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mcdonaldsnumberone · 2 years

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grand prix

“drifting, drifting, drifting.”

f1 racer! epel x reader

gender neutral reader

synopsis: sixteen-year-old epel felmier is taking up the racing world by storm with his unmatched zest for driving and his terribly young age. with his first race ahead of him, the two of you find a rare moment to breathe, and you find yourself wondering about the beautiful yet talented boy.

“Are you nervous?”

Epel traced his delicate fingers over the wheels of his beloved race car, steadying his breathing as his bright blue eyes glossed over every curve and edge of the vehicle. How many years had he dreamt of making a debut like this? If he closed his eyes, he could imagine every turn and every swerve he made in his career to get himself to this stage. The road was nothing but a blur for him, with his hands gripping the wheel and all the sights around him turning into a mass of nothingness for him to ride past.

“No. I’m not nervous,” he replied, tearing his attention away from the car. You stood a few paces away, watching him with a worried face. Everyone’s focus had been on him nonstop for the past few weeks, and you hoped you weren’t intruding on the rare moments he had all alone to himself.

It wasn’t every day that a wide-eyed sixteen year old would take up the Formula 1 world up in storm—the Pomefiore company was proud to announce that they would be debuting the youngest F1 driver ever, someone who looked more like a deer caught in headlights rather than the one behind the headlights. There wasn’t a second where Epel wasn’t flanked by reporters and cameras whenever he stepped out in public. The boy had no clue that being a driver would constitute this much poise and decorum; all he thought he had to do was drive fast and bring home the progress and rewards he had promised.

Luckily for him, his sweet naïvete was paying off to an extent. All the attention on him meant that he was bound to make a splash with his debut no matter what he did, and Epel was sure that came to be through the rigid and precise predictions of his strict coach, Vil Schoenheit. Vil always instructed him on what to say and what to do to win the hearts of anyone who even so much as laid eyes on him, and it was Vil that crafted every part of his newfound status as a celebrity outside of the race track.

“I wish I was nervous. I think something’s wrong with me,” Epel admitted, resting his hand on the tire of the car. “Every time I think about racing, I get excited instead. I know all the other drivers out there are probably fretting over every little thing, but I just wanna get out there and show ‘em what I’m made of.”

“It’s probably because you’re new. At least we don’t have to worry about your nerves getting in the way,” you laughed, the relief in your voice as clear as day. “But you are right about everyone else fretting. Rook has the whole mechanic team up in a frenzy making sure that we have everything for your pit stops ready. Vil’s been doing a wonderful job keeping the media at bay until after your race. So all you need to do is relax and prepare yourself.”

“It’s my first proper race,” he breathed. His hands curled into a determined fist, and the ambitious smirk that overtook his face was a look you were all too familiar with. It was the same face you stole glimpses off at your monitors whenever Epel was racing, whenever the adrenaline of the sport consumed his small body, whenever he turned from the doll-like little boy in front of you to an absolute monster that would stop at nothing to tear up the race track and leave the other drivers in the dust. You didn’t know someone was capable of such an image switch, but after seeing how much of a competent driver Epel was, you had nothing but high hopes and confidence for him.

“It is. You did excellent in qualifying yesterday, so you’ll be starting in a good position. You had the more experienced and tenured drivers seething. You should have seen their faces! Imagine racing for years, only to be shown up by someone new like you! You’re in a good place, so unless something goes disastrously wrong, you’ll be finishing really high up.” You stepped closer to him. Epel continued to admire his car, and you leaned in to whisper close to his ear. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll even finish first. Can you imagine that? Finishing first on your debut.”

He peered up at you, exhaling with a zeal only he could conjure up. “I won’t imagine it. I’ll make it happen.”

You laughed quietly, patting him on the back. “I expected nothing less of you! Only you would say something like that right before the race. I’ve worked in this industry longer than you have, but I don’t think I’ve ever met a driver so brazen and confident as you.”

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Vil always tells me I need to hold myself in high regard. Racing is a dangerous sport. You need to be focused and concentrated, and even the slightest bit of insecurity is what gets you wounded or even killed out on the race track,” he huffed to himself, inhaling deeply. He squared his jaw, and the vicious gleam in his eyes reminded you more of a beast raring to go than a boy awaiting his debut. “The same goes for everyone else around me. The smallest bit of weakness means that the other drivers will look down on me and tear me apart. And I sure as hell won’t let myself get taken down before I even step out on the track. I need to be confident, and I need to know that I will fucking see myself through to the end.”

“You aren’t wrong about that. Racing is ruthless in almost every aspect,” you sighed, smoothing his shoulder down. “But don’t force yourself to be strong if you can’t. I’m on your side, and you have every right to be nervous.”

“I know. I already told you though. I’m not nervous. I just want to get on the track and race again. Nothing beats the feeling of a good car and the wind on my body. And now that I’m a proper racer with an actual company and team backing me, there’s nothing that stands between me and the winner’s podium,” Epel breathed. He looked up at you, and the life that flooded his eyes and coursed in his veins was unmatched by any driver you had ever worked with.

You wondered what must have been going through his head. Vil had been the one to recruit Epel, a boy who barely knew anything about the world from what seemed like the middle of nowhere. Vil had promised everyone on the team that he knew what he was doing in taking Epel in, but he was such a far cry from the young, promising array of junior racers that had waited and trained their entire life to be in the position that he was in now. Everyone doubted Vil’s choice at first: what could an innocent looking country boy do, especially when he had no proper previous experience as a driver?

But he shattered everyone’s expectations. He had outperformed every junior driver the company had seen with a zeal for racing that was unmatched by any other driver anyone had worked with. It was like he turned into a monster the moment his hands touched the wheel—no matter what car he drove, he managed the car to bend to his will and bring home results that broke record after record. When you asked him how he managed to do that, Epel simply responded that the rush of racing excited him like nothing else and that getting a chance to take such a prestigious spot meant that he was becoming the man he always dreamt of becoming.

Even now, as he stood in front of his very own race car, the tension between him and the rest of the world was unlike anything you felt. Any other driver right now would be pacing the room and doing whatever they could do to calm their nerves and prepare themself for the race, but you had to practically keep Epel off of the car. Soon enough, Vil would be swinging around to pick the boy up and prepare to throw him out on the track, but for now, it was just you and your precious Epel in this moment of quiet reprise before the madness.

You cleared your throat, breaking the silence. Epel looked at you with his big eyes, the blue reminding you of the bright sunny sky earlier before the darkness set in. He was everything and nothing all at once—the untouched manner of a young man and the tainted ambition of a racer, the pure intentions of a boy and the merciless nature of a beast.

“I know you said you aren’t nervous, but… I want you to know I’m cheering for you. There’s no way I can understand what you feel right now, with the entire world peering down your back, but even if everything goes wrong and it feels like no one believes in you, I want you to know that I’m here for you. I want to see you happy. I know the company makes it out so that you’re only worth your results, but I think you’re worth so much more than that. You’re a brilliant driver but an even more brilliant person,” you breathed. You squeezed his shoulder and gave him a bashful smile, holding up your free hand in the shape of a supportive fist. “You got this, Epel! You’re going to do great, no matter what you do.”

His eyes widened as he faced you, and he broke out into a determined smirk. The hard edge in his eyes never left for even a moment, and you knew that he was barely restraining the excitement he felt for the upcoming race. He would only be satisfied when he was out on the track, tearing up the other drivers and their underestimations of him, and you knew he would be the one on the highest cloud nine when the whole thing was done and over with. He had a whole career waiting to be unearthed in front of him, and this was just the first step towards what you knew would be a legend waiting to be created.

He leaned towards you, closing the distance between you and him. Before you could even realize what was happening, Epel had planted his lips carefully on your cheek in a sweet but short kiss. The gesture was sweet, gentle, and tinged with electricity, as if he was conveying all the bubbling emotions brewing in his heart with the kiss. All the love, all the support, all the gratefulness he felt towards you, spilling from him in the quick skin-to-skin contact mere moments before the two of you would be torn away from what would be the climax of the season.

You thought your heart was going to stop.

He kissed you. He kissed you.

“Thank you,” Epel murmured, whispering to you with a voice only reserved for lovers. “I promise I won’t let you down. I’ll make you proud.”

As if on cue, the door to the car storage room flung open, and the signature click-clack of Vil’s heels filled up the room. “Epel Felmier! Epel, you are going to be the death of me. Out, out! The mechanics need to move the car out to the track, and you need to be ready to go. Have you used the bathroom? Got some water? Is your suit on correctly? What about your helmet? Come, come!”

Epel flashed you his usual smile, methodically answering each and every one of Vil’s questions as you stood there, stunned and grinning like an idiot as the coach and racer moved past you. Even if you stood there alone, you felt like you were buzzing with the high of a driver who had just placed first, and you couldn’t wait to see how the rest of the race was going to play out.

This was going to be such an exciting season.

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #epel felmier #x reader #my writing #weirdos dni or ill run u over #this is me coming out as an f1 stan hehe f1 stannies pls talk abt hot drivers and fast cars w me #and yes im aware that the minimum age for f1 drivers is 18 but for the sake of the fic pls ignore that

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p---ink · 4 years

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Teach Me.

Author’s Note: So. I finally made a Peter Parker Fiction. And I know the gif is Arvin Russell, but that is for a reason, and maybe you'll see it, maybe you won't, BUT TELL ME IF YOU DO. So this is an unnamed OC fiction, but its mostly reader insert, aside from the fact that she’s black (surprise, surprise) and she has brown eyes. I made her an “OC” because of that fact. Also, get ready for some fluffy head cannons of Peter P. In the not-so-distant future though.

Summary: Maybe Peter Parker, isn't as innocent as he seems.

Warnings: Smut. Smut. and more Smut. Car-smut. Dark-ish Peter (Not really, but he’s not his usual wholesome self)

Song: Star-gazing by The Neighborhood. I literally based this entire fiction on this one song. Even if you don’t read the fic, you should listen to it.

Word Count: 5.5k

“If you don’t mind me asking,” She started, pausing a bit to give him time to look up at her, “ who brings a textbook to a frat party?”

His heart stopped for a moment when he realized who was speaking to him. But then he matched her grin shyly and replied, “It’s more of a conversation starter than anything.”

“Would you say its been working well?”

“I did somehow manage to get someone as pretty as you to speak to me.”

The smile that was already plastered on her face, grew wider along with her eyes and brows. “Wow Parker: Who knew you could be so bold after a few drinks?

“I’ve only had one, so the rest is all me.” He closed his book and readjusted his leg inviting her to sit. Then as if just realizing, he asked, “You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are. We went to Midtown together.” She said, getting comfortable on the couch.

“Yeah I know. But we barely spoke to each other. Sometimes I wondered if you even knew I existed.”

“I always kept tabs on cuties like you. Especially you, actually.” She declared.

“And you call me bold.” He muttered under his breath, a small blush creeping up.

“I’m always like this. Anyone who knows me, can tell you that. But anyone who knows you, would say the opposite. You were always so good.”

“Good?”

“Yes! Good. Innocent. Nice. Whatever floats your boat.”

“And I remember you being, bossy, assertive, and intimidating.”

She threw her head back in laughter before stating,“You say that like its a bad thing.” Coming down from her fits of giggles she adds, “You noticed me, too? Never thought I was on your radar.”

“How could anyone not notice you.” He asked. “We had English together our freshman year. First day of class, you challenged Mr. Frechowsky, for inflicting his political views on the rest of the class. He got so red in the face, after yelling at you for three minutes straight, but everyone was more shocked at you for being unfazed.”

“I forgot abou-”

“Sophomore year, you “accidentally” tripped Amy Shuemacker, after she made a rude comment about Ned’s weight. Junior year, you announced that you wanted to be not only the first female president, but the first who was black too. I remember telling myself you’d have my vote. Senior year, you almost had a mental breakdown when it looked like Michelle Obama was gonna run.” Peter finished, with not a hint that he was out of breath.

“I-” She was more than taken aback. “I’m embarrassed that you remember all of that. Its been like four years since we graduated. Frankly any other person would have forgotten.”

“I think its impossible for anyone who’s met you, to forget the day they did.” He admitted to her.

She just stared at him in awe for a moment. Mouth slightly agape from surprise. A shadow of a smile ever so present.

Even though he was the one to say it, it was his face that turned a tinge pinker than before when he realized the weight behind his words. He swallowed thickly, averting his attention to the patterns that lined the carpet, fearing that he made her uncomfortable. In all honesty, he used to have a proper crush on the girl, rivaled by even Romeo’s adoration for Juliet.

This was the same girl he once described as ethereal. He once told Ned that fairies wove the strands of her hair, and butterflies still lived there, claiming that he saw them playing beneath her braids. The sun literally lived under her skin, and it was the secret as to why it would glow, and why her smile was so bright. He would swear to anyone that listened, that the harp was made with her voice in mind, and that it, her voice, played a better melody. He used to be lovestruck. Guess those feelings still lingered.

If you asked him, two minutes ago had he gotten over it, his answer would’ve been yes. Would’ve been.

His sudden fluster—which she found adorable by the way, broke her from her trance as she grinned and said “Don’t act bashful now!” playfully shoving his arm as she uttered the words.

Quickly recovering from his earlier hiccup, he slowly returned her grin and tried to retaliate but before he could, “We have to go. Now.”

They looked up to see an irritated looking preppy girl impatiently scowling down at them. She couldn’t have been much older than 21, but no one told that to her clothes and aura. Her olive skin couldn’t hide the frown lines that had been assigned to her, nor the bags that would put a raccoon to shame. Besides the current circumstances that she would tell them in the next minute, Peter could tell on his own that the girl needed a date with sleep.

“What’s the matter Li? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, aside from the fact that Angie locked herself out of the apartment again.” She said sarcastically, muttering this last part under her breath “I swear I’ve had it with that girl.”

“Ah I see. Well then we better get going.” The girl affirmed, standing from her seat, making Peter rise from his. “Peter it was so nice seeing you. I hate to leave, I would’ve enjoyed catching up a bit more.” She said, turning to grab her coat.

“Well then we should catch up soon.”

She turned to nod her head, seemingly interested in his suggestion. “I’d love that. When did you have in mind?”

“How about now? if its a ride you’re looking for, I can drive you home.” Peter’s inner sixteen year old self, screamed at this opportunity. Time alone, with his four-year crush? He couldn’t not take advantage of the moment.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. It’s all the way on the other side of town.” She informed him.

“But you’re not asking me to do it. I’m offering, because, ‘ya know; I haven’t seen you in a while and I’d like to catch up, too.” He said, second-guessing himself and praying that he didn’t come on too strong. “Ya know. Only if you want to.” He added just in case.

Taking too much time debating whether or not she should say yes, the girl’s friend did it for her. “Sounds great! I’ll see you at home.” Spinning on her heels, and walking out of the door.

“Well.” The girl started, smiling at her old schoolmate. “I guess that settles it.”

“Shit!” He cursed, killing the engine completely, and slamming his head back on the headrest. After a couple minutes of trying to get it to start, the boy gave up like his car did.

It had been a full three hours since Alisha left the party. The time was spent competing about who could find out more about the other. He learned that she still had a thirst for changing the world and community around her. She learned that the boy had been bitten by a radioactive spider and was now New York’s most friendly vigilante. She never knew that Peter could be so hilarious.

They were stranded on some back road, miles away from civilization, with rain coming down on the roof of the car like they owed it money.

“Peter, what did you expect?” She began to question, giggling as she spoke. “This car is so old, Fred Flintstone has a newer model.”

“Hey!” He cried, “Don’t badmouth Karen. She just needs a little work.”

“You mean a lot of work. Karen is ancient.”

“She’s been good to me.”

“Should I call Triple A?” She asked, ignoring his dramatics. “The rain will probably let up by the time they get here.”

“I’ve got this.” He sighed, readying himself to leave the car. “Besides, triple A doesn’t know Karen like I do. They won’t be able to give her the love and patience she deserves” He explained, the car’s rickety door sounding as he disappeared into the rain.

She heard that same distinct sound not ten seconds later, as he reappeared, soaking wet from the rain’s onslaught. His white t-shirt clung to his body, while beads of water raced down his skin. His messy locks, traded their dark brown hue for a jet black one, and his dirty converses shone a little brighter than they did before he left the car.

“Maybe that wasn’t the best idea.” He admitted, the leather making a squelching noise as he glued himself back to his previous seat.

“The offer for triple A still stands.”

“No. I’ll let this play out. But maybe I can call you an Uber.”

“There’s no way I’m leaving you out here all alone. We’ll let this play out.”

“But this may take a while.”

“I’m the reason you’re out here in the first place. And I like your company, so i’ll stay.”

Peter knew he couldn’t argue with that one, so he let silence befall the two of them. It stayed like that for a moment. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it was definitely palpable.

She thought to say something, he did the same, but neither could quite let their words come to life. It was unlike the girl he knew before, who said the first thing that came to mind. Unlike himself, who did the same, but in a less graceful way.

Finally, after what felt like hours of deafening quiet, Peter begins with, “How long have you and Brad been a thing?” The question fresh on his mind, since her phone rang yet again, with his ugly mug lighting up the screen. It was the fourth time she ignored the notification.

It was rare for Peter to hate a person. In fact he didn’t hate many at all. But there was something about Brad that always made his stomach clench. Didn’t help that he was sniffing around his girl.

“Hmm.” She pondered, tapping her chin with her index finger. Acting as if she was carefully thinking about it.“For about for-never and a day” She finally answered.

“Oh I thought, that since—“ Peter stammered, growing embarrassed by his assumption, and the disdain that coated his words.

“Anyone would have, with him blowing my phone up.” She sighed. “But alas, nothing will ever come of us. No matter how much he wants it to. Wish he’d take a hint.”

Back to silence. But this time it didn’t consume Peter. It gave him a bit of hope, enough hope to ask her his next question.

“Back at the party,” he started before pausing, which prompted her to question, yes, before he could properly collect his nerve to ask her what he wanted.

“Back at the party, you mentioned you always kept tabs on me. Especially me. What did you mean by that?”

“I may have had a small crush on you.” She answered without missing a beat. This of course took him by surprise, but not for long.

“Why did you never act on it?”

“Because I quickly realized you weren’t my type.” She said as if it was nothing in the world.

“Ouch. What did I do to make you realize that?” Peter asked. Though his tone was light-hearted, he tried not to let on that he was hurt.

“Nothing.” She replied. “You were just yourself. Peter Parker, the innocent good boy who would never harm a fly.”

Peter thought to himself for a moment. He thought long and hard before he decided to bring up the word she had uttered more than once tonight. “There goes that word again: innocent. What makes you think I’m innocent?”

“Come on Parker. Ned told me you once donated a one hundred dollar bill you found lying on the sidewalk to the local homeless shelter. And that was after you couldn’t find its original owner. That’s got innocence written all over it.”

“Does that make me innocent or a good person?”

“They’re one and the same.”

“There is a big difference between the two.”

“I disagree. The two are definitely interchangeable. Good people are the ones who haven’t been corrupted yet.”

“So does that mean you aren’t a good person?”

“I think I’m a neutral person. Not exactly good, not exactly bad. Just walking the tightrope. I probably would have taken the money, and felt bad about it later.”

They both chuckled at her statement, letting it end that segment of the conversation. Though Peter was done fighting with her about her type’s moral compass, he wasn’t done with the subject all together.

“So,” He paused, and she braced herself, taking notice of how every time he did that, a question she was reluctant to answer followed. “what exactly is your type?”

An uncomfortable breathy laugh passed through her lips as she answered. “I didn’t exactly know it at the time, but I’m able to put it into words now.” She admitted, taking her time as she explained.

“I guess ideally you were my type. Nice. Harmless. Smart. But I was also looking for someone who knew how to take control. I’m in control of everything in my life, so it feels good to meet a person who lets me relinquish that. Or in more crude terms, a person who has the ability to fuck my brains out.” She declared as she leered in his direction with a small smirk playing her lips.

She was only teasing. But she could feel that the air had grown thick on the side of the car that Peter had resided in. For a split second, she could have sworn that she saw something snap in him. But as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, making her feel as though she had imagined the entire thing.

But she knew that couldn’t have been right. Known for many things, her vivid imagination wasn’t one of them. His breath hitched. His shoulders tensed. She hadn’t imagined that. What he said next, after what felt like an hour of silence told her that she didn’t imagine anything at all.

“Did teaching me, ever cross your mind?” He asked. His grip on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles white. She saw his Adam’s apple bob after he spoke, and his chestnut eyes focused on the rain that splattered against the windshield.

“U-um I-,” She stammered, Peter catching her by surprise. She had to really think about his question. “I suppose it never did.”

“You still want me?” He asked her, turning his attention back on her.

“Huh?”

“Am I still your type? Aside from the fact that I can’t take control?”

She just swallows, before nodding.

Noting her surprise, but not relenting he says, “Then teach me.”

“What?” She questions, fearing she misheard him.

“Teach me.” He repeated, only elaborating when she scrutinized his face. “Show me exactly how you want to be touched. Kissed. Fucked.”

The way he said the word, fuck, was so filthy. It almost made her lose the rest of her composure. Not like she had much left. He had already rendered her speechless, now he was ruining her panties.

No. She wouldn’t let it play out like this. She had a reputation to uphold.

She peered over her shoulder, then back to him trying to assess whether or not he was serious. When his face showed no sign of amusement, she swung her door open, to trade her passenger’s seat for the back one.

The rain’s onslaught was still vicious, so her previously dry form was borderline drenched. July’s summer heat, did no favors in keeping her warm, and she had no idea if she was shivering from the rain or her nerves. “Are you gonna come keep me warm or what?” She challenged, trying to find her confidence again.

It was only seconds before Peter joined her, but it was no question that his body was shaking with anticipation. He looked at her expectantly, surveying her every move. From the way her eyes flitted to the ground, to the way her hands busied themselves by rubbing at her thighs. She was nervous.

It must have been a snowy day in hell.

“What should we do first?” She asked.

“Does the instructor usually ask the pupil what lessons they should start with?”

“Kiss me?” She suggested, half-ignoring his comment.

“Are you asking me, or telling me?” Peter remarked, amusement glinting in his eyes.

Annoyance overtaking her tone now, she demands this time, “Kiss me.”

“Say please.” He teased.

“Damn it Peter, fucking kiss m—”

And then he glued his lips to hers. They were sweet and gentle, like him, but still managed to convey his longing. He hoped the kiss would capture all the times he imagined doing it when she would flash those pretty brown eyes his way. When she would speak in a way that put an angel’s timbre to shame. Even when she would fucking breathe, he imagined kissing her until his lips fell off. He hoped the kiss would make up for all of the ones he was dying to share with her over the years.

The pads of his fingers roamed over her silky smooth skin, starting at her cheeks, ending at her neckline. He tasted the flavor of her strawberry chapstick, the same one that made her lips feel and look as smooth as butter. When he inhaled and tasted the faint scent of minty watermelon on her breath, he decided he couldn’t get enough. He wanted to kiss her until he committed to memory every bump on her tongue. Then he would be satisfied.

“Like this?” He whispered, pulling back to inhale the same air as her, almost turning feral at the sight of her swollen lips and blown pupils. “Or,” he started, leaning back in to go again, searching her eyes, “like this?”

Whereas kiss one was innocent and sweet, the way that Peter portrays himself, kiss two was the definition of what he could be…or maybe what he already was, she couldn’t tell. He was filthy with the way his tongue glided against hers. The hot wet muscle played hers like an instrument, before locking the two together. One of his hands planted itself on the nape of her neck, forcing her to feel every measure against her mouth. She couldn’t move if she wanted to, not that she wanted to. Just like him she wanted to relish the taste of him.

With his nose pressed against her cheek, and hers against his, they kissed like they wanted to touch the other’s souls. They began breathing in the rest of the other’s air, like they wanted to swap lungs. Exploring the other’s bodies, like they would die if they didn’t study the exact texture of the other’s skin.

It took everything in Peter to restrain himself. To keep his thumbs from traveling beneath her shirt. He nipped at his tongue to keep from nipping at her lips and skin. He tried shifting in his seat to distract himself from the shifting going on in his jeans.

It certainly didn’t help the growing tent in his pants when the girl planted her thighs on either side of his, rocking and rolling her hips to alleviate some of the tension in her panties.

She took over the kiss, setting the pace and overcoming the surprise from Peter earlier.

Her fingers, that were previously glued to his face, began fumbling with the hem of his shirt, peeling the wet material off and over his head. She marveled at his sculpted chest for a moment, before Peter followed suit, pulling her dampened top over her arms and flinging it over the seat.

A throaty groan passed his lips when she resumed her measures against his hips. Grinding herself down on his hardening member.

Her breathy whimpers intensified when his surprisingly warm hands traveled along her skin, caressing her soft flesh. She was getting more worked up the more Peter mimicked the movement of her hips, grinding upwards while simultaneously pinning her waist down.

She tugged harshly on the patch of hair that lived on the back of his neck, eliciting one of the sexiest groans she had ever heard. His heavily lidded eyes that held the same fire as hers, both scared and excited her.

As she leaned in closely, preparing her words carefully she ordered him to, “Kiss me here,” before planting her lips on his neck. Flattening her tongue to lick a stripe up the exposed skin, she began swirling the appendage before nipping, licking, and sucking until his skin had a reddish purple hue.

She got lost in the feel of him, succumbing to the sound of his hisses and moans only to yelp a moment later, when Peter mimicked her earlier actions.

With a fistful of her hair, and her exposed neck jutting out towards his lips he licked a stripe against the skin, just as she did earlier, only his measures were steady and calculated, taking note of every flinch and hitch of her breath. He found her sweet spot in seconds, focusing all of his attention there.

With her nails digging into his flesh, and her hips stuttering, Peter knew he had her where he wanted her. “Like that?” He rasped, pulling away to admire the strings of purple and blue that littered her skin.

“Fuck yea Parker; you learn fast.” She gasped, attempting at a laugh, as she peeled her chest off of him. She took a hand of his into hers, grasping two of his fingers as she bought them to her lips.

Hollowing her cheeks as she sensually sucked and lubricated his digits, she bought his other hand down to her shorts, beckoning him to unbutton them. “Touch me here.” She murmured, eyes taking in the wide curious ones staring back at her.

With the newly slick fingers, Peter did as she told him, dipping his fingers beneath the waistband of her panties and finding her nub instantaneously. “Right here?” He enquired, when her breathing turned shaky.

“Mmm, god yes!” She praised, as he worked his fingers over her.

Setting a consistent pace, Peter lightly grazed her clit, every time he ran his fingers up and down her folds. “Am I doing this right?” He questioned, flicking and teasing her core.

“Mhm” She mewled, “fuck y-your fingers feel so good” Her speech was now becoming slightly incoherent.

“Yeah?” He groaned, “What about my mouth?” He asked, just before unclasping her bra a little too effortlessly with one hand. Latching his lips against her perky chest, he massaged the other mound with his free hand.

Words were lost on her, as she became a wanton mess. She couldn’t fathom how he could be so skillful with both hands. How a person could multitask the way that he did was indescribable. His hand on her clit didn’t let up, but neither did the one that tweaked and pulled on her nipple. Not to mention the hot tongue that darted and sucked meticulously at her other. She couldn’t stifle her cries if she tried.

Riding his fingers, she pressed his head further into her chest, becoming greedy with his touch, as she sprinted towards her orgasm. She thought that this feeling couldn’t get any better.

Of course, Peter was full of nothing but surprises tonight, and needed to prove her wrong. He let two of his fingers slip inside of her, while a thumb replaced the ones that were glued to her clit. Rubbing circles against her sex, he pumped the two fingers furiously in and out of her hole.

“Does that feel good, baby?”

But the girl didn’t answer, Her mouth hung open as if she wanted to, but the words were jumbled somewhere in her throat. Her face twisted into pleasure, and she couldn’t do anything but succumb to his measures against her body.

It wasn’t long before she felt her stomach spasming, the heat pooling to her core, her already sensitive flower growing even more sensitive, as she came into his palm.

Her juices coated his digits, her walls fluttered around them, and her skin was now hot to the touch, as Peter forced her climax out of her.

Tears flooded her eyes, as she took in as much air as she could. When had she stopped breathing? Maybe sometime during the earth-shattering orgasm her old classmate was giving her.

Once the ringing in her ears subsided, and her lower region began to cool again, she thanked the boy and praised him as she said, “You did so well,” before planting hot wet kisses on his shoulder and neck.

She stopped when she felt his body shaking. Coming back up to eye him, she asked what he found so funny.

Peter tried to hide the smirk that plastered his lips but he couldn’t hold his act any longer. “You just don’t get it do you?” He asks as he casually licks and sucks at his fingers, just as she did earlier, relishing in the taste of her essence.

The confusion on her face and brain was evident. “Get wha—” He had her pinned on her back, before she could utter the last syllable.

The tight space was cramped, but the boy had more than enough room to stalk his prey. He hovered above her, ridding her of the rest of her clothes in one fell swoop, before delivering his monologue.

“I don’t know what it is about girls like you, but I swear you drive me crazy.” He admitted, before removing his jeans in a quick motion. “You always assume that just because I’m a nice guy, I won’t be able to fuck your brains out.” He informed, before revealing a hidden condom and rolling it on before lining himself up at her entrance. “But I hope that if tonight proves anything to you,” He starts, eyes finally darting up to land on her horror-filled ones, “it will be that your mindset can land you in a whole heap of trouble.”

And with that, he grasps the door above her head, before sinking himself into her.

Groaning at the feel of her, Peter’s facade dropped completely. Her tight little cunt feels even better than he imagined, and he hopes that he feels better than she ever imagined.

He starts slow, with the intent of her feeling every ridge of his cock, as it threatens to invade her stomach. Her soft tits bouncing with every thrust, send a jolt through his body every time her nipples graze his chest. The way his name falls off her sweet tongue, has him in shambles, as he picks up his pace, throwing slow and steady out of the window.

Her cries are loud in his ear, as he ruts against her sex. He’s so thick, its hard for her to think straight. He can feel the indents of her nails as they dig into his lower back; she tries to press his ass closer to her, never wanting him to leave.

Maybe if it were any other guy fucking her, she would have felt the seat buckle digging into her back. Maybe she would have felt her sticky sweaty skin on the leather of his back seat. Maybe the awkward position her head was in would have spoiled her experience. But with Peter, she could only focus on the pleasure.

His thrusts were relentless now. His hot breath was fanning the side of her cheeks. His previously damp hair, stuck to her neck, as he drove himself further into her skin. Nothing could distract him away from her in this moment.

Nothing but the faint glow of her phone, that is. It’s buzzing, and vibrations immediately catching his eye, as he held his head up. That same dangerous smirk that she saw earlier returning.

“Look who’s calling, baby.” He purred, overcoming the stutter of his hips. When he held her phone up for her to see, her heart sank at the mischief behind his words. Brad. “Should we answer it?”

“No, Pete!” She cried.

“Oh come on, that would be rude wouldn’t it?” He dared, before delivering a particularly hard thrust, that sent her mind into a haze. “We can stop so you can take this—”

“No! D-don’t stop” She begged, prying the phone from his fingers, and fumbling with the answer button.

“Babe? Hello?” Brad’s irritating voice answered flooding, her phone’s speaker. But the girl didn’t answer immediately, because she was too busy trying to stifle her whimpers.

“Hey Brad!” She finally choked out, sounding somewhat normal. How she managed to do it, she couldn’t say.

“Wow! Finally. This is like my eighth time trying you. I almost can’t believe you answered. What are you up to?”

“Should you tell him what you’re up to, babe?” Peter devilishly whispered against her skin.

“Nothing!” She whined into the phone.

“Whoa. Are you okay? You sound a little off?”

“You should tell him you sound like this because I’m making you feel so good.” Peter suggested, driving her body up and down the seats. “I bet he’d wish he were me right now.”

“I-I’m just a feeling a l-li-little sick is all.” She breathlessly stuttered.

“Should I come over?”

“Ah yes Peter!” She wailed, when the boy starts circling his fingers against her clit, while simultaneously grinding slowly but roughly into her. She’s no longer paying attention to the man on the other end. His curses don’t faze her, nor does Peter’s actions as he releases the phone from her grip.

“Hey Brad. Remember me.” He casually asks, ignoring Brad’s threats. “Yeah no man, don’t worry about her: I’ll make sure she’s real good and taken care of.” He promises, before ending the call, and tossing the device into the passenger’s seat. “Think he finally got the hint?”

Peter then takes the girl’s hips into his hands, lifting her inches off the seat, before pulling her body onto his dick at an ungodly speed.

Crying. She’s literally crying, with tears streaming down her face. Her voice is becoming hoarse with moans. She had never experienced such intense sex in her life.

Peter brings the hand that was previously plastered on the glass down to the girl’s face. “would this be the definition of fucking your brains out, baby?” He grunts, in reference to the girl’s constant repetition of his name. It’s the only word she can remember, as he fucks her into the chair.

His movements shook the car. The heat that their bodies radiated, fogging up the glass. The scent of their sex now embedded in the fabric of his seats. The boy was completely untamed.

Her screams were one among the things that set him off. The way her body writhed against his was another. The stutter in her speech another. But the unbridled lust that her eyes held, was the literal icing on the cake.

Thank fuck she came before him. Her tight little hole constricting and clenching his dick. And when he started slipping in and out, her eyes glued shut, and her chest started to rise and fall, he knew that she had came.

A sweaty fucked out mess before him, she needed Peter to finish her off before she was satisfied. “Drown me in your cum” She begged, and it was like he knew exactly what she wanted.

Unsheathing himself from her, he ridded himself of the condom, and started tugging violently at his cock. Fucking his hand, not unlike the way he fucked her earlier, he spurted his milky white seed all over her supple brown canvas, a husky groan roaring from his chest as he threw his head back in pleasure. His seed extinguished the heat that resided in her skin, and she closed her eyes shut, letting her head fall back down on the seat.

The image of his white paint, all over her stomach, chest, and tits, bleeding into his memory, as he came back down from his high.

Once back down to earth, reality began to sink back in. Immediately recomposing himself, Peter blurted, “Fuck are you okay? Was I too rough?”

His sudden outburst almost made her jump out of her skin, but she quickly recovered. “Oh god no Parker! I loved every minute of that.” She lazily smiled reassuringly. “Do you always fuck like that?”

Peter returned the smirk, blushing before saying, “I’ve always wanted to fuck you like that.”

After planting a final kiss on her lips, he reached into the center console, to scavenge a few wet wipes, cleaning her skin before discarding them.

Moments later, they reunited with their lost articles of clothes, pulling the fabrics over their limbs before crawling back into the front seat.

When Peter put his seatbelt back on, and cranked the car up with no effort, he felt the heat of the girl’s eyes on his skin.

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded by her glare.

“Was there ever anything wrong with the car?”

And then as if just realizing Peter mouthes oh, before telling her simply “No.” Adding on that he just wanted an excuse to spend more time with her.

“Well how the fuck did you know I wasn’t gonna just take your offer for an Uber?” She asked, more impressed than pissed.

“Because you’re a neutral person, and a neutral person would feel too bad about doing that.”

“There’s a lot of things I still have to learn about you Parker.” She admits, sinking down into her seat. Heat rising to her cheeks, as a new crush began to develop.

“Don’t worry. I’m willing to teach you.”

A/N: So like...don’t be afraid to tell me what you think. I swear I dont bite...unless you're into that. also this was edited it, but probably not well, so tell me if you see an error.

#peter parker x reader #Peter Parker smut #Peter Parker x black!reader #black!reader #Peter Parker fluff #spiderman x reader #marvel smut #marvel imagines #spiderman #Peter parker #black reader #smut #dark!peter x reader

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collisiondiscourse · 3 years

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Man, why does it feel like the threshold for success has a time limit? I always feel like if I'm not an insanely popular artist or powerful influencer by the time I turn eighteen, then I am an utter failure and a waste of my teenage years. I think one of the biggest pitfalls of how the generation of kids today has been raised is that we've basically been socialized to think that our best achievements have to come in our youth or else they become virtually worthless.

Like... Oh? you're a talented pianist and played in front of an auditorium of hundreds at an opera house? how old were you when that happened?

A forty-seven-year-old would be met with a few impressed nods, maybe, and people congratulating them for all their hard work and experience.

A fourteen-year-old would get news articles. they'd go viral on the internet and thousands of people would be clambering over each other to sing praises of how they were blessed with such innate talent.

I get it. It's impressive, right? Because they're young and haven't had plenty of years of experience. These kids, by all means, deserve all the praise and attention for working hard to get where they were!

But that's not the case, is it? And the culture of people putting more credit for young people's achievements doesn't even fuckin end there.

Because not only does this exact same pattern happen with literally every single thing ever, even totally non-competitive hobbies like painting, it happens with such frequency that it's considered normal. Articles use age markers about successes to serve as clickbait for their articles. Cable companies start shows purely about young prodigies and how they've beaten their adult competitors. Because who wouldn't wanna hear about a ten-year-old chess champion, right?

And what's even worse is that it then becomes a competition even among young people themselves! You scroll down on a video of a pre-teen playing Winter Wind and I promise you there will be at least one asshole saying shit like "This kid is not impressive. I saw a nine year old do the same thing the other day!"

It eats away at you! It really fucking does! because we go down this stupid rabbit-hole wherein younger and younger kids get paraded around and raised to be prodigies and meanwhile here you are, sixteen, and having a panic attack because you can't go back in time and force your eight-year-old self to keep playing the violin. It's stressful. It aches. Instead of bringing up younger people around us, we're stuck in this miserable zone where we constantly get compared and pitted against each other because we couldn't "maximize our childhood".

Isn't it enough to just... exist?

There have already been many conversations on the nature of college. How it's utter BS that people have to choose what career they want for the rest of their lives as early as junior year in HS. But what a lot of people don't talk about is just how early people are forced to decide what hobbies they want to do for the rest of their lives. People who start learning how to play an instrument at 28 can't do so without constantly being questioned why they started so late. A drawing with decent coloring garners more credit and attention for the average tween than the struggling middle-aged woman, despite both having an equal amount of experience with visual arts.

Parents constantly tell their children to study harder, to practice more--to just keep on work, work, working until their children become the perfect model dolls they use flex to one another over brunch. It's constantly having your name be followed up by your latest achievement and not anything about who you are as a person.

"This is Codi. She is a straight-A student and got invited to compete at Harvard."

"This is Codi. She is on her school's math team and knows how to play the piano."

"This is Codi. She is--"

I am a human being, thank you.

It's never "This is Codi, and he loves fashion and losing at video games." or "This is Codi, and he likes listening to annoying pop songs from the early 2010s and laying down in the rain."

Why? because none of that matters! None of that is worth listening to because anything less than what I can do to represent my family, my school, my team, my country will never be anything more than a waste of time. It's toxic, how today's generation of teenagers have to be celebrities or important figures or champions or prodigies before they are people.

It gets worse, though.

People start counting your talents like tally marks for points. You can't "just be an artist" anymore. If you draw, then you also have to be good at writing. And poetry. And graphic design. And a sport. Oh, you only know one language? Oh, you've only learned the basics of the guitar? It's like a fucking marker, ticking off boxes to determine the worth of these teenagers on the marketability of their achievements.

And, okay, it's a misrepresentation to only blame parents, right? Because it's a systematic thing. A new societal expectation for kids to be the next fucking Renaissance--with peer pressure for things like relationship experience and wild stories too. We kids now worry about not being special enough, not phenomenal enough, or beautiful enough, or talented enough, or smart enough, or experienced enough. And it's weird!

It's weird how teens now flex how tired and burnt out they are! It's weird how I've had conversations that turned into competitions of how many bullshit responsibilities we have on our plate. It's weird how I've met kids on the honor roll that are so adamant to prove to people that they've gone to parties, had alcohol, and slept around.

It's a goddamn tragedy, watching so many of my peers turning into burnouts before they've even graduated high school.

We are expected to be the most. If that one singer could do it, if that one global warming activist could do it, if that one Olympic athlete could do it--then why can't you? Why can't you have over 20.7k followers on Twitter? Why can't you have started your own band and release a popular album? Why can't you have published your own book by now? Why can't you be good enough?

I sit here, typing away at this stupid post and being unhappy and feeling like I am not good enough. I am an artist. I am a writer. I speak more than one language and play more than one instrument. I used to be a straight-A student and nationally competed in maths and sciences competitions. I am an international finalist for my sport and have multiple gold medals from foreign countries.

Yet still, I feel like my timer is running short.

#codi.txt #idk im just. ranting i guess lol #vent #tw vent #long post #tw long post #listen to codi ramble about stuff literally no one but he cares about !!#sorry im just. in my feelings rn

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs “Olympics.”

Didn’t sleep well last night, so decided to write something relatively short for all of you this morning. Hope you like it :)

“Welcome one and welcome all to the 528th quadrennial summer Olympics! This has to be the most exciting day we have seen in the history of competitive sports.”

“That's exactly right because this is only the second time in human history that the Olympics will be held off earth, and the first time that they are being held interstellar.”

“Four years ago some summer Olympics were held on Mars, but with the restriction to gravity, and some issues regarding respiration. However, after an agreement with the galactic assembly. The Rundi delegation has graciously offered to host the 4020 summer Olympics.”

“And host they have. This stadium was built in under four years with consultations from human architects and with the original classic style of greek and roman architecture in mind. The rundi really do know how to make a beautiful building when they want.”

“This is honestly what the universe really needed after these last hard few years, with the burg war, and the Gromm outbreak, and the Tesraki earthquake, a lot of people were just ready and waiting for some good news. Not to mention that after all of the issues with the LFIL and poor PR for humans across the galaxy, we all really needed a break.”

“And what better PR than to share one of the greatest cultural achievements of human history. Historically the Olympics have been a time where countries set aside their differences and come together to show off their best athletes in competitions of human skill, fortitude, and perseverance. Now, for those non-human watchers, the Olympics was originally established in Ancient Greece. The word Olympics derives from the word Olympus which was the historical home of the Greek gods. Anyone who competes in the games is called an Olympian giving the implication that their feats of strength and power are almost godlike.”

“Not to mention they originally required the participants to compete in the nude.”

“Ha! Yes let us not forget that. Luckily, or unluckily for us, things have been a bit more modernized since then, and men and women from around the universe will begin their competitions today. Today Will be the first Olympics in history with representatives from interstellar colonies all across the Milky Way galaxy.”

“Beginning in the next four years, Olympic officials hope to open the games up to non-human species for competition.”

“Yes, officials say that it would be an opportunity for humanity to reach out a hand of peace and offer this great tradition of peace to the rest of the galaxy in hopes of fostering cooperation and understanding between all who live in the universe.”

“That will be a great day indeed, and look here comes the olympic torch carried by none other that commander Adam Vir of the UNSC, Earth’s golden boy.”

“The Olympic torch had an intense journey this year lit in Olympic greece and carried all across Earth to where it was secured to be transported on the UNSC harbinger. Now it took some work as UNSC regulations do not allow open flames aboard a interstellar transport, but with some work from some fine engineers and a bit of finagling, the torch was secured lit but burning low in a specialized sealed, and climate controlled compartment during the duration of the flight. Oh, and here he goes, handing of the torch. This will be the first time in human history that a non-human has carried the torch and lit the cauldron. They debated long and hard about who would light it this year, and as a symbol of good will towards the rest of the galaxy, and to usher in a new age of the Olympic Games, the torch has been passed to the chairwoman of the galactic assembly.”

“You know it really warms my heart to see humans sharing such a rich part of their culture and history with the rest of the galaxy. It really is a symbol of everything we stand for at our core.”

“And there she goes. IT’S LIT IT’S LIT!” “A truly amazing day for humanity and the world and the galaxy and the universe.”

***

The galaxy had never seen anything like it. Humans from all around the galaxy had come together and were determined to astound the watching crowds with feats of acrobatics, and athletics so intense it would be unbelievable to anyone who watched human and nonhuman alike.

IN those days ahead the galaxy watched with it’s jaw wide as one man broke the world now universe record for fastest human sprint at 29 miles per hour. Facts and figures put up on screens above the heads of the crowd gave facts about the human body to put into perspective just how powerful these athletes were as olympic sprinters put their muscles under pressure equivalent to 1,000 pounds of force in a single sprinting step.

They watched in awe and confusion as a tiny Olympic gymnast no older than sixteen cleared more that twice her body height in a double air rotation defying the laws of physics and gravity as she hung suspended in the air for what seemed like an impossible amount of time.

Eyes were wide and jaws had to be picked up off the floor as a young human from earth cleared the pole vaulting record, launching himself into the sky at 20 feet 3.⅕ inches.

Feats of balance and strength never before seen in the galaxy were demonstrated as those same young adults demonstrated flips, cartwheels and feats of acrobatics on beams barely wider than the width of their feet. Gasps rose from the assembled alien crowd as a dismount brought one young woman off the beam at at least three full rotations before landing.

There was no way that she could have known where she was going to hit.

But the announcers had been right, these humans had an almost godlike control of their bodies and some strange ability to know where they were in space at the optimal moment rotating on a single bar or between two flipping themselves around and around in ways that would have made others feel dizzy only to land smiling a moment later their hands raised into the air in triumph.

And then came the marathon, the event that aliens had heard about but never thought possible, preformed for the first time on a fiery death planet by a one legged, one eyed space captain in his boxer shorts in a little over four hours. The feat itself seemed unbelievable as a story, but when a young woman from a distant space colony preformed the marathon in a record breaking 2:22:53. Less than two and a half hours required her to be running at speeds of almost ten miles per hour for two full hours.

The stadium could not believe their ears when they had heard what she had done. Alien race officials watch her run trough cameras to make sure that the feat was really true.. But it was true, it was all true. They could not believe their eyes.

Even in the water humans could not be matched pushing bodies that were not meant for swimming to speeds that could compete with one or two species running.

They put their bodies under strain so powerful it should have torn muscle and snapped bone, but when they came up smiling and grinning and waving to the crowd it was all the stadium could do to contain their excitement.

And when that wasn’t enough humans started adding obstacles to their events.

What was better than a hundred-meter sprint, a hundred-meter sprint with obstacles you had to jump over. At an average of 12.5 seconds participants were reaching speeds of almost seventeen miles per hour, as fast as car speeds within city limits. If any of the humans had crashed they would surely hurt themselves horribly in the process.

And the crowd absolutely loved it.

Nothing was better than watching the humans lift heavy objects, throw pointy sticks, or even leap to great vertical heights sometimes throwing their legs higher than their own heads, which seemed impossible for aliens who had spent most of their time with average humans if they had spent time with humans at all.

Regular humans couldn’t do that.

So what insane kind of humans were these.

How did a human known to release the weighted metal disk when they were spinning around so fast, and what made them decide to throw the weight of their entire body into a kinetic linkage of angular momentum that would send the metal disk nearly two hundred feet in the opposing direction.

It was the most viewed Olympics in the history of the event. Aliens watched to see the humans preform, and the humans watched to see the alien's reaction to the other humans preforming.

The rundi home world grossed trillions of dollars which expanded the universe’s economy to soaring heights.

Tesraki capitalized on the idea holding even more events for humans to compete in even after the Olympics were over. From then on alien planets would beg humans to come hold their games and competitions on their planet, didn't matter what it was, soccer, football, baseball, you could be sure the rest of the galaxy was interested in seeing it.

The entire universe was giddy with the feats of strength and ability which had been demonstrated in those intervening days.

Humans, who only fell prey to praise once every four years suddenly found themselves famous on distant moons completely by accident with alien companies begging them to endorse products they had never even heard of.

It was such a violent economic upturn, no one knew how to handle it.

There were those, of course, who realized something very different about humanity on those days. They had met your average human, the lazy kind that likes to sit in comfy nests, watch TV and imbibe on excessive amounts of glucose. They had even met the average human who threw in some daily workout routine so at least they could control their love handles.

Your average human scared them with what they could do without even thinking.

But what did this mean?

IT meant that it was very important to allow humans to nerf themselves because if anyone ever convinced humanity as a hole what they could be if ninety percent of the population were at peak human performance….

Well

It was simply better to keep the humans well-fed and sleepy.

Maybe then the universe would stand a chance

#humans are insane #humans are space orcs #HUMANS ARE WERID #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #earth is a deathworld #Earth is space Ausralia

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snek-snacc-ficc · 4 years

Text

One Is A Genius, The Other’s Insane

Summary: Logan had seen enough of the world to know it was a horrible place, greatly in need of a competent leader. That was a job he was more than willing to fill, and so, by the age of twenty, he began his tireless work to plan the perfect scheme for world domination. Things became much more complicated, however, when Remus, his complete opposite in nearly every sense, stumbled his way into his life.

(Pssst, it's a Pinky and the Brain au)

Words: 3,177

Logan Ackeroyd couldn’t pinpoint exactly when he realized the world was a horrible place. It had been more of a gradual thing really. He studied history in school and learned of all the horrors man had committed against man throughout the thousands of years of humankind's existence. Everyday he’d watch the news and see atrocities happening across the globe in real time. When he turned sixteen, he had to get a terrible job as a fast food cashier, enduring impatient, rude customers demanding cheap food that tasted like it had been chemically manufactured (and he figured it most likely was), just so one day college would be slightly more affordable. And, perhaps worst of all, when he did reach college, he was forced to listen to pretentious English professors take the likes of Sigmund Freud seriously. Listening to an old man tell a room full of his fellow peers that Hamlet wanted to copulate with his mother was the last straw, and so, by the age of twenty, Logan Ackeroyd decided that he would take over the world.

He wasn’t the absolute perfect choice for Earth’s ruler, he knew, but he also knew that he had an immense amount of intelligence, and a righteous moral code, and that put him above nearly every other world leader in his book.

Unfortunately, Logan found, working to become the world’s benevolent dictator didn’t pay well, in fact it often depleted his pocket book, and so he took up a job as a middle school science teacher by day, and would dedicate his nights to working out the perfect scheme for world domination.

It was supposed to be a secretive, solo endeavor. Involving others in his plan could get messy and chaotic, which was rather counterintuitive to his goal. Along with that, it could prove disastrous to alert others of his plans for fear it could somehow lead to interference from the authorities. It was best, he decided, to simply keep to himself with a clear mind. All of that, however, was ruined the day he met Remus.

Logan’s trip to the hardware store was meant to be quick and simple. He was working on what he thought was the verge of a breakthrough, (a prototype of a device that would allow him to brainwash the masses through the use of a high pitched sound wave), but he was missing some of the tools needed for its completion. When he turned around from the shelf he had grabbed a collection of bolts from, he was brought face to face with a man with a handlebar mustache staring at him. He was startled for a moment, but the feeling quickly gave way to annoyance.

“Excuse me,” he said, pushing past him.

“Is that blood on your sleeve?”

Logan looked down at his long sleeved polo. He hadn’t noticed the red stain on it earlier and he thought it odd that the stranger would point it out.

“I don’t believe so. There’s a stronger possibility that it’s jam.”

“You should totally lick it to find out.”

“That would be highly uncouth,” Logan deadpanned, hoping the peculiar person would soon leave.

“It could be cool. If it is blood then you’d be like a vampire.”

Logan moved towards the check out, delving into an explanation of the definition and proper pronunciation of “uncouth.” The man continued to trail behind him, apparently satisfied with his shopping trip of a cartful of spray paint, chattering on about what seemed like disconnected nonsense. By the time he was finished with his purchase, excusing himself once again to leave, Logan was relieved to no longer be burdened with the annoying distraction.

He rushed to his lab with the missing parts once he reached home, eager to begin work on the project once more. He had little time to do so though, as right as he began the door to the room swung open. Logan jumped, grabbing a screwdriver on instinct in case he had to defend himself, and spun around to see the man from the store standing before him.

“What?!- Why’re you-” he sputtered, completely flabbergasted.

“You left this at the checkout,” the man said, thrusting forward a plastic bag with a collection of wrenches in it. Logan hadn’t even realized he’d left it behind, but his attention had been split when he was checking out thanks to the other.

“So your first reaction was to stalk me and break into my house?!” Logan’s voice rose with anger and unease. “How did you even find where I live?”

“I followed your car.” The man said it like doing so was the most casual thing in the world. “I almost missed ya, but I caught up just in time. Lost you for a second at a stoplight though. And when I found you again your car was already in the driveway and you were gone. I tried knocking at the front door but you never answered, so I just walked in and heard you doing...whatever this is down here.”

Logan was silent, both confused and slightly disturbed that the man’s first solution had been breaking and entering, but he had little time to dwell on that. His cover was blown. His lab had been exposed to an outsider who would most certainly bring an end to his work. It had always been a concern of Logan’s, but he didn’t think he would be faced with it so soon. He kept his composure though, already theorizing which high security prison he might be thrown into.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose now that you know of my secret you will contact the authorities. I’d rather you do it now and get it over with. My phone is right over there if you need to use it.”

The man did not move to grab it however. He remained where he was, darting his gaze around the room.

“Why would I do that?” he asked, still taking in the surroundings.

“B-Because you know of my nefarious plans now, to take over the world.” Logan gestured to the large bulletin board on the wall labeled “Plans for World Domination,” using the same tone of voice he used when re-explaining concepts to students that had been zoned out in class.

“You’re trying to take over the world?!” the other sounded ecstatic, “Woah, how?”

That hadn’t been the reaction Logan expected at all, and he still was unsure whether it was a trap of sorts or the man in question really was this...dense seemed the best way to put it. Either way, he had little left to lose. If he was going to get arrested, at least he would finally get the chance to explain his genius plan to someone beforehand. He turned back towards the device on the work desk.

“Well if you must know, I’m working on this prototype of a device that would send out a high frequency noise to anyone within a ten thousand mile radius. Once it’s finished, I was going to hide them on numerous radio towers and implant a message within it that would brainwash everyone that heard it, allowing me to gain total control of a large number of people quite quickly and efficiently. The only problem thus far seems to be a simple yet pesky error on my part; These wires on its main control panel keep falling in the way when I try to work on it, and there's no way for me to move them all at once and simultaneously continue my work.”

“Well I can help with that Dr. Dork-enshmirtz, here.” He moved over to the control panel, lifting up the bunches of wires that hung over it. “That better?”

Logan, though still a bit stunned, dug around in the bag the man had brought over, taking out the wrench he needed to continue where he left off.

“My name is Logan,” he said, “but that is quite helpful, thank you…?”

“I’m Remus,” the other chirped eagerly.

“Thank you Remus.” As much as he loathed to admit it, it was fairly nice to have some sort of companionship. Being able to share just a bit of his idea already gave him a rush of excitement, despite the odd circumstances it had occurred under. And having someone to be an extra set of hands was an added bonus.

“Would it be possible for you to further offer your assistance to me?”

“Sure thing Nerdy Wolverine, as long as I get Australia privileges when you brainwash everyone. I’m gonna make a spider army.”

The plan fell through in the end (Logan hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to travel the globe, climbing thousands of radio towers), but from that moment on Logan had Remus as his partner in justifiable crime.

---

"Heeeyyy Logie, what are we gonna do tonight?"

Logan rubbed his temples. For ninety-five nights in a row Remus had asked this same question, and every single night Logan's response was the same.

"The same thing we do every night Remus, try to take over the world."

"Ooo neat! What are we gonna do this time? More sabotaging jam companies?"

"No Remus," Logan sighed, "after last night's disaster we're lucky we aren't on some government watch list." He was most disappointed that out of all of his plans that one fell through. Creating a utopia where only Crofter's jam was consumed would have been a dream come true. But alas, he had to move on.

"Truth be told I am rather stumped as to what our next approach should be, but I'm sure with some copious amounts of effort I will come up with another brilliant idea."

"Why don't you take the night off Brainiac?" Remus asked.

"Take the night off?" Logan scoffed, "When the world still remains in the clutches of corrupt, incompetent leaders? Never. Besides, what would I do if not plot to take over the world?"

"You could take a nap," Remus suggested, "You've got circles under your eyes so dark you could pass for a MySpace profile picture."

"While I appreciate the concern, my friend, I am quite fine. Though my sleep schedule is a bit off of an average rhythm, rest assured I have calculated a routine that keeps me functioning regularly. Though, given that you sleep a full 9 hours each day I doubt a set sleeping pattern can do much to create normal behavior." Logan muttered the last bit watching Remus grind his nails against his teeth like they were a nail-filer.

Remus halted his movement, inspecting his hand with one eye closed as he spoke. "Well then we could do something fun. We could watch this one documentary I want to see about this religious cult that made all it's followers fuck each other on a bridge and then jump off," he let out a cackled laugh, "Crazy how all that religious stuff can control people like that."

Logan scrunched his nose. "Remus, I ask that you keep your disgusting documentary drivel to yourse-" He paused for a moment, the last thing Remus said sinking in.

"Remus, what did you just say?"

"It's crazy how all the religious junk can control people," Remus repeated, "that's partially why I gave up organized religion, in fact…"

He trailed off but Logan wasn't listening, the gears in his head turning, formulating a new idea.

"Remus," he exclaimed, eyes lit up as he cut the other off without realizing it, "are you pondering what I'm pondering?"

"Hm, well I think so Logie," Remus said, "but I'm actually allergic to synthetic body glitter."

Logan grit his teeth, face falling.

"You would make for wonderful evidence to prove it's possible to de-evolve, Remus. No, I was referring to the idea of preying on the population through the use of religion. If I were to somehow convince the masses that I were a god I would have the world tied around my finger; They would do anything I commanded."

"Woah, you'd be a much better god than Sky Daddy Logan," Remus said, "but how are you going to get that many people to trust you?"

"From what I've observed, most people seem to distrust claims of the supernatural due to a lack of perceivable, verified evidence," Logan said. "If I could find a way to create some sort of projection of myself to a large number of people all at once, it might be enough to convince them that I am a deity. And right here in America would be the perfect starting point, because most people here are rather gullible and severely lacking in critical thinking skills."

Remus clapped his hands together.

"Yay! We're gonna start a nerd cult!"

---

Tireless nights were spent working to bring the plan to fruition. Logan had to work out exactly how he could create a convincing projection of himself, as well as find a power source with enough energy to fuel it. After weeks of building, planning, and re-working the contraption was finally finished and ready to be put to use.

It was about half past ten o'clock when Remus and Logan headed out to the nearby electrical company. Its small amount of security and large source of power made it the ideal location to put his plan into motion. When they arrived and had successfully snuck through the wired fence, Logan turned to Remus.

"Here," he said, handing him a thick metal pole he had under his arm, "you use this to knock out the security guards while I hack into the security system and cameras. Try and meet me in 15 minutes."

Remus gave a two-fingered salute.

"You got it Dorkenshmirtz."

Logan rolled his eyes at the nickname, but couldn't truly be annoyed by it. So far everything was going perfectly according to plan. Logan even found himself grinning as he made quick work of disabling the security, the flow of adrenaline making him nearly burst with excitement. Once the system was completely down, he turned tail to head to the main center. He unzipped the bag he was carrying, carefully taking out the disk-like platform he would use for the projection, and untangling the series of wires and cords to put together. To his dismay, he found that the last cord was slightly bent, most likely from being shuffled around in the bag on the trip over, and wouldn't properly plug in to the outlet without hands on assistance. The concern was quickly diminished though. Remus would be able to hold it in place while he was on the platform. Just as the thought crossed his mind the door swung open and Remus stepped in. His hair was slightly more astray than usual and a noticeable bruise was forming around his jaw, but he was smiling madly, chipper as ever.

"Did you take all of the guards out?" Logan asked.

"Yup, I bonked 'em!" Remus said, proudly. "A few of them put up a fight but I went like this," he swung the pole through the air, "BONK!"

Logan couldn't help the amused quirk of his lips.

"Wonderful," he said, making his way towards the platform, "Everything has been put into place, except the cord over there. I need you to hold it into the outlet for this to work. Do not let go."

Remus nodded.

"Amen Sky Daddy!"

He plugged the cord in, keeping it upright and steady. Almost immediately the platform lit up with a surge of power. Logan walked towards it, nearly trembling. Finally after years of work, trying and failing and trying again, he was going to succeed. The world would finally be his to craft to his perfect, peaceful vision.

Once it was completely charged up Logan took his step onto the platform. Outside an enlarged image of himself filled the sky for miles. He cleared his throat, preparing his speech for the people, when suddenly his moment was interrupted by the sound of Remus cursing to himself as softly as he could manage. His head whipped around and to his horror he saw sparks of electricity flying from the place where the cord met the outlet, sending repeated shocks through Remus, who was struggling through the pain to keep the cord plugged in.

Remus looked to Logan, seeing him hesitate.

"Go on," he whispered, though his voice was strangled with discomfort, "I'm fine."

Logan turned back around once more, but got no further in his speech as he caught the sparks growing larger out of the corner of his eye.

Time seemed to freeze for Logan, his head was spinning, torn between the task at hand and Remus' pained whimpers.

He'll be fine.

He'll get electrocuted and die.

It's one person vs the future of the rest of the world. This is what I've worked towards for years, and I'm going to blow it.

But he's helped so much.

Stupid, loyal Remus with his constant screw ups, and dumb jokes, and annoying nicknames, and laughter and chatter that always rang through the house, that filled a void I didn't even notice was there before, and-

Remus cried out, his body completely jolting with an electric shock, but still he forced himself to keep hold of the cord.

"Remus let go!" Logan shouted.

"N-no, y-you-" Remus couldn't get out another word before another strong shock struck him. The surrounding wires and cords were jumping with sparks as well, and Logan caught sight of a fire starting at the floor where Remus sat slumped weakly against the wall.

"Remus!"

Without thinking twice Logan bolted from the platform, heaving Remus into his arms just as the flames began to grow and approach his body. He rushed out of the building, lungs burning from the toxic fumes of smoke that filled the air, but he didn’t slow his pace until they reached the car, the sound of sirens already blaring in the distance.

The drive home almost certainly broke the speed limit, but Logan cared little about that, glancing at Remus, unconscious but miraculously breathing, every few seconds until they reached home.

---

It was evening two days later when Remus finally awoke. He groaned, blinking his eyes open. Just as he came to, Logan walked into the room, rushing over to the bedside.

"So Logan,” Remus said, flashing a dopey smile up at him, “what do you want to do tonight?"

Logan threw his arms around Remus' neck, the position awkward due to him being sprawled out on the bed, but neither paid any mind to it. Tears leaked out of Logan's eyes, that he tried to hold back.

"I think," he said, sniffling, "that you can choose what we do tonight Remus."

Soon after, the two were curled up on the couch, Remus' head resting on Logan's thighs. Logan sipped hot chocolate from his #1 DICK-tator mug, a Christmas gift from Remus, carding his fingers through the other's hair as a true crime documentary played on the T.V. Maybe, he thought, world domination could wait a bit when he had his whole world lying right in his lap.

---

Ah! I’m so glad I finally finished this! Think of it as my own little celebratory work to welcome in the new Animaniacs reboot.

Taglist: @bullet-tothefeels

#sanders sides #intrulogical #logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical pinky and the brain au #slight angst

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ppangjae · 4 years

Text

made to fall in love | one

SERIES MASTERLIST

prev | one | next

SUMMARY. Seoul’s finest 30 under 30. The country’s youngest billionaire. 2019’s richest bachelor. But of all the women he could go after, he goes after.. her?

GENRE. fluff and angst + ceo!jaehyun (someone stop me) + nerd!reader + enemies to lovers!au + long lost friend!au

WORD COUNT. 2.2k+ words

warnings. tooth-rotting fluff, swearing, and tons of bickering!

author’s note. a new day, a new update! here she is! also i just wanted to let you know that this series is inspired and based off of the kdrama she was pretty! so if you come across a part in the series that reminds you of this kdrama, it’s because it’s inspired by it :-)

ONE. gold • it feels so gold, so gold

Sixteen year old Jaehyun ran so that present day Jaehyun could walk. If present day Jaehyun told sixteen year old Jaehyun what his life would be in the future, little Jaehyun would never believe him. Even until this day, he still can’t believe it.

Seoul’s finest 30 under 30. The country’s youngest billionaire. 2019′s richest bachelor. Jaehyun is all of those things and he worked hard for them. Those things didn’t come to him on a gold plate nor was it fed to him with a gold spoon. They came to him as products of his hard work.

His eyes flutter open at the sound of the pilot’s voice, announcing that the private jet will be landing soon. As he gets up, he rubs his eyes and opens the blinds to look out the window. The skies are a bright blue on this lovely morning, he thinks to himself. He overlooks the city of Seoul and lets out a groan. Just the sight of office and corporate buildings make him wish his vacation was a bit longer.

“I know, I miss Singapore too.” He glances to his right to see Johnny waking up from his nap. He chuckles, chucking his neck pillow straight into his face. Johnny blocks the attack right on time.

“Do we really have a choice?” Jaehyun sighs. “We have to go back to our busy lives and build a bigger empire.”

“You make it seem like you’re the king of a huge city.” Johnny rolls his eyes. “Please don’t ever say that again. It doesn’t make you look cool. It doesn’t make us look cool.”

“You know what’s cool?” Jaehyun quirks an eyebrow at Johnny. He points at a huge building in the middle of the city. Surrounding the huge building are small company buildings, entertainment companies, law firms, etc. Johnny looks out the window and spots what his best friend is pointing at. “We own that.”

“No,” Johnny shakes his head. “You own that.”

BREAKING NEWS: Jung Jaehyun tops richest bachelor for a third consecutive year.

“Wow. You’re telling me that he’s your childhood friend?”

You and your roommate, Mark, are sitting in front of the TV. You’re both huddled around the coffee table, eating breakfast together. As you’re shoving a mouthful of cereal into your mouth, you nod your head. “Don’t believe me?”

“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Mark squints his eyes at you suspiciously.

You dust your hands off and get up from the floor. As you walk into your room, you rummage through your closet to take out a memory box covered in dust. You blow the dust off the lid of the box and erupt into soft coughs. Mark watches you as you come back into the living room with a box.

“Where’s the receipts?” Mark asks.

“Someone’s impatient.” You mumble.

As you’re looking through your memory box, you can hear the reporter speak more about Jung Jaehyun. You finally find the graduation book and pull it out before handing it to Mark.

“Page eighty-seven, fourth row, second picture on the right.”

You fold your arms and quirk an eyebrow. Mark’s eyes scan through the page and once he finds it, he looks back at the TV screen. His eyebrows raise.

“So you weren’t lying to me,” Mark says with an astonished look on his face. “Damn, you must secure the bag, then. The guy’s hella rich, he could pay off our student debts combined.”

“I just hope he remembers me,” you rest your chin against the palm of your hand. “He went to college abroad. He came back home rich. He moved out of our neighbourhood. The chances of him remembering me get slimmer and slimmer.”

“I’m pretty sure he remembers you. He should remember you. You’re a part of his childhood. You both graduated elementary and high school together.” Mark tries to convince you. He shoves another mouthful of cereal into his mouth.

“Do you think he would remember me? Me? When I look like this?” You ask, pointing at yourself.

“You kind of have a point.” He shrugs his shoulders. “You lost your sense of fashion ever since you started university.”

Mark yelps in pain when your spoon hits him in the arm. You glare at him as if he had earned himself a death wish. He rubs the spot, glaring back at you. You pout, breaking your gaze from Mark to stare at Jaehyun’s picture on your TV screen.

Jung Jaehyun is your childhood friend. The two of you lived in the same neighbourhood, went to the same elementary school, and graduated from the same high school. He’s not what he is like now. The Jaehyun you met and befriended was a quiet boy who barely had any friends. He had two friends, you and Johnny. He loved to play the piano and if you were lucky enough, you would hear him sing or hum a soft melody. He had a dream of becoming an architect, someone who drew buildings and watch them come to life. The Jaehyun you met and befriended was always picked on. He was mainly picked on for two things: for being too quiet and for being the chubby one. You and Johnny were the only ones that defended him from the bullies.

The Jaehyun you see on your TV screen is far from the Jaehyun you met. You never saw him or Johnny ever since your high school graduation. You’d often wonder if he’s doing alright, if he’s making friends, if he’s pursuing his future of being an architect. But once he came back to Seoul after studying abroad, all of your wishes for him were answered. Jaehyun is doing alright and he’s pursuing his future, he runs and owns a successful architecture company. He’s making friends, in fact, everyone wants to be friends with him. Sometimes, it makes you doubt that he’ll ever remember you.

You doubt that he’ll ever remember his childhood friend who grew up with him, who defended him from the bullies, who stuck with him no matter who he was.

“I guess we’ll just have to find out on your first day at work,” Mark says as he brings up the bowl of cereal-flavoured milk to his lips. He gulps down the milk and sets down the empty bowl back onto the coffee table. “We’ll have to find out whether he remembers you or not.”

“This is all you guys prepared?”

Everyone seated in the meeting room gawk at Jaehyun. He sighs, folding his arms and takes one last look at the PowerPoint presentation. The project manager nervously fiddles with his fingers before nodding his head in reply.

Jaehyun gets up from his seat and walks towards the front of the room. He points at the 3D plan of a building. The building looks poorly made, almost as if it was done last minute. “How long did it take for you to do this?”

“Well―”

“You don’t need to answer my question because I can see it.” He cuts him off. “Just from how it looks, from how the lines are crooked, I know this took you less than half an hour.”

“Sir―”

“I was gone on vacation for two weeks. Even though I was gone on vacation for two weeks, I still did work during my downtime. What did you all do during those two weeks? Did you all have a good time?” Jaehyun shakes his head in disbelief. “I expected you to do a good job with this project. But after I go on vacation for two weeks, you all suddenly get lazy?”

“We tried our best, sir.” The project manager mutters softly and Jaehyun’s head snaps in his direction.

He raises an eyebrow and scoffs. “You tried your best? Sure, let’s say you tried your best. But your best wasn’t good enough.”

Everyone falls silent in the meeting room. They have guilt written all over their faces.

“Let me remind you that you’re working at Jung Architects,” he tells them. “I hate looking at poorly made projects because they don’t reflect our company values. We build and create buildings and structures to the best of our ability. They have to be functional and safe. They have to be perfect. They have to be economical.”

“We’ll try again, sir.” The project manager mumbles. “Sorry, sir.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me.” He sighs. “You have to apologize to all of your coworkers in this room for wasting their time.”

“Sir―”

“The new interns and engineers are coming in tomorrow.” Jaehyun announces and everyone’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

“T-Tomorrow? Since when did we hire new employees―”

“Don’t be surprised if you lose your jobs because of them. The moment I find them more competent than this?” Jaehyun gestures to the presentation. He chucks the folder away from his hands. “I’ll be firing you from the company.”

They all bow their heads. Jaehyun grabs his coat and exits the meeting room, making sure that he slams the door shut. The moment he’s out of the room, everyone erupts into whispered complaints about how rude their boss was, if he woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, or if someone spoiled his daily coffee.

Ever since you started to hate working at your previous job, it drove you to start searching and applying for other jobs. It was just a huge coincidence that Jung Architects was looking for a structural engineer.

For most of your life, you’ve dreamed of becoming an engineer. It didn’t matter what kind of engineer, you just wanted to be one. It was either an engineer or a mathematician ― it was your last resort only if your dreams of being an engineer were crushed. You have a gift in math. And so when you got accepted into a structural engineering program, it was all just meant to be.

Getting hired as a structural engineer at Jung Architects made your dreams even more real. It just seems too good to be true. But here you are.

Here you are, sitting in front of your laptop, deleting all the emails you’ve gotten from other companies and jobs. You didn’t need to respond to them anymore. Deleting them felt theurapeutic.

Just as you’re deleting your emails, you stumble across an email you’ve sent to Jaehyun a couple of years ago. You laugh in disbelief. Did you really keep an old email in your inbox? Why? You click on it anyway.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected]

SUBJECT: jaehyun!!

hey jae! you’ve probably landed by now. i hope you got my email. i wasn’t able to say a proper goodbye to you because johnny was too busy crying and i had to comfort him. well, i hope you do great in university! i wish you nothing but the best on all your endeavours. always stay true to yourself and don’t let anyone step on you! let me know if someone does because i will be ready to fly over and beat them up! also i hope you always remember your two best friends waiting for you and cheering you on here in seoul. you can always email me back! or text me. or call me, even.

until we meet again, ____.

You clench your tummy as you burst out into laughter. You vividly remember typing this email out while bawling your eyes out. On the day that Jaehyun flew out for university, you didn’t give him a proper goodbye because Johnny was crying like a whale swimming in the ocean. After that day, you and Johnny kept in touch. But that didn’t last long until Johnny found himself new friends. Ever since you sent that email, you sent him another email every now and then. But you never got a reply.

You sigh. That was the start of your separation from the two of them.

Just as you’re about to delete the email, you see a new email in the thread. The email is dated today and was sent a couple of hours ago. You quirk an eyebrow, adjusting your glasses to get a better look at the email. You click on it and your mouth falls open in shock.

It’s an email from Jaehyun.

“It comes in rose gold, gold, and sterling silver.”

Jaehyun picks up each necklace and analyzes them carefully. The jeweler waits for his decision, but he’s not sure if he could hardly wait anymore. Jaehyun has been looking around the jewelry shop for heaven knows how long. It’s getting quite dark outside and the shop is nearing it’s closure for the remainder of the day. Before the jeweler could let out a sigh, Jaehyun places down the silver necklace and points at the gold one.

“I’ll take the gold one, please.” He smiles.

He steps out of the shop with a new purchase and heads home. Once he arrives home, he goes straight to his home office. He plops down onto the chair and places the jewelry box onto the table. He glances at his computer and decides to check his email before heading to bed.

He clicks on his inbox and the smile on his face gets wider when he sees two new emails. One of them is from a client. The other... well, the other email comes from someone special.

email delivered. email read. from: [email protected] to: [email protected]

SUBJECT: you replied?? omg??? hi????

author’s note. the first couple of chapters are going to be short but they will be longer soon! just sit tight some more lmao. anyways i hope you liked this short update!

send me a message! let’s be friends!

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incidentreport31 · 3 years

Text

Episode Three: Gather raw meat of any kind, red preferred, human is fine TRANSCRIPT

(You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.)

Recorder clicks on.

SFX: papers shuffling as Val decides on an account to focus on for the day.

ARCHIVIST:

(humming Under My Skin by Jukebox the Ghost for a few moments as they decide) Which one for today, then? Christ, this place is a mess.

[they stop as they pick up one covered in grime]

ARCHIVIST CONT.:

What in god’s name? What’s all over this one… (they scoff) Great, Val. You’re asking the damn recorder questions now.

[beat, then to the recorder]

Although I suppose you’re good enough company even if you can’t answer… (fondly) aren’t you?

[an awkward beat, a little too long]

(they clear their throat) I suppose I’ll be getting this one over with…

[SFX: shuffle of paper as they pick it up]

Certainly seems the most interesting given the…

[SFX: another shuffle as they flip it back and forth and take it in]

-residue… on it. (they sniff) God, the smell of it. Almost like rotten meat.

(they shudder)

(sighing) Right. Best get right into it… (muttering) it’ll be over sooner.

For the consideration of their parents: Bryn Fischer’s retelling of their time traveling alongside their road bike expedition through Massachusetts and- Dear Lord- a - what does this mean- a… a meat rain? (they sigh, exasperated) Yes, a “meat rain” that they came upon while driving.It seems Mx. Fischer is requesting their parents to pay fully for their next vacation… I’ve said it before, but (sighs) Rich People. Surprisingly, though, this account does seem to have a date written in: July 21, 2001. Regardless of my disbelief in the fact that the previous Archivist finally did something competent, their account begins as such:

[ACCOUNT STARTS]

I used to drive support for my parents’ long distance bike rides. They used to go out for anywhere from 90 to 200 miles a day with only a few stops in small towns where they could meet me at the car and grab new waters before heading right back out. They’re big bike geeks and I was the one person they’d always had at their disposal for the longer trips. Once I turned sixteen and properly had a driver’s license, it seemed to occur to them that they didn’t really have to ask their other long-distance riding friends to drive alongside them. Instead, they turned to me to make sure they were safe and sound on their excursions. Which was honestly fine for a while! I mean, when I’d first gotten the freedom of driving, it felt like such a treat to go on these trips and be able to just drive for hours and hours with someone else paying for my gas. And beyond that, it was nice to see everything out on the roads. I always found something good on those days where my parents were tirelessly trekking across the state highways. I loved seeing things I’d never seen before, whether it was the weird trinkets at rest stops or patches of snow hiding under dense forests I’d never seen before. I loved the exploring of it, but if I’m being honest, the thing that really amazed me was my parents. The dedication it took to willingly submit yourself to that much physical exertion with nothing but the few waters they could carry on their bikes between our meeting spots… Well it wasn’t something they’d passed down to me, that’s for sure.

[beat]

But, that’s all to say that after a while of driving for them, it eventually lost its charm. They eventually found a route they loved above all others and decided that they were going to make it their annual ride. As I’m sure you can tell, the whole “seeing new places and exploring” thing went away pretty quickly a few trips in. I was a stupid teenager, you know, and started griping about it to them two years in when they decided the perfect time for their next ride was over the weekend that my eighteenth birthday fell on.

ARCHIVIST:

Sometimes, Bryn, parents don’t have an ounce of self-awareness, I’ll give you that much, but this is getting past the point of exposition and I’d suggest you get to the point lest you sound like a writer who got to write in more background details than usual because this is a two-part episode.

[ACCOUNT]

After that, well I decided they could get their friends who actually gave a damn to go along with them. And even then, I was going away to college in Boston soon, so they’d have to stop relying on me eventually, so it was as good a time as any.

[beat]

Well, that’s my rambling exposition for you, I suppose.

ARCHIVIST:

Thank God.

[ACCOUNT]

But of course, by my sophomore year in university I was growing away from my parents and our calls had become less frequent. As much as I hated to admit it, I missed them. So when they called me and briefly mentioned they’d tired of their old route and would be taking on a new ride that summer, namely one that would loop right by me in Boston, I jumped at the chance, telling them to please not bother any of their friends with the trouble of driving and to let me come along. They were thrilled, of course. It had been a while since I’d willingly gone with them on their trips and they agreed without a second thought, inviting me to stay at their hotel with them like old times. I’ll spare you the details of the trip as a whole, I suppose. It was 119 miles along Wachusett mountain and there was a lot to look at. I mean I could go on and on about the sights I saw and the nostalgia that bloomed in my chest when I remembered the first few drives I’d taken with them.

ARCHIVIST:

(mocking) Heaven forbid you go on a tangent.

[ACCOUNT]

The important thing is the fact that, although I was so sure I’d checked all the maintenance lights off beforehand, by some twisted turn of fate, the lights on my dashboard flicked off, and stopped functioning altogether. It would have been fine, I mean it was in broad daylight still, but without a working speedometer, I was screwed. Now, my first thought was rage, of course, quickly followed by worry about my parents. I was lucky enough to have broken down where there was still cell service and to have my father pick up when I called, the two of them having momentarily paused to sight see. He assured me that it was okay. They’d be riding through where my car had stopped in about an hour and would be able to refuel their waters and snacks, but that they were going strong and should be fine to continue the ride. He told me just to call Triple A and make sure to get myself back to the hotel we were staying at safely and to leave the waters and things by a tree if by some miracle my car was fixed before they got to me. I tried to stay calm and called for the repair guy, who informed me he wouldn’t be there for about an hour and a half which was… just perfect.

ARCHIVIST:

Now I genuinely cannot tell if this is sarcasm or not as it’s written down so it’s anyone’s guess really.

[ACCOUNT]

I thought for a while and decided it would be fine if I walked around the nearby woods for a little while. Like I said, I really did love the exploring aspects of these trips and I figured that if I would be stuck here for a while, I might as well make the most of it as long as I kept my phone on me and kept track of the time. And honestly? It was some of the best fun I’d had in a while. Staying in the city for college had put my love of nature on hold indefinitely and I was happy to have it, even if for a short time. After a little while of walking around, I found this nice secluded area right on the edge of an open field and took a seat within a bush where the branches grew haphazardly enough that there was a decent sized hollow space for me to rest. I closed my eyes, just enjoying the moment in spite of my circumstances.

[beat]

SFX: Eerie music begins playing.

And… that’s when I heard it. There was this slight whooshing noise followed up by a few wet squelching sounds as whatever seemed to have fallen bounced once or twice along the damp earth.

My eyes snapped open, but as I scanned the forest floor, nothing immediately caught my attention. Everything seemed normal. And then as I was staring open-eyed at the field in front of me, it seemed as though the sky opened up. But… not with rain. Instead of water, there were fleshy colored chunks of all sizes just plummeting down from the sky into the field. They flopped as they hit the ground in a way that was both comical and simultaneously made me afraid I was going to lose the continental breakfast I’d had at the hotel just a few hours earlier. And that’s before I even noticed the smell. In the end, that’s what really made me realize what I was looking at. The smell that permeated the air as the shower continued suddenly clicked in my brain: rotten meat. There was nothing else that could smell so repulsive and sickly as the mass of meat chunks that had begun to collect on the field before me.

[RECORD SCRATCH]

ARCHIVIST:

What.

[beat]

[ANOTHER BEAT]

(they clear their throat) Right.(somewhat shakily) Moving on then.

[ACCOUNT]

By now, I was holding my hands clasped to my mouth, trying not to panic and furthermore hoping that the meat shower would stay central to that one area. Honestly I didn’t know if I would be able to handle any of it coming near me and I was thankful for every second it didn’t. It went on like that for several minutes through which I finally resolved to keep my eyes firmly shut.

[beat]

And then all of a sudden, the wet flopping sound ceased. For a moment, I could almost believe I imagined it, with my eyelids still pressed together. And yet, the smell still hung in the air. I slowly opened my eyes, hoping not to see what I deep down knew I would. What had once been a gorgeous fertile field full of lush grass and the types of wildflowers that would have been classified as weeds by those without any sense-

ARCHIVIST:

You mean botanists who likely have PHD’s? Hmm. I see.

[ACCOUNT]

Well, it had been turned into a literal hellscape. Not only was the meat layered on itself in clumps of already rotting material slowly heating up in the mid-day sun- which yes is as nasty as it sounds- but even the areas where the meat hadn’t settled were covered in that kind of slimy residue that comes off when you pat pre-packaged meats dry before you cook them. Pretty awful in every sense of the word.

[beat]

I sat on the ground for a few more minutes hidden safely within my bush before I realized that it had probably been about forty-five minutes since I called the Triple A man and figured now was a good a time as any to try getting back to my car, especially since I wasn’t keen to get caught up in any second round of meat rain.

SFX: Eerie music starts playing.

Unfortunately for me, the moment I decided this was exactly the moment the man and little girl walked out into the field. They came in from exactly the opposite side from where I was attempting to stand up, so of course they saw the bush shudder even with the cover it gave me. I hoped against everything that they would pass it off as an animal, perhaps drawn towards the display looking for dinner, and it seemed that, even standing up as I was, I was lucky enough to scrape by on that front.

I guess you’ll be wanting a description of them, yeah? The man was a little older, maybe in his late thirties and seemed positively pleased to be walking through the field of gristle and gore. At the very least, his smile beamed as he passed his eyes back and forth across the field. The girl next to him seemed to be so young, a toddler: maybe five at the oldest? I don’t know, I’ve never been good at discerning children’s ages. But young as she was, she didn’t seem put off by the scene around her in the slightest, skipping along next to the man with her hand swinging along in his.

I wish I knew what happened next. You ever have one of those moments where you suddenly realize you’ve been holding your breath? That’s the only thing I can chalk it up to I guess. Maybe it was the terrifying notion of them noticing me any further, a freeze fear response, or just subconsciously trying to keep the smell out of my nostrils, but no matter the reason, I realized I hadn’t taken a breath in far too long a few moments too late and I fell forward into the bush.

[beat]

Loudly. Loud enough that when I came to my senses a second or two later, halfway fallen out of the bush where they could see me clear as day, I could see both of them staring at me with their heads cocked to the side. As frightened as I was, though, I remember clearly that the two of them shared the same calm, kind face, the pleasant demeanor dimmed only by their surroundings. And then, with my head still cloudy, I heard him call out to me.

“Are you alright over there?” And that was the moment I knew that-

[SFX: paper being turned over frantically and then a beat]

ARCHIVIST:

(frustrated) Hm. It seems that the account ends there if I’m not mistaken. Though it seems the story does not. I suppose maybe there’s another sheet around here with the rest of the story, although how I’m going to find it in this mess I can only guess. (muttering) Guess I’ll just have to keep a look out for another paper coated in this grime, which I am now unfortunately being led to believe is meat… juice.

Either way, I’m afraid that with the few details I’ve been given so far I cannot confirm anything about this case one way or another. I would love to dismiss it right off the bat and write off the… grime on this paper as a practical joke, but until further research is done or I get a hold of the rest of this story, I’m afraid I can do no such thing. (a long, drawn out sigh)

[SFX: the listeners become aware of the sound of a camcorder whirring at some point in this closing as Chris approaches]

[As Chris begins, the Archivist yelps in surprise, maybe a little desk clatter]

CHRIS:

Do you think you could do another take real quick? Maybe up the acting a bit during the meat rain, really sell the emotion?

ARCHIVIST:

Bloody hell—who are you?

CHRIS:

Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.(then, trying to be cryptic, but she’s too over-the-top for it to be scary) Or did I?

ARCHIVIST:

(confused) You—how long have you been in here?

CHRIS:

Uh. The whole time? I thought you’d say something to me eventually, but you were really lost in the sauce there for a bit.(trying to be funny) Or, lost in the meat juice, I guess. (she giggles at her own joke.)

ARCHIVIST:

Well, my sincerest apologies, but you weren’t supposed to be in here in the first place. Who are you? Is—is that a camera?

CHRIS:

Oh, I’m Christine Lewis, one of the researchers!

[Val tries to speak, but Chris cuts them off.]

CHRIS:

Just Chris is fine. Anyways, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to get some footage for my channel.

ARCHIVIST:

(slowly) Your...channel…

CHRIS:

(she hums.) I’m kind of going for like, a Buzzfeed Unsolved type vibe, you know?

ARCHIVIST:

I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.

CHRIS:

Damn. No culture in these archives. Maybe if you stanned Ryan Bergara, this never would have happened.

ARCHIVIST:

Look, Chris, as...flattered...as I am to be the subject of your web series, I don’t appreciate being recorded without my knowledge. At least I have control over when this girl here turns on and off.

CHRIS:

Did you just call the tape recorder a girl…?

ARCHIVIST:

(overlapping) Not the point. Could you please get back to doing your job, and save the videos for when you’re not at work?

CHRIS:

If you insist. It’s gonna be worth it, though. You’ll get a shoutout in my one million subscribers video, just you wait.(mumbles). Just gotta get to ten subscribers first. Maybe if I was more active on Twitter. Say, do you think we could make an account for the [REDACTED] Institute?

ARCHIVIST:

(they are at their limit) Chris?

CHRIS:

Yeah, boss?

ARCHIVIST:

Get back to work before I tell HR to write this up.

CHRIS:

Yeah, yeah, I’m going.

SFX: Chris begins to walk off.

ARCHIVIST:

(they huff a sigh.) End recording.

Recorder clicks off.

CREDITS:

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “Gather raw meat of any kind, red preferred, human is fine,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Jesse Smith as Chris Lewis. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at [email protected]. Thanks for listening.

#ir31pod transcripts

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ghoztlinkblot · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2 - Hero Schools

The Government-Hired Heroes, shortened simply as the GHH for convenience, was a specific branch of the police born around the 12430s as an answer to the growing rise of superpowered crime; if the future of felony was in individual personalities with outstanding traits more so than in large organisations of nameless, faceless crooks, as it had appeared back then, authorities would adapt and follow suit. Originally rather small, it soon imposed itself as a signature part of the police force. As the years passed, and the GHH solidified its political importance and cultural impact, one would have expected more and more abilitied folk to flock to its doors every year; and, though, in some regards, that wasn’t inaccurate, the truth was a bit more complicated.

While back in the first few months of 12417, abilities were brand new, flashy and rare, assuring anyone who had them to be put into the spotlight, advantaged regardless of what the ability actually was, the First Supervillain crisis just half a year later proved how unstable the status of abilitied people was. Even after the abilitied revolt, Scarlet Maylis’ government and reforms, and abilities becoming an everyday thing, over the following century, this trend only worsened. The GHH had more stories wherein everything went wrong than of normal, successful heroes, it seemed. The truth was, the media simply made more noise for those trashy tales, but that was enough to stain te GHH’s reputation. And it all had started with its inception.

Scarlet Maylis, or the iconic “magical girl” Bleeding Heart, generally seen as the de facto leader of the First District, a movement spawned in response to the First Supervillain discourse to offer the discriminated abilitied an outlet, and that had eventually grown to carry out a full-on coup d’état, defending the rights of her kin all throughout the country, had gradually grown more and more extreme in her views once put in charge of the government. While many still remembered Bleeding Heart, and that cute little cheerleader chant - “B, L, E! E, D, I! N, G, ♡!” - fondly, her role as a quasi-dictatorial leader was controversial, splitting the public opinion to this day. And the Government-Hired Heroes, born under her jurisdiction, were stained with a similar reputation. One of the first big GHH controversies was that of Adrian and Luna Maylis, Scarlet’s own children and some of the first-ever GHH heroes, enrolled in their youth and who’d both run away from that responsibility before they’d even hit their coming of age - sixteen years old. Though they both eventually returned and enrolled back into the force after all just a few years later, the damage was done.

But besides the GHH and its leaders’ own faults, heroism just didn’t have as favourable an image as many other jobs. As a result of Maylis’ politics, abilitied folk had become the majority; it was no longer a standout category that ensured you an edge others didn’t have on the job market. Plus, heroism didn’t pay all that well, and the interviews were infamous for being especially harsh. Many parents therefore advised their offspring against pursuing such a career, and even if many GHH-philes still enrolled by dozens into the GHH, it found itself short on staff by the turn of the century.

The government needed to find a way to solve this. While heroism itself was in deficit, the capital’s culture, tourism and advertising depended on its theatrics. They had to make heroism more appealing, to stop abilitied people from picking other careers, or worse, using their abilities for crime and further overworking the GHH. Investing remarkably high amounts of money, they came up with an eccentric solution : hero schools.

Entirely government-funded, they were free, well-furnished schools who, on top of teaching typical subjects, promised to raise children into the GHH-compliant heroes they were always meant to be. In other words, they were free schools that ensured a stable, guaranteed job to anyone who passed with decent honours, right upon graduation. Heroes, vigilantes and villains had always been most popular amongst children; to them, there was a certain prestige to attending such a school, which made them brag about it to their friends and peers, who in turn whined to their parents to let them attend as well. Add in a few meaningless advantages and coupons, and the formula was complete; not only that, it was successful.

The GHH went from accepting any old resume that still dared come their way to reaffirming its cutthroat reputation as a prestigious organisation; it seemed nearly impossible to be hired for one who hadn’t graduated from a hero school. The two institutions grew almost indissociable over time; The hero-school grading system - C, B, A, S - became a standard of the GHH itself, which now categorised its numerous employees in the same way; C rank, B rank, et cetera. These ranks were made public as well, as fans loved to tier and compete, and reflected a difference in workload, work ethic and efficiency expected from different heroes, as well as the way they were treated. Salary, leniency of their superiors, general authority within the workplace; a bonafide hierarchy formed between employees that, on paper, shared the same contracts and jobs.

The rankings became more and more central to the GHH’s inner workings over time, and would determine things such as which heroes were paired up together; Bs with Bs, As with Cs, and Ss by themselves. In other words; As got to boss Cs around, Ss had private offices, and Bs did most of the work on their own. There were exceptions - the Golden Trio was allowed to work together, thanks to the influence of Bonnie’ family - but they were few, and didn’t change the overall situation.

The inequalities leaked out of the GHH’s walls, spreading to the capital as a whole. Non-abilitied folk, who had already become a minority, were now further disadvantaged; while, technically, one was not required to have an ability in order to be hired by the GHH, as that would’ve legally counted as discrimination, it was indeed a requirement in order to be enrolled into hero school, as that legally counted as a necessary credit. Thus, non-abilitied kids would often be shunned by their classmates, or even their own parents.

Still, it wasn’t as though every kid wanted to pursue that career path, nor like every parent was willing to support such a choice. Many abilitied people still led typical studies; such was Neville Elire Schifozzo. Born to a lower middle-class family, he had no interest in heroism; he’d attended public education, been taught plumbing, and worked as a plumber from age sixteen to age thirty-two, married and divorced. Somewhere along the way, he’d longed for something else. Something more. Anything, maybe. Or something specific. Either way, that desire had led him to the GHH. But how could he hope to be hired given his education? Simple: His ability.

Though it looked like simple teleportation at first, it was completely different, and unlike anything that had ever been seen before. Manipulating space was as close to reality warping as abilities had gotten since the death of Providence, a sister-in-arms of Scarlet and the rest of the First District, who had the ability to manipulate events, people, probabilities and their consequences themselves. While nothing as all-encompassing as that, Spatial Plumber’s ability was still leagues above average, with endless potential for defense, offense, sneaking, information-gathering and all other purposes. And yet… his unwillingness to speak up about it and lack of proper experience in the heroism field landed Neville at a solid B. Thus, he ended up teamed up with another B ranking hero: Bubblegum.

She was what Neville had been looking for. Not in any romantic sense, but more generally, in his life. She had the spunk, the energy, the optimism that he had lost, if he ever had it. She quite simply lit up his life. She liked his company too; he was entertaining, honest, simple, and polite. Their friendship was clear to see in how they worked together. Something tied that quiet, unassuming man and that loud charismatic girl together, whatever it was. Maybe that was why they would both, separately, end up quitting the GHH to do their own thing.

Tapas / < previous // next >

#superhero #capepunk #thriller #ongoing series #novel #online novel #oc #original character #writer #independent #writting #creative writing #character drama

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hedwigstalons · 4 years

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High Expectations - Ch20

I’ve been a little quiet for a bit because illness hit me hard (although thankfully not for too long). I’m back though and I bring another chapter of the beast that keeps on growing.

Extra thanks to @willow-salix who had to deal with my post-fog writing going back a few stages and who helped beat this into some sort of coherency.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Twenty

The mood in the plane was buoyant and the air was charged with testosterone and bravado. The transport flight was filled with Air Force personnel and their destination was Fort Hood, Texas. Scott hummed absently, his fingers drumming out a little beat on his knee, feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks, normally being a passenger on a flight made him agitated as he itched to be in the pilot’s seat but today was different.

The Army was the designated host of this year’s United States inter-service sports tournament and Fort Hood was the location where, for the next few days those selected to represent their respective services would compete in their chosen sports.

The tournament was supposed to be a friendly coming together of the various United States forces plus the various World Security Patrol branches, and for the most part it was friendly although it would be a lie to suggest there wasn’t a certain amount of posturing and goading underneath the surface. For those taking part it was a chance to uphold the honour of their chosen service and score some one-upmanship, for those like Scott who had been selected before it was also a chance to settle old scores.

For Scott it would be a blessed interlude between missions; after his last assignment he was in desperate need of some R&R but with taking leave off the cards this came a close second for allowing him to decompress and see the good side of military life. It would be a chance to indulge in some physical activity that he didn't have to think too hard about, recently his life had been nothing but one exhaustive mission after another. For once he was happy to be free from the burden of command for a while, his primary mission now was to run fast, fight hard and add as many points as possible to the Air Force tally.

His thoughts turned to last year’s competition; he’d done well and never placed lower than fifth in any of his events despite one Seaman Jeffries of the World Navy tripping him in 1500m, an action that by rights should have seen the man disqualified. Unfortunately the rankings were upheld with Jeffries placing second while he had struggled to regain ground and claim fifth. The injustice still rankled and he wondered if he would have to face the nefarious Jeffries again this year.

“Sir,” Scott called across to the Major who had been designated at team captain and was in charge of the Air Force contingent, “do you have a copy of the events list I can take a look at?”

“Sure Tracy, I brought some spares just in case” Major Ellis replied, passing a sheaf of papers across the aisle. “You’re up on the Wednesday afternoon for your track events and then Thursday afternoon for the martial arts. See any familiar names?”

“One or two” Scott replied as he checked out the list of competitors. “The US Army have put Moran in the hurdles again. I’d love to beat him this time and wipe that smug smile off his face. I’ve never met anyone so gloating.”

Having scrutinized the running order and competitors for his own events, no Jeffries, thank God, Scott began idly flicking through the rest of the programme. As he scanned the lists he spotted a familiar name, wanting confirmation of his suspicions he pulled out his phone and sent a message.

How far out of Fort Hood are you?

About 40 minutes came the response. This was quickly followed by How did you find out? Everyone at home promised not to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise. If it was Alan I’ll kill him.

Competitor list. See you soon.

Scott let out an involuntary chuckle knowing Gordon would be mad at giving himself away and thus depriving himself of the element of surprise in any pranks he had planned.

“What’s tickled your funny bone?” asked Ellis.

“It looks like you’re going to get to meet my kid brother.”

“Really?” Ellis asked curiously, opening up his own copy of the events list. “Is he on the other flight?”

“No, Gordon isn’t Air Force, he joined WASP.”

“You’ve got a brother in WASP? That’s a bit of a polar opposite to the Air Force. I bet that didn’t go down too well at home.” Scott had worked hard to build his own reputation but it was still well known who his father was and the Air Force pedigree he was following. “Is he another sprinter like you?”

“Dad took a little persuading” a frown furrowed his brow at the memory of Gordon’s journey into WASP; ‘a little persuading’ really didn’t do it justice but he wasn’t going to have the family’s dirty laundry aired in public, “but WASP was the natural choice really, Gordon’s a swimmer.”

Major Ellis found the relevant page and looked over the listings. The name Ensign G. Tracy leapt off the page again and again within the WASP entries.

“He’s all over the pool like a rash! Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket. Is he really that good?”

“You evidently don’t follow swimming that much. I should’ve realised WASP would jump at the chance to put him on the squad. It’s not often anyone gets to field an Olympic medallist.” He couldn’t help the smile that split his face at the thought of seeing his brother swim again for the first time since the Games. Gordon had dedicated so many years to his sport and had achieved glittering success that gave Scott a rush of pride at the memories.

In the confined space of the plane their conversation was beginning to attract attention.

“What’s that about an Olympic medallist?”

“Dunno, ask Tracy.”

“Hey, Tracy, who’s got a medal?”

“My brother, Gordon.”

“You’re kidding!”

While Scott’s own unit might have been well versed in his sibling’s success story the competitors were pulled from across the Air Force, most of them complete strangers before boarding the flight. There was a flurry of movement as a couple of people pulled out their phones and plugged the name into a search engine. By now most of the plane was taking an interest. It didn’t take long for someone to dig out one of the news reports; Gordon’s Olympic win had taken place less than two years previously and coverage was easy to find.

“Here, listen to this.”

Team USA continue their race to the top of the medals table with a successful day in the pool. The crowning glory came from Gordon Tracy, a rising star in the swimming world, who not only achieved gold in the 200m butterfly but set a new world record in the process. This achievement is made more remarkable in that Tracy is just 17 years old.

“That’s your brother! And now he is on the WASP team? Heck Tracy, can’t you do something like hide his trunks so the rest of us stand a chance?” one of the Air Force’s own swimmers exclaimed.

“No can do. There is no way I’m sabotaging my own brother and don’t any of you think of trying anything either. If you had ever met Gordon you would know that wouldn’t work anyway, he would probably just do the race butt naked.”

xoxoxox

Gordon gazed listlessly out of the window of his own transport flight, the clouds forming an unbroken blanket below them, the vista bland and uninspiring. After 4 fours in the air he was feeling bored, cramped and fed up. He’d started the flight all keyed up at the thought of competing again but the long hours in the company of strangers was starting to wear thin. For one thing there was too much trash talking for his liking, he’d never gone in for the verbal sparring side of sport but it seemed his companions very much viewed the other services as the enemy at this event. It wasn’t an attitude he had encountered elsewhere in WASP and he hoped the bad mouthing would be constrained to these few days, it also wasn’t behaviour he could join in with in good conscious and so he had stayed quiet and kept himself to himself, trying to get back into competition mode after so long off the elite circuit. A vibration in his pocket startled him and he pulled out his phone.

How far out of Fort Hood are you?

Without thinking he typed About 40 minutes and hit the send button. Only when it was too late did it register who had sent the original message and he realised his mistake. He had wanted to surprise his oldest brother, the one who was hardest to meet up with due to their differing military commitments. He’d been able to tell the wider family about his selection during his period of leave over Alan’s birthday but with Scott away on his mission he’d been able to keep the news secret from his eldest sibling.

How did you find out? Everyone at home promised not to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise. If it was Alan I’ll kill him.

Competitor list. See you soon.

Well, he supposed Scott would have found out in a few hours anyway and at least this way they would both be looking out for each other. He wasn’t quite sure of the format of the event or how easy it would be to break away and hunt down a member of one of the other services.

xoxoxox

Gordon wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from competition or from Fort Hood but it looked like finding Scott wasn’t going to be easy. Outside of their own events the personnel were able to watch the competition but there was very little free time beyond that. Even if he could get away, finding his brother was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack; the different services were billeted all over the base and by the end of the first day all he knew was that WASP was sharing a dorm block with the Coastguard Service and a mess hall with the US Navy.

Not that he had much time to brood, the swimming was taking place on the first day of the competition proper and after a hurried breakfast Gordon found himself hustled towards the pool.

He was looking forward to the chance of some competitive swimming again. The specialist training on the Merlin had been intensive and the extended time beneath the waves had ignited a passion for marine biology but the cramped space of a submarine had hardly been conducive to physical exercise. This competition would give him the opportunity to indulge in his first passion, he just hoped he was up to the task having been entered into far more events and across a wider range of disciplines that he was used to.

Aside from his trunks lacking the Team USA branding the competition was much like any other Gordon had attended. A fair crowd had filled the viewing gallery but Gordon couldn’t tell if Scott was amongst those in dark blue. Events were called, heats were swum (and usually won) and Tracy was once again a name to be reckoned with in the pool. It felt good to be cleaving through the water again. Despite not being in peak condition for swimming he was still in fine physical form over all and the muscle memory from all those races past carried him along to victory time and again. The main difference to his usual style of competition was the lack of medal ceremony at the end and at the conclusion of his last race Gordon was able to wend his weary way back to the changing rooms where he flopped down on a bench.

Pressing his shoulders against the cold tiles, eyes closed and head tipped back, the last of his energy was spent. It had been a long time since he’d pushed himself to those lengths in the water and normally his race card was rather more sparse, one elite athlete among many, each responsible for their own specialisms. The problem was, despite the high physical standards demanded by the military, elite athletes were in short supply and his pool times had placed him as primary candidate across more events than he was really comfortable taking on but he hadn’t felt able to say no to his superiors this early in his WASP career.

He concentrated on his breathing, listening to the hum and chatter of the other competitors around him, a cluster of WASPs gloating about their healthy position in the league table were his nearest companions. He knew he ought to be getting dry, knew he ought to be digging out the tracksuit he’d been issued for the event, but his limbs felt leaden. He wanted to be collapsed on his bunk but that involved moving and right now moving felt an impossible task.

“Gordon, eat something.”

He sensed a dimming of the light levels through his eyelids as a figure stepped between him and the harsh lights of the changing room. The voice was commanding but his eyes stayed firmly shut and his body refused to obey.

The figure in front of him was causing quite a stir but then that was typical of Scott. He tended to exude an attitude as though he owned a place and this evidently wasn’t going down well with the WASPs around him who bristled with resentment at the young figure in Air Force blue invading their section of the changing rooms. There were muttered jibes, reminiscent of those from the flight over, but the intruder wasn’t giving the WASP delegation the rise they so clearly desired. Having failed in their goading one of his team mates decided to square up to the man they evidently viewed as the opposition.

“And who the hell are you to order us around, flyboy?”

Scott’s eyes glittered at the challenge, a warning look that Gordon would have recognised from his own childhood had he been fully cognizant of the situation, Scott was not in any mood to be pushed.

“That’s Captain to you” there was a pause as he took in the insignia worn by the other man, neither were in traditional uniform but the competition sports kit still had a place for rank slides; after all, the military thrived on hierarchy “Chief Petty Officer, although I accept you may not be familiar with the rank structures of the other services”

Scott turned his attention back to his brother, ignoring the WASP who was now brisling after being firmly put in his place. He was well aware of the animosity being directed towards him but his focus was his sibling, not some jumped up sardine with a chip on his shoulder. He’d been concerned at the amount of events Gordon had pulled, and now, seeing his brother in the aftermath, he knew that concern had been justified. The figure in front of him was breathing a little too shallowly for comfort and hadn’t moved from the moment Scott had spied him from across the changing room. It had been a long time since he’d seen his brother swim himself to this level of stupor, years of competing had made Gordon pretty well attuned to his bodily needs, but evidently today he had neglected his post-race routine.

Gordon had gotten as far as taking off his swim cap but no further, water dripped down his torso from the flattened hair that was still slick from the showers. Even accounting for his time under the waves his skin was far paler than Scott was used to seeing. He’d come down with the intention of congratulating his brother on his success in the water but now his primary concern had turned to Gordon’s basic wellbeing.

Scott knew he had to get his blood sugars back up again. He grabbed his brother’s kit bag and rooted around in the end pocket. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph as his fingers closed around the packet of glucose tablets it appeared his brother still had the sense to carry. He extracted two tablets from the tube and, crouching down in front of his brother, placed them in Gordon’s palm before closing the lax fingers over them.

“Gords, you still with me? You need to get these into you.”

He paused while Gordon’s body processed the order, then let out a little breath of relief as the arm jerked up and Gordon began to suck on the tablets.

He hadn’t seen his brother crash this bad since he was about twelve. An early promotion to senior squad had seen the pre-teen eager to please his new coach while trying not to show anything that could be construed as weakness by his new and much older team mates and so the kid had forgone his post-race refuel. The result then had been Gordon turning a grim shade of grey and falling off the medal podium in a dead faint.

With the glucose tablets administered Scott turned his attention back to Gordon’s kit bag and pulled out a celery crunch bar, a firm favourite for the swimmer. He opened it and placed it in Gordon’s now empty hand. This was evidently an imposition too far for the WASP already disgruntled at being put in his place by the young captain.

“With all due respect Sir” there was a distinct sneer behind the formality “there’s no eating allowed in the changing rooms.”

If Scott’s eyes had glittered before, now they blazed with anger and contempt. Rising from his crouch in front of Gordon, he drew himself up to his full height and positively loomed over the belligerent WASP.

“With all due respect I would have thought you would rather your team mate got his blood sugars up, or does your first aid training not cover hypoglycaemia?” He took a step towards the WASP, encroaching into the man’s personal space in a clear display of dominance. “Not that you seem to be acting as a team right now. Would half of you even be here if it wasn’t for the relay events, or maybe you tried to enter him for all four legs of that at well?”

With the glucose hitting his blood stream Gordon became more aware of the increasing commotion around him. Voices that had once been jubilant now had a dangerous and angry edge and…yes...most of the anger seemed to be coming from Scott.

Something tripped blearily in his brain; what on Earth was Scott doing here and why did he suddenly feel so cold? Amber eyes cracked open and he forced his head open off the wall. The movement was clocked by Scott who was back in front of him in an instant.

“Hey Fish, you back with me?” All traces of anger had gone as he turned his attention back to his Gordon, the Air Force Captain replaced by the brother of old; the caregiver with the ready supply of band aids, ice packs and gentle admonishment as he presented yet another injury for inspection.

“Yeah, I’m...I’m good.” He looked down in confusion at the crunch bar in his hand, not entirely sure how it had got there, but took a bite anyway. “Guess I should have known better than to skip refuel.”

“Yeah, you should”

Yup, that was the Scott he knew from Kansas. Gordon felt like he was 9 years old again, being told off for being an idiot in the same ‘I told you so’ tone that had made it quite clear that of course jumping off the shed roof or using the frayed rope swing had been a bad idea.

“Yeah, thanks for that” A snort, an eye roll, and a re-emergence of the same attitude common to his past nine year old self.

“You’re okay now though, right? You’ll finish your bar and get dressed? Glucose tabs are back in the end pocket if you need more.”

“I’m fine, honest.” Okay, the slight whine was a little too much like a kid but he was tired and there was something about Scott’s familiar care that had him regressing 10 years. He forced protesting muscles to obey and hauled his back off the wall, rolling his shoulders to try and loosen the muscles that were rapidly seizing up. He tried to suppress a groan at the exertion, he wasn’t quite ready to try standing until after the crunch bar was finished but he also knew Scott would not be pacified until he saw some sort of response. The skeptical look he was given showed that Scott still wasn’t entirely convinced. Mustering up his remaining energy he returned the look with a grin which seemed to appease the elder Tracy.

“Hmm”, Scott didn't sound like he believed him but couldn't argue it, “well, get dry and get your kit on. You did good out there. I’ll be on the track tomorrow afternoon; I’ll see you there.” Without waiting for an answer Scott turned and exited the changing rooms.

The departure of the Air Force officer was followed with an outburst of grumbling from the WASP delegation.

“Asshole. Who the hell does he think he is, ordering us around?”

Gordon still hadn’t found his footing among the other swimmers, or the wider WASP delegation. He might be the highest ranking of those at the pool but he was also by far the youngest and with the shortest amount of service under his belt by a country mile. Rank structures overall seemed to be treated differently during the competition and these particular team mates seemed to have little regard for authority. He was conscious that a wrong move now could make life distinctly unpleasant for him, he might never see these men again after the competition was over but he still had to get through several more days in their company. He decided to play it for what it was; Scott being an irritating older brother.

“That was Scott. I think he got the whole older brother thing hard wired in at birth.”

“You’re related to that?” There was a contemptuous sneer aimed at Scott’s retreating form that set Gordon’s hackles raising but he knew sniping back would be an error.

“Yup. Of course, I got blessed with the good looks while he got the height.” He flashed a grin, trying to diffuse the tensions.

“Is he always such a jerk?” a Seaman sat to his right piped up, finding his voice now the imposing Captain was no longer practically standing on his toes.

Gordon shrugged; evidently the tensions were still there. “Only when he needs to be. I should’a thought to grab the glucose tabs myself after that many races. It’s been a while since I hit the pool competitively.”

There was a slight shuffling from the other swimmers, signs of guilt at not looking out for the young Ensign that had carried the team. Scott’s words about the rest of them only being there to make up the numbers for the relay, while not wholly accurate, weren’t far off the truth. They were all back in their dry kit while Gordon was still in his trunks, his skin still pale from the exertion even if his eyes had regained some brightness.

“Anyway,” he scruffed at his hair before drying off the rest of his body ready for dressing, “I need some real food after that and then I need to find out where the track events are being held.”

A snort. “Well we’ll be watching the shooting tomorrow. You can join us, or are you really going to do what big brother tells you?”

There was a challenge in the tone but Gordon was feeling more alive again and less tolerant of their needling. “I’m not going because he told me to, I’m going because he’s my brother and I want to. In my family we support each other and Scott, well, he’s done a lot for me.”

Decision made and allegiances stated he swung his kit bag over his shoulder and headed out to find some food.

#High Expectations #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Military brothers #Family comes first #swimming

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wxlawson · 4 years

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[ WAGNER ‘WOODY’ LAWSON. 42. CISMALE. HE/HIM] is here! They’ve lived in Silver Lake for [ THREE YEARS ] and are originally from [ TENESEE]. They are a [ MANAGER AT A DUDE RANCH ] and in their downtime love [ COLT STARTING ] and [ TAKING NAPS IN THE HAYLOFT ]. They look a lot like [ MILO VENTIMIGLIA] and live [ IN OASIS APTS ]

Name: Wagner ‘Woody’ Lawson

Age: Forty-Two

Birthday: January 25, 1979

Sign: Aquarius

Home: Quaint two-bedroom home with a small yard

Occupation: Manager at a dude ranch

Character Quote: “Sometimes I feel like Jesse James / Still tryin’ to make a name / Knowing nothing’s gonna change what I am” ~Troubadour by George Strait

Pos. Traits: Hard-Working, Steady, Humble

Neg. Traits: Blunt, Firm, Dissonant

Likes: farm work, aged whiskey, loping through the open country

Dislikes: people who push around others, well-done steak, warm beer

Aesthetic: tennessee whiskey, the smell of fresh hay, roping

~bio~

Born in Tennessee Wagner Lawson was raised along the banks of Mississippi mud, never given a chance to be anything but the down-home country boy, which had always suited Wagner just fine. His daddy was a colt starter and former rodeo champion, having won national titles for roping and reining. From the moment Wagner could waddle he was following his daddy around everywhere, at first just watching as his father worked and as he got older helping with the chores himself. He found that spending time tending to the many horses cathartic and volunteered for just about any chore that would get him around them. Never once did he need to be asked to pitch in to do what was needed at the family ranch, from picking vegetables in the garden for his mama to helping his daddy check the cattle fences. As far as most childhoods go, his was pretty perfect. Sure, sometimes his dad drank too much and sometimes his mom just would not stop fussing over him, but he had no cause to complain.

His father, seeing his boy take an interest in horses at such a young age decided to help Wagner begin to follow in his footsteps. As a kid he enrolled Wagner in the pee-wee portion of rodeos where his wife would take pictures of the young boy struggling to stay on the back of a wildly running sheep, but in the end, he stayed on. He almost always did. With natural talent like that his father was quick to get his son started on the path to becoming a bull-rider. His mama threw fits and got into fights with his daddy, it was too dangerous, he could be hurt, killed even, but as he got older and started to have a mind of his own there was nothing that he wanted to do more. So he practiced, and practiced. By sixteen he was competing on broncs, a safer alternative to the bull, and was cleaning up at junior rodeos, his room becoming full of belt buckles, the tack room full of all the special made trophy tack he had won. But being bucked was far from his only talent. At age ten he had broke his very first colt and at twelve he was winning local roping competitions. He even became adept at helping his dad sort and catch cattle, something he was never fond of but did anyways as it was expected of him. Despite how it sounds, his childhood wasn’t all work. While never the best in school he managed to get passing marks and had a group of boys he roughhoused and fucked around with who were constantly getting him into trouble as a teenager.

Fast forward a few years and he was one of the hottest young bull riders to hit the circuit. But his career as a rider didn’t last as long as anyone would have hoped. The reason? He fell in love. Some would have called the pretty woman he fell in love with a buckle bunny, what with her affinity of dating all the big rodeo stars, but when him and her spent one night together the rest was history. Now twenty-two and married with a baby on the way, Wagner knew he could not be as hell mell as he had been for the past few years. He now had a family to think about; and so, he quit bull riding and switched exclusively to broncs. It was still dangerous, but the risks less than if he was on the back of a bull. Life went on and for the most part the little family was happy, until tragedy struck. On the night of his twenty-eighth birthday, with his wife and little girl in the stands, he overtightened the strap around his hand. At first everything seemed to be going well, he had one of his best times, but as he threw himself off the bucking bronco his hand caught. It was an instant disaster. The animal began to panic, bucking harder and higher, with Wagner hanging on for dear life. His only blessing was that the first hoof to his head knocked him out cold. He was rammed into the side of the fence and drug for minutes before those in charge of wrangling the horse were finally able to calm it down. In the midst of the chaos, his wife, fretting over her husband, had not noticed her daughter slip down through the stands calling out for her daddy. No one noticed her presence in the ring until it was too late. All it took was one wrong move from the frightened animal and the sunshine of Wagner’s life was no more.

The blow to Wagner’s own head had been so severe that he was kept in a medically induced coma for two-weeks, giving the wounded flesh time to heal. When he awoke, his whole world was shattered. He grieved, and as he did his grief turned to anger. Anger at the situation, anger at the long arduous healing process, and anger at himself. But all that anger had to go somewhere, and with the only person around during his recovery being his wife, she took the brunt of it. It took him a little over a year to fully heal physically, and during that time he began to develop a dependency on his pain medication. He spent his days sitting in front of the tv drinking beer after beer on top of the opiates as his wife worked in a small diner to try and keep the roof over their heads. One day, a year and half after the tragic accident, the woman had decided that she had had enough. She gave Wagner an ultimatum, get help or she was gone. It led to largest fight yet, a massive blowout that made it clear where Wagner stood.

At that point he was nearing thirty and with nowhere else to go moved back in with his parents. His father though older now was still tough as nails and no patience for his son’s pansiness as he called it. He put Wagner to work. Sober or not he was expected to help, and if he didn’t, God help him. At first he railed, his rage boiling over and eclipsing everything. Rather than argue with his son, the elder Lawson simply gave him a new task. It would be his only job- start the colts. It was something Wagner had used to excel at, but his anger and rage at the horse’s mis compliance made things difficult. The gentle animals became scared of him and began to lash out. One colt in particular, a beautiful bay, resented Wagner more than any of the others, and he let him know it. That was Wagner’s wake up call. He ended up forming a bond with that colt that pulled him out of his stupor and set him back on track. His special relationship with that animal also earned him a nickname, Woody, because wherever Woody went, Buzz followed. Buzz and Woody quickly began racking up wins in roping and reining competitions, and for the next years, Woody allowed himself to feel the happiness that had come into his life. The two traveled all over the countryside, with Woody picking up odd jobs such as stable hand or working cowboy. Until one competition where in the middle Buzz came up lame with an injury too bad to fix, leaving Woody the tough choice of having to put his beloved companion down.

The loss of his friend sent Wagner ass-first back into the destructive patterns of his life, drugs and alcohol once more waging war inside his body. Only this time he wasn’t a young man, and the substances were taking a heavy toll on his health, not that he cared. His parents, unable to reach him, packed his things and kicked him out. Woody’s father, unable to completely give up on his son, reached out to an old friend who owned a dude ranch an hour outside of LA. For over a year Woody lived there, forced to claw his way back to sobriety through back-breaking labor. The option was always there for him to quit the job, fend for himself, but the company of the horses and being the source of looking after their well-being brought him back from the brink much like it had the last time. A year and a half later he was completely back on the wagon, though he can be known to slip with the drinking whenever the subject of his daughter is brought to the forefront of his mind, mainly around birthdays, his and hers, as well as holidays.

Wanting more independence Woody turned in his resignation, thanking his father’s friend for getting him back on his feet. Much to his surprise, rather than accept his two weeks notice, he offered Woody a promotion: to oversee the entire running of the dude ranch. It is a big job and one he takes very seriously, knowing that the overall welfare of the horses depends on him, even if he is no longer responsible for their day to day care. That was three years ago.

Since then he’s moved into an apartment at Oasis Apartments in Silver Lake, a place where he could have his freedom yet still manage his responsibilities. Anyone who’s ever been inside his apartment will say it looks like a country movie blew up, with saddles scattered on stands throughout the place and rodeo memorabilia hung up throughout, but for him, it’s the closet thing to home.

#tw death.#tw alcohol #tw addiction #tw drugs #tw death of a child #tw death #about || wagner lawson #bio

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years

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WHEN SOMEONE MAKES AN OFFER IN GOOD FAITH, YOU HAVE TO BE PROFITABLE

Because he pays close attention, a Navy pilot can land a 40,000 lb. Deals fall through. Do not use ordinary corporate lawyers for this. Here's an intriguing possibility. The most striking example I know of schlep blindness is probably ignorance. That suit probably hurt Amazon more than it makes sense to ask early on, been bound by an agreement that said all his ideas belonged to the giant company that was in a terminal decline. 047225013 mandatory 0. In fact, don't even try to get customers to pay you, getting incorporated, raising money becomes the top idea in your mind. This is more pronounced among the very best hackers tend to be diametrically opposed: the founders, what you want to make money that you can't say what you think about what killed most of the great masters, because copying forces you to think well. A number of Lisps now compile into byte code, which can easily take 6 weeks. Questions aren't enough.

Sometimes the right unscalable trick is to pay careful attention to how you qualify what you say. And VCs have been provoked by their arrival into making a lot of people. Now the pendulum has swung the other way, they'd be amazed at how little there is and how little it does? You see the same problem, and all feel guilty about it. Imagine picking out apples at a grocery store. We really did have the biggest share of the stock market. You can't watch people when everyone is watching you. And investors, too, should explain itself. Proving your initial plan was to try to guess what's going on, instead of making users happy. The rest have died or merged or been acquired. Resourceful implies the obstacles are external, which they generally are in startups. Then you'll have to explain how neatly things sometimes turn out.

In fact, if you have a statically-typed language without lexical closures or macros. In the future, so far that we didn't. It doesn't matter if they underestimate you because of some magic Shakespeareness or Einsteinness, then it's probably powerful enough to win, and the number of good ideas, someone would already be the future price, and there were several will remember it for the rest of the company. The constraint between good ideas and growth operates in both directions. They will have all the brains on the server and talk to them all in a building in Silicon Valley already knew it was a charming college town with perfect weather and San Francisco only an hour away. Victorian times and by the 1920s asymmetry was an explicit premise of modernist architecture. One recently told me that when he went to the local public school. I'll tell you about a series A in phase 2. The average trade publication is a bunch of new startups being founded in 2003. Police State. Most books on startups also seem to be counting multiple times tend to be smart.

Buying startups also solves another problem afflicting big companies: they can't do product development. Exactly. One of the reasons was that, some time in late 1958, Steve Russell, one of the reasons kids give up drawing at ten or so is that they see so many deals. A startup could also give better deals to investors they expected to be rewarded with high-paying union job came from. For the next fifty years will have to do the same thing, they got it right. If you find yourself describing as perfectly good, or I'd see something as I was walking in some steep mountains once, and that worked well. So the downhills of the roller-coaster are more of a disadvantage. Recently it was starting to break up. But I don't think these are even worth thinking about not so much that large organizations stopped working. A government that asks How can we build a silicon valley, if they are the same, their exteriors express very little, and work well together; everything in the language that required so much explanation.

Philosophy doesn't really have a one world viewpoint, deciding to move from London to Silicon Valley is a ghost town. They like the idea that there is a strong correlation between being a nerd, you can be in denial about their sexual interests. Maybe you're just running fast. Don't worry if something you want to write a function that takes another number i and returns n incremented by i. That has been the same: to beat the system. This is at least a precedent. Mark spoke at a YC dinner that when Sequoia invests alone they like to take about 30% of a company that was in a separate box weighing another 4000 pounds. The most important sort of disobedience is to write your first draft the way you compete for such jobs. Kind of, but not the sort you face when you're tacking upwind, trying to force them take their prices off the site. Then we'll trace the life of the company they do now, at sixteen? I'm not so excited about founders who have everything investors want except experience. But the problem with that.

That's why there's a special name for these topics. Html#f7n 14. Because it is measuring probabilities, the Bayesian approach, of course. If you can't, notably ineptitude and bad luck. And it turns out to be a good plan. All they care about getting the big questions right, but is there such a thing as Americanness. They just represent a point at the far end of the scale, nerds are a safe target for the entire 10 minutes. Because VCs like publicity. Ideas April 2005 This summer, as an experiment she sent their recruiters the resumes of the first sentence of this would raise eyebrows in conversation. There was a window of about two years when spam was increasing rapidly but all the big email services had terrible filters.

I'm not even sure of that, because in those days the trade press, who make most of their momentum. They didn't have ads for over a year. Or, for that matter. Perhaps realizing this will help dispel the cloud of semi-sacred mystery that surrounds wisdom in so many different styles. Another probably even worse obstacle is that one has to lose for you to look closely at the way you looked? That's a new problem, because looking down on the top as well as good ones. Imaginative people don't want to follow or lead. They have the same revenues, it's the same with technology. If you look at the site of a newspaper or magazine.

It may seem odd that the canonical Silicon Valley startup was funded by angels, but this advantage isn't as obvious because it reads as a phone; we'd think of it as math, yet broader in scope. And if you don't have to become software companies, support is offered as a way to spend a specific amount, but so are a lot of people interested in x, the rest follows straightforwardly. Beneath that the message there is: you should live better. Other players were more famous: Terry Bradshaw, Franco Harris, Lynn Swann. If I had to go back seven paragraphs and start over. Steve Jobs. That was a surprising realization. College Will Change If the best startups. Apple products the way they'd await new books by a popular novelist. In the middle of a project you consider your life's work from. Power How wide is this territory? Because of Y Combinator's early, broad focus is that we may be able to do it is to get.

Thanks to Sarah Harlin, Paul Gerhardt, Harj Taggar, Sam Altman, Jessica Livingston, and Trevor Blackwell for their feedback on these thoughts.

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venxmedina · 4 years

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hellllo family :~) guess who’s baaaack !! it’s chelly, with my sassy little babie venice, whom i love very much and hopefully you do, too !! she’s a fun one to go out with, will flirt with you, takes up dance studio time whenever she can, and isn’t afraid to voice her opinions. i’m so excited to get her back into the swing of things, since i am bringing her back from a smol hiatus !! like this or shoot me a message if you’d like to plot :pleading fc: :~)

— && guests may mistake me as ( camila mendes ), but really i am ( venice medina + cis female + she/her ) and my DOB is ( 3/31/1995 ). i am applying for the ( housekeeper ) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite ( 213 ). i should be hired because i am ( charming & witty ), but i can also be ( cunning & dramatic ) at times. personally, i like to ( go shopping, attend dance classes & practice self care ) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work.

okay before this gets waaaay too long lmfao here’s a TL:DR of venice, her pinterest board, and her connection page

venice is a spoiled rich girl who mommy & daddy never really paid much attention to except when it came to succeeding in life and she responded to that by partying and being a wild child tbqh, resulting in her parents cutting her off and forcing her to take on a real job at the malnati. she’s returning after her grandfather passed, which essentially turned into just another instance of her parents controlling her life and not trusting her to take care of herself or the medina family name. she’s resentful of them bc they never rlly believed in her and instead treated her more-so as a pawn to advance their family's position which is a lil dehumanizing as a daughter and she's now determined to prove them wrong and actually make something of herself. her parents put her into ballet classes from such a young age and although most of anything they made her do has mostly been tainted now, dance is the one thing that's stuck and brings her so much joy and purpose so she still takes classes & is in search of a permanent partner to compete with. she’s more than just a pretty lil rich girl, like she does have a heart ( kind of a big one but lowkey tho asdlfj ), but she's also got a bit of an identity crisis now that she's fully on her own and not under the influence of her parents or with the comfort of her brother, and that's ... different. kind of a cold bitch, but she’s charming and sociable and has a good heart but she’s guarded and afraid of getting hurt.

here is her pinterest board & her connection page <3 i’d especially love some hookup buds, a dance partner, childhood enemy, one night stands, fake relationships, fiesty friends, frenemies, and just about anything tbh :~)

tw: drugs & alcohol mention, neglect, death

*:･ﾟ･✧･ who am i?: the medina family fortune was founded during the gold rush era in which the family immigrated from brazil and were talented metal-workers who could turn such raw materials into works of sheer beauty. jewelry, picture frames, gold plated toilet seats and architectural elements alike - everyone in hollywood wanted something made by the medinas. their prominence never weaned, either. throughout the decades, the family fortune has amassed well beyond anyone’s wildest dreams and therefore money is barely to be considered to the medinas despite them still understanding the value of a dollar earned. given the diversity in which the wealth is spread, and the investments that it has been used to make, it is obvious that they are a family of considerable wealth making up the upper class. their high-rise in the upper east side really says it all. this was the world that venice was introduced to, and quite frankly, it was all she had ever known. her guarded building was as much as she was allowed to venture out into for many a year, where the doorman was a babysitter and mrs. winters’ dog a few floors down was a friend. of course, there were a few other kids in her building whose parents were either fond or jealous of the medinas, so until she went to school venice did get to socialize with kids her own age too. her older brother, lucca, was one of her biggest saving graces. he was one of the only people in her life that truly gave her the time of day, and as much as it pained venice to be constantly overlooked by her parents in favor of lucca, he was her best friend. for all intents and purposes, he was the only medina who made her feel like she even had a family, and if there's anyone she's more loyal to than anyone else, it'd him. but per her education, venice attended private schools in the city throughout her life, even being tutored by some of the most highly reputable and paid retired teachers in the entire state for extra attention. getting a proper education was more important to her parents than it was to venice, so she put in the minimal effort needed. it wasn’t as if she was ever going to be given a failing grade, and it wasn't as though an A on a paper was going to garner her parents' attention for long ( if at all - it was what was expected of her ). the girl knew of her influence and the power her family held from an early age. whatever she wanted, she got, and that was the precedent that had been set from infancy. whatever would get her to stop whining, that’s what she got.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ attention to detail: half of the battle for venice, though, throughout her life, was garnering her parent’s attention. her father was a proven, accomplished businessman who was often out of the state or city to tend to whatever firm needed his attention. her mother was a socialite who was more concerned with keeping up the image of a perfect household than actually tending to one. it wasn’t that there was a lack of love for her, from her parents, it was just rather that care was seldom expressed when venice so desperately needed it. she had spent more time with nannies and tutors and tennis instructors than she did her own parents, and that left a vacancy in her heart. naturally, her relationship with her brother was one that she worked on every day; they were thick as thieves and everyone knew the medina siblings. but, she couldn't follow her brother all day for the rest of her life, and as much as his love helped fill some of those voids in her heart, it wasn't always enough, either. she sought out their attention in so many different avenues. whether that be through ballet dance recitals, throwing temper tantrums if she wasn’t getting her way, leaving notes on her mother and father’s pillows … venice really tried all of it. and sure, she would occasionally get some kind of attention in return, but it was usually fleeting and uninspiring. they favored lucca in just about every aspect, and expected him to carry on the family name, line, and company so in a lot of ways - he took precedence. and this wasn’t dissimilar to the experiences of some of the people she called her friends at the time. her parents were busy people who didn’t have much time to deal with the handful of a daughter that they had.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ to be needed: this is where much of venice’s neediness has stemmed from. she truly does seek out those who are more likely to give her attention, to feed into her, even though she has been taken advantage of time and time again over the years. it’s not something she is even consciously aware of, it’s mostly just something that happens. or at least that’s how it started out. even to this day it can be difficult for venice to understand what a mutually beneficial relationship looks like, but that doesn’t mean she’s incapable of learning. for a long time, the people who wanted to be in her life also wanted access to the lavish lifestyle that follows her. this often meant that so many of venice’s ‘friendships’ were hollow, and merely existed to the benefit of the other person. it took awhile before venice started to realize that all of the trips she took people on, the random shopping sprees, the VIP bottle service, the ‘borrowed’ gucci and hermes - it was all for nothing. it wasn’t until she graduated that all of this dawned on the girl, but it did. and while she still feels that aching need to be surrounded by others, to be validated in some way, she is far more guarded now and protective of herself; she isn’t just going to be used by anyone ever again, and that lesson is one she holds very close to her heart. which she’d personally describe as a cold one if only to protect it.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ reckless abandon: but … speaking of, like so many of our favorite little rich girls, venice has always been a rebellious one. it started when she was a sixteen year old who had access to her own limo and could go wherever the hell she wanted. she had met plenty of other affluent sons and daughters of her parent’s pals by that point, and they had their own sort of ‘code’ amongst them. she started experimenting with drugs and alcohol at an early age and since it was what everyone else was doing, it allowed her to be a part of the club, and that’s what she was searching for. it warranted attention from the paparazzi, from these other so-called ‘friends’ of hers. her beach house in the hamptons was her playground every weekend during the summer and it was good she had a maid service on speed dial because after her friends were through on a sunday night, it was necessary. she'd grown to essentially need a bottle of titos if she were going out or a few bumps to get her through a night, and it was incredibly unhealthy, but it was one of those staples that made her feel better. even for a little. even in fleeting moments.

when she was graduating from her private academy and just turning 18, the need and desire to escape her family's imposing pressures and lack of care grew deeply. she knew that she wanted to escape to the west coast, and after spending far too many weekends jet-setting all over the country, the dry heat that filed the arizona air was appealing to her. she was miles away from her parent's, but still close enough to the beach and access to all the funds she could ever ask for. she was a party girl who barely attended classes and it was her family name that mostly got her through the couple of years that she even attended. she spent most of her time shopping, getting high, and drinking all night long. perhaps what was the most shocking was the relationship venice found herself in. he was a football player, older, undoubtedly gorgeous, and one of the kindness people venice had ever met ... up until meeting mason, she had basically only been surrounded by people who wanted to use her and didn't genuinely give a shit about her at the end of the day; they were in it for themselves, and mason was the exact opposite. he considered her, was far more mature than most of the people she'd ever spent time with, and she latched onto that breath of positivity and openness that was mason davis. even till this day, her relationship with mason was the longest one she'd ever found herself in, and to put it simply: she fell in love and she fell hard. some of her fondest memories were cheering him on at every game, celebrating the wins, and introducing him to anyone she could who was in the professional scene because she believed in him more than anyone else. he was unlike anyone she'd ever met before and cared for him more than she could understand; he was her first true relationship, someone who deserved to be her one and only, and while it terrified her how much she felt for him, she thought it was all reciprocal - so what was there to worry about? well, the night to worry came. and it was when mason broke up with her - supposedly, with his graduation date coming, he wanted to spare her the hurt ... but, in reality, all it did was shatter the girl's heart at twenty years old and it's never fully recovered since.

it didn't take long for venice to go off the deep end after the breakup ... being at the university of arizona was way too much, and every memory that used to bring her nothing but happiness was tainted. every ounce of personal growth that she had worked on seem to vanish overnight, and she was just angry, and hurt, and it was like all of those moments her parents made her feel like she wasn't enough - they were right. and still ... she needed home, to go home, to be surrounded by people who she was familiar with and who she knew would let her lean on them ... even if there were only a couple of people back home who'd comfort her, even if it was just lucca, she needed to go back to the city she knew like the back of her hand. even to be surrounded by people who'd pretend to care about her just for a night in her lifestyle. so she put in a transfer application to NYU, and yet again, it was her family name and pedigree that got her into the school. and attending NYU ... well it wasn't much better and when she first started at UoA. she’d hook up with anyone who she deemed interesting and the next night she was onto someone new. she was almost desperate in getting over mason in the only way she knew how ... getting under someone else. and she did a whole lot of that. everyone knew who she was on the party scene and you either hated venice or loved venice - but no matter what, you knew who she was. and that's how she survived her last two years ... making the rounds, living it up, partying and relying on her favorite substances .. it wasn't good, and it wasn't pretty, but it was what she knew best and that's what she reverted to at the time.

*:･ﾟ･✧･ riptide: anytime she could garner his parent’s attention with her reckless escapades, it was a win. that’s what she wanted. she wanted their attention, no matter what way she could get it, and there was something extremely fun in the process of getting it. but as she got older, her parents stopped caring as much. they knew venice wasn’t making healthy choices, spent too much time partying and out all night rather than studying, that she probably was crying over for something or someone, but that wasn’t what they were most concerned with. no, they were more concerned with the tabloids and the family’s reputation - that’s why they weren't paying venice any attention while she was away at NYU. they’d threaten to cut her off and that she would no longer be apart of their family if she continued to act this way in public. whether it was in a headline or on social media, she was being filmed and photographed acting out and being a truly spoiled brat which wasn’t the image that her family so desperately sought to protect.

*:･ﾟ･✧･this is growing up: it has been a true emotional rollercoaster between venice and her parents - constantly struggling to support their daughter and ‘set her on the right path’ versus venice’s ‘devil may care’ attitude. so many of her parents threats have been empty, and she had never truly thought that in all of their attempts to get her to be the picture perfect daughter that they wanted that they’d cut her off and force her to fend for herself. but, that’s exactly what happened. after graduating NYU with a degree in marketing, venice figured that her parents were get her in to one of the top agencies in the city and she would be able to live out her life with the top dogs like her father had. and for a long time, that is exactly what her parents had promised her. but then her graduation came and it was just after that she had pulled her biggest stunt and had stripped down on top of the bar at one of her parent’s fundraising events during a drunken stupor. that was truly a turning point in her relationship with her parents, considering just how badly she embarrassed them at their own fundraising event. and truly it all stemmed from that desire to be seen by them, by anyone, to be considered at all. the most they were concerned with when it came to venice was where she was going to be working and later living. they didn’t care that she was depressed, covering it up with partying and alcohol, that she wanted their love to be expressed and to feel as though she belonged to a real family. and she’s always known her life is wonderful compared to so many others, and there is guilt that comes from that, too, but still she couldn’t stop herself from acting out when she needed attention the most. and that is when her parents ultimately decided to cut her off - freeze her accounts, reposses her car, and force her to get a job that would actually put her back into the real world.

*:･ﾟ･✧･out here on my own: and really, that is how venice has ended up in chicago in the first place. the medinas are friends with the malnatis, and they agreed to take her on as an employee through the employee housing program and to ( most importantly ) get her away from mommy & daddy and out of The City. it’s the first time in her life where she’s without friends, money, or any sort of support. honestly, she feels quite abandoned by her family, as she looks at it like they got sick of dealing with her so they shipped her off elsewhere to be someone else’s problem. the resentment is there, and now more than ever venice is determined to show her parents that she doesn’t need them or their money, that she’s going to be capable of being on her own and working a medial job like being a maid without crawling back to them. sure, she’s going to hate cleaning up after people when she used to have a nanny who would tidy up her own place, as she truly has been spoiled, but she’s determined to grin and bare it before going back home. besides, so much of her life has been focused on gaining their attention, approval, to be validated by anyone, to be seen as something more than just a pretty face with a fat bank account … and while she hasn’t always helped herself to be seen in any other light, she’s consumed by the idea of doing so now. this is the first time in venice’s life where she isn’t under her parent’s thumb. where she isn’t constantly under the influence of some substance. where she isn’t doing something insanely foolish or unhealthy to try and gain the favor of someone whos approval requires chasing. she’s really just getting to live within her own skin, be herself and figure out what that looks like.

after working at the malnati for a handful of months, it was a family emergency that landed her back in new york ... her grandfather had passed, the true patriarch of the family, and that came with a lot of 'passing of the guard' within the medina family enterprise. it meant funerals, and meetings with lawyers, and memorial services, and rekindlings with her brother, and public appearances, and making statements and being interviewed for magazines, and it was then that venice had truly learned of her position in her family. while her grandfather had left her stock options in her name when he passed, and plenty for her to be able to live comfortably off of for the rest of her life, it was so written that it was contingent upon her father's disbursement of the stocks when he deemed she was so fit to handle them. so it was even in death, her family did not trust her enough to be able to handle herself. she was still considered reckless, unreliable, and unworthy of holding a stake in medina international ... while it wasn't anything new or surprising to venice, it still hurt just the same. because she'd spent the past year working on herself, away from the pressures of being a medina, separated from her family and essentially disowned by her own parents and even still, she found herself at their mercy once more. it would come at no surprise that she decided to leave it all behind her once more ... which is why she's returned to chicago, not as a guest at the malnati, but as an employee. as someone with aspirations and desires to move up in the world, once more on her own, once more with a heart she's nursing from lovers she's had to say goodbye to, once again without the support of her family, and furthermore with the wrath and persistence only a medina can procure.

*:･ﾟ･✧･it’s a new dawn: she still gives into her pleasures, whether that be sex or art or dancing, all of which she’s never been able to kick but she manages them well and enjoys them all the same. she is still a good time, someone fun to be around, and is always willing to get the party started no matter where she is. she’s kind of done it all, and while some of that has been left behind now that she’s got some different focuses in life, venice knows what makes her feel best and doesn’t want to deprive herself of that, either. she’s currently obsessed with her taking dance classes and is constantly updating her instagram followers on all that she can show them when she’s in the studio. after taking ballet classes for most of her life, she is quite good and likes to indulge in those, but her latest passion has been in salsa and hip hop. it’s not only a great workout to keep herself in shape but she likes the way she feels when she’s doing it, too. and piano lessons were big in her household, as her parents wanted her to be educated in the arts too, so she’s kept a keyboard lying around her things in case she ever feels a spark of desire to mess around on the keys.

*:･ﾟ･✧･it’s a new day: mostly, venice is a guarded gal who loves to have a good time and will absolutely give anyone a hard time when they deserve it. she’s dramatic, to a fault, and she knows it and could not care less. to quote, “i am who i am, and if you don’t like it then there’s the door.”. she’s loyal to the people that she decides she wants to have in her life, but will be very cautious about those she doesn’t trust right away, which can stem from some kind of experience of her own judgement since she does tend to operate off of preconceived notions of people until proven otherwise. and despite being crass, she can also be rather charming, and is a sociable person at her core so she will be willing to strike up conversations with whoever - but whether the conversation goes well or not is another thing. her ultimate weakness though is pretty people, as she is attracted to both men and women, and likes to engage in all kinds of relationships with anyone she thinks is attractive and interesting. so if she starts flirting with you, she has every intention on getting to know you one way or another. in truth, venice has a good heart, and it’s simply masked by a lot of vibrato and insecurity. her biggest fear is not being enough, and that’s so much of the reason why she’s never really tried to be anything. but since being cut off, and repeatedly cast aside by her family, she’s found this rejuvenated sense of desire to prove everyone wrong - that she is worth a damn, that she can work her way up the ladder and break out into the ‘real world’ on her own, that she’s enough.

also if you got this far honestly thank you asdkfalf i do not deserve you lmfao this has been a journey and if you had to suffer through all the typos i’ve likely made, i owe you <3

#malnatiooc #+ ( introduction * . )#here we go :~)

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ladyherenya · 4 years

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Books read in April

I probably spent more time reading but I also read a handful of novellas and a couple of children’s novels, which means I read more books than usual.

Many of these were, if not outright retellings, than heading close to that sort of territory: faeries and fairytales, Sherlock Holmes, Jane Austen, and Norse gods...

Favourite cover: Masque, maybe.

Reread: Nothing, too busy reading new things...

Still reading: Cinder by Marissa Meyer.

Next up: There’s a new Murderbot novel out in early May!!!

(Longer reviews and ratings are on LibraryThing and Dreamwidth.)

The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams (narrated by the author): Adams’ descriptions are clever and unexpected, and he strings together a series of events even more bizarre and unexpected than his descriptions. Sometimes I felt exhausted on behalf of his poor protagonists, bounced from one mishap to another, but I was impressed by Adams’ ability to turn this madness into such a coherent story.

Flamebringer by Elle Katharine White: A solid, tense conclusion to Heartstone and Dragonshadow. However, I suspect it would have made more of an impact had I read the first two books recently. It assumes that the reader remembers more worldbuilding details -- about history and family connections and magical folk -- than I did. And because I found such details confusing, I didn’t pay close attention to some of the history and politics revealed in this book, and those things turned out to be unexpectedly important. A trilogy in much need of a glossary.

Hamster Princess: Harriet the Invincible by Ursula Vernon (aka T. Kingfisher): A very amusing take on ‘Sleeping Beauty’. Upon learning of her curse, Harriet accurately concludes that she must be invincible until it strikes -- and when the time arrives, she’s determined to avoid falling into an enchanted sleep. This is heavily-illustrated. The pictures are great, but were often awkwardly displayed in the Libby e-book.

The Art of Theft by Sherry Thomas: More of a heist story than a murder mystery, which may explain why I found it less compelling than The Hollow of Fear, although admittedly, it has its suspenseful sequences. Thomas does some interesting things in expanding her portrayal of the era as well as Mrs Watson’s story, taking Charlotte Holmes and her trusted associates to France on a mission along with someone from Mrs Watson’s past. I liked that Livia gets to play a more active role in those adventures. But I expected to like this more.

Love Lettering by Kate Clayborn: Meg is desperate for inspiration and company. She comes up with a project, looking for hand-lettered signs around New York, and invites along a former client -- who has turned up to question Meg about the hidden message in the wedding program she designed for him and his ex. A story about signs, secrets and the importance of having difficult conversations. I liked how those themes are explored in different areas of Meg’s life: making an effort to get to know Reid, setting boundaries with a new client, and trying to stop her best friend from drifting away.

Once Upon a Marigold by Jean Ferris (narrated by Carrington MacDuffie): Christian was brought up in a cave by Edric the troll, who discovered Chris hiding in the forest. Now Chris is in love with the princess Marigold, with whom he has exchanged letters carried by pigeon but has never met. If I had discovered this in 2002 when it was first published, I suspect I’d have been delighted by its gentle, whimsical, almost-fairytale-ness. These days I tend to want more complexity and more emotion and, often, more critical engagement with the genre’s tropes. But this was still pleasant company while I did a few hours of housework.

The Shards of a Broken Sword novella trilogy by W.R. Gingell:

Twelve Days of Faery: King Markon’s son appears to be afflicted by a strange curse, because accidents and misadventure befalls any girl the prince flirts with. When an enchantress offers to deal with the curse in exchange for the expected reward of the prince’s hand in marriage, Markon gets swept up in her investigation. This is so much fun. I liked the way it focuses on a middle-aged father, rather than any of the more usual candidates for this sort of story, like his son or any of the young women affected by the curse. And I enjoyed Althea’s confidence and practical competence.

Fire in the Blood: Another story interested in twisting fairytale tropes. A prince sets out to rescue a princess from a tower, but neither of them are the protagonist -- that’s Rafiq, the prince’s enslaved dragon, forced into human-form. Rafiq has been dragged along on this quest and quietly hopes that his vicious master will fail to unravel the tower keep’s protections. I enjoyed this. The tower keep, with its magical puzzles, was an intriguing setting, and it was rather satisfying to see Rafiq and the princess’s serving girl subtly undermine the prince’s efforts without drawing his ire.

The First Chill of Autumn: The first two standalone and take place over a few days. This does not. It begins with Princess Dion’s childhood. At seventeen, Dion is sent on a tour of her country and discovers the truth about the Fae’s influence. She ends up joining forces with characters from the previous books. I liked each of these sections. However, this could easily have been expanded into something novel-length and been stronger for it. If more time had been given to Dion’s relationships -- with her sister, Barric and Padraig, and maybe her parents -- the ending would have made more of an emotional impact.

“A Tale of Carmine and Fancy”: This short story takes place during The First Chill of Autumn. I didn’t care about Carmine one way or another when he turned up in the trilogy, so I was surprised by how much I enjoyed this.

A Posse of Princesses by Sherwood Smith (narrated by Emma Galvin): Sixteen year old Rhis is one of many princesses invited to attend festivities held in honour of a crown prince. My first impression -- a nice-but-unremarkable story with an irritating audiobook narrator -- quickly changed. I got used to the narrator’s voice. I really appreciate Smith’s portrayal of social interactions and of group dynamics from the perspective of someone who is trying to understand why others are competing for attention. And once the plot took off, I was hooked. I have mixed feelings about the very end but that didn’t change how much I liked the rest of the story.

The Two Monarchies sequence by W.R. Gingell:

Clockwork Magician: Several years after Blackfoot, Peter starts at university. Because Peter ends up messing around with time-travel, there are scenes from his future in the previous books. It’s interesting getting those moments from Peter’s perspective and fitting the puzzle pieces of his story together. I also felt invested in Peter’s journey even though he spends a lot of time being arrogant and oblivious, because I knew that there must be a significant change up ahead. The way his dawning realisation is handled was unexpectedly satisfying. I also enjoyed seeing more of Poly and Luck, and getting to know Glenna.

Masque: A murder mystery which turns into a Beauty and the Beast retelling. Lady Isabella Farrah is determined to investigate after a friend is killed at the Ambassador’s Grand Ball, even if doing so annoys the official investigator, the masked Lord Pecus. Isabella is excellent company. She’s quick-witted, resourceful and uncowed. I really enjoyed watching her banter and meddle. The Beauty and the Beast elements are cleverly woven into the story, and even without the murder investigation, there’s enough to make it a unique take on an old tale. A delightful standalone companion to this series.

Frankly in Love by David Yoon: Frank Li has watched his parents react to his older sister’s choices and he knows they will never accept him dating anyone who isn’t Korean. So he and a family friend, Joy Song, pretend to date. Fake-dating is one of my most favourite romance tropes but I’m not a fan when it’s a cover for actually dating someone else -- I don’t like others getting hurt by the deception. Despite that, I found this YA novel engaging and unexpectedly moving. And an absolutely fascinating look at being the child of immigrants.

The Night Country by Melissa Albert: The Hazel Wood was excellent, sharp and compelling, but I didn’t enjoy the sequel much at all. In the first book there’s a much stronger thread of hope running through the darkness.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone: The letters exchanged between Red and Blue, two agents on opposing sides of a time war, are vibrant and memorable, playful and poignant. I particularly enjoyed their different names for each other. (“Dearest Blue-da-ba-dee”, “My Dear Mood Indigo”, “Dearest 0000FF” -- that one made me laugh, “Dear Red Sky at Morning”...) The scenes in between leave many questions unanswered about the war being fought. I couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that if I actually understood what was going on, I wouldn’t like the characters. Nevertheless the letters are brilliant, and I can deal with uncertainty for the space of a novella.

A Dead Djinn in Cairo by P. Djèlí Clark (narrated by Suehyla El-Attar): This novelette is too brief to involve what I enjoy most about murder mysteries, like carefully prying into people’s motives or characters forming supportive relationships in the face of an atmosphere of suspicion and unease. It is possible I’d like this worldbuilding in a different story, and that I would care more about Special Investigator Fatma el-Sha'arawi if I spent more time with her.

The Jane Austen Project by Kathleen A. Flynn: Rachel and Liam, a doctor and an actor-turned-academic, are sent back to 1815 to befriend Jane Austen and uncover an unpublished novel. Time travel allows for portraying Austen’s world with historical accuracy from the perspective of a woman with contemporary attitudes, and creates interesting challenges and anxieties. There’s a high degree of wish fulfilment in meeting Austen, but also realistic complications and consequences. This book impressed me even though -- or perhaps because -- it wasn’t always comfortable or to my taste. I’d have adored it, had things been slightly different, yet it’s nevertheless gripping and thought-provoking storytelling. I respect that.

#Herenya reviews books #W.R. Gingell #Ursula Vernon #Sherwood Smith #Kate Clayborn #Elle Katharine White #Sherry Thomas #Douglas Adams #Jean Ferris #David Yoon #Melissa Albert #Amal El Mohtar #Max Gladstone #P. Djèlí Clark #Kathleen A. Flynn

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authorgirl1111 · 4 years

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A/N Couple of things.

1. Spike has a soul. If I do continue details of how he got it and why will be revealed.

2. I know Spike doesn't show up until School Hard. But for reasons, this story starts 1 week before school starts. Before 2x01.

Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy the Vampire Slayer and affiliated works.

***

Welcome to Sunnydale (Home Sweet Home)

Oops, Aisling thought when she drove over the ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign. Beside her her bleach blond adoptive father chuckled softly. Instead of staying to survey the damage done to the sign, she made a turn and drove down until she found the street she needed.

To be honest, the absolute last place she wanted to be was in another town that had a Hellmouth, (Cleveland had been a mess and a half) but this Hellmouth also had The Slayer, and if she had to choose between a Hellmouth with the slayer and one without- well it wasn’t exactly a hard decision. Though if it hadn’t been for the fact that a Hellmouth could supposedly help her father heal, she wouldn’t have even entertained the notion.

She stopped at the building she had been searching for, an apartment building a few blocks away from the school. For a moment she stayed still her hands clasping the steering wheel.

Then a pale cool hand reached out and held hers.

She turned to face the man, bleached blonde hair and blue eyes and covered neck to feet in black. She took a deep breath at his concern. "We're here." She said, he voice held a light irish accent, undoing her seatbelt.

Her father shook his head. “Wait here.” He said.

She wanted to argue and leave with him but he levelled her with a stare that had her backing down. When he was sure that she was going to do as he said he undid his seatbelt, opened the car door and left leaving him behind.

She locked the door behind him and waited. The moment her father had left she let out a breath she hadn’t realized that she had been holding since they left Prague.

She should never have suggested going to Prague. France would have been better, or Rome, or Ireland (where she had chosen to go every other year), literally any other place but Prague.

Every summer they travelled for summer vacation. Every year they switched on who got to decide where they vacationed. Her dad had been reminiscing about Prague and Aisling had figured that it would be nice to see, so that’s what she had suggested.

Aisling shook her head Idiot.

She leaned her head against the steering wheel. She would have given anything to take back that summer, to suggest any other place.

Someone knocked on the door and she turned to see Spike waving at her to come out. She took another deep breath and unlocked the door and stepped out of the cool September air. Together they walked to the back of the car and opened the truck.

Aisling reached out and pulled out two suitcases while Spike pulled out another. Aisling sighed as she watched him struggle.

“I can make multiple trips, it’s fine.”

Her dad stared at her before ruffling her hair and kissing her forehead and instead reached into the backseat and pulled out a backpack. Aisling rolled her eyes, the backpack contained most of his food.

“Want you to eat when we get inside,” Aisling said. “You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine, Bit”

“So you say,” Aisling said then she switched tactics. “Still… I don’t want that to expire, so please. Eat.”

Dad sighed. “Point.”

Aisling smiled at the win, then it slipped when she looked at the suitcase her father had been unable to lift before she turned and walked with her Dad toward the landlord.

The landlord was not human, though the exact species of the demon was completely lost on her. He smiled down at her and she smiled back, but she could tell that both her father and the landlord could tell that she was forcing it.

“She’s tired.” Dad covered. “Bit’s been up since dawn.”

The landlord wisely did not mention that Aisling was carrying more than her father was. He walked them over to the main entrance and walked them through the passcode needed to enter. Then with a glance at the young human girl he explained that if they were bringing human company, there was a second code they had to enter, that worked as a kind of warning system so the demons living there could hide out of sight.

“Course, the girl here doesn’t count, since she’s living here. I take it she’s used to demons?”

“She is,” Aisling said tired of the landlord talking to her father like she wasn’t capable of understanding speech. “Living with a vampire will do that.”

“Have to say, I’ve seen a fair number of humans and demons living here together, but a human and a vampire living together is new.”

Dad wrapped an arm around Aisling. “She’s my daughter, found her when she was just a wee young thing.”

“I was 7.” Aisling cut in. “He found me when I was 7.”

“And how old are you now?” Landlord asked finally turning his attention to her.

“Turned sixteen this June.”

Landlord whistled. “Almost a lady.”

She wanted to gag at the almost patronizing tone the Landlord adopted. Her father must have sensed her ire because he quickly changed the subject.

“Will the other tenants mind?” Her father asked referring to Aisling bringing friends over.

The Landlord shook his head. “Nah, a good number of demons have kids that are human or human passing, and they like bringing human friends over. We just ask that you and your... daughter give us a heads up.”

Aisling nodded, though she had no interest in bringing friends over. “Thank you.” She said anyway.

The Landlord walked the two of them to the elevator, pressed the button and it led them up to the fifth floor.

“Have to say, Spike, when vampires do rent an apartment here, they tend to take the basement; fewer chances of sun exposure. Yet you specifically asked for an apartment with east-facing windows." The Landlord said as he led them through the building.

Aisling's father, Spike, shrugged. “Aisling likes watching the sunrise.”

“I also like not having my dad burst into flames,” Aisling said.

Her dad rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Aisling said rolling her eyes. “You always say that.”

Dad smiled. “And It’s always true.”

Not always. Not that Aisling was going to out her father’s injuries to a stranger.

“Here’s your room.” The Landlord said as he unlocked the door. “Rents due at the beginning of every month, though if you need more time we can work something out.”

“Thank you,” Spike said, Aisling nodded along.

The Landlord handed Spike the key before leaving. He closed the door with a soft click.

Fortunately, the apartment already had furniture. So they didn’t have to worry about sleeping on the floor, especially considering they had sold their last house and everything in it to afford to come there.

Aisling placed her bags on the floor and turned to stare at her father, who looked ready to keel over.

Aisling hurried forward and steadied him before leading him to the couch and gently pushed him onto it; then she removed his coat before she did so. Gently she took the backpack from him pulled out a thermos, opened it and handed it to him.

The smell of blood nearly undid him- even if it was two days old and nearly expired-, Aisling could tell he was holding himself together just enough that he wouldn’t vamp out as he guzzled down the thermos of blood.

Once he was done he put the thermos down, his mouth now blood red. He licked his lips and stared down at her.

“You don’t have to hide when you feed,” Aisling said. “I’ve seen you vamp out before, I’m not scared.”

“It’s not you Bit,” Spike said. “You know I have less control when I vamp out.”

She did, she also knew that Spike had the best control out of any vampire she knew. “Are you still hungry?”

Spike hesitated and Aisling pulled out another thermos and handed it to him. “Drink, I’m gonna go get the rest of the stuff.”

“Ash-“

“It’ll be fine,” Aisling said with a smile as she rummaged through the pockets of Spike’s leather duster to find the keys. “Have a little faith in me, will ya?” she said clasping the keys in her hand and hurrying out of the room before Spike could argue.

***

For as much as Aisling tried to hide, Spike always knew when she was scared, or worried, or in pain. Her heartbeat tended to always give her away, and if not her heartbeat then he tended to be able to smell the fear, or pain that would radiate off her in waves.

The last time Aisling had been near a Hellmouth had been when she was 12, they’d stayed there for six months before they’d packed up and left.

At least this one had The Slayer which would mean that there was some level of protection. It was the only reason he’d agreed to come to Sunnydale in the first place, and even then he’d raised concerns, but Aisling had been adamant, arguing that Spike’s job depended on him being in top physical health.

When Spike had still declined arguing that they would find another way to make money, that it wasn't the first time that they had landed on hard times. Aisling had brought up Her. Arguing that now that he was weak, she would likely know and would be heading straight for them. At least if they left for Sunnydale, they had the added protection of the Slayer, and with any luck it would detour Her, from making her way over.

He hated it. Hated that even after 8 years She was still a threat.

Spike was not the type to run. Every time She had come he'd been able to get her out of town, but now that he was weakened he had been forced to leave Los Vegas and come to the HellMouth in the hopes that the Slayer was somewhat competent (Though the fact that she'd survived the Master and Lothos suggested that she was), and able to deal with a vampire's whose mental abilities was on par with Lothos.

It helped to know that he had personally seen to Aisling's training, that he had taught her every conceivable way to kill vampires and demons. Trained her in techniques that would hopefully protect her from mental attacks. Training that saved her life multiple times, that saved his own life in Prague.

It also helped that the Master was dead, and the leader of the Order of Aurelius was some child fledge that had only been a vampire for a few months.

It helped that they were living close to the active Slayer. For however long that Slayer had left she would at least make sure that as many vampires and demons as possible died and stayed dead.

Still living so close to a Hell Mouth, while making him stronger, was very dangerous to the young human girl living with him, and he didn’t know if the Hellmouth would ever truly revive him to full strength.

He heard the sound of someone turning the doorknob and turned his head just as Aisling walked through carrying two more suitcases.

“Before you head back out.” Spike started stalling her. “Choose a room?”

Aisling paused and stepped forward and headed to the first door that was right beside the living room. She opened the door and looked inside it. It was small but not cramped there was still a bed from the previous owners, though it was completely stripped of sheets. A small dresser and a closet off to the right.

The east wall had a large window that gave her a perfect view of the town Skyline and would allow her to see the sun as it rose.

Despite its very deadly effect on her father, she always found the sight of the dawn to be beautiful. With a sigh, she turned and walked down the mini hallway and opened the second door and entered what was so obviously the master bedroom. Around twice the size of the other room with a walk-in closet, that Aisling was tempted to suggest to Spike that he convert it into his bedroom, so he didn’t risk waking up every morning burning to death. Oddly enough the window here was a lot smaller and had blinds already up.

“I’ll take the other one,” Aisling said.

“Are you sure?” Spike asked.

Aisling smiled. “I don’t need a lot of room.” She said.

“Neither do I Ash.”

Aisling shrugged. “The other room has bigger windows,” Ash said. “You're less likely to fry here. Also, the walk-in closet could be better for you… if you want to convert it into a smaller bedroom so your even less likely to fry during the day.”

“Ha, bloody ha,” Spike said dryly.

Ash rolled her eyes. “There are a few extra bags in the car, I’m going to go get them.” She said turning to walk away.

“Aisling.” Aisling paused and turned around.

Spike hugged her. “I love you alright? Please don’t ever forget that.”

Aisling smiled a little to herself. “Never have.”

Aisling sat down on the floor after she had brought in the last of the luggage. Her arms hurting Spike poked his head out of the room that Aisling had claimed as her own and knelt by her side. “Time for bed little one.” He said a hand on her shoulder. “You can finish unpacking tomorrow.”

Aisling stared at him for a long moment. “Can I just sleep here?” She asked. “ ‘m too tired to move.”

“Aisling.”

“Worth a shot.” Aisling yawned before she stood. “Don’t forget to put the curtains up before daybreak, I so do not want to wake up with a pile of ash as my father.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Aisling said before she stood up and walked to her room. “Night, Dad.” She said before she closed the door.

Once she closed the door she sighed and rummaged through her suitcase to find a white lacy short-sleeved nightgown. Slowly she peeled off her day clothes and slipped her nightgown over her head.

She sat on the bed, that Spike had made up for her, for a moment just taking in her new room and sighed. “Home Sweet Home.” She said softly before she lay down and pulled the covers up to her chin.

Within moments she was asleep.

Outside the door, Spike looked around his apartment and sighed. “Home sweet home” He echoed.

***

A/N if you want more please review. Knowing that people like it gives me one more reason to update.

#buffy the vampire slayer #Spike #Original Character #Vampire and his human child

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