#george missed the memo a little bit

[f1-birb]

Infour Just Lando and his really tall mates

#bahrain testing 2024 #2019 rookie trio #george russell #lando norris #alex albon #this is sooo special to me actually #itty bitty waist pretty face #george missed the memo a little bit #they really do make lando look tiny 🤏

[narukoibito]

since feeling is first who pays any attention

Summary: Ginny has done her fair share of watching Harry over the years.

AO3 | FF.net

Note: This was originally a gift for the wonderful @remedialpotions for the 2020 Harry & Ginny Discord's Incognito Elf gift exchange that I always wanted to rework before posting! I decided to expand it and add more missed moments, one for each of Ginny's years at Hogwarts.

Special thank you to @takearisk-ao3 who not only beta'ed last minute but also created the above beautiful banner when she had no idea what this story was about aside from my poor vibe descriptions! And, hah, it's my birthday again, so why not post today?

since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you; wholly to be a fool while Spring is in the world

my blood approves and kisses are a better fate than wisdom lady i swear by all flowers. Don't cry —the best gesture of my brain is less than your eyelids' flutter which says

we are for each other: then laugh, leaning back in my arms for life's not a paragraph

and death i think is no parenthesis

— e. e. cummings

i.

Ginny presses her face against the wall, peeking between the stair spindles. Her eye lands on the two boys hunched over a chessboard. It’s her brother Ron and Harry Potter, who, despite appearing to be losing, doesn’t seem the least bit upset.

Harry Potter.

The Harry Potter is in her house. Looking comfortable on their couch despite the faded, mended cushions. His face crinkles in laughter at something Ron says, his green eyes bright with contentment. Ginny doesn’t miss the occasional look of awe at the things she has always taken for granted. It’s almost as if he can’t believe he is really here in their ordinary home.

He isn’t what she expected—isn’t what she imagined he would look like after all those years listening to Mum recite her favorite bedside story, about the heroic Savior of the Wizarding World. She had pictured neat hair, a dashing smile, someone who would recognize a comrade in her and take her on all sorts of adventures. He would be different. He wouldn’t discount her dreams of flying or of doing everything her brothers could and more. Instead, Harry Potter has the messiest hair ever, a sheepish smile, and clothes that he nearly swims in.

Oh, and he has somehow missed the memo and found a comrade in Ron instead.

Her fingers curl around the spindle. Not for the first time, a spike of envy shoots through her. If only she were a little older. Or a boy. Then maybe she would be the one playing chess with Harry. Maybe she would be the one to hide under his invisibility cloak and battle trolls and face You-Know-Who with him.

Ginny presses her face a little closer and lets out a sigh.

But Harry Potter is kind. He ignores all the times she has made a fool of herself. And he has the greenest eyes she’s ever seen. They are as green as those glowing jars of pickled toads at the apothecary Mum sometimes takes her to. Pretty and kind and not at all dismissive of her patched clothes or her glowing red face.

Harry Potter. If he likes Ron, if he actually likes the Burrow, if his face grimaces at the attention at Flourish and Blotts, could it be possible that one day he could like her too?

“Going to ask for his autograph, Ginny?”

Ginny lets out an uncharacteristic squeak as Fred sidles up against her, with George flanking her other side.

“Or are you going to yell at us about how the great Harry Potter is different?” George teases.

“Not just brave—”

“But humble too!”

“What a catch.” Fred pretends to swoon.

“If only he’d notice me, Fred.” George sighs dramatically.

Ginny glowers at them, shoving away from her hiding spot. “Stop it.”

“Or what?” Fred and George laugh, loudly enough that Ron and Harry glance over curiously. Already she can feel her face flame even as her eyes narrow.

“Or I’ll tell Mum about that powder you snuck into your rooms.”

She turns her heel just in time to see her brothers’ faces drain of color. With as much dignity she can muster, she storms back up the stairs. She immediately collapses on her bed, but the soft afghan does nothing to ease the embarrassment that burns behind her eyes.

The worst part is that there’s no one for her to talk to about how seeing Harry Potter—or him looking at her—sets off a blazing sensation somewhere in her chest that horrifically travels up to her face like a rash. It’s foreign and strange, nothing she’s ever experienced before.

She has no one to talk to about it. Ron has hardly spared her a second glance since Harry arrived. Fred and George tease her mercilessly. Percy, preoccupied with his shiny badge, just tells her she should focus on her studies so she can be a prefect like him one day. And there is no way Percy or Mum would let her borrow an owl to send a letter to Bill or Charlie.

Maybe some things are best kept secret. She’s used to taking matters in her own hands, picking locks the Muggle way after watching Fred and George do it. The hum of power under her fingers when she steals their brooms reminds her that age, gender, and size don’t define her. She’d rather they stop being berks and let her fly with them, but she has grown to love the uninhibited freedom of flying at night. And it’s made a touch sweeter by the thrill of something being just hers in a house and family where everything is shared.

Still. It would be nice to have someone to talk to, someone to confide in.

She’s brimming with foreign feelings, the bursting anticipation of finally, finally going to Hogwarts. It’s all she’s ever wanted since Bill went, so much that she snuck into his luggage, craving escapades and escape. All these feelings are strangely accentuated by Harry Potter in her home.

She lets out a sigh, finally unburying her flushed face. Her gaze falls on her cauldron, filled with the fanciest, most expensive, brand new books that Harry Potter had gifted her (her, not Ron, not anyone else). The thought makes her insides flutter.

Maybe if she studies hard, Harry Potter might see that she’s not too little and annoying. Maybe he will tell Ron to let her stay, let her join them.

Ginny is pulling out Year with the Yeti when a small black notebook slips onto the floor. She stares down at it for a moment, temporarily dazed. Had Dad bought this for her?

The little journal is faded but retains a simple prettiness, almost as if there’s more to it than its worn cover. Something about it seems to draw her in. Mum always says never judge a book by its cover.

She leans down to pick it up, and a small thrill shoots up her arm. Her fingers skim over the clean, crisp pages.

She hardly ever gets anything of her own.

So unaccustomed to being without someone her age, she’d taken to chronicling stories, events, and adventures—placeholders for the real thing—as a way to cope without her brothers. Dad would peek into her room sometimes, his eyes twinkling when he caught her writing. He must have known she’d want to remember every moment of her first year at Hogwarts. Ginny presses the book against her chest, falling back onto her bed.

How much of it will be filled with the Boy Who Lived?

#since feeling is first who pays any attention #ginny weasley #harry potter #missed moments #canon compliant #hinny #eventually #pining #i have seven chapters planned and 2 more fully drafted so expect updates sooner rather than later i hope! #also still working on unravel me #don't worry! #got quite a few words from nanowrimo for it but it needs more work #thank you everyone for all the birthday wishes already #i feel very loved #this is my gift to all of you #ginny weasley grows up one missed moment at a time

[robynlilyblack]

So, this is the girl?

Sirius Black x fem! reader

Fred Weasley x fem! OC

Part 2 to There’s this girl

[Requested – see request here]

Summary: Fred invites his girl to Grimmauld place, while Sirius teases him about it, y/n notices a familiar unease in the girl’s eye

Warnings: swearing, OC character feeling not good enough

A/n: 1.8k words, I’m so glad someone requested a part 2 to this, I’ve used one of my OCs for the girl so she doesn’t remain nameless and we can pretend the reader was there to save Sirius at the battle of the department of mysteries x

Navigation | Sirius Black Masterlist

You were seated next to Sirius at the table as everyone else conversed around you, the party was mostly members of the order, with some of the younger ones present as well. After what happened at the department of mysteries, all of the elder Weasleys men minus Percy decided to join the order. Fred and George were provisionary while they were still setting up their business, plus Molly would have killed Dumbledore if he’d let them actually join.

“Anyone seen Fred?” Molly questions  

“He’ll be here soon he was just picking someone up along the way” George smiles sending a wink over towards you and Sirius

As Molly starts to ask George around a million questions you turn to Sirius “You think?” you bite your lip

He nods, leaning over to give you a kiss “I’m gonna tease him rotten” you giggle before capturing his lips again

“Love birds I’d pay attention I just heard the door shut” Remus leans over taking the empty chair next to you

You and Sirius pull apart, looking towards the door it seems other people got the memo as most of the room turns to look as well. Fred enters, behind him a shorter girl appears holding his hand, smiling timidly at all of the eyes on her

“Fred there you are…” Molly greets “…and who is this?” she probes, a small grin on her face

“Hey everyone” the elder twin smiles wrapping his arm around the girl’s waist making her smile brightly up at him “This is Bonnie, my girlfriend” you can hear the pride in his voice, the same pride you heard when Sirius called you his as well

You and Sirius watch from afar as the couple makes their rounds. You didn’t miss the small drop and recovery of some peoples smiles when she said she was an ex Slytherin, the most poignant one from Molly. George, Charlie and Bill seem to be the most warming, especially Bill since he had mentioned to you, Tonks and Remus that he had been thinking of finally introducing Fleur to his parents, so he probably knew exactly how Bonnie and Fred where feeling. Eventually Fred and Bonnie sit down with you, Sirius and Remus

“So, this is the girl?” Sirius looks at Fred knowingly, the boy letting out a little laugh

“I’m Bonnie, Bonnie Nathair” the girl introduces herself formally

“It’s nice to meet you Bonnie we’ve heard so much about you” Fred’s cheeks start to tint pink at Sirius, while you and Remus smile

“I’m Sirius, this is Remus although you probably already knew him” he nudges his friend “And this…” he wraps his arm around you “…is my wife Y/n”

“It’s very nice to meet you Bonnie, Fred was right you are stunning” you wink, the girl giggles a bit a light blush appearing on her cheeks

Fred notices her blush leaning down to kiss the side of her head, after which the girl speaks up “It’s nice to meet you and see you again profess…Remus, you were by far my favourite professor and we have 7 of them” she jokes gaining a laugh from Remus

“So how did you and Fred meet” Sirius inquires

“Oh” the girl’s eyes light up, it was clear to you no one had asked her a question merely going through Fred instead “Well, I knew of him before from his pranks and things, but we’d never really spoken despite being in the same classes for 6 years. Anyway, one day I was in the library and I couldn’t quite reach a book and he helped me” you and Sirius share a little look as you notice Fred smiling down at her like she was the only thing that mattered “Then we just kept running into each other after that and eventually he asked me out to Hogsmeade”

“Wow, first 6 years nothing then he just kept bumping into you, what are the chances” Fred’s blush increases at Sirius’ teases

A group of laughs pull your group from conversation, you see Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all laughing together about something. They look over at you all giving a quick smile, but what Sirius, Fred and Remus miss was is the tension between the group of younger teens and Bonnie.

“I’m just going to nip to the loo” the girl excuses herself, Fred gives her an okay love before kissing her cheek

As she walks away you can’t help but think about the little look she’s had in her eye all night, behind the smiles both genuine and fake. Standing up you speak “I’ve just realised the poor girl has no idea where the bathroom probably is”

Fred goes to stand up but you put a hand on his shoulder “Nope you aren’t getting away that easily” you turn to Remus and Sirius “Give him hell for me boys” you wink

“Yes mam” They answer giving fake salutes

You head out of the dining room, walking up to Walburga’s portrait “Hey Wally” you tease gaining her attention

She huffs hating the nickname “What bloodtraitor!”

“You see a pretty girl about yay height come by here?” you gesture

“If you mean another disgrace to the wizarding world then yes that retched girl ran into the room down the hall and…” she scoffs, temping to continue only to be cut off by you

“Shut it Wally that’s enough from you or do you want me to mute you again?” you threaten, the women shut ups muttering what you assume is more insults under her breath as you head down the hall to find the girl

You hear some sniffles coming from a nearby room, pushing open the door you see her sitting on one of the chairs knees to her chest crying “Oh, Mrs Black I’m so sorry” she sits up wiping her tears “I just…needed some air”

You take a seat on the chair next to her “There’s no need to apologise sweetie” you lean forward helping to wipe the tears “Why are you crying?”

“It’s silly” she shakes her head

“It’s not silly if it makes you upset. You don’t have to tell me I’m not Molly I’m a cool mum, well godmum but same thing isn’t it” she giggles a little

“I just feel a bit out of place” she confesses “Dumbledore was thrilled when I wanted to join the order but meeting everyone I just feel like they can’t see by the green tie I used to wear”

“I felt the same way” you admit causing her to look up, eyes widening

“You were Slytherin too”

You nod “Yup, I was one of the only Slytherins in the order back in the first war. Half of them hated me or didn’t trust me, even refused to go on missions with me because they were scared I’d stab them in the back” your eyes get a bit misty remembering it

“That’s horrible” she pouts

“It was, but there were others that loved me for who I was and helped me to keep fighting back against the stereotypes people the like Malfoys, Voldys, hell especially the house of Black has created” you gesture to the house

“Like Sirius and Remus?” she tilts her head at you

“Yup, Harrys parents too, along with the Longbottom’s and  a couple of women called Marlene and Dorcas” you reach out taking her hand “You won’t be alone, you’ll have me, Siri, Remus and many others including your man” you smile

She smiles a little but it drops “I’m not good enough for him” she shakes her head

“What makes you think that?”

“Fred is so amazing, he is so smart, smarter than everyone gives him credit, Georgie too. He’s handsome, sweet and so brave. I just don’t measure up next to him” she starts to tear up “He even stood up for me and let me join the DA, he and Georgie had to split up because no one wanted to partner with me and when it got exposed everyone except them blamed me first” the tears start to flow, your heart breaks for her “I can see it in Molly’s eyes as well, they’ll never accept me, and someday Fred will realise too they always do”

“Oh honey” you sit forward pulling her into a hug, letting her cry into you “You are more than enough, anyone who can’t see that are the stupidest people in the whole world”

“You know there is one thing that I do agree with about Slytherins” she pulls back a bit looking up at you as you continue “We are very powerful, unlike others we have the unique ability to see things that others miss. People tend to think that the traits that make us Slytherin revolve around being a purist arse, but in reality, we are in Slytherin because we are ambitious, smart and loyal”

“Loyal?” she furrows her eyebrows

“Most people think that trait belongs solely to Gryffindor or Hufflepuff but have you ever not seen a Slytherin stick up for another when another house messes with them?” she shakes her head “We are loyal because there are so many Slytherins that joined the wrong side because they wouldn’t betray their families, and even though we both know that some of that is routed in pride and sometimes fear it’s still admirable. You have more courage than a lot of the people in that room, you didn’t just join because of your families you joined knowing the danger people like us face when we turn against the stereotype. You are so special and molly is fucking lucky she’ll get to call you her daughter one day”

“Thanks Mrs Black” she smiles “You really think he’ll marry me?”

“Oh yeah that boy is whipped just like Siri” she giggles “And its actually Mrs Y/l/n” you correct

“He took your name?” she looks at you surprised

“Yup” you wink at her making her giggle “And just between us girls, those random meetings weren’t a coincidence my husband gives surprisingly good dating advice”

Her face lights up “Wait he was running into me on purpose?”

Smiling you give her a nod “Yes and you didn’t hear it from me, now come on let’s get back they’ll think we fell down the toilet or something”

Walking back, you watch as Bonnie retakes her seat next to Fred, slipping her hand into his, who was bright red talking to your husband. You observe as you lean on the door frame as he looks down at her, whispering something in her ear which she returns as they lean in to kiss. Remus had already left so your husband smiles at the young couple before walking up to you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you close

“Where were you, you missed all the fun” he asks giving you a kiss to your temple

“Just had to give a little advice a certain red head gave me” you look up at him, Sirius lets out an ah in recognition as he looks over at the young couple “Oh” he turns back “And we need to kick Harrys ass” you smirk

#sirius x reader #sirius black and reader #sirius black and you #sirius x y/n #fred weasley and oc #Bonnie Nathair #Sirius Black #fred weasley

[bittydragon]

The Ant King

Note: Huge thanks to Bittydragon for inspiring me to write this. I’ll be honest, this is the first fic I've ever actually written, as well as the only piece of creative fiction I've written in like two years so… fingers crossed it goes well hahaha.

TW: tight spaces, darkness, uh,,, bugs i guess. Near death experience

  There are things you have to know about ants when you get an ant farm. Basic fundamentals. What to feed them, how to keep them alive, what type of ants you have, etcetera. Even if your intentions were… torturous. After all, you need to know what makes something tick in order to make it stop.

One of the more common facts about ants is that every colony has a queen. She orders her ants to keep her alive so she can make more ants. Simple biology, the continuation of a species. Every nest has a queen, or it dies.

Apparently, this colony didn’t get the memo.

These thoughts buzzed in grumpy circles around Wilbur's’ head as he followed his ant companion, Tommy, deeper into the ant-farm. They had been wandering these tunnels for what felt like days now, in the center of the farm so there were no glass barriers to show the outside world. They were deep too. Almost at the bottom of the compound. Wilbur was not one to show fear, but even he was beginning to get claustrophobic.

Tommy, who up until now had been jabbering like a toddler the whole trip through the ant-farm had also gone uncharacteristically silent. The whole trip Wilbur had wanted nothing more than a few seconds of quiet from him, but now he missed the carefree noise.

They were on their way to see the ant King. A type of ant that, as far as Wilbur knew, didn’t exist. So either they were on a wild goose chase, or Will was way out of his depth.

The further they went, the more he was convinced it was the latter.

“Tommy do you-” Wilbur paused, his echoing voice in the tunnel almost felt like a taboo. An affront to the maddening silence that stalked them. He lowered his voice.

“Do you think… Will I ever get back to normal? Will the ant king change me back?” He hated that little quiver in his voice. He hated the uncertainty. The waiting.

Tommy continued to march forward silently, pondering the question.

“I dunno big man, I think you’ve changed heaps since you got here.” He turned his head to flash Wilbur a grin “Then you’ll be out there and all nice n shit. It’ll be poggers.”

The tunnel was dark, but not dark enough to hide the flash of uncertainty in Tommy’s eyes.

Wilbur's heart sank. “Thanks mate.” He mumbled, and they trekked on, once more in silence.

  By the time they saw light, it felt like they had been walking for days. Wilbur was almost glad he was about to meet possibly one of the most powerful ants in this colony. They rounded one last bend, and they were there.

Before them stood a huge double door set in the wall. Two vines with some kind of glowing fruit framed the door, shedding light on the small space. In front of the door, leaning on a spear made from a twig was another ant with a pair of large white rimmed goggles. 

“Well… This is it I guess.” Wilbur muttered. He cleared his throat “Hey, um. I-i’m here to have an audience with the King? If that's alright.”

The guard ant didn’t respond, continuing to stare at them with no discernible expression.

“H-hello?” Wilbur glanced at Tommy, who shrugged.

“Excuse me? Anyone home?” Wilbur snapped his fingers in front of the ant's face.

He seemed to startle slightly, before slumping down a bit and letting out a loud snore.

“What the fuck” Tommy said.

Before anyone could do much of anything, one of the massive double doors creaked open and a voice came through.

“George, I swear if you fell asleep again, I'm going to rip off your antenna and use them as- oh.”

Another ant entered the room, this one also carried a twig-spear and had a strip of white cloth tied around his forehead.  As soon as his gaze landed on Wilbur, his expression soured.

If looks could kill… Wilbur thought nervously

“It’s you” The new ant spat “Took your sweet time getting here Soot. Earthquake slow you down? Didja get a taste of your own medicine from your big pals out there?”

Wilbur pursed his lips, and the ant snorted. “Yeah. Thought so.” He walked forward and gave George a hard shove, sending the other ant sprawling with a startled yelp.

“Sapnap what the hell?!” He snapped, before spotting Wilbur and Tommy. “Oh hey. That guy is here.”

“Yeah he’s here, idiot.” Sapnap smacked George over the head with his spear “And we would have known a lot sooner if you hadn't fallen asleep on duty again!”

“OW! Sapnap stop! Get off me!”

Wilbur cleared his throat, drawing their attention “Sorry to interrupt, but me and my friend have been walking for a long, long time, so could we please have an audience with the King?”

Subpoena glared “Yeah. He’s waiting for you. Against my advice, he wants to see you.”

Oh. That… didn’t sound great.

Wilbur tried not to think about the implications of that statement as he approached the double doors. Tommy moved to follow, but was stopped by the guards.

“Hey!” He groused “Let me through dickheads!”

“I'm afraid the King only wants an audience with the great and powerful Wilbur Soot” Sapnap said with a smirk.

“But I want to go too! Let me in! You stupid ugly bitch ill fight you! You may have a fancy stick but just wait until I pull out my knife-gun!”

“Tommy its fine.” Wilbur interrupted “I’ll be fine mate, promise. Just wait here. I wont leave without saying goodbye.”

The last thing he saw was Tommy’s antenna drooping sadly, before the doors swung closed behind him.

  If Wilbur thought the tunnel was dark before, that was nothing compared to the room he was in now. The darkness was so thick, so absolute, that it made no difference if his eyes were open or closed.

“Hello?” Wilbur called “Uh… your majesty? I was told that you wanted to see me.”

His voice echoed slightly in the huge space, but there was no reply.

Wait. What was that? Something rasped ever so slowly across the opposite wall. Something big. As it moved, the moss where it had been standing glowed a dull green.

Bio-luminescence Wilbur reasoned. Trying to distract himself from the fear creeping up his spine. Touch activated, it seems.

He swallowed dryly “L-look, just tell me what you want. I’m not here to cause trouble”

The thing moved again, its raspy scuttle reverberated through the chamber.

“Wilbur Soot, not here to cause any trouble” A thoughtful voice hummed from the dark “Now that’s a first.”

The bio-luminescent moss was lighting up more of the room. If he squinted, Wilbur could make out a... leg. Probably.

Wilbur inches slowly to the side, the moss lighting up his own path. “Okay, I get it, I've done morally questionable things in the past, but I've learned a lot from my time here. I’m sorry.”

“For now” The voice replied. The thing was moving on the other side, matching him step for step. “What's to say you aren't faking remorse to get out of here? And maybe you really are sorry. How can I be sure you wont change your mind the second you're back to normal? It's too much of a risk.”

Wilbur continued to back away nervously “Your majesty-”

“Please, call me Dream. Everyone else does.”

“Right… Dream. I can say with 100% certainty that won't happen. I've seen people die in front of me. That’s enough to change anyone's stance on something.”

“And yet I'm still not convinced.” It was moving faster now, scuttling across the floor, walls and even across the ceiling. Wilbur's head spun with the motion. “And since we’re talking in hypotheticals, riddle me this: Whoever said I was going to let you out anyway? What if I just like to play with my food?”

Dream stopped suddenly, rearing over Wilbur, and with all of the lit up moss, he got his first proper look.

This ant was huge. Twice- no, at least three times the size of Wilbur himself. He looked a bit like a centaur, with a human torso connected to a pure white and thorax and abdomen.He also wore a strange white mask with a blank eyed smiley face drawn on.

Two huge claw arms- similar to those of a praying mantis- extended from Dreams waist and slammed into the dirt either side of Wilbur, startling him enough that he fell onto his ass. The king leaned forward with that lifeless grin, and Will closed his eyes, preparing for the end.

“But…” Dream said thoughtfully “A proper experiment should account and test for all variables, shouldn't it?”

��Y-yeah generally” Wilbur stuttered

“Oh good.” Dream hoisted him roughly to his feet. “I’m glad I asked you. After all, you know all about experiments, don’t you?”

Wilbur chose not to answer, glowering at Dream as the eyes on his mask briefly glowed a dull green.

A moment later, Sapnap and George marched in, dragging a cussing and struggling Tommy behind them.

“YOU STUPID MOTHEFUCKERS!!! Let me go or ill get married in rage!! Fuck you and-! Oh. wow that is a big fella.” Tommy stopped and stared in awe at Dream

“Sapnap, give Wilbur your spear.” Dream ordered.

A flicker of doubt crossed Sapnaps face but he obediently shoved the spear into Wilbur's hands.

“I’ll make you a deal, Wilbur Soot.” Dream purred, circling him. “I will let you go to your old life. You can do whatever you like; kill us, torment us, throw us away… it doesn't matter. All you have to do is kill one ant.” He gestured to Tommy.

“What?” Wilbur whispered.

“WHAT?!” Tommy roared “fuck you! I'm not your dumb-ass pawn, I'm going to kill you! Rrrrrrrrrrr!” he writhed, attempting to bite George who did a surprisingly good job of holding him still.

“Go on.” Dream cooed “It's just one insignificant ant standing between you and freedom. You've killed hundreds. What's one more?”

Spear in hand, Wilbur took a hesitant step forward.

Tommy's gaze snapped up “Wilby?” He asked, his struggling pausing for a moment.

Their eyes met, fear clashing with sorrow. Tommy seemed to see something in Wilbur's expression and hung his head in defeat. As if he had expected Wilbur to betray him.

Oh hell no. Fuck that. Wilbur angrily tossed the spear aside.

“No. I won't.”

“What?” Dream spat

Wilbur rounded on him “No! I won't kill him! Keep me here, kill me, hunt me for sport, whatever! Just leave him out of this! Tommy has been nothing but nice to me since I met him, even though it don't deserve it!” He rubbed his arm. “God knows I don't deserve it.”

“Hmm…” Dream hummed “Are you sure, even if it costs you your life?” One of Dream's massive claw arms grazed his side, a subtle threat.

Wilbur looked over at Tommy, who had a look of hope on his face.

“Yeah.” Will smiled, “I'm sure.”

I probably could have written more, but i wont. I hope you like this fic bitty! Thanks for reading :)

Edit: Fortune, this is amazing! Like, I hadn't really thought about this encounter in a lot of detail, but I honestly like this a lot! And Dream being a big boy since he's the king ant. Just yes. Thank you so much for this.

#submission #fan work #tiny!tommy #tiny!wilbur #tiny!dream #tiny!sapnap #tiny!george #giant!dream? #maybe? #mcyt gt #thank you again! #betmyfortune

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Sixteen

“Hermione.” 

As soon as Harry groans the name, Ron’s forgotten about his intentions to calm his best friend. 

Instead, he’s now hell bent on the significance of him saying her name. 

Surely it can’t be good, can it? Maybe Harry knows where she is or maybe they’ve done something to her... 

Ron shivers at the thoughts and it’s just provoking him further to find out what it all means. 

“Harry, what is it? What about Hermione?” He asks desperately, despite the moans of pain from the black haired boy. 

“Ron.” Someone, he thinks Lupin, warns. 

He ignores them, “he just needs a minute. That’s all.” He tells the room hoarsely. 

Molly soon drops to her knees and pushes a glass of water to Harry’s lips. He greedily drinks it as it gives him the strength to come to. 

As his eyes become less cloudy, Ron seems to take notice, using this to his advantage to continue his questioning. 

“Harry, what did he want? Did you see-” and suddenly, now that he no longer has to worry if Harry’s alright, he realizes he’s too scared to hear about Hermione. If she’s hurt or worse. 

The chosen one seemed to understand the direction this was going  in and mustered all his strength to push up onto his elbows. Thankfully, Ron grabbed at him and gave him the support he needed as the pair met eye to eye. 

And looking into Ron’s blue pools of hope, Harry feels his own green ones glass over at what he just saw. 

“Harry, did you see something? About Hermione?” Molly coaxes gently from her spot on her knees. 

He nods. It’s a strangled, painful thing. 

“Where is she? Do you know where she is?” Fred asks, rushed, panicked almost. 

Ron doesn’t have the will to question him,  he’s too stunned. 

“No, I don’t know, I can’t, I just,” Harry’s hysterical, the worst anyone in the room has seen him, “Le-Lestrange, Dolohov, Worm-” he begins to heave, “Wormtail and-and Greyback. Don’t know the rest. Don’t know.” He’s shaking his head like mad. 

Moody steps forward and grasps his shoulder painfully, “pull yourself together Potter. Who else was there!” He shouts. 

Molly moves to protest, but Arthur holds her back, knowing this is what Harry needed. 

The Boy-Who-Lived clears his throat and takes several deep breaths, “the room, it was so cold,” he shivered, “it was dull. Empty, dust everywhere. The only thing I remember,” Harry closes his eyes to visualize it, “was a chandelier. It was the only thing shining in the room, you couldn’t miss it.” He admonishes, hoping someone has an idea. 

No one does. He goes on. 

“Vol-Volde,” he can’t seem to get the name out, “You-Know-Who came, asked Hermione questions, but she wouldn’t talk, didn’t speak.” The dark haired boy is crying again, “he said if she didn’t talk he’d just have to make her sc-scream.” Harry begins to cough, almost as if he is trying to throw something up but his attempts are fruitless.  

“Harry,” McGonagall starts lowly, sounding choked up. 

“Crucio!” He exclaimed wildly, “Bellatrix-she-Cruciatus Curse, Hermione, she wouldn’t scream.” A few gasps sounded within the room, Ron didn’t know what to do, “then he-he did it and, her scream, Merlin, her scream.” Harry moaned in anguish. 

Ginny collapsed into her fathers embrace as dull sniffles filled the room. 

“Never gonna stop hearing that,” he said again, forcing his eyes shut to try and drown out her shriek, “so sorry Ron. So sorry, I can’t, I’m so sorry.” 

In all his years of living, all the trauma he’s faced, never has Harry been so hysterical, so torn up. It was so bad, Ron even spared a moment to feel for him despite all his worry for Hermione. 

“Is she alive, Harry?” George asks desperately from his spot on the couch, “Harry is she alive?” He repeats louder, standing to his full height. 

He cowers a little at the scream, but eventually Harry nods slowly, almost reluctantly. Like he isn’t sure of this himself. 

And Ron notices. Of course he does. 

“Well,” the ginger starts almost bitterly, “what are we waiting for?” He bites out. 

Everyone in the room exchanges looks, no one wanting to tell him. Moody is the one who does it. 

“What do you suppose we search every effing building in England with a chandelier?” He grunts. 

“If that’s what it takes.” Ron says, like it’s simple. 

A tense silence falls upon the room, Harry begins mumbling something before it eventually becomes coherent. “We have to, before it’s too late...” he says quietly. 

Ron explodes without missing a beat, “too late? Too late huh!” He screams, causing his mother to flinch. 

“Ron, I-” Harry is trying to stand, but he’s too weak. 

“No,” Weasley gets up, “no, don’t you talk like this. None of this would’ve happened if you could just stay fucking put!” He spits, “but you couldn’t help yourself, could you? Just had to be the bloody hero! Had to run after Lestrange huh?” His tone can only be described as venomous. 

Ron is known to be temperamental, but this was a whole other level. Something no one in the room has ever witnessed. 

More tears absently fall from Harry’s green eyes. Everyone else looks shocked, save for his Mum who moved to brush back some of his best mates' hair. 

“Ron-” Harry tries again once becoming more composed. 

“Hermione’s smarter than anyone in this room,” he turns and makes a move to point at McGonagall, making his twin brothers gasp, “anyone!” He emphasizes this time wagging his finger at Dumbledore. “So if anyone can make it through this, it’s Hermione. So don’t,” he rounds back to Harry, “don’t you dare say that.” Ron finishes heaving. 

As he finishes Harry expels a horrible, painful noise, and for a minute Ron thinks it’s You-Know-Who again. He soon realizes it’s just the chosen one's painful cries. 

Suddenly wracked with guilt, the tall boy drops to his knees and makes a move to console his friend. 

“Harry no,” he’s about to cry too, “I didn’t mean it. I promise. It’s my fault. All my fault.” He promises rushed. 

And it’s true. Harry wasn’t the one who did nothing despite knowing Hermione was about to stun him. Harry wasn’t the one whose life Hermione saved. Harry wasn’t the one who couldn’t even move as much as his fucking pinky as he heard Hermione apparate away. 

That wasn’t Harry, it was Ron. 

However, his words have ample effect. The dark haired boy continues to shake, both in exhaustion from his vision and reeling from Ron’s words. 

Soon enough, Molly slips something past his lips that Lupin handed her, making Harry go slack on the floor. The ginger soon realizes it’s a sleeping draught. 

“No!” He yells, “no why would you do that?” He accuses his Mum with blurry eyes. 

“Ronnie, he was struggling.” Molly tried to sound soft, despite wanting to slap her son silly for talking to Harry that way. However, she could tell he was in so much pain, he didn’t mean it. She just hoped he knew too.  

“You-Know-Who, he-he comes to him in dreams. Now he can’t, won’t know where Hermione is.” He shook his head vigorously. 

“Ron, we know you want Hermione back, everyone here wants it too. Harry as well, so he’s no good to anyone in that state, especially Hermione.” Bill interjected. 

Ron doesn’t know what to say. There’s not much at this point. He’s so exhausted, he’s torn between collapsing, shaking Harry awake to apologize, and trying to teach himself apparition just to get to Hermione. It’s so tiring. 

“I don’t-” he chokes, “I don’t know what to do. I didn’t even mean it. I’m just,” he cries, making everyone’s heart clench as Ron hunches over Harry’s sleeping forward. 

George stands, “come on Ronnie.” He whispers, slowly pulling him off the ground, supporting most of his weight as his brother sways. 

Next, George calls Fred and Charlie before weakly pointing to where Harry laid. They got the memo and together lifted The-Boy-Who-Lived from the wooden floor, taking him to the attic. On the way, Molly had slipped the extra sleeping draught into Charlie’s hand with a weak smile. 

With a lot of grunts and a bit of struggle, they eventually reached Ron’s room on the top floor. George escorted Ron into his own bed as Charlie and Fred placed Harry on his. 

The youngest Weasley’s eyes were fixed on Harry, who looked rather peaceful, but his blue eyes were full of guilt. 

“Take this.” George said, grabbing the draught from Charlie, stepping in front of Ron as a means to block his view from his dark haired mate. 

“What?” He says, eyeing it, “no.” The red head boy says. 

“Ron.” George practically grumbled. 

“No,” he shakes his head, “no, what if,” he starts. 

“If anything happens, we will wake you. It’ll just be for a few hours. You need the rest, clear your head, be sharper for tomorrow. That’s when the searching starts.” The twin said, voice uncharacteristically soft.  

Flicking his gaze between his older brother and the small bottle in his hand, Ron defeatedly took it. He knew George was right, he had to be at his best to get to Hermione, and though he wished it were different, odds were that wouldn’t be happening tonight. 

So, Ron took a generous sip, just enough for a good rest, but for no more than necessary. 

“Good night Ronnie.” Fred called from the door where his three brothers had gathered, making a move to extinguish the candle flames with his wand. 

Ron lifted his head slightly, before it fell heavy against his pillow, wanting to remind them to wake him if everything happened. The words died on his lips as darkness took over. 

He doesn’t know how long he's enveloped in nothingness before a voice becomes apparent, echoing through the abyss. 

“Wake up Ron, wake up.” A familiar voice sounds as his body feels slightly jostled. 

He groans, hoping to fall into a wonderful dream about Hermione’s warm smile and bright eyes. 

His efforts are futile. Whoever it is, won’t leave him. 

“Ronnie, get up!” He comes to realize it’s Bill’s voice. What also registers, is his plea to be awoken if any news came. 

And with that, he snaps his blue eyes open to stare at his seemingly flustered brother. 

“What is it?” He asked, his voice way too clear and demanding for someone who just was sleeping. 

“It’s Hermione.” Bill says softly. 

He shucks the covers off, the first thought is that she’s dead, she must be. But, part of him knows, he can feel it’s not true. 

His oldest brother's mouth is moving, but Ron doesn’t care, the only words that register are ‘living room’, before he’s trampling down the steps. 

And then he sees her. 

She’s sitting on the couch, dirt and blood covering her smooth skin. His first instinct is to hurl at the sight, being reminded of how vile they treated her. However, even though her hair’s matted, skin scarred, and eyes watery, she’s here. She’s back and she’s still gorgeous. 

“Hermione.” Ron says breathlessly. 

Then, her big brown eyes meet to his blue ones, a terrified expression melting into something sweet. Almost full of adoration, love. 

It’s like the whole room disappears. 

At the sight of him, Hermione stands on shaky legs, Ron responds by rushing over, never willing to let her fall again. 

But before he can hold her, he realizes the room quite literally disappeared. Suddenly, the oak tree stands tall nearby. 

Not willing to question it, too enthralled by the sight of her, he ignores it and stretches out his long fingers, desperate to brush her skin. Desperate to know she’s real. 

But, Hermione stops him, “why didn’t you come find me?” Her voice is broken, a sound that pierces Ron’s heart. 

“Hermione, I,” he begins hoarsely, apologies, dying on his tongue. 

“Why didn’t you come find me?” She repeats, this time her tone is somehow more gut wrenching. 

The sound alone causes him to close his eyes, willing her out of his sight for the first time since she’s gotten back. 

Soon, he’s determined to open them again, missing the sight of the witch, ready to apologize, to make things as right as can be. 

But when he does, a wand is pressed into Hermione’s jugular as she whispers. From behind, Bellatrix Lestrange stands, a mad grin on her face.

“Why didn’t you come find her?” She asks through a cackle. 

He’s crying before he knows it, “take me! It’s me you want! Please!” He begs. 

Bellatrix pretends to think about it for a moment before fiercely tugging at Hermione’s hair, “no, I don’t think I will.” She smiles. 

Ron can see the wand press harder into the expanse of Hermione’s neck, making her cry out. Then, Bellatrix Lestrange smiles, a sickening, horrible looking thing. 

Piercing her dark eyes into blue ones, she bares her rotted teeth, “Avada kedavra.” Lestrange whispers happily. 

A jet of green light flashed from the edge of Bellatrix’s wand. 

“No!” Ron cried out as Hermione lets out a gut wrenching scream. One he doesn’t think he can ever scrub from his mind. 

Ron woke with a start. A cold sweat over his both like a sheet. At first, he figured his mind couldn’t take the images it had conjured up, that was why he woke. However, as the buzzing and echo in his head of Hermione’s scream fades, his ears welcome a new sound. Sounds of anguish just in the bed nearby. 

Suddenly, Harry’s eyes snap open. 

“It’s him.”

Ron isn’t the only one having bad dreams. 

#ron x hermione #ron and hermione #ron weasley #rons-hermiones come find me #hermione granger #romione #romione fanfic #hp fanfic #hp #sixth year

[heli0s-writes]

Ugly Christmas Sweater Party

Summary: Bucky (sort of) agrees to wear an ugly Christmas sweater, but what he ends up wearing is much worse. This is for @holy-captain‘s 1.2k writing challenge! Congratulations, Liv and thank you for hosting! I’m so sorry it’s late!! 

Pairing: Exasperated!Bucky x ChaoticDumbass!Reader

Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 1.8k

It’s supposed to be a fun and light-hearted thing—a season full of shiny-glowing-fantastic-twinkling excitement and ruddy red noses and misty breath in the chilled air. A season of joy and celebration, of spiked eggnog, fuzzy striped socks, and sliding down the compound hillsides on Steve’s shield.

And he’s screwed it all up.

It sinks in like the swollen marshmallows in his now cold cocoa, drooping to the bottom where the rest of the sediments lie. Outside, snowflakes gust and whip, blanketing the pine trees and skeletons of shrubbery in white flurries. Red holly berries peek out where they can and glare at him with their crimson eyes.

His phone lights up with picture messages of Steve and Sam, hurriedly trying on a cluster of sweaters in preparation. Horrid renderings of cats on ornaments. Oversized slouchy sleeves flecked with tinsel. Santa’s dreadful ass-crack peeking out of a chimney.

Bucky grumbles and turns his phone face-down, leaning back in his chair to stare at the Christmas tree in the corner. He wants to scream and put his leg through the damn thing.

Soft footsteps draw his attention to the hallway when you emerge, blinking slowly as you stifle a yawn from behind your hand until you see him. Then, you scoff and disappear back down the hall.

“Wait!” Bucky calls, leaping from his seat and nearly knocking the tepid mug from the table, “Damn it, wait!”

You’re gone. Stomped back to your room and even if he starts running now, he wouldn’t be quick enough—only getting the slamming door on his nose. He’ll try anyway.

Bucky slumps against the panel, pushing his chest against the cold metal of it and his cheek until his words come out smushed into his teeth.

“C’mon!” A pathetic whine of your name before he sticks his fingers underneath the slit of the door like a cat, wiggling the bent tip back and forth. Incredible. The Winter Soldier sprawled out all over a corridor, begging for forgiveness over this.

Only silence replies; you’re probably on the bed, thinking about scratching his eyes out. He can practically see you flicking him off with both hands. You’ve never been this upset before, and it deeply troubles him considering the dynamic of your very friendship spun on the axis of one single truth: Bucky’s the annoyed one. You’re the fuck up.

And now he has no idea what to do.

One week of it and he’s completely lost; the start of it all—December 1st when Tony announced: Ugly. Christmas. Sweater. Party.

Two days before Christmas, the team will be gathering in the common area for a white elephant gift exchange, and sweaters will be judged based on ugliness. What a stupid idea.

The winner will be awarded with “no team meetings for a month” and Tony’s personal stash of bourbon as long as no one touches his whiskey.

Upon the proclamation, you had clapped your hands together and grinned, “We’re gonna win this damn thing.”

And Bucky, being regular Bucky who ignores your half-witted ideas and short-sighted fixations, muttered, “Whatever,” and went back to thinking normal-person thoughts.

For the next several weeks, you dove into your knitting, the needles clicking together faster than he’s ever seen, weaving sparkling black and bright cherry red. The rows were tightly bound, looped and coiled expertly until he could finally make out the shape on the front of it.

He really did love your sick sense of humor—although he’d never admit it—funny, twisted, always brought him a bit of joy.

“Fuck no,” he had laughed at the image of a mutilated deer, antlers dangling silver ornaments showcasing his sigil. “I am not fuckin’ puttin’ that on. It looks like hell.”

“You agreed!” And then the needles and yarn hit him right in the nose.

On your way out, a low chuckle came from the corner of the living room where Steve sat sipping a cup of steaming chai. “You know Christmas is her favorite holiday?”

A snorting laugh bubbled the surface of Steve’s tea, “Good goin’, Buck.”

-

“Last Christmas” is on, blaring synth beats through the halls. George Michael croons sweetly, longingly, grieving an unrequited love before jingle bells ring in the scattered percussion.

Bucky hears your voice as you carol along to possibly the cheesiest song of all time—infuriated and baffled that you won’t speak more than two words to him but will sing your heart out to this crap. George Michael, Wham! and all of England can eat his whole ass.

He trudges from his room and into the den where the lights are dimmed and the table is set with snacks and a crock pot of hot chocolate. A dish of pine cones sits in the middle, flanked by a merry snowy village filled with little ceramic teddy bears and reindeer. On the edge is a deflated Santa Hat filled with paper scraps and pens for the voting process at the end of the night.

It is seven-thirty and you are standing next to Sam with bent elbows, wiggling your hips to the chorus, sliding back and forth on the polished floor in fuzzy socks. The two of you are facing the window, pointing at the flurry and a mountain of sludge that was previously a horrid misshapen lump of Snowman Steve.

Bucky squints a little, alert when he sees two matching sweaters—black on the back. Hell no, he thinks.

Sam turns around and Bucky’s worst holiday fears are confirmed. One innocuous “Oh hey, man,” and all the warmth drains from him.

On Wilson’s chest is that terrible disfigured deer you constructed, its antlers spearing out from its head to reach all the way up to his shoulders.

Bucky flies across the room and before either you or Sam can do anything about it, he’s peeling the hem of it over Sam’s head, kneeing him in the groin, and taking him down onto the floor. “What the hell!” Sam yells, struggling to get out of his grasp. “Shit—get off—Barnes!”

“A red star isn’t even your fucking symbol!” His hair is in his eyes along with Sam’s elbow, their limbs and joints knocking into each other in the wrestling bout. The sleeves and front are being stretched terribly, but neither of them seem to notice.

“Hey,” Your calm voice calls from above them—falling on four deaf ears. “Hey,” You try again, and when it doesn’t seem like two grown men can stop aggressively fondling each other over a damn pullover, you raise your hand and decisively land it across the back of Bucky’s head in a deafening crack.

A swell of multiple shocked gasps rises from behind you and when Sam and Bucky freeze, they see the rest of the compound’s inhabitants staring at the scene like a disfigured Nativity display. They also see your palm, at the end of your motion, resting next to your shoulder.

Bucky gingerly rubs his wound. “Ow,” He grumbles.

“Room… now.” You command, pointing your finger down the hall. Wilted, he shuffles away dutifully, saying nothing to the others as he passes. When he’s gone, you look scornfully at Sam and your beloved jersey, loosely hanging at the edge of his torso, pulled nearly apart.

“Voting starts in twenty, kid,” Tony mentions breezily.

“Yeah,” You reply through gritted teeth, “Don’t worry, we’ll be there.”

-

Steve coughs behind his hand awkwardly when Bucky steps back out, the once snugly-fitting sweater around Sam hanging collapsed and loose on Bucky’s right side. You’re close behind, bouncing on your heels and smiling as if nothing had gone wrong. Steve’s not sure which is worse: your wrath or glee.

“You, uh, you alright?” He calls quietly.

“Oh yeah, absolutely. Right, Buck?”

Bucky swallows, “Uh. Yeah.”

He has no fucking idea; when you shut the door behind him, the sweater in your hand was calmly unfolded and held up to his shoulders, damage assessed by a calculating mind. Bucky still has no clue what possessed you not to scratch his eyes out that very second.

Then, you looked him up and down and said, “Put it on, Barnes. Show’s about to start.”

And if he was a weaker man, he’d be shaking in his goddamn boots at how calm you are.

The team gathers around the tree, various colored pens and torn scraps in hand as they evaluate each other’s attire. Natasha is boldly displaying a patchwork kind of cardigan with what looks like the Michelin man ominously hovering behind a tree. Tony, of course, has custom-ordered a perfectly sized wreath knitted around his arc reactor heart. Steve has completely missed the Christmas memo (or is perhaps the politest Grinch on Earth) wears blue, the tiniest hint of gold tinsel woven through.

And Sam -- stupid, stupid Sam-- who didn’t plan on being robbed of a perfectly knitted sweater five minutes before the voting process, is out of the game.

Bucky is about to write your name down, because a medium part of him feels guilty for hurting your feelings while a much larger part of him feels apprehension about what exactly might happen if you lose, but you suddenly dig your hand into his pocket.

All five fingers shove deep until your fist is gripping tight and your knuckles stab his thigh.

“Hey! No hanky-panky during voting!” Tony is scandalized.

A vicious snap of his pocketknife swings open and before he knows it, your left hand is fisting the yarn on his chest and your right is ripping it straight through. The room falls silent when you do it a second time and Bucky’s at a loss for words until the breeze hits.

Chills.

A tendril of AC sneaks through the two open holes you’ve carved and goosebumps bloom all over his chest. Dread settles in his tummy.

His nipples are pebbled and exposed for everyone to see and with a quiet click of the blade retracting, you tuck it back into his pocket. 

“Let the voting begin.”

No one moves. No one makes a single sound and the whole place is quieter than a crypt until a shrill wheeze squeaks out of Sam’s nostrils. Through the choked snickering and the slowly building crescendo of everyone else’s laughter, Wilson admits, “They’re browner than I thought they’d be.”

There’d be no need for a voting process, Bucky knows. You’ve stolen the show – or rather, his nipples have stolen the show, and the once-worthy prize is now his Sisyphean burden to bear. He closes his eyes and counts to a million.

Screw exemptions from team meetings, Bucky thinks, praying desperately that when the bourbon is bestowed to him, by some miracle of sweet baby Jesus, he’d be able to get shitfaced again.

-

perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes​ @crist1216​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs​ @pinknerdpanda​ @xoxabs88xox​ @imsoft-barnes​ @momc95​ @typicalangel​ @wretchedgoddess​ @readeity​ @iwannasail​ @ya-lyublu-tebya​ @geeksareunique​ @wildefire​ @satanxklaus​ @jhangelface0523​ @wkemeup​

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #mcu #bag of tricks helios #Livs1.2KChallenge

[mdotmaro]

Winging It.

Chapter 2

Author's Note: I am so ecstatic at the reviews you all have left. I appreciate every kind word and am only mildly afraid of constructive criticisms :). I am going to continue this story along with a vague idea of what happens next. Confession time: I see much of my own relationship with Casey and Derek. No, not step-siblings, just their connection. The club scene with the drunken dancing and then kissing… yeah, that actually happened to us. Extra fun fact is that I was his boss at the time :P ANYWAY! Onto the main event.

"So, the glory of the stage wasn't all that in the end?" Lizzy assumed as she carefully packed Casey's dishware into the appropriately labeled boxes. Marti was on bathroom duty, and Nora was working on linens while Casey was backing her clothes and shoes. Casey's announcement to leave New York and go back to school for business with a minor in dance was warmly welcomed. Nora admitted that she was selfishly glad that Casey would only be a few hours away by car instead of a plane ride away. Marti was more curious about what happened. The now ten-year-old went through Casey's bathroom with precision to see if there was any clue her step-sister was hiding.

"Did Jessie do something stupid?" Marti asked from her perch on the bathtub. Casey gave a short laugh.

"No, he didn't. Even if he did, it doesn't matter. We broke up months ago. He was just a summer romance." Casey said with a reassuring smile. Marti narrowed her eyes, not entirely convinced. Casey desperately wanted to change the subject, so she moved to Lizzie, who was tapping up the last kitchen box.

"So, speaking of summer romances. Have you heard from Oscar, Lizzie?" Casey asked abruptly; Lizzie slipped and cut off a much longer piece of tape than was needed. She glared at her older sister, who mouthed 'sorry' to the now blushing teen. Lizzie cleared her throat.

"Oscar lives in Parkhill, and we have a date over at the skatepark over there. He is going to teach me to skateboard." Lizzie said and quickly picked up the box and scurried off downstairs to the car. Marti came out of the bathroom with her box and a confused expression.

"But Lizzie already knows how to skateboard. She taught Edwin and me," Marti said, and Nora giggled and took Marti in a light hug.

"Yes, but Oscar doesn't know that," Nora said with a smile, and Marti shrugged, still not understanding but not invested enough to keep asking. Casey, Nora, and Marti went downstairs for the last time and finished packing the moving truck. Casey would fly back with the girls, and after a weekend at home, she would go to Queens to start the Summer semester.

Normally Casey loved falling asleep on long flights, but her heart was beating too fast for her to relax. Derek had left New York from his short trip to see Casey two weeks ago, and they were still 'Winging it,' so to speak. They talked nearly every night, more or less the usual banter and teasing, but there was something else there. It was impossible to tell how the family would react to the eldest step-siblings 'winging it,' so they had both agreed not to say anything until they were sure. Casey was relieved she could convince Nora and George that she could live by herself in a dorm instead of in an apartment with Derek. They were afraid of her being alone, but she quickly reminded them that she had lived alone in another country for six months and did just fine.

Besides, the idea of them living together so soon after they...they kissed. Casey absentmindedly touched her lips in the memory of those hot at heavy sessions at the club and in her room. She unconsciously clenched her thighs together. They didn't move past the over clothing caresses and kissing. Casey had tried having sex with Jessie, and by tried, she means tried to go for longer than a few seconds because it was just too painful. Jessie wouldn't pressure her to go any further than she was willing, but coincidentally after the third time they tried having sex with no success, Jessie came over to say things were not working out.

Casey had been relieved, but now what? Derek, Casey imagined, had a lucrative sex life in university, and now that they were... whatever they were. How could she tell him that sex was so painful for her?

"Casey. Your cuticles are bleeding." Lizzie said, snapping Casey out of her intense thoughts. She had been peeling the excess skin at her cuticle, and sure enough, little garnet bubbles of blood had appeared around her nails. Casey quickly wrapped her especially mutilated middle finger in a napkin and applied pressure.

"What's wrong?" Lizzie asked and then peered over to the aisle across from them where Marti and Nora seemed to be sound asleep. "It's just me. You can tell me, and then it could make up for totally throwing me under the bus earlier." Lizzie teased and poked at Casey's side. Casey gave her little sister a guilty smile.

"Sorry again about that," Casey sighed and contemplated telling Lizzie everything. Her little sister was extremely mature for her age, but she adored Derek like a blood brother, and Casey knew that this would be jarring even if Lizzie acted supportively. Casey decided on half-truths.

"I am nervous about having sex," Casey whispered, and Lizzie furrowed her brows.

"But you and Jessie never?" Lizzie asked, and Casey let out a heavy sigh.

"We tried, but it was just too painful," Casey admitted, and then Lizzie shook her head.

"From what I have researched, sex is not supposed to hurt. You are not really even supposed to bleed because of your 'broken hymen.' If it hurts that much, he is doing it wrong." Lizzie explained, and Casey couldn't help but smile at her sister. Of course, she researched sex. A quick flush of panic ran through Casey, and she looked at her baby, 14-year-old sister. Had she already had sex? Lizzie laughed at her expression.

"Relax, I haven't had sex yet. Not really interested yet, but I have plenty of condoms when I am ready, and I will make sure I have mom or George take me to get the pill. Casey stared at Lizzie, quite impressed.

"Have you told Nora and George about your well-calculated plan? And where did you get condoms?" Casey was trying to keep her volume down not to alert the other plane passengers. Lizzie shrugged.

"George kept having to leave the conversation to go outside and get some air, but mom was glad I am being responsible, and I got the condoms from Edwin," Lizzie explained. Casey had a brief moment to imagine sweet George trying to compose himself at the idea of his stepdaughter having sex. Casey was sure that he would need therapy after Marti hit puberty.

"And where did Edwin get condoms?" Casey asked incredulously and then realized at the same that Lizzie said

"Derek," they both said in unison. Maybe it was naive, but Casey, the thought of her little siblings being open to the idea of having sex made her queasy. Casey's finger stopped bleeding, and she tucked the bloody napkin into her now empty bag of pretzels.

"Don't worry, things will happen naturally, and now if you want to bail, you can use Derek as an excuse," Lizzie tried to reassure. Unfortunately, her timing was awful, and Casey choked on her water that she had been drinking. Lizzie smacked her back hard, and a few curious passengers turned to check on the commotion. Casey finally regained the ability to breathe and nervously laughed at Lizzie.

"And what would Derek do?" She asked, trying not to sound shrill. Lizzie smiled at her sister.

"Oh well, he can play the role of overly protective brother," Lizzie said but then tilted her head in thought. "I mean, he wouldn't do it for free" She laughed. Casey gave Lizzie a small smile and let out a deep breath, and continued to look out the window. Maybe she was getting ahead of herself. She and Derek hadn't even been on an official date yet. Sure they had gone to eat in the city and run around central park and even went to an amusement park but had those counted as dates? I mean, they held hands through the corn maze, but Derek insisted it was because he didn't feel like chasing after her when she inevitably got lost.

Casey smiled at the memories. Something else that made her chest flutter was waking up next to Derek. She missed being held while she fell asleep, but it's not like they could do that right away at university. There were rules. Weren't there?

Edwin had just passed his driver's license and was glad to volunteer to pick them up at the airport. He had seemed to have grown several centimeters in the six months Casey had been away and now was slightly taller than her.

"Edwin, look at you!" Casey said as she attacked him in a bear hug. Edwin grinned and twirled so she could see his new and improved preppy wardrobe too. His jeans seemed uncomfortably tight, and his polo was maybe a bit snug, but his face was losing its baby softness, and he had a ghost of a mustache on his upper lip.

"I know, your little brother Edwino is all grown up and looking cool," He said, and Casey couldn't help pinching his cheek.

"Aww, you are so cute." She said, and he shrugged off her pinching.

"Casey, cute isn't cool. I am a man now." Edwin protested. Marti laughed as she passed her brother.

"Really, you're a man now. Why didn't we get the memo." She snickered, and Lizzie laughed as she went into the backseat to join Marti. Nora squeezed Edwin's shoulder reassuringly.

"Aw, don't listen to them, Edwin. We know you are a man, and speaking of which, we can start talking about when you can pay for your car insurance," Nora said, and Edwin gulped. Casey road in the back with the girls and Nora road shotgun. They were all talking animatedly, talking about school, Simon, and generally anything in the neighborhood. Casey was excited to see Emily. They had coordinated to see each other the next evening. Casey was hoping to talk to Emily about her and Derek, just to be able to talk to someone for advice. Emily and Derek broke up a week after graduation; things just seemed a bit forced. After having a crush on someone for so long, it was hard not to be crushed by the heavy expectation of a perfect ending. Emily actually was discovering a newer side of her sexuality and actually had a steady girlfriend, Ruby.

The house came into view, and before she could get swept up in the nostalgia, her heart dropped to her toes at the sight of the prince in the driveway.

"Wait. Why is Derek here? He isn't supposed to pick me up until Sunday?" Casey asked in a loud and almost shrill voice. Nora sighed.

"He was able to come down for the weekend. Isn't this great, Casey? The whole family gets to spend time together before you both go off to University. So, try to be civil, please." Nora pleased, and Casey sighed and nodded to her mother. George came out with a crying Simon. Casey had been right on her assumption that he had doubled in size. Poor George looked exhausted but smiled at his eldest step-daughter warmly nonetheless.

"Casey, it's great to see you," He said, and Casey hugged him and reached for Simon. The baby was pink-cheeked and bundled in a light green onesie. Casey started cooing at little Simon and rocking him lightly.

"Careful, he just projectile vomited on Derek," George warned after he kissed Nora. Casey chuckled.

"Knowing Derek, he probably deserved it," Casey said with the same cooing voice. She was surprised at how quickly the jeer came to her. Old habits, she guessed.

"Well, he is taking a shower now, so you'll have some time to get settled before you two go at each other's throats," George said and took her dance bag from her shoulder. Casey thanked him and went to sit on the couch.

"Oh hey, Casey, I hope you don't mind. We had to do a little room rearrangement with both you and Derek gone. We moved Edwin into Derek's room and Simon into his old room, and yours into a guest bedroom, so If you don't mind sharing the space with Derek's things. While you're here." Nora said and then clarified after seeing Casey's wide eyes. "Just his things; he will be taking the couch at night." Casey might have a nervous breakdown before the end of the weekend.

Simon started reaching out his tiny pale fists towards Nora, who happily collected her baby. Lizzie dragged Casey up to show her how she redecorated her room, and such was the process for the other two Venturi children. Casey retreated into her old room, now a guest bedroom, and exhaled against the door. She assessed the room. Gone were her ballet trophies and academic achievement awards. Now there was a pale yellow walled, neutral sandalwood furnished and fluffy white carpeted room. Derek's battered duffle bag was on the cream-covered bed. Casey swallowed thickly and thought back to her conversation on the plane with Lizzie. Derek had given condoms to Edwin. Did he pack any for this weekend? Was he expecting something to happen in their parents' home? She had only just begun to unzip the bag when a voice came up behind her.

"Snooping, Case?" Casey shuddered at Derek's warm breath on the back of her neck. Casey jumped and reflexively swung a pillow at Derek.

"Der-rek, you scared me." She shouted and then took an extra step back when she realized that he was shirtless and slightly damp from the shower. Derek had always been lean, but there was a new indent of muscles, especially at the v of his hips from piling more hours at the rink in university, and Casey forced her eyes to stay now lower than his collar bones.

"Yeah, but you were still snooping. What's up Casey, you seem a bit flushed?" He said with a level of sarcastic concern; he couldn't keep the mischief out of his dark eyes. Casey kept her chin held high.

"I just wanted to make sure you didn't bring anything inappropriate that the kids could find, like how you gave Edwin condoms. He is fifteen, Derek," She said hotly. Derek caught on to her real question.

"Well, he's at that age where it's better to be safe than sorry, and though he is not as in with the ladies as I was, it's part of being a big brother," He said and took another step towards her. Casey was already leaning against the nightstand. There was no. Further, she could retreat to. "But don't worry, I wasn't expecting anything this weekend," He reassured and then smirked. "And in our parents' home no less, for shame, Macdonald." He teased and cupped her chin once she let out a relieved exhale.

"Oh, shut up. I just wanted to make sure you didn't have any ill intentions." She said but leaned into his touch nonetheless. She quickly glanced at the door. Thankfully she had thought to lock it. Derek followed her gaze, and with the minor level of privacy, he leaned down and kissed her pouty lips. Casey sank into the kiss; his wet curls brushed her forehead and ran her cool fingers down the side of his face. Derek's hands roamed up and down her sides, occasionally dropping to squeeze her outer thighs. The feeling made Casey release a shuddering gasp. Derek moved both hands to her face and kissed her firmly before breaking away.

"Think you can hold off with just that for now, Case?" He asked, a bit breathless. Casey looked up into his eyes and saw the restraint he was using, so she offered a small smile and let the tips of her fingers whisper down his torso and then stop at his jeans' waistband. Derek bit back a grunt.

"Sure thing, Der," Casey said and turned to head downstairs. When she didn't hear his footsteps trailing her, she saw him with his back facing her and his hands resting on his hips. "You coming?" She asked

"Mhmm, Just give me a minute," He said, and Casey bit back her giggle. Derek let out a breath.

"Oh, don't worry, Princess. I'll pay you back."

Next day

"I'm sorry, run that by me again. You and Derek?" Emily asked for the third time. They were at Smelly Nelly's, and Casey was picking at her salad.

"Sorta. It's just something that happened all of a sudden when he came down to New York. Now I just keep getting all flustered around him and even the thought of him." Casey explained and then gave up on her salad altogether with a groan and holding her head in her hands. "Pathetic, huh."

"Well..." In a high-pitched voice, Emily caused Casey's head to look up and give her best friend a desperate look.

"Emily! I am in a delicate state right now." She complained, and Emily giggled at her friend's antics. Same old Casey.

"Casey, I am your best friend, and so it is my solemn sworn duty to inform you that this is not all of a sudden," Emily indicated with outstretched hands. "You two have had this intense chemistry that you both were too stubborn and thankfully young to understand. I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to jump the gun before you told me and inadvertently caused you to blow it out of proportion." Emily explained and then took a sip of her mint tea. Casey was in open-mouthed shock.

"I don't blow things out of proportion." Casey protested. Emily pursed her lips into a knowing smile. Casey waved it off.

"I mean, this is wrong, right? He is my stepbrother; we've known each other since we were fifteen," Casey whispered. Emily sighed.

"It's not conventional, that's for sure, but as you said, you were fifteen when you met. You didn't necessarily grow up together like Edwin, Lizzie, and Marti have. Have you guys talked about it?" Emily asked. Casey nodded.

"We have; since we don't really know where this will lead, we didn't want to get everyone at home involved, especially the kids," Casey explained, and Emily nodded in agreement and then reached out to hold Casey's hand.

"Casey MacDonald, you are stuck in your very own version of 'Clueless.'" She teased; Casey couldn't help but laugh at that. She conjured up her best Cher impression.

"As if! Derek wishes he were Pual Rudd."

The weekend hadn't been such agony to get through as Casey had predicted. Thankfully with so many people in the house, it was easy to slip a gaze or two, and hand grazes without being noticed. All things carried on well until Sunday breakfast.

"Okay, Derek, now that Casey is going to school with you, be sure to look after her," George said before shoveling down some eggs. Derek was across from Casey at the table and gave a nonchalant shrug.

"I'm pretty sure Casey can take care of herself." He said through a mouthful of bacon.

"For once, you're right, Derek," Casey said with as much bite she could muster. "I will be fine, George, and I didn't need Derek to save me in New York. I don't need him to save me in Queens." She said proudly and continued to eat her avocado toast.

"I didn't know you went to see Casey in New York, Derek," George said, and Casey almost choked. Derek gave Casey a leveled look that read, 'Way to go, Space Case.'

"I take it back; Casey needs all the help she can get. She called whining about everyone being so mean to her, so I took pity and flew in." Derek said a nudged Edwin. "The theater girls were hoooot," and the brothers shared a chuckle. Lizzie made a disgusted sound, and Casey tried to keep the burning blush from rising from her chest.

"I should have let them rip you apart." She snapped. Derek rolled his eyes.

"Please, unlike you. I can handle a few catty girls." He said, and Casey chucked an apple at his head, he easily ducked, but Marti wasn't so lucky.

"Oww, Casey!" She shouted.

"Oh, I am so sorry, Marti." She said, and her stepsister grumbled by something along the lines of 'quit flirting.' Only Derek was close enough to hear, and he froze.

"What was that, Smarti?" He said, and she looked up at her brother, and her dark blue eyes said that she knew far more than they were letting on. Derek frowned at her; when did Marti start rebelling against Derek? Mari batted her lashes at him and smiled.

"Oh nothing, Smirk. I am just going to miss you and Casey when you go away." She said and threw her arms around Derek's neck and whispered so low that only he could hear. "I know."

#fanfiction #life with derek #dasey #casey and derek #derek and casey #slow burn #romance

[hillnerd]

For the title and ship post, "Paper Airplane" with rarry? (Idk, I just rly like ronarry) thanks!

AU- harry and ron don't know one another. Harry was raised in India for a bit so went to school there. There was a war, but Harry isn't the chosen one- Voldemort defeated by Order working to get horcruxes. He lost his dad in the war. It still haunts him.Harry is working at the Auror office when he get a paper airplane memo- it's orange and flies into his head relentlessly until he reads it. It's multiple pages and not even meant for him. It's addressed to some other person called 'Fred' and is just signed 'R.' 

The letter goes on about something funny they noticed on the way home- describing in detail some funny kid pulling pranks that 'reminded me of you when we were kids!' The letter went on and was charming and intimate, like a picture into someone's life. Harry wasn't much for reading books, but it read like a book he didn't want to put down. He didn't know who it was meant for- the letter was unsigned. He felt bad he couldn't get it to its destination. He read over it again, but there were no clues he could follow.

A few days later another thick orange paper airplane hits Harry in the head. Like the last one it's only signed 'R.' Guiltily Harry reads over the letter, devouring every word. He thinks to himself he's only reading the letter to figure out who it is and make them stop sending letters, but actually it's just that he loves hearing what R has to say. He wishes he could know someone like R in real life, instead of just being alone all the time. Whoever R is, there's something about them that speaks to Harry.

For weeks he gets the letters to Fred from R. They range from funny, to poignant, to everything in between. He gets clues about the identity of R. He has a sister named Ginny, their mum is an amazing cook, their brother George isn't doing too well right now, he loves the Cannons (of all the horrid teams!) etc. 

Another letter comes and this one is devastatingly sad. R is taking about how much he misses Fred. How his friend Hermione and his counselor thought that writing all these letters would be helpful to 'the healing process' but all it really does is make him sad he can't tell Fred this to his face. 'Why'd you have to go and get yourself killed?' Harry suddenly understands R. even better. He knows the pain of losing someone you love. The letters and R mean even more to him now.

He tells his mum about the letters and Lily is just as intrigued as he is- though she does scold him for reading other people's mail- her scold isn't all that effective as she's reading the letters with the same enthusiasm as him. So Fred's dead? Wait! Harry can finally figure out who R is! 

He starts looking through the archives for a Fred who died- who has a sister named Ginny and a brother named George. He finally figures it out. Fred Weasley! He knew some of the Weasleys by name from the Order! He double checks with his mum, who is mortified she didn't think of it first, and then says 'oh! Then R is Ron Weasley, their youngest son!'

They figure out he works at the Department of magical games and sports. Harry gathers up all the letters to give to R.-no, to give to RON. 

He gets to the front desk of the department but apparently he just missed Ron- he's at the Ministry Quidditch Pitch. He's there to return the letters then feels really weird about it... Maybe he shouldn't? The letters mean so much to him, and Ron might feel it's this huge violation that Harry's been combing through them for weeks and weeks? 

'You here to play?' he hears a red head say from behind him. He is very good looking, and Harry feels his heartrate pick up as the guy gives him a lopsided smile. 'I'm Ron by the way. Ron Weasley.'

'Harry Potter.'

Harry quickly hides the letters and lies to say yes he's just there for quidditch. Ron and the other people there are playing some pickup quidditch, and could use more players- so Harry joins them.

After they all go out for drinks and Harry is so excited to be spending time with Ron. He's never enjoyed someone's company so thoroughly. They chat about anything and everything, drinking a tiny bit too much. Harry and Ron talk about the people they lost in the war eventually. The night is late- they've been talking for HOURS. Harry ends up kissing Ron right outside the pub, and Ron returns the kiss. They shyly smile at one another.

They begin to see each other more and more often. The letters are more infrequent- but when they DO come Harry is excited to see he's featured in the letters! But also guilty! Because now he's basically lying to Ron? This is a HUGE violation of trust. He knows it! But what is he supposed to do??? Ugh. He sits on it.

One night Ron comes over to his place and they finally get very intimate and make love- it's beautiful and loving- Ron says 'I know it's quick, but, I think I'm falling for you?' 'I love you,' Harry blurts out. Everything is perfect. Until Ron discovers the letters in harry's rolltop desk the next morning.

'What are these? How'd you get them?! I was sending these to the shredding room?' Ron's face is red and Harry doesn't know how to respond at first. He tells the truth- somehow they were being directed to HIM- and Ron is furious with him. They have a big fight- Harry is desperate to make things right, but Ron says he's not sure he can make something that fucked up ok. Like, he'd said a lot of things- private things! 'I know, but those letters were everything... They meant so much to me.' But Ron is still mad, embarrassed, and a little bit creeped out that Harry was semi stalking him? 

So Ron leaves and Harry is devastated. The letters stop coming. Harry avoids the quidditch pitch so as not to run into Ron. 

He decides to write a letter- but to his dad. He tells his dad everything he did, what Ron means to him, how much he misses his dad and wish he could get advice from him on how to get out of trouble, how much he loves Ron and how he's devastated he messed up the best thing that had ever happened to him. He pours his heart out to it. He signs it 'love, H.' He turns it into a paper airplane and sends it to Ron.

Weeks go by and Harry's feeling really low when an orange paper airplane hits him in the back of the head. The letter is still addressed to Fred. The letters goes off about how he was so mad about it, but how much he missed Harry, and that 'he might be a bit of an idiot... but I love him anyways. Guess I better forgive the scrawny git.'

Harry rushes from his office and finds Ron waiting for him not 15 meters away. 

They reunite and all is well. :)

#rarry #au #ron weasley #harry potter #my writing #paper airplanes

[thetomorrowshow]

The Poignancy Of Silence

Part 2!

A/N: This is my entry for @stop-it-anxiety‘s fall fic contest! I had a lot of fun writing this. It’s based off the prompt “Patton’s Song”. There will be a part two--hopefully I can get it out before the contest ends (part 2 will be Roceit y’all).

Words: 5309

Tw: car accident (nothing graphic no one really gets hurt), little bit of blood, light kissing, gambling addiction, lots and lots of tears

Pairing(s): Moceit (yeah, I don’t normally like it. Inspiration struck though, and I really like this story)

-

Kind people who had known Dee as a child would have called him imaginative. Less kind people might have labeled him troubled. Those who were even less so would've said he was a delusional liar.

It didn't really matter to Dee. In more cases than not, those who couldn't hear the music weren't worth his time.

Yes, Dee heard music. As a child, it had been loud, ever-present, as children were almost always happy. Not that 'happy' was quite the correct word for it. Each person had a different song, one that played when (as far as he could tell) that person was experiencing a strong, positive emotion. One he'd observed was love. Sympathy, occasionally. But most frequent was joy.

Dee didn't have a song. He didn't know why, but always suspected that he was just missing out on whatever joy everyone else possessed. He'd never been truly happy. It hurt, deep down. Hurt to know that he'd never get this little portion of personality. He hid it the best he could.

Trying to explain to teachers and guardians why he couldn't pay attention in class did nothing but land him therapist visits, diagnoses, and pills that there was no way he was going to take. By the age of nine, Dee had learned to lie about it. People were scared of the music, he realized. They didn't want anyone to hear it.

So, the next time his foster brother burst through the front door waving his report card, a huge smile on his face and accompanied by the cheery ukulele strumming that was his music, Dee just smiled as well and said nothing.

A new family stopped making him see the doctors and take the drugs, but somehow got the memo that he was a liar. It hurt to hear from the people he desperately wanted to be loved by, especially since most families didn't want him, mainly due to his birth disfigurement. He tried to laugh it off, though. His face made for wonderful Halloween opportunities.

As Dee grew older, he started listening to music of his own. Earbuds playing light mood music or The Beatles or quiet indie songs, a playlist perfectly crafted to allow him to focus. It covered up the discordant mash of instruments that was high school.

One weekend, he locked himself in his stuffy room on the upper floor of his foster family's house, intent on staying there until Monday, when he discovered that his earbuds were broken. He didn't dare go in search of a new pair and put himself in the middle of whatever his guardians were arguing about this time, so just cracked his window for some fresh air and hoped no one was near enough for their song to hit his ears. Unfortunately, it wasn't meant to be. A tune drifted up, and, before he shut the window, he tilted his head, listening to someone's joy.

It was a jaunty piano tune, plunked out jovially, like whoever it was coming from hadn't a care in the world. It was . . . pretty, he decided. Very sweet and easy. So, for that one time, he left the window open.

-

Every day after school Dee dashed up to his bedroom and cracked his window, tearing out his earbuds recklessly. Every day, that music wafted up to his room and he smiled, the day finally made good.

One day, he popped his head over the sill and glimpsed a grinning teenager, sprawled out on the trampoline in the neighbor's backyard. He immediately ducked down, afraid of being seen. The boy was—there was no other word for it—adorable. Like a puppy, happy at existence.

Dee started to keep an eye out for him. Paused his music when walking past him on the way to school, or when walking past the neighbor's house. Blushed when he saw the boy's smile at the grocery store, working as a cashier.

He wasn't attracted to the dark-haired, liberally freckled, bespectacled boy. He just wanted to know. What about him made his music so carefree?

-

Dee taught himself to how to play piano when he was fifteen, sneaking into the jazz band closet during lunch and plunking out notes on the keyboard. He said to himself that knowing how to play piano was a good skill to have, and it would get him girls, and maybe he could take it to a career if he got good enough.

Saying that didn't change the fact that the first thing he learned was the boy's song.

-

Years haunted by that cheerful music (which, for some reason, he never got sick of) passed. Dee moved away, got an apartment of his own, yet he still heard it.

The university he attended was unsurprisingly lacking in music. It came in short bursts here and there, but maybe it was more plentiful in the dorms. That didn't change the fact that every morning, on the walk to whatever building of the school he needed, He heard the neighbor boy's music. It was brief, always drifting from the same busy intersection, like it was coming from one of the waiting vehicles while Dee crossed the road.

The tune being so close and so far at once drove Dee mad. He stopped listening for it—he needed to move on. His playlist had been specifically designed to block out music. He started wearing his earbuds everywhere again.

One morning he was running particularly late. He ran out of the apartment building and dashed down his route to campus. His backpack bounced and jostled, his breath came in gasps, his eyes were fixed on his pounding feet, but he didn't hear any of it. Just George Harrison singing sweetly in his ear. Which was probably why he didn't notice that the light was green as he burst out of the tree line and ran  into the busy intersection.

He didn't hear the honking, or the tires screeching, or the shouts.

-

His eyes blinked open, then instantly squeezed shut as they were met with a blinding light. He felt sick and dizzy and his head ached. A shadow passed over his eyelids, and he realized he was lying on something hard and almost sharp.

“I don't think he's waking up!”

Dee groaned and let his eyes flicker open again. A helmeted head turned away from him blocked the sun. Then the person turned back, a phone to his ear, freckled face creased with worry. Even years later, Dee recognized him. Even without the glasses, and with blood welling up from a deep-looking cut on his cheek.

The boy. Or, the man.

“It's you,” he said before he could stop himself. The boy man's face relaxed, and he spoke into the phone again.

“Never mind, he woke up! When will the ambulance be here?” A pause, then he nodded and covered the receiver. “Don't worry,” he whispered with a conspiratorial wink. “I have financial aid.”

And that was how Dee formally met Patton Esperanza. Sprawled out on a busy road, bleeding from a head injury, the man's motorcycle lying just in his peripheral.

And he was head-over-heels in love.

-

Their first date was in the hospital cafe, both with their wounds treated. Dee had noticed the pride pin on Patton Esperanza's collar. He shared that he was pansexual himself, and Patton Esperanza, with that adorable little smile of his that scrunched up his eyes and put a dimple in his right cheek, had said, “So I guess this is a date, then. Or a gay-te.”

And that music had played, that cheerful, down-to-earth tune that Dee could associate with a shining face and a small gap between teeth and a sea of freckles.

“I—I guess,” he'd stuttered.

And Patton Esperanza had laughed a small laugh, and Dee found himself blushing as Patton Esperanza suggested a second date soon.

-

Their second date was at a small, locally-owned buffet. Dee found himself laughing an easy laugh as Patton Esperanza mimicked a walrus, chopsticks stuffed in his cheeks. Even over the five separate tunes playing from other customers, he could hear Patton's song.

He found out that Patton Esperanza was in veterinary school, across the campus from the law division of the school, where Dee spent most of his time. He could imagine Patton greeting the dogs and cats with a huge goofy grin, and realized that he would be a perfect veterinarian.

He felt his face grow warm when Patton nudged his shoulder, sputtered a bit when Patton stole the vegetable sushi from his plate, grinned stupidly when Patton cooed and waved at the baby in the booth across the aisle.

As he'd noticed years previously, Patton Esperanza was the happiest person alive. With him, Dee thought that maybe—just maybe—he could be just as happy.

-

It was the fifth date when Patton Esperanza kissed him. A quick peck on the lips at the local Museum of Modern Art (Dee's choice, it was mentally quieter than the places Patton liked to visit), followed immediately by a scared look.

“Was that too much?” Patton asked quickly, those bright hazel eyes brimming with worry. Dee realized he hadn't moved, just stood frozen while he tried to process.

“N-no, it was fine!” He shook his head, trying to clear it, thinking only of how brief the moment had been and how weird kissing was, but in a nice, soft way. “It was good,” he amended, and slowly, cautiously, slipped his hand into Patton's. The man's face lit up, the worry washing away.

They wandered the halls all afternoon, hands laced together between them, giggling at nonsensical art and standing somberly before pieces that hit too close to home.

“My parents split up when I was eleven,” Patton admitted at some point. His music had quieted. “I've got two little brothers. My parents both knew that they wanted my brothers, and argued over them, but. . . .” he sighed. “Neither of them really wanted me. I ended up with my mom and one brother. It was clear that she only really loved my brother.” He saw Dee's sympathy and smiled sadly. “It's okay, though. Just because I love them doesn't mean they have to love me.”

-

“My parents didn't want me, either,” Dee said over a cup of coffee, at the cafe across the street from the museum. He laughed, the sound more bitter than his drink. “Failed abortion. You'd think maybe they'd have a change of heart, and keep me, but no. Took one look at my face and screamed, I guess.”

Patton reached over and lightly ran a hand down the bumps and ridges that defined the scaly deformity that disfigured the left side of his face. “I like it,” he said quietly. “Even if no one else does. It just means no one will be trying to take you away from me.”

This time, though Patton again initiated the kiss, Dee didn't freeze. He passionately responded.

-

They shared a home now. Dee's home, actually.

Which meant they shared a kitchen.

Which naturally meant they should bake cookies together.

Poof!

A cloud of flour erupted in Dee's face. He coughed and sputtered and heard Patton's voice from somewhere through the cloud. “Oops. Sorry!” The little giggle that followed denoted any sincerity.

“Oh, it is on,” Dee grinned. He spotted the canister of sugar on a counter and, quick as a flash, grabbed a handful and launched it in Patton's direction.

“Ow! No fair!” laughed Patton. Dee recoiled with a bark of laughter as a plastic measuring cup narrowly missed his nose.

The kitchen exploded into an all-out war of ingredients (or anything else at hand), the recipe book on the table forgotten.

When it was all over, and the dust had literally settled, Patton and Dee stood in the middle of the kitchen, crying tears of laughter and holding each other like it was the end of the world. They were both covered in fine white powder; every movement brought another puff of flour. The afternoon sun filtered through a window, catching the particles in the air and surrounding them with a galaxy of little star-like specks.

“I love you,” Patton whispered. Dee heard his cheery music, which had been a background noise, rise to almost deafening.

“I love you.”

-

“I hear music.”

“What?”

Dee wasn't quite sure why he was saying it. Everyone he'd told about it had called him a liar, delusional. Somehow, though, he felt like Patton was different. He steeled himself.

“I, uh. I hear music.”

“Right now?” Patton smiled, and yes, Dee did hear his music right then.

“Uh, yeah, actually.”

Patton paused the movie. They were curled up on the couch in their living room on a Sunday afternoon, cuddled in the warmth of blankets and each other, the first snow of the season falling outside.

“It's stupid, never mind.”

“Dee, you can tell me anything.”

One look at those eyes, honest, accepting, loving, gave him the courage he needed.

“Well . . . I hear music,” he repeated. So few words, yet so hard to say. “Like, for me, everyone has their own tune that plays when they're joyful—or, whatever.”

He tensed and looked away, waiting to be called a liar, or silly, or be laughed at. Instead, the music grew louder.

“That's awesome.”

Dee looked back; Patton's face was shining with excitement. He chuckled a bit. “Uh, yeah. It's actually pretty loud.”

Patton didn't seem to hear. He bounced off the couch and to the keyboard in the corner of the room. “You play, right? Can you play me somebody's?”

“Of course, mon amour,” Dee said, trying to mask his apprehension with a silky tone. Patton blushed, then pulled back the chair. Dee sat, letting his nerves roll off in waves. He stretched his fingers, took one last glance at his love, then closed his eyes.

He knew what he was going to play. He'd memorized it years ago. Anytime he sat before a piano,  it pulled at his hands and pushed at his head.

His hands found the correct keys. He waited a few seconds for the music in his ears to loop around to the beginning, then let it flow from his fingertips. He missed a note or two, but it was fine. The rest of it, the jaunty, plunking tune, sounded beautiful.

When he wrapped it up, he opened his eyes to see Patton's shining with wonder.

“Is that yours?”

Dee barely heard the whisper over how loud the song was. He cringed inwardly, not wanting to wake the hurt deep inside at not having a song of his own. He grinned up at Patton.

“No. It's yours.”

-

“Where are you?”

“I got held up. Dr. Green wanted to talk with me about getting an internship.”

“Where?”

“Thompson and Edelman.”

“That's far away.”

“Yeah. I don't think I'm going to take it.”

Silence. “So where are you right now?”

“Stuck in traffic. It's Friday, you know. Rush hour's pretty bad.”

“Yeah.” A sigh. “I don't know. This is the third date night in a row you've missed. Maybe we should stop trying.”

Now he felt guilty. In truth, the internship discussion hadn't been what made him late. He'd hung around the dorms, playing poker with some other law students.

“Maybe we can do something tomorrow?”

“I've got to be at the clinic.”

“Right. Movie on Sunday?”

“. . . Yeah.”

“Great. You want me to pick something up to eat on my way home?”

“No, no. I made dinner. I'll just reheat it for you.”

“Okay. I love you.”

“Love you.”

-

Patton's spoon clattered as it fell back in his bowl. His jaw hung open. Dee could hear the first few notes of a very recognizable tune.

Dee laughed. “It's true. I've never built a snowman.”

A huge grin unfurled across Patton's face. “Let's go! Right now. I think it's wet enough.”

“Are six inches enough to build a snowman?”

“Any amount of snow is enough if you try hard!”

So they built a snowman. Dee's coat was warm, but he didn't have any gloves, and wore yellow rubber dish gloves instead. When he waggled his fingers, Patton just laughed. “Now I know what to get you for Christmas!”

The snowman didn't go so well. Grass stuck to it and the construction was lopsided and Dee was fairly certain that the head was the same size as the bottom part, but Patton smiled happily and ran inside the apartment building. He emerged with a carrot, likely borrowed from one of the grinning neighbors that watched through the windows. He stuck it proudly in the middle of its face; Dee wrapped his only scarf around it.

Patton declared it the best snowman ever.

-

He did get gloves for Christmas. They were a ghastly yellow (likely in memory of the dish gloves), but they were soft, and one look at Patton's sparkling eyes told him he was going to wear them every day.

-

“I'm truly touched that you didn't like my birthday gift.”

“I told you I didn't want anything! I would've loved to just spend the day with you.”

“Well, I'm sorry that I didn't understand your stupid hints. Maybe I shouldn't have spent a week trying to pick something!”

“If you'd listened to me, you wouldn't have had to! You would've known what I wanted!”

“Obviously I'm not wanted, I'll be back tonight. Return the gift, I don't give a—”

“—Don't go play poker, you know I hate it when you gamble!”

“Don't tell me what to do.”

“That's not the person I fell in love with!”

“What, you thought I was a submissive puppy?! I have goals and a life, you know! I can't spend every minute listening to you! I'm not here just to make you happy!”

“And I'm not here to have a boyfriend who ignores me and lies to avoid spending time with me!”

“I said I was sorry!”

“Maybe I don't know if it was a sincere apology!”

“Maybe you should get a new boyfriend!”

“. . . You—you don't mean that.”

Slam.

-

“Name?”

Dee cleared his throat. “Uh, I'm just here to deliver these flowers to Dr. Esperanza.”

The man at the desk's face lit up. “Aw, that's cute! I'll let him know.”

Dee turned to leave, but a door opening behind him gave him pause. Was Patton coming into the waiting room?

No. The man had glasses, but his hair was a lighter shade of brown and his eyes were grey, and he had a more professional look—a necktie over a white button-up, covered by a lab coat. A low, methodical tune followed him.

“The Foster dog needs flea treatment,” the man said to the secretary without preamble, then noticed Dee. “Ah. Are you a patient with us?”

Dee shook his head. Then gestured at the flowers, then pointed at the door the man had exited from. His throat felt too dry too speak for some reason. The man followed his gestures, then his gaze landed on the deformed side of Dee's visage. Dee felt his face burn as he saw the distaste take over the man's—Dr. Logan Cato, his badge read—face. Dr. Cato's music trundled to a stop.

The doctor took him by the arm out the front door, nails biting into Dee's skin. As soon as the door closed, he spoke.

“If Patton ever comes into work crying again,” Dr. Cato said, his voice a low threat, “you'll have me to answer to. You're going to have to do better than some cheap flowers.”

Dee nodded and tried to pull away, but the man wasn't done. “Anyone would be lucky to have him,” the veterinarian said. “You need to recognize just how much you mean to him.”

That annoyed Dee. As Dr. Cato released him and walked back inside, Dee went over his words again. How much he meant to Patton? What about how much Patton meant to him? He'd skipped class and driven across town to the vet that Patton interned at just to apologize! Sure, maybe he was too much of a coward to say sorry in person, but he'd googled about which flowers meant what and composed a poem.

Patton was his life. He wouldn't let a stupid mistake push him away.

-

“Did you skip class to get me the flowers?”

“Yes.”

“Dee, you can't—”

“Sweetheart, I wanted to.”

“But your future!”

“I don't want a future without you.”

-

“Where were you?”

Dee froze halfway in the door. “Tutoring,” he lied. Patton hated when he gambled. Speaking of Patton, the man stood before him now, his face stony, arms crossed.

“We were supposed to spend the evening together.”

In all honesty, a part of Dee had remembered. They'd been planning a trip to a busy restaurant. He knew Patton wanted to, but he shuddered at the thought of such a crowded place, so many people with so much music.

“I'm sorry, he apologized automatically. “Three students needed help, and I was the only person there to tutor—”

“I got the evening off work just to spend with you.”

Dee felt a spark of anger in his chest. “What about me?” he asked belligerently. “What if I'd come home and wanted to be alone?”

“Well, I—”

“I can't drop everything I'm doing just because you want me to!” Dee ranted, really getting heated now. “I care about you, but I have a life too! I have things that I want to do, too!”

Patton's brow furrowed. “Were you . . . were you out gambling again?”

Dee felt his face heat up. “So what if I was? What's wrong with that?”

“Dee, there's so much wrong with it, but. . . .” Patton looked away. When he turned back, his earnest face was crumpling, his eyes full. “Today? Of all days?” he choked out.

Oh no. Oh no no no no no. His anger vanished quick as it had come, replaced by a cold fear. Today? What was today?

The 24th. The 24th of April. The same date that, a year ago, Patton had agreed to be his boyfriend.

Their anniversary.

“Oh no,” he breathed. His mind flew: did he get a gift? Was his gift going to be spending time together? And if so, did he just ruin their anniversary—and relationship—by being a selfish idiot?

Before he could say anything, a body pushed past him; the door swung closed.

“No—Pat, wait—!”

He threw himself out the door, but Patton was already gone. The thudding of running feet echoed from the stairwell.

“Pat, please!” Dee called out, heedless of those trying to sleep in surrounding apartments. He flew down the stairs, coming to a stop on the ground level just as the building door slammed shut.

A woman and her toddler watched on sympathetically as Dee dropped to his knees and sobbed. He hadn't thought that the night before would be the last night   he'd get to hold his true love.

He hadn't thought that he'd be the one to drive his true love away.

-

“One more chance.”

“One more chance.”

Dee pulled Patton into a kiss, relaxing when his boyfriend (somewhat reluctantly) returned the affection.

“How about I take off work tomorrow? You don't work till 3, so we can pull an all-nighter tonight.”

Patton nodded, a small smile gracing his tear-stained face. “It's been a while since we did one of those.”

“I still haven't seen that Christopher Robin movie.”

Later, they were curled up on the floor, surrounded by blankets and pillows and popcorn, a plate  of pizza rolls between them, the movie playing on the screen before them. Dee tapped Patton on the shoulder; the man looked up sleepily.

“I made this for you,” he whispered, and dropped something into his hand.

Patton's eyes widened at the bracelet. Beads spelling his name were laced into a complicated braid (Dee had learned to braid years previous, having been forced by a foster sister, then realized he found it calming and kept it up). Different shades of blue and grey crisscrossed beautifully and intricately.

“I'll wear it forever,” breathed Patton. “How did you make it?”

Dee shrugged awkwardly, a hand on the back of his neck. “It wasn't too hard. Just a braid.”

“I love it.”

Dee smiled, relieved. “I love you, you know?”

Finally, he heard that soft, plunking music.

“Yeah. I love you.”

-

It was late—or, early, maybe? That was okay, though. He'd let Patton know in advance that he'd be late. He'd made something up about a study group and dinner afterward. Patton had seemed okay with it.

However, it was now clear that his boyfriend had made plans of his own. He could hear Pat through the walls—chatting with the couple two doors down. He couldn't hear his song, though.

Instead of going straight to bed, he flopped out on the couch and turned something on—probably music. Music made for a good white noise for him, something to have to relax against.

It was perhaps a sign of his growing drowsiness that he didn't hear when the door opened.

“Oh.”

The word was cold and removed, and Dee sat up and stretched, blinking blearily at the figure in the doorway.

“Pat?” He took in his boyfriend's red nose and eyes, his stiff posture, the tight line that was his mouth. “What's wrong?”

“She tagged you.”

“What?”

Patton pointed at an open laptop on the counter, which Dee hadn't previously noticed. He stumbled up and over to it, his fingers dancing across the mousepad as the screen woke up.

It was open to a video on a social media site, and before it even started, Dee felt his heart sink.

He saw himself, hissing on a pair of dice and tossing them out onto an unseen table. Saw himself raise his arms in a gesture of triumph, mouthing “Snake eyes!” amidst silent cheering from the group crowding around him. Saw a girl (he didn't even know her name, some freshman who was already failing) pull him by his collar until their mouths collided. Saw his own eyebrows raise. Saw a student whistle, another letting out a noiseless catcall.

The clip moved on to a different moment before he could watch himself push the girl away with a nervous laugh. Check the time. Make up some excuse about leaving. Bite his lip anxiously, hoping that Patton would never find out.

He looked up wordlessly, trying to find something more meaningful than I'm sorry (words that should mean so much, but went hollow after too many lies). A tear slipped from Patton's eye, dying a spot on his light blue t-shirt black.

“I thought you'd died,” he spat. “There was an accident on 150. The car looked like yours. I kept calling, and you didn't pick up.”

“Pat—”

“I don't want to hear it!” Patton shouted, anger spilling over. “You promised you would stop gambling, you promised to not lie, and on April 24th, over a year ago, you promised to love me!”

“Pat!” But he couldn't be stopped.

“Everything is lies! Every day, I'm asking myself if you're really planning on coming home that night!” Tears ran fiercely down both of their faces. Dee stood, reached for Patton's shoulder, who jumped back as if burned.

“Don't touch me!” he hissed. “You're full of lies, and—and—” his voice raised— “Now I know why your parents named you Deceit!”

Dee physically recoiled. They never talked about his birth name. Ever. Patton had promised to never bring it up—not in an argument, not in a loving way, never. It hurt too much. He looked , expecting an apology. None came. Patton glared at him. Dee broke eye contact immediately, feeling the freezing pain of hearing his name mixed the crippling pain of his lover's hateful gaze. As soon as he turned away, a choked sob met his ears, and a body pushed past him.

Not for the first time, Patton ran away from the apartment. Not for the first time, Dee stood in shock, and briefly wondered what the neighbors must think.

Not for the first time, Dee fell to his knees, certain that this was the last time, that his true love was never coming back.

-

Dee was there when Patton returned—or, rather, there again. Dee had wandered the streets in the windy night until the edges of the sky started to turn purple, then orange. Then he'd wearily trod back to the complex to see if Patton had returned of his own accord. The man hadn't, but hardly ten minutes passed before the door was quietly pushed open and Patton stumbled in, stepped around Dee—who was silently crying in a heap on the floor—and went into the bedroom. The lock clicked behind him.

Now, Dee dashed away his tears. The sun was almost fully visible. On a weekday, they would be up at this time, preparing breakfast and showering and packing their bags for class.

Dee wasn't all that great at cooking, but scrambled eggs were decently simple, so he cracked some eggs in a pan and turned on the stove.

At some point, a glimmer of hope had sprung up in his stomach. Maybe . . . if he changed . . . if he reminded Pat of all the good times. . . .

He shook himself. He isn't happy with you, he told himself. It's hurting him to be with you.

Still, though. Maybe . . . maybe if he devoted his life to him . . . maybe . . . maybe Patton could love him again. . . .

“Dee?”

Dee dropped the spatula with a jump; he looked up to see Patton in the doorway. The man was in the same clothes as the night before, hair rumpled and eyes heavy with sleep.

He looked away as quickly as possible, stirring the eggs with vigor he didn't possess.

“Dee?”

“I'm making eggs,” Dee rambled. “You know I'm not that good at cooking, but I wanted something to do, and you were going to need to eat, and I couldn't sleep, so—”

“Dee.”

He met Patton's eyes. They were quiet, dull without the normal sparks of love and life. “Yes?”

“We tried, you know?”

And there it was. Tears pricked at the back of his eyes as Dee dropped the spatula again, letting his arms fall uselessly to his sides.

“We tried,” Patton continued, voice somehow emotionless yet overflowing with all the feelings neither of them could confess. “And we had some really good times. But people change—like clothes shrinking in the wash. One day, it's your favorite shirt, and it fits perfectly and you feel happy. The next, it's too small. Doesn't fit. It'll never fit again. And you're sad—you've just lost something that made you feel really good.”

“Pat, please—”

“I-I care about you, Dee. But this is hurting both of us. We—we just don't fit anymore.”

And now Patton was crying, now they both were, shaking and sobbing and feeling their life crash down around them. I'm sorry, Dee wanted to say. I'll change. Please. Please don't leave me. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Patton as the man flung himself at his chest. The eggs forgotten, they stood in the middle of the kitchen, crying tears of sadness and frustration and everything else and holding each other like it was the end of the world. The morning sun filtered in through the window, shining a spotlight on the two broken men.

“I love you,” Dee whispered. Patton said nothing, just hugged him closer. And Dee heard the sharpness, the poignancy, the depths of emptiness wrapped in one melody.

Silence.

#fall fic contest #stop-it-anxiety #thomas sanders #sanders sides #sanders sides fic #ts sides #ts #fanfic #sanders sides au #patton sanders #ts patton #deceit sanders #ts deceit #dee #moceit #bleh #sympathetic deceit #human au #sad #music

[fanficimagery]

Imagine that during your first year of Hogwarts, you ended up befriending the Weasley twins on the train. Then being sorted into Slytherin complicated things and throughout the years it was nothing but heartbreak as the twins refused to acknowledge you in public. Your friendship with them is hot and cold, and after taking a break from them you realize you'll do anything to make them realize you're all in no matter what anyone thinks.

Author's Note: This takes place as if Voldemort didn't exist. However, there are still blood and house prejudices.

GIF not mine. I tried to track down the source, but it was never found. If yours and you want and/or it removed, please let me know.

Gen Fic X Reader (w/ a hint of Fred X Reader | George X Reader)

Going into your Seventh year at Hogwarts, you are more than prepared to start talking to Fred and George again after having cooled off over the summer. The twins had been your first friends, but things were suddenly complicated when you were sorted into Slytherin and they into Gryffindor. And now that you're older you could look back and laugh at the antics of your behavior when you were children.

Fred and George pranked and hexed yourself and your house mates, but you gave as good as you got. Nothing was ever too cruel and if it ever toed the line you had no problem berating the two lions. The twins were also your first crushes, but as you got older the twins were careful about where you were seen together or if you were seen together at all. And while that should have hurt your feelings (it did, but you were good at masking it) you couldn't help but to continue seeking out their companionship.

George had been your first kiss, Fred your first date, and the twins were the ones to not-so-subtly drop hints about a triad relationship when you found yourself troubled over which twin you were fond of more. But the older you got, the more braver and nastier the other females of Gryffindor house got. Not one lioness wanted to see one of their own getting too friendly with a snake, and they had no problem insulting and hexing you to make their point.

The twins, after seeing what you were put through, finally decided to distance themselves. They were still friendly when on their own, but when surrounded by other Gryffindors you were just another snake who wasn't quite up to their standards.

And that- that hurt. But what really hurt the most was last year during the Triwizard tournament. When the Yule Ball was announced you had been so excited, only to find out that the twins has asked Angelina Johnson and Marietta Edgecomb to escort them. You tried to not let it get to you, but the girls were far too smug whenever in your presence and it hurt when the twins didn't bother to reign them in. Viktor Krum, however, had taken a fancy to you and asked for you to escort him. You accepted, but not before clarifying that it would be a strictly platonic date. He understood and happily twirled you around the dance floor. Fred and George didn't like it one bit, and had no problem voicing their anger in regards to your date.

It was highly unfair of them and you even told them so, but they wouldn't hear of it. So when they played a particularly nasty prank on the Durmstrang champion that not only humiliated him but you as well, you let the twins have it and told them to never speak to you again. For the rest of the school year they felt quite justified over their actions, but your absence from their lives started to wane on them. And if you were quite honest with yourself, you missed them terribly by the time it was time to go home for the summer.

"You know they're in love with you, right?" You startle at the voice which has knocked you from your thoughts, you then eyeing a too smug Ginny Weasley as she enters your empty compartment on the train. "They spent all summer moping about the Burrow and mum nearly went mental. When I told her it was a girl problem, she nearly sent you a howler."

Your eyes widen. "But-"

The redhead grins as she settles in the seat across from you. "Don't worry about it. I told her what was going on and what gits Fred and George had been. She was quite cross with them, to be honest. Said she raised her boys to be better than that and to not care about what house someone was sorted in to."

"I guess Ron didn't get that memo," you lamely joke as you slowly relax back in your seat.

"Ron's a prat."

You chuckle softly as you offer her a shrug, not wanting to further bad mouth her brother. Then turning rather somber very quickly, you sigh, "What am I going to do, little red?"

"Talk to them. They really miss you."

"And I miss them, but.." You trail off, gulping the sudden lump in your throat back down. "I liked them too, you know? Like.. really, really liked them. Both of them." Ginny's eyes widen at your honesty, her eyes almost sparkling. "But I was already a dirty half-blood to most of the school's population, I wasn't about to become their dirty little secret as well when they suggested a triad."

Ginny leans forward and grabs your hand, she squeezing it in comfort. "Whatever's meant to happen will happen. Don't give up on them."

She's so confident in her words that you can't help smile genuinely at her. "When'd you get so smart?"

"Around the same time I overheard you giving Hermione a similar talk when Ron became dense about girls."

"Ahh," you muse. Ginny chuckles and the rest of your time is interrupted when the Prefects start making their rounds to advise everyone to start putting on their robes. As Ginny gets up to leave, you call out one last time. "Same rules from First year still apply. You have any trouble with the Slytherins, come to me."

"Got it. Thanks, Y/N."

As school starts, the twins are apparently ready to start talking with you again. Their flirtation has been taken to a whole new level and you find yourself blushing more than usual. They've even become rather more bold with their touches and you can't help the feelings that reignite. But on the first Hogsmeade trip when you're out with some friends, you spot Fred and George out on dates and it adds yet another crack to your already splintered heart.

But your last year seems to have a bright light at the end of the tunnel when Headmaster Dumbledore informs the school that they're going to have what the muggles call a Talent Show. The snobby Purebloods are disgusted with the idea, but everyone else is quite excited to see what their fellow students are capable of, especially when it's also stated that families will be invited to the end of the year festivities.

You're more than prepared to sit back and watch the show at the end of the year, but the more your.. whatever you have going on with the twins becomes strained yet again, you recruit a muggleborn Hufflepuff to help you out with a song of your choosing. No one knows what you plan on doing and the friendly 'Puff helps keep it a secret.

Parents are allowed to start arriving at Hogwarts the day before the Talent Show as to not clog up the floo network, so you're not surprised to see more adults than usual walking about. The castle is rather busy, so it's also no surprise you find yourself bumping into a few individuals.

Glancing up you realize you've ran into adults and the apology is on the tip of your tongue. But there's a scoff of disgust, a mumbled comment about snakes being snakes, and you carefully bring your shield down. Then looking towards the redheaded woman, you bow your head in apology. "Apologies, ma'am. It seems my head is in the clouds this morning."

She seems surprised, but a smile quickly blooms. "It's quite alright. I was a bit busy myself scolding my husband and his best friend."

Glancing at the two men, you quickly catalog that the bespectacled man seems rather familiar but the other- the other dark haired, silver eyed individual can only be a Black.

"Oi! Y/L/N! You accosting my mum?"

You tense, the three individuals in front of you look suddenly wary, but when you look towards the speaker you grin. As the tension slowly leaves your shoulders, you shrug. "What can I say, HJ? You know I have a weakness for redheads." Then looking back at the apparent Mrs. Potter, you wink at her which sends Mr. Potter and Mr. Black into a fit of surprised laughter.

Harry Potter strolls up to you, rolling his eyes. "Yes, the whole school knows you have a weakness for redheads. Especially twin-"

"Not. Another. Word." You narrow your eyes, pointing a finger at him threateningly. "Unless you want dear 'ol mum to learn about the incident on the pitch from last year."

Harry suddenly clams up, he shifting nervously as his father chortles and Mr. Black muses about what exactly happened on the pitch. "You wouldn't."

"Uh hello. Slytherin," you grin while pointing at your face.

"Oh, sweetheart, I had you pegged all wrong." An arm falls around your shoulders and you glance up at the dark haired man that was with Harry's parents. "Sirius Black. Harry's godfather and ex-Gryffindor."

"Ah. So that's why you made those snake comments." He takes a moment to look a bit apologetic, especially when Harry groans, but you shrug it off. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Black. I'm Y/N. And don't worry about your earlier misstep. It's nothing I haven't heard before."

"Y/N is one of the few good ones," Harry tells his family. "Half-blood who has a majority of the purebloods terrified of her."

"As it should be," you smirk.

"Lily Potter," his mother then introduces herself with a faint chuckle. "And my husband James," she says. "It's nice to see a Slytherin and Gryffindor getting along for once."

"Only a few select Gryffindors. A majority of them still hate me," you kindly correct. Then giving your attention back to Harry, you ask, "So why are your parents here? You're not performing, are you HJ?"

"Merlin no," he chuckles. "This is just the first year Hogwarts has done something like this. It was open to all the parents whether or not their son or daughter were performing."

"Ahh.."

"What about you? Are you performing?"

You grin. "Actually, I am. Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to open the show with a song and then I'm singing a duet towards the end."

"Really? I've heard you sing a couple of times. You're really good."

"Thank you. Unfortunately for Dumbledore, I decided to use this as my platform to- how do the muggles say?- go big or go home?"

Sirius and Lily snort, and Harry groans. "Oh no. What are you doing?"

"I'm going to sing a sad song for two idiot boys. I won't single them out, but if people have been paying attention for the passed several years then they'll know who I'm speaking to. But my second song, oh you're going to love it. It's a lot more upbeat and I will single them out then."

"I feel like I should feel bad for Fred and George, but I'm highly intrigued. I can't wait for tomorrow."

"You and me both, HJ." Grinning, you then meet each individual adult's gaze before taking your leave. "It was nice to meet you all. Please don't laugh when I make a fool of myself tomorrow."

The evening of the talent show you're a little nervous. You had practiced the night before in the Come and Go Room with Ginny, Hermione, and Luna Lovegood as your audience, and actually made two of the three girls tear up. But now, as Headmaster Dumbledore addresses the Great Hall of what to expect throughout the night, it's very real.

Peeking into the Hall, you notice that the house tables have been divided and pushed two to each side. The Head's table and Headmaster's podium still sit where they always have, but straight down the middle of the hall is a raised platform that runs the length from the back of the hall to the front. And though you can't see it with the naked eye, you know there's a magical barrier to prevent any curses or hexes being cast at the performers.

"So without further ado, Y/N Y/L/N will start this evening off by serenading a gentlewizard.. or two."

"Bloody hell he is not subtle at all. How did he even know?" Those performing after you all snicker and you take a deep breath as you enter the Great Hall.

There's a decent amount of applause at your appearance and you take the offered hand from a fellow student as you ascend the steps onto the platform. Several wizards who had learned the music to every song being sung in the show take their place along the platform, instruments in hand or settling behind a set of drums or piano that have already been set up. The moment you set foot on the platform, a sonorous charm envelops you so there's no use of a muggle microphone.

You nod at the pianist and tuck your hands into the back pockets of your jeans as you saunter down the middle of the platform when a familiar melody fills the air.

"Mercy," you sing, eyes closing. "Why you gotta show up lookin' so good just to hurt me? Why you wanna stop this whole damn world from turning? Mercy. Why you hanging on so tight if this ain't working? Why you wanna stop this flame if it's still burning? 'Cause it's still burning."

Stopping in the middle of the platform, you face the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor side of the room, and look towards the twins. You know if you meet their gaze head on you'll only end up crying, so you keep your gaze above their heads and belt out the lyrics that broke your heart when you first heard them. "So if you're gonna break my heart, just break it. And if you're gonna take your shot, then take it. Take it. If you made up your mind, then make it. Make this fast. If you ever loved me.. have mercy."

As the melody plays on, you fall silent and chance a look at Fred and George. They're hunched over in their seats, expressions solemn and guilty-like. But before you can turn around to make your way to the other side of the platform, someone in Harry's group wolf whistles and there's a brief smattering of applause and muffled laughter which causes you to smile.

You sing the rest of the song while keeping your back to the twins and are pleasantly surprised at the amount of applause when you're done. Then bowing slightly to both sides of the room and to the Head's table, you subtly wipe your tears away and make your way off the platform to take a seat in the very back of the hall.

Other students show off their own singing abilities, as well as their dancing skills, transfiguration skills, and dueling abilities in which colorful explosions and sparkles happen around the target should they be hit. One brave soul even tried their hand at comedy and managed to have the hall in a fit of giggles over the incidents they brought up that had happened over the years.

The entire time everyone is performing, you can't help but let your gaze travel to two nearly identical faces. And the entire time you look at them, they're looking back and then talking quietly to one another.

You're so caught up in the latest performance that you actually startle when someone taps your shoulder. Turning around, you smile at Trevor- a Seventh year, muggleborn Hufflepuff who readily agreed to help you sing a song- who's crouched behind your seat. "You ready?" He asks. "We're up next."

"Oh. Yeah."

The two of you sneak back out of the hall to wait outside and soon enough Headmaster Dumbledore is speaking again as he introduces the next act. "Students, it pleases me greatly that this evening has been a smash with you." Several students whistle and cheer. "And I greatly appreciate the brave students who've decided to share their talents." More applause erupts. "But before our fun comes to an end, please give another round of applause for out last act- Trevor Langdon and friend."

You grin as only Trevor enters the hall and then smile widely as the melody of your chosen song starts and Trevor's voice resonates around the room. "Baby, lay on back and relax. Kick your pretty feet up on my dash.." His voice is far deeper when singing than it is when he speaks, so you chuckle as you see many starstruck, awed expressions in the crowd.

You hum along to his part of the song, laughing as he plays the crowd and singles out a few females and winks at them as he sings up and down the platform. With the spotlight on him, you take the chance to walk up to the platform where it's dark and ascend the stairs as your part comes up. Then when the spotlight shines on you, you grin as you sing and make your way towards where the twins are seated.

"I don't mean to be so uptight, but my heart's been hurt a couple times by a couple guys that didn't treat me right. I ain't gon' lie, ain't gonna lie." Stopping before the twins, you meet their gaze head on and raise an eyebrow at them. "'Cause I'm tired of the fake love. Show me what you're made of. Boys, make me believe.."

Trevor slides up from behind you, smirking. "But hold up, girl, don't you know you're beautiful? And it's easy to see."

Laughing, you manage to sing the next words with Trevor, shooting the twins one last look. "If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be. Baby, just let it be."

The entire talent show ends up being a success and more food had been offered after the hall was sorted back to it's original state. While half of the student population opted to head back to their common rooms, the rest lingered about with family and friends before curfew neared.

"Kitten, those performances were marvelous," Sirius muses, his arm slung around your shoulder. Somehow you found yourself adopted into the group that consisted of Harry's family when they found out your father hadn't shown because your mum was a muggle and he wouldn't show up without her. "If those boys of Molly don't get heads out of their arses-"

You laugh, elbowing him in the side lightly. "It's hard being a teenager, Mr. Black. I was as scared as they were, but we're graduating soon. I no longer care what anyone thinks and I'm not ashamed to be seen with them. Now it's time to see if they think I'm worth the risk as well."

"Well we're about to find out," Harry snickers. "Here they come."

Sirius only has enough time to nudge you forward before Fred- he was the more bolder twin after all- strides right up to you and catches your face between his hands before roughly pressing his lips to yours. Wolf whistles erupt around the hall and your eyes close as you return the kiss with fervor. But before you can really grab onto him, hands suddenly gripping your hips tug you from Fred and turn you around. George is sheepishly smiling down at you before he too presses his lips to yours, his kiss a little less rougher than his twin’s.

The hall goes eerily quiet, but the only thing you're focused on is George's tongue tracing the seam of your lips.

"Stupid bint." Though the words are muttered, they ring loud in the hushed hall.

George tenses before releasing you and your eyes flutter open. Your gaze then falls on the only two girls walking just as someone else says, "Trollop."

The group you're surrounded by seem to all puff up in righteous anger, but then the girls are both shrieking as miniature bats transformed out of their own snot starts to attack them. As they leave the hall screaming, you turn back towards your group and single out Ginny- the little witch who's standing there with her hip cocked to the side, arms crossed over her chest and wand sticking out by the crook of her elbow.

"What?" She feigns innocence. "They deserved it."

"Blimey," Sirius mumbles. "She definitely inherited her mum's temper."

Snorting, the rest of the group finally relax as they chuckle and you wrap your arms low around George's waist while snuggling into his chest. "So this is it, yeah?" You ask. "No more running away?"

"No more," George's answer rumbles through his chest as he settles his chin atop your head.

"This is us taking our shot," Fred muses. "You know, like you sang about us doing?"

"Not gonna break my heart, Weasley?"

"Definitely not. You're stuck with us, Y/L/N."

You roll your eyes as you release George, then snuggling up to Fred who's all too happy to accept your embrace. "'Bout bloody time."

Listen to these songs: Mercy by Brett Young and Meant To Be by Bebe Rexha ft. Florida Georgia Line.

#fanficimagery #george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #fred x reader #george x reader #hp gen fic x reader #fred weasley imagine #george weasley imagine #weasley twins imagine #harry potter imagine #hp imagine #fred weasley #george weasley #imagine #harry potter #sirius black #lily potter #james potter #ginny weasley

[matrixaffiliate]

Salient

Chapter Update! FFN and AO3

I'm probably not going to post this next week. My husband surprised me with a little Valentine's getaway. :) So if I manage to get everything written by Thursday morning, I'll post then, but if not, then I'll be back on Friday, February 21st.

Chapter 27

"It's not going to work, Al." George shook his head as he leant over the conference room table in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes offices. "That's far too detailed a process. I'd need to train people to do everything, nothing in your process allows me to flick my wand and walk away."

Al bit back his initial retort that this had been George's boiled brained idea in the first place.

"You do realize that it's blocking magic, right? It's done by hand to ensure magic doesn't leave traces where it can ruin the phone."

Ron wore a frown as he stared at the list of steps Al had written down.

"What's his name?" He muttered. But before Al could clarify, George spoke.

"I get that, Al, but we have a standard for the wages we offer. For how long it takes you to make the one case and what we pay our employees, I'm losing money making them this way. Explain again why I can't just make duplicates of your case."

"What was his name?" Ron muttered again.

Al didn't give it heed this time.

"It's just like I told you, duplicating it messes with the spell layering and makes the case and screen protector obsolete." Al shoved his hand in his hair. "I've made this as condensed as I can. If we change my process at all it will leave traces and ruin the phone. I've got more failed attempts in my flat than I ever want to count trying to do this differently. This is it, George, this is how it has to be done. If I have a breakthrough later I'll let you know, but if you want these on the shelves for Christmas, then this is how it's going to be."

George huffed and threw himself into the back of his chair.

Al tried not to glare at him.

"What is his name?!" Ron said again, this time with a bit more force.

"Who's name?" George snapped at him.

"The American car man!"

Al laughed, "You do realize you've just described a quarter of their population, right?"

Ron rolled his eyes, "No, I mean the first one."

Al blinked, "The first one?"

"Yeah," Ron nodded, "the one who made cars a thing."

"What do cars have to do with anything?" George groaned. "We're talking about our new Christmas line being short a product."

"Wait," Al felt realization dawning as he followed Ron's train of thought. "Are you talking about Henry Ford?"

"That's it!" Ron slammed his hand on the table. "I remember now! I was reminiscing with Harry and Hermione about the old Ford Angelina a few years ago and Hermione told me that the man who started Ford was the first to use a line to make cars and that cut time and cost and made cars available to most everyone."

"An assembly line!" Al grinned. "Ron that's brilliant!"

"What's an assembly line?" George sat forward again.

"Muggles use it for everything," Al conjured a piece of paper and pulled out his pen. "You have stations, run by people or robots…"

"What's a robot?" George frowned.

"Nevermind," Al chuckled, this was novel enough to explain without throwing robotics into the mix.

"In an assembly line you have stations run by people and they only do one or two, possibly three things, before passing it off to the next person, who does the next one or two things. It cuts production time because rather than one person or team having to keep checking their list to make sure they've done all hundred-odd steps, each person only needs to remember to do one or two things before passing it off. It cuts down on mistakes that way too. And it would work really well here!"

Al pushed the paper he'd been writing on towards his uncles. "See, the first person simply makes duplicates of our different case models. The next person casts these first two spells. Then the next person does just this one. And we go down the line just like that."

"I like it, George," Ron pulled Al's papers closer to him. "And I bet we could do this with other things we decided weren't cost-effective before. We could be the first Wizarding company with Muggle style assembly lines."

"I'd want to run a trial," George tapped his fingers on the table. "Let's send out a memo that we're offering some overtime to try out a new process, have them write down their input and ideas at the end, give them food after, you know the drill."

"I'd like to be there to help them know what they're doing, explain things better."

"Right," Ron pulled out a pen and started writing on the paper Al had used to map out his assembly line. "I'll text you once I have a firm date."

George handed him a piece of parchment, "Write down the days you know are not an option for you. We'll plan around your schedule."

Al jotted down the few days he knew he couldn't make anything happen and then wrote his course schedule out too.

"You spend this much time in school?!" George frowned at the course schedule.

Al smiled, "This is a light semester. I've had a semester with 26 credit hours before. I had to get all sorts of forms signed to make that happen, but it was worth it to get the professor I wanted for the class I needed."

George shook his head. "Hermione has let her crazy rub off on you."

"Eh!" Ron threw his pen at his brother. "That's my wife you're talking about!"

"And I love her dearly, Ron," George chuckled, "but did you see how many hours a day Al is in classes? It's amazing he hasn't morphed into a textbook!"

They laughed and Al caught a glimpse of the wall clock. Ellie was done with her last class.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to get going." Al slipped his pen back into his pocket.

"Hot date?" George teased.

"Something like that," Al grinned, feeling bolder than he ever had as a teenager about his relationships.

Ron winked at him. "I'll show you out."

George saluted his nephew as Al walked out with Ron and towards the fireplaces.

"Your aunt would very much like to meet Ellie," Ron spoke quietly.

Al rolled his eyes. "Mum told you about El too, eh?"

Ron grinned, "She's trying to push you to share your life with all of us a bit more. When you went Muggle, you fell off the planet for some of the family. We're all thrilled with what you're doing, but we do miss having you about. Just think of it this way, Hermione is a safe card. You're bringing your girlfriend who grew up in both worlds to meet your aunt who, to a lesser extent, also grew up in both worlds."

Al sighed; stupid logic and Ron's ability to wield it.

"Send me a text of when you want us over. We'll be there."

Ron put a hand on Al's shoulder and smiled encouragingly. "How about we do it after the testing of your assembly line?"

"Alright," Al nodded, "I'll talk to El, but that should be alright."

Al was surprised to find that his anxiety about El meeting Ron and Hermione wasn't nearly as high as he would have anticipated. But maybe that was because he hadn't told her yet. Ever the scientist, Al decided to test his theory and called Ellie as he sat down on his sofa.

"Hey, love, how did it go?"

Al sighed into the soothing sound of her voice.

"I think it went alright, we're going to give it a try in an assembly line format and see how it fares."

"That sounds brilliant!"

"Yeah, and after, Uncle Ron wants us to come to dinner with him and Aunt Hermione."

It was quiet for a beat and Al managed to find all his anxiety again.

"Al? Are you there?"

"I'm here." He swallowed.

"I said that sounds wonderful! Do you have a date yet?"

Al felt relief rush into him as he let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. Maybe next he'd figure out how to fix cellular service so it never skipped or dropped signal.

"Not yet, but I'll let you know when I do."

"Are you busy?" Ellie's voice had a sing-song quality to it that reminded him a bit of Aunt Luna.

"No."

Then his door opened and Ellie walked in as she disconnected their call.

"Me either."

She laughed as Al took three large steps to wrap her in his arms and kiss her soundly.

#Salient #albus severus potter #albus x eliza #al x ellie #albus severus potter x eliza battiste #Canadian OC #Native American OC #not cursed child compliant! #making muggle technology work with magic #al goes to muggle university #romance #fluff #next gen fanfic #next generation #harry potter fanfiction

[fortheheavenssake]

MM Anon 3

MM Anon 3

Oct. 1

MM ANON … 🎼” back to black”🎼…… uncomfortably reunion …… “ AND THE CROWDS WENT…… home”… “blend in with the POC”🤣🤣🤣🤣…… Pressed for time. …… PR with blinkers… don’t Sue the messenger …… Harry on camping…… background colour …… “ bloody African Queen ‘ don’t think so”…… “ returning after their triumphant tour “…… OMG’ it’s definitely her

——————

Oct. 2

MM ANON, This vacuous tart is in need of serious therapy ‘ she’s trying to intimidate the British press who employ Rottweilers as journalists and have brought down whole governments. They string antagonists up by their Gonads and bury pieces of flotsam like nutmeg alive. Not only is this virus on a hiding to nothing,she has underestimated the established reading matter of middle England ‘THE DAILY MAIL. ………… ‘popcorn darlings ‘ popcorn !!!!!!!!!!!

———————

MM Anon - HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!

Oct. 2

MM ANON …… Dear Darlings ‘ today is my birthday 🎼 happy birthday to me🎼…………🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂 2nd Oct. 1944. ……… “ a day that live in ignominy” 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

—————-

Oct. 2

MM ANON …… Thank you dear Skippy and all your faithful helpers ………… your blog is a joy and a privilege to post on …… GBTQAOGC👑👑👑👑👑 🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇨🇦🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧

You are so welcome! We are honoured to have you join us! You are loved!🙏🏻❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

—————

Oct. 2

MM ANON …… A TM visit?…… a pitiful cry for help …… “tears of a Crown”…… “ Philip’ stop swearing!!”…… ink block carnage … a scathing edi-TORY-al……”A Sunday surprise “…… “well,well,well’ fe-MAIL- empowerment”…… Fleet St. circling the wagons …… 🎼 “ Homeward bound, I guess ………” 🎼j…… … ace card archificial …… “SA’ well that was a dud Megs”…… leap-Frog to Calipornia 🤫🤫🤫

—————

Oct. 3

MM ANON …… rogue withdrawal …… a petulant rattle slays fleet st. …… royal analysis paralysis ……… “ settlement now!!!! ……TM lawyers up…… tabloid utopia …… “ This is a bloody tape diversion old thing “…………“A spitting Halloween 🎃 “……… “ remember ‘remember, the 5th of Nov.” …… “ Philip ‘ this year you give the Queen speech”…… 🎆🎇😱🇬🇧💩⚖️⚖️⚖️…… GBTQ.

——————

Oct. 3

MM ANON , UNDER THE RADAR!!!!!!!! The Queen probably has information and physical evidence appertaining to “It” regarding her “ lost” years. During the summer PW spent a week at MI6 at Vauxhall. ( being briefed?) what on? Suddenly this week there’s a story of a certain acquisition of a “tape” the next day , via H. she sues the MOS regarding a letter. (Smoke And Mirrors) The hinges are falling off that locked door on her past ………………………!!!!!!!! Allegedly.

——————

Oct. 4

MM ANON …… Meanwhile at CH…… A Family meeting’ o dear!!…… “ One is apoplectic with disappointment “… (two red faces)…… “ this isn’t a game of happy f%#@k families!!!”…… an atmospheric cut…… legs and tails …… They Aga successful …… in the brown Windsor soup……a green beret chum…… nutmeg begs…… happy Harry …… SS documentary’s doom.

——————-

Oct. 4

MM ANON …… Smoke and Mirrors divert us from the elephant in the doom!!!, nothing to do with nutmegs bawling in the bathroom over being picked on by those nasty hacks 🤣🤣🤣 or hacked phones (it’s a daily mine field for the high profiled) abysmal failure on behalf of their security. It’s the tape darlings ‘ murkmegs very sore-did past. Popcorn’POPCORN 🍿 🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿🍿

—————-

Oct. 5

MM ANON …… chocolate sundae ��… don’t give up your day job …… single exit west …… a SMALL diversion … “ is he mine?” …… home alone ………… “ I fear for them Philip” …… Duty calls …… 🎼” you wore out your welcome with random precision “🎼……… “ we must talk Harry”……… jack and Jill went up the hill ……… “ it’s all on This memory stick.

—————

Oct. 5

Does this mean PiersM is a friend of Her Majesty (👑) or a friend of MM?

So many players, so much darkness in this schtick. My brain is fried. Thank you Skippy🐼

——————-

Oct. 6

MM ANON … the Queen …… “ one can’t choose ones family “…… “ Philip loves me doing Melania” …… “I rather liked Donald “ …… “ l frightening Vlad…… “ on our day together she never stopped yapping “ … “Harry ‘ we all make mistakes “… “ the little one, she’s a fireball “ …… “Camilla says she’s illiterate “ … “ what sort of name was that!!!!!”…” What!! Christmas ‘she’ll be lucky “ … “LG ‘ that’s why it’s called the Queens speech ‘ so f#@ck them!!”

————-

Oct. 7

MM ANON …… “MORGAN ‘ a suitable case for treatment” …… sue- da - nam?

————-

Oct. 7

MM ANON … Calapornia Dreem-in…… “ To be ‘ or Not to be…” …… “ I made a bit of a boob”……… “ the real Mc- COY darlings “…… “ artistic lie- sense …… “ not my best work”

—————

Oct. 7

MM ANON …… This is only my opinion on the validity of the alleged article. AN OPINION!! like skippy suggested in all posts , re disclaimer ……… what would be verified in this situation is “ face recognition tech.” ANYBODY?????? 👃🏾👁👄👂

————-

Oct. 7

MM ANON … lets move on!!!!…… fab unfore-tunate…… pre tour panic… …a fleet-ing vengeance …… “ don’t take this personally”…… “ you have TWO choices”…… “ get your bloody head out the sand”…… “it’s crumbling around your feet”……… “ baby ‘ what baby?”…… “we’re gonna need a bigger Bank”…… 🎼” if I was a rich man”🎼

——————

Oct. 8

MM ANON … ABANDON YOURSELF TO GOD AS YOU UNDERSTAND GOD ,GIVE OF YOURSELF SELFLESSLY AND JOIN US ,WE SHALL BE WITH YOU IN THE FELLOWSHIP OF THE SPIRIT AND YOU WILL SURELY MEET SOME OF US AS YOU TRUDGE THE PATH OF HAPPY DESTINY ‘ MAY GOD BLESS YOU AND KEEP YOU UNTIL THEN. thanks to all contributors. MM anon.

—————

Oct. 8

MM ANON … fab two ‘ future Queen……future king …… also rans …… three weddings and a refusal …… Archie-bargy …… a dog with no name …… silent screaming past…… 🎼” there may be trouble ahead “🎼…… “ if I tell you ‘ I’d have to…… “…… everyone is scarfing …… (another private flight)…… Branson island … Mail on payday… … “ please boo the buggers”

Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

—————-

Oct. 8

MM ANON …… This is only my opinion on the validity of the alleged article. AN OPINION!! like skippy suggested in all posts , re disclaimer ……… what would be verified in this situation is “ face recognition tech.” ANYBODY?????? 👃🏾👁👄👂

—————

Oct. 9

MM ANON …… “ sorry, not today thank you “…… never EVER explain …… “what happens in house, stays in-house”. ……a special briefing …… another cover-up?…… … glowing anticipation …… special forces …… “unprecedented care”…… a very tired PR …… public appearance nerves …… “we’ll pay you handsomely”…… “she’ll do it or suffer the consequences”

—————-

Oct. 10

MM ANON ……corespondents under the radar …… “MA to MM”…… 🎼” gimme a ticket for an aeroplane”🎼…… “ my baby wrote me a letter” “ I’ve seen the contents of several”…… ‘ thank you LG.”…… “were in need of another f#@ing hole”…… Sheeran a common problem ……” drag her along ‘ your joking”… not seen’ not heard, GOOD!!!!…… Christmas 🧣 scarfs …… 🎼Back in the USA”🎼…… “friends thou hast and their adoption tried ”…(very trying!!!)

——————-

Oct. 10

MM ANON, for Mr Skippy, “ take away my difficulties that victory over them may bear wittiness of thy love ,thy power and thy way of life “ …… GOD BLESS YOU BOTH. 💜💜💜💜🧡🧡🧡🧡

—————

Oct. 11

MM ANON … aggressive tabloid PR…… desperate image…… manipulate a student …… public fear…… ((loving wife and mother))…… 🎼” Money, get away”🎼…… a fence for Harry …… “ how do I milk this”…… most dangerous tour…… “ I guess I never got the memo”…… the natives are getting restless …… nutmegs public anticipation …… Scrambled eggs!!

—————

Oct. 12

MM ANON … Sunday sensation??……… LG will give the word…… lots of dirty dirt…… 🎼” love me or leave me”🎼…… when the going gets tough ……”…… “ not another chicken dinner”…… “ is She nice”…… “ I think you should know something”. …… “ Fair is foul,and foul is fair”…… WOW!! ace down the line!!…… “advantage MOS”… location,location vexation.

—————-

Oct. 13

MM ANON … “ THE MOST ANTICIPATED BOOK …… 🎼”Sparkles spangles, see how they shine, sing-a-linga “🎼…… Tom the Bomb… “A woman of sub-stance🤣”…… maybe ‘ sex lies and video tape … 🎼” when you come to the end of a lollipop”🎼… ……” A kid for two farthings” …… “ you know how to whistle don’t you Harry”…… “an obvious cuckold…… “…… home to roost”

————-

Oct. 13

MM ANON, Tom Bowers , Britain’s most feared biographer is going to write a “TELL ALL” Tome on the evasive one , will we expect 🎼sparkles spangles, your heart will sing , jing-jing-a-ling a 🎼…… OMG, the anticipation for this one is EPIC , 🎼 yachting, hotting, see how she lays ,toss-a-lotta🎼 This author flays his victims alive ‘ WE WAIT IN APOPLECTIC SUSPENSE 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣PLEASE TOM DO TELL “EVERYTHING!, emails,sexts And video tapes. 🎼”Sparkles spangles and deeds”🎼

—————-

Pakistan Tour 14-18

Oct. 14

MM ANON …… Pakistani perfection ……”will anything ever happen?” …… “ she’s a disease” …… HMTQ is feeling the strain ……… oh’ oh , the green eyed monster …… “MA has all the answers” …… ( and the evidence)………” if I had a penny ……… “…………” she got to show, to much gossip!!” ……… “ Harry, Dear heart, pull your head out of the sand” …… “it’s Kismet old thing,kismet!! “

————

Oct. 15

MM ANON ……A sense of humour ‘ tuk tuk …… 🎼nobody does it better 🎼……… REAL ROYALTY …… ‘after the Lord Mayor show came the dustcart …… Charlotte the “NEW”future people’s Princess 👸 …… Little Louie people’s Prince 🤴 ……… “, it’s nutmeg crumble for desert marm,…… “ that’s the bloody way to do it!!!”…… “ what’s that other silly tart doing?”…… “it’s a mystery Philip”

————

Oct. 16

MM ANON …… On the banks of Huntspill River …… a pretty Sum-erset …… O dear ‘ how not to be princely …… 🎼” everybody’s doing the loco- emotion”🎼……… In the real steps of his mother…… “Protocol, dignity and humour “…… Their successes drove her apoplectic …… LIZARDS 🦎 ……” please George ‘ don’t do that”🦎🦎🦎…… … Nanny doesn’t like🦎🦎🦎…… “I miss the children”…… ROYAL AIR FORCE ONE. …… MI6 and the visit??…… “ de visit was spectacular ‘ de-brief was better”. ……” Thanks M.”

————

Oct. 16

MM ANON… nutmegs agenda ‘ write his nauseating tome, push in front, psychologically undermine him , feed his anger and resentment for W&K! , Don’t get near the public ( fears of rejection), continue emotional blackmail, put pressure and endorse his lack of self esteem ,psychotropic drugs?, cry and keep asking him why people hate you ‘, convince him the BRF are against both of them …… question his grasp on reality. This is her agenda ‘ allegedly. Speculation of course.

——————

Oct. 16

MM ANON … after one year of marriage the boys a total wreck , mounting the Dias in Africa all disoriented ,and blubbering at child works , he’s in a psychotic purgatory that she continues to perpetuate. How does Harry dump the faux bump and find true happiness????? Britain is waiting for the inevitable divorce and the English rose Harry will one day meet. It’s Kismet LG ,pure Kismet!! “ Cry God for Harry’………… “.

—————

Oct. 16

MM ANON …Harry’s split second mishap…… A choreographed comforter. …… 🎼” 19th nervous breakdown” 🎼…… a plethora of past lovers … 🎼” we have no secrets”🎼🤣🤣…… The announcement,an unstable Stable. …… 🎼” I’m not in love, so don’t forget it” 🎼……… fixan a vixen. ……… nutmeg on Toast……… MA” is he mine? Yup!! ……” accolades on the return”.

—————

Oct. 17

MM ANON …… Thank you for the wonderful and ingenious humour LH. 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

—————-

Oct. 18

MM ANON …… “Festering,yes”💸💸💸💸”it’s a struggle” 💸💸💸💸……… comment section ‘ #@&*#¥……… “ I was flying “…… 🎼” Never cried when granny died 🎼”……soon,wonderful weekend with the children …… FaceTime mummy’🦎🦎🦎🦎……… “ Kate , ones so proud”…… “ you’re a stalwart William “ …… “ you’re very pretty dressed as a Unicorn 🦄 “…… $h!t !! She’s gone nuclear!, …… well’ that Doc was a load of boll***.…… “shhhh’ I heard that too!!”… gossip darlings ‘ gossip!!… “ all that glitters,”

—————

Oct. 18

MM ANON, OMG , Harry’s festering, nutmegs struggling, Archificial is having an identity problem. ( “ I wanna know who’s my dad’) ……… “ is it mine”, nutmeg gazing towards a distant horizon, someone with a all knowing smirk gazing back from distant horizon ‘. And there both going to try and flog this p!$$poor Documentary to the savvy Brits. Are they both off their f#@ing trolly , who TF wants to see them whining about how they struggle on 20 million a year , not those trying to pay a mortgage.

—————-

Oct. 18

MM ANON , “ not many people asked if I was alright”, well I wasn’t alright…… , Ahhhhhh , what a shame nutmeg,perhaps if you didn’t fake your pregnancy people would have warmed to you ‘ ( NO , DONT THINK SO ). So nutmeg plays the poor me card , poor me, poor me pour me a drink. ………… I wonder what the RPO conversation is when she’s not being obnoxiously present. , she apparently treats everyone like 💩💩💩💩. I have news nutmeg, Britain doesn’t give a $h!t.

——————-

October. 19

MM ANON …… “ O no , not another f%#ing beautiful Sunday “…… All together, a ROYAL reunion 🦄🦎👸🤴… “ she’s not invited, again🧣“……” O Philip, do lets watch this documentary 🤣🤣“ …… “Really, old thing, really ?”…… “ bloody hell , Charlottes a better actress “……… “ Mummy!! I’ve lost my 🦎” ……” What next LG , the Caribbean and North America with the children?”…… “ Mmmm , Marm that would work ,next year’ someone will be jealous!!” …… “ “what’s that ol’ thing , I’m reading skippy Philip”.

—————-

Oct 19

MM ANON , “THEY DON’T MAKE IT EASY”, I’M OKAY, can’t wait for the trawling that the whiner is going to be subjected to. The comments section of the DE&DM and MOS is 95% negative, and aggressively anti Megain. The Mocumentary will only draw more humiliation and subtle sarcasm from the tabloids. Juxtaposition this with the shining success W&K received on their return from Pakistan and you have the pulse of National opinion. The big takeaway is “Nutmeg is hated”.

——————-

[fumpkins]

Email survey of U.S. government scientists, tagged as spam, struggles for traction | Science

The head office of the United States Epa in Washington, D.C.

Ken Lund/Flickr (CC BY-SA 2.0)

Originally published by E&E News.

A routine study of U.S. federal researchers by the Union of Concerned Researchers (UCS) triggered a little bit of a kerfuffle at U.S. EPA last month.

For the ninth time considering that 2005, the science advocacy group sent a study to more than 63,000 federal researchers throughout 16 firms to collect details about exactly what’s taking place inside the federal government in relation to clinical stability.

Andrew Rosenberg, director of the Center for Science and Democracy at UCS, stated his personnel connected to the firms to let them understand the study was upcoming: a memo EPA obviously missed out on.

” The unannounced, unapproved, and possibly unlawful message discovered listed below this message was sent out to me today,” Brian Melzian, an EPA oceanographer in Rhode Island, composed in a Feb. 12 email to EPA’s Computer system Security Occurrence Action Center (CSIRC) and others acquired by UCS.

” Since the United States EPA workers have actually NOT gotten any details about this ‘Research study,’ this research study might NOT be genuine, legal, and correct for EPA workers to finish,” he composed.

Melzian continued: “Lastly, if the message discovered listed below is genuine and not phony, these companies have actually been grossly irresponsible and unskilled for dispersing this message without very first being licensed and authorized by EPA.”

Rosenberg stated while UCS did notify EPA the study was coming, he is not needed to do so and it depends on the firms to pick whether and how they notify workers about it.

The study comes at an especially delicate time as environment and other science supporters stress the Trump administration has actually politicized and delegitimized clinical questions (Climatewire, Aug. 9, 2017).

I stress there is some degree of intimidation going on there that’s keeping them from filling it out.

Joel Clement, Union of Concerned Researchers

Study still open

While the study will stay open for another number of weeks, the action rate up until now has actually been low– a truth Rosenberg credits to fear of retaliation.

” It recommends the environment and culture for researchers is truly afraid,” he stated. “The culture we have actually seen more broadly in this administration has actually been either termination or hostility towards science.”

A spokesperson for EPA stated it didn’t make good sense to him that workers would hesitate to complete the study considering that it is confidential however decreased to comment even more.

Since March 2, action rates for EPA hovered around 2 percent, with 296 finished studies, compared to NOAA’s action rate, which was 4.1 percent with 460 finished studies. Still, in 2015 NOAA’s action rate was 19.6 percent with 2,388 finished reactions.

While EPA workers did not take part in 2015– the company stated it would perform its own clinical stability study– it did participate previous years. In 2007, under President George W. Bush, the company’s action rate was 29.3 percent with 1,586 finished studies, inning accordance with UCS records.

The bad action rate this year at EPA might likewise originate from the EPA CSIRC’s suggestion that the study be marked as spam.

Tammy Stein with EPA’s National Enforcement Investigations Center forwarded UCS’s e-mail to CSIRC, the technology workplace and all local details gatekeeper and composed: “Suspicious activity.”

CSIRC reacted to Stein stating an analysis of the UCS study demand identified the e-mail was SPAM “coming from an unidentified entity.”

” CSIRC suggests that if this e-mail was unsolicited, that you deal with the e-mail as SPAM, do not click any links, and erase the e-mail,” the email states.

Nevertheless, the following day an email from the Workplace of General Counsel’s Ethics Workplace specifies that workers are enabled to take part in the study if they do so by themselves time and do not utilize a federal government computer system.

Rosenberg stated even with consent, workers may feel careful about taking the study. He stated getting a note from the Ethics Workplace, despite the contents, can serve as a warning.

” You check out the e-mail and if you’re a careful civil servant you ‘d state, I’m not touching this,” he stated. “EPA is now stating the personnel level is listed below the years of the Reagan administration after huge lowerings, so individuals have an excellent need to fret about their tasks.”

He included: “Exactly what you desire them to be doing is stressing over science, not stressing over their tasks.”

Joel Clement, the previous leading environment policy specialist at the Interior Department prior to he resigned last summertime, stated he’s likewise worried about why workers aren’t submitting out the study.

” I stress there is some degree of intimidation going on there that’s keeping them from filling it out,” he stated. “It definitely matches their technique at Interior today, which is to prevent seeking advice from the profession personnel, to cut them from the decisionmaking procedure and sometimes to intimate them.”

Clement, who resigned in demonstration from Interior after he was moved to a workplace that supervises oil and gas royalties, signed up with UCS as a senior fellow previously this year. He stated the spirits at Interior now is “most likely as bad as it’s ever been.”

He stated in specific, the taking apart of Interior advisory committees has actually taken its toll on personnel. Without the landscape preservation cooperatives (LCCs), which the Fish and Wildlife Service supervises, an efficient opportunity for engaging stakeholders and impacting significant policy has actually been lost, he included.

” These were multi-stakeholder, analytical committees attending to things like environment effects,” he stated. “They were doing all the ideal things in regards to sustainable options, however due to the fact that they were an Obama-era program, they closed down the guiding committees.”

” Anything that has a whiff of environment modification is being hobbled or erased,” he stated.

Reprinted from E&E Daily with consent from E&E News. Copyright2018 E&E offers necessary news for energy and environment experts at www.eenews.net

New post published on: https://livescience.tech/2018/03/11/email-survey-of-u-s-government-scientists-tagged-as-spam-struggles-for-traction-science/

#Email #government #science #scientists #spam #struggles #survey #tagged #traction

[writing-away-in-ingo]

The Woods - Feedback

The feedback from this piece was focused around several specific sections that detracted from the flow of the piece. The seventh paragraph down needed more specific focus on the woods rather than moving back into a secondary school setting, so I attempted to alter my language to describe the way that the townsfolk act in the woods rather than moving away from the woods setting. The ending paragraphs also needed some editing with the pacing, so I added more detail to the POV character’s breakdown and tried to space out the final paragraphs so the ending was less abrupt. I also fixed a few sentences that the class flagged individually as reading clumsily or just not quite working with the main voice of the story. 

This time of night, the woods are normally silent, dark, and empty, with only the shadows of the trees for company. I like taking walks out here normally. It makes me feel like the rest of the world doesn’t exist, and I’m free to walk wherever I want; however I want. Squirrels don’t have the same judgemental gaze as most people in this town, except for the really big ones, and even they can’t call you a fuck-up or tell your parents that you need more therapy because you’re talking to squirrels.  

The woods are, unfortunately, not quiet and dark tonight. It feels like every sixteen to twenty-year-old in a surrounding ten-mile radius is here; every tree you pass there’s another gaggle of tipsy people lurking behind it. It’s a bit frightening, seeing this many people packed into the space. The woods are supposed to be quiet and dark. They’re bringing in the light, the sound, the heat. I’m not entirely sure I mind it though. Things always seem more magical by firelight. Maybe it’s the beer. I don’t know.

Parties in small towns like this are always kind of uncomfortable, because you either know everyone uncomfortably well (like since kindergarten I’ve-seen-you-without-pants well), or you end up realising that there are whole groups of people in your town that you’ve never met, and feeling secretly excluded even though they seem like the most boring people on earth.

I take another sip of the beer in my hand – red solo cups, what a cliché – and wince at the taste. The only booze worth drinking is the kind that doesn’t let you taste it, and beer definitely did not get the memo. Either that, or someone purposefully chose this flavour, in which case, I give up entirely. The only reason everyone here is drinking it is because they want to get pissed, but fast and cheap. I’m not sure I fit into the category, but I could definitely do with a little more oblivion and a little less rational thought tonight.

The air is freezing – I should be shivering, but the adrenaline and the movement are enough to convince my body to ignore it. Instead, I feel sort of supercharged, like I’ve had way too much expresso. Hopefully, this time I won’t puke. Coffee induced puke always seems to be a hundred times worse than the usual, I’m still not sure why. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Maybe I’m just drinking coffee wrong.

George and Andrew are huddled on the other side of the fire, their heads pressed close together. They aren’t kissing, exactly, but somehow it seems more intimate than that, like they’re sharing breaths. It always makes me feel a little jealous looking at them together – they’re the kind of couple that make you feel bad just by how close they are, and they aren’t even doing it on purpose. They’re just doing what they’d do if you weren’t there to see it. I don’t know if I even want a partner that’s that close, it almost feels like my life would be invaded rather than enhanced.

I don’t really do relationships that well. Introverted, the therapist said. The sheer number of people here would be enough to freak me out on a normal day. Under the thick canopy of trees, it feels like we’ve been snatched out of our normal settings and thrown into somewhere entirely new. I see these people every day around town, but here they seem like different people. I feel like I’m getting a snapshot into each of their lives without permission. I see most of these people every day in the town, but I don’t see them existing without the pressure of being seen. I didn’t ask to be the witness to this strange release in pressure, but I can’t escape it.

Despite all that, standing here, bolstered by my watery beer and the free dinner my mom made (tacos!), I almost feel like I’m supposed to be here. Like I’m not some kind of young adult sleeper agent; a normal person in every way, just very slightly off, like all the proportions are very slightly wrong and I’m just waiting for someone to notice. I’ve never been the kind of person who gets drunk a lot, but maybe I should start. I feel so calm, but not in the kind of way I get when I take my anxiety meds, where it feels like the world is slightly dulled and blurred. It feels like there’s more colour around me; the bright flicker of the fire, so many leaves; brown and orange and red. Is this what it feels like to be a functioning person?

Wow. I’ve been missing out.

And then I see him, standing innocently on the other side of the bonfire. His face is crinkled with laughter, his arms thrown out to the sides. And everything starts to fragment and shatter, my fingers clenching and shaking around the cup, my feet rooted to the spot -am I gonna be sick? Please, please don’t let me-. My breaths are short and sharp; I can feel my heart pounding. The wonderful feeling of belonging is evaporating fast – there are eyes on my back, curious stares that itch against my skin.

What’s wrong with her?

I risk a glance back up, and Cam is staring back at me, his apparently hilarious conversation forgotten in the midst of my breakdown. The sight of his pity ignites a rare flame of anger in me, and the panicky breathing stops as quickly as it started. No way does some stupid ex get to ruin my calm. I built it. I earned it. A smile claws its way onto my face, forced and much too wide, but it’s enough for me. He has no reason to keep looking. I follow him with my eyes as he turns back to his friend, taking a sip from his dumb, cliched solo cup. Turning away seems easy, but I keep feeling his eyes on my back as I retreat. 

I take a seat by the fire, my legs slightly wobbly, the stupid cup of beer still clenched in my right hand. Mechanically, I take another sip, wincing at the taste. I should really put it down somewhere, or I’m going to end up drinking the whole thing. I keep forgetting how awful it is. Around me, before me, behind me, people are dancing. Their feet are light against the forest floor, their voices are loud and rise up through the canopy of leaves above. My heart is still thumping, but it seems quieter now, blending with the music rather than sending me spiralling out of tune. 

I tilt my head back to look up at the sky. Velvet studded with diamonds.

Take a deep breath and keep going.

#posted14.12.20

[arplis]

Arplis - News: Lovecraft Country doesn’t really grapple with its namesake

It takes a total of 120 seconds for Cthulhu to appear in HBO's new horror series Lovecraft Country. The Great Old One rears his unmistakable "octopus-like head" — now of bumper sticker lore — over our hero, Atticus Freeman, poised to take a bite, only to be sliced into a mass of writhing green goo by the chop of Jackie Robinson's bat. It's a blunt metaphor, but it mostly works: H.P. Lovecraft would have been driven "mad with indignation" by the scene of his Elder God getting sashimied by a Black man, Slate observes.

Unfortunately, it's also about as much as Lovecraft Country is willing to engage with the author who gives the show its name. Lovecraft today is remembered as both the "master of horror," a writer with a wondrous talent for giving words to the existential dread of the cosmos, and hideously racist, even for his time. The tension between these two facts has troubled writers, and particularly writers of color, for decades. But rather than be precise in its refutation of the legacy of Lovecraft, Lovecraft Country only takes the broadest possible swipes at the monster of racism, leaving the show feeling oddly one-note and shallow in the first five episodes made available for critics.

As the introduction to my Penguin Classics edition of Lovecraft's collected writings mildly puts it, Lovecraft "expressed prejudice against African Americans, Jews, and other minorities throughout his life." This sort of glossing-over doesn't do it justice: the author was an outspoken white supremacist, excusing Southerners for "resorting to extra-legal measures such as lynching," arguing "the Jew … must be muzzled [because he] insidiously degrades [and] Orientalizes [the] robust Aryan civilization," and sympathizing with Adolf Hitler. Lovecraft's views about "miscegenation" and racial "taint" bled into his work: "The Shadow Over Innsmouth," also known as the "fish people story," was Lovecraft's "not-very-subtle way of dealing with race-mixing," Matt Ruff, the author of the 2016 novel Lovecraft Country is based on, told the Los Angeles Times. Particularly vile were Lovecraft's "The Horror at Red Hook," in which the monsters are the "Syrians, Spanish, Italian, and Negro[s]" of New York City, and his 1912 poem "On the Creation of [N-word]," which is as appalling in content as its title suggests. The poem also gets referenced in Lovecraft Country's first episode, an important recognition by the creators of who they're dealing with.

Lovecraft Country begins as Korean War veteran and sci-fi nerd Atticus (Jonathan Majors) — more commonly called "Tic" — returns home to Chicago from Florida during the 1950s. The occasion: Tic's father is missing. Soon, Tic joins forces with his Uncle George (Courtney B. Vance) and childhood friend Letitia "Leti" Lewis (Jurnee Smollett-Bell) on a cross-country trip to "Ardham," Massachusetts, in order to find him.

If you caught it, yes, that's another wink at Lovecraft: the fictional "witch-cursed, legend-haunted" Arkham was one of the author's favorite settings. As showrunner Misha Green has previously teased, "genre fans will definitely see those Easter eggs and influences throughout" Lovecraft Country. But "Easter eggs" are only the most cursory of acknowledgements; to meaningfully grapple with horror's troubling roots requires more involvement than passing, cheeky references.

Perhaps most revealing is the way the characters in Lovecraft Country behave nothing like Lovecraftian protagonists ever would. Tic and Leti repeatedly find themselves in situations they want to escape from. It's a classic trope of the genre: stick an unsuspecting character in a haunted house, or a murdery sleep-away camp, or a motel with an over-reliance on taxidermy for decor, and watch them try to get out. A hallmark of Lovecraft's stories, though, is that instead of running away from the nightmare, his characters try to probe deeper, to find the source of the horror even if it drives them mad. The makers of Lovecraft Country seemed here to have missed that memo; over and over again, the show shies away from meaningfully excavating the themes of race and horror that it raises. But as every horror fan knows, it is not the locked attic door that is scary; it's the potential of whatever is ultimately behind it. You can't have a horror story if no one ever bothers with an investigation.

Part of Lovecraft Country's draw since its announcement has been Jordan Peele's involvement as a producer, although comparisons to the Get Out and Us director's previous work don't do it many favors. Both of Peele's features, which dismantle liberal racism and class in America and our fear of the "other" respectively, are precise, airtight, and incisive. Lovecraft Country also attempts allegorical horror: What if a sundown town was literal, and monsters emerged at night? What if KKK Grand Wizards were actual wizards? Another episode uses a horror metaphor about housing segregation, while another tackles white privilege; there's even a Raiders of the Lost Ark-style caper about the colonialist history of museums and exploration. But this monster-of-the-week structure gives viewers no time to wonder why real-enough ghouls like bigoted police officers need the embellishment of also belonging to supernatural cults. The resulting effect feels a little like Scooby and the gang pull the mask off the ghost at the end of each episode and, gasp, it's our old nemesis racism underneath each time.

It may be that Lovecraft Country simply has no interest in its namesake beyond making a sweeping and surface-level observation that there are already monsters in America as terrifying as any of those dreamed up by Lovecraft. It ends up being a bit of a sandbox of horror tropes instead: there are bodily fluids aplenty, for example, including an Eraserhead baby look-alike birthed by a cow, a woman whose skin graphically sloughs off, and a lingering shot on the aftermath of an elevator-induced decapitation — but it also feels rote, gory because that's what horror is "supposed to be." At worst, this propensity results in the inclusion of an extremely brutal rape scene in the show's fifth episode (directed, notably, by the great Cheryl Dunye), which in practice comes worryingly close to seeming like it's supposed to be played for catharsis.

Either way, imagery alone doesn't feel quite ambitious enough to sustain a show in 2020. "The weight of fantastic imagery [like Lovecraft's] can and has been violently deployed against people of color," including in toxic narratives that persist to this day, Wes House wrote in an examination of the author's legacy of white supremacy for Lit Hub. But responding with a Black protagonist and unfocused observations about racism in America doesn't quite tackle this all on its own. "It's difficult for me to enjoy a whizbang romp through a horror fun house inspired by the historical (and current!) violence against Black people," Vanity Fair put it more bluntly. Besides, Lovecraft Country is hardly alone in subverting Lovecraft's vile viewpoints by using the author's own devices against him at this point; recent examples include Amazon's Carnival Row, N.K. Jemisin's new book, The City We Became, and the video game Bloodborne. Something more was required to set Lovecraft Country apart.

"Stories are like people," Tic says early in the series. "Loving them doesn't mean they're perfect. You just try to cherish them, overlook their flaws." But it's also possible to overlook flaws to the point that one might start to wonder if you only skimmed the material. Lovecraft's horror endures as an influence on the genre in part because "the encounter with the nonhuman other ... [was] vitally shaped by [his] racism," as Lit Hub describes it. It's a complicated, tricky, and unpalatable truth, and worthy of being challenged and explored with precision. Instead Lovecraft Country swings, and strikes out.

Arplis - News source http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/Arplis-News/~3/wV9xLBK4S0E/lovecraft-country-doesn-t-really-grapple-with-its-namesake

[ramajmedia]

10 Things About Gremlins That Make No Sense | ScreenRant

While the 1984 blockbuster film Gremlins is incredibly entertaining and was a commercial success, that doesn't mean it was a perfect movie. In the 1980s, audiences weren't nearly as hard on movie makers, and today we demand answers to questions like... where are the other kind mogwai, and why doesn't Gizmo turn evil? Sure, realism isn't the biggest issue here, but some of these things just don't add up.

RELATED: 10 Things From Goonies That Haven't Aged Well

WarnerMedia has announced a 10-episode series, Gremlins: Secrets of the Mogwai, that will serve as a prequel to the original film and its 1990 sequel. Perhaps the 30-minute Amblin Television animated series will shed some light on these things that just don't make any sense about Gremlins.

10 It's Always After Midnight

One of the biggest rules you must follow if you own a Mogwai is to never feed it after midnight, but this rule is ridiculous. It's always after midnight, if you think about it, which makes this a really difficult rule to follow. There's no specific time zone stipulated, either. There need to be more specific parameters in place to protect everyone from an evil Gremlin invasion.

Even if you argue that you can feed a Mogwai once the sun's come up, how far up does it need to be? Can it just be peeking up over the horizon or does it have to fully be in the sky? These rules just don't make any sense.

9 Gizmo's Not Evil

While the novel explains that only 1 in 1,000 Mogwai are good-natured, the film completely leaves this fact out, leaving viewers to wonder why this one animal is so sweet while all of its kids are holy terrors that need to be offed to save the town from certain doom.

RELATED: 10 Things From Ghostbusters That Haven't Aged Well

According to Chinese mythology, Mogwai are actually demons, so why aren't all of them evil? The myth also states that they reproduce with other Mogwai not by getting wet, but during the rainy season. Their name literally means "evil beings" and they are known to cause great harm to humans without ever becoming Gremlins.

8 None Of The Gremlins Are Good

Even if Gizmo's ability to spawn new Mogwai out of mere water and the Mogwai turning evil just because they had a midnight snack rules make sense, there remains the question of why none of the Gremlins are good. Are they all just that hungry, or do they even know what will become of them if they evolve? They are like mean Pokémon, but without the same rules.

It seems unlikely that all of the Mogwai would do this. Surely some of them could remain good, like Gizmo, and escape into the night, be secretly taken as pets or otherwise further future sequels?

7 Its Reproduction Is Weird

A Mogwai certainly appears mammalian, so why does it spawn more of itself in little balls of fur off its back? If the creature is an alien, as it is explained in the Gremlins novel, it makes a bit more sense, but that's never explained in the film at all. According to author George Gipe, an alien race spawned the creatures to be kind and gentle, but their instability led to their violent behavior.

RELATED: 10 Things You Didn’t Know About That ‘80s Show

Aside from spawning itself, the Gremlins are born fully grown, or fully grow up super fast. Not only does this make zero sense, but it also robs us all of little Mogwai babies, the adorable critters this fandom doesn't need but deserves. Their implied longevity also makes such a fast childhood unlikely.

6 Gizmo Is The Smart One

Why is Gizmo such a self-aware Mogwai? Not only does he communicate with humans and consume human food, but he actually works to avoid procreating and turning into a Gremlin. Some of this may point toward his domesticated nature after being someone's pet, but none of his progeny seem to have this same intelligence. Given that they share Gizmo's DNA, surely at least one of them might have similar traits?

The Gremlins are pretty smart in their own, destructive way, but they use their ideas to cause havoc and chaos rather than to become sweet pets. This motivation is never explained in the movies.

5 Do These Things Not Drink?

Every kindergartner knows that animals need food and water to survive, yet somehow the Mogwai missed the memo. If they get wet, they multiply. Not only does water not replenish and sustain them, but it also costs energy instead, as they expend it generating new Mogwai.

RELATED: 10 80s Movies That Were Way Ahead Of Their Time

So, what do these creatures drink, and what are they even made of on the inside, if not water? Do they have to get wet-wet to multiply, or will a drop of rain even matter? Speaking of wet, is it just water that does the damage, or could anything from hair gel to motor oil get the job done? Inquiring minds wish to know. This is addressed in the book, but not in the movies.

4 "Bright Light" Should Have Been "Sunlight"

Exposing a Gremlin to bright light is supposed to have dire consequences, but the level of brightness throughout the movies makes this rule a dubious one. There are lights everywhere, from the homes and tavern to the movie theater and convenience store, some of which are pretty bright. The Gremlins were fine until exposed to direct sunlight.

Even if Gremlins could be done in by sunlight, that rule would also be a tricky one to enforce. Does it count if it's reflected off something else (including the moon)? What about if it only touches a body part, but not the whole creature?

3 The Kid's Warnings Were Insufficient

When Mr. Wing refused to sell Gizmo and his grandson did it anyway, he knew the risks. He told Randall Peltzer the three rules that must never be broken, but he never explained the dire consequences of breaking these rules. While that created great dramatic tension for the movie, it certainly did the humans who perished in it no favors.

RELATED: Stranger Things: 10 Awesome 80s Movies It Should Draw Inspiration From

That kid had to know how irresponsible it was to sell the thing with the potential of disaster just resting in that crate, so what was his angle? Did he want to unleash the wrath of the Mogwai? Or was the money just that much more enticing to him?

2 Gizmo Is Left Alive

It sounds ghastly to off a cute little fuzzy butt monster who didn't do anything wrong except get wet, which was really the humans' fault, but with the risk of future outbreaks, it would make much more sense to just put him down humanely in order to prevent the chaos and violence that another one is sure to cause (and did, just a few years later).

The only reason Gizmo is left to live is because he is cute and adorable. Had he remained with the Peltzers, someone would have definitely spilled water on the creature yet again, causing another terrible outbreak of Gremlin destruction. Speaking of outbreaks...

1 Why Aren't There Other Gremlin Outbreaks?

It's implied that the troubles of Kingston Falls have occurred elsewhere due to Gremlin mischief. If so, why hasn't the world heard of them already, and why aren't their laws and procedures governing the creatures?

Even if this previous outbreak is ancient history, it stands to reason that, after multiplying, some of the gremlins would've escaped to continue to wreak havoc on society. If the creatures are this volatile, why keep one in the first place, let alone allow it to be seen by some idiot who could steal it? It's also rather convenient that Mr. Wing doesn't come to collect Gizmo until after the Gremlins have caused their damage.

NEXT: Top 10 Movies Of The 80s According To IMDb

source https://screenrant.com/gremlins-movies-facts-trivia-make-no-sense/

#screenrant