#heelys away in shame

[fatesundress]

⭑ life of the party. tom riddle x reader

summary. when one game is ruined, another begins.

tags. explicitly fem afab reader, smut with as minimal plot as i can physically allow myself, minors SCRAMMM, loosely implied hogwarts university au as always, flirting via mutually assured jealousy, impeccable communication skills, established relationship, the guy the reader is talking to gets annoyed she doesn’t want him but he doesn’t do anything, religious undertones that might have accidentally become overtones, party setting (background drinking & general degeneracy), probably the meanest tom i’ll ever write and i still tried making him nice because lots of heavy jealousy tropes are misogynistic icks fo me, fingering, piv, a little degradation but that's life, fawwwk the weeknd but the song this is based on is so sexy, etc

note. Me writing this: nightguard: ON, religious themes: RIFE, shame: ABOUNDING. i am so embarrassed by this. have i mentioned smut doesn’t come naturally to me? i don’t even know how i got here. i’m on heelys at the proverbial skatepark and everyone else apprenticed under tony hawk. Do you understand? ok.

word count. 4.5k

request. yes!

He is what he is. Stoic, sacred, silent and then verbose. You knew he had his fixations before you knew him at all — no one made top of every class without a shadow of obsession to contrast the glint of their excellence — but you could not anticipate how that obsession might translate when applied to a person. You’re not sure he had either.

He is what he is. The muggle world taught him religion and in it he learned only the tenor of devotion. When his fingers take your jaw, trace slow at the stripes of your thighs, steady your hips from under you and hold tight, there’s reverence in it. His kisses don’t wane with the months gone by; they soften with purpose. They rouse with hunger. His eyes don’t waver. Should a good man gaze upon his altar? Should he smile like sin when he gets on his knees? 

He does.

Tom Riddle is what he is and you solemnise in equal part.

You don’t come to these things often, taken aback by the sight of the Slytherin common room in ribbons and banners tattered within the first hour of the night. Bottles glow green in the lake-light on every available surface, scattered about the place and spilled in sticky puddles. 

You’re a wallflower tonight, though not for lack of options. You observe from a comfortable distance the drunken antics of new adults, free to carry their liquor in hand rather than hidden away in pockets and pillowcases. There’s something vaguely entertaining about it, intoxicating where someone else might mind their business and actually get intoxicated, but you see no harm done. Whispers fall on your ears before the rumours make their rounds, couples slink away in the darkness where someone in the crowd might not notice, and the night’s first instance of someone hurrying up the stairs in tears comes barrelling right past you. You invent a story for why to keep yourself busy. 

It’s all just buzz.

Now, if you don’t come often, he certainly doesn’t.

Tonight, he has, and for reasons explicable but few, you’ve found yourselves on opposite sides of the room.

It began on the green couch by the window with a chess set spilled across the velvet — a bet you made with him upon arrival; you find wizard’s chess trite, Tom finds it feckless, but it makes for a good challenge. 

What else could convince a man so perpetually controlled to pour himself a drink? And you imagine, from his perspective: what else could convince a woman so determined to outwit him?

It’s for no nefarious reason — to slight him or see him stumble — but because you love the fractions of relief that colour him, soften him, temper him. It’s because he loves you in every shade, in every pliancy, in each and every fervour. But mostly it’s because you love kindly to best him, and he loves mirthfully to best you.

So you play. The game is slow and teasing, hard to see in the ripples of the lake, and toppled over in the final moves (which you’ll insist you were winning) by the same swaying body that spills its drink down the front of your dress. And so you’re up, brushing your index finger over the corner of Tom’s sudden scowl. You whisper like a joke not to kill anyone but he’s so quick to look like he might that you consider repeating yourself with more conviction.

You poke at the spot where his jaw is tense. “I’ll be right back.”

Drying liquor from lace is a matter of precision even with magic, and this is half-gelatinous like someone raided the kitchen’s supply of jelly and steeped it in something offensively alcoholic. You utilise the clearer light of the Slytherin girl’s lavatory, wetting your dress before evaporating the water from it. There’s the matter then of transforming the stained fabric back to its original colour, and you huff in the mirror at having a game you thought you didn’t care much for ruined so close to its end.

You care about Tom, though. The omphalos of your issue resides there.

(It is fair to say most of your issues reside there.)

With only minutes gone by, the common room crowd looks doubled when you return, and though you wade through you’re pushed back like debris caught in a tide, the bodies more stubborn rubble than you. So you retreat, stand flush at the wall with your arms crossed, and wait for Tom’s eyes to land on yours. To, perhaps, open your mind and let him in, tell him exhaustedly from afar that the game is at rest and you’re ready to leave.

But even he’s hard to find in the bodies unified in breath, flux like a big set of lungs —  and nothing about Tom blurs into the background.

So you wait. You wallflower. You pour yourself a drink.

The moment stretches on longer than anticipated, and after many detached observations of the room, someone else finds you instead. He’s tall, blond to Tom's inkwell black, kissed by summer sun even as autumn soothes its blister. Your gaze wavers back to him a few times though his own is uncertain for all its focus. He seems to be waiting for you to stop, perhaps for the silhouette of someone else to slip by and prove you were looking at them instead. When no one else comes, he traverses the crowd with a straightened inch of pride, stepping through new colours until he’s close enough to you that the light settles emerald-black and you can see the great chasm of his beauty up close. 

His freckles are carefully dusted, his structure strong, all squarish, rugged lines and shades of August.

The chasm is not a lack of allure, per se, it’s just a lack of him. One man’s August to your adherent’s December, the intention of his warmth, a thing that does not come to him like everything else but that he makes and makes and mends when it lapses because he does not want to see you cold. The singular reward of a rarity like that.

“Hi," you say, glancing over a broad shoulder.

“Evening," he responds. He takes you in with a look of (unappreciated) appreciation. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“No, we haven’t.”

He extends a hand. “Oliver Belby.”

“Pleasure.”

You don't offer much in the way of conversation. He’ll vie for your attention regardless of how much of it you offer. So you lean against the wall where the buzz of sound prickles your hair, let him talk, let his hand come up to rest beside your head, and you find Tom.

He’s right where you left him, a new clearing in the crowd making space for your eyes to meet.

His are ice even at a distance. As if you proselytise — as if you could — kneel for another man or let one kneel before you, all of your trysts together faithless.

They aren’t. He must know they aren’t.

But you put yourself here and standing at the target of his gaze has never been marred by the severity of it.

You decide then; when one game is ruined, another begins.

In truth, you can’t deny the element of theatrics in the way Tom denies everyone but you: his soft, penitent smile, the apologetic cant of his head, how his eyes can find you in any crowd and whoever is clinging onto his every word that night will follow his gaze and deflate when they discover you at the end of it. Sometimes it’s harsh. Final. He lacks the patience of pretence. 

Sometimes, the week is dull. Sometimes, the whoever is undeterred. Sometimes you’ve pushed him here. 

No — You’ve never done that before. This is new.

So it’s one of those weeks, and one of those whoevers, on an anomaly you may as well have directed the encounter yourself, and Tom is half-indulgent as he forces his eyes away and you force yours to stay. 

You watch him from across the room as the woman drapes herself across the arm of his chair. There's a furious blush on her cheeks even in the dark, a pretty disarray to her shoulder-length hair, skirts pleated over knees she faces toward him. She smiles and offers him a glass of something, and you know for certain Tom understands this game because he accepts it, eyes flicking back to you as he swirls the glass in contest. 

To that you take an inappreciable sip of your own.

“ — Which is why no one has even attempted to kill one in decades. And capturing one is another thing entirely. My mother works with the Greeks on occasion, and the nearest she came to a den was in the twenties. If she had gone any nearer I wouldn’t be here.”

“Hm?” You look back at the man in front of you. His lips glisten with having licked them between every phrase.

“The manticores,” he says, undeterred.

“Right. Five-X beasts, aren’t they?”

“That’s what I said. I heard from one of my mother’s colleagues that — ”

The woman is whispering something in Tom’s ear, her hair on his cheek. He’s looking at you as if you had said the words. You don't shy away when Oliver leans in to whisper too. It's a strange, fractured language. Too intimate while too detached. Whispers from across the room, desire from another in the place of desire for each other. But the strangeness should not surprise you anymore. This is Tom: beautiful and wicked and the one you chose.

“ — And Nundus are worse. Deadliest creature there is — ”

She’s laughing about something, the woman. Half-reserved, she’s angled toward the party despite her leaning on his shoulder and the dissipating inches of distance.

“ — They stalk in silence. Think of the size of one, right? They’re apex predators… so commanding and still they could be in front of you one instant and gone the next.”

You engage with detached interest. “Really?”

And now Oliver barricades your view, his other hand coming to rest on your other shoulder.

“Do we have any classes together?”

You blink up at him. “No.”

“No, right,” he says, eyes darting to your lips. “I’d remember you.” 

His hand comes up to cup your cheek, and you wonder if for some men one-sided discussions of class five beasts qualify as foreplay.

You place a hand on his chest, eyebrows raised and half a startled smile curled. 

“You’re not going to kiss me," you inform him.

His face falls, but with it, at least, does his hand.

“Did you hear me?"

“It’s loud,” he decides suddenly. “Can we go somewhere else?”

You’re not sure you believe that. 

You duck under an arm and search the crowd again. The woman is on the arm of the chair looking thoroughly dismayed, and for good reason —

Tom is gone. 

Your breath is caught.

“This isn’t… You’re not going to…?”

You flash Oliver with a glare. “So you did hear me.”

He makes a pathetically sad face, and you think: it’s a wonder he made it this far when his courtship evidently hinges on the subject of his affection not listening to a word out of his mouth.

“Goodnight, Oliver,” you say tersely.

“What was that for, then?” he asks, and it comes out practically whined.

“That was talking.”

“But you’re —”

“Belby.”

He is what he is. It shouldn’t surprise you when he appears beside you all fatal rage on a quiet lead, narrowly fixed to you. 

Tom’s cold is his median temperature, yes, but in moments like this it’s as much for you as his handmade warmth. He’d pluck the fingers off a boy like Oliver. The digits would string eaves like icicles.

Oliver is looking between you and Tom like something terrible has dawned on him, hands urged to his pockets to soothe the flames your unveiled ties to a man seemingly singed him with.

“Riddle — Mate, I didn’t… I didn’t know she was…”

Tom’s voice is flat, edged with something that makes his monotony sound merciful. “Pity. If only you knew as much as you talked.”

Oliver’s mouth opens and closes and opens again, but wisely he settles on silence instead of excuses, and wastes no time fleeing slowly into the crowd. 

The instant he's stolen by the wave Tom's eyes are on yours and they’re molten. You move to say something but his patience was for show — he’s dragging you by the arm out of the common room and into one of the dungeon's empty classrooms without giving you the chance.

“Tom —" You start to protest, mouth twisted in a scowl. “Tom, you're being —"

He shuts the door behind you and locks it with such delicacy your breath catches at the question of how badly he's holding himself back right now.

“I'm being what?"

“You're…" It's hard to formulate an answer when he's like this. “It was a game. Don’t pretend you weren’t playing too."

Tom inches in, chest rising with angry breaths. “A game, was it? Did he know that?"

“Did she?” you hiss.

“It certainly became apparent when she was discarded so that I might retrieve you.”

“It was as apparent to Belby, judging by the way he was left gawking.”

“And with great restraint I let him. A mercy I didn’t take his eyes so he was left without the ability.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, now I understand; the problem wasn’t the game, it’s that I played it better than you.”

He looks at you for a long time before casting a silencing charm on the room.

Oh.

Oh — your heart barrels off somewhere. You’re without it for a moment, breathless in the wake of the implication of a spell like that.

“Tom," you say politically, “It was hardly a matter of rescuing.”

He nods imperceptibly. “No, it wasn’t.”

“So we’re in agreement.”

He hums a non-answer.

Each step he takes forward, you take back. It's a peculiar way to have a conversation, but part of the game, you suppose.

Interesting he’s still playing.

You still gasp when you inevitably hit the wall, hands going to the carved edge of a windowsill.

“You’re terrible when you win,” he whispers. His lips brush your ear.

You shudder, mouth dry as you press against his shoulder. “You’re worse when you lose.”

His mouth drags down your jaw but he refuses to kiss you, still withholding something, still holding back in some terrible, electrifying way. Instead one of his hands starts to dip down your side. You shiver as he grazes the skin of your breast, exposed by the cut of your dress, and continues down your waist. His mouth traces your bare shoulder as his tongue makes a slow pass, skin beneath leaping at his careful ministrations.

With long, slender fingers he's pulling your dress off button by button, torturously slow, and you feel mocked to have cleaned it earlier. You feel foolish to have left knowing the night would have ended like this regardless.

“Tom,” you say. His name is followed by staggered breaths. Your fingers are clutching the windowsill.

The air is thick as he watches you, flesh exposed by each undone catch. And still he will not kiss you, even as his lips trail along your collarbone and you start to tug instinctively at his belt. He makes the barest sound of disapproval and spins you to face the window, your hands urged on instinct to press against the glass.

“Tom...”

He hikes your dress up your thighs. It clings to your hips, a meagre two buttons left attached to keep it from falling.

Your wand clatters as his fingers work the clasp of your bra and his teeth skim your shoulder, leaving little bites he laves at softly with his tongue. You shudder, arching into him, searching for friction. His touch traverses the shape of you and stops feather-light between your legs.

“Tom —”

“Quiet," he admonishes, a little tut.

Your skin jumps at the caress of his fingers tracing deceptively timid up your thighs, like he hasn’t done this before, like it’s care and not punishment. His favourite oxymoron: the gentlest torture, the cruelest succour.

His index draws upon the lace of your underwear and tugs it aside with a tenderness that makes you gasp. Is there a way to press harder to the glass without breaking it? Is there ever enough to grab onto when he gets like this — so singularly focused on ruining you? 

One of your hands latches onto the arm half-disappeared in your skirts instead, clinging steadfast to the white of its sleeve, your body swaying as if at sea. He keeps you steady, but this is his crown achievement: that he is all there is that can do it when you’re so singularly focused on being ruined by him.

The sinews of his forearm work imperceptibly under your fingers as he appreciates the newly unfettered flesh, two digits sliding between your legs, and he makes a satisfied sound against your shoulder at the wetness he finds there. 

You’re swallowing air with a moan stuck in your throat; too dry, you realise, and feel like you’re choking when he starts to move, gripping his arm somehow tighter.

As a rule, you know how much he loves this, but it’s tenfold under his jealousy and you think deliriously, probably wrongly, that for how much he enjoys pushing you you enjoy pushing him to get here. You’re his and he’s yours, there’s no doubt in it — but what he can reduce you to — this desperate creature, writhing and panting, trying in vain to satiate herself with a simple finger — this is the translation; the fruition of his fixations put to a person rather than a subject. This is what it is to be his.

Tom’s mouth opens in a smile at your throat, and there it feels more like bared teeth, a smile that is as animal as it is pretty. 

And still he whispers with all the affection of a lover, your name peppered between kisses.

His fingers inch inside you and curl. You’re wedged in the perfect balance of his discrepancy; your disciple and your devil. He worships you in white. He ruins you in it too.

Now his name comes out in a babble, wet, half-drooled. A nip pinches the little space beneath your ear and you clutch impossibly harder to his wrist, your free hand squeaking down the window pane as you grind on his palm. He crooks his fingers against a spot that has you seeing stars, thumb pressed to your clit in a subtle motion, and you feel yourself tip off into an unknown he aquaints you with often. In a blurry, flickering moment, the light gleams somewhere beyond the stained hues of the window. And that should be it. The edge is at your heels and you should be falling. But the sinful press of him at your back commands you to lurch against him, and when you moan for more he pulls his fingers free.

You stumble weakly into his chest, startled.

“What… What?”

“Ask me for it,” he says, his voice hoarse, markedly wanton in spite of himself. But there is hunger and there is greed. There’s a sacrificial lamb and there’s a hunted one— there’s religion and there’s Tom. He invents something that demands greater devotion.

And the sound of leather rasping serge and metal clinking metal reels your conscience in. There are no stars. There’s just him. His belt is coming undone.

“Tom.” You swallow. “I told you —”

“And I want you to ask.” He cups your jaw in his hand, thumb tracing your lower lip. “Nicely.”

Your mouth opens for him and you shiver, pressing further back for contact he doesn’t allow. Instead another small tut is whispered at your neck, relinquished to a kiss.

His finger brushes your teeth when you speak. “I want you.”

You feel him shake his head and you all but whine.

“I want you inside, Tom — need you — please.”

“Please?” he echoes mockingly.

“Please,” you say in an uneven voice, and when your tongue grazes his thumb he eases it further into your mouth with an appeased hum.

And so his zipper comes down and you hold your breath with the weight of your dress at your hips.

He pushes inside you with minimal pause, slow still, to relish the way your little pants hitch, stop, and shudder out in a broken moan; the way your breath is guided by his rhythm, how you’re shaped by him, fitted around him. You careen forward and your palms flatten on the window, trembling at the first thrust. Your fingers quiver down the glass.

Tom pulls you into him on the second, patience abandoned. His lips chase your pulse. His grip on your jaw tightens as his thumb pops free with a string of spit. He nudges deeper at a new angle, your body forced as far as it can lean back, gasping heavenward when your head falls helplessly onto his shoulder.

It’s profane. Your ears almost dull to the sound of his hips snapping against yours, the obscenity of your skin on what he offers of his, but you waver between earth and something else, brought back to him by the torturous sight of the edge he stole you from. Always brought back to him. 

He’s gripping your jaw in one hand as he pushes deeper, and your fingers are lost for purchase on his forearms, trembling to hold onto something.

When he pulls out of you at your brink again, you practically cry out. But you understand when he spins you around again, hiking you up against the windowsill, your shoulders hitting the cool glass with a gasp you barely register in the fog of your desperation. His eyes are dilated to midnight rings. The weight of his desire is frightening. The insistence to claim you better yet.

He wastes no time before slamming into you again, pausing at the hilt to watch your eyebrows wrench together before resuming his pace. When your mouth falls open, he swallows the noise that tries to come out of it.

It doesn’t feel like a kiss. It feels like the prolusion to a bite.

His fervour is all the reminder of how you got here in the first place; the teeth, the force, the grip on your waist. There’s a rough sound he makes in your mouth that you taste more than you hear. The vibration of him is everywhere. You’re too hot and it only occurs to you because your fingers are clawing at fabric instead of skin that he’s fully dressed and your last button has finally snapped, lace pooled on the classroom floor as he fucks you. The thought is consigned to oblivion as quickly as it came. It doesn't matter.

You're clutching at his shoulders, the nape of his neck — trying to kiss him back, but you feel torn in two by the intensity of his ministrations, a low, immolating pressure building in your abdomen. He’s proving something with you, and his is a relentless, unending appetite. You don't really stand a chance. You think you've known that from the start.

Tom is all-consuming. Tom is a force of nature, a whirlwind that sweeps over you. He leaves you breathless and somehow needing more as he wraps his hand around the small of your back and seizes you in place.

Still you find yourself wanting to be held tighter.

“T-Tom —" you sob through the kiss but he doesn't give you enough air to do it. He pushes harder, a rasp at the back of his throat, some carnal thing. He’s not withholding your release now; he’s spurring you towards it.

When he withdraws his lips from yours, his brows are furrowed in concentration. There’s a fine lustre of sweat on his forehead, stray curls pulled across dark, wicked eyes. The sight of him alone is condemnable, but it isn’t for you.

He likes to watch you like this. When your moans dissolve to the torn syllable of his name, again and again. The veneration. Your choked litanies.

You give them to him.

Sleeves drawn up by your body’s baser instinct for skin, you’ve carved a canvas of praise into his arms, marked up to his elbows where your fingers had jerked upward to rake at his back. This time, when you find the cliffside, nothing stops you from teetering off its edge. Flames dance across your skin in an explosion, your collar damp and bitten, your waist in Tom’s vice-like grip. One hard thrust and you’re falling.

The stars are blinding. You decide then they were made by him.

Your head lulls back as shocks of pleasure course through your body, the coil snapped, the hard shape of him inside you demanding impossibly for more. You stumble through the light, vision blurred, praying and praying and praying. His grip comes to find your jaw again.

You keen, addled through the ecstasy, barely conscious of the way his panted breaths hitch at the sight of you in his hands, soft-eyed and puddy.

He always comes apart soon after you, but it happens rarely that your body is so taut on the wire of rapture that his twitching inside you takes you with him. 

This time it does.

You sink against him, thighs numb and wet, one hand slipping dumbly from his figure and swiping across condensation-foggy glass. The second orgasm is an aftershock of the first. It’s slow. It feels like being caught from the last fall. You land in Tom’s arms and they’re holding you through whitened knuckles. His eyelashes flutter, ink-dipped twines of quills, and he steals the shaky sigh from your mouth by pressing it to his.

You kiss lazily and softly. The room feels sheeted in static. The electricity lingers on both of you.

It’s hard not to fall against the window when he slides out of you. You slump on quivering legs into his chest instead, heaving, spend trickling down your legs.

Tom holds you close, adjusting his trousers before sinking down to settle you on his lap. He wipes the sweat from your face and presses his lips to the feverish skin it plastered. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin, whispers of your name down your jaw like a prayer answered. Your eyelids flutter shut and he kisses you there, too. His lashes tickle.

You love him more than you worship him. You think he likes that more.

He grabs your forsaken dress from the floor and slips it over your bare shoulders, summoning the snapped button back in place before he begins to meticulously clasp the rest together again. His mouth leaves a path at the skin under each one before it closes, and you hum in dizzy gratitude.

“That was,” you say in a very worn voice, “a terrible way to reinforce not making you jealous.”

He glares at you from one of the lowermost buttons and you giggle sleepily, curling a hand into his hair. “Don’t look at me like that. You liked it too.”

He leans back up at that, tipping your chin with his fingers, gaze darting over the wrecked state of you with a pleased gleam in his eyes. “You liked it? What a modest interpretation.”

Now it’s your turn to glare.

He is what he is — pursuit of buttons forgotten as you’re laid down on the moonlit floor to be reminded just how much you liked it.

taglist. @lyis @indimoss @poddzi @esolean @d1anna @maripositanoctruna @mentally-in-northern-italy @ronniemaximoff1234 @moobell55 @jaerang @ramayantika @saltwaterbythesea @acube07 @togenabi @adazito @kitcat334 @blaurghhh @shutupfinn @jaymeeshayden @lilu842 @leaosee @garfunkelworld @definitely-not-captain-america @multiplefandomstan @mangoesareorange [ note: inexplicably, a bunch of my tags aren't working. i tried to fix it but if you didn’t get a notif i’m sorry! ]

[witchofthesouls]

I'm going to follow up on the fantasy-horror thoughts to be expanded Transformers, so-

Medical/Biological Horror

I haven't really seen takes about established Cybertronian medical biology and the complications with the "humans into Cybertronians" trope.

Like we see the heavy emphasis on T-cogs across the iterations and how it's deeply connected to independence, identity, and person-hood, so how about an ex-human that lacks a T-cog?

Ironically, T-cogs have a lot of emphasis on that particular organ is similar to human hearts in terms of emotional, cultural, physical, and physical capabilities and significance. Similar to how humans are capable of donating hearts to others, Cybertronians can perform an equivalent procedure with T-cogs. (On a related side note, the phenomenon of 'cellular memory' has to be extremely appalling to the mechanical species. Not in the sense of upcycling parts, but in the sense that the organs, frame, and equipment still retain the echos of the last person to the point that it influences the new body.)

Imagine that once human inside a medbay as the medics tutted and sadly inscribe their new medical file about their new monoformer status. What a shame, they said. They could have been an excellent addition to (insert whatever frame kibble visible that correlates to a function), they said. Poor thing! With that kind of extrasensory equipment, they'll be a walking target, they said.

So that monoformer with no kibble or those visible beastformer traits without the means to completely escape... What. A. Shame.

Until a random Cybertronian sees that monoformer casually wheeling around with heelies. It's easy to wave away as a reinvention of training wheels, but then they notice those heelies disappear back into the monoformer's frame. The ex-human still has no T-cog. Sweat breaks out because said ex-human had done the fucking impossible.

They're paying closer attention now. They're seeing little micro-transformations happening. The subtle signs of a frame shifting to accommodate an area or space, the way fingertips would sharpen too easily with a file or with a raw cut as a tip is used to scrape away at something, the seams expanding and contracting, so something is happening, they just can't tell...

While this can overlap with the body/psychological horror aspect, I say we should take it more extreme. There had been takes with dysphoria, particularly with the play between mechanical parts and human organs, the differences in senses, and if 'sticky sexual interfacing' is part of it, then sexual hardware of both sets.

However, what about acceptance? The exploration of feeling truly at home in your own new skin? Even if it's high-tech and something out of a sci-fi film/video game with a platform that's incomprehensible because you don't understand the language it uses, but guess what? You can download a packet to fully comprehend a new language. You may not be fluent or comfortably at ease with speaking, but you can read and understand what's being said. A possibility of delving into human disabilities that translate into something easily curable or nonexistent or have well-established accommodations in a Cybertronian framework. Something like hormonal disorders or gastrointestinal issues due to upset gut biome would be wiped clean. Poor/limited eyesight can be compensated with a visor that can't be easily removed or taken away or the additional sensors that provide environmental data. Cybertron has a form of sign language with chirolinguistics where communication is done "by stimulating the nervecircuits in the fingers, wrist and palm of their conversational partner. It seems to be fairly common to know at least a little hand." TFWiki page And it pairs well with internal comms that double as cell phones or an unique user on platform where a Cybertronian can live chat or text another.

A massive tradeoff for this kind of comfort? You now have a visible soul.

Think about it, your soul can be directly handled, as in someone can physically go mess with your most distilled sense of self.

Humanity had long debated the existence of it via philosophy, spiritually, scientifically as well. The heart is the most recent popular choice, but major historical contenders had been the stomach and the mind as well as arguments of the soul isn't found in one specific organ but rather the bridge between them.

People swear by souls and the afterlife. There are many myths and legends that involve souls. Even the most doubtful had been deeply raised in a cultural framework of the concept via media usage, figurative speech, religious imagery, and depictions in art.

That has to be the most mind-blowing and deeply unsettling reality a former human must accept.

I see the comparisons of sparkeaters to vampires as they both prey on the living, but the more apt description should be the product of Harry Potter with Dementors as those Dark creatures eat souls.

So this touches on another genre-

Supernatural Horror

Human adaptability combined with the Earth transformation myths/magic would deeply terrify modern Cybertronians as those new cybered beings don't fit the established medical reality they function with.

This can easily tie very well with expanding Cybertronian folklore of otherworldly beings of their version of fae, demons, spirits, or yōkai. Beautiful, terrible beings that mimick Cybertronians too well... unless to look closer: the shadow missing or not matching (can be tied to Unicron), conflicting kibble, EM fields too wild with a chaotic rhythm no one else can match, colors that change to suddenly, a strange wardrobe (made of deaf creatures) that ripples and warps without a breeze, an mechanimal with too much intelligence glittering in its optics...

I'm not even fully delving into the rampant chaos of ex-humans having a host of adaptations suited for tolerating far more ranges of environmental stress and disease-resistance due to the rapid evolution by organic life compared to Cybertronian fauna. Remember, humans are animals. Highly intelligent apex predators that specialize in endurance/persistent pursuit with strong social and communal behaviors, and the cleverness to suit the environment from aquatic to deserts to wetlands to forests to grasslands to tundra. Humanity found ways to not just survive but to thrive in those biomes.

This opens a potential storyline where cybered humans become Cybertron's extremophiles, so that can easily translate into those beings capable of manipulating their own selves to a multitude of frames and shapes.

The example above with the human to monoformer was a show in how transformation mechanisms could be different between the species. If T-cogs are an inherently modern Cybertronian biological trait, then cybered!Earth natives should be either throwbacks or have another approach to it.

And that's the more muted fuckery, but what about straight-up transformations that were deemed unthinkable? Where unnatural formations keep twisting upon themselves, collapsing just to rise higher and higher? The sudden appearance of not one or two extra limbs, but dozens, even hundreds without a sequence as they try to compute how the hell they pull all that mass from nowhere? Armor plating, sure and steady, then turning into a substance that swallows everything and anything as a solid becomes a liquid.

The repression technology may or may not even work as it targets the frame's T-cog. What can it do to a mecha that doesn't have one?

Another aspect overlooked is the animal-human relationship in domestication of wild animals or how communities form symbiotic relationships with different kinds of wild fauna. Combined humanity's collective love for highly dangerous creatures... Wouldn't it be absolutely sick as hell if cyber!human got a sparkeater as their companion? It's still a wild 'animal,' not a fully tame one like a domesticated animal, so they're trying to tedtalk on a human's approach to curating a stable relationship with a predatory species while the rest of the Cybertronians are basically dead-white from sheer fright.

Or on the opposite yet equally delightful spectrum of said exhuman caring for orphaned creatures that reminds them of human pets (like a bunny or a mouse), but those 'cute babies' usually cause massive structural damage to city-states and a known mech-killer. Something like a Scraplet (because, let's be real, deep in your heart, you know a person that would try to keep it as a pet and succeed at it), so their tedtalk about behavioral training, 'reasonable precautions,' and emotional/physical fulfillment is filled with scientists who's curiosity (slightly to completely) overtakes any sense of self-preservation.

[starcrossedkey]

L’appel du vide   

It called to him, sometimes.

Danny first noticed it late one night while unloading the thermos into the Zone. It had called him, then, and by the time he realized something was wrong he was already halfway into it. It terrified him to the point where he refused to enter the basement without Sam or Tucker with him for about two weeks afterwards. He never told them why. 

He didn’t need to worry them. And over the few weeks after the incident, Danny reasoned himself into believing that he was just tired. The next time he entered the basement alone he pretended that the faint pull towards the Zone was his imagination.

Eventually Danny accepted the calling as reality. Sometimes, it was easy to ignore. Other times, he found himself mesmerized by the opening. It was hard to pull himself away on those days, and even harder to pull his thoughts away from how inviting it looked, and how maybe he could visit for just a moment. Danny knew that if he allowed himself to be swept away by the call, even if just for a moment, he would never be able to return. It should have scared him, yet it filled him with excitement. He had to list out all the reasons why he couldn’t before that feeling would even begin to dull, and block it out with some mindless task or action before it faded away completely. But the next time he would be called towards the Zone, it would feel stronger.

Danny was afraid of when it would become strong enough to win.

[cloudninetonine]

Cogito, ergo sum

Pairing: Connor (RK800) x fem!reader (Eventually)

Summary: Humanity seems to be at the midst of a dawning of a new age and they’re using fire against fire to stop it. It’s a real shame for you that the fire is kinda cute.

A/N: Hi, so, there is no reason for this except that I was hit with the urge to rewatch D:BH and fell in love with Connor again so I wanted to write out my feelings. If people want more please tell me because I don’t want to write a fic that no one even likes.

Also, notes for future readers. I tend to lean towards a British reader, because I myself am British and find it easier to write like that, I don’t understand America one single bit so you bet your arse there are going to be inaccuracies that will make Americans cringe. Still hope you enjoy it tho.

Warnings: Bad language (That’s it, for now)

Undercut for convience

"What's up fuckers!?"

Connor’s gaze is still focused on Hank’s as the older man’s demeanor shifts, with a small quirk of his lips resembling something similar to a smile and rolling his eyes, he glances towards the entrance of the department and from what the android could see, many others did also, most sharing similar expressions of exasperated amusement while some just looked downright tired.

He’s quick to follow the many stares of his new colleagues, turning in his seat to get a look at the figure who literally seems to roll into the room, a box of donuts within their hands.

Det. (Last) (Name)

DOB: (MM/DD/2002) // Police Det.

Criminal records: N/A

It’s on instinct that he scans you, it’s part of his protocol after all, so he makes sure to scan every part of you, his LED flashing a concentrating yellow as the information falls in.

It stops, however, when he notices one of your arms. He doesn’t miss it, of course he doesn’t, he’s way too clever for that, but he does marvel, because he notices that it’s not human skin that decorates the limb, but synthetic like his own and he finds himself scanning deeper-

"I've downed three cans of Monster Energy and I'm ready to fight God!"

‘What an odd thing to declare’ is what pops into Connor's mind, interrupting his own little investigation in favour of narrowing his eyes quizzically towards your approaching form that has your own eyes focused on his partner sat across from him, an almost sadistic grin plastered on your face.

It is a sadistic one, of course, Hank knows that, you know that, the whole department knows it. You’ve always seemed to show a more malicious glee with him, like a bratty child with their parents, like a moth to a flame. If anything, he expects his day to get about 2x more painful than he needs, as shown with that stupid hunk of metal sitting across from him and he knows you’re going to enjoy every single second of it.

God save his fucking soul.

You stop just a few inches away from Hank's desk with a smile almost blinding bright, kicking in your heelys like you had done millions of times previously before bowing towards the older man, box held out towards him.

"Donut, my liege?"

He easily picks out his favourite, a famous Homer donut decorated with pink icing and multi-colour sprinkles, quitely grunting out "Thanks" as he bites down onto the treat, turning back to the computer screen.

But maybe, just maybe, your focus will be shifted today.

"But of course" Then, turning towards Connor, still bowed at the hip, you speak again "And one for you, my good sir?"

It took Connor a moment to realise, despite it being quite obvious, that you’re talking to him and his LED flashes a vibrant red when he finally opens his mouth to speak, politeness lacing his tone.

"Thank you, but I don't need to eat"

The phrase stumps you, because, well, why wouldn't someone not need to eat, so you raise your head "What-"

And you get your answer.

And Hank gets his relief for the moment.

It takes what Connor counted was a single second for your face to change from confusion to utter delight, a gasp followed by cry of what he decided was excitement at the sight of him, dropping the donut box altogether and resulting in Hank cussing up a storm when they nearly came tumbling out onto his desk.

"(Name), be careful, for fucks sake!"

But you’re not listening, no, why would you be listening to the old geezer? Instead, your hands are tightly grasping the sides of the android's face, tugging his head gently in different directions as to study him, your eyes bright with a spark of joy.

It was odd, no one had ever looked at him like that.

Software instability.

"Jesus Christ, woman, stop being fucking weird" Hank mutters off with a growl, watching the scene with an obvious look of irritation, "Just an android, we see 'em every fucking day"

"But a new model!" You cry, words were aimed towards Connor more than anything as you finally pulled away, although, quickly you raced to the desk opposite to him, rolling over a desk chair- your desk chair and collapsing onto it with a smile, resting your head in your hands, memorised. "I've never seen your handsome face before, stranger"

Hank physically gags.

"Hello, detective" Connor parrots his line, his phrase and of course slips in your rank because he had obviously been scanning you since you appeared in his line of vision. He already knows a majority about you and you don't even know his name, nevermind model.

It's just so amazing.

"My name is Connor. I am the android sent by Cyberlife." You're pretty sure the smile he gives you is akin to a murderer more than a friend "It's nice to meet you, officially"

Your hand comes up, pinching the synthetic skin of his cheek.

What a puppy, such an adorable boy, he looks so confused, eyes focused on the fingers keeping his fake skin hostage while you coo at him unprofessionally, Hank close to grabbing the gun from his jacket and shooting you right where you sat.

"You are just adorable, Connor"

After a moment, Connor finally reacts, hand reaching up to grasp yours and pull it away gently "Thank you, detective"

"Please, you can just call me (Name)" The smirk slides on easy, as does the wink you send him "Hope you don't mind if I call you handsome, do you?"

If Connor had learned anything about you from these first few minutes, it's that he doesn't truly understand you at all. You're flamboyant, that much is obvious, but your flamboyance leaves nothing but a screen blocking what you're really like, leaving Connor stumped on what you might do next.

That's what he concludes when instead of answering, or staying silent, he stumbles over his words and watches when you laugh, leaning over to grab a donut from the box.

What an interesting character you are.

Interesting indeed.

“(Name)!” At the sound of Fowler’s voice, you turn with a still ever-so-friendly grin and a call of ‘Boss!’, jumping from you seat. Crumbs of donut fall from your mouth and you swallow, only to hack up a storm straight after.

Fowler scowls “My office, now”

You throw the duo a wink before skipping over to the captain’s office.

“Don’t mind her” Hank finally speaks and it grabs Connor’s attention, the android shifting his gaze from your form to his partner’s, the old man reaching for another donut. “She’s nuts”

“She seems....” His database searches for the word “pleasant”

“If you think that you must be fucking broken, stupid android”

It’s only after 10 minutes you return, a grin so wide Hank’s near damn sure it’s going to split your face into two while Connor tilts his head, like a puppy, an oh so cute puppy.

“Guess who’s partnership just became a trio?”

“....Mother fucker-”

[twstmischief]

Master List Pt. 2

Dorm Leaders

Dorm Leader Meeting A KeyBlade Weilder

Tickling

MC Potential For Having Magic

S/O Singing Disney Songs

Poisoned S/O

Soft Spoken S/O Argues With Headmaster

Running Away From An Arranged Marriage

Male S/O Wearing Feminine Clothes

Cute but Strong MC

S/O Sitting On Their Lap Wanting Attention

Petting Creature Like A Puppy

Stressed S/O

Kuudere S/O Showing Emotion

Vice Dorm Leaders

Sleepwalker MC

MC Killed Crowley Dressed As Santa

Gyaru!MC

MC That Has Tickle Spots

S/O On Their Period

MC That’s Really Flirty

Stressed S/O

First Years

Pocky Game With The First Years (Int.)

Taking Care of Kid!First Years

MC That Can Sing

MC That Was Famous

S/O That’s A Cuddle bug

Gyaru Kogal!MC (Int.)

Cute & Innocent But Strong Reader

MC Has Them Learn About Heelys

MC Calling Malleus Tsunotaro

MC with no shame

Mom Friend MC Wrangling Them Up

Kisses!

Animal Crossing MC

S/O Getting Hit With A Magic Disc

Heartslabyul

General

Wearing Their Dorm Clothes

Meeting Parents

MC That Now Has Magic

Riddle

First Years Liking Their Sibling Pt. 2

Attending Ball With S/O

S/O That Likes To Fluster Them

Overblot MC

MC T-Posing

S/O Easily Flustered

Klutzy M/C

Airhead S/O

Ace

MC That Can Sing and Dance

S/O That Likes Spicy Food

Beating him with a lamp

Deuce

MC Helping Deuce

MC That Can Sing and Dance

Cafe Date

MC T-Posing

S/O Easily Flustered

Klutzy M/C

Trey

Crush Asking Them To Reject Them

Cater

S/O That Likes Spicy Food

Taking Care of Child!

Savanaclaw

General

Jealous of S/O’s New Pet

MC Eating The Meat Of Their Animals (???)

Leona

First Years Liking Their Sibling Pt. 2

DNA Test (Int.)

Ruggie

Crush Asking Them To Reject Them

MC T-Posing

S/O Easily Flustered

Klutzy M/C

Airhead S/O

Jack

Octavinelle

General

Sad S/O

Azul

S/O That Likes To Fluster Them

Overblot MC

Airhead S/O

Jade

MC Eating The Meat of Their Animal (???)

Floyd

MC Eating The Meat of Their Animal (???)

S/O That Likes Spicy Food

Taking Care of Child!

Scarabia

General

MC That Can Sing and Dance

Kalim

Gentle Giant S/O

Jamil

Crush Asking Them To Reject Them

Cafe Date

Pomefiore

General

Hiding a Puppy (Scenario)

Vil

First Years Liking Their Sibling

Attending Ball With S/O

Vil/Rook Poly

S/O Has A Nightmare

Rook

Vil/Rook Poly

S/O That Likes Spicy Food

S/O Has A Nightmare

Epel

MC That Can Sing and Dance

MC T-Posing

Ignihyde

General

Ortho Tells MC About Idia’s Crush (?)

Idia

Ortho

Diasomnia

General

Malleus

First Years Liking Their Sibling

Attending Ball With S/O

S/O That Likes Spicy Food

S/O That Likes To Fluster Them

Small Dragon S/O

Klutzy M/C

Airhead S/O

Lilia

S/O That Likes To Fluster Them

Klutzy M/C

Grabbing Attention

Silver

Taking Care of Child!

Sebek

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.1]

Masterlist

Everything had played out like the rising action in a horror movie. And before the whole world's eyes, life on Earth had slowed to a snail-like crawl. Covid 19 was ravaging through cities and countries faster than a salmonella outbreak at a restaurant even Gordon Ramsay couldn't attempt to save. It was terrifying to watch, and even more terrifying to see work and interaction dry up so quickly. Especially for those who relied on social interaction to stay sane.

Luckily for Remington, he happened to be stuck with his brother when quarantine measures went into full effect.

It was no big deal living with Emerson, if anything, it was relatively more calm with two out of the three of them sharing a space. Sebastian and Larissa were staying well and safe in their own house, popping by now and again at the gate to check in on his little brothers. No doubt, it sucked. The album was pushed back, the tour called off, the only thing keeping the hype for 'The Bastards' release was social media.

At least Remington had comfort in the fact that he wouldn't have to endure this quarantine alone. Living in his own house all by himself, he'd probably drive himself up the wall and find himself hanging off the rafters (literally).

Tuesday morning was bright and warm, as they tended to be in LA. Emerson was sat comfortably at the kitchen table, drinking his usual cup of tea and reading the depressing headlines coming out of the news. Pepper was curled up at his feet, snoring softly and her little marshmallow body rising steadily. The neighbourhood was quiet, it always was, but it was especially tranquil these spring days in April. He simpered sardonically when he read the latest quote from the president, promising that the pandemic would pass come July.

His attention was gripped suddenly when he heard the low squeal of car tires. The youngest brother glanced outside the window, his dark eyes falling over the little blue Waivecar that had pulled up at the opposing apartment complex. Those cars had been coming back and forth for the last four days, with the same girl coming and going. And at night, the apartment facing the house would keep the lights on until two or three in the morning, but she wasn't partying. The most noise this girl made was the hum of her radio drifting out of an open window.

Clearly, whoever she was, she was still in the weeds of moving. Perhaps when she was settled, Emerson would go by and introduce himself, make her feel welcome. Considering how warm the climate was, this particular neighbourhood had a tendency to be quiet cold and private towards neighbours. No doubt many of them weren't a fan of the band and their at home antics.

Emerson was startled when his brother came bounding in, dressed in the same moppy grey sweats he had been practically living in for weeks. Thank goodness he wasn't wearing his heelys this time around; the other day he had crashed into the couch and flipped over onto the cushions, nearly smashing his head on the coffee table.

"The guys will be by in about half an hour," he said. Emerson narrowed his eyes at his older brother.

"He says as we're under strict orders from the state health officials to not see anybody," he murmured.

Remington pouted, running a hand through his evidently growing blonde hair. He pulled up a seat next to his brother, "Hey, you were the one who said it's getting too quiet around here. And besides, it's not like we're coming from opposite counties. Seb lives like four blocks down from us,"

"I'm just getting a little nervous, is all," Emerson shrugged, showing him the article on his tablet, "The numbers are still going up,"

"And they'll keep going up until they find a cure. And while they're doing that, we're going to be in the backyard playing soccer and eating pizza," Remington smiled.

"Who said we're having pizza?"

"I did. I just decided,"

"Maybe I want Mexican? Did you think about that?"

Across the street in the fresh red brick and black-trimmed apartment, three floors up from the ground and in direct line of the sun sat Eva. The twenty-four-year-old literary bachelor sat comfortably at her newly furnished desk, typing away at her laptop that was due for a battery change -- Eva just hadn't found the time to physically take it into the store. On her right she had a lukewarm cup of coffee, on the left her speaker which was softly blasting Tove Lo's new album. All the while, her bony fingers flew over the keyboard, her big stormy blue eyes skimming the words that sprinted across her document.

Eva got by as a writer, not a novelist or a poet, but as a ghost writer. She was hired to write materials for would-be authors and journalists, all of whom either didn't have the drive or commitment to write to the extent Eva did. Surprisingly, she made some pretty good money just off that. And while that work tended to be dry and bleak, Eva had spent her free time writing various fanfictions -- mostly for Hannibal and Criminal Minds. She happened to be quite prolific on Tumblr because of her literary fantasies.

And while her work was often isolating, Eva didn't live alone by any means. She had her pale tabby, Pluto, to keep her company. He was snoozing on the couch, despite how often Eva had trained him not to do that when he was a kitten.

She had just returned from an early morning run from the grocery store -- having learned the hard way that despite the pandemic, people will continue to flock to the stores in droves and it's almost impossible to social distance within them. As if moving out of her old apartment wasn't hard enough, now she had to deal with hastily late movers, jumbled lease agreements, and a pandemic.

In the throws of bittersweet silence, Eva's concentration was broke when a shrill alarm had her nearly jumping out of her seat. It was only her phone, the screen lighting up with a 'Blocked' ID. Eva smiled wickedly and declined the call.

The young writer pushed her rolley chair away from the desk and did a stretch, her head turning towards the house across the street. She figured a couple of frat boys shared the place, they had a few of their friends over from time to time but they were relatively quiet. The most she would hear out of them is some smack talk coming from the backyard.

Pluto's head popped up from the couch, then he leapt onto the floor and trotted over to the window sill, hopping up to spy on the unfamiliar car that was pulling up to the house. Eva could hardly care less. There was a statewide order to see only a small group of people as little as possible, and as long as the neighbours wouldn't bother her, she wouldn't bother them.

It was a shame, as if having to meet new people wasn't difficult enough for her...

A few hours passed and soon the silence in the Los Angeles neighbourhood was broken by the grunts and thwacks of a backyard game of pool basketball. The boys and a few of their friends were all the more engaged in their game while their girls sat aside on deck chairs under the beating sun. Under the shade of the pergola, their friend Andrew was grilling some sausages -- beef and tofu -- on the barbecue.

Remington was taking the piss out of Sebastian for being all over his girl, but who the hell could blame the kid? There was a new rush of life in the guitarist's face whenever the topic of Larissa came up. The same could be said for Emerson and Shy. Remington wouldn't dare admit he was a little jealous of his brothers' happiness, so he'd settle for loving his brothers but torturing them at every opportunity.

Breaking out from the cold water, Emerson gripped tightly to the rubber red ball in his hand. Just as Sebastian came to take a running dive into the pool, he reared the ball back and hucked it at his older brother, nailing him square in the chest. Instead of a graceful dive, Sebastian flailed sideways and crashed into the water. The ball ricocheted onto the deck and bounced away towards the front yard.

"Oh my God!"

"Emerson!" Shy scolded, a little horrified and yet not surprised at her boyfriend's actions. Sebastian broke out of the water and shook his hair out of his eyes. It was more his pride and the laughter of his friends that hurt than the fading sting of rubber against skin.

Emerson meanwhile just giggled happily as he high-fived Remington.

"You guys fucking suck!" Sebastian glowered at the younger boys.

At the same time, Eva had given up on work for the day. As random as it was, she decided she'd try to make bread: the apparent trend that was surging during this quarantine. She bought all the things she would need this morning.

Stepped a few feet into the kitchen, she pushed open the window a brisk breeze flooding in and freshening up the air. Her attention was skewed to the house across the street, hearing some mild echoes of conversation and the thrum of a radio in the air.

She went to gather her ingredients and tools, however, as she turned to fetch an apron she realized something was missing: the patter of feet behind her. Pluto was usually Eva's shadow whenever he was in the kitchen, always the opportunistic cat he was. However, he wasn't on the couch. He wasn't in his bed. He wasn't snooping around in her closet or hiding under the desk.

"Where'd the ball go?" Daniel called, clinging to the ledge of the pool.

"I'll get it" Remington swam to the ladder and pulled himself out of the water. He shook out his sopping blonde hair, unintentionally shaking his ass in his colorful swim trunks. Their friend, Michael, whistled from the pool. Remington only smirked on him.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, hunny," he sassed, waving his hand and ducked off to fetch the ball.

Puzzled, Eva grabbed Pluto's favorite bag of cat treats and shook it, the sound was always able to bring him out -- when he was within ten feet of the treats. The fact that he didn't appear told Eva that he must've gone out the window once again to wreak havoc.

With an irritated huff, she switched out her house slippers for her sandals and hightailed it out with the bag of treats.

The red rubber pool ball had rolled across the grass and lodged itself into a bush at the fence. Remington was awash in frigid goosebumps, not even the California heat could will away the pool's chill quick enough. Nevertheless, he crawled down and retrieved the ball from the brambles, swatting off what little dirt he could. However, his fixation swerved to the complex across the street when he heard a heavy slam.

"Pluto!" a young girl came charging out of the apartment complex, dressed in a slightly wrinkled white t-shirt and her jaw-length hair swivelled smoothly around her face as she frantically looked up and down the street, "Pluto!" she was shaking a little yellow bag.

Remington looked up and down the quiet street, almost expecting to see Pluto the Dog standing at the corner like Cartoon Cat. He glanced down quizzically at the ball, then back at the young woman.

Eva rubbed the stress lines on her forehead out of pure frustration. This wasn't the first time Pluto ran off, he always came back. However, the damn cat would always find ways to stir up trouble; rowling up dogs, plucking fish from little ponds, scratching at hanging laundry.

"Pluto!!" she shook the bag of treats.

"Hey!" Remington called, waving his hand to the stranger, "You alright?"

Eva glanced at the owner of that soft, yet scratchy voice. She hadn't even noticed the bleach blonde kid standing in the glint of the sun. Eva crossed the street and stood a few feet from the gate, keeping more than two meters distance.

"I'm sorry. Have you happen to see a cat running around? He's a pale tabby, couple black stripes, likes to chew shoes," she shrugged.

Remington only shook his head, "Sorry. I'm afraid not," he smiled sheepishly, "Did -- did you say he was a cat?"

"Yeah,"

"And you named your cat 'Pluto'? Like -- the dog?"

Eva smirked, but shook her head, unable to help but glance at the tattoos that crossed over this boy's torso, "He's named after The Black Cat," she said, "You ever read Edgar Allan Poe?"

Remington smiled sheepishly, "Oh right, right! I haven't read that in a while, actually. He named the cat after the Roman God for death,"

Eva smiled pleasantly, not having pegged this boy to know so much about EAP, "That's right. I wanted a black cat to fit with the theme but the damn tabby stole my heart,"

"He knew what he was doing, obviously," Remington grinned, "I'll keep an eye for him though, if I happen to --" he was cut short however when he heard Pepper start yapping from the backyard. The yapping was followed by the clanging of metal and a screeching yrowl.

"What the fuck?" Andrew suddenly shouted, “Where’d this cat come from!?”

Panic flooded over Eva's face and Remington didn't think twice to open the gate and let her in. Social distancing aside, they two of them rushed into the backyard to find a tray of sausages had crashed onto the floor, the meat had rolled everywhere. Shy clung to Pepper as the little pomeranien yapped and growled incessantly at the scruffy tabby on the patio table, back arched and hissing at the dog while he guarded his captured sausage.

Eva was understandably horrified.

"What the hell happened here?" Remington asked, just as in shock over the mess.

"Cat came out of nowhere and dive bombed our lunch!" Daniel replied, having just crawled out of the pool.

"Pluto!" Eva ran to the table and scooped up the snarling cat, Pepper was still yapping away, "What is the matter with you?" she scolded at Pluto before turning to Remington and Andrew, who still wielded the metal tongs in his hand, "I am so frickin' sorry!"

"No, no, it's okay," Andrew shook his head, glancing at the lost sausages longingly, "I was kind of craving sushi, anyways,"

"It's no big deal, honestly," Remington assured her, "Five second rule applies, I'm sure,"

"It's been about thirty-seven seconds," Sebastian spoke flatly.

"Since when were you counting?"

Larissa was the only one who didn't seem annoyed or surprised at the feline intruder. She smiled warmly at the young girl, "Is this your cat?"

"Unfortunately," Eva grinned sheepishly, "I should know better. He's in a new area and he tends to get into trouble. Also, if anyone happens to lose a shoe, he did it, and I'm apologizing in advance," she pointed a finger at the now calmed tabby.

Shy smiled, "Well, Pepper's no better. She tends to think she's a way bigger dog," she held up and coddled the fluffy pomeranian. Eva smiled awkwardly, only now noting that she forgot to grab a face mask. And here she was: in a backyard full of strangers in a pandemic.

"Wait, I recognize you," Emerson said, "You just moved across the street, right?"

"Yeah, that's me. Eva," she nodded, "Great first impression, right?"

"You couldn't do any worse than Curcio over here," Sebastian grinned, "Remember the split pants?"

"You're going to hang that over my head for the rest of my life, aren't you?" Daniel glowered.

"Maybe," Emerson turned back to Eva, "I'm Emerson, that's Sebastian, Daniel, Larissa, Michael, Shy, Andrew... and you've already met Remington, I see,"

"The best looking one," Remington grinned.

Eva nodded, "Well, it was very nice meeting you all, I should get going, though. And again, I'm so sorry about the cat,"

Remington shrugged, "It's just sausages. We can get more," he assured her, "Here, I'll walk you out,"

"Thanks," Eva smiled, keeping Pluto close to her chest as she passed Shy and Pepper. Pepper gave one last fleeting bark as the cat passed by. Pluto simply licked his lips.

Michael couldn't help but lean over as he caught one last glance at the new neighbour, then turning to Emerson, "How come you get the pretty neighbour?"

The drummer shrugged, reaching over to grab the rubber ball that Remington dropped at the end of the pool, "Dumb luck?"

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Termination Evaluation.”

Starting to heat things up since the last post.. I hope you all enjoy :)

It w  the day of the intergalactic peace summit, another annual event (or the equivalent to what annual was) in intergalactic standardized time. With his rising position in importance with the GA as Commander of all interstellar military operations, Vir advised (expected) to attend. Sunny and Krill came with as was expected, both as members of his crew and as holding important significance when it came to intergalactic relations. Conn was there too having been invited by the GA despite telling him that he had no way to speak for his people, and that it was unlikely, even if he could, that they would ever say yes to such a disagreement.

Commander Vir was speaking with one of the Iotin representatives. For both the comfort and safety of some of the representatives in the room, he was wearing gloves, and a surgical mask practically marinated in vics so he wouldn’t be able to smell any of the Iotins, who were, understandably, uncomfortable with the fact that their natural scent was so enticing to humans.

Otherwise he was dressed in his military best, to match both UN and UNSC representatives. 

Krill was proud of the Commander, he had come a long way when it came to social maturity, probably as a side effect of having to spend so much time involved in politics.

He could, now, hold his own with the best of them , serious and frowning as was expected of him. 

Of course, Vir would always be Vir, so krill doubted he would ever grow out of his more private juvenile side. He had, in fact, just ordered a pair of heelies online for kicks and giggles after all, not that anyone minded really, it would have been a real shame if he had gone and changed THAT much.

Either way it was good to see, and Krill was happy to let the human and Sunny do most of the talking. Though she was not a member of the GA representatives, her acceptance onto a UNSC ship, and her relationship with general Cosma had spurred her into quiet notoriety. She was, in essence, the representation of what good a working relationship between Drev and Humans could be.

As for Krill, well, he was content to hang out in the background and simply watch. He was only a doctor after all and had no significant importance when it came to matters of politics. Growing bored with his position towards the side of the room, he carefully past by the commander, who, now, had a small group of delegates gathered around him.

“I am telling you bad blood with the LFIL isn’t worth the internal conflict it is going to cost. If interspecies transmissible disease is what you are worried about, than its best to make it legal so that we can monitor the issue. Banning interspecies relationships isn’t going to stop them, it just means that they are going to do it under the table and not seek help if they DO get sick. The spreading of disease will be more rampant. Just ask the CDC, they have done plenty of research on the subject…..”

Krill turned his head over to where Sunny was speaking with the Drev and Celzex delegates on the specific uses of war tactics. On his right he passed by where the Vrul delegation was standing with the Gibb, and had to pause when he saw them acting strangely. As he turned to look at them, he watched as a couple backed away slightly.

He brushed it off and continued walking.

No matter.

The room was very stuffy and hot from so many bodies, so he stepped out into the hall where the air was cleaner.

“Dr. Krill.” 

He turned on the spot surprised to find the Vrul delegate standing behind him.

Off to either side, he was being flanked by two Beta handlers and their four Omega assistants. Of course he could tell which biological class each of the Vrul were. The delegat was clearly an alpha, and two beta were marked by short antenna and slightly underdeveloped hydrogen sacks. The Omega’s on the other hand were easier to spot, they had no hydrogen sacks, only numbs for antenna, and they were thick about the trunk legs and arms with barely any nec to speak of, in order to support their bulbous heads.

They were ugly but functional.

Krill looked between the group of them.

“Representative? What is this?”

The two beta handlers stepped forward flanked by their trundling Omegas, “Dr Krill. The Vrul council has sent us to speak with you considering a matter of some significance.” They looked almost nervous, and our omegas slowly began to fan outwards. If they were trying to be less obvious than it was not working .

Krill stood his ground, “Enough with this, speak your mind quickly.”

The Betas stopped in their track glancing towards the Alpha who took a step forward, “We are sorry to have to conduct this meeting at such a time and in such a manner, but this was the only time that we could catch you in person.” He looked as if he was about to step forward, but then stepped back, “It seems as if the Vrul council is rather concerned about your recent behavior.”

Krill looked on in surprise, “The council. What does my behavior have to do with the council….. Why would my behavior have anything to do with the council at all and why did it even make it that high up.”

The other alpha shook his head, “Dr. Is it really that surprising. You are one of the greatest medical minds in your field, perhaps ever, and your…. Involvement with the GA and the UNSC has caused some ripples throughout our community.”

“Ripples.” krill demanded incredulously.

“Yes, ripples. You are being called in for an evaluation.”

Krill crossed his arms in surprise, “What sort of evaluation?”

“Well….. We aren’t entirely sure yet. I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a termination evaluation ... but ...”

“But what?” Krill elt the heat now, something that the human had taught him how to do, how to feel the anger rising up through his body.

The beta’s stepped back and the Omega’s stepped forward.

“Call it, an intensive psychological evaluation to determine if you are, in fact, capable of continuing your work.”

Krill was dumbfounded, “Psychological evaluation- continuing my work. What sort of ass-backwards nonsense is that. I personally have no qualms with the council. I haven’t seen another of my species for the past year, I hold no danger to them, and take up NO resources. They have no right to discuss termination on the basis of trumped up psychological charges.”

The Alpha remained calm, though it appeared as if he was very nervous, “You are still a Vrul, and by GA agreement are still under the rules of your own species as was agreed. Furthermore your argument only leads me to believe what they suspect to be true.”

“I am arguing because they are being stupid and irrational.  There is no doubt in my mind that if they continue this course of action will cause strain throughout the Assembly. Does the council really want the Drev or the Humans as enemies? IN fact how stupid do you have to be to antagonize the TWO most  dangrous species in the galazy.”

“The Commander and the General’s daughter are hardly representative of their species, and if they know what is good for them, they will stay out of business that is not theirs.”

Krill threw his hands into the air making those that surrounded him leap back in shock and fear, “Of course they don’t know what’s good for them! That’s why I am there!. Clearly you don’t know either of them very well. Commander Vir may love his job, but he doesn't love it that much, and Sunny is generally on board with whatever stupid decision he makes.”

The Alpha continued to stand his ground, “This request is non-negotiable. You either come with us peacefully, or you will be detained.” he motioned to the four Omegas.

In that moment Krill wasn’t entirely sure if he should be insulted or flattered. They had brought four Omegas to subdue just one of him….. He had never really thought about it, but it WAS kind of flattering made him feel a little more than powerful to think that they were so afraid of him. And at the same time he wondered if they were right, he was mad, insulted even, that they would question his behavior seemed well beyond.

However, Krill was a student of logic and knew that there was no way he would be able to fight off four Omegas or even escape them. They may have thought he was a great danger to them, but he wasn’t. It was a trick that he had picked up from the commander. If you fake it hard enough, soon others will start to believe you.

He held out his hands, “No need to force anyone to do anything. He said calmly, “But I do advise that you are making a horrible political error by taking me in I have a good relationship with many humans and Drev including, but not limited to the commander and the UN representative.

“All of which are bound by the laws of GA policy.”

“Policy can be changed.”

“But it won’t.”

“Policy can also be broken. Don’t hide behind rules like those are going to protect you.” 

The omega’s had come up to his sides hemming him in between the four of them like a prison escort…. Then again that’s practically what they were.

Off down the hall there was a commotion, and the group of them looked back to see, the chairwoman, commander Vir, the UN rep, Sunny, and a few more delegates storming up the hall, commander vir at their head.

It was impossible to see his face past the surgical mask, but Krill could see in the eye the anger held there one eyebrow slanted downwards.

“What is the meaning of this.” The chairwoman began before the human could even begin speaking.”

“The Council has called the Dr. back for a critical evaluation on his mental health.”

“Were were none of us unformed on this.” A few of the other delegates demanded.

“Because this is Vrul business and the Dr is not a member of the council.” “He is a member of my crew.” The human shot back the lines around his eyes twisting into a snarl. It was probably good he was wearing a mask so the Vrul couldn’t see his barred teeth. Krill knew though.

“The council has no qualms with you, human.”

“It would be Commander and I have a feeling it does have something to do with humans.”

At his sides, the omegas were quelling before the anger of the human, perhaps they could see the anger welling up behind his eyes like the licking tongues of fire.

“The council is concerned at the psychological effects that humanity has on the Vrull. We are very concerned, and wished to take care of this matter privately, but here you have forced our hand.”

The Un representative stepped back in consternation, “The psychological effects HUMANS have? IS your council accusing us of something, representative?”

The Vrul was staying annoyingly calm though even he was growing wary around the humans, “We are not accusing you of anything more than being yourselves. You cannot change what you are any more than we can, but that still does not change the fact that you may be having an affect on members of our species.” he motioned wildly to Krill, “The doctor has shown increasingly  worrying symptoms associated with HUMAN behavior including but not limited to predatory and aggressive tendencies. We have no idea what this behavior might escalate to, and must know in order to deal with whatever consequences may arise.” 

The human waved his hands in frustration, “We…” In Annoyance he ripped the mask from his face, “Krill has been aboard OUR ship for the past few months. He has NO contact with your species, his behavior does not influence anyone.” Krill silently prayed the human wouldn’t do anything rash his sharp k-9 teeth glittering dangerously in the light above. By this point Krill knew enough to know humans didn’t generally use their teeth in a fight, but the others didn’t know that and shied away.

“To the contrary, Commander. News of his behavior has gotten out, and is causing issue in our community. I suggest you drop your involvement here and let us deal with the issue.” 

The commander opened his mouth to speak, but krill cut him off, “Be very careful, Commander, the way we handle this may well shape the future of the assembly.”

The two of them locked eyes, amber prisms to a single green orb.

And to krill, it seemed as if silent understanding passed between them. The human backed down, ad the others looked on in surprise glancing between each other.

The human lifted his chin to Krill.

The Vrul looked between them in confusion unable to determine the meaning of the silent communication.

“Very well.” the commander said backing down eyes still locked on krill, 

“Good choice, commander.”

Krill was pushed forward into a scuttling walk eyes staring at him the entire time as he moved. Passing the human he looked up.

As he looked, the muscles around the human’s eye twitched, and to anyone else it may have looked like a simple blink.

But krill knew better.

[n-anon]

Whumptober Day 5: Where Do You think You’re Going?

Description: He’s not sure where he’s going, but anywhere is better then where he was....right?

Prompts Used: On the Run, Failed Escape

TW: Creepy Anti, stitches, blood and mentions of torture

He struggled to stay standing as he leaned against a tree, he had done it, he had escaped, after who knows how long he had made a break for it, the doctors coat was torn, he had several stitches tying up his arms, he felt weak, nauseous, dizzy, he knew he didn’t have long to try to get as far away as possible. He didn’t know where he was, and he didn’t care, he just wanted away. Away from that.....Monster. He took a breath, and kept running, past several trees until a noise behind him made him freeze, static tingled in the air, “Nein....Nein....” He muttered running faster and picking up the pace.

A while later he stopped behind another tree, why was this forest...this...place? So Huge? Didn’t he pass that area already? Had he seen that particular tree before? He looked up and saw the whole forest spinning above him, around and around and around.....He groaned for a moment, shaking his head,  he had to keep moving, He must be almost far away, he’s been traveling in a straight line, theres no way- “Doctor~. Where did you go?.” He froze in his tracks when he heard the voice, high-pitched, distorted, and purring, he shuddered as he remembered the voice soothing him as his wounds were patched up, only to have him rip the stitches again, the static crawling up and down his spine as the being circled him like a lion, strings choking him and cutting into his skin, he shuddered, “Nein!” And kept moving, he had to get away he had to....

The trees above and beside him were a blur as he passed by, until he finally couldn’t handle it anymore and collapsed to the ground, his vision blurry as he coughed and it came back red, one of his stitches had reopened and was bleeding, he stared at it, “Nein....” He heard the crunch of leaves behind him, slowly and deliberately with each step, as he flinched as a hand landed on his shoulder and Anti turned him around softly, facing him, his eyes glowed an eerie green as he grinned at the broken man before him, “ Yo͘u̵'r͡e ̧f̢unǹy d̢oc.̷ You really think I would let you escape? Not until I’m done with you, puppet.” Schneep closed his eyes as he ran his claws through his hair, a tear escaping as Anti cooed into his ear, “Don’t worry doc, when we get back home, I’ll patch up that wound again, such a shame.... Ì'm̕ ҉t͘he̛ ͡on̨lý oņe ̸wh̵o ͡c͢a͏n͟ hęlp͠ ͠you͞ ŕi̷ght̴ ̕noẁ. ҉Ju͝st̀ ͞m͜e͞~. Your only shelter is me. I’m the only one keeping you safe, Schneep~.” Then, he felt Anti pick him up by the scruff of his coat, and he allowed his master to drag him back, all while his brain became more and more filled with that nice, calming static. Safe....he was saf̕e͠.....

(A/N: I slept in late so i just woke up but I hope y’all enjoy day 5 and why do I write Anti like this help me. If you wanna be added to the tag list shoot me an ask, DM, or comment below!)

Tag List: @pmaismydna @caithesavage777 @eliza-prince @innocent-angel3 @miss-covert @a-bnana @pyranoia @char-arts-occasionally @randowaffle @therealtiger77 @heely-um  @antis-gauge  @lonelyseiren @darcywillfindyou @miishae

[thewolfisapartofmysoul]

Hey lovelies,

Dewey x reader time! Going on a roller-skate date with our sweet rocking Dewey Finn. And yes... we all know Dewey would wear heelys, right? Fluff and hints to smut ahead.

Hope you enjoy 💕

Skater-boy.

"Dew!! Mister Finn! Get your rocking ass over here pleeaaaaase! I wanna gooooooo, baby!" Impatient as you was, you already finished lacing your roller skates when your boyfriend was still getting his stuff out of the car. You were done with your skates and decided your hair was only getting in the way when you sported. You reached behind your head to tie your pink locks in a bun as you heared a whistle on your left.

Ready to scold whoever had the nerves to whistle at you like you were a dog, you grinned as you watched Dewey approaching you. He took a sprint, and you literally facepalmed when you noticed he came actually rolling towards you. Was... was Dewey Finn actually... wearing heelys?! You snorted when he smoothly rolled your way, deciding that went way too smooth to be unpracticed beforehand.

Dewey stopped flawlessly an inch before your feet and winked at you: "Hey miss cotton-candy... have you by any chance saw my smoking-hot girlfriend? She looks exactly like you... but on the main has more patience and is a few inches shorter..."

He helped you on your feet and you kissed him sweetly with a chuckle. "Yayy!... i can reach whitout having to stand on my tiptoes! See Dew?" Dewey smiled against your lips and hummed a happy "Yeah babe. I can tell. If i didn't know any better i would say that you are excited."

You nudged his shoulder and rolled your eyes. "Wel... if I didn't know any better i would say that you secretly practiced your heely skills Dew..."

You heard dewey scoff, his hand on the crook of your neck as he pushed his nose against yours he mumbled: "What can i say? Im a natural. Plus... school is the perfect place to practice. All tiles and smooth floors..."

You pressed one more kiss on his lips and chuckled when you noticed Dewey tried to follow your lips with his, not ready to lose the contact yet. He was adorable as hell when he was this soft and needy.

"You rock everything you touch babe... but i gotta admit... i did not suspect the heelys." You murmered against his lips.

He grinned like an idiot and pulled up his skateboard. "...yeah... that one I did expect Dew. Now... come on! Let's go, let's go, let's goooooooooo sweety!!!!" You tugged him behind you and he smiled at your antics, finding you incredibly adorable all excited like this. Your enthausiasm making him excited as well.

.....

You both had been skating for almost an hour or so, and your feet were starting to hurt a bit in your skates.

Dewey hopped on his board again and held your hand as you skated on his left. With a happy smile on his face he took your other hand too. Making you drag him behind you as you skated. It worked for a bit, cause you had enough speed, but after a while you both stopped going forward and he dryly bumped up against you with a small thump.

You and Dewey laughed ridiculously hard at the silly scene and plopped down on the board together. Using it as your seat for now.

You noticed Dewey was getting tired too, his hand absedmindedly brushed your knee. He huffed and dropped his head on your shoulder. Your hand tangled in his brown locks and pressed a gentle kiss on his hair as you patted his knee. "Hey champ? Youknow that i always wanted to learn how to ride the board? I tried once, fell and gave up after that..."

You looked to the side and smiled at Deweys features, his eyes were comically wide and he stood up abruptly. Extended his hand to pull you on your feet and he was already bouncing up and down with excitement. He flopped the board under his arm, looked at you in awe while smiling just as bright as when he was strumming his beloved guitar. Okay... maybe a bit more excited even. Dewey cleared his throat, took your hands in his and dropped to one knee as he excitedly blurted out: "Honey....pleaselemmeteachyoutoridetheboard!!!!"

You snorted at his antics, why on earth did you deserve this treasure of a human? You nodded yes and you chuckled at his beaming face... a happy puppy would be jalous of the features he was rocking. His utter 'joy and excitement face'. Said excited face went to a even higher state of excitement as you pulled him close and stilled his bouncing for a second when you gently kissed him.

When you pulled back you took frowning look at your skates, but Dew was faster then you could speak. Flopping the board on the ground with a thud, he dropped his backpack on the concrete and snatched your sneakers out of the bag with a proud smile on his face. You beamed back at him and winked "Right... My Dewey always comes prepared..."

He swallowed thickly, the innuendo didn't go unnoticed and you snorted again. He was just... so easy to tease somtimes.

You grabbed his shoulders for support, as his hands held your waist you switched your skates for the sneakers. "Oehh... sexy... like your happy-socks babe." Dewey teased back as he tickled your side. Honestly happy to feel the concrete under your feet again you wiggled your toes in the shoes and sighed. You were a bit worried about getting on the board, your last incident didnt end that well.

One look at Dewey made your mind shift... he looked so... happy. He wouldn't let you down, in any way, including the concrete.

Dewey senced that you were nervous though, squeezing your hand in reassurance he mumbled: "Only if you want to sweetheart, i will not let you fall. Promise."

You awnsered by kissing his stubble murmering: "Im good Dew... just... dont let me go okay? Small steps."

He bounced up and down like a 5 year old on a sugar-rush and nodded excitedly. He turned around towards the board and smacked your ass as he cheered: "Hell to the yeah!! Lets go!" You hissed back: "Dew, darling.... Behave!"

Dewey held your hand as he leaded you towards the board. When you were almost there he stopped and bowed: "Your carriage awaits m'lady." You rolled your eyes and scoffed but smiled nonetheless. His calloused fingers took hold of your forearms and he purred at you: "Step right up angel, im holding you up."

You took an anxcious, wobbly step on the board but felt Dewey supporting you. Dewey saw second of fear flash in your eyes. He squeezed your forearms to get your attention and sternly spoke: "Hey... love... look at me... keep your pretty eyes on me. You're doing great." He loosened his grip on your arms a bit but didn't completely let go, just like he promised.

"Whooow!!! You're doing it!!!" Dewey cheered happily at you and you proudly beamed back at him. He pulled you a bit closer to him, holding your forearm with one hand, wrapping the other on your waist. He pulled you into a happy kiss, and you felt him smile against your lips. His stubble tickeling a bit as he deepened the kiss and he hummed against your mouth. You chuckled: "Dew... my man... i can't quite figure out what you say, when your tongue is in my mouth youknow?"

He grinned at you, and you noticed a blush creeping up his cheeks when he mumbled: "Im proud of you, love."

He pulled you close against him and you laughed when he picked you up and lifted you off the board. He gently put you down on the floor again, hugging you as soon as your feet touched the concrete. Pressing a soft kiss on the top of your hair as you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck, taking in the smell that was all Dewey.

"There ya go doll... nice and small again, all tiny whitout wheels." Dewey teased you and you went to stand on your tip-toes to rub your nose against his affectionately. "...well mister Finn... im not small, my love for you just highly concentrated."

Dewey pulled back and booped your nose, after that he abrubtly sprinted off: "Last one by the car is a loser!!!"

You sighed and watched the big kid run off towards the car, a smile creeping up your face. He was fully dedicated and pulled out his heely trick again, rolling towards the car with a loud excited "whoow!" As you watched Dewey pump his fists in the air in victory, you picked up the skateboard and walked towards your boyfriend. Said boyfriend was currently jamming in the car, singing along with the lyrics: "...and all the guys say Im pretty fly, for a white-guy..."

You slumped into the seat next to Dewey, and he winked at you: "Hey... it's the prettiest loser on the planet and beyond..." he joked.

You rolled your eyes with a smirk on your face, crept a hand slowly up from his knee till his thigh as you breathed against his neck: "...Well, well, well mister-rock-star... Guess you arent getting any tonight... and that's a shame. Cause i kinda have a thing for skater-boys..."

Dewey swallowed his taunting laugh away and looked at your pouting face. He reached out untie your pink bun, biting his lip as you did so.

You made sure to make a show of shaking your hair loose and felt Dewey tangle his calloused fingers inside your hair. He pulled your face closer to his and you heard him purr softly when you stroked your way further up his thigh, setteling when you felt the belt of his jeans.

Dewey's face was flushed as you stared at him intently, your lips inches away from his and whispered: "How long is the drive home skater-boy?"

He licked his lips and awnsered in a raspy voice: "erhm... 20 minutes..."

You teasingy pressed your lips against his, hearing him growl in desperation when you stroked him trough his jeans. "Gotta start the car to get it moving sweetheart."

Then you slumped back in your seat again, evil smirk on your face and plopped your feet on the dashboard as you two drove home.

Admittedly: it only took Dewey 14 minutes and a half. He ignored one red light and almost hit the neigbours car when parking... but it took him 14 minutes.

Tagging: @paxenera @heknowshisherbs @hoodoo12 @large-unit @little-miss-shy-goth @thats-specific @vicunaburger @ironmansuucks @h1de-s0urce @go-commander-kim @stranger-strings @bugdrinkss

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The Crucible (part three)

[UK Tour; Carrie AU]

Part 1 Part 2

Word count: 10,566

TW: Bullying, vomit

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

-Mind Over Matter-

  “So, you and Anne Boleyn…”

Katherine looked up at Mulaney, her right eye twitching. A barrage of emotions blistered through her whenever she thought about her cousin- anger, sadness, mourning, betrayal, happiness, guilt, pain, longing. It was a flurry of madness that she hated having to deal with. And hearing that name come out of this man’s mouth didn’t make her feel any better. It didn’t sound right when the detective said it, like Anne had just been some character in a movie that was killed off too soon for a cheap sad moment. She was a real person, whether Katherine wanted to remember that or not.

  “Friends until the end?” 

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Katherine said.

  “And why is that?” Mulaney asked.

  “We’re cousins,” Katherine answered. “She was born a little bit before me, and we grew up together, so I guess everybody just assumed we were going to be close forever.” She shrugged. “But we had our differences.”

  “Differences about Joan Seymour?” 

  “Differences about a lot of things,” Katherine clarified. “I played with Barbie. She played with horses. She’s a back to front. I’m a front to back.”

Mulaney blinked at her and then turned his head to look at Madeline, who was trying very hard not to smile in amusement. Katherine set her shoulders back, smirking. It seemed Mulaney didn’t know how to reply to her statement because he moved on, taking a piece of paper out of a yellow folder on the table.

  “Do you know a girl named Donna Kellogg?” He asked.

  “Yeah, I know Kellogg,” Katherine replied smoothly. “Every guy in school had a bowl of her cereal.”

Mulaney stared fixedly down at Katherine. At his side, Madeline snorted a laugh, but was quick to cover her mouth and straighten herself back up professionally. Katherine let out a huge sigh, wiping the grin from her face.

  “She moved to Germany in Year 12.” She said. “What about her?”

  “She got an email from your cousin about four days before the prom,” Mulaney said.

  “What’d it say?” Katherine asked with mock enthusiasm.

Mulaney peered down at the paper in his hands and began to read, “‘Dear Dirty Donna--”

Katherine raised her eyebrows and exhaled a rueful breath, rolling her eyes skyward. That DEFINITELY was her cousin's writing.

  “--so I’m out of the prom, but they’re not going to get away with this. I don’t know exactly what we’re going to do, but I guarantee you everyone is going to get a big’-- Expletive--‘surprise.’” Mulaney put the paper down and looked back at Katherine’s pale face. “Now, what do you suppose she meant by that?”

And, for once, Katherine made no snarky reply, only able to shrug silently, as her words were too caught in her throat to answer.

------

Mr. Stephens’s creative writing class was one of those rare cases where everyone wanted to be in it, regardless of whether they could write or not. And for a good reason, too. He was a laid back, supportive, jolly man who always made his lessons fun and engaging. His room was like no other, either, airy and full of light. He rarely ever turned on the overhead lights, opting to instead let the sun come in from blue-and gold-tinted windows he had paid for to be put in himself. 

A jungle of indoor plants snarled the interior, all fit with small golden plaques with names on them (one of the best assignments they had yet was to choose a plant and write a story about it; Katherine, personally, had chosen Hornet, the sassy lesbian honeysuckle). Shined mahogany bookshelves were arranged all around the room with their books sorted precisely in alphabetical order. Putting any borrowed books back into the right place was a rule even the most mischievous of students obeyed. Racks and drawers full of papers and pencils and pens of every color were set up for everyone’s writing pleasure, and there were several places to sit and write when it was time to work. Sometimes the black and pink bungee chair, sometimes the big blue bean bag or the strange egg-shaped cubbyhole you could climb into and nestle in the blankets and pillows that filled it.

The tables were assorted in a very different way, too. There were six in total: Fantasy, Horror, Romance, Sci-Fi, Adventure, and Historical. At the beginning of the year, students got to pick their seats at whatever genre table they were most interested in, letting people meet others with the same interests. Or, if you were like Katherine, you just bustled into the same table with all your friends.

Mr. Stephens was her first class of the day and was always what she needed to get energized for the rest of school. The sun was out again, bleeding its early Monday morning light through the tinted windows and casting beams of gold and blue across the room. All her friends, including her beautiful Anna, were already inside when she got there, along with a few others. Bessie was sharpening several pencils at the expensive electric pencil sharpener by the door, while Maria looked through the Q-T selection of books, and Anne, Maggie, and Anna were sitting at the table they all had claimed at the beginning of the year: Fantasy (although Katherine had debated on going to the Romance table, but several of her friends didn’t like the romance genre, and Anne had proclaimed that the “gang had to stick together,” so she gave up that option).

  “Kitty!!” Anne cried gleefully, throwing her arms in the air.

Katherine smiled as she walked over, sitting beside Anna. The two shared a quick kiss.

  “Morning, gang,” Katherine said. “What’s the tea?”

  “Prom,” Maggie stated. “You guys picked out your dresses yet?”

  “A dress? Me?” Anna snorted. “If I ever wore a dress and heels, I'd look like a freaking giraffe or something.”

  “Anna, shut up!” Bessie suddenly barked, whipping her head around from the pencil sharpener. “You would look great!”

They all stared at her in silence, watching as her face slowly faded to a light red color, a hugely bright contrast with her bleached white hair. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

  “What? Girls eat that shit up!” She said, and then frantically began sharpening her pencils again. The table laughed and nodded knowingly.

  “But no,” Anna said. “I’m not wearing a dress. Your girl is going with a suit.”

  “Ooooo!” The chorus of intrigued coos whisked around the table.

  “How fancy!” Anne said.

  “You are a lucky lady!” Maggie said to Katherine.

Katherine grinned brightly and leaned her head against her girlfriend’s shoulder. She sighed dreamily. “I know…”

  “I have mine picked out,” Maria said, walking over and sitting down with The Great Gatsby in her hands. “It’s orange.”

  “Oooo, nice pick!” Katherine commented. “Orange looks good on you!”

  “Why thank you!”

  “Okay, okay, question,” Maggie butt in as Bessie sat back down. “Do any of you know about waxing or shaving, you know--” She leaned in, “--down there? Like, for sex preparation?”

  “How naughty,” Anne teased, making Maggie stick her tongue out at her.

  “Well,” Katherine said expertly, “there are a few things you can do.” At her side, Anna shook her head and laughed. “There’s the rainforest. That’s where you don’t do anything at all. Hitler’s mustache. The landing strip. The Brazil.”

  “The Brazil?” Maggie laughed. “What does Brazil have to do with getting--your area waxed? Is it, like, the shape of the country?”

  “It’s because things like thongs and Brazil are so small you have to wax EVERYTHING to wear one.” Maria said.

  “Ohhh,” Maggie nodded. “Where is Brazil, anyway?”

Laughter and snickers and whispers suddenly bubbled loudly from the hallway, seeping in through the open door. A moment later, Joan entered wearing an oversized, rather ugly shade of pale yellow sweater and a long maroon skirt with small white flowers. She dragged her feet as she walked, not looking up, clutching her binders and folders close to her chest. 

Seeing her sent a sharp pang of guilt lancing through Katherine.

She had desperately tried to forget about Joan Seymour over the weekend, partially succeeding in that task, even when her father confronted her about it. But seeing the pathetic girl again sent all her shame come barreling back into her at full force. She could now see that she and her friends had ruined this class, once a place of serenity and peace, for Joan. Joan seemed...scared to even be attending.

  “Well, if it isn’t Prayin’ Joan!” Anne exclaimed. She jumped up and blocked Joan’s path, causing the younger and much scrawnier girl to reel back in fright. “I wonder who’s taking her to prom? Her mother?”

Katherine tried to laugh along with Maggie, Maria, and Bessie, but the sound raked her throat fiercely like talons of fire. She glanced to the side and saw that Anna had her jaw set firmly and a grim look in her eyes.

  “Leave her alone, Anne.” Anna said.

Joan tried to dodge around Anne to get to her table, but Anne stepped right back in front of her and she reared away again like she thought she would be burned if they were to make contact.

  “Come on, church girl!” Anne spread her arms in a grand gesture, smirking widely. Everyone in the class, even people out in the hallway, were watching, now. “Dance with me! I will make you see God!”

And then, out of the blue, Anne yelped out in fright as she suddenly crumpled to the floor. Katherine blinked in shock, watching the way her cousin had shifted her weight on her feet and slipped on her Heelys’s wheels--but that didn’t seem right. Anne hadn’t been leaning on her heels at all. It looked more like something had swept under her legs and made her fall--but what? There had been nothing there, nothing to trip her. She shuddered, and her skin began to crawl with goosebumps.

  “How’s your pussy, princess?” A boy at the Sci-Fi table asked over the laughter that had filled the room.

Anne shot up to her feet instantly, her face inflamed with rage. She glared at the boy, and her stared was filled with enough hate to make him snap his mouth shut immediately.

  “What are you laughing at?” She snarled. Her head whipped around to Joan. “The goddamn BITCH TRIPPED ME!!”

Is that what happened? Did Joan trip or push Anne? Had she finally snapped like that kid from Anna’s story on Friday night? But Joan hadn’t moved her arms or legs at all when Anne fell…

Katherine jerked out of her speculations when she saw that Anne was advancing on Joan with a murderous look in her eyes. Joan flinched away, as if she was expecting to be struck, and then there was suddenly the clattering of a chair to Katherine’s left; Anna was standing in between Anne and Joan.

  “What are you doing?” Anne demanded.

  “You’re being stupid, Anne.” Anna said calmly. “If you hit her, you’re definitely going to be thrown out of prom. Just sit down.”

Anne growled, but prom seemed to be more important to her than revenge, so she cast one like dark glare at Joan, and then let her anger snuff itself out for now. She returned to her chair like nothing happened. Anna turned to Joan, who was staring up at her with wide eyes as if she were Jesus Christ himself.

  “Are you alright?” Anna asked. She reached out to set a hand on Joan’s shoulder, but respectfully pulled it back when Joan flinched away. “Don’t listen to that gremlin. She’s just messing around.” And then she flashed Joan a dazzling smile that made Joan get an expression on her face that said she’s never been smiled at like that before.

  “Th-th-thank you…” Joan choked out, and then skittered past her to the Horror table, which she shared all alone (“Of course that crazy bitch would choose horror” was something Maggie had muttered the first day of class when Joan had chosen that genre).

Anna righted her chair and sat back down, looking like a true savior. 

  “Well, aren’t you just a knight in shining armor.” Anne said bitterly, and Anna grinned at her.

  “What can I say?” She said with a shrug. “I can never pass up the chance to be the hero to a poor damsel in distress.”

The bell rang a moment later and everyone who wasn’t already sitting down bustled over to their specific table. First period was the smallest class, with Katherine and her five friends obviously at Fantasy, three kids at Sci-Fi, two girls at Romance, three more at Adventure, no one at Historical, and then Joan all alone at Horror. Writing utensils and notebooks filled to the brim with stories and projects are brought out as Mr. Stephens entered from the hall.

  “Good morning, children!” He chimed happily. He was a slightly plump man with olive skin and dark brown hair he always had up in a man bun. The aquamarine flannel shirt he was wearing today made his green eyes pop brightly. “Let’s get this show on the road!”

After the initial opening for class, the lesson quickly curved into the topic of an assignment the students had been given last Friday, probably the only okay thing that happened on that day (aside from Katherine’s time with Anna in her car, of course).

  “As you know,” Mr. Stephens said, “last Friday I gave you all the task to write your own poem after selecting a word from my hat.” He held up the bedazzled top hat for reference. “Now we are going to read them! So…” He scanned the class, bypassing the people who usually always read first, like Bessie and Katherine and the boy with glasses in Adventure, for now. A smile broke out on his face. “Joan Seymour!”

Joan’s head whipped up so fast Katherine was surprised her neck didn’t break. She had been listlessly twirling a strand of her strangely natural white-blonde hair and writing in her small notebook with a black pen, which she accidentally sent flying across the room behind her when she was called on.

  “Present,” She sputtered. 

  “It’s not roll call, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said gently. 

  “Idiot,” Maggie muttered, rolling her eyes, and Mr. Stephens shot a glare at her and some of the other giggling students. He was one of few teachers who actually made an effort to stop the constant bullying Joan got in class. 

  “Did you write a poem?” Mr. Stephens asked. His voice was so patient and kind, his gaze merciful and lacking any irritation or scorn, despite the fact that Joan was floundering like a useless cow in a cattle chute. He never yelled at Joan or even got the slightest bit annoyed with her, even when she was being completely incompetent and probably deserved a good rapping on the knuckles with a ruler to get her head back on straight.

  “Oh-- Y-yes, sir.” Joan nodded.

  “Why don’t you come up and read it to us?” 

That seemed to be a death sentence for Joan, who became very rigid and pale. She opened and closed her mouth like a weird-eyed fish out of water, then finally choked out, “D-do I have to?”

Mr. Stephens tilted his head at her, sympathy in his gaze. “No,” He said. “But I would love to hear what you wrote.”

Joan perked up slightly, a new light flickering ever so slightly in her eyes. “You would?” She squeaked.

  “Yes, Joan,” Mr. Stephens smiled, and Katherine saw that he was telling the truth. He was genuinely interested in what Joan had written.

Joan thought for a second, then grabbed her notebook, stood up, and said, “Okay.”

Shyly, with her head angled to the floor, Joan shuffled up to the short stage-like platform at the front of the class used for reading out loud. Mr. Stephens motioned for her to sit in the big black leather computer chair he would let students use when presenting, but she shook her head, clearly too tense and nervous to sit down. Mr. Stephens respected her choice and didn’t push her.

  “What was the word you selected, Joan?” Mr. Stephens asked.

  “Umm-- Stone.” Joan answered. Now that she was up and centered, Katherine noticed violet and indigo bruises along her jawline and a split in her lip that definitely hadn’t been there on Friday.

  “And what is the name of your poem?”

Joan fumbled. “E-Evening Prayers.”

  “Oh my god.” Anne said loudly. Mr. Stephens shot her a sharp look, and she shut her mouth instantly.

  “Go ahead, Joan. Whenever you’re ready.” Mr. Stephens said kindly.

It took a moment and a few deep breaths for Joan to find her voice, but she eventually gathered all her courage and began to read:

  “Jesus watches from the wall,

But his face is cold as stone.

If he loves me,

As she tells me,

Why do I feel so all alone?”

A few giggles and snickers and mocking whispers whisked through the class, but Mr. Stephens shut them down quickly. Joan looked at him fearfully, and he gave her an encouraging nod to go on.

  “Baby savior, meek and mild,

What do you do with my prayers?

If you hear me,

Why do I feel that no one cares?”

Joan lost some of the tension in her shoulders, easing them back down into a more relaxed position. A strange flicker lit up in her eyes, like the first silvery wisps of a fresh flame. 

  “Mama sees inside my soul,

But her face is cold as stone.

If she loves me

Why do I feel so all alone?”

Was that...hate in Joan’s voice? Katherine tilted her head at the girl, suddenly filled with so many questions. Had she always been this interesting?

  “There's a movement in my head

Satan? Angels? What can it be?

It's growing!

It's stirring!

It's churning, shifting!

Bending!”

Joan released a shaky breath and raised her glowing grey-blue eyes. 

Silence. 

Mr. Stephens would have said anything, but he still seemed to be too enamored to speak, in awe at his timid student’s raw poem.

Then, Maggie raised one of her hands and spoke without waiting to be called on, “Shouldn’t people like that be home schooled?”

Mr. Stephens blinked at her, his eyebrows furrowing together. “People like what, Maggie?” He asked cautiously, falling right into Maggie’s trap.

  “Creepy religious people,” Maggie said blithely.

Joan flinched back as if she had been struck and hunched her shoulders around her neck. Her fingers grip tightly around the edges of her notebook, staring at her poem with a sudden expression of shame and hatred and disgust.

  “Yeah, aren’t we, like, not supposed to talk about religion in school unless it’s in history class?” Bessie piped up.

Mr. Stephens glared at all of them. “Does anyone have anything to say about the poem?” He said, steering the lesson back on track without giving Maggie or Bessie any attention.

  “It was disturbing,” Anne offered. “I think that’s the most little Joey has said in class all year!”

Laughter erupted in the classroom, far too much for Mr. Stephens to wrangle. Joan shrunk back, like she was hoping she could disappear right into the wall, and Katherine thought she could see tears shining in her eyes.

  “Got anything else to share with us, sweetheart?” Anne asked in a sickly sweet voice. “Or are you done scaring us?”

  “Asshole…”

The laughter stopped abruptly. Joan’s head jerked up sharply. All eyes turned to look at Anna, who was leaning back in her chair and pressing her tongue against the inside of her lip.

  “Anna?” Mr. Stephens said. “Did you say something?”

  “Yes,” Anne said, her words sliding slowly from her mouth like slithering snakes. “What did you say?”

  “I said awesome.” Anna said, sitting up. “I just thought that Joan’s poem was awesome.” She looked at Anne. “Didn’t you, Annie?”

Anne glowers at her, growling lowly. Joan, on the other hand, had the exact opposite reaction. Her eyes were wide and lit up, like that had been the nicest thing anyone has ever said to her, and a bright pink blush dusted her cheeks.

  “Yes!” Mr. Stephens nodded his head enthusiastically. “Awesome! That is a great way to describe Joan’s wonderful poem.” He smiled at Anna, then at Joan. “Thank you for reading, Joan. You did very good.”

Joan dipped her head in thanks and hurried back to her table. When she sat back down, she immediately glanced at Anna, a wistful look of adoration in her eyes. Katherine noticed it, and things began to click together in her brain.

  “Anna,” Mr. Stephens said, “since you spoke up, would you like to go next?”

Anna shrugged coolly. “Sure.” She stood up, grabbing her red spiral journal, and walked to the platform at the front of the class. She, like Joan, decided not to sit in the computer chair, opting to stand up tall before her peers.

  “GO ANNA!!” Her friends cheered from the Fantasy table and she rolled her eyes in a good natured way.

  “The word I got was ‘eagle,’” She said, then looked down at the page she was opened up to in her journal. “Dreamer In Disguise. By Anna von Cleves.” She cleared her throat, and then began reading smoothly:

  “An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings.”

Maggie suddenly leapt onto her chair, flapping her arms and letting out a bird-like screech. The class all giggled, except Joan, who looked startled, and Anna, who looked used to these kinds of antics.

  “Guys!” Mr. Stephens barked. “Quiet!”

The class settled. Mr. Stephens looked at Maggie.

  “Maggie--that was a pretty good bird, but hush up.” He said.

Maggie bowed and then plopped back into her seat. Mr. Stephens turned to Anna, nodding at her to go on.

  “A river is just a sheet of ice

'til winter turns to spring.

And though the clouds may block the sun

Don't mean that it's left the sky.

Just when you think you've seen it all

There's more that meets the eye.

Like things I dream and things I feel

There's more to me than I reveal.

And 'cause I shine in quiet ways

I'm someone you don't recognize.

I'm a diamond in the rough

A dreamer in disguise.

An eagle's just another bird

Until he can spread his wings.”

Applause filled the classroom. Anna smirked proudly, bowing her head.

  “Very good, Anna!” Mr. Stephens said. “Class,” He turned to the others. “Any comments?”

  “Beautiful.”

The marveled comment came before anyone else could say anything, spoken before Mr. Stephens had barely even finished his sentence. Joan had a thoughtful look in her shimmering eyes. A small smile was tugged at the corners of her pale lips.

  “Beautiful, yes!” Mr. Stephens said. “Excellent, Joan!”

  “Yeah, nice one, period girl.” Anne tittered.

Like that, the light in Joan’s eyes is gone. She looked away, suddenly ashamed. Anna seemed to notice this on the platform and glared viciously at Anne.

  “Shut up, Anne.” She snarled lowly.

  “Go on, Joan,” Mr. Stephens said to his shy student. “Tell us how the poem spoke to you.”

Joan looked back up, fidgeting, and then stuttered out, “I-I just think it said that just because something or someone seems one way, doesn’t mean they have to be that way.”

Mr. Stephens beamed. Anne gave Katherine a “what is wrong with this girl?” sort of look, while Anna looked vaguely rapt. She smiled at Joan, and Joan blushed madly.

  “Very good observation, Joan!” Mr. Stephens said.

  “Yeah,” Anna agreed. “I think you have the poem more thought out that I do, and I’m the one who wrote it!”

Joan ducked her head with a shy smile. “Thanks,” She whispered, and all the pieces fell into place in Katherine’s head.

Did Joan like Anna?

Katherine spent the rest of first period pondering this- Joan was hopelessly shy, but it could very well be possible. The way she looked at Anna… There was some form of longing in her eyes. Like she wanted Anna to like her--not even in a romantic way, just to--like her. As a person.

The bell startled Katherine out of her thoughts and she shook her head. Anna had to run off quickly to get to her next class that was all the way on the other side of the school, and Bessie and Maggie left in a hurry, too. Katherine was about to head out with Maria to the next class they shared together when she noticed Joan still gathering her things.

  “I’ll meet you there, okay?” Katherine said to Maria.

Maria shrugged and nodded. “Okay!”

Katherine walked over to Joan, catching the attention of her cousin, who was still in the class and now watching them with interest.

  “Hey, Joan,” Katherine said.

Joan jumped and looked at Katherine, then over her shoulder, as if thinking she were talking to someone else. She blinked up at the older girl with big grey-blue eyes, and Katherine could see so much painful anxiety in them.

  “Earlier--that was nice.” Katherine said. “That was really nice, what you said about Anna’s poem. I thought it was beautiful, too.”

Joan continued to stare at her, frozen like a deer in headlights.

  “Look-- Umm-- About the other day… I don’t know, things just sort of got out of hand and--”

  “Haven’t you had enough?!”

This time, it was Katherine’s turn to flinch, and she stepped back as if she had just been shot. She looked down at Joan and was shocked to see pure rage blazing in her eyes, which flickered like lit embers. Her teeth were bared, mouth pulled back in a snarl, and her fists were clenched into shaking fists.

  “Do you think you can just go on tricking me forever?!” Joan cried.

  “Oh no, Joan, no--” 

Katherine reached for her, but the girl clawed her hand away. She ducked under her arm and ran out of the classroom, leaving Katherine behind in shock.

  “My, my,” Anne said, sauntering over with a chuckle. “Little mousey’s got a temper!”

  “I--” Katherine’s words hitched for a moment. “I’ve never seen her angry before…”

Anne rolled her eyes and slung an arm around Katherine’s shoulder. She began guiding her out of the classroom.

  “Oh, who cares?” She said. “Just forget about it!”

But Katherine couldn’t forget.

Especially when they stepped out of the class and saw Joan, among many others, staring at the graffiti scrawled across the nearby lockers.

“JOAN SEYMOUR EATS SHIT”

Joan turned to Katherine with tears in her eyes, bared her teeth like a wounded fox, and then took off running down the hallway crying.

Guilt roared through Katherine and, this time, she knew it would be staying for good.

------

All the girls in the fourth period gym class got dressed in silence. 

The minute they had walked through the locker room door, conversations died away, giggling dissolved, and horseplay seized. There were no catcalls, no playful wrestling, no pinching or nudging or tickling. They just changed out into their gym clothes without speaking a word, already knowing what was coming.

Some teachers forgot.

Miss Aragon was not one of them.

It was no surprise when the locker room door slammed open with force after the bell rang and Miss Aragon came striding in. Her silver whistle bounced against her chest with every step she took, and a large, bulky black duffel bag was slung over one shoulder. She looked more like a wasp than usual, and not just because her outfit was a bright shade of lemon yellow with bands of black lacing over the fabric. She simply looked like she wanted to prick each and every girl in the locker room with something sharp and pointy until she had them squealing for mercy, just like they had Joan Seymour squealing in the stall just a few yards away. Resentment and disgust twisted her features as she scanned the class with brown eyes so dark they looked black.

None of her students dared to look at her.

  “Well, aren’t you all just the bunch to send off to graduation,” Miss Aragon said after five minutes of just watching the teenagers fumble with their gym uniforms. She had seen Bessie try to stick her head through an arm hole three times and Katherine apparently forgot how bra clasps worked, and she decided that it was more pathetic than anything they’ve ever said Joan had done. “When is it? A month?”

Nobody answered. Miss Aragon sneered. 

  “And then there’s the prom!” Miss Aragon began again. “Katherine, you’ll be going with Anna von Cleves. Maria, William Willoughby.” She turned to Anne, one eyebrow raised. “What about you, Anne? I imagine you can take your pick. Who’s the lucky guy or girl?”

  “Catherine Parr,” Anne said. “You don’t know her, she doesn’t go to this scho--”

  “Who?”

Anne ground her teeth when she was interrupted.

  “I’m sorry, Anne, I can’t hear you.” 

  “Catherine Parr.”

  “Well, isn’t she the lucky one?” Said Miss Aragon. “Are you going to get her a corsage? Or are you just going to tie a bloody tampon around her wrist?”

Anne’s face went red and she growled like a wild animal. Miss Aragon was anything but intimidated, easily towering over Anne and beating her in terms of fierceness and muscle. 

  “Hey, I have an idea!” Miss Aragon said. “Why don’t we skip the sport we were going to be doing today and make boutonnieres and corsages for your prom dates instead!”

The girls exchanged confused looks, finding this awfully suspicious.

  “Yeah? Sounds fun, right?” Miss Aragon said. “We can make them out of these!”

As fast as lightning, she ripped open the duffel bag and began throwing its contents all over her class. 

Tampons.

Their teacher was throwing tampons at them.

The sanitary items flew like a raging blizzard of white plastic and cotton. Bessie got hit in the eye by one and reeled back into Katherine, who nearly toppled over in shock. Another got caught in Maria’s curly hair and she clawed to get it out. Maggie let out a piercing alarmed screech. Miss Aragon smirked at their hysteria, then threw the bag down at her feet, fuming both in rage and pride.

  “I’m leaving.” Anne said, storming past the coach.

Something flashed in Miss Aragon’s eyes. 

Fury. Boiling hot fury.

Miss Aragon hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Joan Seymour at all over the weekend. Every time she closed her eyes she would see that poor child crying out to her for help. Her dreams were tainted by visions of Joan bleeding to death or killing herself because of all the harsh bullying she faced. She kept hearing her scream “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” over and over and over again. She couldn’t keep her wrath tamed any longer, and unleashed the full firestorm on her class.

Miss Aragon reached out, moving as quick as a cracking bullwhip, grabbed Anne by the arm, and slammed her into one of the rows of lockers. The sound of the student’s back smashing against the metal rattled loudly throughout the room, only beat by Anne’s cry of shock. Her eyes went wide in disbelief.

  “You can’t hit us!” She yelled.

  “I barely touched you.” Miss Aragon said, as if she were talking to a whining younger sibling she had just punched in the face. She pinned Anne against the locker in a position that looked to be very uncomfortable on Anne’s shoulder.

  “You’ll get canned for this.” Anne growled, tears of pain springing to her eyes. “See if you don’t, you bitch!”

  “I don’t really care, Boleyn.” Miss Aragon said. “If you--or any of you--think I’m wearing my teacher hat right now, you are sadly mistaken.”

She backed up so she could glare at all the other girls, but Anne didn’t dare move from her spot against the locker. Her eyes darted to Katherine in a sort of plight for help, Katherine looked away uneasily. Her gaze landed on the shower area, where this all began, and she jerked it away to look at something else. Anything else.

  “I hope you all know what you did on Friday was a really shitty thing.” Miss Aragon said. To her left, Maggie snickered and she glared at her so fiercely it was a wonder Maggie didn’t drop dead. “Do any of you ever stop to think that Joan Seymour has feelings?”

She looked around. Her rage only continued to build when she got no answer.

  “Do any of you ever stop to think?” She narrowed her brown-black eyes dangerously. “Katherine? Maria? Bessie? Maggie?”

Another pause. Miss Aragon seemed to be swelling up like a King Cobra.

  “Oh,” She said as if she had just read their minds. “You think she’s ugly, don’t you?”

Maggie snorted and made a “well obviously” face. Miss Aragon rounded on her, eyes flashing.

  “Well, you’re ugly.”

The stupid, shit-eating grin Maggie had been wearing was wiped clean from her face instantly.

  “I saw just how ugly all of you were on Friday.” Miss Aragon said.

Anne suddenly reared up, shaking her head. 

  “You can’t talk to us like that!” She snapped. “My dad’s a lawyer! He’ll sue your ass!”

  “SHUT UP!” Aragon roared. She got in Anne’s face, smoke practically billowing from her ears and nostrils. “Open your mouth one more time, and I’ll plug you up.” She jabbed a finger into Anne’s nose, cracking her head back against the locker. “Want to find out if I’m telling the truth? There’s plenty of tampons here to see.”

Anne said nothing, but that didn’t stop her from glaring mutely at her coach. Miss Aragon backed away from her, smirking briefly. The rest of her girls were exchanging frantic, nervous looks, wondering if they were about to be murdered or beaten to death or something horrible like that. Personally, Katherine thought they all deserved such a fate.

  “Now,” Miss Aragon said, lowering her voice to a slightly calmer tone, “my punishment for this little charade you pulled was a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

An immediate uproar of unhappy gasps and murmurs eddied through the locker room. Katherine found herself sighing with them, but did agree that that would be a good way to get back at all of them.

  “That would hit you where it hurts, wouldn’t it? And you would deserve it, too.” Miss Aragon said. “Unfortunately, this administration is staffed entirely by men. I don’t think they have the slightest idea how utterly nasty what you did was.” A sneer tugged on the angered grooves in her face. “So you’ll get a week’s detention.”

Instant relief.

  “But it’s MY detention.” Miss Aragon went on. “Fifty minutes. In the field. Every day. And I’m going to run you ragged!” 

They all could already feel their legs burning from exertion and throat aching from dry heaving so intensely. 

  “I won’t come,” Anne said, shrugging.

  “That’s up to you, Anne.” Miss Aragon said. “That’s up to all of you. But I just want you to know that the punishment for skipping detention is a three day suspension and refusal of your prom tickets.”

There was that wave of unhappiness again, sweeping powerfully through the locker room, and it was music to Miss Aragon’s ears. She smirked wickedly.

  “Get the picture?”

Nobody said anything.

  “Good. Now change out. And think about what I said.”

With that, she turned and surged out of the locker room like a triumphant killer wasp. The tension of her presence quickly lifted, but only slightly. The girls were still mumbling and whispering, not daring to raise their voice in fear their coach may come back in and just take their prom tickets now.

Anne must not have gotten the memo.

  “She can’t get away with this!” She snarled.

  “Anne…” Katherine sighed.

Anne yanked her gym shoes out of her locker and hurled them across the room, as if she were hoping for Miss Aragon to materialize inside and get hit.

  “This isn’t over!” She screeched. “It’s not even in the same area code as over!!”

And she was right.

------

Meanwhile, skipping gym class like she was told, Joan was in the library.

For most of her life, books had been her only friends.

Books accepted you the way you were and shared all their secrets with you.

Books never told you that you were creepy or called you a monster or a freak or a pig or any other mean names. Books never said, “Joan Seymour eats shit.”

Joan had hid out in the bathroom after she saw the writing on the walls, rocking back and forth in one of the back stalls and crying to herself until her throat ached and she felt like she couldn’t breathe anymore.

She remembered the bathroom door opening and somebody walking in. She had tried to keep quiet as the girl was reapplying her makeup in the mirror, but her lungs began to burn and she let out a choked sob that seemed to echo throughout the room.

Silence.

  “Hello?” Called a voice Joan didn’t know or recognize. “Are you okay?”

  “I-I’m f-f-fine.” Joan choked out.

  “You don’t sound fine.” The girl observed. “Is this your stuff on the ground?”

Right. She had just thrown her belongings on the floor in her panic to get away from prying eyes to cry alone.

  “U-umm--” Joan sniffled.

Outside the stall, she heard the shuffling of feet and the rustling of papers. Her binders and folders were slid underneath the door a moment later.

  “There.” Said the stranger. “Just so nobody will take it if anyone else comes in.” She paused for a moment. “Are you alright?”

Joan tried to answer, to lie, even if God would strike her down for it, but all that came out of her mouth was a sob. She curled up tighter in the stall, burying her face in her knees. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks like streams of molten lava.

The girl outside made a sympathetic noise. “You poor thing.” She said. “Crying in the bathroom at school. I know that feeling.”

Joan’s crying halted for a moment. She sniffled and looked up slightly.

  “Y-you do?” She stammered.

The girl laughed. “Oh yeah.” She sat down on the other side of the stall, her back pressed against the door. “I got dumped in Geometry in Year 11.”

  “Oh no…”

  “Oh yes,” The girl laughed again. “I wanted to hide in the bathroom forever, but I eventually went back to class. Trust me, crying in here is completely normal. I’ve seen tons of girls do it.”

  “Did you talk to them, too?” Joan asked quietly.

The girl thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “...Then why are you talking to me?”

  “I had this feeling.” The girl said. “That you just--needed someone. More than those girls did. You know?”

She didn’t, but she still said, “Uh huh.”

The girl outside shifted slightly. Joan wished she could see her face.

  “So...what was it?”

  “Huh?”

  “What brought you in here to cry?” The girl specified. “If I may ask… You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, though.”

She was giving Joan an option, Joan realized dizzily. She wasn’t forcing her to answer.

Sniffling, Joan said, “I-it’s, umm--kinda silly…”

  “Nonsense,” Said the girl. “Was it a breakup?”

  “Umm-- N-no.” Joan said shyly. “I don’t date…”

  “Good for you.” The girl chuckled. “We love a strong, independent woman.”

Joan felt a flurry of butterflies flap wildly in her stomach and she bit her lip to keep from grinning like a giddy idiot. She was always flattered way too easily.

  “School problems?” The girl guessed again.

  “Kinda, yeah…”

  “I feel you, girlfriend,” The girl said. “They expect so much from us, you know? It’s like, do this research project in a week, but I’m only giving you one day to work on it in class so you’ll have to try not to procrastinate when you do the rest on your own and do this math assignment I barely taught you at all, oh and also, find the cure for cancer!”

Joan couldn’t help but giggle. She thought the girl outside the stall may be smiling.

  “It sucks, but you’ll get through it,” The girl said. “It’ll all be over soon.”

Joan nodded slowly. “Thank you.”

The girl got up. “No problem.” She said. “I gotta run. My teacher is probably going to tear me a new one for taking so long.” She laughed. “I hope you feel better soon!”

  “Thank you,” Joan whispered again. “Bye…”

And then, her savior was gone. Joan hadn’t even known her name. She wondered if the girl would have treated her any differently if she knew who she was…

Joan had managed to make it to third period after finally coming out of the bathroom, and then got to retreat to the one place in the school where she felt at peace.

The library.

Nobody was ever mean to her in the library. They were always too busy to pick on her, and that was one of the reasons why she liked it so much. People didn’t care about her in there, instead hunched over tables with research spread out over the surface, clicking furiously on computers, scribbling in notepads in the windowsill nooks, and reading, reading, reading.

A kind of peace settled over her as she stepped inside, breathing in the crisp smell of books. She felt like she belonged here, with all the oddities of literature, even if she didn’t belong anywhere else. In here there were answers and information and thousands of stories waiting for her to read...right behind Mama’s back. 

Mama didn’t like her reading a lot of things, especially young adult novels. But what Mama didn’t know was that she was already ankle-deep in a franchise about wild cats who were in clans and several other standalone books. When she was at school, the Bible was not Her Holy Book.

Shelves radiated out from every direction like a burst of sun, and more aisles with more books filled the overhead balcony ring. Yes, her school technically had a two-story library. A DOUBLE-DECKER library! You had to take a narrow wooden staircase to get up to the top ledge, which wrapped around the upper perimeter of the room and had a few private rooms to study or read in. The guard rail was laced in white fairy lights, causing the ceiling to glow beautifully.

Another thing Joan loved was the statue at the front, poised below the two entrance ramps and short staircase. It was of a long, serpent-like dragon made of white marble, coiled up on a mound of books with its snout dug in a thick, bulky novel. Its name was Haze, and it looked as though it might glance up at any moment, see Joan, and say, “Oh my gosh, have you read this one? It’s amazing!”

Joan gently brushed one of the claws as she passed by. There weren’t many kids in the library, rather in class, but there were a few Year 13’s in there for a free period. None of them even glanced up at Joan.

  “Mrs. Johansen?” Joan called meekly as she walked up to the librarian’s desk.

Mrs. Johansen was the blatant stereotype of a librarian- big, wide-rimmed glasses, older, warm amber eyes, curly brown hair. She looked up from the book she was reading to smile at Joan.

  “Yes, dear?” She said.

  “C-can you show me how to do a search?” Joan asked. She felt painfully awkward asking that, especially to an older woman, who apparently supposed to know nothing about technology, but Mrs. Johansen smiled kindly and nodded.

  “Of course,” She said. “Come on.”

It took a good five minutes, but Joan was eventually adept enough in computers to search things up. The first thing she did was look up ‘miracles’ and began to scroll through the search results, hoping to find some answers to the strange sensation she had been feeling in her veins ever since Friday.

mir·a·cle

/ˈmirək(ə)l/

noun

a surprising and welcome event that is not explicable by natural or scientific laws and is therefore considered to be the work of a divine agency.

Joan blinked, tilting her head at the definition as if she thought the words may start explaining their meaning to her even further if she stared hard enough.

Surprising? And welcome? She looked down at one of her hands, flexing her fingers. Mama didn’t seem to think her...issue...was either of those things. She clicked down to keep searching.

Miracles of the Renaissance

Jesus - Man of Miracles

Apparitions and Eucharistic Miracles 

Miracles on the internet!

Pray for a miracle

Herbal Miracles

Miracles and Modern Scientific Thoughts

Miracles: HIDDEN POWERS OF THE MIND

Joan paused. That last one seemed interesting. She clicked on it and was opened up to a page using big, fancy words she couldn’t really wrap her head around. But there was one in particular that caught her attention-- /telekinesis/. She had no idea what it meant, but something inside of her seemed to latch onto it and tug her interest towards the word until she searched it up in the search bar.

Psychokinesis (from Greek ψυχή "soul" and κίνησις "movement"), or telekinesis (from τηλε- "far off" and κίνηση "movement"), is an alleged psychic ability allowing a person to influence a physical system without physical interaction.

Joan’s eyes go wide with interest. Isn’t that what she did to that annoying neighborhood boy? And to Anne Boleyn? She moved them with her mind? 

She looked down at her hands again, but didn’t see anything special about them. They just looked like normal hands, just more bony and scarred than usual. Suddenly self conscious, she rubbed the old burn over her knuckles while clicking on a video about telekinesis.

And it was like watching a dream come true. Joan’s eyes widened even further as she watched as a man simply held out his hand and began to move the pages of a book without even touching them. Just like she did with Anne and the biker boy! He must have the same powers as her! Oh how she wished she could reach into the screen and pull this man out and ask him all the questions now running through her mind. Like, how are you doing that? And when did you know you could do it? And are there others like us? And will you teach me how to do that, too?

She was so enthralled with the video that she didn’t even realize someone was creeping up behind her…

  “Sorry! Sorry.” The brown haired boy with a camera around his neck said when she flinched around to look at him. “I just-- You can make it full screen, you know? Watch.” 

He reached over Joan and clicked the ‘f’ key and the video filled the entire computer screen. Joan’s eyes glimmered in awe.

  “Thank you,” She whispered.

  “No problem!” The boy said with a cheeky grin. He quickly hurried off to an empty table, leaving Joan alone.

He...wasn’t mean to her.

How strange...

------

Katherine quickly realized she had a lot less stamina than she thought she did. She has always been a perfect, well-behaved girl, always slipping out of punishment during the few times she wasn’t, so there wasn’t ever a need to have tough endurance for running because she never thought she would piss off a gym coach of all people.

But here she was, running Suicides in the field after school, fighting the urge to dry heave every few seconds.

The sun seemed to be unnaturally, blisteringly hot that evening, like it, too, was punishing her and her classmates for what they had done on Friday. Katherine doesn’t think she’s ever been so hot before. Her skin felt like it was baking, her hair was tassels of golden fire, and her back was a plateau of roaring flames. Gleaming yellow sunlight made her eyes prickly and sore, and if she squinted through the haze of exhaustion, she swore she thought she could see a big black buzzard circling overhead that seemed to be just waiting for one of them to drop dead.

  “Come on, ladies!” Miss Aragon shouted from the side of the field, looking absolutely delightful. “Lift those legs up! Faster! Faster!”

  “She--she can’t do this to us,” Anne wheezed as she careened up next to Katherine. She was absolutely dripping with sweat and red in the face, but Katherine couldn’t tell if that was from the sun, the exertion of the Suicides, or the fury from both.

  “Just--let it go, Anne. We’re almost done.” Katherine said through her teeth. It took a great effort to speak; she could feel bile curling in the back of her throat like bubbling acid.

  “And then every day this week?” Anne spat. “All because of Joan Seymour?”

  “Anne.” Katherine hissed. She picked up her pace to get away from her cousin, but when she turned to run back to the starting line, her foot slipped in the slick turf of the football field and she was sent sprawling on her stomach. The impact jarred her heavily and she dry heaved painfully until her lunch finally came rushing out of her mouth. A few girls winced, but mostly everyone kept running--not that she blamed them. Anne, however, darted over to her side, and she wasn’t sure if she was happy about that or not.

  “Are you okay?” Anne asked. Her concerned Big Cousin voice was slipping into her words and Katherine couldn’t help but crack a tiny smile at that. This was the side of Anne she liked, not the evil, cruel one who liked to pick on kids three years younger than her.

  “Y-yeah--” Katherine answered, spitting out the last of the bile in her mouth. “I’m fine.”

  “Howard,” Miss Aragon called, walking over, twirling her whistle on her finger. “Are you alright?”

  “Like you care…” Anne muttered. Miss Aragon gave her a dangerous glare, and Katherine set a hand on her knees to not only calm her cousin, but to also boost herself back up.

  “Yes ma’am,” Katherine said. “I’m okay.”

  “Good.” Miss Aragon rumbled. “I’m glad.” She shot Anne another look for a brief moment. “Get back to it. You’re almost done.”

Katherine nodded and then took off again, shortly followed by Anne, who was muttering something about this being “child abuse”.

Ten minutes of running in the searing heat passed and Miss Aragon’s whistle finally pierced the field. A collective sigh of relief swept through the class as girls skidded to a halt and instantly doubled over or completely collapsed to the floor in moaning, groaning heaps of soreness. A few scrambled for their water bottles and began drinking like it was the end of the world. Miss Aragon walked over to them, amusement painted brightly on her face.

  “Don’t drink too fast,” Their coach said to the girls guzzling down water, “or you may throw up.”

  “My legs are gonna fall off,” Bessie said in a woebegone voice. She was flopped over on her back, spilling her bleached white hair all across the green grass.

  “Now you know how it feels to be Joan Seymour, don’t you?” Miss Aragon said, looking down her nose at the girl.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have to run before,” Maggie pointed out grumpily. “Even though she’s the worst at literally everything we do in class…”

Miss Aragon glowered down at Maggie for a moment, then began marching up and down the cluster of girls. They all watched her tensely, waiting for her to exact an even harsher punishment than Suicides.

  “Life’s all about making choices, ladies,” Miss Aragon said. “And, last Friday, you made the wrong one. So here’s how it’s going to go.” Her eyes flashed like gleaming pieces of onyx in the sun. “You’re all going to apologize to Joan.”

There was an uproar of annoyed confusion. Miss Aragon rolled her eyes.

  “You are all going to apologize to her in front of everyone.” Miss Aragon said. 

  “And if we don’t?” Anne challenged.

  “Do you really want to find out?” Miss Aragon said scathingly. She turned and strode away from the field to go retrieve Joan Seymour from wherever she was, swathed in gleaming gold. 

The minute she was out of sight, Anne let out a roar of fury.

  “That goddamn pig!” She yelled, working herself up to a proper fit. “This is all her fault!!”

  “Let it go, Anne.” Katherine said tiredly. She carefully eased herself to the ground, wincing when her throbbing muscles pulled and bent. Relief was short lived, because Anne came charging up to her a second later.

  “Why are you taking her side?!” Anne cried.

  “This isn’t about taking sides!” Katherine cried back, a new sharpness in her voice. “What did Joan Seymour ever do to you? Or to any of us?”

A few of the girls exchanged looks, seemingly only now thinking about that, while others, like Anne, looked unfazed. Katherine saw Anne’s fists clench tightly at her side, but she didn’t back down her own defense. She didn’t think Anne would strike her, but if she did, she liked to think she could take her in a fight.

  “My, my,” Anne said with sickly sweet venom in her voice. “Look who’s become the little Joan of Arc around here?” Her demeanor then switched, flaming into seething resentment, and Katherine could now see that her older cousin hated Joan Seymour with every inch of her being--simply for existing. There was no rhyme or reason, she just despised the girl. “Oh yeah, remind me. Who was in there pitching with the rest of us?”

Katherine sucked in a sharp breath, but blew it out in a sigh. “I was.” She admitted.

  “Yeah.” Anne sneered. Several of the other girls were packed behind her, backing her up, while a few, like Bessie and Maria, stood or sat in the middle, looking from the swarm of sweaty, angry teens to Katherine and then back to the swarm. 

  “But I’m sorry.” Katherine said.

Anne barked a laugh. “Sorry?” She laughed again, then turned to the girls behind her. “Hey, everyone, little Miss Perfect is sorry! She’s so sorry! Oh, Kitty’s sorry!”

  “Anne!” Maria hissed, then jerked her head to the side, where the yellow figure of Miss Aragon could be seen walking back over. The group quickly dispersed and Katherine shook her head.

Miss Aragon stopped in front of them. At her side, little Joan looked absolutely horrified. Her eyes are wide and paler than the moon in the sunlight, and she kept fidgeting like she wanted to run. She was trying very hard not to look at any of the girls, but didn’t know where else to stare, so her gaze kept shifting around everywhere in a panic.

  “Now, do you all have something to say to Joan?” Miss Aragon said sternly.

  “Joan--” Katherine stood up, gritting her teeth through the awful wave of pain that burned through her muscles. She slowly walked up to Joan as to not frighten her, but Joan still backed up into Aragon’s side anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Joan hunched her shoulders in and looked away. 

  “Maria.” Miss Aragon said.

Maria hesitated for just a moment, then gave in. “Sorry.”

  “Your turn, Maggie.”

Maggie pressed her tongue against the inside of her lip and spat an uncaring, “Sorry.”

  “Bessie.”

Bessie squinted up at Joan through the sunlight, then said, “Oh. Sorry.”

  “Alright, Anne,” Miss Aragon said. “Let’s hear it.”

  “When goddamn pigs fly…” Anne muttered stubbornly. A few giggles broke out around her. Miss Aragon narrowed her eyes dangerously.

  “What was that?” Their coach said. “We’re waiting, Anne. I can’t hear you.”

  “Please, it’s okay,” Joan squeaked, gripping onto Miss Aragon’s sleeve. She looked up at her with the saddest, most scared eyes Katherine had ever seen before. Miss Aragon gently touched her head in a form of reassurance, then instantly glared at Anne.

  “I said--” Anne growled lowly.

  “You don’t have to do this!”

Joan is in front of Anne, now, hands outstretched like she wanted to grab onto her. In the sun, Katherine could see the silvery scars on her hands more clearly, whorled in strange patterns in her skin. The light made her long white-gold hair look like it was charged with glittering electricity or made of jeweled silk. Anne looked down at her, and Joan backed up, clasping her hands together against her chest nervously.

  “Joan Seymour?” Anne said softly, stepping towards the girl. She stooped down to her height and spat, “Eats shit.”

Joan flinched backwards as if she were just sprayed with venom. Miss Aragon instantly got between her and Anne, acting as a protective shield of sorts.

  “Good news, ladies!” She announced. “Because of Anne’s comment, you will all be getting another week of detention with doubled time!”

The class simultaneously groaned, now turned against Anne. Anne clenched her fists, smoldering with rage.

  “I’m not running another goddamn inch,” She snarled, “because Joan Seymour got her period and was too stupid to know what it was.”

Joan flinched again, and Katherine had the unbearable urge to run over to her and cover her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear this. Her own blood began to boil and she glared at her cousin.

  “That’s it.” Miss Aragon said. “You’re suspended.”

That seemed to hit Anne like a punch to the gut. Her eyes bulged hugely out of their sockets.

  “What?”

  “You’re out of prom and you’re out of my class.” Miss Aragon stated firmly. “Now.”

  “No!” Anne shouted.

  “NO?” Miss Aragon towered over her, eyes ablaze. She looked ready to rip Anne’s throat out, and Katherine found that she wouldn’t quite mind seeing that happen.

  “You can’t decide that!” 

  “Watch me.” Miss Aragon said. She turned her gaze to the other students, as if she were challenging them to try and speak out. “The rest of you. Another lap. Come on.”

  “You can’t do this to us!” Anne squawked. “Someone could die of dehydration! Bessie, you have a heart condition, don’t you?”

Bessie apparently decided that she didn’t know who Anne was, because she was looking at everything but her.

  “If we all stick together, they can’t suspend all of us!” Anne said fervently. There was a spark of craziness in her eyes as she watched her group of friends crumble around her, suddenly not backed up anymore. “We didn’t do anything wrong!”

Joan’s quiet whimper begged to differ. Miss Aragon looked at Anne in disgust. 

  “Come on, guys!” Anne desperately attempted to rally them together. “Haley, Allie? Maria? Heather?” She spun around for somebody, anybody, and then her eyes landed on her cousin. “Katherine!” She strode over to her and clasped their hands together. “You’re with me on this, right?”

  “Katherine…” Miss Aragon warned.

Katherine’s heart ached in her chest. Anne was looking at her with so much desperation and need. There were flickers of love in her gaze, love for her little cousin, love that showed that the old Anne was still in there somewhere and ready to play harmless pranks with Katherine again. But when she looked right into her eyes, all she saw was Joan on the floor of the stall, crying and hyperventilating and surrounded by blood.

Her mind was made up.

  “Come on, guys,” Katherine pulled out of Anne’s grasp and jogged over to the starting line to get the last bout of Suicides over with. The others followed, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw Anne staring at her with a look of heartbreak and betrayal. 

Heartbreak and betrayal that morphed into something awful and sinister.

  “You fucking bitch,” Anne seethed lowly, wheeling around to glare at Joan. The poor girl was shaking like a leaf in the wind, practically cowering behind Miss Aragon. “I’ll get you for this! See if I don’t, you filthy pi-”

Anne’s words were silenced by a fierce slap across her face. She tottered backwards, and all the girls running stopped to gasp and ogle the scene with wide eyes. Miss Aragon was scowling and rubbing her hand.

  “You can’t--” Anne sputtered, and then yelped loudly as her collar was grabbed. Miss Aragon shook her roughly, screaming in her face.

  “ONE MORE WORD OUT OF YOU AND I’LL MAKE YOU WISH YOU NEVER SHOWED UP TO SCHOOL TODAY!!” Miss Aragon roared. She shook Anne again, then drew her in close. Her words came out barbed and wrapped in shards of glass. “Do you understand me?”

Whimpering, Anne nodded. Miss Aragon released her and Katherine watched as her cousin took off, crying. Miss Aragon looked at the rest of them and shook her head.

  “You’re all dismissed,” She said. Then, she turned, gently took Joan by the hand, and guided her back inside.

Everyone else dispersed pretty quickly, not caring enough to change clothes. Katherine, however, had to trudge to the locker room because she stupidly put all her stuff in there. When she entered, she could hear voices coming from Miss Aragon’s office.

  “Joan, sweetheart? I’m so sorry, if I had known it would have gone like that--”

  “Oh, Miss Aragon, you just have to let Anne go to the prom! You got to!”

Those were Miss Aragon and Joan. Now Katherine had to stay and eavesdrop on their conversation. She shut the door silently so as to not alert them and crept closer to hear better.

  “Joan--”

  “Prom is very important to her…”

  “And what’s right is important to me.” Miss Aragon said firmly.

  “But prom is everything to those girls!” Joan warbled. “It’s the one night they get to dress up and be beautiful! It’s like a dream!”

  “But what about you?”

Pause.

Hesitation.

  “No--” Joan said, and Katherine thought she may have been shaking her head. “Oh, no, I’m not going. I’m--I’m /different/.” 

Was that disgust in her voice? Why?

  “Not that different.” 

  “Yes, I am.” 

That was sadness and grief. 

Joan added a moment later, solemnly and slightly envious, “They all got someone…”

  “And so will you one day, things change.” Miss Aragon told her.

There’s a moment of silence. Katherine could bet a million dollars that Joan was looking at Miss Aragon in disbelief right now.

  “I tell you what. Let’s pretend--”

  “Miss Aragon…”

  “Just for a minute! Pretend that the right someone comes up to you and says: ‘Joan, will you be my date to the prom?’ What would you say?”

A beat of silence.

  “No.”

  “J--”

Miss Aragon sighed heavily. Katherine struggled not to laugh.

  “Joan, why not?”

  “I’m not--” Joan fumbled. “I’m not--pretty.”

Miss Aragon gave a tiny gasp.

  “Oh, sweetheart… Sure you are! Look--” Katherine can faintly hear her root around for something, most likely a pocket mirror. “See there? That’s a pretty girl.”

Katherine’s mind was spinning. She kept thinking “poor Joan” over and over and over again. The girl’s self esteem was so low. It was normal for people to make comments about their body, but there was a sort of deep hatred in Joan’s voice when she said that she wasn’t pretty that made Katherine think all of this ran a lot deeper than she thought.

Would there ever be a way to make things right?

[kae-karo]

hi so i saw this post (x) and

giran: hey kiddos we got a box of these heelys by mistake i'll give em to ya for ten bucks each

shiggy: WE'LL TAKE IT

compress: do we even have that kind of money?

shiggy: shut up magic-man, the kind gentleman is making us a very generous offer.

shiggy: which we WILL be accepting

dabi, chillin on a bean bag in the corner: do u even know what heelys are

shiggy: shut up you second-rate endeavor

dabi: fine see if i fuck u any time this week

shiggy, turning back to giran: use AFO's credit card it should still be valid

giran: sure, whatever, have fun

toga, coming out from somewhere: ooooooooooo shiggy, whatcha got?

shiggy: *very proud of himself* we have heelys

twice, also coming out from somewhere: WE HAVE HEELYS???

dabi, cackling in the corner: a whole box

toga: ooooooooo i always wanted those!!!

shiggy, convinced this was a fantastic idea if the real villain wanted them: indeed, it was a strategic purchase from giran. i did some excellent negotiating to acquire them

dabi, losing his fucking mind in the corner: expert negotiating yep

compress: *staying totally silent as he opens the box*

toga: oooo do they have a size seven????

twice: and an eleven!!!!

shiggy: i'll take the largest, since i'm the leader

dabi: *making weirdass noises cause he's laughing so hard it hurts*

spinner: oooo what we got?

toga and twice, simultaneously: HEELYS

spinner, losing his fucking mind: we have heelys oh my god that's so fucking cool shiggy did u get these for us???

shiggy, starting to get a little suspicious that he hasn't just purchased a very useful weapon: i did...

spinner: AWESOME, you're the best leader ever!!!!! hey hey compress do we have a size nine?

compress: uhhh yep, and we've got a men's six, will that work for u toga?

toga: I HAVE BIG FLUFFY SOCKS *disappears to get said socks*

compress: twice, here's yours, and spinner

shiggy, watching with increased horror as he realizes he just bought some shoes: they're,,,,,,,,,shoes

twice: *already lacing his heelys up* yea what'd u think?

toga: *slides into the lounge or w.e with her fluffy socks* twicey can you help me with my shoesies?

shiggy: what have i done

spinner: oh my god they're all the same style, we can be matching! it'll be like a cool team uniform

dabi: *cackling in the corner*

compress: dabi, did you want a pair?

dabi, glancing at shiggy, who looks some mix of horrified and pissed off: hell yeah give me an eleven as well

twice: WATCH ME BOSS! *runs through the lounge and then starts heelying*

toga: oooooo yay i wanna try!!! *does it but not very gracefully, twice catches her when she stumbles* aw, that's hard!

spinner: watch and learn, noobs *proceeds to fail even harder than toga*

toga, pouting: it's really hard isn't it????? hey hey dabi wabi are you any good at it???

dabi, quirking a brow at a now-fuming shiggy: i suppose we'll just have to find out, won't we? *executes a flawless glide with the level of coolness that spinner could only aspire to*

toga: ooooo that was so good!!! *little claps*

twice: hey teach me how to do that, you looked like such a badass! he looked stupid as does everyone here including you you idiot

spinner: hey boss, you gonna get in on this heely action?

shiggy, one second away from disintegrating the entire box: we are sending them back and putting our money toward something more.......useful

dabi, heelying across the lounge: what a shame, i'm sure hawks would love to try them out

shiggy, suddenly interested: he.....would?

dabi, totally bullshitting: oh yeah, yep, he's a big fan of these kinds of trends

spinner: yeah he seems like he's pretty funky fresh with the trends *attempts another glide, falls flat on his face*

dabi: besides, it'd be rude of us not to treat him as an equal, if he's to be joining the league

toga: yeah!!!! hawksy should come heely with us!!!!

shiggy: he thinks they're cool?

dabi, still heelying flawlessly across the lounge: absolutely. he'd probably think the league was even cooler if he saw us all heelying

shiggy: all of us?

dabi: oh yeah, all of us. in fact, i think he'd expect it *heelys over to shiggy, leaning to whisper in his ear* i mean, he'd hardly respect you as a leader if you weren't participating, would he?

shiggy: compress. get me a size ten.

-----ten minutes later--------

shiggy: this shouldn't be this hard they're just shoes

twice and toga, heely-dancing: it's so fun boss, thanks for the gift!

shiggy: not a gift!!! we can...use this....somehow....... *scoots himself forward a few inches on the heels before stumbling and nearly falling over*

dabi: so i told hawks to come over

shiggy: take it back right fucking now

dabi: oof sorry boss no can do, he said he's already on the way

shiggy: *scoots with more determination*

spinner: hey dabi can you teach me how to do it all cool like you do?

dabi, quirking a brow at spinner: .................no. *heelys off toward the door to wait for hawks*

shiggy: dabi i refuse to allow you to open that door for-

hawks, bursting down the door, lowkey out of breath from flying so fast: i was told there'd be heelys

[yesterdays-brunch]

So my college went back to class on Monday. Which was actually a blessing because most of us need to use facilities in the building to complete our degrees. The school is actually doing all they can to keep our small school safe (despite how annoying it may be). That being said, I was told a story about a situation that happened the other day during a senior course. A professor decided to have their class outside due to the good weather (it would also keep these students out of the building). This proffessor and the students were all socially distancing while listening to normal syllabus stuff I assume. However, they were not wearing masks due to being outside. The class was dismissed but some students were lingering. Then a student that was not in that course (not in that major either) came up to him in front of his students and shamed him for not wearing his mask. I'm paraphrasing but the student said "You should be wearing a mask while teaching. I don't want to fucking die!" And then apparently HEELYED OFF. I understand the concern, but this is not okay! I know mask shaming has become an easy way to get brownie points but this is so incredibly disrespectful. You should remind people of safety procedures especially if it makes you uncomfortable. But, it does not make you noble and cool for doing this. This is a proffessor and there is still an element of respect that we owe each other especially during this time. Teachers are doing their best. No one is going to clap for you doing this. This person is probably going to post about this and feel ritgeous due to the culture around mask shaming. Yeah there are some cases where you need to be more direct when dealing with unmasked people (shops for example). Try to remind people of safety procedures with compassion. We don't need more aggression. Also heelying away from a situation is so cringy.

TLDR; Don't mask shame professors just to embarrass them and feel ritgeous. They are doing their best! Remind people respectfully if you can!

[periwinkledoodle]

Chapter 1: Bo the Funkster and His Shady Owl

Honey Lee

How do you pack for a boarding school for the magically gifted? No seriously, I’m asking. The question had so paralyzed me for weeks that there I was at 5 am on a Sunday staring at an empty suitcase. 

My parents had enrolled me, their ‘gifted’ child into Ilvermorney’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after I’d accidentally transfigured my Algebra teacher’s toupee into a small chihuahua. I mean the resemblance was uncanny but my feeble explanations weren’t fooling anyone. My letter addressed to Ms. Hun Mi Beatrice Lee arrived shortly after.

“Hey Honeycomb, do you wanna eat breakfast before we go or take it on the way to the airport?” It was my Dad calling from down the hall in our Familie’s tiny San Francisco Apartment. He was probably packing snacks and making a Spotify playlist for the drive to the Airport. He knows exactly how to prepare for this. I grumbled to myself. It was a knack of his to anticipate and prepare, not just for himself but for our little family of three. When I went to my first sleep-away camp he made sure to tuck Mr. Pinky into my duffle even though I insisted I was too old for stuffed animals. When Mom lost her job he was prepared with taped re-runs of Gilmore Girls, a steaming pan of bulgogi and extra savings from a rainy day account he’d meant to surprise us with.  

“I’ll eat on the way” I shouted back after a pregnant pause. Maybe it’s not too late to ask him to pack for me. I jumped at the knock on my door.

“Uuuuh-” I responded dumbly, unable to come up with a believable excuse to shoo away the intruder. The door creaked open and my Mom stood there sleepy-eyed with an extra cup of coffee in her hands.  

“Coffee?” She smiled sweetly, handing me my favorite ceramic travel mug. The one with the San Francisco skyline. The one not from Starbucks. She took a sip of her own before eyeing my room. I could see her face change as her eyes drifted to the empty suitcase at the end of my bed. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and another sip of coffee. When she opened her eyes again she took the coffee mug out of my hands and pointed down the hall to the bathroom.

“Toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, razor, lotion. Go!”

All I could do was nod and scurry to my task as Mom called down the hall “Ed! Put the pancake batter in the fridge and come help me!”

Twenty minutes later my parents were high-fiving each other as we merged onto the freeway to the Airport with my entire wardrobe and most of my essentials stuffed into two bags in the trunk.

“We’re only a few minutes behind schedule, which is fine because I set aside at least ten minutes of buffer time for getting your mom out the door so really we’re ahead of things- Ow!” Dad rubbed the spot where mom’s elbow met his ribs. Mom turned around in her seat to hand me back my coffee.

“Ready?” She asked

I nodded. How are you supposed to tell your parents you’re woefully unprepared to be a witch when they’re making big sacrifices to make the best of the situation? Ilvermorney was not cheap I knew that much.

“The real question is-”

I groaned as dad reached for his iphone

“Are you guys ready for this fire mixtape?”

“Dad it’s called a playlist and please never call something ‘fire’ ever again” I shouted over the speakers blasting Magic by Pilot.

My family has never been one for emotional goodbyes so forty minutes later at the departures curb my Dad handed me my bags and my itinerary with sticky notes marking extra instructions for my transfer from JFK to the School’s rail shuttle. Mom handed me some extra cash for breakfast and they were off. Not two minutes later my phone buzzed with a text from Mom.

We’re so proud of you. X.

I’ll admit my eyes did sweat a little as I took a deep breath and headed to the bag drop line.

Having a whole 7-hour flight to ease my social anxiety nerves did not prepare me for the three-hour train ride with no assigned seating from New York to Mt. Greylock. After wandering the full length of the train trying to act like I knew where I was going I finally settled into an empty compartment towards the front of the ‘student rail shuttle’ or at least that’s what was plastered on each train car. After a full five minutes of peace and quiet, what I can only describe as a Crayola box on heelies rolled into my compartment, stuck out his hand and said “Hi, I’m Bo the Funkster” before dropping his bags and a tiny bug-eyed owl in the corner.

“Hi,” I said weakly, shaking his hand. From head to toe, the guy was a loud assortment of patterns right down to his banana socks and checkered vans. I was still confused as to how they had wheels.

“You got a name?” he asked cheerily

“Honey”

“Babe” He quipped without skipping a beat. Fluttering his eyelashes teasingly.

I huffed uncomfortably “N-no that’s my name. Well, actually my name is Hun Mi but my sister couldn’t pronounce it when I was born so she called me Honey and now it’s the only name I ever remember being called.”  

“That’s cute” He smiled sincerely

“Yeah, she was cute like that. My parents miss her a lot.” I said more to myself than anyone else until I saw his smile drop. Oh boy, major overshare. I mentally slapped myself. Recover! Recover!

“I mean, she died from cancer a long time ago so it’s fine”

His eyebrows knit together and mouth agape no doubt looking for a socially acceptable response to ‘Hi my name is Honey, my sister died of leukemia what’s your childhood trauma?’  

Way to put oil on the fire Honey.

But to my surprise Bo the Funkster pat a hand on my knee. “Dude, that sucks. I’m sorry” He leaned back in his seat and studied me for a minute. “So your first semester at Ilvermorney?”

“Can you tell?”

“Uh, yeah. But you’re good don’t sweat it. I’ll help you out. Hit me with your questions.”

“Questions?”

“Yeah about wizarding, Ilvermorney, whatever. There’s no shame in being new to the wizarding community but you probably want to know a few things am I right?”

I nodded

“Well then, young padawan-” he gestured  “proceed.”

Two and a half hours later we had exhausted our Q&A and had resorted to swapping opinions on the best movies of the summer. The train turned a sharp corner into bright forested hills and the glow of the late afternoon light made me feel like we had entered another world altogether.

Bo caught me staring “Yeah, it’s pretty” he admitted crawling his lanky limbs over his seat towards the window, he wedged the rusted thing open to let the summer breeze in.

“C’ mere” He motioned

I scooted over to the window and followed suit as he stuck his head out the window and inhaled deeply.

“Aahh, the last breath of summer,” he remarked before grinning at me wildly and cupping his hands to let loose a piercing howl that echoed over the hillside. I blinked. He abruptly put his hand up and shushed.

“I didn’t-”

“SHHH!” he wagged his shushing finger more forcibly.

I rolled my eyes to the sky but without missing a beat several eerie howls drifted back over the hills to us. I could feel my eyes grow wide.

“werewolves” Bo the funkster declared waving his arm out the window in proud presentation before sitting back in his assigned seat looking very pleased with himself.

“But it’s daytime, don’t they only change with the full moon?”

“Woohoo, look who knows her stuff!” He cheered. Then leaning forward with an unsettlingly fascinated look in his eye “It is a full moon!”  Without looking he jabbed a finger at the sky. I almost didn’t look half expecting him to just be messing with me, but there it was hanging proudly in what was left of blue in the sky.

“The nighttime part isn’t necessary and werewolves can howl in their human form too. Piece of trivia for your DA course.” He clicked some finger guns at me and winked before stepping out of the compartment without explanation.

What a weirdo. I smiled in spite of myself.

“Buckle up!” He called from down the car

Buckle up?

The train lurched and took off the tracks and I white-knuckled the armrest searching furiously with my other arm for a nonexistent seatbelt. The shifty Owl who I’d almost forgotten about perched atop the now falling luggage let out a grumbly and distinctly human-like “Who” that would haunt my dreams for weeks.

I gaped at it in absolute horror.

Once I regained my balance, and a piece of my sanity, I dared to steal a glance out the window, rather than engage the bird in a staring contest I was likely to lose. The sight that met my eyes made both my stomach and my heart leap. Unsure of whether it was nausea or nerves, I took a deep breath and leaned out the window again for a closer look. As the train gracefully ascended around the mountain it passed through a flock of what I can only describe as grey eagle-like Pegasus. Pegasuses? Pegasi? There were so many things I still didn’t know.

Now is not the time to dwell on self-doubt. I lectured.

Looking again, I saw emerging from the trees at the top of the mountain piercing spires and castle windows glittering in the setting sun.

Maybe this place can be home. I hoped. The thought of finding a place to belong made me loosen my grip on the seat cushioning until another unsettling “who” came from the beady-eyed monster in the corner.

“BO!?” I called out nervously

No response.

I swear to God-  

“FUNKSTER!?”

[a-little-slice-of-fandom]

The Queens on Holiday part 3/?

Before I start, this is just a casual reminder that I now have an insta account (@we_stan_six)! Go follow me if you like the sort of stuff I post here :)

Anyway, sorry this third installment took so long to get around to. Personal life caught up with me and I really don't want to half ass any of my headcanons. It just doesn't feel right, ya know? (Also I can’t do the read more thing on mobile IM SORRY OKAY?)

Parr shouts for help because that bag has all of her clothes, shoes, the medical kit and three signed books in it

Problem is, they’re in Italy and no one can understand the tiny woman with curly hair shouting madly in a language they don’t speak

Aragon isn’t helping as she’s just sort of flailing her arms about wildly and screaming in Spanish

Jane grabs what looks to be a security guard and tries desperately to explain the situation to them

Cleves goes full on superwoman and breaks into a sprint

Boleyn drops her bags and follows on her heels

Boleyn’s heelys finally come in handy as she zooms through the crowd

The two catch up with the man and wrench the bag from his hand

He just stands there, dumbfounded and confused

There’s a few whispers coming from onlookers in the airport

“Why is no one applauding our valiant act of heroism?” “I mean it wasn’t that-” “we risKED OUR LIVES” “Boleyn it’s not-“ “WHEN WILL JUSTICE BE SERVED”

The other four queens rush up to the scene

People are starting to call for security

Howard quickly smiles at the man and, to the other queens surprise, the two begin to converse in Italian

“You never said you spoke Italian” “no one ever asked” “Never mind that, why was he trying to steal my bag?”

The two continue to converse

All the colour drains from Howard’s face

Turns out, the man is partially blind and genuinely thought Parr’s bag was his. He started running because he saw the time and realised he was about to miss his connection flight

His wife comes up behind them, holding her own bag and an exact copy of Parr’s bag except this one has a different name tag on it

The other queens all start trying to profusely apologise in a variety of different languages. English, French, German, Italian, Spanish.

Parr accidentally slips into Korean once or twice in her flustered state

The couple just sort of back away from the queens and run to get their flight

The six of them all take a quick breath and let the adrenaline drain from them

“Uh, queens”

Aragon is pointing over their shoulders

An army of buff security guards are questioning a few witnesses to what just happened

All fingers are pointing to the queens

“What does that mean? “IT MEANS RUN”

So the queens leg it out of the airport and pile into the nearest taxi without warning

Howard is in the front so she can translate

There’s only three seats in the back, so the other five queens are all squished together in a mess of limbs

“Are we there yet” “for the sixth time-OW” “Oh come on Parr that couldn’t have hurt that much!” “Im delicate okay?” Who the hell is hurting my goddaughter?” “Guys I can’t feel my legs anymore” “are we there yet?” “NO”

Since the queens missed their original flight, they’re really behind schedule

They can either miss their tour of the Vatican and go to the hotel to drop their bags off, or they can do the tour and miss the hotel’s dinner

Aragon is DETERMINED to see the Sistine chapel

Cleves and Boleyn also seem pretty interested in doing a tour of the Vatican

Cleves explains quietly to Aragon that yes, she might have been raised a Lutheran but she converted to Catholicism at Mary’s request. The least she could do was tour the place that Aragon’s daughter loved so much

Aragon is incredibly touched

Boleyn just wants to try and find the angel that’s giving the medieval version of the finger thats painted on the ceiling of the Sistine chapel

The queens decide to spilt up.

Aragon, Boleyn and Cleves will do the tour, while Seymour, Howard and Parr head on with the bags and check into the hotel

Just as Seymour hops out of the cab, she gives the trio a long list of instructions on what to do and what definitely not to do

The not to do list is directed solely at Boleyn

Only Aragon actually listens

Seymour turns to Parr and Howard

“Was I right? In letting them go by themselves, I mean?” “Absolutely, mum” “No they’re definitely going to d-I mean yeah”

So they check into the hotel without much of a fuss

Seymour still can’t believe that Howard speaks Italian and never mentioned anything about it

Howard is more surprised that Parr didn’t join the others at the Vatican

Turns out she just wanted to make sure she got the better room at the hotel

So Seymour, Parr and Howard all reward themselves for actually getting to italy by taking the bigger room with the queen sized beds, balcony and mini-fridge

Seymour insists that they only took this room so Boleyn wouldn’t cost them a small fortune by raiding the mini-fridge and definitely not because this room as a jacuzzi bath

“Should we really let Aragon and Boleyn share a room for a week?” “That can be Cleves problem”

So the they go to dinner

Seymour and Parr share a bottle of wine

Parr gets emotional when tipsy

*Hiccup* “you guys...you guys know how much the show means to me right? And you queens are so *hiccup* amazing and I’m so glad the producers raised us from the dead”

Howard eats so much Italian gelato she can’t even look at it for the rest of the week

Seymour’s phone begins ringing just as the bill for dinner arrives

It’s a number she doesn’t recognise.

She answers anyway, and to her surprise, it’s Aragon

“Jane! Thank goodness, now you need to listen to me really carefully it’s incredibly-GET OFF ME ANNA-

Jane can hear some faint shuffling as Cleves takes the phone

“Hey, Seymour. How are things? Good? That’s great. Now the thing is we’re sort of in a bit of trouble right now and-”

Cleves shouts a string of curses so colourful they could put even the pride flag to shame as the phone is snatched from her hand

Now it’s Boleyn

“JANE FOR GOD’S SAKE GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE AND HELP US THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME!”

Howard and Parr can both hear the other queens bickering with one another over the phone

People are giving them strange looks

“Mum, turn speakerphone off” “it is off!”

Jane sighs and returns to the phone call

“Queens, calm down. I can’t understand you when you’re squabbling like children. Now what’s wrong?”

Jane can barely believe their response

“WE’VE BEEN ARRESTED!”

BONUS

Meanwhile, back in London, the Ladies in Waiting and the three alternates are having a quiet week to themselves all things considered.

Howard’s service dog may have terrorised a family picnic or two when Joan took it for a walk but other than that things have gone well

Maggie suggests they all have night in together

Before Maggie can even finish her suggestion the alternates are ordering pizza

While Maria runs out to pick up their order, the others decide to play a game of monopoly

Within about thirty seconds Bessie and Joan and are no longer on speaking terms and one of the alternates has already been in jail six times

“Huh,” another one of the alternates murmurs, concentrating intensely on the news broadcast and trying to block out the brewing row “apparently some idiot just set the Sistine Chapel on fire...”

[todorokis-left-shoe]

Some Bakugou headcanons because I love him

He repeats words or phrases other people say a lot. It's mostly under his breath but sometimes he says it out loud.

It's actually how he first picked up cursing. Totally not his mom's fault.

Often times he repeats what his teachers say, especially when taking notes. It's a easier way to short hand and organize them.

He was once offered a taste of alcohol by one of his middle school "friends" but he refused. He was taught that underage drinking is bad and stuck to it.

He needs reading glasses but doesn't want to become his father.

He'd rather be blind than look like an old man.

When he was 6, he really did think All Might was his real dad.

Masaru took him to the park one day and just chilled at the playground. Bakugou played in the sandbox, just building randomly shaped castles and them shaming them. Masaru went to pick him up, knowing he wouldn't walk on his own, to leave but then Bakugou started throwing a tantrum and just shouted "YOUR NOT MY DAD!"

By the end of the day, Mitsuki had go pick up her ridiculous husband and son from the police station.

When he was 4, he had to announce to his parents when he had to pee. No matter where or when, he would loudly exclaim "I HAVE TO PEE!"

He still does it when it's just his mom in the room because he likes hearing her funny quips.

"I have to pee." "Oh geez, congratulations. Give the boy an award. A celebration for his need to use the restroom." *she then proceeds to clap as he leaves the room*

He likes watching detective type shows.

It's mainly just the older ones like in black and white.

Has a favorite t-shirt.

And that t-shirt is a Minecraft creeper that he made on a shirt design website.

The shirt says "Fucking explode" in bold English text as a jpg image of a creeper sits in the middle of the white background.

His favorite Pokemon is actually slowpoke. He just likes its stupid face.

He has a condition called "hyperhidrosis" which is a result due to his quirk.

He sweats way too much all the time so he's always super aware of how sweaty he is. And how he always smells like caramel.

When someone points out a permanent sweat stain on his other clothes, he just pretends he never noticed it and throws it out later on. It's the reason why he chooses to wear black or white shirts more.

He wears a lot of cotton to keep himself cooler— dispute it not really working well.

His uniforms are all specially ordered to be made cotton as well.

He can and will drink an entire jug of water in one hour and will fight you if you said anything.

Used to like riding on his father's shoulders.

Even pretended he was flying.

When he was 10, Mitsuki brought him to a hair salon one weekend while Masaru worked.

He left with a perm and a whole jar of lollipops.

Everyone liked his perm and anyone who said they didn't had to answer to his fist.

Once tried to keep a squirrel as a pet.

Before it ran away he named it Boom Boom.

He still left the bird feeder full of acorns for Boom Boom even after Mitsuki told him he was gone.

He was actually 13 when this happened.

Desperately wants heelies but knows he'd loose the wheels within a week.

Tensei/Ingenium is his 4th favorite hero because his costume looks cool.

Would never admit it because his little brother is lame and is in his class.

Has degenerative hearing loss.

For that reason alone he learned sign language.

He was stuck in a partner project with Koda for history class once. He knew he wasn't much of a talker and really did respect that so he didn't pressure him to speak.

Instead he started signing out what they should do so Koda would start signing with him.

Jiro noticed this and started teasing him about it; saying he was going soft and such alike.

But Bakugou dismissed it and the next day, without Koda even going to him, Bakugou started signing with him in a casual manner.

He felt more at ease knowing his JSL(Japanese sign language) wasn't going to waste.

He felt even more relieved to know that Present Mic was both going deaf and knew JSL(also ASL) just like him.

And then 2000% more relieved when he found out All Might also knew sign language.

He has a side Instagram account that's just pictures of his dad with his glasses upside down either on his face or sitting on top of his head.

He calls it "Masaru_king_of_glasses"

His father has no clue this is a thing but his mother does.

Class 1-a has no idea this exists.

The entirety of class 1-b DOES know of this Instagram account thanks to Monoma's inexplicable need to know everything about 1-a so he could thrash on them.

Class 1-b all follow the Instagram and had, for some reason, claimed Bakugou's father as their own father.

Mitsuki taught Bakugou how to cook because he's actually a picky eater. That way he could fix his food to his own liking.

He will not eat his rice if it touches something that doesn't belong on the rice.

If his beef has even a spec of pepper on it he will not eat it.

He absolutely hates pepper.

Also garlic.

Garlic makes him gag.

He counts his steps in his head as he walks.

He doesn't know why, he just does.

These were just some random things floating in my head so I hope you liked them. I know it was a lot lmao.

[zeppelinzori]

Fresh Knows How to Kill his Time

This is how I wrote a year ago. Thicc jokes were in their prime and it was okay for me to know I suck and keep writing anyway.

forewarning: this SUCkS

___---___

This is honestly the dumbest thing I’ve done all day, and it’s not even PaperFresh it’s just another crack ship ( and if you’ve just met the wandering writer then good to see you B !) I’ll just leave you to it :^>

Horror and Fresh didn't exactly live their lives clean of secrets, no one did. But theirs was secret to the point of absurdity. Horror kills to eat for a living and somewhere along the line forgot that he was even forced to. And Fresh’s entire character was a scam to begin with. Neither of them would understand feelings if they ever got any. So, then, what was it that scratched at the back of their heads when they first met?

It was when Fresh decided to peek in on some of the Multiverse’s most unfresh, super sadistic places of all time to teach monsterkind a lesson about how wack it would be to just - stop, the killing? He never addressed to himself that this goose chase started out of boredom anyway.

“Welp, McFreshity’s bored, I’m out!” he said aloud to himself in the privacy of a dark, deserted forest. Already after stepping in the the portal Error kindly pushed him through, the air was hard and stank with dust. But moreso with dread, and more of it than anywhere he’s ever seen before now. It would be too stupid of him to stay here any more than he needed to. So, he started walking back. Hands nuzzled in his t h i c c jacket.Then seconds later, they were whipped out into the freezing cold that Snowdin was capable of, unwillingly. He propped his head forward and let his shades drop down, in case he’s crossed ways with a freak, in case a certain freak was head over heels to parade his head on a stick around the shops. You never know what real, unrad people thought of these days.

“Yo, wanna trade cards or something? ‘Cuz I’m totes up.”

The monster only gripped his wrists worse.

“Psyche!” Fresh replied. He jerked his foot up to his pelvis and, when he crouched away in pain, found his chance to jump back out of reach. His shades slid further from the confines of tape they were holding on to. This stranger’s big-time doomsday device was being spelled out right in front of him.

“Man, what a shame we couldn't talk this out first. I’ll give you time to say your last words though, it’s cool.”

But saying this only got him more fired up.

“What do you think you’re doing, idiot?” he spat. Now pulling one red-mess of an axe into view.

“Uhh.” Fresh shuffled to his left after that the same axe came hurtling toward him.

“Hey man,” he warned, “I’d better go or else you’re not going to be feelin’ so nice by the end of this.”

But the monster persisted for a fight. He threw a hand up and signaled the start with a Ping! Calling to a wall of bones and bone picks to cave him in. Fresh was quick to react, supplementing every five bones with one explosive furby aimed expertly above the path. He took it upon himself to fish his fanny pack for Nickelodeon Moon Shoes while he had his seconds to spare.

“What makes ya’ fight, bro?” he yelled meters across. He also figured that he might as well teach his lesson mid battle.

Another collision of projectile and snow sounded beside the trees. A total miss. Out of anger, his fellow novice finally shouted a response: “Our <FUNK>ing code of conduct, okay? Are you done yet?”

“Done with what?” he said. The stranger’s next wave of blows was cut short.

“You hit me in the pelvis and now you wanna fight for some stupid reason? I’m not even sure why the <HEELIES> you’re here! The Queen should be here to finish you off not me.”

“Oh, yeah gotcha. Well..” Fresh strode a bit closer.

“I’m just stopping around each au to teach everybody a little bit about the power of love and friendship. And so far, I think your wiggity waggity neighbro has been successful.”

“Bull<SHRIMP>.” His novice kicked the grass and dirt dead under his feet. But since something like this might never happen to him again, he decided to have his fun while it lasted.

“What, did you shove sparkle guns into their system until they understood?”

“Sparkle guns? Nah, nah, dude, check it. I hit the books for this, alright? So, first, I introduce myself.” Fresh stuck his hand out like he was accepting his oncoming death.

“Sup, broski, the name’s Fresh. What’s yours?” And from this point forward, it looked like he wanted him to follow suit to the scheme.

“Horror,” he blurted, having maybe stammered once or twice but it was better not to think about it. He didn’t remember this idiot getting so close as he is.

“And then,” Fresh went on, “Im’a be all like, ‘Wow, it’s so radical to meet you, Horror. The pleasure is totally mine.”

Horror didn’t bother telling him that he read his books wrong.  

“And then I do what all partners and people do in -  some - countries. I think. I mean, I’ve seen it in movies.” And with no shame of his own, he minimalized distance, minimalized space,and pushed his teeth into Horror’s all buddy-buddy. It was in Horror’s first impulse to push him off but with fingers so light and trembling what else could he do? Fresh could only feel them drumming against his jacket during the exchange until he let go.

Horror stared at him, unfaltering, a beet red surge dragging him to the depths of hot Hell where he couldn’t run from. He didn’t feel like he could even stay at eye-level with him anymore.

And Fresh was- Fresh was Fresh. He didn’t look anywhere visibly affected or different than he was just a minute ago.

“How dee do, broski?”

“Dee do my <DRONE>, why aren’t you hot or… Or turned on?”

“What are you?” he whispered.

Fresh swung his hands up to his head to re adjust his pinwheel cap as he started his way back to Toriel’s doors.

“A parasite, dawg! Supposed species of monster. Preferably with another soul and host.”

Horror marked the grave mistake of not running after him. Then another for letting everything before and after the kiss record again in the empty, lovesick space of his head. He didn’t even flinch, there was nothing about him that registered to be humane.

/Again/, how warm had he felt before now, in that distinct touch, than ever in his life?

No, he couldn’t just let this slip by. He needed to know just where in Undick’s name did he belong in this universe.

/Again/, the crushing heat. He wanted to know if it came from Fresh or himself.

When there was a break in the standstill, he gained the newfound energy to sprint and blare his voice box to the best of his ability.

But when he got to the doors, he was gone. The doors were already locked as they were with only the wind there to clean up his traces. The Nickolodean Moon Shoes were nearly depleted of their tracks on the snow…

“yO, wHErE ya aT B? I nEeD a RiDe to SoUtHweSt AveNue f0r a WeNdY”S!”

Horror continued to break down like a dysfunctional Putt-Putt in front of the car pulling up from the stretched and snapped out trees of the forest. Meanwhile, Fresh would be going with his homeslice Greasy and Error to pop a cold one with the boys.

> Ask to Go With Him

> Leave Me to DiIiIEeE

::;3