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maddiwrites · 4 years

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Beauty is Pain

Pairing: Mostly Platonic!Pogues, mentions of JJ Maybank x reader

Summary: You and Kie try to wax your legs yourselves for the first time and accidentally get yourselves trapped in a sticky situation that gets you locked in your room with JJ and Pope while you listen to Sarah and John B fight outside your door. Routledge!Reader.

Note: I got this idea from a Friends episode. If you watched the show, you’ll know exactly which one I’m talking about. Mostly wrote this without the intention of doing a JJ x reader pairing but then I got an idea(: Hope y'all like it!

Word Count: 3.5k

Warning: Language, maybe angst??

For her birthday, Kie was gifted a hard waxing kit. At first you thought it was odd, a Kook like her was better off going to a professional to get evenly waxed brows or a perfectly clear bikini line. But when she asked you to try it out with her, you were intrigued.

You invited her over to your messy home everyone calls the Chateau. Your brother had a date with his Kook girlfriend, Sarah Cameron, which meant you had the house all to yourself. Even though it was just Kie, your best friend of four years, you decided to clean up the place before she got there. Your house was littered in empty beer cans and ends of JJ’s rolled blunts. You noticed John B was drinking more, smoking JJ’s weed, and even sleeping in later than usual. He’s called out of work two times in the past two weeks, and if he does manage to a say hello to you, it’s a grumbled mumble of words you can barely understand. You chopped it up to him just being moody, but there was also a small part of you that wondered if something serious was going on you didn’t know about.

You tried questioning your friends about it. Kie said she had no clue but noticed his change of attitude too. Pope would get nervous when you brought up John B’s name and claimed he didn’t know what you were talking about. Before you could question him further, his dad whisked him away to clean up the store and run a couple of last minute groceries. JJ, your boyfriend, tried to tell you it was probably nothing, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with you when he talked. He busied himself with rolling another blunt or folding the tossed laundry on your bedroom floor. When you called him out on it, he got snippy and frustrated, which just led you to drop the topic because you didn’t feel like dealing with a second moody teenager.

Kie showed up right when she said she would with the boxed waxing kit in her hand. You raised one brow up at it as you tossed the filled trash bag out the door.

“This it?” You said.

“Yes. You haven’t shaved your legs in a while, right?”

“Yeah. It’s been two weeks like you said. JJ says my legs are looking hairier than his. He’ll barely even touch them. One time he called them monkey legs.”

Kie rolled her eyes. “Boys are such hypocrites. If they had to do half the stuff we did, they wouldn’t be complaining at all. They shouldn’t even get to complain about what women decide to do with their bodies.”

Kie continued ranting about how pain is beauty and men will never understand it unless they lived in a woman’s body for a whole month, including the week a woman’s period started, as she set up the kit.

You worked in your room because there was more space for both of you to try your best to be comfortable. Kie plugged in the warmer on your nightstand and mixed the pink wax pellets with a flat wooden stick until it turned to a warm goo.

“Okay,” Kie sat up against your bed’s headboard and patted her thigh to motion for you to give her your leg. “You’re up.”

“Why do I have to be first?” You asked.

You’ve never waxed your legs before. Only your brows and sometimes bikini line and even then, you usually just pluck and shave. Getting your hair professionally waxed was expensive and you tried to prioritize your purchases as much as possible to stabilize the life you and John B still had.

Kie sighed. “Fine, we’ll do it together. Let me just put the wax on you.”

You gave Kie your left leg and she slathered the warm wax up the left side of your shin. You watched as she did the same to her own leg and grimaced nervously when you felt the wax hardening against your skin.

“Ready?” She asked with a teasing smirk.

“On the count of three?”

Kie nodded. “One.”

“Two.” “Three.”

At exactly three, Kie pulled the long waxing strip from your leg and you did the same with hers. A searing hot pain ran up you leg as Kie ripped the wax off, making you bite down a scream.

“Fuck!” Kie screamed up into the ceiling. You looked down at both your legs. There was a thick line of red from where the wax was. “That shit hurts.”

“Let’s try it again,” You suggested. “Maybe we’ll get use to it if we keep doing it.”

Kie nodded. “Okay. Yeah, let’s try again.”

This time, Kie slid two long strips on both your left and right leg. The warm wax felt soothing. You almost wished you didn’t have to rip it off in the first place.

“On three?” You said.

Kie nodded.

On three, you each ripped one strip off your own legs. You cursed against gritted teeth from the pain. You were wrong about getting used to it. You didn’t think you would ever be able to tolerate this pain.

“What the hell? This has never hurt this bad.” Kie said.

“I think whoever gave this to you secretly hates you,” You said to her.

Kie sighed and looked down at the hardening wax still left on your legs. “Well, we have to finish. We’ll just rip them all off really fast.”

“Okay.”

You ripped three out of the four strips that were left at rocket speed, but they all hurt exactly the same. It felt like you were ripping more than just the hair off your leg. You wouldn’t be surprised if you looked down and saw half the layers of your skin ripped off.

You blinked back the tears at the exact same time Pope and JJ busted into your room looking around frantically. JJ was holding a baseball bat and Pope a pan you just washed and placed on the drying wrack an hour ago.

“What’s wrong?” Pope yelled.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ narrowed his eyes at you, surprised he wasn’t looking at you being attacked by an intruder or covered in cuts and bruises. When he first heard you screaming when he and Pope walked into your house, his heart raced a million beats per minutes. His mind wandered to all the different things that could have happened to you. He swore he was going to make you lock your door every day and night now.

But here you were, safe and sound and laying in bed with Kie. Although he could see your labored breathing and clouded eyes, he knew you weren’t in any imminent trouble. His eyes traced from your face down to your legs where a pink strip of wax was still waiting to be pulled off.

“We’re fine. We’re just waxing our legs.” Kie said.

“What are you doing here?” You asked your boyfriend.

“Pope said Kie was here so we came to hang with you,” JJ said absentmindedly. “I thought you were being murdered.”

“It sure felt like it,” You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered from JJ’s protective side.

JJ scoffed. “It can’t hurt that bad.”

Kie tutted her head forward. “Oh yeah? Come here.”

“What? No.”

Kie ignored him and grabbed his arm from across your body and slapped on another slab of wax. JJ hissed from the heat then visibly relaxed.

“Y/N, wanna do the honors?” Kie smirked at you.

You glared at her. “I’m not volunteering to hurt my boyfriend.”

Kie scoffed at you. “What did he call your legs again?”

You clenched your teeth together and nodded once. Kie made her point, and you remembered everything she said about how men will never understand the pain women go through to please not only themselves, but their lovers too.

“Oh, yeah,” You said within a split second and ripped the wax off JJ’s arms. He flinched away from you, rearing his arm back far away from your reach. His mouth was opened in an ‘O’ shape and his brows pinched together. “Monkey legs.” You smirked at him.

“Fuck,” JJ shook out his arm as if you physically lit it on fire.

“It can’t hurt that bad, right, JJ?” Kie mocked him.

Pope laughed at his blonde friend and shook his head. “Stupid.”

“Y/N, you have one left.”

“Shut up, I know,” You rolled your shoulders back like you were getting ready to run a marathon.

“Want me to do it for you?” You nodded. JJ came up next to you and offered his hand for you to squeeze. “Okay. On three. One, two -” Before Kie even said the word three, she ripped the wax off. You closed your eyes and squeezed JJ’s hand hard, until his knuckles rolled in your closed fingers.

“Shit, baby,” JJ crouched next to you awkwardly, trying to mend his fingers back together.

“Sorry,” You huffed. You weren’t that sorry. He called you monkey legs.

You heard the screen door open and close. Figuring it was just John B back from his date, you relaxed against your headboard again and made a promise to yourself to never wax your legs again. Beauty wasn’t worth this pain. You’d rather be monkey legs than go through that again.

Or just simply shave.

“ - And that’s supposed to make this all okay?” Your eyes opened when you heard, not JB, but Sarah Cameron screaming right outside your room. Pope quickly closed your bedroom door as quietly as possible and held up his finger to you and Kie to be quiet. “That’s your excuse?”

Your brows pinched together in confusion and you looked at your boyfriend for some kind of answer. This was the first time you ever heard Sarah raise her voice at your brother. As far as you knew, the couple never fought.

JJ was looking down at the ground and avoiding your stare. His hands were wracked through his blonde strands and resting on the top of his head. He and Pope didn’t look as surprised as you and Kie.

“What the hell is going on?” Kie asked in a hushed whisper.

“I - I was scared. I’ve never done this before -” John B stuttered.

“Here’s some advice. Rule number one. Don’t cheat!” Sarah yelled. You swore you could hear the pain behind her voice.

You gasped in surprise and snapped your head in JJ’s direction. He wouldn’t look at you, which mean he knew about this long before you did. You put the pieces together. No wonder John B has been acting miserable. Who knows how long he’s been holding onto this.

Well...apparently JJ and Pope know.

“What the hell...” Kie sits up straighter. “Is she serious?”

“Did you know?” You asked your boyfriend. This time he did look at you. And he looked guilty as hell.

Your eyes snapped back to the door when John B yelled back at her. “That’s gold coming from you. Did Topper use that same line when you got together with me?”

You physically cringed at the mention of Topper’s name. It may have been a low blow, but John B had a point.

“Shit,” Kie cursed and sped walked towards the door.

You followed in her footsteps and pressed your ear against the door. One thing was for sure, you couldn’t leave your room now. You couldn’t walk in on that. But at least you could be nosy and eavesdrop.

“That’s not fair. I didn’t love him. I loved you. I left Topper for you!”

“You cheated on him.”

“Because I loved you, John B! You cheated on me because you were scared because...why? Because I’m a Kook? I’ve always been a Kook and you’ve never had a problem with that! Not until now!”

You and Kie crouched on the floor so JJ and Pope could hover over you and listen. It sounded like John B cheated on Sarah a couple weeks ago with a Pogue from your school because he got scared of his feelings for Sarah. Rafe got in your brother’s head, telling him how he will never be enough to care for Sarah when she’s no longer reliant on her father’s money. He became insecure and looked to someone who wouldn’t ever think of him like that - someone who would understand him.

John B was in the wrong and your heart cracked for the couple you once swore was going to be the first to get married out of your group of friends. Although you and Sarah had a rocky start, she quickly became the sister you never had. You got along just as much as you and Kie did. Sometimes John B would find it annoying when Sarah would come over to hang out with you instead of him, but the other part of him loved that the two most important people in his life were as close as he was with JJ. You couldn’t imagine him with anyone else. Not even another Pogue.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Sarah asked. She sounded broken and her voice cracked with exhaustion. You wanted to walk out of the room and hug her tightly while yelling at John B for being an absolute idiot.

You heard John B sigh. “I was going to. I regretted it the second it was over and I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to leave me over some stupid mistake. JJ and Pope said -”

“JJ and Pope knew about this?”

You and Kie looked up at your boyfriends with the deadliest glare either of them have seen out of both you. JJ took a step back and held his hands up in surrender as if you were holding a loaded gun to his head.

“I can explain -” JJ said quickly as Pope’s mouth moved silently to come up with an excuse.

“I didn’t know what to do! They said telling you would only hurt you -” John B weakly tried to explain.

“Of course it would fucking hurt me! You’ve been lying to me for weeks. You had sex with another girl!”

You heard something shatter before a deafening silence. You waited for John B to say something, praying he was smart enough to say anything that could salvage what little of a relationship he had left.

You didn’t want to make this about you, but you wondered how many times JJ didn’t tell you something because it would hurt you. You wondered if he did anything just as detrimental to your relationship and didn’t tell you because he was afraid you would break up with him.

John B and Sarah continued to fight for another hour. You wondered if John B was worried about where you might be. If you go somewhere without telling John B, you usually text him later in the day to tell him where you are. It’s something both of you started doing ever since your father disappeared. So that if something were to happen, you would know where to look first.

You thought about jumping out your window, but your window frame was rusty. Even if you moved the window up a little bit, the wood would grind against each other, and your cover would be blown. You were getting hungry and JJ was getting antsy, probably afraid that John B would say something more to push him in the dog house. You’ve barely looked at him since John B threw him under the bus.

“Baby...” JJ said quietly to try to get your attention. “Come on, baby, let me explain.”

You glared at him and continued braiding Kie’s hair with your back to the door.

“We had good intentions,” Pope tried to save his own ass but Kie’s look mirrored yours. “We just didn’t want them to break up.”

“Shut up, Pope,” You said for Kie.

“We were wrong,” JJ said, making you advert your attention from Pope to your boyfriend. “I was wrong. It was my idea for John B not to tell Sarah. But the more time I spent with you, I knew I’d never be able to do that to you. It would eat at me inside, and that’s exactly what it was doing to JB. So yesterday I told him he had to tell her. Or else he would hate himself for the rest of his life if he didn’t.” Your eyes soften under his ocean blue ones and your hands fell from Kie’s hair. “I know I would.”

The corner of your lip twitched up into a lopsided grin, and just like that, you were entranced by the blonde Pogue all over again. JJ had his way with words. It’s gotten him both into certain situations and out of other bad ones. But you knew JJ like the back of your hand. You knew when he was lying. He wouldn’t look at you and if you questioned him on it he would get angry. Looking at JJ, you knew he was telling the truth.

“Yeah, what he said.” Pope said, pointing at your boyfriend.

You and Kie rolled your eyes playfully. Pope, on the other hand, wasn’t so great with his words. That’s why it took so long for him to score Kie as his girlfriend.

“Where are you going?” You heard John B yell. He sounded defeated.

“I can’t be here. I need...I need space.”

“Sarah...”

“Please. I just need time to think. Okay?”

Your front door slammed shut and you held your breath, waiting for John B to run after her or break more shit in your living room. But nothing like that ever came. Instead, you listened to John B cry to himself probably somewhere on the couch.

And just like that, you didn’t care about being caught. You didn’t care if he screamed in your face for eavesdropping or calling you nosy and inconsiderate. Your brother needed you, and in that moment, it didn’t matter to you that he was the one in the wrong. At the end of the day, he was your brother. Your blood. Your family. And you’re the one who will always be his rock.

Kie stood up with you and watched wearily as you showed yourself to your brother. John B looked up with wide eyes, surprised to see not only you but the rest of the Pogues hidden away in your room.

He wanted to be mad, but he didn’t have the energy to be. Instead, he cried harder because he hated that you of all people knew what he did and that he was now being weak by crying about it in your living room. He wanted to be the role model you could always look up to, especially now that your dad was gone. And he thought he failed at it.

John B was pleasantly surprised when he felt a pair of gentle arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him into a side hug as you sat on the couch next to him. Kie sat on the coffee table in front of you and rubbed John B’s knee comfortingly. Pope and JJ knew the girls were better equipped to handle John B’s emotions, so they busied themselves in the kitchen, grabbing a couple beers and pretzels and setting them down on the table next to Kie.

Even though John B cheated and created a big mess in not only his life, but the rest of yours too, you were family. You would never leave him on his darkest day and play the blame game. You’ll help him get control. You’ll help him fix it. You’ll help him live his life to the fullest. And that’s what John B loved about you. You never turned your back on him, even when he deserved it.

The five of you spent the rest of the night drinking beer, ordering pizza, and watching comedy movies to get him to forget. Later in the night, you and Kie left to comfort Sarah. You admitted that you two heard the whole thing and would support her with whatever she chose to do about her relationship. You and Kie slept over her house and discussed the pros and cons of her staying with John B. You ate popcorn and applied face masks while Keeping Up With The Kardashians played in the background.

“You know, Kie’s waxing kit is still at my house,” A mischievous smirk pulled at your lips. “We could cause a lot of damage while he sleeps.”

Kie encouraged the idea and Sarah laughed, feeling grateful that the two of you would even come to see her when you both had loyalties to John B. She really did love you guys and would be devastated if her relationship with John B drove you guys apart.

In the end, Sarah ended up taking John B back. It took a while for them to get their relationship back to the way it was, but they loved each other enough to salvage it. John B worked his ass off to prove how much he loved her and Sarah appreciated every second of it.

And as for you and JJ...well you made sure to give him one really good reason as to why he should never cheat on you (;

#jj maybank fic #jj fic #jj x reader #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #john b routledge #john b #kie carrera #pope heyward #pogues x reader #pogues #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank one shot

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shyficwriter · 3 years

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Temporary Home: Chapter 11

Guardians of the Galaxy fanfic | Reader x Guardians (With Yondu and Kraglin!) Guest starring Nick Fury and Maria Hill

Summary: Fury comes for another weekly check-in and Reader gets in trouble. He also brings along a doctor, will he have good or bad news for Rocket?

Previous Chapter here | Next Chapter Here Or click here to: Start From Beginning

Author’s Note: A -l o n g b o i- of a chapter. Also, for my records, this is day 14 of the Guardians living with reader.

Word Count: 7,756

You wake up early, partially due to the pain in your arm, but mostly because you knew Fury would likely be coming today and you wanted to try and get to town and back before he arrived.

After a light breakfast you start to go out back door to retrieve the box the raccoon corpse was in, but Peter, who had also just finished eating and who suspected exactly what you're doing, jumped up and said he'll help you get the box.

You roll your eyes, and you're about to tell him you are fine to do it yourself when you hear knock at door. You assume it's Fury, but you want to be careful. You look out window, prepared to tell Peter to keep the others out of sight, when you notice two SHIELD vehicles behind your own, and that they hadn't been cloaked like Fury's was last time.

"It's Fury," you tell Peter, and he goes to fetch a few of the others who weren't already in the kitchen, mostly Rocket, because he expected they would want to see him after you said you'd be contacting SHIELD about the raccoon fight and whether Rocket had his shots.

Feeling slightly relieved that it was just Fury and that he hadn't decided to test you this time, you answer the door to see not only Fury and Agent Hill, but another man.

Fury gives a quick greeting and introduces the man as a doctor they brought along to test the dead raccoon. Apparently they came prepared after your message to Maria the previous night. You offer to go unlock shed but Fury says he needs you to stay there, and to give the doctor the keys. You are surprised, but obey, assuming he just wants briefed on what happened last night.

You hand the doctor the keys and he disappears back out the front door while you lead Fury and Maria into the kitchen where the others are just as Peter comes back down the stairs with Drax and Rocket.

As suspected, Fury asks first about what happened with the raccoon incident.

Rocket rolls his eyes and grumbles, "Nothing."

Drax speaks up. He tells Fury that he and you heard the commotion outside, saw Rocket getting attacked, and then you shot the offending animal.

Fury nods. "I see. I trust you've already looked him over, but our doctor will be doing so again before he administers the booster. According to our records Rocket was given a rabies vaccination, but you can never be too careful."

"Good." you reply, nodding your head in relief.

Rocket just hopped up on the counter to sit with his arms crossed indignantly, not looking forward to being examined for something he had already been checked for, but surprisingly he chose not to be a child about it.

"How long before we know if the raccoon was infected or not?" asked Kraglin.

Agent Hill answered. "The test takes about two hours. We brought a lab van so the test could be preformed on site that way we'd know as soon as possible."

Leave it to SHIELD to come prepared for literally everything.

"We also brought another couple weeks worth of rations. NOVA expects you all to be here for awhile more." This earned unhappy muttered grumblings from Rocket, but the others kept their mouth shut. They were never under the impression the negotiations would be done quickly. Maria continued, "So if a few of you want to help carry the boxes in..." she gestured towards the kitchen door. She said it politely, but it wasn't exactly a request. She wasn't a maid.

You nodded and started to head toward the door when Fury said. "Agent, stop."

You stopped, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "Sir?"

Peter, Drax, and Kraglin, who had stood and were also about to follow Agent Hill (and tell you specifically not to go, for obvious reasons), also stopped, surprised by Fury's tone. He almost sounded a bit like he was scolding you despite his tone being even.

"Please remove your sweater."

The sweater he was referring to was actually an old knit cardigan. You had taken to wearing it the past few days due both to a string of overcast and therefore chillier days, and well, for said obvious reasons. "I'm sorry, what?" you ask.

"Your jacket. Take it off."

You swallow. You had a sneaking suspicion why he would ask you that. He had an annoying habit of somehow knowing everything. "If it's all the same, I'd rather not-"

"Remove your jacket, agent. Or do you need Agent Hill to assist you?" It was clear that he wasn't going to take no for an answer.

You try to hide a grimace as you did what you were told, doing your best not to wince as you pulled your sweater off your good arm first and then the injured arm. Silently you wondered who had squealed on you. A small gasp from Mantis was heard when she saw what your sweater had been hiding, and you could feel the eyes of the others also on you as Fury gave you an unamused look and Agent Hill's eyes widened sightly. Even Rocket looked a bit surprised. He wasn't expecting it to look that bad.

Purple and green bruising stained your arm, radiating out from your elbow and stretching from your bicep to maybe 5 inches shy of your wrist.

"The doctor is also here to check over your injury as well." Fury said. Looking to Gamora he thanked her for informing them of your injury before turning back to scold you for not having mentioned it to them or having seen a doctor for it. He also threw in that you should be wearing a sling and resting your arm instead of 'acting like a dumbass who thinks they don't need to take care of themselves.'

"Sir, it's fine. I-"

"I'm trusting you to protect these people. How are you going to do that if you cripple yourself by neglecting injuries?" he scolded.

You shot an unhappy look to Gamora, but you could tell she wasn't sorry. You also caught almost smug looks from Yondu and Peter before turning back to Fury.

"How did it happen?" asked Maria. Gamora had told her that it had happened, that you refused help, and that you put it back in place yourself, but she hadn't told her how it happened. Seeing the aftermath of the injury now herself had made her curious.

"Slipped," you say before anyone can speak up for you. "Clumsy me," you add sarcastically.

Peter raised an eyebrow and shared glances with Kraglin and Yondu, surprised that you seemed to be covering for him. However, he didn't correct you, assuming you gave that answer for a reason, and after all, it wasn't totally a lie, more just... not the whole truth.

That explanation was apparently good enough for Fury and Maria because she nodded at the guys for them to follow as Fury laid into you again.

***

Maria opened the back hatch of the SUV, revealing crates of rations to be taken inside.

Lifting up one of the crates, Peter tried to make conversation, mentioning how Fury seemed surprisingly mad at you for not seeking out a doctor for your injury.

Sure, he could understand your boss telling you that you were dumb for neglecting an injury and scolding you for being stupid, but Fury's anger seemed different than he would have expected. Almost like he genuinely cared that you had gotten hurt. He couldn't remember any of his mother's bosses caring that much. If anything, if she had gotten hurt or sick, they would have preferred that she pretended she hadn't and just worked through it. Then again, he always did think most of her bosses were mean. Maybe she just had bad luck?

"Yeah, well, this wouldn't be the first time she's hidden an injury." Maria admitted. "I imagine he's getting a bit tired of it."

Kraglin took a crate from Maria. "She do that often?" he asked, surprised that anyone would just routinely hide when they've been hurt for seemingly no reason.

"It's not a super frequent occurrence, but she does have a bad habit of not saying when she's hurt. Once she got stabbed on the job in Hong Kong... we only found out when another agent walked in on her trying to stitch herself up in the hotel afterwards." She stacked a crate on top of the one Drax was already holding and shut the hatch before bending down to pick up the last crate she had set on the ground for herself. "Then there was a time when we were on a job together in Romania. We had been captured and held hostage for two days. I noticed she started looking worse and worse as time went on. I thought she was just getting sick, but then she passed out during the last interrogation attempt before SHEILD busted in the door with backup." She started walking back towards the house with the men. "I found out after they got her to medical that the day after we got sent out she came down with appendicitis and instead of telling someone that something was wrong and getting medical treatment, she apparently decided it was better to just cut out her own appendix- still don't know how she managed that without anyone noticing." Maria sounded like she clearly disapproved of your prior actions. "Anyway, with no way to keep it clean while we were being held prisoner, she had developed an infection. She was put on suspension for that one. I've got more, but I think you get the drift."

The three men's eyes were wide as they followed Agent Hill back to the house.

"That's insane." Peter said. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Beats me. She didn't always used to be that way, but now we use her as an example for what you shouldn't do with the new recruits."

"What do you think changed? Could she have suffered a brain injury that made her dumb?" Drax asked.

Peter shifted his crate so he could open the door and scolded Drax for being rude. As they walked into the hall Maria said, "No head injury that I'm aware of, she just kinda changed after-"

She never got to finish that sentence, for they entered the kitchen to hear you angrily say to Fury, "You can't be serious."

The four made their way towards the pantry with their crates, cautiously eyeing the situation so as to not appear nosy. Well, except for Drax, who was just flat out staring.

You were staring angrily at a stern-faced Fury while Gamora looked at the two of you, uneasiness in her eyes. Yondu and Rocket had looks of almost smug satisfaction playing on their faces, while Mantis and Groot appeared confused and intrigued.

"Serious as a heart attack." Fury answered. "After the doctor examines you and gives his orders, she-" he pointed to Gamora, "is going to report back to me if you break them, since clearly she has more sense than you."

"Sir, I don't need a babysitter-"

"Act like a baby, you get a sitter." Fury responded, cutting you off. "Adults know better than to just ignore serious injuries, Agent. Or do I need to remind you of the stunt you pulled in Romania?"

Gamora looked uncomfortable, and she wasn't even the one being scolded, though now she did wonder what you had done in Romania, wherever that was. Yondu was also curious, as Fury's statement confirmed you had done this more than once.

You sighed indignantly, "Sir I-"

"Enough. Unless you want to tell me you intend to defy orders, I suggest you keep any excuses to yourself. If I hear anything about you neglecting the doctor's orders, your ass will be assigned to a desk so fast your head will spin. Are we clear?"

Your eyes widened. Desk duty?! He couldn't do that to you. "What? Sir?! You can't do that-" you say, your voice almost pleading with a hint of indignation.

He says again, more firmly, "Are we clear?" Not only could he, he most definitely would. You thought being assigned to stay home was bad? Try being stuck in a cubicle for the next foreseeable future.

"Yes, sir." you say begrudgingly.

"Good."

Rocket started chuckling, pleased to see you get dressed down by your boss. In your own home, no less. Then he got an idea. "Hey, Agent." he said in a mocking tone.

You turn to glare at him. "What?" you respond irritably.

"Why don't you tell me where that new bed in my room came from?" He was wearing a shit eating grin, and you weren't sure why he'd bring it up right now.

You roll your eyes. "How should I know? Bed faeries? Piss off."

Rocket grinned wider. "Really? 'Cause I've got a feeling you aren't allowed to lie to your director, so if he were to ask..."

Fury, not in the mood, flatly repeated what he had said on the last visit, "I'm not here to get involved with your petty squabbles." adding, "I couldn't care less what this was about."

Rocket almost looked disappointed, and you relieved, before Agent Hill said, "Well, he might not care, but we'll be here for the next two hours waiting on results anyway... and technically I do outrank you..." Her smile wasn't malicious, it was clear that her intent was only some good-natured ribbing to her fellow agent who seemingly didn't like to admit that she'd done something nice for the asshole raccoon. Trying to lighten the mood.

You give Maria a look that says, 'Are you fucking kidding?'

Rocket looked delighted, and a few of the others looked pleasantly intrigued by your expression. By now everyone had pretty much gathered that you had made Rocket the bed, but you never would say as much. It'd be interesting if you'd actually admit it, or suffer whatever consequence lying to a superior might entail if they would choose to enforce it.

Fury, however, rolled his eye and told Maria he was going to have a word with the doctor. His way of saying that this issue wasn't worth his time, but he also wasn't going to stop whatever happened next.

Maria didn't force you to come clean about the bed. Not at first anyway. She did, however, exercise her power to keep you in line. Meaning, if you didn't do like you were told and just sit and wait for the doctor while the guys finished emptying the crates into the pantry and returned the crates to the vehicle, she'd make veiled threats to ask where the bed came from.

You knew she was only having a bit of fun, but you still stared daggers at her.

***

After a bit Fury returned with the doctor, who greeted you again by handing you the keys to your shed, stating that he locked it back up. He also informed that part of the the rabies test involved freezing the samples for 45 minutes, so he would examine you and Rocket in the meantime.

You went to motion for Rocket to go first, but Fury prodded the doctor in your direction, giving you a look that you knew better than to argue with. Rocket stuck his tongue out at you and remained sitting, satisfied, on the counter. Out of most everyone's sight, though, his tail twitched.

You were tense, but on your best behavior the whole time the doctor examined your injured arm, not wishing for Fury to come up with another punishment for your disobedience.

The doctor pulled a device out of a briefcase that turned out to be a fancy portable X-ray device to make sure there were no fractures. Luckily there weren't any.

The outcome was determined that you were very lucky. Somehow you had managed to set the bones back in place well enough on your own without accidentally breaking the radial heads in the 're-entry' process, something the doctor said he'd wouldn't have expected for a self-reset, but then again, most don't attempt to reset this type of injury on their own either. You were given a mild scolding by the doctor for not putting the arm in a sling so the ligaments could heal, however, and he said you were very lucky it didn't re-dislocate. You internally groaned as "I told you so's" peeped from behind you.

The doctor placed your arm in a strange hinged brace with a strap that made it sort of like a sling with the instructions that you were required to wear it with the strap for a week. Afterwards you could remove the strap, but you would still need to wear the brace for at least another two or three weeks. You were also placed on a weight restriction of only 5 pounds for your injured arm. Great...

You didn't say anything, only nodded, having gotten the message that it wasn't in your best interest to argue if you didn't want another tongue-lashing from Fury.

When the doctor was done with you he moved onto Rocket, who's ears momentarily flattened when he saw the doctor was now approaching him, but he quickly recovered, begrudgingly allowing himself to be examined.

As expected, the doctor found nothing of concern, barely even a scratch, which he was sure to clarify that Rocket likely wouldn't have contracted rabies from even if the animal does test positive.

The doctor turned to his coat pocket and pulled out a pre-loaded syringe of pinkish liquid, declaring to Rocket that it was the vaccine booster as he pulled off the cap.

Peter saw Rocket stiffen and finally noticed the twitching of his tail, and decided to be merciful and distract him. "Hey, Trash Panda,"

Rocket turned his head to Peter as the doctor grabbed his arm. "I don't answer to that, Star-Munch."

"You just did." Peter laughed.

Rocket growled at him before turning back to the doctor and asking him to hurry up so he could bite a chunk out of Peter's face.

"Already done," stated the doctor, capping the now empty needle and slipping it into a plastic bag before returning it to his pocket.

Rocket raised his eyebrows, forgetting his previous anger towards Peter. "Oh." His tail ceased its twitching. He hadn't felt a thing.

Peter didn't return to taunting and just let him forget. Mission accomplished.

Now done, the doctor announced he'd be going back to the lab-van to check on the samples, leaving you to sit awkwardly with your boss, co-worker, and the rest of the Guardians.

You look to the ceiling and sigh before saying, "Well I suppose I should offer you some tea if you're going to be here awhile."

Maria nodded that she'd take some and no sooner than you go to stand does Peter speak up and say, "Let me help-"

You give him a seething look that actually makes him recoil. "Unless you know how to make tea, fuck off. And even if you do, still fuck off. I don't need both arms to make fecking tea and I don't need your help. I'm not an infant." Your tone was even, but the venom was still there. A bit harsh, perhaps, but it sent the desired message. The whole situation was making you very cranky and maybe they shouldn't push it. At least for awhile until you had a chance to decompress.

Fury, however, shot you a disapproving look before you turned to put the kettle on, though he didn't say anything. He had pretty much expected this is how you might react.

The next half hour was mostly sipping tea and awkward attempts at conversation as everyone waited for the doctor to finish the test.

Yondu wasn't much interested in trying to make conversation, though he was surprised to find he didn't mind the tea. He was watching as you fiddled with your cup. You were quiet, and he thought you seemed nervous. Could you be nervous about the test results on that animal? Why? All evidence pointed to Rocket being completely fine, he hadn't been bitten, and that's what you said they had to worry about, right?

When the doctor finally returned he had good news. The raccoon had tested negative.

Yondu watched you visibly relax and it made him wonder if there was something you hadn't told them.

He was right. You were worried about the possibility of the raccoon's blood or saliva having found its way into one of the scratches or, more grossly, Rocket's mouth or eyes. If the raccoon had been infected, you knew those would be other possible ways Rocket still could have contracted the virus. You hadn't told the others because you hadn't wanted them to worry, but doing this only then made you worry. Not just because you didn't want to see even an asshole like Rocket die like that, but because you had told the others he'd be fine if he wasn't bitten, and that hadn't fully been the truth. It was a weight off your shoulders to hear that the test came back negative.

With that news Fury, Agent Hill, and the doctor were finally all able to leave. Fury stood and made eye-contact with Gamora. "Remember what I said, she steps out of line, disobeys the doctor's orders, you report back to us. Understood?"

Gamora nodded uneasily. She hadn't expected to be put on the spot and honestly wasn't looking forward to her assigned task, sure that it would only serve to piss you off.

Fury looked at you now. "Understood, Agent?"

You exhale irritably and say, "Yes, sir."

"Good. We'll be seeing you again next week."

You led them to the front door to let them out, but right before she walked out Maria turned to you with a smile and said, "Oh, almost forgot. Where did that new bed in Rocket's room come from?" She said it louder than necessary, no doubt to make sure that the others could hear the question being asked.

"Dammit, Maria!" you scold.

Fury now turned with a smirk, seemingly finally finding humor in the situation. "You know what. I changed my mind. I'd also like to know. Agent?"

You look to the ceiling with a pitiful look. Maria had only been joking, there wouldn't be any real consequences for refusing to tell her. Fury, however, was your boss, and if he wanted to be a dick about it, he could. Apparently your recent stunt with your injury had pressed his 'asshole' button. "I built it." you mutter.

Fury spoke in a tone louder than necessary, just to mess with you. "Sorry, Agent, I didn't catch that."

You glare at him and only speak up a little bit. "Said I built it, sir."

Fury chuckled, and spoke again in the louder-than-necessary voice, "Ah, you built the bed! What a nice thing to do, Agent!"

Rocket could be heard from the kitchen cheering, "I frickin knew it!"

You glared at your boss and coworker. "I hate you both so much."

Fury chuckled. "Goodbye, Agent."

"Goodbye, sir." you reply, promptly shutting the door.

You turn to see Rocket standing smugly in the kitchen doorway. Peter and Kraglin were standing behind him, appearing amused.

"Not a word." you say, barely looking at them as you made for the stairs.

Rocket laughed. "Oh, I was just going to ask if I should give my regards to you, or the faeries."

"Can't hear you!" you call back as you walk up the stairs.

"Come on now, that was a nice thing ya did!" Kraglin said, his tone teasing.

"Not listening!" you cry back as you climb higher, fully aware you were acting a bit like a child, but not caring in your pursuit to get away.

They heard your door shut and Kraglin turned to Peter to say, "She's an odd one, ain't she?"

"Yep."

***

Gamora felt uneasy. After conversing with the others about you, she had contacted Agent Hill on the communication device SHIELD had given them in case any issues arose. They were naturally concerned with how you kept to your room after the injury, and a few therefore worried that the injury was worse than you let on.

They could have just let you be, after you made it clear that you wouldn't accept their help, but after they saw you risk further injury to save their friend, she and Peter collectively decided they'd risk overstepping and contact SHIELD. You helped one of them, they'd help you. Even if you didn't want it, they felt you needed it.

What they hadn't expected was for Fury to be angry about it and, as a result, assign Gamora as your warden.

She talked with Peter in private, discussing what she should do about the situation. She didn't see the situation going well. You barely knew each other and you could be... well, stubborn might be an understatement. Eventually they agreed there was only one thing to be done. Just do it.

Or, at least make it look like she had every intention of carrying through without pissing you off to much. Sometimes people needed a little tough love for their own good, but Gamora knew if they crossed the line into overbearing things could go south real quick, and she didn't want to risk finding the tipping point that would make you make them leave. Being assigned someone to report back on you if you misbehaved was probably humiliating enough without them pushing it.

Now if they could only get Rocket on board.

You stayed in your room most of the day, but when you did come out to eat or to stretch your legs Rocket would throw teases at you, saying that you better stay in line if you didn't want Gamora to tell on you, and throwing taunts about the punishment Fury had threatened you with if you disobeyed the doctor's orders.

To their surprise, however, you just ignored him. You literally just didn't acknowledge him. Just walked about your business, and returned to your room without even a glance in his direction.

Then they realized it was only because you couldn't hear him. You had your earbuds in. Probably for the best, really.

Gamora's uneasiness eventually turned into relief when it became clear that you didn't hold a major grudge against her for squealing on you or her assignment from Fury. Based on your reaction earlier she had been worried that you'd focus your ire on her, but for whatever reason, you didn't seem to.

It was true, you didn't hold a grudge against her. Well, not after you had a chance to cool down about the situation, that is. Listening to music always made you feel better, so it helped your mood that you had kept your earbuds in for most of the day, (and let's be honest, it saved Rocket's ass too.) You took some time to reflect. Except for a period when you went for a walk to decompress, you stayed in your room and just thought about the situation. From what you had seen of Gamora, she probably only thought she was helping. Why she wanted to, you couldn't guess, but you just assumed she did. Fury was probably just trying to teach you a lesson, and you resolved to not let it get to you. You'd play the game, be good, and then he'd eventually get off your back. Easy.

After spending most of the day reflecting, you didn't feel as cranky as you had that morning. Yup, good old music and walking had done it's job to help your mood...

You hadn't made the connection that each of the three times Mantis came to your shared room to check on you, and would take your hand or place hers on your arm to ask how you were feeling, you felt a little more contented. You just assumed she was feeling affectionate and that you enjoyed her company.

Both of those were true, but Mantis had also been working her magic a little, wanting to see you cheer up but doing it in tiny doses so as to not ruin the practical joke Yondu had said would be real funny later if she didn't tell you about her abilities. She didn't know when the joke would be over, but she also didn't want to ruin it and disappoint her new friend.

Later that night you decided to break out a bottle of whiskey from the cellar. Try to get a buzz going. You brought it into the kitchen, asking those already at the table if they wanted any. Well, it was more like telling them that they knew where the glasses were if they wanted some, but still, an offer is an offer.

You sat down and poured yourself a glass as Peter grabbed a glass each for him and Gamora, and Kraglin fetched one for himself and Yondu.

Gamora was the first to speak. "I just wanted to aplogi-"

"No."

"What?"

"It's awkward enough without the apology. It's done. I'm sure you thought you were being helpful or something, but it's done."

Gamora raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Well I-"

You sigh. "Look, if it makes you feel better, you're forgiven or whatever, but I don't want to talk about it. 'Kay?" you down your glass and pour another. "Don't kill my buzz before it's even started."

Peter started to speak up. "Well I feel Krags and I at least-"

You cut him off as well. "Same goes for you. We're not going to talk about it right now. It's done."

"Oh...kay..." Peter said, taking a sip. He attempted small talk after a bit. "So... how did you come about working for SHIELD?"

You sipped and shrugged before setting your glass down. "My dad was an agent, and I guess I followed in his footsteps." you say, toying with your glass. Eager to turn the conversation away from you, you asked, "How'd you lot go about becoming 'Guardians of the Galaxy'?"

That question had the desired effect. Peter started off the story by telling you how it actually all started with them getting thrown in prison over a stone and then breaking out of said prison together to locate said powerful stone that some dick called Ronan was going to use to wipe out an entire planet.

About a quarter the way through the story the rest of the Guardians came and the same offer was extended to them before you stood up and announced you should probably grab another bottle as the one you brought up was nearly empty.

Rocket piped up, "So where ya hide it anyway?"

You looked at him, confused and a little tipsy. Cocking your head you asked, "What?"

"The booze. You always seem to pull it out of thin air. Figured you were hiding it."

You blink at him while Peter scolded him for being dumb, a sentiment you now currently shared. You laugh and look at Gamora, who looked embarrassed by her friend. "Is he always this dumb?" Not waiting for an answer you turn back to Rocket. "It ain't hidden. Dipshit." You turn away to resume your task.

Rocket, offended that you would call him dumb, said, "If you ain't hiding it, why haven't we ever seen where you keep it."

Now Kraglin was giving him looks. Even if you were hiding it, it was your shit. You were already giving them a place to stay, you didn't owe them booze too. The rest were sure Rocket was just trying to get a rise from you, but the secondhand embarrassment was real.

You rolled your eyes but kept walking. It was most likely the alcohol, but you were actually finding humor in his stupidity. "It's in the cellar, space case. I won't stop you from tagging along. Make sure your mother signs the permission slip." With that you slipped out the kitchen door.

The guardians exchanged glances at your comment and Peter, who remembered school and field trips, said, "That was a joke. You wouldn't get it." He then stood up and said, "Might as well take the chance to see something new since we don't know how long we'll be stuck here." He then looked to Rocket and asked if he was coming, since technically the invitation had been extended to him.

Rocket, who had been clearly hoping for, or at least expecting, a fight, awkwardly followed in the direction you had left. Mantis and Groot stated they wanted to go see the cellar too, but the others opted to stay behind.

Seeing that four of them had actually decided to take up your mock-offer to come to the cellar, you waited for them to catch up. You honestly didn't care if they went into the cellar, as long as Groot didn't go down there to play, and you made a point to ask Peter to tell him that you didn't mind him coming down with the rest of you tonight, but he was under no circumstances to come down there to play as he could get hurt.

Rocket translated instead, seeming irritated that you had given the message to Peter instead of him, and you open the door start to walking down the stairs, the others trailing behind.

The cellar wasn't anything spectacular. The stairs were a bit creaky with age, and it was dusty and dim even with the light on. The walls were stone strung with cobwebs and the floor was made up of old red brick.

You reached the ground and led them to some shelves on the wall across from the boiler, to grab the whiskey. On the other wall next to the shelves was an old wooden door, but other than that, a few cans of paint, and another set of shelves on the far end of the cellar, it was largely empty. You didn't keep much down there due to the damp.

You turned back to face them once you grabbed a bottle and asked if Rocket was satisfied. You didn't recieve an answer, not like you had expected one anyway. Gesturing back to the whiskey you said to Peter that it was down here if they wanted it. You didn't care as long as they didn't get sloppy drunk and start wrecking shit on the regular.

Peter nodded and the four took in the sight of the cellar. Mantis looked like she regretted her decision to come down, and said it was a little creepy, and Groot seemed to share her opinion. Good. Would mean he wouldn't care to come play down there. Peter and Rocket, however, looked at the shelf behind you in surprise. There was... more whiskey than they had anticipated. A lot more.

"Not that it's any of my business, but why do you have so much whiskey down here?"

You turned back to the shelf. Remembering the reason combined with your tipsy state made you giggle as you answered honestly. "Decided to order a small case awhile back just to have a bit around. Might have ordered it drunk and messed up the size of the order... just a bit..."

'A bit' was an understatement. The whiskey didn't sit on just one shelf, but rather the whiskey took up a whole shelving unit. You had only meant to order one case. A case would have been maybe six bottles. Somehow you ended up ordering six cases, and of course there were no refunds. So, into the cellar with a few other assorted bottles it went. You didn't do any online shopping while drunk after that again.

Peter chuckled at your honesty and noticed the wooden door for the first time. He debated asking about it, it seemed oddly placed considering the layout of the house above, but Mantis beat him to it.

"Where does that door go?" she asked, pointing to it.

You look to the door and then back to them. "Closet," you say, before widening your eyes in mock realization to tease Rocket. "Oh right, better prove it before that one gets all suspicious again!"

Rocket narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, not thrilled with you making him the butt of a joke as you opened the door to reveal a small, dark closet, maybe a meter deep and just as wide. Pipe wrenches hung on hooks off the door, and inside was a bucket, a broom, and a shovel resting against a wall of shallow shelves which were empty aside from a few random tools and a couple lanterns.

You closed the door after a moment and to Peter's surprise you handed him the whiskey bottle you had retrieved and grabbed another. "Might as well grab two, save me a trip if we run out again," you explain before shooing them all up the stairs.

Once back in the kitchen you re-took your seat and poured yourself another glass before sliding the bottle towards the middle of the table for someone else to grab. "Alright, I believe you were telling a story now?" you say to Peter as he also sat down, seeming surprised you were still interested.

And you were. It was quite an interesting story and you had to admit it captured your attention quite well.

Before you knew it an hour had passed and the second bottle was finished between seven of you when they'd finished telling it. Mantis didn't like the taste and Groot wasn't permitted to have any, though fortunately he didn't seem to mind. Just sipped on some juice you had gotten up to pour for him and Mantis and played about on the table adorably as Peter told the story.

The Ronan guy had gotten the stone, but Peter and his team still won anyway, having managed to get the stone away from him. You had giggled when you realized that Peter had more or less described that they had used 'the power of friendship' to hold onto the stone, though he didn't seem as keen on that comparison. You were also surprised to learn that the little Groot before you wasn't the original Groot, but rather more like the original's son, and that Kraglin and Yondu weren't part of the team yet in this story, but actually the leaders of an almost adversary group of space pirates that had agreed to work with Peter with the promise of obtaining the stone for themselves. You wanted to ask about that, how they came about joining Peter's team and where the rest of their crew was, Ravagers you believed they were called, but before you could Yondu interjected.

"Yeah, I'd almost forgot about that switcharoo ya pulled with the stone, boy." Yondu said to Peter, who, now several drinks in, included that bit of the story despite the former captain and first mate sitting right at the table with him.

Peter chuckled nervously in response, and said in jest, "Well, you got a cool troll doll out of it, that's something, right?"

You snorted a short laugh out your nose at that, making the others turn to you in surprise. Aside from a few questions, you had been more or less quiet the whole time until now. "Troll doll?" you say, clearly tipsy, behind your hand. The thought was ludicrous to you. Of all the things, a troll doll.

Peter grinned, pleased to see you found it funny. "It was the only thing I had on hand that would fit in the orb." He admitted, giggling.

Gamora's eyes crinkled as she looked at Peter. She hadn't had nearly as much drink as him, but she still found his giggly nature and his ability to tell a story to be endearing. This was probably the most she had let herself relax since they arrived.

Kraglin lightheartedly punched Peter in the shoulder. He'd been angry when the "switcharoo" incident happened, but he'd since been given enough reason to get over it.

"You goofy cunt," you chuckled at Peter, standing from the table and grabbing the empty bottle to bin it.

Peter raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at you as you walked toward the bin. Had you just called him a 'cunt'?

The others shared surprised contemplative looks and Kraglin said, "I think that was a compliment?" He was unsure, but you hadn't exactly said it in a derogatory way, so perhaps it was?

You overheard him and said from the bin, "Eh. Close enough." You spared one final giggly glance towards the group before leaving the kitchen to use the bathroom.

Peter shrugged, correctly assuming that he shouldn't be offended and stood to put his now-empty glass in the sink before re-joining the table with the others.

They sat chatting for a bit longer, before they thought they heard the soft sounds of singing coming from the sitting room. Exchanging glances, Peter and Gamora decided to go check it out.

***

You didn't return to the kitchen after you finished your business. The story was finished and you were in a better mood than you had been that morning so you just made your way to the sitting room to relax in your rocking chair before your buzz could wear off.

You had been there just a few minutes with your eyes falling closed when the sensation of something crawling up your leg startled you. You jump slightly only to see it was Groot crawling into your lap. You then relaxed. Cute little bugger looked sleepy, and for whatever reason, decided he would crawl up into the rocking chair with you. You didn't mind, and even if you did, you were getting a little too sleepy to feel like wasting energy making him move.

He climbed up on your slinged arm, too light for the action to cause you any pain, and curled up as you rocked away.

You weren't sure what possessed you, likely the whiskey, but you started to softy sing him a lullaby. One you remembered your grandmother singing you to sleep with when you were little.

***

Gamora peeked in the doorway and stopped, seeing you in the rocking chair, though you didn't see her. The rocking chair faced the bookshelf on the opposite wall, putting your gaze perpendicular to her own.

You were the source of the singing, and it didn't take long for her to notice Groot curled up sleeping against you and to deduce that what you were singing was a lullaby.

The others had come to see as well, but Gamora motioned for them to be quiet and didn't let them get past the doorway, afraid that you would stop if you knew you had an audience.

"What is it?" Drax asked.

"I think she's singing a lullaby to Groot." Peter answered, turning to peek back through the doorway for a moment before stepping aside to let Drax see. Drax smiled warmly at the sight and motioned Mantis to take his spot.

Kraglin chuckled and whispered over to an equally amused Yondu, "Well ain't that precious."

"So what?" asked Rocket, annoyed that everyone was gathered by the doorway instead of entering. He was, however, definitely not jealous that Groot would have taken to you well enough to let you sing a lullaby to him. He was also definitely not irritated about the fact that Groot had aparently just fallen right asleep in your lap, when he had been having to deal with Groot fitting to go to sleep most nights due to being someplace new.

Gamora looked to him. "It's sweet."

"She ain't sweet, it's all an act. She don't really care."

"So it was an act when she shot that raccoon and saved your ass?" asked Peter, rolling his eyes at his furry friend.

Rocket threw up his arms in frustration, unwilling to admit the possibility of being wrong. "Probably! She don't really care about us. We're just an assignment to her. And I didn't need her help anyway."

Peter rolled his eyes again, and that's when they noticed the singing had stopped. They were too busy arguing to notice it had been getting softer and softer. Gamora peeked in again and saw that you had fallen asleep, and she whispered back to the group as such.

"Good. I'm putting Groot to bed." Rocket said, pushing through the others before they could say anything.

"Rocket!" Gamora hissed, finally entering the room herself along with Peter.

Rocket ignored her as he approached the rocking chair. Who did you think you were anyway, singing lullabies to Groot? You weren't his mother. He was the one raising Groot, he didn't need some Terran dickhead stepping in and playing 'mommy.' Rocket let his frustration get the better of his sense and instead of gently climbing to retrieve Groot, or asking someone else once he realized he wouldn't quite be able to reach, he decided to be an asshole and jump right into your lap, startling both you and Groot awake in the process.

"Ow! The hell?" you said groggily, rubbing your eyes.

"Oh, sorry. Did I wake you?" Rocket said mockingly before walking off with a confused and groggy Groot.

The others gave him disapproving looks as they dispersed, not wanting to crowd the doorway any longer.

"You're a real asshole, ya know that?" Kraglin said before heading towards the stairs with Yondu. Rocket just ignored him.

Mantis, who also decided she would go to bed, said to Rocket as they climbed, "You're wrong, you know. She does care. I've felt it."

Rocket just rolled his eyes and said, "Whatever," before bounding up the rest of the stairs and to his room to put Groot down to sleep.

Peter and Gamora had decided to head back into the kitchen with Drax to clean up the forgotten empty glasses on the table, so by the time you got up and decided to head to bed yourself the hall was empty.

Too tired to do anything else, you decided to just go to bed. As you made your way up the stairs you remembered taking the others to the cellar and showing them what was behind the door, and wondered if you should consider getting a lock, just in case Groot disobeyed and decided to go play down there anyway.

They didn't need to find out what was behind the back wall of that closet.

129 notes · View notes

queenofallimagines · 4 years

Note

Can we get a dramatic situation when there's an accident and the reader screams and have Daichi, Kuroo, Akaashi and Iwaizumi react? Keep up the good work!

Thank you!🥰🥰

Daichi:

- Let’s hope these don’t turn angsty

- He’s probably doing paperwork when he hears you screaming your lungs out

- He’s a soft man so his heart rate sky rockets and he comes running

- Runs into the kitchen wide eyed and terrified

- Let’s say he’s never heard you scream like that

- “BABE WHAT HAPPENED.”

- He looks down to see you clutching your foot BC you stunned your toe

- Lowkey irritated

- ‘Did you need to scream like that??’

- Will give a deep sigh and walk over to you and ask if your okay lmao

- “My toe is broken”

- “I really doubt it but I’ll get you ice.”

- He will run your feet just to make you feel better

- He’s still salty BC he thought you were being kidnapped

- Has this face on the whole time 😤

- “You good now babes?”

- Goes right back to work he’s not fooling with you lmao

- Will kiss you goodnight before going back to work tho

Kuroo:

- okay so he is not worried that much

- You’re always screaming at him so he’s used to it

- However he will always ask what’s up

- So when he hears a scream he yells back asking if you’re okay

- After a minute of silence he gets worried

- He will speed walk downstairs

- “Hey babe? You okay??”

- “Nope!”

- He will completely freak the fuck out when he walks into the kitchen to see your hand bleeding

- Goes full on 😃

- “WHAT HAPPENED???”

- “I accidentally cut my finger-“

- “We have to go to the ER now.”

- Your health is his top priority so he’s always worried

- It’s not even that deep just the top of your finger

- He will bandage it real good and kiss your fingers

- “You sure your okay?”

- It’s not even bleeding anymore tetsu.”

Akaashi:

- another soft boy

- He will come running naruto style

- Probably doing work as well in the living room

- His fine ass wearing reading glasses🥵

- And he hears you scream all the way across the house

- Will calmly close his books n stuff and fold his glasses and then sprint to you

- Busts open the bathroom door like he’s ready to fight

- “What’s the matter????”

- Your on the sink

- Pointing at a big ass roach on the shower curtain

- “ I refuse to take a shower until that thing is gone.”

- Sigh

- Will walk away and get a Fly swatter

- The whole process is done with a stone face he says absolutely nothing

- Hits it throws it away and goes back to work

- When it’s bedtime he will calmly ask you to never scream like that unless it’s an emergency

- “It was an emergency.”

- He will turn over and go to sleep

- He’s not fooling with you lmao

- 4/10 do not call him to take care of bugs if you’re terrified of them because he’ll just be exasperated

Iwaizumi:

- this fool will always run

- He’s whipped no matter the circumstances

- He might look back and be pissed later but in the moment it’s 100% serious

- You don’t even gotta scream your head off you just gotta yell real loud and he gets worried

- “Do you gotta go to the hospital???”

- Suddenly becomes a doctor when you get hurt

- When he hears you screaming fuck he is dashing to the bathroom

- “Are you alive??”

- You burned yourself trying to straighten your hair and hit your ear

- He pulls out all types of ointments and creams and bandaids

- “Do you want the hello kitty bandaids.”

- “....yes please.”

- Will kiss your heart and ask you if your okay 10 times before going back to what he was doing

- If he’s doing paperwork he will bring it in the room with you

- “Don’t hold the ice so hard your gunna hurt your ear more.”

- Will give you as manny kisses as you want

- Berry soft

- 10/10 would call him in the emergency

#my writing #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi hajime #hajime iwaizumi #haikyuu x poc reader #haikyuu x black reader #daichi imagine #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi sawamura #akaashi keji x reader #akaashi imagine #akaashi keiji #kuroo tetsuro headcanons #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurō

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masonscig · 3 years

Text

fireworks

wayhaven summer fic #3

pairing | felix x flor

word count | 1.2k

warnings | drug mention, condom mention

author’s note | you know i was worried that i was stretching the prompt and not incorporating pride into it enough but... two chaotic bisexuals watching fireworks together? i think i’m good <3 as usual, you can read this fic on ao3 if you’d want! comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!

•─────────────────•

Flor held a slender finger to her lips, a small mischievous smirk already there.

She popped the end of the flashlight into her mouth, dangling it above her hands which were already preoccupied with the lock.

She wiggled the bobby pin with a deft hand, her dyed brows furrowed in concentration.

Within seconds, it clicked, and she yanked the lock off of the chains (which were looped tightly around the handles of the door) with a triumphant laugh.

“It’s like they didn’t even try,” she rolled her eyes, tucking the flashlight in the crook of her elbow, tugging the door open to breeze through.

It nearly slammed in his face – he was entranced.

He’d heard about and seen this side of her in passing, but hadn’t gotten the chance to experience it for himself.

Sometimes, she got this youthful glimmer in her eye that made her look like a teenager again. Maybe she’d buried that side of herself when she joined the force, but it lingered.

Getting the invite to come along with her was extraordinary to say the least.

She’d elbowed him and tipped her chin towards the doors. “Just got a noise complaint near the old high school. I need backup.”

It was a miracle he didn’t rocket out of his shoes and crash land on the moon.

Flor was someone who didn’t let very many people in… but he wanted to be one of those people. He saw how she treated Tina, Verda, and Douglas.

People she was comfortable around. He wanted to be that for her, but didn’t have too many ideas how. So when the opportunity presented itself, he took it.

He followed her into the building, shoes scuffing against the linoleum flooring, keeping up with her determined gait as she glided through the halls with a sense of purpose.

“Did you go here?”

She glanced back at him, one hand casually stuffed in her back pocket, the other fist gripping their only source of light. “Yup.”

Shit, he should know better by now than to ask her yes or no questions –

“Weird, but the first time I got arrested it was trespassing. Here.”

“The first time?” Whoops. He for sure didn’t mean to ask that aloud.

She chuckled, eyes crinkling. “Yeah. The other ones are pretty uneventful in comparison. Loitering, skipping school, smoking, drinking, fighting –”

“Whoa –”

“Yeah, I was a problem,” she shrugged, more tense than before.

“Well, I think you turned out perfect,” he beamed.

She rolled her lips to hold back another smile. “Definitely not. I’m pretty rough around the edges.”

“Rough doesn’t mean bad.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Thanks.”

He nodded. “Don’t mention it.”

Thankfully they rounded a corner so there wasn’t enough time for any awkwardness to settle in.

“There’s an emergency exit to the roof in the cafeteria kitchen,” she said, opening a door that led to the stairs.

She threw him a quick “Don’t ask how I know that” look before he could ask questions.

Before long, they’d found the hatch and the rusty ladder that led to the roof. He was sure she’d forgotten his presence as she grabbed the rungs and hoisted herself up with no hesitation, not even sparing him a second glance.

It was kind of peculiar, thinking about how Flor interacted with Unit Bravo, the Agency, the force, him.

She didn’t need anyone to do shit for her – never asked for shit. She was resilient and strong in the face of failure in a way that he only saw in the biggest (scariest) supernaturals.

It scared him a bit to know that at any moment he could be called away and she’d go back to normal and enjoy her simple life, never thinking twice about him.

The plausibility of it rocked him to his core.

Yeah, he’d only been in this realm for a couple years (not nearly as many as his teammates) but the fleeting moments that Flor gave him the time of day was enough to fuel him for lifetimes.

A loud pop sounded above him, and the latch was pried open.

“Oh shit –” she said, pulling herself up by her elbows and onto her feet.

When he pulled himself upright, he realized what she meant.

For one, they’d found their culprits a building over, launching rockets off into the sky without a care, obviously smoking pot and drinking and blaring their music way too loud.

And two, their roof was littered with frisbees, crushed cans, broken glass, worn cardboard boxes with beer labels on them, and condoms. A surprising amount of condoms.

She fisted the collar of his shirt and tugged him down to eye level with her, squatted on the weather stained concrete.

“This is their idea of a good time?” She flicked her foot, kicking a half broken bottle away from her.

“There’s something so sinister about broken glass and condoms being that close together,” Felix shook his head, thankful he’d worn his old Vans (not the brand new ones that he definitely didn’t buy because he saw Flor owned the same pair).

Flor snorted – actually snorted – at his joke, slapping her free hand over her mouth, the other still curled around his shirt. “Shut up, Felix, you’re gonna blow our cover.”

“Me?” He grinned, using the rare sweet moment to egg her on. “You’re the one choking on your tongue ring because I made a stupid joke.”

She kept laughing, and he was thankful the rocket the culprits had just set off was loud – she was able to belly laugh and he was able to experience it all, right there, right next to him.

“You’re killing me,” she said between broken chuckles, finally letting go of his collar to wipe under her eyes.

After heartily slapping him on the back, she inched her way forward until she was peering over the edge of the roof.

He followed suit, sidling up as close as she’d allow.

“Oh fuck, I love those,” she murmured, pointing to a big box in the back.

“‘Mega Death Explosion Surprise 3000’ – kind of a stupid name,” he shrugged, eyes flickering her way to see if she cracked a smile. She did.

“That’s not its name.”

“What can I say, I’m a picture book kinda guy.”

Rolling her eyes, she leaned forward till she was resting her chin on her knuckle, which was curled around the concrete.

“We, uh, don’t have to bust up their party, you know,” he suggested, watching as the teenagers set up a line of rockets and cranked their music up louder.

“You know… you’re right.”

“I am?”

“Yep, you are. Let’s… maybe wait till I get another call. Not really a problem when only one person’s complaining, amirite?” Flor flashed a grin his way, resting her cheekbone on her hand.

She was so damn pretty.

“You’re right,” he said, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

They settled against the concrete, gaze upturned as the bright sparks exploded across the Wayhaven skyline, illuminating the peculiar little town below.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #felix hauville #twc detective #wayhavensummer #detective flor majano #felix x flor #my fic

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madasthesea · 5 years

Text

“What is a Build-a-Bear?” Nebula's rasping voice framed the words like they were a foreign language, careful and slow.

Tony blinked at her. He was still in the Medbay, slowly recovering from starvation, oxygen deprivation, and the last of his stab wound. The time between getting off the ship and waking up here was blurry. Nebula, who had suffered from hunger much less than Tony, had come to visit him while Captain Danvers and the raccoon prepared their ship to go find Thanos.

“What?” he croaked.

“You called Rocket a Build-a-Bear.”

He didn't remember doing that, but it sounded like him.

“Oh. It's a stuffed animal,” Tony explained listlessly, picking at his blanket. “It's for kids.”

Peter's room was a mishmash of Lego figurines, science apparatus, and second-hand furniture. Tony glanced around, taking it in. The last time he'd been here recruiting the kid, the space had been much more bare. He smirked as he saw the Star Wars spaceships, but it turned into a wicked grin when he caught sight of a red and gold stuffed animal.

“Kid, what is that?”

Peter looked around from where he'd been rummaging in his desk for his spare webshooter. He saw where Tony was looking and his cheeks immediately flushed.

“Um. A… birthday present.”

Tony reached out and picked it up. The little bear had gold Iron Man masks all over his crimson fur and was wearing a shirt and pants that looked like the Iron Man armor, complete with a tiny glowing arc reactor and a cloth mask.

“It looks new,” he remarked casually.

“It isn't!” Peter hurriedly assured him, rushing over and trying to snag it from Tony's hands. Tony pulled it closer to his chest, raising an eyebrow at Peter.

“Don't get grabby, Parker,” he chided. “Now, come here, we're taking a selfie.”

“You give these slain creatures to your children?” Nebula asked. Her voice and face were as emotionless as ever, but there was something like disgust in the tilt of her head.

Tony, jerked out of his thoughts, took a second to catch up.

“What? No! Geez, no. They're not real animals, they're made of cloth.”

“Cloth,” Nebula repeated, sounding dubious.

“Yeah.” He hesitated for a second. “Come here, I'll show you.”

He reached over to the bedside table, where he'd slammed his phone down half a second after Rhodey gave it to him. He'd taken a single glance at the lock screen photo—one of Peter with engine grease all over his face, the car he and Tony had restored together barely visible in the background—and promptly hyperventilated until he passed out. He hadn't touched the phone since, and his hands shook as he reached for it now.

He swallowed hard, unlocking his phone and carefully not looking at his background picture—this one of him, Peter, and Pepper all asleep on the couch. He opened his camera gallery and quickly scrolled through the file of photos of Peter, trying not to see any of them, any of the hundreds of memories that would forever more be nothing but agonizing reminders of his own failure.

He overshot the one he was looking for and had to go back, but finally he pulled up a picture of Peter's Iron Man Build-a-Bear, his own hand holding it up to the camera.

Nebula crowded around the head of the bed, peering down at the screen. She looked at it critically for a second, glancing between it and Tony.

“What is it's function?” She finally asked.

“Kids cuddle with them,” Tony replied. She looked confused. “You know, hug them?”

Nebula shook her head.

“Oh geez. Um. Like, like this.” Finger hesitating for a second, Tony swiped to the next picture. His breath stuttered in his lungs.

Beaming up at him from the screen was the ghost of Peter Parker, bright and young and perfect. The teddy bear was tucked under his chin and his cheeks still faintly pink with embarrassment. Tony had had to make a really stupid “dad joke" to even get Peter to smile. In the picture they'd taken together, Peter was mid eye-roll.

Tony's thumb hovered over the image as if about to caress the boy's face. He could feel Nebula looking at him, knew she recognized Peter as the kid that had died in Tony's arms. And even if she hadn’t, she still would have known—she was the one that had heard him screaming Peter’s name in his sleep, whispering apologies to the Peter he hallucinated once the infection took hold.

“Why do they… cuddle them?” Nebula made a face at the word and Tony snorted, still staring at his screen.

“Us humans do that. We, um, need physical contact.”

Tony woke up to the hazy awareness that came with heavy medication. He remembered the entire fight, this time, and groaned quietly. His injuries would take forever to heal, his busted knee would probably ache for the rest of his life. Getting old sucked. But taking the brunt of the damage was worth it as long Peter got to grow old, too.

Speaking of Peter, Tony felt a suspiciously Peter-shaped weight against his side. He peeled an eye open and, sure enough, Peter was tucked up against him, his arm over Tony's stomach.

“Kid,” Tony groaned. Peter looked up at him, a nasty bruise on his temple.

“Mr. Stark.”

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked, fighting the pull of medication trying to make him fall asleep again.

“Human contact helps dull pain,” Peter told him. He pressed himself a little closer. “Is it working?”

“Better than morphine,” Tony said drily. Peter made an aggravated noise at his sarcasm.

“I'm trying to help,” Peter whispered.

Tony sighed, shifting a little so that Peter's head was nestled more comfortably against his shoulder.

“You know you don't have to feel guilty, buddy. You really don't.”

“And you know that I do anyway, so just let me…” Peter trailed off.

“Let you cuddle me?”

Peter nodded shyly.

“It's the only thing I can do for you right now.”

Tony closed his eyes. This kid.

“Eases pain, you say?”

“And helps you sleep,” Peter added, his own words getting thicker as he started to doze against Tony’s chest.

Tony ducked his head and lightly kissed Peter's bruised temple.

“Well, heaven knows I could use some of that.”

Tony jerked himself out of his own thoughts this time. The picture of Peter was blurry now, and Tony blinked hurriedly to dispel the tears.

“Do you… don’t alien kids have something like that?” he asked.

Nebula's dark eyes stared at him for a long moment.

“I don't know.”

Right. Suckiest dad in the universe.

“Tell you what, when I'm up and moving again, and you're back from your space adventure, we'll go get you one.”

Nebula worked her jaw for a moment, like she was going to argue, but her eyes betrayed curiosity and a little bit of excitement in her gaze.

“Fine.”

Marching up to a Build-a-Bear after the end of the world with an ex-homicidal blue alien was pretty high up on Tony's list of ‘weirdest things I’ve ever done,’ but he glared at the shop attendant that cowered behind the counter as if it was totally normal.

He'd been a little surprised the place was still open, actually. Plenty of stores had had to close their doors after the Snap, too short staffed or without managers and owners.

This was the same store he'd come to with Peter. It still smelled the same. The memory punched the air out of his lungs.

“Keep your eyes closed, Pete.”

Peter scowled. “Mr. Stark, people are giving us weird looks. I can feel it.”

“Chill out. Just a couple more seconds.” With both hands on Peter's shoulders, Tony steered them through the brightly lit store, around little kids and stands with tiny clothes hanging on little cardboard hangers. When they reached the right spot, Tony reached out tipped Peter's chin down so that he'd see the surprise right when he opened his eyes. The kid didn’t even flinch at the unexpected touch and Tony’s lungs constricted at the trust Peter put in him.

“Alright, kiddo. Go ahead.”

Peter opened his eyes.

“No way…”

There, at the end of the line of Avengers themed teddy bears, was a red plush with spider web patterns all over it. It was wearing a replica of the Spider-Man suit and had a mask shoved up on it's head, smushing the ears.

“Congrats, kid, you've joined the ‘recognizable enough to make a profit’ league,” Tony laughed, both hands still on Peter's shoulders.

“Oh my gosh!” Peter picked up the stuffed animal, running his fingers over it. He tugged the mask over the bear’s face.

“Looks just like you, Pete,” Tony joked, grinning widely. Peter gave his arm a soft whack.

“This is amazing. I have to take a picture and show Ned. He’ll freak,” Peter rambled, fishing for his phone in his pocket.

“Or you could just show him in person.”

“It’s a bit far to come—” Peter started, looking around at the store with a furrow between his eyebrows.

“I’m obviously going to buy you one, kid,” Tony interrupted, rolling his eyes. “To add to your collection.”

Peter blushed. “Mr. Stark.”

“After all, you can’t have Iron Man without his loyal sidekick Spider-Man, can you?”

Peter pursed his lips, but there was something soft and awed in his face, like being Iron Man’s sidekick was a dream come true. “Not your sidekick, Mr. Stark.”

“I know, kiddo,” Tony assured him, ruffling his hair. “Now, come on, show me how this works.”

Twenty minutes later, they were leaving with a new teddy bear, the little pseudo-birth certificate that came with reading ‘Underroos.’

“Your face is leaking.” Nebula’s voice startled him so badly he flinched. His hands flew up to his face, wiping away the tears on his cheeks.

“Right. Sorry.” Nebula didn’t say anything. It was one of the best things about her.

“What do I do?” she asked, a little quieter as if embarrassed to not know.

“Just pick one you like,” Tony said shrugging, walking around the store and peering at each bin full of animals waiting to be stuffed. Nebula trailed along behind him, examining them as if wary they would come alive and bite her.

When they came to the Avengers ones, Tony paused. The Spider-Man bear was still there, the crate almost empty. The only ones that seemed more popular were Iron Man and Captain America. Tony smiled a bit. Peter would flip if he knew he’d beaten out Thor.

“That’s your son,” Nebula remarked, a touch surprised.

Tony swallowed, looking at the little plushie. He decided not to correct her. “Yeah. He, uh, he’s pretty popular, here on Earth.”

Nebula stooped and picked out a Spider-Man bear. “I like this one,” she proclaimed, with a confidence that surprised Tony. She’d never expressed real preference or dislike for anything before.

Tony cleared his throat. “You... you don’t have to get that one, just cause it’s—You don’t have to get that one for me.”

“I like this one,” she said again.

“Alright, Bluebell.” She glanced up at him at the nickname. “Let’s go get you your very first stuffed animal.”

After the bear had been stuffed, the little heart placed inside—Nebula had been very confused at that part—and closed up, the worker left them to pick out clothes and whatever else they wanted. Nebula looked at the bear in her hands for a long moment, and then raised it and tucked it under her chin, mimicking what she had seen Peter doing in the picture Tony had showed her. Tony watched, one eyebrow raised, as she stood like that for a long moment, eyes closed.

When she opened her eyes, she looked at Tony.

“I see,” she said simply. Tony smiled.

Two weeks later, as she and Rocket boarded their ship to leave Earth, Nebula had her little Spider-Man bear—decked out in an Iron Man outfit, at her insistence—under her arm.

#me: I probably annoy all of you with how much I post #me literally a day later: here we go again #Nebula #Irondad and Spiderson #Tony Stark #Peter Parker #MCU #brotp: speaking of loyalty #my writing #fic

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redevenir · 3 years

Text

rigil kentaurus (pt. i)

The brightest star of the Alpha Centauri solar system – our closest neighour. Its name is the latinisation of the arabic رِجْل القِنْطورُس‎ Rijl al-Qinṭūrus, meaning the Foot of the Centaur. It is slightly larger and more luminous than the Sun. W

seungkwan x reader

wc : ~ 4000

summary : you are only a spectator of your life until they take your hand and let you live it.

a/n : started it as a seungkwan piece, then turned it into a johnny one then coming back to seungkwan bc this is how i wan to keep writing it. it's like i can't keep writing it if it's not seungkwan i don't know.

« It’s the fourth one. » Chan’s voice is only a hushed whisper but you hear how bothered he is. You don’t answer.

I know…

No, It’s already the fourth one tonight, and it’s only eleven!

I know…

It’s like they’re not even trying! Seungkwan barely avoids the tea towel as Chan raises his arms out of exasperation. If they don’t what a cappuccino is, why do they order it anyway? It’s a coffee shop, just buy a coffee! You know you don’t need to answer that. You’ve been working here for months and complaining about customers seems to be a universal way of breaking the ice. You’ve heard this speech from your first week at the counter, and with time you’ve come to agree with whatever colleague you were with, on every single point. Not once have you considered quitting to find something else instead. It is, indeed, not the best place. At the entrance of the city, the beginning of the highway. It is neither cozy nor warm. The air conditioning is too strong half of the year, the radiator too hot during the six months of winter. You are either sweating or shivering. The playlist is sickening, and never in tune with the season. You ignore Maria Carey’s christmas’s vocals as you give a customer a refill. Night workers and truck drivers are your only customers during the night shifts. You have stopped judging them long ago.

For months on end, the only thing Chan could tell about his coworker was that you were not a model employee. It was hard to blame you for anything specific. But you felt off. You felt nothing. When Seungkwan asked him how his shifts went, he would just shrug. It felt like he spent many of his nights on his own rather than with you. Like you were not there with him. Every evening he would arrive, greet you and feel like it was the first time ever. And he would grumble about it.

Can you believe I know nothing about her ?

Well, she’s surely a very private person.

Yes, and that’s rude.

You make little to no effort to appeal to the customers. In fact, you barely engage at all with them. Although, and this is your secret, you do have your favorites. From the three maintenance workers of the power plant to the security guard who comes four times a week, before the end of your shift, after the end of his own, Chan has found out that, if he listens to you close enough he’ll learn their names. Because you know them. You often seem to be elsewhere, but when you wish them a nice evening, or good luck, you do say their name, quietly, without any fuss. A sign to him you weren’t completely indifferent but thoughtful in a different way from his. There is nothing likeable to the Dreamy Drivin Chan works at. First of all, it is not a drive-in, nor a drive-through, it is a mere coffee shop. Not a fancy one, not a chain one. The counter’s light green is ugly, the temperature’s always off, and the pay is honestly not much. This is how life is at the border of the city. You catch what you can get and you try to make it work. He assumes the reason you’ve landed there is the same as his and Seungkwan’s : dropped from school, without any proper qualification for a living. He assumes you are his age, that your face must look younger when you are not tired. Chan is nice. Well, Chan likes to tease his friends, but Chan is nice. He tries to reach you, one sentence at a time.

White noises. The purring of the coffee machine you’ve never seen off. They come in, white shirt, stained jeans, black coats. They order the same thing, the largest, darkest coffee you got. You serve them with a « good night », « good luck » if you feel in a kinder mood. Since Seungkwan’s smile is bright and big and loud, you’ve decided you didn’t need to fake one of your own. They pay for their order and leave for never ending roads you cannot quite picture in your mind. When you work long shifts, it seems to you the world is shrinking, that if you open the front door you will fall into a bottomless pit. That the joke of a coffee shop you work at is some sort of asteroid gas station where rocket drivers stop by on their way to the Andromeda galaxy. You tell yourself Earth is also a little rocking drifting among the stars. You welcome a new customer. You dream of outer space. It is known people turn to alcohol and other substances to forget their troubles, but you don’t need that. Numbness greets you every time the pointing machine does its trick, and you even lose sight of your daily life. Surely you have one, plants to grow, books to read, hiking to walk and messes to clean. People to see and a sun to meet. But here, behind your pale green counter, you consign it all to oblivion. Here, there is only the world in your head and the star who takes orders by your side that exist. Your hear Chan’s annoyed sigh. You serve another coffee. It feels like taming the crow that lives in the tree in front of his building. Like he could give you bread and even croissant crumbs every single night and you would still be distant. And one day, you initiate the conversation, and he knows he’s done well. He remembers it just fine now. It was probably a boring wednesday, late in the afternoon. It had been a cloud few hours since he had woken up. A dim midday sun dissolving into the thick gray air. He was already behind the counter, checking the clock, when you had busted in the room, panting. There was some pathetic charm about the whole scene. You don’t hide your surprise when you see Chan already there, and a smile had made its way – oh so joyful and unsettled. The smile on your face had remained unchanged when he had asked you. And why are you late ?

I am not ? You had answered. What the manager doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

Ooh, so that’s how it is. Chan relates to that. He never complains about you again. Next time he talks about you, he tells Seungkwan you are his friend now. His quiet, merry friend who never works day shifts. Chan does. As it happens, Chan hates working the night shifts and only does it when Seungkwan can’t. Seungkwan is kind. Seungkwan is the most loveable being Chan has known in years. Seungkwan is grounded and warm, and steady. Moving in with him was like having finally his roots planted into rich, reliable earth, instead of the slippery mud he had been walking on for most of his life. Chan is heard, is seen. Chan sleeps well, and goes out of his way whenever Seungkwan asks him a favor, because it is easy to satisfy him. Easy, and right. He tells Seungkwan you’ve asked after him, and watches as the other chokes on his coffee.

Can’t believe you’d think I wouldn’t notice.

When Seungkwan comes back to the night shifts, you don’t mention him ever leaving, but he notices the change in you immediately. When you greet him, he looks at your face and wonders what was so bad that your better rested face still looks worn out. You’re not as lively as he is, you’re not as lively as Chan is, hell, you’re not even as lively as Chan said you were with him – which wasn’t that much to begin with. But you are here. There is a relief in your presence. Seungkwan said nothing about his absence, and diligently drinks the cup of coffee you offer him around three. Seungkwan regrets the day shift but still. It could be worse. As he tries his best to maintain his customer service to its level – it is hard and how, how did he manage to do it before ? Is this the reason why you don’t ? Don’t set any standard, at all, so no one can be disappointed – and especially not you – when you don’t live up to them. Seungkwan wonders how hard you really are on yourself, and if he isn’t being dramatic. Maybe you’re all right. Maybe you look terrible because that’s how you look. Maybe you were born tired and he has no need to worry about you. Maybe you don’t need him to meddle in your privacy. Surely, if you wanted him to know about your life you’d tell him yourself.

The softest clunk ever heard by a human ear snaps him out of his thoughts. He meets your concerned look and the large cup of latte you’re handing to him.

Seungkwan, you should go home. Take it easy. Night shifts are hard.

He looks at you with wide eyes, opens his mouth, close it, opens it again and stutters.

But- no ! I mean- I can’t- I- I- you- I can’t let you do this alone- It- It- no, it’s not right! You shrug and gesture vaguely toward the empty diner hall.

It’s whatever, really. You try to elaborate as he doesn’t answer. No one’s here, you’re clearly not here, there’s only two hours left, just, you know. Go to sleep. I really don’t mind. You don’t have to fight me on this, by the way, it’s not like I’d tell anyone.

Seungkwan does as you say, doesn’t fight you on this. He can’t manage a proper thought, a proper thank you. He goes in the locker room, picks up his stuff, only to hesitate before the front door, until you repeat yourself, a sweet promise of rest. He spends the journey back home away from his body, replaying the scene over and over. He knows he’s screwed when he opens the door to his and Chan’s apartment. It’s ridiculous, and he would feel ashamed if he wasn’t so tired. How easy it is to let you take care of him. He crashes on his bed still in his work clothes and forgets his last thoughts.

Your shift passes without a fuss. It doesn’t feel like you’re there either.

You close your book when you realize you’re not reading anything. There is a light buzz in your brain, but it is quiet. Unthreatening. You close your eyes and your reaches for the cup of hot cocoa on your desk. It’s all nice and quiet here, and you wonder how you’ve managed to make your apartment such a peaceful nest when your mind is so often washed out by fierce tempests. You let your mind drift away, floating on a safe shore. Breaks from work are nice. Your sleep schedule is well set by now, and you can properly enjoy those forty-eight hours for yourself. You don’t spend every week night longing for them, because you never project yourself into the future, but you would if you did. Dawns are definitely your favorite moment of the day. Either they mean you can go home, or that you have an entire day to relish in the warmth of your place. It is a nest indeed. A kitchen and a bedroom, all stuffed into the maze of a much bigger building. The wooden floor is quite creaky and you do hear when the neighbor upstairs wears their heels. The walls are a very faded shade of orange, which you love – sun-like colors are for good luck. The furniture is definitely older than you are – older than your parents, probably – but it is nice. And the day you’ll leave it will remain exactly the same. More used but untouched. In a way, the atmosphere is not unlike the Dreamy. Homey and decay. Anonymous, but in a belonging way. Chan would hate it. His apartment – well, their apartment – is probably… You can’t picture it. You don’t know enough about home interiors to picture someone else’s home. Comfortable. Maybe furs as bed-covers? You have never touched one before, but sometimes you catch a glimpse of them on the passenger seat of a car. Your gaze never lingers though : you are not to look at a car owner in the eyes.

Seungkwan feels like he’d sleep nested in a bed of wool and furs. He’d probably like the soft but rough feeling of it against his skin. There’s something comforting about raw fabrics, isn’t there? A bubble of heat slowly builds in your chest and you close your eyes shut to chase the thoughts of Seungkwan’s bare skin in his bed.

Seungkwan is quiet, but not discreet. He is clumsy and always in his own world, parallel to yours, but you wonder how many light years are between you, and it is all to his credit. There is something you find commendable to his behavior. A reliable honesty. Not unlike a dog, you can tell from the look on his face whether he is content or anxious or annoyed. You do not have to imagine his hidden agenda – you are positive he has none. The easiness with which Seungkwan expresses himself still amazes you, even after a year or so of observing him a few nights a week. It seems to you his feelings have no hindrance to them : pure joy, pure irritation, pure panic whenever one of you breaks a cup – it happens more than you like to admit. When his voice rushes to tell you a quick joke between two customers, the joyful spontaneity of his tone carries you miles away from the counter, to bright afternoons on windy shores. He is quick-witted and never misses a chance to tell you whenever he notices something amusing. Simplicity is Seungkwan’s most beautiful quality, you have decided. When you are not drifting around other solar systems, when you come back home to your place, when you are lying in bed a few minutes more before getting dressed up, you try to imagine what he is doing at the same time. What does his apartment look like, what does he like to cook, does he have a dog and why is his smile so charming. Sometimes under the shower you wonder what he would think about you if he were to see you naked. You try to leave these thoughts in the shower where they belong but you cannot always control your mind and you find yourself embarrassed in front of him more often than you care to admit.

You collect information about him like a gold digger their gold nuggets. Every word he addresses you, you replay in your head again and again until you can hear him breathe them against your ear in the darkness of your bedroom. So when Seungkwan comes back, all quiet and cautious, pondering on his words and his welcoming attitude almost erased, you act on it as best as you can. You are not brave enough to properly ask him about it, so you do what you do best. You observe. How quieter he has become, and the slow but unstoppable growth of the bags under his eyes. Not that he seemed well-rested at all, which is also worrying. What did he go through that was even more tiring than working night shifts? Of course, it is none of your business. If Chan were there, maybe he’d spill the tea, but Chan made it very clear he didn’t want to work a night shift ever again. Will you ever talk to him again? The little one you’re so found of. Chan said Seungkwan was a neat roommate to have, and for him to give up the sunlight for months, you assumes he means it. The understatement is lovely. Chan would never spill Seungkwan’s secrets.

You light up the gas, put the little orange pan on it, pour the milk in it. With that you empty the milk carton, and throw it in the trash. Who knows when you’ll be able to afford milk again? You haven’t seen any in the store for weeks – and you restrain yourself from stealing the Drivin. It isn’t worth it. As you wait for the milk to heat up, you hear a gentle knock on your door. You lower the fire, apprehension growing in your chest. You’re not expecting anybody, so this can’t be good. On your tiptoes, breathing deep, you reach the front door and slowly open it. Wary, you let yourself look at whoever is standing outside.

Oh, miss, hello! Sorry to bother you! Someone just called after you, so I thought I’d let you know ! She lived here too. You don’t know her name, but she’s definitely older than you are. She lives upstairs, you’re not sure of the floor. She looks like a teacher, and her enunciation sounds like that too. She has a little polite smile on, aware of your discomfort, the stiffness of your body being obvious. As she sees your absence of reaction, she hands you a piece of paper, covered in smooth carbon writing. Definitely a teacher. One of your coworker, he said he was. I forgot yo ask for his number, but if he calls back, do you want me to tell him something specific ?

Huh, no! I mean- No, no, no, you don’t need- you don’t- you don’t need to do anything, miss. I’m- I’m sorry he took the liberty to call you, I don’t wish to bother you ! You mouth is so dry. Thank you! Thank you! Sorry again! I’ll leave you be then! Have a nice day! You shut the door without noticing the smile she has on again.

The ringing in your head takes over everything else. You try to reach for something to keep your balance and crumble against the wall, choking for air. You crumple the piece of paper in your fist, nails digging in the soft flesh of your palms, tearing little moon crescent that taint the words you haven’t even read. She knows now. What kind of person doesn’t have a telephone at home? Who, if not someone who is trying to remain unreachable? Untraceable. Your head is about to implode from the pain. Now she’ll know. Now, she knows you have something to hide. You lie on the floor, chasing after your breathe. Who will she tell? Does she live alone ? Is she a public teacher ? How long do you have until she tells on you? You cannot dare to think you might have to go now, tears burning your eyes as you hiccup desperately. The hawk claws on your chest only dig deeper and deeper until your forehead is against the floor, searching for cold, for a relief from the blades in your brain.

The crisis lasts for hours.

The room is dark when you emerge, and a faint, panicked thought about being late comes to you but you’re quick to remember you don’t have to work tonight. Smoke and the smell of burnt is all around you. Shit, the milk. Mouth dry, head numb, you slowly sit up, body hoarse. Feeling a light pain in your hands, you let your fingertips brush over the scab already formed. The piece of paper is still in your left hand, torn and bloody. Finally, you smooth it and read the few words on it. Coworker wants to know when next free day is. also have a good day. You stare at it without making any sense out of it. What coworker? Which one? Your planning is with everyone else’s at work. You feel nauseous. Muscles sore, you stand up and go to the kitchenette to turn the fire down. Without second thought you throw the now empty pan in the trash. Fuck all of this. Mindlessly, you reach the bathroom, undressing yourself as in a dream. After you’re done you let yourself fall on the bed. Quiet, in the back of your head, you start to make a list. Tomorrow, tomorrow you will pack. Just in case.

When you arrive at work the next night, you put an obviously packed bag under the counter. You don’t greet Seungkwan. You don’t look at him. The shift goes by without a word addressed to him. At dawn, a few minutes before you’re both free to go, Seungkwan clears his throat next to you.

I-… Hum. I, well, it’s obvious you don’t want to talk about it, but- Well, just- Just so you know. Chan says he’s sorry. He would never hav- You cut him off, stern, as you wipe the cloth over the counter to make it shine. So it was Chan.

I don’t know what you’re talking about. You hear him open and close his mouth. He seems to understand his place.

O- Ok. Have a good day rest then.You don’t bother to answer him before leaving, bag on your shoulder.

Time passes slowly.

You haven’t looked at Seungkwan in the eyes for so long now, Chan wonders if you still know what he looks like. Every afternoon when Seungkwan eats his breakfast and Chan comes back home to a most welcome snack, the night worker sighs heavy, burdened by your silence. It’s unbearable. It’s unbearable for him to go to work every night with someone who was once friendly and has turned into a wall, a wall for which he longs to love. It’s unbearable for Chan to see his roommate on the verge of tears because of the guilt. It’s unbearable to know their action has you ready to run away every minute of every day.

The thing with Seungkwan is that he is quite good at reading people. Even though he does enjoy some unnecessary drama as much - and maybe more - as others - he usually manages to get through his life without ruffling any feather. It makes it a lot harder to comfort him with empty words when he knows you’re avoiding him, because he has been looking at you. This is how one should talk to people, he has learned. Not everyone is comfortable doing so, he also learned. Sometimes, Seungkwan says nothing, for he is afraid to annoy you away. There is no pleasure whatsoever in taking the night shift. The place is already dull by day, but by night it reaches a new dimension of boredom. Sure, it pays a bit better, but it is not worth it. Since he is not asked anyway, and he does not get to choose his shifts, Seungkwan tries to prize the strays of light in this fog of ennui. First, the night regulars seem to like him better than the day ones. He likes to think they enjoy his enthusiasm and maybe it is one of the reasons they keep coming and ordering there. The other one is you. Although now you are not at all like a light ray and more of a far away storm, high at sea.

Seungkwan would’ve liked it better if had you unleashed hell upon him. Before you used to not talk to him, but it felt more like you were shy, or reserved. Or merely didn’t know what to say, which is a very understandable feeling when you’re still at work at two in the morning five days a week. It didn’t feel awkward. Well, it sometimes felt a bit awkward, but not in the bad way. Now… Now you’re very obviously pretending he is not there, and Seungkwan wants to cry. All of it is his fault. Chan only called to you because of his rambling. I would have called her anyway. I like her. She’s my weird work friend. It’s unbearable. He jumps when Chan drops his fork on his plate with a loud clunk.

I’ll make it up. I can fix this. The eldest doesn’t look up from his meal. Chan wants to rip his own eyes and scream. With her. Inquisitive and tired eyes shoot up. I’m gonna do something about it.

Wha- Wha- Chan, there’s no fixing it, what are you talking about ? She comes to work every day with a bag which I’m sure is full of necessary stuff. You know what that means. I know what that means. She obviously know what that means. There is no fiwing this.

I know, I know. I don’t mean- Deep breathe. I know I can’t fix everything, obviously. But I’m going to apologize to her, and she’ll talk to you. And, well. It’s going to work. Seungkwan shrugs. He says nothing more until he leaves for work.

Chan slumps into the sofa. He’s fucked up big this time. It sucks. He really is a fool. Living one day at a time, he’s lost perspective. He has even forgotten why his life is like that in the first place. How could he be so careless? He’s a fly. Well, all of you are flies. Clearly, you’ve managed to get out the web and he has brought you back into it. Chan’s a fool. He stands up in a sigh, put on his shoes and goes back to the Dreamy Drivin’.

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt imagine #seungkwan #seungkwan imagine #bsk #my writings

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zrtranscripts · 3 years

Text

Season 9, Mission 4: Out of the Past

Heist

[birds twitter]

AMELIA SPENS: Okay team, let's go over this one more time. General Bakari has sent Abel a distress call from a remote Tunisian base, Red Scorpion, which is probably home to red fungus and definitely home to one Ernest Van Ark.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, despite the fact that you, you know, um, what was it? Oh yes, blew him up with a rocket launcher, Five! That's... [laughs] It's typical! My luck. We get Janine back safe, and oh, who pops up but the devil himself?

AMELIA SPENS: Bakari wants a team to sneak something out of Red Scorpion. Our hope is that it's a red fungus countermeasure. To get there, our team needs to infiltrate New Agadir, a city in the middle of the desert, while posing as Death's Hand, a mercenary group whose greatest hits include assassinating a blue chip CEO using a neurotoxin-tipped knitting needle and overthrowing at least three heads of state.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: This is all so exciting! Proper Mission Impossible stuff!

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, remind me why you brought the new person along. It's Frances, isn't it? From the Hebrides?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: I wanted to try a run. Janine said I could come because it's a low-danger assignment, and because I promised to stop asking to be on the Tunisia team if she let me. I overheard Sam talking about the mission.

AMELIA SPENS: Marvellous. Janine should add “make Sam keep a secret” to her bucket list. [sighs] At least you're not pestering me to let you go. I've already had to veto Jody's involvement. I need her here working with me to train runners on McShell tower protocol.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] I bet she was thrilled about that.

AMELIA SPENS: Anyway, our problem is getting a team to Tunisia. The information in Bakari's transmission enabled us to contact the Maghreb Protectorate, a government which operates in what used to be parts of Tunisia, Libya, and Algeria.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Another government, that's incredible!

AMELIA SPENS: Yes, well, they're no use to us yet. They have no jurisdiction over New Agadir, and besides, our governments do not yet trust each other enough for them to provide assistance. Our team can't risk crossing Europe - too many unknowns - and our few ships are all either exploring or acting as repeater stations for overseas agents - too far out to be useful.

All we have left are small coastal merchants. I've found one scow captain willing to take people to Tunisia, but he's cautious. He wants the latest nautical charts. Pre-apocalypse, obviously. Not a lot of hydrographic surveys since Z-Day. You're approaching the London home of Horatio Brewer, famous British investor. Should have what we want.

PETER LYNNE: Are we sure about that, Amelia?

AMELIA SPENS: Fairly. Mr. Brewer was a keen yachtsman. Old Ministry intel says he planned to escape Z-Day by sailing to a second home on the Tunisian coast. Had all the prep work done, then his neighborhood turned gray. We think zoms got him, but he was keeping his preparation safe in a basement vault.

PETER LYNNE: Great. So basically, we're looting a dead man's travel plans. Lovely. Um, see that street across the park, Five? That'll be his, so better hurry while it's still light out. Come on, everybody. Run!

[birds twitter]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wow, this is a classy street. Look at the mansions. That one's got ivory cherubs carved over the gates.

PETER LYNNE: Neighborhood's in pretty awful condition, though. You've got overgrown gardens, smashed windows. No sign of V-types though, thank God. Dearg made me a prototype one-man burn cube, Five, sewn right into my chest. Anti-P-type measure. Got the trigger, but not massively eager to try it.

AMELIA SPENS: Maybe not, but it's the only reason I'm letting you near Tunisia.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: So Amelia, who exactly are these Death’s Hands people? Will they be tough to impersonate?

PETER LYNNE: Frances...

AMELIA SPENS: Oh, they're a nasty bunch. Former special ops, freelance since Z-Day. Bakari says they've been traveling the world as hired guns. Their rep gets them a lot of private security gigs. He's given us contact details for the real team, so we can lure them out of our operation’s way.

PETER LYNNE: Frankly, I don't think we should be trusting Bakari. This whole thing is probably a trap, which is why, Frances, Janine said that you can't – [zombies moan] Oh, God damn it!

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, isn't that the place we want? Big Georgian house covered in ivy?

PETER LYNNE: Well, Amelia, there's a horde of zoms milling outside Brewer's house, so we can't make it to the entrance.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Well, we could gain entry by the house next door. Look at the big white mansion. Its roof's half collapsed, sloping into the road. We could clamber across it, jump to Brewer's roof, and get in through his attic window.

AMELIA SPENS: You know Peter, I'm warming to the new blood. Quickly then, off you go. I've got the scow captain waiting on tenterhooks. I need this deal closed ASAP. Run!

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we um, we got in through the attic window, followed a ladder leading deeper into the house. Now we've found a sort of private antique collection? So we're in a carpeted hall full of artifacts in glass cases.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: They've got plaques. That's a Roman bust, Celtic coins, an Egyptian amulet. That's a Carthaginian pot from Tunisia. Shouldn't these be in a museum?

AMELIA SPENS: Ah, well, Mr. Brewer was a rather avid black market trader, made a fortune trafficking plundered historical artifacts. Actually, it might make a good impression if our little expedition returns some stolen goods. Grab the Carthaginian pot, Peter.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, burglary with Amelia, just like old times. So let's see. It's a classic. We've got the pot on the pedestal, so if I just lift its case - [alarm blares] Ah. I honestly didn't think the alarm battery would have lasted this long. Um, Five, grab that pot, would you?

[zombies moan]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Uh, guys, apparently there are zoms in the house too, coming up the stairs behind Five. Six big ones in dark suits.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, that'll be Brewer's former home security. Alarm's got their attention. Hello! Still on the job, eh, boys?

AMELIA SPENS: Wish I could find staff that dedicated. No need to waste rounds, blueprint says there's a master bedroom down the corridor on your left. Brewer always left a spare key in the lock for his mistress. If you can lure the zombies in, you can trap them there. Run!

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Keep going, Five, there's the door past the amphora vases. God, how big is this house?

AMELIA SPENS: It was originally five smaller houses that were joined together behind a Georgian facade. Brewer felt he needed the space.

[door creaks open, floor creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're in the bedroom. There's a – ooh, four-poster bed, lovely. Uh, photos of Brewer and his family. Nice mustache. It's very Howard Hughesian. Um, Frances, you okay?

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Zombies! I forgot how scary they are up close. Didn't have them on Dearg. I'm actually shaking.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, uh, oh yeah, of course. No no no, um, it's okay, Frances. See, so the key was in the door and um, here's what we're gonna do. We're all going to get behind the bed. This room's really big, so when the zoms come at us, we'll then be able to circle around and lock them all in.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The house isn't in the best structural condition. There are big cracks in the walls, and that creaking probably means the floor is compromised. If any more bodies start stomping in here -

[zombies growl]

PETER LYNNE: See, there are the zoms and they're... coming straight over the bed, so run for the - ! No, no, no! [shouts]

[floor collapses, glass shatters, PETER and FRANCES cough]

AMELIA SPENS: Peter, Five? What happened?

FRANCES DEMSPEY: The floor gave way under the bed! [coughs] The zoms were too much weight. It just smashed down through the house, took the zoms with it.

[house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: This house is definitely unstable. Yep, uh, sounds like the whole place is coming down.

AMELIA SPENS: If you follow the corridor outside the bedroom, you'll find stairs. Take them down to the basement. It's a reinforced garage, should remain intact if the house collapses. Plus, it's where that vault is. Hurry up, you don't have long to grab those charts, and they're absolutely vital.

PETER LYNNE: Oh, also um, there's a horde of zombies chasing us. Come on, run!

[zombies moan, house creaks]

PETER LYNNE: Yep, there's the stairs, Five. Straight down, down you go.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: The chandeliers overhead are really shaking. Five, look out!

[chandelier falls, glass shatters]

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] That was close! Chandelier smashed right through the stairs. Could have done without the glass shards in my face, to be perfectly honest. Um, edge around the hole it's left in the stairs. [house creaks, zombies moan] Oh, fantastic. Amelia, we just passed the ground floor and I can hear more zombies barging into the house. So that'll be the horde from outside, attracted to all the noise.

AMELIA SPENS: Just keep following the stairs down. There are exits in the basement, but you have to reach the vault first. Run!

PETER LYNNE: Yep, yep, yep. Five, close the door, close the door! [door slams shut] Oh, good. Amelia, we've made it. We're in the basement garage, and the stairwell’s collapsed behind us. Ooh, this is a huge concrete car park. There's tons of fancy cars. There's Bentleys, BMWs... a Model T? All right, just, could you give me a minute, Five? I've just got to pick some chandelier out of my face and eyes.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's amazing. Your wounds, the way they're healing. Enhanced cell regeneration? The scientists on Dearg talked about it. [gasps] This is what Van Ark did to you!

PETER LYNNE: Yes, it is. Not really looking forward to meeting him again. Rather pull my kidneys out, honestly. But Janine is not leaving me behind this time. I just got her back and I won't lose her again.

FRANCES DEMSPEY: Dearg was his, you know. I was trapped there for ages. If you're going to a Van Ark lab, I can help. And honestly, I can't stay in Abel. It's funny, when we got security fixed at Dearg, first place I wanted to see was where Alice lived. But being there... a lot of older runners, they look at me, they see her. It's hard.

That's why I really came today. I needed to get out. And I guess I started to feel... if I was going to be her ghost, I might as well run, like she did. I don't want to be a ghost, Peter, and I don't want to go back to Dearg. I want to see the world, find out where I fit in.

AMELIA SPENS: People, you should get moving. That wasn't the only staircase leading to the basement.

PETER LYNNE: Over there, Five, look. It's built into the concrete wall, huge round metal door. That looks like a vault to me. Come on, run!

PETER LYNNE: Amelia, we're at the vault door. Here's the C-4. Do the honors, Five. [explosion] [coughs] Okay. Okay, right. Uh, vault is a big gray room with shelves, lots of shelves. Uh, model yachts, dusty piles of... ooh, gold. Five, Frances, look for those charts.

[paper rustles]

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Hey look, found a massive file on a shelf titled Inventory. It's an index of Brewer’s deals and trade contacts. There's a whole chapter on Tunisia.

PETER LYNNE: [laughs] Gotcha! There's tons of nautical charts on this desk under the sextant. [dragging footsteps] Uh, what was that sound? Five, could you go and check behind the shelf of canned food? [zombie groans] Oh, good. Hello! Amelia, we've found Brewer. Looks like he locked himself in here after he'd been bitten, entombed with his wealth like a rubbish pharaoh.

[laughs] Oh good, we've also got a zombie wife and two zombie children in the shadows. Welcome, everyone. He's taken his whole family down with him. [more zombies growl] And that is going to be the rest of the zombies in the garage. So Five, Frances, we're gonna move towards the door. Need an exit now, Amelia.

AMELIA SPENS: There's a ramp on the west end of the car park, leads up to the surface. The shutters open from inside. Hurry, get the charts to safety, run!

PETER LYNNE: Okay Five, Frances, I think we've lost the zoms. Street looks clear behind us.

AMELIA SPENS: Well, I'd call that a success. Five even kept the Carthaginian pot. Now we've got the charts, I can have people heading to Tunisia in days.

PETER LYNNE: Janine's finalized the team. It's her, me, Five, Sam, Maxine, and uh, computer expert. Look, I-I am sorry Frances, uh, but honestly, you are safer here. We're going a long way from home, and trust me, Van Ark isn't to be taken lightly.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: Wait a second, look at this. The folder I took, it's full of photos, Brewer logging artifacts he traded. Look at this Roman mosaic from Tunisia, the symbol in the corner.

PETER LYNNE: That is the endless circle from Mor Island.

FRANCES DEMPSEY: That's not all. Brewer's notes say he sold the mosaic to a military base code-named Red Scorpion in Tunisia before Z-Day. He says the commander of the Red Scorpion base scared him, told him not to record any names. Whatever that place is, it's definitely connected to the fungus, and they've known about it since way before we have.

#zombies run #zrs9 #s9m4 #zr transcript #zrs9 spoilers

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buckyscrystalqueen · 4 years

Text

Unlikely Parents: Part 3

Pairings: Negan x reader (Jane the Virgin AU), Hotel owner!Negan x Parolee!Reader

Warnings: Artificial insemination, Swearing, Angst, mentions of torture, abuse, violence, murder...

Word Count: 6,738

A/N: Yea, this took on a life of its own…. Not sorry.

Part 1 / Part 2

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

“I wont be gone long, just gotta take care of some shit outta town.” It had only been two weeks since Negan had been gone, but you were in absolute hell from the moment he left, until you saw him again. You worked open to nearly close for two weeks straight, but you didn’t dare open your mount to complain to Lucille, who made the schedule, out of fear that she would call your probation officer and send you back to jail. So you bit your tongue, got up at 4:45 every morning to open, and busted your ass until 9 at night when your curfew mandated you be home, only to battle crazy heartburn and insomnia until you had to work again.

“Incoming.” One of the guys that worked as a waiter around the pool said as he stopped flirting with the girl that was running the register with you and went back to get more orders from the pool patrons. You continued to clean off tables, not wanting to deal with the wrath of Lucille again, and you jumped about a foot in the air when a hand touched the small of your back.

“Hey, what time...” Negan started, making you turn toward him. You could almost feel his stomach drop as he looked at the dark circles under your eyes and the exhaustion you couldn’t keep off your face if you tried. “When was the last time you fucking slept?” You shook your head and glanced down at the table you were cleaning as you honestly tried to give him an answer.

“What day is it?”

“Alright, you’re fucking done.” He barked as he pulled the rag from your hands and tossed it toward the bar.

“Wait, I’m not done...”

“The fuck you’re not.” He said as he took ahold of your arm and lead you away from the table you were cleaning. “I’m giving you the rest of the fucking day off. No, the rest of the fucking week off.”

“No, Negan, it’s fine.” You tried as you walked with him in shoes that had started to give you blisters days before because of how swollen your feet were. “Negan, please...” He didn’t say another word as he lead you back into the employee locker room while pulling up the last two weeks schedule on his phone, and he gestured for you to sit down on the bench and wait for him as he stormed over his soon to be ex wife’s office.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” He roared as he ripped open her door. “You’ve had her working open to fucking close for two fucking weeks straight when she’s fucking pregnant!”

“She wasn’t open to close.” Lucille tried as you scooted down the bench a bit to put your work shoes in your locker and grab the paper like slippers you had gotten from one of the ladies in the spa.

“Six in the fucking morning to fucking nine at night is open to fucking close, Lucille! You’re fucking done! I want you outta my fucking hotel now! You’re fucking fired!” You startled the slightest bit when he slammed the door, and you looked over at your boss as he came back over to escort you upstairs. “The fuck are those?” Your eyes dragged away from his sluggishly to look down at the slippers he was gesturing to and you shrugged your shoulders.

“My feet hurt.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He muttered as he pulled you to your feet. “Come on, let’s get you upstairs.” With a nod, you let him lead you to the elevators like a lost puppy and up to your suite. You almost wanted to cry when you looked at your neatly made bed, and as if he read your mind, he gave you a gentle push in that direction. “Get changed, and take a nap. I’ll wake you up for dinner, OK?” Tears welled in your eyes in gratitude as you stepped out of your slippers and looked back at him.

“Will you just... can you stay? You look tired too.”

“You have no fucking idea, but...”

“Please?” That one simple word was enough to make him cave, and he nodded his head and toed off his shoes with a sigh.

“Don’t get fucking used to it.” He huffed as you grabbed a nightgown from your drawer and shuffled toward the bathroom.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” You change into your pjs in a matter of minutes and left your bra and your dress on the bathroom floor, so beyond functioning anymore than the most basic tasks. The high thread count sheets felt like heaven as you slipped between them, and you scooted across the king sized bed to the middle where you liked to sleep best.

“I am so fucking sorry, sweetheart.” Negan whispered as he laid down in front of you and slightly hesitantly rested his fingertips on your bump.

“I would have been OK.” You sighed as you moved and flattened his hand on your stomach. “‘S’like being in prison again.”

“Yea, that’s exactly my fucking point.” He grumbled as he shifted to get comfortable, subtly making his hand slide to your hip. A small smirk pulled at the corner of your lips and you took the risk to scoot forward so you were up against his chest. He let out a slightly defeated huff, but still pulled you impossibly closer to his chest and kissed your forehead. “Sleep.”

“I’m sleeping, I’m sleeping.”

——

You had always known you talked in your sleep from years of dealing with various cell mates, but when the hot dream you were having spilled out into reality, you were yanked from your nap by blunt nails digging in to the back of your hip and shoulder and Negan’s warm breath on your forehead.

“I need you to fucking stop saying my fucking name like that, baby girl.” He growled, which only made you impossibly more horny as someone that hadn’t been with a man in almost eight years could possibly be.

“Negan...” You whined on a breath as you reached up and touched his scruff covered cheek. He didn’t even try to fight you as you captured his lips with yours and he willingly let you roll him onto his back so you could straddle his lap. You smirked against his lips when you felt his length pressing against your core, which immediately made you forget how tired you were and made your confidence sky rocket.

“Oh...” You cooed with a smirk as you pushed yourself up by his chest so you could sit up and look down at him. “Did you miss me?”

“You’re worth missing... God fucking damnit.” He groaned as you pulled your nightgown off and tossed it across the room. “Fuck, baby girl. Will you fucking look at you.”

“I’m a peach, what can I say?” You teased as you ran your fingers from your hips up your tattooed sides, and through your loose hair.

“Oh, one fucking gorgeous peach.” He agreed as he pushed his hips against yours and pulled you down toward him by the arm. “Fuck, I wish I had met years ago. Coulda saved you...” Your lips froze on his neck, and you almost instantly lost interested in what you were doing as you sat back up to look at him with your eyebrow raised.

“Saved me from...?”

“From having to live with your fucked up family...”

“OK, my mother wasn’t fucked up, thank you.” You snapped as you put one hand on his chest and the other on your 15 week along bump to get off of the man in your bed. “We did just fucking fine...”

“OK, hold the fuck on.” He said as he quickly jumped up and grabbed his jeans. “No, you’re not shutting me out.” He nearly lost his fingers in the door to your bathroom when you tried to slam it closed, but he still pushed it open and leaned against the frame to talk to you. “Look, If you haven’t fucking figured it out by now, I really like you. Fuck, I’m falling for you hard.”

“You don’t fucking know me... stupid baby bump...” You grumbled as you tried unsuccessfully to hide behind a hotel towel.

“OK, here.” You scowled at him and took a step over to you to slam the door closed to lock him out, but he stuck his arm in the opening and pushed it back open to hand you his dress shirt. “Rude.”

“Necessary.”

“I’ve kept my fucking distance from you since the day I met you in a last fucking ditch effort to save my sham of a marriage with a wife that fucking hated me. But there is no fucking point in that anymore. And while I was fucking keeping my distance, I read the court records from your plea. You didn’t fucking traffic those drugs to get out, did you?”

“Shut up, Negan.” You tried to step around him to get out of the bathroom, but he side stepped in front of you to keep you were you were.

“Your father made you move those drugs, didn’t he?”

“Negan, just stop talking...”

“He made you sell those fucking pills...”

“And he would have killed me if I didn’t fucking listen!” You screamed as you looked up and met his eyes with so much anger and sadness, Negan could almost feel his own heart shatter. “My mother is spending life in fucking prison because that’s what he did to her. I had the fucking chance to get adopted by a good fucking family when I was six, but I had to go back to my family because my dad said he’d kill my new family if I didn’t. No one could have saved me, Negan. Not you, not DCFS, not the people that tried to adopt me, not even the kid that killed the grocery store guy accidentally when he tried to get us enough money to run away when my dad was passed out after beating me with a bar of soap in a sock so it wouldn’t leave bruises. No one could save me. So don’t fucking stand there and think you could have done better by me, what, because I’m pregnant with your kid now? Because you realize that I’m actually a decent person that has no fucking choice but to live a shitty life.

I’m not stupid here. I know that my dad gets out of prison in three years and he’s coming for me when he does for fucking up his run. And I know I’ll lose my daughter to you when he gets out because I won’t let her grow up anywhere near him because I can’t leave the fucking county for the next four years... as long as I’m a fucking good girl that is. But that won’t fucking happen because my dad is a fucking tool and he’ll figure out how to use me to do his bidding, probably by threatening you or our child, which he will do since he used my mom to get me to do it in the first place and me to get her to do it, too. And I’ll end up right back in the fucking system to save you. There’s no saving me, Negan. Never has been, never will be. So just let me get what love I can from my kid before I have to turn my back on her to save her life. No, stop let me go...”

“No.” He said as he wrapped you in a hug and held on tightly. You yelled his name and tried to pull back away from him, but he simply stepped impossibly closer and shook his head against the top of your head. “No.” You fought for a moment or two longer before you finally broke down into loud sobbed tears, intermittent by screams.

“It’s OK.” He whispered softly against the crown of your head as he ran his fingers through your hair and down your back. “It’s OK now.” He held you until you were shaking so violently, you could barely hold yourself up, and at that point, he simply picked you and carried you back to bed, where you cried yourself back to sleep. He knew there was nothing at all that he could say to make this situation better, so instead, he called Beth on her day off to find out some of your favorites, and ordered a pizza, and every single kind of dessert the room service menu offered. As he waited for your dinner to arrive, he called the first and only lawyer he could think of, a man that had gotten him out of a DUI many years ago, and brushed a few unsavory looking deals under the rug for him (even if he wasn’t happy about doing so and was only in it for the money.)

“Hershel, you gotta see this fucking case file. Her fucking state issue lawyer just let her take the fucking plea, and he would have annihilated this case...”

“Negan, please leave it.” You sighed, half awake, as the smell of pizza pulled you from your nightmare.

“Her fingerprints weren’t on the bag, her dad’s were.” Negan continued as he stood at the end of the bed and called you forward with his finger. A small smirk pulled at the corner of your lips and you playfully shook your head and curled up under the blankets. “She didn’t go to trial, didn’t even leave the precinct, she just confessed because her dad threatened to kill her if she flipped. Now she’s fucking pregnant... yea, she’s the one that works with Beth...” His eyes narrowed at you and he continued to call you forward as he listened, but you pulled the blanket over your head so that just your eyes and your nose was showing.

“Your other daughter’s met her, too. Look, you know I’m not usually an advocate for fucking felons, and sure, this one is different because she’s the mother of my kid, but we’re gunna fucking help her, if it costs me every penny I own, and if it’s the last thing you do... What, am I fucking feeding you in bed here, what?” Your smile grew and you nodded your head, which made Negan shake his head ‘no’ as he wrapped up the conversation. “OK, so your son-in-law then. Look, I’ll send you the case file. Just look it over for me. I’ll double your fees if you agree... Thanks, Greene. What the fuck are you doing to me?”

“You made me cry. You bring the food to me.”

“That’s not how this fucking works.” He laughed as he put his phone on your dresser, and grabbed the room service cart’s handle. “You don’t get rewarded for yelling at me.”

“I get rewarded for growing a baby.” You pointed out as you finally came out of your blanket cocoon and sat up. “And for not walking out the door right now since you don’t wanna listen to me when I tell you to leave my fucking case alone because you don’t know the fucking door you are opening.”

“Eat your pizza.” He said as he put two slices on a plate and passed it over to you, before making his own plate to sit on the bed and eat with you. “You’re always going to make shit harder, aren’t you?”

“Pretty sure that’s because of the tits.” You pointed out before taking a huge bite out of your slice with a smile.

“Fuck you’re gunna be the death of me.” He groaned as he leaned back against the headboard next to you. “And fuck am I glad that I met you. I’m never letting you go.”

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

“You have no idea what you have done.” You muttered in Russian like a broken record as you walked into the county sheriff’s office with a heavy, dirt covered, black trash bag in your arms beside Negan and behind your new lawyers, Beth’s dad, Herschel, and Maggie’s husband, Glenn. Your head shook back and forth like it had all morning, as you thought about exactly what was in the lock box that you and your mother buried by a lake in your apartment complex.

“In here.” Hershel said as he gestured you into a large interview room, where the DA, Michonne Hawthorn-Grimes, her husband Sheriff Rick Grimes, and your probation officer, Daryl Dixon were waiting. You stopped in the doorway as you realized that the one thing you feared more than your father was actually happening, but before you could step back, Negan grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into the room.

“Alright, so what are we here to talk about?” Michonne asked, but you shook your head and stayed in the corner by the door.

“If I put this bag down on the table.” You started as you looked at her and only her. “You will need to get my mother and a Russian translator. I can give you solid, undeniable evidence of six murders, and proof that both her and my confessions and crimes were done under duress. But I won’t do it without her, and she won’t speak to anyone about it unless I’m in the room. We agreed decades ago that if we were going down this road, we’d go down in flames together or wait until the other person was dead. And some of the things I have in here will only be hearsay without her.” The room was quiet for a moment as the three people sitting on the far side of the table, who hadn’t already heard your spiel, exchanged looks and had a silent conversation, weighing the pros and cons, before curiosity got the better of Michonne and she nodded her head.

“Let’s make that happen.” She said as Rick took a step toward the door.

“Just... have the CO tell her that I said it’s time to smoke. I promise it’s not a code for anything bad, it’s just a Russian phrase we designated when we talked about this moment. ‘Dyma bez ognya ne byvayet.’ ‘Where there’s smoke, there’s fire’. This box is the fire.”

“We Googled it on the way here.” Glenn told him as he set down a yellow legal pad on the table in front of him. “It’s the proper translation.”

“OK.” Rick said with a nod before he turned and headed out the door to make some calls.

“OK, put the bag down now.” Negan said before you started your pacing again while you waited.

“I can take it.” Officer Dixon tried as he took a step toward you.

“No, you can’t.” You countered quickly as you turned away from him. “My fingerprints have been on these bags for years. Yours have not. I will not let anything ruin this case, because my mom and my life literally depend on it.”

“OK, then let’s set it down in the middle here.” Negan said softly with a small, reassuring smile as if he was trying not to frighten a scared cat, showing a softer side that none of the people in the room had ever seen of the semi-shady hotel owner that could never be caught. “It’s not good for the baby to keep holding on to it.” With a numb nod, you finally stepped away from the door and placed the bundle on the edge, before taking a step back to start pacing the length while you waited. With a slightly content and yet still very concerned sigh, Negan grabbed a chair beside your lawyers to wait until you could get the show on the road.

“She’s making me nauseous.” Daryl said at the one hour mark as he, like everyone else in the room watched you wear a path in the linoleum.

“She should be here any minute.” Rick, who had come back after making his calls, said as he leaned on the wall beside a two way mirror and next to a video camera he had brought back in with him.

“I know you’re nervous.” The translator, a woman name Andrea, said softly in Russian, which was almost as much of your first language as English was, in an attempt to get you to calm down anyway she could. “But it’s going to be alright. We will protect you...”

“You cannot protect me if this doesn’t work.” You told her with a shake of your head as you turned around to head the other way. “If this evidence doesn’t count, there will be no stopping him.” You came to a dead stop when the door to the room was opened, and tears instantly welled up as your mother, Masha, was lead in in chains. “Mama, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, my love. It’s alright.” She responded in Russian as well as she cupped your face in her hands, while the translator started doing her job. “It’s time. This fire has smoked long enough.” You nodded your head in agreement and closed your eyes as she pulled you toward herself so she could kiss your forehead. She stayed there for a moment as her tears fell softly into your hair, since it had been nine years since she saw you last, and there was a chance she’d never be able to see you again. “Oh, it’s been too long, my love.”

“I’m sorry, we are on a bit of a time crunch here.” Michonne interrupted a little impatiently. “We can give you a couple minutes when we are done...”

“Thank you.” You said with a sniffle as you forced yourself to step back so that the officer that brought your mom in could take off her handcuffs. You told her quickly what Negan was helping you both with lawyers so that everything stuck, and she nodded her head as she reached out and gently touched your bump with an award winning smile. She shuffled over to the table in her shackles and took a deep breath as you both stopped side by side, looking at the bag.

“Burning roses.” Your mother said with a glance over at you. With a nod of your head, she reached out and pushed the two trash bags down to reveal a waterproof lockbox that held so many secrets. You helped her pull the box out, set it down in front of you, and pushed the bags out of the way as your mother started the story of your father.

“In late 1986, early ‘87, a prostitute was picked up from Miami Beach, and she never saw the light of day again.” She set the box’s lock down on the table and flipped open the nearly full box to grab a the first stack of Polaroids that had been collected over the years, while you started going through the box of cassette tapes to find the one that went with this part of the story. “She was beaten, raped, tortured, partially dismembered, burned, and sodomized in a shack in the Everglades, that would eventually be burned to the ground.” Neither you, nor your mother could spend more than a second looking at the photos as they were laid out on the table for everyone to see, so she just kept going as gloves were passed out to the people that needed them so that evidence wasn’t contaminated any more than it already had been.

“She was then dumped.” Masha continued as she continued to lay out photos your father had taken for whatever stupid reason he had had back then. “In a 55 gallon drum of sulfuric acid, while still alive, and left to die a horrible, painful death. I was never told where the barrel was, and as far as I know, it was never found. I met Richard Mason (Y/L/N) in the summer of ‘88 when he came in to the physical therapy center I was a receptionist at for a leg injury he sustained at work. His left lower leg and ankle were crushed by a steel pipe that fell off a truck on the job site, but today, I believe it was self inflicted. He was never able to walk right after it, one way or another. Unfortunately, I fell in love with him, but he only saw a free meal ticket. We started dating, and shortly after, got pregnant with (Y/N), and I thought it would be a good idea to get married to be a family.

I found those photos when I was helping him pack up his apartment to move into mine, and I knew I had to confront him about it. But I also knew that I needed proof to take to the cops. So I hid the photos so he wouldn’t know I found them and went out and bought a tape recorder. This is the confrontation.” You hit play, gently set the tape recorder down on the table, and reached over for your mom’s hand.

“Richard? What are these?”

“What are what?”

“These Polaroids I found in that shoe box in the closet. They’re... really grap...” Your mother’s words were literally choked off before a loud bang rattled you to your very core and made you close your eyes as tears started to fall on your bump.

“Now you listen here, cunt.” Your father growled in a tone that you were so used to hearing but still sent shivers up your spine. “Don’t ever, ever fucking touch my shit again. Those photos? I fucking did that shit because that fucking whore thought she’d be fucking smart and tried to get mouthy with me. Now you’re fucking lucky. You suck my dick a hell of a lot better than her, and you don’t fucking fight when I fucking ‘play rape’ you or whatever fucking bullshit you wanna call it to make it all better in that thick fucking skull of yours. So do me a fucking favor, put the fucking photos back in the fucking box, shut your Goddamn mouth about them, and pretend you never fucking saw them or I will cut that fucking monstrosity out of your fucking belly, shove it in a fucking blender, and force it down your fucking throat. Are we fucking clear?” You heard your mothers choked ‘mmhmm’ on the tape and you launched out of your chair as she quickly hit stop. Negan had maybe a second to hand you a trash can before you started getting sick, and the rest of the room sat in disgusted, and stunned silence.

“We’re only just getting started.” Masha said with a shake of her head as she grabbed the next stack of polaroids from the box to keep adding fuel to the fire to guarantee it would either stop your father... or be the nail in both of your coffins and hopefully a quick death (which you both knew wouldn’t be the case). “We still have 20 years of shit to get through.”

“I think we need to call a few more people.” Rick said with a slow shake of his head as Negan pulled his chair over to sit behind you and your mother with a new trash can Glenn had grabbed from the hall.

“I think you may be right on that one.” Michonne agreed as she started writing notes at lightening speed.

——

It took fourteen hours to go through everything you and your mom had collected throughout the years as leverage over your father. Fourteen hours of listening to cassette tapes and then cell phone recordings, fourteen hours of watching slightly obstructed videos of the beatings you both took over the years, fourteen hours of translating coded notes of memories of incidents you had both tried to push out of your heads but were never completely able to do. It took fourteen whole hours to relive every horrifying, traumatic moment of your life, but at the end of those fourteen hours, all of it was completely worth it.

You and your mother spoke to three judges, four prosecutors, and multiple city, county, and state police. You spoke to the DEA and the FBI, reopening cold cases and putting them to rest. You spoke to the states attorney and even the governor about everything. You both gave sworn, videoed confessions of your parts in crimes you had committed over time under your fathers orders and threats, and you were thankfully pardoned in all cases. The judge that sentenced both you and your mom to prison nine years prior, and the states attorney happily vacated your conviction, letting you walk out the door after a free woman, and had your mothers sentence reduced from first degree murder, to justified homicide, since there was a video of your father holding a knife to your throat in your living room until she agreed to kill a man that owed him money, and he and the governor both agreed to seal your records, to give you some semblance of closure to your past.

Multiple people that met the pair of you agreed that her nine years spent behind bars was enough, but since she did actually kill someone, it was agreed that that two years of minimal, unofficial, and sponsored probation would be the final step. She was to report directly to officer Dixon every Wednesday at exactly 5pm, she would still have to pass a urine test, and she still couldn’t leave the county without permission, but other than that, she was also free to go.

“She’ll be out of the system by morning.” A now nameless to you officer said as he pulled out handcuffs to take your mother back to jail.

“She can just stay here.” Rick said as he scratched at the scruff on his cheek.

“There’s no point in making her suffer in prison another night. I’ll have the paperwork sent through first thing in the morning so she can be released.” Michonne agreed as she collected her notebooks and paperwork as Rick’s officers boxed up all of the evidence on the table to store until your father’s trial began.

“Let’s get you home, baby girl.” Negan said softly, but you shook your head and stepped closer to your mother as she was unshackled.

“I’m staying with my mom.”

“No, sweetheart, go sleep in a bed.” Your mom tried, but you shook your head.

“нет.”

“We have room in the crib.” Rick said as he walked you all out of the interrogation room.

“OK, well I’m not fucking leaving you here alone, so you got room for three?” With a sigh, Rick nodded his head and gestured for you to follow after you said goodbye and thanks to your lawyers. You could feel yourself slipping into exhaustion as you were led back to a room with metal bunkbeds, and when you sat down on one of the bottom bunks in the middle of the room, Negan helped your mom scoot another bed closer before taking off your shoes so you didn’t have to bend over around your growing bump.

“So tell me all about it.” Masha said with a smile as she sat down on the bed across from you and pulled off her blue prison top and set it aside. “How did you two meet?”

“I was… no, come back…” You started but whined when Negan went to grab his own bunk. “It’s cold.”

“You’re always fucking cold.” He huffed as he took off his jacket and dropped it over your shoulders.

“I blame your son.”

“Yea, it’s always my fucking son when it’s pissing you off, and your sweet daughter every other time.”

“That’s the way it works.” Your mother laughed as she looked at the pair of you with a smile that threatened to break her cheeks. “It will always be your child when he’s bad, and hers when it’s good.”

“Great.”

“I think it’s a girl.” You said as you laid down on the bed in front of her and leaving enough room behind you so that Negan could lay down on the small bed too. “She was an accident. You remember that woman that came into the prisons…”

“Which one?”

“Suchka s temnymi volosami, kotoryye puskali vodku v tvoyu kisku kazhdyy raz, kogda tebe prikhodilos' yeye videt’.” Your mother smirked at your description of your old OB, and nodded her head as all three of you laid down for a few hours until she could leave.

“She did like to breathe her alcohol on your pussy.”

“She artificially inseminated me ‘on accident’.” You continued softly in Russian out of habit, since her first language was the language she had taught you as a baby when your dad wasn’t around so you could talk to her secretly when he was around, as Negan pulled his jacket around you a little more and put his hand on your hip. He kissed your shoulder and laid down behind you as you smiled at your mom like a happy kitten. “He wanted a kid but he had cancer and a low sperm count. So he froze a sample to use with his ex wife, who has made my life a living hell for the last two months because he’s divorcing her, falling for me, and I’m pregnant with ‘her son’. He gave me a place to live when he found out because I was gunna give him the baby… and then I heard her little heartbeat and… well we’re keeping her. I’m keeping her. I’m working at his hotel and he’s keeping me housed and fed for now. And then this girl from work said I could move in with her if I needed to when she’s born. So we’ve just been talking and working it out day by day. No rush, just getting to know each other… and then this shit happened.”

“He’s a cute one.” She sighed as she stretched her hand out for yours. “Kind eyes. You can tell it all by a man’s eyes.”

“I need to get to know him more still.” You said with a smile as you laced your fingers with hers.

“Never stop getting to know each other.” She cooed to both of you as she closed her eyes. “And allow yourself to fall in love.”

——

“Hey, baby girl.” Negan said softly as he came in to the bathroom, where you had been standing pin straight, staring at the edge of the tattoo on your right side after your shower. He touched your shoulder, which made you startle the slightest bit and look over at him in the reflection. “What’s wrong? You’re been just fucking standing in here since your mom went to bed.”

“Have you ever seen a tattoo like this?” You asked as you turned to face him and held your arm up so he could see it completely in the mirror.

“I mean, I saw it on you the other day…”

“It’s a Russian symbol.” You said as you ran your fingers over the tattoo of your mom’s face to the rose and dagger she was holding. “My mom has the same one on her arm but with my likeness. It’s an oath for revenge. I got this tattoo done when I was fourteen years old by someone my mom knew, after my dad locked us both in the closet for a weekend so I wouldn’t go on a school trip to the aquarium while he went on a bender. That weekend, my mother told me everything she had been keeping and recording all my life. And she told me that life was not a bed of roses, but it was up to us and only us to stay alive no matter what.” You shook your head and put his hand on your bump where your daughter kicked for the first time about twenty minutes prior when you were in the shower, before running your fingers across the ink on your skin. “I can’t believe it’s happening… no, don’t move, just wait.” You said as you finally pulled your eyes away from the tattoo to look over at him.

“Is he moving?”

“She kicked when I was in the shower, and now I’m just waiting for her to do it again because I know I can feel her, but I don’t know if you will be able to or not. So now that you’re standing in here with me as I try to sort through this shit in my head, and you can wait with me to see if you can feel it or not.”

“OK.” He said with a nod as he pat your bump with his fingertips. “So we’ll wait together.” You nodded your head and looked back over at your tattoo in the mirror, as Negan laid both hands on your bump with a sigh. You hadn’t felt so weightless in your life, but it didn’t seem real at all. You couldn’t believe that your mother was out of prison and in the next room, and that she was free and would never be beaten or abused again. You couldn’t believe that your father was finally currently housed in a six by nine holding cell in the Florida State Prison, where he would spend 23 hours a day, with no visitors, and no human contact the rest of his life.You couldn’t believe that you had gotten your revenge… and it didn’t seem real. You were free to make your own decisions without worrying about the impact they would have on your mother. And like her, you would never be physically hurt again.

“(Y/N)… I am so, so sorry.” Negan whispered, pulling you out of your thoughts once more. “I didn’t realize…”

“Thank you.” You whispered as you found his eyes in the mirror and then turned toward him completely. “Baby… thank you. We never, ever would have had the courage to stand up to him. Why did you do that?”

“Ummm do what?”

“Why would you save us like that?” You asked as you reached up to touch his jaw.

“Because I needed to.” He smiled as he stepped closer. “Because there is something about you that makes me want to be a better man than I have been the last ten years. Because even though it scares the fuck outta me, I fucking love you.” You smiled, which grew even more as he gently squeezed your bump to pull you forward and your daughter finally kicked back at him.

“We love you too.” You whispered as you reached up and cupped his jaw in his hand. “I love you, Negan. And I don’t and never will deserve you.”

“Yes you do… I’m the undeserving one…”

“No, no your not…”

“Well how about we both be undeserving then?” He asked as he used the heel of his palm to try and get his son (since he refused to get off that train) to kick back again.

“You are always going to be difficult, aren’t you?” He nodded his head as his son kicked back once more, and he slid his hands to your hips to pull you even closer.

“For the rest of your damn life, baby girl. As long as you’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you.”

“Come to bed. You’ve had a long two days.”

“Well that’s your fault.” You huffed as you followed him out of the bathroom to get dressed for bed. “You are just stressing me out and making me lose sleep.”

“Oh, here we go.” He laughed as he got into the bed. “I’m regretting moving you in here with me already.”

“Look. I asked you if three weeks was too short to move in and you said no. I asked you if it was too soon since you just separated…”

“Hey (Y/N)…” Negan said as he held up the blanket for you to get in. “Get in the fucking bed. I want you here…”

“Well who wouldn’t, I’m amazing.” He groaned and rolled away from you for a half second as you got comfortable in front of him to be the little spoon with a giant smile on your face.

“Fuck, you’re gunna drive me fucking crazy…”

“I’ll at least make it fun.” He hummed in agreement, and nodded his head as he pulled you closer to his chest.

“Yea, don’t fucking doubt that.”

#negan x reader #Negan thirst squad #Negan's thirst squad #unlikely parents

11 notes · View notes

astralaffairs · 4 years

Note

can i get number 29 from valentine's day prompts with laurens?

prompt 29: Secret Admirer

it took hella mental effort not to make this ridiculously tacky, and i cannot explain how it became 3.5k words. but pls someone explain to me why RA john is such a cutie??

————-

It had to be a crime for anyone to be up that early on a Sunday morning.

You’d spent your Saturday night out with Hercules and his clan of fellow grad students; you were still an undergrad, but he and you had always been surprisingly close for siblings, so when you entered his university just two years behind him, he’d adopted you into his friend group, who accepted you with open arms.

This, however, was three years later. You were a junior, and you’d spent the fall thanking your lucky stars that your friends had decided to stick around for grad school there, as, not only would you have missed them dearly, but just by chance, a few of them had ended up as teacher’s assistants for your year’s courses.

Them staying around also meant they could drag you to law school parties off-campus, and it meant you had them to thank for your hangover. You were lucky John had been the designated driver; as the RA of your floor, you and he were headed to the same place at the end of the night, which meant you had him to force you to drink a bottle of water and actually go to sleep in a bed, as opposed to passing out sloppy and wasted on the floor.

Who you really owed your thanks to, though, was whatever genius decided it’d be a good idea to come knocking on your door at 6 AM.

You let out a long, dramatic groan as you pulled yourself up. This was one of few times you were relieved not to have a roommate.

Despite the shrunken proportions of your dorm room, walking those eight feet to the door felt like walking eight miles that morning. It didn’t help when you opened the door to an empty hallway, no one standing before you. You were about to slam the door in a fury, seething quietly at whoever thought it’d be a funny idea to ding-dong-ditch you at the crack of dawn – you’d have guessed it was Alex, but you’d also be shocked if he wasn’t still lying fully unconscious on the floor of Lafayette’s apartment. That was when you noticed a small box sitting at your feet.

You did a double take down the hall around you; it was still deserted. Hesitantly, you picked up the package, praying it wasn’t anthrax. (You didn’t have many enemies, but surely there was someone who wanted to murder you quietly.) You checked around you one last time before retreating into your room, throwing yourself back onto the bed. As much as you wanted to go immediately back to sleep, your curiosity had the better of you that Sunday.

You eyed the little, plain cardboard box that you’d deposited at the foot of your bed warily. Surely if it contained a bomb, there was nothing you could do about it now, anyway, so what was the harm?

You eased the flaps on the top apart, and the first thing you saw was a paper, folded up to the size of your thumb and, for whatever reason, taped onto a box even smaller than the original. You opened it and were surprised to see it’d been typed up.

Y/N–

Okay, so at least you knew you weren’t gonna find anyone fuming later on because they’d left their girlfriend’s Valentines gift by the wrong door.

I’ve never been good with words – though, I guess that’s why you’re the English major instead of me – so I’ll keep this short & sweet, much like you ;)

You rolled your eyes at that. You didn’t know who this letter-writer thought they were, but waking you up at six in the morning to call you short wasn’t what you’d call suave. (You weren’t short, anyway, and you’d stand by that until the day you died. Though, unfortunately, you may have had to stand slightly below that until the day you died – you weren’t sure you could reach.) You ignored how the last line made your pulse jump.

I think you’ll find the contents of the box fill the same role.

Yours.

That was it? Yours? Not, ‘yours, the cute stranger down the hall,’ not, ‘yours, the buff TA from Accounting Law,’ not even, ‘yours, the guy you pass in the elevator at the gym every Thursday who knows very well you’ve been eyeing him all semester.’

Just, yours.

You opened the box to find a slice of strawberry shortcake, and again, you rolled your eyes. How clever. You had to force yourself not to be endeared by who was apparently now ‘your’ mystery, but you couldn’t fight your smile at the sheer audacity.

——–———–

Predictably, you brought it up to everyone you knew within the next few days, and unfortunately, they seemed every bit as stumped as you were. At that point, you didn’t know what to do but ignore it.

So, you went on with your week, and the next Sunday, you were again awoken at first light.

Your groan this time wasn’t any less annoyed at the knock on the door; this time, the note made a jab at your dancing skills, said that ‘you still made being sloppy drunk look cute.’ You furrowed your brow. If this was someone’s way of trying to unlock your heart, this wasn’t exactly the key. However, if your being sloppy drunk was on their mind, it had to have been someone at the frat party you went to the night prior. Or, someone you passed in your building on the way back. Which narrowed it down to approximately half of campus.

Again, the letter was simply signed as 'yours.’ You didn’t know what to make of it all.

The contents of the box made you smile, though: a water bottle and a pack of Tylenol. It wasn’t exactly the height of romance, but something about the hangover care package made it feel more thoughtful yet.

You popped a Tylenol and went back to sleep. You’d be better at overanalyzing after you’d gotten at least six hours.

Those six hours turned out to be six more hours, though, and you emerged from your room just after noon. You stifled a yawn as you made your way out to the common area, still in your pajama shorts and the sweatshirt you’d pilfered from someone’s floor, to find Angelica on one of the couches eating boxed mac-and-cheese.

She was one of your oldest friends at your university; she’d been your roommate freshman and sophomore year before she ultimately elected to move in with her boyfriend. She raised an eyebrow as you entered, wearing a knowing smile that you couldn’t decipher the meaning behind.

“Hey, Ang,” you said wearily, making your way to the cupboard to pull out one of the instant ramen cups you’d kindly labeled 'Y/N ONLY.’

“Hey.” She eyed you, amusement dancing in her eyes, and when you continued to stare blankly at her, she spoke again. “Did you seriously manage to get another noise complaint today? That’s, like, the fifth this month. You’ve really been busy since I moved out, huh?”

While she looked smug, her words just had you confused. Unless it was from you snoring too loudly (which, in hindsight, was very plausible), there was no way you’d have ended up with a noise complaint that night. You furrowed your brow. “What?”

“What?” She shrugged as you put your noodles in the microwave. “Didn’t you? I mean, I saw Laurens walking away from your room this morning and just kind of assumed.”

You chuckled. “No, he was just my ride back from a party last night. Unfortunately, not one where I managed to get laid.”

“And you got back at 6 AM?” She looked surprised, and your confusion only mounted.

“No?” you said, your voice hesitant. “Wait, what are you talking about? 'Cause it’s obviously not the same thing I’m talking about.”

She shifted on the couch to face you where you stood near the microwave. “When I got back from my run this morning, I came back up to my and my John’s room–” John Church, her long-term boyfriend and inaugural junior-year roommate, “and I saw Laurens coming back from, like, right by your door. Not at three AM, or whenever it was that you got back from the frat house.”

It took you about that long to connect the dots. John at 6 AM, coming back from your room, the knock that’d woken you up bright and early – no way that could be a coincidence. Your eyes widened; you started down the hall toward the RA dorm without a second thought. “I’ll be right back,” you muttered. Angelica’s brows shot toward her hairline.

“Wait, Y/N, what about the microwave?” she called after you. You’d slipped too far into your tunnel vision to care. “Y/N, your noodles!”

You reached the end of the hallway and promptly banged on the door before you. John emerged in a matter of seconds, whether it was because he happened to be up or because of how aggressively you were trying to get in.

“Y/N?” He sounded surprised to see you. You didn’t humor him.

“Did you leave that box outside my door this morning?”

Slowly, his mask of confusion cracked, a grin adorning his lips as he leaned against the side of the doorway. “Busted.”

However, your brow knit at the immediate admission, trying to suppress a smile despite your shock. “Wait, so you left me those little… 'secret admirer’ notes?” You hesitated; he raised an eyebrow. “What… why did you–”

“Hold up, I don’t know anything about any notes,” he cut you off, holding up his hands as if to claim innocence. “Don’t shoot the messenger; I dropped those boxes off because someone asked for an assist.”

You paused, taken aback. You hoped he didn’t notice when your face visibly fell. “Wait, so if it wasn’t you…” you trailed off, pondering his words. You raised an expectant eyebrow. “Then you know who sent me those!”

His smile again graced his lips at that; he raked a hand through his hair as he chuckled. “Now you’ve really caught me,” he said, tone teasing. You could only roll your eyes.

“Who is it, then?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret admirer if I just told you!” He put a hand on his heart, his expression a caricature of scandalization, and when you glared, he chuckled. “I promise it’s not rocket science, Y/N; just figure it out.”

You scowled. “It’d be so much easier for everyone if you just told me,” you whined, and he gave you a mock pout.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he sighed, “Now that you put it like that, I guess I’ll have to tell you.”

Your eyes lit up. “Really?”

“No.”

You huffed, folding your arms and stomping your foot like a toddler, and he reached out to ruffle your hair with a laugh. You yelped as you ducked away from his hand, and his grin only grew. “You’re an absolute clown, you know that?”

He shrugged, looking as though he was entertaining the thought. “Maybe, but I’m your absolute clown.”

Something in the phrase struck you as being familiar.

——————-

Your noodles were ruined, and you spent the rest of the afternoon sulking about it. Perhaps Angelica was onto something when she said you needed to listen to her more often (though, you hadn’t quite heard the reasoning behind it). Moreover, you were growing increasingly frustrated with the secret admirer notes. After making yourself a fresh cup of noodles (and cleaning the microwave; your first cup had exploded), you spent your Sunday absentmindedly watching Netflix and overanalyzing everything you could take away from the secret admirer notes. You’d come to only a few conclusions.

1. If they were working through John, it had to be someone who lived on your floor, someone who knew you well, or someone who knew John well. That provided very little input.

2. If they’d managed to create and get the second box to you between 3 AM and 6 AM the previous night (morning, really), then it had to be someone who you went to the frat party with who also lived in your dorm – again, a fairly deep pool of prospects.

3. They felt comfortable enough with you to call you short, make fun of your dancing, and note that you couldn’t hold your alcohol. That was telling – it had to be someone you knew well who also lived in your dorm.

However, you didn’t get the chance to conduct a thorough examination of all your friends in the building; you still had three readings and a paper due the next day that you hadn’t done because you were, as your pursuer so elegantly put it, busy 'getting sloppy drunk.’ So you went through the motions – you did your work, you went to your classes the next day, and you arrived back at your dorm to the unexpected: another box.

There was a week between the first and second of them; a third already being on your figurative doorstep was unprecedented. You didn’t hesitate to open this one, and its contents immediately had you grinning: four cups of instant ramen and a note. This one wasn’t typed.

Heard I ruined your noods, so it seemed only fair to send you some of my own. I showed you mine, now you show me yours?

Yours ;)

The handwriting was immediately recognizable, and you couldn’t help but think that was the idea. You marched down to John’s room with the letter and knocked every bit as aggressively as you had before. Again, he opened it immediately.

“Y/N?” He raised an eyebrow. “Finally figure out who’s been sending you those notes?”

You stuck the letter in his face. “This is your handwriting,” you accused him. He took it from you, looked at it mildly for only a moment, and shrugged.

“Sure seems to be.”

“So you wrote this!”

“Looks like it.” His nonchalant expression had your head spinning.

“Can you stop with the vague answers for one minute?” you huffed, and he raised his eyebrows, pushing himself off of the doorframe. It appeared he could tell that this was genuinely beginning to trouble you. “I cannot deal with whatever it is you’re playing at with these.” You snatched the note back, waved it at him. “Just explain.”

A small smile was beginning to form on his lips by that point. “Well,” he began, voice soft, “Seems pretty clear to me. Both the conclusions you came breaking down my door with were apt.”

“So you wrote these, then?” He nodded, and you pursed your lips. “Which means what, exactly? What am I supposed to take from that? That you’re an incredible accomplice for whoever dreamed this up?” His smile began to grow as you began to rant, seemingly becoming more amused with each word. “That it was you leaving the packages? Because, John, I need answers, and this is really just starting to mess with my head.”

When your voice softened, your shell of anger cracking around the edges to reveal the slightest bit of vulnerability, John was hit with a pang of guilt. He hadn’t meant to mess with you. “Y'know, I thought I was being painfully obvious from the first one.”

“You… ?”

“I figured you’d open it, bring it to me, and we’d have a good laugh. Just that.” He shrugged, eyeing your stunned expression before continuing, “Maybe I just didn’t realize quite how drunk you were.”

“What d'you mean?”

“The morning I left the first note, you’d spent thirty minutes on the ride home telling me how you’d absolutely die for strawberry shortcake right then, and then you tried to shove me outta my own car when I called you a shortcake in response.” He grinned, and you just looked dumbstruck. “The second one didn’t even require any knowledge of the night before. Gotta say, I’m a little disappointed.” He sighed, falsely wistful, but cut himself off when he caught wind of your wide eyes. You were still struggling to believe his words.

John, who had spent the past three years making fun of your eating habits, chewing you out for showing up late because you went to three different drugstores to find the right bottle of $6 wine; John, who groaned every time Hercules dragged you to him, letting him know you’d been throwing up in the bathroom, but who drove you home without a second thought, always came to check on you in the morning. John was your secret admirer? The whole thing felt backwards.

“When you came to confront me yesterday, I knew I had to fess up sometime soon.” He rolled his eyes, as though exasperated with your incompetence. You were still shocked beyond a shadow of a doubt.

John was a generally caring person. It was why they gave him RA status, it was why he brought bakery to the commons area every Thursday afternoon, knowing that the professors there were notorious for Friday morning tests, it was why he kept a first aid kit stocked with everything imaginable outside his door – bandaids, Tylenol, pads, tampons, even chocolate.

He’d always been caring. His behavior toward you just felt like part of the pattern.

“Why?” you breathed, unsure of yourself. “Why’d you start leaving them?”

He considered himself, tongue in cheek. “Well, the first wasn’t meant to be quite so elusive. I spent half an hour refusing to pull over at the nearest bakery; I thought it’d be nice to bring you what you asked for when you weren’t dangerously tipsy. Honestly, didn’t even mean for it to be such a puzzle. Just a little gift.”

“But apparently, someone can’t take a hint.” You scowled as he ruffled your hair, and he just chuckled. His gaze was soft, his smile wide. “When you showed up here with the second note, I didn’t mean to deny it. But then, you sounded mildly ticked.”

“I wasn’t annoyed,” you protested mildly, cheeks burning when he raised an eyebrow.

“Anyway, here I was thinking I had more game than that, so I lied. Just a little.” He shrugged. “But then you looked so disappointed, so maybe I did have game afterall, hm?”

“Why wouldn’t you just come talk to me about it?” you asked softly, and the amusement in his gaze didn’t subside as he raised an eyebrow. Part of you struggled to believe he’d missed the way you spent the past three years looking at him. That he’d missed how, no, you weren’t an affectionate drunk – he was just the one driving you home.

Finally, he spoke. “Now, why would I do that, when I could bring you here to come talk to me about it?”

You frowned, though there was no malice behind it. “Coward,” you accused playfully, jabbing at his chest.

“Maybe.” Again he shrugged, before a wide grin split his mask of nonchalance. “But your coward.”

You huffed out a laugh, surprised by the teasing words. “My oblivious coward, apparently.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Half the campus has a thing for you, John,” you scoffed. His smile was soft, then.

“Maybe, but I don’t care about half of campus.” Tentatively, he took a step closer to you, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear. “I care about you.”

You bit your lip, staring back up at him hesitantly. Your heart seemed to have stopped. John’s hand fell to your cheek, cradling your face. “John?” You finally said.

“Hm?”

“Can I kiss you?” The words were hardly a whisper, and before you could do anything else, he was reacting, taking a final step forward to snake his arm around your waist, pull you to him as he finally pressed his lips against yours. Your hands found their way to the back of his neck. Though the kiss was chaste, no more than lips against lips, it left you breathless, chest heaving against his when you finally pulled away.

You looked surprised, and he gave you a wry smile. “That’s a yes, for the record.”

You couldn’t help your grin. “Hey, so about that note…” He raised an eyebrow, and you reached up to tug at the collar of his shirt. “What was that, about, 'I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’?” Mischief seeped into your tone, and he looked stunned, his smile one of entertained disbelief.

He didn’t even bother to respond, moving quickly backward into his dorm room, tugging you with him, and you jerked forward with a squeak. He gave you a sly grin. “Lock the door.”

#John Laurens #john laurens x reader #laurens #laurens oneshot #john laurens oneshot #john laurens one shot #laurens x reader one shot #laurens x reader #john x reader #john laurens x reader oneshot #laurens x reader oneshot

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hyperpsychomaniac · 4 years

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The Other Side of Me - Chapter 2

Darkwing Duck Fanfiction (90s Series)

The Negaverse Launchpad arrives in Saint Canard and announces his intention to take down Darkwing Duck in preparation for Negaduck’s arrival. Darkwing refuses to take the threat seriously, so Launchpad decides to take on his stronger, crazier, and downright dangerous counterpart himself.

Read Chapter 1 first.

***

“LP! How many times… open the garage door before you try and park inside.” Drake stood at their front door, hands on his hips.

Launchpad tumbled out of the car. He’d barely tapped the garage, so he ignored the comment. “We’ve got a problem. A DW problem.”

Drake’s scowl deepened as his gaze shifted from the car and onto Launchpad. “What happened to you?”

“Like I said, DW problem.”

“You went to get groceries. What did you get mugged? I should hope Darkwing’s sidekick could deal with that.”

“I did. Well, sort of.”

Drake’s gaze softened. “LP…”

Launchpad grabbed Drake by the shirt sleeve and dragged him into the house. “Will you just listen to me? I got jumped in the car. By myself.”

“You were alone. But I’m guessing that bruise meant you dealt with it?”

“No, not by myself. I mean I got mugged by myself.”

“We’ve been over this.”

“By Launchpad from the Negaverse!”

***

Drake steered Launchpad into the dining room and made him sit down before he’d let him explain further. “So, Negaduck is still stuck in his dimension,” Launchpad finished. “But, er, Launchpad said he was coming after you, DW.”

“Well, I don’t like him already!” Gosalyn stood up on her chair and waved an arm at Launchpad. “He hit Launchpad in the face. I’ve got a good mind to give him what for.”

Launchpad smiled faintly. “Thanks for the backup, kiddo. But you should probably stay away from him.”

Gosalyn pounded a fist on the table. “I can take him! I mean, come on, Launchpad, he’s you.”

“Hey.”

“No, I just mean, I practically beat you at arm wrestling I know it takes a little to wear you out, but…”

Launchpad winced. “Yeah, about that.”

“Wait, have you been letting me win? Dad!”

Drake rubbed at his forehead. “Gos, he’s five times your size. You ‘win’ because he thinks you’re adorable. Somehow, I’m guessing this other Launchpad won’t.”

Gosalyn plonked herself back in her chair and folded her arms. “This is confusing. We should at least agree to call him jerkface Launchpad, because that’s what he is.”

“Works for me,” said Launchpad, “But we’ve got to do something. He’s been out there for hours now. Who knows what he’s been up to?”

“Probably crashed at least two different vehicles.”

Launchpad frowned. He could take the crash jokes. But Drake was far too calm. “This is serious!”

Drake held up his hands “Look, I know. And I get he probably freaked you out. But, you know, maybe Gos is right?”

“We’re going with jerkface?”

“No! I mean the threat you’re worried about, being, well, Launchpad. No offense buddy, but if you up and decided you wanted to take me out tomorrow, I wouldn’t be overly concerned. Unless we were flying somewhere.”

Launchpad huffed. “Well, he seemed pretty serious to me. And I seem to remember you saying he just about killed you within three minutes of you landing in the Negaverse.”

“Did he bring his rocket launcher with him?”

“What? I don’t think so.”

Drake shrugged. “There you go. He’s nothing to worry about.”

“What’s wrong with a rocket launcher?” Gosalyn asked.

“He used it in the house!”

Launchpad scowled. “I just want to make sure my best friend is safe. Launchpad was pretty clear; he said he’d put you at the bottom of the bay.”

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not nothing. But it’s not like he’s Negaduck. Look, if he said he was going to find me and take me down, let’s go out on patrol tonight and see if he makes a move. Besides, Gos is right about something else, he is a jerkface. Pick on my sidekick, will he? Darkwing Duck will happily send him back where he came from!”

Launchpad felt some of his apprehension lift. Sometimes, he still couldn’t believe Darkwing Dark had not only taken him on as his sidekick but had been such a good friend to him. It was good to know he had his back. “Thanks, DW. And don’t worry, I won’t let you out of my sight.”

****

In this Saint Canard, Launchpad’s old hanger still stood. Not his, Launchpad had to remind himself as he swallowed the stubborn lump in his throat. That idiot McQuack’s. Still, the place was almost as dilapidated as his had been. Launchpad pushed open one of the big double doors. It creaked, and dust fell from the ceiling. Dusty grey tarpaulins were spread over the aeroplanes stashed inside.

One of the shapes caught his eye. Launchpad stepped over and, grasping the corner of tarp draped over a wing, tugged it quickly aside. He drew in a quick breath and squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Steady, Launchpad. You’re getting distracted.”

He was not here because of nostalgia. He would only use the air going beasts hidden beneath those tarps if it fell in with the plan that clumsily built in his head. But it was hard, far harder than he was happy with, for him to walk away. The lure of his first love was strong.

The flames licking and crackling and tearing into the timber rose unbidden in his mind. Metal and canvas skins peeled away from the steel and timber frames. Tortured metal screamed and rivets popped, like his aeroplanes had been crying out to him. And Launchpad had just stood there, with an empty petrol can clamped in a hand which had taken every ounce of his willpower to stop from shaking. Meanwhile, Negaduck had stood beside him, laughing as the flames rose ever higher.

Launchpad ran a hand over the wing again. He turned away with a snort. His inspection of the hanger turned up a woefully inadequate stash of weapons. Besides some heavy tools, all he found was a rusty handgun which looked like it hadn’t been fired, far less cared for, in years. “How am I supposed to pull this off without a good rocket launcher?”

He gave up on the hanger proper and climbed the ladder into the loft. It looked like Launchpad had slept and ate up here. But the stripped bed, and the desk parked in one corner, was covered in dust. Launchpad’s lip curled up in a snarl. Darkwing had not made his sidekick destroy this place. But McQuack had quite obviously not returned in a very long time.

He checked under the mattress. He found a large wrench, but still no decent weapons. He moved over to the desk and yanked at a drawer. The old wood stuck with a squeak, and Launchpad gave it another sharp tug. The drawer’s contents spilled across the floor.

Still no weapons. But a flash of colour caught his eyes. Launchpad knelt and picked up the photograph. His mother, father, and sister grinned back at him. They looked happy. Alongside the other Launchpad.

Launchpad couldn’t remember seeing his family, in print or otherwise, for a very, very long time. But this wasn’t his family. And it had been so carelessly discarded in this drawer. Just like the hanger.

Launchpad tore the photograph to shreds.

***

“Threading the Thunderquack treacherously through towers, Darkwing Duck searches for the dubious doppelganger, the derelict delinquent determined to do in our do-gooder hero.” Darkwing swished his cape about the cockpit, and then leapt back into the passenger seat and glared sidelong at Launchpad. “What he doesn’t understand is why someone insisted we take the Thunderquack in the first place.”

“We’ll cover more ground this way.”

“Oh yeah? Well Darkwing Duck strongly suspects his sneaky sidekick simply wanted to drive.”

Launchpad made a show of looking out his side of the cockpit at the streets below, though he was only trying to hide the faint flush he felt come to his beak. Busted. It was easier being the one at the controls of their transport of choice. If he got an idea as to where jerkface Launchpad was hiding out, he could just fly them straight there without having to ask for Darkwing’s permission. Apologising after the fact was far easier.

Darkwing slumped back in his seat with a huff. “Well, at least this gets us out of the house. Gosalyn’s cartoons were starting to get on my nerves. I swear, she turns up the volume on that television every time I leave the room.”

“I think I’d rather be making soup.”

“I’ll survive without your soup, LP. In fact, I think avoiding it might actually increase my chances.”

Launchpad swung the Thunderquack around another building, rocking the plane so they could keep an eye on the streets below. Darkwing gripped his seat a little tighter.

“It’s not about the soup. Launchpad said he was coming after you. I’d rather not have to worry about that.”

“What are you now, my mother? Look, I appreciate it, really. But you don’t have to stress out about this. He’s been here less than a day. You think he’s going to, I don’t know, find a plane that can keep up with the Thunderquack in that time and run us out of the sky?”

“Um, DW?”

“Yeah, what… Launchpad!”

Launchpad lifted a wing and the roaring shape tore past just beneath them.

Darkwing leapt onto his seat and searched the sky. “What was that?!”

“Hard to say pelting past at 100 miles an hour but looked like a P51 Mustang.”

“Please tell me that does not come with a rocket launcher.”

Launchpad looped the Thunderquack back around. The plane that had nearly knocked them out of the sky hadn’t been running any lights. He couldn’t see where their assailant had gone.

“Where is he?” said Darkwing. “Great. I’m up here with two of you.”

“We don’t know it’s Launchpad yet.”

“Who else flies like that?! Seriously, why did you have to insist on taking the Thunderquack?”

Launchpad huffed. Here was the downside of being the one in control of where they were going. He had to put up with Darkwing’s backseat driving. “Fine. I’ll take us lower.” He dropped the Thunderquack, hard. The wheels hit the pavement and they bounced.

“If you’re going to fly like this then we may as well have taken the Ratcatcher.”

The Mustang dropped in at 5 o’clock. It followed behind them, just clear of the pavement, and slowly gained. Launchpad looked back over his shoulder. “Where did he get a Mustang?”

“Launchpad, concentrate on you’re flying, driving, whatever you’re doing!”

A car horn blared. Launchpad swerved clear of the oncoming headlights. “Okay, okay, so jerkface is a pilot too?” His eyes narrowed.

“What’s that look? Oh, wonderful…”

Launchpad spotted a parked flatbed truck, its tray tipped up so it practically formed a ramp. He accelerated. They hit the makeshift ramp and rocketed back into the air. He looped up and around a building and then levelled out just clear of Saint Canard’s skyscrapers. The Mustang was still on his right, but now it’s wing was level with, and nearly touched the Thunderquack’s. The single pilot dogfighter was not in good condition. The propeller spluttered. The canopy had been ripped clean off. And the Negaverse Launchpad was crammed into that tiny cockpit, a maniac grin on his face.

Launchpad frowned. “Hey, wait! That looks just like the one I had in my hanger…”

His double swung in and rammed the Thunderquack. The wings collided and grated, and the Mustang’s gave in. Metal peeled off and wrapped itself around the Thunderquack’s wing. Launchpad grappled with the steering as the drag picked up.

“Oh man…”

“Fly the plane, LP!”

“I’m flying two planes here. We need to lose the drag.”

The Negaverse Launchpad vacated the Mustang’s cockpit. His hair whipped about his face as he climbed onto the buckled wing. He steadily gained ground as he pulled himself arm over arm along the entangled metal.

“I told you he was crazy.” Darkwing pulled his gas gun from his jacket.

“What are you going to do with that?”

“I thought you said we needed to lose the drag?”

“The other plane. You’ll kill him if you hit him with that this high.”

“Darn it, you’re right. Well, you’d better do something quick.”

Launchpad dipped them lower, back down between the buildings. And realised his mistake. The Thunderquack could easily weave its way between Saint Canard’s skyscrapers, despite Launchpad’s somewhat inattentive flying style. The Thunderquack with an extra six tonnes of metal and one crazed duck hanging from her wing was going to have a bit more trouble.

Launchpad wrested them hard left as a building loomed. It swung away from them. Slowly. Far too slowly. The Thunderquack cleared. Glass windows exploded. The Mustang was torn to shreds on impact. They swung out hard as the drag lifted, and it was all Launchpad could do to yank her back in before they slammed into the building opposite.

“DW! Where’s Launchpad?” He’d wanted to stop his counterpart hurting Darkwing Duck. Not kill him.

“Hang on, hang on… there he is, LP.” Darkwing pointed to the plummeting body.

The dread lifted. Launchpad chased his double towards the ground. “I’ve got this…” He popped the canopy, then looped them underneath the other Launchpad.

He was dead on target. Launchpad slammed into the open cockpit. Right on top of Darkwing. Both men tumbled into the back of the Thunderquack. The whole plane bounced and rocked, and Launchpad was thrown from his seat. The next few seconds were a blur of spinning buildings, asphalt, and blinking controls.

“Bloody hell. And people say I’m crazy.” The Negaverse Launchpad pulled himself into the pilot’s seat. He levelled the Thunderquack and pulled them up to a height where they were not getting honked at by passing motorists.

“DW?” Launchpad shook Darkwing by the shoulder.

“No mommy, five more minutes.” Out cold. But Darkwing Duck could take a fair whack. Launchpad propped him up in the rear seat as comfortably as he could manage.

“This handles really well. Heh. Better than that bucket of bolts. I’m not even sure how I got it off the ground on the first place. But this…” His double had a grin plastered to his face. His focus was out the windshield, on the buildings he was even now swooping in and around. Not that there was much reason to swing the plane about so much.

Except that Launchpad knew from experience, thought pointless, it was pretty fun. He moved cautiously to the front of the cockpit and slipped into the passenger seat. “Ah, yeah. I put her together myself. Just gave the steering a tune up, actually.”

The other Launchpad glanced across at him warily.

Launchpad put his hands in his lap, where his doppelganger could see them, and waited. The other man did not seem an immediate threat. He was no longer focused on Darkwing Duck, but instead on flying the Thunderquack. Which was not exactly ideal, and Launchpad was glad DW was unconscious, of he’d have a fit. But maybe they wouldn’t have to fight this guy.

The other Launchpad’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m a little disappointed actually,” he said as he steered them out to the clear air over the bay.

“In the Thunderquack? What’s wrong with her?”

“No. In you. I threw you down a challenge, man. And what do you do? Go straight crying to Darkwing Duck.”

“That wasn’t a challenge. You threatened him.”

“Same difference. Where’s your loyalty? You going to let some guy say stuff about your boss like that?”

Launchpad bristled. “Loyalty? That’s why I told DW, he’s my friend, and I’d do anything for him.”

“More like just cry to him so he’ll solve all your problems. You’re all talk… woah hang on…” Launchpad took them in low, right under the Audubon Bay bridge. That grin crawled back onto this face, and he laughed. “Oh yeah, baby.”

Launchpad could understand the thrill of flying. But this Launchpad was excited as a school kid. And flying his plane. It was all he could do to fight off the urge to make a snatch for the controls. Whatever the heck was actually happening here, he didn’t want to push it.

His double finished his swoop under the bridge cleanly. Almost too cleanly. Launchpad scowled. “Just don’t go and crash it now, alright?”

“Hey! I don’t crash.”

“What, never?”

“Never. Not that I’ve had the chance for a while.”

Launchpad swallowed. Great. This guy was a better pilot than him too. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Launchpad eyed him sidelong, then laughed. It sounded far crueller than the one from moments ago. “You are not serious.”

“Look, you’re me, sort of. I get it. You’re loyal to Negaduck. He’s your buddy, just like me and DW. He asked you to come over here and help him. But Negaduck’s not a nice guy. He’s already got a whole world to himself. What does he need this one for? You can’t destroy a place just to please him, and I won’t let you hurt DW to do it.”

His double lunged for him. Launchpad put up his fists. But the other Launchpad didn’t hit him. He yanked his arm back with Launchpad’s aviator’s cap clenched tightly in his fist. “I cannot take you seriously in this stupid thing!” He tossed it up into the corner of the console.

Then he blew out a deep breath. “Alright, Launchpad. Let me set you straight. Negaduck is my boss. Not my buddy. I don’t go crying to him for every little thing. I deal with shit myself. Even if, even if I don’t always do the best job. So, let me tell you about loyalty. I joined Negaduck. And I gave up everything. My hanger, flying my aeroplanes…”

“You… what?”

“I burnt it all to the ground!”

Launchpad felt his stomach knot up. He had destroyed a great deal of aeroplanes over the course of his career. But never on purpose.

“Yeah, that’s right. You know. We are the same, sort of. You know what that meant. I don’t make cute little speeches about how me and Negaduck are buddies. I’m a man of action. Being loyal to Negaduck means I’m done with all of that. I let it all go for him.” His hands gripped the control yoke, white knuckled, and his chest heaved. “And I… I haven’t looked back since.”

The Thunderquack droned through the sky, now circling high above Saint Canard. Launchpad did not normally fly her this high. They were usually working, darting amongst the buildings below in search of some criminal. “Really?” he finally said, fixing his gaze on the other Launchpad until he had no choice but to meet his gaze. “Because it doesn’t look like you’re done with being a pilot to me.”

“Hold your breath, LP!” Darkwing leapt up on the back of the pilot’s seat and fired a gas canister straight down into the Negaverse Launchpad’s lap.

Onto Chapter 3

#darkwing #darkwing duck #launchpad #launchpad mcquack #nega launchpad #negaverse #fanfic #fanfiction #darkwing fanfic #darkwing fanfiction #i hope i'm linking chapters right

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mcnamaste · 3 years

Photo

Task 001: Character Playlist.

Another case of Affluenza - a Dylan McNamara playlist

Snippets of Lyrics below:

Side A + Dylan’s vibe

1. all in my head (flex) - Fifth Harmony feat. Fetty Wap

Flex, time to impress Come and climb in my bed Don't be shy, do your thing It's all in my head

fun fact - the original song that they sampled this chorus from actually goes like this:

Girl flex, time to have sex Long time yuh have di rude bwoy yah a sweat Girl, flex time to have sex Look how long yuh have di rude bwoy a sweat

thanks for coming to my ted talk

2. ain’t my fault - zara larsson

It ain't my fault you keep turnin' me on It ain't my fault you got, got me so gone It ain't my fault I'm not leavin' alone It ain't my fault you keep turnin' me on I can't talk right now I'm lookin' and I like what I'm seein' Got me feelin' kinda shocked right now Couldn't stop right now Even if I wanted, gotta get it, get it, get it, when it's hot right now Oh my god, what is this? Want you all in my business Baby, I insist Please don't blame me for whatever happens next

3. sugar - Maroon 5

I'm hurting baby, I'm broken down I need your loving, loving I need it now When I'm without you, I'm something weak You got me begging, begging I'm on my knees

4. stupid love - Lady Gaga

You're the one that I've been waiting for Gotta quit this cryin', nobody's gonna Heal me if I don't open the door Kinda hard to believe, gotta have faith in me

5. desperado - Rihanna

If you want, we can be runaways Running from any sight of love Yeah, yeah, there ain’t nothin' There ain't nothin' here for me There ain't nothin' here for me anymore But I don't wanna be alone

6. pray for me - The Weeknd, Kendrick Lamar

I'm always ready for a war again Go down that road again It's all the same I'm always ready to take a life again You know I'll ride again It's all the same (Ooh, ooh, ooh) Tell me who's gon' save me from myself When this life is all I know Tell me who's gon' save me from this hell Without you, I'm all alone

Who gon' pray for me? Take my pain for me? Save my soul for me? 'Cause I'm alone, you see If I'm gon' die for you If I'm gon' kill for you Then I spilled this blood for you, hey

7. 24k magic - Bruno Mars Pop pop, it's show time (Show time) Show time (Show time) Guess who's back again? Oh they don't know? (Go on tell 'em) Oh they don't know? (Go on tell 'em) I bet they know soon as we walk in (Showin' up) Wearing Cuban links (ya) Designer minks (ya) Inglewood's finest shoes (Whoop, whoop) Don't look too hard Might hurt ya'self Known to give the color red the blues

Ooh shit, I'm a dangerous man with some money in my pocket (Keep up) So many pretty girls around me and they waking up the rocket (Keep up) Why you mad? Fix ya face Ain't my fault y'all be jocking (Keep up)

8. bed - J. Holiday

Wanna put my fingers through your hair Wrap me up in your legs And love you till your eyes roll back I'm tryna put you to bed, bed, bed I'mma put you to bed, bed, bed Then I'mma rock ya body Turn you over Love is war, I'm your soldier Touchin' you like it's our first time I'mma put you to bed, bed, bed I'mma put you to bed, bed, bed

9. don’t judge me - Janelle Monáe

Even though you tell me you love me I'm afraid that you just love my disguise Taste my fears and light your candle to my raging fire Of broken desire

But don't judge me I know I got issues, but they drown when I kiss you Don't judge me Baptize me with ocean, recognize my devotion

10. the greatest - Sia

I'm free to be the greatest, I'm alive I'm free to be the greatest here tonight, the greatest The greatest, the greatest alive

11. love in this club - Usher feat. Young Jeezy

You say you're searching for somebody that'll take you out and do you right Well, come here, baby and let daddy show you what it feel like You know all you got to do is tell me what you sipping on And I promise that I'm gonna keep it coming all night long

12. u don't have to call - Usher

Aw, girl, your face is saying, "Why?" Tears in eyes Should've been more smart about it Should've cherished me, listening to friends Now it's the end And again, no story can end without it

Side B + Annalise Young (Infidelity & Divorce)

1. forgive me - Chloe x Halle

Baby, what you think this is? Why you wanna plead the fifth? You ain't gotta tell me what it is 'Cause I saw the messages You must got me fucked up You must got me fucked up I think I had enough

So forgive me, forgive me I been goin' too hard in your city So forgive me 'cause I'm not teary Best believe I'll move onto better things

2. makes me wonder - Maroon 5

Wake up, blood-shot eye Struggle to memorize The way it felt between your thighs Pleasure that made you cry It feels so good to be bad Not worth the aftermath, after that, after that Try to get you back

I still don't have a reason And you don't have the time And it really makes me wonder if I ever gave a fuck about you

3. maps - Maroon 5

I miss the taste of a sweeter life I miss the conversation I'm searching for a song tonight I'm changing all of the stations I like to think that we had it all We drew a map to a better place But on that road I took a fall Oh, baby, why did you run away?

I was there for you In your darkest times I was there for you In your darkest night

But I wonder, where were you? When I was at my worst Down on my knees And you said you had my back So I wonder, where were you?

4. mend this love - Vaults

Take me from the edge Steal a step and lead me back from harm Hold it in your hand Crush it into crumbs like nothing's wrong

And tell me "right what you wanna know? Take what you wanna hide It's too late to mend this love" And tell me "go where you wanna go Break what you never had It's too late to mend this love"

5. wicked game - Chris Isaak

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you It's strange what desire will make foolish people do I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you

No, I don't wanna fall in love (This world is only gonna break your heart)

6. love’s divine - Seal

Then the rainstorm came over me And I felt my spirit break I had lost all of my belief, you see And realized my mistake But time threw a prayer to me And all around me became stil

7. beautiful mistakes - Maroon 5 & Megan Thee Stallion

It's beautiful, it's bittersweet You're like a broken home to me I take a shot of memories And black out like an empty street I fill my days with the way you walk And fill my nights with broken dreams I make up lies inside my head Like one day you'll come back to me

8. i’m not the only one - Sam Smith feat. A$AP Rocky

You and me, we made a vow For better or for worse I can't believe you let me down But the proof's in the way it hurts For months on end I've had my doubts Denying every tear I wish this would be over now But I know that I still need you here

You say I'm crazy 'Cause you don't think I know what you've done But when you call me baby I know I'm not the only one

9. perfect illusion - Lady Gaga

I don't need eyes to see I felt you touchin' me High like amphetamine Maybe you're just a dream That's what it means to crush Now that I'm wakin' up I still feel the blow But at least now I know

It wasn't love, it wasn't love It was a perfect illusion (Perfect illusion) Mistaken for love, it wasn't love It was a perfect illusion (Perfect illusion)

10. don’t walk away - John Legend feat. Koffee

We can't go out like this It's just the two of us We should be making up We could be making love Didn't  used to talk like this Now you say you're giving up Took too much to build this house I don't wanna sit and watch it burn down I ain't leaving, I ain't leaving, I ain't leaving, I ain't giving you space I will not be replaced I don't wanna save face Don't leave me open, leave me open, leave me open, leave me open like that Whatever love we had We need to get it back

11. if I could have you back - Aly & AJ

On the subject of you being gone forever I still can't believe it, I can't see it I should just stop counting days On the subject of the future Wouldn't it be nice to leave it open ended And pretend it could go either way

If I could have you back again I'd think about it once or twice, I guess If I could have you back I'd reconsider, maybe I'd say yes On the other hand, it would be better to have a life Without the constant indecision over If I could have you back If I could have you back

12. fairplay - Kiana Ledé

I think it's kind of funny You could say you love me Turn around and play me, yeah I think it's kind of funny You say things you don't mean Underestimate me, yeah

I have always done right by you Said you're never going to lie, liar Shit gon' come around full cycle I flip the script on you

Tell me why you mad Tell me why you're hurt Bet you didn't think that the tables would turn You gon' fuck around I'ma do the same How you like that karma? How you like that karma? Yeah, that's just fair play

Bonus:

busted - The Isley Brothers feat. JS

Busted, It's 2 o' damn clock in the morning, where you been? (Baby didn't you get my 2-way I was with my girlfriend) You are lyin', I called Kiesha and Tanya And they were both at home (But I didn't say them though) Well they're the only friends I know Girl you better (Wait before you get all upset here's the truth) Talk to me (I was with my girl when she got some bad news) And...? (Her man cheated, had her upset and confused) But baby what's that got to do With you coming in at 2? (I'm telling you, now she was so upset She asked me to stay with her) Well why didn't your ass just pick up the phone and call me? (I was gonna do that but it slipped my mind I'm sorry) (But I'm telling you the truth) Yeah, well I got something for you... Tell me what's her name? (Sharon) Where does she live? (Uuummm...) Her man's name? (Billy) She got kids? (I think one or two) She got kids? (Baby yes, no) That's one thing I got to know How the hell is she your friend If you don't know if she got kids?

#darkesttask1 #( tasks. )#( dossier. )#dylan/annalise

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kayteewritessteve · 5 years

Text

Beautifully Unfinished - 5/8

Description: One foolish outburst, one moment of weakness at the worst possible time, and everything goes up in smoke. Who knew finally voicing your true, deep-rooted feelings, would lead to the complete destruction of your most cherished friendship?

Masterlist HERE.

Word Count: 4,580 ish.

Pairing: Modern!Steve Rogers x Reader.

Rating: PG.

Warnings: Curse words. Lots of angst. But if you’ve read my stories before, then you know how this will end.

A/N: I sadly don’t own any of these characters. And no beta reader, so I do proudly own all the errors and this story, so there’s that.

First Careers.

You quickly make your way down the busy sidewalk, trying to make up for the few extra minutes it took to get out of work. You’d been working for Avengers Publishing House for 3 weeks now, and were loving it so far. Though it was a lot of work and you didn’t really have much free time anymore. You barely got to see your best friends lately, you all just starting on your career paths and slowly figuring out your own lives and new jobs.

Bucky had just passed his bar exam, and had started at a prestigious law firm about 2 weeks ago. You hadn’t seen much of him lately, but you kept each other informed on your day to day lives via text. He was enjoying the new job, but made it very clear that it was a learning curve and very draining work. Going from school life, to the working force was a shell shock for sure. Yes, you had all the book knowledge, but none of the real word experience, so new jobs were a lot to take in at first. You all figured they would be, but not to this extent. But he was happy, and thriving in his career choice, so that’s what truly mattered.

Steve had gotten a paid intern position at the MoMA, it was a once in a lifetime experience and he was over the moon for being chosen for the spot. But he had busted his ass to get it and you couldn’t have been prouder of him or his accomplishments. This was a huge stepping stone for him and his career, and from here more doors would be opened for him, and he’d have many more exciting and fulfilling opportunities in the future. He’d been there for 3 weeks now, having started damn near directly after leaving school.

And you, we’ll you’d been offered a Junior Editors position with Avengers, a very well known and reputable publishing house in Manhattan. It was the first stop on the climb to your dream job, and you were overjoyed with the opportunity to join their team. You’d always loved reading, and at a young age you’d figured out that being a publisher was right up your alley. And now that you had your foot in the door, you’d been entirely right on that thought. But it was a lot of work, late hours and spending your weekends at home and making your way through the stack of manuscripts you’d been given on a deadline.

So you had barely seen the guys over the last few weeks, you’d have the odd small coffee meets on rushed lunch breaks. Or the odd night you’d get together for your traditional weekly BFMMN™ (Best Friend Movie and Munchie Night.) But lately it was less of a tradition, and definitely not weekly. And when you did manage to come together, you’d all usually be out of it and exhausted, so the conversation was non-existent or minimal, at best. You all just being happy in the presence of your best friends, even in utter silence. It was better than nothing.

But today, you were all meeting for dinner, going out to finally celebrate your new jobs and your introductions to the working force. And in Classic You form, you’d lost track of time and were now running late. As per usual.

The restaurants sign finally comes into view and you pick up the pace a little, maneuvering through the swarms of people that always seemed to crowd the city sidewalks. But especially directly after working hours, all the people moving to and from their jobs, their homes and various businesses along the streets. Going to meet friends, to grab coffee or just take a leisurely stroll.

You weren’t taking a leisurely stroll currently though, you were damn near throwing elbows to get to the restaurant in a timely manner. You weren’t super late, by any means, but late was late, and awarded you less time with your best friends. Which wasn’t okay, at all. Not lately at least, not with how little you’d seen either of them the last few weeks.

You’d planned this dinner with them a few weeks ago, to make sure you all were free and clear, and wouldn’t miss it for anything else. You’d made the guys swear to set reminders in their phones so no one forgot or made other conflicting plans tonight. Come hell or high water, you were having dinner with your friends, and then the three of you were returning to your place after, for a few drinks and a movie. There was no getting out of it this time, you needed a fun, relaxing night with your guys, desperately.

You reach the entrance to the restaurant and quickly pull open the door, finding a beautiful young woman standing behind a podium. She asks for the reservation name, and you give her yours as you’d set it up. She smiles, informing you that only one other person has arrived so far and then leads you to the back where the table is.

As your eyes scan the room quickly, they land on a glorious head of blonde hair and a large involuntary smile takes over your face. Stevie, you should have guessed he’d be here first, he was always on time, or in most cases, early.

You also shouldn’t have been so worried about being a few minutes late, as Bucky always showed up last. You were positive that the guy treated being fashionably late like it was a dang character trait. He took it seriously, and never showed up on time, not even remotely.

He ran on his own clock and you’d actually lied to him a few times over the years, giving him incorrect early start times for important things, so that he’d end up late for the fake start time, but right on time for the real one. He’d always chuckle the second he arrived and saw the smug and satisfied expressions on yours and Steve's faces at him accidentally, yet strategically, arriving on time. Though you couldn’t pull that trick too often, or it would cease to work, so you had to pick your battles, and only use it in important or dire situations.

You make your way towards the table, and Steve, admiring the unfairly beautiful angle, even if it was the back of his head. But that wasn’t a shock, the guy was gorgeous and looked outstanding from all sides. It was wholly unfair and a rather large piss off, if you were honest, the guy didn’t have a bad angle anywhere. All hard lines, muscles and taut tanned skin. Then his perfect blonde hair and mesmerizing deep blue eyes, he was the walking embodiment of perfection in your eyes, and probably in many other people's eyes as well.

As you get closer to the table, you notice he is hunched forward a little and looking down, and it doesn’t take a rocket doctor to guess that he probably has his illusive sketchbook out. You have always known, from early on, that Steve loved to draw. He took his sketchbook everywhere with him and pulled it out whenever he was waiting, or no one was watching. But you’d only ever seen a few of his sketches, he was very secretive about his artwork. He didn’t like to show it off and the odd time he did, he was always humble yet embarrassed by it. Saying that it either wasn’t finished yet, or wasn’t that good.

You’d praise the artwork every time though, and not because you were his best friend, but because it was genuinely always amazing. He had a real talent, if he could just get over his insecurities and actually show his work off to the world, he’d see just how honest your praises really were.

But he’d always shrink away at the mention of showing people, saying he didn’t draw for recognition, but instead just for him. It was his stress relief and he only drew whatever caught his eye or inspired him that day. Like little snapshots of his life that were just for his eyes, and his eyes only.

You gave up trying to persuade him to share his art with the world, hell, to even just share it with you and Buck. And instead you’d just leave the topic entirely alone, it wasn’t your place to demand anything from him, especially if it made him uncomfortable. Or felt like you were pulling teeth. So you’d dropped the whole art thing completely, and instead just left it up to him to decide what, and when, he shared it with you. And each time he’d show you a little something, you lapped it up with eager enjoyment and locked away the mental snapshot forever. Taking any little morsel he offered and loving it as brightly as you could.

The fact he even showed you anything, spoke volumes to you. Made you feel so immensely special to be one of the select few who got to actually set eyes on his artwork.

“Whatcha drawing, Stevie?” You asked abruptly as you reached the table, pointedly not looking at his sketchbook out of respect for his art privacy. You quickly took your jacket off, hanging it on the back of your chair before taking the seat across from him.

Steve calmly, but promptly, shut the book and glanced up at you, no matter how many times you tried to startle him, it never worked. The guy had eyes on the back of his head, you swear. He smiled at you, before tucking the book and pencils away in his messenger bag. “Just the things around me. Ya know, the usual,” he shrugged.

You just nodded, averting your eyes to the menu in front of you, as you picked it up and glanced over the options. “Sorry I’m late, got tied up at work,” you pause, glancing around the table playfully before locking eyes with Steve and smirking. “But I see the Jerk is keeping up his personally appointed job of making me always feel on time,” you chuckled, and Steve did as well.

“Well, you know him, he always has to arrive last so we can all fully appreciate his outfit choice,” he grins and shakes his head, picking up his own menu also.

You both fall into a silence, it’s not exactly awkward, but it’s not exactly comfortable either. You and Steve have sort of drifted since he started dating Hailey, not so much physically but more mentally. You still hang out as a group, but no longer just the two of you. And you still talk, but no longer as deeply, it’s mainly surface stuff now. Your jobs, your families, your day to day lives.

He doesn’t talk about Hailey with you often, if at all, he keeps pretty mum about her actually. Barely even saying her name in your presence unless he absolutely has to. No lie, you're thankful for that, but also not at the same time, especially since their third date they’ve been damn near inseparable. Spending almost all their free time together, but he still makes the effort to join in on the group stuff. And luckily for you, he’s never once brought Hailey along, he’s never even asked, not once. He seems to understand and respect that your group time is just for your little circle of 3.

But it’s not that she wouldn’t be welcome to join, every once and awhile. You’d suck up your stupid jealous bullshit here and there, if you had to. She made Steve happy, from the small things you’d heard, and could perceive in your childhood best friend. So having her around the odd time, you could deal with, you weren’t a complete asshole. But yet you liked that he never brought her around, for the sake of your heart, but not that he did it for that reason. God no, he still had no clue of your feelings, and to this day, you’d still never voiced them aloud.

You guessed he never invited her more for the sake that you and Bucky were his friends, his best friends, and sometimes he just needed time away from Hailey. Time to just be a party of one, with people who truly knew him. He had his separate friends that he shared with Hailey, and she had her own friends that were entirely her own. It was a mutual thing for them, their own ways to escape and get the time they needed away from each other, so that the relationship didn’t feel smothering or overbearing. Little spaces here and there are so important, and needed to keep a relationship healthy and thriving. To keep it from turning toxic and becoming too codependent, because that was never a good thing.

Plus you figured he kept her separated because the three of you had so much history, that Hailey may have felt left out or like an outsider to, as she wasn’t around for most of your friendship. Nor was she present for many of the big, and memorable moments that you all reminisced about or brought up often.

Whatever his true reasonings were, you were just secretly thankful for them. And for the fact you had your guys entirely to yourself, whenever you got together. Yes, it was selfish, but most humans hate change, and with certain things, you weren’t any different. You were entirely human, after all.

“Works going okay?”

“Hmm?” You hum, lifting your eyes to find Steve studying you now, his focus no longer on his menu. How long was he staring at you? You have no clue. Are you positive that your slightly disheartened thoughts were clear as day on your face, and that he probably saw them all? Oh 100%, judging by the concerned look on his face currently. You clearly really needed to work on your poker face, it had obviously deteriorated in the last few weeks, what with your lack of needing to use it. “Oh, yeah,” you plaster on your signature fake smile. “Work is going great. How about you? How’s the prestigious MoMA treating you?”

His eyes light up, like they always do when he is excited about something. “It’s amazing, Y/N. Everyone has been so helpful and very knowledgeable. I’ve learned more in the last 4 weeks than I did in my entire time at school.” He chuckles, “or at least it feels like I have.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, Steve. I’m so happy you are enjoying it so much,” you smile fondly at him. This one a real smile for once. “No one deserves this experience as much as you, as you busted your ass in school.” You grin cheekily at him, “and I’d know, I was the one who had to drag you out of the library weekly, to force you to eat a real meal.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” He laughs at that, “did I ever properly thank you for single handedly keeping me alive back then?”

You place a finger on your chin as you hum, in feigned deep thought then shake your head. “Not that I can remember. But I take praise and apologizes in the form of baked goods, if you forgot.”

He smirks and shakes his head, “oh, I didn’t forget. Not for a damn second, not when a dozen cookies saved my ass more than a few times with you, throughout the years.”

“That they did,” you laugh, nodding in agreement to his words. “How’s Hailey?” The words slip from your mouth unfiltered and you want to kick yourself. Yet, you are curious how things are with them, you just should have waited till Bucky was here to act as a buffer. Because your conflicting thoughts on the topic of Steve's relationship caused you to do and say the dumbest things when she was occasionally brought up.

You were happy that he was, you truly wanted the best for him. But you still carried this ridiculous torch for him, and it hurt a little every time she was brought up. You were selfishly jealous of her, or maybe less of her, and more of the man she got to call her own. The one man you always wanted that privilege with, but would never get. You knew that, but just couldn’t fully come to terms with it. Maybe one day you would, maybe one day she could be brought up and you wouldn’t cringe internally and feel your heart crack a little more each time.

“Ah, good. She’s good,” he nods, focusing back on his menu. “What looks good here?”

You take a silent deep breath in, your abrupt question luckily not sullying the mood. “I was thinking the Cordon Bleu Chicken Burger sounds fantastic,” you hum, glancing over the options, “but then the Teriyaki Chicken Rice Bowl looks amazing as well.” You groan, “ugh, why can I never just pick one? Why do I always get stuck between two choices, and then literally have to decide when the waitress appears and asks what I want?”

Steve chuckles, “and then you instantly regret your choice the second the waitress walks away.”

You are just about to refute that, but a new voice joins the mix. “But then once the food arrives, she goes on and on about how good of a choice she made. And how great the food is.”

You snap your eyes over and see a grinning Bucky walking towards your table. He takes his jacket off and hangs it on the back of his chair before taking a seat in the spot beside Steve.

“Okay, I’m not that bad,” you defend and playfully roll your eyes at the guys chuckling and shaking their head in disagreement of your words.

“Oh, you totally are,” Bucky reaffirms for good measure.

Which causes you to laugh, “okay, fine, maybe I am. But just a little.”

“Try a lot,” Steve corrects and you sigh deeply, jokingly. Which causes you all to laugh before exchanging your fond hello’s, and asking Bucky the basic life update questions, before you all focus on the menu to make your selections before the waitress appears.

Once the food is ordered, you having once again left the choice to the last minute and then just threw your pick at the waitress like always, the three of you fall into a comfortable and familiar conversation. Taking about the ‘good old days’ and the more in-depth topics.

The food arrives and you all enjoy it, immensely. And once again, you are completely happy with your choice, like the guys mentioned, and your momentary panic for possibly ordering the wrong thing, also like they mentioned, flies out the window. Like every other time, which is so Classically You—as Bucky had pointed out directly after you’d all finished eating. Causing Steve to laugh and you to glare fondly at the large brunette.

Dinner goes well but just as the three of you are paying your separate bills, Steve’s phone rings and he pulls it from his bag, apologizing for forgetting to put it on silent. As was the Rule for group night, that being put in place back in high school when Bucky’s phone had gone off damn near the entire night and he’d ended up essentially ignoring you and Steve to reply to all his ‘fans’ as you’d dubbed them. So you’d implemented a silent phone policy, which basically meant no phones allowed on BFMMN™.

He steps away for a moment, saying it’s Hailey and promising to be quick. You sigh quietly to yourself and stand with Bucky, waiting for Steve to return.

“Hopefully everything’s okay,” you comment softly, slightly irked for the interruption to group night, but also a little worried as Hailey is usually super respectful of your group time. She normally never bothers Steve while he is with you, another thing you are really thankful for. You’re happy he found someone who isn’t overly intrusive or overbearing, she is good for him, as much as you hate to admit it, it’s the truth.

“I’m sure it is, she probably just can’t find the TV remote again,” Bucky shakes his head and his words cause you to furrow your brows and glance up at him.

“What?” You ask confused. Why would she call for something like that? “What do you mean?”

Bucky purses his lips, looking like he just realized he said too much. But why would he feel like that? “Ah, it’s nothing, really. She does it all the time,” he shrugs it off.

What the hell? “Does what all the time? Loses the TV remote?”

“No,” he sighs, scratching the side of his head, it’s a nervous tick of his, he does it whenever he is trying to find the right words. Which only intrigues you more. “Constantly calls him for silly little pointless things. I think she does it to ‘check in’ on him. Make sure he is where he says he is. I’ve mentioned my thoughts about it to Steve, but he just waves them off and says she is just forgetful.”

“Wait, wait,” you put up a hand as if to pause the conversation. “What are you going on about? She doesn’t call all the time. She’s never called him on group nights in the past.”

Bucky gives you a weird assessing look, “yes, she has. Every time, and multiple times per night. But Steve is usually really good with shutting his phone off before he joins us, so that it doesn’t go off constantly while we are all together.” He grins and in Classic Bucky form, he tries to fix the strange awkward atmosphere with humour. “I think you scared the Jesus out of him—or into him, whichever, when you snapped at me that one time for my phone going off all night. Since that night, he’s made it his life’s mission to never be on the receiving end of your cranky outbursts about phone etiquette during group time,” he chuckles. Then jokingly cringes, “You’re scary as hell when you're mad.”

“I had no idea,” you say quietly. Here you’d just finished praising the woman in your mind for her ‘respect’ for group night. When really, that clearly isn’t the case. How did you never know about this?

“I think that was kind of the point.”

“Why does she check in on him so much?” You ask curiously.

“I don’t know. I suspect it might have something to do with you, though.”

“Me?” You quickly ask, “what the hell? Why?”

“She has always had this weird fixation on you, for some reason she thinks there is something more between Steve and you.”

Leave it to Bucky to always give you the real tea, he may not come out and say it right away, but if it ever comes up and you ask him about it, he never lies or avoids the truth. He always tells you how he sees it, how it is, and you’ve always adored that about him. There’s no sugarcoating, and no bullshit, it’s just his own honest opinions on things.

“But we are just friends?” You asked confused, though it’s less a question and more a statement. “What could she possibly be worried about? There are no feelings like that between us.” Which is partially true, from Steve’s side at least. However it’s a complete and blatant lie from yours, but no one knows that—for sure—aside from you. Bucky raises a disbelieving brow at you, but doesn’t comment on your words.

“She seems to think otherwise.” He shakes his head, “But don’t worry too much about it, it’s always been this way and her insecurities are her own. Ya know, since both you and Steve have always been so adamant that you’re just friends.” He pauses, giving you a little side eye before continuing, once again making you aware that he probably does know of your true feelings for Steve. “She’ll either come to realize that, eventually, or she won’t, but that’s on her. Not you. And at the end of the day, it’s between her and Steve, they have to work it out themselves. Don’t stress too much about the things you can’t control.”

You nod, feeling a little guilty for possibly causing an issue in Steve’s relationship. But also slightly irked at the fact you’re just finding out about this now. And at the new realization that she doesn’t come around because she most likely doesn’t like you, when you’ve never done a damn thing to her. Or to warrant her disliking you that much. How fucking rude is that? You may not exactly like her either, but at least you’d suck it up and be civil, you do respect her and Steve’s relationship, and would never interfere with it. Ever. In any form.

Yet, she doesn’t seem to hold those same sentiments, as it turns out, and she tries to interfere with your friend time often. Go figure, you’d have never known that, if it weren’t for Steve forgetting to turn his phone off this time. Before you can think any further on this all, Steve returns looking for a split second like he is exhausted.

But the second his drained eyes meet yours, a light flickers in them and he smiles at you. It almost looks fake at first to your knowledgeable eyes, but you shake your head and ignore that thought as he approaches you both.

“Sorry about that, Hailey just had a quick question.”

Bucky scoffs quietly and you elbow him, giving him a warning look to zip it. “All good, Steve,” you smile at him. Deciding to not pull on this proverbial string for once, because you may not like where it ends up, and you fear that bringing this up to him will only stand to put more of a riff between you two.

“Should we head out?” You ask, glancing between the two guys, receiving nods then the three of you exit the restaurant and head towards your apartment.

Throughout the night, you keep your mouth shut on the topic of Hailey, Steve is never really forthcoming with you about her, and you’re realizing that it’s probably because of her insecurities about you. About your friendship with him, and you can’t be sure of this, but you're willing to bet that anytime you’re brought up, she probably has something to say about it. Or maybe he doesn’t bring you up at all, he’s never been dumb by any means, and he is probably aware of her feelings towards you. And maybe because he filters you out of his conversations with her, he just unconsciously does the same in reverse. Filtering out her from his conversations with you.

Shit, but who honestly knows? You’re so sick of overthinking every little thing in your friendship with Steve, solely because you refuse to ask him about it. You refuse to bring any of it up. But also mainly because you refuse to add anymore stress onto him. Especially this sort of unnecessary and pointless stress.

The last thing you want to do, is to drive him away, or push him away, because he can’t handle the questions and issues from both sides. Do you deserve more answers? Of course. Are you going to press Steve for them? Fuck no. So instead, you’ll just harass Bucky about it later, privately. But Steve will never know any of it, he’ll never know that you know about any of this.

Cause he’s the one that you can't lose. But he’s the one that you can't win.

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

@caps-lockdown @boxofteenageideas @giggleberts @strawberry-gothchild @theonelittleone @agentbadbitch @ratwrites @bandsandanimefreak @rockyroadthepastryarchy @lovvliies @cuffski @icesoccerer @steeeeverogers @zombiepotterfour @ledandan1244 @straightforwardly @denzmallows @xremember-me-notx @gwynethjodie @lollipopdomination @capstopavenger @jemimah-b99 @rcvenqers @justkending @alagalaska @silent-loucidity @sabertooth-potato @pies-wands-and-more @interstellarmess @gabriella69816 @phantom-soilder @viarogers @kaithezaftig @the-kinkiest-goblin @hysterically-original @badassbeckettswan @heyiamthatbitch @zlixlle @givemehopenfandoms @pretendingandpreposterous @frozen-phoenix17 @emotionallysalty @saturngirlz @atomicsludgedonutbiscuit @bohemian-barbie @marvelous-capsicle @ivoryhazlewood @cjhorseback @jessiedaeum @capricornprince118 @pinkleopardss @drayshadow @wiserebelpartypie @dark-night-sky-99 @patzammit @cs-please @troublermalik @anika-ann @wxstedhexrt @rynabarnesrogers

#au fanfiction #fanfiction #long post #long read #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #modern!steve rogers x reader #modern!steve rogers #modern!steve #modern au #steve rogers au #Beautifully Unfinished #Part 5

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 4 years

Text

Psycho Analysis: The Moonchild

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

I feel like this one was inevitable. As soon as I decided to bust open the doors on literary mediums like books and comics, this guy was always going to loom over me. Well, let’s just bite the bullet and talk about him.

In the final portion of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Centuries, we are introduced to Oliver Haddo’s ultimate creation… a creation he is incredibly disappointed in. You see, the Antichrist or Moonchild is a whiny, miserable young adult strung out on prescription drugs because he went mad after realizing what he was being manipulated into. He is the subject of derision by all who know him, and is treated like a punching bag by most of the narrative, up to and including God literally telling him he’s a bitch. Our villain here is just a miserable, whiny, kind of misogynistic brat who doesn’t even want to be a villain, and in general is just unpleasant and ineffective save for a school massacre he pulls off.

Oh yeah, and his real name is Harry Potter. Kind of an important detail, that.

Motivation/Goals: So as the antichrist, you’d think Mr. Potter might, you know, maybe want to bring about the end of days and all that. But no! He actually pops pills and isolates himself in Grimmauld Place so that he doesn’t do that! He doesn’t want to be the Antichrist and, really, who would? Most of his screentime is thus spent whining, until he ultimately decides to embrace being the Antichrist because he feels he has no other choice. We’ll get into all of that in a bit, but honestly, his motivation is extremely weak despite the incredibly graphic setup we’re given to his downward spiral: when he first discovered he was being manipulated by Satanists, he went on a magical school shooting, shown to us in a first-person perspective to emulate the games that were often blamed for real school shootings. We get to see Harry slaughter Ron, Hermione, Snape, Dumbledore, and so on, we get to see what he did to Hogsmeade and the Hogwarts Express, and absolutely none of it is pleasant.

With setup like that you’d expect maybe a little more intrigue and indecision, maybe some sort of conflict between fate and choice or something beyond Harry sitting around half-naked, high off of antidepressants, being a whiny little bitch, but you might be giving the dude who wrote a porno where the kids from Peter Pan engage in underage incest a bit too much credit.

Final Fate: So Harry has gone absolutely bonkers and it seems that nothing can possibly stop him; our heroes seem to be written into a corner. So what does Moore do? He has God - who in this universe is Mary Poppins - descend from the heavens and have her say how she protects the imaginations of children and how she just straight up hates Harry. Never mind that Harry is quite literally an abused child who was twisted by the cruel machinations of a body surfing wizard, apparently he’s a child not worth protecting or caring about and is unworthy of sympathy. Anyway, Mary Poppins just turns him into a chalk drawing and that’s the end of that.

Great writing, Alan Moore, critically acclaimed creator of Watchmen!

Best Scene: Saying Harry here had a ‘best scene’ is seriously pushing it, because literally every moment he’s on the page the comic just beats you over the head with Moore’s biases. I wish I could put the school shooting sequence, because the idea behind it is legitimately intriguing, but the whole sequence is just interwoven with Moore whacking off his hateboner for the series. But on the subject of boners… well, I think there’s only one panel that can truly and adequately sum up this entire character and how much of a miserable failure he is. Those who have followed me for a long time knew this was coming, but for the rest of you, behold - Harry Potter Dick Lightning:

Final Thoughts & Score: Quite frankly, this is the worst thing Alan Moore has ever done.

I’m not even mad as a fan of Harry Potter; Moore was honestly ahead of his time in hating the franchise to this level. The issue I have is that he doesn’t really deconstruct or criticize in any meaningful way, he just is doing edgy “take that” stuff that you’d expect from a chump like Garth Ennis. Like, the concept here is incredibly solid and intriguing - this version of Harry has been groomed from birth by Satanists to become the Antichrist, with all of his adventures fabricated and all of his relationships manufactured to keep him under the illusion he is a hero to mankind. Upon discovering the truth, he snaps, massacres everyone at his school for their role in his manipulations, and went into exile to stave off the apocalypse, although he ultimately and bitterly accepts his role because he feels he was never given a choice… and he wasn’t! He’s an incredibly depressing and miserable deconstruction of the concept of “The Chosen One,” and yet the whole thing falls apart on multiple levels.

The first is that the Harry Potter franchise already deconstructs the concept of “The Chosen One;” the text goes out of its way to point out that Voldemort’s own actions are what is creating a self-fulfilling prophecy by targeting someone with the will and drive to fight back against him. Harry’s not so much chosen by fate so much as forcibly chosen by an evil manipulator… and that’s basically what we have here, but with less substance. Moore doesn’t really comment on anything, instead leading into the second big issue - Harry’s whole role is to be a strawman punching bag villain so that Moore can complain about modern fantasy franchises. Moore seems to view Harry as the epitome of the lazy regurgitation of the same story over and over that modern blockbuster culture so often falls into… except that Harry Potter was an original product developed by one person and had no artificial longevity slapped onto the franchise in the form of unneeded sequels or spinoffs to extend the lifespan of the franchise at the time Moore wrote this. Throw in the fact Moore just in general seems extremely contemptuous of any post-70s pop culture in Centuries and how Harry is ultimately taken down by crusty old characters from older literature really just leads to Moore coming across as a grumpy old man who hates anything new, not helped by his tired criticisms of millennials and their perceived lack of culture. Maybe Moore would have had more of a point if he created this storyline today, but he didn’t. Thus, he has no point and he just looks like a miserable old fart.

Sure, you can argue that maybe Moore’s basic parody of the character by exaggerating his tendencies to their logical extreme and attacking elements of the plot that had been criticized to death by fans to begin with has its place, and perhaps you could even say that the take in the comic is just an extreme take on how Harry acted in the fifth book, what with the lashing out at his friends and his general feeling of a lack of control, and there is some merit to that, or there would be if Moore’s own unrepentant bias didn’t undermine everything. Look, you can hate Harry Potter, but then why slap it into your work? It’s supremely cringey when people insert characters they hate into fanfiction and just completely derail their characters so that they can treat them like garbage with the narrative, and is that not what Moore did here? Is League not just public domain fanfiction? There’s a reason why I coined “Harry Potter Dick Lightning” as a phrase used to showcase a moment where a fanwork’s contempt for a character becomes so extreme that it not only jumps the shark, it rockets over it into the upper atmosphere. Any criticisms or messages Moore is trying to convey is tarnished by his blatant, seething contempt for the character, and that gets in the way of good writing and good storytelling. Having two characters express pity at having to murder an abused child who was warped by Satanists into being a tool of the apocalypse does not make up for how the narrative constantly mocks, belittles, and treats him like garbage to the point he really can’t function as an effective villain that can be taken seriously.

All of this adds up to what I’d argue is the absolute worst villain in all of fiction, bar none. There is just not a single redeeming quality about the Antichrist as a character. None. Nothing. I cannot think of another villain that so completely fails on every single level as this one does. He doesn’t work as an antagonist because most of the bad things he does are offscreen and he doesn’t come into conflict with the heroes until the very end, and most of his screentime features him doing nothing of note. He doesn’t work as a critique, because he is acting as a criticism for things his character never really represented in the first place. He only really functions as the sort of garbage you’d see in My Immortal, where the characters you know and love are turned into evil jerks because the writer hates them - but he even fails at being that, because at least My Immortal is funny about it!

I am going out on a limb and saying that there cannot possibly be a villain that so utterly fails at everything it sets out to be as hard as Harry does. I don’t even want to try and believe it. And so, without hesitation, I am giving Moore’s shallow Potter parody a 0/10. And I pray to Mary Poppins that this is the only one of those I ever dish out, because I really don’t want to imagine what could possibly be worse than Harry Potter Dick Lightning.

#Psycho Analysis #Harry Potter #the league of extraordinary gentlemen #Alan Moore #Centuries #The Antichrist #The Moonchild

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soapsilly · 5 years

Text

The Saviors of the Galaxy - Guardians of the Galaxy Imagine

Pairings: Guardian x Reader; Platonic!Rocket x Platonic!Reader

Summary/Request: Soooo I wanted to ask about a guardiens of the galaxy one. The reader tries to steal something from the ship and the guardiens catch her. They kind of adopt her into their team and the reader becomes really good friends with rocket and together they built all this crazy stuff and mock peter and so on.

And remember: Requests are open!

This one really took a lot longer than the other ones I feel like but it’s been a few busy weeks for me.

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“Shit!” The Guardians were awoken by loud cursing followed by the sounds of rattling metal. In just a matter of seconds the intruder was sourrounded by Gamora, Drax, Rocket and Peter Quill, every one of them with some type of weapon.

“Who are you? What are you doing on our ship?”, Gamora asked firmly with her weapon aimed perfectly at the girl’s nose.

“Who cares who she is? She shouldn’t be here!” Rocket shouted, excited to try out his newest invention.

“Wow. You’re the Saviors of the Galaxy. If I had known who’s ship I was robbing I would’ve brought my pen and paper”, the girl seemed genuinely surprised but not intimidated.

“Guardians. Were the Guardians of- nevermind. How did you not know what ship you were robbing? We’re superstars!” for the moment Peter didn’t care that the girl was trying to steal from his ship, how didn’t she know him?

“Well, do you know what spaceship Nova Prime flies privately?” she answered his question with another question. The girl wandered off, unbothered by the weapons that were still aimed at her, looking at the multitude of bits and pieces that littered the floor.

“I mean who lives like that? This ship is a mess”, she murmured.

“Hello?! We’re still here!” Peter exclaimed, confused and a little irritated that the intruder was completely unbothered and insulting his home.

Gamora lowered her weapon, realizing that the girl didn’t care anyways.

“Who are you and what were you looking for?” she asked her.

“My name is (Y/N) and I was trying to find something useful. Nothing in particular. Ravager ships usually have all kinds of interesting stuff on them. By the way no need for you to introduce yourselfs. I know you”, she explained.

“Here we have Gamora, of course. Then there is Drax the Destroyer, nice nipples”, she sent him a wink, “here’s Mantis, Rocket and Groot. And lastly Star-Prince”

“Lord!” Peter exclaimed.

“Are you sure? Isn’t a prince kinda better than a lord? Why would you go for Star-Lord if you could go by Star-King even?”

Before Peter could start arguing with her more, Rocket interjected “I like that one, Quill. She’s got a point. Can we keep her?”

“Yes, I’m sensing a really positive aura from her”, Mantis agreed.

“I am Groot”

“Indeed! She seems like a highly competent young lady”, Drax agreed.

And before Peter could argue with them, (Y/N) interrupted him “Alrighty then, we’re can I leave my stuff?”

*******************************************************************************************

It’s been a few weeks since (Y/N) joined the Guardians. She knew exactly how to interact with every single member, as all of them have a distinctive character. But she and Rocket hit it off immediately. They bonded over their love for tinkering and building new stuff - extra points if that stuff happens to be explosive.

“Nonono, this doesn’t belong there. That goes over here!” Rocket groaned “what do you even know?”

“I know what I’m doing! Just trust me”, the girl shunned him.

Rocket threw his hands up and watched her with no further interruption but muttered something inaudible under his breath every now and then, which (Y/N) just kept ignoring.

After she connected a last wire, the device started glowing blue and a humming sound emitted from withing it.

Rocket turned towards the device with a surprised expression.

“Told you so..” the girl told her friend.

“So whomever we shoot with this baby will completely lose their sense of balance? No way to walk a straight line?” he inquired.

“Now listen. This thing has only enough energy for three uses, so we can not use this carelessly.” she explained.

“Wanna shoot Quill?”

“Definitely.”

*******************************************************************************************

“I don’t get it. Where are we even going?” (Y/N) asked.

“Would you be quiet? We’re trying to break into this facility and free the animals they’re doing illegal testing on, so I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t bust us before this mission has even begun”, Peter hissed.

“Yeah, genius and just walking up to the front door would not achieve exactly that?”

The Guardians stopped in their tracks and turned towards her.

“What do you mean?” Gamora asker the girl further.

“Well, there’s a back entrance? The security guards only come by there every twenty or so minutes because you’d have to get through a swamp to get there. Most people wouldn’t bother. The door opens via numeral code that changes every day but I got a device for that”, the girl shrugged.

“How do you even know all that?” Quill was getting irritated.

“I’ve been here before”, she explained.

They stood in silence for a few seconds until all of the Guardians started to bicker.

“What the heck Quill?” Rocket shouted.

“Okay okay okayokay OKAY!” Peter shouted, “if (Y/N) knows best why doesn’t she lead the way then?”

“Quill, don’t shout. You just told (Y/N) to be quiet as to not bust the mission”, Drax informed a lost looking Peter, with Mantis nodding eagerly.

*******************************************************************************************“I don’t know, Gamora. Who is she? Where is she coming from? We basically know nothing about her but still we just let her stay with us. And besides... she doesn’t like me” Peter complained to his girlfriend.

“Peter, of course she likes you. Maybe you’re just a little jealous? I mean she gets along great with everybody - especially with Rocket”

“Yeah, that’s another thing! We don’t need another Rocket! That’s madness” Peter exclaimed.

“I think she’s calming him a little bit. I think-”

Gamora was interrupted by a loud explosion sound which was followed by a ‘are you kidding me’ look from Peter.

A coughing and soot covered (Y/N) entered the room. Rocket followed her, one of his left whiskers still smoking.

“Hey Pete? We might need to get a new temperature calibrator”, (Y/N) sheepishly informs him.

“You see what I mean?!” Peter turned to Gamora and pointed at them with his two arms fully stretched out.

*******************************************************************************************To get the replacement and to stock up on groceries they had to make a pit stop on Knowhere.

When they arrived the Guardians were instantly swarmed by the people on the street. Eventhough Knowhere was not considered the most friendly of all places, the group had fans all over the Galaxy.

(Y/N) sort of just trailed behind and watched how everybody pooled around their ‘favourite’, with the children generally being drawn to Groot and Rocket - much to Rocket’s dismay.

Groot was creating and handing out little daisies, Peter was playing around with the kids and Mantis was just over all happy with the friendlyness.

Gamora, Rocket and Drax, however seemed slightly overwhelmed with the newly gained attention.

(Y/N) stood by and watched her new friends with a smile. She really liked every single one of them. They were all outcasts of some type so it really felt good to have a place where she felt like she belonged to.

While she was occupied with her thoughts a little girl tugged on her shirt.

“Excuse me? Are you also a Guardian of the Galaxy?” the girl asked with big eyes.

(Y/N) smiled at the girl and crouched down to answer, “No I’m not, but I am friends with them. Would you like me to introduce you to them? I’m sure Groot has a little flower for you”

As the two of them started to make their way over to the group of people a guy was calling over to them.

“Don’t go over there! They aren’t even worth it. Just a bunch of wannabe heroes that are actually just no good criminal scum!”

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks and told the little girl to wait for a minute. Then she turned towards the guy that was snickering and still trash talking the Guardians with his friend group.

“Oi! What the heck did you just say? That criminal scum, as you’ve just called them, saved the freaking galaxy from Ronan, which includes your sorry ass too. So if I were you I’d shut my fucking mouth before I come over there and make you shut up, jackass. Every single one of them is more of a hero than you’ll ever be”, she hollered at the group.

“And who the fuck do you think you are? You little-” the man started to get angry and marched over to her.

But before he could even finished his sentence Star-Lord himself stood next to her with his hand already placed over his gun, in case he’d need it.

“Who she thinks she is? She’s part of the Guardians of that Galaxy and she’s right you are indeed a jackass”, he told the man firmly but sent (Y/N) a reassuring wink.

The other Guardians were making their way over to them aswell.

“Yeah, we’re the Guardians and we don’t like anybody insulting our friends. And this one” - Rocket pointed to (Y/N) - “I am especially fond of, so I’d recommend you get outta here before something bad happens”

As Rocket was about to pull out his gun, Peter reminded him that they didn’t want a fight if not necessary. Rocket groaned because the dude did deserve it but put away his gun nonetheless.

The Guardians were just about to turn away when Groot decided that the guy really did deserve it and extended one of his branches and swung it at his feet, knocking him straight on his ass.

When the man regained his footing he scrambled to flee the scene, while the Guardians all just looked at Groot, who just slowly made his way back to where he was before, “I am Groot”.

“So he’s allowed to do it but I’m not?” Rocket asked.

*******************************************************************************************

Epilogue

“Sooooo I’m a Guardian of the Galaxy or what?” (Y/N) got out of the group hug and asked Peter with a suggestive grin.

#guardians of the galaxy imagine #guardians of the galaxy x reader #rocket raccoon x reader #rocket raccoon imagine

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