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kerikaaria · 4 years ago

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If I Never Met You: Chapter 19

(??? X Reader) Idol!AU, Manager!Reader

Genre: (PG13) Fluff and angst

WC: 5.8k

Warnings: Swearing – offensive/derogatory words (censored)

Series Masterlist

Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

It was nearing the end of September and the boys already released their first comeback, with their first mini album O!RUL8,2?. It had been just barely three months since their debut, but this album was already in the works during their debut promotions and they quickly went into practicing and recording once those died down enough.

Today was a day where the boys didn’t have any outside schedules, but Sejin and I still had some things to take care of at the company and the boys had some practices and lessons to go to. There was a meeting scheduled for early this morning, so I arrived for that but didn’t have anything in particular to do afterwards. I sat in the office, checking on a few things that we were working on before relaxing into my chair and browsing the internet on my phone.

Even though their popularity was slowly but surely growing (despite N.O not doing quite as well as we had hoped), the people who have negative things to say were starting to become much more obvious in between the positive comments. I really don’t understand why there are certain things people feel like they have to say. I wish I had a way to keep the boys from seeing those comments. But unless they want to completely ignore the internet, it was inevitable.

Thankfully, most of their interactions are on twitter where those who tweet them are for the most part supportive fans. They started to become good at filtering out the negativity, but I knew it was impossible to not be affected at all. I just hoped they used it as motivation to do their best and prove people wrong.

I found myself yawning and realized that I was actually really tired. I still had a couple of hours before I had any other real engagements, so I set my phone down and decided to take a bit of a nap at my desk.

I was woken up sometime later by a knock on the door. I slowly came back to consciousness as the person walked into the small room.

“Noona?” I recognized Yoongi’s voice.

“Hey, Suga,” I replied as I re-entered the living world. “What’s up? Do you need something?”

“No, not really,” he shrugged. “Sejin hyung asked me to check on you. Sorry to wake you.”

“It’s okay, I needed to wake up anyway,” I said, looking at the time on my computer, signifying that I had been asleep for about an hour. I quickly realized I was feeling rather hungry. “Have you eaten lunch?”

“No, not yet,” he said. “I was actually just about to go get some.”

“Mind if I come with you?” I asked as I grabbed my purse.

“Of course not.” He flashed a small smile and held the door open for me. “Anywhere in particular you want to go?”

“Not really. We can just go to that place you guys frequent. The one whose owner is really sweet.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he said as he put on his mask.

When we walked into the small restaurant, we were immediately greeted by the kind woman who ran the place. “If it isn’t some of my favorite customers,” she said with a warm smile. “How are you doing?”

“Good,” Yoongi said as he removed his mask. “We were hungry so we thought we’d come get some lunch.”

“Of course!” she said as she directed us to one of the big tables. “Is everyone else coming?”

“Oh no, just us this time, imo,” I said.

“Oh, alright.” She switched directions to a small table and urged us to sit down.

“What do you want to eat, noona?” Yoongi asked me.

“Whatever you want. I’m not picky, you know that,” I responded, smiling.

“Okay, then,” he shrugged. He ordered two different dishes, which she excitedly went to cook right away.

“How are you doing, Yoongi?” I asked.

He looked at me curiously. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Sometimes we’re all so busy I feel like I don’t have time to ask how you’re feeling.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. We’re getting used to the pace now so it’s not as hard as it was at first.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said, honestly feeling relieved.

“How about you, noona? Are you doing okay?” I paused, a bit surprised at the unexpected question, and he lightly chuckled. “You check on us, but who will make sure you’re okay if we don’t?”

He really is very thoughtful, I thought, smiling softly. “I’m doing fine. I’m much more confident in my abilities with the job than I used to be.”

“Good. Because you know, you really are a great manager.”

Yoongi was surprisingly talkative today, and we kept conversing until our food was brought to us a little while later. As I smiled and thanked her, I noticed the kind woman looking at me like she had something she wanted to say.

“Yes, imo?” I asked, inviting her to say what was on her mind.

“I’m just really glad that these sweet boys have someone like you to keep them company,” she said, making me smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised if one day one of them realizes how great you are and snatches you up for himself.”

“I-I’m sorry?” I asked, not quite sure if I heard her right.

“I mean you’re a great catch and I’d love to see one of the boys be the lucky man,” she said as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Yoongi coughed, almost choking on the food he was chewing on as my mouth opened in surprise.

“Oh, well thank you,” I said, unsure of what else to say. I was sure my face was beet red. “I appreciate the compliment,” I finished, nervously.

She smiled before leaving to pay attention to another customer.

I turned to Yoongi and our gazes met for a moment before we both looked away, embarrassed by the woman’s words. Me? With one of the Bangtan boys? It was something I had never thought about. But to be honest, I felt that whoever ended up with the boys would be some of the luckiest people ever.

We finished eating and left the restaurant, and there was still a slightly awkward air left between us after the comment she had made. I wasn’t sure why it felt awkward. Maybe it was because she put the thought into my head that possibly one day, I could end up in a relationship with one of them. And maybe similar thoughts were going through Yoongi’s mind too – but was he wondering about the possibility of me dating any of them or specifically himself? Wait, no. I was stopping that thought train right there. I was not going down that rabbit hole.

I shook my head in a literal attempt to get rid of the thoughts before they went too deep. I could see Yoongi staring at me out of the corner of my eye, so I turned to look at him. Suddenly I felt a smile tugging at my lips and then both of us were laughing, quickly lightening the mood back up. I had no idea what made us start laughing, but I welcomed the change in the atmosphere.

“That was something I did not expect to hear when we decided to go out for lunch together today,” he said once our laughter calmed down.

“I know right,” I replied. “I guess it’s hard for people to see a girl hanging around a bunch of boys without thinking there is or will be romantic feelings involved somewhere. Especially when the boys are all rather good-looking,” I said in a teasing voice, knowing it would make him feel embarrassed. It was hard to embarrass Yoongi, so I enjoyed doing so when I could.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” he quickly retorted back, catching me off guard.

I playfully scoffed, hoping the heat rising to my cheeks wasn’t too obvious. “Yeah, right.” I did not consider myself to be a beauty by any means, and although hearing those words wasn’t going to make me feel any different, it still made me feel embarrassed to receive the compliment.

“You really are pretty though,” Yoongi muttered, barely audible. I was surprised I picked it up at all. But I chose not to address it.

The next few minutes back to the company building were spent in silence, but not awkward like a few moments ago. Despite me being embarrassed by Yoongi’s compliment, it was still a rather comfortable silence which I welcomed.

Yoongi walked with me back to my office before he went off to his own destination, probably his studio to write some music. Sejin was sitting at the desk when I arrived, and he greeted me with a smile.

“Where did you go with Yoongi?” he asked.

“We just ate lunch together,” I said. “It’s almost time to talk with the stylist team isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you got here just in time,” he confirmed. “Let’s head on out.”

We had a couple of meetings during the rest of the day. One of which was with the team that Haewon was a part of, but luckily she didn’t seem to want to cause any drama and was rather civil today. Maybe after the last time when her efforts were fruitless, she decided to give up.

Everything took a few hours, but once that was over I didn’t have anything else I needed to do so I took a look in the dance studio, where I wasn’t surprised to see the boys practicing their choreography. I carefully entered the studio and sat in the front to watch them dance.

It always made me happy to see the instant change in them when I entered the room while they practiced. While they were still focused and concentrating, they seemed to be a little happier, and maybe more determined to make it look good for their one-person audience.

After a little while, they took a break and I got up to bring them water from the nearby bottle stash.

“You done with meetings for the day, noona?” Namjoon asked.

“Yup, I don’t have anything else to do today,” I responded. “How long are you guys going tonight?”

“Probably about another hour,” Hoseok said. “There’s a few things that need polished up still.” Leave it to him to spot the tiniest inconsistencies.

“Jimin and I went to the usual place to eat earlier,” Taehyung said, “and imo told me you and Yoongi hyung stopped by together for lunch today, noona.”

“Yeah, we did,” I replied. I looked at Yoongi, who already had his gaze fixed on me. He gave me a small smile which I returned before we both looked away.

“She said you two looked cute together,” Tae added, smirking.

“What?!” Yoongi and I said simultaneously.

“Yeah, she said she thought you’d make a cute couple,” Jimin added, looking equally mischievous.

“Yah, what kind of comment is that,” Yoongi said, scoffing.

“I definitely don’t think we acted like a couple at all,” I added.

“She’s right though,” Jungkook instigated. “You two would look cute together.”

“You all want me to kill you, don’t you?” Yoongi asked as he stood up and approached the maknaes. “Guys, I think our group is going to go down to four members after today.”

The three culprits stood up and ran for cover, Tae choosing me as his shield.

“What makes you think I’m protecting you from this?” I ask him before switching places with him, grabbing his arms to lock them behind his back and hold him still.

“No, noona!” Tae pleaded. “You wouldn’t let hyung hurt me would you?”

“Hmmm,” I pretended to think about it while Yoongi approached us. “I don’t know. What was that thing about me and Yoongi again?”

“You guys are really good friends!” he quickly righted. “There’s definitely nothing going on between you guys. Come on, please. Don’t let him hurt me.”

I released my grip on his arms so he could run off while Yoongi approached the other two who also started blurting out apologies and taking back what they said as well before they could face their hyung’s wrath.

I couldn’t help but laugh at the whole scene. Of course he wasn’t actually going to hurt them, but it was cute seeing them play around like this.

“I got some funny pictures out of that,” Jin said, smiling.

“Oh, I want to see,” I said.

“Sending them in the group chat,” Jin responded.

I went to my purse to grab my phone while I heard the notifications ring from the others’ phones. But my phone wasn’t in the pocket I usually kept it in. Confused, I continued to search through the rest of my purse but it seemed to be nowhere in the bag.

“Everything okay, noona?” Jimin asked, noticing me struggle.

“Yeah. I think I just left my phone in the office,” I replied. “I’ll be right back.” I walked out of the room to go to the office, convinced I must have left it there at some point during the day. I heard the door to the studio open again behind me and turned to see Yoongi following me.

“I’m coming with you,” he said.

“You don’t need to, it’s fine,” I replied.

Yoongi shook his head. “You don’t have your phone on you, so I’d feel more comfortable with you not being alone.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “I’m only going to my office.

Yoongi kept a blank expression as he looked at me, not budging at all.

Knowing he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, I conceded and we began to walk. When I got to the office, I searched around my desk and Yoongi looked around the other surfaces in the room to see if I could have left it elsewhere. Being unsuccessful, I looked in the pockets of my jacket I left draped over my chair, and even double checked the pockets in my own jeans. Still, nothing.

“That’s so weird,” I said. “I know I had it with me earlier.”

“When was the last time you recall using your phone?” Yoongi asked, double checking the places I looked at as well.

I thought about it for a moment. “Actually, it was probably in here. Right before I took my nap, I was using my phone.” I paused before suddenly remembering something. “I set it down on the desk before drifting off, and I don’t recall grabbing it before we went to lunch.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi contemplated what could have happened. “You don’t think Sejin hyung would have it, do you?” he asked.

“I doubt it,” I said. “Worth a shot to ask, though.”

Yoongi called Sejin on his phone to ask if he’d seen my phone at all today, but he soon ended the call before shaking his head. “He said he hasn’t seen it.”

“What could have happened?” I asked, trying to piece things together. “Was it even on my desk when I woke up?” I thought about it for a moment. “Wait. You’re not playing a prank on me are you?” I asked, walking toward Yoongi with my hands outstretched toward his pockets.

“Yah!” Yoongi said, backing away from me quickly. “Of course not. I wouldn’t go through this much trouble for a joke. Let me try calling it,” he suggested.

“Why didn’t we think of that sooner?” I asked myself under my breath.

He called my number, placing the phone to his ear just for a moment to confirm it was ringing before pulling it away to listen for my phone. But neither of us heard anything.

“I know I left the volume on,” I said, becoming increasingly confused.

We stood in silence for a moment, thinking.

“Let’s go back to the dance studio,” Yoongi said. “I need to get back to practice and it’s obviously not here so being in here won’t help us at all.”

I nodded and followed him back to the studio where the rest of the boys looked ready to resume practice.

“Did you find it?” Hoseok asked as we walked in.

I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t anywhere in the office. That was definitely the last place I remember using it, which was actually this morning before we went to lunch. I have no idea what happened.”

Yoongi had been looking at his phone the whole way back, and suddenly he stopped and looked up at me. “Noona.”

“What’s up?” I inquired.

“I think someone took your phone,” he said, turning back to his screen.

“Why is that?” I asked hesitantly, scared of the answer.

He showed me what he was looking at, and my eyes widened. The pictures that could have only been the ones that Jin mentioned before I went to look for my phone had been posted on Twitter. There were two, one of Tae hiding behind me and the other was me holding his arms behind his back while he stared at Yoongi approaching him.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asked.

I took the phone from Yoongi’s hand, wanting to further investigate. I heard Yoongi responding but was too focused on my mission to hear what he was saying. Clicking on the profile of the person who originally uploaded the photos, I found other tweets. All from today, and all pictures of me and the boys that we had taken over the months. And of course, they were tagged with anything that would lead someone searching for BTS to them. The profile had been created just today and all the tweets were shared starting within the last few hours. Definitely after my phone had gone missing.

By the time I looked up from Yoongi’s phone, he was standing next to me observing what I was doing, and the other boys were all looking at their own phones to check it out as well. I turned my attention back to the posts, which were getting way too much attention for comfort. Luckily, I hadn’t saved any pictures from the morning when I woke up in Jin’s arms, and those were the only ones I could think of that could cause a legit scandal. I clicked on one of the tweets and scrolled down, seeing a slew of comments that I probably would have preferred to not exist.

“Who are you and what are you doing with my oppas???”

“Wow look at this sl**. Who does she think she is?”

“BigHit must have terrible management if they’re letting some foreign w**** put her hands all over BTS.”

“Ugly b****!!!!”

Yoongi grabbed the phone out of my hands before I could read anymore. “Don’t you dare listen to them, noona.”

The volume of his voice shocked me. It also garnered the attention of the other six boys, who all looked at me with concerned faces.

“She read the comments, didn’t she?” Jin asked and Yoongi just nodded in response.

“I’m going to call Sejin hyung,” Namjoon said. “Jin hyung, you call Bang.”

“Why would someone do this?” Jimin asked. “Who would… Wait never mind, I know exactly who would do something like this.”

I fell to a sitting position the floor, my body not having any strength to hold me up and my mind going blank. I vaguely heard some shuffling and a few arms were quickly supporting my back.

“It’s okay, noona,” Tae’s voice said from my right.

“Don’t worry, it’s only temporary,” Hoseok, who was on my left, added. “Bang and Sejin hyung will have a solution for this.”

Taehyung gently led my head to his shoulder and stroked my hair gently, knowing well that when I was upset affection was the best comfort for me.

The rest of the boys surrounded me on the floor, except for Joon and Jin who were still on the phone.

“Noona, whatever those people said don’t mean anything,” Jungkook said.

“They’re just upset because they don’t know who you are,” Jimin added.

“Yeah,” Tae chimed in. “And you’re none of the things they’re calling you. You’re an amazing and beautiful person, noona.”

Jin knelt in front of me, having ended his call with Bang PD-nim. “He just found out about it too. PR only caught wind of it just a little bit ago. He wants you to go to his office.”

I nodded, and attempted to stand up but my legs felt like jelly. Noticing this, Tae and Hobi helped me into a standing position.

“Sejin hyung also just heard from PR,” Namjoon said. “He asked me to tweet a picture of the eight of us and mention you’re our manager. That should help calm things down until an official statement is released.”

“It’s going to be okay, noona,” Jungkook said. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you know that. PD-nim will help fix this.”

“Come on.” Yoongi held out his hand. “I’ll go with you to see him.”

I took his hand and he led me out the door, heading towards our boss’ office. Once there, he knocked for me and we entered.

I bowed deeply, feeling at fault for what was going on. “I’m so sorry, PD-nim. It’s all my fault, I should have kept better care of my belongings.”

“Sit down, (Y/n),” he said calmly. “You too, Yoongi. Thanks for coming with her.” I straightened up and followed his instruction. “So, Yoongi said that we believe someone took your phone. Tell me, when and where do you think this happened?”

“The last time I recall using my phone was this morning in my office, just before I dozed off into a nap,” I admitted. “I think I left it sitting on my desk and I don’t recall grabbing it after I woke up. But I didn’t notice until just a little bit ago that it was gone.”

“If it happened here, that’s good,” Bang PD said. “Let’s go look at the security footage from the hallway, see if anyone entered your office.”

We all walked to the nearby security office and they helped us pull up the recording from this morning. Sure enough, we saw someone walk by the door to my office, and double take to look through the window. She stood outside for a moment, seeming to contemplate something, before deciding to open the door and came back out a moment later, very obviously holding my phone in her hands.

I’ll give you one guess whose face I recognized on the screen. So much for thinking she had given up.

“Haewon,” Yoongi practically growled her name.

“Well, someone’s getting fired,” PD-nim said as we all started walking back toward the dance studio. “Don’t worry about the rest, (Y/n). I’ll take care of it. We’ll release a statement explaining who you are and your relationship with the boys, and that your phone got hacked by an employee of the company who has now been terminated.”

“Can’t we be in the room when you fire her?” Yoongi asked. “I want to see her face when she realizes she’s been found out.”

“It would be rather inappropriate of me to have you in the room,” PD-nim said, stopping at the studio door. “But I may happen to accidentally video call you,” he said with a smile before turning the handle.

We walked into the room, all eyes turning their attention to us. “Oh, and (Y/n),” Bang called out to me before closing the door all the way. “Comments written in jealousy are empty and mean nothing. Don’t listen to them, okay?”

I gave him a small smile and nodded before he walked away.

“So?” Jimin asked expectantly.

I looked at Yoongi, who just smirked. “We’re going to have a show to watch.” It wasn’t really necessary to explain what had happened – by now everyone had figured that there was only one person who would stoop so low.

As we waited for the “accidental” call from Bang PD-nim, Namjoon showed me the tweet he shared. He wrote, “Everyone, meet our manager and friend, (Y/n)! She’s been with us for a year now and she’s amazing and treats us so well. We hope you love her as much as we do!” Underneath was one of my favorite pictures of the eight of us. It was from the day they surprised me at the park last year, and we had asked someone to take a picture of us. We’re in some kind of big group hug and we all look really happy.

The comments underneath were amazing, drastically different from the ones I saw before.

Awww, I’m so jealous of her, getting to spend so much time with you! You all look so happy!

I knew it had to be something like that. I’m glad you said something, those jealous girls needed someone to shut them up.

But why and how did the pictures get released in the first place? Was this planned for publicity?

She’s so cute! You got a fan in me, (Y/n) unnie!

She looks young to be a manager, but maybe that means she’s just that good at her job. BTS, (Y/n) unnie, fighting!

And many more similar comments filled the feed. A wave of relief washed over me. Some may not believe it and still think it was a publicity stunt, but the explanation would be coming soon with the PR statement. Bang PD-nim just needed to talk to Haewon first.

“See, I told you it was temporary,” Hoseok said as he wrapped his arms around me to hug me tight.

“I’m just glad this was something that we could wash over really quick,” I said.

Yoongi’s phone rang and he accepted the video call, keeping his own camera off and muted his microphone just in case. He propped it up in a spot on the floor where all of us could see.

“She’s about to enter my office,” Bang PD whispered toward the phone.

We then heard a knock at the door before he invited the guest to come in. She walked in, slightly bowing her head and saying hello. He had positioned his phone really well so we could see everything she did.

“You needed to see me?” Haewon asked, trying to sound innocent.

“Yes,” PD-nim responded. “Something happened today, and it caused quite a bit of an uproar with the netizens. Some photos from a BigHit employee’s personal phone were leaked.”

“Oh really?” she responded, acting surprised. Wow, she was surprisingly good at putting on an act. “I’m sorry, but I’m not from PR. Maybe you have the wrong staff?”

“No, I definitely have the right staff,” he assured her. “Miss Son, did you know that we have a strict policy against workplace harassment and bullying? And we also don’t tolerate theft. It’s also in the employment contract that leaking sensitive and personal information regarding BigHit activities or its employees is strictly forbidden. All three of these acts are grounds for immediate termination.”

“You tell her, Bang,” Jin quietly cheered.

“I’m sorry, I’m not quite understanding how this has anything to do with me,” she replied, still playing the innocent card.

“Miss Son, did you take another BigHit employee’s personal belongings this morning?” he asked. “Specifically, a cell phone.”

She pretended to be confused. “Of course not, sir. Why would I do that?”

We could hear Bang PD sigh. It seemed like he was tired of being patient with her act. “Son Haewon-shi, I don’t appreciate lies.” He turned his computer screen to face both of them, also bringing it into our view. He clicked on a file from his desktop, bringing up the security footage from when she stole my phone this morning.

We saw the look on her face as she panicked, probably trying to figure out how to get herself out of this one. But we all knew there was no getting out.

“Why would you enter someone else’s office,” Bang PD asked, “one you had no business entering? And you’re very obviously holding (Y/n)’s phone in your hand. I’d appreciate it if you returned it to me. Right now please, Haewon-shi.”

“I wanted to talk to her, and saw her in the room so I opened the door,” she tried as an excuse. “But she was asleep, so I left shortly after. That phone in my hands is my own.”

“Wow, she has quite some nerve,” Namjoon said as some of the others scoffed or muttered under their breath at the ridiculous excuse.

“Okay, we can play this game,” Bang PD said, clearly fed up with her. He opened up another file on his computer. I instantly recognized it. It was a combination of three security cameras, the first showing me and Yoongi around a corner before walking into a hallway. And then it switched to the second camera which showed Haewon and her coworker walking towards me before pouring her coffee on my arm. And a few moments later, after I turned another corner and they had walked away, it switched to the third camera to show me in pain and Yoongi quickly wrapping his jacket around me and leading me away to treat the burn.

I heard various reactions from the boys to the clip, everyone displeased with seeing the event take place. While they all knew it happened, the rest hadn’t witnessed the scene so it seemed to be hard for them to watch.

“That was an accident, sir,” Haewon quickly defended.

Jimin scoffed. “She was so obvious. It didn’t even look like an accident. She literally tipped it over and spilled the whole thing on you. What a-“

“Language,” Jin said quickly before Jimin could get the word out.

While Jimin spoke, Bang PD had said something to a similar affect as him (although in a calmer, more professional manner) on the other side of the call. Then he pulled up another file. This time, it was in the main lobby when I had chased after Taehyung.

“How the heck did he find this one?” I asked. “I couldn’t even remember what date it was.”

We watched as Tae defended me against her attempt at causing trouble before grabbing my hand and leading me out of the building.

“Wow, you look so cool, hyung!” Jungkook admired.

Tae flashed him a smile as he linked his arm through mine.

“I’m sorry sir, but what is this one proving?” Haewon asked. “It looked like something was wrong, so I asked if I could help.”

“Except that you had a smile on your face before approaching them, not a look of concern. And you obviously said something to make Taehyung feel defensive,” PD-nim said. “Not to mention the look on your face as you watched them walk away is tell-tale to your dislike of (Y/n).”

Haewon sat back in her seat, crossing her arms. Her façade was quickly fading.

“And let’s not forget,” PD-nim said as he played the last clip, from the cafeteria.

“I already told you about this one,” Haewon defended.

“But you told me a completely different story than what both the footage and (Y/n) and Hoseok’s accounts do. You approached her, and based on what I see, it looks like you’re the one who’s bothering her. When you came to me, you told me she was harassing you, but you couldn’t go into detail. (Y/n) and Hoseok both explained the conversation in detail and it perfectly matched with what I see here.”

Haewon didn’t have any more defenses, and we could see how irritated she was.

“Yes! Go in for the kill, PD-nim!” Hoseok cheered.

“So, multiple accounts of workplace bullying, theft of another employee’s personal belongings, and leaking personal information of said employee that could have potentially caused damage to the company,” Bang PD summarized all the counts against her. “Do you still want to claim you are innocent?”

Haewon rolls her eyes. “Fine. I bothered her a bit. But she’s so arrogant and annoying. She isn’t even good at her own job and thinks she can do other peoples’ jobs for them. She’s a useless child who should go back to where she came from.”

I saw Yoongi stand up abruptly, starting to head towards the door. I quickly followed, stepping in front of him just before he reached the handle. “Yoongi, calm down.”

“How can I be calm?” Yoongi practically yelled. “How can you be calm after hearing her talk about you like that? I’m sick of her thinking she can just walk all over you and insult you without any consequences!”

“She is getting her consequences, Yoongi,” I said as I placed my hands on his shoulders to try to calm him down.

“By getting fired,” he retorted. “What exactly is that going to do?”

“Yoongi, please,” I said as I held his gaze with my own. “I know you’re angry. But it’s not your fight, it’s mine. And I’m choosing to let the consequences that Bang PD is dealing suffice as her payment. That’s enough for me.”

He looked away, letting out a huff as he calmed down. I took hold of his hands with my own to lead him back toward everyone else. They remained on the floor, but it seemed their full attention had turned to us. I also noticed it seemed that the call had ended.

“What did we miss?” I asked as we sat back down.

“Basically just PD-nim saying she’s fired, needed to give your phone back, and that if she saved anything from your phone on an outside device it has to be immediately deleted and never ever show up anywhere unless she wants to be sued,” Taehyung explained without taking a breath.

“Oh, okay then,” I said chuckling.

“That was amazing!” Namjoon exclaimed.

“Oh my gosh, the look on her face when it changed from ‘I’m innocent’ to ‘Oh no I’m screwed’ was so hilarious!” Jimin said.

As they continued to be ecstatic over the events that just occurred, PD-nim entered the room, holding my phone. “You might want to change your password to something that isn’t so obvious, (Y/n)-shi. Even I guessed it on the first try.”

I chuckled nervously as I took my phone from him.

“What is your password, noona?” Namjoon asked.

“1306,” I said.

“What’s even the point of using a password if it’s going to be so obvious, (Y/n)?” Jin asked as he laughed.

“Well, I’m just glad this is over now,” Yoongi said. “No more Haewon causing you trouble or bothering you.”

“Thank you, Bang PD-nim,” I said as I bowed deeply. “I appreciate all your help and your understanding.”

I saw him smiling as I straightened up. He reached out to place a hand on my shoulder. “If you ever need anything, and I mean anything, never hesitate to let me know. You’re a part of our family and I’ll always be here for you.”

A/N - I just wanted to say that it really is not okay to say things like the offensive comments portrayed in this chapter. People can be quick to judge, and with the internet and a computer in between it can be easy to forget that on the other side that is another person, and you may not have all the proper information of the situation. Of course, everyone is allowed to have their own opinions but if they’re unkind then do they really need to be said? Just a general PSA to not be a prick :)

Series Masterlist

Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Tags: @calling-dips-on-j-hope @misohime @netflix-batman-sleep @smallbaby-cat @leitholdwithlove @ramyagovindraj @leesalts @rjsmochii

Send me a message or ask if you want tagged! And also feel free to leave comments or send asks to just talk to me!

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ratchedspeach · 5 years ago

Note

hey! can you write something where Kirby comforts Fallon after she's kidnapped? I know it doesn't work with the timeline haha

It’s already AU so why not make it established Firby as wellllll (-:

CW - nothing serious, but there’s brief flashbacks of Fallon’s kidnapping, and mentions of (a little) bloodDISSONANCE - where we’ve been and where we’re going

She sings when she’s nervous. Well, no … not really sings as much as hums, with the added bonus of mumbling her favorite lyrics as they come. The first time Kirby notices is when they’re sixteen, and Fallon had coerced her into helping her re-organize her already pristine CD collection (another nervous habit, but one she was already fully aware of).

She would pretend not to hear at first, for fear that it would make her stop. Fallon’s voice is beautiful — a low alto with its own unique tambour, only helped by natural rasp of her voice. What really captivates Kirby, though, is the way she supports the notes — her ribcage expands, and her breath settles into a low, centered space. She can see her breathing through her back, and it’s special in its own way to see her so grounded in technique.

“You’re staring.” Fallon’s voice had lifted her gaze from where they sat on her spine. Kirby blushed, and was about to respond when the teen continued haughtily. “I didn’t ask you here so you could stare at me.”

Kirby’s stomach dropped. “I’m doing you a favor, last time I checked. It wouldn’t hurt you to be a little nice.”

“I’m always nice.” Fallon had quipped.

“Yeah, ok.” The redhead breathed, slamming a disk into its place with more force than needed. “Why are we doing this anyways?”

She wasn’t going to respond, was just going to offer up her best insult to change the subject, but there’s a crash of glass breaking, followed by a voice that is distinctly Alexis’s calling someone (she can only assume Blake) a ‘goddamn pig!’. Kirby would watch as Fallon’s shoulders tensed, and her eyes shot her a silent warning to just drop it.

“Forget I asked.” Kirby would mumble as an apology, knowing better to push when it came to matters of her parents.

***

She looks tired, Kirby can’t help but think when she’s finally done answering the slew of questions from the detective. She’d responded with what her father would call ‘striking poise’, patting her on the shoulder before retiring to his room to check on Cristal. Kirby’s trained eye knew what he saw as composition was actually immense rigidity, largely thanks to Blank’s presence in the first place. The redhead could only imagine that if she’d been through what Fallon just had, she wouldn’t be able to stop crying. The brunette doesn’t, of course, because, well she’s Fallon fucking Carrington.

Now though, curled up on the couch with a blanket around her, wearing the closest thing she’s seen the woman wear to sweats since they’ve been dating (even her pajamas are beautiful and feminine and probably cost more than Kirby’s entire wardrobe), she looks … fucking exhausted. Kirby comes to sit next to her slowly so as not to startle her. She’s lost in thought — blue eyes fixed darkly on some spot on the wall, fingers clutching an untouched cup of green tea.

“Hey.” Kirby murmurs, bringing her fingers to tuck a few pieces of hair behind her ear. “You ok?”

Fallon doesn’t look at her, just nods gently, and brings her mug to her lips without actually sipping the contents inside. Kirby doesn’t want to push, or more specifically, she knows Fallon doesn’t want her to, but …

“I was so scared for you.” She breathes, the devastation she’d been keeping at bay all day settling dangerously in the pit of her stomach.

Fallon’s knuckles go white around the cup, eyes narrowing, jaw clenching, but she doesn’t respond, just starts humming.

***

She had asked her why she didn’t want to become a singer — blurting it out before she had a chance to censor herself, which was only met with an astonished look from the brunette sitting across from her, back supported by the long forgotten CD shelf behind her. The answer was obvious, of course — because she’s a Carrington, and she has responsibilities and expectations to fulfill … that she wanted to fulfill.

“Not that you’d know anything about that.” Fallon had smirked, letting the dig settle in the air.

They would stay in her room most of the day —avoiding the carnage of her mother’s wrath downstairs. Fallon barely acknowledged the cacophony of screams between her parents, save for flinching every so often when she hadn’t braced herself for a new discord of plates being thrown or books hurdling against the wall and landing on the ground. Kirby would watch her carefully, paying attention to the way she picked at her cuticles, or straightened her back, or tried to dart her eyes towards the origins of the noise without the other girl noticing. She was humming openly now, but Kirby couldn’t help but wonder if it was because she was actually comfortable around her, or if she just had bigger things to worry about than allowing her to hear her singing.

She’s pulled out of her thoughts when the shouting downstairs turns into moans. Fallon groans, doubling over so her forehead is being supported on her knees, and covering her head with her arms.

“Woah, are they —”

“Yup.” Fallon griped before she could finish her sentence.

Kirby thinks she knows what mortification means now, because it’s one thing to hear the Carringtons doing … that, but it’s another thing to be hearing it next to their only daughter. It had dawned on her that for however embarrassed she must be feeling, it’s absolutely worse for Fallon.

***

She wakes in a fit of panic, and sweat, and heavy breathing. Fallon’s eyes dart to the corners of the room, taking in the familiar shadows cast by the architecture of the space. She doesn’t remember falling asleep — one moment, they’d been lying in bed, Kirby’s finger tracing the profile of her cheek like she’s worried she’ll forget what it looks like overnight. The next, she’d been there …

Alejandro’s hand coming around her neck, his thumb pressing into the space just below her chin. He smells like sweat and coffee, and it makes Fallon gag. He grins in return, white teeth flashing dangerously, and —

Fallon shakes her head, noting with grim irony the way her bangs toss back in forth, and god she wants to rip them out of her head, or shave all her hair off altogether. She flicks her eyes to the Kirby, counting her luck stars that she didn’t wake her up, before slipping out of her bed. Much to her relief, there’s a carafe of scotch on the table next to the fireplace. Fallon sinks into a cushioned velvet chair, and pours herself a glass. The alcohol burns at it hits her larynx, but its familiar, and she goes back for another sip, and another, and another, and …

“Jesus Fallon, it’s almost five in the morning.” Kirby’s voice cuts through the pleasant buzz that’s warming the space behind her eyes.

Fallon drops the glass out of surprise, watching as the last droplets of the dark liquor soak into the carpet. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t sing, then.” Kirby’s voice is husky with sleep, her words a little slurred as she comes back to consciousness, but Fallon knows meant as a musing more than an accusation.

The brunettes shoulders tense, and were it not for the cloak of darkness overtaking the room, she knew her cheeks would be about three shades pinker then their usual pallor, because she hadn’t realized she’d been humming. Fallon untucks her legs from where they are on the chair, bending over and picking up the crystal glass at her feet before placing it delicately on the table next to her.

“Have you been drinking?” Kirby asks, sitting up in the bed and crooning her eyes in the lowlight.

“No.” Fallon winces when the single syllable word hangs just a little too long in her throat, coming out as a low drawl that she know will give her away.

“Fallon …” She doesn’t realize that the other woman has gotten out of bed before she feels her fingers delicately on her shoulder.

The brunette flinches slightly at the contact, casting her blue eyes to the wet spot of carpet directly in front of her. She can feel the pity in Kirby’s stare, and it makes her skin crawl, and she’s humming again absently, much to the redhead’s dismay. Kirby comes to kneel in front of her, taking the other woman’s hands delicately in hers and letting her thumb graze the palm of her right hand.

“Hey, talk to me.” It comes as a mumbled plea, as Kirby’s hands trail up her arms and squeeze gently just below her elbows.

Were it anyone else, Kirby would expect them to start sobbing, or at the very least hold back tears, but this is Fallon — a woman who grew up in a family where emotional responses held the equivalent weight to murdering someone. Come to think of it, crying was probably worse. The brunette tries to pull away, but she’s cornered in her chair, and it makes her stomach drop and her chest tighten, and —

The barrel of a gun to her temple, his nails digging into her shoulder, his laugh — gravelly and low and dishonest, and —

“Drop it, Kirby.” It’s a warning, and Kirby knows it, and usually would heed it.

Usually.

“Not until you tell me what’s up.” She responds delicately, concern and uncertainty lacing her tone.

Fallon looks at her like she’s trying to make her evaporate with a glare. “I’m fine.” She huffs, pretending not to hear the way her voice cracks in the back of her throat. “Just let it go.”

“Damnit, Fallon!” It catches the brunette off guard, because Kirby never raises her voice — not with her.

She’s seen the redhead angry plenty of times, and she’s received enough insults to prove it, but almost as principle she doesn’t yell. She’s not really sure why, but she’s been that way since they were children, always using her quick wit to overcome her otherwise soft spoken manner.

***

She would let Fallon ignore her, but wouldn’t leave her room — not until the glow of evening light started to filter through the teen’s windows, painting the space in a saturated, golden hue. Kirby watched as the brunette busied herself, organizing things that were never out of place to begin with, and humming all the while. It was a song she didn’t recognize, but Kirby knew better than to ask what. Years later she would hear Tin Angel by Joni Mitchel on the radio, and the memory of that day in her room would come flooding back.

When her parents finally quieted downstairs, after what must have been hours, Kirby can’t help but note, Fallon turns back to her, looking at her like she’s surprised to see the redhead still there. Kirby had shrugged, giving her a slight smile, and offering Fallon a CD.

“It starts with a C.” She’d stated.

Fallon’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“The album,” Kirby clarified, “you put it with the ‘K’ albums.”

She was out the door before the brunette could respond, leaving her to clutch the CD and stare after her.

“I’m trying to help you.” Kirby’s voice snaps her out of the memory, and she shushes the woman, because as she has just pointed out, it’s fucking early.

“Well you’re not.” Fallon fumes lowly, wrenching out of her loving grasp. “You’re not helping, Kirby. You’d be helping if you just did what I said and let it go.”

Kirby stands out of sheer frustration, taking a few steps away from her and clenching her hands into fists on either side of her. She’s trying to get a rise out of her, she knows that, and maybe if she wasn’t so tired and so goddamn scared she wouldn’t let it work.

“Well forgive me,” She all but shrieks, turning back to the woman with her deep brown eyes blazing, “but I’m off the opinion that when someone you love gets fucking kidnapped, you should be there for them. Jesus, Fallon, do you know what I went through —”

“What you went through.” Fallon cuts her off, repeating the sentiment like she’s not sure she’s heard her correctly, and standing slowly.

Fuck. Now she’s really done it.

“What … what you went through?”

The knife against her neck, trailing up her cheek, nicking the skin just in front of her ear until she felt blood trickling off her jawline and onto her bare shoulder.

“You know what I mean.” Kirby backpedals, but only slightly. “I was scared out of my mind. I thought I would never see you again, I thought …”

She shakes her head, not allowing herself to finish the sentiment. Fallon falters for a moment, but the bile rising in her throat pushes her forward like its a goddamn inquisition, because she knows that her options are anger or …

“They aren’t coming, girlie.” Alejandro whispered in her ear, reveling at the way her chin juts out defiantly when he does. “Nobody is coming for you.”

“No!” She’s talking to herself, but she plays it off like it’s directed at Kirby. “No, you don’t get to spin this like you’re the goddamn victim, here.”

Kirby’s ears are burning and her chest is tight as she blinks back the tears dangerously close to the precipice of her lash line. She wants to respond, wants to fucking scream and maybe even shake her, but Fallon cuts her off before she can utter a single syllable.

“Oh boo hoo, you got a little scared —“

“That’s not —“

“When did you realize I was gone?”

And there it is: the question that both of them had been dreading since Fallon had collapsed into her arms outside the warehouse. It hangs in the air — thick with expectation and too much pain for the brunette. Guilt settles heavily in Kirby’s chest, and she sucks in a breath, holding it for a long moment.

“W-what?” She stammers in an attempt to buy herself time.

Fallon lets out a humorless chuckle, tilting her chin and narrowing her eyes dangerously on her. “Don’t play games with me. When did you realize?”

“Fallon, I … I don’t …” Kirby brings her hand to her forehead, suddenly very concerned by the wisps of hair she finds there. “Jesus, I didn’t — … It’s not like I was keeping track of the time, Fal.”

It hits her with the weight of what it is — a pitiful and completely half assed effort to delicately tell her that she hand’t noticed. Fallon heaves a heavy sigh, defeat settling in where her rage once was. She misses it immediately. The brunette turns back to the bottle of scotch, this time pouring both of them a glass. She swigs the last drops of hers down, gritting her teeth at the sheer volume of liquor she’s consumed in a single swallow, before holding the other out to Kirby, who thinks she shouldn’t take it because it’s five in the fucking morning, but does anyway. Truth be told, she’s afraid what will happen if she says no — afraid that Fallon will throw it at her, or drink it herself, and Lord knows the last thing she needs is more alcohol.

Kirby cups the glass between her hands, her fingers tracing the grooves of the intricate crystal work. “I’m sorry, Fallon.” She whispers, and it’s almost inaudible. “I am … fuck, I am so sorry.”

Fallon just shrugs, slumping to a seated position on the corner of her bed and pressing the palms of her hands against her eyes. “It’s not like I can blame you.” She concedes, taking the other woman completely by surprise.

Kirby sets her unfinished scotch down and comes to sit next to her. She’s afraid that the proximity will bring forth a new surge of rage, but when she’s certain it hasn’t, she brings a hand to trace the bare skin on the brunette’s thigh. It makes Fallon wince, so she pulls away, eyes searching the other woman for an explanation.

“Bruise.” Fallon murmurs without explaining any further, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

Kirby squints in the early morning light, and sure enough sees the outline of an impressively large bruise that expands at least four inches in any direction. Her heart sinks, and she lowers herself into a somewhat uncomfortable position in order to kiss the spot, taking note of the way Fallon’s muscles release just slightly when she does. She stays there, pulling her legs onto the bed so she’s laying with her head in the brunette’s lap (not directly on the bruise, obviously). Fallon brings her fingers to weave through her strawberry blonde locks, heaving a sigh when the scent of her lavender and honey shampoo fills her nostrils.

“I was so scared.” Kirby whispers.

“I know.”

“I thought you were gone.”

“I’m here.”

“Are you?” Kirby shifts so that she’s looking up at her. Fallon gives her an inquisitive look. “You’ve been so … Fuck, I don’t know … you’re just clearly not ok, and you’re shutting me out, and …”

She trails off when she feels the other woman’s lips on hers. The kiss is gentle — almost gossamer. Fallon lingers there despite the way her spine protests at the discomfort of the position they’re in. It’s worth it for the brief moment of levity that spikes in her stomach. Her lips taste like scotch, Kirby notes, bringing a hand to cup her cheek delicately. When the brunette finally pulls away, she comes up with her, sitting up and pulling her in again for a much more desperate kiss. Fallon tenses for a moment before melting into her, slipping her arms around the other woman’s shoulders and pressing into her.

“I’m here.” She mumbles, the words getting jumbled with an amalgam of too much alcohol and not enough air.

“You fucking scared me.” Kirby responds in the same fashion, sans drunkenness.

They stay like that for longer than either of them realize, until Kirby puts a hand to her jawline, and the brunette pulls away almost violently. Fallon’s eyes squeeze shut, her entire body starting to tremble, and it scares Kirby to death.

“Fallon?” She urges as her breath returns to normal.

Alejandro’s fingers on the gash by her ear, trailing down to smear the line of blood it left.

“Fallon, hey. Look at me.”

“Nobody is coming for you.” He sing-songs, placing the knife this time against her collarbone.

Its Kirby’s hands on her shoulder that finally breaks through. Fallon’s eyes snap open, panic flashing through them as she slowly comes back to reality. She looks at Kirby, and Kirby can see the weight of the entire day pulling at her features. She wants to ask — wants to know every detail so that she can figure out how the hell to take the pain away, or at least share in the burden — but she knows better than to pry. Instead, she pulls the woman’s head onto her shoulder, stroking her hair and making sure not to go anywhere near the spot that had made her lose touch with reality in the first place.

“I’m here, too.” Kirby murmurs as she buries her nose into the other woman’s hair.

Fallon’s eyelids flutter closed, and she heaves a sigh, and Kirby feels her nod in acknowledgment. They stay like that until after the sun rises, and the redhead finds herself tempted to never let her out of arms length again, because she had been so scared … so fucking scared.

Sensing her anxiety, Fallon places a hand on Kirby’s knee, her thumb grazing back and forth affectionately, and starts to hum.

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itslmdee · 5 years ago

Text

Fiction: The Imprisonment of Daniel Watkins

In a dystopian future Dan is arrested, not for committing a crime, but for a computer’s prediction that he might somehow cause deaths if left at liberty. mentions of selfharm/suicidal ideation

“Weekly visitation, Watkins.” The masked guard rapped the long stick against the bars.

Dan got to his feet and waited as the guard opened the door. He exited the cell, the guard following, the stick hovering behind his back the whole way there, another two guards armed with Tasers waiting near the end of the corridor.

As Dan approached the guards moved backwards, never letting him get too close. They made their way to the cubicle where a large TV screen was waiting for him. Dan sank into the plastic chair and the image of his wife appeared on the screen.

He longed to touch her, to see her in person even, but even face to face visits were forbidden. Sarah gave him a weak smile but he knew she’d been crying again.

“How are you?” he asked.

She nodded as if to reassure him. “I’m okay.” She was wearing a blouse with long sleeves and he had to take her word for it that she hadn’t reverted to self-harm. “You?”

“Still alive,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant but unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. This was existing, not living. “I haven’t heard from Bryan.” His lawyer was usually better at keeping him updated.

“I called him this morning,” Sarah said. “He’s still waiting to hear from the judge.”

Dan’s heart sank. The judge had demanded more evidence and who knew how long that would take.

“I put some more posts on social media,” Sarah said. “Most of them got taken down but a few were allowed to stay up and even the censored ones got some attention before they were deleted. There are people out there on your side, and Tamara’s video channel has gained another thousand followers. No luck with the TV news.”

The television news delighted in their preferred narrative. Daniel Watkins was a potential murderer, not an innocent victim in their broadcasts and his indefinite incarceration a matter of public good.

“What about that journalist, from the Galaxy Eye?” Sarah asked. “Did he write back to you?”

“Yes. Heavily redacted by the time it got to me. He’s interested but he needs to convince the paper to publish my side of the story. He’s been writing short pieces on his blog but his employers aren’t ready to challenge the mainstream story yet. I’ve asked him to send you hard copies of any further letters.”

Sarah nodded. “I love you,” she said, lip trembling. She placed her hand against the screen. Dan hovered his palm near hers.

They talked a little more but soon Dan was told to end the call. It was automatically cut off mid-goodbyes. He got to his feet and began to walk back to his cell. Rubber gloved cleaners moved to scrub the screen and the desk and the chair behind him.

Dan sat on his bunk, head in his hands. He’d been on his way home from the office when two police officers had dragged him off the street and into a cell. He’d been confused, asked for a lawyer, denied one. This was a matter of public protection and the normal rules did not apply.

He’d been allowed to phone Sarah after he said she’d be reporting him missing. She’d promised to get a lawyer but, as she later told him over a video call, they’d been prevented from contacting Dan during the first phase of his interrogation.

He was held for 48 hours initially, was forced to give blood and hand over his social media passwords. He was told an emergency extension had been applied. After 72 hours he was allowed to speak briefly to his lawyer, who was forced to sit across the room from him.

“It’s the new ICM software,” Bryan Fairfax said. “It’s been running models for a while now and making predictions. Enough of those predictions came true, according to police records, that they moved from using it to confirm perpetrators to catching them. We’ve been following the legal implications closely. But last week they moved further, to attempt to use it to prevent crimes. You got flagged as a potential murderer.”

Dan stared at him, mouth agape. “What?” he said at last. This was like that old movie with the ladies who sat in a bath predicting crime.

“It’s classified data but we’re filing motions to try and get access,” Bryan said. “We have no idea what they’re basing their assumptions on. They’re claiming everything from terrorism to domestic violence to spreading disease. They say you’re at risk of killing anywhere from one to one thousand people.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

Bryan nodded. “Because this is considered a matter of public protection most of your legal rights have been suspended. My firm is doing its best and I’m looking at every angle here. We’re pretty sure this is a test case to see how the public reacts before they fully roll it out, and we’re going to represent you pro bono here. Rollins senior was a great believer in personal freedoms and the firm is keen to be seen upholding civil liberties.”

It sounded like a wonderful opportunity for Rollins, Rollins, and Fairfax. It was less exciting for Dan, treated like a criminal though he’d done nothing wrong.

“I’m going to court in half an hour,” Bryan said. “I’m certain we won’t get bail though I’ll ask for it. You won’t be allowed to attend. They’re treating you as a high security risk.”

So Dan sat and waited. Bryan returned later that afternoon, standing across the room again.

“They’re keeping you for another two weeks,” he said. “I’m sorry. They’re asking for more data from the ICM. And they don’t want me seeing you again. Video calls only from here on out. I protested it was a violation of privacy but the government minister for health said it was, according to the model, too much of a risk to allow you too near any other person. The guards will be keeping their distance and you’ll only be allowed a half hour outside your cell when no other prisoners are in the yard, and to take a brief shower each morning after everyone else has used the facilities.”

Dan had been in solitary confinement ever since, meals pushed through a slot in his cell, his cell hosed down while he showered, only ever seeing masked guards delivering his food or escorting him to the showers or the yard. Two weeks had been extended to four, then six, then nine.

Sarah was frantic and Dan was terrified for her. She’d come a long way in the last few years, from anxious and suicidal to a self-confident woman who’d left her self-harming behind. He was proud of her and told her how it was her own strength and her renewed faith that had made the difference, though she gave him significant credit. She said he’d given her something to live for, someone who loved her and would never belittle or hurt her. He feared a return to her previous state of mind.

After the six week extension, with Bryan sadly certain that nine would again be extended without major new evidence, Dan was, for the first time in his life, feeling helpless enough to wonder if living was worth the pain. He truly sympathised now with Sarah’s despair.

If he killed himself however it would prove the model right; the media would spin it as him being a murderer, albeit of himself. He was getting desperate but he didn’t want ICM’s programmers and those funding the software to win.

“I’ve done nothing wrong,” Dan wrote on the old, tiny tablet he was allowed to use in his cell, the only entertainment he had, frowning at the cracked screen as he typed. “I am innocent yet presumed guilty. I have had my civil rights violated because of a computer programme that no-one outside of the ICM thinktank has been allowed to analyse. I am kept isolated from human contact for 23 hours a day, every day. I am not allowed to see my wife aside from on a computer screen. I am not allowed to talk to my lawyer except on a video call which is monitored by the prison and, I believe, the government and representatives of the ICM. My name is Daniel Watkins and I am not a murderer.”

He sent the message out via email to the newspapers, the TV stations, various bloggers and vloggers and anyone else who might listen. The email might get intercepted by the prison or redacted; he’d copied in Sarah and Bryan and vlogger Tamara Maina (who’d been outspoken in his defence, the first social media influencer to take his side) so they could confirm receipt. Even if it went out intact the message went against the media hysteria: “Mass Murderer Prevented”, “Murderer Jailed BEFORE He Could Kill”, “Innocents Saved by ICM software.”

His professional social media accounts had been frozen after the waves of hatred began, accusing him of murder and wishing him dead.

Dan had voted in every election since coming of age. He knew politicians lied and exaggerated and he knew there were some corrupt cops but he’d always had an overall trust in and respect for his government and the law, and had largely believed people were decent and kind at heart. No longer, not after this.

He lay on his bunk and stared at the stone walls, remembering a time he’d been allowed to lie next to Sarah and hold her hand, to kiss her cheek, and to suggest they shower together before a lazy breakfast and a walk by the river before getting Sunday lunch at their favourite pub. He would probably never get to do any of those things ever again.

ICM was the villain here, not Dan. No, ICM was a machine, and those who had programmed it were at fault. But they’d never face justice even if, somehow, Dan could be freed. ICM’s predecessor, the ICA, had wrongly predicted an outbreak of a disease spread by horses. Millions of beautiful animals had been slaughtered, whole stables razed to the ground by public health officials and a panicked public alike. When other scientists proved with their own models and a battery of tests, that the ICA had been utterly wrong, people had shrugged and said better safe than sorry and the ICA had supposedly been retired, only to reemerge as the ICM, based on the same faulty code.

Dan was collateral, like those poor horses, or a test case, as Bryan suggested, for a sinister move to punish people on mere suspicion of future misdeeds. Both. Neither. It was the same result. Dan was a prisoner and would remain so, possibly for the rest of his existence.

#fiction #my fiction #dystopia #short fiction #writing #short stories #danielwatkins #reblog of writingwednesday

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faintwalker · 4 years ago

Text

On Fic and Triggers:

(Always feel free to skip posts you don’t want to read. Just a reminder.)

I wanted to put down some thoughts on fic, tags, triggers, and our choices as individuals. I’m breaking this into three sections. They are as follows:

1. Squick vs. trigger, a quick look at terminology.

2. Tag advantage and the power of viewer discretion.

3. It’s an imperfect system (but that’s okay).

(Under a readmore because it’s over 1k.)

---

Part one: Squick vs. Trigger:

A squick is like a personal gross-out; something which disgusts or unsettles a person can be said to be a squick of theirs. Most people would be upset to find rotten meat in their fridge, right? For many people such a thing may be considered a squick.

A trigger is more severe than a squick, and is usually tied to a person’s trauma. Sometimes it’s something like a loud noise, but for the purpose of this post going forwards, I will be discussing written content and triggers that may be found there. When something triggers a person, it shakes them up and threatens to (or manages to) throw them into a bad mental state.

A squick might make someone go “ew” and consider clicking out of a fic. A trigger will need some recovering from.

Sometimes the line between the two is difficult to find. Triggers happen to different extents and may set someone off more or less on certain days or have diminished impacts as time goes by, but all that stuff varies by individual.

---

Part two: Fics Have Tags (on ao3) and You Can See Them:

Browsing on ao3 is cool because of the tags. If something says it has something in it, I can avoid it or brace for it (or even seek it out, if it’s something I’m looking for). It actually gives a lot of power to the reader. I have taken advantage of the warnings to explore things difficult for me at my own pace, and honestly I’ve felt very safe overall while doing so. Nobody is pressuring me into it, and I can quit reading anything at any time. Overall, it’s safer to browse than random published books tend to be.

(Nothing against published books. I don’t think we need tags everywhere.)

Properly tagged fics are nice, even if I don’t like the tags. If I don’t like the tags, it means I can give the fic a skip instead of receiving an unpleasant surprise. That’s always a good thing.

---

Part three: Don’t Expect Perfection:

Improperly tagged fics? Not so nice. I don’t enjoy sudden explicit sex scenes popping up in the middle of a teen-rated fic, but I can’t say it never happens. The thing about the tagging and rating system is that it’s up to the authors to provide those things. Sometimes mislabels are an honest mistake, but I have a theory that some of them stem from certain attitudes towards certain content types held by some ideologies in fandom spaces. Fear makes people hide, but hiding warnings where they would be expected can lead to people suffering a bit.

This section isn’t about that, though.

This is about triggers, right? And I’m writing it. So let me just say:

Most of my triggers aren’t things I will find warnings for in a fic’s tags.

It’s a tricky field, and I’m pretty difficult to set off, but the closest I get on the real risks for me are vague guesses. Some tags do cover possible triggers for me, but the content won’t actually be what gets to me in, uh, let’s say at least 95% of the cases. It means I let my guard down sometimes when I’ve technically been warned, and then I end up sitting there thinking, “Oh, you actually did mean it like that this time…”

It’s a thing that happens.

What happens even more often is that there is no warning whatsoever. With many things, I’m running the same risk as if the fic was untagged altogether. I’ll be enjoying a nice story, then bam! Right in the trauma.

But that’s okay.

Getting set off is never fun, and it can leave me messed up for days, sometimes. I’ve been through some stuff. Other things, things that aren’t fictional, can set me off too. That’s also okay. It’s life.

It’s life, and fiction is still fiction. I don’t always get set off by the same things, and some things that are fine some days… really aren’t fine on others. My mental state is influenced by many factors, after all. Some of the fics that have set me off the worst are fics I have come to love. Others are ones I would never willingly look at again.

This post is also about tags. So. Do I get angry? Do I think those things should be tagged?

The answer to the first is almost never, unless I feel there was a specific negligence/attempt to harm at play. The second is no; not if it’s in that “usually untagged” camp of content.

People are triggered by all kinds of things. To give a personal example, I have a history of being triggered by swear words.

I can’t swear, not really. In recent years, I gained the ability to say damn, and that’s about the extent of it. I can’t even write the words without… trouble, let’s say.

I used to flinch whenever anyone cursed, even when it was a “mild” word like cr#p. I would jolt straight back into the hypervigilance from the times that left me with this issue. It was pretty bad.

Swear words aren’t really something that can be avoided in real life, though. Think about it for a moment. Swearing is everywhere. Can you go a day without reading a swear on tumblr? Most of it is pretty harmless, really, but not inside your brain when it says you’re in immediate danger because of the words.

Recovery takes a long time. Like I said, I can’t swear, but I can read the words and not panic, or really even react at all, mostly. I can talk to people and not get freaked out the second they curse. I can’t handle any aggressive yelling of the words, but I read Homestuck and loved it, something which would have been impossible for me at age seventeen. Heck, the other day I edited the “#”s into “u”s in the f#cks in my Homestuck fic. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to do that, not when typing that censored word right there still just made me feel funny.

Back to the point.

It would be ridiculous to expect fics to tag for swearing in almost all cases. I think we can all agree on that. And what about things that are hard to put into specifically labeled words? Or what about the fact that someone out there can’t handle spaghetti because of something or other? We’re not going to tag all mentions of spaghetti.

Sometimes it’s a very specific phrase. Sometimes something just hits a little too close to home. Not everything can be effectively avoided.

And it really is okay.

I don’t want a world where content producers are plagued by constant guilt. We’re all out here doing our best to catch the major warnings, and I think that’s great. It still leaves one question:

What should someone do when they’ve been triggered?

There is no one-size-fits-all answer here. The first step is caring for one’s mental health. Getting back into a better state takes priority, but I can only care for me there.

For some people, processing why they were set off might be part of it. Some will already know. That all varies.

What people shouldn’t do is harass others or make it the problem of the content for existing. Like I said, I didn’t used to be able to handle swears. But would the world really be better if all swears were completely removed from everything?

I don’t think so.

For the most part, people are trying to warn for what they can. Be kind to them, be kind to yourself, and enjoy fiction to your heart’s desire.

#fandom stuff #trigger discussion #a bit heavy #I am passionate about some topics and this is one of them #fanfic discourse

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jimlingss · 6 years ago

Text

Jungle Park [13]

Chapter 12 - Chapter 13 - Chapter 13.5 OR Chapter 14

➜ Words: 4k

➜ Genres: Fluff, Light Humour (?), Slice of Life, Workplace Romance!AU

➜ Summary: The equation is simple. Hoseok needs to hire someone. You need a job. Except like any actual equation, it’s not fucking simple at all! Not when you have to add the fact that he was forced to hire someone he doesn’t want in his office, he has little respect for your job in general, and oh yeah...once upon a time you might have—*CENSORED*.

➜ Warning: Implied smut

“You look so good tonight.” “Yeah, right.” She scoffs, looking straight into his brown eyes and ignoring the way his hand fiddle with the cotton hem of her floral skirt. “Your little games won’t work on me, Chen.” “And why not?” “Because I know you.” “Do you now?” He cocks a brow upwards, intrigued at her confidence. “I know the minute you have your fun with me, you’d go onto your next target,” she whispers in a breath, sounding more sultry than angered or accusational. “And let me tell you something...I’m not that easy.” “I think you’ve misunderstood,” he says and removes his hand back to his own lap. “I don’t care about my job. I don’t give a shit about any other girl. I just want you.” It’s quiet for a moment as she rolls her eyes and looks out the window. But there’s nothing to see when the surroundings are blanketed in darkness. “You’re a good liar. I almost believed you for a second there.” “That’s because I’m not lying.” He slides and leans closer to her, murmuring and letting his hot breath skim over the shell of his ear. His rough hand returns to her thigh, slowly moving upwards, skin brushing on skin. “There’s nothing I would rather do than to pin you to my bed and fuck you deep until you can’t walk straight.” She swallows hard, rapid breaths leaving parted lips and the woman decides to dance with temptation. “...What else?” “I’d bend you over my lap and spank you for all the times you misbehaved.” His lips nip at her jaw and down her neck, tongue peeking out to lap at her flesh and relishing in the way she visibly shivers and seems to melt in his touch and shivers. “I know you try to act like you’re bad. But you’re a good girl who would take my entire cock. You’d cream all over me and when I’m done, I’d push my cum right back inside of you. You would like that….wouldn’t you? For me to fuck my cum inside your tight, pink pussy?” The female’s breathing becomes laboured and she locks her gaze with his. “What if I told you I wasn’t wearing any underwear…” “Then I’d take you right here, right now.” It’s instantaneous. The two of them tug each other until their lips are smacking. They pull one another close, moaning as their kiss deepens and a soft groan leaves his chest at her taste. His hand comes up to tease her upper thigh and she gasps when he nibbles on her bottom lip. It’s hot and heavy, full of obscene sounds and gasps that echo in the small space. When they part, there’s a thin string of saliva that connects their swollen lips. She’s hyperventilating, the strap of her dress falling off her shoulder. “Th-this…...this isn’t right. What about your fiancée?” “It doesn’t matter.” He’s eager, taking off his seat belt and holding her again. “I want you. I only want you.” They kiss each other again, more intense this time, and he’s ready to pull her to straddle his lap, over the bulge forming in his pants….but then there’s a noisy clearing of the throat. It’s obnoxious, sounding like you’re coughing up a chicken bone lodged in your esophagus. You’re tightly gripping the steering wheel, sweating from your hairline, and glancing into the rear-view mirror every other second. You really, really don’t appreciate how they act like you’re an inanimate object, like you’re not less than a meter away from them and you can hear everything. You can see everything. And at this rate, you’re about to go blind. It’s a massive distraction. You can’t even imagine what would happen if your mom found out you died after crashing your cab because your passengers were having sex and you couldn’t keep your eyes on the road — you’re sure that’s a new level of patheticness. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but you can’t do that here!” He parts away from her in annoyance and shouts at you, “Just get us to the destination, lady!” The man is adamant about continuing and you slam on the brakes, jolting the entire vehicle forward as the tires shriek against the asphalt, causing them both to scream, and you park at the curb. The couple cuss up a storm, and you rip off your seat belt to turn around. “No.” This is where you draw the line. You’ve put up with a lot before, but you can’t allow stains on your seats or the horrible smell that would linger once they’re long gone. “I am not going to let you have sex in the backseat of my taxi! I’m trying to drive! I’m sorry! But no!” He’s frustrated, leaning back and running a hand through his hair. The guy is desperate for a good dicking, you understand that, but he needs to understand your situation too. Before you can get another word in, he digs into his pants, pulling out a wallet in his pocket. The male throws a few crumpled bills at your face and they land in your palms that you brought out on pure reflex. It’s three hundred dollars in cash. “There. Is that enough?” They become impatient at your extended silence, but there’s an entire debate going inside your mind. Are you really going to throw your dignity away? The answer is — “Make it quick.” Yes… Yes, you are. You end up outside at two in the morning in the freezing cold. Every time you exhale, you can see your breath, a cloud of condensation created and floating up to the real clouds. There’s a faint light from a lamppost a few meters away, but it’s effort of providing luminescence is weak. You’re left at the side of the empty road, surrounded in darkness. You pull out your phone to play a game until your hands begin to crack and shake from the frigid temperature, and you’re forced to bury them in your pockets. Your lips splinter, chapped at the corners, cheeks made numb, nose dripping, and frost nips at your skin. If you had known you’d be standing outside, you would’ve brought a warmer coat. But alas, you accept your situation, kicking rocks underneath your foot, shivering and trying to think of other things aside from how dark and cold it is. Behind you, the car begins to shake and rattle like there’s an earthquake happening inside. You can hear the throaty moans and groans, causing you to hum loudly to yourself to block it out. It lasts for thirty minutes since they take their good old time enjoying themselves. And by the time you’re able to enter again, you sneeze for the fifth time.

Jung Hoseok isn’t sure what’s wrong with him. Every morning is a routine for him. The moment he wakes up, he finds himself walking into work a mere hour later. He’s always in a fresh, crisp suit, wearing dark loafers and carrying a briefcase. It’s the same day in and day out, the daily grind of working that brings purpose to his life. But for some godforsaken reason, today, there’s a bouquet of limp baby’s breath in his other hand. They were on sale. It was too good of a deal to let go. And sure, it looks like he grabbed a fistful of weeds from someone’s lawn, but they were pretty up close. Though he honestly doesn’t know what to do with them. He’s certain that he shouldn’t just waltz up into the office with a bouquet like this. Or maybe he can put it in his office, maybe he can give them to Lisa and tell her to find a vase or— You. You’re walking ahead of him, cutting through the lobby towards the elevators. If he calls out your name, you would stop to turn around. If he picked up his pace, he could make it on time…. Quickly, he turns to the nearest person beside him. “Here.” Hoseok shoves the baby breaths to the lady security guard at the front door instead of trashing them. The older woman is taken off guard and she glances down, before staring at his face, and then she takes them. “T-Thank you?” She’s in complete shock that the infamous Jung, known for being brutal and an asshole, has given her flowers. In the next seconds, the surprise morphs into awe and she’s touched, putting a hand over her chest, mouth still wide open. But Hoseok doesn’t pay any attention and only gives a firm nod, eyes diverted off to you. “Keep up the good work.” When the compliment that acts as an explanation is said and done, he takes off, quick steps and wide strides until he’s practically running. Everyone turns around to gawk, moving out of the way and absolutely bewildered at how the usually composed lawyer is sprinting in the lobby. “Y/N! Y/N!” You hear his voice, automatically pressing the button to keep the elevator doors open. Hoseok appears with a grin on his face and you stare at him, blinking once. “What’s wrong?” “No, nothing.” He catches his breath, stepping into the elevator and watching as the door shuts. Hoseok steals a glance at you. “Good morning.” “Morning.” You hold back a laugh, but it still bubbles out. “Why are you so energetic today?” “What do you mean?” Your finger lifts to point to his head. “You’re sweating.” “No, I’m not.” The lawyer sulks and then tries to fix his hair that he feels is flopping onto his forehead. He tries to look into the polished silver of the metal walls, but the reflection is too blurred. You sigh. “Here, let me.” And reaching up, you comb his bangs back into place. “There we go.” The doors part when the elevator stops at the correct level and you walk out. Hoseok is left lingering in a delayed moment, caught off guard, and he scrambles out before the elevator can start moving again. “Your voice sounds kind of hoarse,” he comments. “Really?” You forcibly clear your throat several times, ignoring how it aches. “Better?” “A bit. Did you catch a cold?” “I don’t know...” The pair of you slow down once you enter the office floor, making your way down the hallway towards your personal offices, past reception where Lisa and Dahyun are already answering calls. “You should take medicine if you are,” he takes a peek at you and then looks away. “Wouldn’t want you to infect anyone else in the firm.” “Don’t worry, you won’t catch whatever I have,” you tease, even when he mutters something along the lines of ‘that’s not what I mean’. For some reason, Hoseok seems tense and he stops right in front of your closet of an office like he’s dropping you off at your front door. There’s an awkward silence. “I’m going in now.” You turn your body slightly, hitching your thumb over your shoulder. “Right,” he nods. “I’ll see you later then.” Hoseok walks the way he came from, going straight into the office and shutting the door. As a violent sneeze leaves you, making your head ache, you wonder if he’s really the sick one and not you. // The clock is slower than it should be. Perhaps it’s broken and he should call someone up to fix it again. But then it doesn’t explain why his computer and phone have the same exact time on it. Hoseok feels as if the seconds are being drawn out, five minutes turned into fifty, an hour is a whole day. The universe warps around him and it’s not because work is especially boring. “I’m going downstairs.” Yoongi pokes his head through the door. “Want anything?” “Why are you sucking up to me?” Hoseok flips the page, trying to get the documents in order for a court hearing tomorrow. “Are you trying to get that additional vacation day?” The lawyer smirks. “Maybe.” “I don’t need anything.” Suddenly, a thought crosses his mind and he pauses, movements stopping. Jung Hoseok lifts his head and stands up, chair pushed back haphazardly. “Wait. I’ll come with you.” “Sounds good.” They walk down the hallway together and Hoseok’s eyes stray off to the end. “What’s Y/N doing?” “I don’t know.” Yoongi’s steps slow, still retaining his impassive expression despite being thrown the odd question. “Want me to go ask?” “No, no, it’s fine.” They continue forward, entering the elevator as he buries his hands in his dress pants pockets. “She has a cold, that’s all.” “If you cared about your employees spreading their colds, maybe you should be more lenient with those sick days,” he mutters from the corner of his mouth passive aggressively, making Hoseok smile while he watches the numbers of the elevator decrease. “You’re not getting that extra vacation day, Yoongi. I’m not paying you to sleep at home.” The corner coffee shop in the downstairs lobby isn’t too busy at this time of day, between the morning bustle and lunchtime. The two men join the line-up with Yoongi ahead, ordering a blueberry muffin with his drink and a strudel that Sunyi ordered. When it comes to Hoseok’s turn, he only takes a mere glance at the menu. “I’ll take two regular coffees please.” He taps his card on the machine, moving to the other counter to wait for his drinks. Yoongi’s chewing on his muffin, cheek puffed out, and brow lifted. “You’re drinking two?” “Mhm…” He hums, not giving a direct answer. Three minutes later and some small talk made, the hot drinks come out. Yoongi moves to the station to pour in his preferred creams and sugars while the other male is left staring motionlessly at the two cups in his hands. A worker stares at him, wondering if he’s a statue. Hoseok stays completely still, staring, not blinking, like he’s transfixed or daydreaming about something else and no longer a part of reality. His friend finally turns, confused at his bizarre behaviour. “Hoseok?” “Why would she want coffee if she’s sick?” He mutters to himself and trashes the coffee in his left hand, letting it fall to the bottom of the garbage can. “Hey.” Yoongi catches up with him as he walks off and whines, “That was perfectly good coffee. Why did you throw it? You could’ve given it to me.” “No.” “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” he brushes him off. Except, he’s not. Jung Hoseok is going absolutely insane and at this rate, he might have to admit himself into the hospital to figure out what’s going on. He can’t concentrate on work at all. It’s like something is bothering him. He’s constantly looking up and out of his office like a hyperactive child or a criminal who’s fearful of the police. And it’s all because of you. He stares every time you walk past his office towards the kitchen and it’s to the point where you have to ask if he’s okay, to which he tells you it’s nothing. A lot of people have been asking that lately — if he’s alright or not. Hoseok doesn’t know what the truthful answer is anymore. Every little action you do, he has an overwhelming urge to watch. Every little word you say, he’s hanging onto every syllable. He frowns at how many times you sneeze, overhears you ask Inyoung where the tissue boxes are, and as your voice becomes more and more nasally as the day goes by, Hoseok gets driven more and more mad. He feels like one massive creep. He feels absolutely pathetic. But he can’t stop and he’s going insane because of it. You’re like a fly circling around his head that he just can’t swat away or get rid of. The funny thing is….it’s not even you. It’s just thoughts of you. “Hoseok!” He jumps at the shout of his name, startled. His eyes stray off to the brunette man standing at his doorway with his arms crossed. “What? You scared me!” “I called you five times. Are we going out to lunch or what?” “Y-yeah...sorry.” “Are you working on a difficult case?” Jimin tips his head to the side. “You seem so out of it.” “I’m fine,” he repeats as if he’s trying to convince no one but himself. The two men eat together in a quaint restaurant that serves lunch. Jimin insists that bonding time is necessary to maintain their relationship since they’re the foundation of the firm. Hoseok thinks that his partner is higher maintenance than an actual significant other. Jimin orders his lunch and Hoseok makes his order as well, but before the waitress can skedaddle off to the kitchen, he stops her. “Could I actually get soup too? The chicken noodle. To go?” “Certainly.” “Soup?” Jimin asks him after she’s left and looks doubtful. “I thought you told me soup was watered down baby food.” “It is,” the lawyer states confidently, masking his true intentions with an air of nonchalance. Yet, Jimin is stubborn in nature and doesn’t give up so easily, especially when his curiosity is piqued. “Is it for you or someone else?” “....None of your business.” He’s amused at how childish his partner is being. The brunette lawyer threads his fingers together and props his hands under his chin, elbows to the table as he stares at the person across from him with mischief glimmering in his brown orbs. “Really? I think it is.” “Me ordering soup is your business?” “Your business is my business.” Jimin grins. “Since we run a business together.” Hoseok sighs, leaning back in his seat. “Sometimes, I wonder why I chose you as my partner.” “I chose you,” he reminds with a soft giggle. “And you love me.” “Yeah, you’re right,” Hoseok admits with only a small ounce of sarcasm. “I love you and maybe we should just get married.” “In your dreams.” His smile widens. “I’m expensive, you know. You won’t be able to keep up with me. My ass is out of your league.” There’s bubbling laughter that leaves his chest. “You can’t say you’re expensive when you were part of a hugging club and wore a sign to hug random people on the street. I don’t even want to know what kind of diseases you contracted.” He giggles too, eyes crinkling as he defends himself, “It’s not as bad as you. You used to kiss everyone!” “On the top of their heads and on their foreheads.” Hoseok pouts, lips cutely downturning and jutting out. The two of them don’t care about the heads that turn to stare at them. “Doesn’t make it any better!” “Don’t you love my affection, Minnie? I love you, remember?” “Please stop,” Jimin begs. The roles have completely reversed, tables have turned, and once more someone’s at Hoseok’s mercy. “Go back to being serious and weird, okay? Don’t act cute. It creeps me out.” Hoseok quirks his head to the side and bats his lashes. “I thought you were the one who wanted to get married to me.” “I never said that,” he points out. “No offence, but I can’t be with someone so nitpicky and naggy and overly organized.” “So, you admit you live in a dump?” “An expensive dump.” They banter back and forth as usual until the food arrives. Halfway through the meal, the waitress comes back with his warm soup in a styrofoam container, plastic spoon and a napkin all prepared in the plastic bag. Jimin continues to talk about what’s been going on with his life, but Hoseok becomes distracted. He’s quiet, eyes staring at the object on the table beside him. “No…” He shakes his head, muttering underneath his breath, barely being coherent. “No..it’s too weird.” “What’s weird? Wait.” Jimin watches as his partner tears off the top of the container and begins chugging the soup. “You’re eating it? Right now?” Hoseok doesn’t say a single thing, brooding to himself, ingesting it all while Park Jimin remains absolutely bewildered. When it’s empty, he wonders what the hell he just did. He’s an idiot. And now he’s too full to move. 12:46pm. Hoseok: Have you eaten yet? 12:46pm. Y/N: just finished 12:46pm. Y/N: why? The lawyer lets out a sigh of relief, thankful that he didn’t end up giving it to you. It would’ve been unbearably awkward. He can imagine holding the bag out to you or leaving it on your desk, only for you to bring it back to him and tell him that you already had lunch. 12:47pm. Hoseok: nothing 12:48 pm. Hoseok: are you feeling better? 12:48pm. Y/N: im ok 12:48 pm. Hoseok: you can go home early 12:49 pm. Hoseok: if you need to He sits on the edge of his seat, resisting the urge to nibble on his fingernails. He waits for a response and waits and waits. Hoseok can see the dots appearing on his screen signaling that you’re texting him back, but he wonders why it’s taking so long, and the anticipation grows and grows. 12:52 pm. Y/N: you’re not getting rid of me so easily “Why are you smiling to yourself?” Jimin asks before sipping on his water and letting his narrow eyes pin onto the man past the rim of the glass. “And who are you texting?” “No one.” Hoseok clears his throat, setting his phone down. He makes eye contact with the waitress who is preparing the bill. “Uh-huh. Doesn’t seem like no one.” “You’re acting like we’re really married.” “If we are, I want a divorce.” They laugh, both divorce lawyers pretending to argue about the settlement and how to divide their assets while the waitress can’t conceal her mortified expression, believing that it’s legitimate. Back at the firm, Hoseok beelines straight into his office when Lisa informs him there’s a client on the line. But Jimin hangs back and his eyes meet Yoongi’s who’s happens to be strolling around. “Don’t you think he’s acting weird these days?” “He’s always been weird.” Yoongi is at the copier, deciding to give Seulgi a break from having to make copies from him every five minutes. He fiddles with the buttons until the machine is whirring to life and spitting out the correct pages. “But like...especially.” “You don’t seem that concerned.” And he isn’t. Jimin’s entertained. “No, I’m not.” “He seems more panicked and anxious these days,” Yoongi insightful comments. “But happier.” “I agree.” The lawyer nods and pats his employee on the back before leaving, eyeing your office as he makes his way to his own. You and Jimin share a lot in common, but one of those things are that you two are the few that remember Hoseok as being very hyper and outgoing. It’s only work that turns his bright nature ten notches down and makes him serious. Jimin muses that his partner has been quite calm these past few years, but it seems like only you can get under his skin. // “Y/N? I..uh..stopped by—” There’s no one in your office. Hoseok waits in the small room for a second as an exhausted exhale leaves the seams of his lips. The work day is over. It’s five o’clock. But your belongings are still here, so you haven’t left yet. You’re not gone, but his timing wasn’t right — his timing is never right. Reluctantly, he places the new tissue box that he bought on your desk, right in front of the keyboard. And the man lingers a few moments before walking out. A part of him feels uncomfortable. Hoseok wished he could’ve seen you one last time before leaving for the day.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #hoseok fanfic #hoseok fluff #hoseok scenario #BTS HOSEOK seriously struggling lol #not a lot happens in this chapter but it's still floof

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piccolina-mina · 5 years ago

Text

Don’t You Know Who I Think I Am?

Fandom: Roswell, New Mexico

Characters: Rosa Ortecho, Alex Manes

A/N: I’m late, but it’s still yesterday somewhere! I don’t quite know what this is, and it’s angstier than I imagined, but you know me, I wing it.

This is for you, @suzteel! A little something for a very special person on her special day. Love & Hugs. Always. :)

—–

“The coast is clear, kid.” Alex tossed Rosa the keys to his truck and smirked at her scowl over the term of endearment.

She snatched the keys out of the air and climbed into the driver’s seat with ease. She stopped herself from telling him to move his ass.

He was more gracious than anyone when it came to her faux pas as she struggled to adjust to how different the world was around her now.

She never had to censor herself with him. They both were blunt and without filters, and it was one of the reasons she didn’t mind when he used to tag along behind her when he was a kid, or she was a kid, or they were kids, or something.

He was like the little brother she never wanted, but now, now she didn’t know how to see him. But of all the things she had to adjust to, he felt the most familiar and comfortable.

Emo rights or some shit. And even though the man she was cruising with wasn’t the same as the teen she knew before she was killed, he was still in there, somewhere.

“Stop calling me ‘kid.’ I don’t care what I look like, I’m still older than you,” she hissed.

It felt good to squeeze the steering wheel, let her dark hair whip around her as they picked up speed, nothing but desert ahead of them and Fall Out Boy blaring.

“Someone needs to tell Liz that too,” she bit at her thumb even though her nails were bitten down to the nubs. “She keeps mothering me.”

“In her defense, you do look 12,"Alex deadpanned.

"Fuck you,” she mumbled. She rolled her eyes when he chuckled low and deep.

She used to love his hearty laugh and big smile, and she hadn’t seen or heard either since she … returned. He was always haunted, but this time, it was for deeper reasons, and she didn’t know what to do with any of that.

Her thumbnail went to her mouth again. Ten years of being frozen in time meant she still had an oral fixation she couldn’t quit. She didn’t smoke. She stopped, but she needed …

She took her eyes off the road for a moment when she heard the rustling beside her. Alex had a candy bag in hand. He yanked out a couple of suckers, popped one in his mouth and handed her the other.

The sweet and tartness on her tongue triggered memories, but more importantly, it put her at ease.

“I’m told it helps,” he said stealing a look in her direction. She could feel him studying her intensely.

He always had a way of peering through a person, and somehow that skill was enhanced with time and age.

They sailed pass a billboard advertising legal aid specializing in immigration law. Her vision clouded over, dark specks belying her anger, and she internally counted backwards to ground herself.

“That persimmon pendejo is president, the planet is self-destructing … I come back from the dead, and it’s worse than hell,” she sighed.

She bit down on the sucker and tried to assuage the ball of anxiety bubbling up. She worried about her papi, and it was made worse by the fact that she couldn’t lay eyes on him.

She felt Alex studying her again, his intense gaze burning the side of her face until she couldn’t take it anymore.

She replayed the last few moments in hopes of pinpointing what set him off again. Then, “I didn’t go to hell,” she said quietly.

The small exhalation he let out was the only sign he gave her that it was his concern. She stole a glance his way.

His expression was as stoic as ever, but as usual, his eyes gave him away. He was terrified, but also relieved.

It was something they never spoke about in great detail, but it was something she knew he wondered about.

He didn’t speak of his own ghosts, but she sensed them the second she wrapped him into her arms again. He was haunted, whatever had taken place in the decade since she last saw him – war, loss – it weighed heavily on him.

“The last thing I remember is her – him, –it..” she squinted at the sun, busied herself snagging a pair of his sunglasses from the cupholder and shoving them on.

If she shielded her face she wouldn’t feel so exposed under his scrutiny.

“No worries, kid,” she tried to lighten the mood and mock him with the endearment. “If there is an afterlife, I don’t remember a second of it. I guess I haven’t paid for my sins yet,” she shrugged.

“So I can’t give you solace if you’re afraid about paying for yours.” She knew she struck a nerve when his eyes darted away.

“My sins are darker than yours, squirt.”

She let the attempt to get under her skin go.

“You’re a good person, cabron. I have known you your entire,” she shook her head and swore under her breath. “I have known you for most of your life. You’re one of the best people I’ve known. War or whatever else you’ve gotten yourself into over the past few years doesn’t change that. I know your heart, bro. ”

“Bro?” He scoffed. It was a misdirect as he choked back the emotion that rose in his throat.

She didn’t respond, merely pulled over at one of her favorite spots. There were a different set of caves, and they always brought her peace or something akin to it.

It was different than what she remembered. Everything was different than she remembered.

“I thought when I was gone things would be better.” She reached across the seat snagging another sucker and popped it in her mouth.

“I mean, I didn’t plan on,” she felt his dark eyes boring into her face again searching, always searching. “I planned on leaving, before I died, I planned on leaving.”

“I thought that when I was gone things would be better for the people I care about. But even my death caused more harm for those who gave a shit, and even in my absence things fell apart,” she picked at her nail and stared off into the distance, the wind making flyaway hair dance within her line of sight.

“I would have at least hoped my death mattered. That if I had to die, at least it meant something, but catching up on everything has taught me that it was meaningless.”

She tossed the half-eaten sucker out the window. It no longer gave her the satisfaction it did before.

“Liz still came back to this place. She should have stayed away, but she came back, and look at what she’s in? All I wanted is for her to be free of this place, and she’s right back here heart deep in alien shit.”

“She did get away, Rosa,” Alex reached out and tentatively touched her hand.

“She traveled. She completed her list. She went to school and pursued the career she wanted,” he rested his head on the back of the seat, and it was the most relaxed he looked in a while.

“Maria didn’t get to follow her dreams. She wanted out of here, and now it’s ten years later, and she’s still stuck behind a bar trying to make ends meet and taking care of Mimi. Christ, there’s nothing fair about that.”

“Life happens, Rosa,” Alex sighed. Whether he was unfazed or resigned, she couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, I know. And death,” she closed her eyes and turned her face up toward the sun.

“My papi could be put in a damn cage like an animal at any moment, and my birth father is dead. So many questions left unanswered.”

“I still can’t believe you and Kyle are related,” Alex chuckled. “It actually makes sense now though.”

“I’m being serious here and you’re deflecting with jokes? Typical. And Kyle and I are nothing alike.”

“He was an asshole in high school. It’s true, but he’s a good man. You should try getting to know your big-little brother better.”

“You used to be my favorite and now I’m reconsidering my position on that,” she shoved him, and he laughed like he did when he was young, gangly, and unburdened.

“Easy there, Valenti.” It earned him another shove until they both were laughing.

“That was easy. I’m saving the real hurting for the Valenti with a dick. I swear if he brings me another teen magazine, I’m going to gauge his eyes out.”

“See? You’re acting like siblings already. You have obnoxious little sister in the bag.”

“First of all, it’s big sister. Second, you and Kyle can kiss my ass,” she said it with heat, but Alex’s bemused expression made her smirk against her better judgment.

“Kyle is, annoyingly perfect, but it’s going to take a while. It’s going to take longer if he treats me like one of his teen patients.”

“Yeah, that has more to do with Kyle than you, I promise.”

“I would thank you for being the only one who isn’t treating me differently, or like a child, but I would hate for it to go to your head.”

He flashed her one of the first genuine smiles she saw since she reunited with him. “Too late, Rosa. I already know I’m your favorite.”

The laughter in his eyes warmed her heart. Alex was so guarded with everyone else. They didn’t think she picked up on these things, but she did.

“And then there’s you. Finding out you enlisted …”

His smile vanished as quickly as it came, and she damn near saw the walls go up. “You think I’m a poser.”

“I think you’re a survivor,” she said instantly without thought. She didn’t have to think about it because it was true.

“I just hate you had to lose pieces of yourself to prove something to that dickwad dad of yours.”

Alex averted his eyes, and suddenly he was 14 again, and Rosa was reading through him like no one else could.

“Maybe no one else will point it out, but that’s what happened. And I hate that for you. I hate that you didn’t get to follow the path you chose for yourself instead of his,” she spewed. Her heart raced with anger and guilt.

She knew the odds of her being alive wouldn’t have changed some of the outcomes, but she was just enough of a masochist to think maybe if she were around she could have.

Her eyes flickered to his. Both sets glassy with unshed tears and emotion they withheld as if their lives depended on it.

Maybe both of them realized a long time ago that sometimes their lives did.

“But I’m living proof it’s never too late to find yourself. I’m getting a second chance I never expected to…” she released a puff of air and grabbed Alex’s chin.

It was strong and firm, the stubble prickled her skin, and it was a far cry from the last time she had done it.

“I still see him in there. The darkness you’re afraid has consumed you, it hasn’t beaten him out. Remember? That’s a strong ass guy who could take a beating. And now he can kick ass too.” Her sly grin made him return one in kind.

“He’s still there, just stronger and older. And you gotta stop hiding him away. I’m not the only one who was resurrected. That part of you is trying to come back too. Let him. You’ll be much happier with it.”

He sniffled, swallowing back emotions again, and she raised her brow but didn’t say anything.

“Are you done, obi-wan kenobi?”

“God, you’re still on that Star Wars shit?” She snorted. “See? Still a dork.”

“This is why I love you more than your brother,” he joked.

“Fair,” she quipped. “But I’m serious Alex.”

He sighed. “I know. All the things you could do now, and you’re trying to fix me?”

“Well, you’re not irrevocably broken, just a little lost,” she tangled her fingers with his. “We both are.”

“I can’t fix any of the other shit with Liz, or my father, or Maria and Mimi, but your shit can be fixed, and I can help you. I’m not afraid of the dark, and we both need to find the light.”

He snorted at her cheesiness, but accepted it for what it was. For the first time in years, he felt seen again.“We do like that dark shit.”

“Damn right we do.”

She hooked her pinky with his and had a flashback to warm summer nights painting each other’s nails black and listening to the latest obscure band.

She wouldn’t mention the occasional bruise blooming on skin hidden away, and he wouldn’t comment on how twitchy she was for her next fix, but the camaraderie in those moments sustained them.

He popped his sucker in his mouth and smiled at the gesture. She imagined he was recalling those nights too.

“You’re good at that,” she nodded at the sugary treat in his mouth. “Lotta practice over the years?” She asked suggestively.

She was pleased with herself when his face went red and he nearly choked.

“You’re as bad as Maria and twice as crude,” he sputtered.

“Some things never change then,” she started the truck back up. “You don’t have to tell me now. You can tell me when we get there.”

“Um, get where?” He stiffened in his seat and narrowed his eyes sensing she was up to no good.“ Get where, Rosa?”

She tossed her bag into his lap and shot him a mischievous grin. It grew wider when he swore profusely as he pulled out the assortment of spray cans.

Her fingers were itching to create something, and it felt like forever since she tagged something, made art, left pieces of herself she had control over somewhere – left the mark she wanted and not the one chosen for her.

For her, it was a release she had been craving, but for him it would be a walk down memory lane to the days when he would occasionally play look out.

“So what do you say, Sergeant?” Her voice took a conspiratorial tone. “Are you in or are you going to chicken out on me?”

His face was unreadable for a moment, but then there was that familiar light in his eyes.

“Fuck it. Why not?”

She threw her head back and laughed, and he turned the music up as they sped down the highway.

#roswell new mexico #rosa ortecho #alex manes #roswell new mexico fic #happy birthday chica all I got you was this little fic but I still hope you like it #:)#and I have some work to do at half past midnight. yikes!

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anogete · 5 years ago

Text

Untitled Fake Marriage (Post-Civil War AU) Wintershock - Update and Sneak Peek #1

What’s it about?

Two years after Civil War and the US government is relying heavily on Tony to defend against threats. It’s killing Steve to pull back and not help, but he and his team are wanted by the governments of several countries. Public opinion has turned from supporting the Accords to wanting their superhero defense team back, which makes General Ross parlay with Steve and offer a deal--come back and help us and we’ll grant all of you amnesty, among other things. Steve likes the deal, but he also wants Bucky (who has been living in Wakanda) included in the negotiation. General Ross and his advisors are reluctant since he is responsible for some high-profile assassins around the world. They question whether Bucky can be trusted to reenter the country and not disappear in the woodwork. Natasha attends one of the meetings and casually mentions that she doesn’t understand why they’d think Bucky would cut and run or do anything to jeopardize his amnesty since he’s married and trying to start a family. General Ross and his team latch onto this and agree to include Bucky as long as he’s married and they can send a social worker over to check on Bucky and his wife every week for the first few months. Steve takes this to Bucky, but Bucky rejects it. Shuri finds out what Steve is trying to do and insinuates herself into the situation by contacting the woman picked to act as Bucky’s wife. Shuri likes Darcy Lewis and thinks Bucky will as well. Besides, she’s worried about the way he’s isolating himself and working until he passes out at night. He definitely needs a life and he isn’t finding one in Wakanda. With a little nudging, she convinces Bucky to talk to Darcy. And Darcy convinces Bucky to give this crazy plan a shot.

What should you expect?

Conversations and a resolution to the conflict between Bucky and Tony. Sassy, fun, and wise Shuri. Okoye rolling her eyes at Bucky being nervous to meet his future wife and also the clothing Shuri made the poor guy wear to the formal dinner. A slow burn. Fake marriage (which is legally a real marriage). Lots of sexual tension and mutual pining. Bed-sharing. Bucky struggling to find his place in modern western society with Darcy’s help. Darcy trying to not fall for this guy she’s getting paid to pretend to love. Some awkward times, some overheard masturbation. A road trip and a getaway. A deceptive and heartless government. A Bucky that would kill for this woman he’s come to care for, and a Darcy who is extremely protective Darcy who will burn down any organization who even tries to mess with her man. It’ll be a long one. Exactly how long I’m not sure. Definitely more than 60k. Probably more than 80k. Maybe as much as 90-100k. We’ll see where the story takes me. I hope to have the first draft finished by the end of July and something to post within the first two weeks of August. I can’t promise that at this point, but it’s my goal.

Where am I at?

A few pages into chapter 6 of the first draft. I believe the word count is sitting around 27,000 right now. I have a general idea of where the story is going and the conflict that will begin to take shape, but I don’t have an outline just yet. That won’t firm up for a few more chapters.

Where is the damn sneak peek?!

Oh, here you go:

“Do you always get up at this awful hour, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky closed his eyes when he heard Shuri’s voice behind him. She’d become like his little sister these past two years. He owed her a debt he could never repay, but she seemed to think his gratitude was silly. She’d been brushing it off since they pulled him out of cryo and she fixed his head. “Good morning to you, too,” he said.

She walked over to stand beside him, casting her gaze out over the hazy water. “How are you feeling?”

Looking up at her, he said, “Conflicted.”

Shuri looked down at him, the light catching on the ornate gold jewelry at her ears and neck. The sky was pink and the sun was cresting the horizon. It would be a hot day. “I hope my brother told you that you’re welcome to say if you wish to.”

“He did,” Bucky said. “Thank you.”

She stepped on the high grass growing next to him, flattening it out with her sandals before sitting down. “Do you think they are lying to you?”

Her question caught him off guard. “Steve?”

“No, the others. The American government.”

“Maybe,” Bucky conceded. “I trust Steve. I know he wants to help, but I don’t know if I want the help.”

“Don’t you want your life back?”

“My life is over.” The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. People didn’t like when he said things like that even though he thought it all the time. His life was over. He was just going through the motions here in Wakanda. It was peaceful and serene and he wasn’t unhappy, but he wasn’t living. He was existing.

Shuri nodded slowly. “You do act that way, don’t you, Sergeant Barnes? Insisting on staying here in this hut and never talking to anyone.”

“You know, you only call me Sergeant Barnes when you’re sassing me, Princess Shuri?”

She glanced over and smiled. Bucky liked when she smiled because her entire face lit up like she was a little girl. She reminded him of his sister when she smiled like that. His sister was dead. She died at the age of eighty-two in a nursing home in New Jersey. Bucky hadn’t been there for her. At the time, he’d been HYDRA’s most prized asset and wouldn’t have even been able to tell you her name.

“Your life is not over,” Shuri told him. “Steve Rogers transmitted the paperwork his government wants you to sign last night. My brother’s advisors are not too happy with me because I made them review it into the early morning.”

“And?” he asked.

“It’s exactly what your friend said it was. They’d be breaking laws if they violate it. Of course, it isn’t like they haven’t broken laws before--their own and others.”

They sat there in silence for a moment before Bucky said, “I’m more worried about everything else.”

“Oh, living, you mean?”

He chuckled softly at her taunting question. “Yeah, living. They want me to pretend to be married. I don’t… I haven’t been around people that much here. I don’t know if I can do that. They’re going to expect me to fight for them and… I don’t know...”

Shuri nodded. “Evil men ask others to fight their battles.”

Her words cut deeply into him. Bucky felt all the emotions--all the frustration and fear and anger and hopelessness--well up in him, tightening his chest and making it difficult to pull in a breath. Unshed tears threatened to spill over his lower lids. He tilted his face up to the sky and blinked them away.

“If they try to force you to fight, then you will come back here,” she said, voice matter-of-fact.

“Shuri, that would put you brother in a bad spot. I’m a diplomatic nightmare now and him harboring me would be even worse.”

“Wakanda can protect itself. You are a friend to us, Bucky. You are not asking, we are offering.”

His chest hurt so badly. “Shuri, you can’t--”

“We can and will.” She looked over at him and smiled again. “I spoke to the woman who will be your wife.”

Bucky’s laugh was strained and lacking any humor. He turned his head away from her for a moment. “I can’t do that. I can’t… I can’t ask someone to give up a year of their life for me.”

“I like her,” Shuri replied, ignoring everything he’d just said. She really could be a brat sometimes.

Sighing in resignation, he caved into the little voice in the back of his mind that was curious about what woman Steve would pick, what woman would agree, and what woman Shuri approved of. “What’s she like?” he asked.

“Would you like to see her?” Shuri asked, grinning.

“No,” Bucky said, the answer almost jumping out of his mouth. “No. I’m not… I can’t do that.”

“You can’t see her?” Shuri asked, her expression some strange mixture of amusement and pity.

“I can’t go through with this,” he replied. “What she looks like doesn’t matter.”

#wintershock wip #wintershock #bucky/darcy #anogete #fake marriage #civil war au #fanfic #mcu fanfic

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xehanortsreport · 6 years ago

Note

99 for that xigsem parenting riku and vanitas au......

as soon as this came into my askbox i was transfixed, SO HERE WE GO....i got a little carried away, whoops

“How could you forget your son’s birthday?”(owie)

Birthday morning. Vanitas struggled to keep his excitement down as he clambered out of his bed; Riku had already left the room, it seemed, and he couldn’t help but be glad that he had. This was Vanitas’s day, after all, and he didn’t need his too talented younger brother hogging up the moment from sunrise to sundown this time too. Ten...finally ten. Double digits. A whole decade. He hastily pulled on his oversized hoodie and jeans, ruffled his hair in place of a comb, and sped into the kitchen, wanting to look cool, calm, collected, just like a preteen should in his head.

He peeked around. Riku had probably already been dropped off to his special before school program, but the sight of Ansem, who usually joined for breakfast, was nowhere to be seen. His other father, Xigbar, was already up and ripping open a new package of sugar, squinting at a measuring cup on the counter with his good eye. The moment he caught sight of Vanitas edging around the corner, he gave a cheerful finger gun and clicked his tongue in greeting.

“Morning, little man. And more of a little man today than ever, right?”

Vanitas rubbed his nose to conceal his grin and slid over to the table, where a small plate of scrambled eggs was waiting for him.

“Morning, Appa. Where’s Dad? Did he already leave?”

“It’s his day off, remember? You already know he’s in the workshop.”

“Oh yeah...I kinda forgot it fell on my birthday this year.” Vanitas looked off to the side, and pouted. “But he’s still not here, so I guess it doesn’t make a difference. Wonder if he’d show up for Riku.”

“Please, the man’s a workaholic no matter what day it is. Anniversaries, birthdays, I dunno...lung transplant surgeries on his grandma? No matter the occasion, he’ll find a way to be busy.”

Xigbar’s rich black hair swayed back and forth as he busied himself whipping up pancake batter: Vanitas’s favorite breakfast, especially when loaded with chocolate chips. The hair and golden eyes: Vanitas had inherited both. Though the eyes also ran on Ansem’s side of the family, deep brown skin and broad nose were the more obvious signifiers of what he had inherited from his other father. Still, he felt closest to Xigbar, whose chaotic sense of humor and wickedly chill attitude (and cool stories about being the governor’s most trusted bodyguard) appealed more to a young boy than the stern, sometimes condescending cool of the respected scientist.

“Dad always looks like he likes Riku more, though. He’s always helping him with his homework and talking with his teacher and stuff.”

Smoke started rising from the pan, and Xigbar cursed under his breath, clearly trying, and failing, to censor himself around the kid.

“Your brother is talented in all the same ways your Pops was. He’s probably just trying to guide him around the same pitfalls he made as a kid,” he said, trying to scrape up the burnt pancake. “People like you and me, we gotta work a little harder, but the pain of being a ‘gifted’ kid is that it hurts more when you fall. I think he’s tryna protect that from happening to your brother.”

He let out a low, disappointed whistle at the burnt mess in his pan, snatched it up, and flung it into the nearby trash bin.

“You’re a genius too, though. The teachers are always talking about how I shouldn’t have any trouble with the material, ‘cuz my dads are some of the smartest people in the city.”

Xigbar let loose a throaty laugh, edging the new pancake side to side to make sure it wasn’t burning.

“Nah. Your Pops? Definitely a genius. No doubting that man’s mind works in ways the average human can’t comprehend. But me? No, I just learn fast.”

With a flick of the wrist, the new pancake sailed through the air and landed expertly into the pan on the other side, as if Xigbar had merely been playing at incompetence earlier. The burnt smell of the earlier pancake slowly gave way to a gentler, breadier scent, and Vanitas found himself melting in his chair, impatient to start shoving stack after stack into his mouth.

“At practice, teacher said Riku was a natural,” he muttered, nudging around eggs with his fork. “I wonder if I can learn so fast that he won’t be able to catch up…Hey!”

His father had bumped the plate out of Vanitas’s path with another plate, sending the first one dangerously close to the edge and catching him completely off guard. The stack of pancakes had been completed faster than he had thought, and each of them was a golden brown that made the first pancake’s failure look even more and more like a freak accident.

“Persistence’ll get you places natural talent couldn’t dream, kid. Think of that as your free Birthday Wisdom.”

“‘Birthday Wisdom’? That’s a thing?”

“It is now. And it’s free! Happy Birthday, isn’t life just great?”

“That better not be my gift.”

“As if,” Xigbar said, and began to slice open a melon, peeling and cutting it into floral shapes with ease. “I’m the cool dad, remember? Check by the TV before you catch the bus, I left you something there.”

Vanitas didn’t answer, but shoved the pancakes into his mouth to avoid showing the growing smile on his face. Xigbar snorted knowingly, and set down the fruit in front of him. Golden eye catching golden eye as Vanitas suddenly piped up.

“I want to switch to somethin’ else. Boxing, or...taekwondo or...maybe Dad could actually teach me some of his science or his bookmaking or something…”

“I know what you’re tryin’ to do here, Van,”

“I mean, at school, all the class already thinks I’m too girly, and that’s without the ballet...because havin’ two dads, and one of them is,”

“Continue with that line of thought and I’ll kick your butt along with the kids who said that crap in the first place,” Xigbar sighed, and plopped into a chair beside him, rubbing his temple.

“But you know what I mean! ...I’ll just...leave it to Riku. He’s prettier, too, so I guess I can’t even compete with him on that...hah.”

“Prettier?” With a frown Xigbar chewed on a piece of melon before continuing. “He’s not, number one, number two, this isn’t a competition. By all means, whoop the other kids’ behinds, but not your baby bro’s. You two should be teaming up to take the other losers down, not turning on each other.”

“You don’t think Dad isn’t constantly comparing us in his lab notes or whatever? Y’know…’subject V has a really big head and a small brain compared to the smaller and more compact subject R’.”

“Alright alright, you got his nerd talk down, I won’t deny that, but trust me, that’s not how he sees you kids.”

“You sure?”

“‘Course I’m sure, every mad scientist needs an assistant, and that’s me.” Xigbar winked as best he could with only one eye, and laughed. “The man is an absolute idiot when it comes to emotional intellect, but he does know well enough to keep the lab in the lab. Kinda.”

“Huh...well...I mean, you shouldn’t say that in front of your kid! Aren’t you supposed to be all, ‘Son, you can’t be mean to your father’ and stuff?”

“I told you, I’m the cool dad,” Xigbar said with a smirk, and sipped at his orange juice. “Anyway...if you’re sure about the switch, and you’re not just doing it because you think you can’t do ballet, I guess I can make it happen. Taekwondo sounds good. The only condition is that you use your newfound powers to try and see if you can take me on in combat later.”

“No problem. You’ll go down easy, old man.”

“We’ll see about that,” Xigbar mused, and slid a slice of cake, hidden somewhere Vanitas hadn’t noticed, in front of him while the kid let out a huff of surprise. “I’m pretty tricky.”

That night, as the brothers sat across from each other in separate beds, Vanitas’s hands curled angrily above his knees, balling his sheets into wrinkled messes. Riku was already nose deep in some beginner’s chapter book, devouring stories of pirates and treasures, risky adventures and fantastic worlds...ideas Vanitas found sickening as he grew older. At some point, he couldn’t even see himself playing hero, couldn’t trick himself into believing the magic fairy dust sprinkled on the page anymore. Riku’s dreams soared higher and higher.

Vanitas believed Riku was the only one who could reach them.

“Hey,” Vanitas said, voice a cacophony against the now shattered silence. “What if Dad’s evil?”

Riku paused, eyes flickering from his page to Vanitas and back again. Then, slowly, he folded the book shut, thumb still marking the page, and laughed. Vanitas’s lips pulled into a disappointed sneer.

“What’s so funny? You don’t think he is?”

“Of course he isn’t,” said Riku, brimming with confidence. “I mean, he can be cranky and stuff, but that isn’t the same thing as being evil.”

“But what about that workshop, huh?” Vanitas pressed forward, physically and verbally, voice dropping dangerously. “He locks himself in there all day, and always with the lights off. He’s using candles! Who still uses candles?”

“That’s evil?”

“‘Course it is.” Vanitas huffed, and his golden eyes burned with challenge. Cry, idiot, he thought to himself. Be weak already. Be scared. “Maybe the reason he spends all his time with you is because he wants to size you up and feed you to the dog and make a clone. I bet he doesn’t really love you at all!”

The last word was a shout. Riku’s breath hitched, body locked tight, and Vanitas thought, at last, all those barbs and jabs had landed a significant blow.

But when he locked eyes with Riku, he felt his stomach clench. Riku shone with preternatural wisdom, beautiful, ocean blue, almond shaped eyes narrowing knowingly, thin smile shaky but self assured, a feeling of challenge reverberating with nothing more than a cocky “heh”. Silver locks...Ansem’s hair...shook around his shoulders.

“Yeah, well...maybe Dad’s gonna replace you, then, too.”

Vanitas’s jaw immediately clamped shut, wired by the jolted, struck nerves. Riku, though intelligent, was still seven, and remained ignorant of the bleeding gash he had struck deep into Vanitas’s heart.

“It’s almost midnight...hey, did he give you a present, yet?”

Whatever Riku was saying was immediately lost in the trample of Vanitas’s feet as he threw himself off the bed and ran down the hallway, hoping desperately that the tears spilling down his face had been lost in the dark. They slowed eventually, after what felt like hours, and his legs began to feel like they were pulling him through mud. Almost midnight...almost midnight, and that man was still cooped up in his workshop. Tears turned caustic as they streamed, teeth grinding in a way that he was sure would earn some sort of lecture. Good. Let him be lectured. That would be enough to show Dad still cared about some part of him.

He paused in front of the open door leading into the workshop, feet stopping just short of the threshold. Contained candlelight was all that lit the room, deep oranges and browns driving back the encroaching darkness. Hunched over beyond the frame, leaning over an ancient looking wooden desk, was that man. Silver hair fell elegantly about broad shoulders in shimmering sheets...almost Elven, magical...a stark contrast to the furious flurry of his arms and hands and fingers working mechanically, this way and that, grabbing oddly shaped knives and tools that Vanitas couldn’t have made up even in a particularly vivid daydreaming session. His stomach swam, and for a moment, he was prepared to believe his own lies...what if his father really was just some mad scientist, who would carve him up to the bone and throw the scraps to the dog?

“Dad?” His voice was weak, faltered the moment it left his throat. All it did was push out more tears, mourning how pathetic he sounded.

He thought he saw Ansem’s movements pause, but they quickly resumed his work. Anger boiled over in his stomach as he threw out his voice more wildly, it cracking in his emotion.

“Dad!” Vanitas stomped his foot simultaneously, and snot dribbled down his face. “Arentcha forgetting something!? ‘Happy Birthday, Van’! ‘Happy Birthday’! How could you forget your own son’s birthday?! I bet you wouldn’t forget Riku’s! Riku...Riku’s your…”

His voice fell out completely, head hanging, unable to look up as the wooden chair creaked and the solid footsteps of his father quietly approached. Hiccups tumbled out of his mouth, and he couldn’t help how his shoulders trembled even as a strong hand cupped around them.

“Vanitas.”

How strong and confident and unwavering that voice seemed; how kittenish Vanitas’s own sobbing seemed compared to that deep, lionlike roar.

The tears barely left enough room in his eyes for him to notice the gilded corner of a leather notebook, pushed gently under his nose, offered.

“I’d never forget my proud, eldest child.”

Vanitas’s breath seemed to vanish. His head swam with confusion as he hurriedly swiped away the tears clouding his vision, growing cold on his cheeks, and shakily grasped the book. A few second for his eyes to refocus, and it soon became clear what he was holding: a hand bound journal. Elegant carvings decorated its cover, its face stamped with some sort of symbol Vanitas had never seen before.

“This is what is called a ‘sigil’. This one was made with your name,” said Ansem with a sigh that suggested he too had been holding back some worry. Worry? “It is imbued with your will, your spirit...and my guidance.”

Vanitas thumbed through the journal; mostly blank pages greeted him, though there was a hand written appendix in the back detailing simple charms and spells for luck. The occult and science seemed to be at odds to each other, but his father had a vested interest in both, one that he had apparently noticed Vanitas picking up. And now...he had made this, a journal..a grimoire? Welcoming Vanitas further into that world, by his side.

Was that why it had taken so long? Was he waiting until he had finished the gift?

“Happy Birthday, Vanitas.” Ansem’s eyes tilted downwards, and it seemed he was hiding some emotion from his son. “For ever letting you think I did not care...I am sorry.”

“Dad…,” Vanitas’s lips couldn’t seem to focus on becoming a smile or a frown, and wobbly flopped between both. He threw his arms around Ansem, pressing his face into his torso, and let out an ugly, primal shout. “Say it sooner, next time, jerk…!”

“Noted,” Ansem replied primly. “I heard from your Appa that you wanted to give up ballet. Is this also because of how you see Riku? How you think I see him?”

Vanitas flushed, heart pounding, and he was grateful his face was hidden.

“Mm….mmhm…”

“I went ahead and booked you a private tutor earlier, after I heard. You’re skilled, Vanitas, and I don’t want to see your passion fall away. You’re both valuable to me, equally. Perhaps it’s best to let you boys start being separate more often…” Ansem mused as Vanitas backed away, face and tears brimming with surprise.

“Really?”

“Unless you still wanted to do taekwondo. I heard your Appa is quite excited about the possibility of you flipping the children in your classroom around,” he said, chuckling. “I’ll admit, if they’re saying the things I think they are, I’m inclined to agree.”

“Sweet! Uh...wait,” He paused, clutching the journal to his chest and awkwardly scratching his hair. “Can I do both?”

“My, a multidisciplinary. You truly are my son.”

“...Van?”

A voice lilt up from the doorway. Vanitas, eyes barely losing their redness, turned, and immediately he shrank back towards Ansem, who caught him in a ready arm. Riku, eyes wide, hand lifted up nervously to his chin, stood in the threshold.

“I uh...I followed you here…um.” The smaller boy cleared his throat and closed his eyes, and when he spoke up, it was with a courage that steadied the tinniness of his small voice. “I’m sorry, for hurting your feelings. I didn’t know what I said was bad, I just wanted to tease you back. And, um…”

Riku inched forward, traded a glance with Ansem, who nodded down at Vanitas, and wrapped his arms around his older brother, melting into the embrace. Vanitas stood stock still, surprised but unwilling to move, as if afraid to dismiss the warmth of the moment altogether.

“You’re smart, and talented, and a really cool brother,” Riku said, muffled by Vanitas’s chest. “Love you.”

Vanitas finally managed to break his hesitation and placed a hand on Riku’s hair, gently ruffling it.

“I guess you’re not bad yourself.”

“Van.”

“...Love you too.”

#fic #Kingdom Hearts #AnsXig #Vanitas KH #Riku KH #i should put this on AO3 honestly i spent way too much time on this #triceraclops

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the-observant-frisbeetarian · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 9

We’ll Meet Again by George deValier

Tuesday 28 October, 1944

Alfred!

You… you… you! I should have known a little thing like being shot down and captured would not be enough to kill you. I can't tell you how damned happy I am to hear you're all right, old friend!

We all nearly fell over when we heard the news. The whole squadron send their best for your quick recovery, although knowing you I am sure you will be up and about in no time - if you aren't already. Don't give the doctors too hard a time, they're just trying to help.

I'm looking forward to seeing you once I get out of this mess over here. I'd say more, but you know what the censors are like.

Your friend, Matthew.

P.S. All the best to Arthur.

Arthur finished reading the letter and handed it back to Alfred, who sighed in frustration and practically threw it onto the small table beside his bed. "I should be over there. I feel so useless."

"You've done enough." Arthur's gaze fell involuntarily on Alfred's mutilated hands. "More than enough." Arthur quickly shook his head and looked back up. "Now, let us return to the rather pressing matter at hand." He picked up the two pairs of glasses Alfred had earlier tossed down on the bed. "Let me see you in these fetching red ones once again." He leant over the bed and placed the glasses on Alfred's face, even as Alfred laughed helplessly and tried to pull away.

"Stop it! They're all terrible. Glasses don't suit me."

"Oh I don't know, I think these ones suit you quite well."

Arthur had asked earlier exactly what had happened to Alfred's eyes, but he quickly wished he hadn't. Alfred got as far as mentioning something about chemicals and burning before Arthur felt sick and begged him to stop. Whatever the enemy had done to him, Alfred had lost a large percentage of his sight. As Air Force pilots had to have perfect vision, and along with missing three fingers, Alfred would never fly for the military again. Alfred hadn't spoken much of it… but it was obvious he was devastated.

Alfred peered up at Arthur over the top of the glasses. "I'll never get used to these."

Arthur couldn't help laughing. They actually did suit him. "But of course you will. Stop complaining."

Arthur's pub had been running practically without him for the last week as he went back and forth to the hospital. The whole thing still felt like a dream… but a wonderful, beautiful dream from which he never wanted to wake. He watched Alfred get better every day in the few hours he was allowed to spend with him in the hospital. It felt like minutes. In the short time they had they talked, remembering everything about each other and learning more. Arthur spoke to Alfred, silly things, things to cheer him and distract him, things that usually led to an argument because Alfred always was so bloody frustrating. Arthur listened to Alfred, on the very few occasions when he started to speak about his experience, usually just a few words muttered before his eyes clouded over and he trailed into silence. And sometimes Arthur just sat, watching Alfred sleep, trying to grasp the fact that the only thing he'd ever truly wanted was in his grasp, in his heart, and lying before him.

"Any word on when you'll be out of here?" It was all Arthur thought about. He was desperate for Alfred to leave, to be alone with him, to be somewhere there weren't doctors and nurses and bloody military guards keeping watch twenty-four hours a day. But Alfred was a virtual prisoner until he gave the military the information they wanted to know about his escape. Every day someone tried to convince Alfred to explain how he'd gotten free of the Germans. Every day they left without an answer. An answer that Arthur didn't know himself, and had no idea why was so important not to disclose.

Alfred tossed the glasses back onto the bed. "Well, hopefully they'll let me out for Christmas. They won't even let me have a tree in here, can you believe it?"

Arthur just shook his head incredulously. Christmas. How could it be nearly Christmas again already? Arthur could barely believe how much time had passed since Alfred had left for Italy. Somehow he had lost all sense of time since Alfred barrelled into his life. "Spend Christmas with me." He said it without even thinking.

Alfred smiled up at him. "I'd love to spend Christmas with you."

"So tell them what they want to hear and you can."

Alfred groaned. "I told you, I can't!"

"So lie!" said Arthur. "Make some nonsense up and be done with it!"

"Lie?" Alfred looked shocked by the notion. "I can't do that either!"

"Why do you have to be so bloody…" Arthur stopped himself. So bloody frustrating, good, honest, stupid. Arthur fell back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. "I just… I just…" he trailed off and dropped his gaze to the ground. "I just want to take you home. Out of here. Away from this bloody inquisition."

"You will. It'll all work out, you'll see." Arthur raised his eyes and Alfred winked. Arthur's heart flipped as he cursed inwardly. That bloody wink. "If I spend Christmas with you, can we put up a tree? And sing carols? And make those rum ball things you made last year that made everyone in the pub drunk? Those were fantastic."

Arthur thought for a second. "Yes, we can make the rum balls. No singing. But I will put up a tree for you."

"I'd like that," said Alfred, smiling as he reached out his hand. Arthur smiled back, took Alfred's hand, felt it's comforting exhilarating touch. Then he quickly dropped it when the guard at the door gave them a backwards glance.

Arthur glanced away. "I should be leaving."

Alfred pushed himself further up in the bed. "No!"

Arthur sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You know I'm not supposed to be here. The guards don't like it."

Alfred threw a filthy look at the two men outside the door. "Huh, like I give a damn what they think."

"Regardless, I don't want to get you into more trouble." And Arthur especially did not want to arouse more suspicion about their relationship. He already felt their emotional reunion had given away too much, so he'd tried to be careful during the last week with how he acted and what he said. He carefully kept his distance, while the whole time he ached to just throw himself into Alfred's arms.

Alfred looked at Arthur pleadingly. "Stay another ten minutes."

Arthur sighed. Every time Alfred asked him that he could never refuse. And he usually ended up staying until the staff asked him to leave.

Arthur knew Alfred was finally recovering when he walked into the hospital hallway the next morning to find Alfred rounding the far corner and speeding down the corridor in a wheelchair.

"Hi, Arthur!" Alfred cried cheerfully as he sped towards him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" asked Arthur, part exasperated, part overjoyed to see how well Alfred looked. "You are ill! Get back to bed this instant!"

"Geez, you sound like a nurse." Alfred came to a screeching halt in front of Arthur and grinned up at him. Arthur scowled. The bloody Yank had certainly figured out how to use that grin on him.

"Feeling better then, are we?" Arthur tried to glare. He was fairly sure it wasn't working.

"I feel one hundred percent today," grinned Alfred. A loud shout came from behind them. Alfred tried clumsily to turn his chair. "Damn, he's catching up!"

Arthur turned to see another wheelchair turn the corner and speed down the hall. He raised his eyebrows. "Francis? So they caught you, did they?"

"Arthur, mon ami!" Francis smiled and came to a stop a few feet from where Alfred was trying unsuccessfully to manoeuvre his chair. "Caught? Never. They promised to send me back to France, so I returned willingly. Do excuse me one moment." Francis crashed his chair into the back of Alfred's, who groaned loudly. "I believe that is now two to me, Lieutenant."

"Best of five!" said Alfred, just as a stern looking nurse turned into the corridor and strode towards them. Arthur backed up against the wall and tried to look inconspicuous.

"What is going on now?" asked the nurse, standing over Francis and Alfred with her hands on her hips. "Captain Bonnefoy, I've told you to stop encouraging him!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Captain? Francis just shrugged. "Ah, you know what these kids are like." Francis cocked his head and looked up at the nurse inquisitively. "I'm sorry, but have you done something new with your hair? It looks…" he paused and waved his hand inexpressively. "… exquisite."

"Don't try that with me, Bonnefoy. I know you, and it won't work. Now, you." The nurse glared down at Alfred, who smiled charmingly.

"Me?"

"Any more of this and I will take away your visiting rights." She looked pointedly at Arthur.

"Try it," said Alfred, still smiling. "Because I know just how much you all enjoy dealing with me when I'm upset."

The nurse looked like she did know, and did not want to deal with it again any time soon. She folded her arms and tapped her foot. "Jones, get back to your room. And get out of that chair."

"I can't. I'm sick." Alfred coughed feebly, the smile not leaving his face. He winked at Arthur, who couldn't help laughing. Suddenly a loud voice shouted down the hall.

"Captain Bonnefoy! LIEUTENANT JONES!"

Francis and Alfred looked at each other, their eyes wide.

"Shit!"

"Merde!"

"Come, Arthur, we must make our escape!" Arthur choked back a shriek of surprise as Alfred grasped him by the waist, pulled him onto his lap, and took off in the wheelchair.

"What the HELL do you THINK…"

"Hold on, Arthur!" Alfred took off, narrowly avoiding the shocked nurse's feet, as the guards shouted at the end of the hall. Arthur clutched onto Alfred's shoulders to stop himself falling. Now this was ridiculous.

"Go, brave friends! I shall hold them off! Pour la France!" Arthur looked back to see Francis charging his wheelchair towards the military guards, but he didn't see the result as Alfred swiftly turned a corner, narrowly avoiding crashing into the wall.

Arthur wasn't sure whether to be terrified or just mildly irritated. Of course he was completely confused, and also strongly aware of how close his body was to Alfred's. Perhaps that was why he wasn't as angry as he maybe should have been. Alfred narrowly missed a wall again. "Why aren't you wearing your glasses?" cried Arthur.

"Don't need 'em," said Alfred. He finally slowed as he reached a door, then stood and hauled Arthur through it. Alfred slammed the door behind them and pulled Arthur into a bruising kiss. Arthur froze in shock, started to say something, then stopped thinking. In the dark room Arthur couldn't see a thing, but he could taste Alfred's lips strong and warm against his, could smell that scent which was so overwhelmingly Alfred, could feel the rapid rising of their chests pressed together; Alfred's hand firm and gentle against the back of his neck, his arm tight around his waist. Arthur's head spun and he pulled Alfred tighter against him, as tight as he dared. Finally. Seconds before Arthur lost all control, he managed to pull back, breathing heavily.

"Alfred, stop, what if they…"

"Ssh," said Alfred, pulling Arthur back and whispering against his lips. "Please, just… just let me kiss you…"

Arthur could not argue with that. After all, this was what he had been desperate for since the first moment he had laid eyes on Alfred in the hospital room. But there were no nurses or doctors or guards here. The kiss was everything he remembered and everything he had dreamt of. It was warmth and love and promise. It was Alfred. And it was over too quickly. After only a few seconds, the shouting voices outside drew closer. Arthur broke the kiss reluctantly and held his breath.

Alfred giggled softly and Arthur thumped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Non, non, monsieur, he went the other way, did you not see? Oh la la, these difficult Americans. Quickly, this way!" Arthur could hear Francis' voice just outside the door. The sound of footsteps slowly receded down the hall and Arthur breathed out, relieved. He squinted up at Alfred, but couldn't make him out in the darkness.

"I think you should get back to your room, Lieutenant Jones," said Arthur sternly, even as he clung to Alfred's arms.

"Arthur," whispered Alfred.

"Yes?"

"I think we're in a closet."

Arthur dissolved into laughter. Alfred managed to sneak another kiss before Arthur dragged him out of the cupboard, forced him into the wheelchair, and wheeled him back down the hallway.

Arthur wheeled Alfred into the hospital room to find no guards at the door. Arthur slowed to a stop when they walked through the door and found a tall, well-dressed officer standing in the centre of the room. Bloody marvellous. Someone else sent to interrogate Alfred. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the officer, who just nodded at Alfred. "Good morning Lieutenant."

The officer glanced at Arthur, furrowed his brows, then looked back at Alfred who gave a half-hearted, almost sarcastic salute.

"Hello."

"So, the Magician, is it?" asked the officer in a loud American accent.

"That's what they call me," said Alfred, grinning cockily. Arthur suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

"Well Lieutenant, you certainly live up to your nickname, because I really don't know any other way to describe it but magic. You're free to go." The officer looked down at Alfred's chair. "Once you're well enough to move around, of course."

Arthur's heart stopped. He glanced quickly at Alfred, who just gazed up at the officer, slightly dazed. "I am?"

"We just received a call from our contacts in Italy," explained the officer, occasionally glancing warily at Arthur as he spoke. "They've been given some information from a local partisan movement. All this time we've been holding you because you've refused to tell us how you got free, and it's something as simple as this? Why the hell didn't you just tell us you were rescued by the Italian resistance?"

"Oh." Arthur blinked in surprise, but when he looked at Alfred he could tell that he was shocked but trying to hide it. "I must have… forgot."

The officer looked at Alfred suspiciously and shook his head. "You're a stupid man, Jones. A stupid, lucky man. Congratulations. Once you're fit and healthy, you're out of here. They're giving you a medal and shipping you home to the states."

Arthur's stomach sank and a sudden heavy wave crushed his chest.

"Oh," said Alfred again, flatly. "Hooray."

The officer saluted. "Good day, Lieutenant."

"Yeah, sure… and, thanks. I guess." Alfred half-heartedly saluted back.

The officer strode from the room after throwing another suspicious glare at Arthur.

Alfred breathed out heavily, turned, and gave Arthur a cheerless smile. "Well, there you go. Didn't I tell ya it would all sort out?"

Arthur could barely hear past the rushing in his ears. …shipping you home to the states… "They're sending you home." No. Not this. How could they make Alfred leave? Arthur had only just got him back!

Alfred looked at a loss for words. "Apparently. But…"

Arthur shook his head, swallowed heavily, and slowly backed away. This was too much. He didn't want to hear it. He didn't want this again. Not again. "I have to leave."

Alfred stood up, pushing the chair away, and grasped pleadingly onto Arthur's hand. "Don't go, Arthur."

"It's late. I've stayed far too long." Arthur tried to pull away, but Alfred held insistently onto his hand.

"You just got here! What… when will you come back?" Alfred's eyes were wild and anxious.

"Soon." Arthur tried to smile and looked away from Alfred's distressed expression. He took a deep breath. "Very soon, I promise."

"Tomorrow," said Alfred firmly. He moved into Arthur's line of sight, fixed Arthur's eyes with his and repeated, almost frantically, "Tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes, Alfred. Tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow." Arthur finally felt Alfred's hand slip from his. He turned and walked towards the door, the whole time screaming at himself... Turn around, turn around, turn around… Why was he doing this? Why didn't he turn back? But Arthur could not stop himself as he walked out the door, through the empty corridor, and out the front door of the hospital into the cold street.

Next Chapter

Disclaimer: This story belongs to George deValier. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya. I own nothing.

#We’ll Meet Again chapter 9

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smallerinfinities · 6 years ago

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Hate You/Break You

First, I want to thank everyone who has been reading and sharing and liking my writing. I wish I could tell you how scared I was at first. I love all of you so much!

Second, I’m thinking about doing requests? Is that something y'all would be interested in?

a/n: Do not ask me how listening to Taylor Swift’s “Dress” turned into the hatefucc...because I have no idea. I got a little into foul-mouthed Shawn. There are some glimmers of Bad!Boy!Shawn here too...anyways, if you like this, check out my other two fics currently posted! (links below)

CANDID || THE WOODSHED

warning: 2.5k of hatefucking and some alcohol

“Gin and Ginger,” you heard him say from across the bar. You tilted your head in his direction, a smile forming on your lips when you see his eyes bright and cheeks rosy from the alcohol. Catching his eye, you walked over to him, leaning an elbow onto the bar next to him and resting your cheek in your palm.

“Well, well, well,” you said at a cool distance, “if it isn’t Mr. Shawn Mendes. Entertainer and philanthropist.” He raised an eyebrow at you and gave you that signature smile, twinged with too much animosity to be indifferent. “And who are you today?” he asked, “insipid tabloid reporter? Serious journalist? Raging bitch?”

“Touché, Mendes.”

You’d known Shawn for awhile. You actually used to be friends, before you were forced to write a profile on him for your less-than-reputable magazine. Your editor had basically told you that unless the article was juicy, you’d lose your job, and journalism jobs in New York City after being fired were slim pickins. So, you embellished the article with a few personal details that only you knew. And you didn’t tell Shawn because he would never have gone for it.

When the article came out and people read that the “nice Canadian boy” they thought they knew had some Bad Boy habits, well. It took his team some time to smooth things over. You personally thought you did him a favor. He didn’t have to censor himself as much anymore. A “fucking” in a song didn’t send the parents charging at the FCC anymore and he had become much more popular with an adult audience. It was a growing artists’ dream, but it took a little painful intervention aided by you and he still felt the sting of your betrayal. But, you weren’t the kind of girl who cried over spilt milk. You had moved on with other friends and a better job in the end.

You traced the rim of your highball glass and made the crystal sing. You knew it put his teeth on edge and eventually he stuck his hand out quickly and grabbed yours to still the motion.

A jolt went straight up your arm when he touched you. The electricity that surged between you was undeniable. His eyes darted to yours as you let out a soft gasp, quickly looking away looking confused. He brought your hand down to the bar, but couldn’t let it go. As if in wonder, he stared at your hands, silently drawing lazy lines with his fingertips. You were breathing heavy, caught up in the heady moment. You wanted to run away, but you never wanted him to stop touching you. Every stroke of his fingers felt like it was aimed between your legs.

It’s the alcohol, right?

And maybe it was, but that didn’t change the fact that he was still tracing the lines on your palm and your eyes were rolling back into your head, overwhelmed by the feeling of it.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he whispered low. Had he always been this gorgeous? His full, pink mouth was slightly open, tongue tracing his upper lip in concentration. His deep honey-colored eyes were transfixed by your hands moving together. His brown curls were messy, as usual, but one of them had come down to hang down on to his forehead. You reached out to put it back in place, then ran your fingers through his hair, causing his eyes to close and his head to fall back.

“Absolutely,” you breathed. “Thank, fuck,” he said, standing to his full height from the bar. You’d forgotten the way he towered over you. He guided you out of the bar, hand on the small of your back, never breaking the physical connection between the two of you. With his other hand, he pulled out his phone, placing a quick call to his manager, letting him know he didn’t want to be disturbed until tomorrow afternoon.

“Optimistic, aren’t we?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Please, I’m kicking you out of my bed once I get what I want,” he said, applying firm pressure to your ass, “I just want him to think I’m fucking someone who might stick around.”

Shawn hailed a cab, loving to travel low profile around the city. He gave the driver the directions to some ungodly expensive hotel and sat back, immediately attaching his hand to your skin. This time, he ran his fingers up and down the top of your thigh, conveniently accessible through the high slit in your dress. You opened your legs slightly for him, inching more of your thigh out of the dress. He made sure the driver wasn’t paying attention before sliding his hand toward the inside, inching up the sensitive skin toward the sweet heat radiating from the apex of your legs. You sighed, placing your forehead on his shoulder, begging for more and hating yourself for it.

“Shawn,” you whispered, “not in the back of the cab.” He smirked at you, pressing the back of his fingers against the soaked barrier between him and what he desperately wanted.

“Are you sure?” he asked with a cocky tilt to his mouth, “cause it seems like you want me pretty bad right here.” He pressed firmly against you and enjoyed watching your mouth fall open in a silent curse.

The cab stopped suddenly and you both jerked forward, startled. Shawn shoved some 20s through the slot in the partition and you both got out of the cab. He walked through the lobby with his hand on your ass, just to annoy you, and with an air of someone who had the right to be there even though everyone else was at least twice his age. You had to admit it was hot.

You both waited impatiently for the elevator. He was bouncing on his heels and you were fidgeting with your skirt. When the doors finally opened and closed with you inside, he had you pressed up against the back wall, lips firmly attached to your neck. He sucked at your pulse point and you reached up, attacking his curls with your fingers. Licking a line down the deep-V of your dress, he palmed your breast through the dress, causing you to moan embarrassingly loud.

“Yeah, let me hear how I make you feel,” he whispered against your skin. You grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look up at you, “fuck you, Mendes.”

The elevator pinged and opened into the penthouse of the hotel. You pushed him backwards, catching him off guard. He stumbled backward and hit the wall opposite the elevator doors. You tried to sneak past him, but he caught you around the middle, forcing you up against the wall.

He grabbed the neckline of your dress and ripped it open, freeing your breasts. The rest of the dress dropped to the floor, tattered and pooling at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your white lace panties and black six-inch heels.

“You weren’t going to wear that dress again anyway,” he said before licking each of your nipples and blowing on them. You hissed as you felt them harden when his cool breath hit them. He swirled each of them with his tongue before pausing to place an uncharacteristically gentle kiss in the center of your breastbone. He looked down, as if just noticing his recent handiwork.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, “when did you get so fucking gorgeous?” You snorted a very unladylike snort and shoved him backward, swinging your ass as you walked toward the modern living space. You ran your hand across the back of the spotless, white leather couch.

“Mendes, are you gonna fuck me or are you gonna talk about it?” His eyes darkened, honey shifting to pitch black, as he stalked closer and closer until his arms gripped the back of the couch on eityou side of you. You had to lean back to accommodate his height and look into his eyes.

“Oh, I’m going to fuck you, but you’re going to beg me first,” he challenged, pulling out his shirttail and starting on the buttons. You reached out and ripped the shirt open, mimicking the motions he used on your ruined dress.

“Two can play that game,” you said as you sank to your knees. You unbuttoned his pants, gasping at the hardness you found straining through his boxer briefs. You slowly pulled them down, shedding him of the rest of his clothes and leaving him completely naked, satisfied as you heard the soft slap of skin when his cock freely rested against his abdomen.

He was staring down at you intensely as you locked eyes with him and licked a wet stripe up the underside of his length. His mouth fell open and his eyelids fluttered, but he kept his eyes on you, watched you slowly take the head into your mouth. You took him in and hollowed your cheeks, making him shiver and run his fingers through your hair. When he hit the back of your throat, you held him there until he took control and backed himself out before pushing back in with a steady rhythm. He was fucking your mouth in earnest when you reached up and massaged his balls.

You could feel his muscles start to tighten with his impending release. You reached up and took his hands from your hair, releasing him from your mouth with a pop.

“Why did you stop?!” he asked, audibly frustrated. You rose up from the floor and gave him a defiant look, “you really thought I'd let you come before me?”

“Oh, that’s how it is, is it? You want to come?” His eyes sparkled with furious delight as he picked you up by the waist and set you atop the arm of the couch, spreading your legs wide. He gripped the scrap of lace barely substantial enough to be called panties and savagely ripped them from you.

“I hope you’re going to replace those. They were La Perla,” you said with annoyance in your voice. He kneeled on the shearling rug beneath your feet, face even with your dripping heat, and said, “whatever will make you stop talking.”

He flattened his tongue and licked a wide stripe up your folds, stopping to wrap his lips around your clit and suck deeply. You bowed back and grabbed at the head giving you overwhelming pleasure, finding purchase in his curls.

“Oh my God!” you screamed. He was lapping at your clit now, weaving perfect circles around the bundle of nerves and making your skin practically vibrate with sensitivity. You fought with his massive hands that prevented you from slamming your things together. He brought one hand up to tease at your entrance, sticking one finger in to the knuckle and then slowly moving it back out, over and over again until you thought it might drive you mad.

“Shawn, please!” you pleaded, letting his first name slip.

He stilled and lifted his head. “Please what, baby?” His face was flushed with the effort of pleasing you, grin widening by the second, “what do you want?”

“I want you to fuck me!” you roared, hiding your face with your arm in defeat, but widening your legs in invitation. He stood up in front of you, taking your hands and pulling you up to stand. He turned you around and bent you over the couch. He kicked your legs wide and brought his fingers to your entrance.

“So wet for my cock, you’re practically dripping.” He brought his fingers to his mouth and you watched him suck them clean over your shoulder, eliciting a gutteral moan from you. You felt the tip of his cock against you as he lined himself up. You braced yourself against the couch, knowing he wasn’t going to be slow and gentle.

He gripped your hips and roughly pushed inside you. He deliciously stretched your walls and you whispered a curse when he bottomed out all the way inside you, hip to hip. He stilled and you heard him take a deep breath, leaning over and pressing his forehead against your lower back.

He lowered his head and pressed a single kiss there, making you flush with the disarming tenderness of the gesture. It was almost as if, when you were this close, the animosity between the two of you faded into the ether.

The moment shattered when you felt his wide palm come down on your ass. You cried out as he pulled back, leaving you almost empty, before slamming back into you in a brutal tempo. He held on to one hip, sure to leave bruises, while he stretched to grab on to your shoulder for more leverage. You lifted yourself up off the couch and weaved your fingers between his, finding that insane connection you had at the bar again. He pounded into you, over and over, until his breathing became shallow and his rhythm fluctuated.

“Oh, fuck...you’re...so...tight,” he managed between thrusts. You could tell he was almost there, the spasms in his legs were about to take him, but you needed just a little extra push to jump with him over the edge. You took your hand still laced with his and brought it between you. He took the lead from there, rubbing tight circles with both your fingers around your clit. You couldn’t tell whose fingers were whose but it didn’t matter because your two bodies were indistinguishable, trading pleasure from one to the other with no boundary in between.

“Shawn,” you gasped, barely holding on to his exquisite but faltering rhythm, “come with me.” He pulled out once, then twice more, before you came crashing down in his arms. Your legs shook and your walls contracted around him, shouting his name between obscenities, causing him to quake above you. He let go, chanting your name as he held on to you. Your body milked his cock and you felt his hot spurts explode inside your body. He held a firm pressure on your clit while you both came down from your orgasms. The intensity of the intimacy felt blinding.

You fell to the rug, having lost control of the muscles in your legs, and whimpered at the loss of him from your body. He gingerly walked to the kitchen to wet a rag to clean you up with. He pressed it to you gently, but the cool temperature of the cloth on your hot skin pulled an involuntary hiss from you. He chuckled to himself as he finished, throwing the dirty rag aside and collecting you against his chest.

“What’s so funny, Mendes?” you asked, immediately annoyed with him, even though he’d just given you the most mind-blowing orgasm of your life.

He rested his chin on the top of your head, grinning from ear to ear, “I told you I’d make you beg me first.”

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes smut #smut writing #my writing #shawn x you #shawn x reader

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redlightreflux-blog · 6 years ago

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Resistance/protest imagery in NCT’s Limitless MV: graffiti, Muhammad Ali, surveillance, arrest, complicity [analysis pt 1]

Man, so I’ve long thought the Rough version gets misunderstood as a faux-street, too-ugly-to-watch piece of low-res crap without either meaning or storyline. but I believe the MV and lyrics are full of nods to revolution, protest, and “fighting the unjust status quo” – let’s get started.

1. street graffiti as protest speech

What does protest look like? The “civil,” squeaky-clean-legal type can be voting in elections, donating to political parties, and in some countries and U.S. states, mass-assembling in public for “peaceful” demonstrations. Except sometimes people feel disenfranchised by all institutional modes of political participation. Resistance can also be illegal: violence, riots, obstructing traffic, trespassing on private property...and vandalism.

The MV begins with a blurry close-up horizontal pan across a wall of graffiti, and the boys are shown with aerosol spray cans again and again until the end – shaking them, painting with them, chilling with them in the background.

Right away, we’re faced with the puzzle of whether NCT are swaggering revolutionaries...or just angsty, privileged youths defacing public space to “rebel” against their "boring” lives. On one hand, it’s implied by the shabby warehouse littered with cheap goods – pizza boxes, a jumbo cheetos jar, posters taped over un-wallpapered walls- that they’re poor, maybe college students. Yet we see expensive luxury goods that look completely out of place: a glittering chandelier, iMacs, Sony camcorders, guitars, pro lighting kits, Doyoung’s audio mixing panel, the iPhones that they get caught on.

Are NCT 127 a gang that splurges on luxuries? Privileged college students who transplanted dorm items into an abandoned warehouse to film, edit, and produce an indie film? Or maybe they’re a resistance movement using graffiti “writing” as the only alternative media in a censored press, as El Salvador’s FMLN guerilla rebels used graffiti for recruitment, criticism of regime violence against protesters, and commemoration of their fallen from the 70s through the 90s against their brutal (US-backed) right-wing government?

I found NCT’s recurring use of camcorders to be strongly in favor of the (I think) intriguing resistance movement theory...but we’ll get to that later.

Graffiti can be a tool to alleviate boredom or gain fame (or a design career lmao), it can "beautify” urban spaces, and it can serve as gangs’ territory markers. But political graffiti is often the voice of the oppressed in cities where systemic poverty, economic and racial segregation, unemployment, crime, and police brutality ravage communities. In 1989, New York City and Los Angeles each spent over $50 million on graffiti cleanup, and other countries like Peru, Argentina, and Spain are also covered in graffiti that reflect the civil unrest among marginalized indigenous, labor, and student groups.

So is NCT hijacking or co-opting the protest speech of the oppressed? Or are they representing the resistance against injustice in the Limitless MV? I believe they’re consciously paying homage to revolutionaries and activists, as I’ll try to show below, despite the cocky Supreme outfits and sleek, pricey consumer tech.

2. homage to Muhammad Ali: the Greatest (1942-2016)

Who’s that on Mark’s shirt? Called “the Greatest,” the legendary Muhammad Ali was ranked the greatest heavyweight boxer of all time by Ring Magazine and The Associated Press, and the greatest athlete of the 20th century by Sports Illustrated. Ali won gold at the 1960 Olympics at age 18, and is still the world’s only three-time lineal heavyweight champion. He was also a civil rights activist, anti-Vietnam War protester, and a prolific philanthropist.

Muhammad Ali is famous for his 1966 refusal to fight in the then-popular Vietnam War, which he was arrested, stripped of his boxing titles, and charged with draft evasion for – the Supreme Court overturned his conviction in 1971, even though my President hilariously offered to pardon him just days ago. Ali publicly stated:

Today, Ali has a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, two Academy Award-winning films based on his achievements, and has graced Time Magazine 5x, and Sports Illustrated 37 times. But his activism antagonized wealthy white America long before he became the mainstream icon that he is today.

Muhammad Ali’s protest to a then-popular war cost him 4 of his prime years as an athlete and landed him in jail, so it’s maybe not surprising to learn that the NSA’s “Minaret” program and FBI’s COINTELPRO operations had been illegally spying on him for years. In 1971, an (also illegal lmao) civilian raid on a Pennsylvania FBI office exposed over 1000 FBI records of surveillance, disinformation, and infiltration plans against civil rights and anti-war activists, and most damningly, of their 1969 assassination of 21-year-old Illinois Black Panthers chairman Fred Hampton in our boy Johnny’s hometown, Chicago.

I mention Fred Hampton and the FBI’s COINTELPRO (COunter INTELligence PROgram) because the whole Limitless MV is steeped in this...unsettling, sinister, you’re-under-surveillance discomfort that many civil rights activists felt in their resistance activities through at least the 50s and 60s. In many shots, NCT look like deer frozen in the headlights, caught off guard by the camera.

3. surveillance of activists & revolutionaries

Besides the general feeling of paranoia about being watched, there’s also shots that look straight-up taken without NCT’s consent or knowledge, as if by a secret camera, spy drone, or informant.

Which leads to the question: if NCT are just poseur revolutionaries partying with camcorders and Supreme streetwear in a warehouse, what are they so terrified of? Why do the members look scared out of their minds, as if for their lives? What danger are they constantly on the lookout for? what are they trying to hide?

I actually think this is the most important pattern to catch from the Limitless MV, even more important than the recurring imagery of resistance and protest that I’ve been writing a whole long-ass post about. If NCT fans remember nothing else about this MV, I hope they’ll remember the members’ reactions of fear, defensiveness, and hostility upon suddenly sensing the camera’s presence in each scene. Limitless is an MV with lots of “swagger” and lots of moments where NCT smiles knowingly for the camera, but there’s also these moments where they’re freaked out by the sudden presence of the camera.

Even if you don’t buy the “revolutionaries” theory, it’s still clear that there’s something profoundly, deeply wrong and disturbing going on in much of the VHS camcorder clips.

4. civil disobedience & riots –> arrests

Alright, so I’ve always thought the YouTube thumbnail for the Rough version looked like Taeil, Jaehyun, Doyoung, and Johnny getting arrested or “frisked” by police, and not just showing off their sculpted side profiles lmao. The image of an apprehended person being told to “put your hands up!” or “get on the ground!” or “put your hands up against the wall!” is burned into public consciousness.

Police want to check that the person is unarmed, or unable to reach for a weapon, hence the order to keep palms spread in plain sight.

As you can guess, unpopular peaceful protests are often labeled “riots” and result in arrests, like in the Sir William George “riot” of 1969 in our boy Mark’s own Canada, even if participants only started throwing objects to prevent their forcible removal by armed police upon their arrival.

Several other scenes also struck me as drawing heavily from the imagery of arrested protesters: while I can’t catch the hangul in the background signs (can you?), I get the vibes of police photo lineups and “mugshots” from this shot:

At least, I get that vibe from Doyoung and Taeil on the right. It’s made more discomforting because why the hell is Jaehyun upside down? he looks like he’s being...tortured? and why is Johnny holding him in that position? The boys look like they’re aware they’re being photographed, then catalogued.

In the final few shots, NCT are shown huddled together in poor lighting and throwing sparkler fireworks in arcs that remind me of “armed” protesters throwing rocks, bottles, gas canisters, or molotov cocktails at riot police.

The pose struck by someone throwing a long-range projectile looks the same no matter what the protest is against: a right-wing government, settler colonialism, locally harmful infrastructure like pipelines or military bases, strike-breaking, austerity, police violence, martial law, a verdict, state corruption, high-profile arrests and convictions, food shortages and unemployment under a left-wing government, an inauguration, etc. Anonymous graffiti artist Banksy even produced this meme-famous piece riffing on this iconic pose:

The images above are from Gaza, the Stonewall Inn in New York City, Paris, and Athens – and there’s plenty more to show from Baltimore, Standing Rock Indian Reservation, and outside of the U.S. too. But back to the act of NCT throwing ~lit~ fireworks into the air: how do we know if they’re punks who are celebrating or protesters who are rioting?

Since there’s never anyone else shown in the MV except NCT, we can’t tell for sure. But I’m inclined to take the maybe-protesting shots along with the maybe-arrested scene and the maybe-police-photo-lineup scene as belonging to one theme that also explains the graffiti, Muhammad Ali / boxing references, and the pervasive fear of being watched: the theme of resistance.

Also, intriguingly, remember how it was Taeil, Johnny, Doyoung, and Jaehyun who were maybe-arrested and maybe-photographed in a police lineup? Earlier, these guys jostle each others’ shoes in a circle, as if sealing a mutual pact with a secret handshake. Later, the same four are shown arrested.

By the way, there’s a couple of secret handshakes in this MV: gang signs? college boys antics? the identification codes of a legit resistance movement? no one knows.

If we believe Limitless to be the (sketchily told) story of NCT’s resistance, we might speculate that TI, JN, DY, and JH took mutually agreed-upon actions that resulted in their arrest and detention. Still, all of NCT lights their sparklers together, and all of NCT throws them into the air. What do you think?

It also makes you curious: what could they have done? Staged a sit-in? a walkout? a strike? a march? a riot? sprayed graffiti and got caught? or maybe, as I’ll half-seriously propose in Pt 2, they organized a forbidden film screening?

4. 🙈🙉🙊 & “monkey see, monkey do”

There’s a couple of old sayings about monkeys, human behavior, and morality. In the above shot, Yuta records as Mark arranges his body into the gold gorilla statue’s crouching position, and we’re shown this footage in the next scene.

That gold gorilla statue...can actually connect us to more meaningful interpretations of the MV. We see Mark bizarrely, weirdly, almost disturbingly, mimicking the position of the primate with great sensitivity to detail – why is it so unsettling? For me, it’s because he looks almost brainwashed or exploited while doing it. Mark is meticulously copying the example of an inanimate object, and he doesn’t laugh or show signs of having fun either. In fact, he looks almost anxious about messing up.

Later on, we see a highly symbolic shot of all nine boys placing their hands over their eyes, covering their sight as if to say, “see no evil.”

There’s no practical reason for all of NCT to cover their eyes indoors, so it’s not literal, it’s a metaphor. In Western culture, the act of deliberately impairing one’s sight evokes the idiom “to turn a blind eye.” That is, when a person knows evil is happening but doesn’t want to fix it, they can pretend the evil doesn’t exist by covering their eyes so they “see no evil.”

By the way, Kim Namjoon recently shared in a Billboard interview that BTS’s Fake Love choreo references the old “three wise monkeys” saying: see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

Here, Winwin covers Taeyong’s mouth while they both steadily meet the camera’s gaze. Their stillness and the camera’s smooth zoom in HD, in such contrast from previous low-res scenes that had almost spastically shaky camera motion, emphasizes this setup as another metaphor, instead of a literal action taken by characters within the story of Limitless.

NCT is trying to send us a message in this scene, it seems: that leader Taeyong, and thus maybe all of them, are being silenced for whatever reason and can’t speak the truth. They can look us dead in the eye, but there’s certain things they can’t say out loud –maybe because of the offscreen danger that keeps them living in fear.

I’ll add that I believe the “see no evil” part is meant to evoke the unsettling idea that people, especially youth, are ignoring the present-day evil or injustice in their own countries – the complicity of their willful blindness. The recurring lyrics “wake me u-up” and “open your eyes”( 눈을 떠 봐 오) in the chorus reinforce this association. Back to Mark mimicking the gold gorilla, the old pidgin saying “monkey see, monkey do” refers to the act of learning or mimicry without either knowledge or concern for the consequences.

Is this a critique of youth uncritically adopting the beliefs of their parents and mainstream society without thinking about the systemic injustices they condone and perpetuate? I think the answer depends on the viewer’s interest in politics and comfort with interpreting works that haven’t been explicitly explained by a creator lmao.

conclusion & lyrics.

I think I’ll stop Part 1 here lolol, since there’s still so, so much left. The plan is for Part 2 to introduce the origins of Third World Cinema and the Korean Independent Filmmakers Association (KIFA) as possible influences but, most definitely, amplifiers for the images of resistance used in the MV. Part 2 will address the...uh, limitless cinematic storytelling styles used in the Rough version, and the effects of editing them together into one MV to tell one story.

I also super-duper recommend @seasquared‘s “Direct Address” essay for a more complete idea of the viewer’s gaze as intruder into NCT’s world – though I sort of interpret the boys’ unpreparedness for the camera’s presence as more of a metaphor for resistance movements’ existential paranoia at being “caught” by the establishment than as a critique of fans’ objectification of idols:

Oh baby it’s you It’s only the beginning, the limitless me || 이제 시작이야 무한의 나 From the start of the East to the end of the West || 동의 처음과 서의 끝 쪽부터 The light gets stronger || 빛은 암흑 속 퍼질 As it spreads through the darkness || 수록 강해져 가 Open your eyes || 눈을 떠 봐 오 My song is getting louder || 점점 커져가 나의 노래가 Did you see? That hot and explosive world? || 봤니 뜨겁고 터질듯한 세계 Can you hear? We have become one || 들리니 우리는 하나가 돼 Baby I don’t want nobody but you

[trans from colorcodedlyrics.com]

If we choose to interpret “the light” as a revolutionary movement, which my eagerly politics-following ass thinks is a meaningful exercise, the lyrics and MV might suddenly start to paint a story of NCT as underground revolutionaries who meet and fall in love with a new friend, eventually begging the friend to join them in the resistance.

I absolutely love it – Limitless then simultaneously becomes a greasy recruitment message (”baby I don’t want nobody but you 😘”) and a desperate plea for a fellow citizen to join the cause against oppression. (”open your eyes”) But it’s also a passionate love song, and I’m a total hoe for the scorchingly intimate hunger the lyrics convey. The obvious “thirsty, thirsty, f-or love” bit aside, the speaker in the lyrics is urgently seeking intimacy: both a personal connection, and a sense of belonging within something greater than himself.

I need a connection, I want it like crazy I need you I need something to make us feel each other completely I need you

Help me so I can do well Sometimes, I get lost Eventually, we are all connected You know this Like finding a big ocean At the end of a desert Your existence is limitless

Change the heavy world Look how free we are, so free Inside, only you are allowed The one to take my heart, that is you

I think it’s interesting to ask: is Limitless more of a love song that borrows its ferocity from the metaphor of revolution, or a revolutionary manifesto that amplifies its fervor with the universal passion and frustration of youth?

I think it’s similar to asking if the MV is more of an “aesthetics” moodfilm that boosts its own glamor by appropriating the imagery of resistance movements (graffiti writers), activists (Muhammad Ali), and hardships (arrest)...or if the MV is itself a story of resistance against oppression, and only dons the gloss of expensive streetwear to add a spirit of youthful cockiness and anti-establishment swagger to the cause.

But in reality, aren’t things more complex than that? The spirit of any revolution and the passions and frustrations of its youth have always fed and strengthened each other, I think. It feels only honest and hard-hitting that a song about youth-led revolution would also be a hungry, impatient love song.

I hope you enjoyed reading this – I’ll die of joy if you decide you want to comment, discuss, message, or interact with me or other fans in whatever way about any of this!

~ masterlist link ~

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andrewmoocow · 7 years ago

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Clod on the Run chapter 1: Mrs. Blue Di (originally posted on May 5, 2017)

“So you have some kind of history with these rocks?”

A group of five individuals were being escorted through a hallway by two hulking purple females. The first of these was a human man dressed like he's a space cowboy. This was Peter Quill aka Star-Lord. Along with him was a green-skinned woman named Gamora, the most dangerous woman in the galaxy, another male who's body was covered in tattoos called Drax the Destroyer, the raccoon-like mercenary Rocket and his giant tree accomplice Groot. Together, they formed the Guardians of the Galaxy. Their spaceship the Milano had crash-landed on a space station when they were found by the guards.

“Well you see,” Rocket said sweating. “The Collector wanted me to find a couple of Rose Quartz gems for his museum so I took some from this spaceport which these people call a human zoo.”

Drax, not understanding some things as always, was confused. “Didn't Peter say that zoos are where humans look at animals, not BE animals?” he asked. “No no no Drax, yeh got it all along.” The furry bounty hunter corrected. “This zoo is where humans are kept to 'preserve the legacy of Earth' or some krutacking garbage like that.”

As the five were led to a door guarded by a blue woman wearing white boots and her hair in buns, Groot looked over his buddy. “I am Groot?” he asked. “What, I'm not sweating in fear guys!” Rocket claimed, trying to lie about the situation. “It's just that these Gems were after my furry little head and want nothing more than the extermination of all organic life forms!” The furball got more sweaty as he fell to the floor. “Groot's right Rocket, you seem pretty afraid of them.” Gamora said, kneeling down to Rocket's eye level. “I am Groot.” the tree agreed.

“Hey guys, is it me or does Smurfette here look like that lady from The Music Man?” Star-Lord asked pointing to the guard. “Let me see, what was her name again?” he started wondering to himself, pacing around in a circle. The guard started getting tired of the man's talking. “Oh I know now, Marian the Librarian!” he finally realized but just then, he was grabbed by the two purple giants. “I've had enough of this one. Amethysts, take him to the human zoo!” the blue Gem finally said. “Yes Holly Blue Agate!” the Amethysts replied saluting her.

“Hold it right there Holly!” Rocket stated, getting up and dusting himself off. “The human's with us.” The Amethysts put Peter down as Holly Blue Agate glared at Rocket. “Oh goody, you again.” she grumbled. “Right this way now.” As she took over leading the Guardians, she turned towards the Amethysts and said “Now get back to your post.”

The Guardians were led into a large pink room by Holly Blue Agate filled with Rose Quartz gems in bubbles. At the center of the room was a large blue figure with white hair and a blue cloak examining the bubbles. By the giant's side was a petite lass with a pointy nose and blue hair covering her eye. “Who's the titan there?” Drax asked pointing to the giant woman “That's Blue Diamond, pretty much the only one of these weirdos that I can respect because she doesn't want me dead.” Rocket answered. “And the little one is her Pearl.” he added.

“My Diamond, we have visitors.” Holly Blue Agate addressed her superior. “Including that mangy cur.” Rocket was angered by her snide comment and pointed a blaster at her. “YOU TAKE THAT BACK!” Just as he was about to shoot, Blue Diamond stopped him. “Please put your weapon down Rocket.” she quietly ordered. The raccoon could only groan as he put it away.

“So, you must be Blue Diamond.” Peter said trying to look tough. “Yes, and you are human?” she asked. “My name,” the human replied. “Is Star-Lord.” Complete silence filled the room before Blue Pearl broke it. “Who?”

Star-Lord got exasperated about how there are still people who don't know his name. “Star-Lord man! Legendary outlaw, leader of a lovable group of misfits?” He face-palmed as another figure entered the room. She looked a lot like Blue Diamond, except she was yellow, had more angular eyes and hair points. Like her fellow diamond, she also had a Pearl.

“I see that dreadful Rocket and his guardians have come to visit.” The yellow one said with a bit of a sarcastic tone in her voice. “Aw come on, I'm the leader here!” Star-Lord shouted. “And it seems the human zoo forgot one.” her Pearl added with a smug grin. “That one is Yellow Diamond, pretty much the second in command of the Great Diamond Authority.” Rocket said to Gamora pointing to Yellow Diamond.

“So if there are three Diamonds leading the Gems and the symbol has four, what happened to the fourth one?” The green warrior asked. “It's a long story, but let's say she's the reason all these bubbles are here.”

“So anyway,” Yellow Diamond began as she set her Pearl down. “We've heard that you've been offering your services for good prices lately.” Rocket's ears began to perk up. “Why yes we have!” he said excitedly. If there's anything Rocket loved as much as Groot, weapons and flying, it was money. “So what'll it be?” Peter asked. “Search and rescue, protect something precious to your people?” Rocket started to rub his hands greedily as Groot put on a worried expression.

“How about capture?” Yellow Diamond said. “Who would you want us to capture?” Drax asked. “Pearl,” Yellow Diamond ordered. “Bring up the wanted list.”

“Yes my Diamond.” Yellow Pearl immediately obliged as she brought up a hologram of various wanted criminals and started scrolling through them. Among them were a human-like Gem about Drax's height with thick pink hair & a white dress with a star-shaped hole exposing her gem, a smaller Gem with green skin, triangular hair & a green gem on her forehead and an angry Rocket with his middle finger censored.

“Ah, that's the one.” Yellow Pearl finally said. She picked out the second poster and handed it to Rocket. “Peridot Facet-2F5L Cut 5XG.” he read aloud. “Why do you want us to capture this one” Drax asked looking over the critter's shoulder. “It is too small and innocent to be a threat.”

“Why it's simple really.” Yellow Diamond said, getting angrier as she spoke. “She flat out betrayed me, refused to give me information on the Cluster AND CALLED ME A CLOD!!!” All the Guardians quivered in fear of the yellow giant until her blue comrade was able to calm her down.”Temper Yellow, temper.” she said as she put her hands on her sister's shoulders. Yellow was able to calm down before turning to the Guardians. “So how many units are we talkin' here?” Rocket asked handing the hologram back to Yellow Pearl. “1,969, 2,008?”

“How about 5,000?” Yellow Diamond said. Rocket was immediately awestruck by the price. “It's a deal!” he exclaimed. “C'mon gang, we gotta midget to catch!” As he marched towards the door, he noticed someone was missing. “Hey anyone seen Quill?” The other Guardians pointed towards their leader dancing to music on his Walkman with Blue Pearl watching.

“So what did you say this music was called?” The Gem asked. “It's called I Want You Back by the Jackson 5.” Peter answered. “Want a listen?” Just then, Rocket started tugging his leg like a little child. “C'mon Pete, we got a midget to catch. The raccoon said. “Well looks like we gotta go.” Peter said to Blue Pearl as he turned towards the two Diamonds. “Thanks for having us over girls!”

“Likewise human.” Yellow Diamond groaned. “And by the way, you'll find your vessel repaired.” Holly Blue Agate began to lead the Guardians back to the port when Star-Lord turned towards Blue Pearl and said “Call me.”

“Alright gang. Riches beyond our wildest dreams here we come!” Rocket shouted as they boarded the Milano. As estatic as he was, the rest of the team were a bit unsure. “I don't know Rocket.” Gamora said. “You told us about how the Diamonds can make enemies rather quickly and it clearly shows when Yellow Diamond got angry talking about that Peridot.” Groot agreed with her. “I am Groot.”

“So what if we might die if we fail? At least we're still going on another crazy adventure!” Rocket exclaimed. “Okay, I've been looking through the information Holly Blue Agate gave us and it said our target is currently on Earth.” Star-Lord stated. “A new job where we go back to my old stomping grounds? Neat!”

“Since when was stomping on the ground involved?” Drax asked. “It's a way of saying familiar territory Drax.” the human corrected. “Now then, Earth here we come!” And so, the Guardians blasted off towards Earth where their reward would be waiting.

#guardians of the galaxy #steven universe #fanfiction #crossover #clod on the run #star-lord #gamora #drax the destroyer #rocket raccoon #groot #yellow diamond #blue diamond #yellow pearl #blue pearl #holly blue agate

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halothenthehorns · 5 years ago

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DIAGON ALLEY

"Harry, I don't know what all you remember so far-" Remus began.

"Basically what you've read is all." Harry said sadly, eyeing Remus curiously. He looked like he was about to vomit, but at his words the man relaxed slightly.

"Well the nicknames and the sneaking off at school, it relates to me." He said slowly watching him very carefully.

"And the werewolf thing?" Harry interrupted again.

"Wha-how," he began.

"You mentioned it a little earlier," Harry said, looking about the room to the others who all looked just as stunned. "I didn't think much of it at the time. Why would I?"

Remus blinked spastically for several moments before shaking his head and finally letting out a weak chuckle and saying, "Yes well, I guess I never had bothered to censor myself around my friends."

Harry grinned at him and then prompted, "So the nicknames? What does that have to do with sneaking off?"

"How about this," Lily said. "It really is a rather long story. How about we read two more chapters then stop for the night?" She looked around at all of the boys in the room in a rather maternal way. "It's been a long, exhausting day for all of us. Hopefully by then we'll be at a good stopping place. We can get some rest, and then before we continue Remus can tell you the whole story."

Harry nodded, accepting this rather glumly as yet another feeling swept through him. He felt he knew this story, had heard it once before. But like everything else when he tried to dig for the memory a sharp pain was all he got.

The people on the couch were suddenly startled as Sirius called from the fireplace, "Heads up you two." He said as he chucked the books their way.

Harry instinctively ducked, while James reacted by catching it, then snapped. "What the bloody hell was that for?"

"Well it's one of you two's turn," Sirius said brightly. "I figured who ever got hold of it would have to read next."

"That's absurd," Lily glared at him. "What if you'd hit one of us?"

"Come on Lily," Sirius sighed, "I was a beater, I do have better aim than that."

"It's my turn anyways you nitwit," Remus rolled his eyes.

"It's fine," James chuckled, flipping to the correct chapter, "I've already got it, so I'll read."

When Harry woke the next morning, he tried to convince himself he'd dreamed the whole event last night.

"Harry, really?" Remus chuckled, "I don't think anyone has that kind of imagination."

"I once had a dream that I was abducted by mermaids," Lily told them with a shrug. "Surely you've had strange dreams."

"What's this have to do with mermaids?" Sirius frowned. "I think we're getting just a bit off topic huh?" Then he kept going to ignore the glare.

He heard a tapping noise, and was convinced that it was his Aunt knocking on his cupboard. He closed his eyes and tried to linger on his dream.

"Who can blame you," James agreed. "I'd dream about escaping that place as well."

He hears the tapping noise again and sighs then decides to sit up only to have Hagrid's jacket fall off of him. Hagrid was still asleep on the sofa, and the noise was coming from an owl at the window, tapping its talons to come in with a newspaper in its beak.

"The best morning of my life really," Harry smiled at now having such a good memory to look on.

The others all grimaced slightly at that, finding this more than depressing. Harry on the other hand seemed in such a good mood that none of them wished to ruin it.

Harry got happily to his feet, giddier than he'd ever been in his life as he opened the window and the owl swooped in to drop the newspaper on Hagrid. Then began attacking Hagrid's abandoned jacket. Harry tried to shoo the bird away, but it merely snapped at him.

Sirius laughed at that, "I remember one time I tried to get away with not paying the owl, bloody thing left scratches on my arms for weeks."

"Why would you do that?" Lily asked, genuinely curious.

"Wanted to see what would happen," he answered honestly.

"Of course you did!" Remus said to the ceiling, shaking his head in disbelief.

Harry asked Hagrid, who was still half asleep, what he should do? Hagrid grunted that he wanted to be paid, so Harry began to look in his pockets.

"That is the opposite of descriptive." Lily said, thinking about all the things Hagrid had already pulled out of those pockets.

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets, but after sifting through several of them he comes across a handful of strange-looking coins.

"Strange looking?" James asked.

"I've shown you muggle money James," Lily reminded him. "Does it look anything like wizard money?"

"Fair enough," James sighed.

Hagrid tells Harry to give the owl five Knuts, but Harry was confused and asked what Knuts were?

All four again flinched, hating Harry's ignorance and seeing it almost as a sign of their failure. They knew the longer this went on, the worse this feeling would get.

Hagrid told him the little bronze ones and Harry gave the owl the due money. The owl flew away as Hagrid stretches and sits up from the couch.

Sirius snorted, "If he was just going to get up why did he make Harry do that?"

"To teach him I suppose," Remus supplied.

"Right," James drew out the word in disbelief.

Hagrid told Harry that they should head off to London soon. Harry was now looking at the coins and had just thought of something that would put a real damper on their day.

"Right," James said, nodding sadly. "He won't know about the vault then?"

"Vault?" Harry asked curiously.

Both Lily and Remus opened their mouths but Sirius butted in first, "I am positive Hagrid is about to explain." James read ahead a bit and then agreed, so read out loud.

Harry reminded Hagrid that Vernon won't pay for him to go to this school and Hagrid told him his parents left money for him. Harry asked about their house being destroyed.

"Why would you think that?" Remus asked. "Even muggles don't keep money in their house."

Harry thought back and answered, "Well Hagrid had that money on him. I suppose I was thinking more about how wizards had a way to keep bunches of money on them."

Sirius chuckled and said, "Ah, ignorance really is bliss eh?"

Frowning severely at him, Lily looked about to tell Sirius off for this, but James was already reading again.

Hagrid told him that wizards have their own bank called Gringotts, that was run by

goblins, where they stored their money. Hagrid boasts slightly saying that the only place safer to store something then Gringotts was Hogwarts. He remembered he has to visit Gringotts today anyway as a favor to Dumbledore, because Dumbledore knows he can trust him.

"Knows you can protect things," Sirius disagreed.

"Come now Sirius," Remus frowned at him. "Hagrid has proved to be very trustworthy."

"Oh I'm not disagreeing with that," Sirius quickly explained. "I'm just saying Hagrid is the

opposite of subtle. If Dumbledore needed something done, secretly important I mean-"

"So not the point right now," Lily interrupted the two.

The two finished getting ready and headed outside. Harry looked around and did not see another boat so he had to ask how Hagrid got there . Hagrid simply says 'flew.'

"I guess he couldn't apparate." Remus said thoughtfully, "Without a proper wand and all."

"Don't think any kind of model broom would hold him." James said, running his hand through his hair in thought.

"Thestrals!" Lily and Sirius said at the same time.

"What?" The other three all said at the same time.

Sirius was grinning wickedly at Lily while saying, "Remus, remember our care of Magical

creatures class, Professor Kettleburn mentioned the Thestrals that roam the grounds. I do believe he mentioned something about them having been raised by Hagrid."

"Oh that's right," Remus agreed, smiling now. "Though I find it hard to believe that you

remembered that and I didn't."

"Always liked magical creatures," Sirius said primly, while eyeing Remus with a devilish smirk.

Lily said loudly to Harry, before a familiar round could start. "Thestrals are magical creatures that can carry immensely heavy loads. It's not out of the realm that Hagrid could have used one to get to Harry, and then sent it back to the castle."

"But how are they going to get off the rock?" James asked.

"Well you have the book," Remus said, still eyeing Sirius as if he was about to chuck something at him, though with the baby still in his arms his options were limited, "you tell us."

Harry repeated 'flew' back in shock, but Hagrid didn't elaborate and instead said that

they'll have to borrow the Dursleys boat for now, he's not supposed to use magic anyway.

"Bummer," Sirius sighed.

As they settled in the boat, Harry was watching Hagrid while trying to imagine him flying.

Lily chuckled and agreed, "Picturing Hagrid flapping his arms about, yeah I can't imagine that much either."

Once they are both in, Hagrid gave Harry another sideways look and mentions how much of a shame it would be to row, so perhaps if he did a bit more magic Harry wouldn't mention it?

Now all five of them were chuckling, none of them blaming Hagrid one bit. One of the drawbacks to constantly having magic was a bit of an impatient side.

Harry agreed at once and Hagrid pulled out his pink umbrella again and taps the edge of the boat. Now out on the water, Harry asked why Gringotts is so safe. Hagrid explained that there are all sorts of spells guarding it, and rumor has it that there were dragons in the lower levels.

Lily blinked several times in shock, "I've never heard that."

"It's true," Sirius and Harry said at once, and then gave each other startled looks.

"How would you know?" James asked him curiously, "my vault isn't that far down."

,"I, err-" Harry muttered rubbing his temple again in frustration. He'd had only a brief moment of being sure that was right, now it was gone as quick as it had come. "I've no idea," he finally admitted in frustration.

Still frowning in concern at Harry, Sirius answered, "Well my cousin, Bellatrix, her vault is that far down. We don't get on much anymore, but when I was a lot younger I went with her and her family to Diagon Alley, we had to ride down there. Poor beasts, they weren't any happier to be down there then I was."

"You mean to tell me, there are dragons underneath Diagon Alley?" Lily yelped, looking

suddenly fearful. "How on earth are they kept down there?" She frowned in concern.

Sirius frowned as he thought back, "Um, they were chained up, but they used these things to keep them back. Honestly I stayed in the cart, so I can't give too much detail."

"Is that even legal?" Lily demanded, now frowning in anger.

"How should I know?" Sirius threw his hands up in surrender, while all eyes turned to Remus.

Remus frowned while rubbing his jaw before answering thoughtfully. "If the Goblins purchased the dragon legally, then by their right they can technically do whatever they wish to it, so long as it's being fed properly. The Ministry doesn't have much control, or say what Goblins do."

They were all frowning by the end of this, while Lily huffed, "That still doesn't make it right."

James reached over and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder before saying, "Well, you are in the Magical Law division, I have high expectations you'll have something to say about this then."

Lily nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly, before James went on.

While Harry sat and thought about it , Hagrid flipped open his newspaper and began browsing through it . Harry was itching to ask more questions, but experience from Vernon had taught him to never interrupt someone reading the paper.

James turned to Harry and said with the sternest face any of them had ever seen, "Rule number one for the rest of your life, forget anything and everything those Dursley's ever taught you."

Harry gave him a slight nod, not bothering to correct him that this rule was already a moot point no matter how you looked at it.

When Hagrid huffed about something the Ministry of Magic was messing up , Harry couldn't help the next question that burst out of him about there being a Ministry of Magic.

"If you can call it that," Sirius said in disgust.

"You didn't ask about that now?" Remus asked Harry.

"Honestly, I've just learned to let you guys talk, and pick it up as I go along," Harry laughed.

Lily shook her head and said, "Remember what your father just said? If you have a question, please speak up."

Harry looked around at all of them, before nodding sagely, promising to remember that. "Guess I shouldn't bother asking what the ministry is again though?" He asked, as he looked at the book,

"Since Hagrid's most likely fixing to say." James nodded and decided to keep going.

Hagrid says of course there is, and that they wanted Dumbledore himself as Minister, but he turned the job down, and it turned to a man named Cornelius Fudge.

"Really," all four adults said in genuine surprise.

"Here I thought Crouch was a shoe in," Sirius said in surprise.

"Well I'm happy anyways," Lily said brightly, "that he didn't. I find his methods, almost

medieval."

"Oh come now Lily," James said, frowning at her, "he's strict, and he feels that's the only way to get through and show people there's still a ministry at all." Lily shrugged, she wasn't taking it back.

Despite what Harry had just promised, he smothered the question of who Crouch was, as he had an inkling he should know that name himself, but he still didn't feel up to asking them for such details.

Harry asks what a Ministry of Magic did and Hagrid said their main job was to make sure Muggles didn't find out about the magical world. When Harry asked why, Hagrid explains that everyone would want a magical solution to their problems, and it would be best for Muggles to just leave them alone. Then the boat bumped against the shore and they climbed out and began heading into town.

James suddenly let out a rather vindictive snort, causing Lily to look at him in concern and ask, "What on earth was that for?"

Answering with glee, but without looking up he responded, "I would like to briefly point out that it in no place does it say that the boat made its way back to that rock."

While Lily had a sneaking suspicion that Hagrid must have put a charm on the boat for it to return to the island, which Harry may not have noticed it floating back out. After a moment the others all burst into dark laughter as well, but James quickly decided to press on, knowing his luck wasn't so good and that those Dursley's would be trapped there forever.

Passerby's stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the town to a train station.

"Well that wasn't much of an explanation," Remus pointed out when it became clear that Hagrid wasn't going to continue.

"It's fine for now," Harry said quickly, simply wanting his father to keep going. He felt no real feelings towards any ministry, so he didn't find it too important to learn about right this moment.

Harry couldn't blame them since Hagrid was so huge he stood out all on his own, plus he kept on pointing at ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly how odd they were. Harry delayed him by asking if he had really meant what he said about there being dragons in Gringotts. Hagrid admits it is only a rumor and then admitted his wants of a dragon of his own.

"He'd like one?" They said in shock.

Harry repeated back that Hagrid would really like a dragon and Hagrid said he's always wanted one since he was a kid.

"Why?" Lily gaped, "They're completely unmanageable."

Remus simply shrugged, finding it as odd as everyone else.

Then they reached the train station and walkway where people continued to stare at Hagrid as he pulled out knitting supplies.

"Suppose that would be a sight," Lily said, smiling to herself at the image.

Hagrid asked Harry if he's still had his list and to take a look at all of his supplies, so Harry looks at the second page which consists of all sorts of textbooks about potions and charms.

"You can always tell a lot about the teachers you're going to have by the books," Sirius said sadly.

"And judging by the few new ones, Harry should have a few interesting teachers," Remus agreed.

"We know that there's going to be a new Defense teacher," Lily agreed thoughtfully. "Do you think any of the other teachers would have changed?"

"Won't know until he gets there then," James pointed out.

Requiring things such as a cauldron, dragon hide gloves, and a wand. Then ending with a reminder that you can only bring one of three pets, an owl, a cat, or a toad.

"Remember Barney, he brought his newt all seven years, and no one said a word," Sirius laughed.

"You would think they would enforce that pet policy a bit more," Remus agreed.

There is also a note of reminder that first years are not allowed their own broomsticks.

"Which is a horrid rule," James grumbled, "first years should be allowed to join the Quidditch team if they choose."

"They're supposed to be focusing on their school work," Lily disagreed.

"You could apply that to all seven years then," Sirius said, siding with James on that.

"What's Quidditch?" Harry butted in, before the argument continued further.

James and Sirius looked faint all of a sudden, never having thought such words could come from any person's mouth, let alone their Marauder Junior. Before either boy could jump and go into absurd detail Remus gave Harry a quick general idea of it. When he was done Lily smiled at him and said, "Thank you Remus. If we'd let these two answer, we'd be here for hours."

"But he didn't even mention," James began at once, but Lily cut him off with a firm glare and said, "you can go on all you like later dear, for now how about we keep going on this." Sirius and James shared exasperated looks, but James decided to agree, for now.

Harry asked if they could really buy all of this in London and Hagrid mysteriously says 'if you know where to go.' They exit the train and go out onto an ordinary street, and Harry begins to wonder if there really was wizard money hidden beneath the street.

"It is quite a lot to take in," Lily agreed, remembering back to her first time, wishing with all she had she'd been the one with Harry at this moment.

Could this all be one big joke cooked up by the Dursleys?

All three boys gave derisive snorts at that, while Sirius growled, "Please, those three wouldn't know a joke if it bit them in the-"

"Language," Lily reprimanded at once.

"Oh please Lily," James sighed, "Sirius has been talking like that this whole time."

Lily frowned severely at them both before reminding them, "There is still a child in the room, and I don't want him to be growing up around that kind of talk. Now I can't stop you every time, but I will for the minor things." Huffing and grumbling, both boys agreed, it wasn't worth the argument right now.

Yet for some reason he couldn't explain to himself, Harry trusted Hagrid.

"Maybe it's because Hagrid is a trustworthy person," Remus said frowning, "and you're not used to being around that kind."

Harry gave him a sad smile, not really wanting to agree, but not disagreeing either before pointing out, "I am now."

Feeling a bit warmed, James continued.

When they do stop, it's in front of a grungy little place called the Leaky Cauldron. Harry looked around and saw that no one else seemed to notice this place, their eyes skipping from one shop to the next without even glancing at it.

"They can't," Lily explained for him, "it's magically protected that way."

For a famous place, it was very dark and shabby.

"That's part of its charm though," Sirius laughed, having gotten drunk a fair few times in that place.

They entered and found it with only a few occupants, noting the bartender in particular who had a walnut shaped head.

"I just love the way you describe people," James laughed, never having thought of Tom that way.

Hagrid calls out a greeting to him, calling him Tom, but when he asks if Hagrid will be staying for a drink, Hagrid says he can't because he's escorting Harry Potter today. This draws the attention of every person in there.

All four adults frowned at this, having recognized in the first chapter that this was the reason that Harry had been kept away from most magical folk, but still not liking this attitude much.

Then suddenly they were all lined up in front of him, shaking his hand.

"Jeez, pushy much," Sirius said frowning; suddenly wishing he was there to keep them all back.

"They could show a bit more decorum," Lily agreed, hoping Hagrid would do something about this soon.

Remus and James were frowning and shaking their heads, remembering all over again just what exactly Harry was now famous for, and not liking the reminder. Harry could sense how upset this was making them, and while he didn't like it anymore than they did, he did venture to ask one thing, "How did they even recognize me? Hagrid I'll give, Dumbledore surely was the one to tell him, but them?"

"Most likely they had a picture of you," Lily sighed, "if your name is so famous then I'd bet there would be pictures of at least James and I floating around, and you do resemble your father enough it's not hard to miss." This only seemed to depress the lot of them all the more, so Harry didn't press for more details, admitting they wouldn't know anyways.

They were all introducing themselves to Harry, and he even recognizes a man who introduces himself as Dedalus Diggle, who Harry had once seen in the street and had bowed to him.

"Well we were right before," Sirius said, taking a brave stab at their normal conversation again. "The members of the Order are still hanging around him a bit."

"Fat lot of good it did," James grumbled, having hoped that all those dark feelings from being around the Dursley's wouldn't have been brought up again, at least this soon.

"It does make me at least thankful that it was an Order member, and not someone else," Remus scowled, still thinking any of Voldemort's supporters were likely to want revenge on Harry and his tucked away life with the Muggles held the smallest glimmer of good.

One woman kept coming back to shake his hand again and again.

"Really now," Lily huffed, "this is getting ridiculous."

Another stand out comes edging up, and Hagrid introduces him as Professor Quirrell, a teacher at Hogwarts.

"Oh," they all brightened at this change, "What do you suppose he teaches?" Lily asked eagerly.

"Won't find out till I read now will I?" James asked cheekily, while Lily reached around and smacked him lightly. Harry wasn't listening; he was blinking in surprise as he realized that name should mean something to him, something he definitely didn't like. Perhaps he was just a really bad teacher?

Quirrell stutters out a greeting.

"Is he going to stammer like that the whole time?" Sirius asked with a frown, "because it will get quite annoying."

"You're quite annoying, and we put up with you," Lily reprimanded.

Harry politely asked what class he teaches, and Quirrell stutters out Defense Against the Dark Arts, then shudders at the idea of his own subject.

"Not the best teacher for the subject then," Remus said sadly.

"Remember Kimbell? That woman couldn't read a book right side up properly, can't think of many teachers worse than her," Sirius laughed.

Then he gives a nervous laugh and stutters out that he had to go pick up a book on vampires, clearly going paler at the thought of that.

"Dumbledore must be really desperate by this point," James sighed.

"I don't get it?" Harry finally asked, there was clearly something going on here

"Oh," Remus said in surprise, "yes well, there's a rumor that the Defense Against the Dark Art's teaching post is cursed."

"Slytherin supposedly cursed the position centuries ago," James added on.

"And as no teacher ever held the job for longer than a year, for various reasons, most of us are inclined to agree," Remus finished.

Finally Hagrid waved everyone away who was still trying to talk to Harry.

"About time," they all huffed.

Hagrid bustled Harry out the back door into an alleyway. Hagrid grinned at the look on Harry's face and reminded him that he's famous, and made a light joke that even Quirrell was trembling to see him, then he corrected himself and said he was always like that.

Harry asked why he was always that nervous, and Hagrid says that he went out on a sabbatical a year ago, got into some trouble with vampires and hags, and didn't come back the same.

Remus nodded sadly, "I suppose if you don't know how to handle those instances they could have an effect on you."

"But he's the DA teacher," Sirius said in exasperation, "he should be exactly the one to handle those things." The other three all agreed, and guessed that this wasn't going to be a very good start to Harry's magical education in that class.

Harry's head was beginning to swim with too much information.

"You're feeling alright now though?" Lily asked quickly in concern.

Harry however was leaning comfortably back against the couch, and nodded quickly to her, "I can't explain it, but this all seems perfectly normal to me now. New still yes, but ordinary."

"And you'll tell us if you do feel overwhelmed?" James reminded, feeling almost overly

concerned.

Harry promised that he would.

Hagrid pulled out his umbrella again and opened the door to get into Diagon Alley. Once inside, Hagrid started pointing out all sorts of shops, and Harry wished he had a dozen more eyes to look around with.

"I don't blame you," Lily laughed, remembering her first time in, "I couldn't stay in one spot."

"Bet your first stop was the apothecary," Sirius teased. Lily's blush was enough of an answer for them.

As they passed people on the street Harry heard scraps of passing conversations, including one woman complaining that the price of Dragon liver had gone up to sixteen Sickles an ounce.

James let out a throaty whistle, "boy prices sure went up in the passing time."

"Unavoidable that," Remus laughed.

They passed a few more shops that caught Harry's eye, including one that had a broomstick in the window.

"The best shop in the Alley," Sirius agreed.

The two boys gawking in front of the store were going on about a new model that had come out called a Nimbus Two Thousand.

"Nice," both boys chanted at once. "Oh I wish we could see it," Sirius added on.

"Probably not anytime soon," Remus gently reminded.

They made their way to Gringotts, and on the front doors was an engraved plaque that read:

Lily actually said along with James.

Insert Gringotts Plaque

All the others looked at Lily in shock; James was finally able to ask, "How on earth did you

memorize that?"

"I love poems of all kinds," Lily told him, "I memorized that the first time I saw it."

"Nutter, honestly," Sirius laughed, but quickly stopped when Lily gave him a sharp glare.

They made their way to a free goblin and requested to go to Harry's vault, and the goblin asks for Harry's key.

"At least the goblins are professional," Lily grumbled, still smarting slightly from the Leaky

Cauldron.

Hagrid had to dig through his many pockets before coming up with the tiny object.

"How though?" James suddenly asked in surprise, "If that's the key to my vault, how did Hagrid get it?"

"Dumbledore most likely," Lily reminded him, "he seemed to have taken responsibility over for Harry."

She threw Sirius a pained look, who had paled a bit before continuing, "he probably held onto it, and then gave it to Hagrid when he went to fetch Harry."

James nodded absentmindedly, thinking of the other possessions he had in his house, wondering what had become of certain items. He suddenly shook himself as he got off track, deciding he'd have to think about it later.

Then Hagrid hands over a note, stating it was from Dumbledore, and they needed to visit another vault as well.

"Could he be any more vague?" Sirius frowned.

"Honestly if he'd just come out and said what it was, Harry probably wouldn't even know,"

Remus agreed.

"Why wouldn't he want Harry to know anyway?" James asked.

"Search me," Lily sighed.

After the goblin read the note he had no problems summoning another goblin, Griphook, to take them below.

"Were you expecting anyone else at this point?" Sirius chuckled.

Harry didn't answer, as he felt it again. An insistent niggle telling him there was a connection to that name, and one he was sure he didn't like, and this time he had no idea why that could be.

Harry asked what's in this special vault Hagrid has to visit.

"My point," Remus interrupted, James just ignored it.

Hagrid says he can't tell Harry, it's top secret.

"If it's so important then why did Dumbledore send Hagrid to get it at the same time as getting Harry?" Lily asked severely, "He couldn't have gone to get it some other time."

"Convenience I suppose," Sirius shrugged.

They pass through another door into a dungeon-like area, with a cart waiting. When they climb inside it b egan moving on its own in all sorts of twisting and confusing patterns through the caverns.

"Of course it is," Remus laughed, "considering the route magically changes every time anyways."

The goblin wasn't even steering. At one point they go over an underground lake with stalactites and stalagmites growing all over the place. Harry tells Hagrid he forgets the difference between the two and Hagrid says stalagmites have a 'm' in them.

All five of them burst out laughing at this. James managed to recover first, wiping slight tears from his eyes as he gasped, "well he's not wrong."

Remus was still snickering slightly as he began, "stalactites grow from the ceiling, stalagmites grow on the floor. That's the basic answer anyways."

"Is there anything you don't know?" Sirius demanded.

"How your mind works," he responded without looking over.

Then he told Harry not to ask him anymore questions, he's feeling sick.

James grimaced in disgust, "that wouldn't be a pleasant trip."

"I'd imagine it happened all the time though," Lily agreed, having a bit of a weak stomach for roller coaster type things herself.

The cart came to a stop outside an unnumbered vault and Griphook requested the key and opened it. Inside is a treasure trove worth of money all for Harry.

"That should hold you till school's over anyways," James said sadly, wishing he could have left his son with something a bit more than gold, "after you turn seventeen, you'd inherit the whole of the Potter vault, so this is practically nothing."

Harry went a little cross eyed at the thought of such riches, but couldn't think of anything to say to it really. 'Thank you' just didn't seem to quite cover it.

"Assuming you're not like your father and try to buy a new broom every year. Or buy all of your supplies in solid gold," Lily said scathingly throwing James a bit of a dirty look.

James was quick to defend himself, "hey, can you blame me; I was trying to impress a pretty girl."

Lily just rolled her eyes, and pointed at the book before he could keep going.

Harry was understandably a little overwhelmed. The Dursleys had complained his whole life of how much he cost them, and there was no way they could have known this existed, or surely they would have taken this away from him as well.

"No, they couldn't," Remus snapped, seeing red for a brief second at such a thought, "it's

magically protected."

"Thankfully," Lily said quickly, "I think Harry's right, and they just don't know it exists. So it

shouldn't even be a problem." Privately she was thinking that, legally, yes the Dursley's very well could have rights to this, if anyone informed them that was.

They complained all the time how expensive Harry was.

A bit deeper grumbling, but thankfully, no outburst this time.

Hagrid helped Harry pack away a bit of the money that he could use today to get his school supplies while explaining the wizard currency to him. Then they got back into the cart and Hagrid requested if the cart could possibly go slower.

"One speed only," Remus chuckled, "it's magically enchanted that way."

"You know a bit too much about this stuff," Sirius told him, giving him an eye.

Remus blushed a bit before saying, "yes well, I briefly considered a career in curse breaking. So I studied up quite a bit on the subject," all the other occupants gave him startled looks before James said with hurt in his voice, "you never told us that."

"Remus, you'd be traveling all the time," Lily said sadly. Sirius looked akin to a kicked puppy.

"Considered," he repeated quickly, "I figured, you know Goblins wouldn't mind me much and-"

,"So what changed?" Sirius asked quickly, seeing his friends line of reasoning, though still not liking it much, he could hardly fault him.

"Harry," he answered, smiling down at the baby in his arms, and then looking at the adult

squished between his parents. "When I found out Lily was pregnant, I decided to stay local for at least a bit longer. I wanted to be there while both of your parents were still getting their feet together, their own careers you know. Sirius is pretty busy with the Order, and Peter has been moving around just as much lately, restless I suppose," he gave a half shrug at all of their looks and said, "I figured I'd bring it up eventually."

"We will discuss this later," James said, giving his friend a stern look, though unimaginably warmed at the thought behind it.

Harry briefly considered interrupting to ask what the 'Order' was, since this was mentioned several times before, but James was already reading on and he decided to save it for later.

Griphook told him the cart had only one speed. Now they were heading even deeper underground, at one point going over a ravine, and Harry pokes his head out of the side of the cart to see what was below.

"Not safe," Lily said at once, "not safe at all, you could have gotten your head knocked off."

"Relax Lily," James laughed, "I did that almost every time I went down. Those tracks won't hurt you."

Hagrid pulled him back by the scruff of his neck.

Despite James assurance, Lily still felt relieved at this.

When they reac hed Hagrid's requested vault, number seven hundred and thirteen, it had no keyhole. Griphook goes over and runs his finger down the wall instead, and then turned to Harry and told him if anyone but a Gringotts goblin did that, they'd be trapped inside.

Harry asks how often they check for that, and Griphook says every ten years or so.

"Pleasant," Sirius grumbled.

"That's murder," Lily said in shock.

"Do you really think they care?" James asked curiously.

"Goblins live by their own rules, remember?" Remus reminded Lily, "they see this as just punishment for trying to steal their stuff, and the Ministry doesn't interfere in Gringotts."

Harry was sure there must be something really fascinating in here, but when he first poked his head in there was nothing to be seen. Then Hagrid grabbed up a small little package wrapped in grubby paper and tucked it away in his jacket. Harry wanted dearly to ask, but knew better.

"I don't," Sirius said at once, "but I suppose you don't know that answer." Harry shook his head, rubbing his temple in agitation again.

Now that they were all done in there and back out in the bright sunshine of the alley, Harry had a pocket full of money and he wanted to go around and look at everything all over again. He was carrying more money than he had his whole life, possibly even more then, Dudley ever had.

"That can go to your head," Lily said, not quite reprimanding, just cautioning.

"Relax," Remus told her, "he's with Hagrid; he won't let him go crazy."

Hagrid requested if it was ok if he went and got himself a drink, the cart ride had really messed up his stomach. He told Harry to go into a place called Madam Malkin's robe shop by himself. Harry agrees, though still nervous.

"What?" All four adults yelped in shock.

"He really shouldn't have left you alone like that," Lily said at once.

"It's fine," Harry soothed, "I wandered around by myself on my own all the time. The only reason I was nervous was because of the magical part." None of them were really very happy about this, but they also knew Madam Malkin was a professional type of woman, so they figured it was better than somewhere else he could have been left.

Harry entered and was escorted to the back to be fitted with robes and finds another boy already back there with pale blond hair. He started the conversation by asking if Harry was in Hogwarts too.

Lily smiled sadly, knowing this was Harry's first interaction with a boy his age, from the magical world. It was still depressing to think her son didn't have any friends all this time.

Harry agreed that he was, and the boy continued by saying his father was out getting his books, and his mother was out looking at wands.

"See," Harry spoke up, "he was left on his own. It's not that odd."

"Still," James grumbled, considering in the first five minutes of discovering all this, he kept imagining Death Eater's around every corner. He held himself back from saying that, it was clearly on the others minds as well, but no need to startle Harry about it when he was almost relaxing around them.

"Why would his mother be looking at wands?" Remus asked, "it wouldn't do him any good."

"Maybe she needs a new one," Sirius suggested with a shrug.

Then he continued in a bored voice that he was going to bully his father into getting him a racing broom and try to smuggle it in.

All four adults suddenly frowned at this, suddenly deciding that they'd rather Harry didn't continue talking to this boy. They didn't much like his attitude.

Then he kept going by asking Harry if he had his own broom, and when Harry replied in the negative, he asks if Harry knows anything about Quidditch, which again Harry denies.

"Don't," Remus and Lily said at once.

"But you didn't even scratch on-" Sirius began.

"You can talk about it later," Lily repeated, growing rather annoyed that they just wouldn't let it go.

Begrudgingly, James decided to keep going.

The boy is now boasting slightly by saying he's positive he'll be a shoo in for his own house team, and asks Harry if he knows which house he'll be in, and Harry once again says no, feeling stupider all the time.

"My poor dear," Lily sighed, running her hand through his hair in sympathy.

"Don't smother him Lily," James laughed.

"What are houses?" Harry asked before Lily could respond hotly.

"The four Hogwarts houses," Remus said at once, not wanting Sirius to get a biased opinion in, "Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. When you get to school, you'll be sorted into one of the four houses depending."

"Depending on what," Harry inquired, when it seemed Remus wasn't going to keep going.

"It's up to the Hat," Sirius said honestly.

When Harry's blank look continued James jumped in with, "well, when you get to Hogwarts, then you'll fully understand. Besides, I want to see the look on your face when you, err, remember it for yourself."

Harry sort of wanted to keep arguing, but then Remus said, "it really is tradition that we don't tell you. It's a secret, so that no new students can be thinking of it ahead of time." Harry finally nodded his acceptance and let it go.

The boy said he's positive he will be a Slytherin, all his family was. He stated that he'd be so ashamed if he ended up somewhere else. Like if he landed in Hufflepuff he'd leave the school.

"I am liking this kid less and less," James said frowning. Sure he was loyal to his own house, and would admit to being a bit biased towards Slytherin for personal reasons, but he knew deep down that he would love whatever house his son wound up in.

Harry had nothing articulate to say to that. Then the blonde boy notices Hagrid outside of the shop holding two ice-cream cones, which is why he hadn't come in. The boy exclaims who that is.

"Well at least he went and did something nice for Harry," Lily said smiling.

"Assuming those aren't both for him," Sirius quipped.

Harry's pleased to finally contribute something to the conversation and informed him who that was and his job at the school, and the boy scathingly replied how he's heard of him, he was some sort of servant.

"No," all five said at once severely.

Harry corrected him at once as saying he was the gamekeeper, his opinion of the boy dropping every second.

"Thank Merlin," Sirius agreed, "I'd hate for him to be Harry's first friend."

Harry was beginning to feel his head start to pound again, the longer this conversation went on, the more he felt like he knew this boy. However, it was nothing good, so he said nothing and let the reading continue.

The boy hardly acknowledged the correction, going on to say how he's heard he gets drunk all the time and attempts to do magic and ends up setting his house on fire. Harry coldly retorts how he thinks he's brilliant.

"Thank you for defending him," Remus said smiling, seeing a bit of both his parents there, neither would have stood for someone insulting their friend.

The other sneers at him asking why that was, and asking why his own parents aren't with him. Harry truthfully answered that they're dead.

James stuttered a bit at reading this, it didn't seem to be getting any easier the more he said it, but quickly pushed on.

The boy says he's sorry, without sounding very sorry at all.

"Great," Sirius snarled, "he escapes one Dudley only to find another the same day."

"I'm hoping they won't have much to do with each other," Lily said quickly.

He goes on to ask if they were 'our kind.' Harry answered back that they were a witch and wizard.

"That's not exactly what he meant," Lily said sadly.

"But Harry's answer is perfectly correct," James said hotly.

The blond boy says he doesn't think the school should let the 'other kind' in.

"Well that cinches it," Sirius sneered, "he's a pureblood, bigot."

"A what?" Harry asked curiously, not understanding such a violent reaction.

Sirius tried to explain as best he could, "There are different 'types' of wizards if you will, though there's really no difference when you get down to it. By this boy's attitude, I'd wager anything he's a pureblood, which means both of his parents have wizard parents and they were both pureblood wizards etcetera. Then there's muggle-born, which is what he's referring to when he says 'the other sort' and that's a witch or wizard who comes from a muggle family, with no witch or wizard blood immediately traceable."

"Like me," Lily put in quietly for Harry, as Sirius finished.

"Then there's half-blood, which is a muggle parent and a wizard."

"Which is what I am," Remus input, "my mother was a muggle."

Sirius nodded before finishing, "a lot of pure-blood wizards think they're better than the lot

because of well, their pure blood statutes. Which is bogus, and-"

"It's alright Sirius," James cut in, when it became obvious his best friend was about to go into a full blown tangent, casting Harry a sideways look he summarized, "and this boy seems like the first kind."

Harry nodded in understanding, and decided against asking what had upset Sirius so much, saving that for later. He also refrained from asking what that would technically make him, if his mother was a muggle born but his dad was obviously a pureblood, would that make him a half blood or three quarters or... He let the matter go and decided against asking because he decided he didn't care one way or the other, he just wanted to know more which he decided he'd learn as this continued.

Saying how they just weren't the same, and weren't brought up in 'our' ways. He thought they should keep the school only in the old wizarding families.

"That would make attendance at school, like twenty, tops," Lily balked, "if they went by that."

"Then it's thankful they don't do that," James consoled.

Then he asked for Harry's last name.

"Don't tell him," they all said at once.

"He'll just throw himself at you, pretending and junk," Sirius grumbled in disgust.

"Can't do anything about it now though," Harry reminded them, smiling slightly.

James quickly read on, wanting to know.

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin declared Harry was done.

"Thank Merlin," James breathed.

"Why was Harry done before him?" Lily asked curiously, "the other boy was already getting his done when Harry walked in."

"Maybe he's getting something special done to them," Sirius offered.

Harry is more than happy to stop talking to the boy, and began to walk away, only for the blond boy to call out that he hoped to see him at school.

"Hopefully not," the others all muttered. Harry declined to mention that he had a bad feeling that, yes in fact he would.

Harry remained quiet once he rejoined Hagrid, and when Hagrid asked why, Harry lied and told him it was nothing.

All four frowned at this, wishing for what like the hundredth time that Harry had someone to open up to. They were each tempted to ask now what was really on his mind, but held it in for the uneasy frown lingering on him. They'd really been asking a lot of him lately, and he was allowed to his own thoughts, even if they wished he didn't want to.

Once they traveled through a few shops, Harry decided to ask him what Quidditch is.

"Don't even," Lily said.

James gave her a pout before muttering, "I wasn't going to."

Hagrid was at first shocked to hear Harry hadn't heard of it, and Harry mutters that just made him feel worse. He decides then to tell Hagrid about the conversation he'd had with the other boy. He finished at the end with how the boy had said muggles shouldn't even be allowed in. Hagrid corrects him at once, saying Harry wasn't from a muggle family, and points out to him that Lily was one of the best witches there was and look what she had for a sister!

"I think that was a backwards compliment," Sirius snickered.

"But true all the same," Lily agreed, smiling at the flattery.

Harry repeated his question of what Quidditch was, and Hagrid said it's a wizard sport,

like soccer from the muggle world.

"I'm impressed Hagrid knows what that is," Remus approved.

He explained that it was played up in the air on brooms and that there are four balls, but the rules were kind of hard to explain.

"No they're not," Sirius huffed under his breath, though had the sense to keep his mouth shut this time.

Then Harry asked what Slytherin and Hufflepuff are, and Hagrid explained the concept of the four school houses, beginning to say that most people say Hufflepuffs are the worst, and Harry cuts him off to say he thinks he'll be in that house.

"It wouldn't matter to us if you were," Lily said at once.

"And there's nothing wrong with Hufflepuff," James finished what he was sure Hagrid was fixing to say.

Hagrid huffed and said that Hufflepuff would still be better than Slytherin . Since it was the house known for turning out the worst and darkest of the wizards, rumour had it that You-Know-Who was one himself.

"Really?" Harry asked the room.

They all exchanged looks before Lily answered sadly, "That's a stereotype dear, all the houses have one. Not everyone in Slytherin is awful-" she stuttered off for a moment, looking pained before pressing on, "but the bit about Voldemort is true, at least as far as rumors go."

"Considering no one really knows anything about Voldemort, including his school years, or even if that's supposed to be a real name, yeah it's sadly just a rumor," Sirius agreed.

Harry nodded to himself sadly, again feeling that awful ache of where an answer was supposed to be, but as with every other time, forced to let it go.

Harry was shocked to hear this and asked if You-Know-Who went to Hogwarts, and Hagrid confirmed that yes, but years ago.

"If no one knows anything about Voldemort," Harry asks, feeling a funny little feeling at saying that name for the first time but quickly brushing past it, "how does Hagrid know that?"

"As Voldemort was trying to conquer this part of the world," Remus offered, "most assume he went to Hogwarts. After all if he came from say Australia, why would he be here?"

Harry nodded in understanding and let the matter go.

They went inside a bookshop next, where there were all sorts of interesting books, including ones as small as stamps.

"Why would you buy books that small?" Sirius asked.

"It's a joke," Lily told him, having asked the shopkeeper herself at eleven. "you're supposed to use an engorgement charm on it to make it bigger, and then learn about shrinking spells in it."

Sirius just shook his head but kept going.

James did butt in this time by asking, "What are stamps?"

"Something Muggles have to put on their mail so it'll go through their postal system, they're really tiny like the size of your thumb," Harry happily explained, finding it pleasant he was getting to explain something back to his father for once.

Some of the books didn't have anything in them at all.

When Sirius opened his mouth Remus quickly jumped in with, "same basic principle as the last book."

"It's still dumb," Sirius huffed.

"You think all books are dumb," Lily snapped.

"Not this one," he defended at once, unable to think any book about his pup was dumb.

Harry begins looking through a book on curses, but Hagrid drags him away. Harry tries to protest, saying he wanted to curse Dudley.

"Do not blame you," Remus agreed, while James and Sirius looked beyond pleased this was Harry's first instinct, it was certainly there's. Lily found them so repugnant she couldn't even deny a slight feeling of the same.

Hagrid pointed out to him that he's not supposed to use magic in the muggle world and he won't have the ability to do that quite yet.

"Sad but true," Sirius sighed.

Hagrid wouldn't let Harry buy a solid gold cauldron, either, pointing out that it said pewter on his list.

"Thank you Hagrid," Lily agreed, "since a lot of potions can react to the material they're being brewed in, even some first year potions. It would be irresponsible for anybody to let their child do that."

"I'm sure the potion teacher wouldn't let them," James smirked, remembering Slughorn's reaction when he tried the same thing.

Then they went to an apothecary where Hagrid got Harry some basic potion supplies.

"You know I never thought about that," Sirius cocked his head to the side, "but how would

muggles know to do that? If Hagrid hadn't been there, I mean that's not on the school list."

"We're allowed to use the school's cupboards until we mail for our own," Lily grumbled, having mentioned this several times to many teachers, but nothing had ever been done about it.

They went to several other shops after that, until finally they reached the last thing on Harry's list, a wand. Before they headed there though, Hagrid declared he hadn't gotten Harry a birthday present yet.

"I can't thank Hagrid enough," James vowed.

Harry goes red with embarrassment and began to mutter Hagrid didn't have to do that.

"That's the point of birthdays Harry," Sirius said in an almost stern voice, angry enough that he had to actually explain this, "you do deserve it."

"Ten times over," Remus muttered, giving the baby in his lap a little tickle to his tummy.

Hagrid scoffs and says he'd buy Harry his pet, and decides to get him an owl.

"Aw," Lily cooed, "Hagrid is the sweetest."

When they exit that shop, Harry is now the proud owner of a snowy white owl, her head currently tucked up under her wing as she slept.

"That's fascinating," Remus beamed, "though a little flamboyant."

"It's the one I would have picked," James agreed.

Lily frowned, worrying her lip a bit, not wanting to think of how the Dursleys were going to react when Harry was forced to go to them with an owl. Petunia hated animals. Hopefully the fear of Hagrid would loom over them enough they wouldn't say anything. This thought didn't seem to have crossed any of the boy's minds as they kept going.

Harry was stuttering out his thanks about as effectively as Quirrell would have.

Lily brightened up at once at her boy showing some proper manners.

Hagrid was getting a little embarrassed himself, saying he didn't mind, and mentioned he didn't think the Dursleys gave Harry many good presents so he deserved it.

Now they all frowned at this, suddenly wondering just how much Hagrid knew about what the Dursleys had done to Harry. Harry quickly jumped in, "I've never asked, but Hagrid doesn't know much. I really don't know for sure," he trailed off and James sighed in defeat before forcefully pressing on.

Then said they just had Ollivanders place left, so that Harry could get his wand. Harry was instantly excited again, a magic wand was what he'd been looking forward to the most.

"I don't blame you on that one," Lily chuckled weakly, slightly bringing the mood back around.

They come across a small shop near the end, where the title of the store is embossed in gold, and a wand was lying on a pillow in the window.

"Whose wand is that?" Harry asked curiously.

"Rumor has it that it's supposed to be Merlin's," James said in a mysterious tone of voice.

"But that's just a rumor," Remus said smiling.

When they entered the shop they saw that it was piled high with boxes scattered every which way, and the hair on the back of Harry's neck began to stand on end, as if he can just feel the magic in the air.

James beamed with pride at that, "that shows that you're very aware of magic in the area. Highly useful skill that."

Hagrid sat down on a little chair to the side, and when a quiet voice greets them from the shadows he jumped so hard the chair collapses beneath him.

"I'm impressed it held his weight to begin with," Sirius snickered.

The old man greets Harry formally, stating that Harry looked very much like his father, but had his mother's eyes. Then he describes his mother's wand, ending with how it was good for charms.

Lily smiled as she fingered her wand lovingly.

Harry notices how little he blinks, and can't help but find the man slightly creepy.

"He has that effect on people," Sirius agreed with a slight shiver.

"I always thought he did it on purpose," Remus chuckled, "he likes to leave an impression."

He then describes his father's wand in the same fashion, ending with how powerful it could be in transfiguration.

"Came in handy for that too," James agreed with an obvious wink at Remus, who just smiled indulgently at that.

Then he spotted the scar on Harry's forehead and touched it.

All four adults huffed a bit at that, Lily even muttering, "that's going a bit far now."

He stated who he sold that wand to, and how very sorry he was to see the damage it wrought.

All four of them balked at that, stunned to learn that Ollivander knew Voldemort's real identity. "Do you think Dumbledore knows about that?" James asked.

"Oh I'm sure he does," Remus said at once.

Then he spotted Hagrid and goes through the same treatment of describing his wand, but

noting at the end how it was snapped. Hagrid shuffles his feet with unease and admits they did this indeed, but he still kept the pieces.

Remus snorted with laughter, "now why would he admit to something like that?"

"Why shouldn't he?" James asked, lips twitching, "It's not like he could still be using them of course."

"Oh of course not," Sirius agreed, fighting back laughter.

Mr. Ollivander asked Hagrid if he still used them, and Hagrid quickly said of course not, while clutching his umbrella.

At this all three boys finally broke and cracked up laughing a bit, while Lily simply shook her head in fondness.

Ollivander turned his attention back to Harry and asked him which was his wand arm and Harry responds he's right handed. Then the old man begins measuring Harry from shoulder to finger, knee to armpit, and so on all around his body.

"Why though?" Sirius asked, still chuckling slightly. "Exactly what does the length of knee to armpit have to do with wands?"

"It's a magical item," Remus reminded him, "after the first measurement, it kind of just wanders off with a mind of its own, and Ollivander lets it while he thinks."

While he measured he continued informing Harry about wands, stating what magical cores he used.

"I once met a chap who had tried to use centaur hair," James laughed, "now that had some disastrous problems."

Sirius was snickering as he said, "remember that time when someone tried to use a mermaid scale as a core. That wand flooded the whole floor." After a bit more laughter, James finally went back to his reading.

Then he got down to business and handed Harry a wand, but he'd hardly held it when it was taken back. Then he handed Harry a different wand, with the same results.

"Wow," Lily said in surprise, "he got mine on the second try."

"Got mine on the first," James and Sirius both said laughing.

"It took him five tries to get mine," Remus remembered.

He tried several, but none seemed to gain Ollivanders acceptance, while the more he tossed aside, the more excited he seemed to become.

"Wow," they all said in surprise this time, while James carried on, "I don't think he's ever had this much trouble before."

"Yes well, just like all professionals in a field, at least he's enjoying the challenge," Remus said, still smiling.

Finally Harry was handed one of holly wood with a phoenix feather core, and Harry felt the warmth spread through his fingers once he grasped it .

"There you have it," Lily cried with joy.

"You know they say the type of wood you get says something about your personality," Sirius said, smiling a bit.

"I don't put much stock into wandlore," James waved him off before he could keep going.

While Mr. Ollivander took the wand back and began wrapping it up for Harry to take, he kept muttering over and over how curious this was.

"Why's that so curious?" Remus asked, just as bewildered.

"Why do you do that?" Sirius demanded, "None of us knows the answer."

"It's called a curious nature Sirius," Remus replied back a bit snippy.

Harry's curiosity wins out, and he asks why's that so curious. Mr. Ollivander explains that he remembers every single wand he's ever sold, and the phoenix whose tail feather resides in Harry's wand only gave one other feather, the brother of which ended up in You-Know- Who's wand.

Despite the shock they all felt at hearing this, they were far more concerned at Harry's reaction.

As James read this out, Harry gasped in pain, suddenly clutching his skull as if it were about to burst in two. "Harry dear," Lily said at once, wrapping her arm around his shoulder.

James quickly put the book aside and leaned down, trying to look his son in the face, as he was now doubled over and pressing his face to his knees. Sirius got wearily to his feet, heading

towards the kitchen he called, "I'm going to-" but quickly cut himself off when Harry muttered something.

"What's that dear?" Lily asked in as calming a voice as she could manage.

Finally looking up, and blinking several times as if coming out of a trance he gasped, "I knew that- but there's more, there's something really important about that! Argh-" he cut himself off and clutched his head again.

Getting off the couch and leaning in front of him James said in a stern voice, "Harry, stop trying to strain yourself. Memory charms are some of the trickiest there is, and your memories will only come back with time. Trying to force them back like this could cause you serious harm, so quite fighting it."

Still panting slightly, Harry nodded and bit by bit relaxed until he could finally look up again and look around at all of them, upon seeing the concern and fear etched into their pale faces he muttered, "Sorry."

After a short stunned pause Sirius burst into laughter, clutching his stomach, while looking pityingly at his pup, "Just what are you apologizing for? Giving us a heart attack? I'm sure there will be plenty more where that came from."

Still looking slightly abashed, Harry nodded and leaned back against the couch again, rubbing his temple in agitation but not looking in quite as much pain now. The four adults exchanged uneasy looks, but Remus finally said, "suppose we can go on yeah? You alright with that Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry said quickly, wanting to deflect the attention off of him.

As James got up and picked the book back up and began flipping pages to find his place. Sirius made his way causally over to the love seat, sprawling himself out on it, and being much more able to keep an eye out from this angle. He wasn't even tempted to mock James for his use of the word serious, this was more important. While they all deeply wanted to discuss what they'd just learned, Harry still looked so out of it they were far more concerned at keeping him away from this topic for a while.

Ollivander half praised that dark wand, saying it had done terrible things, but great powerful things all the same. He finished by saying he expects great things from Harry.

"Great and terrible," Sirius grumbled, "yeah, that about covers it."

They exit Diagon Alley altogether and stop for a bite to eat before Harry gets on a train. Harry's now looking around in awe, thinking how strange it all looks now.

"By product of switching from muggle to magical," Lily agreed, "the transition is a bit weird."

Hagrid asked Harry if he was alright once again, stating how quiet he was.

"Well that was quite the bombshell," James deflected for his boy, still a bit in shock over both the news, which he hadn't even had a chance to fully think about, and his son's severe reaction to said news.

Harry confessed how uneasy this trip made him, how everyone seems to expect such great things from him because of what Vol- then corrected himself saying what You-Know-Who did to him.

"How come you keep accidentally slipping on the Voldemort thing then?" Remus asked.

"It's his natural genes," Sirius said proudly, "no one in this family is afraid to say his name."

Harry chuckled slightly at this, but was honestly unable to answer. He'd always felt from the very beginning that it was silly to call him You-Know-Who, but for some reason couldn't put it into words then, or now.

Hagrid reassured him, saying Harry would learn his way fast enough, but knows Harry will do fine in school, exclaiming he still had a great time there.

All of the adults smiled at this, trying to push away for good that feeling of loss they had at not being there for him, and instead being so happy that Hagrid had said the perfect thing to him.

Hagrid helped Harry onto the train that would take him back to the Dursleys and then handed him an envelope.

"What?" Lily yelped in shock.

"He's not going back with you?" James said in disappointment.

All of them were dreading what kind of reunion Harry would get when he showed back up on Private Drive alone. "Don't worry," Harry comforted at once. "They didn't do anything awful, they were too afraid of Hagrid." He stopped and chuckled briefly as he did remember that reunion. He had walked from his stop and come through the doorway with his stuff, and Uncle Vernon had stopped him at the door and demanded to know if the man was still with him. When Harry had told him no, but he had given him the owl to keep in touch, he had gone very pale white indeed, and simply stuttered that he should go to his room now. After telling them this, they relaxed a bit, though all majorly disappointed Harry had to go back at all.

It had his ticket to get to Hogwarts, stating the train would leave on the first of September, at King's Cross station. If he had any problems with the Dursleys, write him a letter using his new owl, she'd know what to do. Harry boarded the train and tried to watch Hagrid through the crowd, but he blinks and he's disappeared.

"How do you think he managed that?" Sirius asked, "He can't apparate."

"Magic," Remus said in a goofy, mystical voice.

"Maybe he's had a Portkey this whole time to get back to school," Lily shrugged.*

"That's the chapter over," James announced, offering the book to Harry. "Would you like to read now?"

Harry took it eagerly, bypassing the question of what a Portkey was in favor of wanting more than anything to get his memories of such a wondrous school back.

*At least, that's the only thing I've been able to come up with after all these years. Let me know how you think he did it.

#The Life That Never Lived #bookhater95 #HP fanfiction #complete #harry Potter

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