#hey… did you perhaps catched the wanted poster on the newspaper..?

[genesisguidline]

comic#1 of my malevolent p.i au

a domestic sketch #1 if you want something less violent

comic#2(john gets a present)

comicstrip#1(client pov)

this is basically my first try to make a comic so don’t judge me. i did my best 🤷‍♂️

[ladyeliot]

Welcome Seaville. Chapter One. [T.S. / J.H.]

Series:  “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong”

Prologue

Pairing: Tony Stark/Justin Hammer x Fem!Reader / Best Friend Steve Rogers

Summary:  1987. The exchange term is over, so you return to your hometown, Seaville, just before Christmas. The reunions with friends, the first day of school, everything goes back to the way it used to be.

Warnings: Insults, piques.

Word Count: 3465

A/N: Sorry for my spelling and grammatical mistakes, English is not my native language, I am learning.

December 1987

It would have been enough to say that this was just another ordinary Christmas in the small Maine town of Seaville, but it was not. The Christmas lights were brighter, the streets were more beautiful under the clear splendour of the moon, and the wind brought a sweet smell of sea salts that gave you a pleasant sensation. You peered through the passenger window and let the east wind envelop you and welcome you home again. Seaville was welcoming you in its entirety and you were leaving it.

It had been just four months since you had left the coast of Maine to head off to fulfil one of your many dreams, to spend a term in the French city of Paris. Nothing in your life could have compared to that singular experience, and you even hoped to return next year having been accepted to the University of Paris, but, equally, nothing could compare to the love you felt for home.

"Please roll up the window," your father insisted. "I don't want you to spend the whole Christmas holidays with the flu."

And of course nothing could compare to your dear father.

As you rounded the corner into your little residential area you could almost smell the sweet scent of hot chocolate and puffy clouds that your father had promised you when he picked you up from the airport. You got out of the car so quickly that you barely paid any attention to the bundle of suitcases your father was trying to pull out of the boot without any help.

As you had predicted, as soon as you turned the lock and opened the door, the smell of cocoa filled the whole house. You allowed yourself a few seconds to take in the view, the fireplace lit and adorned with the three corresponding boots, the Christmas tree in place, without the star on the top, as that was your job, and the coats sorted on the hanger by colour. All the same as always.

"Don't worry, I can manage," your father said almost breathlessly as he climbed the porch steps.

You laughed and grabbed one of the three suitcases that were blocking your father's path. You both closed the door behind you and followed each other into the kitchen as if it were tradition. The chocolate was still warm and the clouds had dissolved, just the way you used to like them. The conversation with your father went on for so long, explaining to him everything you hadn't wanted to tell him over the phone, or through letters, a method your father had forced you to maintain, for we should note that his job was as a literary writer, although he sometimes resorted to writing a few newspaper columns to make a little extra money.

The point is that the little family had been talking for hours on end, not realising that midnight had already passed, and that tomorrow you had to go to the institute to settle bureaucratic matters due to your return.

"Bonne nuit, chérie," your father said in a chaste French accent, kissing your forehead.

"Bonne nuit, papa," you smiled back, preparing to be reunited with your room.

Your room, which you had not yet had the pleasure of entering, was as usual, oblivious to the fact that your father had changed the quilt on your bed so you could sleep warmer. You flopped on your back on the bed, but just as a memory came to you, you quickly got up and went to the window. What your eyes beheld brought a laugh and a sense of relief and happiness, how could you not have noticed it before?

By chance of life, you were lucky enough to have discovered true friendship in the person who lived right across the street from you. When you and your father moved to Seaville, due to your mother's death 10 years ago, you chose that quiet residential neighbourhood to settle down and raise a small family. You met Steve Rogers on your first day of second grade, and from the moment you discovered you lived across the street from each other, a beautiful friendship was forged.

For ten minutes you couldn't take your eyes off the window of the house across the street, right next to yours. A large light blue cardboard covered the whole space and a few letters in capital letters decorated it with "Bon retour". Obviously you had kept Steve constantly in mind during your term away, long phone conversations and a few postcards proved it, but during the flight back you were afraid that he had forgotten about the day you were coming back, a rather stupid fear. So, with the comfort that gesture had brought you, you decided it was time to go to bed and get some rest, as the next morning was a long day ahead.

The sunbeam fell incessantly on your face, the curtains could barely block its power, you had assumed that you were not a good early riser, but that morning you woke up in a good mood, not even the strong smell of charred toast was going to take it away from you.

"Wow, nice smile," your father notified, offering you a plate with two pieces of toast blackened under raspberry jam.

"Thanks!" you took the plate and took his usual seat. "I'm looking forward to seeing Steve, and catching up with Natasha. Although I hope they've got things to tell me too. What are you doing today?"

"I have to finish the chapter of the book to hand in to the publisher," he sat down next to you. "And I also have to go to the mall to pick up a gift."

The smile on your face that morning widened, there were only two days left until Christmas, so it was obvious that the gift I was supposed to pick up would be for you. Even though you had everything planned, and had brought some presents from Paris, you still had to buy the last detail for your father.

Just then the front doorbell rang, and you realised that time had run out on you when you noticed that you were still in your pyjamas.

"Shit!" you exclaimed, taking the last bite of toast and heading upstairs. "I'll be down in five minutes!"

Just as you disappeared your father headed off to greet his visitor. You could hear Steve's voice as you hurriedly went about getting dressed, combing your hair and getting your backpack ready for class, not forgetting to grab two rolls of film to develop, but when you heard his laughter you couldn't help but laugh too, even though you had barely heard the reason for his action. You rushed downstairs and from the third step practically threw yourself onto Steve's back in a laughing embrace.

"Have you grown up? No way, let me see you," Steve scoffed receiving your customary punch on his shoulder.

"Hey, nice cartel," you arched an eyebrow pointing to his house.

"You think so?" your friend asked. "I'm glad you liked it. I spent three poster boards until I was proud of my work. "

Steve's sincerity did nothing but thank you for the small detail he'd had for you. But time was passing and you still hadn't left the house.

"Come on, guys! You're going to be late for class," your father informed you, offering you your lunch bag. You took it with a kiss on the cheek and ran after Steve, who was waiting for you by your bike in the garden. That morning you couldn't keep a smile off your face and Steve couldn't take his eyes off you.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you said getting on your bike.

"You're so happy. It's not normal to see that smile at eight o'clock in the morning," Steve's comment made you laugh a little.

You both set off in the direction of the school, it usually took you ten minutes to get there by bike if you cycled at a leisurely pace, but you were still able to catch up. On the way Steve was interested in the photographs you had taken during your stay in the European city, as you had sent him some of the ones you had had time to develop. Photography was a way for you to escape, your mother had dedicated all the years of her life to the art, and perhaps it was an incentive for you to admire her.

"It's different, Paris inspires me, it's so romantic and bohemian that it's very easy to get carried away," you explained. "That doesn't mean Seaville isn't, it's... different."

Steve listened attentively to your every word, possibly one thing you both had in common was a sensitivity that you only showed when you were both alone.

It didn't take you long to realise that the school was nearby, as the amount of cars queuing at the entrance informed you of your arrival.

"Welcome back," said Steve as he entered with you through the main door leading to a long corridor lined with lockers.

You both headed towards your locker area, you didn't know why you expected anything to have changed, but everything, literally everything, was still the same.

"There you go again! Have you been deported?" that voice, which you hadn't missed, made you roll your eyes. "I had hoped that you would have climbed the Eiffel Tower and let yourself plummet. But here you are, again."

"I had hoped that one of your absurd inventions would have exploded and you would have been shot to pieces with them," you shot back with a sarcastic grin. "But not all dreams come true."

"And I had hoped that being a senior in high school you two could get along," Steve interrupted. "But I see that's impossible."

A wide wry grin on Tony's face competed with yours, but you added a snip and he countered by trying to bite your finger.

"Lovely welcome Tony," Natasha joined the group hugging you from behind, depositing a kiss on his cheek. "Wait, do I smell Parisian perfume? You haven't turned into one of those French repipes have you?"

You were grateful for Nat's presence, who was your ally against the daily struggle against Tony, for after all Steve was a neutral lynchpin in the battle. Nat shook Steve's hand and when he went to greet Tony he tried to give him a kiss on the lips, which resulted in him getting punched in the arm. The bell rang, breaking up the group, depending on which subjects you were in.

"Meet me later in the cafeteria and continue to catch up?" you commented to Steve who was going the other way with Tony.

"As always."

You gave him a parting smile, but your gaze met Tony's who blew you a kiss in the air, causing you to squint and grimace.

"And we're still catching up?" repeated Nat with a quizzical arch of his eyebrow.

"I've got a lot to tell you, and I hope you've got a lot to tell me..." you arched an eyebrow.

"It all depends on the present you brought me from Paris," replied your friend, winking at you.

You laughed, but the two of you parted ways just inside the administration offices, where a long morning of tidying up awaited you.

After two hours of filling out forms and making photocopies of the documents you had brought from the institute in Paris, you had become quite an expert. You had hoped to have an hour to spare before lunchtime to escape to the developing room to develop the film, but that seemed impossible. When the bell rang, you had barely had time to approach the room and put the film in your locker, which you had been assigned to since sixth grade when photography had become your obsession, so you made your way to the cafeteria and found your friend sitting at your table, right next to the big window overlooking the football field.

"Where were you? I was waiting for you to start eating together, but this pizza... it was tempting me," Nat took a bite of pizza like there was no tomorrow.

"If I tell you I've been reading absurd, meaningless documents all morning..." you snorted sitting down across from her and pulling out your sandwich. "If I knew that, I wouldn't be going to Paris."

"You know that's not true," Nat arched an eyebrow drawing a smile from her. "You would have gone to Paris even if you had to repeat one more grade in high school."

"Anyway, I need an update," you began, turning serious. "Has anything interesting happened while I've been away? Anyone new? Anyone who's been stirring things up?"

"New? No, anything interesting? Neither. This Seaville Murph, there's nothing going on here," Nat shrugged finishing his slice of pizza.

"I'll look for the bright side. At least I haven't missed anything," you shrugged.

"I guess you could go away for ten years and when you came back everything would still be the same," Nat looked around. "Where are the boys?"

"I'll bet you five bucks they're on the football field," you commented. "By the way, have you written the application for Brenau yet?"

"It's practically finished," your friend reported. "I'll go over it during the holidays and send it off in January. Are you ready to move to Paris next year and drive the Parisians crazy?" Natasha winked. "You haven't been hiding some movie adventure from me all this time?"

"Oh! Of course," you said wryly just as Steve and Tony made their big appearance. "Now that you mention it, as I was strolling the first evening in the Luxembourg Gardens I heard a sweet melody in the background and headed for it. There was a man playing the saxophone and I stopped to listen to him for a couple of minutes. I was so absorbed that I hardly noticed that a boy had stopped right next to me until he said 'Ne pensez-vous pas que Paris a un charme particulier?' Then I looked at him, he had the most beautiful green eyes I had ever seen," you paused your story to make a false sigh. "Then we strolled until late at night, and we met every evening so that he could show me the most beautiful corners of the city. I think those were the most romantic months of my life."

Three pairs of eyes stared at you showing completely different feelings. Natasha, who was sitting opposite you, was holding back her laughter, Steve, who was standing holding his tray next to Tony, looked completely confused by what had just happened and Tony was arching an eyebrow somewhat curiously at the story. At this point neither of you two could hold it in and started laughing, snapping the boys out of their trance.

"What was that?" asked Steve sitting down next to you. "Is that true? Because it would annoy me if you hadn't told me."

"Come on! He's pulling your leg," informed Tony jokingly and taking his place next to Nat.

"Wait how are you so sure my story isn't true? Couldn't I have my romantic history with a Parisian?" you rebutted somewhat indignantly at his certainty.

"Was he blind?" Tony arched an eyebrow.

For your part you squinted, just as Tony got a jolt of shock after getting stomped under the table by Nat because of his comment. Steve's change of conversation made it easier to keep the argument from escalating, but something always happened to spoil civilised conversations. A few minutes later, Tony was struggling with the Ketchup sachet which he couldn't open to spread on his burger, such was his desperation that when he took a bite of the sachet, it burst causing the sauce to hit your dress. Nat's eyes along with Steve's widened in anticipation of the contest between the two of you.

"You're an idiot Stark!" you quickly grabbed a couple of napkins Nat offered you so you could remove the sauce before it left a mark.

"At least it matches your dress," Tony interjected, holding back a laugh.

Cursing through your teeth, you headed for the food counter with the intention that some cook would have one of her magical ideas to make the stain go away. Tony followed you without letting go of his burger, even though Steve and Nat advised him to stay quiet and sit down.

"Come on Murphy! It's hardly any different from the red fabric of the dress," he said stepping up beside you, and knowing how much you hated it when he called you that.

"How many times have I told you not to call me Murphy?" you said scrubbing the stain with soap and water.

"It's your name," she shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not my fault your parents decided to name you that."

You bit down hard on your lip so you wouldn't have to blurt out all those things that were running through your mind, and put on an act in the middle of the cafeteria. You were lucky that at that instant someone appeared and diverted Tony's attention.

"Ready for Stark debate class?" Justin Hammer, with whom you shared a few classes introduced himself to you.

"Of course Hammer. I can't wait to see you try to put your meager vocabulary together in one sentence," Tony took a bite of his burger, causing sauce to smear his mustache and chin.

"Come on Tony, you've got a lifetime to be an idiot why don't you take a day off?" Hammer smiled slightly.

You couldn't help but smile at the comment, to which Tony noticed and became uncomfortable.

"Hammer, everyone has the right to act stupid for a while, but I'm not really the one abusing that privilege," Tony took another bite of his burger. "So fuck off."

Justin Hammer had gotten what he wanted, and his success was grounded in a half-smile as he walked away, leaving Tony frustrated. Within seconds he turned to you, so you gave him a raised eyebrow.

"You don't abuse that privilege?" you asked, referring to what he had just said to Hammer. "Please, Tony..."

Your smile faded just as Tony dipped his finger into his burger, and, bathed in what little ketchup he could get his hands on, rubbed it all over your right cheek.

"You're despicable!" you exclaimed wiping your cheek.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

"Don't thank me for the insult, it's always a pleasure," you cocked your head to the side and widened a fake smile leaving him alone, returning to the table.

The doorbell once again brought the lunch hour to an end. Tony followed you and jumped on Steve's back with the burger still in his hand, while you and Natasha gathered up your bags and belongings.

"Hey, what are you doing this afternoon? I thought we could all go to Barry's and catch up," you suggested to Natasha as you headed towards the lockers.

"I've got dance class, and I guess since it's the last one before Christmas it's going to run until dinner time," she lamented.

"Did someone say Barry's?" Tony slowed his pace and interjected into the conversation.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," said Steve. Barry's at 7pm?

"Nat's got dance class," you commented, opening your backpack to put your books in your locker.

"Guys, I know I'm a one-off, but you can go without me, don't worry," Natasha shrugged. "We can meet up tomorrow."

"Okay, but tomorrow you have to come with me to the mall, I'm still missing a present for my dad," you leaned in front of her.

"That means you already got mine," Tony winked at you, you hated his sudden mood swings.

"Yeah, a single ticket to the farthest place on the planet," you said, cocking your head.

"You know you'd miss me," he cut you short and you nudged him.

Oblivious to Tony, you added, "So I'll see you at Barry's this afternoon, and it's okay if you don't show up Stark."

"Believe me it's the last thing I feel like doing, but where Steve goes I go."

Taglist Open (DM) - @ravishingreid

MAIN MASTERLIST

[teawizard-n-coffeewitch]

The Stafforshire Spell

2. Uh... Reporter For The Quibbler Magazine

Newt is heating up water for tea when suddenly his eyes widen, blown away at the sight of him. Credence is coming down the stairs, wearing his full body scuba diving gear.

"Hey." Credence greets as he grabs a mug and prepares to brew some peppermint leaves.

"Hi..." Newt says before the two of them are concentrated on fixing a cup of tea in the kitchen.

Newt decides to ask, "Just incidentally -- why are you wearing that?"

Credence smiles. "Ahem -- combination of factors really. No clean clothes..." he replies with a cheeky grin.

Newt coughs. "There never will be, you know, unless you actually clean your clothes." he says.

"Right. Vicious circle. And then I was like rooting around in your things, and found this, and I thought -- cool. Kind of spacey." Credence replies shooting a grin at Newt. Newt nods before laughing softly.

The two of them make their way to the table and take a seat, enjoying their cup of tea, passing the day.

Newt is writing on his notebook while Credence is squinting his eyes at the scuba gear goggles. After while Credence says, "There's something wrong with your goggles Newt..."

Newt stops writing and looks up. Laughing lightly he replies, "No, they were prescription, so I could see all the fishes properly."

Credence laughs, amused at this fact. "Groovy. You should do more of this stuff. Though I did not know you were blind." Newt laughs. Shaking his head he replies, "Not really. I can see with or without glasses."

They sit in comfortable silence, the only sound is Newt's pencil at work before he asks, "So -- any messages?"

Credence's face lights up as he sets his cup down. "Yeah I wrote a couple down." Sticking his hand in a jacket nearby one of the table's wooden chairs, he retrieves a crumbled paper and gives it to Newt who as long gone forgotten his writing.

Newt grabs it and one of the messages was that Niffler's habitat was ready and he could bring him in tomorrow morning. Newt reads the next message and after finishing he asks, trying not to frown, "Two? That's it?"

"You want me to write down all your messages?" Credence says, an eyebrow raised. Newt closes his eyes in exasperation, deciding on not replying to that.

"Who were the ones you didn't write down from?" Newt asks cautiously.

Credence hums, "Ahem let's see -- ahem. No. Gone completely. Oh no, wait. There was -- one from your mum: she said don't forget Theseus's birthday and that she and your father won't be able to make it."

Newt nods. "Right. No one else?"

Credence blinks, lost in thought before shaking his head. "Absolutely not." He leans back and relaxes.

"Though if we're going for this obsessive writing-down-all-messages thing -- some American girl called Tina called a few days ago." he reveals causing Newt to freeze then look at him with big eyes.

"Wha - What did she say?" Newt manages to choke out. Credence smirks, finding Newt's blushing face amusing.

"Well, it was genuinely bizarre... she said, hi -- it's Tina -- and then she said, call me at the Hoar Cass Hall -- and then gave herself a completely different name." Credence says before sipping calmly his tea.

"Which was?" Newt says panicking at how Credence was so calm about the whole situation.

He finishes his sip before replying, "Absolutely no idea. Remembering one name's bad enough..." Newt groans before closing his eyes and placing his head on the table.

_______________

Much later Newt is on the phone. He looked at the phone book for the hotel's number before he dials a few numbers and hears a ring and a formal man at the other end of the phone picks up.

"Hello." Newt says trying to keep calm but internally panicking at his bold move.

"May I help you, sir?" the man replies calmly at the other end.

"Ahem, see this is a very odd situation. I'm a friend of Tina Goldstein's -- and she rang me at home the day before yesterday -- and left a message saying she's staying with at this hotel..." Newt timidly says. "I'm sorry, we don't have anyone of that name here, sir." the man states authoritatively.

"No, that's right -- I know that. She said she's using another name -- but the problem is she left the message with my flatmate, which was a serious mistake. Imagine if you will the -- um a baby. A poor baby who hasn't any idea what to even call his mum -- are you doing that...?"

As Newt talks to the man Credence happens to be in the foreground, siting on the couch in the distance as he's reading the newspaper.

Listening to everything.

"Yes, sir. I have him in my mind." the man at the other end replies with a light chuckle.

"And that is the -- what can I say -- git I'm living with and he cannot remember..." Newt begins before Credence cuts him off by saying, "Try 'Coco.' "

Newt stops talking and turns around to look at Credence. "What?" he says noticing how Credence hasn't turned to look at him, his focus still on his newspaper.

"I think she said her name was 'Coco Channel.' " Credence says turning the newspaper page calmly.

Newt takes deep breath before asking nervously, "Does 'Coco Channel' mean anything to you?"

There is a second of silence before the man says happily, "I'll put you right through, sir."

Newt stands there, absolutely speechless. Coco Channel is indeed the magic word.

"Bloody hell." Newt mutters messing up his hair as his hold on the phone tightens. Realizing he's a few seconds from speaking to her Newt begins to practices how to sound.

"Hello. Hi. Hi." Newt says clearing his throat and standing up straight.

Newt sharply breaths when he hears her voice. 

"Hi." is heard from the other line.

Panicking holding the phone he is quick to awkwardly reply, "Oh hi. It's Newt Scamander. We, uh... well met at my bookshop."

Tina chuckles slightly. "You played it pretty cool here Mr. Scamander. Waiting three days to call."

Newt blushes. "N-No, I've never played any-anything cool in my entire life. Credence, who I'll jinx later, never delivered me the message."

"Oh, okay." she says, slightly amused at his awkward speech.

"Um... so I was wondering... if you'd be okay with it... obviously. Perhaps... uh... I could drop round for tea or something?"

"Yeah." Tina says, scrunching her nose in disgust at the thought of tea. Newt listens to her as she speaks, "Unfortunately, things are going to be pretty busy, but... okay, let's give it a try. Though I'm staying at a hotel here in Burton I'll be in London tomorrow. Does... I don't know... four o'clock at the Ritz work? Or do wish to meet when I return back to Burton?"

Newt smiles like a dork, "No, it absolutely works. Great." 

They bid farewell and they hang up. 

Running towards Credence, Newt kisses his cheek before dashing up the stairs gleefully. Credence just stares at his flatmate in confusion.

_______________

The next day Newt wakes up early to drive a forty-five minute trip to Peak Wildlife Park in Leek. Niffler sleeping through most of the ride. After a heart breaking farewell and a promise to return Newt drives back to Burton and grabs a train to London. The ride is about three hours and makes use of his time by writing a birthday card for his brother and taping a few pounds inside the card. He places the card inside his briefcase and shuts it close. He leans on his seat and enjoys the scenery of the ride.

Arriving at London at three Newt makes his way to a floral shop and buys an orchid. He likes how delicate, beautiful, and admirable they look. Just... like Tina. He catches a bus and as he cruises around London he can't help but feel a sense of desponding and melancholy as he sees the city of London after all these years. He jumps off a bus and walks toward the Ritz. The vase of orchid in one hand all wrapped up nicely while his hand carries his brown briefcase.

Entering the Ritz Hotel, Newt passes by the iconic tea room before approaching the lifts.  At the lift, he pushes the button and the doors open. As he is getting in, Newt is joined by a young woman. Newt looks at her name tag. Her name is Rita.

"Which floor?" Newt asks him. "Three please." Rita answers as Newt nods and pushes the button. They wait for the doors to close. The lift lands and they both gets out. Hotel rooms 30-35 are to the left while 35-39 to the right. Newt heads right and... so does Rita.

Newt is puzzled at how Rita is still following him. He slows down as he approaches room 38 and startled when so does Rita. Newt stops, so does Rita. Newt turns his head, confused, before he points at the number on the door.

"Are you sure you...?" Newt assures. "Yes." Rita affirms with a nod. "Oh. Right... er." Newt mourns before he knocks on the door. A bright, well-tailored American girl opens the door.

"Hello, I'm Quennie, Tina's sister and manager. Sorry -- things are running a bit late. Here's the thing..." She hands them a very slick, expensively produced press kits, with the poster picture of Tina, for the film 'Alien: Covenant'.

She leads them inside the suite, after closing the door and in a few seconds later -- they enter the main waiting room. Newt is startled to see there are a number of journalists waiting for their audience.

"What did you think of the film?" Quennie suddenly asks as she grabs a notebook and a pen, ready to write their critics.

"Marvelous.  'Close Encounters' meets 'Jean De Florette.' Golden Globe- winning stuff." Rita says happily before both Quennie and her turn to Newt for his opinion.

He curses mentally before looking at Rita. "I agree." Newt adds with a weak smile.

Quennie nods, scribbling down on the notebook before asking, "I'm sorry. I didn't get down what magazines you're from."

" 'The Daily Prophet.' " Rita answers with a smile. Quennie smiles back then turns to Newt, "Great. And you?" 

Newt panics. 

He scans the entire room, frantically looking for a magazine, a catalog, a newspaper, something! Then he sees it. On the coffee table.

" 'Quibbler Magazine.' The name's Newt Scamander." Quennie nods whereas Rita seems intrigued that he's a reporter from Quibbler Magazine. "I think she might be expecting me." Newt nervously adds before she shoots him a smile. "Okay -- take a seat.  I'll check."

Both Rita and Newt move towards a sofa and they sit down as Quennie goes off, down the hallway.

Rita looks at the orchid Newt carries. "You've brought her flowers?" Newt gulps and thinks for a cover-up story.

"No -- they're -- for my grandmother. She's in a hospital nearby. Thought I'd kill two birds with one stone." he replies, a bit too fast and nervously. Rita frowns and gives him pity eyes. "Oh I am so sorry. Which hospital?"

Newt breaths in and pauses. Bullocks, he did not think of that. He's in trouble.

Quickly, he says, faking a bit of distress in his voice, "Do you mind me not saying -- it's a rather distressing disease and the name of the hospital rather gives it away."

Rita nods, with a sad face, "Oh sure. Of course." Newt thanks her silently and they both sit in silence before Quennie comes walking in.

"Mr. Scamander." she says, with a smile in spark in her eyes.

Saved by the bell. Newt bids a farewell wave to Rita and follows Queenie towards the corridor. She turns to face him, telling him, "You've got five minutes." He is then lead in through big golden doors and the room is the Trafalgar Suite Room. Quennie stays outside. Then there she is.

Tina stands straight, facing the framed in the window, overlooking Green Park. Newt can't help but think she looks pretty in her apricot color satin silk bow tie neck shirt with long sleeves button down blouse top and a long black pencil skirt. Quennie then closes the room and Tina turns around to face Newt. She gives him a nervous smile.

"Hi." Newt manages to say.

"Hello." Tina replies softly. Newt looks at the countless of dozen flowers surrounding Tina and gives her a sad smile. "I uh... I brought these," Newt shyly begin, lifting up his orchid vase, "but clearly..." he gestures at the other glamorous flowers in the room.

Tina shakes her head, "Oh no, it's okay." She walks towards him and accepts his orchid vase with a shy smile. "These are great. Thanks."

Then there it is. Instead of feeling a fair amount of tension, as they hardly know each other -- and the first and last time they met, they kissed; instead... they feel a silence of comfort surrounding them. Putting them at ease.

"Sorry about not ringing back." Newt apologizes, blushing. "The whole two-names concept was totally too much for my flatmate's intellect."

Tina smiles, reassuring him, "No, it's a stupid privacy thing. I always choose a famous fashion designer. Last time out, I was Mrs. Marc Jacobs.

Before Newt can shoot her a smile, Mr. Graves, walks in. Tina's public manager and Quennie's boss. He's a fairly grave, authoritative forty-year-old PR man consulting a list.

"Everything okay?" he asks shooting Tina a concern look. She nods. "Yes, thanks."

He turns to face Newt. "And you are from 'The Quibbler' magazine?" he asks making Newt nod.

"Is that so?" Tina asks, sounding intrigued but shooting Newt a sneaky smirk.

Newt's face turns red as he shrugs his shoulders and gives a light chuckle. Mr. Graves goes and settles at a little desk in the corner and makes notes. He just stands there, stacking some paper. There is a pause before Newt realizes and feels he has to act the part of being a reporter.

Tina motions for him to sit on the couch and she sits on the opposite on. They now face each other.

"Right... so I'll just fire away, shall I?" Newt begins, siting a bit straight. Tina nods.

"Right. Er... the film's great... and I just wondered -- whether you ever thought of having more... spectrespecs in it?" he asks, biting his lip knowing he was minutes away from death.

Tina lets out a small chuckle. "Hmm -- well -- we would have liked to -- but it was difficult, obviously, being set in space and a remote planet."

Newt can feel his ears turning red from embarrassment. "Oh right... er... very difficult indeed."

Both Tina and Newt listen Mr. Graves leave, closing the door.

Newt sighs heavily and embarrassed, putting his head in his hands. He was panicking and he completely blew it.

"I'm sorry -- I arrived outside -- and they thrust this thing into my hand -- I  didn't know what to do." Newt begins as Tina cuts him, apologizing, "No, it's my fault, I thought this would all be over by now. I just wanted to sort of apologize for the kissing thing. I seriously don't know what got in to me. I just wanted to make sure you were fine about it. Honest. I don't know what I was thinking."

Newt is speechless for second before saying, "Absolutely. No worries. I was fine about it." Though he reassures Tina with a smile his heart cracks. Of course she would feel this way about kissing him on the cheek. He was nobody while she was... she was beauty.

Mr. Graves re-enters and continues stacking papers. Newt coughs, before continuing with their fake interview. Before he can ask another question Mr. Graves says, his back facing them, "Do remember that Miss Tina is also keen to talk about her next project, which is shooting later in the summer."

Newt nods, a smile. "Oh yes -- excellent. Ahem -- any spectrespecs in that one? Or shades, of course. Our readers are equally intrigued by both models."

Tina winces before answering, "It takes place during the 1970's... in a West Coast beach. My character is the ex - girlfriend of a private detective." Eh, not a setting for pink spectrespecs to be worn in.

Newt blinks before choking out, "Oh Yes. Right... But if there were spectrespecs, would you be wearing them yourself or would you be getting a stunt spectrespecs person double sort of thing?"

They hear Mr. Gracves exit. Newt has a meltdown at that point. "Merlin... I'm just a complete moron. Sorry. This is the sort of thing that happens in dreams -- not in real life. Good dreams, obviously," he stops before giving Tina a small smile, "It's... a dream to see you." Newt confesses.

Tina is silent for a moment before asking nervously, "And what happens next in the dream?"

Newt sighs. "It's a challenge."

She doesn't seem confirm with his answer so Newt adds, "Well, I suppose in the dream dream scenario. I just... um, change my personality, because you can do that in dreams, and walk across and kiss the girl but you know it'll never happen."

They are silent for a moment. Suddenly they stand up but before they can move towards each other when... Mr. Graves enters.

"Time's up, I'm afraid. Sorry it was so short. Did you get what you wanted?" he asks. "Very nearly." Newt replies.

"Maybe time for one last question?" Mr. Garves offers.

"Right."

He goes out -- and it's their last seconds together. Probably forever if Newt does not man up.

"Are you busy tonight?" Newt bravely asks, though he knows he looks nervous.

"Yes." Tina answers, her eyes flashing a bit of sadness.

They look at each other. Then Mr. Graves enters, with another journalists in tow. Tina and Newt walk towards each other and shake hands formally.

"Well, it was nice to meet you." Tina says before adding with a grin, "Surreal but nice."

Newt's heart skipped. He gave her a shaky laugh. "Thank you. You are 'The Quibbler's' new favorite actress."

Newt is escorted out and once again they part away from each other.

Newt exits the room, fairly despondent and heads for the door, passing through the suite corridor. He does not notice Rita, who is in the corridor calling on her mobile phone. She sees Newt and immediately goes to him.

"How was she?" she asks.

"Fabulous." he replies immediately. Rita looks shock as she says, "Wait a minute -- she took your grandmother's flowers?"

Newt's eyes widen. He can't think his way out of this. So he blurts out, "Yes. That's right. Unbelievable!"

Newt turns to go before Rita can ask more questions but is accosted by Quennie.

"If you'd like to come with me we can rush you through the others." she says.

"The others?!" Newt says, his eyes almost popping out.

[bowieandqueen11]

Token / Richie Tozier Imagine

Request: Do you think that you can write an imagine where Richie's daughter is walking around Derry and finds the arcade and goes in it, but has her first encounter with Pennywise. Richie goes in there to get his token and hears something, so he goes in and finds Pennywise about to kill his daughter? 

Big ooof with this request love, thank you for sending in! <3

I have walked these streets my whole life.

In a way, I know them just the same as if they were etched in my head with a sharp knife, scored in deep like some strange work of art. These are the streets I grew up on, the stories from my father I grew up with, and for the most part I'm calm here, at home, pretending I can see Uncle Eddie wave from me from the pharmacy window, or Uncle Bill speeding past on Silver on his way to beat the devil. Not tonight though. Tonight my heart wants out of my chest, pounding like it's going to crack a rib. 

Underneath the gloomy blanket that covered the sky the street hardly looks different that it did a decades ago when dad lived here. The lack of illumination from the street-lamps gives it away first. At this time their glow should be yellowing the rain-drops and casting a smudgy beam onto the black street. The cars are still there, waiting for owners that will never come. Perhaps they are still in their beds, but they won't rise with the sun. It’s as if everyone here has been trapped by time, waiting for the Losers to come home.

The wind is howling, the trees creaking, screaming as their limbs strain against the onslaught as I stumble back onto the pavement, looking to find refuge in the nearest open shop. Banging into a newspaper covered door, I wish dad were here, I wish we hadn’t split up, but he has enough to burden his plate right now. I take a few involuntary steps backwards and scramble for the handle as it bangs against the wall in chaotic booms. Then the rain starts, pummelling my skin raw in the seconds it takes me to get inside. 

The place smelt like dust and mould, but the electricity in the air was there, as if the place was just lying dormant and ready to replay the memories that lay on the shattered screen of Street Fighter or on the swinging, broken rusty hinge of the claw machine. Walking past the ripped poster on the back wall, I have to choke back a cough as the slim rays of sunlight catch the sparkles floating like fire through the air, walking haphazardly forwards over the empty red cups and trash as you hear a slight footstep coming from the back of the arcade.

‘Hello!? Is anyone here? Dad?’

Richie had told me about this place, he might be here. God, I want him to be.

~

The next thing you feel isn’t the warm hands of your father behind the counter. however, but instead the cold claws of the clown as it’s gloved hand grabs onto your leg and yanks you down onto the floor. Trying to grab desperately onto the counter side, you kick and yelp with muffled screams as you feel pain flare in your back, not daring to look down into the bright, dancing lights that float from in front of your legs.

‘If you come with me, y/n, you can finally float. We all float down here. And soon, so will Richie.’

Finally letting out a gasping scream, the air being knocked out of your lungs again as your back cracks down onto the ground, its strength increasing, your fingernails fill with blood as they scrape against the ground, shuffling your thighs away from the blank darkness that seems to seep around you and swallow you whole.

That’s when you finally start screaming. Loud, heart stopping cries of pain that alerts Richie to your presence as he picks up the arcade token from the slot machine, sighing lightly as he tips his glasses back up his nose, staring for a moment at the dark screen as a memory tugged from the back of his mind that he stored away for later. A boy. A hand. A bridge. But that doesn’t matter now, what matters is the sound of your screams, his daughter’s, the person he loves most in the world, the only one he would die for. He had to find you.

‘Hey! Get off of her you asshole!’ 

He didn’t even realise he had leapt over the counter and kicked Pennywise on the face before his feet landed on the floor.

‘We all know your secret R-Richie- you’re dirty little secret-’

You hardly notice his thick hands tugging on your biceps, his feet kicking at the gloved hands of Pennywise as he pulls you staggering up and into his chest, your eyes still transfixed on the hand that waves before receding back into the darkness

‘Hey, hey! Y/n! Look at me! It’s not real, okay. I’m right here. It’s not real!’

He pulls you closer to him, wrapping his arms around your middle. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms so protective and familiar that you allowed your body to sag, your muscles to become loose as your breathing began to shallow. In that embrace you felt your worries lose their keen sting and her optimism raise its head from the dirt. In his embrace, even though the cold rain began to drip like tears from the storm clouds yet again and through the slight holes in the rood, the world felt warm and hopeful as he slowly backed the two of you away towards the door again.

“Please don’t leave again.” The words hardly managed to break out as the sob’s choke in your constricting throat. Resting his chin against the top of your head, he clenches you tighter.

“I’ll never leave you again. I promise.”

[jojotier]

((thanks a bunch for extending the fic requests!)) could you write something really angsty like kak coming back home and having to explain to his parents? thanks! :)))

(Hey, sorry about taking so long on this!!! Hopefully this was worth the wait.. ;; I decided to do something a little different, and have this entirely from his mother’s POV instead of kakyoin’s. I hope you enjoy though! Link to the ao3 is in the title)

Vanishing Act

The cherry blossoms would come into bloom soon.

The days seemed to go by ever more quickly, sun up then the slow streaking of the sun across the sky then sunset, repeating again with the rise and crest and fall of the moon in passing waves and pulses of light. The chill wasn’t so bad anymore. Perhaps there would be an early night parade, her husband had fancifully told her, as if any of them still had the energy to get swept up in those sorts of stories. The old man could talk about yokai and inverted days and strange occurrences all he wanted- he’d stopped looking.

Her husband had stopped looking. As did the police, the search parties- no one searched for her son. He was a runaway, they said. He’d been kidnapped, others claimed. He’d be better left for dead.

But Masako hadn’t stopped.

One hundred days ago, Noriaki went missing. 

It was getting close to dusk. Even with the days lengthening, things still dimmed early on, and the chill bit at her ankles as she made her way again through the town, taking route five of the thirteen separate rounds she’d taken upon herself. She may have given up on posters- if anyone had seen Noriaki around the city, it would have been impossible not to find a place where she hadn’t plastered their contact information. It was very likely that he wasn’t even in this city- but still, she walked the same paths anyway. Even if she wouldn’t find Noriaki, there was a certain… well, not peace. But it took her mind off of things.

Masako passed by an alleyway, feeling a dry wind come her way and threaten to blow the ties holding her hair back into the concrete wilds. There were plenty of places where she’d felt such drafts- the cers, blowing with nearly enough force to rival that toppling Mistral wind of Marseilles, blowing her back into her husband’s arms and then again nearly into the Mediterranean; the Foehn in the Alps, seeming to melt snow right before any weary traveler’s eyes; the winds during a particularly hot day in Cairo, on the last trip they’d gotten to go on together. The wind blew again and it gave her pause, as she watched it whip past her and rustle fallen litter and jostle whatever rusty scraps were in its way, racing off to try and carry them around the world on its lonesome.

“Perhaps he was whisked away,” Her husband had said, trying hard to be lighthearted and whimsical but sounding more sorrowful than anything. She understood why- she used to love those stories. He was trying to be strong, but she was already strong for the both of them. “by the night parade? Any yokai would love to whisk away a small bit of sunshine for themselves during such a horrid winter…”

Perhaps he’d been whisked away- it was certainly something that had crossed their minds, and it had kept her awake at night, trying not to imagine some terrible beast laying a hand on her son- or trying to do worse to him. Every single scenario that had passed through her mind was too terrible to name, and every rewind and rerun of the possibilities grew more and more mutations, adding a layer of infection that she could sometimes feel on the surface of her skin.

She continued walking forwards, eyes sweeping across the slowly narrowing path of the sidestreet she was on. Masako knew this part of town wasn’t exactly the sort that a seemingly feeble woman pushing her mid sixties should be walking down- she’d grown up alongside streets just like this one, back when the war had hit and back when the Americans had come, and through the subsequent decades. They were streets she’d tried her best to make sure her son didn’t have to walk down.

And they were streets that held jeers from between the margins, countless old faces staring out at her like ghosts. They were simply remembered- the face of an American soldier who’d tried to make her his bride, an young beaming blond with a simple demeanor and a gap in his front teeth. An old boss, seedy to the point where every pore of his skin was strawberry like, but who was kind to children and had a soft spot for old women, back when she worked. Old women, now dead, who started up rumors during the war effort that her hair became red because of grotesque stains she spilled behind closed doors- girls who wondered if she was an antique doll the few times she was able to get away with more traditional dress in public and who asked her for secrets about times before- countless whispers from countless travels in thirty or so tongues, twenty-five of which she knew sparingly and five she was intimate with herself.

But none of the faces were her son’s.

She found herself on the main road, looping back around towards the house again.

There was laundry to be done. Her husband usually wrote about this time, or read the newspaper and complained to her about the bizarre adventures he could never seem to capture. She’d promised tonkatsu, but what was sorely needed was a good hotpot. It wasn’t often she was nostalgic about when she was a girl, but she thought of anglerfish nabe- too much stigma around catching those nowadays…

She hadn’t made it for Noriaki, yet. Anglerfish was rarely caught, and now expensive. He would’ve at least loved trying it- it was the sort of oddity her son had been habitually drawn to.

That her son is drawn to.

He isn’t dead.

She felt that deep in her heart- he wasn’t dead. Not her Noriaki. Not her little miracle, the tiny babe who they said would never make it and who’d grown into such a fine young man. Not the strange, quiet child who laughed in the face of what made others fearful with a sunshine delight.

He had a certain fighting spirit- one that couldn’t be quenched even after one hundred chilly moons had passed.

She would find him soon.

She would.

She walked to the front steps of their rich house. Masako had been able to afford it with her husband, as they had both worked, since for the longest time there was no child for her to raise. She was traditional, in many respects- it was one of the few things that kept her afloat when the war passed and Papa died in the Pacific, when the Americans had come and turned their way of life inside out to try and gore their identities now that they’d gorged themselves on enough lives taken then gored their skulls to boot. In all else, it was what she enjoyed most- the routine of making house and motherhood, of telling stories to and playing with Noriaki as he toddled around the house and watched shadows when there seemed to be none.

She dreaded coming home to this, now. It was large. Luxurious. The years of hard work, of learning and striving to better herself, paid off. It reminded her of vacations in a hundred and one cities and experiences and teaching, always teaching and guiding her son around. He’d had trouble with making friends, so she tried to be his friend as well as his mother, and then tried make the world his friend as well. Any chance to open it up to him- any opportunity to give him everything she had only dreamed of as a child- all started here.

Masako had known that she would have an empty nest soon. She’d come to terms with college and new avenues, of tours around the world without her and with infinitely more quiet days without the gentle tap of Noriaki moving around the house, or his occasionally helping with chores she didn’t need assistance with in the first place, or the excitable sounds of whatever virtual console or sumo match he would privately be excited for drifting from the living room.

Walking inside a house she expected to be silent, Masako heard something that gave her pause. Low hushed whispers in the living room gave way to the habitual silence that she was expecting, and she quickly gathered herself, eyes narrowing. Had someone broken in? There was an iron poker somewhere in this hall if needed….

There were a couple more whispers that wafted out as she crept forward, before they were cut through by a deep, gravelly voice that blankly said, “Give me a break… Just go already.”

There was silence, and then the sound of someone heavily getting to their feet. Shuffling, and the sound of something dragging, and then, the paper door to the living room slid open. There was a little snag, that the screen tended to hit if one didn’t know about it- since this house had been one of those stately Western-style affairs that rich ladies bought up once upon a time, complete with drawing rooms and parlors, all having been remodeled to suit her and her husband’s tastes, but they never did get the installation of that one screen right- but she didn’t hear the snag hit. Her husband, then-?

“… Hello, mother.”

Her heart skipped a beat suddenly, and in front of her, there was her son.

For a moment, she was cowed into silence- he was still as big and tall as ever, an inch taller than his father and a head and half taller than her. His hair was done in that style he liked, still red- eyes still the same too.

But it was all so different as well, and not just because of the crutches he clung onto for dear life or the scars that now adorned his eyes. His shoulders had wilted a little, though his chin was up, lips pressed tight together in a more secretive array. There was more burden on him than just the stoop of his posture now, more than even when he’d been growing up and saying strange, cryptic things, reminding her of changelings and spirit children and whatever other whimsical nostalgia she’d surrendered herself to.

The world had not been kind to her son.

Still, Masako had to steady herself against one of the side tables against the wall, feeling faint as the gravity of the situation pulled down on her eyes. She covered her mouth as the tears finally began to roll.

“Ah-!” Noriaki tried to move forward quickly, and now she could see through her blurred eyes that his steps were almost as shaky as a faun’s- weakened. Atrophied. Broken? How many times? How many times had she faced the thought of the worst, of her son being maimed and brutalized in any conceivable way with no way to help himself and no one to help him? He still kept somewhat of a distance, hands hovering slightly as if trying to figure out what to do. “No, don’t cry, please-”

“Oh, my son…” Masako moaned through her sluggish tears, “Noriaki, what happened to you? Who would do such a thing… Why were you gone? Were you taken-? Or… did we do something….” To make you run.

For once, it wasn’t she who attempted to initiate any affection- she’d learned early on that hugs and hand holding and other such coddling simply wasn’t something Noriaki enjoyed too much, so she was polite and tried to ask before invading any boundaries- it was her son. He finally moved forwards, letting one crutch fall to the ground as he tried to pull her in for an awkward little hug. It was only then when she realized that his hands were shaking.

In a tight voice, Noriaki told her, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m just glad you’re home.” She whispered.

For a moment, he allowed her to stay like that, pressing tight against him and crying, forgetting herself and any number of manners in the visceral relief of knowing that finally, finally, he was home. One hundred days gone, and if one day more had passed she might have had to take him for dead- no matter the effect it would have on her old heart.

Finally, she managed to find her composure again. She finally pulled back, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to delicately dab at her eyes so that she could fall back into the old pattern and routine that was herself. Taking a breath, and then another for good measure, she managed to smile somewhat at Noriaki, already bending down to pick up his fallen crutch. A little normalcy was in order, in the face of this- if only to help process everything. “Now then- you have a guest. Has your father brought tea?”

“He hasn’t-”

“Then do you mind entertaining your guest and your father while I bring some some out?” Masako smoothed out the edges of her shirt, letting out a breath. It had been an emotional one hundred days, and she’d let her feelings get the best of her- and there was still more emotion to come, she was sure. The least she could do was provide something to eat so that no one’s energy ended up depleted by the time this draining talk would end. Besides, making a tray would help clear her mind. “We have… much to talk about.”

“We do.” Noriaki acknowledged, though he didn’t seem too enthused about it. Neither was she, truth be told, but the both of them would simply have to smile and bear it. Like they do with most talks- even if this talk was of the misery that had seized this household. “… I’ll tell Jotaro that we may be here a while yet.”

“Thank you. I’ll be sure to properly welcome him then- and Noriaki?” She looked over him, “Don’t strain yourself.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’ve only been standing for a bit-”

Masako repeated, looking up at him, “Don’t strain yourself.”

There was a quiet moment before Noriaki lowered his gaze politely, head bowing slightly, “Yes, mother.”

She beamed, and then moved past him to go to the kitchen.

They still had jade drop tea- an expensive gift given from a friend who regularly visited, to try and ease off the pain with distraction. She finally opened it, and was able to finally make it, filling a teapot she’d gotten in Morocco with the stuff and setting aside some yōkan as well. It was a normal gesture- and it almost felt surreal, being able to do bring in the tray and still see her son there, sitting down and not straining himself. Thankfully.

The one beside him was dark and looked annoyed, taking up half the couch with his size. Despite looking to be a man in physique at first glance, his face still betrayed boyish indications and his countenance was of any adolescent in a vaguely uncomfortable situation. Masako lowered her eyes merely out of courtesy and set the tea tray down, speaking softly, in a controlled way so as to not rudely burden their guest with the full brunt of her rather harried state as of the moment, “Welcome- my name is Kakyoin Masako. I do hope that you’re comfortable.”

The teenager nodded, and Masako started pouring tea. “Now then- if I may be so bold, may I ask what has been discussed so far?”

“As if one could stop you from being so bold.” said her husband somewhat humorously, a wry smile playing on his lips. His eyes had long since sunken in from sleepless nights- though thankfully, he was able to steal some precious slumber time at work.

“Talked about what you’ve been doing.” Noriaki’s guest- Jotaro, a rather grave boy, even at his age- said plainly. Straight to the point- Masako appreciated that. “About your thirteen routes.”

“Unfortunately today I only had time for the one- I was a little preoccupied because I thought I saw anglerfish on sale someplace.” She said cordially, acknowledging that it would only make sense to wonder where she’d gone. “And have you said anything about the extent of your condition, Noriaki?”

“No…” Masako laid the mugs out, calm even as her fingers shook a little- out of anger, out of despair, out of fear for the extent of what she didn’t know. The only reason none of the tea dripped and her long sleeves remained free of any stain was years of practice. “There’s… a lot to discuss, and it won’t make sense without context.”

“Well, that is the point of a discussion, is it not?” Masako said easily, tilting her head.

“I would suppose that the point of a discussion is communication.” Noriaki said back, and Masako’s eyes narrowed. She knew stalling when she saw it- her son wouldn’t get away with beating around the bush here. Not in this house.

“Communication of contexts, dear. Everything must be understood in context, so how shall we communicate if you give us none?” She glanced at Jotaro, softening the blow with seeming indifference and quick passing into polite deference so that Noriaki would have no time to get a word in edgewise. Flighty though it may seem, it was always effective. “Would you like some yōkan, then?”

“I don’t eat sweets.” Jotaro replied gruffly, simply watching the proceedings. Smart- it was good to know when and when not to speak.

“Pity… but in any case, then, that leaves more room for you to tell us what happened.” She turned to Noriaki, who looked calm on the outside but who’s eyes habitually drifted towards the door. “Noriaki… where were you all this time?”

“I…” He sighed, and then finally, began speaking. “I ran away with four other men to travel across the world to help save Jotaro’s mother’s life.”

“How noble of you.” Masako said gently, then said, “Is that why you didn’t tell us? Because of what I assume to be a dangerous venture, or because that nobility seemed a little less great if you were to have permission first?”

“… No.” Noriaki said as Masako took a sip of tea. “Listen- this is the part where context may seem rather… outlandish.”

“No more outlandish than most things I’ve heard being said at the office.” Her husband quipped a bit, trying to lighten the tense mood being masqueraded.

“… Right…” Noriaki said, eyes sliding back to his mother. “Do you remember the… imaginary friend I had?”

“Yes.” Masako said, giving a tight smile.

“Well… it… has to do with that.”

“Ah, so did this friend of yours convince you to join the night parade.” Masako said rather flatly.

“The- actually.” Noriaki said, sighing. “I’ll just demonstrate. After all, it’s rather helpful, and you did say not to strain myself.”

“That I did.” Masako confirmed, and Jotaro looked between the both of them, eyebrows raising.

She was about to ask how those injuries came about in the first place, but the words came to a screeching halt. Suddenly, the tea cup in front of Noriaki began to float. Just. On its own, as if it were a casual everyday occurrence. The cup came into Noriaki’s grip, and he took a calm sip, posture even more stiff than before. His back was straightened up though, at least, and his companion watched in vaguely amused silence, eyes following something that Masako for the life of her couldn’t know.

“That was my imaginary friend.” Noriaki said, looking a little smug, but honestly Masako couldn’t blame him after that entire magic trick he’s just pulled off. Masako didn’t know what to say, and if she said anything, it would have come out gobsmacked and stuttering, so she said nothing. She simply took another long sip of tea. Her husband’s mug dropped from his hands in shock, only to be caught by the invisible force and gently placing it back into his hands.

Both of the teenagers in front of them seemed slightly uncomfortable, silence coming to them as well. Masako could have denied that this was real- but that was the coping mechanism of a coward with a disdain for reality, and truth could be stranger than fiction. She could have also trembled, or screamed, or any number of things that many other people would have done, but at this point- after her son had disappeared, after all these years of seeing his odd development, after all the events in her own life, it was far easier to remove herself from the emotion of the situation first and observe before assigning them the emotion due to it.

Making sure that she was suitably numb to it for the moment, Masako said simply, “I see.”

“… That’s it?” Noriaki said, face twisting in disbelief. “Just… that? That’s all? You didn’t see for the past seventeen years…”

“Actually,” Masako said, as calmly as possible, “I’m very close to fainting at the moment. You’re psychic.”

“Not quite.” said Jotaro, just as calm but seemingly a little more at home. “We actually have ghosts that come because of fighting spirit that only we can see.”

“We or… other stand users. They’re called stands.” Noriaki finally said, relief setting into the dip of his shoulders. He shifted, and then winced. “We went on a trip around the world due to these stands, and I… rather liked it.”

“There’s no shame in liking a trip- though I don’t understand why you’d like one that left you…”

“… like this.” Noriaki let out a breath. “If it helps- this isn’t forever. I’ll be able to walk soon. But… I will need medications for the rest of my life. And I may need more surgeries, depending on how my… new spine is.” He shifted, visibly pained, and Masako felt her heart twist in her chest. “My vision won’t be the same either, but there’s no… guarantee that it won’t get worse, one day. It will come at great cost, and I do have a way to pay for expenses-”

“Nonsense.” Her husband said, and Masako let him take over for a bit, simply watching. Noriaki gently gravitated to Jotaro’s side, and Masako observed this. “You know for a fact that expense is of no concern to us, Noriaki- nor room, board, and access to whatever help and therapy you need. So let’s stop with that sort of talk. I’m rather interested in your new friend-” He finally turned his attention to Jotaro, eyes shining a little. “I do hope Noriaki didn’t give you grief- when he wants to be, he can be quite the chatterbox-”

“Hold on just a moment-!” Noriaki tried to say.

“Ever since he could first talk-”

“Do we really need to do this…?” He looked to Masako, who took a final sip of tea, looking him dead in the eye and saying not a word. This was his punishment- mostly because Masako didn’t have the heart to do anything as harsh as grounding him or the like. He’d been through enough already. But that didn’t mean that he couldn’t handle a little embarrassment in front of that friend of his.

She smiled, despite it all. There was still much to process- still a lot of questions that she had, but for now, she knew to keep quiet. Noriaki had been interrogated enough for one evening, and now was the time to relax and celebrate.

“I’ll bring some more tea.” She said politely.

Her son was home.

[pendragonfics]

It Comes Back To You

Paring: Clint Barton/Reader

Tags: female reader, Inhumans, unplanned pregnancy, married couple, triggers - miscarriage, angst, Avengers are a big family, AU - canon divergence, fluff, babies, Deaf Clint Barton, set after Captain America: Civil War.  

Summary: After undergoing transformation in the Terrigen Mist, Reader cannot have children. But there comes a time when nature defies all odds, and unsure how to go forward, undergoes the journey to motherhood with husband Clint Barton.

Word Count: 2,605

Posting Date:  2017-03-14

Current Date: 2017-06-11

The week you found out that there was life within you, there had been an earthquake somewhere around the country. And it felt like a sign from Mother Nature -- or whoever steered your life when you needed to let someone else take the wheel -- that everything was changing. To be perfectly frank, it floored you - that the doctors had been wrong about the fertility tests, that your husband would have to take this news in, that he, a vigilante had children on the way.

Clint Barton never really wanted kids. It was just something about him that he'd decided perhaps from when he was a kid, when he went through all the shitty things that wrung him out to be the man you married. Sure, you'd always hoped, but ever since your experience going through the wringer -- as an ex-S. H. I. E. L. D. scientist who had been a part of one of the labs attacked by the Inhuman radical Jiaying with the Terrigen Mist, and forcibly transformed into someone who could walk through time -- it had rendered you unable to produce.

Until now.

But sure, the week you found out was fantastic, you couldn't stop freaking out about it, and how Clint Barton would find out about it because he was sure, an ordinary guy at first if you don't consider his grasp over archery and sarcasm, but he was an Avenger, and a good man. If there was a secret, he always, always found out.

It was just your horrible luck that the only person to confide in was not your husband of four years, however, but the guy who practically kept the Avengers base afloat in Upstate New York - the mechanic. Tony freaking Stark. It took a moment for the news to properly hit him, and then the poor bastard couldn't stop looking at your midsection, like you were a carrier of something holier than the team.

"But...but you can't," he frowned, eyes fluttering as he processed the news. "Your new anatomy just can't carry a child. Dr. Simmons and Cho were there as you came out of the rock, did the readings, it's not -,"

"But it is possible, because why else does the pee stick say plus and my mornings filled with sickness? And I can't be bloated all the time..." you bite your lip, harrowing away to make it probably bleed in your stress. "Clint and I married four years ago, knowing we'd never have children...the Hawkeye just doesn't want to bring up kids in this goddamned world, and my condition -," you feel your lip quake, and taste the tang of blood. You hated it when you worried on your lip, but it was the only thing which kept you grounded. "You can't tell him. Please, Tony, don't tell him."

The billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, Iron Man - best friend nodded ever so slowly, and resting a hand on your arm, agreed to your terms. "Sure. Hawkeye won't catch wind from me."

By horrible luck you actually meant completely and honestly good luck to have someone to talk to about the whole ideal and not just aloud to Friday, his computer system. But, by horrible luck you also meant horrible luck, because it had been seemingly ages since the team had gone out for their most recent mission (three weeks) and you really wished that you could look into Clint Barton's eyes and gush and cry about the confusion you were in.

But life was life, and their mission needed an archer, not a time-traveller, and thus you stayed in the Avengers base with the remaining team and not in your shared apartment in downtown Brooklyn (terrible two bedroom place above a hair salon above a subway tunnel) alone.

It was another two weeks waiting, after that, and then one more when the sound of a Quinjet arriving back on the helipad, and the feeling of a small bump under your skin arrived on your midsection. It wasn't that you were terrified. Well, yeah, you were, but...maybe it was to do with the unknown. When the team disembarked from the jet, Rogers filing out alongside Romanov, Thor, flanked with Maximoff and lastly, Barton, your heart raced, and nothing on earth could have held you back as you flung yourself to your husband, and wrapped your arms around him.

"Is that an arrow in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" You joke, running your hand along the bulge in his Avengers uniform pants.

Clint grins, and slips a hand into his pocket, withdrawing an compact arrow that snapped into a full length one at once, "Both, babe."

Thor laughed, coming from within the compound to crush Steve and Tony together into a bone-crunching hug. "I appreciate your jest, Clint, ________. Pity that Asgard does not have use for such phrases..."

The fear and excitement and passion of it all got to you, and before you knew it, you were tugging Clint from the team and to the only secluded spot outside, a little patio where Vision maintained a small zen garden. Only just sitting down, the news spilled forth from your lips, and at once, his arms were around you once more, embracing you, worshipping you, loving you, surrounding you.

"Please don't hate me," you whisper through the tears. Damn the tears, those never ending tears. "Clint, I -," His head rested upon your neck, tucked away, nose snuffling through his own waterworks, "Don't tell me all this worrying is for nothing," you moan.

He shakes his head. "I never - really wanted kids. But now...we'll do our best to bring this little one into the world. Into a world that you and I will do our damndest to keep them safe." 

--- 

Not long at all -- a month later -- and probably planned that way by the universe or whatever organised the book of your life, there was a need for a diplomatic mission back to Europe for more sessions to broker in the effects of the Accords to suit all the needs of the team. It didn't escape you that months ago Clint had been locked up, or that the whole team had been a squabbling mess, but they needed someone levelheaded. Who had been as normal as anyone, and as powered-up as their threats had been. Thus, the team elected you to go, with Nat Romanov to keep an eye on you (and kick ass for you so you and your new life inside couldn't be hurt, Clint wasn't slick at all...). 

The bump under your shirt was showing, and selecting a wardrobe to pack might've needed a few trips to get new clothes, and before you knew it, you were kissing Clint's whiskery cheek goodbye, waving the team goodbye, and aboard a jet with your red-headed ex-assassin friend to the other side of the globe.

"So...what's it like," she asked you, poking your arm a half hour after being aboard the plane, grinning her devil-may-care smirk, "Growing something inside of you. Is it as gross as the sex ed posters make it seem?" 

You shrug, placing a hand on your stomach. "It's been strange. Puking. Getting bigger. If I didn't have any parents, I'd be phoning them up and telling them they're going to be a Grammy and Gramps." 

Nat pouted. "Don't give me that sad orphan shite, we all know you were raised by your aunt. Why hasn't Maggie and Scott heard? Don't tell me you're nervous about the Antman being all up in Clint's grill." She narrowed her eyes, and just like that, deduced your life, ala Sherlock Holmes. "You haven't talked to him since he became the Antman, have you? And that was..."

"Four years ago." You sigh, flicking open a manilla briefing folder for in-flight entertainment. "He's busy saving the world. I'm busy being a paradox. We'll work it out." 

 ---

A month passed, and somehow, it brought you back to the jet, back to home. Nat had done all she could to keep you off your feet, to protect the new life you were making inside. Now, on the plane, you'd kicked off your shoes, and snuggled into the not-quite-uncomfortable private plane's seat, and done your best to close your eyes for a few. 

But then it hit you. A pain, like shooting pain, pang from your belly up. At once, your eyes shot open. It felt like a terrible, terrible cramp, and stung like buggery. Even though you were a warrior, and a scientist, you were still a woman, and someone who had been through trauma, been through hell, and had every idea of what it felt like when it was ripping apart inside of you. 

"Nat," you moan, clutching your middle, "I don't think this," you wince, doubling over, "is supposed to happen." 

The red-head got to battle stations, at once googling what to do with symptoms like yours, and calling Clint on her spare phone. "Come on, I'll take you to the bed, you need to properly lie down. I'm calling your husband, so don't worry, he'll be on the phone in a - hey, Clint, hold on, I just need you to talk to _________. She needs to hear you right now." 

As you stand, you feel fluid in your panties, and tears forming in the corner of your eyes. "It's - it's not supposed to feel like this," you whisper to him, shuddering through your tears. "I don't think the baby's going to come after all."

Back in downtown New York, Clint Barton stood in the doorway, phone loose between his fingers, mouth agape. 

Clint Barton was just an ordinary guy, really, who happened to know superhero things and save the world a couple of times a week and once was invited to a Thanksgiving party with you to the Jane Foster's house a few years ago. He read the newspaper when he had time, and took ages to wake up in the morning. He'd gone through hell as a child, and never wanted to inflict it on his, had hoped from the bottom of his heart since he was small to never have his own. 

The second room to the apartment, once used as a dumping storage place, was not any longer. He'd taken a whole night to clean it out, and organise, stripped the ugly carpet up, and sanded the floors down. You'd been gone for a month, and for a month, he worked as hard as he could around his Avenger-hours, kitting out the place for the baby. There was a change table, and a little cot he salvaged from the people upstairs, and bought a new mattress for. 

He nods, and replies, "Come on, be strong, ________. You need to be strong." 

But back on the plane, you can't. You don't want to be. "Please, make it stop," you blubber, closing your eyes. "I can't be - I can't be. I can't be strong, not now, I - I," you scream, and Nat yanks the phone from your ear, and talks to Clint.

"I'm going to have to call you back, Barton." She sounds just as professional as she always does, but at Clint's end, he can sense his long-time S. H. I. E. L. D. agent partner's caring, and concern. "Of course this happens mid-flight."

He blinks, but Nat hangs up before he can speak. From the other room, Bruce calls out something, whether it be about beer, or vegan-friendly beef, he can't tell - and not just because of his hearing problem, either. The world is unstable. Wobbly. His eyes are swimming. 

There is no baby.

Bruce pokes his head out from the kitchen, holding a two bottles of lager, and seeing his teammate, and friend there, standing as if there is no floor, no floor under his feet, no universe, no stars and no meaning to life, goes to steady him. "Woah there, Clint, man - is everything okay?" 

He swayed there for a moment before answering. "I wasn't ready to be a dad," his voice is an echo, eyes not leaving the open doorway to the room freshly decorated and painted, "I don't think I'd ever be."

---

Eight Months Later

Life goes on. It has to, because time can't just stop when you feel yourself ripped out and tied down to a cliff to be tortured forever. There is no alcove where you can curl in on yourself and swear to be a hermit as it all stills and waits for you to come out of it. No. Life goes on. Planes land, and silence falls, and the pain lingers. It took days, weeks until you could look at Clint, before you could read the results from the doctor, could face your friends and share the terrible news. How was it that impossible, terrible things happened to you? 

But as life goes on, so does the heart, the mind, the soul. You could cry alongside your husband, and take the medicine prescribed to try and heal from it. Your family -- the Avengers, Maggie and her ex-husband Scott and little Cassie -- surrounded you with warmth and love, and gave you time to heal, to feel better. The envelope read that it had been something like an ectopic pregnancy, but because you had not gotten the right organs, it had lasted longer than the usual woman could stand, and caused great pain. 

You didn't need the letter to tell you that. 

But it was eight months after that phone call, nearly to the day when the team were coming back from a mission (once again with no need for a time-traveller) when you saw Clint coming off the Quinjet, carrying a squirming rag. In his arms, was a little baby, with bright eyes, and glowing skin, who looked at your husband like the universe came from his palms, and once seeing you, almost decided you were greatness incarnate.

"Who - where are her parents?" you ask him, noticing the Avengers swarming around the pair of you to witness the conversation. "Clint, you can't just go around picking up stray children."

The Maximoff twins laughed. "It worked with us," Pietro grinned, "but she has no family."

You narrow your eyes to your husband. "Clint, what - are we holding onto her until the agency finds her a home?" you ask her. It was almost like your guarded heart couldn't bear to lower the gates, to allow for any possibility of hope to seep in. "Clinton Barton, say something!"

"We couldn't save their city, her mother gave her to me. She was an Inhuman, like you, and saw the past in people, and saw nobody else fit to take care of her daughter than you," Clint's voice trembled, and slowly, passed the little girl toward you, to your empty arms. "I know it - it -,"

You accept her into your arms, feeling the weight of the baby there. You never believed in women being primarily mothers; you never thought of yourself as anything more than a lady in gender, and surely not duty. But here, holding the small girl, you felt a hole inside of yourself fill up, and spill over, toppling inside you like a tap stuck on, full of love. 

"What's her name?" you whisper, sniffing at the tears that threatened to show.

He wipes the water from your eyes, gazing into your eyes. "Hoshi. Hoshi Barton."

You grin through your tears, with eyes only for the little girl, for your little girl. You don't notice the Avengers assembling somewhere else, leaving the Barton family to transform into the next stage. "Hello, my love, my little Hoshi."

[ferretfyre]

The Last Bunny of Krypton - Chapter 7

Title: The Last Bunny of Krypton - Chapter 7

Rating: G

AO3 Link

Word Count: 4528

Author’s Note: I can’t believe this story hasn’t updated since April. My utmost apologies, but my gosh inspiration was a fickle muse these past three months. Hopefully though, the blood, sweat and tears were worth it, and this chapter manages to satisfy you all. Once more, endless and profuse thanks to iowaforever, @bluelightningbug and @brideshead, all of whom have contributed greatly to this chapter, and without it, I don’t think I would have been able to finish it. You guys all rock. The scene with Judy and her mother is inspired by John Byrne’s 1986 six issue mini-series The Man of Steel, which has been a massive influence on the tone I’m trying to go for with this story. Hopefully it works. I will admit, these past seven chapters have been expressly designed to better feel out how to approach Judy in this situation, since, as much as I’m tempted to just pour her into Superman’s uniform, I also understand that she is a character all her own, with her own personality, and I want to be faithful to her personality and philosophy, and how that might shift if she had Superman’s abilities. I guess it’s a more psychological take on things then even I expected, but what use is a story if the characters aren’t fully realized and sketched out?

Anyways, enjoy it below.

The ebbing wail of a police siren caught Judy’s ear, and she glanced briefly towards the window of Lana’s apartment. She was only greeted with the glow of the street lamps, and the scattered lights from apartments in the building across the street.

She looked up at the clock on the wall.

It was 3:15 in the morning.

Guess I’m not the only one who can’t sleep, she thought, letting out a sigh and taking another sip of her warm, sugar-soaked milk. She closed her eyes, paw tiredly rubbing her eyelids.

She’d thought that she’d sleep well after confessing her frustration to Lana. It had felt good to get that sense of anxiety out into the open, to know that what she’d done back at the café was a good thing. To a certain extent, maybe she was being naive. Expecting everything would just tumble neatly into place, would magically click together.

Guess not.

Another police siren went peeling by, and Judy remembered why she couldn’t sleep. Back when she’d first come to the city, it’d all seemed so pristine, so wonderful. But then nighttime had come. Back in Bunnyburrow, even with her super hearing, Judy had always appreciated the quietness. At most, you’d get the chirping of crickets, or the hoot of an owl. Other than that, the nights were peaceful and relaxed. Zootopia was a whole other story.

In Zootopia, the nights were noisy. And none of the sounds Judy noticed tended to be pleasant ones. There’d be someone shouting angrily at someone else in the apartment on the floor above them, followed by someone quietly crying. There’d be the near continual parade of police cars, racing by as their sirens screaming, radios a hectic chatter. There’d be strange, hard-to-place noises: creaks, groans, moans, rumbles. The shattering metallic clatter of the elevated train racing by. Maybe even the distant, sharp crack of a gun going off.

At night, the city sounded sick.

Judy’s shoulders sagged, and she let her face fall into her paws. There really wasn’t anything in the entire city that wasn’t broken in some way or another. And here she was, just one person stuck in the quagmire with no way to get out.

Then again, the trains back to Bunnyborrow were always there. It wouldn’t be too difficult to hop on one and forget this ever happened, maybe just be a carrot farmer like Mom and Dad wanted. Away from Zootopia, away from the brokenness and sickness, back to somewhere safe.

And then what? She’d just go home? Go back to the farm? What good would that do? It’s not like her leaving would change anything back here. And let’s face it, you’re just running away from the problem. Judy was never one to abandon somebody. Heck, all those times back in Bunnyburrow, she could have easily just kept walking. But no, every time, like someone yanking on a chain, she’d felt it. That need to help. It was like a compulsion. It didn’t matter the situation. She’d be in the middle of something, and she’d hear it. The yelp of fear, or someone screaming “HELP!” at the top of her lungs. And then, the next thing she knew, she’d sped her way half way across Bunnyburrow, ripping the door of a car, dragging somebody out of the water, or out of a burning house.

That was only small “heroics” though. Zootopia wouldn’t bother with that. The problems here? They were like grime, something that had dug itself in like… like a tick. And nobody was doing anything about it. Somebody had to do something. Had to.. To take a stand. To.. to at least try to clean it up. Try and fix it.

Or… perhaps go one step further. She felt a sudden flash of a memory go rushing through her mind.

Live a life that speaks of nobility. Of kindness.

“I… I can do more.” Judy mumbled, her eyes widening slightly. She sat up in her chair, a slow steady dawning coming over her. “I can do more… so much more! I mean, yeah, I got my powers, my abilities… but what does that mean at the end of the day?”

Another flash of memory.

I felt… inspired.

Judy’s eyes looked around the apartment, her eyes catching on the calendar on the kitchen wall. On it was printed, in bright, sunny colors, a painting of Zootopia. Above the city, in big, gold text, where the words “Zootopia: Where anybody can be anything!”

Lightbulb!

She slapped her paw against the table. Everything had clicked. Yes, the real Zootopia turned out to be sick–but the Zootopia on that poster? The one she’d always dreamed of? Had always hoped to see? It didn’t just represent the city… but an ideal to strive for. All that was needed was a spark… something dramatic–striking–to shake everybody out of apathy… to show that they could be more.

“And I’m gonna be that symbol! I’m gonna show Zootopia that we can do anything… be anything… that any mammal can get up, get out there… make a difference!”

Judy was so filled with new energy, that she barely noticed that she was now hovering about a foot off the floor. When she did, she did not care.

“I can do this… I can do anything!”

“That’s… like… cool I guess,” Came a voice, and Judy turned to the doorway, eyes widening as she noticed a very exhausted looking Lana standing in the doorway, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh… hey Lana,” she smiled sheepishly, floating down to the floor and rubbing the back of her neck. “I guess I didn’t see you there.”

Lana nodded sluggishly, before tilting her head slightly. “So what? Did you find your purpose or something?”

Judy shrugged slightly. “I guess, sort of yeah.” she sat back down in the chair.

Lana’s eyebrow rose. “You gonna tell me?”

Judy blinked, before clearing her throat. “Well, I was thinking, about what happened yesterday, and how Zootopia really is. Like, it’s not what I thought it would be at all. I know, it sounds sorta dumb, but I guess I expected this place to be like Mickeyland or something–ya know, magic kingdom and all that–but it’s not. It’s dirty..and noisy… there’s lots of crime, and nobody doing anything about it… but then I realized, it doesn’t have to be. It–It can be more than that! When I was a kit, I always saw it as this fancy shiny city on a hill and I think–or I hope, I don’t know–that I’m the one who’s gonna make that dream come true.”

Lana blinked, her expression hard to read. “Well,” she began, shuffling over to one of the chairs and sitting down. “This mean you’re finally gonna be a superhero?”

Judy shrugged. “I guess so, yeah.”

Lana smiled. “Freakin’ finally.” She let out a smug chuckle, face visibly brightening. “You know what this means, right?”

Judy shook her head. “Um… no, but…” She looked over at the quickly spreading grin on Lana’s face with concern. “I got a feeling you know?”

Lana nodded. “Oh yeah… we’re making you a costume,” she clapped her hoof on the tabletop, before popping out of her chair in a flurry of unexpected energy. “A nice, badass costume for a badass bunny!”

Judy stammered, “Wait, but I thought you were exhausted?”

Lana scoffed. “Well I’m not any more! The gears are movin’, Judy, the gears are movin’, and I sure as heck letting this opportunity slide! It isn’t everyday you’re best friend decides to be a superhero, so I’m sure as cotton gonna make sure she looks as awesometacular as possible!”

“That’s not even a word…”

“It is now!”

Two Weeks Later

Judy peered out from behind her perch on a nearby ledge, smiling giddily as the ten year old elephant excitedly tried to explain to her intensely relieved mother how she was caught from falling by, as she explained “A magical angel!”

This was why she chose to do this. The looks of relief, the happy smiles. To her, it was worth more than gold. She watched as the mother took her daughter inside, hugging her tightly, even as her daughter continued to happily gaggle on about Judy.

Judy took in a deep breath, letting herself begin to hover again, as she took in the beautiful autumn day. The air was crisp, the skies clear, and the birds seemed to be quite happy as well, chirping and singing, as Judy floated up. The buoyant, fluttering feeling in Judy’s chest seemed to grow stronger the higher she flew, as she felt that quintessentially unique feeling of bracing freedom that flight always gave her come washing over her.

It’d been a really good day for her. Not only had she saved that little girl from falling off a balcony, but she’d stopped a purse snatcher or three, and even managed to prevent a car accident.

All without attracting too much attention. Sure, she’d been glimpsed a few times, but if she’d forever be known as just “The Blur”, something she’d already seen printed on several newspapers on the newsstands, then that was just fine by her. After all, this wasn’t about gaining anything resembling fame or fortune. This was about doing what was right, and inspiring others to do the same.

And that was enough for her.

Judy’s thoughts were interrupted by her phone buzzing in her pocket. Quickly zooming upward to several hundred feet, Judy pulled it from her pocket and started talking. “Hey Lana, how goes it?”

“Fine- wow, you’re coming through really clear. Where are you?” Lana’s voice asked from the other side.

“Couple hundred feet over Savanna Square. I had no idea cell reception was so good this high up.”

“Doing heroics again instead of your homework?” Lana asked, and Judy could practically hear the smirk on the sheep’s face. Judy rolled her eyes.

“Lana, really, it’s fine. I can write a fifty page dissertation in two minutes, but that’s no good if I can’t come up with a topic. I mean, I gotta do something that isn’t just, I don’t know, The Wizard of Oz being a metaphor for transmammalianism or sexual repression or whatever.” she rubbed her forehead with a free paw. “I swear, stuff like this makes me think I should have just been a cop; then I could get away with using my powers more regularly.”

“Well, you chose to be a journalism major, c’est la vie” Lana replied. “But what does that have to do with English Lit?”

“I guess it’s to help with structure and flow or whatever,” Judy shrugged. “Look, I’ll deal with it all later, it’s due in a week anyways. I got time. Worse comes to worse I’ll do a midnight cram session.”

“Okay then, Missus Procrastination, what are you gonna do in the meantime?” Lana asked, smirk once more apparent even over the phone. Judy was about to answer, only to have Lana cut her off. “Besides heroics; once you’re busy with that you’re golden, but everything else… Judy, you need a job. Something to occupy your free time, keep you busy. Idle brain’s the devil’s playground and all that. Our wall can’t take any more darts!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Judy sighed. “Okay, job. What job?” she rubbed the back of her neck, idly scanning the area around her.

“Well, the coffee shop is hiring, since business really went up after you roughed up those goons. Why not there?” Lana suggested.

“No, that won’t work….” Judy huffed, making a wide and lazy bank towards the cityscape as she continued. “Everybody there already knows what I look like, I’d stick out like a sore thumb. I need to be somewhere where I don’t stand out. Somewhere I can blend in, disappear, and I can have an excuse to duck out for emergencies…” she trailed off, her eyes scanning the cityscape, before they caught on the shiny, golden globe perched on top one of the larger skyscrapers, which had a chic, refined vague art deco look. In big letters, going around the globe, where the words “The Daily Planet”.

“That’s it!” Judy cheered, nearly dropping her phone. “I’ll get a job at the Daily Planet!”

“Whoa, Judy, what?” Lana answered, sounding confused. “The Daily Planet? Like, ‘Biggest Newspaper in Zootopia’ Daily Planet? Don’t you need to be like… famous to get hired there?”

Judy shook her head. “Nah, that’s just what they tell mammals that aren’t ‘in the know’, you know? My ethics teacher talked about it last semester.” She allowed herself a big grin. “I mean think about it, pretty much everything goes through the Daily Planet. They’re like the mob, but with less killing; I work there for three weeks, and I’m pretty sure I’d be able to pick up everything that goes on in the city and show my parents that I can do something with a journalism career!”

“Okay, Miss Journalist. How are you going to get all this done?”

“Shouldn’t be too hard; I can polish off a good application between the stupid English paper and my heroics. I’m sure a few of my professors would be happy to give me a rec-” The near deafening roar of a jet turbine came thundering at Judy, and she felt as if she’d just gotten hit with a baseball bat as the wing slammed into her stomach, sending her tumbling head over heels through the air, and her phone spiraling out of her paw.

After tumbling, she found her bearings, managing to reorient herself. What the heck?! she thought, scanning the sky hectically, utterly baffled. Her eyes widened as they caught on the billowing cloud of smoke. She followed it, and her chest tightened.

It was a massive airliner, and it was painfully obvious that it was in deep trouble. The black cloud led straight to one of its engines, and the aircraft was now visibly banking and arcing at a nauseatingly sharp angle as Judy felt the feeling in her chest change to an immense, plunging sense of dread.

It’s heading right into the city!

Immediately, Judy bolted forwards, coming up right besides the flaming engine. A brief flicker of her X-ray vision showed the interior had somehow been heavily damaged, with various props and shafts bent and twisted by–

Oh those poor birds, she thought, biting her lip and trying not to think too much on what a gristly fate that must of have been for them. She instead focused her attention on the wing itself. Besides the flaming engine, she could see several dark red smears, along with the crumpled remains of the flock of birds that the jet must have run into. She bit her lip again, reaching her paws out and trying to give the wing a sharp tug. The metal groaned under her paws, actively beginning to buckle, Judy trying her best to make the plane go level.

As she pulled, the plane slowly responded, just barely missing one of the buildings. Up ahead, she could see the large, green open space of the Twin Parks. Was that her only choice? The river was right freakin’ there, stupid Judy stupid!

It was then that the plane’s nose suddenly veered downwards, and the jolt sent Judy’s grip loose and her tumbling through the air backwards. Her paws locked onto the tail, as she tried her best to figure out a way to counteract the sudden, unexpected dive. She pushed down, the metal groaning again, as the airplane’s wing clipped a rooftop, destroying the water tower atop it. The airplane groaned again, and she felt a wave of panic go through her at the sight of it visibly bending as she pushed down on the tail.

This isn’t working! She bolted towards the nose again, ignoring the gawking passengers and pilots, and instead focusing her attention on the nose. The ground zoomed up closer and closer, as Judy impulsively pushed upwards with all her might. The metal once more protested, but eventually began to slowly relent, the plane’s nose steadily rising at a snail’s pace.

I think I’m gonna make it! She thought, smiling despite herself, only to have her hopes sharply interrupted.

The first thing she felt was her feet hitting the ground, the sound of dirt being viciously torn up and torn to shreds combining with the swirling cacophony of metal and engine noises. The sound of the plane’s metal body hitting the ground felt like a punch to the stomach, as the plane and her continued to plow forwards, the dirt piling up behind her in an ever growing mountain as a massive new trench was carved into the once pristine park.

Please please please please please please she thought in a panic, as the aircraft finally came to a growling, moaning, ear splitting stop.

Judy felt as if her hands were now somehow fused with the metal, the nose of the aircraft now a mangled, twisted wreck. As if in a daze, her paws released the nose, arms numbly falling to her side as she stumbled backwards, completely dazed.

She barely had a chance to get her thoughts back in order, as she suddenly was surrounded by a clamoring swarm of mammals, all completely ignoring the fact that an aircraft now sat in the middle of the park, instead rushing to get their paws on the small, grey furred rabbit who stood, looking as if she were staring down an entire army of vicious predators.

“HOLY SHIT DID YOU SEE THAT”

“SHE GRABBED THE JET!”

“I WANT HER AUTOGRAPH!”

“I WANT HER JACKET!”

“I WANT HER HAIR!”

Judy had to get out of there. Suddenly everything was so overwhelming. It was just like she was in grade school again, locked in a broom closet, surrounded by noise.

I’ve got to get away.

With that thought, she bolted skywards, her flight carrying her as far away as she could. It was all too much. She needed to go some place quiet. Someplace where things made sense.

Someplace like home.

“And in a stunning turn of events, disaster was averted when Airline Flight 235 was crippled by a bird strike, which heavily damaged one engine. However, instead of crashing, the aircraft landed inside the Twin Parks, and witnesses claim a small, light gray bunny was responsible.”

“Oh dear,” Bonnie whispered, fighting the urge to start nibbling on her nails. Disasters were always a cause of concern for all rabbits, even if they were not at the center of the disaster. While it was great that everyone survived, it would leave plenty of tensions about for weeks to come.

And Judy… poor thing. Even with her powers, that kind of pressure couldn’t be easy to deal with. Bonnie began to wring her paws together anxiously.

“In a press conference given shortly after this accident, Mayor Lionheart expressed gratitude to this mysterious savior of Zootopia.”

“Do I know who this superbunny is? No; as far as I know they have no connection to the ZPD or any other government offices. That being said, I’d certainly like to change that up a bit- Zootopia needs a hero like that, and that hero needs to be recognized! I’d love to have her come down here, shake paws, maybe even give her a medal-”

Bonnie’s nerves won out, and she quickly switched off the TV. Deep down, she knew that turning off the television would only provide a brief respite from the massive wave the news cycle would spew out for the next few weeks, and Bonnie could already picture her friends coming with all sorts of questions and speculations about what had happened.

And Judy… Bonnie gave a nervous sigh, kneading her paws together in an effort to relieve some stress.

She gave a start at the sound of the hurried knocking at the door. Smoothing the wrinkles in her dress as best she could, Bonnie moved to the door and opened it.

“Judy?” her eyebrows rose at the sight of her daughter, whose face was etched with worry, and her coat and clothing, which was a worn red bomber jacket and blue jeans, a wind swept mess.

“I screwed up, Mom.” Judy replied, stepping around Bonnie so quickly it caused a small gust of wind to follow. Bonnie forehead knitting together as she turned to follow after Judy.

“Sweetie, I know you must be under a lot of stress,” she began, but Judy shook her head as she flopped down into her chair, the weathered wooden frame creaking under her weight.

“No, it’s not that… It’s just…” she gave a flustered groan, paws awkwardly fumbling and wringing together as Bonnie quickly took a seat next to Judy, eyes burning with concern. Judy looked away from Bonnie, staring into the wooden floor beneath her feet. It took all her willpower not to burn a hole into it. “So Mom, how have you and Dad been?” She looked around. “Just where is Dad? The kits?”

“They’re all out working on the farm, Judy, it’s harvest time. But don’t change the subject. What’s wrong?” Bonnie asked. Judy didn’t answer, instead just tugging at the hem of her shirt as she took a few deep breaths. “Judy, it’s alright, whatever’s troubling you. You can tell me.”

“I…” Judy started, tears forming at the edge of her eyes. “I just wanted to help… and then…” Her ears drooped, and slumping over and burying her face in her arms. Bonnie quickly reached out and placed a paw on Judy’s shoulder, gently stroking her back to keep her calm.

“It’s okay, Judy…” Bonnie said. “This whole business with the airplane, I know it’s a bit… out there, but you did a great thing today. M-maybe not what we had in mind when we said to lay low, but-”

“You didn’t see the crowds,” Judy said, sniffing. “The crowds… Mom, it was like everyone went savage spontaneously! Shouting, clawing, pulling- Gosh, I thought they were going to rip me to pieces! They kept asking me such… such… stupid things! Like if I wanted money, if I’d give up my jacket… I even think someone proposed to me!” Judy tossed her hands up in the air. “Never mind that I saved an entire plane full of people who are probably scared out of their minds! No, let’s all amuse ourselves over the bunny, the crazy freak bunny that swooped out of the sky and made such a big fuss out of everything!” By this point, tears were freely flowing from Judy’s eyes as she visibly held back sobs.

“Oh, Judy,” Bonnie reached over and pulled Judy into a hug. “There there. Sometimes people just start obsessing over silly things like that. But you’re not a freak.”

“That’s not how they treated me there…” Judy cried, shaking her head into Bonnie’s shoulder.

“Oh Judy, You’re not a freak.” Bonnie turned Judy towards her, wiping a tear from Judy’s eyes. “Don’t you ever say that around me again. You are blessed in ways that we can only imagine, and you used your gifts to help others all your life. You are a hero, Judy, not a freak.” Judy said nothing, just burying her face in Bonnie’s chest as she gave a few short sobs. Bonnie responded by gently stroking her daughter’s ears. “It’s alright, honey, you’re here…”

“I don’t know what to do Mom,” Judy sobbed out, tightly wrapping her arms around Bonnie. “It’s like they’d taken everything you ever told me and ripped it up! Treated it like garbage! It’s like they don’t care! Now they expect me to be some sort of superstar! I didn’t want that! I… I just want to do the right thing… I don’t know how to deal with any of this!”

“Don’t worry honey, it’ll be alright. I know you. I know your intentions.” Bonnie soothed.

Judy shook her head. “But they don’t! What if everybody thinks I’m just an attention seeking freak?”

Bonnie pulled Judy off her chest to look into her eyes. “Then make your intentions clear. Be honest and tell the truth! The sooner you do that, the sooner people will understand what you’re trying to do. You’re not in St. Canard, are you?”

“No… I guess I wasn’t… it just feels… so overwhelming,” Judy replied, wiping the tears from her puffy, red eyes. “I mean, it’s weird, I’ve spent so much time worried about what others were going to think, or how they’d react, and trying to keep it a secret… but now everybody knows… How will I go to school? Get a job? My life is gone!”

“Well, they saw you maybe for a few seconds? It shouldn’t be too hard to make you blend in a little bit.” Bonnie reached out and pushed Judy’s ears back. “See? You look like a new bunny already.”

“It can’t be that easy…” Judy mumbled.

“Well,” Bonnie rubbed her chin. Her eyes landed on her weathered reading glasses, resting atop one of those dime store romance novels she indulged in every now and then. She picked up the glasses, turning them over in her paws for a moment before setting them on Judy’s face.

“It’s a start,” she muttered as Judy fumbled around with the glasses. “I think we can fluff up your coat a little bit, get you some new clothes, maybe a wig even… yes, no one will recognize you then, and you can do some more hero stuff in complete safety.”

“Mom, are you serious? How is this going to work?”

“Oh you’d be surprised, honeybunch. Why, not just the other day I read that the singer Gazelle does the same thing. All she does is let her hair down, wipe off her makeup, and wear baggier clothing and poof! Nobody knows its her. And if it can work for a superstar like Gazelle, then it’ll work just fine for you.”

Judy shifted slightly. “I guess…” she paused. “Now that I think about it, Lana was saying I should start ‘dressing the part’ when it came to hero stuff. You know, fancy cape and stuff. She even made some sketches.”

Bonnie smiled. “Fancy cape?” She stood up from her chair. “I have just the thing.” She made her way upstairs, before returning, carrying the same old box that held the objects that she and Stu had found in Judy’s rocket. Opening it, she pulled out the larger, billowing silken red cloth.

“Here, use this. I think it’s only appropriate you use what you came wrapped up in, don’t you?”

Judy’s eyes widened in surprise, taking the cloth in hand. “But Mom…Mom, this is yours. I can’t–”

“No more of this ‘I can’t’ nonsense, Judy. As your mother, I command that you take this, and make something beautiful.” She then took Judy’s paws in her own. “Because that’s what saving mammals is, Judy. A beautiful thing. And you’re better at it then anybody else I know.”

Judy teared up again, before pulling her mom into a hug. “I’ll make you proud, Mom, I swear!”

“Oh don’t worry, darling. You already have,” Bonnie answered kindly. “You already have.”