@rosekillermicrofic — July 4 — Loud — word count: 326
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His whole life, Barty had been told he was loud, obnoxious, annoying, too much. He always laughed it off, you know, pretended it didn’t affect him. But it did, of course it did. Why did he have to be too much for everyone? If he could change it, he would, but it was just natural.
Sometimes he tried to just sit still and be quiet by himself, but it didn’t last long. He couldn’t sit still for long, he got twitchy. He couldn’t stay quiet for long, he got restless. He hated it.
Today, he and Evan were just sitting in the Slytherin common room, lounging on a couch. Barty was rambling on about who knows what, his hands moving with his words as if it made the story more real. He glanced over at Evan and he saw the other was just zoned out, not really paying attention. The grin sort of faded from his face and he shut up, staring at his hands and twisting his rings around.
Evan looked up. “What’s wrong? You stopped talking.”
“I was being annoying, wasn’t I? Talking too much.” He muttered. “Sorry.”
Evan rolled his eyes, reaching up and flicking Barty on the forehead. “You weren’t being annoying. I like the background noise, it’s grounding. I might not be fully listening but it’s nice to have something going on while i’m in my own world.”
Barty seemed surprised, he blinked and stared at Evan for a moment, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit. “Really? I’m not, like, too much or whatever?”
“Nah,” Evan said, shaking his head. “You can keep talking, I don’t care.” He stretched out his legs to cross over Barty’s, raising an eyebrow. “You good?”
Barty nodded. He was good, actually. He’d never been given permission to just talk for no reason. But he wasn’t going to argue, he just launched right back into his story, not missing the faint smirk on Evan’s lips.
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A collection of fan fics based on Pedro Pascal Character
Why have I decided at 1am on the 27th April to set myself an almost impossible Star Wars fic challenge? Do I love to torture myself? I’m guessing I am.
I do have 2 ideas in the pipeline but as we get started wars day & tiny & shiny back on the big screen let’s see if I can do this.
Synopsis:- each fic will link to Star Wars in some kind of way. All characters are played or voiced by Pedro Pascal.
Each Fic will come with its own warning.
I hope you all enjoy this, hopefully I have enjoyed creating 31 fics in less than 5 weeks. I may die but you know I have spoken…
1. Joel Miller (pre-outbreak) - I Know…
2. Javi Gutierrez - My Trooper
3. Ezra - A Wookiee Mistake
4. Din Djarin - Peace Day
5. Frankie Morales - Not The Falcon
6. Max Lord - Space Sells
7. Marcus Pike - Shut Down Plan
8. Dieter Bravo - Unscheduled Appearance
9. Mama Flores - My Son… Would Never..
10. Santos - Strike A Bargain
11. Harry Castillo - Somewhere Quieter
12. Fink - A Larger World (with special guests)
13. Ted Garcia - Every Star Is Out
14. Alex Serian - Across the Stars
15. Reed Richards - Calculations Count For Nothing
16. Joel Miller (post-outbreak) - A Little Hope
17. Tim Rockford - Built On Hope
18. Dave York - I Have Spoken…
19. Marcus Moreno - Heroic Diplomacy
20. Max Phillips - Seeing Red
21. Marcus Acacius - The Weight Of The Empire
22. Mr Ben - The Creed of Chaos
23. Agent Whiskey - Who Shot Their Shot
24. Clint - The Scoundrel
25. Lucien - Charm Offensive
26. Liam - Brick by Brick
27. Oberyn Martell - Not Part of the Audiance
28. Renaldo - One Song, One Rebel & One Dance Break
winndox + Have you ever though of a career in driving people fucking insane? Because you are already a PRO at it.
Something was up with Brainy.
Winn hadn’t been sure before- maybe this was just how he acted now, after over a year (from what he’d been told) in the twenty-first century. Maybe he was always a little distant, a little cold, keeping space between himself and his friends. Maybe his speech was always this monotone, more robotic like his ancestor before him.
(He tried not to think of that other Brainiac, even though now he couldn’t help but notice the resemblance. Perhaps that was why Brainy was being so tentative around him- he was worried Winn wouldn’t want to see him anymore, some fear by association thing.
To be fair, that was how Winn had thought of him before, but their situation had changed, and after all there was also a Toyman wearing his face on the loose- maybe that fear was mutual.)
But Winn wasn’t afraid of Brainy, just confused. Before, he’d been too eager to talk, to brag about his twelfth-level intelligence, to try and work with the DEO’s technology only to scoff at it and tell him all about how what he had in his own century was sooooo far superior, and he was to that extent so much more intelligent than him.
Now, he seemed hollowed out, from his voice to the way he stood away from Kara and Alex, instead of being in the center of the action, operating several screens at once like he’d enjoyed doing before, and Winn needed to get to the bottom of it.
So after he refused to use the Legion’s technology to identify Toyman’s accomplice, and Kara and Alex left J’onn’s tower, Winn let him have it.
“Have you ever thought of a career in driving people fucking insane?”
Brainy didn’t even roll his eyes- a gesture Winn had so often seen whenever he used to say anything Brainy considered stupid, which was constantly. “No.” he said. “I already have a career, and that is not in any job description I have ever seen.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” Winn answered. “Because you are already a pro at it.”
Brainy just sighed, and returned to his work at the computer, the image of the alternate Toyman grinning still on the screen, taunting both of them.
“What, no comeback?” Winn questioned him, like he’d been expecting one even though, with this Brainy, it was becoming clear he couldn’t expect a thing. “If this were back when you first landed in this century, you would’ve said something like “Right. And you would know something about going insane, wouldn’t you, Toyman Junior?””
Brainy shook his head.
“I would never say something so cruel.” He answered.
“Yeah. I know- of all the arguments we got into, family never came up. But I was always expecting it. Just like you were probably expecting me to bring up one of your many evil relatives.”
“And I knew you would never insult me in the same way.” He said flatly. “It would be hypocritical of either of us.”
“Right.” Winn said. “But now my evil doppelganger is on the loose, and he has an accomplice that I know you could so easily find with your tech or ours, and yet you won’t do it. Why?”
“I never said I wouldn’t.”
“But you’re hesitating.” Winn pressed. “I saw it, Alex saw it, Kara probably noticed something. Come on, Brainy. Work with me here.”
“I… there are things I cannot tell you right now.”
“Yeah, well, neither of us knows the future in this situation, so we’re both at a disadvantage. But the sooner we find this guy, the sooner he’ll be able to lead us to Toyman, and then I’ll be able to go home. You want to help me do that, right?”
“Of course.”
“That’s what I thought.” Winn said. “I helped you get home once… and I guess I still am. So when are you going to return the favor?”
When Brainy turned away from the computer and met his eyes, a part of Winn thought he looked guilty.
Can I trust him? He wondered.
For all he knew, Brainy could have been asking the same question.
1. Adam Mulciber and Severus Snape .circa 1977 in Slytherin Common Room.
Slytherin house was having a party after winning the Quidditch cup. Snape is talking to Mulciber who was one of the star players of the night.
2. Avelius Avery and Severus Snape .circa 1985 at the Malfoys' Yule Ball
Many of the guests were wizards and witches of the Sacred 28, ministry officials, and relevant guests. If most of the guests used to be on the dubious side of the war, no one comments, except in some rooms of the Malfoy manor where the wine was finer, the smoke was heavier, and the light was dimmer.
Avelius Avery, the young Lord Avery and a fresh official at the Department of Wizarding Treasury, is seen dancing with Severus Snape, the youngest Potions Master and the freshly appointed Head of the Slytherin House.
Young Lord Avery kisses the young Head of Slytherin House's cheek as the dance finishes. A few snide remarks, hisses of "mudblood", and a polite chuckle from the host - Lord Malfoy, then the Yule Ball continues as it is.
3. Evan Rosier and Severus Snape .circa 1981 after a Death eater meeting
Evan Rosier had noticed something off with his fellow Death Eater Snape. Snape was a half-blood, not "one of them". But he, like few others, did like Snape. Snape was strange, but funny, creative, and was different from the "other mudbloods".
He decides to confront Severus with his suspicions. He persuades him to come clean to the Dark Lord about what he had been doing with Dumbledore and that Evan would take Severus' side in front of their Lord. Severus relents and tells Evan that he will tell their Lord. They hug. But Severus' mind is reeling.
(He tells Dumbledore, of course. That Evan Rosier is suspicious. A week later, Rosier (strong, intelligent, sharp, and "the best of them" Evan) dies in action during a duel with a grizzled Auror Alastor Moody.)
4. Wilhelm Wilkes and Severus Snape .circa 1978 at the Malfoys wedding
It was one of the most luxurious wedding the high class society of the Wizarding Britain had seen in recent years. The newly made Lord Malfoy - Lucius Malfoy was marrying Cygnus Black's youngest daughter - Narcissa.
The Sacred 28 families and many relevant guests had arrived at the wedding. They couldn't help but rejoice that they couldn't think of a more suitable match than the young Lord Malfoy and Miss Black (soon to be Lady Malfoy).
A lone half-blood is sitting near the venue, far from the other guests. He had arrived to the wedding by the invitation of the groom himself. The other guests don't bother talking to the young wixen with clean but faded clothes and Abraxas Malfoy is seen sneering with disgust at the mudblood in his manor, but bites his tongue as both his son and his daughter-in-law seems to be happy to see the mudblood.
The heir of the Wilkes family is seen conversing with the half-blood, sitting by him despite his parents and peers' disapproving gaze. And when they do reprimand him later, Wilhelm gives an airy laugh and says that the half-blood used to be his housemate back when he was a student.
Reaper sharply inhales, jolting as he looks for Error, expecting pain or agony but not finding it. Instead, he is met with a mildly irritated (which is pleasant for Error) and confused glare. “What?”
“… You touched me.” He softly breathes out, his head spinning. Again and again, like a carousel, he replays the sensation of that touch. The lightest warmth between their knuckles. He doesn’t realize he’s stopped moving, because it feels as if the world is rushing past him. The night is dark, only barely illuminated by the street lamps dotting the path through the park. Over them, only the moon is witness to Reaper’s relief.
“… Did I?”
He feels a slight uncertainty at Error’s absent response. Did he really? But he knew he felt it. It wasn’t like the time Error’s sleeve brushed his fingers or like when his scarf ghosted over his chest. He knows this, knew for certain, with startling and growing clarity- it was him. It was that slightest warmth, the strange numb sensation that was Error’s presence. It was everything. They had touched, and Reaper- he needed to do it again.
Slowly, he reaches out his palm, face up, to the other man. It reflects the warm lamp of the street lights around them. Error stares at him with a furrowed brow, his shoulders drawn up slightly. The unsaid offer is clear.
“Please,” and Error’s eyes widen as Reaper fights not to take a step forward. To chase him down and grab him and never let go. His voice is small, contrary to his need. “Give it a chance?”
Mismatched eyes flickers between his slightly shaking fingers and his expression. His brows lower, his mouth stretching into that usual scowl, Reaper braces for rejection-
Warmth. Not warmth, but something scalding hot. Alive, thrumming with life, brimming and sparking and numbing his fingers it was so alive. Screaming and yelling from every height that it was alive, defiant and angry and purposeful, destructive and so, so alive.
He closes his fingers slowly around Error’s hand. His other hesitantly comes up with it. Error warns it off, and it falls back limply to his side.
“Thank you.” He sighs.
Error grumbles, visibly grimacing as his arm jitters with white squares and glitches. “Shut up.”
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no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her
pairing: emmary | wc: 996
can be read as a prequel to emmeline after
Come home to me.
Promise me.
Promise me you'll come back.
She wasn't breathing. As far as she could tell, she hadn't breathed in a long time. Hadn't needed to. Never would need to again.
Don't do this to me.
Please.
I can't take it.
It was difficult to move. There was something heavy all around her, weighing her down, keeping her caged in.
You told me it was over. That you wouldn't do this anymore.
She squeezed her fingers together and found that the sensation was familiar, the feel of it nostalgic. She can't remember much, but she knows this feeling is something she is used to.
You'll die. You know that. You won't get lucky a second time.
Dirt. She was touching dirt.
It was under her fingernails, inside her mouth, under and over and all around her body.
If she wanted to leave, she'd have to dig her way out.
Do you want to die?
She doesn't think she did.
Her fingers move, her arms twist and turn until she can wiggle a path upwards. She tries to focus, but her mind is a fractured thing, memories spilling out of the cracks.
⋆
A large room, covered in blood. Or maybe not blood, but something akin to it. It drips down the walls.
No, no it doesn't. She's just close enough to notice the brushstrokes.
It is red, but it isn't blood. It's just paint.
She's staring, she realizes, at the wrong thing. She's meant to be looking at the picture that hangs on the wall, not the wall itself.
But the paint is harsh and thick and peeling, and it doesn't look right. It's too natural. Something that appears to be hand-made rather than the result of magic.
But this is a magical room, right? She can feel the magic around it, so thick she thinks she could touch it.
Focus.
The picture. Yes, the picture. She's looking at it now.
It's a group of people, all huddled together. She can see them but can't quite make out their faces.
They're moving, though. Jumping in the air.
Magic. The walls may not be magic, but this picture is.
A hand touches her shoulder, warm and firm.
They look happy, don't they?
I wonder if we're gonna look like that when we graduate.
Somehow, she knows they didn't.
⋆
Time passes, or at least she thinks it does.
She can't tell, she just moves.
The ground is solid and unmoving, until it isn't, and she feels a cold wind hit her arm as it finally breaks out.
She keeps on crawling, punching her way to the surface. It should hurt, she thinks, but it doesn't.
You never think things through.
You just start fights like you can win them all.
You can't.
Eventually, she kicks around enough dirt that she can crawl out of the ground, pushing herself up until it releases her.
It's dark, and there's dirt in her eyes, but that's fine. She doesn't need to see, she knows the path before her like the back of her hand.
As she straightens herself she notices a piece of flesh hanging loose in the side of her waist. She picks it up and rips it off her body, and throws it on the ground.
She hardly feels it.
⋆
A small room, just barely big enough for a double bed. A girl, laying down next to her, crying.
It's an awful sound, quiet but excruciating. She doesn't like it, doesn't want the girl to cry anymore.
This is not fair, it's not fucking fair.
Outside, the city is quiet. Eerie, almost. She's never known this part of town to be quiet, why is it quiet?
Because everyone's dead.
No, not everyone. There's still some of them left. They're still here, after all, aren't they?
She places her hand over her own heart, feels it beating. Then she takes her other hand and places it on the other girl. They're alive.
I don't feel alive.
We're alive.
We'll be dead before we know it.
⋆
The tree is the center of it all. Everything that grows in this place, grows around it. That's what the girl had said, when they first came here.
You're everything I have.
She touches its bark, and she can feel it. The years spent here, the memories made. She rests her forehead against it and knows she is not far from home.
This is our life. It's not just yours.
She follows the invisible footsteps they have left behind; hers bigger and spread apart, the girl's smaller and closer together.
The girl, the girl, the girl.
She had a name, a beautiful name. A face she loved to look at, arms she found comfort in.
The girl, the life, the promise.
Are you really going to walk away?
No, she thinks. I won't walk away, I'll walk back.
⋆
There's a letter on the table. It smells of death.
It is death. It'll kill you.
I won't let it.
You say that like it's a choice.
I survived one war. I can survive another.
No.
Yes. I have to.
Why?
I just do.
⋆
She follows the pathway til the end of the park, turns right and keeps on walking.
Her body, if it can still be called that, is falling to pieces and leaving a trail behind, but it is functional enough to carry her.
Two turns to the right, one to the left. Walk two blocks, turn right one more time, and there she is.
Come home.
Here she is.
The door is red, red like the paint, red like the blood. She knocks on it, and the force of the knock causes one of her fingers to fall off, but she doesn't care. It doesn't matter.
All that matters is that the door opens, and the girl appears behind it.
As a pizza delivery boy (and an aspiring musician from a musical family), Luka was accustomed to late nights and later mornings. There had been more than one morning class he had snoozed through after getting home from work late and staying up later to compose.
Bakeries worked on different hours. The Dupain-Chengs were Morning People. Most of his shifts were after school, true, but the weekends still found him waking up earlier than he ever had before in an effort to make a good impression on his future fath…new boss.
Old habits were hard to break, though.
So when he stayed up maybe a bit later than he should have Friday night and shambled out of his cabin bright and early Saturday morning, half-awake and jonesing for a mug of coffee before he rode over to the boulangerie, it was easy enough to get…confused.
Especially when the source of his confusion was the three witches standing behind the galley, decked out in black dresses and pointy hats and giggling – cackling – over…when did Juleka get a cauldron?
“Your girlfriend brought it, dumbass,” the witch that looked suspiciously like his sister said. “For the ambience.”
“We’re conjuring!” the short witch that was bouncing like Rose giggled.
“…Papa got the cauldron for Halloween,” the prettiest of the witches said, rolling her eyes. “He wants me to dress up and make caramel apples for the customers. We’re testing it out.”
“We’re brewing a potion to make you less stupid,” the tallest witch said. She dipped a finger in the cauldron to taste the caramel, narrowing her eyes at the way he was still smiling at the pretty witch. “Sadly, I don’t think it’s going to work.”
