#though one has to consider if her hat is making her look taller since apparently their size correlates to their i1 art

[fishareglorious]

wait. is isolde taller than kakania or vice versa. i need to know. im opening the wiki right now. i will be back with my findings.

edit:

isolde height

kakania height

verdict: kakania is two inches taller.

[goldenraeofsun]

A/b/o + celebrities and/or coffee shop 👀

Thanks so much for the prompt, Julesy, and I'm so sorry for the long wait! Part II should be up in the next few days, but hopefully this beginning 7k will satisfy for the time being 😘

Castiel is elbow-deep in suds when Jo plunks a medium to-go cup on the edge of the sink. “Thank you?” he says, bemused.

“It’s not for you, doofus,” Jo says, rolling her eyes. “There’s a customer out back,” she jerks her head towards the service exit that leads to the alley where they dump their trash and Ruby takes her furtive smoke breaks. “I need you to take this to him.”

“Out back?” Castiel repeats dubiously, craning his neck to catch sight of their on-site baker, Benny, who is busy kneading focaccia dough for tomorrow’s sandwiches. Benny, full of southern politeness, doesn’t give any indication he’s eavesdropping.

Jo gives Castiel a short nod, her alpha scent flaring with irritation. “I’d take it out there myself, but he always talks my ear off, and Kevin still can’t draw a latte art that doesn’t look like a dick, so…”

Castiel frowns but nods, and Jo’s expression eases once she doesn't hear a challenge to her request. Still, he has to ask, “But why doesn’t he order at the counter like a normal customer?”

Jo takes a step back towards the door. “You’ll see. Just… don’t make a big deal of it.”

“A big deal of what?” Castiel calls to her, but she’s already disappeared out to the front of the cafe.

Castiel sighs and wipes his hands on a dish towel. He picks up the drink, sniffing curiously.

He nearly gags at the strong aroma of brown sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, and apples all on top of espresso and milk. They definitely don’t serve that on the menu. Admittedly, Castiel hasn’t memorized the list of hot drinks they serve at Hunter’s Cafe, but this is an assault on anyone with a nose. He’s been their busboy and dishwasher for six months since his second year as a graduate student began, and Jo has only let him mind the counter three times, all as far from peak time as she could get.

But a job is a job. Holding the drink, he shoulders open the back door.

“Hey - oh, you’re not Jo,” a familiar voice says.

Castiel stops dead in his tracks because, despite the sunglasses, the baseball hat, and hunched shoulders, Dean Winchester is unmistakable.

Away from the limelight, Dean apparently favors soft-looking flannels over worn tee shirts and jeans. In one hand, he holds a half depleted sheaf of french fries. Stunned, Castiel doesn't immediately hand over the reason for his appearance.

“Whatever, is that mine?” Dean demands, zeroing in on Castiel’s cup.

Still beyond speech, Castiel dumbly hands the affront to coffee over.

After a muttered thanks, Dean takes a long drink. “Christ, this tastes even better than normal.”

Castiel inhales a surreptitious breath. It’s not every day one gets to catch the scent of Hollywood’s omega darling.

Not that anyone would know Dean's secondary gender just by looking at him. Dean stands a few inches taller than the average male omega - he has nearly an inch of height on Castiel, and Castiel is the dictionary definition of standard alpha physique.

While Castiel might not be Dean’s most knowledgeable fan, he hasn’t been living under a rock for the past five years. It was all over the papers when Dean was cast in his first alpha role. Dean wasn’t the first omega actor to do so, but he was certainly the most prominent. Castiel’s sister, Anna, an actual fan, spent a memorable dinner ranting about how all the prejudiced reporters on the press tour. Apparently they only asked Dean about the diet and exercise routine that transform into a “real” alpha, while, in the next round, his alpha castmates fielded questions about their characters’ moral code and complex development.

But, in the alley behind Hunter’s Café, Castiel’s nose is completely overwhelmed by the fryers of the fast food restaurant next door, the set of dumpsters directly to his right, and the almost offensively apple coffee Dean is currently drinking like his life depends on it. Dean could smell like old gym socks for all Castiel can tell.

“Where’s Jo?” Dean asks once he resurfaces. He jams a few fries in his mouth. Before he's finished chewing, he sucks down some more latte in an unholy taste combination.

“Busy,” Castiel replies. “We have a new hire, and so far Kevin can only draw genitalia on lattes instead of flowers.”

Dean guffaws, nearly inhaling his drink. Swearing unrepentantly, he takes his sunglasses off and rubs at his temple with his free hand. “Christ, I’m too hungover to laugh like that.” He squints over at Castiek before sliding the sunglasses back on his face.

Castiel stares. “If you’re hungover, why are you here at -” he checks his watch “-seven in the morning?”

Dean slurps at his fruity latte before he answers. “Got a meeting at nine. This,” he says, brandishing his mostly empty cup, “and a large fries are the cure.” His hands occupied, Dean ducks his head to fish a single fry out and holds it like a cigarette between his lips.

“That sounds disgusting,” Castiel says, aghast.

Dean inches the rest of the fry into his mouth. “Don't knock it ‘til you try it,” he says with a wink.

Cas blushes.

“Hey,” Dean says, a new thought coming to him, “What’s your name?”

Taken aback by the question, he answers, “Castiel.”

Dean mouths his name once, his brow furrowing at the new syllables. With a small shrug of capitulation he says, “Well, Cas, thanks for the drink.” He toasts him one before tipping the cup all the way back, draining it.

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

Dean grins. “I couldn't tell if you recognized me or not.”

“I did,” Castiel says, clearly unnecessarily.

Amused, Dean throws him a long, considering look. “You’ve got one hell of a poker face.” He unceremoniously shovels the rest of the fries in his mouth and balls up the wrapper. He tosses it with practiced ease into the waiting dumpster.

“Thank you?” Cas says, nonplussed.

“Thank you,” Dean says, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “You’re the one who saved my hide.” He sidles forward and shoves a bill into Castiel’s slack hand. Without another word, he takes off out of the alley and onto the street.

Once he’s out of sight, Castiel unclenches his hand. Dean tipped him ten dollars.

* * *

“How is this even more pungent than last time?” Castiel demands, nose wrinkling as he sets a now clean muffin tin back on the shelf. It’s been a week since he met Dean Winchester, and hadn’t gotten so much as a whiff of apple pie since then.

He is alone with Jo in the kitchen, since Benny’s early morning shift ends at eleven.

“I added a caramel drizzle,” Jo says, her scent rising with her self-satisfaction.

Castiel stares at her in horror. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“’Cause I’m trying to see what his limit is, and so far - nothing,” Jo says, shrugging. “Get to it. He’s real grouchy if you make him wait too long.”

“And why aren’t you taking it to him?” Castiel says, eyebrows rising. “Kevin’s moved onto multiple hearts now. Admittedly, his first one looked like a labia, but he’s gotten much better.”

“But Ruby didn’t show up, so we’re short staffed,” Jo says shortly. Outside, Kevin yells something indistinguishable though the kitchen door, and Jo winces.

Castiel takes the latte.

Just like last time, Dean is waiting, wearing a different flannel but the same jeans with the hole above the left knee. He abandoned the sunglasses, since the clouds overhead cast the whole alley in shade. They’re hanging from the vee of his shirt collar, pulling the fabric down a tempting extra inch.

Unfortunately, the fast food restaurant next door must have just taken out the trash last night, since the alley reeks of stale bread and rotting fish patties.

Castiel lets the door slam behind him, unable to hold back his corresponding smile as Dean lights up as he sees him.

“Thank god,” Dean says as he reaches for the latte. “I was starting to think Jo was gonna stiff me.”

“We’re short staffed at the moment,” Castiel says apologetically, “so you got me again.”

Dean eyes him over the lid of his cup. “Not a downside from where I’m standin’,” he drawls.

Castiel has no idea how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. Dean can’t mean it like Castiel thinks he does. He’s an actor, feeding people lines is the dictionary definition of his job. Instead Castiel asks, “No french fries this time?” because he’s not nearly ready to leave yet.

“Already ate ’em, while I was waiting,” Dean says dismissively.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry.”

“No harm, no foul,” Dean says with a little grin. “I got my caffeine fix eventually, and that’s what I really care about.”

“You look remarkably more put together than last time,” Castiel says as he leans against the doorway, watching Dean sip at his drink.

“Didn’t drink as much,” Dean says with a grin. He tips back his cup and takes a long pull. “Fries can only get you halfway there. Christ, that’s the stuff.”

Castiel can’t help but make a face. The latte smells horrendous; it can’t taste that much better.

“What?” Dean asks, eyes narrowing.

Castiel probably shouldn’t tell Dean what is exactly on his mind. Castiel has found very few people appreciate his default brand of honesty - Hunter’s Café customers, especially. But Dean isn’t technically his customer - he’s Jo’s - and Castiel has reached the point in his life where he doesn’t need to hang onto people who don’t like him and vice versa. Dean isn’t even providing extra publicity for the establishment, since he’s getting serviced in the alley behind the kitchen.

Technically, Castiel needs a celebrity acquaintance as much as he needs a free bag of cat food (he doesn’t have a cat).

But he does like having one.

A celebrity acquaintance, that is. Cats are inherently suspicious.

Reluctantly, Castiel says, “I can’t imagine that latte tastes very good.”

To his surprise, instead of demanding Jo bring him his coffee from now on, Dean laughs. “Not a fan of apple pie?”

“Not in my coffee.”

Dean takes an obnoxiously loud slurp. “I think it’s delicious.”

“I think your taste buds must be severely incapacitated.”

Dean waggles the near empty cup in front of Castiel’s face in what must be an enticing manner to someone with no sense of smell or taste. “Wanna try?”

Castiel valiantly holds back his recoil. “No, thank you.”

But Dean’s genial expression doesn’t waver. “‘M feeling pretty much human again, so it’s up for grabs.”

“I’d sooner lick the dumpster,” Castiel blurts before he can filter himself.

Dean whistles, rocking back on his heels. “Harsh.”

Castiel sighs. Honesty was a mistake. He mutters, embarrassed, “I’m just not a very big fan of sweets.”

“No?”

“I’ve been living with my cousin while in graduate school at Columbia,” he explains, his tone apologetic for his earlier comment, “and he has a horrendous sweet tooth. I don’t think he’s ever seen a carrot that wasn’t in a cake first.”

A wide grin splits Dean’s face. He laughs.

What Castiel wouldn’t give to scent Dean’s joy for himself. “He would probably love that latte,” Castiel continues wryly.

“Probably,” Dean agrees. He taps his fingers against the sides of the cup as he asks, “So you’re in school? For what?”

“Do you really want to know?” Castiel asks seriously. He’s had too many conversations with strangers and casual friends who have asked the exact same question and regretted asking it almost immediately.

Dean ducks his head. “I don’t know any graduate students, and I,” he breaks off, his cheeks going pink, “I never went to college, so I have no idea what it means.” He sucks on the dregs of his latte, gaze dropping to the vicinity of Castiel’s knees.

“Oh,” Castiel says, feeling lighter. “In that case, I’m studying ethnomusicology.”

Dean’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Are you fucking with me? That doesn’t sound real.”

“It’s a legitimate area of study,” Castiel assures him. “I research music as it pertains to culture and diverse elements of social life. Ethnomusicology focuses not only on the music itself, but music as a social process, as a medium for humans to relate to each other. In short, it examines how music functions in a particular society.”

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t get the glazed-over look most people do when he explains his field of study. “So what kind of music are you talking about?”

Now it’s Castiel’s turn to flush. His colleagues, while they respect his academic reputation, have nearly all looked down on his chosen object of study. “One of the main tenets of ethnomusicology is a global perspective on music-”

“What, like Tibetan throat-singing?” Dean interrupts. At Castiels’ stare, he explains quickly, “Sammy had a phase.”

Castiel chuckles. “Yes, I do know a professor at Cornell who is studying just that. But my focus is much closer to home. I study,” he inhales a small breath, “tribute bands.”

Dean’s mouth twitches. “What.”

“Tribute bands offer a fascinating definition of the nature of performance, the difference between authenticity and identity,” Castiel says, already on the defensive. He can already hear his voice trying to fall into his usual academic patterns, and tries to rein himself in, “and historical consciousness in popular music. Here -” He pulls out his phone.

Dean listens in complete silence to Yellow Dubmarine’s cover of I Want You.

“Anyway,” Castiel coughs, embarrassed he made Dean sit through all that, “I also teach Rock and Roll from the 1950s to 1980s. There is a great deal of crossover with my specialty since most tribute bands recreate acts from the 60s to the 80s.”

“Dude,” Dean says in a rush, “if you think that makes you less interesting, you’ve got another thing coming.”

Castiel blinks.

“What bands are we talkin’ about?” he asks eagerly. “More Beatles? The Stones? The Who?”

Castiel nods. “I’m hoping to go to a Lez Zeppelin concert next month.”

“Led Zeppelin?”

“Lez,” Castiel says, emphasizing the ‘z’, “an all-female Led Zeppelin tribute band.”

Dean frowns. “They have a gimmick?”

Castiel shakes his head. “They’re completely sincere, I assure you.” He smiles wryly. “I interviewed Misstallica for a paper I’m writing on diverse, for lack of a better word, musicians in the tribute world, and they felt right at home with the long hair and tight pants. I’ve never met people who more adore the songs they perform.”

“Huh,” Dean says, rubbing his chin.

“Except maybe Air-O-Smith,” Castiel adds, “an American all-omega tribute band of Aerosmith.”

Dean’s eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.

“My favorite all-omega tribute band, though, is Omega You Eight One Two,” Castiel muses, “a Van Halen cover band.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says faintly.

“Their lead guitarist, as you can imagine, is phenomenal.”

Dean shakes his head, his expression going slack. “Wait, seriously? That’s a thing? All omega acts?”

“Of course,” Castiel says. “That’s one of the most compelling aspects of tribute bands, when they flip the traditional male-alpha dynamic of the original, and how they translate that into their own act while keeping the whole performance authentic to the creators. It’s a fascinating process to watch and study.”

“I bet,” Dean says fervently. “Hey, d’you think-”

The back door opens before Dean can finish his sentence.

Jo pokes her head out, looking askance at the pair of them. “Are you still out here?” She glares at Dean. “Stop complaining about your diet, and let Castiel come back to work.”

Castiel’s mouth purses. “You’re on a diet?”

“Not on cheat day,” Dean tells him, lifting his empty cup. He turns to Jo. “And I wasn’t complaining at all. Cas was actually telling me about tribute bands.”

“Really?” Jo asks, her nose wrinkling.

Dean tosses his trash in the dumpsters. “They sound awesome.”

“I like them,” Castiel says lamely, off-footed now the conversation is clearly wrapping up.

Jo rolls her eyes, alpha irritation practically radiating off her. “Good for you.”

“Alright, well, I’ll let you deal with Joanna Beth on your own,” Dean says as he pulls out his wallet and hands Castiel a folded bill. He gives a mocking salute as he takes a step back, “Good luck, dude.”

“Thank you?”

“Come on, fanboy,” Jo growls once Dean’s disappeared from view, “back to work.”

* * *

“Can’t you take it?” Castiel asks, his tone verging on pleading, as Jo follows him back into the kitchen. It’s too early in the morning for another meeting, closer to first time Castiel met Dean at seven am compared to their last meeting at a little before eleven.

This past weekend, Castiel went down a spiral of Dean Winchester content. He read up on all of Dean’s recent projects, scanned headlines about rumors of his next film - some action thriller that Castiel presumes is the reason for Dean’s diet, and watched interview after interview. Dean on Stephen Colbert. Dean on Good Morning America. Dean on some very confusing show where they forced him to eat spicy chicken wings, which just seemed like an exercise in pepper-based sadism.

Castiel didn’t really understand the Saturday Night Live skit where Dean played one half of a demon-hunting brother duo, but the live studio audience laughed uproariously at multiple points.

Jo all but slams Dean’s latte on the ledge above the sink. “You know the health inspector is here. I can’t let Ruby near the guy, and you know how Kevin gets around figures of authority.”

Castiel sets down his tub of dirty dishes. “He nearly peed himself when he had to tell you he dropped a tray of scones over the floor last week,” he says flatly.

“Exactly,” Jo says. “Benny is busy,” she says, tipping her head to where Benny is adding more flour to a huge bowl.

“Cheers, darlin’.”

She turns back to Castiel. “So, you’re it today, champ.”

“Great,” Castiel grumbles.

“What?” Jo asks, her hands on her hips. “You seemed to get along with Dean. I actually didn’t know you could talk that much before I sent you back there.”

Castiel carefully transfers the dirty plates to the sink. “Getting along with him isn’t the problem,” he says darkly.

“Getting along with him too well is the issue?” Jo asks, her eyebrows rising.

Castiel scowls at her observation. Her emotional intuition is what makes her an excellent café manager, so he can hardly fault her for that. He doesn’t respond to her question.

“Take it to him,” Jo says, her tone softening. “He likes you.”

Castiel raises his head to stare at her. “How do you know that?”

Jo pulls her phone from her back pocket and waves it in his face. “We talk,” she says. “How do you think he orders every time? He’s not getting those lattes for free, not after I spent so much time getting them exactly right.”

Castiel can’t hold back his grimace. The latte still smells awful, like a vat of boiled candied apples.

“Look,” Jo says, lowering her voice, “Dean’s famous, sure, but he’s actually a very private person. He runs his mouth to anyone who’ll listen, but he never really says anything important. So he doesn’t really connect with a lot of people. If he says he likes you, I’m gonna say that’s a good thing - if you tell him I said this, I’ll kick your ass - and make you his designated errand boy.”

Castiel bites his lip. “But I don’t -”

“Dude, don’t make me pull the boss card,” Jo says, just the barest hint of threat in her words.

“Fine.” Castiel snatches the latte off the counter. “But I want a raise.”

“You can get a free sandwich.”

Castiel glares daggers as he shoulders open the back door.

But the alley is empty.

Castiel breathes through his mouth as he steps out. The overflowing dumpsters carry the odor of moldering cheese and more rancid fish, and the fryers next door are still going strong. He doesn’t find Dean lurking behind the trash for some strange reason, and he’s about to head back in and dump Dean’s latte down the sink when a shout makes him turn around.

“Hey, Cas!” Dean calls, jogging in from the brightly lit street.

“Hello, Dean.” He hands over the latte.

“Thanks - sorry.” Dean rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. “Some fans caught me sneaking in here, and wanted a selfie.”

“Oh,” Castiel says for lack of anything better to say.

Dean tips back his cup, his expression falling into pure bliss. “Christ, that’s so much better when I’m not hungover.”

Castiel stares. “You’re drinking that with all your capacities intact?”

“Ain’t no better way to enjoy pie,” Dean says, grinning widely.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “That’s not pie.”

“It’s as close as I’m gonna get at eight in the morning on a Thursday,” Dean says with a shrug.

Silence falls between them, and Castiel can’t help glancing over Dean’s shoulder, tentatively scanning for the people who caught his attention earlier. Plenty more would have approached Dean if he didn’t have Jo’s latte waiting for him; Castiel would bet his job on it.

Dean is a celebrity.

Castiel is a grad student who can’t even afford to support a guinea pig on his stipend and café salary.

After a long beat, Dean asks, a touch hesitantly, “So, what’ve you been up to?”

Stalking you on the internet.

“Nothing,” Castiel lies. At the slight fall in Dean’s expression, he adds, “I cleaned my kitchen over the weekend.”

Dean chuckles. “You’re a weird dude, you know that?”

Hurt, Castiel takes a step back. Jo probably needs him for… something.

“Not in a bad way!” Dean says quickly. “Shit,” he swears under his breath, “please don’t stop giving me coffee.”

Castiel hesitates. “Why is it weird that I cleaned my kitchen?” He frowns. “I suppose you employ someone to do that for you.”

Dean seesaws his free hand back and forth as he sips at his latte. “Not always,” he lowers his voice, “I actually like cleaning - it helps me relax and shit. There’s nothing like blasting some tunes and scrubbing out that stain on the counter that’s been annoying you forever.”

Castiel lowers his voice too. “Is this a secret?”

Dean grimaces. “Not really. But, you know, it’s one of those omega things.”

Castiel doesn’t know. Well, he knows it is a stereotypical omega trait to like housework, but he has no idea why Dean would whisper it in a back alley like he’s confessing to defrauding an elderly relative. “And that is bad because…?”

Dean takes a long pull from his cup. “I don’t want to hammer the omega thing home too hard, alright?”

“But you are an omega,” Castiel says, feeling a little stupid for saying it out loud.

“Yeah,” Dean sighs, “but if I lean into it, I’ll stop getting alpha roles.”

“You only want to play alphas?” Castiel asks curiously.

Dean’s mouth twists. “They’re the better parts. Omegas are always the damsels in distress or get killed off first for the plot.”

“I’m sure not all films are like that,” Castiel says. God knows, Anna made him sit through enough films with an omega protagonist that did not fit the typical romantic comedy restrictions.

“Most.”

“The last movie I saw,” Castiel says, hesitant because Dean must know more about this than him, “my sister recommended it, it had an omega lead who led a team of paranormal investigators. A sort of horror-comedy.”

Dean’s face loses some of its hostility. Almost intrigued, he asks gruffly, “D’you know who wrote it?”

“Not off the top of my head.” Castiel pulls out his phone to look it up. He reads aloud, “Ghostfacers, directed by Ed Zeddmore, written by Harry Spangler. Starred Maggie Zeddmore and Alan Corbett.” He pauses, trying to remember the details. “I think they both were omegas. I’m sure there are more films like Ghostfacers out there for you to make.”

Dean sips at his latte. “A few. None with big enough names attached to really get on my radar.”

“Well, if you signed on, wouldn’t there be a big name attached?”

“Yeah,” Dean says in a tone that clearly conveys he’s thought of this possibility before. He runs a hand through his hair. “It’s just - what if I take one of these roles, and it gets all this attention just ’cause I’m in it, and it flops?”

Castiel tilts his head. “That would hardly be your fault. Most failed films are hardly the work of one person. Usually, it’s a combination of a bad story, bad production, and bad acting.” He levels Dean an appraising look. “Right off the bat, you control two of those elements - pick a good script and act as well as you always have.”

Dean blinks. “You’ve seen my stuff?”

Castiel’s brow furrows. “I thought I already said I knew who you were?”

“Yeah, but,” Dean says, his voice petering off with embarrassment, “that didn’t mean you liked my movies.”

“The majority of America liked your last movie, Dean,” Castiel says dryly. “Either that, or you have a very hardworking and wealthy mother who poured a hundred million dollars into ticket sales.”

“I mean, Mom’s a fan, but not that big of a fan,” Dean says, chuckling. “I’m pretty sure she’d rather get a twenty-minute call from yours truly than sit through a two-hour flick with my name on the poster.”

Castiel hands over his phone. “Here,” he says, tilting it so Dean can see the summary of Ghostfacers.

Dean brightens as he reads through it. “The Alpha dies first?”

“He thought he could deal with the ghost on his own.”

“Typical alpha macho,” Dean snorts. His head snaps up as he gives the phone back. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” Castiel says easily. “With my lifestyle, posturing is a waste of time. I’ve long ago resigned myself to not being the primary breadwinner in any future household.”

“Really?”

Castiel throws him a look. “I’m in academia, Dean. Tenure is hardly a guarantee. Even so, there isn’t a wealth of money out there for ethnomusicology grants.”

Dean tips his head in acknowledgement. “It’s awful big of you.”

“Just logical,” Castiel says evenly. “It shrinks my dating pool considerably, but I’d rather do what I love than compromise that much for any potential partner.”

Dean inhales a deep breath, his eyes unfathomable. “I get that.”

“If it means I can’t afford to mate a house-omega, I’ll just have to keep cleaning my kitchen myself,” Castiel finishes with a shrug.

Dean grins. “I mean, if you spot me a six pack and don’t tell my trainer about it, I’ll clean your kitchen.”

Castiel turns bright red. He can’t bring himself to respond to that offer, so he changes the subject.

* * *

Castiel doesn’t even bother pretending to protest as Jo barges into the kitchen, the telltale scent of sugary apples wafting around her like a palpable shield. Castiel already set himself for heartbreak where Dean Winchester is concerned. He might as well take advantage of every interaction he has left.

He went to sleep late last night, watching one of Dean’s earlier movies. He was slimmer and younger, but he still shone with his signature charisma and talent. For the first time since Castiel started the morning shift at Hunter’s Café, he snoozed his alarm.

Hurrying through his morning routine, Castiel couldn’t help resenting Dean just a little. If only Dean hadn’t chosen a profession where his literal job is to be whatever his audience wants him to be.

As Castiel pushes open the door, Dean is waiting outside. Dark sunglasses shield his green eyes, and a violet bruise blooms over his left eyebrow. As the door slams shut behind Castiel, Dean winces. His left hand holds a half-empty paper container of french fries.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says. “You don’t look good.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean says darkly. “Gimme.”

Castiel pauses. “Did your hangover eliminate your manners?”

Dean flushes bright red. “No,” he mutters. “Sorry, Cas. I just feel like shit.”

“You look like shit,” Castiel says frankly as he hands it over.

“Thanks,” Deans says, his voice sour as old lemons. “I told Charlie tequila shots before Monopoly was a bad idea, but did anyone listen to me?” He gestures to his face. “Next thing I know, Jo’s throwing Charlie’s bag of DnD dice at my head.”

“You got that playing Monopoly? Wait, Jo did this to you?” he demands, gesturing to the cafe behind him. “Jo Harvelle?”

Dean just glares over the rim of his coffee cup. “Yeah, Katniss got me good.”

“God, why?”

One corner of Dean’s mouth lifts in a distinctly smug smirk. “’Cause she was going bankrupt, and she had to sell her last property to me.”

“So this was because of Monopoly,” Castiel says dubiously. In his experience, a board game has never led to actual violence.

Dean shrugs. “Game nights get intense. Why do you think I’m always bangin’ down your door the morning after?”

Castiel can’t believe it. “You’ve been getting this drunk at a game night? Every time?”

“So what?” Dean shoves four french fries in his mouth. “Whaddya think I was doin’?”

“Partying?” he suggests.

Dean snorts. “Maybe six years ago when I was doing B-level flicks and trying to meet as many people as I could. Now I have a back-to-back shooting schedule and hangovers if I don’t pace myself.”

Castiel watches Dean polish off his fries at a truly impressive and horrifying speed. He can’t help asking, “Why was Jo at your game night?”

“’Cause she’s a menace who knows how to pick locks?” Dean heaves a weighty sigh. “I’ve known Jo since we were kids. She and her mom - who started Hunter’s Café - were my neighbors.”

“I had no idea.”

Dean gestures to the alley with a wry hand. “Jo likes to keep it under wraps.”

“I see why Jo keeps making those drinks for you,” Castiel says, nodding at the half-finished latte in Dean’s hand.

“You didn’t make it?” Dean says, and does he sound almost disappointed?

Castiel shakes his head. “Jo is keeping the recipe close to the chest.”

“Probably worried everyone’ll want one if they get the taste.” Dean tips the cup back.

Castiel can’t help his noise of disgust. At Dean’s sharp look, he says aloud, “She’s probably worried everyone will never come back if they try it.”

Dean’s laugh cuts off with a wince. He raises a hand to his head. “Christ, last night was a mistake.”

Castiel surreptitiously scents the air for a better gauge of how discomfited Dean really is, but, as always, all he gets is trash and fryer oil. “How are you doing? Apart from the injury, headache, and general hangover-related malaise.”

“Oh, apart from that?” Dean echoes mockingly, but his words lack any heat. He crams a few fries into his mouth. “I asked my agent to send me a few more scripts with omega roles,” he mutters.

Castiel smiles. “That’s great.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Hopefully, she’ll pick out a decent one, and I can get something set up for after Two for the Show wraps.”

“Is Two for the Show the reason for your diet?”

Dean huffs. “Yeah. I have a bunch of shirtless scenes, so that means three months with the diet coach from hell.”

Castiel makes a noise of sympathy. After a moment, he asks, “Is it worth it?”

Dean chews a fry, scowling between bites. “Not really,” he says in a low voice. “Sammy’s the farmers market maniac in the family.” Wistfully, he continues, “Give me a good cheeseburger deluxe every day for the rest of my life with a side of pie, and I’ll die a happy man.”

“I didn’t think apple pie came as a side.”

“Not for you, maybe,” Dean says with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his latte.

Castiel doesn’t bother holding back his smile.

Dean sighs, rubbing his temple with the heel of his hand. “It’s just like, I don’t look like a traditional omega, so I figured I might as well try for the alpha roles.” He swallows. “’S a win-win situation. I look the part and the characters are better - what’s the downside?”

Castiel cocks his head. “Other than your restricted diet and inadvisable levels of drinking?”

A humorless smile pulls at Dean's mouth. “Not pullin’ the punches this morning, huh?”

Castiel colors, his face heating with shame. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.” An inadequate excuse, but it’s not like he can tell Dean the real reason for his more uncharitable thoughts.

Castiel has never been one to lean into his alpha instincts. Possessiveness, aggression, arrogance - Castiel has had his (mostly regrettable) moments, but they hardly define his character. But over these past few weeks, he’s had to repeatedly tell himself that he can’t solve Dean’s problems. Dean is a wildly successful adult with millions of fans, while Castiel can’t even handle Hunter Cafe's front counter during the morning rush.

Dean would hardly welcome a nobody little alpha telling him to just… do what he wants and damn the consequences because he deserves to be happy with his life and his work.

Dean plucks out the rest of his fries and balls the wrapper against his hip. He lobs it in the dumpster. “No, I get it. I’m complaining about things that most people would kill to have.” He glances towards the mouth of the alley, his mouth set in a thin line.

But before Dean can leave, Castiel says quickly, “That’s not the way I see it. Your specific frustrations aren’t universal, but hardly anyone’s are. Society is inherently unfair, and it’s understandable to be angry about it.”

God knows Castiel railed enough about the unfairness of Dean Winchester to Gabriel enough over the past few weeks.

Even now, hungover and bruised, Dean is beautiful.

Castiel steels himself. “And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think not looking like a typical omega is a bad thing.”

Dean turns to him in surprise, and Castiel would give up that free sandwich Jo offered him to be able to scent what exactly Dean is feeling. But, after a second that stretches into an eternity, all Dean gives him is a quiet, “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel nods, chastised by Dean’s reaction. “I should get back to work,” he says awkwardly.

Dean mutters something that might be a swear underneath his breath. Raising his voice, he says, his tone apologetic, “’Course. Sorry for keeping you.”

Castiel shakes his head. “It’s alright. I,” he pauses, “always enjoy talking to you.”

Dean’s mouth lifts into a small smile, and it’s like the sun rising through the early morning fog. “You too, man.”

* * *

After his next shift, Castiel asks Jo to show him how to make Dean’s apple pie latte.

Castiel’s first attempt is a disaster. He burns the espresso and adds too much nutmeg. Jo makes him try it anyway, as a non-monetary payment for her time. As Castiel gags, a smirking Jo dumps the bitter, weirdly savory mess down the sink.

“Passable,” Jo declares at Castiel’s second try. “You need more of the apple concentrate, though.”

“It’ll be too strong,” Castiel protests even as he shakes more powder in and gives it a stir. He hands it back to Jo for evaluation.

“You could barely taste it!” Jo says. She raises it to her lips. “Mm, that’s the stuff.”

“It is?” Castiel asks hopefully.

Jo nods and pushes the cup towards him. “That’s what it’s supposed to taste like.”

Castiel frowns as the overly sweet apples hit his tongue. He can barely taste the coffee underneath all the other layers.

“Trust me,” Jo says, flipping her hair behind her shoulder as she sets Castiel up for a third cup. “Your scent’s getting in the way, but it tastes exactly like an apple pie.”

“My scent?” Castiel echoes, baffled.

Jo throws him a look as she pushes a clean coffee cup into his hands. “Yeah, you already smell, I dunno, crisp but sweet? A little like apples. Makes you think the latte dials it up to eleven when it’s more like a nine for everyone else.”

Castiel hadn’t thought to put those pieces together, but it makes an astonishing amount of sense.

He brings his last apple pie latte home to Gabriel, and his cousin makes him write down, step by step, how to make it. In between actual licks into the cup to get the dregs, Gabriel swears to visit him at Hunter’s Café more often.

When Jo next ducks her head into the kitchen to tell Castiel that Dean will swing by in fifteen minutes, Castiel gets to work. He awkwardly sidles behind the front counter and maneuvers around Ruby and Kevin, nearly knocking Kevin’s elbow as Kevin attempts some elaborate leaf pattern.

Castiel draws a rudimentary apple on top of Dean’s latte, and if it looks more like a misshapen mango, nobody will see it but Dean.

For the first time, Castiel heads out to wait for Dean at the mouth of the alley.

Dean doesn’t keep him in suspense for long. He makes his way down the street, shoulders hunched, and head bowed. Gaze fixed on the dirty sidewalk, Dean doesn’t make eye contact with anyone as he turns the corner.

Dean isn’t even wearing sunglasses or a hat to hide his face, but everyone walks straight past him.

It’s the most riveting performance Castiel has ever seen.

A few steps away, Dean catches sight of him, and it’s like some magic switch is flipped on, and he is Dean Winchester again.

Smiling brightly, he jogs the rest of the distance and follows Castiel as he slinks further back into the alley. Dean wrinkles his nose as they get closer to the dumpsters and the smell of an entire rancid fast food menu hits him. “Hey, Cas,” he says as he takes his latte. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Castiel says, tipping his head.

Dean stares down oddly at the demented pear and takes a sip. Face going slack with a bliss Castiel doesn’t even need to smell, Dean groans.

Castiel freezes and sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the apron covering his lower half over his pants. “It’s good?” he tries futilely because Dean is clearly beyond speech.

Dean just gives him a thumbs up as he lowers the cup. He licks his lips, chasing the taste, and Castiel has seen pornography less graphic.

“I might have to tip Jo this time too,” Dean says, staring at the latte in his hand in wonder.

Castiel coughs. “I - I made this one, actually.”

Dean chokes on his next mouthful. “Are you serious?”

Castiel nods because if he opens his mouth he’s not sure what exactly will come out. Probably something highly embarrassing.

“This is the best one I’ve ever had,” Dean swears.

Castiel’s whole body heats with the force of his blush. “Thank you. I asked Jo how to make it, since it seems like I’ve taken over your delivery duties.”

Dean grins. “You’re a lot more fun than Jo,” he says lightly, “so I’m not complainin’.”

Castiel didn’t think he could get any redder, but here he is.

After an awkward beat, Dean says, “I think I found my next movie.”

“Really?”

Dean shrugs, but his eyes glimmer with anticipation. “It’s a World War II biopic about an omega who sneaks into the army, disguises himself as an alpha, and rescues a unit trapped behind enemy lines.” He taps his fingers against the side of his half-empty cup. “A little on the nose, but the script is good.”

“It sounds very promising,” Castiel agrees.

“Their biggest problem was the budget - historical pics aren’t cheap. But they think if I sign on early, they can leverage my name with the studio.” He smiles shyly. “Get the movie done right.”

“That’s fantastic,” Castiel says, a delightful warmth filling his chest - still a pale reflection of Dean’s excitement.

“Thanks to you.”

Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise. “Me?”

Dean throws him a funny look. “Yeah, you. You told me to get my head outta my ass and movies I actually like doing-”

“Not in so many words-” Castiel interjects, alarmed.

“’Cause the whole point of doing these stupid macho alpha flicks was so I could get the clout and money to do the stuff I actually liked,” Dean continues. “And I kept thinking, can’t do it yet, not there yet, until some rando tells me, fuck yeah you can.”

“I definitely didn’t say that-”

“It was implied,” Dean says blithely, waving off his protests. “So I figured, if this dude who doesn’t know me from Adam-”

“I’ve seen several of your films.”

“- tells me to go for it - it being something I’d thought of doing for years - is there any real reason why I shouldn’t?”

Castiel just stares at him, stunned.

Dean beams. “I’ve got a meeting with the director next week.”

“That’s wonderful,” Castiel says sincerely.

“Anyway, yeah, it’s partially thanks to you,” Dean says, tipping his latte in Castiel’s direction. “I also want to talk about romantic B-plot since I think it’s stupid.” He shakes his head, scoffing. “True mates, bullshit.”

“You think true mates are bullshit?”

As far as Castiel saw online, Dean’s never spoken on the record about true mates or any mates at all. Entertainment news sources reported rumors about him and a one-named alpha singer, Amara, early in his career, which he denounced thoroughly. A few months later, someone published revealing photos of him and an older alpha actor, Fergus Crowley. When asked about it, Dean refused to give details.

Dean makes a face. After a pause, he says, “My parents said they were true mates, but it wasn’t… pretty. No Hollywood romance between them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“’S fine,” Dean says in a tone that clearly says it isn’t. “Whenever Dad took off for a few days, I’d get to watch as many movies as I wanted, and - well, the rest is history.”

“I don’t know anyone who’s found their true mate,” Castiel says. His parents had a cold, distant marriage. A few times over the years, he wasn’t sure his mother even liked his father’s scent. Anna happily mated another omega last year, and Gabriel avoids all romantic entanglements like the black plague.

Castiel’s dating history can best be described as dismal. During his last visit to his pediatrician, his doctor called him a “late bloomer” which Castiel eventually realized just meant socially awkward. In the decade since, Castiel’s slept with a grand total of three people. And, to his supreme regret, none of them managed to bring his rusty people skills up to par.

But, in college, Castiel found music and his calling. And all his faults didn’t matter nearly as much.

In the crowd of a concert, people are so far outside the ordinary conditions of life, and so conscious of the fact, that they free themselves from individual concerns and devote themselves wholly to the collective. All their fury, their joy, their hunger for what they can’t have, is sublimated into the music.

Castiel has never felt more connected to humanity than in the middle of a crowd.

Truthfully, none of his past relationships ever measured up. None of his past partners ever managed to get Castiel out of his own head - not like the music.

Castiel shakes his head ruefully. “I wouldn’t know what to do with a true mate even if I had one.”

“Have a lot of super sappy sex with the lights on?” Dean offers, laughing.

Castiel frowns. “I wasn’t aware that kind of intercourse was restricted to true mates. I’ve done that in the past since I've always shared an emotional connection with the people I've slept with.”

“Oh,” Dean says, reddening. “Were you mated? Jo didn’t say.”

Inordinately pleased that Dean had asked Jo about him, Castiel shakes his head. “No, I’ve never been mated.”

Dean drains his latte. Swallowing, he says, “Me neither.” He throws the cup in the open dumpster and turns back to Castiel. “I haven’t dated in a while, actually,” he says in a low voice. “Couldn’t risk being seen with an alpha and remind everyone of what I’m not.”

Castiel narrows his eyes. “Surely people can’t be that close-minded.”

“’Course they can. Most are,” Dean says, his voice full of assurance.

Castiel’s mouth twists. “That sounds like a negativity bias to me.”

“Huh?”

“Negative information sticks with us longer and more strongly than any positive counterpart,” Castiel says with a shrug. “It’s something I always keep in mind when reading my course reviews after the semester is over.”

“So," Dean says, eyes dancing, "you can take the nerd out of the classroom, but you can’t take the classroom out of the nerd, huh?”

Castiel smiles wryly. “Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Dean laughs. “Look,” he starts, his expression turning a fraction more serious. “I might be fucking up a good thing here, but do you want to go to a Lez Zeppelin show next week?”

Castiel’s mouth falls open as Dean reaches out and pulls out his phone to show him a ticket confirmation email.

“It’s no big if you don’t want to,” Dean says awkwardly into the silence.

“I - I do,” Castiel says, stumbling over the words. “You do?”

“Uh,” Dean throws him a bemused look, “Yeah? I bought the tickets, dude.”

“I’m just surprised,” Castiel says honestly.

Dean stares at him. “This is seriously comin’ out of nowhere for you?”

“A little,” Castiel says defensively.

“Seriously?”

Castiel shrugs helplessly. “You’re … you. You’re famous. Why would you ask me?”

“Because I like you?” Dean says, nonplussed. “You’re nice in a way a lot of the alphas I know aren’t, and,” he breaks off, reddening, “you said you didn’t mind that I didn’t fit in with other omegas, looks-wise-”

“I don’t,” Castiel interrupts. “I think you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

Dean gapes. “Did you seriously -” he breaks off, apparently unable to voice the rest of his thought. His face turns an impressive shade of crimson.

Castiel shoves his hands in his pockets. “Should I not have said that?” he asks, brow furrowing. This can’t be the first time Dean has been complimented on his looks. As Castiel understands, good looks are one of the main precursors to acceptance in Hollywood.

“No - I mean, maybe - never mind,” Dean fumbles, more out of sorts than Castiel has ever seen him. “It’s that nobody just out and says that, even to me.”

“I just did.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Dean says, but he’s smiling. “You should look in the mirror sometime, though.” He winks, and Castiel’s brain nearly fritzes out. “So that’s a yes?”

Castiel nods, an all-encompassing warmth filling his chest and exploding out to the tips of his fingers and toes. “I’d love to.”

“It’s a date.”

Read Part II here!

[attllhak]

I 100% blame @kagrenacs entirely for this. This is your fault. You gave me Ideas.

Also, @tortilla-of-courage I promised I’d tag you in this. Here’s that crack fic I talked about where Mario is Malon’s step-father.

Behold, a crack fic.

----------------------

Link had been dating Malon officially for about three months when the letter came.

Link had arrived at the ranch about the same time as the postman left, having just got back home from another adventure trying to help clear out a temple that had been invaded by monsters that the regular soldiers were struggling with. He went so Sheik wouldn’t, as apparently Zelda was needed at the castle for something else.

Malon was waving goodbye at the postman as Link and Epona trotted up, the boy leaning to the side of the saddle to blink at his girlfriend.

Epona snorted and nudged Malon’s head to get her attention.

“Oh what, Epona!” Malon laughed, reaching up to stroke her hand along the mare’s face. “And that means,”

Link waved at her with a smile.

“Link!” Malon grinned, coming around Epona’s side to meet him. “You’re home!”

Link nodded as he leaned down to kiss her hello, feeling much better now that he was back at the ranch, even if he was still bruised and achy and very possibly bleeding. Malon almost made him feel the way the forest did, like he was home.

He swung over and dismounted the horse, smiling as Malon pulled him into a hug.

Malon then pushed him away and spun him around. Link was confused for about one second before,

“Are you bleeding?”

Link shrugged, not entirely sure himself.

Malon made a strangled noise and then she was dragging him inside. “Honestly, Link. What part of ‘be careful’ do you not understand? You know, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t show up here bleeding sometimes,”

Link just smiled at the back of her head, not affected by her berating in the least. She’d lectured him on this before, and would do so again in the future, and he knew she wasn’t as mad as she pretended to be. At this point her yelling was as much standard fare as her patching him up was.

Link hopped up to sit on the kitchen table, watching as Malon dropped the letter on the table next to him before digging out the first aid kit she kept stocked in the room.

In lieu of anything else to look at, Link glanced down at the letter next to him. There was a red seal on the back, not dissimilar to the ones Zelda used when writing letters, though instead of the Hylian crest this seal had the image of a mushroom on it. Flipping it over saw words in neat curling letters in an alphabet Link didn’t recognize. This wasn’t surprising, as up until a year or so ago he still struggled with written Hylian. He set the letter down when he heard a door open in a different part of the house.

“Malon!” Talon shouted through the house. “Did you know Epona was out front? I thought Link had taken her,” he stopped when he turned into the kitchen and saw his daughter standing up with a first aid kit and the mentioned adventurer on his table. Link waved. “Link! You’re back!”

Link nodded, smiling at Talon as Malon opened the first aid kit on the table and started sorting through the contents.

“Link just got back a minute ago,” Malon informed her father as she had Link pull off his tunic. “He’s bleeding still, so I’m going to patch him up before he fills us in on his latest adventure,” she paused, then picked up the letter that she’d received when Link arrived. “Oh, and we got a letter from mom,”

She handed over the letter to her dad, Link watching the paper with curiosity. Malon’s mother? She’d never mentioned her mother to him before, and he’d never pried. He assumed her mother was dead, since she wasn’t around and no one talked about her, but he was also pretty sure dead people didn’t send letters. Pretty sure, not totally sure. Considering what he’d already seen on his adventures, he wasn’t ruling it out as a possibility.

Talon grumbled as he opened it, Malon pulling Link’s attention to her as she went about patching him up as best she could. A few minutes passed, Link occasionally hissing as Malon applied a disinfectant, and then Malon declared him patched up, wandering over to look at the letter over her father’s shoulder.

“What does it say?” She asked, crowding him as Link shrugged back into his tunic.

“It’s an invitation,” Talon handed it to her to read herself. “Some kind of Star Carnival or something, happens every couple of years. She’s invited us to come,” 

Link slowly raised his hand, then waved when he noticed no one was paying attention to him. Talon looked up, then nudged Malon to get her attention. Link waved his hands at the letter then at the two of them, then threw his hands up in confusion. True, he could have signed, but he only thought of that afterwards.

“Oh, right,” Malon bounced over to sit next to him to hold the letter where he could see it. He looked at it, then at her. Malon scoffed. “It’s an invitation from my mother to come to the Star Carnival in the Mushroom Kingdom,”

Link blinked, then sighed ‘Mushroom Kingdom’ back at her with his face twisted up in confusion.

Malon blinked at him, then snapped her fingers. “Oh right, I never told you about my mother, did I? She lives in a neighboring kingdom off to the west, and her and dad had a bit of a falling out a few years after I was born. Dad and Ingo moved to Hyrule, and mom remarried. I have a half sister over there now,”

Link nodded slowly, then waved at the letter again.

“Oh, mom will occasionally invite us back for festivals and stuff. It’s her way of keeping up with us, while respecting that dad moved away for a reason,” she paused, then her head snapped up and turned to him so quickly he had to lean back in order to not get hit. “You should come with us!”

Malon blinked at him, wide eyed and grinning. Link couldn’t possibly say no. He nodded.

Malon made a giddy sound and wrapped Link in a hug, then slid off the table to hand the letter to her father. She came back to grab his hands and pull him off the table too.

“Oh, you’ll love it, Link! The Star Carnival is great, there’s all sorts of games, and events, and everyone comes out for it,” Malon chatteled off, dragging Link with her so she could keep talking at him while she finished up her chores.

Link completely forgot he was supposed to tell Zelda about the temple.

About a week later Link found himself next to Malon in an oddly mushroom shaped carriage her mother sent to collect them for the carnival. Apparently this was normal for these trips, but the fact the carriage had nothing to pull it but still moved confused Link. According to Malon this was how most things worked, but he wasn’t convinced he liked that.

The trip was uneventful, except how Link kept jumping every time the carriage bumped. The little mushroom person (“He’s a Toad, they’re the race that makes up most of the Mushroom Kingdom’s people,” Malon told him) kept up a steady stream of talk, pointing out everything he saw. Link was very glad he’d managed to convince Malon to let him take one of his swords and the mirror shield with him, he felt much more comfortable armed.

His discomfort was overshadowed, however, when the site of the carnival came into view. A big red and white striped tent, with booths and stalls set up throughout the whole grounds. There were people streaming all through the area, humans, toads and some other things as well. Link found it incredible, and Malon had to pull him back into the carriage before he fell out the window.

Eventually, the carriage came to a stop at the entrance to the grounds and the three Hyruleans stepped out. There were a few long moments as Link looked around in awe, and confusion, at some of the things he was seeing. There were moving paintings positioned around the grounds showing some guy who was mostly hat and blaring his voice across the area. Malon called these moving paintings ‘video screens’, and that they were looking at something happening in a different part of the carnival. Link didn’t understand that, but they were moving along fast enough that he didn’t linger on it.

He was snapped out of looking at some star shaped pastries at a loud squeal, head snapping up and on alert. He relaxed when Malon laughed and waved in response.

“Malon!” A higher pitched voice called, belonging to a taller woman with bright blonde hair wearing a very big pink dress and long white gloves. She had a crown on her head. “You made it!”

“Of course I made it,” Malon laughed as she hugged the other woman. “Why would I miss this?”

Malon then switched to hugging and greeting another woman closer to her age, also wearing a crown but dressed in blue, her hair covering her right eye. A little chubby star creature floated next to her and waved.

Link blinked and watched the exchange, hovering off to the side.

“Oh!” Malon abruptly remembered him and turned to tug him up. “Link, I want you to meet my mother, Queen Peach, and my half sister Rosalina. Mom, Rosy, this is my boyfriend Link,”

Link managed to get himself out of his ‘Malon’s mom is queen???!?’ confusion loop long enough to bow, trying to be polite.

 “Oh no, please don’t. No one has bowed to me in a very long time, and it’s weird to see now,” Queen Peach giggled lightly as Link straightened up, the tips of his ears turning red. “You didn’t mention you had a boyfriend,”

“Uh, surprise!” Malon waved her hands as she gave her mother and sister a sheepish grin. “I have a boyfriend! His name is Link,” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rosalina extended her hand, and Link took it to shake. 

Link nodded and grinned, then signed back ‘it’s nice to meet you too’ at her when she dropped his hand. Both women blinked at him and for a second he thought he’d done something wrong. He slowly lowered his hands and blinked at them too. Maybe they didn’t speak Hylian sign? He’d never encountered someone who couldn’t understand him, but outside of Hyrule it wasn’t impossible.

“Oh,” Malon jumped in, waving at him. “Link is mute, so he uses sign to talk. I should have mentioned that,”

“Oh,” Queen Peach brightened up again. “Of course. Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Link. I hope you enjoy the carnival,” she signed as she spoke, and Link blinked at her, then matched her grin.

Link nodded happily, letting her know it wasn’t like anything he’d encountered before, but that he was enjoying things so far. 

Queen Peach offered to show them around, which Malon accepted for them, and they went about walking through the grounds while the queen pointed out different attractions. Most of these involved events she called minigames, though a few featured other attractions. Apparently minigames were part of a big event called a Party, which was a competition people could compete in for prizes. Malon had very quietly dissuaded him from participating, as apparently she was worried a few of the minigames might mess with his trauma if he were to play them. Also, apparently Hylians weren’t as durable as the people of the Mushroom Kingdom.

“Oh!” Queen Peach bounced over to one of the video screens and grinned. “It looks like a Party is starting!”

Wandering up to join the toadstool queen, Link blinked up at the moving paintings on the screen, still confused as to how that worked. The man who was mostly hat introduced a group of four, a stout man in red with blue overalls with a very big mustache named Mario, a brunette woman in a yellow dress named Daisy, a stal-like creature that resembled the creatures Malon told him were koopahs who was introduced as Dry Bones, and a tall lanky man in purple who introduced himself as Waluigi. Queen Peach was grinning, and Malon was laughing a little at this.

Link tapped Malon’s shoulder and asked her who those people were.

“Oh, well Mario is mom’s husband, and Daisy is his brother’s wife. Dry Bones is a friend, I think, and Waluigi just shows up for events like this,” Malon explained to him, pointing as she did. “It can be hard to keep track of who’s friendly and who isn’t all the time, things change so often,”

“They don’t change often,” Queen Peach giggled. “The only time anything changes is when Bowser kidnaps me, then we’re briefly enemies, but we go back to being friends when Mario comes to rescue me,”

Link blinked at her, face scrunched up. She talked like this was normal. Apparently, this was quickly explained to him, it was. It was just the relationship those three had. Link wasn’t sure he’d ever understand that concept, but was willing to push it aside for the moment.

They stood and watched the Party, and Link was glad Malon had encouraged him not to try any of the minigames. She was right about a few of them not meshing well with his trauma. He’d actually had to turn away during one because of how much it reminded him of fighting Volvagia in the Fire Temple. It was pretty easy for Malon to work him down again, and he was ever so grateful for her and her patience with him, but they didn’t turn back until after the minigame was over.

Once the Party was over, Queen Peach eagerly dragged them over to something called a warp pad in order to greet her husband when he got there. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one.

Already waiting at the pad was a very large individual. He looked vaguely like a koopah, but was much bigger, and his shell was studded with spikes. Helpfully, Link’s mind supplied him with the theory that the koopah might be like the Zora, with the ruler being much bigger than the rest of their people, and so this might be their king.

He was right, he’d soon learn.

What had him stopping dead was the man next to him. Almost eight feet tall, bright red hair, black armor. The man was distinctly Gerudo, and looked identical to Ganondorf. Link reached out and grabbed Malon’s arm, pointing out the man to her and signing as fast as she could keep up. Malon had his shoulders in her hands, and was trying to talk to him slowly, the same way she did when working him down from a panic attack or a spike in anxiety. Maybe he was freaking out, he certainly didn’t feel calm. But Ganondorf shouldn’t be here, Zelda’s father had him executed. He shouldn’t be alive, let alone here.

“Is something wrong?” Queen Peach popped up in Link’s peripheral vision, but he was too busy trying not to panic to respond to her.

Thankfully, he had Malon.

“Kind of, Link’s had some, uh, adventures that have messed with his head a little. Bowser’s friend over there happens to look like a man named Ganondorf who tried to kill him more than once, with quite a bit of effort,” Malon rubbed Link’s arms as she spoke, glancing back at him every once in a while. “He’s a little freaked out to see someone who looks so similar, even if this can’t be Ganondorf, since Queen Zelda’s father, the late king, had him executed for trying to kill the royal family and steal Hyrule’s crown about ten or so years ago.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized,” Queen Peach paused, glancing back at Bowser and maybe-Ganondorf, then back to the two of them. “If you’ll give me a moment,”

She ducked out, and in the meantime Link managed to wrangle his breathing under control. Eventually, he felt confident enough in himself to not immediately try to stab maybe-Ganondorf, but he did pull the mirror shield onto his arm. He felt better when he had it out.

Link specifically kept his shield between himself and maybe-Ganondorf as they approached, Malon keeping a hand on his arm. The conversation petered out as they made it up.

Maybe-Ganondorf clapped his hands together, which had Link pulling up the shield and tensing. The maybe-Ganondorf paused, then spread his hands.

“I understand that someone who looked like me tried to hurt you in the past?” The man, who even sounded like Ganondorf, asked. Link was then hit again with the fact that in this timeline Ganondorf never actually tried to kill him, and even when he had it was both his past and future for a while. He nodded, not willing to dwell on the details of his seven year sleep and subsequent return to childhood. The man grimaced. “I am truly sorry then. My name is Greg, I am a good, friend, of Bowser’s, and I can assure you I am not the same man who wanted to see you come to harm,”

Link narrowed his eyes, but did peek a little further over his shield.

There was a long, tense moment where Link just looked over Greg, trying to decide how he felt about him. After several heartbeats where Link found nothing but honesty, he nodded and lowered the shield some. He didn’t put it away however.

Greg grinned, nodding back.

“You can probably put the shield away now,” Queen Peach offered gently.

Link just tightened his grip on the reflective defense and pulled it closer to himself.

“I don’t think that’s happening,” Malon said gently, squeezing his arm some. “It’s just, well, I’m sure it just makes him feel a little better, what with the situation and all. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never got better around male Gerudo,” she tried to laugh.

“What’s a Gerudo?” Greg asked.

Link dropped the shield to his side and made a face.

(---)

The rest of the day was spent being introduced to a few others of Queen Peach’s friends, and then later avoiding Greg as best he could, and even watching Malon play some of the minigames with her sister.

Link felt a little bad about avoiding Greg, but he looked so much like Ganondorf that he really didn’t trust himself not to hurt the man. Better to just avoid him.

They were invited to spend the night at Peach’s castle, after which they’d return to the carnival the next day.

Somehow, between meeting Mario and crashing for the night, the plumber convinced him to agree to a race.

Link didn’t know how to use any of the racing machines they had.

He spent a great deal of time, at length, bemoaning his impulsivity to Malon, who eventually got tired enough with him to track down her stepfather and get him to teach Link to use one of the machines. Mario, to his credit, was surprisingly understanding and more than helpful.

It didn’t take long to decide Link would do better on a bike than in a kart.

Link also needed to help repair a wall later.

These are related.

“Alright,” Mario rubbed his hands together as he coached Link through the basics. “This-a thing here? That’s-a the brakes. You pull on-a those to slow down. This-a piece you twist, and that makes-a you go! You see?”

Link nodded slowly, pulling on the lever for the brakes and twisting the handle.

“Okay, let’s-a do one lap around the track, and-a see how you do,” Mario nodded back waving at the track. “Let’s-a go!”

Link gave a sharp nod, taking a deep breath as he did. This would be his fifth try at this.

Malon gave him a pair of thumbs up from the sidelines, grinning at him. He was glad she was more confident in him than he was.

He slowly twisted the handle, the machine puttering to life (a phrase Link was distinctly uncomfortable with) and eased forward gently. After a few moments he was increasing speed around the oval track, getting more comfortable with using the bike. He avoided the jumps he could, but managed to not wipe out on the ones he couldn’t. Slowing to a stop in front of Malon and Mario, he felt distinctly proud of himself for not crashing.

Malon jumped up from where she was sitting, clapping happily as she bounced over to hug him.

“You didn’t crash that time!” She grinned. “You’re getting better!”

‘I am,’ Link grinned back, a group of bees set loose in his chest alongside the happiness.

“You’re-a doing so much better! Now, let’s-a maybe think about getting better with the jumps, hm?” Mario clapped as he approached.

Link nodded, signing his response slowly. Mario knew Mushroom Kingdom Sign, but not Hylian Sign, and the two had some differences. This meant communication was slow going, which was partly why Malon was there.

They spent a few more hours, and a lot more crashing, practicing the jumps. Apparently there were a lot of jumps in these races.

By the time they decided to take a break for lunch, Link was covered in bruises but could also reasonably be trusted to not crash every time he attempted a jump, which was much better than he was when they started.

“Oh my! What happened to you?” Peach gasped, looking over the group as they arrived to join the queen and the rest of the family for lunch.

‘Learned the jumps,’ Link signed at her, grinning maybe a bit wider than he needed to.

“The bruises were self-inflicted,” Malon told everyone, dragging Link over to sit between Talon and Rosalina with her. “He’s gotten very good at crashing. And at not crashing, but that skill’s taking longer,”

Rosalina started giggling. “Well, it seems we all have a type,”

Link looked at her in confusion while he let Malon set up plates for them.

“What do you mean?” Peach asked.

Rosalina pointed at her mother. “You married dad, who is prone to extreme spots. And turns sports that aren’t extreme sports into extreme sports. I have never seen someone make golf a full contact sport other than him,” she turned her finger to Malon. “Malon has brought home a boy who is firstly more than willing to participate in said extreme sports, and, Mal you said he works for your Queen, right?”

Malon nodded. “He’s technically part of the royal guard, but really he’s just sent out to go deal with monsters when Her Majesty can’t do it herself. He comes back bleeding a lot,” she sent him a halfhearted glare. He smiled innocently in response.

“Right,” Rosalina nodded. “He’s prone to come back bleeding. And the last time I saw Sammy, she was also bleeding and bruised because she got in a fight with a robot that nearly kicked her, erm, butt,” she cleared her throat and paused until she got a nod from her mother, then continued. “Right, so, my point is we have a type, and it’s the same one,”

“And that type is?” Malon asked.

“People who are prone to getting hurt,”

Link felt mildly like he should be offended by that, but Malon was just nodding along so he decided to drop it. It wasn’t like he could argue, after all.

“Oh, is your girlfriend coming?” Malon asked, handing Link a plate but focusing on her sister.

Link didn’t know what some of the things on his plate were, and lightly poked at one of the mushrooms. This is why he decided to let Malon grab food for him.

“She should be, she told me she’d try at least,” Rosalina nodded. “But, well, you know how busy she can be sometimes. Her job doesn’t allow her a lot of free time,”

Malon nodded. “I get that. It can be hard dating someone who spends so much time away getting in fights,”

She gave Link a side eye and he paused halfway into a bite. Was she mad at him? Or was this one of those joking jab things? He couldn’t quite tell the difference yet. She didn’t seem like she was mad at him. Maybe she was trying to relate to her sister? Wait, what did her sister’s girlfriend do that he’d be a comparison?

He figured he’d ask.

Apparently Sammy was a mercenary (“She fights things for money,” Malon told him. “Kind of like you do, but you work for the Queen and she works for herself,”), and that meant she spent a lot of time away and then coming back injured. Like Link did.

“You’d probably get along with her really well,” Malon offered, subtly adding more of the thing he’d already cleared off his plate to his portion. “You can bond over killing things and getting hurt and worrying your girlfriends about the fact that you’re out killing things and getting hurt all alone,”

Link frowned at her and narrowed his eyes. The worst part was that he couldn’t even argue, she was right. He did spend a lot of time killing things and getting hurt and worrying her, and he did do most of it alone.

That thought sort of made his chest ache. He wouldn’t be alone if he still had Navi, but he hadn’t been able to find her yet. He didn’t want to sour the atmosphere though, so he pushed that thought to the side and shoved Malon’s shoulder in retaliation.

Malon shoved him back, laughing, and Link didn’t bother fighting the grin on his face. It was moments like this that made the trauma and the longing easier to deal with.

They spent some more time practicing the jumps for the race Link had gotten himself roped into and introducing him to the ‘power ups’, and then wandered around the festival grounds until dinner, where they retired to the castle. Link found out quickly that the power ups were made with people way more durable than him in mind. A conversation started about finding an item or something that might help protect him a bit.

Malon had pulled out a health potion she insisted Link drink to heal up the bruises he’d acquired when they heard the, whirring? Link didn’t know what to make of that sound, but he did know he should figure it out.

Which is how Link ended up carefully crossing the entryway of the castle, eyes on the front door, Malon frustrated and following behind him.

Rosalina came barrelling down a stairwell just as Link got to the door, startling him.

“Don’t mind Link,” Malon rolled her eyes. “He’s just never heard the sound of a ship landing before,”

Ship?

“So that was her ship I saw!” Rosalina pushed past Link, who made a strangled noise as she did, and ran out the door.

Link followed, hand on his sword, just in case, and froze.

Someone was standing on the bridge to the castle, wearing dark orange armor and standing easily as tall as a gerudo, maybe taller. Link couldn’t make out much more from that, since the armor covered them head to toe, and their helmet covered their entire head and face. It also looked shinier than any armor he’d ever seen before.

This person caught Rosalina when she threw herself at them, lifting her up and spinning them both around. A sort of mechanical laugh came from the armored person.

Link turned to Malon.

“That’s Samus, Rosy’s girlfriend,” Malon explained. “Come on, let’s go say hi!”

Malon headed down the bridge to where Samus had set Rosalina down. Link stayed where he was, the Luma that followed Rosalina around coming up to float next to him. Luma yawned, and Link offered it a small smile. They must have been getting ready for bed when Samus arrived.

“Link!” He turned at Malon’s shout, seeing her wave at him. “Come meet Samus!”

Samus had pulled off her helmet, revealing tied back blonde hair and pale skin. So, not gerudo, just tall.

He offered Luma a sympathetic shrug and wandered over.

“Link, this is Samus,” Malon waved between them as Link came up. “Samus, this is my boyfriend, Link. He’s mute, so he speaks using sign, but he can hear you just fine,”

“Hello, Link,” Samus offered him a smile, signing in very choppy Hylian Sign as she spoke, and then offered her hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you,”

Link signed slowly as he replied, figuring Samus might appreciate it, and then accepted her handshake.

They didn’t stay standing there for long since it was already getting quite dark. Link offered to help Samus move in some of her things, since she was apparently staying for a few weeks between jobs, which is how he found himself pulling on his golden gauntlets to pick up a very heavy suitcase to carry inside. Samus had the other very heavy case, and Malon and Rosalina helped carry in the rest of it.

Once Samus was settled Malon resumed her crusade to get Link to drink the rest of the health potion.

(---)

The next time Link ran into Samus was right before his race. They hadn’t found something to help with the power ups yet, though he did receive a racing suit to wear in case he crashed.

He stopped mid-sign as something heavy dropped round his neck.

He turned to look down at the item, some kind of medallion on a chain. There was some kind of bird on it, and some kind of writing he couldn’t read, though he didn’t expect to be able to. It didn’t feel magical, but it did sort of, hum in his hands.

He turned around to blink up at the person who dropped in on him. Which turned out to be Samus.

She wasn’t wearing the armor, instead wearing just a skin-tight blue outfit that showed off her abs and the muscles in her arms. She had a lot of muscle. Link started doubting his conclusion that she wasn’t somehow part gerudo.

“I heard you were worried about being durable enough to compete,” Samus explained when Link made a confused motion at the medallion. “That should help,”

‘How?’ Link asked.

“It’s an old bit of tech I picked up but haven’t needed in a long while,” Samus explained.

Link spent a moment finger spelling out that word and trying to remember where he heard it before.

“It’s like magic, but not magic,” Rosalina appeared to lean behind Samus, who towered over her even when she was standing straight. “Sammy you need to remember they don’t even have video screens in Hyrule, you’re going to confuse him,”

“Oh,” Samus blinked, looking between them. “Uh, sorry,”

Link waved her off and assured her it was fine, and then asked for more clarification on the item she just gave him.

“I figured it would solve your durability issue,” Samus explained. “For the race,”

Link nodded, turning it over in his hands for a minute. He tucked it under the suit, the metal oddly warm despite having only just put it on, and thanked Samus for the help.

She promised to be cheering him on, which was met by a huff and light shove from Rosalina, who was also racing.

The medallion did help. It didn’t quite put him on par with the native residents of the Mushroom Kingdom, but it did keep him from getting seriously hurt by some of the more extreme power ups.

Seriously, some of them were just insane.

He didn’t win, but he did come about middle of the pack, which he was quite proud of.

Samus let him keep the medallion, since he could probably get more use out of it than she would, and then Rosalina dragged them all out to get some star pastries to celebrate the fact she won.

Samus ended up far more confident in her Hylian Sign by the end of the day, mostly due to her and Link being dragged about the faire by their girlfriends as they competed in a few minigames. Samus had asked for some help practicing when she noticed Link was a bit uncomfortable with some of the minigames.

Link decided he liked Samus.

He especially liked it when their girlfriends got back and Rosalina had fake-whispered to Malon “Oh no, they’re teaming up!” and all four of them started laughing.

They stayed for a week, the length of the carnival, but they did have to get back to Hyrule. It didn’t help that Sheik had likely tried dealing with everything himself, and as such the kingdom had to deal with the Queen slipping out to fight things.

Once they’d said goodbye, with promises to write between Malon and her family, they climbed back into the little carriage thing they’d arrived in and Link turned to Malon immediately.

‘You’ll bring me with you next time too, right?’

Malon laughed, and agreed to bring him with the next time they were invited.

Neither of them had fully expected Link to get a letter a few weeks after they got home, but sure enough, it was his name written in the alphabet used by the Mushroom Kingdom.

It was decided that they should probably teach him how to read that alphabet after that.

The small package he received from Rosalina a few years later with her and Malon’s grandmother’s engagement ring after he’d proposed with a little note that the ring he’d found was way too flashy was probably to be expected. Even he and Malon had agreed on that the day before. They did switch out the rings, and though the old Queen’s ring was still a bit fancy for a farm girl, it wasn’t going to accidentally blind someone.

He figured he’d pass off Queen Peach’s offer to plan their wedding to Zelda, who had also already decided she wanted to plan it.

Let people who actually knew what they were doing plan it, he’d focus on making sure he was mostly uninjured come the day of. He’d just help with the invitation list.

This, he learned later, was a very smart call.

[sapphirelass]

Two Peas in a Pod - Harry PotterxSister!Reader

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For this one-shot I have taken inspiration from both the book and the film, as well as left out parts of the original dialogue that, for the purpose of this story, felt irrelevant.

Word count: ≈ 2400

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You probably already knew this, but still XD

(Y/N) - Your name

(Y/N/N) - Your nickname

(Y/H/C) - Your hair colour

(Y/H/L) - Your hair length

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Two Peas in a Pod

Harry Potter and his twin sister (Y/N) were like two peas in a pod. Always had been. Supposedly, that was what happened when young magicians had to grow up with muggles, especially if those muggles were named “Dursley”. Harry was always more impulsive, whereas (Y/N) took on the role of the rational one, yet they had both been placed in Gryffindor house by the sorting hat four years prior.

It was now the first of September 1995, and last year had been a rough one. Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had killed Harry and (Y/N)’s parents, had just come back and despite their efforts, this holiday had been more miserable than any of the previous ones. Dudley and his friends, dementor attacks, and a general lack of communication with the wizarding world left the twins in a particularly bad mood. They arrived at Kings Cross, and after pulling Harry away from Draco Malfoy, (Y/N), her brother, Ron and Hermione boarded the Hogwarts express, and found a place to sit.

During the start-of-the-year feast, the small group of friends quickly realized that something was wrong. Their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor - Dolores Umbridge - was a ministry employe, which was weird on its own, but the way she spoke, acted, and kept interrupting Dumbledore with shrill, irritating *hum hum*’s made them all feel queasy.

After a quiet discussion in the common room (and quite a bit of loud arguing between Harry and Seamus Finnigan), they went to bed, yawning, and not exactly looking forward to that year’s first period of DADA.

***

They entered the classroom, and to their surprise, Umbridge actually wasn’t there yet. Harry and (Y/N) shared a confused look, but went to sit down, Harry with Ron, and (Y/N) with Hermione. Eventually though, the professor did arrive, her unnaturally high-pitched voice bringing them all back to reality.

“Good morning, class!” she said cheerfully

There was a quiet murmur among the students, and Umbridge shook her head.

“Good Morning!” she said again, this time more sternly. “I expect you to answer me when spoken to.”

A slightly louder “Good morning professor” could be heard, and though Umbridge didn’t seem too pleased, she decided to move on with the lesson.

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels - OWLs” she started. “Your previous teachers in this subject have all been quite questionable choices, however this year things will be the way they were meant to. Open your books on page 4.”

A few minutes had passed before Hermione raised her hand and said “Professor, there is nothing in here about using defensive spells.”

“Using spells?” Umbridge asked, laughing nastily

“We’re not to use magic?” Ron asked

“You will be learning defensive magic in a safe, risk-free environment”

“But”, said Harry, rather angrily, “what good would that do? If we were attacked that wouldn’t be risk-free!”

“Ha!”, laughed Umbridge, “And who exactly do you think would want to attack a helpless child such as yourself? Besides, the education you will receive will be more than enough for you to pass your OWLs, and that is after all just what school is about.” She finished with a smirk, looking rather satisfied with her speech.

(Y/N), who had sat quietly this whole time shifted slightly in her chair, and exclaimed: “It’s not though!

“Sorry?” Umbridge asked, dumbfounded

“School isn’t solely about receiving good grades! It’s about preparing the students for life, and supplying them with the tools and knowledge necessary in order to succeed and improve. If we’re not going to do that, then why, may I ask, is this a mandatory course? It’s already starting to seem rather pointless to me.”

Harry was perplexed. How his sister always managed to, 1: use her words in such a remarkable way, and 2: remain calm through the most infuriating of situations was a mystery to him, however he turned his gaze back towards Umbridge, waiting for her reply.

“Nonsense” She said. “This course is compulsory, and rightfully so!”

“How though?” Inquired (Y/N), pushing it further than she probably should have. “Can you name any situation, apart from the exam, where your teachings will be of any help to us? Or didn’t the ministry consider that?”

That was the top of the iceberg.

“DETENTION!!” shouted Umbridge. “My office, 8:30 would you be so kind, Ms Potter.”

(Y/N) flinched. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, however detention was not something she had to endure very often. That was more Harry’s thing. She sank quietly back onto her chair, and Umbridge continued with her boring, unnecessary lesson, reciting facts and procedures they had all learnt about 4 years earlier. (Y/N) could feel her brother staring, practically burning a hole in her neck, but somehow, probably thanks to Ron, he kept quiet for the rest of the class.

An hour later, class ended and none of the Gryffindor students wasted any time getting out of Umbridge’s classroom. (Y/N) threw her stuff into her brown, leather bag and dashed out of the room without making eye contact with her brother or friends.

“(Y/N/N)!” Harry shouted. “Wait up!”

He caught up with his sister on the stairs leading down to McGonagall’s classroom.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking up at him with an annoyed stare she said “Yes Harry! Just brilliant!” with a sarcastic tone in her voice. She kept on walking, but Harry grabbed her shoulder. A few years ago, they had been roughly the same size, but Harry had grown A LOT, and was by now almost seven inches taller. All the quidditch training had apparently paid off too, and (Y/N) knew instantly that she would never be able to escape his firm, yet gentle grip. He glanced down on her with a worried look on his face.

“I’m serious!” he said. “Stop”

She turned around and faced him. “What?” She spat at him, suddenly noticing her icy voice.

“Sorry…” (Y/N) mumbled, “she just pissed me off. I’m fine.” Her facial expression softened and she met Harry’s eyes for the first time since class ended. He let go of her shoulders, and was just about to say something when a tall ginger came running at full speed and gave (Y/N) a supportive pat on the back.

“That was bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “(Y/N), did you see the look on her face? Bloody hell, she was angrier than Malfoy after Harry beat him in his first quidditch match!”

“Yes” stated (Y/N) simply, as Hermione made her way down the stairs, “I saw…”

“Oh cheer up!” stated Ron, “an hour or two of detention isn’t the end of the world. If you ask me, it was totally worth it!”

Hermione gave him a disapproving stare as (Y/N) sadly stated, “It might not have been the cleverest thing to do” Both Harry and Hermione blinked at her with a sort of “you-don’t-say?” kind of look as she kept on speaking. “But you must admit that it’s the truth? Defence against the dark arts has never been as important as it is right now. We are all going to die before the end of the year unless we learn and improve?!”

“You’re right.” Hermione muttered, and surprisingly, she smiled slightly. “But we’ll have to talk about that later, otherwise we’ll be late for transfiguration. Come on!”

***

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and the quartet soon found themselves in front of the fireplace in the common room. It was about 8:20 when (Y/N) stood up, grabbed a jacket, and left for Umbridge’s office.

“Good luck!” Harry said, frowning deeply, “I’ll wait for you here.”

(Y/N) turned around quickly, “Haz, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine. You need your sleep and I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

Harry gave her a sort or irritated look, to which she sighed and left without a word.

“What do you think she’ll have her do?” Hermione questioned.

“I don’t know” Harry hissed, “but I’m sure she’ll tell me when she gets back...”

The remaining three looked at each other. Ron threw Harry a chocolate frog, and then - they waited…

***

*knock knock*

There was a slight clinking noise, like metal on china, followed by a repulsing “come in”. (Y/N) took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Ah!” chirped Umbridge, “Potter, sit down, will you?”

(Y/N) apprehensively made her way across the room to the chair her so-called “professor” had pointed at. She sat down and looked around nervously.

“You will be writing some sentences for me today, no” Umbridge said, as (Y/N) reached down to her bag to pick up something to write with. “no, not with your own quill. You’ll be using a rather special one of mine.” She smiled evilly, and pushed a black, pointy feather across the table.

(Y/N) grabbed it carefully and asked in a silent, trembling voice, “what should I write?”

“Oh, right! How about… ‘I must obey my superiors’?”

***

It was about three hours later, when (Y/N) slowly made her way back to the common room, red, hot blood dripping from her left hand leaving a small trail through the corridor. The pain had intensified, and was by this point almost unbearable. She took a quick detour to the girls’ bathroom, hoping to be able to clean herself up a bit before having to face her friends and brother. She had told him to go to sleep, after all, it was almost midnight by now, but she knew him all too well. The odds of him being in bed were absolutely zero.

She watched the thick, red liquid disappear down the sink and let a few tears fall, before grabbing some paper making sure no tears or blood could be seen. She had to make it through the common room up to the dormitories quickly though, since she was sure Harry would be able to tell she’d been crying, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Sure, she could just tell him, but something inside her argued against that. He had been rather angry and distressed all summer, and she knew he wasn’t feeling much better now. Harry had enough to deal with without handling her problems too.

Entering the common room, roughly four seconds had passed before her brother was by her side.

“Hey,” he said gently, “everything okay?”

She nodded and mumbled a quiet. “Yes. ‘m tired though, night Harry”

She walked the stairs up to her dorm, leaving Harry behind. He simply stood there dumbfounded. What had just happened? “Oh… okay, night (Y/N/N)”

She didn’t answer…

***

The following morning, he found her at the breakfast table, slowly digesting a tiny portion of porridge. She was wearing one of his old quidditch jumpers underneath her cloak. He knew, because it was far too big for her, and the sleeves reached down to her fingertips.

“Hey,” he said, ruffling her (Y/H/L), (Y/H/C) hair, “Feeling better?”

“Sure, “ she murmured, slowly pulling the sleeves even further down. He gave her a supportive hug.

“But come on now, “ he urged her. “You can’t be sad forever. What did she have you do?”

“Nothing…”

“(Y/N/N)!”

“Just write some sentences. It was fine, rather dull to be honest with you.” She threw the spoon into the bowl, and pushed it away. “How are you feeling? Any bad dreams?”

“Always…” he muttered, shaking his head at the milk that had splashed out on the table, “could have been worse though.”

Harry made himself some toast, as Ron and Hermione joined them in the great hall.

***

A week or so later Harry had had enough. It was in defence against the dark arts, on a rather cold Tuesday afternoon that he finally snapped, and shouted at professor Umbridge, who seemed almost too happy for a reason to give him detention.

The gang sat, yet again, around the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, when Harry suddenly left and climbed through the portrait hole. He came back a few hours later, a downright furious look on his face, and walked straight up to his sister without even noticing the ghost he had stumbled through. He looked down at her smaller frame, his quidditch jumper yet again pulled over her head.

“Let me see, ” he said through gritted teeth, causing (Y/N) to look up at him, trying her best to act confused.

“Wha…”

“(Y/N) - let. me. see.” he repeated firmly, his emerald eyes penetrating the mental wall behind which she had been trying so hard to hide her troubles.

She closed her eyes and pulled her sleeve up to her elbow. The blood had naturally dried, however five heart wrenching words were etched into her still red, irritated skin.

I must obey my superiors

No one said a thing. (Y/N) was staring at the floor, not daring to meet her brother’s eyes, all while Harry felt madder than he ever had before.

Madder than when Dudley had been pushing him around the school yard.

Madder than when Malfoy had taunted him because of the dementors.

Madder than when he had found out that his aunt and uncle had lied about their parents true fate for almost 10 years.

This was his sister, and it was far from okay.

Without thinking, Harry was just about to shout at her for keeping something like that from him, when he noticed that she was crying. Soft, quiet sobs that she were clearly trying to hide. It felt as if all his anger simply washed away, and he crouched down and took her hand in his.

Harry’s hand was still covered in blood. He hadn’t had time to clean it, but had instead taken the shortest way to the common room, after realizing what had happened. Raising his right hand, he pulled her closer and felt her lean her head on his chest. They sat like that, arms wrapped around each other, for hours and slowly started drifting off to sleep.

Were they okay? Not at all. Would they be? Absolutely! Because they had each other, and when it really came down to it, that was all they needed, as the Potter twins were just like two peas in a pod.

~ L

Masterlist

[god-of-entropy]

sorry this is my first time doing a req, but since you like iida tenya, i was wondering if you had any knight iida tenya headcanons?

So I was re-enacting a bakuiida hurt/comfort scenario I made up for exactly 2 hours since I started during 10:00 pm and it is 12:00 AM

gist of it: bakugou’s inferiority complex acts up and so he doesn’t take care of himself bc he’s too busy training and iida tells him how much he (Katsuki) means to him, (Tenya) and that there aren’t enough numbers that exist that could tell him (Katsuki) how much he (Katsuki) meant to Tenya

and then I remembered my tumblr account and one of the asks I got was “do some knight Iida Tenya headcanons this is my first time doing a req” and I was like oh wow I am v blessed that I am the person who took anon’s req virginity so here we are

CW: few times of cursing, mention of me talking about a car kink

Knight Iida Tenya Headcanons

Part of the King’s guard no I do not. Take criticism

If he isn’t he’s most likely in a very high position of knight rankings in the fantasy AU

His chivalrous spirit could rival canon Kirishima’s

But since Kiri’s a dragon hybrid here,,well

Did I mention

He’s TALL

Like. Bumping his head on every single fucking doorway kind of tall

He is a staggering 6”6

HES TALLER THAN MY BEDROOM WALLS JSJSJ

anyways so like bc he’s so tall he learned the very hard way (literally) that you should not wear a metal cone hat while sliding down ladders

Was this inspired by that one (1) video on YouTube where this guy’s character slid down a really long ladder wearing a golden metal cone hat

I will not agree nor will I deny this accusation

So bc he’s so tall he grudgingly cannot wear a fancy Iida helmet from the prestigious and noble Iida family line

ofc his brother was a knight before him, it’s so obvious

(Speaking about Tensei, his brother wore it anyways even though his brother is taller than him because he was always on horseback anyways, but having to patrol the streets of the kingdom on a daily basis trailing after the King or Prince or whatever he can’t let a helmet hinder him from going after people

Anyways so like because he is So Tall people often make jokes about his height and how rectangular his body was

So poor bby got insecure about his height and prefers not to talk about it, stays silent when someone thinks he can’t hear them whispering and making jokes about his bulky stature

speaking about bulky things his canon costume is lightweight in design because if speed and leg strength makes up 100% of your quirk you can’t have stupid accessories and additional weight.

But of course since what he’s going for (the Ingenium title) is pretty much set in stone, there’s a heavy emphasis in visuals (in canon) so like 90% of his fucking costume is for Decor

And I hate him for that

Because TENYA FOR THE LOVE OF GOD YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE 100% INGENIUM YOU CAN BE YOUR OWN INGENIUM

Even if you were put the pressure on yourself to become like your brother, don’t feel burdened to make sure your hero career is 100% like his

OK I kind of swerved away from topic but since we’re talking about hero costumes and knight armor

Since this is fantasy and most fantasy-ish things are set in a European medieval style because of fucking Hollywood and not in a more traditional Japanese style since apparently fire spitting dragons are cooler than Kitsunes with ten tails, power over nature elements and are literally considered deities—

Knight armor is made of metal, right?

So in that case..his armor would really weigh him down.

But because this is FANTASY and science and physics can go fuck themselves here,

It’s possible that there’s a chance magic could make his armor more lightweight, like Uraraka’s quirk

but like there’s a chance that his armor is ALREADY lightweight because again, canon Tenya really went after the design of his brother’s costume

And his brother’s costume was inspired by his parent’s and grandfather’s own costumes, which kinda looked the same since it had the white modern accents and holes in the helmets kinda aesthetic

SO ASSUMING THAT THE IIDA FAMILY LINE IS V NOBLE AND FAMED FOR BEING IMMERESED IN THE KNIGHTHOOD SHITE FOR A V LONG TIME

And his brother did copy whatever his parents and ancestors’s armor was or whatever

And they’re noble, right—so they’re rich. Because magic exists, plenty of wizards mages and other magic people for hire also exist

Enchanted lightweight metal armor

there’s a reason why you shouldn’t trust knights in shining armor and that’s because if their chest plate is too pristine, that means they’ve never went to battle

Here’s a rule for all you y/ns: don’t trust a knight in shining armor if it’s not enchanted

what I’m saying is if you wanna date Iida, the knight in shining AND enchanted armor, go for it bestie TT

Also His Boots

Assuming he doesn’t have his sexy engines on his calves in this AU

(Or perhaps the sleek, modern looking engines are replaced with steampunk ones O.O)

OK SO WE’RE GOING WITH THE STEAMPUNK MUFFLERS

Because holy shit that’s such a cool fucking concept??

Oh you bet your y/n messy buns that steampunk iida hcs are next

so since fantasy usually goes with at least one (1) “primitive” tribe with their own kind of technology centered around weapons and battle

And that one (1) “”tribe”” that’s an entire fucking kingdom/city like the Carja in the game Horizon Zero Dawn

Speaking of Horizon Zero Dawn, the “primitive” tribe with their own kind of technology centered around battle and more battle are the Banuk

They’re hardcore fam

They give me Bakugou Katsuki vibes because those people would literally rather die than say a challenge is too big to overcome

again going back to the topic: Steampunk

In “”fantasy”” medieval AUS there’s always that one steampunk inventor that’s a Mei Hatsume ripoff (Tangled The Series I’m looking at you)

And of course the Support Students need their time to shine too, so like — Steampunk City let’s gooo

(The closest Horizon Zero Dawn’s “tribe” got to steampunk is whatever the hell the Oseram are doing.)

So now Tenya has sexy, sexy steampunk mufflers that are very well taken care of

<SKIP THIS PART, I TALK ABOUT RANDOM EVENTS AND BAD CHOICES I MADE IN MY LIFE>

god I’m so sorry but me talking about mufflers like they’re a full course meal is reminding me of the time where I joked to my friends that I had a car kink

and not that I had a kink to have sex inside the car, but to be fucked BY the car itself

like your ass being just wrecked by a fucking shalon poofa

if you get that joke get off this site

one of my messages was very specific

It read:

“I eagerly lick car-senpai’s oil of his exhaust pipe”

And Yeah

unsanitary and a health hazard

While discussing about simpable men one of my friends were like

my man has a CAR your man, Tenya Iida, doesn’t

And I just stared at her

Because bitch MY MAN IS THE CAR

anyways if you actually read this may god have mercy on you

<DON’T SKIP THIS PART BECAUSE I CONTINUE>

Because I make the rules

Wouldn’t they be a hindrance to him bc of his metal boots?

So Let Me Tell You A Story

you know the Ingenifoot (the boots in canon Iida’s costume)

It’s special since it has holes punched into it for the mufflers to retract out of

Who says Ingenifoot can’t be steampunk as well?

I DON’T

But it can’t be steampunk bc this is a Knight Iida hcs and not Inventor Steampunk Iida Hcs

:<

So it’s plain boring white carved steel or smth with a small section where a part of the boot flexes for the mufflers to stick out

Speaking of carved steel, Knight Iida’s armor def has intricate details and shite on it

Maybe even his family crest

OK so it is 12:45 AM rn I am gonna sleep

Goodnight

[xgoldxnhour]

26 days. The wind feels far too quiet for the storm that resides within her lungs. Meetings and investigations fall silent as all they carry are their condolences. Everything is being worked in the background—she’s told. Roan le Roux is missing.

Her phone lights again, either another pity party or it’s the detective with another update of misguided optimism ultimately stating that an investigation of running in circles. At first she came to clean up the mess after law enforcement returned what couldn’t be seen as evidence. Apparently the job description never heard of the rule of leave it how you left it. Also seems like no one has followed that rule since preschool. It’s a full day of organizing as El sits on the floor surrounded by papers and things left and unused. If they knew anything, they’d know that her father was rarely home to call it such. Work. Travel. Hotels. Hell, sometimes he’d crash on her couch because it’s closer to the airport as he has eight hours before his next flight.

And here, she sits amidst pieces of a puzzle she can’t quite see the picture clearly. He lived modestly, a sweet house that also stood as her home of two years before college. The house was a museum, filled with photos on the wall of milestones and old whims of the past. His platoon that far more like family that his own left back home. Her mother, whom she’s a ringer of apparently. An image she never saw past the eyes of an eight year old. He ran away to be with her and they nestled their lives all over the continent. As someone who claimed he would never settle down, Gwendolyn was the greatest opportunity and choice in his lifetime. Even with such little time.

Her gaze falls on one that she hadn’t seen in years. Her mother sits on the beach in a color that could only fit her with and those small oval sunglasses. In her arms sits two identical toddlers—El and her brother, Jesse, when they’re not even two years old. The blonde children dawn bucket hats and strips of sun screen. Jesse is giggling at the seams and El sits with her tongue out and heart shaped sunglasses.

Her phone lights up again, revealing another photo on her screen. It’s uncannily the same boy from the photos on the wall, just taller and managed to grow some hair on his face. His face is a silly one with sun rays cascading down the corner, almost obscuring his face. Jesse’s calling.

“Hey, I have a question for you?” She asks the moment she accepts the call.

“Yeah?”

“Would we still be considered orphans even if we’re well past the age where they can throw us into a home.”

He’s quiet for a second, understanding that this is just her version of coping. She never was one who dealt with loss easily. Even gave their childhood dead fish a funeral.

“Don’t think there’s an age limit on that one, kid. Even if you exceed the bar, you’re still tall enough to ride.”

She smirks—weak and barely air piercing through her nose but present nonetheless. Tossing a straggling chess piece back on the floor, El silently nods.

“Where are you?”

“Where do you think I am?”

“You’re not gonna find anything that they haven’t already found.”

“Yeah, well someone’s gotta clean up their fucking messes.”

“Look—“ Jesse pauses. “—I was thinking…maybe you should come out here for awhile. Get your mind off the whole thing. I’ll buy the ticket, I won’t let that be your excuse…and we can take a vacation. Head to the beach and camp out for a few days. Think…think it would be good for you. Getchu outta that rain.” It’s not just the London weather he’s referring to.

“Uh, lemme…lemme think about it—okay? Maybe.”

He’s quiet. Suppose that’s all he can ask for.

“Okay. Lemme know and I’ll buy the ticket. Any day of the week. Month. Whatever. You pick.”

“Okay—thanks…J—uh, I—I gotta go. Love you.”

She cleans for a few more hours, making quite the dent. A few things seemed untouched like the safe he keeps hidden. Though El has tired herself for the night and decided that finishing up will be tomorrow El’s problem.

The bedroom hasn’t changed much since she moved out all those years ago. Suppose you don’t need a guest room with no guests. Though she passes her old abode and goes straight into his room. Somehow this was one they barely touched. Slowly, El drags herself onto the bed and lays on top of the covers. There, she curls and the tears she’s been holding all day begin to well.

@postscriptumafortiori

[ggukkiedae]

[vlive 210522] Seri’s Seritonin 🥝🐱

9pm kst

italics = english; seri answering questions!

the vlive starts with seri logging on and waving

she’s playing new rules in the background and staying quiet for the first two minutes

“moa! how are you all?”

she smiles and reads through the comments

she reads a few out loud and sees a few comments asking her to say i love you in different languages, to which she complies to

she turns off her music first and fixes herself in her chair

“bet you guys are wondering why i’m live today, huh? we’ll get to that in a bit. for now, let’s answer questions”

she looks through the comments carefully until she reads one out loud

Seriiiiiii! 5 Beomgyus or 5-year-old Beomgyu?

she laughs at this

“maybe a five year old bammie. he always makes a big deal of being older than me by a few months, so it would be good pay back”

she then pulls out her phone and scrolls through it before turning it towards the screen. it was a picture of beomgyu as a kid

“see this? he sent this to our groupchat the other day. tiny gyu is cute”

how are youuuuuu?

she claps her hands together and smiles at the live

“i’m doing great, thank you! i’ve been practicing harder, and i feel pretty good”

she scrolls through the comments again and takes a sip of her drink. she lightly mixes her drink around and places it back down

“you guys should try peach tea. it’s a godsend. oh, what’s this?”

shall we go on a date?

“you didn’t turn up at our last date”

she pouted a little and laughed

“i waited at the rooftop for a while, but you didn’t show up! but i guess we can go again because you’re moa”

she shifts a little and shakes her head amusedly at her own words

“do i sound like gyu?”

Hi Seri! I have a couple questions 😊 What has been your favorite era music wise and style wise? What hair style/color do you want to try? What's your current favorite song? What are you looking forward to most?

her eyes widened a little before she looks up trying to come up with answers to the series of questions

“oh, wow, i guess you could say i really liked our songs from the minisode album, but my favorite title track is run away for sure. actually, i take that back. i like the songs on dream chapter magic the most! in terms of style... dream chapter magic as well! i really like new rules’ styling especially”

a small smile makes its way to her face as she’s about to answer the last question from that comment

“right now, i’m really looking forward to our new album, and i hope you’ll like it as well! so far, the tracks are amazing!”

any plans for a comeback with the royals?

“i don’t know” she laughs and looks off camera “what do you think?”

yoonmi’s giggle can be heard while seri just laughed

“you exposed me! anyway, we’ll see when the three of us get an opportunity again” “you guys heard yoonmi”

seri takes the live and points it to the side, revealing the magenta-haired girl peacefully sitting in the dance studio near her while working on something on her laptop

“yoonmi is working on school stuff even if she just released a song yesterday” “responsibilities”

Seri baby are you aware that Seri sounds like berry? Therefore you are now berry Seri or Seri Berry 🤔

“oh, that’s cute! seri berry... i love it! i’m a berry now! i can replace strawberries, i don’t like strawberries”

she wrinkled her nose at the thought of the red berries as the sound of a chair moving came up. seri looked off camera and waved to, supposedly, yoonmi

“yoonmi has a meeting right now, so she’s off. anyway, back to our live”

Hiya Seri how are you liking the new building? What do you think has changed the most about you since you became an idol? And out of the members who do you think has changed most since you debuted?

“the new building is actually the best thing ever, i swear! there’s a lot of space, and the facilities are all high quality! honestly, i’m the only txt member who doesn’t get lost, so it’s pretty funny when the others have to ask for my help to walk around”

she then pressed her lips into a tight line while thinking about her next answer

“since becoming an idol... i think i became more confident. the others tell me this a lot. they say every comeback my stage presence gets better, and i look more comfortable? i also became a better dancer for sure. not the best yet, but i’m working on it. also maybe kai? first of all, he’s gotten way taller now. second, he’s been more mature. yes, he’s still our baby, but he handles things a lot more maturely now. sometimes he acts like he’s older than me as well”

hi bestieeeeeee! what do you think you’d be doing if you weren’t an idol?

“hey, bestie! musical theatre for sure!”

seri immediately perked up at this. she jumped back in her seat a little with the biggest grin while remembering her experiences

“i loved it back in school! honestly, my parents were pretty supportive about my involvement in theatre and my little brother kinda brags to his friends that his sister goes on stages to perform. it’s kinda cute”

would you consider acting? or maybe starring in a musical?

“oh for sure if i were given the chance!”

you dance amazingly! your artist of the month video with studio choom was absolutely perfect!!!!

“oh my god”

she covered her face and groaned before pulling out her phone and looking for the video on youtube. before pressing play, she looked back to the camera

“thank you, but i’m a little embarrassed about this. i wore red lipstick on stage for the first time after debut, and i showed a side of me that’s pretty different…”

she pressed play and watched the video, cringing at herself. it took a whole 20 seconds before she gave up and hid her phone behind her

“nope. nevermind, i can’t watch that. thank you, i’m glad you enjoyed it”

thoughts on the people you’re being shipped with? 👀

she burst into laughter upon reading this

“ah, yes. shipping. i see you guys on stan twitter with your little edits and headcanons and aus! honestly, it’s amusing. apparently most of you ship me with gyu and seungmin? and a few other people, too?”

she was quiet for a while like thinking about who moas shipped her with. she shook her head with and began talking again

“gyu... well, bammie’s my best friend, and i love him a lot. it’s been us from the very beginning, so i like to think we’ll be as close as ever until the end”

“seungmin is the bane of my existence”

she laughed at this before waving her hand

“kidding! he’s actually really nice, and i love hanging out with him, it just so happens our friendship is based on bickering. we do support each other though. seungmin, if you see this, you did well on love poem”

she then lit up as if just remembering something

“some of you guys ship me with chaeryoung! interesting considering you all see me as ryujin’s sibling, but please, i’m not worthy of the queen herself. i love chae with all my heart honestly she’s such a sweet child”

her phone buzzed and she glanced at it a little bit before turning back to the live

“perfect timing because hyunsuk just messaged me and some special ship mentions are hyunsuk and jeno oppa. i think it’s because i hang out with hyunsuk’s little siblings a lot. but jeno oppa? we just met earlier this year, it’s a little funny how apparently a lot of people ship us when we haven’t really shown our friendship much”

she typed something one her phone before chuckling and shutting it off once again. she looked through the comments until she found the topic she was looking for

What’s up with you and Dino? 👀👀👀

“ah, this. this brings me to the reason i went live. recently, you guys have seen me and dino oppa hanging out, right? well, we’re not dating. i wanted it to be a surprise, but he’s helping me with something for my birthday, and i agreed to do something with him for their youtube as well”

her phone rang, and she laughed before picking it up and putting it on speaker

“hello? you’re on speaker” “seri-yah! how dare you deny our relationship?” “oh? you’re watching?” “look up, stupid. i’m standing by the door”

she looked off camera and laughed

“yah! oppa, what are you doing here?” “miya told me you were gonna talk about the scandal, so i thought why not come early?”

dino appears next to seri in a mask and a hat. he nudged seri over to the side so they could both be centered on screen, making her raise her eyebrow at him

“meet my new dance partner” dino points towards seri whose eyes widen as soon as he said that

“they don’t know yet!” “you said we were working on two things together!” “but they didn’t know one of them is dance!” “might as well tell them so we can clear up this rumor before i get attacked by moas”

she sighed at him

“i’d get attacked by carats. anyway, fine. dino oppa’s helping me with a song, and he’s making me dance with him for a video. you can look forward to this in july”

dino adjusted his hat and leaned forward a little

“no need to panic, we’re not in a romantic relationship. she’s too tall for me”

“... you’re literally taller than me though?” “not by that much. if you wear heels, we’d be the same height, and i don’t think i’m up for that”

she playfully rolled her eyes

“looks like i’ve discussed what needed to be cleared up now. i’m single. single.” “yes, they get the point” “oh, would you just go already?”

she was pretending to push him away while he laughed at her failed attempts. he moved off camera but stays in the room

“no way, we’ve got to work the choreography out today”

“this is gonna be a while,” she muttered before smiling at the live once again “well, time for me to go. i’ve got a lot of work to do to be on par with a member of seventeen’s performance team”

dino’s groaning could be heard from the side

“this again?”

she laughed

“bye moa! hopefully that cleared things up, and hopefully you enjoyed this little tmi session”

-end-

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

Hi! I’d like to request #17, with Philip and Chase (and bonus Shoutarou with another Drive character, if you like). I just have this need for Philip to interact with all my favorite characters, and your W crossovers are delightful. ^_^

17. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Really, Shoutaro thinks, it shows a lot of restraint from Philip that he managed to wait a full week after discovering that Roidmudes were back in the world before he insisted on meeting one. Not that he’s unrestrained, of course. In fact, he’s gotten a lot better over the years about not overwhelming people with his academic enthusiasm. But there’s academic enthusiasm, and then there’s his increasing interest in the various unusual friends their junior Riders have picked up. He’d been practically vibrating with excitement since he first heard that Dr. Sawagami had run successful preliminary trials in her project to bring back the Roidmudes.

Of course, Philip could ask to speak with one or more Roidmudes all he liked, it had taken some time to arrange it. They’d had to talk to Terui, and he’d called Drive, and Drive had spoken to the four now-living Roidmudes, and then it had still taken two more months after that before anything could be scheduled just due to the tremendous problems Drive’s friends were having getting the Roidmudes legal status.

Now, though, the day's come, and Philip is enthusiastically shaking the hand of a man so color-coordinated that he could put Terui to shame and saying, "It's a absolute pleasure to meet you, Mr. Chase, thank you for coming, I appreciate it. Would you like coffee? I don’t know if you eat.”

Chase stares at him for only a very brief moment before saying, “Thank you, I do not drink coffee.”

Next to Chase--towering over him, in fact over all of them--is a man in a red coat with a thoughtful look on his face, and Shoutaro has to think for a moment before he recalls the last few messages he’d gotten. “And you’re...Heart, right? I’m Hidari Shoutaro, and this is Philip.”

Philip blinks. “This isn’t Mach? I thought Shijima Gou would be accompanying Chase to Fuuto. Shoutaro, I’m sorry, did I forget to introduce you?”

“It’s all right, partner, you were pretty excited. No, you remember the email, Gou was tied up with something last-minute.”

“By which he means he forgot that Professor Harley was going to be in Japan and expecting to see him.” Heart smiles, although he’s watching Philip with something that might be suspicion. “So I volunteered to come along, I’m always interested in making new friends.”

Chase glances at him. “You are overprotective.”

Heart makes a hm noise that doesn’t sound entirely like disagreement.

“Heart, Heart...” Philip’s eyes light up. “Yes, you’re also a Roidmude! Terui had said you weren’t interested in being interviewed, I don’t suppose you’ve had a change of heart? Forgive me, that wasn’t intended to be a play on words.”

Heart wavers for a moment, and Shoutaro can’t quite figure out whether it’s due to shyness or actual discomfort, so it’s probably fortunate that Chase is the one who answers. “Heart is not comfortable with discussing the past.”

“Ah. Yes, I entirely understand. Would you like coffee?”

“Now who’s overprotective?” But Heart relaxes visibly. “Yes, coffee would be wonderful, thank you.”

--

"Terui Ryuu said you and the other Roidmudes were having difficulties with your legal status, do you mind if I ask what they were? I know there are existing procedures for establishing the legal identities of non-humans, it's been done for two Bugsters in Seito. Well, three. Two and a half? Dr. Kujou is a complication."

Philip, Chase finds, is refreshingly blunt. He doesn't talk around issues the way many humans do, he cuts directly to the point, and moreover he seems pleased when Chase does the same. "There was an attempt to declare the Roidmudes property of the Japanese government."

"Oh.” Philip blinks several times, rapidly. “That's offensive, I imagine you all objected strenuously."

"Yes." Chase takes a sip of his tea. "And then once it was conclusively determined that we were people, there was the question of criminal charges."

"Really? Against you?"

"Against all of us. Heart, primarily. Brain and Medic were considered accomplices."

"I imagine your being a Kamen Rider helped with your case?"

"To an extent. I am not considered a threat. As it stands, we are no longer capable of causing gravity surges or otherwise wielding serious destructive force, and are under intermittent observation. The current legal debate centers around whether a Roidmude can be considered to have experienced mental duress."

“Hm. Really? Compelling. I wouldn’t think that was a debate at all.”

Chase considers this carefully before replying. “Why would you say that?”

“If Roidmudes are people, which they certainly are, then they can of course experience mental duress, or indeed any form of psychological distress.” Philip stares into space, hands wrapped around his coffee cup. “Unfortunately I’ve found that one of the hallmarks of personhood is a capacity for acute suffering. A being self-aware enough to love must also be self-aware enough to fear losing that which they love, and that fear can naturally be leaned upon by the unethical to coerce.” More staring into space. “Or simply to terrorize. It’s even more unfortunate when one realizes that unethical people of that type will likely always exist.”

“I...had not considered this previously.” Chase frowns, slowly. He’s experiencing an unfamiliar emotion--not that there are many emotions truly familiar to him, but this one contains elements of both surprise and happiness, and he is not clear on how one might express it.

He likes Philip, he realizes. He would like to be friends with Philip. Perhaps this is how Heart feels all the time.

“If this is the case, then in your determination, do Roidmudes have souls? I am not clear on what a soul is meant to be, but it has been the subject of discussion.”

Philip actually laughs. “The nature of the soul is one of the few topics on which I’m not the man to ask, for that you might want to talk to Ghost. In fact, I’m sure he’d be happy to discuss it with you. But in my limited experience with the subject--yes, I would think that Roidmudes have souls.” He takes a long drink of coffee. “Please excuse me if this is an indelicate question, I’ve been trying not to ask these things so abruptly lately, but my research indicated that Roidmudes have a more robotic base form onto which your human guises are layered, may I see it?”

--

They’re at the Windscale boutique getting Heart a suit.

They’d been discussing the Agency, and Heart mentioned having been a detective very briefly and seemed interested in the work, and this had led very naturally to talking about the boss, and from there to what Shoutaro had learned from him. Including, crucially, manner of dress, a topic that Heart seems fascinated by.

“I’d thought you could just sort of...shapeshift your clothing,” Shoutaro says. “At least, Bugsters do that, and Philip had mentioned that you do something similar.”

“Well, I can.” Heart plucks at the furred cuff of his coat. “But Tomari Kiriko’s suggested that I might adjust better to living among humans if I try to pick up some of their habits, little ones, and I like clothing.” A smile flashes across his face. “Mostly I’ve been borrowing things from Tomari Shinnosuke. He’s indicated that he’d like me to stop, though, because apparently he’s tired of having to come find me if he’s missing something he wants.”

“That’s Drive and his wife, right? We’ve never actually properly met, it’s sort of an oversight on Philip’s and my part.” Shoutaro frowns. “Do you live with him?”

Another flash of smile. “For the moment, yes. I was...revived...several months before the other Roidmudes, and they offered to let me stay with them. Mostly I watch Eiji for them and help Kiriko with housework. I’m learning how to cook. Brain and Medic are staying with other friends of Tomari Shinnosuke’s until the authorities can stop arguing about us and let us find a place of our own.”

“Well...” Shoutaro squints up at him for a moment, trying not to resent the man for being taller than him. “What kind of clothing do you like? I’m not exactly an expert on men’s fashion, but I like to think I know a little bit about it.”

This time it’s not a flash, the smile stays as Heart says, “Well, I have to say, the suits that Tomari Shinnosuke and his colleagues wear aren’t very interesting, but I do like your outfit quite a lot, it’s very sharp.”

So now Heart is trying on hats, and the Windscale salesgirls are losing their minds over how handsome he is. Normally Shoutaro would be a little jealous, they’re so used to him at this point that nothing about him is interesting to them, but he can’t quite bring himself to be. Not when Heart looks so pleased to be doing such an ordinary thing. Anyway, he’s letting Shoutaro pick everything out, and it’s so rare for someone else to be this trusting of Shoutaro’s fashion sense.

He also looks very good in a three-piece suit. But then, Shoutaro thinks, straightening his waistcoat, doesn’t everyone?

“What do you think of this one, my friend?”

Shoutaro looks at the latest hat Heart’s picked out and says, after a moment’s thought, “I think you look like a real man.”

Heart pauses. “Is that a good thing in this context?”

“Yes. The best thing I can think of, really. I mean, not that it’s bad to be a woman, but--listen, what I mean is, you look good, it suits you. Do you, uh, do you like to read at all?”

“Yes, sometimes, why?”

“We’re going to a bookstore after this, there are a couple of authors I think you’d enjoy.”

--

“Thank you for allowing me to examine you,” Philip says, when Chase shifts back into the human form that he’s finding more and more preferable to Proto-Zero’s, “it’s been a tremendous help to me. It’s--the many varieties of personhood that exist within the modern world are terribly compelling, but so few people are willing to speak about it at any length. Which I understand, but it does make study difficult.”

Chase nods. “I understand.” Beat. “You say personhood, but not humanity?”

“They’re hardly synonymous. Like circles and ovals. Every human is a person, but not every person is human. I haven’t always fit the precise definition of human myself.” Philip’s hand stills in the middle of a furious bout of note-taking, his face taking on a faraway look that Chase is learning to recognize. “What was death like for you? If you don’t mind my asking. Personally, I find the memory very difficult to grasp. Like a dream. I know that it happened, but when I reach for it, it slips out of my fingers.”

“It was...” It takes some time to find the way to phrase the answer. “Silent. And then when it ceased to be silent, it was because I was alive again.”

Philip nods, and takes more notes, and says, “Thank you for sharing that, I appreciate it. It’s...most people I know have never died. It’s difficult to explain to them.” The notebook snaps shut suddenly, Philip’s pen slides into its spiral binding right before it’s set aside. “Now. Is there anything I can do to help you?”

Chase blinks, slowly, several times, before replying. “How do you mean?”

“You. And your fellow Roidmudes. This is not an easy world to live in, especially when one’s personhood is treated as a subject for debate instead of a given. I would like--I hope that you’ll consider me a friend. I would like you to be my friend. And as a friend I would like to offer you and the other Roidmudes whatever help I can in establishing yourselves as people deserving of independent lives.” Philip grins at him. “At the very least I’m wonderful at winning debates.”

--

When Philip and Chase emerge from the garage, the first thing they see is Heart sitting in one of the front room chairs with an elderly gray cat asleep on his legs, and a much younger marmalade cat draped around his neck like an ungainly scarf. His red coat is nowhere in sight; he is, instead, wearing a black three-piece suit, a vividly red shirt, and a burgundy necktie with a heart-shaped pin in it. He's also engrossed in a book in English, although when they enter the room he glances up and says, cheerfully, "Hello."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Heart, I see Shoutaro's actually succeeded in his quest to get someone else to like Windscale as much as he does, you look very good. Are you enjoying Raymond Chandler? Shoutaro, is that Mrs. Mizuishi's kitten on our friend's shoulders? Where was he this time? Mrs. Mizuishi is a bit absent-minded," Philip says to Chase, "Chobi frequently wanders off when she's looking elsewhere."

"Yes, she called when we were on our way back from the bookstore." Shoutaro's sitting at the desk, in the middle of typing what looks like a list. "He'd only gotten up a tree, Heart helped me get him down. Mrs. Mizuishi’s coming to pick him up soon."

"And I see he has Mick's approval as well."

The gray cat opens one eye and gives Philip an unamused look, as if to say, “Yeah? What are you going to do about it?” only to begin purring when Heart absently reaches down to scratch his ears.

Chase sits down next to Heart while Philip goes over to speak to Shoutaro and is immediately investigated by the orange cat, who sniffs at his ear briefly and then gets up and hops from Heart’s shoulders to his. “What are you reading?”

“A collection of detective stories. Hidari Shoutaro gave it to me. He’s making me a list of movies that I might enjoy, I think I like detectives.” Heart leans slightly so that his arm brushes Chase’s. “It’s nice to have made a new friend. I hope the questioning wasn’t too intrusive?”

After a moment’s consideration, Chase says, “No. It was an enjoyable conversation.” He reaches up offer the orange cat his hand to smell. “I think it would be safe to say that Philip is a friend as well.”

Heart breaks into a smile. “That’s wonderful! I’m very glad to hear it.”

“However, I think we are expected to return to the city shortly.”

“Right, yes, I suppose we are.”

Over at the desk, Shoutaro pulls the paper out of his typewriter, blows on it to make sure that the ink is dry, and then folds it up and tucks it into an envelope. “Here, Heart, I’ve got that list for you. And my email address is at the bottom, please let me know which one you like best, you have no idea how long it’s taken me to find someone else who’d want to watch any of this stuff. I mean, Philip watches them with me, but other than that.”

Philip laughs quietly. “I do enjoy them, partner, I’m just not as passionate about them as you are.”

Heart carefully moves Mick onto the coffee table and stands up, reaching for a black hat with a red band that Chase hadn’t previously noticed hanging off the back of his chair. Chase, similarly, has to untangle himself from the orange cat, which objects strenuously to being moved and then promptly falls asleep in his chair as soon as he’s on his feet.

“I hope you’ll visit again,” Philip says as they’re shaking hands, “for non-research purposes, of course.”

Chase nods. “I would like that.”

Next to him, Heart tucks the envelope from Shoutaro into his suit jacket and says, “Maybe we can bring Brain along next time, I think they’d get along.”

They head out the door as a group, Shoutaro saying, “You’re going to email me, right, I need to know whether you like Spade or Marlowe better.”

“Of course, although I can tell you right now that just from the reading I’ve already done I like Marlowe quite a lot.”

One more round of handshakes as they all stand next to Chase’s motorcycle, and the last thing Philip says to Chase is, “Thank you again, so much. It was a pleasure to meet you. It’s wonderful to have new friends.”

Chase nods, says, “Likewise,” and resolves to visit again as soon as it’s feasible.

[alteridolriley]

"In awe, the first time you realised it" with rivya pretty pretty pleaasee

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MAXI!!! this ask is old af but I was inspired so I wrote you this rivya drabble fic thinggggg idk i hope you enjoy it!!

(These characters are our own ocs based on the Sanders Sides from this blog. This is an irl AU so enjoy!! Some Sides might show up idk why don't you read and find out hehe)

On mobile so sorry for no read more :(

---

River felt himself waking up; the stream of his consciousness pulling his thoughts to the real world around him. He slowly opened his eyes to see the glow of the early morning sun peeking through the edge of the curtain he swore he had tucked behind the bookshelf so it wouldn't get him right in the face, but alas, it had failed. River sighed, pulling their comforter over their head in denial.

Mondays sucked and River did not want to pull themselves out of bed, but within seconds of stretching their arms above their head, a shrill alarm from their phone began to sound on the side table next to their bed. River slapped around until successfully snoozing the alarm before throwing the blanket off.

There was one reason and one reason only River was getting up for class on this day. He had that one class today - economics. And that one boy was in it. The transfer student.

He had the gall to talk to River the day before, and several days before that. As well as the day the teacher had given him the seat next to River.

"Hello." The boy had said as he sat down. His hood covered most of his face but River could see his right eye and a soft smile on his face. "My name is Arya. It's nice to meet you."

River had glanced his way, their chin balanced on their palm. With the intent to simply brush him off, River had opened his mouth only to feel his words caught in his throat once he had made eye contact with the gentle boy.

"I'm River." River had managed to cough out that day. "Pleasure."

It was a dry introduction, but it didn't seem to offend Arya at all. He had smiled again and turned to his bag in front of him, pulling his notebook and pen out as River heard the teacher begin to speak.

River had been brought back to his dorm room by a jolt of him missing his pant leg while trying to get dressed. Arya had left him feeling weird that first day and every day after that, Arya had continued to say hello and be super kind to him. River didn't really understand why Arya was acting that way-- if Arya knew River at all, he would know that River didn't deserve that kind of kindness.

River zipped his jacket up and heard his cell phone begin to chime again, but this time it was a text tone. He absent-mindedly reached for the phone, unlocking it in one motion.

He bit his lip as he saw a message from his brother- his twin, Meph. Meph had chosen not to go to college but to work at a friend's laboratory. River sometimes regretted going to college but since he was there on a scholarship, it only made sense to stay. Besides, Meph had only chosen not to go to college to help River actually go for his dream: to be a marine biologist.

River loved the ocean. It was his favorite place to be and if he managed to put his past behind him and become a marine biologist, he'd never have to leave the ocean again. Meph had gotten the job with his friend to pay the bills so River could focus on school.

Meph the Grump: Hey so Nic needs me to stay late again this weekend so I won't be able to come up to visit. Maybe we can work something out for next weekend. Just let me know.

River sighed and locked his phone, shoving it into his pocket. That makes the 3rd time Meph canceled on him in the last month. River didn't really know what Nicolaus did for a living but Meph was apparently very important to the lab. It paid for the roof over his head so River ignored the pain of disappointment running through his chest.

He grabbed his bag before stopping by the mirror near the front door. Messing with his hair for only a few moments, he sighed and left the house, locking the front door behind him. His college was a mere three blocks away so walking was the simplest way of getting there.

River began the trek down the semi busy street, staring at the ground as he walked. From the corners of their sight, River watched the world go around him: People walked solo past; some girls in groups crossing the street laughing together; a single mom holding her baby while opening the door to a store.

The world kept going despite of all the troubles people had. River knew this and yet he always wondered what he looked like from that perspective. Was he intimidating? Were they interesting to the world around them or forgettable?

River adjusted his back on his shoulder as he stopped at a crosswalk. Several people lingered around him as they all waited for the traffic light to change. As he considered his plans for the weekend now that Meph wasn't coming into town anymore, he realized he was staring across the road at a familiar face.

It was Arya. However, Arya was standing against a brick building with another few men around him. River scrunched his face in curiosity and confusion. He had never seen Arya outside of class and he walked this street everyday. Wouldn't they have crossed paths before?

River heard the chime of the crosswalk allowing pedestrians to pass as suddenly one of the men grabbed Arya by the shoulder rather roughly. Arya stumbled into one of the other taller men who shoved him back towards the building. River felt his blood boil nearly instantly as he took off across the street. He was still fairly far away but he picked up the pace as the three men pulled Arya down an alleyway behind the brick building.

"I promise I'll have it to you soon. I will. I will." Arya's voice filtered through the air as River got closer. It was staggered and breathless; shaky and soft. He was clearly scared. "I know I said today, but my job hasn't paid me yet so--"

CRACK.

River dashed around the corner, hearing a bone crushing noise as they did so. It took River's eyes a few seconds while blinking to adjust to the darkness of the alley only to see Arya on the ground, unmoving.

"You bastards! What did you do to him?" River shouted as he stomped forward, leaving barely any space between himself and the strangers. His heart was racing-- Arya still hadn't moved. "Arya! Hey!" River shouted as the men laughed.

"Arya has a friend? Haha, that's the funniest thing I've heard all day," said the tallest man, turning to face River. "You should scram, kid, if you know what's good for you."

"Kid? I'm not a child, and I'm not scared of you." River said confidently, even though his hand was trembling. He was convinced it was his anger peaking. "Get away from him." River snarled through bared teeth.

The leader looked at his two friends and all three of them laughed.

"Kid, I don't think you understand the situation you're in." the Leader scoffed before suddenly darting towards River with his fist reared back.

In one step, River bent down, dodging him swiftly and flattening his right hand, shoving it perfectly timed onto the man's elbow forcing it the wrong direction. River heard the satisfying snap of the bone.

"Sonofabitch!" The leader shouted, falling to the ground, grasping towards his left arm. His partners ran to his side as he struggled to stand. "I won't forget this!" He growled as the three of them took off out of the alley.

River relaxed his stance, releasing a deep breath before spinning on his heel and dashing back to where Arya lay still unmoving. River fell to his knees, picking Arya up gently.

"Hey... hey Arya." They whispered, shaking the boy. Within a minute, Arya's eyes opened and he immediately pushed away from River, the innate fear of the other men still fresh. "No, Arya, it's okay-- it's me." River held his hands up.

Arya's breathing slowed as he realized the other three men were gone. His hand snapped to his head, his left eye closing in pain. Silence fell between the two of them. River wasn't sure what to say, and Arya... he looked like he might pass out at any moment.

"What are you doing here?" Arya broke the silence. His voice was scratchy but still the soft, kind tone River was used to hearing in class. "This doesn't concern you."

River scoffed, "The hell it doesn't! Who were those men? What did they want from you?" Arya stayed silent, choosing to look anywhere but River's face. "Fine then, I guess it doesn't matter..." he stood up to leave.

"Wait!" Arya jumped to his feet.

River turned to see Arya reaching out towards him only for the boy to be overcome by his injuries. His eyes rolled back and he fell towards the ground. River was quick enough to catch him before he made contact with the pavement. The momentum of the fall had caused Arya's hood to reveal his full face. River blinked in surprise-- the right side of Arya's face was covered with a severe burn scar. How had they never noticed it before?

Out of respect, River pulled Arya's hood back over his head and held the boy close.

"Excuse me."

A voice from behind them both caused River to whip around, holding on to Arya even tighter.

A man stood there, holding his bowler hat in front of his face. His cape like top blew in the wind of the alley and his yellow gloved hands nearly look illuminescent in the alley.

"Who are you?" River demanded.

"I am that boy's guardian, and I would appreciate you giving him to me." The man said as he put his hat on his head. It revealed his face to be similar to Arya except the left side of his was... a snake, wait what?

River stood, holding Arya in his arms. "Why should I believe you? Maybe I should take him and run away?"

"No, that's not necessary. You see... that boy is not human, my dear." The man began to walk closer. "Well, not anymore." He stopped walking. "Ah, how rude of me. I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Janus."

"Okay... Janus what do you want with Arya?" River questioned, backing up a step.

"Oh no. You misunderstand. Arya came to me, you see. Alone and with nothing to lose, he made a deal. A deal with a snake." Janus explained, the snake side of his face never losing the grin it held. "Losing your entire family in a fire you caused and leaving yourself scarred for life is a rough thing to go through. He wanted to forget-- however it comes with a price."

"Yeah well... he needs medical treatment from whatever those assholes did to him so I'm taking him to the hospital. He's not going with you." River said firmly. "So I'll be leaving now."

River adjusted Arya in his arms before brushing past Janus toward the main street. River never once looked back and kept walking, avoiding the busier streets with nosey people. A regular hospital would ask too many questions. It was time to pay an old friend a visit.

After a ten minute walk, River arrived at what looked like a simple flower shop. He walked inside. A boy stood behind the main counter and turned to face them.

"Oh River! It's been awhile." He said. "Oh... is your friend hurt?"

"Yeah... can you help him Gabriel?" River asked as Gabriel held a back door open for them to walk through.

"Of course. Let's get him checked out." Gabriel assured.

River placed Arya on a rather large bed and sat down across from him and Gabriel in a plastic chair. River could feel the tension leaving his body finally and the realization of everything that happened was making his mind race as he watched Gabriel check Arya's vitals. Who were those three original men? Who was Janus? Was Janus telling the truth when he said Arya wasn't human anymore? What did that even mean? Nothing about this morning made any sense.

"River?" Gabriel's voice called them out of their stupor and River could see Arya was covered by a blanket now and his hoodie has been removed. "Are you okay? Do you need me to check you too?" Gabriel reached and felt River's head before they could lean away.

"No I'm fine." River assured.

Before Gabriel could ask again, a chime went off above their heads: a customer had walked into the flower shop. Gabriel excused himself and left the room. The room became silent other than the ticking of the clock on the far wall.

River stood up and walked to look at Arya. He looked peacefully asleep and more relaxed than before. Gabriel must've given him some medication. River pushed Arya's bangs out of his face and Arya stirred a bit, as if he was going to wake up.

"River.... wait.. please..." Arya murmured, his eyes still closed but tightened in fear. A dream. "I can explain... don't go... I need you."

River grabbed Arya's hand, intertwining their fingers. Arya seemed to relax and stopped talking. River was an idiot-- why hadn't he noticed it before? All of those feelings towards Arya... it was love. A need to protect.

"Don't worry, Arya..." River sat down on the side of the bed, brushing their fingers down the side of Arya's face. "I'm not going anywhere."

FIN.

[whitherliliesbloom]

birds of a feather

[ ffxivwrite2021 ] ★ [ masterlist ] ★ [ prompt #16 - crane ]

[ illya & friends ] ★ [ 1,847 words ]  ★ [ ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ] features ancientechos’ laurelis and two of my other ocs.

crane: a tall, long-legged, long-necked bird, typically with white or grey plumage

though their species varies as much as the colors of their plumages, birds of a feather flock the warrior of light together

“So...” Sigfred’s puzzled expression is framed by the furrowing of his eyebrows as he looks down at the young woman as she tries and fails to protectively shield her newest little companion away from his view. “You decided your aviary isn’t quite populated enough, did you?”

He says little, but the creature stood a good two feet taller than the comparably tiny lalafellin in front of it, the red tuff that crowned its head not helping it stay out of sight and unnoticeable either.

Of course, even if the peculiar thing hadn’t been almost the size of a small hyuran child or had striking plumage, it wouldn’t distract anybody from the fact that the lanky, majestic creature Illya had herded back home was yet another bird - a wild crane hailing from the far east.

“It wasn’t my decision to make.” Illya frowns, shaking her head while she idly raises her hand to rest upon the crane’s head, stroking it gently. “She just followed me back.”

“All the way from Yanxia?” The disbelief in his voice is his understandable, as is the skeptical crossing of his arms. He has trouble believing that a wild animal would doggedly tail Illya thousands of miles away from it’s natural habitat. Though his cynicism quickly fades when his scarlet eyes meet starlit ones, and he is reminded of the supernatural affinity the girl has with feathered creatures when a pigeon casually flutters over and lands on top of her head. 

He cannot tell if the lack of the wild animal’s natural fear of people when it came to Illya was more absurd, or the fact that she seemed completely nonchalant about the way a bird was nesting atop her hair. 

“Yes.” She answers, voice dipping slightly in pitch to convey her seriousness. “Hien had quite a struggle to chase her off the boat.” 

Evidently, the Prince of Doma had failed spectacularly... and as if self-aware, the crane puffs it’s chest out and tilts her head high into the sky. 

Next to Sigfred, the bard’s shoulder shakes in mirth, his loud guffaw echoing through the shroud of trees and causing the pigeon that had been peacefully resting on Illya’s head to flee, much to her unspoken chagrin. 

“Gods, I’m not even surprised anymore.” Wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eyes, E’lija finally speaks in between choked laughter. “Illya brings home a new bird like every other day.”

Heat spreads across the young lady’s face, though as if sensing her embarrassment, the cockatiel that had been sitting quietly upon the branch of Illya’s wisteria tree flys over before landing on her shoulder, now nudging it’s head against her cheek.

“I-I... I don’t choose to, most of the time at least... Plus, if I take good care of them, there shouldn’t be a problem. Isn’t that right, Orion?”

The cockatiel bobs its head up and down, much to the utter shock of E’lija who throws his arms up.

“W-wha- It can understand her??”

Orion doesn’t spare even a second to pause before turning it’s head to lock his beady, round eyes upon the miqo’te before his beak parts to voice his detest towards the man who would embarrass his master.

“Piss off.”

“IT CAN TALK?!?!” E’lija so very nearly falls off his fold up chair, threatening to take the cups of coffee and biscuits onto the floor with him.  “WHERE- Where did it learn that from???” 

“.....Estinien.” Illya frowns, lifting her index finger to poke at the cockatiel’s forehead in disapproval. “He got into a fight... well... argument with Orion. It wasn’t pretty.”

She really should find a way to tactfully ask the man to cut his expletives down... or at least not feel the raging urge to get into a debate with a mere bird, lest she have a harder and harder time convincing people that she was not in fact the one responsible for teaching her pet cockatiel how to yell ‘Thal’s balls’ in a guest’s ear. 

Sigfred merely hums, his hands stroking his chin as he narrows his eyes at the crane. 

“What kind of crane is it, anyway? We didn’t see a lot of it’s kind back in Doma.”

“It’s a Manchurian crane - one of the rarest species of cranes in the world, I believe. It’s particularly highly revered in the far east... which was why I had to hide her below deck while we were sailing by Kugane.”

His interest piqued, the redhead straightens himself and adjusts his hat before leaning back into his seat. 

“Why’s that?”

“Um... well, if I remember right, it symbolizes good fortune, longevity and immortality.”

E’lija has to stop his jaw from dropping so low that it’d collide with the table. Archons, and this apparently rare crane from the far east that represented god given virtues has now taken a liking to Illya so much it’d leave Doma to stalk her all the way back to Eorzea?

Internally, he wonders what sort of karma he must have to obtain such divine blessings. 

With a clear of his throat, Sigfred steers the conversation back on track.

“So what now? What do you plan on doing next with it?”

“I-I.... I don’t... I don’t know? She’s stubborn... wouldn’t budge for anyone. I had thought maybe letting her see just how different the shroud is from Yanxia, she’d want to go home but...”

A hearty, more pleasant giggle rings out next to her, and Illya turns to look at a pink-haired miqo’te who she had assumed would be too pre-occupied with cuddling her baby dodo to have paid attention to her conversation with her other party mates.

Laurelis still is, to an extent... her arms wrapped tightly around the plump, round creature as it lets out an occasional squawk. But as usual, when it came to the topic of animal adoption and welfare, she was ever the first to jump to contribute to the topic.

“Why don’t you just adopt her then? You already know how to take care of other birds so... just one more won’t make much of a change, would it?”

That was the exact mindset that would lead Laurelis to have an ever growing household of cats and dogs that she’d find on her travels... but Illya thinks pointing out the irony to that would only get lost to her dear friend. 

“Well... I... I have my reservations.” 

Illya turns behind to look back at the crane as it stares intently back at her. Whatever that was going through it’s head, it certainly had no intention of returning where it came from... But that in itself was a bit of a problem.

“Manchurians cranes are an endangered species... I’m not sure I’m qualified enough to take care of one, let alone adopt and keep one for the rest of it’s life, when it should rightfully be wild.” 

There was a drip of hypocrisy in her statement, certainly. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s had to shelter a wild animal only to be forced into a position of adopting it - and it didn’t just apply to birds either. 

But caring and raising a species at danger of going extinct was an entirely different issue that she rightfully felt she had no place dabbling in - not without professional training, at least... and the twelve knows when she’d find an expert in the matter willing to teach her.

Ethical concerns aside, Illya also struggled to find a concrete reason for why she absolutely had to keep this beautiful creature in her home. 

For most of the other animals she’d adopted, they had been rescued in some form or the other. Hazel for example, the brown sparrow that she had found with broken wings near Bentbranch Meadows a few summers ago. Though Illya had full intentions to release her as soon as she healed from her injuries, the little sparrow grew attached and has rarely ever left her side since. 

She’d struggled to find an adopter who would be willing to take in her mobirdly obese chocobo chick Lawrence, due perhaps to their reservations in regards to providing for his demanding diet. And likewise, the hunting hawk that she’d met upon a pirate ship had been abandoned after losing it’s eye... and his protectiveness over not just herself, but anyone he knew to be someone Illya cared for, made it difficult to even find ways to put adverts for his adoption. 

Illya had thought the reason why birds seemed to flock to and very often stay by her side had been for the simple fact that she’d saved them... and that their attachment to the one who saved them made it impossible for them to part from her. 

The Manchurian crane however, would perhaps be the clearest proof that her affinity with birds was... unnatural, to say the least. 

Not that she minded, of course... Because for as much as she would bring doubt to her own abilities to care for the animals under her care, she did secretly have a soft spot for birds that perhaps made it hard for her to give her feathered friends as much as it would be for them to find a new home. 

“Maybe I could foster it for a while before bring it back to Doma.” Illya hums, but hears Laurelis whine pitifully in response.

“But she’s clearly attached to you! I’m sure she’ll be happiest by your side. At the end of the day, her happiness and wellbeing is the most important, right? I’m sure you’ll do just fine, Illya!” 

The miqo’te points out, gesturing to the yard full of birds who roosted quietly - from Lawrence who was now rolling about in his little playpen full of sand, to Captain Blackbeak who sat vigilantly atop the purple mailbox decorated with golden leaves and stars that sat right outside her yard. 

Illya hears hazel singing from where she sat on the roof of the pagoda, and the nudging of the crane’s beak against her face, as if both voicing their agreement for Laurelis’ words... and Illya lets out a heaving sigh that was copied comically by the cockatiel on her shoulder.

“I-I’ll think about it.” Though there’s still a hint of hesitation, the fact Illya was willing to even consider was enough to cause Laurelis to break out into a grin, lifting her hands up to clap in delight.

“Oh goodie! Now think of a name for her!”

“N-now??” With widened eyes of gleaming lavender stars, Illya parts her mouth and shakes her head frantically. “W-when I’m put on the spot like that I can’t--... I can’t think of anything-”

“Oh!” Evidently more than happy to suggest some ideas, E’lija blurts out. “I have some ideas! How about... Queen crane! Or... Immortal Nancy! Or-”

“Shut up stupid! Shut up stupid!”

Bouncing up and down, Orion squeals out, causing the bard to finally collapse off of his chair and spill his milk coffee, which Illya is certain that Lawrence would be more than happy to hop over and drink off the floor.

[nama-ri]

Deeper Than Rivers (ch2)

Next chapter! I promise the story isn’t all angst :’)

Summary: Namaari and Raya, two opposing forces who are more similar than they know. Together they’ll face the Drunn, find Sisu, and perhaps find themselves again too. A deeper look into Rayaari and the emotional turmoil they go through alone and together. Pre, during, and Post movie. 

No one batted an eye to the traveller in the red cloak, a large hat tilted over her face, casting a shadow over her features. Not to say she was unnoticed among the white clothes the natives wore. It was simply that it wasn’t odd to them in the market. Trade, though heavily inhibited by the Drunns, still happened. In Fact many Talon merchants and even a few Spine were also in the busy market place by the docks. Tail had stopped communication awhile ago, and it was rumored that they succumbed to the Drunn given their desert land.

Raya can’t say she missed the Tail Cheif. She was brash and selfish when they met before. A distinct memory of the tanned skin women shoving her aside in her greed to grab the Dragon Gem during the chaos that ensued after everyone poured into the temple. It seemed from the stories she heard that the chief's paranoia only grew when she got a piece of the gem shard. Though Raya thought she got what she deserved for her hand in breaking the world, an old buried part of her Heart panged at the thought of innocent Tail citizens perishing along with her.

Quickly she shoved that soft part of her back down. Through her experience as basically a rogue she had learned that there was no room to be soft. It pained her to kill her own innocence but the many experiences of betrayal over her travels made it clear it was a necessity. 

Speaking of betrayal. Raya pondered how she’d make it into the Fang palace where she was sure the scroll was. Her plan to pass as a random trader worked just as she thought. Of Course no one heard anything about the Heart princess after the night the Drunn had been released back into the world, so it was easy for her from the start to pretend to be someone else. Just another refugee from many of the destroyed villages of the land.

Passing by a few stalls set up, she considered her options. Her disguise would not pass in the well guarded palace. She would stick out like a sore thumb. She’d have to sneak in at night Raya realized as she glanced at the large stone buildings on the other side of the Fang island. “Oh toi” She mumbled under her breath taking in the smooth white walls. She was confident in her ability, confident in her years of hard living and her original training as a Gem guardian, but this was still gonna be a hard task to tackle. 

As she studied the palace, leaning in the shade of an alleyway something caught her eye. A familiar undercut. 

“No way” Raya was dumbstruck for a second. No way it was that easy to find Namaari. Furthermore, she had kept the same hair style for 4 years?! The thought of the Fang princess cutting her hair to match her Mother was amusing as a child but it was even more funny now. Raya couldn’t help but smile at that thought. “What a mommy’s girl” she snorted, following the figure discreetly. Of course she knew she was just as much of a daddy’s girl herself but that was before, Raya thought bitterly. Her mind quickly growing sour again.

Yep that was definitely Namaari. Wow. 

When Raya finally caught up to the other princess, though still far enough to not be noticed in the crowd, she had to physically stop her jaw from dropping open. What the hell?? She was taller than her! 

That was not the thought she should be having but her child-like pettiness flared. Namaari wasn’t the same thin girl she met and beat in the Dragon Temple 4 years ago. No, that Binturi was now taller and, Raya noticed reluctantly, buffer. 

Raya’s eyes followed the girl, no warrior, before her. Taking in her broad shoulders bared for the world to see in her sleeveless top. The strength in her smooth steps and air of power as she moved forward nearly parting the crowd as she went. Raya was gawking really, a slight blush on her face before she could stop herself. 

As if sensing the eyes on her, Namaari looked back over her shoulder and Raya barely ducked behind a barrel in time. Seeing Namaari’s body was one thing, her face was another. Peeking from behind her hiding spot she just caught the Fang’s sharp jaw and intimidating eyes set in an impassive face. Gone was the bright eyes or cute face she remembered. Something struck her heart at that, it was a mirror of her own loss.

‘Okay so she grew up, no biggie’. Raya tried to convince herself moving from the barrel as Namaari turned back and continued her walk. ‘She grew up hot’, a small voice echoed her previous thought in her head.

Wait a second hot?

Well sure attractive, anyone in their right mind would be able to see but that was besides the point, Raya had seen plenty of attractive people. She was attractive too if she did say so herself. Unlucky for her Namaari just so happened to be hot. Whatever, didn’t change a thing. But the muscles, that might make a fight harder if it came to it. Yes, it was perfectly natural to be staring at the Fang like this, she was just sizing the other up. Nothing else. Raya continued to trail Namaari, though from a far greater distance now as she revised her plan. Maybe she can ambush the Fang princess? Get her to take her to the scroll. That was far easier than scaling the high walls of the palace and searching randomly in a dangerous place.

As she was lost in thought on how to get Namaari alone she spotted another Fang warrior, she guessed by their dress, walking up rather quickly to the princess. 

“Shouldn’t be- market. -ought to get back” Were the only words she caught over the chatter of the market. Oh no, she’ll lose Namaari if she decides to head back right now. Lucky for her, Namaari looked just as annoyed to be told to leave. Raya moved closer to catch what they were saying.

“I won’t be long Atitaya, it will be fine” Namaari assured in a commanding tone, though it was undercut as she rolled her eyes like a child. The other warrior, Atitaya apparently, just huffed.

“Whatever you say princess” Atitaya bowed, making the younger girl frown, ears getting red. 

“Stop, oh dragons, I told you that wasn’t necessary” Namaari whispered to the warrior in front of her hushed and hurriedly. 

“I know, I know” The formality broken, Atitaya slung an arm over Namaari’s shoulder laughing quietly. Well that was a little shocking, Raya’s eyebrows shot up as she watched the interaction. From what she knew about Fang, they were militaristic and strict in their formalities to a fault. Cold, she remembered hearing from the villagers of Heart back when they were still alive. She had actually seen it herself throughout the day as she watched guards in the marketplace. This outward show of affection was weird. Especially weird as it included Namaari who Raya had chalked up to being the representation of every bad Fang stereotype. 

“You always tease me” Namaari grumbled. As the pair continued on the way. “I told you it’s embarrassing and unneeded out of formal settings” That just made the older woman smirk. 

“Well you never know who could be watching” a mischievous smile on her face “like maybe your mother” Namaari stiffened noticeably at that. Noticing the sudden rigid posture the general slowed her pace removing her arm from the clearly uncomfortable girl's shoulders “Hey hey, it’s okay she’s busy in a council meeting right now” Atitaya back tracked. 

Atitaya, though not actually family, may as well be. Orphaned by the famine that plagued Fang when she was 17 she was taken into the royal palace and given a second chance. She will always be grateful to Chief Virana for that, but she couldn’t say she entirely agreed with how she treated Namaari. Forcing her to grow up faster then maybe need be.

After the death of her husband, the Chief in her grief had shuttered away all her emotions, throwing herself into her work and people. No one could say she didn’t love anything, she loved her people. She was of course admired greatly by all of Fang for her steadiness in the face of starvation and all other forms of destruction. No she was an amazing Chief.

But Namaari.

She loved Namaari, but since the loss she could never really allow herself to fully show it. Now her tenderness only showed through a strong squeeze on the shoulder or a compliment given in an emotionless voice. It was sad, Atitaya thought.

She remembered the day she found the Fang princess, still only 10 at the time, in the serlots pen weeping silently among the large cats. She had felt odd at the time, not knowing what to do as a young soldier finding her princess in such a state. But she still sat with the child, not being able to just leave her, letting her cry it out. When she finally asked what was wrong, Namaari had only replied in a soft whimper that she felt she was all alone. 

The General, then a soldier, knew Namaari loved her dad and was hurting since he died. But as the young Fang continued to speak. It dawned on Atitaya that Namaari has been cut deeper than anyone thought previously of the often quite child. With the other children either too scared or resentful to hang out with her, and her own mother to preoccupied in work she was left to deal with her heavy emotions alone.

Years passed, and Atitaya rose through the ranks. As she did she also  became sort of an older sister figure to Namaari. Someone to lean on, though they didn’t show their friendship too much publicly. She watched with a sad heart as the princess took on more than she should have, striving and surpassing the high standards of even her mother. But in the process hiding her pain away to battle alone in order to not seem weak. 

They didn’t speak about Namaari problems as much as she grew older, but Atitaya still knew the other was struggling with a host of emotions despite her strong facade. Just like back in that serlot pen, except Namaari wouldn’t let her in this time. Atitaya was there since the beginning and so she knew why the younger Fang tensed at just the mention of her mother. 

“Hey lets just find those flowers, then we can head back before the Chief even notices” she quickly said trying to cheer up the Fang princess, who took a second to relax again. 

“Yeah” Namaari finally replied and began walking again, this time with Atitaya following a little behind. An invisible rift between them that only grew it seemed. 

‘Flowers? What the dragons?’ Raya thought, witnessing the short interaction but having no clue of the undertext. What exactly was all this about?

[sparkie96]

AU: parent!au (also Omegaverse, cuz Dante has Cereza’s babies) Trope: exes (Cereza and Luka used to date) Prompt: “You had no idea, did you?”

Dante narrowed his eyes at the newcomer as he looked over the top of his magazine, trying not to look like he was watching, but also not helping himself. It was a man who was taller than Cereza, which Dante didn’t think was scientifically possible, and evidently was a very good friend of hers. He watched “Luka” put his hand on her shoulder, his eyes looking into hers fondly...romantically. 

Dante growled low in his chest, burying his face deeper into the magazine, “Good friend, my ass.” he muttered to himself. 

“Did you say something, love?” Cereza called over to Dante. 

“Nah, just reading something.” Dante lied, cocking a brow at her “Friend”, “Who’s this guy again?” 

“The name’s Luka Redgrave.” Luka introduced himself, tipping his hat at the Omega, “Photo-journalist and aspiring writer. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” 

Dante gave the man an unimpressed once over before going back to reading his magazine, “Nope. Sorry.” 

Luka gave the Omega a look before sighing and going back to Cereza, Dante watching him once more. He eavesdropped on their conversation, listening as Luka talked about a case involving demons and angels alike, asking Cereza if she was absolutely sure that Dante was the man for the job. If she was absolutely sure she wanted Dante’s company and not his own, since Luka considered himself qualified. 

Dante laughed aloud at that, “You? What? Are you a witch too?” 

Luka sneered at the devil-hunter, about to make a retort until Cereza cut in between them, “Okay, boys. Behave. We have a mission to complete and I’ve no patience for your childish behaviors.” She scolded, looking to Dante with a sincere smile, “And you know better, darling.” 

Dante mumbled something under his breath before setting down the magazine, “Fine...I’m gonna go check on the babies before we get moving. Just to make sure Patty and Nero can handle them.” 

He slammed down his magazine before going upstairs, Luka and Cereza watching after him before Luka turned to Cereza, “What crawled up his ass?” 

Cereza sighed as she put her hands on her hips, watching her white-haired mate, “I think someone is a bit jealous…” 

________________________________________________________

Dante was quiet the whole car ride up, watching the passing scenery while occasionally turning back to look at Luka and Cereza, both sitting in the front seats. The Omega grunted as he tried to stretch his legs out once more, not liking how cramped it was back here. Cereza offered to push her seat up, but Dante didn’t want her to have cramped legs. He spread himself out in the backseat, but his legs were still bent at the knees due to the lack of space. 

“Ah!” Dante shouted as Luka hit the breaks, sending the Omega flying into the back of Cereza’s seat, “Shit! What the hell was that?!” 

“Sorry,” Luka said, but Dante sensed it wasn’t sincere, “Thought I saw something in the road.” 

Dante flashed him a glare in the rearview mirror, “Right…” He growled, righting himself before fastening his seatbelt, “So, is your driving always as bad as your outfits?” 

Luka glared back at him, “I’m a very good driver...usually.” 

They made a stop at one of Rodin’s secret shops, Cereza informing them that she would be right back. She then reminded them to behave and that the car had better be in one piece when she came back. They both begrudgingly agreed. With that, she left and went inside the seemingly abandoned building just outside, leaving the feuding Omega and Beta alone. 

There was a tense silence between them before Dante broke it, “So...what are you to her?” 

Luka raised a brow as he looked at Dante through the mirror, “What’s it to you?” 

“Well,” Dante began, his hand on Ebony, “I wanna know if I’m gonna have to worry about some son of a bitch stealing my mate and the Alpha Mother of my children.” 

Luka’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, “Alpha Mother of your children? Wait...you two have kids?” 

Dante chuckled at that, “You had no idea, did you?” Luka shook his head, “What kids did you think I was talking about before we left?” 

“I don’t know!” Luka admitted, “I thought you two ran an orphanage or something!” 

“Nope!” Dante said with a cheshire grin, “We have three little demon babies.” He said, pulling a picture out of the breast pocket of his coat before showing Luka proudly, “Reddie, Greenie, and Blue.” 

Luka looked at the picture in shock, “Huh...guess that makes me an Uncle.” 

“Now you are,” Dante said, “Though, not their favorite Uncle. Vergil holds that position. And I sure as hell wouldn’t let you be their stepfather.” 

“Stepfather?” Luka asked, before laughing, “Oh...so that’s why you’re so hostile toward me...don’t worry, she’s all yours.” He said, handing the picture back, “I was the one who broke up with her due to creative differences.” 

Dante accepted the picture, tucking it back in its hiding place, “Creative differences?” 

“Apparently, my car insurance doesn’t cover Angels and Witches.” Luka admitted, “And neither does my house insurance...or health insurance.” 

“...you’re the one who got his back broken in the bedroom.” Dante realized, laughing, “Yeah, she can be a bit rough.”  Luka rubbed the back of his neck in memory, chuckling as well, “You’re telling me.” 

[theawkwardterrier]

things left behind and the things that are ahead, ch. 31

AO3 link here

The winter Emma turns thirteen, her childhood roundness starts turning into curves (rounded curves, but still), her clothes draping around her in new ways. She’d known that these sorts of changes were meant to be coming - Mom is always very straightforward - but to actually experience them is a different matter.

She manages to conceal things for the most part under some of the heavy sweaters that Nana Barnes had once made for Rosie. She pulls them out of the boxes in the basement where Dad stores the old, outgrown items of clothing that he can’t seem to make himself donate, and adds them to her own wardrobe. The sleeves come only just to her wrists (she’s already taller than Rosie now, and it’s a good thing her sister has long arms), which looks weird, and Mom asks about them because Maryland winters aren’t really cold enough for Nana’s thick Brooklyn wool. But wrapping them around herself feels better, easier, than to try to figure out something else.

Except Emma loves spring, and on the first really warm day, she can’t help but put on her favorite dress from last year, yellow with flowers and a pleated skirt, even though it’s tight in strange places. She wears a sweater over it when Dad drives her to school, keeps holding her books against herself and avoids stopping to talk to her friends in the hallways, and she can’t tell if the tradeoff was worth it.

Mom and Dad don’t say anything at dinner, but there is a glance traded between them in the overlap of Drea’s story about her science teacher and Nate asking if they can go to the library tomorrow because his friend Arnold told him about a book about a mother mouse who goes on adventures that’s apparently very good. The other two don’t seem to notice the way Mom tilts her head from her side of the table and Dad nods from his, but Emma sees.

(That would never have happened when Rosie was still there, because their biggest sister would have seen the way Emma kept picking at her plate, and suddenly everyone would have been focused on a very involved recounting of everything that was happening with the drama club that week. And then later, Rosie would have come into Emma’s room to sit on her bed and explain everything, even how they were going to fix it, and would have made her laugh too. But Rose is 500 miles away, having a great time at college, and so there’s no one to get their parents to look away from Emma.)

That night, she’s in the kitchen baking with Dad. It’s a ritual with them, at least twice a week. He used to make a cake or cookies in the afternoons when Emma was little, but she joined him one day and never looked back, not even tonight.

Tonight they’re making cupcakes, vanilla with pink frosting on top that they’re shaping like spring flowers with their new piping bag set, just like they’d planned. It’s so normal that Emma forgets about that traded glance, stops thinking about how the apron she’s always used doesn’t slip on quite the right way anymore.

Dad waits until she’s finished frosting one of the cupcakes and set it down before he taps the top of her arm for attention.

“Mom - she’s not working on Saturday,” he says, his signing taking on a hesitant quality that she associates with topics much more awkward than her mother’s weekend plans. “If you want to go shopping with her - you might find some new spring dresses. I think you might be a little old for me to pick out your clothes.”

She doesn’t know how to thank him for not making her ask, for not making it strange or shameful. “You got me all of my favorite stuff,” she offers shyly, and gives him a hug around the waist.

Mom does take her shopping over the weekend (on Sunday in the end; Mom sometimes has to work even when it wasn’t planned) and they find things that actually fit, that make her feel like herself again, even if herself is still changing.

“Come to the yard,” Mom says once they’ve put the bags away in Emma’s room. Emma sighs, the movement involving chest and shoulders and puffed out cheeks. She knows what that means. Their house in New Jersey had a high fence to discourage neighborly prying, and when they’d moved to Maryland, they had a big yard far away from other houses: useful when the children had each taken their turn learning to throw a punch.

"You never know when you'll need something like that," Dad says. They all know that part of it has to do with Mom's work, and part of it comes from the way Dad grew up, but Emma’s never run into either, really.

Mom starts with a bit of a refresher. Making a fist with the thumb on the outside and wrist straight still comes naturally although Em has never really liked the idea of actually punching anyone. But then they move onto other things, moves with her legs and something about using her own weight and leverage to flip a big stuffed model over her shoulder, what to do if someone tries to hurt you when you’re sitting instead of standing. They’ve never done anything like that before. Nate watches from the back window, confused, but when Drea sees what’s happening, she only makes her slim shoulders even smaller and walks away.

"Why are we doing this?" Emma asks when she is finally sweaty enough to have earned a break. She watches carefully for the tiny tics of a lie, nearly impossible to spot on Mom's face, as she takes a drink.

"It's a good skill for a growing girl to have," Mom says, and that her face is entirely truthful just makes Emma feel more out of sorts as she goes in to look through the cookbooks for something that she can bake tonight to make herself feel better.

At dinner, Dad tells a story about a time when he and Uncle Bucky had to fight four bigger boys. It’s funny, the way he shows Uncle Bucky looking down at him because Dad was littler then, the way he shows everyone squinting at each other like a standoff. But he catches Emma’s eye when he talks about pulling hair or kicking up between the knees if necessary, and she knows that he’s trying to train her in another way.

(The next time they go to bake, there’s a new apron folded on the counter, her name embroidered across the top. When she puts it on, it fits perfectly.)

Mom and Dad are being weird, she writes to Rosie. They keep talking about how to fight if I need to.

Mom and Dad are just being Mom and Dad, Rosie writes back. The rest of the family does phone calls every week or two, but since Rose moved into her dorm in September she’s said that she loves getting Emma’s letters. Emma likes writing them, likes seeing her thoughts organized on paper, and likes getting Rose’s back, the Massachusetts postmark on the replies and the little creases that represent how far its traveled to her. They know the kinds of things that can happen in the world, so sometimes they can be a little protective.

That hasn’t been Emma’s experience with her parents. She’s been trusted to use the oven by herself for years, and no one checks to see that she’s reading “appropriate” books, the way her friend Rachel Clarke’s mother does. When she’d had strict Mr. Farrell in fifth grade, Mom had told her sternly not to let him intimidate her and Dad had helped with her reports and packed the best snacks in her lunch bag, but neither of them had stormed into the principal’s office and gotten him fired. But things have been different for Rosie, and not just because she’s older, so Emma assumes that in this she’s gotten it wrong somehow.

The day after school lets out, she and Drea walk into town to get ice cream. It’s so hot out that their cones are melting as soon as they start back home, and keeping control of the dripping takes attention and agility. It’s too hard to hold a conversation, but Emma notices when Drea jumps and glares over her shoulder at the car speeding around the corner.

“Did it get too close?” she pesters, her hands sticky but finally empty as they approach the house. “I would have noticed if they drove so close.”

“No,” Drea says slowly, finally answering, though her fingers drift slowly shut and linger on the word for a strangely long time. “They didn’t get too close. They just—They were shouting at us.”

“We didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Sometimes,” Drea tells her, a peculiar look on her face, “a girl walking - that’s enough.” Seeing the confusion on Emma’s face, Drea wraps an arm around her sister. “We’re okay. The wrong ones - that’s them. We should be able to walk down the street looking however we want.”

Emma looks down at her peachy pink blouse and the striped skirt that matches it. She had bought them only a few months ago. The buttons running up the center of the skirt had seemed a cute touch, fun. She hadn’t even really considered them when she left the house that morning, but now they seem awkward, a mistake.

She starts to have an inkling of why Mom keeps taking her to the backyard even though she still refuses to put in much effort there. Maybe next time she’ll try to be different.

The following Saturday, Emma wakes up to a sweet-smelling breeze blowing through her open window and knows that today will be a gardening day. A few hours later, they are all outside.

(Not Rosie - she was invited to go on a trip with one of her new friends and now she won’t be back until almost August.)

Over by the new flowers they are planting, Dad playfully adjusts the sun hat Mom is wearing, even though it would make more sense for her to do it herself - she has on her gardening gloves as usual, but Dad always sticks his hands directly into the earth and already has dirt under his fingernails and in the creases of his palms. As they both kneel at the edge of the flowerbed, he puts his fingers to Mom’s cheek as he kisses her and it leaves little streaks against the cream of her skin. He brushes it away with the edge of his wrist and says something that makes Mom laugh.

She knows that Drea, checking for bugs at the other end of the bed from Emma, is saying something. Nate, who already finished the small bed he was working on, has gone to get his pad and drawing pencils. He sits with his mouth open slightly and tongue poking out, listening to their sister. When he sees Emma look up at them, he raises an eyebrow to ask if she wants him to interpret, even goes to put his pencil down, but she shakes her head and runs her finger over a soft leaf. She doesn’t need chatter right now, just the blue sky and the warm sun, her family around her, her hands busily working on a task they already know exactly how to do.

Later, after they have finished with the flowers in front and then the vegetable garden in back, when they have made sure the peach trees are thinned enough and then cleared or collected the June drop fruit (Dad will try to ripen them up and use the best of them to make jam and cobbler in the next few days; she has an idea about adding raspberries to their usual cobbler recipe that she thinks he’ll like), once Nate has convinced Dad to make a little peach syrup to try with lemonade and they have decided that they’ll try again with the more flavorful crop later in the summer, after Emma has had a bath, put her capri pants with their muddy, grass-stained knees into the laundry room, eaten dinner in her cotton pajamas with the still-warm breeze playing against the kitchen curtains...later, she asks Dad to come read with her.

He doesn’t chide that she’s too old for it, a teenager now, doesn’t remind her that they slowly dropped off with such routines years ago. Instead, he picks up his book and swings a hand toward her: “Come on.” Though she can’t catch the title as she makes her way upstairs, his book is pretty, with brightly colored trees on the front; it’s been a while since she saw Dad not reading notes or textbooks or something for a class assignment and she realizes that this is summer vacation for him too.

She hasn’t actually been read aloud to since probably third or fourth grade, when the chapter books she was picking made it harder and harder for her dad to sign the stories to her; she kept peeking over his shoulder, eager to know what happened next, her eyes racing over the words faster than he could convey. For the next few years they compromised instead, each reading their own book together in the evenings, until that eventually stopped too.

Curling up beneath his arm is still so familiar, even if it’s not routine anymore. She opens Up a Road Slowly and starts to read, but she has barely even finished a chapter before her blinks are pressing long, the book drooping over her chest. Vaguely, she feels Dad kiss her hair as he picks the book up from her chest. She knows that in the morning she will find it bookmarked at her page, resting on top of the copy of Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret, that Tina Lasko gave her for her birthday because all the girls in school were talking about it, but that Emma stopped reading (the beginning was okay, but then she heard what was going to come later and put it down).

Just before she falls asleep, she thinks that she would like to live in this day forever, never grow up, just have this day and this day and this day...

A few nights later, she sets the table fresh from her bath, her curls still long and darkened down her back, dampening her nightgown. They were out in the garden again today, just doing a brief check of things, before she and Nate rode their bikes into town to go to the library - she hasn’t finished her book yet, but Nate wanted company and she was bored enough to agree. Mom’s just come home and they will eat soon and it has been another wonderful day.

She isn’t sure how it starts, really. Dad sets the platter of meatloaf on the table - his is better than most, not mushy and with vegetables and a sauce that isn’t just ketchup; Emma would rather have chicken if he’s asked her, but Dad likes to make it for Drea sometimes, special - and before he turns to get the potatoes, he asks if she is going to try out for the basketball team this year. Eighth graders are allowed to be on the team at her school, even if it’s pretty rare for them to make it.

And even though the answer could easily be yes (she’s not really tall, but her aim is good and she and Drea are pretty well neck and neck for wins at H-O-R-S-E) somehow she finds herself getting worked up over just that question. Before she knows it, even as something inside her says that this doesn’t make sense, that she should calm down, she has slammed down the knives she is holding so she can use both hands. And ignoring his gentle responses, looking away from the steadiness she has always loved, she tells her father that he never stops pushing her, he and Mom are so bossy, they never just let her be, why can’t she just enjoy her summer, why is he always asking questions, he doesn’t understand, she hates him.

She closes her bedroom door hard, then opens it again to give it a real slam that she can feel even through the thick wood of the frame and floor. Face down in her pillow, she screams, the feeling grating and growling its way up her throat, then cries for a while even though she doesn’t understand why.

Later, she sits up against the wall, her pillow hugged against her chest. She has her book open in her lap, but she has barely turned a page.

The light flips off and then on again, off and on, then twice more. She knows it’s Nate - he’s the only one who flicks the outside switch for her room four times instead of three to let her know he’s there - but she doesn’t move or make a sound. He pokes his head in anyway. Seeing her on the bed, not crying anymore, he comes in and sits at the foot.

“We ate, but Dad says there’s a plate for you. You can get something from the fridge, maybe.”

He says it exactly like normal, as if she hadn’t just exploded downstairs, as if she wasn’t just awful to her father.

“Is he mad?” she asks, and even the angry face she puts on for the sign is tentative. “Does he hate me?”

Nate shakes his head. “Rosie slammed a lot more doors than you. Dad loves her. He loves you.”

When she goes downstairs, Dad is washing the dinner dishes. She sits at the table looking down at her plate and he gives her a little smile over his shoulder before he turns back to the soapy water. It makes her want to cry again, but instead she stands up and goes to tap him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she signs, the circling on her chest reminding her of the times he rubbed her back to help her sleep or when she had a cough or as she cried because someone had made her feel bad. Now, the tears do come, filling her eyes. “I was mean to you. I hurt you.”

Dad wraps his arms around her, his chin atop her head. His hands are wet against her back, against her bare arms as he gently moves her away so he can speak.

“It’s hard - I know,” he says. “Kindness is hard work sometimes,” and his understanding, the way he doesn’t reassure that she has not hurt him, just makes her want to keep ahold of herself so she never does it again, even though she knows that he would forgive her then too.

Mrs. Walker calls asking if Rosie is back to babysit the next afternoon. She used to watch Brian and Sandra every few weeks when she was in high school. When Drea tells her no, Rose won’t finish her trip for another few weeks, Drea gets offered the job instead, and when she says that she has plans, Mrs. Walker suggests Emma.

As she gets her book and a sweater so Mom can drive her over, she asks Drea, “Are they desperate?” She’s feeling as if she must have been desperate in order to agree to do this in the first place. She was only looking for something new to break the monotony of the days because her school friends don’t live in town and she had turned down the offer of day camp or the school’s summer program. Plus, she was eager for the forty cents an hour that she had been offered. (She knows that Rose would sometimes hold out for up to seventy-five, and she charged a dollar after midnight , but that’s Rose.)

Drea, leaning against the doorframe, shrugs. She isn’t busy, she just didn’t want to go. “Husband on a business trip - she wants a break, time alone.”

That’s obvious once Emma has waved to Mom and knocked on the door. Mrs. Walker opens it right away, her handbag already over her elbow. She has a little notebook out and tears off the top page, handing it to Emma and waiting - foot just this side of tapping, but still - for her to read it.

Brian is apparently staying with his grandparents in Delaware which leaves her only watching Sandra, who is just a toddler and meant to go to bed by half past six anyway. That’s a relief: Brian is seven and bossy, and one reason Rose is such a popular choice for the Walkers is that she’s bossier. Sandra is content to dabble her feet in the inflatable pool for a while before coming inside to play while Emma warms up the pasta bake that Mrs. Walker left in the refrigerator. Getting Sandra for bed makes her feel simultaneously brilliant (no one had to tell her to save bath time for after dinner - she’d figured that out all on her own even before she saw all that drippy red sauce and Sandra’s preference to eat with her hands) and entirely foolish (apparently babies do not stay still when you’re trying to put a diaper on them - even when there are pins involved!).

It’s still light out when she sits down to read in the big armchair facing the street. The drapes are open and when she looks up every so often, she can see parents getting home from work, then families taking walks and visiting neighbors, kids running and biking in the street, narrow columns of barbecue smoke that she can nearly smell. She gets up to check on Sandra every ten or fifteen minutes though she seems to be sleeping fairly deeply just like Mrs. Walker had said she would, the room dark and warm.

When she comes downstairs again after peeking into the baby’s room, Emma notices a car coming slowly down the street. It’s a white Ford Mustang, fairly new looking. (Mom was always having them play different “spot the car” games when they were driving to Maine or Brooklyn, finding certain license plates or keeping track of which car had been on the highway with them for the longest amount of time; they got really good last summer.) The driver waits for the kids to run to the sides of the street, then keeps driving.

Five minutes later, Emma looks up from her book to see that the car is back again, circling the block in that same slow manner.

She checks the clock. Mrs. Walker was supposed to be going for a hair appointment and then to a movie with a friend. She told Emma that she wouldn’t be out later than 8:30. It’s quarter to now.

Her book is pretty good, and she’s getting close to the end, but she finds herself losing focus, glancing up as the car circles another time. The bugs are coming out and the sun is going down. Lots of people are inside now. The driver doesn't have to wait to drive along. None of the neighbors brush their curtains aside to watch the next slow slide down the street, the way the passenger side window rolls down and Emma thinks she can see someone leaning over the seat, staring toward her, though the inside of the car is so dark and she can't tell for sure.

She goes to check on Sandra, and even though nothing is amiss there, she finds herself sitting against the crib, the slats propping her back up. She tries to think through a plan.

She doesn't want to leave Sandra, doesn't want to wake her to go over to a neighbor's house to ask them to call. They don't seem worried, and besides, she can call herself. When they moved to town, Mom had taken Emma to the police station and introduced her to the officers. She remembered being in an office, tall men all around, watching her from very high, and a few women with big hair.

"In case of emergency," Mom had told them, as if she was able to give them orders, which apparently she was, "Emma knows the number of the station and, if possible, will tap out her name in Morse code against the receiver rather than a simple SOS to help you identify her." They had practiced it at home - a short tap, four long taps, a short, one last long - and even once with the agreement of the local emergency workers. A firetruck had come to their house and the firefighters had waved at them. Nate had drawn a picture of it that hung on the fridge for months.

She could call them now. A policeman would be here in only a few minutes; they would be able to find where she was using the phone line, and the Walkers lived much closer to the center of town than her family did. But what if it is only someone from nearby out for a drive in the warm summer air? Does she want to call the police for that?

A real babysitter would know these sorts of things. A real grownup would know when the right time was. Emma just wants to ask her parents, wants them to take care of it all.

Downstairs again, she sets her jaw and finds the phone, stretching the cord so it sits on the table beside her chair just in case. Then she goes to find a pad of paper and when the car returns, she writes down everything she can see about it: the make and color, her estimation of the year, the license plate number, the sort of scratch on one door. She lists how many times it has driven by already and approximately when. She thinks it is what her mother would do.

And then another car pulls up beside the strange one, this one her own familiar station wagon, drives around and parks in the Walker’s driveway. Mom steps out and goes over to where the car is still meandering, bends her head toward the driver's window and speaks for a moment.

The car drives away. When Mom comes up the path to wait for the last few minutes before Mrs. Walker returns, Emma opens the door and steps out to hug her tightly.

"Why was the car waiting around?" she asks as they walk up their own driveway. Mrs. Walker had come back smiling and paid Emma an extra ten cents.

Mom answers, "The driver wanted to find Oakdale Drive, but was confused and lost on Oak Way. I gave directions." In the moonlight, she peers over at Emma and stops her with a hand to her wrist. She brushes Emma's hair back from her face with gentle fingers. "I know you must have been scared," she says. "But you noticed and made good choices. You were smart, careful to protect yourself and the baby." She runs a finger over where Emma’s torn off list sticks out from the top of her book.

When she has trouble sleeping that night, imagining eyes looking out at her from within darkened cars, she thinks of Mom's words and tries to remember that she is brave.

On the Fourth of July, it doesn’t get dark until late. There’s plenty of time to go for the party at the Deaf club in D.C. and still be able to find a spot to watch the fireworks.

Emma watches Dad out of the corner of her eye. There are kids at her school whose hearing parents never come to these sorts of events, who won't even drop them off, so she knows that she should be grateful that her whole family is here. Drea and Nate stand in a group of kids they’ve met before, Mom over in the corner with Eric Blanchard's father who is the chapter president, and Dad signs with some other parents. No matter what she tries to tell herself, she feels a little embarrassed watching him. The other parents are Deaf, and even though Dad's pretty good at ASL, he's not exactly a native speaker.

At least he's not trying to make everyone watch the slides from their trip to the Grand Canyon last summer again. (People did seem pretty interested when he had brought them a few months ago, but still.)

Her focus is broken by a wave in front of her. She brings her eyes back to Albie Duncan, who is grinning at her so that she can see the chip in his canine tooth.

"Question," Albie starts, and she tilts her head to allow it, even as his grin turns nervous. "Want to go on a date with me?"

She considers. Albie's a year older than she is, but sweet and he does good impressions of the teachers. She's never really thought about him being handsome, but she guesses that his hair is good, thick brown and swooping up in the front, and she does like his smile.

"Okay," she nods. "My parents - I'll check with them. Where do you want to go?"

Albie lives a couple of towns over, but finally they agree to get ice cream at a place in the middle. Emma hopes they'll be able to find it without too much trouble.

When she looks away from Albie, she finds Dad still standing with his group but looking at her. The smile he gives her is one she has never seen before, sort of sighing and twisted at one corner, even as his eyes look the same as they always have.

Drea drives home from the fireworks with Mom in the front guiding her. Nate falls asleep pretty quickly, curled up against Dad in the backseat.

Emma, on Dad's other side, watches out the window for a while as the other towns nearby celebrate Independence Day too. Before long, her head drops against his shoulder.

He angles his hands toward her, and as they pass beneath the streetlights, she can just make out what he is saying.

"Don't grow up too fast, okay?"

She closes her eyes and gives a little nod into his shirt. She plans on growing up at exactly the right speed.

More chapters here

[sapphirelass]

Two Peas in a Pod - Harry PotterxSister

Please note:

1: I don’t own any of the gifs used, nor any already established characters, so credit to the authors and original creators - You have done a phenomenal job :)

2: English is not my native language, as I was born and raised in Sweden. I have, however, studied English for almost a decade, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem, I just thought I’d let you know ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For this one-shot I have taken inspiration from both the book and the film, as well as left out parts of the original dialogue that, for the purpose of this story, felt irrelevant. 

Word count: ≈ 2400

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Peas in a Pod

Harry Potter and his twin sister Lucy were like two peas in a pod. Always had been. Supposedly, that was what happened when young magicians had to grow up with muggles, especially if those muggles were named “Dursley”. Harry was always more impulsive, whereas Lucy took on the role of the rational one, yet they had both been placed in Gryffindor house by the sorting hat four years prior.

It was now the first of September 1995, and last year had been a rough one. Lord Voldemort, the dark wizard who had killed Harry and Lucy’s parents, had just come back and despite their efforts, this holiday had been more miserable than any of the previous ones. Dudley and his friends, dementor attacks, and a general lack of communication with the wizarding world left the twins in a particularly bad mood. They arrived at Kings Cross, and after pulling Harry away from Draco Malfoy, Lucy, her brother, Ron and Hermione boarded the Hogwarts express, and found a place to sit.

During the start-of-the-year feast, the small group of friends quickly realized that something was wrong. Their new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor - Dolores Umbridge - was a ministry employe, which was weird on its own, but the way she spoke, acted, and kept interrupting Dumbledore with shrill, irritating *hum hum*’s made them all feel queasy. 

After a quiet discussion in the common room (and quite a bit of loud arguing between Harry and Seamus Finnigan), they went to bed, yawning, and not exactly looking forward to that year’s first period of DADA.

***

They entered the classroom, and to their surprise, Umbridge actually wasn’t there yet. Harry and Lucy shared a confused look, but went to sit down, Harry with Ron, and Lucy with Hermione. Eventually though, the professor did arrive, her unnaturally high-pitched voice bringing them all back to reality.

“Good morning, class!” she said cheerfully

There was a quiet murmur among the students, and Umbridge shook her head.

“Good Morning!” she said again, this time more sternly. “I expect you to answer me when spoken to.”

A slightly louder “Good morning professor” could be heard, and though Umbridge didn’t seem too pleased, she decided to move on with the lesson.

“Ordinary Wizarding Levels - OWLs” she started. “Your previous teachers in this subject have all been quite questionable choices, however this year things will be the way they were meant to. Open your books on page 4.”

A few minutes had passed before Hermione raised her hand and said “Professor, there is nothing in here about using defensive spells.”

“Using spells?” Umbridge asked, laughing nastily

“We’re not to use magic?” Ron asked

“You will be learning defensive magic in a safe, risk-free environment”

“But”, said Harry, rather angrily, “what good would that do? If we were attacked that wouldn’t be risk-free!”

“Ha!”, laughed Umbridge, “And who exactly do you think would want to attack a helpless child such as yourself? Besides, the education you will receive will be more than enough for you to pass your OWLs, and that is after all just what school is about.” She finished with a smirk, looking rather satisfied with her speech.

Lucy, who had sat quietly this whole time shifted slightly in her chair, and exclaimed: “It’s not though! 

“Sorry?” Umbridge asked, dumbfounded

“School isn’t solely about receiving good grades! It’s about preparing the students for life, and supplying them with the tools and knowledge necessary in order to succeed and improve. If we’re not going to do that, then why, may I ask, is this a mandatory course? It’s already starting to seem rather pointless to me.”

Harry was perplexed. How his sister always managed to, 1: use her words in such a remarkable way, and 2: remain calm through the most infuriating of situations was a mystery to him, however he turned his gaze back towards Umbridge, waiting for her reply.

“Nonsense” She said. “This course is compulsory, and rightfully so!”

“How though?” Inquired Lucy, pushing it further than she probably should have. “Can you name any situation, apart from the exam, where your teachings will be of any help to us? Or didn’t the ministry consider that?”

That was the top of the iceberg.

“DETENTION!!” shouted Umbridge. “My office, 8:30 would you be so kind, Ms Potter.”

Lucy flinched. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, however detention was not something she had to endure very often. That was more Harry’s thing. She sank quietly back onto her chair, and Umbridge continued with her boring, unnecessary lesson, reciting facts and procedures they had all learnt about 4 years earlier. Lucy could feel her brother staring, practically burning a hole in her neck, but somehow, probably thanks to Ron, he kept quiet for the rest of the class.

An hour later, class ended and none of the Gryffindor students wasted any time getting out of Umbridge’s classroom. Lucy threw her stuff into her brown, leather bag and dashed out of the room without making eye contact with her brother or friends.

“Luce!” Harry shouted. “Wait up!”

He caught up with his sister on the stairs leading down to McGonagall’s classroom.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Looking up at him with an annoyed stare she said “Yes Harry! Just brilliant!” with a sarcastic tone in her voice. She kept on walking, but Harry grabbed her shoulder. A few years ago, they had been roughly the same size, but Harry had grown A LOT, and was by now almost seven inches taller. All the quidditch training had apparently paid off too, and Lucy knew instantly that she would never be able to escape his firm, yet gentle grip. He glanced down on her with a worried look on his face.

“I’m serious!” he said. “Stop”

She turned around and faced him. “What?” She spat at him, suddenly noticing her icy voice. 

“Sorry…” Lucy mumbled, “she just pissed me off. I’m fine.” Her facial expression softened and she met Harry’s eyes for the first time since class ended. He let go of her shoulders, and was just about to say something when a tall ginger came running at full speed and gave Lucy a supportive pat on the back.

“That was bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed. “Lucy, did you see the look on her face? Bloody hell, she was angrier than Malfoy after Harry beat him in his first quidditch match!”

“Yes” stated Lucy simply, as Hermione made her way down the stairs, “I saw…”

“Oh cheer up!” stated Ron, “an hour or two of detention isn’t the end of the world. If you ask me, it was totally worth it!”

Hermione gave him a disapproving stare as Lucy sadly stated, “It might not have been the cleverest thing to do” Both Harry and Hermione blinked at her with a sort of “you-don’t-say?” kind of look as she kept on speaking. “But you must admit that it’s the truth? Defence against the dark arts has never been as important as it is right now. We are all going to die before the end of the year unless we learn and improve?!”

“You’re right.” Hermione muttered, and surprisingly, she smiled slightly. “But we’ll have to talk about that later, otherwise we’ll be late for transfiguration. Come on!”

***

The rest of the day went by rather quickly, and the quartet soon found themselves in front of the fireplace in the common room. It was about 8:20 when Lucy stood up, grabbed a jacket, and left for Umbridge’s office.

“Good luck!” Harry said, frowning deeply, “I’ll wait for you here.”

Lucy turned around quickly, “Haz, you don’t have to. I’ll be fine. You need your sleep and I have no idea how long this is going to take.”

Harry gave her a sort or irritated look, to which she sighed and left without a word.

“What do you think she’ll have her do?” Hermione questioned.

“I don’t know” Harry hissed, “but I’m sure she’ll tell me when she gets back...”

The remaining three looked at each other. Ron threw Harry a chocolate frog, and then - they waited…

***

*knock knock*

There was a slight clinking noise, like metal on china, followed by a repulsing “come in”. Lucy took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 

“Ah!” chirped Umbridge, “Potter, sit down, will you?”

Lucy apprehensively made her way across the room to the chair her so-called “professor” had pointed at. She sat down and looked around nervously.

“You will be writing some sentences for me today, no” Umbridge said, as Lucy reached down to her bag to pick up something to write with. “no, not with your own quill. You’ll be using a rather special one of mine.” She smiled evilly, and pushed a black, pointy feather across the table.

Lucy grabbed it carefully and asked in a silent, trembling voice, “what should I write?”

“Oh, right! How about… ‘I must obey my superiors’?”

***

It was about three hours later, when Lucy slowly made her way back to the common room, red, hot blood dripping from her left hand leaving a small trail through the corridor. The pain had intensified, and was by this point almost unbearable. She took a quick detour to the girls’ bathroom, hoping to be able to clean herself up a bit before having to face her friends and brother. She had told him to go to sleep, after all, it was almost midnight by now, but she knew him all too well. The odds of him being in bed were absolutely zero. 

She watched the thick, red liquid disappear down the sink and let a few tears fall, before grabbing some paper making sure no tears or blood could be seen. She had to make it through the common room up to the dormitories quickly though, since she was sure Harry would be able to tell she’d been crying, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. Sure, she could just tell him, but something inside her argued against that. He had been rather angry and distressed all summer, and she knew he wasn’t feeling much better now. Harry had enough to deal with without handling her problems too.

Entering the common room, roughly four seconds had passed before her brother was by her side. 

“Hey,” he said gently, “everything okay?”

She nodded and mumbled a quiet. “Yes. ‘m tired though, night Harry”

She walked the stairs up to her dorm, leaving Harry behind. He simply stood there dumbfounded. What had just happened? “Oh… okay, night Luce”

She didn’t answer…

***

The following morning, he found her at the breakfast table, slowly digesting a tiny portion of porridge. She was wearing one of his old quidditch jumpers underneath her cloak. He knew, because it was far too big for her, and the sleeves reached down to her fingertips.

“Hey,” he said, ruffling her long, strawberry blonde hair, “Feeling better?”

“Sure, “ she murmured, slowly pulling the sleeves even further down. He gave her a supportive hug.

“But come on now, “ he urged her. “You can’t be sad forever. What did she have you do?”

“Nothing…”

“Luce!”

“Just write some sentences. It was fine, rather dull to be honest with you.” She threw the spoon into the bowl, and pushed it away. “How are you feeling? Any bad dreams?”

“Always…” he muttered, shaking his head at the milk that had splashed out on the table, “could have been worse though.”

Harry made himself some toast, as Ron and Hermione joined them in the great hall. 

***

A week or so later Harry had had enough. It was in defence against the dark arts, on a rather cold Tuesday afternoon that he finally snapped, and shouted at professor Umbridge, who seemed almost too happy for a reason to give him detention.

The gang sat, yet again, around the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room, when Harry suddenly left and climbed through the portrait hole. He came back a few hours later, a downright furious look on his face, and walked straight up to his sister without even noticing the ghost he had stumbled through. He looked down at her smaller frame, his quidditch jumper yet again pulled over her head. 

“Let me see, ” he said through gritted teeth, causing Lucy to look up at him, trying her best to act confused.

“Wha…”

“Lucy - let. me. see.” he repeated firmly, his emerald eyes penetrating the mental wall behind which she had been trying so hard to hide her troubles.

She closed her eyes and pulled her sleeve up to her elbow. The blood had naturally dried, however five heart wrenching words were etched into her still red, irritated skin. 

I must obey my superiors

No one said a thing. Lucy was staring at the floor, not daring to meet her brother’s eyes, all while Harry felt madder than he ever had before.

Madder than when Dudley had been pushing him around the school yard.

Madder than when Malfoy had taunted him because of the dementors.

Madder than when he had found out that his aunt and uncle had lied about their parents true fate for almost 10 years. 

This was his sister, and it was far from okay.

Without thinking, Harry was just about to shout at her for keeping something like that from him, when he noticed that she was crying. Soft, quiet sobs that she were clearly trying to hide. It felt as if all his anger simply washed away, and he crouched down and took her hand in his. 

Harry’s hand was still covered in blood. He hadn’t had time to clean it, but had instead taken the shortest way to the common room, after realizing what had happened. Raising his right hand, he pulled her closer and felt her lean her head on his chest. They sat like that, arms wrapped around each other, for hours and slowly started drifting off to sleep.

Were they okay? Not at all. Would they be? Absolutely! Because they had each other, and when it really came down to it, that was all they needed, as the Potter twins were just like two peas in a pod.

~ L

Masterlist

[petitprincess1]

They Have Such Great Chemistry

Summary: Flug ends up noticing that Slug has gone silent for a while and decides to check up on him…by breaking and entering, of course! How else would you do it?

Words: 1,568

Characters: Flug, Slug, White Hat (briefly), Clemencia (briefly), Demencia (probably shouldn’t even count from how brief she is)

Warnings: …Puns…and I guess obsessive behavior.

This was spawned from a little fun thing @emile-hides and I did with these two and I had even more fun writing it. So, consider this a gift, Emile. Love ya!

Flug stood outside of White Hat’s mansion at midnight- yes, mansion because the idiot probably thought he was too good to have a hat-styled house like his Jefecito. -and walked around the perimeter of the outside gate, messing with his backpack straps. Yeah, he wasn’t really trying to be stealthy or anything for two reasons. First, anyone who would dare try to stop him would be on the very top of his laundry list…not like actual laundry list- I mean, he actually has that since nobody else does their damn clothes because it must be soooo hard to- you know what? The point is that they’ll be dead. All of them. Dead. Secondly…Flug wanted to check up on somebody.

He took a remote out from his pocket and pressed a button. A soft beep came from it as mechanical spider limbs deployed from the backpack, allowing him to easily leap over the gate and land on the lawn. Unlike with his ingenious overlord, White hadn’t bothered to install a security system outside of his home. “It takes up too much energy and time for something I can easily make disappear with a snap of my fingers,” yeah, sure. You can just say your lazy. It’s okay. No one will judge, except Flug. He definitely will. Greatly.

Flug shook himself out of his thoughts as used the robot limbs to circle around the house, looking for a specific window. As he was searching, a loud explosion boomed above him, making him quickly hide in a nearby bush. He then groaned loudly as he heard White Hat shouting, “Clemencia! What did I say about blowing yourself up!?”

Clemencia then shouted back to him, “Demmie sent me a bomb, Whitey! That means she loves me!!”

“I…no, Clem. No, I don’t think that’s how that works.”

Flug rolled his eyes at the two imbeciles, wondering how someone as glorious- but not as glorious as Black Hat -Slug could deal with such asinine people. A loud sigh came from nearby and after hearing the sound and length of the breath, it made Flug’s heart leap to his throat. He quickly disengaged the spider limbs and ran over to the nearby bay window, smiling widely and staring longingly. He stared at the other scientist that wore a dark brown bag over his head, a black, loose sweater that read “I’ve always liked one-liners. That’s why I’m a fan of monorails.”, dark grey sweatpants, and just socks. It was very minimalist and it made Flug almost melt. However, gazing at Slug was not what he was here for…he can do that tomorrow.

Flug quickly took out a laser and cut a circle into the glass, tapping it so the small piece could come out easily and grabbed at it so it wouldn’t shatter on the wooden floor. He crawled through the small hole and silently got onto the floor, tiptoeing over to Slug. White’s scientist had been very quiet for a long while, considering that he hadn’t seen him move around on the cameras that he had secretly installed. He had just been staring quite vehemently at a piece of paper for several hours. Luckily, White Hat’s Hatbot often brought him food or else Flug most likely would’ve broken into his house a long time ago, force feeding Kaiser raw eggs. 

Once Flug got close, he peered over his shoulder and saw that Slug had scribbled a bunch of equations and ingredients onto a few sheets of paper. There also was candy scattered about near the papers. One of which that was in a container that read “HIGHLY VOLATILE! DO NOT TOUCH, CLEM!” Seems like his windbeutel (cream puff) was having a bad day. Although, he didn’t know that candy and baking needed math in order to make anything, even though baking is said to use chemistry. Don’t you just throw everything in a pot or bowl and it just somehow becomes something? …And this might be why 505 does majority of the baking in the house.

Flug sighed sadly, “Poor, Slug.”

Slug then jumped, turned around, and then punched Flug in the throat, causing the scientist to make disgusting retching/choking sound and grab at his neck. The taller scientist stood up quickly and frantically apologized, red pupils in his goggles moving quickly, “Fuck! Shit! Flug! No! I’m so…wait. Why am I apologizing? Why the fuck are you in my room!?”

Flug coughed a few times before hoarsely saying, “I…I can’t b-believe…you just…punched me…i-in the throat!”

“What the f- You snuck into my room…and through the window, apparently!”

“Well, how else was I supposed to get in? Geeze!”

Slug took a deep breath to calm himself and then rubbed at his temples, sighing, “Why…Why are you here?”

The other scientist rubbed at his neck some more before answering Slug, “Well, you weren’t moving around all that much, so I thought that it would be best to come and check up on you.”

He blinked down at him and knew that he would probably regret asking this, but his damn curiosity got the better of him. Slug took another deep breath and then questioned, “Okay…so, what made you come over here? What made you think that there was something wrong?”

Flug grabbed at the papers scattered on his desk and started reading them over, while explaining, “Well, considering that I hadn’t seen you move from the camera I installed in your bedroom to any of the others like in your closet, second lab, bathroom- audio only, of course. I’m not a perv. -the kitchen, or anywhere in the halls, I assumed that something must be wrong. Plus, I hadn’t heard a single sound from you. You can’t tell me that’s not worth me breaking and entering for.”

A dork. Yeah, Slug could, probably should, be thinking that this man is clearly unhinged and needed to be apprehended right now, but no. Sure. Let’s just say that this is just dorky behavior. He gave a small chuckle and explained, “It’s nothing really. I always get silent and quietly curse everyone who ever lived whenever I’m stuck on a problem. Also, don’t bother trying to figure that out. I saw you try to cook a frozen casserole…with the paper on.”

“The directions didn’t say not to.”

“I think common sense says not to,” Slug gave a cheeky grin before grabbing the sheets of paper and then reading them over, going silent once more as he his brows furrowed in concentration. Flug couldn’t help but pout at him going silent once more and really wanted to help. Although, he was unfortunately right about him not being able to help him with his work. He probably would just make things worse in that regard.

He rubbed at the back of his neck and shuffled on his feet, wondering what to do, and then gasped at a thought. Flug smiled at him under his bag and called out, “Hey, Slug, the guy next to me asked if I had any hypo bromide, I said NaBrO.”

Slug shuffled a bit where he sat, but didn’t really have that much of a reaction. Still, Flug persisted, “So, Demencia threw sodium chloride at me the other day and I told her…that’s a salt!”

Again, nothing. He kept going, chuckling slightly, “Are my chemistry jokes too basic for you? Is that why there’s no reaction? Also, you must be an exothermic reaction because you spread your hotness everywhere!”

He heard a slight puff of breath come from Slug, that was a bit of progress. He almost could see a smile practically underneath there. So, he continued, “Is it getting hot in here or is that just our bond forming? If I could rearrange the periodic table, I would put Uranium and Iodine together. ….Uh….I must be a diamond because you gave me a hardness of 10!”

That made Slug choke and then bark out, laughing, “Pffffttt! What!? Flug, you’re such a dork!”

Flug gave a small sigh and mentioned, “Oh, good, you finally laughed. I was running out of chemistry jokes. All the good ones argon.”

Slug gave a small snicker as he got up and lifted up both of their bags to give Flug a quick kiss before pulling his down quickly, making Flug whine. The taller scientist chuckled, “Don’t worry. You’ll see it soon. Also, I guess you’re staying here tonight, considering that you are fixing my window, right?”

Flug gave an embarrassed chuckle, but then stopped when he saw Slug about to look at his papers again. He lowered his hands and then shook his head, “Slug, it’s not going to get fixed just by staring. You’re incredible…don’t worry about it. You’ll figure it out. Plus, it’s the middle of the night.”

Slug was gonna mention that it was odd that the man who has stayed up for 72 hours is telling him to sleep, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment. He just nodded at him and guided Flug over to his bed before suddenly stopping. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Hey, Flug. Are you my appendix? Because I have gut feeling that I would love to take you out.”

Flug’s goggles had stars in them as he opened his mouth to say something, just for it to be interrupted by Demencia in the vents, shouting, “NEEEEERRRRDDDDSSS!!”

[artemisnightingale216]

Ch 2- A New Beginning

Authors Note: We have some very special cameos of some fan favorites that are sure to leave you laughing! I hadn’t planned on adding them in now or possibly ever, but they made it in anyway! I hope I did them justice!

Prologue

Chapter 1- Unemployed

Ottilie was at a lose. A month had already come and gone since losing her job at the studio, yet she still had nothing to show for it. It wasn’t has if she’d sat around wallowing in her sorrow, heavy as it may be. She’d looked tirelessly day after day, walking to business after business, her feet sore to the point of throbbing each night she’d come home.

It was only a few days prior that she nearly ran right into the Exterminators, the angel-esc creatures always arriving with no warning to carry out their duty, but had hidden just in time to escape them. She’d watched the carnage from her temporary safe haven, horrified but unable to look away. Only when the screams died out and all was quiet did she finally emerge, many others doing the same as they either raced home or started riots as they ransacked everything in sight. Never having had any interest in such disrespectful actions, she’d ran straight home and slid her back down the door once inside, sitting there in silence until her breathing and heart rate returned to normal.

Perhaps it had been wrong of her to think it, but the next day she had been secretly grateful they’d come; the number of dead demons meant there would be plenty of new job openings and had given her a brief feeling of hope, but that was quickly tarnished when she learned all too quickly that jobs went just as swiftly as they came. Most jobs she’d inquired about told her that she was hours too late, but one had told her she was only minutes. Discouraged despite the fact that it would have been low paying and not something she would have loved like she did at the studio, she’d left and returned home once again. After that, she hadn’t bothered looking. There was no point beating a horse that was already dead.

So there she sat in the living room, staring at nothing in particular as she rocked idly in her antique rocking chair, the usually soothing action doing nothing to ease her worries. The end of the month was coming all to quickly and she had nothing left to give her landlord. She would be kicked out as soon as she found out and she’d be left on the streets, which only made living in Hell all the more dangerous. She didn’t want to guess what would happen to her then.

A sigh escaped her before she rose out of the chair, her body feeling heavy with the urge to sink back into it. It did her no good to sit around and mope while she waited to be inevitably homeless. With nothing else to do, she distracted herself by cleaning.

She had never necessarily been a messy person, but work had always kept her busy enough that she neglected the more menial chores. It seemed dusting was a must, as a fine layer of the pesky particles had settled over some of her lesser used household objects, but a bit of cleaning solution fixed that up and left them sparkling like new. Next, she brought out a stepladder from the hall closet and worked at clearing the cobwebs from that had been starting to from in the corners of her ceiling, the disturbed dust floating around in the air making her sneeze on more than one occasion. When that was done, she polished the few pieces of silver she had on display in a small glass case hanging on the wall in her living room; she knew she would have to sell them eventually, though doing so now would do her no good seeing how they were hardly worth the cost of her rent, and told herself they would be her last resort. Afterwards came the floors, which weren’t terrible but did need a good scrubbing after all her years walking on them, the finished wood floors almost gleaming like mirrors, though thankfully not enough to see her own reflection. The wallpaper was her last task and took up quite a bit of time, the edges having started to peel back and needing re-glued before being smoothed out.

All together, this kept her occupied for a few days and she hadn’t thought much about her current predicament. Now that it was over, however, there was not much left to distract her. She tried reading from the small collection of books she had, but that proved fruitless as she couldn’t concentrate on the words in front of her. She even tried designing a new dress or two, but gave up when she realized she had no one to give it to.

Not for the first time, she found herself missing Angel. His spunky attitude and sass had always found a way to lift her spirits even when she found herself in the darkest of places, but now she felt his absence when she really needed him most. A part of her had hoped he would come and see her, but had to remind herself that she had never once told him where she lived. She had considered going to see him at the studio, but didn’t want to get in his or anyone elses way. Aside from that, it might be too painful for her, and that was something she could not handle right now.

Normally, she’d find comfort in being in the small cottage she called home, but after having been cooped up in it for several days it felt like she was suffocating. Deciding to act on her idea before she talked herself out of it, she changed into a fresh dress and put on her thick overcoat before stepping out into the ‘fresh’ air, or at least as fresh as it could get in Hell. Heading to nowhere in particular, she walked the streets with her head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone and ignoring their crude remarks just as she always did. She didn’t even bother looking at shops in hopes of seeing any help wanted signs, knowing she would see none.

Ottilie was not long into her walk before she found herself regretting it as an apparent turf war broke out. The street had been comfortably quiet, only a few demons walking along the sidewalks in the lesser occupied area of the Pentagram, when suddenly the ground beneath her feet trembled. She paused and looked around, wondering if anyone else had felt it too, but everyone seemed oblivious. Thinking it was just her nerves after having been cooped up for so long, she pressed on, but only made it a few steps before she felt another tremor, this one accompanied by a loud boom. This time, everyone on the street stopped and looked around in confusion, some even coming from neighboring streets just to see what the noise was. Another boom followed a tremor, both of them much closer than before, nearly knocking people off their feet as they stumbled a bit.

A deafening silence hung in the air as the noises suddenly stopped. Confusion set in further and everyone held their breath, waiting to see if it would happen again. A long howl of pain suddenly broke the silence, the outcry sounding as if it were getting closer and closer by the second. All heads turned to the right as a long black mass came flying out of a nearby alleyway before colliding with a car parked in the street. A sizable dent was put into the automobile and a demon slid down onto the asphalt, his tail coiled beneath him in an unruly manner as he groaned and rubbed at the back of his neck.

The demon was much taller than they’d originally thought, but that may have had something to do with his long serpentine tail, which made up the entire lower half of his body. His waist, chest, and arms were thin, especially in comparison to his thick lower half, but were made even more so by the black and yellow pinstripe blazer he wore, the padding in the shoulders almost making them look broader. His yellow undershirt was centered with a fuchsia colored eye, but whether or not he could actually see out of it was anyones guess. His underbelly was lined with two strips of light yellow, two rows of the same colored eyes as the one on his chest running down the length of them, and the yellow underside of skin that extended from his head, giving him the illusion of hair, also had two matching sets of eyes on either side, the top being much bigger than the bottom in size. The eyes that were actually set on his face were a much lighter shade of pink, the area around his slitted pupils just slightly darker. His wide fang filled mouth was pulled into a grimace, a forked tongue flicking out every thirty seconds in irritation as he continued to rub at the back of his head with large slender hands that extended into fuchsia colored clawed fingers. Around his neck was a rather huge black and yellow bow tie and atop his head was a matching top hat, but the hat had a mouth and eye of its own, the face seeming to correspond with the emotions of its wearer.

He shook his head to try and rid himself of the dull ache at the back of his skull and stared angrily at the alleyway he’d come flying out of only seconds before. “Why that arrogant, worthless, little piece of sh-!” He stopped when he noticed all heads turned to him, some of their expressions not looking on him kindly, and it clearly rubbed him the wrong way as he shouted, “What are you insufferable half-wits looking at!?”

“Well, if I had to guess,” a new voice called out tauntingly before a new figure stepped out of the alleyway, “I’d say they were looking at a piss poor example of a waste of space!”

The white skinned she-demon was a slender slip of a woman, her breast and hips large enough to give her a shapely figure, and the wide sharp-toothed smile she sported only spelled danger for those around her. She wore tattered and ripped clothing that revealed generous portions of the skin underneath; the off-the-shoulder magenta crop top over her chest put her bra straps on full display along with the tops of her breasts and the matching extremely short skirt around her hips doing nothing to cover her crotch was only saved by the black pants she wore underneath. On her arms were fingerless gloves that extended past her elbows, one colored black and the other white and grey. One foot was covered by a fuchsia boot with two white stripes across the top while her other was bare safe for the fuchsia toed white sock. Her shoulder and temple were dotted with three magenta freckles and the single eye in the center of her head had no pupil; in its place sat a large white x, making it hard to pinpoint exactly where she was looking. Her hair, ranging from hues of orange to pink, was slightly frayed and parted to the side with a thin stick of hair wrapped in a brown ribbon keeping a portion sectioned off from the rest.

The male, who Ottilie recognized from her long time in Hell as a snake demon, glared at the woman as he picked himself up off the ground. “You’d best watch yourself, missy! You’re on thin ice as it is and I’ve had just about enough of that mouth of yours!”

“Only just enough, huh?” the woman questioned in surprise before her smile returned. “I guess I’ll have to kick it up a notch, then!” She pulled out a small brightly colored ball and tossed it into the air before catching it again, the skull drawn on the front not a good sign for anyone.

“Well, kicking it up a notch might be an improvement in your case! Maybe then this fight would be a bit more evenly matched!” the snake demon sneered mockingly.

“And this coming from the guy who only a minute ago was sent flying and landed flat on his ass?” the woman snickered.

The snake demon glared again, looking around angrily as a few members of their audience laughed too, making him hiss in frustration. “All of you low life sinners had best get out of my territory before I make you regret ever stepping into it!” A pause hung in the air before the street roared with laughter, none of them intimidated after what they’d just seen; all but Ottilie, at least, who knew a threat when she saw one, but leaving now would only draw attention to herself and she received more than enough of that to begin with. “Fine then,” he smiled, clearly knowing something they didn’t, and pulled out a small whistle from inside his blazer. “Have it your way.” He brought it to his lips and blew into the small silver contraption.

It was strange when no sound came out of the whistle. It was strange when the snake demon placed it back inside his blazer and crossed his arms with a smug smile on his reptilian face. It was strange when the one eyed demoness looked around nervously despite nothing happening in that instant. What was even stranger, though, was when a flurry of battle cries could be heard coming from the adjacent streets followed by a stampede of small feet.

Heads turned in different directions as egg shaped demons came running out of the alleyways and side streets, many of them needlessly climbing over cars and trash cans even though they could have simply walked around the few that were there. They seemed almost never ending as they came pouring out like water from a faucet, most of them still crying out and shouting as if being called to battle, and their numerous footfalls were practically deafening despite how small their feet were. Once they eventually trickled off and reached the snake demon who appeared to have called them, they circled around him from all sides, creating a wall of protection around him, but their height didn’t seem to do much in his favor.

“Here we are,” one of the eggs looked up at the snake, a slight pause hanging in the air, “boss.”

“We got here pretty quick, didn’t we, Mr. Boss-Man!” another said, tapping on his tail repeatedly to gain his attention, nearly poking one of the eyes in the process.

The snake hissed at them, the skin around his head and neck flaring out in a threatening manner, making them all shut up and return their attention to the task at hand.

The one eyed demoness shook off her initial worry and her expression returned to one of cocky indifference. “You think those half-assed chicken shitted wannabes can scare me off? Why don’t you take your fetus rejects and go home to watch The Price is Right, old man?”

The snake demon looked confused. “The what is what? Ugh! Never mind! I’ve already staked my claim in this territory and I’ll not have some punky ruffian run me off of it… again!”

“You are a man of science, aren’t you? What’s that saying about doing something over and over again and expecting different results?” the one eyed demoness tilted her head mockingly.

“That’s not science, you imbecile! That’s the definition of insanity!” the snake demon said in irritation.

The demoness let out a single loud laugh and shouted, “Nerd!”

The snake demon looked around in irritation as people around him laughed along with her. “Ugh! You’ll all rue the day you laughed at Sir-!” he began as he reached into his blazer again only to cut himself off mid-sentence as he dug around deeper. Pulling his arm out, he patted himself down and looked around frantically. “Where is my ray gun!?” He looked around at the eggs surrounding him, their looks turning from determination to fear. “Which one of you has it?”

“It isn’t us,” another pause, “boss.”

“We would never think to take it from you,” the egg shook his head, his entire body moving with the motion.

“I think I saw Number Twenty-Six with it,” one raised his hand excitedly.

The snake glanced around and raised a brow. “Twenty-Six! Where are you?”

“Over here, boss,” another egg called out fearfully as he and two others came waddling as fast as they could from around a corner, a strange weapon about as big as he was held above his head. They appeared to be running away from something rather than actually toward the man who seemed to employ them.

That something came barreling out after them and smashed what appeared to be a blunt object over one of their heads, causing it to crack and cave in. The tall figure pulled the object, which was a baseball bat with nails hammered into one end, out the remains and the broken egg fell to the ground. The pavement and the bat were now covered in yellow yolk, but the work was not yet. The other egg not carrying the weapon turned and waved his hands in a stop motion, but was ignored as the bat swung to the side and sent him flying to the side, his body immediately exploding on impact and causing more yolk to coat the asphalt. The bat was aimed at the third egg, but it jumped out of the way in time and stepped into the small sea of his lookalikes, the gun in his hands the only way to tell him apart from the others.

Ottilie was so surprised to find that Angel Dust was the one wreaking havoc on the over sized eggs that she nearly called out his name, the shout catching in her throat once she realized she was about to call attention to herself, something she’d been trying to avoid only moments before. She was happy to see him, but now was not the time.

The egg demon made his way through the short crowd, the others around him parting to let him through only to step back into place once he passed. Once he was at the center, he held the gun-like weapon up as high as he could reach toward the snake. “Here it is, boss! I kept it safe for you, sir!” He seemed so proud of himself in that moment, but it was shattered when the object was snatched from his hands.

“Give me that before you hurt someone important… namely me!” the black scaled demon hissed. He flipped a few switches on the gun and it hummed to life, a red glass panel slowly glowing to a bright crimson red. He held it out in front of him and aimed it right at the one eyed demoness, her brow furrowing into a glare. “Now, where was I? Oh yes! You will all rue the day you laughed at the mighty Sir Pentious!”

“The only thing mighty about you is your age!” the demoness laughed before he pulled the trigger.

The center of the claw-like tips began to emit a crimson glow of their own as a sphere shaped ball appeared inside of it, the humming much louder now until it grew into a crescendo. The gun let off a strange noise as a beam of light flew out from the sphere and headed straight toward its target, the backlash from the force of it causing the weapon to fly back and hit Sir Pentious in the face.

Angel Dust came running up just seconds before the beam could hit the demoness and knocked her out of the way, the two falling to the ground in a heap. The beam instead hit the wall behind her and caused the bricks to immediately crumble into dust in a wide circle, a few heads inside the building poking out in surprise to see what had created the hole only to disappear back inside a few seconds later. Anyone wondering what a silly beam of light might have done were no longer questioning it and there was a brief moment of silence before demons were scrambling left and right, some trying to leave the street altogether and others ducking behind nearby objects big enough to hide them.

Ottilie had hidden herself behind a stack of wooden crates left to rot in a dead end alleyway, knowing that she had no chance of running in the heels she was wearing, and peaked out from behind to continue watching. With that gun around, she feared what would happen to Angel, knowing how reckless he could be in the face of danger; she wondered if a demon could even come back from being turned into dust or if she would have to face the sight of what was once his body being a permanent pile on the ground.

“Get them, you fools!” Pentious called out over the commotion, making his egg minions jump in surprise before they spurred into action. He watched in satisfaction as they formed into small groups and chased after their targets, most of them successful in tackling the ones running to the ground and beating into them with their tiny fists while the ones searching for the hiding demons looked around in confusion, some of them lifting up tiny rocks and looking under them as if they could hide under there; a good many of them passed by Ottilie, but none of them seemed to notice her. He and his hat rolled their eyes in irritation before he returned his attention to Angel and the woman he was helping up. “As for you two,” they looked at him and raised their brows, “I think I’ll just turn you both into the worthless bits of dust you are! What a fitting end to two wastes of space!” He aimed the gun again and pulled the trigger, but it only hummed for a second or two before dying out. He looked at the gun from a few different angles before beating it against his hand. “Darn thing always stalling! That’s the last time I use second rate wiring!”

Angel and his companion smiled at each other, the words they spoke to each other lost in the chaos, and took advantage of the situation. The one eyed woman plucked an egg off the sidewalk as he came running by and cracked him in half over her leg, causing his yolky innards to spill out as she pulled the two halves apart. She placed the skull painted ball she’d been holding up until that point inside the empty shells after igniting a strip of wick on the ball and placed them back together. The pieces somehow managed to stay stuck together as she tossed them high into the air. Angel held the nail laden bat behind his head, his eyes on the egg now falling toward him, and swung it as soon as his target fell into place.

Pentious looked up from tinkering with his gun in time to see the white, black, and yellow object flying toward his face. A grimace pulled at his features just before the shell crashed into his face and the explosive that had apparently been placed inside went off. A scarlet colored smoke blossomed out in a wide radius around him and left him hacking and coughing along with his hat once some of it cleared.

Angel and the woman exchanged a few more words and high fived each other before Angel ran off to chase after the egg demons while she stayed behind to face the now very angry snake demon.

Ottilie lost sight of Angel from her hiding spot, now somewhat relieved that he was out of the way of the deadly weapon in the hands of an apparent mad-man. Her eyes followed him as long as they could before he disappeared and she had to turn her attention to the rest of the chaos happening around her.

The small groups of egg demons had broken off and most of them were more or less on their own. More than a few of the remaining groups were bashing some handheld weapons, which appeared to be household objects that one normally wouldn’t carry around in hopes of attacking someone with it, against cars and other things on the street; Ottilie was left to wonder why they were doing this as a quick glance revealed no one was hiding underneath or around them and they could certainly see this much better with their small stature. The ones who had apparently gone rogue were still chasing around the demons trying to flee the scene, first attacking their legs to trip them up and then pinning them to the ground so they could beat into them only for the pattern to repeat once they escaped their hold.

One of the eggs had managed to discover a hiding place as he lifted the lid off a trash can that had turned over and found a cat demon hiding inside. The two jumped away from each other in surprise before the cat clambered out of the bin and tried to get away. The egg dashed after him, surprising fast for a creature of his size, and latched onto his leg once he caught up. The added weight caused the cat to try to kick him off before he was left unbalanced and fell to the ground. The egg leapt up and gripped onto the cats face, pulling rather hard on his fur and taking a few clumps out in the process. The cat hissed in a mixture of pain and rage as he clawed at the thing assaulting his face and tried to pull it off, this proving difficult without pulling out more of his fur than had already been. He eventually was able to get the egg off of his head and threw him as far as he could manage, turning and running as soon as he was away from it only to be ambushed by a larger group of them seconds later.

Ottilie watched as the egg soared through the air, calling out in a mixture of fear and excitement, and started to gravitate right towards her. She could have easily backed away and him splatter on the ground in front of her, but instead she held out her arms and caught him. The weight of him caused her to fall forward slightly, but she righted herself and held the over sized thing against her as he looked around dizzily. “Are you alright?” she asked as his eyes focused on her and looked up at her in surprise.

The sight that greeted the egg was Ottilie silhouetted by the sky above her, giving her the image of a crimson halo, a concerned look on her face. He looked up at her in awe and wonder, his hands around his face in a bit of fear, before he asked in an innocent manner, “Are you an angel?”

Ottilie blinked at him in astonishment. “No, I’m not.”

The egg gasped as he reached out toward her face, his hand hovering in the space between them. “Mama? Are you my Mama?”

Ottilies face twitched, like she wasn’t quite sure how to respond to such a question. Any sane person would have said no, but those almost innocent bright yellow eyes looking up at her in hope made her instead say, “Sure.”

The egg gasped again, his voice rising in elation. He threw his arms around her neck and nuzzled into it, his hard shell surprisingly soft against her skin. “Mama!” She could feel her cheeks heating up to the point her face felt like it was burning. “My nice Mama! My nice, sweet Mama!” She patted his back in an awkward but soothing manner, an action that felt familiar but she couldn’t quite place. His little hands gripped her tighter until he was practically holding on for dear life, repeating the action of patting her back as well.

It felt strange to be touched so willingly. Angel was the only one who had ever felt inclined to come within five feet of her without it being to step around her or not even realizing she was there in the first place. Though strange, it wasn’t entirely unwanted. Perhaps she was touch starved after so long even though the most Angel ever did was hold her hands or place his hand on her shoulder from time to time.

Just when she was getting used to the feeling, the egg in her arms stiffened, shuddered, and jumped from her lap. “Boss man is calling us back now! Bye-bye, Mama!” He waddled back the way he’d come, the rest of his look-alikes doing the same. She waved back at him even though his back was to her and he couldn’t possibly have seen it.

“Fine, keep this revolting travesty of territory while you can! I’ll be back for it!” Pentious was shouting at the demoness, the silver whistle clenched tightly in the fist he shook in her direction, his blazer tattered with fairly large holes and half his face covered in the scarlet smoke. He didn’t give her a chance to reply before he slithered off after his retreating minions and disappeared around a corner.

“Yeah, you better run, you burnt ass shit!” the woman called after him despite the fact he was already gone.

The other demons on the street didn’t take the chance of them coming back, leaving with their tails between their legs and a surprising amount of injuries to tend to. The only ones left on the street now were Angel, his female companion, and Ottilie, who was still hidden out of sight. If it had just been Angel by himself, she might have immediately run over to him, but she didn’t know or trust this woman who seemed to be rather proficient with bombs.

Angel walked back over to the one eyed demon as she brushed the dirt off of her clothes and he shook the yolk off his bat, a few of the nails either missing now or bent at a different angle than they had been. “You okay?”

The woman scoffed and flicked a lock of hair out of her face. “That pansy ass bitch wishes he could lay a hand on me!” He laughed boisterously along with her as he ran his own hand through his hair, picking a few egg shells out in the process. “What were you doing around here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be in therapy or some shit at your fancy, smancy hotel?”

“We went through all that this mornin’,” Angel rolled his eyes as she snickered at him. “Besides… I was lookin’ for somebody.”

“Oooooo,” she taunted, poking him in the side repeatedly. “Did your boyfriend run off on you?”

It was Angels turn to scoff now. “No one runs out on this gorgeous mug!” His head turned down as his expression shifted to a mixture of anger and sadness. “I’m lookin’ for a gal pal.”

“Huh,” the woman said in surprise, not used to seeing him pull such an expression. “Well… I hope you find her.”

Angel offered her a half smile. “Thanks, Cherri.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she playfully punched him on the arm. “I’d best be heading off. Turf to watch over and all that bullshit.”

“Break a leg out there, kid,” Angel returned the action.

The two said their goodbyes and headed off in opposite directions, Cherri heading away and Angel coming towards Ottilie. Her eyes widened and she felt her breath hitch in her throat. She hadn’t seen him since a month prior and here he was walking in her direction, that familiar sway in his hips following each stride of his long legs, his steps just as quick as she remembered. Each second brought him closer and closer until he was right in front of her hiding place and then walking past it in the next. She wondered why she hadn’t stepped out yet or at least called out to him, but then she felt that pang of fear blossom in her chest. She wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to say to him. She hadn’t exactly said goodbye to him or even told him she had been fired and had run off like a coward. Tears pricked at her eyes and she blinked them away, knowing now wasn’t the time to wallow in her emotions like she had been. Now was the time for action.

Angel was a good ways away from her when she stepped out from behind the wooden crates that had acted as her shield, paused for a second, and started after him. Her steps were slow at first before turning into a light sprint and then escalating into a full on run. She was surprised to find that she didn’t stumble or trip on the concrete as she raced after him, his form getting closer and closer until he was only a mere ten feet away.

Realizing there was a noise behind him that sounded like the familiar sound of heels, he turned just in time to see a blur of blue and purple before it came crashing into him. He stumbled back a few steps as slender arms wrapped around his waist and a head buried itself just beneath his chest. “Whoa! What the Hell?” He looked down and saw a familiar head of curly lavender colored hair, his eyes widening at the sight. “Ottilie?”

*****

Angel placed a hot cup of tea in front of Ottilie before taking his seat at the table, the coffee shop they’d gone to quiet but a bit chatter going on around them. She quietly thanked him and started placing cubes of sugar into the streaming drink, stirring the contents once they were soft enough to get her spoon through. He took a sip of his smoothie while she did that same with hers and he looked at her like she’d grown a third head. “I still don’t see how you do that.”

“Do what?” she asked, looking up from her cup.

“Drink that boiling hot shit before it even has a chance to cool,” he shook his head as he dipped his finger in the whipped cream that topped his drink and licked it off. “My mouth would be burning right now.”

“I like the heat,” she shrugged as she wrapped her hands around the bottom of the mug, cupping it as the warmth spread through her gloves into her skin. “It feels nice.”

“Whatever floats your root beer.” He took another drink from his cup, this one longer than the last, like he was trying to avoid what he wanted to say next. When he finally pulled the straw away from his lips, he set the cup back down on the table and leaned back casually in his chair, top left arm draped over the back and his other hands placed in his lap with his legs crossed. “So… you workin’ anywhere else?”

She knew this would come up eventually and what it would lean up to, but was still widely unprepared for it. “No. I’ve been looking, but there doesn’t seem to be anything available. At this rate, I won’t be able to keep my home.”

He looked at her worriedly. “How long will you be able to stay there?”

“The end of the month,” she replied somberly.

“Ottilie… that’s three days away,” he pointed out. It was odd to hear him call her by her name. He’d only ever called her names like ‘toots’, ‘dollface’, and other things.

“I know.”

He growled in frustration and, had it been anyone else, she would have thought it was directed at her. “You should have just come to me instead of making me hear it from some low life stage hand and run back to the dressing room only to find you gone! I would have fought like Hell to keep you on!”

She looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Of course! No one knows how to do my makeup or measurements like you do!” he said a little too loudly, turning a few heads. She looked less surprised now. “This new dame they got can’t even get a seam straight and whenever she’s doin’ me up, she keeps pokin’ me in the eye and smearin’ on shit like she’s bakin’ a cake! If I have to go into a shot one more time with a bloodshot eye, I’m gonna scream!”

“Oh, I see,” she said slowly, her fingers playing with the rim of her cup.

He noticed her actions and let out a deep sigh, his shoulders sagging with it. “Look… just… next time somethin’ like that happens… come to me, okay? You know I got your back, right?”

A small smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she nodded, “Right.”

“Two of a kind?” he held out a pinky.

“Birds of a feather,” she locked her pinky with his.

“Now and forever! Whee!” they said together in delight, throwing their hands in the air like a gleeful celebration.

“Hey, shut the Hell up!” someone called over to them.

“Up yours, ya schmuck!” Angel called back, turning around his chair so he could face the voice.

“Ah, go fuck yourself, drag show!” the voice demanded.

“Fuck me yourself, coward!” Angel shook his fist at them. Ottilie nearly choked on her tea as she went to take a sip, some of it dripping down her chin before she could reach for a napkin to wipe it off.

“I ain’t coming within a country mile of whatever you’ve got festering down there!” the voice laughed. Angel looked perturbed at that. “Why don’t you get a real job?”

“I got a real job for you right here!” Angel flipped him off and gestured to his crotch. The other man lost interest then and walked off. He clicked his tongue in annoyance and turned back around in his seat. “Tryin’ to me to get a job when I already-.” He paused and stopped mid sentence. An idea seemed to strike him and he smiled like a kid in a candy store. He reached across the table and grabbed her shoulders with one set of hands while the other kept him balanced on the flat surface. “Ottilie! I have a job for you!”

She looked up at him in confusion, her head tilting slightly in question. “You want me to give you a blowjob?”

“Wait, what? No!” he answered quickly. “Just come with me! I’ll take care of everything!”