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annepsilvaauthor · 2 years ago

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Fighter Weapons — Chapter 8

Pairing(s): Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x OC (Claire Mitchell) / Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Natasha "Phoenix" Trace

Summary: An untold story. A series that shows what happened during the Top Gun of our beloved pilots of Top Gun: Maverick.

Warnings: Subtle sexual innuendos, brief language, alcohol consumption, angst, smut, fluffy.

Word Count: 3.334

The darlings who don't want to miss any updates ↪️ @missathlete31 @togetherisawonderfulplacetobe @switch3rr @na0my @aprilwithapricots @goldenloverschild @rightwhereiwantyou @jackiequick @oliviah-25 @bellyliveslife @anerdquemoraaolado @callsign-barbell @struggling-with-space

sᴀɴ ᴅɪᴇɢᴏ ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ, ᴄᴀ

Bradley left the Fightertown facility with a smile on his face and sunglasses on, despite the fact that it was a hyper dark night. He jumped into his car, without needing to open the door, and revved the engine, then drove across the lane.

The blue flowered shirt swayed like a flag in the night breeze and the speed, which matched the white shorts and sneakers. He turned on the radio and continued his little journey to the sound of Jerry Lee Lewis.

He parked next to Claire's curb, which was just four miles from the hangar. He took a good look at the facade. It was a simple, small, yellow house - which surprised him, since Claire hated yellow - with a short path that led to the porch. The door was half glass and half dark wood, but he couldn't see into the house as there was a thin white curtain covering the top.

Bradley knocked on the door in three rings. As children, he and Claire were put to bed very early, but they still wanted to play. Then, just when they thought everyone was asleep, Bradley knocked three times on her door and she automatically knew it wasn't Carole or her father. They played there until they got tired. After that, this code became a joke for them, in which they used it only to identify themselves.

Claire opened the door with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile on her face. She looked at her watch seriously and then back at him in pride. He couldn't help but smile.

“Right on time, Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

“I couldn't disobey an order, ma'am.” he said in a serious tone and removed his glasses.

"Sunglasses at night? You really are a fighter pilot.” she commented, shaking her head. “You may come in.”

Bradley obeyed her and entered the house even smaller inside than outside. The living room, made up of a few pieces of furniture, connected to the dining room and kitchen in an open room. The decor looked untouched. Claire probably still shouldn't have had time to leave that place her style, remaining as the real estate gave her.

She guided him to the kitchen and he could analyze the clothes he wore. Claire wore sandals with low heels, a tight black dress and a denim shirt over it, being used as a jacket. Her blonde hair, usually straight during class, was slightly curled at the ends, and her face was lightly made up, just to enhance those sweet eyes. His heart warmed at the fact that she took his visit seriously and put a little extra effort into her appearance. Not that she needed it, she was beautiful anyway. But... it got to him.

"Hmm... is that what I'm thinking?" He fled to the pots on the counter, breathing in the delicious aroma of childhood.

“For years, Carole tried to teach me how to make this dish and I couldn't get it right. I spent some time in Hawaii and my roommate taught me a few tricks. But it wasn't the same taste as his mother, Bradley. I tweaked it a bit to make it look similar, but...

She hurried on to explain as she always did when she was unsure of something, let alone food that was so special to him. But Bradley seemed too absorbed to think about anything more than his mother. Claire walked over to him and patted his thick shoulder. He looked back at her with wet eyes and smiled.

“Thanks. It must be fine.”

"Let's check it out, then."

Bradley nodded and took a seat at the tiny two-seater table. There was a white lace tablecloth and a simple placemat. She really was taking this seriously. Claire served him a medium platter, black, like his mother did, and inside was Buddha's Rainbow Rice. There was smoked salmon, broccoli, watercress, red cabbage, grated onion, avocado, chia, and of course, rice. It was a cheerful dish as his mother was.

"Wow...mmm..." He popped some in his mouth. "This is wonderful!"

“Seriously?” she asked with a suspicious expression. “You don't have to please me. Here I'm just your friend, not your instructor. You can tell the truth.”

“No. It is serious. This is really good.” He took two more wooden spoonfuls. Even that she thought. “I feel like I'm in Hawaii with my mom again, visiting Grandpa and Grandma. Wow... it's been five years since they've been gone.”

“A few years ago I needed to do some research in Honolulu and I went to visit them at the kiosk. Your grandma was still wearing that themed outfit and bare feet and your grandpa was still talking to the sun.” she said with a smile, intoxicated by the memory of them.

“I don't know how Grandma didn't get sick from being barefoot all the time. I mean....I never saw grandma sick with anything.”

“She was happy. She was in the place she loved, doing what she loved and with whom she loved. There was no reason to get sick or be sad.”

“Good point.” He opened the glass of red wine and poured them. “Remember when she tried to teach you hula dancing?”

"I was a terror!"

“What? You were wonderful! With that costume and skin as white as the chairs.” he teased and she made a funny face.

“Your grandmother gave up teaching me to dance.”

“You know what's weird? You can learn and use hyper-difficult formulas, help build space shuttles and take men into space, but you can't learn to dance.”

“Throw it in my face even though I'm useless with practical things.” she complained, but he saw the smile in her eyes as he took a sip of wine. “In my defense, I learned a few steps years later.”

“That I want to see”. he challenged.

“Maybe one day.”

She smiled and they both took another sip of wine and went back to eating, enjoying the great meal and company.

“You're not quite useless at practical things.” he commented suddenly.

"Oh, thanks for the 'not quite.'” She teased with a laugh.

“You can break a glass with your voice.”

“Yes I can.” She smiled shyly. “But I won't now. My voice hasn't been exercised lately.”

“That's a shame for society. You have one of the most beautiful voices I've ever heard.”

“Wow, so you have a very limited musical repertoire.”

“Claire…I'm serious. You won many awards at school. Remember our duo?”

“The Rooster and the Duck. From the name, we know we were never going to get famous.” She laughed and he feigned indignation.

"We were amazing! Me on the piano and you singing with me. People at the mall stopped to see us. If there was a social network back then, we would certainly be viral.”

Both laughed at the memory of moments when they were invited to perform at a snack bar in the mall. The owner was a friend of the Bradshaws and invited them to liven up his establishment, as he saw that they were really good. Bradley played an acoustic guitar while singing a duet with Claire, getting the diners into some real fun.

Bradley recalled the joy and warmth in his heart when performing with Claire. Her voice was simply angelic in contrast to his, which was low and husky. They made a great team and really enjoyed each other. There were moments when they forgot they were in public and sang to each other, in an almost magical connection.

"Listen, baby, ain't no mountain high, ain't no valley low, ain't no river wide enough, baby" Bradley began to sing, caught up in the memories.

“Brad. No. We're not drunk enough for this.” She took a sip of wine.

"If you need me, call me, no matter where you are, no matter how far (don't worry, baby). Just call my name, I'll be there in a hurry, you don't have to worry " he continued, urging her to sing too.

Bradley got to his feet and walked toward her, holding out a hand. She fixed him with a wary look, but the glow in those brown orbs of his left her without resistance. He was there, he wanted to have fun with her, remember the good old days. She didn't have to worry about secrets for a few hours. They were at peace there. Then, she took his hand and got to her feet too.

"Oh, baby, there ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough to keep me from getting to you, baby" she sang in her sweet timbre.

"Remember the day I set you free, I told you could always count on me, darling. From that day on, I made a vow, I'll be there when you want me some way, somehow."

"Cause, baby, there ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough to keep me from getting to you, baby" they sang together.

They danced in the weirdest, most embarrassing way possible, surrounded by good music and memories. Claire was smiling at him openly, giving herself over to the song and dance without reservation. It was just the two of them there. There was no reason to be the 35-year-old adult. It could just be Claire Mitchell, the one who loved having fun with her friend, Bradley Bradshaw.

"Oh, no, dear! No wind, no rain."

"No winter storm can stop me, baby."

"No, no, baby! Because you are my goal. If you're ever in trouble I'll be there on the double. Just sing for me, Oh, baby, ha!"

Bradley approached her with ridiculous strides, which caused her to laugh like she hadn't done in years. He lightly encircled her around the waist, keeping his playful smile and smoldering gaze on her.

"My love is alive (ooh) Way down in my heart, although we are miles apart." Claire sang that part with great intensity, devoting herself to every word and note.

"If you ever need a helping hand I'll be there on the double, just as fast as I can. Don't you know that there..."

"Ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough, ain't no river wide enough to keep me from getting to you, baby"

They finished singing in laughter and Bradley encircled her tightly around the waist to then lift her off the floor and twirl her around the kitchen. He could smell her vanilla scent, as well as her hair brushing his face and her breasts pressed against his chest. It was a heady feeling to be with her. He felt like he was sixteen again.

She protested for him to put her down and he obeyed, but he didn't let go of her. Bradley fixed her blonde locks and smiled slightly as he contemplated the sparkle in those light brown eyes and the rosy skin, due to the movement.

Bradley remembered his senior prom. The girl who had accepted his invitation had chickenpox and was unable to accompany him. He wasn't that popular to have a list of girls waiting to be his date and it was also very close to the prom, everyone was already hooked. He considered not going. But his mother insisted he go, as it was the last ball and he would regret it forever if he missed it.

What his mother did not tell him was that she had spoken with Maverick and he allowed Claire to travel alone to Annapolis, as he was on a mission in Asia and could not accompany her.

So when Bradley was sitting in the courtside bleachers, drinking punch and feeling like the saddest kid at the party, he saw her walk through the glitter doorway at the entrance. For an instant, he thought it was a mirage, hallucination. But then, she approached him with a sweet smile and his heart didn't know whether to beat or stop. Claire was just…splendid.

She wore a long navy blue dress, with a plunging neckline that was larger than he usually saw her wearing and fitted to her body. Her long hair was pulled back into an elaborate bun and only a few front strands fell freely over her made-up face. He usually saw her wearing baggy sweatshirts and coats, which hid all her beautiful body. But not that day. She was…she was…perfect.

"What's that face? You look like you saw a ghost!"

"Why are you here?"

"I'm on a secret mission: to be prom date for a weird but pretty awesome boy."

"You traveled eight hours just to be my date?"

"What's the surprise? You would do the same for me."

"Yeah, wouldn't think twice."

Ain't no Mountain High Enough was playing at the exact moment they spoke and Claire led him out onto the dance floor. They danced until they couldn't anymore. Bradley, in a strange and selfish way, was grateful that his date didn't go, because that dance wouldn't be so unforgettable if Claire wasn't there with him. She was his best friend, his confidante, the girl who knew him even better than he knew himself. And she was the girl who stirred his being.

Bradley couldn't explain what he felt for her. Whenever she was around, his heart decided to beat faster and his whole body warmed up, words ran from her mind and all he wanted was to talk to her, to be closer and closer to her. But, he hadn't paid as much attention to her lips yet, not like that night. Dancing so close, smelling the sweet scent and looking deep into her eyes, Bradley, for the first time, felt like kissing her. Her lips were so close, so shiny, they felt soft.

Then he kissed her. A light, shy kiss that tasted like…finally. It was the first time he'd wanted to kiss her, but he felt like he'd wanted to kiss her for years. His chest was burning, his heartbeat was like a drum, a hot shiver running up his back. Her lips were really soft, sweet as flowers and they returned the kiss warmly holding the lapel of his tuxedo. The kiss lasted less than a minute, but the sensation of lips touching lingered for hours.

Claire looked at him in a mixture of surprise and fear, her face red. She opened and closed her mouth several times but said nothing. Then, she turned away from him and walked away. Bradley went after her but couldn't find her. From that night on, everything was different between them. They took it as a prom accident, but deep down they knew what it meant, they just didn't have the courage to say it out loud.

Bradley blamed himself for having screwed up the beautiful friendship between them. He blamed himself for pulling away. If he hadn't followed his instincts, they would still be close. But no, the urge to kiss her was so great that it overcame his sense of reason. He would never do that if he knew they would end up like this: separated like a wind.

Now, eighteen years later, they were in that position again. He held her face in one hand, stroking her soft cheek with his thumb and encircling her waist. She was still smiling, intoxicated by memories and fun. And he accompanied her. Happiness dressed her very well.

Bradley leaned his forehead against hers, slowly brushing both noses and suddenly the mood changed. He felt a heat in his chest, his fingers tingled and the mix of sensations between her scent and the softness of her skin was setting him on fire. She seemed to feel the same, as she surrounded him by the hem of his shorts, pulling him slightly.

Claire felt his hot, heavy breath on her face, panting uncontrollably, and she was no different either. They were so close on such an unexpected and special night. It had been years since she had felt this good, this alive. And it was all because of him. Bradley had the same look as that night at the ball and she knew very well how that scene would unfold. But she found herself wanting it too. She knew it was wrong in so many ways. Wow, in so many ways. But it was still him. It was Bradley. It was still those orbs crackling like a bonfire.

And he brought his lips closer...

Beep, beep, beep, beep, beep. They heard the ringing of a cell phone and both sighed heavily, but remained in the same position.

“It's my cell phone." she said in a shaky voice.

"Let it play." he asked needily.

"Could be my dad."

Bradley seemed to wake up from his trance at the word "dad". Too many memories involving that word rose in his mind without mercy and he slowly walked away from her. He didn't even notice when she answered the call. He was immersed in his limbo of pain, hurt and longing.

Maverick had become a father figure to him when he was younger. He would take him to see fighter planes, flight simulators, plus many other cool activities a father could do with his son. Bradley loved Maverick for a long time. He represented what his mother, while wonderful in her role, could never supply. He felt a father's void and Maverick filled it.

Although he found out in his early teens that his father died on a flight with Maverick, Bradley tried not to blame him. He saw his mother's affection for him, in addition to knowing the stories they told about their friendship. Bradley knew that Maverick loved his father very much. And he also came to love it.

However, when Bradley was devastated by the loss of his mother and wanted to fulfill his dream: to be closer to his father in heaven and Maverick stopped him, Bradley did not understand. He was his father figure, he took care of him, he knew his dreams, his desires. And even then, it prevented him from entering the Naval Academy. For four years straight. Bradley was devastated. No. He was furious. He had lost his mother, his best friend and from then on he lost a father as well. He was alone in the world.

And when Bradley started studying to be a fighter pilot, he discovered just how brash and arrogant Maverick was as a pilot. He was dangerous, according to people and he saw it registered in the documents. The way Maverick flew was insane, he didn't seem to love his own life or that of his navigator. For years, Bradley didn't blame him for the accident. But after understanding how it all happened and becoming a fighter pilot, he blamed Maverick. He blamed him for destroying his life.

For that reason, Bradley could no longer stay in that house. He had fun with the daughter of the one he swore he would never forgive. She wasn't to blame for anything, he was aware of that. But he couldn't disentangle the Maverick figure from her. There was always the shadow of the arrogant pilot who killed his father. It had happened in the past and it was happening here, with her on the phone with him.

So, Bradley took advantage of her turning her back, took his belongings and left that house. He couldn't stand it. He thought he might be ripe for that, to move on, to think of her only as his childhood friend. But not. Bradley hadn't gotten over it and didn't know if he ever would.

He got into the jeep and started without looking back. But his heart ached. He still didn't understand what he felt for Claire and he didn't think he would ever understand, not with those feelings and memories of Maverick swirling in his being.

That night, Bradley slept thinking about Claire's soft skin and smile.

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radioactive-earthshine · 3 years ago

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You wrote a 27,000 word fic in a week??? 😭😭😭 Bestie please tell me your secret. I have a great idea for a fic and even an original story but when I try to write I get maybe 1000words then stop. Or I'll post a fic that's around 1400 words and no one comments and I'll stop writing for months. Please tell me how you stay motivated to write so much! Also I really am loving Sunshine Falling.

It was about 10 days but I completely understand where your feelings are coming from. I think a lot of people do.

Just as a disclaimer what I am about to tell you works for ME personally and it might not work for you, everyone is different and their motivations are different but this is just what works for me.

1.) STOP writing for validation and others entirely. STOP looking for feedback and praise. Write the stories YOU want to tell or the stories YOU want to see. Those who will like it, will read it. Accept that NO ONE comments. Even if they LOVE your work more than anything, even if it makes their heart literally gallop, even if it makes them sob before bed and FEEL things; they. will. not. comment. Just accept it, and move on. Essentially stop caring about other's opinions. The lack of feedback does not equate to your ability as a writer.

2.) Remind yourself that an 'idea' is worth maybe 10 cents. The EFFORT is what is worth millions. You could have the most original idea since Pinocchio but it means nothing if you don't write it so others can see it.

3.) One word at a time. A lot of people put unrealistic goals for themselves and when they don't meet them they get really discouraged, but also if they don't have any goals a lot of people will get anxiety about just not working because there is no goal. Just write. Accept some days you might write 2,000 words, and others only 200, maybe one day you only edit and tweak what you wrote, that's fine. Just write. one. word. at. a. time. until you're done. I myself do have a small, reasonable goal of 500 words a night. No, I do not do this consistently.

4.) Do not write on a white background.

This is the (ahem) start of the next chapter of Sunshine.Falling. that I have not worked on yet (I was working on The Lighthouse fic for 10 days.)

I only ever write on a black background because WHITE is too clinical, to judgey, too institutional, too much like my daytime JOB where error is not something that is acceptable. Switching to a black background for me helps tremendously because it just takes away all the anxiety and edge off. It comes off more as writing in a forum, or to a friend on a chat program, instead of in a clinical environment. In fact, I do everything that is not work related in a dark mode.

5.) Noise cancelling headphones and ambient music. Tell the world to STFU for a while so you can be without distraction. Post rock and lofi is your friend - or those "most epic/beautiful/emotional music" channels too.

I hope that at least one of these will help. Ultimately your brain is your brain and what works works. I know it's impossible to just shut off caring and wanting validation but for me it just... works.

Happy writing and thank you for stopping by and reading.

Now, I'm off to write 500 words, one word at a time.

#writing #writing tips #writing advice

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stuff-from-the-void-matron · 4 years ago

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Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (3)

(c!technoblade x fem!reader)

(some people liked chapter 2 so here’s chapter 3. whether or not there’s a chapter 4 is dependent on if this one gets any comments/reblogs.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re not exactly sure when your plans for a house shifted from ‘maybe a two story house’ into ‘some kinda roman temple/shrine type building’ instead.

Probably after the third time you had to tear down what you were building because it just didn’t look right. You’d initially not been able to go anywhere with the white quartz (you’d made a base but it looked stupid so you’d tossed it) so you’d switched it with a birch wood. That was where the problems started. First you’d tried your hand at making a cute little cottagecore house, but it just didn’t look cute to you and instead came out kinda frumpy? So you scrapped it, even though it pained you.

��Hours wasted.”

Then you tried making another house, this one taller and with dark wood. But it ended up looking like some kind of Viking home, no matter how much you tweaked it, which totally clashed with the vibrant floral scenery around you. It would work better in a snowy biome. So you’d scrapped that one too, none too happy either.

“Why do I suck?”

Then you’d tried your hand at making a cute mushroom house! But…. it was awful. No matter what you did it just didn’t look right?? You tried making the stem ‘natural’ like it would look in minecraft but then it looked too artificial to you. Then you tried making it look more normal but then it just ended up looking wonky. Long story short.. you hated it. You scrapped it, maybe a little more angry than the previous two times. That was when you’d gone back to the white quartz blocks.

And you started with a huge square, then that sorta morphed into a circle. Or as ‘circular’ as this world’s building blocks could get. Then it just sorta.. went from there? Before you knew it you had a circular white temple/shrine with a domed and tiered ceiling and four tall stained glass windows with star and sky designs. You’d gotten into the construction as it had begun to be more fun. You’d even hung lanterns by chains from the ceiling in symmetrical points and it gave the whole place a nice vibe you think. Especially when it started raining outside.

Once it was all done to your satisfaction you just sat in the middle of the quartz floor and gazed up at the gently swaying lanterns. You’re glad you’d ended up with this place, it looks pretty and has a calm vibe you can resonate with.

It would be dawn soon so you decided since you were done you’d go to bed since you had nothing else to do at the moment. Or well that had been the plan until you placed down your bed and couldn’t help but notice how utterly ridiculous a single bed in the corner of this huge temple looked. It actually made you snort before deciding then and there you needed a bed that somewhat matched the temple aesthetic you guessed you were going for now.

-0-

You ended up making this huge canopy bed with curtains and a platform you had to walk up a step to get to the three beds you’d put on it to look right. Under normal circumstances you’d not like such an overly lavish bed but it certainly fit the almost regal aesthetic your new temple home had. Which was just fine you supposed, it’s not like you were opposed to it. Just not what you’d planned to do from the get go.

Only problem now was.. the place still looked weirdly empty of life. Like one of those barren ‘minimalism’ nightmare homes rich people get off to. So you went through the inventory and started looking for stuff to decorate with. On the wall to the left of the entrance you set up an area for a brewing stand and cauldron as well as an ender chest, mostly just because it looked cool with the purple particles. You also hung up some item frames on the wall by the quartz counters you set up and picked out a bunch of pretty colored potions to hang in them.

Then on the opposite wall you made a little library with an alcove in the middle for an enchantment table. With a lantern on top of the bookshelf next to the crafting table and clay pots of flowers on the uppermost bookshelves to give the area a nicer look. You even added some fluffy carpet in front of the area to enhance the comfiness. And when you went over to the front door and then turned to look at the whole space you smiled because it really did look good. Larger than you’d intended, sure, but also very comfy now too.

You think you’re done with the inside until you look up at the bare walls between the stained glass windows. They were a little… naked. So you tried hanging up some paintings but… they looked terrible. The ‘round’ angle of the windows kept the options for what paintings you could put up pretty narrow. So you forgot that idea and instead tried putting up item frames! But you put some up and disliked it almost immediately. It felt way too busy so you got rid of those too.

You were getting tired of decorating so you just grabbed a random banner (purple because why not?) and then you grabbed a handful of different colored dyes before pulling out a loom. You tried a bunch of different designs, threw out most of them because they either ended up with ugly clashing colors or looking way too busy. But you finally settled on one that was a purple banner with an orange gradient coming up from the bottom and finally a gold sun right in the middle. It looked very pretty, like a sunset!

Once you were happy you hung a couple inside then on a whim you even hung a couple outside your door on either side. It made the outside look prettier in your opinion so once you were done (for real this time) you went and just flopped into bed, not feeling more than a touch tired but with nothing else to do at the moment. So you snuggled into your big cozy bed and drifted off to sleep~

-0-

Days passed since you built your home and you kept up work around the village, planting bamboo and berry bushes in a wall around it in a circle as a form of defense against the Illagers. They were kinda jerks and seemed to only want to kill villagers. Which wasn’t cool. And yeah you could have dug a moat or pit around it instead you guessed but you didn’t want any of the villagers falling in and you felt like they would…

So a wall of bamboo and prickly berry bushes it was. And it works! And looks dope. So win/win.

And it was as you were on your way to put some lights at the bottoms of the ponds and rivers that you noticed it from the corner of your eye. One of your sunset banners! But it was hanging up outside of the weaponsmith’s place instead of on your temple home where you knew you left it. But then you noticed another one hanging up outside the stonemason’s workshop…

You look over at your home up on the hill and see your banners still in place. And you know none of them trudged all the way up there just to steal one from the inside so you decide to investigate more in the village. And the further you walk in the more banners with your pattern on them you see. Actually every building you pass has at least one hung up somewhere near the door. You blinked before chuckling a little and thinking to yourself,

‘Oh! They all must have seen the banner I made and liked it! So they made their own to hang up. That’s actually pretty cute. I’m glad they like it.’

You were blissfully ignorant to the fact that the villagers have started to see you as their saint of sorts. Their goddess of prosperity and kindness. Without whom they would still be lost and living in pathetic huts and with no drive to acquire a skill and better themselves. They honestly look back on those times as such a dark period of their lives. When they were ignorant of their own abilities without your blessing to guide them. They owed you their lives and they wanted to show their thanks to you.

So when they saw you put up your sunset banners on your temple they quickly went to the shepherd and asked him to make them some just like it! And the shepherd, with his skill being a master thanks to your wonderful trading help, was easily able to craft such banners. Every villager had at least one by the time the sun was going down, all of them proudly being hung on the outsides of their homes and work buildings to show their allegiance to you!

But it wouldn’t stop there. The villagers wanted to give back even a fraction of what you have given to them.

-0-

In the following weeks you definitely noticed the villagers acting… odd. It started small at first, with them each coming to you and giving you gifts. The shepherd gave you a pair of blankets that were beautifully crocheted with this fluffy wool yarn, one that’d been dyed a soft baby pink while the other was a soothing sea foam color. You thanked him with a smile three times over and he seemed endlessly happy you liked them. You took them home and laid them across your bed and liked the pop of color they provided your space.

Though after that the farmer and leatherworker both met you at the entrance to your temple and each gifted you some things they thought you’d like. The farmer happily handed over a full basket of freshly baked bread along with another basket containing a bushel of golden carrots and almost a full melon’s worth of glistering melon slices. While the leatherworker offered up a pair of dainty leather sandals that looked like they would lace up your legs to just below your knees. And also what looked like a prettily crafted leather utility belt! It had lotus details and golden studs and buckles on the front and back. And one large pocket, one medium zipper pocket, and two smaller pockets. You loved all of their gifts and thanked them both over and over while safely putting the food away (and maybe eating some bread right then) and putting the slippers and belt on.

You were beyond grateful and thought that was the end of that.

You… were wrong.

-0-

As the days turned into weeks you were lavished with more and more offerings. It took you a while to realize that’s what they were; offerings. You got a little uncomfortable with all the gifts after a bit but when you started to refuse them the villagers looked so sad so you began to accept them again. Especially after they tried to make ‘better’ stuff for you after your initial refusal, under the impression the last ones weren’t good enough for you or something. It started to get hard to take in all the gifts, because sometimes you weren’t available in the village (you still liked to explore) or because you were working on something and they couldn’t reach you. So as a solution you set up a double chest outside your temple for them to put the gifts in.

They eagerly adapted to that and each night you’d clean out the chest, putting away practical gifts and discreetly getting rid of ones you had WAY too many of. Like the food. You had a full double chest of food and you didn’t need anymore, but saying so would probably hurt their feelings. So this was the easiest way. Plus a lot of the gifts you actually DID like. Like the sandals, hip pocket belt, and the pretty white dress you were currently wearing. The under part of it was just a simple white sleeveless mini dress that went above your knees (you’re not sure it was that shirt when you first tried it on..) and the over part of the dress was a sheer white maxi dress with loose ruffled sleeved that hung off your shoulders, and a slit on each side that helped with ease of movement.

You’d taken to wearing the dress, the hip pocket belt, and sandals every day. They were all comfortable and looked pretty good on you now that you think about it. Not to mention the fabric was light and breathable too, which helped keep you from getting too hot. You’re not sure what kind of fabric it’s made of, but whatever it is it’s light enough to not make you sweat but it’s also heavy enough to keep you from getting cold when it’s windy. Regardless, it’s your go-to outfit these days.

But aside from the offerings and stuff, you had to sit down and really examine your current position. You really took the time to pay attention to how the villagers were treating you. And you eventually came to the conclusion that they were treating you like some kind of saint or deity. They gave you the best of their wares as offerings, they took on your banner as their own (presumably as a show of loyalty), and they almost seemed to worship the ground you walked on. This isn’t even mentioning the statues that they’d put up of you… Like, they were good! Very well done and made of polished white quartz but.. it was still strange. Though like everything else you can’t say you weren’t getting used to it all.

You sighed and rolled with it.

-0-

You realized one day you’d never been to the Nether. And you wondered if the rules here (like mobs not bothering you) was also true there? You couldn’t deny you were sorta excited to go see, but also scared. You HATED the freaking Hoglins when you played Minecraft before this place. They were always so aggressive and you can’t count how many times they’d killed you, the bastards. But your curiosity won out over your anxiety so you grabbed the enchanted diamond pickaxe you’d been given and then paused while grabbing a stack of gold bars.

“Wait I need to wear gold right? Or the Piglins will be all mad,” you said as you grabbed a gold helmet from your inventory.

You thoughtlessly went to put it on but jerked the helmet back when it clanged against something hard. Something hard that made you wince as a small shock of pain went through your skull. A curse left your lips as you asked out loud what the fuck THAT was about. You were in the middle of trying to come up with an explanation when you reached up with your free hand and flinched when it came into contact with something on your head. Something that 200% was NOT your hair or skull. Panic bubbled inside you and your stomach sank into your feet as you whipped the gold helmet up to look into its polished surface to see yourself.

Horns? Little blunt horns… On your head.

With a shaky hand you reached up, sort of hoping this was just a dream. But when your fingertips brushed against the soft velvety texture of the horns your breathing grew faster and you pulled your hand away like you’d been burned. You dropped the helmet, not even hearing it clatter against the floor as you stumbled back, nearly tripping over the step that led up to the platform your bed was on, but you somehow managed to get to the bed and sit down.

Before you knew it you’d burst into tears and buried your face into your hands, sobbing and unable to cope with this new fuckery.

You’ve had to deal with so much weird insane shit since ending up here, wherever the fuck HERE was. You were honestly so tired. You’ve done your best to stay calm, stay sane, and just keep going. And for the most part you have! You focused on surviving, building, and dealing with the villagers. You’d probably feel silly for breaking down over some dumb horns later, especially after you’d barely batted an eye over your weird ears, teeth, and EYES. But the breakdown was probably more to do with life deciding to give you another slice of bullshit despite your overflowing plate. At least that’s what the logical part of your mind was thinking.

But the illogical part, the emotional part, was just so done. So you cried and cried and cried your very soul out until no sound was leaving you anymore. And then, once you were cried out and exhausted you weakly crawled onto the pillows and just passed out.

You’d deal with this new shit later.

-0-

Far on the outskirts of the opposite side of the village from your temple a young boy with golden hair stumbled across the entrance to said village.

He’d never seen this village before and was curious. He’d have gladly stormed in and started going through villager chests for loot but it was getting close to dusk and his older brother said he needed to get back asap. Now usually he’d shrug off his brother’s bossy nature but he’d sounded worried so he decided to hurry and get back before it got too late.

But before he turned and left he marked down this village’s coordinates so he could get back to it later..

-------------------------

tag list:

@salinesoot @lady-bee-fechin @kacchasu @putridjoy @lunawritesstories @galaxypankitty3030 @paradigmax @zachariethememerie @killmewithafanfic @trinity-1002107

#technoblade x reader #technoblade #dsmp #dream smp #mcyt x reader #tommyinnit #tommyinit mcyt #c!techno #c!tommy

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team-heavenly · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 18

Decimeter’s Tower

...Ten centimeter’s tower? (Ngl I thought “Decimeter” was a Greek goddess for a second.)

This post is gonna be four parts... Somehow the image count is a little bit larger than Chapter 15, our heretofore longest post! Ooooo, look at me getting all fancy with the vocab 🧐

Find Part 2 here!

Find Part 3 here!

Find Part 4 here!

The title card flashed before our eyes as we approached the beach, so it took a few moments of blinking rapidly before our vision cleared. And we see...

No Togetic on the beach :(

(Eeesh, sorry for the weird shading in the dialogue box on the next image... tablet shadows, amirite?)

How could you, hun? You didn’t even know the Precious Butte existed until a few days ago.

(*after it was, not “we”. Sorry again.)

So we can go whe- aw, forget it, I’m beating a dead Ponyta at this point.

A wild Lapras(?) appeared!

Really? It’s unusual for... Pokémon who live in the sea to travel across it? 🤨

...Oh, you losers.

Did they. Did they not hear the part where the world was gonna be paralyzed? They really think this is the time to f*ck around and find out? Okaaaay.

...WAIT... GROTLE IS LAPRAS...

JESUS GROTLE JESUS GROTLE!!

So now we see where Totodile ran off to! And, wonder of wonders, he has a connection to the Precious Butte, too. Small world, eh?

“Ahem! And so, as you’re all quite aware...”

I’m not sure why we’re dropping the article in front of Guildmaster (“The Guildmaster”) throughout this chapter. Is it grammatically valid? Sure. But it just sounds a little strange to me.

Everyone: “........................”

(It was a funny moment, but I had to cut it out. This chapter is already way too long.)

Here, here!

...I was dreaming about spread sheets when I put together this textbox apparently.

So, anyway, yes! Time to crash the gentrified yurt!!

(I mean... come ON!)

The vicious Pokémon in question:

👀 Those?

Literally laughing at the idea that Mewtwo - idolized as the toughest Pokémon alive- could be scared of something. God, what a perfect replacement for Loudred.

Then Tropius is like: “...Funny story about that!”

This originally said, “They attacked with no warning out of nowhere.” Which... isn’t the clearest way to say this? So I tweaked it a lil’ hehe.

“Wait a second, Tropius.”

Yeah, that’s what I alluded to earlier!!

^Fixed that very obvious typo on Chunsoft’s part smh

Love that confidence, Tropius!

...Of course, they don’t know about...

Again, did they miss that part about the planet’s paralysis?

Honestly shocked tumblr let me fit in this many images, so I won’t push my luck any more and direct y’all to Part 2!

#pokemon mystery dungeon #pmd explorers #explorers of sky #randomizer #chapter 18

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teacupfulofstarshine · 4 years ago

Text

LOVELY, DARK, AND DEEP CHAPTER 10

PLEASE HEED THE CONTENT WARNINGS!!! this chapter features Evil Scientist Lady and her Fucked Up WorldView a LOT, and there are also some Major Plot Events that involve Violence. i will put a summary in the end notes if you decide at any point that this particular chapter is too much - that's super valid! i will also mention here that no main characters are going to die in this story and no one dies in this chapter either.

huge huge thanks to @flamingfawkes for beta’ing!

CW: extreme disregard for human life, mentioned human and animal cruelty, toxic workplace environment, violence (both imagined and actual, mildly graphic), gun mention, minor blood, death threats, extremely unethical character, unethical science, stalking

chapter 1 // chapter 2 // chapter 3 // chapter 4 // chapter 5 // chapter 6 // chapter 7 // chapter 8 // chapter 9 // read it on ao3!

“This is the same result we’ve gotten the last twenty times -”

“I don’t care, Steven, run it again!”

Steven sighs, punching at the keyboard to run the statistical analysis sequence again. ��This is ridiculous! I’ve run this sequence so many times it feels like my eyes are going to bleed. Why can’t we just turn in the results we have and -”

“Because she’ll behead us,” James snaps, “and then she’ll destroy our reputations and our families and they’ll get no severance. I have three young children at home, Steven, I need this money.” Steven softens a little, fingers running smoothly over the keys as he combs the data again. Next to him, James has a computer screen full of frame-by-frame stills of what little data they recovered from the probe before it was destroyed; Penny across the room is surrounded by ancient texts a mile high and at least three laptops.

“Why is she so interested in this, anyway?”

“It’s beyond me. Since when do we question the whims of what we’re told to do?”

Steven squints at the screen, pushing his chair back and rubbing at his eyes. “If I have to stare at these numbers for one more second, my brain is going to explode. I feel like my eyeballs are going to melt out of my skull. I wanna scream.”

James pulls up another image, staring at the blurry image of the merman before him. Steven pushes away from his own screen and squints at James’s. The merman in the photo looks young, not much older than his kid brother, but they don’t know anything about the lifespan of these creatures. He looks confused, squinting at the camera. As James flicks through the stills, the merman transitions from confused to angry to enraged, and then he attacks.

“He’s not happy about the camera.”

“Would you be happy about someone spying on you and your family?” James says, switching to the next still.

“I wouldn’t be happy if I thought someone was doing anything we do in this lab to me or my family.” James elbows Steven, but luckily no one else seems to have heard.

“This lab isn’t the most ethical place I’ve ever worked, but it pays the bills,” James mutters. “And we’re not even in the experimentation lab. We just do data analysis. We’re removed from the situation.”

Are we? Steven wonders. He sees James reach out and touch the framed picture of his daughters, and keeps his mouth shut. He turns back to his computer, watching the little spinning color wheel of his mouse as the program calculates the same numbers again and again. The results come up identical to the previous ones, and Steven clicks “Run Program” again wordlessly.

They work in silence for a while, the three of them, broken only by James’s muttering and the occasional thud of one of Penny’s books and the clicks of keyboards and mice. If they weren’t so reliant on technology, Steven thinks, there would be an enormous corkboard spanning three of the four walls, covered in pushpins and handwriting and red string connecting images. He debates actually building one, if only to increase the levity in the room, but decides against it.

He’s seen people punished or fired or who-knows-what-else for far less, after all.

Instead, after his program tells him for the twenty-third time that his results are the same (and didn’t someone say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results?), Steven scrubs at his eyes with the heels of his palms and opens the data entry window. Maybe the problem with the results has to do with the entry of the data; did he input something wrong? It’s possible . . .

Here he goes again, he supposes. He stands up, stretches, and leans back to crack some vertebrae. “I’m gonna grab a coffee, take a short screen break, and go back to the beginning. Maybe there’s something in the input that I missed. You want anything?”

James groans, thunking his head against the desk. “I want something with enough caffeine to kill three elephants, please.” Steven nods, looking over at Penny. She shakes her head, and he heads for the shitty coffee machine a few doors down.

Several floors below, a young woman pulls her lab goggles up to rest on top of her head with her perfectly-pinned protocol-compliant bun. “The latest round of tests is completely done, ma’am. I think you’ll find the efficacy . . . striking.”

She takes the clipboard, glossy perfectly-painted nails pinching the sheets of thin paper and flicking between them. “I’m afraid I don’t do so well with the scientific side of things - Kathleen, was it? Explain this to me, would you?”

“Certainly, ma’am. As you know, the kill time for the most effective neurotoxin currently available, tetrodotoxin, varies from thirty minutes to four hours. Average time for symptoms to manifest is seventeen minutes, and from there the symptoms progress through tingling of the lips and tongue, headache, vomiting, muscle weakness, ataxia, et cetera. Death occurs as a result of respiratory or heart failure, and the poison is nearly undetectable if you do not specifically test for it.”

“The untraceability is a plus, but that is far too wide a range of times, and too slow a time even at its fastest.”

“Of course, ma’am, but as far as naturally-occurring marine poisons go - actually, as far as naturally-occurring poisons go, full stop - it is the most effective. Until now, that is.”

“Oh? What are your findings?”

“Which trials would you like to start with, ma’am?”

“The human trials, Kathleen. The only ones that matter. I hardly intend to go around killing mice and hoping that no one traces their deaths to a novel neurotoxin.” She laughs airily, and Kathleen nods along.

“Certainly, ma’am. The most recent data points indicate an average efficacy time of thirteen minutes for our compound neurotoxin, with a full range between nine and seventeen minutes passing before subject death. Subjects began to show symptoms around five minutes, give or take twenty-five seconds.”

“And those symptoms were?”

Kathleen flips through the document. “Seizures, vital organ failure, blindness, painful muscle spasms, suffocation from the inside out.”

She hums, tapping a manicured finger against the report. “Well, Kathleen, that is certainly impressive, especially for a preliminary human subject trial. These results . . . I must say, they are not nearly as disappointing as I anticipated when I came down here.”

“Ma’am?”

“How long have you worked for this company, Kathleen?”

“Almost five years, ma’am, but I’ve always been an assistant. This is my first time as lead researcher and biochemist on a project, ever since you . . . laid off the previous lead researcher.”

“Kathleen, let me be frank. These results are not what I hoped for. The efficacy time and symptom onset times are both far too long for my liking, and the range of efficacy time is too broad. By all accounts, I should consider this a failure.” Kathleen swallows, but remains poised. “However, you’ve managed to shave off a considerable amount of time from the tetrodotoxin readings. The range of symptom onset time is an acceptable breadth, and your results are far beyond anything your predecessor ever accomplished for me. This is truly impressive, all things considered.”

“Thank you, ma’am. How should I proceed?”

“I want the efficacy doubled - tripled - I want it upped by anywhere between four and five hundred percent. I want the pain increased, too. Feel free to increase your requests for test subjects, but get me the results I want. You said the original tetrodotoxin was untraceable?”

“That’s correct, ma’am.”

“Can you keep that feature intact?”

“As of right now, it is intact, ma’am. I will endeavor to keep it so in future experiments.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Welcome to your new position as head of this research division. Don’t let me down.” She holds out a slender hand, and Kathleen takes it, trying not to seem too eager.

“I won’t, ma’am.”

“How soon can you start this experiment up again?”

“The cleaners should be finished by tomorrow morning, ma’am, and I can tweak chemical formulas until then.”

“Excellent.” Her watch beeps, and she lifts it, pursing her bright lips as she examines the message she’s just received. “If you’ll excuse me, I have another matter to attend to. Someone will drop off your master access key for Lab Three within the hour.”

She steps into the elevator and lifts her watch up to her face, swiping through the messages from her secretary. One finger reaches out to press the button for the digital analysis labs floor, and the other taps away at her watch.

When she steps off the elevator, her secretary is waiting. “Ma’am.”

“What do they have for me?”

“Unclear. They said it was something they wanted to report directly to you and you alone, but it seems to be something big.”

“Hopefully it’s a big step in the right direction, or they’ll be taking a big step out of a job.” She relishes in the way the employees she passes all unfailingly flinch and then snap to perfect attention when they hear the sharp echo of her heels against the floor. She lifts her head and walks faster, striking the tiles with her heels like a gavel, sharp and precise against a judge’s desk.

The computer labs are disorganized when she enters, but there is a string of promising-looking numbers on the main display monitor. There is a woman surrounded by books and a man pulling up photos on his computer, and there is a third man standing in front of her like a toy soldier. She focuses on that one.

“I hear you have news for me? Make it swift, and make it good.”

He swallows, hard, and her eyes idly trace the line of his throat. If he disappoints her, perhaps she will drive her heel through it, to make an example of him. That would be far too messy; perhaps his dominant hand will do.

“I have narrowed down the location of the missing net, ma’am. I believe it to have washed up somewhere around these general GPS coordinates.” He fiddles with a remote in his hand, and the image on the screen changes. It shows an aerial satellite view of a secluded strip of beach, framed by rocky cliffs with larger rocks studded out into the open water. “It should have washed up somewhere in this one-point-three-seven-mile strip of beach. The whole area is property of one Doctor Thomas Sanders.”

She snarls. “That man. He won’t let us on that beach willingly until hell freezes over.”

The other man, the one scanning through photo stills and video footage, jumps up, knocking his chair backwards. “I found something!”

She turns towards him, and his excitement freezes and sputters into something much more controlled and terrified. “Show me.” He clicks something and pulls up video footage from one of their surveillance drones, zooming in on a particular patch of ocean along the stretch of Sanders’ beach. Her eyes widen when she sees what he’d noticed - a hump of red-and-white tail arcing above the waves before a pattern of ripples streaks off towards the cliff. He pauses the footage, rewinds it, uses a laser pointer to show an opening concealed in the cliff face.

“There’s some kind of grotto in there, hidden by the cliff. It’s on Sanders’ property, he has to know it’s there. And it looks like the merman from the destroyed drone knows it’s there too. Which means -”

“That must be where he’s keeping them.” Something burns in her chest, brilliant and terrifying and all-encapsulating, like wildfire. “We’ve found them, at long last.”

“What would you have me do?” her secretary asks. “I can arrange for a recovery squad at your earliest possible convenience, ma’am.”

“Assemble the squad, but do not have them move out. They will wait for my orders. When they go, you are to go with them.” Her secretary nods, once, sharp and sure. “Dispatch a crew to Lab One and clear it out. I want it prepped for containment, vivisection, chemical tests - the works. Get at least three tanks set up and one strap-down human table.”

“A human table, ma’am?”

“Yes. We have to deal with Sanders once and for all to ensure that he does not ruin any future experiments.”

“Will we be taking him as well?”

She hums thoughtfully. “No. Pull up the file we have on his known associate?”

A few swift clicks and flicks and a photo appears on the large screen: a young man with brown-and-purple hair, sleeves rolled up, carefully lowering a perfectly viable specimen into the ocean and letting it go, like some kind of fool. “His doctoral student, ma’am. The longest one he’s ever kept - this one has been with him a few years.”

“Excellent. When you raid the lab, take him.”

“Should we kill Sanders?”

“No. Rough him up a little, but leave him alive. Taking his protégé and leaving him alone, helpless to rescue him, will be the highest form of torture for such an insufferable person. The agony will eat him alive until his dying day.”

Her secretary nods, taking the notes down dutifully. The other employees look vaguely horrified, but she pays them no mind. No sacrifice is too great to be made in the name of progress, and anyone who thinks otherwise is a weakling who will never get anywhere in life.

She refuses to be one of those weaklings.

*~*~*~*~*

Logan wakes up confused.

He’s warm, warmer than he thinks he’s ever been in his whole life. When he stirs, he moves farther than he meant to - he must not be underwater. That’s enough to send a jolt of concern through his sleep-addled brain. Why isn’t he underwater? Why was he sleeping if he was above the surface? There’s no way his dad is here, and Roman hates surfacing, where are they? Where is he? But he’s so comfortable . . .

Someone shifts beside him, an arm draping across his waist, and Logan forces his eyes open. He shifts his lower half, confused when two things move instead of one, and there are layers upon layers of thin, flat, soft things wrapping around him. What is happening?

Slowly, slowly, his mind clears, and he remembers the events of last night. He grew legs - he was a human, once, before he was mer - he couldn’t sleep underwater with Dad and Roman - Virgil was teaching him to walk - Virgil put “clothes” on him - Virgil was embarrassed that he didn’t have those “clothes” on him - Virgil took him out of the lab to sleep - Virgil agreed to cuddle him since his pod couldn’t -

Logan feels the strange burning in his face again as he shifts. He can’t see well in this new human form, but when things are close enough to his face they’re relatively clear. And Virgil, still sleeping, is close enough that Logan can smell him - he smells like salt water mixed with something sharp and something sweet and something else that Logan can’t quite identify but finds addicting nonetheless. Sunlight streams in and pools around Virgil’s face, illuminating the tangled mess of hair spread around him and flopping into his face, the small puddle of water leaking out from his open mouth onto the soft thing he’s resting his head on, the way his chest moves slowly with every breath. His arm is wrapped around Logan, pulling him close. Logan thinks he might explode if he focuses on this any more, so he rolls from his side to his back as carefully as he can, not wanting to wake Virgil. Virgil tightens his arm around Logan and mutters something indecipherable in his sleep, but he doesn’t wake.

Rather than focusing on his very confusing feelings for the very pretty man next to him, Logan focuses on what he can see of the room around him. He makes a list in his mind of things that he plans to ask Virgil about later today, including:

1: There are many draws attached to the small, smooth cliffs surrounding them. How do they stay there?

2: There are lots of “clothes” scattered all around the floor, and there were several on the bed, too. Is that normal for humans?

3: Last night, Virgil did something that made the room light up with trapped sunlight! How did he do that?

4: How did Virgil get ice to stay in those big frozen sheets in such a warm place to let the sunlight in?

5: How did Virgil make ice into that weird shape that he filled with water and drank last night?

6: How did Virgil get the water to come into this place?

7: Do all humans have a specific area set aside for sleeping? Logan and his pod usually just sleep wherever they can, but Virgil seems to have this soft slab set aside with all of these soft things to be comfortable and sleep in every night. Is this a Human Thing or strictly a Virgil Thing?

Logan looks out through the sheet of ice that protects Virgil’s area from the outside and gasps. He can’t see well, but there’s a glittering expanse of blue that shifts and moves and oh, is that the ocean?

He’s spent his whole life (well, his whole remembered life, anyways) in the ocean, and he’s seen some truly wondrous things. He travels around the world with his pod, he knows the ocean is big, but seeing it spread out like this is . . . awe-inspiring. Logan has never seen the ocean like this, and now that he has he doesn’t think he can ever not see it like this again. It’s like a perfect sheet of sea-glass, rippling and unbroken but dynamic in a way that he never really gets a sense of when he’s beneath it.

He knows that there are waves, of course. There are smaller swells out on the open ocean, and larger ones when the Second Goddess dips her fingers down from the Upper Ocean and swirls the storms to a thundering burst. There are waves along the shoreline, ones that he frolics in with Roman and batter him against the shoreline. There are waves created when he or his pod members surface. But watching the movement of the ocean from up here is . . .

Even with his imperfect vision, he is completely at a loss for words as he stares at the ocean.

Eventually, Virgil stirs next to him, and Logan turns away from the ocean to stare at him. Virgil is close to him, arms wrapped tightly around him, face pressed against him. Logan’s eyesight is not great, but Virgil is close enough that he can pick out little details of his face. There are brown face scales scattered all over him, but they seem to cluster on his nose and his cheeks. Logan has wanted to touch them for a substantial amount of time, and he can’t stop himself from gently settling the tips of his fingers over Virgil’s cheek.

His face doesn’t feel like Logan was expecting. The scales don’t give texture to his face the way that Logan’s do; the skin is smooth and flat. There are little bumps all over, but the brown scales aren’t raised off the skin like Logan expected. He lets his fingers trail along Virgil’s face. His bone structure seems to be exceedingly similar to Logan’s, at least in regards to his head. Logan’s finger rests gently on the curve of bone under Virgil’s eye, and Virgil exhales warm breath onto his palm.

Logan wonders what it would be like to have this for longer than just his recovery period. He wonders what it would be like to wake up next to Virgil all the time, to get to run his hands over Virgil’s face and arms and chest and examine the differences between their anatomy. He wonders what it would be like to learn to walk without falling over, and he feels a sharp, unexpected twinge in his chest as he realizes that getting better at walking means no more closeness to Virgil.

His chest feels strange, like there’s a school of small fish swarming around and tickling his insides and making him feel all foamy, like the froth churned up by a windswept sea. He feels like he does when he’s underwater - free, weightless, mobile, limited by nothing except his own imagination. He feels unstoppable.

Virgil makes a sudden, sharp inhale, blinking his eyes open slowly. Logan thinks that, perhaps, he might not appreciate being studied unknowingly - he hadn’t appreciated Virgil doing it, before he understood what was happening, when all he knew was the loss of his pod aching like a scraped-out seashell. As Virgil wakes up, Logan shifts, turning his gaze to the rest of the room.

Virgil makes a sleepy grumbling noise, opening one eye. Logan chances another quick glance at him, and when his eye slides open Logan is struck by its beauty. He doesn’t get much of a chance to admire it, however, before Virgil is jolting backwards like Logan’s struck him with lightning. Logan is confused, reaching out and gently touching his shoulder. “Virgil?”

“Wassat?! Wait . . . L’gan?”

“It is me,” Logan says softly. “Are - are you upset with me?”

Virgil yawns, jaw dropping to his chest, revealing a flash of teeth and a soft pink tongue. (Logan wants to lick it. Why does Logan want to lick it? Why is Logan thinking about Virgil’s tongue licking his tongue - why is Logan thinking about Virgil - what in the Seven Oceans is happening to him.) “Wh - no, no, ‘m okay, I just - woke up, forgot I had you with me, got confused about another person in my bed.” Before Logan can start to feel bad, Virgil adds, “S’okay if it’s you, though,” and the foamy, floaty feeling is back.

“Did you sleep well?”

Virgil laughs, low and rumbling, and Logan can feel it in his fingers where he touches Virgil’s skin. “I never sleep well.” He sits up, and the fabric of his pajamas shifts to let Logan see stretches of soft, supple skin that he usually doesn’t. Logan wants to touch it. He very determinedly keeps his hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “Gotta admit, though, last night was . . . better than usual.”

This appears to be the point where Virgil first notices their position - pressed together, arm slung over Logan, basically cuddling the way that Logan normally would with his pod. (No tangle with his pod has ever felt this . . . electric, this charged, this important to Logan before.) His face flares a brilliant red, and he shifts like he wants to move away but -

“I’m sorry,” Virgil says. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No!” Logan blurts out. Virgil blinks at him a little, and maybe he was a little overly enthusiastic, but - “I sleep in a tangle with Dad and Roman all the time. I have extreme difficulty sleeping without contact with someone else. It . . . helped me greatly.”

“Oh,” Virgil says, face turning redder still, smiling shyly. “That - makes me feel better. Thanks, Lo.”

Logan smiles, and Virgil smiles too, reaching up to gently move a piece of hair away from his face. Logan thinks that, as far as deaths go, his chest exploding (which seems to be getting more and more likely every fifteen seconds he spends in Virgil’s presence, only accelerated by all this skin-on-skin contact they’re having right now) seems to be the most pleasurable.

Virgil opens his mouth to say something, but whatever it was is interrupted by a Ping! noise from across the room. “What is that?” Logan asks. Virgil, sadly, untangles himself from Logan and the blankets, sliding out of bed and heading over to one of the other structures in the room (what did he call it last night? Dex?) and picking up a flat glowing rectangle.

“Is everything alright?”

“What? Yeah, yeah, I - Thomas sent me a text, it’s a little weird.”

“What is a text?”

“It’s a kind of human messaging system, it allows us to communicate when we’re far away from each other.”

“Like a pod call?” “Kind of? I’ll explain more later, I promise, I just - I gotta go down to the lab real quick.”

“I’ll come with -”

“No!” Virgil snaps. Logan flinches, and Virgil softens, crossing the room and gently touching his shoulder. “Hey, no, Logan, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just - this message, there’s something off. I think something might be wrong, and I don’t want to put you in any unnecessary danger. Just - wait here, okay? Wait in my room, where it’s safe. It’s probably nothing, he’s probably fine, but on the off chance that he’s not, I want you to stay hidden safely up here.”

Logan isn’t sure why this makes his face heat up slightly, but it does. “Okay. I accept your apology, and I . . . trust you.”

Virgil smiles, soft and heartwarming, and Logan is beginning to give more credence to his “chest explosion is fine, actually” theory. “Wait for me here, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”

He leaves, shutting the door firmly behind him, and the foamy feeling in Logan’s chest dissipates a little. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something . . . off. If Logan didn’t know better, he’d think that he was sensing a predator approaching.

But that can’t be right, he isn’t underwater. His danger senses are likely just overreacting to his disappointment at Virgil’s absence.

. . . Right?

*~*~*~*~*

Thomas is beginning to regret letting Roman and Patton (specifically, Roman) out of the large tank before finishing his first coffee of the morning.

“I want some!” Roman complains.

“Do you even know what it is?” Thomas says. Roman pouts sulkily at him.

“. . . No,” he mutters, rolling his eyes. Thomas gives him the deadpan, no-nonsense, I-am-your-direct-superior-take-the-damn-samples-Virgil stare that he has perfected over the past few years. Roman wilts a little more, and Thomas feels slightly bad.

“It’s called coffee,” he says. “It’s a hot drink that lots of people have in the morning. Some people drink it plain, and some people add things to it to change the way it tastes. It helps me wake up more and get focused to start my day, and sometimes I drink it late at night to help keep me awake.”

Roman looks less like a kicked puppy and more like Logan, eyes wide and curious. “I want some!”

Thomas, taking a sip of his own two-seconds-of-cream-five-cubes-of-sugar coffee, nearly spits it out. He looks at Roman, eyes the very sharp, very detachable, very toxic spines covering his body, and says, “No.”

Roman’s demeanor changes entirely, switching from “curious toddler” to “toddler about to throw a temper tantrum” in a heartbeat. “Why not?!”

“Because when people drink coffee without being used to it, sometimes it makes them a little crazy.”

“I’m not crazy!”

“Do I need to recount to you how many times you’ve threatened me and my assistant since we met you?” Thomas says, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not giving you coffee until I know I can trust you not to stab me with your poisonous spines that cover your entire body and can be fired at people.”

Roman pouts more, dropping under the water and letting out a gratingly harmonious string of mer that Thomas is pretty sure translates to Roman bitching about the coffee situation to his dad. Based on the pattern of Patton’s response, he’s pretty sure Patton is laughing at Roman.

More sulky chalkboard-violin music, and then Roman resurfaces grumpily. “Dad agrees with you and says no consuming strange human foods.”

“Did he laugh at you?”

Roman squints suspiciously at him. “You can’t speak our language.”

“Yeah, but I know what it sounds like when a dad laughs at his kid.” Roman, continuing to pout, sinks back into the tank, presumably to sulk some more. Thomas takes another very long sip of coffee that is definitely too hot for his mouth and turns back to his desk.

Virgil should definitely be awake and in the lab at this point. The samples he’s supposed to be analyzing are sitting in their little tubes, each neatly labelled with locations and dates and times and what, specifically, Virgil is supposed to be looking for. Thomas considers going upstairs and waking up Virgil, who’s almost never been late for work in this way, but he decides against it. Virgil is upstairs with Logan, and Thomas knows that there’s something building between them. He’s not sure how advisable that something is, but he trusts Virgil to make his own decisions.

Besides, he could probably use some practice. His water sample analysis skills are pretty rusty, he’s had Virgil doing them for years. “Virgil, you owe me big time for what I’m doing for you.” He carefully shifts the samples over to his own desk, slides his earbuds in, picks up a pipette, and gets to work analyzing the bacterial and algal concentrations for any abnormalities.

Thomas accomplishes about forty-five minutes’ worth of work before Roman interrupts him by flicking water at him and soaking the back of his neck. “Hey!”

“I tried your name, but your little ear bug things were keeping you from hearing me,” Roman says smugly. Thomas, not for the first time, considers retreating to the closet and throwing beakers until he feels better.

“Can I help you?”

“Dad wants to go hunting and bring back breakfast, but we can’t leave without you.”

“Are you not going hunting?”

“I’m going to stay here and observe you,” Roman says.

Thomas blinks. “Do I . . . need observing?”

“How do I know you won’t sell us out to your little human friends the second you get a chance? If I’m here, I can stop you. Plus, what if you do something to Logan while we’re not here to protect him? No, no, I’m staying right where I am and you can’t make me leave.” His spines ripple; Thomas steps closer to a whiteboard in case he needs to duck.

“I’m not going to do that, and I don’t want you to stab me.”

“Still! I’m staying here! Also, Dad’s bigger than me, and he’s a better hunter cause he’s faster and he’s been hunting longer.

“Does he need something to help him carry all those fish?” Thomas asks. Roman opens his mouth like he’s going to say something snarky, pauses, and stops.

“I . . . usually we just eat what we catch when we catch it. We make a pile of prey and take turns guarding it while the other two hunt. Then we make a sacrifice to the Seven Mother Goddesses and eat what’s left.”

After some debate, Thomas is able to fashion a sling of sorts from some waterproof tarps and leftover anchor rope to tie around Patton’s body. “You can put the fish in this pouch and carry them back here. Will you be able to navigate your way back to the grotto?”

“He will,” Roman says. “Dad knows more about the ocean than any human possibly could.” Another discordant song from the tank, chastising, and Roman huffs. “Dad wants me to reassure you that he’ll be fine.”

Patton settles into the mobile tank easily, and Thomas gets him down to the grotto leading towards the sea. “When you come back, let out one of your pod calls and Virgil or I will come and collect you and your catch. Take as much time as you need, okay?”

Patton reaches up and gently pats Thomas’s arm with one large, damp hand, and Thomas takes that to mean an agreement. “Alright, off you go.” There’s a whoosh and a rush of water as it flows from the tank into the grotto in a clean arc, carrying Patton with it. Thomas waits for a moment, letting Patton disappear into the open ocean, before returning to the laboratory.

Roman, for the most part, ignores Thomas. He asks the occasional question, which Thomas tries to answer in a way that he’ll understand, and leans over the edge of his touch tank, eyes guarded. Every time Thomas sneaks a glance, when he thinks Roman isn’t looking, his expression is wide-eyed and wondrous, like Logan’s usually are, but the moment he realizes Thomas is watching him his entire face closes up like a clamshell.

Thomas wonders what it’ll take to get Roman to trust him, trust Virgil, trust any human. Granted, he doesn’t know Roman’s history with humans, but he and Patton are both fairly scarred, and Thomas might not know the whole story but he’d bet a not-insignificant amount of his monthly income that the giant starburst scar taking up the majority of Patton’s chest isn’t the result of a clash with a marine creature.

He works quietly, fielding the occasional question, keeping one ear on the grotto tunnel for Patton’s return. He’s not sure how long he expected Patton to be gone, but he hears movement in the grotto tunnel far sooner than he’d expected.

“Thomas, what’s -”

“Shhhh,” Thomas says. He stands up, pushing away from his desk, but before he can say anything else, there’s a flood of movement coming from the tunnel. Bodies pour into the lab, swift and strong and carrying weapons that they immediately train on Thomas and Roman.

“What is this?” Roman snaps, bristling. He sounds betrayed, like he thinks Thomas is behind this. Thomas picks up a heavy glass beaker, fully prepared to shatter it upside someone’s skull if necessary, but something heavy and hard strikes the back of his skull and he feels his knees crumple. Roman cries out, and Thomas struggles to push himself up. A hand fists itself in his hair and yanks him upright, sharply. Thomas exhales sharply through his teeth, but before he can start struggling, something cool and round rests against the back of his neck, shutting him up and shutting his brain down.

Roman is puffed up like a hedgehog, apparently fully prepared to defend Thomas despite his strong and inherent mistrust. Before he can begin to attack, Thomas hears the click-click-click of shoes on the hard stone floor. Whoever’s holding his head yanks him back again, and he is forced to watch as a woman walks into his laboratory.

(It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke - a sick, horrible, twisted joke.)

She has black heels, black tights, a black pencil skirt, a black blazer, and a blood-red blouse. Her hair is scraped back into a tight bun, pulled so taut it must hurt, and is held in place with a pitch black stick. She carries a - clipboard? tablet? Unclear - held against her chest, and there’s a sleek silver weapon in her right hand.

“The one from the video?” she asks.

“Affirmative, ma’am,” says the person holding Thomas’s head. The woman nods, lifting her weapon, and fires at Roman. Thomas tries to scream a warning, earning himself another painful yank from his captor, but the projectile lodges itself in Roman’s shoulder anyway.

It isn’t a bullet, but something that looks like a small syringe. Roman swats it out of his shoulder, swaying a little, but it doesn’t stop him from swiping at the - mercenary, they must be - who tries to grab him with his elbow spines. The woman frowns, lifts the weapon - some kind of tranquilizer gun? - and fires again.

Roman screams, inhuman and animal, and tears the newest dart from his arm, throwing himself out of his tank and clinging to the nearest mercenary. His teeth tear into the man’s shoulder, spines piercing through his camouflage clothing and flooding him with neurotoxin. The man collapses against the concrete, alive but unconscious, and Roman snarls at the next man as though daring him to approach. He sways, weakened but awake, and bares his teeth.

“Of course,” the woman says, tapping something on her tablet. “His naturally produced neurotoxin must be providing him with some level of natural resistance. Unexpected, but not a limitation.”

It takes three more tranquilizer darts before Roman finally slumps down into his tank, unconscious. The mercenaries look hesitant to approach him, but the woman reaches for her tablet and they scramble to action at once.

“No - no, stop, let him go, he’s not an animal for you to cart off to your lab -” Thomas starts. The man holding him knees him sharply in the back and he cries out, coughing.

They wrap Roman in thick leather bands, roughly shoving his spines flat and binding them against his skin so that he can’t attack them again. The woman nods, once, short and sharp, and they drag Roman away, letting his head bang mercilessly on the ground. Thomas catches a glimpse of a logo - emblazoned on the back of the jackets, on the back of the woman’s tablet, on the side of her tranquilizer gun - and commits it to memory. He’s going to need it, if he gets out of here alive.

“- your phone,” the woman says, and oh, when did she get in front of him.

“My what?”

His mouth runs dry as she places the tranquilizer gun under his chin, barrel pressing against his throat, and tips his chin up. “I said, give me your phone.”

Thomas blinks. “My - the desk. It’s on the desk.”

She sets her tablet down, picks up his phone, and shoves it in his face. “Open it.”

“I - wh -”

“Unlock your phone, Dr. Sanders. Must I repeat myself a third time?” She rolls her eyes. “Doctorates are wasted on people like you.”

Thomas numbly punches in his passcode, and she swipes through to his messages app, frowning before turning the screen towards his face to reveal a message thread with Virgil. “Is this your assistant?”

Thomas glares at her, he’s not going to give her what she wants, he’s not going to just give her Virgil but then the - gun, it must be a gun, what else would they be holding against his neck like this - pushes into him harder, and it’s probably bruising, and he can’t get himself killed here because then he definitely won’t be able to take care of Virgil and -

“Yes,” Thomas says, hating himself for giving in so easily. “What do you -”

She turns away from him, nails clicking against his phone screen as she sends a text message - to Virgil, presumably, and that makes his heart sink like a stone - before dropping it on the floor and stepping on it to shatter it. “I have a message for you.”

“A - what?”

“Did they really hit you that hard, or were you this stupid before we came here?” she says coldly, picking up the tablet again and tapping at the screen. Thomas groans as the man yanks him to his feet, shoving him onto his chair and pulling a roll of duct tape out of one of his multiple pants pockets. He tapes Thomas’s wrists and ankles to the chair, keeping his weapon trained on Thomas’s temple at all times, before pressing it roughly against his head and gripping his hair again.

The woman sets the tablet on his lab table, and the screen flickers to life, and then there’s a woman in front of a dark black backdrop, smiling at him like a cat who’s caught a canary. “Thomas Sanders. How long I’ve waited for this day.”

Thomas recognizes her. He knows he recognizes her. She used to be his classmate, before . . .

His head hurts, so badly that he can barely keep his eyes open, and the memory slips away. “You . . . why are you doing this?”

“Why? Because I am a real scientist, unlike you. You refuse to do what is necessary, what must be done for the progression of the species. The sacrifice of some worthless animals is necessary for humanity to reach its zenith. You would really hinder the entire human race for the preservation of lower life forms?”

“Wh - I -”

“You think that ‘preserving the ecosystem’ and ‘keeping animals alive’ makes you a good scientist, but it makes you weak. You are weak, Thomas Sanders, and if the world was left in the hands of people like you, the human race as we know it would die out in a few centuries. Fortunately, there are people like me, who understand what must be done.”

“Caring about other people and things - it doesn’t - it doesn’t make you weak,” Thomas says, chest heaving, and the woman just laughs.

“One of many logical fallacies to which you subscribe, Thomas. They really gave you a doctorate? Of course caring makes you weak. All emotions make you weak. They corrupt your data and make your experiments worthless. You must be ruthless. You must be willing to do whatever it takes to pursue your goals and achieve the height of success. But no.” She rolls her eyes, face hardening, twirling a pen in her fingers. “You insist on ethics and principles and letting emotions cloud your judgement, and that makes you a failure as a scientist. It makes you weak. Your attachments will be your downfall.”

Thomas’s eyes slide shut, head pounding, and the man behind him yanks at his hair so sharply that he knows some has been ripped out. He forces his eyes open in time to see a smile slide across the woman’s face like a knife, teeth gleaming white as sun-bleached bone.

“You won’t - get away with this,” Thomas manages. He grinds his teeth together and curls his hands into fists, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself awake. “If you leave me alive -” Thomas, stop talking, why are you reminding her that she has the option to fucking kill you “- I will not rest until I find you. I’ll - you can’t -”

“You’ll what, Thomas? If you call the police, you’ll expose those creatures you’re so intent on protecting to the world. Are you really willing to take that chance?” Before Thomas can even begin formulating a response, she steamrolls him. “It doesn’t matter. Even if you were, I’m going to take some . . . insurance, shall we say.”

“Why not just kill me?” Thomas spits. Excellent idea, Doc, poke the murderous lady with a stick like a god damn hornet’s nest, the tiny Virgil in his brain hisses. Her smile, somehow, only widens, and that’s . . . that can’t be good, can it? Smiles are supposed to be good! They’re supposed to make you happy, but all Thomas feels is creeping dread and pain, so much pain, and -

Yeah. He’s . . . pretty sure he has a concussion.

“Because if I kill you, you get to take the easy way out. Your suffering will end. But unlike you, I don’t put limits on my science. I know how to cause you the maximum amount of pain.”

Thomas eyes the toxin gun, but the on-screen woman just laughs. “Not yet, Thomas. We need something from you, first.”

“You already took Roman,” Thomas says. “What more can you possibly take from me?”

“You named it? You’re even weaker than I thought.”

“He told me his name, he’s not an it, he’s not a thing for you to play with and - and I -”

There’s a strange sinking feeling in Thomas’s chest as the woman onscreen laughs. “I knew you were emotional, Thomas, but I can’t believe this! It looks like I’ll have more hanging over your head than you thought.”

“You -”

“Say, Tommy-boy, have you heard from your precious little assistant recently?”

Thomas’s entire body flushes ice-cold and then white-hot, immediately struggling against his duct tape bindings despite the man tearing at his hair and shoving the gun into his neck and snapping at him to shut up, shut up, shut the fuck up before I do something we’re both gonna regret -

“Don’t you touch him!” Thomas snaps. “If you hurt him, I swear to God -”

“You’re not in a position to be making demands, and if you don’t calm down, I’ll paint your boring little lab bright red.” Thomas freezes, holding his entire body tensed like electricity is running through his blood.

There are footsteps on the stairs. “Doc? I got your text, what’s -”

“Virgil, run!” Thomas chokes. Virgil comes around the corner, holding his phone, staring at the screen in confusion. He looks up, eyes widening in horror as he takes in the scene.

“You know what to do,” the woman onscreen says. The other woman lifts her tranquilizer gun, and Thomas is sure that he’s screaming, his mouth is open and sound is coming out but his blood is rushing through his ears and his heart is pounding like waves against a boat in rough sea and he can’t - he can’t -

Virgil turns to run, but the tranquilizer dart hits in him the back of the neck and he collapses like a sack of bricks. The woman lowers her gun and jerks her head at the two remaining conscious, unoccupied mercenaries, who step forward and grab Virgil.

“Let him go!” Thomas screams, and his throat feels raw and his chest feels raw and his wrists are rubbed raw and his soul feels hollow and raw, like he’s been scraped out with a jagged piece of metal and only an empty shell remains. Virgil’s head lolls against his chest as they drag him down the grotto tunnel, and Thomas struggles and screams and stares after them until Virgil is out of sight.

His face is damp, and his eyes are burning, and he isn’t sure if it’s blood from his head wound or tears or some strange, morbid mixture of both.

“The greatest torture of which I can conceive,” the woman onscreen says, and it takes him a moment to realize that oh, she’s talking to me, “is to leave you alive, knowing that your precious little protégé is with me, and that there is nothing you can do about it.” She leans forward, and any trace of a smile is gone. “If you try to come after me, I will kill him. If you call the authorities, I will kill him. I already found you, Thomas. Don’t think I’m not watching. If I catch so much as a whiff of you planning something, his blood will be on your hands. Do you understand me?”

Thomas, numb and shocked, can’t even respond. “Knock him out and bring the specimens back to me,” the woman onscreen says.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He doesn’t even feel the tranquilizer dart hit his neck, but he welcomes the sweeping darkness.

(Summary: Evil Scientist Lady has been spying on Thomas and she finds the entrance to the grotto where our mer friends have been hiding. She sends her assistant and several armed thugs to invade the lab, they drug Roman with tranquilizers and kidnap him. Thomas gets knocked around a lot and is mocked for being an ethical scientist and caring about people by Evil Scientist Lady and she gloats at him through Evil Facetime before kidnapping Virgil in the same way they did Roman, knocking Thomas unconscious, and leaving him tied to his lab chair. During this whole scene, Patton is out in the open ocean hunting and Logan is safely hidden in Virgil's room.)

#starshinewrites #lovely dark and deep #romantic analogical #sanders sides #platonic TLAMP

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irondad-creator-awards · 4 years ago

Text

The Nominations So Far (Kinda)

Some of you have been asking to see who’s nominated in which category, so I’m putting up what I’ve done so far. This is by no means everyone nominated, as we’ve had 96 submissions to the form, and I’m not going to be able to log them all until nominations close. But if you’ve been contacted to say you’re up for an award, you should be listed below...

Good Luck to everyone nominated x

1. THE ONE THAT MADE YOU GASP! — A story which had a plot twist you didn’t see coming. Something that caught you so off guard that you had to stop a minute and take a breath before devouring the rest. What’s the story for you?

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

Chaotic Peter Parker by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Irondad Ficlets by Ironxprince

Like Father, Like Son by An_Odd_Idea

Love Leaves A Memory No-One Can Steal by Ironmum

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron_Spider

No Longer In Service by Starryknight09

Proof Of Concept by Flurrbee

Serenity by Jolinarjackson

Spidey Tot by Kevy_Grayce

Stab Me In The Back (I'll Catch You From Behind) by Lansfics7

Stop, Look, Listen by Forthenightisdarkandfullofterror

2. THE MULTI-CHAPTER YOU COULDN’T PUT DOWN — A story which kept you up all night or calling in sick for work so you were free to read. Who’s the culprit?

A Parent Apparent by Happyaspie

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

A Sailor Went To Sea by by Yellowdistress

Air I Breathe by Heartofcathedrals

And You’ll Blow Us All Away by Losingmymindtonight

Astronomy In Reverse by Pansley

Come My Darling, Homeward Bound by Iamirondad

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth by Da_Moose

Five Times Tony And Peter Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

I Will Carry You (Always) by Thestarvingwriter

Identity Crisis by Kitcat992

If They All Knew About You by Mshermia

In Unlikely Places by Looneylizzie

Irondad Ficlets by Ironxprince

Mr. Parker Declined To Commentby Apisdn

Pain Will Always Come Back To Haunt You by Kevy_Grayce

Permanence by Theexhaustedalchemist

Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom

Proof Spiderman Loves Clickbait by Mauvera

The Lost And Forgotten by Lizcraz

3. THE ONE-SHOT THAT THAT HAD YOU HOOKED — Some writers can cram more greatness into less words than a 100k monster. What’s the one-shot that did it for you?

5 Times Peter Sleepwalked And The 1 Time He Pretended He Did by Losingmymindtonight

Countless Ways To Say I Love You by Hopeless_Hope

Familiar Faces by Happyaspie

First Wednesday Of March by The Case Of The Missing Museum Bea-Storer

Fitting In (Tiny Spaces) by Aloneintherain

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

I Will Soften Every Edge by Losingmymindtonight

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Something Here Will Eventually Have To Explode by Madasthesea

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

4. THE BEST THINGS COME IN SMALL PACKAGES — A drabble (under 1k) can pack in all the goodness that you need in a coffee break read. What’s that story for you?

Butter Me Up by Iron_Spider

Cuddle Bug by Marvelous_Writer

Food At Home by Aimaim94

Insomniacs In The Dark by Littlemissagrifina

Irondad Cuddles by Lilacsoulw

Let The Mind Games Begin by Ironmum

5. THE BIODAD THAT TOUCHED YOUR HEART — Some of the greatest stories flip canon and make Tony Peter’s biological father. Be it baby Peter taking his first steps or Tony dealing with the fact his son is following in his superhero footsteps as Spider-Man, which is the one you loved most of all?

An Abstract Concept by Iron-Spider

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Built From Scraps by Peter Stank

Happy Hogan Never Forgets A Face by Jen27ny

Hardest Lessons (Softest Results) by Mainstreamelectricalparade

If They Knew All About You by Mshermia

My Little Bambino by Maicaly

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Slow Down, Start Again From The Beginning by Cassiecasyl

Sound Logic by Aytheria

Spiderson by Emily_F6

Stars, Hide Your Fires by Yellowdistress.

The Less Than Secret Life by Yellowdistress

The Ties That Bind Us by Winterturtle

They Say Boys Don't Cry (But Your Dad Has Shed A Lot Of Tears) by Tempestaurora

What’s In A Name? by Geekymoviemom

6. THE ONE WITH THE FIELD TRIP — The field trip trope is one of the most popular in the fandom. What’s the story that you think pulls all the elements together to make it great?

A Different Take by Cyberwolfwrites

Constant Internal [Spider] Screaming: Semi-Connected Scenes From A Graduating Senior’s Life by Isadancurtisproduction

Field Trip by Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Field Trip Flip by Happyaspie

I Don’t Want To Talk About It Anymore by Bees_And_Wasps

Mr Stark Enough For You? (Another Field Trip Fic Bcs We Dont Have Enough) by Livinei

Neon Liar (Hiding In Plain Sight) by Isadancurtisproduction

No Reason To Go by Pokegeek151

Tower Of Donuts And Doubts by Platinumdollz

Who Is He? by Velarisstars

7. THE TIME AFTER TIME ONE — There’s some great time travel stories out there, but which is your favorite?

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth) by Da_Moose

I Have Time by Peterparkr

The End Is Just A New Beginning by Tytach

The Time Traveler’s Mentor by Iamirondad

Whatever It Takes by Starryknight09

8. THE ONE WITH ALL THE OWIES — Another massively popular Irondad trope is hurt/comfort, and there’s some amazing stuff out there. Which is the one that you love most of all?

A Peter Parker Problem by Spagbol99

Air I Breathe by Heartofcathedrals

Be Weak by Fluencca

But What Is Grief? by Odd_1

Danger Pizza by Alice_In_Ink

Darkness Will Be Rewritten by Marveal

Dude, Do These Tacos Taste Funny To You? by First_Page

Follow The North Star Home by Fallingforbees

Foolish, Fragile Spine by Plnkblue

Outnumbered by Heartofcathedrals

Sometimes It’s Easier To Just Swim Down by Mjscorner

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

We All Chase After A Few Dying Stars by Losingmymindtonight

What I Have, I Give To You by Aatticsaltt

When My Body Won't Hold Me Anymore (Where Will I Go) by Madasthesea

Your Heart Changed (Mine Stayed The Same) by Loisselina (Loisselina)

9. THE ONE THAT HURTS SO GOOD — We all like a bit of angst sometimes, so what’s the story that you wanted to hide from but you had to keep reading to get to the happy ending?

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

Cycle Through by Ambivalentangst

Fifteen Years In The Making by Potts89

Held On As Tightly As You Held On To Me by Itsreallylaterightnow And Killerqueenwrites

I Need You To Be Free by Marveal

I Promise I'll Do Better by 221broadwayiron

If You Listen You Can Hear The Ibis by Yellowedistress

Let's Get On With Living (While We Can) by Almond_Blossoms

Love Leaves A Memory No-One Can Steal by Ironmum

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling by Embarrassing_Myself

More Peril In Thine Eye by Iron_Spider

Of Flying And Falling by Polaroid15

Sunlight by Ardenskyeholmes221

The Room Where It Happens by Notapartytrick

When Trauma Comes Knocking by Kevy_Grayce

10. THE ONE THAT SOOTHES THE PAIN — What’s the story that you go to when you need a pick-me-up after the angst?

5 Times A Spider-Baby Got Dad Smooched by Buckets_Of_Stars

5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud by Grilledcheesing

5 Times Tony Stark Protected Penny Parker by Emily_F6

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Bitch Better Have My Money by Neicy286

Career Day: A Short Story by Shewritesall

Early Childhood Education by Thedisneyoutsider

Five Times Peter And Tony Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Hardest Lessons (Softest Results) by Mainstreamelectricalparade

I Can Hold The Weight Of The Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

Instant Kill Mode by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Kids These Days by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

The Road So Far by Nicolemoon8

No More Lonely by Shewritesall

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

That's How You And I Will by Frostysunflowers

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

Whatever It Takes by Starryknight90

11. THE ONE WITHOUT A HOME TO GO TO — There’s some wonderful homeless Peter stories out there, so which is the one you were blown away by?

A Difference In Husbandry by Happy_Cloud

After The Landslide by Freyaatterton

Distracted by A Dime by Happyaspie

I Told You I Had Issues by Bergen

Is It Too Much To Ask For Home That Lasts? Ft. Peter Parker by Wakandaforever2357

The Little Things (That I Miss) by Da_Moose

The Third Option by Uncertainty_Principle

Unexpected (Everything I Never Knew I Wanted) by Moonchild2593

12. THE ONE THAT’S A WHOLE NEW WORLD — There’s lots of imaginative AUs in Irondad fic. Whether it’s Steve and Tony as baseball players or Pepper being Peter’s mom, which one is your number one?

A Guardian Among Us by Superherotiger

A Soul's Best Friend by Superherotiger

Ever In Your Favor by Iron_Spider

Have Patience, A Quick Wit, And A Gentle Heart by Ironfamjam

I Battle My Jerk Step-Dad by Andromath

Petey And The Hermit by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Sea Spider by Bean_Reads_Fanfic

Spidey Tot by Kevy_Grayce

Though Everything Is A Miracle by Overtures

Until It Disappeared From Me by Ashleyparker2815

When I Am On Your Shoulders by Ladyblackwater

You Mispronounced Spider by Lliblo

13. THE TWEAKING THE SETTINGS ONE — There’s things we all wish we could change in canon — *cough* Endgame *cough* — so which canon divergence does it for you?

5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud by Grilledcheesing

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Beautiful Boy by Emily_Davison

Bittersweet by Kevy_Grayce

Built From Scraps by Peterstank

I Will Restore All That Was Broken by Killerqueenwrites

May Parker's Complete Guide On How To Raise Your Spiderling by Embarrassing_Myself

Moulded Minds by Wingswithstrings

Pieces Of Echoes by Geekymoviemom

The End Of Infinity by Friendlyneighborhoodfangirls

The Returned by Nicolemoon8

What Was Missing Was You by Happyaspie

What Were The Words I Meant To Say Before You Left by Madasthesea

14. THE ONE YOU GO BACK TO AGAIN AND AGAIN — Some fics deserve a re-read or ten. What’s the story you go find yourself going back to?

A Beautiful Day In The Neighborhood by Ambivalentangst

A Parent Apparent by Happyaspie

Age Regression Was Impossible... Right? by Chvotic

Am I Just A Shadow You Drew by Ironxprince

Apartment 43B by Ironfamjam

Back To Bed by Eccentric_Artist_221b

Beautiful Boy by Emily_Davison

Family Is More Than Blood (It Is Light) by Moonchild2593

Keeping Company by Whumphoarder And Xxx_Cat_Xxx

Moulded Minds by Wingswithoutstrings

Play by Losingmymindtonight

Rules Are Made To Be Broken by Ironmum

Sins Of The Fathers by Geekymoviemom

The Darkest Hour Is Just Before The Dawn by Starryknight09

The Lost And Forgotten by Litcraz

The One Where Peter Is Bucky’s Weakness by Jinxquickfoot

The Rise And Fall Of A Spider by Spidersoning

The Spider-Man Conspiracy by Tempestaurora

15. THE SERIES THAT SWEPT YOU AWAY — Some of us love to go on a long ride with a series, so which is the world of multiple stories that you binged or waited anxiously for each update?

Another June Day by Skeeter_110

Chaotic Peter Parker by Isnt_It_Pretty_To_Think_So

Home by Glwilliams97

I Love You More Than Anything (Bio Dad Au) by Iron_Spider

Irondad NSAP by Chvotic

Lights To Guide You Home by Jolinarjackson

Mr. Stark & His Kid by Writerstrash

Once Upon An Adoption by Kevy_Grayce

Out Of Darkness by Starryknight09

Soul Stone Realm by Marvelmusicmystery

The Room Saga by Iamirondad

Tony Stark Is A Good Mentor by Happyaspie

Was That A Star Wars Reference, Dr. Stark? by Jen27ny

We Forgot Peter by Inkinmyheartandonthepage

Webcams And Webshooters by Losingmymindtonight

16. THE IN-PROGRESS ADVENTURE — What’s the story that has you checking your email each day, hoping for an update?

A Difference In Husbandry by Happy_Cloud

A Perfect Storm by Grilledcheesing

Ain't My Blood; Still My Boys by Parkrstark

All The Stars Align by Ashleyparker2815

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Every Beautiful Lie (Always Has An Ugly Truth) by Da_Moose

Fifteen Years In The Making by Potts89

Found Family by Thedisneyoutsider

If They Knew All About You by Mshermia

If You're Going Through Hell, Keep On Going by Baloobird

Mr. Stark, Something Is Wrong by @Simping-For-Peggy

Outnumbered by Heartofcathedrals

Peter’s New Step-Brother by Bowtiez

Priorities by Jlmonroe1234

Return To Me, The One I Love So Endlessly by Superherotiger

Sleeping Through A Rogue Winter Storm by Pogokitten

Survivors Guilt by Ember_Darla And Marvel_Cinematic_Universe_Fan

Tech Of Nondestructive Yakking by Wabisabi

The Case Of The Missing Museum Bea-Storer by Ironmum

The Hero Of Our Own Story by Kingdomfaraway

The Many Adventures Of Iron Dad And Spider Son by Lbigreyhound13

What You Were Then I Am Today by Madasthesea

You Are My Sunshine by Iamconstantine

17. THE COMPLETE FIC THAT YOU CHERISH — Whether or not you’ve got the patience for an in-progress or not, there’s a wealth of complete stories you can devour at leisure or all in one coffee-fuelled binge. What’s yours?

Intern Spider by Emily_F6

Only For A Little While by Eccentric_Artist_221b

The Guardian by Emily_F6

18. THE ONE THAT GAVE YOU ALL THE LOVE — We all love Irondad, but some stories come with bonus bonds that give us just as much. Do you have a Peter & Bucky, or a Peter & Steve working alongside which delivers all the found family goodness?

"I Have A Nephew!" by Zimnokurw

5 Times Happy Hogan Nearly Had A Heart Attack Because Of Peter Parker by Thespydersargon

Be Careful What You Wish For, You May Just Get It by Savana_Marlark

Brighten Up, Sunshine by Iron_Spider

It Must Be Nice (To Have Mrs. Potts On Your Side by Sdottkrames

It Takes A Village (To Make Sure You're Okay) by Baloobird

Kingdom Come Undone by Killerqueenwrites

Project: Get Bucky Barnes A Dog by Ruxian

Road Work Ahead by Toniwilder

Rules Are Made To Be Broken by Ironmum

When In The Dark by Kevy_Grayce

19. THE PROLIFIC WRITER AWARD — Irondad has some amazingly prolific writers. Which are the ones you’ve subscribed to get at that fic-wonder goodness of 10 works or more?

Aimaim94

Buckets_Of_Stars

Emily_F6

HAPPYASPIE

Inkinmyheartsandonthepage

Ironmum

Iron-Spider

Jen27ny

Littlemissagrafina

Madasthesea

Magicalyss

Mshermia

O0CITRUSEE0O

Parkrstark

Superherotiger

20. THE NEWBIE — New writers are joining the fandom all the time. Who’s the newbie (posting for 12 months or less) that’s delivering the good stuff for you?

107thinfantry

Fallingforbees

Ironmum

Jinx_Frost

Just_Ppeachy

Kittybellestark

Lilacsoulw

Maicaly

Polaroid15

Spagbol99

Sunflowerspideyy

21. THE OG — Who’s the writer that’s been around for a while (12 months or more) that keeps you captivated?

Ashleyparker2815

Emily_F6

Happyaspie

Iron_Spider

Jen27ny

Kevy_Grayce

Parkrstark

Snarkymuch

Spooderboyandtincan

22. THE WILD CARD STORY — The story that does (or doesn’t) fit into the above categories but you believe deserves the prize. Which one is that for you?

Aliens Really Are Out To Get You Aren't They? by Some_Sort_Of_Trash

Born To Cherish by Ironfamjam

Everyday Superhero by Stoneage_Woman

Five Times Tony And Peter Chaotically Cleaned by Ironmum

Guess I’m Not Good Enough by Freyaatterton

I Can Hold The Weight Of Worlds (If That's What You Need) by Bluesweatshirt

I Will Soften Every Edge by losingmymindtonight

I’m Not Telling Him. Period by Scooter3scooter

Irondad NSAP by Chvotic

Kids Suck, But You're Great by Gymlily06

Long Gone | Marvel Au Strangerlyparker

Play by Losingmymindtonight

Tech Of Non-Destructive Yakking by Wabisabi

The Reinvention Of Tony Stark by Losingmymindtonight

This Ride Is A Wild One by Just_Ppeachy

What You're Feeling Is Probably Normal by Finny3120

ART 1 — DIGITAL MEDIA - Who has those PhotoShop skills, who makes the best mood boards? We have some wonderful artists in the Irondad fandom, and we’re here to celebrate them. Who's your favorite artist?

@Itsybitsyspiderling (Tumblr)

@monireh (Tumblr)

@Blackchessknight (Tumblr)

ART 2 — SKETCHES — Who has the skills with the original medium of art in sketches? Whose pencil can create the characters we love best?

@broskev (Tumblr)

@Dakt37 (Tumblr)

@monireh89 (Tumblr)

Ellarie.png (Instagram)

ART 3 — CARTOONS — Chibis, Manga, Anime, who can create the very best?

@Maryo274 (Tumblr)

yes-i-am-happyaspie (Tumblr)

ART 4 — FANVID — Some of the greatest creators are the ones that match the music to the mood, find the perfect scenes to make us laugh and cry. Who does that for you?

All My Life || Tony & Peter (Father/Son Au) by Akapotatogirl (YouTube)

Emsxworld (YouTube)

Tony Stark & Peter Parker | Ashes by Mythicalroyalty (YouTube)

ART 5 — BEST IRON FAMILY FANART — Who can create those feeling of Ironfam with their art? Who captures the characters we love in that iconic family.

@broskev (Tumblr)

@moonestaly (Tumblr)

eccentric_artist_221b (AO3)

Ellarie.png (Instagram)

#Irondad Creator Awards #irondad #spider son #irondad and spiderson #iron man #spider-man #peter parker #tony stark #art #fanart #creators #fandom awards #artists #writers #writing #fanfic

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levihantrash · 4 years ago

Text

New update! Chapter 4: Good actors || Shitty Comics and Their Shitty Artists || levihan fanfiction

(i posted this a while ago but i had no time to update my tumblr T_T) (please give me some love shkdjghsd)

Summary:

Levi’s pragmatism pulled the brakes. “I’m not about to dedicate my life to become a broke comic artist.”

Levi Ackerman, a gruff cleaner with an appetite for toilet humour meets the unabashedly friendly creative writing professor, Hange Zoë, who somehow ropes Levi into working on a comic with them. While the comic’s title remains undecided, Hange knows that it’s going to be set in a world where giant, human-like creatures devour other humans. Erwin Smith, the comic’s self-appointed editor, unironically thinks it’s going to be a hit. All Levi knows is that he wants to indulge in drawing this comic while hanging out with a certain writer who just won’t stop talking to him.

Where Hange, Levi, and Erwin are the creators of Attack on Titan.

—

If you want to check out the previous chapters:

Chapter 1: Free Bread (ao3 / tumblr)

Chapter 2: New Friends (ao3 / tumblr)

Chapter 3: Bean (ao3 / tumblr)

—

Chapter 4: Good Actors

It was not in Erwin’s nature to be mysterious. He was content with being readable, but perhaps the real problem was that he was not perceivable to himself. Who was Erwin? He felt like a scam, a shell, a little more than an elaborate scheme that people had willingly bought into. And now he couldn’t reverse it. He couldn’t reverse the damage of having a reputation that people relied on. He watched Hange with a bit of envy—they could trip on flat ground and no one would even blink. Levi could go about his grumpy mannerisms because he had been like this since Day One.

The imposter syndrome plagued Erwin in the form of sharp, piercing headaches. Watching Hange competently and humanely breeze through the rush of life, he craved that freedom. To clumsily step on people’s shoes and breathe out an apology as though it were second nature. Slip-ups were out of character for Erwin. Hange, in contrast, allowed themselves mistakes. Even if the had pride in their work ethic, Hange didn’t see themselves as infallible, as incapable of failure.

Erwin was initially of the opinion that writers got so easily obsessive, wound up in the crevices of their head. Hange defied such expectations—finding time to buy bread for Levi, check time on Erwin’s schedules, propose lunches, and mingle with students. Were they an imposter too, running through the lines, tweaking them as they seem fit, spitting them out to the right people, in the right time and place?

“You’re always thinking so hard, it looks exhausting to be in your head.” Levi dropped a cloth bag in the shape of a box on Erwin’s desk.

“A present?” Erwin fingered the edge of the cloth curiously.

“Lunch,” Levi said. “I figured you wouldn’t have time for that, since finals are coming up. Consultations and papers to mark right?

“That’s very kind of you.”

Levi’s face grew a bit hotter, shoving the box closer to Erwin.

“You should thank Hange. They haven’t been sleeping and I found out why.” At the mention of Hange, Erwin smiled.

Undoing the cloth around the box, he flipped open the cover to reveal a row of sandwiches. By the looks of it, each sandwich had been stuffed differently.

“Did you make this?”

Levi, still recovering from the compliment, shrugged. “I make it for Mikasa sometimes.”

“It looks delicious.”

Levi looked away, deeply uncomfortable. “Won’t know until you try it. Might cause you to have a severe case of diarrhoea.”

Taking a bite, the flavour burst of fresh cucumber and smoked salmon left Erwin slightly breathless.

“I should’ve put more sauce…” Erwin heard Levi muttering.

“It’s delicious,” Erwin confirmed.

Still unable to handle praise with a simple word of thanks, Levi dropped his own lunchbox onto Erwin’s desk.

“Huh… I’m going to eat lunch here and not talk. That okay?”

“By all means.” Erwin pulled out the additional stool next to his desk. Watching Levi regard the stool for a moment before taking a seat, Erwin realised he had never really hung out with Levi on an individual basis. He had always been the busy one, after all—a fact that he was beginning to regret given that he did enjoy Hange and Levi's company quite a bit. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed how Levi’s sandwiches were much less elaborately adorned, with thin strips of cheese wedged in between bread slices.

Though Levi seemed content with eating in silence, Erwin decided that this was a convenient chance to strike up a conversation.

"What do you like about Hanji?"

Levi pressed so hard on the sandwich that mustard squirted onto his shirt.

“What part of eating and not talking do you not understand?”

Erwin dusted the breadcrumbs off his fingers, resting his hands together in confidence. “I just feel like talking today.”

“Do you have a better topic?”

“I wasn’t talking about Hange though. I mean the character, Hanji. With a ‘j’. You seem quite attached to her, because I can tell that she’s the one whose character design is more fleshed out among the side characters.”

“Oh.” Levi hastily wiped the mustard away from his shirt, uncharacteristically, with the back of his palm. It smeared, deepening the stain. Erwin reached for a wet tissue, rubbing out the mustard. Stiffening at the gesture, he didn’t move as Erwin took his time to clean his shirt.

“Sorry if I surprised you,” Erwin said. Levi had long accepted Erwin’s inclination for ambiguity, finding himself drawn to his easy, steady poise.

“Everyone knows that you like Hange though,” Erwin said, letting go of the now wet area on Levi’s shirt for it to dry.

“Hange with a ‘g’,” Erwin added, for good measure. Levi didn’t say a word, preferring to eat four sandwiches all in one go. Swivelling the chair to turn himself back to the monitor, Erwin allowed the quietness to remain. He was in no hurry.

Hange’s voice nagged in his head as Levi excused himself to the washroom.

“You think Erwin’s hot, don’t you?” Just as many of Hange’s question had no context or pre-emptive warning, this one was fired out on one of the many days they were lounging around in Hange’s room.

Lying next to eat other on the floor surrounded by cat hair gradually became acceptable to Levi. He had tried vacuuming, but the horrors of cat hair were that even in his frenzied determination, it drifted back to the surface. Hair proliferated mid-air, collecting in balls of fur. He gave up after the third try.

“Erwin does remind me of a prince. Faraway and unattainable.” Hange mused.

Flipping over, Levi balanced his head on an elbow to face Hange. “You seriously think I have the hots for Erwin?”

“You stare at him a lot.”

“He’s good looking.”

“See!”

“Doesn’t mean I like him that way.”

“Does that mean I can take him?” Hange waggled their brows. Levi swallowed thickly, lying back on his back.

“I’m kidding!” Abruptly, Hange stopped laughing and their voice rescinded into a hushed pensiveness. Levi, thrown off by Hange’s poor attempt at a joke, indicated his displeasure by keeping mum.

“Erwin’s not my type.” This simultaneous, telepathic agreement from the both of them resounded in the room.

Bean padded across the floor and curled onto Levi’s chest. Only the sounds of breathing and the ruffling of clothes against the floor filled the space between them.

“I guess that makes the both of us,” Hange said nervously. Bean chose the opportune second to jump gracefully onto Levi’s arm and bite his hand.

“Bean!” Hange scolded, lifting the unsympathetic cat onto the bed instead. Whatever that pissed the cat off, Levi was thankful for some diversion.

Smoothing out palm to search for the bite mark (an insignificant one) had allowed Hange to notice the chapped lines of Levi’s hands. A twinge of shame pulsed through Hange. Comparing their palms, Hange’s were evidence of dry disregard due to air-conditioning.

“What’s so interesting about our hands?”

“Just romanticizing hard labour,” Hange said, absent-mindedly lifting the palm to their cheek.

“I just forgot to moisturize today,” Levi said defensively.

“It’s smooth anyway.” Hange reassured him.

“My hand isn’t clean. You shouldn’t put it on your face.” Levi said, though the hand remained, cupping Hange’s cheek. Unassuming and certain.

“Relax, idiot,” Hange said, their own hand atop Levi’s, pressing both their hands together. “It’s not that deep.”

Levi asked the important question. “If it’s not that deep, why am I touching your face?”

Vaguely, the two of them had some idea of what all of this meant. Being in your late twenties meant that infatuation was not some pubescent discovery. Yet, as Levi held the weight of Hange’s face in one palm, he felt the brevity of it all. Dancing around each other, weaving something together in stilted strokes. With each meeting, the outline of that something grew sharper.

“You’re both are eating lunch without me?” Levi heard Hange’s unmistakable singsong voice from the washroom.

Levi had to turn off the tap to hear Erwin’s reply. “Levi brought me lunch.”

“Ah, it’s Levi’s beautiful sandwiches!”

The gears in Erwin’s head turned. Switching the browser tab to the recent draft Hange had sent him regarding their comic, his mouse hovered over a particular detail.

“What is this scene meant to convey?”

“Hanji and Rivaille’s close friendship!” Hange brightened, eager to dive into their passion project.

“Is Rivaille someone who would typically be touchy?”

“I wouldn’t call it touchy. I suppose since he’s a character that’s crass and bad with words, the easiest method to get his words across is through his actions.”

While Erwin deliberated over Hange’s characterisation, Levi soon arrived back from the washroom, swinging a harmless kick at Hange’s calf.

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“I can’t believe you and Erwin had lunch without me!”

He folded his arms, unbothered. “I told you to sleep in.”

“Lots of work to do!”

“Who’s going to take care of you when you’re sick?”

“Bean,” Hange said, in all seriousness.

Erwin cut in. “Why not just put in some banter? Why would Rivaille be the one initiating contact?”

“Because Hanji is too caught up in her world to notice, so Rivaille feels the need to physically grab her attention.”

Nodding, Erwin looked between Hange and Levi with some realisation. “That's an efficient way to establish the relationship of two side characters. Can the two of you demonstrate how the scene plays out? I’m curious.”

“What scene?” Levi demanded. Hange chuckled, scratching their head.

“Wouldn’t it better if we did it together instead, Erwin?”

“But these characters are obviously based on you two. I can take a picture for your reference, Levi.”

“What reference?” Levi asked, tired of being perpetually left in the dark.

“This scene.” Erwin gestured towards the monitor, as Levi scanned the words on the page.

“All I have to say are those two lines, right?” Levi asked lazily. His left hand that was hidden in his pocket contracted into a fist.

“Yes…” Hange said. “But it just says ‘hair-grab’ here, would you know how the scene goes?”

Erwin cleared his throat with purpose. “How about you play Rivaille instead?”

Here was one of the few instances where Levi witnessed how easily Hange faltered, arms dropping by their sides in defeat. A small smile tugged at the side of their mouth, which quivered slightly.

“You okay with that, Levi?”

“Yeah.” How could he say no? It was for the progress of the comic. For accurate characterisation.

“Great. Get ready with your camera, Erwin.”

Instantaneously, Hange caught the back of Levi’s head, stringing their fingers through the tufts of hair. The even texture of his undercut grazed their skin, as they turned his head towards them.

“Right here.” The gravelly tone of Hange’s voice combined with the piercing stare they gave Levi sent him into shut-down mode. Positioned with the phone camera, Erwin took more than just a few shots. He took a video, watching with veiled mirth as Levi’s stoic face transitioned into blankness—his mouth opened marginally, though wide enough to garner scrutiny from Erwin.

An awkward chuckle bubbled out of Hange as they broke character, letting go of Levi’s hair and turning towards Erwin.

“Did you get everything?”

“Mm hm.”

“What did you think?”

“You could consider an acting career, Hange.”

Levi, as if detached from the conversation, made an obvious attempt at checking the clock, gathering any stray breadcrumbs, and wiping any leftover sauce on the desk.

“Lunch break’s over. Got to go back to work.” He said, robotically pushing the stool back to its original place and leaving without allowing Erwin and Hange to squeeze in a word.

“Is Levi okay?” Hange watched him stagger at the door before slamming it behind him.

Closing Hange’s draft on the browser, Erwin methodically attached the video and photos in an email to be sent to Hange and Levi. “I don’t believe you were acting.”

Without attempting to dispute Erwin’s claim, a groan passed out of Hange.

“So?” As Erwin sent the video to Hange, the vibration of their phone shook Hange back into reality.

Slowly, Hange gingerly pressed their fingers to their forehead, sitting on the ground beside Erwin.

“Okay. Maybe you’re right. That was seriously the most nerve-wrecking thing I did.”

Throwing a wary glance at Erwin, Hange asked, “did you make me act it out on purpose?”

“Maybe.”

“Sneaky bastard.”

“It was certainly the most fun I had in a while.”

A smug expression smoothed over Hange’s previous tentativeness. “I think I sent Levi into shock.”

“He’ll survive.” Erwin was regarding Hange more carefully, wondering if his actions crossed a line. Fortunately, Hange seemed more relieved than offended by Erwin’s blatant interference.

“What do I do now?” Usually so self-assured, Hange’s open vulnerability touched Erwin a little. They trusted in him to give possibilities. He simply had to deliver.

“You follow your heart.”

Hange paused their fidgeting to glare at him. “Erwin, that’s so basic. Even for you”

Erwin had never quite witnessed the more petulant side of them, which surprisingly amused him.

“I am a Literature professor, not a creative writer.”

“Then quote me something more poetic!”

Up to the challenge, Erwin stroked his chin with profound sincerity. “He’s more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

Just as he finished uttering the last word, Hange hit him in the knee. “Wuthering Heights? No wonder you’re single.”

“I would appreciate if you didn’t bring my love life into this discussion.”

“How can we talk about love, if not our own?”

Cracking his neck, Erwin gave another alternative. “In case you ever foolishly forget: I am never not thinking of you. By Virginia Woolf.”

“What are you suggesting about me and Levi?” Hange muttered, hiding their foolish smile by turning away from Erwin.

“As all good students of literature say, it’s up to your interpretation.”

“Nothing beats the smell of fresh bread and pastry greeting you in the stale morning air for a person who reciprocates with sardonic dignity.”

“Where is that quote taken from?”

Defiantly, Hange turned back to meet Erwin’s eyes. “Myself.”

“I suppose the quote isn’t for me.”

Pushing themselves off from the floor with both hands, Hange winked in his direction. “Unfortunately not.”

While swiping Erwin’s last sandwich, Hange stared fondly at Erwin. “By the way, thank you.”

With a shrug, Erwin said, “you will always love, and you will always be loved. Oscar Wilde.”

“I mean it, Erwin!”

“I mean it too.”

#aot #SCATSA #levihan #levi x hange #levi hange erwin #erurihan #fanfiction #my writing #levi and hange #ao3 #attack on titan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #erwin smith #hange and levi #snk fanfiction #aot fanfiction

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thequietmanno1 · 3 years ago

Text

Thelreads, MHA 253, Replies Part 2

1) “Oh man, Mic is a bit pissed, this is… Well, this is worrisome, to say the least. Jesus, what happened that you had to get Mic to go with you man? “- Aizawa dealt with his grief by embracing it and allowing it to mould him into somebody with a self-destructive outlook, in effect projecting his grief into a dour, snarky attitude with a hint or two of cynicism behind his gloomy exterior. Mic, by contrast, was always the light-hearted extrovert between them, and when Kumo died the first time he felt obligated to pull double-duty on that front to help keep Aizawa’s mind-set from becoming too self-destructive, doing what he could to keep his partner-in-mourning from losing himself to his worst impulses even at the cost of supressing his own grief and avoid dealing with it at all, putting on a happy front in order to hide how he was really feeling, which means that for him, a lot of the trauma from Kumo’s demise is still unresolved, and this is tearing the old wounds open again, leaving them nice and bloody.

2) “wait

are we- Are we talking about… the traitor? Are Aizawa and Mic going to go after the traitor? Oh god oh fuck- By the way he`s talking about it it must be a teacher. Oh fuck oh no”- Well… technically, Kumo did betray the old dream and career they once aspired to have together, but does it really count as betrayal if you’re forced into it and have no idea what you’re really doing anymore? If your mind is so heavily remixed and remodelled to suit another’s whims you might not even have a sense of self to object with at this point? All For One would have a good hearty laugh over the situation in either case, since to him, this would prove the folly of wanting to become a hero if all it takes is some minor tweaks to your thought process and you become equally capable of great villainy.

3) “…

Is that

Is that Tartarus? Wait no- is the traitor already in jail and they there to interrogate them? No, it can`t be, Hori wouldn`t cut a conflict like this, then what the hell are they coming here for? Are they going to talk to All for One or something?”- They’re here to catch up with an old friend who doesn’t even know he’s their friend anymore- and maybe never will again. Does it still count as Kumo if the mind inside him bares no resemblance to his old self anymore? How much of a man can you cut away before what’s left is another person entirely?

4) “oh okay, a random exposition to remind us what Nomus are, I`m sure this is just small talk without any plot relevance whatsoever did they caught a nomu or something?”- Oh they’ve caught this Nomu as long time ago- In fact, I think they probably still have the OG Nomu in custody somewhere, even if he is absolutely inert until he receives the appropriate commands. Oh, and can’t forget Hood’s charred corpse on Ice somewhere, possibly stored alongside the Hosu Nomu and the remains of Izuku’s old friend- sure feels awkward remembering those guys now after Ending tried using them as a justification to legally murder him a few chapters ago. If they’d had the capacity to restrain them without killing them, then maybe the damage done to their brains might have been fixable, as opposed to Kumo, who seems to have had far more extensive mental re-mapping done to him in exchange for him retaining his ego. But those were simply too powerful and dangerous to restrain- plus, people weren’t going to hesitate giving a lethal attack to something non-human, which feels worse now when you know there was probably somebody on the inside of those monsters all the time, perhaps trapped in the sunken place and begging for help than nobody wanted to give them…

5) “Gran Torino here as well? Man, been a while since we saw turbo yoda there, but I think he was with Phelps as well. Huh. Okay, I have no fucking clue where this is going now, but I`m starting to suspect we`re gonna go down the Nomu plot once again.”- Since he was the one to bring him in, it makes sense he’d be involved in looking after his ‘suspect’- plus, Torino is proverbial boot on the ground trying to hunt down the league whilst Phelps runs support and logistics, and since this is the best and only lead they have, given how absolutely the PLF have concealed their plans, they’re both out of options beyond praying for a miracle with getting some piece of useful intel out that Aizawa and Mic can coax out of their deceased colleague’s cadaver.

6) “That would definitely explain why you`re going over stuff we already know about, and have known about for almost 200 chapters by now, not counting the Vigilante ones.”- Well, that, and the fact that overturning that assumption by hoping some piece of Kumo still resides inside his shattered mind and can communicate with them is the plan they’re going for, painful as it is for Aizawa and Mic.

7) “Alright, you know, I`m not gonna get in the merit of “we already knew that goddammit” because I don`t know how far Vigilantes had got by this point, but we already knew that goddammit, McBee showed that Nomus could be way more than simply automatons if needed, and now with Shigaraki about to become a nomu it gets even more obvious.”-Well, we can safely say for sure that we were past a certain chapter by now…

8) “Oh jesus, Mic is really not okay right now, and the way Phelps phrased that- I don`t feel like I like where this is going.”-Both men are barely holding it together, and can you really blame them? This not only overturns the nature of the enemy that’s been harassing their student and helped brutalise Aizawa, giving him permanent scars, but the last who-knows how many years of their lives since high school, realising that all along, all the time they were training to be heroes and helping others in Shirakumo’s memory, his reanimated cadaver had been dug up, stuffed with science beyond the ken of normal men and was walking around like a sick puppet at the whim of a malicious monster in mockery of all that he hoped to one day became. And the worst part is, it appears to have been completely random. There wasn’t any special reason that Shirakumo was chosen to be one of the bodies chosen for AFO and Ujiko’s experiments with what would become the Nomu, he was merely just a convenient corpse they happened to come across when they were looking for a body that nobody would miss- in fact, it’s very likely that he was far from the first one they did that to.

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If you can turn even dead bodies into Nomu, then it’s a far more convenient method of acquiring the physical parts you need for the monster than by kidnapping living people off the street- less people looking for the missing person afterwards for one thing. After all, it’s not like you could imagine a corpse would get up and walk around on its own after breathing its last breath, right? But then again, Quirks make the impossible, possible, and heinous as he may be, Ujiko is undoubtedly the man on the cutting edge of quirk science. The messy, bloody, unethical edge far beyond the boundaries of decency and morality, but the cutting edge nonetheless.

9) “wait

wait a moment

Am I losing my mind or are they implying that Kurogiri is also a Nomu?”-

Sure is a similar eye shape they both have there, huh? Rather than Hood resembling Kurogiri, Kurogiri actually resembles a High-end Nomu, so I think one of the uniform identifying traits of the high-ends must be a similar eye design, in addition to the whole exposed brain deal. Kurogiri’s smoky form probably just obscures his physical alterations underneath all that smog. That said, Hood seems to be a great deal less stable that Kurogiri, despite being able to communicate and follow orders, in part apparently because he’s far more powerful than Kurogiri in a combat sense, but accordingly, in a similar manner to Izuku needing to build up his body to use all of OFA’s multiple powers at their maximum, his multiple quirks put a greater strain on his mental faculties, and getting pushed too far in a fight trying to put Endeavour down apparently pushed his mind to the breaking point, causing him to devolve into a feral beast in the final moments from having too much power being controlled by a mind who couldn’t withstand the strain of it, even if his body had been physically remodelled to handle more power than God intended he be born with.

Kurogiri, meanwhile, is much weaker, and actually doesn’t even have any direct combat applications with his quirk besides the situational portal cut function, something he indicates would be unpleasant for him to experience, but his mind is far more stable, and he’s even been able to form a completely different personality and mentality compared to his old self. In fact, it’s a little jarring to realise how ok Kumo was with killing a person in such an intimate manner in hindsight, even if there was likely a component of him being unable to ignore AFO’s direct orders on the matter. Kurogiri is a support-type Nomu, there to protect Tomura and offer him a way out until he’s adequately prepared to start taking the fight to the heroes and can be given access to the more hard-core toys AFO stashed away for a rainy day, like the high-ends and Machia. By the time he reached that point, Kurogiri’s role had run out, and accordingly, he’s effectively abandoned by his ‘masters’ now his purpose has been served and to help further push Tomura into becoming the symbol of Fear, taking away the safety and security afforded by his warp gate function.

10) “Okay, it must be that, right? But what the fuck, Kurogiri doesn`t even have multiple quirks, at least not that we`ve seen. But it must be him that they are talking about, Gran Torino captured him”- Kurogiri takes the opposite approach to the typical Nomu. Whereas they have multiple individual quirks stuffed within a vessel modified to be tough enough to take the strain, he has multiple quirk factors merged together to form a single, powerful quirk, in a similar manner to how OFA first formed. It’s heavily implied that this is because Kurogiri is actually the first Nomu, or first of that line of quirk-enhanced monstrosities that Ujiko and AFO created once they’d perfected the method. Before they started on making bodies strong enough to hold multiple powers, they went for making a specialised individual power out of multiple ones in order to both create a highly-useful trump card and figure out the baseline level of power a body could hold whilst still retaining its intelligence and ego, and from there making more combat-applicable ‘tanks’ that didn’t require higher brain functions too much because they’d just be disposable weapons to be unleashed at a target and only needed enough mental power to process commands.

11) “Ah damn, now I know it can`t be McBee, he wouldn`t shut the fuck up about his master plan, he would`ve given AfO plans away the moment he got caught, just so he could gloat how the plan couldn`t be stopped”- This puts Kumo’s situation in bleaker terms- it’s not that he’s ‘willingly’ aiding the league after having his memories and mind tampered with, it’s that he literally can’t think of not helping them. Any thoughts that might lead to rebellion or non-compliance with AFO’s commands literally shut his mind down like a robot who receive an incorrect command code, and he ‘powers up’ again shortly afterward like a blank slate, unaware of what was asked of him.

In exchange for being allowed to have his own ego and mind-set, it seems that the cost that came for Kumo’s conversion into a Nomu isn’t a loss of mental functions and his body becoming grotesquely warped into an inhuman form, but a greater and more extensive mental remapping of his brain, ensuring said mind will never turn on AFO, even if he has every reason to want to. He’s had his Id and Personality scooped out and put back together in ways that benefit a loyal soldier of AFO and he literally can’t imagine being anything else, or his mind cuts out. Even if he can be conversed with, it’s possible that Kumo’s modifications are so extensive that there’s even less of a chance of him regaining his humanity than the other Nomu.

12) “Huh… No, also is implausible, he doesn`t have the speed and strength, he just teleports things around, and apparently that is just the result of multiple quirks coming together. The most probably explanation is that Kurogiri, like a lot of babies, was merely an accident, and then they refined him when they saw the potential that not having to pay for Uber would entail.”- Less an accident, but more a deliberate creation designed to create a ‘base’ Nomu Ujiko and AFO could expand upon. It was outright stated how convenient Kurogiri’s portal powers were when he first appeared and how unfortunate it was that a highly-useful power like that was in the hands of villains. In retrospect, it was too convenient a power to be a naturally-born one. Every single quirk we’ve seen had some kind of limitation or drawback to it- in fact AFO himself has another warping quirk that he used to save the league at Kamino once Kurogiri was knocked unconscious, but he himself admits it’s inferior, as he can only warp people to and from him and to places he’s familiar with- but Kurogiri’s power alone seems to contain no drawbacks to it, nor any limit to what he can do with it beyond needing precise coordinates to reach a location he can’t see. Now we can see that the drawback for having such a power was him losing his mind and willpower to become nothing more than a mindless puppet of AFO’s at a single command, in mockery of all he once hoped to be.

13) “WHT NO NO WAY NO FUCKING WQAY WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU NO

NOPE NOPE FUCK YOU NOPE HORIKOSHI NO I REFUSE TO NO NO ABSOLUTELY NOT HOW COULD YOU “

Horikoshi’s face right now.

14) “So that was the connection that people wanted me to see. Not the whole “how Aizawa became who he is” shit, oh no, it was not about how he became a hero and why he expelled all students that didn`t met his high standards and all that, oh no, it was all so the punch here would come ten-fold.

Kurogiri, one of the first villains we got to know from the League, AfO`s right hand man, was in fact not only a high-end Nomu, but a Nomu made out of Aizawa`s dead friend.”-Aizawa’s so committed to his Ninja aesthetic that he even has his own Sasuke… ok, there’s another character who’d fit the comparison even better, but naturally their identity is as spoilerey as Kurogiri’s true name.

15) “I want to be mad, I really want, but I`m just baffled, completely speechless. So that`s why that arc back on Vigilantes was miles above all the others, because Horikoshi literally had a choke-hold on Furuhashi and how the plot should go. It wasn`t only something like why Aizawa is how he is, it was also because it was set-up for one of the biggest plot twists of the series so far.

holy. shit.”-

I actually quite like that this relied on Knowledge from the Vigilante spin-off. I sorta see it as similar to the Marvel Netflix series in that events from one film can interact with the series and sometimes the series can make cameo appearance in the films and other shows, but you don’t need to actually know who they are, nor do they significantly impact the plot of said films, but it does show how the universe they live in is one with many stories and many heroes, and they can interact in ways you wouldn’t expect. Checking out the plotting of MHA so far, it’s actually been really tight and fast-paced- this last arc has only been 10-ish chapters so far, and everything’s been building up on a tight schedule, so taking time to properly flesh out Aizawa’s backstory would not only have slowed the pacing, it would have allowed savey viewers to pick up on the fact that Kumo was likely to be more important than just a disposable character to galvanise Aizawa’s character progression. By putting the backstory in the spinnoff, it made it seem irrelevant to MHA’s plot, beyond merely being character explanation for Aizawa’s behaviour so far, and thus the impact of the twist is magnified when all of a sudden that side-character you thought you knew about turned out to have been involved with the story all along, in an unrecognisable form to the point you never saw it coming.

16) “And now that I`m finished I finally got to see what the cover page was. Can you guess what the tittle of the chapter was? Take a fucking guess”- So, what happens to Shirakumo (White Cloud) when it gets dragged down to earth, muddied and corrupted from the pure form it used to be into an agent of a malevolent will to serve it unquestioningly as a mockery of all it once hoped to be?

It becomes Kurogiri (Black Mist). @thelreads

#bnha #thelreads #chapter replies #my hero academia #mha253

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