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fanficsandthings · 4 years

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Through the Years

A George Weasley Fanfiction

A George Weasley x Slytherin reader story. Each chapter shares events in one year of George and reader's life together, starting in their first year of Hogwarts.

Word Count: 3.8k

Chapter 1: The Journey to Hogwarts

It had been a warm, sunny day when you heard an owl screech outside. You watched from the window as it swooped in by your front door, carrying a small letter in its talons. The brown tawny owl sat on the sidewalk for just a second before it hurried away again. You watched it disappear into the distant blue sky. As you walked to the front door you could see that your father was clutching the letter to his chest. It took him a good five minutes of staring at it before he handed it to you. It was your Hogwarts letter. You had been waiting all year to receive it, and your father was overjoyed now that you had.

You weren’t exactly sure why he was so happy, but you caught him almost sobbing into your mother’s shoulder later that night when they thought you had gone to sleep. You thought for a moment that he was mad about your letter, but after you listened to them speak for a minute you realized that they were happy tears. You had grown up around magic your whole life. Your uncle and your grandparents were all brilliant wizards. Your mother was a muggle, sure, but that didn’t make you think that you wouldn’t get into Hogwarts. You didn’t show any magical ability until you were almost 10, but that fact never really crossed your mind growing up. You had gotten mad at your father one day, for something you couldn’t even remember now, but you were 9, and all that childlike anger boiled up inside you. It burned hotter and hotter until your face was burning red, and then the teacup that your father had on his side table exploded, sending scalding hot liquid onto the carpet and armchair. You expected him to be mad with you, furious even, but instead he had calmly asked if you caused that to happen. You said yes and then tried to quickly explain how you didn’t mean it, but you were cut off. You were being enveloped in a crushing hug and your dad picking you up and spinning and laughing. Laughing? Why was he laughing? You had just ruined his favorite teacup and spilled tea all over the floor. He set you down and took you by the shoulders. “I’m so proud of you.” You looked over at the mess you created, and he waved it off. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll clean it up. You’ve got magic!” He stood up and quickly ran into the next room, searching for your mother. You could hear him laughing down the hallway. “She’s a witch! I can’t believe she’s actually a witch!” Just over a year later, when your letter came, he was as overjoyed as he was the day with the tea. The next day you set out to London to buy all of your supplies. Your mother had stayed at home, but you and your father met up with your uncle in Diagon Alley. He and your father both worked at the Ministry together. He worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, while your father worked in close contact with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. He worked mainly in Muggle Studies, helping the Ministry to learn more about the average muggle. You were told once that it was one of the lowest jobs you could get at the Ministry, but your father seemed to enjoy it. It was how he had met your mother after all. You learned then to do your own research on matters, instead of just taking other people’s opinions as your own. Once you had gotten all your supplies from Diagon Alley, you separated from your uncle to head back out into London. You were admiring your new wand, and the fine intricacies on it, when your father stopped to say hello to someone. The man he stopped was an odd looking fellow, with bright red hair sticking up from the top of his head. His clothed screamed pure-blood wizard to you, as they matched almost perfectly with what your grandparents wore; an old robe and a handmade vest. Your father introduced you to the man in front of him as Arthur Weasley, a coworker of his. You waved at him shyly before going back to studying your wand; you wanted to know every fine detail of it. You looked it up and down, from end to tip, ran your fingers over the wood to feel the texture of it. You were about to put it up to your mouth to see what it tasted like when another shock of red hair appeared in your peripheral vision. You looked up, tongue hanging slightly out of your mouth, wand inches from it. Two boys had appeared at Arthur’s side. They looked exactly the same and you had to blink a couple times to make sure you weren’t seeing double. Arthur apparently had twin sons. They were both wearing sweaters that looked almost similar to the ones your grandmother made you, but theirs had letters on them in bright gold yarn. An “F” and a “G.” “These are my boys, Fred and George,” Arthur introduced them. “Well, two of my boys. The others stayed at home for this trip. The twins are enough to handle by myself.” They both turned to look at you. You quickly brought your tongue back into your mouth and dropped your wand to the side. Before they could get a word out to you, their father said goodbye to yours and grabbed them both by their sweaters to push them past you. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” your dad called as Arthur walked away. He turned to you. “Those boys are in the same year as you. Maybe you’ll end up in the same house and can become friends.” You turned to look at the way they went. You could hardly see through the crowd and were just barely able to spot the redheaded father. Only one of the twins appeared to be with Arthur, and for a second you were concerned that the other had gotten lost in the crowd. Suddenly, a face appeared in front of yours. “Fred tied your shoelaces together while you were staring at your wand,” was all he said before he ducked back into the crowd. He headed back towards his father, who was now searching for him, calling out his name. It seemed that George was the nicer of the two twins. You looked down at your feet, and sure enough, they were tied together. One step and you would’ve been face first into the cobblestone. Why the one felt it necessary to come all the way back here just to tell you his brother was a bit of a jerk, you weren’t sure, but you appreciated it. Maybe you could be friends with at least George. Fred, you weren’t so sure about. You looked up at your father to see if he had anything to say, but he was staring at a map of London he had taken out of his pocket. He hadn’t seemed to notice the boy come back at all. ------------------------- September 1st, 1989 snuck up on you faster than you had ever expected it. You spent the last few days of your summer holiday with your muggle friends, as you knew you wouldn’t see them again until at least Christmas. It was hard to say goodbye to them, but at the same time you couldn’t be more excited to make friends who were actually magical like you were. Your father had an emergency at work, so it was your uncle who took you to King’s Cross that day in London. The station was busy and full of Muggles, but it was easy for him to find the correct platform, as he had been there multiple times before. You stopped for a moment to watch a few families make their way through the wall and onto the platform. Still a little bit nervous about using magic to this caliber, you had to be encouraged by your uncle to go through the wall. He took your trolley from you and stood you perfectly center facing the brick. “It’s really quite simple,” he said, bending down to your level. He pointed at the stones in front of you. “Just run straight at it. It won’t hurt you. I’ll take care of your luggage.” You nodded your head and took in a deep breath. Letting out the breath, you started with a jog, picking up the pace as you neared the wall. Your eyes closed when you were within inches of the wall, preparing for the impact. When no impact came, you opened your eyes to see the steam engine in front of you. Your feet stopped moving immediately. You turned around, a big smile on your face, to see your uncle enter behind you. “Welcome to the Hogwarts Express.” He bent down in front of you again to be at your eye level. “Remember, your father is very proud of you. He’s absolutely gutted that he can’t be here, but he wanted me to give you this.” He reached into the bag he was carrying and pulled out a disposable camera. One like what your mother would use when you went on holiday. “He wants you to use this to create memories and to remember the important ones. You can get it developed when you come home for Christmas.” You nodded at him in understanding. “Now, most of the pure-blood students probably won’t know what this is, so don’t let them get you down for using Muggle technology.” “There’s nothing wrong with Muggle technology,” you told him, matter of factly. “Some of it’s even cooler than magic.” He chuckled slightly at that. “I know, I know. But some wizards think everything made by Muggles is rubbish. Just ignore them.” “Or I could show them how cool it really is,” you said, reaching out for the camera. “Yeah, or you could do that.” He stood up in front of you. “Before I give this to you, I need a picture. Smile.” You stood in front of the train engine with the goofiest of grins on your face. Your uncle snapped the picture quickly and then handed you the camera. “Remember there’s only 26 pictures left on that,” he quickly informed you. “If you make a friend who has an owl, you can always write your mum to send you another one if you run out.” “Will do. Thank you.” You reached towards him and gave him a quick, tight hug. The clock on the wall behind him read 10:55. “I gotta go! Thank you again!” You ran off towards the train as he shouted his goodbye back at you. -------------------------- Finding a compartment to sit in was relatively hard, as they were mostly filled with upperclassmen. Towards the back of the train you eventually found a compartment with two familiar boys in it. They sat on opposite seats near the window, tossing something between the two of them. You knocked on the glass as you slid the door open. “Do you mind if I sit here?” “You sure about that?” one of them asked. “Percy didn’t warn you about us?” “I don’t know who this Percy is,” you told them, stepping into the compartment. “Why would he be warning people about you.” You sat down next to the twin who had on a blue sweater. The other one was wearing brown. “Percy’s our older brother. A third year,” Blue Sweater told you. “He’s been telling people that we’ll prank them if they share a compartment with us,” Brown Sweater said. They continued to toss the small object between the two of them. “Well one of you has already tried to prank me,” you said, looking between the two of them. “But the other one told me about it. So I know I can trust at least one of you.” Brown Sweater stopped suddenly, the small object in his hand. “You told her!?” He tossed the object at his brother, who threw his hands over his face in defense. The object bounced off his forearm, and you caught it as it headed your way. It seemed to be just a small rubber ball. The one who you now assumed was Fred continued yelling at his brother. “It’s not much of a prank if you tell them about it before it happens! I don’t know how I can even call you my brother anymore.” He folded his arms and pouted as he looked out the window at the passing hills. “Fred, stop being so dramatic,” George said. “She was a stranger. And our dads work together.” “You’re lying,” Fred said, now looking at George. “You told her because you think she’s cute.” Now both you and George froze. You could feel the tips of your ears burning hot. You squeezed the ball tightly in your hand as a sort of distraction from this conversation. George mumbled out some sort of defense, but you didn’t hear it. You were too focused on your hand, which now held some sort of slimy black goo. The ball had dissolved when you squeezed it hard enough. “You tricky little gremlins,” you mumbled, caused them to stop their bickering to look at you. “No wonder no one wanted to sit with you.” You stood up, the goo dripped off your hand and onto the carpet. You reached for the door with your good hand. “Hey, we didn’t mean to get you with that, we’re sorry,” George said. You could hear the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah, you’re the one who caught the ball,” Fred said. You turned around and held your black covered hand out towards Fred. “Catch this,” you said, pushing your hand quickly into his face. You let out a wave of laughter as you pulled your hand away and looked at Fred’s face. The goo had gotten into his hair and matted his eyebrows and smeared down the side of his face. George let out a snort as he got a look at his brother. “Good one,” he said, holding up his hand for a high five. You grinned as you slapped your hand against his, sending goo spraying against the train window. “Didn’t think that one through, did you.” “No, no I didn't,” George said, wiping his hand on the seat he was sitting on. You both looked over at Fred, who was still trying to get the goo off of his face, also wiping the contents on his seat. “You okay there, Freddie?” George asked his brother. Fred looked up at him and then over at you. “Yeah, just thinking of a way to get even is all.” “Good luck with that,” you said, reaching for your camera. The twins looked at you curiously. You snapped a picture of Fred’s face, still covered in goo. “What’re you doing?” Fred asked. “Blackmail,” you simply explained, stuffing the camera back in your bag. ---------------------- “Five other siblings?!” you questioned, quite exhausted from the thought of that large a family. “I couldn’t even imagine.” “Yes, unfortunately,” Fred said. “You’re sure to meet Percy and Charlie soon. They’re third and sixth years. Both Gryffindors. Our whole family has been Gryffindors, actually.” “I suppose that means you two are hoping to get the same,” you mused at them. They both laughed. “Not so much as hoping,” George said. “We’re more expecting. Family tradition and all.” “But it’s gonna be awfully dreadful if we get stuck in the same house as Percy for five years,” Fred added. You laughed at that. The twins really had an odd way of viewing their brother. “What about you?” George asked, lightly elbowing you in the arm. “Hhmmm? What about me?” you asked, looking up at him. “Siblings? Family house traditions?” George pressed further. “Oh no. None of that. I’m an only child,” you told them. “Grandparents were both Hufflepuffs and my uncle was a Ravenclaw.” “And your parents?” Fred asked. “My mother is actually a Muggle,” you informed them. “And my dad didn’t go to Hogwarts.” They both seemed taken aback by that statement. “Didn’t go to Hogwarts?” George asked. “Did his parents ship him off to a different country?” Fred added. “No,” you simply stated. “He went to a Muggle school. He doesn’t have magic.” “No way!” they both said, basically shouting at you. You were slightly shocked by their sudden change in attitude. “Your dad is a squib?” Fred questioned you. You looked between the two of them, severely confused at this point. “I’ve never heard that word before.” “A squib is a person who doesn’t have magical powers, but their parents do. Basically the opposite of a Muggle-born wizard,” Fred explained to you. “They’re very rare,” George continued. “The caretaker at Hogwarts is actually a squib. He’s the only we’ve ever heard of before.” You thought over this new information for a moment. “I guess it’s true that he was born to a pure-blood family, but I always thought it was normal for some wizards’ children to not have magic. Just like, as you said, some Muggle’s randomly have children with magic.” “That logic does make sense when you look at it that way,” George said. It was silent for a moment before Fred asked another question. “How did your dad get a job at the Ministry if he doesn’t have magic?” “Working in muggle studies, you don’t need much magic,” you explained to them. “Plus my uncle also works for the Ministry, and he put in a good word for him.” You sat in silence for another couple minutes. You weren’t quite sure what to say anymore after that conversation. It was getting late and you were to be at Hogwarts within the hour. “Hey,” George said next to you. “Yeah?” you asked him. “If I were you, I’d be careful with who you share that information about your father with,” he said. “Because some pure-bloods think everything made by Muggles is rubbish?” you asked, finishing his thoughts for him. “Well I wouldn’t put it that way,” he said. He mulled over his thoughts for a second. When he spoke again, it was soft, like he didn’t really want to say what he was saying. “But yeah. Some pure-bloods think they’re above everyone who is of mixed blood or Muggle-born. With your blood status, I don’t even know what they’d think.” “What about your family?” you asked, looking between the two of them. Suddenly you were very worried that you were telling your whole life story to two boys who were basically strangers. “What?” Fred asked. “You’re pure-bloods,” you said to them. “But your dad reminded me very much of my pure-blood grandparents. And my grandparents would never think like that.” “Neither would we,” Fred said, his brown eyes lacking any hint of mischievousness for the first time since you met him. “Our family doesn’t have much,” George said, “so we know what it’s like to be looked down on by other pure-bloods.” You let out a sigh and looked out the window at the darkening sky. The stars would be out soon, and they were sure to look pretty glittering over the lake by the castle. “I’m sorry that I accused you of that,” you said, tearing your eyes away from the window to look first at George, who quickly darted his eyes away from yours, then at Fred, who held your eye contact. “No worries,” Fred replied. “How about I make it up to you by showing you this,” you said, rummaging around in your bag. You pulled out the camera. “This is a disposable camera. It just takes pictures. Not any of the magical moving pictures, but pictures nonetheless. My dad wanted me to have it to capture memories.” “What kind of memories?” George asked, looking at you again. “Happy ones, I suppose,” you told them. “But also sad ones. One’s that make me feel like I want to remember the moment, no matter what. And you know what? I’d like to remember my first train ride forever. Would you two mind taking a picture with me?” The twins looked at each other and then back to you. “I don’t see why not,” they both said. You looked out into the corridor of the train and spotted a student who looked to be a year or two older than you. You got her to take a picture for you and thanked her as she walked away. “Do we get to see the picture?” George asked expectantly. “Not until I get them developed over Christmas holiday,” you informed them. “That’s months away!” they both exclaimed, falling back into their seats. Even though you had been apprehensive of Fred to begin with, you were quickly growing to like both of the twins. Looking over at Fred, he still had bits of black goo stuck in his hair. You were sure it would take a couple showers to fully wash out. Sitting back down next to George, you sat a little too close to him, your shoulders brushing as you tried to get comfortable. Quickly, you moved a couple more inches away, having remembered the comment Fred had made earlier. You could feel your ears burning hot again, and glancing at George out of the corner of your eye, you were positive that his ears were red too. ------------------------ The twins were right about their family tradition, as the sorting hat was barely on their heads before it sorted them both into Gryffindor. An older redheaded boy was cheering excitedly as they sat down at the table next to him and another redhead. As you walked up to stand in front of everyone to be sorted, you could feel your heart racing. You weren’t nervous; it didn’t matter where you were sorted, as you had no ill feelings towards any house. The scary part was the uncertainty of the future that awaited you. If you got sorted into Gryffindor, you were sure to remain friends with the twins. If it was any other house, you weren’t sure. The thought of maybe losing the first two friends you had made here was what scared you the most. You cautiously sat down on the stool, your eyes turning to the sea of students in front of you. You found Fred and George in the crowd, and they both gave you thumbs ups. Smiling back at them, you let out a deep breath. The hat was placed on your head, and you could hear it contemplating for a few seconds. “I know exactly where you should go,” it said. “Already?” you asked, looking up at the brim. “Yes, I’m quite certain,” it said. You sat in silence for another few seconds before it shouted out “Slytherin!”

#george weasley #george weasley fanfic #george weasley x reader #george weasley x you #george weasley x slytherin!reader #slytherin #slytherin reader #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #reader x george weasley #george weasley imagine #george weasley fanfiction #My writing #through the years series

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averagesmw · 4 years

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Penny Haywood x MC- A sense of normalcy (2/4)

Game: Harry Potter Hogwarts Mystery

____________________

The steam coming from the machine, the crowds of voices becoming the ambiance of the place, even the shadows that passed by now and then

Those elements combined served as a clear indicator as the eyes slowly opened

They had arrived at the station

When Y/N realized this, they moved, only to realize a gentle weight above their head, followed by golden braids following the effects of gravity

Did...did they just cuddled to sleep?

A yawn caught their attention, Beatrice had just woken up from her slumber. While looking around at first, she eventually laid eyes on you

When she did, Beatrice smiled and mouthed "hello" before getting up to pick her things

It was time to continue their journey, and that would have to start with all of them being awake. Gently, Y/N nudged Penny's shoulder, just enough to get a reaction from her

"Wha? Is it time?..."

She muttered in a way reminiscent of that of a child, which of course, brought a smile to Y/N's tired face

"I'm afraid so, Penny. We ought to keep moving"

She whined but eventually moved away from her resting place and stretched while Y/N themselves got up and grabbed their luggage, and since they weren't carrying as much, they also helped with some of Beatrice's

And so, the three youngsters left the train in search of Penny's parents. This station was much more crowded than Hogsmeade's, but it didn't seem to be a problem for the girls as they swiftly moved through the crowds

They kept walking until an adult voice stood out from afar, the resemblance made it clear who they were

"There they are! My little girls!"

"Mum, dad!"

Penny's eyes sparkled upon identifying the source before running towards them and eventually hugging them

"It's so good to see you!" She declared with such relief

"You too, darling!"

Beatrice hugged her parents as well. Considering how much change she had gone through, it was quite a sight to behold

At least until said adults turned their attention to Y/N

"And you must be Y/N. I've heard a lot about you!"

Interestingly enough, Y/N themselves had heard that phrase plenty of times before. One would say they'd grown accustomed to it

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N"

"Likewise, Mr. and Mrs. Haywood. Thank you for bringing me along " They stated smiling while shaking their hand

"It's the least we could do, darling"

Penny's mum stated with a smile, then, her husband grabbed his daughters' luggage and carried it around himself

"Are you ready to continue our journey?"

"Yes! I've never been to the countryside before"

The man smiled at this, watching Y/N's enthusiasm for a trip that never got old

"Then you're in for a treat"

And he was not wrong. Throughout their trip, Y/N got to see first-hand the various placed they had only heard of, even getting to walk amongst Muggles without any problem

But most importantly to them, they got to see the lights that decorated London for the holidays.

The sense of wonder they provided the curse-breaker was, as Penny described it in her mind, "breathtakingly cute"

Eventually, they decided to stop at a nearby restaurant to eat something and recharge their energy. Their destination being quite close

Penny's parents entered first, while Y/N held the door open for them, Beatrice, and eventually Penny herself

"Thank you!"

However, when they closed the door, a small sleigh bell caught their attention. One that was attached to a Mistletoe just above the door

Oh no...

Penny's smile turned into a nervous mess as soon as she noticed the decoration, especially what it meant during this time of the year

"W-Would you look at that, mistletoe"

"Almost didn't s-see it there"

"Yeah..."

Both of them tried their best to keep a normal conversation, not knowing how to approach the topic

Penny wouldn't mind it, in fact, she wanted it to happen. But like this? And so soon? That was so risky!

Y/N too found their cheeks getting warm, even words were failing them now. What were they supposed to do?

The curse-breaker took a step closer towards her, with a flustered smile and iron willpower to keep themselves even breathing at this point

The blonde followed in and stepped closer as well, even reaching for their hand in such a subtle way, only she knew what she was doing

Wouldn't Penny's parents scold them for doing something so bold in front of them? Or--

"Penny? Is everything alright?"

Like a hot knife cutting through butter, Beatrice's voice startled both teenagers, who promptly realized what just happened

Penny scratched the back of her neck as she turned to face her sister

"Y-Yeah, Y/N was just asking me about the menu. You know, since they are new around here!"

Beatrice bought it. It was a surprisingly good lie, especially considering the time she had to make it up

And even if Y/N didn't quite recognize some of the items on the menu, they felt an absurd amount of relief when Bea left them

A heavy sigh left the blonde's lips before she returned her attention to her "friend" and gave them an awkward smile

"Come on, Y/N, l-let's get something to eat!"

They nodded eagerly, just wanting to be put out of that misery

"Absolutely, I'm starving"

The rest of their journey went by with nothing else to report. By the time the Moon was in the sky, they had reached the countryside

It was charming and beautifully stuck in time. Of course, it had enough technology, but it still retained somewhat of the traditional look for a village

Honestly, it could give Hogsmeade a run for its money

"Here we are! Get ready to unpack, girls!" Mr. Haywood announced when entering the house they use for these occasions

The girls grabbed their luggage and went to their rooms, meanwhile, Y/N stood in the living room with Penny's parents

"Excuse me, Y/N?"

They turned round to find both the mother and father sitting on the couch, with a bit of a serious look to them.

"I don't think we've had a chance to talk for real"

For a couple that had been nothing but friendly, this sight was terrifying. Y/N gulped and nodded, embracing whatever might come next

"Absolutely"

"First, dear, let me start by saying that we know about what happened with you and those vaults"

"That is a lot, too much for someone your age to deal with" added Mr. Haywood

"I wasn't alone, I had a lot of help. From friends to teachers, everyone tried their best"

This answer earned a smile from the couple, seeing as Y/N kept somewhat of an optimistic outlook and appreciated everyone who helped them

"Maybe, but it was you who went out of your way to help our girls whenever one of them needed it"

The student didn't respond to this, but instead, they went over the events of the last few years

It was true, they helped Penny both times she resorted to using potions to escape her problems and also accompanied Beatrice in her journey to accept her new self

None of these tasks had a direct relationship with the Vaults, yet Y/N went ahead and helped them both

"What we're trying to say, is that we appreciate having someone looking after them in Hogwarts, especially given what happened"

The man stated while looking over to the room Beatrice had chosen for herself

"It's still a tad challenging to get used to things as they are now, but having good influences always helps"

Y/N smiled at this. They couldn't quite believe the conversation they were in

They were expecting Penny's parents to be a bit stern or angry at them for what happened with the Vaults. Not that it was Y/N's fault, but they had grown accustomed to people blaming them for it

This was more than a welcome change

"They would've done the same for me, you've raised wonderful people. In fact, Penny refused to let me spend the holidays by myself"

This comment earned a chuckle from the woman in front of them

"So we've heard. The least we could do was to bring you along with us, you've earned a little break"

"And talking about it, you must be exhausted from all that traveling we did. Your room is down the hall, next to Penny's"

Mr. Haywood gave them their luggage and they smiled back

"Thank you, Mr, and Mrs. Haywood. I appreciate this gesture"

They waved the teenager goodbye and were left on their own to talk

"They are quite a case, aren't they?" The man chuckled

"Indeed, but rather charming as well"

"I'm just glad they're not the troublemaker the papers make them look like"

...

Y/N was able to find the room assigned to them with no trouble, a cozy room with a bed, nightstand, bookshelf, and even a small window. It was rather charming, although they couldn't unpack their things due to the exhaustion

They placed their luggage next to the bed before getting in it, the soft sheets gently embracing them and providing a shield from the cold weather. Definitely inviting a good sleep

However, there were still prominent thoughts going all over Y/N's mind, from recent memories to the situation they found themselves on

Experiencing all of this journey with the Haywoods didn't feel like a favor or a reward for the student's achievements

It felt... normal

This was a nice break, and surely what most Hogwarts students must've felt when they lived their normal lives

No evil organizations, no Cursed Vaults, nothing that a student shouldn't deal with at that age

Just life, as it was intended to be

Y/N L/N excelled at everything they put their mind to, but if there was one thing in which they were far behind all of the other students...was at living a normal, happy life

Until now of course. It only took six years to get there

And so, the student allowed themselves to close their eyes and finally call it a day after so much walking and talking, it was ironic how this would get them more tired than their usual adventures in the castle

#penny haywood x mc #penny haywood x jacob's sibling #hogwarts mystery

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getreadytosmash · 4 years

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Small smash headcanons I was thinking of and to put out my reboot designs

Skaar

Skaar took a more gladiator look from his time on Sakaar and no longer wears the loin cloth except for when he's on off days

His hair gets to around his upper back and often tends to be in buns and ponytails

Working on his reading and writing and gets help from Hulk and goes to the Xavier Institute for sessions with his mind control and memories

Got introduced to queer stuff by Rick and he was THRILLED to find out about this stuff and the footage of Skaar carefully picking out non binary, asexual and panromantic stuff was trending for a month

Yes I'm going into pridecanons a little more

Skaar's very happy with his own feelings of being nb. The rocks below him whisper about it always being fine and he doesn't need to care about what others say anyway. Not when they're too busy calling him a monster to care about his gender

Anyway. Skaar's sex neutral and I say this because its quite often the theory that all ace folks won't have kids blah blah but??? Some aces want sex to have kids and that's Skaar.

Ridiculously good sword fighter and often meets up with Nightcrawler and Shadowcat to have sword fights and compare tricks

Lots of whipping scars on his back and some around his mouth that hardly anyone knows are from

Has a matching scar with Red of a circle on the back of his neck as well as running lighting scars up his hands and feet with Rick, Red and Jen from where the Skrulls tried to harvest their gamma

Absolutely has the tattoo and has no clue about it

Occasionally has days where he can't remember the entire event and Skaar's become rather thankful that they can rely on Rick's cameras to guide him home if needed.

Adores the Savage Lands and is best friends with Kazaar and Zabu

Sometimes copies memes from Rick and it’s terrible

Likes having Jen help him with normal stuff, especially when she helps him learn stuff like reading and writing

Rick

Yeah, can’t feel anything and that causes a few secret depression episodes aha

Big on other sensory stuff now. Really likes to savour sights, sounds, taste and smells since he lacks a big ass part of it now. It really isn’t that uncommon for Rick to have a low of flowers within his bedroom and shit.

Has to file down his spikes since they keep growing and often Hulk does it for him while Rick falls asleep

Rick needs a lot more protein now and often eats eggs or fish and gets into big fights with Red over it daily

Uses a stylish for everything since his fingers don’t work on touchscreens anymore

Often wears sleeveless jackets with different pins. Owns four of them with three of them entirely dedicated to alien, mutant and bi rights

Well known Youtuber and I really need to get around to writing some videos he’s done god someone remind me to put out that shit

Hardcore gamer and still screams at Samuel to help make a dating sim come oN-

Can hold his breath for an hour and a half and didn’t realise until he fell asleep in the bath and got woken up by Hulk panicking and tossing him out of the water

Very intent on mutant rights and often helps out with teenage mutants and raising the social status of the school

Loves bi culture and is very defensive over aspects of his identity after years of feeling lost among the orphanages

Has gotten more comfortable with his gender since he’s been wearing kilts and skirts for almost two years now

Used to have scars across his hands and thighs from years of canings from the nuns but now has a large cracked scar across his chest after Abomination ripped his shell off

Red unintentionally fathers him and blames Hulk

Best pals with Jen and Betty and is the only one who gets to join them on Ladies Night with Lyra and Marlo

Stands on his tip toes when talking to Hulk often because he wants to be tall and it amuses Hulk to no end

Jen

Has a lot of different costumes she changes regularly and Rick always posts a vote on “What outfit has Jen got this week?”

Freckles and curly hair galore

Hulk paints her nails and she does the same for him and it isn’t long before Skaar joins in

Works in New York but stays at Vista Verde for her time off

Yes i do want a all female gamma mutate team and yes they are A-force

They consist of Jen, Betty, Lyra, Carmilla and Marlo but are sometimes joined by other female heroes

Wears sweatband wrists, left one is the bi flag and the right one is the trans flag

Was afraid about being open towards loving women for a few years since Jen knew her father didn’t do anything about Bruce’s abuse, what would happen to her if Brian found out she liked more than boys? Came out after hulking out and is happier than ever

The same goes for being trans since Jen’s form is based heavily on her mentality of her body. Gamma gave Jen the body she wanted and she was SO pleased with it

tbh I do imagine she was more comic/noodle armed at the start since Jen wanted to look rather feminine but over time she’s gotten more comfortable with her body and idea of who she wants to be and slowly she got beefier

Has two wardrobes at the base and makes Red help rearrange stuff for laughs

Pals with Samuel and often enjoys sitting around and dragging him out for shopping and starbucks while discussing cases

The one who appears in Rick’s youtube videos the most

Can never finish a book and feels deep seeded adhd guilt

Sings outloud to every thing she hears

Likes grape flavoured stuff and she is so thankful that she can’t die for that sin

BEST pals with Betty and Rick. Like. There’s a reason my “Betty is the OG Hulk and is a lil wlw with Jen” has happened honestly

Has vitiligo patches of grey around her arms that were left over from her more traumatic transformations

Watches Red bake if she’s having a panic attack and the videos don’t help

Red

Has a lot of scars over his body from where Ghost Rider’s chain dug into him and left him burnt. idk seems really fucking cool

Like Jen, has yellow patches along his spine and hands from where he was joined mentally with Zzzax

Still gets nightmares about said incident and is still scared for the day that a nightmare is actually happening

Started to bake because it helps from when he couldn’t control his heat powers or during ptsd attacks

Tends to get lost in work alongside Samuel, especially if they’re overly excited about a certain idea

Hulk fondly calls him a nerd for this exact reason and Red tackles him over it to this day

Tech reacts to him badly sometimes due to his possession issues and there’s been once or twice where he’s had some...odd experiences when it’s come to certain technology or alien tech

Stays the same mostly with his outfits but occasionally wears a leather jacket and fuck it takes his shirt off a lot he’s a dilf he can do that

The one who crouches for humans the most and it isn’t uncommon for him to do it purely to unsettle the humans. Ass

Uh. Likes women but??? Sometimes there’s an annoying guy and shit being able to be easily suplexed now means that anyone who can do it can kinda catch his eyes and he fucked a demon- uh. Red has a lot of thoughts now about dating and it’s nerve-wracking

Still does missions with his Thunderbolt team and still hangs out with Hell’s Circle team when he met others that had been dragged down to hell as well

Gets courted by vampires and hates the fact that the others laugh at it

Gets nightmares of crashing, of electric burning him away but doesn’t want to admit to the fact that he has some ptsd

Not really Red but fuck it Betty has her own team and I’m shifting the Gamma Corps for Betty so her team involves; Betty (Harpy), Marlo (Sirin), Clay (Hulkverine), Lyra (Athen), Carmilla (Scorpion) and Gwen (Daydream)

Right. Uh. So for those who don’t know who Daydream are, basically the writer at this time had been going through a bad divorce and he treated Betty like SHIT which involved breaking Bretty up before they could have a child, making Betty suffer a miscarriage, killing her and having the villain Nightmare raping her in her sleep and having Betty give birth to Daydream who appeared for one arc and was never seen again. So. I’m mad.

anyway fuck him but I did like Daydream so instead she was an experiment from gamma base as a unique weapon that got used to infiltrate the Agents sleep but was later on rescued along with the rest of the gamma experiments. Got adopted by Betty when she found out Gwen had her DNA and went “oh worm?” to getting a baby i have more thoughts about this but u know. carry on.

Hulk

So Tired. Part time team leader and Avengers and even has his many own adventures of trying to help so many people out

I imagine he has a lot of the same issues as Steven in suf where Hulk often stresses out more about not being able to help people since he worries about the worst case scenarios

Gets forced to take days off by each of the team and appreciates it but dear god if he doesn’t get anxiety about the whole situation every time

SomeTIMES he wears a blue shirt but only sometimes and that’s if he’s actually prepared for missions. Also has boots Red got him but Hulk keeps those clean and safe instead

Team dad for a reason. Fathers anything he can get his hands on and well known for it enough that Rick and Skaar get him something for fathers day every year and Jen gets him goofy ties because she KNOWS he doesn’t throw them out

Pretty relaxed about being pan and yes he makes jokes about being attracted to kitchenware he’s THAT terrible Rick wants to die and not come back pls

Buys a lot of pride stuff for the others. Skaar owns so many nb and ace colour chalks he needs help

Really wants to own a guinea pig but he’s worried about scaring it or not being around all that often to take care of it properly

Falls asleep through almost every movie that he usually starts one half of it one day and finishes it the next day

Meets up with Ben Grimm and Logan Howlett every Wednesday for a night out. Usually they do bowling, play cards or go out to eat. It’s isn’t uncommon for other heroes like Spidey or Gambit to join them occasionally

Has business lunches with Betty to discuss movements of gamma mutates that turns into a fun brawl because they’re immortal children

Keeps a whiteboard in his room so that he can have arguments with Joe and Bruce.

Samuel

Keeps his outfit relatively the same but adjusts it slightly so it isn’t the exact same outfit he wears back when he was evil

Tends to cover up more after he gains a power that lets him control people just by touch

Aware of this power and thus often awkwardly flitters when someone near him might be upset and keeps spare gloves or arm sleeves on hard just in case

Has the sharpest teeth of all the hulks and actually tends to file them down so he doesn’t need to “scare people off” when in reality he’s self conscious about his teeth and the fact that he keeps biting his tongue by accident

Buys and redesigns Icarus’s cage every other month to make it more elaborate, is currently fighting the constant urge to buy more rats for this reason

Demiboy! Fine with what he is, doesn’t give a shit. He rules hell and he’ll send you there if you argue with him so who the fuck cares if Samuel wears dresses and makeup?

Big stupid bi. Cannonly into women who are more powerful than him with examples being Rikki (Aka Brilliance, a female Leader) who kicked his ass and threw him across the room with her more advanced mind, Betty Ross...who can blame him, and lately is that one scientist in Hulkverine who Samuel literally fell for within one night sksksk

Big manipulator for people he cares about. Samuel has and will make elaborate plans to keep someone he cares about safe and is more than willing to kill anyone who has hurt his loved ones

Owns a large collection of nail polishes and tends to vary them when he’s bored and creates amazing art. Red watched Samuel once spend and hour re-creating all of Van Gogh’s paintings on his nails

Really good friends with Betty surprisingly, mostly because she can make jokes about being dead and he’ll just snort and go “same”

Has the second best sense of smell after Skaar as he can smell early signs of sickness as well as a wider range of emotions

Info dumps so much and has long winded theories about the oddest things that resonate really well on the Youtube channel

talks to his oversized rat so seriously

Suffers nightmares and currently runs the Down Below and is so tired

Has actually died from exhaustion twice already

Has large sockets in his back due to the fact that Samuel physically cannot hold the information he knows all the time and uses it to charge his phone

Still hangs out with villains like Loki and Mystique tho

#Headcanon #found in body lost in mind (Skaar)#movie star (Rick)#green goddess (Jen)#one man army (Red)#the loneliest there is (Hulk)#he swims in a sea of regret (Leader)#hate and love are both red (Betty)

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divingtotheunknown · 3 years

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Living In Uncertainties

To anyone who continues to resist like me, you may not realize it now but you are ever so lucky to not have experienced the COVID-19 pandemic. A huge part of people’s lives was swiftly taken from them as the virus raged across the country. Who would have thought that the one week suspension we heard on the news last year would last until now.

Most of the time, it felt unreal how the entire thing was. It was as if my world stopped and I was confined to one of its corners. I can’t say for myself how terrible the experience was, just that it was. It brought out the worst in the society, in men; selfishness, greed, indifference and above all, fear. Fear was the biggest of the four. It influenced all the others to terrorize the hearts and minds of people.

The virus was very unpredictable for a long time. It is actually testing the technology to stave off the virus. It could appear anywhere, anytime without us knowing and it could’ve meant life or death.

Which means to say that the possibility of anyone we loved or us ourselves getting the virus was high and that could very well be the end of the line. I can’t stress enough how badly that fear affected the mental and emotional well-being of a lot of the people I knew. Personally, I never expected this pandemic would let social media affect my own thinking. The same goes with the mindset of the public with what and how they consume information online. The fact the fake news is everywhere, undeniably a lot of people became victims of it, even some members of my family - which is why it is really important how important it is to be a responsible user nowadays. It was evident that during the first few days, we were vigorously trying to find ways to take off the looming dread from that thought but it seems that no matter how far we ran, that thought kept close on our tails.

People spoke up about the stress this entire thing would cause on society. In particular, the working class and the poor were the most affected. A lot of them needed to work daily just to get paid and earn a living. They had to stop so that they could be safe and also to stop the number of infected people from increasing. There was nothing they could do. When they left, it seemed as if society had stopped as well. To be honest, our business was affected as well. Luckily, I was able to help my parents continue the business through the use of e-commerce using different platforms online but I know and it is sad that not everyone has the access and ability to move forward using the same resources we had. Only a few workers were allowed to be outside of their homes, they were the medical workers and frontliners like those who worked in groceries. A lot of medical workers lost their lives to the virus. How painful it must have been for their colleagues to watch as the people beside them fell ill and succumbed to death. A friend of mine shared to me how hard it was for them not to see her father personally after dying due to a virus. He ended his life fulfilling his duty as a Doctor. Saying the last words for her Dad through video call is different from the usual but again, what can we do? I can only imagine all the pain they carried during those days. How brave they all were, risking their own safety for the sake of others. They did not want to be part of that front and yet there they were.

This stress was also put on students. Universities decided to conduct online classes completely. I did not see the fairness in that. While it’s true that we students should give value to our time by spending it on education, we too felt the weight of the situation. A lot of us were still coping with the madness that seemed to take on the world. But what could we do? Over a year, we have been so hopeful that one day, we can still go back to the campus but despite all that, I am still grateful for the power of media and technology. Applications like Facebook allows us to keep in touch, Twitter and Instagram reminds us to be updated, Blackboard, Zoom, Discord and other articulations of social media allows us to continue pursuing our dreams despite all the limitations and challenges brought by the pandemic. We had no choice but to resign to our fate of finishing the academic year against our wishes.

During these days, the government seemed to be at its worst. It turned out that hospitals all over the country were underprepared because they were not funded properly. What’s worse was that the government deployed the police and troops to “ensure public safety”. Just like what we always see in different social media applications, police do not protect the public, instead the people behind all the shortcomings in the country. How ironic it was to see the military well-armed. It added nothing more than fear to the people. There were several incidents where the military unjustly shot people down for being suspicious or unruly. They did not even hesitate to point their guns! Good thing is, with the continuous innovation in terms of technology, there was much evidence online that would prove the blasphemy of the abusers of power.

It did not take long for people to realize that they would be stuck at home for so long. Everyone needed to stay home and so they needed as many supplies as possible. However, it came to a point where people got greedy and all they could think of was themselves. People tend to hoard whenever they see news about the possible shift of quarantine and this is actually a situation I can connect with the lesson about substantivism wherein technology has a capability to affect or mold the people and even the society. I understand the need to look for one’s own welfare, I understand the need to care for our loved ones but what I did not understand was why people had to cross the line towards being greedy and hoarding far more than they needed.

As far as man has evolved, its progress is still so little. In the midst of a global crisis, they found time to claw at each other’s throats by pointing fingers to pass the blame. It came to a point where Asian people were discriminated against as carriers of the disease. Perhaps the worst case was that of the American president calling COVID-19 the Chinese virus. I felt ashamed of these people. There were a lot of others trying to help build more unity and yet these people were insensitive enough to cause more divisions. I dream that such connectivity has been brought to us by the media, hopefully time will come it will also apply to the society, country even as one nation.

It was truly a terrible time. Imagine the reality of a global scale crisis paired dawning on you from behind and before you are the immoral choices made by the society you live in. It was one of the most vulnerable moments of my life. I felt crushed by the immense weight of the situation we were all in.

I missed the outdoors, I missed my friends, I missed school. I missed the joys that I could only experience outside of my home, I missed the fresh air, I missed the sunlight. realized that I took a lot of these for granted. We can only see our loved ones on our screens and it is heartbreaking that we can no longer do the things we are used to. It’s true what they say: you only realize the value of some things once they are gone or taken away from you.

All I could wonder then, was if life would ever be back to the way things were.

They say that during the direst of situations, the worst and best in man shows. I’ve had my fair share of seeing just how bad a man can get. Yet, there were times when man’s goodness prevailed. In fact, you’d be surprised just how many of them there are.

A lot of people held volunteer work that reached out to poor communities so that they could be given food and supplies. Some people hosted online charity events from their homes to raise funds to donate to the medical effort, online donations drive and they even use media as their means of communication for community pantry. It was those moments that gave me hope and reminded me of how morally good people can be. During those moments it felt like not everything was wrong with the world.

Those days really made me realize how difficult it was to really put a finger on what morality is. Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that we may never really be completely good or bad. Sometimes, we’re a little bit of each other. Indeed, people are constantly changing, even technology and society. It’s unbelievable how new media changes our lives, our way of living and how we use these innovations although there’s always pros and cons. It’s hard to juggle that thought because we are so limited, so small compared to the universe we live in.

The message I leave with you now, dear reader, is to live. To live means to learn. To live means to see. To live means to understand, to appreciate, to feel, to live is everything. Get rid of the distractions caused by these changes. Concern yourself with the world so as not to be selfish but also devote time to yourself when you need it.

REFERENCES:

Soriano, P. N. (2021, August 31). Nueva Ecija records 14 new COVID-19 Delta variant cases. Rappler. https://www.rappler.com/nation/covid-19-delta-variant-cases-nueva-ecija-august-27-2021?utm_medium=Social&utm_campaign=Echobox&utm_source=Facebook&fbclid=IwAR20YsXyEhuxFMu7Y4P5uWon2xRnYZ7tqpQWSCJxxaaCdpFsTKtasfe5zI8#Echobox=1630055399

Pangue, J. (2021, January 9). In 2021, communities can prove that fighting disinformation isn’t just media’s role. Rappler. https://www.rappler.com/moveph/communities-prove-fighting-disinformation-not-just-media-role

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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Don’t Do Sadness || Morgan & Deirdre (feat. Ruth Beck)

TIMING: Current

LOCATION: Houston, Texas

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan flies back to Houston to pick up Agnes’ bones. But there’s other family who need her attention first.

CONTAINS: Mentions and discussions of past abuse

By the time the Houston trip finally rolled around, Morgan booked and planned their stay around her old hangouts in an autopilot haze rather than any eager sentiment. Thanks to modern technology, they largely avoided customer service desks and transitioned from plane to car to hotel without having to ruin anyone’s day. Morgan even put in a delivery order for her once-favorite Vietnamese restaurant from her phone and had it brought up like room service, with just a knock at the door and a quiet ‘thank you’ called into an empty hallway. There was little to say, since the gritty smog didn’t reach her nose and the lo mein she got for herself was soaked in soy sauce and sriracha before she could get a hint of any flavor aside from the brains she’d picked up on the way to the hotel. Morgan hadn’t even liked sriracha when she was alive. At the end of the night, they left the TV on (Titanic was playing on TNT) and laid down holding each other. Morgan thought of all the things she’d once imagined showing Deirdre, the cemeteries, the magic shops, the food, the landmarks. With crazy, non-existent zoning laws, high rises rubbed elbows with tire shops and mom and pop burger joints. There was no such thing as a ‘generic’ street until you were at least thirty minutes to an hour outside of downtown. But those were Alive-Morgan’s plans. This one just prayed that after they dug up what she needed tomorrow, they could bubble themselves up and forget all about White Crest and everything they’d left there on their last full day before they had to go crawling back.

But before they could dig up Agnes Bachman’s grave in the dead of night, Morgan needed to scope it out. And before she could do that, she owed her dead their respects. Sunrise seemed best for the visit. No one would be there except for the workers, the humidity was too intense, and morning traffic on the freeways was already in a gridlock. People would want to be anywhere but Washington Cemetery. Morgan reached for Deirdre’s hand as they passed through the gates, taking a second to appreciate the vastness of the sky. Houston was a flat swampland; from the right place, you barely had to tilt your head back to see as far as the human eye could see. The sky stretched above them like a golden purple dome, not a flash of wings or shadow or teeth in sight. The grass was patchy, but mowed even, so you could hardly tell the weeds from the rest. Flat headstones tiled the area in a perfect grid, so orderly you could play checkers on it with pieces big enough. Her parents were off to the side, near the roar of traffic and mumbling drifters. Every time she visited them, Morgan feared she would forget the way and get lost, but as soon as her feet met the pavement, she knew just where the next turn should be. “Agnes is kinda here by chance actually. When the older cemeteries got condemned, they split up the bodies to be re-homed or whatever, and some randos got the fancy cemetery next door, and Agnes and her kids got this one. They did some random algorithm or lottery thing, and apparently it made my grandmother so mad that she would have to share space with her. But it’s really not that surprising, with our run of luck.” She winced. “I know it’s not…as pretty or anything as what we have back home. Not sure what Texas has against standing tombstones. Maybe it’s all the hurricanes? At least markers don’t drift off course when they’re nailed flat to the ground.” That didn’t sound how she wanted to either. “I’m sorry, what I’m trying to ask is, how do you like it?”

Deirdre would not let them drown. For all the sadness that congealed around them, for every shred of darkness that pleaded to be accompanied, Deirdre would be stronger, louder. For all the pain that weighed down her love, she would carry it in herself, and lift her free. Months ago, a trip to Texas together would have read like a happy occasion—they’d spent nights tangled together swapping stories of their homes. She knew Texas through Morgan’s eyes. The smells, the heat, the thick and sticky air, were not new to her mind, only to her ill-equipped body. Though Morgan moved like she wasn’t so much coming home as she was walking to her death, Deirdre held a measure of excitement about everything, despite everything. It was magical to be in the place that once only existed in the stories she loved. There were the trees Morgan described, and while not those ones exactly, they were just as important for Deirdre’s slowly filling image of Morgan’s life. Their hotel held a beautiful view, and a large, lush bathtub perfect for soaking off the Texas heat. Morgan couldn’t see it, she realized, which is why she pointed each detail out with a smile. It was fine, anyway, love didn’t need to be hundred to exist. Whatever tar was intent on dragging her girlfriend underneath, she would be the life jacket. She could love enough for the both of them; be enthusiastic as if she carried two minds and care as if she were born of two hearts. And, of course, Vietnamese food from such fame as Morgan’s stories of sad nights eating it alone, was just as good as she described it then. Titanic, played in low quality on some choppy basic cable, as featured in tales of Morgan’s viewing it, was just like she said it was. And the side-of-the-road cemetery was just like she heard it might be.

“I love it here,” she breathed, happily leaning over to stare down at each name they passed. Loving it here, was not entirely accurate. She’d complained about the sticky heat already, waltzing around in a thin summer romper and still feeling like her skin was melting off. And she always liked cemeteries, so much so that it wasn’t even a question worth asking. It was being here, in the places that Morgan walked, in the home that she knew, that Deirdre loved. It felt like she had a place in those stories too, in her life. “As if pretty matters...” she breathed. “Oh my love,” Deirdre turned her attention away from the names she didn’t recognize and smiled at her girlfriend. “Don’t worry about that.” She paused and drew her into her arms, picking her up for a quick spin and kiss. “I love you. Do you know how exciting it is to be here? I finally get to see the grass that you did, smell the scents that you did, see the—“ she gestured at the sky “—everything that you did. It’s like...being a part of you. Knowing you. And you—“ she grinned and pressed another kiss to her girlfriend. “—are my favourite thing to know. I would never tire of it.” Even if it felt like Texas was trying to dump hot glue on her. “Tell me more,” she asked, brushing Morgan’s hair back before she settled her hand on her cheek. “Show me more, whatever you feel like. It’d be impossible for me to hate it.” She turned her attention to the cemetery and chuckled, “were you worried about me not liking a cemetery or are you concerned about your touring skills?” Deirdre turned back with a smile. “I think you’re doing a wonderful job, and this isn’t the only time we’ll come back here—we can take a thousand trips, if you wanted them. So...don’t worry; I always enjoy myself when I’m with you. And you’ve got more important things to keep your mind on.”

Morgan’s eyes welled as Deirdre poured all her affection on her at once. She knew she was loved unconditionally, that whatever else came up, Deirdre would care and care and care as long as Morgan let her, but with the air beneath her feet and her banshee’s strong arms around her body, it all pierced her shell and rushed in as a flood. She had burned to give Deirdre pieces of her no one else in town, no one else alive possessed. She had kept them up for hours some nights, talking about how good, how interesting and exciting for all its mundaneness Houston was. The murals, the galleries, the roadkill, the sprawl, the smell. Now they were here and she felt so weighed down by herself. The air, so eerily imperceptible to her new body, felt like it was pulling her into the ground.

I want to be here, Morgan reminded herself. I need to be here.

She clung to Deirdre for a moment, anchoring herself in her body. “I love you too,” she murmured into her shoulder. “After this I’ll show you anything you want. We can go anywhere, I’ll take you to a play at the last minute, they have one with skeletons and murder in it. Or this Italian restaurant my mother would insist on going to that does brunch, or the little one my dad would take me to sometimes that’s not as fancy but makes the best fettuccine and you can have fresh scooped gelato there, and this giant chessboard, and the Rothko chapel, it’s all in black and the skylight is beautiful, but it’s always a little cold in a good way and you can pray to any being in the universe there, and…” The list tumbled out of her in a rush, even if her voice didn’t quite lift to the occasion. Half of the words on her lips were impossible to recapture the way she was. Fresh tears came to her as she parted with pieces of each memory. The awkward silence as she and Ruth scraped their forks at Birraporetti’s, running out of things to say about the ballet only twenty minutes after the show. The mess she made on her shirt with the gelato in Rice Village, the dangerous thrill of buying a new shirt at the boutique next door instead of mending it with magic while her dad lingered outside for plausible deniability. Having something new, and whole, and secret. And there were hours singing loudly in her car, sloppily slathering sunscreen on her forearms too late because she’d gotten so caught up in the escape of the moment. It was all over and never coming back, as permanent as the ache her parents left behind.

Morgan breathed slowly and wiped her eyes, flashing Deirdre a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” she said. “I know everything is so awful back home and I’m trying to shake it off, but I am so glad of you, and so relieved. This is everything I want right now, even if it doesn’t look like it. I...stars, I hate not having anything to do after this visit most years, and now I do, and I’m not so painfully alone.” She jumped on her tiptoes and kissed her again as best she could. Wrapping herself against Deirdre as much as she could, Morgan led her around the next few turns along the path, guiding their steps by intuition and distant memory, until she saw two ghostly figures clustering by the fence.

Morgan stopped short. She couldn’t make out their faces, but she knew who her parents were. Somehow, even with all the Agnes drama, it hadn’t occurred to her that she might see them. Certainly not her dad. “Oh, stars…” Neither of them moved. Maybe they didn’t see her yet. “You see them, right? They’re really here, it’s not a trick this time. Shit, I can’t even…Deirdre, it’s my dad.” His face, from this angle, was whole and warm, and he did see her. He was just watching as serenely as he’d watched everything in life. His head tilted to one side, like he was working out how to parse a line of poetry, and Morgan burst with a laughing sob of recognition. He had the same ugly Hawaiian shirt he’d died in, and from this far away the sick on his shirt looked more like a food stain. It was so normal, so silly and safe and unlike anything in her life now.

Morgan didn’t know what to say to either of them, if they would be proud or even like the person she had become, but even having a fight in front of her girlfriend didn’t seem so bad right now. “It’s real, right?” Deirdre’s eyes could see them, if she tried. It wouldn’t be like before. How could it be, with her dad here? “We have to—he’s gonna love you, come on! Now!” She tore herself away and pawed for Deirdre’s hand, running for the spot so fast she nearly lost her shoes.

Deirdre leaned down to press her lips against Morgan’s neck, laughing in a warm flutter against her cold skin, afraid if she kissed her anyplace else, she might interrupt her. Her mind drifted as easily as Morgan rambled, she pressed nipping kisses in response to each point: a play would be divine, Italian sounds great, I’ve always liked fettuccine, what does a giant chessboard even look like? Houston held so many memories for Morgan, and just as many for Deirdre to learn. As well as she knew her girlfriend, there would always be some things that came new, and she could think of no greater delight than to know them. There was another feeling she didn’t know how to explain, something about life at her fingertips, a world under her lips. She loved their bubble in White Crest, but the earth was vast, and it could be theirs. Houston, Austin, whatever part of Texas Morgan wanted to show off—that was a new world for their taking. Was it so wrong for her to want more for them? To share in everything life had to offer, and then some? To love Morgan in White Crest, in Houston, on every inch of land they set their feet upon? Deirdre lifted her head from where she’d nestled it and smiled warmly. “Don’t apologize, my love. You don’t have to be chipper all the time, excited to show me restaurants and parks all the time….I just want to be with you, in whatever shape that takes. That’s always what I want. And if you want to do something after this, we can. And if you don’t, we can do that too. I’m really just happy to be here, and share in all of this with you….it means so much to me. Thank you, for letting me do this with you. Nothing will rob me of my excitement to be here. I love you, my Morgue, I always do.”

She held Morgan tight and careful, praying that her words might carry the power to soothe some worries. Visiting family graves was no easy task in general, there was no need for her love to be plagued by other thoughts. While the Dolan catacombs were a dark place of pride and worship—there was no sadness in death, after all, it was the greatest show of servitude—Deirdre imagined that Morgan, whose entire family was buried here, would find a visit heavier than most. She was prepared to hold her extra tight, even closer, kiss harder and love louder. She would not allow the sheet of sadness to smother Morgan. It was natural, then, that when Morgan happily yanked her along, Deirdre was shocked. She hadn’t even processed the information that Morgan’s father was a ghostly presence before she was running alongside her.

“W-wait! I’m not ready!” Deirdre yelped, laughing. She hadn’t expected to be meeting her girlfriend’s ghostly father either, and so she had no charming quips prepared. Should she have brought an offering? Did she call him Hector or Mr. Beck? Would he know what a banshee was? Was it appropriate to mention how rich she was before or after she explained the lengths at which she loved his daughter? “What am I supposed to say! All I know is that he likes musicals! I didn’t brush up on my musical knowledge!” She grew sweaty from anxiety rather than the heat, for once, blinking rapidly as her eyes spread into darkness and oh Fates, he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. Of all the shirts she pictured he must have died in, that one wasn’t it. His face was soft like Morgan’s, and he tilted his head just like her and—Deirdre shook her vision back to normal and tried to think. She needed to ready herself. At this rate, her eyes would be glued to his questionable fashion and that’d just be rude. Did humans still do that thing where parents had to be asked before their daughters could be courted? Why was it that she suddenly couldn’t remember basic manners? They ran to a halt and Deirdre doubled over trying to collect herself. She huffed and tried nervously to straighten out the wrinkles in her dress. “What if he hates me because I forgot to bring flowers?” She mumbled to herself, deciding finally on a simple ‘hello’. She took Morgan’s hand back in hers for emotional support and as her eyes darkened, she rehearsed her introduction. Hello, Mr. Beck, so nice to meet you, I love your daughter so much I’d burn the world down. No, that was too strong. Howdy, Hector, lovely ghost weather we’re— “My love, I don’t see him.” Deirdre blinked her death-vision away, turning to her girlfriend. “...Morgan?”

Morgan only looked away for a second. It was too good to see him laughing to himself, beaming and shaking his head like he’d just figured out something wonderful and obvious to turn around every time she said, it doesn’t matter, it’s fine, you’ll be great. But she looked back once so Deirdre would know by her smile just how true it was, and when she turned to the grave where her dad was waiting for her again, he was gone. Morgan stopped short, staring at the empty space. There wasn’ anywhere for him to hide in all this open space. And he wouldn’t. He’d never played those kinds of tricks on her. She searched the sky, and the roof of a plain mausoleum across the way, the still-fluffy top of an oak tree, but he was gone.

“What the fuck…” she whispered. She had seen him. It hadn’t been in her head, she’d really seen him, and he’d looked at her. He’d been happy. He didn’t know anything about the choices she’d made since her last visit, but he’d been happy and he’d wanted to see her. “Where did he go? I don’t understand.”

“Oh, and what am I, chop liver?” Ruth Beck demanded.

Morgan was too hurt to hide her pained grimace. This wasn’t about her mother, at least she’d gotten to practice speaking to her once before. But she hadn’t had a conversation with her dad since she was eighteen, a stupid kid in over her head. Why hadn’t he stayed to talk to her? Why didn’t he want to meet her again? Morgan continued to stare at the emptiness over his grave, mouth trembling.

“They don’t bring you the metaphysical manual for ghostly rules and behavior, Morgan. You don’t seriously expect to be handed a tidy little answer to make you feel better, do you? It’s fine; I've known all along how much you two care about me.” Her tone cut with bitterness. “I knew he wouldn’t stick it out with me forever, but I’ll give him this, I don’t think it was an entirely conscious decision. Whatever you took or whatever spell you cast to see us like this, it scratched his itch and now he’s signed off and done.”

Morgan stiffened. Nothing her mother said felt untrue, exactly, but it all sounded so twisted and awful, like her dad had betrayed her by crossing peacefully or like Morgan should be sorry for missing him after having a second chance dangled in front of her. She could never just be; Ruth always demanded her due. “I’m sorry, Mother,” she mumbled, trying desperately to keep her tears in. “I am happy to see you too. I should have said so.” She swallowed, forcing her body to remember breathing. “Are you okay?”

Ruth scoffed, unimpressed, and turned her attention to the woman with her daughter. “Who’s this? She’s taking you talking to the air pretty well. Should I be concerned?”

She knew it. It was her ruffled romper or tousled hair that did her in. Or the sweat, maybe it was the sweat. Hector took one look at how sweaty Deirdre was and vanished out of disgust. Or maybe it was that she’d taken so long to introduce herself, she should have ran up with her greeting instead of standing around waiting for her chance to do it. Deirdre frowned, turning to Morgan to apologize when another voice cut across the air. Deirdre couldn’t see ghosts without summoning her vision, but she could hear them perfectly fine. And she remembered then, hearing this woman and her biting remarks, that she’d seen two figures—the now-gone Hector and someone who was unmistakably Ruth Beck. Out of politeness, she tried not to look angry. She knew Ruth Beck better than she did Hector, not because Morgan loved Hector less, but because Ruth controlled her life even in death. Her painful, complicated memory could not be shaken. Deirdre knew Ruth by way of tearful retelling, shaky explanation of locked rooms and denied love—and the infuriating hypocrisy of her journal, left behind as if to taunt her daughter. And she knew her now, by the sharpness of her voice, and the burden shuddering down Morgan. Eventually, politeness was dammed, and Deirdre’s face twisted with displeasure. She drew Morgan close to her, and then—though she knew it wouldn’t help anything—shifted their bodies so she stood between Ruth and Morgan.

Deirdre let blackness spill across the whites of her eyes again as she looked up and stared Ruth down. She had Morgan’s brilliant blues, and lips that might’ve looked like her daughter’s if they weren’t pulled thin. Her sour expression was different both from Morgan’s transparent emotions, and the pictures Deirdre had seen of Ruth’s past. There were a thousand things she wanted to say to Ruth. She blurted just one, the thing that burned on her tongue, pulled her brows together and her lips down. “Your daughter is dead.” Couldn’t she see it? Feel it? Was it really so important now to be thinking about anything else, when the life of her blood was a zombie? She’d wanted to ask about the locked rooms, about why her husband could find peace in seeing his daughter but she could not, about why she loved Morgan so poorly, or if she remembered being in that cursed coin at all, but Deirdre’s confusion stuck out instead. She’d known Ruth was a questionable mother, but hearing her more offended about a greeting than noticing her own daughter was dead, was something strange. “I’m Morgan’s girlfriend; Deirdre. I’m sorry your husband’s vanished so suddenly. I wonder how terrible that must be for someone who hasn’t seen him since he died. It must be exciting to see someone after that long, don’t you think? Perhaps you’ve been spending so much time remembering that there is no competition here that you forgot your own manners.” Deirdre didn’t know what she was saying, exactly, the words tumbled from her mouth freely. Unlike their forgotten meeting on the beach, Deirdre knew the kind of woman Ruth was now, and she wasn’t so eager to impress her. It would be nice for Morgan, she knew, if her mother approved of something she held dear for once. And perhaps Deirdre should have taken more care for her manners, but Ruth’s words were needlessly petty, and Deirdre didn’t care to make either of them listen to it. She stood straight, stern, breaking her stance only to attend to Morgan, and lend her strength where she needed it.

Ruth had to do a double, no, triple take at her daughter to see if this strange woman was telling the truth about her daughter. She had assumed that sentimentality had gotten the better of Morgan and she’d taken some drug or commissioned some truly powerful magiks to see if her talking to the air all these years amounted to something or not. But she looked, and even with this Deirdre woman blocking her full view, she understood. Then, of course, the woman kept talking, offering her opinion on things that weren’t any of her business. How could she know that Ruth had been looking forward to seeing her every November? Or how much it stung that when granted her ghost-sight, Morgan hadn’t said, it’s my mom and dad, it’s my parents. Only her dad, the one who had coddled and endangered her with his stubborn sensitivity, and then marked himself as a damn saint when he died just four months after Morgan turned eighteen. And this Deirdre couldn’t know how much she’d tried to shuffle off this god-forsaken coil, or how it felt to be left alone, for good this time, by the only person in her miserable life who had been stubborn enough to stay in the first place. No one knew. Even in death, Ruth Beck was certain she remained cursed. When she was sure this Deirdre was quite finished, she looked at the fluff of hair poking out from the woman’s arms. “Is this true, Morgan?” She asked.

Morgan let Deirdre whisk her out of sight, if only so she could compose her face and gasp out the few sobs that wouldn’t be swallowed away. She should probably be happy that all her dad wanted was for them to really see each other again, or maybe see her happy and loved. But her mind was still circling that one second. She could’ve squeezed out an I love you, or a hang on. Just hang on a little fucking longer, enough to meet my girlfriend, enough to know that I’m teaching at a real university, I’m going to make Constance pay for what she did to you, I miss you… but all those possibilities had evaporated in an instant.

But Morgan couldn’t evade a direct question from her mother, no matter how Deidre tried to shield her. Morgan lifted her head and nodded, still holding onto her girlfriend. “Surprise,” she said, breath shaking. “The curse got me, just like you said.”

“I told you,” Ruth began. “On our last phone call, I told you, Morgan--”

“Yeah, well I tried anyway! And actually I got kinda close, but…you were right and I was wrong.” Morgan shrugged, her smile pulling into a pained gash on her face. “So now I’m this. Sad zombie lady. About seven months and counting. And it’s the worst, but I have at least a couple of friends, and Deirdre, who loves me, and who you would probably like if you weren’t spending so much time scrutinizing her like she’s a science problem. She’s insightful, and clever, and curious. She loved me even before I was like this, and she’s still here. So I can’t say I truly regret any of my actions, because I don’t want to know where I’d be without her. But I know that doesn’t sound like good news to you, so I’m at least partially sorry for that, I guess.”

Morgan changed the topic by way of reaching into her bag and fishing out a now partially crumpled bouquet of flowers. “I was gonna split up the bunch in two, but I guess they’re all yours now.” She held them up for inspection out of habit, before realizing that Ruth may not be able to take them for herself and so knelt in the grass to cram them into the bronze vase welded to the gravestone for this purpose. As she arranged the mess, the real news she wanted to share burned on her tongue. But some habits were hard to break, and she was too stiff with ritual fear to begin without first asking, “Are you really okay, Mother? Is there something I can do for you?”

Ruth Beck didn’t say anything for a good long while, but stared, just barely holding her heartbreak at bay. “Oh, pumpkin. I told you going to White Crest would only bring you more suffering,” She sighed. She looked over at Deirdre, defiantly transparent in giving her a critical once-over. “And what are your thoughts on this nonsense? If you’ve been with her through death, you’ve had to learn about our little family sickness eventually. Has she told you what happens to nice, loving girlfriends yet? I’d give you three guesses, but you just saw one of them disappear. And just how are you perceiving me, exactly? I don’t think you’re the one responsible for granting Morgan an extra half-life, but the exorcists and the wannabes who come out here don’t generally get ink in their eyes when they look at me.”

Morgan bowed her head as she worked, visibly cringing at the exchange. “Please be nice to her, Mother,” she said, barely above a whisper.

Deirdre had been expecting more bite, perversely, she had hoped for it. Not for Morgan, but onto herself. She hoped, perhaps, that if her annoyance shifted someplace else, Morgan could be freed from it. Yet, as she had been learning about Ruth, the woman could not make herself easy to hate. Complicated was less like a descriptor and more like a way of life. Even Deirdre, who had no intentions of conceding to Ruth, slumped a little when her bait wasn’t taken—embarrassed that she tried it in the first place. But she shook the sensation away and watched Ruth carefully, listening with an attentive ear. If that bite ever came back, she’d swallow Morgan up in a hug again and stand between them...but if she could be gentle...Deirdre shifted, releasing her high wall of protection for a sturdy one of support. Though she felt a little more like a guard dog, ready to snap if anything came too close. She anchored herself to Morgan’s side, even as she moved, as if stuck there. She hadn’t been expecting, either, that Ruth would address her again. She thought one angry comment was enough for her to ignore her, but Ruth was, as Deirdre supposed, terribly complicated. All she had really wanted to say to Ruth was how dare you and if she had some corporeal body, she might have settled for one dramatic slap. She knew Ruth by her failures as a mother, and as someone who loved Morgan as well, she was the harshest critic of the woman. Just as, she imagined, Ruth was in turn harsh of her.

“I love Morgan very much,” she began, though speaking to Ruth, she smiled warmly at Morgan. “I’ve loved her for a long time. If you’ll let me be dramatic to say it, maybe since I’ve met her. I intend on loving her for a longer one.” She turned to look at Ruth, her smile colored by confusion. Surely the woman who loved, and started a family, understood why Deirdre stayed, so was she testing her? Or did she really not know? “I always have. I’m not so afraid of death, that I would refuse to live. You and your husband have had a good life, wouldn’t you say? She has told me what happens, it might have been the first real thing she told me—and even if it wasn’t, you and I both know that Morgan wears her emotions freely.” Deirdre tilted her head to the side, withholding remarks about how terrible it would be to stamp that away. Or that she couldn’t understand how Ruth would know how badly her daughter wanted love, and then deny it. And if she could understand it, then she certainly couldn’t grasp how a mother would do that, and then expect that her daughter might still be excited to see her. She either played the villain and accepted it, dealt her tough love and recognized what it must have done or...well, she was the standing example of what happened when someone didn’t. “In a good way; in the best way,” she added quickly, nearly in a hiss. “I thought it was noble of her to want to fight fate, silly maybe, but the spirit to fight is a commendable one. How could I not want to be by her side? Maybe we would have had five years, or a few good months, maybe she would have won and freed herself...all I knew then was that I loved her, I wanted her to be happy, and if I could be there too...maybe we could make something together. Pain is unavoidable for anyone, death is equally as demanding, but somethings are worth it, aren’t they?” She had more to say about risks and love and much she knew that death could take prematurely, but that she was always ready. It never was so much the length of time, but how well it was spent. That she knew, better than the average person, just what fate she might have agreed to, and that she didn’t care. She loved Morgan more than letting fear rule her, or them.

But she realized quickly that Ruth was not as endeared to her long speeches and Morgan was, and left it there. ”I’m a banshee,” she explained simply, pressing a kiss to Morgan’s forehead. “And you didn’t answer her question: how are you?”

Ruth’s face remained impassive as the woman, the banshee, spoke. She understood a great deal, though how, Ruth didn’t know. It hadn’t been from Morgan. It would have been nice if she had been able to put those desperate puppy eyes Morgan seemed to have for her to good use and stop her. Keep her alive. But of course she hadn’t. The only way to get Morgan to do anything she didn’t want to was to make her. “I can see why she likes you,” Ruth said. “You’re a romantic fool as much as she is. More common sense, but…” Not enough to keep her in check. “In a less cursed lifetime maybe more of what you said would be true. Maybe wherever the heck you come from, it is. I guess I’m glad she stopped being a liar long enough to tell you.”

“Mother—“

Ruth continued as if she hadn’t heard Morgan’s interjection. “You seem kind, Deirdre. Enough to deserve better than whatever being attached to us is going to bring you. Everything is a bargain, Deirdre. And sometimes the universe cheats. And if she’s gone and made herself a zombie and made this mess last until some dumbass with a sword comes along, I’m not sure if you can know what you’re signing up for.”

“The curse is over, Mother,” Morgan said, hand clenched in Deirdre’s. She feared what looking away from her mother would do, if she would be left dangling and abandoned again or if her mother would read something cruel into it, so she only held onto Deirdre, tight, and hoped she understood that her love was keeping Morgan from falling apart. “I didn’t break it, but it’s done with me. And there’s more, something good and more I want to tell you, but for the mother of earth, I wish you’d just tell me anything about how you’re doing or what I can do for you.”

“I’ve been about as well as you can be after three years being a specter in this place. Neither of you want to know how well I’m really doing.”

Morgan exhaled stiffly. “I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t—I died too, okay? I ‘m not a ghost but I do get something about how awful—

“Don’t say that like it’s something I want,” Ruth’s voice managed to cut without raising to a scream. “If you had just listened to me, if you had accepted for once that I know what I am talking about and I’m not some evil gorgon bent on ruining your life, maybe you wouldn’t.”

“I am trying to tell you that I am taking our power back, Mom!” Morgan flinched to hear the way her voice snapped with anger. She always took the bait, no matter how long it had been or how much she said she wouldn’t. And realizing this made no difference. She couldn’t stop herself from going louder, more determined. “I found the miserable little witch who cursed us. I ripped her out of the ether to make her confess and after she came back to finish the job she started, I found a way to make her pay. She is going to suffer as much and as long as a ghost can for what she did to me and to you and your mother before you and mother before her. I am doing that. Me, Mother! I am taking control of our lives and if there is some miserable little Bachman descendant out there, they aren’t going to have to suffer another cursed year when I’m done with her! I am as free as I am ever going to be, and when she is ground into nothing but floating particles, she is never going to be able to cast her shadow over me or you or anyone. That’s what I wanted to tell you.” She smiled sadly. “I thought it might make you happy. I may not be doing what you wanted, but I am doing something right.”

“Morgan—”

“I’m not finished. I know you lied to me about going to White Crest. I met Nisa and her kids. I found your stuff. Everything you kept from me about your time there. I know, Mom. Everything you pretended you never were.”

“White Crest was a mistake. If you knew, it would only give you hope, it would encourage your outrageous tendencies to reach for something that’s not yours to have. I wanted to keep you safe, Morgan. Are you trying to say that’s a crime, now? Clearly I didn’t do a good enough job teaching you or protecting you, but now I’m a demon for even bothering?”

Morgan hung her head and wondered why she bothered.

“I’m waiting,” Ruth murmured.

Somehow her quiet tone hit Morgan worse than the rest. The words on her tongue started to dissolve. The questions she had for her drifted away like so much dust. What had she really expected? What could there have ever been to hope for? Morgan didn’t have it in her to hold back her tears. Everything went into keeping her voice even. “Maybe the way you tried was. Maybe…” Maybe it should have been.

Deirdre grimaced, pulling Morgan in so she could be tucked tight against her chest. It would have been wholly inappropriate to throw salt at Ruth, but that didn’t stop Deirdre’s hand from inching towards Morgan’s purse. “Hey,” she cooed for her girlfriend’s ears only. “You’re okay; you’re doing good.” She wrapped her arms around her tighter, just the way she liked, like the two of them were the only people who existed. She pressed her lips to the top of her head, hard as she could, and turned to look at Ruth. “It’s a terrible crime, actually. To let fear masquerade as love.” She pulled back just enough to lift her hand up and thumb Morgan’s tears away, as covertly as she could—not that the tears themselves were shameful, but because she understood the desire not to lend any more ammunition to an angry mother. “May I say something?” She asked Ruth, having no intention of listening to her answer anyway. “It’ll be long, so bear with me. But if anything, maybe we can let it serve as a breather for this conversation. I ask you, Mrs. Beck, do you love your daughter? Is there an answer to that you can admit? I would assume you do, and if so, there’s just something I don’t get...let me try and understand you a little better. Correct me where I’m wrong, but let me take a stab at your life.” Deirdre breathed in, drawing her attention away from Ruth so she could care for Morgan. There were tears to wipe, and strength to work back into her bones. Look at me, she was saying, don’t think about your mother, look at me. And like that, she began. “You hate the way your mother raised you, Mrs. Beck. It was cruel, and unfair, and I’m sure she must’ve justified it to you—if your life was suffering, if you loved nothing, there would be nothing to take. Or maybe she just didn’t care, she didn’t want a child anyways. But you grew up, and you got away, and you lived your terrible, tragic life until you found your way to White Crest with hope. But your curse, and the pursuit of its end, hurt people or it would hurt people, eventually. Good people, kind people, even yourself. Maybe the guilt was too much to live with, maybe you tried and tried and there really was no end—not without something too drastic even for you. So you left. And then you met your husband. And he, like you’ve called me, was a romantic fool. Stubborn, I bet. What did he say when you told him about the curse? That it was okay? That he would stay with you anyways? That he didn’t care?” Deirdre looked up at Ruth, smiling softly. “So, he finally convinces you and you two get married. And then you think, or maybe he gets through to you, that there might just be a life around your curse. If you’re smart, and careful, maybe you can make something good. And then you start a family, maybe by plan, maybe by surprise, it doesn’t matter how just that it did. And you have a daughter. And you realize that you can’t raise her like you were, so you try to be better. You don’t tell her about the curse, because the curse only brings pain, and ignorance can be a powerful thing. Either that’s your idea or it’s your husband’s, but that doesn’t matter either. You don’t say anything, and neither does he. But his love is open, yours is not. And how could it be? You know the dangers of love better than anyone else. You’re smart, and careful. And so your daughter wonders, tragedy after tragedy, what’s wrong with life. But you don’t tell her. And ignorance isn’t enough, she needs to be more careful, like you. You try to teach her how not to laugh, love, look forward to things. But you know it’s not working, despite your best efforts, because your daughter is like her father, in that regard—open. And then he dies, and there are some secrets you can’t keep alone. And suddenly all your daughter’s self-hatred has another place to go, and you know what happens next. You’ve lived your life, you know what it does to hope and argument. You try to tell her that she can make a good life with her curse, a smart one, a sensible one. You did it, after all; for those few years. And then you die, and she goes anyways, and you wait for her every year like clockwork. But you see, what I don’t understand with this story is how? How did you ever expect her to learn how to be happy in between the years when you taught her to fear happiness? How are you so blind to the fact that you hurt your daughter? How can you claim to know her so well, and yet speak with such ignorance? How is it that you can love your daughter, and yet never say it? She wasn’t wrong to go to White Crest, just like you weren’t. It’s a courageous act. How do you not know that? Her recklessness, her naïveté...none of those things are bad. She hopes, she fights, even when her odds are impossible and to do so doesn’t make her wrong, it means she was able to do something you couldn’t. How are you not proud of her? Morgan is the strongest person I know, strength she learned not because of you, but in spite of you. How can you think so lowly of her, that you don’t trust that she understood the risks? How?”

Deirdre shook her head, sighing her speech away. “You know what effect you have on your daughter. I know you see it. The curse is gone now, and even if it wasn’t, you’re both dead. You don’t have to keep this up, Mrs. Beck. I know you want to be a good mother, there’s nothing stopping you now. I ask you again, do you love Morgan? And are you sorry, for the role you’ve had to take in her life? Or do you want to float there and justify it to us like your mother might’ve?” Deirdre offered another smile, small but not but less sincere. At least, if everything she was saying was wrong, she hoped Ruth could see that her love for Morgan was true. And if she really cared about her own daughter, then they’d be two people on the same page. “Why don’t we try this conversation again, Mrs. Beck? Maybe listen to Morgan a little better, for once.”

“You don’t know fear,” Ruth tried to interrupt. Whatever airs this woman put on, she didn’t understand what it meant to be a mother, or what the cost of their existence truly was. She didn’t know how much of the banshee myths were true, but she couldn’t know enough about the universe to know when you were pinned down and doomed. “You don’t know me--” But the woman wouldn’t be stopped, and Ruth fell quiet. For the first time, she began to believe that Morgan had figured some things out. She had at least figured out enough for Deirdre to connect most of the dots. She didn’t have enough to make the spell work, to see Ruth as she truly was. Her affection for Morgan, blasted and cursed and biased, was too strong for that. But it was more than Ruth had expected. She couldn’t help but be stricken by it.

The only thing that kept Morgan from turning into Deirdre’s arms and hugging her was the pull of her mother’s face. The more Deirdre went on, so gently and kindly and with so much confidence, the more Ruth seemed to crack. It probably wasn’t visible to Deirdre, but Morgan had scrutinized her mother’s face for years searching her mother’s face for approval, for forgiveness, for a shadow of affection. She could transmute any scrap of tenderness into just enough to hope for. She knew the widening of her eyes, the way the edge dulled in her jaw or her frown slackened, there was something there. Some feeling that was for her. Morgan wished then for any passer-by to wander past them so her mother could borrow their body for a second, just long enough for Morgan to throw herself into her arms and beg and drag that feeling out of her.

“Mommy--” She whispered.

“It was a mistake.” Ruth said, clenching her airy fists. “I didn’t want to bring a child into this world with my problems, my curse. I am aware that I lack the typical temperament people look for in a good mother. And besides that, I wanted to be the end. And my one job above all else was to protect you. Not to be your friend, not to coddle you--”

“Mommy, please.”

“You need to understand.”

“I do! I do understand why you hurt me! I know you tried and I know you were afraid of loving me because of Constance’s fucking curse, but that doesn’t mean it was okay! And you can’t throw me into a room anymore just because you’re afraid that I’m having too many feelings for you to handle!”

“I wasn’t afraid of loving you, Morgan,” Ruth said, more quiet and stiffly controlled than ever. “I was afraid because I already did. I took one look at you, doughy and red and screaming and I loved you. And say all you want about chemicals and hormones in the wake of a pregnancy, but I couldn’t shake that love no matter how stubbornly you disobeyed me or how miserable you tried to make me. A love like that could only mean it would find you sooner rather than later. So I protected you.”

Morgan’s face crumpled with tears. She had waited her whole life to hear her mother say she loved her and now she wanted to scream to drown it out. “You hurt me. You didn’t even want me and you hurt me.”

“I changed my mind about wanting you as soon as I saw you.” Ruth said.

“That doesn’t matter. Like what, if your mother was here and she said she loved you, that would excuse how she destroyed you? Everything she took and burned and beat out of you?” Morgan stared wide-eyed at her mother, daring her to challenge what she said. “She turned you into someone capable of locking your kid away all day. Someone who would try to yell at her out of a fucking panic attack. Someone who would rather gaslight her child into hating herself to the point of danger than admit the truth. Someone couldn’t say I love you for her whole life. Is making you capable of that okay if she loved you? Love isn’t supposed to hurt like that, Mother. It’s not anything a person should want or be giving if it’s giving out licence to be cruel too.”

“Sometimes, pumpkin--”

“No. Not with love. Other reasons, fear, jealousy, anything else. But not that.”

“Then what is it you want from me, Morgan?”

Morgan had to think. She couldn’t touch the thing she wanted, not if it came with accepting all those miserable years, all that misguided bullshit, the skewed equations that meant her self-hatred was worth this so-called perfection and calling it love. She clung to Deirdre’s arms, fastening her tight to her back. It had been a difficult autumn, but what they had was never cruel, never calculating. Their mistakes and lapses were honest. They told each other what was wrong and what they needed. They were honest. They were sorry. Morgan threaded their fingers together as she cried. She tried to breathe with her, steady and confident. “I want you to apologize,” she said.

“I did the best I knew how. I swear to you, no, you--” she pointed at Deirdre. “If I am holding back even a little truth, I will vanish from this cemetery and haunt somewhere else for the rest of my days. I swear--”

“Don’t, Mother,” Morgan said softly. She let go of Deirdre and slipped away, coming right up to her mother until they were face to face. She needed to do this much on her own. “You don’t have to swear. I get it. This is hard for you. And you just want to feel like it was all worth it. All those mistakes, those shitty choices, all of that pain you made both of us carry. You want the exchange for what you sacrificed. But the spell isn’t what you thought it was, Mommy. You got it wrong and it’s not going to bring you what I feel like you’re asking me for.” She sniffled and tried to cup her hand around the shape of her hand. If she could just squeeze it, if she could hold even a piece of her for a second-- “Now, I’m going to destroy the person who really started this. Because you used to be just a sad little kid like I was and none of it was ever going to be fair and you deserve to know that she’s going to be punished. I’m gonna do that for us. Her soul will be nothing and she will hurt as much as we have the whole way. But I can’t get rid of what you did by destroying her. If you want something back from me, you have to at least tell me--” Morgan shuddered as her resolve crumbled one word at a time. “Tell me you’re sorry and you know now it was wrong. Just tell me that much.”

Ruth didn’t say anything for a long time. She could not bear to look at her daughter’s face, unnaturally pale as she began to sob. Morgan always grew red so quick. She forgot how to breathe, it was like she was so ready to run from any suffering, she’d try and take herself into the ether to hide from it. How she made Ruth panic when she hyperventilated. Her eyes would grow big she’d wheeze so helplessly, expecting Ruth to simply know the antidote. “I love you, Pumpkin,” she whispered, just for her daughter’s ears. Then she leveled her gaze at Deirdre. “My vow still stands. I swear I shall not haunt this place another moment again if I am holding any lies or doubts in my heart. I was wrong. I was wrong and I’m—I’m—”

There was a terrible pause before Morgan saw her mother dissipate. She had expected the trick as soon as the words had begun, but there was no bracing herself for the silence that claimed her mother’s voice and in the farthest, saddest parts of her, she thought she screamed just so she didn’t have to hear it.

There were several reactions Deirdre expected—anger, acceptance, sorrow. But for all she expected, Ruth was undeniably hard to read. She reminded her of her own mother in that way, as if her only emotions were anger and pride. Deirdre had yet to see the pride though, but she imagined it would come. And she hoped, as anyone who loved Morgan might, that it would be the right kind. She watched her intently, knowingly. Ruth had an answer delivered to her on a plate in two courses; an admittance of love, and an apology. She knew one would be easier than the other, but as Morgan had taught her, she hoped for both parts. And she waited. And she listened and she cut her ears through all of Ruth’s filler. And she waited. “I don’t accept that,” she mumbled, rejecting her vow. How could she? Neither of them were asking Ruth to leave, only to accept the truth all of them knew. There was no reason to swear to her, and Deirdre held no desire to humour her game. She would stand there and she would be honest on her own merits. She would listen to the sound of her own voice for once. And so she waited. The love came strangely coated in guilt, before her attempt at bolstering a fae bind, but at least it came. As Ruth continued to speak, Deirdre realized her vow was some manner of a performance. She had been withholding the truth from the start, hadn’t she? And now she wanted her exit, and freedom from Morgan. How would her daughter ever find her if she haunted some other place and she had no more magic to search? The hope she had, little as it was, shrank. Ruth revealed herself to be many things: a liar, a coward, and a bad mother. “I don’t accept,” Deirdre mumbled again. She wanted to ask her what it was this time, fear or guilt? Which did she let disguise itself as care? But she was gone soon, perhaps realizing Deirdre hadn’t created any promise between them, and she needed to be away from any more ideas she didn’t like. Deirdre turned her gaze to the cemetery gates, half expecting to find Ruth there, tip-toeing her way out with her bag of stolen goods over her shoulder.

Satisfied that Ruth wasn’t lingering behind some tree, Deirdre blinked her death-vision away and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to pull Morgan against her, “I’m sorry.” As it was, even trying to show how much they understood of her—how much her daughter, the very woman she didn’t think understood much, knew—and how she had no more places to hide, she still manufactured her own escape. “I’m sorry your mother is...like that.” She surrounded Morgan with her love, affection that would not leave, and hoped it could make something okay. “I didn’t accept her promise, by the way. It didn’t seem right to let her have that. But I suppose she just left anyway.” Deirdre sighed, and tried to meet Morgan’s eyes. “How are you, my love? Are you okay?”

Morgan whipped her head around, one side, then the other, searching for where her mother had gone. How far could she have gone? Where was she? Her chest burned and she clenched her fists to keep herself together. “You coward!” She screeched. She strained her eyes on the horizon, hoping to see her silhouette, even a vague Ruth-shaped blip nearby. How good could she be at this after only three years? “You don’t love anything, how dare you!” She kicked the bronze flower holder, over and over until it bent and the flowers spilled over. “You don’t want to talk to me, fine!” Her voice broke and she slumped in Deirdre’s grasp, weeping and gasping. “I should’ve known, I should’ve known she would never--” She grit her teeth and shook her head. “I heard you, and I knew you would never, you wouldn’t take her from me…” She shuddered, choking on sobs. “I don’t want you either!” She screamed to the sky. Maybe she was hiding there, or in a treetop, or behind a car. “I don’t want anything from you until you can tell me that, you coward!” She screamed again and buried her face in Deirdre. “I should’ve known she wouldn’t ever--” Change. Be different. Be better. She had died cruel and now she was determined to be that way. All that fear, all those stupid horror stories and bad memories-- Morgan sobbed and sagged against her girlfriend. “I’m sorry,” she said, still gasping. “You shouldn’t have had to put up with her, and what she tried to put on you.” At least she had run away on her own terms, if that could even be counted as a bright side. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess at least I don’t have anything left to say to her,” she laughed bitterly. “I don’t know. I wanted her to be better. If she was here, I was hoping she would...be someone who wanted to be better. I thought if I just understood…and I do, I do understand her pain. But she couldn’t…” Morgan shook her head and let it fall onto Deirdre’s chest. She was tired, and she wanted to be somewhere else.

“It’s not so bad—not so wrong—to hope.” Deirdre hummed, holding her girlfriend close, arms weaved around her as tight as she could manage. “I did too. I really thought she would—“ Deirdre swallowed, sighing the rest of her sentence away. It didn’t matter so much now that they had; Morgan wasn’t at fault for expecting her mother to...be a mother. Deirdre breathed her girlfriend in, pressing her lips against her jaw. There was much she didn’t know about motherhood, or family itself, but she had hoped that Ruth loved Morgan enough to face herself. She couldn’t imagine any other feeling being stronger than love. “It’s okay,” she kissed her cheek now. “Don’t be sorry to me. I’m okay.” She reached her hands down, and felt around Morgan’s purse for a pen and a tissue. “Let’s go back to the hotel, okay?” She kissed her again, pulling back and clicking the pen. “And we don’t have to do anything else. And if you’re feeling up to it, we can come back for the bones tonight like you planned, or we could do it tomorrow, or I can get them, or—“ Deirdre smiled softly. “Let’s just go back, and we can figure out the rest from there. We always do.” She scribbled carefully on the tissue, showing its contents off to Morgan when she finished. “Our address,” she smiled, stuffing it under the bent flower holder. “In case she wants to be civil for Yule. If not, I can throw salt at her. Ghost mothers are convenient like that.” She stepped back, her eyes drifting to the small note she left in the corner “if you want to try it differently”. Deirdre took Morgan’s hand in hers. “All good?”

Morgan rested in Deirdre’s arms, barely standing at all. There was something so counterintuitive and strange and gratifying about knowing Deirdre had hoped too. Even with all she knew of the world and all she knew about Morgan’s mother, she had it in her to hope. Morgan hiccuped another harsh sob and squeezed her girlfriend tight. “I love you,” she mumbled. “And I never, never want to hurt you the way either of us were. I love you and I want our life to be better. And I don’t need anything she has if it’s not going to fit with that.” She just wanted it. Or rather, she wanted her mother to learn to give something she could keep. Just one thing. One nice thing. Morgan hadn’t been able to give her peace with anything she had to say and she had nothing left in her to offer. She clung to Deirdre’s body as she fiddled in her bag and scribbled on the tissue. The rawness in her throat eased as she saw the note, the hope Deirdre was determined to carry for her, for both of them. She felt like a discarded pumpkin, hollowed out and too soft to stand. When Deirdre had finished her work, Morgan squeezed herself flush against her body again. “Thank you,” she said. “I...really like that. I guess when she can choose different…” Morgan shrugged, even as her trembling lip gave away the lingering pain.”Maybe she’ll be at peace. Maybe we both will.” Because that ache was still in her, the one cut by the girl she’d been, banging on her locked door and begging her mother for another chance, for her love. Morgan told the ache to hush, and wait, and have hope. She breathed slowly, trying to make her body still again. If it worked at all she couldn’t tell, but with Deirdre’s hand in hers, it didn’t matter. She nodded and started walking back toward the parking lot. Morgan cast one more glance at the cemetery, watching the shadows and the ripples in the short grass. Was she here? Was she watching? Was Agnes? But there wasn’t a soul to be seen, living or dead anymore. Morgan tucked herself into Deirdre’s side, murmuring, “I still want today to be good. I just need to lay down with you for a little bit, in our world. And then we’ll do all those things we said. And when we come back for Agnes--” She cast one more look back at the cemetery, lingering on her mother’s grave before turning to the spot where she knew Agnes was buried, too much in the shadow of the mausoleum for the grass around her to grow even, her placard probably weathered down to nothing. Morgan squeezed Deirdre’s hand to signal that she’d be back. She scooped up the fallen flowers and ran them over to Agnes’ neglected grave. It was so old, it wasn’t even granted a bronze vase with the others. Who was alive to care about her? Morgan laid the flowers down as neatly as possible and ran back to Deirdre’s arms. “We’ll make things good for Agnes too. If she’s still around here, we’ll help her too.”

“I love you too.” Deirdre said, marveling at how right those words always felt tumbling from her lips. Like breathing, she thought, and couldn’t imagine how anyone else thought they could be so hard to say. She nodded her agreement to Morgan’s words; they would be good to each other, as good as they possibly could be; they would be kind; they would be honest; the hurt they had endured would never be the hurt they left in the world. She could understand Ruth’s fear and cowardice, but only where it had come from, not why it needed to be clung to. She would not emulate her, and she knew Morgan wouldn’t either. It felt so simple then, holding Morgan in the cemetery that held her family, that they could be good. But as she had started to learn, simple did not mean bad. “Are you sure you want to—?” Deirdre swallowed, nodding. “Okay.” She watched Morgan with fondness and curiosity melded into one soft smile and head tilt. As she had also begun to learn, “good” was not some looming branch, fruit too far above to be plucked, it was smaller than that. Seeds, perhaps. Old roots, maybe. It took many shapes, just as evil did. Good was, sometimes, flowers for a neglected grave, dirt brushed off an old name. It was listening to a girl who knew far more about the world than anyone gave her credit, even her own mother. It was life’s discovery, one day at a time. It took the shape of people, or of arms wrapped around. “Yes,” she breathed, leaning down to kiss Morgan finally, fiercely. “We can make it good for her too, even if she isn’t around, even if she is.” Good was not one thing, once, but many things, all the time—shifting. It was choice. And there was no one who knew choice better than Morgan Beck.

#don't do sadness #wr deirdre #wr ruth #wr ruth beck #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #wr ruth chatzy #wr ruth beck chatzy #abuse tw #tw abuse #domestic abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #mentions of #wickedswriting

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vecnawrites · 4 years

Text

Hypnotic Pets

Garnet Rose sighed as he arrived home. School today had been long. Not difficult, thankfully, just long. However, he was home now, and could relax. Opening the door, he called out to the one that was always home twenty-four-seven, unless he, his mother, or his father took her out. “Cinder! I’m home!” a small smile formed on his face as he heard rapid shuffling heading for the stairs, before a head of black hair poked around the corner, golden eyes widening and a smile forming on the girls face.

She clambered down the stairs eagerly on all fours, excited barks emerging from her mouth, her bare tits and ass jiggling wildly from her rapid movement. Coming up to her owner, Cinder whined, rising up on her knees and gently gripping his shirt, nuzzling her face into his chest.

Laughing, Garnet scratched Cinder behind her ear, making her lean into his hand, panting happily and licking his finger tips. “It’s great to see you too, girl! How has your day been?” he asked, receiving more pleased pants.

Garnet chuckled as his pet flopped onto her back, arching upwards and exposing her stomach, tits swaying...although that wasn’t the only thing that was. Part of the reason that his mother wasn’t concerned about him...playing with his pet was flopping against her thighs currently. It wasn’t as big as his own, but Cinder’s cock and balls were sizable.

Rubbing her stomach, Garnet chuckled. “Looks like you have some excess energy...how about a walk?” he couldn’t help but laugh at how the golden eyes widened with happiness and she quickly rolled onto all fours and barked happily, darting off to grab the leash.

Garnet smiled as he watched his pet. It had been odd how this had all started, but he wouldn’t change it for the world.

It had started before he was born, but a new law had been passed to try and ‘redeem’ those who committed crimes...by using hypnosis and subliminal messaging to turn them into pets for others to care for. Granted, it was strictly for the non-violent cases. Those who completed their ‘sentences’ usually rejoined society much better off, although a very few actually willingly went back under if they were treated well enough to continue being pets. Families that ‘adopted’ the ‘pets’ were strictly screened to prevent abuse...part of the reason that they got her so easily was because his father was a detective of the Special Victims Unit and his mother was a Social Worker for abused youth.

From what he understood, Cinder was a rare case; she had been a victim of abuse and lashed out to protect herself, ending up accidentally setting fire to her childhood home. In this case, her being a pet wasn’t meant to be punishment, it was therapy, to help her realize that not everyone was out to hurt her.

It had certainly been odd in the beginning, since Cinder was standoffish to both of his parents, clinging to him and growling every time his mom or dad made a sudden move. But slowly, she had warmed up to them both, even if Cinder still did prefer him.

Pulled from his thoughts as he felt a nudge against his leg, he smiled as he looked down at Cinder, who was looking imploringly up at him, leash held between her teeth, rear wagging back and forth.

Taking the leash, Garnet attached it to the collar and gently kissed Cinder’s forehead. “Come on, Cin...let’s go for a nice walk.” holding the leash securely in his hand, Garnet opened the door and allowed Cinder out, closing and locking the door behind him.

The pair enjoyed a slow, leisurely walk, Cinder inquisitively sniffing flowers that they passed, Garnet nodding or waving to those they passed by, before the pair paused, hearing something that they hadn’t heard before. “...on, Emerald! Don’t fight me on this!” followed by growling.

Turning his head, Garnet paused as he saw the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Long silky blonde hair, like long strands of solid sunshine, and eyes of lilac, similar to amethyst gemstones. Her cheeks were flushed, and her full lips were set into a pout, although that was easy to see why, since she was pulling a leash connected to a struggling pet of her own, a very curvy chocolate-skinned verdette with crimson eyes.

Glancing down, he smiled at the look on Cinder’s face. Her golden eyes were wide, mouth dropped open in an ‘O’ shape. She looked enraptured at the other pet that the blonde had. He couldn’t blame her, really. The blonde girl was quite beautiful to him as well. She had to be new in Vale; those who looked after Pets were few and far between, and there was only one other his own age that was capable of having one, even if he didn’t currently: his friend Domino.

Yang Xiao Long was having a rough day. She and her family had recently moved here from Patch, and it was a very different thing moving to a big city after living her life on a coastal island. She had thankfully been given a week to be ready to start school, to acclimate to her new surroundings, but her pet…

“Emerald, calm! Its okay, nothing here will hurt you!” she tried to soothe her growling verdette haired pet. She had been an orphan thief before her family had gotten permission to care for her, making her one of the rare ‘therapy’ pets, since all she had ever stolen was food and the occasional clothing item.

She had been very skittish with the move, even though Yang had basically done her best to soothe her the entire time. It was what had brought the idea of the walk to her, get Emerald acclimated to their new home as well, but it wasn’t going that well.

Tugging on the leash again, Yang sighed. “Come on, Emerald! Don’t fight me on this!” she pouted, never having this much trouble with her before. A sudden growl from Emerald made her look up to warn whoever she saw off (while everyone knew about the Pet program, there were always those who thought it something sexual and liked to try and ‘rent’ a pet away from their ‘owner’) only for shock to fill her as she saw one of the most attractive young men (a very pretty one, a fleeting part of her mind wondered what he would look like in a dress) she had ever seen, holding a leash connected to a Pet of his own, a fair skinned brunette with golden eyes.

Untying his tongue, Garnet stepped forwards. “You’re obviously new in town, right? My name is Garnet Rose, and this is Cinder…” he barely registered Cinder moving a few steps forwards and sniffing at the green-haired Pet, who drew back with a slight growl.

Swallowing, Yang brushed hair back behind her ear. She was surprised. She of course knew that there were other ‘Pet Owners’ in Vale, which was part of the reason they had moved here, but she never expected to meet one in this huge city. “U-Um...yes, we arrived earlier this week. I’m Yang. Yang Xiao Long, and this is Emerald with me…” her hand reflexively tightened on the leash as she felt her Pet move back a bit.

Garnet swallowed, gently tugging a whining Cinder back to his side. He could tell she really wanted to get to know the other Pet, and he wouldn’t lie, he honestly would like to get to know Yang better...and he could tell Cinder wanted to get to know her Pet, Emerald, better.

‘Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Rose…’ he thought, before speaking. “Well, since you’re new to the town, would you like me to show you around? I can help you find landmarks and good local places.” he really hoped that he didn’t just sound like a hopeless moron then, but the relieved look on her face told him that his offer was appreciated.

“Thank you, I still can’t believe how big this city is! I grew up on Patch, everyone knew everyone there, it was so small.” Yang breathed a sigh of relief. Part of the reason that she hadn’t really learned much of the general area was worry that she would get lost.

Gripping Cinder’s leash, Garnet tilted his head with a smile. “Shall we go then? We met in a good place, this street takes us downtown.”

So, the tour began. Garnet led them to the downtown area. “That’s Pizzaria Mistrali! Voted best pizza in the city five years running...long line, though, so best to order ahead and pick up or have it delivered.”

“Over there is the Secretary of State, that building is the main branch of the Bank of Vale, and that is the Farmer’s Market.” he pointed towards several buildings, making sure Yang had time to put their placements in her memory before they moved on.

Garnet showed her where the main movie theater was, several of the other best restaurants, and other recreational areas, like the Arcades and Technology stores he and Domino frequented.

Walking down two blocks, Garnet turned to her. “You are carrying your Pet License, right?” he asked, getting a confused nod from Yang, who pulled it out of her pocket and showed him. Nodding, Garnet showed his. “Good, I’m taking you to the ‘Pet Owners’ area of Vale. This has places for us and our pets, like restaurants where we can take them and eat with them, places for care, and public and private parks for Owner and Pet.”

Walking up to the fenced off area, Garnet handed his License to the guard who scanned it and handed it back, nodding to him. Tentatively handing hers over, Yang said, “I just moved here last week, I’m not sure if-” she stopped when the guard offered her a kind smile.

“A requirement for changing locale to a different town is a month’s advance knowledge of a Licensed ‘Pet Owners’ in the family. Its to make sure your license is properly integrated into our database.” she scanned the blonde’s license and handed it back to her with a warm smile. “Enjoy your time with your boyfriend, dear.” she said, getting bright blushes from both Garnet and Yang.

Entering the gated area, Yang looked around seeing several other Owner and Pet pairs, most specifically a busty blonde with glasses leading around a modestly endowed ginger who was wearing a bowler hat.

“That’s Professor Goodwitch, a teacher at Beacon, and her own Pet, Romana Torchwick. She was a con artist before she got caught. She comes here at the beginning and end of every week, usually.” Garnet said, before tilting his head. “Come on!”

Yang glanced at the woman who likely would be one of her teachers shortly, before following her new...friend?, to wherever he was going.

After a few minutes of silent walking Garnet reached a small fenced in area. Flashing his license, the locked beeped and the door clicked open, which he held and gestured to Yang. “Here we are. A place for Cinder and Emerald to get to know one another, and we can talk as well.”

Yang smirked. “Just met me and you want to get me alone? Naughty~” she teased, delighting in the blush that streaked across Garnet’s cheeks. Chuckling, she entered the gate, tugging an intrigued, if pouting, Emerald along.

Calming his beating heart, Garnet looked down at a wide eyed Cinder, before following Yang inside of the private park section, the barred door locking behind them.

“...wow…” Yang murmured, looking around. The space was small, certainly, really only having a large bench, a small man made pond with a fence around it, and enough area to do a decent jog in she supposed. But it was beautiful.

“Yeah, this is one of the ‘Private’ areas of the park, generally only for one or two people and their pets. We can let them off their leashes for now and let them stretch themselves.”

“Sounds good,” Yang said, already kneeling down and beginning to fiddle with the leash attached to her collar, letting her cocoa-skinned pet loose, who immediately hopped away, watching Garnet warily, making her sigh.

Garnet leaned down and unlocked Cinder’s leash, petting her hair. “Be nice, Cin...I think Emerald’s had a rough time of it, like you.” he murmured in her ear, getting a nod and gentle nip on the fingertips from his Pet, who slowly began to walk towards the verdette.

Looking up at Yang with a smile, he spoke. “Well, since we’re letting them get to know one another, we can talk as well if you’d like?” he asked, hoping she would be willing, he would like to know her better.

Yang smirked, but her heart fluttered. He was very earnest and honest, and even then, people were screen so thoroughly when they were checked to be ‘Pet Owners’ that there was nothing hidden in their lives. He wouldn’t have Cinder if he was anything but. And he could tell he appreciated how she looked, but wasn’t perverted about it, like most of the boys she had met so far in Vale, like that blue-haired guy Emerald absolutely hated.

“Alright, sure. Thanks for leading me around all day, by the way.” Yang said, heading to the bench and sitting down on it, looking at her curious Pet who was was edging closer to the man made pond, sniffing at the flowers, while Garnet’s Pet watched carefully from a short distance.

“So, you say you grew up on Patch? What was it like? I’ve always lived here in Vale.” Garnet asked, looking at Yang in interest.

As her owner and the blonde regaled each other their general life stories, Cinder carefully approached the beautiful cocoa-skinned pet, making an inquisitive noise, getting a wary look from the red-eyed girl, who stared before purposefully turning away and looking towards the water.

Looking down, she licked her lips, her cock twitching as she saw the wonderfully round ass and tightly closed pussy. Leaning forwards, she took several sniffs of the offered area, cock getting harder and harder as she realized that the other Pet was in heat and ripe for breeding. Licking her lips again, she covered the last bit of distance and started lapping away at the pussy before her, making her new bitch stiffen and release several squeaky barks of shock...but the arousal quickly flowing over her tongue told her the truth. She wanted this.

Moving back, she quickly mounted her new bitch, thrusting her cock into her with a single smooth motion.

Yang and Garnet turned just in time to see Cinder thrust into Emerald’s core and begin to thrust against her. “Cinder, what are you doing?!” Garnet exclaimed, horrified. He readied to get up, but Yang grabbed his arm, shaking her head with a smile.

“It’s okay,” she said, waving off Garnet’s apologetic look, “Emerald has been antsy ever since I got her...maybe some puppies will help calm her down…” she chuckled. It was true, on the off chance that a Pet got pregnant due to a Pet/Pet relationship or the much rarer Owner/Pet relationship (which were much more strictly monitored, with frequent visitation from State Officials to make sure the Pets weren’t being abused in any way) the family caring for the Pet got Government subsidies to help raise the children.

Cinder panted happily, the hot and tight clench around her cock filling her with more pleasure than she ever remembered having flowing through her body. A long whine of pleasure left her mouth as she began to slam her hips back and forth, her new bitch’s legs giving out and her body flopping onto the ground, giving her more leverage.

Leaning down, she nuzzled the neck of her new mate, nipping gently at the tender skin both as a form of comfort (she was shivering) and a form of dominance, since before her legs gave out she had been trying to squirm away from her. ‘Mine,’ she thought, ‘Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine.’

Yang licked her lips, feeling warmth pooling in her core as she watched her Pet being claimed. Despite the squirming until the neck bite, she could tell Emerald was enjoying what was happening to her...the squirming had already changed to shudders and her rear end was moving up as Cinder’s was moving down.

“Y-Yang?!” she turned to the right to see Garnet staring at her in shock, eyes wide and cheeks an almost glowing red. She wondered why, before she looked down to see her hand rubbing herself over her shorts. Her cheeks darkened, surprised and a touch mortified that she was practically masturbating in front of a boy she had practically met just over an hour ago!

But seeing the tent pitching in his pants, she licked her lips. She wasn’t going to let her first time be taken in a small park next to her pet...not only did she want to lose attention on her pet for any reason, but she also refused to let any possible camera get photos of her. But still...that didn’t mean that they couldn’t have any fun…

Reaching out, she grabbed his hand and gently placed it at the apex of her thighs, giving him a sultry smirk. “Come on, Garnet...give me a rub...don’t keep a lady waiting~”

Garnet couldn’t believe his luck; he had met the prettiest girl he had ever seen only today, and she was asking him to do this!? His hand began to move on its own, his long and thin fingers rubbing the seam of her shorts, feeling the warmth bleeding through the fabric and into his fingertips. God, his cock ached...and it didn’t help when Yang’s hands moved up under her jacket and rubbed and squeezed her breasts over her top.

Yang sighed as she watched her Pet getting fucked into the ground, being rubbed over her pussy and stroking and tweaking her sensitive breasts and nipples, unable to keep from moaning as she did so.

Cinder’s movements were becoming more frantic, a loud chorus of clap, clap, clap filling the small area as her hips slammed into Emerald’s, her new mate finally having accepted her place and working with her to bring them both pleasure. She knew she would fill, would breed, her mate...her balls hadn’t been emptied in a long while.

Emerald whimpered, biting down on her fingertips as she humped her rear upwards, shameful and originally unwanted pleasure filling her as her mate fucked her hard. Part of her was resentful, the other part overjoyed at being claimed, knowing that she wouldn’t be alone anymore. A needy whine escaped her as she felt her walls beginning to quiver, knowing she was about to cum and fully submit soon.

Yang watched with wide eyes as she was getting nearer and nearer to orgasm. She never got off this fast normally, but she supposed that a mix of not getting off during the period of the move, the show before her, and the fact that the cutest boy she had ever seen was next to her and rubbing her pussy through her shorts was driving her up the wall. Little shudders of pleasure began to overtake her form.

Garnet was painfully turned on, his cock twitching hard in his pants. It was going to be a pain hiding that, but he wouldn’t trade the awkward walk home for anything at this current moment. He would have never thought that any girl would ask him to do this, ever.

Cinder was close, so close. Her balls were throbbing and pulsing as they slapped against Emerald’s body, and she could feel the warm walls around her cock beginning to tighten.

Emerald whined and shifted underneath her mate, head tilting to the side and baring her neck to her mate as she finally gave in, eyes rolling back as she came hard, her pussy clamping down hard around the invader within it.

Cinder howled as her mate tightened around her, her walls rippling and flexing around her shaft, trying to draw her seed out. And she succeeded.

Burying her face into Emerald’s neck and whining in relief, she unloaded, her balls releasing everything that they held within them, bucking her hips in short stilted thrusts in order to make sure all of her cum entered her mate’s pussy.

Emerald whimpered as she felt her belly actually begin to swell from all the thick heat, feeling her mate lick at her neck as her hips slowly rocked into her rear, shuffling the cum in her pussy down towards her womb with the intent of breeding her. All she could do was accept her mate’s offering and comfort.

Yang shuddered, moaning low as she came, slumping against Garnet as her panties became soaked in her shorts. Thankfully her shorts were dark, otherwise there would be awkward questions. Looking up dreamily at the blushing teen, she couldn’t help but release a drunken chuckle. “How many girls have had the feel of these fingers, hmm?~” she teased.

“J-just you…” Garnet didn’t know why he was so flustered right now after all that had happened, but he cleared his throat. “I...don’t talk to a lot of girls...and the ones I do, see me as more the ‘little brother’ type…” he gasped as a hand cupped his groin and gave his aching length a gentle squeeze.

“Hmm, from what I’m feeling...there’s nothing little about you~” Yang teased, rubbing the heavy bulge, wondering how big he truly was. “Now, let’s let our Pet’s enjoy the afterglow and collect them...and when we get out of here and somewhere more private, maybe I can help you with this~”

Garnet swallowed at the hungry look in his new friends eyes, part of him wondering if this was just a very good dream he was having, and the rest ordering him not to question it. He shifted, although Yang didn’t lighten her grip on him as they both turned to check on their Pets.

Cinder was sure, as her cock slowly softened, that her mate was bred, but she wasn’t going to leave her warmth until she was sure that every drop of her cum was in Emerald’s womb, where it wouldn’t leak out when they separated. She gently nipped at the dark-skinned young woman’s ear, getting a light squeak from her.

Emerald was...content. Happy as she had been in as long as she could remember. She nuzzled back towards her mate, one of her hands drifting down to her swollen belly. All she could wonder was how many pups would be in their future...

#Garnet Rose #Cinder Fall #Yang Xiao Long #Emerald Sustrai #Hypnosis

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margoshansons · 5 years

Text

The Killing Kind (3/?)

Summary: Y/N and her father have always had one problem getting in the way of their relationship, and it all comes back to one source, her mother. Despite the mutation, Y/N wants to leave every aspect of that part of her life behind, but her father has other plans that rely on it.

Warning: Hella angst, especially parent related. Mild panic attack. TW: Manipulation and slight parent on child violence and TW: Abuse

Notes: This does, in fact, confirm that Y/N does have powers, and if you don’t like that twist then feel free to ask to be removed from the tag list. I chose this twist because I wanted to explore their relationship on that level, and I will not be changing it going forward. Also, holy fuck that gif DOES THINGS to me.

“What the hell do you want?” (Y/N) snapped, her eyes narrowing at the man before her, unable to fathom how he discovered her hiding place.

Quentin tilted his head in a mock gesture of hurt, “Can’t a father visit his daughter anymore?”

(Y/N) scoffed, “You lost that right when you forced me into your schemes.”

She threw another manifested dagger at the approaching figure, watching as he dodged it once more, clicking his tongue at the poor attempt.

“I see you’ve allowed your powers to grow weak” Quentin chastised, “Do you even remember our practice sessions?”

(Y/n) readied another dagger in her hand, “I remember enough” her hand was stopped by his palm wrapping around her wrist, causing the dagger to dissipate, unable to recall how he’d gotten over so fast.

Her father towered over her, his bright eyes alight with mania, eyebrows lifted in a familiar expression she had seen many times during their ‘practice sessions’. He was chastising her once more, telling her that she had let him down. Again.

“I remember nothing I ever did was good enough for you” (Y/N) strained, trying to rip her wrist out of his tight grip. “I remember you using me for your own sick weaponized project,”

“Only after the incident” Quentin defended.

“As if that made any difference,” (Y/n) continued to struggle her sunken eyes meeting her father’s crazed gaze as he threw her aside. “I was fourteen!” She screamed, massaging her wrist, “I was fourteen and you treated me like I was a piece of technology rather than your own daughter!”

“You had a gift!” Quentin replied, trying to excuse his actions, “I was helping you discover its purpose”

(Y/N) scoffed, shaking her head, “Really? Because if I recall correctly all you could think about was how I was born with this monstrosity and you weren’t”

Quentin moved forward, “Don’t call it that. You have something our family has only ever dreamed of having, and if it wasn’t for your damn mother maybe we all could’ve had it too.”

“Don’t” (Y/N) growled, voice thick with emotion, “Don’t you dare talk about her.”

Quentin closed more space between him and his daughter, anger meeting crazy in his eyes. “She left us. If she hadn’t maybe I wouldn’t have had to use you as much as I did.” He stepped forward again, digging the dagger deeper, “Maybe if you had been enough, she would’ve stayed.”

(Y/N) moved backward, tears threatening to escape at the emotional accusation. Did he think she hadn’t thought of that? That she hadn’t spent the first fourteen years of her life searching for the woman who had given her these abilities that he resented so much? That she wanted answers, same as him?

Quentin scrunched his nose and set his jaw at the movement. His towering frame sauntered over, the last of the church light illuminating the hard look on his face, staring down at her. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“Could’ve fooled me” (Y/N) grumbled.

Quentin took a quick look around the church before meeting his daughter’s eyes once again. “Don’t go on the trip tomorrow”

“What?” (Y/N) shook her head, making sure she was hearing him right.

The crazy drained from Quentin’s face, “Despite what you may think, I do care about you. You’re my daughter. You’re family. Why else would I be keeping tabs on you like this?”

(Y/n) shrugged, “To try and recruit me back into your schemes.”

“I’m doing it to protect you (Y/N)!” Quentin shouted, his voice echoing up to the belltower. “I’m doing it because I care about you.”

(Y/N) scoffed, not believing any of the lies that dripped from his mouth. Her dad had never cared about anyone but himself. She knew that for a fact. This was just another attempt to try and control her, well she wouldn’t fall for it. He’d done this gambit too many times, and she’d fallen for it too many times.

“Thanks for the warning” (Y/N) responded coldly, “Now get out.”

“(Y/N)--”

“I said get out” She warned, gathering a ball of blue energy in her palms, ready to launch at her father if he so much as breathed on her.

Quentin nodded slowly, understanding her meaning as he retreated to the open doors at the front of the church. He stopped at the open door, sending one last warning her way, “Please, Don’t go to Europe, promise me.”

She hesitated slightly before blue shot out of her palm, latching onto the door and shutting it in his face.

(Y/N) breathed a sigh of relief, collapsing onto the withered altar stairs, gripping her knees, ignoring the throbbing pain in her wrist.

Breathe in five.

Hold for six.

Breathe out seven.

She repeated the mantra three more times before throwing a sweater over her head and slipping her sneakers on, her feet carrying her to her own entryway. She climbed the scaffolding above her, making sure to latch her feet in the right positions before continuing. Her wrist screamed in pain, but she only had one location on her mind as her feet hit the pavement.

“Hey!” She yelled, hailing a taxi driver, “Can you get me to queens?”

***

She sprinted up the staircase of the apartment building, landing on the third floor as her eyes searched the hallway for the treasured number. She needed to get there, she needed to talk to someone about anything, about this, about her dad’s stupid little--

Her own knock kicked her out of her thoughts, and the door swung open, revealing a confused May in her pajamas.

“(Y/N),” She asked, confusion turning to worry upon seeing the expression on the student’s face, “What’s going on, is everything okay?”

“It’s um..” She stuttered, unable to form sentences, “It’s uh...my dad, he uh, he visited me just now, um, a couple- a couple hours ago”

“Hey” May soothed, bringing in the girl for a hug, “Hey it’s going to be alright okay?” The older woman ran a hand through (Y/N)’s hair, untangling any knots that had formed.

(Y/N) pulled away from the embrace, wiping away tears that she had accumulated on the ride here. “Thanks, May, I, uh, I needed that.”

May smiled, her eyes pitying the young girl before inviting her inside, promising a cup of tea and a listening ear.

Part One Part Two Part Four

Thanks so much for the positive feedback! Feel free to leave more, as it is always appreciated!

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#peter parker imagines #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #quentin beck #beck!reader

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yes-asil · 5 years

Note

Alright, now you HAVE to tell how the two met each pokemon

Pff, alright, sure! I’m putting it under a read more, because it’s way too long as a dash post!

Matt’s Pokémon:

First was Absol, Matt was around 8 years old when he wandered out on a rainy night to get some air and space. He pretty much watched some grown ups hiss at the shivering Absol puppy to get lost and he rushed in to pick it up and get away before they could hurt it. He tried to make Absol go home afterwards, but the small thing followed him anywhere he went, hiding in the bushes whenever Matt went back inside, only to come jumping out and try to engage with him as soon as it saw his face. Only after trials and tribulations and Matt being around 15 he realised: “Oh yeah. You are only officially my Pokémon when I caught you in a Pokéball, right?”, which he promptly did. So far Absol had always walked beside him, loyal and well behaved, so even if it was caught way later, it is still the very first.

Noctowl came second, which back then was still a Hoothoot when he caught it. Absol and Matt pretty much were on their way to the next bigger city, but being a 10 year old, alone without a map and not with a real clue where he actually wanted to go, they kind of got lost. The two weren’t too upset, but the Hoothoot watching them pass by its tree for the fourth time got a bit curious. Especially because the night was getting colder and both, trainer and pet were shivering to the bone. So Hoothoot decided to land on Matt’s head and direct him to a safe spot, where they could rest. And it never left again, that hair nest is pretty great!

(Fun-fact: It didn’t evolve out of training or battling other Pokémon, it simply did because Matt has a hard time sleeping, so much so that he was getting sick and was constantly out of breath. Noctowl can use Hypnosis to put him to sleep and also fly him around when walking becomes too much.)

Archeops was next and it was a curious finding, mostly because Matt found the Plume Fossile on pure accident. He tumbled over it while sleeping in an abondened mansion, as a rest stop. It was probably used as a door stopper back in the days, but he had already gained a lot of knowledge while traveling different regions and went “Oh damn, that’s a Pokémon!” He pretty much ran to the closest laboratory there was and got an Archen back, to which he was already aware that it was his now. It also evolved out of need really, it was a dangerous situation and Noctowl was knocked out cold in it’s ball, so it had to turn into Archeops so they could glide to safety.

(Another fun-fact: Both, Noctowl and Archeops gift Matthew their feathers as pens whenever his old ones break, and they sometimes fight over who can carry him for a flight. After they meet Lukas, they regularly trade places)

Then came Combee, another forest, Matt and his team pretty tired and down with their energy. The little bug took pity on them, shared its honey, led them to the next Pokécentre and decided that it would be best to stay. It felt really appreciated.

Ekans is a funny and short story. It actually was trying to get a rattata as its lunch and was hanging onto a branch, suspended over a cliff. Matt grabbed it before it could fall and in the same second he went: “Man, you are adorable.” Pretty much love at first sight, he’s a gigantic snake lover.

And last we got Klefki, which Matt got as a present basically. When he started off working at the library with 18, he kept asking for Klefki so he could open up at the weekend. It didn’t help that Klefki itself loved to hover around him and jingle it’s keys in rythm to his Pop music, so the school board went: “Look, whatever we do, you come each day and ask every single day for the thing. Just keep it, it likes you, so please just take it and do whatever, we can’t hear it anymore.”

Lukas’ Pokémon:

Pumpkaboo was Lukas very first encounter with a wild Pokémon in general. He was 9 when he was trying to scope out the haunted mansion at the border of Pappelcreek, and was incredibly spooked. He tried to get in, and he did made it over the fence, before an orange light and a high shriek made him jump and scramble home. His curiosity was bigger than his fear however and he came back again and again, finally realising that the light hid under a bush as soon as it scared the everliving heck out of him. He had scooped all his bravery together and had parted the leaves, only to widen his eyes at the tiny pumpkin laying there. Immediately he cooed at it, whispering how cute it was and that he was so sorry that he had scared it with coming to its home every night. Pumpkaboo had been just as scared as Lukas had been, but warmed up to him just as fast. A few months later Lukas turned 10, got a Pokéball and asked it if it wanted to be his partner. The answer was an obvious yes.

Second was Chimecho, which Lukas had thought of as a ghost haunting the church. He had heard bells late at night for years and with Pumpkaboos help and his boost in courage he finally found the source. Chimecho was pretty surprised to be found in the middle of the night, but soon they bonded over music and sang together a few songs. Since then it’s following him everywhere.

Noibat came next, it was another one of Lukas tries to find a ghost and trying to figure out if the school attic was infested. But nah, it was just a swarm of Noibat that live there, Lukas being sorry for spooking them more than they had him. One of the Noibat was especially intrigued, had poked him in the sides and made him jump in fright. It was a cheeky monkey honestly, pulling at Lukas hair and making fun of him, relentless until Lukas figured out it wasn’t a ghost bullying him. Noibat had so much fun, that it stayed with him, still playing tiny jokes on him whenever it’s bored.

Fletchling didn’t have a fun start however, it had been caught by a Purrloin and got hurt. Lukas had been walking by and seen it being attacked, to which he shooed the cat Pokémon away. Then he had taken the poor thing in and brought it home to his mother, who is just as much a Pokémon nurse, as she is a human one. Together they brought it back to perfect health and it stayed out of gratitude.

(Fletchling and Noibat constantly bicker because while Noibat wants to play pranks on his trainer, Fletchling is in dept to him and wants to respect him in the best possible way. So it’s constantly them glaring at each other and waiting for the other to make a move.)

On another haunted house quest, Lukas tumbled over Mimikyu. He had mistaken it for an old plush and both, the Pokémon and the little trainer screamed in terror. Then Lukas had tried to coax it back from under the couch, apologizing furiously and trying to explain that he’d never seen anything like it before. When it finally calmed down he decided to ask his uncle what it even is. Finding out later and it’s story about being unloved, he promptly told it that he would love Mimi to the end of the world and back.

And last was Emolga, who pretty much fell into his lap. His dad works as a technician in a factory and is around computers and generally technology a lot. Emolga made it in to feed off the elictricity in there, so he had caught it and brought it home to train it. However it took a liking to Lukas, and his father decided it would be a nice match.

And there you go! All the meetings!

#ask #anon #gb pokemon au

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chuuulip · 5 years

Text

Favorite Record

Chapter Two

This is posted for Hannah’s @kentuckybarnes 3k Writing Challenge

Shout out to the lovelies @bucky-at-bedtime for beta’ing this and @mychemicalimagines for giving me feedback too hehe.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warning: I guess nothing?

Summary: You never fond of Natasha taste in music but you always giving it a try, but maybe you had enough.

Chapter one

The chilly October day in New York City didn’t bother you as you strolled along the brownstone line street in Manhattan, in fact, you were quite fond of it. Class has been a mess but you were excited to visit the pediatric hospital today. Stark Industries will host their annual charity in the hospital, something that you have adored for years.

The vibration of your phone caught your attention. You sweep the screen to the right when you saw the caller id. “Pumpkin, where are you?” You can hear your dad’s voice in a busy room full of background noise.

“I’m somewhere in Manhattan I guess. What’s wrong?”

“Weren't you supposed to arrive like 30 minutes ago? Your mom’s a bit worried right now. You know how she is after your accident”

“Oh, mom is in town? When did she arrive?” you walk a bit faster now.

“Like 2 hours ago. She said she missed her baby. Can you be here in 20? The guests are already in the hospital.”

“Okay! I’ll hail a cab now.”

The ride to the hospital is pretty fast since the traffic wasn’t so bad. You are greeted by some Halloween decorations when you enter the hospital. However, you can’t help but grin at the scary cute tidbits that adorn the hallway. Helping to decorate the hospital was a fun thing to do. You occupied yourself by selecting lots of balloons and knick-knacks to liven up the hall weeks ago. Your dad, Tony Stark has been working on advancing medical technology in the past couple years and this kind of event is always in his must to do list.

“Pumpkin!” A petite woman with a strawberry blonde hair were rushing to you. “Hi, mother.” She embraces you tightly which you returned eagerly. “My baby! Oh, I missed you so much.” She retreads and pinches your cheeks, a habit she always had since you are a baby. Her pastel blue blazer was a contrast from your mustard sweater and indigo jeans. “Mother stop it!” you laugh at her. Your mom takes pity on you and stops her attack.

“So how’s your wrist? Your dad said it’s getting better. I hope your school didn’t interfere with its full recovery.”

“It’s actually pretty great Mother, but the final recital kind of put me on pins and needle.”

“Just don’t push yourself too hard ok pumpkin?”

“Promise!” Your mother finally let go and drag you to meet the small crowd at the front.

Since lots of nurses and volunteers were also wearing a costume, you can’t help but to live up to your nickname and join the rest of the people in the hospital. The bright orange bodysuit has that cute black jack-o-lantern face, far away from creepy. The costume also came together with a little cute stem cap that thankfully fit you. To make the appearance more appealing, you let the cap sit a bit to the right side of your head, strands of hair on the side of your face were let loose so the half up double braid still intact.

The small basket in your left hand was full of greeting cards from the Stark Tech staff, that you plan on hand deliver soon. Other baskets on the table near the fake ghost sweets, was created by people from across the country. Last month you get a bit carried away with Stark Tech Instagram post and upload a ‘special greeting cards’ for the kids in the pediatric hospital in New York City. Your aim was an extra smile to the kids with the cards and Halloween theme goody bag. Fortunately, it becomes a huge success to boost the fundraiser and you never been happier.

“Gentleman, thank you for coming today despite the busy schedule.”

“It’s nothing, Mr. Stark. I am happy we can participate in this charity”

You were immediately drawn to that distinctive low baritone voice. A glimpse of a brown hair took neatly in a low bun. The brushed plaid long flannel with port wine color with the sleeves roll up, display that notable bassist hands of Bucky. You arched your eyebrow curiously, how in the world does your father know Bucky Barnes and his band? Did Natasha tell your father about them? With a long sigh, you unlocked your phone and texted her.

“Yes sir, it’s a pleasure to be here. We love to do this kind of show as much as we can.” The blonde tall man known as Steve was talking to your father. “As long as we are in town, our manager definitely will arrange the schedule.”

“Thank you, Captain. I, for sure, will invite your band again.”

”The Instagram post on Stark Tech account was great. I immediately asked the gang to participate not only with greeting cards.” Bucky chuckles “we want to do more.”

“Oh yeah about that post, it’s my daughter actually.” Tony beams at that. “She’s been helping the PR since last year. She is here somewhere.” you immediately ducked behind a nurse when your father, start looking your way.

“Hmm strange, I just saw here near the table.” Tony’s left eyebrow furrowed, thumb and index finger on his chin, try once again looking for you. ”Anyway, the small stages are yours.” Tony clapped his hands on Bucky’s shoulder and retreat to talk with other parents and a kid who was wearing a ninja turtle costume.

The stage was actually a small area in the front of the hall. There sat a guitar and bass acoustic with three microphones and three performance stools. A small amplifier sat next to the left stool and a black cajon box drum situated to the far right

Because not all the kids and parents can join the rest of the kids in the hall, The Howler promised to visit the kids in their rooms and serenade them.

The kids, their parents, volunteers, and nurses apparently ready to watch The Howler. The band just released a new song for a Superhero movie called ‘Live to Rise’. The song became an immediate number one hit on Billboard 200 and i-tunes, a rare circumstance for a rock alternative band in this EDM era.

Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Clint were already sat on their position. The acoustic version of their songs has that unbelievable tone that sat well with the non-boisterous audience they usually have. Despite your hate towards Bucky, you can’t help but appreciate their performance.

A brush to your right shoulder didn’t go unnoticed but the fact that you know who is it made you loosen up.

“Hi… didn't expect to see you here.”

“Hi Scott.” You smile at him. “neither did I.”

“Nice costume, by the way, Cassie needs to buy this one.” His eyes can’t help but admire your costume.

“Dad, who is the pretty pumpkin?” a chirp of girly voice beside Scott made you sneak a peek.

“Oh, this is my daughter Cassie.”

“Hi, Cassie.” Scott introduced you to his daughter and explaining why he doesn’t go on stage with the others. You immediately offer a costume for Cassie and some strolling visiting the kids if she is interested.

“Our soldier was heartbroken when you slammed the door in front of his face.”

You suddenly tensed “Soldier? I am not sure I have any idea what this is all about?” suddenly the hem of your pumpkin costume is more interesting than the other things happen in the hall.

A small laugh escapes from Scott but your attention was distracted by the music of the next song. Bucky blue-grey eyes suddenly met yours, a startling display on his face, although he suddenly recovered and smiled. The need to flee is intense but it doesn't deter you from looking his way.

Bucky left hands dance around the mahogany neck between the frets of his acoustic bass, but his eyes never leave you. Right fingers slapping, alternate with the thumbing and plucking across the strings, generate that clean tone with volume. To the common listener, the melody of his bass might be overshadowed by Clint’s guitar, but not for you.

Sure, you have seen Bucky playing the bass before, live, but now seeing the acoustic bass been played with such precision, those odd sensations pull you back again. The music finally comes to an end and it freaks you out a little bit, unwilling to talk to the man yet.

“Cassie, what about we visit the kids and give them the cards and the goody bags?” a sneaky look at the stage gives you a glance on what Bucky’s doing.

“I can borrow you some Captain Marvel costume or a Unicorn.” Slowly and calculated, you are ready to escape from the hall.

“Daddy, can I go with her?” Cassie jumps a bit, excited to dress as Captain Marvel.

“Yes Jellybean. Don’t go too long, uncle Bucky might want to meet her.”

***

The hectic Monday had never been Bucky’s favorite, but he will do anything to get the forgiveness he is fighting for.

He thought he would finally get to talk to the woman he so stupidly dishonored. When he saw you at the hospital, he can’t help but trying to show off a little bit of his skill – stupid, he knows. After the performance, he even asked Steve for a break because he was determined to find you. Unfortunately, the lucky stars aren’t on Bucky’s side and he was once again left disappointed.

The chilly November in New York was always the same but Bucky absolutely loved the colors before it turns all white and wet because of the snow. The south street on the central park was adorned with a beautiful color. Not only it has the yellow ginko and gray birch leaves, but this part of the street also has red black cherry and pin oak leaves as well as an orange leaves of tupelo trees. Unable to resist capturing the scenery, Bucky starts doing an Instagram live, things he rarely did because he usually just post things like pictures of shows, his bandmate or his instrument. After fifteen minutes of walking through central park, Bucky finally arrives in the west street, his destination.

At first, Bucky had an appointment with Natasha but it’s actually an excuse of his intention to meet you. Eventually, Natasha gave in and giving Bucky information on what class you have today. To be honest there is a slight of agitation on Bucky’s, afraid of to be dismissed and branded as a bit of a stalker by you. But, when he reminds himself of the thing he said to you, he seriously wants to reflect on his wrong and apologize sincerely.

“Excuse me, I am looking for someone.” Bucky meets a man with a blue button-up and khakis pants. He doesn’t look old, probably in his mid or late thirty. Bucky gives him your name and showing the picture from Natasha’s Instagram.

“You are looking for Monet?” he asks Bucky curios.

“Monet?” Bucky confused.

“Yes, Monet. She is in the class, you just need to turn to the left.” The man checking his watch and look at Bucky again. “Class will be over in a minute, you need to hurry if you want to meet her. She has an appointment with Prof. Pierce.”

“Thank you, sir?”

“Rumlow, Brock Rumlow.” Bucky shakes Brock hand and dashed to the classroom quickly. To his disappointment, everyone seems already finished and only several students stay in class. With a defeated sigh, Bucky exits the class and walks through the corridor. For a second he thinks he sees a familiar silhouette at the far end of the hall and when the figure turns around, Bucky’s eyes meet yours. He watched as your eyes widened in shock and you hurriedly ran to an open door that Bucky’s assumed is the professor’s office.

***

“Malyshka, when will you stop being childish?”

“What?” you eyeing Natasha, hurt with her accusation. ”What is this about Nat?”

“Remember Bucky?” you groaned at Natasha when she said that.

“Sestra please, that was months ago.”

“I know, I know.” Natasha walks and sat at the bed beside you. “But don’t you think it will be better if you appreciate his effort to apologize? or better, let him apologize.”

“He never tries to apologize.”

“The thing is you didn’t let him try, don’t you?” Nat arched her eyebrow.

“How did you even know this?” you pout at Natasha.

“Well, he called me yesterday when you pull that latest escape from the class. Not to mention when you slammed the door in front of him.” Natasha added when looking at you, waiting for an excuse.

Along sighed escaped for you when you recalled what happened that Saturday night.

A Saturday night well spent, that’s might be the correct term the night. Especially before the so-called arrogant someone, knock on Natasha brownstone house.

Since Friday afternoon, Natasha has been dragging you out from your cave – your bedroom. The first week of the new semester has been difficult for you. Although the elective class on liberal arts and history wasn’t that hard, coming back after a year break definitely, taking a toll on your performance.

Natasha has been very supportive since you take a break from school last year. She always tried to include you in her so-called socializing activity, because she believed that you are too naïve and need more exposure to the wild ride.

Here you are at the cute brownstone that she shared with her roommate Maria. Maria is an art curator at a museum in New York but now is out of town visiting her boyfriend.

Friday night has been spent hopping from bar to bar with Nat. Saturday morning you spent quite some time in central park. The lake and the bridge is your favorite spot to spend the day for hours. That evening, Natasha initiates to just spend time at her home. Binge watched Netflix and eating pizza.

Your stomach growls loudly and your check the clock, noticing that the pizza is over 10 minutes late.

You heard a knock on the door and check the clock on the wall again. The pizza guy arrived 15 minutes late. Running from the couch, your hand immediately reached out the knob and open the door.

The view behind the door or more correctly, the person, wasn’t someone you had hoped to see. You stare at him wide-eyed. Never in your life, did you envision to meet the douchewagon again. Without further ado, you slammed the door in front of him. You winced when the door frame rattle slightly, it seems you slammed it too hard.

“Where is the pizza?” Natasha curious when you are coming back empty-handed.

“Uhh…no. It’s not the pizza guy. It’s just someone knocking on the wrong door.” You avoid looking her in the eyes, because if you don’t, she will instantly know that you’re lying to her, immediately. Sometimes you think that Natasha will be better as a spy than a ballerina.

“It’s not my fault! When he arrives at your house unannounced, I freaked out.” You explained to Natasha, although it also wasn’t a lie.

“Malyska will you let him apologized next time?”

“Sestra, why is it so important for me to forgive Bucky? I know that Clint is your boyfriend…” you winked at Natasha. “but, this has anything to do with me forgiving him or him apologizing.”

“It is important because you are my best friend and my sister and Bucky is my dumb cousin, but I also love him.”

“Your what?” you gasp in shock surprise. “Why did I never know this? Nat, I thought you don’t have any family in the state.” You can’t believe that Natasha didn’t mention her family. You have been friends for ages, and she knows almost everything about you and your small family of four.

“Well…I just knew this recently when I celebrate my nana 80th birthday two years ago in upper east. Apparently, my aunt moved to the state after she finished her school and married Bucky’s dad who is an American.”

“Ok. You don’t have any obligation to tell me anything. I mean I might believe the rumors that your family is a mafia back in Russia.” A wide smile spread on your face and Natasha can’t help but giggling back at and throwing a pillow at you.

“Malyska, please give him a chance to explain himself. And he said he will do anything to gain your forgiveness so you might take advantage of that.” Natasha smiles mischievously at you and you can’t help but grin back at her.

***

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #au fanfic #rockstar au #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction #writing challange #bucky x reader fluff #chuuulip post #chuuulip #moodboard

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wistfulcynic · 6 years

Text

Their Way By Moonlight: A Winding Path (Chapter 1)

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows --including her own cursed self-- is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

a/n: A little taster of my new project! This one will likely update slowly. Let me know what you think!

Tagging: @teamhook @wellhellotragic @rouhn @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @tiganasummertree @let-it-raines @bonbonpirate @thejollyroger-writer

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please let me know!

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1: A Winding Path

The road wound through the woods, a pale streak through the darkness, dimly illuminated by the ancient headlights of an equally ancient blue pickup. Rusty around the edges and stiff in the door hinges, but with a well maintained engine that purred reassuringly in the heavy darkness of the night, the truck had been expressly chosen for its nondescript reliability. Behind its wheel a man worked the gearshift with his right hand —the only one he possessed— steering the vehicle using a special prosthesis fitted into the brace on his left wrist. When the road straightened again the man shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders and flexing his legs, trying to stretch his stiff muscles. Driving an automobile was not unlike steering a ship in many ways, he reflected, but the hours of sitting did put rather a strain on his old bones.

He glanced over at the boy in the passenger seat, curled up in it in a way that seemed uncomfortable, his head propped awkwardly against the window. His brown hair was mussed and sticking to the glass and the man noticed with a mixture of amusement and exasperation that he still had that infernal beeping device clutched in his hand. Even in sleep he couldn’t let the thing go.

He looked like his father when he slept, the man thought, though when awake his expressive face and eyes always recalled his mother.

As the man steered the truck around another curve, lights from a motel and rest stop appeared on the left. It might be a good idea to stop for the night, he thought, refuel the truck and get some proper rest. According to the navigational device he’d rigged to the dash they weren’t much more than two hours from their destination and he judged it preferable that they arrive the next morning; their appearance was bound to cause enough of a stir without them turning up in the middle of the night.

He pulled into a parking spot in front of the motel, and shook the boy awake.

“Wha— where are we?” he asked, blinking sleepily in a way that reminded the man painfully of his mother.

“We’re going to stop here for the night, lad,” the man replied. “Get some sleep, in a proper bed. I’m going to go secure us a room, you collect the luggage.”

“’kay Dad.”

The man smiled.

...

“I need a room for the night, please. Two beds.”

“How many occupants?” The man behind the motel desk tapped at his computer, not looking up.

“Two. Myself and my son.”

“Where’s the boy now?” asked the desk clerk, still tapping.

The man’s thick eyebrows snapped together at this invasive line of questioning, but he’d learned that staying inconspicuous meant putting up with a number of things that would have triggered him to take violent action in his old life. “He’s in the truck.”

This appeared to be a satisfactory response for the desk clerk was silent for a moment, tapping away, apparently engrossed by whatever he saw on his screen.

“You got some ID?”

The man handed over his driver’s license, his breathing calm and heart rate steady as the clerk examined it and recorded the information on his screen. He had no need to worry. If anyone were going to spot the fraud of the small plastic card it would not be this man behind the desk. The forgery was an excellent one, and the man’s recent experiences had confirmed his suspicion that the people of this realm would only look closely at a card when they had some reason to suspect that the bearer intended to misuse it. The nearest thing to critical assessment he had yet encountered was a woman who’d informed him that the picture was far too flattering to be real. His heart had stuck in his throat for a moment before he’d realised she was attempting to flirt.

The clerk handed his license back and tapped for a further minute or two before reaching behind him and grabbing a key off a hook attached to the wall. “One room for one night, two double beds. Here’s your key.” He handed it over, and the man felt a wave of relief that it was a heavy, substantial metal one, and not one of those flimsy bits of plastic that he never failed to struggle with. “Checkout’s at eleven.”

“We’ll be gone well before then. Cheers,” he replied, taking the key.

“You a Brit, then?” asked the clerk, looking at him for the first time.

“Aye.” That seemed to be the consensus of this realm based on his accent and speech patterns, and he knew that when one was trying to remain inconspicuous it was best to quietly meet expectations.

“London?”

“Bristol.” His research suggested that the historic English naval port was the closest thing this realm possessed to the city where he had attended the naval academy, a city long since lost to the sands of time. Although the haze of that same time had settled heavily on the memories of his years there, far more heavily indeed than his youthful face would suggest, he recalled them as some of the happiest of his life. Bristol seemed a fitting point of origin for the man he was claiming to be.

“Huh,” grunted the desk clerk, his brief spark of interest clearly extinguished.

The man nodded and returned to the truck where the boy was waiting, a suitcase, duffel bag, and battered leather satchel at his feet. The man slung the satchel over his shoulder and scooped up the duffel with his blunted left arm, leaving the boy to handle the wheeled suitcase. “Room 5, lad,” he said, then indicating the suitcase “Are you okay with that?”

“Yes,” sighed the boy, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He always took the suitcase and always had to reassure the man that he could handle it.

The man opened the door with ease, thankful again for the style of the key, and automatically tossed his bags on the bed closest to the door. Once they were securely locked in the room, with the curtains tightly drawn, he withdrew a large, gleaming hook from the satchel, clicking it firmly into his brace and sighing in relief. He had come to appreciate many of the wonders of this realm, including the remarkable medical technology, but as impressive as the new mechanised, lifelike prosthesis buried in the duffel bag was, nothing carried deadly reassurance quite like his hook. The likelihood of anyone, or anything, having followed them on their winding path from New York was slim, but he was taking no chances.

The room they found themselves in was both odd and familiar, with the grim, grimy aspect shared by the many others they had inhabited on their journey— the stiff and serviceable bedding, the solid furniture, the black box whose controlling devices were barely functional all exactly what he had come to expect. Yet something in this room called to much older memories of a more faraway place. Something about the pattern on the bedspread, the colours of the walls and curtains, the large iron tub in the bathing area, the old-fashioned key. Perhaps the influence of their destination was more far-reaching than they had expected, the man thought. Perhaps some of it was seeping out.

The boy removed his coat and scarf, hanging them carefully on a hook by the door as the man watched in approval. He wheeled the suitcase over to the far bed then flopped himself down upon it, still holding his beeping device but not looking at it. The man could sense he had something on his mind, and waited.

“How much farther is it?” the boy inquired, after a long silence.

“Another two hours or so.”

The boy nodded, but did not move.

“Are you sure you’re prepared for this, lad? You know it won’t be—”

“It won’t be easy, I know. We’ve talked about it enough. I’m ready.”

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know. I certainly am.”

“At least you’ve seen her recently.”

“Not the her we’ll see tomorrow. It’s going to be painful, meeting that her.”

“I know, Dad—”

“You know with your head, but you may still be surprised by the reaction of your heart.”

The boy sighed, suppressing another eyeroll, for which the man was grateful. His mother would certainly not have suppressed it.

“You should get some sleep, lad. Would you like to use the bathing room first?”

“Bathroom, and yeah, thanks.”

He slid off the bed and headed for the bathing area, careful not to leave his device behind, the man noted with an internal sigh. He picked up the controllers for the black box —the television, he reminded himself with a grimace. Appalling name. Nothing good ever came of blending Latin and Greek— and fumbled with them for a moment before identifying the correct sequence of buttons to turn it on and locate a channel broadcasting the local news. His hand clenched on the controller as anxiety twisted and rose in his gut, gripping his throat tightly for long minutes before slowly, gradually relaxing as the broadcast revealed that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred that day —if one discounted the seagull that had taken over the pet food aisle of a supermarket and forced its closure, that is. The man discounted it.

Further exploration revealed that the television was able to receive precisely five and a half channels. One was showing the news, another a comedy programme he had never found amusing, the third a film he and the lad had watched some months ago. The fourth and fifth channels featured the baffling athletic ritual known as “football,” and the half appeared, from the audio, to contain some rather explicit sexual activity, though the blurred and flickering images failed either to confirm or deny. The man observed this in amusement for a moment or two before recalling that the boy would be finished with his ablutions soon, and turned the television off. This realm’s peculiar attitude to sex was something he doubted he’d ever grow accustomed to.

Pulling a thick book from his satchel, he lay back against the pillows and read until the boy reappeared, clad in his pajamas and still clutching his device. He crawled into his bed and fiddled with the device for a few seconds before placing it on the table next to his head. “I’ve set the alarm for seven,” he said.

The man knew he would awaken naturally well before that hour, but he nodded. “That will give us plenty of time,” he replied. “Get some sleep now, lad.”

“Mmmmm,” said the boy, his eyelids already drooping. The man watched him until he was fully asleep and snoring softly in a way that sent another brief stab of agony through the man’s heart. The boy’s mother made that exact noise when she slept.

Once assured the lad was asleep, the man retreated to the bathing room, drawn by the large, surprisingly ornate bathtub, wrought in iron with clawed feet and gracefully curved copper piping. He fiddled with the taps, pleased when hot water gushed forth at a generous rate. As the tub filled the man removed both his clothes and the heavy leather brace strapped to his left arm. He was going to have to wear the prosthesis for their arrival the next day so he may as well give the old stump a good clean, he thought, with the merest trace of his old bitterness. He slid into the faintly steaming water, sighing as its heat eased the ache and strain from his muscles. There were days when he could swear he felt every one of his years, even if he decidedly did not look them.

Tomorrow, he feared, would likely be one of the hardest days of his life. And for him, that was truly saying something.

He sighed again, deeper this time, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the curve of the tub. He forced his mind to clear, forced away the thoughts of the day he both craved and dreaded, allowed himself to be soothed by the gentle lapping sounds against the sides of the tub as the warmth of the water and the strain of the day lulled him into sleep.

He is in a large, airy room painted in dusty blue with creamy trim. Wide bay windows with generously cushioned seats below them stand open on one wall, the breeze that flows through them bearing the crisp and salty scent of the sea. At the centre of the room is a large bed with a sturdy wrought iron frame and the softest mattress he’s ever known. Curtains billow around the bed and at the windows, light linen ones that match the room’s wooden trim. The sheets are cool and smooth, and she is there upon them.

“I wasn’t expecting this tonight,” he says, sliding into the bed and taking her in his arms, the heat of her skin a delightful contrast to the sheets. She sighs in contentment and nuzzles her nose into his neck.

“I wanted to see you before you arrive tomorrow,” she says. “To— to warn you about something. Something I think you need to know beforehand, so you don’t overreact and spoil the plan.”

“I think I can be trusted to carry out a plan,” he grumbles.

“Of course you can, but you do have a temper, babe.”

“Aye,” he agrees. “I do at that. So what is this something?”

“It’s—” she begins, but the words seem to stop in her throat. “I’m— It’s about my— my—” She struggles visibly and he wishes he could help, but he knows he can only be patient. “It’s how I’m— argh, damn it, no, I can’t say it.” She looks distraught for a moment as she tries to work out how to tell him what she needs him to know, without telling him. “Just be prepared for my— my personal circumstances to be not quite what you expected,” she says finally, clearly frustrated with herself.

He’s not surprised that she was unable to say what she wished to. They have learned that the dreams allow them to discuss anything, so long as they both already know what it is. Conveying new information, however, may be done only obliquely, and with caution. He holds her close, stroking her hair in a way he hopes is reassuring. “I don’t really have any expectations to speak of, love. We’ve tried to prepare for anything, the lad and I. But I’ll keep that in mind.”

She relaxes and snuggles closer and for a moment he pushes it all away, the worry, the anxiety, the anger, and just relishes this, her, this miraculous thing they share that allows her to be in his arms despite the hundreds of miles that separate them. He wants to stay there forever in the peaceful place they made for themselves alone, wants the monsters and demons and villains that plague them to vanish away and just let them be. Let them have their love and their boy and their life. It’s all he wants. He holds her tightly against him, treasuring the smell of her skin and the feel of her hair, knowing that the next time he sees her will break his heart.

“I love you,” she murmurs, reading his mind. “Don’t ever forget that.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise me,” she says fiercely. “Promise me you won’t give up, no matter how hard it gets.”

He wonders if he should be insulted, but realises that the plea is more for herself than for him. “I promise you, my love,” he says firmly, “I promise I will never give up on you, on us. I couldn’t. I would die first.”

She nods, then kisses him, her passion tinged with anxiety. “Make love to me,” she demands, and he chuckles. She is beautiful when she’s bossy. He kisses her, open-mouthed and hot, as his hand buries itself in her hair and he drags his handless wrist down the curve of her body, pressing it between her legs, right on the spot that makes her moan. She’s brought him here without the hook, despite how much she loves the cool metal on her skin, and he knows that means she wants it soft and slow and blisteringly intense.

She bucks her hips against his wrist, moaning at the friction of the roughened scars against her clit, and he watches her. Watches her eyes flutter closed and her face flush pink with pleasure. She’s hot and dripping wet against him and he loves it, loves making her fall apart just with this, but tonight he wants to be inside her when she comes. He pulls his wrist away, chuckling at her whimper of protest, and pulls her mouth back to his, kissing her deeply, his tongue dancing with hers in the way he knows makes her wild with need. He could write books on how to pleasure her, give seminars on the subject, and he brings all of his knowledge to bear as he caresses her, his thumb across her nipple, his cock through her folds, his fingers tracing along all her sensitive places until she is gasping and pleading beneath him.

“Please,” she whispers, “Please.”

She is only submissive like this when she’s feeling insecure, when she needs his strength to comfort her. He files that information away for tomorrow, and sets about making her feel cherished and protected. Carefully he reaches out with his mind and manipulates the dream as she taught him, dimming the room until only the bed is visible, shifting the pillows to create a cocoon around them, focusing her mind on him alone as he nestles between her thighs and thrusts himself into her, smooth and deep and true, perfect as only dreams can be. She throws her head back against the pillows, her hair in chaos behind her, and rocks her hips in time with his thrusts.

“You feel so damn good,” she moans in his ear. “So perfect inside me.”

“And you feel perfect around me,” he replies, “Never anything but perfect.”

He knows, of course he does, that the dream has filed all the rough edges off their lovemaking, the awkward angles, the ruder noises, the concerns about pregnancy and the young sons who like to enter rooms without knocking, yet he still means it, as he knows she does. Whether it takes place in dreams or reality, nothing has ever been as perfect as them joined like this in the physical expression of their love. Nothing else could even come close.

She wraps her arms and legs tightly around him and he buries his face in her hair, quickening the pace, angling his hips to hit her just right every time. Her breath begins to hitch and her fingernails dig into his back, and soon she is coming apart around his cock, squeezing it, milking his release from him. He moans into her neck as he comes, her name on a gasping breath as he rides it out as long as he can before collapsing onto the bed and pulling her close, holding her as their breathing slows and evens. They lie entwined for as long as they can, foreheads touching, gazing into each other’s eyes, clinging to the precious moments of their time together as it nears its end.

“I love you,” they say in unison and the man woke abruptly in the ornate bathtub, shivering, the water around him cold and milky with his semen.

Better than on the bedsheets, I suppose, he thought wryly, pulling the plug to let water and seed drain away. As efficiently as possible he used the attached shower hose to rinse himself off, lathering his skin and hair with the contents of the small bottles beside the tub, then drying quickly and preparing for bed.

It was a long time before he slept again.

The morning dawned grim and grey to match his mood. Clouds lowered over the treetops, heavy as the fatigue that weighed upon his shoulders, a testament to his restless night. The boy at least seemed rested, his eyes bright and alert as he scoffed his breakfast in the grimy diner attached to the motel. The man ate at a more measured pace, dutifully fuelling his body though he had no real appetite.

“You saw her last night, didn’t you?” inquired the boy. “I can tell.”

“Aye,” the man replied, staring moodily into his coffee cup.

“What did she say?” the boy asked, somewhat hesitantly. The man suspected that this clever lad had divined something of the nature of their dreams, if thankfully none of the details, and was ever careful not to ask anything too personal despite how he clearly burned with curiosity.

“She couldn’t say much,” the man replied. “Though she hinted at some… unpleasantness regarding her personal circumstances.”

“What do you think that means?” asked the boy around a mouthful of eggs and pancakes.

“Chew your food first, lad. I don’t know what it means.” He had his suspicions, but wasn’t prepared to share them with the boy. “Have you any thoughts?”

The boy swallowed hugely and gulped his orange juice before answering. “Maybe she has a weird job or something. Like maybe she’s— I dunno, a garbage man or a dog catcher.”

The man smiled at that despite his mood, entertained as always by the boy’s expansive imagination. “Perhaps you’re onto something,” he played along. “What other jobs might she do?”

The boy grinned widely and launched into an increasingly absurd litany of potential employments that soon had the man laughing despite himself. He felt lighter as he paid their bill and walked back to the truck with his hand on the boy’s shoulder. Not for the first time he felt grateful for the lad’s presence, for his cheerfully upbeat nature and ceaseless optimism.

As they turned onto the road the boy attached his device to the truck’s dash and after a short squabble they settled on a playlist to carry them through the rest of their journey.

“Classic rock,” sighed the boy in the tone of one who suffers greatly. “Of course. Typical for someone as old as you.”

“Oi, lad, less of the ‘old’, if you please, I’m only thirty-four,” said the man with a grin. “It says so on my driver’s license.”

The boy snorted a laugh.

“And what’s more, I’ve heard you singing along to this song on more than one occasion,” retorted the man.

“I have not!” The boy was indignant.

“I may not be your mother, lad, but even I can spot a lie that blatant,” the man teased. “Why, just last week in the shower-bath—”

“It’s just shower, and that’s so not true…”

The forest they drove through grew denser and darker as they progressed, its shadows taking on an ominous aspect as mist began to rise from the ground, swirling around the moss-hung trees and muffling the usual woodland sounds. Within the truck the playful bickering between man and boy soon devolved into a who-can-sing-the-wrong-words-loudest contest, handily distracting them from the gloom of their surroundings, and by the time they reached the outskirts of their destination they were bellowing about the dawning of the age of asparagus at the very top of their lungs, almost loudly enough to drown out their anxiety over what lay in wait for them.

Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.

~Oscar Wilde

#cs fic #cs ff au #canon divergence #alternative 3b #cursed storybrooke #soulmate #soulmate au #dreams #shared dreams #dream smut #what dreams may come #their path by moonlight #profdanglaisstuff #captain cobra

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cooperjones2020 · 6 years

Text

Second City, chp. 12

Summary: Sometimes she worries she’s settling — for a smaller job, a smaller city, a smaller life than she’d promised herself — but that was before she found out Jughead Jones lives in Chicago. That was before she found out the final secret of Jason Blossom’s murder.

A/N: Alright, so. It's been seventeen months since I updated and my life has been turned upside down several times since then. I never intended to abandon this fic, or writing in general, and I still don't intend to but it's probably best to consider it on hiatus until further notice, as I can't promise it won't be another seventeen months before I update again. I actually had this chapter mostly written and was just sitting on it, but all further chapters are in much rougher shape so who knows. Same goes for NNK - nothing is anywhere near publishable for that one, sorry.

I do want to say how much I appreciate all of you who kept reading and commenting and checking in with me here. It does mean so much to me and I think about you a lot, even if I don't show up and do anything about it.

Also, hopefully it goes without saying but, this fic is canon compliant through season 1 only, so Hal is not the Black Hood--none of that happened.

ao3–>https://archiveofourown.org/works/11409360/chapters/40956119

All previous chapters of Second City and Nobodies Nobody Knows under the tag #second+city and on the Who Sings Heartache to Sleep series page on Ao3

12. In which Nancy Drew discovers modern technology

Jughead doesn’t approve of her plan, but he doesn’t have any better ideas to offer her so they go with it. Neither of them really has any experience investigating cold cases, and it’s not like she has the kind of technology available to her that she had at her old job — or that any evidence exists that such technology would catch.

After he’d surprised her last night, they’d gone to Pop’s. Of course. He’d come straight to her mom’s house from the airport, barely stopping at his own to drop off his bag, so by the time he got her out her front door, he was practically foaming at the mouth.

“Jug, why didn’t you eat before your flight?”

The look he gives her is so incredulous she barely restrains her smile.

“Betty, why on earth would I eat the soggy grey hockey pucks that try to pass for burgers elsewhere when I know I’m within, like, five hours of Riverdale.”

She realizes that his detour to her basement likely added an extra hour or so onto that ETA, that Jughead Jones willingly remained hungry longer than necessary to find her, but she pushes that thought firmly out of her mind.

Now, she’s in the Blue and Gold office of both past and present, pulling old editions of the paper they wrote out of an ancient filing cabinet — thankful at the miracle that they’re still there in the time warp that continues to be Riverdale. A freckle-faced kid who insisted he was a junior but looked alarmingly young had logged into the computer for them, so Jughead is behind her, looking for digitized copies. The kid didn’t know where the records from 2017 were, so they are left attempting to cover all bases.

The office hasn’t seen many updates since she’d last been here. They’ve replaced the computers, but even these models are several years out of date. They did get rid of the microfiche reader, though. So that’s something.

Betty Cooper, who spent her freshman year pining after the wrong boy, her sophomore year solving a murder, her junior year in a fog of depression, and her senior year learning how to be a person again, never intended to come back here. But somehow, here she is. Wherever you go, there you are. Like all adages, that one is also annoyingly true.

After an hour or so of fruitless searching, Jughead sighs and comes to stand behind her.

“What are we looking for, Betts?”

“The articles we wrote.”

“I know that, but why? What will they tell us that we don’t already know?”

“Something we don’t remember. I don’t know. It was a decade ago — there could be some detail that seemed insignificant at the time but now might help point us at my father, at what he might have been up to.”

She doesn’t know what kind of records there’d be anyway, but she’s determined to look.

“Betty, we know what we wrote. And even if there’s something that was insignificant then, I’ve read reread these editions until my eyes crossed in the course of book research. I’m pretty sure I have them all memorized at this point. Hell, there’s copies back in Chicago. I could have Mike or Mary overnight them to us if you wanted.”

“I just want to be able to check the facts. I want to make sure we have all the information we possibly can.” She tries to keep the petulance out of her voice. Her success is questionable at best.

Because, truthfully, she knows Jughead’s right. There’s nothing to find here. If anywhere, whatever there is to be found must be in the remains of her father’s office, in the crypt that is her childhood home, the crypt where he mother continues to cling to the memory of the Coopers pre-Jason Blossom, pre-Jughead Jones, and pre-Betty’s “rebellious streak rearing its ugly head.” Alice would never admit to it, fond as she is of her grandchildren, but Betty would bet that that last summer before the first time their lives all turned upside down was the last summer in which her mother was truly happy and her life was something under her control.

It’s becoming increasingly clear to Betty that this can only end in a showdown between her and her mother. That Alice Cooper may be the gatekeeper of the truth — a potentiality she both dreads and wishes for as, if not, she’ll have to confront that thought that maybe there is no truth to be had.

Hal Cooper is dead. All of this might turn out to be in vain. And she can’t — she won’t — accept that.

Jughead sighs again behind her, pulling her back out of her head.

“Okay, then let’s take a break before we go see Keller. Your brilliant mind won’t do us any good if you’re totally burned out when we get there.”

Last night, with the shock beginning to wear off and the pungent grease that seems to float in the air around the diner receding behind them, Betty tried not to watch Jughead walking beside her out of the corner of her eye. At least, she tried not to whenever his head was turned toward her. The sound of cicadas slowly overcame the buzz of neon as the trees lining Elm St. enfolded them in a hazy almost-darkness. Just as she was about to give up scanning his face for signs she’d told herself she’d forgotten how to interpret, as dusk stole the details of the moles on his cheek and threads of his expressions, she heard a rustle of foil down near his hands and he popped a square of gum in his mouth.

She narrowed her eyes at him and extended her hand. “What, you don’t think I should get to escape the fate of onion breath?”

He raised one eyebrow as held the package up for her to see — “Nicorette” just visible in the fading light.

Oh.

Huh.

“I…didn’t realize you’d quit.”

“Yeah, a few weeks ago.” He scraped his hand over the back of his neck and then forward to ruffle the waves of his dark hair. “So you’re welcome to a piece if you want, but you might not like how it makes you feel.”

She shook her head and they kept walking a block or two. Then her mouth opened of its own accord, “Freshman year of college, after some insipid party at which I stayed sober — I don’t remember why. Antibiotics, maybe? — the guy walking me home persuaded me to try one of his cigarettes when I told him I’d never smoked. After nearly hacking a lung out, I got the hang of it well enough to not totally embarrass myself. But when I got home, I puked for an hour. Ugh. It was worse than the 2023 Spring Break tequila incident.”

For a moment it was silent beside her and she felt herself begin to blush — what had motivated her to share that utterly useless memory? — Then Jughead burst out laughing, doubling up and gripping his stomach and guffawing so hard she thought he’d choke on the stupid gum.

But it was catching, because soon she was laughing too, careening into the hiccups that had always signalled the fraying of the tether of her sanity.

“He — he must have thought..” Jughead dissolved into giggles again. Jughead Jones. Giggles.

“Oh Betty.” She managed to swallow a hiccup and looked up to find soft eyes on her and all of her mirth suddenly evaporated. It was a look she just wanted to sink into and wrap herself up in, to push away the reality of what they were doing here.

She shoved his shoulder then, telling herself it was because he’d laughed at her. But the flat of her palm against the soft, gray jersey of his t-shirt ignited another sizzle in her abdomen she resolved to ignore.

They try not to talk about it, this giant thing sitting in between them, preventing them from reaching each other. Or, at least, Betty does. She’s not sure if it’s a conscious effort on Jughead’s part or if they’re just totally out of sync again.

But, still, it slipped in. At dinner, he’d made an offhand about Southside High and she said, “I get it, Jug, I do. You didn’t have any chips to play. And while I wish you would have told me, so we could have figured out something together, even if that something was our breaking up, my dad held all the power. The threat to FP— to your family — was bigger than our high school relationship.” She realized she meant it. Maybe she could forgive him after all. Maybe she already had. Maybe their friendship is still intact.

He kept glancing at her and then away again while they searched, as if he expected her to break down, but by that point in the night, she had no room for anything else but undirected anger. She’d let it carry her back to the basement after dinner, where she resumed digging through boxes and poking through excel files looking for passwords or safe combinations or financial records or something.

Anything.

Many hours later, when Betty went upstairs for a glass of water and was surprised to see the house cloaked in darkness, her eyes drifted to a handful of photos stuck in cork board illuminated by the under cabinet lights. A photo of the twins in the Blossom maple grove last winter shot an arrow straight through Betty’s brain.

Glass of water forgotten, she raced back down the stairs and barely caught herself from having to hurdle over Jughead’s head.

She did it. Jughead heard the click and looked up.

“It was—it was the date that Grandpappy Blossom killed Grandpappy Cooper.” He nodded but didn’t say anything as he pushed himself up and crossed behind the desk, to join her in her corner of the floor.

Beneath passports and birth certificates, manila folders containing the deeds to the house and the Register office and bills of sale for the Whyte Wyrm and other properties her parents had acquired and discarded over the years, Betty found a handful of newspaper issues her parents had saved. She handed them, one by one, to Jughead, who scanned headlines before stacking them neatly in piles beside his left hip.

When she picked up the next issue from the stack she’d pulled into her lap, her breath caught and she felt Jughead’s eyes land on her. The cover story was a copy of her Jubilee speech from that year. She remembered her parents justifying their decision to print it in the Register, not buying her arguments about special treatment because she’s their daughter — her dad had insisted.

Rereading it, she finally felt the anger and her energy begin to ebb away, leaving behind hurt and confusion and love for her father. She couldn’t help wondering what he saved this paper for — it it was a message and if so, for whom?

Eventually, she was forced to admit that the safe, too, seemed like a dead end. She sighed and set the newspaper and manila folder for the Whyte Wyrm transactions aside before locking the safe back up. Jughead returned to his side of the office, across the DMZ of the desk and beyond any arm-span that would have allowed her to reach him.

Sheriff Keller’s secretary had headed her off earlier in the week, but today she and Jughead get in to see him, down the long hallway lined in dark wood and seafoam green tile she’s seen so often, in real life and in the dreams that still sometimes creep in. Jughead remains in the doorway, but Betty hovers while Keller makes himself a cup of coffee. When he finally sits down, sighing as his bones settle, and she takes the rickety folding chair across from him, Jughead comes to sit beside her, folding his own long legs around the legs of his chair.

“I don’t have any new information, Betty. This case has been closed for years. We examined all the footage, from both cameras. Your dad never left the bar. Clifford entered and exited through the back door. There’s no evidence your dad even knew he was there.” It’s not unexpected, but still it sets her teeth on edge.

“But why would he just go into the Whyte Wyrm for fifteen minutes at 2:30 in the morning on a night it was closed. He wasn’t doing business stuff, he never even went into the office. And how could he not have heard the shot?”

“He said he didn’t. We had no reason to doubt him. Betty, your father was a good man.” It’s obfuscation wrapped up in a pretty bow of trying to make her feel better. What Sheriff Keller is saying is that Hal was one of the right kind of people. He owned his own home and his own business, had a picture-perfect family. What Keller is saying is that he didn’t do his job.

Betty feels herself begin to vibrate with anger again and a dozen years of repressed emotions and she can feel Jughead’s eyes on her, wondering if she’s alright. “And you just bought that? That he was in the bar but couldn’t hear the shot? You didn’t ever think to test it?”

The set of his jaw tells her Keller is getting annoyed with her now. That answering questions on done-and-dusted murder investigations was not how he’d planned to spend his Wednesday afternoon. “We have Clifford Blossom on tape, we didn’t need your father for the case against him.”

As usual, Sheriff Keller totally misses her point.

Jughead speaks before she can. “But you never thought that that might be too much of a coincidence? That a man who never frequented the Whyte Wyrm, except to check up on the accounts and always during the daytime, just so happened to be in the bar at the exact moment a kid was shot. A kid he was so upset about dating his teenage daughter that he literally sent her away. You never thought they could have been together before entering the bar and then split up so you couldn’t prove it?”

Keller stares at him, bushy eyebrows drawn down over his eyes. “Then why would he let himself be caught on camera at all?”

“I don’t know, maybe he was drunk and forgot all about the cameras. Hell, maybe, in the best case scenario, he and Clifford were together when Clifford got the call from Mustang and Hal didn’t know Clifford planned to kill his own son. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you truly believe he didn’t know that gun went off? He didn’t spend months trying to hush it up only to swoop in as the white knight for my dad as soon as I found the proof he was there?”

The sheriff’s chair squeaks as he leans to one side and then the other, scans his eyes up to the ceiling and back down to a spot on the table where the decades have left a rusty mug-shaped ring.

“Jones, what’s the point of all this? Your dad’s out and Hal Cooper’s been dead for years — sorry, Betty.”

She doesn’t understand, has never understood, how her sweet and morally uncompromising best friend can have such a troglodyte for a father.

“The point is apparently Riverdale is just as corrupt and morally bankrupt as it always was. My God, how the hell do you keep getting elected? Let’s go, Betty.”

She lets him lead her out of the police station. Her mind still whirring with the sheriff’s incompetence as yet another roadblock, yet another of the same roadblocks as they’d encountered so many years before. So she gives Jughead the keys and lets him drive her back to her house.

It’s almost alarming how quickly they slip back into old habits, old ways of being comfortable with each other she thought they’d long since forgotten. They’re in the basement again, Betty going through more boxes and Jughead trying to crack the encryption on her father’s old external hard drive when it comes to her. “Juggie, we can test it!”

“What?”

“We need to know if my father heard the gunshot. We may not be able to prove whether he knew what Clifford was up to or if they were together beforehand, but we can prove he knew the gun went off and didn’t do anything about it. We can test it.”

“You want to set off a gun in the basement of the Whyte Wyrm?”

“Why not? Your dad runs it now, right? We can do it before they open for the night so no one will freak out. I know my mom still has as gun around the house somewhere. It might not be the same caliber though. Do different gun sizes discharge at different volumes?” Betty is absorbed in her own monologue, mind jumping ahead to all the variabilities of ballistics she can remember from a lifetime of watching too many crime procedurals.

“Betty, stop. We can’t just shoot a gun in the middle of a building. What would we even shoot it at? That’s gotta be against the law and after today, I don’t think Keller’s gonna be too willing to give us the benefit of the doubt. And he definitely won’t give FP the benefit of the doubt.”

She’d begun quickly re-boxing all the papers from her parents’ refinancing in 2011 but at Jughead’s words she freezes and feels herself deflate. “I guess you’re right. Never mind. I just — I thought it might be something after all of this nothing.”

“Wait. I have an idea. You’re a genius.” He kisses her forehead and runs out before she can ask him what he means.

#bughead fanfiction #riverdale fanfiction #bughead #betty x jughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #riverdale #mine #second city

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skygemspeaks · 6 years

Text

submitted by @rosejen8675

So, I have a story idea for My Hero Academia that I’ve been wanting to bounce off of someone for a while now. You always seem pretty cool in asks and have a lot of fun AU’s, so I’d thought I’d ask you.

Izuku has gotten pretty used to people dismissing his quirk ramblings by the time he’s a pre-teen. Then one day he comes across a video online of someone talking about a hero’s quirk and sort of picking it apart, just like he does every day. He sees that the video has gotten a good amount of views and positive feedback, and it bolsters him to know that people out there do like to talk about this stuff. He notices something a bit off about one of the observations the person makes though, and feels bold enough to leave a comment about it. The person messages him back saying that the Izuku actually had a really good point, and that maybe he should make a video about it himself. And Izuku becomes inspired to do just that.

His first videos aren’t great, mainly just recordings of his usual mutterings. Some comments are mean about it, but a few provide constructive criticism about how he could make the videos better and make his point better understood. Izuku starts putting more planning into the videos, doing a bit of research and actually writing out scripts for himself, and they start to get better. A couple episodes get recognized by older and more popular channels, and that causes Izuku’s channel to become more well known.

Izuku is thrilled to have people who actually approve of his hobby, even if he’s never actually met them. He starts to recognize certain regulars, especially ones that leave comments that lead to discussions among the viewers and himself. Some people leave mean comments of course, but they never really say anything worse than Kacchan already does.

After his channel gains a certain amount of notoriety, people start to leave comments asking about his own quirk. He’s analyzed so many others, what does he have to say about his own? Izuku doesn’t want to tell them he is quirkless, because he’s afraid that they will take him less seriously or stop watching all together if they know, just like most everyone else has done. He doesn’t feel comfortable just ignoring it though.

One day when he’s having lunch his glass does that thing where water condenses in just the right way at the base of a glass that it starts sliding on it’s own, and he gets an idea. He can make people think he has a quirk. He’s mentioned in previous videos what type of quirks his parents had, so people would believe he has some kind of telekinesis. He practices enough that he figures out how to get the glass to slide when he wants it to, and during his next video he sets it up to slide toward his hand part way through. He acts super casual about it, and lets people think what they will.

People end up taking the bait. Izuku feels a bit guilty for the deception, but tells himself he’s not outright lying. One person comments it’s a shame he didn’t inherit his dad’s fire-based quirk, and suddenly Izuku is getting ideas. Could he find a way to make it look like he had? Would people believe it if he did? There’s only one way to find out.

After some research into sleight of hand and stage magic, Izuku is able to make it look like’s he’s accidentally coughing up smoke in one of his videos. People start debating in the comments about which is his real quirk and whether or not he could have inherited both. From there it starts to escalate. Izuku becomes curious to see how far he can push this. He keeps coming up with new quirks he could have and different ways to imply he has them. People start getting really into it. Entire threads are created trying to piece together the mystery Izuku is presenting them with. Some argue that he has an analysis quirk that he’s been using the whole time, and that he’s doing this to tease them for not realizing it. Others say he definitely has one of those quirks, and he’s challenging them to figure out which one it is. Some say he has an illusion quirk. Only a very small number put out that he might be quirkless and messing with them all.

Even with all the fake quirk shenanigans, Izuku makes sure that his video’s analysis content is still top notch. Because of this, a few students at UA end up showing one of videos to their teachers. Then some of the teachers start watching episodes that sound relevant to the topic they covering, and telling the students about it. At one point Present Mic mentions a video of Izuku’s in response to a caller question, and Izuku proceeds to lose his mind over that endorsement for a week.

In the grand scheme of things, this AU changes little. Izuku still ends up getting attacked by a sludge villain and meeting All Might. He still inherits One for All, and most of the events at school and with the League of Villains fold out in the same way. The difference is made in little things. Izuku becomes a bit more confident before UA, at least when it comes to his ability to analyze and make plans. Certain teachers recognize him during the entrance exam, and are delighted that they now know what Izuku’s ‘real’ quirk is. A number of the 1-A students recognize him, tell him how fun or useful they found his videos, and ask if he’ll give them advice later. Even some older students come up and tell him that such and such episode gave them new ideas on how to use their quirks in combat.

At the end of the day it’s not a huge difference, but all of them combined make a world of difference to Izuku.

So what do you think? I’d really like to get a more polished version down at some point, because I like the idea a lot. I do kind of worry about the whole ‘pretending to have different quirks in his videos’ part. Do you think that’s too out of character for Izuku?

I’d appreciate any feedback you could give. Thank you!

AhhhH????? I would read 100k of this!! It’s super interesting, and I do like the idea of him teasing his viewers about what quirk he has. It’s a fun, harmless little thing, and if I know the internet, it would ABSOLUTELY help bring in the views lmao.

I’m super interested to see how this would affect canon though, in small but noticeable ways, how the people in his life see him.

All Might, who’s seen a couple of his vids (because at this point, who HASN’T?) despite being technologically illiterate. He’s always had a fondness for the boy who does such great quirk analyses, at the easy confidence he seems to portray in his audience, the kindness that shines through, the mischievousness, the resourcefulness in making it seem like he has all these different quirks. And then he meets Izuku, and he feels his heart break for him, and he’s amazed that even with the online fame, this boy is so genuinely modest.

There’s Aizawa, who watches all of Izuku’s videos, because having in depth knowledge of all kinds of quirks is especially important for a hero who doesn’t have a physical enhancement quirk of his own, a hero whose true strength lies in his mind. When Izuku is put into his class, Aizawa doesn’t immediately dismiss him. He knows the kid has the brains to be a truly amazing hero, and maybe now is the time for Aizawa to repay him for all the help he’s received from his videos in the past.

Imagine the sports festival - the name of his channel trending on twitter as people freak out about how the winner of the obstacle race is actually this famous youtube personality? Imagine the chaos, especially if he didn’t tell any of them that he entered UA. Or maybe he told them he entered, but didn’t specify which department

(because that seems to be Izuku’s theme these days. Now in addition to what quirk he has, people are arguing over whether or not he’s in the hero department.

“Of course he’s in heroics! He’s mentioned before how much he’s wanted to be in a hero since he was a child, you morons.”

“Just because he wants to be one doesn’t mean it’s possible for him though. He obviously has an analysis type quirk, so he’s gotta be in support or management.”)

Imagine people finally getting CLOSURE as they find out what his quirk actually is, and isn’t it so cheeky of him that the quirk he was “born with” was the one quirk he never teased in any of his videos.

He makes a sheepish apology video afterwards for nearly scaring his audience to death in his match against Todoroki, and he quietly makes his disapproval known when his fans start commenting about how that Bakugou kid is so villainous and shouldn’t have won the tournament.

Dear god, imagine the Stain incident! People seeing our boy almost carried off by a Noumu.

And once people know he’s in heroics, imagine his fans begging him to upload vlogs, the day in the life of a ua hero student. At first he refuses to, because he thinks his teachers would disapprove, but after UA’s reputation takes a hit with all the villain attacks, Izuku suggests the idea to Nedzu, to help show people that UA really is doing its all to help.

Imagine him giving a tour of class a’s dorm building, and getting ready for the cultural festival!

Imagine him meeting Gentle, and La Brava is lowkey salty about how many more views he has than them, but Gentle is quietly freaking out because he’s been a fan of Izuku’s channel since forever now???

Ahh, sorry for getting so carried away my dear, but this idea is just too good for me to leave alone!! I would definitely love to read this if you decide to continue it. And if you want to talk to me about it more, please feel free. It’s such a fun verse to play in and I’d love to help contribute to it :)

#bnha #boku no hero academia #midoriya izuku #youtube au #rosejen8675 submits #bnha submit #submission #long post #raw fic

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real-life-pine-tree · 6 years

Text

Into the Arcverse: My Name is Yuan (1/?)

Yuan Amaya just wanted to hide away from public eye, but fate had other plans. Based on Spiderman: Into the Spider-Verse.

Celebrity Duelists: the biggest trend in the entire dueling community. Originating in Den City, these Duelists use flashy avatars in Link V.R.A.I.N.S. (short for Virtual Reality Artificial Intelligence Network System) to take part in special duels that are broadcasted for everyone to see. Like regular celebrities, they also take part in sponsorships and charity events, with some of them opening their own business lines, like The Gore's comic series and Blue Angel's Christmas album.

But not anyone can become Celebrity Duelists. In order to reach that status, Duelists need money and/or good connections. Obtaining that worldwide recognition was key, as not every Duelist can become a celebrity. You couldn't just whip up a dueling video and wish for a sponsor to see it. You needed hard work to establish a name in the network system. But who knows? Maybe there's someone out there just waiting to be recognized...

It seemed like any other morning in Den City. The sun rising over the horizon to shine its rays all over town and through the white, cumulus clouds scattered across the sky, the birds chirping their harmonic melodies wherever they go, the citizens getting ready for work, heading to school, or preparing for a fun event in Link V.R.A.I.N.S. Whatever it may be, there was always something for everyone to do, especially for a particular someone.

As the sun’s rays penetrated through a glass window of an apartment, a teenage boy was sitting on his chair, already busy with a personal project of his… Well, “project” is an overstatement. A pencil was held firmly in his right hand as he made swift movements with it over a sheet of paper. Vibrant strokes conjugated with one another, the gripped pencil danced in specific motions to create more light strokes on the paper. Sometimes, his fingers would flick his utensil around to use a slightly worn-down eraser to fix any minor mistakes. The more lines, curves, and shapes produced from the graphite, the closer the boy gets to completing an image he has in his head…and it always brings a warm, soft smile to his face.

His dark blue eyes usually stayed glued to the paper on his desk, but they would occasionally wander around his bedroom whenever he is seeking any inspiration or finding himself a little lost in the music he is listening to for some motivation. For this morning, a pair of earbuds rested on his ears—which were tucking strands of his spiky, black-dyed hair—as he hummed softly to a recently new song performed by BAND-MAID. So far, he has been getting a hang of the choruses and a bit of the bridges, but the rest of the lyrics were more challenging. Even so, he still enjoyed the catchy rhythm it carries and knew this song was a great addition to his playlist.

A sigh slid out from his mouth as he stared in the vicinity of his workspace, but the sound of the tone was far from disappointment. He took great enjoyment in this hobby, specifically the infinite possibilities of drawing. No matter what time of day it is, it was like heaven for him. A nice, relaxing haven where he could find the space he needs to create whatever is on his mind. A well-deserved break he always takes from the world to express himself. To Yuan Amaya, this was his happiness.

"The whole wide world," Yuan quietly sung. "Will voice their true feelings."

"Yuan!"

"How many times have you repainted your life's story with 'only glory'?"

"Yuan!"

"The whole wide world defy the deepest deep."

"Yuan!"

"Enjoy all unexpected things over and ov-"

"Yuan!"

Realizing his parents were calling out to him, Yuan ripped out an earbud. "What is it?" he called back.

"Did you remember to pack for school?" Mr. Amaya asked.

But one glance at an empty suitcase said it all. "Crap..." Yuan sighed.

He quickly got up from his chair and started putting everything away. He put his pencil back into his silver-white pencil bag and slid his unfinished sketch into his folder of some of his other drawings, which lied on top of his sketchpad. He then packed his art materials into his suitcase before rushing to get dressed. Tossing his navy blue shirt with golden yellow lines near the end of each sleeve and light gray pants on his bed, Yuan grabbed his school uniform out of his closet and rushed to get changed into them. It consisted of a slate-colored jacket with a light blue trim, a white, button-up shirt, a blue tie, black pants, and a pair of grayish-blue and dark gray sneakers with white trims near the bottom.

Grabbing his suitcase, Yuan left his room. "Where's my deck?" he asked his parents.

"Still in the living room," Mrs. Amaya answered. "But wouldn't it be easier to get the newer Duel Disk model?"

"I would rather not," Yuan admitted as he walked to the living room. "Everyone's going digital. I feel more comfortable using physical cards." He picked up his Weather Painter deck and put it in his Duel Disk. "No matter what the others say..."

Mr. Amaya noticed his son's nervous expression. "I get that you're at the age of walking to school by yourself, but would it be alright if I drive you-"

"Thanks dad," Yuan quickly replied. "I would appreciate it."

His father was rather surprised at the quick response, but he still gave a warm smile to his son nonetheless. Without a second to waste, the family departed from their apartment room and made their way out of the building, where Yuan said his goodbyes for the day to his mother on the staircase before meeting up with his dad in his car. The current model they own is controlled by an A.I. much like the taxis of Den City; lately, there have been updates getting installed in their programing to help decrease the risk of the A.I.s malfunctioning and causing any accidents, a move that Yuan admittedly thought was smart.

Once the duo got into the front seats of automobile, Mr. Amaya activated the A.I. through voice command and instructed it to had it go to Den City High School. The vehicle then pulled out of its parking space and made its way onto the road to embark on its voyage. While driving through the suburbs, Yuan asked if there was anything interesting he could listen to on the radio, but before his dad could answer, the A.I. picked up his question and responded by tuning to a radio station that was currently doing brief news reports, with one of them being about recent activity going on in Link V.R.A.I.N.S. They have heard rumors starting to go around regarding this, and right as the car went by the downtown area, those rumors were proven true. From the windows and windshield, they could see a lot of the skyscrapers’ TV screens were plastered with live coverage on this developing story, including one from Good Morning Link V.R.A.I.N.S.

"Welcome to another installment of Link Facts," a familiar talking frog announced. "I'm your host, J.W. Frog. As you're all aware of, there's been talk about this mysterious Celebrity Duelist known as 'Striker' goin' around. From what my rookie reporters gathered, he claims to be some new-fangled reporter who claims Sol Technologies is covering an incident that took place ten years ago. But can we really trust this guy? No one's got a glimpse of him, not even the kind of deck he uses. So how can we believe him when he's got no proof?"

A nearby phone rang. "And it looks like we have our first caller," Frog noticed. He pressed a button on his desk. "Hello, you have reached Link Facts. How may I help you?"

"This is Ghost Gal of CyberTech Sector," a young woman spoke up.

That surprised Frog. "M-My goodness, it's an honor to have you on my show," he replied. "What brings you here?"

"I noticed you've been saying things about Striker," Ghost Gal answered. "What makes you think you know everything about him? You ever thought he could be doing us a favor?"

"I'm sorry, m'am, but without definitive proof, we can't really tell what he’s like,” Frog explained.

"So your first thought is to say he's not trustworthy?" Ghost Gal assumed. "What if something did happen ten years ago and the folks at Sol Technologies are the ones acting shady?"

"That is a possibility," Frog admitted.

"Then I would appreciate it if you say that instead of making one-way accusations," Ghost Gal suggested, then she hung up.

"Well that was a sure-fire way to start things off," Frog remarked. "But that's why I need you viewers. If anyone has proof of who Striker is, whether it's pictures or videos, send them to me at [email protected]. Now in other news, The Gore has recently announced an upcoming charity duel..."

"J.W. Frog might be right," Mr. Amaya pointed out. "We really don't know much about Striker. He could be making up this 'Sol Technologies coverup' for attention."

"Maybe..." Yuan muttered, still thinking about that news report.

The traffic light changed from red to green, and while the car picked up some speed to continue driving, Yuan dove into some important aspects of what they witnessed. J.W. Frog brought up a valid point regarding these stories; unless it is for attention, it is always important to find definitive proof of the claim someone is trying to make. But maybe there could be another factor at play. What if Striker has been gathering proof and he’s just waiting for the right time to share it to the public? It could be a possibility.

Yuan knew he shouldn’t second guess himself like that yet he couldn’t help it because he just so happens to be a fan of Striker himself. He has heard about how this mysterious Duelist became a celebrity due to his nightly mission to expose Sol Technologies. Speaking of which, it was astonishing to have someone like Ghost Gal from CyberTech Sector call during a news report to give her input. She has also got a reputation herself for being a co-founder of this organization with well-renounced hacking abilities and shares a common goal with the other members: protecting Link V.R.A.I.N.S. from criminal hackers. As astounding as it is by itself, why would Ghost Gal suddenly chime in like that to have J.W. Frog say proof is needed? Is this so-called “Sol Technologies coverup” really that important?

"You're a fan of Striker, aren't you?" Mr. Amaya asked. "What do you think about this news about him?"

Yuan remained silent. "Not really in a talking mood?" Mr. Amaya guessed.

"Eh..." Yuan muttered with a shrug. "I'd rather keep an open mind. I've been following fansites for a while, but they all say the same thing. Everyone's obsessed with figuring out Striker's identity. Wouldn't it be easier to leave him alone? And what's going to happen when we finally figure out who he is? It sounds like he mostly became famous because of his unknown status."

"It wouldn't hurt to ask," Mr. Amaya pointed out. "Your mother and I know you made an account, but did you even try to log in? It wouldn't hurt to give it a try."

"No thanks," Yuan replied. "You know how hard it is for me to make friends-"

"Hey, Yuan!"

Outside the window, the two could see a teenager running towards their car. He had a chubby figure with dark green, shoulder-length hair that’s pushed back and left a small cowlick on the front, olive green eyes, and thick, hooked eyebrows of the same dark green color. For his attire, he wore the standard Den City High School male uniform except the jacket sleeves are rolled up to his upper arms and he wore scarlet sneakers with a light yellow coloring on the tongue of the sneakers and a thick, gray strap on each shoe. They both recognized him as Naoki Shima and Yuan was glad to see him; after all, they have been best friends ever since they were both children.

"Hey, uh...can you drop me off here?" Yuan asked his dad.

Mr. Amaya sighed. "Alright," he answered. He spoke into the steering wheel. "Stop driving."

At that moment, the car steered towards a crosswalk and stopped, allowing Yuan to get his suitcase. "Have a good day at school," Mr. Amaya said. "Love you."

"Thanks," Yuan replied as he got out of the car. "And I know."

He shut the door behind him and began to run up to Naoki. Just then, a honk briefly blared from the car horn, startling Yuan and stopping him in his tracks. He turned around to see his father rolling down the car window to say something to his son. "You have to say 'I love you' back," he explained.

"What?!" Yuan asked.

"I'm not leaving until you say it," Mr. Amaya insisted.

Yuan groaned as he face-palmed. "Fine..." he said. "I love you, dad."

Mr. Amaya chuckled slightly. "See?" he asked. "That wasn't hard."

As Mr. Amaya started the car up and it drove off, Naoki muffled a laugh. "What, doesn't your grandmother embarrass you in public?" Yuan asked.

"Pfft... Nah," Naoki answered. "Though I don't get why the other students tease me when she drops off my boxed lunches."

Yuan rolled his eyes as he sighed. He should’ve expected something like that from Naoki by now given how long they’ve known each other. For instance, one of the best memories they shared was back when they were children and they had gotten into Duel Monsters; unfortunately, uncertainty would always surface regarding what the actual rules were, so they decided to make up their own rules. They even recorded those rules into their own notebook copies and entitled them “The Official Dueling Guidebook”. Even after all these years, they still have their guidebooks in their bedrooms although they have been showing some signs of wear and tear. Even so, past and present moments with his best friend was another common occurrence that meant a whole lot for Yuan.

"So Yuan, have you thought about joining a club?" Naoki asked as the two walked to school.

"I have," Yuan answered. "Do you think the art club is still accepting members?"

"Probably," Naoki answered with a shrug. "But have you thought about joining the dueling club? I'm practically one of the club's best Duelist."

"Best Duelist, huh?" Yuan repeated. "What, did you bribe a bunch of newbies with the promise of free cookies?"

"Haha, very funny," Naoki dully said.

"I'm serious," Yuan clarified. "Den City High School mostly focuses on academics. We're the only Duelists who attend."

"Yeah, well turns out you're wrong," Naoki clarified. "I hung a flyer on the bulletin board and I got a bunch of people interested. Not sure if they played the game before, but it's still something. So whaddya say? You interested in stopping by after school?"

Yuan smiled. "How can I say no to my best friend?" he asked in response. "But I hope you didn't tell these supposed newbies Link monsters are invulnerable to everything."

Later that afternoon, once classes were finished, Yuan met up with Naoki in the hallway where the latter’s last class was. He followed him out of the building and through the school grounds, weaving through a few groups of students as they were all heading to their clubs or extracurricular activities. In only about a minute or two, they reached the front doors of another facility on the campus, where Naoki explained the Duel Club is located on the first floor. He led Yuan through the doors until they were both in the main entrance. He then bolted through a hallway on his left, leaving his friend to run after him; to this day, he hasn’t been able to deduce how someone like him can run so fast, so he would assume it probably has to do with his eccentric, passionate personality.

Fortunately, he managed to catch up to Naoki, and after turning a couple corners, they both reached a doorway in an empty hall. Outside the door, there was a sign that says “Duel Club” on it, marking the intended destination of Yuan and the other newcomers’ first day there.

"So this is the place?" Yuan asked.

Naoki nodded in response. "And don't worry, everyone's nice. You'll get along just fine."

"Right..." Yuan muttered. He slowly reached for the doorknob. "So I have to...just go in, right?" He took a deep breath. "That's all I have to do..."

"Geez, it's not that hard!" Naoki exclaimed. "But if you're too chicken, allow me to give you a push."

With a single yet strong push, Yuan found himself opening the door and stumbling into the Duel Club. He tried to maintain his composure after his not-so graceful entrance, but he was too distracted by the sight of the other club members, which contained a healthy gender ratio. Among the females were a young teenage girl with a brunette, bobcut hairstyle and hazel eyes, a blonde-haired woman with magenta-red eyes and glasses, and a purple-eyed girl who had her wavy, ginger hair in a headband and left two, light orange side tails on the front. As for the males, there were a gray-haired boy who wore chartreuse glasses over his black eyes, a spectacled young man with his eyes shut, his teal hair kept in a single spike, and considerably chubbier than Naoki, a straight, brown-haired man with a lean figure, and a short, teenage boy with gray eyes and kept his dark burgundy hair in a ponytail.

Realizing everyone was staring at him, Yuan stumbled over his words. "H-Hi..." he stammered, averting his eyes towards the ground. "Does anyone like bowling...?"

The blonde woman snickered. "Wow Shima, where'd you get this noob?"

"I'll have you know Yuan Amaya's been my best bud for years!" Naoki defended.

"Yeah right," the blonde woman scoffed with an eye-roll. She glared daggers at Yuan. "Did your so-called buddy pay you to be his friend?"

Yuan swallowed hard. "Uh... Well..."

"Quit mocking the newcomer," the ginger-haired girl defended. She smiled at Yuan. "Sorry about June. She always acts like that with everyone."

"Only because someone acted like a huge show-off and turned out to be a dueling fraud," the blonde woman, apparently June, snapped. "Good thing I'm the vice president or our club would go nowhere thanks to our president's cruddy leadership."

She was referring to the gray-haired boy, who was somewhat annoyed by her insulting him like that, but it was the least of his concerns at this point. What matters right now was to introduce themselves to Yuan because a lot of the members were always keen on getting to know the newcomers. He introduced him as Hosoda and confirmed that he was indeed the president of the Duel Club. The young, teal-haired man was known as Sato and the ponytailed boy was known as Tanaka, who were both second-year students. The brown-haired boy chimed in to acquaint Yuan that he is a freshman named Suzuki. The ginger-haired girl identified herself as Hannah while the brunette woman politely addressed herself as Skye. Though Yuan had an idea on who June is, the latter reluctantly gave her introductions.

"I'm June Mori," the blonde woman sighed. "And like I said before, I'm the club's vice president." She held out her hand. "Now fork over your deck for inspection."

"W-What...?" Yuan stammered.

"Don't mind June," Naoki explained. "She does this to all new club members."

"Only to see if you're worthy of being in the club," June coldly added. "Now hand it over."

"Uh...o-okay..." Yuan muttered, slowly taking out his Weather Painter deck.

Taking his deck from his hand, June expanded it out to examine the cards he has. So far, everything seemed pretty normal, much to her disappointment; it’s not because his deck was useless. It was far from it. She could tell the Weather Painter archetype all contained some beneficial effects of every card type. After all, a core belief that Hosoda made an official rule for the club was how there is no such thing as a useless card, only useless Duelists who don’t see their worth. As she was wrapping up her deck inspection, she spotted a card coated in a hexagonal pattern of dark and light blues. Her mouth barely moved, but it left an opening between her jaws big enough for it to be noticeable, prompting a nearly audible gasp to escape. On top of that, her eyebrows slightly rose at what she manage to catch a glance of.

Was it a dream? No, it couldn’t be. The image, the stats, the direction of where the arrows were pointing, the monster’s name. She recognized it all. Had she finally found it? The card she has been looking for?

"What's wrong, June?" Hosoda asked. "Did you see something?"

June responded by shoving the deck back into Yuan's hand. "Everyone, start rearranging the tables," she ordered. "We're dueling right here, right now."

"Now hold on!" Naoki defended. "You can't ask Yuan to duel!"

"But I just did," June bluntly pointed out. "His deck intrigues me. I want to see it in action."

Yuan wasn't sure how to respond. "Uh..."

Seeing his friend in distress, Naoki leaned close to him. "You okay, buddy?" he asked.

"H-How did you drag me into this..." Yuan muttered. "You know neither one of us can actually duel..."

"Relax, you got this," Naoki encouraged. "June uses a cheap starter deck. Your Weather Painters can easily defeat her."

"You sure you're not saying this to cheer me up?" Yuan guessed.

"Of course not," Naoki answered. He gave Yuan a pat on the back. "Now go on, you've got this."

Taking a deep breath, Yuan stepped forward. "I-I-I..." he stammered.

"Yes?" June asked.

"I accept your challenge!" Yuan nervously blurted out.

June smirked. "Glad to see you're not chicken," she said, strapping on her Duel Disk. "So listen up: if you can defeat me, I'll let you join. No second chances. Got it, noob?"

"Y-Yes!" Yuan exclaimed.

"Good," June said. "I'd wish you luck, but I doubt you'll need it."

#yugioh arc v #spiderman into the spiderverse #yugioh vrains #Into the Arcverse

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