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hankwritten · 3 years

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Litany

Gen, 2k

Part of the DontNeedADiscord Pride Week, Day 1: Flag

“And what is the meaning of these?”

It was a good idea not to make Miss Helen pissy. She was the Boss around here, and not in the way Miss Pauling was the boss, but like the Boss with a capital B. I wasn’t exactly sure if she owned the building, or maybe the company, or maybe she was just our lawyer so we shouldn’t tee her off because of that, but the way Dell had explained it making her mad was a good way to have your desk packed by the end of the day.

So, I’d have to be very delicate about this. “They’re pins, Miss Helen,” I explained extremely politely. “It’s the first day of Pride Month; I thought everyone could do with a little company spirit!”

“Spirit?” The T on the end of the word popped like a firecracker. Miss Helen could make nice words like spirit or rainbows sound like she was actually saying dog doody. “And how exactly do these pins make you…prideful?”

“They’re fun!”

When she didn’t react, I at first assumed it was because she couldn’t hear me so well through my respirator, but then I considered what I knew about her and wondered maybe she simply didn’t know what fun was.

“Look,” I said, placing one in the palm of her hand. “It has a flag on it! I was thinking as people are coming in during the day, they can pick them out and wear them if they want to, just to show off a little color. See? This one is the bigender flag.”

She held it up and examined it like a jeweler inspecting a diamond. “And you find this…fun?

“Yeah!”

She waited, as though expecting the fun to start radiating out of the pin like a hand warmer. “…You certainly have quite a few of these.”

It was true. Along with the usual lollipops and stickers I kept at the front desk (the former being exclusively for clients and never-ever for sneaking myself one, no siree), the scattering of buttons took up a good chunk of counter space, with as many varieties as I could find. I didn’t want anyone to feel left out, so I’d just kept on printing until I had over three dozen.

“Very well,” Miss Helen said finally. “If it is good for company spirit.”

I clapped my hands in delight, glad the party wasn’t going to get shut down before it even started. So palpable was my relief, I didn’t even notice that Miss Helen hadn’t given the button back.

I didn’t have time to worry about it though, since just then Dr. Ludwig came in through the glass doors. He was normally the first one after me, as he always liked to get an early start down in the lab, and we’d developed a morning routine as fellow early birds.

“Dr. Ludwig!” I said, waving my hand, partly to get his attention and partly to show off the new gloves Dell had gotten me. The rubber ones had been so hard to type in, but these were nice and concealing as well as colorful. “Happy Pride Month! Do you want a pin?”

“Guten Morgen,” he greeted warmly. “Ah, buttons?” He picked up the closest one. “Pride buttons, I see.”

“Here you go!” I said, shoving a bi pin in his general direction since he’d shown interest.

But, to my surprise, he didn’t take it immediately. “Ehrm…” he said, staring down at the circle of metal.

“…Is this not the right one?” I withdrew my hand. Was I misremembering? “I’m so sorry, I guess I forgot…”

“No, no I did say that, didn’t I.” He ran a hand through his hair, sending its usual prim style haywire. “It is just…” He coughed lightly into his fist. “…Would you allow me to confide with you for a moment?”

Immediately, I pulled out the spare footstool I kept behind the counter, patting it as Dr. Ludwig came through the counter doors and took a seat. Our early morning chats were normally something to look forward to, shared over a donut or coffee he’d brought into the office, but today he just seemed run down. As he tucked his heels onto the stool’s crossbar, he rubbed his face.

“You know I am not as…up on all of this as some of your generation, ja?” he began.

“Millennials scare you,” I nodded, pulling my legs into my swivel chair.

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” he huffed. “It is…well when we had our first conversations, and it was explained to me, it seemed to fit. At the time. Having to reconcile beginning a relationship with Mikhail when I still was not quite over Frida, nor really sure why things had fallen apart with us there.”

I remembered. “At the time? But not anymore?”

He sighed, ruffling his hair even more. “Now…now I am not so sure. Being with Mikhail is…quite different than any of the thirty years Frida and I spent together. I am starting to wonder if it was more just that I held extreme affection for her, and I was inexperienced enough that I was able to mistake it for attraction.” He chuckled humorlessly. “I thought I was so in love with her, and that’s why I never even looked at another woman. Töricht.”

“I don’t think that’s dumb,” I shook my head. “Everybody’s learning new things all the time. You can’t be expected to have everything sorted right after coming out.”

“Yes, I suppose,” he said. “But I still feel…guilty I think. Several of our coworkers are proudly attracted to both men and women, and I am aware that treating such a label as a ‘phase’ is a crude stereotype they have to deal with. I’d rather not have anyone think I was making a mockery of them.”

“It’s not a stereotype if that’s what’s really happening.” I patted him on the shoulder. “No one’s going to see it like that. If you think that’s where your journey is taking you, then there’s no shame coming out a second time.”

Dr. Ludwig responded to my words with a hopeful, if not entirely convinced, look behind his spectacles.

“Here,” I said, handing him both a bi and a gay pin. “You don’t have to wear either of them, this is just for fun after all! But if you change your mind…”

He looked at the two pins in his hand, then smiled tiredly up at me. “…Thank you mein friend. You are always helpful to talk to.”

“I try to be!”

After a few more assurances, the Doctor did eventually leave for the lab. Right on his coattails, Dell and Marcel came through the front door.

“Hey there, firebug,” Dell greeted. “What are you gettin’ up to here?”

I gave the quick rundown, pulling my shirt to highlight my own pin since I’d forgotten to show it off to my first two customers. “Pick any one you like!”

“Bear in mind I am saying this as a queer person,” Marcel said, sniffing down at the massive mound of multicolored circles, “this is all quite tacky.”

“Aw, learn how to have some fun, Spook,” Dell said, elbowing him in the side. To show him up, he claimed a pansexual pin for himself, and shot me a wink.

Marcel did nothing but sniff; but, when he thought no one was looking, I saw him discreetly sneak one of the pins off the counter as he left.

After that, the morning’s influx picked up too much to greet every person individually, but during lunch people saw fit to swing by and check things out again.

“Hi buddy!” Miss Pauling greeted. “I heard you were giving out Pride pins and wanted to see if- why are there so many lesbian ones?”

“Well!” I said, ecstatic to launch into an information dump. “The oldest of these is actually the ‘lipstick lesbian’ flag which, in absence of a more generic one, was used without the kiss mark in the corner. The one with the orange stripes wasn’t created until 2018, to be more inclusive all different lesbian groups.”

“Okay, but why does this one have an axe on it?”

“That’s the labrys!” I took the purple and black pin from her hand, pointing as I described, “the double bearded axe was used by the Amazons in Greek myth, and reappropriated in 1999 for its symbolism in female empowerment.”

“Wow,” she blinked down at the five different designs. “That’s really cool, except for the fact I have no idea how to use an axe.”

“I bet Tavish could teach you, he loves his Skullcutter.”

“…I’ll think about it. I’ll just take this one for now.” She picked up the orange five-stripe variation and pinned it to her purple shirt.

“Looks good!”

“Thanks!” she grinned. “And it was really nice of you to do this.”

“Honestly, the pleasure’s all mine. I just like seeing everyone happy.”

And everyone was! At least it sure seemed that way, even if it was kind of hard to tell with Mikhail. After lunch, he lumbered past my desk, picked out a gay pin, and put it on without so much as a smile. I took the muted grunt to be that of satisfaction

Tavish was next, dropping off half a roast beef sandwich since I’d forgotten to eat today, and instantly becoming my favorite person. While I was chowing down, he swiped two trans and two bi pins from my collection.

“Wadda you need two of each for?” I asked, quite a feat with my mouth full of roast beef and my respirator hanging halfway around my chin.

“Haven’t you heard?” Tavish asked with a raise of his eyebrow. “They just dropped a new identity: double bi. It’s twice as potent as regular bisexuality.”

I tilted my head, blinking perplexedly from behind my lenses.

“Ah, just a joke duck,” he assured. “The spares are for the husband.”

“Oh, right.” I swallowed down my mouthful. “I actually haven’t seen Jane at all today?”

“Ach, he came in earlier than you. Left at five this morning.”

“What? How?” I shook my head. “I’m the one who unlocks the doors.”

“Said he was tired of waiting for your ‘lazy, unpatriotic behind’ to start the day at seven. His words, not mine.” Tavish smiled apologetically. “He broke into one of the lab side doors.”

“…I bet Mikhail had something to say about that.”

He sighed. “That he did. They’ve been at it for hours. If there’s another office-wide prank war tomorrow, you’ll know why.”

Oh no. That’s how we lost our last two coffee makers, and our last seven office hamsters. Tavish assured me that it wouldn’t get out of hand, but by the time Mick showed up near the end of the day, my mood was somewhat dampened.

“Everything alroight, Campfire?” he asked me. “Ya look glum.”

“Just thinking about the impending damage to all those nice posters I put up in the breakroom,” I said sadly. “But! If you’ve come here to pick out a pin, that might cheer me up a bit.”

Mick chuckled in that cute little way of his, and already I was smiling. “Might have.”

We were close enough that I was ninety-five percent certain which one he wanted, but I’d learned my lesson with Dr. Ludwig and didn’t try to pick it out for him. Still, I let myself entertain a self-satisfied grin as he picked up the aroace flag.

“Hey uh,” I said. “If that’s the one you like, and uh…since I know you’re into archery…”

Carefully, I opened one of my drawers and extracted the special pin I’d made earlier, Mick watching me curiously all the while.

“Someone on the internet made this design,” I explained. “It’s for an aroace, arrow-ace!”

The flag was blacked out in several places to make a bow and arrow shape, and Mick grinned as he took it from my glove. “Clever.”

“Do you like it?” I asked hesitantly.

“Well, let’s see.” He pinned it to his vest. “Looks pretty good ta me.”

I couldn’t keep my stomach from doing a little flip at that. When Dell showed up, the last to leave the office for the day, he could tell I was smiling even through the mask.

“Everything go well, partner?” he chuckled. “You look pleased as punch.”

“Everything went great! Even Scout came by, although all he did was say ‘hey, free crap!’ and dumped a bunch of pins into his pocket.”

“I’m glad to hear the attempt at company spirit was a success,” a voice from behind Dell said, making us both jump. Miss Helen emerged from the shadows, her purple jacket an entire mass of pride pins, nearly one of every kind. When had she gotten all those? Had she been paying Marcel to sneak them out while I wasn’t looking? “A happy work environment is a productive work environment, as I always say. Well done, secretary.”

“Can’t remember you ever saying that, ma’am,” Dell admitted blandly.

“…Why do you have so many?” I asked.

“These are…fun…are they not?” she sniffed. “I am having…fun.”

Huh. Maybe this is just what she looked like when she was having a good time. I shrugged. “Glad you enjoyed yourself Miss Helen! Does that mean it’s okay to do it again next year?”

“…You have my permission.”

With that, she strutted out, and Dell shot me a grin. I scooped the remaining pins into my bag and closed up the front office, chatting with him on the way to the parking lot about how we could mix things up next year.

#dnadprideweek2021 #tf2 fanfiction

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lukneetoonz · 4 years

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From Across The Room

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Summary: Shinsou spots you from across the room, and suddenly there’s nothing else he wants more in the world.

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x Female Reader

Warnings: Drinking (be responsible pls), mentions of uncomfortable touching situations,

Word Count: 1,698

A/N: This is a special for getting to 100 followers!! Loosely based on the song ‘Dance, Baby!’ By Boy Pablo, ‘Strangers in The Night’ by Frank Sinatra, and ‘Beautiful’ by Bazzi. Tbh at this point I should just make a playlist so you guys could have some bangers. But in all seriousness, thank you all for the love and support lately, it’s meant a lot. I can’t even begin to tell you how much it’s meant. I love you all 🥺👉👈

NO ARTWORK POSTED IS MY OWN AND IS FOUND ON PINTEREST

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Shinsou Hitoshi was not a partier. If it was up to him, he’d be home playing video games, eating chips and drinking a bang energy until he could hear the birds chirp beyond his black out curtains. But here he was, sitting on a couch next to his blonde friend that was practically having sex with a random girl he met with horrible music playing in the background. Drink in hand, Shinsou looked up at the makeshift dance floor only to have his breath taken away by a girl he could swear was an angel on this god forsaken earth. You were dancing with some of your friends, smiling as you tried to sing along to the song the best you could.

As you were blissfully unaware of the lilac colored eyes watching your form in fondness, a man approached you from behind and gripped onto your hips and pulled you into him to dance, the action making Shinsou scowl. What was he thinking? Of course a beautiful girl like you would have many others pining after you, he’s sure you wouldn’t even look in direction. Hell, the only reason people know his name is because he’s friends with Kaminari and Midoryia, and not by choice. Ever since becoming a pro-hero, he decided to take Aizawa’s route and go underground because he could care less about fame and attention, he just cared about helping people.

Shinsou was lost in his thoughts; he didn’t even notice your own look of discomfort as you tried to nudge the guy away unsuccessfully. The indigo haired man only noticed when he heard your soft voice speak up, even if it should have gone unnoticed with the background noise, he noticed. “Let go of me.” Was all you had to say for the young pro hero to stand up and be by your side in an instant. Towering over both you and the Male he raised an eyebrow, “Why are you still here if she said to let go?” His deep voice got your attention and you couldn’t believe your long time crush came to your rescue.

You had gone to UA, but you were in the support course and you still did support hero work, in fact you worked with Kirishima. Kirishima would actually have you help the other pro hero’s a lot too since your quirk came in handy a lot of times; you were able to see anything damaged or weakened just by looking at it. So you could easily tell a person's injuries or see what’s wrong with their costume and fix it faster than anyone. Because of this, you had known Kaminari quite well, since he was a little clumsy sometimes and he needed help to figure out what was wrong with his gadgets and you never hesitated to help, because sometimes shinsou would be there and you’d sneak a peak at him.

That’s why when he was towering over you with such an intimidating look, your whole body froze. Heat rushing to (S/C) cheeks as you couldn’t even force yourself to look away. After years of pining he actually noticed your presence? Shaking your emotions off you focus on the situation before you, subconsciously moving closer to the purple eyed boy. “Man you know how crazy bitches can be! She was grinding on me and then just got all weird, Cmon just walk away and we both avoid trouble” the man's words make you want to vomit as you looked at Shinsou with terrified eyes, which merely confirmed to him what he was already thinking.

Nodding he sighed before grabbing your waist and pulling you away fully from the man and anyone who truly knew Shinsou would say he was practically seething with anger, even if he came off calm and collected. “I’ll only say this one time, ‘man’, so listen good. If I ever catch you touching a woman when she doesn’t want it, I’ll personally break both of your hands in ways you never knew. Now, turn around and go home before I second guess my decision on letting you go.” The man didn’t even reply and just mutely listened to Shinsou so you only assumed there were quirks involved.

Turning, you moved to fully face Shinsou and smiled shyly, avoiding his gaze. “Thank you… Uh for helping me…” A lazy smirk found itself on Shinsou’s face as he shrugged, hand still on your waist. “It was nothing, I see a beautiful woman in danger and I help, it’s what I do.” (E/C) eyes flew up to meet his as your face heated up, “Wh- beautiful? Did you, Shinsou Hitoshi, call me beautiful?” Your knowledge of him seemed to shock him as he raised his eyebrows at you and tilted his head, “You know who I am?” Pulling your lip in between your teeth, you nodded shyly, not even being able to find the right words to answer him.

Shinsou himself gulped as he stared at you, not liking how his eyes drifted to your lips. The beating of his heart was loud in his ears as he thought about how you knew him, yet you still didn’t shy away from his touch. With a quirk that’s been called villainous, Shinsou has been judged most of his life. It didn’t help with his personality being cocky and seemingly self centered, so when you smiled at him while saying his name, it’s like he was housing a butterfly garden in his stomach. “I-I went to UA too… except I was in the support course… but I always admired your determination to be a hero. It’s very reputable.”

Okay now he was just gonna slap himself. You went to UA? How could he have not noticed you!? Yet you noticed him, not only did you notice him but you admired him! A blush spread across his pale skin, as his focus was on you and only you. “What’s your name? I mean, it’s only fair since you know mine” Now your heart beat was rapid as you played with your clothing. “You can call me Y/N…” Y/N… what a beautiful name, and it fit you so well. Replaying it over in his head, he chuckled a little before saying it out loud. “Y/N… I like it.”

If you died in that second, you wouldn’t care. Shinsou Hitoshi, likes your name. Oh god you’re going back to your highschool ways… although highschool you would have probably fainted already or ran away screaming. “I like you too- wait no- I mean I like it too. Not you too!” Shit, you were so weird. He’s gonna hate you and talk about you to Kaminari who’s gonna tell everyone- “Man, and here I wanted to take you out. But I only take out the ones who like me” he smirked smugly, making you choke on air. “Really?” Shinsou chuckled, nodding his head as he traced your jawline with his finger. “Really really.”

“Then boy do I like you , I've liked you since highschool!” Maybe that was too much information, but you wanted- no needed that date. Shinsou smiled softly and blushed, grabbing his phone and opening contacts handing you the device, “Well, I'm gonna need your number then” nodding, you grabbed his phone and put in your information, gulping as you couldn’t believe this was happening. “Y/N C'mon you’re our DD!!” Damn your friends for ruining your moment. Damn them to the seven circles of hell. Honestly, you debated on acting like you didn’t know them but they came and draped themselves onto you, making Shinsou chuckle. “I’ll see you soon, Y/N.”

*•*

After having to take care of your drunk friends you finally walked into your own place and sighed happily, going and changing into pajamas. As you flopped into your bed, your phone buzzed and you saw an unknown number had texted you and you pulled it up, furrowing your eyebrows as you forgot everything that happened.

Shinsou: ‘Hey, it’s Shinsou :)’

Oh my god. He texted you. He actually wants to know you. Before you could even respond you noticed that he texted you basically right after you left the party, which was hours ago. You ruined everything, he must hate you. How could you have not noticed that he texted? Dragging you out of your thoughts was the buzz of your phone, looking down you saw the miracle of a double text.

Shinsou: ‘I hope this isn’t too weird, but did you get home okay?’

He’s so sweet you might just die. Smiling softly, you let your thumbs move as you typed a response back to the handsome pro hero. You saved his name to a new contact, chuckling at the name as you were unaware of the name he had made yours.

You: ‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t see your text! But yes, I just got home! I had to take care of those toddlers I call friends XD’

On the other side of the phone, the indigo haired boy took a breath of relief seeing you were okay because ‘Angel’ responded to his texts, and didn’t block him for double texting. Shinsou Hitoshi was happy for the first time in a while, hoping that he would be able to keep your presence in his life for a long time to come.

#mha fanfiction #mha imagines #shinsou x y/n #mha shinsou #shinsou headcanons #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou imagine #shinsoubnha #shinsou smut #shinsou x reader #shinsou x kaminari #bnha shinso hitoshi #mha hitoshi #hitoshi shinso imagine #shinsouhitoshiimaginedarlingely

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that-was-anticlimactic · 3 years

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I was tagged by the lovely and wonderful @zukosaturtle-duck :) thank you, Ellen:)

1. name/nickname: Corey actually is my nickname! My full name is Corrina but when I first made an Instagram fan account in 2012, someone asked my name and sixth grade me panicked and said Corey! I’m sick of having my name mispronounced even after correcting them, so I like giving people options:) I’ve also had two teachers accidentally call me Corona in the past year so I guess that’s a nickname too lol

2. gender: female

3. star sign: Capricorn

4. height: so. I haven’t measured or weighed myself in literal years because I just didn’t ?? Last time I measured myself, I was 5’1 1/2, but I think I’m 5’2 now?? Maybe 5’2 1/2???? I should probably measure myself haha

5. time: 12:31pm

6. birthday: December 29th

7. favorite bands/groups: ... I listen to Broadway:) so I’ll just name my favorite musicals: Aladdin, A Chorus Line, Come From Away, and Starry:)

8. favorite solo artist: ummm again, I listen to mostly Broadway so umm I’ll just name some more musical I like: Dogfight, Finding Neverland, anything by Team Starkid, Into the Woods, The Lightning Thief:)

9. song stuck in my head: Love Thy Neighbor from The Prom

10. last movie: Legend of Everfree

11. last show: I’m actually currently rewatching Psych (like literally right now I’m watching the episode Shawn (and Gus) of the Dead as I type this). It’s, in my opinion, the best live action show out there.

12. when did i create this blog: imma be real— I don’t remember?? Either 2017 or 2018???

13. what do i post: my blog used to be Ninjago, but now it’s a mix of atla / lok, Ninjago, The Hollow, and pretty much any cartoon! I also reblog some musical stuff, friendly reminders, and just stuff I think is important! I do post fanfiction on occasion as well! Love reblogging art because I can’t draw for crap and seeing beautiful art is 🥺🥰

14. last thing i googled: “when is kiss of the spider woman set” I was on a face time with my internet friends last night and every night I practice trying to say all of the MLP episodes in a season (alternates by night) in order, so I did s5 and then my other friend was like “gimme a year and I bet I can name all of the Tony nominees for best musical every year” and we were double checking haha

15. other blogs: this is my only blog akbekejrj

16. do i get asks: sometimes! The majority of my asks have to do with Sokka with Tourette’s headcanons or anything with TS, and I love that:)

17. why did i choose this url: my favorite word is anticlimactic and one of the scenes that made me laugh the hardest in Ninjago is in s5 ep4 when Cole thinks the other three are playing a prank on him and they’re running after him and Jay screams “DON’T OPEN THAT DOOR” and then nothing happens and Kai just goes “... well that was anticlimactic” and it’s just my favorite thing ever and I’ve considered changing my url to zukkaclimactic but I love that line so much I’m wjevjebr

18. following: 253 (crap I should follow more people wksbejje)

19. followers: 434🥺 thanks for putting up with my crap, friends🥺

20. average hours of sleep: hahahhaha umm god question. not sure. terrible sleep schedule, just ask Grace lol

21. lucky number: 3! I just love odd numbers and years ago (like sixth grade again) my friend and I made a dumb little Ninjago number code for whatever reason and my favorite character was three and idk I’ve felt a “connection” with three ever since haha

22. instruments: I played alto saxophone in band for seven-eight years, three years in marching band and tenor sax one year in marching band and part of my junior / senior year of high school!

23. what am i wearing: lol haven’t left my bed yet today so pajama pants with cute little cartoon pigs on them and a black long sleeve shirt hahahha

24. dream job: well, I’m going to college for English education, so teaching high school English is absolutely a dream job, but my impossible dream job would be voice acting, Broadway (if I could I actually sing ugh), or I would like to write a cartoon television show (and also lowkey voice a character). I do actually love my major, though, and it is a dream job!

25. dream trip: DENMARK DENMARK DENAMRK DENMARK!!! I love Denmark. I’m literally attempting to learn Danish for fun because I love Denmark. I know three Danish sign language words (I’m also almost fluent in asl but this is Danish sign language I—) but um ahem aside from Denmark, any trip where I meet my internet friends

26. favorite food: ngl I really like tomatoes. I eat whole tomatoes like apples a lot. Fantastic.

27. nationality: american

28. favorite song: my favorite song will always be High Adventure from Aladdin. That song is so important to me for reasons I won’t get into right now because this is long enough as it is, but that will always be my favorite song.

29. last book read: hmm I think the last book I read was fanfiction uhh but I am currently reading The Color Purple!

30. 3 fictional universes you’d like to live in: bro. Bro. Can I just live in a fictional universe. How must I choose only three ??? Umm Equestria from MLP, there’s just something so magical and powerful about the world from Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts and maybe it’s the fact that in the end humans and mutes live on the surface together so that’s my number two, and uhhh the world in Land of Stories like the book world.

Oh boy the hardest part: tagging people who haven’t been tagged yet. Umm @evelinaonline (I know you aren’t on tumblr as much, but friendship is magic haha), @tikmasjiens , @dnd-beyond (my fellow starkid fan), @rainydaysammy , and @canyourscienceexplainthis (feel free to not do this if you don’t want to! There’s no pressure to do it!)

#tag game #ellen I love you #thank you for the means to procrastinate #and rant about musicals lol

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creative-poptart · 4 years

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Sans had never been more scared in his life, save for maybe the one or two times he lost Papyrus in the snow. This was a significant step forward for how the rest of his days would look, and if he messed this up, he would be miserable. Of course, he knew that he wanted to do this.

Ever since he had met Toriel on the Surface, he had felt some special connection to her. Whether it was because his soul was calling out for her or not, something about the former queen of monsterkind was so enticing to him. Was it the puns? The way she would bleat if she laughed too hard at a joke? The radiance of her presence in general?

He didn’t know the answer, but he was happy all the same.

Upon all of monsterkind reaching the surface world again, however, the pair had drifted apart. Tori was busy working with the newly appointed ambassador to keep the monster-human relations calm and settled, and Sans was busy trying to make enough funds to get himself and Papyrus settled. With all the extra hubbub, there wasn’t nearly enough time for the two punny buddies to try and get together.

“BROTHER, YOU HAVE BEEN SULKING THERE FOR THE PAST HOUR!” Papyrus called from where he stood at the stove, working on prepping dinner for the pair. “IF YOU ARE GOING TO SEE LADY TORIEL TODAY, THEN YOU WILL NEED TO MOVE YOUR BODY TO ACTUALLY GO AND SEE HER! I CAN ASSURE YOU THAT SHE WILL NOT BE COMING HERE WITHOUT PROMPTING!”

“right as always, paps,” Sans replied, not moving an inch from where he sat at the table. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go see Toriel, it was that he was horribly frightened about what she could say to him.

Over several months, before leaving the Underground, Sans realized he was starting to develop feelings for whoever was behind the big purple door to the Ruins. Despite never having seen who it was, he felt compelled to know more about them, telling jokes of all kinds through the door and trying to win them over. The voice was decidedly female, and Sans fell more in love with her as their little routine of telling jokes continued. Learning that he was sharing puns and falling for the former queen was undoubtedly a shock, but it changed nothing for him.

In fact, Sans was in so deep now that he could hardly stand to be away from her, always wondering when they were going to meet again next. There had been a few meetings since leaving the Underground, but not nearly enough to satiate the itching in his soul. It called for her softly, day in and day out.

“BROTHER!!” Once again, Papyrus’ voice snapped Sans out of his reverie and brought him back to reality. This time, however, the taller of the two stood over his brother, hands placed on his hipbones, and a scowl on his face. Sans could figure out what he was going to be told, so he shrugged and slid off his chair.

“okay, bro, i’m going, see?” he mumbled as he shuffled over to get his sneakers on. Papyrus seemed satisfied with this and turned back to cooking dinner.

“JUST MAKE SURE YOU ACTUALLY COME HOME TONIGHT!” he called over his shoulder. “I’VE BEEN PRACTICING A NEW PASTA DISH AND I WOULDN’T WANT YOU TO MISS IT!”

“sure thing, papyrus,” Sans called back, then took a shortcut to make it to Toriel’s house. He had only been here once or twice before, but that was more than enough for him to get acquainted with the area and find some shortcuts to it. As he saw the door in front of him, he took a deep breath, steeling the nerves he didn’t technically have for what he wanted to do.

With a faintly trembling hand, he knocked on the door twice, as was their tradition. For a few terrifying seconds, no one answered, and for a moment Sans was relieved that he might not have to do this today.

“Who’s there?” came Toriel’s voice, just a moment before he was going to leave to try again later.

“kenya,” he blurted on instinct, any preparations he had made before flying out the window. There was a soft chuckle on the other side of the door.

“Kenya who?”

“keyna let me in? it’s cold out here,” Sans quipped, winking even though he knew she wouldn’t see it. Toriel laughed from her side, then pulled the door open to look at him. Her smile was bright and wide, her posture relaxed, and an apron wrapped around her middle. She must have been baking or cooking dinner before he arrived.

“Hello there, my friend, to what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked smoothly, holding the door open a little wider as an invitation to come in. Sans stayed where he was, acutely aware of how he was beginning to sweat a little bit.

“i actually came over to tell you something important,” he said. Toriel’s eyebrows rose a little bit and she nodded, an indication to continue. Sans took another deep breath. This was the make-or-break moment.

“i-if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber,” he started, trying to ease himself into the process. Toriel laughed lightly at that one, but he didn’t miss the light pink color creeping up across her cheeks and snout. The sight of that alone gave him enough confidence to continue with his plans.”

“are you a parking ticket? because you’ve got fine written all over you!” This line was accompanied by a set of finger guns, which also prompted more laughter. However, Sans could see that it was working, at least a little, so it was time to ask the one question he had been dreading.

“do you happen to have an extra heart? b-because i think you just stole mine.”

Toriel stopped laughing at that one, her eyes going wide and the blush on her cheeks amping up to a ten. Sans fiddled with his phalanges nervously, his soul pounding in his chest as she stared at him in shock. The seconds ticked by, making him all the more nervous, but then she finally spoke up.

“Sans, can you feel my apron for me?” The odd nature of the request threw him for a loop, but the skeleton monster did as he was asked. “What does that feel like to you?”

“uh, cotton, maybe?” he responded with a shrug. As he looked up, he could see Tori grinning, an expression that grew when he gave his answer.

“No, it’s made out of girlfriend material,” she told him. Sans blinked once, twice, then felt the magical blush rising to his cheekbones start to intensify. The former queen leaned down to plant a small kiss to the side of his cheekbones, and for once, the silver-tongued skeleton didn’t have a single thing to say.

“Shall we meet up on Friday at seven for a date, then?” Toriel asked him softly. Sans was still struck dumb, so he nodded mutely, eye sockets wide in surprise. The goat monster smiled at him, bid him goodnight, asked him to say hello to Papyrus, and said she was looking forward to their date. Shortly afterward, she closed the door, leaving Sans on the porch.

He raised a hand to his cheekbone, where Toriel had kissed it, then began to smile. His soul started singing and he was overjoyed, taking a shortcut straight home so that he didn’t look weird for standing there too long.

That went much better than expected.

~~~~~~~~~~

@undertalesecretsanta

This is my part for the Undertale Secret Santa, a gift for @munchmulch!!! Hope you enjoy the little drabble I wrote up for you!

#undertale #undertale sans #undertale toriel #soriel #drabble #undertale secret santa #undertale secret santa 2019

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lettersnorth · 5 years

Text

Aislinn North

Name: Aislinn North

Race: Hyur

Gender: Female

Age: 32

Sexuality: Demisexual

Server: Balmung

Residence: She has a small apartment in Limsa Lominsa and is employed by a Free Company based out of Gridania.

Birthplace: Ala Mhigo

Religion: Adheres to the Eorzean religion of the Twelve.

Patron Deity: Nymeia, goddess of Fate. Her life, being as filled with chaos as it has, has taught her that the individual has very little control over what happens to them in life. All a person can do is control themselves and their reactions. “I’ve done all the preparation I can. Once the arrow leaves the bow, I have no control over whether it hits the target.“

Occupation: Takes on various odd jobs mostly related to engineering and aetherological research. Works for a mercenary company based in Gridania.

Alignment: Chaotic Good

Proficiencies: Sharpshooting, Aether manipulation through arcane maths, Engineering

Interests: Tinkering, Philosophy, Travel, Aetherlogical Studies

Relationships:

SPOUSE: None.

CHILDREN: None.

PARENTS: Deceased

SIBLINGS: None.

OTHER RELATIVES: None.

Likes: Learning new things, reading, travel, people watching, letting her mind wander, triple triad, fixing broken things.

Dislikes: Large crowds, bullies, pushy men, being touched, Ul'dah, wordplay

Fears:

Abandonment - For one reason or another Aislin has lost everyone important to her over the years; childhood friends, mentors, family. She doesn’t realize how much of an impact this has had on her over time, slowly chipping away at her willingness to open herself to new people. As a result, she tends to keep her distance, using her work as an excuse to maintain space.

The Dark - She had an unfortunate experience as a child at the hands of her bullies. To this day she can’t sleep without the glow of a lantern or candle nearby.

Black Magic - She once found herself on a mage’s bad side. The harrowing experience left her convinced there is some knowledge no one is meant to possess.

Being Dependent - Spending years as a refugee in Ul'dah, Aislinn and her father were constantly reminded of how much their survival depended on those with the coin and the power. Ever since then, Aislinn has worked hard to make sure she’s never at the whim or mercy of someone else ever again.

Personality: Generally even-keeled with a steady hand. Aislinn is easily overlooked, she’s never the loudest or the most flamboyant one in the room, but loyal and steadfast to those she’s close to. More often than not, she will put the needs of others above her own, even to her detriment. She gives off a quiet and calm energy but does light up when she gets a chance to nerd out about one of her interests. Some see her quiet disposition as aloof but Aislinn was raised not to use seven words when three will do. As a child she spoke so infrequently that some thought her mute. And while she is well past that, rhetoric is better left to someone more eloquent than she. She still trips over her words or speaks in broken sentences when she gets flustered. In combat she is often underestimated due to her diminutive stature. But what she lacks in brute strength she’s learned to make up for in speed, being quick and light on her feet has saved her many a time. She’s also a crack shot with a variety of ranged weapons. An avid student of philosophy, she prefers to retreat to quiet nature spaces for reading and reflection when she finds herself with free time. Analytical and logical, Aislinn relates best to a person when they are frank and forthright. Her weakness lies in her inability to discern subtlety and innuendo or to read between the lines.

Traits –––

* Bold your character’s answer.

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

Love and Romance:

Turn-Ons: Strength, protectiveness, kindness, warmth, confidence, tenderness, a sense of safety

Turn-Offs: Loudness, Yelling, Mercurial personalities, pushiness, arrogance, cruelty, inexperience, alpha males, roughness

Relationship Tendencies: Aislinn has built quite a shell around her due to the hardships and abuse she’s experienced in life. She doesn’t trust easy and has a tendency to withdraw. If she ever reaches out or touches someone of her own volition, it’s a pretty clear indicator that she cares deeply for that person. She’s absolutely monogamous and has no interest in playing games or competing with rivals, she will cut and run and she senses this is the case. After all she’s been through she has trouble believing anyone could see her in a romantic light and subtlety is lost on her so the other person would have to make their interest abundantly clear. Any romance with her would take time and care to build.

Physical Description: Aislinn is on the shorter side though she’s slender and fit from a life lived outdoors. Her most distinctive features are her red hair, which is usually pinned back just enough to keep it out of her eyes, and a scar across her face, just under her eyes. She carries herself with the quiet, earthy confidence of someone who is comfortable in her own skin and knows what it’s capable of. Her attire tends towards the simple and understated as if she’s trying not to attract attention. She eschews bright and garish colors in favor of subtle, muted tones. Instead of a distinct style, she will readily wear whatever is best suited for the city or destination in which she finds herself. She prefers to blend in whenever possible. Her expressions are subtle, a twitch of an eyebrow or slip of a smile is usually as animated as she gets. She’s soft-spoken, with a husky quality to her voice.

History: A general background and more in depth stories can be found here

RP Hooks:

Tinkering - Have some piece of machinery on the fritz? A clockwork that’s gone haywire? Or maybe that gunblade of yours just isn’t shooting straight. Aislinn knows her way around a variety of magitek and only too happy to get her hands dirty repairing old pieces of machinery or devising new ones.

Ul'Dah’s Seedy Underbelly - Aislinn is no stranger to the street gangs of Ul'dah. She used to be a runner for a cartel during her time in the city. Though she’s left that life behind it’s possible she would be recognized by someone who traveled in the same circles.

Limsa Lominsa - Though the nature of her work has her frequently traveling, she currently calls Limsa Lominsa home. When she’s in town, she can usually be found in the Missing Member tavern, or lounging in the sun, her nose in a book.

Aetherlogical Research - Aislinn is always up for talking about the finer points of aetherlogical study and loves to collaborate on experiments or research.

OOC:

I’m 30+ and prefer to RP with fellow adults. Pretty chill and patient, I’ll roll with most things though I would like the people I play with to be emotionally mature. I don’t have time for toxic behavior, people who can’t keep IC and OOC separate, tantrums or guilt trips.

I’m in the EST time zone. My weekdays are pretty busy between a full-time job and a side job that takes up a significant amount of time. I’m usually around a couple of weeknights long enough to run some roulettes or do some light RP but lengthy RP scenes would probably need to happen on the weekends or in Discord.

I’m interested in plots and long story arcs, relationships that take time to build. I don’t really do tavern RP as my RP time is limited and I’d rather spend it building depth in story and character. Aislinn has a lot of walls and while the potential for romance is there, she’s not going to jump right in off the bat.

I’m absolutely up for plotting a variety of previously established relationships or how our characters might know each other.

I do love running all sorts of content and am happy to have people to run with. So if you’re looking for company for roulettes, maps, raids, etc. I’m there.

#ffxiv rp #balmung #crystal lfrp

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masonjar191 · 5 years

Text

ThorBruce AU

Pain

Changed canon- Loki does not cause the battle of New York, it’s all Thanos.

Everyone is born with two letters on their wrist- the initials of their soulmate. Not every soulmate is a romantic partner, many are best friends, the kind you want to spend every waking moment with, and when you are apart you feel as if you’ll never be happy again until you are in their presence. Most are the same age, born days, weeks, or a few months apart. Rarer are the pairings in which the soulmate in question isn’t even a thought. Even rarer yet are when soulmates are decades or centuries apart in age.

Thor, the Asgardian prince, would live over a thousand years before his soulmate, a Midgardian by the name of Bruce would be born. It would be longer still until they met while saving the world from an alien attack.

8-year-old Thor snuggled into bed as he begged his Mum to tell a story. “About the soulmates, Mummy!” he thought to his own mark, displaying the initials “RB”. He wondered what their name was, what they looked like, when he would meet them and on what Realm…

“Well, Thor,” Frigga began. “Since the beginning of time, there have been soulmates, whose souls were torn apart during the Big Bang that created the Nine Realms. Every being ever born had and will have a soulmate. My soulmate is your Father, yours is RB, Loki’s is GM. You will know when you have met them because you will be engulfed in light and your marks will change color to match their favorite hue. After you meet, you will feel their pain, albeit muted.”

Thor smiled, dreaming of the day he gets to meet RB.

Bruce Banner was born Rebecca Alice Banner in 1969, a little over 1,000 years after his soulmate. From a young age, he never felt right in his body, leading to him declaring he was a boy at age 12.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re a boy?” Brian Banner screamed that night. “This TO man on your wrist isn’t going to want to be mated to a faggot. God damn it, Rebecca, I won’t raise a tranny!” Brian hit Bruce over the head, knocking the pre-teen unconscious.

When the young boy awoke, he cried, knowing his father would never accept him. Why would Brian? All Bruce had known was abuse from the alcoholic, hell, Brian had killed Bruce’s mother in front of him just a few months prior. Bruce knew if his mom was still alive, she would accept him, she had always been kind and accepting of the “Queers” he saw on television sometimes. Bruce knew he was a queer, liking boys while he knew deep inside, he was one as well. He knew TO was a man as well, although how old, he didn’t know.

“When will I be king?” the now almost-grown Thor asked Odin. He was physically a grown man. Hel, even his little brother was in his late adolescent years and Thor was 500 years older than Loki!

“When you meet your soulmate, my boy,” Odin grumbled, becoming used to the question being asked from both of his sons. Hela had asked when she would be Queen, as well. At one point she had taken the thrown forcefully, only to be banished. Odin was thankful he had raised his sons to be peaceful rather than seek war. Or at least he thought he had until Thor went to Jotunheim to fight the Frost Giants that had interrupted his coronation.

Odin was to be entering Odinsleep soon, so he temporarily named the boy King, even though neither boy had met his soulmate. Truth be told, Odin had put it off so long that he was afraid the stress would kill him, but he could not force either boy to meet their soulmate. A temporary arrangement would be enough. Until Thor disobeyed him.

“Damn it, boy! This is why I put this off for so long! You are a foolish, cruel, vain boy!” Odin screamed when he rescued Thor from Jotunheim.

“And you are an old man and a fool!” Thor retorted.

“You are unworthy! Unworthy of the crown, of your power,” Odin cried as he stripped Thor of his Asgardian strength. “I hereby banish you to Midgard!” Odin hoped Thor would meet his soulmate on Midgard. He set upon two terms to end his banishment- either Thor gets over his selfishness, or he meets his soulmate.

After Bruce left home in 1990, he immediately began transitioning. The twenty-year-old scraped together enough money to start hormones, get his breasts removed, and change his name to Robert Bruce Banner. He knew his soulmate would be looking for an RB, so he reluctantly kept the R initial. He had gone by Bruce at school since he entered senior high. Then, he poured himself into his studies, earning seven Ph.D.’s- in Gamma radiation, sexual health, astrophysics, Nuclear physics, philosophy, biochemistry, and medicine.

Bruce had taken up a teaching job at Culver University as Professor of Biochemistry. After the 9/11 attacks, he dedicated his life to helping others, which led him to be recruited by Thaddeus Ross. Unfortunately, it had the side effect of turning the young scientist into what became known as Hulk.

While Bruce had once, and still, hated himself because he was born female, he now hated himself because he turned into a green rage monster if he got angry. He went on the run, sacrificing his testosterone for his safety. Eventually, he was found, but not before he attempted suicide to rid himself of the monster. Looking back, Bruce was thankful he had failed, knowing TO would never forgive himself if Bruce had died before they met.

Years later, after Bruce got back on T, although still on the run from the military, he was focused on providing medical care for others, deciding that even if he could turn into Hulk, he could use his normal, less-of-a-freak self for good rather than the destruction Hulk brought.

Thor didn’t meet his soulmate- in fact, RB was on the other side of the country, but he proved himself worthy by sacrificing himself to save his friends on Midgard.

“Did you meet RB?” Loki asked excitedly when Thor returned.

“What do you think, brother?” Thor snapped, shoving the still black letters to Loki’s face. “Did you meet GM yet?”

“Nay, though I hope I meet them soon, I’m tired of being a child by Asgardian terms,”

“Loki, as the Midgardians see it, you’re a child there too. I am barely an adult. If RB would hurry up and enter my life, that would be grand!”

“I am sure we will meet our soulmates soon. Now, guess what our dear father bestowed upon me during your absence! I am Jotun! Yeah, I know! He picked me up as a babe, but hey, I can do ice magic now!”

A few months after Thor’s banishment ended, he and Loki were sent on a quest to Midgard because a group called The Black Order were planning on stealing the Tesseract.

“Perhaps you’ll meet your soulmate!” Loki cheered as they departed from the Bifrost. “We are long overdue, us being over a thousand years old.”

“What about you, dear brother? Don’t you want to meet GM?”

“Yes, Thor, we all want to meet our soulmates. But, let’s face it, you’re older, you are going to inherit the throne first. You proved your worthiness, I haven’t, even if we have not met our soulmates.”

Bruce was pissed. He had been whisked off from India, where he was doing good for once in his life, back to the United States, back to New York, to find this Tesseract thing. But Bruce knew better. This SHIELD organization just wanted to experiment on Hulk, they always did. Why couldn’t Bruce have been born into a loving family, as a boy, and not turn into a monster?

“H-Hey I’m Bruce Banner,” Bruce stuttered when the quinjet landed and he met the team he would be working with: Tony Stark, Nick Fury, Phil Coulson, Erik Selvig, the Norse Gods Thor and Loki, Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, and Natasha Romanoff.

God damn, Thor thought when he laid eyes on Bruce. That guy is stunning!

“Good to meet you, Dr. Banner,” Tony said as he shook Bruce’s hand. I hope that wasn’t weak. “Your work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled, and I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

“Thanks,” Bruce replied sarcastically. At least no one here cared, or hopefully even knew he was trans.

“Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube,” called Fury. Thank you! “I was hoping you might join him.”

Captain Rogers spoke up. “Let’s start with that stick of his, Thanos I mean. It’s magical but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon.”

“I don’t know about that, but it is powered by the cube. And I’d like to know how Thanos turned two of our sharpest men into his personal flying monkeys.”

“Monkeys?” Thor questioned. Bruce wondered. TO? Could that stand for Thor, Son of Odin, or Odinson?

“I understood that reference!” Steve smiled, while Tony rolled his eyes at the recently defrosted Soldier.

However, before Bruce could test his Soulmate theory, Tony whisked him away to do research.

Thor decided to do research on Dr. Banner and found out his first name was actually Robert. “Loki! I think Dr. Banner is RB! Look, his first name is Robert!” he cheered.

“Now to get close enough for the soulmate bond to recognize. You have to be touching, right?” Loki asked for clarification.

“Yes! At the end of the battle, I’ll give him a celebratory hug!” Thor hugged Loki for reference, in his signature rib-crushing style.

“Ouch, brother, do you want to kill your soulmate? He is merely mortal!”

“Alas, soulmate Banner is tougher than he looks.”

“He looks like an anxious mess,” Loki pointed out. “I have a point; he is especially fragile! Look at how he stood, playing with his sleeves and picking at his fingers.”

“I will teach him that he does not have to fear, that I will always be there, his soulmate.”

“That’s my secret, Cap. I’m always angry,” Bruce calmly said as he transformed into Hulk to take down the Chitauri and the rest of the Black Order.

That’s my fucking soulmate! Thor thought as he continued battling. Eventually, Thor cut off Thanos’ head with a sword he had taken from one of the dead Black Order… creatures. It was official, there was no remaining child of Thanos. They had won.

Thor threw the sword to the side and charged over to Hulk, who was transforming back to Bruce. He was glad his armor that day was sleeveless, he wanted to see his mark change. He didn’t care that Bruce was naked, he was going to hug his soulmate, damn it!

The two were engulfed in a flurry of light for a mere moment, but their arms stung as Thor’s mark changed to purple, while Bruce’s turned red.

“Holy shit,” Bruce swore, then realized he was naked, and moved quickly to hide from the Avengers and SHIELD agents. “Please, don’t look at me!” he yelled as he pulled on some discarded clothing.

“My soulmate! What troubles you?” Thor thundered, causing Bruce to flinch.

“What happened to your penis? Blown off in war?” Steve asked curiously. “I knew a few guys in my time who had that happen.”

“Uh, yeah, I can’t afford the surgery to get a new one.” Bruce lied. The man was from the 40s, who knew how he felt about queers?

“And those lines on your chest?” Bruce blushed, hard.

“Friend, Captain, do not worry my soulmate! He will tell us about his traumas when he is ready, and it is obvious he is not ready!” Thor explained as he held Bruce’s hand to stop him from running. It also served to calm the man.

“Thank you,” Bruce sighed. He’d never had anyone stand up for him like that.

Thor was back on Asgard. ‘How did I get here? I was with Bruce.’ he thought, several theories firing up as he waited for whatever had him home.

“So, you met your soulmate!” Odin called out, walking over to Thor and patting his son on the back. “Have you completed the final part of the ritual?”

“W-what ritual? We hugged and then our marks changed. Is that not it?” Thor asked with confusion. In all his years, in all the times he had asked about his soulmate and what happened when you met the, neither Odin nor Frigga mentioned a ritual.

“Nay, my son. The final part of the ritual allows you to feel their pain and emotions.”

“Then tell me what it is so I can complete it!” Thor chuckled. Why was Odin keeping it a secret?

“Alright, my boy, I cannot keep this from you forever. To complete the soulmate ritual, the two souls must combine, so to speak.”

“Combine? How the Norns?”

“Thor, you are a young man, surely you have had sex!” Odin laughed as he patted his boy on the back. Thor’s face flushed.

“Yeah, definitely!” he lied. “So, all I have to do is bed my soulmate?”

“Yes, my boy. Now, you need not lie to me, son. It’s fine to wait for your soulmate.”

“Did you, Father?” asked Thor, feigning innocence. He may not have had much action, unlike his little brother, but he knew enough from Loki’s bragging.

“I would be lying if I said I waited,” Odin admitted.

Bruce almost Hulked out when he realized he and Thor had to have sex if they wanted to fully activate the Soulmate Bond. If he could have been dysphoric about his lack of a penis at only one moment, this would be it. ‘Does Hulk have a dick?’ he wondered, never taking the time to check, or perhaps he never had the thought. Would Thor want to fuck him even if he had… that?

When Thor awoke, he was glad to find that he had not left Stark Tower, where the Avengers had set up a temporary living space. Much of the building was covered in debris from yesterday’s attack, but Tony’s apartment was safe, and he ha a few guest rooms. Clint and Nat had shared, as they were soulmates and had already bonded. Tony paired Bruce and Thor up, though thankfully their room had two beds- soulmates or not, they had just met. Tony had his own room, leaving Steve to the couch.

He staggered to the kitchen and decided to look for food. Pop tarts! He exclaimed when he saw the delightful treat. He popped two into the toaster and poured a cup of coffee.

“You’re up early,” noted Bruce as he walked into the kitchen soon after Thor sat down.

“A warrior always rises early. That, and I couldn’t sleep any longer. I’ve been thinking about this soulmate bond,” Thor said.

“Yeah, me too. I’ve had one-night stands before, but it feels different when it’s with my soulmate. Especially when he’s as handsome as you,” Bruce paused. “I want to get to know you in other areas than the bedroom before we do that. I’ve always had an interest in mythology, and it’s not every day one of the figures you’ve spent your whole life reading is your soulmate. I’ve only read your stories; I don’t know the man behind them!”

“Which story is your favorite?” Thor asked with enthusiasm, he loved recounting his adventures, now his soulmate was well versed in them. This was a dream come true.

“Probably the one where you had to dress up like a bride to get Mjolnir back!”

“Ah, yes. Now that was awkward. I had never felt such shame in my life, not until Odin banished me to Midgard after I attacked Jotunheim because they ruined my coronation.”

Bruce looked at his soulmate in wonder. “I never read that myth!”

Thor laughed. “That is because it happened last year.”

“It happened last year?”

“That is what I said.”

“Damn, I was, uh, tearing up Harlem at the time.” Bruce blushed as he remembered the last time he had been in New York. “Anyway, can you tell me the story?”

“Why, yes, Banner. So, me and my brother, Loki, have always been extremely close. When my coronation was interrupted by the Frost Giants, Odin forbid me from attacking them. In rage, I disobeyed my father, and me, Loki, my friends the Warriors Three, and Lady Sif traveled to Jotunheim, where we were attacked. Odin found us, and he was pissed that I had started a war with the Jotun. Long story short, he saw me unfit to be king. I must admit that I was arrogant and said some things I regret. He put a spell on my hammer that said only those worthy could lift it, and if they could, they would have my powers. He sent me to a place called New Mexico, where I met a young scientist by the name of Jane Foster.”

“I’ve heard of Jane, she’s a genius on the field of astrophysics! I’ve wanted to work with her for years, you know her?”

“Yes, she helped me to get my hammer back! I saved her from being killed by a being known as the Destroyer. He nearly killed me, but my selfless act proved me worthy and I was saved!”

‘He’s so fucking brave’ thought Bruce as he listened intently to Thor’s story. Of his adventure in New Mexico.

“What about you? Do you have any adventures?” Thor asked.

“N-not any that I would be able to tell, bad memories,” Bruce admitted quietly. “Whether it’s my mom being killed, my dad being abusive, being trapped in this hellhole of a vessel I call my body and my mind, being the Hulk,” he listed, every bad thing that had happened in his life flashing back to him. The only good times he had were in science labs, studying science.

“What’s wrong with your body? You’re incredibly handsome, Bruce. I don’t care I you have a penis or not. You’re still a man in my eyes.”

“It, uh, wasn’t blasted off in war. I never had one. These scars on my chest?” Bruce started, pulling his shirt off as he pointed to the thin lines lining the bottoms of his pecs. “Were from when I had my chest tissue surgically removed. Thor, I was born female.” Bruce’s eyes burned with the beginnings of tears, he could feel Hulk thundering in the back of his mind, begging to be released.

“HULK SMASH” he yelled in Hulk’s voice, before slipping back into Banner-mode. He threw his fists down onto the bed as he flopped onto it. His skin turned green but otherwise, he was still Banner. Hyperventilating, the years of ridicule he had faced at the hands of his father, and later Ross, flashed before his eyes.

“Bruce, you’re okay. I’m totally fine with it! These feelings are common on Asgard! If I could pass as a woman to a Giant, you sure as Hel can as a man. And you are a man, you aren’t pretending like I was pretending to be a woman.”

“Thanks.” Bruce took the compliment, not quite believing it. He hasn’t properly accepted a compliment in years, knowing from experience that trust would lead him to betrayal in the end.

“I mean it, Bruce. I would never lie to you; you have my word.”

Bruce spits blood as he takes yet another punch. “God damn it, Becca, how many times do I have to beat it into your head that you ain’t a boy?” Brian snarls, before punching Bruce again.

“Gee, why don’t ya punch me again, see if that does it?” Bruce yells, sarcasm dripping from his busted lips. Brian follows the request, breaking his child’s nose. Bruce’s head snaps back, hitting the concrete floor, knocking him out.

Except he doesn’t. Instead of going unconscious, Bruce transforms into the Hulk, growing in size until he stood, seven feet tall, green, still bleeding. “What the hell, girl?” Brian swears before Bruce snaps, forcing his father into the concrete. SMASH. SMASH. SMASH!

“Y-you punch like a girl. Oh wait, you are one, even if you’re a fuckin monster inside.”

Bruce wakes suddenly. He never was present for his father’s death, being deep in research at that point. He hadn’t even gone to the funeral, knowing his relatives would still see Bruce as the little girl he had always been in their eyes. Even if his curly locks had long been cut, and he had stubble along his jaw, and he had recently gotten top surgery, they would still call him Rebecca.

Yet, his mind, since he had turned into Hulk, liked to show scenes of him Hulking out on Brian, killing him, even though the man had died in real life from old age. Even in death, the man still hated his child. No, hate wasn’t strong enough a word. Brian despised Bruce.

Bruce didn’t realize he was crying until he couldn’t breathe, his sobs choking him, sending him into a panic attack. “Thor! Thor!” he managed to scream, throat dry, closing up, his fingernails clawing at his forearms.

“Banner?” Thor mumbled as he awoke, exhaustion still in his bass voice. “What’s wrong?” he reached over to turn on a light, only to see the smaller man shaking and scratching himself. “Hey, hey, hey, it’s fine. I’m here, you’re not in danger!”

Bruce jumps back at Thor’s fingers touching his bare chest. “Don’t hurt me!” he cries. “Dad, no! Okay, fine, I’m a fucking girl, I’ll never be a man!”

“Shhhh, the sun’s getting low, I won’t hurt you, you’ll never be hurt again. Your father is dead.” Thor reaches out to calm the man the way he used to calm Loki when the God of Mischief woke from nightmares. At first, Bruce flinches but then accepts the soft touch of Thor rubbing his back and brushing his hair from his face. Thor allows Bruce to cry into his chest, let the tears fall as his panic attack fades. “Bruce, my love, are you okay?”

“N-no. My dad,” he stutters. His face burns even harder than it was from his panic attack.

“Is dead, sweetheart. He won’t hurt you; I won’t allow it. If anyone hurts you, I will kill them. I’ve slain more enemies than the number of years I’ve been alive, that bastard won’t be the first nor the last.”

Bruce looks down at his wrists, skin torn and bleeding. He frowns, feeling the sting of his tears and sweat mixing with the wounds.

“Ah, I shall kiss them better,” Thor remarks, before running his lips over each and every mark. To Bruce’s amazement, the blood stops running, and each line turns white before disappearing completely.

“Can soulmates just do that?” Bruce asks.

“No, I don’t think so. However, I can. When Loki and I were small, my mother would kiss our battle injuries away, and by that, I mean the wounds from when Loki stabbed me. I guess I inherited her magic. Ironic, since Loki is the one of us that can perform spells.”

“Kiss all of my pain away,” Bruce smiles as he pecks the God on the lips. Thor quickly deepens the kiss as the two lean back so Thor straddles Bruce.

“Are you okay, my love?” Thor asks with concern. He feels a massive pleasure course throughout his body like lightning, but he can stop if his soulmate is too uncomfortable.

“I’m okay,” Bruce whispers. “I’ll tell you if my dysphoria gets to be too much.”

Bruce wakes the next morning and smiles at his soulmate, his naked form covered by their comforter. They had officially completed the soulmate bond.

#thorbruce #trans bruce #gammahammer #thunderscience #thor #bruce banner #dysphoria #cw:slurs #cw:abuse #cw: panic attacks

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bygosscarmine · 4 years

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We Who See Thestrals

A Harry Potter post-canon fic: Luna Lovegood x George Weasley

hopefully that isn’t a shocker at this point

Go to Chapter 1

2: George Weasley, Talent Manager

2183 words

They went clattering down the stairs to the shop's main floor, where Luna was standing behind a cleared table, with a circle of children of varying ages. As they got closer, George realized she was doing Muggle magic. Her soft voice pattered through a nonsense description of space and time, while the cards seemed to leap from her hands--not necessarily that strange to a wizarding audience, but different cards seemed to leap out of the deck and show themselves as she said words related to hearts or kings or seven and so on.

"Not that," said Ron, annoyed. "It's the Pygmy Puffs!"

George went to the big glass enclosure, and peered in. The coloration and markings range seemed to be normal but...

"Gobstopping Goblins," he whispered.

There was a nest of baby Puffs in the corner, just naked tiny bean-blobs. All Pygmy Puffs until now had been magically altered Puffskein young. The best results were at about two weeks before birth, but the range of about two weeks around that date was usually fruitful. The tricky bit was transforming only the developing young, not the parent. Never had he dreamed they could actually reproduce the Pygmy mutation naturally.

"Are you telling me that Luna is in some way responsible for inducing the Pygmys to have offspring?" he asked Ron, trying to imagine this process.

"She thinks it has to do with telling them fairy tales. I think it has more to do with the fact that she's built them little homes."

Sure enough, there were little decorated boxes, two large enough to hold a whole pack of Pygmy Puffs, two smaller as if for a nuclear family unit. The nest appeared to be made from the shreds of one of the smaller boxes. The tiny hairless creatures he assumed were the natural children of some couple within the glass container were being hovered around by two pink Pygmy Puffs, who had floated to be between his large head and the nest so he could no longer see it directly.

"You know, I think you're right. Probably you're both right."

He stayed until Luna had finished her magic show, to ask her some more questions.

"What do you think?" she asked. "Is my Muggle magic pretty good now?"

"I saw you finessing that with some summoning," George said severely. "Which just goes to show you are a very skilled witch, since that's not easy real magic, either. What about these guys? You've been giving them the birds and bees talk?"

"Just a little privacy and folklore to build their culture on," she said, reaching down under the mesh top of the cage to let some of the little fur balls cluster against her fingers. "I thought about separating the males and females but Ronald said you didn't know a way to determine sex. Besides, we don't know if they have a binary breeding system."

One of the pink parental puffs bobbed over to Luna's hand cautiously, zoomed at her as if beating her off, and rushed away again. Luna slowly withdrew her hand.

"I don't think they are smart enough to recognize a person," she said somewhat sadly.

"They're probably smarter than they let on," said George, who had never seen the puffs so interested in a human. There was a bit of an issue of bonding with the puffs, which wasn't bad for shop profits, but wasn't quite what he liked as an inventor. Puffskeins seemed just barely large enough to have the brains to recognize a familiar human. Pygmy Puffs, not so much.

Maybe they were usually just too immature.

"Was there anything else?" Luna asked.

"Sorry?" George was a little startled.

"You came down here in such a rush, and I hate to keep you from your work. Ron said you only come down to work in the shop when it's really crazy."

"Well, yes," George said. "Rather. Summer hols coming up, will need to be up to snuff so we can just offload our goods on the children who will be loose for a few months."

"So was there anything else you needed to ask me about?"

"Nothing I needed to ask, but plenty I'd like to," he said, grinning. "How long did you practice the cards before coming up with that little twist?"

"I bought a pack and the pamphlet and took it home," said Luna. "So I've had a lot of hours at home working on it."

She seemed to be apologizing for not being an instant expert.

"I have never seen anyone over the age of fourteen put so much effort into card-tricks before. I am impressed."

"Oh," said Luna, nonplussed.

"I was also going to ask you to consult on my ideas for a new mothers line of products, but somehow I don't think you're the right candidate for that."

"Can I see your workshop, though? I'm very curious about that," Luna said. "Ronald said you wouldn't want to be disturbed but he just went to get you so you're already interrupted."

"Certainly you can." He was pleased, really. "I just got off the phone with Neville, but maybe you can give me an opinion on the algae pet I'm developing."

"A phone?"

"Not a Muggle phone," George hurried to say. "I'll show you what I mean with that, too."

"I'd like to talk to Neville, too," she said. Her always slightly wistful voice was not necessarily more melancholy as she said this, but he was strangely afraid it was.

"Rhodie, we'll be back in a jiff," George called out. "I'm curious about our numbers of Pygmy sales to availability over the summer last year, if you have a minute to check on that."

He ushered Luna up the cramped stairs in the stock-room, where the muted sounds of children shouting at the Snap made the sense of having slipped out of the world more acute. He always felt that a little, coming up here, but leading a newcomer through the maze of boxes with their slight coating of inevitable dust, the sound of their footsteps in the heavy quiet, made it stronger.

"Did you have this one made?" Luna said when they came to the cabinet.

"Well spotted," said George, fairly sure he should be feeling a little shame about conspicuous wealth right now, but just feeling a bit pepped up. "It's pretty new. We had to actually do a lot of research and a little guesswork to get it made. Very complicated magic, have a feeling the originals were dark in nature. Nothing a little ingenuity couldn't fix!"

He opened the door. "Usually I'd say, after you, but always watch a man go first into his vanishing cabinet. I'll leave the door open on the way out."

He stepped through.

For a few moments, he was unsure if she'd lost her nerve to come. Or something bad had happened with the cabinet.

Then she stepped out nonchalantly, staring at the lintel of the door keenly, as if she'd been inspecting it.

"That felt like nothing. Really, apparating could well be replaced by a few of these in wizarding gathering places and we'd all be so much more comfortable."

"True," said George.

Now a pang of consumer guilt hit him, so he did not volunteer that to keep this one working accurately he had to limit daily use. Luna took in the room around them and he considered it himself. It was cleanish and brighter than most wizarding research facilities. He had a rather large terrace-house and the attic formed his laboratory. Everything from modern muggle science equipment to herbs hung from the gabled roof, with the highest center part over the working table, where he'd installed an intake fan so he could easily air out the fumes. He'd bespelled it to also make any colorful or intriguing fumes clear.

Just the kinds of precautions he and Fred had found out the hard way in their room laboratory all those years ago.

"How do you call Neville?" Luna asked.

"Here, see this? Do you remember the extendable ears?"

"Sure."

He held out the bits of rubber-covered foam that now were just as long as a fingertip, and brightly colored so he lost fewer of them. "It's actually connected to the Floo network, so you may see things slightly green for a moment, but you just have to give the address."

Luna gingerly took them but nearly immediately dropped the first one she tried to put in. George swiftly bent down to pick it up, and said, "Here."

He brushed some of her rampant hair away from her ear and squeezed the earplug before setting it in her ear. "Like this," he said, showing her how to compress it. She put in the other without too much issue, knowing know she could safely push it inward.

"What's Neville's fireplace?" she asked, a little too loudly.

"Twelve, Hogwarts."

The earplugs didn't really dampen sound much, so he didn't have to yell. But Luna did, as if jumping into a fireplace, and he grinned.

"Hello, Neville," she said next, in a normal tone of voice. "Did I startle you? Yes, it's me, Luna. Oh, this marvelous!"

She gave George an incandescent smile, and jumped a little. "Neville, how's Pomfrey? Oh, good. I thought that tonic should help his scalewort. I have to go. Maybe George will lend me his ears again. Goodbye, Neville!"

After a pause she said in a whisper, "Do I just take them off?"

"Yes," he said, holding out his hand. "Before I had them turn off with a word, but it was annoying to hear other people say half the word all the time, and it's easier if they just stop when one or the other takes them off."

She dropped them in his hand, scrutinizing them slightly, then turned to the desk beside them. "Were you talking to Neville about this?"

The goldfish bowls with the hopeful algae pets were lined up, labelled so he could track the various tests he'd done. Currently there were twelve. The first six he'd given up on as past further experiments were now living with his female relatives, and a few were set downstairs in the shop as a teaser while they waited for Neville to come pick them up.

"Yes. It's tricky to work with biological things. I don't have the hang of it. Neville secretly disapproves of me messing with nature, or I'd just ask him to be my inventor."

George raked his hair up on end as he stared at the blobs of algae that loosely resembled the heads of the Green Man but not enough.

"I suppose using a cutting charm to just fix them isn't enough," said Luna. "You want them to develop for real so people know what they are."

"And it's pretty easy to get them to look vaguely like people in an ugly way. We always think things look like people."

"You want them to be cute? One of your mom-line?"

"Yes," said George, a little surprised she had connected those thoughts. "If I figure out how to affect their shape more, then I can make them trolls or fairies or crones or princes. Then people can pick what they like."

"Yes, and then people can really talk to them, like a friend."

George had not considered this angle, but it made sense.

"Well, it's just something I'm asking anyone for leads about. Feel free to look around and ask about anything you find intriguing."

She pattered around, hands holding her hair back from falling on anything. It was so unconscious he suddenly saw her as a tiny witch in her mother's test kitchen, keeping her hands out of the range of anything dangerous. He had known her mother had been killed by a failed experiment, which he had promptly tried to forget, as an inventor prone to explosions himself.

"What is this?" she asked, leaning over a pan of starts.

"I'm just trying to learn more about botany and magic. They're violets."

She looked up, eyes glinting. She was laughing, for some reason, about him growing flowers. The skylights diffused the light well through the room, but she was wreathed in sun, since he'd put the starts right in the path of the light.

"Well, probably should send you back through to keep Rhodie in line." He stood, "It's been lovely having you. And don't listen to Ron if he says I'm not to be disturbed. I say that to him because I find him disturbing."

Luna chuckled, and swished out through the cabinet, which he shut with deliberation. Then he went downstairs from his house and out the door to walk all the way to The Three Broomsticks instead of just going out his own shop door and turning left.

By the time his friends showed up for the late Brazil v. Mozambique match, he was three pints in. Angelina swung her way in, and halted next to George to say, "Blimey, George. Why are you sodden already?"

"Just enjoying a night off," he said vehemently.

Go to Chapter 3

#We Who See Thestrals #Luna Lovegood X George Weasley #Luna Lovegood #George Weasley #pygmy puffs #Weasleys Wizard Wheezes #rarepair #harry potter #fanfiction

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shadowyryot · 5 years

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Paying the Price

{I collected the soul as well as a few bags of liquor, weed, and gossip rags, then began the trek skyward. It was a weird way to travel to get from Hell to Heaven, there were a lot of twists and turns along the way because neither wanted anyone to accidentally stumble into the realms. You had to know where to look, which shimmer in the space just out of the corner of your eye, follow that low hum that seemed to come from nowhere, ignore that instinct that tells you to turn away. All of those were signs you were close to a pathway. None were direct even if one managed to stumble onto one. It had taken me decades to memorize the route I had, and even that changed slightly each time. It was almost like the moving staircases in that wizard movie that was so popular. Again, I just had to remember what to look for because that always stayed the same. Even if it was two lefts instead of a left and a right or duck under the limb of the old elm tree rather than hop over it. I never figured out who was responsible for guarding or changing the pathways, whether it was my side or those above. Maybe this was one of those weird things they worked together on, who knows. Either way, I had learned to navigate the system which allowed me to smuggle things in and out of both places for favors. Some things earned me a healthy payday but this was definitely not one of them. It just made other things I did that much easier.

The soul was quiet as we moved which was unusual. Most liked to chatter at least, figure out where they were going, for how long, what the latest gossip top side was, something. Sometimes they were…not exactly violent but they were mischievous. This taste of freedom had them longing for more. A trip to the earthy realm where they could force their way into some unsuspecting body. Thankfully, I’d not lost one since one of my first times doing this more than 200 years ago. Not that anyone found out about it because I tracked the fucker down and put him right back in his place. Still, it wasn’t something I wished to repeat. I enjoyed my way of life too much to let anyone fuck it up for me.

We were about three pathways away when I started to feel it. That thread of tension and apprehension. Something was brewing somewhere and it wasn’t going to be pretty. The shimmers grew almost violent in color, pulsing more and more. The rumblings, quiet at first, grew to almost deafening levels as I pulled the soul with me and started to run. If these paths splintered, who knew where the fuck we’d end up. Two paths to go, my head started to pulsate from within and my eyes widened. The soul I was transporting began to cackle and I knew I had fucked up. Still I ran. Harder, faster. My feet pounded the cobblestone pathway. The soul began to fight in earnest now, pulling me back with everything it had. Thankfully, it wasn’t much because I was still able to keep going. The final pathway was mere feet in front of me. I reached for it, giving myself that last little push, when it moved. I blinked and tried again, watching it flicker and shift just out of reach. I spun, looking for another path, noticing then the walls closing in. The soul was stronger now, fully forming and then...then that fucker Ashmodai appeared, fire dancing in his eyes…literally. I stumbled as I tried to step back but already a lick of fire flew from his fingertips, curling towards me. “Foolish female. Did you think we wouldn’t find out about your endeavors, Ryot?” Heat wound around my wrists and the smell of burning hair and flesh assaulted my senses. I stood stock still, chin tipping up defiantly to eye down the seven plus foot demon before me. I knew I was fucked, but I hoped I managed to keep the quiver of fear out of my voice when I finally spoke.} I’m a demon, I’m supposed to break the rules, Ashy.

{My knees hit the stones before I could blink. A foot pressed between my shoulder blades pushing me down. I glanced behind me to see one of Ashmodia’s minions gloating down at me and I couldn’t help myself} Aww, Molli, did you miss me? Even like this, I still won’t submit to you, you know that, right? Or are you just pretending to listen to Ashy since you’ve told me numerous times how you imagine his head adorning the doorway above your office?

{I blinked innocently at the growl from Ashmodai and then watched as Mollidas joined me on the ground. His teeth gnashed together and he glared at me, “You’re a fucking bitch, Ry.” I smiled sweet and nodded} That I am. Especially when I’m betrayed, Mol’s. You should have remembered that when you volunteered to take me down. You did volunteer, didn’t you? Pathetic.

{Ashmodai let out a low chuckle, “She’s not wrong, Mollidas, you are pathetic. Had I known there was history, I’d not have involved you. I suppose you will have to be punished as well. Mores the pity.” I was raised to my feet at the slightest touch, then lifted a few feet off the ground so I could look into Ash’s eyes. “You got cocky, Ryot. I have been waiting for you to slip up. You made too many mistakes in your dealings with Nija. You stopped being cautious and now I must make an example out of you. I cannot have others thinking they can get away with stealing my souls to bring to heaven.” He shuddered as he said the word and the utter disdain in his voice was practically visible. The flames in his eyes flickered subtly, then the grin on his face widened. That alone sent that frisson of fear tearing down my spine. A happy Ash was a dangerous Ash. I swallowed thickly} What will my punishment involve?

{He snapped his fingers with a bone chilling cackle and gone were the pathways and in its place was a pit that smelled of sulfur and copper, blood and death. Normally a smell I enjoy quite a bit, but right now, I wanted to be anywhere but here. I was secured by my wrists and ankles in the center of the room, hanging like some depraved artwork (a punishment I enjoyed inflicting on others), Molli was trussed up over a large pit that was so dark and deep, I had no idea what lie below. For a moment, I thought we’d been left here alone as our punishment, but then I felt the stir in the air. The cold sweep of a blade, flat side for now, scratching along my bared shoulders. My back felt cold, exposed and I glanced over my shoulder to see the fabric loosely dangling as though it’d been slit up the middle. At least I was still covered where it mattered. That was a plus. Ash was unusually creative with his punishments from what I have heard and I was not looking forward to seeing what he was going to do, but at least I knew he’d not touch me in that way. He muttered under his breath as he worked, recanting a number of my indiscretions, at least those that involved stealing souls from hell. He didn’t seem to have a problem when I worked the system the other way, funny that one. Or at least he didn’t. The blade just scored down my back again when the room flashed a vivid white and a female stood in the center, she was nearly as tall as Ash was but thanks to my current predicament, I saw her face clearly. Ice flashed in her eyes, her pale skin nearly translucent and glowing in the darkened room. Her gaze turned to Ash and she beckoned him around from behind me. “You are not the only one owed punishment for her crimes. She has tainted the hallways of heaven….” I snorted out a laugh and shook my head} Oh hon, I promise I’m not the first and I sure as fuck won’t be the last one to taint those h….

{I swallowed a gasp as her fingers clenched around my throat, her movements faster than a blur. “You may be correct, however you are the one we have been trying to catch, you are the one who will be an example for those to come.” Ash stepped forward then and pulled her hand from my throat, “We will have to work together, Amora. What do you suggest we do?” They stepped away from me then, going to the small corner opposite, heads bent together as they worked out the details. Occasionally one or the other would glance back at me then smile before going back to the conversation. I knew that didn’t bode well for me. Nope, not at all. I inhaled deeply and tried to call on my energy, teleportation didn’t work because I fucking sucked at it and ended up in the wrong place more often than not, but right now, nothing else was working either. Ash had muted my abilities which meant I had to try things a different way. I took another slow breath and focus, attention going to the corner long enough to see they were still plotting, then back to figuring my way out of this fucking mess. I stretched my fingers and arms, struggling to find a loose anything and thought I nearly had one when I heard the soft laughter and lifted my gaze to find them both staring at me in amusement. They spoke in tandem, each uttering a few parts of my punishment before the other would gleefully jump in. It was damn frightening when a demon and angel worked together. Each word from their lips filled me with dread. I shook my head, they couldn’t be serious. That was criminal. It went against the natural laws. I opened my mouth to argue but before I could utter a sound, my lips were sealed with crude sutures from out of nowhere. My eyes went wide then my vision went fuzzy. I screamed behind my sealed lips then, louder even when the blades dug into my shoulder blades, scraping the gone as they did. Then I felt the fingers and the dread, the dulling of everything. When they were finished, my back still dripped blood and I felt numb with it all. They smiled at me and lowered me to the ground. “What do you say, Amora, 6 months? Will that be suitable for her?” I squeaked behind my lips and shook my head fast enough to make me dizzy. Well it was either the shaking or the blood loss. She smiled and nodded, “6 Months sounds perfect. We will see if she learns her lesson then among the humans she so favors. Would you care to do the honors or shall I?” He bowed and waved her on. She stepped close, her fingers trailing through my hair, “Six months with your powers stripped, heaven and hell both sealed off to you. You will not be able to reach out to anyone. Any demon or angel who tries to aid you will be subsequently punished, and word will go out immediately about that. Most of your accounts are frozen for that time as most of your money was earned through illegal channels. Find a job among the humans you enjoy so much and live as they do. Maybe you will learn to follow through with what is expected of you.” She smiled sweetly and swiped her hand over my back to finally stem the flow of blood and then the room flipped on its axis and I was standing in my driveway. Everything was still…off. I blinked and rubbed at my eyes, my color had been stolen from me. My hand slipped over my mouth, rough edges where the sutures were prominent but at least my lips were free. I let out a scream of frustration but it came out strangled. My eyes went wide and I ran to the house, using my keypad to unlock the door then resetting the alarm before I ran to my room. I tried to speak but it was faint, just barely above a whisper. My voice and my vision, as well as my powers….those fuckers were going to pay, after all, I had six months to plot my revenge.}

#RyotSL #ShadowyRyot #shadowyRy #roleplay

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lickmeleclerc · 6 years

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|Falling Short| H.H {Chapter 1}

Characters :Highschool!Harry Holland x Y/n (female reader)

Summary: Y/n & Harry were inseparable hence the verb were. Near the end of 8th year they started to drift apart, Now Senior year of high school they’ve completely been out of each other's lives for three years. This is a normal occurrence with friendships but not so much for two people who have been best friends since the age of two and happen to live next door to each other. What event can reunite them?

Playlist: Here

Warnings: ITS LONG AF RIP none yet, angst maybe ?

Harry did the same thing on the first day of school every year. Late. He quickly brushes his teeth and runs a comb through his curly hair. Then throws on some joggers and a T-shirt before leaving to go pick up his girlfriend. Like he always does. As he exits his house he spots On walking to her car, still his neighbor and still aware of all the memories he’s had with her he finds it odd she’s only in shorts and a maroon top. In the past she’d call him the night before and talk for hours about what to wear before arriving at his house for their end of Summer sleepover. That night they’d compare schedules and goals for the upcoming year. That’s the past though. As she steps in her car his brown eyes land on a sizeable bruise on her calf and wonders what daredevilish stunt she was up to, to get that. It's a strange thought for him to know so much about someone but not call them a friend or even an acquaintance. With a quick glance he watchs Y/n pull away from the curb and in the direction of their high school. Maybe it’s the thought of senior year and he’s focussed on reminiscing but he can’t seem to shake Y/n from his mind this morning.

A loud honk blares from the left as Harry starts to pull from the shoulder of the road, he turns quickly as a car speeds past.

"Jackass!" The stranger yells with his middle finger up. Harry just rolls his eyes with a sigh and continues on with more caution to his girlfriend’s.

Y/n speeds to her high school her lead foot not failing her today. The music blares through the small speakers and a smile is on her face at the thought, this will be the last first day of school. Ever. And then her life can truly begin. She’s been pinning after a soccer scholarship since freshman year and to say she is good is an understatement. It’s not a fond memory to Harry but Y/n would kick his little seven year old ass at soccer in her backyard when they were kids. She’d have to bring him a popsicle and apologize for gloating to cheer him back up.

Harry’s brakes squeak as his silver hatchback comes to a halt in front of his girlfriend. She has arms crossed and a foot tapping the ground.

“You’re late.” She mumbles as she slams the door her long braided hair flips over her shoulder as she still holds a scowl. Harry only gives a sigh in response as he switches the gear back to drive. Julie sits up and cranks the radio as Blink-182s ‘I Miss You’ starts.

“What’s your schedule like babe?” He asks making conversation as the song ends. He glances at her from the corner of her eye and shes her opening her binder where he sees her laminated schedule with color coded highlights.

“First is chemistry.” She answers looking it over and making sure her binder is in order.

“Damn that's rough. I have english.” He continues speaking as he pulls into a parking space. Julie has always had more advanced classes than him, he met her when he needed a tutor freshman year and he considered himself lucky when she said yes to a first date.

"Let's go see John and Kathy before the bell rings." She excitedly yells while getting out of the car faster than her ever seen. Kathy and John are their couple. Like in The t.v series 'How I Met Your Mother' the episode where Lily and Marshall are trying to find a couple for them to be friends with and go on double dates with. John and Kathy are Harry and Julie’s couple. Julie and him hadn't been able to see them all summer long because their families took a three month long trip to the Caribbean islands. The instagram photos looked incredible and Julie gave Harry an earful over their ‘boring’ summer. Harry rolled his eyes when she showed him the photos, of course he’d love a vacation there but not for the five star hotels and swedish massages but for the sunsets the light blue ocean. He’d get the most memorable photographs.

"Kathy!" Julie exclaims as she spots the blonde in a pink summer dress seated at the usual lunch table they all occupied since they’ve become friends. Harry spots John and nods to him but not speeding his pace up to greet him. Before he reaches them his eyes land on movement behind him. Y/n is in the arms of Kyle Buchanan. He blames Kyle for the split and the changes he’d seen develop in her once they began their relationship. He can remember the day clearly just like Y/n’s 6th birthday.

“Hey Y/n meet my buddy Kyle, he’s in my film class.” Harry introduced the blonde haired blue eyed boy to his best friend. A blush crept onto her cheeks and her posture shifted, only Harry could pick up on it.

“Hey. Wow not to be forward but can I just say you’re beautiful. I’d love for you to be a model for me sometime.” As those words left Kyle’s mouth he could see Y/n swooning. And then Harry saw his true colors and he’d do anything to protect Y/n, he promised.

"Please stay away from him Y/n he's bad news." He begged as she sat on the edge of his bed anger and confusion written on her face.

"You set us up and now you want me to Break up with him?" her voice just under a yell.

"Please for me. He's gonna hurt you and I'm gonna have to pick up all the pieces!" He bursts hinting at the past. That set a flame off in Y/n leading to an explosion like the string to a firecracker.

"You're just jealous!" There's the first shout between them. A first fight even so.

"Me jealous of him dating you? Please." harry scoffs turning from looking out the window to glare at her. Why would he be jealous? What was Y/n implying?

“You think he's bad news and changing me? Just look at you! You've never treated me like this before!" The angry girl stands now.

"Yeah well people do change and at least I'm not changing cause I want someone's popularity status!"

"You know what Harry? I hate you!"

"The feelings mutual."

With that she stormed out of his house and that was the last time they had a full conversation together

"Earth to Harry!" Julie giggles pulling him from his sad thoughts as she slides an arm through his crossed one and leans on his shoulder. A smile on her lips as she looks up at him through her lashes. He blinks rapidly and turns to face her, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Sorry. What'd I miss?" He laughs lightly excusing his loss of attention as he glances at Y/n once more. He eyes her as she giggles with Kyle and his friends. Julie and Kathy explain lunch plans.

Y/n feels the warmth of Kyle’s hands on her lower back as she faces him, they both are holding eye contact and laughing. She leans up and kisses the corner of his mouth and cheek.

“That was cute.” He laughs pulling her closer as she scrunches her nose up. The warning bell for the start of first breaks them apart and they go their separate ways to their proper classes.

Harry waltzes into his English class and takes a seat by the window. He spots a class running laps around the track and what looks like a few students skipping class as they sit by a tree on their phones. Writing along with photography is some of Harry’s biggest passions. He recalls when him and Y/n use to write their adventure stories along with the princess fantasies. He was prince Harry and Y/n obviously princess Y/n. That’s what built his love for writing, Y/n showing him the fun in it. As he turns from the window and glances around the classroom he spots some of his old classmates from last year and some of his buddies. As the bell rings a flash of red bolts into the room taking a seat in the back, but without seeing the face he knows who it is, Y/n.

"Happy first day class. I'm Mrs.Hall." The teacher introduces herself to the class. She’s a fairly older women with already set wrinkles on her forehead and she’s dressed like a librarian. A skirt below the ankle and a long sleeve with a dressy vest over it in all muted gray tones. Harry is starting to sense she’s not going to make english fun.

"I don't want any funny business in this classroom. Rule one; no phones or iPads this is an English class we're using pen and paper. Rule two; no gum chewing or talking while I'm talking. Rule three; when I do assign partners or make seating charts there is no exceptions or changes." The woman smiles but not a kind one, it was evil. Then adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose and grabs a clipboard off her desk. Harry’s feeling what definitely right about her. With a sigh he crosses his arms and leans against his desk.

"Let's get to work then, I'm not into 'get to know me games' on the first day of school, I'll get to know you by the work you turn in and you'll get to know me by how I grade and act towards you. Your first assignment of the year is a partner reading book report. Yes, I have already assigned partners." Mrs. Hill instructs as her beady eyes skim over the class sitting before her. She licks her thin lips then speaks again.

"When I call out you and your partners name please introduce yourselves and sit with them." She continues as she holds the clipboard up to read aloud.

"Stacy d. and Jack b."

"Luke w. and Luke m."

"Jane w. and Beckett o."

"Harry H. And Y/n Y/l/n."

After Harry and Y/n’s name was called out to be partners his jaw drops. He almost wants to laugh along with it, yes he’s seen many rom coms and he never thought he’d be in one of the biggest tropes of them. He was nervous though to turn around and face her.He also wasn’t ready to be partnered with her for at least a week doing a project together. He already knows what book she’ll choose, ‘Perks of Being a Wallflower.’ It’s been her favorite book for a long time, well as long as he can remember. Finally Harry forces himself to turn. Her facial expression mirrors his but once they make eye contact she collects her belongings and moves to the empty chair beside him.

"Hi I'm Y/n." She says pulling a fake smile at him but her dimple on her cheek still pokes out. Harry doesn’t know any better way to respond.

"Hey, I'm Harry." He replies and sticks his hand out for her to shake going along with whatever crazy idea is in Y/n’s mind. As she grabs his hand and shakes it Harry feels comfortable by her touch. He holds a small smile on his face as they continue to shake hands, neither of them stopping it. Y/n starts to giggle and slowly pulls away.

"So I recommend we do the book 'Catcher and the rye' by J.D Salinger" She suggests opening up to the first page in her notebook. For the second time in this class, Harry is in shock.

"I was thinking a more personal book like 'Perks of being a Wallflower' by Stephen Chbosky." He interjects while grabbing a notebook from his bag that lays next to him on the floor. As he turns back to look at her she wears this look on her face, a small sprout of a smile playing on her lips, it looks like she's reminiscing on a fond memory. Harry holds back a smug smirk, his quick thinking worked and a feeling of hope stirs in his mind.

A smile starts to grow on his face stares at her, she looks the same as when they were young but her features are so much more mature now. Her eyes still a mix of colors and at a time once Harry replied to the question,” What's your favorite color?” With “Y/n’s eyes.”. Her nose structure slightly different due to the baseball accident where Harry accidentally struck her with a baseball bat when they were ten, but that imperfection made her face so much more unique and beautiful. Her lips were a soft shade of red only because her favorite Chapstick is cherry kool-aid that always stains her lips. She never got braces like Harry did, But to Harry her crooked teeth add so much to her character.

"You remembered?" She softly speaks drawing him out of the trance of admiring her looks he found himself in.

"It's not something you forget easily when every sleepover we've ever had you made me watch the movie." He jokes. Y/n finds herself staring at his unique birthmark. The two hold their gazes maybe a moment too long before returning to the task at hand.

"Uhm. I think that's a great choice." She finally speaks looking away from her old friend and writing it down in her notebook. Harry copies her actions and his cheeks flush some from embarrassment at his hand writing or more likely, chicken scratch. His mind registers that him and Y/n just had a moment? Maybe his cheeks are flushed for a different reason.

Mrs.Hall comes around passing out a paper of the requirements and a list of questions that would need to be answered to complete the project after the book of our choice is chosen. She seemed found BY/n. Harry could tell but he wasn’t surprised by it. She’s very likeable.The bell rang dismissing everyone and Y/n didn’t even take time to say a goodbye she quickly left the room for her next class. Harry slowly packed his stuff and headed out his brown eyes searching for Y/n.

The next three of Harry’s classes were physics, calculus, and weight training. Thanks to Julie tutoring him he was actually catching on to what the syllabus said and understanding how the procedures in class would go. In weight training the ‘get to know me’ game was an intense game of tag. The teacher was very laid back and Harry was coming to the conclusion this would be his favorite class for the year. He caught his breath by leaning his hands on his knees as the bell rang and the teacher blew his whistle signalling the students back inside. He watched his shoes crunch down on the grass as the fall weather seemed to be coming too soon this year.

"Hey cutie." Harry smiles into Julie’s blonde hair as he shakes his arms around her middle. A giggle emits from her mouth as she leans into his chest. She smells like vanilla and Harry can't seem to get enough of it.

“Stop!” She giggles and squirms to get away from his puppy dog like sniffing. A wide smile breaks across his face at her actions and he finally lets her go. For the first time today Y/n is not on his mind.

"Ready for Panera?" She asks as our hands subconsciously interlock as we exit through the back side door in the direction of the parking lot.

"You know it." Harry answers as his eyes travel over her. The new short blonde hair she cut last week floated behind her back as a gust of wind came by and her dark blue eyes squinted in the sun. Harry could gasp at her beauty and he can't fathom how he got so lucky to be able to call Julie Fields his girlfriend.

"Why are you staring at me?" She furrowed her eyebrows and held up a hand to give her eyes a break from the Sun's bright rays.

"Because I have the right to stare at my beautiful girlfriend." Harry answered wittily and pulled her into a kiss. Heer smile forced them to pull apart. This time Julie was admiring his features and he could by the way her eyes raked across his face and fell back to his eyes.

"I love you." She softly speaks watching for his reaction. These three words aren’t a common occurrence between this couple. They save these words for intimate moments.

"I love you too." The boy in her arms answers and slides his thumbs into the belt loops of her denim shorts pulling her flush against his hips then moving his hands into her back pockets. Harry had to admit he is an ass guy. As their mouths connected again into a deeper kiss Harry couldn’t help but feel guilty for telling her he loved her. Can he love someone if he doesn’t even know what love is. He resolved in his mind to say he loves her because maybe he’ll figure it out with her.

"Gross get a room!" A voice yells directed toward the pair lip locking. Immediately they pulled apart from each other at the thought it was the principle but quickly ended up laughing as their eyes landed on John and Kathy.

"Let's hit it." John yelled as him and Kathy got closer to the car. Harry rolls his eyes at John for his childish antics as he unlocked his car.

Y/n spotted the scene between Harry and Julie through the fence that blocks the grassy area from the parking lot. A confused expression appears on her face she expected them to be broken up by now, Harry was never the best with relationships but maybe Julie had changed that for him. She turns back and faces the group around her and Kyle.His hand in on her bare thigh and she spost the bruise on her calf, she questions how that appeared but shrugs it off as a soccer injury.

“How’s soccer Y/n?” A friend asks after taking a bite of the schools famous lasagna. The only hot lunch option that is actually good.

“Good! I have tryouts after school today!” Y/n answers happily and leaning on Kyle’s side. He’s lost in conversation about wrestling with his guy friends. After the two became a couple Kyle didn’t attend film class as much as he use too, he became more of a jock. It almost bettered their relationship because they understand the dedication and effort it takes to be on a team. The weekly dates never suffered through. He turns to her and places a soft kiss on her forehead. Before they can lean in and fully kiss the bell rings ending lunch and leaving them a mere six minutes to get to class.

The Spanish four room is decked out. Posters of all the Spanish speaking countries plastered on the ugly white walls, flags of all the countries hanging from the ceiling. Making the classroom very vibrant with color. The desks were in groups of four and so far Harry’s eyes don’t spot anyone familiar. He chooses to sit at an unoccupied desk hoping a friend would walk through the door. He sets his half full soda on the corner of his desk and checks his phone before class starts. Chester enters with Emily trailing behind, he claps a hand on Harry’s shoulder as he sits beside him.

“How’s it going man?” He starts the conversation as Emily sits with them. His photography club friends are a good crowd if only Julie liked hanging out with them. Before Harry can answer Y/n quickly enters the room a bright smile on her face, he can only wonder if it’s about seeing him. She takes the last empty seat beside Emily and smiles at the table group.

"Y/n! Oh my god I haven't seen you in ages! How've you been?" Emily asks a huge smile on her face. Emily is always overly friendly and doesn’t like silence so she starts the conversation quite frequently.

"I'm great! How are you?" Y/n answers with the same smile she entered with. Harry answers Chesters question but still listens in on Emily and Y/n.

"Amazing!" Emily says back smacking her gum as she continues texting. Y/n decides thats the end of their conversation and turns her attention to the beanie wearing freckle faced boy across from her.

"Chester how've you been?" Y/n asks turning her face away from Emily to face her across from him.

“I’m good, thanks for asking." He smiles and gives her the nod. The 'nod' is what guys do when they're interested in a girl, doesn't he know she's taken? What a douche move. Harry’s thoughts run wild at their interaction, it causes him to shake his head trying to disperse the thought and Y/n all together from them. When his looks back up Y/n’s eyes flick away from him. She was watching him.

"Y/n, if there's any partner projects you're my partner." Chester says quickly as the teacher welcomes the class. Y/n shakes her head yes and smiles. Harry’s chest feels weird watching her smile, he can’t deny that he misses being the reason behind it.

"Hola me llamo señora Carlos. Trabajar con sus grupos para responder a estas preguntas." Señora Carlos got straight to work with the class as she instructed everyone to work with our groups to answer questions she brought up in a powerpoint. It was simple questions, like what we did this summer, what's are favorite color, are parents names, ect. As the class begins working Señora turns on some Spanish music that's quite catchy, HArry catches himself slightly moving to the beat and mouthing some of the words he can pick up on.. Y/n locks eyes with him and holds in a laugh, she’s mimicking his actions. As the chorus rolls around again the two wildly lip sync together entertaining their group.

"I think you two need to do that for the talent show!" Senora Carlos claps toward us. She obviously watched the two ‘perform’ A blush casts itself over Y/n’s cheeks and Harry just laughed.

"No way!" Y/n objects with a shake of her head as she returns to her work.

"I don't know Y/n I think we'd win." Harry jokes nodding over dramatically. She shakes her head back and forth again signalling ‘no’ with a final laugh and her smile fading. Another moment ending too soon. The rest of class Y/n and Harry did not talk but Harry kept looking for ways to interact with her more. Before Harry could though Senora was dismissing everyone.

"Adios clase!" Señora Carlos smiles as everyone exits her class as the bell rings. She's so expressive in her hand motions and facial expressions which makes Harry stifle a chuckle as he walks past her.

"Hey Harry." A deep voice calls. The red head quickly side steps out of the way of the crowded hallway of students rushing to their next class and standby the drinking fountain. Kyle steps in front of him holding a smirk.

"Hey?” Harry responds more as a question rather than a friendly reply.

"How've you been? Haven't talked to you in years!" Kyle smiles and pats Harry on his bare arm. The sickly sweet tone of his voice is demeaning and Harry would love to turn and walk away. He takes in how different the boy before him looks since freshman year. His hair is longer and even more shaggy, he's gotten taller too but still not taller than Harry himself, he is more muscular though Harry has to admit. And the fact Kyle has extremely white teeths has Harry feeling self conscious about his own..

"I've been good, how about you?" Harry ask making himself sound friendly. He always has been a lover not a fighter.

"Great! Y/n and I went to California this summer it was blast. What'd you do?" After he said that the curly haired boy understands why he's been stopped in the hall, not regain a friend but to get Y/n and their relationship rubbed in his face he still has Y/n. Not that Harry likes her or anything, but that he doesn’t have any form of a relationship with her and he does. After the fight between Harry and Y/n, she obviously told Kyle because he tried to fight Harry that day.

"Wow that sounds fun. Julie and I kept it local and it was more fun than traveling let me tell you." Harry mirked hoping he'd pick up on his hint. Even though he was full of shit and hasn’t even came close to that with Julie. He knows Y/n,and that she wouldn't do that with someone like Kyle.

"Yeah but think of this, sex in every city we went to." Kyle laughs before turning up the stairs getting the last word in with a disgusting smirk. Harry bites his lip out of anger and turns in the direction of his class. Y/n must not be the same girl he grew up with he comes to the conclusion as he enters the auditorium. He tries to push the conversation between Kyle and him out of his head as he takes his seat in the first row of blue seats in front of the large stage. Theater class should change his mood for the better.

Y/n brushes her hair off her shoulder as she speaks with the teacher trying to explain this is a schedule mishap and she’s definitely not in theater. The shorter woman looks her up and down and smiles.

“We’ll handle this tomorrow, stay for today and see what you think. You just may love it!” Her arm moves as she talks and the large sleeves gesture with her. Y/n only nods folding her schedule up and sliding it in her back pocket with a sigh. The limelight was never her calling unless it was for scoring the most goals or breaking a record. The annoyance of having to stay in theatre class for today she sits as the teacher plops herself in center front stage, her legs hanging off the edge.

"Hey class! I'm Mrs. Burns. Since it's the first day and a theater class were going to do some improv as our 'get to know you game!' I'm gonna number everyone off by five and if you have the same number get a partner and you'll be acting together." She instructs us and starts counting off. Y/n is a one and Harry is too. All of the ones form a group and all have been partnered expect Y/n and Harry.

"Hey partner." She smiles. It’s a real one this time and Harry feels accomplished even if he did nothing to receive it. The fact Y/n is being so friendly means something to him.

"Ok ones! Who's acting first?" Mrs. Burns asks as she claps her ring clad fingers together. All the fellow number ones point at Harry and Y/n.

"Okay so you're both ballerinas who have to pee but have to go on stage in 30 seconds now act!" Mrs. Burns yells in a deep voice that causes a few students to giggle. The two walk to center stage while everyone else is still seated. The lights blind them from seeing their peers.

"If I cecchetti I'm going to pee myself." Y/n starts off causing Harry to almost burst into giggles and break his character. His body language now held straight and more formal as he tries to walk on his tippy toes.

"To late for a potty break now we have to go on!" He responds after stopping the laugh about to leave his throat. He walks toward the left and Y/n catches on doing the same. She holds her tippy toes better than Harry but the bruise on her leg now aches at the new way of walking.

"I think I just peed a little what am I gonna do?" She asks making a worried face and the class laughs along with Harry this time.

"Hide it with your tutu, that's what I did." He fires back erupting more laughs from his audience as he acts as if he has a tutu on. Y/n nods and starts doing the same thing they awfully imitate ballerina moves. She's like a different person when she acts, even for this small skit she shows no signs of being shy or embarrassed. She really has changed, and Harry not only noticed it but he likes the braver Y/n too.

"FREEZE!" A student shouts and the two oblige. Y/n is stuck balancing on one foot with both arms raised she's wobbling but smiling wide. Harry feels a top on his arm signaling he’s being pulled from the scene and jumps off the stage taking a seat again.

"Y/n, you can't fly." He says grabbing her arm and pulling her back so she on both feet again. The guy who took Harry’s spot is unfamiliar to him and he wonders how he even knows her.

"But dad! I'm a superhero who can fly!" She yells like a baby and crosses her arms moving her center of gravity so she's hunched over more childlike. "I'll show you how." She continues and spreads the guys arms out. He looks over her actions dramatically to show effect.

"Now close your eyes." Y/n says sounding mischievous. As he does so she goes behind him tiptoeing like a bad thief in cartoons.

"And FLY!" She yells and shoves him, lightly but he gets the idea and falls.

"Help me up right now!" He demands sounding angry. As she leans down to grab his hands a chorus of 'FREEZE' is heard and Y/n gets tapped out. She has huge smile on her face and it shocks Harry how much she's actually changed from when they were friends; she was shy and never wanted to join theater with Harry before. No matter how much he had begged and tried to bribe her. And now she’s such a natural Saying she's changed isn't the right word to describe Y/n though because that word usually has a negative connotation with it, she's evolved. HArry sits back in his chair as Y/n descends the small set of stairs exiting the stage.

The next two people up are joking around, not really holding to an idea or formulating their characters. The girl calls out trust fall and actually falls full force into her partners arms but the fast action doesn’t register with him and they both end up actually falling and land on the hard floor, the noise echoes throughout the empty auditorium. Everyone is silent as they wait for the reactions of the two who fell trying to determine if they are actually hurt.

"Romeo Romeo where art OW!" The guy yelps and earns a chorus of laughter from everyone. When they get up and walk back to their seats rubbing their butts and arms, Y/n high fives the guy.

"Okay class that's enough for today, we'll pick this back up tomorrow. Happy first day of school! See you for the next nine months." She waves as everyone stampedes to the exit. Y/n and Harry end up being the last people in the room.

"Hey Y/n!" He call as she exits the room just before him causing him to take large steps to catch up. She comes to a halt and whips around her hair flying in her face. She moves it quickly behind her ear with an airy laugh. Y/n can laugh over anything it makes her so approachable.

"Yeah?" She questions. He wasn't expecting her to stop not sure if he even heard his call. He opens and closes his mouth searching for his words.

"There's a back to school party tonight at, Micah's, I was wondering if you're going cause-" before I can finish my reasoning why she cuts me off.

“Are you going?” Her eyes hold contact with Harry before its too much for him and he shifts his glare to the floor looking at her red sneakers that match her shirt.

“Yeah, I was planning on it.” He answers her. Y/n is surprised parties were always too much for him, he loved being around people and entertaining but high school parties always ended with Y/n pulling Harry out early so he didn’t panic from all the chaos.

“Well if anything changes I think we should start on our book report tonight. My number hasn’t changed so text me if you’re free.” She smiles leaving her thoughts secret and turns back to head to the doors looking for Kyle.

Harry starts thinking of a way to tell Julie she can’t make the party tonight when two small hands cover over his eyes, he closes them as a reactions and laughs.

“Guess who!” A voice whispered in his ear and he laughs again.

“Hmm my beautiful girlfriend Julie?” He questions and turns around scooping her cheeks in his large hands. She’s had a good first day and Harry is happy about that but he knows he’s about to ruin it. Julie may be the principles kid but she’s big partier. It’s where she actually lets loose and doesn’t think of school or exams or college. He finds himself stressed out when she goes on and on about those subjects.

As they walk to the parking lot she notices something is off.

“What’s going on babe?” She questions biting her lip and watching his facial expression change as he sighs holding a hand on his door.

“I can’t come to the party tonight.” He finally says and watches her smile drop from across the hood of the car. Without a word she gets into the passenger seat and slams his car door. He knew she’d react this way and he tries to prepare for the long lecture there is to come as he drives her home.

“And that’s why I think you should come Harry. We can blow off steam before the stress of school starts.” She finishes as he parks curbside of her house. She lives on the more wealthy side of town and her large house mocks his cheap car.

“I can’t go Julie, I’m sorry.” The words leave his mouth before he can register than he’s choosing to hang out with Y/n rather than party with his girlfriend. She decides to leave it at that and stomp off into her house. He sighs and leans his head on the steering wheel before finally returning home. He looks at his room and begins cleaning it up and looking for an outfit before typing a text for Y/n.

Taglist: @paljungmu @painted-soulss @living-dead-parker @damnhisfaceisliketheskyatnight @spiderman-n @redhoodparker @typicaltrashbagg @beautiful-holland @quitetommy @cherryhollands @parkerstan @spideykisses @lovelyh0lland @thesciencebabe

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fantasytigeress · 7 years

Text

My DragonBall OCs

For anyone that cares. I’m not going to go into a lot of detail about them, I don’t want to bore you guys. But by all means, if there’s anything you want to know, feel free to ask! I do love talking about them. Characters under the cut: Atoto, Dartz, Arrow, Bullet, Vegeta III, Aruga, Shark, Bow, Penne & Kayl (+5 cubs), Queen Mella, Lord Zero

Atoto: My main OC. Female, full Saiyan, traditional Saiyan black hair and black eyes. I have a couple aus, but she’s almost always a Warlord or a General. She’s not the easiest person to get a long with some days, but she tries to tone it down. She’s not as rough or intense as she was when she was younger. It doesn’t take much to reach her softer traits, even though those can be a bit rough around the edges, too. She's very encouraging (in her own way) as a trainer, and she does enjoy teaching others. She’s stubborn, ambitious, and cunning, and she’s fiercely protective of friends and family. Her biggest weakness is kids, she has a soft spot for them.

Dartz: Atoto’s son, male, typically half-Saiyan (full in Planet Vegeta AUs), black hair and black eyes. His mama trained him well on the battlefield... but not in the field of love. Give him someone to punch? He’s got this. Give him a cute boy with a nice smile? He forgets how to function. He’s gay, which would normally ostracize him from his family for a few different reasons, but they’re all a bunch of saps that make it hard not to feel loved.

Arrow: Atoto’s daughter, female, typically half-Saiyan (full in Planet Vegeta AUs), black hair and black eyes. Her and Dartz are twins, and she’s the older one. Like all good older siblings, she teases him for it. But they really work flawlessly as a team, and she’s her brother’s best wingman. She’s level-headed, but easily excitable. Her family is the most important thing to her.

Bullet: Atoto’s childhood friend/first husband and father of Dartz and Arrow (in Canon-divergent AUs), male, full Human, Blond hair and green eyes. His family is very involved in the military, but also worked with the Galactic Patrol. Because of that is how his father found Atoto when she landed on Earth. They grew up together, and he’s the one that taught her how to accept “human” emotions instead of scoffing at them and shoving them down. Some of it directly, but a lot of it indirectly. He’s very optimistic, friendly, and has become quite patient over the years after having to put up with Atoto. He’s currently deceased in the story, and possibly not going to be revived. I haven’t decided yet.

Vegeta III (Dubbed ‘Geta Jr. by Goku): Is Vegeta’s first full-blooded Saiyan child and the other parent varies on AU. So far they’ve been Goku, Android 18 (obv. not full Saiyan here), and Atoto don’t judge me. He’s always a baby when I write him, I haven’t thought much on when he grows up. But he’s always born already in Super Saiyan mode, and ends up almost killing his birth parent during birth. He doesn’t transform again after that, he just keeps everyone on their toes. He doesn’t know how to transform at will either. The only other time he demonstrates his power is when he makes force fields. It’s the only thing he know how to make, or at least they think, because he hasn’t tried to do anything else. His favorite place to be is on one of his parent’s shoulders.

Aruga: Atoto’s chilhood friend/teammate on Planet Vegeta, full Saiyan, female, traditional black hair and black eyes. Her personality is a bit more Saiyan-like. She can be quite brash, sometimes rushing in before she’s thought anything out. She thinks Atoto’s gone soft, but Aruga has a deep attachment to her old friend, and just lets it all slide. Aruga’s starting to get soft herself... She has died in some AUs, but is typically revived eventually.

Shark: Their closest ally on Namek, agender, Namekian, typical green but with orange. When he was a child Atoto saved him during her first time on Namek. Since then, her and her family have had a strong friendship with the Namekians. They’ve only been on the planet a handful of times, but he’s always really excited when they come to visit. Shark told Atoto he’d make his own Dragon Balls for the new Planet Vegeta as payment for saving his life. Atoto doesn’t see a need for them, but he’s insistent, so she accepts the offer none the less.

Bow: Majin Buu’s daughter, female, Majin, her color is much darker and more muted than Buu’s but still pink. I went with Xenoverse’s explaination of how Majin Buu reproduces: he eats a lot until he multiplies (or something like that idk). She’s also always a baby when I write her. She doesn’t have any real powers or anything yet, right now she’s just an excuse for a cute baby Majin that Mr. Satan can spoil.

Penne & Kayl (+5 cubs): Kayl is a Saiyan, he was off world when the planet was destroyed. When he heard about it, he searched for a place to keep his head down from Frieza. He landed on Planet Patsa, home to the Vixyan race. Penne, took him in, they eventually settled down, and they lived a long time in peace. They had a litter of half Saiyan/Vixyan cubs: Rigati, Lasana, Ziti, Falle, and Torti (picture Saiyans just with leopard spots). They only come in to the story when someone is hunting the surviving Saiyans. Planet Patsa gets destroyed, and Kayl and his family take refuge on Earth. They’re minor characters, but I wanted to bring up the Vixyan race, so here they are. Queen Mella: One of Atoto’s former lovers, female, Bokarian, Red skin w/ orange hair and yellow eyes. She’s queen of the Bokar race, another warrior race, but they don’t have a transformation like the Saiyans’ Oozaru form. I haven’t decided if they’ll have a transformation like the Super Saiyan though. They’re all female, and they’re average six to seven feet tall, but Mella is around nine. They have bullwhip-like tails, colors are widely variant, and they’re typically quite muscular (let me be honest, Mella is built like a brick sh** house. Buff lady \o/). She’s confident, many times to the point of arrogance, but she’s passionate about her people, and her rule has been a fruitful one. Atoto met her on a mission to her planet, and the Bokarian are now one of her strongest allies. After Bullet died, Mella and Atoto had a brief fling during her stay on the planet. Mella was more than willing to take it further, but they never did.

Lord Zero: An old enemy that became essentially their strongest ally, agender, Frost Demon (Frieza race), teal skin w/ white bio-armor and red bulbs. He hates Frieza and the Cold Family with a burning passion. He was never able to defeat Frieza, but after hearing of his death, Zero jumps in to scavenge some of the broken Frieza Force. He ends up turning the entire Southern quadrant of the universe into his new empire, but doesn’t expand further. His intentions are to do better than Frieza, to help his subjects and win them over with compassion. But his hatred for his former better and his lust for vengeance has caused him to take it out on them instead. After he discovered a rebellion had been formed and almost carried out, he realized he’d become exactly like the person he hated.

Honorable mentions: Skallion & Beeta (Atoto’s birth parents, but she never knew them), Nisha (A very prissy princess that Atoto trained), Ringor (Also trained by Atoto a long time ago, is now one of their most trusted allies), Sissani (Lord Zero’s wife, she’s not a Frost Demon)

There’s a few more extra characters I could talk about, but these are all of the main ones. If any of you made it this far, thanks for being so interested in my babies! I’m open to anything more you want to know, I love talking about them. Or even hit me up to tell me about YOUR ocs? I love talking about those too.

#DragonBall ocs #My ocs #I didn't intent to write this much about them #I'm sure no one cares this much to read it all XD #But it's there if anyone's curious :)

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roidespd-blog · 5 years

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Chapter Thirty : MY OWN STORY

This is the end of our journey. I could have ended it with a one-two punch Stonewall-Pride extravaganza but I’m going with a more personal coda, if you’ll indulge me.

A BOY’S OWN STORY

I haven’t always known I was Queer. I guess there were signs — how I would prefer to play with my sister’s barbies than with my own construction toys. How I could be extra sensitive with benign day-to-day details or the fact that by the age of five, I knew “Pour que tu m’aimes encore” by Céline Dion by heart. “So Alex, you’re a faggot, right ?”. That’s what a schoolmate said to me during recess. I said “No”. I was 10. I didn’t know. How did he know if I didn’t know ? Is sensitive a synonym for gay, even when you’re too young to even have pubic hair ?

I started masturbated at the age of 12 and it didn’t took long before my thoughts were directed towards the male body. I ignored it and pretended it was just my mind wandering in unexpected and irrelevant places. I would do my dirty business with La Redoute catalogues, looking at the male models in underwear then switch to their female counterparts at the very end when I knew I was close. Same thing with my imagination. Penelope Cruz was my go-to fantasy beard. I was ashamed of my sexual orientation. Worst, I was ashamed of it before I could understand it. That’s the tricky part : society doesn’t teach you how to be Queer but sure makes you aware that it’s not the norm.

I didn’t know what gay was. In movies, homosexuality was always depicted through huge clichés, what I called in my articles the “Cage aux Folles” dogma. I couldn’t identify. Or maybe I rejected the notion very quickly and swore never to approach this level of absurdity. Internalized homophobia before you even understand what internalized homophobia is.

I fell in love with my first boy when I was 14 years old. He was 2 years older, not that handsome (back then) and so unattainable. I’ve known that dude my whole life. For a long time, I said to myself that one-sided love wasn’t love. I do not believe that anymore. Feeling are valid whether they’re reciprocated or not. Of the five men I fell in love with in my life, only one didn’t love me back (and another is still TBD). But he’s the man I loved the most. The pain that followed was real and undeniable.

I didn’t act on my feelings towards boys until college. In high school, I told myself I wasn’t gonna do anything with anyone until I knew for sure what I was (laugh). I turned down a couple of great girls, one became one of my closest friend in this world. There was one incident involving a girl faking drunkenness in order to inspire pity and having her ways with me at a birthday party. I was… 15, I guess. I was not into it.

A shy boy, I socially bloomed in high school due to my involvement in drama classes and a new “fuck-the-world” attitude I cultivated through a longer hair cut and a collection of converses of every color imaginable.

The day I found out I graduated from high school, I went to town with a few friends. We (barely) drank and had our PG fun. There was this boy. I didn’t know him at all as he was a friend of a friend. I was very intrigued by him and made sure to present to him what I considered my best self (mute and mysterious, I guess). When it was time to go home, we all packed ourselves in my friend’s tiny car. There wasn’t enough space for all of us so the guy was lying on floor in the back, myself in the middle seat. I don’t know what got into me, but I started putting my fingers under his shirt and caressing his lower back. Gently, like an accident. When he didn’t react, I went further. That’s when I felt his fingers on my ankle. As I got to explore more of his back, he quickly went up my pants and caressed the entirety of my leg. So erotic, you have no idea. He was the first to go home. We didn’t exchange phone numbers but he sure helped me get IT. Once alone with my friends in the car, I said “I like boys”. That was it. The electricity I felt all around my body was unchallenging. No one was shocked. No one cared. Back to our regular scheduled programs.

HOW TO BE A GAY MAN IN FOUR LESSONS (OR MORE)

The first and only real mistake was trying to define myself through my sexuality.

My first boyfriend was… let’s call him Paul. Paul was the sweetest. A very short, very elfish (not healthy, ELFISH) little dude that tried his best to give me space in our relationship to explore myself. I said tried. I was willing to lose my virginity as a bottom but it wasn’t meant to be. I became a top. Oh, but it is a nice memory. It is so rare to be a gay man and lose one’s virginity in a good way. He introduced me to his friends who found me “too country” and “fat”. Do we have to talk to each other every day ? Are nicknames necessary ? Do I love you or do I prove constantly that I love you ? Coming from a broken father/son relationship, affection towards men wasn’t easy shit. Lust, yes (though a restrained version of what lust can be). Feelings were there but I found myself incapable of materializing them the way Paul wanted me too. I broke up with him. We got back together. He then broke up with me. Back together again. We called it quits soon after. Too many variables freaked me out. I was an 18 year-old who knew nothing, Jon Snow style.

I met a couple more guys, experimented with casual dating and hookups, bottomed (wasn’t my thing). Then I met Thomas — I’m not even going to invent a name. That bitch needs to be called out. I fell madly in love with Thomas. Five days in and we said “I love you” to each other. That relationship made me come out to my mom. I just didn’t realize that I was being manipulated into loving someone. He made an effort to be extra needy and to push my Superman complex to the max. After falling for him, he told me he visited several psychiatric facilities. He tried to hurt himself more times that I can honestly remember. By the time our relationship ended, I was more a nurse than a lover. I broke up with me after he cheated on me with someone else. But not just cheat. It went from a Friday night “I’m gonna see a friend for the weekend, it’s been a while since I saw him. It’s gonna do me some good” to a Monday morning phone call “Well, he wasn’t a friend. We slept together, now I love you both and I don’t know what to do”. I made it easy for him. By Monday night, pictures of him with the other boy was all over his Facebook page. Thomas broke me in pieces. And I’m not even gonna talk about me going to the police for harassment months later. Triste vie.

That’s when I became a whore.

Not immediately. It took a few weeks of crying to go in that direction but then I was full on. I quickly moved to another city and for the next three years or so, I slept with everything with a dick that moved. Short guys, tall guys, fat ones, skinny ones, effeminate dudes, masculine cunts, three ways, public, top, bottom, ALL. OF. IT. I was unable to feel anything for those guys (some were great and deserved a lot more) but damn, did I fuck them. All of them.

I learned a lot from that time period. First, I can be great at certain sexual things. Won’t tell you which ones. Second, it gave a lot of satisfaction mixed with a sense of true emptiness. I ignored the emptiness back then but I knew why I felt satisfaction. It wasn’t the orgasms. It was a feeling that I was doing exactly what I was supposed to do AKA being a gay guy having lots of sex. I saw it on TV. I saw it in porn. I knew it to be true. I was being the right kind of gay. 22 and still stupid enough to believe it.

When I moved to Paris, I fell in love twice. First with the city. Second with Pierre. In a way, he was the best of them all. Unfortunately, we met at the wrong time. Remember, I was a whore. Not that I cheated on him per say, but the need was there. Paris was giving me so much more land to cover. I met friends that partied hard. I started taking drugs. Lots of them. Festivities would last three days in a row. Sometimes four times a week. I lost 25 pounds just by being poor and high. Meanwhile, I was living a fantastic relationship with a somewhat adult man. I moved in with him for a couple of months. He was a painter and being with me helped him find inspirations. He bought me a note book and pushed me to start writing again, encouraged me to reach my full potential. But fuck my life, I had to make a choice : domesticity with this great guy (who had already been through what I was going through) or FPD (Friends/Party/Drugs). I broke his heart and entered a downward spiral. I went back to my whoring ways. I went all races, all ages, all sizes, just… all. I even was in a weird throuple for a few weeks. Drugs were taking a toll on my health and my friends weren’t supporting me the way I needed too. Six months after the break up, I reserved course. I cleaned my act, found a new job, moved into a new apartment by myself, cleared my phone from those friends’ numbers. This part of my life taught me two lessons : That I could be loved and valued for exactly who I was and that I could throw in all away for the sake of living that sweet Parisian Gay Life.

I met Jack at a time when my life was going really really well. I had been accepted at film school, I was making new friends from work, I had a perfectly stable life and newly-found good spirit. I do believe I inadvertently seduced him by singing Taylor Swift’s Blank Space at a party. I fell hard for that man. I viewed him as the perfect specimen, the epicenter of everyone I went through in the past seven years. I willingly gave him everything : a place to stay when he was looking for a new apartment, my time, my heart, my soul. I wasn’t able to keep anything for myself. It was all for him. Although I knew from the start that I was getting fucked, I didn’t care. He never loved me. Why ? That’s for another story and perhaps for him to tell you. He didn’t leave me heartbroken. He left me destroyed. To a point where I didn’t recognize myself. I’ll say it again : D.E.S.T.R.O.Y.E.D. That’s what happens when you give so much and receive so little in return. My friends had to pick up the pieces and didn’t know what to do with them. Neither did I. I went back to whoring for a short time but this time, it got dark, y’all. I fucked the wrong people. I put myself in the wrong situations. I took the wrong drugs. I kept on wrecking what was left of me.

LIFE IMITATES ART, ART IMITATES OTHER ART, ART IS ART, LIFE GOES WITH WITH FLOW.

For the following two years, all of that cured me of love and sex. I didn’t/couldn’t want either. I focused on my work.

I started writing and directing short films that talked about love between two men (a musical fantasy), how one can destroy oneself by not accepting who one is (a one-shot suicidal fantasy) and finally, a 16-minute movie about trying to figure out your place in the Queer world (my masterpiece, easy to say, right?).

In retrospect, what I couldn’t do in real life anymore (exploring and answering questions), I did it in fiction. In Faggot (and Other Semantics),there are themes of homophobia, internalized homophobia, clichés, dating apps, sex, violence and identity. I’m not saying it’s the greatest movie of all time, but it’s good. That’s why it’s so heartbreaking that I still haven’t finished it.

I used the excuse that I didn’t have enough money. Well, no I have some money put aside thanks to my friends. I though to myself that I was just lazy but fuck, I proved to myself this past month I wasn’t. So, I’m scared to finish it. Not just having to move on artistically (though it is a big part of the fear) but also, It’s kind of the end of a journey. Well, a big chapter anyway. The movie was made when I was the most wrecked version of myself. I touched subjects that are so personal to me and felt like I finally got some answers out of my questions. Finally…well, I don’t know. I went back to thinking I’m a lazy cunt.

Since then (two years), I did something every Queer person should do : I’ve explored our History. I started making research for Faggot back in 2016. I bought a couple of books, mainly “Faggots” written by Larry Kramer and “Le Rose et Le Noir” written by Frédéric Martel. The truth is, we don’t know our History. How can we ? History tried to erase us time and time again. And when real tragedy stroke, people who couldn’t have shared this History were let to die. Unlike all of the other communities, Queer people are not born into a Queer environment. Humans from all races and backgrounds are raised and can receive heritage from their peers. Some of that heritage are in books you get to read in school. What History book talks about Stonewall ? None. We, as Queer people, are cursed with the task of reinventing ourselves generation after generation. Is it so surprising then that we keep on losing ourselves along the way, trying to figure out our identity ? I had to go and search for information, nothing was giving to me openly. I’m so glad I did.

Learning our past taught me so much about how to live my present. That’s why I started to write these articles this June. I wanted to give my fellow Queers a metaphorical anchor to throw into this ocean we call Life so that they can take a closer look at the world that came before, the one that is being built right now and perhaps, what’s to come. It’s a small gift. The best I can do with my restricted reach but here we are.

Today, I told you about my own story. I came back to it with all that baggage from years of research into my Queer Heritage. I see things a bit more clearly now. In the hopes that maybe, if you deem it necessary, you will be able to do the same.

I’m signing off. Yours Truly,

The Queer King.

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kiwisfics · 5 years

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Kody King

A/N - Just a little bit about her, just the general stuff

Name: Kody Allison King

Alias: The Mimic

Why This Alias?: Her main ability is being able to mimic abilities of anyone or anything organic, her cellular structure will change to that of whoever or whatever she’s mimicking. Though she can take the form of any animal she touches, she’ll only gain necessary appendages or changes when copying another person’s abilities.

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Asexual, heteroromantic

Species: Human/Jumper

Dominant Hand: Right

Astrological Sign: Pisces

Blood Type: AB

Abilities: Jumping (description at bottom), mimicking others abilities.

Habits: Shaking her legs, rolling pen/pencils on her fingers

Nationality: American

Hometown: [Confidential], Illinois

Current Residence: [Confidential]

Talents/Skills: Hand to hand combat, knife throwing, shooting bows and guns (great aim)

Height: 5'2

Weight: 150

Race: Caucasian

Eye Color: Blue to gold partial heterochromia

Hair Color: Brown

Hair Length: A little less or more than an inch on top, barely anything on the sides.

Hair Style: Sides and back shaved, the top needs cut frequently, but often starts getting a bit messy before it actually gets trimmed.

Shape of Face: Diamond

Birthmarks: Two on her back, one on her left leg below the back of her left knee

Complexion: Pale

Scars: One starting above her right eyebrow and slanting down to the left side of her nose, countless others from minor cuts that her stolen healing factor won’t effect.

Greatest flaw: Self deprecating, known to cut herself off from others

Best quality: Quick to help

Introvert or Extrovert?: Ambivert

Alignment: Chaotic good

MBTI: INFP-T

Four temperments: Sanguine

Holland Code: ASI

Extroversion: 70

Emotional Stability: 70

Agreeableness: 93

Conscientiousness: 15

Intellect/Imagination: 88

Ambition(s): To save as many people as possible and to wipe out the two Jumpers that mute others’ abilities.

Beliefs: Christianity

Biggest Fear(s): Fire, being trapped/small areas, and suffocation.

Bio

Jumpers: Jumpers are those born with the ability to travel between dimensions and hold the responsibility of keeping order within all dimensions. This includes keeping those who try or succeed in unnaturally moving between dimensions from getting their hands on something that would enhance them too far in their own dimension.

Kody King is one of very few Jumpers born with the ability to negate the power spanning over every Jumper born since the sixteenth century. Jumpers were rare as was—less than one in five million—but, with the rise of Isabel, Constance, and Piers, the number dropped to hardly one bypassing the guards in every generation.

The three maintain their control with Isabel’s ability to wipe out the abilities of anyone in any dimension, Constance’s ability of seeming imortality, and Piers’ ability to strengthen any ability exponentually. With the number of Jumpers being only in the double digets, it’s not difficult for Isabel to block their abilities as is, with Piers’ ability they’re practically unstoppable. With their power in place, most Jumpers wouldn’t having the slightest idea what “Jumpers” were at all, let alone how to use their abilities.

With these blocks in place, it’s impossible to keep order within dimensions, even more so when the only other Jumper in action is using her abilities to make herself unstoppable.

Kody: Born into a fairly average family, she discovered her abilities at the age of seven.

She grew up in a home full of yelling and among a family filled with chaos, though she was able to establish herself as fairly smart despite the drama around her.

For a period of time, she was trapped within a fighting ring in one of the dimensions she traveled to. because of what she had to do to survive, she has trouble believing that she has any reason to deserve kindness or friendship with anyone.

After escaping the fighting ring, she refused to experiment with the power again until the age of seventeen, but when she learned what she was and the danger she and everyone she knew was in if they learned she existed, she cut herself off from everything she knew. She keeps contact with her family to a bare minimum.

The introduction of another of her kind excited her at first, until she learned exactly what Ailisa’s motivations were.

Ailisa left multiple innocent people incarcerated in her climb to the top of the food chain in our dimension and Kody made it a point to free each of them. Along with freedom, in the hands of Joseph Tallent and Sara Salib, she left an invitation to asist in bringing down Ailisa.

#kody king

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rjmorrisonuniverse-blog · 5 years

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The Inklings

Everything about him was incidental. His six foot four height that seemed both casual vibe and imposing. (and the way it caused me to look not at his eyes but the top of his head, making him seem even taller) His shockingly dark gaze of a fire roasted chestnut depth that took on the after-dark tonality of ink black. His wild dreadlocked waist length mane that he often pulled together in a hemp-like weave, or net, or full-body seaweed surround, and its soapy but not unpleasant note when the winds blew. The winds were blowing when I met him. Blowing in off the strait with trademark Pacific freshness that cut across summer's heated intent. I was on a gentle grassy knoll in a charming seaside town named Sidney, its harbor and long wooden wharf a slice of heavenly view toward the gulf islands and distant Canadian mainland. There on an otherwise typical gorgeous August afternoon, enjoying my “grande” Pike Place blend with the lid off, a tall shadow stretched its presence into my zone of solar vitamins.

"Sweet guitar", his voice was deep and rich. I looked first not at him, but at the old well-loved and travelled Yamaha beside me on the grass. Then up. Way up from his sandalled toes, past the cargo pants and navy blue t-shirt, to his penetrating but openly friendly eyes. He squinted at my own squint, and dished up an instantly warming grin. "Do you play?" I asked. His answer was a wordless fluid bending of knees to where he sat cross-legged a couple of feet to my right. He nodded slowly and laid a large long-fingered left hand across the sun baking top of my trusty old acoustic guitar. With a long thumb nail he scratched lightly along the bottom E string until softly plucking a delightful harmonic at the fifth fret. It sang out into a precise breeze blended tandem voice as his hand raised and floated over the sound hole. I swear I could hear the harmonic note bending itself into a higher octave before it faded into the inaccessible aural dimensions that surely exist in perpetuity beyond our human capabilities. (imagine an entire universe sounding with the amassed notes of all music ever made)

I do realize that in the telling of this, I perhaps sound like a smitten female or a male of gay preference, but no... this was his outright exuding incidental charisma. He arrived at the end of a long encroaching grass shadow, on a perfect summertime afternoon, with his beautiful aura and instantly alluring presence. Arrived when I most needed it, for I had been considering suicide that very morning. That very morning when the hours from six to nine had brought in overcast conditions and the lingering (festering) wounds wrought by a love torn away.

In the compulsory interest of a quick backstory, suffice to say that a woman whom I had given my whole heart to decided to run off with a handsome architect from the Seattle area, who she had fallen for on Facebook. Such was the cold shock and abruptness of it all, I didn't even bother with the formality of grovelling. Me, mister financial underachiever with his creaking dreams of making it through song writing and landscape painting... yeah, right. (stoked to create, loathe to sell) Even though I totally lost my composure during our last face to face exchange and called her a word that begins with 'w' and rhymes with floor, I admitted deep in my heels that she had chosen well. And speaking of floor, I was.

It is hard to believe now, post love-disembowelling, that I was actually going to cash in my chips over her. "Ayte" was the divine intervention star. He sparkled so brightly and suddenly during daylight's most needed hours, even if it is true that I reclined on Sidney's grassy knoll and sipped from a happy feeling coffee. Contradictory? Sure. I put the dick in that word, some days. What a strange name, I remember thinking as he extended a down-angled right hand to shake mine own up-stretched. Ayte, pronounced like the numeral. "Yeah, I know" he offered laconically - "spelled ay why tee ee." Well in hindsight, of course. "Cool name" I told him. "Mine is just Fred." We then shook hands and I was struck by the coolness of his untanned skin. Despite those reddish brown dreadlocks and what looked to be a very aggressive five o'clock shadow of dense packed black, Ayte had the epidermal wraparound of an albino.

I mentioned down-angle and up-stretched a moment ago, regarding our first handshake of two that would bookend the relationship; it must be confessed that even sitting on the same incline beside each other, the disparity in our sizes was glaring. I am a very small man. The genomic fates had it in for me, or so it felt quite often, in bestowing a mere five feet and four inches of stature. North America seemed a land of giants as I grew up and suffered the ignoble pituitary gland gauntlet of high school... I bore an average face in a nondescript body that decided to stop growing somewhere around solar year sixteen. Bitter? You bet. The pimple-faced teenaged version of Fred carried around just as much carnal lust as the next kid, but his cards were all jokers. It wasn't so much that I was mercilessly teased or rejected in school, but that I shut myself down and stopped even daydreaming about finding a girlfriend. Sex? Losing my virginity occupied a shelf next to finding the ultimate truth about why we exist. I recall far too many barely contained screams at a world of towering classmates and gorgeous west coast women who may as well have occupied a visible but unobtainable dimension...

and I digress.

"How long have you been playing, Fred?" asked the casually striking new acquaintance beside me. I looked at his interesting profile (the nose so wide and flat at the nostrils) as he gazed out at scattered gulf islands in their glittering deep blue waterbed. "I just turned thirty five and have been playing since my fifteenth birthday." Ayte nodded as if he had already guessed the amount of years, and his ropy dreads splayed out behind an elongated rake-thin torso. "Dude..." he spoke the word in a way that had me thinking he had never uttered it before. "Why don't you play me something?"

I can't explain it, but normally I would have been ultra self-conscious and refused the request, especially from a stranger who had just blown me away with a single scraping plucked low-E harmonic. This being an afternoon following a dismal morning where I had seriously considered drowning myself into another cosmic dice roll, what did I have to lose? Face? Surely not. I am an accomplished guitarist, and dare I say a formidable songwriter who lives always a decade ahead of his curve? That zit-faced horny boy in a short man's future; he once upon a time found only one solace. In a Yamaha acoustic guitar with Dean Markley bronze-wound strings. My first and only true love. At Ayte's request, and then peering into his friendly inviting curious eyes, I thus responded with a half-smile half-sigh of "fuck it, why not?"

Of the many sorrowful sounding pieces that I had channelled from gods-know-where, there was this newest composition still brewing. It sat on the universal dial between heart trauma and acceptance; I had begun working on it during the aftermath of her decision to eviscerate me in favor of Seattle guy. (have I mentioned that he stands at a commanding six foot three inches?) This untitled nugget of woe notes found its root within one of my favorite tear-jerker chords, A minor. With a long stare out at the impossible blue of gulf sea, and me, I picked up the Yamaha and began to quietly play this unfinished work. The first two verse passages build from A minor. They are played without a pick and I gradually color the low A root note with tender arpeggios and saddened bends that climb up and around a crying out loud D, also minor. I could absolutely feel Ayte's rapt ear. Peripherally my eyes imparted that he wasn't watching as I played. I could still see him gazing out to the same horizon as mine. In my heart of hearts I knew this to be the finest composition I had ever started. Blood from a life not fulfilling had somehow trickled from my fingertips into the well-worn wood and four month old strings. I played with a fragile blue sensitivity for the tall lanky stranger, and didn't worry one moment about the missing middle eight bridge section that mirrored the man's first name. (astounding, comical universe, I would later muse)

He was silent for a good long moment after I ended the solo performance and sat cradling the guitar, like my baby, my lover, chin down in the graceful bend of its side. I heard him sniff, once and long, and realized with a muted shock that he had been moved to tears. Still not looking directly at him but across the water, I could see his hand come up to swipe at both eyes. "That was beyond beautiful" he started, "and so sad. I just can't believe you people continue to write such wonderful music in such a limited format."

I ignored the closing remark and glowed inwardly at his praise, until the curiosity of what he said got the better of me. "How do you mean, limited format?" I allowed myself a direct look and sure enough, tears still blurred out the deep brown of his eyeballs. Ayte stared first at me, then down into the Yamaha's weathered finish, and I added "and also what do you mean by you people?" He smiled then, a close-lipped one that for a fleeting moment caused him to appear monstrously unsymmetrical. "Do you have a car?" he asked casually. "Can you get to the ferry?"

I answered in the affirmative and Ayte regained his feet in one smooth motion, looking down at me with a sun halo backlight. (this is one freaky star child hippy, I remember thinking) "I don't know if you have plans for the evening, but I'd like to invite you to a sneak preview of my new band's material. I recently rented a place on Salt Spring Island and we rehearse there four nights a week. I could pick you up at the ferry terminal tonight, at seven?"

How was I to refuse? Rewind a few hours and I was on the cusp of pitching myself into the cold indifferent blue of lady Pacific's salt water. "It sounds like a cool idea" I answered, not hesitating even though my belly issued a warning. "I can drive myself to your place. I'll meet you at seven and you lead the way." Ayte smiled anew, nodded, then looked out at the clouds above the island where he lived. "We are deep in the wide open, at the base of a mountain near Vesuvius Bay. You're going to love it." With those words and my returned smile and nod, Ayte turned and then strolled away on his long thin legs. He headed toward the main street of charming Sidney, where blue-haired retirees white knuckle their way through potential fender benders every day of every week. I remember thinking of how abbreviated our first meeting was, yet of how I had thrown my shield away and offered up a raw new song and a willingness to try on something sudden and offered.

"Hey, Ayte!" I shouted to his retreating form. He stopped and did a one eighty, hands in his cargo short pockets. "What's your band's name, man?" The two word answer came across the distance between us in a way that intersected time itself, and I certainly experienced a devastating deja-vu upon hearing it : "The Inklings". I would have further shouted a positive response, had not the hint of I-know-this-already smacked me in the face. Ayte turned back to his exit trajectory. I looked at my watch, then out at the fluffy white cloud bank above Salt Spring Island and gulf environs. A beautiful glowing gossamer, almost sparkly from within, casting down cotton candy reflections in the waters of a paradise for those who truly see. I had five hours to kill, but at least I wasn't killing myself.

It was another half hour before I picked myself up off the grass, in much improved if not almost ecstatic spirits. Strange. I felt turned on in a parallel but different way to the sexually aroused feeling. Ayte was such an odd dude. His soapy hair fragrance and indecipherable Jesus-ian vibe lingered around me for hours, and I kept repeat hearing that incredible incredulous thumb nail harmonic note... he had those Hendrix thumbs that could wrap around a neck to phrase bass passages to underpin rhythm patterns. I recognized my newfound verve as a sheer pulsating excitement over the prospect of hearing the guy play guitar. If he could do what I suspected he could, what would his band sound like?

"Cool name" I proclaimed over the air rushing through my beater of a Toyota as I left Sidney by the sea and made my way to the tiny one bedroom apartment that I loosely called home. I lived on the outskirts of Saanich, not far from Bear Lake and many other paradisiacal locales that had shaped my adult years but not saved me from the cruel talons of heartbreak. "The Inklings" I said aloud, chuckling. Then I dovetailed, or downward spiralled, into a reverie about what Cynthia would have made of mister six foot four Ayte. He was instantly impact-full. He was casually but boomingly charismatic in a way that bisected sexiness and an exotic heady strangeness. Yeah, I thought, punching down harder on the gas pedal, Cynthia would have wanted to fuck him. She was entirely wired for response to those of a highly interesting aura, be that response a keen wish to know more that bypassed womanly feelings, or that which was easiest for me to believe lately; that she wanted to branch out and truly taste-test the waters of depth within potential lovers and great loves. I wasn't the guy. One wild year and one completely offered heart, mine, had not earned her unwavering interest and devotion.

I had suspected early on that Cynthia didn't have a lot of respect for my lack of "drive" to participate in the grand charade of society. I had always drifted from job to job, mostly part time, and my heart had belonged to music making and painting, if not the unsavory chasm that I could not cross : subsisting through the selling of my art. It was a thing that I didn't disapprove of for others, of course, but personally I found it reprehensible and limiting to anything further that might issue forth through my humble channel. Silly? Hell yes. Thirty five years, dwindling funds from my inheritance, and the loss of that one woman who had liked me enough to say she loved me... f-bomb f-bomb ad infinitum. It took ten kilometres and some mental doing, but I eventually shrugged out of the momentary funkification and regained that golden anticipatory shine that Ayte's energy had lit within me.

I looked at my watch before pulling up to park in front of the squat 1940 apartment building that housed me and my trusty Yamaha : I had four hours to kill, but at least I wasn't killing myself.

Hindsight and retrospect being strange twins, it is true that I probably could have done without the fat west coast bud that helped me through my remaining hours in wait. Clearly I was jacked up over hearing Ayte and his bandmates. I sat at home with my ass meat deeply planted into the sagging sofa cushion, breathed back mama nature balm-smoke, and considered whether or not to bring my acoustic guitar along. It was always with me. Had I decided to leave it behind, it would have taken the breaking of my entire pattern because it was always in its gig bag and laying across the back seat of my ride. I'd been a semi-regular on Salt Spring island, anyhow, and it is a zone for the earth children to kick back and shamelessly exult. Wiccans, pagans, outright stoners, a whole lot of artists and "green" this and that types... certainly a holy land of acoustic guitars, folk music, and interaction via jamming. It was a no-brainer to bring my trusty Yamaha with me, and I luxuriated on the sinking sofa with a no-brain sensation, nodding to some vague incoming music signal idea. I still needed to write a bridge for my newest, saddest, most "felt" beautiful piece. Maybe The Inklings would inspire it?

The time arrived leisurely. Those butterfly wing knots went away only to be replaced by that stereotypical post-smoke hunger, and I wolfed my way through the remainder of a large tub of store bought potato salad, with a tall glass of carbonated spring water. During the drive up to the ferry terminal I listened to my most recent recordings, silently pleased and paradoxically pissed at a world that settles for so little when it comes to popular music. The sweet with the bitter, bitches. How to know sweetness without so much suck? It took the usual amount of time, and minor headache, to pay for the ferry and get the Toyota positioned on deck. It was a typical glorious early evening as I crossed the depthless looking blue waters, a touch choppy from rising and cooling winds. Rather than sit in the car I stood on the bow of the ferry, peering out at the approach of Salt Spring, looking for the first visual of mister Ayte. I had no idea what he would be driving, but imagined him as either a panel van or a motorcycle guy.

Neither. It was impossible to miss him at the Vesuvius Bay ferry terminal, leaning against a shiny black Buick LeSabre from the era when cars had leg and headroom, tank-like skeletons and serious gas thirst. Of course a big dude like that is going to have a big dude's ride, right? He spotted me immediately and waved a casual hand as the winds tossed his hair ropes around. I could see a smile, and it warmed away my stomach's returning doubt chills. Into the Toyota, out onto the parking area at the terminal, and we greeted each other with smiles. "Wicked cool that you could make it, Fred" he was extra tall by then, wearing a thick heeled pair of hiking boots and faded knee-torn jeans, and the de rigueur fleece over-shirt required by oceana Pacifica. I felt like a midget next to him, but his manner was warm and off-hand in a way that relaxed me. This was no alpha male playing jerk, and besides, he was just weird enough looking to straddle the ineffable border between sex god and outright geek. I liked that about Ayte, truth be told.

"There is one item of potential weirdness that I must mention right away" he said matter-of-factly, causing the gut knots to tighten a little. "I think it's best if you leave your car here and I drive you to my place, okay?" I started to protest and he continued - "The others weren't too keen on my inviting you over without asking them first, but it's my space and I have final say... it's just that, there's one other thing; when we get out on Upper Ganges road I need to blindfold you - "

"Say, what?"

"Dude" (the word issued forth with more ease than his earlier use) "It's for your own good, man. Let's just say I have a little indoor farming operation going on there, and it doesn't make much sense for us to have you know where the place is or how to get there." I rolled that over for a few moments, feeling stung small and stupid at first but admitting the logic. His eyes seemed genuinely sorry. "I don't drink either, bro" he went on. "You'll get back here no problem for the last ferry, or you can even crash overnight. We have lots of space." Here's the thing; ever since Cynthia fucked me and then fucked me over for mister Seattle, I'd been as tightly wound as it gets. Drinking, smoking way too much herbals, and frittering away inheritance money that was marked by the extra weight of tragedy. My parents had both perished in a float plane accident up-island, only two years prior to my meeting... her. The only sibling, elder sister Patty who disapproved of basically everything Fred, received the house and its five acres in the heart of Sooke. Me, a fifty thousand dollar cushion that would soon resemble one of the ones on my heater-burned sofa. Ayte looked down at me in Fred's little turmoil, and then I mellowed out and accepted his terms. "You rock, bro" he told me in his quick intimacy manner. "When we get a few miles up the road, I'll pull over and have you sit in back, and you can wear this..." he yanked a dark blue bandana from his back pocket, already prepared for my agreeing. It was decorated with dozens of tiny Stropharia Cubensis mushrooms, indigenous to the region and gateways of allure that I had previously attempted and failed at. (stomach ache city, too)

"I meant to mention earlier" Ayte beamed, and I knew what was coming - "did you bring your guitar along?" I told him it was always with me, and he smacked me on the shoulder gleefully. "Grab it and let's go. You are going to have your mind fully blown open, and I already told the bandmates about your beautiful song." I beamed a beam of my own and we were moments later underway. I had forgotten just how roomy the old Buicks could be, and with a comparative giant beside me I felt smaller than ever. We pulled out into the relatively quiet traffic flow and hadn't travelled a hundred yards before Ayte said - "So, she was worth it, no doubt." I didn't understand him at all, and asked what he meant. "Your song. Your beautiful new piece of music that you played. Whoever inspired that in you was definitely worth whatever the cost was... right?"

"How did you know that was a new song, though?" I asked him, replaying our earlier meeting and reasonably sure I hadn't told him. Ayte laughed and squinted at me with an appraising almost annoying glint in his eyes. "Fred... it was filled with that new song vibe... a lot of raw heart, and it still needed a middle section unless you're a verse chorus only kind of writer." I began to formulate an answer that just might make mention of the departed Cynthia and the blast crater where my heart had been, but Ayte continued - "It would be really cool if you wrote in a major chord, positive sounding bridge, as if you were regaining strength and optimism, and then had it drop right back down into that deep sad final third."

My only response arrived in time with a sinking feeling in my chest that was momentary but punishing. "Her name is Cynthia" I admitted, looking out the side window at passing countryside and a rising slope jammed with Spruce trees. "I guess you could say she was my first and only love, but she dumped me for someone else not long ago." Ayte nodded gently, then chewed his bottom lip and stared through the windshield tint at a mostly empty two-lane road. "Her name was Cynthia" he said firmly. "Now she's just another sad song." I remember being both grateful for his sudden arrival in that day, and a fleeting need to punch him in the face as hard as I could. Not that he was being flippant, mind you, but because I had instantly opened my chest cavity to a virtual stranger. The deep wounds that won't heal, but rather form lesson scars and chords for weeping guitars.

"I shouldn't talk, though" Ayte continued (and I wasn't sure if he was being sincere or throwing me a pacifier) "because I have never been in love." It surprised me. Made me stare at his profile for a moment, and perhaps the reader has guessed at what the narrative threads have been knitting, but I stared and calmed down. Even one crack at that holy grail of the heart space, big Love, was not guaranteed for each of us born from that reservoir and expressly designed to seek its maddening elusive answers. "Tantalizing" I spoke out loud, not intending to have the thought escape as such. Ayte let it slide. We rode in silence for five minutes, both watching the beautiful blues and greens of the island, and then he slowed to pull over. It was blindfold and back seat time.

I surprised myself by going for such a ludicrous ride. For accepting the odd terms and for talking the whole time about how Cynthia and I had met (me playing a sad mellow piece outdoors near Thetis lake that drew her over for a listen) ... Ayte responded through my sentences with scattered "uh huh", "mmhmm" sounds. I spoke openly and realized how much I had needed to purge to a new person, a new set of ears not tired of the repeating theme of Cynthia leaves Fred. During this blindfolded backseat "oratorio", I also attempted to focus on distance and sounds beneath the roomy LeSabre, since I knew the island fairly well and was very curious about where we were heading.

What I was able to glean, as my bitter sounding tale concluded, revolved around a left hand turn and the sound and feel of gravel under tires. "We're there?" I asked, and Ayte replied with a terse "almost." It took at least another minute, at slower speed and over steady small dips and bounces, to come to a stop. My new musician acquaintance turned to speak at the back seat, because I could smell his very odd breath which was almost medicinal. A funky blend of rich dense hashish and Scope, maybe. "Alright, buddy. I know this is fucked up and all, but I'm going to lead you into the place before that blindfold comes off. Yeah?" What else was there to do but to nod and go along with the "house rules"? Frankly, at that point I didn't want to see a grow-op or a specific location.

Ayte opened the passenger door on the driver's side and I heard him grab my guitar gig bag, with "I'll carry this in for you". Then, the door closing, his footfalls around the back of the Buick, and another door opening. Cool fingers on my right wrist, a light grip and then release so that I could step free into cooling air. It was strangely quiet out there for a moment, and I suppose I expected to hear the sounds of his band tuning or, warming up. He let me rise tall to my full towering standing height of minus-midget (compared to he) and then those long cool fingers closed around my right wrist again and he said "over this way, Fred" with a gentle pull. I walked and wondered what the hell I had gotten into, but not enough to call it off. I must admit it was the first spark of real life I had felt inside me since the love evisceration crisis. I was silently anticipating an experience with possibly the coolest, deadliest unknown band in the country; little old me privy to a kick ass sneak preview of something that would break and break large. Yes, Ayte's thumbnail scrape and harmonic pluck had impressed me that much.

He opened what seemed like two locks. The door was soundless on its hinges. "Two steps up, bro" he said with another gentle wrist tug, and up I went into a space that felt a few degrees warmer than the rapidly cooling evening. My feet sounded on creaky floorboards and we walked maybe twenty feet straight ahead, then stopped, and I heard another doorknob being turned. There, immediately after a few halting steps into what felt to be a much larger space, the pungent whack of west coast smoke. Right upside the nostrils. Heady and dense. I heard an amplifier buzzing and could make out the sounds of distant male voices from what was surely another room behind yet another closed door.

"A beer for you?" Ayte asked as his hand removed itself from my wrist. I heard the ruffle of my guitar bag as he removed the shoulder strap and set it down somewhere near us. "Can I take this off now?", my hands pointed index fingers toward the bandana. "Yeah, and... a beer for you?" I tugged the knot behind my head up and away whilst answering "I'd love a beer", and my vision found a large crazy wall across the room as Ayte pivoted on his boot heels to leave for the doorway that contained those other voices. "Be right back, dude" he spoke over a shoulder. "Make yourself at home. Read the lyric wall."

And.

Holy.

Shit.

The lyric wall. The crazy wall. It ran for thirty feet, from floor to eight foot ceiling, and the old recreation room wood panel had been primed and painted an off-white. Every square inch of its surface was emblazoned in felt marker language and bizarre drawings. My eyes adjusted and didn't know where to lock focus, but immediately I was thrown off balance by confusion. I didn't recognize the words, letters, even the meaning of most of the visuals. It was a hybrid of bizarre Egyptian hieroglyph and Chinese-like script with a flourish of widely scattered comic book style drawings; all of this was small and packed densely across the wall. I exhaled a tremulous "wow". Beneath my feet a stupendously ornate and intricately woven oriental carpet had me instantly in mind of Clive Barker's "Weaveworld" as well as a great Henry Rollins concert I had once upon a time drunkenly attended. (he and the band were set up on a beautiful rug, Henry full of angsty testosterone menace, ink, bare feet, perspiration) The carpet was just as strange as the wall. It looked barely recognizable as something my brain could latch onto safely. As I stared down into its subtle tea-stained twenty by twelve area, it seemed that my feet sank just slightly into its very low pile.

My wide open eyes took in the two side walls which were left in their ugly wood panel original state, and then I managed a one eighty pivot to become even more freaked out. Have you ever been visually overwhelmed all at once? Not known where to focus and react due to the ultimate combination of mind-blow components? I scanned across three distinct "stations" where the band's "instruments" were set up; my stare dialled back to the "drum kit"... this was a hybridized amassment of traditional Paiste cymbals, hi-hats, with partial sections of the usual drum kit hardware, but

but

the hardware was inserted deep into a thick twisting bleached length of what looked to be ancient driftwood. Along its bottom curve near the floor, smaller sections of metal tubing had been inserted and bolted into place, from which four different colored Converse All-Star shoes connected as de facto stabilizers. I wanted to burst into laughter but it was instantly confusing and frightening. Where there would normally be "rack toms", three sea turtle shells of varying sizes were positioned at identical striking angles. Held in place by more strange dull metallic tubing that protruded up from the driftwood trunk. There were washers, nuts and bolts. Each shell had a skin drawn across the open bowl side, fastened all around with small tribal looking bones that were somewhat flattened on top. No floor tom. I was too stunned in the first shock moments to check for a kick drum or pedal, but instantly knew that the wide chunk of gnarly driftwood served in that capacity. I was thinking you talk about your hippies...

and it dawned on me that the other room's voices had entirely muted, as though they wanted me to be utterly alone in the freaked out processing of what I was looking at. There were two "amplifiers" that flanked the bizarre organic-slash-traditional drum set. Of identical dimensions, they were square and a flat black with no visible buttons or input jacks. The material in front resembled that which can be found on Marshall cabinets; a thick cross-hatched cloth that was seamlessly flush with the rest of the container. I stepped toward the nearest waist-high "amp" and saw no power source but could hear its steady buzzing from within. With a trembling hand I dared to touch its upper surface. Cold, dull, but resembling or seeming to be made from a form of obsidian material. I had a terror twitch thought that I was looking at something ancient. A sound emitting fossil device. With no visible power source or controls, I guessed that it must be some manner of... what, really? A mentally controlled amplification system? Across from the hybrid driftwood percussion kit, ludicrous with its array of handcrafted Paiste products, the other humming black box stood in waiting. I felt frozen in place but moved my attention back to the tangled madness of the lyric wall. An anxious anticipation bubbled in my lower stomach and before I could focus anew on the strange hieroglyphic jumble, that other room's door opened quickly on a squeaky hinge.

Ayte was first through the doorway, then two equally tall and thinly built males who were wearing fucking goalie masks. I'd seen bands wear masks on stage before, but this was a rehearsal. Ayte was bare faced and unbelievably at first I didn't look directly at what he was carrying because I was drawn to the others. You may recall my description of the dark blue blindfold bandana with its tiny magic mushroom motif? Ditto the ludicrous masks. Dark blue verging on black, with brilliant amber 'shrooms equally and densely arranged. A part of my mind said okay, they're rehearsing a debut show for me. There followed a split second of relaxing into the possibility, but then I looked at the two instruments being carried and quickly at one of the humming featureless amplifier boxes.

Two identical jet black ultra glossy tubes of approximately traditional electric guitar length. A circumference of perhaps a large man's forearm at its widest. Ayte's instrument was completely encircled on its shining surface by at least twenty "strings" of various diameter that went from thick piano density to nearly invisible, but the thing of it was

oh, the memory of it hitting me fresh

These "lines" ran the length of the tube from where they vanished into holes in a flat base (envision an unopened soup can lid), up to an impossible braid that formed a cone on the upper end. The tuning end, I supposed. These fucking "strings" were actually beams of indescribably gorgeous laser-like light. They were solid beams in an array of in-between tones that I had never before seen. Like a mushroom version of advanced-cosmos color wheel photon strands. A furtive stunned glance at the other tube-carrying mask-wearing musician revealed that he had less of these beams on his instrument, and they were generally thicker but no less vivid. I thought through a melting mind - guitar and bass?

"This is Fred" announced Ayte as he walked across the ornate rug with an outstretched free hand that held a beer bottle. I was oddly relieved to see a local brand that I recognized, and accepted the ice cold offering with a failing voice but a no-doubt electrocuted expression. The two goalie masks nodded silently as Ayte's equally tall brothers-in-sound took their positions. I neglected to mention a normal everyday drum stool because in my shock at trying to identify the driftwood creation's makeup, I hadn't noticed it. Drummer took his seat and I saw two of the usual sticks in his hands. Pale skin, long thin fingers. He was dressed head to toe in a dark blue robe that had me in mind of Kubrick's "Eyes Wide Shut" orgy scene. Equally silent but for the mask nodding, the "bassist" took position in front his sound box device and cradled the light beam tube in his arms like a baby. His robe was a Buckingham green.

"Wow. I don't even have the beginning of a clue what I'm looking at" - my voice had returned in a cracked timbre. Ayte moved in front of me with a short staccato chuckle, and said "excuse me bro" as I stepped back and away so he could stand in front of his sound box. He too, hoisted the bizarre laser beam tube instrument up into a cradled position with his right hand supporting its bottom. I pressed on with a voice almost resembling mine - "What are those things?" The goalie masked "bassist" shot a coldly appraising dark pupil duo at me through his eye holes. "Do you think he is prepared?" the guy asked with a head swivel toward Ayte. His voice was deep, too, with precisely enunciated vowels and a crisp 's'. Ayte nodded at his bandmate and said "Hey bro Fred, why don't you make yourself comfortable somewhere, but stand back a few feet." I looked to see no places to sit other than floor, but nodded silently and carried my beer over to the lyric wall. My eyes searched its craziness for something I could make sense of as I paced across carpet and then floorboards. Questions by the flood were coming to me. I was tripping, for sure. "What language is this?" I couldn't help but to ask, and turned to look at the strange trio as I slid down to squat with my back against the cartoon and hieroglyph mash-up.

The lanky drummer took his throne and spoke in an almost identical baritone to match his bass player's : "There is no equivalent here for that which you name as language", and as my blowing mind began to mull his crux, he took sticks to hi-hats and shut me up forever in a time bottle. Immediately reminiscent of the sizzling groove of the hats in Steve Miller's "Swingtown", but a few beats per minute slower, and with a skanky jazzified slink. I was fucking mesmerized to the Nth, then and there. Space and the lack of reality in that room conspired with his stick work as those hi-hats were impacted and accented by open/close deftness. He had a loose and very relaxed posture. I was astounded when he injected a skipping funky kick pattern through that driftwood relic. (I hadn't noticed the kick pedal at all) A warm resounding richness in the thumping tree trunk filled the room's every cubic inch, and he worked an impossible skipping thudding nuanced wood-rich bottom motif into those weaving sizzling hats. I was more fucked than Cynthia had ever fucked me.

Ayte and the nameless other stood in mannequin repose, both sets of eyes on me as I squatted against the mystery wall. I began to wonder if the blindfold had been treated with some exotic unknown form of hallucinogen. This was way out there. Beyond beyond's beyond out there. I fell into that strutting kick and hi-hat pattern and waited for what I knew was coming. There was no traditional snare drum on that "kit", but I felt the placement of what was about to be added to this spinal manifesto. Call it the born musician and quick ear in me. Just at the very moment where I would have added it, the "snare" crack of beautiful resonating driftwood fell right into the sweet pocket. Smack dab organic perfection. How was he able to execute such a steady tone from hitting ages old dead wood? How the hell was he doing that incredible stutter accent on every fourth stroke? His hands were fluid ghost note appendages. Ayte, who I had to steal a glance at, was smiling from ear to ear at me. I didn't realize it then, but I had performed a stunned open-mouthed slow slide down the wall and was then sitting with my ass on the floor, legs splayed straight out. The beer was white-knuckled between both hands.

I was going to say the common "oh my god" just when the other goalie-masked mushroom person hoisted his tube and intersected two beautiful orange light beams with the first two fingers of his left hand. My stillborn utterance died happily beneath a v-shaped fingering that suddenly filled the drum groove with a subsonic note unlike any I had ever experienced. It shook my entrails but wasn't necessarily loud. He moved the v of his fingers deeper into the laser beam strings, toward the bottom of that tubular miracle. I heard within the felt bass tones a pulsing melodic layer of almost orchestral ancient-feeling sounds. It was the molten rock of Sooke river banks tumbling and instantly cooling. It was the entire unabridged encyclopedia of Orca whale pod knowledge. I managed to lift the beer to my lips for a desperate swig, being forcefully penetrated by this grooving ineffable rhythm section magic trick. Another type of virginity was removed by a spinning planet and the tick tock of how we identify its spin. I mean, deflowered deluxe. Event horizon met.

Ayte's turn was coming. I realized it and all of my attention went to his zone of being. The carpet beneath The Inklings was also a carpet of unfolding skronk and marrow melt, all set up sweetly for Ayte's chops, about to chop me into Fred minced. Do you think that my newfound oddball friend cut loose with a mother-of-all-humbling cascade of impossible lead lines? Do you think he put Einstein and Hendrix in a galactic blender? Ayte bent his face over the myriad new-colors of his instrument's photon strings, still grinning at my reaction, and fluidly unleashed a barrage of in-pocket rhythm playing that was more UN than OF. I mean, not the sound of guitar strings at all. Not the inflection of floating keyboard quavers. Not nearly but yes nearly a reed instrument. It was a fucking flavor. He played it with one hand tapping across the various string beams, moving along the tube's length, in a way that was Chapman Stick-like. I thought of King Crimson being produced by Satan in a studio once financed by God.The tapping tempo funky clean impossible to identify notes were perfectly placed within the magie sonique. Something at once cello and sexy overdriven Stratocaster happened from beneath and within his hands. I next attempted to regain my feet and couldn't. The beer bottle slipped from its clenched holding place to spill across my thigh. I made no move to stop its flow. Wet. Dream.

Ayte began to gyrate a little. His crazy dreads fell into and around the glowing music tube as he brought forth the end of my previous reality. He gave the tube a little rotation and restarted by sliding an entire palm across and down into the beam-strings. All of the myriad colors intensified and I watched him gather up a half dozen of the strands for a fist clenching sound meld. No apt words to describe the symphonic emotional impact of that technique. It was a flavor, a memory, and a teaching. The drumming-math and bass-paint shaping followed suit. Everything in that strange room, besides me, coalesced into a unity that shattered each baby step of my own traditional music learning curve. That drummist began to attack the turtle shell toms with cocky blurring slurring accent fills that I couldn't figure out at all, yet they worked beyond the scope of compositional integrity. He kept an open hi-hat pattern alive and jumping, yet skipped and stammered the funk out of those bizarre rack-toms, all of that sounding ancient and faerie woodsian. I swear I could then smell Pacific rainforest. Drummer and bassist and Ayte; they became lost to the glory of their cosmic channel noise, more physically animated. I wanted to pee my pants and weep. Privy to more than I could have dreamt, stoned or sober.

Finally I regained a modicum of motor function. My knees obeyed a distant brain instruction and I awkwardly gathered myself up and pushed clumsily along the lyric wall until stumble standing. Roomshake wood note star powder was alive all around me. I looked at the music makers in their triplet identity jamming and suddenly felt a new heightened buzzing inside me. Ayte seemed to perceive it telepathically and his eyes found mine. His stare was of joyous hedonistic abandon, with his dreads on the soar, and he exhorted me with that gaze. A look passed between The Inklings that I caught just barely before time and place disintegrated into my nearly out-of-self trance shuffle. I moved to my guitar case, one thigh beer soaked, on the verge of tears and rebirth. What I remember next is that I had the trusty Yamaha and its frayed strap hanging from me. Ayte began to play a quieter steady note that resembled the minor A of my newest song, then nodded toward the magic carpet beneath his big boots. I obeyed and don't recall walking to where he was playing, but yet I have a crystalline memory of how the sound in the room seemed so perfectly uniform and balanced. The volume blend didn't at all diminish or increase according to the conventional rules of physics. Proximity to the driftwood drum kit or the laser light music tubes meant nothing to the room-filling volumes. I stood in front of Ayte. He eye-locked me and mouthed the count : "one-two-three" that segued as though practiced into all four of us playing and interpreting my newest piece.

I didn't think. I knew. So did they. It touched upon my fondest moments of being on stage with a team. A unit of sound delivery and same page intent. That is the magical shit when it happens right. What took place for four high-heavenly minutes with The Inklings reached for new earthly descriptives. To pluck, strum, and emote my way unconsciously through that piece of music, and to hear for the very first time (ever, anywhere) such an accompaniment... wood-rich notes and humanistic Paiste cymbals played along with me. The bass melody was something I could never have written; a serpentine sensual lovemaking yearning underpin. Ayte? He stepped back and did exactly what he had done earlier to my Yamaha. He plucked a brilliant yellow beam of light and let it sing like a quasar choir, sing somehow in a delectable A minor.

When it finished, and it finished with a unison ringing chord that could only have been telepathic and worm-holed, I was a crying shaking mess. I shook my head and let the Yamaha hang slack at my stomach, only then wondering at what technological marvel had the guitar been amplified into their mix... and the drummer said very gently to me : "welcome home, brother."

He said it, and it coincided with two things. I remembered him the way we might sometimes remember a kid from grade school, like an old friend taken away by Life and folded into the mental pastiche of all of those names and faces on the cusp of memory loss. Was there some fear when he spoke that to me, then Ayte and the other guy nodded enthusiastically? Yes, only natural, yes? The second thing was a sudden intense itching burn deep inside the meat of my strumming hand's palm. I looked down in confusion and they all laughed softly. Gentle buzzing could be heard from the idling sound boxes. The room was liberally fragranced at that point with earthy tree trunk bouquet. I looked down at the star-shaped puncture scar in my palm from when I had apparently fallen from my bicycle at a young age beyond this memory's visuals. It was red and inflamed. Just then at the point of awareness in a blossom, Ayte placed his sound tube carefully on the floor and approached me with both hands extended.

He took my shoulders, very gently and with softening eyes, to spin me around so that I was facing the lyric wall. Then he pushed just as gently but with a no-give firmness, and we walked to the wall slowly. I saw it there in a stylized comic bookish black marker square border, but its details rendered in muted colors that looked quite old. It was positioned right where my back had been only five minutes before; how had I missed it? Perhaps, in the hindsight-retrospect twinning, the artwork had birthed itself during the playing of my still incomplete new song. Ayte and I stopped before the drawing, a few feet from its mind-frying meaning. "Are you ready to write the bridge now, my brother?"

(I took it as right the bridge, and then write)

Choreographed in absurdist but appropriate fashion, the other two voices repeated with "Are you ready to write the bridge now, our brother?" My eyes went deep into the drawing of four of us, where I had obtained their height and the other two were unmasked. We were together on a circular stage within the open edged lip of a classic flying saucer, giving a performance to an unseen audience; perhaps the artist. When upon turning I saw the other two had removed their masks and bore striking facial resemblances to Ayte, I was not as shocked as you might expect. They were bald, pale, with nearly identical features. When the mad throb and itch in my palm drew my attention and I saw something tiny and with pulsation just beneath the skin, I wasn't as shocked as you might expect. An implant. A memory. A timing. I stared at it and Fred began to become Fred no more. That strange moving and sinking sensation earlier, within the ornate oriental rug, began to shimmer shiver into my legs, and when I turned to stare at Ayte and met him there eye-level, I wasn't as shocked as you might expect.

The new I. The new I looked once more at my hand and watched the self-propelled implant with its tiny convex seed shape as it pushed its way out of epidermis. This is what proper music can channel, came the thought. (along with the first of countless notions to break into raucous dancing and singing abandon) I looked back into my brother's eyes and we shared our second handshake. A firm pressing of palms and a transition and return of the tiny alien sliver that had been with me for thirty earth years. With me, one of the chosen few. The selected infiltrator vessels. Sent by authorities I would soon know of and also strangely remember in a way that vacuumed time and history, clean.

You want epiphany? How about Aha - these are the true composers and it is from their channel that the humans dip and borrow, not knowing, calling what results as their own.

"I am ready to write the bridge" I told Ayte, (in my head I spelled it "right") and that is the story of how Fred passed his ultimate audition. Stay tuned for our debut performance, coming soon to a night sky near you.

#fiction surrealism

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