#stealing fers job

[spidybaby]

Pedri looks so good in that video

He doeeeeees!

The social media team saw his post about the SWM photoshoot and decided to put him to work 🤣❤️

[nearen]

Prompt #11: Surrogate

“There’s something I have to tell you,” they told him.

Osric let them guide him to one of the CETEA’s quiet nooks, away from the traffic and the noise of the ship’s maintenance, far from the comings and goings of the Unsung.

“I’m going back to Eorzea.”

“What, like—we’re headin’ back?”

“-No,” they clarified hesitantly. “Just me.”

“…how? You’re- catchin’ another ship?”

“I’ll use the aetheryte in Kugane to take me back to one in the Shroud.”

“Awright. So, er, is this part o’ th’ mission?”

“I’m not going to be taking any further part in the mission.” Cillenne’s eyes fled his.

“Wh.” Osric let a nervous laugh bubble up and out of him, scratching his cheek. “Why’s that? No one knows this shite better’n you.” His eyes narrowed. “They not lettin’ you? ‘Cause if—”

They raised their hands when he bristled.

“No, Os. It was my decision.”

“Huh. Well… Why? What ‘bout Charlette. Y’can’t leave her t’ do this on her own, right?”

“She’s not on her own, Osric. She has all of the Castaways, all of the Unsung behind her.”

Frustration and bewilderment warred in his creased features as he visibly struggled to decide where to start.

“She’d want you with her. Wouldn’t she?”

“…she does. But I can’t be.”

“Why?” he demanded, volume rising.

“I’m only putting her in danger if I stay here. You’ll all be in danger.”

“So? I dun get it. This whole business is nothin’ but danger. We can’t jus’ give up an’ head home ‘cause someone might get hurt. Folk will get hurt. We could lose someone. Less chance o’ that if we got an illusionist on our side, right?”

“Osric… You don’t- mh. I’m sorry. I’m not doing a good job of explaining what I mean.”

“No, yer fucken not.”

“I’ve been assessing the CETEA’s arrivals to ensure that our thief doesn’t make it aboard again. But who’s going to be able to tell if I leave the ship and come back?”

“I… Charlette, I guess? Aren’t you helpin’ her an’ Adra with that gadget what’s s’posed t’ be able t’ tell?”

“I am, but we don’t know what our adversary is capable of. If they’re able to steal the very essence of who we are, it might not work. And if it fails, how would you know I’m me? Would you be able to tell?”

Osric’s face soured.

“I’ve told you my secrets. I’ve heard yers. If it came to it, I’d know, Lenne.”

“Can you afford to doubt yourself, even for a moment? If I’m not there, and you see a vision of me, you’ll know it can’t be me, and you’ll know what to do when that time comes.”

“Wh- this is… Lenne, hells! Any one o’ us could have their face stolen. I’d never know if Imogen, or Red, Celica, or th’ rest got replaced. How’s it different fer you? If anythin’, yer th’ only one I could tell. Are you sayin’ I don’t know you?”

“No. No, it isn’t that I’m doubting you. I’m saying that even a moment’s hesitation could cost us everything. And it isn’t only that. While the CETEA was en route, we found a trap left by our adversary.”

Osric rubbed his eyes. “Whaddya mean, a trap? Are y’okay? Was anyone hurt?”

“Cain was caught up in the aetheric detonation. He doesn’t seem to have suffered any lasting effects. Charlette was with him,” they told him, prompting a nod of relief.

“I was able to repel the direct effects. But the trap was for me, Osric. We think they set it to prevent me from helping you stop them if I’d gotten free. It responded to my magic. No one else could have set it off. Now they have the tome in their possession, who’s to say what they could do? They could set an even worse trap, and I—”

“Stop. Stop. I get what this is,” Osric scoffed. “Y’jus’ don’t want t’ bear th’ weight on yer shoulders o’ someone gettin’ hurt, right? But it’s on all our shoulders, if we stick together. No one blames you fer what happened. No one’ll blame you if this don’t end well. We’re in this together, like before.”

“They do blame me, some of them. And I can’t fault them for it. I can see it in their eyes, Osric. It’s better for everyone—”

“It’s not better fer ME!” Osric snapped, so loud he almost startled himself. He stood there trembling, both of them too stunned to speak for a beat.

“I need you. You said you’d stay.” He heard his own voice crack. “This, all o’ this, it’s ‘bo shite an’ you know it! Not knowin’ who you are, traps… all a load o’ shite. All ‘cause yer afraid. Yer a fucken coward.”

They reached for him, and he ran.

[optimistredsox]

21 April, BOS @ PIT, 6-1, win

Our fourth(!) series win and second sweep of the season comes whilst we're all still losing count of quite how many starters are on the injury list and have given up even trying to count the unearned runs the team has given up (none in the last series with the Pirates, natch). This is weird and I don't really know how to react. Which is kind of exciting. I have no idea what is going to happen. We are very bad against good teams (1-5 against teams over .500) and very good against bad or middling teams (the rest of our record... you can do the math I am done with arithmetic). I think from the very start of this stupid blog I have said the most important thing is to beat bad teams. The Sox are doing that. They are three games above .500 and looked great against the Pirates who, admittedly, looked totally fucking lost by the end of the series (but who also got off to a similarly strong start this season... on the road... perhaps when they visit us they will return the favour... anyway). But they still are striking out WAY TOO MUCH... even though they have the SECOND MOST HOMERS IN THE MAJORS... I don't understand this team. Their ERA continues to drop (though Kutter Crawford's rose to a massive .66 after yesterday's outing where he gave up one solo homer), they have a bunch of dingers, but because their defence has been so fucking cack-handed and they either hit dingers or they strike out, there's nobody on base when their dingers come, so they are 13-10 instead of 18-5 (which is, terrifyingly, close to what their record would be if you took away the unearned runs... really... look it up... I'm done with arithmetic for the day). So yeah. God knows. Netflix are either congratulating themselves for being geniuses or pulling their hair out for being idiots but I think there are some crazy fucking stories coming out of this year. Anyway. Bright sides.

We won on a bullpen day and Winckowski, after some rough relief outings of late, was solid (though he did allow the first run of the game). He went three and a third and scattered three hits and a run. Only one K but he's been working a lot.

The bullpen, Booser, Weissert, Slaten (who got his first big league win), and Anderson put in six innings of shutout ball, allowing four hits and striking out four. So the Red Sox appear to still be the best pitching team in the majors. I don't know when the last time we could say that was. Probably when Chris Sale was healthy. So, um, 2018?

Wilyer Abreu, fast becoming a stalwart of the bright side list, had another strong catch, went 3-for-5, knocked in two runs and scored once.

Ceddanne Rafaela took a walk. He also had a hit and scored a run. But walks are important now. Trust me. Because that kid wants to hit everything. Good job Ceddanne. He also stole a base.

Jarren Duran walked TWICE and scored twice and got a hit. He also stole a base.

Rob Refsnyder also walked. He also had a hit and knocked in a run and scored a run. AND HE ALSO STOLE A BASE! I miss Ricky Henderson and want everyone to steal more bases, please.

Connor Wong walked and scored a run BECAUSE HE WALKED. He had an 0-fer. But walked and called a good game behind a bunch of different arms.

Bobby Dalbec walked too. And played first base really well. Defence and walking get mentions now because we need them.

Reese McGuire came in to pinch hit and knocked in two runs. Good job, Reese. If you're not going to walk, hit and get some runs in.

We won!

We have a day off and a sweep and a winning record! How cool is that?!

[nytehavyn-circle]

I posted 4,811 times in 2022

That's 4,444 more posts than 2021!

921 posts created (19%)

3,890 posts reblogged (81%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@wilwheaton

@akindplace

@liberalsarecool

@walkerofclouds

@naughtynecromancer

I tagged 1,915 of my posts in 2022

#ooc - 714 posts

#naughtynecromancer - 177 posts

#tolaas x mori - 168 posts

#the cowboy vampire and his fae queen - 112 posts

#meme - 105 posts

#elektranon - 93 posts

#lilahemorgan - 81 posts

#spike - 61 posts

#politics - 54 posts

#visage - 53 posts

Longest Tag: 117 characters

#and when i run out of food stamps i use our bishop's warehouse. the selection of food isn't great but it's still food

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

‘i licked you so you’re mine now’

Tolaas glanced at her, then looked down at his arm, then looked up at her and started laughing. "Really? That's how yer gonna try ta claim me? Yer the first one that's ever licked me ta try ta stake a claim."

@elemental-surprise

62 notes - Posted January 25, 2022

#4

Eve grinned seeing Terran reading in front of her, slipping off her shoes, she did her best to sneak up on him, vanishing in violet flames and reappearing in his lap with no flames this time. Wriggling playfully in his lap to get comfortable, she smiled. "Hi." She greeted him.

Terran's book was basically knocked out of his hands and onto the floor when Eve "poofed" into his lap. He glanced forlorn at the book on the floor, pouting, but smiled warmly at Eve and wrapped his arms around her. "Hi, Pet," he said, then kissed her softly. "What are you up to today, my dear?"

@bxrningambitions

77 notes - Posted January 30, 2022

#3

Tolaas was walking down the street, handin the pockets of his duster, just minding his own business and thinking about things. HE was currently in an alternate New York, where he had followed a ShadowDemon and finally disposed of it.

Now that that was overwith, here he was just wandering.

In the short distance, Tolaas recognized somebody. "Harley!" he exclaimed, forgetting for the moment that this wasn't his Harley, this wasn't the Harley he knew.

He hadn't seen her ina year and had recently been thinking about her. HEnce the excitement when he saw "her".

"Harley!" he exclaimed again and rushed up to her. Quicly, he picked her up in his arms and kissed her deep. Finally, he broke the kiss and stood her down... and it finally dawned on him after a quick look at her aura.

"Oh shit," he muttered. ":My gods, I'm so sorry..."

@thejestersiren

101 notes - Posted February 3, 2022

#2

"Did I mention you missed my birthday, and Christmas and Valentines day? We have a lot of time to make up for, a lot of celebrating." She asked him with a small smile, she had gifts for him and a nice steak dinner planned. "Can I steal you?" She asked him, looking up at him sweetly.

Tolaas smirked at stared at her. "Yeah, yeah," he chuckled. "Well, the last year... I missed a lotta stuff fer a lotta people..." He nodded. "Sure, I ain't got nothing planned taday. Where ya takin' me?" he asked.

@naughtynecromancer

103 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

(Open)

(Open to new interactions)

Tolaas was at the venue that night, for amateur night. Throughout his life, Tolaas had mastered any type of song that could be sung, mastered the guitar. Though he wasn't an amateur, he always played amateur nights so he wouldn't really be recognized or anything as such. He preferred to stay out of the public eye where his talents were concerned.

He was in the public eye enough when he was out Hunting or doing jobs. Luckily Terran managed to keep his hidden afterward and out of the eyes and thoughts of the local police.

But tonight was for fun. The stage was nice and had a full band, so Tolaas would be able to showcase his strumming and his voice with full accompaniment.

He applauded and whistled for the woman who had come before him. She sang a rendition of Christina Aguilera's "Beautiful". And it matched the woman's voice. It was amazing. It really moved Tolaas.

Now, it was his turn. He stepped onto the stage and swung his guitar around. He introduced himself and strummed a few chords. He said he was going to sing "Little Black Dress" by Jace Everett.

In front of the mic, Tolaas began the song, with the band backing him the whole time.

124 notes - Posted February 26, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[realdonkeykong]

Exactly zero seconds

Very!

He kind of just passes out, and happens to luck into a regular sleep schedule

Depends on who introduces you to him

Depends on the circumstances of your introduction

Almost akin to water

Photos from more than four years ago. No, he does not.

Taking things that aren't his

Not often, and no.

"I'll be right back."

He pretends to understand until an opportunity for clarification naturally comes up in conversation. If it doesn't, he will improvise off of what he knows. It even works sometimes!

There isn't a place he can't reach

Thinks he looks best in black, and is almost correct (very dark grey)!

Dogs

Speaks with an Eastern Canadian accent, heavy on abbreviations which use apostrophes. He often doesn't know what he's going to say until he hears himself say it.

Gunshot wounds

Nope!

Fucking up a job he "should be good at"

18

"Love's love, way I sees it. Everyone feels it differently fer different people."

Genuine excitement to start the day

Gets very intensely friendly

Probably tries to steal something

It's not really a topic that comes up a lot, but he's pretty much neutral on the subject.

Maybe don't bring it up in front of him

His feet!

Anyone staring at him for more than a few seconds

Any day of the week

Usually!

Don.

Don.

Not particularly, but he does consistently try to be entertaining with new people.

Not on your life

Very.

Very supportive, yes! He doesn't need to understand what the hell they're talking about, it's more about the energy of conversation.

Uh, maybe don't bring that up either

Anything that manages to stick in his head is Never Leaving. Exactly what does manage to stick, though... pretty much random.

That night on the roof

If they're friends, extremely easy.

Sees them as just a fact of how he is, and he's often right.

Hasn't interacted with a child in over 4 years

Depends on the job

"Who cares? Ace, prob'ly."

A) He is 1000% my favourite child

B) I needed a comic relief and a self-insert for my ADHD, specifically

C) He kind of just showed up when he was needed, really. Most of my characters tend to do that

D) He started off without any real description, then I added features over time. He was always tall and thin, though.

E) Yes, and yes I hope so!

F) "Aw shit that's cool I wanna write about him more."

G) His accent. Specifically, differentiating who's talking between him and another character from the same part of the world.

H) His ability to calm a situation down from nearly any point

I) Yes, please! He would die in the other ones.

J) Nah, he fits into canon just fine.

Uncommon Questions for OCs and their creators:

Send me a # (questions for OCs) or a letter (questions for creators) and I’ll answer

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

How easy is it to earn their trust?

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

What animal do they fear most?

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

What makes their stomach turn?

Are they easily embarrassed?

What embarrasses them?

What is their favorite number?

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Why do they get up in the morning? 

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? 

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? 

 Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? 

 What are their thoughts on marriage? 

 What is their preferred mode of transportation? 

 What causes them to feel dread? 

 Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

 Do they usually live up to their own ideals? 

 Who do they most regret meeting? 

 Who are they the most glad to have met? 

 Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? 

 Could they be considered lazy? 

 How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

 How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? 

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? 

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? 

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

How do they feel about children? 

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? 

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character? B) What inspired you to create them? C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story? D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look? E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you? F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most? H) What trait do you admire most? I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe? J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

[hvhvmoc]

Slashers with a s/o who owns a bakery

Warnings / murder mentions, fluff, short for most of them, suggestive themes (no smut)

Characters included / Thomas Hewitt, Micheal Myers, Billy lenz, Jason Voorhees, Bo Sinclair, Candyman, Billy Loomis

Genre / fluff

Writing style / headcanons

Thomas Hewitt :

This man LIVES for your baked goods

You and his mother always cook together and he eats that shit up

When he puts you in his lap and you feed him cupcakes or spoonfuls of cake, he never let's you get up from his lap man

(He doesn't care how heavy you are, you are sitting on his lap)

Loves to cook with you

He'd be so greatful if help pay for their needs or feed them using your money

Scratch that bro he'd be BEYOND greatfull

Bandages you up when you burn or hurt yourself while baking

Micheal Myers :

Stands over you just watching you bake

Pushes the spoon away if you try to feed him

But after a couple tries he just accepts it at that point

Can't cook for the life of him

Won't admit it but he loves when you cook for him

Like for his birthday or a special occasion

Looks at you from outside of your shop window

(And nobody sees him for some reason??)

He got blood in batter of some cookies and he learned to never do that again

Billy Lenz :

Nah cuz this guy has the BIGGEST sweet tooth EVER

Begs you to make him sweets

Just pretend here he gets out of the attic

He sits on your lap and makes you feed him

Sits at your job all day until you leave (with him)

He sits on the counter in the kitchen and watches you bake

Gets hurt more than you when you accidently burn yourself

He compares your "sweetness" to your desserts

Ofc he makes it dirty

He steals sweets from you and your bakery all the time

Jason Voorhees :

He and his mom love your cooking so much

You two feed eachother all the time

Cupcakes are his favorite

In the au, your bakery is near the woods you two live in

He doesn't like you going away but he won't complain

Insists on helping you with the dishes after you're done baking

Hugs you from behind when you bake

He would help but he thinks he'll mess it up if he does

After stressing over the trespassers, the only thing that can calm him done is your baking

Bo Sinclair :

He goes to your job and starts flirting with you as if you two aren't dating

Like Billy, he also makes it dirty

"'Stead of 'em pastries ya make everyday, how 'bout I have you fer dessert 'is time" along with a wink

Unlike the others, he laughs at you when you hurt yourself

Then when you cry he actually starts to care

Buys you the products you need

"Why're ya makin' another cake? Ya a'ready got enough in tha back" also followed by a wink and an ass slap

Like I said, makes it dirty

He overall loves you baking

Candyman :

In this au, he lives with you and not in a mirror

Helps you bake everytime

For your birthdays and other occasions, he bakes instead of you

While you two wait for whatever dessert you're making to bake, he showers you in kisses, hugs, and slow dances with you

Praises you every time

If you wear an apron, he ties it for you and when he's done he gives you a neck kiss

Thinks his bees and hook get in the way when you're cooking but you shut that down pretty quickly

He feeds you and kisses you after each bite

Billy Loomis :

He smugges some ingredients (cream, frosting, etc) on your face

He does it so he can kiss/lick it off of you

Visits you at your job

Mainly visits you when it's near your break time

Last time he helped you bake, he burnt the dessert so uh never again

He just sits there lookin pretty watching you bake

One time for his birthday you made him a horror themed cake and when you cut it, red jam spills out the center like blood

He fell in love with you that same day

[heich0e]

four drink rule - suna rintarou/f!reader (1.6k) sfwish, a bit silly, alcohol mention, enemies to something, samu dying a hero's death

atsumu slumps down into the banquette seating lining the wall of the club, exhausted.

there's a mysterious stain on the upholstery next to his thigh; the music is so loud it's rattling his teeth; and it's so hot in the crowded, rowdy space that the thin material of his dress shirt is sticking to him, even with the three top buttons undone.

this was supposed to be a night out with old friends.

this was supposed to be fun.

but now he just wants to go home.

"how many's she on?" his twin appears before atsumu, a drink in each hand. osamu mercifully hands the full one over to him.

atsumu accepts the drink gratefully, not a damn clue what it is, and takes a healthy swig. it burns a little on the way down, and does little to parch his actual thirst, but it's better than nothing. he swallows, panting lightly as he drags the back of his hand over his slick mouth.

"three—"

osamu nods, turning his head to scan the crowd of bodies.

"—what about suna?"

osamu takes a sip of his own drink, a less gluttonous one than his brother had. he turns back to his brother and gives him a pointed look as his adam's apple bobs.

he sighs, and the sound seems to come from deep within him. "three."

"who's watchin' him now?" atsumu asks.

"aran-kun."

atsumu's brow arches at his brother's response. "aran's supposed to be watchin' her."

they share a look. the beat in the song playing over the sound system drops. they're moving towards the thick of the crowd before they know it.

they find aran relatively quickly, near the bar where osamu had left him with suna, but he is horrifyingly alone.

"where is he?"

"where is she?”

the twins speak at the same time, tones equally accusatorial. 

aran rolls his eyes lightly, shaking his head. "relax, they got into one of their spats and she stormed off a while ago, and he said he was gonna go see if he could steal a cig off someone outside while i got another drink."

both of the twins nod, slightly relieved.

osamu’s eyes sweep the surrounding area for a moment.

"aran-kun... where's your drink?" 

aran looks over at the bar where he must have left his glass, but finds nothing there but a ring of condensation where his drink once sat.

he looks back to the twins to meet two identically wide pairs of eyes.

"god damn it.”

atsumu runs his hands through his peroxide blonde hair, gripping the strands roughly in frustration. “aran! the Four Drink Rule is in place fer a reason! it’s sacred!”

"yeah, yeah I know," aran sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezes his eyes closed.

atsumu stomps his foot—actually stomps it, like an overgrown child—and laments ”this never woulda happened if kita-san were here!"

“kita-san’d never be caught dead in a club, but at least they behave themselves when he’s around," his twin reminds him, more composed than his genetic counterpart. the more level-headed of the two evaluates his options momentarily. “tsumu, you go check outside and see if you can find that dickhead. i’ll look for her. aran why dontcha take a lap and see if you can find ‘em in any… dark corners.”

aran’s nose crinkles in disgust.

“why do i get the worst job?” he gripes.

“yer the one that lost track of ‘em,” osamu says sternly, and aran can’t refute his logic even if he hates it.

they part ways, and osamu approaches the bar—waiting for the bartender to turn her attention towards him as his fingertips tap the sticky surface of the bartop impatiently.

finally the woman approaches.

“sorry to ask ya this,” osamu sighs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “did a girl come through here recently? real feisty, probably ordered a lemon sour with no ice, about—“

he intimates your approximate height to the bartender.

“—yea high?”

the bartender actually laughs a little bit at how defeated osamu seems, nodding her head.

"yeah, I served her a lemon sour with no ice a couple minutes ago. maybe 10? only remember her because she told me i wasn't allowed to tell some big guy with bleached hair. she made me pinky promise and everything.”

osamu knocks his fist between his eyes. yeah, that was definitely you.

“everything okay?” the bartender asks warily, watching osamu cycle through all five stages of grief in the expressions on his face.

“oh yeah, we’re fine. thanks fer yer help though, miss, and ‘m sorry about the trouble.”

atsumu, aran, and osamu all meet up again where they’d left each other—a few minutes older and substantially more grim.

“couldn’t find ‘em.”

“he wasn’t outside.”

“she got a fourth drink.”

they all relay their findings one after the other, the bad news compounding.

osamu looks at atsumu. atsumu looks at aran. aran looks at osamu. then the order repeats itself in reverse.

“i’m not doin’ it,” atsumu is the first to speak up, staunch and adamant. “i’m tired of baby sittin’ those two brats every time we go out. if they wanna down four drinks and end up suckin' each other’s faces off and bumpin' uglies in a nasty ol’ bathroom that’s their problem!” 

“but we’re the ones that have to deal with the fallout, ‘tsumu!” his brother argues. “suna’s gonna complain about her not replying to the stupid memes he sends like a lovesick idiot for the next two weeks, minimum. and she’s gonna blame us for not stopping her!”

“i agree with atsumu, we’ve been doing this for years. if they can’t admit they like each other that’s between them and god.” aran shrugs, equally exasperated with the foolishness. he’s been dealing with this for too damn long.

osamu tilts his head back and looks up at the ceiling, watching the way the club lights flicker across the black tiles overhead.

“if you guys help me figure out where they are, i’ll be the one to break ‘em apart.”

“deal.”

“fine.”

it doesn’t take them long really, once ginjima informs the three of them that he spotted you and suna slipping into an out of order washroom near coat check not fifteen minutes prior. suna’s hand had been, according to akagi’s chipper contribution, so far up your shirt it looked like ‘that scene in alien when the alien pops clear outta their chests!’

osamu stares at the out of order sign on the bathroom door for longer than he cares to admit; mustering his resolve, saying a prayer, lamenting the day of his own birth, etc. 

he casts a look down to the other end of the dimly lit hall (predominantly used by staff) to where atsumu, aran, and a few other of their friends are watching him like spectators standing on the dock to send ill fated soldiers off to war. atsumu waves him on encouragingly.

osamu sighs.

he pushes the door open.

“haa, please, rintar-MMPH!”

osamu fights back a gag as the door swings closed and the bathroom falls deathly silent.

he hears the drip of water from a leaking tap, the distant thrum of bass from the music outside.

“you two are gross, y’know that?”

osamu can see suna’s shoes under the door of the bathroom stall nearest to him. your shoes slowly appear on the ground just in front of suna’s, dropping down into view from above.

“i’m not leavin’ without the two of ya, so put yer junk away and get the hell out here,” osamu demands, crossing his arms over his chest.

“my junk’s not even out yet,” suna mutters sullenly from behind the door, and he hears a smack a moment later.

there’s a bit of shuffling that osamu doesn’t want to picture and the stall lock clicks open. 

well, at least you two had the decency to lock one door. 

the stall door opens a crack, only to slam closed again a moment later.

“hey!” osamu hears you complain.

“you know we don’t actually have to go out there, right? he’s not our boss.”

“get your grubby hands off of me,” you hiss, and there’s another audible scuffle. finally the door to the stall is wrenched open, and you step out.

your hair is a mess. your skirt is creased. your makeup is running. osamu doesn’t dwell too long on the way you’re walking like you’re weak-kneed in the interest of preserving his own sanity.

“god i can’t stand you,” you hiss over your shoulder towards the stall where suna is also emerging, looking equally dishevelled—though notably more smug than you do.

“i’ve got a seat i can offer if you’re looking for one,” suna says, a smirk tugging the corner of his swollen, rosy lips up. there's lipstick streaking across his mouth, jaw, and neck.

“i’m never doing this again,” you say adamantly, grabbing your purse off of the bathroom counter beside osamu, where you’d evidently hastily cast it aside, avoiding his judgemental gaze as you do so.

osamu wants to echo your statement. 

you tug the strap of your bag up over your arm and stomp towards the door of the bathroom with your lipstick still smeared down your chin. osamu turns to look at his friend, his expression flat and unimpressed, but suna’s preoccupied watching you go, eyes glued to the doorway until the door swings shut behind you—the ignored OUT OF ORDER sign fluttering sadly. 

it’s quiet again once you’re gone, and suna turns to look at osamu with a dopey, self-satisfied smile. he sighs happily.

“she says that every time.”

[st0rmyskies]

I'm very curious as to what Dark's early life was like. what connection did he have to the dragmires when he was a kid? what was his home life like? education? did he have any friends? how much freedom did he have in terms of things like leaving the house on his own?

Oh man. Ohhhhh man. This might be the last one I do tonight because I feel like it's going to get Long.

CW for discussion of harm to children/child soldiers, allusions to violence, and people just generally being horrible and feeling like they "own" the rights to another's body.

Dark's early life mirrored Time's in many ways, in that he was a troubled kid. He's a Link, like the rest of them, and didn't come to be known as "Dark" until much later. He entered the foster system at a very young age and cycled through group homes and private families, but he never stayed in one place for very long. He had no support network or friends to speak of when he ended up being funneled into the Dragmires' ranks and conveniently written out of the system. Like Legend - and Time, actually - he didn't finish high school. Dark was fifteen.

It was just simple things at first - little go-fer errands, delivering discreet packages and messages between people who dressed in suits worth more money than Dark was worth in food stamps. But the more he did, the faster and more efficient he was, the more important jobs he got and the bigger the tips became. Pretty soon, he was well known as one of the Dragmires' more trustworthy errand boys, and he got a small modicum of freedom in exchange for his loyalty: a little time off on the weekends, a stipend so he could buy cigarettes rather than stealing them, a private room at the boarding house where he could lock his door and keep his meager belongings safe. Dark was sixteen.

When the Dragmires were looking for their own "hero" to take out the dog of the Crown, Dark was chosen alongside a handful of other young men and women to vie for the position. They went through months of grueling physical training at the hands of the Yiga, in addition to keeping up with their other duties, and those who weren't able to keep up were cut pretty quickly. Those that passed the first round had the extreme honor of meeting Ganondorf themselves, who physically whipped them into shape by his own hand. That thinned out the recruits even further.

When it came time for the final exam, Dark and the last recruit were let loose in a warehouse the Dragmires owned down near the Jabu Docks, unarmed, until one of them emerged the victor.

Dark was seventeen.

He didn't know then that that would be the easy part of his journey. He didn't have an opportunity to say "no" when he was put under the knife. He woke up with his face irreversibly changed, his ears pierced, his hair a different color, and a new code name: Dark.

After everything went down and in the end he failed to kill Time, Dark was imprisoned for being a part of the Dragmires' plot to overthrow the crown. Being such a high-ranking lackey meant that he'd been privy to a lot of insider secrets, and that made him a target for frequent questioning by the Royal Guard. But he was kept in a jailhouse with others from among the Dragmires' ranks, many of whom were still rabid loyalists.

Things did not go well for Dark in jail. His transfer to high security was for his own safety.

He was nineteen.

[mvrtogg]

Richard was happy aboard the Empress as Elizabeth's assistant and personal guard of sorts. His job was easier and he didn't have to work himself to prove himself worthy of being aboard. Elizabeth already knew how hard he worked prior to even becoming a pirate. "Aye. I am happy here with you. I like my job. I don't have t'do all the heavy lifting or dishing out floggings t'people." Though he would continued to pull his weight and help with manual things like lifting and hauling, it was second nature to him. He felt he had to work his body to keep his mind from wandering. Yes he drank, but it wasn't all the time ... rum was scarce these days. It was just whenever the drink was available and he felt the need to drink.

He sighed again, forehead pressed against hers. His hands trailing upward to cup one of her cheeks, his thumb gently caressing her skin. "I'm happy just being here with you, Miss Swann." he whispered against her lips, wanting to kiss her. He didn't though, not yet. He loved her more than anything he could possibly think of. He waned nothing more than to just be with her in this moment and .. was it selfish to say .. forever? He felt her snuggle against his frame and instinctively wrapped his arms around her this time, holing her against him. He looked down to her, locking his hues to her face in attempts to read her expression. That's when he places a sweet kiss to her lips. Then to her cheek and finally along her jawline. "Are you happy?" he whispered against her skin.

"Do I miss being a marine?" Murtogg retorted with a quirked brow. He did miss how things were, he misses some of his friends, he missed Port Royal. He missed his pet cat. However, he was also happy to be here with Elizabeth. When she commented about how he looked in his redcoat uniform, he grinned happily. "Maybe a little. Y'know we might be able t'steal a uniform and I could wear it fer you again, if you liked seeing me in it that much?" The man was dead serious too, he'd steal a marine's uniform and wear it if it meant making her happy. He would've probably looked ridiculous in it now-a-days, as he had .. his sideburns and mustache now. Would've looked a bit out of place, but he'd do it for her.

She listened intently to his story, and to her surprise the former marine had been through a lot more then she could have imagined. A slight flicker of sadness crossed delicate features , eyes drifting over Richards scars , bewildered. How had he been able to carry this burden on his own, the healed injures a lasting evidence of his emotional trauma. Brows furrowed , dark eyes clouded with pain even though he seemed to have overcome most of it, she couldn't understand why anyone would cause another so much suffering.

"Richard,” she murmured, caressing his back gently with the wash cloth. Self-restraint failed her in that moment as she rose from where she’d been seated, a few long, determined strides bringing her to sit in front of him now. Elizabeth reached out, palm brushing his cheek gingerly. "are you happy with your rank aboard this ship?" she questioned thoughtfully, wondering if her actions might have been selfish, wondering if she should have considered his own ambitions more. After all, it seemed that he was given a respectable position aboard the revenge?

“ All I want is for you to be happy,” she took his hands in hers, pulling him a little closer. "if you want anything, anything at all, you surely must know you can simply ask." She wanted nothing more than to be near him; her eyes unable to look away from his. Elizabeth felt her heart twist within the confines of her ribcage , so painful she feared she might end up bleeding out, and dying right there on the spot. Of course she loved Murtogg's current position, it allowed him to be close to her, but if the man had other desires, she wouldn't restrain him from chasing those dreams. The thought about not having him beside her so often was near enough to drive her into a mini panic attack, but she swallowed back nervous bile, snuggling a little closer to nudge her foreheads against his, squeezing her eyes shut as she recalls the days back in port royal all those years ago.

"Do you miss it?" she wondered aloud, "your position as Navy Officer?" Her hands lifted to cradle his face delicately as she pulls back just slightly, opening her eyes to gaze into his. Ow how she wanted to kiss him, so desperately. She leaned closer her lips brushing against his. "If you were given the chance to return, would you take it?" she continued to wonder in a soft whisper as her hand gently tucked a few wet strands behind his ear. "I wouldn't blame you though, you did look good in that red uniform"

[ask-theoverseer-max]

"Uh ... shore, thanks, I guess fer not letting the others steal my chainsaw. The 'nly ones dumb enuf to do that are dem snot-nosed kids wif the stupid masks." Max shook his head at the thought of the Legion. "Mmm? Mista Entity thinks I do a good job? Nice, I better be wif all the time I've been here..."

“Well while most aren’t dumb enough to do something like that normally, there are times when even smart survivors can become desperate. When a corner animal becomes desperate, it will do anything to win, that is when they come up with dangerous ideas.”

“Yea but don’t think time here is all that matters. You gotta give yourself credit Max Jr. You’re good at your job in general, and you’ve got speed not many can match tit for tat.”

@amancalledboy

[ottogatto]

Hey, I hope you’re doing well. I really like the way you interpret things and was hoping you could help me clear something I’m confused about. There is this claim of Snape being groomed into being a death eater which I don’t completely get so can you please go over it because the only thing I can think of rn to support the claim is Sirius saying that snape was Lucius’s lapdog (I want to understand it better)

Hello! Yes I’m doing well. Sorry if I answer a bit late, I’ll try to be clear (unfortunately there were some meta explaining this better but it’s long lost into my reblogs--oh well, maybe one day I’ll find it back).

One day I wrote this:

And finally there’s an element that cannot be forgotten because of how essential it is. An element that none of the other “good guys” had.

None of them were, like Snape, Sorted into the House of Slytherin, plagued by prejudice, and they never had to deal with the inevitable influence and grooming of several Death Eaters, some of which were purposefully trying to recruit students, using brainwashing and manipulation tactics; tactics that are seen in cults and diverse ideologies, one of which JK Rowling herself fell into. 

And yet, we clearly see Lucius putting an arm around Snape as he joins the Slytherin table, which clearly means that Lucius is trying to drag Snape on his side; Sirius will later say that Snape is pureblood Lucius’ “lapdog”, and Umbridge will say that Lucius speaks highly of Snape in the Ministry.

As for the manipulation tactics…

“Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin’ fer followers. Got ’em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o’ his power, ’cause he was gettin’ himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn’t know who ter trust, didn’t dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches . . . terrible things happened. He was takin’ over."

“I met him when I traveled around the world. A foolish young man I was then, full of ridiculous ideas about good and evil. Lord Voldemort showed me how wrong I was. There is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it… Since then, I have served him faithfully, although I have let him down many times. He has had to be very hard on me.” Quirrell shivered suddenly. “He does not forgive mistakes easily. When I failed to steal the Stone from Gringotts, he was most displeased. He punished me… decided he would have to keep a closer watch on me...” (PS)

“But I [diary!Tom] was patient. I wrote back. I was sympathetic, I was kind. Ginny simply loved me. No one’s ever understood me like you, Tom… I’m so glad I’ve got this diary to confide in… It’s like having a friend I can carry around in my pocket… […] If I say it myself, Harry, I’ve always been able to charm the people I needed.”

“Miss Weasley should go up to the hospital wing right away,” Dumbledore interrupted in a firm voice. “This has been a terrible ordeal for her. There will be no punishment. Older and wiser wizards than she have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort.” (PS)

“Once the [Barty crouch Jr] had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic toward the son and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Cooperation.” (GoF)

“Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again,” said Sirius. “In the old days he had huge numbers at his command; witches and wizards he’d bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they’ll be just one group he’s after. […] Voldemort doesn’t march up to people’s houses and bang on their front doors, Harry,” said Sirius. “He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails them.” (OotP)

Voldemort is known for manipulating people into joining him; as in real life radicalization, abused, bullied, lone, rejected and deprived people like Snape are the perfect targets.

And combining all the factors I mentioned, it shouldn’t be a surprise Snape turned to the Dark Side and became bitter, spiteful and vindictive, but it is surprising that he stayed loyal to Dumbledore and the Light Side after all the ways they have deceived him.

It comes from here.

Dear @rose0jam recently wrote this: Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult, an essay by Rose0Jam

@snapeaddict explained this very well too:

Snape had nothing. More than nothing, he was hated by society and denied the right to a basic support system. Sorted in Slytherin house and half-blood, his only option was to become a death - eater. It's too easy to turn a blind eye on social inequalities, even if fictional. You cannot compare, and allow yourself to be judge of the actions of two people who did not have the same chances. You are also very quick to forget Snape turned against this ideology, and the bullying he suffered pushed him even more into it.

"Children who are at risk of radicalisation may have low self-esteem, or be victims of bullying or discrimination. Extremists might target them and tell them they can be part of something special, later brainwashing them into cutting themselves off from their friends and family."

- UK Government

You will find this on all government's prevention websites. Blaming radicalised youth is already questionable when they had no support system whatsoever, but using this to prove the moral superiority of privileged people within the same society that did not provide help for those who need it is utterly disgusting. This argument is completely invalid.

And finally:

This is where I fall back on Avery and Mulciber. After Snape has learned that the adults would rather protect his bullies than ensure Snape’s life is saved—after learning that for the Light Side, Snape’s life wasn’t worth anything, it’s possible he resorted to the only protection available: his mates in Slytherin. In HBP he talks to Draco about how it’s foolish to wander through the corridors alone, without protection. It’s likely that Snape only sought protection through the wrong crowds. After all, it seems effective, as the Marauders won’t attack him unless it was 4 on 1, meaning when Snape has none of his mates to protect him in the corridors. Imagine the level of stress this victim of bullying has to cope with just so he can walk through the school without fearing to be attacked from every corner?

In short: Snape was a vulnerable person; and vulnerable people are targeted by organizations of radicalization. Snape, abused by the “good guys”, falls within those who seem to care for him. And Voldemort has plenty of ways to make Snape feel understood and accepted.

”I too had a despicable Muggle father” - “Muggles are dangerous, we are only protecting wizards and witches from further harm” - “Dumbledore installs his own aristocracy through nepotism, that’s why James Potter was Head Boy, why he privileged two purebloods’ lives over yours, a half-blood; you see very well that it’s all a lie” - “Dumbledore has brought Lupin the werewolf in the school so he can teach lessons or even try to kill those he sees as a menace, and he’s right to see you as a menace” - “you’ll find your true family, your brothers among us, you’ll get what they’ve denied you” - etc.

A bit like Rowling said: he sought protection amongst those who seemed to offer it. Blinded until he could no longer deny the truth. Spending years regretting his naivety and his foolishness.

[voidrifter]

“Okay!” The girls quickly pull her in and shut the door. They all glance between each other. They appear to be a bit older than Kiana, a little gruff and hardened by work. “Search away as you need. No one in here took the sheets. We saw someone sneak in to take ‘em. But all the guys here are creeps so we like watchin’ em fight.”

Kiana is, momentarily, stunned. It's the alcohol probably, that turns her smile a little dopey and sends a wave of heat creeping up her neck. Anyone in their right mind would be a little flustered, okay? Not her fault.

"Fair enough," an awkward half-laugh chokes its way from her throat, and she tries to salvage it by moving towards one of their trunks for her 'inspection.' "I'll be quick about it, promise. was the uh... the person that snuck in, did they work here, too?"

“Oh, no. He don’t work here. Well he kinda did. He said he needed some sheets for someone at the jail and we pointed him to Johnson and Jenson’s room.”

In what is a rather unconvincing display of interest towards her supposed job, Kiana rifles around in one trunk. It's all a bunch of nothing, normal stuff, and if anything weird had been in there she certainly hadn't paid enough attention to notice before she shuts it and carries on to the next.

"So you know him? Must be a good guy if he's stealing sheets for someone without 'em."

“I mean he’s okay I guess. A bit of a Narc but like he’s okay. Not many people round town like him but like he’s okay I guess.”

This earns a blink of surprise, snow-white head swiveling to look at the girl who says it. She's pretty, though, and Kiana has to look away again just as quickly.

"Uh... care to elaborate on that or...?"

They all glance back and forth, worried about properly saying who it was. "No." A shake of their head. Another girl from behind calls out, "For the love of God, it was the Sheriff. My lord!"

Another blink of surprise, this one as she's lowering the lid on the trunk. Sobering a moment, Kiana's brows furrow. The Sheriff going out of his way for a prisoner? Odd. It could be nothing, maybe the jailhouse is out of sheets. Damn, they must have a lot of occupants if that's the case.

"Oh, the dude with the wife, yeah. Who's he got to bring sheets to? You'd think a guy like him could get sheets without, well, stealing them."

“Well he didn’t mean to steal em, we kinda told him no one was usin’ them. There are spare sheets at the end of the hall too.” A dumbfounded look between them all. “Think they were fer a new prisoner. Big fella, he said.”

Ah, well there goes her fleeting idea of a beautiful girl wooing the man from behind bars. She hums, thoughtful.

"Huh," she moves on to another trunk, halfheartedly fishes around, "weird. Oh well, sure he probably needed them more than those guys anyway."

“Yeah. So like, you’re not gonna tell yer folks right? We can trust you?”

"Who, me? i don't care, your secret's safe with me." She turns her best, good-natured-idiot smile towards the asker, then winks for good measure.

“Thanks cutie.” A wave as she’s guided back to the door. “Stop by any time!”

Her cheeks are bright pink by the time the door has closed behind her again, woefully between a room of beautiful women and her actual responsibility. Kiana gives the doctor a sheepish look out of the corner of her eye, then clears her throat.

"They didn't have them," she says, "guess it remains a mystery, then."

A Peck of Gold

Overture 2024: Hellwalker | Week 1: Kiana, Dr. Ratio, Gallagher

[thelastspeecher]

Best Revenge AU - Junior

I’m still working on the ficlet in this AU that is Angie-centric and has stuff showing her relationship with Max, her divorce, and when she starts dating Stan.  But ever since I decided to create a new kid for this AU, I’ve been unable to stop thinking about said kid.  So here, have some origin story for Stanley Junior.

——————————————————————————————

              The front door slammed open.  Angie stormed into the living room, where Lute and Stan were waiting for her to come back.  After finding out Max had cheated on her, she had immediately gone over to trash his place.

              “Feelin’ better?” Lute asked gently.  Angie looked at him for a moment, then burst into tears. “Angie?”  She ran off.

              “What just happened?” Stan asked.

              “I don’t rightly know,” Lute said.  He chewed on his lip.  “Maybe it would be fer the best if you went to talk to her. She might not want to talk to her brother.”

              “I’m on it.”  Stan got up and went down the hall, coming to a stop in front of Angie’s bedroom.  He cautiously opened the door.  Angie sat on her bed, her head in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.  Stan took a seat next to her.

              “You all right?” he asked.

              “N-no.”

              “What’s wrong?  I woulda thought you’d be happy after trashing your ex’s house.”

              “I prob’ly would be,” Angie said, wiping her tears away, “if I wasn’t…”  She took a shuddering breath.  “If I wasn’t pregnant.”

              “You’re- but we haven’t knocked boots!”  It was something Stan was a bit disappointed by, but he was fine with waiting until Angie felt comfortable being intimate.  “How could you-”

              “It’s Max’s,” Angie whispered.  Stan stared at her in horror.  “Seems- seems like he got what he wanted.  I was ‘bout a week or two along when I left.”

              “I thought you were on birth control.” Stan’s eyes widened.  “Unless he fucked with your pills.”

              “He didn’t know about the pills.”

              “Then how-”

              “Birth control can fail.”

              “Are you- are you gonna keep it?” Stan asked quietly.  Angie closed her eyes.

              “Nothin’ against folks who decide to- to terminate a pregnancy.  It ain’t my business what they do.  But I- I can’t do that.”

              “You’re keeping it.”

              “Yes.”  Angie put her head in her hands, sobbing again.  “I’m- I’m sorry!”

              “Why?”

              “‘Cause I love ya so- so much, and ya won’t stay with me.”

              “Hold on.”  Stan held up a hand.  “When did I say that?”

              “You-”  Angie stared at him, her bright blue eyes filled with tears.  “Yer not goin’ to leave me?”

              “Nope.”

              “But I’m pregnant with another man’s baby.”

              “So?” Stan said with a shrug.  “Angie, this is the best relationship I’ve ever been in. I’m not gonna throw that away.  You mean everything to me.”  He reached for Angie’s hand and squeezed.  “I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

              “But-”

              “And…”  Stan looked down at the ground.  “Honestly? I’ve wanted to be a dad since I was a kid. ��This just means I’ll be a dad sooner than I thought.”

              “You won’t regret it?” Angie asked.

              “I’d regret it if I left.”  Stan kissed the top of her head.  “I’m not going anywhere, Ang.”  Angie pulled Stan’s face closer to hers and kissed him sweetly.

              “I love you,” she whispered.

              “Love you, too.”

-----

              Stan landed in the backyard of Angie and Lute’s house.

              “Mind the flowerbed!” Angie called from inside. Stan quickly shut off his flames. “Thank you!”  Stan walked in through the back door.  “In the kitchen!”  He headed for the kitchen.  Angie was nervously stirring a pot of something on the stove.  Stan walked over to her and kissed the top of her head.  “Are ya excited?”

              “To meet your parents or to finally get all the baby stuff outta my apartment?” Stan asked.  Angie swatted him playfully.  The day after Angie told Stan she was pregnant and keeping it, Stan had gone on a bit of a spree, stealing things from numerous baby supply stores. Angie didn’t mind it, but insisted Stan not steal from small mom and pop stores.  However, because she had wanted to wait to tell her family about the pregnancy, the baby supplies were stacked up in Stan’s apartment.

              “Thank you fer bein’ so flexible on me not tellin’ my folks ‘til now,” she said softly.  Stan shrugged.

              “You’re the one who’s pregnant.  I’m just following your lead.”

              “Well, I’m officially in my second trimester, so now’s the time to tell.”

              “Are you showing yet?”

              “I literally showed ya yesterday.  Do ya really think I’d have started showin’ overnight?”

              “Well, you gotta get the bump at some point,” Stan said.  Angie chuckled.  She lifted her shirt to reveal her stomach.  It was a bit bigger than before, but didn’t look evidently pregnant. “Nope.  Not yet.”

              “I ain’t that surprised,” Angie said, lowering her shirt.  “I ‘member my Pa sayin’ that my Ma didn’t look pregnant until her third trimester fer all the kids.  Well, all of ‘em ‘cept me ‘n Lute, since we were twins.”

              “Yeah, you’re pretty small.”

              “Doc says that the lil bean ‘ll prob’ly be small, too.”  The doorbell rang.

              “I got it!” Lute’s voice shouted from somewhere.

              “Still can’t believe you managed to keep it secret from him,” Stan whispered to Angie.  “Not only is he your twin, you literally live together.”

              “Lute’s been walkin’ on eggshells ever since I left Max,” Angie said.  She turned off the stove.  “He’s very careful to not pry into my personal business, since Max was so controllin’.”  Footsteps sounded.  The front door opened.

              “Ma, Pa!” Lute said happily.  “Angie’s in the kitchen.  I ain’t sure if Stan’s got here yet or not.”  Lute entered the kitchen, a man and woman close behind him.  The man looked like a carbon copy of Lute, while the woman looked exactly like Angie, with one major exception.

              Angie clearly got her dad’s nose.  Wonder if the kid’ll get it, too.

              “Angie!”  Angie’s parents promptly pulled her away from the stove and into a hug.  “Oh, it’s so good to see ya,” her father cooed.  Her mother looked Angie up and down.

              “I see ya fin’ly put some meat on yer bones,” her mom said.  Angie turned red.

              “Ma!”

              “No, it’s good,” her dad said firmly.  “You needed it.”  He smiled at her.  “You’ve always been so tiny.”

              “Maybe it’s ‘cause she ain’t stressed from livin’ with that turd what pretended to be a husband,” Lute groused, leaning against the counter.  Angie kneaded her forehead.

              “Lute…”

              “I’m allowed to call him that.”  A sudden melancholy fell over Lute.  “He was my best friend long ‘fore he was yer boyfriend.”

              “I know.”

              “So, are ya goin’ to introduce us to yer new beau?” Mrs. McGucket cooed.  Angie grabbed Stan’s hand.  He gave her a reassuring squeeze.

              “Ma, Pa, this is my boyfriend, Stanley Pines. He works with Lute, but has a day job sellin’ used cars.  Stan, these ‘re my parents, Sally ‘n Mearl McGucket.”

              “Pleasure to meet ya, son,” Mr. McGucket said, holding out a hand.  Stan shook the offered hand, forcing a smile.  The two southerners seemed like a regular farmer and his wife, warm and gentle. But Stan knew that Mrs. McGucket was actually the infamous Sirocco, his own mother’s archnemesis, while Mr. McGucket had regularly interfered with local government as the villain Hemlock. “I got to say, I’m glad my lil girl fin’ly found herself a proper villain to date.”

              “Pa,” Angie whined.  Mr. McGucket chuckled.

              “I’m just teasin’, junebug.”

              “We’re so happy yer in a good relationship,” Mrs. McGucket gushed.  “Ya had a clean break with Max and can start over.”  Angie took a deep breath.

              “A-about that…” she started.  Stan looked at her, surprised.

              “You’re gonna tell them now?  I thought you were gonna wait until after dinner.”

              “No.”  Angie took another breath.  “I just- I just want to get it over with.”  She looked at her parents.  “Ma, Pa, I’m pregnant.”  Lute slipped from his casual lean, falling to the floor.  Mr. and Mrs. McGucket stared at Angie in shock.

              “O-oh,” Mrs. McGucket mumbled.  Mr. McGucket swallowed.

              “Angie, we try not to pass judgement on you ‘n yer siblin’s lives, but you’ve only been datin’ Stan fer a few months.  To become pregnant with his child-”

              “It’s not Stan’s,” Angie said quickly.  Mrs. McGucket covered her mouth, her eyes wide in horror. “It’s Max’s.  I didn’t know it, but I was a couple weeks along when I left.”

              “Shit,” Lute swore, getting to his feet.  His face contorted with rage.  “He- he just had to get the last word, didn’t he?”

              “Yer keepin’ it?” Mr. McGucket asked softly. Angie nodded.  “I see.”  He looked at his wife.  “Sally?”

              “Yes, dear.”  Mrs. McGucket took Angie’s hand.  “Come with me, sweetling.  I need to ask ya a few questions.”

              “Okay.”  Angie allowed Mrs. McGucket to lead her away.  Stan and Lute looked at Mr. McGucket, confused.

              “What’s that about?” Stan asked.  Mr. McGucket took off his glasses and polished them.

              “We were plannin’ on havin’ Sally ask Angie a few questions in private, due to the sensitive nature of her breakup with Max.”

              “You mean-” Stan started.  Mr. McGucket nodded and put his glasses back on.  Lute frowned.

              “What?”

              “Your mom is asking Angie if her ex-husband beat her,” Stan said flatly.  Lute’s jaw dropped.  “He didn’t, by the way.  Angie’s told me everything that her dick of an ex did to her.  Max treated her like she was made of glass and tried to control her near the end, but he didn’t lay a finger on her.”

              Except for when he tried to keep her from leaving and grabbed her hard enough to bruise.  But Angie had sworn Stan to secrecy in that regard.  She knew her family would go scorched earth if they found out, which she didn’t want.

              “Stanley, she might still be uncomfortable tellin’ ya somethin’ that she’d feel more comfortable tellin’ her mother,” Mr. McGucket said gently.  He glowered. “Especially…”

              “What?” Lute asked.

              “With this new information ‘bout Max gettin’ her pregnant, we have to consider the possibility that Angie didn’t…”  Mr. McGucket closed his eyes.  “We need to make sure Angie consented to the events what caused her to get pregnant and that Max didn’t, ah, counteract any attempts Angie made to prevent a pregnancy.”  Lute shook his head.

              “No, Pa.  Max, he- he turned out to be a real poor excuse of a person, but he wouldn’t have done anything like that to Angie.  And if he’d even tried, Angie wouldn’t have tolerated it.”

              “Hon, yer sister is very strong, but strong people can find themselves strugglin’ in a sit’ation like Angie was in,” Mr. McGucket said.  “I also don’t think that Max would have done that to Angie.  But we can’t ignore that possibility.”

              “It’s smart,” Stan said after a moment.  “Gotta cover all your bases.”

              “Yes.”  Mr. McGucket looked at Stan carefully.  “So, yer fine with raisin’ another man’s child?”

              “Yep.  Angie and I talked it out ages ago.”  Stan grinned, glad for the change in topic.  “I’ve already started stocking up on stuff for the kid.”

              “Yer the one what burgled all those baby stores?” Lute asked.  Stan nodded. “Where have ya been puttin’ the stuff?”

              “My apartment.  But now that you all know, I can finally start moving it here.  Thank god.  I can barely see my bed.”

              “Y’know, if yer goin’ to be with Angie fer the long haul and help her raise her child,” Mr. McGucket said idly, “maybe ya should just move in with her.”  Stan stared at him.

              “Pa, Angie’s the one who should offer that, not you,” Lute said, rolling his eyes.  Mr. McGucket chuckled.

              “Yer right, yer right.”  He clapped Stan on the shoulder.  “Are ya excited to be a dad?”  Stan’s grin broadened.

              “Yeah.  I am. I know it’s gonna be tough and stressful, but I’m looking forward to holding the kid for the first time.”  Mr. McGucket beamed.

              “That’s what I like to hear.”

              “What a coincidence,” Angie said.  Stan turned.  Angie and her mother had returned.  She smiled at Stan.  “That’s what I like to hear, too.”

-----

              “It’s a boy!” the doctor said.  Stan looked over.  The newborn in the doctor’s arms was tiny and covered in body fluids Stan didn’t want to think about.  The doctor handed the baby to a nearby nurse.

              “Hey, uh, where are you taking him?” Stan asked. Angie chuckled.

              “Stanley, relax.  They’re just cleanin’ him up,” she said wearily.

              “Oh.  Right.” Stan grinned at Angie.  “Got caught up in the moment.”  Angie laughed again.

              “What time is it?” she asked.

              “Uh…”  Stan checked his watch.  “Two in the morning.”

              “Geez.”  Angie yawned. “No wonder I’m so tired.  I was in labor fer ten hours.”  Angie had gone into labor yesterday afternoon, prompting Stan to call out of the bank job he was supposed to help with.  “Is yer hand all right?”

              “I’ve had worse,” Stan said.  He’d been by Angie’s side throughout the labor, providing his hand for her to squeeze when she had a particularly bad contraction.  “So, was this a good labor or-”

              “It went about as smoothly as it could,” said the nurse, who had come back with the baby.  “Honestly, I haven’t seen a labor and birth this free from complications in a while.”

              “Good,” Angie said sleepily.  “Is my boy ready?”

              “Yes, he is.  Here you go.  He’s perfectly healthy.”  The nurse carefully deposited the baby in Angie’s arms.  “I’ll give you three some time to get to know each other.”

              “Thank you,” Angie said.  The nurse left.  Angie carefully parted the folds of the blanket, revealing her son.  “He’s so beautiful,” she whispered.

              “He’s really tiny,” Stan said.  “Are babies always that tiny?”

              “Newborns are usually pretty small, but this lil feller is definitely smaller ‘n average,” Angie answered.  She stroked her son’s cheek.  The baby shifted slightly and opened his eyes.  Stan smiled.

              “He’s got your peepers.”

              “He might not.”

              “Uh, he’s got blue eyes.”

              “Sometimes, babies are born with blue eyes, only fer the eyes to turn brown later on.”  Angie smiled. “He’s got the fam’ly nose, though.”

              “And he’s bald.”

              “Mm-hmm.”  Angie’s eyes slowly closed.  “He’s perfect.”

              “What are you gonna name him?” Stan asked.

              “Shh, later,” Angie mumbled.  Stan carefully took the baby from her.  He kissed her forehead.  Angie smiled.

              “Get some sleep.  You’ve earned it.”

-----

              “Stanley?”  Stan opened his eyes.  He looked at the hospital bed.  Angie was awake.

              “Hey, babe.”  Stan stretched.  After Angie had fallen asleep, she’d been taken from the delivery room to her own private room.  Stan had set up camp in the chair by her bed and fallen asleep.  “How are you doing?”

              “Less tired.”  Angie looked around.  “Where’s the baby?”

              “I had him go to the nursery so we could both get some sleep.”

              “Ah.  Smart.”

              “They asked what his name was, but I didn’t know what you were planning on, so they just put him down as Baby McGucket.” Stan grinned.  “Which, honestly, isn’t half bad of a name.”  Angie laughed.

              “It wouldn’t be the weirdest name in my fam’ly. But it ain’t the name I’ve got in mind.”

              “What is?”

              “You’ll see,” Angie said with a grin.  Stan chuckled.

              “Making me wait.  I see how it is.”  He stood up. “Be right back, I’ve gotta go pee.”

-----

              When Stan got back to Angie’s hospital room, she was holding the baby.  Stan walked over to her bed.

              “Yer middle name is Stanford, right?” Angie asked him.

              “Uh, yeah.  Fuck Pops for doing that to me.”

              “Love, there ‘re young ears in hearin’ range,” Angie said gently.  “No swearin’ ‘round the baby.”

              “…Right.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.  “Why’d you need my middle name?  Oh, I was gonna sign the birth certificate.”

              “No need.  Birth certificate is all done,” Angie said.  Stan frowned.

              “But who’d you put down as the dad?”

              “I left it blank.”  Angie looked down at her son in her arms.  “I didn’t- I know that yer happy to be raisin’ this lil bean now, but I didn’t want to chain ya to a child what ain’t yours.  Just in case.”

              “Ang…”

              “I don’t want ya to feel trapped,” Angie said quietly.  Stan’s eyes widened.  He put his arm around her shoulders.  “I’ve felt that way.  I wouldn’t wish it on someone I love.”

              “You’re too good for me,” Stan said.  Angie managed a watery chuckle.  “If I’m not signing the birth certificate, why’d you need to know my middle name?”

              “Well…”  Angie smiled. “Hold out yer arms.”  Stan did as he was told.  Angie carefully handed the baby over.  “Meet Stanley Stanford McGucket.”

              “Wh-”  Stan stared at Angie.  “That’s- that’s my name.”  Angie nodded. Stan swallowed.  “It’s- it’s a good name,” he choked out.

              “You’ve been there fer me through all of this.  It’s the only name what feels right fer the lil bean.”

              “I…”  Stan stared down at the baby named after him.  “He really is a little bean.”  Angie laughed.

              “I was thinkin’ we could call him Junior. He ain’t Stan Pines Junior at the moment, but if we get married, he will be.  And since yer already named Stan…”

              “Yeah, I’d be pretty confused if I heard Lute say he changed Stan’s dirty diaper,” Stan said dryly.  Angie laughed again.  “You’re in a good mood.”

              “I’ve got my two boys with me.  How could I not be?” Angie asked.  Junior shifted in Stan’s arms.  Stan smiled down at him.

              “Hey, bud,” he whispered.  Junior watched him curiously.  “I’m not the one who got your mama pregnant.  But I’m the one who’s gonna take care of you.  Got it?”  Junior giggled.  “Good. Glad we’re on the same page.” Stan sat down in the chair he’d slept in, still staring at Junior.  “Sweet Moses. I’m- I’m a dad.”

              “Only if ya want to be,” Angie said.  Stan looked at her.

              “I just told Junior that I’m gonna be his dad.  He understood.  You didn’t?”

              “All right, all right,” Angie said, holding her hands up in surrender.  “All right. Yer a dad.  Yer Junior’s dad.

              “Damn straight.”

              “Language.”

              “Right.”  Stan settled back in his chair.  “These isn’t the Halloween I had in mind, but-”

              “Pardon?”

              “Ang, you went into labor yesterday, on October 30th,” Stan said.  “Today’s Halloween.”  Angie burst into laughter.  “What?”

              “It’s just- I was born on April Fool’s Day.  It feels appropriate fer my son to be born on Halloween.”  Stan held up a finger.

              “Nuh-uh.  Our son was born on Halloween.”  He grinned. “I’m gonna throw Junior the best birthday parties.”  A comfortable silence fell.  “I kinda like how quiet it is right now.”

              “Don’t get too used to it,” Angie warned.  “My entire fam’ly is headin’ over.  It’ll get loud real fast.”  The door slammed open.

              “Where’s my new nephew?” Lute crowed.  Angie looked at Stan.

              “See?”

[thewidowsghost]

The Unknown Muggleborn - Chapter 10

3rd Person POV

Quirrell, however, must have been braver than Harry, Ron, and Hermione had thought. In the weeks that follow he did seem to be getting paler and thinner, but it didn't look as though he had cracked it.

Every time they pass the third-floor corridor, Harry and Ron would press their ears to the door to check that Fluffy is growling inside.

Whenever Harry passes Quirrell he gives him a small smile, and Ron started telling people off for his stutter.

Hermione and (Y/n) had more on their minds than the Sorcerer's Stone. Hermione had started drawing up study schedules and the two had been color-coding all their notes. Ron and Harry watch in amazement as (Y/n) launches into some complicated Potions thing at Hermione's request and the brunette begins jotting down notes.

Harry and wouldn't have minded, but Hermione kept nagging them to do the same.

"Hermione, the exams are ages away."

"Ten weeks," Hermione snaps.

"That's not ages," (Y/n) pipes up, "that's like a second to Nicholas Flamel."

"But we're not six hundred years old," Ron reminds her. "Anyway, what are you four studying for, you all ready know it all!"

"What are we studying for?" (Y/n) exclaims. "Are you crazy? You realize we need to pass these exams to get into our second year? They're very important, we should have started studying a month ago."

"I don't know what's gotten into me," Hermione chimes in.

Unfortunately, the teachers seem to be thinking along the same lines as Hermione and (Y/n). They pile so much homework on them that the Easter holidays weren't nearly as much fun as the Christmas ones. It is hard to relax with Hermione and (Y/n) next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements. Moaning and yawning, Harry and Ron spent most of their free time in the library with them, trying to get through all their extra work.

"I'll never remember this," Ron bursts out one afternoon, throwing down his quill and looking longingly out of the library windows. It is the first really fine day they'd had in months. The sky is a clear, forget-me-not blue, and there is a feeling in the air of summer coming.

Harry, who is looking up "Dittany" in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, didn't look up until he hears Ron says, "Hagrid! What are you doing in the library?"

Hagrid shuffles into view, hiding something behind his back. He looks very out of place in his moleskin overcoat.

"Jus' lookin'," he says, in a shifty voice that gets their interest at once. "An'what're you lot up ter?" He looks suddenly suspicious. "Yer not still lookin' fer Nicolas Flamel, are yeh?"

"Oh, we found out who he is ages ago," says Ron impressively. "And we know what that dog's guarding, it's a Sorcerer's St —"

"Shhhh!" Hagrid looks around quickly to see if anyone is listening."Don' go shoutin' about it, what's the matter with yeh?"

"There are a few things we wanted to ask you, as a matter of fact," says Harry, "about what's guarding the Stone, apart from Fluffy -"

"Don't rope me into this," (Y/n) says, not looking up from her potions notes.

"SHHH!" says Hagrid again. "Listen - come an' see me later, I'm not promisin' I'll tell yeh anythin', mind, but don' go rabbitin' about it in here, studens aren' s'pposed ter know. They'll think I've told yeh-"

"See you later, then," says Harry.

Hagrid shuffles off.

"What was he hiding behind his back?" says Hermione thoughtfully.

"Do you think it had anything to do with the Stone?" Harry wonders.

"I'm going to see what section he was in," says Ron, who'd had enough of working. He comes back a minute later with a pile of books in his arms and slams them down on the table. "Dragons!" he whispers. "Hagrid was looking up stuff about dragons!Look at these: Dragon Species of Great Britain and Ireland; From Egg to Inferno, A Dragon Keeper's Guide."

"Hagrid's always wanted a dragon, he told me so the first time I ever met him."

"But it's against our laws," (Y/n) comments, still gazing down at her notes, Snape had told her that he was giving her a more advanced exam than everyone else's. "Dragon breeding was outlawed by the Warlocks' Convention of 1709."

"Everyone knows that," Ron agrees. "It's hard to stop Muggles from noticing us if we're keeping dragons in the back garden - anyway, you can't tame dragons, it's dangerous. You should see the burns Charlie's got of wild ones in Romania."

"But there aren't wild dragons in Britain?" asks Harry.

"Of course there are," says Ron. "Common Welsh Green and Hebridean Blacks. The Ministry of Magic has a job hushing them up, I can tell you. Our kind have to keep putting spells on Muggles have spotted them, to make them forget."

"So what on earth is Hagrid up to?" wonders Hermione wonders aloud.

. . .

When they knock on the gamekeeper's hut an hour later, they are surprised to see that ll the curtains are closed. Hagrid calls, "Who is it?" before he had let them in, and then shuts the door quickly behind them.

It is stifling hot inside, and (Y/n) rolls up the sleeves of her shirt and Fang jumps into her lap.

"So - yeh wanted to ask me something?"

"Yes," says Harry, seeing no point in beating around the bush. "We were -"

"Not me, just to be clear," (Y/n) interjects and Hagrid glances gratefully at her.

"Wondering," Harry continues, "if you could tell us what's guarding eh Sorcerer's Stone apart from Fluffy."

Hagrid frowns at him. "O' course I can't," he says. "Number one, I don' know meself. Number two, yeh know too much already, so I wouldn' tell yeh if I could. That Stone's here fer a good reason. It was almost stolen outta Gringotts — Is'ppose yeh've worked that out an' all? Beats me how yeh even know abou' Fluffy."

"Oh, come on, Hagrid, you might want to tell us," Hermione begins."But you do know, you know everything that goes on around here," she finishes in a warm, flattering voice. Hagrid's beard twitches and they can tell he is smiling."We only wondered who had done the guarding, really," Hermione continues. "We wondered who Dumbledore had trusted enough to help him, apart from you."

Hagrid's chest swells at the last words and Harry and Ron beam at Hermione, (Y/n) scratching Fang behind the ears.

"Well, I don' s'pose it could hurt ter tell yeh that . . . let's see . . . he borrowed Fluffy from me . . . then some o' the teachers did enchantments . . .Professor Sprout — Professor Flitwick — Professor McGonagall —" he ticks them off on his fingers, "Professor Quirrell — an' Dumbledore himself did somethin', o' course. Hang on, I've forgotten someone. Oh yeah, Professor Snape."

"Snape?" Harry asks.

"Yeah — yer not still on abou' that, are yeh? Look, Snape helped protect the Stone, he's not about ter steal it."

Harry knows Ron and Hermione are thinking the same as he is. If Snape had been in on protecting the Stone, it must have been easy to find out how the other teachers had guarded it. He probably knew everything — except, it seemed, Quirrell's spell and how to get past Fluffy.

"You're the only one who knows how to get past Fluffy, aren't you, Hagrid?" asks Harry anxiously. "And you wouldn't tell anyone, would you? Not even one of the teachers?"

"Not a soul knows except me an' Dumbledore," says Hagrid proudly.

"Well, that's something," Harry mutters to the others, (Y/n) rolling her eyes. "Hagrid, can we have a window open? I'm boiling."

"Can't, Harry, sorry," says Hagrid. (Y/n) notices him glance at the fire, and she looks at it, too.

"Hagrid — what's that?" But she already knows what is. In the very heart of the fire, underneath the kettle, is a huge, black egg. She nudges Fang off her and crouches in front of the fire.

"Ah," says Hagrid, fiddling nervously with his beard, "That's — er . . ."

"Where did you get it, Hagrid?" (Y/n) asks, studying the black egg.

"It must've cost you a fortune," Ron pipes up, crouching beside (Y/n).

"Won it," answers Hagrid. "Las' night. I was down in the village havin' a few drinks an' got into a game o' cards with a stranger. Think he was quite glad ter get rid of it, ter be honest."

"But what are you going to do with it when it's hatched?" wonders Hermione.

"Well, I've bin doin' some readin'," says Hagrid, pulling a large book from under his pillow. "Got this outta the library — Dragon Breeding for Pleasure and Profit — it's a bit outta date, o' course, but it's all in here. Keep the eggi n the fire, 'cause their mothers breathe on 'em, see, an' when it hatches, feed it on a bucket o' brandy mixed with chicken blood every half hour. An' see here — how ter recognize diff'rent eggs — what I got there's a Norwegian Ridgeback. They're rare, them."

Hagrid looks very pleased with himself, but Hermione doesn't look pleased at all. "Hagrid," she exclaims, "you live in a wooden house!" But Hagrid isn't listening. He is humming merrily as he stokes the fire.

. . .

So now they have something else to worry about: what might happen to Hagrid if anyone found out he's hiding an illegal dragon in his hut.

"Wonder what it's like to have a peaceful life," Ron sighs, as evening after evening they struggle through all the extra homework they were getting. Hermione had started making study schedules for Harry and Ron, too. And it was driving them nuts.

Then, one breakfast time, Hedwig brings Harry a note from Hagrid. He had written only two words: It's hatching.

Ron wanted to skip Herbology and go straight down to the hut, but Hermione wouldn't hear of it.

"Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?" Ron asks.

"We've got lessons, we'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing -"

"Shut up!" Harry whispers.

Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. (Y/n) turns to give him a glare and the blond scampers off, reminding (Y/n) of a little ferret.

Ron and Hermione argue all the way to Herbology and in the end, she agrees to run down Hagrid's with the other five during morning break. When the bell sounds from the castle at the end of their lesson, the three of them drop their trowels at once and hurry through the grounds to the edge of the forest. Hagrid greet them, looking flushed and excited.

"It's nearly out," Hagrid ushers them inside.

The egg is lying on the table. There are deep cracks in it. Something is moving inside; a funny clicking noise was coming from it.

The five draw their chairs up to the table and watch with bated breath.

All at once there is a scraping noise and the egg splits open. The baby dragon flops onto the table. It isn't exactly pretty, Harry thinks. It's spiny wings are huge compared to it's skinny jet body, it has a long snout with wide nostrils, the stubs of horns and bulging, orange eyes.

It sneezes, a couple of sparks flying out of it's snout.

"Isn't he beautiful?" Hagrid murmurs. He reaches out a hand to stroke the dragon's head. It snaps at his fingers, showing pointed fangs. "Bless him, look, he knows his mummy!" exclaims Hagrid.

"Hagrid," says Hermione, "how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?"

Hagrid is about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face - he leaps to his feet and runs to the window.

"What's the matter?" (Y/n) asks.

"Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains - it's a kid - he's runnin' back up ter the school."

(Y/n) bolts to the door and looks out. Even at a distance there is no mistaking him.

Malfoy had seen the dragon.

. . .

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the last week made Harry, Ron, Hermione and (Y/n) very nervous. They spend most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

"Just let him go," Harry urges.

"I can't he'll die," Hagrid says. "He's too little."

They look at the dragon. It had grown three times in length in just a week, smoke furling out of its nostrils. Hagrid hadn't been doing his gamekeeping duties because the dragon was keeping him so busy. There are empty brandy bottles and chicken feathers all over the floor.

"I've decided to call him Norbert," says Hagrid, looking at the dragon with misty eyes. "He really knows me now, watch. Norbert! Norbert! Where's Mummy?"

"He's lost his marbles," Ron mutters in Harry's ear.

"Hagrid," says Hermione loudly, "give it two weeks and Norbert's going to be as long as your house. Malfoy could go to Dumbledore at any moment."

Hagrid bites his lip. "I — I know I can't keep him forever, but I can't jus' dump him, I can't."

Harry suddenly turns to Ron."Charlie," he says.

"You're losing it, too," said Ron. "I'm Ron, remember?"

"No — Charlie — your brother, Charlie. In Romania. Studying dragons. We could send Norbert to him. Charlie can take care of him and then put him back in the wild!"

"Brilliant!" exclaims Ron. "How about it, Hagrid?"

And in the end, Hagrid agrees that they could send an owl to Charlie to ask him.

The following week drags by. Wednesday night found Hermione, Harry, and (Y/n) sitting alone in the common room, long after everyone else had gone to bed. The clock on the wall had just chimed midnight when the portrait hole burst open. Ron appears out of nowhere as he pulled off Harry's Invisibility Cloak. He had been down at Hagrid's hut, helping him feed Norbert, who was now eating dead rats by the crate.

"It bit me!" he says, showing them his hand, which was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief. "I'm not going to be able to hold a quill for a week. I tell you, that dragon's the most horrible animal I've ever met, but the way Hagrid goes on about it, you'd think it was a fluffy little bunny rabbit. When it bit me he told me off for frightening it. And when I left, he was singing it a lullaby."

There is a tap on the dark window.

"It's Hedwig!" (Y/n) says, hurrying to let her in. "She'll have Charlie's answer!"

The six of them put their heads together to read the note.

Dear Ron,

How are you? Thanks for the letter — I'd be glad to take the Norwegian Ridgeback, but it won't be easy getting him here. I think the best thing will be to send him over with some friends of mine who are coming to visit me next week. Trouble is, they mustn't be seen carrying an illegal dragon.

Could you get the Ridgeback up the tallest tower at midnight on Saturday? They can meet you there and take him away while it's till dark.

Send me an answer as soon as possible.

Love, Charlie

They look at one another.

"We've got the Invisibility Cloak," says Harry. "It shouldn't be too difficult - I think the cloak's big enough to cover three of us and Norbert."

It was a mark of how bad the last week had been that the other five agree with him. Anything to get rid of Norbert - and Malfoy.

There was a hitch. By the next morning, Ron's bitten hand had swollen to twice its usual size. He didn't know whether it was safe to go to Madam Pomfrey - would she recognize a dragon bite? By the afternoon, though, he had no choice. The cut had turned a nasty shade of green. It looked as if Norbert's fangs were poisonous.

Harry, Hermione, and (Y/n) rush up to the hospital wing at the end of the day to find Ron in a terrible state in bed.

"It's not just my hand," he whispers, "although that feels like it's about to fall off. Malfoy told Madam Pomfrey he wanted to borrow one of my books so he could come and have a good laugh at me. He kept threatening to tell her what really bit me — I've told her it was a dog, but I don't think she believes me — I shouldn't have hit him at the Quidditch match, that's why he's doing this."

The other three try to calm Ron down.

"It'll all be over at midnight on Saturday," says Iliana gently, but this didn't soothe Ron at all. On the contrary, he sits bolt upright and broke into a sweat.

"Midnight on Saturday!" he says in a hoarse voice. "Oh no — oh no —I've just remembered — Charlie's letter was in that book Malfoy took, he's going to know we're getting rid of Norbert."

The others didn't get a chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey came over at that moment and made them leave, saying Ron needed sleep.

. . .

"It's too late to change the plan now," (Y/n) murmurs to the others. "We haven't got time to send Charlie another owl."

"This could be our only chance to get rid of Norbert," Harry adds. "We'll have to risk it, and we have got the Invisibility Cloak, Malfoy doesn't know about that."

They find Fang sitting outside with a bandaged tail when they go to tell Hagrid, who opens a window to talk to them.

(Y/n) crouches beside the large boarhound, scratching behind Fang's ears.

"I won't let you in," Hagrid puffs. "Norbert's at a tricky stage — nothin' I can't handle."

When they tell him about Charlie's letter, his eyes fill with tears, although that might have just been because Norbert had just bitten him on the leg.

"Aargh! It's all right, he only got my boot — jus' playin'— he's only a baby, after all."

The 'baby' bangs its tail on the wall, making the windows rattle. Harry, Hermione, and (Y/n) walk back to the castle, feeling as though Saturday couldn't come quickly enough.

. . .

They would have felt sorry for Hagrid when the time came to say good-bye to Norbert if they hadn't been so worried about what they had to do.

It was a very dark, cloudy night, and they were a bit late arriving at Hagrid's hut because they'd have to wait for Peeves to get out of their way in the entrance hall, where he'd been playing tennis against teh wall.

Hagrid had Norbert packed and ready in a large crate.

"He's got lots o' rats an' some brandy fer the journey," says Hagrid in a muffled voice. "An' I've packed his teddy bear in case he gets lonely."

From inside the crate comes ripping noises that sound to (Y/n) as though the teddy is having his head torn off.

"Bye-bye, Norbert!" Hagrid sobs, as Harry, (Y/n), and Hermione cover the crate with the Invisibility Cloak and step underneath it themselves."Mummy will never forget you!"

How they managed to get the crate back up to the castle, they never knew.Midnight ticks nearer as they heave Norbert up the marble staircase in the entrance hall and along the dark corridors. Up another staircase, then another— even one of Harry's shortcuts didn't make the work much easier.

"Nearly there!" Harry pants as they reach the corridor beneath the tallest tower.

Then a sudden movement ahead of them makes them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrink into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other, ten feet away.

A lamp flares.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, has Malfoy by the ear. "Detention!" she shouts. "And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you —"

"You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter and (Y/n) (L/n) are coming — they've got a dragon!"

"What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on - I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!"

The steep spiral staircase up to the top of the tower seems the easiest thing in the world after that. Not until they'd stepped out into the cold night air, did they throw off the Cloak, glad to be able do breathe properly again. Hermione does a sort of jig.

"Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!"

"Don't," (Y/n) smiles warmly at her sister. "You know that's my thing."

Chuckling about Malfoy, they wait, Norbert thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks come swooping down out of the darkness.

Charlie's friends were a cheery lot. They show Harry, Hermione, and (Y/n) the harness they'd rigged up, so they could suspend Norbert between them. They all help buckle Norbert safely into it and then Harry, (Y/n), and Hermione shake hands with the others and thank them very much.

At last, Norbert was going . . . going . . . gone.

Harry and Hermione slip back down the spiral staircase and (Y/n) grabs the Invisibility Cloak. She darts down the stairs when she hears a noise coming from the end of the hall and throws the Cloak over Harry and Hermione.

As the figure steps out, Filch's have looms suddenly out of the darkness. "Well, well, well," he leers at (Y/n). "You are in trouble, aren't you.

Harry and Hermione watch in shock and horror as Filch grabs (Y/n)'s upper arm and begins dragging her down the corridor.

Word Count: 3574 words

[askyancy]

I dont wanna be free

As friends gather to the outdoor stage area, it’s a lot different than how it looked last time folks were here. 

Chairs are parted, there’s less seating as a result of space, there’s a big plexiglass screen between the stage and its audience.  Protection and safety first. 

Several familiar inmates are bustling about on the stage.  Sparkles McGee currently pestering poor Bambam who’s carrying around a handheld red piano and trying to shoo their sibling off them long enough to do some last minute practice and tuning.  That is up until someone with fairy wings happens to waltz right in and steal Sparkles’ full attention. Hands and nose pressed up against the glass like a child looking in at a candy store. 

“mffmmf!”  It’s sadly not.. possible to hear through the glass without the microphones on! -THUMP THUMP- “MFFHMFFH!” A lot of rapid pointing to the wings and bouncing up and down with a stupid grin on their face.  Its only stopped once Bambam comes over to grab Sparkles by the shoulder and whisk them away as they get ready to start. 

Once everyone was seated, things were in place and everything ready to go, Warden Murderslaughter headed up to the front and straightened his jacket out.

“Welcome welcome one. and. all. We have quite the auspicious evenin’ fer ya tonight. Our wonderful and FINEST RE-HA-BIL-I-TAYTED prisn’ers have put tagether quite the spectacle. So without further aDO I present ta you the Happy Trails Penitentiary Singin’ Sparklin Quartet and their FULL version of I dont wanna be free!” 

There’s a round of applause as the Warden heads back to the side of the seating area, lights dimming and stage lights coming on for the four wandering on stage. 

Yancy, Bambam, Sparkles and Jimmy the Pickle (Hank is so proud) take their spot on stage, all hooked up with microphones and ready to go.  Yancy starts of course

“De outside woyurld recoils in fear t’inkin’ if dey slip up dey’ll get locked up in here”  Bambam joined now with the piano, Sparkles with some lil shakers and eventually Jimmy with a deep bassy hum to help the mood. 

“Ya killin' ya'self to make ends meet while I'm workin on my tan and kickin' up my feet Ye cant be livin in prison deres always something ta do And you know who's payin', everyone but you Every day I wake up to a nice hot shower don't pay the water bill so I'm scrubbin' for hours“

Bambam took over singing as the quartet move around the stage in silly yet stylish dance moves.  “Shoot some hoops then lift weights in the yard maybe blow off some steam, shiv a rookie guard“  there’s a cheeky wink sent to officer Free who fixes Bambam a squinty face 

“And there's nothiiiing more exquisiteeeee than when I get my 40 minute conjugal visiiiit~” As yes Sparkles, just as sparkly as ever, turns out those shakers are actually the wrist bands they’re wearing! How bout that. 

“C'mon on meet the gang there's Jimmy the Pickle” A wave “and Shithole Hank he makes the best hooch wine in his toilet tank there's Bambam” Bambam strikes a pose with a grin  “and Tiny and Sparkles McGee” The group band together in a line for some jazz hands “and every single one of us scumbags agree”

“I don't wanna be free leave me in luxury why try a prison break when hard times is totally great I got a trash pedigree but in here I'm bourgeoisie I never think about the world beyond and I'd recall how I killed my mom no I don't wanna be free“

It’s at this point that Yancy takes up a verse most hadn’t heard before and those that have heard it may have long forgotten it. 

“Crocheting and my mail-in law degree take up so much time can't eat all my free meals I'ts like fun college without student loan debt Surrounded by the friendliest guys I've ever met!” The group dance around again as the lights change colors and some of the guards (Mostly Officer Free who’s not doing his job at all) start tapping their toes and dancing on the spot. 

“I don't wanna be free leave me in luxury The justice system's haven't sent me and you end up paying the rent Got no responsibilities in the penitentiary Except designing my next tattoo and perfecting the kitchens' mystery stew”

The group start to wrap it up, building up and pulling out the big broadway part

“no I dont wanna be free not the life for me no I don't wanna be free of these amenities if I tried to live this good out thereeeeeee I'd have to be a thousandaireeeee this is where I wanna grow OOOOOOOLD!” Nailed it “so I'm just prayin’ I dont make paroleeeeee cos I don't wanna be free!”

POSE!

A roar of applause greets the group and they take their bows, panting but all very pleased that they’d each nailed their parts.  There’s a little bit of a muffled cracking sound that comes from behind the glass as Jimmy scoops the other three into a broad bear hug and may slightly possibly snap their spines a little. Just a little. Jimmys a very happy pickle.

The Warden soon shoos them off stage “Braavo. Braavo. Bravo. We here at Happy Trails Penitentiary are very proud of our prisn’ers and how far they’ve come on their journey to becomin upstandin members of socety! now with that all done n over.  Get de hell outta mah prison” 

Yup. time to leave! shoo shoo!  Maybe if you’re quick enough you can catch Yancy at the booths again before you have to leave! 

OOC: I recently discovered that there’s a full version of this song that folks have..never spoken about? Ive never seen the full lyrics anywhere and honestly grabbing them was a pain (i might be off on one or two but you cant blame me heh) so here’s the full version! Enjoy!

https://youtu.be/N1xn5gXFch4?t=209

[11thsshadow]

deathxproof​:

She didn’t know where to go, and this seemed to be her safest bet right now. Susan didn’t trust him, but she knew where he was, and.. she had at least assumed he wouldn’t turn her away. Dark seemed so very different, but that was still her grandfather.

“Wha’? No, no- I didn’t need to kill anyone.” Susan insists, and the hand guiding her inside was welcome. It helped her keep steadier than she had been walkingstumbling on her own. She had a bad limp, and there was a gash across her forehead that let blood run down her face and imply dizziness.

“I have this, uhh- hobby job- of acquiring old- old-ass lost art. The, these Judoon had this— this brilliant bloody Mary Cassatt painting I’ve been trying to find—“ she grumbled, some words slurring together. “This is why I don’t trust any cops. Space cops. Earth cops. They got my head bashed in when they triedd takin’ me in. Tried to fucking shoot at me when I ran off. Didn’ know you could be wanted fer un-stealing artwork…”

Dark was only partially kidding about the death thing, partially. Susan was so different from him, after all she took after this universes Doctor. However, he didn’t mind that. Maybe she was the one beacon of light in his world of darkness. He would do what he could to keep her out of his world.

“Relax, killing is my world, not yours.” Dark smiled down at Susan, keeping one hand of each side to support her as he guided her towards the med bay. He found himself amused by her explanation. “Well look at you, getting yourself wanted by the Judoon. Might not want to make a habit of that unless you want to end up like me.”

Looking his granddaughter over, he frowned at what they’d done. They’d done a number on her though and if he wasn’t worried about getting caught, he might take care of them himself. “How did you manage to get away from them?”

❣ <3333

She was stood outside, shaking and just a bit wobbly on her feet.

“Doessit… Help if I say you should see the other guys?”

Because they were taken care of. Mostly. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t gone looking for a fight when a group of aliens jumped first. She didn’t look pretty. But she was standing, and that’s what mattered.

“I… Uh.. Didn’t know where else to go…”