub salt into the wounds he helped to pierce into his flesh.

“Looks like you’re going to need a room tonight, Amon?” the barkeep stated with a worried smile. “How’s about you take one of the smaller rooms to the left? Free of charge.”

Stirred from his thoughts, the man gave a slow shake of his head.

“I can’t do that to ya again…”

“Ya pay me back goin’ out huntin up another stag like you did last winter, and we can give you permanent residence to any of ‘em.”

They shared a quiet chuckle. It never felt real, though. Straining on his ears; aching in his throat.

Nursing his drink, Amon heard the door open to a roar of stuffy laughter. He cringed, glancing over his shoulders to see Fontane and a few of his ‘friends’ enter in the bar with broad grins. They ignored Barnabus’ welcome entirely, and huddled themselves over to a far table with their boisterous laughter.

Amon raised his shoulders and turned away, hoping to remain inconspicuous.

Pelor he missed going home when it actually mattered. Staring into the empty house now, it felt a burden. It was tiny true; not even an upstart family would enjoy the cramped quarters, but there was no longer warmth inside of it. The halls were dull, the small livestock he owned even seemed to sense his heartache and offered less quality. Less eggs, more unruly wool that was paid less and less for.

The door to the tavern opened again. He didn’t bother looking up as he tipped his glass. The sound of boots clamored, but they were nothing compared to the rowdy laughter of the gentlemen in the corner.

A few seats down the bar, a silent figure slid into an empty stood. A green hood was pulled up to hide their face, but there was no mistaking the long legs and feminine thinness to her design.

Her fingers tapped the bartop lightly, getting Barnabus’ attention as he readied a set of ale for the lads.

“Aye, what can I do for ya- Oh, beggin my pardon miss, I didn’t see ya.”

“Quite alright,” the figure replied softly. “Could you fetch up another of those ales, when you have the chance?”

“Aye.”

Curious, Amon watched the stranger out of the corner of his eye. People tended to pass through Hearthstrom; coming and going which way they pleased, but some carried interesting stories and interesting lives. Very rarely were they lone people, and even less so were they lone women.

The lady murmured a ‘thank you’ as she slid some copper across the wood and took her offered beverage. Her body moved with unease in her seat as she took a drink, glancing around the room.

Her face turned towards his. Amon stared like a moron even when he was caught doing so. A strange array of scales ran over the side of her face and across part of her nose. Her cheeks aflamed under his gaze; though he quickly realized with hostile aggravation rather than embarrassment as she puffed up like an angry bird. Her eyes narrowed; caramel nouggets against her warm skin.

“What’re you sssstaring at?” the woman hissed, reaching up to bring her cape closer around her delicate frame.

“I’m sorry,” he grumbled, glancing away. “I was hoping you were someone I knew.”

Whether or not his lie was convincing, the woman seemed to sober and deflate. Her gaze darted over him curiously.

“Do you need help looking for someone?” she offered. “You know, if you’re looking to hire a bountyhunter-”

A short, raspy laugh escaped him. With a shake of his head, he tossed the young lady a sideways glance.

“No, the person I’m looking for is long gone, and never coming back.”

“Oh…” she breathed, her face suddenly falling to a look of deeply pained sorrow. “Oh… I’m- I’m so sorry…”

What did she make of that, he wondered. Did he look like a man of supreme loss?

Picking up her mug, the woman shuffled down a few chairs, and dropped down beside him. A wavering sense of unease washed over him. He leaned further away, but glanced up in fascination to her face. Dragonborn heritage, but such strangely exotic eyes. What would bring a traveler all the way out here, to the middle of nowhere?

Especially someone who appeared to hold a noble code of some substance. Offering to find a loved one out of the blue like that…

“You mind a little company, or were you hoping to drink alone?”

With a weary smile and eyes upon the dark liquid of his ale, he grumbled, “It doesn’t matter, really.” I’m always alone, he barely managed to hold back.

Offering a quiet hum, the beautiful stranger sipped from her ale thoughtfully. A hand reached out to him; flecked with scales on the back just like her face, and gingerly touched his own. He didn’t retract his hands, but kept his eyes upon his drink. Her hands were warm, and surprisingly soft for a traveler. A gentle palm and dainty little fingers.

“Do you live around these parts, sir…?”

“Amon,” he grunted, hating the taste of his own foul name.

“Sir Amon, then,” she recited with utmost cheer. Clearly a lady who had not yet heard the swirling gossip of his name in this area.

“I do.”

“What kind of local attractions does this area have, Sir Amon?”

“Nothing of the likes one would find of interest. That is why this is a passing junction for most.”

The young lady made a noise of amusement, light and airy, that she tried to stifle. His eyes moved up with a quirked eyebrow, not understanding what could possibly be so humorous.

Her eyes loomed like a cat’s. Shades of candlelight brewing in their depths as she held a mischievous smile. The curve of her teeth looked almost lethal in the lighting.

“The company doesn’t seem too bad,” she offered; a playful tease in her voice.

Oh yes. Definitely had not heard of him, if the flirty lass was having a go at him like he thought.

“What brings a fine lady traveling through these parts anyway, miss…?”

Hesitation. She held her breath, and leaned back a few inches. He could read the uncertainty in her eyes. The sense of fear. Perhaps not an innocent hero on the move, he thought with confusion. But such a disarming face; such soft eyes… it was easy to fall prey to such lies.

“Essätha,” the maiden offered with a tender light in her eyes but strained smile.

“Well, m’lady Essätha, I’m afraid you have found yourself in the middle of nowhere of importance,” he grunted, raising a glass with a thin smile of his own.

“I had no plans on where to land,” she countered, reaching out to place a hand over his mug and draw it from his face. “Nowhere sounds just as good as any place.”

By the gods, it was like electricity arced off her fingertips into his skin. There was something familiar about her eyes. Or perhaps it was the haze from a few too many drinks. Her full lips curled into a genuine smile as she leaned into his bubble. Wondrous scents of rainwater and flora danced off her skin.

Heavy footsteps came clamoring from across the bar. Before Amon could register it, a flash of swirling red fabric was entering his sights. He tensed instinctively to Fontane’s presence, sitting back as the fine woman looked bewildered between him, and then to the man who was suddenly standing beside them.

Fontane jerked away a bit with surprise, noticing the delicate creature’s finely sculpted face.

Then Amon realized that he, in fact, had his eyes glued on the scales on the woman’s features. It came to a bizarre realization to him that that would be the first thing someone would notice, and not how her eyes were like autumn spices and her skin smooth and rich in pale coffee.

“G’evening, miss,” Fontane stated, offering out a hand to her as he bowed. “Might I help you away from this- scoundrel?”

“Excuse me?” Essätha replied, not placing her hand within his as was customary.

“I’m afraid mister Clermont has a bad reputation around these parts, my lady,” Fontane soothed, his fingers curling to her in a beckoning motion. “I would hate for you to be mistakenly associated with-”

Her hand came out, and suddenly stuck the nobleman’s away.

Amon cleared his throat roughly, watching the exchange. By Pelor’s Light, no one struck struck at Fontane in such a way. Not even those who curled their lips when he was out of sight and muttered their disdain for his nature, or how he ran the estate.

“I’m very capable of judging character myself, thank you very much,” she responded with dripping venom in her tone.

Tightening his lips into a white line, Fontane thrust an arm between the two of them. Amon grunted, nearly tumbling out of his seat as his ale sloshed onto the floor. He could make out the shock in the woman’s face over his half-brother’s shoulder as she glanced from him, to the Lord of the territory.

“Listen, I’m doing you a favor,” Fontane pressed in a grating voice of vexation. “This man is bad news.”

“Oh really? What has he done so wrongly that I should fear him?”

“Well he tried to kill me, for starters.”

Amon sucked in a sharp breath. It was words he had not heard aloud in what felt like eons. He gripped tighter to his drink, torn. A hasty retreat, or to throw his drink in the man’s face and call him a liar were burning on his tongue.

Snorting, Essätha looked the Emerald Expanse’s Lord up and down as she answered: “You look perfectly fine to me.”

Fontane straightened himself. Adjusting his posture, he held to the edges of his cloak as he looked around. A few distant eyes in further tables were glancing over, watching with interest. Amon himself, who had partially slunk out of his chair, was now watching with fascination and awe. The stubborn set in the woman’s expression, her harsh eyes burning into the man and curls of blank hanging over her face.

“Lady, you do not know what you’re dealing with. This man is a monster. His family disowned him. He a fallen nobleman, with nothing to his name or title.”

“Well he’s clearly not hung nor jailed for the crime, so whatever it was must not have been so bad. You’re still standing here being a jackass, anyway.”

Red-faced, Fontane jutted out a finger to her face.

“Do not say I didn’t warn you.”

Baring her fangs, the woman leaned close as she warned, “Remove your finger from my presence, or I will remove it from your person.”

The nobleman’s cape swished out towards them as he turned to march over to his group of friends. Amon could make out someone slurring some questions on why the ‘pretty young thing’ was not following with him. He could only imagine their discomfort, that she wasn’t hanging off of him, listening to his every word.

While she huffed, turning her eyes back to him, Amon offered her a false smile. As striking as that display had been, he knew better than to lay here with his tail between his legs submissively.

“He’s right, you know. You’d have better luck around town if you plan to stay for any length of time, if you did not associate with me.”

To his surprise, Essätha took a drink from her ale, and sat it down. Her nose still wrinkled with disgust as she gazed over to the throng of men staring their way, before she turned back to him and placed a hand upon his knee.

“I like my odds just fine, thank you for your concern, Sir Amon,” she purred softly, her pupils moving over his weathered features as she added on, “You know, I kinda thought you had a regal, heroic face when I first caught you staring.”

Gruffly chuckling, he placed a hand atop hers, and squeezed.

“I was staring for curiosities sake.”

“Mmmmhm,” the dark beauty drawled, smiling gently as she murmured, “Well, I hope your curiosity has been satisfied.”

“Hardly,” he breathed, fascinated by the dancing light captivating in her eyes.

She giggled, almost musically, and he took a long drink of his ale.

Pelor have mercy, he dared to hope he might not be sleeping alone tonight.

#eci artz #amon illiad #Essie rw #essamon ship #aus upon aus upon aus upon-

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tatticstudio55 · 6 years ago

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Why Jon “had” to die

Jon is a very guilt-driven character.

Why? Maybe it started with him wanting Winterfell and knowing that it couldn’t be his unless all his siblings died. Maybe there’s some subconscious guilt related to the death of his mother. Maybe it has to do with the way Cat treated him. Maybe all the above. Guilt is so deeply rooted within him that his whole life orchestrates itself around a never-ending atonement: he forbids himself from any sexual intimacy with a girl (like... the guy’s 14 in the book ffs). He wears “the black”, a color first and foremost synonymous of grief and sorrow. This is a lifetime long mourning vow that he’s taken at 14. Is he mourning his mother? Repenting for his “crimes”? Both?

“Iron Emmett was a long, lanky young ranger whose endurance, strength, and swordsmanship were the pride of Eastwatch. Jon always came away from their sessions stiff and sore, and woke the next day covered with bruises, which was just the way he wanted it. […] He had hardly slept last night, and after an hour of restless tossing he had given up even the attempt, dressed, and walked the top of the Wall till the sun came up, wrestling with Stannis Baratheon's offer. The lack of sleep was catching up with him now, and Emmett was hammering him mercilessly across the yard […]

That morning he called it first. "I'm Lord of Winterfell!" he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, "You can't be Lord of Winterfell, you're bastard-born. My lady mother says you can't ever be the Lord of Winterfell."

I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he'd taken.

In the end Halder and Horse had to pull him away from Iron Emmett, one man on either arm. The ranger sat on the ground dazed, his shield half in splinters, the visor of his helm knocked askew, and his sword six yards away. "Jon, enough," Halder was shouting, "he's down, you disarmed him. Enough!"

No. Not enough. Never enough. Jon let his sword drop. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Emmett, are you hurt?" – Jon, ASOS

The scene unfolds in such a way that it almost seems like Jon is seeking punishment, wanting to be beaten up, and at the same time, making himself deserve it.

The thing is, Jon isn’t guilty of... anything, really. His role as a black sheep is to suffer for a wrong that either 1) isn’t his fault, or 2) isn’t anyone’s fault. Jon’s long internalized guilt (sorry for sounding like a psychologist here) is projected to/for the readers in scenes where Jon’s “wrongs” are purposely left ambiguous – if not in the reader’s mind, at least in Jon’s: when he kills Qhorin Halfhand. When he finds Ygritte dying at the feet of the Lord Commander’s tower (double guilt symbolism here, since we know that Jon will become Lord Commander very soon), from an arrow that isn’t his, “but felt as if it were” (Jon – ASOS). Janos Slynt’s unjust accusations at Jon (he’s a deserter, a murderer of his own kin, an oathbreaker, etc) serves as a foil to this: we know Jon is being wrongly accused. We know Slynt is just a scum. Jon himself knows he’s not guilty of the crimes Slynt accuses him off; yet a part of him still believes so: he feels guilty for what happened with Ygritte. He feels guilty for sleeping with her. He feels guilty for leaving her (Jon, ASOS). The death of so many wildlings on the Wall weights heavily on him:

“He found Quort dead, and Stone Thumbs dying. He found some dead and dying Thenns he had never truly known. He found Big Boil, weak from all the blood he'd lost but still alive. He found Ygritte sprawled across a patch of old snow beneath the Lord Commander's Tower, with an arrow between her breasts.” – Jon, ASOS

And I do believe that Jon’s Winterfell’s crypt dreams, following Ygritte’s death, was meant to blur the lines between his guilt for what happened with her, and the death of his mother Lyanna, at least subconsciously. (See Jonerys subtext in ASOS).

All this comes to a culminating point when the giant Wun Wun (who stays at Castle Black on Jon’s authorization) attacks and kill ser Patrek at Castleblack:

“The giant was bleeding himself, with sword cuts on his belly and his arm. He swung the dead knight against the grey stone of the tower, again and again and again, until the man's head was red and pulpy as a summer melon. The knight's cloak flapped in the cold air. Of white wool it had been, bordered in cloth-of-silver and patterned with blue stars. Blood and bone were flying everywhere. Men poured from the surrounding keeps and towers. Northmen, free folk, queen's men ... "Form a line," Jon Snow commanded them. "Keep them back. Everyone, but especially the queen's men." The dead man was Ser Patrek of King's Mountain; his head was largely gone, but his heraldry was as distinctive as his face.” – Jon, ADWD

It’s interesting to look at the similarities this scene shares with Dany’s ADWD scene where she runs to Drogon in the fighting pit: the dragon and the giant both receives the first blows; both rip off an arm of their aggressor, Jon and Dany both take their “sides” over the “human” side:

“Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun howled again and gave Ser Patrek's other arm a twist and pull. It tore loose from his shoulder with a spray of bright red blood. Like a child pulling petals off a daisy, thought Jon. "Leathers, talk to him, calm him. The Old Tongue, he understands the Old Tongue. Keep back, the rest of you. Put away your steel, we're scaring him."

Couldn't they see the giant had been cut? Jon had to put an end to this or more men would die. They had no idea of Wun Wun's strength. A horn, I need a horn. He saw the glint of steel, turned toward it. "No blades! " he screamed. "Wick, put that knife ..." – Jon, ADWD

“The hero leapt onto his back and drove the iron spearpoint down at the base of the dragon's long scaled neck.

Dany and Drogon screamed as one.

The hero leaned into his spear, using his weight to twist the point in deeper. Drogon arched upward with a hiss of pain. His tail lashed sideways. She watched his head crane around at the end of that long serpentine neck, saw his black wings unfold. The dragonslayer lost his footing and went tumbling to the sand. He was trying to struggle back to his feet when the dragon's teeth closed hard around his forearm. "No" was all the man had time to shout. Drogon wrenched his arm from his shoulder and tossed it aside as a dog might toss a rodent in a rat pit.

"Kill it," Hizdahr zo Loraq shouted to the other spearmen. "Kill the beast! "

Ser Barristan held her tightly. "Look away, Your Grace."

"Let me go!" Dany twisted from his grasp. The world seemed to slow as she cleared the parapet. When she landed in the pit she lost a sandal. Running, she could feel the sand between her toes, hot and rough.” – Dany, ADWD

But I digress. Right after Jon yells at his men to put away their blades, they turn around and kill him.

“... away, he meant to say. When Wick Whittlestick slashed at his throat, the word turned into a grunt. Jon twisted from the knife, just enough so it barely grazed his skin. He cut me. When he put his hand to the side of his neck, blood welled between his fingers. "Why? "

"For the Watch." Wick slashed at him again. This time Jon caught his wrist and bent his arm back until he dropped the dagger. The gangling steward backed away, his hands upraised as if to say, Not me, it was not me. Men were screaming. Jon reached for Longclaw, but his fingers had grown stiff and clumsy. Somehow he could not seem to get the sword free of its scabbard.

Then Bowen Marsh stood there before him, tears running down his cheeks. "For the Watch." He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it.

Jon fell to his knees. He found the dagger's hilt and wrenched it free. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. "Ghost," he whispered. Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold ...” – Jon, ADWD

Curiously enough, that scene might’ve been foreshadowed in ASOS, when Jon went on the other side of the Wall to take a good look at himself and gather on his feelings about being named Lord of Winterfell:

“He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger . . .” – Jon, ASOS

Jon’s following reunion with Ghost allows him to see clearly about who he is and what he needs to do, but if I may, the meaning of this scene goes beyond that. Suddenly, it’s as if… well, as if all the guilt’s weights had been lifted off his shoulders:

“When he reached Jon he leapt, and they wrestled amidst brown grass and long shadows as the stars came out above them. "Gods, wolf, where have you been?" Jon said when Ghost stopped worrying at his forearm. […] he licked Jon's face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns.

[…]

They ran together for the gate, circling wide around the nightfire, where reaching flames clawed at the black belly of the night.” – Jon, ASOS

What finally washed away Jon’s guilt? Notice how Ghost’s reappearance is “announced” by Jon’s sudden hunger for blood: “It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.” (Jon, ASOS)

If we just switch the words a bit, we get “he needed to be killed”. That’s the atonement – the only atonement – who’ll allow him to move on. The fact that Jon had to cross the Wall to realize it is telling in and of itself, since “beyond the Wall” becomes a metaphor for “the land of the dead.” Worse, even, the need to kill and “fill his belly” is echoed in some twisted way in ADWD when Bowen Marsh thrust his knife in Jon’s belly (“He punched Jon in the belly. When he pulled his hand away, the dagger stayed where he had buried it”)

The scene with the giant, ser Patrek’s death and Jon’s murder offers an interesting take on guilt, responsibility, and the avoidance of responsibility as well. The first guy to stab Jon has “his hands upraised as if to say, Not me, it was not me” (like… yes it was you). They can’t even face their own part of responsibility in this mess (“Couldn't they see the giant had been cut?”) These men aren’t strong enough to take on the giant, so they attack Jon instead, even though Jon had nothing to do with Patrek’s death – that’s the definition of a “black sheep”. And overall, it really wraps up Jon’s atonement narrative: he takes upon himself the responsibilities for so many “wrongs” that in the end, the only way for him to be “washed” of it all is to die.

#jon snow #game of thrones character meta #asoiaf

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