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hiddennerdworld · 4 years ago

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Homesick (pt 1) with Mezo Shoji

Note: Love for the best underrated tentacle boi man. I love him so much. Anyway, I’ve had this idea for a bit now and hope to do it with other characters also. And it’s 5 in the morning soooo sorry if it’s not readable fhakdbhj

All night you had been tossing and turning. Although exhausted from training that whole week, you couldn’t seem to fall asleep. While yawning and trying to close your eyes, you couldn’t help but think of your family. It’s all you thought about since you moved into the dorms. Being with your classmates and friends was awesome, but home is home. Finally you gave up on getting rest due to the incessant thoughts and went downstairs to grab a glass of water.

The elevator doors opened and you headed towards the kitchen. It was almost dead silent. You crept around because you were scared to wake anyone up. Then suddenly as you enter the common area you see a large figure on the couch and jump up. Unknowingly a little yelp escaped your mouth and the figure turned towards you. “Y/N?” a calm voice rang in your ears. “It’s okay. It’s me, Shoji”.

You let out a sigh of relief. “Sorry I didn’t meant to scare you.” He said now staring at the ground. “Here,” he moved over on the couch, “you wanna sit down?” You nodded while sitting in the now empty spot.

“Don’t worry about it. I just wasn’t expecting anyone down here. That’s all.” You replied while taking the spot next to him. Now you’d sounded calm, but you were twiddling your fingers, embarrassed of your reaction.

“I could say the same. It’s pretty late, why are you still up?”

You looked up at him and said “I just couldn’t sleep. I tried but there’s a lot on my mind I guess. So I thought I’d get a drink.”

“Same here, actually. You want me to make you some tea?”

You smiled at the warm gesture. “Thank you, but no you don’t need to do that. It was just an excuse to get out of my dorm. You know, I have all the stuff I need here, but I still can’t stop thinking about how much I miss my home.” It slipped out. You barely knew Shoji, though you wanted to get to know him, but your tired self didn’t have a filter and didn’t care what you said or who was listening. Your eyes widened and as you were about to apologize you heard a chuckle from the usually stoic man.

“Huh, that’s funny.” He said seemingly unfazed by your statement. Then he realize what he said and widened his eyes also. Both of you were normally not talkative, so having an unexpected conversation while you both were running on no sleep was a little awkward. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” He said in a panic. He took a breath and continued, “what I meant was that it’s a weird coincidence because that’s why I’m awake too. I’ve been talking to my parents everyday since we moved in, but I still miss them a lot.”

“I know what you mean. I love living with you guys, but family is family you know?” You try to reassure Shoji, but all it did was bring up the thoughts back into your guys’ minds. He nodded and then you slouched back and let out a sigh. It was quiet for a while, but not uncomfortable. Then the silence was broken by you yawning.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep you up. You can go back to bed if you want.” Shoji says turning to you.

“Don’t worry about it.” You give a soft smile, “You’re not keeping me up at all. In fact your company has been really nice. I’ve been yawning all night but I don’t think there’s a chance I’m going to sleep anytime soon.”

“Oh,” he said in the middle of his yawning, “if that’s the case then would you wanna watch a movie or something? To get our minds off things?”

You sat up, surprised that he would make an offer to spend more time with you. “Yea please!” Quickly you realized you may have sounded too excited. “I mean sure. That sounds like a great idea.” You both smiled, although you couldn’t tell because of his mask.

After deciding to watch a movie, you made some tea for the two of you while Shoji set up his room. When you arrived, it was about what was expected. There was nothing except the tiny tv and his futon pressed up against the wall. Although, he got out some pillows and blankets for you to be all comfy. You sat on his bed leaning against the wall as he popped in Finding Nemo. “Uh, I hope this is alright. It seemed like a good choice. Nothing too serious.”

“Oh yea I love this movie! It’s a classic.” And with that Shoji sat down next to you and the movie started. You were too tired to process that you were hanging out with the guy you sort of liked, IN HIS ROOM. Actually, you were so tired that before getting halfway through your tea and before Nemo even touches the butt, you fell asleep. Shoji didn’t notice until you slowly leaned onto him. He flinched a little because it was so unexpected. But as soon as he knew what was going on he tried his best not to move in order to let you sleep. While doing this a blush crept up his face, but again no one could tell because of his mask. Shoji watched for a little while longer as you nuzzled more into his shoulder. He still couldn’t believe you were cuddling him, but he was really glad you were.

After starting to fall asleep himself, Shoji carefully got out of bed to shut off the movie. When he got back he moved you so you wouldn’t be sleeping against the wall. This boy was panicked out of his kind, being Operation levels of careful, but he did it and you continued to snore softly. He let out a quiet sigh of relief and went to his side. Once he laid down and tried to get comfortable, you rolled towards him and grabbed his arm again. He chuckled to himself thinking of how adorable you were. Then he put his arm around you and went to sleep. For a moment, you two were able to cure your homesickness.

#my hero academia #shoji mezo #mezo shoji #mha headcanons #mha fluff #shoji headcanons #shoji fluff

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jolinar · 4 years ago

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Prompt number: #18 “You don’t see it?”

Fandom: Star Wars

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings/Tags: Han Solo, Luke Skywalker

Word Count: 1023

Summary: Han and Luke end up having to put up with an overeager historian desperate to record their adventures.

( Today's oneshot is definitely not based on the fact that I couldn't get the characters to cooperate and answer my questions so I could write a better story about them today. Nope. Not at all. Situation normal. Everything's perfectly alright. We're all fine here...now. How are you?)

Read it on Ao3:

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The historian was a plump dark-haired woman with wide blue eyes and a propensity for chatter. Despite that, she was known for putting her subjects at ease and teasing out those extra details that elevated a book from boring history book to readable epic. She knew there were many on Hosnian Prime who would kill to be sitting in her chair -- taking notes and talking freely with Han Solo and Luke Skywalker, two of the Galaxy’s most notable heroes. None of her initial excitement or preliminary preparation had prepared her for the reality: two men sitting awkwardly on the plush couch opposite her, looking for all the galaxy as though they’d rather be anywhere else. She had tried every trick in her toolbox, but her subjects gave her nothing. Yet the historian pressed on, ready to try again. She double checked her recording droid to make sure it was still running, pulled on her brightest smile, and faced her subjects.

“My next question is for you, Master Skywalker -- you took part in the battle of Hoth, is that correct? You were part of the squadron who took down Imperial Walkers?”

“Yes I did it, what about it?”

“What about it? What about it?” The historian shook her head incredulously. It had been a grueling interview for all parties and her normal poise slipping. “All about it! You figured out, in the heat of battle, how to disable a craft that was at least ten times the size of your ship! With something as simple as tying its legs together! Then in the heat of battle and after crashing you managed to take out a walker single-handedly. What made you think to do that?”

“It just seemed obvious,” Luke said, running a self-deprecating hand through his hair. He looked over to Han for help, but his friend just shrugged back.

“You don’t see it? You really don’t see it. Hmm.” The historian tapped her stylus against her cheek thoughtfully. She began again, slowly: “Your time on Hoth the middle part of your journey, when all seemed lost…these are fascinating details for history, for posterity. And make no mistake, what you and your friends accomplished was history. It deserves to be remembered, and in living color. It's very compelling. Everyone's heard the rumors: Snow monsters and Force ghosts, living asteroids and lightsaber duels, cloud cities and carbonite -- but I’m interested in the human story. It was you and your friends against the galaxy, nothing but your wits and the clothes on your back.” She paused, training her impossibly blue eyes on each man in turn. “How did you do it?"

“Technically, we could have had more clothes," Luke offered, "but Threepio thought it was too cold for humans. Artoo overclocked the heater in Leia’s quarters and started melting the entire living section. Everything was soaked, then the Empire attacked and we couldn't dry them out in time.”

"That's...not quite the kind of detail I was looking for, but still fascinating," the historian said, scribbling down a note.

“Look, you wanna know how it really was out there?” Han asked. "What it was really like to be part of the Rebel Alliance on Hoth?"

“Yes!” the historian said, eyes shining.

“Okay. I’ll tell you: It was cold as hell, we froze our asses off, then we got shot at by the Empire and barely made it out alive. Happy? Oh, and I think someone lost a finger to frostbite.”

Luke snorted out a laugh. “You’re thinking of Wedge, and it was a toe.”

Han jabbed a thumb over at Luke, “There we go, we froze out asses off and somebody lost a toe. That enough color for you?”

The interview held up a placating hand. “Please...I didn’t mean to offend. Recall, Senator Organa graciously granted my request for an interview --"

“Where is she, anyway?” Han asked, turning to Luke.

“Senate?” replied Luke, shrugging.

“Convenient,” Han said with a sardonic smile and a sideways glance at Luke.

The historian had opened her mouth for her next question when suddenly, an explosion rocked the small room. The impact wasn't immediately in their area, but it was enough to cause a few chotskies arranged on shelves crashed to the ground, the water jug on the small coffee table to spill onto the rug, and the historian herself to be thrown sideways out of her chair.

“Finally – I mean, what’s going on?” Han said, springing to his feet.

Meanwhile, Luke punched his commlink. “This is Luke Skywalker, anyone there?” There was a buzz of static. “Han?”

“Two steps ahead of you, kid, let's go,” replied Han, already at the door.

Luke jumped up to follow him. Then, as an afterthought, he turned and offered the historian a hand up. Pulling her to her feet, he said: “You’ll have to excuse us.”

“But the interview!” She said, not realizing how ridiculous it sounded until the words were already out of her mouth.

“We’ll have to finish later,” Luke said not unkindly. Then added with a more commanding edge: “You will stay here and lock the door until it’s safe.”

The historian felt herself nodding. “I’ll stay here and lock that door until it’s safe,” she said, moving forward to do so as the two men sprinted away down the hall. She felt a little silly, standing behind the locked door. She sighed and began skimming through the notes on her tablet. She had barely made it halfway through her questions and she had a deadline, but maybe there was something useful in all this she could use. And Luke Skywalker had said they could finish later, so it might not be a total loss. Yes, that was the spirit. They’d reschedule and maybe then she could even interview Senator Organa! The true story of the Rebel Alliance trio at last. Hmmm, Alliance Trio: The True Story of the Rebel Alliance...that sounded like a good start for a title...

And so the historian settled back into her chair, deep in her notes, oblivious to the other small explosions that continued to go off further and further away.

#fictober20 #a very star wars fictober #mae writes #star wars fanfic #luke skywalker #han solo

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blooferlady86 · 5 years ago

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The Park By Night

So I am very good at spooking myself and creeping myself out. I’ve never thought of myself as a creative writer, but there are a couple of things that really catch my imagination. I decided to do a thing and actually get something written down. Yes, I take constructive criticism. No, I don’t know how to make something readable on Tumblr, so I apologize if this is a mess. If I can figure out a way to make a story out of it, I’ll write another one on the strange sounds my bus radio makes when I’m driving it to school at 5:30 AM and there’s no one else on the road.

It’s probably barely a story. It’s definitely not a terribly well-edited draft. It’s not even really beyond a rough draft. I know I have some tenses that disagree, but hey, it’s late, and I just finished a spooky walk through the park.

Anyways. Without further ado: A little creepypasta I should probably have just kept to myself:

The Park By Night

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

“Well, I am the pinnacle of human achievement, so I don’t blame you.”

Eleanor leans over the kitchen counter, green eyes staring deeply into mine, reaches gently for my face, and painfully flicks my ear. “Don’t be an ass when I’m trying to be supportive. You’ve done really well. This time last year you were walking with a cane.”

I snag her hand and give her knuckles a gentle kiss. “I only give you a hard time because I know you love it. It means a lot to me, you saying that. It really does. I wouldn’t have made it this far without your help.”

“I’m not the fitness buff. I’ve just kept you company on the couch.”

“That’s not true, and you know it. You helped. Every day. I’m just glad I can finally get back to work full time, and anyone willing to put up with me moping around the house for this long deserves a medal. Or at least a vacation.”

She laughs sharply and eyes the lunches we’ve prepared for the day: cups of noodles and whatever fruit was on sale this week to stave off a vitamin deficiency. “Maybe now that you’re full time again, we’ll be able to stop eating like undergrads and start saving up for a weekend at the lake.”

I give her hand one more kiss. “Sounds like a deal. See you this afternoon.”

It had been a long year. And Nell deserved way more than a weekend away at a lake. After a pallet of lumber crushed my leg right above my knee, I had only been able to go back to work about six months ago. Six months of painful hobbling about in the mornings, to go home after lunch and then do my physical therapy and exercise. The woman was a saint. Things were financially tight even before my accident; neither of us were exactly bringing in massive sums. Her retail job, my warehouse gig, they kept the pantry full and the rent paid. My time away from work drained the savings account, and even getting back to part time felt like a windfall. She didn’t have to tell me how stressful that time had been. I didn’t need to hear both sides of the phone calls with her mother to know my mother-in-law’s thoughts. “If he only had a college degree. He’d be working in an office, this would never have happened, and you’d be a homeowner, not renting some shack.”

She didn’t care. She was my therapist, counselor, and friend through the whole process. Unlike me, she was never one for regular exercise, but she walked me through the strength building routines assigned by my therapist, kept me well fed on the scant amount of money we had, and never made me feel ashamed of having to ask for help. The first day we were able to take a walk through the park together, I felt like a new man. Me, leaning heavily on my cane and her with one arm around my waist, swaying with my lopsided gait to keep our shoulders close, I could finally see the end of the tunnel.

It became my regular exercise spot, and eventually Nell was able to confidently let me limp around the 2 mile loop fenced in by chain link that we had discovered in our neighborhood. She generally sat and read while I completed my lap. Eventually, when I was cleared for driving, she was able to get back to her hobbies at home. She had seen me walking with enough confidence that she was sure I wouldn’t fall and be stuck on the hot pavement of the walking trail without her.

The park was simple, but well maintained. A two mile paved path encircled a lightly forested area along with some kickball fields. There was a green belt with a creek running behind the park. I’d made up my mind to tackle that hike when my limp had been fully conquered. With work being full-time again, that would have to wait for the weekend.

I threw some pasta in a pot when I arrived home that afternoon. Meatless spaghetti. My specialty. It would be ready by the time Nell finished her shift. I did my stretches, some laundry, and some dishes, the only chores I could do without painfully regretting it the next day. We exchanged stories about asshole customers and asshole managers over our meager meal of bargain pasta.

“Are you going for a walk this afternoon? I was thinking of bringing a book.”

“Not this afternoon. A: It’s boiling outside, and B: I need a couple hours of vegetating before my leg is ready to move again. You’d think it would remember how to work all day.”

“‘Don’t forget you’re human’” she quips in a sing-song tone.

“I’m going to forget you’re human if you quote my therapist’s posters again.”

“Tell you what, if you go this evening, I’ll have an ice pack and a beer ready for when you get back.”

“I love you.”

“I know.”

The park is never busy even on weekends. It’s tucked away amongst a bunch of single family homes, well off the main street. During the day, it’s a pleasant breath of oxygen in a crowded suburbia. When I pull the car up, an hour after the sun has gone down, I hardly recognize it. I’ve never been here at night; I’m impressed by how well lit the walking paths are in the little neighborhood greenspace.

Earphones in, music on, I begin my 2 mile walk. I’m making good time for someone with two rods and four pins in his femur. 60 minutes is my record, and I was on the couch for two days after that, with Nell providing me ice packs and disapproving looks until I promised to go easier on myself.

At the quarter-mile sign, I stop to stretch. My calves are in a constant rebellion these days. I hear a tinny rattling, and quickly pop one earbud out to see if I’ve got a short in the wiring. The rattling, though a gentle noise, gets louder when I unplug my ear, not softer. I look quickly back towards the start of the path, but the bright lights illuminating the path make it hard to see beyond the pavement. I realize what I’m hearing is the chain link fencing, as if it’s been lightly jostled. A cat, I tell myself, or a possum squeezing under the fence. They’re nocturnal, right? And I bet they’d love to get to investigate these trash cans. The gentle rattle dies away, I finish my count to 30 on my bad leg and set off again.

You really can’t see anything out here at night, I think to myself. The familiar path is illuminated with frequent overhead lamps, which I am quite thankful for. A stumble on a dark walkway would leave me hobbling home with my tail between my legs to explain to Nell that I’ve overdone it again. Cue another “inspirational quote” from my physical therapist. Movement out of the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I squint across the park at another late-night walker with their dog, finishing the last of their two miles. The lit path is like a band of light snaking through the dark trees, only inky blackness past the light poles. My attention is caught by a figure standing across the park, silhouetted between me and the path the dog-walker just left. I blink, and the two dark legs of the figure come into focus and become the sign post for the one and a half mile mark, the torso a water fountain right behind it. I shake my head, continue walking. Half a mile down.

At the three-quarter mile, I have to stop and stretch again. Maybe it was a mistake to come out for a full walk during my first week back at the warehouse. Tomorrow will be a rest day. As I’m bending down to grab my toe, I get another glimpse of something on the edge of my vision. I snap back upright, wincing as I do so. I squint into the dark space behind me. The same figure, standing in a dark pool of shadow by the entrance to the park. This time I can’t seem to focus and see a sign instead of a pair of legs. The torso and head remain a torso and head. A chill runs down my neck as some part of my subconscious chooses this moment to decide that the figure is most definitely looking in my direction. “All right,” Nell’s voice rings out in my head, “you’re nearly halfway done and you’re not the only one in the park tonight. No problem. Get today’s walk over with, and next time they pass a street light, you’ll see it’s just another late visitor.”

Begrudgingly, I turn my back on the shadow and continue my labored hike. When I’ve gotten one mile finished, the path make a U turn and begins to weave back through the trees towards the parking lot. I take advantage of the wide view of the park to look for my fellow late night ambler who spooked me.

No one.

As I walk, I scan the park starting at the gate, following the path. If they’re walking, I’ll see them. The walking path is the only damn thing you can see in the park, after all. Another metallic rattle has me ripping out my earbuds and I see the chain link fence around the three-quarter mark vibrating in a wind that doesn’t seem to touch the trees. There. Again. The dark outline of a figure, not walking on the path, but standing just outside the flood of light cast by the lamp. Once again, something deep and primal tells me that its unseen eyes are on me.

It’s enough. I don’t care if this is some teenager dicking around with the cripple clomping his way through his required 5,000 steps, I’m ready to be home, watching bad TV with my wife. I pick up the pace, striding as far as I can with each step to just make it back to the safety of my car. I’m glad I didn’t put the earbuds back in. It would have made it harder to hear the chain link start its clatter again. As I round the corner to see the one and a quarter marker, I recognize the sound from when I was a kid and would run my hand along a fence in my yard. It’s getting louder.

I don’t turn my head. I very carefully avoid thinking about the quickly approaching clinking sound. I am studiously facing forward as I imagine the figure three lamps away, two lamps away, one lamp away, running long shadowy fingers across the metal fence. I huff and puff my way up to the next distance marker. The parking lot is ahead. I’m going home.

Filled with the confidence that I’ve nearly crossed the finish line, I take a breath and risk a glimpse over my right shoulder. Nothing. The fence is still, the black shapes of the trees a comforting and familiar sight I recall from my walks in the sun. I take two steps, still looking behind me, when I feel a gentle, warm waft of air in my left ear, followed by a wheezing, rasping inhale of breath.

I’m running. I haven’t run in a year, but I am running now. As the gate comes into view, I feel something pop in my knee. If I’d had time to stumble and stagger, I would have, but the gasping, shaking thing is behind me, and I now I can smell an odor of decaying flesh, of corruption and rot. I push down the burning pain in my leg, and the nausea that threatens to make me double over. I train my eyes on my car and start counting the yards to get there. As I lumber gamely through the gate, I feel something catch at my shirt, and hear the wheezing breath growing louder, just behind me.

I spill into the brightly lit parking lot and throw myself into the car, pummeling the locks as I slam the door. Gripping the steering wheel tightly and closing my eyes tighter still, I listen for the death rattle breath that had followed me out of the park. Nothing. I hear a gentle clink of chain link fencing, and my eyes dart for the source. Still nothing. I turn on every light in my car and check the back seat just for my own sanity. Putting the car into gear and pulling out to the road as quickly as I can, I catch one more glimpse of a silhouette in the mirror. Snapping my head up, I once again see a signpost for the park materialize in place of the dark form I thought I’d seen.

By the time I get home, I’ve almost convinced myself that the entire thing was my imagination. It’s been a busy week. I’m over-tired from being back at work. I went somewhere I wasn’t familiar with, heard some spooky noises, and panicked. I give Nell a hug, and go to take a long hot shower. I’d nearly convinced myself. I pulled my shirt over my head and almost missed the hand print on the back. A hand print with four long, thin, muddy fingers.

The shirt goes straight into the garbage bin.

#creepypasta #okay this is the first thing I've let anyone read since high school #So go easy on me dammit #not terribly scary #I'm working on it

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klaineanummel · 6 years ago

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eighteen going on extinct 2/20

Kurt Fabray just wants to relax after a tough week at school, but that is shown to be impossible when he realizes that his absent father has once again blown into town. Not wanting to spend more time around him than necessary, Kurt goes to his old babysitters house, the one place he feels safe when his father is in town. While there, he stumbles upon a secret he knows he was never meant to find out - one that could change the entire course of his life.

An AU very loosely based on Mamma Mia.

I completely forgot to mention this on the first chapter, but a million thanks go to @mailroomorder. I really don't know what I would do without you. You take every single one of my fics and actually make it readable. I literally owe you a million thanks for all you've done for me, not only for this fic, but throughout the years. I love you <3 <3 <3 <3

Hope you enjoy!! :D

Previous Chapter | Read on AO3

It takes a while to get to the south side of Lima. The bus system is shit, and he has to switch buses twice to get where he needs to go, and even once he’s there he has to walk a good ten minutes before he reaches the Berry-Hudson house.

He kicks a stone as he walks down the sidewalk, admiring the lack of graffiti on the building walls. All the houses over here have nice yards and are separated by fences. Some even have pools.

Where he lives, the nicest place you can get is an attached home, but they’re all rentals. He and his mom lived in one for about a year when he was seven, back when she was dating Big Steve. It didn’t last long, but it had been nice to briefly live somewhere other than an apartment.

Finn and Rachel’s house isn’t as big as some of the others on their street, but it’s still bigger than anything Kurt’s ever lived in. He pushes the gate open, glancing at the pruned shrubs that line that walkway up to their front door. He wonders if they take care of those themselves or if they pay someone to do it.

He knocks on the door, shoving his hands in his pockets. He hasn’t been here in a while, which sort of makes him feel like he’s taking advantage of their hospitality.

Finn opens the door, smiling that dopey smile of his and instantly getting out of the way.

“Hey, man,” he greets, patting Kurt on the back as he walks into the house. “Long time, no see.”

“Uh, yeah,” Kurt says, taking his shoes off as soon as he’s in the house (it may have been a while, but he still remembers Rachel’s house rules). “Sorry about that. It’s just…”

“Don’t worry, dude,” Finn says, still grinning. “We’re just glad you still felt okay to call. Come on, we just finished making supper.”

Kurt nods. “Cool,” he says. “I, uh. I brought Coke. I know Rachel doesn’t really drink carbonated stuff, but-”

“Thanks!” Finn starts to lead him toward the dining room. ��Just means more for you and me, right?”

Kurt can’t help but smile at the endless optimism that the man exudes. He’s already feeling better than he has all day, just from being around him for a few seconds. He really needs to come here more often.

Rachel is just placing some cups around the already-set table when he walks in. She’s just as tiny as ever, and her smile is just as big as it always is when he comes over. “Kurt, hi!” she greets hurrying over to him and wrapping him in a big hug. “It’s so good to see you.”

He hugs her back, still feeling a little strange about being so much taller than her (he can’t even imagine how Finn must feel). He remembers when would accompany Finn when he’d babysit Kurt, and how Kurt used to wish he’d one day grow to be at least as tall as Rachel.

“We made a broccoli casserole, but Finn also has some hot dogs in the fridge he thinks I can’t see,” she winks at him. “We can heat some of those up in the microwave, if you’d like?”

Kurt instantly shakes his head. He’s already had hot dogs twice this week. “Broccoli casserole sounds perfect.”

“Wonderful! Oh, I forgot what a perfect guest you are. You really do need to come around for dinner more often.”

Kurt can’t help but smile as she leads him toward the chair at the end of the table. “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to come around. It’s just been so crazy with my job and school starting up and everything.”

“That’s right,” Finn says, coming out of the kitchen with the casserole dish in hand. Rachel sits on Kurt’s left, and Finn takes the seat to the right. “You’re at McDonald’s, right?”

Kurt shakes his head. “Wendy’s. McDonald’s let me go.”

Finn sets the casserole dish down, and glances at Kurt. “Did they have reason to?”

Kurt shrugs. “The GM was dating my mom, but he cheated on her. I skipped a shift to console her and he said that wouldn’t fly. So… technically, I guess.”

He watches as Finn and Rachel exchange a glance; the same glance they exchange every time he mentions his mom.

“Well, it’s good you got another job, then,” Rachel says, eyes still on Finn. “I prefer Wendy’s anyway. Better vegan options.”

That’s not true, and they all know it, but Kurt just nods and says, “Yeah.”

Rachel starts serving the casserole, and Kurt barely manages to wait until it’s all scooped onto his plate before he digs in. He hasn’t had anything like this in so long. Eric, the GM at McDonald’s, used to cook dinner for his mom sometimes and she’d bring back leftovers, but since he fucked off it’s mostly been take out and quick meals. It’s not like either of them really has the time to cook.

“So,” Rachel says as Kurt shovels food into his mouth. “How’s, um. How’s Sebastian?” Kurt glances up at her and sees her smiling tightly. “Is that still… happening?”

Kurt shakes his head, and he can see her shoulders slump in relief. “He moved away, for college. Got into Yale.” He shrugs, stabbing a piece of broccoli with his fork. “Finally realized everyone else was right and he really was too good for me.”

“Hey,” Finn says harshly, causing Kurt to jump. “That’s not true, okay? If anything, you were way too good for him.”

Rachel is nodding along. “His parents were my neighbours growing up, and sometimes I’d babysit Sebastian when he was younger. He was always a little brat.”

That makes Kurt smile. “He didn’t take too well to not getting his way, did he?” he chuckles, thinking back on the time Sebastian tried to get Kurt to go down on him when he really didn’t feel like it. He’d stormed out of his room in a huff, only to return two minutes later saying that this was his house and Kurt needed to leave.

It wasn’t like it was the best relationship, and Kurt is well aware of that. Still sucks that everybody saw it before he did.

They chat casually for a while. Kurt pulls the Coke out of his bag and Finn goes to get them some ice. Rachel ends up pouring herself a half-glass, though her face scrunches up as she drinks it, which makes Kurt and Finn laugh.

Finn tells him about his middle-school students and how they’re currently writing their own plays. He’s so enthusiastic as he talks, hands gesturing wildly, the grin never leaving his face. Kurt wishes that he’d attended West Lima Middle School instead of North; he really would have liked to have Finn as a teacher.

Rachel briefly talks about how she’s considering going back on the road for a national tour of Wicked. She’s mostly been producing plays lately, but apparently she’s been feeling the performing itch.

Although he thinks Finn is awesome, and knows he’s the best teacher ever, he really admires Rachel and the work she does. Even if McKinley High School and North Lima Middle School didn’t really have drama programs, he’s always been interested in acting and singing. Rachel helps put on most of the productions that come to Columbus and has gotten several smaller theater companies off the ground; plus, she used to be on Broadway. He’d love to step into her shoes, even just for a day.

He listens intently as Rachel talks about the audition process, and how it’s down to her and two other girls for Elphaba, though she’s sure she has the role in the bag. He loves hearing her talk about the theater world, even the inanest aspects of it. He once listened to her talk for an hour about what brands of make-up were better to wear on stage.

When she’s finished, a bit of a silence falls over the table. Kurt is too awed by her stories to say anything, but Finn seems to have something else on his mind.

After a few minutes of silence, during which Kurt scoops himself a little bit more casserole, Finn turns to him and asks, “Kurt, why did you call me tonight?”

Kurt pauses, his fork full of broccoli and potatoes halfway to his mouth. “Um.”

“You said there was a situation, but you didn’t explain.” He turns a little in his chair. “Is it your dad? Is he back?”

Kurt sighs and places his fork on the plate. He slumps in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Totally blindsided me. He was there when I got home from school. Drove down from LA to ‘see me,’ or so he says.”

Rachel reaches a hand out to take his. “Does your mom know you’re here?” she asks.

Kurt shakes his head. “Told her I was with some friends, just didn’t say who. I didn’t…” he glances at Finn, then looks down at his plate. “Puck gets weird when I mention you guys.”

The look they exchange tells him they know exactly what he means by ‘weird’.

“How long is he staying?” Rachel asks.

Kurt shrugs. “Who knows. Mom says he’s on his feet, that he isn’t here for money, but I don’t trust him. He’s got a fancy new motorcycle, but that doesn’t mean shit. Last time he brought me $300 season passes to see the Buckeyes, but still begged mom for a couple grand to help him ‘get back on his feet,’” he lowers his voice and puts air quotes around the words. He shakes his head. “She wants me to be nice to him because he’s my dad, but I don’t think that’s enough. Just because he donated part of my DNA doesn’t mean he’s my father, you know?”

Finn and Rachel exchange another look, which Kurt ignores. Instead, he continues his rant.

“It’s just stupid. She never takes shit from anyone. When Eric cheated on her she kicked him so hard in the balls that he limped for a week. One time a boyfriend stole ten dollars from her purse and she punched him right in the nose when she found out. But with Puck? It’s like she turns into this pathetic schoolgirl with a crush that she just can’t get over. He can literally do whatever he wants, and she’ll never see the truth that he’s a deadbeat asshole who could give two shits about her.”

“She was always like that with Puck…” Rachel says, shaking her head. She smiles at Kurt and squeezes his hand. “We know it’s tough for you to be around him, so please, feel free to stay here as long as you want, okay?”

Finn nods along, and Kurt smiles. “Thanks, guys. You know, for letting me come over, and for letting me rant.”

“Any time. We mean it.”

They finish dinner soon after that, and Finn suggests they watch a movie. He lets Kurt pick, claiming that Rachel will just make them watch “A Star is Born” for the hundredth time. Kurt picks “Yentl” just to mess with him.

Their TV is a lot bigger than Kurt’s, and their sofa is softer. Kurt curls his legs under himself and thanks Finn halfway through the movie when the man passes him a throw. He pulls the throw close to his body, feeling cozy and safe.

He always feels safe in the Berry-Hudson house.

When the movie ends, Rachel suggests they play a board game, so Finn pulls out Sorry! They play a few rounds, laughing and teasing each other. Rachel wins every round to absolutely nobody’s surprise.

By around eleven Rachel admits she’s ready to call it a day. She gives Kurt a kiss on the forehead and thanks him for coming over, reiterating yet again that their door is always open for him. Finn says he thinks he should head to bed, too, and Kurt reluctantly says that he has a shift in the morning, so he should probably hit the hay, too.

The guest room is all set up for him, just the way it always is. The blankets and pillows are piled high, and Kurt already feels his heartbeat speeding up at the thought of sleeping in the queen-sized bed, as opposed to the twin he has in his room at home.

Finn bids him goodnight, leaving him alone. He smiles as he changes into his pajamas, thankful for the millionth time for Finn and his wife.

They’ve always been good to him. Finn was always his favourite babysitter when he was a kid, and he was the only one who kept in touch even when he stopped needing someone to babysit him. The first time Kurt called Finn after a fight with Puck, Finn came to pick him up and brought him to his house. Kurt was only thirteen at the time, but Finn made it very clear to him that he was always welcome to stay with him and Rachel. No matter what.

Sometimes, as a young boy, Kurt used to dream about Finn being his dad instead of Puck. Not that he wanted his mom and Finn to be together – Rachel and Finn were obviously soulmates and he’d never wish for them to be apart. No, he just liked the idea of having a dad who was around. Who wanted to spend time with him. Who cared for him and spent time with him without expecting anything in return.

He gets into the bed, his phone in hand. He unlocks it, finding a couple of messages from his mom asking him where he went. There’s another message from his boss, asking if he could come in half an hour earlier. Kurt rolls his eyes but texts back that he can, trying to mentally calculate how early he’ll have to get up to make that work.

Just as he’s setting his alarms he gets a notification warning him that he’s at 20% battery. He groans and pulls himself out of bed, going to his backpack and digging through it.

Fuck.

“Great,” he says as he pulls out the last piece of clothing. Of course he forgot his charger. Just his luck.

He sighs and heads out the door. He knows Rachel has an iPhone, too. Knowing her, she’ll have at least two extra charger cables.

He reaches the door to their bedroom and raises a hand to knock, but pauses when he hears them talking inside.

“- you’ve respected her decision this long, but this isn’t good for him. If Puck is actually going to be sticking around for the long run-”

“We don’t know if he is, Rach. He’ll probably just hang out for a week or two, like he always does, and then admit he needs money. Quinn will give him money, because for some reason she always does, and then he’ll be out of their hair. That’s how it always goes.”

“What if it doesn’t go that way this time, Finn? I don’t—” Kurt hears her sigh. “He’s such a good kid. I know he acts tough, but we both know that’s not who he is. I don’t want Puck messing up his life any more than he already has.”

“I don’t either, you know I don’t, but I just don’t see how it would make a difference.”

“You don’t – Finn, if you could prove your paternity we could try and get joint custody. He could live with us two weeks out of the month. That’s two whole weeks he wouldn’t have to be around that… that man.”

Kurt’s eyes widen, heart skipping a beat.

“He’s not mine, Rachel,” Finn says. “We’ve known that for years.”

“We don’t, though. We never got the test done because Quinn insisted and we wanted to be respectful, but this has gone on long enough. I can’t just sit idly by anymore! Even if Puck doesn’t stick around this time he’s going to keep coming back, over and over again. That’s what he does, Finn. You know that as well as I do.”

“She doesn’t want me to, Rachel. She made it very clear that Kurt wasn’t mine. It would be a dick move to ask for a paternity test now.”

“I just want to be sure, Finn. I hate thinking of him in that house with Puck. I hate it.”

“Me too, Rach, but there’s nothing we can do. Quinn made it very clear –”

“Look, Finn, I think Quinn is an amazing mother. I’ve said that since day one. She’s done an incredible job raising Kurt by herself. But when it comes to Puck, she doesn’t know how to set boundaries. He’s always been her weak spot, and he’s always going to be her weak spot. It’s not good for Kurt to be in that environment, and I’m tired of ignoring the fact that there is a chance that you are that boy’s father.”

The words ring in Kurt’s ears, amplified by the silence that’s fallen over the house.

His breathing quickens.

Finn speaks after a few moments of silence. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Rachel replies. “Thank you. That’s all I ask.”

Kurt forces himself to move, heading right back to the guest room, heart jackhammering in his chest. He’s clutching his phone tightly, and his breaths are coming quickly.

He always knew his mom and Finn dated in high school, before she got pregnant with him. She’d told him when he was five and he asked her how she’d met his favourite babysitter. He’d never really known the timeline of their relationship, though.

He climbs back into bed, placing his phone on a pillow next to his head. He feels wide awake as he stares up at the ceiling, this new discovery coursing through his veins like a particularly powerful drug.

The very idea that Puck might not be his dad brings him a joy he cannot even imagine. There will be nothing left connecting him to that asshole. His mom can keep him around if she wants, but Kurt won’t owe him anything.

Holy shit.

He smiles to himself at the thought of finally being able to officially tell Puck to get fucked. He can just imagine slamming down the paternity test in front of the man and telling him to have a good life.

He pulls the blankets closer.

Well, fuck.

Chapter Three

#klaine #klaine fic #klaine au #klaineanummel fic #fic: egoe #multi chapter

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owlways-and-forever · 7 years ago

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A/N: Well what'd'ya know, it's been a few months, but I've finally managed to crank out another chapter. I haven't been much in a writing place of mind lately, just hasn't been the frame of mind that I've been in, but I'm trying to get back in the swing of it, so hopefully I'll be able to finish this story up soon. But for now, I hope you all enjoy this [rather dramatic] chapter!

*IMPORTANT: You may have noticed that the title of the story has been changed, and that’s because I’ve decided to break this story into pieces, since it’s already pretty long, and I want to avoid having one long, 100+ chapter, 1,000,000 word leviathan that takes 10 years to finish. I will absolutely be continuing the story, I’ve just decided to split it into four different “books”. And even though they’ll all be continuous parts of the larger Better Together ‘verse, they should be pretty much readable as standalone pieces too. So hooray to that! As for this particular “book”, there will 4 more chapters before I conclude and begin the next one. That’s all I’ve got to say right now! Go check out @thosemarauderboys where you can find some awesome edits that @ginnyweasiee has been making for this story!

PLEASE GO CHECK OUT THE BLOG FOR THIS UNIVERSE @thosemarauderboys. You can find fancasts of the characters (including OCs) to see what I imagine them looking like, plus fun facts about them, and I’m trying to update with like, images and stuff as well.

Read the previous chapters at the links below, on ff.net, or ao3.

Ch 1, Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4, Ch 5, Ch 6, Ch 7, Ch 8, Ch 9, Ch 10, Ch 11,Ch 12, Ch 13, Ch 14, Ch 15, Ch 16, Ch 17, Ch 18, Ch 19, Ch 20, Ch 21, Ch 22, Ch 23, Ch 24

Chapter 25: Bedknobs and Broomsticks

"James?" Sirius whispered, turning over in his bed to face his friend.

"Mmmm?" James groaned in response, grabbing the pillow from under his head and folding it over his ears.

"James, I can't sleep," Sirius said more loudly, propping himself up on his elbow.

"Well could you can it for those of us who can sleep," Remus interjected, and James groaned in assent.

"Come on, let's do something," Sirius said, getting up and sitting on the edge of James' bed, bouncing slightly.

"Go to sleep," James hissed, turning over and pulling the pillow over his head.

"Come on," Sirius crooned, shaking James' shoulder, "tell me you don't want to get on your broom right now and feel the wind in your hair. I know you hate watching the Quidditch players and not being on the pitch."

It was the exact words Sirius needed to say to get James' attention, and he sat upright in bed, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

"Let's go," he said, pulling socks onto his feet and grabbing his broom from where it stood propped up against the wall.

Sirius grinned, his eyes glinting in the moonlight as he followed James' lead.

"You're going to get caught, and then McGonagall'll throw you out," Remus mumbled, his eyes only halfway open.

"She won't throw us out just for being up after hours," Sirius argued, continuing to pull on clothes. "But if you're so worried, don't come."

Remus rolled over and covered his head with the pillow, and Sirius frowned, a little disappointed. He quickly shrugged and plastered a grin on his face. Who needed Remus anyway? The two boys rushed out of the dormitory, padding through the halls as quickly and quietly as they could. When they reached the great oak doors of the Entrance Hall, James and Sirius were dismayed to find that they were firmly locked, and impervious to James' attempts to charm them open.

"Now what?" James whined, frowning. He had fully woken up by this point and was ready for a bit of fun, knowing that sleep was out of the question. Sirius considered their options for a few moments, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration. After a minute, his eyes began to glitter and a smile slid across his lips.

"Ever wondered," he preened, puffing out his chest with pride, "how high the ceiling of the Great Hall goes?"

James' face lit up with excitement and he practically began to vibrate as he considered his best friend's words.

"Let's do it," he agreed, and the two boys ran off toward the doors of the Great Hall.

The two heavy doors were closed, but not locked, and with a fair bit of effort, James and Sirius were able to push them open enough to squeeze in. With matching grins on their faces, they exchanged looks of glee and then mounted their brooms, pushing off the ground confidently. In James' opinion, nothing compared to the feeling of the air whipping through his hair, making it messier even than it was on its own. He started doing laps of the Great Hall, flipping over and doing barrel rolls and loop-the-loops, anything the adrenaline pumping through his veins told him. Sirius' cheeks were starting to turn pink as the chill of the night air and the speed that they were flying teased his skin as he followed James. He was more reserved in his flying, not nearly as confident as his best friend. Growing up in the center of London, he hadn't had as many opportunities to fly, especially considering his parents weren't tremendously fond of quidditch. They weren't staunchly opposed to the wizarding sport, but in their minds it didn't exactly constitute gentlemanly behavior, and so it was not something for their sons to participate in.

"Come on, James, let's see how high this thing goes," Sirius taunted, trying to get his best friend to stop performing tricks that he wasn't comfortable duplicating.

Grinning, James immediately grasped the front of his broomstick and yanked it upward, flattening himself to the handle as he did so, so he shot upward with a zoom. Sirius followed suit, trying to get as close to the broomstick as he could. Tricks might be a little bit beyond his comfort zone, but speed most definitely was not. They seemed to keep going up for several minutes without getting any closer to the velvety blackness above them, and Sirius was beginning to wonder whether there even was a ceiling or if the Great Hall in fact just opened onto the sky above. He slowed down and looked beneath him, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw how high up they had flown. A fall from this height would absolutely be fatal. When he looked up again, James was at least fifty feet above him, whooping with glee. Sirius was debating whether or not to call out to his friend and call off their quest - he didn't want to get hurt, but he also had a voice in his head that was challenging him to keep going - when there was a flash of light and a bang that shook the castle like thunder had struck right there in the Great Hall as the spell that had been enchanting the ceiling broke. The force of it sent Sirius tumbling backwards on his broom, and he tried desperately to regain control. As he managed to right himself, his eyes fixed on James, and his heart stopped.

James had been thrown from his broom when the spell broke, and was falling helplessly to the ground, and to his death if Sirius didn't do something. He pressed himself flat against his broom and zoomed toward James, who was rapidly approaching the floor. Even though he was sure he was flying faster than he ever had before, Sirius didn't seem to be catching up to James fast enough, and he tried to think, pulling his wand from the pocket of his dressing gown.

"Wingardium... wingardium leviosa! Wingardium leviosa! WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!" he yelled, but his hands were shaking and he couldn't aim properly, instead missing James each time.

Cursing, Sirius shoved his wand back in his pocket and focused on flying faster, he was getting close, and he let silent prayers flow through his mind that he would reach his best friend in time. He was ten metres away from James, but James was only six from the floor, and Sirius tried to push forward faster. Seven metres away... five metres... three... he stretched out his arms and reached for James, his heart racing. He had barely wrapped his arms around James' body and heaved it upward away from its rapid descent when he realized that his trajectory was not much better as he sped toward the dais where the staff table stood. He tried desperately to redirect his broom, but it was taking all of his strength to hold onto James. Instead, Sirius folded himself in, curling around James as much as he could, trying to protect his friend as he braced himself for the crash.

It was worse than he expected. They hit the dais and he felt his bones shattering against the sandstone blocks, pain radiating through his body. He kept himself focused on James and struggled to fight the pain in his body in order to push himself up and off his friend, trying to assess the damage. He was unconscious, but Sirius wasn't sure if that was from the crash or if he had been knocked out by the force of the spell breaking. There were scrapes and cuts over James' face, and his pajamas were torn in several places. He was breathing though, and Sirius could feel his heart beating strong, so he knew he was alive. Fear gripped him still, knowing that James wasn't definitely going to be okay as long as his eyes remained closed. The pain was getting to be too much for Sirius, and he felt unconsciousness tugging at him as well, but he tried to fight it. He heard the doors of the Great Hall burst open and saw fuzzy figures running toward them, and he thought one of them might have been Dumbledore based on the long beard. Knowing that there was someone to help them, Sirius gave in to the pain and let his eyes close.

Sirius woke up in the hospital wing, unsurprisingly. He turned his head, wincing at the way it ached, and saw James lying in the bed next to him. He also saw Mrs. Potter asleep in a chair next to James' head, and he wondered how long they had been unconscious in the hospital wing that their parents had not only been informed of their condition, but that Mrs. Potter had felt it necessary to travel all the way to Hogwarts. Guilt coursed through him, causing his insides to twist unpleasantly, and for a moment he thought he might be sick. Sirius wondered if his own parents had come to see him, the thought making him feel even more sick, but he reminded himself that his mother would probably be happy if he stupidly got himself killed at school, not distressed, like James'.

He tried to sit up, letting out a groan as he realized how much his body still hurt, despite Madam Pomfrey's ministrations, and the sound made Mrs. Potter stir. Her eyes blinked open and she instinctively looked at her son, her face falling a bit when she realized that he was still unconscious. She smoothed down a lock of his hair and looked over at Sirius, giving him a weak smile.

"You must be James' friend," she said kindly, looking him over.

"Yeah, I'm Sirius," he answered, but he found he couldn't meet her eyes, knowing that it was his fault her son was lying in the hospital wing.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sirius," she replied politely, and she stood up, looking down at her son and smoothing his hair once more. "I'll just go fetch Madam Pomfrey so she can give you a look over."

"Thanks," Sirius mumbled as Mrs. Potter walked away.

A few moments later, she returned, accompanied by Madam Pomfrey, who was wearing a stern expression on her face. The matron began busying herself around Sirius, checking his pulse and prodding his body, much to his chagrin.

"You had a lot of broken bones," she informed him as he winced, "but I've mended those. You'll be a bit sore, but no worse for the wear in the long run."

"Thank you," Sirius mumbled again, but he turned to look at his friend. "Will James...?"

"I hope he'll make a full recovery," Madam Pomfrey answered, her voice low and disapproving, "but I won't know more until he wakes up."

Sirius nodded, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat. The door to the hospital wing opened and Professor McGonagall walked through, approaching Sirius with a stern expression on her face.

"Mr. Black," she said, "I'm glad to see you conscious again. We can now begin discussions on how misguided your actions were and what the consequences might be."

"Yes, Professor," he answered, staring at his hands folded in his lap.

"Are you aware that you damaged a very complex and dangerous spell that has taken considerable effort to repair and in doing so risked the lives of both yourself and your friend?" she asked.

"Yes, Professor," Sirius said again, sullenly. He felt a deep sense of shame at Professor McGonagall's words.

"What on earth inspired you to do something so completely idiotic?" she hissed, her voice dangerously high pitched, and Sirius was fairly certain she would be shrieking if it weren't for James and Mrs. Potter.

"I couldn't sleep," he whispered, barely audible, "and we wanted to fly."

"You couldn't sleep so you decided to risk your lives instead," Professor McGonagall clarified, pursing her lips until they were a barely visible line.

Sirius couldn't even bear to answer her, guilt was twisting in his gut and he felt tears stinging his eyes as he fought to keep them from spilling forth. His lip began to tremble and he twisted his hands together in his lap.

Professor McGonagall watched him carefully and saw how deeply upset he was. She couldn't exactly not punish him, but she didn't have the heart to be as harsh as she initially planned. It was clear that he was affected by his actions and the danger his best friend was in. She sighed heavily and sat down at the foot of Sirius' bed, patting him lightly on his shin.

"Because of your actions, first years have been banned from possessing broomsticks on school grounds," she said softly. "I have taken the liberty of sending your broomstick back to your parents, along with an explanation of what happened. Mr. Potter's broomstick was... well, there was not much to send home, it was rather damaged."

"He's going to be so mad," Sirius groaned, still not looking up at Professor McGonagall.

"Furthermore," she continued, "each of you will receive five detentions, to be served with myself over the course of the next month, and Gryffindor house will lose 50 points for each of you."

"Is that... is that all?" Sirius asked hesitantly, looking up at her from under his lashes.

"Idiotic though your actions may have been," Professor McGonagall answered carefully, "they were not malicious. And I believe Mr. Potter's current condition is quite a punishment for both of you."

Sirius nodded severely, taking Professor McGonagall's words to heart. He understood that they were not being punished more because the knowledge that his idea could easily have killed his best friend would be enough to torment him forever.

"Mrs. Potter," Professor McGonagall said suddenly, standing and turning to the next bed, "may I have a word outside?"

"Of course, Minerva," the other woman replied, and they both walked out of the hospital wing to speak in the hallway beyond.

Sirius idly wondered what they could be talking about that they needed more privacy, but he quickly found his mind turned to James. He looked over at his friend who was still lying as he had been, looking so peaceful. Sirius wasn't sure how long he had been watching James when he noticed some small stirring. His hands started to twitch, fingers grasping at the sheets covering him, and his head turned from side to side slightly.

"Mummy," he croaked almost inaudibly, wetting his lips.

"James?" Sirius said excitedly, watching his friend's eyes begin to blink open.

"Sirrus?" James slurred, turning his head toward the sound of his voice, though Sirius could tell that his eyes were not focused on him.

"I'm here, mate," Sirius laughed, practically giddy that his friend had woken up. "MADAM POMFREY!"

James winced slightly at the noise, but the matron came running over, and when she saw that James was awake, she beamed.

"Mr. Potter," she sighed, sounding very relieved, "how are you feeling?"

"'ve fel' better," James answered hazily, turning his head to follow the voices.

"Of course you have," she replied soothingly as she began to examine him. After several long minutes, Madam Pomfrey smiled broadly and ceased her ministrations. "You appear to be astonishingly alright, aside from a very nasty concussion. It'll take some time for your brain to heal completely, and you may have some lasting effects, but I feel comfortable in saying that you are out of the woods. I'll go tell your mother, I'm sure she'd like to see you."

Sirius let out a small whoop of joy, his heart leaping. James smiled happily, but it was clear that he didn't fully process the information he was being told. He had apologies to make, but they could wait until James was feeling better. For the moment it was enough that his best friend was awake and would be just fine in time.

#hp #hp ff #hp fic #james potter #sirius black #better together #btmt

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inkognito97 · 7 years ago

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Wow, I'm so excited about self-harming Obi-Wan. Can you please continue this one? What if he would try to do this to himself again? Or no?

@blastwaveinsideofme

Also, WARNING! Self-harm is for a lot of people a serious and sensitive topic. So, I advice you not to read, if you have any kind of problems concerning this topic.

Obi-Wan was glad to be back at the temple again, back home in his own quarters. Anakin had his own rooms, he was sharing them with his Padawan, but Obi-Wan still resided in his former Master’s old quarters, a privilege of being a Council member. Despite the years that had passed since Qui-Gon died, there was still something of him that had remained behind in these familiar rooms.

There were of course his plants that Obi-Wan had kept and taken care of, there were some old photos and even some belongings that had once been owned by the tall and long haired man. Yet, Obi-Wan had also made sure to change the rooms, making them his. He was his own man after all, not a copy of his former Master.

A tired and nostalgic smile appeared on his bearded features. He carelessly hung his robe over a chair, got rid of his boots - leaving them near the entrance - and then brought his travel back into the larger bedroom. He put it on the ground, while he sat on the large bed. It was still the on Qui-Gon had used, therefore it was a little larger than the usual human standard. Obi-Wan didn’t mind, not when it reminded him of many nights he had spent here with his Master resting next to him, or curled around him.

When he had became the man’s Padawan, they had not gotten along, not with Xanatos’ shadow lurking over them and Qui-Gon HAD hurt him a lot of times, there was just no denying it. But they had warmed up to each other, began carrying for each other, so Obi-Wan had not seen how MUCH the older man had actually cared about him, not after he had almost killed himself. After this incident, he had often crawled into his Master’s bed, sometimes just needing his calming presence close by and sometimes actually craving physical contact. Qui-Gon had never pushed him out, not even when Obi-Wan had been sick with the flu. As a result, Qui-Gon had also caught it, but he had not been mad at his Padawan, not at all.

Obi-Wan let out a sigh and let himself fall back onto the bed. He gazed up at the ceiling for a few moments, lying half on his bed, with his feet still standing firmly on the soft carpet and his arms outstretched. He didn’t want to move, but he knew that his bones would protest later, if he did not. With another sigh, he rolled and moved until he was lying on his side, arms outstretched and his face halfway hidden in a pillow. His blue-green eyes came to rest on his bared wrist, were the remains of his past were forever present.

The ginger haired Jedi closed his hands into tight fists and then shut his eyes just as tightly, slipping into an old memory…

Obi-Wan was not sure what to think. He should maybe be happy to be allowed to finally leave the healer’s wing, but he wasn’t. He did not want to return to the place that was supposed to be his home, but was the setting, where he had almost died, by his own hand.

Neither did he want to be supervised like a toddler. He had made a mistake, he knew that and he was not stupid enough to try again any time soon, or was he. He unconsciously bit his lip. He should definitely stop thinking like this. Had it gone after the healers’ will, he would not be returning to his quarters anyway. He would be put into a cell like room, with soft walls and nothing with which he could hurt (or entertain) himself. Obi-Wan had once seen such a cell up close, during a failed negotiation mission with his Master. Speaking of which, the man had not yet said a single word to him, not since he had spoken to the healers. The Padawan guessed that he was running their words through his head, though he could not be sure, not with the bond closed. A precaution from the healers.

Suddenly Qui-Gon stopped walking and only his instincts saved Obi-Wan from running into the man, who was already tipping the Code into the lock next to the door. The door slit open and they entered, discarding their boots at the entrance. Then, the older Jedi more or less stirred them towards the living room and nudged Obi-Wan to sit onto the worn out looking brown leather couch.

The Padawan did not look up, his gaze rested solemnly on his folded hands, without really seeing them. A sigh escaped the older man and he tiredly rubbed his nose.

“Obi-Wan… do you have any more… blades, in your possession?” his mood was not readable through his voice.

The ginger haired teenager tilted his head and then, he shrugged.

“I need you to be honest with me, Padawan,” there was a certain edge to his voice.

“I don’t know,” he knew his voice sounded monotone, but he did not care. All he wanted, was to be left alone. He did not want anyone else to prod him for answers he did not want to give, he did not want Bant to stick her gills into this, he did not want Garen or Reeft to try to cheer him up and he certainly did not want to talk to Siri either. He also did not want any healer to ask stupid question. “Are you alright? How are you feeling?” He was totally fine and feeling awesome of course, why else would he have cut himself open. Stupid healers and their mindless questions and not to forget the few Masters who had come to visit. Obi-Wan had ignored all of their questions.

The only one, who had not yet tried to ask after the why, was Qui-Gon Jinn. A part of Obi-Wan, the biggest part of him actually, believed that the man simply did not care enough to ask. Another, smaller and hopeful part - even though it had grown smaller and smaller since the beginning of his apprenticeship under the infamous Master Jinn - wished that the man would understand his need for privacy.

“Alright,” he sounded exhausted. “You will stay in my bedroom until I am sure that there is nothing in your room… I have to look through your personal things though.” He waited for any kind of reaction, an acknowledgement or perhaps the wish to do it together, but nothing came.

“You DO realize that… what you have done… is wrong?”

“Why?”

“Excuse me?” he sounded genuinely taken aback by the one-word question. Had Obi-Wan looked up, he would have seen that the man’s gaze was puzzled.

“Why is it wrong?” he challenged. “Who says it wasn’t the will of the Force?”

“Was it the will of the Force?” Qui-Gon asked worried.

Obi-Wan shrugged.

Under normal circumstances, Qui-Gon would have gotten frustrated with his Padawan’s behavior, but right now, he was only worried. There was something greatly wrong with the boy and he needed to find out what it was, in order to make it better, in order to make Obi-Wan feel better. The Jedi Master had still not gotten over the shock of finding his Padawan bleeding on the floor of his own bedroom, with his wrists slid open and his eyes already glassing over. He would never forget the desolate look in the boy’s eyes, nor the endless hours of waiting and hoping that the healers would win the fight for his Padawan’s life. It had been a close call, Qui-Gon was very much aware of that. He had almost felt his Padawan, he would not do so again.

“Well…” the bearded male cleared his throat, “you are going to see the mind healers from now on, also, regular check ups within the medical bay are required also.”

For the first time since the incident, there was a real reaction from the boy. His displeasure was palpable in the air that surrounded him and Qui-Gon would have to be blind to not see it.

Silently and in the privacy of his own mind, Obi-Wan cursed all the healers in the Jedi temple. If they truly thought he would open up to one of them, they would get a big surprise. There was no way he would speak a single word with them, no way.

“Ok… is there perhaps anything else that you need, that you want?” Qui-Gon asked hopefully. Perhaps he could reawaken his boy’s spirits with this.

“Yes,” Qui-Gon waited impatiently. Blue-green eyes finally looked up. “Leave me alone.”

The Jedi Master blinked. He should have expected that. “Very well, you may go to my bedroom, stay there until I say otherwise, or I will lock the door, understood.”

Obi-Wan nodded, then he stood up and walked to the privacy he so craved. He ignored the pair of icy blue eyes that followed his every move.

Obi-Wan came back to reality and pushed himself onto his back, his arms still outstretched. He was staring at the ceiling again and he realized that this was the exact same position he had taken, all those years ago, when he had first entered his Master’s bedchamber. He had stared at the ceiling than too, but his mind had been empty then.

Obi-Wan hummed in thought. Even in this early stage, he had have a lot of luck, even though his Padawan self had not thought so, of course not. His Padawan self had actually hated Qui-Gon during the first few weeks, until the man had been called to a mission and had left him behind.

Needless to say, the healers had taken the opportunity and Obi-Wan had found himself drugged and sometimes even bound. The latter being the case, when they were short on personal. When they had enough people, he had been watched 24/7, even while taking a shower or going to the fresher, it had been highly unpleasant to say the least. Thankfully it had only been two weeks till Qui-Gon returned and literally saved him. He had never seen the man so angry before, even in his drugged stayed, he could still remember the long haired man’s anger at finding his Padawan kept like an animal and in a drugged state.

What followed, had probably been the worst days in Obi-Wan’s whole life. Fourteen days had seemingly been enough to actually get addicted to the medication he had gotten. Obi-Wan was no fool, he knew that the healers had wanted to make him feel absolutely nothing, no emotional at all, mostly because they had hoped to make him more compliant with the mind healers. For them, he had just been an interesting project. Too bad for them that his drugged self had been worse than his - at that point - depressed normal self.

A silent tear slipped from Obi-Wan’s eye into his beard. The things he had done and said to Qui-Gon during his cold withdrawal. He knew he had hurt the man. Hell, he had even said, “I hate you!” directly into his Master’s face, while the man had pinned him down onto the bed, wrestling the sharp knife out of his hands. Obi-Wan could not remember, from where he had obtained the knife, someone must have given it to him, because his old Master had made sure that such things were far out of his reach. Obi-Wan had no idea, who it could have been. But he knew for a fact that Qui-Gon had found out.

The days after, he had refused to eat or drink, to a point, were it had gotten life-threatening. Even the older Jedi’s threats to take him back to the healers or to Force feed him, had not made him eat.

It was only when, one quiet evening, Qui-Gon had slipped under the covers and literally wrapped himself around him and told him, how much he cared and how much he worried, that Obi-Wan had finally given in. He had also stopped hating his Master then. It had been the beginning of his healing phase, though he had never told the assigned mind healers a single word, Qui-Gon had been enough.

In the here and now, Obi-Wan was almost asleep, only on the edge of dreams and awareness. Something held him back and he had no idea what it was. Suddenly, a warm feeling passed through him. It was awfully familiar, though Obi-Wan could not place it and it was, as if someone had kissed his cheek. An invisible burden had been taken off from him and it was enough to push him deep into the lands of dreams and wishes.

Had he opened his eye however, the ginger haired Council member would have seen the smiling blue form of a long haired Jedi, who had died a long, long time ago…

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #qui gon jinn #force ghost #force ghost qui-gon #self harm #past self harm #padawan obi-wan #memories #trauma #depression #healers #they are idiots in this one #hurt/comfort #dealing with depression #protective qui-gon #qui-gon is awesome #prompt #blastwaveinsideofme

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mooosicaldreamz · 7 years ago

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prompt: supercorp, Kara introduces Lena to her friend, Diana Prince. Lena becomes too gay to function

i’m gonna be real, anon, your prompt flopped around on me a lil. i love diana prince!!!!!!!

anyway, i’m writing prompts because i hit 1k followers!!!! i’ve been seeing the prompts come through, so if you’ve already sent one, don’t worry - i’ve got it. if you like what i’ve written, send more??

“Hello,” a voice says from behind Lena, sufficiently startling her. She’s been staring idly at the painting in front of her, a swath of blue paints that reminds her of Kara, of course. Kara, who’s running late to meet her for the exhibit opening at the National City Art Museum. An exhibit that L Corp is sponsoring. Kara’s last text was from fifteen minutes ago, half of it barely readable, claiming that Supergirl is breaking up a robbery on her bus route and gumming up her arrival time. There’s also a couple emojis: one sweating smiley, a rose, and, perhaps most mysteriously, the pink woman with her hand held aloft.

She turns around to find a woman looking down at her. The woman is absurdly beautiful, with bronzed skin and deep brown eyes, and her hair is tumbling off to the side in a delicate fishtail braid that Lena very suddenly wants to touch. She doesn’t because of boundaries, which this woman seems to content to filter through; she’s inching closer to Lena, now.

“Ms. Luthor,” she says, and Lena feels like her mouth goes dry. She chances a glance around the room; no one is aware of this exchange. So Lena takes a sip of her champagne, tries to draw herself up to full height, and looks this walking art piece in the face.

“Hello,” she says. “I’m afraid we haven’t met before.”

“No,” the other woman says, smiling gently. Her teeth are very white, and her smile is perfectly fitted to her face. “But I have heard of you.”

Where on earth did this woman come from? She often has thoughts like this in regards to Kara, when she’s being similarly intoxicating and strange, but the low, accented voice that this woman speaks with is shocking in its affect. Lena feels like she could listen to her talk forever.

Somehow, Kara manages to interrupt this moment of intensity by stumbling into her airspace, dressed in a gorgeous cocktail dress that fills Lena to the brim with distraction from the other woman in front of her. She grabs ahold of Lena by the arm, tugging her into a hug that squeezes tightly at Lena’s chest, and she’s muttering something about how she’s so sorry and Supergirl had managed to stop the robbers and her bus had finally started chugging along, and oh my gosh Lena you look gorgeous look at the art it’s beautiful and I’m so happy you invited me to come to this, it’s so cool -

The woman in front of her clears her throat, and Kara, who’s mid-hug, freezes a little. She lets go of Lena apprehensively, her hand still resting on Lena’s arm - warm and still distracting. When she lands eyes on the woman, who Lena’s just-now realized is wearing a floor-length red dress that Lena would kill people to wear so well, Kara gasps.

“Diana!” she yelps, throwing herself forward and accidentally moving the other woman - Diana, apparently - backward. They right themselves gracefully, Kara talking a mile-a-minute and Diana giggling prettily and clutching at Kara. It stirs up a hot feeling in Lena, watching them barely separate from their hug to chatter nearly in each other’s faces, Diana reaching up to grab ahold of Kara’s face on both sides and talk to her in her accent - low as ever, bubbling with laughter, the kind of accent that Lena can’t ever place but sounds wonderful anyway.

“ - I have not seen you since the fall on the island! I was invited to attend this event by the artist, and then I saw your friend Ms. Luthor here, and I had so hoped that I would see you! I was hoping you had finally resolved the situation, so I was glad to see - “

“Ha! No, no, no, nothing’s changed at all since the island,” Kara whispers, interrupting and grinning almost manically. Lena frowns, her grip on her champagne tightening. Kara is the worst possible secret keeper, and Lena knows her well enough to know when it’s happening. Hence how she had figured out she was Supergirl in a little under two months.

“Why ever not?” Diana asks, her grip on Kara’s head squeezing just a little. Kara’s pretty much impervious to pain, from what Lena can understand, but she winces a little under the grip.

“Well, it’s complicated,” Kara starts to say, and then an alarm is ringing out, along with a smattering of what sounds like gunfire, on the other end of the gallery, behind a wall of the exhibit. Lena rolls her eyes; of course she would finally get Kara in a nice dress on what could easily be considered a date, and then the event is attacked and Kara gets distracted by a gorgeous foreigner who seems content to stare deeply into Kara’s eyes and talk with their faces very close.

In fact, they’re just staring at each other as the gunfire continues and there’s yelling and screaming. Kara should be ripping off her clothes to go fight the evildoers, and instead she’s so distracted by this woman that she can’t remember who she is. It goes on for a solid seven seconds more, and finally, Lena’s had enough of this.

“Kara, don’t you have somewhere you need to be?” Lena says, and she can’t help but keep the edge out of her voice. Kara shocks from her staring to blink over at Lena, her arms still halfway around Diana.

“Wha - what?” Kara asks, her jaw hanging open as more alarms go off and a voice yells everyone get down on the ground. Lena feels like her comment was self-explanatory, honestly, but Kara looks gobsmacked. So she opens her mouth to say it more clearly, but Diana is speaking.

“I told you she sounded too smart to have not known,” Diana says, tapping on Kara’s forehead and clucking her tongue. Kara has the sense to look scolded by it. “I will deal with it. You stay with her.”

And then Diana is gone, suddenly, inexplicably. Kara is still blinking, adjusting her glasses and looking from the floor to just beyond Lena’s shoulder and back to the floor.

“Usually I’m the one who says that,” Kara mutters.

A loud crashing noise is heard then, and over the gallery wall, a man comes flying. He’s ragdolling through the air, really, and most everyone has vacated this end of the gallery for the room furthest from the attackers, but Kara sighs as she knocks him out of the air and to the ground, like she’s swatting away a fly. Lena’s known her best friend and hoped-future-significant-other was Supergirl for a long time now, but it’s still insane to see Kara - not Supergirl, but Kara Danvers, glasses and blinking wide blue eyes - smack a fully-grown man to the ground.

“And Alex says I’m the messy one,” Kara mumbles again, crossing her arms and turning to look at Lena. “We should probably talk.”

“Don’t tell me that woman is from Krypton too,” Lena says. “Kryptonians can’t all be ridiculously attractive.”

Kara blinks again, turning to watch as another man is tossed over the gallery wall, unconsciously plunking into the floor.

“She’s actually from an island populated only by women,” Kara says.

“Sounds like a dream,” Lena says. Kara laughs, just a little, and it gets stuck in her throat as she reaches for Lena again, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her in for a hug. It’s warm and calming, and Lena feels, for the first time, that her heart’s been racing along.

“So you think I’m ridiculously attractive?” is whispered in her ear, then, and Lena’s heart races ever harder.

#1K FOLLOWER EXTRAVAGANZA #cassie writes fic #my baeta is in JAPAN so no better judgment was involved in the writing of this ficlet #and who are you exactly

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