#hidy replies

[hom3landr]

For your dark prompts: HomelanderxFem!Reader

"Do it or I'll make you," + Stalking/Obsession

The Butterfly Effect

Alternate Dark version of Tea and Honey

18+

CW: DUBCON

What if the mug broke? What if one tiny hiccup changed everything? An alternate version of Tea and Honey where one small accident changes Homelander’s and Baker’s stories forever

Homelander’s eyes land on a lone mug on your counter. It’s colorful and chipped and so you that the unexpected rush of endearment he feels helps direct him out of his rage for a moment. His brow furrows as an idea begins to form. He can fix this. He just needs to do what you would do. But his hands are still clumsy with emotion and when he reaches for the mug, his grip causes the pottery to shatter. The noise is so loud in his ears and his chest heaves. What if that was your favorite mug? He imagines that’s what your skull would feel like crumpled between his palms. He digs his palms into his eyes and he can feel the heat from the glow of his lasers.

“Listen to me. C’mon Tiger, when have I ever let you down?” The familiar voice cajoles him. Homelander turns teary eyes to the glass at last and finds his old friend looking back at him. He shrinks back from his condescending gaze.

“Can you help? I don’t want her to hate me.” He sniffles, ashamed at his emotional reaction. He’s pathetic and he hates that about himself. You’re just a toy, something to amuse himself with. But here he is weeping like a snot nosed little brat at the mere thought of your disapproval. He cringes.

“Why don’t you let me take over for a bit? I’ll straighten it all out.” The mirror replies, smug. Homelander falters for a moment. He wants more than anything to hand things over for the moment, to have someone else deal with the responsibility. But he’s aware of the methods normally required. He clears his throat nervously.

“Just…don’t hurt her.” He answers sheepishly. He can feel the disapproval from the figure in the glass and he has to look away for a moment. The voice goes quiet and Homelander crushes the remaining pottery shards in his hands to dust.

“Don’t worry, I won’t break your toy. She just needs a little…fixing before she will be ready for you to play with again.” The voice assures him and Homelander’s stomach twists. He doesn’t like the sound of that but he doesn’t have a choice. If he continues like this, he’ll just keep fucking up. He doesn’t know what else to do so he nods.

“Atta boy.”

————————

Homelander steps out of the kitchen and rolls his eyes at the pathetic figure you make on the couch. Is this really what has John in such a tizzy? This? It baffles him. Your sniffles set his teeth on edge. It’s so tempting to just stalk over and snap your neck. That way he’d be able to remove the hindrance of you from John’s life so he wouldn’t have anything holding him back from his true self. But…that would cause more problems then it would solve when John returns so he begrudgingly restrains himself. He’ll just teach you a few manners before it’s time to hand the reins back over.

“I’m sorry.” You whimper into your knees. Homelander snorts. If you were really sorry you’d get down on your knees and grovel. You’d open your mouth like a good little toy to accept whatever he decided to give you. Do you expect him to coddle you?

“I’m so so sorry. I ruined everything.” Your whiny little apology grates on his nerves. Maybe you should have thought of that before you threw your temper tantrum over a little thunder. He needs to teach you a lesson about how not to be an over-reactive little brat. He needs to teach you that your place is to make John happy and if he wants to dangle you over a pit of hungry sharks, your job should be to bat your eyes and thank him for the privilege. That’s all humans are good for.

“You did.” He replies blankly. You sob and he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What the actual fuck, John? At least the last one wasn’t such an incompetent waste of space.”

There’s no answer so he must be hiding in shame. Pathetic.

“Stop fucking crying. You’re giving me a headache.” He grumbles. You do stop and you finally raise your head to look at him. Your lips tremble but the hurt in your eyes slowly morphs into a sharpness that’s intriguing.

“That’s better. Y’know…you really fucked up kiddo. But there’s always room for a redemption arc. I’ll let you make it up to me.” He says smugly. You give one last disgusting sniffle before you grab a tissue from the couch side table to wipe your nose. Your eyes are wary and suspicious. You blink away your tears. He’s surprised. As insipid as you are, you seem to have noticed that there is something different about your “friend.” Although…he supposes it isn’t that difficult when you’re used to getting smoke blown up your spoiled ass.

“Make it up to you?” You repeat slowly, as if it’s some ridiculous suggestion. “Sure, I’ll make you whatever you want! I only have ingredients for brownies at the moment but I can run to the…” He cuts you off with a gesture as he grits his teeth. He can’t stand your rambling. Why do you always seem to think he cares about what you have to say?

“No. Your baking isn’t special.” He ignores the flash of angry hurt that crosses your face. “I’m going to need something really good if I’m going to excuse your behavior.”

Your mouth twitches as if you’re about to answer but he can smell iron when you bite your lip hard enough to split it. You crumple the snotty tissue in your fist.

“Do you want to know what that is?” He asks with a tilt of his head. “Go on…ask me.”

You don’t answer but you continue to meet his gaze with suspicious eyes.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. But you’re going to have to adjust your attitude or this will be a lot harder than it has to be.” He saunters over with his hands crossed under his cape until he’s looming over you on the couch. You shrink back and he’s filled with a sick sense of pleasure at your fear. It’s not as much as he was expecting but he can work with that. “You are going to wipe those pathetic tears off your face, grow a fucking spine, and I’m going to fly you back out into the storm as long as I please until you’re cured of this ridiculous attitude.”

“No!” You shout and the surprise of it causes him to step back. “I’m sorry I hit you. I am. I truly am. But I’m not going back out there. I won’t!”

Homelander crouches and like a snake his hand darts out to grab your chin with a bruising grip. You whimper painfully as he tilts your face up and he leans in close enough to kiss you if he wanted.

“Do it or I’ll make you.” He hisses and his eyes flare red. He can hear your heart beating quickly in your chest like a little hummingbird. He imagines crushing it in his fist. You flinch back at the heat but he’s surprised at the way your expression doesn’t falter. He’s starting to realize he might have been wrong about you. You’re tougher than you look. You scrunch your brow and your eyes are full of uncertainty. Yet your chin still juts out with foolish bravery and righteous indignation. It’s cute. If he squints he can almost get what John sees in you.

“That’s not a choice because I can’t say no.” You reply. He laughs. Did�� The laugh turns into a wheeze. Did you really think he is truly giving you a choice? What fucking planet are you from? He’s decided that he does like you. You’re fun to play with. He wishes he was allowed to break you…that’s always the part he likes the most.

“You can say no.” He purrs, releasing your chin to run a finger down your cheek. You shudder at the unexpectant gentleness.

“I can?” You reply quietly, voice shaky with uncertainty. But if you see the trap then you’re good at ignoring it. If you don’t then you’re just stupid. “Well…then I’m saying no.”

Just stupid then.

“Alright.” He answers, his hand now gripping the back of your neck firmly. You blink owlishly when you try to pull away only to meet an iron resistance. Your heart skips an anxious beat.

“Are you going to let me go now?” You ask shakily and he’s almost admiring of your stubborn idiocy.

“When did I say I was letting you go?” He leans in to whisper in your ear. He can’t resist nibbling a bit and you jump and shiver against him. He inhales deeply.

You’re wet.

“You…you just said I could say no.” You fight his hold once again but he only tightens his grip until you start to wince.

“Yes, and you’ve said it. But I never said it meant you could leave.” His voice lowers to a growl. “Now, you’re going to be obedient or I’m going to get creative.”

He reaches his other hand down to stroke the inside of your thigh. You inhale sharply and he groans at the scent of you on his tongue. Maybe this is why John is so pussy whipped when he hasn’t even tried you out yet. You smell fucking delicious. He wonders what you’d do if he buried his face between your legs just to breathe you in. He would…if he wasn’t determined to teach you a lesson first.

“Who are you?” You ask bluntly. The accusation in your voice takes him by surprise. He tilts his head curiously. Aren’t you a clever bug?

“I’m the Homelander” He replies, his hand sliding high until his fingers brush against the apex of your thighs. You jolt and slap your hand down on top of his, although your scent only grows stronger at his bold touches. Your cheeks are warm now too. Homelander scoffs. John should have been giving you what you need. You’re woefully deprived of attention when even a threat has you dripping for his touch. John doesn’t even know what he’s missing.

“You’re not him!” You argue with him and fuck you are cute when you’re all in a tizzy. You’re so convinced that your “hero” is a gentleman. It’s so hilariously misguided. “I don’t know who you are but you’re different. You’re wearing his skin or something. I know him and he’s not perfect but he wouldn’t treat me like thi…!”

“Do you want to know all the disgusting thoughts he’s had about you?” He strokes the inside of your thigh and feels incredibly smug at the adorable look of pure shock on your face. Your mouth drops open and your eyes grow round as saucers. The heat in your cheeks floods your body from the top of your ears to the tips of your toes. You wriggle in his grip but he moves his hand to cup you boldly. You let out a broken whine.

“While you were daydreaming about your “Prince Charming” he was coming his brains out thinking about his tongue in that wet little pussy of yours.” He leans forward to purr in your ear. His fingers are still but he refuses to move his hand from its home between your legs. You whimper and bite your swollen lip, still split from your teeth earlier.

“He pretends to be such a gentleman, thinking that’s what you want. But it’s not what you want, is it?” He chuckles darkly. “Did you know that he can smell whenever you get wet? You’d prance around like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth but brown sugar wasn’t the only thing filling his nose.”

“WHO ARE YOU?!” You yell and you shove against his chest. He reluctantly pulls away. He’s too curious as to what you think you’re going to do with your pitiful human bravery.

“I’m a friend of his. I help him whenever he needs.” He answers, leaning back on his heels to give you a little space. You cross your legs immediately but the way you shift lets him know that it’s not purely out of modesty. You filthy little slut. He’d take care of you better than John ever could.

“Where’s my Homelander?” You push.

An unexpected flash of jealousy burns in his chest.

“I am your Homelander! I’m just…a different part of him, I suppose.” He replies, as a wicked wicked thought enters his mind. “But…if you want him back, you’ll need to coax him back. You hurt his feelings pretty badly. He needs some reassurance.”

“What kind of reassurance?” You reply warily.

He gives you a smile that would put a shark to shame.

He was planning to punish you. He wanted to teach you to mind your manners. He wanted to show you your place. But now…his idea of where that is has shifted. After all his hard work over the years keeping John safe, he deserves a little treat for himself. It’s time for him to get some sugar.

“I bet that sweet body of yours would get him back here pretty quick.” He reaches out to rest a hand on your knee. He expects you to flinch but all you do is take a slow shaky inhale. It’s almost as if you knew it was all going to lead to this point. He squeezes just a little and a soft noise escapes your lips.

“He’ll come back? Will he… I mean…we’re a thing kinda and I don’t know if he’d want…” You can’t quite articulate what you're trying to say but he’s enjoying watching you try. He knows what you mean anyway. You’re worried that you’ll be cheating on him with himself. The situation is so bizarre that he can’t help but laugh.

“If it makes you feel better, all I want is a taste. I’ll leave that cherry for him.” He gives a reassuring pat to your knee. “Besides, same guy just different…perspectives.”

You swallow thickly and don’t meet his gaze but when he kneels and gently peels your legs apart, he doesn’t meet any resistance. Not that it would matter if you did resist, but it’s nice to have your cooperation. He groans low in his throat as he yanks you forward and you gasp as he buries his nose in the wet spot soaking through your sleep shorts.

No panties either…naughty

He breathes you in hungrily, growling against the damp fabric. His hands grip your hips firmly to hold you in place. Your heart is beating quick like a little rabbit as you struggle to keep your breathing steady at the onslaught of sensation. He should send John a gift basket for fucking up because he can’t remember the last time he indulged in this. He’s used to backseat driving but to have control of the wheel…he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to give your sweet pussy up. He wouldn’t need your approval, just your wet cunt wrapped around him as he fucks you stupid. You would simply have to forget about any life beyond his bed.

He nuzzles further into you and he’s pleasantly surprised when you shyly grip his hair. You’re barely even tugging but just the brush of your fingers against his scalp is making his cock throb against the cup of his suit. He can feel the hard nub of your clit bump against his nose through your shorts. He pinches the inside of your thigh to make you jump and squeal. He barely used any pressure but the skin is already turning red. It’ll probably bruise and Homelander finds he really likes that. He likes the idea of leaving a mark on you that’s his and not John’s.

He finally decides to take a taste so he tugs the gusset of your tiny little shorts to the side and wastes no time licking a stripe up your pretty cunt. You’re dripping like a slut and the sweet musky taste of you has him bucking into the air. He makes himself comfy as he lifts your legs onto his shoulders. He can’t see anything past your pussy but he just knows that your toes are curling as he occupies himself with sucking on your clit. Your grip on his hair finally graduates to sharp yanks with every fresh bolt of pleasure that courses through you.

For all of John’s fantasies, none of them came close to what it’s like to actually tongue your hole till you squeal.

“Homelander” You moan and his hips buck into the air. You sound so good when you say his name.

“You’ve been starving for this, haven’t you? Despite acting like such a cocktease in your little strawberry apron. Although I’m surprised, as much as he’s watched you…shhh shh shhh oh yes he has. As much as he’s watched you he never saw you playing with that needy cunt of yours. Don’t tell me you’re such a goody two shoes that you don’t even get yourself off?” He slaps your ass for good measure and he can feel you pulse against his tongue. John wouldn’t be happy that he exposed his dirty secret but if the cat is already out of the bag, he doesn’t see the point in trying to shove it back in. Especially when it’s so fun to play with.

“S-shower.” You choke out and he hums in understanding. John had no problems rubbing one out while watching you sleep but he did have his boundaries. He never watched you in the bathroom. Homelander snorts and chuckles to himself. Shows what happens when you play along with human morality, you tend to miss the good stuff.

“Showerhead? Or do you have one of those toys suctioned to the wall of the shower so you can fuck away at it.” He teases before inserting two of his thick gloved fingers. You’re too wet for much friction but the stretch makes you cry out in shock. He knows it must be so intense for you. Especially with how fucking tight you are. “Hmmm I don’t think it’s the second one. I can barely even stuff a couple fingers in you.”

“Fuck!” You sob and the curse feels like a victory. John’s never heard you cuss like this. He reaches down with his free hand to unclick his belt and pull his cock out. He stokes in time with the throbbing of your clit under his tongue.

“That’s it. Show me how filthy you are” He growls.

He curls his fingers and he rapidly has to remove his hand from his cock to steady you before you buck off the couch. Your legs are shaking. He isn’t even close to being through with you. John is just going to have to wait his fucking turn.

“So good!” You cry out and it’s like a shockwave to his system. “You’re so good. Feels so good.”

Homelander moans like a whore into your clenching cunt. Your praise hitting something devastating inside him. His grip on you flexes and his cock bobs. He sucks on your clit again just to hear it. He softens his kisses till they’re teasing and playful instead of the all consuming overwhelm like before. You tug his hair pleasantly and he hums.

The air feels thick as reality starts to melt a little at the edges. Each desperate compliment that falls from your lips has him feeling like he’s in a dream. He’s far away and up close all at once. The warm weight of your legs on his shoulders is soothing. He scissors his fingers, stretching you out further as he laps at your clit.

“You’re so good to me.” You sigh and the air swims. He nips at your thigh, sucking a bruise to match the one from his pinch earlier. Something inside him is aching to be rougher, firmer, meaner. It’s tempting. But he doesn’t want to treat you like that. You’re better than all those other vermin. You deserve to be worshiped.

“So pretty.” His moan is muffled by your pussy. “Pretty and mine.”

“Homelander!” You cry out and he holds you gently but firmly as you writhe.

You come hard under his tongue and he pumps his fingers as he milks you of your release. He presses his tongue flat to your clit to feel you shudder and your moans are like music to his ears. You taste so fucking good, better than anything he could have imagined on his own. He laps against you lazily as he tries to prolong this dream as much as possible. He doesn’t want to face the way he left you. He wants to be your good boy just like this.

He licks his lips and sighs. He waits for that uncomfortable ache of returning to reality, of having to leave this cozy escape he’s found himself in. His mirror self is probably still handling everything. But as he catches his breath it occurs to him that this feels all too realistic. He doesn’t remember anything when he hides. It’s always a blip in lost time and he’s back. Why is he dreaming now?

A horrifying realization hits him.

He scuttles backward and your legs hit the floor with an ominous thump. You stare at him dazed and a swirling mass of anxiety builds in his stomach. What did he do to you? Did he…? Did you…? What if you didn’t want…? He shakes his head and shrinks away from your increasingly concerned stare.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I didn’t know. I didn’t mean…” His words stutter. He’d been so good for you for so long. Now he’s ruined it all. He shouldn’t have ran. He should have been brave. He should have been good.

“Homelander?” You say softly, you shakily stand from the couch and wobble over to him. You crouch and reach out to cradle his head in your hands. He can’t meet your eyes. He’s terrified of what he’ll find. His chin is still soaking and it causes his cock to twitch despite his best efforts. He suddenly reaches down to fumble with putting his cock back in his pants upon realization of his exposure. An embarrassed tear almost escapes before it’s tenderly wiped away by your thumb.

“My Homelander.” You say so fondly that he can’t help but meet your eyes. He doesn’t expect what he finds. You’re looking at him like he hung the moon, all dewy eyed and soft. You look at him like he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen.

“I…” He manages to choke out but even that dies in his throat.

You practically tackle him as you pepper his face in kisses. You don’t seem to mind the taste of yourself as you press your lips everywhere you can. Your previous anger over the storm seems to have dissolved in your eagerness to see him. Once he’s over his shock, he wraps his arms around you as tight as he can and tries not to cry in relief.

You aren’t angry. You don’t hate him. He’s yours.

“Told you I’d take care of it. Don’t fuck things up with her again.”

“I won’t.” He whispers fervently into your shoulder.

“I might not let you have her back next time.”

Homelander is too busy loving you to think too much about the implications of that. All he knows is that he’ll never doubt that voice in the mirror again.

[glamdringwlv]

Unchain my heart: Part 3. Heart of glass

Unchain my heart series. Logan Howlett x oc!fmale Summary: Mia Green has grown up in a lab, subjected to numerous experiments due to her status as a mutant. When she manages to escape, Charles Xavier takes her in at his mansion, giving her a new life and helping her regain her memories. However, the arrival of a new resident at the mansion threatens to destabilize everything she believed.

Warnings: Violence, foul language, a mix of various canons, X-Men movies, X-Men animated series, X-men comics.

The door hadn’t even fully closed when Mia was practically standing over Charles.

“What are you hiding from me?” she demanded, her voice firm, though it barely reflected the emotional storm raging inside her.

The professor looked at her seriously, his expression hard and distant, which only fueled her anger. She knew he wouldn’t approve of what had happened in the danger room, but Mia was tired of hearing the same reprimands over and over. “You let your instincts take over. You’ve lost your—”

“Don’t you dare, Charles,” she interrupted, her voice trembling with fury. “Don’t for a second think I’m going to let you twist this situation.”

He stayed silent, observing her with that same serious gaze. He had never seen her like this, so out of control, her brow furrowed continuously, her breathing heavy. Mia stared at him with an intensity she could barely contain. Her mind was spinning in a thousand different directions. Every second that passed made her feel more alone, more vulnerable, though she would never admit it. The respect she had for Charles was eroding with each truth he chose to keep from her.

Mia quickly raised the mental barriers she had trained to keep Charles out, even if only for a moment. She believed what had slipped out from her mind wasn’t his business. She was hesitant to share anything, especially since most of her secrets had already been dissected by him.

“As I was saying, you’ve lost control, something that’s very unlike you.”

She was stunned by the coldness of his response. She wanted to shout at him that it wasn’t unusual for her, that she was always on the verge of breaking, that every second was a battle to keep the chaos inside from taking over. If she didn’t, she feared she’d end up alienating everyone around her, destroying the only home she’d ever known. But she said nothing. Instead, she pressed her lips into a thin line, swallowing the bitter words.

Charles continued, seemingly unaware (or perhaps fully aware) of the pain he was causing.

“Logan will be staying here for a while. I believe Magneto is after him. Try to keep things civil.”

Civil... The word echoed in her mind with irony. How could she be civil with someone like Logan? That mutant was the very opposite of everything she struggled to keep in check. The mere mention of his name sent her mind spiraling back to their confrontation. Her anger flared again.

“He’s the one who didn’t make a civil introduction.”

“Do I need to remind you of your first days at the mansion?” Charles responded, his calmness only infuriating her further.

Memories flooded her mind, uninvited. She saw herself, younger, more fragile, lost, and terrified. The self-imposed isolation, the fear of not knowing who she was, and the pressure of being in a place where everyone expected something from her.

“I was a child who had everything taken from her, even her memories. It’s normal that I behaved that way. What’s his excuse? Does he not like the wallpaper?”

Charles sighed, but his gaze remained firm.

“Mia, don’t be hasty. You shouldn’t judge what you don’t understand. I think you’d be surprised.”

Mia’s heart pounded harder. She knew there was more to Logan’s presence. She had seen it in Charles’s thoughts, even if he wouldn’t admit it. Her head was full of unanswered questions, and the professor refused to give her the explanations she sought.

“Of course I don’t understand,” she replied, her tone sharp. “I don’t understand why you’re hiding things from me. I know he has something to do with me. I saw it in your mind the other day when I was searching for information about my past.”

She almost broke through her train of thought, tempted to delve into the professor’s mind again and demand answers, but that would only prove that, as he believed, she had completely lost control.

“There are things you need to discover on your own. We don’t know the damage it might cause for you to confront your past all at once. If you saw Logan in my thoughts, maybe it’s because, before our training, I was tracking him with Cerebro.”

Mia nodded, though she didn’t fully believe Charles’s words. She wanted to trust him, because he had never let her down before, but deep down, the beast she kept hidden roared with a different opinion. She had no reason to doubt the professor, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that this time, things might be different.

“Now, I ask that you be patient and ensure what happened this morning doesn’t happen again.”

A scoff escaped her lips, disbelief written all over her face.

“I didn’t seek it out. That idiot barged into my class and doubted my abilities without even knowing me. Not to mention he almost sliced my neck open with those forks of his.”

“Mia…”

“No, don’t ‘Mia’ me. I’ll try to keep it together, but that jerk needed a lesson, and I gave it to him.”

She was so furious that she didn’t hear the door open behind her. She only realized they weren’t alone when Charles’s gaze shifted to a point over her shoulder. She closed her eyes for a second, searching for patience, but all she found was a growing sense of betrayal.

“Fotks, huh?”

Logan’s raspy voice filled the room, interrupting her thoughts. The sound of his rough, mocking tone snapped her out of her anger.

“You betrayed me, Charles,” she said, her eyes blazing with fury as she pointed a finger at the professor. She felt that words weren’t enough to express the indignation coursing through her. Then, she crossed her arms tightly, as if trying to contain her own power from exploding right then and there.

You called him. You let me keep talking while he was right behind me.

For his part, Charles remained calm, raising an eyebrow at her unusually childish behavior.

I didn’t get a chance to warn you.

“What the hell is going on here? You know it’s rude to talk about someone when they’re in the room, right?” Logan’s gruff voice cut in.

For the first time since he entered the room, Mia turned to look at him, and the space suddenly felt too small. Her heart skipped a beat, and once again, she felt the need to restrain a part of herself.

“Logan, I called you here to resolve the ‘misunderstanding’ between you and Miss Green.”

“It wasn’t a misunderstanding. It was a full-on plane crash with a thousand casualties.”

“Mia, you’re in an educational setting. Watch your language.”

She rolled her eyes, and her anger surged when she heard Logan laugh at the situation.

“What are you laughing at, Kitty?”

Logan’s expression changed instantly. The laughter vanished from his lips, and fury filled his eyes. She’d struck a nerve. A small part of Mia relished the fact that she had managed to break through his arrogant attitude, but the majority of her knew she was playing with fire.

“Don’t call me that.”

Mia couldn’t resist the challenge forming on her lips. “Or what?”

The sound of Logan’s claws unsheathing from his knuckles filled the room, reverberating in the air like an ominous echo. Mia felt a shiver run down her spine, but it wasn’t fear that consumed her. It was a strange sense of anticipation, a charged tension that made her open her mind, preparing to subdue him again with her power. But just before she could unleash the force pulsing inside her, Charles intervened.

“Enough. This isn’t a schoolyard, and you two are not children. Act your age.”

The authority in Charles’s voice was enough to snap Mia out of her trance. Her breathing was uneven, and she realized she was trembling slightly. She barely recognized herself. She hadn’t allowed her control to slip like this in years.

Logan still stared at her with a mixture of fury and defiance, but he retracted his claws.

“Logan, while you’re here, you’ll abide by the rules and respect the other residents.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Logan rolled his eyes with disdain.

“Mia, you will welcome your new companion just as they welcomed you when you arrived.” She glanced down, feeling ashamed at the scolding. “This place is supposed to be a refuge, a safe space for mutants. We have to rely on each other.”

Neither of them spoke, as if they were both reflecting on the reprimand they had just received.

“Can I go now? I’m not fifteen, professor.”

Charles simply nodded, and both of them listened as the door slammed shut behind him.

Mia’s mind raced as she left the room behind him. She thought about Charles’s words and realized he was right. When she had first arrived, lost and without memory of who she was, Jean and Scott hadn’t taken her attitude seriously. They had welcomed her with open arms and helped her piece herself back together, softening the pain she felt as she considered herself broken.

From afar, she saw Logan walking and quickened her pace to catch up with him. She was about to tap him on the shoulder to get his attention, but Logan’s muscles tensed, and he turned around before she could do anything.

“What now, Bub? Round two?”

“No, Logan. That’s not it. I wanted to talk to you.” She felt nervous, her tongue nearly stumbling over itself, as if it were made of cloth. She motioned toward one of the empty classrooms, and Logan raised an eyebrow at her. "Don’t be an ass, okay? I’m trying to meet you halfway."

He nodded and stepped into the classroom. Mia followed, shutting the door behind her. Logan leaned against one of the small desks, arms crossed over his chest in a defensive stance, like he was already bracing for another argument. His eyes were locked on her, challenging, waiting for her to slip up. She stood in front of him, just a few steps away, unsure of how to begin. The words were in her head, but saying them out loud felt empty, forced. Despite everything that had happened between them, she had to find a way to reach him. But the longer she looked at him, the more she realized she was up against a wall of indifference and mistrust.

"Look, I think Charles is right. This should be a safe space, and we didn’t exactly get off to a great start."

Logan’s face didn’t change. He seemed like he was listening, but he might as well have been miles away. Frustration bubbled up inside her—it felt just like when she gave the safety briefing to the students before they started their field exercises.

"Really? Listen, all this 'saving humanity' crap means nothing to me. I’m only here because Rogue’s safe. I don’t give a damn about your little hippie commune or whatever it is you think you’ve got going here."

"Excuse me?"

Mia blinked, surprised by his bluntness. She bit the inside of her cheek, fighting the urge to snap back. Beneath that cold, distant exterior, she could feel something else. Logan had built walls—huge ones, far taller than hers.

"Mia, I’m no hero. I don’t even want to be one. Nobody’s ever done anything for me, and I don’t get how you guys can run around saving people who treat you like dirt. Don’t try to be something you’re not."

His words hit her hard, like a punch to the chest. He didn’t see what they did at the mansion as a noble cause, not even something worth admiring.

"Logan, no one here is pretending to be anything," she said, trying to keep her growing frustration in check. "I think it’s great you want to look after Rogue, I really do. But we’re all responsible for something bigger than ourselves. I’ve learned that. We’ve all learned that."

Logan looked at her like he wasn’t buying a word she said, and that hurt more than she was willing to admit.

"You know," she confessed, her voice lowering, more serious, "when I got here, I didn’t even know who I was. I couldn’t remember anything—not my name, not where I came from, nothing. All I knew was that something was broken inside me, something I couldn’t fix on my own."

Logan didn’t say anything, but his gaze softened, just a little. It was a subtle change, but Mia noticed it.

"Jean and Scott helped me," she went on. "They showed me this place could be a home, that I didn’t have to be alone. Charles too."

"Ah, yeah, the great Charles Xavier, the saint of all mutants."

Mia frowned, feeling a spark of anger ignite inside her, but she kept calm.

"Look, I’m not saying Charles is perfect. Sometimes he pisses me off too, okay?" she admitted, crossing her arms in a mix of defiance and honesty. "But he saw something in me when I couldn’t see anything. Doesn’t that mean something?"

Logan didn’t respond right away. He just watched her in silence with that intense gaze, the one that seemed to unravel everything she said and didn’t say. Mia felt vulnerable under his scrutiny, but she wasn’t about to back down now.

"Logan," she said softly, her tone gentler, "I know this isn’t easy for you. I’m not stupid. But if you’d let your guard down, even just a little, maybe you’d find something here worth staying for."

The silence between them stretched out. Logan didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t get up and leave, which Mia took as a small victory. For a moment, she thought she’d gotten through to him, even just a tiny bit.

But then Logan finally spoke, his voice as gruff as ever.

"I’m not like you, princess," he muttered. "I don’t need a home or a bunch of people to save me. You, on the other hand, you’ve already let this place trap you."

Each of Logan’s words struck her like a blow to the heart, stirring something deep within her, something she had buried for so long. The “beast” inside her—the raw, chaotic, untamed force—began to stir. It was a part of herself she had suppressed for years, molding herself into the image of what others expected: a hero, a teacher, someone with complete control over her emotions and power.

But Logan, with his brutal honesty, was tearing down those walls bit by bit.

"Trapped?" she repeated, her voice trembling slightly as she struggled to stay composed. "You think I’m trapped? This... this is the closest I’ve ever come to having a life. You don’t understand because you’ve never let yourself have anything like this."

"Something like this?" Logan scoffed, a short, bitter laugh escaping his lips. "Tying myself down has only ever brought me pain, and it’s doing the same to you. Look at yourself. They’ve turned you into what they need—tame, docile. But that’s not who you really are, is it? I can see it, the real you hiding behind that façade. And it didn’t take me years to figure it out. All that control... it’s hanging by a thread, isn’t it?"

His words echoed in Mia’s mind, and something inside her snapped. She could feel the beast pushing, trying to break free, tearing at the walls of her mind. The lights in the room flickered, and a faint electric charge filled the air, a sign of how close she was to losing control.

Mia’s breathing became shallow, her anger swelling inside her like an unstoppable wave. Logan’s words, his dismissive attitude, all of it was pushing her to the edge. It was like he knew, like he wanted her to break down, to prove that he was right, that she was just a fraud.

"I’m not a fraud," she whispered, more to herself than to him, though her voice quivered with indignation. Her hands clenched into fists, and her body began to tremble.

"Of course, you are, doll," Logan replied, stepping closer, as if waiting for her to explode. "You’re pretending to be something you’re not. How much longer before all that control falls apart? Because I can see it, I can feel it in the air. You’re about to snap."

"Don’t you dare talk about what you don’t understand," she managed to say, though her voice sounded weak, almost choked.

"I understand you better than you think," Logan growled, his voice low and dangerous. "That control you’re clinging to—it’s a damn lie. And you know it as well as I do. The only time you’ve ever felt like yourself was in the Danger Room, when you were fighting—free, chaotic, wild. Isn’t that right?"

It was as if those words shattered something inside Mia. The air grew heavier, charged with electricity, and her vision began to blur. The room seemed to spin, and the sound of her own breath roared in her ears. Her body shook, and a sudden dizziness hit her hard.

Logan, who had been watching her closely, stepped forward just as Mia swayed, raising a hand to her head. Everything inside her felt like it was spinning out of control, and before she could stop it, her legs gave way.

"Shit..." Logan muttered, a mix of concern and frustration in his voice as he quickly caught her around the waist before she collapsed completely.

Logan's touch was solid, secure—an unexpected anchor in the storm that raged within Mia’s mind. The wild roar that always threatened to break her control suddenly softened into a gentle purr. The beast inside her—the one she’d learned to suppress for fear of losing herself—calmed in his presence. She didn’t fully understand why, but the peace was so tempting that it almost hurt to let it go.

Logan, for his part, was experiencing something unfamiliar as well. The usual tightness in his chest, that constant tension he'd carried for years, seemed to ease slightly with her so close. He had never felt a need like this—something that made him want to hold on a second longer than necessary. Every fiber of his being told him to let Mia go, but something deeper—something that confused him—made him resist. It was strange, uncomfortable... and at the same time, hard to ignore.

She looked at him, as if trying to figure him out, but didn’t dare dig deeper. However, a small voice in the back of her mind, almost imperceptible, whispered for her to do just that—to explore his mind, to search for answers she couldn’t find on her own. The temptation was strong, a natural impulse, but dangerous. And just when her will was about to break, Scott's voice cut through her thoughts.

“What’s going on here?” Scott asked, his voice tense.

Logan raised an eyebrow, snapping out of his reverie. He’d noticed the tension in Scott, and the temptation to toy with it was too great. His face shifted into a barely perceptible smile, but it was there, hovering on the edge of his lips. Purposefully, he adjusted his grip around Mia’s waist, pulling her just a little closer with a nonchalant attitude.

“Nothing, Summers. Just making sure she doesn’t fall. You wouldn’t want our star professor ending up on the floor, would you?” His voice was deep and deliberately slow, choosing each word like a well-aimed strike.

Scott took a step forward, his eyes fixed on Logan.

“Let her go, Logan.”

“Not sure I’m ready to do that just yet, Summers,” Logan said, his tone loaded with double meaning. “Seems like she enjoys being in good hands. Not something you’d understand, huh?”

The comment was as subtle as a storm, and Scott stepped even closer, clearly on the verge of losing control. Mia, still unsteady but much more aware, could feel the tension between the two men building dangerously. The beast within her was silent, as if it relished the calm and warmth radiating from Logan's body, something that oddly kept her grounded.

“Logan…” Mia said softly, trying to intervene before things spiraled further. “I’m fine. You can let me go.”

But instead of relenting, Logan smirked with his usual arrogance, and with deliberate slowness, he slid his hand from Mia’s waist, making the moment last longer than necessary. His fingers grazed her skin for a second longer than was appropriate, and Mia felt a shiver run through her body, as if the part of her that she’d always struggled to control was responding in a completely different way. It was a feeling of danger, of temptation, but also of control—something she had never felt before.

Scott, however, was about to explode.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Logan?” Scott said, his voice rising as he took another step toward them.

Logan, still in no rush, simply stepped back, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, but with a mocking smile that made it clear he wasn’t taking Scott seriously.

“Relax, Summers. Just taking care of her, that’s all,” Logan said, though the double meaning was obvious in every word. “But, you know, if you think you can do a better job…”

Mia stepped in, feeling things slipping out of control.

“That’s enough,” she said, more firmly than she actually felt. She looked at Scott, then at Logan, taking a deep breath to find her center. “I’m fine. Logan just helped me… that’s all.”

Her words were firm, but something inside her resisted letting go of that feeling. That control she’d felt under Logan’s touch. It was new, dangerous… but intoxicating.

Logan glanced at her from the corner of his eye, as if he knew exactly what she was feeling, as if he’d uncovered something about her that even she hadn’t recognized until that moment. He flashed her one last playful, teasing smile before shrugging and heading for the door.

“Catch you later, Summers… Mia.” And with that, he left the room, leaving a tension in the air that still vibrated between the three of them.

Logan closed the door behind him, leaving the tension in the classroom to simmer. Scott still had that mix of concern and jealousy in his gaze. However, he wanted to smooth things over, not let it fester between them. He walked toward Mia cautiously, as if searching for the right moment to speak, but before he could say anything, she broke the silence.

“It’s nothing, really.” Her voice tried to sound casual, but there was something in her tone that betrayed her discomfort.

Scott approached, letting his fingers brush gently against hers—a small gesture, but one that said more than words ever could. He knew her well enough to sense that something was troubling her.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay,” he said softly, his concern genuine. “That thing with Logan… was a bit strange.”

Mia looked away, still feeling the warmth from Logan’s touch, a sensation she hadn’t fully processed. She didn’t know how to explain it—to him or to herself. But with Scott there, trying to connect with her, she felt even more divided.

“Yeah, it was…” Mia searched for the words, but nothing seemed right. She could still feel the faint dizziness from Logan’s closeness, that strange tingling that had soothed the beast within her. “I wasn’t expecting a conversation with him to shake me up that much.”

Scott nodded, though he sensed there was more she wasn’t saying. The softness in her words, the lack of direct answers, only fed his doubts. But he wasn’t about to let those feelings take control. He leaned in a little closer, seeking her gaze.

“Mia, all I care about is that you’re okay,” he said, his voice warmer now, as if testing the waters. “Are you sure everything’s fine?”

She swallowed, feeling the weight of guilt—not for Logan, but for the growing mistrust she was beginning to feel toward everything around her. She’d gone to see Charles after her encounter with Logan, and although she hadn’t said it out loud, the conversation with the professor had left her feeling hollow. Like there was more he wasn’t telling her.

“I talked to Charles afterward,” Mia said, her gaze fixed on her hands, still intertwined with Scott’s. “He asked me to try to get along with Logan, to be more… understanding.” She tried to smile, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes. “I guess we don’t know him well enough to judge.”

Scott frowned slightly, not taking his eyes off her. There was something in her tone, in the way she’d mentioned the professor, that made him doubt. He knew Mia had been searching for answers about her past, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it weighed on her more than she let on.

“Charles always has his reasons,” he said tactfully, trying not to sound too firm. “Maybe he’s protecting you, in a way.”

She sighed, unable to ignore the sting she felt whenever Scott talked about Charles. She knew he trusted the professor more than anyone, and part of her wanted to hold onto that security. But there was another part of her that couldn’t stop wondering if Scott was also caught up in the same web of secrets.

“Maybe,” Mia replied, not looking at him directly. “But I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more. Something he’s not telling me.”

Scott looked at her intently, as if trying to unravel every layer of what she was saying. He knew she was strong, but he also knew that some things affected her more than she admitted. And while he wanted to believe that Charles always did the right thing, the unease in Mia’s eyes made him doubt for a moment.

“I know this isn’t easy for you,” he said, his voice soft as he sought her gaze. “But I trust that Charles only wants what’s best for us… for you.”

Mia swallowed again, feeling the distance between them grow, even though Scott hadn’t let go of her. The physical closeness didn’t calm that feeling in her chest like it had before, that small flame of distrust that had started to burn. She knew Scott was trying to do the right thing, but deep down, she couldn’t stop thinking that maybe he was keeping things from her too.

“I hope you’re right,” she said quietly, trying not to sound too distant. “I just… I don’t want to lose myself in all of this.”

Scott squeezed her hand a little tighter, trying to offer the support he believed she needed, though deep down, he knew there was something they couldn’t solve with words

[rabbitbonesandsheabutter]

If you do requests at all, can you do a yandere longlegs oneshot? Like a lobg one...IM THIRSTY ✋🏻😩

this isnt really that long but i’m giving you two times dale jorked it creepy style.

tw - kind of somno, stalking, voyeurism, breaking in?? idk i think that covers it

———

Finding a window to get through had been the easiest part. Soundlessly making his way into your room not much harder. He’d already wandered aimlessly through your home when you weren’t there, leaving with a few souvenirs. But this time there was purpose to his visit. He wanted to see you, without you being able to step away when he got too close for comfort.

Standing in your doorway, he could see the gentle rise and fall of your chest from under the covers and had to steel himself to not wake you. As he stepped closer, his breath hitched at the view of your sleeping face, almost unable to control his excitement. Inching even closer with practiced ease, he knelt down to face you, wanting to take in as much detail as possible. The fine hairs dusting your skin, the light hum of your breathing, your closed eyes shifting. What could you be dreaming? Naively, he thought, he wished it was of him. The most you’d acknowledged him was a polite smile and short replies to whatever thought he blurted out when he saw you. Still more than anyone else had bothered in a long time. You had laughed once, more than just a courteous huff, he had made you properly laugh. Every night since he had lain awake thinking of ways to do it again.

And now he was here with you. This close, the smell of you was so much stronger than what lingered on his growing collection of your clothes. Ghosting his hands ever so slightly over the curve of your hip through your covers, he resisted the urge to claw into you and never let go. Instead, his other hand dropped down to palm at his growing bulge. Taking deep, slow breaths to steady himself, he let his hand travel up your torso and over your chest. His fingertips reaching up for your neck, where he was sure he could see your pulse.

You stirred abruptly. Huffing and readjusting in your sleep. He jumped back, hiding behind the doorframe again. Unsure how much more it would take to wake you, he pulled his fly back up reluctantly and crept out the way he came. After a miserable walk back to his parked car, he slid into the driver’s seat and reached into his pocket. The underwear you had worn today and tossed onto the top of your laundry - he smiled giddily as he brought it up to his face. Inhaling deeply, his other hand raced back down to his aching dick, making quick work of freeing himself. It didn’t take long for him to finish, thrusting erratically up into his fist and spilling across his knuckles. Taking a few last breaths, he took your underwear from his face and wiped the dashboard clean of his mess. Then he folded it neatly, putting it carefully in the glovebox. Key back in the ignition and music on, he pulled onto the road, already planning his next visit.

———

Through the crack in the door he watched you. Your head turned away, he could just see the side of your face and your outline under the blanket, but that was enough. The light from your TV casting a glow over you, dim enough for you to not make him out even if you did turn around.

Just like every other time he found himself in your house, he couldn’t help but let his hand wander to palm at himself, not willing to risk the sound of unbuckling his belt. Rocking his hips into his hand as he kept watching you. Images of you replacing his hand ran through his mind. Your mouth, your hands, anything. He thought of you standing from where you lay now, walking right up and dropping to your knees begging to take care of him, wanting to make him feel good.

Still on your sofa, you giggled at something on the screen and he cursed himself for missing what caused it. Biting down on his free hand to keep quiet, he pressed his palm down firmer, ignoring the sting of friction. The hours he’d spent hiding while you went through your at evening routine meant he was already close. After all that time waiting for release even this felt overstimulating, tears streaking down his face. Your face turned ever so slightly more towards him, he could make out your smile. As much as he adored it, he couldn’t help but imagine wiping it off your face. Gripping your hair and making you watch him come apart, showing you the effect you had on him. Watching your mouth fall open while he fucked you and hearing you cry out for more, tears streaked down your face while you beg for him. That was enough to send him reeling, the tang of his blood in his mouth as he curled in on himself and bit down harder. Taking in slow stuttering breaths in an attempt to stay silent, when could stand he leant back against the wall out of sight. Pretending that instead of your cold hallway, he was curled up with you under your blanket.

After a short while you rose from your spot and shuffled along to your room. Creeping out of your way, he couldn’t help but grin as he watched your sleepy face from the other end of the corridor. From a few feet away he carefully took note of all your bedtime rituals, and finally came to rest against your doorway when the lights were all off. He waited patiently until your breath deepened and he was sure you were asleep to step lightly up to your bed, kneeling to bring himself closer to your face. Reaching out slowly, he touched his fingertips to your face, gliding over the skin of your cheek gently. So soft under his calloused hands, he suppressed a laugh, almost not believing where he was despite this being far from his first visit. Far from even his first time touching you. Lost tracing patterns lightly across any skin he could reach.

Minutes turned to hours without you stirring, he thought you must know his touch by now. Still kneeling despite the growing ache in his knees, he inched even further forward. Holding his breath and laying his head lightly on the space next to your head, eyes blown wide as he watched for any sign of you waking. After several more moments of calm, he relaxed into the softness of your pillow, ignoring the strain of the odd angle. Too wrapped up in you to care about anything but your soft breaths fanning over his face. Once again he lost track of how long he stayed frozen like that, deep in the fantasy of waking up to you beside him, getting to climb in next to you every night. Until the first sounds of birds started, and the room began to lighten. He peeled himself from your pillow and stood, taking one last long look at you before he crept away once more.

———

Hours later, as you rifled through your post, you noticed a small plain envelope unsealed with no address. You pulled out a card, the faint waft of a floral perfume coming with it. On the front was a cherub surrounded by hearts, opening it up, you found a string of carefully inscribed but unreadable symbols.

[bwela07]

Octonauts - A new Generation

Chapter 6

Why so sad?

Koshi’s pov

Koshi had heared Stella sobbing. The reason she didn’t do anything about it, is because she didn’t know what she should do about it. She often finds her sister silently sobbing, but in that case, she knows exactly why. Her close attention to detail has helped her be able to identify whether Dashi’s crying because of their mother, because she got a bad grade, because her boyfriends broke up with her, because she was being bullied or because their father has yelled at her yet again for wanting to become a photographer instead of getting a “real” job. Koshi always knows what to say in any of those cases, but right now, she has no idea how to comfort the pup. So she decides to pretend that she’s still sleeping.

It’s been about five minutes, and Stella is still sobbing. The longer she does so, the more guilty Koshi feels for not doing anything about it. Stella’s quiet, soft, gentle sobs cut through Koshi, almost making her wince in pain. After another two minutes pass, Koshi finally decides to do something about it. Just as she slowly rises from her bed, the door swiftly slides open. The silhouette of a penguin lets Koshi know that it’s Peso. As if a telepathic message had been sent to the both of them, they slowly walk to the pup’s bed together. They both sit on either side of Stella’s bed as the startled pup started making rash movements. Koshi turns on Stella’s bedside lamp on the dimmest setting before facing her. Stella had just hidden something behind her pillow when Koshi had looked in her direction.

“Sorry for waking you up”, Stella mumbles.

“Don’t worry about it. You didn’t wake me up at all. I was already awake”, Koshi reassures.

“Really? What are you doing awake at this hour?”, Stella asks.

From experience with trying to comfort her sister, Koshi could tell that Stella is trying to change the subject as quickly as possible.

“Not so fast. You first”, she therefore says.

“What are you talking about?”, Stella replies calmly.

“Why were you crying?”, Peso asks as gently as possible.

“Why were you crying?”, Stella redirects the question.

“Wh-What?”, Peso responds anxiously while trying his best to appear confused.

Now that Stella has mentioned it, Peso’s eyes do indeed look a little puffy, as if he had been crying not too long ago. Unlike Stella though, Peso is an adult with the right to keep things to himself, so Koshi lets him off the hook and continues interrogating Stella.

“Stop changing the subject and answer our questions”, she firmly says.

Stella looks her deep into her eyes. They stare at each other in silence for a while, waiting for one of them to break the silence.

“Are you feeling homesick?”, Peso asks.

After staring into Koshi’s hazel brown eyes a little longer, she turns to face the penguin.

“No”, she says in a way that left no place for discussion.

“Then what is making you cry?”, Peso asks calmly, with a hint of concern.

While Peso tries and fails to get answers, Koshi uses the opportunity to find out what Stella hid underneath her pillow. She cautiously approaches the pillow and slowly puts her paw through the gap between the pillow and the head of the bed. Shortly after, she finally finds what she’s looking for and carefully pulls it out. Her curiosity and desperation to find out what it is causes her to start getting careless. She watches from the corner of her eye how Stella’s ears twitch, before the pup quickly grabs Koshi’s arm.

“Leave it be. The two of you should go get some rest, I’ve kept you awake for long enough”, Stella says in a calm but threatening tone, tightening her grip as Koshi tries to pull out her paw.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s wrong”, Peso says sternly.

“Well I won’t tell you anything unless you tell me what’s wrong”, Stella replies.

The two stare each other down as Koshi continues her attempt to get her paw freed.

“Stella, I have already let go of whatever it is that you’re hiding”, Koshi explains, while trying to figure out the texture of the object she’s holding.

Stella’s eyes shoot in her direction, bringing judgment along with them. Her grip slowly loosens itself, just enough for Koshi to remove her paw, but not enough for the object she’s holding to come out with her paw. Koshi slowly removes her paw, before yanking it out into the open, along with the object. Stella barely manages to muffle her surprised yell as what she had tried to hide has now been brought out into the open. Koshi stands up and takes a few steps back, in order to prevent any attempts of Stella trying to get the object back. She uses the light of her Octo-watch screen to examine the object. It was a stuffed toy that looks like an artic fox. The fox was wearing a sky blue T-shirt, similar to the one Stella was wearing before, and a pale yellow jacket. He had some shorts and sneakers on. His bright smile showed confidence and comfort. The sewing on the teddy was terribly done, clearly handmade. Perhaps it was given to Stella as a gift. Perhaps the reason why she was holding it while crying is because she misses the person that made it for her. She said that she’s not homesick, so it could be a possibility that Koshi’s theory is correct.

“You miss the creature that made this for you, don’t you?”, Koshi asks in a low voice.

Stella just stares at her, still shocked by what had happened.

“The mission I went on reminded me of something that happened in the past. Your turn”, Peso quickly said. He sounded annoyed. In fact, it almost sounded like he was hissing. He seems to have realized that, because after taking a deep breath, he apologizes for his tone.

“I miss my father, that’s all”, Stella basically whispers.

“Did something happen to him?”, Koshi asks. She was under the impression that the fox lives with her uncle, so it could be that it’s because something happened to her father.

Stella winces unwillingly. She avoids all eye contact with the penguin and the dog.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure that he’ll be fine”, Peso says smoothly.

Stella chocks up on those words and stars silently sobbing again. It looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Koshi raises her head at the same time as Peso. The two of them look each other in the eyes, worry and concern clearly showcasing on both of their faces. It’s clear that Stella’s father is in bad condition. What if…, Koshi thinks to herself, What if his condition is so bad that he could… And Stella wouldn’t be close enough to be there…for his final days…

Koshi and Peso must have been thinking the same thing at the same pace, because they both lean in to hug Stella at the same time. Stella flinches at the sudden gesture of comfort by the two, but quickly calms down and welcomes it. Her sobs get slightly louder as she starts shivering, while tears from both Peso and Koshi slowly start making their way on her shoulders.

Other chapters

[siren-amung-the-mermaids]

The Battle in the Swamp - Vorador's defeat

(Mild gore warning)

The swamp was buzzing with the sounds of late insects and frogs. Raven waited with the blade by his side, waiting outside near the ruined angel statues. A snake slithered around his foot and he welcomed it, offering his arm to climb up.

"You must be clever. You move with such eloquence without wings or limbs. If not for those fangs, would you survive?" He spoke softly to himself, and the snake slithered through the statue.

At last he heard that heartbeat of the sky. Powerful wings only granted by the sun. His son. Raven clutched the stone nestled in his pocket.

"It's almost sunup, fiend." He growled.

"Dawn would be the most fair battlefield." Raven stood, unsheathing his sword.

"He must pay for his crimes." Thorn demanded.

When Raven didn't reply, he lunged at him. The swing was missed as Raven jumped directly upwards, dropping his blade and climbing on the statue.

"Don't be a coward!" Thorn yelled.

Raven jumped, feet landing square on his shoulders, forcing his weight down, but his heels slid across Thorns back, and Raven got caught on his wings. Enraged, Thorn dispelled his wings to get his balance back.

In the second Raven was behind Thorn, he jumped into bat form and found a hidy spot behind the statue. Thorn was dazed, confused and looking around almost panicked for the disappeared vampire. The scent of blood pierced the air. Thorn's back was bleeding, and it only just began to show in his face.

"What sorcery is this?!" He heard him say.

"You got his wings down. Good." Raven heard Vorador's voice from across the yard. Not another moment passed and he made his way towards Thorn, who tried in vain to call his powers from the sunrise shrouded in a sudden fog.

Thorn's fear was immediately palpable. His heart raced as Vorador confidently strode up to him, grinning one mad sadistic grin.

"Here stands the pathetic black-winged warrior. I suppose you'd like to meet the rest of your adoptive family." He chuckled harshly, pointing his blade at him.

"...and here stands the swamp goblin." Thorn commented in spite.

Raven appeared from the fog as he walked up to Vorador's side, the subtle red in his black eyes finally visible in the dawning light.

Every moment he wasn't actively dying, Thorn was calling desperate for his powers in vain. Without it, his wings couldn't manifest, and he couldn't recover from his physical wounds. Without them he was only human.

This cursed fog.

Vorador was entertained enough at the sight and smells of fear, and attacked. Blades clashed, but Vorador was simply stronger, and eventually Thorn was pushed back, right into Raven's embrace.

He felt a blade shiver across his neck, and his eye got caught in the sun from a reflection of the blade. Once more he called for his powers.

"Find me Solace!" He commanded, and a beam of light struck the earth.

Raven and Vorador were pushed away and burned, and his wings manifested once more.

He stood above them, his wounds closed, fully rejuvenated. Vorador recovered and their blades clashed once more, but now he was mad.

"Begone thee, begone to death! You are not worthy of those wings!" He raged.

Thorn did not need his blade now. He blinded Vorador and struck his sword's handle into the earth. He intended to show Vorador the day sky, grabbing him and flying him to the air.

"Can you taste this like you taste your blood Vorador?! The sky you say I am unworthy of condemns you!"

Vorador screamed in pain, trembling and struggling to break free. Thorn let him go, and he landed with a thud, impaled by Thorn's blade.

"Vae Victus..." Thorn hissed as he landed.

He reclaimed his blade and turned to Raven, cowering in the shroud of Vegetation.

I've never seen him so terrified.

[billysgirllol]

after more scream-laughing and pleading, thinking he's going to toss her in the shallow end of the lake he finally puts her down and somewhere in the midst of turning around and checking her surroundings her face hardened. that wasn't joe coming to join them, that was... freakin' billy? river's went off, unnoticed the way branches were breaking behind them a second ago and proceeded to go sit by the bed of flowers to pick a few of them. all the life drained from her face because what the hell was he doing here? he never showed up for any birthday's before? he heartlessly never cared at all for his little brother since the day he left five years ago. and what was he wearing? he looked unrecognizable. he's that full of himself, he'd wear something like that to joe's birthday? like he just stepped off a red carpet? it is like a full blown stranger stalking. especially when thinking of her own outfit, a deep purple skirt with a belt, a white tank top and a pair of brown cowboy boots with purple gems decorating them. and then river's... jeans, a green short sleeve that makes his lime green eyes pop, jean jacket and a pair of tan boots underneath his dirt stained jeans. which is way more appropriate for where they live and cuter in her opinion, but billy made her feel out of place with just that alone. billy looked like someone who was letting fame go to his head and it created even less desire to go up and talk to him, even if she waved at him to let him know he wasn't getting by without being spotted.

"hidy, stranger." the brunette promptly turns, skirt spinning with the movement before walking over to where river sat in the bed of flowers. the irony of him being a true stranger as she placed river's hat back on top of his head, sitting down in front of him while he looked over to see who she was talking to. "who is that?" he questioned in a quiet voice, green hues flickering back on lucy gray. "that's you know who." lucy gray softly replied back and then river slowly nodded since he didn't want to show too much emotion, deciding he'll bring him up later and then she changes the subject to asking what he's doing with the flowers in his hands to he replies with 'making one of those flower crown things you make all the time' which has her softly laughing, smiling affectionately as her hands reach over to reposition his fingers for him and direct him how to thread the stems together.

standing outside the barn, leaning against the nearby fence, billy sticks his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and contemplates for a moment. he’s returned to his hometown after being gone for five long years (no phone calls, no stopping by for holidays, not even a postcard) and a very arrogant part of him has been hoping, expecting everything to remain the same as it was on the day he packed up his bags and left. frozen in time. instead the opposite has happened — everyone’s moved on, carried on without him. he’s struck by a deep sense of alienation and even a hint of regret (like he shouldn’t have come here at all), finally realizing that there’s no way he’ll be able to simply pick up right where he left off. the places are familiar, but the faces have changed and many hold a personal grudge against him. after all, the whole town knows that joe’s been living at mrs. baird’s, his stepfather’s still drinking heavily and spending his weekly paychecks at the brothel two towns over, and people don’t like billy’s selfish attitude one bit. not many can sympathize with him, figuring he should have at least come visit once in a blue moon, and so there’s really no one at the birthday party with whom he could just spark up a fun conversation. his own brother doesn’t want to talk to him, so what does he expect from virtual strangers?

and then, suddenly and seemingly out of nowhere, just as he’s about to climb into his range rover, a familiar sound draws his attention. lucy gray. he’d recognize this laugh anywhere. it sends a chill down his spine. they must have missed each other at the party. he glances toward the nearby trees, thinking he knows exactly where the sweet sound is coming from — their spot. part of him is dreading the moment he lays eyes on her, but then a different part feels a strange kind of pulling. enchanted, he moves toward the forest, the deep, blue lake hidden just past the tree line, the old cabin where they’d hide from rain and thunderstorms. his glittery dress pants and elegant shoes weren’t necessarily made for long walks through woods, but he doesn’t really care, he just wants to say hello. look at her again, talk to her, see what she’s up to these days. he’s halfway through, stepping over brambles and blackberry bushes, cursing quietly as they scratch the fabric of his pants. it ends up ripping, both his pants and the vines give way at the same time, and makes him miss new york… the white tank top that he’s wearing is great, lets his skin breathe in this sweltering heat, but also leaves his arms completely exposed to bug bites and tree branches. he hates this place. hates the judgmental people. doesn’t really hate his ungrateful little brother but… ugh. fuck them all. he’s just going to say hi to lucy gray and be on his merry way. they don’t want him here anyway.

he manages to make it through the woods, finding the dirt path that leads up to the cabin only to realize… is that a male voice that he’s hearing? it’s not billy taupe, but it sounds strangely familiar while also being so completely foreign. he must have met this man before, but — it hits him like a freight train. pale blue eyes flickering down, finding the old dock and the lonely boat, and… lucy gray with another man. jealousy pricks his heart against all rationality, deep down knowing that she’s no longer his girl, hasn’t been his in five years. besides, he’s not in love with her. why would he care if she’s replaced him, too? still, he feels an overwhelming sense of loss. it’s like going back to virginia. the sight of her so carefree, with someone else taking his place, brings a sharp, bitter sting of sadness while simultaneously filling him with rage. is he so easily replaceable? really? it’s their spot. their secret place. and this man… he’s nothing like billy taupe. he’s just like… what the fuck? there’s so many places that they could go to. why would she take him to their spot?

[brooklynislandgirl]

@tangleweave Finding Pe-Tyr || Part 1

His brows knit when she mutters her thanks and turns to leave. He calls his lightsaber from its charging station and to his open hand as he follows her to the door, releasing a soft sigh through his nose. She could be truly exasperating when she wanted to be. Were it not for Fane's discreet moment to analyse her in thought or form rather than speech her abrupt stop at the door would have led to an uncustomary and perhaps entirely too awkward a closeness. Spine uncomfortably stiff and an acute posture tries to give height and breadth to her where there is none. She does not exactly fear him. There is little he would do to compromise his sense of serenity which he holds to perhaps more closely than anything else. Throttling her where she stands would leave far too many questions that would have nothing to do with his inclination for murder. Nor is he likely to soil his long, graceful fingers. Not even if she pushed the exact right buttons. She has a good idea what those might be and she keeps them as close as her own secrets. What she doesn't understand is why he's bothering to follow her. She doesn't recall making the invitation. What Melakeni had needed was a clearer, more rational head. He had offered her the wisdom granted by the Force in the form of advice her own mind was too cloudy to seize upon. The exact reason she had come to him. As far as she is concerned, Fane is absolved from any further responsibility in the matter. Pe-Tyr is in danger of drawing punishment from the Masters though if she returns him quickly perhaps they will be lenient. She is willing to put herself at risk. She knows without really understanding why that she was part of the reason for his absence. But thus far, Fane shoulders no blame. Her hand appears from within its sleeve and she braces it against the wall. Effectively blocking the path unless he were to pick her up and move her. "I do not see why you need to give up on your meditations unless you really want to breath on the back of my neck," she murmurs coolly. She turns her head over her shoulder to meet his gaze. "Do you not fear getting caught in the halls with me? Or do you fear for him enough that it does not matter?" Fane barely has his cloak shrugged back onto his shoulders when Melakeni plants her arm in front of him without even so much as looking at him. He stops short and directs a vaguely irritated look at the back of her head for a moment while she murmurs her gentle challenge. When she meets his eyes, though, he sees in hers the myriad of emotions she cannot help but to experience: concern, curiosity, self-flagellation. The last, he finds intriguing. And it may be worth reporting to her; after all, as close as she was to whatever impetus was involved, it is entirely likely she is simply looking in the wrong places for answers… as those who are worried to the point of frantic are wont to do. He does not blame her. "Fear is not my primary motivation, but to claim it has no part to play would be untrue," he replies. "You came to me, I have to assume because you trusted I could help you and remain discreet. Clearly you care for the boy and it concerns you what becomes of him, particularly since you observe he is mistreated and rarely noticed. But he is one of us. If we are truly so rare and precious as we are taught, should it not be our obligation to find our lost and bear them safely home? If so, then I should be concerned, as well. As you yourself have already said, he could be in a place that is unwelcoming or even abusive. If I come with you, your efforts are doubled. I could not meditate knowing that there was action I chose not to take for the sake of my own convenience, and at the risk of someone else's safety." The knob at the base of his lightsaber clicks into place in its sconce on his belt, and he tugs his robe more closely about his form, then draws his hood up over his head. He crosses his arms into their opposing sleeves, hiding as much of his features as he can.

[writersmilex]

Artist

Eugene Roe X FemReader

Summary: When an artist has no outlet, weird things start to happen. My first story for this fandom. I'm nervous showing this, I hope I got the character right. But most likely not quite.

The real and the portrayal should be seen as two different entities

______________________________________

It's not unknown that you have an artistic side. Hell, you even mentioned that you were an artist before enlisting yourself. You have this small sketchbook you carry around as a personal item. However, once in the Ardennes you ran out of pencils. You can't sketch anymore... which has made you become restless and twitchy. artistic expression is your outlet, a way to express your thoughts that can't be described with words alone.

Eugene noticed your little quirks, it was easy to notice for many close to you. To find you sketching in your little sketchbook. He would watch you sketch whenever he had the chance, whether it was random scribbles or a direct replica of a nearby view captured on paper like a photograph. You never openly showed your drawings out of embarrassment, you always refused when someone asked to see when you drew. Which is too bad for Eugene really wanted to see and wouldn't judge at all.

But now though, you're out of pencils. You asked some of the men for pencils but none were of help. Left with not much of a choice, you had to find another outlet for yourself.

And that's when the snow sculptures appeared...

~~~~

At his round check-ups when he first saw the strange things that you did with the snow around your foxhole. They were shapeless at first, little hopes of snow surrounding your foxhole like an altar. Eugene approaches slowly and kneels down by you, watching you mess with the snow. "What're you doin'?" He questions suddenly, startling you. You let out a yelp, accidentally clenching the snow in your hand causing it to pulverize and fall on your lap onto bits. Your head whips around and your shocked expression causes the medic to raise his hand in defence. "sorry..." He mumbles an apology for scaring you.

Your whole shivering complexion relaxes almost right away as you see who is knocking at the door of your foxhole. "I... uh." You stammer, you become bashful once again, as you usually do when someone catches you being artistic. "can't really hide that can't I?" You chuckle, whipping your cold hand on your coat. "I'm... making snow sculptures, as you can see." You gesture to the shaped snow. "Doesn't look like much, I've never really sculpted before." You explain quietly. "needs practice." You poke one of the sculptures and it immediately falls apart at your touch.

Eugene hums in acknowledgement, he's somewhat surprised you found something to occupy yourself while all alone in your frozen hidy hole. "everythin' alright?" He finally asks a question he originally came to ask you. You look back up at him and offer him a soft smile, such a gesture makes him feel a little better about himself even. "I'm alright. Cold...sure, but we all are. I'm rather tired as well, but we all are, haha." your dry laugh makes him think you're disregarding your own well-being, and he doesn't like the sound of that. "Well... Get some rest while you can. And I'll see if one of the others has a blanket to spare." He replies with a curt smile, gesturing to the rest of the forest behind him where the others are located. Your grin grows and you reach over to pat the medic on the knee, "awh thank you, Gene, thank you." You gleam, although your smile does not quite reach your eyes. Eugene hopes a blanket and some rest would help with that. Eugene nods before wandering off again. You watch as his silhouette disappears within the trees, and once you're alone again you resume your little art project.

~~~~

A couple of friends have showed up just to see what you were doing, your snow sculptures have taken much more of a recognizable shape. One of the most famous ones is the Squirrel, the owl and the tiny snowman. The sculptures are now decorated with twigs and dead leaves that you find.

A few days later your foxhole is surrounded by sculptures and you were well occupied with your art. And Eugene could tell that this new art form is doing you good. As he slanders towards your foxhole once again, tiny art pieces all around.

You can see Eugene coming, and once he reaches your position, you smile at him and offer a meek wave. "Good..." you pull your sleeve back and go check your watch, "afternoon, Gene." you greet with a keen smile, which Eugene returns. "Before you ask, I'm doing quite alright if I say so myself. I've got a blanket and I slept for a solid three hours last night!" You announce proudly to him. He can tell that you're able to keep your spirits up, and he is not sure rather be glad or concerned about your mental status. But the look in your eyes tells him enough. "Come." You gingerly scoot aside in your foxhole and pat the now-free spot next to you, inviting Eugene to join you. He can hardly say no to that kind of look you have, so he steps over the sculptures and joins your foxhole. From here Eugene can look at all the sculptures that you have made, and he can recognise the shapes now. "an owl, an oohoo to be precise." He says as he observes the sculptures, he can tell from the protruding sticks at the top of the owl's head that represents feathers, distinctive to an oohoo. "It's... Cute." He mumbles. You smile at him as he basks in the greatness of your artwork. You're quite proud of it. There is more of your art that you'd like to show him. And you feel like you've gained the courage to, "that's not the only art I've made you know?" You say as you dig around through your many pockets for your sketchbook.

Finally! You reveal your sketchbook to Eugene, who is surprised that you have to show him your usually secret artwork with him, He almost feels honoured. "You want to take a look? I know the others always ask to see." You offer, not knowing it Eugene wants to look at all. But alas he nods and takes the sketchbook from you as you gesture to him.

Opening the sketchbook, he finds rough sketches of a mythical-looking creature he can't identify, flipping the next pace there is a sketch of Toccoa, a view of the barracks and mass hall. Eugene looks on in awe at the following drawings of sights the company has been to. It's just as he had imagined, the drawing looks like you directly took the view and put it on paper, a perfect copy. There is only one view that he doesn't recognize. "Oh," You pipe in, scooting closer to Eugene, nearly pressing against his side. "That's my family home right there. I got a little homesick and hoped that drawing my home from memory would make me feel better... In the end, it only made me sadder..." you explain the picture. Eugene doesn't take his eyes off the picture of your family home, it's a rather large looking house, you must have a big family. "this is a work of art." He gapes at the page. Your gut bubbles with pride at Eugene's compliments.

The next page housed a face; More specifically a portrait of Sergeant Lipton. "he was one of my first friends back when everyone else was still scared of me," You giggle as you're recalling memories. Eugene remembers too, vividly almost. Most men at Toccoa were unsure what to think of you, even Eugene himself was one of those. He never hated you, merely perplexed at the sight of a woman in the army, and not just for nursing. You had trouble getting along with the company at first until Lipton willingly sat with you one breakfast morning and introduced himself. He then spread a few good words about you, later during medical training Eugene befriended you over home stories.

The next page had Winters' portrait, then Nixon, Liebgott, Grant, Randleman, Talbert and then himself. Down to every detail of his face, sketched on the paper. It has been a while since he got a look at himself, but it's like looking at a mirror. "oh look, that's you!" You quip proudly while pointing at the page. "That explains your starin'..."  Eugene concludes one of your typical quirks he picked up on over the years, seemingly mindless staring is what you did a lot, though it doesn't look so mindless now. Merely memorizing the men's features to draw portraits. His comment makes you chuckle, "You got me there. You can keep yours for 10 bucks." You reply with wit, then your expression suddenly falters a little. You reach over and turn the page of your sketchbook, revealing portraits of Muck, Malarkey and Penkala. The following pages had a few other fallen friends. "If only I had some pencils down I'd be able to draw again..." You look around your foxhole at the sculptures. "You're an amazin' artist, (Y/L)." Eugene compliments, causing you to flush pink and not just from the cold. "Plan on doin' something with it?" He questions as he continues to flip through your sketchbook until he discovers empty pages, the book is not full just yet. You shrug, at this point, you live by the day and you're not really thinking about the future. "maybe, I don't know. It's more of a hobby thing. I sell pieces sometimes at local fairs." You look out in the distance you familiarized yourself with, you wish to put this view on paper someday. Despite the surrounding horror, a snow wonderland like this you'll most likely never see again. You do have a strong desire never to see this place again once you're out.

Eugene follows your gaze into the snowed-over forest, gently closing your beloved sketchbook and treating it like thin glass and handing it back to you.

It's silent for a moment, neither sure of what to say nor merely enjoying each other's presence. It's rather pleasant until you jerk back to life, turning to the man beside you. "You should resume your check-up now.  I think the others are starting to wonder where you are." You speak up sitha a reassuring smile. You do have a good point, and Eugene agrees. Looking around cautiously before climbing out of your foxhole, he says goodbye and continues on his rounds, feeling a bit lighter than he did before.

_________________________________________

This is my first story for this fandom, even though the show is just as old as I am it is a great show.

I haven't watched the show yet and started watching the first part, but I already heavily spoiled it like I usually do for myself.

Thanks for reading.

- Smilex🙂

[castielcommunism]

could u post an excerpt from the next p&p chapter….👉👈

yes i can!!!!

The bar they end up going to happens to have a pool table near the back, and its presence is enough to attract both Dean and Mary with minimal communication between them. They commandeer a table right next to it, and proceed to spend the evening engaging in an intense blood feud over pool while taking the occasional break to come over and eat a few chips from their massive plate of nachos.

Castiel watches them from his seat at the table, amused. It’s hard to pick up everything they say to each other, but apparently Mary has the same habit of talking smack as Dean does, judging by the way Dean’s face blanches in surprise before melting into laughter whenever she speaks.

Cas sips at his beer, watching Mary lean over the pool table, cue poised as she prepares to pocket her nine. He doesn’t enjoy the taste of beer normally, but after a long day of work he’s beginning to see the appeal. It makes his head pleasantly heavy, softening the edges of his vision and warming the tips of his ears. It also calms his nerves; Dean is no less attractive now that Castiel has alcohol in his system, but he doesn’t feel quite as frenetic about it. His thoughts feel thicker, slower to pass through his mind.

He relaxes into the stiff wooden back of his chair, feet catching on the metal ring around the bottom of the table’s central leg. The bar is busy enough that there’s a calm, ambient chatter in the air but not so much as to be overwhelming, and he can smell the freshly delivered plate of deep fried pickles from a nearby table. If there are any places that feel truly familiar to him on earth, bars are one of them.

“Motherfucker,” Dean says loudly, eyeing the landscape of the table with growing dismay. Cas agrees with his assessment; Mary is apparently very good at pool.

Mary taps the end of her pool cue on the floor, leaning against it with a grin. “You could pocket your six,” she suggests innocently. “Right there.”

“I see it. I’m not listening to you.” Dean circles the table, chewing on his lip. “Shit.”

Castiel finishes his beer, trying not to be too obvious as he watches Dean line up one of his shots. He took his jacket off earlier, leaving him only in a muted green flannel and black t-shirt. The edges of it pool against the green felt table as he leans forward, fabric pulling tight around his arm. Dean’s profile is sharp with focus, oblivious to anything but the game in front of him.

Aside from the obvious pleasure of watching Dean, Castiel is heartened to see him this content. Just a few weeks ago Dean had been hiding from his mother when she came to visit, unable to relax around her, always on the edge of confrontation. Mary, too, seems to be much more at ease now, smiling as she watches her son foul his next shot and offer up encouragement when he swears.

“You’ll get there,” she says soothingly, and Dean looks up from where he’s still bent over the table, expression flickering between irritation and humour.

“I am great at pool,” he insists, standing up and leaning his cue against the rack on the wall.

She smiles, circling the table slowly as she looks for her next target. “I believe you.”

“No cheating.” He points a finger at her in warning as he approaches their table, and Castiel sits up straight, eyes flicking to his drink.

“I don’t need to cheat,” she replies, and Dean rolls his eyes.

He steps up to their table, grabbing his nearly-empty beer glass. “Hey babe,” he says, shooting a grin at Cas, and drains what’s left in the bottom of his glass.

Castiel’s whole body flushes with pleasure. “Hello.”

Dean wipes his mouth, setting his glass down with a thud and reaching for their pitcher. He’s quiet as he refills his glass, a slight knot in his brow. Then he looks at Cas again, tentative this time. “It’s cool if I call you that, right?”

“Yes,” he says immediately, too eager by half, but Dean’s face breaks into a lopsided grin.

“Cool.” Dean takes another drink of his beer, hiding his smile in the rim. “Why you sitting here all by yourself?”

“You’re here,” Cas points out. “And I don't mind.”

Dean glances over his shoulder at the pool table, where Mary is still playing. She only has two balls left before she can pocket the eight. “We can play cut-throat,” he suggests. “That’s three players. Game’ll be over soon anyway.”

“I really don’t mind, Dean,” Cas insists as Dean reaches for a loaded nacho and shoves the entire thing into his mouth. He smiles as Dean holds his hand over his mouth, chewing laboriously. “I like watching you play.”

Dean’s eyes flick to his in surprise, making Cas wonder if he’s overstepped. The nacho prevents him from speaking for a protracted moment, so they simply stare at one another.

Finally, Dean’s throat bobs in a swallow, and he licks his lips. “Seriously?” he says roughly, clearing his throat.

Spurred by the invitation to elaborate, Cas smiles. “I used to do it frequently. Bars were always a good excuse to watch you without you noticing.”

Dean’s face flushes as he lets out a nervous huff of breath, eyes twitching away. “Right.”

“And I like that shirt,” Castiel adds. Flustering Dean is an altogether new pleasure. “It looks good on you.”

Dean seems to be fighting something down. There’s a restrained look on his face when he meets Castiel’s eyes again, but they shine with an unspoken excitement. “I didn’t know that. The—watching part, I mean.” His mouth twitches. “Uh, thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Cas replies, and Dean finds that funny for some reason.

Dean looks away again, embarrassed, and shoves another nacho into his mouth. “Just, feels weird, leaving you in the corner,” he says when his mouth is clear again, wiping his hands on his pants.

“I don’t—”

“I have to call this,” Mary says behind them, and Dean turns on his heel, scandalised.

“One—” He clears his throat again, voice cracking. “Uh, just a second. Jesus,” he mutters when he turns back around. “She’s kicking my ass.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees.

Dean shoots him a dark look. “And that feels even weirder,” he continues in a low voice, taking another sip of his beer. “I don’t know if I should be disappointed or not.”

“What do you mean?”

Dean tilts his head, considering what to say. “I mean it’s—it’s weird. I’m playing pool with my mom. Which is great, don’t get me wrong. But I had this stupid, I dunno, thought, like I’d show her how to play or whatever. Show off a bit.” He shakes his head, a wistful smile on his face. “Doesn’t matter. I’m glad she’s winning. Just means I gotta step up my game.”

“She seems to be having a good time,” Cas says, eyes flicking back to the table. Mary is watching them, lips pursed but not impatient. He smiles when their eyes meet, before looking back to Dean. “Dean. Go play with your mother. I don’t feel left out.” The last part isn’t quite the truth, but Dean is incredibly distracting, and the longer he stays at the table the less Castiel feels willing to share his company with anyone else, Mary included.

Dean lingers for a moment longer, looking like he wants to say something more, but then he sets his beer down. “Ready to watch me lose?”

“Always,” Cas replies, and Dean swears fondly under his breath before turning away.

[wicked-voodoo]

"It's long and flowy like a princess." (Hello hello!)

Shit…I’ve said.

 { Open }

————————————————————————-

 “Ehhh— Sass’, Ya’ takin’ ‘out Dei-chan, Ne ne?~” He gave a snort, playfully slapping at the smaller’s shoulder.

[thetriggeredhappy]

Hello first off! I love your writing, and I've been on a sudden tf2 hyperfocus especially on Scout so your content? Golden. I usually am hesitant to ask for requests but, if you ever feel up to it, I would love to see your take on Dadgineer and Scout? Thank you so much and happy holidays!!

i would argue the engineer is in a perpetual state of dad but let’s just ramp it up from like a 6 to like an 8 or 9 how abt that

(no warnings)

-

The track of footprints he saw in his workshop first thing when he got out of his truck were a reminder, once again, that he really needed to remember to turn on the security system whenever he went into town.

“Yo, what’s up?” Scout greeted from his place kicked back way too far on one of the shop stools, grinning up from the magazine he was fairly sure he’d left nowhere near that side of the room.

A jab to one of the legs of the stool as he passed by got Scout to squawk and lean it back down to sit properly. He dropped his keys in the tray they belonged to and turned, leveling a stern look at the young man. “Hidy yourself,” he said, tone dry. “Care to tell me why you’re breakin’ into my workshop again, Scooter?”

“Hey, I didn’t break into nothin’, you left the back door unlocked,” Scout protested, tossing the magazine down.

“Well, if you’ve got the time to waste walkin’ all the way around the whole damn building to trespass, you’ve got time to help me unload the truck,” he said, and raised his voice to speak over the immediate groan from Scout. “With minimal backsass, thank you.”

Scout made a face to compensate, but stood up regardless. “No wonder you were gone all freakin’ day, you went all the way into town?” he asked, incredulous as he followed the Engineer out the garage door to the waiting truck. “What’d you head all the way out there for?”

“Xylene,” he shrugged, popping the tailgate down and hefting a canister, handing it off to Scout.

“Hey, good for you, man. Is she nice?” Scout asked as he took the canister with only a bit of a visible struggle lifting it, and it took the Engineer a good five seconds to figure out what the hell he was talking about.

“Xylene ain’t a—it’s not my—it’s paint stripper,” he stammered, flustered, putting down his own canisters to shut the tailgate.

“Look, it’s none of my business if she’s your girlfriend or what, man, let alone her day job,” Scout shrugged, turning to head back in.

“No, not—“ he started to stammer again, and then he caught the way Scout was snickering under his breath and just bapped him on the back of his head with his glove, picking up the other two canisters again and following after him. “Damn fool. Xylene’s just a type of solvent, or paint thinner.”

“So why do you need that?” Scout asked.

“Gonna use it as a cleaner, mostly, then for a bit of help with a few paint jobs I’ve got lined up,” he replied.

“Cool. Like, we talkin’ fences?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that,” the Engineer said, guiding him to set the canisters down to one side of the door.

“I don’t really know shit about paint, besides spray paint,” Scout said, setting the canister down and just barely missing landing it on his own foot, the Engineer flinching a bit at the sight. “Now that I know a thing or two about.”

“Well, you keep your spray paint away from my machines, y’hear? I don’t take kindly to vandalism,” he warned, moving to shut the garage door.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Scout waved off, tugging on his hat.

It was only when he’d finished dusting off his hands that he looked over and realized something. “...Scooter, any particular reason you were in here waiting?” he asked, frowning a bit.

“I mean, nah, not really,” Scout laughed, tugging on his hat a bit more, then finally pulling it off altogether to wring it between his hands, not entirely making eye contact. “Like, it’s not a big deal or nothin’. I just had kind of a weird question, is all. Like, if you’re busy, don’t even worry about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning against one of the workbenches. “Not elbow-deep in anything at the moment,” he said, “I’m all ears.”

Scout nodded, fidgeted. “Uh, guess I was just wonderin’, if uh... so, do you gotta change the oil on a motorcycle?”

“Yup. Regularly,” he nodded.

“Oh. How, uh, how often? Like, how regularly?” he asked, looking a little nervous.

“Yearly, about,” he shrugged. “Every few thousand miles it gets driven. Little more often than the oil on a car.”

“Oh,” Scout said again, and the Engineer’s eyebrows drew together.

“Scooter, are you tellin’ me you’ve never changed the oil on your motorcycle?” he asked, deadpan.

“Uh. Well... yeah,” he admitted.

“How long have you had the thing?” he asked, incredulous.

“Uh. Couple years,” he admitted, more quietly, still not making eye contact.

“Scout,” he admonished, and Scout shrunk a little. “Ain’t you ever had a machine to take care of before? Have you never had a car?”

“I could walk wherever I needed to go in Boston!” he protested. “Or get a ride from a friend or somethin’.”

“So you never had anyone tell you how to change the oil on a car growin’ up?” he asked, outright incredulous.

“Ma doesn’t know shit about cars, you kiddin’? She barely knows how to work the record player and even then she’d call me into the room whenever she wanted to change out the disk,” Scout scoffed.

The Engineer went to ask another question, but managed to stop himself before he could get too far into the sentence ‘What about your dad?’

A beat of silence. “So, uh, yeah, I should probably take that in then, huh?” Scout asked awkwardly.

“Absolutely not,” the Engineer said firmly, and moved over to one of the larger shelves, starting to sift through the tubes and bottles and canisters there. “Your bike’s still parked out ‘round the side of the building by the bread truck, ain’t it?”

“Uh,” Scout said, “yeah, I think?”

“Hold these,” the Engineer said, handing Scout a set of wrenches and starting to load a carrier with bottles. “I’m takin’ you out to show you how to do it yourself, and all the other sorts of maintenance, besides.”

“Woah, hey, c’mon, can’t I just take it into one of those, uh, oil change places?” Scout asked, fumbling for a free hand as he was handed the carrier and a few more tools.

“And have ‘em tell you every third bolt is rusted and you need to replace both tires three times apiece and you gotta rebuild the whole damn thing and then charge you by the hour to do it, no, you’re gonna do it yourself and then you won’t get yourself swindled,” the Engineer said firmly, and gestured at Scout to follow him, taking a few things off his hands when it became clear he’d drop them within five steps. “C’mon, then, let’s go.”

“Uh, okay,” Scout stammered, fumbling further for a moment before hurrying to follow.

And he continued to fumble his way through the process, and through the Engineer’s questions, and on the way back to the workshop again, but nodded with no small amount of enthusiasm when the Engineer suggested he help him next year, too.

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXLIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I knew ppl were going to drop my fic in this book bc I made things complicated but I don’t regret the plot— did it still made me sad? yes it sure did -Danny

Words: 5,256

Series’ Masterlist

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Listen to: ‘No Control’ -by Dylan Reynolds

Chapter Five: The New Routine.

Dumbledore knocked on the door three times and Mrs Weasley's voice was quick to answer.

"Who's there? Declare yourself!"

"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry. Mel and Erick are with us."

"Harry, dear!" Mrs Weasley opened the door at once, letting them in. "Mel! Erick! Gracious, Albus, you gave me a fright, you said not to expect you before morning!"

"We were lucky, Slughorn proved much more persuadable than I had expected. The children's doing, of course. Ah, hello, Nymphadora!"

"Hello, Professor... Wotcher, kids."

"Hi, Tonks."

Tonks was looking remarkably grim, Mel looked around the kitchen.

"Where's my mum?"

"I told her to go to bed," Mrs Weasley said sweetly, "it's almost midnight, the baby kept her up last night and she needed to sleep."

"I'd better be off," Tonks stood up. "Thanks for the tea and sympathy, Molly."

"Please don't leave on my account," said Dumbledore, "I cannot stay, I have urgent matters to discuss with Rufus Scrimgeour."

"No, no, I need to get going," She replied. "'Night —"

"Dear, why not come to dinner at the weekend, Remus and Mad-Eye are coming — ?"

"My uncle's coming?" Mel asked with excitement.

"No, really, Molly... thanks anyway..." Tonks said tensely. "Good night, everyone."

"Well, I shall see you at Hogwarts," Dumbledore told them. "Take care of yourself. Molly, your servant."

He and Tonks disapparated, Erick spoke up.

"You have a lovely house, Mrs Weasley."

"Oh dear, well, we do make an effort on making it cosy," Mrs Weasley smiled.  "You're like Ron, all of you, you look as though you've had Stretching Jinxes put on you. I swear Ron's grown four inches since I last bought him school robes. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, I am," said Harry.

"A bit," Erick agreed.

Mel sat down between them, she was quite pleased about Mrs Weasley's comment on her growth, even though hers was less noticeable than the boys' who now were five and seven inches taller than her.

Crookshanks and Grey quickly made their way to them. Grey didn't like Erick very much, though Mel didn't know why. Crookshanks, on the other hand, was a huge fan.

"So Hermione's here?" Harry asked as he watched the ginger cat ruin the impeccable set of clothes Erick was wearing.

"Oh yes, she arrived the day before yesterday. Everyone's in bed, of course, we didn't expect you for hours. Here you are — Bread, dears?"

"Thanks, Mrs Weasley."

"So you persuaded Horace Slughorn to take the job?"

"It wasn't hard," Mel smiled. "Professor Slughorn was eager to get to know us better."

"He taught Arthur and me. He was at Hogwarts for ages, started around the same time as Dumbledore, I think. Did you like him?"

Harry and Erick shrugged, Mel kept her attention on her plate.

"I know what you mean... Of course he can be charming when he wants to be, but Arthur's never liked him much. The Ministry's littered with Slughorn's old favorites, he was always good at giving leg ups, but he never had much time for Arthur — didn't seem to think he was enough of a highflier. Well, that just shows you, even Slughorn makes mistakes. I don't know whether Ron's told you in any of his letters — it's only just happened — but Arthur's been promoted!"

Harry made a funny noise, taken by surprise. Erick did a sort of delighted hum and Mel stopped eating, staring at her attentively.

"That's great!" Harry said.

"You are sweet... Yes, Rufus Scrimgeour has set up several new offices in response to the present situation, and Arthur's heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects. It's a big job, he's got ten people reporting to him now!"

"Sounds important," Erick smiled.

"What exactly — ?"

"Well, you see, in all the panic about You-Know-Who, odd things have been cropping up for sale everywhere, things that are supposed to guard against You-Know-Who and the Death Eaters. You can imagine the kind of thing — so-called protective potions that are really gravy with a bit of bubotuber pus added, or instructions for defensive jinxes that actually make your ears fall off..."

Mrs Weasley looked beyond proud as she told them all about her husband's new job. Mel was happy for him, she couldn't think of a man who deserved a promotion more than Mr Weasley.

"...So you see, it's a very important job, and I tell him it's just silly to miss dealing with spark plugs and toasters and all the rest of that Muggle rubbish."

"Well, the heart wants what it wants," Mel chuckled, she was unaware of the way both boys looked at her.

"Is Mr Weasley still at work?" Harry questioned.

"Yes, he is. As a matter of fact, he's a tiny bit late... He said he'd be back around midnight..."

Mel felt something awful crawling up her chest when she noticed all the tiny hands on the clock were now pointing at 'Mortal peril'.

"It's been like that for a while now," Mrs Weasley commented, "ever since You-Know-Who came back into the open. I suppose everybody's in mortal danger now... I don't think it can be just our family... but I don't know anyone else who's got a clock like this, so I can't check. Oh!"

Mr Weasley's was now currently pointing at 'travelling.'

"He's coming!" She got up, a second later there was a knock on the door. "Arthur, is that you?"

"Yes. But I would say that even if I were a Death Eater, dear. Ask the question!"

"Oh, honestly..."

"Molly!"

"All right, all right... What is your dearest ambition?"

"To find out how airplanes stay up."

Mel and Harry shared a look of amusement, she heard Erick mumbling 'How do they stay up?' Mrs Weasley tried to open the door but her husband kept it shut.

"Molly! I've got to ask you your question first!"

"Arthur, really, this is just silly..."

"What do you like me to call you when we're alone together?"

The group of teenagers froze.

"Mollywobbles," Mrs Weasley whispered to the tiny crack in the door.

Mel choked on the soup, Harry had to hide his face entirely to control his laughing fit after watching her almost die, Erick quickly patted her back.

"Correct," Mr Weasley said brightly. "Now you can let me in."

"I still don't see why we have to go through that every time you come home!" Mrs Weasley complained as the man walked in. "I mean, a Death Eater might have forced the answer out of you before impersonating you!"

"I know, dear, but it's Ministry procedure, and I have to set an example. Something smells good — onion soup? Kids! We didn't expect you until morning!"

They all greeted Mr Weasley, Mel finally able to breathe and Harry able to speak without cracking up.

"Thanks, Molly," He said when the woman set a plate for him. "It's been a tough night. Some idiot's started selling Metamorph-Medals. Just sling them around your neck and you'll be able to change your appearance at will. A hundred thousand disguises, all for ten Galleons!"

"And what really happens when you put them on?"

"Mostly you just turn a fairly unpleasant orange color, but a couple of people have also sprouted tentaclelike warts all over their bodies. As if St. Mungo's didn't have enough to do already!"

"It sounds like the sort of thing Fred and George would find funny," said Mrs Weasley with doubt. "Are you sure — ?"

"Of course I am! The boys wouldn't do anything like that now, not when people are desperate for protection!"

"So is that why you're late, Metamorph-Medals?"

"No, we got wind of a nasty backfiring jinx down in Elephant and Castle, but luckily the Magical Law Enforcement Squad had sorted it out by the time we got there..."

Harry yawned beside her, Mel was starting to feel weary herself after days of sleeping in the backseat of a car.

"Bed," said Mrs Weasley. "I've got Fred and George's room all ready for you, boys. Mel, you're sharing Ginny's bedroom but I don't want you to wake the girls up. Is it okay if you sleep with Erick and Harry tonight?"

"Yeah, it's fine," Mel yawned, too sleepy to care.

"Where are the twins?" Harry asked.

"Oh, they're in Diagon Alley, sleeping in the little flat over their joke shop as they're so busy," said Mrs Weasley, and Mel could tell there was a hint of pride in her voice. "I must say, I didn't approve at first, but they do seem to have a bit of a flair for business! Come on, dears, your trunks are already up there."

"'Night, Mr Weasley," said Harry.

"Thank you for letting us stay," Erick added.

"Have a goodnight!" Mel ended.

"G'night," said Mr Weasley.

Mel had been in the twins' room a couple of times through the years, it was startling when she walked in and couldn't recognize it. The smell of fireworks was still hanging in the air and there was a few boxes of their personal items laying around, but almost nothing left from their essence in the room, it made her feel homesick.

There were only two beds since they weren't expected until the next morning. Mrs Weasley quickly made a third bed appear with a flick of her wand, it was smaller than the other two, mostly blankets and cushions piled together. She apologized profusely, but Mel didn't mind, she would've slept on the floor considering how exhausted she was.

The boys insisted that she took one of their beds but Mel refused, when she came back from changing Erick was already tucked in her pile of blankets. Harry was grinning at the way his feet were hanging over the edge.

The following morning she was awoken by the door slamming open and a pair of feet stomping into the room. She hid her face between the pillows, Harry's mattress squeaked as he sat up, and fabric rustled as Erick pushed down his blankets.

"Wuzzgoinon?" Harry asked sleepily.

"We didn't know you were here already!" There was a soft thud coming from Harry's bed after Ron sat down on it.

"Ron, don't hit him!" Hermione sat on Mel's bed.

"Dear Merlin," She groaned, hiding under the covers. "I'm going to murder you two..."

"All right?" Ron asked.

"Never been better," said Harry, sounding a bit more awake. "You?"

"Not bad."

"I knew there was no way I'd have a quiet morning here," Erick grumbled. "Hi, 'Mione..."

"Hi!" She said brightly, then shook one of Mel's legs. "Wake up! I want to hear all you did during your mission!"

"When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!" Ron said.

"About one o'clock this morning," Harry replied, Mel turned around and squinted, trying to get used to the sunlight.

"Were the Muggles all right? Did they treat you okay?"

"Same as usual... they didn't talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How're you, Hermione?"

"Oh, I'm fine."

"What's the time? Have we missed breakfast?" Harry said.

"Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed," said Ron.

"Well, he is," Mel replied, finally sitting up. "You should've seen my mum — almost forced the food down his throat once..."

Harry threw a pillow at her, but he missed by a considerable distance.

"So, what's been going on?" Ron asked eagerly.

"Nothing much, I've just been stuck at my aunt and uncle's, haven't I?"

"And we just had a road trip around some towns," Erick said, getting out of his covers only to sit down on Harry's bed.

"Come off it!" said Ron. "You've been off with Dumbledore!"

"It wasn't that exciting. He just wanted us to help him persuade this old teacher to come out of retirement. His name's Horace Slughorn."

"Oh... We thought —" Hermione hushed him, Ron was quick to correct his mistake. "— we thought it'd be something like that."

"You did?" Harry grinned.

"Yeah... yeah, now Umbridge has left, obviously we need a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, don't we? So, er, what's he like?"

"He looks a bit like a walrus, and he used to be Head of Slytherin," Harry shrugged, then he glanced back at their friend and raised a brow. "Something wrong, Hermione?"

The girl gave a start, straightening in her place.

"No, of course not! So, um, did Slughorn seem like he'll be a good teacher?"

"Well, he's got a sharp mind no doubt," Erick yawned, laying on the mattress.

"He can't be worse than Umbridge, can he?" added Harry, softly kicking Erick to move him away from his legs.

"I know someone who's worse than Umbridge," Ginny walked in sulking. "Hi, guys."

"What's up with you?" Ron questioned.

"It's her, she's driving me mad."

"What's she done now?" asked Hermione.

"It's the way she talks to me — you'd think I was about three!"

"I know, she's so full of herself..."

"You better not be talking about my mum," Mel joked.

"Can't you two lay off her for five seconds?" Ron scoffed.

"Oh, that's right, defend her! We all know you can't get enough of her," Ginny rolled her eyes.

Harry and Mel shared a confused look, and just when he was about to ask the door opened again. The boy pulled up his covers so fast that Erick fell to the floor.

"Oh," Mel said quietly, staring up at Fleur Delacour.

"Children," she said brightly. "Eet 'as been too long!"

Mrs Weasley walked in right after her, looking upset.

"There was no need to bring up the tray, I was just about to do it myself!"

"Eet was no trouble," Fleur left the tray floating between their beds and kissed her and Harry on both cheeks. Erick got up with a scowl, he shook Fleur's hand, not letting her touch him any further. "I 'ave been longing to see you. You remember my seester, Gabrielle? She never stops talking about 'Arry Potter. She will be delighted to see you again."

"Oh... is she here too?" Harry asked.

"No, no, silly boy," Fleur laughed, "I mean next summer, when we — but do you not know?"

"We hadn't got around to telling him yet," Mrs Weasley said grumpily.

"Bill and I are going to be married!"

"Oh," said Harry, looking back at Mel begging her to help him. "Wow. Er — congratulations!"

"That's brilliant," Mel was unsure of how to react, none of the other women in the room looked happy.

"Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very 'ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my Eenglish, so he brought me 'ere for a few days to get to know 'is family properly. I was so pleased to 'ear you would be coming — zere isn't much to do 'ere, unless you like cooking and chickens! Well — enjoy your breakfast!"

She turned around and left the room with a joyous air, then Emily walked in, holding her son.

"Hi kids," She smiled.

Mel jumped out of bed and gave her mother a big hug. She took her baby brother and kissed him all over his small face. Mrs Weasley muttered something Mel could not hear, Ginny inched closer and started to play with Reggie's little fingers.

"Mum hates her," the girl told her, clearly talking about Fleur.

"I do not hate her! I just think they've hurried into this engagement, that's all!"

"Well, it's not like we all have time to spare, do we?" Emily asked carefully, brushing the hair away from Mel's forehead.

"They've known each other a year," said Ron crossly.

"Well, that's not very long! I know why it's happened, of course. It's all this uncertainty with You-Know-Who coming back, people think they might be dead tomorrow, so they're rushing all sorts of decisions they'd normally take time over. It was the same last time he was powerful, people eloping left, right, and center—"

"Including you and Dad," Ginny smirked.

"Yes, well, your father and I were made for each other, what was the point in waiting? Whereas Bill and Fleur... well... what have they really got in common? He's a hard-working, down-to-earth sort of person, whereas she's —"

"A cow," Ginny replied. "But Bill's not that down-to-earth. He's a Curse-Breaker, isn't he, he likes a bit of adventure, a bit of glamour... I expect that's why he's gone for Phlegm."

"That's exactly what people used to say about me and Matthew," Emily raised a brow. "Now they tell me we were the perfect couple! You see, time's all it takes to change one's opinion, I think we shouldn't talk about relationships that aren't ours."

"I think she's lovely," Mel shrugged, softly kissing her brother's cheek. "You guys are being too harsh on her. I mean, Ginny, you're beautiful —"

"I'm sorry, Mel, I have a boyfriend," She joked.

"— But that doesn't mean you're silly, does it?" Mel sat down on her bed. "Have you forgotten how nice she was to Ron after he helped her sister?"

Mrs Weasley left looking rather tired, Emily kissed Mel, Harry and Erick on the cheek before leaving, leaving Leon Regulus in the room.

"Don't you get used to her if she's staying in the same house?" Harry chuckled, staring at the way Ron was struggling to breathe.

"Well, you do... but if she jumps out at you unexpectedly, like then..."

"It's pathetic," said Hermione, without even asking she took Regulus out of Mel's hold, ignoring the girl's protests.

"I feel your pain, Ronnie, don't listen to them," Mel sighed, leaning back on the bed frame.

"You don't really want her around forever?" Ginny insisted. "Well, Mum's going to put a stop to it if she can, I bet you anything."

"She shouldn't!" Mel replied. "What would you feel if you were deeply in love with someone and everyone tried to keep you away from them? You're own family!"

"How's she going to manage that, anyway?" asked Harry.

"She keeps trying to get Tonks round for dinner. I think she's hoping Bill will fall for Tonks instead. I hope he does, I'd much rather have her in the family."

"Yeah, that'll work," Ron snorted. "Listen, no bloke in his right mind's going to fancy Tonks when Fleur's around. I mean, Tonks is okay-looking when she isn't doing stupid things to her hair and her nose, but —"

"She's a damn sight nicer than Phlegm,'' Ginny made a face of disgust.

"And she's more intelligent, she's an Auror!" said Hermione, Reggie cried a bit and Ginny took it away from Hermione.

"Fleur's not stupid, she was good enough to enter the Triwizard Tournament," Harry argued.

"Not you as well!" Hermione scowled.

"I suppose you like the way Phlegm says ' 'Arry,' do you?" Ginny huffed.

"No," said Harry, blushing a bit, "I was just saying, Phlegm — I mean, Fleur —"

"Oh, please," Mel snorted. "You're just upset because Bill is your favourite brother, Ginny — you're scared he'll stop hanging out here once he marries Fleur. Hermione, I know you're lying, you're not angry because she isn't smart enough for your standards."

Hermione blushed a deep shade of red.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Sure you don't," She grinned. "But you know she's not any of those things, I know you do. I mean, so what if she's confident, as long as she loves Bill like he deserves, right? Don't you want him to be happy?"

Ginny looked at Reggie for a long time, then she sighed heavily.

"I would like her to respect our way of handling the house, that's all..."

"That's understandable," Mel nodded. "But she's the one having to get used to the Weasleys, and if I may give my opinion, you guys are as peculiar as any French girl."

Ginny's face showed a small grin.

"In my opinion," Erick spoke casually, grabbing a toast from the tray. "Fleur's too ostentatious — but she knows how to use her charm, which means she's got a brain. Joseph told me she was a great conversationalist—"

"Can't you talk like a normal bloke?" Ron frowned. "Do you like her, yes or no?"

"I'm saying she's nice."

"Nice?" The redheaded boy asked in bewilderment.

"She's not my type," The older boy rolled his eyes.

"What's your type, then?" Ron demanded.

Erick threw a quick glance at Mel before replying.

"Friendly."

"Okay, maybe Mel's right," Ginny continued, Reggie started to get restless and she swayed him a bit from side to side. "But I still get along with Tonks better, at least she's a laugh..."

"Well, she can still come and hang out, but you can't force love."

"She hasn't been much of a laugh lately though," Ron pointed out. "Every time I've seen her she's looked more like Moaning Myrtle."

"That's not fair," Hermione frowned. "She still hasn't got over what happened... you know... I mean, he was her cousin!"

Harry quickly looked down and busied himself with a spoonful of eggs, Mel grabbed a cup of tea and drank half of it in one large sip.

"Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other! Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met —"

"That's not the point — She thinks it was her fault he died!"

"How does she work that one out?" Harry asked, his mouth half-full.

"Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn't she? I think she feels that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn't have killed Sirius."

Mel tried to remember, there was a huge part of that night she couldn't recall.

"That's stupid," said Ron.

"It's survivor's guilt. I know Lupin's tried to talk her round, but she's still really down. She's actually having trouble with her Metamorphosing!"

"With her — ?"

"She can't change her appearance like she used to. I think her powers must have been affected by shock, or something."

"I didn't know that could happen," said Harry.

"Nor did I, but I suppose if you're really depressed..."

Mel suddenly looked down at her hands and gulped. She hadn't tried to do any kind of magic ever since she'd come back from the Ministry, now a new fear was rising above everything else, the possibility of not being able to be as good as before because of her anguish.

"Ginny," Mrs Weasley walked in again, "come downstairs and help me with the lunch."

"I'm talking to this lot!" Ginny exclaimed, her attention quickly leaving Mel's brother.

"Now!"

"She only wants me there so she doesn't have to be alone with Fleur! Emily's too tired all the time, mum doesn't let her do anything..." The girl got up to leave the room, but Mel stopped her.

"Hey, give that baby back!" She demanded. "I was holding him first!"

Ron stood up and took the baby, claiming no one ever allowed him to play with him. Ginny turned around swiftly, mocking the way Fleur would usually move, once she got to the door she looked over her shoulder one last time before leaving.

"You lot had better come down quickly too!"

Harry, Mel and Erick ate silently while Hermione examined some boxes, Ron was now playing with Reg.

"What's this?" Hermione held up a small telescope.

"Dunno, but if Fred and George've left it here, it's probably not ready for the joke shop yet, so be careful."

"Your mum said the shop's going well," Harry mentioned. "Said Fred and George have got a real flair for business."

"That's an understatement. They're raking in the Galleons! I can't wait to see the place, we haven't been to Diagon Alley yet, because Mum says Dad's got to be there for extra security and he's been really busy at work, but it sounds excellent."

"And what about Percy? Is he talking to your mum and dad again?"

"Nope."

"What a git," Erick muttered, drinking his tea while watching Hermione examine the telescope.

"But he knows your dad was right all along now about Voldemort being back —"

"Dumbledore says people find it far easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right," said Hermione. "I heard him telling your mum, Ron."

"Sounds like the sort of mental thing Dumbledore would say," said Ron.

Mel didn't try to contradict him this time.

"He's going to be giving me private lessons this year," Harry said casually. "Mel already finished hers and he'll have time to teach me."

Hermione gasped, Erick merely looked up from his food.

"You kept that quiet!" Ron exclaimed, Mel's brother slipping from his hold without him noticing.

"I only just remembered. He told me last night in your broom shed."

"Blimey... private lessons with Dumbledore! And he said you're ready to go, Mel? I wonder why he's—?"

"Careful with Lee before you drop him flat on the floor!" Mel scowled. "I see why no one lets you hold him..."

"I don't know exactly why he's going to be giving me lessons, but I think it must be because of the prophecy," Harry continued to speak, eyes fixed on his food. "You know, the one they were trying to steal at the Ministry..."

Erick pulled out his wand and with a quick movement, his plate started to follow him around the room. He took Leon Regulus and mumbled something about the baby needing a nap and Ginny needing help back in the kitchen. Mel wished she could've left with him.

"Nobody knows what it said, though," said Hermione once the Slytherin was gone. "Mel broke it."

"Although the Prophet says —" Ron started.

"Shh!" Hermione interrupted.

"The Prophet's got it right," Harry forced himself to look up. "That glass ball Mel destroyed wasn't the only record of the prophecy. I heard the whole thing in Dumbledore's office, he was the one the prophecy was made to, so he could tell me. From what it said... it looks like I'm the one who's got to finish off Voldemort... At least, it said neither of us could live while the other survives."

She wished she could've spent at least one day without thinking about the prophecy, but Harry had to live knowing that he'd have to face Voldemort, so she couldn't complain.

BANG!

Hermione vanished behind a cloud of dark smoke.

"Hermione!" shouted the three of them.

The girl stood up, coughing.

"I squeezed it and it — it punched me!"

"Don't worry," said Ron biting his lip so he wouldn't laugh, "Mum'll fix that, she's good at healing minor injuries —"

"Oh well, never mind that now!" said Hermione, pushing it aside. "Harry, oh, Harry... We wondered, after we got back from the Ministry... Obviously, we didn't want to say anything to you, but from what Lucius Malfoy said about the prophecy, how it was about you and Voldemort, well, we thought it might be something like this... Oh, Harry... Are you scared?"

"Not as much as I was," Harry shrugged. "When I first heard it, I was... but now, it seems as though I always knew I'd have to face him in the end..."

"When we heard Dumbledore was collecting you in person, we thought he might be telling you something or showing you something to do with the prophecy. And we were kind of right, weren't we? He wouldn't be giving you lessons if he thought you were a goner, wouldn't waste his time — he must think you've got a chance!"

"Of course he does!" Mel got up, starting to pick up the pieces of the tray that had smashed when the boys ran to help Hermione. "Harry's a great wizard, we just need to teach him how to fight..."

Her friends looked at her with pity, they must've been thinking of her lifeline connection with Harry and how it could affect her, but Mel couldn't look afraid or else they wouldn't believe her words.

"Guys, we'll get through this..." Mel looked down a the tiny scars on her palm, rubbing them gently.

"That's true," said Hermione. "I wonder what he'll teach you, Harry? Really advanced defensive magic, probably... powerful countercurses... anti-jinxes... probably the same things he taught to Mel. And evasive enchantments generally— Well, at least you know one lesson you'll be having this year, that's one more than Ron and me. I wonder when our O.W.L. results will come?"

"Can't be long now, it's been a month," said Ron.

"Hang on, I think Dumbledore said our O.W.L. results would be arriving today!"

"Yeah, that's true!" Mel admitted, leaving the broken plates on the desk.

"Today? Today? But why didn't you — oh my God — you should have said —" Hermione squeaked. "I'm going to see whether any owls have come..."

Ron and Hermione left the room quickly, Harry and her were left alone, but this felt a thousand times less awkward than a year before.

"Thank you," Harry said, helping her fold the blankets.

"I didn't do anything. You know they're scared, even if they don't show it..."

"I'm thanking you because it must be hard for you as well, not to show it," He tilted his head. "Usually, you're an open book..."

"I used to be," She corrected. "My feelings are just mine, Harry, and no one else needs to know about them."

He frowned.

"Still, you know it's better not to hold things in, right?"

Mel stared at him.

"Look at you, teaching me about how to handle my emotions!"

The boy let out a chuckle and reached to hold her hand.

"It's going to be okay, Mellow."

She melted at the name, it'd been a long time since he'd called her that. She looked down again at her scarred hand, and that stirred her into talking. An idea started to take form in her mind.

"What if there's a chance you don't have to be the only chosen one?"

Harry blinked.

"What?"

"What if I am your backup?"

"H-How would that even..?"

"Think about it," Mel started. "I was there when he tried to kill you, and that's when our connection was created — it grows stronger when you inch closer to death... What if the reason we can feel each other's pain, is because it warns us about the incoming danger? What if the reason we're connected it's because I'm destined to take your place if you die?"

"But — but the prophecy said it was a boy —"

"Prophecies can change, you're not obliged to copy them exactly as they're told! Even Dumbledore thought I could be the child of the prophecy! What if, in a way, we both are?"

"It doesn't mean anything, Mel. I chose to be —"

"Who says I can't choose to help you?" She lifted her right hand. "I marked myself with the prophecy, see? If we do this together we'll have a real advantage. We even promised it back in the ministry, didn't we? If you die I take your place, if I die —"

"I make sure is not in vain," Harry had finally made up his mind. "D'you think Dumbledore knows? Do you think that's why he wants us to decide for ourselves what we'll do with our lifeline?"

"I have no idea," Mel responded sincerely. "But if we're doing this, we need to set the rules now."

Harry thought about it, then he grabbed her hands and squeezed them lightly.

"Let's talk."

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha​​​​ @vampiregirl1797​​​​ @siriuslysirius1107​​​​ @stardusthigh​​​​ @mikariell95​​​​ @vernon-dursley​​​​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​​​​ @tomshollandz​​​​ ​​ @reverse-hxlland​​​​ @hamiltonwc​​​​ @omiwashere​​​​ @t-rexs-world​​​​ @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @21bruhs​​​​ @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @dielgonacoffee​​​​ @thelastpyle​​​ @cedricisnotdead​​​ @aconfusedslytherin​

[gudetamix]

m not gonna make this super public but!! i made a secret hidie bnha n hq blog! m gonna try t keep it to my moots only and see if I get more comfy so!! if any of u guys wanna follow u can leave a reply n I’ll dm u the @!!

[captain-chompers]

💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗~

Send 💗 to kiss my muse tenderly without explanation         

____________

A light purple hue appeared on the shark’s cheeks, feeling the albino’s lips on his own, he didn’t know what to do, he wasn’t used to the male being so tender with him.

[hoodie-lover]

Palette and Goth Sitting in a Tree

Goth and Palette, the child of the god of death and an alternate timeline of the original and the child of the guardian of the universes and guardian of positivity respectively, were in love. Very few objected to the pairing, everyone was excited for the fact that the two children of the most powerful people in the multiverse were going to unite the multiverse once and for all.

“Goth!” Palette cried out as he ran into Goth’s room, present in hand.

“Palette!” The birthday boy cried out as he hugged and then kissed the side of his boyfriend’s skull.

“Happy birthday sweetie~. How are you?” Palette asked as he placed the gift on the dresser and kissed his boyfriend back.

“Amazing. And godly now that you’re here.” Goth said, giggling as he was kissed.

��Was that a pun?” Palette asked as he sat down on Goth’s large and fluffy bed, it almost ate him alive.

“Geno is or rather was Classic. Classic is the pun lord, puns are in my genes.” Goth replied as he flopped down next to his boyfriend.

“I see. So what are you going to do for your birthday?” Palette asked, looking over at his boyfriend, though his face was obscured by the fluffy blankets.

“This.” Goth said, holding his hands up and cheering.

“Anything else? This is your 13th birthday after all.”

“Out of literally infinite ones.” Goth said, scoffing.

“But 13 is special! You need to do something to celebrate it!” Palette urged, doing his best to climb over the mounds of blankets to reach his beloved.

“I am doing something to celebrate it, I’m with you~.” Goth said grabbing his boyfriend’s hand and pulling him towards himself.

“Get a room!” A voice called out, snarky, cruel, wicked.

“It's my room Chara! You get out!” Goth cried out, glaring at the ghost-like figure.

“Where’s the fun in that? How about you two just fu-” Chara said, but was cut off by a crash down the hall.

Their black dress, tattered at the ends, flowed like water and complemented their empty eyes and short burgundy hair. All of it was outlined by their paper white skin, deathly ill figure, and boney clawed hands. Goth was a skeleton and had thicker fingers, and a cleaner and brighter cloak.

“I’m staying here, who knows what that was. Though I would love to see the chaos that would and was caused by, this is more fun.” Chara said, winking suggestively.

Goth huffed, flipping his large white hood up over his one blank and lit eye. His red scarf fluttered as it settled.

“Don’t be an ass Chara. Leave us alone.” Palette said, crossing his arms. His sailor hat bounced as he jerked his head away. Though it wasn;t very far, the tight rainbow splattered sailor outfit didn’t allow for much movement.

“I’m bored ok! No one is yelling at you or pounding at your door with pitchforks and torches anymore! There’s no fun!” Chara complained, turning over on their back, still floating above the bed.

“Then go out and start a forest fire or something! Make an earthquake! Do something to cause panic!” Goth cried out, Palette sitting awkwardly.

“How about you go to my parent’s house? We can swap his vials and watch him freak out.” Palette suggested and Chara’s dark eyes gleamed.

“YES!” Chara screamed and Goth giggled.

“Sure.” Goth said, shrugging as an evil grin spread across his face.

Palette sighed as he regretted his suggestion. Chara opened a portal to a bright paper filled world, but Palley snickered as Chara rammed straight into a solid yet clear wall in the middle of the portal.

“What…?” Chara said looking at Palette with daggers.

“Only certain people, either powerful, politically or magically, or people I, or my parents trust can answer.” Palette said, remembering the reason Error and Nightmare hadn’t destroyed it or corrupted the easy to find universe.

“Get dunked on Chara.” Goth said, smiling a creepy ear to ear smile.

“I WILL KILL YOU!” Chara said, screaming and lunging at the duo.

The two kids screamed as Goth dragged Palette out of the room and they ran down the hall. Chara’s eyes dripped black as they barred large fangs and crawled on the walls and ceiling screaming eldritch nonsense.

“Dad! Help!” Goth yelled, his small feet pounding on the wooden floor of their cave situated house.

With a furious swipe of a large metal scythe, Death appeared in front of the two kids and they dove behind him, Palette not touching him.

“Stand down Chaos.” Death growled, holding his scythe in both hands.

“Death.” Chara spat, getting on all fours and snarling.

The standoff lasted five minutes before Chara got bored and vanished in a cloud of black smoke.

“You two ok?” Death asked, his eyes blank but loving and worried, it still made Palette uncomfortable.

“Yeah Dad.” Goth said as he hugged his dad.

“Palette? Did it hurt you?” Palette was taken aback by the use of ‘it’ but nodded his head.

“I’m going to call Ink and Dream to send you home Palette. I’m sorry this had to end so suddenly but you need to go.” Death said, slithering like a snake to the wall phone.

“I still can’t believe you have a wall phone.” Palette said, and Goth sighed.

“The house is old!” Goth protested and Palette kissed him on the cheek.

“Sure it is. Are you sure it’s not your old man?” Palette teased and Goth glared at him.

“Shut up!” Goth said, huffing as a portal opened and Dream embraced Palette, crying yellow tears.

“Palette! Are you hurt?!” Dream cried out, inspecting his son thoroughly.

“I’m fine! Sheesh!” Palette said, prying himself free from his dad’s grip.

“When Death called us I was so worried! Now what were you thinking sending Chaos the Doodlesphere’s way?! They would have hurt billions of people when they got distracted!” Dream scolded, getting on Palette’s level.

“They wouldn’t leave us alone.” Palette defended, but it was useless.

“Then ask Death. Don’t take Chaos into your own hands, you can’t handle them.” Dream said, hugging Palette once more.

“Ok. I won’t.” Palette said, nearly being suffocated by the tight hug.

“Dream! Palette! I can balance three pens on top of each other on my nose.” Ink said through the portal, Dream sighed.

“Awesome Ink. Now can you come see your son?” Dream said, less than enthused.

“Oh! Right!” Ink said and walked out of the portal. He had pens taped to pens and the stick taped to his nose bone.

Palette sighed as he was pat on the head by his dad, who was three inches taller than his son. Dream pushes Ink back through the portal and let Palette wave goodbye before the portal closed.

The Doodlesphere was bright. Really bright. The light was always downplayed when a portal was opened but the glowing was always on full display when it was not being viewed through a portal. Sure it was Palette’s home, but he needed sunglasses.

“I’m adding more!” Ink said as he taped more pens to the long stick and stood higher and higher on his tiptoes.

“Ok Ink.” Dream said, before sighing and bringing Palette inside their small cottage.

The cottage was very old fashioned and had a very rustic theme. Though it had electric lighting, running water, and plumbing, it was hard to see at first.

“Did Goth like his present?” Dream asked as he got out a cookbook and some plates and cups.

“We didn’t open it. We just talked for a while before Chara messes things up.” Palette explained, resting his chin on the table as he sat down in the kitchen.

“Ok. How about we call him later today? That way he can tell you how much he loved his gift.” Dream suggested and Palette smiled.

“I’d like that.” Palette said as Dream turned on the oven.

In Death’s house, Geno was organizing the presents, who they were from, size, how potentially dangerous they were. Geno had marked Palette’s the most dangerous, that kid was Ink’s child, the present could be literally anything.

“Daddy! Let me open Palette’s gift!” Goth whined, grabbing Geno’s scarf and yanking hard.

“Keep doing that and you’ll open it next week.” Geno threatened and Goth gasped.

“No! Please don’t!” Goth said, giving Geno puppy eyes.

“I may be half dead and dying but I don’t have a weak will. You’ve used those puppy eyes too much Goth.” Geno said, cracking a slight smile.

“No fair! Dad!” Goth yelled and Death appeared before them.

“Yes my dear child?” Death said and Geno faceplalmed.

“Tell Daddy to let me open Palette’s present to me!” Goth pouted, his small hands making trembling fists.

“Sorry squirt. I can’t argue here.” Death said, picking at his nonexistent nails.

Tears formed in Goth’s eyes as he sat down, legs and arms crossed, on the floor, looking at the ground.

“Keep up that attitude and you’ll not be opening any presents until next week. Palette’s in two.” Geno said, and Goth flopped on the hardwood, spread out like he was going to make a snow angel.

“I’m sorry. I just really want to open his present.” Goth said.

“We know. But you are 13, you can’t be throwing fits anymore, you really should’ve stopped at age two. But when I was your age I started reaping souls, and most gods do their work when they turn 13. So this is an important age for you.” Death explained, picking up Goth and cradling him in his arms, the fabric was silky and soft like a cloud.

“Death, when you put Goth down, can you help me with the presents?” Geno asked and gestures to a pile of about 10 presents on the counter.

“Sure babe.” Death said as he placed Goth down. “Goth we need you to go upstairs. I doubt you want to be spoiled.” Death said and Goth hugged as he went to his room.

“You really want to train him?” Geno said when Goth was out of earshot.

“Yes. Mine and my brother’s powers, and that of every god, manifested when we were 13. I don’t want him to reap someone he shouldn’t simply because he wasn’t trained.” Death said, inspecting the presents carefully.

“I know. But we promised, when we start to train him, we tell him and let him open the now 39 secret presents he’s gotten.” Geno said, sighing a heavy sigh.

“I know. And I know that Goth isn’t ready for that, he’d tell Palette, who’d remind Ink, and then Ink will spread the information around like wildfire and we’ll need to go into hiding. But if we start to trust the power of life and death in his little hands, we should be able to trust him with this.” Death said, looking over and Geno.

“So it’s not Goth we’re worried about.” Geno said.

“I thought you were against it.” Death said, pointing a finger.

“Devil’s advocate. And if we can keep Ink quiet, wishful thinking I know, then we won’t have to worry.” Geno said, lowering Death’s hand.

“Think we can call in a favor from Dream?” Death said and Geno shrugged.

“Don’t see why not.” Geno said, kissing Death.

“Alright.” Death said, returning the kiss.

After a quick call to set up a viewing portal so Palette could see Goth open his present to him, they were ready to party. The cake was thirteen layers, had rainbows all over it, and had small versions of Goth and Palette on it. All in all, it looked like a wedding cake but the duo designed it together.

“Make a wish Goth.” Geno said as he held his phone, ready to take the shot.

Goth blew out the candles, one on each level, in a single divine breath. As divine as a 13-year-old can be. Everyone, which included Palette via the portal, Geno, Death, and Life or Reapertale!Toriel. Dream was there by proxy, but he was listening in if something bad happened as he made lunch.

“What did you wish for?” Palette asked, his face close as it could be to the viewing portal.

“For us to be together forever!” Goth cheered and everyone awed as the two blushed and tried to kiss each other on the cheek.

“Who wants to open presents?” Geno asked, holding most the the presents in his two arms and putting them on the table, somehow not hitting the cake with his view obstructed.

“ME!” Goth yelled, taking a fistfull of uncut cake and stuffing it in his mouth as he grabbed Palette’s present.

The present was small and rectangular, with a large pink bow and white wrapping holographic paper. Goth ripped the paper to shreds and threw the bow across the room, stuffing more cake in his mouth until Geno picked him up and held him but the arms until he calmed down and Geno was able to cut the cake so no one would be contaminated.

When Goth had massacred the present, he saw a leather bound book with a yellow glass disk on the front and Goth’s name printed in calligraphy at the bottom.

“They can be used to talk. When I write something in mine, it appears in yours. You can tell when the circle glows. I have a copy but it says my name and the circle is red.” Palette explained and Goth began to cry from joy.

Dream refused to take down the viewing part of the viewing portal, he was still paranoid about Chaos. Palette even threw a Goth style fit about it and was promptly grounded for a week.

It was then he closed the portal. Life gave Goth a large and suffocating, but very fluffy, hug and vanished in a shower of golden sparks.

“I see why she was your first pick. Life is really sweet.” Geno said and Death blushed.

“Well I hadn’t met you yet.” Death defended, but Geno gave a small chuckle and gave Death a small kiss on the cheek.

“If you prefer me over a god, does that mean I’m divine?” Geno said, and Goth was gagging and hiding under a pile of pillows.

“You’re more than that. You’re Geno.” Death said as he returned the kiss and Goth was fake crying from his fort.

“Alright Goth. If you’re going to be like that, but there is something we’ve been talking about and want to tell you.” Death said, and Goth peeked out from his fortress of solitude.

“What is it?” Goth asked, and his parents sat next to him, one on each side.

“As you know, gods develop their powers at age 13, though domain may be known beforehand. Since today you are turning 13, we have decided to see if you have inherited any of my power.” Death explained, and Goth was ecstatic.

“That sounds awesome!” Goth cheered, but Geno had a somber look on his face.

“But there’s something else we need to tell you.” Geno said, sighing a shaky breath.

“What is it?” Goth asked, tilting his head.

“Before I knew about the multiverse, this is actually how I found out, I was in contact with, friends with, and nearly recruited by the Dark Sanses. Specifically Horror, Dust, and Killer.” Geno said and Goth’s jaw nearly dropped. “That was the primary reason no one trusted me when your dad and I were dating. They were scared I was a spy.” Geno explained, and Goth was silent. “And since you were born, they gave you presents. One from each every year, so you have 39 unopened presents in the Save Screen right now. They are in quarantine because I don’t know how dangerous they are.” Geno finished and Goth was silent, both his eyes blank.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Goth asked, hugging his knees.

“You’d tell Palette, and Palette would remind Ink and then, you can see what would happen. It wasn’t that we didn’t trust you, but we were worried about Ink. And we could tell you not to tell Palette, but that would do nothing to stop you. We’re not punishing you for being open with him and we did plan on telling him soon, but can you understand why we were and are scared?” Geno asked and Goth nodded his head.

“Ink has no inhibitions. The whole multiverse would know within the day.” Goth laughed, but he had a question. “Why are you telling me now if you’re scared of Ink?”

“We weren’t sure how on board Dream would be, but if you are going to learn and maybe use the power of Death himself, I honk you should know.” Geno said.

“Ok. You’re ok with me telling Palette?” Goth said and his parents nodded.

“But let us talk to Dream.” Death said and Goth cheerfully nodded.

“Is that it? Can I open the presents now?” Goth asked, giving his cutest puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t see why not. But not right now, we need to get those set up.” Geno said and Goth slightly melted at the news, but was content.

Palette was thrilled when he was the red circle on his journal light up. Sure he was grounded, but Goth probably didn’t know that, and what harm would a single conversation do? They had to test it out sometime.

“Guess what my parents just told me?” Goth had written.

“Where babies come from?” Palette seriously guessed, it took a second for what he said to process.

“Ew. No. And I already knew that.” Goth replied, drawing a cute gagging emoji.

“Then what is it?” Palette was on the edge of his seat.

“Geno knows the Dark Sanses. Horror, Killer, and Dust have been sending me birthday presents for 13 years and they didn’t tell me until now! Daddy said he doesn’t talk to them anymore.” Goth said and Palette’s jaw had dropped.

“How?! Aren’t they evil murderers?” Palette asked and Goth was quick to reply.

“Yeah. But this was before he met my Dad. So he had the excuse of ignorance.” Goth explained and Palette sighed in relief.

“Are your parents ok with you telling me this?” Palette asked cautiously.

“Yeah. But they want to talk it over with Dream so Ink won’t tell everybody.” Goth said and Palette agreed.

“Ink is an idiot.” Palette said, giggling.

“Now what are you laughing about?” Ink said, resting an arm in the door frame and smiling.

“Ink’s at my door. Gotta go. Love you.” Palette wrote and Goth said goodbye.

“Just a joke Goth sent me.” Palette lied, pushing a tiny bit of the aura he could do, it was nothing compared to Dream but it was good for white lies, when he wasn’t fooling Dream who was immune.

“I see. What was it?” Ink asked and Palette froze.

“Y-your sanity?” Palette replied, shrugging as he saw Ink blank out for a moment.

“That’s not just a joke. That’s a fact.” Ink said and Palette gave a sigh of relief internally.

“Yeah.” Palette agreed as Ink sat down next to him.

“So, you know you’re grounded right?” Ink reminded Palette and the child froze.

“Don’t tell Dream please!” Palette begged and Ink laughed.

“It’ll cost ya. And I’m adding another fine onto that for the use of your aura to lie to me.” Ink said and Palette cursed internally. “I may be an insane idiot but I am perceptive.” Ink commented and Palette relented, flopping down on his small white wood bed.

“What’s the currency?” Palette asked, preparing his will as Ink thought with a devilish smirk.

“Your desert. All of it for a week after you're ungrounded.” Ink said and Palette gasped.

“You heathen!” Palette screamed as he threw his pillow at his father.

“Oh you’ve done it now.” Ink said as his eyes turned red and one turned into a target sign.

“Crap.” Palette said aloud and both children froze.

“Palette? Did you swear?” Dream asked from downstairs.

“No.” Palette lied and Ink was quiet as well.

“I’m coming up.” Dream said and the two boys looked at each other, sweat dripping from their skulls.

Next

[battle-of-alberta]

Chapter 4: Day Job - Easter Eggs

Hello again and welcome, if you read and enjoyed Chapter 4 of Battle of Alberta but wanted a closer look at some of the stuff I referenced or incorporated, links to more information, or just an explanation of my thought processes, you’re in the right place. Feel free to reply to this post or shoot me a message with any questions you have about this chapter I could add. 

Page 1

Hello Calgary is a song that was stuck in my head for weeks after I decided to use it as Calvin’s alarm! I linked to the version I had stuck in my head (which is also the version used for the intro to the Alberta Advantage Podcast), but there’s tons of other versions. It’s not only Calgary’s song, it was actually written for hundreds of American cities, but Calgary seemed to take a particular shine to the song that really stuck. 

Howdy is one of the two Olympic mascots for the 1988 Calgary Winter Olympics. Calgary was the first city to use two mascots for the Olympics; Howdy and Hidy welcomed people to the city with good old fashioned Western hospitality... I read a piece from 2007 quoting councilors on the decision to remove them from the city’s welcome signs saying something to the effect of “it’s time Calgary outgrew them!” which is pretty sad... obviously Calvin hates to let go of things.

Page 2

Calvin’s apartment is based on the Keynote Penthouse in downtown Calgary, which is just as ridiculous as i draw it. In fact, it’s MORE ridiculous in the photos.

His socks aren’t real but based on the Calgary flag, which literally has a cowboy hat on it. Because.

Page 3

Bankers Hall on the left side of the first panel is part of two twin towers in downtown Calgary designed to resemble cowboy hats on top. I wish I were making this up.

The Calgary Tower was built in the 70s to be the tallest building in the city by Husk- er, uh, “Malamute” Energy. It was surpassed at almost breakneck speeds by the rest of the skyline. And it shoots fire sometimes because of course it does.

Page 4

I would NEVER put real people in the background of my comics, especially not caricatures of infamous prime ministers. Don’t @ me.

The firm handshake thing is dedicated to an ad for a certain business school in calgary that i saw all over the airport one time when I was there that I can’t recall at the moment. 

On that note: the western overlay on his business talk is also real. A few months ago in a class I took, a guest speaker mentioned that a “gentleman’s handshake” was still an acceptable form of contract in Calgary, shivered, and said “no thank you”. I was laughing so hard internally I also choked internally.

Page 7

The Lethbridge viaduct which is symbolic of the city is confusingly also named the High Level Bridge, which as an Edmontonian annoys me, but I begrudgingly admit that Lethbridge’s was first.

Page 8

Lethbridge recently surpassed Red Deer as the third biggest city by population, which is still tiny at about 1/8th-1/10th the size of Edmonton or Calgary. They say “no hard feelings” since they often switch back and forth in this role, although since recent cuts to post secondary on top of a pandemic it is unlikely that RDC will be a fully fledged university anytime soon.

Ed’s weird socialist agenda faces only minor setbacks. He’s allowed to elect people too, you know.

Page 9

For the love of god LEAVE YOUR CLIPPINGS ON THE LAWN!

I just assume Lilith enjoys ikebana for reasons

Page 10

okay ngl Amazing Race Canada 2019 (Season 7) was the best season and I’m not just saying that because I’m biased towards my team. They did ikebana in the Edmonton episode and my heart... 

Astounding Trek is what they refer to it as in Kim’s Convenience (S03E11)

Seriously my team is the best team do NOT @ me. 

Page 11

I believe the beer in panel one is from Coulee Brew Co. This is more for local colour than for endorsement, I don’t drink so you’ll have to tell me if it’s any good.

For non-Canadians or for Canadians who missed my subtle dragging, I am referencing Prime Minister Justin Trudeau (who said the quote) and outgoing Conservative Party Leader Andrew Scheer (who recently got into a scandal about pretending to be an insurance broker when he was not qualified).

This comic took place before the federal election of October 2019, where Justin Trudeau scraped by with a sobering minority government. Many people across the country are frustrated with Trudeau for different (and evolving) reasons, but he is particularly hated in western Canada and especially Alberta for qualities including his perceived weakness and his poor efforts to ‘compromise’ on such projects as the Keystone XL pipeline. 

Personally, I don’t agree with many reasons that people in Alberta hate him, but I still have a lot of reasons to hate him anyway. He’s not the woke bae you think he is, and he is a coward. However, thats not the point of this comic.

Page 12

The cartoon Calvin is watching is an episode of Dudley Do-Right. I made the horrible mistake of re-watching the live action version after drawing this. It was Bad with no redeeming qualities beyond Brendan Fraser’s face.

The 60s were a hip and happening time in Canada on a national level: apart from the threat of nuclear war, we were busy beavers celebrating the country’s centennial and the world expo in Montreal. Provincial leaders started meeting with each other for the first time, bilingualism and multiculturalism were making headlines, and the Socreds (Social Credit Party) were in the middle of their almost dynastic reign in Alberta.

Page 13

Fort McMurray is connected to the rest of the world either by air or by a highway which is so prone to danger and bottle necking that it is nicknamed the Highway of Death. Edmonton is the most major destination at the end of this highway, and thus Mac is quite used to crashing at Ed’s place when things go south (which seems to be an awful lot.) He’s happy for access to cheap beer.

Page 14

This is Patches’ first appearance in the main storyline. He is a rescue slash emotional support dog and a malamute/husky/??? mix. Mac pretends he’s a guard dog but he really only guards Mac’s brain.

Mac picks up a lot of east coast slang, ‘darts’ for cigarettes being one example. 

The take-out packages are the kids boxes from Oodle Noodle... many fond memories of getting take out with my friends from there ;u;

Page 17

The nostalgia panel is full of Edmonton memorabilia including: A Klondike Days flag, a photo of young Wayne Gretzky, old and proposed city flags, a flag for the CFL team (which I deliberately drew backwards), a redesigned Oilers logo from the mid aughts, and of course the Alberta flag in the center. Many of these items have colonial/racist baggage associated with them.

Page 22

Panel one is a delicious shot of some green onion cakes, the unofficial civic food of Edmonton. 

Vulcan Ale is indeed a real thing you can buy with your money - it’s an American beer from Montana but available in western Canada. See also the Federation of Beer based in Alberta... we are a province of Trekkies (although if you ask Ed, he actually prefers Star Wars)

Page 23

Pizza 73 is just whatever the worst generic pizza chain in your area is but for Alberta (Eastern Canadians, think Pizza Pizza).

That’s all for now folks!