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#and then him crashing into the blue wizards (in the version where they come to middle earth in the second age)
tashacee · 4 months
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ALSO
Mask!Wild meets Aspect!Wild
Mask is so confused why this seven-foot-something lion man (with scarring a lot like his???) keeps hugging him and giving him stuff
Aspect takes one look at this version of himself and says "I call dibs on adopting him, screw you Time"
This ended up SO long but oh well
Aspects of a Mask
Wild hadn’t meant to cause trouble. The Temple was complete, the boss dead, and the treasure looted and divided between everyone’s bags. When he spied the two little statuettes at the side of the room, his only thought had been to straighten them where they stood on their little shelf. They were sweet little things, two identical brothers made of jade, and it would have been a shame to leave them sitting lopsided.
But of course, nothing was ever as simple as that. Wild straightened the figure on the right and all of a sudden there was flash of blinding light and a disjointed voice echoed through the boss chamber.
Wild didn’t catch all of what it said. Didn’t matter. The Chain got the gist of it. 
In a universe running parallel with theirs was another Chain, and the parallel hero to the one who had touched the statuette would be coming through to meet them. Something about meeting yourself to know yourself to -
It was a lot of mystical sounding mambo jumbo, but Wild was pretty sure thaat it was just whatever Wizard enchanted the statuettes way of messing with wayward explorers who picked them up.
Wild squeaked in horror and put the statuette down again, skittering backwards in alarm. It made no difference, though. The light had solidified and shifted to the middle of the room, hovering a few feet above the ground and growing in size, shifting into a portal.
Oh Hylia. What had he done? Wild gasped and found himself signing apologies, that he hadn’t meant to do anything, but his hands were shaking so much that it was hardly understandable. He was backing away and only stopped when he ran into Time, his oldest brother’s armour clatterng.
Time placed his hands gently on Wild’s shoulders, squeezing slightly.
“Hey.” he said softly. “Wild. It’ll be alright.”
Wild shook his head but still couldn’t speak. His mask felt unbearably tight on his face. The walls of the temple seemed to be pressing in. He had to get out, had to go somewhere with wide spaces and fresh air. He couldn’t be here. He didn’t want to meet himself from another timeline. Hylia only knew what he’d be like. Would he be the same as Wild? Would his face be-
Or would he be untouched? Would it be him, but the him who didn’t fail?
Wild shook his head and pulled out of Time’s grasp, backing away from the growing portal. Whatever was going to fall through it, he didn’t want to see. Wild had enough trouble dealing with himself at the best of times, having to face another of himself?
Absolutely not.
“Wild?” that was Twilight now.
Wild looked over and saw his brother looking at him in alarm. He was holding an arm out, inviting Wild to come to him if he wanted. His pelt looked warm and inviting, but the thought of being near someone right now was almost too much to handle.
Well, if Wild could say one thing about what happened next, it at least stopped him from having to make his mind up about what to do.
The light flashed. Something - someone? - yelped. Someone fell through the portal with the crash and the light vanished, leaving the Chain staring at what was lying on the ground before them.
It-
It did not look like Wild.
It was a massive, bestial creature, covered in fur and more cat than person. The left side of its body was coated with scars, and it wore a sarong about its waist and was covered in tattoos and jewellery that spoke of some sort of intelligence and culture.
The chain all reached for their swords, just in case, and the creature looked up. Its eyes were bright and blue as it looked around at them all. It lifted its hands.
“Warriors.” it signed. “I swear to Hylia if you shoot me again-”
Wait. What?
Was this - the creature recognised Warriors. It seemed to recognise them all, from how it looked around at them all with something akin to amusement. Wild peered through the crowd of his brothers as it stood, taking in the scars that laced its body. There were less than on his own body and face, but they were still familiar, and the placement of the craters on its chest-
Was this-
“Wild?” Twilight asked.
The creature seemed surprised at being addressed by the rancher, but nodded, giving him a thumbs up. “That’s me.” it - he - said. “I touched a weird statue thing and now i apparently get to hang out with you all for a week.”
What?
The Chain all relaxed and began to sheathe their swords, all moving forwards to greet their temporary new brother. Wild hung back, ducking into Twilight’s shadow.
“You-” Sky began to say and cleared his throat. “You recognised us?” he observed.
Other-Wild seemed fascinated by Sky, bending over to peer into his eyes. “You can see me!” he signed.
Sky frowned. “...yes?”
Other-Wild laughed, a strange, animal sound. “Neat! Yeah I recognised you. I know I look weird. My Chain don’t look like this, it’s just me. I tried on a magic outfit and got stuck in this body. We’re working on it. It’s a whole thing.” he shrugged, as if this was a perfectly normal thing to say. Then his eyes landed on Wind and Spirit and he yipped. “Two of you!” he signed.
Wind cackled. “Hell yeah, two of us! I’m Wind and he’s Spirit!”
Other-Wild blinked and then shrugged. “Sweet.” he said. “I want a picture.”
Then he looked around and his eyes landed on Wild.
There was no hiding any more. His brother all turned towards him, and while Twilight still stayed by his side, he felt horribly exposed. Other-Wild stepped towards him, rumbling curiously and - oh Hylia he had a tail! - tail waving slowly behind him.
“Nice mask!” he signed. “Fashion Queen!”
Beside him, Wild felt Twilight tense, but something inside him loosened at the words. He started to giggle.
“Fashion Queen!” he agreed, all nerves suddenly gone. 
It was a joke that he had never told anyone, not even Flora. Once at a stable someone had ridden past in the most ludicrous outfit that Wild had ever seen, brightly coloured mismatched silks and bells and jewels and glistening gold braid. It was an incredible, more than slightly ridiculous sight. Wild, along with everyone else, had openly stared as they passed. And then, after a moment of silence, a little girl who had been staying with her parents, exclaimed ‘A Fashion Queen!’
The whole stable had burst into laughter, and ever since then Wild had, whenever he tried something new on, thought about that moment. About ‘fashion queen’. It was silly, but it was fun. If this creature, if this person knew about that, then-
“You are me?” Wild asked incredulously.
The cat-man shrugged. “Guess so.” he tilted his head, big eyes flicking up and down Wild’s body, taking him in. Wild felt himself draw inwards, flushing under the scrutiny. 
Much as he found this new, cat-version of himself interesting, he couldn’t help but see his scars. They wrapped around a solid half of his body, and while they didn’t cover as much of him as they did Wild, while they didn’t destroy his face in the same way, it was still striking how confidently he bared them to the world.
This Wild wasn’t trying to hide his scars. He was bare chested and didn’t seem to care who saw them. Would he judge Wild for his mask, for his loose clothes? This was what he dreaded. He already had enough inner feelings about himself, the idea of another him condemning him-
The Other-Wild purred and closed the gap between them. “Can we get out of this temple? It’s stuffy in here.” his signs were light and conversational as he brushed his tail against Wild’s side and then draped it companionably around his waist. “You like to cook? I do, but my Chain are hopeless…”
The conversation went on like this, gentle and cheerful and undemanding. Wild found himself relaxing around his new brother-self, who was so unlike him but also so very very like him.
The week went by in a blink of an eye. Wild and Wild, to everyone’s surprise, most of all their own, spent hours together, chatting or cooking or even just curled up and dozing. They both had a habit of wandering off and no one had a clue where they were until Twilight stumbled into them, both in their underwear, shield surfing down the side of a very steep hill.
He backed away and never mentioned it to anyone.
Terrified as he had been to meet himself from another universe, now that he had gotten to know Other-Wild, Wild didn’t want to lose him. When the end of the week finally rolled around he clung to his brother-self, tearful as he bade him goodbye.
Other-Wild knelt before him to be eye level and pulled him into a tight hug.
“We will meet again.” he promised. “I’ll fight Hylia myself.”
Wild giggled wetly. From what he’d learned of his other self this past week, he believed it.
Other-Wild glanced around and then leaned in so that no one else could see what he said. “You can trust them.” he said, gesturing to the chain. “Trust me. They all love you. They’ll never judge you. I promise.”
Wild had tearfully showed him his face a few days ago, but he hadn’t received any of the censure that he had expected. Instead Other-Wild had given him only love and understanding, and had shown him a selection of his own most gruesome scars, including the stump of his missing arm.
Wild hugged him again, burying his head into his fur. Other-Wild rumbled and held him a moment more, and then the portal appeared behind him. He straightened, purred once more as he waved to the Chain, and was gone.
Beneath his mask, Wild felt himself smile. It may have only been a week, but something fundamental felt changed inside of him. He felt a little happier, a little more confident.
Wild turned and jogged over to Twilight’s side, taking his brother’s hand and burying himself into his side.
Somehow, he felt, everything would be alright.
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armenelols · 3 years
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I have headcanons in which Vardamir feels more like an elf but can't be one, and Atanalcar is a man in every possible way... Except he ends up immortal, somehow, and he hates it.
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butterbeerblurbs · 3 years
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deja vu (but now with you) (f.w.)
💌: it’s hard to get over someone you thought you’d spend forever with... until fred weasley reappeared. 📝 word count: 19.3k words / fred weasley x florist!reader [ex!cedric; smol mentions] / 🌸☔️a lot of heavy post-breakup stuff, but comforting fluff and more fluff, healing process :”) / friends-to-lovers ✨ 💬: okay so, i can’t bear to write this in the way my brain initially jumped on angst, so i approached this song concept a bit differently! enjoy! 🥺
notes: set post-war, fred (and cedric) lives, hufflepuff!reader is a flower shop owner across of weasleys’ wizard wheezes. 🌼
🎧: inspired by deja vu by olivia rodrigo, i recommend listening to this version for this whole thing 💞
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every morning when fred weasley heads to work, a location where he’s able to bask in his passion and hopefully bring a smile to others’, there’s one small thing he looks out for. it sparks joy for him almost immediately; dunno why, just does. he takes his time in opening the shop, counting down in his head to the voice he’d hear greeting him good mornin’, freddie! but as the timer goes three, two, one… huh, nothing. 
he gives it a few more seconds as he fumbles with the door, yet not a sound can be heard apart from the world coming to wake, along with the tapping of his heart in his chest and his breathing. confusion sinks into his features as his brows knit, the corners of his lips dragging down as he carefully turns around. as his eyes fall to the location of a certain flower shop that is normally lit up with a soft glow of orange as a sign of warmth and liveliness, is now a contrasting, gloomy hue of blue. 
fred gapes, almost losing his footing on the ground, never quite seeing this before since the day that shop had opened across from his. his senses kick in to shout, yell, do anything but remain still but what is he supposed do? instead, he closes his mouth and his jaw stiffens. his hands now clenched to fists when he swears he sees a silhouette pressed to one column of the glass windows, crouched to the ground and... shaking. 
he’s about to act upon his instincts but a hand stops him and the grip is familiar. his eyes flicker to a pair that’s similar to his and he frowns at his resemblance, “george, get off. i’m gonna–” 
“i know what you’re gonna do, but don’t,” the other warns, squeezing his brother’s shoulder. fred’s face morphs into one of disbelief, his arm flinging to the direction of–”y/n’s our best mate, and we’re not gonna check up on her?”
“freddie–”george licks his lips, sensing fred’s sudden urgency. a thing hasn’t changed since hogwarts when all of you were the best of friends, so george doesn’t expect anything less.
“what if she’s in danger? her shop’s never been–”before fred can continue rambling, george decides to intersect–”they broke up,”–”like that before–”those are the three words fred hadn’t expected to come out from his brother’s mouth. it seems like that was enough to get fred to pipe down, and george can see the words explain embedded in his irises. he lets out a sigh and shakes his head, “hermione sent an owl, said that harry told her, from cho, who’s...” george takes a moment to think through if he had said it right, but decides it wouldn’t matter anyway, “...with that diggory guy now,”
cedric diggory. yeah, that was his name. the person who everyone thought and swore would end up marrying y/n y/l/n and would go on to pursue anything and be successful and happy. because, how could that equation go wrong? the hufflepuff prince and the hufflepuff princess, together; it was a bloody fairytale. there was no way it was going to crash and burn–at least in fred’s eyes, anyway. he didn’t have anything against cedric, even going as far to admitting he was a good guy for you but... fred would be damned a liar if he said he didn’t harbor any feelings for you. 
somehow throughout the years in hogwarts, it seems like strings of fate pulled you into the mix of gryffindors. one day sitting next to fred for charms and he’s charmed. that’s how it all began, being in the same friend group despite being in different houses. fred could easily spot you in a sea of people. it’s as if you had the actual sun following you around, spreading warmth within reach. fred remembers fondly of his years of studying alongside you to be one of the best moments in his life. how unapologetically proud you were of him and his achievements, even being the few that stood up for him when people talked behind the weasley twins’ backs for ditching academics to open a joke shop.
when you got together with cedric diggory, fred saw how your life lit up. the fireworks embedded in your pupils and sparks buzzing on your skin, shaking you visibly whenever you talked about the hufflepuff prefect just seemed perfect. fred felt like cedric was everything he wasn’t able to live up to be. cedric was a prefect, adored by almost everyone he came in contact with, already had a plan that secured him well in the future after hogwarts. fred was planning to leave hogwarts to open a joke shop; without fully knowing if he would ever make it. and... you truly deserved the best. it was a hard pill to swallow, but fred lived the days after that praying for the days ahead of you to be kind and that you got everything you wanted. 
even if it meant he wasn’t the one you spend a forever with.
it wasn’t like you disappeared completely, either. just... in and out of moments. you still kept in contact with him and occasional visits to the burrow (because molly absolutely adores you and wouldn’t go without getting ginny to send an owl to sneak you back for a day or two during the holidays) but it was inevitable when you were together with someone else. your life had been intertwined with cedric’s, and slowly fred got to see less and less of you. 
then, the day came when you decided to pursue your dreams to open a flower shop directly across from his was when fred felt like the light returned to his life. not fully, but fragments and in tiny rays when he’s able to walk past and catch a glimpse of your smile; occasionally ask you out for lunch together with george, being reminded what it’s like to have you in his life was enough.
hearing you greeting him good morning each day like a blessing to be alive during a tough phase since the war ended. for someone who effortlessly lit up the paths you walked upon, it’s... cruel, that all the light was wiped out so quickly. fred feels himself being reeled back to reality when he feels a grip tightening on his shoulder. george wasn’t an idiot, he could read his twin like an open book and despite the fact that fred claims he somewhat got over his crush, doesn’t mean they didn’t just came back flooding like it was the first time he remembers meeting you all over again at the thought of you hurting.
fred releases a shaky exhale, eyes fluttering shut as he turns to face his brother instead of your shop a mere distance away. so close yet... so far away.
“i think we should give her time,” george lightly pats fred’s shoulder, “she’ll come to us when she’s ready, she knows we’re here,” george knows that fred accepts that when he shifts his posture towards their shop, a hand pushing the door open as george’s hand slips from his brother.
“f-fine,” fred mutters, but stops to look over his shoulder, pinning a look down at his twin, “you mark today’s date. if we don’t see her in a week, i’m gonna–”
“what are you gonna do, mate?” george tries to lighten the mood, yet, when fred doesn’t crack a smile, george quickly seals his lips shut. “i’m gonna break down that door,”
george’s smile fades completely, knowing very well that fred wasn’t joking.
//
quiet. dark. cold. alone. all of these things put together made up of your situation; replacing the four words we should break up, filled to the brim until your eyes couldn’t take it any longer. they fell to the wooden floor just like you did. and despite being surrounded by life–the unlimited supply of oxygen from plants and flowers engulfing you in–it felt harder to breathe. your throat felt like it was closing in on you the more you cried, and the more you tried to stop crying the harder it was to stop. the more you ached for someone to come and hold you, the further you pushed everyone away.
heartbreak: the intense emotional stress and pain that courses through your veins and strikes your heart apart. the longing, the loss, the pain. all struck in one harsh blow. you’d be a liar if you said you didn’t see it coming. 
have you ever been in a situation, where you knew the end was more or less near but just decided that hanging on until the last strand was the best resort? 
this. this had been it. this was it. and it came the day cedric brought up the topic of putting things to an end. if there was one thing you had to feel that was remotely positive, was gratefulness. that he didn’t dance around the topic, not quite one to drag things out apart from the timespan of four years together. though initially, it felt like betrayal. as if words and promises that band together as future strings tying you two to each other were all cut loose; burnt bridges almost instantaneously. that day with just four words you felt your world ripping to pieces and you hadn’t known how to put them back in place. something that was always certain, became uncertain; things that fit well on the shelf, all came crumbling down.
you dealt with it the only way you thought was best and that was self-isolation. to grief at your own time, to mourn for the person you were and anxious for who you were about to be. it was daunting; to be alone all of a sudden and to deal with your inner demons yourself. it was the... uncertainty, if you would ever be as happy as you were again; as you once was with him. that joy that was so easily within grasp, disappearing in a heartbeat. it was the pain that swam in your chest, unwilling to let you breathe.
it was the fear that you hadn’t imagined what would happen, happened. and as you sat lifelessly on the ground, trying to pick yourself up, you didn’t find the strength to. you’d hope the world would open up and swallow you a whole and end your misery.
you wanted to disappear.
//
six, five: fred tried to calm his nerves down, convincing himself that he’ll probably see you around. it’s just him overthinking, stretching out to the worst when you could be... fine. he had believed you were strong enough on your own and psyched himself up to not barge over when he had wagered seven days. he keeps to his word, a tiny portion of regret sprinkling over his fragile heart thinking about you suffering alone.
four, three: merely two days down and fred still hasn’t seen you. at this point george is still surprised fred hadn’t crossed his own words and instead chooses to abide by what he promised (or threatened) george.
two, one: feels like the hands of time was going by slower. he notices how certain things had changed from the window of your shopfront. some flowers disposed, a couple of items gone and he has a gut feeling it could’ve been something that cedric gifted. he tries to diminish the thought of you for the day, ultimately failing each time he gets a customer and the door opens that he hopes it would’ve been you.
now: fred’s standing in front of your shop, noticing how some of the flowers have wilted from the lack of life despite being a place so full of it. his hand reaches up to give the door a knock and he’s met with silence.
he thought he would be ready for this day but it turns out he wasn’t. his fingers are trembling as he pulls out his wand, whispering a soft alohomora and the door lock twitches, granting him access. he grips onto the handle, tugging it open gently to step in. what? he’s not a monster. he won’t break down the door when he’s got magic. as the door behind him clicks to a close and the heel of his shoe meets with a crack, he gasps as he flickers down to put together he’s stepped on a piece of a broken vase. the sound resonates through the quiet flower shop and fred has his hands up in defence when a voice that sounds too familiar vibrates his eardrums.
“get out, ced! i said i don’t–!” with a wand pointing directly between the pair of grey eyes you had expected to see, your hand shakily lowers down at the sight of hazel ones greeting you instead. it’s taken you aback, the same time your foot stumbles behind a step, almost losing your balance. the way fred flinches forward as if he’s trying to catch you makes you lower your wand even more, your gaze softening as you keep them on him. as if there was a small enchantment that keeps your attention on him and you can’t look away.
fred takes in your appearance; dark circles lining the under of your eyes that held so much warmth now filled with the kind of sadness that twists his heart. a cardigan hugs your body loosely, now noticing the stains on your shirt as well with your hair askew in a messy bun. he puts together that you hadn’t put in much effort and he doesn’t blame you. he couldn’t... but he still thinks even when it looks like the world is trying to drag you under, you still look beautiful. he presses his lips together, unsure of what to say, not even when you call out his name in a soft whisper: “freddie...”
after what feels like the longest time, fred carefully takes a step forward. when he sees how you’re not moving away, he silently walks towards you and places a hand over yours to put your wand down by your side. he puts his wand into his coat and proceeds to rest his hands on your shoulders. as if he’s testing the waters, he slowly nudges you into his embrace and it’s like a time bomb that ticked off the second you’re in his arms.
the tears fall from your eyes before you can attempt to hold them back, your wand is clinking to the floor as you clutch onto fred. he lets you take all the time you need to scream, shout; all muffled against his chest as you hold him like the only thing keeping you anchored. fred strokes the back of your head, his other arm hooked around your waist to squeeze you tight as you cry. 
the longer you hugged him, the more cedric’s face comes to mind and you hated it. you hated how you still see him even in another’s presence. you hated that you couldn’t hate him, either; flashes of happy memories from the day he asked you to be his, to going to the yule ball with your hogwarts sweetheart, to promising forever that came to an end. it only makes you cry even more, feeling the self-pity tipping your pride and it comes out in desperate cries and painful breaths to force your lungs to keep breathing instead of closing in and letting yourself suffocate.
fred was there to take it all in quietly, allowing your hurricane of emotions to take you in and to wash you out.
//
you didn’t know how long it had been but when a part of your self-dignity manages to pinch yourself, you’re pulling away from him. almost too embarrassed to look at him in the eye although he’s the one who broke into your shop. he does what he does best in situations like this, trying to diffuse the tension. fred keeps his hold on you, rubbing soothing circles on your lower back as you stare at his chest; now with darkened spots of where your tears had been soaked up.
“s-sorry, this must’ve been–”
“if anything, i should be sorry,” fred cuts you off before you can spiral down in your guilt. that earns him you tilting your chin up with a sniff, tears still trickling down and staining your cheeks but a glint of spark in your eyes.
“i mean, i trespassed into your shop so, consider this me making up for it,”
you scoff a laugh, using the back of one hand to wipe your nose, the other clutching onto the material of his coat, “you’re still a dork,”
“a dork’s that’s checking up on you,”
then it hits you, almost like a bucket of ice water over your head. it straightens your back and fred hates how you’re so quick to pull away from him as if he triggered something from within that makes you uncomfortable. his eyes snap shut with a soft hiss directed at himself as you start to walk away. upon hearing footsteps, he opens his eyes and tries to follow after you, past an archway that leads towards the back of your shop; a secluded room that looks like a mini kitchen with cabinets and a wooden round table.
"w-wait, ‘m sorry. i was just–i didn’t mean to make you feel that way,” he remains standing by the doorframe, watching as your back’s facing him. you stood by the sink, gripping onto the edges of the counter. your head hangs low, staring down and refusing to look up. you swallow an incoming sob, voice soft as you reply: “no, i’m... ’m sorry, i wasn’t expecting anyone other than...” you took a pause, a deep breath, then his name burns your throat just saying it, even in a mere whisper.
fred doesn’t move from his position, knowing very well you need your space but he wasn’t going to leave you like this. so he waits, patiently, hands behind his back as he leans against the wall beside him.
“could you... give me a minute? i’ll be right out, w-with tea,” you’re stammering on your words and fred can hear the telltales of your crying again but you’re holding them back. he gulps and nods, despite knowing you can’t see. “earl grey, right?”
“yeah,” fred mumbles, watching as you fumble around the cabinets for a kettle and he decides it’s best to give you some space. he quickly turns away just as you turn around and he makes his way back out towards the front of the shop. he switches the lights on and notices some of the flowers had wilted but most of them were still as lovely. your shop had the feeling of nature and home combined in one; congealed with warmth and surely one of the places people came for comfort and messages through flowers. as he walks around, pressing his foot onto a soft crack reminds him of the bits of glass on the ground. he casts a soft scourgify and the shards were all gone, leaving the floor spotless.
he makes his way towards the table by the stairs, taking a seat there and he examines the steps up that led to your home. there were articles of clothing scattered that he whips his wand once, repeating the same spell that neatly folds your clothes and they stack on top one another onto a neat pile by one of the steps. he puts his wand away when he hears you clearing your throat, placing a cup in front of him as you occupy the seat across from him. the table was big enough for the distance, but small enough that he feels a light shuffle of your feet nudging his as you sit down.
“thank you,” he offers a smile and you shake your head at him, eyes pointing at your now neat pile of clothes along with the cleaned floor, “should be thanking you,”
“not gonna tell me to mind my business?” fred inquires, taking the first sip and allowing the tea to ease his thirst. your hands wrapped around the cup in front of you, glued to the surface as you watched it swirl. initially, a witty comeback struck your mind despite the havoc going on lately, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say that. instead, being brutally honest wasn’t quite out of your realm of nature, yet you couldn’t hold yourself back to at least filter through your words.
“how did you know?” your voice wavering as you spoke, eyes stubbornly avoiding his, still swimming in the contents of your tea. he leans back in his seat, a hand pressed to the side of the cup, the other on his lap. 
“hermione sent us an owl,” at the sound of a close friend’s name, you glance at him briefly before looking away again, “said that harry told her that cho told him that she’s... you know,” he lifts his brows in his playful nature before he continues, “doomed the rest of her life being with that git,”
for the first time in two (maybe three?) weeks, that actually made you smile a little.
“always taking my side before knowing the story,” you sigh, lifting the porcelain to your lips and allowing a small portion of your tea to warm your mouth.
“‘m sure i’m not wrong at that,” he leans forward, half-pushing his cup away to fold his arms onto the table. he’s able to smile when you don’t move away from him, now looking up to lock your eyes together. “this time... you might be,”
“you ready to talk about it?” 
“i don’t think i’ll ever be,” you bit down on your lip, stroking the cup to distract yourself. at fred’s silence, you let out another shaky breath, releasing your lip from your teeth to say more to yourself than him, “but then how will i ever get over it if i’m not?”
it’s moments like these fred is reminded of your strength that no one acknowledged you for. how afraid you were to the point you’ve isolated yourself but here you are, welcoming him with tea when he... "broke into your shop”, somehow picking yourself up when you probably didn’t want to. how you were willing to be brave for yourself to overcome your emotions even if you didn’t feel quite ready for it. it’s the unspoken, resilient moments that captured your nature and fred hopes you know how strong you truly were.
“ced broke up with me two weeks ago,” you took a lungful of air, feeling it inflate your lungs and deflate out the nose, hands still finding comfort in fiddling with the cup, “said he didn’t see a future with me,”
“so i left. packed right up, moved back in here and refused to talk to him since. well he tried but i threatened to hex him because you can’t break up with someone and not give them space to at least not hate you for breaking up with you first, y’know?” it was the hint of humor in your voice that sounded to a similar coping mechanism fred knows very well of. he plays along for now, nodding with a supportive of course, bloke’s got his wand up his arse.
“but i’d be a liar if i said i didn’t see it coming,” fred moves his eyes from your trembling fingers to your quivering lips. then he notices the tears pooling in your eyes, “i should’ve said something when i noticed how excited he was to meet with someone else. i should have tried to talk to him when i could tell we’ve had a good run for it and what we felt years ago didn’t compare to the way we did now. that we didn’t feel anything anymore but... i guess i was just ready to settle,”
the tears roll down your face, the same time fred shifts closer and cases your hands against the cup.
“...so naturally when he broke up with me, i... threw a mug at him because how could you eat my pancakes and then break up with me? at least don’t eat them,” the smile on your face slowly fades, replaced with a frown that drags the corners of your lips down when you feel a fresh batch of tears incoming. fred slides his chair closer towards yours and moves to put an arm around you. tucking your head onto his shoulder, he rubs your arm gently, partially urging you to stop or continue; whichever that you wanted was fine and you knew that.
“i still see him wherever i go, freddie,” the soft confession pricks his heart but he can only imagine how painful it must’ve been for you. he nods as a sign he’s listening, waiting for you to continue. “and it hurts, and i hate it. i just wanna forget but it’s so hard,”
fred leans his head by yours as you choke out a few sobs, all while he calmly strokes your arm past the material of your cardigan that hugs your skin. your hands meekly peel from the mug to wrap them around his waist, giving him a small squeeze. when it feels like you’ve quiet down, he finds the moment to say: “you’re gonna do better than he is, y/n. want me to go over his place and plant portable swamps everywhere?”
it manages to make you snort a laugh, lightly pinching his waist, “’m not stooping that low,”
“then know you’re already above him,” he pulls away a bit, looking down at you looking up to him, “and i know, cedric diggory isn’t a complete arse. he’s a good guy, sure whatever, doesn’t mean he didn’t hurt you, though. so if this is your way of coping to get over him, do whatever it takes. and know that my offer of haunting him with portable swamps is always on the line for the taking,”
it’s a soft laugh, but fred’ll take it. he thinks it’s impossible to sound so torn and beautiful at the same time but you’ve proven otherwise as the laugh cracks your throat having cried for days that your voice is giving out. you sniff a couple of times, sucking in the tears and clearing your throat, shaking your head as you lean into fred’s embrace, “sometimes i don’t know if you’re being serious but you always know how to make me feel better, freddie,”
“i’ll have you know, i mean business... and good to know i still have that ability.”
“the fact that this is the first time i’ve smiled in weeks, i’d say you do.”
a few minutes go by and you’re trying to collect your thoughts as you lean against him. as the cloudiness slowly fades, you’re able to ask softly: “freddie?”
“hm?”
“w-where’s georgie?”
“oh shit.”
//
that night you managed to put a bit of effort. going as far as a shower and opting for a (still) messy bun; deciding that jeans with a simple t-shirt hidden underneath your coat would suffice. then it was off to rushing to the leaky cauldron to meet with your friends who immediately light up at the sight of you appearing. they had expected (and would’ve respected) you to ditch because it’s not everyday you’re going through one of the toughest patches in your life. so when you’re here, within reach, they’re beyond grateful.
“was beginning to think you forgot about me,” george huffs, yet his playful demeanour takes over along with his warm embrace as he engulfs you into a bear hug. it felt nice; having people you trust care about you and filled you in that you didn’t have to be alone in your moment of suffering and heartbreak. just because things ended with cedric, doesn’t mean you had to push everyone else away. though, that was the mentality you had the day you moved back into your apartment alone and no one could blame you.
if they did, you had plenty of mugs you wouldn’t hesitate to fling their way.
the atmosphere in the leaky cauldron brings you back to old times especially with your closest of friends. yet, it felt like partial betrayal when they didn’t know of what truly happened behind closed doors. that your relationship with cedric hadn’t been a walk in the park as it had seemed; the rainbows and sunshine that everyone imagines was an imagery that grew further from reach when the butterflies had long died.
you let the night take its’ course, the twins’ ordering for you and slowly creating small talk. from their business, your business, and it reels you away from your toxic headspace of self-exploding for a minute. it was refreshing, talking to people who worried for your state of mind when you hadn’t cared much at all (very evident from the way you decided to show up). for a moment, you’re wondering why you debated to reschedule and for a second it seems like you were doing fine.
not until you spot a certain table at the corner that looks like it belonged to you and cedric; a signature location you two would occupy whenever you came here together. diagon alley became the place where you’d see cedric’s face everywhere considering your shop was located here and the memories came flooding in. you tried to suppress them from surfacing but it was hard. his face flashed before your eyes just as you closed them; how loving his gaze was as he held your face in his hands, smiling as he kissed you without a care of anyone watching. in public, in private; it snatches your heartstrings painfully at the recollection. how whenever people asked if you two were dating he’d proudly say of course, that’s my beautiful girl–“y/n,” fred’s voice makes you snap out of your little trance, dazedly looking up to him with a soft yeah? 
the sight alone made the two of their hearts ache. regardless of anything, you were still their good friend, and they didn’t like the thought of what they knew, what you knew, was upsetting you. 
“c’mon, let’s head back to yours for a bit,” george ushers you to stand, and for someone so unwilling to leave the house, you seem unwilling to leave the outside, “what? n-no–my place’s a mess, it’s–we haven’t finished!”
“oh, now you wanna eat, yeah?” fred snorts, already putting an arm to link with yours and so does george on the other end, “ready when you are, freddie!”
“you two are a bunch of–!” your voice gets cut off the same time whirls and the hues of the leaky cauldron dissembles and the puzzle pieces itself to the scene of the front door of your apartment. the longer you try to stall, the more you know they’ll want to wait so you waste no time in inviting them in and... boy oh boy, you weren’t being humble when you said your place was a mess. 
past the hurricanes and tornados that probably went through here, though, it seemed like a warm and cozy place. fred smiles at the sight; knowing very well if he had to choose an interior design that resembled you the most, this would be it. george nods in approval along with fred, and you groan, dragging them in and pushing them towards the dining table by the door. they meekly take a seat and just as you close the door behind you, you’re about to go to the kitchen to fetch them a drink so they’d drown themselves and give it a rest but a hand stops you.
fred slowly pulls you to sit down between them and you sigh, face buried in your hands. “whatever you two are about to say about my place, i don’t wanna hear it,”
the two glance at each other, fred nodding to george this time as a signal.
“it’s homey,”–“yeah, perfect.”
silence hangs thick in the air, something that the weasleys’ intend to break. starting with fred clearing his throat and george follows suit. “we have a proposition for ya,” george grins, reaching out to gently place a hand on your shoulder. you lift your head up, frowning at him, along with a pout that fred finds adorable despite the situation. “what is it?”
“well... we’re no life gurus,” fred starts out, george taking over from there, “but we think it’d be good if you spent some time with us,”
“yeah, it’s not good to self-destruct, see that diggory’s face everywhere you go in diagon alley,” fred adds on, and you scoff a laugh, crossing your arms in front of your chest as you lean back in your seat, "i’m not... self-destructing,”
“y/n,” you refuse to look at george, staring ahead at the empty seat in front of you that... cedric has sat in countless of times. you blinked his figure away, diminishing the sight of him when you see george waving his hand about your apartment.
“you mean to tell us that all of this,” george’s hand points to the pile of clothes in the corner, bundles of tissues by the bin surrounding the bin, not inside, along with torn papers scattered across the floor, “is a conscious choice of house decor?” when you bite down on your lip, nothing to rebuttal with, fred puts his hand on your shoulder as well, mimicking george’s as the pair of them assure you with a small squeeze.
“and as lovely as your choice of interior design, flowers and plants, some human interaction would do you good,” george nods after fred speaks, adding on, “you don’t even have to do anything, just... be at ours for a while, give yourself time to reprogram,”
sinking yourself deeper into the chair, you gaze at the both of them with a raised brow, “you mean to tell me your shop isn’t a part of diagon alley?”
“who said anything about our shop?”
your eyes flutter shut with a deep sigh, a hand of yours running through your face as you pinched the bridge of your nose. the burrow. a place that was a safe house quite literally during tough times against the last war but also emotionally when the weasleys’ had been nothing but welcoming towards you. molly had always accepted you and going as far as making a scarf and sweater for you. that was the highest compliment in the books. now you felt bad that you hadn’t spared a moment to visit them (molly especially).
“mum’s missed you loads,” fred chuckles, “couldn’t stop asking about you,”
“reckon she asks about you more than us,” george snorts, and the pair of them retract their hands from you when you don’t respond. they would’ve respected your wishes either way, but they strongly felt like this would do you good. better, even. plus, they know you know their intentions when they’ve known you far longer than you can remember. and that they’d never pressure you if you truly wanted to be alone. 
instead of giving them an answer right away, you sit up a little and glance at the both of them, your voice growing soft as you speak, “i’ll... let me think about it,” after a breath, you clear your throat to speak up, “i’ll think about it.”
//
that night, you lay in your emotions as they kept you awake. the floor felt humbling, as the cold wooden floor welcomes you and you managed a feeble blanket to cocoon yourself in as you stared at the ceiling.
what were you doing with your life?
if you started evaluating every single thing, you were set. you had a job you loved, a business that you grew out of the passion that drove you to study your butt off during hogwarts and being under madam sprout’s wing of apprentice for years before you budded off on your own. you were strong, powerful, a bright witch no one could deny. yet... there’s a gaping part in your heart when you start to think of the person who promised a forever; hand in hand when hogwarts faded and your life fully intersected with cedric’s. the honeymoon phase was beautiful, euphoric; the comfortable stage was amazing, filled with support and constant assurances to one another. the downfall was painful, how you could see the waves approaching but still choose to remain still.
everything started to cloud in, the tears in your eyes couldn’t stay there as they fall, soaking the blanket as you took in any bits of air into your lungs as you cried. feeling small, feeling alone, you curled up and allowed yourself to grief. to cry out as much as you’d want... promising yourself that in order to be strong again.
//
you come to wake when there’s a thud on your doorstep. had this been a couple of years ago you’d whip out your wand, a possible perpetrator about to cause a wreck. it’s been years since voldemort’s defeat, and though things resumed back to normal after the months of adjusting, you’d be lying if you didn’t feel a tinge of anxiety splitting your veins. you push yourself from the floor, squinting at the light of day coming through your blinds.
after giving yourself time to adjust, you finally push yourself up to stand and slowly approach your door. cautiously opening it, you frown at the lack of person there, eyes trailing down to a box. it’s small, manageable with one hand and you pick it up, quickly closing the door after that.
this time you opt to sit on the sofa, placing the box on your lap as you eye it curiously. you peel the envelope off the box and retrieve letter from it. as you flick it open, you initially snort at the handwriting. freddie’s got to buckle up on that. you’d imagine being a business owner he’d straighten at least his ‘l’s and ‘t’s but they still look horrible. it makes you smile a little at the effort, though.
y/n,
just know you don’t have to force yourself to come along with us, but this is mum’s effort to making you come. you know how she can be. don’t ever think you’re alone for a split second,
you’re one of the most brilliant people we’ve ever met, and it’ll be a shame if one puny hufflepuff derived you of your excellence, fine, we’ll go easy on all the comments if you do come!
also, the photo was my idea, not george’s. (george got you the snacks and of course, mum’s made the sweater because godric forbid me and george could manage that)
yours always, gred and forge
just as the letter slip from your fingers, you’re greeted with a tailored care package. brushing aside the snacks, the knitted sweater with your initials on it, the tiny trinkets of pranks (each labelled with a way to use it against cedric), you reach in deep and find a polaroid image of yourself. it’s an image of you in the burrow, just as the sun sets in front of you with the orange glow kissing your skin. 
you remember that moment fairly well. around fourth year when you had spent the summer with the weasleys’, fred insisted of having a photo for you to send back to your parents that you were doing great. what better way than to have an impromptu photoshoot? fred (and ginny, who claims fred can’t take a photo to save his life so you’d have a few backup shots from the ginger head girl) probably emptied a good number of films that day and you’re certain some photos ended up in his family’s photo book for keepsake. it wasn’t uncommon to have each other’s photos–you still kept a good number of photos you have of your friends as well, but to have fred send you back a photo of yourself, smiling that bright as if you had forgotten what it’s like to be that person in the image, tugged on your heartstrings.
you sat in silence that morning, inhaling this newfound air of self-appreciation and exhaled out the heaviness that hugged your lungs every night.
//
"we open in five minutes!” fred hollers just as he hears knocking on the door, busying himself with arranging a couple of new stocks on the shelf. he’s trying to figure out which looks better on the front that a few more knocks on the door confuses his train of thought. he huffs and puts the box down, walking around the shelf and approaching the door with furrowed brows.
as he swings the door open he’s–“sorry, love, but we’re setting up–”you grow wide-eyed at fred’s expression of annoyance, that it makes you bite down on your lower lip. in contrast to how he barged into your shop the first time and had a wand to his face, it’s like the roles have reversed. the look on his face dissolves into one of admiration, taking in the sight of you rather dolled up with a gorgeous yellow sundress hugging your body and just a hint of color dusted on your cheeks. you meekly offer the bouquet of flowers as a peace offering, and fred chuckles.
“wasn’t expecting a pretty lady out here as the first customer of the day,” he muses, accepting the flowers and opening the door wider as he steps to the side, welcoming you in. you quietly enter and it’s nostalgia written all over the walls. from the day they opened up until now, the years have gathered into the amount of experience and memories this place houses; it’s amazing how far they’ve come, making you feel this unspeakable feeling of proudness in your heart. their products have increased in range, a few more selected lines introduced and you feel like a kid again being here.
“here,” fred reaches for your bag and before you can tell him no, he’s already snatching it from you while george replaces your empty hands with an apron. you frown at the cloth in your hands, looking up to the two of them, “are you guys making me work?”
“just for the day,” george snorts, eyes urging you to put it on, “so you don’t run off and keep your mind busy instead of thinking of you-know-who,”
“i’m going to report to the ministry the abuse of labor without pay,” you narrow your eyes at the two of them. they half-expected you to throw the apron back at their faces, but fred lingers long enough to watch you put the apron on. of course, the hufflepuff in you would do just that. you’re pleased with the way the orange apron compliments your yellow dress. the small grin on your face almost sweeps them off their feet, a reminder of how precious you were that george and fred nearly have a telepathic message to make cedric’s disappearance appear seamless. 
“well, what can i be useful for, boss?” you look up to george who stands by the cash register, offering you a small smile as he moves to lead you to pick up what fred had stopped earlier. though you weren’t exactly yourself a hundred percent, fred feels relief knowing that things were looking up.
//
if there was a trait that the weasley twins’ had it was definitely smart. they’ve always had the wit and intelligence and you’re betting all your money from gringotts that they’re quite brilliant. just because they’ve invested in a life of jokes and pranks, people didn’t quite put together how they were so clever to come up with these inventions while attending hogwarts. you always believed in them; now you hate them, because they were right.
working in your own shop, there was a time to slack or just close for the rest of the day. well, in between you could actually look across to your now closed shop and it partially fuels you to be ready to go back to your passion. since it’s been closed for weeks now, a couple more weeks couldn’t hurt. it pained you that your flowers and plants have died, but metaphorically it felt like that part of you died along with it.
the day flew by quicker than you had anticipated. filled with tending customers, enjoying their reactions to products you didn’t quite knew what would happen, the bustling and excitement that filled the place felt like a different kind of adrenaline you were used to. at your place, it was more calm and collected; gentle admiration and quiet fondness. here it was the same feeling but elevated; louder, buzzing.
it rubbed off on you a little, that feeling lasting until the night time when the shop comes to a close. george’s off to fetch dinner, insisting that having dinner inside their shop would be better than going out. that leaves you and fred seated by the steps of the stairs as you lean back. fred snorts at the sight, but chooses to join you in attempts to half-sit, half-lay down.
“how you feelin’ today, champ?” fred nudges you with an elbow, and you smile at him briefly, before your eyes gaze to the purple ceiling with stars scattered across, your smile somehow fading. he notices this and the corner of his lips are already drooping down.
“not too bad, better than yesterday for sure,” you scoff at yourself, “slept on the floor last night. i am... a mess,”
“...a beautiful one, i reckon,”
you turn your cheek to look at him, seeing he’s already got his eyes on you.
“i could be covered in glue and feathers and you’d still call me pretty,”
“would i be wrong?”
“well–”before you can reply him, the door opens and it hits fred’s foot, causing two identical yelps to fly into the air along with a soft chuckle from you. “what on merlin’s beard are you two doing?! we have chairs and sofas and the two of you gits choose the stairs?” george huffs, stepping through when fred moves out of the way and you stifle your laugh, moving to stand and meekly reaching out to help george with the takeaway food. fred squints his eyes as you stalk off with quiet chuckles, to the back room where there’s a mini-like kitchen area to eat.
“oi! y/n! did you just laugh at us?” fred’s hot on your trail, george following behind closely. “not polite to do so when we bought you dinner!”
“i have no idea what you’re on about!” you holler, just as you reach the room and begin unpacking the food.
“oh yeah? then don’t eat the bloody food!”
//
it’s one of the first hearty meals you’ve had in a while; able to feel the food rest in your stomach as you lay in fred’s bed (he insisted you took his bed and opted for the sofa). george offered as well of course, but fred butted in and made you take his room instead. so here you lay, well-fed and showered, trying to get some rest after a long, productive day.
yet, your mind doesn’t let you rest even though you’re tired. the circuits are still running like they haven’t been switched off. when you indulge in one thought, that’s a mistake that triggers a domino of never ending thoughts; putting you in a labrinth further away from sleep.
//
fred jolts awake when he hears a couple of clinks from the bathroom. he fumbles from the sofa and rolls over, catching himself before he falls. as he stands on his feet, he gives himself a second to find his footing and he’s off towards the noise. for a moment he’s thought of getting his wand, but when he hears sniffles coming from the bathroom door, he’s quick to put together that the last thing he’ll need is his wand.
finding the bathroom door closed, along with muffles on the other end that he confirms are sounds of you crying, he grows wary. “y/n...?” his voice is careful, gentle, knowing how difficult it was to begin on a journey to pick yourself up.
“i‘m s-sorry–i-i didn’t mean to...” even when he can’t see you, you were still able to make his knees go weak just worrying about you, “i think i might’ve broken–i’m sorry...”
“c-can i come in?” he patiently waits for a soft sound of approval and when he hears it, he moves. his hand carefully twists open the knob, giving a small tug to reveal a sight that has his heart in the thorns. his eyes soften upon meeting yours; stained red and glassy with the tears trickling down your face.
fred gets to his knees and just when he’s within reach, he braces himself for the impact when you throw yourself to him. he catches you, and settles down to the tiled floor with you in his arms. he strokes the back of your head with one hand, the other curling around you to keep you warm as you let out the cries you’ve let rip through your body countless of times before you slept. as if it was a medicine to help you fall asleep; a dangerous knife that cuts deep and wears you down every time yet it’s the only way you know how to fall asleep if it wasn’t for the exhaustion.
fred cradles you, taking advantage of his larger frame to let you settle on him as he sits on the bathroom floor. he sighs when you sigh.
“this is exhausting,” you mutter under your ragged breath, sniffing.
“soon, you won’t feel it’s tiring anymore. then it’s a sign it’s getting better,” 
there’s this small tension hanging in the air when you ask, “what if it doesn’t?”
that’s when fred looks down on you, past your teary eyes and stuffed nose, he smiles, “you are one of the brightest people i’ve ever met,” he gently brushes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, “don’t let diggory take that away from you,”
“he...” you croak out with a sniffle, shaking your head as you tried again, “he didn’t take that away from me,” 
fred furrows his brows at you, hand squeezing your cheek for further clarification. “i took it from myself,” the confession was soft, yet genuinely painful. it hurt fred that you knew; that no one else had the power to do that to you other than you. the fact that you knew that, meant that you had thought about it and to reach to that conclusion alone must’ve been daunting. again, it’s not everyday you go from having a life partner you’d want to spend forever with to... not. self-doubt and self-consciousness would double up and act as a double edged sword which fred imagines would be rather... terrifying to go through alone.
“then let me–”he licks his lips“–let us help you,” 
he gives you a gentle nudge with the grip he has on your face when you don’t answer, only staring at a spot on his shoulder, “baby steps, yeah?”
you let out a tch, gazing down to the bathroom floor, “i’m such a baby right now,”
“hence, the baby steps,” he’s quick to retort, earning himself a smack to the chest. “you bumbling buffoon,”
he’s snickering quietly, taking no offense to your words, raising his brows in hopes to–“so what’d you say?”
"i’ll try... no,” you use both hands to clamp on your face briefly, as if you’re physically halting the tears and your voice sounds different when you suck up the tears: “i will try,”
"then you’re already halfway there, love.” the ginger head boy smiles.
//
whirls of wind engulf you as your eyes clench shut. the scenery before you swishes about in your mind and just as you open them when you found your footing, a familiar looking door is greeting you. you find your heart stuck in your throat, triggering your flight mode to run away because what if you start crying again? before you can let your thoughts overcome you, hands keep you grounded from both shoulders.
“c’mon, y/n, we’re already here,”
“mum’s gonna feed you so much that you can’t even think about running away,”
your eyes flutter shut as you nod shakily. they make a move to keep you hidden as they step forward and upon a few knocks, the door flings open almost instantly. you hear molly’s voice, out of joy as she pulls her two sons into her arms. fred snorts and bends down, george remaining tall as he cuddles the two of them together. words of you’ve gotten thinner! not in my house! and i’ve missed the two of you so much! continuously rings into your ears; the warmth and love molly had for her children made your heart swell. for a split second your mind was about to wonder off into dangerous territories, the small inkling thought of cedric almost pops in but when the twins step aside along with we’ve got a surprise for you, mum.
you remember to breathe and you open your eyes to molly’s loving, brown ones; instantaneously dissolving the imagery of grey ones threatening to surface. your voice can’t find a way out, unable to formulate a sentence or begin to say sorry it’s been so long. everything is swallowed and diminished when molly steps forward and pulls you into her arms. you can’t keep it together, already feeling teary eyed because it’s like she knows even before she asks anything. she hugs you for a while, for what feels like too long, yet not enough when she pulls back and frames your face with her warm hands.
she sniffs and rubs the under of your eyes, nodding to you and herself, “you’re here, y/n,” she presses her lips tight, noticing the tears pooling in your eyes, “you’re alright, sweetheart,”
you’re frowning to stop the tears from falling, hands shakily lapping over hers as you nod along with her. in the midst of all this, fred and george only stands by your side, watching it all unfold with a tight smile on their faces. it warmed their heart and pained them; to see you hurting and healing at the same time. neither of them can find the right thing to say, unwilling to spoil this moment for you but they crack when their sister approaches to hug you instead of them.
“oi, what are we, the mailman?”
“we haven’t see you in a bit and you hug y/n?”
“not your own blood brothers?”
ginny only grumbles a sod off as she steals you to herself and leaving the twins dumbfounded. though, they’re not entirely surprised.
“not even a hug after that?!”
//
time ticks by in the burrow like a dream; one that you don’t want to wake up from. being in ginny’s room takes you back in time as if you were still studying in hogwarts. sure, you weren’t in the same year as ginny but you always treated her like a little sister. something about staying in the weasleys’ for the summer and winter created a bond like no other, what more going through a war? ginny relays harry’s message of not being able to be here but that’s the least of your concerns. ron and hermione were a little occupied as well, but promised to visit you when they could. you’re grateful that ginny came back the moment she heard the news and of your visiting from her brothers.
the day pans out to getting used to being back at a place you grew up in. taking in the interior and the feeling of nostalgia flowing through your veins as it surges your memories of remember when we’s and remember that one time’s. hearty meals and friendly matches of quidditch to loosen the nerves; heartwarming conversations and playful bickering. though you didn’t participate in much, it was enough watching arthur asking the twins’ to incorporate muggle-like concepts into their pranks, the twins’ denying every single one, molly constantly shoving food onto bill’s plate for being too thin after being away, ginny grumbling to you of the events as of late as a player in the holyhead harpies. though not everyone is present, as long as you weren’t alone, that felt like a step forward already.
the night soon wraps up after chatters last into the night and ginny senses your emotional bank is running dry. she excuses the both of you for... the both of you and quickly make your way up. she gives you a look that you don’t need to say anything for the night and you gratefully thank her for that.
//
a soft creak on the stairs informs whoever’s downstairs that you’re about to come down. you hesitate for a moment, unsure if you’re ready for any human interaction when all you wanted a second to yourself to breathe alone. it’s probably nearing midnight if you basing it on your judgements, thus, the tranquility of the house welcoming you. even when it’s quiet and cozy, you can’t seem to fall asleep, which is why you've snuck out of ginny’s room and decided to head downstairs. your breath hitches in your throat when the person calls you out before you can back away, “lovely, i can hear you from there,”
molly.
you meekly make your way down and peek at her from the stairs, seeing how she’s already seated by the dining table. quietly, you make your way towards her. she’s seated near the corner, so you take the seat beside her on the other corner. her hands come flat on the table, faced up. it’s like there was an unspeakable force that directs your hands to place in hers.
she frowns at your cold hands, warming them up in hers.
“ginny told me what happened between you and...” her voice trails off, and you can’t help but giggle at her memory, “cedric diggory,”
she nods with a click of her tongue, “ah! cedric diggory, yes,” 
you can only smile at her, before you trail your eyes to the way she cups your hands. her thumbs stroking your skin lovingly. “i remembered the day you told me you were seeing him, so happy and full of love,” she swallows, shaking her head, “you wanna fill me in on what happened, dear?”
for a second you’re dumbfounded, unsure of how to retell a story you’ve said a couple of times. it feels tiring at this point, yet, the more you do it the more you’re able to succumb to the fact that you and cedric were no longer. that you came to terms with how you truly felt about the golden boy. 
it was true, sparks did fly throughout the initial years of being together but things got... muddled in between. as if feelings faded and you were too stubborn to acknowledge it. even with the way he spoke about cho, you should’ve known, should’ve spoke up about it but it’s a tough pill to swallow that your hogwarts sweetheart started having their heart skipping for someone else... along with yours unable to feel that excitement around him no matter how hard you tried. everything comes out like a small storyline that molly absorbs, listening intently to every word and encouraging you to keep going despite a couple of hiccups in between.
when you’re done, even including details of how you almost hexed fred when he entered your shop, that’s when your throat swells. a sign to stop speaking, a signal for molly to kiss both of your hands as a job well done. it makes you crack a smile, a small one. at your silence, she starts to speak, “sometimes things don’t work out for a reason, even if we don’t know the reason now. people grow apart from each other, people fall out of love and sometimes fall back in. some fall apart and fall for someone new. it’s a natural cycle and... it’s difficult, but sometimes it takes going through the wrong people to find the right one,”
a pout unknowingly forms on your face, squeezing molly’s hands, “what if no one wants me?”
she scoffs–offended at your remark. she gives your hands a good shake and it makes you look up to her. the fire in her eyes remind you of where all her children must’ve gotten it from. “don’t you dare say that in front of me. you. are. brilliant. anyone, and dare i say anyone who is so blessed to receive your love is the luckiest person alive. you hear me, sweetheart?”
you nod automatically, how can you not? one of the brightest witches boosts you up like that, like this, as if it was magic all alone.
"even if you don’t come across anyone,” she mumbles, “you should be enough for you,” then she nudges you with her elbow playfully, “plus, i’ve got six boys for you to choose from if you want. been beggin’ for a daughter-in-law like you,”
“mrs. weasley...!” you gape at her, and she’s surprised at your shyness but soon the pair of you start to giggle at one another. “but you know what i mean, right dear?”
nodding twice, she can hear the genuinity behind your words, “i do, mrs. weasley, thank you.”
//
molly bids you goodnight after a couple more minutes of chatting, allowing you to be alone as you initially intended. she does leave you with a chocolate bar, though, saying that there’s nothing that chocolate can’t fix and you’re agreeing to that a hundred percent. you’re savoring each bite, picking at it slowly as you look around the house, still seated as you admired the photos on the wall and the home decor that changed over the years yet held their homey sentiment.
"can i have some?” a voice perks from ahead and it makes you flinch just a bit. yet your anxiety soothes away when a familiar grin comes into view and fred occupies the seat molly had sat in earlier. his eyes point at the treat you have that molly handed to you and you huff, “your mom gave it to me,”
“you can share,” he persuades, wiggling his brows.
“no,” you answer, yet your actions prove otherwise when you pluck a chunk and direct it to his mouth where he gladly accepts the chocolate candy melting in his mouth.
“had a good chat with mum?” he asks, moving to rest his arms on the table, his head in one of his palms as he looks at you looking down at your candy bar. you nod with pressed lips, snapping another piece and taking a bite, before moving it to where you guessed fred’s lips were. he smiles a little and accepts once more, watching as you try to sort out your thoughts and emotions.
“she... she always knows what to say...” you flick the wrapping with a scoff, “that’s the bad part,”
“how’s that bad?” he snorts. “well, i was doing very good on my own and my self-assumptions so it’ll be nice to wallow in that for a bit,” you break another piece of chocolate, grumbling under your breath, “now i might consider apologizing for throwing a mug at cedric’s face, but he dodged so that doesn’t count, right?”
fred almost instantly shakes his head with a playful sneer, “nah, doesn’t count if the bloke doesn’t bleed,”
you feed fred another piece of chocolate with a smug look, “for that, you get a bigger piece.”
//
when the chocolate had been long gone in your bellies, filled up with some tea to wash the sweetness away, fred wordlessly guides you out the backdoor and you follow without a word. he links his arm with you and it’s a quiet moment of just walking mindlessly, allowing fred to lead the way. it comes to a halt when the pair of you reach a familiar looking lake that became a usual scene through your childhood holidays. summer, winter, they were all here.
yet, another memory as well as you sit on the grass, fred following suit; arms still linked together.
“it was here, wasn’t it?” you stare ahead to the horizon as fred joins your line of sight to where the moon’s reflection meets the water, “the time you said you’d murder ced if he broke my heart,”
he chuckles at the recollection, a promise made merely days since you confessed you had been seeing the hufflepuff, “offer still stands, you know?”
you sigh, leaning your head against fred’s shoulder, hugging his arm, “you’d only be wasting your time,”
“then why did you?” fred feels you tensing rather quick and he does, too. a part of him feels like he had gone too far, that he probably shouldn’t have said that and he instantly regrets it. “sorry–that was... i’m a complete arsehole–”
“i dunno,” your quiet reply soothes his erratic heartbeat, his mouth snapping shut in hopes you’d continue. he’s able to breathe easy when you do. “i guess a part of me knew it wasn’t him, but i was...” it takes you a deep breath in and out before you whispered: “...ready to settle,”
“why settle if he didn’t feel like the one?” fred asks carefully, rather curious at the information. for all he’s known (everyone, really), it always seemed picture-perfect the day you and cedric got together. sure, the occasional arguments and tears fred’s seen you cry for diggory but it wasn’t anything major before. this breakup has got to be the iceberg surfacing and shattering anyone’s perception of your relationship.
“i guess... i didn’t have a solid reason to leave,”
“bet you didn’t have a solid one to stay, either,”
you give fred’s arm a soft punch, and he only smiles at your action. a silent agreement that he’s right but you’re not going to say it–fred’ll take it. he gathers the courage to say: “maybe cedric did you a favor by breaking up with you,” that makes your brows furrow in confusion, peeking up to him a little as he looks to his side, meeting your eyes as he clarifies, “gave you a real chance to find someone who’ll love you unconditionally,”
you scoff a laugh and roll your eyes at him, “you say that as if there’s someone–”your words die in your throat when you notice the look changing in fred’s eyes, how his arm tenses, turning to stone. your body shifts from him and you didn’t mean to make him flinch by doing so; instincts got the best of you. 
fred wanted the lake in front of him to swallow him. he feels his insides turning inside out, doing a thousand of somersaults and making him sick. he can’t look at you in the eye, not when you’re staring at him intently. he tries to take his arm back from you but finds that he can’t when you’re tightening your grip on him, giving him a light shake to at least spare you a glance. when he does, he catches the way your eyes are wide, as if... you hadn’t known this whole while. the surprise poured all over you and rendering you just as speechless as he was.
“freddie...?” timidly.
“...yeah?” softly.
“am i... way over my head to ask if–”he can’t bear to her you say it, cutting you off abruptly, “n-no, you wouldn’t be,”
at his indirect confession, you’re uncertain of what you feel; you were going through a rollercoaster of emotions and this... this takes the cherry on top. your heart skips a beat, unable to hold back the swelling from within, feeling it quicken in pace as you subconsciously squeeze his arm and he tries to brush it off. he’s using his free hand to rub the back of his neck as he hangs his head low, avoiding your eyes, “y-you don’t have to say anything,”
he clears his throat, shaking his head as his eyes gaze back to the scenery he burns his eyes with in denial to look at you because he knows he’ll waver, “this wasn’t the way i planned to–not that i expected anything but i–well not anytime soon but... ah fuck...” clearly he was frustrated with himself and you tried to hold back the question from popping out, but it slipped past and fred catches it clearly.
“since when? before ced...?” you tilt your head at him and he chuckles, unsure if it’s pathetic to confess now but he does anyway, might as well. “way before that bloke,”
“why didn’t you tell me?” it was a genuine question and fred takes this time to look at you dead in the eye, almost scaring you at how serious he looks. you gulp, using a hand to lightly press onto his forearm and he chuckles, looking away and you feel like you can breathe again.
“i couldn’t just walk up to one of my best mates and tell her i’ve been in love with her for years, could i?” his gazes hardens at the water flowing in front of the two of you and you turn your body to face the scenery as well. “we... you were too precious to me, to put at risk of losing. no matter how much i wanted to be with you,” he exhales deeply, his free hand now reaching over to stroke your linked arm with his, making you jolt but... at ease at his gesture, even when he’s not looking at you, “so when you told us you were dating diggory, i figured,” your heart drops, “maybe we just weren’t meant to be,”
a frown pulls the corner of your lips when you turn to get a glimpse of his face; noticing how glassy his eyes look as the moonlight kisses his skin and looms over him, “you deserved someone better. at the time, i didn’t even know if i could survive on my own, let alone take care of someone,” he uses his shoulder to wipe his eyes before he takes a peek at you, unable to make fun of your frown like how he usually does.
“i’d never want that for you and you were happy with cedric. i was happy for you. that was enough for me to know you were in good hands,” he nods to himself, as if he had lifted up the burden from his shoulders by letting this all out to you, even if it wasn’t planned. he clears his throat at the silence that thickly engulfs the pair of you, sneaking in a glance or two to gauge your reaction but he can’t when you’re staring ahead, eyes slowly lowering down to the ground in front of you.
“y-you don’t have to say anything. i was just–”
“i... i mean i know that i don’t not like you,” it sounds ridiculous, but you can’t piece your thoughts together yet, choosing to say whatever comes to mind first. “are you takin’ the piss?” fred scoffs in disbelief and you register how that must’ve come out that–damn it. panic fills your system as you shift to face him and he naturally does the same, bracing himself for the rejection he’s played in his mind countless of times but when you’re visibly flustered, fred gives you time.
“it’s just... freddie, we grew up together. since hogwarts, since i came to spend the summer and winter breaks here almost religiously. i thought that what we had, or what i felt for you was just...”
“family?” he autofills your sentence, and you nod slowly, “yeah... then i tried to figure out what i felt by comparing if i felt that way for george or bill but...” your voice softens, “then ced came along and i thought that maybe it’s best to put it to rest, and that ced and i were meant to be,”
fred notices this time, your tone doesn’t sound as sad as it was the first time you told him of your relationship ending with cedric. you know, that day merely seconds before you’d hex him if he remotely looked like your ex-boyfriend.
“did you love him?” the question leaves fred’s lips before he can stop himself.
“i did,” you smile a little, and fred smiles along with you, grateful that at least you had been happy while it lasted, “i truly did but then i guess... not. he’s the braver one to put things to an end for the both of us,”
another awkward silence falls between you two and it felt like tiny needles prickling your heart at the quietness. fred’s still staring at you staring at his shoulder that it’s rather amusing. he’d be calling out on that if he hadn’t just confessed his love to you after harboring his feelings for years so this is the rare moment he’s waiting for you to speak first. your heart was racing, yet it slows down when you tilt your chin up and lock eyes with fred. there’s no denying you feel something different when it came to this weasley but your heart was still healing, still trying to put itself back together that it wouldn’t be fair on him if you jumped the gun. no matter how much your heart begged for comfort, the bigger person in you thought of the love fred deserved.
and it wasn’t going to be like this. not when you can’t stop thinking of another man. it was the least fred deserved. similar to how he was able to push his own emotions for the sake of yours, it seems like you can understand him a little when you’re willing to push away your emotions.
“freddie,” he was waiting for that. “hm?”
“i... i’m gonna need time to myself. i mean look at me, i’m a mess and–” oh now he can speak? “still quite beautiful for a mess,”
“will you listen?” you hiss at him, pinching his arm and he manages a quiet chuckle, nodding and keeping silent. “i don’t want anything to start between us, not because i don’t like you but because i... i don’t even know what i’m gonna do when we go back,”
he frowns, eyebrows knitted together at the center of frustration and he uses a hand to pillow it against your cheek, slowly directing your gaze to meet his. your eyes soften at the sight of his doing the same; mellowing down, comfortably settling around each other. 
“hey, i’m not forcing you into anything–nor am i asking because... well, i mean it when i say i’ve liked you for years but that’s on me and me alone, nothin’ to do with you,” he sighs, hand moving from your cheek to pat your hand, “i didn’t want to tell you because of this. i knew you’d feel pressured so... just think of me as a friend,” he meets with your eyes once more, finding that the feeling was mutual, “a friend who’s here to be you through a tough time,”
you nod with a smile, leaning forward and entering his arms that naturally spread open for you to enter. “thank you freddie,” your words are muffled against his chest that he gladly takes in, wrapping his arms around you as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “never need to thank me, silly.”
//
the night for the two of you comes to an end when you two reach the door of ginny’s room. your hand is on the doorknob. you open the door and step in, turning around to offer fred a small smile. he nods for you to head in and you’re about to let the door close behind you but...
...fred hears his name being called out softly, to which he retraces his steps to where he had last seen you walk into his sister’s room. as he stands at where he had heard you call for him, he sees you stepping out and reaching up as close to his cheek. his lips gape at the feeling; a soft sensation tickling his flesh. it was too quick for him to react to it, only choking on his words when he tried to formulate a sentence. 
when you step back, you peek up to him shyly and offer a shy smile. fred’s face seemed to be tinted with a light shade of pink. his hand slowly reaching up to touch where you had kissed him and it makes you giggle. 
then, you disappeared from him when you really decide to head in, whispering a delicate goodnight, freddie before the door closes. he only made a sound in response; a mix of garble and a gasp that he’s embarrassed. yet, grateful that he was alone. he only makes a move back to his room after what felt like forever; his mind on repeat, replaying over and over of what just happened.
as he lays in bed, he’s got a big grin on his face, that rests easy as he falls asleep that night.
((”do i want to ask, y/n?” the red haired girl groggily asks from her bed. despite you being on the mattress beside her bed, you refuse to look up to her even when you can. instead, you dive underneath the blanket, your answer muffled but ginny still catches your voice: “no,”
“can i ask, then?”
“if i said no, will you not ask?”
she chuckles, voice hoarse and dry from her disturbed sleep but it seems like her curiosity was stronger than that, “i mean, you could always choose not to answer,”
you sigh and pull your blanket down, enough to catch her brown eyes staring at you in the dim moonlight, “what is it, gin?”
“did you kiss fred?”
at moments like these you were at least grateful ginny never did fancied beating around the bush. “...on the cheek,” you admit quietly, “any follow up questions?”
she refuses to give into cracking a big smile, allowing you to see just a small one before she falls back into bed and rolls over, “goodnight, y/n.”))
//
the days in the burrow had been blissful. a homey getaway with the people who welcomed you like family. it spanned from witnessing debates between bill and arthur about topics that collectively, fred, george and you decided it was not worth being a part of. opting to play games amongst yourselves by making it two versus two when you had ginny on your team. it most definitely took your mind far away from the thoughts that kept you up at night; finding that you were able to sleep at ease, like a temporary paradise.
temporary being the most accurate word when it came to an end; when you and the twins had a job to head back to. 
molly showers all three of you in kisses to last you for a lifetime. after promising her to return again (you most definitely included), the remaining weasleys’ bid you goodbye before you apparated back to the storefront of weasleys’ wizard wheezes.
when you do, fred and george are already speaking of the next time to meet so that you won’t have a chance to be alone but... their chatters die down when they notice your attention is elsewhere. it felt like you were in a trance, noticing the state of your shop and it how it looks like to everyone now that you got a good look at it. the pair of them watch as you’re being reeled towards your shop and decide it’s best to leave you be.
//
you went through a whirlpool of emotions as you stood in front of your shop. most of your flowers miraculously are still blooming, amongst some that have wilted. it makes you emotional just thinking about them; how they could physically describe your current emotions and situation. your heart ached at the thought of discarding the parts of you that died, wanting to hold onto the dried up petals, but anticipating for the growth and new flowers that could come from it once you had the space.
that night, you couldn’t sleep until you made sure you cleaned your shop to it’s tip top condition. not even caring to put your bags away, left stowed by the stairs as it felt like a much needed mission. you had been so focused that...
...fred and george smile from across the street. the sight of the orange glow slowly transcending brighter in the dark of the night as they watch the contrasting blue disappear. wilted flowers discarded, new flowers appearing at the casting of a spell from a powerful witch. it’s as if all they could do was watch, enchanted with the way sparks illuminate your shop that soon fades and they’re gasping at the flowers that appear.
george nudges fred with his elbow, “you thinkin’ what i’m thinkin’?”
“i’m on it, george.”
//
your morning started out more productive than you had planned. alright, technically, would it ‘start’ if the night didn’t end? your nerves had been buzzing throughout the night since you returned, willing to bring your shop back to life. be it metaphorically connected to you or not, it didn’t matter. what matters now is this... this was one of the things that fuelled your life with purpose and when things were looking up; a plethora of flowers and plants breathing again, it feels like you can, too.
after a well-deserved shower and putting on the sweater that molly made for you along with a pair of leggings, you head back down to your shop once more. cleaning the register, retrieving papers of receipts and invoices as you prepared to have this shop open and running again by tomorrow. as you crawl underneath the counter to retrieve your quill, the loud knocks against your door makes you flinch, bumping your head with a thud at the sound.
“open up!” a voice hollers, and it makes you squint at the sound, slowly rising from your position to get a look at who it is, “we know you’re in there!”
two ginger heads through the window of your door, grinning and relentless with their knockings as it grew more and more impatient. “c’mon now, don’t got all day!”
yeah, only a heartbreak that tore your life apart and trying to start over, don’t got all day to wallow in that in peace.
you pat down on your clothes, rushing your way to the door and opening both the doors with a huff, “couldn’t the two of you be a little patient? ‘m only one person running this–!”a gasp immediately snatches your breath away when the pair of twins step aside, revealing–”a-angie!” she chuckles and gladly accepts your hug when you pull her in for one, only to get distracted with–”katie!” as the girls come to engulf you with their embrace, over their shoulders you’re gawking at–”o-ollie! lee!” 
angelina and katie laugh, easily letting you slip through to allow you to step into two lads who could tower you but they turn to putty in your presence. they dip down and scoop you up, almost sandwiching you with oliver in the front, jordan from the back as a big bear hug. then it escalates when the others decide to join, half-suffocating you that–”g-guys, ‘m–i can’t breathe!”
“that’s the goal,” george whips, and despite your situation you’re able to wiggle a hand past the bodies and smack him. “’lright, let’s not murder our best mate here,” oliver laughs, a little lightheaded as well from the sudden attack. everyone finds their way into your shop; the scent of flora and fauna welcoming them along with this profound sense of home wafting in the air. naturally they found themselves sitting by the table near the stairs, one or two of them opting for the ground as they circled together.
“we brought a gift,” katie wiggles her brows, nudging angelina to–“no... you didn’t!”
it was a vase; a beautiful one, at that. it was bright yellow, with blue accents and plenty of white speckles all over. you’re marvelled by it, cupping the vase as you place it onto the table. when you gaze up, the group grows quiet as they anticipate the way you retrieve your wand, waving it in the air with a soft orchideous. from thin air, sparks follow the tip of your wand as stems of flowers appear; small daffodils blossoming into big and healthy ones as it sits in the new vase.
“to new beginnings,” you smile, at the flowers, then at your friends to are able to smile because you were... and at your own reflection you see on the porcelain.
//
the group continues on with the conversation. each of them taking turns on sharing what they’ve been up to and how things had been for them. when it came to the moment where you’d fill them in on how things ended between you and cedric, fred couldn’t help but notice the way your voice sounded different–not shaky like the first time you told him, not wavering like the second time you told molly. confident, a hint of sadness but... stronger. he can’t help but smile at this, catching your eyes as he does. as your voice lowers to the end of the story, katie and angelina are quick to put their heads on your shoulder, almost cocooning you while the guys... do their best at being guys.
“can i just say,” lee rubs his nose, shaking his head with pursued lips, “i never liked diggory,” at the remark, the group laughs, along with the teasing that starts brewing when george smacks him on the shoulder, “oh yeah? keep going then,”
“that git may seemed like a prince but he didn’t fool me!” lee puts his chest out and you chuckle, returning his fist bump that he extends out to you.
“lee,” oliver slings his arm over the guy, “he gave you a chocolate bar and you were swooning over it for days,” everyone starts to laugh again, wrapping a blanket of embarrassment over lee as he gawks at fred’s incoming words, “you even kept the wrapper, mate,”
“oi!” he huffs, “that was one time! and i was ten, ten!”
the whole gang continues to erupt in laughter, taking jabs at jokes and teases. doing what everyone did best: being there for each other. fred has his turn on poking fun at lee and you can’t help but let your eyes linger on him a while longer. how he looked full of spirit, the way his eyes casually look to yours and it’s like you can see how proud he is of you. his smile growing when you can’t look away, making it a goal to hold eye contact with you as long as possible. it’s not until oliver claps a hand to fred’s back, making the ginger head boy yelp as he whips his head to the brown haired lad.
“did you not hear us, fred? us fellas’ are going to get some treats for everyone,” you blink a couple of times to notice the guys were all getting up to leave, announcing they’d return with some goodies so the three of you would have girl time in peace. fred only frowns, but relents to being dragged out of your shop, to which you can only giggle as you wave them goodbye.
angelina and katie weren’t daft, but they won’t say anything about it. only glad that you’re smiling as if it’s the first time you’ve seen fred weasley all over again.
//
the next few days had been a rush, an actual rush you hadn’t expected. it’s almost like you forgot what it’s like to own a business, to be in control and made sure everything run smoothly as you tended to your customers. it was a nice feeling, reliving your passion of flowers and plants; breathing in life and whispering messages through petals and leaves. there was just something special about them... but man were they a pain to keep up with. it’s been barely a week since you opened and you’re already tired. 
ah, the perks of owning a business.
your eyes flutter shut as you step out to the sidewalk, relishing in the cool air that greets you. you let the door close behind you and after locking it with a spell (and a physical lock, can’t be too careful), your heels turn to lead you to–”freddie...!”
his wolfish grin appears, knowing he probably gave you a scare but he ebbs it away with his arms spreading open for you to step into. “hello there,” he laughs into your ear, giving you a tight squeeze before letting you go. you exhale deeply and blink up to him, grinning, “what do i owe the pleasure?”
“was just passing by, y’know,” he sighs dramatically, earning himself the roll of your eyes as you scoff at him. “and i just so happen to notice you finally stepped out of your shop after godric knows how long,”
from your grin, it turns into a sheepish look as you rub the back of your neck, shrugging, “i kinda got busy,”
fred loves the sight. the way the tiredness came in the form of doing the things you were passionate about. how your eyes are brighter than before, as if they’ve grown stronger. it makes him feel a tinge of warmth, proudness, everything bundled together.
“what about now? too busy to go to dinner with me?” he juts his arm out for the taking, as if he already knows you’ll gladly take it. you do. effortlessly stepping beside him and linking arms with a wink, “never too busy for you, freddie.”
for the first time in a long time, you were able to breathe easy; able to feel like you were one in your own skin and wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than here. fred notices every single part of you; glowing. ethereal, almost too beautiful for this earth when you were at your heightened potential and more. he felt blessed, to be sitting across from you, sharing a meal together, and having the opportunity to listen to you talk about your day like a record player he’d rewind over and over again.
as the night ends, you have his coat on and the both of are you are at your doorstep. you’re carefully peeling off his article of clothing on you to hand it back to him and he accepts it with a small pout.
“you could keep it, y’know,” 
“and have you freeze on your way back?” you snort, pushing his hands back to himself once he grips onto the coat, “i’d rather not,”
“i’m only across the street,” he retorts with a playful sneer, making you poke your tongue at him. he offers you a smile as he gazes down at you, one of his hand reaching up to brush the strands of your hair from your face as he then lowers his eyes to reach for yours. it’s as if there was this magical bubble that encased the pair of you in; to be in your own little world.
���i had a great time tonight, freddie,” your voice came out in a mere whisper, shaking fred’s heart and delightfully tugging on his heartstrings. his voice, melts you like honey as he nods, “likewise, love,”
you see it coming in slow motion; the way fred leans in just a little but pauses, as if he’s giving you room to pull away if you needed to. for a split second your body urges you to respond, you’d want nothing more than to put your arms around him and kiss him until your lungs give out but something tugs on your heart just as you try. some unspeakable force holding you down and you manage so far as to brush your lips on his before you turn away, eyes clamping shut because you can’t look at him in the eye.
your lips part as a sob’s about to scratch your throat to escape and fred catches the way your lips tremble. you hear his coat falling to the floor, left ignored as his hands coming out to cup your cheeks tenderly, “hey, no no no,”
“i’m sorry–i just–”your hands hug your sides, as if you’re rooting yourself down. fred hushes you and carefully puts his arms around you, loosely. he remains like that, feeling each second pass like you’re going further and further away. yet, he feels you’re here when your hands gingerly reach out for him and you manage to slither your arms around his lower torso, pressing your face to his chest. he coos of how you’re doing so well, and that you can take all the time in the world if you needed and it makes you smile and feel guilty at the same time.
you really did like fred, but you didn’t know what was stopping you. the fact that he’s waited for so long, and to keep him waiting was–”stop that,” fred’s voice startles you from your thoughts, your eyes peel open at the sound of his voice that drops an octave.
he’s looking at your side profile to his best ability despite the angle, shaking his head when he notices the wrinkles lining your forehead and the creases on your nose as it scrunches from overthinking.
“how’d you know?” your voice’s still shaky, your heart still threatening to fall out.
“that you look like you’re thinking way too much?” he snorts a laugh, reaching up with a hand to pinch your nose, “this usually gives it away,”
you hadn’t realized you were frowning until fred mirrors you, and it became more and more obvious when he doesn’t move away from your line of sight. “told you to stop it,” he murmurs, now using his hand to pillow against your cheek, his thumb tapping the corner of your lips lightly.
“i really do like you, freddie,” your confession barely audible, but fred strings together the syllables perfectly as it echoes in his heart. “i know,”
“i’m sorry,”
“i know that too,”
at his repetitiveness, you’re able to feebly hit his chest, grumbling at him, “what else do you know?”
he exhales deeply and it takes every ounce of him to slowly peel you off him, holding both of your hands between your bodies. he smiles at how your hands fit in his, stroking the back of your hand as he feels your cold flesh warming up in his hold. 
“i know that whenever you’re ready, i’ll be here,” he assures you with a small, crooked smile and the warmth glazing over his hazel eyes. “‘m not going anywhere, y/n,”
“...promise?”
delicately, he brings them up and you watch as he plant a kiss on each one.
“promise.”
//
days since after that incident, things... had been different between you and fred. not quite a big jump but you noticed the subtleties. though you clock it in as him respecting your boundaries, that you’d approach him when you’re ready, it still... tugged a piece of your heart in a way you didn’t know why. or maybe you did know why, that you’d want his attention and adored the way he’d be in your personal space whenever he pleased.
it was as if he was trying to keep his distance and you picked up on it pretty quickly. instead of having his hand on the lower of your back as you walked, he kept his hands to himself. rather than trying to reach for your hand to hold, his hands remain in his coat as you reached whatever destination it was in mind. when he came to visit your shop, he did nothing more than a brief hug before making his leave.
the little things that he used to do; reach out to touch your cheek, trying to get ahold of you whenever he could and oftentimes, resort to locking you in his arms or resting his chin atop your head because he claims it’s not his fault you were at a height perfect for just that.
somehow... you didn’t like that. not one bit.
//
there were two knocks on your door that jolts you from your position on the sofa. you yelp a quick coming! just as you catch yourself before your face meets the ground. as you rise to your feet, you scurry over to the door and adjusted your appearance, heaving out a deep breath before you open it. your eyes expected to meet a pair of brown eyes with ginger locks, that perhaps your excitement visibly dies down at the sight of– “were you expecting someone else?” hermione pouts, already hitting your shoulder.
“no...?” you manage with a squeak, arms reaching up to her sides and grinning. sure, it wasn’t freddie but you would give your life to hermione without a doubt.
“wipe that lie from your face and give me a hug,” she grumbles, yet her actions prove otherwise when she allows you to wrap your arms around her, almost squeezing the life out of her. she returns your hug enthusiastically, chuckling as your leg comes up to hook behind her.
"i’m still so happy to see you,” you breathe, basking in her presence, refusing to let go even when she tries to shake you off (she loves it, she just won’t admit it). hermione had this aura around her that always made you feel secure; comforted you in ways like a sister would and cared for you almost too maternally (cues to the numerous of mother jokes you’d tease her with especially now that she’s with ron).
the two of you begin catching up like the time apart had never got in between. like two puzzle pieces coming together, easily mending and filling each other in of what had happened through the months of not meeting up.
then it got to the golden question, one that hermione was curious of and she’s not quite the type to linger around; target aimed straight ahead. “well...?”
you lower your teacup and sigh at her, raising a brow, “well?”
“...ron told me you went on a date with fred,” both of her eyebrows perk up, along with her lips pursuing; two things that hermione usually does when she’s expecting a follow up to what she had just said. you press your lips together, unsure of how to answer or reply.
you like fred, that much you’re certain of. but you’d be a liar to say you weren’t afraid. the thoughts of being left alone again, the idea that you could be in love with someone and they’d leave you even if they promised they wouldn’t. that fear still... scared you, so much that it’s making you visibly tremble and hermione doesn’t like that. “hey,” she sets aside her own cup, moving closer towards you and your end of the sofa. she waits until you put down your cup onto the floor and she tugs you into a hug, almost immediately resting her head against the side of yours.
“‘m scared, ‘mione,” it’s like you know before i even have to tell you.
“of what?” i do, but i’m gonna ask anyway.
“what if freddie leaves me like ced did?”
hermione frowns at the way your words tremble as the memories come haunting you again–and it’s not going to disappear anytime soon, but that doesn’t mean it can’t. she gives you a small squeeze, taking this moment of silence to properly phrase her words because she knows just how much of an impact they can have on you in this current state of mind. she exhales deeply and rests her cheek by your head.
“what scares you more?” she starts off softly, then her voice grows clearer as she continues, “if you never took the chance to love fred or if you did?”
like a missing piece to an equation you couldn’t figure out, it... all makes sense. between the two, it... scares you even more if you didn’t take a chance on loving fred, to fully come to terms that you were infatuated with him and to act upon it.
the butterflies that seemingly roam about every time you saw him and how they never did go away; possibly suppressed in the arms of another but when that set you free, the waves of emotions come willingly and drowning you in the warmth you ached for. you would regret with every ounce of your being if you didn’t take the chance with fred, and that’s pushing you to a mental decision, almost as if things were all falling into place. not instantly but... slowly, they’ll find their way there.
“'mione, have i ever told you i love you?” you peek up to her, batting your eyes at her. she scoffs a laugh when she sees how you’re literally sparkling, beaming with a newfound confidence that makes her feel at ease, “plenty, but i never get tired of hearing it,”
“well, i love you, hermione jean granger.”
//
before you opened your shop for the day, you decided to go on a small stroll on your own around diagon alley. your feet brought you wherever they wanted, allowing your body to navigate yourself around town. you pass by the bookstore and seemingly stop walking. gazing into the shop, your mind slowly replays of a moment when cedric would read to you summaries of books to entice you to buy them. making you laugh, playfully trying to chase the other down through the rows of shelves. it tugs on your heart, it always will, but the longer you stood outside the bookstore, your mind replaces that imagery with something else. 
the orange glow from one of the shelves morph into a recollection of fred reaching for a book you couldn’t reach because it was on one of the top levels. you remember his tease, the way he said as long as you were shorter than him it meant you’d need him all the time and at the time, you didn’t think much of it. now, as you stood alone and staring at your own reflection looking back at you, the image of fred appears next to you and your heart swells. yet when you turn to the side, reality reminds you that you’re on your own, which you’re fine with but... a thought pops in that it would be nice if fred was actually here.
as you move away from the bookstore, walking further down the streets, you’re able to clear your mind as you explore the places you breathed and lived but now it’s like you’re discovering it all over again. the ghost of cedric in your heart will always remain, but it’s lingering in the parts where it doesn’t have power over you.
what you feel now is the freedom you’ve longed for, the air that gracefully fills your lungs and exhales in gratitude of being alive; of accepting yourself, finding yourself after what felt like forever.
diagon alley became a place for you again... and a place where you’d silently hope to see fred in all the time. your home, was yours... and it’s a place that you’d want to share with fred weasley.
//
you’ve thought about a million ways on how you were going to do this. it’s been bugging you throughout the whole day at work that you couldn’t really think about anything else, especially when you hadn’t been sure of the outcome. well... you’d be a liar to say you didn’t think of the hundred and one ways it could go wrong, but that one where it goes right, you decide to man up and just do it. the second the clock strikes seven, you’re closing up at the speed of light, noticing that from across the street a certain someone was preparing to leave.
//
fred sighs as he leaves the shop, one foot out and then the other, his head lifts up and frowns at the sight of the flower shop he was anticipating to go over to is now closed. darkness enveloped the plants and he wonders if it’s the same fate that he’s feeling. he lazily drags himself to turn around, locking up his shop and deciding to maybe grab something to–”oh my goodness,” fred almost lets out a shout, his voice pitching up at the surprise.
you couldn’t help but giggle at him, opting for a small wave, “’ello freddie,”
he laughs along with you, shaking his head, “hi there, gorgeous.” his nerves ease themselves when you reach out to hug him, which he returns it gladly. he bundles his arms around you tight, lips instinctively reaching to your temple but he stops himself. clearing his throat, he pulls back from the hug and that was more than enough to give you the boost to...
“freddie,” you call out, hands carefully taking his into your own. “j-jeez, y/n, your hands are freezing. here, take my–“you tighten your hold on his hands, shaking your head, “d-don’t,”
fred gapes at you, feeling his heart sink at the rejection. he can’t help but feel like there’s more coming, about to drag him under the surface just when he thought there was a glimmer of hope. he bites down on his lip, nodding as he waits for you to continue. his hands are already growing sweaty at the thought of what’s about to come.
“i... need to tell you something,” you clear your throat after, now gazing down to your hands in his and it... feels right. you can’t put the words to it; unable to formulate the right words that could describe it but... it feels right. here. being with fred, hand in hand, together. two pieces that were meant to fit side by side that found it’s way back home. 
“i’m ready,” 
fred subconsciously tilts his head at your statement, eyes narrowing just a little. he doesn’t interrupt, though.
“at least i think i am,” you ramble on, shaking your head, “no, i am ready,”
“merlin, y/n, are you goin’ to war?” he’s chuckling nervously, swaying your hands, “what are you ready for–”his heart stops“–you, freddie,”
“i... can’t stop thinking about you,” the confession leaves your lips gingerly, threading its way into fred’s ears like enchantment; delightfully giving his heart a tug, “especially after our date and,” your head lowers and fred adores how you’re smiling so wide, yet shyly continuing to speak the words that spins him further and further wrapped around your finger without even trying, “wherever i go, now all i see is you, or all i hope to see is you,”
you inhale and exhale deeply, before gazing up to his eyes where he’s eager to meet yours. “it’s going to take some time before my heart feels like it’s at it’s full again but... i’d like it if you were by my side,”
fred feels his soul returning to his body, remembering that right, okay, this isn’t a bloody dream. this is happening. it’s happening. he coughs a few times, in attempts to clear his throat and to diffuse the heavy tension weighing on your shoulders. “a-anything else?” he raises a brow, wanting to make sure before he gets to say what’s on his mind.
you’re stepping forward, closer to him, tilting your chin up. “could we... try again?”
this time, fred’s unable to hide his smile as he uses a hand to tug you towards his embrace. one of his hands slip from yours to put around your waist to keep you anchored to him. then, his other hand frees itself from yours to cup your cheek, guiding your lips to his and your vision is clouded with the sight of fred that you soon envision the warm hues and tones of ginger as the taste of pumpkin greets your tongue. he has a habit of eating sweets whenever he’s stressed and it makes you smile, knowing that he was possibly just as burdened with confusion as you were.
your lips move in tune with his, eliciting a sound of approval from him as he hugs you closer, wanting to feel more of you. your hands lightly brush over his arms and onto his shoulders, folding and meeting behind his neck to keep him near. it’s a slow kiss, drawn out with kittenish licks and gentle flicks to test the waters; starting out tender, ending gracefully when you’re growing lightheaded and there’s an inkling fred can sense that.
you feel his forehead leaning down onto yours, heavy breaths hit your skin as yours does the same to him. fred opens his eyes first, granted with a sight that he’s only able to see in his dreams, now in his arms. he knows, that this would be a start of something beautiful, but it’ll be taken slowly. at a pace you were comfortable with. when your eyes peel open, your smile grows, a chuckle entering his ears like a sweet melody of all the things done right. all of the things that feel right.
“i wanted to ask something before that,” you feel your cheeks heating up, not from how close his face is to yours but the realization of what’s happening is making your heart swell, so much more when fred’s staring into your eyes like that. he strokes the under of your eye lovingly, his voice hoarse as he asks: “what is it?”
“fred weasley,” you swallow, smile growing wider as you continue, “would you like go out with me?”
you swear on your life that for a split second, you can see the stars sparkling in his brown eyes, “i’d be a fool to say no.”
((”here?” fred perks a brow at your choice, yet doesn’t question it when you nod with a big smile, excitedly dragging him into an ice cream shop of your choice. it had been a recommendation from hermione, that slowly became a go-to place with you and cedric in the past that... well...
the hues of dark blue and white come into your vision as you take in the interior of a place you used to love coming to, now shredding your heart to pieces. it didn’t help that you thought you were going to do so well, perfect even but you can’t. you can’t bring yourself to the counter to order, you can’t pay attention to anything let alone lead fred inside that you run out, feeling your guts twist and turn as nausea takes over your body.
fred catches up with you, hands firmly on your shoulder and clutching onto you before you can apparate away. he’s able to hug you tight, catching you just as the both of you stand by the door of his apartment. though his heart swells at the thought you’ve thought about his home instead of yours, the fact you’re crying and falling to your knees occupies his thoughts even more.
“you’re doing so well,” he murmurs into your hair, an arm keeping you up while the other strokes your hair. you shake your head profusely, ragged breathing distracting your thoughts, “i was–who am i kidding? this is a mess, it’s pathetic–”
“you’re doing amazing,” fred firmly squeezes you, hushing you each time you tried to degrade yourself and you stayed like that for a while. to catch your breath, to catch yourself, as your arms wrap around fred’s torso to hug him closer; it got easier to breathe when fred held onto you like the lifeline you needed.
“i’ll go in first, ‘mkay?” you peer up to him and he nods, leaning in to give your cheek a kiss, “i’ll come in after you, yeah?”
“if i don’t come out running,” you chuckle, and fred tuts, giving your back a small tap and you inhale deeply, exhaling as you push the door to welcome yourself in. you prepare yourself for the visuals of cedric to fill your mind; initially, they attack you like bullets, shooting through your brain. but as you welcomed them and smile to the worker, it all slowly fades.
you stand by the counter where you can peek at your own reflection, choosing the flavor you want. for a second, you see cedric’s smile through the glass, but it dissolves. replaced with just you and that was enough. you were enough for yourself and it was a journey to get here. opting for chocolate and strawberry, you’re about to pay but that’s when you’re reminded you’re not alone.
fred’s arm comes around your waist to string you aside, easily handing the money for payment that it makes your cheeks heat up. all he can do is laugh when you hurriedly take the ice cream in the cup, shoving two spoons before scurrying alone to the nearest–instinctive table that grabs your interest.
in this same spot for two sharing a cup of strawberry ice cream, there was no lingering ghost of the person you used to love. all you could see was your own reflection of self-love you had for yourself as you let the taste of artificial strawberry kiss your tongue and sweetening your throat as it thickly flows down. as you savour the taste of being able to love yourself again, you capture the ember of ginger coming from behind your silhouette. it makes itself known to be freddie when he looms over your shoulder with a smile that reflects yours, arms warmly coming around you and planting a soft kiss to the side of your head.
“got started without me, cheeky little thing,” he huffs, taking his rightful seat opposite you. his frown quickly fades when you offer to feed him a spoonful, which then deepens the initial frown when you playfully slurp it down. he squints his eyes at you and you can’t help but mimic him. he narrows his eyes at you with that thing he does with his lips whenever you tease him, yet they grow wide as saucers when you lunge forward, cupping his cheek to press your lips over his. it’s a blissful moment to share as you kiss him and he welcomes it.
he tastes the light sourness from the flavoring turn sweet as it rolls off your tongue onto his. it’s fleeting, almost as if the way your lips moved along his like a feather, then pulling away before he’s able to fully taste it all.
the aftermath of the kiss has fred feeling warmth spreading all over; as if that one kiss, morphed into butterflies that kept kissing his skin. your eyes, so bright and full of love, staring back at him like he was the world. never did he think he’d feel this, blessed to be the one he’s able to see in your eyes as it reflects his smile. your cheeks almost hurt from smiling so much, as if that’s the only thing you can do as you look at fred. more so as he reaches to feed you a spoonful of chocolate ice cream that it compliments the spark embedded in his hazel eyes.
as the peaceful afternoon drags on filled with ice cream and laughter, fred’s fingers between your own and feeling your lungs expand delightfully and contract as you breathe; this was where you struggled so much to be. and when fred looks at you like he did the day he met you, throughout the years of being by your side; as if he had watched you blossom through storms and hurricanes, now basking in the glow of the sun, you rest easy as your heart feels secure in your own hands, cocooned by fred’s.
a life with fred weasley was the one you’d wanted to live.))
[mini blurbs/drabbles from this au will be written! if you have anything you’d like to see from this, do let me know! i’ll do my best 🥴✨- do label it as dejavu!au to avoid confusion]​
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The Bad Influence’s Birthday (Spencer Reid x Masc!Reader)
Summary: After hearing some unsavoury rumours about his darling daughter, Spencer decides to do something about it.
AN: Happy Father’s Day tomorrow! This can be read as a continuation of Seahorse (SFW version) (NSFT version) or as a oneshot. The reader uses he/him pronouns.
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Masterlist
A wave of rapture swept through the children as Spencer began pulling out the handkerchiefs from behind Savannah’s ear. Savannah gasped dramatically and Hank in her lap flapped his hands to grab at the knotted fabric, managing to touch the last sunny yellow one. His face when Spencer handed it back to him, it was swiftly captured on Penelope’s phone as was Hank stuffing the handkerchief between his gums.
“Thank you for your participation!”
Katia was on her feet and clapping wildly as she trotted over to her dad. Her arms slipped under his cloak to hug his waist, her cheek creased with a grin pressed into his belly.
“Thank you Daddy! Thank you thank you thank you!” She squealed, trying to bounce whilst keeping her grip tight on Spencer.
“You’re welcome.”
More kids swarmed on him to say thanks, but just in time, his husband spoke up:
“Why don’t you kids grab a few more bounces on the castle while we prepare your lunch!”
A sudden stampede of trainers and once crisply ironed party outfits rushed past Y/N. His arms shot up perpendicular to his body, above the children’s rushing heads. Y/N sauntered over to Spencer, snatching off his pointy wizard hat and tousling his hair. His fingers stayed there a while longer. Just long enough for Y/N to get a grip on it and pull Spencer over for a kiss.
“Nice job, honey.”
Spencer beamed, adjusting his wizard’s cloak, “Glad you thought so.”
The couple sauntered over to their house’s edge, a table set up with jugs of juice for the children adjacent to the open French windows. That didn’t stop Spencer from taking one for himself.
He spared some glances at the other parents around. “Is she here?”
“Hmm?” Y/N raised his eyebrows, his eyes wide with confusion. Then his expression cleared, “Oh, yes. To your right.”
Not so subtle was his look in that direction as he took a sip from a disposable plastic cup. “There’s three of them.”
Y/N pretended to examine the rainbow stars around the rim of Spencer’s drink, “She’s the one in the navy-blue shirt.”
Ah yes. Melinda.
Before Y/N could intervene – or join him – Spencer strode across the lawn, his juice forgotten. He landed next to this woman without a smile.
“Hi, can I get you anything else to drink?”
“No, I’m fine thank you,” She replied, her folded arms constricting around her front. “It’s a wonderful party.”
Spencer’s tone was just as forced as hers, “Thank you. Pulling out the stops, she’s only going to turn seven once.”
His attention followed Melinda’s eyeline to the bouncy castle. Katia wasn’t hard to miss. Her bright turquoise and purple frock blurred as she threw herself herself back and forth between the walls and shrieked with laughter above all the other children.
“And Lukas is enjoying himself too, it seems,” Spencer indicated to Melinda’s child who was following by Katia’s example.
Just then, the man Melinda had arrived with rocked up beside him with a heavy clap on the shoulder. “Katie has quite a hold on our lad!”
Spencer’s shoulder rolled out of his grip, “They are best friends. Katia talks about him a lot; she was so excited when you confirmed yesterday. We’ll have to set up a play date-”
“Oh Lukas! Come off of there, sweetie!” Melinda looked despairingly at Spencer, “Can you get your husband to stop that?”
It was then that Spencer took in what Y/N was doing in the middle of the bouncy castle. Surrounded by children, he seat-dropped right beside them, launching them up into the air only to land on their backs. Cries of “again, again!” demanded to be satisfied and Y/N was working hard to keep them happy. Spencer smiled fondly at them.
“It’s alright, he knows what he’s doing. And we have crash mats.” He pointed to where all the shoes were scattered in haste of adrenaline. “It’s nearly time for the birthday banquet anyway.”
His pointy cap was donned once more as he headed off to attend to his birthday duties.
Y/N whipped off the star sprinkled sheet off the table and the children applauded at the sight of food, scrambling to get a seat near the birthday girl. The seats beside her throne (curtesy of Uncle Dave) were already promised Lucas and her other best friend Dominque.
While the kids were feasting, Spencer saw Derek taking the opportunity to bounce Hank on the very edge of the bouncy castle. The little man’s legs kicked and jerked above the inflated vinyl as he squealed in his dad’s safe grip.
Each plate was filled with only the finest of party foods. Sweets and treats were permitted before the sandwiches in this topsy turvy feast, with carrots dipped in hummus eaten between salted crisps. Katia’s mismatched socks sitting in odd sneakers swung back and forth as she crunched down. A few times, she forgot to swallow her food before shouting across the table to her guests. Ah well. It was her birthday. Spencer was too busy passing bowls to kids who couldn’t reach their favourite foods.
Y/N pinched Katia’s cheek and offered Lukas a napkin before grabbing one of the platters to offer to the parents. Coincidently Melinda declined while her partner took two.
“You were bouncing the kids on the castle deliberately, weren’t you?” Spencer whispered to Y/N as they topped up the drink jugs.
“I have no idea what you’re on about.”
The smirk on their lips said otherwise.
Penelope was the one to bring out the cake, the frosting’s colours matching Katia’s dress – which was actually Penelope’s birthday gift. She leapt into song the second she stepped outside and demanded a reprise for more photos to be taken of her goddaughter blowing out the candles from Spencer’s lap. It took two big puffs and Spencer pretending to smash her face into it before the candles were simply smoking.
“Daddy, do you want some cake?” Katia held up a forkful to his nose.
“Yes please,” and Spencer opened his mouth wide, “Ahhh!”
Somehow, Katia still missed. Crumbs and icing smeared in the corners of his mouth and caught in his stubble. Spencer cringed a little at the mess, but it faded at the uproar of laughter from his baby.
“Thank you, Katia,” He said slowly, accepting the napkin she offered him as an apology.
Katia then shared a dab of icing with Hank, Savannah saying a delighted thank you on her son’s behalf while Hank himself beamed at the sugar rush. It was over this interaction that Spencer caught sight of Melinda and her man. They were acting as though they hadn’t been staring at him and his bad influence. Without a second thought to them, he kissed Katia on the cheek then he caught Y/N on the arm as they were handing out cake. He kissed his cheek too. Katia smeared some cake down Y/N’s sleeve with chocolate blocking out some of the teeth that weren’t already missing.
God only knows how he was going to top Katia’s next birthday party.
-----
Spencer Reid Tag List: @averyhotchner​ and @spenxerslut​
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introvertguide · 3 years
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The Road Movie
Most movies follow a general script type depending on genre, and this is used to tell a story that has a satisfying ending. It is interesting when a movie mixes up type and tone and goes against genre type. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it is terrible. Great directing and acting can make the subversion of expectations less jarring (or more depending on the end goal), but the end goal and tone allows us to attach a film to a genre. But what about films that aren't about the end goal? There are many films that are in a sub-genre that focus on the journey with little regard to the end goal. These are what are called "road movies" and can fall under many different genres since the end goal doesn't really matter. Let's address some famous road movies through the years that are also classified in a variety of other genres:
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Huckleberry Finn (1931)
The OG of travel films, this was the sequel to Tom Sawyer (1930) and had the same child actors. This wasn't what you would call financially successful, but this was largely due to the Great Depression. The 1939 version of the movie did a lot better and was one of the well known films of child actor Mickey Rooney. This story of travel was an early role for many actors including Rooney, Ron Howard, and Elijah Wood. Although there were threats of death and portrayals of slavery, this film was considered a family adventure in the pre-code film era. I guess a boy escaping his abusive father in the company of an adult escaped slave where people are actively attempting to rob and kill them was considered a fun family romp in the early 30s. This was the same story that came from a book that was banned in schools during the 1980s. It is a great story and I love the works of Mark Twain; I am just surprised at the genre.
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Stagecoach (1939)
This is a great movie that transcends the Western genre of which it is categorized. A group of people all have different reasons for traveling from an Arizona territory over to New Mexico. There is word of vengeful thieves and angry Apaches that threaten the small band of travelers. It is actually very intense because the threat feels very real throughout the film. The entire film focuses on the journey and the relationships forged (and broken) on the way. This was the breakout role for John Wayne and was part of an amazing string of films directed by John Ford and starring John Wayne.
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Easy Rider (1969)
This is a film that really spoke to the hippie movement during the Vietnam Era. It is statement on how difficult it is to truly be free and how society fears that freedom and tries to destroy it. The film might very well have the worst dialogue of any movie I have ever seen. Actors Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper were actively using drugs throughout film production, so the real draw was the sweet rides and the moving soundtrack. This is a movie where I actually want more driving montages and less character development because I don't identify with the characters at all. Maybe it is a generational gap.
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Paper Moon (1973)
This film is amazing. It is the story of a traveling grifter who takes a little girl on the road with him after her mother dies. He teaches her how to make a living cheating people and they form a father-daughter type of relationship. It is a comedy drama that won the girl an Oscar for best supporting actress when she was only 10. Some nice back story, the girl is Tatum O'Neal and is the actual daughter of the grifter, played by Ryan O'Neal. It is kind of strange, but this is a "coming of age" film on the road.
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The Blues Brothers (1980)
Now this is what I am talking about. Two brothers go on a trip after being released from jail because they got a message from God. I am pretty sure that this film still holds the record for most crashed vehicles in a single movie. It is also interesting that the film is technically a musical. The brothers stop at different locations and songs break out. In between stops, they are chased by the police in an almost demolition derby style chase. I really enjoy this movie and believe that it really keeps a fast pace (literally and figuratively), but, like many road films, I can't say it is good because it is more of an experience than a story.
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Thelma and Louise (1991)
This was an interesting twist on the "run from the law" type of film. Two women are friends and decide go on a weekend retreat. They get in trouble after killing a man who tries to assault them and have to run from the authorities. It has a reputation for being very feminist (despite being directed by accused mesogenist Ridley Scott) because of the negative portrayal of men. It obviously wasn't that bad since it was nominated for 6 Oscars including both leads for best actress. In fact, Geena Davis and Susan Sarandon were both nominated for best actress at the Academy Awards, the BAFTAs, and the Golden Globes. It is the quintessential road film since the end goal is constantly changing and best defined as "away from here."
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Natural Bork Killers (1994)
This was kind of a strange film. It is a crime drama where the audience follows two killers with traumatic childhoods as they meet and go on a murder spree. Similar to Bonnie and Clyde, but with gory murders as the focus over bank robberies. It is directed by Oliver Stone, and criticizes the glorification of violence by the media. It is most definitely a road movie because the end goal for the two is simply to be together and enjoy the rush of breaking the law. Hm. It is actually quite a bit like Bonnie and Clyde. Interesting. I would like to make a note that my mom hates this film because of the shaky cam and Dutch angles. It made her feel sick at the theater.
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Road Trip (2000)
OK. This is far and away my least favorite film on this list, but it is the most famous "boner road comedy" that I am familiar with. It is a high school/college coming-of-age film that focus on the sexual pursuits of a group of young men. These types of films are marked with gross out humor, gratuitous nudity, and boys trying to have sex. There was a bunch of films like this that came out around the early 2000s and they all had to do with boys traveling some place in search of idealized sex (the plot on this one is a little different, something to do with a sex tape) and generally they find that the best girl for them was there by them all along. It takes a nice idea of character development and throws raunchy jokes and boobs at it. I was not a fan, but it was definitely a thing.
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Death Proof (2007)
This is much better shlock. It is the Tarantino version of exploitation grindhouse films of the seventies, but updated to be a women empowerment film. It was part of a double feature that was paired with a horrific zombie outbreak film directed by Rod Rodriguez, but this one is much better on its own. It is the story of an old stunt man who travels around looking for unsuspecting victims whom he can run down in his indestructible car. This is a great example of what a road movie can be because Tarantino took the concept of a slasher and put it completely on the road.
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Mad Max Fury Road (2015)
Here is an action revenge film in a post-apocalyptic wasteland where most of the film is driving. The producers couldn't find a director who they trusted with remaking George Miller's Mad Max franchise so the 70 year old Miller said "hold my beer" and made this masterpiece that is arguably better than any of the first three (edit: I guess Miller always intended to direct but it took so long to go into production that he joked in interviews about giving up on it). The original trilogy with Mel Gibson presents an amazing world where most people are nomadic and traveling can be a life or death proposition. Fury Road is the further adventures of the character and his interaction with one Furiosa. The use of many practical effects on moving vehicles that was garnished with CG effects made for one of the best action films in the last decade. It was more than a simple movie about traveling; it was a land were the road was life and everything surrounded the ability to be mobile enough to get supplies in a dead world.
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This is by no means all of the road movies. The Wizard of Oz is technically a road movie. The Grapes of Wrath is a critically acclaimed road movie from around the same time. Comedies like The Cannonball Run, Smokey and the Bandit, and National Lampoon's Vacation can all be classified in the genre. Rain Man is one of the best films of all time and it can be classified as a road movie. What it comes down to is that, when considering characters, a writer should think about the journey itself and think of how the leads interact with this entity. The road might be the best character in the whole story.
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everdreamart · 3 years
Text
Read my Thoughts
The journey through Aeor only gets more confusing as eye powers are thrown into the mix.
OR
An accidental telepathy fic where Caleb shares a bit too much to a certain drow.
Relationship: Caleb Widowgast/Essek Thelyss (Shadowgast)
Rating: Teen and Up
~~~~~
Things in Aeor are strange. Magic Especially. A teleport can send you miles away from target, and a spell gone wrong can make you bald! However, Aeor's atrocities were put on the backburner when Jester's weasel turned out to be her 'god' and the red eyes adorning the Empire Kid's bodies started to show power.
Darkvision was one thing that was quite startling to Caleb. He hadn't really noticed it with the constant flow of light emitting from Caduceus' staff and his own globules. It wasn't until Beauregard said something that it really occurred to him. Even more surprising was the telepathy. The ability to transcend one's thoughts into the mind of another. A mental link for shared knowledge. All sorts of possibilities flowed into Caleb's mind. How useful this could be in their upcoming battles with Lucien.
"Woahhhh Caleb I can literally HEAR your thoughts! Slow down a bit!" Jester marveled.
"OH Oh Beau! Can you read my thoughts??" Yasha exclaimed.
"Hey let's give it a try-" Beau smirked.
"Ok who do I love? Oh wait thats dumb.." Yasha mumbled. The rest of them started to laugh a bit.
Caleb shifted his gaze over to Essek. The drow's soft features focused on the commotion going on around him. A confused expression painting his face - no doubt from the sudden talking weasel - in a show of momentary openness. Throughout their travels in Aeor, Essek had slowly let the shadowhand persona slip away. Caleb liked this version much better. The way emotion displayed itself on Essek's face was new and nervous, but the man was truly trying to change. That alone caused something to swell in Caleb's heart.
Immediately, Essek's head snapped up and looked over at Caleb in surprise. Caleb looked away as soon as he turned his head. Did Essek hear him? He needs to get a better hold of this power. Fast. Swallowing hard, Caleb simply nodded, before turning his gaze back to their laughing friends.
-----
After a day of hard trekked travel, the Mighty Nein stumbled into the tower for a night of much needed rest. It was then that Caleb's mind started to wander. What exactly is transmitted through this telepathy? Feelings? Words? Images? The beginning pricks of worry started to crawl into his throat. Would he have to wrestle every one of his thoughts down so the others wouldn't be plagued by his memories? He glanced at the glaring red eye adorning his palm. Thick red lines seared into his skin flawlessly. Watching. Staring. Certainly these powers come with a price. And Caleb didn't know what that price was.
There's nothing he can do right now. Stay on task, Widowgast. Maybe something from the papers he picked up earlier will have more information about their enemy. With an idea for distraction in place, Caleb floats up to the library to begin opening the amber. He settles on a couch opposite from a crackling fireplace as he does so, the comforting warmth washing away the stress of the day.
Piles of books and papers fill the floor in front of him. Excitement and curiosity begin to tug at his mind. Caleb reaches out and grabs one of the dusty old tombs, tracing the foreign writing in awe. So much knowledge, packed in the papers around him. So much information to be learned and so little time.
"It's quite incredible, is it not?" A soft voice comes from behind him as Essek glides over to Caleb, staring at the collection of books.
"Ja. After our business is concluded, I would love to study more of Aeor's history and research."
"Well, we have a few moments now, do we not?" Essek smiled softly as he looked at Caleb.
And just like that, they were off. Reading through ancient texts, occasionally bouncing theories back and forth. The constant whirring of intellect trying to process the thoughts of mages from far beyond their time. It was invigorating.
However, from time to time, Caleb found it hard to keep his focus. His eyes constantly wandering back to the drow sat beside him, nose buried in a book. His thin white brows creased into a focused expression, eyes full of wonder and curiously, devouring the age old texts. The way his mouth would curl into a subtle smile when he found a particularly interesting section of text. Or how he would nibble at his lower lip when frustrated about something. He wondered if those lips would feel as good as he imagined. How soft and delicate.. Oh how glad Caleb is to have moments like these, just him and Essek.
At some point while Caleb was lost in his thoughts, Essek looked up. Violet eyes meeting blue ones.
"I uh.." Essek clears his throat. " I found a section that you might find to be interesting." He smiles and looks away.
Oh.
How much did he hear? How many of those thoughts slipped through in his tired state? Apparently enough for the subtle hints of purple creeping on the edges of Essek's ears to catch Caleb's attention.
"I think it's time for me to head to bed. I require more sleep than you do, after all," Caleb said as he stood up. It was awkward, for a moment. The silence was heavy, and he didn't dare steal a look at the drow beside him.
-----
Having your thoughts known to others feels like quite a violation of privacy. Caleb thought as he laid in his bed. I need to get a hang of this.
It took a while for him to get even close to falling asleep, for his mind was racing with thoughts.
He was on the edge of consciousness when he heard a small knock on his door. Surely all the nein are well into their sleep right now, so that means that the only person this could be is… a lump formed in Caleb's throat as he opened the door. Essek stood in front of him, a foreign expression adorned on his face.
"I hope I wasn't disrupting your rest. I would like to talk… if you don't mind?" He spoke softly as Caleb gestured him into the room.
It caught Caleb's attention immediately that the man wasn't floating, but walking instead. They sat on the couch as he responded, "Ah, I was having some trouble sleeping. You weren't interrupting anything. What is it you would like to discuss friend?"
"I ah.." He fidgeted with his fingers. The drow wasn't wearing his usual mantle, but instead the more comfortable robes that were provided to him from the tower. Caleb let his eyes momentarily linger on the way the clothing frames Essek's small figure. The way the deep blues and purples frame his gorgeous dark skin. Caleb promptly tries very hard to stuff these thoughts down.
"I took notice of the recent… developments of the eyes on beauregard's and your bodies. It… concerns me. The acquisition of such powers surely means that something was taken in exchange, and I am unsure of what that was." Essek says with worry laced in his voice. His eyes rise to meet Caleb's.
"..ja. I too am a bit uneasy about the current situation. Though it just makes our goal that much more important, does it not?" He replied, flashing a faint reassuring smile.
"I guess it does." The other wizard's gaze falls to his lap.
'That's not really what you came here to talk about. Is it?' Slips from Caleb's mind before he can even think to stop it.
The drow visibly flinches in surprise, then sighs slightly. "There was something else on my mind, yes."
Caleb slowly, ever so slowly, reaches his hand over to touch Essek's. "I'm here if something is wrong."
He is very aware of what Essek was referring to. However, he doesn't know what is going through the other man's brain, as thin smooth fingers meet his calloused ones halfway. A slight smile plays at the corners of Essek's mouth, and Caleb once again feels his focus begin to slip. He focuses on the feeling of Essek's hand in his. Soft skin, clearly not used to the harsher weather of the frozen wasteland as of late, his fingers only rough in the areas where one would hold a quill.
Strands of silver-white hair hover on his forehead, slightly covering vibrant violet eyes. Oh it is a sight to behold. Dark skin growing impersivibly darker. How he works at his bottom lip nervously. Caleb finds himself fighting back the desperate want to feel this man against him. To hold him close and study his features on a much more intimate level. Essek's ear twitches.
"I ah… I thank you for your.. Compliments..?" He stutters out as his face flushes an even darker shade of purple.
Something inside of Caleb breaks, and he finds it becoming increasingly harder to hold back the growing need to bring the wizard close.
"I apologize for not being able to return such… appraisal," the drow mumbles out, looking anywhere but Caleb's eyes. His other hand raises up Caleb's arm, settling on the crook of his neck. "I hope I can live up to your expectations, Widowgast." He smiles nervously.
Caleb's mind goes blank. Soft lips brush his own and his restraint vanishes. They crash together in feverish movements, a warm pressure on his lips that grounds him in the moment. It's so much better than he could've ever imagined. The sensation of Essek's mouth on his is something he wants to savor forever. He wants to memorize every movement and feeling of the man pushing against him, as if this was a rare slip-up and it would never happen again. Maybe he was dreaming after all, but the feeling of Essek starting to nibble at his lower lip quickly reassures him that this is very much real.
Something sharp catches Caleb's lip, and he recoils a bit in surprise. Essek immediately pulls back, a flash of worry crossing his face.
"Fangs." Caleb mutters out, breathless. "I was not aware you had fangs."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" he gets cut off by Caleb leaning in once more, capturing his mouth hungerly. His fingers lace through Essek's hair as he pushes onto him, desperate to be closer. More. He wants more.
Apparently Essek heard him, as the drow parts his mouth, allowing him to deepen the kiss. Caleb runs his tongue over the sharpened points of Essek's fangs, feeling a shiver as he does so. They merge together, desperate to taste each other. To explore every inch. It's perfect. Absolutely perfect. He wants this moment to last forever.
They pull away after what feels like hours, but still isn't long enough. Essek's breath dances on Caleb's lips, mere inches away. Caleb smiles and presses another quick kiss to Essek's mouth.
"I think you far surpassed my expectations, Thelyss."
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A Loki TVA/Lokane fic. Rating T.
Previously: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (of 6)
Shine a Light, part 5
He is aware that the love of his life is digging her fingers into his arm and saying his name.
He is aware of Stark standing to his other side, visor off, speaking to someone on the phone. His voice is hard.
But most of all, Loki is aware that all their lives were just changed by a great big terrifying rip in the seam of reality.
Neither Jane nor the Avenger could possibly be completely sure of what they saw. Loki, as much as he desperately wants to, harbors little doubt.
The man he held in a death-grip only minutes ago and who just now disappeared through a doorway conjured out of thin air was somehow … himself.
Another him. Just as the man had said.
After witnessing from afar the double kiss Jane, Loki, who was coming back from a swim, had been more than ready to skip past introductions and just sever the intruder’s head from his body.
But as soon as he had laid hands on him, a torrent of images had flooded his mind – chaotic, confused images that seemed to span past, present, future and beyond.
The shock had made him lessen his grip and the double had used his (his!) magic to throw him off.
With some distance between them and Stark suddenly there as well, Loki had tried to let his rage quell the dizzying realization. Unsuccessfully.
He is still shaking, clutching a dagger in each hand. He drew them instinctively as the other made for the door.
He should have caught him!
“Loki! What did he say?!”
“What?” His thoughts are racing in too many directions to hear her.
“The … man, what was he saying to you?!”
Jane is looking up at him with those beautiful brown eyes, worry and urgency all over her delicate features. Though not fear, Loki notes. His ever-brave wife. Both her hands are now clamped around his wrist.
That thing kissed her.
The daggers disappear and Loki wraps both arms around the mother of his unborn child, almost crushing her to his chest while still staring at the spot where the double vanished.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, love”, he murmurs. He suspects things are very much not okay.
So does Jane, of course.
“Loki, was it … oof, not so tight … “
She wriggles against him, and he remembers his amor. And her condition. He immediately relaxes his arms a bit while letting the leather and metal melt back into the clothes he wore before: Black jeans and a fitted, dusty green t-shirt (his “rockstar outfit”, Jane had called it, when Loki first started switching up his human wardrobe some years ago now). Drops of saltwater still cling to the ends of his slightly curly raven locks.
“Tony! Jane, Loki! What on Earth was that?”
Pepper jumps out of the car parked in front of the house and runs towards them. She must have seen everything as she drove down the road following her flying husband.
“The verdict’s still out, Peps”. Tony nods at Loki. “You wanna chip in here? I just called the boy-scout at headquarters and told him to be on guard for one of the magician’s interns playing a prank”.
Loki shakes his head slowly.
“Unfortunately, I don’t think Stephen had anything to do with this”.
“You’re right, I didn’t”.
All four of them turn around to see the sorcerer step out of a swirling ring of light, his cape billowing around him. The mahogany floor and paneled walls of his Manhattan mansion are briefly visible behind him before the portal closes with a hiss of little sparks.
Strange is wearing an even sterner expression than usual which only adds to Loki’s growing sense of dread.
Tony, however, groans loudly.
“Dude, really? Couldn’t you at least have let us have dinner before party crashing? Not shaming your bachelor lifestyle or anything, but this was couples’ night!”
“Tony!” Pepper hits her husband on the arm.
Strange ignores him.
“I’m afraid the arrival of your surprise visitor indicates that a set of … unfortunate events have been set in motion”.
As always, his voice is as even as if he was reading the weather forecast, but by now Loki has learned to differentiate the (very) subtle nuances between scorn and sincerity. Strange places his hands behind his back and regards them coolly. “I’ve had Wong reach out to Doctor Banner and director Fury. They should be here shortly. Stark, you may want to-”.
Tony narrows his eyes, lip twitching.
“Hey, Bleeker Street, you know I have low tolerance for you showing up and barking orders without giving two f**** for context. How did you even know that something was going down here? By all means, don’t keep us in suspense until the cavalry gets here”.
Strange doesn’t answer, but the way his eyes dart to Jane sends needles through Loki’s heart.
“Let’s go sit down, shall we?” With one eyebrow raised, Strange puts on a suave smile and gestures towards the house. The effect is a little startling.
Jane ducks out from under Loki’s arms. “Jane, don’t you want to-“. She brushes him off.
“Yes, good idea, Stephen. Let’s go sit down”. She motions for Strange to follow. “Welcome to our home. I was actually making drinks before, but I think I need to add a bit more kick to them…”
Her voice is oddly calm, and Loki fights the urge to grab her and magic them both far, far away, not caring that she would be furious with him for making decisions on her behalf.
He’s brought back to the present by an even odder sound as Strange actually chuckles.
Loki is not sure he’s ever heard it before. Then again, it’s not that he really knows Strange when it comes down to it. Like Tony, Loki finds the wizard exceedingly arrogant.
Pepper is the first to follow Jane and Strange across the lawn while Loki and Tony hang back.
“Real ladies’ man when he wants to. Who would have thought”. The billionaire superhero scoffs. His suit has folded itself off and into a briefcase next to his feet.
“Tony-“
“Uh oh. First name basis. So this really is an emergency”.
Loki faces his friend. Often in the past years, as they’ve grown steadily closer outside of “work”, he has secretly marveled at how long they’ve come since someone threw someone else off a building after being called a diva.
And attacking a city with an alien army.
Jane always insisted the two “hotheads” (her word) had a lot in common when not trying to murder one another (be it with weapons or sarcastic commentary), and Loki has to admit she was right. The metal man is fiercely intelligent, and Loki has been enjoying the quick-witted snark between them infinitely more than he ever valued the company of Thor’s band of gullible warrior groupies on Asgard.
“Well?”. Tony is regarding him with eyebrows raised, expectant. “Give me your take on this cause I’m starting to put together some rather outlandish theories myself here that I’m kinda hoping you’ll thwart ASAP”.
Loki draws in a deep breath.
“That thing with Banner at the tower two years ago-“
“Fuck!” Tony exhales, exasperated. “I knew you were gonna say that”. He squints into the distance towards the ocean, his mouth a tight line. It’s a rare day that Tony Stark is caught under a clear blue sky without sunglasses but for once he doesn’t seem to notice.
Loki takes a step closer to him and lowers his voice so they won’t alert the others just yet.
“I told you then and you didn’t want to listen! Everything about Bruce’s story was off. I know he didn’t remember much after Steve took him down, but you all pretty much accused me of trying to get back at him for, well, you know what, and I kept telling you I thought someone had gotten to him! Now-“
Loki searches for the words. It’s beyond absurd.
“That man was a version of me, Tony. I have no idea how, but I felt it. I saw into his mind. It was filled with images from my past and then … other, recent memories. Dark ones. He came from nowhere. Literally. It didn’t feel like a place. I tried to discard it as a trick, you saw that, but…” Loki runs his hand through his moist hair. “Stephen obviously felt something tear open too. And that is not a good sign”.
He has Tony’s full attention.
“Tear open? Could this other you be associated with your old boss? With Thanos?”
Loki winces.
“No, I don’t think he’s involved”, he says sharply. “But I can’t be sure …”
Tony catches his tone pats his shoulder. “Okay, okay. Shake it off. Didn’t mean to suggest anything. Let’s say he’s not. I’d much prefer that, at least until the wizard presents us with an even uglier imminent threat to the universe. Which, judging by the fact that he’s even here, willingly sipping cocktails in your kitchen as we speak, he probably will”.
Tony throws his hands up with a dramatic air.
“And here I thought the most challenging part of this weekend would be to convince you two to come see Hamilton with us in the city next week!”
“Who’s-“
“Never mind. Did you get a look at that gadget your guy was holding? Boy, he looked like an office slave who’d slept under his desk for a month before getting fired, didn’t he? Were you ever into accounting yourself by any chance?”
Loki shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. Immediately he sees the image of the double kissing Jane, his arms wrapped firmly around her supple body. Rage rushes right back through him and his eyes snap open.
“Stark - I can’t. But yes, I did notice the device. It looked like a phone”.
“Yeah, somehow I don’t think it was the new iPhone”.
Tony shakes his head.
“The two of us and we didn’t take him down. Fury’s gonna have our badges”.
//
The director of SHIELD and Bruce Banner arrive barely 15 minutes later through a portal in the middle of the meadow-like lawn, following Wong and both looking grim and out of place as they weave around patches of wildflowers to reach the porch.
“Gentlemen, I trust you’re well”. Loki greets the trio with an only vaguely sarcastic nod as he holds open the screen doors to them, like a good host. Despite what some may still think, he can behave.
He could have just used magic of course, but he figures Banner is freaked enough as it is just by being here. The scientist hasn’t spoken more than five words to him since 2014 and at least three of them were expletives.
Once inside the small living room, Bruce goes to stand by the window and busies himself polishing his glasses with a little too much vigor than seems warranted.
He avoids Loki’s eyes but looks up and smiles wearily as Jane comes over to say hello.
Fury leans against the doorframe to the hallway and crosses his arms, face a closed book, and, by the sound of it, Tony is going through the cabinets in the kitchen trying to find something to spice up Jane’s pre-dinner cocktails.
Pepper is talking to Strange and Wong on the blue IKEA couch (assembled by magic after the attempt to go at it “as a team” turned into a shouting match), and Loki is about to politely ask Strange to please spit it out right this minute, when Jane is next to him, taking his hand.
“We need to talk. Now”.
Her voice is low and steady but her eyes insisting. She squeezes his fingers.
He squeezes back. “Come”.
Loki looks to Fury but he’s focused on Strange who’s listening very closely to something Wong’s saying.
Not letting go of Jane’s hand, he turns towards the kitchen. In the doorway they pass Tony who’s now holding what appears to be a glass of scotch. He must have given up on the gin and tonics.
“Hey, where are you two going? Forget about playing hosts okay, let’s just get started with part two of the evening’s entertainment”.
“In a minute”.
Jane pushes past him, ignoring Tony’s look and dragging Loki with her.
She closes the door behind them.
“Okay, so…” Jane looks around nervously in the small kitchen with the rustic white fronts and old brass handles. She loves that kitchen. They haven’t changed a thing since moving in. Loki reaches for her, but she takes a step back. “Jane, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should have gotten there faster. Did he …“
“I need you tell me exactly what he said to you”.
She is absentmindedly opening and closing her fists in the way she does when that brilliant astrophysicist mind of hers is working out an intricate problem in the lab.
Or, Loki knows, when she’s about to deliver him bad news.
He clears his throat. “He said he was me. And that something big was happening”. There. “And then he said he was sorry”.
Jane studies his face.
“That he was sorry? For what?”
“He didn’t say. He stepped through the door”.
Jane is quiet and now it’s Loki’s turn to try and read her expression.
“What did he say to you? I assume he pretended to be me …?”
Jane holds up a hand and bites her lip. Loki swallows.
“Loki, when we were staying at the flat in London, after we defeated Malekith…”
“What?” Loki furrows his brow in confusion. “Why are we-“
“The poison from the monster’s blade, it had you slipping in and out of consciousness for days. You were so feverish…”
“Yes, I know. I was there”. Loki’s blood is slowly turning very cold, but he musters a smile. “And you were amazing, love. Although some might say you took adv-“
Jane interrupts him in the middle of his blossoming smirk. A slight blush appears on her own cheeks.
“Yes, um, it’s not about that day”. She gives him a stern look. “The other day, later, when Thor left after you two went and had your, um, talk … there’s something I need to tell you …”
The door to the living room opens behind them.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, Doctor Foster, I would very much like to hear this too”.
Stephen Strange steps into the kitchen. The door closes behind him.
Part 6
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jwillowwolf · 3 years
Text
Magic and Miracles - Prologue
Tag List: @sandersidesbigbang @thomassanderssidesbigbang2021 @theimprobabledreamersworld
First Chapter > | Masterlist
This is a multi-chapter fic I've been working on for the last couple of months as a part of the 2021 Sanders Sides Big Bang. The original idea came from this post by @remy-please-come-back [thanks again for letting me use the idea 💜].
Summary: Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings. The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone. It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone. Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained. In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind. In the veins of all creatures, including humankind. For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.
For the longest time, Logan wanted to learn magic. So, when he was offered the chance to study it at a new magic school, he decided to follow his dreams. Along the way, however, he'll learn about so much more.
Warning/s: food mention.
Characters: Logan, Emile, Remy, OCs.
Read on AO3
0 | The Underdog's Debut
Ever present, never seen. Feared and admired by all beings.
The life that bursts from the earth, the secrets hidden in stone.
It dances in the fire’s flames; it gives the wind its mournful tone.
Here it is, this is it. Defined yet unexplained.
In the depths of the ocean, and of your own mind.
In the veins of all creatures, including humankind.
For magic is in everything, yet unknown all the same.
Perhaps this was why people found it so intriguing from such a young age. They wanted answers to what magic was, and while they didn’t find what they sought, they did learn how it could be used to their advantage. Spells were created to do anything that their caster’s heart desired. From creating a small orb of light for reading in the night to manipulating a tidal wave that could crash down on your enemies.
Magic was something not easily understood, which was one reason why the Council of Wizards evaluated all potential magic users. They wanted to gage that these young mages could safely use the power they were wielding. If not, then they needed to be properly dealt with before things got out of hand.
This was a good thing, but also not because to learn magic safely you would need someone else to teach you first-hand.
Now that doesn’t seem like much of an obstacle, except the only established wizards were of the nobility, and therefore only worked with nobility. The system was pretty much rigged to make it hopeless for average people to learn and use magic. Or it was until our protagonist came along.
He rose from poverty to royalty, became a hero among heroes, and faced off against one of the greatest threats to humankind that ever existed! But I’m getting ahead of myself -sorry- let's start from the beginning, shall we?
Oh, but where to begin? Ah! We’ll start from his first test with the Council of Wizards when he was only a young lad of 15. It was the beginning of spring, which is when the COW always held the learner’s test. This test evaluated your magical potential and gave the council a heads up on how many new mages there were. Yes, COW, don’t ask me why they went with that acronym.
The ceremony was being held in the grand hall of the palace, and it was open for anyone from the Srednas Kingdom to come and watch. The test itself was rather simple but the festivities that came with it made things feel like a special holiday. Nobility and common folk alike were gathered to watch and see what new wizards would be taking on learning magic. There was even a small market of sorts set outside the palace to take advantage of the crowds and sell foods, drinks, and commemorative merchandise.
Inside, people were everywhere, talking excitedly to one another and trying to find good places to view the proceedings. At the end of the room, there was a dais with two thrones where King Thomas and his husband, Prince Consort Nico, sat to watch. In front of the dais were nine chairs for the COW members, who talked with the royals and amongst themselves. Even they seemed eager for what was about to happen, and yet no one knew truly how monumental today was going to be.
The event had begun the same as any other year. Noble children from across the land showed off whatever three spells they’d learnt for the test. Most were common tricks like lighting candles or making plants grow. A handful showed off with advanced versions of these spells, such as holding the flames in their hands or making entire trees grow. Still, regardless of how many times these spells were cast, the crowd watched in awe with each new user who passed their test.
And then a young man in a simple navy tunic and black trousers stepped forward. He looked to be in his mid-teens, the same as most of the young mages and walked with an air of subtle confidence. He had a slender form and soft features that pronounced his youthful appearance. His hair was raven black, swept neatly to the side, and his eyes were such a dark brown that they seemed almost black.
“Please state your name and title.” Silvia, the eldest council member, said.
“My name is Logan Picani.”
“Title?”
“I don’t have any.”
Silence fell over the hall. “Pardon?”
“I don’t have any titles.”
“How do you not have any titles?”
“I’m not a noble.”
Some people audibly gasped and began whispering conspiratorially to one another.
“Young man, you do understand what this test is, correct?” Allen, another council member, asked with a thinly veiled look of disgust.
“Yes sir, I do. I also know for a fact that there are no rules against my taking the test because of being a commoner.”
Allen frowned and opened his mouth to say something but was cut off by Silvia. “I suppose not. Well then, let’s see what you can do.”
Logan took a deep breath and then held up his hand, “Ignyght.”
The tip of his little finger began to glow with golden light. The crowd watched on in silence as he carefully moved his hand to draw the necessary rune with the trail of light that flowed from his finger.
Once the rune was complete, he spoke again. “Solhart.”
The rune turned stark white and then disappeared. For a moment nothing happened, then a small white orb appeared where the rune had previously been floating. This earned a few excited claps from the crowd and an approving nod from two council members. But Logan didn’t stop there.
“Groh.” This time the light from his fingers was bright green. He made a different rune then repeated the sealing word, “Solhart.”
The orb multiplied until nearly fifty of them were floating in a cluster before Logan.
“Stahwynd.” A deep blue light flowed from Logan’s finger as he drew the final rune. “Solhart.”
The orbs burst apart from one another like birds flying off a tree in fear. Some people from the crowd shouted in shock as the balls of light zoomed off in all different directions until finally, they stopped. Now they were floating all around the room above the spectators who gasped as they realized what Logan had done. The hall’s ceiling was pitch black, so the lights looked like stars in the night sky. It was a breath-taking sight that inspired many to cheer and clap for the young mage.
“Alright, please settle down,” Silvia called over the noise before looking at Logan with a thoughtful expression. “Where did you learn this?”
“I taught myself.”
Silvia nodded then turned to talk with her fellow council members in hushed tones. Allen and two others seemed upset, while the rest of the council were neutral if not mildly impressed. After a few minutes, she looked back at Logan with a soft smile.
“Mr Picani, you are officially granted your learner’s license. I hope when we see you again in a few months time, you will once more surprise us all.”
The crowd cheered and Logan nodded before walking away with a look of pride. As he made his way through the crowd, he received congratulations from many strangers. And then he was tackled to the ground by an enthusiastic brown-haired girl.
“You did it! You did it! I knew you could do it!”
“Everleigh, my ribs.” Logan wheezed, causing the girl to release him.
“Oops, sorry. My bad. Is your chest okay?”
“It’s fine.” Both youths got up with smiles on their faces. “I did it.”
“Yep. In a couple of months, you’re going to be an official grand wizard.”
“Considering I just got my learners, I don’t think I’ll reach such a title that quickly.”
“You just created a night sky in the palace ballroom! I think you’re underestimating yourself.”
Logan smiled softly, “Come on, we should head back to the bakery to celebrate.”
Everleigh nodded in agreement and linked their arms so they could walk side by side. As they walked, Everleigh excitedly told Logan about how incredible it had looked from the crowd, and what kind of reactions the people around her had had.
Logan was uncharacteristically grinning by the time they’d reached the bakery. Walking inside only made his smile widen as the smell of fresh bread and sweet pastries filled his senses. It was after all the smell of home, so of course, it made him feel warm and welcomed. His father, Emile Picani, was standing by the counter helping an elderly customer when Logan and Everleigh walked in.
“Thank you, dear.”
“Oh, I should be the one thanking you, Mrs Goldstone. The brownie recipe you gave me has become a bestseller.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Have a nice day dear.”
“To you as well, ma’am. Oh, Logan, Everleigh, you’re back. And smiling,” Emile gasped, “did you get it?”
“He’s a wizard!” Everleigh dramatically announced.
“Not yet, I still need to finish the second test in a couple of months. I do have a learners’ license though.”
“Well, I think this calls for some celebratory tarts,” Emile said, ushering both youths into the back of the shop where the Picani’s sitting room/kitchen was located. “I’m proud of you logan. That hard work really paid off.”
“Speaking of hard work, you are going to take a break, right?” Everleigh asked.
Logan looked away from her sheepishly. “Well…”
“Come on, Lo. You’ve been working hard non-stop for months.”
“Yeah, kid, you work with me in the bakery all day, then study well into the night. And don’t think I haven’t seen you pull an all-nighter here and there.” Emile chastised.
It was true that Logan had worked long hard to get to where he was. it wasn’t exactly a simple task when books on magic were hard to find, and what knowledge they had was even harder to grasp. Figuring out pronunciation for the initiation/sealing words and learning to keep his hand steady as he drew the runes.
It had taken him many long nights of studying by candlelight to figure out the spells he’d performed. But with Everleigh’s library apprenticeship and his own persistent nature, he’d managed to learn a good deal about the basics. And now it was paying off. He officially had a learner’s license and would get a chance to become a genuine wizard.
Then he could use magic to help so many of the villagers who couldn’t afford the high-priced assistance of other magicians. Medicinal potions? Enchanted prosthetics? Transition spells? He would be able to give all this and more at prices his peers could afford.
Logan knew that what he was doing seemed near impossible, but he was going to do it or die trying! …okay, so maybe Emile and Everleigh were valid in their concern for his health, but this was his best and only way to study magic.
Before Logan could argue this, however, a stranger walked into the bakery. He was tall and slender, with a bronze tan and confident bearing. He was wearing a black leather jacket over a clean white tunic, black trousers, and dark brown riding boots. His short curly hair was the same dark brown shade as the boots, and his eyes were hidden by black tinted glasses.
“New customer, how do you how do?”
The stranger smiled. “Hey there, gorgeous. Sorry but I’m not a customer today. Is this where Logan Picani lives?”
“Yes, that’s my son.”
“Son? No offence honey but you look too young and handsome to be a dad.”
“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” Logan asked, taking over the conversation for his blushing father.
“Ah, yeah, I’m here to offer you a very special opportunity on behalf of the crown prince.”
Logan and Emile gaped. “The crown prince?”
The stranger nodded. “My name is Remy Animosni, and on behalf of his highness, I’m here to extend an exclusive invitation to the Srednas Magic School.”
Logan frowned. “I wasn’t aware that there was a magic school here in Srednas.”
“Well, that’s because there wasn’t, not until now anyway. It’s something that the prince arranged to start this year with a few students to show how good it could be to the council. You particularly caught his interest today with your starry spellcasting, hence the personal invite. You would learn alongside six other students under me about everything there is to know concerning magic, from the full basics of spells to how you can modify your own enchantments.”
“That sounds incredible,” Emile said.
Remy nodded. “Yep, and not only that but you will be given your own room at the school and anything you may need or want during your stay will be provided by us, free of charge. The location of the school is just an hour out of town, so you could visit home on weekends if you desired. So how about it, kid?”
Logan was gobsmacked. The crown prince had not only seen him but was impressed enough to send an invitation to learn magic at a special new magic school.
“Wait, what do I have to do for the prince in return?”
“Absolutely nothing. The offer is completely free of any fees or deceptive dealings. I promise. The prince even sent this with me to make sure you could have physical proof if so desired.” Remy stated, producing a scroll from inside his jacket.
Emile and Logan both looked over the document and found no problems. It was a straightforward invitation for Logan to study magic at the prince’s new school, with promises to provide anything he could need while he was living at said school, and nothing more. The father and son shared a thoughtful glance. It was definitely an opportunity.
Emile smiled. “Do it.”
“Really? You think I should accept?”
“A chance like this only comes around once, and I can always hire someone if I need the help. Follow your dreams kiddo.” Emile said with an encouraging smile.
Logan bit his lip as he considered things. He really hadn’t thought today could get any better, then this happened. He was worried about leaving his dad, but Emile had told him to take this chance. And he was right about this being a once in a lifetime opportunity. Besides, Remy had said he could still visit the town on the weekends…
“Okay. I accept.”
---
A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'll be posting two chapters a day until the full fic is up, so if you want to be tagged, you can just ask. [Also, here's a link to chapter 1]
I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜
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penpatronuswhump · 3 years
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WHUMPTOBER 2020
No. 10
Fandom: Avengers
Whumpee: Tony Stark
Caregiver: Steve Rogers
Title: THE TITAN’S TRADE
By: PenPatronus // PenPatronusAooO 
Quill’s blasts knocked Thanos off balance, but he regained his footing quickly. Before Dr. Strange or Peter could do anything but cry out Tony’s name, the titan disappeared through the blue portal not just with the newly acquitted Time Stone and the other Infinity Stones, but with the skewered Tony Stark as well. A blink later and they were on earth. Tony found himself in Wakanda, looking back at the wide eyes of the other Avengers. He found brief joy at the sight of their faces – even Cap and Nat’s. But then he saw Vision at the back of the group, and he remembered why they were there. Tony gathered himself and took a swing at Thanos’ massive chin, but the titan easily dodged it and served Tony a punch right where he’d stabbed him minutes before. Tony yelped and folded forward. He dropped to one knee and blood poured from the front and back of his wound. Steve cried out his name.
 Suddenly, Thanos grasped Tony by the throat and held him high like a trophy. “The wizard just gave up a Stone to save this one’s life,” Thanos announced loud enough for the whole forest to hear. “He must be precious to you earthlings, so I’ll make this offer, but only once: give me the Mind Stone, and I’ll give you Tony Stark.”
 Blackness crept in from the corners of Tony’s eyes. His body shuddered, every inch of it straining for breath. With the last air he had, Tony shouted to his friends, “Don’t!”
 Steve and Tony made eye contact. An unspoken conversation happened in two mute seconds. I’m sorry. I’ve missed you. I have to do what I have to do. I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. With just a hint of reluctance, Cap ordered the team, “Eyes up! Stay sharp!” and the Avengers advanced.
 A frustrated Thanos tossed Tony aside. Tony collided with a tree, rolled down the trunk and came to a stop in a pile of his own limbs, gasping. 
Some ghost version of the Hulkbuster suddenly floated over him before rock enveloped it. Steve went sailing past. One by one, Thanos was taking the Avengers down on his warpath to Vision. Grunting, Tony managed to climb to his feet. He limped, swaying a bit, over to the Hulkbuster and grabbed onto its remaining hand. “Release it!” he ordered whoever was inside.
 Banner folded the visor down and got a good look at his friend. “Tony, you’re hurt! Sit this one out!”
 “Bruce, the universe is at stake here. Give me the damn gauntlet!” Banner hesitated, but obeyed. The weight of the gauntlet nearly pulled Tony to the ground, and he yelped from pain. He opted to drag the weapon, and he turned and inched his way towards Thanos’ back. Falcon crashed down. Rhodey crumpled like an aluminum can. Was he delirious or was that a tree? While the tree distracted Thanos, Tony crept up behind him. He squeezed his right hand into the gauntlet, used the left to aim it, and activated the repulsor. He hit Thanos square in the back of the neck.
 Thanos roared. He whirled around and struck Tony with his fist. Stark flew head-over-heels backwards. He would’ve collided with the same rock Bruce was stuck in, but far softer hands connected to a much softer body grabbed him out of midair. “Gotcha,” a disheveled, bleeding Steve Rogers gasped as he gently lowered Tony to the ground, cradling him.
 Blackness crept in from the corners of Tony’s eyes. He ordered himself to hang on. He couldn’t pass out yet. “I couldn’t stop him,” Tony gasped in a voice that begged for forgiveness.
 “We will,” Steve declared. He made sure Tony was comfortable, and then he ran back to Thanos. The titan ripped his shields off, then punched down. Cap intercepted the gauntlet, and he may have even held it for another second if Thanos hadn’t punched him with his opposite hand. Cap hit the ground hard. He didn’t move.
 Tony, groaning, crawled to him. “Cap,” he croaked. He reached out and shook the soldier’s shoulder. “Steve! Steve, get up!” Cap remained still. Tony couldn’t take it anymore. The pain and the weight of their inevitable failure overwhelmed him, and he passed out.
 Steve fought through a dark fog and woke up. He found Tony’s pale, bleeding face in front of his. “Stark?” Steve whispered. Tony was unconscious. Steve raised his head an looked around. Wanda and Thanos were battling and Steve begged, “Come on, girl.”
 Then Vision exploded, and the shockwave knocked trees over and sent Tony and Steve rolling half a dozen feet. Tony groaned. Steve saw the wound, then, and the blood – there was so much of it. “Tony?” He shook his friend’s shoulder. “Tony, please stay awake.”
 Tony did, but only long enough to see Thanos reverse time and yank the Mind Stone out of Vision’s head.
 He passed out.
 -----
 “Oh, God,” Steve said from his spot sitting beside Vision’s hollow dead body. And then he said, “Oh, God, Tony!” Cap leapt to his feet and sprinted deeper into the forest. With all that happened so quickly – Thor, Bucky disappearing, everything – he’d all but forgotten about his friend, and hated himself for it in that moment. Relief replaced everything when he saw that Tony was still there. He hadn’t disintegrated, but was his heart beating? Steve pressed trembling fingers to Tony’s neck and found a pulse. Then he gulped. The emotion of the day collected in his chest and threatened to burst out. He allowed a little to leak out – one tear – and then he put his face down on Tony’s chest and let a single sob wreck him.
 A trembling hand touched the back of his head. Steve looked up. Tony’s eyes were closed, but his tongue was licking his lips. “Did we win?” Tony whispered.
 Steve put his head back down. Another tear leaked out… And a thousand followed it.
 The End
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homuncvlus · 3 years
Text
My Favourite Songs From Musicals:
In The Heights
It Won't Be Long Now
When the Sun Goes Down
96,000
In the Heights
Carnaval Del Barrio
Everything I Know
When You're Home
Champagne
Benny's Dispatch
No Me Diga 
Wicked (literally every song is great...)
One Short Day
Thank Goodness
Dancing Through Life
I'm Not That Girl
No One Mourns The Wicked 
High Hopes
Finale "Wicked"
Wonderful
Defying Gravity
Popular
What Is This Feeling?
The Wizard And I 
Be More Chill
Voices in My Head (FAVOURITE FAVOURITE)
The Pitiful Children
Michael in the Bathroom
Halloween
Loser Geek Whatever
More Than Survive (Reprise) (AND THIS)
More Than Survive
The Phantom Of The Opera
Medley: Down Once More / Track Down This Murderer
The Music Of The Night
The Phantom Of The Opera
Think Of Me
Why Have You Brought Me Here/Raoul I've Been There
All I Ask Of You
The Point Of No Return/Chandelier Crash
Notes / Prima Donna
Overture
Notes / Twisted Every Way (hisflkjsadanl;k when the melody goes down 😋)
Avenue Q
If You Were Gay
Annie Get Your Gun
Anything You Can Do
Beetlejuice
Say My Name
Billy Elliot
The Stars Look Down
Electricity
Bonnie & Clyde
This World Will Remember Us (feat. Jeremy Jordan & Laura Osnes)
Too Late to Turn Back Now (feat. Laura Osnes & Jeremy Jordan)
Picture Show (feat. L. Osnes, J. Jordan, K. Fowler & T. Ackerman)
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
The Double Bubble Duchess
Chicago
Nowadays/Hot Honey Rag (Medley Title)
Roxie (Album Version)
Cell Block Tango
Nowadays (Roxie) (Album Version)
Mister Cellophane (Album Version)
Razzle Dazzle (Album Version)
Dear Evan Hansen
If I Could Tell Her
In the Bedroom Down the Hall (Demo)
Hairspray
Mama, I'm A Big Girl Now
Hamilton (EVERY SONG IS 👌👌👌 - i swear im not just copying the whole soundtrack 😳)
The World Was Wide Enough
Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story
Non-Stop
My Shot
My Shot (feat. Busta Rhymes, Joell Ortiz & Nate Ruess)
Guns and Ships
The Room Where It Happens
You'll Be Back
Helpless (feat. Ja Rule)
Stay Alive
Cabinet Battle #2
Aaron Burr, Sir
Washington on Your Side
Alexander Hamilton
Burn
Dear Theodosia (feat. Ben Folds)
We Know
Heathers
Beautiful
Kinky Boots
The History of Wrong Guys
Les Misérables
On My Own
On My Own (motion picture)
Bring Him Home
The Final Battle
One Day More
Miss Saigon
I'd Give My Life For You (Live)
The Movie In My Mind (Live)
Last Night Of The World (Live)
Pippin
No Time at All
Evita
Don't Cry For Me Argentina
Hair
Aquarius
Love Never Dies
Ladies...Gents! / The Coney Island Waltz (Reprise)
"Mother, Did You Watch?"
Heaven By The Sea (Reprise)
RENT
La Vie Boheme
Take Me or Leave Me
Seasons of Love
School Of Rock
Stick It to the Man
Singing In The Rain
Singin' In The Rain
Spring Awakening
Mama Who Bore Me (Reprise)
Don't Do Sadness/Blue Wind
Sweeney Todd
Johanna
By the Sea
The Ballad of Sweeney Todd
South Pacific
Some Enchanted Evening (from "South Pacific")
The Greatest Showman
A Million Dreams (Reprise)
Come Alive
The Other Side
Never Enough
Rewrite The Stars
A Million Dreams
The Greatest Show
This Is Me
SMASH (i think it counts...?)
Let Me Be Your Star
The Rocky Horror Show
Dammit Janet
Sweet Transvestite
Thoroughly Modern Millie
Gimme Gimme
Cats
Memory
Waitress
What Baking Can Do
The Negative
She Used to Be Mine
What's Inside
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pidayforpi · 4 years
Text
122,640 Days
How many days were there in 336 years?
A quick tap on the calculator, and our hero found out.
122,640 days. Neglecting leap years.
122,640 days. Would anything still remain after 122,640 days?
Daffy Duck stood inside his space ship, looking at the planet he called “home”. Were the stars too bright, or was his heart feeling sour?
Planet Earth in front of him seemed a bit cloudy through the wide windows. The reinforced glass was sparkly clean. Eager Young Space Cadet was always so diligent.
But what was cloudy was something the young pig would never imagine being cloudy.
Duck Dodgers, the national - no, universal - hero, always wore a boastful smile or a disappointed frown.
But the black-feathered duck in front of the panel of buttons was wearing an unreadable expression.
———————————————————————————————
“The breeze gently passes through the air, blowing towards the heart that should have been broken.
Enveloping those crossed, held hands in the everyday dusk, slowly disappearing.”
Somewhere on the blue-green planet, Daffy Duck could see a two-storey house. In that house, he could see a grey rabbit sitting on the sofa, caressing a brown “dog” on his lap. A brown mouse wearing a sombrero pushed opened the front door much taller than him, tired from a day’s work. The rabbit would greet him, and vice versa, before the mouse went inside his mouse hole.
Daffy knew there was a fourth occupant in the house: A black duck fast asleep in a messy bedroom. After all, the tenant always went to sleep strictly at 10:00 pm, only to wake up at 10:00 am the next day. The tenant was a heavy sleeper. No matter how noisy his housemates downstairs were, he would never wake up. No matter how noisy he snored, and how hard his housemates slapped him to wake him just to tell him to shut up, he would never wake up. 10:00 pm, and he’s a dead man for the next 12 hours. Even on New Year’s Eve, he would not give an exception. In fact, he would even sleep earlier at 8:30 pm, because he strongly believed that New Year was “a holiday invented by the media”, whatever that meant.
But if he was now given the chance to relive any New Year’s Eve, Daffy believed the black duck would be willing to stay up all night.
“Strange, isn’t it? Our smile never looked the same.
But now, it seems like I am looking at my own reflection.”
Daffy knew the duck was a moocher. He never worked to pay his rents, or anything for the house. Even the “dog” would win prize money from dog shows, and the mouse would use his hard-earned money to repay the house-owner: The rabbit. Not to mention the duck being a big spender, an irresponsible customer, often buying useless items at high prices. Heck, he even once used the rabbit’s money to buy and decorate his parade float, and a dozen of lobsters to fill the swimming pool for a barbecue. He even once stole the rabbit’s inventions, bought the house with the money earned, only to have the house destroyed when his (version of the rabbit’s) invention malfunctioned. Yet, the rabbit never kicked him out. Never sold the parade float, never got rid of all the lobsters. Instead, he built a time machine to save the house. Not only because it was his house in the first place, but it was also the abode of his best friend: The duck.
But if he was now given the chance to live in that house again, Daffy believed the black duck would take any job to repay the rabbit for his generosity.
“I won’t be sad. Because it’s nothing.
Hidden under those nonchalant greetings is my “thank you”.”
Daffy knew the duck was a terrible friend. He never kept his promises. He just took his friends for granted. Whenever he wanted something, he would ask his friends to pay for him. He wouldn’t even pay for a soda on the Grand Canyon himself. He stole the rabbit’s gloves when he needed to fix his parade float. He took his polite, innocent pig friend’s wallet to buy a ship, lying to his empathetic swine buddy that he needed a kidney transplant. The duck even forced him to be his butler to impress his girlfriend on a date, in the pig’s house no less! Not to mention the verbal and physical abuse the duck had inflicted on him during the dinner. He messed up his rooster friend’s film project for fun, his only excuse being that he wasn’t a professional actor. He was a terrible host at his own diner party, and a pathetic MC for a mystery game. Yet, they all attended his birthday party. Friendship and love were the only reasons they needed to forgive their duck-billed looney friend, not to mention him being fun to be with. The duck’s stupid grin and funny lisp were all they need to feel the power of friendship. Love really did defy common sense.
But if he was now given the chance to be at that birthday party again, Daffy believed the black duck would burst into tears of joy right then and there. Words couldn’t describe how grateful the duck was to his friends.
“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.
Because this is a request I proposed first, please firmly catch it.”
He missed those days lounging around Pizzarriba with the rabbit and the pig, engaging in small talks when the mouse delivered two fresh, hot pizzas to their table with a wide smile.
He missed those days filling himself up with helium at the fun fair, just to win the title of “Mr Weiner” in front of his friends.
He missed those days playing bowling with the pig, a Martian and a puma, and helping them make overly long nicknames to insert into the leaderboard.
He missed those days at the Copy Place, where he made his first impression to his girlfriend as a weirdo ordering business cards stating himself as a wizard.
He missed those days being an outlaw chained to his rabbit friend, disguising themselves as yellow versions of themselves and somehow getting away with it.
He missed those days streaking (yes, streaking) with his pig friend in a remote village in Mexico, only to be put behind bars by the local sheriff.
He missed those days disguising as a university professor, and actually changing his name to “Professor”.
He missed those days sharing his house with his rude red-haired neighbour, and trying to scare him away with the rabbit when his misbehaviour were just too much.
He missed those days destroying an antique store owned by a pair of gophers in his fight with the rooster (and the fight between the rabbit and the red-haired neighbour). The shame when he cried for his mother in front of his friends!
He missed those days teaching his witch neighbour’s son how to defend himself against bullies. Even now, he didn’t think he had the power to push the red monster a mere centimetre away.
He missed those days ruining a whole dog show, nearly getting his rabbit friend arrested and his “dog” killed.
He missed those days training with the mouse, only to have the pig carry him throughout the marathon. The pig really was the local hero, as the papers said.
Yes, Daffy Duck really did miss those days. Those days, 122,640 days ago.
“Not long ago, we never talked about the future.
Although I am getting gentler, as wishes that cannot be granted accumulate.”
When he awoke from his 3.5 century slumber, just a glance around, and Daffy knew those days weren’t coming back.
He would rather be frozen forever, oblivious to the cruel reality.
In 122,640 days, everything changed.
No one remained, at least not as themselves.
Bugs Bunny, Speedy Gonzales, Tina Russo, Foghorn Leghorn, Pete Puma and Gossamer were nowhere to be found.
Porky Pig, “Poochie” the Tasmanian Devil, Marvin, Yosemite Sam, Mac and Tosh were there, technically. But they weren’t who they had been 122,640 days ago.
Especially good old Porky, the second best friend Daffy never admitted that he had. Without Bugs, Porky was the only one Daffy could count on.
But when the “Eager Young Space Cadet” looked at him with a confused, ignorant smile, Daffy knew that was not Porky. Not anymore.
The smile was the same, but not the owner of the smile.
Daffy was still surprised how he didn’t collapse and cry at that very moment.
“But now, for only a bit, please let me throw a little tantrum.”
And it didn’t help that Marvin, his high-school exchange classmate and friend, pointed his gun at him when they first met. Daffy really hoped Marvin had pulled the trigger at that time.
Poochie transformed into a real killing machine, Mac and Tosh reduced to vegetable-stealing mutants, while Yosemite Sam evolved from the local neighbourhood jerk to a galactic evil mastermind.
“I won’t be sad. It’s time for you to go.
Contradicting my cold salutations, I turned around.”
Yes. Porky would no longer jump at him for wasting his money for a ship. Marvin would no longer deliver pizzas with him via a tank. Sam would no longer be stupid enough to cut his own electricity supply, and ask for refuge at Daffy’s house.
He couldn’t tell Bugs how sorry and thankful he was for being his bestie. Couldn’t tell Speedy how delicious his frozen pizzas and 62 hot dogs were. Couldn’t tell Tina how good the name “Zachary” was. Couldn’t tell Gossamer how beautiful his voice was.
“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.
If you write me a postcard or two every year, I will surely catch it tightly.”
Those meaningless, joyful, carefree days were never coming back.
———————————————————————————————
“Someday, we are going to meet again.
(It’s alright if you keep it. Whether it is the CD, or the harmonica...)”
If the buttons weren’t waterproof, the space ship would have crashed already.
Tears flowed out of Daffy’s eyes, dripping onto the metallic panel. He fell onto the cold, lifeless ground, wiping away tear after tear. The planet in front of him was no longer visible, leaving only a smear of blue and green.
“I won’t be sad. Please don’t be sad as well.
Don’t let me see that devastated expression, and cheer up.”
He told himself to keep quiet, to hold himself together. He was now Duck Dodgers, of the 24.5th century! Lest Space Cadet noticed his dear captain crying uncontrollably. But Daffy didn’t care. Right now, he was Daffy Duck, not some fictional hero in the future. Right now, he was back in the 21st century. He could cry all he wanted. He could be the pathetic loser he used to be.
No need for fame.
No need for power.
No need for disintegrating pistols or ultimatum dispatchers.
All he wanted were those 122,640 days back. Those scenes reflected on the photo frame on the control panel.
“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.
I hope that when we congratulate each other, we can meet again.”
The photo frame he received on his birthday, made from pictures of himself. Many have dismissed it as a spoof of narcissism. But little did they know that photo frame meant the world to Daffy.
“I won’t be sad. Because it’s nothing.
Hidden under those nonchalant greetings is my “thank you”.”
Daffy took the old photo frame, and embraced it tightly. He couldn’t look at the pictures clearly anyway. But he could see his friends planning his birthday party at Pizzarriba, making his birthday presents, and decorating both the house and the restaurant...
“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.
Because this is a request I proposed first, please firmly catch it.”
A pair of trembling arms hugged Daffy from behind. The creator of the photo frame. Eager Young Space Cadet must be so confused seeing his captain crying his eyes out with his self-portrait so late at night. He didn’t even know who made the photo frame, let alone what was making his brave captain so, so sad.
“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.
If you write me a postcard or two every year, I will surely catch it tightly.”
Daffy didn’t have to look to see Porky’s puzzled expression. And yes, that was Porky. Not some random “Space Cadet”. That was his second best friend, the one who made him that old, dusty, rusty photo frame. He might not remember it, but Daffy would never forget.
“Farewell. Bye bye. Please do take care.
Because this is a request I proposed first, please firmly catch it.”
———————————————————————————————
Somewhere in the reflection of his overflowing tears, Daffy could see a pizza parlour in a busy city. The bell jingled when he opened the front door, people’s laughter filled his ears. Mouthwatering aroma of pizzas filled his nostrils as soon as he stepped into the restaurant. He didn’t request for a table - He was always the late one.
He sat down besides a grey rabbit and a pink pig at their usual seats, right before a brown mouse with a sombrero dashed towards them with a pencil, a notebook and a bright, friendly smile. Daffy didn’t need the menu. He always ordered the same dish. Every year. Every day.
“Two cheese pepperoni pizzas. The usual.”
(16-4-2020 ~ 20-4-2020)
——————————————————————————————
-(I originally wanted to post this story along with another Ducktales long story, but since it’s a long story, I still haven’t finished it, so...)
-(This is also the first fan-fic I have finished in my life.)
-This story is the result of my new found interest in The Looney Tunes Show and Duck Dodgers in April 2020. The background is a possible AU (?) in which (1) Duck Dodgers is Daffy Duck (is this canon?), and (2) is the Daffy Duck from the Looney Tunes Show, making The Looney Tunes Show a prequel and Duck Dodgers a sequel.
-The number of year “336” is the difference between year 2350 and 2014. Since the Duck Dodgers show doesn’t mention which year it is set specifically in, or how many years is Duck Dodgers frozen for, I am improvising here. Year 2350 is exactly 24.5th Century, while year 2014 is the end of The Looney Tunes Show (2011-2014). I picked 2014 (instead of 2011) because I presume the events in the show happen between 2011-2014, such that after the end of the show, Daffy Duck is frozen until year 2350.
-The song lyrics (in Italic and Bold) are from “Sayonara Byebye” (さよならbyebye) performed by Mawatari Matsuko (馬渡松子). It is best known (and is actually composed) for the anime version of Yu ☆ Yu ☆ Hakusho (幽☆遊☆白書) by the (in)famous Togashi Yoshihiro (冨樫義博) as the second ending theme. The translations are by me. The song is about parting ways, and is actually an inspiration for this story, as well as one of my personal favourite anime theme songs.
(It is a bit off to be in an action anime, especially when it’s played during an intense battle tournament arc (you know which one I mean if you watched the anime before), but the song is great nonetheless. In fact, the song fits the ending of the series. I would say it may be planned?)
-Most (if not all) of the flashback scenes (or references) in the story appear in various episodes of The Looney Tunes Show. The photo frame is the one given to Daffy by Porky as a birthday present in the episode “Muh-Muh-Muh-Murder” (S01E25), for instance.
-By chance, I wrote this story across Daffy’s birthday (screen debut), which is on April 17.
-And I also wrote this during my public exam preparation period. Yes I am pathetic.
-Also the Japanese dub is good in both DD and TLTS. (・��・)
Duck Dodgers, The Looney Tunes Show and any character involved belong to Warner Bros.
“さよならbyebye” is written by リーシャウロン, composed and performed by 馬渡松子.
“幽☆遊☆白書” is created by the wonderful 冨樫義博-sensei.
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thenightling · 4 years
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Friends in the Dark (A Sandman fan fiction)
Friends in the Dark:
Disclaimer:  This is a Sandman fan fiction.  The Sandman belongs to Neil Gaiman and DC Comics.
This fan fiction is inspired by the currently circulating idea of Hob actually being the one to rescue Morpheus from his imprisonment after Morpheus misses their centennial meeting.   In the new Netflix Sandman series Morpheus’ captivity has been extended from seventy-two-years to about a hundred and ten years.  That means Morpheus would have missed his annual meeting with Hob Gadling.
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  Art work by @artwinsdraws​​ 
  This fan fiction may be read as a pseudo-sequel to the fan fiction titled “Time will Crawl” however, this fan fiction can be read completely on its own without any difficulty.  
 The title is from a song that technically doesn’t exist yet except in the dreams of Aurelio Voltaire.  The lyrics are currently housed in the library of The Dreaming but should reach The Waking World within the next year.  I know them because I heard a short live version of the refrain on Youtube.  
 “You can sit in the cold dark night, And just hope for a spark. You might make your way in the day, But you’ll need friends in the dark.” – Lyrics by Voltaire.  
   Friends in the Dark
 Friends in the Dark
  Chapter 1:
 Friends will be friends:
               “What do you mean you can’t find him?”
           “I mean... If he is who I think he is, he will only be found if he wants to be found.” The old man replied in a tone that sounded like an effort at gentleness.  
           “I didn’t tell you he was anyone other than my friend.” Robert Gadling said in exasperation. He was tired and frustrated.   The man he was talking to was supposed to be the best in his field.
           “Look, the man you described…  He’s not quite a man.   He’s… How do I put this?  He’s the Oneiromancer.  He’s Morpheus.   King of Dreams and Nightmares.  And if you angered him-“
           “I may have wounded his pride but I know him.  I know he would have come.”
           “How can you be so certain?”’
           “I told you, he’s my friend.”
           “Creatures like that don’t have any friends.”
           “If you can’t help me just say so and stop wasting my time.” Robert said in annoyance.
           The man sighed.  “You don’t have anything that belongs to him.   If you had something maybe we could cast a tracking spell, but he could obscure himself against things like that if he doesn’t want to be found.”
           The man’s expression changed.  It was subtle but it was troubling.
           “What?  What is it? There’s something you’re not telling me.” Robert said.
           “No one’s seen The Sandman in over a century…  There are rumors from The Underworld that something may have happened…”
           Robert was growing impatient and now worried.  Few things could really surprise him and right now he felt like he could be told anything and handle it in some stride.  He reached into his old coat and pulled out the torn fabric of dark velvet Victorian Jacket.
           “What is that?”
           “I accidentally tore it from his coat when he was having his little tantrum the last time we spoke.  Is that enough to track him with?”
           “And you kept it all this time?”
“At the time I worried I’d never see him again.  …I thought it might be the only memento, proof he was real…”  He felt silly and sentimental.  
“So there is a chance he’s deliberately avoiding you?”
Robert’s face was reddening.  “Look, I haven’t survived seven-hundred-years purely on my good looks.  I trust my instincts.  If he doesn’t want to see me, fine, but I have to see him first.  I have to know for sure.”  
Saying something like that to anyone else might have looked completely insane but Robert Gadling knew the old magicks.  He understood sorcery and he knew the old man was aware of his true age.  
Robert (Hob) Gadling had been born in the fourteenth century of England.  He looked like the average middle aged man but he had long ago decided not to die and had somehow succeeded in this endeavor, whether by sheer will, or the invention of Death herself, it was hard to say. But he believed it was by his own will that he refused to die.  At least that was the explanation that enabled him to sleep easily at night. Death, on the other hand, knew better…
 Currently Robert was clean shaven though he had worn facial hair in the past.  He had light brown hair and brown eyes.  He was light skinned as many English men of his original time were.  He figured he was a little short by modern standards but that didn’t bother him.   He had been tall by common standards in his own time.   He wondered how strange he’d seem in other people the centuries to come.  
Robert (or Hob as he was sometimes known by those old enough to remember Hob as a nickname for Robert) was wearing fairly mundane clothes.  He had a plain button down shirt and blue jeans. The clothes were generic enough that he could have been wearing them in the nineteen sixties or nineteen nineties and no one would have questioned it as being out of place.   You live long enough and you learn what fashions will survive multiple decades without too much scrutiny.  And it becomes far, far easier to do simple clothing shopping.  
 During Hob’s last encounter with his friend, Hob had made the bold move of admitting to Morpheus that he knew the reason they met every century was because he (Morpheus) was lonely.
  Morpheus had not taken that well at all. In fact Morpheus had taken offense to that notion.  With his pride wounded, Morpheus had said “You dare?  You dare imply I might befriend a mortal? That one of my kind might NEED companionship?  You dare to call me lonely?”  
Hob was not technically mortal.  He had not been mortal in a very long time but his friend had a way of looking at anyone who had been born human (even if they became something else, or gained immortality) as “mortal.”   His prejudice was showing along with wounded pride.  
Hob had stood his ground.  “Yes. Yes, I do.”
As Morpheus had stormed off in his anger Hob had called after him.  “Tell you what.  I’ll be here in a hundred years’ time.   If you’re here then, too-- It’ll be because we’re friends.  No other reason.  Right?  …Right?”
 At the time he had feared Morpheus might not return for their centennial meeting. He hoped he would return.  But Hob had also feared Morpheus would not.  
 Hob felt foolish and almost like a stalker in wanting to track him down now but his seven-hundred-year-old instincts were telling him that something was wrong.  And if Morpheus was avoiding him he would apologize and they could go their separate ways once and for all but if there was another reason…  He had to know for sure…  He needed… closure at the very least.
       The older looking man was starting to look thoughtful.  “You keep things like this and out-right say the Lord of Dreams was having a temper tantrum?” The old wizard let out a wheezing laugh.  Perhaps he was reading Hob’s thoughts, his very memory of the last time he and his friend had spoken and parted ways.  
“If you’re not his friend you’ve got balls.”  He shook his head.  “Even if you are his friend you’ve got balls…   Follow me.” He seemed to admire Hob on some level and this shifted into respect.
             Hob and the old wizard walked from the dimly lit, and very cluttered, occult shoppe’s main room.  They entered a private back room that served as a magical laboratory.   The laboratory was no less cluttered than the main part of the shoppe.  There were books in chaotic little stacks and piles.  There were bottles of potions and powders on the shelves in a variety of colored jars and containers.  Some glass, some modern plastic Tupperware and labeled with white tape or stickers with writing done in black, felt-tip, marker.  There were odds and ends of magical trinkets and crystals.   And on the far side of this room was a small “hot plate” device plugged into the wall with a rather large cooking pot on top of it.   A make-shift modern cauldron.
           The old man carried the torn, old, velvet over to the cauldron and took up a crystal that was wrapped in a black cord.  He set to work on the tracking spell.   The contents of the cauldron, which was murky and brown, began to bubble from the heat and then the bubbles began to rapidly and probably unnaturally increase.   The crystal was spinning, spinning faster and faster as it dangled from the black cord.  
           Something was reaching its crescendo.  
             The old wizard set down the crystal on the edge of the cooking pot with the cord it was attached to.
           He grabbed Hob’s arm. “GET DOWN!”
           Hob had lived long enough to not question the command and instead, by pure reflex, descended into a crouch under the wooden table with the old man.  There was a crashing sound as bits and pieces of crystal went flying everywhere.  
           “Gadzooks, Man!   ...That’s not good, is it?” Hob asked, stating the obvious as he slowly lowered his arms from where they were over his head to protect against crystalline shrapnel.
           The old man shook his head and politely seemed to ignore the near-comedic use of an archaic exclamation.  “He’s either blocking the spell or-“
           “Or someone’s blocking it for him…”
 __________________________________________________
  Chapter 2:  
 Time:
             Time will crawl…  And crawl, and crawl, and crawl…
 Come!  Come! Come!  
 Morpheus had felt the words as surely as he heard them, faint and echoing in the void. Old magick.  It had felt it like a tugging at his very soul.  He was too weak to resist the pulling that dragged him down, down, down…  Forcibly pulling at his essence.  
 He had fallen forward and slammed into hard flooring.  He had been disorientated at the sudden presence of gravity.  He could feel the magick of the binding circle sealing him in, closing him off from all those who had a psychic link with him within his realm.  He saw them, the mortal occultists, in their dark robes, as they moved to get a closer look at their prisoner.  They moved like a swarm of insects.  He blinked his completely-black eyes behind the tinted lenses of his helm. The tiny star pupils being the only hint that there was more than mere darkness to be seen in his eyes.
  He lay there, stunned and …and so very tired…  He had never felt so weary in his long life…   He had struggled so hard against the summoning magick and after that he could barely keep his eyes open.  Someone had grasped at the helm he wore.  Someone grabbed at it with both hands. Someone tipped his head, against his will, to carefully remove the helm.  They took full advantage of his weakness and disorientation.  Someone pulled the helm free from his head.  He had felt his own dark fall around his bone-white face. His cloak was taken. Without the cloak he actually felt the cool, damp of the cellar in English summer time. Never mind about the cloak.  That could easily be replaced.  He could conjure another… as soon as he was free he could conjure another...  
 He blinked.  The ruby amulet was snatched and finally the pouch of infinite dream sand was snatched away. The pouch was something he loathed to be without.  He felt more naked without that pouch than without raiment.  That he could not allow.  He summoned what strength he had left and sat up to reach for the pouch. He stopped as if there was an invisible wall in front of him.  He could not pass the edge of the magical binding circle, which was on the ground around him, and he knew it.  His belongings were just out of reach…
The attempt to cross the circle was as impossible as asking a mortal simply leap over a building.  It was just impossible for him.  
 So tired… So very tired… The room was growing dim and the floor was strangely inviting.   He fainted…
    That was as close as he had ever gotten to true sleep.  He did not, by nature, sleep…    
 Trapped. Observe.  Threats.   Patience.   Patience…   Patience…
 It had been many years since that first night in nineteen sixteen…
 When Roderick Burgess had died not much had changed for Morpheus.  Roderick’s son, Alexander, was the one holding him captive now.
  At some point, relatively recently, he had over-heard someone mention the year as being twenty nineteen.  
  Morpheus made no show of his feelings to his captors. He simply sat there on the floor of his crystalline cage, staring out at the two guards.
           In nineteen sixteen The Dream Lord had been drawn down, summoned and trapped with their (as he saw it) “petty hedge-magicking.”   What year was it now?   Close to twenty-twenty, he suspected.  It was hard to tell.  
 Mortals tend to have this naive fantasy that time moves differently for creatures such as himself, being ageless and (for all intents and purposes) immortal. Unfortunately that was not the case.
If only he could just blink and it would seem a century had passed.   No. Sadly, this fantasy was merely that, a fantasy.  As mortals age they perceive time differently from when they were children.   In childhood summers would seem to go on and on. As adults, however, whole decades seemed too short and so they imagine that is how time must be for immortals, an ever increasing sense that this or that passage of time was too short and so nothing to them.  If only that was the case…
 No. He felt time. He felt time the way mortals do.  Time moved no differently for his kind as it does for mortals.  And in prison it crawled at a snail’s pace.  Perhaps it was even worse for him because, as the living embodiment of dreams, he usually did not sleep.  That meant the third of the day that human prisoners could escape their bonds by entering his realm, he could do no such thing.  There was no relief.
             Imprisoned time moved agonizingly slow, like the crawling of a snail.  And unlike mortals he did not have that blessed release of sleep.  He was, after all, the lord of Dreams.   He never dreamed, himself…  
           No. He never dreamed.  All he could do was remember…
             He remembered his own wounded pride on the night he stormed off from his friend. How he longed to set that right.
         He sat on the floor of the crystalline cage that they had long ago placed around him.  The curved glass of his crystal prison reminded him of a fortune teller’s crystal ball only just big enough to hold a full-sized human man.  How menacing the mortals managed to seem when looming over him, just outside of the crystal, where light and size were distorted from his quartz-crystal prison and shadows hung heavy over the glass.  
 Quartz crystal has innate power.  It could contain and confine magick.  It held him as surely as the binding circle around his cage- as firm and unyielding as stone or steel to a mortal’s prison.  
 The mortal captors had been clever to make his cage out of crystal.  Everyone knows most mineral and glass come from sand. Burnt and reshaped sand.  The thing that he used to sculpt dreams now worked to trap him.  
The binding circle that they had drawn on the floor held his spiritual essence while the crystalline prison held his physical form.  Both of these traps would need to be broken or opened for him to be able to truly escape.
 He was hungry.  They had never thought to feed him in all the years he had been their prisoner.  They just assumed that he did not need food. And he did not need it per se.  He would not die without food but he still felt hunger, nevertheless.  A great and terrible, gnawing hunger.   And he was not about to ask for food.  He was far too proud for that.  And he would not give them the satisfaction to show them that he suffered for not eating. It would not kill him but he still suffered for it.
He tried not to think about the hunger, that aching, hollow feeling chewing away within himself.  Eager to eat just about anything.  Even a baked potato would have been nice.  Do the English still bake potatoes? He wondered.
He could imagine the taste.  The potato’s skin cooked so thoroughly that it was like parchment around the soft white inside that could be crushed by the pressing of a fork.  Flavored with salt, pepper, butter, sour cream.  Perhaps some mild cheddar cheese and crushed bacon…
He wasn’t one for heavy meals but this simple one that he imagined seemed divine.  He could practically taste it.  No.  He would go mad if he let himself think about the hunger too long.   Try to think about something else…
 He thought of Hob.  He thought of the smell of the Kerosene lamps and the candle wax in the late Victorian pub. The strange sense of warmth and that feeling that was the direct opposite of being lonely.  He missed that warmth.  That sensation of… not-lonely.  
He missed Hob…  
He thought of his own wounded pride.  The anger he had felt when Hob had suggested that they (Hob and Morpheus) were friends.   How foolish he had been to not return to Hob sooner.  Would he ever see his friend again?  
He longed to set things right- to do or say something subtle to admit to Hob that he was right without actually saying the words that his pride did not want him to speak out loud.   He thought of the clever ways he could perhaps acknowledge that yes, they were, in fact, friends without uttering an apology or acknowledgement of being wrong.   He couldn’t dare admit, even to himself, that he was wrong.  And it was Hob’s own fault, wasn’t it?  He was the one who had to spoil things.  He was the one who had to go and poke at the situation and demand confirmation.  Why did he have to spoil it by making him have to call their situation a friendship?
He missed him so much…
  Morpheus blinked.  He was no longer in the pub, storming away from Hob.  He could no longer taste the discarded wine still on his lips.  His memories were as vivid and real to him as dreams are for most people.  It was as close as he could get to dreaming… remembering…
He was back in his cage.  Staring at the two guards just beyond the glass.
             What time was it?  Guessing from the two particular guards and the wrist watch that one of them wore, it was close to three in the afternoon.  It was hard to tell from his little prison.  He had not seen the sun (or stars) in over a century.      
           If only he could sleep as mortals sleep.   If only he could experience that sweet, temporary release, just once. To simply know what it was like to lose oneself to a third of the day in The Dreaming…  Mortals had no idea of the treasure that they had, the gift that he, himself, usually provided.  A gift that he, himself, could never know… had never known… ________________________________________________
  Chapter 3:
 What Dreams may come:
 Hob Gadling pulled to the side of the road, in the red nineteen seventy-three MGB convertible.  He had owned this particular automobile since the days when it was new.  Today he figured it would be considered a classic. Yeah, a classic, all right… Polished up nice but rusted in all the important areas and a serious petrol guzzler.   The car looked nice but it was about as functional as any old jalopy or puddle jumper.   He only chose it today because it was a car he wouldn’t mind abandoning in a field if he had to.  
             He was parked about a quarter of a mile from Fawny Rig in Wych Cross, Sussex England.  The paperback copy of an occultist’s memoir sat on the passenger seat beside him.   It was some self-published nonsense about The Order of Ancient Mysteries but it was Hob’s first real clue about what happened to his friend.
             For over thirty years he had searched.   And he had found one dead end after another, including a few attempted cons and scams from people who thought they could take advantage of a mad man trying to find a character from a faery tale.  
             The book had been the first major clue.  It had been written by some dead occultist who had claimed that he and the rest of his order had succeeded in invoking and trapping the King of Dreams.  The book had been vague and full of strange claims about archaic powers and curses and nonsensical and far-fetched boasts about demon invocations and boogeymen.
He would not have believed any of it until he had read the description of the creature they had caught. The bone-white flesh, the solid black eyes, the messy dark hair.  It had to be him.  It just had to be.
              The book hadn’t said where they had captured the being (whom Hob angry noticed they kept calling “it” when referencing the capture) but Hob had learned that The Order of Ancient Mysteries was once run by a Magnus Roderick Burgess and this had been his home estate. It now belonged to his son, Alexander Burgess, whom he had fathered very late in life.  Alexander would have been quite old by now, himself.  
If they had him, his friend- if they had Morpheus- what were they going to do to him? Pass him along through the generations like some strange inherited pet?  Who would get him next?  The butler? As far as he knew Alexander Burgess had no children of his own.  Would they seal up whatever dungeon they had him in and leave him to rot?
           This was still a long shot but Hob had to know.  If he was there he couldn’t just leave him at the mercy of these charlatans.  And if Hob got arrested for this- well, breaking-and-entering was not the worst crime he had ever been arrested for.  He could handle it.  
Hob took the old colt revolver out of the glove compartment.  This was also an antique and would have been difficult to smuggle into England today but he had brought it into the country in eighteen ninety-one, so it was long before modern firearm restrictions, and back when smuggling was far easier.
 Hob had lead a very colorful and long life.  At one point he had even been a slave trader, something that Morpheus, himself, had chastised him for.   Hob regretted that now.  He regretted that more than anything. He would spend the rest of eternity making reparations for that if he could.  How could he have ever been so callous to another human life?  
Morpheus had seemed so revolted.  “You take pride in treating your fellow humans as less than animals?” he had him.
Hob had tried to shrug it off with “Like I said, it’s a living.”
But Morpheus would not let it be.  “It is a poor thing, to enslave another.  I would suggest you find yourself a different line of business.”
Morpheus was right.  It was wrong to hold another like that. And if Morpheus was in there he had to get him out now.          
           Hob checked to make certain the colt revolver pistol was still loaded.  Each chamber of the six shooter held an old bullet. He had tested it only the night before to make certain it still fired.  He loathed the idea of having to use it but he knew it would be stupid to go in unarmed, especially since he didn’t practice magick, not really.  All he could do was hope a pistol was enough.
               _____________________________________________
 Chapter 4:  
 Locked within the crystal ball:
              It was early evening.  It was hard to tell from where he sat on the floor of his cage but he knew it was early evening.  One guard was reading a newspaper.  The other had a Stephen King novel.  Though Morpheus knew nothing of the technology, the men knew that their wifi devices would not work down there.  The rural setting combined with the thick stone walls made it impossible to get a good signal in that dungeon of a cellar.  
           There was also the concern of the residual yet powerful magick in the air, which by its very nature, interfered with sensitive electronics and could even cause them to short out.  They had been specifically ordered not to use their mobile devices down there and so they had to kill time through other means.
             Morpheus watched them with cold contempt.  He was measuring how long it took for the one with the novel to turn his page.  The other occasionally fidgeted.  Morpheus could tell by the man’s eye movements that the fidgeting one was not actually reading the newspaper.
The man was just seeking out a long word to play a childhood game of seeing how many smaller words he could make with the letters of the longer word he found. It was some kind of time-killer he had learned from spending too many childhood hours in doctor’s offices before wide-spread cellphone and Internet service.  
             Morpheus understood nothing of Internet, or mobile phones, but he understood the restlessness of a bored mortal.  How often did these restless people eventually drift into his own realm when they got like that?  He almost felt jealous of the bored mortal.
             There was a noise from above.  It was faint as the walls were designed to be soundproof but even in his magick resistant prison Morpheus could hear the scuffle.
           “Hey!  You’re not supposed to be here!  What are you doing!?”  Came one voice.   There was a sound of crashing furniture.
           “Someone get Maguire!”
             The two guards finally realized something was amiss when the door to the hidden room opened with a heavy creaking sound.
           The one set down his paper, the other- almost in unison-set down his novel. They stood up from their folding chairs.
                         At first Morpheus thought he had been psychically touched by his youngest sister, little Delirium, and madness was finally upon him or perhaps his memories were somehow seeping into reality, confusing past for present like psychic imprints and echoes of long ago events.  
He stared in wonder at the familiar yet disheveled appearance of Hob Gadling.
            Hob was wearing a casual suit and open, light colored blazer jacket.  It was slightly rumpled, as if he had been wearing it for more than twenty-four-hours and rather restlessly.
           Morpheus was not aware that the suit was over thirty-years-old and very likely the suit Hob had worn to the pub for their centennial meeting that he was now extremely late for.  
Whether consciously or subconsciously, Hob had (on some level) chosen to wear this suit on purpose now.  
 Morpheus hadn’t even noticed that he, himself, had risen to his feet.  The guards rushed toward the man who seemed both frightened yet determined.
 _____________________
  Chapter 5: The Rescue:
 As Hob had raced down the stone staircase, hoping his gut instincts were right, he nearly couldn’t breathe once he entered the dimly lit room.  He was panting for breath but then the shock of what he saw caused what air was there to get caught in his throat.
There were two men rising from folding chairs to meet and / or attack him- more likely the latter.  And behind them, just barely in view… There he was!  Naked and locked inside what looked like a ridiculously over-sized, novelty, snow globe paperweight.
 Hob couldn’t hold back a gasp when he saw him.  “Gadsbudikins!”  He was glad no one was there to comment on the archaic exclamation that had worked its way into his, proudly modern, vocabulary.  
He had never seen Morpheus in such a state.  He knew his friend was skinny and pale but to see him like this was something all-together different.  
Morpheus was emaciated.  The ribs protruding so that he could see each one incased in milk-white skin.  He was entirely naked.   He knew his friend’s pride.  He could only guess at the humiliation that, alone, must have brought to him.  How long had he been in there?  Whether a day or a century, ether was too damn long.        
            He was distracted briefly by the pitiful sight so he was caught off guard by the punch from the first guard. The other guard was trying to grab his arm.  
           Morpheus was barely aware he had placed a hand to the cold, crystalline, glass. When was the last time he had actually touched the wall of his cage?  He didn’t leave any fingerprints as he did this.  
             In the struggle the first man, the one who had thrown the punch, pulled a knife.   Morpheus’ own expression had shifted to one of genuine fear for Hob.
             He watched helplessly as the knife pierced the belly of his friend.
           There was a clanking sound as the bloodied weapon fell to the floor.  
Hob doubled over in pain.  For a brief moment Morpheus thought he was witnessing his friend’s corporeal end from this extended life- but no.  His older sister, Death, had seen to this long ago.  
           Hob was in considerable pain but he struggled his way free and staggered back into the mouth of the entrance into the hidden chamber.  One of his hands held his wounded belly, the shirt slowly becoming saturated in his red blood.  
           A well dressed, older looking, man was coming down the stairs, following the same path Hob had taken.  The two guards were readying the next assault when Hob turned, and fumbling, he drew out his pistol.  His hands were shaking but he managed to steady himself.    
             Paul Maguire (husband to Alexander Burgess, Morpheus’ owner…) raised his hands slightly and took a step back. “Sir, I don’t know what you want but the police have been called.” Paul bluffed.
           “With what you’ve got down here?   Yeah, right.  Tell me another one.   I’m taking him out of here.  If anyone tries to make a move…”
Hob was improvising.  He grabbed Paul and drew him close, holding the pistol to the side of Paul’s head, maneuvering to separate himself from the guards by using Paul as a shield.  Hob had lived many lives, not all of them honorably, and this was not his first unfair fight.
           “You’re going to open that…  Whatever the Hell that is.   And let my friend out.”
           “Your friend…?” Paul asked in confusion.
           “Did I stutter?!?”  Hob had always wanted to deliver that line, or at least he had ever since he had seen it written on a meme on Facebook.  “YOU HEARD ME!  Now!”
                Paul carefully, slowly, drew out an antique looking key from his pocket, moving very slowly to show he was not armed, and with trembling hand passed the key to the second guard.  The one that had not punched or stabbed Hob.
           Morpheus took a step back.
The guard walked to the crystalline cage and put the key into the discrete lock in the base.   The crystalline glass slid away at a near invisible seam, creating an opening.  Hob shoved Paul, forcibly, back against the first guard.   He walked to the cage’s opening.  He saw Morpheus just standing there.  He took off his own jacket for modesty’s sake.  “It’s all right.  I’m getting you out of here.  Come on.”
           Hob’s foot lightly brushed over the binding circle.  It was hard to tell if it was deliberate or not but the deed was done, the circle was breached.
           Morpheus stepped toward him.  And for the first time in over a century he spoke out loud.  His voice partly psychic, heard in the mind and audible at the same time, seemed feeble and weak from lack of use.  “Hob…?  Hob Gadling?” he asked as if not entirely certain he was really there.
           “Yeah.  It’s gonna be all right.   Come on.”
             The two guards and Paul seemed uncertain of what to do next.  They hadn’t exactly fully prepared for anything like this despite the years of meticulous care to make sure the prisoner did not escape.
           As soon as Morpheus was out of the cage and past the edge of the binding circle, Hob draped his jacket over his narrow shoulders.  
“Cheese and crust!  What did they do to you?”
           Morpheus opted against answering but he held the offered jacket tightly over himself.
Hob, holding the pistol in one hand, placed his other arm around Morpheus, escorting him up the stairs and outside the house, no one tried to stop them. Morpheus stumbled weakly but he steadied himself each time this happened.
             As soon as they were off the Fawny Rig grounds, just past the old iron gate, Morpheus stopped in his tracks, barefoot and mostly naked, but oblivious to any chill.  
He was staring up at the stars.  He hadn’t seen them in over a century.  Hob simply let him look.  They certainly were beautiful.   The stars gave the illusion of permanence.   But for all the change that might happen there were still stars in the darkness, even if one burnt out and another was born, there they were- always and forever.  Maybe that’s what immortality really was, the willingness to be ever-changing and yet ever constant, like the universe itself.      
           After some time Morpheus spoke, his voice still weak.  “I have to…   I have to return to…”
            Hob looked down at the weak, semi-skeletal figure that he was supporting.  “Return to where you originally came from?”
           He nodded.
           “Okay.  How do we do that?”  
           “You must sleep.”  He said simply, clutching the jacket around himself.
  _____________________________________________
 Chapter 6:             Rest:          
             They walked for some distance. Every so often Morpheus lost his footing and almost toppled but each time he stumbled Hob caught him.
           At one point he was certain Morpheus was looking at the blood on his shirt in concern at the stab wound.
           “It’s nothing.” Hob assured him.  “I’ve had worse.  I don’t think they’re chasing us but we really need to keep moving. ”
             When they finally reached the convertible, Morpheus stared at the automobile blankly.
“Oh, that’s just a horseless carriage.  We call them cars now.”
“I see…”
Hob opened the passenger door for him and pushed the book off the seat.  Morpheus understood to climb inside onto the seat. After he got in, Hob shut the door behind him.
Hob went to the driver’s side and climbed in, seating himself.  After shutting his own door he started the engine (which took several tries, as the car looked pretty but lacked functionality) but soon they were on the road away from Fawny Rig.  
Hob didn’t bother to tell his companion to put on a seat belt.  Any sort of restraint seemed like a bad idea right now, as if it was something that could potentially trigger post traumatic stress.  He already half-imagined that Morpheus would develop some kind of permanent claustrophobia after that long captivity and that seemed perfectly reasonable to him right now.  So he didn’t ask him to put on a seat belt.   And it was not likely either of them were about to die from a car crash.  
 After a quick stop at small convenience store they continued on the road for some distance and finally they reached the hotel parking field.
             Hob looked at his friend, trying not to show the pity he felt.   Instead he reached into the glove compartment and took out the small bag with the new bottle of extra strength Unisom sleeping pills he had just purchased at the convenience store.  
           He aligned the arrows on the child safety cap, removing the cap easily, and then punctured the seal with his thumb, taking out several small capsules into his hand.
He then removed the cap from the small bottled caffeine-free Coca-Cola he had also purchased and had been in the bag as well, with the bottle of Unisom sleeping pills.
“Well, bottom’s up.”  He raised his bottle as if it was a wine glass and then gulped down the five or so pills he had in his fist with a healthy swig of the soda.  
 Hob wasn’t certain if the amount of sleep aid capsules he had just swallowed was enough to potentially harm an ordinary man, but he knew he was not an ordinary man.  And his adrenaline was too high right now.  There was no way in Hell he was going to sleep without chemical assistance.  
 “Hob?” Morpheus looked as if he wanted to say something.
“Not now.” Hob said. “I’ll never get to sleep if you start chatting.  Save it for when we get you home.”  He said this as if Morpheus had ever been the talkative one. He knew he wasn’t.  
 There was a trace of a smile on Morpheus’ face.  “Thank you…”
“No problem.  What are friends for?”  He half expected the old tantrum to flare up but there was not the slightest hint of that now.  Morpheus leaned back in his own seat to wait.
 “I’ll… Turn on the radio while I wait for this stuff to kick in…” Hob said this to break the awkward silence that was threatening his drug-aided nap.
  By some twisted irony the song Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes was playing.  Hob gave an uneasy laugh. “Bet you hate that song, don’t you?”
The sudden music with vocal accompaniment seemed to startle Morpheus at first but his tension faded with Hob’s own nonchalantness about it. “Actually… I have never heard it before…”
“It’s about you… I think…”
“Is it really?”
 _________________________________
 Chapter 7:
 Home:
   The song wasn’t even over yet when Hob found himself standing in a dimly lit pub in the fourteenth century.  And there was his friend, quite naked, and seemingly indifferent to his own nakedness. Hob figured Morpheus must have left the jacket in the car.
 His friend was crouched in front of the fire place, tearing into a leg of mutton from someone else’s plate.  Curiously the tavern was empty except for the two of them, and yet several tables were loaded with untouched drinks and dishes of food.    
Some of the food didn’t really belong in this time period as they had not been invented yet- like chimichangas, New York style pizza, Kentucky fried chicken, and Twinkies.   These anachronistic snacks and meals were the first give-away that he was dreaming.
 Morpheus helped himself to the diverse array of strange foods.  A little of this, a little of that, he was gobbling as much of it up as he could. He seemed famished, eating as much as he could, as fast as he could.
 “Hey… Maybe you should take it easy?” Hob said in concern.  “You know when humans are starved for a long stretch of time they have to slowly reintroduce their body to solid foods.   Maybe start with some soup?  …Or you could just eat the entire bucket of KFC… Sure.  Why not?”                  
 After he had his fill Morpheus stood and seemed to be concentrating.  Slowly something swirled up around him like dust… or sand.  Yeah, it was glittering, golden sand.  
From that sand dark robes were taking form on his body.   Seamless and not quite stylized in any particular way.   Hob felt that at the moment the feebly conjured clothes vaguely resembled a black Snuggie.  
 With some cold determination Morpheus walked out the door of the pub and into a surprisingly beautiful night, with a sprawling nebula smeared overhead like oil paint.  
Hob hastily gave chase “Hey!  Hey, where you going?!”
 Outside the pub there was a beach.  Funny.   There was never a beach so close to the pub before but then Hob remembered this was a dream.   Morpheus was kneeling in the sand, gathering some of it.
“Hey, what are you doing?”  He caught Morpheus’ wrist.
Morpheus did not shrug him off.  “I have to get my revenge.”
“Revenge on who?  Roderick Burgess and his crew are dead!”
“His son yet lives.”
“His son?  You’re going to go after his son?!”
“You disapprove?  His son could have freed me.  I would have shown him mercy if he had let me go.  Instead he kept me as his father had, threatened, insulted, and tormented me. He must pay.”
“He didn’t know!   He didn’t know what to do and you probably scared him.  I’m not justifying it but I’ve lived long enough to know revenge isn’t going to make you feel any better.”
“But I… I waited so long…” He sounded uncertain.
“You’re sick.   You could barely stand.   You’re still recovering.  I’m pretty sure you don’t want to be wandering around in a half-finished Snuggie. You’re going to waste what little strength you have getting revenge on someone whose biggest crime was apathy and being a jerk?”
“What is a Snuggie?”
“Never mind that.” Hob said with a shake of his head.  “Revenge isn’t worth it.  You’ve got to forgive him.  You know as well as I do revenge isn’t going to bring you any real satisfaction.”
“Who are you to tell me what will satisfy me or not?”  Morpheus said angrily.
“The man who just saved your life!  That’s who! You can listen to me or not, that’s up to you.”  Hob let go of Morpheus’ wrist. “But the way I see it...  You need rest.  You need to recover.  And you need to learn to forgive.  Going after Burgess’ kid, who inherited you like a pet parrot, isn’t going to make you feel better.  You’re weak and you need rest.  Is there any where I can take you where you’ll be able to do that?”
“You’ll be waking up soon…”
“So hurry up then and tell me.”
 Hob walked beside his friend, down the twisting. dark path, surrounded by gnarled old trees.  Up ahead was an old house, probably eighteenth century or early Victorian.   And next to that house was a graveyard beside a similar, somewhat larger house.  “You sure this is where you want to go?”  Hob asked.  
Morpheus nodded.
“It looks like The Crypt Keeper lives here.”
“Something like that…”
 It was the pudgy one, Abel, who opened the door to the house of Mystery.  The thinner one in the pince-nez spectacles, Cain stood behind Abel.  Both looked stunned at who was at the door.
 Hob stood with the weakened Dream King leaning on him.   Behind them was the dopey eyed, dog-like, big, green, gargoyle that had followed them as soon as they entered the gate.
“Can you two look after my friend?  I think I’m starting to wake up….”
 Before Hob could get an answer he found himself back in the driver’s seat of the parked car.  He looked to the seat next to him. It was empty except for some glittering dust and his jacket.
He noticed something else too.  The pain in his stomach, where he had been stabbed, was entirely gone.  He would have healed on his own, mind you.  A wound like that couldn’t kill him, but it took hours, if not days to recover from such an injury.  Now it was as if the wound had never happened at all.  
Morpheus had heeded him about not wasting his energy on futile and cruel revenge. Instead he had spent his energy on something far more important.  He had used what little strength he had to heal his friend…
 ______________________________________
 Chapter 8:
 You’ll meet friends in the Dark:
  The funny thing about having a friend who is the King of Dreams is it’s hard to tell when something really is just a dream.  He worried that the part about delivering Morpheus to that old Haunted House to be tended to was just in his own mind, a fevered and addled dream from injury and over-the-counter sleeping pills.  
             Hob sat nervously at the pub.  The meeting was now some decades late.  He sincerely hoped the part of his recent adventure that took place in dreams was real.   That sounded silly to him upon reflection:  “the part that was in dreams was real...”
 Nervously he sat, worried his friend was not coming.  And then he saw him as if he had been there the whole time.  Morpheus stood in a modern, long, leather jacket. His messy dark hair slightly more stylized.  His skin still bone-white, his look still improbably slight, features still gaunt, and thin. The eyes were black but the tiny star-like pupils in the middle of that blackness seemed more alert, twinkling with old power.
“I- I wasn’t sure you’d be coming.”  Hob said.
“Really?”  Morpheus was smiling.  It was a small smile but it was there just the same.  “I have always heard it was impolite to keep one’s friends waiting. Would you like a drink?”
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    The End
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jaybug-jabbers · 3 years
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Top 3 Favorite PokeGods
For the unaware, PokeGods were schoolyard rumors back in the days of Gen 1, of powerful, secret pokemon hidden in the games. Many of these rumored pokegods were entirely fabricated, while others were apparently based off poor memories of seeing snippits of actual pokemon designs planned for the next gen of games.
I thought I’d make a list of my top 3 favorite pokegods, since I’ve been in a top 3 sort of mood.
#1 - Shadybug
Shadybug has an interesting detail to his tale; rumors of his reality persisted longer than other pokegods. Up until fairly recently, he had an entry in Bulbapedia, claiming that Shadybug was a pokegod based off glimpses of a real beta pokemon design.
This supposed design was called “Kage no Mushi” (‘Shadow insect’), and was a pokemon design supposedly uncovered in a Japanese web archive.
This is a sketch supposedly along similar lines to the fan sketches of Honōguma and other beta pokemon (or perhaps an attempt at concept artwork from the game creators themselves):
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However, this is in all likelihood not a real alpha/beta design– there are few sources for this supposed design leak. For further discussion on this, go here.
All this talk aside as to whether Shadybug is a real beta design (no evidence for this at all), it IS a real Pokegod. In other words, there really were rumors in the 90s and early 2000′s circulating about him along with the other pokegods.
Rumors of course differ, and some rumors said Tricket, another bug-type pokegod, was the evolution of Shadybug, while others said they were two unrelated bug-type pokemon.
In any case, the two always really intrigued me. I’m honestly thrilled and impressed that bug-type pokegods were even invented by kids, as bug type was traditionally viewed as the weakest. And yet, they exist. Bug types were also included among the pokegods that were evolutions of pre-exisiting pokemon (usually evolved via the mythical ‘Mist Stone’): Beedrill evolved into ��Beepin,’ Butterfree into ‘Locustud’ or ‘Locustod,’ Parasect into ‘Brainsect,’ etc. Even Metapod had a pokegod evolution, oddly enough– Metazap, a presumably Bug/Electric type created when you gave it ‘the Lightning stone.’
Getting back to Shadybug, though, if we look at the original pokegod rumors, we don’t know much about it. Typically it’s only described simply as “a bug that protects itself with a leaf.” The Kage no Mushi design seems to take it in a design direction similar in ways to Paras or Nincada. My favorite fan interpretation of Shadybug can be found at this post here, which honestly is so adorable I want to scream.
#2 - Tricket
This pokegod had a very consistent rumored ‘code’ for how to obtain it, something copy and pasted among the many 90s websites of young pokemon fans:
This code is for TRICKET! a new Pokemon for Gold/Silver.
First, you must carry ALL 6 BUG POKEMON in your party in this order: Caterpie, Metapod, Butterfree, Weedle, Kakuna, Beedrill. Then, open an empty box in your PC without any Pokemon in it. Go into the Safari Zone and catch a wild Venonat and a wild Venomoth. You cannot catch Venomoth before Venonat.
Then, catch a wild Paras and a wild Parasect. Same rule applies for Parasect not before Paras. Keep them all in your PC box and do not change for any new ones. You do not need Scyther or Pinsir because they are rather rare to find. You’ll see them on the Victory Road, however, by catching all of the other bug Pokemon. That’s a pre-code.
Yes, along with Scyther in Red, Pinsir will be in Red too, and along with Pinsir in Blue, Scyther will be in blue! It’s the truth. Beat the Elite Four all the way through with the 6 Pokemon told. Do not allow Caterpie, Metapod, Weedle or Kakuna to continue to evolve, just press B to stop them from evolving.
Its best for them to be on high levels. Such as L50 Caterpie and Weedle, L60 Metapod and Kakuna and L75 for Butterfree and Beedrill. You can use Rare Candies and Gameshark to boost them up. After you win all five(Gary too) matches, Professor Oak notices you have all your Bug Pokemon. He asks if you’re a bug collector, YES or NO. If you answer NO, he says, “my mistake” and then the Hall of Fame comes up. If you answer YES, then, he takes you a cage where TRICKET the CRICKET lives! He lets you take it and use it for future battles.
Tricket is on Level 65, the same level as Gary’s final Pokemon. Tricket knows Spore, Twineedle, Mega Kick(crickets like to kick their legs) and Sing. I do not know if it learns any moves. It has no link with Shadybug. Shadybug is an entirely different Pokemon. They’re just bug pokemon.
There’s appeal to this code– unlike a lot of the wild ‘codes’ for obtaining pokegods that relied on doing something an exhausting number of times (and thus was hard to prove wrong), this was a single challenge run that sounded quite possible, albiet difficult. I also admit with my bug type bias and my love of pokemon bug runs of the game, I love the heck out of it for that reason too.
There’s a few other rarities about this code that I like; for one, Tricket is a very pokemon-sounding name. It seems to rely on a simple and appealing word-mash of ‘Trick’ and ‘Cricket’ and a rare moment of genuine quality for pokegod names. A lot of pokegod names are rather outlandish and sound very much like young kiddos made them up: Anthrax (this was during an anthrax scare in the US, keep in mind), Mysterio, Doomsday,  Zapmolcuno …
Additionally, the moves described for Tricket are all real in-game moves. Again, usually when moves are described for pokegods, they’re invented with outlandish names. But the moveset described adds to the realism here. Admittedly, ‘Spore’ and ‘Sing’ are needlessly redundant, though. I would suggest swapping Spore out with something else, such as Screech or Razor Wind or something.
Anyway, there are a number of charming fan interpretations of this pokegod. One popular design is this one here, which is a rather straightforward but cute cricket with surprisingly big fists, akin to Ledian. Seems to suggest some punching moves in addition to the kicking ones.
Another sketch posted to Tumblr that only has a few notes is actually a very unique and awesome Tricket design, in my opinion, right here. A wizard cricket sounds fantastic, and it’s well executed in this sketch. The original moveset suggested for Tricket seems to have a physical attacker emphasis, but this version would probably be Bug/Psychic and more of a special attacker. We have yet to even have a Bug/Psychic type in pokemon, so the idea is an exciting one.
#3 - Mysterio
The interaction between pokegods and glitch pokemon is a complex one. It would be inaccurate to say glitch pokemon inspired all pokegods, or that all glitch pokemon were granted pokegod status, because that’s definitely not always the case. It was sometimes, though.
In many cases, it appears that pokegod rumors came about first, and that later on, Gameshark codes were assigned with the different well-known and well-loved pokegod names, with the tantilizing promise of easily obtaining these mythical creatures. Some authors who made these assigments were very direct and upfront about their arbitrary selections: they heard the pokegod rumors, knew them to be false, but liked to dream about them, and so they decided to assign names to the glitch pokemon just for fun. Other authors seemed to pass along these code lists and earnestly insisted that they were the genuine pokegods. Occasionally these authors made short notes about how the pokegods would ‘appear like messed-up blocks/like Missingno.’ but that they were indeed real despite this fact. In these cases, it seemed most fans agreed that the glitchy appearance was a dissappointment or a downside; people probably preferred the visions in their minds of great, powerful pokemon, not glitches.
The influence of glitch pokemon on pokegod lore was more sublte in other cases. Sometimes, the names of glitch pokemon would bleed into pokegod names. For instance, Blastoise’s pokegod evolution, Rainer, was possibly influenced by glichmon hex C4. This pokemon’s name appears as ‘PokéWTrainer’ in full, but due to the spaces in its name, often only appears as RAINER. It can be accessed via the Mew trick/trainer escape glitch, although its front sprite crashes the game. “Pokemaniac” also appears on many, many pokegod name lists, and this is a glitch typing of glitch pokemon also available through the trainer escape glitch.
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Still, these are simply names. Something that seemed far less common were glitch pokemon inspiring any sort of detailed pokegod lore. Mysterio seems to represent at least a few attempts at this, though. It was a name given to ‘M, the sister species of Missingno. that also shares pokedex number 000. It could be encountered along with its sister Missingno. during the surfing along the Cinnabar coast/old man trick.
The relationship kids had with these two glitchmon was complicated. Missingno. and ‘M were typically treated with awe and fear. The false rumor that Missingno. could destroy your savefile or your entire game was incredibly common even back then, which probably explains why this rumor is still so staunchly believed even to this day. (See endnote.) Other kids valued Missingno. and its sister for its ability to duplicate items and used it for that but advised against daring to capture it, lest you put your game at risk.
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It’s hard to say what other glitchmon possibly influenced pokegod lore. However, considering that encountering glitch pokemon without a cheating device (via Old Man Trick or the Trainer Escape Trick) seemed fairly well-known and easy to execute, and that the Gameshark codes were well-circulated for those lucky enough to own such a device, kids definitely were exposed to these glitchmon– making for ideal circumstances for rumors and stories to grow and flourish. It’s also noteworthy that glitchmon often had extreme stats; some were incredibly weak but others were incredibly powerful, with stats far exceeding any real, natural pokemon. They also fulfilled two other major expectations of pokegods: they were hidden and could only be revealed with special in-game tricks or Gameshark codes, and their pokedex numbers often exceeded 150. It’s quite possible these factors seriously influenced the rise of pokegod rumors in general, especially the various “tricks” that promised to grant you access to the land of the pokegods. Since these tricks for acquring M’ were real, for example, surely that meant other tricks could do the same for others? What else was waiting out there for discovery?
That same adventuresome, wonderous curiosity is something I feel is still kept alive today with glitch hunters. People are still discovering amazing ways of exploiting glitches and exploring the inner ‘guts’ of the game. Some of the glitch exploits sound like they stole a page right out the pokegod lore books, especially for arbitrary code execution. That’s why I have Mysterio listed as my final favorite pokegod. I feel it bridges the gap between the pokegods and the glitchmon. Quite frankly, if you’re searching for the pokegods, I’d say they have already been found: powerful, mysterious, occasionally dangerous, and completely alien, surpassing even the most wild young kid’s imaginations.
End Note on Dangerous Missingno. Rumor:
While encountering or capturing Missingno. and ‘M does not dangerously damage the savefile, it does visually corrupt Hall of Fame data, which is part of the savefile. This possibly contributed to the rumor that they can harm the save file. There also is a chance of crashing the game if you capture a pokemon at an abnormal level (lvl 0, namely) while having a full party and transferring it automatically to the PC, and then attempting to withdraw it. (Go here for details.) Because pokemon encountered during the Old Man trick, including Missingno. and ‘M, can appear at abnormal levels, this also may have contributed to the rumor.
However, to be perfectly honest, another reason is probably a case of mistaken identity. Missingno. was the first glitch pokemon to be discovered, most likely– certainly the one that was popularized and easy to access. Kids probably applied the name to all glitch pokemon. There are plenty of glitch pokemon that can severely corrupt your game, via glitch moves with unterminated names (called ‘Superglitch moves’). Poor, innocent Missingno. and ‘M were possibly blamed for their cousin’s crimes instead.
Finally, it should be noted that Missingno. in pokemon Yellow is far more ornery then in Red and Blue. With the Trainer Escape glitch, its front sprite can often lock up the game upon encounter; additionally, if successfully captured, it can cause various graphical glitches upon returning to the overworld.
This is a repost on a new blog. The original post was on Jan 14, 2019.
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ltleflrt · 4 years
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I just woke up from a dream that feels like it was probably inspired by the Diabo 4 trailer and the fic  The Path Between the Stars by zaphodsgirl.  Maybe even a little bit of the Chinese drama Guardian.
In the dream I’m Dean, so I’m just going to talk about it like it’s an AU.
Dean dies as a teenager. Just a random accident.  His spirit wakes up in a strange place.  It’s a walled garden, and he’s lying on the bank of a tiny pool of water, maybe six feet across with a small grassy island in the center.  The water is flowing around counter-clockwise.  On the far side, he sees a stone building, that looks like a mausoleum so high that he can’t see where it ends in the sky, which is swirling purples and grays.  The light is funny here, and when he looks down, he has 2 shadows, one going off in each direction, and they twist funny.
A voice says. “It’s time to go through.”
He looks up and sees a tall man in a long dark purple robe with a cowl.  He’s holding a shepherd’s crook.  His face is in the shadows, but Dean can see that he has blue eyes.  
Dean knows what He is.  Humans would call him the Grim Reaper, but there’s more to it than that.  He’s also the keeper of time, and guardian of the gates between the dimensions.  He’s not a god, or the God, those concepts are too small for what he is.  He’s not even a he, but Dean knows that is how his own recently human mind perceives Him, because his own essence has spent the last 14 years crushed inside a physical human form.
“You have to send me back,” Dean says.  He knows he doesn’t belong where he wants to go, and that he needs to pass into the giant stone doors across the tiny body of swirling water.
The man tilts his head in confusion.  “Your time there is over.”
“Please, I need to go back.  There’s someone there who needs me.”
“It’s against the rules.”
“Fuck the rules.”
The Entity laughs, and it sounds human and like black holes crashing together at the same time.  “You’ve always disliked the rules, I shouldn’t be surprised you want to break them now, after a paltry human life.”  He thinks for a moment and then nods.  “You have two shadows, so I suppose it won’t hurt to allow you to use the second one.”
He touches Dean’s forehead and Dean wakes up from a coma.  
A few years later, Dean dies again.  His life is dangerous, and he’s lucky he’s made it so long.  He’s back in the walled garden, and once again he meets the blue eyed man.  He argues to be sent back.  He knows that he shouldn’t, that he can’t.  He’s supposed to walk through the gate, to pass from this dimension into the multiverse.  But he’s gotta be there for Sammy.
He manages to sway the blue-eyed man who sends him back to human life.  But he dies again, and again.  Each time he dies, he spends a little more time with the blue-eyed man.  He gets to know him as a friend, learns his name is Castiel.
“You should know my name, you gave it to me.”
“Am I your father?”
“Hardly.  I came before you.  And the universe doesn’t follow the rules of time and reproduction that your human dimension exists within.”
Dean feels like he should remember Castiel.  After so many deaths and resurrections, the sureness that he does grows.  But he doesn’t have memories of Castiel prior to his first human death.  
Eventually Dean’s human years should have run out.  But either there’s something strange happening to him because of all his deaths and resurrections, or Castiel is keeping him alive and in the prime of his life.  Even if he does still keep dying.  Sometimes horribly, sometimes an accident.  It’s never the same.  Somehow Dean is immortal, but not.  Not when he keeps returning to the small garden.
Every time he returns to the garden Dean gains another shadow.  But they’re not real shadows.  It’s more like he’s the center of a clock face, and each shadow is a hand on the clock.  They turn slowly around him.  If he concentrates, he can hide them.  He needs to, otherwise they follow him back in his human body.
He’s not really human.  He eventually knows that, like he knows what Castiel is, and like he knows what the garden is.  Every death brings more knowledge, and as a human he uses it like magic.  Gives Sam longevity, teaches scientists new technologies, basically becomes the human myth of a wizard, even if no one besides Sam believes in magic.
Since he still continues to die, his relationship with Castiel grows out of friendship into lovers.  He looks forward to their times together in the garden.  He still refuses to go through the gates, and Castiel has given up trying to get him to.  Their relationship exists between dimensions, in a tiny pocket galaxy that Dean years to stay in with Castiel, but he’s addicted to the human world so he always goes back.
Then on one of his deaths, a suicide because he misses Castiel and wants to visit, the garden is empty.  It seems smaller for some reason.  Dark and somewhat cold.
Then a small boy peeks out at him from behind one of the stone sculptures around the gate.  He glares suspiciously at Dean and demands to know who he is.  Dean recognizes him as a child sized Castiel.
“Hello, Castiel.”
“Is that my Name?”
“It is now.”
“Who gave you the right to name me?”
“You did.”
The child demands to know what Dean is, and why he’s there.  Dean realizes this is what Castiel meant by time having no true meaning in the universe, because it’s not actually linear.  This is Castiel before he met Dean.  
Dean sits down, and lets his shadows fill the garden, and there are so many of them that they create an intricate swirling pattern all around him, which Castiel seems awed and fascinated by.  He talks to Castiel of his future (past? whatever) self.  And while he’s talking to this small version of Castiel, a memory comes to him of himself as nothing more than a bouncing ball of light appearing in this garden and approaching the dimensional door with curiosity.  And Castiel comes and lets him through the door, saying he’ll miss him and he’ll see him again soon.
And then I woke up and I’m sad because I would have liked to see where my brain took this :)
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I Must Not Tell Lies
“Where were you last night?” She asks me. 
It isn’t hard for me to lie to her anymore. As far as my family was concerned, she was the perfect match for me. As far as I was concerned, the witch most suited to me had been cruelly ripped away from me by a dim-witted, arrogant wizard with annoyingly round glasses. 
Part of me felt guilty. I knew she was used to the routine of us. We had grown up together, learned together, lived together, and at one point, we had even loved together. I couldn’t remember the exact moment I knew I had fallen out of love with my wife. But when I knew, there was no going back. That flash of red hair and captivating blue eyes had wrangled in my heart the day I had seen her again in Diagon Alley, nearly eight months ago; despite the fact that, attached to her hip, was a mini female version of Harry Potter, only with her mother’s red hair. 
I knew that I would never be able to let her go again the first time she ever came to meet with me. 
“It’s been a long time,” she said to me, nervously running a hand through her hair. 
“It’s been too long, Ginny.”
I approached her with determination. I would have my witch back, one way or another. I knew she still remembered all the times we would meet up in the room of requirement after leaving Slughorn’s dinner parties. She remembered that I was the only one that knew all of her sweet spots, and I was the only one who could ignite the fires of passion that burned through to her soul and stripped her bare. She was completely exposed to me, as I was to her. She might have born that miserable oaf a child, but he would never tempt her the way I did. 
I brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, lingering for a moment to stroke the shell of her ear. She gasped. 
“Don’t do this. I’m married, and so are you. We can’t,” she says, stepping back slightly. 
“We both know that neither of us married the person we should have.”
“You made that choice! You left me. I gave you my virginity. I was pure. You corrupted me, and then you left me!” 
I could see the tears welling up in her eyes. My Ginny. My poor, sweet Ginny. I was a fool back then, but I wasn’t now. I knew what I wanted, what we both deserved, and I had every intention of showing that to her. 
“I can’t take back what I did all those years ago. What I can do is spend the rest of the years I have left proving to you how much I regret it,” I lift her chin so she can see the sincerity in my eyes. 
Please understand how much I mean this.
I look back at my wife, and twelve years of anger and regret bubble up inside me, threatening to burst. 
“I know you weren’t at the office. I called,” she says to me, her arms crossed over her chest. 
“I was down at the pub, having a drink with Malfoy and Nott,” I lie to her so easily. 
I know she’ll believe me. She won’t believe me because she loves me or thinks I’m better than a liar. She believes me simply because she wants to, because if she doesn’t, she has nothing left to hang on to. More than anything, Daphne Greengrass was terrified of being alone. 
“I’m off to bed. Excuse me.”
She nods and kisses my cheek softly before returning to her book she had previously abandoned on the couch. 
Images from earlier this evening flash behind my closed eyes. I cherished these moments, when I could be alone in my bed and relive every second I spent with my gorgeous red head in my arms. 
“You can’t stay here long. Harry will be back from Romania tomorrow, and Hermione’s supposed to be bringing Lily back home in a couple hours,” Ginny says to me. 
“When are you going to leave him, Gin? I’m tired of having to leave. I want to stay here with you.”
She closes the gap between us and presses her lips against mine. She wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me closer, our bodies flush against one another. Her tongue teases my bottom lip, begging for access so she can deepen our kiss. She knows I can’t resist her. 
My hands tangle in her hair as I back her up against the wall, never breaking our kiss. I savor the taste of her sweet breath as she starts panting. Slowly I trail kisses down her neck and jawline and only stop for a moment to remove her shirt and bra. I claim one of her nipples with my mouth, flicking it gently with my tongue. 
Her back arches, her nails dragging down my back. Slowly, I trail my hand down her thin torso, and around to her arse, gripping it tightly. She moans, grinding her hips into me. 
I waste no time ripping her skirt off and tossing it on the floor behind me. Maintaining eye contact, I lower myself down her body, pleased to find she wasn’t wearing any underwear. 
“You did this for me, Red?” I say, pressing a kiss to her mound. 
Her hips buck, beckoning for me to go lower, to taste that sweet nub. I smile at her, my hands slowly moving her thighs apart. Her knees almost buckle as I kiss and nip at her thighs and all around her silky folds, purposefully avoiding them. I run a single finger between her slick lips. 
“Oh, please!” She begs, wrapping one of her porcelain legs around my neck. 
I tease her with my tongue, flicking her sensitive nub, enjoying the way she was writhing in my hands. She pulls me in closer, aching for her release. Her hips start to rock back and forth, her body desperate for release. I knew she would be close, but I wasn’t ready to let her cum so easily. 
I pull back, removing my tongue and inserting a single digit deep inside of her. She tries to wrap her leg around my neck again. I move back, keeping my finger inside her, and with my other hand, I pin her thigh against the wall. She whimpers and moans. I quicken my pace, thrusting my finger inside her and pulling all the way out. I insert another finger in her slick heat and her knees go slack. Her free leg is thrown over my shoulder, the only thing holding her up now. 
“Fuck, fuck, fu-” she breathes between gasps. 
I continue thrusting my fingers as my mouth clamps onto her slit, sucking, flicking, licking, building her up to her orgasm. I let her ride my face and my fingers until she finally tumbles over the edge into a blissful abyss. 
I stand up and kiss her, making her taste her juices on my lips. Her fingers fumble with my zipper and finally my member is free from its confines. I run the tip of my length up and down her slit, now slick and dripping, before plunging into her all the way to the hilt. 
“Oh, Blaise!” She screams. 
I thrust into her slowly at first, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to hold on much longer. She brings my hand up to her mouth and licks herself off. She sucks on my fingers, and the sight alone nearly sent me over the edge. My pace quickens and I can hear the sweet call of euphoria pulling me in. 
“Oh, Ginny,” I groan. 
Nothing had ever matched the way Ginny felt when I was deep inside her. I gave her all of me, riding out her waves of pleasure. The clenching of her walls around my member as she came sent me tumbling over with her. I stayed inside her until she had milked every last drop out of me, and we collapsed into a sweaty heap on the floor, our limbs entangled in each other. 
“We can’t keep going on like this, Blaise,” she says to me. 
I turn my head to look into her ocean eyes. 
“Leave him, Ginny. We can be together, the way we always should have been.”
“It’s not so simple. I come with baggage. I know you and Daphne never had children because you never desired to. My daughter isn’t just going to go away, and you can’t act like she’s not there.”
“I know you have a child, Ginny. I would do anything for Lily, just as I would do anything for you. She would never want for anything. She can have the world. I will wrap it up in Gryffindor colors with a big bow on top and hand it to her.”
She looks at me for a moment, perplexed. 
“What?” I ask, grinning.
“It’s just… You’ve never used her name before.”
The sound of Daphne entering the room tears me from my thoughts. I try to feign sleep, but she had been with me for too long and could easily tell that I was still awake. I feel the mattress shift under me as she pulls herself on the bed, slowly moving closer to me. Her arm rests over my chest, tracing circles just under my collarbone. It was always her signature move when she was about to try to seduce me. As I anticipated, her lips crashed onto mine clumsily. She bites my lower lip, hoping to gain entrance. 
“Not tonight, Daph,” I sigh, rolling over to face the wall. 
The next morning, I received an urgent owl from the Ministry informing me that apparently the Centaurs were causing an uprising again, claiming that the ministry was imposing on their land, further restricting them from expanding their breeding grounds. I sighed, knowing it was going to be another long day at the office. 
As I walk into the kitchen, Daphne had already prepared my morning cup of coffee and a light breakfast. She handed the coffee and plate to me. 
“Eat this before you leave. Looks like you’re going to need it,” she says. 
I nod to her and sit down at the table with this morning’s paper. I gulped down half of my coffee, and started to feel sort of lightheaded. I looked down at my cup, confused, as Daphne stalks towards me. 
“What’s wrong, Blaise?” She asks cautiously. 
“Nothing, I think. I just feel kind of-” I groan, my head starting to spin. 
She leans in close to me so I can focus on her more clearly. 
“Oh, yes,” she says, examining her cuticles, “That’s probably the Veritaserum I mixed in your drink.”
“Veritaserum?” 
I look at her, my focus coming in and out. She props her hands up on the table in front of me and leans in so close I could see the black specs glistening in her hazel eyes. 
“Yes, Blaise. Now you must not tell lies. I need to know something, and you’ve no choice but to answer me to my satisfaction,” she grins. “Where were you last night?”
I tried to fight the answer but my tongue betrayed me, “With Ginny Potter.”
“What were you doing with her, Blaise?”
“I made love to her, the way I could never bring myself to make love to you. The truth is, I never loved you the way I did her. I settled for you because it was my parents’ wishes.”
She reaches over the table and slaps me hard across the face. Even through her anger, I could see the sadness as it threatened to break the surface. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back before one could fall. From her back pocket, she retrieves a flask. I recognized it as the flask she had bought me three years ago as a birthday present. She’d gone through the trouble of getting my initials engraved on it, even placed an Undetectable Extension Charm on it. She shakes it in front of my face as though she were taunting me with it. 
“Do you know what this is, Blaise?” She asks. 
I shake my head, afraid of what it could be. I had never seen this side of Daphne before. I knew she could be vindictive and manipulative back in Hogwarts, but it had seemed as though that part of her had disappeared completely after the two of us got together. 
“It’s Polyjuice Potion. I’m going to pay a little visit to our old friend, Ginny, and you’re going to stay here. When I get back, you and I are going to discuss our future together.”
Before I could react, she cast a spell to bind me to my chair and gag me so I couldn’t scream. I thrashed around violently, trying to free myself so I could get to Ginny before she did. It quickly became clear to me that Daphne had been practicing for this moment. She had known all along about my adultery.
 I heard the familiar pop as Daphne disapparated. All I could do was wait until she returned. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t escape. 
It seemed like hours before she finally returned. I recognized the outfit she was wearing immediately. It was the last outfit I had last seen Ginny in. The same skirt and blouse I had torn off of her barely twelve hours ago. I noticed a large, red stain taking up the entire side of the skirt. 
“You might be wondering what I’ve been up to!” Daphne exclaimed happily. 
She laughed at me as I struggled against my binds. 
“Do you like my outfit? I borrowed it. Really wanted to get into character, you know? At least Harry got to see his darling wife Ginny in this lovely outfit again, just before she killed him. Or technically I did, but who really cares about technicalities? All the ministry will be able to prove is that one of them killed the other, and then killed themselves!” She laughs maniacally, removing my gag. 
“You’re a bloody psycho!” I yell at her. “You killed Ginny?”
“Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. In a few moments, you won’t even remember we had this little conversation. You won’t remember Ginny at all, in fact,” Daphne tilted her head back and smiled, enjoying every moment of my despair. 
Tears streamed down my cheeks, my sobs wracking my body violently. My Ginny. My only love. And now she’s dead. I look at Daphne, now aiming her wand at me. She releases the bonds on me, but I couldn’t find the will to move. I waited for the sweet release of death, when I could go find my lover on the other side. But then-
~“Obliviate.”
When I opened my eyes, I see my wife smiling at me. She was truly a sight to behold. If I were being honest, I was glad that our parents had arranged for us to get together. She was beautiful and brilliant, truly worthy of the Zabini name. She leans down and presses a soft kiss against my lips. 
“Hi, honey. I hope you’re hungry! I just finished making breakfast.”
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His Father’s Son
Young!Sirius Black x Female Reader & NotSoYoung!Sirius Black x Female Reader
Request: Idk if requests are open or anything but can you write Sirius has a Slytherin son that's the twins age and hates him because Sirius likes Harry better
A/N: This awesome anon has sent me this mind-blowing request about Sirius. When I read it this morning I went Holy cow, how do I write THAT?! And honestly I even considered dropping it because I had no idea what to do with it. But then I went on a run, and it just came to me. I typed away, and this is what came out. Dear Anon, I’m not quite sure if this is what you had in mind. I hope the story doesn’t disappoint you. 
Synopsis: After the tragic events in the Hall of Prophecy in the Ministry of Magic, Alastair Black, Sirius’ only son, comes banging on the doors of his father’s ancestral home. What awaits for him there is his father’s friend Y/N, and her version of the past events might just make him question everything he thought he knew. 
WARNINGS: mentions of death, suffering, ANGSTY AF (I don’t know what happened to me there).
I hope you enjoy!  
The Beautiful & Damned will be back with a new chapter tomorrow! 
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The night is solemnly silent, save for the roaring of the rain, assaulting the roof of the old, moaning house. Fists and jaw clenched tight, his eyes are fixed on the only glowing window, yellowed by time. Wet strands of hair cling to his burning front, and cold water is a blessing, hitting every inch of his skin, hammering the pain deeper and deeper inside of him, so no one sees. 
He’s weightless as his feet take him to the heavy doors - the doors he thought he’d never enter again. Inhaling frantically, he crashes both of his fists against the polished wood, the loud bang awakening something he long since locked in his rattling cage of a chest. 
The moment the sound reaches his ears, there’s is no stopping the rage that’s finally set free, painting his vision red. He hits the door again and again, bashing his fists in, until his hands go black and blue. The rambling in his head is getting louder, the shaking in his bones grows stronger, and the only way to stop it is to finally do it - blow the bloody doors of that piece of shit of a house, where he has never felt at home. 
He barely realises it when the doors slam open in his face, bright yellow light blinding him. Falling on his knees, his maimed hands covering his swollen eyes, he lets someone soft and warm wrap their hands around him. They don’t speak, and he doesn’t either, contenting himself with relishing the comfort of their touch. 
When his sensitive eyes adjust to light, he sees the empty corridors ahead, bathing in the welcoming glow. Dust floats in the musk-scented air, its playful light-stained thin whirls inviting him in. 
Hot tears welling up in his eyes, he tangles his sore fingers in Y/N hair, clinging to her fragile frame. She smells like Neroli and always, and her smell, coupled with the sight before his eyes, is enough for him to finally let go. 
“He’s dead!” the cry tears his insides apart, popping his veins open. “He’s dead! Sirius is dead!…”
She rocks him softly in place, littering his raven-black hair with chaotic kisses, her own cheeks glistening in the light of a full yellow moon. 
---
“Would you like something to drink, Alastair?” 
He blinks rapidly, his eyes sore and dry, his stare completely vacant. Y/N’s heart clenches, and she forces herself to go on:
“I still have a bit of coffee left… It’s either that or firewhiskey”, she drops into the chair across from the young Black, slamming a half-empty bottle of amber liquid against the table’s surface. “Pick your poison.”
Rubbing his nose with the back of a hand, Alastair quickly motions towards the bottle, and folds his hands in front of him. In booming silence, Y/N serves him a splash of the burning liquid and pushes the glass in his direction. His bleeding long fingers wrap around it as he downs the alcohol in one go, throwing his head back. 
Y/N watches him closely, as spider-web cracks on her porcelain heart become more and more prominent. In the dim lights of the Grimmauld place, Alastair looks so much like Sirius: he’s all bruises and blood, his beautiful stormy eyes dark grey, almost black, his jaw tense and his cheekbones sharp enough to cut her skin and bleed her dry. She crashes an unwanted whimper in its wake, as Sirius’ son raises his foggy orbs to look at her with a desperation of a man catching at straws, drowning in a bottomless river. 
“I’m sorry,” he says, his pale lips barely moving. “I didn’t want to wake you…”
“I wasn’t asleep,” Y/N interrupts, gazing at him, her eyelids each weighting a ton. “I was waiting for you. I was hoping you’d show”. 
Alastair nods, avoiding her gentle eyes. Fetching the bottle, he serves himself another drink, and noticing an empty glass a little further away, splashes a generous amount of alcohol inside, wetting its walls. Leaning over the table, he puts the glass in front of Y/N, still refusing to look her in the eyes. 
“It’s not like everything changed or anything”, he lets out, his fingers fidgeting with the rim of his glass. “He was long dead to me before that bitch actually Avada Kedavra’d him”, his nonchalance is a thought out act. Whiskey wets his lips. “He never loved me. He never loved anybody but his precious Harry fucking Potter.”
“Alastair…” Y/N gives her dissent a muffled try. “You know it isn’t…”
“Oh it is the truth, Y/N, so don’t waste your breath”, he chuckles bitterly, missing the rage already. Bitterness is worse than anger, because it lasts. “From the moment I was born, he didn’t want me. He blamed me for my mother’s death. All I wanted,” his voice trembled, but Alastair quickly got a hold of himself. “All I wanted was a fucking chance. I wasn’t given any. He abandoned me. He preferred to surrender and go to Azkaban for the crime he didn’t commit, than stay and fight and be a fucking father. And when he came out, he wanted nothing to do with me. Doesn’t come as a surprise, really - I am not a Potter, after all!” thunder flashed in his tempestuous irises. “I made peace with my orphanage, a very long time ago. I’m glad the Weasleys were able to see past my green and silver uniform…”
The lights in the room went out with a loud shattering sound, the glass from overhead lamps clattering on the floor. Alastair froze mid-sentence, Y/N rugged breathing echoing in the dark space. 
“You have no fucking idea what you’re talking about, Alastair”, Y/N’s struggles through the sentence, her last effort spent on controlling her temper. “I’m going to fetch a candle and we are going to talk”, young Black hears the shuffling as she gets on her feet. “Well, I am going to talk, and you are going to listen, because I’ve got plenty to say”, having said that, she makes her way to the kitchen counter. 
Minutes later, a bright yellow-and-orange flame flickers in the dark, casting long shadows on the walls of the room. Darkness clusters around the two of them, and the whole world is put on hold. 
---
“…What you have to understand, Alastair, is that those were dark, hopeless times. With those who made it through alive, we prayed that no witch or wizard had to go what we went through. 
The war makes you think differently; the constant state of fear and knowing that each minute could be your last changes the way you look at things; it turns your entire world upside down. 
At first, just like you’re doing right now in regards to your father’s behaviour, we were looking for reasons. It took us thousands of lost lives to finally learn the truth - not everything had a reason - a rational commonsensical cause that comes from the faculty of the mind to distinguish good from evil and right from wrong. Merlin knows, Death Eaters had no reason to act like monsters. Merlin knows, Death Eaters had no reason to line up into a battalion, to aim their wands at other wizards’ chests and to yell an unforgivable curse at the top of their lungs. What they did have was command, and enough fear to obey.
Fear was living among us, following us everywhere we went. Fear turned some of the best of us into cold-blooded murderers, and it was hard to always focus on that fateful yet blurry line that separated us from Voldemort’s sidekicks. What I want you to understand is that fear pushed us towards choices we would have never otherwise made. Fear was what pushed James and Lily into the Godric’s Hollow, far away from their friends and family - I keep asking myself what would have happened if they’d stayed. Would we have stood a chance against Voldemort, as a strong, united front, together? Would they have still been alive?… Maybe, fear was what truly killed them both. 
Sirius always wanted to do what was right. But at some point, fear changed your father’s perception of right, and we - I - was in no position to argue, because I didn’t know what right was anymore, either. 
We were mourning your mother, Marlene, each in our own way. Voldemort wiped out her entire family, and if he didn’t touch you, it surely wasn’t out of the fucking goodness of his heart. Riddle did not know you existed, Alastair. Only a handful of wizards knew Sirius and Marlene were so in love, they wanted a kid, a ray of light amidst all that darkness. I knew. So did Molly. James and Lily knew too, of course. Remus and Peter - thank Merlin, Peter did not know!… Thinking about it now, I still can’t believe we didn’t see it coming, we didn’t kill him while we still had a chance, while the damage still hadn’t been done!…
You were four years old when wizards from the Ministry came for your father. I remember it clear as day, but what price wouldn’t I pay to forget. Sirius was tired of running. His thoughts were eating him alive. What kind of start in life was he offering you, his son? Days prior to his arrest, he told me, “You know what to do, Y/N”, and he squeezed my hand, ever so lightly… 
A notorious runaway murderer, he couldn’t send you to Hogwarts without surrendering. Upon learning that you, Alastair Black, were Sirius’ son, the Ministry would have kept you hostage to lure him out. He refused to drag you down with him, no matter how much it’d cost him… 
I left our hiding place with you under my robes hours before the Ministry came. I saw them burning the place to the ground, and every last memory of your mother with it… 
I was a mess by the time I arrived at the Burrow. Molly and Arthur kept asking me what happened, what was wrong… I couldn’t form words. I choked on them. You have to understand, Alastair, I watched as my best friend, the man I respected and loved more than anything in the world, was taken to Azkaban for the crime he didn’t commit. I finally had him, and I lost him, because I made a mistake. I should have never agreed to put my trust in Peter, I had a gut feeling about him, even back when we were at school!… I was disappointed in the entire world and I blamed myself. 
Molly and Arthur took you in as if you were one of their own. I watched you grow, and I was proud of the young man you were becoming, taking so much after your father! Watching you become  your father’s son was killing me slowly, while I still mourned the person who wasn’t even dead. A brilliant young wizard, be it a little on the troublemaker side, you, Fred and George might as well have been the new Marauders, carrying on your father’s legacy unbeknownst to you. 
Each time I came over to Molly’s over the holidays, I cried my eyes out upon returning here, in this very kitchen - Merlin, you were just like him!… At war with his true family. Just like Sirius before you, you hated everything that the Black family represented, and you weren’t shy to express your feelings - a very rebel-like move for a Slytherin, some said. Dressed in greens and silvers, you were the spitting image of the man I loved in every little line littering your face, too early for your age.
Why didn’t you take me in, then, you probably wonder. With me loving your father so much and all, I should have been the first in line to take care of you. The truth was, I couldn’t. The day your father had been taken, I swore to myself I’d find Peter Pettigrew, and I’ll make him confess,  before he takes Sirius’ place in Azkaban. I spent years on the move, blinded by my desire for revenge, while Peter….He was always right there, right in front of our noses. 
Every time I saw you at the Burrow, your smile never reached your eyes. So many questions were swimming in their stormy oceans, unanswered. You wanted the truth, and I was the only person who was able to give it to you. Yet I couldn’t. As much as it killed me, you were better off hating you father. Should I have told you the truth - just how much he loved you, and that he was innocent - it could backfire in the most unpredictable way. So I remained silent, and there were desperate times when I thought I’d carry Padfoot’s secrets to my grave. 
When Sirius got out, and the truth broke free with him, it took a while for it to settle in, even among the members of the Order. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like, learning that your father was innocent this entire time, that you were never the son of a murderer, but of a man wrongfully committed to Azkaban. When the news finally reached me, I dropped everything and set out for the Burrow: this time, I was going to give you all the answers you needed to hear, before you were to reunite with your father. 
I apparated at Grimmauld’s place at quarter past midnight, I remember very well. Not a single window was alight. I entered the house I almost learned to hate, for everything reminded me of you father here, cutting me open. I made my way to the kitchen. Something didn’t feel right, the atmosphere had shifted, it was almost like the house could breathe again. 
The moment I saw your father sitting in the very chair you are occupying, my legs failed me. I broke down on my knees, sobbing uncontrollably, like a little girl. Your father put your arms around me, placing feverish kisses all over my face, telling me that it was going to be okay now. He was back. 
We talked the night away, until the dawn coloured the sky light pink. He wanted to know everything about you - what kind of person you’d become, what you loved, what made you tick, what subjects at Hogwarts were your favourite… I watched a mischievous smile bloom on his chapped lips as I mentioned that your animagus form was a husky. He laughed out loud when I told him you were exceptionally good at blowing up school toilets. He cleared his throat, hiding his tears of joy when he learned you were proud to be a Slytherin, because it “came to show that not all Slytherins were Death Eaters in the making”. I swear I saw Padfoot come back to life that night, familiar fire melting the deadly coldness in his eyes away. 
We arranged for the old members of the Order to come to the Grimmauld place in the evening; I asked Molly to tell you to come too. Sirius was anxious the entire day. He couldn’t sleep and he couldn’t eat, threatening to go see you, claiming he had waited enough. Coming out there, even as a dog, was still dangerous, so I talked him down, time and again. 
I will never forget the tears rolling down his cheeks when he saw you, after all these years… When he held you in his arms… My heart stopped at the sight. Having seen his eyes, having felt his chest against your own that night, how dare you say your father never loved you, Alastair?… You were the only thing that mattered to him, the only thing that kept him going… Even if he was forced not to show it. 
That’s right, you heard me. The moment the members of the Order sat down at this table that night, we knew: many more meetings would follow. I’d been places and I’d seen things - there was no doubt left in my mind that Voldemort was planning his big return, his servants and all these creatures who worshipped him restless. We all knew the danger was coming, but we didn’t know from where exactly.  
Dumbledore and Sirius stepped into the hall after the meeting; they talked long enough for me to start to worry. When Sirius returned to the kitchen, we were still sitting at this table, do you remember?… A bright smile lit up your features as you asked your father if you could stay with him for the remainder of the summer. His answer was short and cold, and shook me to the core. He didn’t even say goodbye when you left for Burrow with Molly and Arthur. 
I was furious. I waited till we were left alone in the house to confront him. I came off a little stronger than I intended, reminding him that you were his son, for Merlin’s sake, and calling him heartless. Tears glimmered in his bloodshot eyes as he told me he was doing what was best for you. It was too dangerous for you to be close to him - he was still considered a murderer by the Ministry, only now the other side of the looming war wanted him dead as well. Being his son alone had already put you in danger; being a devoted, loving son would have surely killed you. I tried to talk some sense into him - he was making the same damn mistake we let James and Lily commit back in the day - he was yielding to fear. 
Please understand, Alastair, this wasn’t my decision to make. I wasn’t your mother. I was nobody really, and that’s exactly what your father told me, point blank. I stared at him in disbelief for what felt like an eternity, before I disappeared into thin air, apparating back to my place in London.  
I watched you grow bitter, while the skies above our heads grew darker with every single day. I tried to talk to you, to justify your father’s behaviour in your eyes, but you wouldn’t listen. I forced Remus, the only close friend I had left, to try and open your father’s eyes, Merlin knows, he’d been good at it when we were back at Hogwarts. Sirius wouldn’t budge, either. Like father, like son. 
I know you were jealous of Harry, I could see it just by looking at your face, don’t try to deny it. All because Sirius was treating him like a friend. What he saw, looking at Harry, was James. An equal, capable of fighting - not the most valuable thing in the world that needed to be protected at all costs. You were the quintessential reason he survived Azkaban. You were the only force that made him go out and fight, every single day. You weren’t just you in his eyes - you were the promise of the happy future he had to deserve by avenging your poor mother. I think he punished himself in a way all this time, he blamed himself for not having been there for the mother of his child when she needed him most. He blamed himself for leaving you. Under the weight of all this guilt and fear, your father got lost… And I wasn’t there to fight for him, to show him the way.
He came to see me… He came to see me a week ago, right before that night at the Ministry”. 
Y/N no longer looks at Alastair - her gaze is lost in the darkness of the hall, as tears roll down her cheeks. 
“…And I didn’t let him in.”
With his vision blurry, Alastair bites on his lips, his chest heaving. He is drowning in all-consuming pain, and no one’s here to save him. This must be what his father felt like. In agony and all alone. 
“There’s not a minute that goes by that I don’t think about him,” Y/N rubs her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I know I could have saved him,” her voice cracks, and her entire body shudders. “Had I loved him a little less, just a tad less to forgive him for the hurt he had caused me, I could have saved him. I could have gone to the Ministry that night instead of him, I could have convinced him to stay here, with you, for he had so much to lose…” Alastair’s eyes meet hers - not a flicker of the flame is reflecting in their irises. He gets the feeling his are the same, void and dark, like his name. 
“I could have saved him,” he says, covering Y/N’s hand with his, squeezing it ever so lightly. “Had I loved him at his worse, when he needed me most”. 
Silence is a scary sound as it closes in on them - on a heartbroken woman with tear-stained cheeks who loved too much, and on the orphan with blood-shot, thunderous grey eyes who did not love enough. 
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