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tamakiamajikistentacles · 4 years

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Rhythm Section {Poly BakuJiro}

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! Again, something different that I tried but still the self-indulgent train keeps a-rollin’ choo choo ya’ll

Class A’s contribution to the culture festival in their first year had become the stuff of legend at UA. By the time the next culture festival was approaching, they were all but told that they would be putting on another concert for their second-year program. Another hit song by Jiro and great routine by Mina might’ve been even more successful than the first depending on who was asked.

Third year was the same but not as much of a surprise—A Band would be taking the stage for the final time as UA students. As expected it was spectacular, cheers and compliments raising up from the audience before them while they stood in awe at the reaction.

Well, she stood in awe at something different. She was in awe at the sight of Bakugo and Jiro, both sweaty but energized from the performance and looking amazing. Handsome, pretty, beautiful, attractive… all of the above on both accounts really. That night had been the one that made her realize that she had two crushes.

She was okay with crushing on both a guy and a girl—she’d known about that aspect of herself for a while but hadn’t shared it with anyone quite yet—but did it have to be on the two people in the class who were effortlessly cool in everything they did? It was like they were both trying to kill her at every turn.

Studying with Jiro? She’s twirling one earphone jack around her finger mindlessly and biting her lower lip as she concentrates on the material in front of her. The wide neck of her ripped tshirt slips down her shoulder slightly to reveal smooth skin that she just knows is as soft as it looks.

Training with Bakugo? The muscles in his arms are flexing as they practice traditional hand to hand and the smirk on his face is wild. When they finish and he lifts his tank top to wipe sweat from his face she can see every ridge of abs and has to move away before he lifts it higher and makes her stop breathing.

It was difficult having crushes on the two hottest people in the class and having zero chance with either. No one knew she liked girls (did Jiro even like girls?) and stepping in the way of becoming Number One seemed like a death sentence.

“This is hard,” she groaned, dropping her face into her arms at one of the common room tables.

Jiro laughed. “Music theory can be, even if you’re a musician. I only know it because of my parents.”

“Do you think the greats struggled with it too?” she asked as she raised her head to look at her. “Like was Jimmy Page as done with this as I am right now?”

“Ohh someone knows her classic rock icons,” she teased.

“He was just the first name that came to mind! I should’ve said Bonham instead.”

“What, you’re not into guitarists?”

“I mean I don’t think I’m not into them?” she replied. “I just prefer the rhythm section, that’s all.”

Jiro raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Well yeah, they’re generally hotter. Bonham is case in point.”

“Any other data points to back that up?” she asked curiously.

“There’s a lot but think Fall Out Boy, All Time Low, Zeppelin like I mentioned…” she trailed off as she locked eyes with the girl across from her.

Was this—was this an opening? Could she even…?

“And, you know,” she finally continued, “A Band.”

A smirk took over her lips and she tapped her pen against her notebook as she looked over her, the smirk growing every passing second.

“I think Kaminari would be a little sad to hear that,” she mused.

She shrugged. “Kaminari’s not exactly who I’m trying to impress.”

Jiro dropped her pen and crossed her arms on the table, leaning forward with interest sparkling in her eyes. She was grinning and looked like someone who couldn’t believe the luck they’d had. And the fact that she’d done that to her? Incredible.

A hand landed on Jiro’s shoulder making her jump, and when she whirled around in her chair she saw an annoyed Bakugo. His scowl deepened when Jiro tried to smile at him and from across the table she could see the muscle in his jaw jump.

“We need to talk,” he ground out through clenched teeth, squeezing her shoulder in warning. Then he let go and stomped towards the hallway to the elevators.

“Uh, sorry,” Jiro said with a blush as she began gathering her things. “I shouldn’t keep him waiting and knowing him it’s gonna be awhile. Sorry to cut this short, but can I text you later?”

“Oh, yeah, totally! I hope everything goes okay with Bakugo.”

She gave a weak smile as she stood, lifting two fingers in a wave before she went towards the elevators.

Watching her go made her frown as she too began grabbing her materials to head to her room. That was quite possibly the bravest she had ever been when talking to a crush and of course it had to be interrupted. It was likely for a good reason if it was Bakugo doing the interrupting but still.

‘At least she’ll text me later,’ she thought.

With a sigh she clutched her textbook and notes to her chest and started toward the elevators. But as she neared the corner she could make out a conversation that made her pause.

“…said I was sorry!” Jiro whispered. “She’s the one who—”

“Oh sure, blame her!” Bakugo snapped in a low voice.

Were they talking about her? Were they—was this a couple’s argument? Was she getting between them by essentially telling Jiro she was trying to impress her?

Her two crushes getting together and her inadvertently driving a wedge between them was the absolute worst-case scenario she could imagine. She was ready to faint.

“She brought it up, okay? I didn’t say ‘hey, who do you think are the hottest members of our class band? It’s totally me and Bakugo, right?’, she just said it and then it got flirty! Doesn’t it at least help to know she thinks we’re attractive?”

"That’s not—I thought we agreed that we would both be cool and not lay it on so damn thick? What happened to seeing who she likes more? You just took a fifty-meter head start and now I don't even know if she likes guys!" Bakugo hissed.

“I like both.”

They had both turned to look at her, surprised at her sudden appearance and declaration. Beneath that there was something else that she couldn’t quite place—hope?

“I… I like guys and girls. I’m bi,” she said for the first time out loud. Then, with a bite to her lip, she added, “And more specifically, I like the both of you.”

“Damn,” Jiro mumbled as Bakugo looked off to the side.

She had no idea what she was doing and was internally panicking. What was she supposed to say now? Should she say anything? Yeah, yeah she should. She had to.

“I do like you both,” she repeated softly, “but I also know you two are close. Don’t… don’t make it a competition. I don’t want to choose because you’re both amazing.”

Bakugo looked up at her, his eyes calculating. “Then don’t.”

Jiro went wide-eyed but covered it as she turned to her. “Maybe we should all talk privately. This isn’t something the class needs to hear.”

She nodded, following behind them as they made their way into the elevator.

As they stepped out on the third floor she could feel something shift between the three of them. With each step down the hall it got warmer, and she wondered if she was the only one who felt it. Bakugo’s clenched jaw and Jiro’s constant glances between them both made her think that no, it wasn’t.

It was only after they were all standing in Jiro’s room that Bakugo began to speak, his voice not as harsh as it usually was.

“You don’t need to choose,” he said again. “I like you and so does she. You like me and you like her. She and I get along just fine.”

“So by not choosing you mean…?

“I mean you can have both of us. Or neither of us. If you don’t want competition it’s an all or nothing type deal.”

She looked between him and Jiro. “You two have talked about this? And you’re both okay with it being all or nothing?”

“Yeah we uh, we’re good. Not like he and I haven’t done everything already, you know?” Jiro chuckled nervously, pulling her sleeves down over her hands.

“Okay,” she replied. “Then I’m all in.”

“Oh thank fuck, I wanna kiss you so bad,” Jiro sighed, starting towards her.

Bakugo grabbed the back of her cardigan and yanked her back to his side, glaring at her when she squirmed to try and make him let go.

“Keep your fuckin’ legs closed for five minutes,” he snapped, dropping his hand from the fabric.

She bit her lip, not sure what was going to happen now that the decision had been made. Plus she was a little disappointed; she wanted to kiss Jiro too.

“Listen, we gotta get some shit straight first alright?” Bakugo said. “This ain’t exactly the norm, so if we gotta start small, we do. First thing’s first, do you want us both at the same time or are we workin’ up to that?”

That had been the shift: sexual tension. And yeah, she definitely wasn’t the only one who felt it judging by the subtle tensing of Jiro’s thighs and the not at all subtle outline in Bakugo’s pants.

“Same time is what I want. I’ve… never done it with two people before and I’ve never been with another girl but I want you. Both of you.”

He nodded. “You been tested? You on anything?”

“Work study tests us all for literally everything imaginable each month so yeah, three weeks ago and I’m good,” she said, her skin hot. “I’m on the pill but I would really prefer you use a condom too.”

“Same,” Jiro offered with a smile. “On both accounts.”

“Tested last week and I’m good too,” Bakugo said. “Hard no’s for this first time?”

“Grabbing is the only thing that happens to my ass and if anyone hits me they’re losing whatever limb made contact.”

“No problem,” he shrugged.

Jiro laughed. “I think that tonight we keep it tame, yeah?”

With a smirk on his face Bakugo stepped out of his slippers and came towards her, laying a hand on her waist before stepping around her and pressing himself against her back. “Tame as a threesome can be.”

She could feel his breath on the back of her neck and she shivered, closing her eyes for just a moment. When she opened them, Jiro was in front of her.

Smiling, she brought her hands up to cup her face and kissed her. Lips pressed against the side of her neck too and she realized that stepping around that corner on the first floor was the best decision she could’ve made. If she hadn’t she wouldn’t be enjoying the two sets of hands slowly roaming her body or the two tongues that were sliding past her lips and tracing a reddening mark on her jaw.

Her shirt was gently pushed up and bunched around her stomach as large, warm palms slid across her skin and tried pulling her slightly away from Jiro, but her grip on her hips held her steady enough to not break the kiss. The hands dragged up to cup her ribs just below her bra and Bakugo rolled his hips into her from behind, making her gasp into her kiss with Jiro.

She smiled, eyes half lidded as her fingertips brushed against her cheek. “We’re gonna make you feel so good.”

“Wanna make you two feel good too,” she murmured, feeling the bites to her neck pause.

“Y’already are, just let us have our fun,” he mumbled before pushing her top up over her head and dropping it to the side. He pulled his own shirt off quickly and let his hands roam the newly bared skin of her back.

Shakily, she reached forward to tug at the hem of Jiro’s cardigan, receiving a smile and an easy shrug to remove it. A moment later the undershirt followed and she pulled her into a kiss again as the hands at her back lightly snapped the band of her bra.

She jumped, breaking the kiss. “Bakugo!”

“Tch, pretty sure we can go for given names now, right Kyoka?”

“Katsuki’s right,” she giggled, kissing her once more.

She felt overwhelmed in the best way. She was on a first name basis with both of her crushes and was between the two of them, holding Kyoka close and kissing her with everything she had while Katsuki ground himself against her and unclipped her bra.

With more gentleness than she expected, he guided the straps down her arms and lightly tugged her arms from around Kyoka so the loosened fabric could fall to the side. Kyoka took that time to step back to undo and shed her own which allowed Katsuki to spin her around to face him for the first time. He smirked, fingers gliding up her sides until he was able to cup her chest in large palms.

She cradled his jaw and brought him forward to press her lips against his, surprised at the lack of roughness she’d expected when he kissed back. Was it testing the waters or savoring the first taste? She was willing to bet both.

Cool hands smoothed over her back and slow, careful kisses trailed down her spine. The drag of lips against the curve of her lower back made her shiver and the nudge of fingertips just below her waistband made her heart race even more. Fabric slid down her legs to leave her completely bare and she felt her face heat up, self-conscious of being the only one, until a moment later she heard the soft sound of clothing hitting the floor behind her and felt bare skin against her back.

Breaking apart from Katsuki to breathe she leaned forward to press open mouthed kisses to his collarbone, the definition like he had been chiseled from stone. Her hands fell to his hips and hooked her fingers into his sweats and underwear, tugging them down to pool at his feet. She traced over the ridges of muscle across his stomach as she continued kissing up his neck, careful not to leave marks where his costume couldn’t cover.

She felt Kyoka rest her chin on her shoulder, then a brush against her arm and a twist of muscle beneath her lips. When she glanced up she saw her kissing Katsuki, one hand on his cheek to keep him turned towards her. One hand dropped from her chest and moved behind her, knuckles at her back and a soft gasp coming from Kyoka making it obvious where it had gone.

Then the hand still on her chest slowly slid down her body before settling between her legs and the hand at her back returned to her hip. Cooler hands would around her to cup her chest, a shudder running through her at the temperature but her fingers traced down the sculped stomach in front of her.

Two fingers pressed into her as she wrapped her hand around Katsuki, a soft gasp escaping her and a low groan coming from him. Kyoka’s light laughter followed and she began pressing kisses across her shoulders, mouth free from Katsuki’s head tipping back as more groans were drawn out from the slow stokes.

She bit her lip as the fingers between her legs curled perfectly and his thumb drew firm circles on her clit.

“Good with his fingers, right?” Kyoka whispered.

She could only nod with a whimper as she felt her thighs tense. Her strokes grew faster and she rocked her hips forward slightly to chase the feeling, her back arching at the two pairs of hands treating her so well.

She whined loudly as the fingers between her legs withdrew and the solid warmth disappeared from in front of her, but she couldn’t dwell on it as she was turned around once again and pressed against Kyoka. Their lips found one another’s easily and she felt those cool hands on her cheeks, her own fingertips tracing the soft skin of the curves of her chest and stomach. Even with inexperienced nerves tingling in the back of her mind she ventured lower to the apex of pale of thighs and reveled in the pleased hum into her mouth. Knowing what she liked for herself she rubbed familiar patterns and curled her fingers just so to keep the noises flowing, swallowing them proudly as they grew louder.

“I like how you sound,” she murmured breathily as they broke apart and dark hair tickled her chest as Kyoka rested her forehead against her shoulder with a gasp.

“And I like the view,” Katsuki chuckled from behind her, the crinkling of foil lost to the low timbre.

Hands came around to cup her chest from behind once again and those lips were back on her neck, the rhythm of her fingers stuttering slightly at the sensations.

“Let… let me show you what I’m good at,” Kyoka panted, kissing her cheek before pulling back. Their eyes stayed locked as she kneeled down, her palms gently widening her stance to make room between her thighs, and it was only at the first brush of her tongue on her clit did she close her eyes.

Her fingers dropped to thread through the dark hair that was just as silky as she’d always imagined, tightening slightly as fingertips trailed closer to where her lips and tongue were working her closer to cumming faster than she could comprehend. The teeth scraping against her neck and jaw gave just the right amount of pain to combine with that pleasure and her legs started to shake from the effort of standing.

Katsuki noticed immediately, the mark he’d been working on abandoned as he ordered, “Bed, Kyoka.”

The hum of agreement between her thighs nearly sent her over the edge right then, but the promise of experiencing even more was too alluring to succumb to it so soon and she let herself be guided to the bed on weak legs by her two partners. It was a bit difficult for the three of them to lie together in the small dorm bed but they managed to arrange themselves well enough to be comfortable and continue.

She was one more kissing Kyoka as they laid on their sides facing one another and Katsuki’s chest was pressed against her back, smooth latex brushing against the back of her thigh. Familiar rough hands parted her thighs, lifting one leg slightly, and she felt him move against her to position himself before rolling his hips forward.

A soft moan escaped her as her hand trailed down the soft skin in front of her, the fullness she felt something she wanted to share at least somewhat with Kyoka. She traced her tongue along her bottom lip as she pressed two fingers into her and began to draw firm circles on her clit, her pattern hesitant and uneven as Katsuki started to move. It took a few moments for them to sink into a rhythm that suited all of them but once they did it felt like everything had fallen into place.

Deep groans vibrated against her shoulders as he mouthed more bites along her back, the sting of his teeth and the soft pinches to her nipples from Kyoka giving her more sensations than she could comprehend. She had to break the kiss to rest her head against her collarbone, panting breaths making her chest heave and muscles clench as their newfound rhythm amongst the three of them sped up.

“That’s it,” Katsuki mumbled, his fingers ghosting over her hip to find a place on her clit.

One hand left her chest and a whisper of, “Katsuki,” over her shoulder let her know exactly what happened next when he shifted higher and so did Kyoka, her chest now directly in front of her. She took advantage, curling her fingers just so and laving her tongue over her left nipple; her free hand came up to knead and pinch her right.

Katsuki dutifully swallowed her moans but the trio each silently hoped that the rest of the class were still in the common room because there was no possible way for them to hold back the gratified sounds. As their rhythm grew steadily faster and the muscles coiled even tighter the louder they were surely becoming.

It was Kyoka who came first, tossing her head back and cupping the back of her neck to keep her to her chest, her hips rocking into her hand as she rode out the pleasure with breathy moans.

“Fuck!” Katsuki grunted, his fingers adding more pressure to her clit to bring her over the edge just before he himself toppled over, the tightness around him almost unbearable with how amazing it felt as he ground his hips into hers as they came.

The three of them collapsed into one another breathing heavily and weakly clinging to each other, willing their heartbeats to slow and their pleasure to linger. Easy kisses were shared between them and fingertips traced sweat-damp skin as they laid together for a few peaceful moments.

Kyoka nudged both her and Katsuki. “We gotta clean up.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, getting to his feet and helping them both up and into Kyoka’s bathroom.

Within ten minutes they were semi-dressed and piled back in the bed with Kyoka spooning her and her head on Katsuki’s chest. Fingers tangled in hair and lips pressed to exposed skin let that bliss continue in a sweet way as they laid with one another.

She giggled, thinking back to hours before in the common room when she wasn’t sure what was going to happen in regard to her crushes yet here she was cuddled between them after what was most definitely the most pleasurable night of her life.

“Oi, the hell you laughin’ at?”

“Yeah, no secrets between boyfriends and girlfriends,” Kyoka teased.

She smiled. “Just thinking about how this morning I had crushes on the two hottest people in the class and now I’m dating them.”

“Weird how that shit works out sometimes but I can’t complain when I got the two hottest girls in the class,” Katsuki smirked.

“I’m with you, babe,” Kyoka said with a kiss to her cheek. “I’m just excited I got the drummer and the groupie.”

Damn, she was lucky.

A/N: Please be sure to reblog, comment, review, and like if you enjoy! Feedback is what keeps me motivated! So yeah I love rhythm section members irl and no I’ve never written a threesome before, why do you ask?

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chirpycreations · 4 years

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How Villians Sleep At Night Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: This story will NOT be my usual happy, bit of violence sorta thing. It will contain some mature themes and language. I don't mean Undertale genocide mature either. I mean abuse, manipulation, depression, low-self-esteem and possibly suicidal thoughts (I'll clarify this list as I work on the story). This isn't something I'd let my 12-year-old sister read so if you're under 14 I probably wouldn't recommend it.

Alrighty, with that out the way, happy reading!

- - - - - - -- -

Cold, windy and cold. The light snow began its descent, its final journey, landing down on his nose and everything around. Drawn like a magnet, he felt his hand jump outwards, catching one of these fallen angels, only for it to dissipate in a matter of seconds.

He paused a few meters from the door, turning back to the tall building which loomed over him. He must look different from when he arrived. His body felt chocked by the bandages around him. Ribcage, vertebrae and skull, left arm laying lazily in a sling. It wasn’t just his recent addition of battle scars and bruises those. His clothes, or more accurately, now his clothes. Donated to him by a friend. They were too small, too tight, too familiar. Sleeves of the tired blue hoodie just surpassing his elbows, trousseaus mimicking shorts, and pink fluffy slipper which, judging by their size must have once belonged to his friends older brother.

The wind wrapped around him as if in a hug to congratulate, or was it to comfort? Both would be appropriate given the events that had passed.

Regardless of its intent, he pulled the scarf up to his nose, covering up the sensitive bone beneath. It was still raw from only having been recently reintroduced to the world that lies around it. A world much colder than the one he had known 4 weeks prior, and for more reasons than just the winter chill, gesturing its commiserations.

He found himself drawn out from these thoughts by the moaning of the snow behind. Crunch, crush, crumble. The snow settled under the weight of the oppressive foot.

He didn’t need to face its domineering owner to know who was approaching. The sigh of heavy boots and ragged breaths. He’d come to know them well.

“I am guessing you did not come to congratulate me on getting out of the Hospital?” His voice was coarse, rusted form lack of use over these last 4 weeks. Those in his defence, he had spent the last 3 weeks asleep and the option to practice such activities had not been appealing this last week, despite his visitors who had shown no such hesitation.

“That’d be correct.” The voice replied, his usual grim tone clouding over.

He could picture the cowboy standing there in the snow. His thick brown jacket, heavy boots and purple scarf, no doubt pulled up high like his own. Yellow beady eyes, peering through the falling snow. The only thing which could penetrate it was the scar running through his left socket. Two lines were torn deep into the bone like a knife through a cloth, jagged edges jumping out at those who dared ask the question; How?

He held onto these images just a little longer. He didn’t want to face him: Judge, jury and executioner. Didn’t want to break the illusion, see the bullet, the disappointment, hate and pity which followed in his final moment. Not now, not from him. Not a reminder of how far he’d fallen. How much he had failed everyone. Them. Himself. Not now, not yet.

The judge let another ragged breath escaped into the wind, then spoke again, his voice still harsh, “We need to talk.”

He almost laughed: Predictable.

He’d imagined this meeting over the last week, dreaded it.

Each time he imagined this outcome, each time only worse. The path so far smiled in his favour, but was it actually kindness? Or the sympathy of fate while deciding which hand to deal him next?

“I expected you would say that. Maybe somewhere a little warmer? I know a suitable spot.”

- - - -

The change of scenery was nice. He had seen too much white: White walls, white snow, white dust. It all blended together after a while. Instead, the calm beat of rain sang out drowning these thoughts; drip, drop, plop. The soft squelch of moss beneath his shoes and cool blue glow of flora. A welcomed change.

He sat on the lone bench, once home to an abandoned quiche to which he believed was adopted by Frisk some months earlier during their last run. A last bid to make their wrongs right? He couldn’t help the bitter smile that came with the thought. They had been the same all along, hadn’t they?

“Alright, let's get this shit over with. I’ve got better things to be doing than dealing with the fucking mess ya’ve made me, bless yar heart.”

The judge; to whom he’d come to know as Apollo, Wayne or his more commonly called name: Justice, over the last 5 months was the same as always. Grumpy, ill-tempered and foul-mouthed. Not knowing better, you’d think it was any other ordinary day. Paperwork, lack of sleep or maybe Squirrel might have contributed to the slight dip in mood, but otherwise, you wouldn’t think different. He knew different. He knew it was his fault.

Justice had taken to standing in front of him. He’d pulled out a dictaphone, notepad and pen. Bad cop, good cop? No, there was only one of him. He didn’t see Sarge or Chara, so obviously he’d been decided as an ‘easy’ case to deal with. Even so, it didn’t feel much like an interrogation. For anyone else, Justice would tower over them like a mighty dictator, interjecting fear and obedience. Then like a master surgeon he would dissect them for his answers. For him, however, the same was hard to say. Even while slouching, his lanky body continued to meekly rise above the judge, even if by only a few centimetres.

The situation felt a little... uncomfortable, but not more than that.

The dictaphone clanks as Justice sat it down on the bench. A bone finger reached out and pressed ‘Record’.

That's it then. No more hiding, no more delays. The inedible was always going to happen. He could only stall for so long.

“Interview #597883. Interviewing S-"

“Hoshi”

His interruption was met with silence, annoyance and confusion. For this story, he is ‘Hoshi’.

Was.

“...Interviewing ‘Hoshi’.” Justice finished his annoyance still very present. Strike one, maybe?

“For future review, this interview will be documented. All information discussed will be kept confidential and on a need ta know bases with only those holding clearance.” The note pad was empty. Did he really know all this off the top of his head? How long had he been doing this?

“You will answer all questions given to you, with nothin’ but the truth and will not withhold any information regardless of its contents. Should ya be found to be lying or withholding anything, then all evidence for your case will be rendered void. Do you understand?”

Tap,

Tap.

Hoshi rushed into an answered upon noticing the impatient pen's rhythm upon the paper. “Yes...s-sir.”

“Justice'll do.”

The silence was his reply, a slight nod of the head.

“Look, I ain’t gonna sugar coat this for ya. You’re in some deep shit here and really fucked up. I don’t think I have ‘ta tell ya how serious the charges you’re looking at are.” He paused, taking a breath, or was it a sigh?

“Endangering the life of a Creator & leaking sensitive information regarding the Bar & it’s Patrons to an unknown 3rd party is pretty fuckin’ serious, and should’a already contributed to 4 accounts of sansicide on you’re head if it wasn’t for sheer fucking luck.”

“That being said,” He added after a moment,

“You did speak out about it and put your life on the line to take the brunt of the consequences (, even if a little late).” He mumbled the latter half, scowling down on the words as if their existence in that order should sentence them to a fate far worse than his own.

“While try’na throw your life away is fucking dumb and won’t fix what you’ve done...myself, Z-Stars and other agreed ya deserve a chance. As well as the numerous vouches towards your character we received, evidence collected would suggest possible fowl play to some extent. Whether this is true or not, I intend to find out.”

How had he gotten here? Everything was going so well. Everything was going according to plan. It was simple enough. Fool proof. 'Hoshi proof', Shadow had even teased him often enough. If any common fool could do it, he would be fine. He couldn't fail.

But still...

- - - - -

"Que se passera-t-il si cela ne fonctionne pas?"

("What shall happen if this does not work?") He asked. He'd felt the fear call at him through the fog of his mind. It's worrying pleas, he could barely make them out, but it seemed logical to respond to them. By responding to them, they would leave. He'd be alone again with the fog. The nothingness. It had grown on him, the emptiness inside.

"Je suppose que ça dépend de la façon beaucoup don't vous voulez rentrer à la maison, n'est-ce pas?"

("I guess it depends on how much you want to get home, doesn't it?") His Shadow replied, in broken french.

Unlike him, his Shadow wasn't native to his tongue. Despite this, however, Shadow had insisted they use his tongue to communicate. His language was less common than English. It meant they had more privacy, 3.29 times more to be precise, and as a bonus, their target also didn't speak it.

"Tu t'inquiètes trop. Je serai là si tu gâches. Maintenant préparez-vous, ça ne devrait pas être trop long maintenant."

("You worry too much. I'll be there if you mess up. Now get ready, it shouldn't be too long now.") Where was he now then? Why wasn't he by his side? Whispering flattery... advice... encouragement...like he'd always done. Telling him how stupid and pathetic he was, how he couldn't do anything, wouldn't be anything.

Apart of him wished he could tell him he was right... again.

"D-d'accord. Merci mon amie."

("O-ok. Thank you my friend.")

- - - - -

A hand waved in front of him, ending its journey with a flick on his nose. He blinked hard twice looking up and meeting the angry gaze. Ah right, he was still here.

“You’ve got one chance ‘Hoshi’. The truth or I can make a start on locking yar ass up for eternity so I can get some brain bleach and drink the rest of this fucking nightmare away.”

"..."

“Choice’s yar’s really, but ya should know a lot’a folks stepped forward to vouch for ya. It’d be a shame to reject their forgiveness ‘cause it ain’t often you make friends like ‘em who’re willing ta stick by your side no matter what.”

It took a moment for Hoshi to find the right words. He’d know his decision since he’d first awakened.

“Where would you like me to start?”

A weight placed its self upon his shoulder: a hand. It stayed for a moment, lifting and coming back down with a pat. The judge had a smile projected onto his face, it couldn’t have been his own. In all the time he’d know him, he’d never truly smiled (unless sarcastic of course). Maybe he was seeing things? After all his left eye was still tucked away under bandages, deemed too damaged to face the elements.

“That’s the spirit, boy.” No, the smile was real.

He let his eye drift upwards, meeting Justice's almost unnatural gaze. Too kind and gentle, too out of character. If anything, the uncanny expression on his face made him feel even more uncomfortable than the whole integration.

The weight removed it’s self completely,

“The begging. Include all the details ya can remember. We need ta know who we’re fuckin’ deal with cause whoever these folks are, they’ve already made it pretty fuckin’ obvious they mean business.”

“I-I...I am sorry.”

“I know.”

They remained in silence for a minute, nothing more could be said: The damage has been done. All they could do now was pick up the pieces and hope there was enough glue left to save the situation from shattering further.

“Let’s make a start kid, somehow I doubt this’ll be quick.” He flipped his pen around. It stood at attention, ready to follow his every command.

“O-ok.”

This is it, then: the true story.

It was so long ago, so many things had happened since then. Could he even remember how it started? How it happen? But then again, the better question was how much would he let himself remember? He’d tried so hard to bury it, pretend the illusion was real, fight back the pain, the tears, late at night when white lies clawed at him. Slowly digging themselves up from the shallow graves he’d hastily buried them in.

He preferred the illusion. It had a happy ending.

Was going to, at least...

Was heading that way before the events of one month ago.

The incident.

His ultimate failure.

His betrayal...

He smiled meekly, he...he was a terrible person. He knew that much was certin. No.

A mess, not a person. A mess of lies, illusions and shredded memories. That was a different story, however. Maybe he would get to tell that story one day too. But till then... this is the story of Hoshi, Sans.

His story.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Cover & Chapter 1 art

[TOSD] How Villians Sleep At Night by me

Justice Sans by Vangold

#justice #sans #undertale #undertaleau #hoshi #story #litrature #storywritting #waterfall #past #incident #6monthdeal #creatorandcreation #talesofstardust

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celtics534 · 5 years

Text

We Run From Real Life Thoughts Tonight

Doom Days chapter 3 is here. Are you ready for it?

Read on FF.net or AO3

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Harry glanced over at Ginny out of the corner of his eye. She was staring straight ahead, hyper-focused on their task. After a quick moment of silence for their fallen friend, they had fled the scene, looting their enemies clean of anything useful.

As they walked, Harry’s mind kept replaying the scene. He saw Cedric’s body jerking as the bullet tore through his chest. He saw the look on his face as he slid down to the ground. Harry’s own hands were covered in shining blood. Then… nothing. He had frozen, unable to do more than stare, and Ginny had been the one to guide them away from everything.

If Harry was completely honest, he hadn’t heard a word she’d said for the first few minutes after the shooting ceased. His brain seemed to have shut down, unable to think about anything other than his dead friend. But when Ginny had moved in close… how was it that she smelled like Molly’s little patio garden? They were in the middle of an apocalypse, and there she was, smelling of fucking flowers. It was the same scent he’d noticed back in school, the same smell that would follow him into his dreams to that very night . That’s what had brought him back to reality, back to the painful real-life thoughts. Without her,fuck... he’d probably still be back in the center of that village. Or dead.

The night was approaching fast as they made their way. By Harry’s understanding of the map, they should reach Lower Assendon before darkness completely overran them.

“What’s that?” Ginny broke the comfortable silence they’d had for over an hour. She was pointing towards the outline of a tree on a small rise, and yet…

Harry blinked a few times to make sure his eyes weren’t misleading him. Dangling from one of the higher branches were two humanoid shadows. They were connected by a thick rope tied around where their necks would be.

“Please don’t let it be what I think it is.” Ginny’s shoulders fell as they moved in closer to the hanging tree.

“Then it’s better if I don’t speak.” Harry took in a deep breath as they stood forty meters away. Without saying a word, they’d each decided to stop.“Fuck.”

“We should cut them down.” Ginny reached for the blade clipped to her belt. Harry followed her as she strode up the short incline.

Once they were close enough to see the skin peeling from the woman’s cheeks, the first thing Harry thought of was the lack of smell. “They’ve been here for a while.”

Ginny nodded as she stared at the couple. The longer they stood there, the more Harry noticed -- but what really caught his attention was their linked hands.

“They wanted to leave the world together,” Ginny spoke softly. He turned to see her looking at their hands too. “I’m guessing one of them was ill.” She swallowed hard. “I’m worried that Dad sent me away for the same reason.”

Harry’s heart surged into his throat. The idea that Arthur was going to -- “No.”

His voice was so quiet he could barely hear it. Beside him, he felt Ginny shudder. Without hesitation, Harry took her into his arms, cradling her head to his chest.

She started to shake while Harry held her. He could feel the dampness of her tears on his shirt. “Ginny, I --” I’m sorry wasn’t enough. It pained him to watch her deal with all of… this. This motherfucking shit-show of a world. If he could, he’d have hidden her away from it all.

But that was impossible.

“I just hate that I can’t do anything,” Ginny said, her voice muffled by his shirt. Harry started rubbing small circles in between her shoulder blades. “Oh, Harry, you and I both know he won’t make it. Mum maybe had a few days, and they say --”

Ginny choked back a sob. Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Everyone knows how contagious you are during the last twenty-four hours you’re alive with Morsmordre.”

She nodded into his chest. “He won’t leave her side. The whole plant thing is a lie.” Harry’s mind whirled back to Arthur’s vague promise of a cure, of the mystical plant lying outside the city limits.

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but if there was a cure, why hasn’t news spread? Why aren’t people walking around cheering about this Godsend of a cure?”

Harry continued rubbing her back, and to his immense pleasure, her stiff shoulders slowly loosened. Her breathing was also taking on an even rhythm. He knew her question was entirely rhetorical. They both knew the answer.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“We’re almost there,” Harry told Ginny as they walked down the old one-lane road.

“Do we know who we’re meeting?” Ginny asked. Even in the poor light of his torch beam, he could see that her eyes were still red-rimmed from the previous hour. After cutting the dead couple from their post, it had taken some time to move on from the hanging tree. Now the sun had fully set and they were relying on their torches for light.

“Ced --” Harry swallowed hard. “Cedric use to live here with Cho.”

“The one who might be --”

Harry flinched. If Cho really was pregnant -- fuck.. He didn’t want that guilt on his head. The idea that he’d caused a child to lose their father before even getting to meet him...

Ginny grabbed his hand and pulled him to a complete stop. “Harry, as sad as it is that Cedric died, it wasn’t our fault.”

“But --”

“No!” She slapped her hand down on his chest. Harry saw her face illuminated in the perfect light for telling a scary story; her torch was angled below her chin and shadows danced across her features. “We weren’t the ones who shot him, were we? No, it was those bastards! And now they’re paying the ultimate price.”

Logically, Harry knew she was right. He hadn’t killed Cedric, but it sure felt like he had. “If we hadn’t --”

“-- He could still have walked into an ambush and been captured and tortured in a month’s time.” Ginny shook her head. “Harry, do you believe in fate?”

“I --” Harry pursed his lips. “I don’t know.”

Ginny nodded. “Well, I do. I think some things have to happen eventually, no matter how much it hurts. It shapes us into who we are.”

“Are you saying Cedric had to die?”

“I don’t know about dying, but I do think something was bound to happen. Don't get me wrong.” Ginny spread her palms in surrender. “I don’t think we should sit back and just let anything happen to us, but I do think there’s a general outline that’s already in place.”

Harry let her philosophy sink in. He had no idea if fate or destiny were real things, but she did have a point about certain events shaping him into the man he’d become. Without his losses and victories, who would he be?

“I --” He took a deep breath. “It still hurts.” Harry had never been good at sharing his feelings, something his secondary school girlfriend pointed out all too often. He could never articulate what was going on in his head when it came to emotions.

Ginny, however, didn’t seem to care that he couldn’t express himself. She gave him a small smile that he almost couldn’t see in the poor lighting. “I know.” She stood up on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “We best keep going.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In Harry’s opinion, Lower Assendon was a horrible place to set up a defense post. The center of the village was a wide open area with what once had been houses and a few local businesses. There was no way to set a wall around the area, or at least not an efficient one. Harry couldn’t help but wonder how anyone felt safe in this neighborhood.

Harry and Ginny walked right up to the only building that had any lights shining, the old bed and breakfast.

“I’m gonna knock,” Harry told Ginny quietly. “I need you to be behind my back and ready if someone makes a move at me.”

Ginny nodded, pulling her gun out of her holster and clicking off the safety. Harry stopped on the stoop, checking to make sure Ginny was ready. At her nod, he knocked. It took fifteen seconds for someone to brush the curtains aside to look at them. Harry could see a mane of dark hair before the window was covered again. Then a dark eye shone through a crack in the door.

“Who is it?” Though Harry hadn’t talked to her in years, he recognized Cho Chang.

“Cho, it’s Harry Potter.” Harry could hear her intake of breath.

“Harry? From Secondary?” Though she sounded more comforted, the door didn’t open. “I need you to prove it.”

“How?” Harry glanced back at Ginny and saw confusion reflected back at him.

“Tell me something only Harry would know.” There was a pause. “Where did you walk in on me and Cedric?”

Harry could feel his face heating. Oh, how he had tried to forget that scene. It had been hard enough for him to hear about the girl he fancied in a committed relationship, but to see it up close and personal had been…

“You were in the cupboard by Snape’s old classroom.”

From behind him, Ginny let out a derisive snort. “Not the most romantic spot,” she muttered under her breath. Harry had to hide his smile as Cho swung the door wide.

“Harry!” Cho gave him a hug. Apparently, an apocalypse made people more willing to embrace friends from their past. “How are you? And.” She looked over at Ginny. “Fred and George’s little sister?”

“Not the title I typically go by,” Ginny muttered, but accepted Cho’s hug all the same. “How are you, Cho?”

“As good as can be expected.” Cho took a quick look behind them. “You best come inside.” She gestured them into a small corridor and through an open doorway that led to a moderately-sized sitting room. “How did you know where to find me?”

“We didn’t exactly know it was you who was living here.” Harry settled on the loveseat and was pleased when Ginny joined him instead of taking one of the overstuffed armchairs.

“Really?” Cho cocked her head to the side. “But then why --”

Harry felt like a shiver go down his spine and his throat tighten. “I --” He took in a deep breath and looked directly at Cho. “Cedric had been leading us here.”

“Oh, you’ve seen Cedric!” Cho beamed. “I’m so glad, I always thought you two would get --” She paused as confusion contorted her pretty face. “Wait… leading? He’s with you?” Harry’s chest started to constrict as she looked around the room as if expecting her boyfriend to be hiding in a corner. Cho met his eyes. “Where is Cedric?”

“He --” Harry couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell this woman that the man she loved had died helping him.

Thankfully, Ginny took the lead.

“Cho.” Ginny leaned forward and took her hand. Ginny’s voice was lower and comforting. “Cho,” she repeated, “I’m sorry but he -- someone shot him.”

“No.”

The one word crushed Harry. Cho looked between him and Ginny as if waiting for one of them to tell her how it was all a joke and Cedric would be coming home with a bouquet of flowers. After a minute, Cho’s head fell into her hands as her body shook with sobs.

Ginny rose from her spot to crouch beside Cho and placed a gentle arm over the distraught woman’s shoulders, whispering words of comfort. Harry didn’t have a clue what to do. He had no idea how to console Cho. As she’d reminded him often enough, he was terrible with emotions.

“How -- Did --?” Cho tried to ask, but choked on her own words.

“He didn’t suffer.” Ginny rubbed her hand up and down the length of Cho’s arm in a soothing manner. “Cho, he was talking about how much he adored you before -- it happened.”

Cho sucked in a shuddering breath as she raised her head. Harry could see the trail that her tears had taken down her face. “At least that’s something.”

“Cho, are --” Harry cut himself off. Even he knew this wasn’t the time to ask if she was pregnant. “Will you be all right?”

Cho blinked at him, sending residual tears down her cheeks. “I’ll have to be, won’t I?”

Ginny shook her head. “No, Cho, you don’t have to be okay.”

“I -- I need to be.” Cho rubbed at her dry eyes.

“Is that because of the baby?” Ginny asked gently. Harry had admired how smoothly she’d asked. He never would have managed that.

Cho’s neck snapped to look at Ginny. “How -- Did Cedric tell you?”

“He mentioned you thought you might be, and that he was excited.”

“Yeah.” Cho squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before giving Ginny a dejected look. “I missed my monthly and thought… but I got it yesterday. Cedric left to help Hannah two days ago. I didn’t get to tell h -”

Ginny pulled Cho tightly into her side when Cho choked on her own words. She turned her attention to Harry. “Wanna go make some tea?”

Harry stared at her feeling like a deer in the headlights, his mind unable to comprehend her words.

“Tea?” He finally parroted, feeling the cogs in his head turn. “Right. I’ll make everyone a cup of tea.” Harry hastily stood from his seat and exited the den.

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Harry thanked Cho as he closed the door to the room she’d presented. Never had a night dragged so long… Between Cho randomly breaking down into tears and getting his shoulder patched with more official supplies than Ginny’d had earlier, Harry needed sleep. His wound hurt and so did his head.

He moved over to the large bed, surprised at how comfortable it looked. The last three years had been a blur of lumpy mattresses or hard floors, but this -- this was paradise.

Right as he was about to pull the covers out from their tucked areas, someone knocked on his door.

“Harry?” Ginny’s muffled voice came through the wood. “Can I come in?”

Harry strode over to the door and slowly opened it to reveal a bleary-eyed Ginny. She entered the room and sat on the bed.

“What’s up?” Harry unconsciously ran a hand through his hair.

“What’s the plan?” Ginny pulled her legs up onto the mattress, sitting criss-cross. The way she was looking at him… there was so much trust and respect in her gaze. It made him feel as if he could conquer anything.

“I saw some old bicycles by one of the houses on the way here.” Harry took a seat next to Ginny, leaning his back against the headboard. “We can check to see if there’s air in their tires.”

Harry could have sworn the smile Ginny gave him lit up the room more than the candle on the nightstand. “Harry, that’s a great idea!”

“Thanks.” Harry hoped his face wasn’t turning red. He would spend all his days coming up with ideas if it meant getting Ginny to look at him like that. “It should cut time to Abingdon in half.”

“More than half, I’m guessing.” Ginny moved so she sat beside him with her back to the headboard. “God, how has it only been a day? It feels like it’s been years.”

Harry had to agree. All the shit they’d already dealt with… well, that was enough excitement to last a lifetime, but they would have to go out and do it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day.

They stayed quiet for a few minutes, both lost in their own memories and thoughts of what they were going to have to do. Harry didn’t even notice when Ginny tilted herself so that her body leaned against his, her head resting on his shoulder.

This was his own Elysium. Just being able to sit there with her, not a worry on his mind. No, Harry couldn't think of anything better than this.

He could hear Ginny's breathing even out. Looking down, Harry saw that her eyes had closed. Harry loved how her mouth parted slightly, amplifying a cute little snore she had.

Gently, he slid her body down the pillows so she lay flat on the mattress. He held up her legs so he could work the blankets from under her. Once he had her completely settled, Harry rose from the bed to ask Cho where Ginny had planned on sleeping, but Ginny’s hand reached out, grappling at his side of the mattress as if looking for something. A little frown appeared on her lips.

Without realizing he’d done it, Harry had taken Ginny’s outstretched hand in his own. In a vice-like grip, the sleeping redhead pulled his arm towards her, almost snuggling it like a child might a teddy bear. Harry didn’t struggle. Instead, he slid himself down to lie level with her.

Harry’s heart pounded against his ribs as he looked at his sleeping companion. Clearly, she needed comfort. That was it. And his hand had simply been the nearest thing. The frown on Ginny’s lips had flipped into a smile that felt so out of place for what their lives looked like now. How could he deny her solace? Hell, how could he truly deny her anything?

Not the time or place, Harry thought, doing his best to clear his mind of her as he closed his eyes.

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Ginny woke feeling warm. Slowly she opened her eyes -- and was instantly greeted by the sight of dark bedhead and a cute nose. Harry slept soundly in front of her, his mouth agape, a little drool hanging out the right side. Never had drool looked so cute. She looked down at where their hands were linked.

Damn, I wouldn't mind waking up like this every morning, Ginny thought...though, I certainly wouldn’t mind being snuggled up in his arms...

She thought back to how she’d gotten into Harry’s bed. They had been planning, and then the comfortable silence had lulled her to sleep. After such an eventful day, it was no wonder that the moment there was the break she’d needed to fall asleep.

A knock on their door sent Harry into attack mode in the blink of an eye. He went ramrod straight, eyes locked on the door, one arm blocking her and… where the fuck had he pulled his pistol from?

“Harry, I can’t find Ginny!” Cho’s panicked tone filtered through the wooden door. Ginny watched Harry’s shoulders slacken as realization registered.

“She’s in here with me.” Harry’s voice was rough, and Ginny thought it was due to more than just sleep. His survival instincts seemed to spread to every part of him.

“She’s in there with - oh!” Cho’s voice shifted from confusion to amusement. “Oh, I’m glad! I’ll -- um -- give you two a few minutes. I have breakfast ready in the kitchen whenever you’re -- um -- decent.”

Ginny listened to Cho’s retreating footsteps, her eyes locked on the back of Harry’s head. After a minute, Harry cleared his throat and set his weapon on the side table. When he turned to look at her, his hand unconsciously ran through his bedhead.

“Good to know she’s looking out for us.” Harry gave her a small smile. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty well,” Ginny confessed. “Though, I was surprised about where I woke up.”

Harry, God bless him, blushed. “I didn’t wanna wake you.”

“I appreciate that.” Ginny pulled the covers off herself before rising. “Well, best not make Cho wait too long or she’s gonna think we’re on round two.”

Just like Ginny wanted, Harry turned a darker shade of red before muttering. “Right.”

Ginny moved around the bed and kissed Harry’s cheek. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Anytime, Gin.”

She retreated to the door, pausing with her hand on the handle to look over her shoulder. “Oh, and, Harry.”

“Yeah?”

“Next time, feel free to sleep under the covers with me. I don’t bite.” With a wink, Ginny left for her designated bedroom, leaving a stunned Harry behind her.

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“So, tell me how long you two have been together?” Cho’s voice finally broke through the awkward silence that had surrounded them for the past ten minutes. They were having a simple breakfast of eggs; Cho kept chickens in a fenced-in area of the yard. Not a word had been spoken since Ginny and Harry had sat down.

Why she decided that would be a good ice breaker was beyond Ginny. She was about to deny it, saying she had just fallen asleep talking, when Cho spoke again. “It’s nice to see someone find happiness in this fucking twisted world.”

Again, Ginny was about to deny it... until she noticed the giant bags under Cho’s eyes. Clearly, the woman had cried most of the night. Ginny didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth and crush the only thing that had put a smile on Cho’s face.

She sent a quick glance to Harry and hoped he’d forgive her. “I agree. It’s important to be with the ones we love.”

Harry didn’t speak, but he did give her a confused look as if he were trying to figure out a complex puzzle. But the joy it seemed to bring Cho made up for Harry’s bewilderment.

After they finished their breakfasts in a more comfortable atmosphere, Ginny offered to help Cho clean up while Harry went to check on the bikes across the street.

Ginny took charge of the dishes while Cho cleaned the rest of the kitchen. From her position by the basin, Ginny could look out the kitchen window where Harry was checking the tires of the bicycles. They were simple two-wheeled machines, one in green and the other in red.

“It’s so important to be with the one you love.” Cho came up behind Ginny, handing her a leftover cup from the table. She nodded her head towards Harry. “There just isn’t enough time.” The wistfulness of Cho’s expression broke Ginny’s heart in two.

She looked back out at Harry. Cho had a point. If something were to happen to Harry or herself and Ginny never told him… a shiver ran down her spine. That wasn’t something she even wanted to consider. Ginny shifted her focus back to the dishes, but her mind wandered to all the horrible possibilities.

Once Ginny had rinsed the last plate, she dried her hands and headed out into the yard where… fuck. What was it about Harry tightening the tire’s screws that was so -- fucking attractive? Was it the way he put his whole body into his project, or maybe it was the lack of shirt presenting her with a great view of tight middle and dark chest hair...

Either way, hot damn!

Harry looked up at her and smiled, which almost sent Ginny to her knees. “Gin, could you see if Cho has an air pump? Only one of the tires needs air.”

It took a few seconds for Ginny’s brain to reboot after such a crash. She nodded and spun back into the house, her face feeling as if it was on fire. The only thought on her mind was how glad she was that Harry couldn't read minds.

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Ginny looked around the scenic lane. Long grass rose on either side of the one-car road. She had always loved England for its beautiful sights, and oddly enough, this trip had allowed her to see more of the incredible countryside. In between gunfights, of course.

"So." Harry let out a long breath, his legs pumping at a steady pace to her left. "What did Cho tell you before we left?"

Ginny thought back on their departure from the cozy village. Cho had pulled her aside and handed her a few final items: An extra bottle to fill water into, a simple knife that would be perfect for protection, and some supplies... for the other kind of protection.

“Uh -- you know so extra water and a nice knife.” Ginny didn’t think it was prudent to mention the rest of Cho’s care package to Harry, at least for now.

“Oh, good!”

And there was the silence again. It wasn’t their usual comfortable silence. There was something to it that Ginny couldn’t quite place. Every so often, she could see his head turn in her direction. She couldn’t help but wonder if his mind kept drifting back to that morning. She wondered if he couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect it had felt to wake up with her, just like she thought of him.

Ginny cleared her throat, forcing her mind to move away from her fantasy. They continued to pedal across the countryside, talking in random intervals, helping to ease whatever that tension had been. There was no set subject of discussion as they progressed across the land, no limitations. Ginny’s personal favorite topic was who’d had the worst first kiss.

“So, she really just started crying?” Ginny asked for the second time.

Harry grunted. “Look, it wasn’t my fault.”

“I mean.” Ginny sent him a quick smirk. “I’ve never kissed someone and felt the urge to cry, so…”

“She was mad at her ex.”

Ginny pressed on the brakes, stopping in the middle of the road next to an abandoned Range Rover. “Wait. What?”

Harry halted his bicycle, his feet skidding on the pavement. He stood from the seat and turned to look at her. “What?”

“What do you mean she was mad her ex, and what does that have to do with her crying while kissing you?”

Harry sighed. He threw his leg over the center bar and hit the bike stand down. “I guess now’s a good a time as any to take a break.” He moved over to the Range Rover and leaned against it. “So, I was at this party with Ron and this girl comes up to me and like -- you know, starts flirting with me.”

Ginny followed his example, getting off her bike and leaning her back against the SUV. “How old were you?”

“Um.” Harry frowned. “I’d say fifteen. Anyways, apparently her boyfriend had broken up with her and she was hoping to make him jealous.”

“With you?”

Harry nodded. “She took me into a corner and you know --” Ginny loved the way he blushed. It was adorable that a grown man was still so awkward talking about kissing someone. He swallowed. “Yeah, and so when her boyfriend didn’t come over and knock my lights out, she got upset. She started crying, and yeah.” He ended lamely.

Ginny considered her options. She could be sympathetic or tease him a bit. If she knew anything about Harry, he was not the type of guy who wanted sympathy. “So, what you’re saying is your moves didn’t make her forget about the rest of the world.” She clicked her tongue.

It took a few seconds but Harry’s lips twitched. “Well, to be fair it was my first kiss. My moves have improved greatly since then.”

“Oh?” Ginny quirked a brow at him. “You think you got game?”

Ginny could practically see the cogs in his mind working overtime. Then he gave her a teasing smirk. “I could... show you my game.”

Looking back on the scene, Ginny would never be certain about who moved in closer first. Honestly, it could have been mutual. What she could remember was being close enough to see a little dimple on his left cheek that she’d never noticed. She also remembered how the rest of the world had come back into stark reality when an animal growled from the underbrush somewhere to their left.

She and Harry jumped apart, looking at the wild dog. The creature’s stance showed it was ready for a fight. Harry looked at her, then back at the beast. “We -- we’d best get out of here.”

Ginny’s heart fell into her stomach, but she nodded. They moved quickly back onto their bicycles and sped away from the little roadside.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Seamus thumped hard on Harry’s back. “Great to see ya, mate!”

“You too, Shay.” Harry patted his friend’s back just as hard. When they separated, Harry turned to Ginny. “Seamus, you remember Ginny?”

“Ron’s little sister?”

“Not my preferred title,” Ginny muttered for the second time in two days. “But yeah.”

Seamus threw his arms around her as well. “Good to see ya too, lass.”

“Likewise, Seamus.”

After a quick kiss to the cheek, Seamus stepped away from her. “Well, come with me. I’ll give ya the tour.”

Ginny walked beside Harry as Seamus pointed out how they’d created the town's defenses. As they walked around, Ginny could feel the difference in the atmosphere compared to London. Every person they passed in Abingdon was smiling and talking to each other. In London, everyone kept their heads down, but here they acted… friendly. Then again, that could have just been because it was London.

Seamus showed them to a building where everyone gathered for meals. “Tonight's supper is roast beef, so ya came at the right time.”

The final stop on their tour was a line of houses all different colors. Ginny would have guessed it had once been a high street. “And this is where I live.” He opened the front door to a small hall. “If you two wanna get settled, your room is upstairs. Dinner will be in a few hours. I’ve gotta go fix the bathhouse. If you get bored, go look for Dean.” He winked at Ginny. “I’m sure you remember him.”

And with that, Seamus walked right back out the front door.

Ginny blinked rapidly. “Dean’s here?”

Harry’s eyes took on a cool quality. “Like your last boyfriend. That Dean?”

“I guess so.” Ginny shrugged, hefting her bag up her back. “Come on, let’s put these away so I can check your shoulder.”

“Right.” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Right.” He paused. “Wait...did he say room?”

#Hinny Doom Days #hinny #hinny fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry X ginny #harry potter fan fiction

13 notes · View notes

coutelier · 6 years

Text

Things in the Woods

Excerpt time! At this point in the story we’ve met some of the characters. Namely Kaya, who wants to be a better person but with all her associations and impulsive nature is finding it difficult. Sayuri is the only decent person she’s friends with but her other associates are all crooks and bullies. We’ve also met Tenley, a young girl who wanted to be loved by her mother but then that mother was taken away and now all she wants is revenge, and Titania (for unknown reasons) has given her the means to do it. We haven’t met adult Jennifer yet - she’s like a detective and will show up after the crime has happened in order to solve it. Speaking of which, it’s time to get the actual meat of the story started. You see Titania has one rule - no one looks on the hidden people and lives.

Things in the Woods

It was fine. Everything was fine. Kaya was sleeping in her car tonight, tiny droplets pattering on the windscreen. The weather had turned very quickly, inky clouds looming over the murky valley below where she was parked. But it was fine. Tomorrow would be a new day. It would be great if she had some sort of plan, but she was pretty good at improvising so why waste that talent?

The evening had gone smoothly. For a change, Candace had managed to get through the set without challenging every face watching them in the metallic and black hall to fight then been convinced to go home without kicking at anyone. Sayuri had been pulled and gone home with another girl. So that just left Kaya, here, alone, watching silhouettes of trees waving in the distance like they were praying to their gods for rain and had been answered. She nodded to the rhythm, letting it carry her away. Then she heard the scream.

Kaya was used to be woken by screams. Usually drunken antics and brawls, but this one had an abruptness to it that turned her spine to glass. And it was close. She squinted through the windows, checked all her mirrors, but the rain was getting thick. On one side were the warehouses and on the other a line of trees marking the edge of the road. The only other thing she saw was a ‘To Let’ sign hammered into muddy grass, and behind it a shoe. On closer inspection there was a leg too. Could someone have fallen? Not from the roof - that really wouldn’t have made sense. But she supposed it was her duty as a fellow human to go investigate.

The droplets felt like ice on her skin, so she wrapped her arms around herself as she padded toward the shoe. “Um, hey?” She softly cooed, “you okay there? Do you need…” she froze. No, the man lying behind the sign was definitely not okay. What he needed were his eyes as vile ichor just oozed from the holes they once were.

Kaya didn’t like to swear, but this seemed like a situation that was appropriate for it. So… shit. Other things were rising in her throat as she ran back to the car. She could feel her own heart trying to bust as she made sure the doors were locked, the only sound she heard was her own quick breathing. Was she panicking? Probably. That made sense. Sayuri talked about meditation sometimes so what would she suggest? Imagine yourself on a beach and breathe in and out with the waves. No, Kaya hated sand. Sayuri was no help to her here. Dibbles! She should call the dibbles.

It was a great plan except for one problem - the phone wouldn’t come on. Even though she was sure she’d charged it all she held in her hand was a useless plastic slate. Pressing the button harder didn’t seem to transfer any energy into it at all. It was only then she noticed nothing was on outside either. All the lights and streetlights around her had gone dark. She knew those things couldn’t really be connected to her phone, yet… what if they were? What if the killer was still around?

Kaya sunk behind the wheel, wide eyes darting back and forth between anything outside that might possibly not just be an illusion caused by the rain. In the end there was only thing that wasn’t. She saw it in the mirror, high up in a tree behind her where the rain beat down on the leaves and on something else. Something that wasn’t there and yet, as water covered it, it’s shape was. Then it looked through the mirror at her.

Kaya jumped and fumbled with her key in the ignition. Nothing happened. She turned it again. Still nothing. After the the third time she looked back and saw the creature was gone, but that was no relief - she would rather have known where it was, or so she thought, as it was now standing outside next to her. Whatever cloak had been obscuring it was gone and she saw a slender androgynous thing clad in some chitinous armor with a gray-brown bark like texture, leaf-like ears protruding from the mouthless helm. It reached down, one hand getting under the vehicle which it then flipped and started rolling down the hill.

Kaya braced as best she could, her shoeboxes bouncing around, hitting her from all directions. All she could really do was close her eyes, grit her teeth, and waited until she felt a jolt. To her relief it seemed that gravity was working from under her and she was still on the road that zig-zagged up the hill. But the engine still wouldn’t start no matter how much she pleaded. She released the brake and the green hatchback began to trundle forward, but with not nearly enough haste.

“Come on!” Kaya growled. All she needed was one, tiny spark. She felt another jolt, but not from the engine. The creature was kneeling on the bonnet, the black bulbs that were its eyes locked on to hers as it began drawing back its fist. “Greenback,” Kaya pleaded one last time, “do this for me and I promise I’ll take you to the car wash tomorrow.”

The engine roared. Kaya screamed in triumph, immediately reversing so that the creature fell back and away, rolling and landing on it’s feet in the middle of the road. There was no way of registering if it felt anything like surprise, but Kaya was well past her own shock and fear. She had the thing in her headlights so slammed her foot down, tires squealing as Greenback was launched at it. The creature didn’t flinch, but waited til the last second before vaulting over the car like an ancient acrobat leaping over a bull.

The smart thing to do was to keep going, not stop or turn around. For once Kaya did the smart thing, turning at the bottom of the hill although she had no clue where to turn next. This road was taking her away from town, which she quickly realized was the opposite of where she should be heading. But she couldn’t turn around. Not until she had put a lot of distance between and whatever that thing was. After a few minutes she thought maybe she’d gone far enough, but then a thud and the roof crumpled slightly. Whatever the thing was it hadn’t given up yet. Kaya spun the wheel, rubber burning on tarmac as she swerved, hoping to shake it off. In response some kind of blade punched through the roof, just missing her, then retracting so it could try again.

Kaya couldn’t shake it off. She had one idea that might kill this thing, but it meant sacrificing an old friend and only home. Sinking to avoid the blade, she made sure her seatbelt was securely fastened then patted the wheel. “Sorry, Greenback,” she whispered, “I’m sure you’ll get a shiny new polish in motor heaven.”

She waited until the creature stabbed again, then sharply turned the wheel. Greenback lurched, sparks flying as it slid onto its side then over and over, glass shattering and metal screeching as it twisted. It smashed through a fence, taking out a wooden post, finally coming to rest in a field.

Kaya wasn’t sure if she’d passed out or not. When she opened her eyes she was hanging upside down, a cow mooing some distance away but seemed to not really be concerned about her or what had happened to its fence. Despite being crumpled the door still opened, so she unhooked her seatbelt and let herself fall then crawl out the side of the wreck. She yelped, a sharp burning sensation on her hand. She assumed she must have cut it on some glass, but it was a piece of the creature’s blade; warm to the touch and very sharp. It looked more crystalline than metal. Somewhere amongst all the junk in these shoe-boxes she knew she had some towels so she wrapped one around the blade, concealing it in her jacket before completing the crawl and pulling herself to her feet, leaning on the side of the upturned vehicle as her legs felt like jello. Kaya patted Greenback one last time, but couldn’t stay for a eulogy. She wasn’t safe until she was back in civilization surrounded by people. Lots of people.

She staggered away a few feet then paused, shoulder blades pulling in toward each other. “Oh… fiddle-sticks,” she spun about, fist flying but the creature swatted it away with ease then kicked back, Kaya doubling over with a whoomph as she was flung several meters. Considering that it flipped a car over with no effort, she really should not have been surprised that it kicked like a horse too, even with its body contorted and twisted. Still it kept coming after her, bones and muscle popping back into place. Fighting this thing was futile, but adrenaline and the will to survive kept Kaya going. She rolled over, trying to crawl away but her hair was pulled tight, the creature lifting her to her knees as it stepped around, likely meaning to gouge out her eyes as well. Kaya struck first, with the broken blade she’d found in the car. It slid between a small gap between the creatures fore and upper arm, it letting go of her as it jerked itself away. So it could be surprised, Kaya saw. More importantly though, it could bleed.

Spurred on she tackled it. Despite the enormous strength it seemed to not weigh a whole lot more than her and went down, so Kaya stabbed it, over and over, but it kept squirming. She needed to kill it quick before it realized it could throw her off with ease. If it bled, maybe it had a heart or a brain, so she stabbed it through the eye. Even though it didn’t have a mouth, the howl was harrowing. Chilling. But finally it was still.

Kaya rolled off and lay panting next to it. Her body ached, her mind was confused and exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to lie here. But was she really sure she’d killed it? What if something else heard that howl? Best not to be around if any of that thing’s friends came to investigate. She had to get back to town then everything would be fine.

#writing #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #excerpts #sci-fi & fantasy #wip #my wip #pharos one #project elf

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inkingaboutwords-blog · 6 years

Text

Lesson 2: Editing

1) Foreword

Hey there crew! A couple changes this month: I reordered devices before forms, because it makes more sense that way. I won’t be taking submissions to workshop from here on out, because I just don’t have time to (this platform also isn’t great for interactivity, and that’s really showing, but I’m going to continue to press on with this approach to get the content done so that I can transfer it to something better next year and hopefully that experience will be more interactive and more digestible for people.)

This lesson is pretty heavy (will probably be the heaviest one) because it’s focused on identifying different formats, and there’s a LOT of technical terms to cover regarding that. Two things I want to make clear in regard to that:

I use the words ‘form’ and ‘format’ interchangeably. Just want to make sure that doesn’t confuse anyone. Form is the more correct term, if you’re wondering.

You really, really don’t have to perfectly memorize the correct term for everything to be a poet (this applies to devices as well). It will help you a lot when discussing poetry, and a little when analyzing poetry, but what’s really important is just that you understand the concepts even if you can’t put a name to them. I’m not doing this to make your work more academic, just to give you tools to improve the way you want to.

Anyway, that’s me for the month. Hope you enjoy the lesson.

Mostly sincerely, Vex

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2) Index

1. Foreword

2. Index

3. Lore

3.1 Syllables

3.2 Words

3.3 Rhyme

3.4 Stress

3.5 Foot

3.6 Meter

3.7 Stanza

4. Devices

4.1 Substitution

4.2 Triple construction

5. Forms

5.1 Kelly Lune

5.2 Collom Lune

5.3 Gwawdodyn

5.4 Rispetto

5.5 Descort

6. Skills

6.1 Editing

7. Suggestions

7.1 DIY

7.2 Edit Some Poems

7.3 Edit Backwards

7.4 Write Scansion

7.5 Try New Formats

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3) Lore

3.1) Syllables

In English, a syllable is a set of letters that form a single sound in a word. Meter uses syllables to measure the rhythm of a line. A few poetic forms, such as the Kelly Lune, constrain the number of syllables on each line, and though poetry sites tend to explain forms in terms of syllables, it's rare that this is the intent of the form (if a site gives you a range ie "this line should be 10-13 syllables", then this is a misreading/misexplaining of the form's meter)

It's worth noting that you've probably been taught that a haiku counts syllables per line, but that's incorrect. More on that when we cover haiku.

Rarely, a word may vary in how many syllables you pronounce it with due to divergence between how it was originally said, and how it's commonly said. This is true for words such as "". Technically, this is only really true if you're pronouncing words wrong, but do what you want cause a pirate is free. (Also get used to breaking rules! You need to be comfortable with this to be a poet)

3.2) Words

Similarly, some forms may describe the number of words on a line. The Collum Line is one such example. Many of the forms not measured in meter are designed to be accessible to new poets.

3.3) Rhyme

Rhyme is a repetition of sounds. There are many types of rhyme that we will cover in a later lesson. The most basic form, where two lines end with the same sound, is used to define many formats. We're covering this now because this lesson is about being able to understand formats.

3.4) Stress

Stress is a measure of which sounds in a word are more emphasized. Stress is important because we use it to build rhythm in our works, which affect their flow when performed or read. To denote the stress of a line, people commonly use a notation called scansion. In the simplest form, a stressed syllable is marked as ‘x’ and an unstressed syllable is marked as ‘/’.

e.g. x / / Syl la ble

Further reading: The wikipedia page covers more complex versions.

3.5) Foot

A metric foot is a single measure of a pattern of stresses in a line. Sometimes scansion will have lines broken into feet using ‘|’ (this can also denote a pause in the reading if two are used ‘||’)

e.g.

x / / x / / x / / x / x / Syl la bles | and such sounds, || Will not know | what rhyme | a bounds.

The first three feet in this line are known as dactyls, while the last two are trochees. Here’s a list of what feet are named: Trochee: stressed - unstressed Iamb: unstressed - stressed Spondee: stressed - stressed Pyrrhic: unstressed - unstressed Dactyl: stressed - unstressed - unstressed Anapest: unstressed - unstressed - stressed Amphibrach: unstressed - stressed - unstressed To determine the name of a meter using these feet, just add ‘ic’ to the end. (trochaic, iambic, spondaic, pyrrhic, dactylic, anapestic, amphibrachic)

3.4) Meter (or Metre)

Meter is a way to describe the flow of a line being spoken, written, or read, and create an intentionally concordant (or rarely, discordant) rhythm in how it is delivered. A “base meter” describes the most common meter in the line, verse, or poem you’re talking about. A “mixed meter”, like in the example above, contains different feet in the same line - these are often used at the end of a stanza to break an established pattern for impact. Sometimes a mixed meter line is simply the result of a poet needing to use a particular word (meter is less often the most important factor in word choice). When a metrical foot repeats in a line, a prefix is used to signify how many times the foot has repeated. 1 = meter 2 = dimeter 3 = trimeter 4 = tetrameter 5 = pentameter 6 = hexameter etc. (It's not common to go over 6, since that's a loooong line, but if you feel like fucking shit up, go ahead)

3.7) Stanza

A stanza is a grouping of lines. Stanzas are further categorized according to how many lines are in them. 2 = couplet 3 = tercet 4 = quatrain 5 = quintain 6 = sestet 7 = septet 8 = octave

Most formats group lines for rhythmic structure, but stanzas often are written in a way that gives the stanza structure in other senses. This is an emergent property of the format. Consider a narrative poem in a format with four quatrains followed by a couplet. It would be unusual to split the sections of the narrative in a way that didn't relate to the stanzas of the format. It makes sense to use the first stanza as a setting, the middle two as the conflict, the last quatrain as a climax, and the couplet as an anticlimax. Thus the rhythmic structure informs the narrative structure.

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4) Devices 4.1) Substitution (or Inversion)

Substitution is where an unusual foot appears within an otherwise normal meter. This is described above as ‘mixed meter’ in the section about meter. (When speaking of the device, it would be proper to call it substitution, but in describing the meter of a line ‘mixed meter’ makes more sense.)

A great example comes from a Shakespeare line you’re probably familiar with:

x / x / x / x / / x / To be, | or not | to be, || that is | the ques | tion

In this we see ‘the ques’ is an iambic foot within a trochaic meter.

4.2) Triple construction

Now commonly known as ‘The rule of three’, triple construction involves using three of something. It doesn’t sound like much of a literary device, but it has a big impact in writing. Supposedly this is because three is the smallest number of things required to form an identifiable pattern, making it easy for readers to recognize, and allowing the most people to get the pleasant feeling of seeing where an intentional poetic device was used.

Examples of triple construction that we’ve already discussed today include tercets, dactyls, anapests, amphibrachs, and trimeter. It also occurs very often in parallelism, which we covered in the last lesson (in fact, the example I used, “I came, I saw, I conquered”, is probably the most famous instance of triple construction ever). ---

5) Forms

5.1) Kelly Lune

The Kelly lune is a format created by Robert Kelly in an attempt to make an English version of the haiku that was more conceptually consistent with the original form of haiku than the commonly accepted 5-7-5 format. The form still lacks some of the constraint of an original haiku. The Kelly lune is defined as a tercet of 5-3-5 syllables. It has no other restrictions.

5.2) Collom Lune

A variant of the Kelly lune reportedly created through a misremembering of the constraints defines the format by words instead of syllables. It’s still a tercet, but the Collom lune has 3-5-3 words.

5.3) Gwawdodyn

This form is an example of formats described by rhyme. The area where the Gwawdodyn originated has many quatrain-based formats, and you’ll note the similarity they have to the Limerick. It involves a quatrain that has three 9 syllable lines (the 1st, 2nd, and 4th) that all rhyme, and a 3rd line of 10 syllables with an internal rhyme that either rhymes with the end of the 3rd line, or the middle of the 4th.

So either --------A --------A ----B----B --------A or --------A --------A ----B----C ----B---A (worth noting C could also rhyme with A)

5.4) Rispetto

A rispetto is a form that is defined primarily by its meter. It involves two quatrains of iambic tetrameter. It also has a rhyme scheme of abab ccdd.

5.5) Descort

This is both the strangest and hardest of the forms we’ll cover this lesson. It is not defined by its meter, syllables, words, or rhyme, but rather by its inconsistency in all those things. In a descort, each stanza must have a different number of lines, and each line must have a different number of syllables. A rhyme must not occur in multiple stanzas. Some sources I’ve seen report that each line also must have a different meter from each other line. I’m not sure this is following the original definition, but it certainly is in the spirit of the format. One poet from the time and place the format was created is known to have written descort poems where each stanza is in a different language. ---

6) Skills

6.1) Editing

Following up on last month’s lesson in drafting and analysis, now we’re going to get into the hard work. For my 2nd draft, I like to start by ensuring every stanza is in the correct order. Usually a beginning and an ending stand out evidently (though I find I often have multiple suitable endings and have to choose one - the others will be later reworked to suit another space in the narrative). If you don’t have obvious contenders for the beginning or ending, or if you feel what you do have isn’t strong enough, make a note to come up with something better.

The ending is typically the most evocative or contemplative line. If you plan on performing the piece, it’s a good idea to ensure an audience will recognize it as an ending or you’ll get scattered applause (more about this later when we cover performing). Usually the reason an audience might not recognize an ending is because the piece doesn’t contain a strong narrative for it to conclude, so they are unsure if more is coming. We could go deeper into this, but for brevity, let’s just say if you have this problem just test the piece with friends until you get it right.

The beginning is more versatile, so whatever suits the piece or your preference is likely fine. Strong beginnings tend to set up a context for the narrative, or an unusual perspective on a well-known topic.

Once you have two locations, the rest of the poem can be constructed as a journey from one to the other. Start by placing the best work in your draft between the beginning and ending in whatever order suits it, then go through and mark spots where it is difficult for a reader to jump from one thought to another. These will most often be between stanzas, but consider carefully where this also might occur between lines. Once the gaps are identified, you can fill them in with things that will make that transition easier (in a later lesson, we’ll look at how this relates to memorizing). Throughout this process, you’ll likely find lines that sound janky, or ones that speak about things a bit removed from the overarching narrative. I mark all of these lines, and occasionally stanzas, to be deleted (though not all of them will be, some will just be improved).

The sad truth is that to allow your poem to reach its potential, you often have to cut out something you really want to say about the topic because it doesn’t fit the narrative well enough. Don’t be scared to cut those - the narrative will deliver your message so don’t cheapen it with clutter. Cutting lines isn’t forfeiting your right to say them, you can still put those thoughts into a draft for a separate poem.

Once you have a poem with a solid narrative, you can start digging into the finer details to polish them up:

Check your syllable counts and stanza sizes. Even when writing open verse, consistency benefits a piece by introducing intentional repetition to the rhythm. It will also set you up for the next step.

Work out the meter of each line, and use that to decide where the impact will be. Meter is a mechanic you can use to emphasize anything you wish. The more consistent an existing pattern (in this case, the base meter of your work and how often you apply it to a line) is, the more powerful it is to break it using mixed meter or an unexpected change.

Consider adding more devices. Your first draft will have devices you came up with and thought were clever, but it will also have lines you wrote just to support those devices. Often these lines can be adjusted to contain more devices. For emphasis, it pays to pick the devices already used in the best lines of the poem, and try to use those particular devices elsewhere.

Consider removing devices. Sometimes they can be too heavy-handed in one area (I see this most often with assonance), or they overshadow or obscure the actual messages in the words (and this with metaphor). If you feel you have those problems, try to distribute the devices more evenly throughout the piece (it’s worth noting that this may not necessarily mean removing devices. It’s possible to achieve the same effect by spreading that heavy-handed use of devices throughout the whole work. If you can manage this, it will REALLY pay off.)

Further watching: Paper People by Harry Baker for an example of said pay off for using assonance heavily but consistently.

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7) Suggestions

7.1) DIY

Have a try at making your own format. Remember that the rules around meter, syllable, and rhyme are only the mechanical side of a format. Most poetic forms were created in a particular context with a particular purpose, such as to entertain, to tell oral history, to court, etc. The context you write your form for may give it narrative or syntactic rules as well.

7.2) Edit Some Drafts

Take something you wrote for lesson one and try the editing steps above. Make a checklist to ensure you try each step. Note down additional steps your own process requires.

7.3) Edit Backwards

Take the same first draft and swap the beginning with the ending, and see how this changes the end result and also the editing process.

7.4) Write Scansion

Find a poem you like and determine the meter of each of its lines. Identify the base meter, and name all of its stanzas and meters. Write down the rhyme scheme if it has one. It’s much easier to read meta-information about poems if you practice identifying it in existing pieces. Don’t just do this for a classic poem, try some songs you like too.

7.5) Try New Formats

Try out the formats we covered today. They’re all pretty easy and interesting forms to write.

#Poetry #Learning #Education #Wellington #Wellington NZ #Aotearoa #Poetry in Motion Wellington

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gster4545-blog · 6 years

Text

Christmas in the Trenches

A collection of dirt and debris landed on James’ cloth cap after another mortar had struck the ground only a few meters away, followed by an explosion that rang through the ears of his fellow mates. Normally, the average folk would’ve been frightened and immediately wish for the comforts of their normal lives back home. This wasn’t the case for James and the rest of the men in trench line 16, so James took his cap off and shook off the dirt like it was nothing; like the gunfire of trench 17, trench 18, trench so-on and so-forth was part of his daily life, as if the pounding of the mortar shells were to be of little concern.

Men were receiving their daily rations of food. It was supper time, in the cold winter of the western front, somewhere in France. What was being served was the same meal for the past week; pieces of hardtack biscuits, watery mashed potatoes and stale bully beef . Beverages included cold tea and water; if available. Some of the men resorted to drinking their own piss, when neither water or tea was available. Though James could not stand the repetition of supper time, he was starving, and grabbed his plate. He only ate halfway into his plate of trench grub when the commanding officer had signaled for him.

“James, James Blackburn? Is there a James Blackburn? Is he dead?”

James quickly put down his meal, and ran towards the soldier calling his name.

“James Blackburn, Lieutenant sir, reporting for duty.” James did a hard salute, almost hitting the fellow soldier in the face.

“Good to know you aren’t canon fodder yet, James. Lieutenant Colonel Peabody requires you.”

At the same time, another mortar from the other side of No Man’s Land had struck the ground, creating another loud phenomenon that startled some of the privates.

“I beg your pardon, sir?” James asked.

“REPORT TO LIEUTENANT COLONEL PEABODY, BLACKBURN!” Seeing the fellow soldier frustrated, James sped off to Colonel Peabody, who took refuge inside a communication center under the trenches. When James had entered, it was almost as if he had joined the wealthy elite; compared to the trenches outside, being in the communication center was a leisure, a desire many of the soldiers wanted. For one, it was significantly cleaner. Barely any rats were seen scurrying inside the “trench homes”. Rats were rampant in the outside trenches. Sometimes, the men played a joke on the Germans, throwing rats across the No Man’s Land, making them believe the rats were grenades. Another thing James noticed was that the food looked much better than what the men in the outside trenches were receiving- their bully beef looked much more appetizing.

James did a hard salute to Colonel Peabody.

“At ease. Tonight, December 23rd and tomorrow night, December 24th, you are responsible for night duty. Don’t you dare let a German cross that field, is that clear?” Colonel Peabody’s voice struck through James, yet James, being the pious person he is, decided to protest.

“Sir, it’s nearly Christmas time.”

“And? Lieutenant Blackburn, are you disobeying my command?” Peabody leaned in closer to James, attempting to break his sense of non-conformity.

James, with now a shaky and fearful voice, responded.

“Sir, no sir. However, if I may, I would like to suggest a mutual peace with the Germans, during this time of the holidays.”

James was now sweating profusely.

“A mutual peace, you say? So… you’re a pacifist, is that it?”

“Sir-’

“IF THAT IS THE CASE LIEUTENANT BLACKBURN THEN WHY IN BLOODY HELL DID YOU JOIN THE BRITISH ARMY TO FIGHT?” Peabody’s voice escalated to that of a mad drill instructor, set on breaking the boy’s free speech and free thought.

“Sir. Perhaps, this idea of mine could create peace and convince high command-”

Colonel Peabody interrupted James by grabbing the scoped Lee-Enfield rifle and shoving it in the arms of the boy.

“Here is your rifle, and here is your pistol.” Peabody said, with an even more intimidating tone. “You object my order again, and I’m going to make you walk through German gunfire till you’ve got more holes than Swiss cheese!”

James strapped the rifle to his back, holstered the pistol and gave another salute. He left the communications center, with a frown on his face. Somebody had taken his plate of food away.

“Bollocks.” said James.

That night, while the men were asleep, while the rats crawled on their caps and defecated on them, James was awake, with his rifle in hand, guarding trench 16. With a sniper shield in front of him, he peeked out of the trenches once in while, and using his sniper scope, spied on the Germans on the other side of No Man’s Land. And from the corner of his eye, he could see a German soldier, with something in hand, crouching and crawling in between the trenches.

“You see him?” said Mick, startling James.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit outta me mate!” Mick laughed, and James slapped him before laughing himself.

“Guard duty, eh James? How about you start shooting the rats that take a shit on us?”

“I would but Peabody threatened to make me walk right into German fire, saying, and I quote, ‘till I’ve got more holes than Swiss cheese!’” The two laughed and mocked Peabody more.

“You ever noticed,” asked James, “that the old bloke walks around a bit funny? Maybe we oughta give him nanny Hellen’s missing leg!” Mick and James chortled more.

“Hey mate, don’t say that,” James said, still laughing silently. “The Lord’ll hear ya.” Mick’s expression of laughter faded, and turned serious.

“Right now, I wouldn’t follow your Lord, I’d follow the Colonel, and shoot that German crossing dead.”

The smile on James’ face disappeared. Mick was right. In war, moralities were meant to be erased, only to be replaced with sheer terror and chaos.

James scoped in on his rifle, took a deep breath, and fired the shot.

The German boy ceased to move.

On the next day, Christmas Eve, more mortars pounded the ground and debris continued to fly in the air. It was pure luck that none of the mortars made it inside the trench; either that, or, the Germans were simply playing tricks on the British boys. Three boys decided it was time to abandon their duties, and decided to become deserters; only, the Germans thought the boys were charging towards them, and mowed the fleeing boys down with relentless machine gun fire.

“Even in Christmas time, this war does not end.” James said to himself.

But by nighttime, a miracle had happened.

Though James was on guard duty, he could not help but fall asleep. It was Mick who noticed the sweet sound of song.

“Mate,” said Mick, waking James up from his sleep. “You hear that?”

Though neither of them knew German, they could both tell that the Germans were singing Silent Night, O Holy Night from their trench. All in unison, their voices came together as one, heard from the enemy plenty of meters away.

“Stille Nacht! Heil'ge Nacht!

Alles schläft; einsam wacht,

Nur das traute hoch heilige Paar.

Holder Knab' im lockigen Haar,

Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh!

Schlafe in himmlischer Ruh…”

The two boys began to sing along with the Germans. A couple of other British boys were also awake, and joined along with the singing. The Germans kept singing the song in a seemingly endless loop, and eventually the entirety of trench 16 were singing along with the Germans. The sounds of war subsided to form the beautiful sound of song, and words in the form of lyrics in two different languages but one synchronized rhythm bonded the enemies. Eventually, a British boy pulled out a trumpet, another British boy played a flute, and yet another British boy took out his violin and played to the tune of Silent Night, O Holy Night. The sound was truly euphoric, till Colonel Peabody came barging out of his little hut, and stopped the singing and music, ending the night.

December 25th, 1914. Christmas day.

A loud shout from the German trench was heard by James and Mick.

“Tommy!” A German shouted, with a strong accent. “Are you awake?”

Mick shrugged his shoulders, but James quickly took the opportunity.

“Good morning Fritz!” yelled James. “Merry Christmas!”

Tommy was general name for the British, as Fritz was that of the Germans. Yet these two names now created a new friendship.

“Und Merry Christmas to you as well!” the German yelled back, in his strong German accent.

A long pause took place.

“Are you unarmed, Tommy?” yelled the German.

James took a look at Mick, who shrugged his shoulders once again, confused at the communication between the designated enemies.

“Yes Fritz. Why do you ask?’ James questioned.

“Come to the middle, out of your trench and into the middle. Schnell!” responded the German.

“And why should I trust you, Fritz?”

“Because I am unarmed as well!”

James dropped his guns on the floor of the trench. Mick signaled at James to not get out of the trench, so did the other British boys. Colonel Peabody looked at James dead in the eyes, with a taunting, threatening stare.

“Don’t you dare do it, Blackburn.” Is what James read from Peabody’s eyes.

James disobeyed what he read in the glaring eyes of the Colonel, and walked towards the German trench. In the distance, he could see a German soldier with his hands up, surrendered in the air, walking towards the British trench. James did the same.

“Hold your fire, men! Do not shoot! I repeat, DO NOT SHOOT!” James stressed his words to make himself clear.

The walk to the middle of No Man’s Land was the longest walk of James’ life, and it ended when he and the German were at a safe close distance. The German boy, who looked to be only about 19 or 20 years old, stuck out his right hand while keeping his left one up in suspension.

In his heavy German accent, he said, “Guten tag, my name is Alois. Alois Braun.”

James did the same, and introduced himself.

“James, James Blackburn. Merry Christmas.” He shook Alois’ hand. The two boys looked at one another, and reached a common ground with a single stare.

“Shall we… try peace this morning James?” Alois asked him.

“You know what mate, I think we all need some peace here.” Both boys smiled, and signaled for each other’s trench to meet in the middle, unarmed. Nobody had wanted to leave their trench at first, but Mick decided to spark the change, and soon British boys and German boys met at the middle of No Man’s Land, each exchanging handshakes and introducing themselves to one another. It was a beautiful sight; enemies dropping their orders given to them by their commanders, and coming to their senses, making peace together. A German boy brought out a football, and a game began between the British boys and the the German boys. Even Colonel Peabody came out of his trench home, and joined the football game. No arguments of the game took place; rather, only laughter and joy came out of the game. German boys were learning phrases in English, while British boys learned some German. The barrier of language was broken with laughter and pleasurable commotion. The boys commenced conversation about their lives back home, about lovers and wives, and even scandalous affairs. Music once again commenced; some German boys had instruments in hand as well, and played in symphony with the British boys. James, Mick and Alois suggested they play a game where they go to each other’s trenches and shoot rats; a competition to see who could kill more of the rodents. Alois won the competition, killing ten rats with his rifle, two clips of bullets, and not a single shot wasted. For that, Alois was awarded chocolate stored in the British trench, along with some coffee. The British boys had won the football game, till Alois and another German boy named Manni joined the fun and turned the tide, making the Germans tied with the British. After the game, all the boys took a break, and conversed even more.

“Alois, did you want to come here?” asked James, in a slightly nervous tone.

“At first, ja.” Alois responded, in his strong German accent. “I had thought it would be the journey of a lifetime. I thought to myself, I could tell so many stories, so many… experiences. Perhaps maybe even meet a woman.” Alois chuckled, and so did James. “But, verdammt, it is nothing like what I thought it would be James,” he continued. “Not a pleasure exists in those trenches. No stories I’d be proud to tell of, my friend.” A forlorn look on Alois’ face was present.

James patted his friend on the back, smiled, and said, “Friend, I wish we had met under better circumstances.” James offered his friend another piece of chocolate, which Alois gratefully took.

“Danke, friend.” He said.

Yet as this happened, mortar fire began to occur suddenly from the far horizon, and quickly British boys and German boys gathered their belongings and scurried back to their trenches. Boys were scramming back to where they belonged, yet James and Alois stood frozen in the middle of No Man’s Land, not wanting to return as soldiers. As the field of laughter and comradery faded away, the two friends said their goodbyes to each other. James stuck his right hand out, and so did Alois.

“I’m glad to have met you Alois. Merry Christmas.” said James.

“Till next time, friend. Frohe Weihnachten.” said Alois.

And the two returned to their trenches, back to being enemies.

Gerard Chua, 2017

#historical fiction worldwarone writing shortstory

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