#and medical bills to figure out are too much so ill manage
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me rn. also most of the time. oh the horrors.
#its ok rose is good just eahhahagsgs#that probably is not what someone who is good would say#ask rose!#mostly just physical things tho cus im pretty sure im super unhealthy#its ok tho im doing my best to work on it i just dont know what exactly is wrong most of the time#and medical bills to figure out are too much so ill manage#this is too serious hhhhh#ily thi#tho
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Kaius’ description on that ‘poorly describe your OCs’ post is actually amazing lol
I’d love to hear a little more about them if you feel up to talking about them!
Haha absolutely.
So Kaius is a tiefling gunslinger who worked as a hired gun/hit man/bounty hunter/what-have-you, pretty much did anything if it paid, up until he met his future wife, a samsaran named Esmalda. She worked as an entertainer playing piano at a club in a city called Goldengate. Kaius took up a job as a bouncer for the club and got close to her. They hit it off, and after dating for some time they got married, and later had a daughter—Kee. These were the some of the happiest times in Kaius’ life.
Then as Kee got older, she began to grow ill. Doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong with her, and her condition was getting worse—slowly, but steadily. Kaius and Esmalda disagreed on how to get together the money to pay for her medical bills. Kaius wanted to go back into his old business, but Esmalda was afraid that was too dangerous and would bring his enemies to their doorstep. Esmalda wanted to do some…“private entertainment” as a side gig…but Kaius wasn’t comfortable with that idea. Their relationship became rocky and eventually they split up. Kaius went back to his old gig as a hired gun, going by the name “Hawke” (short for Hawkeye) to try to keep his life with Esmalda and Kee separate from his work life. He became a habitual liar, not trusting anyone with any piece of honest truth about his life incase it might lead back to his family.
This led into our actual game, in which Kaius met a rag-tag group of weirdos—a fire genie sorcerer, an aasimar cleric, a rakshasa worshipping tiger beastkin antipaladin, and an orc wizard. He followed his modus operandi and lied constantly about everything involving himself. Which was hilarious when he played two truths and a lie with them and he rolled a nat 1 to deceive them in believing his 3 lies.
Anyways his deception didn’t last long because their first stop on their journey ended up being—where else—Goldengate. They ended up needing to pull off a heist of an artifact in a museum belonging to a man who it turned out Esmalda was currently dating for money. Kaius managed to talk his ex into looking the other way at their antics, used a clever mix of magic and items to become invisible and silence his gun to slip inside and steal the artifact while the party was fighting the security system, and got it out to their getaway vehicle.
As they were escaping their cleric, Gabrielle, explained that the artifact, a golden bowl, had the power to turn water stored in it into a medicine that could cure any disease after an hour. Kaius told them he needed that bowl, he needed to take it to the hospital, *now*. Without asking for an explanation, Gabby let Kaius take the bowl, despite it being a sacred artifact of her religion. Kaius jumped off a *moving bus* with a bowl *full of magic water* to get it to his sick daughter at the hospital. And he succeeded, he got the medicine to her, and it worked.
He returned the bowl to Gabby later, and thanked her for trusting him. In return for her trust, he told her the full truth about everything, about who he was and why he was there and what the medicine had been for and who Esmalda was to him. He asked her not to share it with the others. He still didn’t want more people to know than necessary, to keep his family safe. Gabby understood, and agreed.
After that Kaius continued traveling with the party because he felt like he owed them, and he helped them to gather the rest of Gabby’s artifacts. Without a desperate need for money driving him anymore, he could relax, and he ended up actually being a bit of a playful prankster when he could get away with it.
Later, it turned out Kaius made a big mistake trusting Gabby, when she turned out to be the leader and messiah figure of a cult that wanted to usurp the pantheon and replace them with their god Menia. When Gabby turned on the party she tried to have Kaius turn with her, believing he would take her side given that he viewed her in a sort of fatherly way. He really did hesitate, especially because she was the reason he’d managed to save his daughter. The only reason he didn’t end up turning traitor with her is because she ended up making a thoughtless comment about what Menia would do to those with ‘impure’ blood like Kee, who was half tiefling and half samsaran. Knowing his child wouldn’t be safe in Gabrielle’s world, he turned his gun on her instead.
From then on, Kaius has had a policy not to trust anyone who isn’t family. The closest person to him outside of Esmalda and Kee is the orc wizard, Eleanor, and that’s more a case of respect for her than trust. Volstat the beastkin and Hiyi the genie turned on him and Eleanor after the final battle because both Eleanor and Kaius believed Gabby had the potential to be redeemed after learning how she’d been manipulated by the cult and Menia, while Volstat and Hiyi just wanted revenge. Kaius and Eleanor have taken up a sort of foster parent role with Gabby, working on helping her to unlearn the things the cult taught her.
Once Kaius retired again and the fighting cults and gods and all that BS was over, he and Esmalda got remarried, and without the stress of dealing with medical bills or fear for their daughter’s life, things have gone well. Kaius runs a bar where Esmalda plays piano, and his guns are hung up where he doesn’t need them…so long as no customers get too rowdy.
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Back to the 118 // Evan Buckley
IN WHICH: Buck meets the firefighter he replaced as the reader transfers back to the 118. The reader never expected to fall for a co-worker the first day back at the 118 after two years spent at the 155 in Los Feliz.
Warnings: Swearing, sickness, hospitals, health issues, pregnancy, angst and a shit ton of fluff
Words: 5.9k
A/N: So this is obviously a modern au for jatp to fit in the 911 universe. To make this work, Buck replaced Reader instead of Tommy after many failed probies. Eddie then later replaced Tommy.
TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX/ASK PLEASE!
Masterlist
Your e/c eyes scanned the outward appearance of the first firehouse you’d worked at fresh out of the Academy. The place that had become a second home from the increased tension-filled house your parents still lived in. A place you had escaped as quickly as you could for a dream career. A career your parents hadn’t been proud of in the beginning, with the danger that came with being a firefighter paramedic.
“You the new recruit?”
Your eyes fell from the building to the male individual standing near the open bay the engine and ladder truck both used. The male in question must have joined the 118 after you transferred to the 155. The stranger towered at least six feet minimum with blue eyes and short blonde hair with the slightest wave.
“No-”
“Flint!” The excited voice of the only other female paramedic called out. You only saw dark navy before you were pretty much tackled.
Hen and Chimney had equally taken you under their wings when you initially joined as a rookie. You’d been the second female firefighter-paramedic at the 118 and the youngest by far. As if you’d summoned him, you felt the arms of Chimney sandwich you against Hen.
“Flint?” The stranger parroted, blinking his eyes at the rather unusual scene of Chimney and Hen wrapped around an unknown girl.
“What are you doing here?” Chimney questioned, stepping back. Hen scoured your entire form for any differences that had occurred.
“Y/N decided to come home,” Bobby spoke from a few feet behind the reunion with the beaming smile on his features. His lips pulled into a smile directed at the first recruit he’d taken on his first year at the 118.
“Bobby!” You grinned, meeting the father figure in the middle of the distance between you two. Bobby wrapped you up in his arms tightly, a certain lightness cocooning the Captain as he took in his friends.
“You’re back here?”
“Everything is squared back at home now, thankfully, and while I loved working with the 155, it wasn’t home. This will always be home.”
“Buck, this is Y/N Patterson. She worked her first two years with the 118 before transferring to the 155 in Los Feliz. Y/N, this is one of our newest members, Evan Buckley.” Bobby gestured towards the previously nameless firefighter.
“Who would leave the 118?” Buck questioned, unable to come up with a valid reason to leave the family at 118.
Buck’s opinion didn’t stand with his only workplace after successfully becoming a firefighter solely was the 118. Never had he worked in another firehouse. He’d been a fire marshall and volunteered his time in the Austin wildfire, but he always came home to the 118.
“Family issues.”
2018, Firehouse 118, Los Angeles
A fresh-faced, albeit dirty from sweat and soot, jumped down from the engine truck’s high steps. The synchronized slam of doors sounded from your colleagues and friends Hen and Chimney. All three individuals famished for the casserole Bobby had premade during the slow morning.
“Baked Mac n’ Cheese.” Tommy breathed from his position by the driver side. Tommy Kinard was a stoic man towering over six feet. He was always a gentle giant after you’d bonded after a hard call.
“Clean up, and I’ll have it in the oven. It’s Chimney’s time to make the salad and Flint’s turn to set the table.” Bobby spoke with barely a glance to the ground ahead of him.
Your Captain jogged towards the stairs, whereas his team made their way to the locker rooms for a well-deserved shower. You and Hen split away from Tommy and Chimney to the women’s locker room that had gotten an upgrade.
Well, before you joined the Academy, the locker room had been used as a glorified game room, all thanks to the misogynist Captain from hell. Hen often had over the years mentioned how lucky you got with Bobby being your first Captain.
“Chimney better not put those onions like he did last time.” You spoke from under the stream of warm water. Nothing beat the warmth of a shower near the end of your shift erasing the evidence of your job.
“Man needs to learn the complimentary salad to the main dish.” Hen piped up from across the shower room.
You and Hen had both showered and redressed in a fresh uniform in under five minutes, the dirty one placed in a laundry bag. You’d managed to beat the boys to the upstairs by a few seconds. Enough to set half of the able before Chimney began to making his salad of choice.
“Looks great, Cap.” Tommy complimented the gooey homemade pasta Bobby religious made every third Thursday. He alternated between pasta recipes with the odd new recipe every once in a while.
“What are you waiting for? The bell?” Bobby quipped to the unmoving bunch of hungry individuals. His words started the boisterous meal time preceding the end of shift.
“So, we’re halfway through dinner and Amber-” Your phone interrupted the disaster date Tommy had begun telling. He continued as soon as you waved him to go ahead while you took the call.
“Hello?” You breathed into the phone.
“Hi, sweetheart.” The warmth infused in your mom’s voice soothed the ruffled feathers from the call you’d come back from, “How are you?”
“I’m good! We just finished eating. My shift is almost over, and I’ll have to go straight to the store for groceries-”
“Y/N, we found him.”
The him was easy to figure out given your brother had run away from home three months prior with only his dreams in mind. You’d spent most of your off time, sometimes even during shift out on a call, to scan the environment for Luke. You became a regular in questioning hospitals and homeless shelters.
“Where was he?”
“His band had been about to play at some big venue last night.” Mom’s word choice concerned you. Her voice dripped with sadness instead of the typical disappointment and annoyance on anything to do with Sunset Curve.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
“A few nights ago, the boys got hotdogs-”
“Streetdogs.” You interrupted with evident anger in your tone at the mention of those death dogs Luke consumed. You can’t even give a number to how many times you had told him how unsanitary and dangerous the food is.
“Something was wrong with the food. They got ill fast. Alex and Reggie are being kept for observation but will be found with a few days of rest.”
“What about Luke?”
“He tried to call 911; he was weak and fell. Y/N, he hit his head. He’s in the ICU in a coma.” Emily Patterson’s voice cracked as soon as she acknowledged the current state of her youngest child.
The colours of the world dulled as soon as your mind clicked that Luke was in the hospital. Your little brother had put himself in danger all because he had a big dream. Your mind flashed through your life growing up with him.
You remembered talking to your mom’s growing bump when she was pregnant with Luke. You remembered five-year-old Luke unable to settle unless you sang to him. Your voice was nothing special, but it soothed the little boy when he had a nightmare. You could vividly recall teaching Luke how to play the guitar when he was thirteen; the brunette a complete natural at it.
“What’s his prognosis?”
“Too early to tell. The doctor is hoping Luke will be in a general room after tomorrow if the swelling goes down. I wanted you to know as soon as possible.”
“How’s Dad?”
Emily hesitated from her position by a hospital bed. Her brown eyes carefully scanning the male sleeping soundly in the bed.
“Mom?”
“Your father had a heart attack last night. That’s why I haven’t been able to tell you sooner. He’s currently sleeping, but he’ll have a barrage of tests later today-”
“I’ll be there as soon as my shif-”
“No. Don’t drop anything. I can keep you up.”
“Excuse my language, but there’s no way in hell I’m staying away from my family. I’ll take a few days off. I’ll see you in a couple hours.” Your thumb tapped the red circle on the bottom of your screen.
The 118 didn’t bother pretending they hadn’t been watching your form during your phone call. Bobby felt like something had drastically changed in a few minutes you’d been busy on the phone.
“Everything okay?” Bobby inquired from his position at the kitchen sink. His hands in the sudsy water to scrub the empty pan.
“My brother and my father are in hospital. I’m gonna need some days off.” You informed your boss with a look of utter defeat coating your expression.
Those few days transitioned to transferring to the closest firehouse to your childhood home and the hospital. The medical bills from both your brother and father had begun to overwhelm your mother with the current single source of income. Emily didn’t ask you for anything, but you started renting the home you’d bought for extra money.
It was a silent agreement that you paid rent as a cover to helping with the bills piling up.
Present Day, Firehouse 118
Buck followed behind the welcoming group to the girl that seemed larger than life. Buck was impressed by the sacrifice you’d made for the good of your family. You’d willingly given up the family of the 118. Buck didn’t know if he could do the same.
“Welcome back.” Hen cheered on her guidance to the heaven everyone called the kitchen. Your department issue duffle bag dropped out of the wall on the top level.
Your eyes zeroed in on the spread of your favourite foods prepared by the only person aware of your return. It was only one look of gratitude towards the father figure before everyone dug in.
A few changes had occurred since you’d last sat at this table. Tommy Kinard had left the 118 for the 217 shortly after your departure. He’d been replaced by the ready to impress Buck. One thing that hadn’t changed was the delicious food Bobby made.
Your eyes found the sole empty chair at the long table, “Didn’t you say the house took on two new recruits since I left?”
“Buck took your position when you left. We had a revolving door of firefighters before Buck permanently joined.” Chimney supplied with a mouth full of lettuce and grated carrot. Hen whacked his arm for his lack of manners.
“You’ll meet Eddie on the next shift. He took the day off. It’s his son’s first birthday since his mom died.” Bobby informed you with that pinched wrinkle between his eyebrows, “He joined after Tommy left.”
“Well, I can’t wait to meet the entire team.” You replied, looking past to the circular table behind Bobby’s spot. Sam and Ryan both waved happily upon catching sight of you back at your unspoken seat.
You listened intently as Hen shared the changes Denny had gone through in the time you’d been away. Chimney was ecstatic to point out the faint scar on his forehead.
“You had rebar go through your skull, and you’re completely fine?” You questioned, floored by the pure luck Chimney had.
“Oh, it was nasty. Went in from the back of the skull to the front.” Buck spoke enthusiastically, recounting the scene. Chimney deadpanned a look at his younger coworker, “Oh, sorry.”
“It’s like you never had it happen.”
“Doc was shocked at how positive the outcome and healing was. I was back at work within a month on light duty. I beat my record getting in my turnout gear.”
“And yet my little brother was comatose for two months.” You grumbled under your breath. None of the people could make out the words, but the grimace on your face was enough to show them it was personal.
In true 118 fashion, the bell rang throughout the firehouse with the disembodied voice declaring the type and location. Yoru e/c eyes found Buck climbing into the driver’s seat where Tommy had once commandeered. It was odd not having the man who’d became an older brother to you.
“How’re your parents?” Hen questioned, sitting diagonally from you. Her fingers repositioning the radio on her chest.
“Dad’s recovering pretty good. Mom’s started attending her knitting club again.”
Buck’s eyes raised to the rearview mirror to meet yours in interest, “What happened?”
“Uh...my dad had a heart attack a couple years ago. He took a long time to recover with the further stress that caused it.” You piped up, understanding the news would come out at some point, “My little brother was in an accident that left him in a coma. Life was just as messy after he woke up.”
“He’s okay?” Chimney questioned, “I know we’ve never met them, but it really gutted you.”
“Well, physically, he’s fine, but emotionally he’s upset. He was in a band, and when he came out of the coma, he found out some devastating news.” You continued to explain, but unfortunately, or maybe, fortunately, you’d come to the scene.
It was a little known place most teenagers discovered as a hang out spot just on the edge between your county and the next. The location was the infamous spot of cliff jumping; you knew because this was something you’d recklessly done in high school.
“He’s over here!” A blonde male of average height called from the edge of the cliff. His blue eyes were bright even from this distance, matching the detailing on his swim trunks.
Surrounding the edge with the boy was a group of teenagers his age, all in different versions of swimsuits. You found the scared brown eyes of a beautiful girl you vaguely knew from the few shows of Sunset Curve you had watched. Her dark blonde hair plaited out of her face. Her face clicked as Carrie Wilson, Bobby’s sister or cousin.
You jogged towards the edge of the cliff to look over. It was easily between fifteen to twenty feet from the edge of the cliff to the water. You recognized Hen crouching by your side, looking at what you were looking at.
On the rocks was a prone body of a teenage male with bruises already forming on his face from where you could see. His thick shoulder-length hair laid still half in the ponytail and around his head.
“Head trauma.” You murmured to Hen, scanning from a distance, “I can’t tell much from this height and angle.”
“Either a broken tibia or fibula. Spinal injury is definitely a concern.”
“Okay, his name is Willie Young. He’s eighteen years old. His sister Kayla was dared to jump off by doing some kind of flip. Willie took her dare and didn’t jump far enough or tripped over a rock.” Bobby listed having been talking with the group of teenagers all shook up.
“I can rappel-” Buck began to speak before you cut him off firmly.
“It would take too long, and the angle is difficult. Nobody rappels down it; the cliff isn’t stable enough. It crumbles pretty easy, and the unofficial name of this cliff is Devil’s Dive.” Your eyes found Carrie’s tear-filled once and the utter devastation in who you pegged as Kayla.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve jumped off this cliff for years as a teenager. You’re looking at the resident champion of self reckless endangerment at Devil’s Dive.”
Hen, Chimney and Bobby each stared, shocked at your revelation of stupid teenager decisions.
“Then how are we gonna get down there,” Buck questioned, staring at the unconscious teenager lying on the rocks.
“Easy, I can jump from here into the water and climb onto the rocks to where Willie is. I have the experience of how and where to jump safely.” You spoke to your Captain with complete confidence in your abilities, “You can lower down the kit, radio and backboard by a rope. There’s a mansion beyond the trees that you can ask to borrow a boat from the owner. He’s eccentric and questionable but nice enough.”
Bobby nodded his head to your plan. You unbuttoned your uniform shirt to strip down to the department t-shirt with the emblem on your chest and across your back. You kept the boots and emptied your pockets of anything. The butterflies fluttered in your stomach at the height of the cliff you hadn’t jumped from in years.
“I’ll jump where-”
“Excuse me?” You scoffed at Buck’s assumption he could follow you.
“You’ll need another pair of hands to roll him on the backboard. I don’t have anyone waiting for me at home. This is kinda what I do. Bobby cleared it already.” Buck shrugged with a half-smirk on his handsome face.
With a roll of your eyes, you quickly gave Buck a rundown on how to jump correctly before you tossed yourself off the cliff. The cold water momentarily shocked your system as soon you submerged under the water. You swam to the surface before swimming towards the rocks. Willie hadn’t moved an inch.
“Whoa! That was so cool!” Buck cheered once he’d appeared on the surface of the water, “No wonder you used to do that!”
His excitement both annoyed and amused you, “Eh. I was just an idiot kid who thought they were invincible.”
The two firefighters lifted themselves onto the rock formation, where blood stained the rock. While Buck retrieved the backboard and essentials from the rope, your hands moved across Willie’s body, checking for breaks. You caught the c-collar Buck tossed without looking. You quickly but gently put the collar on Willie.
“Hi, Willie. My name is Y/N, and I’m a paramedic. I’m gonna check you over for injuries.” You informed the teenager closely. You’d only just opened his eyes to flash a light on them, “Buck let Bobby know Willie’s pupils are reactive to light and the same size.”
“Got it!” Buck called out from the open medkit, “I’ll splint his leg.”
“W-what happened?” Willie wheezed sluggishly. His brown eyes were unfocused.
“You got hurt trying to jump off the cliff. You’re in good hands, Willie. I’m a paramedic with the Los Angeles Fire Department. This is my coworker Buck.”
“Kayla?”
“Perfectly safe, but you did give her a scare. Willie, can you feel this?” Buck questioned, gently touching his right foot. Buck and you both gave a sigh of relief as Willie confirmed he felt it.
“Okay, we’re gonna roll you on to the backboard. On three: one, two, three.” You counted before rolling Willie on his side with Buck. Willie’s cry echoed around the surrounding as you settled him on the board.
“Need a ride?” Chimney asked as a very nice boat floated towards the three people on the rocks. Hen and Bobby helped load Willie onto the boat, “Mr. Covington agreed to let us use the boat if we don’t get blood on the seats.”
“Can you call my boyfriend?” Willie sluggishly asked when he was loaded into the ambulance on the cliff. Kayla sliding into the seat in the back of the ambulance with their items.
“Alex is meeting us at the hospital.” Kayla told her older brother, “You absolute idiot! You should have just let me jump!”
“And let you be in the back of the ambulance? Dad would kill me if I had let you do it.” Willie scoffed. Their conversation was silent as Chimney and Buck closed the back doors of the ambulance.
Bobby, Buck and you climbed into the fire truck to follow the ambulance to the closest hospital. Hen and Chimney rolled the gurney to the doors with Kayla hot on their heels. You’d just turned to head back to the truck when you saw three teens loitering near the entrance.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You grumbled, marching away from Bobby and Buck to the teen who was supposed to be in class.
Luke had been forced into private tutoring to catch up to his friends in his grades, meaning every afternoon. The watch on your wrist confirmed Luke was definitely supposed to be with his tutor at the community centre.
“Luke!” You shouted, stomping right up to the wide-eyed teen.
Luke’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as his older intimidating sister caught him like his hand was in the cookie jar. You didn’t give Reggie or Alex a second look while you gripped Luke’s ear to tug him away.
“Ow!” Luke whined from the angle you dragged him at.
“What the hell are you doing across the city? You’re supposed to be in your session that our parents are paying a great deal for.” You snapped, crossing your arms in your wet t-shirt.
“We need every chance we can to-”
“Make it big in the industry.” You parroted the past discussions on Luke’s dream as a band, “Do you remember how I got mom and dad off your back? An agreement that you finish high school on time. Not dropping out.”
“So many musicians have dropped out! Green Day’s frontman dropped out his senior year to focus on the band. Several others like Elton John and Kurt Cobain!” Luke enthused, gesturing with his hand to emphasize his words.
“Luke.” You warned, “It’s either catch by with a tutor with some time dedicated to your band, or it’s a military school.”
Luke’s hazel eyes minimally widened, “They would-”
Your stoic expression stayed the same as the energetic seventeen-year-old bounced in his spot across from you.
“There’s only so much I can do before you lose everything. I know you feel anxious after what all happened, but music isn’t going anywhere.” You reached to squeeze Luke’s hand in yours, “So, I’ll clear it with my boss to have you ride the bus to the station. You’ll have your tutor sessions with my supervision, so I know you’re attending.”
“Y/N!” Bobby called from next to the firetruck, “We gotta go.”
“I’m guessing the Alex that Willie is dating your best friend?” You questioned with one raised eyebrow. Luke nodded in response, “Let mom know you had to be there for Alex. She’ll let skipping your session go this once.”
“Thanks!” Luke chimed, lunging to hug you. Your mouth barely opened before he was racing towards a jittery Alex and a grinning Reggie.
Reggie lifted his arm to wave with his flushed cheeks a darker red colour. You found Reggie’s crush on you to be absolutely adorable. He was a friendly kid.
“He looks good for a kid who was in a coma not long ago.” Hen breathed as the teenager entered the ER with his best friends beside him.
“Oh, he healed quickly. He was crushed after he fully recovered from his head injury.”
“That was your brother?” Buck inquired, and he was just as focused on your features as he had since he first met you.
“Yeah! He was in a coma for ten months when he was sixteen. He’s spent the last two years catching on on school to graduate with his friends. Well hopefully. He’s dead set on dropping out.” You heavily sighed, leaning your temple on the glass window, “He was supposed to be at a tutoring session. I’ll be chaperoning to make sure he goes.”
“If you need to have them at the station, send me a schedule, and I’ll make it work. Luke’s just as much family as you are.”
The rest of the shift was smooth sailing as Buck followed you around with the sole purpose of getting to know you. The friendship came naturally to the two of you. He didn’t hold back with you like he did with others. Fridays off became hangouts that varied from just Buck and you to spend it with Eddie and Christopher.
Everyone could see Buck had developed feelings for you and vice versa. Unlike the man Buck used to be, he was cautious. He wanted to do this right. And Buck did. With the help of Christopher, he asked you out.
Months Later
Buck’s eyes fluttered open in the dim lighting of your new home’s bedroom he often found himself in. Before, you had alternated staying at his apartment or yours before a significant change happened. Luke moved in to finish his senior year with the help of your tutoring, as agreed with your parents. That led to you giving up your former home, the one that coincidentally Buck’s sister Maddie had rented from you.
“Luke! You better be awake!” Your voice came from the main floor of the home. Your voice alone seduced the firefight to leave the warm sheets.
His bare feet pattered down the hardwood floor stairs into the kitchen coated in all different kinds of breakfast food. Waffles to imported maple syrup to bacon spread across the counter.
“Morning,” Buck grumbled, stepping up behind you to tug you against his chest.
Unlike Buck’s softer footsteps, your little brother tore down the stairs like a stampede of elephants. Luke wore a vintage band shirt modified sleeveless; you’d be getting a voicemail about dress code violations. The chains hanging off his black jeans.
“You have to hurry, Lu. Buck and I can’t be late. He needs to get to his apart-”
“I don’t see why he doesn’t just move in. He’s here almost every night. He helps buy groceries.” Luke’s hazel eyes stared at the plate he towered food on.
Buck raised one eyebrow in response, “You just moved in. You should be settled before we make-”
“Dude. Your lease is up in like a month; just move in already. No feathers will be ruffled. Besides, the band’s taking off now that Nick got his dad Ryan to check our music out.” Luke sprouted with a beaming smile at the good news his new band received.
After Luke had recovered from that coma, he’d woken up in a world where Alex, Reggie and Bobby, no Trevor, now continued the band. Then when Alex and Reggie couldn’t go on, the rhythm guitarist betrayed Luke. He stole every song he could get his hands on and proved successful.
“Ryan Evans, right? His sister’s some bigshot on Broadway? Sharpay, right?” You questioned recalling in the early 2000s the success of Sharpay and Ryan in some kind of Disney films based on them.
“You’re about to be the sister and brother-in-law of a certified rockstar.” Luke’s attempt at smirking made him look like a chipmunk with full cheeks of food, “I don’t need a ride. Alex’s picking me up.”
“Straight to school, Luke. You’ve got two weeks left before you can leave that behind.” Buck pointed his coffee cup in the direction of the passionate musician. Luke returned a smile of acknowledgement.
The kitchen was quiet as Luke shoved as much food in his mouth in such little time while you watched. In a flash, he’d stuck his dishes in the dishwasher before sprinting out to the van beeping continuously.
“Think we can have you moved in by tomorrow? Your one-bedroom place will be a little cramped for five people.” You simply spoke as you rinsed your coffee cup out. You could hear the wheels in Buck’s brain turning as he thought.
“Five people?”
“Yeah. Luke, Albert, me, you and baby Buckley.”
The entire home went completely still as the announcement bled into the house you’d made a home. One hand resting against the smoothness of your belly. That hand covered by the calloused one of Buck’s. His blue eyes gleaming in utter adoration and excitement.
“Baby Buckley?” Buck marvelled, turning you to face him with tears running down your cheeks, “You’re pregnant?”
“I am. I guess we’re giving Maddie’s daughter a cousin.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Now I’m obligated to see your parents regularly, and I still grimace at the first introduction.” Buck winced, recalling the foot in mouth syndrome he’d developed.
Buck had never been as nervous as in this moment. Not when he had to tell his parents the first time he got kicked out of college. Or when his teenage self sat beside one of his flings waiting for the results of a pregnancy test. Not even on his first date with Abby.
“You’ll be fine.” You soothed the anxious man standing by your side on the doorstep of your childhood home. The door opened, revealing Luke standing with a grimace, “Oh Mom, made you wear that.”
Luke had been stuffed into one of the only long-sleeved shirts he owned by your mother. It was a magenta maroon hued corduroy shirt and set off his chocolate hair perfectly. Apparently, your mother hadn’t been able to get him into a pair of pants that weren’t skinny, black or ripped.
“We’re meeting your boyfriend, not the damn Pope-”
“You wouldn’t be wearing that if the Pope was involved.” You retorted, stepping to tug the younger Patterson into your arms. The only thing you adored about your little brother was he never denied a hug. Physical touch is his love language, so he never went through a phase.
“Lucas, don’t let them freeze on the front porch!” Emily shouted from within the Patterson home. Luke rolled his eyes at his mother’s request.
“Luke, this is my boyfriend, Evan Buckley. Buck, this is my not so little brother Luke.” You swiftly introduced the most important males in your life.
Luke and Buck got along better than any previous partner you’d brought home. He got along with your parents really well. Even when he slightly embarrassed himself as the time came to go home, whether it was his place or yours. He kissed your mother’s cheek and shook hands with your father.
“No offence, but thank you for having a heart attack and a coma. If you hadn’t, I’m sure I would have never met Y/N.”
Luke snickered at Buck’s odd choice of words, as did your parents. A part of Buck dreaded the next time he’d see your parents.
The gentle press of lips against your cheek pulled you from your thoughts of the first family dinner. Despite the issues between Luke and your parents, they were great people and parents; Buck had felt like he finally fit in. Even with that awkward thankful he gave your brother and dad, he was family the minute Mitch and Emily saw the mutual looks.
“How are we gonna do this?”
“Well, as the pregnant one, I’ll carry the little Bean until it’s time for them to enter the world. Then we’ll-”
“I get that but with our jobs?”
You felt guilty at the dread of not getting to do what you love, but you were excited, “I’ll keep working as a paramedic. I’ll stay away from fires, and then I’ll go on mat leave. We’ll make this work, Buck.”
Buck leaned down to rest his forehead against yours with his eyes closed, envisioning how life was about to change. Buck adored children. He had loved Christopher from the moment he’d first met him. Buck himself was a kid at heart.
“I didn’t think I could fall more in love, but you continue to surprise me each time,” Buck murmured with that gorgeous smile that utterly melted your heart from the first time you saw it. Back when you tried to deny any feelings beyond friendship.
“We’re so lucky to have you, Evan Buckley.” You breathed as you leaned up to kiss him with as much passion as you could. Although it was mostly clashing of teeth with the matching wide grins on your face.
“This little girl is gonna be a heartbreaker but no boyfriends or girlfriends until they’re thirty.” Buck declared, tugging you into his arms. His blue eyes twinkling in the natural lighting.
“It could be a boy.”
“Or maybe neither. Boy, girl or non-binary, I’ll love them just as much.” Buck spoke once more.
Gideon Buckley was born in the early morning to the pride of his parents and extended family. He was a healthy solid 8 pounds with sparse dark blonde hair and the trademark grey-blue newborn eyes. You everyone but Buck and your surprise Gideon wasn’t alone. Grace Buckley followed her older twin brother eight minutes later.
You rested against the propped up pillows spent from the exhausting hours of labour, but it was worth it. The two tiny babies snuggled beneath the swaddling blanket concealing your bare chest. Skin to skin contact was absolutely the best part of being a parent.
“Did you steal a baby?” Chim joked upon entering the hospital room with Maddie in tow. Right behind them were your parents and Luke.
“I’d like you to meet our twins Gideon and Grace Buckley. Surprise!” Buck quietly cheered in the nearly silent room. Buck’s curated newly parents playlist gently playing in the background.
Mitch and Emily came closer to look at the little loves they proudly got to claim as their first grandchildren. Emily’s heart melted upon hearing Gracie coo in her sleep. Grace and Gideon’s fist pressed against each other.
“Congratulations.” Maddie breathed, bending to catch a peek at the twins’ faces.
“Luke. Would you like to meet your goddaughter and godson?” You questioned the nervous musician. The nineteen-year-old tiptoed his way to the hospital bed.
“I’m both their godfather?” Luke choked as soon as Buck gently transferred Gideon onto his uncle’s chest.
“There’s no one else in the world I’d choose to help guide them in the right direction. You always found your way back onto the right path. You’ll do the same for them.” Buck answered with Gracie nestled on his chest.
Buck was the first to hold them followed by you and then their godfather Luke.
Gid and Gracie, although unseen, had been in Luke’s graduation pictures and watched as Julie and the Phantoms signed with a record label. Where Gid was, Luke wasn’t far beyond; the special bond melted everyone. Likewise with Gracie and Alex.
Gid overall was a happy baby compared to Grace. Loved visiting the firehouse. Loved the people working with their father and previously their mother. For the entire first year of Gideon and Grace’s life, you stayed at home with the utter support of Buck.
“First day back.” Hen spoke from beside you on the bench in the women’s change room. As a fellow mother, she’d been watching your behaviour.
“I miss them. I feel guilty that I abandoned them-”
“Okay, your feelings are valid, but you aren’t abandoning Gideon or Grace. You’re teaching them that you can be a great mom while also being a badass firefighter. I was the same when I went back to work after we got Denny.”
“Do you ever wish you could be a stay at home mom?”
“I love Denny with my entire heart, but I couldn’t do that. I was meant to be a paramedic firefighter as much as Denny’s mother. Besides, I can see Maddie pushing in the double stroller.”
Your head snapped to see your sister in law beaming with the double stroller carrying Gideon and Grace. Maddie’s daughter sitting on the seat made for a toddler. Maddie and Chimney had come to a decision for Maddie to work part-time.
Hen watched as you bounded out of the changeroom in uniform to scoop the twins into your arms. In a split second, Buck was down the stairs cooing at the absolute loves of his life. His partner and two children.
Buck would forever be grateful for finding his way to the 118, where he found his true family. A place of acceptance, love, trust and loyalty. Buck found his place in the world, and that was beside you.
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The Stables ~ MYG [Request]
WORD COUNT: 3.3K
PAIRING: Prince!Yoongi x StableGirl!Reader
GENRE: Prince AU, Angst with fluffy ending, mentions of a childhood accident, memory loss
A/N: Hope you enjoy thiiiissss! I didn’t make it too angst since he did end up liking her in the end so I hope this is okay for you!
Ever since you were a little girl you'd lived in the huge palace that was just beside the beach. It looked out on the shore with a huge Kingdom right behind it with loyal subjects. Everyone within the kingdom was kind and caring, always going out of their way to make the people around them happy which was why the Kingdom worked so well. The castle was well respected as well as the people that lived inside of it since they were the royal family but just because you lived in the castle it didn't mean that you were a Princess of any kind.
"Y/n?" You heard your grandmother ask as you walked through the door to your part of the castle. It was split up so that the royals had their castle but you lived in the servants quarters with your grandmother. She'd been running the stables since before you could walk. After poking your head through into her room she smiled up at you.
"How was Star today?" Star was the name of the Prince's horse, you'd been having a lot of trouble getting him to trust you which was why your grandmother was asking. The horse didn't seem to take too kindly to your grandmother randomly not coming back to work with him and instead, replacing her with you,
"He was better," A barefaced lie but you knew if you told your grandmother the truth she would risk getting out of bed to go and see what was wrong but nothing was wrong. Star just didn't seem to like you being around him, he was fine with other people but just you.
"How was your day?" You moved into the room as she questioned you and you walked over to her bed, running your hand up to her head to see if her temperature had gone but it was still hot to the touch.
"It was okay. Have you eaten? Shall I heat up some soup?" She placed a shrivelled hand on your wrist and asked you to sit with her. It had been far too long since the two of you got to sit down together like this. Ever since she got sick you'd taken over her jobs in the castle, working in the stables as well as your own job which was a part-time bar-maid job in the Kingdom centre it was hard to get a minute to yourself but you needed the money for her medical bills. Although you worked for the King and Queen and your grandmother had worked there since she was a little girl they weren't keen on paying for her to get better.
"I ate some soup. The young prince came by and gave me some from the kitchen." The mention of Yoongi made your blood boil. The thought of him stepping foot in your house made you even madder but you tried to play it down in front of your grandmother.
"I felt you tense. He's a nice boy if you just got to know him..." She continued on with the nice boy speech while you drowned it out in your head. Yoongi had been nothing but a rude stuck up kid ever since you met him. You figured it was because he was a Prince he thought he could push people around whenever he wanted and get them to do what he pleased. He always acted as though he wanted nothing to do with you, to everyone else he was the kindest person in the entire world but whenever he was around you it was a different story. He'd either completely ignore you to the point where it feels like you don't exist or he would be rude to you. There was never an in-between.
"Besides, you'll be working for him when the King and Queen pass, you need to get along." You rolled your eyes before getting up, mumbling to her that you would bring her a fresh cold cloth for her head but you just needed to get out of her room and away from the Yoongi talk.
Once your Grandma was asleep you slipped into your barmaid skirt, pulling a cape over your head as you headed out of the back door.
"Evening," Jimin - one of the night guards - said as he saw you walking in his direction. Every night without fail he would accompany you into the town so you wouldn't have to walk alone in the dark. The kingdom was safe sure but it was better to be extra safe than sorry.
"How's she's doing?" The question you always hated being asked, everyone within the Palace and Kingdom seemed to know that your grandmother had fallen ill as much as you tried to keep it under lock and key. Everyone thought that it was their business to know what was going on,
"She's doing okay. She said she had some soup from your friend earlier so that's good...She didn't eat yesterday," Jimin chuckled as you called the Prince his friend instead of using his real name.
"You can call him Yoon-" You covered Jimin's mouth with your finger and he rolled his eyes at you.
"You know, there was a time when the two of you would-" He stopped speaking when you began curtsying so he bowed to the King that was passing you in the street followed by guards and Yoongi who didn't even glance at you before he smiled and greeted Jimin.
"I'll see you later, thanks for walking me again." You rushed out your words before running in the direction of the bar, you didn't want to hear that you and Yoongi would have been friends one day or that he was nice but you just weren't seeing it.
"There she is! The woman of the hour!" Your boss cried out bringing the attention of the local drunks over to you, you waved your hand before heading over to the bar. Hanging up your cape before taking orders right away, wanting nothing more than to earn your money and head home before waking up extra early for the stables the next morning.
"Shit, shit, shit." You mumbled running as fast as your legs would carrying you towards the stables. You'd slept over the guard that normally came to wake you up and now you were going to get into trouble if anyone found out that you were late,
"Y/n? I fed Star and changed the water but-" The other girl who worked in the stables with you began to curtsy so you followed her lead, looking at the shoes of the man in front of you.
"Is Star ready for his morning ride?" You knew it was Yoongi from the tone of his voice,
"I'll go and get him." The stable girl mumbled leaving you alone with him as you raised yourself from the curtsy. Going over to your own horse as you run your hand down her Maine, there was an awkward silence as you tried to act as though Yoongi was there.
"You were late this morning," Yoongi commented as he watched you from behind, he stared at you as you continued to stroke your horse. He could remember when you first got her and how attached you were to her and his heart swelled watching you still be so friendly with her,
"I know, I slept late because I didn't finish until late last night." You were doing your best to be as pleasant as you could with him, after all, he was the Prince and he was above you.
"I don't appreciate Star being taken care of by someone who isn't qualified." You turned around to face Yoongi as he made a remark and he took a step back once he saw you. The scar that you had gotten when you were kids was on your forehead and guilt washed over him as soon as he saw you. The scar that changed everything in your lives. The two of you had been close friends but after your accident, Yoongi felt so guilty for you not being able to remember anything he pushed you away. Ignoring you whenever he saw you around the palace and being rude because he couldn't handle the guilt he felt when he saw you and the large scar on your head.
"Star is acting up because he can sense a storm coming, be careful." The stable girl mentioned as she brought Star over to Yoongi, handing him the reigns and smiling.
"I'm sure myself and Star will be fine. Y/n, don't be late tomorrow or you'll be out a job," He snapped as you rolled your eyes, your back still turned on him as you hummed out an answer for him.
"How can you be so rude to him, he'll be our king soon." You ignored the stable girl, taking your horse out and smiling.
"Going for a ride, clean the stables." You mumbled to her as you swung your leg over the horse and climbed onto her back.
The rest of the day you'd managed not to bump into Yoongi and you didn't have the bar to work in that night.
"You should have been on time, do you know how tardy that makes us look?" You didn't want to spend time arguing with your Grandmother who was sick so you agreed with what she was saying, nodding your head and feeding her some soup you had made.
"It was an accident, I was late because-"
"I don't want to hear excuses! Do you know how embarrassing it was to have Yoongi come around and tell me you were late?" You ignored her just trying to make sure she ate but there was a loud bang from outside the door.
"The thunder," She grumbled, shivering as she felt a breeze come through the small window in her room. Your eyes glanced over at the window to see rain hammering down against the floor and it wasn't the smallest of storms.
"The horses must be scared," That was the one thing your grandmother worried most about, the storms always affected the horses and whenever there was a storm she would make sure she could be there for them whenever.
"I'll go down and check on them," You whispered, tucking her under the covers while you went to get dressed to brace the storm.
Yoongi stared out of his window and down at the stables as he heard you trying to calm down the scared horses. The sounds of their scared neighing could be heard from his room and he could see the rain was getting worse,
"Star, hey, hey hey." Yoongi could hear the desperation in your voice as you tried to calm his horse down and he raced down the stairs to see if you needed his help, his heart pounding as he saw you backed against a wall.
"Star, look it's going to be okay." You tried speaking with him normally to calm him down but it wasn't working, the sight of seeing you backed into a corner by a horse sent memories swimming back to Yoongi as he stared at you.
"Y/n?" Yoongi called out when he galloped back over to where he had seen you last, the two of you were on a horse ride that morning trying to clear his head. His parents had just told him about most of the responsibilities he would be facing when he turned 16 and this was his chance to clear his head with you. You'd grown up alongside one another as the best of friends even though he was of Royal blood but that never stopped you from being friends. This morning after riding off together the two of you decided to see who could beat one another home the fastest, racing along the side of the cliffs near the beach so you wouldn't be seen by the king, queen or the guards that were hunting for you both.
"Y/n?" Yoongi's voice grew with worry as he realised your horse was on her own laying down on the grass and you were nowhere to be seen. He climbed down from Star and walked over towards the edge of the small cliff that was near him, it was a small drop to the beach nothing that would hurt but he couldn't help but feel panicked seeing you laying there. Facedown in the sand with blood around you,
"Y/N!" He screamed out in pain as he began climbing down the side of the small drop and to your side, he rolled you over to see a large cut on your forehead.
"Y/n? Can you hear me?" He panicked, taking off some of his shirt to wipe the sand away from your wound and trying to get a response from you but you didn't move.
"HELP! SOMEONE HELP!" He screamed out but there was no one around, you'd both ditched the guard's miles away and it was the two of you out there alone.
If he hadn't left you alone and ridden off so fast you never would have lost your memory that day. You could barely remember anything from your childhood, most of the memories you had were from 16 and up and Yoongi blamed himself all of the time. Because of that he never let himself get close to you again, in fear of losing you or hurting you again, he loved you far too much to let that happen.
"Star, here..." Yoongi clicked his tongue and Star began backing away from you, walking towards Yoongi as he whipped his tail from side to side.
"That's a good boy," He breathed out as you relaxed at the back relieved that Star was out of your face.
"I'll get him out-" Yoongi was cut off when a large clap of thunder sounded, Star kicked the back of the stable wall and you screamed as the wood began to splinter off.
"Y/n!" The way Yoongi screamed your name felt as though it was echoing in your head, you sat on the floor holding your fingers over your face trying to get the thought of Yoongi out of your head but he yelled out your name once again and images flashed in front of you. Riding a horse and falling down a small cliff before everything faded to black.
"Here, drink this," Yoongi whispered as he handed you a glass of water looking at you. You glared at him as he held your face in his hands, turning it towards the light of the flame in his room.
"You have a cut, stay here." He mumbled going towards his bathroom and coming back with some tissue and more water.
"Why are you being so nice to me?" You mumbled as he began cleaning up the small cut on your cheekbone, some of the wood that had splinted off hit your face cutting you on impact but it was nothing large.
"Believe it or not I'm not always nasty...I just- feel guilty whenever I look at you," You hissed as he touched the cut on your cheek, it hurt a lot more than it should have for something so tiny.
"Why?" You mumbled as you stared up at him, he looked back at you with wide eyes,
"Do you not remember anything from when you were younger?" You shook your head at his question so he sighed to himself,
"I supposed it's for the best...Just...Just if you want to know you should ask your grandmother but don't come complaining to me when you do, tell her to tell you the truth" You stared at him as he finished cleaning up your cut and then walked to his door, opening it and waiting for you to leave.
Walking through the door to your grandmother's bedroom you frowned seeing her awake,
"The storm," She mumbled as you crawled into the bed beside her, she took one look at your face and sighed as she saw the small cut.
"What happened?"
"Star kicked the wooden wall behind me and I got caught. Yoongi cleaned it up actually," You mumbled as you laid your head on her shoulder, thinking back on the weird memory you had when he called your name out.
"Grandma? Did something happen when I hurt my head? I know you said I was horse riding but-"
"We've been through this, what you remember is what happened," That was the problem, you didn't remember what happened you only remembered what everyone told you. You were out riding your horse alone when you fell off,
"Yoongi said you knew the truth." The mention of Yoongi's name made her sigh.
"You have to know why we kept it from you first," She whispered to you as she began to draw invisible patterns into your skin. Explaining why they told you that you were alone after the accident. After it happened Yoongi couldn't bring himself to look at you without feeling responsible for what happened, it had been his idea to go for a ride, his idea to lose the guards and his idea to race back home but he never would have expected you getting hurt. The two of you were always such amazing riders and the path was clear, once he knew you weren't behind him he knew something was wrong.
"If he'd found you a minute or two later you'd be gone," You were trying to wrap your head around the fact that yourself and Yoongi had been friends before the accident,
"I know that face...I told you, Yoongi was a nice boy," She laughed softly but you still couldn't work it out, he had been so rude and mean to you all these years because he felt bad for you getting hurt?
"So because we were friends and I got hurt-"
"Friends? Honey, friends didn't look at one another the way you and Yoongi used to," You froze in place as she started to laugh loudly, your eyes were wide as you realised she was insinuating there was something more between the two of you.
"You may not have been together but I have no doubt in my mind you would be now if it wasn't for the accident," She taped your nose but your head was starting to spin at the thought of everything, small memories starting to come back to you the longer you thought about things.
"Star is ready for you," You said to Yoongi the next morning as he came into the stable, he looked unsure about coming over to you but you smiled at him. The night before you'd had nothing but memories coming back to you from when you were younger, all of the times you spent with Yoongi.
"Yoongles, you don't have to feel guilty..." You said as Yoongi turned his back on you, his whole body tensed at the mention of his childhood nickname that you had for him. Only you knew about the nickname, slowly he turned back to stare at you.
"Yoongles?" You nodded at him smiling as you moved closer to his body,
"That day we went riding...My horse kicked back because she was scared of a stick shaped like a snake...You have nothing to feel guilty for." Yoongi's mouth fell open as you spoke to him as though you'd never lost your memories, he couldn't believe it.
"I remember everything...After my grandmother told me about why she never told me about that day and why you were so mean to me all these years..." He felt his heart twinge at the thought of being so cruel to you but he smiled at you,
"I'll make it up to you...We could go for a ride like old times? Maybe get some food?" You nodded at him as you agreed to spend the day with him, looking forward to catching up with him and learning about the true Yoongi he'd grown to become after all these years. Although it was never going to make up for what he'd said and done to you he was going to do his best to be the friend he was all those years ago and hopefully one day be more.
Tagline: @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @rjsmochii @taestannie @kneel-begyourpardon @innersooya @sw33tnight @jin-from-the-block @sweeneyblue1 @acciocriativity @that-anxious-bisexual
#bts#bts x reader#bts x you#bts x y/n#bts imagine#bts imagines#yoongi#yoongi x reader#yoongi imagne#yoongi imagines#min yoongi#min yoongi x reader#min yoongi imagine#min yoongi imagines#suga#jhope#jin#seokjin#kim seokjin#kim namjoon#namjoon#jung hoseok#hoseok#kim taehyung#taehyung#park jimin#jimin#jeon jungkook#jungkook
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Suptober Day 1: Harvest
This is my first time doing Suptober and I probably won’t do every day (and am already a day late) but I thought it would be a good creativity boost and looking through all the other work it seemed like a lot of fun! Thanks to @winchester-reload for organizing this :)
Check it out on AO3!
Castiel hadn’t meant to overhear the conversation. He was supposed to be on break, but had volunteered to reset room 5 for the next patient because he knew his friend Alex had been in dire need of a break. Cas was only a volunteer, spending his junior year of college shadowing various medical professionals to get a better idea of what a career in medicine would really be like. When Alex had suggested shadowing one of the doctors she worked with, he’d readily agreed, knowing that his friend spoke highly of both Dr. Barnes and Dr. Fitzgerald.
He’d already spent the past few hours shadowing Dr. Fitzgerald (or Garth as he insisted on being called) and had seen enough to realize that Family Medicine was understaffed and struggling to do the best they could for their patients given the absurd constraints on their time. Garth was currently seeing a patient who didn’t want a stranger in the room, so the doctor had told Cas to grab some lunch. Cas had intended to do just that when he saw Alex making frantic phone calls at the front desk. When she’d hung up, she’d looked at the end of her rope, explaining to Can that one of the other nurses called out and she couldn’t find anyone to cover for them.
Which is how Cas ended up in room 5 wiping down the surfaces and pulling a new paper cover over the bed. Cas knew all about patient privacy, but really, the conversation easily carried into the room when the man who must be one of Dr. Barnes patients had decided to continue talking to her out in the hallway. The man had a compelling voice and by the time Cas realized he was eavesdropping it was too late to avoid it as leaving room 5 now would have only made the unsuspecting patient realize he’d been overheard.
“Um, and, I’m really sorry about this doc, but I probably can’t afford the bill for today’s services right away.”
“Dean, just call Meg like I told you. Our pharmacy here is amazing at finding co-pay cards for these types of medications.”
“I will talk to her, I swear. It’s just when we had to switch insurance plans the new one says the co-pay for that grade of medicine is $100 a dose. I’m honestly not sure I can make that work Dr. Barnes.”
“I understand, but you need this medicine Dean. Your RA will flare right back up without it. If that happens you eventually won’t be able to work at all. Even skipping doses is ill-advised, letting the inflammation persist could eventually cause permanent damage to your joints.”
“I get it doc, I do, but $400 a month? It’s basically choosing between eating and my ability to move without pain.”
“Dean, just talk to Meg. We will figure something out. At least promise me you’ll take the Humira every other week. I know it didn’t manage your symptoms well at the lower dose before, but it was still better than letting the RA go untreated.”
Dean must have responded to Dr. Barnes in some way Castiel couldn’t hear, because after a few moments the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, fading as they moved towards the front desk. Cas hurried out of room 5, the trash bag hanging unnoticed from his wrist. His heartbeat sped up as he worried that he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of “Dean” before he left the office. Cas didn’t really know what he was planning on doing, just that he couldn’t stand the thought of this man resigning himself to pain all because the healthcare industry was such an awful mess that it would burden someone with choosing food over medicine. Something about the way Dean had sounded reminded him so much of his sister, Anna, right before she had left Castiel forever. That feeling drew Cas forward to meet a man he didn’t know. Cas couldn’t solve Dean’s money problems, Cas couldn’t force the government to change how healthcare was run in the country, Cas couldn’t even make Dean’s medical issues any better – but he could meet this man and maybe make him smile for a moment. Maybe, if he was brave enough, he could offer him some sort of friendship so maybe he would have one more person to help him through his struggles. Cas had been too young to understand how alone Anna must have felt but he knew more about it now. Helping people like Anna was what had drawn Cas to medicine in the first place.
Turning the corner Cas was startled to see what could only be a 6-foot flannel-wearing freckled god. The man was Hollywood beautiful and for a moment Cas forgot what had brought him rushing around the corner in the first place. The sound of Alex pointedly snapping her fingers brought Castiel back to reality as he broke of his inappropriate staring. He felt his skin heat up rapidly as he blushed.
“Did you finish room 5, Castiel?” Alex stared at him expectantly. Silently, Cas handed over the trash bag and muttered something about taking his lunch break outside. Too embarrassed by his very obvious admiration of the man that must have been Dean, Cas didn’t think he could talk to him in front of Alex. He rushed out the front door in the hopes that the autumn air would help him pull himself together. He didn’t know why he’d felt so compelled to talk to a man who’s private and very personal conversation he’d overheard. He was almost glad that his humiliating gawking had saved him from speaking to the guy. After all, what would he have said anyway? The air alone wasn’t helping Castiel’s composure, so he began pacing in front of the building.
“I mean how do you go up to a stranger and tell them they aren’t alone and that good things do happen? It’s not like it wouldn’t embarrass the guy to know I overheard him talking about his money problems…” Cas froze as he heard someone clear their throat behind him.
“Uh, hey man. I actually came out to ask you something else, but I think this just got awkward.” Cas took a deep breath already knowing it was Dean standing behind him. Cas’ habit of muttering to himself when anxious had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion, but never quite as badly as this felt. Sadly, his fervent wish to turn invisible on the spot was being ignored by the universe and he found himself staring into striking green eyes while wondering how he could possibly salvage this situation.
“H-hello Dean. I’m Castiel, and I can’t apologize enough for overhearing your conversation with Dr. Barnes. I swear it wasn’t intentional, I was cleaning out the room you were standing near and – “
“Whoa, hold up buddy. I’m not mad or anything. I mean, it wouldn’t be my topic of choice to start chatting up the hot new guy at my doctor’s office, but you clearly work in healthcare, I’m sure you’ve heard the same thing from lots of folks.” Cas’ brain froze a bit when Dean referred to him as hot, but then it caught up with what he was actually saying.
“Er, actually I’m just shadowing Dr. Garth for the day, but yes, I have heard stories like yours. My sister, Anna, went through something similar. That’s why I wanted to say something to you but wasn’t sure what. Then I actually saw you and, well, you saw. I’m not really good with subtlety. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable.” Dean threw his head back with a barking laugh and Cas found himself staring at the beautiful man yet again.
“Having someone like you checking me out definitely doesn’t make me uncomfortable. If it makes you feel better, I came out hoping to ask if you’d be interested in going to the Harvest Festival tonight. I have to work for a bit at my store’s booth but if you were free around 7, I’d love to talk with you more. Even if it’s just whatever you wanted to talk to me about before.” Dean smiled flirtatiously at Cas, and there was no way to resist that.
“Yes, I’d love to! Where should I meet you?”
They exchanged information quickly, and parted ways with matching smiles. Cas would get his chance to tell Dean how his sister gave up her fight with cancer because she knew her treatments were bankrupting the family. He’d tell him how he’d was hoping to be a doctor himself one day to maybe help someone else like Anna win their fight despite the shitty healthcare system. He’d also tell Dean that he’d chased him down the hall because he’d desperately wanted to tell him that maybe they were strangers, but that he hoped Dean didn’t give up and that he’d be willing to be there for him if having a friend would help.
Now though, Cas thought maybe he’d already made Dean’s day a bit brighter, and he looked forward to getting to know the handsome man better. Maybe his impulse to offer his friendship to a stranger wasn’t as insane as it first seemed, and if Castiel was reading things right perhaps friendship wasn’t the only thing they had to offer one another.
#suptober21#arcticfox007writes#Destiel#Destiel fanfic#castiel#dean winchester#supernatural fic#yeah I know I barely worked in the prompt#my bad
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Since people have asked about the Ducktales Bushroot idea I’ve been cooking up, I figured I’d gush the entire thing here. And look! It comes with pictures! Blame the lateness of this on my two jobs, they run me ragged I tell you what
So seeing as how Darkwing Duck is technically a tv show in the Ducktales universe, that’d mean the villains would end up with vastly different backstories too (as did Drake Mallard and Jim Starling in “The Duck Knight Returns”).
So for Bushroot, or in this case Tino Moss, why not make him the only child to the part time actor/script writer Pete Moss - who played the Bushroot character on the TV show.
Ever since he could remember, Tino would tag along with his dad to the studio (since Peter was a single father and had no one else to look after his son while he worked). It’s here he got to meet the cast and crew to the show, all of which, save for one, were super nice to a shy little boy always hiding behind his fathers legs. Because of this, Tino grew to love watching the finished episodes and even began to idolize the main character a little, saying how he’d one day grow up to be a super hero too! But upon meeting Jim, and being rudely brushed aside, he soon realized it’s best not to meet your idols (I imagine Jim was just as self absorbed like in the Duck Knight Returns and wouldn’t pay a small fan any mind during the height of his popularity).
After being coldly rebuffed, it was then Tino turned his sights on being a super hero in a completely different way, deciding to become a doctor instead. Pete would often joke he should become a botonist like the Bushroot character (that he’d low-key based on his sons personality), but Tino shrugged it off with a laugh and aimed to be a traditional one instead, preferring to become a family physician.
Years passed and in his final stages of his clinical’s, it’s then he received the devastating news that his father had fallen terminally ill. It was a heavy blow to see the once exuberant duck he loved so much slowly fade into a shell of his former self. At this point Tino took time off from his career to tend to his father, despite the loans and bills quickly piling up, the two spent a majority of their time watching old episodes of Darkwing Duck and reminiscing about a time when things were happier.
Eventually the inevitable day came when his father passed, destroying Tino emotionally. He’d been the only remaining family he had left, and after his death he was left with no one. The time spent tending to his father had become his whole life, and any other relationships outside of that he’d sadly neglected to the point his friends had moved on or away.
It took him a while to get back into the medical field, having to retake his clinical’s all over again and even though the work was fulfilling in a way (distracting him enough not to think about the loss) he still wasn’t entirely happy with his life, struggling with the mounting bills and loneliness that’d started to creep in. It’s then Jim Starling practically materialized out of the clear blue, having had tracked down his address and wondered if he would like to meet and catch up.
Tino is hesitant at first, remembering the blowhard from his childhood and didn’t know if he wanted to revisit that chapter of his life again, but when Jim makes mention of his dad, of all the good times they had on and off camera, the former star eventually brings the other duck around enough the two sit down for a good, long chat.
They reminisce about the show, the actors, where everyone is at the moment. Jim mentions on several occasions how he’d been trying to reboot the Darkwing Duck series and asks if he’d be interested in reprising his fathers role as the mutated plant monster.
Tino laughs it off, admitting he isn’t much of an actor, or a writer for that matter, but if he ever wanted some pointers for the episodes he still had his dads old scripts archived in the attic.
After that Jim comes and goes infrequently, usually to ask scientific mumbo jumbo about the whole “mutating a Duck into a plant” thing, which Tino does some research between work and sleep just to appease what he considers a friend at this point (going so far as to getting ahold of a scientist in the Saint Canard University’s agricultural department for some additional insight). He passes the information off to Jim and thinks nothing else of it until the former star makes a surprise visit one day.
He tells him he has it all set up for the big shoot, inviting Tino down to see the studio for himself. Curiosity gets the better of him, and despite needing to get some rest for work tomorrow, he joins the other duck on the long car ride, a bit unnerved to see it’s in an abandoned factory on the outskirts of the city.
Any questions he poses regarding safety - or why anyone in their right mind would want to set up a shoot here - is quickly brushed aside, Jim telling him he was aiming for a darker, grittier Darkwing Duck, hence the change in scenery. They head inside to find what appears to be a fully functioning lab, Tino excitedly looking over all the instruments, commenting about how realistic it was. As he stands beside the operating table, it’s then he is suddenly whacked upside the head, knocked out cold for who knows how long.
By the time he comes to, he’s strapped down, wires running over and through him. He pleads to know what’s going on, gasping to see Jim in an off color version of the Darkwing costume leering over him. The former actor explains that after he saw the news of what went down in Saint Canard, the ram rod incident and the other dimensions villains running amuck on the streets, he realized he needed his own Fearsome Five by his side if he ever planned to rule the city.
Seeing as how Pete had passed away and the other actors were far to old or out of reach to reprise their “roles”, he’d set out to replace them with newer, younger versions, starting with Tino.
Panicking, and realizing what exactly he planned to do to him as the liquids start to pump into his body, Tino breaks free before Negaduck can fully flip the conversion switch.
He manages to run a good distance from the factory, picking his way through the unfamiliar streets of Saint Canard as his body begins to grow more and more sluggish the further he walks. It almost feels like he’s going through every stage of sickness all at once. Chills, hot flashes, nausea, dehydration. He asks for help several times to passerby’s only to have people take one look at his green complexion and lurch away in fright. Some even out right flee, especially when near by trees or other plants spring to life around them. They, along with Tino, run in fear, he finally stopping long enough to catch his breath and get a good, hard look at his reflection through a shop window. Horror spreads across his face. A face that is his own but not in so many ways. It almost resembles the make-up his father used to wear during shoots but oh so different, oh so wrong! Deep in the pit of his stomach he knows this isn’t fake, this isn't a dream, it’s real. The mutation is real, and with people gasping, crying and running, this will be his new reality if he can’t find a way to reverse it!
Through several more mishaps and misunderstandings, dodging both panicking citizens and Darkwing Duck, he eventually finds himself cornered in a building by the Saint Canard police force (who mistakenly believe he’s just as dangerous as the other dimensions Bushroot).
It’s here Tino is once again confronted by Negaduck, and though he yells at the one behind all this, for forcibly mutating him into a monster and how he won’t get away with it, his words are cut short when Negaduck laughs, pointing out he shouldn’t be angry at the only person willing to embrace him now. He offers one last time for Tino to join the Fearsome Five, sneering that if he refused, he’d never be a normal duck again.
When Tino asks what he means, Negaduck explains that he’d kept all the notes, all the formulas, everything he did to turn him into a mutant plant duck was written in a journal, stashed away for safe keeping. If he ever planned on reverse engineering a formula to turn himself back, he’d need that journal. But if he refused to cooperate, than he’d have no problem destroying it and leaving Tino as he was.
A monster.
With no other choice, Tino finally agrees, reluctantly starting down the path of villainy.
And that’s how I figured you could have a sympathetic Bushroot character that stayed in line with the “he’s not technically a villain per say,” category while having him justified as to WHY he’s a villain at all.
#bushroot#reginald bushroot#darkwing duck#negaduck#backstory maybe#i wanted to make more pics but my jobs are not kind#but the idea mostly sprung up by swapping out his backstory with Rhoda’s in the forcibly being mutated thing#and that would make for a sumpathetic not a villain backstory
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odd one out {draco malfoy x reader}
Words: 11.3k
Summary: You’re known as the only Weasley without magic. Draco Malfoy has always taken great pleasure in teasing you for this, and you have always been ready with a retort. Your bickering with the Malfoy boy has gone on for years, but is it all done in bad blood?
Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions! - i can’t stop writing for Harry Potter and that’s really just what you’re all gonna have to put up with.
---
You don’t want to be here.
You don’t belong here, as you’ve been reminded a grand number of times throughout your seventeen years of living. To these people, you are nothing more than the unlucky one, a mistake. To these people, you are weaker.
The halls of Hogwarts aren’t exactly unfamiliar to you, despite being the only person in your household who never properly attended. You’ve been here many times throughout your life, visiting sick family members, accompanying your parents when they don’t trust you enough to leave you at the Burrow.
It’s your twin brother, Ron, who is in need now.
When you walk into the infirmary, he’s sitting up. Your mother squeals, throwing herself forward, wrapping her arms around his neck as you and your dad approach in a slow and careful manner, not wanting to startle Ron any more than Molly has already managed.
But even as you walk in and scowl at him, you can’t deny the relief that floods your system; the owl sent by McGonagall hadn’t even been fully read before Molly was slamming it down on the table, gathering her robes and telling you to get ready to leave. You had been busy doing your own school work, tucked away in the room you share with Ron during holidays, but was now barren besides your stuff.
He had been poisoned, according to your father. Nobody knows how, or by what, or by whom - just that Ron had drank something given to him by Professor Slughorn and had immediately started foaming at the mouth.
Now, however, he looks in good enough health that you don’t see it as a problem when you slip your hair tie from your wrist and flick it at him from across the room. He yells, flinching so fast he nearly takes Mum’s head off as she clings onto his neck.
Mum spins, glaring at you. “He’s ill!”
“He’s fine,” you reply, slipping onto the seat next to his bed. “How have you managed to poison yourself, then?”
Ron scowls. “I didn’t poison myself. Someone else did.”
“Who pays enough attention to you to want you dead?”
“Y/N!” Mum hisses. “At least give it a minute before you both start bickering.”
You and Ron roll your identical eyes before Ron sighs, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “None of you should be here. You know that, right? With all the stuff going on with You-Know-Who-”
Dad waves a dismissive hand. “We won’t let something like that keep us from making sure you’re okay.”
You raise your hand. “I personally said I wasn’t prepared to die just for you, but-”
“Y/N!”
But looking down at Ron, you see him smiling; you smile back. You know all too well the kind of boredom he must be feeling right now, all alone in the medical suite with nothing but his thoughts and Madame Pomfrey keeping him company. You remember all those Christmas’s when he would come home and tell you to be quiet when you complained about how lonely the house gets with everyone gone - now he knows how it feels.
Mum and Dad move on, telling Ron about how Bill sends his condolences and how the twins will be popping in soon to see him; you sit back, gazing around the room. Although you can use none of the stuff hung around you - in fact, it would most likely kill you if you tried - you know exactly what each piece of equipment does and how it is used. You reach out and gently twiddle the lid on a jar of unicorn hairs.
The door to the medical suite opens. You glance over your shoulder just as Madame Pomfrey peeks her head through the curtain, a grand smile on her rounded face.
A grand smile that falters as soon as she sees you.
This happens all the time; it’s one of the reasons you don’t like being inside Hogwarts if you can help it. You’re known by name amongst most of the staff, and none of them dislike you nor discriminate against you in any way - but they’re weird around you. They never know what to say, are never certain how much you understand compared to everyone else in your family.
“Molly, Arthur, Y/N!” Madame Pomfrey exclaims. “Minerva told me you’d all arrived a little earlier than expected.”
She shoots you yet another glance, giving you an uncomfortable smile. “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you, Y/N. How is the - uh - studying going?”
Muggle studies. She wants to say Muggle studies.
“Good,” you reply, already standing up. “I’m just gonna go to the loo a quick minute. Give you more room to work around Ronald here.”
Ron reaches for your hand. “Don’t leave me with-”
“Get well soon!”
You duck out of the medical suite and into the hallways, immediately pressing your fingertips to your temples; you hate it here, hate it so much, have never felt so out of place than you do right now, and it doesn’t even make sense. You know just as much - if not more - than some of the people in this god damn school. Just because you were never able to perform any of the hocus pocus bullshit they’re able to perform doesn’t mean you don’t know what you’re talking about. You grew up around it. You lived it - still live it.
You sigh and start down the hallways. You aren’t even sure where you’re going - you just know you’re not heading in the direction of the bathrooms. You pass a few people on the way, people who don’t know who you are or what you are, people who see you within the walls of Hogwarts and don’t even consider that you might not have the same abilities as them.
You smile; it might be your last chance to exchange niceties with them before they realise who you are and start avoiding you.
You turn down into another set of corridors, these ones empty as everyone filters into separate classrooms. They look quite spooky when deserted, unnaturally clean with the brick walls encasing you; you run your fingers along them, mind wandering to what it would be like to be within these hallways every single day for ten months out of the year.
A ghost swooshes over your head. You close your eyes, letting out an exasperated breath, preparing yourself for the inevitable-
“The Squib Weasley! The Squib Weasley!”
“Afternoon, Peeves. How are you?”
“All the merrier for seeing you!”
“Oh, yes. You always do enjoy taking the mick out of me.”
He swoops down and bunks your head; it doesn’t hurt too much, considering he’s a ghost, so all you do is glare at him as he kicks off the wall and bounces back up to the ceiling.
“Do a magic trick, Squib! I want to see a magic trick!” The ghost cackles, the bells on his hat jingling. “What about a nice card trick? They’re popular amongst non-wizard folk.” A storm of playing cards suddenly rain down upon you, and Peeves laughs even harder.
This is the kind of treatment you fully expect from Peeves. You look down at the puddle of cards, kicking them as you say, “I’m afraid I’m not that skilled. I can’t do any tricks, I’m afraid.”
“Useless Squib Weasley!” He bonks you on the head again. You growl, jumping up and swiping at his foot, but he merely kicks away from you, laughing even louder. “Useless Squib Weasley! Useless Squib Weasley!”
“Get out of here, you idiotic little corpse!”
Your head snaps round, blood draining from your face at the sound of that voice; you know it all too well, of course, considering it’s coming from a person you would much rather avoid.
Peeves cackles in your face one final time before vaulting down the corridor. His laughter only echoes so far before you and Draco Malfoy are left in complete silence, the only sound being his polished black shoes clicking against the marble floor as he walks towards you.
You look up at the ceiling, squeezing your eyes closed. “Malfoy.”
“Weasley.” He stops. Opening one eye, you can see he’s stopped directly beside you, hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robes, a smirk on his face. “What brings you here? I know it’s not the magic.”
“How did you figure that one out?”
“Just a hunch.”
“Mm.” You look at him. “I was visiting Ron, if you must know. Not that it’s any of your business, of course.”
“One thing I never understood about you was how you can have such an attitude with someone like me.”
You raise a brow, pretending you have no idea what he’s talking about. “Someone like you?”
He pulls his wand from his pocket and twirls it, casually, between his fingers. “A wizard.”
He says it like he’s talking to someone who has never heard the word before. He’s smirking like he’s expecting you to gasp and say “Wizard?!” He’s acting like you haven’t heard the exact same comment a thousand times before.
You nod slowly, watching his wand rotate. “Are you gonna try and hex me or something? Pretty cowardly of you, Malfoy, considering I have no way to defend myself.”
His smile fades into his customary scowl; he tucks his wand back into his robes, instead choosing to intertwine his hands behind his back. “You shouldn't be walking the hallways on your own, Weasley. Security measures have been heightened since the Dark Lord came back.”
“So I’ve heard,” you reply. The casual tone to your voice makes Draco’s eye twitch; you take a point for yourself in this silent competition the two of you have going on. “I felt like I was the safest one, considering Voldy-mort isn’t really interested in Squibs, is he?”
“That’s not the point; I can’t just be letting outsiders walk about.”
“I’m not an outsider. Dumbley-dore knows me just-”
“Stop with the stupid names-”
You lean forward, speaking louder just to annoy him. “Albus Dumbley-dore knows me just as well as he knows you. In fact, he probably knows me better considering he’s taught the majority of my family. How many Malfoys has he taught? Two? How many Malfoys has he liked? Zero.”
Draco glares. You smile, enjoying how easy it is to wind him up. He probably approached you thinking you would find his mere presence intimidating; he couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Well,” he drawls, straightening up. “I’ll be letting Professor Snape know of your presence, and the attitude you’ve taken with me. I’ll let him handle it.”
“Oh, Snape! Goodness, it’s been a while since I last saw his ugly mug. Let him know my parents and I will be staying in the Hogs Head for a few days if he wants to pop in for a chat.”
Draco growls, turns on his heel and stomps back the way he came; your laughter follows him, uncontrollable. It��s one of the few things you enjoy here at Hogwarts - seeing Draco, winding him up. You will never understand why he continues to approach you every single time you come and visit. He knows nothing he can say will affect you, as you grew up with five older brothers and a younger sister with an attitude - you’ve heard it all a hundred times before.
----
“See, this is so much more fun than Scrabble.”
You scowl, glaring down at the chess board. The moving pieces seem to have something against you. No matter how hard you concentrate, or which direction you direct your little white pieces to go, you never seem to be getting any closer to winning this game.
“Concentrate, Y/N,” Ron urges. He’s been laughing at you for the past hour and a half. “Where does your bishop need to be?”
“If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll be directing my bishop right up your-”
“Y/N Weasley, enough of that!”
You jerk upright, sending the chess pieces scattering. The curtain is pushed open, revealing your mum, dad and Professor Burbage. Mum stands with a scowl on her face whilst Professor Burbage and Dad chat animatedly to one another, barely even registering the people around them.
“Honestly, who taught you to talk like that?” Mum grumbles, bustling over to Ron. She places the back of her hand against his head and scowls. “Your temperature is going up again, sweetie. Have you been drinking the potion Madame Pomfrey gave you?”
“Yes,” Ron grumbles, swatting Mum’s hand away. “It’s just warm in here. She never lets us open the bloody windows, Mum. It’s like I’m in prison!”
But Molly isn’t paying attention; after checking up on Ron, her attention snaps immediately to you. You meet her gaze and raise a questioning brow, freezing in your seat. It’s never good when Molly Weasley has her eyes on you.
“You alright, Mum?” you ask cautiously.
“Professor Burbage wanted to talk to you, dear,” she replies, and your heart instantly dips into your stomach,
Your head snaps round to where Burbage and Arthur are stood; they’ve stopped their animated chatter now, Arthur with one arm around Burbage’s shoulders whilst pointing at you with the other.
“This is Y/N!” Arthur exclaims. “Our little Muggle-expert. Honestly, Charity, I’ve worked in Muggle Artefacts for ten years, but I’ve not learned half as much from them as I have from our Y/N here.”
Your face flushes. “Dad.”
“Oh, don’t be humble, dear!” Molly exclaims, gripping your shoulders. “We were just telling Professor Burbage here all about your little solo trip to London a few months back, how you navigated the trains perfectly - ordered their own food and everything!”
Ron snickers. You slap his arm.
Burbage looks at you. Her eyes look tired, strained, her hairline thin and hair itself even thinner. Her nimble fingers are twisted in front of her, and she says nothing as she continues staring at you.
You glance at Molly, desperate for a bit of help, but Molly isn’t looking back. She continues massaging your shoulders as she says, “Of course, we don’t let any of them out on their own anymore - not with everything going on, but goodness, we were just so proud of Y/N when she came back in one piece. Apparently the train took an hour and a half to get from London to Birmingham! How bizarre is that?”
“Oh, Molly, dear,” Arthur tuts. “How many times have I told you that Muggle transportation isn’t the same as wizard transportation?” He shakes his head, turning to Burbage. “I’ve told her a thousand times, I really-”
Professor Burbage lurches forward and grabs your hand. You gasp, stumbling off your chair as she vigorously shakes it, nearly ripping your arm from its socket. Behind you, Ron has stopped snickering and is instead watching the scene unfold, clearly uncertain about what is actually happening.
“Y/N Weasley,” Burbage says, voice barely above a whisper. “It’s an honour to meet you finally. I taught all of your brothers, so I did - all except Ronald, who apparently isn’t interested in Muggle Studies.”
Molly sighs. “We told him-”
“You didn’t tell me anything!” Ron exclaims.
Burbage ignores them both. “I know you’re no Muggle, of course - it would be insulting to say you are - but I did always find Squibs most interesting characters. They’ve got one foot in wizard life, one foot in the Muggle life. It really must be an experience, shifting between two very different worlds.”
“Uh….”
“Go on, Y/N,” Arthur urges. “Tell her about London. Tell her about the. . . the - What was it called? The peasant?”
“The pheasant, Dad. It was a pheasant.”
“Oh!” Burbage cries suddenly, making you flinch back. “I’ve heard of those! Birds, are they not? Quite ugly little things, but very big. Very big for birds…” She trails off, muttering to herself. The entire time, her hand remains firm in your own, refusing to let it go as if in fear of you running away from this seemingly important conversation.
All you want to do is run away.
“Anyway,” Professor Burbage bursts, “I’ve just come in to ask if you’d like to attend my next lesson for a few minutes. I’ve got a N.E.W.T. class coming in and I know for a fact having someone like you involved in their learning would do them a world of good.”
Oh goodness, no.
The answer is immediate. The mere idea of standing up in front of a classroom of wizards to walk them through how you were the one genetic failure in the family is enough to make your stomach turn. You open your mouth to express this, but Arthur jumps forward before you have a chance.
“That would be an honour, Charity. An honour for Y/N and the family!”
Your eyes widen. “Actually-”
“Wonderful!” Burbage exclaims, grabbing your arm again. She wrenches you out of Molly’s grip, already ushering you out of the infirmary, the sound of Ron’s uncertain grumbles following you out. At least your brother can see how uncomfortable this idea makes you, but his chunterings don’t make any difference.
“Professor,” you beg, stumbling after her as she leads you through the crowded hallways. “Professor, I really don’t have anything to say to your N.E.W.T. students or whatever. I’ve been to London on my own once, and it really didn’t go as smooth as my dad is making it out to be. I nearly got mugged, like, four times, and there was this guy with a knife-”
“Here we are!”
You glance over; lining up against the wall is a group of seventeen year olds, all of whom are staring at you in a mix of confusion and amusement. Some of these people know exactly who you are, considering they’re in the same year as Ron, whilst others merely see a very distressed individual dressed in casual robes.
“Good afternoon, class,” Burbage begins, refusing to let you go into her classroom or to let go of your arm. “I hope we’re all well. Please enter, and take your books out.”
The line of students files into the class, and you and Burbage follow close behind. Your heart is racing, eyes flicking back and forth along the students currently scooping textbooks and wands out of their bags, whispering amongst themselves. Burbage’s classroom is decorated with moving pictures of Muggle buses and trains, Muggle supermarkets and schools - all of which you probably know less about than anyone else in this classroom.
Burbage pushes you towards a seat in the corner, kindly telling you to make yourself comfortable. You give her your best smile and sink into the plastic, crossing one knee over the other, resisting the urge to bury your head in your hands. Every eye is on you. Every single one.
You bite your lip and look around, and that’s when you spot him.
Of all people in Hogwarts, you never once would have expected to see Draco Malfoy unpacking a Muggle Studies textbook. The boy from a family of Muggle haters. The boy who spends every waking moment ensuring every non-pure-blood wizard in his vicinity is completely miserable is stood in a Muggle Studies classroom.
“Malfoy?”
His name bursts from your lips before you can stop yourself. You slap a hand across your mouth, turning to Burbage with an apologetic look that she raises her brows at, but refuses to comment on. Instead, she barrels on with the lesson.
You glance back at Malfoy, who is now staring at you with an open mouth; he’s going to laugh at you. Seeing you sat in the corner is going to bring him such amusement. You can already hear the jeers he’s probably going to throw at you as soon as this bell rings, how he’s going to make your life a living hell for the short period of time you’ll be here.
“Okay everyone, now that we’re settled, I’d like to introduce you all to a special guest who has so kindly offered to overlook our lesson today,” Burbage says after her introductions.
“Actually, Professor, I’d rather-”
“This is Y/N Weasley, one of the few Squibs I’ve had the honour of meeting.”
The class goes silent. You bite your lip, ducking your head into your hands before anyone can see the horror that is currently rising to the surface - you want to scream.
“Y/N’s parents were just telling me a few minutes ago that Y/N went into Muggle London - remember our last few lessons on Muggle London? - all on their own! Isn’t that incredible?”
“Terrifying,” Malfoy jeers. “What a hero!”
You grit your teeth - it’s started.
“Exactly what I was thinking, Draco! What an honour it is to be in the presence of such a brave soul.”
You look up through a slit in your fingers, giving Professor Burbage a pleading look, a silent plea for her to just stop, to just get on with whatever lesson she had planned while you sit in the corner and mind your own god damn business.
But she just smiles brightly. “Tell me, Y/N - how did the Muggle’s react to having a Squib walking amongst them?”
You lift your head, purposefully avoiding a glance at Malfoy; even without looking at him, his snickers are unmistakable. “They didn’t know I’m a Squib, Professor. I just looked like a normal person.”
Burbage’s eyes widen. “Really? They couldn’t even tell?”
“But Squibs are so obvious,” someone jeers from the far side of the classroom - looking over, you’re pretty certain you recognise the man as Zacharias Smith, someone Ron has always taken a disliking to, but only because Hermione threatened to go out with him one time. “Could they not feel the uselessness coming off you?”
You scowl. “Have you been paying attention in Muggle Studies at all? Squibs don’t give off a bloody scent, you dumb little-”
“But I thought Muggle’s dress differently to us,” a girl in the front row interjects, raising her hand pointlessly.
“They do, dear,” Burbage replies. “They tend to wear. . . shorter clothes. No robes. Correct, Y/N?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“So how were you not recognised as a Squib?”
“I wore Muggle clothes-”
“Your older brother told me Muggle clothes can make a wizards skin burn-”
“Y/N isn’t a wizard, you idiot. They’re a Squib-”
“They’re the same thing!”
“No, Squib’s don’t have magic, wizards do.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid, Gregg, or I swear-”
“Alright, class, enough!” Burbage exclaims, but it’s too late for that now. Questions are being fired at you from all directions, questions that seem most innocent to the oblivious but which actually cut pretty deep into the thick skin you possess.
The word Squib in itself doesn’t sit right with you - you’ve never identified as a wizard nor a Muggle, but there’s something about that word that just puts a bad taste in your mouth. Maybe it’s the way it’s spoken by others - like an insult, a sneer rather than a simple term. Maybe it’s the implications it holds - here is a person who comes from a family of people who can basically do whatever they want. Here is a person who comes from a family seen as mystical, but they are not the same. They were not blessed in the same way even though all odds were saying they should have been.
You swallow thickly, glancing over at Malfoy for a reason you cannot pinpoint - it’s not like he's a source of comfort. It’s not like he will be any different than the ignorant wizards currently yelling question after question at you. Nonetheless, your eyes find his, and it’s with a jolt that you realise he’s staring right at you with an almost worried expression on his face. A tilt to his head, brows furrowed, lips pursed.
You don’t know why you do it. You mouth the word help in his direction, and immediately he stands.
“Everyone shut up!” he hisses. “Giving me a bloody headache!”
The class fades into silence. Malfoy grunts, sits back down and ushers for Professor Burbage to continue the lesson, which she does with only mild hesitance. It’s clear she now realises that bringing you here today was perhaps not thoroughly thought through, but you don’t make a move to leave. You sit in the corner of the classroom as she goes through the lesson plan, keeping your head ducked in an attempt to ignore the stares.
Once the lesson plan has been explained, Professor Burbage tells the class to get on with their work before she says, “Y/N will be walking around to help anyone who needs it.”
You roll your eyes; will wizards ever get the hint?
You push yourself up from your chair and start your rounds of the classroom, ignoring anyone who actually asks for your assistance. At this point, you just want the lesson to be over so you can head back to the infirmary and play Ron in a game of Scrabble - you’re much better at Scrabble than he is, and winning a few rounds will boost your dignity after those horrific chess games you played earlier.
“Excuse me, can you help me with question-”
“Piss off.”
“That’s not very nice, Weasley.”
You stop dead. “What do you want, Malfoy?”
“I need help with question three - as I just asked.”
You scowl, glancing at him over your shoulder. He’s smirking, twirling his pen between his fingers in a way not unlike how he had twirled his wand only a few hours prior. You take a few steps back and glance down at his work.
“‘What mode of transport should a Muggle use if they want to move a sofa from one place to another?’” you recite. “Oh, come on, Malfoy. You’re not that thick.”
“Just give me the answer.”
“No. You’ll never learn if I just hand it to you.”
He scowls, kicking your shin beneath the table. “Are you alright?”
The sudden subject change nearly gives you whiplash, though it’s not nearly as shocking as the soft note his voice has suddenly undertaken. Your gaze snaps to him, an eyebrow raising. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You asked me for help literally two seconds ago. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.”
“I’m fine. Just - uh - a little shy when I'm the centre of attention.”
“A Weasley, not liking attention? That’s a first.”
You flick his ear. Malfoy grunts, swats your hand away before saying, “Why did you agree to come here?”
“I didn’t agree to anything.” Before you can think better of it, you tug the stool out from beside Malfoy and sit down, leaning over in an attempt to look like you’re just helping him with his work. “She came into the infirmary with my parents and basically dragged me in here - you know how my dad is with all that Muggle stuff. He wouldn’t let me say no.”
Malfoy snickers, pretending to write something down. “Is it true you wore Muggle clothes?”
“Don’t start….”
He raises a hand in mock surrender, that stupid grin forming on his face. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I heard - what is it? - Adidas? I heard they’re very comfortable-”
“You’re taking the mick out of me,” you hiss, slapping his arm. He bursts into laughter, and the noise seems to startle even him, as he immediately slaps a hand over his mouth, face turning bright red.
“I hope it’s just Muggle Studies we’re discussing over there, Draco!” Burbage calls.
Draco scowls, slowly lowering his hand before he glances at you and says, “I hate this bleeding class.”
“Mm, I gathered that. Never took you as the type to be interested in what Muggle’s get up to.”
“I’m not, but it’s an easy N.E.W.T.”
“That’s what they all say.” You nudge his elbow. “Just admit it, Malfoy; you’re interested in Muggle activities.”
“Shut up, Weasley, or I won’t help you out of your next ambush.”
You snicker, pushing away from the table. “There won’t be another ambush. I’m not stepping foot back in this classroom if I can help it.”
“That’s what I said during my O.W.L’s, and now look where I am.”
“See, this is when my Muggle education comes in handy; no need for crappy lessons like this.” You clap him on the shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy. Have fun learning about vans.” You tap question three on his paper. “V-A-N. You’re welcome.”
----
Hogsmeade is a good place to be for a Squib.
Magic isn’t necessarily expected. You can walk through the streets and nobody will be under any illusion that you’re different. It’s freeing, a rare experience when you spend half your life either not fitting in amongst wizards, or not fitting in amongst Muggles. There is no in between for you.
Today, Arthur and Molly permitted you and Ron some time to go into Hogsmeade together before you and your parents are due to depart to the Burrow again, where you will grudgingly continue your Muggle classes, steeping in your own boredom.
The streets would be considered empty if not for the abundance of Ministry officials littering the area; they stand outside every shop, talking to passers-by, warning them of the danger they are in by simply being outside. Kingsley Shacklebolt - a good friend of yours - gives you and Ron a stern look when you pass him standing outside Olivander’s.
“I thought Molly and Arthur would know better,” he says. “You two should be inside at all times.”
“It’s like the Order wants us to go insane,” Ron mutters when the two of you are walking away from what was undoubtedly about to turn into a proper scolding. “Honestly, what are the chances You-Know-Who is just going to turn up in the middle of Hogsmeade? I’m pretty sure I heard somewhere he doesn’t like the Saturday crowds...”
You and Ron continue to shop for a little while, though none of the stores particularly interest you. You love looking at the architecture and the fancy colours of each shop, but when you can’t really use any of the stuff being sold, the architecture isn’t enough to keep your attention seized.
Nonetheless, you trail after Ron because this may be the last time you are able to see him until Christmas, and you’ll be damned if you let your last few days of company go to waste. The colour is back in his face, that tiny sway to his walk returning now that the poison has officially cleared his system; though you will never admit it to him, the worry you felt sitting at his bedside these past few days has been eating you alive. To see him back on his feet and grinning again is like Christmas come early.
“Oh!” He latches onto your arm, snapping you from your daze. You follow the direction in which he is pointing, throwing your head back to groan into the air when you catch a glimpse of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Ron’s favourite place in the whole of Hogsmeade.
“Oh, come on!” Ron exclaims, dragging your protesting form forward. “Just a little look to see if they’ve got anything new in.”
“Why would they have anything new in?” you hiss, pressing a foot against the door frame in your attempts to make Ron let go of you. “The Quidditch season started months ago! Everyone’s already got everything they-”
“Don’t make me hex you!”
You groan, letting your foot slip to the floor. Ron tugs you into the shop after him, a bright smile on his face as soon as he lays eyes upon the Quidditch sets propped up on the far side of the shop. He scurries off, leaving you to awkwardly pluck at the bits and bobs that - apparently - have something to do with Quidditch. Growing up, you always found the concept of Quidditch to be quite intriguing. Charlie would never let a single family dinner go by without ranting about some team or other, and you were always inclined to listen.
However, you were never able to properly play. The only way you could ever fly a broom was when one of your older brothers would get it off the ground first before placing you upon it - which never really had the same effect, and has left you in many bad states over the years. Your mum put a ban on it when you were seven years old, though that never stopped Charlie Weasley from letting you have a go on his broom every now and then.
You glance over at the broomsticks as the memories pop into your head; they are magnificent looking. It’s with hesitance that you stalk over to them, running your fingers along the bristles at the end, imagining the magic seeping from your fingertips into the broom, watching it lift off the floor purely because you wished it to, because you want it to fly and nobody else.
You don’t even crave an expensive one, not like Harry’s, or Ron’s new one that he got when he was made a Prefect. You just want one - any of them would do, as long as they work, as long as it’s yours.
But that will never be the case.
You bite your lip and look down; this always happens. You’ve been able to push past these feelings of uselessness pretty well during this Hogwarts visit, but they push to the surface now.
“Oi! Weasley!”
You stumble away from the brooms, very nearly knocking over a display case filled with different Quaffles as you do so. Draco laughs, wading towards you with that long-legged stroll of his, and that stupid smile plastered all the way across his face. Him catching you ogling the broomsticks, knowing full well you can’t actually use one, is really the thing that tops off this already quite disastrous trip.
“What are you doing out of the castle?” you ask quickly, struggling to stop the display case from wobbling.
“I’m a Prefect. I can do what I want.”
“And you want to stand here and take the mick out of me, I suppose?”
Draco raises a brow, glancing behind you to where the broomsticks are mounted on the wall by invisible bonds. He looks back down at you, tilts his head and says, “Feeling a bit envious today, Weasley?”
You roll your eyes, hands still messing with the display case. “I really don’t - for the love of - I really don’t have the - Oh, my goodness, can you just use a spell and straighten this bloody thing?”
Draco laughs, but does as you say. With a flick of his wand, the display case stops wobbling and you can safely lower your hands to your sides.
“Thanks,” you grumble. “As I was saying, I really don’t have the time to sit here and listen to you go on about your fancy spells. Mum wants me and Ron back at the castle in about half an hour, so-”
“Oh, plenty of time!” And before you can pull away, Draco has wrapped an arm round your shoulders and is steering you back towards the wall of broomsticks. With his wand outstretched, he points to each one, uttering their names into your ear like a teacher giving a student a tour.
His breath tickles your neck, and you’re not sure why you’re so aware of it. His fingers are cold against the tiny bit of shoulder peaking from your robes, and again, it’s startling how aware of his touch you are.
“Have you ever flown one of these before?” he asks, after telling you what each one is called - this is information you already know, of course, considering you grew up in a household of Quidditch fanatics, but you let him ramble on anyway.
“No,” you reply. “Well, not on my own. My brothers had to get the broom off the ground for me and then I would ride around on it for awhile until the magic wore off and I - uh - landed.”
Draco hums. “I didn’t know that was possible.”
“Yeah. It is. It’s just stupid, and painful.” You shrug Draco’s arm off your shoulder and spin. “Quite like this conversation. Can I leave yet?”
Draco raises a brow; it’s that facial expression that always gets to you, no matter how many times you’ve seen it. You and Draco have watched each other grow up in tiny little bursts - you came to visit Hogwarts multiple times within the school year, and every single time, you somehow managed to have some sort of run-in with Draco. The two of you have bickered with one another from day one, but this facial expression is one that has always, always made you want to punch him.
“I’ll walk you back to the castle,” he says. He turns on his heel and starts walking before you have a chance to decline his offer. You splutter, frantically scanning the shop for any sign of your twin brother - it’s when you spot him talking to Seamus Finnigan that you groan and decide to give in to your fate. You have to jog to keep up with Malfoy.
“I know the way back,” you say, stumbling over your robes.
“I’m sure you do. That doesn’t mean I can’t accompany you.”
“I really don’t think I should be leaving without telling Ron first…”
“Ronald will handle the journey back perfectly fine on his own.” Malfoy glances back at you. “Plus, I don’t think Ron would like to hear what I have to ask you. It’s probably best we’re on our own.”
You falter, heart skipping. You don’t like the sound of those words, especially coming from someone as unpredictable as Malfoy.
You raise a brow, ignoring the way he smirks as he turns back, giving a passing group of third year girls a nod.
“Don’t look so worried, Weasley. The wand is staying beneath the cloak.”
“It’s not the wand I’m wary of.”
His smirk turns into a grin. “I was going to ask you if you’d fancy a trip to the Quidditch pitches later tonight.”
You stare at the back of his head as if doing so will somehow unravel the joke he’s clearly trying to pull right now. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t correct himself, doesn’t even snicker, though you can’t miss the way in which he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his robes.
“Sorry,” you reply sometime after. “I just. . . Can you repeat that?”
He groans. “It really isn’t a difficult question.” He looks over. “And it’s not a date, either. I just thought you might appreciate a little bit of flying time on the pitches before you leave.”
Is this Draco Malfoy being nice? If you weren’t currently witnessing it first hand, you wouldn’t believe it to be possible. You pick up your pace a tiny bit, just until you’re walking directly beside him when you say, “I can’t fly a broom, and you know that.”
“You just told me your brothers used to help you; I can get it off the ground, and then you take it from there.”
“And you don’t mind me using your broom? You’re not scared I’m going to break it?”
Draco shrugs. “I have more than enough Galleons to pay for a new one, Weasley, don’t worry.”
“I wasn’t worried,” you mumble. “But I - uh - I guess I could do that. It doesn’t sound too bad.”
Draco glances down at you. “I’ll meet you at the pitches at nine o’clock then.”
“Nine o’clock it is.”
---
You have to tell your parents you’re going to visit Ron.
They’ll never let you leave otherwise, not with Voldemort still breathing. Honestly, you can’t even blame them for the protective pull they’ve put on you, though you also can’t help but notice just how much stronger it is over you than it is for Ron - your twin brother had been in the infirmary after being poisoned only a few days prior, and yet they let him roam about Hogsmeade as much as he wants.
“You know it’s probably Ron they’ll go after before they come after me,” you recall telling them over dinner one night. Your mother hadn’t even looked up from her food, though you saw her jaw twitch with the idea you had just implanted in her head. “He’s the one that’s best mates with Harry.”
“You and Harry are also good friends,” your dad says, pointing his fork at you.
“Right, but not - like - best friends.”
“Y/N, we’re not discussing this over dinner,” Molly had snapped. “You’ll do as we say, and that’s final!”
Now you feel like you have no choice but to lie.
You inform your parents that Ron has asked for your company during his next study session in which he wants you to check over his essay and correct any spelling and punctuation he’s messed up on; a lie, of course, but Ron’s genuine lack of skill when it comes to basic spelling and grammar is an easy enough lie to ride upon. Your parents immediately permit you to leave, kissing you goodbye before sending you off to the castle under the moonlight.
The Quidditch pitches themselves are magnificent when it’s dark.
You’ve never been to a proper Hogwarts Quidditch match; you went to the Quidditch World Cup with your family a few summers ago, but you’ve always wanted to see Ron or Harry play.
Or Malfoy.
The rings stand tall, glittering gold in the darkness. The lights from the commentator’s stand have been kept on, and it’s almost as if night time doesn’t exist. You can see everything perfectly; the audience stands, the rings, the soft grass you are currently walking across to reach the very centre of the field where Draco Malfoy stands, his broom at his side, his robes fitting him perfectly.
He gives you a smile when he sees you. “I thought you’d gotten lost. Navigating around this place without magic can be a real pain.”
“As I’m so often reminded.” You nod to his broom. “A Nimbus 2001. Not bad.”
Draco shrugs, though his smirk is evident. “It’s carried me well.”
“Is that why you’ve never caught the Snitch?”
He scowls at you. “Do you want to fly it or not?”
You slowly reach a hand out, gently brushing your fingertips along the wood. It really is pretty - you can already imagine Ron’s face when you tell him that you somehow managed to have a go on a real Nimbus 2001, something Ron couldn’t even dream of doing.
You lift your gaze. Draco is staring at you, watching the adoration on your face, reminding you that you will forever be unable to do as he does. You flinch your hand away and stuff it in the pocket of your raggedy robes.
“Let’s have a look, then,” you say. “Get on it and show me how it works.”
Draco sets everything up. You watch him closely, recounting the steps you have memorised for no reason at all, steps you are intrigued by but will never use. He gives you one final look before he mounts the broom and takes off.
And he’s just as beautiful as you imagined.
You’ve seen Quidditch matches. You’ve watched players soar through the air for hours on end, watched them swerve between hoops and dodge Bludgers with an efficiency similar to that of a bird. You’ve seen it all, but it’s quite different when you’re watching someone like Malfoy have the sky all to themselves. There’s no dodging, no jerky swerves, no expressions of frustration. It’s just Malfoy and his broom, swerving between nothing, grinning down at you.
His blonde hair flashes silver every time he flies in front of the commentator’s lights. You place a hand on your forehead, blocking out the beams just enough to see him do a loop before he yells out your name and waves.
You laugh, unable to help yourself. Jumping to be seen a bit better, you wave your arms violently back and forth, hoping for no reason at all that Malfoy can see you, that he’s smiling down at you, having fun-
He does a final loop and then crashes to the floor, dirt flying up all around him, splattering his robes and his face, but he’s laughing and smiling as he jogs back to your side.
“Wow,” you say, giving him a round of applause. “That was good, Malfoy.”
“Thank you, thank you,” he replies. “Your turn?”
You nod enthusiastically, watching Draco set the broom up until it is hovering in the air between you.
“The magic bits all done now,” he says. “I’m assuming you know how to work the rest?”
You place your hand on the broom; immediately it deflates, becoming heavy in your hand when it should feel light as air. You frown, dropping it to the floor.
“It stopped working,” you say.
Draco hums in confusion, bends down and picks it up. He tries again, getting the broom to float before he steps back and you have another go. Once again, the broom deflates and crashes to the floor between you.
“Well, that’s bloody annoying,” you grumble. “Walked all the way through Hogsmeade and this is what I get for it?”
Draco picks up the broom again. “Don’t be so dramatic. If you want to have a go, I’ll just get on with you.”
You falter. “What?”
He swings his leg over the broom and motions for you to get on behind him; there’s plenty of room, but the mere idea of soaring through the air upon the same broom as Draco Malfoy is a bit intimidating.
“Listen, mate.” You take a cautious step back. “I know my family can be a bit of a pain when it comes to you, but I never had any issue with you. If you want me dead, you could have just-”
“Oh, for the love of-” Draco surges forward, grabs a handful of your robes and rugs you onto the broom behind him. You yelp, having only seconds to grab onto his waist before he’s kicking off the floor and suddenly you’re in the air.
You bury your head in his spine, groaning against his robes; you were so prepared for this, and yet the abruptness with which he took off has your stomach reeling. The wind pelts your face. The world gets smaller and smaller and smaller below you…
You peek an eye out from Malfoy’s robes, the breath leaving you in an instant. Hogwarts really is a wonderful sight to behold when you’re looking at it from above; the lanterns flicking subtly in the hallways, the shadows of passing students drifting by the window, the smoke billowing from the many chimneys dotting the castles exterior.
“Bloody hell,” is the only way you can articulate your feelings.
Draco laughs, the noise reverberating against your cheek. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“It’s. . . more than nice,” you choke out, finally pulling away from him completely, though you keep your arms wound around his waist. “Is this what you see during every Quidditch match? ‘Cause you clearly don’t see the Snitch all that often.”
Draco jerks the front of the broom. You simply laugh, even as you’re forced to tighten your grip on his waist to stay in the air.
“It’s a little different,” he replies, shooting you a playful glare. “There’s always so much going on in a Quidditch match, it’s difficult to stop and focus on the scenery.”
“That makes sense.”
Draco hums, jerking his broom to go in the opposite direction. “I hope that’s not another dig at my Seeker skills, Weasley.”
“If the shoe fits, Malfoy.”
The broom is directed into an abrupt nosedive.
You screech, pressing your head - yet again - into Malfoy’s spine, as if being unable to see the floor will mean you are not heading directly towards it. The wind whistles loudly in your ears, though not loud enough to cover Malfoy’s cackling laugh as he tugs and suddenly the broom is soaring back into the air.
You pant, lifting your head, darting your eyes left and right. “What the hell, Malfoy?”
“Did that scare you?”
“Of course it did! Why would you do that?”
He glances at you, grinning from ear to ear. He doesn’t even have to say anything - you get the message. He’s always had fun teasing you, and that isn’t going to stop tonight.
You roll your eyes, slapping him on the back. “You’re the absolute worst.”
“So you’ve told me.”
It’s silent after that. The two of you fly circles round the Quidditch pitch until it gets too cold for Malfoy to grip the handle properly. He heads back to the ground, feet skidding against the floor, one hand winding around and gripping your waist to stop the impact from hurting too much.
You stumble off the broom, grin evident on your face. “That was incredible!”
Malfoy lazily picks at the handle, not looking up when he hums in agreement.
Your excitement is palpable, screaming through your system at a million miles per hour. You clap your hands, doing a tiny twirl in the middle of the Quidditch pitch purely because you can, because you’ve just flew, because Charlie is going to be so damn proud of you-
You open your eyes to see Malfoy staring at you.
He’s wearing an expression you have never seen him wear before; dazed, almost, like he doesn’t quite know how to process what he’s feeling or seeing. His lips are slightly parted, hands limp so his broom falls halfway to the floor. His blue eyes stare into your own, and slowly he starts to tilt his head.
Your cheeks heat up, and you quickly look away. “Don’t look at me like that, Malfoy.”
He doesn’t say anything for a number of minutes, and you’re suddenly much too nervous to look up to see why. You can still feel the burn of his gaze on the side of your head, even as you keep your eyes trained on the grass beneath you.
And then suddenly Malfoy takes a step forward. Just a single step, but it’s enough to put you nearly chest to chest with the Slytherin. You can smell the wind clinging to his clothes, the fresh scent of grass and a slight undertone of sweat. You can hear his breathing, suddenly much more shallow than it was before.
You risk a glance upwards, not entirely sure why you’re not moving away from him, making some remark about how weird he is or how badly he annoys you. All words have died on your tongue, and it’s understandable when you look up to see him staring right down at you, not a single flash of humour upon his face.
His hand is on your cheek in seconds; your breath leaves you in one clean swoop, the feel of his palm making your heart jump.
“Your smile is. . . very pretty,” he says, so quietly his words could easily be mistaken for the wind.
“Draco…”
“Come back to the castle with me,” he continues. “I can convince McGonagall to let you stay in the Slytherin common room.”
Your eyes widen. “Wait, really?”
His grin flashes in the dark, sharp and perfect. “If you want to accompany me. If you-”
His words are cut short by Molly Weasley bellowing your name from across the Quidditch field.
You leap away from Malfoy, very nearly falling over your own robes in the process. Malfoy himself looks suddenly flustered, running his ringed hands through his hair and looking away from the blinding lights in an attempt to hide the pink hue of his cheeks.
“Y/N Weasley, do not ignore me!” Molly screeches, and then she is Apparating in front of you and seizing you by the shoulders, shaking you. “ARE. YOU. INSANE?”
“Mum!” you exclaim. “Bloody hell, Mum, calm down!”
“CALM DOWN?” she cries, voice cracking. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! Can you even begin to comprehend the fright your father and I got when we sent an owl up to the school to check how you and Ron were getting on, only to be told that you weren’t even in the Hogwarts castle?”
Guilt falls heavily on your shoulders. “Sorry.”
“Oh, you will be.” Molly grabs your wrist and starts stampeding across the field, muttering things like “early grave… grey hairs….can’t believe” beneath her breath. You, however, don’t even fully register what she is trying to say as you turn and glance at Malfoy, who is standing stock still in the centre of the Quidditch pitch, watching you go with his broom hanging limp at his side.
Molly Apparates back to the Hogs Head, and that’s the last you see of him.
----
“Please tell me it’s a joke.”
You don’t even look up.
“Y/N, please tell me Mum was just pulling my leg.”
“I don’t-”
“Oh, god, you can’t even look at me.” Ron falls into his chair and grabs a hash brown, stuffing it in his mouth. “You were out with Malfoy?”
You wince; the volume with which Ron always insists on speaking has never made sense to you. “Not for very long,” you lie. “And what’s it to you who I hang out with?”
“Good point,” Hermione chirps. “But Malfoy, Y/N? Really? You could do so much better.”
Something burns in your chest, an overwhelming urge to tell the two of them to get their judgemental noses out of your business; however, you know doing such a thing will do nothing to persuade them that nothing is going on between you and Malfoy, so you instead choose to scoop some cereal into your mouth and pretend you hadn’t heard.
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Ron continues. “Malfoy’s a Prefect, for crying out loud. What’s he doing sneaking out of the castle in the dark?”
“Clearly he wanted to see Y/N,” Hermione says.
“Well, yeah, but why? Y/N’s a Squib!”
“Thanks, Ron,” you grumble.
Ron groans, nudging your elbow. “You know that’s not what I meant; most people don’t have a problem with you. But Malfoy - he’s a different cup of tea altogether, isn’t he?”
“How so?”
Ron shrugs. “He’s just a close-minded little weasel. Can’t see anyone being anything other than pure blood.”
Hermione rolls her eyes. “How many times do I have to remind you, Ron? Y/N is a pure blood - they just haven’t got the magical abilities.”
Ron waves a dismissive hand. “Either way, I’m surprised Draco hasn’t tried humiliating you a thousand times already.”
“Have you ever actually had a real conversation with Draco?” The words are out before you can stop them. Hermione and Ron cautiously glance at you, eyebrows raised.
“Oh, don’t tell me he’s buttered you up,” Ron says. “Not you. I have to bloody live with you!”
“He hasn’t buttered me up,” you shoot back. “I just don’t see why I should completely boycott him just because you lot don’t like him. He’s nice to me.”
Ron scoffs. “He’s nice to me. You know what that sounds like, Y/N? Sounds like you’re fraternising with the enemy; getting cuddly; abandoning the side that put clothes on your back-”
“Oh Ron, honestly!” Hermione hisses, slapping his arm. “Give it a rest; Y/N can like whoever they want.” She nods at you, giving you a small smile. “I’m happy for you.”
You smile back, even though her words do nothing but fluster you; she speaks of you liking Malfoy as if you outright said you liked him, but you never did. To be honest, you don’t even know what your feelings are for Malfoy; after last night, you will admit to feeling something, something that was always lurking beneath the surface but refused to make an appearance because every time it started to rise, Malfoy would say something to Ron, or you, or he would just be ignorant and you couldn’t bring yourself to admit what you were feeling for him.
But last night, things took such a sharp turn. So sharp, in fact, that you haven’t even fully processed what any of it means, or what you’re meant to do now, or how you’re meant to approach the topic with Malfoy the next time you see him.
Breakfast finishes, and it’s nearly time to leave. On any normal day, leaving Hogwarts is the highlight; you can escape the stares and the uncertain questions. Now, however, as you, Ron and Hermione stand up from the table and get ready to go downstairs where you are due to meet your parents, you can’t help but feel a little. . . incomplete, as if you didn’t finish something you set out to do on this brief trip.
Harry catches up to you all as you’re wondering down the staircase. “You lot couldn’t have waited?”
“We’re on a schedule, Potter,” you reply. “Molly and Arthur Weasley cannot be left waiting.”
Harry rolls his eyes, pulling you into a brotherly side hug as you arrive in the main hall; sure enough, Molly and Arthur Weasley are nowhere to be found, and not a single person is surprised.
“Always late,” Ron grumbles. “I just want to get rid of you.”
“Shut up.” You pull Ron into a hug. “Try not to get poisoned again before Christmas, alright? I won’t be able to handle Mum on my own if Percy doesn’t show up again.”
“It’s not me we need to keep an eye on,” Ron says, pulling away. “If I put you on a leash, do you think that will keep you away from the Slytherin boys?”
Harry splutters, head snapping up.
You groan. “Nothing happened with Malfoy and I!”
“Oh.”
Your heart drops.
And it shouldn’t. The sound of Draco’s voice - that quiet, innocent little oh - should have done nothing to faze you, but it does. You whirl around and there he is, standing on the bottom step with his hands swinging by his side and his face strained with his attempts to keep that strong expression upon it.
“Sorry. Looks like I’ve walked in at the wrong time,” he sneers.
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Ron spits. “Can’t you see we’re a bit occupied at the-”
“Draco…”
Malfoy’s blue eyes flick to you. A muscle tenses in his jaw before he shrugs, turns on his heel and starts walking back the way he came.
Your heart is beating so fast. It feels heavy. Your eyes are burning, unshed tears rising to the surface even though none of it makes sense; you weren’t lying. Nothing did happen between you and Malfoy last night - nothing serious, nothing physical.
But you would be a liar, a downright fool, to claim nothing changed. Soaring through the sky on the back of his broom, watching the stars glide past, laughing louder than you have laughed in many, many months - something did happen, whether it was physical or not.
You turn, eyes finding Ron’s immediately. He’s scowling until he meets your gaze and notices the desperation there; his twin, the strongest of his siblings because you’ve been the most misunderstood your entire life, yet here you are, on the verge of tears because you don’t know what to do.
Ron’s expression softens. He looks over at Harry and Hermione, neither of whom seem to have read the room and have since continued their chat about Harry’s Defence Against the Dark Arts homework.
Ron sighs, steps forward and says, “Go. I’ll tell Mum and Dad you went to the loo or something.”
You’re off in a heartbeat.
If last nights endeavours don’t give away your feelings for Malfoy, then the speed at which you dart back up the stairs certainly does. The hallways are empty besides the odd stray ghost, all of whom you ignore as you search desperately for any sign of Malfoy roaming amongst them. It seems like all is lost until you eventually round the corner leading to the library and very nearly crash right into his back.
He’s leaning against the wall, though he spins around as soon as you make an appearance. His eyes widen, mouth opening but you’re speaking before he can say anything.
“For gods sake, Malfoy! Why do you have to be so dramatic all the time?” you pant, slapping his arm. “Do you know how difficult it is to run up those stairs when they’re moving like that? No, of course you don’t, because you can just Apparate or whatever it is you lot do to get from one place to another.” You groan, clutching the stitch in your side. “Please don’t let me leave here without an explanation.”
Draco stares at you open mouthed, seeming too stunned for words.
You close your eyes and say, “I didn’t mean what I said.”
“What are you-”
“I don’t think nothing happened between us last night.”
Draco pauses. You lean forward, pressing your forehead to the wall in exasperation; your side is still aching, and time is running out, and you’re no longer all that confident in the fact that Draco feels the same way.
“I think. . . I think we were very caught up in the moment,” you hurry on. “It was dark, and the lights were a little romantic-”
“Romantic?”
“And obviously we’re both very confused, because we hate each other, you know? That’s kind of like our thing! You take the mick out of me, and I take the mick out of you, and then we don’t see each other for a good few months and then it restarts, and-”
“I don’t hate you.”
“Yes you do. You always have.”
Draco places a hand on your arm, gently easing you away from the wall. Your eyes open, hands trembling with anxiety but that doesn’t stop Draco from slipping his fingers between your own.
“I don’t hate you,” he repeats, quieter this time. “Do you wanna know a bit of a secret, Weasley?”
Your heart jumps. “Uh. . . Go on then.”
“Last night when the broom fell every time you touched it? That was me. I was making it fall so I had an excuse for you to fly with me.”
You blink. In any other situation, with any other person, that news would absolutely infuriate you. But now, you look up into Draco’s eyes and you see that soft, cheeky smile and you can’t even bring yourself to feel anything besides absolute fondness.
Nonetheless, you scowl. “You really are a little rat, aren’t you Malfoy?”
He throws his head back and laughs, and that does it for you. You grab his chin, pull his head down and kiss him.
His hands find your jaw immediately, winding through your hair as the world disappears and trouble doesn’t exist. It’s a weird feeling to be so at peace with someone who is the definition of destruction, someone who was born and raised to cause havoc. You silently wonder who taught him to be so gentle.
Draco pulls away first, eyes still half-closed, tongue swiping so casually across his bottom lip, as if savouring the feel of you. You are less graceful, stumbling away from him enough to exclaim, “So that broom would have stayed up if you weren’t messing with it? I knew it!”
Draco rolls his eyes, grabbing your hand to pull you back towards him. “Don’t pretend you didn’t prefer flying with me.”
You scowl. “I would have preferred having the option.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“You better; let’s see who can catch the Snitch quicker.”
Draco pecks your lips. “Sounds like a plan.”
----
“Draco, fly straight! Fly straight!”
“Why would I do that? The Snitch isn’t-”
“Just fly straight!”
Draco groans, tugging the broom in the direction you’ve ordered. Up ahead, Ron and Charlie twist around each other, eyes scanning the garden for any sign of the little golden ball you’re all desperately searching for. Charlie is good - you know this, have seen him play Quidditch too many times to deny such a fact. Now, however, you’re determined to give your boyfriend a point.
“Has Weasley spotted it?” Draco calls over the wind.
“There’s three Weasleys in our vicinity, Draco, you’re gonna have to be a bit more specific.”
“Ron. Has Ron spotted the Snitch?”
You glance over your shoulder. “No, he still looks like he doesn’t know where he is.”
“Oh, good.” Draco speeds up then; you cling onto his waist, keeping your eyes firm on Charlie up ahead. “What have you got planned, Weasley?”
“Give me a minute.” You push yourself up using Draco’s shoulders; your boyfriend cries out, averting his eyes from the path ahead to look up at you as you balance on the back of his broom, a trick Fred and George taught you when you were only little.
“What are you doing?” Draco yells, reaching round with one hand to grab your knees. “You’re gonna fall!”
“Just keep flying straight!”
“Oh my-”
Charlie tries to whizz past, knowing full well what you’re planning to do - he’s seen this trick a million times before, has always claimed it to be cheating. In your eyes, you can’t really cheat if you’re nothing more than a bystander.
And that’s what drives you to leap forward and crash onto the back of Charlie’s broom.
In the background, you can hear Draco cursing, his own broom swerving left and right before he manages to get it together and spin back around. Ron is laughing. Charlie is fuming.
“Get off!” your older brother exclaims. “You said you wouldn’t do that!”
“Give Draco a chance,” you say through giggles, before you slam your hands into the front of Charlie’s broom, directing it to the floor. Charlie yells out your name, thrashing against your hands, but this is something you’ve been doing from the age of eleven, when Fred and George figured out they could use their younger sibling to their advantage, despite the fact you can’t actually fly a broom yourself.
Charlie’s broom crashes to the floor and the two of you roll off it. You scramble up and sprint to the far side of the yard before Charlie can grab your foot and pull you back down for a scolding.
It’s with the professional on the ground that Draco is able to snatch the Snitch right out from under Ron’s nose. You cheer when Draco holds the golden ball in the air, jumping and clapping in your excitement.
“That was cheating!” Ron yells.
“I said that, mate,” Charlie calls back, but neither you nor Draco are listening. Draco comes back to the ground, stumbles off his broom and rushes towards you, the Snitch still in his hand. You jump into his arms, giving him a hug as he laughs heartily in your ear.
“That’s one way to win a Quidditch match,” he says. “Don’t do that again, though. Nearly gave me a bloody heart attack when you stood up.”
You pull away, keeping your arms around his neck. “Aw, were you worried about me?”
Draco scowls. “I’ll push you off the broom next time.”
You chuckle and press your lips to his. He melts in that way he only seems to when it’s you he’s melting into, his arm tightening on your waist, the other pressing the Snitch against your neck.
“Oh, bloody hell, Y/N-”
You pull away from Draco just as your mother appears in front of you, red-faced and furious.
“AND HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU TO STOP DIVING BETWEEN BROOMS? DO YOU WANT TO GET YOURSELF KILLED? HONESTLY, CHARLIE COULD HAVE DIED! Oh, hello Draco, dear - would you like some toast?”
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SOLIS OCCASUM — Chuck Grant
NOT REQUESTED!
Blood on her hands never quite perturbed her. Not until it was Chuck Grant’s blood upon them after she had just watched a side of his implode from a bullet.
WARNINGS: Blood, injury, language, war-time violence
It had all occurred so quickly for her — for them all, each one standing in the Austria bitter dusk.
There was the fleeting moment of serenity in driving through the gravel roadway, laughing over her boyfriend, Chuck Grant’s, chuckles regarding Bill Guarnere’s ardent words after their jump into Normandy. A leap into hell as gunshots rattled in air, only to be followed by blinding flashes of smoke. It seemed a life time ago in the string of miseries that shadowed the very thing that immersed them in this fire and brimstone existence.
She couldn’t recall the last time she had watched Chuck Grant smile so genuinely, vacant of burden and melancholy. Nor the last time she laughed without a blister of despair in her throat. The war was over — at least on the Western Front — and they could breathe with tranquil lungs for a moment.
But...that’d be just too fair.
Chuck had slid off the leather of the seat, rather begrudgingly, to manage a fidgety and mumbling replacement in the midst of the overcast road. She remained in the stiff cradle of leather seating whilst shaking her head in amusement at the bumbling halfwit in the headlights. She suppressed a smile with a subtle tremor of her lips as they dared to defy and curl up at the corners.
The tremor vanished with an anchor in her expression when her eyes were intrigued by something — no, someone — back-first on the road in front of the inebriated man. The somber tone of realization rattled the giddiness from her when it was recognized as a body. The grey, blood soiled uniform declaring wordlessly that it was a German soldier with an American bullet embedded in his sternum. She only knew it was so when the glint of a pistol digested the moonlight in the hand of the replacement.
“You good here, Mac? You need some help?” Chuck cautiously inquired, eyes scathing the movements of the pistol rather than the man. The coppery bitterness of blood stung the evening dampness as he stepped towards the bewildered private.
Y/N slipped off the seat herself, a dour gaze being pinned on her by Chuck, an unspoken stay away in his moonlit eyes. She shook her head subtly, propelling away from the juddering engine of the Jeep, placing the delicate pressure of her hand on her sidearm. Her boots are what landed roughly — loudly — into the crumbly dirt as she took flank across from Chuck and behind the replacement, who was giddily mumbling around the lines of the Krauts refusing to supply him gas.
Then younger private — evidently wading knee-deep in a drunken stupor — veered with a stumble towards her, laughing, “Well...can’t Sergeant Grant here fight for himself or does he need his little whore to do it for him?”
Y/N eyed the frustrated clench of Chuck’s striking jaw, damn near prepared to give this private the beating of his life. In the thin-ice silence that sheathed bitterly over them, Chuck’s shallow breaths were shards of glass and she spoke to the private before he could throttle the spindly twenty-something.
“If I wasn’t here, he surely would and you’d be a bloody pulp on the ground, but, fortunately, I’m here to deal with you instead,” she acknowledged with taunting underlies of smug, the crook of her palm weighted on the hammer of her pistol after regarding that his own hand was itching to retrieve his own.
And, in a fleetingly agitated second, they both yanked out their respective pistols from a notch in their belts, the muzzle of each aimed to the ridge between the opposer’s broad eyes.
“Put it down,” Y/N lowly beckoned, a bite of abrasion dripping from her abruptly pulsing nerves. And, in the half light of the moon, she intercepted Chuck’s piqued gaze with her own, teetering on the cliff of being overwhelmed. Does she pull the trigger? Claim self-defense? Or try to talk him down from his own defensive position?
“You first,” the private squinted at her with a hardened glaze on his bloodshot eyes.
“I can’t do that, private,” she murmured, every muscle in her face tense and communicated wordlessly the psychological and moral friction raging in her stomach. Subtly, she re-adjusted her clammy clasp on the soulless clunk of metal just as a flood of headlights from the opposite direction protruded through the darkness, “You know we have a problem here. Just give me or Sergeant Grant your weapon.”
“So you can shoot me like one of these limey’s?” Mac exclaimed hotly,
Then, it was as if the disease of his mind had realized it was now or never, and manifested in the pistol as he hastily turned his boot, firing the weapon precisely at Chuck Grant. And, he instantly crumpled onto the jagged gravel, a mangled wound on the side of his head where scalp previously was.
The forebode imploded down her body with impressive debris. And she faintly felt the subtle pressure of speckles of blood on her cold-bitten cheeks, all the voices that responded to the gun firing seemed to muffle and it was all too much noise for her already ringing ears to manage. Y/N could make no link to who was talking at her or around her, what they were saying, merely that it was all loud and demanding. Suddenly, there was a pressure encompassing her forearm and then she finally screamed regardless of her resolve to suppress the mind-numbing anguish for the sake of herself.
“Y/N, hey, hey,” Floyd Talbert’s incessant voice penetrated her feeble ears — when did he get here?
“I-I...” she uttered with a throb in the stern of her eyes, hyperventilating like she had just ran miles and miles, “Chuck.”
Discreetly whilst murmuring — sounding deluged far in water — he jostled the pistol from her clenched, quivering hands, replacing it in his own belt.
“He shot Chuck,” her sorrowful stare slid over the restrained replacement at the still rumbling engine of the Jeep, “He was shot! And I just stood there!”
Floyd lightly exuded a tauter squeeze on her forearm, mind certain she’d beeline for the replacement in her misery, “This isn’t your fault—”
“I need to see him,” Y/N blurted with a forlorn, uncharacteristic hush, as if the enraged outburst was nonexistent in her haywire conscious.
She jostled out from his clasp furiously, the moonlight casting pallid illumination on the casting of blood on her elegant features for him to see for the first time. And he was too momentarily thrown back with seeing his own friend’s blood on her face to stop her.
Her boots stridently tread over the gritty stones as she staggered to the stock-still figure of Chuck Grant, still awkwardly tilted on his side with soldiers bearing on gauze to the gaping head wound.
“Oh, God,” she sputtered out crazily, declining to the gravel with kneecaps swollen in lacerations by the stony shards. Her hands yearned to grasp him in prevention of him going away — dying on her like Eugene Jackson, Hoobler, Julian.
The blood trickled from the wound it belonged in surges, beat out by a slowing heart — his heart — around his ear and towards the curve of his hairline. Cramped fingers shakily reached to apply pressure on top of the gauze with the other begrimed hands — she was the only medic present, she had a moral oath to help every wounded man she could.
Blood on her hands never quite perturbed her in every rush they made to staunch bleeding, propel back in spills of innards, or grabbing the hand of the dying soldier in her care. Not until it was Chuck Grant’s blood upon them after she had just watched a side of his head implode from a bullet.
There was so much blood and dirt on his baggy uniform and what skin was exposed, one would assume the hapless man had been off dancing with the devil. Her chest was heaving and she couldn’t get any word uttered through her clenched throat as she mustered every nerve of strength into the heaps of gauze on his wound.
“Found a pulse!” one of the adjacent soldiers proclaimed, essentially launching from his knees after his sweeping fingers were greeted by a subduing pulse.
Y/N nearly crumpled in on her shoulders with a hideous sob of relief yet maintained braced palms on his head, a few quavering fingers treading through his bloodied and disheveled hair. And she nearly wanted to internally curse out his hero heart for what he’d done in her defense. He should’ve never gotten out of the Jeep.
“What the fuck happened?!” The soldier supplying to her gauze and sulfur packets nearly dropped what he was clasping into the dirt, as Eugene Roe came hastening towards the pair of them.
His fellow medic’s expression was consumed with petrification as he regarded her heaving body knelt alongside the bloodied sergeant on the ground. Floyd Talbert wordlessly gestured to the constrained replacement a few feet from the bloodied disaster, Roe’s broad eyes finding the abandoned guns on the gravel with the limp German.
Glancing up, Y/N could see Roe with horror petrified amidst the dirt on his face, it being no different than the feeling devouring her chest as he replaced the soldier at her side. Discreetly, he shed off her hands from the crimson-saturated white lump, his fingers prodding around the grim wound, face scrunched up into a medic’s typical focused expression yet his eyes wide as they could have become.
Her eyes were just as remarkably expanded as his as they steadied eye contact with one another, and it seemed incredulous now to call her the most fierce in the regiment when she trembled like an ill child.
“Doll, you’re going to have to get out of the way so we can get him to the aid station,” Doc attempted to nudge her from the access points to Chuck’s left side where she had steadied herself. She remained head strongly knelt in her spot amongst the dirt and blood, a stern glint in her narrowing eyes, nearly daring the New Orleans man to jostle her aside.
“I’m going with him,” her lips that bustled typically with a honey-sickle voice were firm in a frown.
“You’re covered in blood, Y/N,” Floyd reluctantly interjected, hands plucking her upper arms to persuade her away, scrub herself of the ghastly disaster on her skin and OD’s.
She attempted to duck out from the curve of his hands, but relented when her own were pried with a strain off the greying heap of Chuck Grant. Numbly, through hooded eyes, she watched a handful of soldiers heave the leaden body of her boyfriend into the rear of a rumbling Jeep, Roe tinkering in preparation of a plasma IV.
Absentmindedly, she smudged the blood on the crevices of her hands upon the crevices of her newly tailored OD’s, spoiling them with blood once again. Blood wasn’t the worst thing to ever grace her olive-clothed adornments, but it soaked heavily with sentiment now.
Floyd retreated to one final effort to ease her onto her quavery legs, but relented when she furiously snapped away, mumbling of her desire to be alone. He sucked in a breath, lowering his knees into the damp dirt beside her.
“I could’ve gotten that gun from his hand — I’ve done it on Krauts so many times.....but couldn’t on a fucking scrawny kid,” in agitation, she wrenched off her helmet, a silver beam of moonlight cresting over her freshly washed hair. Sweat tickled the creases of her hair as she feebly shook her head.
“This ain’t your fault, doll,” Floyd adamantly repeated his assurance from a few minutes prior, but it was not enough to devour the darkness that had been residing in her core longer than she cared to admit, “You did what any mature soldier woulda.”
Nevertheless, regret washed over her like the long laggard waves on a beach. There was no way back. There was no way to make it right. And the remorse would eat at her everyday of her life.
—
Y/N remained alongside him that night, gaze throbbing on the bandages that were applied about his partially swollen head, where the tousle of plumed brown hair had been shaved off.
She cupped his cold cheek softly, gradually, and delicately, not even minding the scanty blood speckles from his wound still existent on her fine skin. His brown, feathery hair was littered with dust and debris, his exposed skin blemished by dirt. His jacket was a shambled mess, ghastly saturated with blood and sweat, yet she was just relieved — even the slightest — that his chest shifted with subtle breaths in the silence of the dank room.
Still after an hour after wandering stupefied into the provisional recovery room the German brain doctor had arranged prior to his departure, her conscious was scarred by the repetitive remindings and contemplation of his prognosis; he’d survive, but there existed the uncertainty of damage to his speech, thinking, and movement.
She placed her aching hand over the one limply turned over on the stretcher, the clear IV tubing intertwined with his poignant veins and bloodied, pallid skin. The flushing of crimson liquid gradually coursed through the cylindrical existence of the tube, a vague gush surrendering sound to the pristine silence.
“They’re sending him off to a military hospital in the morning,” Richard Winters amicable voice shattered the remainder of the silence like a spiderweb, his light footfalls halting at her left, his electric blues searing into her hunched figure, “Just received the telegram from Sink.”
Distantly, she nodded so he’d at least know she had heard him, but mouth remaining concrete in stillness, expression vacant — haunted. Blood still traced the crevices of her fine skin, the high of her cheeks flushed from the rawly bitter night and vexed by blood from where her hands rubbed vigorously at them.
“He’s allowing you to go with him,” Winters prudently knelt alongside the exhausted woman, the grotty floorboards grousing beneath his weight. Once more, she meagerly nodded, broad and glazed eyes intrigued with the elusive risings of Chuck’s chest.
Winters hand was just mere inches from her goosebumped arm to provoke her detached attention. He wanted to touch her but seemed like he couldn’t bring himself to, therefore reiterating his lenient tone, “You’re going home, Y/N.”
She glanced down at him in utter incredulity — there was no going home. Physically, certainly. Mentally? Every shard of her conscious would be scattered across Europe for the rest of her damned life. Yet, her trepidation was contrasted by the tranquility on his clean-shaven face, and she couldn’t bear to slip into the allure of his consolation.
“Sir,” she uttered, he regarding how she winced like she was in anguish over reluctance, “I can’t go home just because someone pities my ass, it’s unfair — humiliating....”
“You have the points,” he recalled lowly, her frustration tensing after with a clench of her jaw — points she had been keen to ignore, maybe even gesture off to a more deserving man of Easy.
“You deserve it more than anyone. You were there every time you were needed, did everything you could with the little supplies you had, were the last one to stay behind in every retreat to cover us.....back in Bastogne, I sent word up to CP about what’d you done....got you that battlefield commission but Sink wants to send you off with this,” Winters furnished a slim rectangular box from his jacket pocket, yawning it stiffly open with the hazy lantern illuminating a distinguished service medal.
“And Grant will receive a Purple Heart after he wakes up at the hospital,” he mumbled when her stupor sidelined her voice, bloodshot eyes grazing over the golden bend of the medal, “May I?” He nodded in inquiry to the medal then her breast pocket, eyebrow quirked.
Somehow in her thrumming awe, squirrely neurons still firing to comprehend that this medal wasn’t for anyone else but her, that her — a young woman in a male battalion, hell, army — was designated to be a recipient of this honor over her male counterparts, she nodded. His pallid fingers slipped the medal from its velvet flap, unbinding the clip to skew through the thin sheath of her pocket, cordially maneuvering it through whilst she eyed him intently.
“Thank you, sir,” there was no agitation in her voice as if her heart beat so steadily now.
“Why? I’m not the one who did everything you have,” he mused with a curl of a simper, and she meekly mirrored it. Winters patted her knee cursorily whilst easing fluidly to his feet, “Anyway, get some rest. You two leave at 0800.”
“I’ll try.”
—
Chuck Grant woke three weeks following his arrival at the military hospital in Virginia; it was a rather disconcerted awakening, the man’s fret being that he’d awake in a world of crimson pain on the gravel road, head surging with a bleeding river.
While he did enter consciousness with an anchor of pain in his body — particularly the side of his head — he was in a pristine white room rather than on a cradle of grot like his last memory served. And it was quiet. In war, the swirl of silence was a predecessor to a pillage from Ares himself, but this quietude didn’t unnerve him the slightest, perhaps because of the morphine drip. His medically-subdued nerves only rattled when he had acknowledged the absence of Y/N from any inch of the room, his ears resonating with her dimmed scream he had heard in his dwindling consciousness.
Chuck gradually shifted his mouth open, his jaw popping like a rickety spring, and his lips abuzz from abrupt movement. And he attempted to speak. A gurgled disaster bounded from his sand-dry throat, and then another, and another in his bumbling confusion. Why weren’t there any words forming? There were all on the tip of his tongue but that’s where they cemented.
Papery footfalls resounded through his veil of panic and his ample eyes darted to the approaching presence — adorned in crisp, tailored OD’s and far from a rumpled soldier, was Y/N. Her face’s color was profuse in her cheeks and her hair was fashioned in era-typical victory rolls. She was safe.
“Hi there, soldier,” she murmured softly, internally keen to bustle to him in a blitz of relief but swayed in desire when eyeing his perturbed expression. His eyes bounced around his surroundings and his mouth was shifting to and fro in contemplation.
“I-I...” - and then he attempted to speak, and that’s when the damage of his injury bitterly shrouded the vivid sunlight of the room; it was the staggering of a murmur that slipped from frowned, chapped lips. Hastily, a frustrated grouse replaced the effort, the trembling of his right arm that was a far cry from being in his control.
“I know, Chuck,” her voice is honey and milk, even though it resonated with defeat and a ruptured wound of her conscious. Yet, he was merely relieved to hear her voice — see her — after too long spent in an unconscious hell.
She sat by his side on the cot, smoothing his hair from his sweaty brow, gentle touch erupting goosebumps on his flushed skin where a bandage was now vacant. Her fingertips swept around in avoidance of the decent threading of string through his healing wound, and the achingly red skin encompassing it.
Chuck’s hand felt shackled by a metaphysical anchor as he shakily met her own on his cheek, flattening it to the pallid apple of his cheek. His teeth chattered beneath her hand as the anxiety and forebode only swelled through his bloodstream; he was ashamed, a cripple by one single shot. And he wished to a devastating extent that he was still bleeding out upon the gravel of a shadowy Austrian road — that help never had come for him that night.
“It’ll come back over time,” she meekly uttered, considering that she now could perceive the reluctant tears now falling down his cheeks, “I will do everything I can to help you — I ain’t leaving you to deal with any of this on your own, no matter how much you try to get rid of me.”
Y/N thumbed off a few of the warm trickles from his face, his cheeks rising fleetingly in a humored smirk when a similar one graced her own fine lips. And when they pressed to his forehead, he could feel their familiar warmth, and perhaps he’d be okay.
#band of brothers#hbo war#hbowar#band of brothers imagines#hbo war imagine#bandofbrothersimagine#band of brothers x reader
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Not Losing You (Part 2)
Summary: The reader goes on a date with Dean where they talk about Dean’s good news...
Masterlist
Pairing: Mechanic!Dean x reader
Word Count: 7,000ish
Warnings: language, life-threatening illness, implied past sexual harassment/assault
_____
“Hey,” said Dean that night when you got to the restaurant. He was in a gorgeous suit and you smiled, Dean looking like he was ready to jump out of his skin. “I got the best news ever this afternoon.”
“Oh yeah?” you asked, Dean humming as you went over to the bar to wait for your table.
“Oh, yeah. Also, you look beautiful,” he said, tilting his head at you. “Very beautiful.”
“Thank you, handsome,” you said, tucking your hair behind your ear. “So what’s this good news?”
“My doctor called and said they found a matching donor. She’s gonna do it. I got a chance,” he said.
“That’s great!” you said, Dean smirking at you.
“He told me who it was,” he said, biting his bottom lip. “A certain Y/N Y/L/N. He said you just signed up yesterday.”
“Well, I figured I’d sign up to be on the list. I never thought I’d get called. I certainly never thought we’d end up matching,” you said.
“No. The odds...I should play the lottery,” he said.
“How about we take an okay feeling Dean first?” you asked.
“Yeah, I can get behind that,” he said, a waiter coming over to show you to your table.
Five minutes later you had a celebratory bottle of whiskey on the table, Dean’s face still in one of the largest smiles you’d ever seen.
“I don’t even care about having to deal with chemo for three solid weeks every day. Oh, I got my chance. I finally got my chance,” he said, pouring himself a refill.
“That part is gonna suck, huh,” you said.
“Big time. They’ll go hard. Basically they’re gonna wipe me out so when they take healthy cells from you and give them to me, those cells become my new ones. I’ll be on medication but who gives a fuck. I went from zero percent odds to like sixty something. I will take it,” he said.
“Wait. It’s not a hundred percent?” you asked, Dean munching on a roll and shaking his head. “Why?”
“Basically, my first like, month with your new cells, I’m gonna be in a special room to lessen the odds of me getting sick. I’ll basically have no immune system so if I catch a cold, I’m dead,” he said.
“That’s not fair,” you said.
“Y/N...I mean, I’m excited, don’t get me wrong. I haven’t been this excited since last night when I got to kiss you,” he said. You smiled and he laughed. “But there’s still a lot that can go wrong. All it is is a chance. I’ll take that over nothing any day.”
“It still sucks,” you said quietly.
“Wanna make a bet?” he asked.
“Shoot.”
“Two years from tonight, I bet I’m gonna make your night,” he said.
“You’re gonna make my night?” you teased. He nodded and smirked. “What does that even mean?”
“You gonna take the bet or what?” he asked.
“Two years…” you trailed off, closing your eyes.
“Sounds like you’re disagreeing which is awesome cause loser has to make the other cookies,” he said.
“Sure,” you said, rolling your eyes.
“So I gotta ask. Why don’t you think I won’t be able to do it? You thinking I won’t be around or you’ll have wised up by then?” he smiled.
“I think you’re the biggest flirt of a man I’ve ever met,” you said, looking across the restaurant.
“It doesn’t answer the question,” he said.
“I’ve never been in a relationship that long,” you said with a shrug.
“Me either,” he said.
“I’ve never been in one more than a few weeks and not in years,” you said, pursing your lips. “Sorry. Not a first date topic. Maybe that’s why I’m hopeless.”
“Funny. Since I met you, there’s a lot more hope in my life,” said Dean. You glanced down at your lap and he tapped his foot against yours gently. “Most people when they find out about me, that’s when they leave. For some reason, you’re not running away yet. You actually choose to stay and that makes me feel better. I don’t know why but you do and I don’t care how many boyfriends, how many dates, how many times you’ve had sex, if you even have...I don’t care about that stuff. I like you. A lot. Somehow you’re my once in a lifetime shot at beating this thing too and...I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”
“What are you saying?” you asked.
“I don’t know. Just don’t get down over your previous lack of a love life. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be...unless it’s you of course cause so far, this is awesome.”
“Casanova, you are,” you said, taking a sip of whiskey.
“You know it,” he said with a wink. “You and me? Dream team right here. Going all the way.”
“So why did you really take me to an extremely nice restaurant for our first date?” you asked.
“I wanted to,” he said softly, the teasing in his voice disappearing. “I’m not gonna be feeling good for awhile or be able to go out for months and months. I thought it’d be nice if we had a really nice date. Is it really too much?”
“Yes...and no,” you said, smiling at him, holding up your glass. “We’re celebrating after all.”
“Yeah, we are,” he said toasting your glass. “You’re out of a bad job, I have a chance again and you get to look at my adorable face all night.”
“Must you always ruin the moment?” you laughed.
“Defense mechanism. You’ll get used to it,” he said, taking another bite of his roll. “Food too. I love food.”
“What’s your favorite-“
“Pie,” he said. “Any kind of pie. We’re so getting some for dessert.”
“You like pie that much huh?”
“Almost as much as I like you,” he said.
“You ever gonna cool it with the flirting, Casanova?” you asked, leaning over and stealing the last roll from the basket.
“With you? I wouldn’t count on it.”
“Alright, what’s the damage,” you said, reaching for the bill when it came but Dean swiped it away first. “I get the whole being a gentleman thing, I do. But you are not paying for the whole dinner.”
“How exactly are you going to pay a bill that doesn’t exist?” he said. You furrowed your brow and he took out the receipt.
“Uh, we have to pay that,” you said. He rolled his eyes and showed it to you. You were a little surprised at how big it was but seeing the discount line made you tilt your head. “Zero dollars?”
“Yup. It’s my present. Some rich woman set up a fund awhile ago at the hospital for adult transplant patients. We each get one fun thing to do each year and the fund covers it. I picked our dinner if that’s okay. Not to sound cheap just...I can’t really afford a place like this on a normal day,” he said.
“You picked our first date for your once a year thing?” you asked. “Dean, you should have used it on you.”
“I did. Last year I went to a football game with my brother. I like using it to do things with people,” he smiled. “Want to go walk off our dinner?”
“Sure,” you said.
A few minutes later you were walking down the sidewalk, a light chill to the air. Dean shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on your shoulders, the two of you walking quietly for a few minutes. He bumped his hand against yours before he brushed the back of it, doing it two more times before he pulled it back.
“Shy, Dean?” you asked. His gaze was obviously on you but you didn’t look up. “You can hold my hand if you want, you know.”
“I’m not shy,” he said, taking hold of your hand, your fingers intertwining. You smiled and looked down at them, seeing Dean looking ahead.
“You’re shy when you like someone, huh,” you said. “Not the cocky flirty front.”
“Like I said, defense mechanism,” he said quietly.
“I like shy boys too,” you said. “Cocky boys that turn out to be shy are my favorite.”
“You don’t feel sorry for me?” he asked.
“Sorry for what?” you asked.
“Me. My situation. I only ask because it can happen,” he said. “Been down that road before.”
“Well, I can tell you that I’d be happier if you were healthy but no, I don’t feel sorry for you,” you said as you stopped at a corner, turning in your heels to face him. “Got it?”
“Yes, mam,” he said, smirking at you, tugging you along to walk more with him. “Warm enough?”
“Mhm,” you hummed.
“Good. So what’s-” he said, his phone going off. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. You can answer,” you said. Dean smiled and pulled it out, putting it to his ear.
“Hey, Sammy. I’m on a date so...yes I am...what do you want nerd...hey, calm down it’s not...Sam. It’s not a cure...of course I’m excited...I can manage...I said I can manage...don’t you dare call mom. Fine, you can come up some...yeah...starts Monday...alright, I’ll see you. Love ya...shut up bitch,” he said as he hung up, shaking his head. “Sorry. My little brother was returning my call was all.”
“Is he your only sibling?” you asked.
“Just us,” he said. “What about you, sweetheart?”
“Mmm,” you hummed, yawning as you leaned against Dean hours later. He had his arm over your shoulders and pulled you into his side.
“It’s late. I should get you home,” he said.
“Eh, we had fun,” you said, taking a deep breath. “You smell pretty.”
“Thank you,” he chuckled. “I’ll drive you home.”
“I thought they said you couldn’t drive?” you asked.
“Nah, I’m fine. Just right after something like that the doctors get leery,” he said as you wandered back down the sidewalk towards his car. “Rossy gave me the all clear.”
“Rossy?” you asked.
“Yeah. Dr. Ross. He hates it so naturally I call him Rossy. He calls me a smartass. I like him,” said Dean.
“Can I ask a personal question?”
“Shoot.”
“How do you deal with finding out something like that?” you asked.
“Well I’m twenty nine now. I found out when I was twenty three so I’ve had more than a few years to deal with it. I had no symptoms. It popped up in a blood test after I went in for some stitches for a cut I got at work. I was told it needed to be watched in case it started to develop into something worse which around two years ago it did. I was told about three years without a transplant and it’s starting to look that way,” he said. “I mean, what was your reaction when I told you?”
“I was surprised.”
“Yeah, that was pretty much my gut reaction too,” he chuckled. “I thought I was too young but apparently not. Then I denied it was actually happening, then I was angry and then I was upset and got more upset and more upset and then Rossy took me down to the kiddie wing of the hospital. Kind of puts it into perspective when you see that. I still had time and he told me to use it so that’s what I’m trying to do.”
“I don’t know if I could handle it,” you said, stilling when he paused at a black muscle car. “I forgot to mention your car is pretty awesome.”
“Well Baby likes you too,” he said. “Let’s get you home, sweetheart.”
“You live here?” asked Dean when he pulled up outside a house. “Like...here? No offense sweetheart but this ain’t exactly the safest part of town.”
“It’s cheap. It doesn’t bother me,” you said, giving him a smile he saw right through.
“The apartments in my complex gotta be better than…” he trailed off when you swallowed. “What aren’t you telling me, Y/N?”
“It’s nothing,” you said, putting a hand on the door. His other one grabbed your hand though and you slumped back into the seat.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly.
“Can you keep a secret?” you asked.
“Anything,” he said.
“I...don’t have a house,” you said.
“Okay…” said Dean. “Then why are we here?”
“It’s abandoned. I squat here,” you said, closing your eyes.
“Squat? Like...do you not have a home?” he asked.
“I was fired six months ago. I lost my house. I don’t…” you said, Dean staring at you. “It’s complicated. I know I lied. Sorry.”
“You’ve been staying in that house?” he asked.
“Yes,” you breathed out. “Or my car when I can’t find a place.”
“Where’s your car now?” he asked.
“Parked out back,” you said.
“Why don’t you get your car and follow me back to my place,” he said.
“Dean. I’m not going to spend the night,” you said.
“You are not sleeping in that house,” he said. “Either that or you let me pay for a hotel room.”
“Fine. Only one night.”
“Good morning,” said Dean when you woke up on his couch the next day. You remembered what had happened the night before and immediately pulled the blanket you’d been using over your face. “Oh, yes. Clearly you have disappeared and we won’t be having this conversation.”
“Can we forget that happened?” you asked, blanket being peeled back, Dean sitting on the edge of couch. He smiled and looked you over, running his hand over your head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Can I ask you a serious question?”
“Alright,” you said.
“Monday when you were upset and pulled over. It didn’t even cross my mind until now...we were on a bridge,” he said. “Over the highway.”
“I was upset not...” you said, sitting upright and moving past him, ready to change out of his sweatshirt and into your dress and get the hell out of there.
“I didn’t say you were. I wanted to ask why you were upset that day is all,” he said. You sighed and stopped at the end of the couch, feeling Dean stand behind you. “You can tell me about your crap too. That’s part of a relationship.”
“I’m sorry but maybe this was a mistake,” you said. You finished heading into the bathroom, changing quickly. Dean was nowhere in sight when you left and you got out of there before he could try and stop you.
Monday Afternoon
“Hey,” you said, knocking on the door of Dean’s hospital room. You saw him walk out of the bathroom wearily, carrying a bin with him.
“What do you want,” he mumbled, crawling back into bed. He wrapped his blankets around himself and shivered, closing his eyes.
“Are you okay?” you asked.
“Just puking my guts out for funsies,” he said, wincing a little for a moment before he relaxed. “Chemo hits me hard is all and I asked what you wanted. I don’t need to see you, like at all.”
“Can I shut the door?” you asked.
“I don’t care. Just leave the way to the bathroom clear,” he said. You sighed as you closed the door to the room, Dean peeling open his eyes when you took a seat by the bed. “I’m not in the mood to talk.”
“Are you willing to listen?” you asked quietly.
“Are you some kind of pathological liar?” he said, giving you a bitch face.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” you said. “You’re very kind and I’m...I’m not worth the trouble.”
“I’ll decide that for myself,” he said. He sat up some, shivering a little.
“I’ve been out of work since I was fired,” you said closing your eyes. “I can’t get a loan or an apartment because...my old boss keeps stopping anything I try from happening. Jobs. Places to live. I pissed him off when I said no and what happened after that...I could move to a different city but I don’t really have anywhere to go. It hits me sometimes that this is my life now and that’s what happened last Monday. I was...I was having a bad day.”
“I talk to you about the fact I’m dying yet you were too embarrassed to tell me that?” he asked.
“I know,” you said, looking down to your lap.
“Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”
You forced your head up, Dean closing his eyes briefly before he slowly opened them.
“My baby brother, Sam, he works for one of the best law firms in town. We can talk to him and he’s gonna help you out with this dick of an ex-boss. I’d go kick his ass but I’m not really capable at the moment.”
“Dean.”
“I understand being embarrassed, sweetheart. You have no idea. People treat you different when you tell them certain things. But you don’t have to do that with me,” he said.
“I don’t know how to trust people anymore, Dean. I’ve been on my own for so long and then that happened. I’m-”
“Human. A very pretty human,” he said gently. “People don’t want to be my friend anymore, sweetheart. They don’t talk to me. You’re the only person that’s not a doctor or my brother I’ve talked to in a week. I am the fucked up, vulnerable one in this relationship. You have bad luck. I’m-”
“Don’t call yourself fucked up,” you said, scoffing at him. “You’re kind. How is that fucked up?”
“There’s other stuff,” he said. “Stuff I’m not ready to talk about. Someday but not today.”
“Alright,” you said, grabbing his hand and resting your head on his arm.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m sorry for lying to you,” you said.
“Can we agree from now on to stop being embarrassed in front of each other?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said. “Yeah, I can agree to that.”
“Awesome, cause I need to throw up again,” he said, quickly getting out of bed and jogging to the bathroom. You walked over and he was knelt down, shaking slightly as he caught his breath.
“Can I get you anything?” you asked, bending over and rubbing his back, Dean sighing.
“That feels nice,” he said. “Can you go ask a nurse where the fuck my anti-nausea medicine is?”
“Okay. I’ll go get someone,” you said. You kissed his temple, Dean smiling when he looked up at you. “Is it okay that I did that?”
“Sweetheart. I have cancer, not the black plague. You can still kiss me,” he chuckled. “Until otherwise noted, okay? I’ll let you know.”
“Alright. I’ll uh, I’ll go find a nurse.”
“Sup, Dean,” said a very tall man that walked into Dean’s room a few hours later.
“Hey, Sammy,” said Dean, lowering the volume on the TV. “Sam, this is Y/N.”
“Didn’t you two break up?” asked Sam. “After your first date?”
“Nah. You must be confused,” said Dean, smiling at you. “I don’t know how she did it but somehow the nurses fear her. She got me my medicine like that.”
“You’re the marrow donor too from what Dean said,” said Sam as he took a seat in the other empty chair.
“Yeah. It’s very strange how it worked out,” you said.
“I ain’t complaining,” said Dean, getting out of bed again.
“Stomach still upset?” you asked.
“No. Nature calls,” he said, slipping inside the bathroom. Sam gave you a long look and you frowned.
“What?” you asked.
“Listen. I know who you are but I don’t care. You’re helping my brother and that’s all that matters,” he said. You blinked slowly a few times, narrowing your eyes when you took in what he said.
“I don’t know who you think I am but I’m not it,” you said.
“You’re not the Y/N Y/L/N who worked at Borris & Longworth?” he asked.
“I used to work there but-”
“But yeah. I know who you are,” said Sam, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you stay away from my brother. Just donate the marrow and get lost.”
“Samuel,” barked through the room, Dean’s brow furrowed as Sam spun around in his seat. “If I had the energy, I’d punch you in the face, got it?”
“Don’t date this chick is all I’m saying. She’s bad news,” said Sam.
“Oh. I see you’re a believer of bullshit too,” said Dean, sitting back on the bed, shooting Sam a dirty look. “Why don’t you act like a real lawyer and get your facts straight before you threaten someone I care about, threaten someone that may end up saving my life because she wanted to donate. Don’t turn into an asshole like those pricks you work with, Sam. Just don’t. If that’s what you are now, then just leave. I’d rather remember you the way you were.”
“You’re not dying,” said Sam.
“Yeah, Sam, I am. I started chemo and radiation will start soon and in three weeks, I have the procedure done. I have a sixty two percent shot of surviving the transplant. Sixty two is a hell of a lot better than zero. It’s not a guarantee. It’s a chance. Time is the only proof of being better I’ll have. That is all I will ever get. There is no cure or guarantee. I am dying. If you’re gonna be rude to the one person who has willingly come into my life during this, then you can go,” said Dean.
Sam was quiet, staring at his lap while Dean crossed his arms and went back to watching TV.
“Sam,” you said. “Can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
You stood and exited the room, Sam following after a moment. You wandered down the hall to the waiting area, taking a seat and resting your head in your hands.
“I know what Liam says about me,” you said. He took a seat beside you, still before he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees.
“It’s not true, is it,” he said.
“He was the one that did those things to me,” you said, Sam wide eyed for a moment.
“Y/N. Why did you never go to the police if that’s true?”
“Because his Uncle is the commissioner. His Aunt worked at the bank my home loan was through. His family ruined my reputation in town so I can’t get a job better than a fast food place and even then, I get fired pretty randomly from those for bullshit reasons I know is him paying off people. He’s made my life a living hell. Everyone buys into it. Everyone but your brother,” you said. You took a deep breath and sighed.
“You’re saying he’s the one that sexually harassed you and...in that board room…” he said.
“Dean doesn’t know about the board room and I’d rather he not,” you said.
“Can I ask why?”
“Because it was humiliating and degrading and Dean has enough shit going on than my fucked up life. I don’t want him to worry or think about it all. He should focus on himself right now,” you said.
“You obviously are still getting to know my brother.”
“Yeah,” you said. “I honestly don’t care if you believe me or not. Do not upset your brother. Stress isn’t good for him.”
“I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and believe you anyway,” said Sam.
“You were biting my head off not five minutes ago,” you said.
“...well if you’re the kind of person that wants to be with my brother given his situation, I seriously doubt you’re the kind of person who hurts someone else and then lies about it. Liam has always given me the creeps on the rare occasion I’ve met him. I’ll take your word over his,” he said.
“Thank you,” you said.
“Y/N. Thank you. For helping Dean. If I can help you with Liam, I will,” he said.
“I can’t afford a lawyer. I can’t afford anything,” you said as you stood up.
“You’re giving my brother a chance which is more than I can say I’m doing. Let me see what I can dig up,” he said.
“If you could just help it so I can get a decent job, that’s all I want,” you said.
“My fiance owns her own business. She’s looking for a second set of hands. It’s not much right now, it’s still a startup, but I can guarantee Liam can’t get you fired from that job,” he said.
“I’ll take it,” you said. “I’ll need time off in a few weeks for the transplant but-”
“Don’t worry about that. Jess wants Dean to get better too,” he said. You nodded and started to head back towards the room, Sam grunting. “Y/N. We need to sit down sometime and have a serious conversation about what exactly Liam did, what he’s still doing.”
“I know. Right now I just want to check on Dean though,” you said.
“Alright. Let me know when you’re ready to talk and we’ll do it.”
“Well look at you,” you said, smirking when you walked into Dean’s hospital room on Friday afternoon. “I like the new look.”
“A patch came out yesterday in the shower, I decided to just shave it off,” said Dean, running his hand over his head.
“Well I was hoping you wouldn’t need this yet but I brought you a present,” you said. You dug into your purse and pulled out a beanie, Dean chuckling at it.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, tugging it down over his head. “No presents though. You’re on limited funds still.”
“Well the one benefit of working for such a small business is that I got paid this week,” you said.
“Really? That’s great. So you like working on Jess’ t shirt shop?” he asked.
“Actually, yeah. I’m helping clean up the business side so she can focus on her designs. She seems really happy with me so far so there’s that,” you said.
“You better still be crashing in my apartment,” he said.
“I am. I’ll get my own place real soon,” you said.
“Stay. I’m going to be in this hospital for at least a few months,” said Dean. “Another week or so and then they’ll stick me in a different room when my immune system gets pretty weak. Then a week after that, they should end up zapping me and putting your marrow in me and then I go to a different special room to hang out by myself for a long time while my immune system tries to rebuild itself. Apparently it’s got a window and telecom so I can still tell you how hot you are.”
“We have to work on your priorities,” you said, Dean scooting over on his bed.
“Well come on, I have limited cuddle opportunities,” he said. You rolled your eyes and sat up next to him, Dean throwing his arm over your shoulders, your head resting on his chest. “That’s better.”
“How’d it go today?” you asked.
“I’m sick of it,” he said. “But I have to do it in order to kill my own immune system. It’s gonna get worse. I’m not looking forward to it.”
“What time do you have it tomorrow?” you asked.
“First thing. Why?”
“Can I come?”
“They come to my room and do it. It’s not anything special,” he said.
“Still. You spend a lot of time alone here. If you don’t mind that is,” you said.
“No, I don’t mind,” he said quietly. “I’d like it if I had some company.”
“I’ll be here,” you said. He kissed the top of your head and you smiled. “You’re so handsome.”
“No, I’m not,” he said, his cheeks flushing briefly. “Especially not anymore.”
“You have no idea how wrong you are,” you said, tilting your head and kissing his lips. He sucked in a breath, a soft smile on his face. “Very, very handsome.”
“Y/N,” he said, warm air pooling over your face.
“Yes, Dean?” you said, brushing your nose over his.
“I got this problem, you see. I think I’m starting to fall for you. But the thing is, I promised myself that if I started to do that, I’d tell you,” he said.
“Oh,” you said.
“Yeah. Honestly, it’s too fast. Like way too fast and odds are-”
“Shut up and kiss me,” you said. Dean titled his head and you smiled, brushing your lips over his. “Do I look like I care about whatever the fuck society says is an acceptable waiting period to tell someone you like them?”
“No,” he breathed out. “Then again, we’ve never been traditional.”
He kissed you gently, putting a hand on your cheek. Just as you were starting to melt into it he broke away and sat up, coughing hard. You went up with him and rubbed his back, Dean sounding like he was hacking something up before he got his breath back.
“I can’t even kiss you without feeling like shit,” he said.
“Let’s just cuddle,” you said, pulling him back down when you thought he was ready.
“Yeah. Yeah a cuddle sounds pretty good right now.”
Two Weeks Later
“Hey,” said Sam, poking his head in your hospital room with a smile. “How’d it go?”
“Okay. I’m a little achy but they said that was expected after them taking marrow. I can go home later today but I figured Dean’s getting his first treatment this afternoon and I wanted to say hi first,” you said.
“Yeah, he sent me down to check on you, told me to wait on you hand and foot if needed,” he said with a chuckle.
“I’m good. If you could help me out of bed so I can go see Dean that’d be great,” you said. He stepped over and put an arm around you, helping you stand for a moment.
“How bad does it hurt?” asked Sam.
“Not really. Dean’s the one I’m concerned about,” you said, Sam carrying most of your weight as you started to head out.
“You know that whole Liam thing…” said Sam. “I looked into it this week.”
“And?”
“And I brought it to my old law school professor. I don’t trust anyone else at my firm. He says you have a major case. Like, Liam himself is fucked but so is a lot of his family that covered stuff up for him or paid people off. He says there are really good odds that you can be paid damages for everything you’ve gone through and the missed work and the house and all of it. He’ll work it pro bono he said if this is the road you want to go down,” said Sam.
“I can’t keep living my life with him destroying so much of it. Things are looking up for me and I can’t worry about him anymore,” you said.
“Alright. I’ll keep working it then,” said Sam. He was quiet as you made your way upstairs to the special room Dean had been staying in the past few days. He was weak and they needed to minimize his chance of catching anything. “Hey, jailbird. I brought you a visitor.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” said Dean, better looking than you were expecting. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Hip’s a little sore but I’ll survive,” you said with a smile, Sam setting you down in the seat by the window. “You nervous?”
“Nah. I’m ready for it,” he said with a smile. “If this is the last conscious conversation we have, I got to say, I really regret never getting to have a proper makeout session with you.”
“Always the flirt,” you said, Dean chuckling quietly. “Dean.”
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I got a pretty good reason to keep living. I got to make you fall in love with me afterall,” he teased.
“I’m gonna be right here in this chair with Sam and Jess when you wake up, okay?” you said.
“You three are gonna sit in the same chair?” he giggled.
“You’ll be fine, Winchester,” you said, Dean smiling softly. “You want anything for when you wake up?”
“Can you make sure I get an extra blanket in here?” he asked.
“Sure thing, babe,” you said, spotting Dr. Ross come down the hall. “Alright, Dean. Here goes nothing.”
One Week Later
“What does that mean,” said Sam, the both of you scowling in the waiting area just outside the room Dean was recovering in. “He was fine yesterday.”
“His white cell count was rising but it started to taper off last night and this morning’s test showed he’s down again,” he said.
“It means Dean’s body isn’t building it’s own marrow back up from mine,” you said. “Right?”
“In layman’s terms, he’s not adapting as well to the new marrow as we hoped for. He needs that to build up his immune system which without one...it’s a death sentence,” he said.
“Take more,” you said.
“Take more what?” asked Dr. Ross.
“Of my marrow,” you said. He closed his eyes and you stood up. “I’m fine. Take more and give it to him.”
“Marrow is a cell like anything else in your body. You need a certain amount. Think of it like blood donation. You can only donate so much blood before it’s problematic for the donor. I’m sorry but your body needs more time to regenerate what was taken,” he said.
“Take. One. More,” you said, Dr. Ross raising his chin. “My body can handle it. I’ll stay in the hospital a few days or however long to recover but just take it. All three of us know I’m the only one that can do it and odds are if he doesn’t get more, he dies. So just take one more damn sample. Please.”
“One more sample,” said Dr. Ross. “If we’re doing this, we need to do this now, understand?”
“Don’t worry about work,” said Sam. “Jess is cool with it. It’s fine. Whatever we gotta do to help Dean, we’ll do it.”
“You will need to rest in bed. No walking around, no visiting Dean after this. I will strap you down if I have to. Have I made myself clear?” said Dr. Ross.
“Yes. Anything to help Dean out, even a little.”
“Hi,” said Jess when you woke up that evening. She was munching on some pasta and offered you some before you shook your head. “Sam’s with Dean so I figured I’d keep an eye on you.”
“I feel like shit,” you said, reaching for some water before she handed it to you.
“Dean’s numbers bounced back to where they’re supposed to be at this point,” she said.
“Good,” you breathed out, closing your eyes again.
“So while the boys are away, I got a slight business proposal for ya,” she said.
“Jess, I’m too tired to think about work,” you said. “I wrote instructions in the spreadsheet.”
“No, not work work. You’re really smart, way smarter than I’ll ever be at the business stuff. I was wondering if instead of me being in charge you’d want to be partners,” she said.
“Partners?” you asked, opening your eyes.
“Yeah. 50/50. You do more work than I do nowadays. It’s not the most money in the world but I think together we could really do something big, like expand and do even local stuff, not just online,” she said.
“What’s the catch?” you asked. “I don’t have any money to put in right now.”
“I know. We don’t need more money right now. I could really use your help though. You know how to sell stuff and plan and budget. I could really use you,” she said.
“Alright,” you said with a nod and a smile. “Deal.”
“Awesome. Now try some of this fettuccini, it’s amazing.”
“Hey, Dr. Ross,” you said, wearily opening your eyes late that night after Jess and Sam had gone home. “How’s Dean?”
“Stable. Not out of the woods yet,” he said, looking over your chart.
“He would have died without the extra transplant, wouldn’t he,” you said.
“The odds weren’t in his favor. We took a larger sampling than before which is why you may be feeling a bit run down. You can’t give again no matter what happens with Dean, not for a few months at least,” he said. “Is that clear?”
“Yes,” you said. “What do you think Dean’s chances are?”
“You’re not a family member so technically I shouldn’t even be talking to you about this,” he said.
“Rossy,” you said, the doctor smirking for a moment.
“I’d say he has a fifty percent chance of keeping his numbers building. If he makes it through that and to the fourth week, I think it goes up a little. The next year will be the most telling. He could have a completely normal life after this. He needs to survive the next few days first though,” he said.
“So there’s a fifty percent chance of that?” you asked. Dr. Ross pursed his lips and glanced down. “Worse?”
“The need for the second injection...it doesn’t bode well,” he said.
“Give me a number.”
“I’d say he’s got a 50% chance of deteriorating again. If that happens...it’s unlikely he can recover from it,” he said. You nodded, Dr. Ross setting your chart back down but he paused by the end of the bed.
“His numbers are starting to go down again, aren’t they.”
“They stopped building from earlier in the evening. It’s not a good sign. Odds are...would you like to go see him?” he asked. You nodded and he helped you into a wheelchair, pushing you to the elevators before you took off on Dean’s floor, stopping outside the window, Dean barely awake.
“Hey. There’s my gorgeous girl,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m kinda tired sweetheart if that’s okay.”
“It’s okay. You can go to sleep, Dean. I’ll be right here,” you said. He gave a small nod and you saw his heartbeat slow on the monitor, Dr. Ross telling you he was fast asleep. “Thanks for letting me talk to him again. How fast...if his numbers drop...how fast will it...”
“Probably sometime tomorrow,” he said. “Could be a little longer. We don’t know anything yet but it’s not looking good. Tonight will be very telling.”
“Can I stay here for a while?” you asked, your bottom lip quivering.
“Yes. Just let a nurse know when you want to go back,” he said before he turned to go. “Y/N. You gave him a chance...and some happiness. That’s more than he ever wanted.”
“He deserves better,” you said.
“Most people do,” he said as he walked away. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Going back to your room would be the easy thing to do.
You released the air in your lungs and tried to get comfortable before you decided to sit through what was going to be the longest night of your life.
______
A/N: Read Part 3 here!
#supernatural#spn#dean x reader#dean winchester#supernatural fanfiction#dean winchester x reader#dean#winchester#dean spn#au
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For the headcanon{s}, can you talk about Beth's mental illness? How it does and does not impact her daily life, if things trigger it, how she handled this after losing Riley {in verses that are sans Riley, obviously}, and what some of her experiences have been? I feel like it's something people determinedly overlook about her, and I'd like to know!
This.
“You can’t be fuckin’ serious!”
“You keep a civil tongue in that head of yours, boy. I think I know what’s best for your sister.”
“With all due respect, sir... you haven’t known what’s best in-”
Beth is an oyster.
Vague lines and curves that are nothing remarkable perhaps to the point of being unappealing. She can only burrow into the Sand....sandy...Andy. Andy and the Admiral are outside of the room, arguing about the proper course of treatment. She can’t hear every word because she’s underwater and all the sounds are so far away as to be indistinct from the beeping of the monitor that is keeping track of her vital signs. The bandages on her pseudo-pods ~arms, they’re arms, Beth~ are too heavy. They keep her trapped to this bed where she can’t really move and she doesn’t know why. It’s all wriggling around inside of her. A parasite. One she has to wrap in smooth layers of aragonite and conchiolin. Layer after microscopic crystalline layer. Maybe if it’s smooth enough and round enough, maybe if it has enough lustre, then they will set her free. She’s so very tired but she doesn’t have her turtle, and the thin cotton gown isn’t warm enough, worn thin in places. The blankets are too scratchy and the air smells funny, too many chemicals that it’s making her feel nauseous.
But that’s all wrong. Oysters don’t have blankets and they aren’t tied down to beds and they don’t... they don’t...
“Electroshock! How can you? Look at her. She’s just a kid!”
“And your sister nearly killed herself tonight, Andrew. I am done discussing this with you. I’m your father, and a neurosurgeon. If anyone is capable of choosing a treatment plan, it isn’t a teen age boy.”
~*~
Beth was fourteen years old when she was diagnosed however wrongly with Depression mood disorder with features of psychosis, after she smashed her bedroom mirror with her fists, deeply slashing her arms from wrists to elbows. The symptoms leading up to this moment certainly were red-flags for what was wrong with her, all of them classic to the specific diagnosis: the trouble concentrating or making decisions, chronic fatigue, feelings of guilt and worthlessness, insomnia, restlessness, loss of appetite, phantom aches and pains that didn’t seem to go away, persistent sadness and anxiety. It isn’t uncommon for girls and young women diagnosed with Turner Syndrome to also develop depression. And her father felt the matter was cut and dry, despite strenuous objections from her brother.
She spent three miserable weeks in an in-patient psychiatric facility receiving less than pleasant electroconvulsive therapy, psychotherapy and was prescribed citalopram {Celexa}. Which made Beth absolutely nauseous to the point that she had trouble keeping water down, only worsened her sleeping troubles, and made her jittery. As soon as the Admiral shipped out again for a year long deployment aboard the USNS Comfort, Andy took her back to the doctor to get a second opinion.
It was then, at fifteen, that she was re-diagnosed correctly with Rapid Cycling Bi-Polar Disorder. Andy nursed her through the withdrawal of the citalopram and taking over her care regiment seemed to do his sister wonders, as she started to be the sweet and gentle girl he’d always known her to be. He’d sort out her medication by days of the week, would make sure she took the right ones at the right times with her meals, going out of his way to cook things she could stomach, letting her sleep in his bed when she wanted to, and for years after, she seemed to improve. She went months without crippling depression and her manic and hypomanic states were few and far between as well.
Then everything changed.
Beth was accepted into several universities and chose Columbia, knowing that their pre-med program was top-notch and their medical school was even better, and wouldn’t require her to change schools for the duration of her education. Having just turned sixteen in June she was starting a new life perhaps far younger than she ought to have.
There was major upheaval, stress and abject terror at leaving Hawai’i behind, going almost as far away as possible. She was not prepared for the cross-continent move. Neither was she prepared for living on her own. Perhaps she simply expected to live with Andy the whole of her life, or at the very least through her under-grad years. But after the initial first two months that it took to move into their grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn, and Andy setting up all of her bills, hiring a cook and house keeper, making sure she got settled in as a freshman, he enlisted in the US Air-Force. She saw very little of her brother for the next two years, and the only thing that kept Beth from failing out of school was the idea that she would be sent home to live with the Admiral.
She began to notice that her medication {bupropion aka Wellbutrin} seemed less effective during this time. She was barely getting more than three hours of sleep at night, and maybe half that during day time naps. She experiences bouts of nausea that once again made eating difficult to prioritise, a feature that would last her entire life thus far, with Beth being at least twenty pounds consistently underweight. She also began to experience chronic sore throats, what she describes as her bladder shrinking down to the size of a pea, and worse...tinnitus that became co-morbid with her audio processing disorder.
The few times during the year that she was able to see Andy, things seemed to get better....until she crashed immediately after he left again.
Beth decided she no longer wanted to take her medication.
~*~
“C’mon Beth, I’m getting married, it’s not like I’m dying!”
“GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT!”
She’s throwing things at him. She’s destroyed seven plates,six coffee mugs and at least one irreplaceable vase. There are so many tears, so much snot, it’s hard to believe his sister is almost eighteen and not eight. But thankfully, she’s still so short she can’t reach the stemware and is forced to come out from behind the island kitchen.
Which means he manages to get his arms around her, a bear hug from behind that locks her stick-figure arms to her chest. She fusses and has a fit, kicking and trying to bite him, but his training in Pararescue has taught him how to hold someone without hurting them.
“I’m not gonna leave you, jelly bean, I promise. And you’ll like Lana. She’s a real nice girl, her family’s from Jersey, and she’ll be moving in with us. You won’t have to-”
“LA LA LA! NO CAN HEAR YOU!”
Beth is a hermit crab.
She can just shrink back into her shell and keep everyone out. She can hide down in the bottom of the sea and let the water of her Mother’s arms wash over her and if anything gets close, she’ll pinch them to bits.
But she really isn’t. She isn’t a hermit crab, she’s just a girl and there’s nothing that can keep everything inside of her from dying a slow and painful death. Because now Andy is not only not going to be around, but he’s getting married. To a stranger no less. But like a hermit crab, her house is too small and this woman is never setting foot inside of it. And it’s his stupid fault, because that’s what her brother is...stupid.
Doesn’t he know that no one will love him like she does? That no one depends on and needs him as much? Doesn’t he know they’re supposed to be together, forever and always? Doesn’t he know he’s the only person who truly loves her? The person who said he’d never leave her? Why does he need a wife anyway? She can do everything this Lana person can, and better. If he’d just let her prove it, he’d see!
~*~
But he didn’t.
Andy ended up getting married.
Beth dropped out of medical school before completing her residency, but applied her credits to nursing. She was absolutely certain the Admiral was going to have a stroke that she had decided not to become a neurosurgeon like him, or his second choice, a cardiologist. Emergency room nursing suits her needs. She is indoors and on her feet throughout the darkness of the night when home is ever so lonely. It feeds the excessive energy that floods her system and lets her literally crash, semi-conscious during the sometimes three, sometimes four consecutive days she has off.
Life settles into a medication-less routine. Beth finally grows her final inch in height, puts on a few more pounds so she doesn’t seem nearly as cadaverous as she did before. She can blame late occurring puberty for that and for just the most brief moments of time, things seemed to have found their balance. There were no great highs. There were no life-threatening lows. Beth could finally breath.
At least until....the sun burned out and destroyed everything in a single knock on the door.
Perfunctory words that echo in her dreams.
~*~
“Miss Riley, on behalf of the Chief of Staff, United States Air Force, I regret to inform you of the untimely death of your brother, Second Lieutenant Andrew M. Riley-”
Beth Riley...isn’t anything any more.
All of everything that was bright and best within her is now a single leg and some bone fragments in a beautiful koa wood casket. It is a folded flag put into her hands. It’s the reception in the Admiral’s house and an incredibly long line of people talking and talkingandtalkingandtalkingandtalking and saying nothing at all. She can’t breath. She can’t feel. Nothing makes sense and it never will because what do you say when half of you is ripped away and gone forever? What do you do when the world stops turning and the sun has burnt out of the sky?
Beth slips out of the house without being noticed. She manages to get in her brother’s Mustang and heads into the city proper, and ends up at the bar he used to like to frequent when he was on leave. She sits at the bar and orders scotch, 25 year Macallan.
She buys the bottle.
She buys the entire bar drink after drink until last call.
She lets someone take her home. Gets into his apartment. Doesn’t really feel his mouth and his hands pawing at her. Doesn’t feel anything really at all until she shoves him away. Things become blurry after that and she only really vaguely remembers calling Jay from a payphone some blocks away.
She can’t find her shoes. But that doesn’t matter.
Nothing does.
Three months later ~one hundred days, to be precise~ Beth quits her job. She turns her utilities off. Throws a few things including her wallet, her passport, and her rosary into a sea bag that she’s had forever.
Darfur. The Democratic Republic of Congo. Amsterdam. Uruguay. Wherever Médecins Sans Frontières will let her go, to treat people living in the worst conditions. Ironic, isn’t it...that no matter where she goes, Beth always manages to make it back. That all those fears Andy had of her killing herself from neglect or inattention, or even possibly through deliberate action, and she can’t get so much as a life-threatening paper cut?
It isn’t fair.
And maybe...maybe it doesn’t matter.
There’s a lot of ways you can die in Louisiana.
She hears the coffee in New Orleans is really wonderful.
#mynameisanakin#She's Talking To Angels {Bethisms}#Making Wishes on Passing Cars|Answered Asks#mental health tw#medication tw#suicidal ideation tw
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In Between
Hi, folks. I’m sorry I have nothing to offer as far as fic goes. Things have been... ::sigh:: You know, I don’t know what things have been. Not good, not bad. Just... things. I wanted to talk--get things out of my head--this morning, but I realized I don’t have a person/outlet who can accept these things right now. So, I will put them here for anyone who cares to read them.
1) My car blew up. Well, the engine did. I was on my way back home with groceries last Saturday, and I lost all ability to accelerate and brake. So, I puttered out on the side of the road and waited to be saved. The issue may be covered under the warranty so I had it taken to the dealership. They’ve had it for a week and still don’t have answers for me besides an offer to lend me a car for free until they can figure out what to do with my car.
2) This deserves it’s own point, though I almost included it on the first point. I’ve never bought a car without my grandmother. She was under five feet tall and had a tendency to wear sweat pants and Christmas sweaters year-round. She smoked Winston Lights and carried a purse covered in rhinestones. The car salesmen didn’t know what hit them because she wasn’t at all the sweet old lady who would roll over and accept their first offer. She was hard to read and she wouldn’t give an inch. She also wouldn’t tell them what she was willing to pay. No counter offers from her; she’d just tell you to “do better.” Anyway, she worked her magic when I bought all three of my cars. When I realized the problem with the engine was serious and might require me getting a new car, I went into a mental tailspin. Yeah, yeah, I was worried about fitting it into my budget and all that, but mostly I couldn’t seem to cope with buying a car on my own without my grandma there to hold my hand. I’m almost 39 years old and the thought of doing this without her had me sobbing in the floor. Except, I didn’t realize my tailspin was due to my grandmother at first. At first, I just thought I was incapable of handling stress. Maybe that’s still accurate.
3) While we’re talking about expensive-ass shit, I knew the air conditioner and furnace on this house needed to be replaced sooner rather than later when I bought it last February. It looks like the time has come. I managed to find a nice man with very odd hair (think a longer version of the Prince Valiant hair-do, but bright white) through my boyfriend’s dad. He does this for a living and said he’d give me a discount and do for $5,000 what other places were telling me would cost $9,000. So, that’s happening next week. I have the money, but the idea of writing a $5,000 check makes me want to puke. Ugh.
4) The days are running together. I’m working from home. I can’t complain, though. I’ve got it better than most. I’m alone all day. I have a library with a desk. I can go downstairs and make tea or lunch in my own kitchen. I’m getting paid my full salary with bonuses. I can pretty much make my own hours. The company I work for is taking the pandemic seriously and has told us that we can all work from home until we feel comfortable returning to the office. Their timeline for “normal” is months. I don’t think I’ll be back in the office until late summer, if that. Those who want to return are permitted to, but they can’t use the public areas (kitchen, conference rooms) and have to abide by some strict safety requirements. And they can choose when and how often they go into the office, working the remainder of the time at home. So, better than most.
5) I’ve been doing this social distancing thing since March 19th. It’s not difficult for me. On good days I’ll exercise (I have a Peloton) before logging into work around 9am. On not-good days (which seem to be more often than not), I’ll skip the exercise and just log into work early. Work keeps me busy and I spend a decent amount of my day on the phone with clients. I go to the grocery store once a week, but I order for pickup. Someone else does the shopping for me and loads it into my trunk. This is nothing new. I’ve been shopping that way for years. Now it’s just harder to get my usual pickup slot because everyone else has joined the party. I do miss taking a break from work and leaving my office to grab a coffee and sit outside on a bench downtown. I guess I could do that outside my own house, but it just doesn’t feel the same.
6) A few months ago, a husband and wife who are clients came in to meet with me at my office. They’re in their 80s and both were having trouble walking. They parked in the garage next door and couldn’t find the elevator to exit. I walked over and escorted them to our office building. They were both struggling with walking and the wife (Rose) had been fighting lung cancer for a couple years, so I suggested they wait outside and I’d valet their car once we were done. The thought of making the trek to their car alone was painful to me because it was a monumental struggle for them to walk down a hallway. Their daughter-in-law called me two days ago. Rose passed away two weeks ago. The husband, a former literature professor for a university, was in the hospital with four broken ribs because he’d fallen shortly after Rose’s passing. He was a Jewish child in Nazi Germany during the war. He’d told me stories about hiding from the Nazis, surviving off of tree bark and whatever he could find in the forests. He also jokingly told me that he’d live until he was 120. Now, it looks like he won’t survive the year. He and Rose would tease each other all the time, but you could see all that love between them. Whenever I’d call him, he’d ask me in that wonderful accent to wait while he got “the boss” on the phone as well. Rose thought it was silly that she was “the boss,” but she humored him. You know, they’re shorties, too. Five foot, nothing. Just like my grandma. Hearing that Rose was gone and Dr. (he’s a PhD) was likely soon to follow just broke my already fragile heart.
7) Fragile heart, huh? Yeah. After the car situation and the realization that one day I’m going to have to do big life things without having my grandma to help me, I was feeling pretty raw. But I’ve been trying to be responsible and do things I’ve been putting off lately. So, I gathered up all those medical bills from Ferguson’s illness last September. (Ferguson was my soulmate little chihuahua mix that I had for over 13 years.) I had pet insurance on him and hadn’t bothered to make the claim because I couldn’t handle it. But it’s been almost a year so I pulled out the invoices, which were over $2,000, and logged into the website and starting inputting the info to file the claims. The little box asks for a description of why I took him to the vet. And answering that question just brought back all that shit like a wave. I remember reading this nice description of grief and how it is like waves. At first they’re big and they knock you around and you can’t breathe. But over time they get smaller and you learn how to navigate them. Still there, but manageable. Filling in that box resulted in a bit of a tidal wave that knocked me on my ass. My boyfriend came home to find me sobbing at my desk like a lunatic.. He’s... not so good with emotional shit. And I usually keep it bottled up so that no one knows what’s going on inside me. But some days... Some days it just overflows. So, after confirming that nothing terrible had occurred and that I was reliving September 2019, he slowly backed out of the room to leave me with my grief-wave.
8) I want to be one of those succulent people. You know, the ones who have succulents lining their windowsills. The dining room and kitchen windows are full of this oddball little plants. The boyfriend hates it, but I told him he’d have to deal. I’ll die on this hill. I’m a succulent lady.
9) I’ve been reading memoirs or, rather, memoirs through collections of essays. I don’t know if it’s the mental state I’m in or if social distancing has got me subconsciously reaching out for life beyond my head, but I can’t seem to read much else. I loved Liz Phair’s Horror Stories. I’m reading The Book of Help by Megan Griswold right now. I’m determined to procure a signed copy of What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Blacker by Damon Young. He did a virtual event for a local bookseller recently and they have signed copies available for purchase. I just need to muster up the will to call them and ask them to hold one for me. The little snippets of their life and experiences via these memoirs through essays bring me some measure of comfort.
10) I tried to watch Euphoria on HBO. I managed to make it through the first episode, but I don’t think I can watch more. I can’t relate, but that normally isn’t a necessity for an enjoyable story. Maybe it’s just too depressing for me right now.
11) I binged Dollface on Hulu and wish I had more to watch. Parts of it hit me hard. I’ve always had trouble maintaining friendships, period. But maintaining friendships while in a relationship has been damn near impossible for me. Just like Jules. Except, I’m not nearly as cool or gorgeous as Kat Dennings. And I have no friends in this city to go back to. Just friends at work.
12) I haven’t worn makeup for 2 solid months. I’m starting to miss it. I found old selfies I’d taken in which I don’t recognize myself. Did I ever look like that? I must have since here is photographic evidence. I look like shit now. I’m forever in yoga pants and a hoodie with half-wet hair from the shower. Maybe putting on a pair of jeans and a cute shirt and some makeup will make me feel like a human being again. Maybe I’m not doing as well as I thought in quarantine. Huh.
13) I hope you all are well. If you’ve sent me a message, I’m so sorry for not responding. My mental state has been delicate lately and the silence from me has nothing to do with your kind words. I promise I read and treasure and appreciate anything that is sent to me. I’m also sorry for having no offering of fic or a promise of something to come. I haven’t written since last summer. It’s been almost a year. I guess I’m in a dry spell.
14) Since I’ve been struggling with loss/grief lately, I’ll leave you with a quote from Philip Pullman, taken from his novel The Amber Spyglass. It’s about death, I suppose. Or maybe just a transition to something else entirely. It’s nice to think of my grandma and Rose and my sweet, sweet love of a dog falling in the raindrops and riding on the wind through tall grass. If it wasn’t raining, I’d take my computer outside right now.
“Even if it means oblivion, friends, I'll welcome it, because it won't be nothing. We'll be alive again in a thousand blades of grass, and a million leaves; we'll be falling in the raindrops and blowing in the fresh breeze; we'll be glittering in the dew under the stars and the moon out there in the physical world, which is our true home and always was.”
#Anogete in real life#personal#coping with grief#Mental health where did you go#adulting#struggle bus
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Hey Sketch! Not to be a pest, but any progress on Libero? It’s my absolute favorite fic for Star Wars or maybe just in general, and I know I’m not the only one on pins and needles!
I KNOW, I AM TOO (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)
On paper, so to speak, I shouldn’t really have an excuse - @alderaan-babe helped me out a ton with figuring out space battle logistics and all that less fun crud. This is becoming more like...
...ok, time for Dirty Laundry Posting™, Debbie Downer ahoy
I’m slowly mentally edging toward a Blue Screen of Death because of two primary things:
I’m kind of a full-time caregiver to my mom, who’s dying a slow, gruesome death at home and
I need to find a job.
**I’m not going to get into the personal details of how I do have money to live off of right now, but suffice to say it’s not a bottomless Scrooge McDuck pit, eventually it’ll run out.
Very very ironically, after leaving my toxic job in Sept. 2019, I planned on taking a little hiatus and then looking for work again in March. Ha. Yeah, laugh with me. We all know what happened then. So I put that off, especially when it was a struggle bus to obtain food and supplies for like 2 months straight with all the shortages everywhere. The amazing thing is, despite confining myself to my apartment for the past 7 months, the year’s gone by too fucking fast. It’s already enough to deal with helping Mom, doing household chores, ordering and then meticulously cleaning all grocery items, in addition to wanting to stay in fandom by hanging out in 2 separate chat servers and being on Tumblr and seeing my favorite YouTube channels...
It’s been too easy to put the looming Work specter aside from all that. But I can’t avoid it forever, or else we’ll wind up homeless. I also don’t want to rejoin humanity. COVID will definitely kill Mom if I brought the germ home, and I don’t want to get it either because I do not have a good track record with illnesses. I don’t want to play that game of Russian roulette and be one of those outlier statistics of young healthy people who somehow still managed to die from this shit, or wind up in extreme medical debt if I survived (because of course right now I’m uninsured). I’d really really prefer to find a remote job, especially because I’m already accustomed to it; I had to do plenty of remote work for my last job.
I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few months. Every day is going by so quickly. I’m terrified that I’m not going to find anything and we’re going to be out on the streets. And if I DO secure a job, I may not have time for fandom anymore, or so little time that I can’t write anymore. Now, you’d think that would motivate me to hurry up and finish barfing out the story so that it could be done ahead of me needing to stop having a life, wouldn’t it? But that’s all I can think about when I try to open the draft and keep typing. I even have another WIP I foolishly started but I’ve stalled on both of them. It makes me feel the nihilistic sentiment of, “why does this stuff even matter? It’s pointless, ephemeral fan blather on the interwebz.” Fic and fandom aren’t going to rescue me when my bank account is empty and I’m hungry and shelterless.
(Sadly, this is the very point my mother tried to make to me all while I grew up, but I was the arrogant, reckless dreamer who just wanted Experiences™ and fun, fuck the consequences. Well, they’re catching up to me again now.)
Alas, I wish I was a Twitch streamer or a slime-maker on YouTube, raking in the dough, or somebody with a million Patreon supporters, but I’m not “special” enough for that. I gotta get in line with the rest of the world, as much as I don’t want to. I just want to write fic and draw again and try podficcing and yell across the internet at a bunch of nerds I’ve gotten to know all day, but I can’t. I have to face reality and stick my resume on a prettier template and spend the next several weeks desperately combing through job listings, hoping somebody out there is willing to exploit and whip me as a corporate slave again so I can keep paying the bills.
This post feels extremely relevant right now, even though I know all my readers are lovely and patient and aren’t pressuring me. The thing is, even though we’re technically not obligated to anything because this content is free...we still kind of are. Because I chose to start posting in the first place. I started stringing people along by making the story public. I do kind of owe it to everyone to either finish the story or explain the rest of the plot, at least, because it’s doing readers a disservice to leave the narrative hanging when I first made that unspoken promise by posting it. I’m never going to learn my lesson that I’m better off not posting content unless it’s complete to avoid causing this kind of disappointment, both to y’all and myself. Yeah, Darth Real Life happens, but I still feel I’m in the wrong here.
#i know this isn't what you signed up for & i didn't need to explain all this#but here it is#i don't mean to sound accusatory or anything like that#i'm just freaking out a little bit over here sorry#fic asks#decepticon17
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☨ — Here in Miami, Diadumenianus Kester is said to be Cillian Murphy’s doppelgänger, but they are a 39 year old Owner of Zoo Miami. They mainly identify as a polysexual male, and others have described them as curious, relaxed, & educated.
■ .HISTORY. ■
The story of Diadumenianus begins some years before his birth. When his father, Leslie born in Europe, had taken up a particular job, all the way in Greece. Where he would meet Theokleia a woman around his age who had worked with a museum in the area. Leslie had fallen head over heels for this woman. Soon the pair would be married and having their first child, Diadumenianus. It was around this time that the Kester family also had fallen on hard times with Leslie losing his job in Greece. With this the expecting parents moved to Sweden where they had struggled to maintain work.
Growing up impoverished and sickly, being diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at around eight years old or so, Diadumenianus’ illness had caused his parents even more money troubles for their sons medical bills. Diadumenianus did manage to have a normal childhood despite these less than ideal beginning. He took an interest in animals and other such creatures early on, and would spend much of his childhood begging for a family pet, only to be denied do to the low income.
Despite these downsides the family was very loving toward one another. Diadumenianus got along well with his younger brother Brutus, as well as their parents. The brothers grew up to become rather close to one another. Having one another's back. Diadumenianus diminutive stature and gentler personality at times would often make those they would meet confuse his brother, only two years younger than him, for being the older child. When the two were teenagers their parents had finally hit some good luck and moved the family from Sweden to America.
After spending a couple of years in an American high school, Diadumenianus soon graduated and set out to study zoology as well as business, as he had aspired to own a zoo one day. The problem is, finding a zoo he could buy or building one on his own. He’d spend the next few years of his life figuring that out. But after finishing school he had come to one realization on this fence. Diadumenianus would spend the next several years with his high school girlfriend, and eventual wife and children owning Zoo Miami, and nothing bad ever happened to him.
■ .CRIME HISTORY. ■
Petty little thefts as a teenager, but other than that Diadumenianus really isn’t much of a criminal. He is only likely these days to get a speeding or parking ticket. But back when he was a teenager, he would steal all manner of little trinkets and such that teenagers are prone to be doing in order to impress their friends. Driving underage, a few times after some peer pressure. Some pranks that weren’t as harmless as his friends might have claimed them to be. However Diadumenianus being mostly just a participant had meant he was never convicted of any crime.
■ .IMPORTANT CONNECTIONS. ■
☓ Brutus Kester — Brutus is the younger of the two Kester’s, but has proven to be more of a handful than his older brother. He is often confused as being the older of the two, being taller and more muscular than his older brother ever cared to be. Brutus took on a rougher path in life, however. Being in sports and enjoying working out where Diadumenianus had enjoyed fairer things, like plants and animal care. Brutus preferred drugs, drinking, and partying, thus landing him in the sights of [Insert a gang here], who found use in his ability for transporting less than legal goods.
☓ Tristian Martell — Dia being early in his teens when moving to the United States, had quickly called attention to him for his accent and name alone. But also his sometimes odd behaviors, that many other American kids had found interesting. Eventually he came to meet Tristian, though the other was two years younger than him, they formed a fairly good friendship. When Dia moved away to attend university they soon met up two years later when Tristian came to the same university, and became even closer as friends. As the years went on and they graduated, they soon grew apart when Tristian got involved in the Serpents. However, after so many years apart they both again ran into each other while at Dia’s Zoo, rekindling their old friendship once again.
☓ Nathan Cartwright — When Dia had moved to Florida in his early teens he was not met with too many problems while adjusting to the new land and life he had found himself along side his younger brother. Though with his muddled English it often left him at odds with others around his age. However, he would come to meet Nathan one day while waiting for his bother, the same age as Nathan. Eventually the pair became good friends; a friendship that had lasted out the many years to follow.
☓ Rosaline Kester — Rosaline and Dia have known each other since Dia moved to the United States, when Dia was in his early teens. The two had quickly grown an affection for one another, despite him being a bit odd. Eventually they became boyfriend and girlfriend. The two have gone through life equally infatuated with one another, starting a family early and getting married. Rosaline is very faithful and loyal to her husband, but often worries she, a stay at home mother, might not be doing enough to ease the stress from her husband’s shoulders while she stays home to look after the children.
Diadumenianus Kester is a TAKEN character, who is portrayed by Cillian Murphy, and is played by Loki.
#Diadumenianus Kester#takenm#civilian#cillian murphy#mafia rp#crime rp#dark rp#original rp#tw: drugs
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A Breath of Fresh Air
Chapter 8: Babies
https://archiveofourown.org/works/24633025/chapters/60430069
Harry’s head hurt. He felt nauseous, his muscles were screaming and he was laid in a puddle of his own sweat. Panic made him able to force his eyes open and he looked around for Malfoy, wondering what he’d done to him, but the motion made it feel like the world was spinning. His heart was racing, as though he’d just been sprinting.
“Calm down Harry, you’re alright.” The soft French accent calmed him somewhat, and Fleur laid a cool cloth on his forehead.
“What’s wrong with me?” He managed to rasp out. His throat was dry and scratchy.
“You have the Flu, a bad flu, but you’re okay.” She reassured him.
“But Malfoy…”
“Malfoy carried you into The Burrow in his arms. You should be thanking Mr Malfoy, not blaming him. You’re sick Harry. You need fluids and lots of rest before you go exciting yourself.” Harry nodded his head and accepted the drink that she offered him. It was vile, but he drank it anyway. His muscles and head instantly felt a little better. A small sigh of relief escaped his lips.
“What time is it?” Harry asked. Fleur informed him that it was a little past five and told him he should eat something. He nodded again, promising her that he’d try. She smiled at him and walked out of the room, glancing back at him before she left.
Ginny came up not long after with some chicken soup made by Molly and some bread. He managed some of it, but he still had a very small appetite. He placed the bowl on the side and turned to Ginny.
“So, you and Luna, eh?” He managed a small smirk.
“Yeah. I told her. I nearly passed out I was so nervous. She just laughed in that way that she does and hugged me.”
“The great Ginny Weasley, nervous. I never thought I’d see the day.”
“You know, you’re not too ill for me to give you a slap.” Harry laughed lightly.
“But seriously Gin, I’m super happy for you.” They smiled a genuine smile.
“Well let’s talk about you, Mr Potter. Swooning so Mr Malfoy had to sweep you off your feet and rescue you. I never thought The Chosen One would play the damsel in distress to get a guy.” Harry felt himself blushing furiously, his heart racing.
“I did not. I’m ill Gin.
“Or did you just faint at how gorgeous he looks? I mean it should be illegal for a man to wear a shirt so that it shows so much perfect, pale flesh.” Harry rolled his eyes, swatting at Ginny. “You can’t deny it Harry, he’s hot.”
“Well yeah, I have eyes. But it’s Malfoy.” Ginny laughed, shaking her head at Harry.
“Dude, you’ve been obsessed with him since I’ve known you.”
“That’s not true. I only took an interest because the git was always up to something.” Ginny laughed again.
“Whatever you say, Harry.” Harry was going to argue more, but he yawned instead. “I’m going to take this food downstairs, try and get some more sleep.” Ginny told him, grabbing the bowl as they stood up. He watched her leave and tried not to think about what they’d been saying. Instead he wondered about Ron and Hermione and what they’d been doing since the wedding. It had already been three days. He supposed they were still settling into their new house.
Sleep soon claimed Harry again and his dreams were strange. He dreamt he was flying on a broom and he was looking for something. He assumed it was the snitch. He kept looking behind him, as though he was expecting someone to come chasing after him, but no one was there. He set his eyes on the target again. Where was that damned gold ball? His attention was caught again by a flash of silvery white just behind him. He whirled around and Malfoy was flying inches away from him. He smelled like coffee and leather and fresh, crisp linen. Harry wanted to stuff his face into Malfoy and breathe him in. Malfoy was ear to ear with him now and he could practically feel the electricity jumping between them. And then Malfoy was in front of him, long hair flowing behind him in the wind. A waft of apple caught Harry’s nose and somehow it made perfect sense that Draco bloody Malfoy used apple scented shampoo. Harry saw the snitch. He tried to fly faster but he couldn’t get past Malfoy, who was annoyingly flying at a leisurely pace in front of him. He willed his broom faster, closer, and suddenly it obliged. Harry smashed into Malfoy and could feel and smell and almost taste the other man. They both fell down towards the ground, Harry trying desperately to grab hold of the other man before they hit the ground.
His body jerked violently as his eyes flew open. Hermione was sat beside him looking worried.
“Harry, you look dreadful.” She remarked, passing him a glass of water. “Here, drink some of this.”
“Thanks.” He greedily gulped at the water; his throat felt like a desert. His head and muscles felt somewhat better though. “How are you Mrs Granger?”
“I’m okay. Me and Ron have been decorating at the bungalow. Molly invited us round for dinner today and that’s when we found out you were ill. I’m kind of annoyed that no one thought to tell us before.”
“People only really found out today Hermione. I went for a meeting and collapsed. But it’s fine, Fleur says it’s just the flu. I should be over it in a few days. Hopefully before she has the baby.” Harry told Hermione about what had happened that day and all about his plans for opening the salon. She told him that she thought it was a fantastic idea and offered her help for when he needed to decorate or help in coordinating things. She was back at work soon, but her and Ron were always happy to help. He thanked her and they chatted more about what had been happening since the wedding.
“Hermione, why was Malfoy at your wedding?” He asked.
“Well, he was there as Pansy’s plus one. They live together so it made sense that she would bring him. Harry felt his heart sinking and he couldn’t quite figure out why. Of course Pany and Malfoy were together. They had been throughout most of school and it made sense that they would continue their relationship now. Hermione gave him and odd sort of look and laid her hand on his forehead. She made sure he took his medication before she left and by the time she went, it was half past nine and his eyes were weary again. He let himself slip into a more comfortable sleep. This time he couldn’t remember any of the dreams he had.
He awoke the next day to the sounds of people rushing about the house. Ginny ran into his bedroom and flung the door open.
“Hey Harry, how you feeling today? Fleur’s having her baby!” The words all came out in a big rush and he sat up quickly. It didn’t make his head spin as much as it had the previous day, and he supposed that was a good sign. “Dad’s talking her and Bill to the hospital now.”
Harry decided to try and get out of bed and, while he was sill a bit wobbly on his feet, he managed it. He gave Fleur a hug before she left and she smiled sweetly at him. Bill looked nervous as he carried the hospital bag out to the car. Harry had a small amount of breakfast and a cup of tea, which tasted amazing. He felt better than he had done in days. He didn’t know what kind of potion Fleur had given him, but it was definitely working. Ginny went outside to train, and Molly paced the house, tidying things that didn’t really need tidying. Harry sat looking absentmindedly out of the window. He couldn’t seem to shake the image of Malfoy out of his head. He couldn’t deny that the other many was gorgeous. He was slender and tall and his eyes seemed to see inside Harry. The way that his long fingers had wrapped delicately around the stem of his wine glass at the wedding made Harry’s heart race. But they didn’t get along. How could Harry work with him on such an important project when he both disliked and wanted to maul the other man. He would have to owl Blaise and ask him if he had anyone else to work with. He decided that he would do it the next day.
Arthur came back from taking Fleur and Bill to the hospital and let Molly know that they would let them know when anything was happening, and then they could floo to see them. Ron and Hermione arrived not long after Arthur and Ron made them a chicken Salad for lunch, and a spiced tofu salad for Ginny. Harry took his potion and then ate most of his lunch. He was glad that his appetite was coming back, it was making him feel much better to have some energy. Ron seemed to be glowing with happiness and he pulled Harry to one side after they’d eaten.
“Look mate, please don’t let anyone else know because I don’t want to take anything away from Bill and Fleur’s big day but me and Hermione have some news and we wanted you to be the first to know.” Ron was smiling so wide Harry was worried that his face would break. “We’re having a baby! Well, Hermione is having a baby. We found out the day before the wedding, she’s about seven weeks gone.”
“That’s amazing news!” Harry hugged his friend tight. He was so full of joy for them and he knew they would both be amazing parents. He knew that Bill and Fleur’s baby and Ron and Hermione’s baby would both have childhoods filled with love and family and it made Harry teary with happiness. They re-joined the rest of the group and say waiting no-so-patiently for the alert from Bill. They drank copious amounts of tea and ate scones that George and Angelina had brought. When the call finally came it was nearly six in the evening and they all floo’d over to the hospital.
Fleur looked exhausted and Harry had never seen Bill look so proud in his entire life. The baby slept peacefully in his arms. She already had a mass white-blonde hair and her eyes were green in some lights and blue in others. They’d named her Victorie. It was no secret that Bill and Fleur had struggled to have a child; they’d been trying since their wedding, so the name was fitting. She was their little victory. The way that they both looked at her told Harry that she would get anything and everything she ever wanted. Fleur asked Harry if he’d been taking his medication and it struck him that, even though she’d just gone through one of the most physically difficult things she would ever go through, she was still concerned about him. He knew that certain members of the Weasley family had considered her selfish and stuck up when they’d first met her, but she wasn’t. Harry saw her as one of the most selfless and caring people he knew. They stayed for a while longer, each holding the baby. He saw the look in both Ron and Hermione’s eyes that was equal parts excited and terrified that they would have one in a matter of months. He felt completely surrounded by love and once again there was a feeling of apprehension about moving away from this comfort to live on his own.
Back at The Burrow a great Eagle Owl flew in through the open window and dropped a letter on the kitchen table. It was addressed to ‘Mr Potter’ in elegant handwriting.
#drarry#harry x draco#drarry fandom#drarry fanfic#gay draco malfoy#bi harry potter#non binary ginny#trans luna#black hermione granger#aromantic asexual charlie
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in which shizuka meets a friend
Jounouchi was starting to wonder if there was a sign on his forehead that beckoned anyone and everyone to pick a fight with him. While he would normally find himself fuming over the fact that he got into an altercation over being shoved into the guy after getting off the subway, he was more concerned with the idea of getting to the hospital late....again. Shizuka had fallen ill again, but even though the doctors couldn’t pinpoint what the cause of it was, she seemed to be recovering quickly from it. Regardless, Jounouchi had promised his sister that he would be there to see her at noon and he was just only arriving in the right town at 11:58.
Kabia took his time walking down the hallway in the general hospital. His little brother has just gotten his x-rays, if he moved too quickly he’d have to sit alone in the room and wait for them to wheel him in. Kaiba couldn’t believe how easily he’d let himself forget just how much disdain he held for hospitals, everything was too white and too bright. They give off an air of purity to hide the fact that they profit off of those more vulnerable than them, he always thought. But the only thing he could do about it was stroll down the long hallway with his arms folded. And perhaps consider extending his corporation into the medical field as well. His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar face, staring at his own reflection in the picture frame beside a patient door. Kabia sneered to himself, that blonde headed idiot really got a beating, he thought. Good maybe he’ll learn a thing or two about knowing where his place is. He considered saying something to him, mocking him for getting admitted to the hospital for a few punches but then noticed the bouquet of pastel colored flowers in his idle hand, while the other poked at the bruises forming on his face. Kaiba frowned. He’s a bigger idiot than Kaiba first thought, he showed up to see a girl looking like a delinquent. Kaiba then watched the other boy open folded sheet of paper up and scowl at it, before hastily cramming it back into his pocket. The boy then sighed at his reflection, turned, and opened the patient room door.
“Onii-chan!”
“Oy, Shizuka! Sorry I’m late, I just wanted to stop and get something colorful for your room,” the blonde headed kid said and slid the door shut behind him.
Shock wasn’t the right word, but Kaiba felt a sort of surprise. For a moment, the other boy had caught him off guard. He glowered and bit the inside of his cheeks. You idiot, if you show up to your younger sibling’s side looking like that all you’ll do is make them worry. Kaiba then decided it wasn’t in his best interest to worry about the affairs of others, he was only in this cursed place to visit his own younger loved one. Mokuba might have made it to his own room by now, waiting on his older brother. Yugi’s friend served well as a time killer, but Kaiba had real business to take care of and didn’t want anything to get in the way of that. Despite telling himself those things, his curiosity had enough control over him to notice and grab the paper lying on the floor outside of the door the blonde boy had entered.
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Jounouchi placed the hydrangeas in the vase on the nightstand and gave his little sister a goofy grin. Shizuka had a habit of getting sick, while also having a miraculous power of recovering quickly, though her mother always admitted her just in case. Jounouchi never minded, he just liked to spend time with his sister whenever he could. Though she pursed her lips at him.
“Shizuka, you won’t believe the kinda trouble Honda got into last week,” Jounouchi said with a chuckle. Shizuka’s face remained unchanged. “...okay I know I said I’d be here half an hour ago but--”
“You got into another fight, didn’t you?” Shizuka didn’t even pretend to hide the disappointment in her voice. “You promised you’d stop getting into fights!”
Jounouchi blinked, put his hand behind his head, and chuckled again. “It wasn’t a fight! Someone shoved me because I bumped into him--”
“And it turned into a fight,” Shizuka sighed. Her brother was always such a warrior, but she always wished that someone would protect him for once.
“Sure,” Jounouchi said curtly, he did not want to have this conversation. Instead he said, “the good news is that you get discharged tomorrow! Is mom getting you or can I come and pick you up? I was thinking it’d be nice if you and me and could go and get lunch somewhere before you go home again.”
At the thought of having lunch with her brother who she hadn’t seen in such a long time, Shizuka didn’t have time to feel worried. Jounouchi on the other hand, had something else to consider: how the hell was he going to pay her bill? It had always been that way, Shizuka’s hospital stays always consisted of mysterious fevers and numerous inconclusive tests that ultimately led to her healing on her own accord and getting discharged a week or so later. Every unnecessary test had a price tag that would eventually cost a fortune. He himself didn’t exactly need to pay the bill, but Shizuka’s mom always was tying a knot on one bill while being handed a different one. As Shizuka’s one and only brother, he wanted to do anything he could to put a stake in the cycle, then maybe Shizuka could afford something she wanted. He felt like maybe an angel had handed him the bill instead of Shizuka’s mother, but now he held a secret weight. While thinking of the bill he crammed in his back pocket before he entered the room, he reached to pat it, just to find it wasn’t there anymore. At this point, all Jounouchi could do is hope that Shizuka couldn’t sense the weariness in his smile.
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“What?”
“It says here, Mr. Jounouchi, every test for Kawai Shizuka has already been paid for,” the nurse at the help desk turned the monitor to face Jounouchi, whose mouth was agape.
“What the..”
“There’s a note here asking the man responsible to remain anonymous, I’m afraid,” the woman continued, “but everything here is legal. The transaction is legitimate. Is there an issue with that, Mr. Jounouchi?”
Jounouchi blinked. Then blinked again. He had just approached the desk to ask for another copy of the bill so when he made it home he could plan his work schedule around school. Had someone found the bill on the ground in the hospital and paid for everything? Would someone do that out of the goodness of their heart? Was there someone waiting in the shadows to want something in exchange for the clearance?
“You really can’t tell me the name of the man who paid the bill?” was all Jounouchi could manage to say. The nurse shook her head and turned the computer monitor back to face her.
“Though I do believe that he was here to visit a patient. Maybe he’ll be back here again too, and you can greet and thank him face to face.”
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“I’m requesting for you to get discharged tomorrow, Mokuba, I hate seeing you in a place like this,” Kaiba had his laptop out but his attention was on his little brother’s arm hidden beneath a thick cast. Broken, the doctor’s told him. Kaiba forced himself to believe that Mokuba tripped going down the stairs at school, he couldn’t control himself if he started to entertain any other thoughts on the matter. Mokuba just grinned and categorized his duel monster cards.
“That’s fine with me! My friend is getting discharged today anyway, so it’d get boring really fast if I had to stay any longer,” Mokuba placed another monster card into the corresponding pile. Kaiba cocked his head slightly and furrowed his brows. Of course his little brother made a friend, he had that kind of power while his older brother had lived his whole life without it. Kaiba turned back to his laptop.
“Then it’s settled. You should be able to leave around 11 am, so try not to sleep in again like you did today,” Kaiba clicked away at business notes upon business notes, but he always had time for his little brother. Mokuba continued sorting his deck. There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Mokuba said without looking up from his cards.
“Um, Mokuba-kun?” it was his friend from down the hall. “My brother’s just come to sign me out! I thought I’d come and say goodbye for now.”
Mokuba turned to see Shizuka, who he’d run into in the hallway yesterday afternoon and spent the rest of the day talking to. They didn’t have much in common except the mutual need for someone’s company, so they couldn’t help but be kind to each other. From behind her, the boys inside the room could hear someone else’s voice.
“You didn’t tell me your friend was Kaiba’s little brother! I know Mokuba too!” Jounouchi entered the patient room. “Sorry for the intrusion!” He eyed Mokuba’s cast ridden arm and cocked his head.
“Yo Mokuba, what happened to your arm?”
Mokuba cradled his arm and smiled sadly. “ I tripped on my shoelaces going down the stairs at school. I’m starting to think I inherited some unlucky genes.”
“It’s okay if you’re unlucky! Something good can come from it,” Shizuka said kindly. “My brother lost my hospital bill, but then someone else paid it for us! I heard him on the phone with Mom earlier.”
“Ah, Shizuka..” Jounouchi felt his face turn warm, she could just say something so embarrassing like it didn’t matter. And in front of a Kaiba of all people. There was a chuckle from the other side of the room.
“I’m not sure if I would call that luck, good or bad. I’d call it carelessness,” Kaiba said, his laptop was open but he was facing Jounouchi. Jounouchi’s face went from feeling warm to a full embarrassed blush.
“Well it doesn’t matter what it was! I’m gonna find the guy that paid it off and pay him back!” Jounouchi instinctively raised his voice around Kaiba Seto. Kabia smirked and raised an eyebrow in return.
“You don’t say? And how do you expect to do that? By the looks of it, you don’t know who he is,” he said cooly, keeping his arms and legs crossed. Kaiba’s calm demeanor annoyed Jounouchi, and he knew that well.
“I--well...I’ll figure it out. Somehow..” Jounouchi hated it when Kaiba backed him into a corner for flawed logic. He hated even more not having the right words to say in front of him. “I have to pay him back! Unlike you, people put their hearts into every dollar they earn, and that man probably doesn’t have the time to just throw his money away on strangers! I’m going to find him and pay him back, it’s the most honorable thing I can do!” Jounouchi knew he was speaking too loud. Kaiba raised his eyebrows, but kept that smirk plastered on his face. You’re just lucky Shizuka’s in the room, Jounouchi thought to himself.
“Ah we should get going! If Mom’s expecting me home at 4…” Shizuka giggled. She thought her brother was strange to like to compete with his friends. “Mokuba-kun, get better soon, okay?”
“I will!” Mokuba smiled at everyone. His room felt even warmer than it did before.
Jounouchi gave Mokuba a goodbye and shuffled out of the room, remembering he’d promised to take his younger sister to lunch.
“Nii-sama,” Mokuba started. His brother quietly typed away on his laptop. “Are you not going to tell him who paid the bill?”
His brother stayed quiet.
“Mokuba, I’m working right now,” Kaiba answered.
Mokuba sighed with a smile. Just how much longer would his brother pretend not to have respect for Jounouchi Katsuya who, for just a below average guy, continuously surprised him.
#headcanon: kaiba has a onesided bond w jounouchi over brotherly love#don't ask me where in the canon this fits kdhkdsk#but anyway here's this#violetshipping#puppyshipping#maybe#yugioh#.words
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DON’T GO DOWN TO THE WOODS TODAY
you’re sure for a quick demise
the town of exile has always been full of strange goings on, a safe haven for all that is unexplained and unnerving, but no one quite believed that there were bodies buried beneath the earth until the summer of 1993. seven teens went on a camping trip to the woods and all hell broke loose.
what started as a simple prank between a couple of them, setting traps around the trees, bushes and stumps to scare the rest of their friends, led them straight to ezekiel sutton - a leader of a very unsavoury cult, called the church of the all seeing eye, from the next town over - burying a mangled body in the damp earth. the air seemed to still, the wind blow ice cold, and the two pranksters ran back to their hideout to tell their friends exactly what they’d seen.
the problem was, ezekiel followed them back too.
in the dark of the night, the seven teens were stalked through the woods, tripped up by idiotic pranks and traps set by their friends. ezekiel got to them, one by one, taking them down and trying to make it so none of them would see the light of day. but, through the power of team work, they managed to outwit the killer; string him up, tie him down, wait until dawn to get help and escape from this forest of madness.
it’s been 27 years since the incident and it affected each of the group deeply. still living with the trauma of not knowing if they’d see another morning, they went their separate ways, trying to forget about that night and get on with what life they could salvage. now, however, things are about to change; ezekiel sutton has been released from prison and the teens - now adults - are all brought back to exile on a lie: their friend, mike, is dead.
but, when they all turned up at the church in their mourning clothes to pay their respects, who came out to greet them but mike themself. it was all a rouse to get them back, here, to exile. they needed help. ezekiel sutton was put away for one murder, but mike is convinced they’ve committed countless more. the only way they can prove it is by finding the bodies, and they can’t do that alone.
the characters listed below are based on archetypes from the it movies (and book), as well as the until dawn video game. please bear in mind you don’t need to have watched, read or played any of these to be involved in the plot. while they’re based on the characters from these franchises, they’re not identical and do not have any of the same relationship plots; we don’t expect anyone to adhere to gender or ethnicity when creating them apart from mike who we will want to keep bipoc; however, it would be fantastic if the rest of the group was diverse (characters of colour, disabilities, gender and sexuality), though it’s not mandatory - just something to think about!
all of the characters will be between the ages of forty-four and forty-five, so please make sure you follow the site’s play-by rules when choosing someone for the group! the request will include themes of murder, horror, death and stalking (serial killer > the kids). we’ll be trigger warning everything within the plot, but if you’re sensitive to any of these themes, please let us know and we’ll do our best to help you feel safe.
please note: we are more than happy to discuss any of these blurbs and they are completely open, we just wanted to give you something to go off if you’re creating a character from scratch. if you have anyone else that you might want to bring to this plot, let myself or pomona know and we’d be happy to chat with you!!!
main characters
bev / mike
→ prickly, confident, aggressive, independent
with a bad home life and bullied at school, bev struggled to fit in; that was until they found the rest of the group. being an outcast didn’t seem so bad when they were friends with a bunch of other outcasts and they became somewhat protective over the others - not that they let any of the group know that. they stayed in exile for a while after the events, slowly watching their friends leave until they realised there was no point; there was nothing to fight anymore. everyone had gone. now they’re back, bev is wary. they don’t want things to go back to the way they were because, last time, everyone left. they’re keeping the others at arm’s length until they can really work out where everyone’s priorities lie.
reserved for: lana
ben / ashley
→ shy, sweet, lonely, intelligent
the softest and kindest member of the group, ben took the incident in the woods the hardest and has suffered greatly since. barely able to keep their life on track, they’ve hopped from one thing to the next, never quite able to settle down. it’s a shame, for someone with so much heart, that they’ve had it broken and damaged in so many ways; yet they never let themselves become jaded. needless to say, they’re trying to keep the group in exile to help mike find more bodies, not only feeling some semblance of loyalty to them (and the others), but finally feeling whole again after so many years of turmoil and strife.
reserved for: mc
bill / sam
→ haunted, honest, reckless , brave
they always thought they were the leader of the group, but at the end of the day they were the first to leave town after the incident. their seat at the police station barely cold, they disappeared from exile almost a week after the group came out of the woods and no one ever saw them again. that is, until now. bill’s surprisingly straight and quiet about what’s happened in the intervening years - something about finding out who they really are and learning to forgive themself - but one thing’s for sure, they’re fitting back into that leadership role like no time’s passed at all. it’s just whether the rest of the group really wants them “in charge” after bailing out the first time around.
reserved for: pandora
eddie / emily
→ neurotic, loyal, obsessive, genuine
having lived a half shut-in, medically induced hell of a life as a kid along with their sibling, eddie was both ecstatic and terrified at the thought of moving away from exile. their mother made them believe (truly believe) they had a plethora of illnesses and it was only at the age of twenty-three, when their mother finally passed away, that they could go and leave the horrors of their childhood behind. they moved to another small town, settled down into a quiet little life and they were happy and dandy until mike’s letter came through. now, more than anything, even more than before, they want out of exile. but something is keeping them there, and they can’t quite pinpoint what. whatever it is, it’s fucking annoying.
played by: anais (miriam chomsky - rachel weisz)
mike / josh
→ intense, caring, introverted, observant
after the tragic, violent deaths of their parents, mike was raised under the stern but firm eye of their aunt and uncle. mike was something of an outcast at their school but in the summer of 1993, after a run in with the infamous bully henry, mike’s bond with the rest of the group was forged in the fires of joint misfithood. a grounding presence and the self appointed guardian of the group, mike was the one who remained in exile - literally and figuratively - to ensure that the influence of ezekiel sutton would be forever stamped out. yet, life rarely goes the way we want it to, and since the release of sutton, mike has been desperate to get the old crew back together to see sutton punished for the monster he truly is - desperate enough to even fake their own death.
reserved for: yenna
richie / chris
→ joker, insensitive, determined, brash
the nerdy clever clogs that forged themself a suit of armour out of terrible jokes and snide remarks, richie was desperate to cut loose of their past in exile and forge a new path in the bright lights of tinsel town. best buddies with stanley since their kindergarten days, but cementing themself in the ranks of the group with his corny humour, richie has always been happy to play the clown. yet, as with all clowns, the smile is little more than a mask, and beneath the mask and the armour is a soul wracked with guilt and self loathing. no amount of gallows humour will keep these old demons at bay, and richie is a hair’s breadth away from high tailing it back to beverly hills as fast as their porsche convertible can carry them.
played by: pomona (seth spector - joaquin phoenix)
stan / matt
→ weak, trusting, wise, sceptical
though stan has always been a key part of the group, they’ve never exactly felt like an integral part. they’re kind, generous and trustworthy, but always seem to be in the background. always seem to be the weakest link. not much has changed over the years. the initial pranks were stan’s idea and they’ve never let themself forget it, believing that if they hadn’t decided to trick everyone with stupid games, then they wouldn’t have all almost died. their bravery and strength haven’t improved and they still can’t quite find a foothole to grab onto. their life has been an undulating mess since they left exile and it doesn’t look like coming back’s going to make that any better.
reserved for: michelle
additional characters
henry / beth
a lost and twisted soul, henry was never destined for a life of bucolic bliss or carefree contentment. raised under the iron thumb of a domineering parent, henry vented their frustrations and rage upon their school peers with infernal ferocity. the infamous bully of their school, henry perhaps would have burnt themselves out with their own banal forms of sadism if it weren’t for ezekiel sutton. meeting sutton was like henry’s eureka moment, and while his connection to sutton’s foul deeds was never revealed back in the 1990s, it is henry who has been keeping the church of the all seeing eye alive and well. now with the return of their idol and mentor, henry is keen to prove themself as sutton’s most devoted follower.
pennywise / hannah
ezekiel sutton is a man of great importance. no one in exile knew who he was up until the events of summer, 1993; now everyone wishes they didn’t know his name. dubbed the executioner of exile, he’s been in prison for the past 27 years on one charge of murder. the police could never pinpoint the location of any of the other bodies he so clearly buried in the woods, and ezekiel never let on to having done anything but put the man he did bury out of his misery. the kids? well, he never meant to scare them. and you know how teenagers can be; so dramatic!
now he’s out on good behaviour and has no clue (yet) that the kids he never meant to scare at working to find his very real skeletons in his metaphorical closet and expose him for the serial killing ass he is. still, his old cult are welcoming him back with open arms, delighted he’s managed to maintain his innocence throughout his arduous trials.
ezekiel is a npc thus unplayable.
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