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chudleycanonficfest · 3 years

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Day 28, Post #1 by @floreatcastellumposts

Title: The Argument Author/Artist: FloreatCastellum Pairing: Gen Prompt: “Siblings: The only enemy you can’t live without” -Anonymous Rating: T Trigger Warning(s) (if any): Mild language

When he was a child, Ron had sometimes sat secretly on the stairs, feet in slippers too big for him, teddy tucked under his arm, listening to the goings on in the kitchen. Often his sister or a brother or two would be with him. This was especially the case when there was an argument, because they were a nosy bunch of kids, and they would grin gleefully at one another as they heard their mother roar over some issue, like when Bill came home with his first tattoo, or Charlie had done something dangerous like climb on the roof, or the many, many, many things that Fred and George had done. They would gather on the stairs and snigger and delight in their siblings being in trouble - that it wasn't them, and usually it was over something hilarious too.

Today was quite different. The stairs were narrow, so Ginny was pressed right up against him, but she was gripping hold of his arm too. Behind them, Fred and George sat in grim, stony silence, their knees occasionally knocking the back of Ron's head, but, remarkably, none of them were squabbling.

'Is it so hard to just be happy for me?' Percy was bellowing, and that in itself was unusual, because it was never Percy in trouble.

'It's not about that,' Dad was bellowing back, 'are you so naive? Are you really so foolish-?' This was unusual too, because it wasn't usually Dad bellowing.

'Percy... Percy, we're just worried, we're just concerned...' Mum was sobbing. This was unusual, because she usually had a bit more fight in her, not this desperate pleading.

'You're so cynical, the pair of you-'

'We're realistic! You've been promoted well above your grade before the dust has settled on the inquiry-'

'STOP BRINGING UP THE INQUIRY!' Percy sounded quite deranged; the ferocity of his voice made Ginny jump slightly, and grip Ron's arm harder. 'That - wasn't - my - fault! That was the point of it! That PROVED I wasn't to blame, I was acquitted-'

'Yes, and we were delighted,' said Dad, and to Ron's astonishment, his words sounded bitingly sarcastic, 'but even so, you have to see that mass scandal is not usually a precursor to promotion!'

'He SAW something in me!'

'Yes, he did! He saw a potential spy! On our family - on Dumbledore-'

Percy let out a maniacal laugh, forced and sneering and sanctimonious, it made Ron wince as he heard it. 'And you say I'm arrogant?'

'We've never said you were arrogant-' Mum tried to chip in desperately, but Percy continued talking over her.

'You think you're important enough to warrant the Minister for Magic spying on you? You think he considers you in the same circle as Dumbledore? More to the point, you think Dumbledore truly respects the likes of you?'

'Fudge has been going round making it more than clear that anyone who supports Dumbledore can clear out their desks-'

'Utter rot-'

'-He knows I'm friendly with him, he knows I have advised the school on muggleborn inte-'

'No one cares!' Percy screamed. 'No one cares about that stuff! You're ludicrous!'

'Ludicrous?' Dad echoed, with an uncharacteristic scoff to his voice.

'Ludicrous! Not everything is a conspiracy, not everything has an anti-muggle agenda - I know what this is really about, you're embarrassed that your own son is rising above you, is succeeding where you haven't-'

'Percy!' Mum's gasp was so clear that Ron could easily imagine her hand leaping to her chest.

'I've had to struggle against your lousy reputation ever since I started! Do you know how embarrassing it is? Do you know what it's like having people ask if I'm related to the muggle-mad Weasley on Level Two-'

'That's enough,' said Dad coldly.

'I lie to them, d'you know that? I tell them we're only distantly related.'

'What the fuck?' Ron heard one of the twins whisper behind them. 'Is he serious?'

'I never imagined I had raised you to be so small-minded-' Dad was spitting back.

'It's baffling that you raised me at all! You, who has no ambition, no sense, no idea of how ridiculous you come across with your obsession with muggles - is it any wonder you've always been passed over for promotion-'

'-Because of bigotry!'

'-Any wonder you've left your children to grow up in poverty? To be humiliated by the failures of their father?'

'Stop it! Percy, stop it!' Mum was wailing, and whether it was Fred or George directly behind him Ron didn't know, but their knee was trembling against the back of his head.

'It's not failure, it's a matter of principle and integrity!' Dad roared back. 'There are more important things than gold, that's what we've always-'

'You are deluded! You are so blinded by your persecution complex, by your victimhood, that you cannot be happy for your son!' Percy’s voice was hoarse and raw, whether from tears or overexertion, Ron wasn’t sure. 'You can't bear to see him succeed where you failed! To see him make something of himself!'

'Why would I be happy watching my son be manipulated and used? Make no mistake, Percy - this is no achievement, this is Fudge playing you as a puppet - if you're ashamed of your background, that's your prerogative, but there's no denying this family is known to be close to Dumbledore and Harry, and Fudge is waging a vendetta against-'

‘You’re an idiot to run around with Dumbledore!’ snapped Percy. ‘He’s heading for trouble - gone completely power mad the last few years - you know full well his glory days are over. You’ll end up going down with him-’

‘Fudge is fighting a campaign against Dumbledore when he should be-’

‘I know where my loyalties lie, and it is not with my old teacher! It is with my employer, the leader of my government, with people who look at the facts!’

‘The facts are that Harry-’

'Yes - Harry - here we go,' snapped Percy. 'You rank the word of a child above the expert testimonies and mountains of evidence brought up by the inquiry, above your own boss - no wonder he thinks you're cracked. You’re determined to see conspiracy everywhere-’

‘How can you say that? You saw the aftermath of what happened, you saw him-’

‘I saw the actual dead boy, I saw Diggory!’ snapped Percy. ‘Think what his family is going through, their child’s death being used as a political quaffle-’

‘That is Fudge’s doing! That is his choice! He has chosen to make a mockery of Diggory, to disregard Harry-'

‘To question the story of a teenager,’ corrected Percy. His tone was cold and quiet, the kind of sanctimonious "I'm being the grown up here, actually" patience that Ron found unbearably aggravating. ‘The only evidence is his word, it’s not unreasonable to question a witness. In fact, it’s a perfectly standard part of due process.’

Ron’s growing anger was now twisted with a kind of lurching dread. The snide little comments in the Daily Prophet, which they had all blustered and raged and gasped in revolted disdain at over breakfasts for the past week, suddenly felt sinister. As he thought about it, Percy had never joined in… had always been silent…

‘Percy…’ said Mum, so faintly that, as one, Ron, Ginny, Fred and George all leaned forward to listen. ‘Percy, surely you… surely you believe him? Surely you can’t believe he deserves what they’re saying about him? He’s just a child - it’s like the whole world’s forgotten that he’s just a child.’

'Yes, he's just a child - so why should he be the centre of everything?' Percy demanded. 'Why should he shape our family? Impact our careers?'

'Percy… if you had seen him in the hospital wing, if you had looked into his eyes…'

'Mr Fudge was not convinced,' said Percy, as though that settled the matter.

‘Has he asked you about Harry?’ Dad asked abruptly. Beside Ron, Ginny was shaking. ‘Casually?’

‘I - no more than is to be expected when you have someone famous living under your roof-’

‘What did he ask? What did you say?’

They heard a brief, thick silence, and a sharp exhale of air. ‘He… he’s not relevant to this discussion. This is beyond - this isn’t the issue - the only evidence is his word, as I said-’

‘You don’t believe him.’ Dad’s voice was blank, stunned, quiet. ‘You… you know that boy, Percy.’

‘You don’t believe in me,’ said Percy, and Ron could hear his tears now, the slight thickness to his voice, the sniffs between words. ‘You’d rather believe in some ludicrous conspiracy theory from a teenager who thinks he sees You-Know-Who around every corner than believe that your own son might have worked hard, might be talented, might deserve his career. You’d really think so little of me.’

‘That’s not it. That’s not it at all,’ Dad said quietly, and Mum was crying loudly. ‘We just-’

‘I don’t care!’ said Percy harshly. ‘I don’t care what you think! Not any more! Years I’ve put up with it, years! I’m going - I’m gone - I don’t want to see either of you again - you’ve made it clear that you don’t have my interests at heart, this was your choice-’

‘What do you mean?’ Mum shrieked, and they could hear the scraping of chairs being moved aside, thundering footsteps, Mum begging-

The door was thrust open, and Percy stood for a moment in the hallway, looking up at the four of them sitting on the stairs. His expression was unreadable. Tear tracks shone from beneath his horn-rimmed glasses, and his mouth was a thin, grim line.

‘Move,’ he told them.

‘You’re being a right bellend,’ said Fred at once.

‘MOVE!’

They did not, and Mum had come running after Percy, hanging desperately onto his arm though he tried to shake her off. ‘Come on, Perce,’ she pleaded. ‘Come and sit down, let’s all cool off and talk about this-’

‘Get out of my way,’ Percy told his siblings once more, and now Ron stood.

‘Harry’s part of our family,’ he blurted out furiously.

‘He’s not, Ron,’ Percy growled. ‘He’s your friend, that doesn’t mean everything he says is right - move out my way.’

‘How can you say that!’ Ginny demanded. ‘What’s wrong with you? How can you say all these horrible things?’

Percy started climbing the stairs, pushing Ron aside and stepping over Ginny, furiously struggling past Fred and George who immediately made their bodies as big and awkward and gangling as they could imagine, shouting colourful insults at him as he pushed past and thundered up to his room.

‘He just needs to calm down,’ Mum was squeaking. ‘Go - go to your rooms, let me and Dad talk to him-’

‘No chance!’

‘I haven’t said my piece yet!’

He returned just a few moments later, carrying a bulging bag with a jumper sleeve trailing out, a little line of abandoned socks and a pair of underwear left on the stairs. ‘I’m going to stay with friends,’ he said.

‘You haven't got any,’ goaded George.

‘Be quiet, George!’ Mum wailed. ‘Percy-’

‘Then I’m getting my own place, I’m not staying here anymore - I’m not letting you all drag me down with you. If you’re all going to be traitors to the Ministry I’m going to make sure everyone’s well aware that I don’t belong to this family any more-’

‘You do, Percy, you do - you’ll always be my son-’ Mum’s words were barely audible beneath her crying. Percy pushed past her, and stormed towards the door.

‘Percy!’ Ron shouted, and to his surprise, Percy turned and looked at him.

Ron could not find the words for his contempt, could not find an insult strong enough, could not decide what to do with the rage that was coursing through him. All he could hope was that Percy could feel it in his cold, hard stare. ‘How could you?’

Percy said nothing, simply looked back for a moment, and then turned his back and strode swiftly to the door. Mum was running after him, and though they heard the ear-splitting crack of disapparation, she stood in the doorway shouting his name.

Dad had not followed, and with a creak, Ginny rose beside Ron and descended the last few stairs. She peered through the doorway to the kitchen. ‘Dad?’

Ron heard a splutter, and then dry, heaving sobs. Ginny vanished into the kitchen. Behind him, Fred and George were muttering mutinously, swearing and cursing.

‘What’s he playing at?’

‘He’s an idiot. A big-headed, pompous, ridiculous idiot, we’ve always said it, we were right.’

‘Who does he think he is? Does he really think that promotion is normal? Does he honestly think he’s that extraordinary?’

‘Moron…’

Ron’s jaw was aching from gritting his teeth so hard, his heart was trying to break through his ribcage and go after Percy to beat him.

‘Do you really think he meant that stuff he said to Dad?’ George said. ‘It’s just…’

‘I bet he does, the git,’ said Fred. ‘I bet he really does pretend he’s not part of the family. He’s ashamed of us. Slimy, brown-nosing prick…’

‘All that stuff about poverty? So uncalled for.’

‘That’s it, really, isn’t it? He’s a greedy arsehole.’

‘Well, he’s certainly written himself out of the will now, hasn’t he?’

‘He won’t care, nothing for him to inherit anyway, apparently.’

That prickling, heated anger was back - his very ears were hot with it, he wouldn’t be surprised if steam had been bursting out of them. The memory of Harry, pale and shaken in the hospital wing, his hands gripping Mum’s robes as she hugged him, was lingering in his mind. ‘Did you hear all that crap about Harry? Did you hear what he was saying about him? Harry!’

‘Yeah,’ muttered George. ‘Pillock.’

‘Why would he say that? What the bloody hell is going on with him? He’s gone bonkers. When did he turn into such a - a -’ He still could not quite find a word strong enough.

‘Berk?’ suggested George.

‘Something along those lines…’

‘Easier than admitting he’s horrible, selfish, idiot snob, I suppose,’ said Fred.

‘Money’s always been an issue, but blaming Dad like that is just…’

‘Nasty,’ said Ron, simply.

‘You can make money without completely selling out and betraying your family,’ said Fred seriously. ‘You can do it and keep your integrity.’

‘He’s acting like we weren’t fed enough,’ said George spitefully. ‘Percy didn’t even get that many hand-me-downs, really - Mum and Dad were doing all right before they were hit with twins, and we all know Ginny was probably unexpected.’

‘Was she?’ said Ron distractedly.

‘Are you joking, you were only about eight months old, who picks then to decide to have another baby?’

‘Mum.’

‘Fair.’

‘Anyway,’ said Fred, ‘Percy’s not exactly been hard done by, not really. He’s just always been ashamed we’re not as well-heeled as his smarmy new colleagues at the Ministry.’

‘It’s childish,’ said Ron, who was feeling another lurch of guilt as he thought back on the previous year. ‘It’s really petty…’

‘We’ve all wished the family was better off now and then,’ said George fairly. ‘Who wouldn’t? But that was a seriously low blow. God, poor Dad,' he added, his voice lowering further. 'I'm glad Ginny's gone in to comfort him, I don't even know where to begin.'

‘Do you think he’s really gone for good?’ asked Ron.

‘Hope so,’ said Fred viciously. ‘Hey - one less mouth to feed now, maybe the family’ll be better off.’

'You know what else,' Ron said sharply, his brain whirring, 'did you hear him dodging Dad's question about what he's said about Harry? Good thing he's buggered off before we go to the Order Headquarters, isn't it? Who knows what he would have blabbered about?'

Fred was looking at him as though in a new light. 'You know what, Ronniekins, that is a really excellent and disturbing point. You're a bit of a bright spark at times, aren't you?'

'Brighter than Percy,' Ron muttered.

#chudleycanonficfest2021 #HP fest #submission #tw: mild language

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whenihaveyouromione · 3 years

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When I Have You - Chapter 45

Read on Fanfiction.net or ao3.

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Chapter 45

“Happy Christmas, you two.” Molly gave Ron and Hermione each a hug as they emerged from the fireplace on Christmas morning. Every Christmas she became a little brighter and cheerful, even more so this time considering all of her children had promised to come home — even Charlie — and two grandchildren to dote on.

Bill and Fleur had had their second child — another girl — Dominique a few months back, which had thrilled Molly and Arthur.

Where Victoire was fair with her mother’s hair and complexion, Dominique was every inch a Weasley from her red hair to her freckles and what Bill described as a feisty personality. Ron had only seen her a handful of times, and of those times, Victoire had expressed jealousy at anyone showing interest in her younger sister. She was of the age where accidental magic could start showing, and Victoire had not held back on that front.

A few exploded windows and an unhinged door had prevented Ron and Hermione from visiting Shell Cottage for some months.

But now she happily ran into the living room behind Teddy Lupin, both carrying a bunch of stuffed toys in their arms, presumably Christmas presents, chatting away in their kiddie speech.

“Gamma,” Victoire said to Molly. “You play?”

“In a moment, dear,” Molly said, stepping away from Ron. “I have some things to do to get ready for Christmas before I can.”

“How about you ask Uncle Charlie again?” George, who was sitting with Harry and Ginny in the living room, said. “He loved it last time.”

That, Ron surmised, was a total lie. Ron hadn’t seen his brother in a while, but by the look on Charlie’s face, he had no desire to play with Victoire and Teddy. Especially with stuffed toys.

“It’s a shame there’s no dragons to play with, huh?” Ron said, stepping around his mother to embrace Charlie.

“Yeah, but there’s a few stuffed ones in that extensive collection,” Charlie said. “Courtesy of me.” He grinned. “Long time no see.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “You need to drop by more often.”

“I hear you have a nice place now,” Charlie said, looking between Ron and Hermione, who was still by the fireplace. “In Nottingham?”

“We also have a spare room.”

“I’ll consider that,” Charlie said, clapping Ron on the shoulder. Underneath his shirt Ron caught a glimpse of a tail flicking up his arm and smiled, wondering if Molly had ever discovered the large dragon tattoo Charlie had across his body. When Molly wasn’t around, it usually stretched down the length of both arms and across his chest. But with his mother present, he kept it hidden underneath his clothes.

No one had ever bothered mentioning it to her, though Ron was sure even Victoire knew about it by now.

“We’re just waiting on Percy and Audrey, and then we can start with opening some presents,” Molly said, smiling at them all.

“Yay!” Victoire said, dumping her toys on the floor in front of her. She hurried over to the Christmas tree where all the presents were laid out and kneeled on the ground to stare at them.

Her restraint was admirable, Ron thought. He couldn’t really remember being two and a half, but he was sure he would have been far more curious about what was inside the paper.

Not that there had ever been that many presents under the tree before. As the family grew, so did the number of gifts.

Molly beamed at Victoire on the floor, as if watching her granddaughter’s excitement over Christmas was the best gift she could ever receive.

And to her, it probably was.

“You do know they’re not all for you, don’t you, Vic?” George said.

Victoire ignored him, her eyes wide and watching as if she expected them to move.

“Hardly any, actually,” Bill said. “Considering she insisted on opening ours and Charlie’s before the rest of you got yourselves out of bed.”

Everyone smiled, and for a moment, they watched her, perhaps all reminiscing about their own Christmases when they were children.

It was nice to think that Teddy, Victoire, Dominique, and the other kids who’d be born in this generation would have the chance to enjoy times like this in a completely innocent way.

Percy and Audrey arrived a little while later, emerging from the fireplace, covered in soot. Audrey appeared totally bewildered by the experience, saying something about how she could do that one hundred times and still not be used to it.

Percy cleaned her up with his wand, apologising for being late, but adding how much of an effort getting the Ministry to permit Muggles to travel via wizarding transportation methods had been.

Despite the progression the wizarding world had been making over the years, Muggle relations were still a topic with a lot of room to work with. There had been a large number of magical folk marrying Muggles over the last few years, which had sparked an inquiry into how much they should know, and if husbands or wives or girlfriends and boyfriends were to be introduced into magical society, how were they supposed to go about that?

Most people were in agreement that Muggles who married into wizarding families should be granted privileges by the Ministry to Floo travel and Side-along Apparition, but there was a whole issue regarding the Statute of Secrecy and the legalities surrounding that.

Ron heard about it at work due to working in the Magical Law Department, but none of that was his expertise, nor was it Harry’s or Hermione’s. Last he had heard, the laws were still against the idea, hence why Hermione’s parents couldn’t be Apparated to the middle of nowhere for a wedding, but perhaps because Percy worked in the Transportation department he had been given additional privileges for Christmas.

“Don’t you control the Magical Transportation area?” Bill asked.

“Yes, but that is a matter for Magical Law and there’s some incredibly stubborn people over there.” Percy looked to Harry and Ron, as if it were their fault that Audrey couldn’t travel to the Burrow at will.

“We’re Aurors, Perce. Nothing to do with us.”

“Not to matter, you’re here now,” Molly said.

“Pwesents?” Victoire asked suddenly.

“Just after your mother comes down from putting your sister to sleep, dear,” Molly said.

Victoire pouted.

“You’ve already opened four this morning,” Bill said, amused. “How many more do you think there are?”

“All!” Victoire said.

“They’re not all for you,” Bill replied.

Victoire pouted again. “Pwesents for me?”

“Some, maybe,” Bill said. “But not all.”

Ron knew of at least one for Victoire. Hermione had bought it, explaining that Christmas was a magical time for children and that she thought Victoire would like what she had bought. She’d also bought a gift for Dominique, who was only three months old and would be asleep anyway, and Teddy, too, who seemed less interested in presents and more interested in climbing into Harry’s lap. Ron smiled. He was glad Andromeda had decided to come celebrate with them this year.

Though, Ron was a bit worried about the growing bunch of Weasleys when it came to Christmases.

When Hermione had insisted on buying Victoire her present, he’d even expressed some of that fear. “So, if Percy and Audrey have kids, and Harry and Ginny, George, Charlie… if we have kids, you’re planning on buying for all of them?” Ron had asked her. “I mean, I’m one of seven. What if everyone has seven kids?”

“We are not having seven children,” was all she had said on that matter.

So Ron had supposed that the answer was yes; she would buy for all of them.

Soon Fleur returned, and Victoire insisted that she and Teddy start handing out the presents, and with help from Bill, the pair spent their time distributing gifts to everyone. Bill had to point to Charlie a number of times for Victoire, since she wasn’t as familiar with him and kept forgetting, but she seemed to know who everyone else was and trotted over, handing them presents. Teddy took the charge on Harry’s and Ginny’s, as well as his grandmother’s once she’d finished up in the kitchen and joined everyone.

It was an extremely slow process, but still a fun one now that the kids were old enough to be aware of what was happening. Victoire was excited, but the moment she received presents for herself, Bill was forced to distribute the rest, which went much faster because he had a wand.

With their wedding in a few months and most of their money going towards that, Ron and Hermione had agreed to not do much for Christmas with each other this year. But still, Ron had gotten her some new books about the history of goblin and elf rights he’d seen her eyeing, and she’d given him a season pass to all Chudley Cannons games for the next season.

It wasn’t much different from last Christmas, but both of them were pleased.

“You mean, you want to travel around the country attending the games with me?” he asked, grinning at her.

“Well… no… I thought you could go with Harry. Or George. Or Charlie, if he can. But I can if you want me to.”

“Of course I’d want you to come, but I know you’d hate that, so I’ll ask Harry?”

She smiled. “I’ll come to the one Ginny is playing?”

“That’s the first game,” Ginny said, coming over to them as the mere mention of it invited her into any conversation. “Just got the schedule before Christmas. You’ll be there?”

“Yes,” Ron and Hermione said together.

“Oh, great! I’ll see if I can get you guys some good seats. I think it’s being played in Holyhead…”

“We’ll be there,” Hermione said.

Ginny beamed. “It’ll be great if you guys can come. Charlie has even promised to get to a few this year. Bill said he might take Victoire to one or two.”

“Lunch will be ready soon,” Molly said, coming from the kitchen.

“I hungwy,” Victoire said, dropping her toys and running from the living room.

Everyone else slowly climbed to their feet and came into the kitchen.

Upon seeing the set table and the number of chairs surrounding it, a sense of peace washed over Ron. He loved Christmas. Even though he got to see his family throughout the year — weekly, really — there was something really special about this time of the year. He remembered Christmas as a child and how fun it had been, but it now seemed even better. Each year, the table grew. More chairs were added as more people came into their lives. Soon there’d be no room in the kitchen to eat at all and they’d be forced into the garden in the middle of winter.

For now, it was just Victoire and Teddy, but next year would it be Dominique? Or would Percy and Audrey have a baby? Would George meet someone he’d like to bring? Or Charlie?

Next year he would have spent almost a whole year married to Hermione, Victoire would be even older and Dominique would probably be walking around, too.

He was used to large numbers in his family, and it seemed only fitting that it would just keep growing over the years. It made each Christmas more enjoyable than the last.

Ron had never realised how much he enjoyed his large family. As a child, it had irritated him. He was the second youngest, constantly overshadowed and rarely had something that belonged to just him. But now, as an adult who was making his own way in life, he'd come to appreciate it more.

He appreciated his parents who had done their best, and each and every one of his siblings for who they were. Bill for always taking him seriously when he felt no one else did, Charlie for being the laid back brother who could cheer him up, and even Percy, who’d gotten so much better over the years. He was so close to George and Ginny now, seeing them on a weekly basis, which had never been the case a few years ago.

And Fred… well Fred would always be his brother and he’d always miss him. For as long as he lived.

But this new appreciation for the family he already had had him thinking more and more about what the future held for him. And Hermione.

They’d started their own lives together, in which he was so incredibly happy, and he naturally thought about their family. It didn’t exist yet, but he wanted it, and in the recent months he’d found himself wanting it more.

He wanted to have children with her — he wanted what Bill had — and he felt that soon would be the right time.

He was young still — they both were — but he didn’t really feel that young. He felt so much older and much more mature than people who hadn’t fought in a war at eighteen. He felt as if he’d lived a lifetime already and that he was ready for the next step.

But this was also something — for the first time ever — that he was too afraid to talk to Hermione about. They were on the same page about many things, but he felt that this would be something they weren’t. She said she saw children in their future, but he knew her idea of the future was still a few years away. She was so focused on her career at the moment that he didn’t want to ruin it for her.

She’d say it wasn’t the right time, they weren’t ready, and truthfully, he knew she was right. It just didn’t stop him from feeling the way he did.

“Hungwy!” Victoire said, drawing Ron back to the table. “I hungwy.”

“You’re always ‘ungry,” Fleur said with a smile directed towards her daughter, but she passed Victoire a plate of food. Victoire began eating straight away.

“Are you okay?” Hermione asked, nudging Ron with her arm. “It’s not like you to be so quiet here.”

“I’m fine,” Ron said, nodding. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

“Lots of things. Mostly about you.”

She smiled, and from across the table he saw Ginny roll her eyes at Harry, who just laughed to himself.

Ron didn’t care. He was happy, he was content, and he didn’t care if that pissed off the Minister for Magic himself.

It made him feel good.

…

A week later, they were at The Leaky Cauldron with a ton of students from their year. Harry, Ginny, Neville, Hannah, Luna, Dean, Seamus, Lavender, Parvati, Padma and a few others Padma had invited were all celebrating the end of the year. Hannah had invited them, choosing the place she and her Healing crew had been celebrating at for the last few years.

Ron usually didn’t care too much for New Year’s celebrations, but he felt this one would be worth it.

“You know,” Hermione said as the large clock Tom had put in for the occasion read one minute to the new year, “in one minute it’ll be the year we’re getting married.”

Ron smiled at her as she wrapped her arms around his waist. He drew her towards him. “The best year yet. I can feel it.”

“And another year further away from the past, and a step closer to the future.”

He kissed her.

“Aren’t you supposed to wait for the new year to do that?” she asked.

“Last one of this year, then I’ll kiss you again in thirty seconds as the first kiss of the new year.”

“You’re so sweet.”

“And this will be the last time I tell you I love you for this year, too.”

Hermione drew him into a deep kiss. He could vaguely hear the others beginning to count down, but he really didn’t care for New Year’s celebrations.

When she pulled away, her lips tasting of a few too many Butterbeers, she smiled up at him and said, “Happy year of becoming my husband.”

“I love you,” Ron said and he kissed her again. Their first kiss of what he knew would be the best year of his life.

#ron and hermione #ron and hermione fanfiction #romione #romione fanfiction #ron x hermione #hermione and ron #hermione x ron #hermione and ron fanfiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #hermione #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #hp fanfiction #slice of life #romance #multi chapter

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ichor-if · 3 years

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can you do some non-spoil-e facts abt each RO? 😊

Oli doesn’t believe anything bad can happen when you wash black clothes with colourful clothes because so far nothing has come up at all!! its all lies, trust them!!

They stress bake. If you come home to about 5-7 cakes, maybe ask what's up

Owns a night light. It looks like little mushrooms!! Reminds them of the beauty of the forest even in the darkest night

Umbra wears all black clothing. It’s a happy colour, why are people asking them if they’re sad all the time??

Sometimes they forget how tall they/their horns are. It has lead up to quite a few doorframe related incidents

They have no clue what the appropriate speaking volume is in a lot of situations. Yell back for their sake. Please don’t let them get embarassed over it

Lazarus will BITE when you romance them. But if you bite back they’ll pretend to be offended

Can’t swim. Won’t even try to swim. People like to pee in the water anyway why would they want to swim there??

They speak Egyptian Arabic, though it’s been a very long time since they had a proper conversation in it

Perce is a dog person. Can’t find a more loyal creature in a lifetime, according to them

Despite their rather interesting fashion sense, their room looks like nobody lives there at all

Always has a little notebook with them to doodle/quickly jot down thoughts

Ezra has a black thumb. They got a practically indestructible plant once and it still died way too soon!! They named it and everything!! It's a sad tale, it's a tragedy!!

Is absolutely horrible with spicy food please keep them safely away from it

They love cats, which is ironic because... well. But look at those bastards (affectionate)!! Small, too!! We love to see and relate to them!!

#TUMBLR FIX UR FORMATTING TOO ISTG #anyway this was fun #ask #anon #all ROs #I posted this and tumblr said actually u dont need line breaks lol

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infinitethree · 2 years

Note

Hello Atlas! I have some jewelry-related questions for you. What all gemstones do you have access to? Do you facet them yourself or do you get them already done so? And what all metals have you used?

Atlas visibly perks up to the extent that his wings follow along with it. He’s in what must be his own living room, sitting in a comfortable chair with a sketchbook on a lap desk. It seems like he’s sketching designs, including jotting down notes to the sides.

Sprawled on the couch is who must be Quizzy. Day’s earlier mention of him sleeping like the dead suddenly makes sense, because he’s face down in the pillows and doesn’t really look like he’s breathing.

Atlas, naturally, pays him no mind as a slight glint enters his eyes. “So, there are of course a lot of stones or stone-like materials that are native to this world; diamonds, emeralds, prismarine, ender pearls. Then I had to get experimental because I couldn’t not let Tommy and Tubbo Primes have their own ones. We settled on glowstone and redstone, if you’re curious. Ranboo is ender pearls. I source all of the ones for stuff related to him from piglin trades.” He idly fidgets with his pencil as he talks, tapping it against his hand.

“Then, once multiverse travel entered the picture–and especially more advanced worlds with higher populations–more unusual stones, metals, and materials in general started becoming readily available. I can get my hands on…pretty much anything you can imagine. I’ve run into things that are literally fictional or mythical in other worlds several times by now. Do you know how weird it is to name your store after a fictional material and then get to work with it? Mythril is really cool, though a bit hard to source. So, I mean…I’m not sure what the world you all are from is like? But I can fairly confidently say that I have access to more than you do. Especially because I can order things from various versions of the internet and have them just appear over here. Jacobs and Dee are more than a little scary when they decide to work together, but at least they had fun with rigging the system up.”

He pauses, remembering Dee’s unhinged cackling when he got the system functional. It had been more than a little unsettling.

“...As far as faceting…there’s more than just that, but I can guess what you mean. Some things I get finished already, others I do whatever I want to do with it myself. Sometimes I have a specific vision for what I want it to look like and it’s easier to make it rather than hunt for it. Then, most of the stuff for my family and close friends I do as much by hand as I can. It feels more special that way. Actual family jewelry in particular is sort of…sacred isn’t exactly the right word because it’s not literally holy, but–close enough. It’s special in a way that means I’ll do everything I can to make it as perfect as I can. If that means spending hours looking for a piece of lapis or amber that feels right, even before I make a single cut, then so be it. I can spend that much time on them because they’re so rarely done–once any given two of us have an item, that’s the piece we have. The only exceptions, so far, have been tweaks for the full family pieces needed to be changed to include Perce and Lee. A lot of those weren’t huge changes, though.”

His hand raises to his hair, to lightly tap one of the beads that are skillfully woven into one of the family braids. There’s clear pride in his voice when he explains, “I also do these myself. It was just easier at first–kind of hard to get your hands on this sort of thing when the nearest village is half an hour away and pretty tiny–and then it was more meaningful to keep that up.”

There’s a little smile as he remembers first suggesting family stones be made into beads to go into their braids, and how supportive the rest of them had been of that. Even when he kept messing them up because he couldn’t get them quite right, his dad had gently pried the tools from his hands after hours of work. He had told him that they were already perfect; that just by caring enough to make them, whatever the results were was more than worthy of being worn with love and pride by all of them.

He remembers trying to protest that they were messed up, trying to point out the places where it wasn’t right. His dad had just shook his head, and told him that he wasn’t understanding his point.

“Technical perfection isn’t worth it,” he had said, “if it’s driving you insane. I know it’s hard to get over wanting to make it the best it can be…but we’d rather you spend time with us and be happy than have beads that are the best they can possibly be. We care about you more than we care about perfection. Physical objects matter, yes…but you matter so much more. So come on; take a break, if nothing else. Let’s go grab your brothers and play a game, or I can tell a story, or whatever you want.”

At the time it had felt like both a revelation and giving up. Looking back, he can see the marks of his dad trying to make him happier than the first version of Techno he had known. It may not have worked–couldn’t have worked, not with his role–but that wasn’t for lack of trying.

It had ended with his family here, though; safe and happy in a way that they never could have been on the SMPza. Atlas had two little brothers, a lot of friends, and a store that never would have existed without his life having gone the way it did.

He knows that for a fact, because his dad and eldest brother have seen worlds where things went differently.

Yes, it had hurt. Yes, it was traumatic and left scars both physical and mental. But…it felt like there was a purpose to it. He could help cope with having gone through what he did by telling himself that, if nothing else, it had been part of Sanctuary existing at all.

Maybe it wasn’t entirely healthy; maybe it was a way to help him wrap his head around his dad not telling him and his brothers that he knew what would happen. Maybe it was a way to help him ease the anger that his hurt could have been avoided entirely if only they had been told.

Maybe it didn’t matter, at the end of the day. No amount of being angry and hurt could undo it having happened. No amount of guilt and regret on his dad’s part could, either, and…well. He really had made them all self sacrificial idiots, in the end. They were working on that, but it was hard to erase entirely.

Atlas blinks a few times, realizing he’s been stuck in his own thoughts for a few minutes. “...So, yeah,” he says, clearing his throat slightly. “I can get my hands on more stuff than I can really name. If you saw my main workroom, that’s just one of them. I have two others–one for working with molten metal, one for refining raw stones into beads or cabochons or whatever I do with them.”

#Asked&Answered #JewlerAtlas #long post #technically Quizzy is there too #but he's very asleep #dude just passes tf out and looks dead #Day is a legitimately good dad and he genuinely cares about his kids #he made mistakes yeah #but so did everyone #everyone is morally grey in some way!!!#including Lee #listen the kid has only 2/6 family members that AREN'T war criminals #technically he's one too #he just doesn't remember doing them #anyway Atlas sometimes gets really weird stuff to work with #it's great because I can reasonably say 'yeah he has a literally mythical material he works with'#ChronoTag

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naerysthelonesome · 3 years

Text

Time spent together

Just a bunch of 3am coffee-induced Litpollo fics (they’re all related)

Part 1

College AU

Lit (Lityerses. Poor boy) is staring at Apollo, the tall, tan, lean but muscular, paragon of beauty with the most beautifully sculpted face I’ve ever seen (And believe me I’ve seen plenty), who’s currently shooting hoops in the basketball court. Off to the side, giving him pointers he does not need, is the smart-ass, Annabeth Chase. All right! Maybe I’m being a little harsh, but I’m really only here to talk about Lit and Apollo.

Oh look! Apollo’s attempting a backward jump shot.

Whatever. I’m sure he succeeds. The boy just cannot miss.

Let’s get back to Lit, shall we?

Of course. OF COURSE the angsty gay boy, with absolutely no social skills, falls for the gorgeous jock with a reputation for dazzling smiles, and leaving behind a trail of broken hearts.

May they can both bond over having the two most ridiculous names on campus.

If only I could tell Lit he looks ridiculous with his jaw hanging open like that. If only I could tell him that his being distracted by Apollo has put him in the path of that idiot Percy and his skateboard. Alas, I am only the narrator.

Percy crashes right into Lit, and they both tumble onto the ground like the pin-heads they are.

At least that caught the attention of the two blondes that caused this. They both jog over, Apollo letting out a short bark of laughter and Annabeth looking slightly concerned.

“Y’all okay?” the boy asks, standing over the two dark-haired dummies, shining like an angel and looking more picturesque than ever with the sun behind him.

“I- uh- Yeah”, Lit sputters. Of course he sputters. It’s quite understandable, honestly. At least he accepts the thinly veined, corded arm Apollo’s graciously reached out toward him.

“Percy! How many times have I told you to please watch where you’re going?” Annabeth asks exasperatedly. Percy does have quite a hit list.

“How can I look at anything but you, when you make it a point to look as gorgeous as that”, he says cheesily, gesturing up at her from the ground.

That draws a reluctant grin out of the girl.

“Oh shut up Perce!” she say, then turns to Lit, NOT graciously reaching an arm out to Percy.

“Sorry about that. My boyfriend’s a ditz”

“Yeah sorry”, Percy says standing up and grinning, “My girlfriend’s way to distracting for me not to be”.

I’m gonna throw up. Or at least I would, if I had a physical body.

“You are okay though, right?” Percy says to poor Lit, who’s been subjected to this disgusting gooeyness.

“Oh. Yeah yeah”, He says, now brushing gravel off his pants, “All good here”.

Annabeth mumbles something to Percy about getting late to class and they rush off. I really couldn’t care less.

Except.

This leaves Lit alone with Apollo.

Finally. They need to start talking. Like NOW. I can’t handle them throwing more furtive glances toward each other, and neither of the oblivious oglers picking up on any of it. IT’S BEEN TORTURE. (I should know. I’ve been tortured before.

“Oh! But how, Great narrator?!” you ask, “If you have no body?”

Well if you had any idea of the rules of etiquette, you’d know that that’s an incredibly rude question to ask. Therefore, we will be moving on)

Oh My God (not that I have one)! They’re talking! Now look what you’ve made me do. I’ve missed part of their conversation!

“Of course I like literature”, Lit says with a scoff, as if it’s obvious.

“All right all right”, Apollo relents, and then after a pause, “Can I walk you to class at least?”

“Oh” Is all the Lit the love-struck fool can say.

“Oh come on”, the golden boy say, grabbing Lit by the arm and hauling him in the direction of the west wing.

“Wait dumbass. I gotta get my books first!” he says pulling away from Apollo.

He runs a hand through his curls, and a blush creeps up Apollo’s slender neck. Of course, Lit doesn’t notice. It’s like they’re trying not to see the tell-tale signs of fist love!

“Just wait here a second, and I’ll fetch them”, Lit says and dashes away without waiting for a response.

Apollo’s hands find their way into his pockets, as he schools his face into bearing a nonchalant expression. Oy.

There’s students milling about, gossiping and trading notes. It’s a fine summer morning. The wind is whistling through the big birch tree, and blowing through the hair of the two girls kissing under it. Oh look! There’s a lone grasshopper…

Well this is boring. How do other narrators do it? Where on Earth is Lit?!

Ah finally. Here he comes, three large books in his arms. The collar of his shirt is wet, and his face looks considerably less splotchy. Well that explains why he took so long.

“Three books? For English lit?” Apollo asks, his arms completely devoid of books, or any other classroom material.

“I get bored”, Lit shrugs as if that explains everything.

So English lit must’ve been what they were discussing before. Unless they were exchanging famous quotes of love and desire from popular classics, which I highly doubt, that was a boring fist conversation.

Ah well. They can make up for it later.

Our journey through the green and into the classroom is entirely uneventful. I would’ve thought Apollo, being the confident social butterfly he is, would have at least struck up a conversation with Lit, but apparently feelings get in the way of such things.

How tiresome.

“Settle down. Settle down”, the woman at the front of the class says, sharply rapping her knuckles against the desk. Her name escapes me…

Anyway, Lit and Apollo make their way to seats as far away from each other as they can manage, both looking slightly disappointed when the other doesn’t stop them. Dorks.

“Now as I mentioned last week, I will be assigning each of you a project partner. I expect you to put in equal effort and come up with creative and suitably appropriate papers”, Ms. Teach says, picking up a list of names. No, that’s not her real name. I wish it was. It would’ve been suitably appropriate.

She rattles off some names. Someone complains. She patiently listens to their complaint and comes back with a refusal. The student angrily flops into his seat, waking up the peacefully snoring person beside him. They glare at him, then at the class and Ms. Rap-knuckles. No one pays them any mind.

Lit listens intently and Apollo pretends not to. There’s a bee merrily buzzing around the classroom. It bangs against a window, then bangs itself against the window again. Interesting. I think I need coffee. I can’t drink any but it sure does smell good…

“Apollo and Lityerses”.

Oh. Now this is a great turn of events!

“Seems fitting”, Ms. Good-at-student-pairing says, with a slight smirk.

Lit looks surprised and angry all at once, his face flushed. Apollo looks like he’s trying really hard not to care, but his mouth is threatening to betray him and reveal his, already quite clear, happiness.

The teacher continues to pair off students, as Lit stares furiously at his book, as if he’s trying to ignite the pages. Apollo looks at his nails, then at Lit, then back at his nails.

A half hour later the bell, blessedly, rings. Lit’s hurriedly making his way to the door.

But why?? He’s going to have to spend time with Apollo anyway!

Oh good, Apollo’s caught his arm.

“Hey we should talk about the project”, he says.

“What’s there to talk about?” Lit replies.

Um… is his crush’s presence causing his brain to malfunction?? I wouldn’t really be surprised if that were the case, consider that his crush is the magnificent Apollo.

“You know… Where we’re gonna do the project, what topic we’re going to pick, et cetera”, the blond says slowly, as if he’s worried about the same thing.

“It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about it. You go shoot hopes, or dazzle people, or whatever it is you do, and I’ll finish the project. I’m not great at working with people anyway. You’ll get your credit”.

Apollo looks high-key offended for a second, but then laughs.

“Is that all you think of me Lit?” he says, “That I’m just some dumb blond jock trope?”

“‘Mythological retellings’ is one of my favorite topics to read about, so that’s the one we’re choosing for our project”, Apollo continues decidedly.

“What? You don’t get to pick the topic by yourself”, Lit snaps at him.

“Why not? What’s wrong with it? Too challenging for you?” Apollo says, smirk gracing his perfect lips.

Everybody here who knows Lit knows he can’t help but rise to a challenge. Now the topic’s practically set in stone.

“Of course not.” Lit says, resentful but stubborn, “Fine then. When do we begin?”

Apollo smiles wide this time, and I can see the blush creeping up Lit’s neck.

“Meet me at the coffee shop just off campus. 3p.m. Right after class”.

#litpollo #litpollo fanfiction #lityerses #apollo #toa apollo #toa #trials of apollo #unreliable narrator #percabeth #just a tiny little bit

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greenflamedwriter · 3 years

Text

Percy AU NOTES

Keith as Nico di angelo and Lance as Percy Jackson.

But Lance was never claimed so he assumed he was Hermes kid he meshed well with them.

But once Keith got claimed so did lance and then shiro their dads had some sort of rivalry.

They didn’t account for the three to fall in love with each other. After and intense mission to save medusa. For lance. Personophene for Keith and Ganymede for Shiro.

Lance is also adopted by aphrodite goddess of the sea which passes on her powers so Lance can make people listen and share secrets with him like a siren.

_________________________________________________________________________

1 Lance is really nice and open with people until he realises that both Keith and Shiro are Roman descendants and not greek so they clash a little, Keith insults greeks and Lance is offended.

2 dinner and theres a party and lance is in the middle of it trying to get the daughter of Athena (Allura) To dance with him and that’s when it happens. Shiro is claimed by zues and everyone applauds then Keith by Hades and hears other say (it was so obvious he was an emo) But then lance is claimed by poseidan and everyone just stops and stares. What?

3 Lance is mad, he was a hermes kid wasn’t he? He looked like them, he had the same jaw line and nose and they all got along so well...this had to be a mistake and why now? He blames the new kids and this is when the party Lance becomes grouchy. And Allura hates his guts because athena and poseidan are rivals

4 They get a quest (to save the victims by the abuse if the main three gods. Ganymede, Medusa with Aphrodite, Persephone)

5. Ganeymede. The boy who was stolen, raped and made into Zues personell wine waiter then demoted to a fate taxi cab telepromter. Boy he hates Shiro because who can actually hurt Zues? he is what clues them in on rape victims which narrows it down immedietly and when Lance realises that Medusa is next for him and Keith looks horrified that they're all related to rapists, but Shiro felt relieved since at the end of the day does it stop at ganeymede or will it keep going- they are giving tokens once they have won.

6. Personophene and Keith, Keith apologises since Personophene hates Hades he thought and she blinks “I’m a god, I don’t eat. Period. I knew underworld food would keep me trapped I hadn’t eaten in months and all of a sudden I’m peckish? Pul-ease.” Keith blinked confused.

“And I don’t hate you, you didn’t ask to be born. And I know Hades returns to me in the end.” Personophene brushes his cheek “You have his eyes, maybe thats why I can’t bring myself to hate you.”

8. Lance remembers his mother, and he always heard the tale of Medusa and thought it was sad. So when they go to the statues, and realise it’s people Lance keeps talking about how sorry he was and how being how she looks was to protect herself, Lance wanted to sacrifice himself and asked to let Keith and Shiro go to save kids. Medusa turns him to stone then aphrodite turns him back and medusa decides to fight against rapists and attack them instead of taking it out of posedions kids.

___________________________________________________________________________

Journey towards the west,

And save the tragic three,

Punished by thy fathers,

For their own luxary,

Succeed and save more lifes from this venture,

Remember to be calm and endure their gruelling temper.

__________________________________________________________________________

Lance hides behind a pillar panting with a cut down his cheek. Oh god he was going to die!

“Hey!”

Lance turned to see Shiro lunge forward eyes closed “If you want a fight come and get me!”

Lance gaped what?

Lance scowled and saw Shiro with the shield looking through the mirror, and froze, Shiro always fought in gladiator fights, he was always the hero the sel sacrificing idiot. And Medusa she was scorned by posidion. This was his fight.

Keith- he had no idea where he was but, he stood up from behind the pillar luckily seeing the hose pipe in the corner. He used it and yelled.

"Medusa!" He heard her move and shivered waiting for the attack.

"Lance no!"

He aimed his water and it stopped her short, only for a second "I surrender!"

"...What?" She paused and Lance took a breath keeping his eyes shut. "Medusa, I always heard stories about you, some saw it differently, that athena changed you so no man would ever hurt you ever again not in that way- but it didn't matter because men take what they want regardless of what you look like."

He was shaking his water diminishing "I may be son of posedion but I am digusted by what he did and want nothing to do with him, but if you want to take revenge against him by hurting me," he outstretched his arms "That's fine- just let the other two go- they did nothing to hurt you, you can do whatever you want to me, but please, let them go."

"Why should I listen to your pleas? When posedian and Athena never listened to mine?"

"Because you'll be no better than them, just a monster preying on someone weak for your own justification."

"I am nothing like them."

"Then let my friends go...please."

Medusa tiled her head considering "Maybe I should do to you what posediian did to me," she leaned closer the snakes hissing across his cheek and Lance trembled "Send you back to your god with the pieces left, to show him what he did to me."

"He wouldn't care, he has thousands of children in the roman camp, percy is his favourite." She growled "Percy ripped my head off and stuck in a drunk mans fridge." Lance grimaced "And if you kill everyone of posedions children it won't make a difference."

"True, but it'll make me feel better."

"Then you won't be different than your tormentors."

Silence

"You know nothing, demigod."

oops she was pissed.

"Look at that." Lance pointed, knowing in the garden and where he was guessing he was pointing at the right thing.

"What?"

"That is a child correct?"

"So?"

"Did she deserve it? Was she any different than you? Her mother or father here? Did they honestly come here to attack you-"

"Well...no- but they-"

"Please, Medusa, they are people out there that hurt others the way posedion hurt you, ones who deserve justice. But not here. Not in this garden- it's your cage."

"No it's my haven and they still come here and hurt me."

"Then why stay? No matter what people will still try to use you- don't let them. I won't speak for Athena but, giving you the power to turn people to stone with just a look before they could even get ten feet in front of you, making your lower half a snake, making your hair venoumous, Those seem like tools to me, to stop people from touching you ever again."

Lance held his head up high his body trembling.

"As a son of posedion I'll take responsibility, but posedion himself wont since he won't see he's done nothing wrong, you can't hurt him so you hurt others weaker than you."

"no."

"you're a bully medusa, if anything that's worse, because you want people to hurt as much as you but you should know better and know how it feels to be violated."

"Stop it."

Lance opened his eyes and Medusa was looking away covering her face he gaped.

"Medusa?"

He took a step forward and she hissed "Don't look at me!"

He flinched ripping his arm back "I...I am terribly sorry, Medusa. You- no one deserves that. But staying here...it's not healthy. To repeat this over and over again until another demi-god kills you?"

She still had her face covered and Lance bit his lip "Medusa? C-can I touch you?"

She didn't move until a stiff nod.

He took a hesitent stop forward then hugged her, his hands only around her stomach and felt her tremble.

"It's okay to be mad, Medusa." She was trembling "It wasn't my fault."

"No it wasn't."

She started weeping falling to the ground and Lance moved with her.

"You- you need token to go to Hades?" She asked them finally wearing her sunglasses and hijab to cover her hair, Lance nodded "If you don't mind- if not we can go that's tottally okay-"

"No, it's the least I can do and...leaving here would probably be best for me"

A/N Another thing, why would Persphone and the lotus people have tokens to get to the underworld? Like the lotus and Nico and his sister so did persophone not care or know they were there? I mean the lotus would've told her since they're bffs who's visitng perce for tea partys and Medusa? I know people think Hades/Persphone are good but there;s different sides on one hand they are like beauty and the beast on the other, perse is another rape victim. I know I didn't write this correctly.

I just tried to write it the best I can but Lance has a reason for Medusa trusting him, even though he's the son of poseidon.

___________________________________________________________________________

“Cone on Keith wheres your sense of humour!”

“Lance, no.”

Lance grabbed his arm and dragged him backwards towards the carnival with Shiro following behind. Lance pulled Keith onto every ride forced him to eat cotton candy but what stopped Keith from snapping at the kid.

Was when Lance played a shooting range gane and gave Keith a hippo.

“Only the best for the prettiest boy.”

Lance grabbed his hand and pulled Keith fir more open stalls with merchendise.

Keithseyes were shinning theough the whole trip and Shiro was able to watch it all.

Carnival leads to persophene

After Aphrodite crisis to pair the three up.

Lance jumps at the teenage girl sitting at the pool beside him, “So why don’t you try them, I know you like them.” Lance flushed “What?”

“It’s obvious, except not obvious enough for those two. Love does make a person go blind.” Lance shook his head “What no? Come between Keith and Shiro?”

She looked amused as he babbled “I can’t do that to them, they’ve been through so much.” Lance looked over to the two his eyes softening “Shiro has been hurt so many times, gladiator fights? It was compeltely barbaric and his hair is white- and Keith he’s a demon with a sword and can raise skeletons from the dead! Both are so strong but only vunerable around each other...they’re perfect for each other. When I think of Soulmates I think of them two...I hope I can find someone like them one day.”

“Like them? Why not just court them, I doubt the two would mind.”

“Making them pick each other or me? That’s stepping down.” Lance said unknowing why this stranger tried to sabotage Keith and Shiro, was she a siren? If so it wasn’t working.

She shook her head “No, it is possible to be partners with three people. I should know, Hephaestus is very accepting of who I am and who I bed with.”

“Heph- wait.” Lance’s eyes widened in shock as he looks at the golden teen properly.

She was big, round belly and thick legs and arms with golden healthy hair curling at her shoulders her face plump lips tilted into a smile as sea green eyes seemed to swirl, unnatural. God like.

She looked exactly like the painting, Venus stepping out of her sea shell.

She stroked his face “We share waters, both are lovers of the sea.” She kissed his cheek “If Gods could adopt demi-children, all of Poseidon's folk would be mine. Artemis can do it, why can’t I?”

Lance gaped “I can’t turn my back on poseidon he’ll drown me.” She smiled “What’s wrong with co-parenting? Do him proud by defending his name and waters and do me proud,” She nudged his shoulder and glancing at Keith and Shiro “By falling in love.” Lance’s eyes widened “I give my blessing, and I wouldn’t do this for a lost cause I stoke the fires for love. Never extinguishing them.” Lance blinked and she was gone.

The beautiful teenager, Aphrodite.” Lance stepped out of the pool and almost stumbled at the looks Keith and Shiro had sending his way.

“What? What’d I do?”

“What were you doing?”

Lance shrugged “Having fun at the pool what of it?”

“Why sid that girl kiss your cheek?”

Lance blinked at Keiths angry response, any other time he would’ve felt hurt but he paused at what aprodite just said, he swallowed suddenly nervous but had to ask.

“Why? You jelous?”

Keith scowled “Lets just go,” Shiro gave him a look then followed “Come on we’re on a mission.”

Lance watched the two walk away his heart twisting. Keith didnt answer his question.

Ganeymede they use their powers keith summons dinasaurs lance dives underwater to save shiro (ganeymede drowns shiro as zues cant save him)

Ganeymede “Zues is gay!?”

Both Ganeymede Keith and shiro raised an eyebrow “Ih yeah, who wasn’t gay with the greek gods.” Lance felt as if his whole life was a lie.

“I feel like I should know this as a fellow gay,”

Keith oatted his head “Your a newbie gay it’ll take a while to figure out.”

Now the weird part “We uh, this is going to blow up in our faces isnt it.”

“What?”

“Posidion, Zues, Hades?” Dont they think they’ll be mad

Thunddr lighting

You had to say it

Hades! How can you just stand there do something about your son!

Hades: i dont really care?

What!?

First nico now keith ? I dont care!

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takaraphoenix · 3 years

Note

y'know when someone picks on you everyone says 'oh they just like you'? Nicercy Badboy!Bully!Nico x Nerdy!'Loser'!Percy (swimming isn't considered a sport so he's already bullied for that). Nico doesn't know how to react to his feelings so he obviously starts bullying Percy. Perce has this cute schoolboy crush on Nico but thinks he hates him (Perce cries to Annie). maybe they end up at a party and kiss? Could you pretty please make this a one shot (you don't have to ofc!)? Just a thought I had!

Yeeah, I know that trope, I... consider it one of the worst thing heteronormativity has given us with its “he’s pulling her pigtails! how cute”. The narrative of “they’re hurting you because they likes you” is just no for me. ^^°

Though like. Different question: Where are you from that swimming isn’t considered a sport and being picked at for? SWIMMING? What. Can not relate to that narrative. òÔ°°°

(Then again, America is the country that doesn’t take soccer seriously and inexplicably ended up making it “that sport you drop your 10 year old daughter off for”, so... I suppose definition of what makes a sport cool vs uncool... varies...)

#Requests #Nicercy #PJOverse #Bullying #pisces-apjofan-andawitch

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goodguydanzo · 3 years

Text

Thanks for the tag @hidendumbassvillage

Name/nickname: Alana, Alan, Lana, Lan my name has range.

Gender: Non-binary, dude mostly

Star sign: Capricorn

Height: 5′7″

Time: 12:26

Birthday: January 19th

Favourite bands/groups: Um... Oh geez, I don’t know how to order these. Falling In Reverse, Glass Animals, Mindless Self Indulgence, Sleigh Bells, Hall & Oates, MGMT, Tame Impala, I feel like there’s more, but just off the top of my head those all stick.

Favourite solo artists: Kid Cudi, Joji, Tyler the Creator, William Maranci, Sufjan Stevens, Childish Gambino, Selena, Kendrick Lamar, Doja Cat,

Song stuck in my head: Nothing atm

Last movie: Almost Famous

Last show: Modern Family

When did I create this blog: Oh gee, I think 2015... damn I was living in a dorm when I made this.

What do I post: Naruto

Last thing I googled: otherhand german death valley

Other blogs: My main, a sad times blog, a blog for when I’m feeling femme, and most embarrassingly, a few other naruto related ask blogs.

Do I get asks: Sometimes I do.

Following: 324

Followers: 267

Average hours of sleep: Hmm I think like 8-9 hours

Lucky number: 5, 7, 12, 23 are my favorites, I don’t think they’re lucky though.

Instruments: Violin, Ukulele

What I am wearing: A Selena tank top in the style of slayer, a red plaid hoodie with no sleeves, and green cargo pants rolled up into shorts.

Dream job: I guess a show runner, but the more I experience the industry, the more I’m like... Writing and directing is gonna turn me into a piece of shit. I’d rather go home to share storytelling/filmmaking with my younger cousins so they can do something creative too. I don’t want to be overwhelmed by some corporation I sold my creations to. Besides I kinda want to go back home and take care of my grandparents while I still can.

Dream trip: Oooh, so I’ve always wanted to try and visit every continent. I guess a dream trip would be going around the world and doing that.

Favourite food: Um... Idk there’s so much good food it’s hard to pick a favorite. Spicy foods are my go to, and there is always hot sauce around me.

Nationality: Nez Perce, Sovereign Nations y’all

Favourite song: Right now Take My Hand by Matt Berry

Last book I read: Um well if it’s a book book, then AC Forsaken, but I just started the Invincible comics and that’s not as embarrassing as a first person pov video game book.

Three fictional universe you'd like to live in: 1) Star Trek, and I’d just live on Earth enjoying my holodeck never worrying about anything. 2) Um, ya know I guess I’ll go ahead and say Naruto. I’m a hard worker, fairly athletic, I’d learn some jutsu from somewhere and just go wandering around the world. If I die, I die. Plus there’s a chance to bang Kakashi and I’m not gonna pass that up. 3) Ya know what? I’m gonna say my own original world. Where there’s magic, and black jack, and the america’s equivalent doesn’t get colonized.

Favourite colour: Greens

Why I chose my URL: All the way back in 2014, around when I first started thinking, “hey that Danzo guy is actually kinda interesting.” I was teasing my brother who like any sensible person went “ew Danzo.” So I jokingly said, hey he’s taking in orphans would a bad guy do that. Moments later, I needed to come up with some uncommon phrase for whatever reason, and I thought. No one would ever say the words, “Hey there goes that good guy Danzo.”

And the name goodguydanzo was born.

I had my main as that for a couple months before I decided I didn’t want to bother my friends over there with all the Naruto, and made this.

I guess I’ll go ahead and tag @fineillsignup @hiruzensux @saengak and anyone else who wants to.

#lol I can't believe this started back then #like the little icon is probably the third thing I ever drew digitally #like technically goodguydanzo existed before i went to college #that's kinda crazy #well I guess we'll see if this blog makes it to 72 years #then we'll seal it away

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selfwriting-sugarquills · 4 years

Text

Heat in the rain pt. 8 Christmas at the burrow

(What a very un-christmassy Christmas chapter! I hope it’s alright that I focused more on the people rather than the activities, after all, there’s a lot of people to keep track of; I actually often wonder how the Weasley’s get through Christmas with the enormous amount of people the family would consist of today lol - hope you enjoy xxx)

Description: Reader and the twins go home to the burrow for Christmas and get to catch up with most of the Weasley family. Reader has a serious talk with Harry in the kitchen, as one does.

Warnings: none in particular

Wordcount: 1881

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

Christmas rolled around quickly, the days of December flying past in a haze of coloured lights, snow and too many cookies. Upon the 23rd, you and the twins set off to the burrow, apparating there.

A brief moment of feeling like you were being pulled and squeezed in possibly every direction at once and then a thud. The cold air outside the burrow filled your lungs, your hands holding your bag, the twins had appeared beside you roughly at the same time, both looked happy to be home and you would be lying if you said you weren’t happy to be seeing the burrow’s fantastically crooked frame, you’d spent several summer holidays here, every single one being part of the happiest moments in your life thus far.

The door opened as you and the twins neared the house, Molly appearing in the door, opening her arms wide as she went to greet you happily,

“Hello dears, so good to see you!” She said as she hugged the twins, moving on to you,

“Oh Y/n,” She said, her voice full of empathy, “It’s so good to have you here!” She embraced you in hug tight enough to choke you but you didn’t mind, you’d missed her motherly presence.

“Molly, please, she’s turning blue!” Arthur laughed as Molly let go stepping aside so that Arthur could welcome you as well,

“Let’s get your stuff upstairs,” said Molly as the three of you hung up your coats, “Y/n you’ll be sleeping in the twins’ room,” She explained as she led you through the house and up the stairs to the second floor where the twins’ old room was located, next to Percy’s where him and Charlie would be staying, she explained that Bill and Fleur were staying in Bill’s old room, Ginny and Harry in Ginny’s, Hermione and Ron in Ron’s,

“Thank goodness for romance,” Molly chuckled, “without it we’d be completely overbooked,” there was a twinkle in her eyes as she mentioned romance, her eyes drifting over you and George who seemed to look anywhere other than at each other,

“But come downstairs and say hello to everyone else, I have to get started on dinner,” Molly chuckled, you followed her downstairs, the twins behind you.

In the kitchen Bill, Fleur, Charlie, Arthur and Percy were standing in the living room, chatting and laughing with each other. Bill had his arm comfortable wrapped around Fleur who was talking to Charlie who was pointing to a new scar on his right wrist, Arthur and Percy laughed about something work-related.

You went round receiving hugs and exchanging hellos before sitting down on one of the sofas with the twins who excitedly asked Charlie about his scar,

“Got it from our newest addition, an antipodean opaleye, beautiful but extremely temperamental, she’s a real teenager,” Charlie explained with a snicker, his arm stretched out so that you and the twins could see the burn scar, “we’re watching her until we can move her to another sanctuary in New Zealand,”

“Why can’t you move ‘er now?” Asked Fleur, you noticed how much her accent had improved since last time you’d spoken to her, “Well she’s still a bit too young for travelling far,” Charlie said, “We’d like to wait until she’s a bit older, and has gained a little weight, she was in an awful state when we got her,” He said, rubbing the scar reminiscently,

“Another smuggler?” Percy asked. Charlie nodded, “That’s what we suspect anyways, we can’t be sure as she was apparently abandoned but then again that’s not uncommon for smugglers,”

Percy gave a nod of understanding,

“I didn’t know the department of magical transport dealt with smugglers?” Fred asked,

“Yeah, shouldn’t that be Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures’ job?” George added,

“Well it’s more of a cooperative job,” Percy explained, “since magical law enforcement catches them, but they’re typically using magical transportation and finally smuggling various magical creatures, meaning the paperwork is shared between all three departments,” Percy looked tired at the thought of the paperwork, which you didn’t question, he had a history with working tirelessly with his previous job at the ministry, though thankfully, he’d become a lot more grounded and even nice again after the war, much to the joy of the remaining Weasley family.

“We’re trying to work with the other two departments on finding a way to stop smuggling for good but naturally that’s turning out to be easier said than done,” Percy said, running a hand through his hair,

“You know, the muggles have an interesting contraption for catching smuggled goods,” said Arthur, “I believe it’s called a metal-detector,”

“Unless they’re smuggling a niffler, that’d hardly be helpful,” Percy said,

“Yes, but see they also have a way of tagging wild animals in order to track them, I read it in one of the books Hermione borrowed me,” Arthur explained, excitement over the chance to talk about his biggest passion shining through on his aged, kind face, “so, say if you started tagging wild dragons, of course not in way that would harm them,” Arthur said defensively as Charlie looked alarmed, “but with this little tag, you could build a metal detector of sorts, similar to the spell detectors we already have and use and catch the smuggled dragons that way,” Arthur sat back, pleased with his offer. Percy looked at his father, seemingly impressed,

“That’s not all that bad,” he admitted, “of course it would still be difficult in terms of the smuggling of eggs, but it’s a start, thanks, dad.” He said, clapping his father appreciatively on the shoulder,

“No problem, Perce, it’s good to know this old brain can still be put to use,” Arthur answered with a small wink in the direction of you and the twins, causing the three of you to giggle a little.

The conversation between the Weasleys was interrupted by the sound of the door and soon Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny appeared in the entrance. Arthur stood up and walked to the entrance but the rest of you held back, letting them receive their hugs and welcomings from Molly first. She seemed even more keen to reassure Harry as she said hello, holding onto him for an almost extreme amount of time as, even after hugging him, her hands remained on his shoulders as she told him how happy she was to see him. Harry had been a bit timid after the war, you supposed it was the survivors’ guilt which you’d all felt immediately after the war but it was no wonder that Harry had been brought down most of all by the deaths of allies and schoolmates. He’d taken to keeping to himself for a little until Ginny, Hermione and Ron decided to burst his bubble in which he’d kept himself under the illusion of ‘protecting others’ and ‘not causing any more harm’. He seemed to be doing better now, however, as he and the gang had decided to try and renovate nr.12 Grimmauld place to fit Harry a bit better, and because of this, you noticed, they all looked a little worn in the way that people do after doing physical work for an extended period of time though nonetheless happy.

As it became your turn to say hello to them, you noticed how Harry avoided your eyes at first, and at first you questioned this, then you remembered your parents; Harry had explicitly said during the war that he wanted as few people to suffer because of him as possible, so when random civilians with a past connection to the first wizarding war, people like your own parents, were killed he’d felt miserable, you suspected he’d heard of your parents. You made sure to tell him how good it was to see him again, hoping it would soften him up.

***

After dinner people settled in various places, Ron, Hermione and Harry were talking to Bill and Fleur, Ginny had sat down with Charlie who was recounting how he’d gotten his newest scar again, Arthur and - a mildly horrified - Molly sitting next to them. This left you and the twins who were discussing business with Percy, you four had stayed in the kitchen but after mentioning a prototype they were working on, Fred and George went to collect their plans for it, wanting to show Percy who’d followed them thus leaving you alone in the kitchen (after George had asked if you wanted to come and see as well, of course, though you’d turned him down on the grounds that you’d already seen the prototypes)

You stood up to get some water and when you turned around you met the easily recognisable, brilliant green eyes belonging to Harry who was standing in the entrance to the kitchen,

“Uhm...hi,” he said,

“Hi?” You replied, lifting an eyebrow, Harry took a hesitant step forward,

“Y/n I’m really sorry about your parents,” he said, looking down. You were a little shocked that he was so forward about it. You didn’t really know what to say, something about the way he looked so unsure himself made you step towards him as well. It was strange how much he sometimes still resembled the young boy who’d come out of the maze in the Triwizard tournament, scarred and shocked, you figured that moment would have been the beginning of his insecurity, if it hadn’t started before because what kind of child could possibly bear the pressure of being named ‘the chosen one’ at such an early age?

“Harry it’s alright, really,” You said, “I mean it’s sad-”

“I wish I could change it,” He said quietly, “all those people, dead because of me,”

“Not because of you,” You cut him off, “because of the war, almost all those people chose to fight, they chose to stand with you and they knew what the risks were when they did, we all did, you didn’t lie to us when you warned us it was dangerous, we already knew, so really it’s not your fault,”

“your parents…” Harry interjected,

“My parents didn’t get to chose this time, but they in the last war and that’s why they were targeted, because they had entered the first war, just as willing to die for the cause as we were when we fought, not because we were foolish or delusional but because it was what was right, and they felt the same when they made the choices they did, when they were targeted they knew that they had their past to blame, not you, Harry,” You took a deep breath, he looked taken aback by your ramblings but you had a lot to say, you knew he was guilty but this wasn’t something you wanted on his conscience,

“Harry,” You said, taking his hand, “you wanna know how I know you’re not to blame?” you asked and without letting him answer you continued, “because you’re a good person, Harry, everyone knows that you would never want anyone to get hurt, so of course none of us blame you, me included, because we know it was out of your control and that if you could have your choice, then there wouldn’t have been a war in the first place,” you gave him a reassuring smile, which he returned hesitantly,

“Y/n,” He said, tears brimming his eyes, he swallowed hard, “Don’t worry about it,” you said quietly, squeezing his hand as a lump in your throat prevented you from speaking further.

___

oof: Alright raise your hand if you also think Harry James Potter suffered from extreme anxiety and guilt after the war? me too.

___

Taglist: @lilcutekittykat @proflongbttm @silentexplorer18

#george weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader #George Weasley #Fred Weasley #fred weasley lives #George weasley fluff #Fred Weasley fluff #weasley twins #weasley twins x reader #weasley twins fluff #charlie weasley #bill weasley #fleur weasley #hermione granger #ron weasley #percy weasley #molly weasley #arthur weasley

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pastelgrungewrecker · 4 years

Text

Scarification

{Related to/Sequel to This]

The stark realization Whirl couldn’t cry shook the household to it’s foundations. He waved away the concerns, bluntly denying worry until finally he snapped- prosthetic hands curled into fists and molten-gold eye vicious in it’s near-devilish shine.

“I’M FUCKING FINE.”

He wasn’t, but like hell would he admit it.

Perceptor watched, as he always did, while the rest of their odd family unit worried and fretted.

And then, the day came he struck.

“Whirl.”, he called out quietly, “I need a favor.”

“What, shortstack?”

“I have an appointment- it might be a bit of a rough one, and I need someone who’s going to be able to drive if the painkillers don’t wear off in time so that I can be here when the kids get home from school, if it’s no trouble.”

Whirl shrugged, getting to his feet after pulling over his boots and lacing them on, “Sure thing, sweetheart. What kinda appointment is this? It ain’t that hormone doc, is it? I still say they can suck a whole fuck-”

“No, they have since been... handled.”

“...They’re dead ain’t they.”

“Wh-No! I simply transferred my care to a better physician reccomended by Ratchet.”

“...So no one would know if they died, then-”

“YOU CAN’T MURDER MEDICAL PROFESSIONALS.”

“Can so. Anyway, what kinda appointment?”

They had argued and bickered the whole way out to the car, already on the way with Perceptor’s occasional direction before Whirl remembered his initial question. Perceptor blinked, before pulling away the patch over his eye and tucking it into his shirtpocket.

“Scar reduction.”

Whirl raised an eyebrow.

“Due to the nature of my previous injuries, sometimes the procedure becomes a touch invasive. They use various methods to reduce the size and discoloration; and in the event of my chest, on occasion must venture beneath the skin to free up my respiratory system.”

“Eh?”

“They get the spiderwebs out of my airsacs.”

Whirl snorted, but nodded.

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Walking into the hospital made him tense soon after. He stayed close to Perceptor’s shoulder, squinting slightly at the doctor who met them- young, bright, but softspoken.

Perceptor spoke with them in low tones before sighing and unbuttoning his shirt. The doctor looked over to Whirl, and tilted their head with a small smile.

“Are you a friend of the patient?”

“Husband.”

The smile never changed, “Oh, excellent. Once today’s procedure is finished I’ll go over the aftercare with you, just in case! I’ve already informed Mister Drift and Doctor Ratchet.”

“Sounds good.”

They turned back to Perceptor, and Whirl’s eye narrowed. He, himself, was covered in scars; probably more that Perceptor given the... surgery he had received in his younger years.

“Mister Whirl? If you have any questions feel free to ask me.”

“Whatcha gonna do to him.”

“Today we are working on evening out the skin over his chest and checking on the healing from the last breathing issue we dealt with. He was having some issues with wheezing and tightness alongside pain and pulling.”

“Mhm, I remember.”

“I’m not sure how much of his history you know-”

“Served with him in the Wreckers, probably know more’n you.”

Something like alarm or relief was suddenly present on their face, “Oh! Oh that is excellent. May I ask you some questions, please?”

The squint continued, “Sure. But if I say I’m not answering, don’t be a shit about it.”

A confused head tilt, before realization and a pleasantly solemn nod, “Of course, sir. Do you know the extent of Mister Perceptor’s torso injuries? Finding any record on it has been... difficult.”

“There isn’t any ‘s why.”, said Whirl easily, “He was his own medic for all of it. If you need details you’ll need to contact Magnus.”

“Oh, wonderful- that will help a LOT in planning further treatment.”

A soft hiss from Perceptor, and they returned their full attention to him. Whirl watched the gentle motions, the careful way they handled Perceptor and his minute pains. And Whirl’s suspicious squint relaxed.

“Also, Mister Whirl- do you know the approximate age of Perceptor’s scarring, by any chance?”

“Kinda. Lessee... It was before Garrus 9, ‘n right after my veto...”

Whirl muttered to himself for a moment, quietly appreciating the patience the doctor showed before he was able to give a fairly close date, “Give or take a month.”

Honest gratitude shone in the doctor’s eyes, “Thank you so much! This explains quite a bit by way of how heavy the scarring is, and how widespread in the chest cavity it’s become. I’ll be sure to notify the head physician about this so we can modify your treatment.”

“Ugh, hopefully I won’t be the frog in the tin again.”

A soft chuckle, “Maybe only once or twice more; we were able to clear out quite a bit.”

“Izzat why you’ve been sleepin’ better Percy?”

“Precisely.”

“That’s good to hear! I’m sure uncle would be pretty upset if I made his old coworkers TOO uncomfortable.”

Whirl paused, “Uncle?”

A sad smile from the doctor before they bustled over to the small counter, plucking their necessities out of cabinets with some kind of muscle memory, “Yes, my uncle Sandstorm.”

“Sandst- oh. Aw geez, kiddo.”

“It’s alright! No need for the sympathy kiddos.”, they asnwered with a slight tightness in their voice, “But my uncle is why I went for becoming a medic, and went specifically full bore on this. Scars, even if they never really go away, deserve to be taken care of. Otherwise... well.”

A solemn silence fell over the room as Whirl and Perceptor quietly remembered old rules. The three D’s: Death, Dishonorable Discharge, and Dementia.

The third was always the worst, and Sandstorm’s case had been a pinnacle of suffering.

“So, now I’m a doctor- and, to be honest, I prefer to work with Wreckers like Mister Perceptor. Speaking of! You’re good for today, just some minor toning and double checking. Here-”

A small container put in Perceptor’s hand.

“This should help with the roughness of the skin around the scars themselves; and will help if there’s any peeling or inflammation. Keep them clean and use the cream you were prescribed last month and on your next appointment we’ll see how far they went.”

They turned to Whirl, and smiled, “And Mister Whirl? If you’d like my help, Mister Perceptor has all my contact information- unless you’d like me to give it to you for privacy’s sake.”

Whirl paused a moment, thinking. Perceptor seemed to not be paying attention, putting his shirt back on and swearing softly as sore hands rebelled against buttons.

Whirl nodded, and whispered, “If y’could, kiddo.”

A smile, a card slipped into Whirl’s hand, and a gentle squeeze of a steel forearm.

“See you soon, Sir.”

Soon turned out to be, ironically and quietly, the day after Perceptor’s appointment.

Whirl swallowed hard as he was called back, greeted with the same soft smile and a gentle hand on a steel-plated arm.

“Hello Mister Whirl, it’s good to see you.”, they said with their voice calm and smooth, “Now, let’s see what we’re working with- as much as you are currently comfortable with showing me.”

“There’s. There’s a lot, kiddo.”

“I know. But I promise I’m no wallflower.”

Whirl choked and snorted at the almost kid-like grin, “Proud of that huh?”

“Sure am.”

Whirl shook his head, then began tugging his shirt from his body, up and over his head and set beside him in a mound of rumpled fabric. Some of the scars were raised, keyloidal and gnarled- but most were dips and dents in the skin.

With hands washed and gloves on, the doctor began carefully inspecting each one, asking quiet questions about pain and soreness and time and cause and simply listening- even when Whirl’s memory seemed to glitch, when he could remember the aftermath and not the reason.

“Well, we have a few options with a good majority of them. There’s lasering, which is quickest but can have some side effects and pain, there are topical treatments, various kinds of medicated lotions or creams that can be used.”

“Huh, go figure.”

“My major worry, however- Your arms and your eye.”

Silence.

“Mister Whirl, I know what they’re from. And even though I will never be able to understand the kind of pain you went through, I do need to be able to see what they left behind; I can’t change the past, I wish I could, but what I can do is make things less painful in the future.”

“....Nothin’ leaves this room, right?”

“Nope. Not even if Doctor Ratchet tried to badger me out of the info. My lips and records are one hundred percent sealed.”

Whirl chuckled. He knew Ratchet would never try such a thing but... For some reason, the promise helped.

“Watch how I detach the left, so you can help with the right, okay?”

“Yes sir.”

First, he removed the patch from his eye. He winced softly, the sudden chill of the air biting against skin normally covered. The doctor’s eyes widened, and they got to their feet to scurry over to.. the thermostat?

“I’m so sorry! I should’ve turned the heat up a little when you walked in- temperature can sometimes cause soreness in scars usually covered.”

“That why I swell up in the chilly months?”

“It can be a factor, yes.”, they said in concern, “But it can also be a sign of scar tissue reaching far deeper than it should, which is worrying.”

“Well, full eye gouging, so...”

“Mhm, that’d do it.”

Next, the arms- high tech prosthetics developed by Brainstorm in a fit of anger at the status quo. First the left, and then he nodded for help with the right. There was no pity in the doctor’s eyes, simply concern and calculation.

“...This isn’t a good look.”, was the flat answer.

“Y’don’t say.”

“See how the scarring has lumped up here, and here? And calloused over here? That will have to be dealt with or we could be dealing with some sticky problems.”

“Sticky how?”

“Sticky like pus pocket under the skin.”

“Gross- Perce has that issue with his eye socket once, some kinda skin infection.”

“Exactly. Scar tissue is just skin, but.. bassboosted.”

“...You sound like my kid.”

“Well, its a good way of putting it.”, they said with a shrug, “The thickness and uneven development is worrying to say the least- do you have any cushioning in your prosthetics?”

“Yeah?”

“May I look at them?”

“Sure, you’re the doc after all. My husband developed them- Not Perce. Brainstorm.”

The doctor began to meticulously inspect the prosthetics, “I see- would it be alright for me to contact him? The cushioning seems to be slightly breaking down, and I’d like to give him the contact of our prosthetics department to see if there are other materials available.”

“Er, I s’pose. His number’s in my phone- but after I got my arms back on, maybe.”

“Good idea.”

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

Brainstorm was startled by Whirl’s sudden homecoming near dinner-hour; raising his eyebrows at the sneaky behavior his husband was exhibiting. Beating down his natural anxious reaction, he crept after him and peered around a doorframe into the... bathroom.

“Now, lessee... She said this one was for-”

“She who?”

Whirl shrieked. Brainstorm crossed his arms, hip cocked and expression flat.

“She who, Whirl.”

“My doc.”

“...Your what?”

“Perce introduced me to the doc who helps with his uh. His scars. She’ll be callin’ you, actually. About my arms. Somethin’ about the cushioning in the prosthetics, and gettin’ you in contact with a buncha medics who had other materials or whatever.”

Brainstorm’s eyes lit up, “Oh, oh really! Excellent, absolutely excellent- It was touch and go with the internal padding, I was terrified of what would happen if it broke down too far-”

Whirl blinked, hanging a towel over the bathroom mirror as he always did, “Huh, really?”

Brainstorm rolled his eyes, “Yes, dork. I love you and don’t want you in pain or sore all the time just to have the ability to flip the bird.”

Whirl fell quiet, humming his acknowledgement before pulling the patch off his eye and tucking it into a drawer, “Also, ‘M not s’posed to wear my patch all the time. Worried about temperature sensitivity and swellin’ and stuff. And they ave me some weird shit to put on the old scars on my stomach and stuff. Said it’ll help with evenin’ them out.”

“Good, you’re always in hell when winter hits and you know it. I’m glad you went and saw a doctor, Whirl.”

Brainstorm snuck in, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to Whirl’s jaw before the phone in his back pocket trilled angrily, “Ah, what do you know- a mysterious caller!”

Whirl watched as Brainstorm answered, chatting animatedly about “developmental roadblocks” and “possible consultancy”. He shook his head, turning back to try and read the tiny print on the container in his hand..

“PERCE, GET IN HERE THREE EYES, I CAN’T SEE THIS SHIT!”

“WATCH WHO YOU CALL THREE EYES, YOU BLOODY SASQUATCH, I’LL BE THERE IN A MINUTE!”

#tf #pastelwrites #humanformers #whirl #perceptor #unnamed doctor neice of sandstorm #the beginning of Lets Be Nice To Whirl

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augustpch · 4 years

Text

The Significance of BTS’ Dionysus

Note: Although it's a bit late and there are probably many theories about this song already, I still want to give my take. I was actually supposed to post this two months ago but didn't finish it due to my schedule. Also, I’m afraid I have to warn you that this analysis is really long.

All song on Map of The soul: Persona are unique and meaningful in their own way, but Dionysus is possibly the track that we need to pay attention to the most, for so many ideas could be interpreted from it. Not only is the song a certain kind of a statement from BTS to the public, but it is also important in term of narrative to Map of The Soul series. To understand the underlying messages of this track, we may look at what the myth of Dionysus tells us.

(translation of the lyrics from twt @doolsetbangtan)

PART 1 – The Allegory of BTS Phenomenon

I’ll begin with the origin of Dionysus and its relation to BTS’ career history.

Among the Greek gods, Dionysus is special as the only one who is half-human, half-divine. Granted that the tradition of consuming wine has been an intimate activity of human since nearly the beginning, the god of wine is one of the two “best friends of mankind” alongside Demeter, the goddess of fertility and agriculture. Rather than being regarded as the one who belongs in the upper world, he is consider to be a great god of earth.

In much the same way, BTS stands out from other idols or celebrities, who were commonly deified by the public and their fans. While the artist holds the reputation of being the divine, they openly acknowledge and encourage the mortal side. That is to say, they don’t establish a kind of relationship consisting of the worshiped (celebs) and the worshipers (fans), but communicate with us like a person to a person, reducing the distance separating the gods from the followers.

BTS are not preoccupied with maintaining a certain image constructed to impress the audience. They aren’t afraid to show weaknesses, flaws, and worries, coming across as not different from us normal people. The band speaks with sincerity and eliminates the boundaries between the state of being divine and human. This closeness is what tightens the bond they have with ARMY. For this reason, BTS is also “the best friend of mankind” just like Dionysus.

What is more, the story of Dionysus’ life from birth to death can precisely represent BTS’ journey into the world of music. The myth covers the concept of embarking on a journey as a sign of entering adulthood, battling against the non-believers, and transcending suffering and death—or like this part of Yoongi’s verse:

“Born as an idol, then reborn as an artist.”

BTS’ success in breaking into America is how they proved themselves to those who looked down on them in the past. Nonetheless, they still can’t avoid the same old unwelcoming attitude, now coming from another industry. The fight against racism, xenophobia, and the attempts to damage their position at the top still goes on, and they will have to continue to find a way to survive it.

The same scenario happens to Dionysus. When the god reaches his hometown, the king of Thebes, Pentheus, who is actually his cousin but doesn’t recognize him, thinks that Dionysus and the maenads are “queer,” “objectionable,” and “should be stopped” (familiar, isn’t it?) No matter how Dionysus tries to persuade Pentheus, he strongly refuses to acknowledge him as his god. The king’s final destination is far from favorable, as he rejects and insults the divine.

This raises some questions: Is the king “blindness” towards Dionysus’s divinity “ignorance” or “prejudice”? Which one, then, defines people reaction when hearing BTS’ name? Regardless of the answers, those who dare to threaten the god will eventually meet their doom like Pentheus. It doesn’t matter what opinion you have against them, BTS is here to stay, they’re here to celebrate. And that’s exactly what the Greeks do to worship Dionysus. The god’s glorified resurrection was celebrated by doing plays in theater.

Similarly, performing Dionysus is how BTS proclaims their victory over the sufferings they have experienced, which made them stronger and shine brighter ever than before. The stage is the theater for their play, and we are the audience invited to witness their glory.

I’m at the door of the world now

The loud cheers I hear as I step onto the stage

Can’t you see my stacked broken thyrsus

It’s only now that I am born again

The myth of the god of wine therefore is the perfect allegory for BTS’ story. It’s suitable that the track was placed at the end of the album because it shows that this is where they ended up being after the long journey over the past 6 years. It’s also the fact that BTS chooses not to be resentful towards their past; they’d rather celebrate it, meaning they are not willing to let any obstacles restrain them. This song is a way to present themselves as the greatest boy band in the world. Whether you agree or not, one thing still stands: it’s certain that you won’t be able to escape from them.

Breaking a new record is a race with myself, a race, yeah

Raise the glass of celebration, one shot

But I’m still thirsty

What

PART 2 –Enjoyment & Pain

Since Dionysus is a symbol of wine, it’s impossible not to discuss about alcohol as a coin with two sides: it can give rise to both enjoyment and pain. Dionysus can be, as he was sometimes regarded, “the god of holy inspiration,” motivating people to act bravely or creatively, but at the same time he can be cruel, driving men on to madness and frightful deeds. His character clearly depicts that of alcohol.

The dynamic between enjoyment and pain in alcohol illustrates that it’s not possible to enjoy something without experiencing any resistance or limit. This leads to the conversation about two relationships: one between BTS and their audience, the other one between art and artists.

Comparing BTS to wine is pretty accurate. There is no need to say more about how much fun, joy or inspiration they can offer to their fans. And who are the ones that are the most drunk in BTS? While Dionysus has the maenads, BTS has us, ARMY. Our force and dedication for the artist is unstoppable to the point of madness.

All drink, drink, drink, drink my glass, ay

All fall, fall, fall for a mad artist

Still, one thing that needs to be noted is the opposite side of the situation, for as much as BTS offers immeasurable satisfaction and amusement, there can be a few drawbacks as well. This is an appropriate occasion to bring back “Pied Piper,” a critical and playful track about the negative effects of falling into the BTS loophole. It’s the same as getting drunk at a party knowing that you’re risking to be late or miss work the next day. In addition, too much dose of BTS can lead to excessive obsession and the loss of decency, the kind of behavior we see in sasaengs/stalkers.

Though I’m a bit dangerous, I’m too sweet

I came to rescue you, I came to ruin you

In this way, BTS has beneficial and destructive side. In them there exists the ability to generate enjoyment and pain like alcohol. And while the band is the best gift to those who appreciates them, they are also the industry’s worst nightmare.

BTS climbed their way up and succeed without any external help and cheating, which makes some people really mad so they are trying every way imaginable to undermine them. Some even enjoy doing it without realizing that in such a way they are somewhat addicted to the artist instead. Even this kind of obsession is still an indicator that those antis are being under the influence of the wine called BTS. After all, it has been said before that a hater in a way is a fan too. This highlights the fact that BTS needs not to fear or worry about antis because making people mad is Dionysus’ specialty. Without this characteristic, BTS cannot be like wine/the god of wine. Considering this, we may say that haters are not actually ruining BTS but making them who they are (by giving them the quality that constitutes their identity.) That’s one way to look at it.

I’m going to move on briefly to the relationship between art and its creators. Art to artists is the same thing as what BTS is to ARMY. It was already stated in the lyrics. The song clearly addressed the pain of creative process, for it’s not something that can be avoided.

Drink it up (the pain of creating)

One sip (the scolding of society)

Drink it up (the communication with myself)

One sip (Okay now I’m ready to sho)

For both artists and consumers, art indeed produces pleasure as well as comfort, but the agony that artists have to endure before they can create a work is tremendous. And isn’t that often pain itself is what gives birth to a work of art? Here I quote Herman Hesse’s Steppenwolf:

“Thus, like a precious, fleeting foam over the sea of suffering arise all those works of art, in which a single individual lifts himself for an hour so high above his personal destiny that his happiness shines like a star and appears to all who see it as something eternal and as a happiness of their own.”

The song itself is a proof to this statement. BTS have been through so much to reached where they are today, and thus “Dionysus” pays homage to their hardships. In a way, those difficulties are what enables them to fully cherish the value of their achievements and provides them with inspiration for their works.

All in all, the two cases associated with the theme of enjoyment and pain point towards the idea that joy and suffering can co-exist in one thing and cannot be separated. We’d better embrace this truth so that maybe we can profit from the two of them. This can be applied to several aspects in life as well.

PART 3 (END) - What the Song May be Telling Us

So, where do we go from here? Where do all of the topics I’ve mentioned above come together? As Map of The Soul: Persona refers to, according to Carl Jung’s theory, “the aspect of someone's character that is presented to or perceived by others,” Dionysus is a song that speaks about what can obviously be seen about BTS: the story about their success, their fans, the obstacles they face as an artist. These seem to belong to BTS’ persona.

Meanwhile, the song also lets us get a glimpse of more serious topics that might appear in the next comeback. There are clues to possible discussion about the bad side of their fame or the path they walk on, together with how they have or have not come to term with it. This might be the overall message of the upcoming album. BTS might also talk about how they identify themselves as an individual and as a superstar —the struggle to find a balance between being a god and being a human —or about the hidden negative part of themselves, as it was included in the definition of shadow.

It’s also interesting that Dionysus wasn’t called an outro, which may mean that the song is a kind of a transition into the next album. Because Map of The Soul is a journey into oneself, all parts in this series are connected to the same path. This track is like a checkpoint leading us to the next destination. And the whole series itself seems to be the representation of the self (That’s probably why we only have hints about persona, shadow and ego). Compared to the LOVE YOURSELF series, divided into parts with different themes and tones as it narrates a sequence of an event, each album from Map of the Soul is likely to be integrated into one big part, which I would say makes sense to me #.

#bts #dionysus #bangtan #bangta boys #bangtan universe #bts theory #bu theory #map of the soul: shadow #map of the soul : persona #map of the soul #mots shadow #mots persona

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theamberfang · 4 years

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Scatterbrain; Journal 565

My mind was pretty all-over-the-place today. Maybe part of that was being inspired by that new video essayist I found. This active state of mind resulted in those musings about one specific Fall Guys minigame. I don’t even play the game: just a bit of watching people play it. It’s not a particularly complicated game though, so I feel like I can confidently discuss game design things about it. I must say it’s quite a demonstration of how much of nerd I am when it comes to game design.

Of course, there was more to this [over]active mind thing than just getting to Ramble about something. For one, I had a notable “oh this is really solid evidence of me probably having ADHD” moment. As I mentioned last night, I’ve been watching VODs of a Them’s Fightin’ Herds tournament. But while I was watching, my mind just wandered off to think about how fighting game matches have parallels to tennis matches. In both, a whole match consists of a series of games which are, themselves, divided into discrete parts. I then went on to look up why the hell “love” means “zero” in tennis.

Back to being inspired by watching a new [to me] video essayist, I also had more philosophical trains of thought: primarily my perspectives on consciousness and the self. I’m not sure how well I can explain it here because I’m just not...in it, so to speak. Like, my mind isn’t on the topic; I just know that it was.

Hmm, I guess that’s sort of illustrative. My thoughts were related to how I’m not really conscious of everything that I’d describe as being “me”. So many of my thoughts and actions are determined by subconscious thoughts, feelings, and memories. It’s a whole lot of stuff that I have little-to-no direct, conscious control over, yet I’d still claim it all as part of my self. And in a similar manner to the trust I extend to myself across time, I’ve been learning to simply trust my subconscious self. Railing against my subconscious is what I suspect generates a lot of anxiety and stress.

This journaling isn’t even really a means of “controlling” that subconscious either. This is something I had expressed to a friend through messenger and I’m not sure if I reiterated it here, but I think of journaling more as a diagnostic tool. This journal is a space for me to write whatever I want, off the cuff, with bare minimum premeditation. Even if these words are but mere reflections on the surface of my subconscious, it’s still something. My consciousness then mulls over these words, thoughts, and feelings, then plans and deliberates and passes all of that off to my subconscious to process and deal with. This is largely where the trust comes in; I simply trust my subconscious to do things with my more conscious thoughts, plans, and actions. And it’s not that I even trust the results to be “good”—the concept of “goodness” here is arbitrary and often anxiety-inducing anyway; I just trust things to happen and I’ll see how it goes, trusting future-me to deal with it.

The way I’ve been discussing this makes it seem like I view myself as two distinct entities or something, but I’ll reiterate that I consider it all part of the same self. Though I described it as “passing things back and forth,” my consciousness and subconsciousness operate simultaneous and continuously. Well, except when I’m unconscious I suppose; then it’s all the latter. All the more to trust it though; the alternative is to think nothing is going on while I’m sleeping—and people spend a whole lot of time sleeping. It’s not like they’re that distinct either. There are those times when I take a moment to really interrogate what I think or feel about something, which I imagine is me reaching further into my own consciousness. So I think of it as more of a spectrum between consciousness and subconscious. And all of it is “me”.

And all of this trust in subconscious, my self, is related to the way that we can’t really be certain of the nature of things. Like, how everything I know is based on my own thoughts and perceptions. My understanding of everything does not and cannot exist outside of my self. Can one really trust their perceptions of things to be “truth”? I’d say it’s a pointless exercise. It’s impossible to do otherwise, so I’ve found it best to trust what I have to work with.

I’m not even sure if that made sense. I’ll just go to bed now.

#daily journal #personal #philosophy

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nehswritesstuffs · 5 years

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The Thick of UNIT - Part XL

You know how it is when you laugh at your own jokes? I caught myself doing a lot while writing this one and hopefully it gets you to laugh as well, fair reader, as we’ve had a lot of heavy chapters as of late.

Chapter Index - FFN - AO3

When the Director’s away, even for a day, of course things plan on absolutely driving those left to find solace in coffee and bollockings. [Malcolm/Kate, a Malcolm Tucker working in UNIT AU]

“I’m tellin’ yeh, Malc: come on up and we can head over to Jeanette’s brother’s in Ross and yeh can watch me get shitfaced and stare directly into the fucking sun. It’ll be a fucking laugh as any.”

Malcolm glanced over at his mobile, where he had Jamie on speaker so he could continue typing his scathing email review of Shaw, and raised an eyebrow. “I’d prefer to not be in the middle of arse-fuck nowhere with you and George—if that ain’t a disaster waiting to happen, I don’t know what the fuck is.”

“You can see it best up there! M’boys are coming too and you can bring Kate’s son along; Ken and Perce want to visit with their Uncle Malc and meet their new cousin at some point.”

“I’m still not going to Scotland—not for this,” Malcolm said. He took the call off speaker and put the mobile to his ear, turning away from the email so that he could look over the atrium. “It’s a fucking solar eclipse, Jamie. We’re getting it down here too.”

“Yeah, but totality will be higher up here.”

“You’re as subtle as a fucking balaclava.”

“What the fuck do you mean I’m as fucking subtle as a fucking balaclava?!”

“You just want to get me fucking back to all the old haunts and convince me to move back,” Malcolm frowned. He observed a couple molemen—they were flirting on the fucking job, as if he could fucking scold them for it—and shook his head despite the fact his friend could not see the action. “I can’t go back to Scotland… not now.”

“There’s UNIT up here, so is Kate’s mam, your mam, your sister, you can raise that nip you were telling me about in a sane place…”

“Glasburgh would be a demotion at this point, Kate’s mam hasn’t recognized her own daughter in years, my mam won’t take fucking help from no one, and if we leave with the nip then we’d have more to deal with than just some hurt feelings.”

Jamie grunted in frustration—he was found out and shut the fuck down. “You’re a fucking hard sell, you know that? Used to be all I needed to say was that if we got on a sleeper train we could watch George’s pub shinty team try to play while standing upright, but now trying to find an excuse to come up without being work-related is like finding a non-bent Etonian. I doubt you’d even come up this way for the nip’s sake at this point.”

“It won’t always be like this, I promise,” Malcolm said. He was beginning to regret telling Jamie about his and Kate’s pending adoption, though was increasingly glad that he had so far withheld the child’s origins, as he was flipping his shit at the prospect of a normal human child to turn into another version of them. Knowledge of potential for any extraterrestrial insanity might push things over the fucking edge. “Maybe once the kid’s a bit older and Kate and I are retiring we can move, but not now. Lexie’s here with a lad who wants to avoid his folks, Kanda and Gordon are getting hitched while they’re trying to get established in their careers, Fiona is already volunteering for babysitting duties between classes…”

“Alright, alright, I get it, I get it; fuck, Malc… you’re getting soft as an old, married cunt.”

“I’m not soft.”

“When was the last time you had a proper shout? Like, just find the nearest tit or bint and just rip into them like they’re a Christmas fucking turkey and you’re a half-starved dog?”

“Last month—one of my staff almost leaked some classified shit from the 60s that’s not available for public knowledge for another hundred years at least.”

“…and the time before that?”

“Before Christmas—molewoman almost fucked a member of a fringe group that wants to expose us as a general waste of taxpayers’ money.”

“See? You’re getting docile. All this domestic shite is making you lose your touch.”

“No, I’m just used to working with more fucking competence these days. How fucking often do you have to have a shout at your staff?”

“Yeah, but I at least got to hire the pieces of shit around here—you had no say in any of them there, or am I remembering this wrong?”

“You remember right; I’d get rid of the one, but he’s been here too long to touch so I have to deal with him being a limp fucking sack between bollockings and negative performance reviews.”

“Soft as a pot of overcooked pasta, a soggy bottom on an Empire biscuit, an over-warmed munchie box, a marzipan dildo…”

“You take that back! That’s my fucking line!”

“Make me, yeh useless fucking toothless shark.” Malcolm could hear the smirk in Jamie’s voice; it made him want to reach through the phone and smack him.

“Fuck off.”

“Gladly—chat you up later, mate. Jeanette says to cunt off.”

“Your words, not hers.”

They ended the phone call and Malcolm shut his mobile up in his desk drawer. Few things were like talking to Jamie—he was always reminded of good days and bad days, ones that could have been, those that he wished could have happened, and those that should have happened but didn’t because they were in such different times. There had been no playmates for him to give Jamie’s bairns—maybe just a couple years of babysitting at best—no shared milestones, no nothing of the sort, and he wasn’t going to go all the fucking way up to Scotland just to be reminded of that. His mobile rang inside the drawer; fuck it.

Malcolm signed back into his computer and, after tabling his evisceration of Shaw for when he wasn’t so frustrated, began typing away at a report he was due to hand over to someone at Transport regarding a rerouted train (they were owed at least an explanation from him after all the years they were nominally decent to work with) and ignored his mobile for a second time. He wasn’t in the fucking mood for Jamie’s shenanigans.

…except the third time, his attention was caught. He opened up the drawer and saw Fiona’s number on the caller ID.

Fuck.

“Yeah? What’s up, kiddo?” Yeah, try to sound natural, as though there had not just been five whole minutes of pointedly ignoring her. He heard her sniffle and something in the back of his mind went on alert. “Are you alright? Did you catch something?”

“I’m staying with you and Mum,” Fiona stated, sounding more cross than anything else. “Fuck this school and its inability to let me get anything done.”

“Fiona, lass, I thought you were saying that you were going to stick it out just until summer.”

“I was, but I can’t take it anymore, Malcolm. If I get asked about Ferrero Financial one more time I am going to bloody scream.”

“All talk of moving back into the house have to go through your mam,” Malcolm said. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes—he was too tired for this. “Why don’t you call her?”

“I tried, but she won’t answer. I think she’s in the Archive.”

“It’s still her house, not mine.”

“Can you make the case for me? Please?”

“I can’t promise anything, not on this.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” Malcolm could detect the sass in Fiona’s voice—she was going to be fine. “How late are you and Mum working tonight?”

“We both get out at five today, but it begins changing after that,” he explained. “What I’ll fully accept in slow news cycles I am paying for with bizarrely shitty shifts.”

“Oh shit, got to go; talk to you later, love you, bye!” Fiona said quickly before ending the call. Malcolm stared at his mobile, watching as the main screen popped back up again.

“It’s called a mobile telephone and it is used to make phone calls from anywhere without cranking a box,” Aparajita sniped as she came into the room. She placed some papers and a cuppa on Malcolm’s desk, taking delight in how ruffled he was getting.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he grunted. “Longest fucking errand run I’ve ever seen.”

“I took a whole fucking holiday, thank you very much,” she shot back. She watched as he kept staring at his mobile as he reached for his tea, the expression on his face extremely curious. “Alright, I’ll bite: who was that on the other end?”

“Fiona; the lass has had enough of her wee school mates and professors, I think.”

“How is that so surprising?”

“At first I didn’t even answer the call—thought it was Jamie calling me back to try to work on me a bit more—but just the way she was talking to me… she said she loved me before hanging up.”

“…and…? She was calling you for help or advice or whatever; it means she trusts you, and oftentimes you’ll find those two together.” Aparajita smirked as she watched Malcolm shift uncomfortably in his seat. “You better get used to it—Oswald’s spawn is going to be telling you that before you realize it and I need you to still be able to function afterwards. Did she have to hang up quick?”

“Yeah…?”

“Then maybe it wasn’t even voluntary; could be it just slipped out. Relax, Malcolm, or you’re going to be a wreck before you even have the right to be.”

“You don’t know what I have the right to be or not.”

“I’ve been working with you for five years now—I think I have some idea.”

He flipped her a V as he took a sip of his tea. There was little refuting that, but he was not going to let her have the final say.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It took plenty of consoling over the following few nights, but after a gallon and a half of ice cream and a promise to help no matter what happened, Kate and Malcolm were able to get Fiona into a state that was sensible enough to finish off the semester. It did mean that, however, Kate had to march her daughter down to her school, where her father was waiting along with a dean of faculty so that all four of them could have a conversation about personal privacy and how people were going to need to increase their observation of it, especially if they did not want a scandal dropped on the school orchestrated by a former government spin-master who happened to be the young woman’s threateningly unseen stepfather.

In the meantime, while Kate was dealing with what were serious negotiations regarding her daughter’s ability to get work done in peace, Malcolm was in charge over at Mainframe UK. He wasn’t particularly worried or nervous or irritable or anything else of the like when it came to work that morning—things were nearly enjoyable, even—and was enjoying getting updates on the drama whenever Fiona would be able to slyly whip out her mobile. The one fucking day he would have enjoyed being in a Poxbridge college and he had to miss it, though this was honestly not only the safest, but the next best thing. It had been such a decent morning that he thought it fucking criminal when Aparajita finally knocked on his door.

“What?” he glowered.

“Are you going to be on your mobile all day like a child or are you going to pay attention to what’s going on around you?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“The eclipse is going to start in five minutes; all you’ve done this morning is giggle at play-by-play of some Oxbridge cunt getting eviscerated by your wife.”

“…your point being…?”

“You might as well watch it with the rest of us,” she offered. “It’ll be on the screens, but at least we won’t burn our eyeballs out.”

“Fine, I’ll come,” he whined. “I don’t know why I can’t simply monitor the situation from my office.”

“Eclipses come with disruptions to day-to-day life,” Aparajita shrugged. “We can’t allow it to mess with our sensors and let it go unnoticed. You know that.”

“Not that I want to,” Malcolm grumbled. He followed his PA to the lift and out into the atrium. Everything looked as though it was going smoothly, if a bit hurried for all the checking and double-checking that was going on. There were some who even were saluting as Malcolm and Aparajita passed, making both slightly uneasy with the formality.

“A little while and we’ll be back to normal,” Aparajita said aloud. Malcolm glanced at her, attempting to see if she said it for his sake or her own—he couldn’t tell.

“Fuck, and to think I could be in Scotland right now.”

“Is that what MacDonald was calling you about the other day?”

“Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t,” he said, his eyes flitting from screen to screen. The eclipse had begun, with the moon beginning to creep over the sun’s domain. “All we can know for certain is that I could be in Ross, watching one of my best mates get absolutely shite-faced, and I wouldn’t even be able to join in because I’d technically be on-call.”

“You’re a spin master, not a doctor.”

“Yeah, but if this fucking thing goes and disrupts sensors, how the fuck are we going to explain the Trion Cultural Center in Clapton? The Tripartite presence in the National Trust? Lizard people in Wales?”

“You worry too much; we’ve got Hart and Husak. They can keep Shaw in line.”

“Shaw needs to suck a couple cocks before I can wholly trust him with a press release.” A flashing red light over in a corner caught his attention and his stomach dropped. “Report!”

“It looks worse than it is,” the molewoman at the station explained. “Plainview Zygon sighting over in Leeds—looks like it’s… a robbery…?”

“Robbing what? Whom?”

“An Asda.”

Malcolm blinked. “They’re robbing a fucking Asda?”

“It… erm… seems so…”

Inhaling deeply, Malcolm held his breath for five seconds before allowing himself to exhale. He pinched the bridge of his nose, already fucking annoyed. “Fucking… alright, dispatch a small section to the scene; make sure they have just enough firepower to back themselves up. Don’t want to make EVEN MORE OF A GODDAMNED FUCKING SCENE THAN WE ALREADY ARE.” He turned to a mole-intern and did his best to soften up.

“I need coffee—large, black, seven sugars, and a fucking candy bar. Whatever the fuck you can manage; ask my staff where I keep some in case of emergencies. I don’t even care if it’s a basic bitch Mars Bar.”

Okay, so only like a shark with one row of teeth instead of three.

“Never did I think I’d hear you say ‘basic bitch’ in my entire life,” Aparajita smirked as the intern skittered away.

“It’s amazing the things you pick up when there’s a nineteen-year-old in your house on the weekends,” he shrugged. He then saw yellow flash across a nearby screen, causing him to snap his fingers and point. “You. Why the fuck is your monitor pissing itself?”

The moleman recoiled in anticipation. “A pair of Zygons is taking an MP hostage in Cornwall.”

“For fuck’s sake—SOMEONE GET ME BLYTHE ON THE PHONE, NOW.”

“Sir…?”

“What?” he snapped. Another moleman was looking at him warily.

“Suffolk has a Zygon causing a commotion at the seaside amongst some elderly sunbathers.”

“The fucking…” He saw Aparajita hold out a mobile towards him. “Is that Blythe?”

“Her PA.”

“Close e-fucking-nough.” He put the mobile to his ear. “Yeah?”

“Captain Blythe is currently indisposed for a moment—what is your message?”

“Do you have the authority to scramble troops while she’s in the bog or whateverthefuck she’s doing?

“To a degree.”

“We got a Zygon-related hostage situation out your way if your sensors haven’t picked up on it already. Also need to know if you can quickly get some sea squaddies to Suffolk or if I need to kick some of mine over.”

“Suffolk sounds like it would step on certain toes if we were the first to respond. Where is the situation?”

“It’s… hold on,” Malcolm put the mobile to his shoulder, “where the fuck’s the hostage situation?!”

“The Lizard, sir,” the appropriate moleman replied.

“I got a fucking Sea Devil on the other end and you want me to tell him that it’s where?!”

“The Lizard Peninsula, sir.”

“Fucking…” he put the mobile to his ear again, “the Lizard Peninsula. Please tell me that’s a real fucking place and this wee cumstain isn’t just shitting me.”

“It is a real place—looks like we’re getting info now. I’ll get a cell right on it.” Malcolm ended the call and passed the mobile back to Aparajita, only for someone to tap him on the shoulder.

“Sir?”

“What?!” He glared in the direction of the voice, only to find it was the intern, returned with a black coffee and a pair of Curly Wurlys. Taking a breath, he forcibly calmed down before reaching out to take the offerings. “Thank you. Honestly. Don’t mean to take this fuckery out on you.”

“Uh… you’re welcome…?” The mole-intern gave a nervous smile and ran off. Malcolm took a preliminary sip of coffee and nodded—perfect.

“You better be careful, Rajit, or that kid’ll put you out of a job,” he joked.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she said, taking the candy so that he could hold the coffee in one hand and whip out his own mobile with the other. “You wouldn’t survive without me, and I’m not talking about coffee or candy or just forwarding your mail. The better question is: who are you going to terrorize now?”

“Someone who knows better than to cross me,” he said. He sipped the coffee and watched as a couple more screens went towards much brighter colors than he was comfortable with. The mobile on the other end picked up, the woman on the other end not entirely certain she was taking the call.

“Don’t you have an eclipse to watch like the rest of us?” Nicola asked.

“You wanna look a bit off your nut but overall fucking brilliant?” he asked. He waited for a moment, the other side silent.

“…what do you possibly need my help to spin?”

“We got a Sharp Sharon over here if I’ve ever fucking known one,” Malcolm grinned. “You know that woman we brought to your house who turned into a rubbery-looking magenta alien?”

“It’s difficult to forget.”

“Bunch ‘o fucks that look like her are being petty tits and I need am going to need a fucking out once the eclipse is done and normal fucking people glance around and look at the damage.”

“What do you suggest?”

“First you have to apologize to a Cornish MP for being taken hostage…”

“What the fuck, Malcolm; a hostage crisis?! How is that being petty?!”

“It’s more than just that, but it’ll make you look like a bloody fucking genius ready to dish up some fucking security protocol reforms. You in?”

Nicola made a sound in thought before groaning, “Fine. Do you have the script?”

“I’ll send it to you after everything’s contained and people are wondering what the fuck happened,” he replied. “Gotta make sure nothing actually bad has happened first. I wouldn’t put you in a position to take the blame for injuries or significant damage to public property. Ta.” He ended the call and pocketed the mobile again, accepting a halfway opened Curly Wurly from Aparajita. “Well, that’s a branch of Shit Creek we can float down.”

“I’ve got Bell coming down, as well as Arwell,” Aparajita said. “They can get back from Whitehall fairly quickly.”

“Glad it was them on the field trip and not me this time,” Malcolm replied. He gnawed off a chunk of candy and gnashed on it openly as he turned his attention back towards the molemen. “Alright! Who the fuck needs some Zy-B-Gone? If you don’t facilitate the cleaning of this shit up, I’m going to need to call Lieutenant-Colonel Bismuth back from her cunting holiday to help do the mopping, and I’m going to let her use you lot as the fucking brush.”

It was a good thing, Malcolm thought, that the threat of physical violence in his day and age was still a viable option to get underlings to cooperate… to an extent, of fucking course. He wasn’t cruel… simply tired of the day’s shit before it was even close to noon.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Kate sank down onto the sitting room couch at her house, completely spent emotionally and mentally. It had been a long day of negotiations, with the irritating double-combination of her ex-husband and the dean of faculty going nowhere in discussion for hours on-end, effectively trapping her all day as they didn’t even reach a resolution on what to do regarding Fiona and her inability to work without being pestered. It wasn’t even like Loris’s business ventures were grand compared to the parents of other students sitting lectures with their daughter; he was positively small-fry. After a day of doing absolutely nothing but listen to two men figuratively wank over their own self-importance, she had done the right thing and went down to Fiona’s dorm to help her pack—she allowed her daughter to drop out… albeit temporarily.

“Do you think I should wait until the Fall term to transfer or get in during Summer yet?” Fiona asked. She flopped down into an armchair while scrolling through her mobile. “I think I can secure a spot at Lex’s school without even so much as a sneeze now that I look at it…”

“Give it a month, then start looking around at where you want to apply over Summer so that you’re in for the Fall,” Kate replied. “Remember: you’re going to have to claim a culture and values clash and not any of the bullshit we just sat through. We’re better than running away from our problems.”

“We’re Lethbridge-Stewarts; we simply know when to back the fuck away.”

“What time is it? I’m famished.”

“Nearly eight.”

“Fuck.” Kate allowed herself to fall over, groaning into the cushions. “Curry it is then.”

“I’ll see what we still got left in the kitchen,” Fiona offered. She abandoned her mobile and went into the kitchen, leaving her mother lay with her eyes closed. A few moments passed and she shouted, “Oh, hey, Malcolm’s home!”

“About damn time,” Kate said. She remained in her spot as she heard the door open and shut, her husband shuffling into the house, and the distinct sound of a tie coming undone and a suit jacket being discarded right next to her. “Where’ve you been?”

“Work,” he replied, voice rougher than normal. “Fiona said you just got home; where were you?”

“Giving my daughter permission to drop out of university.”

“Those fucking cunts were that useless? Even after you threw my name around?”

“They aren’t ‘fucking cunts’ for nothing, you know,” she grumbled. “How was work?”

“MP Nicola Murray has given a press conference on how she commissioned an orchestrated set of stunts done by hired actors in rubber alien suits that presents a clear example of the potential holes in our national security and varying protocols,” he said almost mechanically. He waited until she rolled onto her back and laid down on top of her, settling his face right in her chest. “It was done during the eclipse because most people were being distracted and the rubber suits were to help give a sense of silliness to the whole thing. She’s already publicly apologized, though if you turn on any news station, her ‘genius’ is the talk of anyone with half a brain cell and the word ‘Zygon’ has yet to be uttered.”

“I thought you hated Nicola.”

“I’m severely annoyed by Nicola; couldn’t hate her if I tried.”

“All splinter Zygons in custody then?”

“Given to their respective leadership for punishment,” he affirmed. “Do I smell our new housekeeper making curry? I’ve survived off coffee and varying other vehicles for sugar all day.”

“That she is.” Kate scratched her husband’s back with one hand and his scalp with the other. “Who’s monitoring everything?”

“Arwell.”

“Then some food and a kip and I’ll head in early to relieve him.”

“No; stay; I want to wake up to you.”

“Maybe you still will,” she teased. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his hair. “Thank you for holding down the mainframe.”

He squeezed her just a bit tighter; he had gone through much worse for her and would likely go through shit still. It was only just the beginning, after all.

#The Thick of UNIT #Malcolm Tucker #Kate Stewart #Malcolm x Kate #satstewart #bollockingUNIT #Jamie MacDonald #Aparajita Khan #Fiona Stewart (OC)#The Thick of It #Doctor Who #fan fiction #I did enjoy writing Malcolm as a sweary shit regarding molemen again #I do miss it sometimes with all the other character and plot stuff that goes on #and down here because spoilers #Nicola Murray

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