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svnflowervol666 · 4 years

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An interview during self-isolation with Zane Lowe (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: I’ve gotten a ton of asks to the tune of this scenario - about what a quarantine video with Harry and his family would look like. I put as many of them together as I could for you all! Hope you enjoy and it’s not too confusing, as this isn’t my typical writing style, but I tried my best to make it worth your while! Take care and TPWK.

“Harry, can ye’ hear me alright?” Harry heard Zane Lowe’s voice fill his right ear as he readjusted his headphones.

“Yeah, I can hear ya,” he responded, running his fingers through his hair once everything was situated and his laptop was balanced perfectly on his knee.

“I’ve just been video calling and chatting it up with everyone on how they’re navigating the pandemic, so I’m very thankful you’ve agreed to join in.”

“‘S no problem. Thank you f’ having me.”

“Oh!” Zane interjected his own strain of thought, “I see you’ve brought a special guest for us today,” he said when Harry’s screen finally focused and he was able to see everything on Harry’s end.

Harry chuckled, the dimples on either corner of his mouth growing wider at the mention of the sleeping body on his chest that’s got a fuzzy blanket tucked into their sides and draped over Harry’s upper half.

“I have,” Harry agreed, “Though he’s not gonna be worth much. Being a two-year-old is exhausting apparently.”

He gave the toddler a few gentle pats on the back and continued to look at Zane through the webcam.

“This is your son, right?” Zane asked.

“Who? Him?” Harry asked, nodding his head in the direction of his child, “Nah. Found him on the street.”

Both men laughed, but Harry tried to lower his volume as to not wake up his son.

“Well, he looks an awful bit like you t’ be a stray, don’t ye’ think?”

“I suppose the curls are quite convincing, aren’t they?” Harry sighed, playfully rolling his eyes.

“What’s brought your bubs along with you for this interview?”

“Erm,” Harry thought, wondering if he should be talking this much about his personal life but ultimately deciding it wasn’t too invasive, “Y/N’s been pretty tired lately, so I’m just trying to keep him out of her hair so she can rest. He’s going through a phase where he’s very clingy right now so he’d probably be crying f’ me at some point if I left him in his room.”

“Oh, that’s right!” it suddenly dawned on Zane, “You two are expecting again, aren’t you?

“We are,” Harry smiled softly yet proudly into the screen, “‘s kinda scary for us right now, but we’re hoping everything is cleared up before it’s time.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was just about to say right now’s probably not the greatest time to be havin’ a baby.”

“Well, the baby’s not due for a few more months so I think everything’ll be alright, but it’s still just kinda nerve-wracking ye’ know?”

“Absolutely,” Zane added, “This has all got t’ be tough on your guys; having to self-isolate with a toddler plus having one on the way.”

“Ehh, it’s not so bad,” Harry countered, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles as he spoke. “We’ve been spending a lot of time t’gether, which is pretty great. I just got done with all of the album promo, so I’d already been gone for a while. Plus, I was about to leave for tour for like a month so we were kinda sad about having to say goodbye before, but now I don’t have to. We talk to our families a lot and keep in touch with everyone pretty regularly so we don’t feel like we’re going too crazy.”

“Good! That’s good.”

Harry nodded in agreement.

“I was going to ask you about tour actually. You’ve pushed the European leg of your Love on Tour to next year, is that correct?”

“Correct.”

“That must be hard for you, I’m sure. I bet you were so ready to get back on the road and to have it all pulled out from under ye’ was probably not the greatest feeling.”

“I mean, it’s obviously disappointing, but like, in the grand scheme of things, it’s not the most important thing in the world. But I think everyone kinda understands that there’s not anything you can do about it and ye’ have to do what you can to keep everyone safe, ya know?”

“For sure,” Zane nodded, readjusting the hat on his head.

“Plus, it gives you time to practice doesn’t it?”

Harry’s belly shook as he laughed softly.

“Definitely gives us plenty of time to be prepar-”

Harry stopped in his tracks and looked down at his son who was still napping away, lifting his hand up from where it had been rested on his tiny bum.

“Everything alright?” Zane asked Harry after he was still quiet for a few seconds and his eyes were as wide as saucers.

“Uhh, yeah,” Harry stuttered as a noticeable heat climbed to his cheeks, “Think m’ son’s just farted on me in his sleep.”

This made Zane laugh even harder than he had before, clutching his chest while Harry remained embarrassed that his son had just passed gas on him during his first interview.

The commotion seemed to stir Harry’s son from his sleep. His pudgy legs began to stretch against Harry’s chest and his balled-up fists reached up to rub at his closed eyes. Harry seemed to sense some trepidation, like his son was going to start fussing at any given moment, so he quickly began bouncing his small body against his knee to soothe him and shushed him quietly in his ear. Zane didn’t draw much attention to it, but he couldn’t help but swoon over how easily Harry’s son settled back down.

Harry whispered, “’s alright, bubby. You’re alright,” before kissing the top of his curls gently, no doubt making the viewers lose their minds at home with how gentle he was being towards his boy.

“So your boy farts himself awake, huh?” Zane joked.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. He’s an absolute mess,” Harry added.

“Does he take after you or Y/N?”

Clearly, neither of them were interested in talking about music or tour anymore. Harry’s son had stolen the show, and he wasn’t even conscious.

“A little bit of both I’d say. He’s extremely kind and caring like Y/N, but loves to mess around like me. Can’t really say he got any of Y/N’s looks, though.”

“Absolutely not,” Zane chuckled into his mic, “That one’s all you.”

Harry laughed again, rubbing the tip of his nose with the palm of his hand out of habit.

“Is he excited to be a big brother?”

“Ehh, I think he kinda gets the idea, but not really,” Harry tilted his hand back and forth to symbolize the fact that his toddler could just barely come to grips with there being another baby in his mum’s belly.

“He knows there’s ‘something in mummy’s tummy,’“ Harry noted using air quotes, “And he like, gives Y/N’s stomach kisses all of the time because we tell him to and he sees me do it, but I don’t really think he’s come to grips with it.”

“Well, that makes sense,” Zane responded, “He’s only two.”

“Right, right,” Harry agreed, “But he’s, like, super cuddly and loves his stuffed animals and stuff, so I don’t think he’s gonna have a hard time at all really.”

Just when Zane was going to try to get back on topic with his prepared list of questions he had written up for Harry that didn’t involve his son, there was a commotion on Harry’s end that occurred somewhere beyond the view of the camera.

It was the sound of a door shutting a feet padding against hardwood steps.

“Harry!” a voice called out.

“Have you seen my laptop charger? I’m trying to FaceTime Gem- Oh,” the voice stopped.

“Sorry, baby,” Harry spoke above the laptop screen to whoever had just walked into the room, “Couldn’t find mine and I had t’ talk t’ Zane.”

“Which Zane?”

“Is that Y/N I hear?” Zane asked Harry.

Harry laughed at his wife’s words, quickly specifying that it was Zane Lowe and not his former bandmate.

“Yes, it is Y/N. She’s awoken from her beauty sleep it appears.”

The camera wasn’t able to pick up the way Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry.

“Gimme one of those,” Y/N demanded, holding her hand out for the other earbud that Harry wasn’t wearing so she could join in on his conversation with Zane.

Harry swung the free earbud around his chest with his free hand as to not disturb their son, smiling smugly at his wife while she settled onto the sofa next to him and cuddled into his side.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Zane greeted her.

“Hello, handsome,” Y/N responded, “How come you never call to talk to me anymore? Why do you only care about this nobhead?”

She playfully shoved Harry’s shoulder, but not hard enough to actually knock him sideways.

“He does have the number one album in the country right now. Kinda makes sense to check in on him now, dunnit?”

“And I’m his baby mama, so where’s my praise for carrying his little spawns?”

“You truly are a saint for tha’ one. I won’t lie.”

Harry feigned offense but failed to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of his lips.

“I’m sitting right here!” he scoffed.

“We know, love,” Y/N cooed him as she looked over at him and brushed his curls that had fallen onto his forehead back into his mess of hair.

“How are you doing, though, Y/N? We talked a bit about you while you were away. Harry said you’re strugglin’ a bit?”

“Umm, I mean, it’s just normal pregnancy stuff,” she dismissed his qualms as she absentmindedly stroked her protruding belly that was just barely in the frame, “I’m at the point where everything hurts all of the time and everything Harry does annoys the piss out of me, but other than that I’m pretty much normal.”

“Goodness. He didn’t tell me that part,” Zane chuckled, “Please elaborate.”

“Okay, well first of all-,” Y/N started.

“Why are you acting like you were just waiting f’ someone to ask you that question?” Harry forced through laughter.

“Because I’ve got a lot to say!” she exclaimed.

“You don’t pick up your dirty clothes, you leave your tea mugs all around the house, and you and your son eat all of my bread!”

“I do not eat all of the bread!” Harry started to playfully argue with his wife.

“I caught you sneaking into the pantry at midnight eating bread right out of the bag, Harold.”

“Well, what were you doin’ awake in the kitchen at midnight anyway, hmm?”

“I’m pregnant. I’m allowed to be hungry every twenty minutes. You’ve got no excuse.”

Harry sighed in defeat, meanwhile, Zane sat back and enjoyed listening to the two of them bickering like children.

“Sounds like the quarantine might getting t’ the both of you, huh?”

“Oh, no,” Y/N dismissed Zane, “We’re always like this.”

Just then, Harry felt the weight distribution on his chest shift, and saw a pair of emerald green eyes identical to his open and look back and forth between him and Y/N. His pudgy cheeks were flushed a warm, crimson color and the t-shirt he had taken a nap in was tugged over to the side from how well he had slept.

“Well, hello there, bubby. Nice of you t’ join us,” Harry spoke calmly to his son that was in the middle of waking up, gently brushing his fingers along the side of his face.

“Dear god. He looks just like you, Harry,” Zane said in disbelief.

This made Harry blush and hide his face in his son’s plush blanket, and Y/N looked lovingly down at her two boys.

“I know he does,” Harry confirmed, “Poor thing.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at Harry’s comment. As if that was meant to be an insult.

“Hung-y,” the three of them heard the toddler mumble.

“What’s that, lovie?” Y/N perked up.

“I hung-y” he repeated, his arms outstretched for his mother to which she happily accepted.

The boy crawled right over Harry towards Y/N, his foot sinking deep into Harry’s gut and making him grunt in reaction.

“You’re hungry?” Y/N asked, “You want some lunch, bubs?”

He nodded into Y/N’s shoulder where he had tucked himself away, clearly still in the mood to be loved on and cuddled.

“Well, let’s go make you something to eat then. What do you want? A banana?”

“Bread!” cheered the two-year-old, which earned a laugh from everyone in the room and an eye-roll from Y/N.

“Of course, you want bread. Wouldn’t expect anything less from your father’s child.”

“Why are you bullying me?” Harry fired back.

“Because you’re eating all of my damn bread!” Y/N yelled before scooping their son up from the couch and teetering out of frame into the kitchen.

“Alright,” started Zane, “Seems like it’s time for me to leave you three alone. Thanks for stopping in t’ chat.”

Harry chortled, readjusting his headphone one last time to sign off.

“Thanks again f’ havin’ me. Sorry my family crashed your interview.”

“It’s no bother at all, mate. ‘S actually quite refreshing seeing ye’ like this. I’m sure everyone watching would agree. Reminds us all that you’re human and not some robot with perfect hair and the voice of an angel.”

Harry hid his face in his hands, blushing for what felt like the thousandth time during this video call.

“I hope you lot continue to stay safe and healthy through all of this.”

“Thank you so much. You as well,” Harry added.

“Of course. Tell Y/N I’ll ring her up soon.”

“Will do,” Harry nodded, “If she doesn’t kill me f’ asking her t’ make me some toast first.”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles x pregnant!reader #dad!harry #dad!harry x reader #dad!harry x pregnant!reader

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builder051 · 3 years

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The talk

Chasing Ghosts

(I generally do not play in this arena; DO NOT ask for other stories with PMS, etc., as illness features. I do loosely plan to continue this thread, though. Or @mohini-musing might pick up for me.)

Warnings: weight (though not ED context), SA inc. prostitution, blood, emeto

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Tasha comes down the hall and stands like a ghost behind the sofa.

James is in the recliner across the living room, and he barely looks up from the textbook he's pretending to peruse. The quiet music he's had playing in one ear has long since captured his attention more than the multiplication of matrices. He's fairly sure he'll never use the skill lest he become a software engineer post-graduation, and the prospect of that's looking pretty slim.

He sees Tasha out of his peripheral vision, but doesn't move his head or lift his eyes for acknowledgment. She's probably drifted down from her weekend high, realized it's Sunday night, and gotten up for a Gatorade and maybe a glance at her homework.

Steve, though, who's lying on his stomach and taking up the whole of the couch, practically jumps to attention. He stands, scoots, and sits again in the amount of time it takes James to blink and make the first inhalation of a laugh.

"Sorry," Steve says, as if he's personally offended Tasha and just been called out. "I didn't mean... I was just, like, studying..."

Tasha shrugs. "Didn't come to sit with you," she says, in a voice that recalls the 'boys are gross' tone of young teenagerhood.

"What's up, then?" James asks, trying to bring back the balance of the room's atmosphere.

Tasha makes an ugly face. She opens her mouth, then shuts it. "Can I talk to you alone?"

James scoffs. "You think there's privacy in this apartment?"

"I can go, I don't know--" Steve looks around.

"Just talk," James says. He almost rolls his eyes, but the undercurrent of Tasha's affect seems to hold an air of seriousness. If there's something she needs to confess or ask for help with, he doesn't want her to feel less than secure.

Tasha lets out a breathy sort of sigh. "Blood," she says. "There's blood."

"Huh?" Steve responds first. "Where?"

James takes a little longer to contemplate the admission. Has she cut herself? There's no visible damage; Tasha's not holding an injury or howling in pain. Bloody vomit? That's nothing new, really, and even with vampire-red teeth, which she doesn't have, Tasha probably wouldn't come crying to him.

James is still thinking when Tasha points vaguely down the hall and to the left, which is, technically speaking, her side of the apartment. Or at least the bedroom and bathroom they'd parceled out for her when they'd unofficially moved her out of her dreary campus housing.

"What, in your room?" Steve asks.

"No." Tasha screws up her eyes. "I mean... I'm bleeding."

The cogs continue to turn in James's head, and just as he lands on an answer, Steve gives up, shaking his head and saying, "I don't get it."

"Fuck you," Tasha mumbles. "Both of you." She turns and starts to head back down the hallway.

"Tash." James jumps to his feet, his algebra book falling to the floor.

"You guys are fucking gay..."

"Hey!" Steve interjects.

James flaps his hand at Steve to shut him up. "Maybe we're gay, but I'm your big brother." He shoots a quick glance at Steve, hoping this won't surpass his no privacy promise. They've done some pretty wild stuff together: partying, puking, cleaning the carpet... Period talk shouldn't be too far out of their wheelhouse. At least, not if Tasha wants to talk about it.

Tasha huffs and rounds the edge of the sofa. She stands beside the arm, leaning her hip against it for a moment, before finally deciding to sit down, as far away from Steve as possible.

"I..." James starts, assuming it's his responsibility to keep the conversation going. "I assumed you hadn't been, um. You know."

Tasha's 100 pounds soaking wet. In her usual cutoff shorts and tank tops, he'd give her 95. Maybe 92 if she's detoxing. James assumes she has something like female athlete triad going on, except without the athlete. He doesn't like to think she's just too skinny to go through... normal biological processes. If he blames the drugs, sees them as wrecking her body instead of bringing her solace, then he'll have to turn eyes on himself, and there's no way in hell he wants to do that.

"Smart one," Tasha says. "And exactly how much thought do you give to the functioning of my uterus?"

Steve gives an 'oh shit' face, looking from James to Tasha and back again as if wondering how he's been so thick headed. James agrees, but is also relieved, in a way, that his boyfriend hasn't been thinking about his sister in, well, that way.

"Seeing as I have, more than once, pulled you out of an R-rated situation with iffy consent, and you have yet to become pregnant--" James starts.

"Yeah, ok, you don't have to..." Tasha shakes her head.

James decides not to stop his momentum. "Do you know how much sex you're having? How often you're using protection?"

"I said, you don't have to." Tasha glares at him. "I don't have one. A cycle, or whatever. I can't get knocked up."

"Well, I figured that, but you can still get an STD--

"I don't think you're hearing me," Tasha says. "I don't have one. I haven't. Like, ever."

"But--what?" James squints and cocks his head. "What about, what was it? Cheerleading camp?"

"That stupid summer program when I was 16?" Tasha bites her lip. "Yeah, that was a lie."

"You're losing me." Steve reminds them he's part of the conversation as well.

"What, didn't your mom send you to cheerleading camp when you were a sullen teen?" Tasha asks him, seemingly in all seriousness.

"Um. No." Steve withers a little under her stare. "There was a threat to beat it out of me with a bible when I was that age, but that never came to fruition."

"Mm. Fun times." Tasha scrubs her hair back from her face. "I told mom of the moment I started at camp, so then she couldn't go nuts about the moment I 'became a woman,' or whatever."

Tasha has always seemed like a little kid to James. Her stint at camp had only taken place... he quickly calculates... 3ish years ago. Tasha is a kid. She hasn't busted 20 years old yet. But, for the first time James wonders if other, more metaphorical factors are at play.

The idea quickly fades, though, when he remembers the actual topic at hand. "Ok, but Tash," James says. "What's actually going on right now?"

Tasha practically sinks into the couch cushions. She wraps both arms around her abdomen. "Blood," she says. "Kinda...everywhere."

"We'll clean the bathroom later," James says dismissively.

"And I'll do laundry," Steve offers. "I used to be the scrawny kid who got beat up a lot. I can do bloodstains."

"Not helping, babe," James tells him before Tasha can get a word in.

"Feel sick," Tasha admits, rather suddenly.

"Bathroom it is, then," James decides. "But, let's use mine."

Tasha seems to have turned into a shapeless blob on the corner of the couch, her chest meeting her thighs with her arms still wrapped around her stomach. Her face is in her knees, which James has to admit, would be easier to clean than the carpet.

"Come on," he says gently, taking Tasha's shoulder. "If you're gonna puke, don't do it here, please."

"But I already diiiiid," Tasha complains, drawing out the last word and adding the hiccup of a fake crying fit.

"Sorry." James hooks his flesh arm across Tasha's chest and lets her cling to him down the hall. He takes her into his and Steve's disorganized yet bleach-shined bathroom. Cleaning was practically Steve's hobby. Yet keeping down the clutter? Not his strong suit.

Unsure of exactly what kind of sick his sister intends to be, he sets her down, fully clothed, on the toilet, which, of course, has the seat up. Then he dives for the trash can and shoves it into Tasha's chest.

She gives James an appreciative glare, then sets her chin on the edge of the trash can, ostensibly to wait for an upcoming retch. James can practically see it, rising from the bottom of her spine, up her back, to her neck and throat before finally pushing a pitiful amount of spit and bile out of her mouth.

"Ok..." James sighs. If she's down to just that, she's been at it a while. Lost a lot of fluids already.

"Gatorade?" Steve asks in a chipper tone, putting voice to what James is thinking without a trace of delicacy.

"Hmph." Tasha spits. "If it'll... make it stop burning..."

"Lemme guess, vodka last night?" James tries to make her laugh. Maybe cough.

"Fuck you."

"Eh, we'll talk about that later," James says, hoping he doesn't sound threatening. "For now, how about I go with you?" James pulls on Steve's arm and heads for the bathroom door.

"Hey, you said no privacy here..." Tasha's irritated and sickly voice trails after them.

"Yeah, well, puking people aren't allowed to leave the bathroom," James says. "That's the house rule that trumps all the others."

"But I puke on the couch all the time--"

"That's because it's too hard to get your fucking limp-ass octopus body into the bathroom in the first place." James rolls his eyes. "Just sit tight."

He quickly drags Steve into the kitchen. "Ok," he says. "You have to know about this stuff. You took health class in high school, right?"

"I've lived with a woman," Steve reminds James, a little shamefully. "But Peggy was super private. You know, like inhibited, about, like, um..."

"Yeah, I get it." James shrugs. Then, "Did you know you can stem a nosebleed with a tampon?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know..." James shakes his head.

"Why do you?" Steve looks a little take aback now.

"The field. Desert air's pretty damn dry."

"Ah. Ok."

"We'd get donations of shit from the states. Care packages, Costco overstock, you know. Just, whatever. When we got pads and stuff, whoever was unloading the box would just hold them over their head and yell 'who needs them?'"

"And I'm assuming people would just raise their hands?" Steve postulates.

"Yup." James pops the P. "No privacy. Everyone knows everyone else's bathroom habits. When you're deep in the field, there's no men's and women's facilities. Half the time the privies don't even have doors."

"Ok." Steve nods. "Experience, then. You have lots of experience."

James shrugs again. "You have to be chill, ok?" He opens the fridge and pulls out two bottles of Gatorade. He holds one to either side of Steve's neck, as if to physically cool him. "This is, like, super weird and awkward for her. She's really scared, I think, and her brave face just looks...jerk-ish."

"Yeah." Steve takes the Gatorade. "I can be good with this. I really care about her, even if she doesn't think I do."

"I know you do," James says. "It's all in the presentation right now, though. She's skittish. But, also, for some reason, willing to talk. We have to tease it out. And you can't ruin it, ok?"

"Ok, ok." Steve seems to understand, even if he doesn't appreciate the words.

They head back to the bathroom, where Tasha has, for whatever reason, decided to heave into the toilet instead of the trash. She squats awkwardly, sitting on one heel. From the angle he's at, James can see a spreading stain on the back of Tasha's shorts, which has made an imprint on her ankle and the bottom of her foot.

"Don't move," James says, reaching for a towel.

"The fuck would I?" Tasha coughs, holding her stomach and moaning.

"Well, when you're done, stand up slowly and wipe your feet."

"...Shit..." Tasha spits. "Like I said. It's fucking everywhere."

"Yeah..." Menstrual blood, James has no experience with. But blood in general, yeah. It does get fucking everywhere. There's that first moment when the entire body and all its systems are still in shock, like when the arm is first blown off, and then all he can see is red. Even the bone that was white just a second ago is lost in a sea of scarlet--

"Well, I suppose congratulations are in order," Steve says with a grin, clearly trying to be friendly, but missing out on one, or more, of the points. "You're not pregnant."

"Well, of course I'm not, you dingbat," Tasha replies, rolling her eyes so hard that James is sure it must give her a headache. If she doesn't already have one. "And besides. He used a condom."

"Wait," James says. He's been preoccupied by not looking at Steve. "You know that?" he pokes cautiously. "For sure?"

"...Yeah..."

"Every time?"

"To be honest," Tasha starts, spitting and pushing herself away from the toilet. She crab-walks to the towel, wipes her feet, then sits on it, criss-cross like a little kid. "I don't know if he actually gets off every time." She draws her mouth into a straight, defensive line.

"The fuck does that have to do with anything?" James asks.

Steve looks very much like he wants to get the bleach from the cabinet under the sink, pour it into one ear, tip his head, and see if it comes out the other.

"He pulls out," Tasha says bluntly. "And there's never any, you know. Gunk."

"Wait, he does both?" Steve's eyebrows disappear into his hair. "A condom and--"

"Ok, ok." James puts up his hands to shush them both. "And this is, what, this is your dealer we're talking about?"

"Yeah, I guess, if you want to call him that," Tasha says with a shrug.

"What else would we call him?" Steve now looks disgusted. "That'd be stupid to let him just, like, defile you every week."

"He doesn't--" Tasha starts, but then she hiccups, and maybe thinks better of what she was going to say. She still stares Steve down, though, then looks to James as if grasping at straws of support.

"He's, like, a manufacturer?" Tasha turns her gaze sideways.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." James puts his hand over his face. He'd assumed Tasha was getting her stuff on the street, through a framework of various interlopers. Now he's getting news that his kid sister is taking substances thrown together in some coed's bathtub? This is too much.

"Tash--" James starts, trying hard to keep his bubbling anger and concern from spilling over.

"He's a PhD candidate," Tasha says defensively. In Chemistry. And--" her eyes flicker from side to side as she seems to wonder what's appropriate to spill. "I won't tell you his name. But... I'll tell you that he got kicked off the football team for being too violent, but he still wears his green jersey all the time to prove how much better and calmer he's become since that happened, which was only in the freshman year of his undergrad..." Tasha babbles on.

The more she defends the guy, the more James hates him. He feels bad for him a little, slinging synthesized crack to get by. He feels better for Tasha, knowing that what she's taking is most probably pure. But the sex thing is--

"It's kinda creepy," Steve says, taking the words right from James's mouth. "Like, how much older than you is he?"

"I don't know." Tasha shrugs. "Not that much, I don't think. Started school early, finished fast. And I'm not sure this is his first post-graduate program..."

"Maybe shouldn't've added that last part," James says, screwing up his eyes. "So he's had, like, however long to prey on girls who are barely legal. Who might not even be legal..."

"Well, I'm legal, and I can do what I want." Tasha crosses her arms in front of her chest.

"Yeah," James sighs. "Unfortunately."

"But what about the thing with the handcuffs? The gang rape? Losing your bra?" Steve blurts out.

"Wait, you..." Tasha's eyes flash with anger. "You told him?"

"What did I say about privacy?" James quickly reminds her. "The non-puking kind? And, um," He looks to Steve. "Maybe a little respect?"

"Sorry," Steve mutters. "But--I really do--"

"I don't really remember that stuff," Tasha says.

James studies her face, but he can't tell if she's lying.

"Probably just party stuff that got out of hand."

'You mean you were too stoned to know the difference between your regular and some random dude off the street,' James thinks. 'What do you do at parties? And how the fuck do you slip past me?'

"He's your pimp, too, isn't he?" Steve asks, pointing at Tasha rather accusatorially, in James's opinion.

"No!" Tasha leans forward and brings her arms down to cover her clearly still sore abdomen. "Bruce wouldn't--" She swallows. "I didn't-- You didn't hear--"

James hasn't been a student long enough to know who was on the football team 4, 5, 6-odd years ago. He supposes he could look it up, crossing the name with accounts of any violent incident that amount of time ago. He's not sure he wants to, though he'll probably wind up looking it up later. Either that, or Steve will. James still has his ex-mil connections, a few of which were absorbed into the local police force. Steve, on the other hand, is better with social media and navigating the niceties of such mysteries as SnapChat and TikTok.

"Ok, fine," James says, just ameliorate his sister's panic.

"He doesn't even drug me at parties," Tasha goes on, probably unaware of how terribly young and desperate she sounds, making lame-ass excuses so she can keep her boy toy.

"And you've had other guys who did?" Steve asks incredulously, even though James shakes his head frantically at him to try to get him to shut up.

"You know Rumlow?" Tasha asks, since apparently she's now all about spilling names.

James shakes his head, but Steve screws up his eyes and says in a disgusted voice, "him?"

"Yeah..." Tasha sighs and looks down at her fingernails, which are stained rust-red at the root. "Remember the night I didn't come home?"

"Yeah, and scared the living shit out of us because your phone was off," James fills in the blanks.

"Well, I didn't turn it off."

"You mean that asshole kept you overnight without any means of getting yourself out of there?" Steve looks downright sick. "I mean, I know he looks slimy, but that?"

"I think Maria accidentally slept on the couch and found me at, like, 6am trying to stick my head in the linen closet because I couldn't find the bathroom." Tasha laughs, though the situation is anything bur funny.

"And I was so pissed at her for having you out all night..." James trails off.

"Yeah, maybe respect my choices a little more?" Tasha glares at him. "I mean, Maria's studying to become an EMT now. You can't think that badly of her."

'Great,' James thinks. 'Someone who'll drug Tasha to the gills every weekend.' She'll be less likely to overdose, but James has seen it all too often in the field. Newly minted medical personnel eager to sow off their skills and rushing into action.

"Yeah," James says, trying not to smirk. "So you got a girlfriend and a boyfriend now?"

"Ew, no," Tasha replies. "Friends with...benefits, I guess. If you even want to call it that. Folks who look out for each other, using a barter system?"

"Did you recently take World History?" James can't help but poking at her vocabulary.

"Fucking-a, I don't know. Once I pass, it's in my past."

"That's actually a good motto," Steve points out.

"Anyway," James says, bringing the conversation back to topic. "None of your...friends... are invited to this house."

"It's not like I want to bring them over for dinner," Tasha replies. "I guess drop off and pickup might happen, since, well, you know now, and I don't have a car." She shrugs. "Cool?"

James hates the idea of someone inebriated driving a car in which his sister is a passenger, despite the fact that he's done it before. Regularly, actually. Maybe he just hates the idea of the driver being someone who Tasha just fucked. The air might be heavy between them. They might smell like each other's deodorant and musk. They might kiss each other good bye. The thought makes James's stomach turn.

But, "sure," he says. "That's fine.” At least she'll come home.

James shares a glance with Steve, which seems to confirm the same sentiments, "Yeah," Steve echoes, as if his opinion counts for anything. "Fine."

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years

Text

This Night (40s!Bucky Barnes x Hispanic!OFC)

Summary: When she saved a scrawny blond in a back alley, she would never have anticipated the ripple effects it would have. Nor how meeting someone with a pair of baby blue eyes and cocky smirk would draw her in, encouraging her that for one night, to taste revelry like she never had before.

This is my submission for @allaboardthereadingrailroad Marvel Diversity Challenge! My prompt was “a little danger never hurt”.

I am going to admit, I’m super nervous to post this. I’ve never written a person of color before and would be horrified to accidently offend someone. That being said, I also had so much fun writing this piece. I adore 40s Bucky and Steve, so I was excited to finally have the inspiration to write them.

Few notes:

-All translations are via google and what I can remember from university (if any of my Spanish is wrong, please please please someone tell me and i’ll correct it!)

-I threw in some 40s slang for fun, so that will be in italics.

-In the little research I did (again, someone please correct me if I am wrong), in the 40s there were not many Hispanic or Latino people living in NYC yet. So for my OFC and her family, they would very much stand out.

Warnings: a few swear words, some angst, sexual tension, topic of racial discrimination and inequality

Words: 8k (the story kept growing, i’m so sorry)

She clutched the parcel to her chest, trying to avoid the muddy puddles on the sidewalk. Mr. Hendricks would be furious with her if she got any mud on the packaging of the parcel. He always said it reflected his reputation.

Weaving through those walking down the busy Brooklyn sidewalk, she could feel the few glares and inaudible comments following in her wake. She tried to ignore it, knowing was not the first nor last time others judged her for her different skin tone. Though she doubted she would ever get used to it. One of her older brothers would try and cheer her up saying the white folks were jealous since they burned when in the sun too long while Spaniards became more beautiful. Without fail, she would smack him but end up laughing along.

Peeking at the address scrawled in precise handwriting, she surveyed the street names around. A sinking feeling in her gut confirmed her fear- she had somehow gotten lost.

“Mierda.” She hissed, turning around in a circle. Not just to try and relocate her whereabouts but on the off chance her mother happened to be behind her to whack her over the head for swearing.

Not wanting to be run over by a fellow pedestrian, she stepped off the sidewalk into an alley nearby while she tried to get her bearings. She brushed down the front of her workwear, dark blue, princess style dress with its Peter Pan collar, double pockets and pleated skirt. A glance at her tights showed a couple spots of mud she somehow managed to still get on her even though her kitten heels were still mostly clean. A miracle really.

It was only mid-afternoon but Mr. Hendricks hated when she returned late from delivering parcels. He was the best tailor in Brooklyn and practically thrived off that title. He employed her to help keep things organized, the shop looking nice and delivering parcels to their patrons. It was mindless work but that did not bother her. It was a job...and she was lucky to have one. Being from one of the few Hispanic families in the area was not a perk when trying to find work. She knew the only reason she even got this job was she willingly took half the pay he would have given to anyone else, she could sew well, and she was pretty.

A crash at the end of the alley drew her attention behind her. There was some hushed talking followed by another sound of something hitting the ground. Hard.

Logically, she knew she should walk away. She was already lost. Her mother frequently reminded her to not involve herself in other people's business, it would only get her in trouble. The problem was her curiosity was a near palpable thing, driving her forward, along with her independent streak the size of the Upper Bay. So when she heard what sounded like a smack and another crash, her feet started moving without a second thought.

She darted around a half brick wall to find herself at an "L" intersection. And at the end of both alleys, stood a tall man with a face like a bulldog and the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, fists at his side. Below him lay a much smaller, blond man who was sprawled out on the dirty ground. The smaller man groaned, rubbing a hand on his jaw. He rolled onto his side, then slowly and painfully rose back onto his feet, his own fists in front of him in a poor imitation of a boxer.

"You think you somethin' special, huh?" The larger man jeered, a nasty smirk on his face. He leaned on his back foot, preparing to throw another punch.

The smaller man raised his fists but made no other move, prepared to take the hit and most likely go back down.

So, she decided to do something stupid.

"BILL!!" She cried out, her voice echoing off the brick walls of the alleys.

Both men froze, turning to look at her.

Tucking the parcel under her arm, she jogged over to the smaller man, uncaring now of the muddy puddles. "There you are, Bill. I've been so worried. You promised to show me where Mrs. Wilcox lives. I tried to find her myself but I got so lost." Ignoring the quizzical look from the blond man, she stood between the two men, meeting the eyes of the larger one. She twirled a strand of her long, black hair around her finger, nerves getting to her but she pressed on. "I'm so sorry for whatever trouble he has caused you. He won't bother you again. We have to go now; our boss will dock our wages if we aren't back soon."

The man trailed his eyes over her as if looking for a lie tattooed on her skin or dress. Finding nothing of interest, he stared hard at his victim for a long moment. She found herself holding her breath, silently praying her ruse worked.

Finally, he rolled his shoulders and unclenched his fists, his thick jowls still tense. "Keep ‘im away from me or next time his ass will end up in the hospital."

Slowly, she released her breath as she watched the bulldog of a man turn on his heel and stomp away, back down the alley and onto the main sidewalk.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, looking over the smaller man. As he dusted off his brown trousers and tan jacket, she was surprised to realize he stood about her height, and probably about her age, in the young twenties. If her guessing was any good.

He rubbed his jaw again and winced where an impressive bruise was already growing. "I've had worse."

She could not help but smile at his nonchalance. His bright blue eyes met her own honey brown. A timid smile echoed hers, his face so open and expressive. Something about the man she found endearing already. Maybe defending him was not such a stupid action.

"All that stuff you said, about lookin' for me and gettin' lost…"

She huffed a laugh. "I am actually lost. I'm trying to find this address here." She showed him the scrap of paper with the address scribbled on it.

It took only a glance before he handed the paper back with a smile. "You're not too far. Only three streets away….I... I can take you there if you like."

"Oh, I'd hate to impose on you."

"No, it's really fine. Seems you saved me from...well…" He shrugged, sticking his hands in the pockets of his tan jacket.

"And... you...don't mind, you know, being seen with me?"

"No, why?" Eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed slightly, he stared at her like that was the strangest question.

It was in that moment she knew, whoever this scrawny man was- he was a good man. The difference in their ethnicity made no difference to him. He was a rarity in her experience with most New Yorkers.

Even though it was 1940 and this was supposed to be a land of equal opportunity.

It was not.

With a shrug and momentarily, awkward silence as they both thought about their own answers to his question, they fell into step with one another as they headed back out of the alley.

"So, what's your name? Or is it actually Bill?" She spoke up once they hit the sidewalk.

"Do I look like a Bill?"

She squinted her eyes then shook her head giggling. "No, you don't."

"It's Steve…. Steve Rogers."

"It's nice to meet you, Steve."

He directed them down another street. Their shoulders brushed occasionally as they walked, due more to their need to maneuver around puddles and other pedestrians than any sense of intimacy. "You gonna tell me your name or do I have to make one up for you?"

"Oh! Sorry. It's Elana Morales-Díaz. So, what caused the fight?"

The tips of his ears and cheeks turned pink as he ducked his head. "He, um, we...we had a disagreement."

"Obviously. I would hate to know you're friends and beat each other up for fun."

"My best friend is a boxer. He's tryin’ to teach me some moves…. does that count as beating each other up?"

She pretended to think about it. "I may let that one slide but it sounds like you might need some new friends."

"Yeah," he chuckled and peeked over at her. "Know of any openings?"

"I just might."

They stood at an intersection waiting to cross the street when they heard a shout from further down the road. Neither paid much attention initially until the shout repeated itself.

"STEVE!"

The blond looked down the road, a smile on his lips. He waved and tugged on Elana to move away from the curb. She followed along, surprised since he told her they needed to cross.

A man glided through the pedestrians easily, a few lingering looks thrown his way by some of the women. When he noticed her standing next to Steve, his eyes widened for a brief moment before a lazy smirk appeared on his face and his strut became more pronounced. With boxing gloves dangling over his shoulder, his white shirt and black trousers, he looked like he just walked out of a gym. Especially with the way his dark brown hair ruffled in the breeze, a few strands sticking up like he had run his hands through it a few times.

"I leave you for one afternoon and I come back to find you with the prettiest gal in all of New York."

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're always at the gym now."

The man put Steve in a teasing headlock. Only after a flirtatious wink at her, he released the smaller man. "So, you gonna introduce me to this wolfess, Steve?"

"Ah, right. Elana, this is my best friend, Bucky Barnes. Buck, this is Elana."

"Nice to meet you." She said, a small smile at their interactions. It reminded her of her brothers.

The man -Bucky- reached over and took her hand but instead of shaking it, pressed a kiss to her knuckles, maintaining eye contact the whole time. "Pleasure is mine."

Oh, he was a charmer. The kind her mother warned her about. Then again, her father had the same devilish charisma and Elana liked to remind her mother of that. To which her mother would laugh and say that's why she warned her daughter of those men, she knew from experience. With just a wink and kiss, she would fall madly in love, leave her home and give him five babies before she even knew it. It was always after this statement often said loudly and with feigned annoyance that Elana's father would wrap his arms around his wife, lovingly kiss her temple and remind her how long he had to chase her before she even agreed to go on a date with him.

"So how do you guys know each other?" Bucky asked, those blue eyes bouncing between the two of them.

Steve coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. It was then Bucky finally seemed to notice the slowly darkening bruise on Steve's jaw.

"Steve!" He grabbed his friend's face and glanced over him, concern etched in his movements and expression. "What happened this time, punk?"

"Nothin'...just a disagreement. I had 'im on the ropes."

He dropped his hand, running it through his brunet hair. "You gotta stop pickin’ fights, one of these days…" The implications hung heavily in the air.

"Ah, Steve…" When he looked over at her, she nodded toward the parcel still in her arms.

"Oh right! Sorry. Buck, I gotta take her to drop somethin' off."

Bucky shrugged. "Lead the way, punk."

"Jerk."

The three of them quickly crossed the street. Steve, and soon Bucky when he understood what was going on, pointed out markers for her in case she got lost again. In a short time, they arrived at the house, one of the nicer ones in Brooklyn. The boys waited on the sidewalk as Elana walked up to the front door and handed the parcel over with the man's tailored suit.

"Where you off to now, doll?" Bucky asked when she approached them.

"Oh, I need to get back to the shop. Mr. Hendricks will most likely be upset with how late I am anyway."

"The tailorin’ shop near Prospect Park?"

"Yeah." She played with a strand of her hair, trying to hide her nerves.

"What a coincidence. We were headed that way ourselves, right, Steve?"

"What?" Steve looked at Bucky, head tilted in confusion. Bucky cuffed him in the back of the head. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Um, gonna take a nice walk in the park."

Elana could not help but giggle at the two. With Bucky looking skyward like he was silently praying for patience to deal with his best friend; meanwhile Steve rubbed the back of his head and glared at his best friend. Although she just met them and hardly knew them, she found herself enjoying their presence. Friends were not something she had in great supply...or any supply really.

Plus, if she was being honest with herself, she found her gaze drifting to the tall, charming brunet more times than she cared to admit. The butterflies in her stomach did not help the situation. She knew it was foolish. He was attractive and knew it. But when he turned those baby blues on her and winked, she could not help but be drawn to him, like a moth to the flame.

"How come we ain't seen you round before? I know I'd remember a dame as beautiful as you round Brooklyn." Bucky said on her left side while Steve walked on her right. Neither one crowded her space. Sometimes one would touch a hand to her back to direct her steps or hold her elbow when she jumped a puddle. It was sweet instead of condescending.

She shrugged. "I recently got the job at the tailor shop and I live in Queens."

They both winced making her laugh. She would never understand this animosity the boroughs had with each other.

"Well that explains a lot." Steve muttered.

"Hey!" She nudged the blond with her shoulder as she muttered. "Me gusta Queens. Ustedes dos están celosos."

"What language is that?" Steve asked, curiosity evident.

"Spanish."

"Is that why you have an accent?"

She nodded, unable to meet their gazes as she answered. "My family moved here from Spain when I was six." Although she had grown up here in New York City, gone to school just like the other kids, she still maintained a slight accent to her words, different from the stereotypical New Yorker's accent.

"Say somethin’ else." Bucky smiled down at her.

She laughed. "Like what?"

"I don't know. Anythin’."

"El cielo es azul. Me duelen los pies con estos tacones. Me he reído más con ustedes dos que en semanas".

Bucky had almost a dazed look on his face. "That's beautiful."

"You have no idea what I said."

"Doesn't matter." The brunet stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Steve can talk in Irish."

"Buck…"

"What?"

"I mean, a little." He rubbed the back of his neck. "My ma came from Ireland."

Bucky snorted. "You wrote a poem for a girl in the second grade in Irish and read it to her on the playground. I'd say that's more than a little."

Steve's face was red and jaw dropped as he stared at his friend. "How...how...how do you know that?" He sputtered. "We weren't even friends yet."

Bucky winked at Elana as he answered. "Gotta be friends with the right people."

The three of them walked back, talking and laughing. Well it was mostly the boys talking and teasing one another but she enjoyed just listening to their banter. Occasionally they would direct a question to her or she would throw out a remark that had them laughing.

She guided them to the back alley of the street front shops. Mr. Hendricks disliked her walking through the front unless she had her work apron on and clean shoes.

"Well thank you for helping me and walking me back."

"It's not a big deal." Steve said.

"We'll see you round, yeah? I'd hate to just meet a gorgeous dame like you then never see her again." Bucky threw a wink at her, adjusting the boxing gloves still over his shoulder.

She opened her mouth to tease them then stopped. She truly hoped this was not the last time she saw these two. In a spur of the moment decision, she stepped closer to say goodbye. She pressed her cheeks to Steve's first, giving the traditional cheek kiss. She did the same to Bucky, though she had to rise on her toes to reach his face, and she suspected he bent over slightly.

"Hasta luego, mis amigos."

"What was that, doll?"

She looked from Bucky's smirk to Steve's red face and back. "A traditional goodbye."

"Mmm…I could get used to that." The boxer teased, nudging his friend who refused to meet her eyes now.

She smiled and started to open the back door when Bucky's hand grabbed her forearm, stalling her movements.

"Hey, wait." Those baby blue eyes met her honey brown ones. "It's Friday night. We usually go to the Stork Club for drinks and dancin’. Come with us."

"Oh, I don't know…"

"Come on. It'll be great. If it helps, we'll pick you up from your house."

She could not help the laugh that slipped out at the thought. "You'd come to Queens... to get me?"

"It might break my heart to leave my beloved Brooklyn but I'd do it for you, doll."

"Honestly it'd be dangerous for you to come to my house."

"A little danger never hurt." He brushed some of her hair behind her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

He was trouble, complete trouble for her...and she knew it. But the longer he stared at her with those pleading eyes and hand now at the nape of her neck, she could feel her resolve crumbling. "I have three brothers and a protective father."

"They can't be that bad… Come on, please? Steve, help me out!"

Steve just laughed, raising his hands in surrender.

She bit the inside of her cheek thinking about it. Her brother Mateo owed her for when she covered for him when he almost got caught smoking cigarettes behind the apartment building. Tonight, her parents were supposed to visit her eldest brother and his new wife in the Bronx.

"Ok…" She whispered.

"Yeah?" A beaming grin spread over his face.

"Ok...I'll meet you there though."

"Yes!" Bucky bent over and kissed her cheek loudly. "You won't regret it! Nine o'clock!"

"Nueve. Estaré allí."

"I still don't know what you said, doll, but I love it."

She laughed, pushing him away from her. "Go! Before I'm even more late."

Before they were three steps away, she ducked inside the back of the shop. Hopefully she was able to slip in unnoticed. The shop should be closing soon so Mr. Hendricks would be in his little office room.

She leaned against the back door, hands pressed against her cheeks to will away the warmth in them. Thankfully with her brown skin, the blush would be harder to notice. As she stood there, the realization of what she just agreed to finally hit her. An icy fist landed in her gut, drowning the blush away. She had never been to a club before. She had no idea what to wear...or how to act. How was she even going to get there?

Underneath the fear though was a determination to go. Why couldn't she have fun for one night, like other young women she regularly saw and envied. Both of those Brooklyn boys seemed nice. Thinking about them brought the flush back to her skin, especially when she thought of the kiss on the cheek from Bucky. He was trouble and fun and charming and devilish and… and she wanted to spend more time with him. And Steve, the sweet, kind, funny guy that he was. She liked them both. But when thinking about those baby blue eyes, insufferable smirk and broad shoulders...her heartbeat sped up and butterflies erupted in her belly.

"Oh Dios, ¿qué voy a hacer?" She whispered to herself.

*****

Just after nine o'clock, Elana climbed out of the taxi. She stared up at the sign that brightly screamed ‘Stork Club’. So many people milled about, either walking into the club or chatting, waiting for others in their group. A couple people already looked like they had been hitting the bottles for some time, if the rambunctious yelling and obnoxious laughter said anything. The atmosphere was loud and vibrant with an air of debauchery...and she had not even stepped foot in the door.

"Oh Dios, ¿por qué estoy aquí? Estúpido. Tan estúpido. Debería irme. Ni siquiera se darán cuenta." She murmured to herself, her hands wringing the strap on her clutch. Actually, it was not even hers. She "borrowed" it from her mother's closet and prayed that she could return it before her mother noticed.

"Elana!"

At the call of her name, she turned around to see Bucky and Steve crossing the street, dodging a car that decided they were taking too long.

"You made it!" Bucky exclaimed, bubbling with excitement. He scanned her over, giving a low whistle. "Damn, doll, you look beautiful."

"Gracias." She smoothed down her floral-patterned tea dress that reached mid-calf, her kitten heels still on from earlier. Her raven hair hung loosely down her back, unstyled in the typical curls that most women wore. There had been no time to try one of those hair styles and not bring attention to herself before she snuck out. Just to make her even more self-conscious, the cherry red lipstick she wore felt heavy on her lips. Something she only wore on rare occasions. "You fellas clean up nicely."

Checking over them, they each wore nice suits. Though Steve's looked a size or two too large and the prominent bruise on his cheek ruined the look a bit. Bucky was practically sinful in his suit, showing off his broad shoulders and strong legs, his hair slicked back. Improper thoughts flooded her mind and a heat warmed her cheeks. She had a feeling she would need to go to confession tomorrow. That was tomorrow’s worry though, tonight was about fun.

"Ready to have the time of your life?" Bucky asked, excitement practically bubbled under his skin.

"That's a high standard."

"Guess I better not disappoint. C'mon!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her towards the crowded, open door. In her sudden fear, she reached back and snagged Steve's hand, dragging him along. She would never admit it but having both of them on either side of her made her feel better.

There were several different calls for Bucky, vying for his attention. He just waved or yelled something back but kept her hand in his, pulling them through. She noticed more than one disappointed female face when Bucky passed them. It churned something in her stomach which she tried to ignore.

When they finally entered the dance hall, she froze. It was nothing like she imagined and so much better. At the far end was a stage with a large band playing an upbeat song that made her bounce on her toes without realizing it. A large bar area was set up, packed with people already looking for something to wet their throats. Booths and tables lined the walls. Already the hardwood, dance floor looked packed with couples jiving. Mirrors and photographs hung on the walls making the place feel bigger even when it was so crowded. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat and a youthful zeal she had never experienced.

It was intoxicating and nerve-wracking. She could not wait to join in.

The next thing she noticed when she glanced at all the people...she was the only non-white person there.

"Let's get a table." Bucky tugged them along towards an open booth on the right side of the dance floor.

She slid in on one side while Steve scooted in on the other. Bucky stood at the end, grinning ear to ear as he seemed to quickly survey the place.

"Right." He tossed his suit jacket on the seat next to her then clapped his hands, the sound muffled by the volume from the band nearby. "What kinda drink would you like?"

"Ah, vino?"

He nodded and waltzed towards the bar, throwing an arm around the shoulder of one of the men standing there waiting.

She turned back to the blond. "You're not drinking?"

"Nah, too many health issues to make it worth it."

She hummed and took note of Steve's fidgeting. "Is this your first time too?"

He chuckled. "No. I just don't...well, this isn't where I'd prefer to be on a Friday night...but don't tell Bucky... though he probably knows."

"What would you rather be doing?"

"Drawin’ or paintin’, maybe playin’ cards but I'm terrible at them."

"You're an artist?" The realization warmed her heart. This scrawny man with a heart too big for his body and kindness an invisible cloak around him. It made sense somehow. He could look past the ugly and see beauty and somehow capture it.

"I don't know if I'd say that...I just enjoy it. It's usually what I end up doin’ when I come here. Doodlin’ on a napkin while Buck dances with every girl he can."

Her stomach dropped while hearing that, which was stupid. So stupid. She swallowed thickly, hoping Steve did not notice, before she spoke again to distract herself. "Well if you doodle something tonight, can I see it after?"

"If you like."

Bucky appeared a minute later with a foamy glass of beer and a glass of red wine. Carefully, he placed them both on the table. "Ready to cut a rug?" He asked, looking at her expectedly.

"Um, I don't...I've never danced like this before." She hesitantly admitted. Steve gave her a sympathetic smile like he understood.

"Don't matter. I bet you're a swell dancer." He held out his hand for her. When she did not immediately accept his hand, he wiggled his fingers. "C'mon, ain't that hard. I'll teach you."

With a sigh, she took his hand, his smile beaming as he tugged her out of the booth. She could not help but smile back at his sheer enthusiasm. It was contagious.

He led her off to the side of the dance floor. Putting one hand on her lower back and taking the other in his hand, he began demonstrating the steps. Her eyes stayed glued to his feet while he moved, willing her brain to understand and not make a fool of her.

"You got this, doll. Told you, you're a natural. Just follow my movement, let me lead."

So she did and before she knew it, they were flying around the dance floor.

Bucky was an amazing dancer and it showed in how he effortlessly led her. A couple times she stumbled or stepped on his toes but he would just grin and encourage her to keep going. The faces of those around them blurred. The music seemed to sink into her blood and with every beat of the drum or clap of the hands from the band, her heartbeat echoed it. It was intoxicating and she had not even had a sip of alcohol. Now she understood why people flocked to these dance halls. There was something freeing in them, losing yourself to the music and movements. For a short time, you could ignore the outside world and all its trials. Here, you could be free.

Eventually she begged a break, practically panting from the several songs they danced through. The brightness in her eyes and smile though showed how much fun she was having. Still holding hands, they weaved through the crowd back to their booth where Steve sat with a napkin in front of him, pencil in hand and eyes focused downward. She slid into the booth first, Bucky right behind her.

"Have fun?" Steve asked, eyes bouncing between the two before him.

"I can't breathe." She giggled out, hand pressed to her chest. Her lungs struggled to fill up properly but instead of installing fear into her, it only made her laugh.

Bucky took a long sip of his beer and slung his arm behind Elana, on the back of the booth. "Told you, you'd have fun. You're a great dancer."

"Only cause I had a great teacher." Taking a sip of her wine, she focused on the quiet artist. "Did you draw something, Steve?"

"Yeah, just a little sketch."

"Can I see it?"

He slid the napkin over to her, nerves obvious. Giving him a small, reassuring smile, she flipped the napkin over and felt her heart stop and jaw drop. The pencil sketch was of Bucky and her dancing. His mouth was next to her ear, whispering instructions or flirtatious comments, his hand on her lower back. Her gaze was on his chest but the brilliant smile on her lips gave her away. The sketch was so realistic, it was astounding. It completely captured Bucky's confidence and her nervousness but somehow the opposite emotions only added to the image, bringing a sense of balance and trust between the two dancing partners.

"Steve, esto es…. hermoso…. increíble." She breathed out, never taking her eyes off the napkin. When she finally looked up to see him blushing and fiddling with the pencil, she smiled.

Bucky had been leaning against her so he could see the sketch also. "That might be your best one yet, pal."

"Thanks, guys. S'nothing."

"May I keep it?" She softly asked, eyes tracing the delicate lines and shading.

The embarrassed blond flapped a hand at her. "Course. It was for you if you wanted it anyway."

Silently, she reached across and squeezed Steve's hand, unable to convey all the emotions she was feeling. "There's one thing you got wrong."

"What's that?"

"I'm not that pretty."

Both Steve and Bucky chuckled.

"Elana," Bucky started, gazing down at her. "He drew you like-"

"Bucky!" A silky voice interrupted. A young woman stood at the end of their booth. Her blonde hair in perfect curls, bright red lipstick matched the equally bright red dress she wore. Her eyes zeroed in on the handsome brunet at the table, ignoring the other two patrons like they were just wallpaper. "Wanna dance?"

The sun-kissed woman could feel Bucky's hesitation. Nudging him gently in the ribs, she nodded towards the interloper. "Go. Have fun. I still need to catch my breath."

With a nod, he slipped out of the booth and followed the beautiful woman onto the dance floor. The two easily fell into step like they had done this a million times, each movement flawless and smiles on both of their faces.

She turned back to Steve, ignoring the churning in her gut. "What's your favorite thing to draw?"

They talked for a few minutes about art classes he had taken and the few commissioned pieces he had done for local businesses. The passion he spoke with about art, hands flapping and eyes alight, it was impossible not to join in his enthusiasm.

The presence of someone standing at the end of the table drew their attention away from the quick sketch of a monkey Steve had drawn on another napkin. This young woman had a haughty expression on her otherwise pretty face, glaring down her nose at Elana.

"You shouldn't be here." She stated, venom lacing every word. Hands on her curvy hips, the gold stitching in her emerald dress catching the light from above.

"Ruby, we-"

"No one is talkin’ to you, Steve." She barked then continued glaring at Elana. "I bet you're a real floozy, comin’ in here lookin’ like that. Well news flash, no one wants you or your kind here."

Tears stung in Elana’s eyes, threatening to fall. She knew this would happen. It always happened. There was always someone to remind her she was not one of them, even if her own eyes could see it. She had hoped tonight would be different. That for once, she could fit in.

"I want her here. She's my date."

The lady -Ruby- spun on her heel so quick, her dress flared out. "Bucky," she crooned, her voice sugary-sweet, so different than a moment ago. "You're lookin' like a real Fred Astaire out there tonight. Let's go-"

Bucky did not even look her way as he slid back onto the bench, eyes focused on Elana. "You alright there, doll?"

She nodded numbly, staring at the table. Twirling a strand of hair absent-mindedly around her finger, she tried to force the tears from falling. It was not even the worst insult she had heard hurled at her, but it still cut her to the quick. Every time.

"Why don't we head out, yeah? Steve there looks like he's gettin' a little warm and the music ain't so good tonight." Bucky said gently.

She nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

"Bucky, stay…" Ruby tried one last time but he leveled a glare at her that made her take a step back.

"Take a powder, Ruby, I ain't interested."

Bucky wrapped his hand around Elana's, entwining their fingers as he slid out of the booth with her right behind him. Without even a backwards glance, he led the three of them out of the dance hall. Elana kept her head down the whole time, unable to meet anyone's eyes for fear of what she would see.

The night air was blissfully cool after the heat of the dance hall. It kissed her skin as if trying to help calm her down. At this point, the street was not as busy, everyone mostly inside now. Only a few pedestrians and cars interrupted the quiet scene.

"Elana, I'm so sorry."

"Debería irme. No debería haber venido. Soy tan estúpida." She muttered to herself, not even hearing Bucky's statement. It was a foolish idea to come out. For so long she had tried to fit in, especially as a child. Her mother always told her to be herself and embrace her difference. That was easier said than done. Tonight felt like a taste of it when she was on the dance floor. What things could have been like if everyone was accepted. If where she was from did not matter. She had been so happy dancing with Bucky, this handsome devil who treated her like she was special, holding her hand in front of everyone. Sure, Steve said he danced with a lot of girls but for tonight, she was someone while on his arm. She was someone special.

And oh, did she love the feeling of his hand wrapped around hers. Him holding her close as they danced, his warm breath hitting her neck just right. He was trouble, through and through. Her mother would call him a Casanova and tell her to run the other way. Yet she did not want to. He drew something out of her. An almost recklessness. A desire for more. More in life. To experience life with a passion. Both this new feeling and Bucky’s presence were addicting...and she found herself unable to turn away. At least not for tonight. She wanted to revel in it tonight.

It was not until a hand cupped her cheek and tilted her head up to meet a pair of worried baby blue eyes that she was jolted from her internal spiral.

"Hey, hey. I have no idea what you're sayin' but it don't sound good. Why don't we walk for a bit, mmm? The night's still young."

Wordlessly, she followed. It was then she noticed Bucky was still holding her hand, palms flat against one another's. That realization drew a small smile on her lips. On her other side walked Steve, hands in his pockets but a genuine smile on his face when he caught her eye. Even after all this, these two Brooklyn boys wanted to be with her. With that in mind, she shoved her despair and pain away. Let tomorrow bring what worries that came with it. Tonight she wanted to be reckless without fear of the consequences. Tonight was supposed to be fun.

"Can't believe Ruby would say that. Always thought she was a nice dame." The brunet mused, slipping his suit jacket back on before taking Elana's hand once again.

"She only showed what she wanted you to see, Buck."

"Dance with a girl a couple times and she thinks you owe her or somethin'."

The blond quirked an eyebrow at his friend. "Was it only dancin'?"

"What you gettin' at, Rogers?"

"You ditched some other girl for her once before."

His head swiveled to stare at the smaller man in shock. "I did?"

Elana spoke up. "Sounds like you have quite the selection of dance partners to choose from."

Steve snorted. "Guy has been doll-dizzy since he was twelve."

"What can I say? I appreciate fine art." Bucky said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Don't usually lock lips with paintings or statues…"

"You know what, Rogers!"

Elana laughed as Bucky let go of her hand to race around her and put Steve in a headlock. The two pretended to box for a couple minutes, grins on both their faces. When finished, the champion boxer slid up to her, a rakish smile teasing his lips as he claimed her hand back.

"Well if those gals are fine art, you sweetheart, are a masterpiece." He twirled her around once, making her dress flare out around her legs. "Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?"

"Yes, Bucky."

"Good, I'd hate for you to forget." He winked and the trio started walking again.

"Oh, here." Steve suddenly said, fishing something out of his pocket. He held out his hand almost shyly.

She took the offered item to see it was the napkin with the sketch on it. "Oh, Steve. Muchas gracias." She leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving a red stain behind. "Oops."

"Here." Bucky tossed over a handkerchief to Steve.

She glanced at the napkin one more time before reverently placing it in her clutch. She already knew where she was going to put this in her room so she would always remember this night.

"Oh drat." Steve said after glancing at his watch. "It's almost eleven. I have class early tomorrow."

"Go on, punk. I'll look after her."

Elana hugged Steve and was thrilled when he squeezed her back just as tightly. "I'm so happy to have met you."

"This isn't goodbye, right?"

"I hope not. You have more artwork to show me."

He blushed yet nodded before giving Bucky a quick hug.

"Night, Steve."

"Night, jerk."

Together, they watched Steve walk down the sidewalk, wave back at them then disappear down the next street.

"Wanna keep walkin'?"

She nodded. She knew she should go home. It was getting late and she still had to get back to Queens. Yet walking side by side with this man whom she had only met several hours ago, she found the idea abhorrent. Glancing up at the night sky, only a couple of the stars were visible through the smoke, clouds and street lamps. They were lovely though, a reminder that there were greater things out there, one just had to look for them. At least, that is what her father always said.

"Hey," Bucky's voice pulled her attention back, "I never got to say it earlier but thanks...for havin’ Steve's back earlier today. Punk doesn't know when to quit."

"I'm glad he got in that fight...is that odd? If he didn't, I wouldn’t have met either one of you."

"Alright, this ONE time I'm glad he got in a fight. Though, we probably would have ran into each other eventually."

They walked in comfortable silence for a couple minutes. Two cars passed them separately and only a handful of people walked their way. Otherwise it almost felt like they were alone. It was peaceful, still holding hands and wandering the streets of Brooklyn.

"Y'know, I was kinda hopin' we'd get at least one slow song at the dance hall."

"Me too." She confessed.

"Well, we should!" An idea sparked in his eyes. "Wait here." He moved over to one of the parked cars near them. He tried to open it but it was locked so he moved to the next one. This one opened without hesitation and he slid in. The whole time Elana switched between watching Bucky and scanning the streets for someone to yell at them. What was he thinking? Suddenly music came on, drifting from the radio through the open passenger door.

Bucky stood there, leaning against the car with the biggest grin on his smug face. "Who needs a dance hall?"

She laughed, understanding what he had done. "We’re going to get in trouble."

"No, we ain't. C'mon."

"Oh, Dios mío, yes we are!"

"Dance with me." He cooed, standing before her looking like an Adonis.

With that lazy smirk and enthralling blue eyes staring down at her, refusal was not an option. The words died on her tongue as she stared up at him. The music was slow, a singer crooning about his love. The moment felt like something from a fairytale story her mother would tell her as a little girl. She knew she should go home. Stop this heat that seared through her when she found herself caught in his eyes. Stop the butterflies in her stomach when around him. Stop the way she melted under his touch, his hands always so gentle.

But she wanted this. Right now. To pretend this was her reality. To dance with her prince under the stars. That love did not care about the differences in their skin tones. For when the sun rose and this dream faded, reality would seep back in. Plus, he was a charmer. Doll-dizzy. She would not keep his attention past this night.

For now though, she could pretend. Enjoy the night in a way she never had before.

He placed her hands behind his neck and his on her hips. Standing there under the streetlight and distant starlight, they danced, swaying back and forth. Her head landed on his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath it. So steady and soothing. The world faded away around them, the only things that mattered was their dancing and the music. It wrapped around them like a warm, thick blanket. Enveloping them in a sense of security and vitality. One of his hands slowly traced her spine leaving a trail of fire behind. His cheek pressed against the top of her head. She felt safe...and wanted. A heady feeling that she could sense herself beginning to crave even more. Her hand tangled in the hair, her fingers lightly scraping the back of his neck.

"Say something in Spanish." He whispered, his lips against her scalp.

"Gracias por esto ... todo esto. Ha sido la mejor noche de mi vida".

She looked back up at him, hoping to convey without words what she said. As she lifted her head up, their eyes locked. Tension filled the empty space around them, pulling them closer. For a split second, his eyes drifted to her lips and back up. Her heartbeat began racing anew. Slowly, as if waiting for her to turn away, his head tilted towards hers, his hands gripping her just a little tighter. His breath fanned across her face, warming her inside and out. She swore her heart was going to beat out of her chest. His nose brushed hers, an almost timid action that drew a smile from her. He chuckled silently then somehow pulled her even closer. She closed her eyes, a gasp escaping her when she felt the faintest touch of his lips on the corner of her mouth.

"Hey! Hey, you kids! What ya doin’ with my car?!"

All the tension evaporated like rain drops under the scorching sun.

"Shit...c'mon!" He grabbed her hand and started running away. Holding on tight, she ran next to him, as well as she could while wearing heels. The yells of the car's owner soon a distant sound behind them.

Finally, they stopped two streets later. He let go of her hand, running his hands through his hair and pacing. She leaned against the brick wall, hand over her mouth, giggles spilling forth between gasps of air. Never in her life had she done anything like this. She closed her eyes as the giggles turned into full-body laughter. One hand covered her mouth and the other wrapped around her own waist to try and contain the sound. This night was nothing like she expected but it only seemed to get better and better. This newfound revelry of youthful zeal, this silly recklessness...she wanted more and more of it.

When the laughter dissolved into small chuckles, she wiped her eyes as she opened them, hoping her make-up had not smudged too much. Not that she particularly cared in the moment.

What she saw standing before her killed the laughter on her tongue.

Bucky stood just at arm's length, staring at her like she was the stars in the heavens.

In a single step, he crowded her against the brick wall. "Elana…" he growled, voice low, and it might have been the most exhilarating sound she had ever heard. One of his hands cupped the back of her head, as he lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was gentle, their lips just pressed together. A soft pressure that made her melt into his arms.

He leaned back to press his forehead against hers. His breath just as shaky as hers, both still breathing hard from their run.

"That was my first kiss." She blurted out, immediately regretting the words once they escaped.

He leaned back to look her in the eye. "Really?"

She shrugged nervously. "Not many fellas lining up to kiss a girl like me."

"Their loss, doll face." He smirked, running a thumb over her bottom lip. "May I have the honor of your second kiss ever?"

She giggled and nodded.

This time when their lips touched, it felt like more. The first was like licking the spoon used after mixing cookie dough. A taste of what was to come. The second kiss was eating warm cookies right out of the oven and practically ascending to heaven.

His lips slanted over hers perfectly, as if they were formed just for her. Their mouths moved in tandem, picking up speed. No longer were the kisses sweet and gentle. His tongue traced her bottom lip and she willingly opened her mouth to receive it like a present. These kisses were all-consuming and fiery. It was as if his touch seared into her soul, leaving an imprint there for all eternity.

She knew right away when she met Bucky Barnes, he was trouble. He was the kind of man her mother warned her about. The kind to sweep her off her feet and make her forget the world around her. He was kind, charming and so full of life. Yet she knew even as she was wrapped in his arms, lips pressed against his, that there was one truth that would haunt her. Even if she ignored it for now. That truth would never leave. So she overlooked it, sinking deeper and deeper into his kisses and embrace. Drowning herself in him. With her back pressed against the wall, her hands tangled in his hair and mouths devouring one another, she had never felt more alive.

Tonight, she would choose the fire he poured into her. Tonight, she wanted to enjoy life without fear. Tonight, she wanted to pretend that this night would never end. To thrive in this feeling of passion and life, that nothing could go wrong.

For the truth was one day, he was bound to break her heart.

#marveldiversitychallenge #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky/ofc #bucky fic #Steve Rogers #Hispanic!ofc #POC character #40s!steve #40s!bucky #40s!#1940s #mzwrites

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sunsetcurbed · 3 years

Text

you showed me faith is not blind (miracles happen)

Pairing: Alex/Willie Words: 4,415 Rating: T Chapter Warnings: BRIEF mention of animal death, only a sentence in passing. Chapter: 2/11 read on AO3

Chapter Summary: "Then you would be Alexander Charles Taylor Mercer, Prince of Beasiga."

Alex bobs his head some more. "Yup. Exactly. That. So I'm pretty sure you've got it wrong, at least the father part."

His grandmother—maybe not?—laughs lightly and shakes her head. "I'm quite sure, Alexander. You have your father's eyes."

(2)

The rest of the school day passes uneventfully—just Julie and Alex getting some homework done early while discussing possibilities for their next gigs, that is, the ones they'll play after their Halloween gig at Drake's and their gig at Camelot just two weeks after that. Just as Alex finishes his biology worksheet, the final bell rings signaling the end of the school day. Footsteps thunder throughout the school as students hurried to lockers, and then to busses and cars, but Alex waits patiently at the table with Julie. She frowns at this. "Don't you have to catch your bus?"

"Not today. I'm getting picked up," Alex explains. "But I told them three so all the busses would be gone by then."

Luke joins them then, moving immediately over to Julie to press a kiss to her cheek sloppily, yelling, "midterms are done!"

She laughs, and pats his chest. "Yes, they are. Congratulations."

"Thank you, you too. And Alex! You did i—"

"No," Alex and Julie say at the same time.

Luke frowns and looks between then. Julie glances up at him. "I'll explain on the way home. Alex, do you want us to wait with you?"

"Nah, I'll be fine. You two get home. It's been a long week."

"Definitely," Luke agrees. "We'll see you tomorrow at practice."

Alex nods, and then the two of them take their leave. Settling back down at the table, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and messes around on it until he glances up in the right hand corner and sees it's two minutes to three. He gets up and makes his way outside, relieved to see that he was right about his timing—the busses and the majority of the student traffic are all gone, so whoever is picking him up should have no issue.

He's been standing along the sidewalk for less than three minutes when a polished black limo pulls into the parking lot—purple, gold, and grey flags sticking out of the front and back of the car. He raises an eyebrow as it drives into the student pick up area, and then looks around for whoever it might be here for. In the back of his head, he knows there's a possibility…

There's a girl walking out of the school with her head down, looking at her phone and he really, really hopes—

"Mr. Taylor?"

Shit.

He turns to the voice and sees the driver of the limo out of the limo out at the back door, holding the back door open for him. "If you may."

"Uh, thanks."

It's an awkward ride over—the partition is up so he doesn't get the chance to speak with the driver like he'd (maybe) hoped to, and his phone can only keep his mind so occupied when he's riding in the back of a limo. It's not like he'd about to post this on social media or text his friends about it, anyways. So he's left mindlessly scrolling through instagram, which is boring after a while. He shuts his phone screen off and leans his head back against the headrest. He has no idea where his grandmother is even staying during her visit to LA. It could be a while.

Sooner than he expects though, they're pulling into a drive way for a… a… house? mansion? palace? castle? Alex honestly isn't sure. None of the words feel right. He looks at the surroundings. Whatever it is, it feels out of place here. It's on a normal street, with normal houses and buildings next to it—normal houses that are towered by its reaching gates and normal buildings that are put to shame by its elegant architecture. He sits up and collects his bag that some how drifted to the middle of the limo during the ride and opens the door, slamming it into the driver, who was just about to open the door for him, in the process. Alex gasps. "Oh, my god, I am so sorry!"

"No worries, sir," the driver nods, stepping further back from the door, allowing Alex to push it further open so he can step out.

From there, he makes his way to the front door where he and his backpack are patted down. When they're given the all clear, he's ushered through marble tiled hallways, past a wooden floor library, until they reach a living room with a plush, golden carpet. Alex feels like he should take his shoes off but the person leading him doesn't take theirs off, and doesn't ask him to take his off, so… Alex's shoes stay on.

"Please, have a seat," the man says with a motion at the overly white couch to Alex's left. Alex sits carefully on the couch, resting his bag next to his feet between the table and the couch. He looks back up at the man who is still standing in the entryway. "I am Alden, an attaché for Beasiga."

"Cool," Alex nods. He has no idea what that means. He'll Google it later. "Hey, uh, Alden? What is this place?"

Alden reaches an arm out and gestures around, which Alex thinks is a little unnecessary, but. Well. "This is the Beasiga Consulate."

"Oh," Alex frowns. That, he does know. Well, sort of. He knows it's something similar to an embassy, and he knows an embassy is for diplomats. So—his grandmother must be a diplomat. Meaning she must take much pride in Beasiga meanwhile Alex couldn't even remember the name of the country until Alden said it a minute ago. He certainly wasn't going to know any pub trivia about Beasiga to impress her.

"So—my grandmother… is she—"

"Am I what?"

Alex's neck cricks at how fast he whips it around to find the source of the new voice. At the other entrance of the living room stands an elderly woman in a grey dress that is both simple and elegant. He can see from looking at her from where he's sitting that she's much shorter than Alex, but the way she holds herself makes you doubt that. Most importantly, she has a wide, toothy grin on her face that makes Alex relax into the couch. She looks so genuinely welcoming that he can't help but forget about his worries about Beasiga and pub trivia.

"Alexander," she says. Somehow, it sounds like she's singing and commanding it both at once.

Alex stands from his seat and crosses the room to her. "It's nice to finally meet you," he greets. He's not sure if he should go for a handshake or a hug, but she solves his issues by stepping into his space and reaching up to hug his neck. He leans down and hugs back.

"It's long overdue," she tells him as she steps back. "Now come, sit with me, please. We have much to catch up on, yes?"

For the next while they talk about Alex's life and somehow he doesn't feel overwhelmed about it. He tells her about growing up in Los Angeles, about meeting Luke and Reggie in kindergarten, and then Julie and Flynn in seventh grade. He tells her about forming their band in eighth grade and then about befriending Willie in ninth grade. He goes on to talk about his siblings—Ava and Austin—that his mom has with his step dad, and then his love of English and reading and his inability of all things technological. They some how end up on the topic of his dancing, and he explains that he doesn't dance often, but he loves when he gets to.

Conversation shifts at some point to her life in Beasiga, though she is much more vague than Alex would like her to be. She tells him about her dogs (two Dobermans, Mia and Sophia) and her horses, an entire stable full. They talk about his dad for a while—just superficial things for now, like the fact that he'd never gotten remarried or had another child, and like the fact that his favorite horse was named Charlie, for Alex's middle name. She speaks briefly of her work with the government, just small asides here and there about projects they're working on, and countries they're working with. There's a lot of history that she brings up, but she never seems upset when he doesn't understand her references, at least, not until…

"I don't suppose you've heard of Frederick Alexander Louis Mercer?" his grandmother asks with a deep frown, crossing her ankle behind her other foot carefully.

He frowns. Here's that pub trivia he doesn't know. "No, I can't say I have."

"Frederick was Beasiga's crown prince," she tells him with a meaningful look, which he doesn't understand. She leans forward. "And Frederick was your father."

Alex's mind blanks. "That's… okay," he says, bobbing his head in a quick nod as he presses his lips together and bites the insides of them, trying to will some thoughts back into his mind. "I don't think—I'm not sure you're quite right on that. Because if you were, then—"

"Then you would be Alexander Charles Taylor Mercer, Prince of Beasiga."

Alex bobs his head some more. "Yup. Exactly. That. So I'm pretty sure you've got it wrong, at least the father part."

His grandmother—maybe not?—laughs lightly and shakes her head. "I'm quite sure, Alexander. You have your father's eyes."

"Lots of people have similar features, I mean, only so much diversity can realistically be expected, honestly," Alex rambles. He thinks it makes sense. He's like. 60% sure it makes sense.

"A paternity test was done because of your heritage."

Alex sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth. "Yeah, that one's a little harder to contest."

His grandmother—apparently definitely—smiles at him like he's not making a fool of himself right now. She reaches across the gap between the chair and the couch and places her hand on his. "I am Queen Louisa Mercer, and you, Alexander, are the natural heir to the Beasiga throne."

"… okay."

"Okay?" his grandmother repeats, quirking an elegant eyebrow and drawing her hand back.

Alex shakes his head, getting himself back into it. "I mean—I—uh. Actually, I'm not… really sure what I mean. I… you know I can't be a prince, right? Being a prince means eventually being a king, well, at least in this case it would I think, and being a king means ruling a country and ruling a country means leading people and the only thing I can lead is a beat when I'm with my band. I mean you do realize I have absolutely no experience with… princely or… royal affairs, right? I wouldn't know how to act, or talk, or… no, no. I'm not a prince."

"But you are, dear Alexander," she smiles, "and don't worry about how you speak or behave for now, we have plenty of lessons planned to help with that. Oh, it will take plenty of work but you are certain to become a magnificent prince, how could you not? And oh, you'll love Beasiga, the palace is a beautiful place to live—"

"I'm sorry," Alex cuts her off, "but LA is also a 'beautiful' place to live, with my friends, with the added bonus that it comes without the crushing pressure of ruling a country. And you're speaking as if you know me. You're certain I'll become a magnificent prince? How? Did you get to know me so well in the first year of my life? Because you missed the next fifteen years of my life and if you were to ask around, people who actually know me would laugh at the idea of me ruling a country. Like I said, I'm not a prince. I'm barely even a functioning human."

Without waiting for a response (though he hears her vehement protests), he gathers up his backpack and shoves himself off the couch and hurries through the halls to the front door. He doesn't wait for the doorman to open the door, instead flings it open himself in his rush to get out, out, out.

From there, it's a matter of running down the drive way, out the gate, and as far away from the house (mansion? palace? castle?) as he can before he collapses to the ground and curls in on himself, breaths coming and going raggedly. He pulls out his phone and swipes through his contacts, looking for the least stressful person he can think of. He taps the name and listens to the phone ringing, hugging his knees to his chest as he counts his breaths, in—2, 3, 4. Hold—2, 3, 4, 5, 6—

"Alex?"

"Julie," he exhales, a second too early, but he thinks Julie is more likely to help him now than a breathing exercise. "Julie," he repeats.

"Alex? Shit—what happened?"

Alex laughs mirthlessly. "Oh. So, so much, Jules. I can't even begin… I can't… I don't—It's all—"

"Okay, we don't need to talk about it then," Julie says. "Hey, is anyone with you? Can you tell me where you are? Just—I need to know you're safe." Alex looks up and finds the intersection he's near and rattles it off to her. She's quiet for a moment. "Thank you," she murmurs. "Do you need to do a grounding exercise or do you just need someone to talk to?"

"Just need someone to talk to," Alex says, dropping his head so his forehead is resting on his knees. "I—as much as I'm freaking out, I still feel like everything that happened was a joke or something? So there's anxiety, and it's bad, but it's not… it's not debilitating yet."

"That's good," she says, and Alex can imagine her nodding with her words. "Do you… do you want to talk about what happened? We don't—oh, wait. Willie just texted me back, I texted the group with where you were and he's ten minutes out. He's going to pick you up."

"Oh."

"Do you want me to tell him not to?"

"Uh—no, it's. It's fine." He looks back down the street in the direction that he came from—where his grandmother was currently staying. He's actually surprised no one had chased after him, but he supposes that it's not urgent as they have ways to find and approach him later. He huffs at that, right into the phone, reigniting Julie's worry. "No, no, I'm fine," he reassures her when she asks again if he wants her to call Willie off. "It's not that. It's… I… don't know. It's been a long day, Jules."

"I'm sorry," she says, and she's so sincere that her apology alone makes him feel a little bit better. He smiles, and feels his breathing even out a little bit. "I'm going to stay on the phone with you until Willie gets to you, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Alex nods. He searches his brain for anything that could possibly take his mind off of what just happened. He's not surprised when his thoughts land on music. "Did you and Luke figure out the second verse of Finally Free yet?"

"Oh, my gosh! Yes! I can't believe we forgot to tell you today! We cracked it last night…"

He listens to her babble on excitedly about their new song for the next few minutes until he hears the crunching of tires on pavement. He looks down the street and sees Willie's forest green '02 Accord—completely out of place in this neighborhood—pulling up and smiles. He interrupts Julie in the middle of her sentence, which he knows she forgives him for the exact moment it happens, and thanks her for talking with him and for sending Willie. She bids him goodbye and he pushes himself off the ground and grabs his backpack once he's on his feet. Willie rolls to a stop when he's in front of Alex and Alex can hear the click of the doors unlocking. He looks in the car and sees Willie flash his eyebrows up and down quickly and grin. He smiles back and gets in the car, setting his bag at his feet before buckling himself in.

"Thank you," Alex says in greeting.

"You know I'd do anything for you," Willie shrugs, looking back at the road as he shifts the car into drive. "I was just driving around listening to music anyways."

"Still, I appreciate it. I would have had to call my mom otherwise and I don't really want to speak to her right now."

Willie laughs. "What? You came all the way out here with no way of getting back? And what'd your mom do?"

"Oh, no, someone from… someone was supposed to drive me back but—well. Uh. Anyway. And my mom—she. Let's just say she hasn't exactly been honest with me." Alex fiddles with the ripped threads on the knee of his jeans and tries to ignore the looks he can feel Willie throwing at him every few seconds.

"Hasn't been honest in what way?"

Alex hesitates. On one hand, he really doesn't want to talk about this. It is an especially bad idea to talk about this to Willie because he doesn't want to tell his crush that he's a prince, where it might seem like he's trying to make himself seem impressive for his crush, which he certainly does not want to do. Then again, Willie would have to assume Alex has a crush on him to jump to that conclusion and if Willie assumes Alex has a crush on him, Alex has bigger problems. However, if there's anyone to tell, it would be Willie. Sure, Julie might be the obvious choice, but she'd push him to be honest with Luke and Reggie as well, which he… doesn't want to do. He's not sure if they'd resort to teasing him about it or ending up weird about it, and right now, he doesn't want to deal with either of those things. Willie though. Willie can keep a secret like no one's business. Julie still doesn't know that Alex's little sister accidentally killed her hamster when Julie asked Alex to watch her while Julie's family went on vacation over spring break in the ninth grade. Alex called Willie in a panic and Willie drove him to seven different pet stores until they found an identical hamster with a similar temperament. So, Willie could be trusted.

The question is, though, did Alex want to tell him? To a degree, yes, because this was Willie and despite being scared of saying things that would embarrass himself, Willie always made him feel safe and he wanted to share things with Willie. But also, telling Willie would make it more real. Telling Willie would bring it out from his grandmother's house (mansion? palace? castle?) and into the real world and Willie knowing about it would make it more personal. Right now, the further Willie drove from Alex's grandmother's house (mansion? palace? castle?), the further the anxiety got from him. He worries that if he tells Willie, that anxiety will come back.

But the anxiety will come back anyways, won't it? It's not likely that that's the last he's seen of her and her… crew? And he's going to have to face his mom too, who must know exactly what was happening today. So, maybe it would be nice to have someone on the outside to talk about it with… right?

Alright, so that's decided. He's going to tell Willie.

Alex sucks in a deep breath and it wavers. He goes to speak, but instead, he just lets out a small whimper instead. Willie looks to him, alarmed, and then back to the road. Alex hears the turn signal tick, tick, tocking, and then the car is turning, and then stopping. Willie puts the car in park and twists in his seat to face Alex. "Hey, Alex," he says, reaching a hand over to grab Alex's left hand off his thigh. "Can you look at me?"

Alex looks at him.

"Cool, thanks. You having an attack?"

Alex blinks. Willie is still in focus, and he can feel Willie's hand in his, can feel Willie's thumb rubbing against the back of his hand, can hear the traffic on the streets rather than the blood rushing in his head. He shakes his head no.

"Great. That's great. Do you want to talk about what happened today, or do you wanna go watch me crash and fall off my skateboard at the park while I try and do some gazelle flips?"

Alex laughs and draws in a steadying breath. It's still shaky, but less so. "I want to."

"Okay. Take your time, okay? We've got all the time in the world, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Willie smiles and squeezes his hand. Alex smiles back, but he doubts it comes out looking much like a smile. He looks away and looks out the front window of the car. They're in a drug store parking lot, parked far off to the side away from the clump of all the actual customers' and employees' cars. It gives them some semblance of privacy, yet it also draws attention to them by making them separate. Alex wonders if somehow, him now knowing he's a prince, if he's also somehow separate from everyone else. If something about him has changed, and people's eyes are going to be drawn to him the way they are to a car parked away from the others in a crowded parking lot. On some level, he knows that's ridiculous. Nothing about him has changed. Hell, he hasn't even fully processed or accepted this fact. And yet his world still feels fundamentally altered and he thinks that, somehow, everyone will be able to see that on him somehow.

"Two days ago my mom told me my grandmother was in town and wanted to meet with me," Alex starts, not giving himself any more time to think. He's staring at a license plate number but even looking directly at it he couldn't tell you what it was. "It—well, my paternal grandmother. I know you know that Mike is my step-dad but when I was a year and a half my biological dad and my mom got divorced and I never heard from him, or my paternal grandparents, again apart from the yearly birthday and Christmas gifts. And you might remember I got the news that my biological dad passed away at the end of July." Here, Willie hums. "I thought, maybe my grandmother wants to connect with her only remaining family. That's how it started out, too. It really seemed like that was her intention.

"But then she asked about—fuck, I can't even remember his full name. But she asked me about the prince of Beasiga. The prince of Beasiga, who was my father." Willie's thumb stops rubbing Alex's hand but Alex doesn't let that stop him. "Now, she mentioned earlier in the conversation that my father never remarried, that I was his only child, that he was her only child, so that made… so I'm a prince? Of Beasiga. And the natural heir. And she wants me to take prince lessons so I can one day become king and rule Beasiga, which I doubt she'd think would be a good idea if she could see me now. Sure, give the kid with panic attacks an army!"

It was quiet for a long moment and then Willie squeezes his hand. "Beasiga doesn't have an army. They only have a national guard." Alex snaps his head around to look at him. "I did a project on the country in tenth grade world history."

"See?!" Alex cries. "You know more about this country than I do! And they expect me to lead it?!"

Willie frowns. "Well, they'd give you lessons—"

"You—what you think I should go lead this country?" Alex gapes.

"Wha—n-no! I just meant that if you took those lessons you'd learn what I had learned. They wouldn't send you in empty handed," he says, and Alex notices Willie's thumb has started rubbing circles on the back of Alex's hand again. He feels some tension seep out of his body and he relaxes back into the car's seat and closes his eyes.

Alex sighs and brings his right hand up, pressing his thumb and forefinger into his eyelids until he starts to see white. "My mom… She never told me. Sixteen years. Even after he died and she probably knew there was a possibility of this happening. How is that fair? I deserved to know about this."

"You did," Willie agrees.

The car grows silent after that. Only the noise of the stalled engine fills the air. Alex brings his hand away from his face and looks over to Willie, who is watching him with warm eyes. The weight of Willie's hand in his is comforting, enough that Alex has the split second thought of leaning over the gearshift and kissing his friend. That thought is shoved out of his mind as soon as it comes. His friendship with Willie is something he's never willing to risk. Well, 'risk' implies there's a chance that Willie might return his feelings, which Alex is sure he doesn't. Kissing Willie would be purely self-indulgent and Alex can't do that. It'd be nice, but—

"You're taking all of this very well," Alex says, breaking the silence of the car while also silencing his thoughts. "What are you actually thinking?"

Willie grins and squeezes Alex's hand. "Oh, yeah. Very well. My best friend is a long lost prince, I'm not freaking out at all," Willie rolls his eyes. "I'm… thinking that I've always thought you were regal, so this—"

"Oh, come on," Alex rolls his eyes.

Willie leans back laughing, eyes crinkling at the edges and Alex's stomach flips. After a few seconds Willie sobers up and his laughter subdues into a soft smile. He sends a wave through his arm, shaking Alex's in turn. "I'm thinking that this is a stressful situation but that you're gonna get through it. And that I'm gonna be here for you, okay?"

Alex squeezes Willie's fingers. "Okay."

Willie slips his hand from Alex's and readjusts in his seat so he's sitting facing forward again. His hand falls on to the gearshift. "I think you've had enough for one day, huh? Wanna go get tea?"

"Fucking please."

#willex fic #willex #willex fanfic #jatp fic #jatp fanfic #ysmfinb #my writing

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beg-for-it-black · 4 years

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LDWS Week 1 Voting

Guys! Voting is HERE! As of right now, voting will stay open until Monday at 6pm EST. You all have 1 vote for most favorite and 1 vote for least favorite drabbles. Participants are encouraged to vote, but you may NOT vote for yourselves! I should explain a bit more how this works, I guess. The winner isn't decided by whoever gets the most most fav votes. Each most fav vote gets +1. Each least fav gets -1. Once those are tallied, a winner will be determined. If there's a tie, there will be a tie breaker so that there is one winner and one person eliminated. Please, try not to vote on a drabble just because you like a pairing. Take into account the quality of the writing and how well it fits the prompt! When you vote, just send me a message stating the number and the title of the drabbles. Do not send messages on anon. The prompt this week was "Well that was a bad idea" and had to be between 440-450 words.

#ldws #ldws voting

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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 6 years

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Love is Love - Gerard Way x Reader

Request: I need,,,, more Punk!Gerard in my life,,,, okay but seriously- can I request a Punk!Gerard fic? Also can the reader be male and can it be angst?? Thankies bro!! Take your time on it!!!!

Reader: male

Warnings: homophobic slurs, Spoiler Alert for ‘Love Simon’

Word count: 3 424

A/N: I watched ‘Love Simon’ (so spoiler alert) a while ago and got seriously upset about his friends’ behavior after he got outed. And I wanted to put things right in a way, because there has to be some weird shit going on with me if I don’t befriend the forcibly outed kid when I notice none of their friends are around.

Your eyes flickered over the screen again and again, not able to believe what you were reading. You reloaded the page, just to be sure, but the black letters were still clearly being displayed on the school’s anonymous confession website.

“Gerard Way is a fag”

You were not sure which part of the statement was disturbing you the most. Obviously this was not the way someone wanted to come out. You would not want to come out like that at least. So someone had outed this boy, probably without his consent. Someone who was, judging by the word they had chosen, homophobic.

It was no secret that your school was not the most LGBT+ friendly ground in town, but it still disgusted you. And then there was that name. You had never really talked to Gerard before, but you knew he was in art class with one of your friends. Apparently he was pretty good a drawing. And he would definitely not have been on top of your ‘who might be gay but not out’-list. You did not really have a list, neither on paper nor in your mind, but Gerard really was not within the first twenty names you would have said if someone had asked you who you thought was gay on your school. Of course you could not just look at people and tell if they were homosexual, but being gay yourself, you would have expected some sort of instinct or something kick in. Apparently not.

Anyway, Gerard was one of the lonely punk students at your school. You knew he had a brother, Mikey, but he was younger and not yet on the same school, his friend Ray had moved away before summer break and other than him you had never seen anyone talk to Gerard.

You wondered if he knew. Did he just sit in front of his laptop, like you? Was his heart beating faster, his chest imploding, tears falling down his cheeks? You knew that would be your reaction if someone outed you, especially like that. ‘Gerard Way is a faggot’, who would write, say, or even think something like that? Had people no respect for each other? Why could some people not just accept that love is love? On the other hand, you knew why you were not out. Because there were too many people who were not tolerant, and you were not even sure if your friends would have your back.

~*~

You had kind of hoped that Gerard’s sexuality would not be topic number one when you walked to school with your friends on the first day of the new school year. But the post was barely a week old, and people were too excited to see Gerard, now that they knew this thing about him, that seemed to change the way they looked at him. Idiots.

The lunch room was as crowded as you remembered. People pushed around and tried to get their favorite spots in the room. You sat at a table close to the door, a warm breeze of late summer air blowing past your bare arms.

“Okay, but seriously? I always thought something was weird about him,” your friend Gina declared, placing her tablet down next to yours and sliding into the bench, her knee brushing against yours.

“But he a girlfriend last year, right,” Paul, another one of your friends replied, making space for Mark, the fourth in the group.

“Imagine how she must be feeling right now,” he said, looking across the hall to where the girl was sitting.

“Imagine how he must be feeling right now,” you answered, not being able to stay quiet any longer. “Imagine some ass posts something so personal about you, how would you feel?”

Your blood was boiling, had been since you had seen that post last week, but within the last hours, you really, really had gotten very angry. Especially at whoever had submitted that post. And since the submission box of the website posted automatically, no one had checked it before it had been thrown out there, probably ruining this poor boys holiday, if not even high school time.

“It’s something people deserve to know though,” Mark shrugged.

“Deserve? What’s wrong with you man,” you wanted to jump up, shout, shake some sense into your friend, but you had to stay calm. “What next? Should everyone wear a sign around their neck, saying ‘straight’, or ‘gay’ or ‘bi’ or ‘pan’ or whatever?”

“Well, he’s just trying to say it’s not normal,” Paul jumped in, making you even angrier.

“Normal? Of course it’s normal, it’s love. Love’s normal. It’s just not as common,” you argued. Shit, you were seriously upset now. You felt personally attacked. And how should you not? They were basically insulting you. They just did not know it.

“It’s just a little freakish,” Gina said, definitely not helping.

“Freakish, how can-“

In that moment all noise around you stopped. People grew quiet and the white noise of clicking forks against porcelain faded, everyone staring at the door. Confused you turned around as well, and were met with the sight of a very pale Gerard Way. His long, black hair fell into his eyes, his shoulders were slumped and his black jacket was pulled tightly around his body, like a shield. He looked so lost and even a little scared, it broke your heart. And for the first time you noticed how pretty he actually was. It was a macabre beauty, dark circles under his eyes, greasy hair, looking a like a beaten dog, but he was beautiful. He would probably look breathtaking if he had a good night’s sleep, a little bit of sunlight, and a shower. You wondered what his smile looked like, if his eyes would sparkle along, before realizing that now was probably one of the worst moments to realize you had just started crushing on him. After all you just had a discussion about homophobia with your friends.

About a hundred pairs of eyes followed the pale boy as he walked over to the serving counter and paid for a plate with pasta. Slowly the conversations started picking back up, but your eyes still followed Gerard. He looked around for a moment before sitting at the end of a table, a few seat away from a group of seniors. They stuck their heads together, before they all got up, carrying their full tablets to the next table. You wanted to run over and scream at them, but you stayed seated, instead just throwing another glance at Gerard. His head hung low, hair covering his face. And then you realized he was alone. No one sat with him. No one was there to talk to him, to comfort him.

“Look who’s in the house! It’s our faggot!” someone, doubtlessly one of the brainless jocks, screamed through the room, earning laughs left and right. Even your three friends laughed. “Wanna suck my dick?”

Enough was enough, you decided. Without another word, ignoring the questions of your friends, you got up and grabbed your tablet. Your mind was clouded with rage as you walked over to the almost empty table. Only the loud slamming of your plastic tablet against the table pulled you back into reality.

Gerard’s head shot up at the noise, wide, hazel eyes staring up at you in fear. You ignored him and sat down in front of him, continuing your lunch without a word. When he was still staring at you after almost a minute you looked up.

“This seat is not taken, is it,” you asked, lifting your eyebrows.

A smile tucked at Gerard’s lips. Holy shit, he looked beautiful when he smiled.

“It is now,” he answered, his cheeks hinting at a tinge of pink.

“Good,” you said, smiling back at him before you continued eating.

~*~

You only realized that you had not thought of the consequences of your actions during the following days. After you had had lunch in silence, you finally started talking to Gerard, about art and music, about your families, about anything but his sexuality or his outing. And you noticed how much you had in common, yet how different you were.

During the following days, you started to hang out more with Gerard, during school, and after school. And what else would you have expected than an increasing number of homophobic slurs being thrown your way. Of course everyone assumed you were gay now, just because you hung out with someone who was. They were not wrong, but the rudeness, the unacceptance, the brutality of their words hurt you more than you wanted to admit to yourself.

So you stayed strong, during school at least. Gerard had it a lot worse than you, so you stayed strong for him. He sometimes told you to stay away from him, for your own sake, but you just laughed at that.

In fact it turned out that it had become impossible for you to stay away from him. A force stronger than gravity drew you towards him, and while you tried to convince yourself that you were not already head over heels for the dark haired punk, deep down you knew that that was a lie.

So you found yourself lying awake at night. The insults of the day made your throat tighten, your eyes burn and your heart heavy, but then you remembered Gerard, looked at the glowing display of your mobile portraying his profile picture, and you knew it was worth it.

It was yet another sleepless night, the bright screen of your mobile illuminating your face, when suddenly the door to your room slowly opened. You sat up in your bed, trying to spy through the darkness.

“(Y/n), are you still awake,” you heard the familiar voice of your mother whisper.

“Yeah, you can come in,” you answered, turning on the light on your bedside table.

Your mother was living alone with you in the small house, and judging by the time your alarm clock displayed she had just come home from her shift in the hospital where she worked as a nurse.

“Everything okay, dear,” she asked, stepping into the room. Doubtlessly she had noticed your red eyes as she strode over to the bed and sat down on the blanket next to you.

“Yeah- I mean… not really, it’s just-“ you took a deep breath. You had thought these words through countless times, always thought how you wanted to come out to her, when, with which words. “Did I tell you about Gerard?”

“He’s a new friend of yours, right,” she recalled correctly.

“Yes, he- ahm… he’s gay, you know,” you carefully watched your mother’s expression as you told her about Gerard’s sexuality, but she just listened without showing any sign of emotional reaction. “He got outed during the last week of holidays, and… well, school’s pretty much hell for him right now.”

She nodded understandingly.

“The first day after holidays, he was sitting alone at lunch, and literally everyone stared at him, or talked about how being gay is freakish, and I just got… so… angry. So I went to sit with him, and yeah, that’s how I know him.”

“That was nice of you, I’m sure he’s glad to have you,” you mother told you, gently patting your arm when she noticed how upset you were about that topic.

“But since we started hanging out… people… they think I’m gay too, and I get all these insults and all this… I don’t even know what to call it… hate? I walk through a corridor, and people just yell stuff, so Gerard asked me to stop hanging out with him, so I wouldn’t get… you know, hurt,” you stuttered. You didn’t want to stop hanging out with Gerard, you didn’t want to stop being friends with him. You wanted to get to know him better, you wanted to be closer to him, you wanted so much more than just friendship, but he tried to push you away. And you had to share your thoughts with someone, and your mother was the best choice for that, at least at the moment. But first of all you had to tell her something else, something that was bigger than the thing with Gerard.

Your mother was still thinking about your words, quietly nodding when you continued, your throat tight, your voice wet from tears.

“I’m in love with him,” you confessed, biting your lip so it would not quiver, “I’m in love with Gerard, mum. And I’ve been in love with other boys before. I’m, I’m-“

You couldn’t say it. Something inside you fought against that word, that label. Love is love, why did you have to label yourself?

“You are my son,” your mother finished the sentence for you. “You are my son and you are beautiful and perfect and I feel very honored that you talk to me about these things.”

She wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. Her shirt still smelled of the disinfectant of the hospital, a smell that reminded you of your childhood. She patted your back for a while, whispering how proud she was of you.

“So…” you pulled away, your face heated from crying, your eyes burning and your voice hoarse. “About Gerard, what do you think should I do?”

“What do you want to do,” your mother asked back.

You watched her, expected her to look differently at you now that you had come out, like all the people looked differently at Gerard now. But she just looked at you like she always had, with so much love in her eyes, the way only a mother can look at you.

“I want to be with him,” you told her, and you really, really wanted to be with him.

“Then tell him, tell him exactly that,” she smiled and patted your knee while you nodded.

“You knew, didn’t you,” you suddenly realized. “You knew I’m into boys.”

A mysterious smile played around her lips. “Not really, I suspected it sometimes.”

~*~

For the first time in this school year you felt actually confident when you entered the school building. You would tell Gerard how you felt about him, that you wanted him to be your boyfriend, to be his boyfriend. If he said no? Okay, not cool, but you could deal with that. You wouldn’t just leave him alone in the mess that he was in due to him being outed. You would stay by his side, if he wanted that. And if he felt the same way? Then you would probably die of a heart attack, but that would be worth it.

You had showered and put on your favorite deodorant, your worn out Smashing Pumpkins shirt and some comfortable jeans. You felt ready to deal with whatever fate threw your way. Until you reached Gerard’s locker.

Black spray paint letters spelled out the words ‘fag’ and ‘cocksucker’. You wanted to vomit. For a while you stood next to Gerard who stared at his locker in silence. At first you felt paralyzed. You wanted to wish the slurs away, wanted to rip the door of the locker off and beat these bastards up with it, you wanted to delete all memory of this from Gerard’s brain. But none of this was within the range of your capacity, so once you had stared at the locker for long enough, you grabbed Gerard’s wrist and dragged him to the director’s office.

It turned out to be a long conversation. The director listened to your story, which you told from the beginning, just to make sure he understood everything. Gerard just sat in his chair, head hanging low, wishing to be invisible. Then the director made Gerard tell his side of the story. The man in the big chair said some well-meant words of encouragement and told you that there was nothing he could do.

You stared at him disbelievingly.

“Are you seriously telling me that you can do nothing against bullies who insult and hurt and mentally scar one of your students,” you asked, totally forgetting who you were talking to.

“You don’t say it, maybe not even think it consciously, but somewhere inside this messed up brain of yours there is this rule that states that homosexuals, probably transgender kids as well, are worth less than your ‘normal, everyday’ student” you drew the quotation marks into the air. “You know who was gay? Oskar Wilde, and you teach his literature in school. You know who else was gay? Alan Turing, the father of modern computers. Hell, Turing even killed himself because of the way society treated him. And now everyone pities him. Do you really want to be the kind of person who tells a kid they’re sick, or a freak or whatever fucked up insult your mind comes up with? Do you want to be the one who stands in front of the world, declaring love is wrong? Because that’s all it is, love. Being gay is loving, being bi is loving, being lesbian is loving! It’s just the ‘wrong gender’ you love. Wrong the fuck! It’s society that’s wrong if they think love can ever be wrong. Not talking about pedophiles or the fucked up abusive kind of love, I’m talking about mutual love. And maybe it hasn’t come to your notice yet, but if you think discriminating against gays is some hip trend, then surprise! It’s not and your views are obsolete. The UK, Germany, Australia, Sweden, France, countless other countries, do you know what they have in common? Same sex marriages are legalized. The states too, by the way. Because these governments seem to get what neither you, nor your homophobic student body, get: that it’s just love after all, and that’s the bloody truth!”

There was a stunned silence after you had spoken, and for a moment you were afraid that you would get suspended or something, but then the director nodded and agreed before promising he would take care of the matter.

When you were finally out of the stuffy office, standing in an empty corridor, you took a deep breath. You could feel Gerard’s eyes on you, so you looked over at him.

“Those were some pretty powerful words in there,” he complimented with a smirk, a smirk that was so soft and gentle and adoring that you wanted to kiss him here on the spot.

“Thanks,” you smiled.

“It almost sounded like… please don’t take this the wrong way, like you knew what you were talking about.”

“Being afraid of getting hurt for loving someone of the same gender,” you wondered and he nodded. “Well… let’s say it was pretty easy since the person I love sat right next to me.”

Gerard’s eyes widened for a moment as he realized the meaning of your words and he gasped for air.

“You, you are… you-“ A smile brighter than any you had seen before spread over his face, lighting up the whole room.

“I’m gonna kiss you now, if that’s okay,” you told him, unable to keep your own grin under control.

When Gerard nodded furiously, you gently took his face into your hands and pressed your lips against his. They were soft, tasted a bit of Tabaco and coffee. Your heart was hammering in your chest and you were running out of breath faster than you liked. Your head was spinning and you hoped that holding onto Gerard’s face was enough to keep you standing. When you pulled away, he chuckled slightly.

“Technically I was sitting on your left,” he whispered into your ear.

Confused you turned your head to look at him, almost forgetting what you wanted to say as you met his beautiful, shining eyes.

“What?”

“You said ‘the person you love sitting right next to you’, but I sat on your left,” he winked.

“Idiot,” you giggled, gently nudging his shoulder, “you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Gerard agreed, sounding incredibly pleased knowing that his feelings were being returned.

In that moment the bell rang and you heard chairs being moved around on the floor, and chatter growing louder behind the still closed doors.

Warm, soft fingers intertwined with yours, making your heart flutter.

“Shall we,” Gerard asked.

You leant forward, pressing your lips against his again quickly before the first doors flung open and revealed you to the rest of the students.

“Yeah, let’s show ‘em how it’s done.”

#gerard way x reader #gerard way #gerard way fluff #gerard way x reader fluf #gerard way x reader fluff #male!reader #punk!gerard #high school #high school au #coming out #fanfiction #fanfic #cute #fluff #support

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sailor-cresselia · 5 years

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Zi-O 25 and 26: Oh boy is this arc a doozy!

So, over in Black Woz’s Storytime vault? That clock just advanced again.

Regulus is unseasonably bright… it’s early. Just like the Dai Mazines.

The Day of Oma is drawing near… and it seems to be closer than it would have been if the timeline wasn’t being mucked around with.

Hn. We closed the last episode with Swartz pulling out the Another Zi-O watch. And now we have… Another OOO? What are you doing here?

And why are you recreating the Another Build watch from that poor, abused, basketball player?

And using it?

And becoming Another Build?

… So Another Zi-O is, by his nature of being an Another Rider, a bootleg. Meaning he’s ripping off Zi-O’s ability to copy other riders powers.

… It’s a good thing that Tsukasa made his own watch somehow, because if we had to deal with an Another Decade? That would be a nightmare. (Will be a nightmare? There’s no saying what this season’s going to do.)

Black Woz: “Okay, I thought we’d be better off with Geiz and Tsukuyomi being around you, but I just realized that it means I have to actually let you know things are going down, without being cagey about it, so. Whoops.”

We cut to the apartment where the former Another Ex-Aid lives. In an eerie synchronicity with his initial creation, he’s being wheeled into an ambulance, as unconscious as the former Another Build.

‘Another Build’ is defeated, revealing ‘Another Ex-Aid’, and Black Woz realizes that they can’t win this right now.

Whoever this man is, the one who was just Another Build/Ex-Aid? Well, aside from presumably really being Another Zi-O, he also seems to know Sougo. By his full name. No, that’s not ominous at all.

!!! We’ve finally got a location for where those stairs from Episodes 2 and 21 are! They lead down from a shrine, which appears to be where Geiz and Tsukuyomi are currently staying. And apparently there’s an Another Woz? I think you messed up your translation there, O-T. I think that you might have meant ‘Another OOO’.

(Yeah, that’s an error on O-T’s part. I’m starting to use their MKVs at this point, instead of the 720’s, so they didn’t catch that until after that was encoded.)

Geiz goes to stop the casualties from piling up, but Tsukuyomi doesn’t seem to think that he’ll be able to do what he has to if he encounters Sougo. Doesn’t think that he’ll be able to defeat Zi-O. She says that, specifically: he’d encounter Sougo, but have to defeat Zi-O.

And I’ve noticed that Geiz still hasn’t used Sougo’s name… even in the last arc, he sort of just… dodged referring to Sougo by any name.

That is some poor green-screening to put Sougo against the night sky, there. Granted, it’s one of his dream sequences, so that doesn’t help matters.

A dream sequence with Regulus shining brightly overhead, as Zi-O II has a very one-sided fight against Rider!Geiz.

(Have we found where our ‘into the drink’ battle is going to take place?)

Sougo’s not wrong when he says that the fight was ‘peaceful’, though, is he? It seemed a little more like they were putting on an act than, say, whatever The Day of Oma is actually supposed to be.

Although, the first thing it reminded me of was the Eiji vs Ankh fight towards the end of OOO… remember? When Eiji was quickly losing himself to PuToTyra, and Ankh, in one of his rare Full Greeed appearances, was essentially trying to bring him back?

A purple rider, at risk of becoming his own enemy, fighting a red ally-of-convenience turned friend, huh?

… D’ya think they were trying to get at least some people to draw that apparel – er, parallel, by using Another OOO specifically as the first copy to show up in the episode?

Ohhh. Another Fourze/Faiz is working at an observatory now. That’s so fitting… especially since it lets us know that other people are noticing the strange happenings in the night sky. And that Another Riders don’t remember being Another Riders, either, much like the Real Riders.

(Which I’m still basically praying isn’t actually true, mind you, but regardless. Not actually the topic at hand. Yet.)

Man, the CG in this episode so far is not good! There’s the blatant haloing around Sougo in that dream sequence, around Geiz in his transformation here, and base form Zi-O was painfully obviously CG when he was putting on the Build Armor earlier.

Sougo: “Geiz, wait, the finisher won’t work, he’s not actually-”

Geiz: “Shut up and give me the watch!”

Poor communication gets people knocked out of their transformations.

White Woz’s attacks are as brutal as ever – including somehow using Kikai’s powers to make satellite dishes fire lasers at ‘Another Ex-Aid.’ His battle theme does not help in the slightest. It’s creepy and ominous and I always get nervous when it plays.

Kakogawa Hiryuu. He definitely knows Sougo from somewhere, but the question is where?

Or, maybe that’s not the question. Because while he says that he and Sougo are fated to cross paths over and over… Sougo doesn’t recognize him.

Sougo doesn’t seem to be able to keep Hiryuu, as a person, in his mind as soon as he leaves the area.

Not if his reaction when Geiz asks if Sougo knows who he is is any indication.

“Uh, who?”

Hm. The Geiz Revive form is designed to defeat ‘the overlord.’ It won’t awaken unless Geiz shows the will to do that.

…Can that refer to just ‘defeat Oma Zi-O, the evil ruler’, or does it have to refer to ‘defeat Kamen Rider Zi-O, civilian alias Tokiwa Sougo’?

Aw, Another Wizard is performing magic still, in the fixed timeline! Good for him! I mean, less good than usual, since Hiryuu’s on his way, but still!

GASP.

Uncle Junichiro Tokiwa is going to tell us the forbidden Sougo Backstory!

(I’m so pumped about this I actually bothered to look up his name for once.)

Sougo’s been living with his uncle for ten years, since 2009. His parents are ‘no longer with us.’

The piano version of Over Quartzer just started up again.

At the magic restaurant, Sougo admits that he’s kind of looking forward to the Another Rider appearing, because he might get to see Geiz and Tsukuyomi again. He’s lonely, and he knows that’s an awful way to think. Black Woz is encouraging of thinking that way though.

Sougo is the only one on his own side. Everyone else has an agenda for or against him.

There was a bus accident in 2009, and the newspaper article that Tsukuyomi pulls up mentions something about ‘unknown number of families’ being missing. Sougo and Hiryuu were the survivors. Going into a quick ‘camera based google translate’ look at the article… Looks like there was a large bus fire, something about a tunnel, black smoke obscuring everything, geez, this is brutal.

The piano version of Over Quartzer stopped when the shot changed from ‘Geiz and Tsukuyomi talking’ to a shot showing the article.

Oooh, the ‘tense atmosphere’ music noticeably cut out immediately after White Woz asked Geiz what they were going to do. With a discordant beat and everything. There was a silent shot of Geiz, and then the scene changed to Sougo and Black Woz in the restaurant.

Welp, Hiryuu’s after Another Wizard, and might have gotten his powers? Or at least a portion of them. He seems disappointed, but not surprised that Sougo doesn’t remember him. He’s already got Another Gaim, as well.

So that accounts for Build, Ex-Aid, Faiz, Wizard, OOO, and Gaim. Notably, we only saw the Faiz watch appear, not Fourze. That leaves Fourze (maybe), Ghost, and Ryuga completely unaccounted for. ...Ryuga’s a bit tricky, sir, I don’t think that’s a ‘remnant of power’ that you’ll be able to get your hands on.

Toei: “Look, we had to cut down the budget for the transformations this week, since we’ve had just SO MANY in this one episode.”

(AKA, the Woz and Geiz transformations are both poorly greenscreened.)

OKAY THEN. The Quiz finisher failed explosively, leading to ‘Another Gaim’… dissolving into four black, smoky, parka ghosts, which fuse into ‘Another Ghost’. So that leaves Fourze and Ryuga… and possibly the three future riders, but I can’t be sure there.

I still really like Another Ghost’s appearance.

OOF. ‘Another Ghost’ became… well, Another Zi-O by placing his personal Another Watch near where Ghost’s driver would have read an Eyecon… at which point he becomes Another Zi-O, with a barely corrupted version of the Ziku Driver. His watch is still visible. Just like Actual Zi-O’s.

The teeth are creepy, as is the fact his face looks like it’s showing muscles. But what’s most unsettling is that I don’t see the lenses/dials/gadgety bits that, thus far, each and every single Another Rider has had as eyes.

He’s the closest we’ve had to the real thing, actually. And, true to the Zi-O design labeling everything? He’s got 2019 written three times. One on his right eye, one in the center of his chest, and one on his belt. You know, where the real Zi-O has it. (The name Zi-O is on his right eye, for the record.)

Heure sees the two Zi-O’s about to face off… and seems to be booking it the heck out of there. Don’t blame ya, kid, run! Before Swartz and Hora use you again!

Nope, wait, never mind, he’s running straight to them. (Please develop some self preservation instincts. You may be a slightly sadistic little punk, but I’d prefer you not have to die.)

Ohhh. That ‘getting the others out of the ring’ theory I had for Swartz’s motive wasn’t quite right, but the ‘choosing the new king’ motive he gave wasn’t quite true, either.

It looks like he’s long since picked his horse for the race – Kakogawa Hiryuu, alias Another Zi-O, alias “The one to unite all Another Riders.”

He can’t take powers that didn’t exist, after all. What better way to create a Dark counter to someone who uses his predecessors powers… than to make someone who does the exact same thing?

Heure and Hora didn’t know that was the plan.

Geez, Another Zi-O has the ‘label ALL the things’ aesthetic down to a tee. ‘2019’ is on his left shoulder blade, and ‘Zi-O’ is on his right. And the year is on his forehead, where for Zi-O it has ‘Kamen.’

And, uh, Sougo, buddy. I don’t think you’ve thought through this ‘I can see your future’ announcement? I mean, nobody else has been able to do the same before now, but maybe don’t let people know you’re predicting their movements? Just as a general rule?

Especially when they’re copping your skillset?

But! As a bit of fodder for ‘power copying doesn’t actually work the way they’ve been told’?

We have Another Zi-O right here, and Regular Zi-O isn’t having any of the issues that Build, Cross-z, and Ex-Aid did with regards to sparking and losing their transformation while fighting their duplicates.

Oooh, but we do have it happening to his watch in the closing screen. It goes from Ex-Aid and Geiz on the sides, and Zi-O in the center… to the glitching effect of a rider losing their powers happening to the Zi-O watch, replacing it with the Another Zi-O version.

SPOOKY.

… ON TO EPISODE 26!!!

...Black Woz? Why do you have a copy of the Orange Geiz Revive armor in your storytime vault? (The clock continues advancing visibly)

Oh. Wow. Sougo got knocked out of his transformation. By a copy of his own finisher, and the person who dealt it is nowhere to be found.

White Woz continues to be awful… “The Revive watch not activating is all the proof I need that you’ve lost the will to fight. You’d better hurry and find it… how else could you face Tsukuyomi again?”

(The OP still refuses to give music spoilers, but I get the feeling I’m going to be hearing “Future Soldier” toward the end of this episode.)

(Spoiler alert from 8:30 am Sam to 7 am Sam: You did not get to hear “Future Soldier.”)

Hm. While Sougo’s propped himself up on the lamppost, incredibly passed out, he has the ‘premonition’ of that fight on the beach again. It seems like more of an actual fight this time… but the biggest difference is that the first time hew as there, the sky was crystal clear. This time, there’s a thin cloud cover forming over the stars… including Regulus.

The Time Jackers are watching while Tsukuyomi heads to April 24, 2009. But, um, completely off topic question… Are those three just, like, renting a penthouse apartment? Because I’m starting to get the impression they live there, with the chairs and such on this roof, and Hora and Swartz relaxing inside last episode.

See? SEE?! Heure’s with me! Swartz hasn’t told them everything. Maybe hasn’t told them anything.

He has a whole other motive here… but what is it?

(History is told by the winners, and nobody has won yet.)

But why does Black Woz recognize Hiryuu’s name?

OH NO, IT’S BABBY SOUGO IN DINOSAUR PAJAMAS.

Oh… Jeez, the bus accident happened literally days before his 9th birthday. The accident is April 24th, and he was born April 28th. (Thanks, episode one! Now we have ~two~ main Neo-Heisei riders with exact canonical birthdays!)

Oh, this is incredibly painful to watch. Junichiro said he’d take Sougo in pretty much immediately, and Sougo came out of that accident a lot better off than Hiryuu did.

(Yeah, fine, Uncle Junichiro’s earned his name. I still don’t entirely trust him, but I’ll start using his name.)

The Piano version of Over Quartzer starts up when 8!Sougo says his parents are dead… and Hiryuu’s looking out his hospital room at the whole conversation. The part that would be the lyrics kicks in when the nurse starts talking to a fuming Hiyruu. It continues through to when Geiz and Tusukyomi hang up the phone from updating each other.

I just like that Tsukuyomi parked her Time Mazine in a regular garage. That’s just one of those little touches that’s really cute.

On the less cute, more worrying side… we didn’t see her reactions to Geiz saying he couldn’t use the Geiz Revive watch.

Geiz, justifiably, doesn’t tell the clearly anxious, clearly scared Heure where Tsukuyomi went. That’s fair – Hora played everyone like a fiddle just last arc… including Heure.

I really do think that Heure wants out… but I was thinking the same about Hora, so, maybe he doesn’t? But I don’t think he’s nearly as good of a liar as she is, so this is more likely to be real concern. Heure doesn’t know all of the details, but he wants to.

He’s sick of all of the misdirection.

Ohhh. Hayase quite Magic Cafe Aqua, and went to go see Magic House… the theatre he used to work at. The one he became Another Wizard to save. And now he’s starting to remember his days as Another Wizard.

(Also, it’s really sad to see this place abandoned like it is now.)

Another Wizard… is now accounted for.

Okay, so Hiryuu is flat out planning to kill Sougo. That’s… ‘nice.’ Even ‘nicer’ is his reason.

They were both on the bus – apparently a field trip, judging by the number of small children in the other seats. They were sitting near each other. “A woman in white shouted his name, and pulled the trigger.” The visuals are a Faiz Phone X, a white sleeve, and Tsukuyomi’s voice shouting ‘Sougo’. The hand holding the phone has nail polish, though… does Tsukuyomi wear nail polish? It’s a dark color…

Him telling Sougo about this is intercut with Geiz traveling to 2009. “What if it wasn’t an accident?”

What if it was a pre-emptive assassination attempt?

He’s no stranger to those, after all.

Geiz pulls up along the wildy swerving bus… and Tsukuyomi is on it. Holding a Faiz Phone X, yelling Sougo’s name… and pulling the trigger. The back corner of the bus is on fire as it enters the tunnel.

… Geiz doesn’t catch up before the bus seemingly hits the wall and explodes.

… there were two survivors of the bus accident. Two eight-year-old boys.

There was no mention in the article of an 18-year-old woman.

I think we’ve just found Geiz’s driving force to use Geiz Revive.

How does he interrupt the Zi-O vs Zi-O battle? A flying punch to Another Zi-O’s shoulder. Which stops him from attacking a downed (albeit still transformed) Zi-O II. But this is while Geiz isn’t transformed.

That punch had the ‘superpower force’ effect, too. The one that we usually only see when the two boys are suited up… or that one time, after Quiz, when they were finally explaining exactly (approximately) what the Day of Oma is, with the chess metaphor.

Oooh, those studded shoulderpads left Geiz’s knuckles bloody. Ick.

A Woz is a Woz, and they both just love to soliloquize their announcements. IWAE.

Geiz Revive Fury is scary. A tranquil rage, and he just used a buzzsaw (!) to punch Another Zi-O through at least four (!!) stacks of construction materials – the heavy cement kind. (!!!)

Swartz gets his candidate out of the way of another blast from that buzzsaw. “We’ll see you on the Day of Oma.”

So now, it’s Geiz Revive versus Zi-O II.

Geiz: “I’m going to beat you. That’s the future we’re heading towards.”

Sougo: “...Okay.”

Geiz Revive Fury is the Mighty Glacier trope in action – High offense, High defense, low speed.

Geiz Revive Typhoon, on the other hand… High offense, ludicrous speed, and I can’t tell what his defense is, but it doesn’t really matter if you can’t see him long enough to hit him. Could be Fragile Speedster meets Glass Cannon, or it could be Lighting Bruiser, but without knowing how well Typhoon can take a hit, I can’t say.

So, while Sougo’s getting his ass handed to him by a rapidly form-switching Geiz, Black Woz is off investigating the accident… by having sent everyone in the bus companies office to dreamland, so he can get into their records.

Clever. I like it.

Casual reminder that the Wizard arc told us that Woz has a Faiz Phone X as well… and. Wait. Those things are a stun gun. They knock people out. When Tsukuyomi was using hers to stop Another Build’s attacks, it paused them. But the first time we saw her use it?

Was against Ryuuga, Sento, and Sougo in Cafe nascita. As a knock-out gun. They all fell asleep.

Unless that thing has other settings that we haven’t seen… it shouldn’t be able to blow up the end of a bus.

That news article… looking again, the google translation isn’t great, but I think it’s trying to say that the two kids were the only ones who were found.

Why do I mention that? Because Woz goes straight to the passenger list. Kakogawa Hiryuu and his parents are there, as expected… and… Well then. So is one Kadoya Tsukasa.

2009 was his year, too, after all.

And how exactly does he travel between worlds? He makes his own portals, which look like walls.

After all, nobody could see anything through the smoke covering the tunnel, including Geiz and the television audience at home.

Decade, you tricky little bastard.

… I’m just going to stick this little snippet from a potential fic in here, since it seems to have just become incredibly relevant.

“The kid’s stealing my whole gimmick. He’s basically ripping off my ability to copy people, and I just had to give him the ability to copy me copying other people. It’s absurd, and I’m basically stuck playing the bad guy again.”

#kamen rider zi o #sailorcressy says #seriously zi-o got good you guys

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peytonfitz-blog · 5 years

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Even the Earth is on My Side || Flashback || Self Para

Title: Even the Earth is on My Side Summary: Peyton is with her childhood best friend when she discovers her powers for the first time. When: Summer 2008 (Peyton: age 16) Where: Colchester, United Kingdom Trigger Warnings: Transphobia, bullying, physical violence, slurs

The day Peyton discovered her powers wasn’t in any way remarkable, as far as days normally went. Well, her best friend had just gotten his drivers license, so there was that.

James was a year and three months older than her, which he never failed to remind her of. And which she had never missed an opportunity to call him grandpa because of. Peyton had just turned sixteen, still a year shy of being able to drive in their small town about an hour outside of London. It didn’t matter much that she couldn’t drive though, not when James could.

He had come to pick her up, and at her insistence, they were walking through the uneven stone streets of downtown, eating ice cream and arguing about which movie to go and see. Peyton was finally talked into seeing Iron Man, after a large amount of pleading which she would tease James about for the foreseeable future. Ever the comic book geek that he was, he swore that movie was the beginning of something amazing, and they just had to see the very first one in theaters.

A couple hours later, Peyton had her hands in her pockets, walking behind James in the park just outside of downtown, amused smile on her lips as he ran forward, did a clumsy cartwheel and fought off imaginary assailants.

“I am Iron Man!” James declared loudly, arms stretched out in front of him as he imitated blaster sounds.

“You’re an idiot, mate,” Peyton laughed.

“I second that,” a painfully familiar voice cut in, making Peyton’s head drop back, a groan escaping her lips before she turned around to face the boy. He had another friend with him, one that Peyton recognized but had never cared enough to learn his name.

“Get lost, Whit,” she snapped.

“Why? Oh come on, I’m on your side here, man. Or girl. Whoever the hell you think you are today,” Whit sneered.

“Just get outta here,” James said, coming over to join the group. He was about a foot taller than Peyton, and looked more intimidating by his stature to anyone that didn’t know him. To those that did know him though, he couldn’t actually hurt anyone if he tried. And he had tried, once. In a painfully similar scenario, and Whit had never let him forget it.

“Or what? You gonna try to punch me and just freeze there like a statue?” Whit asked, turning back to his friend with a laugh. “Come on, your girl-boy-friend here would make a better iron man. If you’re even a man.” As he said it, he reached out towards Peyton in a familiar movement, fingers not quite able to grasp the bottom of her shirt before she was knocking his arm away. It wasn’t unfamiliar to Peyton, all the cold comments, the disbelief and outright cruelty to the fact that she identified as male or female depending on the day. On how she felt. Her preference for masculine and androgynous clothing probably didn’t help. She knew it was weird, knew she was a freak, but it wasn’t like she ever insisted other people keep up with her identity. She’d outright told people to just call her whatever they wanted. Him, her, just not they because she disliked the plural term. So why the fuck did people like Whit have to be such jackasses about it?

“Go fuck yourself,” Peyton hissed at him.

Whit only laughed harder at the words. “Ooooh, big words from the he-she,” he mocked. A second later, his expression changed and he lunged at her, arm around her waist as he knocked them both to the ground. The next few minutes passed in a flurry of limbs and painful blows. Of Whit’s friend and James joining the fray. Of punches to her stomach and face. Of blows landed on Whit’s stupid face. Of hands tugging at her black leather jacket and the shirt tucked into her jeans underneath it.

When she finally made it to her feet, still trying to register where Whit and the others were around her, a hand grabbed her arm. She didn’t turn to see who it was—didn’t care. She just reacted.

“Stop!” She screamed, jerking her arm away and throwing it back again towards the person, her other arm flying out to her other side at the same time. Something happened, and later, when James would ask exactly what, she wouldn’t be able to explain it.

She just felt…everything. The air around her felt like static electricity. The earth beneath her feet felt like it was pulsing. Like it was drawing her in. Like it was a part of this fight too. On her side.

Shocked and pained cries broke through the ringing in her ears and she forced her eyes open, breathing heavily as she looked around. Two benches several yards away from her were nearly flattened to the ground, the metal of the arms and legs bent and crushed in towards the ground. Whit and his friend were on the ground, staring at her like she was a monster. But they were—they were in front of her. Neither of them had grabbed her.

“James,” Peyton breathed, whipping around to where James was on the ground behind her, groaning and clutching at his leg. She ignored the yells of ‘Freak’ and ‘Bitch’ behind her as Whit and his friend left. She was rushing towards James and dropping to the ground beside him. She started to reach out to him, but hesitated, her hands shaking. What had she done? “James? James, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I don’t know what I—Fuck.”

“I’m—It’s—I’m okay,” James groaned, but his voice was pained and he was still clutching his leg, tears forming at the corners of his eyes. His eyes opened just a little and Peyton flinched back reflexively. When he spoke though, he didn’t sound angry, or even afraid. “How—How did you—“ He broke off with a groan, one hand moving from his leg to brace against the ground so he could push himself up.

“I-I don’t know,” Peyton said quickly, before reaching out to help steady him. “I’ve never—never done that before. Be careful.” He just grunted in response. “Why did you grab me anyway?” She didn’t want to sound like she was blaming him for her managing to injure him, but she was afraid it came off that way. She hadn’t meant to, she’d just reacted.

“I was trying to get your attention,” James said, looking up at her. “Thought we—ugh, thought we could just get away from it. Whit was—was trying to stop his nose from bleeding, and Ri—Richard was trying to catch his breath. Thought it would be—be our best shot to get out.” He smiled a little at her after he finished. “Never can take the win though, can you? Always gotta show off one more time.” James started to laugh, but his face contorted in pain and it looked like he regretted it immediately.

“Careful. Sorry, did I—“ she broke off, watching in concern at the way he pressed his free hand into the center of his chest.

He just shook his head though. “Didn’t—Didn’t help getting thrown to—to the ground, but no. Whit kicked me pretty hard in the chest.”

Peyton knew she should ask exactly how hard—had he broken a rib? But she knew he wouldn’t be able to really answer that accurately, and she was distracted by something else he’d said. “Who’s Richard?” James just stared at her until it clicked in her mind. “Oh, is that his name? Huh.” She paused, watching as James tried in vain to hold back another painful laugh. “Always knew he was a Dick, just didn’t know it was official.”

That pushed him over the edge and he laughed hard, alternating between laughs and groans of pain, gasping for a few minutes with a smile on his face before looking at her again. “Stop—You’ve seriously gotta stop—trying to make me laugh. That fucking hurts.”

“Sorry,” she said again. “Come on, put your arm around me, I’ll get us back to your dad’s car and drive us to the hospital.

“You don’t have your license,” James protested.

“It’ll be fine, Mum’s been teaching,” Peyton said. She carefully pulled James’ arm around her shoulders and helped him to his feet.

“Just don’t—don’t do this again, okay?”

Peyton kept her face turned down to hide the disappointment. This was what she expected. He hated her. He was afraid of her. He should be. She was afraid of herself. Of what she could apparently do. “Yeah. I’ll just—Let me help you get to the hospital, then I’ll go, okay?”

James’ brow furrowed and he gave her a strange look. “Go? No, Peyt, I meant,” he gestured to himself, to his leg that was starting to bruise, then gestured to where Whit and his friend had been, as though his vague gestures were supposed to fill in the blanks. Normally they would. They had been friends so long they could practically communicate psychically. But this wasn’t normal times or normal topics. “That? That was bloody brilliant. Definitely do that again,” he paused, offering a weak smile before looking back at his leg. “Just this part, don’t do again, ok? Leave me out of it next time.”

Peyton forced a short laugh. She didn’t think she’d be doing anything like this anytime soon. She didn’t even know how she’d done it, and was honestly terrified of it. But she promised him anyway. “Yeah, okay. Deal.”

#selfpara #tw: transphobia #tw: bullying #tw: violence #tw: slurs #tw: transphobic slurs #npc: James #Lil Peyton discovering her powers #selfpara: even the earth is on my side #The age might be a few months or something off #I was very set on Iron Man being the movie they went to see for some reason so I just went with it lol #Peyton is genderfluid but I tagged transphobia because it was the closest I tihnk

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huntertales · 7 years

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Part Four: I Can’t Get You Out of My Head. (Exile on Main Street S06E01)

Episode Summary: After Dean gives up hunting, Sam and the reader are mysteriously freed from his cage in hell. Sam finds Dean to tell him he must rejoin the fight. The reader, however, is hesitant to agree with the plan after seeing the life the man has made for himself. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Word Count: 4,465.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

Soon, the afternoon turned into the early evening as you gotten yourself more comfortable in the Braden household. Gwen and Christian kept themselves out of the way by occupying different parts of the house to keep an eye on as Mark sat in the van, montering the streets for any sort of suspicious activity. Dean felt a little bit out of the loop when you and his brother circled around the table the family used for family dinners eat night. Now it was being set up as a place to rest a map as Samuel pointed at certain parts, muttering things the man couldn't understand, but it seemed you and Sam were listening intently. Whatever sort of vulnerability you'd shown about trusting Samuel had disappeared as you nodded your head, giving the man all his attention. It seemed that things never changed. If there was a life in trouble, you would put any sort of doubt aside and help the best to your ability.

Dean stepped out for a moment to see how things were going with Mark, who had very little words to share with him, except for the news that the djinn were very closer than they thought. It was a waiting game of who was going to strike first. The older Winchester hadn't been in the hunting game for about a year, but he knew how to draw out a monster out in the open. And the first move was getting everyone that was getting his family out of here, with a few exceptions. He wandered back into the house and disrupted what everyone was doing. You looked up to see that Dean was standing at the head of the table with a type of look on his face that you’d seen plenty of times before while hunting with him, the man was about to take control of this situation to his own personal liking.

“Those djinn are just sitting out there, watching us. Everybody's got to clear out.” Dean said. You furrowed your brow from the warning that the older Winchester had given all of you as you peered over your shoulder. Your eyes wandering to the window that overlooked the backyard and the decent mile of backwoods that would have made a perfect hideaway for someone who didn’t want to be noticed. Christian, however, seemed confused at how easily the man stepped into the room and took over a position that wasn’t designed for him. “They're not gonna come in here until me, Sam and Y/N are alone.”

Samuel stared at the man with a bewildering look at the new proposition he was being given with little room to negotiate. Not to mention, how Dean was about to put himself in danger like this. It was far different from how he liked to run things. “So, what, I'm supposed to leave you here with no backup?”

“Dean's right.” Sam agreed with his older brother as he looked down at you for a moment, knowing there was only one way to solve this problem. And that was dangling one of you into their faces to draw out the djinn. Not to mention, there were only three of them and seven of you. If left alone and cornered by one of them, at least it'd be a fair fight. “They're smart. They'd wait till they weren't outnumbered.”

“All right, we won't be far. You call when they come, you hear?” Sam let out a sigh as he agreed, compromising with the three of you at this stupid plan he knew was the only real thing that would work. You nodded your head in agreement when all you decided to meet in the middle. The older man turned his attention to his crew and pointed a finger at the door. “All right, pack up. We're out of here.”

The Campbells packed up everything they had once brought into the house and put it all back into the van, leaving only a few syringes of the antidote, Just in case. You stepped onto the porch with the boys, watching as the van pulled away as Christian waved from the passenger side, wishing all of you luck as the family disappeared into the darkness of the night. Letting out a quiet sigh, you turned your head away from the quiet street and to the brothers, knowing this was the first time in almost a year that all of you were back together again. On something that might have been considered a normal hunt. All of you headed back inside, waiting for this night to begin, and your bait to take what you were dangling in front of their faces.

Neither one of you really said anything when you were alone. What you were going to say after being a year apart should have been easy for all the time passed, but it seemed silence was the best option here. Dean wandered mostly through the house that he was familiar with as Sam kept to himself, you crossed your arms over your chest and found yourself standing in the kitchen again, your eyes stuck on the billboard with a collage of pictures of a happy family. You took notice most of them were of Ben and Lisa, happily smiling and living a life that was before Dean. But there was one picture of Dean and LIsa that caught your attention, and forced your eyes to stay there. A forced smile crept along the edges of your lips when you were reminded that he looked happy, that the year leading up to him finding himself home never happened.

Footsteps treading across the kitchen floors made you look away from the board and over your shoulder, catching sight of a familiar face. Dean passed you without saying a word, and like before, he went straight for the window, looking out to see if the scenery had changed like it did before about fifteen minutes after looking. You let out a quiet sigh and began to slowly walk forward to the man until the island kept you as your only barrier between you and him. You decided that it wouldn't hurt to initiate a conversation you wanted to earlier, before you were interrupted by Samuel. It was a simple question, but you didn’t know exactly how to lead a topic that had to deal with being resurrected from the dead and ignoring him for almost a year.

“You okay?” You asked him, your tone coming out quiet.

Dean let out a chuckle from the question as he turned around in his spot on the floor, turning around so you could see him smile, but his expression was far from happiness at the situation that was unraveling all at once. “Oh, yeah. Yeah. No, this is...this is crazy.” He admitted. You felt responsible for everything that he was feeling as you rounded the corner and stopped until you were just a few feet away from him, reminding yourself to keep your distance. “I mean, you, Sammy, my grandfather. Whoever brought you back…”

“They don’t want to be found.” You muttered underneath your breath, finishing his thought as you placed your hand down on the counter and scoffed at the strange circumstances.

“Yeah, I get that.” Dean said. “But who are they, and what do they want? Why?”

“That’s a good question.” You agreed with how crappy this situation was as your foot moved one in front of the other, closing the gap between the both of you until a foot or so remained. You leaned yourself against the countertop and crossed your arms over your chest again. A small smile spread across your face as you let out a quiet laugh. “My God. It sort of makes things like last time a walk in the park, don’t you think? At least we knew who pulled me out of hell.”

"Do you remember it?" Dean asked a question that had been in the back of his mind since he'd laid eyes on you again. You furrowed your brow slightly from what he was asking as you gave him a bit of a confused look. "The cage."

"Oh." You dropped your eyes to the ground from the mention of the place where you had came from. Part of you knew that you could have lied and told him that you didn't remember a single thing, but that felt wrong. You lied to him enough. For once, you were confiding in someone that you could call your own family. Someone that...had emotion. "Yeah, I do."

“You want to talk about it?" Dean asked. You let out a quiet laugh from his question that you thought was being passed off as something one might do out of politeness. But when you looked up at him, your smile slowly faltered when you saw him staring at you, with genuine empathy. You didn't realize that his hand had settled itself on the countertop, and ever so slowly, as if it was an old habit that not even time could change, his fingers began to move to yours and ever so slowly, his feet followed in the process, as well. “If anyone can relate…”

"Dean, I don't want to talk about it. I'm back. For good. I get to breathe fresh air, hunt with Sammy, see you again." You said. Dean seemed a little bit offended that you were keeping your distance from him, still putting him at an arm’s length from the truth that he wanted to hear. You let out a quiet sigh and looked away from him. "Don't worry, I have my...own ways of dealing with it. But what I don't like doing is talking about it. Sam and I decided that it would be best to just leave it alone. He's doing good for himself, too. Both of us are.”

Dean looked down at you with an expression that was slowly changing into what appeared to be frustration, sadness if you really looked hard enough. The man had spent an entire year fearing the worst of what went down below. Trapped in one place with the Devil himself and his scorned brother, Dean could only imagine what you and Sam went through. But you put up that damn wall again, giving him no chance to help, any way that he could to get close to you again. Even if it meant listening to all the gory details. He pushed himself off the countertop and turned his focus to the kitchen window again, trying his hardest not to let the truth of his own slip out.

He wanted to look at you and say everything of what he felt when he saw you. What he would do just to keep you here...how much he wanted to run off with you and Sam again, going back to a life he sometimes missed. Or how he kept the photograph of you underneath his pillow upstairs. Each of you had your special habits kept over the past year, and much as you lied straight through your teeth, each of you was still on one another's minds. Now it was the battle of what the right thing to do was when these djinn decided to pop out of the darkness and make their move. However, when Dean noticed Sid and his wife acting out of character. He furrowed his brow and peered closer to the window when he watched his wife start to shake violently as she dropped to the ground and out of sight, Sid following behind just a second later. Dean knew that the both of them had no particular history of seizures, which meant one thing. These djinns were closer than any of you realized, and going after someone more of the innocent variety.

Before you realized what was happening, Dean bolted out of the kitchen, making you look over to the window to see a glimpse of a man dropping to the floor. You made the connections fast as he did and went racing after him to the living room, where Dean was snatching a few syringes out of the duffel bag Samuel left for you. The younger Winchester appeared out from wherever part of the corner he had been hiding in to see what the commotion was all about.

"Dean," You managed to roughly grab the man by his arm and stop him in his track before he wasted two shots of the antidote you might need if you or the boys got attacked by these things. "They're already dead. And you know it."

“This is happening because of me!” Dean argued with you as he managed to snag his arm away from you, bolting for the front door faster than you or Sam could catch him.

Dean raced across the front lawn and managed to jump over the fence that separated both houses before running to the front door and swinging it open, hoping that he wasn't too late. But the older Winchester had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw Sid’s wife lying on the ground with hazy white eyes staring off into space. It was a sign that she was too far gone to be saved, yet it didn’t stop Dean from crouching down and pressing two fingers against the crook of her neck, only to feel just the warmth of her skin slowly leaving her body. The man let a curse word slip underneath his breath as he moved over to Sid, who looked to be in the same state as his wife, but, like he feared, there was no heartbeat to feel.

He should have known better. If the tables were turned, and if it were you or Sam trying to save these people, Dean would have said to leave them. Maybe the man was growing softer at the job after taking a year off, and it only showed with what happened next. Dean could feel someone’s grip around his arm, yanking him to his feet as the syringes dropped to the carpet. And he realized quickly on that it wasn't you or his brother when the stranger managed to take him by surprise and pin him into place. He tried fighting the best that he could, but it was soon a game of one against two when he saw a familiar face walk into the living room, the waitress from the bar.

She gave him a friendly smile, seeming pleased at the position the hunter was placed in, under her control. Dean's eyes wandered down to the syringes that he'd dropped, but it didn't go unnoticed. The djinn made sure to purposely step on each of them, cracking the plastic and releasing the antidote. She was planning on making sure that he didn't survive, unlike last time.

“You made it through the last trip, so how about a big, fat double dose?” She asked him. Dean felt her hand grip tightly around his neck, her nails digging through her skin. “Bad news--it’ll kill you. The good news? At least you’ll go fast. All though, can’t say the same for them.” She looked over her shoulder and to the window, looking in on the fight that was taking place in the Braden household. She watched as you tried to fight off her brother, Sam following quickly behind. She knew this was gonna be fun as she looked back over at Dean. “That’s for our father, you son of a bitch.”

You didn't know what Dean was taking so long, but you were beginning to grow worried. You tried your hardest to fight off the djinn that managed to sneak its way into the house, causing all hell to break loose. You thought with two skilled hunters, he would have dropped dead in the matter of seconds. But all that was happening was breaking of furniture. You tried fighting the djinn off when you grabbed a lamp and used it as a lamp, while it hadn't done the job, Sam was smart enough to find some use of those golf clubs he made a remark about earlier. He managed to corner the djinn right as you were about to be attacked, and without a single ounce of remorse, the man began swinging...and swinging, far past the point when you saw blood beginning to pool out of the djinn's fatal blow to the head.

"Sam, we get it." You muttered underneath your breath, still finding the man's actions far different from what you had remembered of him. You let out a sigh of relief from seeing one djinn taken care of, only two more to go. As you decided to find a better weapon of your own and check on Dean, you stopped dead in your tracks when you spotted a woman in the path you were about to take, and another one standing in the front door. "Aw, hell."

Dean found himself slowly coming back around from whatever the djinn did to him, just enough to slowly get back on his feet slightly. He felt like he was drunk, the room was spinning as everything felt fuzzy. He managed to figure out that he was still in Sid’s home, alone. Dean tried to walk, but he was wobbling, to the point where he felt like he was about to crash to the floor. But he heard what sounded like voices when he looked out the window and to the front of his house, only to see a pair of familiar faces that shouldn’t be back so soon.

“I just--I couldn’t sleep in that house.” Dean furrowed his brow to see that it was Lisa and Ben coming up the sidewalk and to the house. Why were they back so soon? Dean looked away and to the house, only to notice that you were standing in the kitchen as you grabbed a knife from the drawer and attempted to attack. The djinn were in the house. The one that you were in, the one that Lisa and Ben were about to walk into.

“It’s okay.” Lisa comforted her son, making Dean look away from you for a moment. “Don’t worry. We’ll call Dean.”

“Ah, don’t worry about them, Dean.” The older Winchester turned his head away from the other woman he’d been so focused on and to a familiar voice that came out of nowhere. Azazel stood right next to him, with a damn grin on his face that only meant trouble. Dean didn’t realize just yet all of this was a hallucination, a situation far from reality. “Worry about me.”

Dean looked back to the window when he noticed Azazel disappeared from his sight, only to pop back into the house, right behind you, who had gone unnoticed of what was about to happen. Yellow Eyes grinned as he waved at the man, knowing he'd gotten everyone that the man cornered, and it'd be only a matter of time until something terrible happened. Dean shouted a no on the top of his lungs as he tried to push himself to his feet, but it felt nearly impossible, a sudden dizzy feeling took over him, making the man go crashing to the floor. But where he ended up didn’t feel hard like he expected. Dean felt himself land on what felt soft and comfortable.

Ever so slowly, he opened up his eyes, not sure where he ended up for a second, but all he could see were stars...dozens of stars. Dean furrowed his brow as he began to feel himself coming back into a dizzy consciousness, realizing the stars that he was seeing were the plastic glow in the dark ones Ben still had above his ceiling. He was lying on the kid's bed, not quite sure how he'd got here from Sid’s house. The sound of something roughly thumping against the wall, not once, but twice, made Dean grow a clear head to see what was going on. And it was his biggest nightmare about to come true.

Dean’s eyes widen when he noticed Azazel was standing in the doorway, and with a simple wave of a hand, he watched Lisa go flying against the right wall--and you soon found yourself being pinned against the opposite side. “"Eeny, meeny, miny moe, Catch a pretty girl by their toe. If one of them hollers, let them go..." Azazel quietly sung underneath his breath as he looked at you and Lisa, as if he was wondering which one of you should suffer the consequences. He looked over at the older Winchester, as if he already knew the answer. "Well, we know which one can go..."

Dean quickly looked over to the left when he saw Azazel ever so slowly begin to lift his hand, dragging you up the wall, all though you desperately clung to the drywall as you frantically begged for this to stop. "Y/N, no!" Dean called out your name, hoping he could somehow stop it, but it was impossible. “Stop it!”’

"Y/N's dead. What difference does it make? Oh, wait." Aazael grinned to himself when he caught the man in a crossroads of a situation that he couldn't ever solve. "Spent a year trying to forget one, and got yourself a nice gal that understands you. Both are nice catches, but you can’t have both. Only just the one. So why not let her go, Dean-o? Y/N's not yours anymore. You chose safe, normal Lisa.”

“How could you do this to me?” Dean’s head went straight to the ceiling to see that you were pinned to it with your back pressed against it, just like his mother. You began to let out a laugh as your eyes flickered black. “This is all your fault. You should have tried harder to save me. But you didn’t. I ended up like mommy. Didn't I, Dean? Who’s to say that Lisa won’t end up with the same fate? Or maybe…” Your eyes went back to normal when you let out a painful cry, your shirt around the stomach area began to grow red from blood. “You’ll go running off to her when he kills me again.”

"This--this is something else. Do you know how much fun it was to pull your strings back then? I had prime real estate over your baby brother and gal. But now you thought you were out for good. Sorry, kiddo. That’s not how it works.” Azazel said. “There’s something coming for the both of them, but you gotta choose. But why bother? You tried to save Y/N, and look how that turned out. Who's to say Lisa won't share the same fate? Who's to say I won't go coming for Ben?"

"It's all your fault." Your words echoed in his head like a haunting nightmare.

“Can’t stop it.” Azazel reminded the man.

Dean could feel himself letting out your name when he felt a sudden rush of warmth hit him, the ceiling engulfing in flames, followed by your screams of pain. It all felt so real. But he didn't realize until he felt a sudden stabbing sensation rush through his chest. And the sounds of a voice that he heard just a few seconds before. “Hey, come on…that’s it…” Dean’s eyes opened ever so slightly to see a blurry figure hovering over him. Your hands reached up to cup his face as you gave him a smile, suddenly filled with relief to see that Dean was reacting well to the antidote again.

+ + +

You knew it would take more than just an apology to clean up this mess, but he reassured you that he would take care of it. Dawn was now beginning to settle in the quiet neighborhood that would soon wake to hearing of their neighbors that passed away suddenly while they were sleeping. Samuel came back in the nick of time to save you and Sam from the djinns that were harder to take down than you realized. Dean had been put in the unfortunate situation of being dosed yet again, but you had made it just in time to give him another shot, waking him from the terrors that you could only imagine what he saw. But now that the hunt was over, it was time for you and Sam to hit the road, without one less person.

You leaned against the car as you looked to the front door, watching as the brothers headed out after you gave them a minute to talk. You knew Sam wanted Dean back on the road, missing the bond the three of you had, but you had a feeling that the older Winchester wouldn’t crack. And you hoped that he wouldn’t. Not that you wouldn’t give anything to have him back with you again like old times. But he had a life here, he was helping raise a child that needed a father figure in his life. And he had Lisa, the woman that took him in, after everything. You pushed yourself off when Dean began walking towards you, giving a goodbye that would be bitter, and not a single ounce of sweet for the both of you.

“Make sure he stays out of trouble, okay?” Dean tried to start off a goodbye that wasn’t the least bit sad as he lightly slapped Sam on the shoulder, who was going for the driver’s side door as you began walking forward. Your lips stretched into a smile as you nodded your head. “And don’t think this is the last time I’m gonna see either one of you, okay? Don’t be a stranger.”

"I..." You were about to agree with the plan as you were about to smile, only you winced when you heard Sam honk the horn. You gritted your teeth as you let out a quiet sigh. "I'll see you around, Dean. Tell Lisa we're sorry about the damage."

The older Winchester watched as you were about to walk to the car to his suddenly impatient brother, but before you did, you decided not to end a goodbye on such short terms. You walked over to him and wrapped your arms around his body one last time, the both of you sharing a hug, Dean couldn't resist when he squeezed you closer to him, inhaling the sweet scent that he might never really get to smell again. You quickly pressed your lips against his cheek, softly kissing his skin as you muttered a goodbye. Dean felt like a little school boy from such a simple move. You stepped away from him as you gave him a smile and a wave, all before stepping into the passenger side of the car, and within seconds, you and his brother were gone.

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slytherinmuggle-born · 6 years

Text

Chapter Two:

“M-Malfoy?” She stuttered.

He glanced down at her. “Oh… You?”

She erased the surprise on her face and said, “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Where are you headed?” he asked, seeming mildly interested.

She stared at him like he had three heads, he never paid attention to her, let alone care. “I-I uh… I was on my way to a job interview…”

“Oh…” he hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “Good luck.”

“Thanks…” she said warily.

After that awkward meeting, she hurried again to the Disapparate. This was the seventh job interview that she had since the school year ended with the Dark Lord’s defeat, and every single one of her interviewers asked about her N.E.W.T report, and when she said that she didn’t have it, she was dismissed. Magdalene decided that if she was met with yet another refusal, she would go back to Hogwarts in order to perform her N.E. , or even ask to teach there if possible. She did know a bit of potions, and they were short on teachers since that final battle. After all—

“Can I ask you something?” His voice again, interrupting her thoughts.

She turned Malfoy. “Certainly.”

“Why did you save my life?” he asked, making her regret her last sentence.

Suddenly, everything else disappeared. The memories of the final battle came rushing in. She was running for the Great Hall, dodging Stunning Spells and Unforgivable Curses alike, trying to find shelter. She hid behind a door while a jet of red light passed right where she was standing half a second ago. She Stunned the attacker before arriving at a quiet part of the castle where four figures were fighting. She recognized two of them as Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini going up against two Death Eaters. She stayed hidden for the most part but when Blaise got Stunned and fell to the floor, leaving Malfoy alone against two Death Eaters, she decided to help the person who had despised her the most during her years at Hogwarts.

“Stupefy!” Draco yelled pointing his wand at one of his opponents but she was faster.

“Expelliarmus!” the Death Eater said, rather enraged, disarming Malfoy.

“Protego!” Magdalene ran to Malfoy’s side and procured a shield to separate them from the dark wizards. "Come on, we need to run!“ she hissed, pulling him by the sleeve of his dusty, black vest.

"But Blaise—” Malfoy stammered.

“We’ll come back for him when it’s quiet, come on!” She pulled him harder.

He blinked twice, awestruck before grabbing his wand and following her to one of the Herbology greenhouses. She slid down the wall and sighed as he held his knees, eager for a chance to catch his breath. She gazed at him from the corner of her eye; he looked wounded, and his left sleeve was torn so that she could see the Dark Mark. It was true, then. He was one of them.

“Why were they attacking you?” Magdalene asked suddenly, without meaning to.

He scowled. “What do you mean?”

She eyed his Dark Mark meaningfully before saying, “Aren’t you supposed to be one of them?”

He glanced at his left forearm as though he’d just notice he had one. “I’ve never met those, right there. I’m on the other side regardless.”

Insanely, she giggled. “The other side, huh?”

He looked at her as though she were crazy — which she understood — and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he said, “Too many people I know on one side and not enough power on the other”

“Are you hurt?” She asked.

“Huh?”

“Is your body wounded?” She asked, emphasizing the ‘body’ part.

He nodded. “My leg, I think.”

She stood up, took a pair of scissors from the tool-shelf, and cut a leaf that she knew would help any physical pain.

“Pants up,” she instructed. He stared at her incredulously. “Come on, Muggle blood isn’t contagious.”

He sneered at her. “Why?”

She knew what he meant, but she derived the subject as she lifted his leg on her lap. “This leaf is great with physical pain, eases almost everything besides the Cruciatus Curse because—”

“—because it’s a trick on the mind rather than the body itself.” Malfoy finished, and it was her turn to stare at him. “I do listen in class.” He smirked.

“Well, that’s shocking.” She said in a monotone.

“Never thought you would be any good at Herbology, either.” He looked on, as she massaged the cut on his left calf with the leaf. “Thanks.” He squeezed out, like a spasm in his throat.

“You’re very welcome,” she sighed, standing back up. “In exchange, I’ll ask for you not to try and kill me,” she added, with a nervous giggle.

“Deal.”

“Let’s go find Blaise, hopefully, he’s still alive.”

That was the most pleasant and civilised conversation that she had ever had with Draco Malfoy. Until their most recent encounter, that was. She couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think of a good enough answer for his question.

She cleared her throat. “I helped you because you were outnumbered and clearly not at ease with a wand.”

“It was my mother’s, mine was… I lost it.” He muttered, walking to distract her from his avoidance of the topic.

“I’ve had classes with you for six years; I know what your wand looks like. Potter was using it. Probably disarmed you at some point or something, but that’s my mere assumption.”

He shook his head. “Why did you come at my rescue when, in your mind, I wouldn’t have done the same for you?”

“In my mind?” She glanced at her watch meaningfully rather than for its main purpose and coldly murmured, “I should be going, we’ll probably meet again.”

With that, she Disapparated, leaving him to his tormented thoughts as he too Disapparated. She arrived in front of the gates of the Zabini estate. It was one of the very few that were not subjected to raids, only because the Zabini family members were never among the Sacred Twenty-Eight for their involvement with Veelas every few generations. Maggie knew that fact because Blaise had been the only Slytherin that she had gotten to know beyond last name basis. The reason behind that was tutoring sessions in the library, which started in third year.

“Take Arithmancy, they said.” Magdalene muttered, as she turned a page of a book she had not understood a word of. “It’ll be fun, they said.”

In her third year, she chose Divination, Muggle Studies, and Arithmancy as specifics. The two formers worked like a charm, but the latter proved to be utter bullshit as she slowly found out that she had set herself up for failure. She gave up and let her forehead fall on top of the open book. She sighed audibly before hearing a shift in the air and the sound of a chair gently scraping the stone floor next to her. She had chosen a spot near the window, overlooking the Black Lake, which meant that whoever had sat next to her meant to start a conversation… Or they were just unaware of the concept of personal space.

“Whoever it is now’s not the moment,” she grunted.

“Gentleness has never been your forte,” an oddly familiar voice mused.

Maggie’s head shot up to face “Zabini? To what do I owe the honour?”

“Your comments about your choices are hardly quiet. I initially intended on taking my research to the common room, but you looked so pathetic, I thought you needed the help.”

Her eyebrows rose lazily as she regarded him, sitting so casually next to her. “And what do you want, in exchange?”

Zabini chuckled and glanced over her head, at the setting sun beyond the window. “And what makes you think that I’m expecting something in return?”

“Two years in the Slytherin common room as a Muggle-Born. I learned to listen when I got bored of reading. You do the math.” She regarded his Muggle Studies related book pointedly.

He followed her gaze and his chuckle turned into a smirk. “How very Slytherin of you. Yes, I’d like to exchange favours with you. I help you with Arithmancy and you help me with Muggle Studies. It seems like your area of expertise.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “How very convenient, then, that I just so happen to be Muggle-Born.”

“Your comment should best be directed at Draco, since he is the one always going on about being a Pure Blood.” He remarked, hiding irritation.

Magdalene regarded him for a full minute before sighing. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be making assumptions. You’ve never said a word against me.”

“I forgive you. It would be preferable if you made assumptions based on what people show you, rather than your own personal experiences.”

“It’d be preferable, yes.”

He leaned closer to her, peeking at the open book in front of her. “Tell me where you’re stuck.”

From then on, whenever the pair of them met regularly—especially when Wand Lore was thrown into the mix in sixth year—, they had developed a tentative sort of friendship, and she hoped that it would help her get a job despite having no N.E. to show for. However, she had a feeling that it was not going to happen. She had to try nevertheless.

The door opened and she was greeted by a house elf. “Hello, Miss. Are you the new nurse?”

Magdalene, who had never directly addressed a house elf, stammered, “Ye—uh no, well, I hope I will be.”

“You’ve never been very eloquent, have you?” A familiar voice rang from the entrance hall.

“Not when talking to a house elf for the first time, no.” Maggie chuckled. “I didn’t know you lived here…”

“Did 'Zabini’ not ring any bells?” He inquired, leaning against the door frame, wearing simple black trousers and a dark polo sweater over a white button down shirt. He folded his arms over his chest, and looked down at the elf. “You can go back now, get tea ready in the drawing room.”

“Yes, Master Blaise.” With that, the elf disappeared with the snap of Apparition.

He then turned to Magdalene. “My grandfather is waiting for you. Fair warning, though, he can be a bit of a tease.”

“By 'a bit’, you mean—?”

“A lot, yeah.” He pushed the French doors and murmured “Good luck, Magdalene.”

He arrived in front of the silver gates, but not those at the Malfoy estate. He had decided to play a trick on Magdalene, make his family’s oldest friends require only Os in the N.E. of their interviewee. He was let in by the same elf that had greeted Magdalene only hours before heading straight to the study where he knew he would find the old wizard he was looking for. He knocked, and the French doors opened to reveal a grand mahogany desk surrounded with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and the Zabini family tree illustrated in a tapestry. Behind the desk sat a silver-haired wrinkled man wearing rectangular glasses, Draco knew him as Edmund Zabini, Blaise’s grandfather. And behind Edmund, the wall was composed of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the luxurious gardens of the property.

“Well, if it isn’t little Draco Malfoy,” Edmund murmured with a suave, velvety voice, “What brings you here by this fine evening, son?”

“I hear you’re hiring,” Draco began, a plan forming in his head “and I happen to know today’s candidate very well.”

“Do you, now?” He asked leaning in, clearly interested.

“Magdalene Middleton, am I correct?” Draco asked back. Without waiting for an answer, he carried on, “Careless, lazy… Between you and me, Edmund, I don’t even think that she’s a pure.”

“Blood status holds no importance to me, son, never have been,” he declared, eyeing Draco expectantly. “You should know that…”

Draco coughed nervously. “Naturally, sir. Did I tell you that she did not even pass her N.E. ?”

“Did she not?” He asked, clearly unimpressed. “What about you? And what about that cousin of yours?”

Draco’s mouth fell. “Uh— I— I uh…”

“I will only refuse to employ Miss Middleton on one condition,” Edmund spoke, leaning back.

“Which is…?”

He cleared his throat. “You, along with Middleton and your cousin, have to go back to Hogwarts for your seventh year. I want to see you three and my grandson in this office a year from now with your N.E. , and I will not take no for an answer. If this is not accomplished, you, instead of Middleton, will do the work that she’s applying for today. Is it clear?”

Draco cringed at the thought of having to take care of the man in front of him. “Crystal.” He stood up and shook Edmund’s hand. “Pleasure to see you, Edmund, my greetings to your grandson.”

“Naturally,” he drawled with a satisfied smirk.

Draco left the study rather swiftly, eager to leave this God forsaken house. He Floo'ed to Malfoy Manor, where the two most important females of his life were. His mother, Narcissa, grieved ever since the final battle: her husband was in Azkaban, her eldest sister died, and her estranged sister was taking care of her orphan Half-Blood. The second most important female in his life was his cousin, best friend, and confidant, who lost her parents in that final battle. Draco lost one of his oldest friends, more or less, in that battle too. Not to mention his father’s imprisonment. Overall, life could have been better. Draco ignored the house elf that suggested he hung his vest, ignored his mother asking him where he had been, and made his way as fast as he could without actually jogging to his cousin’s room.

Victoria Malfoy. Physically, she could be his twin sister with her stormy grey eyes, mid-back length wheat blonde hair, and cocky facial expressions. But when it came to personality, they were slightly different. Draco thought it was because they simply had different parents, but Victoria thought it was because her principles were placed more strategically. Whatever the reason, their similarities, as opposed to their differences, have made them best of friends and confidants. Being Victoria’s best friend had its benefits, but the cons thereof were just as pronounced: her teasing, her fake haughtiness around other people and mostly the fact that Draco knew exactly how she would take Edmund Zabini’s proposal. Draco braced himself and knocked on the door…

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