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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

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Damsels, Chapter Five: Work That Gameboy

By SisterSpooky1013 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Rated E / Read previous chapters here

Mulder arrives at work early, looking longingly at Scully’s car in the parking lot. Approaching it, he peers in the windows looking for…he isn’t sure what. Her car is, as usual, neat as a pin with no indication of where she went or why.

In his restlessness the night before, he’d thought a lot about why it bothers him so much not to know where she is or what she’s doing. If the roles were reversed, he would expect her to wait it out and trust him to take care of himself, but for some reason he’s struggling to do the same for her. He thought at first that it was her tendency to get hurt or need help, but by comparison he needs her help just as often as she needs his, so that doesn’t track. Then he thought maybe it’s that he doesn’t trust Skinner to do what’s in her best interest, but Skinner has shown a tendency to be protective of Scully on numerous occasions (and in fact Mulder strongly suspects his feelings for her go beyond the bounds of strict professionalism), so that isn’t entirely logical either. Skinner may have left him out to dry with the New Spartans, but he doesn’t believe the man would stoop low enough to treat Scully in the same manner.

In the end, he realized that it’s pretty simple; he’s just crazy about her. His protectiveness doesn’t have anything to do with how capable she is, or the situations other people might put her in, or even situations she might put herself in. He misses her, and cares so much about her that not even knowing where she is feels wrong. It feels like a piece of him is missing, and he’s not allowed to know where it is or when he’ll get it back.

After pretending to work for an hour, he sulks up to Skinner’s office and asks for a few minutes of his time. Skinner is immediately irritated, though Mulder doesn’t realize that it’s in response to him and not a preexisting condition. He stands in front of Skinner’s desk, looming over him.

“What do you want, Agent Mulder?” Skinner grumbles, not looking up from the document he’s reading.

“I’d like to know where Agent Scully is, sir.”

Skinner sighs heavily, dropping his head to his chest.

“Get out of my office, Agent Mulder,” he says in a low, menacing tone.

“Sir, I’m not asking to contact her, I would never compromise her case, I just need to at least know where she is. What if something happens and I need to find her?”

Skinner stands, looking Mulder in the eye with an intensity he’s seen on very few occasions, none of them fond memories. “Agent Mulder, Agent Scully explicitly asked me not to tell you where she is, or what she’s doing. Even if she hadn’t, I STILL would not tell you, however I hope that if you don't respect the direct orders of your superior, you might, at the very least, respect Agent Scully’s wishes. Now get the hell out of my office and do not bring this up again, understood?”

Mulder glances down and notices Scully’s keys on the desk near Skinner’s nameplate, her Apollo 11 keychain easily identifiable. He leans forward, putting his hands on the desktop, one covering the keys.

“Sir, if anything happens to her, I’ll-“

“You’ll what, Agent Mulder?” Skinner challenges him, stuffing his hands in his pockets in a show of bravado.

Mulder straightens, palming the keys as he stands, and leaves without another word.

Scully arrives at the club just before 2 pm, wearing shorts and a tank top as Angel had instructed. After stuffing her purse into a locker, she finds Angel and Tibet on the floor, which has returned to its daylight state of clean and quiet. Queenie restocks the bar while Ben fiddles with the sound system.

Tibet is up on the stage while Angel sits at the tip rail, offering pointers on a new dance Tibet is working out. Scully immediately notices that Tibet’s hair is cropped short and worn in its natural curls, and realizes she’d been wearing a wig the night before.

“So I was thinking that I could either take my top off just before or just after the first chorus, tell me which looks better, okay?” Tibet says to Angel as Scully enters and takes a seat beside her.

“Benny! Hit me with the music!” Tibet shouts, and then repeats her performance twice, revealing her breasts at a different point in the song each time. When she’s finished, she sits down on the edge of the stage in front of them and asks for their thoughts, her breasts still uncovered.

“I think the sooner the better,” Angel says. “They come here to see your body, so show it to em!”

Tibet nods. “What do you think, Desi?” She asks, stretching a smooth brown leg out to her side and leaning into it.

Scully suddenly feels entirely out of her league in terms of providing an opinion. “Uh, well, generally speaking I guess I’d say wait. You want to build some suspense, right? Make them work for it?”

Angel looks at her suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. “You don’t fuck on the first date, do you?” She asks with a haughty grin, and Scully’s eyes go big at the question. “I’m just messing with you, let’s get to your training!”

“Alright,” Tibet begins as though she’s done this dozens of times, tugging the straps of her shirt back over her shoulders. “So, have you ever given a lap dance before?” she asks plainly, and Scully’s cheeks flush.

“Well, kind of I guess. In college, though more as a joke than anything else. I would definitely consider myself a beginner.”

“Got it, got it,” Tibet responds. “Well, for the most part dancing is about creating a sense of intimacy. It’s fake, obviously, but the more your customer feels like you actually care about him, want him to look at you, like that he’s appreciating your body, the better you’ll do. Your stage set is just about showing yourself off and getting them curious about you. The real money comes from lap dances and VIP, and the more you can draw attention with a really great stage set, the more customers will want to spend time with you afterward. Angel is a beast on the pole and she can teach you all those tricks, but I consider myself the lap dance expert around here, so I’m gonna teach you that part.” She smiles and jumps down from the stage, pulling a chair away from one of the tables and gesturing for Scully to sit in it.

“Oh,” Scully says, and sits as instructed.

“Sometimes, when you’re on the floor, customers will flag you down or ask for you, and that’s great. But you also have to approach people, because they’ll be too shy to ask. So you might come up and do this.”

Tibet saunters towards Scully with a secretive smile on her lips, stepping so close that her thighs thread between Scully’s knees. Next she leans down, placing her hands on Scully’s shoulders and bringing her mouth to Scully’s ear.

“Would you like a dance, Baby?” she asks in a syrupy voice, and Scully feels a shiver run down her spine. Tibet backs up. “Okay, now you try.”

“You want ME to do that?” Scully clarifies, and while just asking someone if they want a lap dance should be the easiest hurdle to clear, she’s finding that it’s still an uncomfortably high one.

Angel turns her head toward the bar and calls out, “Queenie! We need some liquid courage over here!”

Queenie walks over with a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses, pouring them wordlessly before returning to her task.

Angel holds her glass up, Tibet and Scully following suit. “To new career paths,” Angel says, and Scully smiles thinly, clinking her glass with theirs and throwing back the shot with a grimace.

Three weeks. She’s been gone three weeks, and not a word from Skinner. No update, no information, though he’s stopped by a couple times and asked, drawing increasing amounts of rage from his boss. He’s finished all the paperwork, re-organized the files, cleaned and rearranged the office (only to immediately change it back) and spent hours upon hours imagining where Scully might be right now.

He kept her keys, just in case, but knows she’d be unhappy with him invading her privacy by snooping around her apartment. That’s why he waits three whole weeks before he finally does it. He has a key to her apartment and could have gone there at any point, but her personal keyring also holds the keys for her gun safe and her mailbox, which may prove helpful. After work on a Thursday, he drives by and lets himself in, the warm vanilla smell of her immediately invading his nostrils as he opens the door. He sighs deeply, pulling her into his lungs; it feels like coming home.

First he waters her plants, which are looking half dead, and makes a mental note to use watering them as the reason he came here if asked. Next he opens her gun safe, and is struck to find her service weapon holstered and tucked neatly inside with the safety on. She doesn’t have her gun? What the hell kind of assignment is this? He brings in her mail, which is no help at all, and leaves it stacked on the counter. Next he lays down on her bed, shoving his face into her pillow and breathing the smell of her shampoo for a few minutes before he has the thought to look for her overnight bag.

Scully has a go bag in the trunk of her car for emergencies, but given the opportunity she’ll use her overnight bag and pack for the weather, situation, etc. Opening her closet, he finds it on the floor near her laundry hamper, empty save for a travel size can of hairspray tucked into a side pocket. In her bathroom, he finds all her toiletries accounted for, including her toothbrush. The more he sees, the more confused he is. Even when he’d spent time undercover with dangerous individuals, he’d been allowed to bring his own toothbrush.

Moving to the hallway, he picks up her landline and dials.

“Dana?” Maggie Scully’s voice answers on the second ring.

“No, sorry, Mrs. Scully, it’s Fox Mulder.”

“I saw Dana’s name on the caller ID, is she with you?” Her voice carries worry.

“No, I’m just here at her apartment watering her plants, sorry to confuse you. Have you been in touch with Dana, Mrs. Scully?”

“No, Fox, I haven’t heard from her in weeks. She told me she had an assignment that would take her away for a while and that she’d be unreachable, but I’m a little concerned that she hasn’t contacted me yet.”

Mulder closes his eyes. “I wish I had anything to share, Mrs. Scully, but I’m in somewhat of the same boat. A.D. Skinner isn’t concerned and it does sound like he’s in touch with her, but I was hoping she might have called you.”

“I’m afraid not,” Maggie replies sadly.

“What did she tell you when she left? Did she share any information at all?” he asks hopefully.

“Um, let me think. She said she was going on an assignment and that she’d be out of touch for a few weeks. And she said she’d bring me some Tastykakes when she comes home,” she adds.

“Tastykakes, what are those?” Mulder asks, his investigative senses tingling.

“They’re a treat we always get when we go to Philadelphia; little packaged snack cakes. The kids always loved them.”

“Are they only available in Philadelphia?” he asks, heart pumping.

“I’m not sure, but that’s where we always get them,” Maggie says hopefully.

“Thank you, Mrs. Scully. That’s really helpful. I’ll let you know if I track her down, okay?”

“Thank you, Fox. Take care.”

Setting the phone back on its cradle, he does a little victory dance. It isn’t much, but it’s something. Scully is just a few hours away in the city of brotherly love.

Three weeks. It’s been three weeks of practicing stage sets and lap dances in the afternoon, serving drinks in the evening and well into the middle of the night, and then sleeping until noon. Her arms and legs bear fading bruises from her acclimation to Paul the Pole, the crooks of her elbows and knees sporting slight calluses that help her get a good grip (with an assist from the grip powder Angel has instructed her to use). She’s given Tibet and Angel dozens of lap dances each, the other standing by to coach her on making sure one foot stays on the floor. After three weeks, she found that her barriers were mostly in her head. Once she was able to let go and just move, she’s actually pretty good at it.

That day she arrives in pink cotton shorts and a white tank top, now so used to being scantily clad that it no longer makes her self-conscious, and prepares to do a full dress rehearsal of the routine she worked up with Angel’s help. Queenie and Ricky sit down to observe what is more or less a test of her readiness, and one she intends to pass. Where she would have expected to feel nervous, she’s excited, ever the eager student motivated to impress and exceed expectations. Ben kills the daytime lights to make it look and feel like it would if they were open, and her set begins.

Moving onto the stage, she can barely see her audience with the bright lights trained on her. She quickly gets lost in the movements she rehearsed, feeling graceful as she circles the pole and hitches an arm around it, spinning in a feathery arc. When the point in the dance comes to remove her shirt, she does so as a well practiced step in a strategy, without any feelings of exposure. Soon enough her bra follows suit and she is left with only her tiny pink shorts, nipples hardening as they graze the pole. The undulation of her hips, the pop of her booty out towards the audience, the slip of a hand down the inside of her thigh; they’re each a part of the method. Precisely planned and executed in much the same way as she might dismantle and clean her gun, or prepare a slide for the microscope. It isn’t much different than performing an autopsy, she had reasoned. Except instead of: Y incision, open rib cage, remove organs, examine stomach contents, collect specimens, examine brain, it’s: arch back, grasp breasts, spread legs, thrust pelvis, rub thighs, grind on the pole. She’s always found her strength in taking a clinical, detached approach to difficult tasks, and that turns out to be just as effective on the stage as it is in the lab.

As she finishes, her small audience erupts into applause, standing in ovation as Ben brings the house lights up halfway. Scully smiles shyly, stepping down to join them on the floor as Ricky approaches her and slings an arm around her bare shoulders.

“That was fucking fantastic, Desi. Sexy as fuck. Let me see you do a lap dance now.”

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #case file #case fic #x files fanfic

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

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The Miys, Ch. 107

Happy Tuesday, time for a new chapter!

Writing author’s notes three weeks in advance is hard, I am realizing. However I am reasonably sure if I wait to write this note, I will forget, because Tuesdays are insane at work.

So, quickly: shout out to @baelpenrose for being my beta, as always. Also, thank you to @charlylimph-blog and @zommbiebro, for the characters in this chapter.

I hope you all enjoy!!

I had to admit, as I laughed at Charly’s face when she stole a bite of my food, that Huynh - and therefore Jokul - had a point about eating in the cafeteria/mess regularly. Today, I had taken a page out of his book, and decided on my lunch based on what someone else was eating that looked good when I walked in. No matter how the dish ended up being, the smile on the face of a random stranger when I stopped and told them their food looked good, along with asking if I could get some from the console, made my day.

Which was good, because it was the oddest fish pie I had ever eaten. In general, I neither hated nor loved fish pie - I needed to either have a request or a craving to make it, usually. However, when I originally saw it as I entered the mess, I saw flaky crust, meat, veggies, and a creamy sauce and called it a winner. I don’t think Charly was expecting seafood in general when she took a bite, and I certainly hadn’t been expecting scallops, even knowing I had gotten fish pie.

“That’s… that’s fish!” she sputtered, glaring at me in betrayal.

“It’s actually scallops,” I corrected, no less perplexed for that fact. “I was expecting mackerel and cod, or haddock. That’s what Conor always asks me to make, anyway.”

“But it’s fish,” she insisted. “I thought it would be chicken.”

“It’s not bad,” I admitted, taking another bite. “Just caught me off guard.”

Shaking her head and scowling, she got up to get her own food, returning with an actual chicken pot pie. Just as she was hooking her arm around it protectively - either protecting it from me or from my lunch, who knew - a pillar of grey and silver stalked up to the table before plopping down miserably.

Now holding her pie over her head - to avoid being flanked? - Charly stared down, eyes wide. “Mr. Bjornson?” she asked, bewildered.

Craning my neck, I realized she had a point, although the hair was somewhat dishevelled and the robes were wrinkled beyond anything I had seen him wearing previously. Not even Conor or I would wear clothes that creased, honestly. Hesitantly, I poked at him. “Did you just decide to die in front of my food?” I asked, skeptical. “Last time you interrupted my lunch, you were being kidnapped.”

Alarmingly, Jokul sat up, eyes red, sniffling back tears. “He won’t talk to me…”

Both Charly and I jerked back, surprised. Recovering faster, I carefully ventured a question. “You mean Ivan?”

Rather than answer out loud, Jokul gave a bigger sniff and nodded emphatically.

I was so not prepared to have this conversation, but I tried anyway. “Is everything… I guess, okay, for lack of a better term?”

“He works so much,” came the plaintive response. “He’s so tired all the time, and I’m trying to adjust to everyone looking at me funny and…” He stopped, tears rolling again, biting his lip in what looked like an effort to gain control.

“And?” Charly asked, setting her lunch down and carefully reaching to put a hand on his forearm.

“AndIdonthaveanyoneelsetotalktonowbecauseIrealizedIdontactuallyhaveany friennnnnnnds,” he blurted out quietly, the last part on a barely-constrained sob. I had to give him credit for trying to draw as little attention as possible while talking about something that was clearly a difficult subject.

“Oh, that’s bullshit,” Charly sighed softly, shaking her head. “Right, Sophia?”

I rocked my head a bit, thinking about it. “I mean…. I don’t know about friends, per se - “ Charly glared and kicked me hard enough to drive the breath out of me. “Hey! Cut me some slack?”

“I’m the one who got the punch,” she scolded, stroking his hair and carefully detangling it.

Fair. “Earning friendships may take some time,” I admitted. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to anyone about what’s going on, you know.”

“Who, Councillor?” he demanded sadly. “Who do I have to talk to?”

“Well, you clearly thought I was a good idea - Ow, Charly!” Rubbing my shin, I continued. “Like I was saying, though. It kind of depends on what it is you want to talk about. If it’s struggling to come back from a negative public image… Simon, hands down, is the best person for that.”

Thankfully, Jokul went from looking despondent to confused. “Simon Rodriguez?”

Charly and I both nodded hard enough to pop our necks. “He was a complete ass when I boarded. I actually tried to kill him, and so did Tyche. He can tell you the details, but in the end, he made the effort to be a better neighbor, and now he’s an amazing educator whose students adore him.”

“Arthur Farro was a warlord, however,” Jokul tried to object. “Would he not be a better source of insight?”

“Absolutely not,” Charly responded before I could draw a breath, shooting the idea down instantly. “Mr. Farro doesn’t care what other people think of him, beyond making sure they aren’t trying to kill him too actively. He adheres to social etiquette in most cases, but it’s not for his own sake, more for the sake of those associated with him. Does he care if he’s trustworthy? Absolutely. Likeable…...” She winced as she trailed off, hand tipping in an ‘eh’ gesture.

“Which is why he wasn’t bothered in the least when you wanted a fight,” I pointed out, trying to draw the points together. “Whereas Simon didn’t realize how poorly people thought of him, and as soon as he did, he took steps to change it, even when it was hard. So definitely start there if you need guidance.”

“I will endeavor to do so,” Jokul nodded before his expression dropped again. “But what about Ivan?”

“There is nothing about him being tired that makes his ears malfunction,” I heard myself say. What? Why? Why was I doing this? “No matter how tired I am, my ear still works, and I can still listen to Conor and Maverick about their days. And sometimes that’s all that’s needed. Mutual bitching about a bad day is… pretty normal, actual.”

He sat up, paling, with a horrified expression on his face. “Oh dear gods, how do you manage two?!”

Charly and I traded glances of confusion before looking back at the distraught man who was slowly inching fingers toward my fish pie. I nodded to Charly, who wrinkled her nose and got up to grab him some food, while I addressed the former cult leader. “It’s usually easier than just one,” I confessed. “If one of us is too tired or sick, there’s always someone who can pinch hit.” I wasn’t about to admit that it was also made easier by the massive family I had acquired during my time on the Ark. That was the last thing he needed to hear. Softening slightly, I tilted my head and placed my hand on his arm. “Jokul, do you really not have any friends, anymore? What about… the ginger kid. I never got his name.”

“William,” Jokul spat with more force than I had seen since the day we met, catching me completely off guard. “A sycophant. He almost immediately asked what my plans were to continue forward with ‘our plans’.” The air quotes were a nice touch, but his face was nothing but sour. “I had to report him to Councillor Kalloe,” he confessed, face falling into a frown.

“Oh, wow,” I murmured. “Okay then. We need to figure out how you can meet other people, I think.” I was barely able to resist the urge to hit myself in the face. We? Why was this a we thing all of a sudden?

Thankfully, Charly came back, nose wrinkled at a second portion of fish pie. As Jokul dug into it, she perked up slightly. “The Undine! They have cultural events all the time! And! Andandandandand,” she started bouncing in her seat with each syllable. “Ivan loves those events. Not only does he drum up a lot of work, but he also loves meeting new people! You can do a date thing!”

That was, by far, the most harmless suggestion Charly could have made, and I made a mental note to send her a candy-basket at some point. “Plus, if Ivan is there, Zach and Hannah should be, too. You met them, right?”

“Did I?”

I managed not to roll my eyes as I reminded him. “The couple that were talking to Ivan the day you, um… met him?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “He mentioned they were friends of his!”

“Lord bless it,” I laughed. “Those two are probably his closest friends, honestly. So, something like that would be both a chance to make friends and something you can do with Ivan!” And something that does not require me to adopt someone who recently did his best to be a pain in my ass.

“And you said I can still just… talk, to Ivan, when he’s too tired to do anything else?”

“Yes?” I confirmed, slightly bewildered. “He still cares, I would think. Keep in mind, he does manual labor for a living, by choice. If he’s too tired to move, he is probably physically incapable of moving. It would be like Conor coming home, showering, and flopping on the couch. Good luck moving him, just grab him a pillow and blanket.”

Jokul arched an eyebrow at me, recovering something resembling his former ego. “I am quite capable of carrying Ivan to a proper bed, thank you.” His face abruptly softened. “I’m just new at… this…” he waved his hand vaguely. “Relationships, during a time of peace, I suppose.”

Huh. That never occurred to me, actually. “Hang on,” I thought out loud. “Have you had any portion of this conversation,” I frantically pointed between the three of us, “with Ivan?”

“Not.. yet?” came the sheepish response.

“Sir!” I sputtered. “If you do not go home right now - take your pie with you! - and talk to your poor…. Partner, boyfriend, whatever. If you don’t talk to Ivan, I will give Arthur permission to re-administer the ass-whooping and deal with Ivan later over it!”

Rather than being offended, Jokul seemed to take the admonishment for what it was, and dashed off. Charly, breathless with laughter, managed to recover just enough to give me the stink eye. “Did you just give solid advice to your adversary?”

“I won! Sort of,” I argued. “Besides, anyone that upset about a romantic relationship deserves some kind of slack, right?”

“Were you really going to sic Mr. Farro on him?”

I groaned, burying my head in my hands. “The less he knows about this entire interaction, the better. I’ll never hear the end of it.” And then, just as if my day could not possibly get any better, I heard a familiar, dry voice snark from behind me.

“The less I know about what the better?”

Oh, hell.

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slytherinknowitall · 3 years

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Potion Fumes and Cauldron Leaks

Chapter 20: Celebrating You

(Click here for chapter 19!)

(Click here to start from the beginning!)

Disclaimer: I don’t own the “Harry Potter” book series. The story of “Harry Potter” is the property of J. K. Rowling, it is not my intellectual property. There is no financial gain made from this nor will any be sought. This is for entertainment purposes only.

“Hermione, my dear, I keep telling you that you’re getting too thin! Would you like a piece of my famous cinnamon apple pie? It’s fresh out of the oven!”

The young witch smiled. Sitting at the large wooden table in the Burrow’s kitchen, the family’s famous clock ticking away in the background, she was flipping through the morning edition of the Daily Prophet as the Weasley matriarch was busily preparing breakfast for everyone. Coming back had felt like returning home – she had desperately needed some time away from all the N.E.W.T.s pressure at school, and it had been so nice to see the redheaded nonuple in its entirety again. And while she and Ron were still a bit uneasy around each other, they were at least back on speaking terms.

“No, thank you, Mrs Weasley. Personally, seven in the morning is just a bit too early for dessert!”

Hermione turned her attention back to the newspaper in front of her, but she could not seem to focus on the words written there – because the only thing busier than Mrs Weasley’s kitchen was her mind. She could not stop thinking about Professor Snape. The two of them had unarguably got close over the past few months. While he had definitely hated having her as an apprentice at first, it did not seem like that was the case anymore; or at least he did not show it any longer. She could not be sure, of course; but she had the feeling that he enjoyed being around her just as much as she enjoyed being around him.

Though she had initially felt uncertain following her talk with Ginny, she had ultimately decided that she simply could not stay away from the Potions Master. He was her safe space, her rock. Whenever she was around him, she finally felt alive again. A rush of ecstasy would travel through her entire body like wildfire every time he brushed against her or even merely called her by her first name. And so she had come to the conclusion that maybe fancying one of her teachers was not that bad, after all. She obviously knew that nothing would ever come of it, but she figured she could at least enjoy their unlikely companionship while it lasted. Still, she would probably not let her best friend know that she had chosen to disregard her advice.

However, there was one thing that was bothering her. From her apprenticeship application, Hermione knew that it was Professor Snape’s birthday in one week’s time; all possible tutors had been listed with both rank and date of birth. But what made her sad was knowing that no one, not even he himself, would care. With how self-isolated he was, she was certain that there would be no party, no birthday cards and no presents (except for one from Dumbledore, perhaps), and he was worthy so much more than that! He might be kind of a grouch and not the most pleasant teacher, but he was a brilliant man and deserved to have his life celebrated. And after the amazing gift he had sent her for her own birthday, she wanted to give him something in return.

Suddenly, she had an idea.

“Hey, Mrs Weasley?” The older woman turned around, a pan of still sizzling bacon in her hand. “Can I ask you something?”

*************** *************** ***************

If there was one place in the entire castle where you did not want to be during the winter, it was the dungeons. They were already disgustingly cold and permanently damp under normal conditions, but the colder months made them almost unbearable. And so on this particular Friday night in early January, as Severus was working in his classroom, the temperature was so low that he could see his own breath.

He was slowly walking around the room, placing a sheet of paper on each of the student desks one by one. His first class after the weekend would be the second year Slytherins and Gryffindors, and he had prepared an especially difficult surprise exam for them. He obviously knew that none of them had studied for Potions over the holidays, but he did not care – after all, there was a reason for his reputation as the meanest teacher at this school. But always one to favour his own house over those troublesome Gryffindors, he was planning on casually dropping a small hint while conducting his weekly visit of the common room the following day.

Now, one might think that Severus was simply being a very diligent teacher who liked to make sure that all of his tasks were done ahead of time – which was true. But on this specific day, his actions had an added motive as he was trying to distract himself from the fact that today was his 38th birthday.

He had never been one to attach much significance to the date that marked the anniversary of him taking his first breath. Truthfully, he could not remember the last time he had celebrated it; it had always just been a day like any other. But this year, it was different. This year, he had been loathing its arrival. Why? Well, because turning a year older merely served as yet another reminder of how messed up this attraction to his student really was. It pulled him out of a dream world in which he was not her professor, in which he was not a lot older than her and in which he still had a chance to get with her. A twenty-year age gap – how could he not feel like detestable reprobate?

Deep in thought, he startled at a sudden knock at the door.

“Professor!” Sticking her head through the open crack, Hermione immediately started to beam from ear to ear once she spotted him in the poorly lit room. “There you are! You know, after checking your office and your rooms, I almost thought you had vanished into thin air!”

Severus was completely nonplussed. “Wha-”

But before he could even get a proper word in, her head swiftly disappeared behind the door again. After about ten seconds of weird noises and sounds – and even the occasional swearing under breath – the door was pushed open to reveal a party hat wearing Hermione Granger, a lit Muggle sparkler in one hand and a relatively large gift box in the other. Taking five big steps into the room, she arrived in front of him and held out the package with both hands, almost risking setting it ablaze with her hand-held firework.

“Happy, happy birthday, sir!”

The wizard was speechless. He felt like a young pubescent boy all over again as all he could do was stare dumbfounded at this perfect woman standing across from him. After a long day of studying, this wonderful creature had made her way into the glum dungeons to congratulate him, even putting in the effort of wearing one of those ridiculous paper cones on her head. Severus did not know what he had done to deserve her. Just two minutes ago, he had hated himself and the world and had wanted nothing more than for this day to be over. But like the wind, she had swooped in and brightened his day, completely overwhelming him with emotions. The way she was looking at him, full of excitement and joy, and the beautiful colour of her rosy cheeks made his knees weak. Who knew that he would one day find happiness like this in a friend of Harry Potter?

“Come on, open it!”

Her exclamation abruptly brought him back to reality. Trying hard to ignore how inviting her plump lips were looking at that very moment, he accepted the box before replying, “Another gift, Hermione? You really should not start to make a habit of this. Otherwise, some might begin to think that you are trying to bribe your way through school.”

“Oh, stop it!” she called out, the delightful melody of her laughter filling his ears.

“But why would you get me a birthday gift? Apprentices do not have to give their tutors anything; it’s not part of the tradition.”

“I know,” said Hermione as she placed the now burned-out sparkler on the desk next to her. “But I just wanted to.”

Severus felt his heart melting. He truly did not deserve her. She was too good for him, an angel.

Opening the lid of the box with a shaky hand, he pulled out some sort of emerald-coloured piece of fabric.

“What is this?” he asked confused.

“It’s a jumper!” she said, taking the garment from him and holding it out so he could properly see it. Indeed, it was a deep green pullover made of thick wool. “I know you normally only wear black, but I thought that this shade would go well with your light complexion, and it also fits your house colours! So even if you won’t wear it on the daily, it would at least be good for Quidditch games.”

He had to admit that he was amazed by how much thought she had put into this. “Hermione, I appreciate this greatly, but you really should not have spent your money on me. I thank you from the bottom of my heart; however, I cannot accept this gift.”

“But I didn’t spend anything. I made it myself! I asked Mrs Weasley for help as I’m not really acquainted with the art of magical knitting. I didn’t tell her why I wanted to learn it, of course; but you wouldn’t believe how excited she was to pass on her secret housewife tips and tricks to me. I guess that Ginny has always been a little too much of a tomboy for her.” She let out a small snicker.

Severus experienced a warm sensation spread from his middle all the way to his fingers and toes. Not only had she remembered his birthday, but she had also taken time out of her busy day to carefully craft this sweater for him – no one had ever genuinely cared this much for him!

“Hermione.” He had to swallow as it suddenly felt as though he had a frog in his throat. “Would you perhaps like to join me in my quarters for a cup of tea? Plain, of course."

(CHAPTER 21 COMING SOON!)

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mostlycompetentwriter · 4 years

Text

Limitless- Chapter One

M/F Main Pairing: Y/N x Johnny Seo (M/F side pairing: Y/N x Jaehyun)

Genre: Fantasy AU, Harry Potter AU

Word Count: 7K

Warnings: Language

Summary: Y/N is a very skilled witch and, despite her fascination with the Dark Arts, reluctantly agrees to transfer schools from the notorious Durmstrang to Hogwarts for her younger step-brother’s first year. Upon her arrival, she is stunned when the sorting hat chooses Hufflepuff despite her family’s dark history. Undeterred, Y/N is determined to tolerate her fellow classmates and focus solely on her studies, her aspiration to one day become an Auror. Everything seems to be going according to plan until Y/N meets Johnny Seo, a crafty Slytherin boy who seems intent on capturing her icy heart.

Chapter One

“And now, Harry, let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure”- Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

There are very few things in this world that truly test my patience. For example, I hate the wealthy aristocrats who surround my father on a daily basis, whispering seductive promises of which they have no intention of keeping. Instead, they feigned interest in my father when, in actuality, it was his valuable alchemy skills they truly desired. In other words, I don't like it when those people pretend to be superior to another because of their status, taking advantage of their position to exercise greedy aspirations. Because it demonstrates just how manipulative they really are, lacking anything remotely genuine in their so-called “friendships” with my family. Ironically, those feelings have also impacted the relationship I share with my father, generating an unsteady hatred while he entertained their advances, even with a complete understanding of such fabricated facades.

Fortunately, in opposition to those things I despised, my step-brother wasn’t one of them. When my father decided to remarry, my initial resolution was to scorn whichever unlucky woman he was bringing into our lives, especially considering his previous toxic relationship with my real mother. Of course, I could’ve never predicted that my new step-mother would turn out to be so likable, introducing me to her quiet son, Jisung, who immediately clung to me like we had known each other for our entire lives.

Ultimately, I decided Park Jisung was a fair justification for the heavily-debated decision to exchange schools in the middle of my education. My father remained opposed since he wanted me to finish my schooling at Durmstrang, his alma-mater and a strict institution that produced some of the brightest minds in the wizarding community. It was also a school that touted its impressive Auror program, a field of interest that I wished to pursue upon graduation.

However, in light of my step-mother’s convincing argument, I decided that I would attend Hogwarts with Jisung. The argument in question, of course, heavily involves my personal history and it was simply unforgivable that Jisung might face any sort of prejudice for something beyond his control. Sadly, my younger step-brother was notoriously shy and withdrawn, and my step-mother was afraid he would be unable to protect himself. This I could not allow because, despite my initial reservations for my father’s remarriage, I had grown to care for Jisung and the thought of anyone speaking out of term enraged the fighting spirit laying dormant just beneath my veins.

“You’re very loyal, Y/N,” my step-mother said upon learning of my transfer. “Jisung is lucky to have you as a sister.”

“No, he isn’t,” I replied bitterly, especially since the blame for any misgivings rested solely on my conscience.

In any case, the exchange was finalized and I felt like a first-year myself as I walked next to my brother through Diagon Alley, searching for the supplies he required. Jisung was a brilliant child, despite his introverted nature, and he was positively squealing with excitement as we galvanized the quaint shops lining the busy streets with eager patrons. “I need an owl,” Jisung said, cheeks bright red in response to the unexpectedly frigid wind.

“You don’t want to get your wand first?”

“My wand!” Jisung repeated with a gasp. “We have to go to Ollivander’s.”

I rolled my eyes affectionately once Jisung secured a rather strong grip on my sleeve, pulling me along hastily despite his mother’s warning to keep ourselves from garnering too much attention. Of course, Jisung’s spirits were much too high to allow such a warning to dampen the rapid trot to his steps, practically skipping down the sidewalk with youthful glee.

Ollivander’s wasn’t as busy as I had initially anticipated for which I allowed a sigh of relief as my step-brother gaped at the impressive display of wands eagerly awaiting their new master. “Welcome,” a kind voice greeted our arrival. I could only assume he worked at the shop ever since it’s initial host fell victim to the aftermath of the Second Wizarding War.

“Hello,” I responded, aware that Jisung had taken to ducking behind the proximity of my robes as he peered anxiously at the shop owner. “My brother is starting his first year at Hogwarts.”

“How exciting,” the owner nodded, holding out his hand to beckon my younger brother forward. “Come here, young man.”

I gave Jisung a small push to usher him in the right direction, amused as he stumbled to the counter. “Hi,” he said in a tone bordering a whisper. Thankfully, the shop owner could hear him, offering a wide smile as he appraised my step-brother.

“What’s your name?”

“Park Jisung.”

“A familiar name,” the owner responded. “Your father worked for the ministry.”

“He did,” Jisung said, shuffling his hands together at the mention of his father.

The owner was sympathetic, clicking his tongue as he scoured the wall behind him, selecting a singular box from amongst the others. “I have something for you, Mr. Park.”

My step-brother immediately gasped, remembrances of his birth father forgotten in exchange for accepting the girthy wand from the show owner. Jisung held it firmly in one hand, eyes searching the length of the instrument through which most young wizards and witches learned to control their magic. “Try it out,” I suggested from behind him, watching carefully as Jisung waved the wand in his hand. Disappointingly, several of the boxes on the adjoining shelf were dismissed from their neat and organized stacks, falling into the floor like an avalanche in response to the wand’s opposition.

Jisung cleared his throat and returned the wand to the counter. “I’m not sure it likes me.”

The shop owner chuckled with gentle mirth, obviously having encountered several incidents with other young students. “It’s alright, Mr. Park, wands can be very temperamental when it comes to choosing the right master.” His gaze landed on me with a considerate glance. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“What sort of wand chose you?”

I swallowed hard as I pulled it from the inside of my coat. “The core is Dragon Heartstring.”

“Ah,” the shop owner acknowledged. “A very powerful core indeed. Definitely meant for someone with ambition.”

I dare not surmise the implications behind the grave look in his eyes as he turned back to the shelves, fingers tracing the numbers with precision. “Should I try something similar to Y/N’s?” Jisung asked.

“Not necessarily,” the shop owner explained, reaching for a box from the top shelf. “The wand often takes into account the personality of its chosen master. Dragon Heartstring is a core reserved for some of the most skilled witches and wizards I have ever known. Furthermore, given your...temperament....”

The box was placed in front of Jisung on the counter. “Perhaps we should try this?”

Jisung nodded, removing the lid before wrapping his slender fingers around the wand’s dark handle. He handled it with great care, waving it through the air with studious attention. I held my breath, digging my fingers into the fleece of my jacket as I observed the previously displaced wand boxes returning to their rightful places along the shelves.

“Brilliant!” the shop owner declared. “The wand has chosen you, my young friend. I hope you can perform great magic with its profound loyalty.”

Jisung smiled, turning around to beckon me forward enthusiastically. I couldn’t resist his call, moving to the counter while the shop owner processed Jisung’s new wand. “Unicorn hair,” he explained. “Mr. Ollivander himself said this core produced some of the most consistent magic he had ever seen. Additionally, it makes for a very faithful wand, extremely loyal to its chosen master.”

Jisung seemed proud of this revelation, taking the package from the shop owner while I procured the appropriate payment. “Thank you, sir,” I said, allowing Jisung to wave back at the shop owner before we returned to the streets.

“Well,” I sighed. “I suppose we should find your owl.”

Jisung nodded happily, swinging the parcel containing his new wand back and forth while he chattered excitedly about all of the interesting spells he had read about in his mother’s book. I nodded vacantly, hoping to appease his desire for conversation while navigating the complicated alleys to avoid as many people as possible. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the glares thrown in our direction meant that everyone was aware of which family we came from.

“What do you think?” I finally interrupted Jisung when we approached the owlery.

Jisung slammed his hands against the glass, startling one of the owls which turned its head to appraise the overzealous boy. “Jisung,” I scolded, but he was far too busy attempting communication with the snowy white bird watching him in turn.

“Isn’t he marvelous?” Jisung asked. “There’s so many inside! How can I pick just one?”

I opened my mouth to suggest that Jisung make a decision soon, but found myself thoroughly taken aback by the unexpected interruption of a distinctly proud passerby who apparently decided that his input should also matter. “The one in the window likes you,” the younger boy commented. “I just came from inside! Apparently, the store received a new shipment from the mountains. They got some really fast ones in the back!”

Jisung was just as startled as I was, glancing back at the newcomer with wide, uncertain eyes. “Chenle!”

“Jaehyun,” the boy pouted, crossing his arms at the appearance of his friend who was very clearly out of breath as if previously given chase to our disturbance.

“I’m sorry,” he said, clearing his throat as he fixed his younger friend with a stern glare. “What did I say about running off?”

Chenle didn’t seem concerned, shrugging vacantly in response. “I wanted to stay outside and look around.”

“He wasn’t a problem,” I interrupted, watching their exchange as I pulled Jisung closer to my side.

“Still, I should apologize since he surprised you...I’m Jaehyun by the way,” he offered with a smile. I reluctantly shook his hand, aware of his younger friend watching Jisung with unhindered curiosity.

“Y/N,” I offered in return. “This is my step-brother, Jisung.”

I reached behind me for the collar of Jisung’s sweater, pulling him into the narrow space between myself and Jaehyun in spite of his opposition. “Hello,” Jaehyun said, looking down at my brother. “You must be starting your first year.”

Jisung nodded while Jaehyun chuckled, acknowledging his friend with a fond expression. “This is my cousin, Chenle. He’s also starting his first year.”

“Really?” Jisung asked, glancing up at me as if looking for direction.

I grinned. “Jisung and I have been shopping all day for his supplies.”

“Chenle woke me up early,” Jaehyun chuckled. “He’s been too excited for me to handle. I can barely keep up with him.”

Chenle seemed to take offense to Jaehyun’s measure of him, huffing out a complaint. “You kept putting it off! We start school this weekend!”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes playfully, running a hand through his hair. “My aunt asked me to keep an eye on him when we return to the castle. Speaking of which...” Jaehyun trailed off as he squinted his eyes, confusion evident in their depths. “I feel like I would’ve noticed you before.”

“I transferred,” I replied vaguely, reaching out for Jisung’s hand. “I’m starting Hogwarts in my fifth year.”

“What a coincidence,” Jaehyun said. “It’s my fifth year as well.”

I realized at that moment that Jaehyun was completely genuine. Whether or not that implied favorable circumstances remained unclear because he must be completely ignorant of my situation, which was still an unexpected sigh of relief. Regardless, the sun was starting to set and Jisung still needed more supplies. “It was nice to meet you,” I said. “Jisung and I have more shopping to do.”

Jaehyun nodded, slightly disappointed as he took a step back. “Maybe we’ll see both of you at school?”

“That would be cool,” Jisung spoke up and I was proud of my step-brother’s confidence.

As we both turned away, Jisung tugged on my sleeve to encourage me to lean down to overhear his comment. “They were nice!” Jisung said, eyes wide with the weight of his enthusiasm.

I agreed quietly, glancing back at Jaehyun and Chenle before leading Jisung in the opposite direction.

By the time we were set to depart from Hogwarts, I had more or less forgotten about our encounter with Jaehyun and Chenle. After all, Jisung and I had bigger things to worry about, especially considering that we were both new to London’s complicated system of transportation.

“Platform 9 and 3/4,” I mumbled, searching the crowded station while trying to keep Jisung within sight. My poor step-brother was obviously nervous, head barely peeking over the trolley he pushed full of his belongings. I’m sure the sight of my step-brother with his snowy white owl perched on top of his suitcase made for an interesting display.

Unlike my previous returns to Durmstrang, Hogwarts was proving to be far more complicated. “There’s a lot of Muggles,” Jisung remarked.

“I know,” I agreed because the Muggles were making everything harder, especially when an attendant stopped to investigate the two siblings wandering aimlessly in search of their destination.

My step-mother had painted everything in such a grandiose fashion, and even I believed everything she was describing to me and Jisung on our final night at home. “The station is huge,” she said. “But it’s very beautiful, and you’ll probably meet a lot of other wizards who can help you.”

Her advice rang hollow now as I passed between platforms 9 and 10 with another tired sigh. “Maybe we should call your mother,” I said, glancing at my wristwatch to ensure we weren’t late.

“Y/N,” Jisung suddenly exclaimed, attracting the attention of a disdainful elderly couple. “Look! It’s Jaehyun and Chenle. We met them the other day shopping, remember?”

Of course, I remembered when I had to think about it with perfect clarity, but that didn’t mean I was quite as eager as Jisung when our new classmates spotted us from across the platform. I offered a half-hearted wave in response, forcing myself to straighten my posture when Jaehyun and Chenle stopped to extend a polite greeting. While my step-brother welcomed Chenle enthusiastically, I was far more cautious when Jaehyun extended pleasantries which I hesitantly returned. “Ah, it’s you,” I grumbled, aware that Jisung and Chenle had become complete professionals as they exchanged a silly handshake before giggling like schoolboys.

“I can show you,” Jaehyun whispered, pulling my attention away from my step-brother. “It can be tricky during your first time.”

I tried not to feel embarrassed when I realized Jaehyun must’ve noticed our predicament with the confusing platforms. But I wasn’t too prideful to deny his help, reaching for Jisung’s shoulder. “We’ve been trying for almost an hour.”

“That’s okay,” Jaehyun said reassuringly. “Watch me first, and I’ll wait for everyone on the other side.”

I stood aside to watch Jaehyun as he instructed. He offered Chenle a reassuring smile before jogging ahead, ignoring the surrounding attendants as he charged at the solid mass of wall defining platform 9. I wasn’t afraid for him since I knew well that Jaehyun was hardly the type to charge at things that weren’t obviously hexed by magic. Still, it was interesting to watch him disappear, leaving me alone with Chenle and Jisung. “Go ahead,” I encouraged Jaehyun’s cousin, sending him off before allowing myself and Jisung one last moment of peace. “Everything will be fine,” I reassured him. “Remember, I’m here to make sure that nothing bad happens.”

Jisung nodded, standing on the tips of his toes to allow enough leverage to minimize our height discrepancy. “Thank you, Y/N,” he said.

I nodded, stroking my fingers through his hair before pulling back. “You go through first and wait for me on the other side.”

“Okay,” Jisung said, taking a deep breath before rushing at the platform wall, appearing almost comical considering his appearance. I waited until Jisung was gone before finally adjusting my belongings and taking off in his footsteps, closing my eyes before hitting the wall. Except, there was no impact like the surrounding Muggles would think, and I opened my eyes again when I heard the sound of a train whistle.

The Hogwarts Express was waiting on the tracks, painted with a beautiful pattern of reds and golds. The enormous locomotive was rightfully imposing, looming over the mass of students hurrying to load their belongings. It was strangely exciting, and I surmised that the thought of a new adventure forced a surge of adrenaline through my body.

“Better hurry,” Jaehyun said, nodding in my direction to encourage me and Jisung to follow him. “You can sit with us.”

It seemed like an agreeable arrangement, and the four of us located an empty compartment further down the long expanse of the train. “Here we go,” Chenle said, lending a spare hand to help Jisung load his belongings onto the train.

“May I?” Jaehyun asked softly, waiting for my permission before grabbing my heaviest suitcase and lifting it onboard with relative ease. I surmised that he must be an athlete, perhaps even a Quidditch player since the sport was extremely popular at Hogwarts.

Eventually, I joined Jisung and Chenle in the compartment we claimed for ourselves, smirking when I realized that Jisung was sitting next to Chenle to admire his vast collection of chocolate frog cards. “He’s very proud of them,” Jaehyun explained as he occupied the final seat next to me.

“Jaehyun,” Chenle whined. “You’ll order us some more when the trolley comes, right?”

“Only if you’re willing to share,” Jaehyun said, nodding at Jisung who seemed surprised by Jaehyun’s gracious offer. He glanced at me for instruction and I merely offered him a curt nod.

“Of course!” Chenle agreed. “Jisung needs to start his own collection so we can trade.”

I could feel the train start to move beneath our feet and Jisung joined Chenle at the window to admire the moving scenery outside. “It’s a bit different from what you’re used to?”

I looked at Jaehyun, realizing his question was meant for me. “Oh, well I traveled much differently to attend my previous school.”

“Where did you go?”

“Durmstrang.”

“Oh!” Jaehyun acknowledged. “They have an excellent Quidditch team.”

“Viktor Krum,” I said, offering my faint knowledge of the sport, but it seemed to delight Jaehyun who was quite excited to talk about one of his favorite Seekers.

“That’s my position,” he finally said. “I was elected as Captain this year.”

“For your house?”

“Gryffindor,” he nodded. “We have a lot of good players.”

“Jaehyun’s modest,” Chenle suddenly inserted. “He’s a better seeker than Harry Potter himself!”

“Chenle,” Jaehyun chided his cousin softly before glancing at me sheepishly, but he quickly regained his bearings. “I think I heard the trolley outside.”

Chenle shot up immediately, reaching for Jisung’s hand to pull my curious step-brother out into the hallway. “I’m not that good,” Jaehyun continued with a faint blush.

I smiled at him. “Your cousin obviously looks up to you. His enthusiasm can’t be faulted.”

“He’s a little rambunctious,” Jaehyun admitted. “Hopefully, the school will help tame his excess energy.”

“It’s charming,” I said. “I wish Jisung was more like him.”

There was a few moments of silence between the two of us before Jaehyun spoke again, almost out of necessity to relieve the quiet overtaking out compartment.

“You’re both perfect,” Jaehyun said without thinking, only realizing his mistake a moment later when he quickly scrambled to rectify his wording. “Oh, but I only mean that you both have a lot of potential...well, I guess you’re obviously very smart coming from Durmstrang...”

“Don’t worry,” I interrupted, saving him from further embarrassment. “I understand what you mean.”

Jaehyun sighed in relief, looking at me with an impenetrable gaze. He opened his mouth to speak again when a sudden scuffle from outside interrupted our conversation. I frowned when the compartment door opened and I realized that Chenle and Jisung were standing in front of a taller student whose smug smile was nothing short of condescending. “I thought these might belong to you, Jung.”

Jaehyun was on his feet in an instant, reaching for Chenle and Jisung to push them safely in our compartment. “What do you think you’re doing, Seo?”

I bristled at the familiar name, connecting the origin to the same family whose descendants once served the Dark Lord himself. “I’m a Prefect this year, Jung,” he replied. “It’s my job to watch out for little troublemakers.”

“You’ll do best to stay away from my brother,” I said, sharpening my tone as much as possible. I had decided to join Jaehyun, crowding the doorway as I observed the student who dared to insinuate Jisung’s guilt. “I know very well about your family, so I suggest you keep away from mine.”

The student was visibly surprised, eyeing me up and down with blatant curiosity. “Who the fuck are you?”

“An enemy if you’re not careful,” I said.

“Johnny!” a new voice hissed, belonging to one of the other two students flanking the object of my glare. He leaned up to whisper something in Johnny’s ear and I absolutely despised the sardonic smile that brightened Johnny’s countenance.

“Interesting,” Johnny said, looking between me and Jaehyun before laughing. “I don’t have time for any friends of Gryffindor,” Johnny said, and I closed the door separating us with a warning look.

Chenle and Jisung were visibly frazzled when Jaehyun and I sat back down across from them. “Don’t worry, Sungie,” I said sweetly to my step-brother, reaching for one of the chocolate frog packs he had procured. “What card did you get?”

Jisung allowed a hesitant smile, tearing into the package at my request. “I got Dumbledore!”

“Really?” Chenle gasped, glancing over Jisung’s shoulder.

I leaned back in my seat to allow the two boys space for their game, meeting Jaehyun’s gaze steadily. “I suppose you aren’t friendly with him?”

“No, and it’s best to just ignore Johnny,” Jaehyun said with barely restrained hostility. “He has a big head because he was chosen to be a Slytherin Prefect this year. He’s also their new Quidditch captain, so we’ve always had a rivalry.”

“He’s in Slytherin?” I shivered. “I’m not surprised considering his name.”

“His friends are intolerable too,” Jaehyun said. “Yuta and Ten basically do whatever Johnny asks them.”

“The perfect lackeys,” I sighed. “I guess he had ulterior motives for messing with Chenle and Jisung.”

“He knows Chenle,” Jaehyun said. “It’s just his way of getting to me.”

“Don’t let him,” I insisted sternly. “He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.”

Jaehyun surprised me by laughing. “You know, you’ll probably be sorted into a new House like everyone else. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were a Gryffindor, a natural rival of Slytherin.”

I glanced out the window, unable to find the courage to reveal a heavy truth to Jaehyun, especially considering our tentative partnership. “I guess we’ll find out.”

“I’m going to change into my robes,” Jaehyun said. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay,” I said, turning my attention instead to Chenle and Jisung’s fierce debate over their precious cards, admiring the innocence in their youthful countenances.

In any case, Jaehyun was right about the necessity of sorting me into a House. Upon our arrival, the new students were immediately grouped away from those simply returning for a new academic year. Jaehyun reluctantly left the three of us behind, offering to watch out for me in the Great Hall.

I sent him away with a wave before leading Jisung and Chenle to the curious congregation of new students. However, considering my circumstances, I wasn’t surprised when an unfamiliar professor approached me from the front of the group. “Our new transfer?” the woman inquired. I nodded in response. “Miss. Y/L/N, my name is Professor Kim, and I must insist that you follow me. The sorting hat ceremony in the Great Hall is exclusively reserved for first years.”

I sighed because I was reluctant to part from Jisung. My step-brother had unconsciously gripped tighter to the bottom of my shirt, sharing my sentiments. “Don’t worry,” Chenle said, tossing an arm around my step-brother’s shoulders. “I’ll watch out for him.”

It was a nice gesture, and Jisung seemed to relax when he realized that he would conquer the unfamiliar with a potential friend. “Thank you,” I finally whispered.

In the meantime, Professor Kim bowed her head respectfully before guiding me away from my brother and his fellow first years. I kept glancing over my shoulder, continuing to watch him until it was impossible to do so any longer. Now, I was alone with Professor Kim and we walked across the grounds with practiced steps. “We’ll take a carriage,” she said.

“Okay,” I replied, studying the Hogwarts castle from across the lake. It was quite impressive, reminding me faintly of the castle at Durmstrang. Even from my considerable distance, the light of the candles and lanterns provided a spectacle of illumination courtesy of the magic we all practiced.

“This must be ours!” Professor Kim announced, climbing up the stairs into the random carriage nestled at the shore of the lake.

I paused in my footsteps, realizing with horror what was pulling the carriage that had been provided as transportation. There wasn’t a large population of Thestrals on Durmstrang’s grounds, so I never had to worry about encountering the beast before. But this one was clearly meant to guide our remaining trek to Hogwarts, and I couldn’t pull my eyes away from the Thestral. “Miss. Y/L/N,” Professor Kim said, finally grabbing my attention.

“Sorry,” I said, hesitantly shuffling up the stairs to join her.

“You can see them,” she stated plainly and I stiffened my shoulders, expecting her to ask the dreaded question which I hated more than anything. “I can see them too,” she said, offering me an empathetic smile.

My relief was audible, thin wisps against the cool air of the night.

“I won’t say that I’m familiar with the inner workings of Durmstrang,” Professor Zhang, one of the senior professors proclaimed. “However, at Hogwarts, we sort our new students into one of the four founding Houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.”

I tensed at the mention of Slytherin, gazing at the sorting hat waiting on a stool in the corner. “I understand,” I said.

“Good,” Professor Zhang enthused. “Have a seat, Miss Y/L/N, and we can establish your House.”

I reluctantly obeyed, flinching when the hat was placed atop my head. The voice was loud, thoughtfully considerate as I waited in profound expectation. “Yes, yes, great power indeed,” it said. “There’s ambition, oh yes, lots of ambition. Fitting of a Slytherin? Like your mother.”

I gritted my teeth, shaking my head subtly. “I’m not like my mother.”

“Of course not,” the hat agreed. “Because I see something bright inside of you, quite different from when I was first acquainted with your mother. A capacity for profound loyalty!”

An image of my mother raced through my head, a vision of her brilliant green eyes watching me from her stand in the Wizengamot court awaiting the summons of the surrounding witches and wizards. A sea of purple robes and hostile glares that did not hesitate to include me as a recipient because I must be like my mother. Capable of great evil, to cast unforgivable curses and spells that would leave a path of death and destruction in my wake.

“Hufflepuff!” the sorting hat declared, jostling me from that horrible memory.

I was relieved, almost reverent when the sorting hat was taken from my head. Because this proved those judgments of me incorrect, a small child who was unlucky to have such a mother who set her up for failure from the beginning. But I was not to adhere to those expectations, and every decision I made has always been to spite my mother to the best of my ability.

“Very well,” Professor Zhang said. “Somebody fetch Mr. Qian from the Great Hall. I trust that he can integrate our newest student into her House.”

“In the meantime,” Professor Kim re-emerged, making her presence known amongst the other instructors. “We’ve considered your coursework from Durmstrang, Y/N. As such, we take into consideration the courses you requested, measuring them according to your chosen career path.”

She reached into her robes, retrieving a folded sheet of parchment with a tight seal. “Our Professors worked in concert with your former instructors at Durmstrang to arrange a schedule to suit your accommodations. As Head of Hufflepuff House, you can always approach me with questions should they arise after some consideration of your new situation.”

I accepted the extended parchment. “Thank you.”

“A very admirable choice,” she said. “I know the program at Durmstrang is quite strenuous, much like our own. However, your marks were very impressive in the required courses. Perhaps you’re destined yet for the path of an Auror.”

“I’ve never changed my mind,” I told her with determination.

Professor Kim smiled. “I think, Y/N, that I’m starting to understand the sorting hat’s decision.”

The discussion ended with her statement, summoning a strange sense of belonging that I had never experienced before. Nevertheless, I was grateful that she hadn’t inquired further into a potential explanation concerning the origins of my aspirations. Because the reason I was pursuing such a tricky career was a matter that went beyond simple ambition, as the sorting hat suggested, or a desire to encounter danger.

“Mr. Qian! Prompt as usual.”

“Of course, Professor Kim.”

I studied the unfamiliar face waiting expectantly in the doorway. Surprisingly, he had yet to glance in my direction. “Y/N, this is Kun,” Professor Kim finally introduced, sweeping an elegant hand. “He’s a Hufflepuff Prefect”

Kun smiled at me. “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

I nodded in return, admiring the gentle color of Kun’s eyes. “Likewise.”

“The Sorting Ceremony is starting soon,” Professor Kim said. “We’ll have to bring down the sorting hat for the first years.”

“Mr. Qian can bring you to the Great Hall,” Professor Zhang said. “He’s one of our brightest students. I trust he can leave a good impression.”

Even so, Kun was mostly quiet during our walk together to the Great Hall. He stood tall, nothing short of serious as he took his job as my escort with the utmost responsibility. The Prefect gave off the impression that he was very meticulous, and I easily surmised that he must be an older student, perhaps even in his final year.

Still, his quiet presence wasn’t enough to distract me from the fact that everyone chose to look in our direction when Kun brought me to the Great Hall. It was obvious that they were confused, wondering why Kun had disappeared only to return with a new student. Although, when they would inevitably learn my name, I was slightly afraid those innocent expressions of curiosity might turn into something much more hostile. “Relax,” Kun whispered to appease my anxiety. I sat down next to him on a long bench tucked against one of the four enormous tables, grateful that he didn’t seem burdened by my presence. “I’ll introduce you later,” Kun said.

I quietly agreed, flinching when the doors to the Great Hall reopened, inviting the first years to join the extravagant celebration. I searched the sea of excited faces, finally locating Jisung near the back of the crowd with Chenle faithfully by his side as promised. It was enough to relieve some of my tension, smiling when Jisung met my gaze, raising his hand in greeting. “Good luck,” I mouthed to my step-brother.

Jisung didn’t need luck, anyway, because he was a good kid with a kind heart and gentle soul. He would be sorted accordingly, but I still crossed my fingers that he would be able to join me at the Hufflepuff table. “Good evening, students,” a boisterous greeting rang through the quiet Hall. The voice belonged to an older gentleman, clearly designated as the Headmaster, who was appraising the squirming group of first years waiting to be sorted. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts.”

Applause greeted his words and I clapped along with everyone else. “I must extend a very special welcome to our new students. In just a short moment, you will be sorted into the House that will define your seven subsequent years attending classes at the very best magical institution in the world.”

I resisted a scoff at his words. Until I knew for myself whether or not his claim was true, my loyalty to Durmstrang was quite powerful. “Now, Professor Kai will lead the sorting ceremony.”

“Students,” a surprisingly youthful instructor began, unraveling the scroll in his hands. “When I call your name, you will come forward and I shall place the sorting hat on your head, and you will be sorted into your houses.”

The first student summoned had visibly blanched as he approached Professor Kai. Meanwhile, I tried to relax because I knew it would take a while to sort everyone before Jisung’s name was called. Instead, I studied the room around me, watching the other students cheer whenever someone was sorted into their House. Kun was especially loud, cheering with a high-pitched whistle which left me wondering if the Prefects were expected to be over-enthusiastic.

Yet, that sentiment didn’t exactly ring true when I found my gaze ensnared with Johnny Seo’s. He smirked in my direction, cool, dark eyes unabashedly taking me in with heavy doses. It was disconcerting, the intensity I detected in the depths of those eyes.

I pulled my gaze away, glancing over my shoulder when another student was sorted into Gryffindor. I quickly located Jaehyun who was warmly greeting his newest classmate. After a moment or two, he seemed to realize that I was looking at him, sending me a comforting smile that eased my nerves when Jisung’s name was abruptly announced.

I waited in expectation as Jisung approached Professor Kai. The sorting hat was placed on his head and only a brief moment passed before the voice loudly declared: “Gryffindor!”

Disappointment sat heavily on my chest as I watched my step-brother take trepid steps in the direction of the Gryffindor table. His eyes met mine worriedly from the distance separating us, but I only offered him a reassuring smile that seemed to placate him.

After the sorting concluded, the Headmaster reapproached the stand overlooking the crowded tables. “Let the feast begin.”

I wasn’t surprised by the display of magic that summoned immense quantities of food across the wide expanse of the table. It was very similar to Durmstrang. However, the table manners of the students who reached into the food with greedy fingers made me wince before I came to the realization that Hogwarts was much less strict than my former institution.

“Y/N,” Kun said from my side. I glanced up at him but realized he was looking across the table at two younger students. “I promised introductions.”

“Sure,” I nodded, examining the interesting characters studying me with equal interest.

“This is Lucas,” Kun said, nodding to the bigger boy who wore a boxy grin. “And Jaemin.”

I appraised the sight of Jaemin’s bright pink hair before meeting his knowing gaze. “I’m Y/N.”

“Fascinating,” Jaemin said, leaning in closer. “Where did you transfer from?”

“Durmstrang,” I said, an answer that obviously impressed both Jaemin and Lucas as they gasped in synchronization.

“What’s it like there?”

“Uh, well, we don’t exactly do this,” I said, gesturing between the tables. “There’s no sorting. We all exist under the same coat of arms, so we wear identical uniforms.”

“No Houses!” Lucas gasped. “How do you keep track of everyone?”

“What about competitions?”

I blinked at both boys while Kun chuckled. “Do you really want to overwhelm her with questions?”

“What’s the problem?” Jaemin asked. “Consider this a warm welcome, Y/N.”

It felt more like a cold interrogation, but I didn’t voice my opinions aloud. “It’s okay,” I said, choosing the amicable approach since I was expected to assimilate myself. “We don’t require Houses because our population is much smaller. Competitions are still viable, we have clubs that compete, especially when it comes to Quidditch.”

“Do you play?” Jaemin asked. “I’m trying out this year. I think I’d make a good Keeper.”

“No,” I replied. “One of my friends at Durmstrang played. He was a fairly good Seeker.”

“The best position,” Lucas said, glancing down the table at a girl with fiery red hair. “My friend is our Seeker.”

“Our House will be the best this year,” Jaemin assured me. “The House cup is as good as ours.”

“You won’t be saying that when I knock you flat on your ass, Jaemin,” a snide voice bluntly informed my new classmate.

Jaemin turned around, snapping his head to snarl in return. “We’ll see about that, Jeno. Don’t forget that you ended up in the infirmary after the semi-finals. Sure would hate to put you back there!”

“Jaemin,” Kun growled from next to me. “What happened to civil conversation?”

He was obviously talking about me, but I was much too entertained by the exchange to acknowledge Kun’s reprimand. Perhaps there was hope for these Hufflepuffs after all.

After dinner, Kun met with the other Hufflepuff Prefects and decided to escort a majority of the older students to our dormitory. “Keep up,” he told us brusquely, and I ignored his command the minute I spotted Jisung standing with Chenle outside the Great Hall.

“I’ll distract him,” Jaemin whispered, noticing my wandering gaze.

“Thank you,” I said, unhesitating as I broke away from my new classmates to approach Jisung.

“Y/N!” he grinned happily.

“You did so well,” I told him, nodding in Chenle’s direction. “I knew there was some bravery in you somewhere.”

“Yeah, but we aren’t in the same house,” Jisung said, downtrodden by the idea of our separation.

“You’ll be fine with Chenle,” I reassured my brother. “During the day, we can see each other for dinner and between classes, okay?”

Jisung sniffled but managed a nod. “Okay.”

I looked over my shoulder, finding my classmates at a complete standstill as Kun argued animatedly with Jaemin. “I have to go with my House, but I’ll find you in the morning.”

Jisung nodded and I could feel his gaze on me even after I returned, meeting Jaemin’s eyes from the front of the group. “Fine!” Jaemin sighed in exasperation. “It was only an idea.”

“A terrible one,” Kun scolded, rubbing his hands together as he apologized to our classmates. He scanned our group, locating me with a pleased smile. “Everyone!” Kun announced, ushering me closer. I reluctantly abided by his command, aware of the attention I was receiving from the others. “This is Y/N, she’s a new transfer from Durmstrang.”

Jaemin nudged me from the side, offering me a cheesy wink which I chose to ignore. The younger gave off the impression that he was overly flirtatious. “Anyway, remember to follow me closely,” Kun continued. “You know the drill.”

“Yes, sir!” Jaemin saluted with obvious sarcasm which Kun rightfully chose to ignore.

The hallways were busy, and it was almost impossible to pass between the other students without brushing arms or exchanging some sort of contact which I certainly despised. Hopefully, the Hufflepuff dormitory wasn’t an insurmountable distance from where we had left the Great Hall. In any case, I was trying to memorize the path so that I could hopefully make my way back here in the morning to find Jisung.

“Hey, Qian!”

Kun paused, shoulders stiffening as he turned to the right. I followed his gaze, frowning when I recognized Jaehyun’s enemy from the train. Johnny marched over to our group with his head held high, leading a group of younger Slytherin students behind him. “Johnny,” Kun sighed. “I can’t say that I’m glad to see you.”

“Lighten up,” Johnny smirked, tossing an easy arm around Kun’s shoulders. However, my House Prefect grimaced at the unnecessary contact but maintained a level-headed demeanor with admirable patience. “We’re both Prefects now.”

“I heard,” Kun said. “How they decided to extend the honor to you is a mystery.”

“I’m a good student,” Johnny pouted, even as his eyes remained alight with underlying mischievousness. “I heard you got a new transfer. We met on the train very briefly.”

He was looking at me now, and I met his gaze with narrowed eyes. “Y/N,” Kun said, hesitant as he stepped away from Johnny’s grip.

“Y/N,” Johnny repeated, eyeing me from head to toe. “Your family is quite famous in Slytherin.”

There were whispers behind me, but I ignored them in exchange for glaring at the boy who dared to bring up my family history. “I’m nothing like them,” I said with an icy tone to convey my seriousness.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re a perfect angel,” Johnny purred, taking a step in my direction which I immediately decided was threatening. I reached into my robes, feeling for my wand. “There’s no need for that,” Johnny said in a low tone meant for my ears only. “Just saying, you might need some allies in this school and there aren’t many people who will overlook your history. Trust me, I’m very much aware.”

He offered me a meaningful look. “Thank you for your advice,” I said. “But I’m under the impression that my loyalties will be with my chosen House.”

“How unfortunate for your little friend,” Johnny said, and I held my breath as he finally allowed some distance. It was simply unfair how easily he managed to get under my skin with just a passing comment. His smirk was arrogant, adjusting the collar of his robes before returning to his students.

“Come on, everyone,” Kun said, clearly determined to escape Johnny’s path as quickly as possible.

Still, I lingered behind, waiting until Johnny Seo was out of sight before following the rest of my new classmates with hurried steps.

#nct #nct fanfic #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct harry potter au #nct johnny #johnny seo #johnny seo x reader #nct au #nct jaehyun #jaehyun fanfic

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ladyofmaidensandwine · 4 years

Text

9 to 5

A request by @herfalsegod

“Hey, hon! I’ve been obsessed with Dean Smith, would you consider writing something for him?”

Absolutely, darling, Dean Smith really just satisfies all my normal life Dean fantasies, and who doesn’t fancy the business suit?

Characters: Dean Smith, Fem! Reader

Summary: Reader is a no-nonsense, business-oriented woman. Her boss is less concerned with protocol, and entirely too stubborn. Dean Smith has but one goal in mind- finally get his assistant to go out with him.

Wordcount: 2,107

You clock in for work with a smile and a nod to the secretary by the time cards, offering polite greetings as you hurry through your morning routine. You’ve been working for Sandover Bridge and Iron Inc. going on four years now, having climbed the ladder from secretary to personal assistant quickly, and you loved your job. Your life was built on routines and schedules, and you thrived when organizing the chaos of the world into manageable lists and calendars, helping your boss, Dean Smith, do the same.

By nine in the morning, your tea is steeped to perfection, you’ve got your laptop running, and you’re already working on clearing the list of daily tasks. You have a reputation for handling the complicated things, known as a great negotiator and a woman with a one-track mind, kind but focused, and you have earned your seat at the table with the company’s higher-ups. They count on you to make ideas reality, to take care of the issues and details they don’t have time for, and to be on top of everything going on in the company so that you can ensure it runs as smoothly and efficiently as possible. Dean Smith was the sort of man with an ambitious drive but a scattered mind, meaning you had to pick up the pieces to keep his momentum going steady. He’d always been a fair and polite man towards you, but as his assistant, you’d gotten to look behind the curtains, and knew he wasn’t as business-only as he appeared.

“Good morning, Mr. Smith. Your coffee, Sir.” You greet him, stepping into his office. Dean offers a quick smile, and you wait patiently for his call to end. “Morning, Y/N. Looking lovely as always. How many times do I gotta tell you to just call me Dean. We’ve been working together going on two years now.” Dean chides. “A few more times at least, Sir. You’ve got Andrea from Delaware’s architecture in ten, I’ve made a file for you to look over. She’s going to try to sell you on the price cut, but the long-term expense isn’t worth it, so either compromise on the royalties or no deal.” You advise, handing Dean a thick folder you’ve compiled on what angle to take with the negotiation and the relevant statistics. “Thanks, Y/N. What would I do without you?” Dean grins. “Probably spiral downwards.” You say with a sly smile. “What else is on the agenda?” He asks, sipping his coffee. “Your sister is dropping by for lunch, I’ve already got it on standby at the cafe on mainstreet, you have two more meetings, tech service at one and marketing at two, and I have a few things for you to look other whenever you’re ready. Oh, and a Lisa Braeden called, should I send a message?” “No, no, I’ll talk to her. Ex-girlfriend.” Dean explains. “Ah. Anything else I can do for you?” You offer. “Actually, yeah, mind joining the meeting? You know these numbers better than me.” Dean shrugs. “Of course, let me forward the phones first and I’ll let Andrea in.” You nod.

“Y/N, you are a life saver.” Dean says, sighing as he slumped into his chair. You smile wryly, shaking your head. “It’s just maths, Mr Smith.” You raise a brow, grabbing the files and the signed deal to put it in the neatly organized system you have. “Says you. Say, Y/N, you free for lunch?” He asks. “I am, but you’re not. Jo?” You remind him. Dean’s face falls slightly. “Tomorrow, then?” “I can schedule it in. We can go over the marketing data for this quarter.” You agree. Dean smirks to himself, but doesn’t say anything as you walk back out to your desk.

“Jo.” You smile at the blonde as she walks over, waiting for you to tell Dean she’s arrived for lunch. “Hey, Y/N! ‘S been a while!” She smiles. “Too long. Please take your brother to lunch, I can’t work with him calling me in for every little thing.” You plead, joking like the pair of you always do. You and Jo had been fast friends, bonding over making fun of Dean, though she’s just as quick to tease you about the crush she thinks you have on her brother. “In that case I’d better steal him away quick.” Jo winks. You lead her to the office doors, Dean smiling the moment he sees you, and standing up to greet Jo.

“Don’t you take a lunch break, Y/N?” He asks as they walk by. “Mhm. I’ve got chicken tikka masala to heat after I finish filing these records.” You nod. Dean frowns slightly, but lets Jo lead him away.

If there’s one thing about Dean you admire, it’s his persistence. The man truly didn’t give up- the company leaders agreed, giving him more projects to take on quickly. You hadn’t known that it would be a quality invested in you, however. Dean had flirted with you when you’d first started working together, but you’d made it clear that you weren’t going to put your position in jeopardy, and he’d seemed to drop the subject, though the occasional comment about your outfit or a patented Dean Smith lady-killing smile was unavoidable. Since he’d broken up with Lisa, Dean had returned his attentions to you, though his approach was far more sincere than the first time.

You remind yourself that no matter how charming he is, he’s technically your boss, and you can’t risk losing your job, not when you’ve worked so hard to climb the corporate ladder. You admit to yourself that it’s a difficult task, pretending Dean’s affectionate gestures didn’t leave you flustered. He truly was sweet- a bouquet of peonies, your favourite flower, on your desk one morning, lunch and tea from your go-to cafe, odd trinkets now and then. You asked him once about the random items he left for you, and his response was that he’d seen them and had been reminded of you, your heart flipping in your chest. Damn that Dean Smith, him and all his endearing qualities.

“Hey, Y/N, I heard about this new restaurant down on fifth street, sounds pretty great. Maybe this weekend you and I could try it?” Dean offers, smiling hopefully at you. You pointedly ignore Nora from accounting as she stares at the two of you, and give him a gentle smile, shaking your head. “Thank you for the offer, Mr Smith, but I’m busy with these reports.” You reply, his expression falling slightly and tugging at your heart. “Yeah, sure, I get it. I, uh, better get back to it.” Dean says brightly, masking his hurt at the rejection. “I’ll be in with the statistics on customer satisfaction in fifteen minutes, Sir.” You nod, pivoting in your seat and focusing on the documents in front of you. Dean hesitates a moment more before retreating into his office.

“Y/N!” Nora exclaims the instant he’s out of sight. “I cannot believe you, turning down that man again!” She sighs, shaking her head at you in disappointment. “You can’t tell me he’s not attractive, and he’s such a sweetheart towards you! What on Earth is wrong with you?” Nora demands to know. You pinch the bridge of your nose and swivel in your chair to face her. “Yes, Mr Smith is attractive and very kind, but he is also my boss, Nora, and I’ve worked too hard to lose it all now over a man, no matter how much I fancy him.” You say shortly. Nora is gaping slightly and you frown. “If that’s all, I have work to do.” You dismiss her, going back to the report you’d been reading. What you don’t notice is Dean Smith in the doorway, flushed in pleasant surprise with Nora staring at him wide-eyed.

A prompt fifteen minutes later, you walk into Dean’s office, neatly organized reports tucked under your arm. “Mr Smith?” Dean looks up at you, smiling softly. “Those the reports? Thanks, Y/N,” he says as you nod and take a seat, “but it’s Dean.” He adds. You smile wryly, but don’t correct yourself, Dean smirking slightly as he shakes his head. “I’ll start in chronological order from the oldest to the most recent.” You say, opening the first report. “Wait, Y/N, I wanted to ask you something first.” Dean halts you. You look at him quizzically. “I may have... overheard your conversation with Nora.” He admits. Embarrassment courses through you. “I’m so sorry, that was highly unprofessional of me-” “Y/N, you’re not in trouble.” Dean chuckles. “I think it’s fairly obvious that I like you, and I have for some time now. Obvious to everyone including Jo, who threatened to ask you on a date for me if I didn’t do it myself.” He shrugs. You fidget with your wrist-watch, eyes darting away from the warm jade pair fixated on you. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, and if you’re really not ok with me flirting with you, I’ll stop, but I just want to know something.” Dean says, taking a breath. “If you didn’t work for me, would I have a chance? If I wasn’t your boss, and you still worked for Sandover, and I asked you out, would you say yes?” Dean questions. You furrow your brows, looking back at him. “I- I s’pose so, yes. You don’t make me uncomfortable, Dean, I just really can’t risk my career. I do like you.” You confess, looking away again. He grins at you. “What?” “You called me Dean. You always call me ‘Mr Smith’.” He says, still grinning stupidly at you. You balk, thoroughly flustered. “Well, I-” You cut off, unsure what to say. “Why are you asking me questions like this?” “Don’t worry about it. Go ahead with the reports, Y/N.” Dean smirks.

A week passes, and while Dean still flirts with you and is just as sweet and attentive as ever, the more obvious gestures are less. You do your best to pretend you haven’t noticed, nor missed, the lack of flowers waiting for you, or some strange object you laugh at but tuck away with a secret smile. Things seem to be normal- meetings, emails, reports, negotiations, business deals, quotas, and gossip, falling back into the routine you cultivated so meticulously. And then, like a stone tossed into a still pond, your life is disrupted, that constant swept away in the current, and none other than Dean Smith is to be held accountable for it.

You don’t bother to knock- you knew his schedule, and knew he wasn’t busy. The doors to his office are flung open, and closed just as dramatically while you storm into the room. He has the audacity to look amused, but you’re glaring at him. “What did you do?!” You demand. “What d’you mean, sweetheart?” He asks innocently, but you’re not buying it. “The company’s big-wigs called me into a meeting, Dean. They offered me a job as project manager for the contracting division, huge bonus off the bat.” “That’s amazing, Y/N!” He grins. “Cut the rabbiting, Dean! What did you do? Why? Was I doing something wrong?” You ask, tone significantly quieter. His expression changes, a frown forming. Dean quickly rounds his desk, taking your hands in his. “No, Y/N, c’mon, you’re the best there is. They were looking for someone to fill the position. All I did was recommend you, you got the job on your own.” He assures. “What?” “Yeah, I mean, I’ve told you before, you know the numbers better than me, and you’re one hell of a negotiator despite not being a lawyer.” He shrugs. “Oh.” You say, the anger draining out of you instantly. Dean laughs slightly. “Before you ask, I didn’t give them your name just because I fancy you either. You earned this job, and you’re a smart woman, Y/N, too smart to be an assistant your entire life.” Dean says with a fond smile. You nod your head, taking it all in, a wide smile growing. “But you do fancy me.” You state teasingly. He laughs. “I don’t buy flowers for just anybody, y’know.” He winks. “Well then, Dean Smith, I think there’s celebrating to be had, and I happen to know this restaurant on fifth street. Care to join me, this Friday perhaps?” You offer boldly. Dean’s brows shoot up in surprise. “You’re serious?” “Yes.” “Hell yeah. I’ll pick you up at seven?” “Perfect.” You beam. Before you can walk away, Dean tugs you towards him, leaning in slowly. You meet him halfway, grinning uncontrollably against his soft lips. “It’s a date.”

TAGS-

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@justagirlinafandomworld

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@herfalsegod

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #dean smith #x reader

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saber-wing · 4 years

Text

My Soul To Take

Also available on AO3:

If Steve Rogers had any less self-control, he’d put his fist through the wall.

He mustered up every scrap of patience he could manage, reminding himself, for the dozenth time that day, that punching out his boyfriend and fellow co-leader would be frowned upon, unprofessional, and not at all tempting.

“Cap. Capitan. My Lord Capsicle.” Tony leaned on Steve’s shoulder. “You are really killing my buzz.”

Steve snarled. “Has anything ever shut you up, a day in your life?”

Tony grinned, but it wasn’t a nice smile. All gleaming eyes and sharp angles. He sidled closer to Steve, whispering in his ear. “Why? You wanna be my first?”

Steve wanted to punch that smirk right off his face.

Or kiss him senseless. Whichever came first.

“No?” Tony shrugged, pushing off the floor with his foot, and spinning a circle in his swivel chair. “Suit yourself.”

Nick Fury tapped his fingers impatiently on the table a few feet away, clearing his throat. It was just the three of them at the conference table. “Are you two finished?”

Tony continued his circuit around the room, chewing on the tip of a pen. “Ask Captain Perfect. He’s the real authority around here.”

“Somebody has to be. What were you thinking?”

Tony did another lap, pushing off Steve’s leg for momentum. “I was thinking that woman was going to die. Or didn’t you see the falling skyscraper headed her way? Maybe she could have come out on top, but – call me crazy – I didn’t like her chances.”

Steve gritted his teeth. “I had her. I could have gotten there in time. Which you’d know, if you’d been on coms.”

“Okay,” Tony scoffed, jabbing a finger at Steve. “First of all, you can’t reprimand me for putting myself in harm’s way. We’re Avengers. That’s stupid. Second, maybe I wouldn’t have muted my coms if you weren’t just using them to countermand my orders and yell at people. Third! No, fuck off, I’m not finished – third! You didn’t have her. I snatched her up with millimeters to spare and you were a mile away, so don’t give me that bullshit!” Tony shook his head, brown eyes full of bewilderment. “And I would have sworn you’d make the same call I did, until today. What is going on with you?”

Steve bit his lip. Remembered a red-and-gold blur, facing down that debris all alone. Enough debris to crush a man. Even one encased in a suit made of gold-titanium alloy.

He felt sick.

“Enough!” Fury banged his fist down on the table. “What am I paying you two idiots for?”

Steve blinked. “Respectfully, sir, you don’t pay us at all.”

“Figure of speech, Rogers,” Fury replied, heaving a long-suffering sigh. He muttered, almost to himself, “They don’t pay me enough to do this job.”

Tony spun around. Pushed off Steve’s knee. Spun around again.

Steve bit back a growl, cheeks flaming. “Stop that.”

“Make me,” Tony sing-songed back.

The stress of the day, combined with the added tension of trying to find a ‘new normal’, now that he and Tony were officially sharing each other’s beds, made something within Steve snap. He thrust his arm out, smacking Tony’s foot away. “Knock it off!”

To his dismay, Steve had stricken Tony with enough force to send the chair careening into the wall. There was an audible crack. He froze.

A flicker of trepidation set Steve’s stomach churning.

Just as he was getting genuinely nervous, his boyfriend put that internal crisis to rest. Tony gazed over at Steve, that unmovable grin still stretched across his face, though it looked tighter now. “Well, well. He likes it rough. Mr. America, I am shocked…and scandalized.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve demurred, feeling a pang of guilt. He still forgot his own strength when he was under a lot of stress. “I shouldn’t have…”

“Forget about it.” Tony shrugged. He pushed off the wall with his left foot, sliding back to sit beside Steve. The two of them had been sniping at each other for days, even before this. Between all the villains of the week, there hadn’t been time to sit down and talk about it.

Steve was willing to admit he hadn’t been making it easy. He’d been tense, borderline cold to Tony, particularly on the battlefield. And while the billionaire had clearly been angling for a reaction here, any reaction, Steve should have been above rising to the bait.

Steve sighed. He caught Tony’s eye, hoping he could convey with a look what he couldn’t manage with words. They’d been doing so well communicating before moving their relationship to the next level. It wasn’t Tony’s fault Steve was having trouble with the status quo.

As if to solidify his shame, Tony seemed to understand. He smiled gently. Blinked at Steve, with those big-brown eyes.

Steve loved him.

He didn’t dare speak the words yet.

He needed to find a way to compartmentalize this. To quantify the way he felt for Tony, without jeopardizing his command and everyone under it. He needed to find a way to lead. A way not to instinctively put Iron Man above everyone else. He didn’t want to think that was what could have happened today, but it was looking like a grim possibility.

Steve focused back on the conversation as Tony continued to regale the S.H.I.E.L.D. Director with tales of their latest misadventure. His lover’s voice came lilting and easy. For the rest of the briefing, he seemed his normal, animated self, though he remained oddly still.

That set Steve’s teeth on edge. If there was one thing he understood about Tony, it was that the man was in constant motion. Hands waving, feet tapping. Fingers toying with a cuff-link or clicking on a pen. Tony had to be doing something. He tended to get anxious otherwise.

Yet, now, he remained seated. Motionless.

Steve’s stomach clenched.

Tony wasn’t acting angry at Steve. He was close enough that he could reach out and touch him, if he wanted to, but…

Somehow, the three of them managed to get through the briefing without anyone being worse for wear. Fury did fix them both with a lingering glare, however, and in no uncertain terms told them to figure their shit out. “I couldn’t give a single fuck about your lover’s quarrels, so don’t you dare drag your miserable hides anywhere near my helicarrier until your goddamn heads are on straight.”

For one uncomfortable minute, things were silent after Fury left, neither of them looking at one another. Tony remained motionless. Steve still couldn’t see his hands, and that unsettled him more than he could say.

“Tony…”

“Don’t.” Tony shook his head. His smile was soft, forgiving, but there was something wrong with it. Something artificial that Steve wasn’t used to seeing directed at him.

“I really am sorry.” Steve looked him up and down. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine.” Tony fiddled with his phone display. Shot Steve a smirk. More authentic, this time. “I told you. Don’t worry about it.”

Steve winced. The ‘F’ word. Yikes.

He did have explaining to do.

“I know I’ve been…distant.” Steve stood up, threading their fingers together. Whatever his hubris, he didn’t want it to affect Tony. Or what they had together. “Let me make it up to you?”

When he moved to pull Tony to his feet, the billionaire tugged his hand away. He tried to make it look casual, but it was an immediate red flag. “You go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

That flicker of unease he’d felt earlier came back full force. Steve frowned.

“Are you sure you’re…”

Tony looked up at him, thin sheen of sweat coating his brow.

And Steve knew.

His stomach dropped clean through his feet.

“Didn’t you hear me? Go on, scram. I’ve got things to do that don’t involve you.” A note of desperation crept into Tony’s tone, one that Steve knew he was trying hard to force down. He hid his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you at home, okay?”

His right foot, conspicuously, hovered above the floor.

Steve stared.

“What, is there something on my face?” Tony quipped, though his voice was shakier now. His eyes flickered from Steve’s face to the floor. Likely, he knew the jig was up, but he still straightened his posture. Wiped his brow. “Here, you know what? Fine, you win. Let’s go.”

Tony stood up from the chair, still balanced on his left foot. He spun around, put his weight on his right…

…and crumpled.

Steve surged forward to catch him, speechless. Horrified.

Tony whimpered. He tried to hold it back. Steve could see his teeth dart out, biting his lip, but he didn’t quite manage.

Oh, God.

“It’s nothing. Let go of me.” Tony groused, pushed Steve away. He tried to take another step. This time he managed one before he fell, stumbling into the wall by the door. “Okay. Maybe not nothing.”

This reminded Steve of the asthmatic episodes he used to have. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath, each one more stuttering and useless than the last.

“Oh, God…” Tony muttered, on the edge of a moan. He was leaning up against the wall now, eyes clouded with pain. “Steve. Baby, look at me…”

Steve could feel his breathing speeding up. His vision blurred.

“It’s okay.” Tony reached for him: voice soft, words calming. “We’re okay. Let’s just…”

The tears were welling up now, slipping down Steve’s cheeks. This wasn’t the time. This wasn’t the time at all.

But he’d hurt Tony. Broken something. And for what, because Steve was a little frustrated? Because he couldn’t handle loving his best friend?

“I’m just gonna sit. Okay?” Tony slid down the wall, sweating, paler than sin. “You wanna sit?”

Steve knew he should move. He needed to scoop Tony up, and run him to medical. He needed to fix this.

But his stomach was cramping. His lungs were bursting. His breath was stuttering, coming faster and faster, tearing violently from his lips. Sweat broke out on his brow. It was too hot. It was hotter than sin in here…

He’d hurt Peggy once, too. Squeezed her arm. She’d laughed it off. Silenced his apologies with a finger to his lips.

One week later, the year was twenty-twelve, and she didn’t know his name.

“Steve!”

It cut through the haze — Tony’s voice. Shrill. Terrified. That didn’t make any sense, because his lover was strong. Strong like Peggy. Like Bucky, and his Commandos. It hadn’t saved them.

It wouldn’t save him.

Steve never got to keep the ones he loved.

A whimper punctuated by a series of curses, and suddenly, something was touching Steve’s ankle. He jolted.

Tony was there on the floor. He must have crawled his way over to Steve. He was grasping at one of the chairs they’d vacated, using the arms to lever himself up. He collapsed back into it, and Steve dropped to his knees. Cupped Tony’s face with both hands.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

“Shh…” Tony crooned, reaching up with fingers that shook. “I know you didn't mean it. You'd never hurt me on purpose.”

“Never,” Steve choked, holding him closer still. Tony leaned into him. Kissed his palm. “Never.”

Tony touched their foreheads together, all but fell into him. Steve took his weight easily. Slid both arms around his waist. His voice was thready, drawn with pain. “Wanna give me a lift? I hear their facilities are to die for.”

Steve choked on something he wasn’t quite sure should be a laugh or a sob.

“Okay, not my best work, I’ll admit. I’m wounded here, give me a break.” Tony tucked his head under Steve’s chin.

Steve scooped Tony into his arms. He kissed his forehead with shaking lips. Get it together, soldier. Keep it together.

Steve wiped angrily at the tears on his cheeks, hefting Tony with one arm. He was sure it was obvious he’d been crying, but his own comfort didn’t matter. He needed to get him help.

Tony, for his part, was quiet, peppering the silence with the occasional witty anecdote. Likely more for Steve’s benefit than anything else. Steve was careful not to jostle him unnecessarily, though there were a few whimpers Tony tried desperately to swallow. Each muffled noise broke his heart.

Steve got him to medical in record time and the nurses settled them in a private room, whisking Tony quickly away for x-rays and leaving Steve to collapse into a chair. He shot a quick message to Natasha, explaining the bulk of what happened, and promising to keep them apprised. Then, he dropped his head into his hands. There he sat, until the doctors returned.

This could never happen again. If Steve couldn’t find a way to contain his strength, under any kind of duress, he shouldn’t have it at all. He was better than that.

Tony deserved better.

They’d given Tony something for the pain. By the time they wheeled him back in, he was pleasantly soft and muzzy headed, the strain gone from his face. The doctor put up x-rays and showed them the break. Hairline fracture. All in all, nothing serious. Tony would have to wear a cast for six to eight weeks, after which, he’d be good as new.

They were discharged without much fuss. Tony remained oddly quiet when the Quin-jet came to pick them up, though narcotics usually made him drowsy, and he slept on and off most of the way through. The others gave them a wide berth, didn’t pry. Steve suspected Natasha was responsible for that, and he was more grateful than words could say. He didn’t want to face them yet. He didn’t have the strength.

Steve took Tony back to his bedroom. Removed his socks. Dressed him in his favorite pair of sweatpants. That hoodie he’d pilfered from Steve, the month before. Tony was half-awake. Tugged him down for lazy kisses every chance he got. And if the occasional tear escaped Steve’s eyes, well, he’d kissed those too.

“What’s up with you lately, hmm?” Tony was brave enough to ask, later, as Steve held him close. He reached up. Found Steve’s cheek, and held his hand there. The words didn’t slur, but they were soft around the edges. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the underside of Steve’s jaw. “What’re you afraid of?”

For one long moment, Steve was silent. Tony stayed where he was, stroking his cheek with a thumb.

Tears slipped unbidden down his cheeks. “How can I lead the Avengers, when all I care about is you?”

Tony seemed to understand. His thumb paused for a moment, before resuming its idle stroking. “You still wanna lead ‘em. Don’t you?”

Steve choked on a sob. He recognized those words. His words, spoken to Tony months before. He’d said them when they resolved to lead this team, together.

“I do.” Steve reached up to hold Tony’s hand, kept it pressed against his cheek.

“Then we’ll figure it out.”

Steve held Tony. He’d just given him another dose of meds, so it wouldn’t be long, now. He let Tony burrow closer, breath hot against Steve’s bare chest.

He loved him. He loved him.

Tony kissed his arm, sloppily, the only appendage he could reach.

This time, maybe that would be enough.

#stony #fanfiction #stony fanfiction #steve x tony #super husbands #whump #injury #anxiety attacks #hurt tony stark #hurt steve rogers #accidental injury #proceed with caution and be advised

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maraudererasmut · 5 years

Text

Black and White (Part IX)

(This is a long one! I'm sorry!)

Remus spent ten minutes in the washroom.

He didn’t want to spend ten minutes there, standing around by the sink, eying himself awkwardly in the mirror, nodding uncomfortably at the man who stood in the corner giving out mints. At first, Remus considered returning to the table, but then he pictured Sirius’ face, dark and cold, his glare as sharp as his cheekbones.

A few minutes in, Remus noticed the bathroom attendant— Is that what he was called? — eyeing him suspiciously. He gave the man a guilty smile and tried to save face.

“I’m uh… just waiting on some friends… they’re… uh… having a conversation at the table? A… A private one… I just…”

Remus cut himself off after he realized how little the other man cared about his predicament and how awkward his explanation sounded.

After ten minutes in the restroom, Remus eventually returned to the table, praying to whoever would listen that his friends' discussion was over; the last thing Remus needed was to walk in on them talking about him. When he arrived, Lily and James both offered genuine smiles. Sirius was staring intently at the menu, making a point of not glancing up as Remus sat down beside him.

“Remus! Hey… Sorry about that,” Lily began, before Remus shook his head in response.

“It’s no problem, really. Gave me a chance to… get some fresh air…” Remus didn’t know why he lied; perhaps he didn’t want his companions to know that he had spent the entire time staring at the mirror above the sinks.

Just as Remus lifted up the menu to begin looking at it— Lily was right, there were no prices! — a server came by to take their orders.

“Sir? What can I get you?”

“Oh…” Remus glanced down at the menu again, then back up at the server. “Can you… come back to me? At the end?”

“Of course, sir.”

Remus searched through the menu for the least expensive-sounding option as the rest of the party gave their orders. By the time the waiter circled back to Remus, he had settled on something.

“I’ll have the salad, please.”

“Very good, Sir. And for your main course?”

“Oh, uh… that… that was for my main course.”

The waiter cocked an eyebrow and Remus could feel the back of his neck burning.

“Sir, this is a prix fix menu. It’s all included. The appetizer, the main course, the dessert, all one price.”

Oh.

That explained why the menu didn't have any prices on it. It also posed a problem for Remus, who wanted to spend as little as possible at this exceedingly expensive establishment.

He glanced down at the menu again, feeling the eyes of his companions all settling on him, waiting for his response. Remus swallowed, trying to steady his nerves. He needed to keep his voice from shaking.

"Wh— what do you recommend?"

"The steak is our most popular dish. A very fine cut. Exceptional."

"O-okay… I'll have that."

"Very good, sir. How would you like your steak?"

Remus glanced over to Lily, hoping that she could help save him from embarrassment. He had never ordered steak at a restaurant; what was he supposed to tell the server? Lily smiled kindly at him, in that way she always seemed to smile. It was as if nothing about her could ever be unkind.

"It's usually best medium-rare," she said softly.

"Okay, uh… medium-rare then…"

The server nodded before leaving the table.

"Thanks," Remus mumbled under his breath, earning himself a gentle squeeze on the arm from Lily.

Conversation at the table picked up, and Remus noticed his nerves settle slightly as James and Lily chatted away. Lily began talking about art, a conversation that Remus could participate in, resulting in a vibrant debate about the merits of the hand-made and the decline of technique in the contemporary art world.

"I think that's the biggest flaw with performance art," Remus was saying as the sommelier filled his second glass of wine. "There's no skill involved. Sure, your idea can be strong, but there's a definite lack of artistic prowess, and it's a sincere pity. It really is detrimental to overall artistic growth in terms of sheer ability."

"You're wrong," Sirius said suddenly, speaking up for the first time since Remus arrived back at the table. Remus looked over to Sirius, expecting him to look upset. Instead, the gallerist had a smug grin on his face, his eyes sparkling with passion. "And if every artist thought like you, we would be stuck looking at the same thing in every gallery."

"Sirius," Lily said threateningly, before Remus cut her off.

"No, no, I want to hear this. Go on, Si— Mr. Black. I'd love to hear your explanation."

"Well," Sirius began, pausing to nod at the server who brought him a plate of food. "Performance art, readymade, the types of works that, as you say, don't require talent… those artists push the boundaries of what is defined as art. They move the contemporary world in a new direction, challenging the ideals of the time, bringing forth new concepts and making statements "

Remus smiled at Sirius, shaking his head.

"There's a time and a place, Mr. Black." He took a bite of his food and paused for a moment to savour the variety of flavours. Despite being a salad, it was so different than anything he had ever tried before; sweetness paired with bitter, the tang of citrus crossed with the bite from spiced pecans. He closed his eyes, relishing in the sheer sensation of eating.

"You were saying, Mister Lupin?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. This is delicious. Yes, a time and a place. At the time that Duchamp first introduced the concept of readymade, there was a genuine need for it in the art world. Nowadays, if somebody presented a urinal in an art gallery, they would be laughed at! What the contemporary art world needs these days is a return to craftsmanship. We need to go back to our roots, to explore techniques, to learn how to paint and draw and sculpt the way we used to."

"And what of Abromovic, who challenges what it means to be an artist?" Sirius asked, his grin growing wider, a hint of colour spreading across his cheeks.

"What about her?" Remus retorted, taking another bite and picking out the individual flavours of the dish.

"Well, Mr. Lupin, she changes the way we view art. Art is no longer something that is inaccessible to the lower class, the uneducated. Art is something that anyone can do, or be, or have, or create. Art is no longer reserved for the elite. People can no longer purchase art the same way they used to. I cannot own an Abromovic masterpiece. I can enjoy it and witness it, I can be a part of it, but it's not something that I can have and keep to myself behind closed doors. Art is no longer a commodity."

Remus nodded to the server who cleared his plate before giving Sirius a slightly skeptical look.

"You don't need to tell me about commodification of art and the inability to access it," Remus said with a grin. "If anything, I should be the one arguing for art accessibility for the lower class, not you."

Sirius' eyes flashed with something that Remus couldn't decipher, and for the briefest moment, the gallerist looked taken aback. Sirius' composure quickly resumed, however, covering up any sense of doubt, his lips twisted smugly.

"Well then, Mr. Lupin, my point shouldn't be lost on you."

"It's not," Remus said with a casual shrug, glancing over to James and Lily who were merely observers of the conversation rather than participants. "I understand what you mean. I just don't think people should become so wealthy on such minimal talent…"

Sirius didn't respond.

Remus noticed the silence that settled over the table and his smile faded. He sat up straight, fiddling with the corner of his napkin, realizing his error.

"I… I mean… like Abromovic. She's so wealthy and she… well… she hasn't produced anything… and galleries keep bringing her in and, well, she… uh…"

Two servers arrived at their table, placing a plate in front of each person, and Remus had never been more grateful for a distraction.

"Ah! Wonderful!" James exclaimed, drawing the table's attention to himself. He smiled across at Remus, as if to say that all was well, but Remus could tell that something was off with Sirius. The artist glanced over to his right, where the gallerist was digging into his dinner.

With a shrug, Remus focused his attention on his steak, and the moment he took a bite, all of his worries faded away.

Remus had never tasted meat like this before. It was soft and tender, dripping with juices and a punch of flavour. His knife slid through the meat so easily, so effortlessly, revealing a perfectly pink interior. This was the most delicious meal Remus had ever eaten in his entire life.

No wonder rich people are always so happy. I'd be happy too, if I could eat this whenever I wanted.

Remus knew he'd never be able to properly enjoy a steak again, it would always be compared to the perfect dish before him.

"So Remus," Lily began, once their plates were beginning to empty. "If you don't like Abromovic or Koons, which artists do you like?"

Remus grinned at his friend as he set his fork and knife down.

"And I'm assuming I can't just say myself?"

Lily and James both laughed at his joke, but Sirius' face twisted into a scowl.

"A little proud of yourself, are we?"

Remus' gaze returned to Sirius, trying to read the man; he couldn't tell if his joke was lost on Sirius or if the man simply lacked a sense of humour.

"I mean, I didn't name a gallery after myself…"

Another pause. The table seemed to hold its collective breath as Remus' taunt landed.

Sirius' lips parted in a grin, and he let out a sharp laugh. Remus felt his body release the tension he didn't realize the was holding, his shoulders relaxing and a breath escaping his lungs.

Thank god.

Sirius laughing meant that Remus didn't put the rest of his life at risk. He was, however, beginning to despise the minefield that was this dinner, waiting for his next slip up, waiting for his world to explode.

"That's funny, Mr. Lupin." Sirius said, after a good chuckle. "Very funny. Especially considering the fact that up until very recently, it was your desire to show in that gallery."

Shit.

"Oh shush," James butted in, before anyone else could say anything. "Learn to take a joke, Sirius. Don't be so—"

"Don't say it, James!" Lily warned, barely containing her grin.

"I was merely playing along!" Sirius teased, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol and laughter, his eyes sparkling with mirth. His gaze flickered toward Remus, and the artist felt his heart skip a beat. Sirius was a very handsome man, and laughter looked particularly good on him. He was attractive no matter what he did, any way that he held himself. When he smiled, though…

Remus quickly looked away, directing his attention to the remnants on his plate. When Sirius smiled, his eyes lit up, as blinding as the sun kissing the sky on a perfect winter day. They were the very shade of snow beneath a tree, the lightest of blues, perfectly undisturbed. Sirius' cheeks bore the morning blush of a sunrise, the colour of the sky just as it threatened to turn blue. Next to the creamy glow of his face, it took on an almost ethereal quality.

Remus loved the colours of Sirius.

And he hated how much he loved it.

"Any coffee with your dessert, sir?"

Remus thought his heart might have exploded with the shock of being wrenched from his thoughts. He looked up at the server with a look of panic, having completely forgotten where he was.

"Um… no, no thank you. I'm fine," he mumbled, tearing his eyes from the server and keeping them focused on the chocolate torte that had been placed in front of him.

Thank god.

Nothing could redirect Remus' imagination quite like chocolate, and he was thoroughly grateful for the distraction.

Dessert passed with minimal conversation as everyone savoured their delicacies. As discussion resumed, it veered away from art, and Remus found himself listening more than talking. Eventually, the server came by the table, and Remus realized that his perfect meal and fantasy evening was about to come to an abrupt and painful close.

"Will there be anything else you need?"

"No, just the bill, please," James said politely.

"Together or separate?"

"Together."

Together?

Remus opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it; he waited for the server to leave before he rounded on James.

"You really don't have to do that, James. Honestly, I can't let you—"

"Nonsense!" James said with an enthusiastic flap of his hand. "Of course I'm paying! This dinner is my treat!"

"But it really—"

"Remus, I invited you to join us! It's my pleasure!"

Remus knew he should be happy, he should feel relieved; his whole night had been laced with anxiety as he thought about the ludicrous cheque that was waiting for him. Instead, Remus felt guilty. He felt like he was in debt to James, like he owed the man. There was no way he could accept a gift this generous without repaying the favour.

"You don't have to," Remus mumbled, feeling the weight of his words press down on his shoulders. He was damned either way, but at least if he paid for his meal, he wouldn't be indebted to anyone.

"I know," James said, his smile never faltering. "I don't have to do anything. I want to. Now, back to the real matter at hand…" James turned to Sirius. He was clearly finished with the discussion about the bill, and Remus knew better than to push.

"Yes, James?" Sirius said, quirking a brow playfully.

"Now that you've had a proper opportunity to get to know Remus, have you come to any important decisions?"

Remus' heart was suddenly in his throat, beating more rapidly than he thought possible. How could he have forgotten about Sirius' decision to have him in the gallery?

"As a matter of fact," Sirius purred, his smile crooked and sly. He turned to Remus, his chin tilted slightly upwards, a flash of pearly white teeth enclosed between tender lips that Remus wanted to forget about. "I have."

Remus' grip tightened on his napkin and he sank into his chair as the silence and anticipation steadily grew worse.

"Well?!" James was on the edge of his seat, clearly not a patient man. Lily had her hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him at bay.

"Remus, I require no less than five pieces in order to begin displaying your work. I would like to have them by our next show, which will be towards the beginning of November. Do you think you can accomplish that for me?"

Remus was at a loss for words. He nodded fervently, unable to get his voice out.

"Good. I'll have my lawyers work up a contract. You can come by the gallery on Monday to sign it and discuss details."

Remus couldn't believe what was happening. He pinched himself on his forearm, trying to ensure that this was not some kind of vivid dream. As a jolt of pain shot through his arm, a smile spread across his face.

As far as he could tell, it was all real...

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robbyrobinson · 4 years

Text

Family Diner

(Alternate reality take on the series that may or may not have some invoking of the Old Gods.)

Working for Fazbear Entertainment was a thankless endeavor. A franchise dedicated to making the most in terms of children's entertainment. I remember when the establishment was struggling and was practically dead on arrival. I was assigned to work for a branch of the company called Fredbear's Family Diner, a family-oriented establishment. Business was down in comparison to their rivals and reviews further sunk the chances of parents taking their rowdy children to any of their branches.

But what kept it afloat was two men: Henry and one William Afton. Afton came off as being a crude replication of a man. He was of a sickly thin stature with his purple business suit barely clinging onto his body. His eyes were sunken in and possessed a yellow hue. When I somehow got wrapped up in his business, he shook my hand. He had the most skeletal, papery skin around his fingers. He smiled at me, but his smile was disconcerting as well. It was artificially made like a mask and seemingly rubbery in texture. His low husky voice did little to match up with his lips' movement.

"It is a pleasure to see that you have decided to join our goal."

I mustered up as much of a smile that I could, but I could not deny that I felt intimidated already. At least his business partner was more affable. He was leagues above Mr. Afton in terms of physical appearance. He had a healthy skin color, a peachy one, and a brown beard. He was already thinning on the top of his head that he often hid away with a top hat. He wore a blue business uniform and was more on the plump side of the spectrum then Afton could attest to.

"We are somewhat falling short of quality, I admit to that," Henry confesses, "but I will give it my best to make sure you do not regret working for us."

Henry showed me the ropes of the establishment while Afton tended to seclude himself in his room for the remainder of the day. Sometimes he would disappear in the middle of conversing with me, Henry, or any of his employees. Each time, he trudged to his office and slammed the door loudly as if not wanting anyone to become aware of what he was doing in secret. Sometimes I managed to catch a glimpse of some glowing, luminescent orbs floating without direction in his office before he slammed the door shut.

Before long, Henry introduced me to early iterations of the franchise's animatronics. Fredbear and Spring Bonnie to be exact. Long before the likes of Freddy Fazbear, Chica, Bonnie, and Foxy the Pirate, there were two animatronics. These animatronics were oddly high-tech for their time with the Spring Bonnie animatronic in particular also doubling as a suit. Despite them being technological marvels, they lacked a certain flair. They were devoid of personality or charm. Children were less likely to fawn over them as frankly they came off as being creepy robots. Naturally, they were, but some children could at least look past that issue and accept them as their friends. Henry noticed me looking at the two animatronics one early morning, understanding what I was thinking without me having to tell him.

"I know it isn't much, but kids will love them if you are willing to give them a chance."

A ludicrous proposal, but I did try to become more invested with the animatronics. But their hollow eyes and endoskeletons clouded any good feelings I may have had for the robots. I did feel somewhat bad for Henry, but I would not lie to myself that there was inherently nothing appealing about Fredbear or Spring Bonnie. The franchise was now verging on full scale closure and if it did not shape up, the business would be shut down and the employees would be without a job. Henry and Afton had to do something. Fast.

But my god if it did not come with a cost.

Time passed and at the beginning of the month, a child went missing. The authorities were notified of the disappearance and during our regular scheduling, they stormed the diner and went to speak with the owners. Henry was charitable as always and spoke calmly with the police. According to their discussion, it was an 8-year-old, porky boy who disappeared during the open hours of the establishment being seen with Spring Bonnie. I stood by listening to the conversation. At the corner of my eye, I caught Afton edging further away from the authorities and this time opening a door to the backroom of the diner and slamming it behind him.

An utter nightmare of a day that was, but I made the most of it and headed home only to return the next day. I had quite the shock; Spring Bonnie and Fredbear appeared livelier and more active. They had a glint in their eyes that sparkled. I would even swear that I saw them blink a few times. Henry approached me, with a full smile on his face. "Told you it would be a matter of time, but the kids now can't have enough of the two!"

I smiled back. Well, I could not deny it: whatever happened proved to be beneficial for the diner. However, Mr. Afton noticeably stayed longer in his office hardly ever leaving to discuss any recent developments with any of our staff. The few times he had temporarily left his office, I noticed that his skin became progressively paler almost matching his business suit's coloration. He was becoming more of a walking corpse each passing day then when I first became employed at the diner. But I did initially shake that observation out of my mind instead attributing that to disease. Mr. Afton was a sickly man, after all. It maybe could be easily explained away that he was most likely suffering some type of illness, perhaps of a hereditary variety.

Business was booming at a greater rate than ever before. Birthday parties were being held at the diner. Reservations were filled. Everything was going well. At least until one day that is. On one of our less busy days, Henry took me to the side. He was sterner and more serious than usual. "What is it sir?" I asked in genuine curiosity. I almost sensed the dread in his voice. Was it that I was going to be laid off now? I have been representing the establishment for about two months now.

"My son is coming to have a birthday party tomorrow."

"Oh, a birthday party for your son?" Henry did often mention in passing to having a daughter. This was probably the first time I have heard him having a son. But it made sense with what he said next.

"My boy…is greatly terrified of the animatronics. It is a rather odd dilemma. He used to really love the animatronics at least until his older brother started to terrorize him by dressing up as one from one of our owned pizzeria chains. Humorously, he keeps his plush animals around. As you can probably tell, he is greatly important to me hence why I keep him under surveillance numerously. Sometimes at the diner. Sometimes at home by installing a tracking device inside of his stuffed Fredbear doll."

That was unsettling, but I could easily tell that he was fiercely devoted to his son. So, I listened tentatively to what he was saying. I was to keep watch over his son while his party was underway. Pretty simple I first thought. On that day, I sat to the side watching the young boy. He and his sister and mother sat far away to the near back of the diner away from the prying eyes of the animatronics. It pained me seeing a young child like that be so frightful of the two-animatronics stationed in the diner, but he slowly began to enjoy himself in other ways.

But with anything what started off as harmless fun devolved into urgency and mass hysteria. When the boy's mother slipped from her seat to go to the restroom, the boy's brother arrived at the diner wearing a Foxy mask along with his hooligan friends. The boy's fears started to kick in with his breathing becoming more frantic. I called out to the boys demanding that they cease their behavior, but I was met with only the mocking laughing of the boy's brother and friends. They scooped the crying child into their grubby hands and walked in the direction of Fredbear. The boy's screaming rung through the diner. I nearly could not listen to it with it being that pained and frantic.

"Why not give Fredbear a big kiss?" the brother asked.

Despite his younger brother's protests, the brother placed his head into Fredbear's open maw. Fredbear's maw moved in an up and down fashion, sluggishly moving. They all laughed at the boy's utter humiliation and fear.

Crunch.

The laughter stopped as quickly as it began. The boy suddenly became limp and lifeless. Blood trickling down Fredbear's furry cheeks. Upon closer inspection, the force exerted by the animatronics' jaws caved in the boy's skull. Blood was everywhere. I never heard so fierce a scream ever and I hope to whatever ethereal being that was out there in the cosmos that I never would again.

I scrambled to get to the diner's work phone and dialed 911. "Yes, we have an emergency on our hands. Our address?"

Henry was in an obviously distraught mood with the whole thing. He was greatly devastated by the freak accident. He reacted harshly to his older son dismissive of him trying to apologize. Even when he was being taken away to be interrogated. He was a broken man in all but his sanity. Mr. Afton was in his office again, per usual, but he left it upon hearing all the commotion. He approached Henry with curiosity. When he was given the rundown on what happened, Mr. Afton tapped his shoulders. His skin was becoming purple, as if it were decomposing. His eyes were stretched wide.

"Do not worry, old friend, we will put him back together."

The hell kind of ominous statement was that? Henry looked Mr. Afton over suspiciously and alarmed at what he was saying. Without needing to say anything more, Henry pried his hand off his shoulder. Afton shrugged his shoulders and headed towards the backroom to resume whatever he was doing. The diner shut down for a good week or so until the disappearances resumed.

Everything was picking up for the diner. Much of that had to go with how well-received Spring Bonnie and Fredbear were. As I have said, they were once devoid of much expression and personality, but through whatever means, business was flourishing. At least until that incident involving Henry’s son. It felt like a fever dream with how rapid it was in its action. Since then, Henry acted more embittered. He kept up the image of being affable, but he nevertheless became colder to me and the staff. But Afton’s insistence that he would help put Henry’s son “back together” still lingered in my mind. His son was in critical care; how could Mr. Afton even begin to believe that he could put his friend’s son back together as if he were a broken vase.

But ever since that 8-year-old boy went missing, seemingly disappearing in thin air, more children around the diner began to fade into the shadows. A young girl with green eyes and blonde hair was last reported mourning her deceased puppy dog. Around that time, the Spring Bonnie animatronic was mysteriously missing. I remember Mr. Afton detailing the exact specific functions of the Spring Bonnie animatronic saying that it was specifically designed to be worn by an employee; he called it a springlock suit. The suit itself was called such because of its springs and wiring that could be…well, for lack of a better word, locked away. But he warned me that if any moisture got into it…he represented the situation by balling a scrap of paper between his hands. Accidentally touching the springs or breathing on them also proved to have deadly consequences. Why in good faith would Mr. Afton even think that it was a good idea? It was a lawsuit waiting to happen. Oy, this company.

But more bizarre than that was how Mr. Afton began to ramble odd remarks about…gods? If he were a religious man, that would be fine, but he would keep talking about odd anomalies and how at one time, they ruled over the world long before mankind took its first few baby steps. He spoke openly bout his dedication to the gods and how they were the ones behind the success of the franchise. His skin no longer resembled any recognizable skin tone. He became akin to a shriveled grape in the sun. His eyes were so sunken in now, all I could make most of was a thin shade of darkness where the whiteness in his eyes should have been. My staff members were most assuredly disturbed by Mr. Afton’s slow transformation, but he did sense it in the back of his mind. He now spent most of his time either alone in his office or in the backroom only emerging towards closing time. One day when I was about to punch out and call it a night, Mr. Afton took me by the side and smiled at me. Even his gums were purple.

“I do not know the time of day or the hour, but the gods will return to reclaim this world. I may be dead by that point, but I hope that you will survive to see their return. Yog-Sothoth will open the gates wide and the gods will terry the lands as they have done long before.”

Years later, I still saw Mr. Afton’s words as being the breaking point for me. Thinking back on it, Mr. Afton was never sane to begin with. He was blessed with the technological know-how, but he had odd manners about himself almost as if he were stark mad. He became obsessed with the aspect of opening the Gate to usher the gods of old back into our plane of existence. Once they arrived, the powers within this planet would be reverted to them, and Yog-Sothoth would drag this rock into the void between worlds where he rules. Outside of time and space itself; outside of the organized world into realms of madness and disorder. Into a realm of decaying, dead planets and faceless gods.

Within the first week of the month, four more children vanished under mysterious circumstances. With every single instance, the Spring Bonnie suit was absent, suspicions falling on the employees that they were deliberately spiriting the animatronic suit away to use it for nefarious purposes. As the weeks went by, adults lost hope of the original missing children ever being found. An employee was charged for the murders and was sentenced to be executed. Word spread that he was being set up but by whom none could tell or let alone agree.

Another month passed with the adults and parents giving up on the missing children and accepting that the employee who was accused of the crime was the best they could attain to closure. Spring Bonnie and Fredbear continued to rake in patrons sometimes getting booked for personal reservations. With more money in their pockets, so to speak, more animatronics were gradually introduced to other locations but also fell under the same dilemma resonating with the diner formerly: the animatronics were lifeless. Granted, they were robots so that could be kind of the point. But lifeless in that they were not entertaining. Henry at that time did not take much concern about the other locations due to mourning the loss of his son. That responsibility squarely fell under Mr. Afton. Whenever he left his office, he wore a trench coat to hide his body coloration. He would tend to be gone for days at a time, but once he was done visiting, the animatronics also took on a life of their own and were on the receiving end of a warm reception. The Spring Bonnie suit also followed Afton throughout the different locations.

Henry and I grew closer to each other due to Afton’s abrupt leaves. He entrusted me with spieling out his frustrations and sorrows and appreciated me as a confidant. I would give my concerns about how Mr. Afton conducted his business and placed it at his feet. Each time, Henry felt the need to explain his co-owner’s oddness away in the most trivial of ways. Afton’s devotion to the gods of old became increasingly problematic and impeded on his side of the business scheme. Yet he kept insisting that the gates will be opened. Sometimes he looked at me almost as if hoping that I would be the one to open the gates.

Henry’s older son was still away somewhere in a juvenile correctional facility. His surviving daughter was named Charlotte. I had seen her about once or twice. She was the near image of childhood innocence. She treated other kids respectably and was always there to lift their spirits or be the one who would offer their shoulder to lean on. Charlotte was Henry’s pride and joy. Which was why I found what happened to her leagues worse than what befell his son.

Business began as usual with me taking orders and keeping watch on Fredbear. Without warning, Henry erupted from his office frantically causing the documents in his hands to fall onto the floor in a heap. I tried to intervene and ask him what had happened, but all he could reply was “Charlie, my daughter…”

Charlie was found dead at one of the pizzerias. From whatever explanation that was readily available, forensics speculated that she was sick from a stomachache and for whatever reason opted to run out of the pizzeria. By the time that happened, an assailant attacked her leaving her in a pool of her own blood. It was raining heavily at the time and some of the blood was already disappearing from the scene. When some of the employees noticed that Charlie was absent from an arranged party, to their shock, they found their surveillance animatronic, nicknamed “The Puppet” by the side of the deceased girl. From their research, they found a green bracelet on the corpse’s wrist that was meant to be a signal for the Puppet to indicate that one of the children were not in the pizzeria. Strangely enough, Charlie’s blood trickled into a puddle with the rainwater and it met up with the animatronic. The Puppet was returned to the backroom under the shared fear that it had malfunctioned. Purple streaks were underneath the Puppet’s eyes. As if it too were weeping.

Henry’s controlling over the situation worsened. He could not think rationally nor critically. His demeanor changed ultimately with him being dismissive with me and the other employees. He could no longer be trusted with dealing with the diner’s finances. Even just thinking about it was enough to push him into one of his winded tangents about the unfairness of life. Mr. Afton remained behind locked doors during Henry’s mindless dribbles, but he had what I at best could call a demented sense of intrigue at what happened to Charlie. Instead of consoling Henry over his loss, Mr. Afton instead asked questions about the murder and continued to speak on his occultic obsession. It was incredibly distasteful, but I could sense that Afton did at least have a small iota of sympathy for his co-owner’s plight. Maybe to the furthest extent I could give him some leniency was perhaps he was not as monstrous as I imagined him to be. He leaned into Henry’s ear and whispered something. I had not the faintest idea what he could have possibly been saying, but Henry’s eyes lit up. It must have been something about Charlie because his color returned to his skin and the glint returned.

“Just follow me,” Afton said.

Without speaking another word, Henry followed his old friend. They walked past his office which was lit again with the light of those glowing orbs. I quietly followed the two men whilst they were none the wiser, and I stopped when they approached the double doors of the backroom. I darted around the corner and remained there until I heard the doors slam shut.

They were gone for a deafly long time. I had waited for at least two minutes for either two to come out, but it was a fruitless decision. I returned to my station and took more orders. When I got finished with that, my eyes floated over to Spring Bonnie and Fredbear again. They still looked lively as usual. While it came off as less of a surprise, I did notice a few quirks that the animatronics had. They were singing their typical substandard tunes that the children ate up, but the adults reviled as earworms.

An hour passed when the two men were gone, but I heard the doors open again. A floored Henry emerged from the backroom the color in his skin tone diminishing. He was white as a ghost. He rubbed his eyes in a maddened haze when the smallest light entered them and became near intelligible from whatever Mr. Afton had shown him. He stammered slurred words and grasped his head between his hands. “Souls…remnant…blackness.”

I ran towards him out of concern. Whatever he had seen had made him into such a psychological mess he barely had any memory of me and his surroundings. He was speaking what amount to anti-intellectual dribble.

“A mist of darkness swirling and writhing in every which direction. Ropes of tentacles made of ink on top of a drove of primeval legs each innumerable and infinite. Some being that is centuries old undoubtably older than our known universe. Mouths on every orifice of the creature’s abominable form. Rows upon rows of mouths with hideous monstrosities leaping out of the open maws in a maddening frenzy scurrying away from their ‘mother” in fear of getting devoured. Green slime raining down from the open maws, And oh my god, that goat head….”

Mr. Afton clasped Henry’s shoulder. “You have beheld our source of revenue. One of those elder gods who I have summoned to Earth. I serve her with every fiber of my being. Do you not see that without her we would be no better than the worms beneath our feet?”

Henry swatted his hand away, “I…need some time to myself.”

Mr. Afton frowned, but with what little remained of his lips it came off as artificially contrived. “Take all the time you need, old friend. The time is on the essence.”

He turned away from the madman and momentarily looked at me. I was going to respond, but he immediately turned again and exited through the front door. The time he dedicated to himself evolved into minutes, to hours. To days. To months and finally a whole year.

He never returned to the diner.

With Henry's departure, business began to plummet. Without his hand over management of the finances, Fredbear's floundered in reviews with not even the liveliness of Fredbear and Spring Bonnie doing much to turn heads. Henry never went to any of the branches in Fazbear Entertainment. The last I have heard about him; he was still ranting wildly about whatever Mr. Afton had in the backroom. None knew what was behind there for Mr. Afton made even staring at the double doors prohibited. In the backroom of the diner, there came rustling and chillingly low growls. They resembled no such animal on this Earth. They were the sound of freight trains all going in the same direction and forming a massive collision.

Everywhere that Mr. Afton went came the utmost disturbing of news of children going missing in the different sections of the franchise. The Spring Bonnie suit was permanently retired due to Mr. Afton's insistence of using it for personal projects. Mr. Afton no longer resembled a human but an emaciated skeleton whose very bones were a darker shade of purple still. The very fact that he was still able to move around despite there being little fat on his body was a miracle. Or should I call it a curse?

At Freddy Fazbear's Pizza for instance, there was a case of five missing children consisting of three boys and two girls. It was another one of those booked reservations for a birthday party that was being thrown late in the afternoon. Witnesses claim that they were seen going into the backroom being led away from the other screaming children and bustling parents by one of the golden animatronics. What happened next was sketchy: they just…faded away seemingly in thin air. No bodies were ever found. No one noticed that the kids were missing until about four hours later. Mr. Afton was there – wearing his trench coat yet again – looking suspicious as always. He aided the search party anyway he could even placate younger children by voluntarily giving them tickets so they could play in the arcade or giving them pizza slices free of charge. There was never so much protesting from moral guardians before in the history of Fazbear Entertainment and there never would be again. Parents held other parents as being to blame for the Missing Children Incident if it benefitted them regardless of their allegations being factually sound or not. The grand witch hunt led to the families incriminating a security guard as being the guilty party. They ignored his attempts at trying to reason with them and was arrested. Mr. Afton stood by and with what little remained of his mouth, he made a short whistle.

As there were no bodies found at the scene of the crime, the security guard was found guilty of the five children's disappearances and sentenced to five life sentences. To this day, he still insists that not only was he innocent of all charges, but due to the prejudices that were thrown his way, the moral guardians failed to catch the real killer when they had the chance.

Sometime after the whole ordeal, something peculiar befell the animatronics. They began to reek afoul some attributing the scent to unveiling of an ancient crypt. Blood and mucus secreted through the eyes, nose, and mouths of the animatronics. Due to the mass disappearances of children at the pizzerias, surveillance technology was added to the animatronics, here called "Toy Animatronics." They were supposed to be linked to a criminal interface and were "revamped" versions of the original four of Freddy, Foxy, Chica, and Bonnie. There were also the additions of that wretched Balloon Boy and the upper executives remodeled the Puppet they had from the other pizzeria perhaps convinced they could revamp it as well. But they warned that one had to continually wind its music box to keep it at bay. I do not know what it would entail if someone neglected to do so, but I assume whatever is the result, it is not pretty.

Fredbear's Family Diner's days eventually came to a slow, excruciating end. There were massive layoffs and Fredbear was decommissioned and sent to be hollowed out for scrap metal. I could have sworn that I saw Fredbear's eyes move about in a frantic pace and his movements stiffened. It was disheartening to watch. Mr. Afton remained in his office for a long duration of time not interacting with any of his staff or employees. I was the last one left and as I gathered my things, Mr. Afton called out to me again.

"Do you mind staying a little longer?"

"Yes sir, what do you expect from me?" I responded.

"I'm sure you are dying to know what was behind these backdoors," Mr. Afton explained, "since your services are no longer needed here, I feel that now is the appropriate time to reveal my inspiration."

I shrugged my arms. Mr. Afton was becoming more unnerving by the second, but since I had nothing at the time to lose, I decided to humor him this one time. After all, I may as well not be expecting to see him again. He held out a bony finger and flicked it. "Just follow me."

I followed the deranged man like he asked of me and we both disappeared behind the back. I have seen just about everything this franchise had to offer, but I could not mentally prepare myself for what I was about to see.

We made it to the double doors and Mr. Afton held the knob sternly in his hand, fondling it even. "Behold my muse."

He…opened the door. It was like what Henry had mentioned. There in the back was a large creature of indiscernible design. The creature was of a larger scope that my brain began to short circuit from my desperation at trying to comprehend what I was seeing. A swirling mist of darkness and tentacles all on top of goat legs. Smaller creatures leapt out of the maws of the monster and acted abrasively towards each other. A dark paste-like subject was leaking from underneath the dark being that was being gathered through an irrigation system. Tubes and wires led towards a vault where the dark matter was pumped.

"What? What is all this?"

Mr. Afton smiled again. "As you can see, I have been in quite the desperate debacle with trying to keep revenue flowing to the diner. After trying the more legal means of doing so, I became desperate. Henry and I were. So, I did further research and ultimately, I found the answer to my dilemmas. Shub-Niggurath."

Green slime dripped from the many mouths of the Black Goat of the Woods. A hideous creature with even more abominable offspring, Shub-Niggurath a fertility goddess of sorts that was worshiped by many cults. But why…why is Shub-Niggurath in our diner rather than anywhere else? But what caught my eyes was the dark substance being collected into large vaults.

"That my dear boy," Mr. Afton said in a sing-song tune, "is what I call remnant."

Remnant I thought. It was an odd term for whatever…this was. My mind was still trying to wrap around as to why Mr. Afton summoned an Outer God to our plane of existence. "That is what I had been injecting into the animatronics to give them life," he explained.

"How did you do that?" I asked though I plainly did not wish to know. As I finished my thought, I saw something to the side of the room in a small heap. I ran over to it to get a closer look. My mouth was agape with horror. It was clothes of varying sizes discarded with nonchalance. My mind began to comprehend what it all meant, but Mr. Afton gave me the answer anyway.

"It is simple, my boy; children are sacrificed to satiate my goddess' hunger and once that is done, I pillage through the remains of secretion and from there, I harvest remnant. Remnant at its simplest and purest of form are condensed souls of the children."

I wanted to vomit in repulsion, but none came out. What a despicable endeavor. But it explained why Spring Bonnie and Fredbear felt so alive. They were with the melted down souls of any unfortunate child that was lured away and sacrificed. I believe that they were in deep pain and writhing with every wave of pain. My heart went out to those children lost.

"You psycho, how could you kill all these children!?"

Mr. Afton laughed. "They are not truly gone; they live on in various forms some within Shub-Niggurath herself or as the animatronics they love. I am sure you had some favorite character once, correct? Well, I am also positive that you wanted to be them in some way?"

My hands shook. "What of Charlie? Was she also apart of your sick experiments?"

"That one I admit had no real purpose behind it," Mr. Afton confessed, "it was more a happy accident."

He crossed his arms. "If my foolish friend allowed me, I would have put his precious boy back together again. You know that I have the means and resources to do so. Ah, such a tragedy that was."

I had enough of Mr. Afton's callousness I went to turn around, but he grabbed my arm. "Wait, please hear me out before you do anything rash."

"I am done listening to you."

"My time is not promised," Mr. Afton said bluntly, "I have tried to use remnant to make myself immortal, but it had bleached my skin and is poisoning my bloodstream. Please devote the rest of your days to serving my goddess."

I grabbed his hand with my other hand and pried him off. "You have tampered with something unearthly and grave. You can go sleep with the worms for all I care."

Mr. Afton sighed. "Then we have no other reason to speak. I hate it very much."

He made another grab for me and caught me by the collar. There I was being dragged towards one of the many maws of the Black Goat of the Woods. Mr. Afton muttered something beneath his breath maybe some slurred praise to the Outer God. With her acidic breath coming ever closer, I had to think fast. I leaned forward and bit down on Mr. Afton's wrist. He hissed in pain and covered his hand with his other to ease the pain. I scurried to get back up and I punched him squarely in the face. He fell to the ground with a thud. Before he could say anymore, one of Shub-Niggurath's tentacles darted out and grabbed his leg.

"My goddess, wait, do not do this to your faithful servant!"

Mr. Afton was being dragged into the goddess' open mouth and her young took interest in what was happening and came down on Mr. Afton clawing and scratching his face. I was frozen in fear but if I did not leave, Shub-Niggurath would direct her attention towards me. I ran as fast as my legs could take me down the hall ignoring Mr. Afton's screams asking for assistance. My legs were giving out quickly, but I fought for my life.

The foundations of the diner were crumbling from the rapid movement of Shub-Niggurath. By the time I escaped, the ceiling caved in and collapsed in on the walls. When the dust was settled, Fredbear's Family Diner was nothing more than a pile of rubble. Afton and his goddess were buried deep in the debris. I had survived, but at what cost for I was the only one aside from Henry who knew what Afton was really doing.

I tried going about living my daily life, but I am still bothered by Afton's horrific experiments and his attempts of trying to usher in beings potentially worse in their scale from what Shub-Niggurath could attest to. But whatever was out there in the cosmos, I was relieved that at least the apocalypse was averted. But for how long?

#five nights at freddy's #william afton #fnaf #fredbear #henry #scott cawthon #fazbear #fazbear entertainment #afton family #crying child

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seeroftodayandtomorrow · 5 years

Text

A Musical Affair

Chapter 2

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“You have to go,” Grandmama said after taking a critical look at the card. “Lady Rachel St. James isn't quite the thing, of course, but she is influential enough we can't afford to offend her.” She gave back the card, then added under her breath, “Or anyone, really.”

Blaine was glad. He had wanted to go; at the very least, Rachel hadn't seemed to judge him on anything else than his musical taste, and hadn't seemed too curious about him. Maybe it was just that she was really self-involved; if so, he should take care to surround himself with self-involved people.

Truth be told, he was lonely. He missed the company of his friends—if they could be called such, since none of them had written or called on him since he left school. But he missed other young people, or other people in general that were not his mother or grandmother. Maybe he should go back to school after all. Even if it was not Cambridge, but something more suited to his present lifestyle. He would make new friends, who had never known him as the son and heir of the Earl of Dalton. And after graduating, maybe he could become a barrister. It was a gentleman's position and would perhaps appease his mother, who had yet to come to terms with the fact that her son might actually have to make a living.

It wouldn't be so bad. Would it?

He'd be...one of many. He wouldn't be noticed. Beau Brummel had said that to be truly elegant, one must strive to go unnoticed. Well, Blaine would be as elegant as one could be.

Still, for this occasion, he chose a waistcoat that was a little more out there than what he usually wore, and felt a little more like himself as a consequence. His grandmother straightened his cravat as he was about to leave, giving him an appraising look.

“You never know who might be there,” she said with a wink, and he knew she meant eligible young ladies. He had no ambitions in that direction; his only goal, for now, was to enjoy himself and maybe make a few friends.

There were, actually, more than a few young ladies sitting in Lady St. James’s morning parlor, and the picture before him was as diverse as London itself. A young black lady was talking to the hostess, and another with similar facial features to his grandmother was sitting at the piano. He instantly felt at home; although his grandmother was in manners and habits as English as could be and Blaine had inherited little of her features, he had been made to feel he was different for his whole life.

He was given a few uneasy or curious looks after introductions had been made, but nothing out of the ordinary, although a blonde girl by name of Miss Pierce asked him at every given opportunity how he felt now he was not an earl anymore. At first it had been interesting to him since no one had ever taken his feelings into account in this whole affair, but after a while, it became unsettling.

Fortunately, the opportunities presented were not many, as the morning was mostly spent singing. Everyone had a good voice, some even equaling Rachel's, with the exception of maybe a quirky young person with the unconventional name of Sugar. He felt unkind thinking this, but at least, he did not seem alone in that opinion, even though Sugar herself seemed to hold her own talent in higher esteem than it deserved.

Sir Jesse St. James was not present, but a few other gentlemen were, and the duets sung often seemed to hold a similar air of expectation as they did in a more public setting. A few duets sung, like a few dances danced together, seemed to be courtship and promise, be it only for a day or so. It was, Blaine thought, something he did not wish to participate in, and for once was happy that, in this society as well as everywhere else, he did not count as eligible anymore. He varied his duet partners and sang more often with Lady Rachel than with anyone else, as she was already married. After a few times, however, Lady Rachel stopped him.

“My husband is the musically jealous sort,” she said, smiling. “I have to take care not to sing with another more often than I sing with him, or there will be trouble. He would be here today, were it not for business, but you will meet him another time.”

Blaine smiled as he imagined the reaction grandmama would have at the mention of “business”, but he was glad at the implied invitation. “Gladly,” he replied, and it wasn't a polite lie. He had heard a lot about Sir Jesse, and while there was no great scandal anywhere, he seemed an unconventional gentleman who did not give too much importance to societal rules.

After an hour or so, he took his leave, thinking it best not to overstay his welcome on his first visit. He received the hoped for invitation for next week, and as he was already taking his coat from the footman, the lady hurried after him.

“I almost forgot,” she said. “I need you to accompany me tomorrow evening, if you're not otherwise engaged. It will be the most delightful evening, but St. James doesn't care for these things. He doesn't mind me going, though, but I can hardly go by myself.”

“I'm at your service,” Blaine said because there was no other option and also because he had a feeling that maybe Rachel's idea of a delightful evening would better match his own than, say, his mother's. “Where are we going?”

“I'll tell you on the way. Just come pick me up after dinner, and don't wear evening clothes.”

He all but snuck out of the house the next evening, only telling grandmama he had an engagement with Lady St. James. She didn't seem to know if she should be pleased about him apparently having earned the lady's esteem, but she nodded, not even asking what kind of engagement it was. He crept back up the stairs to change out of his evening clothes after dinner, and then went on foot to Lady St. James house rather than take his grandmama's equipage and risk the coachman reporting back to her.

The lady was dressed simply as well, which rather suited her, and in her carriage, she finally filled him in on where they were going.

“A friend of my father's...well. He's not exactly what you would call a respectable man. He's an actor, or at least, he wanted to be. But no theater would have him, and so, he now has an...unlicensed theater club, if you will. He gathers all kinds of talented people and hosts performances in this little assembly hall, and it's always really special. Sometimes I sing there as well, though then I go masked.”

“That sounds interesting,” Blaine said politely. He wasn't at all sure it was the kind of event he should be visiting, and he was especially glad his grandmother didn't know where he was going. It didn't sound like the sort of respectable evening she would like him to have.

“I especially want you to meet a friend of mine,” Lady St. James continued. “Now, you must see, these are all people I knew before my marriage, and so they are not of the ton. You would meet none of them at one of Lady Susan's soirées or at a ball. My friend is a wonderful singer, and a wonderful person.”

“I'm sure he is.” Blaine leaned back into the seat of the carriage. Whatever might happen, he was in for an...unusual evening.

The part of town the carriage finally stopped in was not one Blaine had visited often before. It was not exactly poor—the houses were small, but well-kept, and there were some very fine shops—but Blaine was still glad he was wearing tweeds. His usual evening garb would have screamed “Rob me!” to anyone who saw him.

They entered a building that was just this side of run down—Blaine suspected the darkness and dim light of the street lamps made the house look better than it would in the harsher light of day. Some efforts had been made to give everything a festive air: there were fresh flowers in vases on the stairs of the front entrance, everything was spotlessly clean and freshly scrubbed with some sort of scented oil.

It was, Rachel explained, a little-used assembly hall, as people in this part of town rarely visited balls or parties. Its main use this days was for political assemblies and, increasingly, for the little performances Mr. Schuester's group was staging.

They sat down in the seats arranged in front of a small stage. Blaine made himself comfortable, expecting a strange but certainly enjoyable evening.

There were a lot of talented performers. Most sang, but a few danced, and Lady St. James whispered each performer's name to him before their performance. He had not expected to remember them, but he forgot all of them as soon as, in the second half of the evening, a young man appeared on stage.

He was pale, with brown hair in an upswept Brutus hairstyle that suited him better than any other man Blaine had ever seen, with the exception of, maybe, Beau Brummel himself. His black suit was simple but impeccably cut, and when he started to sing, his voice was nothing but angelic.

Blaine felt himself start to sweat. He was uncomfortable aware of it, seemed to feel drops and then a steady trickle of sweat running down his back. He wiped his shaking hands on his trousers, then took out his handkerchief and mopped his brow. His dismay increased when Lady St. James touched his arm, whispering, “This is my dear friend, Kurt Hummel. I'll introduce you later.”

Introduce! He was to know this man! He'd have fled if he could, but he knew there was no way to escape the introduction without looking like a fool. He'd just have to take care not to make himself look like a fool when he stood before him. Kurt. He feared he would blush and stutter and make a bad impression. Why did Rachel's friend have to be this Mr. Hummel? Why not anyone of the other performers?

He leaned back and tried to focus on the song, but it was no use: beautiful as it was, Kurt was more beautiful, and his voice only increased his attraction. Blaine would have to employ a lot of deception in the next few weeks to be his usual cheerful, serene self at home.

When Kurt finished his song and an encore, Blaine clapped so hard his palms hurt. He couldn't help himself; even when Lady St. James turned to him with a big smile and people in the row before them turned to see who was applauding so enthusiastically, he didn't stop.

Only when Kurt rose from his bow and seemed to look directly at him with a pleased and somewhat confused smile, Blaine let his hands sink. He was embarrassed, but Rachel seemed pleased.

“He is amazing, isn't he?” she said, and Blaine could only nod, feeling warmth and color creep onto his cheeks.

For the rest of the performance, he tried to control his emotions. At the very least, he had to manage to not show them on the outside. When it was over, he applauded with the rest of the audience, not showing any special appreciation even when Kurt returned to take his bow with the others. His knees shook a little when he rose, but he correctly offered Rachel his arm when they made their way through the leaving audience towards the back of the stage.

Still, he had a feeling that meeting Mr. Hummel, even shaking his hands, and not showing anything of what he felt would be very difficult.

#fic: a musical affair #klaine fanfiction

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hellyeahrpmemes · 6 years

Text

※ SHIT I HEARD AT COLLEGE ※

a thrilling saga of shit i’ve heard at college; these are all from my first semester of sophomore year. feel free to change names/pronouns/etc.! more ‘shit i heard/said’ starters!

“The porn industry is moving swimmingly.”

“We all need men. Go find them.”

“It’s not an opera, bitches, it’s a flight.”

“Don’t look! It makes their dick bigger!”

“I have my own place and I can light as many candles as I want.”

“I’m not a librarian, sir.”

“How’s your sack lunch, bitch?”

“Stab me in the ass and turn me into Kim Kardashian.”

“I stayed up another hour just to cry.”

“I just got a nude and I don’t know how to feel about it.”

“I’m gonna go stab my eyes out now.”

“We get it. You have a big truck and a small penis.”

“It’s an epidemic, Karter!”

“There’s no cups, so I’m using a bowl. To drink apple juice.”

“Fuck y’all, I’m eating Fruit Loops!”

“I don’t know my superhero name, but here I am with my can of Lysol and my plastic fork.”

“Your list of things to do includes making the best 2000s playlist of all time and fighting me at Cheesecake Factory.”

“This is borderline human abuse.”

“How do you feel about fluorescent lighting?”

“I’m sorry, I’m on a college budget, I’ll give you two nickels and a paper clip.”

“We couldn’t say hell, because… Catholic school problems.”

“I don’t want them to call me and be like, ‘we’re about to drill into your face!’”

“Ugh, yes, the hot TA, what club are you in?”

“My rat bastard dad? What about him?”

“I have an idea that I’m positive no other human has ever had: butter flavored ice cream.”

“I hate myself, but I’m funny, so…”

“This man loves puppies and he is not afraid to say it.”

“There’s just something about stale food that I really like.”

“I like how we’re watching our upcoming death on TV.”

“When I get wasted, I want to fight. It’s a problem.”

“My boyfriend got really drunk and started drinking nectar out of the hummingbird feeder.”

“He currently has a child.”

“That’s a good way of getting rid of a baby.”

“He can’t look at his dead parents or his alive children.”

“I can’t focus on reading, ‘cause I just wanna watch Drake and Josh.”

“My roommate loves manifestos. Especially the Communist Manifesto.”

“Have you studied his naked body or something?”

“Okay, we got our Greek tragic playwrights: there’s Sophocles… there’s Euripides… uh… Isosceles?”

“We’re so stupid we click things that say ‘click here for here’.”

“So there were just 95 loose pigs.”

“This is called shaming.”

“I can’t be the only person who says ‘meatballs and spaghetti’.”

“What could go wrong? …oh, shit, I’m on fire.”

“Don’t call Kourtney unless you wanna suck dick tonight.”

“There’s no one around. He’s talking to his dick.”

“Just ‘cause it’s Greek doesn’t mean it’s sophisticated.”

“I hate myself, but I hate her more.”

“I don’t know anything about it, but it has bread in the name, so I want to try it.”

“Just… don’t breathe this class.”

“Megan: secret crop top wearer.”

“I’m embracing my aesthetic while you’re embracing… Jon Hamm’s face.”

“What are we doing tonight besides homework? …and bread?”

“I’m witnessing a breakup right here in the Starbucks line.”

“I nominate Gushers as a snack suggestion, but, like, a lot of them. All of them.”

“I have a strong immune system.”

“I was so worked up about the bolo ties.”

“Also, I was wine drunk, so…”

“Does she hit him? I hope she hits him.”

“Only Matthew McConaughey drives Lincolns.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m totally a Republican… Pence is daddy…”

“After that… is the exact same thing… from a different angle.”

“All my life, I’ve been striving to be better than Kidz Bop.”

“Is ‘slaveitude’ a word?”

“Ted Bundy was attractive. People knew him.”

“I feel like whoever’s in charge of the Reese’s company is really high right now. Like, putting Reese’s inside of Reese’s.”

“One beer bottle on campus might be a problem, but if there’s 8, they’re props.”

“With elevators, it’s not claustrophobia. It’s that I don’t trust the government.”

“Headphones: in. World: out. Notes font: ugly.”

“You know that’s a felony, right?”

“That’s a… fourth or fifth impression kind of story.”

“That means she definitely fucked a member of Kiss.”

“I feel free, but also ugly.”

“This is my unassigned assigned seat, and if any of you take it, I will fight you.”

“I went to the Home Depot, bought a bunch of lights, put them up in the air, and said ‘this is art’.”

“Because I was a full New Yorker, I just kept walking.”

“We almost died, but our last meal would’ve been free, so…”

“What’s a funeral like in 2017? GIFs and memes.”

“I would like to thank not only God but also Tinder.”

“I sat through a 40 minute argument about how Justin Bieber started the Cold War.”

“I’m just walking down the hallway, thinking about ways to throw myself down the stairs and make it look like an accident.”

“Now, if it was Kidz Bop, I’d go see it.”

“Don’t name your kid Ethelwold.”

“Shoulders, chest, pants, shoes: a vision for America.”

“My dad’s not getting dick from anyone.”

“I’m a shady beach and y’all are my shady beaches.”

“Oh, no, don’t write that down…”

“At Chipotle, God himself picked those avocados and put them in the guacamole.”

“It should be a holiday: Ohio awareness day.”

“We should go to a nice place. A formal place. California Pizza Kitchen.”

“What do you do in geology lab? Dissect rocks?”

“What great weather for a mental breakdown.”

“He’s not computer generated; he’s actually that large.”

“I’ve done some soul searching and I think that ranch dressing is my favorite food.”

“I almost said his birthday was in 1926. It’s like, we got a little bit of an age gap.”

“Are you physically running away from the situation?”

“I will personally call Papa John to tell him that he’s the reason my life isn’t going right.”

“I can’t wait for middle-aged sex now.”

“I should’ve known, there aren’t two eclipses in a year!”

“I walked around with a bear taser for a year and a half.”

“I found out that the guy I have a restraining order against has been peeing on my car for two years.”

“He fought the devil in jeans and no shirt.”

“She threw my fucking pillow off of the balcony!”

“Tickets are for something fun. Paying the check is not fun.”

“It’s Halloween, calories don’t count on holidays.”

“Well, you know how I said we met in philosophy class? Well… Elise doesn’t take philosophy class.”

“You got it wrong. You said 56 point 2. The answer was 56 point 2.”

“Do I want that horrible sock tan line that I had for five years back? Yeah, I do.”

“I got drunk, threw up, got high, and came here.”

“It’s Titanic blue. I’m the Heart of the Ocean, bitch.”

“The only rat bastard in our lives is Russ.”

“The beats are so good, but the words are such trash.”

“I had to fight someone in the elevator yesterday.

“…I’ve awakened the Demigorgon.”

“We solved the great hiccup epidemic of 2017.”

“Watch out, Kansas, I’m coming for you.”

“Do not associate my birthday with math terms.”

“That’s some Hunger Games type shit.”

“Fuck y’all, I hope you trip and die.”

“I’m very confused and also cold: an American tale. A five part miniseries, this fall on HBO.”

“I am Mrs. Grey! Bring me the kink!”

“I really wanna make a shirt that’s all Comic Sans.”

“I was thinking about Panera’s mac and cheese in a bread bowl, and I started crying.”

“We’re gonna steal your WiFi, but it’s okay, because Panhellenic love.”

“I have confidence that you’re not gonna get pregnant within those two hours.”

“See if this card works. I mean, it should work, but, like…”

“I think my favorite part was slowly dying.”

“All they serve is chicken salad, so you really have to like chicken salad.”

“I have three papers and a test this week, I don’t have time for feelings to resurface.”

“I’m living a life. Not my best one.”

“When you write a report on a book you’ve never read.”

“Don’t tell me what to wear when you wear Crocs to the bar.”

“I have listened to literally nothing but Hallelujah and My Heart Will Go On all day today.”

“Oh my god, Elise, you fucking bitch, get your shit together, and write your paper.”

You know what I’m really devastated about? I’m all out of Fruit Roll-ups.”

“We’re gonna be teachers. We have school forever.”

“I don’t want your sympathy, I want your anger.”

“Clowns… doorknobs… the color yellow… ducks… I’m quoting Victorious…”

“Did you just say ‘hey Sophie’ to not include me? ‘Cause, guess what, bitch, I’m still here.”

“I live here, I know when we have salad!”

“I think Satan’s middle name is cumulative.”

“I will put up with my moose husband for however long I need.”

“I’ve literally been down here for an hour and a half waiting for these nonexistent cookies.”

“I’m keeping a detailed list of Elise’s hickeys.”

“I’m an adult, I say as I eat my Fruit Roll-up.”

“Oh, my practicum grade is in! Let’s see… 36.”

“SOS, I’m in bed and it’s so comfy, but I need to get up to study, what do I do?”

“Get up. Only a few more days until we can sleep all we want.”

“So you’re admitting you live in the woods.”

“I don’t know if it’s finals stress or if this is actually the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, but I’m crying.”

“It was optional, don’t make me feel bad for skipping class.”

“I’ve heard that, if enough people fail, they’ll have to curve it.”

“How do you even study for this?”

#rp memes #roleplay meme #rp sentence starters #roleplay sentence starters #mine #shit i heard

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goswagcollectorfire · 3 years

Text

CARL’S BLOG: ARKANSAS HILLBILLY

2-1-21, Bentonville School System here we come.

Two weeks passed before I received a call from Mr. Charlie

Burke, the president, of the Bentonville School Board.

Jo Jo buzzed me in my office and informed me that Mr.

Burke was calling. She asked, “Do you want me to put him

through?”

“Yes, put him through!”

“Mr. Barger, our board has reached a decision, and you’ve

been selected as one of the two finalists for the Bentonville

Superintendent’s job. Are you still interested?”

“Yes, sir, I am very interested,” I said.

“Mr. Barger, do you have any objections to our board

visiting your school? We will want to visit with your principals

and some of your teachers.”

“I have no objections at all,” I said.

“There will be eight of us flying down from Bentonville.

Some will be visiting downtown and some will visit the

schools,” he said.

I invited all eight of the school board members to have lunch

with us in our cafeteria. Our cafeteria was serving fried chicken

and peach cobbler for dessert on that day. Our cooks

made the best peach cobbler in Arkansas. I knew I wouldn’t be

disappointed in their cooking.

After lunch, the school board met with me in our board

room at the high school. They were very complimentary about

how the citizens of Nashville and my teachers felt about my

leadership role as superintendent. Mr. Burke even went so far as

to get a haircut from Dale Reed, my personal barber.

“Did you find any faults in me from Dale?” I asked.

“I wish my barber had as many good things as possible to say about me

as your barber did about you. Do you tip him a lot?”

I laughed and said, “Dale’s a good man!”

For some reason, I was nervous. I told myself to be calm

and not show my nervousness. I really don’t know why I was

nervous. I was not nervous at all during my interview process in

Bentonville.

It was three days later when Mr. Burke called me on the

phone. To be perfect honest, I was a little hesitant about taking

the call. I had been on pins and needles since their visit. I was

afraid he was calling to let me know the board had gone with the

another applicant because he had a doctorate degree.

When Jo Jo, put Mr. Burke’s call through to me, I said,

“Hello!”

“Mr. Barger, this is Charles Burke. How are you doing this

morning?”

“Everything is good with me, Mr. Burke,” I said.

“That is good, Mr. Barger. I have some good news for you.”

I can’t express to anyone how I felt when he mentioned

good news. Just maybe, just maybe, he meant I got the job.

“Mr. Barger, the Bentonville School Board met this

morning and voted unanimously to offer to you the position

of superintendent of the Bentonville School System. Will you

accept the offer?”

“Yes, Sir, I will accept!” I said.

I was glad he wasn’t able to see me when he announced

the school board’s decision. I was so excited I was bouncing

all over my office. My body was making movements I’d never

made before!

“We would like you to come to Bentonville on Thursday,

March 20, to sign your contract and to attend a press conference,”

he said.

“I will be there,” I said.

On Thursday, March 20, 1984, I officially signed my three-year

contract. I would begin my tenure as the new superintendent

on July 1. My prayers had been answered. Hallelujah!

We were successful selling our Nashville home, and on

June 15, 1984, we moved to Bentonville. It was hard to leave

our friends behind. Carla took it the hardest. She had finished

the seventh grade and was at an insecure age. She didn’t make

friends easily. She just knew she would never have friends

again.

Leaving our first home in Nashville had been one of the

hardest things Lena and I had encountered. For six years we had

enjoyed the comfort of our first home and making friends with

several families in Nashville. It was in that home that Lena and

I conceived our son, Curt. It was in that home that Curt spent the

first four years of his life. It was in that home that we realized

our family was complete.

The Nashville Public School System afforded me the

opportunity to grow in leadership roles. As superintendent, I

became active in both community and state activities. While

in Nashville, I served one year as president of our local Rotary

Club. My leadership role in Rotary gave me an opportunity to

get to know the businesspeople. It was through Rotary Club

and my church affiliation at Immanuel Baptist Church that I

acquired a good grasp of community affairs. I served on several

state legislative committees as well and lobbied for educational

bills in several of the state legislative sessions during my tenure

as superintendent. It was also here that I first met and became

friends with Bill Clinton, governor of Arkansas and later two term

President of the United States of America.

Governor Bill Clinton was a big supporter of education in

Arkansas. While serving as superintendent, Governor Clinton

was my keynote speaker at two of Nashville High School

School’s graduation ceremonies.

I was active in both Governor Clinton’s gubernatorial races

as well as his campaign for President of the United States of

America. One of Bill Clinton’s qualities as a person was his

ability to remember a person’s name. Once he met you, he’d call

you by your first name.

I can still remember sitting in a large meeting room at the

Arkansas State Capitol when Mr. Clinton was addressing a

group of legislators and superintendents. Mr. Clinton looked

over to his left where I was sitting and asked, “Carl, what are

your feelings?” I can’t even remember what we were discussing

at the time. However, I do believe he liked my answer. The thing

I do remember was that my ego got a big boost that day. I was

honored to be asked my opinion by the governor of Arkansas.

During Governor Clinton’s terms as governor, he continued

to be a peoples’ governor and was well respected by the majority

of the voters of Arkansas. In my opinion, he was one of the best

governors we have ever had in Arkansas. It was during his terms

as governor that our teachers received the largest raises ever

given in Arkansas.

The balancing of the United States budget was a major

accomplishment during Clinton’s presidency, an accomplishment

that has not been achieved again by any president since.

It was hard to leave good friends like Tom and Shirley

Garney. Tom served on my school board, and we both attended

Immanuel Baptist Church.

Jo Jo Reed, who had been my secretary for six years at

Nashville who I came to love and respect, really took good care

of me as superintendent.

I had always heard that there were two people in a school

system who could make or break a superintendent: the

superintendent’s secretary and his bookkeeper. I was fortunate

in both cases with Jo Jo as my secretary and Mrs. Maxine

Branch as my bookkeeper.

The last people I want to mention here are Neely and Nina

Cassidy, who became two of our closest friends in Nashville.

He served as president of my school board when I was hired

as superintendent, and we served on the deacon board together

while attending Immanuel Baptist.

Mr. Cassidy ran for state senator from Howard County and

portions of other counties in Southwest Arkansas and easily

won. He served several years in the Arkansas State Senate

before retiring.

It was an honor for me to help with his first race as state

senator. He is one of the sharpest businesspeople I’ve ever

known. He has done well in his life and has contributed much to

the economy of Nashville. He and Nina reside in Nashville and

continue to give God the credit for all they have.

0 notes

whatdoesshedotothem · 3 years

Text

Saturday 31 January 1835: SH:7/ML/E/17/0157

9 10

No kiss. fine morning F43° at 10 - breakfast - A- had Mr Lamplengh Hird for 10 minutes about 10 ½ about her not signing the lease she objected to bind herself to pay his and her own prospective property tax on the place (a general property tax being chiefly thought of and wished for by the whigs?) - he at last proposed her letting the lease stand as it is for the ten years and to say nothing about the other 7 years for which Mr LH- has an option, under the lease, of having the place or not - A- agreed - much annoyed at his manner - I had had Washington to whom I gave £41.17.6 ½ to pay Pearson’s tenant right on giving up the Mytholm farm – I had also had Pickels who came with Dobson of Southowram to be paid for wheel stones for Walker pit road (93 yards at ./11 1/2 ) and covers for Whiskum cistern 12 ½ yards at 1/6 - A- and I off at 11 ¼ - walked with her as far as Lidgate (on her way to Cliff Hill about the thorn-planting in front of the house as yesterday) and there left her and walked direct along the old road down the old bank to Halifax - Met Mr Parker a little way up it coming to ShIbden Hall to see A- about Mr Hird’s lease – he (Mr H-) had been at Mr P’s office and had not found out that A- was annoyed - Mr P- turned back with me – explained what A- said and how much she was annoyed – that she would have written a note but was gone to Cliff Hill – would however write in the evening if Mr P- would prefer it – yes! he should be thankful for a note – for he would go to Liget tomorrow and shew it to Mr Hird – he (Mr P-) thought A- would be annoyed – not surprised at the way in which she took Mr Hird’s words but quite sure he did not mean them to be taken in that way – shewed me the memorandum A- was to have signed – said I was sure she would not sign it - so he said he would keep it entirely out of sight– mentioned that A- had told me, Mr H- seemed as if he was the landlord not the tenant and that she was particularly annoyed by the manner in which he had told her she had seen the rough draught of the lease and should have objected then – in fact she had read if over too hastily Mr P- not surprised at the observation on Mr Hird’s manner – just like him – they were all alike (meaning the Law moor company) and fancied they might domineer over everybody –I said it would not do here - A- so much annoyed would have nothing more to do with him – would probably never go near them (not visit them) and Mr P- must settle the matter – then gave Mr P- note of hand dated 2 February for £250 of his father’s money at 4 ½ pc to be paid off the next rent day – the £250+£50 I paid him in country notes + £100 paid to SW before + £100 due from him to A- for Lidget hay of last February = £500 the price of S. Washington’s field to be paid up in full and title deed signed on Monday – Mr P- very well satisfied with Mawson the tenant of Stump X - thought I had chosen very well -Mr. P- had inadvertently made an error in the advertisement of about 4DW of land - which on being explained M- said very handsomely was of no consequence - I said ‘he will lose nothing by behaving so well’ - Mr. P- advises letting Greenwood have Northgate house and land on verbal agreement or a mere memorandum that he is to give up all or any part on a certain defined notice (3 months) at any time - went to Greenwood’s - ill in bed - had never been out since he was last here - Met Mr Bradley on his way to Shibden as I went to Whitley’s – brought home myself (too impatient to wait for John’s going at night) King’s Interest tables Philip on Indigestion and Fortune on the funds, a large parcel – paid for these and the newspapers binding and a small note for A- returned up the old bank and home at 2 40 - Musing what A- should write to Mr Parker wrote rough copy and then found Mr Bradley waiting for me downstairs – he found all going on well – thinks Pickells a clever, quick man who knows what he is about - (P- took away this morning the 2 old pistols and long ditto that used to hand up in the upper kitchen to go to Turner’s to be cleaned) - out with Mr B- spoke of cottage neat gate into A-‘s is-to-be flower garden – Mr B- said as I meant to take down the Conery houses those stones and materials would come in – yes! said I we could take the Conery barn anytime – this would do very well - and the cottage would be done for very little before mentioning the old barn - he had said £80 would do - a little with P- at the drybridge - and off for A- at 4 20 – called at Cliff Hill and left my compliments without going in A- being gone – found her with Robert Scholefield repairing wall close to entrance gates – home at 6 – by the walk – A- wrote as follows to ‘Messrs. Parker and Adam, solicitors, Halifax’ – ‘Shibden Hall 31 January 1835. Sir - Mr Lamplengh Hird called upon me this morning and finding that I declined signing the lease with the objectionable clause in it respecting a prospective property tax, finally proposed that I should let the ten years stand as they are, and say nothing about the other seven – to which I agreed - I shall therefore be obliged to you to put the lease upon this footing, so that I shall then be bound for a no longer term than Mr Lamplengh Hird himself is bound – I wish you to be so good as inform him that I hope it will be as much to his satisfaction as to mine, that the matter should be left to you to settle, without my having any further trouble than to sign the lease as soon as it is ready – I am sir etc etc. Ann Walker’ - the above note was taken by John - dinner at 6 ¾ - Washington came before we had done bringing A- parcel (box containing epitaph of her daughter ob. in 1831 and a long madcap letter) from Mrs Broadbent – had him in to wine and coffee – smiled and said (on hearing of the nonsense and excitement about the dinner to Wood and Protheroe to be given on Wednesday) he must really choose his colour – he could not be neutral – he said he had told him wife to say if they came again (Mr Bateman for his vote for the Riding for Morpeth and Strickland) he would give his vote to those who paid him most for it – took that to mean, he would vote for A-‘s side and mine - A- and I sat talking long downstairs – Miss Sarah Inman came to Marian this morning and is to be here from Saturday morning to Monday every week – this and Marian’s cher ami every Thursday evening will keep A- and me pretty much out of my father’s sitting room – ½ hour with my aunt till 10 10 sat up talking - F34 ½° at 10 10 pm - fine day - mild.

A- told her aunt of the division of the estate – Mrs. AW. very well satisfied – Mrs. Rogers to go next month

#annelistercodebreaker

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sunflowerseedsandscience · 7 years

Text

Someday Your Child May Cry

23. Mourning

It takes Mulder a moment, as confused as he still occasionally is, to process that Scully is walking away from him, down the hallway, towards the elevator. There’s a momentary flash of annoyance- how can she just leave after a confession like that? But it’s tempered, quickly, by the realization that they’ve both been through a hell of a lot in the past few weeks. It’s perfectly understandable that she might be at least a little uneasy around him for a bit.

“Scully,” he calls, and she stops, looking back over her shoulder curiously. “Where are you going?” She blushes softly.

“I, uh….” She looks down, fidgeting adorably. “I wasn’t sure if maybe you wanted to be alone.” Her eyes raise tentatively to his. “I mean… she was your ex-wife, Mulder. I thought maybe you’d want me to let you grieve on your own for a little while.”

“Scully,” he says, holding out his hand to her, “get back here.” Her face relaxes into a smile, and she turns fully, walking back down to his apartment door with a pleased flush on her face. He takes her hand and draws her close to him, sliding his arms around her. Holding her close, Mulder backs into his apartment, kicking the door shut behind them. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” he murmurs into her hair. “But I honestly can’t think of anything that wouldn’t be easier for me to handle with you by my side.”

“I just… I wasn’t sure,” Scully says softly. “I thought that maybe… with what you saw, the life that you told me that you dreamed of on that table… you might need time to sort things out.” Inwardly, Mulder curses himself for ever having told her the details of his bizarre, disjointed hallucinations.

“That wasn’t me, Scully,” he assures her. “There’s no universe possible where I would walk away from you just because Spender told me I had to. If any of that had been real, one way or another, I would have found my way back to you.” His right hand slips down between them, coming to rest on her belly, which is ever so slightly larger now than it had been when this entire mess had begun. “I would have found my way back to both of you.” Scully squeezes him closer, and he hears her sniffling into his chest. “I don’t know where Spender got the idea that I would ever have chosen a life with Diana, but he was wrong. The only part of that dream with any ring of truth to it was the end- where you came in and kicked my ass for being an idiot.” Scully laughs.

“That does sound closer to reality,” she admits. She pulls away from him, discretely wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I know that whatever Spender put in your head wasn’t there because you wanted it to be. I’m being stupid about this.”

“You’re not,” Mulder promises her. “I’d probably be a little uncomfortable, too, if the situation were reversed.” She nods.

“Skinner says he’ll let you know when he finds out about Diana’s funeral arrangements,” she tells him. “Her family is taking her body back to New Hampshire, but there’s going to be a service here first.” She looks up at him, biting her lip. “I could… I could go with you,” she suggests. “If you want.” He smiles, bending to kiss her forehead again.

“Of course,” he says. “You don’t have to get back to the office right away, do you?” She raises an eyebrow at him.

“Probably not,” she says. “I’m not doing much other than paperwork, not until you’re cleared to be back in the field. Why?” Mulder grins at her, leading her further into his apartment, towards his bedroom door. She pulls away almost immediately.

“Mulder, no,” she says sternly. “You’ve been out of the hospital for less than a week. You’re not ready for that sort of physical exertion yet.”

“Who said anything about exerting myself?” he asks her. “I was planning on letting you do all the work.”

“Mulder….”

“Come on, Scully,” he cajoles her. “I haven’t been allowed to touch you in weeks. I promise, I’ll just lie there. I won’t move.”

“Just what every woman longs to hear from her lover,” grouses Scully. Mulder focuses on looking as sad and pathetic as possible, and finally, Scully heaves a sigh. “No movement,” she instructs him. “If you start getting out of breath, even a little bit, we’re stopping. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Mulder promises.

All in all, he thinks, he does a decent job obeying Scully’s orders. She has to stop, once or twice, until he’s mastered himself… but really, he challenges any man (or woman, for that matter) to keep completely calm and still with a woman like Scully sitting astride him. Mulder is the king of believing the strange and the unlikely, but this is one thing he’s fulling willing to admit is absolutely impossible.

——————————-

Diana’s service is surprisingly well-attended, given that she had only been back in the country (supposedly) for less than two years. Most of the attendees are fellow agents, from a variety of departments and divisions. Both Skinner and Kersh are among them. Skinner nods cordially to Mulder and Scully; Kersh steadfastly ignores them both.

A few members of Diana’s extended family, those who live nearby, are also in attendance, as well as, of course, her parents. Stephen and Barbara Fowley stand at the front of the church, a receiving line of two, greeting mourners with austere and straight-backed dignity, and Mulder heads straight towards them. Scully holds back for a moment, nervous, but Mulder takes her by the elbow, smiling reassuringly down at her.

“It’s fine, Scully,” he tells her. “I want you with me.” She nods and follows him, aware of Skinner’s eyes on them as Mulder’s hand settles at the small of her back. Stomach knotted with apprehension, they approach the bereaved parents, and Scully reminds herself, as her breath comes more quickly, that this meeting will be far more difficult for Mulder than for her. Not for the first time, she’s thankful that she’s not really showing (at least, not to people who don’t already know her well), because she doubts that Mr. and Mrs. Fowley are ignorant as to the cause of the demise of her daughter’s marriage, and this meeting is likely to be awkward enough as it is.

Diana’s parents both offer a tight smile as Mulder approaches. “Thank you for coming, Fox,” says Mrs. Fowley. “It’s good to see you. Diana told us that you’d been working together again.” She kisses Mulder stiffly, then steps back to allow him to shake her husband’s hand. Mulder reaches out and draws Scully forward with the hand at her back again.

“This is my partner, Dana Scully,” he says. “She’s been on the X-Files with me for the past seven years.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs. Fowley,” Scully says. “Diana was an excellent agent.” As she reaches out to shake Mrs. Fowley’s hand, the older woman swiftly looks her up and down, her jaw clenched tightly, and Scully realizes, with a sinking feeling in her stomach, that Diana has, at some point in the past year and a half, confided quite a bit in her mother, at least where her former husband was concerned.

“Yes, Diana mentioned to us that you were… working with someone new, Fox,” Barbara Fowley says, her voice suddenly icy. “It’s good to know that you feel able to give someone what you denied our daughter.” Mulder looks distraught.

“Barb, that’s enough,” hisses Mr. Fowley.

“Barbara,” says Mulder, “I didn’t- I never meant to-”

“It’s all right, Fox,” says Mr. Fowley, his hand on his wife’s arm. “We understand that there was more going on in Diana’s marriage than what she shared with us.” Barbara Fowley snorts derisively, but her husband ignores this. “We’re just grateful that the two of you were on good terms before this happened.” Mulder nods, thankful for the rescue from Mrs. Fowley’s anger, and he and Scully move quickly away, allowing the next people in line to give their condolences.

“Mulder, are you all right?” Scully asks, as they make their way to a pew near the back of the church. He nods, though he still looks as though he’s likely to either cry or vomit at any moment.

“I just never realized,” he says quietly, as they take their seats, “how much Diana had told them. They always treated me as if I were their own son, when we were married… I guess that explains why they cut off contact completely when we divorced.” Scully reaches over and takes his hand, and he smiles shakily at her. “Guess it’s a good thing your mom likes me so much, huh?”

“My mother loves you, Mulder,” Scully assures him. “And so do I.”

The service is brief, and with Diana’s body headed up to New Hampshire for burial, there’s no procession to the cemetery. There’s no invitation back to anyone’s home for refreshments, either; a small spread of fruit, danishes, and coffee is offered in the church basement, but Mulder and Scully elect to skip this and go straight home. It’s Mulder’s first trip out of his apartment since being discharged from the hospital, and already, his head has begun to ache.

As they’re making their way across the narthex, Scully catches sight of Skinner standing across the vestibule, watching them closely, his expression unreadable. He seems to be scrutinizing Scully in particular, and she nods to him, but instead of returning the gesture, Skinner strides briskly over to them.

“Agent Mulder, I trust you’re recovering well?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” Mulder replies. He grins down at Scully. “I’m told I should be back in the office in a week, if I listen to my doctor and take it easy.”

“That’s a big ‘if,’“ says Scully, and Mulder laughs. Skinner, however, barely cracks a smile.

“That’s good to hear,” he says. “Because I’ll need to see you in my office the moment you return to work. Both of you.” Without another word, Skinner turns and walks away, joining the mourners heading for the church basement. Mulder looks nervously at Scully.

“I think he knows,” he whispers, as they leave the building. “Did you see the way he was looking at you, before he came over to talk to us? He looked right at your stomach.”

“It doesn’t matter if he knows or not, Mulder,” says Scully. “He’s legally forbidden to ask me whether or not I’m pregnant, and he’s definitely forbidden to ask me who the father is.”

“Yeah, but this is Skinner we’re talking about, Scully,” says Mulder. “He’s stretched the meaning of ‘legal’ on more than one occasion.”

“That was to help us,” counters Scully, and Mulder laughs.

“Exactly,” he says. “If he’s that willing to stretch laws when it’s to help us, how much further do you think he’ll be willing to stretch them if it’s to kick our asses?”

#x-files fanfic #my fic #Someday Your Child May Cry #todayinfic

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ltcol-laurens · 7 years

Text

Laurens-Hamilton letters

All this can be found here and this is just a list of quotes from letters between 1778 and 1782 between John Laurens and Alexander Hamilton at what could be hinting at a relationship between the two. I hope this is helpful.

First: ‘We have the Honour to be Sir Your most Obedt Servts A Hamilton John Laurens’ - They wrote a letter together that’s just cute.

From JL, 5th Dec 1778 ‘My Dear Hamilton...Adieu, my dear boy. I shall set out for camp tomorrow.’

The best letter of all time, From AH April 1779: ‘Cold in my professions, warm in {my} friendships, I wish my Dear Laurens, it m{ight} be in my power, by action rather than words, {to} convince you that I love you. I shall only tell you that ‘till you bade us Adieu, I hardly knew the value you had taught my heart to set upon you. Indeed, my friend, it was not well done. You know the opinion I entertain of mankind, and how much it is my desire to preserve myself free from particular attachments, and to keep my happiness independent on the caprice of others. You sh⟨ould⟩ not have taken advantage of my sensibility to ste⟨al⟩ into my affections without my consent. But as you have done it and as we are generally indulgent to those we love, I shall not scruple to pardon the fraud you have committed, on condition that for my sake, if not for your own, you will always continue to merit the partiality, which you have so artfully instilled into ⟨me⟩.’

From the same letter: ‘my Dear J’ - that’s cute.

From the same April 1779 letter: ‘ I anticipate by sympathy the pleasure you must feel from the sweet converse of your dearer self in the inclosed letters. I hope they may be recent. They were brought out of New York by General Thompson11 delivered to him there by a Mrs. Moore not long from England, soi-disante parente de Madame votre épouse. She speaks of a daughter of yours, well when she left England,12 perhaps ⟨– – –⟩. ‘ There’s an explanation for this: Hamilton was asked to deliver a letter from Martha Manning to Laurens so he found out that Laurens was not only married but also had a daughter. They’d already known each other for around a year and a half at that point.

Hamilton proceeds to seemingly ask John to find him a wife whilst he’s in South Carolina: ‘And Now my Dear as we are upon the subject of wife, I empower and command you to get me one in Carolina. Such a wife as I want will, I know, be difficult to be found, but if you succeed, it will be the stronger proof of your zeal and dexterity. Take her description—She must be young, handsome (I lay most stress upon a good shape) sensible (a little learning will do), well bred (but she must have an aversion to the word ton) chaste and tender (I am an enthusiast in my notions of fidelity and fondness) of some good nature, a great deal of generosity (she must neither love money nor scolding, for I dislike equally a termagent and an œconomist).’

However it was just an excuse to put in as many innuendos and that famous ‘nose’ line: ‘ If you should not readily meet with a lady that you think answers my description you can only advertise in the public papers and doub[t]less you will hear of many competitors for most of the qualifications required, who will be glad to become candidates for such a prize as I am. To excite their emulation, it will be necessary for you to give an account of the lover—his size, make, quality of mind and body, achievements, expectations, fortune, &c. In drawing my picture, you will no doubt be civil to your friend; mind you do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I ⟨– – – – –⟩. ‘ - The word ‘friend’ seems to be teasing about how far from friends they are which is further consolidated with the ‘nose’ and infamous scratched out words which I believe that mystery has been solved and it possibly says: ‘never spared you of pictures‘ so it now reads: ‘...mind you do justice to the length of my nose and don’t forget, that I never spared you of pictures.’ I think the pure fact that JCH felt the need to cross that out shows that he interpreted it as sexual because if he thought that they were just friends and it was, as Massey puts it, ‘bawdy humour’ then why would JCH feel the need to cross it out? Really John Church is just confirming what we already knew - that Hamilton and Laurens were M O R E T H A N F R I E N D S. And that’s from a 18/19th Century homophobe (most likely). Also JCH met his Alexander (I know he died soon into John’s life but still they met) so will understand his father more than any historian and is therefore one of the most reliable sources.

‘ NB You will be pleased to recollect in your negotiations that I have no invincible antipathy to the maidenly beauties & that I am willing to take the trouble of them upon myself.‘ - Hamilton underline ‘NB’ (nota bene/note well and the underlining of ‘maidenly beauties’ and ‘trouble’ seems to suggest some sort of sexual innuendo ... with Laurens. He could be possibly reminding Laurens of a similar experience they shared. ‘Maidenly beauties’ seems to be referring to inexperienced women or virginity. The phrase ‘maidenly’ seems to be feminine adjective however it’s more likely to be describing purity (e.g in the case of virginity). Let’s remember how Hamilton was once played down his attraction to Eliza in a letter to Laurens so why would he be talking about female virginity. Furthermore,with Hamilton already talking about his relationship with Laurens previously in this letter this quote holds a lot more implication that he was talking about his relationship with Laurens. Another interpretation of this could be that Hamilton just wants to remind Laurens that he’s not exclusively attracted to men (as Laurens most likely was) so it’s a way to possibly make Laurens jealous as Laurens (accidentally) made Hamilton. Additionally, the word ‘trouble’ could be interpreted as pregnancy and he’s saying that despite the ‘trouble’ of the feminine body (i.e pregnancy) he’s not immune to be sexually attracted to them. Also just think how Laurens�� personal experience with women and probably the first, or one of the first times, he had sex with a woman it resulted in pregnancy and his own mother died because of pregnancy.

Hamilton concludes with: ‘ Do I want a wife? No—I have plagues enough without desiring to add to the number that greatest of all; and if I were silly enough to do it, I should take care how I employ a proxy. ‘ So he calls marriage a plague and he explicitly states that he doesn’t want a wife.

‘Did I mean to show my wit?’ - ‘Wit’ = 18c for penis

From Laurens, 14th July 1779: ‘ Ternant will relate to you how many violent struggles I have had between duty and inclination—how much my heart was with you...’ And he ends with ‘yours ever John Laurens’ so pretty effusive for Laurens.

From Hamilton 11th September 1779. There’s a bit of a gap here which Hamilton actually talks about: ‘ I acknowlege but one letter from you, since you left us, of the 14th of July which just arrived in time to appease a violent conflict between my friendship and my pride. I have written you five or six letters since you left Philadelphia and I should have written you more had you made proper return. But like a jealous lover, when I thought you slighted my caresses, my affection was alarmed and my vanity piqued. I had almost resolved to lavish no more of them upon you and to reject you as an inconstant and an ungrateful ——.2 But you have now disarmed my resentment and by a single mark of attention made up the quarrel. You must at least allow me a large stock of good nature.‘ Most notable in this paragraph is Hamilton’s uses the phrase ‘jealous lover’. He ends on a more formal note: ‘Adieu Yrs most sincerely A Hamilton’

From Laurens 12th December 1779: ‘Present my Respects and Love to our excellent General and the family; may you enjoy all the pleasure moral and physical which you promise yourself in winter quarters; and be as happy as you deserve.Yours ever John Laurens’

From Laurens 18th December 1779, Laurens uses the phrase: ‘ χαλου χαι αγαθου’ which is Greek ‘kalos kai agathos’ and cannot be translated directly into English and it has various meanings discussed by @john-laurens here who does a great job of explaining what it means. He ends on ‘My Love as usual. Adieu John Laurens.’

From Hamilton 8th January 1780:

Laurens used ‘dear boy’ several times e.g. here compared to a letter to his wife: ‘...and say dear Girl...’ so he used to same term to describe his affection towards his wife to describe his affection towards Hamilton.

From Hamilton to Laurens 30th March 1780: ‘Adieu my Dear; I am sure you will exert yourself to save your country; but do not unnecessarily risk one of its most valuable sons. Take as much care of yourself as you ought for the public sake and for the sake of Yr. Affectionate A. Hamilton.’

From Hamilton to Laurens 30th June 1780: ‘ Have you not heard that I am on the point of becoming a benedict? I confess my sins. I am guilty. Next fall completes my doom.‘ I might be looking too much into this but it sounds like he’s trying to assure Laurens (who was a POW at this point) that he hasn’t completely forgotten about him and it’s a strange way to put it if he’s truly happy about the wedding: ‘Next fall completes my doom’. Hamilton goes on to say (about Eliza): ‘ She is a good hearted girl who I am sure will never play the termagant; though not a genius she has good sense enough to be agreeable, and though not a beauty, she has fine black eyes—is rather handsome and has every other requisite of the exterior to make a lover happy.‘ This doesn’t sound like he holds the highest opinion of Eliza which contrasts to how he wrote in letters to Eliza, for example: ‘ My good, my tender, my fond, my excellent Betsy, Adieu.‘, ‘my angel’, ‘ I kiss you a thousand times‘ and ‘ I shall be miserable if I do not hear once a week from you and my precious infant. You both grow dearer to me every day. I would give the world for a kiss from either of you.’ (Bear in mind the last few quotes are after Laurens died) so either he’s making Eliza seem worse than she is to Laurens as they have a thing between them and Laurens wasn’t having the easiest time being a POW as the Americans had just suffered a defeat in South Carolina, he’s exaggerating his feelings to Eliza or a bit of both.

H to L, 12th Sept 1780: ‘my Laurens’ (bit possessive gee!) and ‘I hate Congress—I hate the army—I hate the world—I hate myself. The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you and Meade. Adieu A Hamilton’ He’s in that I-hate-everything-in-the-world-except-Laurens-mood - I think we’ve all been there to be honest. I think this is the letter where Hamilton had just been denied a position in the south with Laurens although I could be wrong. He finishes with ‘My ravings are for your own bosom.’ So basically he misses his boy.

H to L, 16th September 1780: H asks L to do something for his sake: ‘ for my sake’, ‘ In spite of Schuylers black eyes, I have still a part for the public and another for you; so your impatience to have me married is misplaced; a strange cure by the way, as if after matrimony I was to be less devoted than I am now.‘ God there’s so much to say about this. Firstly, Laurens believes that marriage is a ‘cure’ and that raises the question of a ‘cure’ for what exactly? It also shows how Laurens views Hamilton’s feelings towards him because bisexuality and human sexuality in general wasn’t understood as well as it is now so Laurens believes that Hamilton can’t love Eliza and him simultaneously and Hamilton seems to have a better understanding of sexuality, or at least of his own feelings towards Laurens, so he says ‘as if matrimony I was to be less devoted than I am now’ I could be wrong but that sounds like ‘Even when I’m married I’ll still have these feelings for you.’ Then we get to the end of this letter where Hamilton seemingly invites Laurens to a threesome on his wedding night, but Laurens was stuck in Pennsylvania: ‘I wish you were at liberty to transgress the bounds of Pensylvania. I would invite you after the fall to Albany to be witness to the final consummation. My Mistress is a good girl, and already loves you because I have told her you are a clever fellow and my friend; but mind, she loves you a l’americaine not a la françoise.‘ It makes me think about how Hamilton goes around talking about how great Laurens is - someone he could’ve been romantically involved with - to his future wife Eliza. Also the Founders Archive website puts the words and phrases I put in italics in italics on the website so I guess Hamilton underlined them so he really wanted Laurens to see the ‘final consummation’ and the other parts that are all quite suggestive. ‘She loves you a l’americaine not a la françoise’ means how French people are more open with their sexuality and Americans are more prudish and sexually reserved so Eliza wouldn’t be down for a threesome on her wedding night with two guys which seems reasonable to me.

Interestingly there are a few more letters from Hamilton that are less romantic and more military as his first child Philip had just been born and there could’ve been a possible rekindling between Laurens and Kinloch although it seems unlikely. I just think something must’ve happened from the threesome thing to being strictly professional.

Then in July 1782 Laurens wrote a letter that apart from a few things such as this and talking about his black regiment etc doesn’t seem to be of much significance until you realise that on the bottom of the founders archive page here it says that there is at least a paragraph missing from that letter because it has no ending to the letter. However there is a printed extract of a letter that Laurens wrote to Hamilton but there is no date JCH just put ‘Hamilton replied on the 15th August’ and it finishes: ‘ Adieu, my dear friend; while circumstances place so great a distance between us, I entreat you not to withdraw the consolation of your letters. You know the unalterable sentiments of your affectionate Laurens.’ which as we can see from above is quite romantic coming from Laurens and he ended a similar way to his ending to Martha his wife.

Then we get to the final letter from Hamilton to Laurens 15th August 1782: ‘ Quit your sword my friend, put on the toga, come to Congress. We know each others sentiments, our views are the same: we have fought side by side to make America free, let us hand in hand struggle to make her happy.’ and it ends ‘Yrs for ever A Hamilton’ which he used a variation of in his last letter to Eliza before he died. I don’t know about anyone else but to me that letter has a definite air of finality as if Hamilton just knows that his friend is going to go ahead and get himself killed which is terribly heartbreaking.

#long post #historic lams #lams #laurens x hamilton #laurens #hamilton

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thirstyfortom · 7 years

Text

Control Ch. 8

Hope you like this!

“Ah, long time no see, MC. You look as adorable as I used to remember.”

“You look good too, Mr. Han.”

“You’re so polite I’ll pretend I believe in your little lie, sweetheart.”

Chairman Han looks balder than you remembered, the few strands left on his head are starting to get as white as the hospital walls. However, his sweet smile and friendly tone makes him look younger, somehow. He looks good, not good as in someone who just survived a heart attack, just… good, and genuinely happy to see you.

“I mean it, or I’m just biased from the relief in knowing you’re fine, Mr. Han.”

“Of course I’m fine. This old heart of mine handled worse things in the past, you know that.”

“I do. And… to be honest, I… was rooting for you to make it through so you would do some terrible heart pun just like that, sir.” He laughs in satisfaction, and you chuckle.

“You haven’t changed at all, MC. It’s a shame we’re seeing each other again in such circumstances, however. But I’m glad you came to see me.”

“How couldn’t I, sir?”

You really couldn’t. Chairman Han received you in his family with open arms and no hesitation, a good man who was suffering a lot and yet, did his best in order to welcome the woman that, in Jumin’s words, untangled the knots inside his heart and liberated him from all the doubts and suffering. The conversations between the two of you were always polite and pleasing, although they were never really too deep, he wasn’t really trying to get to know you better, by any means. Most of your conversations were about advertising, college, Sarah, Glam and the law suit, and he told you once he enjoyed how you weren’t sugar coating things for him like Jumin was. Chairman Han would encourage you to be honest and laugh in satisfaction everytime you told him Jumin inherited his… odd sense of humor. And that was basically it, nothing too deep or meaningful, but considering the relationship with your own family, this was basically ideal for you.

“I mean… I’m an intern in C&R until the end of this week, so… I couldn’t refrain myself to stop by and see the big boss.” Another loud laugh from him.

“Yes, the internship. How is it going?”

“Great. C&R has the perfect balance between tradition and innovation when it comes to publicity, the marketing department is… almost everything I’ve been studying in college as what it should be ideal for someone who works in advertising.”

“I’m glad to know that. I must say I was really surprised seeing you walking in C&R’s hallways after… how long?”

“Six months and a half, sir.”

“Yes, seeing you there was a pleasant surprise. I almost thought you and Jumin were getting back together for a second.” Judging from his teasing smile, you can only assume he was trying to get you flustered, and if you had any compassion, you would at least pretend to be embarrassed and give this man some satisfaction after what happened.

“I’m glad it lasted only a second, then.” You low your head and smile softly. “But if it makes you feel any better, sir, I can say your son and I are on the middle of a truce thanks to you.”

“A truce implies that is a war going on.”

“A very cold one, but you could call it like that, I suppose.”

You could lie and tell him that all the months away from RFA made you be on good terms with Jumin now. But Chairman Han likes your honesty, that’s all you can give him. Honesty, not compassion. And the little compassion you could possibly have was already given to Jumin from the hug to the water and the aspirin you gave him a few hours ago.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not. You have a headache.” You state, still placing your open hand towards him with a pill on it.

“How do you know that?”

“You keep frowning your forehead, I’ve seen you do that enough before to know you’re having a headache. Take it, it’s just an aspirin one of the nurses gave me.” He looks at you and takes the pill off of your hand, also accepting the glass of water you’re holding in your other hand.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” You adjust yourself in your seat, not having your legs towards him anymore. “Did the doctor say anything else?”

“He’s still under observation, his pressure could still be a little high.”

“Did they say what caused the heart attack?”

“Well, remember he was already dealing with irregular heartbeat?”

“Yes, we called the doctor when we were in that hotel in Incheon… or it was in Daejeon?”

“Daejeon. He ordered oysters, and the doctor said he should avoid foods with so much salt.”

“Ah yes, the oysters… “ you laugh softly.

“What’s so funny?”

“It’s just… your father told me that night that you were like an oyster.”

“And you were the pearl, yes, he told me the same.” He lowers his head and chuckles, glancing at you laughing. “His jokes can be quite terrible sometimes.”

“Like father, like son, Jumin. Just admit it.”

“You seemed to like my jokes.”

“I did, but who said my sense of humor isn’t terrible as well?” he laughs softly and you sigh.

“I think my father was feeling very stressful, if you really want to know.”

“Yes, ruling a company can be stressful…”

“Add a strenuous lawsuit on top of that. Oh, and an unstable and selfish son too.” He shifts his position to lay his back in the backrest of the chair in the waiting room.

“You see, Jumin, that’s your problem, you just… feel like you have to carry the weight of the world in your shoulders sometimes.”

“Are you saying I’m being dramatic, MC?”

You lay your back in the backrest, mimicking him. “I’m saying you don’t have to blame yourself for things you can’t control.”

“Funny you are saying that when you accused me of thinking I’m above of everything else that other day.”

“Well, you can be contradictory sometimes, that’s another thing you can’t control. And I… can say and do things I don’t really mean when I’m angry.” Like punching Seven… and slapping him.

“We all do, I suppose.”

“Yes, maybe. Either way, what happened to your father it’s not your fault, Jumin. So don’t… don’t torture yourself like this. Just… please, don’t.”

“For my father’s sake?”

Your eyes lock with his, the pain and fear in his gaze make you feel this urge of hugging him again.

“For your own sake, actually.”

You place your hand on top of his, and he looks at it. Regretting immediately of such a sudden and out of line move considering the last encounters you had with him, you try to pull away, but Jumin places his other hand on top of yours. You look at his fingers tangled in yours, then at his usual unexpressive face. You’ve got used to read his apparently emotionless expressions, but for the first time in a long time, you have no idea of what he’s thinking. But it’s probably better like this.

And the two of you stay like that for a few minutes. Not saying anything, just holding hands. His father is not well yet, Jumin said so many hurtful things, so did you, you even hurt him physically, and now there’s Seven… so many problems surrounding both of you.

And, unfortunately for you and him, these are those problems you can control.

“I hope being here because of me isn’t being hurtful to you, MC.” His father says, getting on a serious tone all of a sudden.

“It’s not, really. I know how he can be sometimes, and… I couldn’t leave him alone in a moment like this.”

“Yes, he can be dramatic sometimes.”

“Or just very intense.” You say this more to yourself than to him. “Anyway, he was going on trying to blame himself for what happened to you, sir, so… maybe you should talk him out of this when you have the chance.”

“Ah, always so responsible, my son.”

“He really is, and if I may say, he is like this because you’ve always gave him too many responsibilities, Mr. Han.”

“Always so honest, my daughter-in-law.”

“Ex daughter-in-law.”

“Oh, I apologize, force of habit, I suppose. Like imagining if you will get back to him.”

You get interrupted by the hospital room’s door being opened and a ginger head coming in. Seven! You wonder if he saw you and Jumin holding hands in the waiting room before.

“Hi! Sorry if I’m interrupting something, I’m just passing by to see if you’re okay, sir. Something just came up and I have to go.”

“Luciel, isn’t it?” he nods “You can go, young man. I’m fine, as you can see.”

“Very glad to know that, chief Han. I… also wanted to know if you’ll want a ride home, MC.”

“Thank you, Seven. I’ll be fine too.”

“Okay, see you soon, then.”

“What happened to your mouth, young man?”

“Ah, this?” Seven brushes his fingers lightly. “I deserved it.” Then he looks at you, and you look down. “I’ll ask for a band-aid since I’m here before I go. Get well soon, chief Han. I’ll call you later, MC.” And he walks away, closing the door.

“I… should probably get going too, Jumin must be anxious to see you, sir.” You get up of your chair and walk towards the door.

“It was a pleasure to see you again, MC.”

“Likewise, sir. I’ll try to come by tomorrow.”

“Yes, please come over. You and your ginger friend, too.”

You feel like protesting, but why bothering? “Yes, sir.” And you walk out of the room.

Okay, so maybe Seven was wrong and there is a “I’ve just had sex” sign in your forehead. Chairman got pretty quickly that there is something else going on. Actually, both Han men got it.

“I must say I was quite surprised on how quickly you and Luciel got here.” Jumin said when the two of you were next to the vending machine. He didn’t know how to get coffee and you promptly went to help him. That was the moment when you stop holding hands.

“He gave me a ride here.”

“I didn’t know you two live nearby.”

You could have compassion, but all you can give him is honesty. To the Han father, you always, do, to the Han son, it would be a first.

“I have no idea where he lives, we were just together when you called.”

“Together?”

“Yes.”

“I see. I should have imagined when you two showed up at the same time. Besides, there’s that wound in his face.” The can of coffee you were buying falls in the little opening of the machine. You feel your face on fire, not from anger, but from embarrassment.

“I’ll pretend I don’t know what you’re trying to imply here.”

“For my own sake?”

“For your father’s sake. Here’s your coffee.” You hand him the can and turn your back on him.

And in that moment, Jumin realized a few things:

You were being honest with him. And he appreciated the honesty. He appreciated everything you were doing from the minute you showed up at the hospital.Because it means that you still care.

He ended the temporary truce, and that was… a shame. Or maybe it wasn’t, since now he would try to pursue a permanent truce with you.

Because he wants you back. He knew that from the moment you placed your hand on top of his.

His father almost dying reminded him on what’s important...who’s important, actually. And the biggest weight in his shoulders was being apart from you all those months. The biggest problem was not even giving you a chance to show him your honesty.

And, fortunately for you and him, these are those problems he can control.

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#mystic messenger #mystic messenger fics #control #jumin x mc #jumin han #angst

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