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oswildin · 5 years

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Bonded {Part One} ~ Dhawan!Master x Reader

Summary: You head out on another adventure with the Doctor and the fam, little did you know you would meet someone new.

Warnings: None

Song:

You were currently in the outback. Ryan and Yaz were back home investigating a man called Daniel Barton. You’d just witnessed an MI6 agent be shot and killed, whilst trying to find out what creatures were trying to kill other agents. Multiple agents from around the world had been murdered by something inhuman.

You’d finally had a run in with them as it killed the two soldiers that were sent to protect you all. Sitting in O’s house, you were starting to get a headache forming. It was the same kind of headache you got on the TARDIS. You sat at a table as you felt the pain increase. You closed your eyes, rubbing your temples as you tried to ease the feeling. But nothing was working. You could hear voices around you, but they weren’t those of your friends, they were far away, whispering almost. The burning sensation in your head got worse, as you stood up from your seated position suddenly, startling everyone as you quickly made your way past them all and outside. The Doctor sent you a concerned glance, noticing how much worse your headaches had become. She was starting to suspect something was going on, something more serious than she thought to begin with.

Graham sent you a sympathetic look as you ran outside, as the Doctor went to follow, but he stopped her. He decided to go after you. He saw you like a grandchild, and felt the need to care for you.

“You alright, kiddo?” Graham asked, perching himself beside you as sat on the steps to the house, looking out into the night sky.

“Yeah just, these damn headaches.” You rubbed your temple as he looked at you with worried eyes.

“You ever spoken to anyone about them?” He asked. “And no offence to the Doc, but did you ever see a real doctor?” You laughed lightly at his words, shaking your head.

“No. Never really got them until I met her.” You answered as he scoffed slightly.

“Yeah I know that feeling.” He joked as you smiled at him. You both stayed quiet for a moment before he continued. “Whatever’s wrong, the Doc will figure it out. Eventually.” He added as you nodded to his words.

“Thanks Graham.” You told him sincerely as he patted your knee with his hand, before turning to see O stood with a glass of water in his hands. He sent you one last smile before heading back inside, leaving you alone with the new face.

“Hey... I brought you some water.” O said as he proceeded to sit where Graham had seconds ago. You took it gratefully, as you gave him a small thank you. Your hands almost brushed, as you felt a slight tug in your chest. You shrugged it off as you took a sip. You noticed you felt a strange sensation around the man. It was like you didn’t want to get too close in fear of what would happen, but also the need to be close to him, like you craved it. So when he was sat less than a few millimetres away from you, you felt electricity run through your veins.

“I often come out here to think.” He told you as you peered over at him, seeing him look out into the night sky. “It’s so peaceful. Almost too peaceful.” He said as you raised a brow.

“How can anything be too peaceful?” You inquired as he turned to look at you, a small smile on his lips.

“I guess in your shoes, you relish in peace.” He replied as you nodded in agreement. “Travelling with the Doctor... I can imagine it’s always hectic.”

“You got that right.” You laughed slightly, taking another sip of water. “Don’t think I ever get a moments peace.” You told him quietly as you looked down at your hands. Your body began to heat up. You didn’t know why, considering it was night time and there was a chill in the air. O watched you intently as he noted your slight change in demeanour. He could feel the heat radiating off your body.

“You can take my bed if you want.” He offered as he noticed your expression turned sleepy. He could see the exhaustion on your face.

“I can’t sleep.” You told him. “Not when all this is going on.” You yawned as he raised a brow, his arm brushing against your own as you felt a small shock of electricity. You furrowed your brows as you looked at him, seeing that he had noticed it too. You shook your head, ignoring it as you leant your head against the railing of the stairs.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” He asked you as you shrugged.

“I’m fine.” You told him. “Just get these headaches that’s all.” You stared ahead as you could feel a dull ache forming once more.

“What kind of headaches?” He inquired as you turned to see him looking at you in concern. You pursed your lips.

“I don’t know... it’s just... There. I can’t explain it. It’s like my mind is trying to fight against whatever is happening, but something else is fighting back.” You explained as he looked at you. You realised how silly it sounded. “Sorry, that sounded weird.” You laughed lightly as he shrugged.

“No, It doesn’t.” He told you. “But I do think you should rest. We have a busy day ahead of us.” He said as you hummed. “Human bodies aren’t designed to handle alien invasions without sleep.” He teased as you sighed, knowing he was right. He led you to his room as you thanked him, appreciating the gesture. “We’ll get you if anything changes. Promise.” He told you with a small nod as he left you alone. You sighed as you found yourself falling onto the bed, exhausted.

There was a knock on the door, as you began to awaken. You furrowed your brows to see the Doctor. She gave you a small smile as she entered.

“Hey... what time is it?” You asked as she approached the bed.

“Not sure.” She shrugged. “Don’t think you were asleep too long though.” She answered as you sat up, stretching your arms as you felt a bit better. “How you feeling? O told me you were struggling with your headaches.”

“It’s fine.” You waved it off. “Probably stress.” You joked as she sent you a concerned look.

“No... it’s more than that.” She told you. “You never had them before meeting me, right?” You nodded. “And since then, they’ve gotten worse?” You again nodded. “Then something is telling me they aren’t going to go away any time soon. In fact, they probably will continue to get worse.” She said quietly. “We need to figure this out. Because, whatever this is, it isn’t normal.” You stayed quiet. “I’ve seen this before... but it can’t be.” She muttered to herself. You looked at her confused as she quickly shrugged off her mumbling, telling you their next plan of action to take down Barton.

“Is this a bad time to mention I've never really done undercover work?”

O told the gang as they entered Barton’s mansion. You sent the man an amused glance.

“You said you worked for MI6.” Graham commented.

“As an analyst. In the office.” He told Graham as you smiled slightly.

“It’s alright. You get the hang of it eventually. Just pretend like you own the place. That’s what she does.” You nodded to the Doctor who ignored your comment.

“It's a party. We're guests. Blend in. And keep an eye out for Daniel Barton.” She told them as they split up. You went with O as you headed into the poker room.

You felt slightly better being out of O’s house. You didn’t know why it affected you so much. Let alone why it gave you the same feeling as when you were in the TARDIS. You looked around, not seeing Barton as you noticed the multiple tables set around the room.

“Fancy a game?” O asked as he nodded to one of the tables as you smirked at him.

“I hope you’re a good gambler.” You told him as he shrugged.

“I have my days.” He commented as you headed over to one of them, deciding to play. Truth be told you had no clue what you were doing. This was a whole different realm to you. You weren’t much of a gambler.

You rolled the dice, sending an unsure glance to O as he nodded in encouragement. You threw them, watching intensely as everyone around you cheered, even O as you looked surprised, turning to him.

“Did we win?” You asked, hope in your eyes as he smirked, shaking his head.

“Oh...” You said a bit defeated. “That reaction was a bit misleading.” You commented, glancing around at everyone.

“You know what they say - lucky at dice, unlucky in love.” O commented as he leant on the table, you stared at him with a raised brow.

“Well it’s a good thing I’m rubbish at dice then, isn’t it?” You joked as he smiled at you, you saw a glint of mischief in his eyes as you narrowed your own. “They don’t really say that do they?”

“No.” He said, hiding his smirk as you rolled your eyes at him.

“Come on, we should stop mucking about and try to find Barton.” You told him as you turned away from the table, hearing a loud ‘SNAP’ be yelled from across the room as you spotted the Doctor, looking proud of herself as everyone around her laughed. You shook your head, laughing lightly at her antics.

“For someone incredibly clever, she can be so stupid sometimes.” You commented as O raised a brow.

You and O searched the place, trying to look for Barton as you had no luck. You sighed in defeated, wondering where on Earth he could’ve been. Who didn’t parade around at their own party? Suddenly the Doctor appeared.

“You seen Barton? He just came back in.” She asked as you shook your head, Yaz, Ryan and Graham rejoining you.

“There!” Yaz exclaimed, pointing to the man as he got inside a car out front. You all began running after him as he managed to get away in the car. The Doctor wasn’t having it as she ran over to some bikes that were sat outside.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You muttered as she hopped onto one. You all followed suit, as you quickly realised there weren’t enough for all of you. O stood looking rather perplexed as you ushered him onto the back of your bike. He clearly wasn’t a field agent as you smiled to yourself at his hesitance. As soon as he got on behind you, he wrapped his arms around your body as you felt a burning sensation where his arms where. He clearly felt it too as he quickly pulled away for a second. The others had already gone after Barton as you glanced back at him, before he ignored what had just happened and once again held onto you as you began to drive off.

The whole time all you could focus on was the warmth and electricity that flowed through your body at his touch. You didn’t know why. You didn’t understand any of it. It seemed to take him back as well as he stayed quiet, almost worried to hold you too tight incase he broke you.

Eventually you arrived at the hanger, seeing a plane begin to take off on the track. The Doctor instantly began to run after it as you all sighed to yourselves, running after her. A dull ache began to form once again in your head as you tried to fight through the pain. O noticed your suffering as he tried to help you increase speed, taking your hand as he pulled you along. But with him being not a very skilled runner, you both lagged behind.

“Come on!” The Doctor exclaimed as she got the door open, throwing herself up into the back of the plane as the other three joined her. They threw encouraging words your way as you finally reached the plane, O helping you up best as he could as the others pulled you up. He quickly followed suit.

“Sorry. I've never been good at sprinting.” O commented as he huffed, trying to catch his breath. You sat down on the floor, trying to also catch your breath as the pain in your head increased.

“Come on, Doctor. We're about to take off.” Ryan told her as she soniced the hatch door, closing it shut as they all entered the main cabin.

“What are we actually going to do?” Yaz inquired as the Doctor leant against the seats, catching her own breath.

“Sit tight. See where he's going.” She shrugged as she turned to O, seeing him sat in a seat next to you as you held your head in your hands. “Never been good at sprinting?” She asked, confused.

“I was the last one in every race at school.” O shrugged, sighing.

“No, no, no. I read your file. You were a champion sprinter.” She explained as everyone watched the interaction. O’s face turned dark, as his eyes became smaller, almost menacing.

“Mmm. Got me. Well done.” He told her as everyone looked confused. You peered over at him as you felt the burning in your skin once more.

“What's going on, Doc?” Graham asked as O got up from his position, standing in front of the Doctor as he watched her closely.

“I don't know.” She answered honestly as O raised his brows.

“You'd best take a look out of the window.” He told them as they all moved to peer out the window he gestured to, seeing his house flying in the sky next to them.

“How's your house out there?” Graham asked, looking confused as O waved him off, turning away from them all.

“Bit Wicked Witch of the West, but you get the gist. Maybe. Maybe not.” He turned back to them all as the Doctor’s face fell, fear entering her eyes. That look brought you no comfort whatsoever, you knew that look. You’d seen it before.

“No.” She shook her head, covering her mouth slightly.

“Oh, come on, Doctor, catch up.” He taunted, as you furrowed your brows at the man. “You can do it. Come on.”

“Oh!” She exclaimed, falling back slightly as the man in front of her grinned.

“That's...that's my name, and that is why I chose it. Oh, so satisfying.” He clapped his hands together. “Doctor, I did say look for the spymaster.” He paused, smirking. “Or should I say spy... Master?” He breathed out dramatically as everyone watched in fear. “Hi.” Suddenly you hissed in pain, the name burning through your skull as you leant down. Graham rushed to you as he noticed your discomfort.

“You can't be.” The Doctor breathed out, shaking her head.

“Oh, I can be. I very much am.” He walked towards the other Timelord.

“So what's going on, then? He's not really O?” Ryan asked as the man before them walked past the Doctor.

“I'm her best enemy. Call me Master.”

Again, the name triggered something inside of you as you groaned in pain. The Doctor looked over to see your feeble position. She began to panic as she tried to figure out her next move. Graham tried to comfort you as he looked back at the Doctor concerned.

“Doc?” He asked, looking for help as you felt tears in your eyes.

“Okay.. okay..” The Doctor mumbled. “But I met O. Years ago.” She told him as he manically laughed.

“I know!” He grinned wildly, enjoying every second.

“What have you done to (Y/N)?” She asked frantically, seeing the pain her friend was in. “What have you done...” She repeated as he sent a confused glance her way. He peered over at you as he saw your reaction, seeing you holding your head.

“I haven’t done anything.” He told her sincerely, as she got close to him, her eyes threatening.

“Don’t lie to me.” She told him sternly as he raised his brows.

“Why would I lie now...” He asked. “The truth is all coming out, Doctor.” He told her darkly, as she looked back as you. You looked up, tears soaked your cheeks as she worried for you.

“Doc, they’re burning up.” Graham told her as he almost felt the heat coming off your body.

“I’ve seen this before...” The Doctor told her friend sadly. “But it can’t be...” She muttered to herself. The Master rolled his eyes, annoyed he wasn’t getting all the attention. “Barton.” She remembered as she pushed past the man, rushing to the cockpit, as she entered, instead of seeing Barton, she was faced with a bomb. She sighed in defeat after trying to sonic it as she walked back out to the others.

“Now, do you really think that I would not make that sonic-proof, Doctor? Come on!” The Master exclaimed. “Deadlock sealed. And I made sure - no parachutes on board.” He said smugly as she shook her head.

“There must be a way! Ah. Okay, okay.” The Doctor felt her mind going wild. She had to save her friends, and find out what was wrong with you. The Master leant against one of the seats as he looked at her companions.

“Stick with me, cos I control... everything.” He smirked, before clicking his fingers. “Even these guys.” Two of the creatures appeared behind him as he grinned madly, the bomb finally detonating as it threw everyone back. You and Graham flew out of your seats as the plane began to crash, falling towards the ground.

“One last thing.” The Master said, going down to the Doctor as she laid helpless on the plane floor. “Something you should know in the seconds before you die.” He turned serious. “Everything that you think you know... is a lie.” He peered over at you as he narrowed his eyes, walking over to you as he gripped your arm tightly with his hand. Graham tried to stop him, but was holding on to a seat for dear life. “Got you, finally.” He smirked as you both teleported away, leaving the others on the crashing plane.

Taglist:

@drapetxmaniia @dannighost @imagine-whatever @impalasquiptyseven @yourlocalspacebisexual @the-sweet-space-bi @a--1--1--3 @blamerogertaylor @koschei-studies @koschei-taylor @lostshadow12 @hannahlilyyx @wonders-of-the-multiverse @ettorah @nikey-no-likey @imthedoctorlove @twentysomethingloser92

#the master x reader #dr who #fanfic #sacha dhawan #dhawan!master x reader #dw spoilers #dhawan master x reader #thirteenth doctor #13th doctor x reader #doctor x reader #doctor who imagine #doctor who #dhawan master #dhawan!master #master x reader #reader insert

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imthedoctorlove · 5 years

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Soulmate AU

Skin Deep

13th Doctor x reader x the Master

Well, this ended up to be way longer than planned. This is my first time writing the 13th doctor and the master. I hope you enjoy reading it as much I enjoyed writing it. There is a part 2 planned if you want it.

Wordcount: 1841

____

(Y/n) had never felt what it was like to be normal. It was rare to be born with the name of your soulmate tattooed on your skin. Rarer still to have two, one on each arm, but that wasn’t the reason that led her to hide them. She always thought that the intricate swirls and interconnected circles were beautiful, but the world disagreed and was cruel to her. Why her? She thought. The only way the bond could be formed was on meeting, the respective soulmates would speak the others name, and their souls would become entwined. But (y/n) didn’t know the names of her soulmates. There was no clue to deciphering the curved lines which painted her skin. She was bullied for them. Freak. Called selfish for having more than one. Her parents had been there for her in the beginning, but there was only so much they could take. Once word broke out about her marks, her parents lost their jobs for the sake of the reputation of the company they worked for. They became alienated in their social circles to the point where they had no friends left. (Y/n) lost count how many times they had moved around the country. Their anonymity only seemed to last a few months, a year if they were lucky, before they had to move again. It was easier when she left home. She felt her parents shoulders sag in relief when she hugged them goodbye to go off to university.

(Y/n) thought that there would be no way out, but then she met the Doctor. It had all happened so fast and now she had been travelling with her and the fam for a few months. She felt like she was home and the constant worry about her marks and everything else began to fade away, but not completely. It was small at first, but she began to notice that the Doctor wasn’t as close with her as she was with the others. Every time they were alone together, the Doctor would make an excuse not to be near her. It honestly hurt and she couldn’t understand what she could have possibly done wrong. She talked to Yaz about it and she couldn’t understand it either.

The Doctor had sent Yaz and Ryan on a mission to get some information on Barton whilst Graham and (y/n) stayed with her to visit an old friend. The Tardis landed with a jolt. The Doctor bounded out the door with her companions following close behind. (Y/n) closed the door behind her and gave it a soft pat. She grinned when she felt the Tardis hum under her touch.

“Can I take a nose around your gaff?” She heard the Doctor say from behind her. (Y/n) turned around to see the Doctor’s coat billowing behind her as she went inside the shack. A clearing of a throat made her attention focus on the man they had come to see.

“Hi, erm, I’m-”

“(Y/n).” The way he said her name made her breath catch in her throat. “The Doctor told me.”

All she could do was nod.

“I’m O.” He motioned for her to follow him as they walked entrance of the shack.

“Can I ask how long you’ve known the Doctor?”

“Oh, me and her go way back. Why?”

“Curiosity. I’ve been travelling with her for a while now and it feels like a don’t know her at all.” Why was she telling this to someone she had just met? But it was the truth. The Doctor was a mystery to her.

Their conversation had ended there.

O’s shack had a homely feel to it and (y/n) could picture herself curled up in one of the nearby arm chairs with a good book and a hot maybe alcoholic beverage. A smile spread across her face when she saw the Doctor stood in front of a wall of computer screens, right in her element. O’s presence beside her caused the smile to slip from her features. His expression had changed. It lasted for no more than a second, but it was there.

A darkness that made her blood run cold.

***

(Y/n) gazed at herself in the mirror as she fixed the dark blue bowtie the Tardis had picked out for her. It was literary thrown in her face when she was looking through different outfit choices in the wardrobe. She was thankful that Yaz didn’t question her when she refused to wear a short sleeved sequin top she thought would look nice on her.

She felt eyes on her when she walked into the console room.

“Nice bowtie.” The Doctor complemented. (Y/n) felt her cheeks heat up as she mumbled a thank you at the unexpected complement. The Doctor grinned at her before returning to piloting the Tardis. She shuffled over to the fam where Yaz gave her knowing shove with her shoulder.

“You look great, (y/n)!” Ryan complemented.

“Thanks. You don’t scrub up too bad yourself.”

O suddenly popped up from nowhere and stood in between the two.

“Mind if I cut in?” O remained glued to her side even when they made it into the party and split off to find Barton. (Y/n) shook the dice in her hand and threw it haphazardly on the table.

“If you chucked them any harder I think you would have dented the table.” O chuckled from beside her.

“Did I win?”

“No.”

“Oh, I didn’t know what I was doing anyway.”

“You know what they say – lucky at dice, unlucky in love.”

“Do they really say that?”

“No.”

A giggle broke free and O couldn’t help but join in. (Y/n) was hyper aware of how close he was standing to her and couldn’t deny the shots of electricity the shot through her arm where their shoulders touched.

***

(Y/n) started to regret not going to the gym as she pushed herself to go faster. The Doctor led from the front as she used her sonic to lower the back of the plane.

“Come on!” The Doctor shouted as she clambered aboard and pulled up the others. (Y/n) stretched out her hand towards her. She took a hold of it and hauled her up. (Y/n) quickly turned around and helped O onboard.

“Sorry. I’ve never been good at sprinting.”

“Me neither. I think I need a lie down after that.”

The group made their way into the main section of the plane. (Y/n) made it past the Doctor and threw herself in the nearest seat.

“What are we actually going to do?” asked Yaz.

“Sit tight. See where he’s going.” The Doctor stated.

“Sounds good to me.” (Y/n) quipped which received a chuckle from her.

“Never been good at sprinting?” The Doctor asked turning to O.

“I was last the one at every race at school.” O sighed looking away.

“No, I read your file. You’re a champion sprinter.”

(Y/n) stiffened in her seat when she saw the change in O’s demeaner. It was that same darkness from before, but this time it didn’t go away.

“Hmm. Got me. Well done.”

“What’s going on, Doc?”

“I don’t know.”

“You best take a look out the window.” (Y/n) tried to get up to see what everyone was looking at, but became caged in by O. She did not like the intensity in the way he was looking at her.

“How is your house out there?”

“Oh, It’s a bit wicked witch of the west, but you get the gist . Maybe, maybe not.”

(Y/n) took the momentary distraction to push past him and stand next to the Doctor who took a protective stance in front of her.

“Oh, come on Doctor, catch up, you can do it.”

“Oh.” The Doctor gasped in sudden realisation.

“That’s my name and that is why I chose it. So satisfying.” Dread formed in the pit of her stomach.

“Doctor, I did say look for the spymaster. Or should I say spy master.”

Something about that name caused the mark on her left arm to burn to the point that it was unbearable. She clutched it to her chest as she collapsed into the chair behind her.

“Hi.” He waved as his eyes flickered briefly to (y/n).

“You can’t be.” The Doctor’s gaze remained fixed on the Master seemingly to be oblivious of her companion’s pain.

“I can be and very much am.”

“What’s going on if he’s not really O.” Ryan voiced what they were all thinking.

“I’m her best enemy.” He brushed past the Doctor and went to (y/n)’s side. The pain lessened at his closeness. She didn’t notice that the sleeves of her jacket had ridden up revealing a hint of what was hidden beneath. The Master’s gaze flickered to her uncovered skin and grinned. The look in his eyes told her he knew what was causing the pain.

“Call me Master.” He said never looking away from her. Her mark pulsed again. He grinned and stood back up to face the Doctor. “Me and her we go way way way back.”

“I met O.” The Doctor began.

“I know.”

“Years ago.”

“I know.” The Master let out a manic laugh. It was so different to the one (y/n) heard at the party. Was everything she learnt about this man a lie?

“But there was an O at MI6. C was talking about him.” She suddenly spoke, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Yeah, a man very close to my heart.” The Master patted the right side of his chest. “Well, in my pocket, actually. Do you want to see him? It’s always good to keep a backup of one’s work. Tissue compression, it’s a classic.” He pulled out a matchbox from his pocket and opened it. What was in it made (y/n) feel sick. “Ambushed him on his way to work for his first day. Shrunk him, took his identity and set myself up in MI6. Surprisingly, good staff canteen.” He threw the matchbox away without a second thought. “I have had a lot of fun.” He proclaimed as he clapped his hands together like an excited child.

The rest of the conversation past by (y/n) without her acknowledging it. A pounding in her head prevented her from concentrating on anything. She gasped as she was thrown forward and braced herself for a hard fall, but a pair of arms caught her just before she hit the floor. The Master kept her in his arms as he walked over to the Doctor and stood over her.

“One last thing. Something you should know in the seconds before you die. Everything you think you know – is a lie. Got you. Finally.” (Y/n) fought against the Master’s hold and looked at the Doctor pleadingly. Why didn’t she help her?

“Brace yourself.” Was the only warning she had before they both teleported away.

#dhawan!master x reader #13th doctor x reader #doctor who #master x reader x the doctor #13th doctor #dhawan!master imagines #soulmate

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ravenbrenna09 · 5 years

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Another Hogwarts AU when I should be studying

Hey, Lejla, @driesen-demaury, I don’t think we should be talking about my Hogwarts AU anymore, at least until Safe is over because I got inspired by our conversation earlier about Robbe cutting off his hair and Sander’s response and, so, yeah, here we go.

Otherwise known as Robbe and Sander discover what the other has done to their hair over the summer.

...

It was nice, to have them all back together, the four of them altogether.

Over the past two months, over summer break, he had missed it all. Sure, he saw Jens every couple of weeks, inviting him down to the skatepark that they used to play at as kids and it was easy to just floo over to Jens’ house from the fireplace in the flatshare, before Robbe discovered that Jens came from a family of wizards and that Robbe was a wizard too. But he hadn’t seen Moyo and Aaron in months and Robbe had to admit that there was some part of him that missed their company and the sense of normal they provided.

However, he did not miss Moyo’s jokes pointed in his direction, the casual calling of him names that poked fun of someone’s sexuality, or the instant shame that shot through Robbe’s entire body at the thought. He spotted that Jens’ eyes dart in his direction, but Robbe felt his body grow rigid and stone, like some sort of protective armor that was supposed to protect him. He had gotten so used to the flatshare, with Milan and Zoë and obligatory Wednesday night movie nights and resting his head on Milan’s shoulder when he was sleepy and hugging him and Zoë when they were emotional, that he had forgotten that it wasn’t normal.

That wasn’t behavior that he would display with the boys.

It was behavior solely dictated to the flatshare.

But, he had known that.

The subconscious fear of being teased by Moyo was why he had flinched away from Milan’s hug on the platform, nervously shifting from foot-to-foot, trying to avoid looking at the hurt expression on Milan’s face, the confusion. And, it seemed to hit Robbe all at once, right now, hours later, in a compartment with Jens, Moyo, and Aaron, laughing. Robbe knew how Milan’s hugs normally went, especially when Robbe wasn’t seeming his best, tight and comforting, almost always followed by a kiss on the side of his head. He hugged Zoë the same too, it was nothing special, but to Moyo, it would be.

Because Robbe was a guy, and so was Milan, and the latter also happened to be gay.

“Robbe,” Jens spoke, dragging him out of his thoughts. Robbe didn’t even realize he was standing and moving towards the compartment door. “You okay?”

“Yeah, want sweets, I’ll be back,” Robbe replied, stepping out of the compartment before his friends could request sweets to buy with the money that he hardly had and turned right. That was the direction that sweet-cart lady went and he hadn’t seen her loop back around. He finally felt like he could breathe once he stepped outside, on the small balcony between train cars, and let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, momentarily forgetting that he had cut his hair over the summer.

Oh, right.

At the beginning of the summer, Jens and Robbe had bet. It was something stupid, something that Robbe couldn’t even remember anymore, something that had happened at a party while they were half-drunk and high beyond belief, but whatever it had been, the loser had to shave their head. And, Robbe was the unlucky one. For the first week, he had felt self-conscious with his shorter hair, but it was growing back and he was thankful, especially now that school had started up.

But, the shorter hair had been something godsend, especially in the summertime where he was often outside, skating and working up a sweat. The less hair that he had sticking to the back of his neck from sweat or pushing out of his face as the wind blew, the better that Robbe ended up being.

The door from one of the train cars opened, emitting two people out on the balcony. They were talking and Robbe wasn’t paying attention, trying to close his eyes and make himself relax, hoping that the two would keep on walking, into the other train car, and not notice Robbe leaning against the bars, watching the grassy fields rush by. And, he heard the opening of the train car door, waiting for it to close and it finally did so he breathed out in relief, finally alone again.

“What in bloody Merlin did you do to your hair?!”

Robbe jumped in shock, pivoting to find two people still on the balcony.

One of them was Senne de Smet, who had been sending Zoë owls, trying to invite her to parties. He was dressed in a pair of denim jeans and a black hoodie with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His brown hair was whipping in the wind, against his forehead, and there was an amused expression on his face as his brown eyes flickered over to the other boy on the balcony.

Sander Driesen.

The Slytherin stood beside Senne, dressed in a pair of denim jeans and a dirty pair of Doc Martins. He wore a Weird Sisters shirt, a silver band on his left pointer finger, and a green hoodie that was also pushed up to his shoulders. He looked tanner, if possible, and Robbe gulped as he heard his head racing, and his eyes flickered up, spotting and realizing that Robbe wasn’t the only person to change his hair. Sander’s brown hair had been dyed a bright white, just like Zoë did to hers, and his roots were beginning to show.

Robbe hadn’t forgotten about that night where he had run from the Ravenclaw Common Room to be alone and found Sander in his favorite classroom, hidden away and smoking a joint. What a Slytherin had been doing in a classroom all the way near the Ravenclaw Common Room, Robbe still didn’t know, but the smaller boy felt his cheeks flush at the sight of him, the memory of that night, where Sander had boldly announced that he knew that Robbe had feelings for Jens. But, he knew that Sander kept his word.

No one knew that Robbe had feelings for Jens.

Which is good, because Robbe had become dependent on Jens’ friendship. Especially after a summer of him fighting with his father over the phone and his mother in a mental institution. He doesn’t think he could lose his friendship with Jens too.

Despite the fact that the two of them had only really had one conversation, Sander crossed his arms over his chest as though he was expecting an answer from the stunned Robbe, who was still struggling to get his bearings.

“Uhh,” Robbe spoke, unhelpfully. “I lost a bet.”

“A bet?” Sander clarified.

“You’re one to talk,” Senne cut in, helping Robbe out.

“Yeah,” Robbe spoke, finally finding his voice. “You’re one to talk with the fact that your hair is practically white! You look like you are supposed to be a Malfoy.”

For a few moments, Robbe worried that he might have been offended (even with Draco Malfoy switching side, the Malfoys had lost their standing in the years since the War), but a lopsided grin formed over Sander’s face, one brow raised, a challenge, as he breathed out, “Oh yeah? I’ll take that as a compliment. Scorpius Malfoy is a good kid.”

Lucius Malfoy wasn’t a good man, but Robbe didn’t need to say that.

Scorpius Malfoy was a good kid though.

“Anyways,” Robbe spoke up, crossing his arms over his chest, almost like he was trying to shield himself from Sander. In all honesty, he didn’t know why but he felt like he needed to, especially in a small closed space like the balcony between two train cars. “What’s the point if I cut my hair because of some stupid bet that I made at the beginning of the summer? I’ll probably just grow it out anyways.”

“Good!” Sander exclaimed, mirroring Robbe’s stance. An amused, knowing look crossed Senne’s face, his brown eyes darting between Robbe and Sander. “You should grow it out!”

Sander moved to leave the balcony, through the door that Robbe had first walked out of. He wasn’t going to say anything else and Senne grinned at Sander, slipping inside the open door. Sander was about to step through and the anticipation was killing Robbe. “Why?”

Sander paused, his foot keeping the door propped open. There was a look on his face, like he pretending that he didn’t know what Robbe was talking about when he replied, “Huh?”

“Why should I grow out my hair again?” Why do you care about something as simple as my hair?

Robbe couldn’t figure it out. Sander was two years older than him and, other than about ten minutes in a classroom where Sander admitted to knowing more about Robbe than even Jens did, the two of them didn’t have much interaction. Despite asking, Sander had never sent an owl to Robbe, which sucked because he had found himself wondering about it over the summer.

A teasing grin formed on Sander’s features, turning to face Robbe fully with one foot still holding the door to the train car open, “Because I think you look really good with long hair.”

Sander stepped out of the path of the door, his foot moving and allowing the door to slam closed, leaving Robbe the only one outside on the balcony as the wind whipped around him. He tilted his head back, gulping, as he tried to fight the flush working its way across his chest as dreams, ones that he thought he had finally suppressed, fought their way from the depths of his mind, Sander in the center of them.

“Oh, get it together, Robbe,” he whispered, running his hand through his hair, thankful it wasn’t long so his fingers wouldn’t get caught in knots.

I’m not like that.

But, before the self-loathing could creep in, the door, not the one Sander just disappeared through, opened and the sweet-cart lady stepped out and Robbe remembered his original plan. The woman blinked at him with wide, concerned brown eyes that reminded him too much of his mom. “Anything from the trolly, dear?”

“Do you got firewhiskey?”

The appalled look on the older woman’s face was almost amusing.

“I’m kidding.” He wasn’t. “I’ll take a chocolate frog.”

#brenna's hogwarts au #wtfock #wtfock at hogwarts #ravenclaw!robbe #slytherin!sander #gryffindor!senne #hogwarts au #sobbe hogwarts au #another snippet because i don't want to study #and i need to #alright #time to study before I go to bed!#wooo!#i hope everyone enjoys!

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once-upon-a-pirate-ship · 4 years

Text

Laughter, Love, and Other Products of a Quarantine

Yay, I’ve gotten around to actually posting it on here! I’m so lazy and I can never figure out how to get the italics to transfer because I copy from google docs so I copied it from there to word and then copied it again and pasted it here but THEN it kept all the weird indents that look icky on Tumblr so if anyone knows how to get rid of all these annoying issues I’d really love to know

I’m absolutely interested in taking prompts if anyone has something Captain Swan they’d like to see...as I’m sure you could guess, I definitely have the time. For those of you reading Even If It’s A Lie (first of all, thank you, I love you), I’m hoping to update that soon too. If you haven’t read it but you’re interested, here’s a link to that.

@coffeenotess made this lovely moodboard for my fic:

summary: Emma Swan has been roommates with Liam Jones for years, but hates his brother. Okay, so she's met him once and it was a brief encounter, but still. But of course he's visiting for the week when the mandated quarantine happens. And of course Liam just happens to be out of town for the weekend when it does.

word count: 8,716 (yes, it got a little out of hand)

rating: M, entirely because of language

also read it on: AO3 | FFN

Emma sighed at the knock on her door, pushing herself off the couch to open it. She knew who would be on the other side, and it made her blood boil to think about it.

“Swan!” The dark haired, broody, eyebrow wiggling man exclaimed as soon as the door was open.

“Jones,” she managed to grunt, turning to find her place on her comfy couch for her current Netflix binge. She so desperately wanted to ignore him for the entirety of his stay at her apartment.

“Liam is so lucky to have such a charming roommate, love,”

“His bedroom is the second door on the left,” she said instead of making a snarky comment about his usage of the nickname ‘love.’

She really didn’t have any reason to truly hate him. In fact, she’d only met Liam’s brother once before, but there was just something about him that rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe it was the smirking, or the innuendos. Either way, she wasn’t exactly thrilled when Liam offered him lodging while he was in town for work. And of course Liam just had to have a weekend trip planned for him and his girlfriend. Emma absolutely adored Elsa, she even introduced the two, but she mildly resented her friend for taking her roommate away and leaving her with Killian Fucking Jones.

He left her alone for an hour or so, probably unpacking and making himself comfortable, and of course she could not care less about what that man was doing. Except when he decided to interrupt her show.

“Would you like some tea, Swan?”

Okay, so it was a polite interruption but still. This was an important part in her show. “No thanks,” her voice quick and rather icy.

But then she felt rude, so she tried to make up for it with conversation—he was Liam’s brother, after all, and she didn’t want to cause any unnecessary friction between the brothers. So she reluctantly got up from the couch and moved to lean against the kitchen counter in an attempt to be mildly civil. “So um, I’m surprised your work still has you traveling, you know, with the pandemic and all,”

He chuckled lightly, and she was glad her snark hadn’t wounded him permanently. “Me too, but it’s all about the money, of course.”

She struggled to recall the conversations Liam and she had about Killian and his life. “What is it you do again?”

“I’m a strategy consultant for publishing companies along the east coast,” when she couldn’t stop the raising of her eyebrows, he laughed. “What, expecting something more befitting of a scoundrel such as I?”

She rolled her eyes at his drama. “Well, Liam said you enjoyed sailing, maybe I thought you were a pirate,”

“Alas, such a profession is frowned upon by societal norms. Plus, I wouldn’t get benefits with just a ship and a crew.” He took a tea bag from the jar of Liam’s favorite Irish breakfast tea. He paused, “Are you sure you don’t want any, Swan?” He was way too considerate for her liking, but she tried not to let it fuel her bubbling hatred. He would be with them for a little while, and she didn’t want it to be awkward.

“I’m good, I promise. I will, however, make some hot chocolate.” She went straight for the cinnamon, extracting it from its place in the cupboard before grabbing the mix and her favorite mug. She’d just finished stirring her drink when she was interrupted by her phone ringing. “Hey, Liam,” she greeted.

“Emma, where are you right now?” His voice was a little panicked, a little hurried.

“I’m at home with your brother, why? What’s going on?”

“Turn on the news. Now.” She rushed to change from her Netflix show to the local news channel.

“Breaking news for the Boston area: we are going into a mandated lockdown. The lockdown begins at midnight tonight, so I hope you have stocked up on all your essentials. There will be limited officials who will be able to deliver supplies upon request, but unfortunately it looks like we will be stuck for at least two weeks. Stay tuned for the latest—”

Emma stopped listening, trying to figure out how the fuck she was this unlucky. One more day, and Liam would have been home. But no, of course he couldn’t be. Now she was trapped with his smirk-happy, younger, more annoying (and more attractive, though she wasn’t quite ready to admit that yet) brother.

“Emma?” she’d forgotten that she was on the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. I just heard,” she was trying very hard to remain calm. “Are you sure we’re not just being pranked right now? Like maybe this is some new reality TV show thing that they’re trying out and they’re trying to convince everyone the world is ending,” she knew it was far-fetched and absolutely ridiculous at this point to hope it wasn’t real, but it was easier to process than her present situation.

“I really don’t think that’s it, Emma,” he replied, and the way he said her name reminded her that she needed to relax.

“You’re right,” she took a deep breath. “I’m fine, look, I’m gonna go figure out how we stand on supplies. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Call me anytime,” he replied, and she was struck by the fact that she had people now, but it was not the time for that brand of breakdown.

“Looks like we’re stuck together,” Killian joked once she was off the phone, but she could see that the smirk didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was a bit of fear behind them, and somehow it made her feel better.

Her panic was still fresh, and she needed to get away from that room and that man. “I’m gonna...go see how much toilet paper we have left,” and she left as fast as she could without actually running.

It wasn’t that she was worried about her health. She was fine, and David, Mary Margaret, Ruby, Liam, Elsa, Anna...her family was all in good health. A lot of the world would be okay, and a lot of the world would not be. But that part was surreal, far away. And also out of her control, which wasn’t exactly something that made her jump with joy. What she could control and worry about was her new roommate for the foreseeable future.

Killian was somehow simultaneously easy and hard to hate. Somehow. His tendency to flirt with anything that breathed and the fact that he could see right through her like he knew her...that made it easy to hate him. But she had also seen, not only in the last twenty minutes or so but also in Liam’s infinite stories of him, that he had that bad boy with a heart of gold thing that just so happened to be her fictional character ‘type.’

It didn’t help that her mind was at war. One side of her, the instinctual, foster kid side, told her to run. Avoid him like the plague. Ironic, really. She wanted to hide in her room for two weeks or a month or however long they’d be stuck in her now-too-small apartment.

But the other side, the side that came directly as a product of spending years in the company of her friends—no, her family—told her to open herself up to him, take advantage of the time she’d have with him and try to really get to know him, to see the man Liam had raved about for years.

Needless to say, Emma had a headache.

She spent ten minutes or so just pacing in her room, before deciding to actually check to see how much toilet paper she had in her personal bathroom. Once she’d calmed down enough, she returned to the kitchen, only to find Killian rifling through the pantry.

“What are you doing?” She hoped it didn’t sound like an accusation, but an innocent inquiry.

He didn’t seem fazed by it and simply replied, “I’m trying to determine how long we can survive without supplies,”

“And?” She’d succeeded this time in making her voice much more inquisitive than sharp.

He moved to face her, done with his assessment of the cabinet. “And, we have plenty of alcohol, a good amount of coffee as well as a few other beverages, and on the food front, I think we’ll be okay for about two weeks.”

“Good, good. I’m sure we’ll be able to get groceries before then,” she said, although there was no way she could be so certain.

She cleared her throat anxiously, “Look, Jones, I think we should be friends.”

“Friends?” His stupid eyebrow was doing that thing again.

“Yes, friends. We’re stuck together, so we might as well make the most of it. I think if either of us would like to retain a single shred of sanity by the end of this, we have to get along.”

“I wasn’t aware that we weren’t already friends, Swan,” his gaze made her stomach turn.

“Oh really? You think I’m just this warm and bubbly to all my close pals?” She joked, then added, “Do you think we can just start over?”

“Of course, love,”

She held out her hand, and he took it. “I’m Emma Swan,”

“Killian Jones. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance, Swan,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes once more at his drama. “Now that that’s over with, what should we do now that we have all this time?”

“Well, I do have one idea…” his voice was so suggestive and seductive it should be a crime.

“Woah, woah, woah,” she held up a hand as if she could force his train of thought to come to a stop.

“Come now, Swan, I was going to suggest a movie. I don’t know where your mind went, but my idea was entirely innocent,” he assured her, although the teasing in his voice made her positive of what he’d intended her to think.

“Ah, yes, a movie. Of course,” she nodded, crossing the room to take her place on the couch. He joined her tentatively, taking Liam’s usual seat on the other end of the sofa. “Any suggestions?” She asked, and he looked thoughtfully for a moment.

“I’m not sure, do you have a genre preference?”

Her lips ticked up a little, “Well, lately I’ve been on a rom-com marathon, but I’m not sure how much you’d enjoy that,”

He feigned offense, “I am always in the mood for a romantic comedy, Swan. I’m insulted that you would assume otherwise,”

She put her hands up as if in surrender. “Okay, okay, I shouldn’t have assumed. But do you have any ideas?”

“Well, what do you have?”

After showing him her extensive movie collection that she was extremely proud of, he selected one of her favorites and they settled in.

What shocked her more than the fact that Killian Jones enjoyed romantic comedies was that he also got rather worked up when the characters did something he didn’t agree with. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her very much, given his tendency for drama in his life, but it was still jarring to have him yell at Jude Law.

“Come on, mate,” he muttered, exasperated. When she looked at him curiously, he exclaimed, “Well, he’s just letting her go!”

But all was well, of course, because Cameron Diaz decided not to leave, and as always, everyone lived happily ever after.

Once the credits rolled across the screen, Emma excused herself to go to bed.

“Sleep well, Swan,” his voice was unusually soft.

“You too, Jones,” she called over her shoulder as she headed towards her room.

It was annoying how often he crept into her mind as she went through her nightly routine. He was a baffling man, and it was getting harder to hate him. Especially after seeing him call Jack Black ‘blind.’

“He’s been in love with her since he laid eyes on her, Swan,” he’d said.

She looked forward to seeing more rom-coms with him in the coming weeks, and that kind of freaked her out. She’d never say it out loud.

Emma woke to the smell of bacon, and it startled her. But as soon as she remembered the night before, one Killian Jones, Mr. Would You Like Any Tea, she really should have known. She didn’t mind in the least, as her usual breakfast was just toast or cereal, or if she was going out, a good bearclaw.

“Good morning, love,” he greeted, just as cheery as his brother at that time in the morning.

“Is it a Jones family requirement to be a morning person?” Emma was famously grumpy before 11 o’clock, even more so if she didn’t have a warm beverage in her hand.

He just laughed, and placed a mug of something in her hand. When she stared at him questioningly, he told her, “some hot chocolate, Swan.” With an eye roll, he turned to flip a pancake.

She took a sip carefully, mostly because her brain was still trying to figure out what the hell was going on. She looked down at the drink she was holding. “This has cinnamon in it,”

“Aye, that’s how you like it, isn’t it?” Although he faced the stovetop, she knew that his eyebrow would be raised.

“Uh, yeah, I’m just trying to figure out how you knew that,”

“You made some for yourself last night, Swan. Remember?” He told her, as if it were the most obvious thing.

“Oh yeah,” she muttered. He noticed. And remembered.

At this point, to say that she hated Killian Jones would be an outright lie. This charming, annoying, thoughtful man was making her breakfast and he remembered how she liked a drink she made in front of him one time.

In fact, if she were a different person, she might even say that she liked him.

“It’s ready, Swan,” he said.

She watched him as he took two plates to an already set table. She would not let this freak her out, she promised herself. She knew how important it was that they both try to have fun and relax during this extremely confusing and anxiety-inducing time.

So instead of obeying that voice in her head that was yelling at her to run, Emma took a seat across from Killian at the table and smiled at him.

After breakfast, they brainstormed activities, then got to work. Although, it was much more like play.

Emma beat Killian at Wii bowling, but he kicked her butt at tennis.

“Oh, come on! How are you this good?” She cried after he scored on her yet again.

“I don’t know, love, I guess I’m just a very skilled man,” he told her with a wink.

They got a little too competitive once they started playing baseball, and they decided it was better to stop playing than to potentially cause permanent damage to any furniture.

“We could reorganize the kitchen,” Killian suggested.

“Are you kidding? That sounds terrible,” she grumbled.

He chuckled at her childish attitude. “It’ll be fun,”

She wasn’t sure how that worked, but somehow it did. They reorganized the pantry and all the cabinets before she started whining. “This is horrible,”

“Fine, Swan. What do you suggest we do?”

“I’ve been meaning to change the light bulbs in my bathroom for like six months,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. Maybe she should start counting. “Okay, and after those five minutes?”

“I’ll let you know when we get there,”

It did take five minutes, but then she decided to find a new mop on Amazon for the one she’d been thinking about replacing for a year. Killian very harshly judged her shopping methods, claiming that she shouldn’t buy it unless she is able see it and touch it herself, but she reminded him that they couldn’t exactly go out.

They ended up going back to the Wii, this time playing Wii Sports Resort. He complained that basketball was a stupid game when she won, and then proceeded to kick her ass at swordplay.

“Swordplay? Really?”

“Come on, Swan, you yourself called me a pirate,” he teased.

She shook her head, “I did not, I only said I thought you might be a pirate.”

“Same thing,”

She sighed, “do you think it’s lunchtime yet?”

He looked at his watch, groaning. “It’s only been an hour and a half,”

“What?” She almost screamed. “How is this even possible? I thought it had been like four,”

“Unfortunately not,” he sighed. “But don’t lose heart, Swan. I’m sure there’s lots more we can do,” he said, and thought for a moment. “Do you have any board games?”

“Oh hell yeah,” she led him to their game closet, and he immediately went for Monopoly. “That’s a dangerous game, Jones,” she warned.

“I’m well aware, Swan.” He met her wild eyes, “And I do so love a challenge.”

“You’re on,”

They played for three hours, and they were quite equal opponents. Neither let the other hoard all the railroads, and they were good at snatching up the last of a color before the other could have a monopoly.

But then Killian landed on Park Place. He already had Boardwalk.

“No!” Emma cried, but of course he purchased it, and began piling on the houses.

It was a long time before Emma landed on either property, but she did. It didn’t damage her bank too much, but she knew she wouldn’t survive a second payment.

Sure, in a typical game, Park Place and Boardwalk weren’t really the smartest investments. They take up so little space on the board, it’s complete luck to have a player land on it. But because they were both so strategic throughout the earlier game, neither even held a monopoly until Killian got ahold of Park Place. And in a game of just two players, trading wasn’t going to happen.

She cringed when he added a hotel, and just hoped she wouldn’t have to find out what the rent on that one was.

A few turns later, she landed on Boardwalk. “Pay up, love,” he was absolutely beaming, and instead of handing over the cash, she just started throwing hotels at his head.

They called it off after that.

“Tell you what, Swan, I’ll think about forgiving you if you help me make lunch,”

She considered it for a moment, but decided it was for the best. “Fine, just don’t make me do anything difficult.”

They just had grilled cheese and tomato soup (unfortunately there were no onion rings on hand), but it was the best damn grilled cheese she’d ever had. She hoped it had more to do with a secret ingredient Killian had somehow added when her back was turned, rather than the person who made it.

They decided to try to do some work, but it was short lived. Emma studied the information she had on her current skip for a little bit, but there was no further she could go without actually tracking the guy down.

Killian was also unable to get very much done, because as he discovered shortly after opening his computer, the company he was working with at the moment had temporarily shut down. He couldn’t exactly strategize without a company to work with.

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” he declared once they both realized there was no work to be done.

Emma just stared out the window for a few minutes, never before wanting to go out more than in that moment. Wordlessly, she got up, searching in a drawer beneath the TV.

“Ah ha!” She held up the treasure she’d just located.

“Fuck yes,” Killian jumped to turn the Wii back on.

She laughed at his enthusiasm. “Just to warn you, I am a pro at Mario Kart.”

“Of course you are, Swan,” he smirked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a very talented woman, love, and I’d never claim otherwise.”

“But?”

“But, that’s what you said about Monopoly. And we saw how that turned out...” She smacked him playfully on the arm at the reminder of her painful loss.

“No, no, no, Jones. I never said I was a pro. If I remember correctly, I only implied that I was good.”

“Fine. We’ll just have to see who the true champion is, won’t we?”

She was good; ‘pro’ wasn’t an easily-earned term for Emma. Killian couldn’t deny that she was extremely skilled. They played for an hour, and Killian had only won twice. He admitted defeat, which was a difficult thing for him to do.

She bowed at his recognition, secretly very proud of herself at beating him after not playing for like three years.

Emma left after a little while to take a shower, surprisingly sweaty after Mario Kart. She used her time under the hot water to release her tight muscles in her back and shoulders. She was sure they were a product of her tensing over the remote, absolutely determined not to let him win.

She tried not to let her mind drift to him as she attempted to relax, but that was proving more and more difficult as she spent time with him. It certainly didn’t help that she was pretty much only spending time with him. But that was inevitable.

She took her time brushing her hair out and getting dressed, trying not to let her newfound sense of calm to slip away.

She was just considering returning to the living room when a Skype call came through on her computer.

“Emma! How are you? Are you okay there by yourself?” Mary Margaret asked, the worried mom-friend as usual.

“I’m fine, I’m great. And I’m not alone, Liam’s brother is here, remember?”

She cringed at David’s sudden appearance next to Mary Margaret. “Oh yeah? And how’s that going?” David asked, a hint of something with an edge in his voice. Accusation? She wasn’t sure.

“It’s great. I promise,” she hoped her words would calm him. It’s a good thing he was married to the mom of the friend group, because he was definitely the dad. “We’ve mostly just been playing Wii. I just destroyed him in Mario Kart,” she told them proudly.

Mary Margaret laughed, and David added, “Attagirl,” as if she were actually his child. Ridiculous, but it made her smile.

They chatted for a little while, catching up on all the personal life things they’d been missing the last few days in an attempt to do some social distancing.

“But I guess the party’s canceled now. I hope this is all better by the Fourth of July, or I’m going to be very grumpy,” Mary Margaret nearly pouted, and it made Emma laugh.

“I’ll let the authorities know that it’s gotta be finished before then, okay?” Emma teased.

“Swan?” Killian called, knocking on her door. “May I come in?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” She asked as he cracked open the door, just his head peeking in.

“I was wondering what you’d like for dinner, but I can come back later, I can see you’re occupied.” He moved to close the door, but she stopped him.

“No, no, it’s fine.” She gestured for him to come in, and then angled her computer a bit to introduce them. “Guys, this is Killian, Liam’s brother. Jones, this is Mary Margaret and David. They like to think they’re my parents,” she grinned at their objections.

“It’s nice to meet you, Killian,” Mary Margaret said once she was done reprimanding Emma.

He shifted nervously, and he had this look on his face that she couldn’t quite read. “It’s lovely to make your acquaintance.”

He was the pinnacle of manners, and she should’ve seen it coming with the way Liam was.

“I heard that Emma kicked your ass in Mario Kart Wii,” David said, pride dripping from his voice. It made heat rush to her cheeks.

“Aye, that she did. It was a well earned victory,”

Once again, Emma was surprised at Killian’s words. Although it was more the tone that confused her, the hint of pride that matched David’s. It was rather unexpected.

Dinner was an interesting affair to say the least. Emma tried to help, really, but she wasn’t one for cooking. Luckily, he’d noticed that from her attempt at assistance when they’d made lunch earlier, so he was prepared.

“All you have to do is stir,” he told her.

“Are you sure?”

This made him laugh, and she caught herself watching as his eyes squinted and his head was thrown back in the movement. “I’m positive, Swan.”

Killian put together the most gourmet spaghetti and meatballs she’d ever seen, and it was fascinating to watch him flit around her kitchen, adding this and that, completely focused and in his element.

The stirring he’d tasked her with was a homemade sauce, which she thought was a little crazy, considering you could just buy some in a jar at the store. When she mentioned this, he shook his head.

“Sure, you can buy the premade sauce, but why do that when it’s so easy to make your own, plus, it’s so much better,”

She bit back a laugh at his passion for anything homemade. It was adorable.

She froze for a split second. The thought had just appeared in her head without warning. She returned to her mechanical stirring, but she remained in her head, trying to find the root of the thought. Did she really think he was adorable? She must have, or else the thought wouldn’t have been so instant. But really, you’d have to be blind to miss the attractiveness in his features, and claiming otherwise was what they called denial. Maybe it wasn’t such an important thought after all.

“It’s ready,” he informed her as he opened the fridge and pulled out an unopened bottle of red wine.

“Good thing we reorganized the kitchen earlier, or else you wouldn’t know where the corkscrew is,” she grinned.

“You’re so right, Swan. A wonderful idea on my part,”

They enjoyed their meal in a comfortable, companionable silence. It was kind of funny, how completely opposite their relationship was from just the night before. She’d dreaded his arrival for hours, and now she was starting to think that perhaps she was trapped with just the right person.

She was surprised she didn’t choke on her food when the thought popped into her head. She hoped maybe some conversation would distract her from her head.

“You’re a wonderful cook,” she commented.

“Thank you, love. I learnt the importance of a well cooked meal from my mother,” he told her, fondness in his voice.

Liam never really talked about their mom, but she knew she’d died when they were young. “That’s what Liam usually says,”

“Aye, he was lucky enough to learn a lot from her before she passed, and I was lucky enough to have him to teach me when I was older,” he said, his smile much softer than before.

“He’s a good brother,”

“Aye, too good to have to put up with my shit,” he agreed, but she could hear the hidden meaning in his words.

“You know, Liam’s spent the last five years or so talking you up. Always telling me how great you are, how proud he is of you...it got pretty annoying after the first few times,” she tried to make it casual enough that he wouldn’t be uncomfortable with her confession.

His eyes got slightly bluer somehow, and his smile turned into a smirk. “Well, how could he not boast about me?”

She decided that her mission was successful, and it eased a weight around her heart to see him accept this new information.

After a second glass of wine, she helped him clean up. He washed, she dried, that was the system, and a good one at that. They made quite the team.

They chose another rom-com from her collection, and once again Emma enjoyed Killian’s comments, although this time most of his anger was directed towards Justin Long. “Does he really think he’s not completely in love with her? That’s ridiculous,” he huffed.

She grinned, “I don’t know what to tell you, Jones. Men are blind, I guess,”

He shook his head. “Not all men are that blind, love, I promise.”

She tried not to think about his words as she climbed into bed. She was exhausted after all that competition and emotional energy. There were so many little things she’d picked up on over the course of the day, it was no wonder she was so good at her job.

She didn’t hate him, and probably never did. He was far too thoughtful to be real, too considerate. He read her like a goddamn book and she had no idea how to deal with it. She just hoped their understanding of each other would be to her advantage and not cause her harm.

Over the next few days, the two of them fell into somewhat of a routine. Killian would make breakfast, then they would goof off and play games until lunch. After that, they tried to do something productive, but as the days passed that got a bit harder, especially after they’d deep cleaned the whole house. On day four, they prepared what Emma called ‘niche powerpoint presentations.’ It was a good way to kill an hour or two, especially when Killian created a literal Ted Talk about why Peter Pan is actually the villain. It made Emma laugh so hard her stomach hurt.

After their productive time, they’d give each other some privacy for whatever they needed or wanted to do. Emma usually just showered and Skyped her friends, although one day she took a nap.

Then it was dinner, which Killian would make, and then Emma would help him clean up. They finished off their days with a rom-com that usually had Killian annoyed at this character or another. It was funny (and adorable) every time.

On day five, Liam and Elsa Skyped her, and Emma brought her computer out to sit on the coffee table so they could both talk.

“So Emma, how are you getting along with my little brother. Is he giving you a lot of trouble?” Liam chuckled.

“Younger. Younger brother,” Killian muttered, arms crossing his chest like a four-year-old.

“No, he’s been feeding me, so that’s good,”

“I was a bit worried you might starve with me gone for so long,” Liam teased.

Killian rolled his eyes. “You know I’m perfectly capable of cooking, Liam,”

“Oh of course, of course,” he agreed too quickly. Emma was no expert at sibling relationships, but she was pretty sure that he was implying he was the superior cook. He wasn’t, but she was afraid she was beginning to become biased, so she didn’t trust herself to say it.

“Emma, have you been talking to David and Mary Margaret much?” Elsa asked.

“We Skype just about every day. They’re so parent-y, still,”

“That’s definitely not a word, Swan. ‘Parent-y,’ really, that’s not even creative,” Killian shook his head in feigned disappointment.

“I’m sorry, but I momentarily blacked out and forgot the word parental. Are you happy?”

“Overjoyed.”

“At least I don’t have to worry about you two destroying the apartment,” Liam said.

“What are you implying?” Emma raised her eyebrows.

“I figured that by now you would’ve murdered him, Emma, but you’re more tolerant than I thought,” he said.

“I can’t say I haven’t considered it once or twice,” she ignored his call of ‘hey!’ and added, “but I would’ve been left with the mess, plus it would’ve just been me for two weeks and that doesn’t sound fun,”

“That’s understandable,” Liam nodded seriously.

“We’re so proud of you, Emma,”

They ended the call a little while later, and all was well until Elsa called her just after she’d gotten out of the shower.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I just wanted to talk to you, uh, alone,” Elsa said.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“No, no, everything’s fine. Sorry, I realize how that sounded. No, I mean...you and Killian seem to be getting along really well,”

“Oh,” that made her pause. “What makes you say that?”

“I kind of thought you still hated him, but, well, you guys were very much flirting while we were on Skype, Emma,”

“Oh.”

She’d gotten so used to his company and their playful banter that she didn’t even realize what had been right in front of her. “Oh,” she repeated once it sunk in. “Well shit,”

“What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea. I’ll, um, I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Emma, are you sure—”

“Bye, Elsa,” she hung up before she could finish her sentence.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Emma’s brain became what she liked to refer to as a Shit Tornado. It was just...shit. Flying around, spinning, going one hundred and fifty miles per hour and destroying everything in its path.

She liked him, like liked him. Yes, the official middle school definition. She actually cared about him, and she had no idea how it happened. But did he also care? She should’ve figured that one out days ago, really. The hot chocolate that first morning? It was so obvious. There were so many looks she tried to ignore, on both ends, actually. Many comments she pretended never happened. God, she said that men were blind, but holy shit! She might as well donate her eyes, because she clearly hadn’t been using them.

She wasn’t sure how long she let the Shit Tornado ravage her brain as she sat on the floor of her bathroom, but there was a knock on the door.

“Swan?” His voice was soft and sweet and fuck.

“Go away,” she muttered, absolutely in no state to see him.

“Love, what’s going on?”

He was so goddamn nice it made her want to cry. “Nothing,” it was a blatant lie, they both knew it, but she didn’t care. There was silence on the other side of the door, and she wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or disappointed.

But after a moment, he said, “I have rum,”

She sighed, going against at least half of the cells in her body and reaching up to open the door.

He was extremely polite and didn’t mention the fact that she was just in a robe, and he moved to sit beside her on the floor. Wordlessly, he unscrewed the cap to his flask and passed it to her.

She took a few sips and returned it to him. He didn’t pressure her to speak, and at this point that didn’t shock her. He wanted to wait until she was comfortable.

“Do you remember when we first met?” She asked.

“Of course,”

“I was a little rude,” she said quietly. “Do you know why?” He just shook his head, letting her continue without interrupting. She smiled. It was a weak one, but it was still a smile. “Something you said really freaked me out,” she looked at him.

His eyes found hers, and she could see that he was searching his memory.

“You said, ‘try something new, darling. It’s called trust,’”

“I sounded like a jackass,” he mumbled.

She laughed, “That’s not what freaked me out. What freaked me out was that just before you’d said that, I wanted to trust you. I felt like I could, and I’d known you for like ten minutes. Everyday, when I’m working or whatever I’m doing, I listen to my gut. That day, it was telling me to trust you, to open myself up to you. But I couldn’t risk being wrong, and it was so startling to want to trust someone, and I just-I couldn’t handle it. So I pushed you away,”

“That makes perfect sense, love.”

She sighed. “But this funny thing has been happening. I don’t want to push you away anymore,”

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I’d like to not be pushed away,” he told her. “But I also want you to be comfortable, and happy,”

“I know, but I realized today that I am comfortable. So comfortable it scared me,”

“Look, Emma, I know you’ve been hurt before. I know that it takes a lot to earn your trust, and I want you to know that it would be very much worth the effort, for me.” He shifted to face her properly. “I don’t do things part way, Swan. You should know that. If you’re willing to give this a shot, I’m ready to go all in,”

She stared at him for a moment, as if she were expecting to wake up from a dream or snap out of some sort of hallucination. “I’d like to try to give this a shot,” it was just a whisper, but the effect it had on his whole being was massive. His grin alone created a fire that warmed her heart.

Emma awoke with that childlike first-day-of-summer hopefulness, ready for all the joy and possibilities that lay in front of her.

But once she was out of her room and staring at him at the stove, she realized that she had absolutely no idea how she was supposed to act or even feel. She had a new tornado in her brain, but this one was the polar opposite of the Shit Tornado, this was a...Joy Tornado? It was definitely not something she’d experienced before.

“Swan! I trust you slept well,” he said, handing her a mug. Her favorite mug, as usual, the yellow handmade-looking one that she used everyday, the one he discovered after that first day when she’d mentioned it offhand. Every day after that, that was the mug he would hand her as soon as she stumbled out of her room, hands rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Your breakfast is on the table,” he informed her. He looked almost as excited as she felt, and it was really cute.

He joined her a minute later, his usual place at the table passed over for the seat beside her. She tried not to let it distract her, but unfortunately the Joy Tornado was picking up speed.

There was a different ease between them, something that had been a result of their conversation the night before. She caught herself watching him in a way she hadn’t allowed herself to just twenty-four hours earlier.

They made cupcakes for some reason, maybe because they discovered there was absolutely nothing else to do, and Emma couldn’t remember a time when she laughed more.

“Swan, try this!” He called, handing her a spoon with a bit of the chocolate batter.

It was heaven, and not just because she hadn’t had cupcake batter in years. When she gave him back the spoon, he tried it himself, and she couldn’t help but watch as the dark batter touched his lips.

Once he noticed she was staring, his eyebrow did that thing again, although this time the feeling in her chest wasn’t anything related to annoyance. In fact, she found it rather alluring. “See something you like, Swan?”

“Nope, not at all,” she said, a smirk creeping onto her lips.

“You’re a terrible liar, love,”

Emma caught herself far too many times thinking things that would make old Emma puke. Although ‘old’ more meant ‘a week ago.’ But she couldn’t find herself to care one bit.

They were crafting, yes crafting, with some random supplies they found hidden away in a box shoved into a corner in one of the many closets. It was pipe cleaners and stickers and children’s glue, but it was entertaining.

They’d made it a competition, of course. Whoever made the best picture in twenty minutes won, though there was no prize other than bragging rights. So naturally, the entire twenty minutes was spent throwing insults at each other, promising that their picture would be better than the other’s.

When the buzzer went off, Emma was embarrassingly proud of her creation. It was an extremely abstract landscape that reminded her of one of the places she’d lived as a foster kid. Sure, the forest was made up of pieces of green and blue pipe cleaners, but it was the best damn thing she’d ever made.

But Killian presented his masterpiece, and she almost lost it.

It was a swan. Aboard a pirate ship. Damn him.

“I think yours is brilliant, Swan,” he said, pride in his voice.

She rolled her eyes, “You made a pirate ship, Jones. You win.”

“Well, if you insist. But I do plan on hanging both up on the fridge,” he said, and then actually got up and put them front and center, moving the magnets until they were sturdy. “There. Now, are you hungry?”

Emma spent their entire dinner trying to figure out how this man was even real. He was so considerate, and he always knew just what to say. He remembered all those little details and made her feel important. He never teased her in ways that actually inflicted any damage; it was like he knew which areas to avoid. All of this led her to one conclusion, one that she should have determined a long, long time ago: Killian wasn’t Neal.

In fact, the entire week she’d been pushing away thoughts of comparison before they could take form. When he made her hot chocolate, she’d tried not to remember how Neal could never get any of her orders right. Coffee, Chinese food, whatever, he could never get it right. Killian also never insulted the things she cared about, and took interest in the things she enjoyed. They were making the way through her rom-com collection, after all. Killian wasn’t pushy, he didn’t pry. He didn’t expect things from her that she wasn’t ready to give. It was a lot to process.

“We’re very pensive this evening, aren’t we?” Killian asked with a small smile. He too had been quiet.

“Sorry, I just have a lot on my mind,”

“No need to apologize, Swan,” he said, and it reminded her of another reason he wasn’t Neal. Perhaps she should start making a list.

“There’s something I’d like to tell you about,” Emma began once they’d finished eating, “but I think we’re going to need something a little stronger for this conversation,” she picked up her empty wine glass in show.

Killian nodded, moving immediately to take a bottle out of the cabinet. Rum, of course.

“Last night, there was something you said,” she told him, watching as he poured the alcohol for them. “You knew I’d been hurt before, and I think you should know about it,”

“You needn’t tell me if it makes you uncomfortable, love,”

Emma sighed, “That’s the thing, I know that I can share it with you. And I want to,” he didn’t reply, which she took as a cue to continue. “I met Neal when I was seventeen. I tried to steal a car that he had already stolen,” she laughed, and he raised an eyebrow. “I lived a much different life back then. Anyway, we fell in love, or so I thought, and we were together for a while, stealing what we needed to survive, planning to run away together after we’d had enough money. But Neal wanted to steal something bigger, some expensive watches, and when he got caught, he framed me. I went to jail for his crime,”

The silence that followed her story was deafening, and she shifted uncomfortably for a moment. “So that’s why I don’t do the whole ‘trust’ thing easily. I didn’t see it coming, and I should have.”

“Don’t blame yourself for that coward’s decisions, Emma,” his voice was quiet and restrained.

“I don’t. Or, I try not to. I know now that I was just a pawn, but it took me a long time to figure it out.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me, love,” he said, adding more alcohol to their glasses. “Well, while the rum is out, perhaps you’d like to hear my own depressing tale,” he joked, although his laugh wasn’t as hearty as she knew it to be.

“I met my first love, Milah, when I was a young lad. Twenty-three, actually. She was adventurous and a bit older, and I fell deeply in love. I didn’t know she had a husband and a son until almost a year later,”

“Shit,” Emma muttered, and he smiled.

“Aye, my sentiments exactly. But I was positively head over heels—young love and all that—so I stayed with her. We met in secret for a year after my little discovery, although it had really been secret the entire time. And then her husband forced her to move far away, I’m assuming he found out about me, and about six months after that, I’d heard that she had died in a car crash. I’m not sure if she ever truly loved me, or if she just saw me as some sort of rebellious freedom,” he finished.

“Aren’t we a pair,” she said after a few minutes.

“Aye, I believe we make quite the team, love,”

They ignored Emma’s movie collection and just spent the rest of the evening consuming the contents of the bottle on the table, bonding over shared (mostly heartbreaking) experiences. She knew she would regret the last few drinks in the morning, but that wasn’t important. What was important was that Emma now understood how Killian could know her so damn well.

And she couldn’t bring herself to mind at all.

As expected, a headache greeted Emma when she got up, and the light peeking in made the pounding against her skull much worse. She groaned as she pushed herself out of her bed, hoping very much that Killian wouldn’t be as chipper as he usually was in the morning.

A rather familiar green and disgusting-looking drink sat on the counter waiting for her. “Ah, the famous Jones hangover cure,” she mumbled, grabbing it and trying not to think about what she knew it contained.

“So you’ve heard of it,” Killian’s voice was much more subdued than usual.

“Yes, Liam has made it for me many times,” she explained, and he nodded thoughtfully. She downed the glass, holding her nose as she did so. “Gross,” she commented, placing the cup on the counter.

“True, but give it half an hour,” he said, turning off the stove. “I made us omelettes this morning,”

“I didn’t expect you to make breakfast...I don’t even think I could stand up for five minutes right now,”

“What can I say, I’m a creature of habit,” he grinned, handing her a plate full of food and moving towards the table to put down his own. “Besides, I very much enjoy cooking for you, Swan.”

“Why’s that?” She wondered, crossing the kitchen to place her plate directly beside his.

She looked up when he didn’t reply right away, just in time to see him reach up to scratch behind his ear, a nervous habit she’d noticed around day three. “Perhaps it’s because that was the first time I actually made you smile, that first morning,” he said quietly.

She stared at him for a moment, her brain processing his words much slower than its usual rate.

But then her lips were on his, and she couldn’t even remember actually closing the distance between them. One minute he was three feet away, the next minute, he wasn’t.

His body froze for just a fraction of a second before he responded, his hand coming up to tangle in her hair. Emma’s fingers played at the hair that rested at the nape of his neck as she stood on her toes just to be closer.

It was passionate and desperate and Emma could spend an eternity there, but before that could happen, Killian took one step to separate them. She looked at him for a moment, brow furrowed in a question.

“As much as I am enjoying this, love, and I am, I think we should stop before we take this elsewhere,”

She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“I’m not interested in a one-time thing, Emma. It’s important to me that you know that,”

“Oh,” was all she could say.

“Of course I want to, believe me, love. I just...I have a history of one night stands, and I don’t want you to think that’s what this is. One night with you would certainly not be enough,”

She blinked for a second. “I don’t want this to be a one night stand, Killian. That would be really difficult to pull off, too, because we’re kind of stuck here, remember?” She joked.

He chucked. “True, very true.” He scratched behind his ear again, “I wasn’t—I’m not rejecting you, love.”

“I know, and I understand. I also have been known to have a one night stand here or there, and I agree. Maybe jumping right in wouldn’t be the best course of action, here.”

In response, Killian bent down to place a much more chaste kiss on her lips.

Emma spent the next few hours reminding herself of his words, convincing herself that he wasn’t lying when he said he wasn’t rejecting her. She knew it, it made sense, yet that part of her, that annoying little voice that liked to tell her she wasn’t enough, told her that he didn’t want her. At least, the little voice had been trying to, until Killian’s actions spoke louder.

They watched a movie instead of being productive, and he very neatly tucked her into his side as soon as they sat down. She couldn’t even pay attention as Ryan Reynolds was being yelled at by Sandra Bullock, because Killian kept tracing the back of her hand with his thumb.

And then when the movie was over, he pulled her up off the couch, dragging her to the kitchen where he made her a hot chocolate. Killian found casual, normal, everyday reasons to touch her, and she loved it. It was the casual intimacy that she’d never had before, and it made her heart so full that it hurt.

“David, will you relax? We are not going to run out of toilet paper. We’re fine!” Emma tried to convince him. They’d been Skyping for about ten minutes in the living room when Killian came out of his (Liam’s) bedroom.

“I can just order you some. Right now. I’m on the site already,” David said, holding up his phone.

“We have plenty, right Killian?” She asked, and he came over to sit beside her on the couch.

“Yes, mate, we’ve got enough to last us three months if need be,” he told him.

“I told you, David. You’re so dramatic,” Mary Margaret said, but there was so much love in her voice that it was clearly not an insult.

“Yeah, you and Killian could start a club,” Emma nudged him playfully.

Killian just shook his head, grinning at her. She couldn’t help but grin back.

“Emma?” Mary Margaret called.

“Yeah?”

“This might sound crazy, but are you two…is something going on between you two?”

Emma’s eyes widened, and she looked at Killian, no idea how to reply. He just gave this little encouraging nod, and she sighed. “Fine. You caught us,”

“I knew it!” Mary Margaret exclaimed.

“Okay, what? You just...started dating in the midst of a global catastrophe?” David interjected.

“It’s not like we planned it!” Emma said indignantly.

Killian beamed, “No, this was definitely not planned. Although, I couldn’t have picked a better person to be in quarantine with than you, love,”

Emma ignored Mary Margaret’s loud ‘awe’ and replied, “Damn right. You could say that we make a great quaranTeam,”

Killian pretended to be deeply offended by her terrible pun, putting a hand over his chest. “Swan, I daresay that was the worst pun I’ve ever heard,”

“What are you gonna do? Break up with me?” She cocked an eyebrow.

“I would never,” he said seriously, and it made her heart stop.

She was glad that she had an indefinite amount of time to figure that one out.

18 notes · View notes

prettyboy-parker · 5 years

Photo

good boys, bad boys

chapter 1: roller baby

words: 1.5k

warnings: homophobic language

read on AO3 here

masterlist

***

Peter’s exhausted.

Usually, he loves trying on clothes and doing his own makeshift fashion show, but it’s already been an hour and he hasn’t been making any progress.

“No. I don’t like it. Too...” MJ taps her pen on her chin, “Basic.”

Peter lets out an exasperated sigh.

“Come on MJ, I’m losing my patience. These are Guess jeans, they’re practically the nicest thing I own!” He huffs, turning to step over piles of clothes to head back to his closet.

Okay Peter, think.

He turns to sift through a pile of graphic tees, pulling out a pink MTV shirt. With some newfound inspiration, he grabs black running shorts from the other pile. He quickly shucks off his current outfit, hiding from MJ’s view behind his door.

“Okay, this is the last outfit.” He shouts, emerging from the cramped closet into his messy room.

“Yes! That’s the one!” MJ exclaims, tossing her comic off of her lap and bouncing over to Peter.

“Casual but cute.” She quips, straightening his shirt and then taking his hands in hers.

“You’ve got this.”

“I’ve got this.”

MJ grins.

“That’s the spirit. Now go get ‘em, Tiger.”

Peter drops her hands, turning to pick up his socks by his dresser.

“Besides, it’s not even a date.” He says solemnly, sitting on the ground to slide on his Chucks.

MJ lets out a scoff.

“Sure. And if you take any longer I’m biking home alone.”

The ride to Skateland Roller Rink is peaceful, MJ bidding her goodbyes as they neared her house. He knows the route to the rink like the back of his hand, and soon he’s nearing the ugly neon sign claiming “Free Skate on Tuesdays!”

He parks his bike on the bike rack, when a voice calls out:

“Peter!”

Peter turns to see the shining face of Steve Rogers.

Steven Rogers is a junior like Peter, a leading quarterback on the football team and an all-American boy. With light blonde hair and striking blue eyes, the entire female student body fawns over him. His baby blue polo is paired with khaki shorts and Converse matching Peter’s own.

He smiles and waves back, jogging over to where Steve is standing next to the front entrance.

“Hey, Steve!” He chirps, taking the 5 dollar bill out of the waistband of his shorts.

“Glad you showed up.” Steve says with a smile.

God, his teeth are bright.

“You know I’d never leave you hanging.” Peter responds, nudging him with his shoulder lightly, before wrapping his dainty arms around Steve’s large figure, pulling him into a hug.

“No need to worry, I’m here!”

Stephen Strange emerges from the parking lot, waving his wallet in the air.

Stephen is also a junior, one of the brightest in the grade but also one of the richest. With sharp facial features, light blue-green eyes, dark brown hair, and a tall lanky figure, he’s one of the top romantic interests in the school. Being a part of Steve’s entourage helps him up the social hierarchy, though. Not to mention that both his parents are some form of doctors, and they live in the nicest neighborhood in town.

“Stephen!” Peter squeals, the other’s arms already outstretched in anticipation of a hug.

Stephen has told him many times before that he’s not a hug person, but most people can’t resist a hug from Peter Parker.

“Hey Pete. Had to run to get my wallet.”

“No biggie.” Peter tells him, pulling away to survey his outfit.

He’s dressed more casually than usual, a plain navy t-shirt with jeans.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Peter spots the semi-familiar face of Pietro, making it clear that Stark and his guys are here tonight. Peter doesn’t know his last name, but he’s seen him around enough to get a first name and an idea of what he looks like.

“Steven Squared! My favorite Stevens in the school.” Pietro shouts with a bit of bite to his words.

Steve visibly tenses, eyes becoming dark.

“Actually, we wouldn’t be squared, because our names are spelled differently.” Stephen mutters, earning a soft giggle from Peter.

“Shut up, Pietro. What are you doing here?” Steve snaps, moving closer to Peter.

Pietro smirks, left hand resting in the pocket of his leather jacket, while the right raises his cigarette to his mouth. He takes a long drag of it, blowing smoke into their faces.

“Can ask you the same thing. What’s with the hostility? Thought you were the peace love and happiness kid.”

“Maximoff, if you don’t shut the fuck up-“

“You’ll what? Beat me up? I’ll just sit here and take it then, putting all the blame on you.” Pietro sneers, tossing his cigarette on the ground and crushing it under the heel of his Doc Martens.

Peter prays that they don’t get into a fight.

“I’ve got places to be, Rogers.” Pietro huffs, pushing past Steve and stomping up the steps to the skate ring.

“What’s his problem?” Stephen asks, staring at where Pietro went off to.

“Don’t know. He’s just a dick.” Steve grunts.

Peter doesn’t understand, because Pietro wasn’t really provoking them.

If anything, Steve is the one who started the hostility in the first place.

“Come on, Pete. Let’s go skate.” Steve says softly, placing a light touch on his wrist. Peter smiles and follows him inside.

To much protest, Steve pays for all their entrance fees, letting them get their skates and excitedly pulling Peter and Stephen to the rink. They sing along to the music, trying to dance while skating. It’s loud and bright but they all love it, that’s why it’s so crowded. Soon Peter tells the boys that he has to use the bathroom, and they tell him they’re going to get food. He skates off to the carpeted hallway with the bathrooms, blood turning cold as he sees who’s hanging out at the end of the hall.

The skates aren’t quiet, so the boys in leather turn to see the unwelcome visitor.

“Ah. It’s Peter, right?” Asks none other than Tony Stark, taking a quick puff of his cigarette.

Tony is a bit of a legend among the school community. Being the son of Maria and Howard Stark, previous owners of Stark Industries, most people around the world know of him. He’s a senior, so they’ve only talked once or twice. Peter is unlucky enough to have Business 101 with the guy. He can’t stand him, mostly because Steve has some unspoken grudge with Tony. He sits in the back of the class all day with a stupid smirk on his stupid face.

“Yeah.” Peter tries to reply confidently, but it comes out wavering.

None of Tony’s crew look sympathetic. His fear seems to amuse them.

“You wanna come get milkshakes with us, doll?” The boy behind Tony asks, speaking up.

Bucky Barnes. Peter doesn’t know much about him, except that he should really cut his hair and that he probably listens to metal. He vaguely remembers Steve mentioning he moved here from Russia when he was little. (Or was it Romania?)

“No. Absolutely not.” Peter says a little firmer this time, crossing his arms and shifting his stance in the skates.

Tony’s mischievous grin only widens.

“What? You scared? Did your mommy tell you to stay away from those bad boys, like me and Barnes? Or was it Maximoff and Barton?” He taunts, stalking closer to Peter.

Without missing a beat, Peter replies,

“My mom is dead.”

Right then and there, Peter witnesses Tony Stark’s entire facade crack. His face pales, grin wiped off his sneering face.

Peter smirks in triumph.

Much to his disappointment, Tony’s sneering grin returns.

“My mom’s dead, too. Glad to know we have something in common.”

Bucky looks at Tony like he has 3 heads. With some thought, Peter assumes that Tony doesn’t talk about his mom all that much. From hearing gossip, he’s gathered that Tony really did love his mom.

More than his father, anyways.

“Stop harassing him, Stark.”

Peter jumps out of his skin at Steve’s voice, his large hand pressed against Peter’s small shoulder. He looks up at Steve, and will admit that he was trembling slightly.

“Rogers! Always happy to see you. Is Peter your boy? Didn’t know you were a fucking fag.” Tony taunts, demeanor changing from relaxed to defensive.

“You’re in no place to call me a fag when-“

“When what, Rogers?” Tony hisses, stepping closer to both Peter and Steve, “Why don’t you tell us. Sure Coach would love to hear what you have to say.”

“Shut the fuck up Stark, you swore-“

“Please!” Peter cries out, hand on Steve’s chest and the other held out to stop Tony.

All the boys turn to look at him now.

“Cut it out. Please don’t fight.” Peter pleads.

Tony backs away, slipping his cigarette back into his mouth.

“Fine. We’re leaving.”

Tony barges past the both of them, Bucky, Pietro, and who he can assume is Barton following.

As Bucky passes by, he mutters in Peter’s ear:

“Remember darlin’, that milkshake offer is always on the table.”

tag list: @starker-flame @lurafita @sam-christo @337-years-old

#starker #starker fanfic #winterspider #ironspider #spidershield #spiderstrange

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keepeacer · 5 years

Text

Let me collect dust.

more gyjo! a chaptered slow burn this time :)

Chapter 1 - Lady Grinning soul

Words: ~5673

Rating: M (for future chapters)

Content Warnings: drinking, getting hit in the head with shoes

Summary: It’s the summer of 1977, and Gyro Zeppeli is the bassist in a band. He does the singing, too. After getting a late start to a show day, he meets someone in a bar that he has the feeling he’ll be seeing a lot of in the future.

Ao3 Link

Full chapter under the cut

The Sunset Strip has been, historically, a breeding ground for talent. Some artists rose through the ranks of the clubs like Aphrodite from the froth of the Mediterranean, and others suffered a fate akin to Icarus— melting and collapsing under the weight of their own excess. It was, and still is, a veritable neon mausoleum.

Legions of would-be rock stars and pin-ups flocked to these musical establishments like flies to rotting meat, drowning themselves nightly in swathes of glitter and narcotic cocktails made up of ingredients they couldn’t begin to pronounce. It was a fairly common occurrence to see people dragged out on stretchers from a bad high, or simply knocked out cold on various surfaces and left there until some good Samaritan hauled them over their shoulder and took them home... wherever that was.

The overarching theme was that most of these lost souls didn’t exactly have a home to return to.

Diego Brando was not one of these lost souls.

No, Diego Brando had himself a stuffy little apartment in the Hollywood Hills, with a balcony on one side facing that horrid white lettered sign, to boot. In this apartment he had installed a rather large conversation pit with red upholstery, upon which was perched a grey miniature poodle with the name tag “Silver”. Silver was currently chewing happily on a pair of cherry red Doc Martens.

The owner of these boots lay splayed across one section of the couch with one arm covering his face and the other dangling towards the floor, a pea green sheet haphazardly thrown onto his otherwise nude form. His snores were thunderous and his sleep was deep, deep enough that he didn’t register the indignant shout from across the room, or the half-eaten boot that was flung at his head until it had been picked up and he had been slapped with it again, a bit more insistently this time.

He twitched as he stirred from his sleep, a long yawn escaping his lips, which he smacked after the fact. A wince; his breath tasted absolutely rancid.

It suddenly registered in his mind that he had been attacked in his sleep. He hoisted himself up on his elbows and blinked the sleep out of his eyes. His assailant had gathered Silver into robed arms, a violent expression raging in pointed turquoise eyes.

Despite his diminutive form, Diego Brando managed to be the exact kind of disheveled morning-after-terrifying that caused Gyro Zeppeli to physically recoil, pulling his sheet over more of his person as if it would serve as some sort of protection.

Gyro did not know what he did to warrant such venom, but it wasn’t like this was the first time he’d been woken up in such a way. He smiled sheepishly, hoping that he’d calm the other man down with his trademark disarming grin. “Good mornin’, sunshine.”

It did not work. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Uh… sleeping?”

Diego all but growled as he stomped into the pit, leaning over slightly and picking up the victimized boot with the hand that wasn’t cradling Silver. He advanced toward Gyro, waving the boot in the air. “Do you know what this is?”

“Yeah, that’s a bo— Huh?! ” Gyro spluttered, eyes widening at the realization that those were, in fact, his prized cherry Docs . His gaze shot from the boots to the poodle in Diego’s arms, a poodle that looked almost smug . It knew what it had done. “The fuck happened to my boots?!”

Diego threw Silver’s newest chew toy at Gyro, connecting with his chest with a dull thud and an “Ow!”. He ran his hand over the tuft of hair on Silver’s head, cooing down at his pet.

“I’m sorry this oaf tried to poison you, darling,” Diego purred, scratching under Silver’s chin.

Gyro looked at him incredulously. “How? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your boots.”

“And?”

“You left them where my sweet angel could have choked on them.”

Gyro scoffed in utter disbelief. He had half a mind to jump up and start yelling, but he remembered his physical state and decided that, what with the wide-open windows, Diego’s neighbors didn’t deserve that kind of performance this early in the morning. He instead contented himself with sitting upright completely and angrily gripping his boot. His poor, poor boot.

“Your angel?!” Gyro scoffed, pointing an accusatory finger at the doe-eyed Silver. “That little rat that chewed the absolute fuck out of my fucking boots? That’s real goddamn leather!”

This was met with an eye-roll. “Oh, please. They cost you what, 20 dollars at most?”

“20 dollars at most,” he mocked, putting on the most obnoxiously fake English accent he could muster. Gyro gestured around angrily to the opulent apartment he’d regrettably become a guest in for the night. “ Just 20 dollars . You know, you were so much nicer last night. Weren’t beating me with my own damn things, for one.”

“You endangered the life of my pet, you brute!”

“You owe me new boots.”

“I don’t owe you a bloody thing!”

Gyro threw his hands up into the air and dragged them down over his face in exasperation. He’d made several unwise decisions in his life and going home with a psychotic Englishman was proving to have been one of the worst. He drummed his fingers on his cheeks, wondering where it had all gone wrong.

The previous night had been spent on the Strip, because where else would it have been?

Club Asphodel was much like its namesake, in that its patrons tended to wander aimlessly around the venue indefinitely on any given night; at least, until something interesting pushed its way through the peeling velvet-lined doors. That night’s attraction had been a locally established outfit by the name of The Clergy; its members donned themselves in dark, cult-like attire and played gloomy tunes that dealt with occultism and blasphemy. As for what the actual genre was, it was up in the air, but the members described it as “an unholy cross between blues and plainchants”.

Gyro had taken his usual spot by the bar, leaning against the counter and tucking into a bottle of Hamm’s. The standard procedure for a night out.

Gyro was a very big fan of people-watching. Not for any sort of creepy purposes, but moreso because he simply got a kick out of observing people as they went about their lives. He liked seeing the desperate teenagers plead with the bouncer for passage into the club; he was intrigued by sudden breakups on the dancefloor when one lover noticed the other’s gaze lingering too long on someone else. Got a good laugh out of overzealous drunkards that had their beers slapped into their faces by the unlucky recipient of their harassment. If someone he saw interested him, he’d go over and talk to them. It was a simple enough game that had made him plenty of friends in the clubbing scene, as well as the inevitable enemy or two. Or three. He’d long lost count.

The Clergy had begun playing, and they were stellar, as usual. It was a wonder that they hadn’t been signed yet, though there were whispers in the crowd that night that scouts from Elektra were prowling the Strip, and that a couple could very well be in Asphodel.

Gyro loved The Clergy— he really did. It’s just that he found it incredibly hard to focus on their music while sticking his tongue down a pretty blond’s throat. All it had taken was a hand down his pants and the feeling of hot breath against his neck and he’d made his plans for the night. One speedy trip in a yellow Volkswagen Beetle and he’d found himself pushed into a conversation pit, only to awaken with that same pretty blond from the night before beating him over the head with the docs he’d slaved away an entire summer over a deep fryer for. Only now, they’d been chewed up by his shitheaded dog.

His boots. His fucking boots. Why did it have to be his boots?!

Diego had set down Silver and was now ambling around the pit and picking up Gyro’s clothing, throwing them at him as he went. Gyro held up his hands to shield himself, but to no avail; he was hit square in the face with his own underwear, as God would have it.

“Hey, c’mon, I can pick up my own clothes,” Gyro whined, grabbing his underwear off of his face and setting it down next to him. “You don’t h—”

“I want you out.” Diego was fuming, eyes alight with a fury that Gyro considered wholly unsuited for the situation. And especially in his eyes. If anything, he should be the angry one; that’s not to say that he wasn’t angry, but it was more of a ‘now I have to buy new fucking boots’ than an ‘I will unleash the gates of hell upon thee’ type of rage.

“I still want new—”

“Get dressed and piss off before I call building security on you.”

And that was how Gyro found himself wearing his shirt on backwards and missing his socks on the corner of Hollywood and Highland, waving down a cab. Diego had hardly given him enough time to dress himself before practically shoving him down the staircase, throwing a bag of coins after him (which he’d caught, thanks.)

He had intended on walking the entire way home before he’d noticed the time on a clock attached to a lamppost. It then dawned on him that it was in fact, Saturday, and he’d spent the better part of his morning ambling around the Hollywood Hills in an attempt to make his way out of the labyrinth of ostentatious housing and unnaturally green lawns.

Upon seeing the time he’d gone into panic mode—he had to get back to his apartment and he’d have to do it in record time. It was currently 11 AM, and he had to be somewhere by 11:30 AM.

But he’d have to get his bass first.

It wouldn’t have been so awful to miss practice for a day, if it weren’t for the fact that him and his motley crew of idiots had somehow managed to book themselves a gig. And of course, it was slated for that very night.

A two-toned green and cream Checker Taxicab pulled up next to him and unlocked the doors, Gyro smiling gratefully as he slid into the back seat. “Corner of Vine and Romaine, please.”

The driver grunted in acknowledgement, reaching into his glove compartment and pulling out a pack of cigarettes. Newports. Fun guy. He held it towards Gyro, who muttered a small thanks and took a couple into his hands. Can save these for later , he thought as he deposited them into the pocket of his jacket. The driver then held out a lighter, shrugging when Gyro declined. He smacked the button on top of the taxi meter and shifted the gears out of park, the axles of the vehicle squeaking dangerously as it sped off down the street.

Anxiety and hunger bubbled in his stomach as he sunk into the leather seat, lazily observing the morning bustle of the Hollywood streets through the dusty window. His mouth watered at the sight of the first Burger King they drove past; it registered in Gyro’s mind that the last thing he’d ingested since the previous afternoon was alcohol. Copious amounts of alcohol. Alcohol that could do to be sponged up with a nice, gooey Yumbo.

He felt surprisingly put together for how much beer he’d consumed. It was possible that he’d simply developed an iron stomach and was thus immune to the adverse effects of intoxication. Maybe getting smacked with a saliva-covered boot was the ultimate hangover cure.

Gyro glanced at the clock installed in the car; 11:08 AM. He then looked to the street signs they were passing up; they were on Sunset, just about to pass Highland. Almost. He chewed on his lip anxiously; his bandmates wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he ended up being late on such a big day. Any other day, they wouldn’t have cared, but gig days were of the utmost importance.

The next few minutes stuck in morning traffic were absolutely agonizing, but ultimately they prevailed, with the driver depositing Gyro on Romaine at approximately 11:13 AM. Gyro gave a hurried thank you and tossed the man a couple dollars before hoofing it in the direction of his apartment.

He ignored the greetings of his neighbors as he ascended the stairs, fishing out his spare key from under the doormat. Gyro practically slammed the door open after rapidly turning the key in the lock, making a beeline towards the stand where he kept his bass. He stopped in front of it, smiling fondly as he knelt before the case.

The case itself was a simple, faux-leather thing, beaten and worn around the edges. A few stickers had been slapped onto the surface; some of bands that he hadn’t even heard of and others of silly teddy bear drawings. Just for peace of mind, he unhitched the clasps holding it closed and slowly opened the case, smile widening to a grin as he took in its contents.

His baby was a monochrome Gibson EB-3 that he’d affectionately dubbed Valkyrie. The neck was a sweet-smelling black mahogany that contrasted with the white walnut body. The pickups and pickguard were black as well, though in another life they’d been a deep, wine-red color. While he’d slaved away over a grill for his Docs—as well as much of the rest of his clothing—Gyro actually won Valkyrie through a fistfight with the bassist of another local band, Wekapipo from Ataxia. Bastard got what he deserved.

Satisfied, Gyro closed the case and secured the latches, picking it up as he stood. He gave his apartment a quick once-over before shrugging and heading out the door, grabbing his keys before locking the door.

He gave an apologetic wave to his previously rebuffed neighbor as he headed down the stairs again, half-jogging on his way to his car. That was nothing special; it was simply a ’65 Mustang with chipped baby blue paint and fucked suspension that he couldn’t afford to fix yet. Sometimes the starter relay would straight up fail, and he’d have to play mechanic on the side of the road until he fixed it himself by some stroke of dumb luck. Either that, or until another driver took pity on him and gave him a hand.

Today was one of the Mustang’s good days, and so it started without a hitch. Didn’t even make a loud churning noise when he sped up on the 101 in an effort to make it to his bandmate’s place in time. In fact, it was so well-behaved that it didn’t start sputtering and dying until it pulled in front of the building, whining obnoxiously before Gyro shut the engine off.

Exhaling, he exited the car and grabbed his bass, nervously stepping through the gate to the house. He was definitely late, and he was definitely going to hear about it. Gyro was two seconds from knocking on the door before it swung open, a silently seething Sandman on the other side of the screen door.

“You’re late,” Sandman said simply, opening the screen and allowing Gyro to waddle in. Predictable .

Gyro smiled sheepishly, setting his case down next to the rest of the band’s equipment. He held his hands up innocently, trying not to falter under the intense gaze of the man before him. “I’m sorry! I got, uh, caught up…”

“Heads up!”

There was barely any time to react as a small styrofoam clamshell went flying at Gyro’s head. He managed to catch it between open palms, the container squeaking slightly as it bent inwards. Poco grinned from the doorway, a half-eaten cheeseburger in hand. “Glad you finally made it.”

He stuck his tongue out, opening the clamshell to reveal a slightly jostled Big Mac. His stomach gurgled in anticipation, though it proved to be in vain. Gyro had only taken a single bite before recoiling, making a face. “It’s cold.”

“Get here on time, then,” Sandman deadpanned, taking a long, obnoxiously loud slurp out of his cup of soda. Gyro scowled and took a seat on the couch.

“Not my fault you two live all the way in goddamn Echo Park.”

“It isn’t our fault you live in Hollywood.”

“Fuck you. Rent’s cheap on my street.”

“Sure. You owe me 65 cents for that, by the way.” Sandman pointed at his burger.

Poco held up a hand to silence the two, chewing thoughtfully on his cheeseburger before swallowing. “Who was it this time, Gyro?”

“Huh?” Gyro was mid-chew himself, trying his best to stomach this achingly cold pile of mushy bread and meat that they dared call a Big Mac.

Poco walked over and poked Gyro on the neck. His hands went up to cover his exposed skin, flushing in embarrassment at the knowledge of what decorated that particular stretch. He shot Poco a look, which dealt absolutely zero damage to the knowing grin plastered on his bandmate’s face.

“What was her name?”

“ His ,” Gyro grumbled, “name was Diego. Prissy rich ‘Hills type. Bottle blond. Nice ass.”

Gyro listed all of the above information willingly because Poco (and more subtly, Sandman) would hound him for it endlessly if he didn’t. The two were very preoccupied with who he slept with; they claimed it was because they were looking out for him, but he personally thought it was because they were both perverts.

It was Sandman who spoke first.

“…Diego? Diego who?”

“Uh… Brando. Why?”

Poco spluttered. “Did you just say Diego Brando?”

“…Yeah? What, you know ‘im?”

Poco and Sandman both stared at him like he was stupid. He even felt offended for a split second. Did he do something wrong? Was Diego Brando Poco’s long lost brother, or even Sandman’s? He spoke up again when neither of them answered his question. “Guys?”

Poco shook his head and walked away from Gyro, exiting the room. Gyro turned to face Sandman, who rolled his eyes and stood up. He, too, walked away and exited the room, but returned shortly after with a stack of what appeared to be tens of Star magazines. These were dropped unceremoniously at his feet, with Sandman sitting next to Gyro and scooping up the one at the top of the pile.

“Do you see this?” Sandman pointed to the cover of the magazine, which featured none other than… Diego. He was sitting on the floor against a rocking horse in classical jockey apparel, tongue sticking out of plump lips between two fingers. A bit risqué. The issue was relatively recent, too; April 1977.

Gyro blinked. He didn’t know Diego was famous. “Um, yeah. ‘BRITISH ROCK SENSATION TELLS ALL’…? He a singer?”

The corner of Sandman’s mouth twitched. “Do all Italian expats live under a rock?”

“What? I just know the metal and punk shit from there. Not any of that obscure crap.”

“It’s not obscure. Or ‘crap’. Be respectful.”

“Whatever…,” Gyro muttered, scanning over the other captions on the cover. “’What really happened to Joe Kid?’ Who? What?”

“Oh, that is unforgivable !” Poco yelled from the other room. Sandman shot Gyro a disapproving look, grabbing the magazine out of his hands and setting it back on the pile.

“You’re really so ignorant.”

“What the fuck? Why am I supposed to know all these people?! They’re obviously only big in uh... not-Italy.”

“Whatever. Get your stuff set up so we can practice. Hopefully you won’t be late to your own show, too.”

Sandman didn’t seem to notice Gyro flipping him off as he moved himself over to his drumkit. He twirled a stick around and tapped a cymbal, the crash echoing throughout the house. “Poco!”

There was a shuffling noise from the other room before Poco’s head emerged in the doorway. “On it!”

Gyro set down his burger, still muttering under his breath as he set up his bass and cab. He didn’t know why his bandmates expected him to know about everything that crawled out of the British Isles. Sure, Diego was very clearly loaded, but he figured that big time rockstars had better things to do than peruse seedy dive bars in the dark corners of Sunset. Like, go to stuffy wine tastings, or whatever.

It wasn’t like Gyro was totally ignorant of popular culture as a whole. It was just that growing up, his parents didn’t allow him to do anything fun. If it didn’t relate to preparing for medical school, he wasn’t permitted to participate. That included listening to fun music, watching television, hell, even playing outside with the local kids. As a result, Gyro didn’t get a taste of any type of music aside from jazz until he was late in his teens, and that was only for what was prevalent in Italy. He knew big names like AC/DC, The Beatles, Beach Boys, Aretha Franklin, sure; but anything that hadn’t made a considerable dent in the Italian musical market, he was unfamiliar with prior to arriving in Los Angeles.

It was a sensitive spot for him, but he knew enough local bands to earn him at least a little bit of respect in the LA scene. At least, as much respect as could possibly be afforded to a newcomer, and a foreigner, at that. People early on hadn’t really taken him very seriously, so it was by chance that Gyro bumped into Poco and Sandman, who’d been looking for a bass player to jam with. They’d all hit it off, and Vertigo had been formed practically overnight.

Their band was one of misfits, as was typical of any other non-glam band that popped up in the vicinity of the strip. They shared more traits with the burgeoning punk scene than anything else, yet they were finding that the sound shared by their peers just wasn’t… enough. Didn’t have the right crunch, wasn’t as intense, as demanding. Their music ached for something more.

He thumbed at the strings of his bass in thought. They needed more… gravel.

“Alright,” Poco chirped, plugging the amp chord into his guitar. “I think we oughtta, uh… practice the shit on the setlist.”

“What setlist? We agreed on a setlist ?”

“Christ,” Sandman sighed.

Poco pointed at a piece of paper taped to the floor before Gyro. He squinted below him. Sure enough, 8 of their songs were scribbled onto it in black marker. He winced at a few of the choices; Poco seemed to have gone out of his way to pick what’d make their fingers bleed the most. Which was pretty hardcore, so he couldn’t complain… much. Still, he’d have liked to have had some sort of say, since he’d be the one singing them. Or shouting, more like. More heavy that way.

Practice went as it normally did, which was to say that it was incredibly flawed, but charmingly so. Sandman’s snare only fell off of its stand twice, and the amp managed to not cut out at all. Hopefully, it’d be about the same for their set later that night. Gyro had mastered the technique of yelling without fucking his throat up too bad, so sucking on a lozenge would be more than enough in the hours between practice and the actual show.

It was funny, the anxiousness that festered within him. It wasn’t as if he’d never played at Señor Rosado’s. He’d had a slew of awful shows there, actually, but the audience (and the band) was often too drunk to really care; fast and loud music didn’t need to be good when combined with alcohol. The chaos of the pit was fun to watch from the stage, and it was even more fun when he got to set his bass down and dive into it at the conclusion of the show.

After lingering at Poco and Sandman’s house for a while longer after practice, he packed his stuff together and headed home for a quick shower. He still smelled like sweat and Hamm’s. And Diego, he thought with a wrinkle of his nose.

He didn’t spend too long in the shower and spent even less time on his outfit, throwing on a raggedy pair of jeans and an equally ratty old Stones shirt. He frowned at his chewed-up boots but decided to put them on in favor of his Chucks, deciding they added character. Saliva coated character.

The car ride to Señor Rosado’s wasn’t anything of note, and neither was the club itself from the outside. The inside? Also unremarkable.

The real appealing part of Rosado’s was not the interior decorations, nor was it the obnoxiously large neon sign with a racially insensitive vaquero displayed above the front entrance. It most definitely was not the restrooms, which, even when ‘clean’, had an odor akin to rotting pig shit on a sweltering July afternoon.

No, the thing that drew the local miscreants and rock n’ roll weirdoes to Rosado’s was something known as ‘The Carnage’. The Carnage was the utter chaos that drove the underground scene in Los Angeles. It was the way of being, the ideology, the look. It was a lot of things, and one way it could visualized was by a chick in a mullet snuffing out her cigarette on a bloodied bonehead’s chrome dome amidst a particularly disastrous barfight. The Carnage manifested only in certain spaces, and Señor Rosado’s was one of them… much to the chagrin of its owners.

One of whom was approaching Gyro as he lugged his bass cab towards the stage to set up.

The incredibly skeevy co-owner, Devo, sneered as he took in Gyro’s appearance, lighting a cigarette. “Peavey? Really, Zeppeli?”

“Good enough for Van Halen then it’s good enough for me.”

“Who?”

Now it was Gyro’s turn to scoff. He ignored Devo as he set down the cab, fumbling with the wires behind the rig. It was in that moment that he was endlessly grateful for gaff tape.

He waved in greeting to his bandmates, smirking when they realized that he’d actually arrived before they did. For once. Gyro looked to Sandman for any sort of emotion on his face and, of course, was given nothing but a resentful glare. But what was Sandman if not a little venomous?

It didn’t take too long for them to get completely set up. Their opener hadn’t even arrived yet; why would they? The bar wouldn’t permit its patrons to enter for another couple of hours.

Poco and Gyro took to entertaining themselves by playing darts in the green room, with Sandman acting as a half-hearted referee as he buried his nose in a thick textbook. Gyro understood partially; though he himself was a med-school dropout, he was no stranger to taking any possible moment to cram knowledge into his noggin in preparation for tests. He’d understand completely if it weren’t for the fact that Sandman didn’t go to college.

Eventually Gyro had grown bored of absolutely demolishing Poco in every aspect of the game, so he took to laying down on the hole-infested couch that Devo had deigned to plant in the room. He closed his eyes for what he thought was a little bit before peeking one open, trying to read out what the dusty clock on the opposite wall read. If it was right, it meant that the bar had already opened its doors for the evening.

He figured it was as good a time as any to get a good soundcheck in. For the sake of the openers; testing acoustics and all that jazz. Gyro honestly had no clue who the people playing before them even were. Not that he hadn’t heard of them... it was just that Devo literally didn’t tell them. Likely to be some other local shitshow that was even more obscure than Vertigo. He supposed it didn’t matter, so long as they were loud.

Gyro pushed a dozing Poco off of his legs and stood up, grabbing his bass and mumbling to Sandman that he’d be back. He received a disinterested hum in response.

A few patrons milled about the club already, some sitting on the chairs provided closer to the bar. Gyro couldn’t say that he recognized many, if any of them, but they were all probably locals. He sincerely doubted anyone from like, Montana had flown in just to see his little band of talking mice.

He found that the openers had already set up their own equipment, but were currently absent from the stage. There’d probably be time to actually meet them sometime between sets. He picked up a stray cord from the floor and plugged it into Valkyrie, giving a test strum before going back to fiddle with the cab knobs.

Once he was satisfied he took his place by the front mic, adjusting it for his height. The current setting was a bit short, and it wasn’t really going to cut it for a lanky guy like him.

“Blegh!” he gurgled into the microphone, pleased to hear his voice echo through the room. A few giggles came from customers in the non-visible vicinity. With the way the lights glared in the direction of the stage, and the general dimness of Rosado’s itself, it was hard to really see anyone.

He experimentally strummed on his bass, a few isolated chords before they melded together in his standard soundcheck song. Gyro was aware that he was likely totally butchering the genius of Geezer Butler, but he bassically had it down.

Gyro leaned into the mic, laughing softly as a random man in the back of the bar whooped loudly.

“Some people say, that my love can’t be true…”

He grinned at the girl that sat on the stage near him a few more lines in, adding a wheezy rasp to his voice as he progressed. It had devolved into a straight shriek as he got to the “My name is Lucifer” line, cackling maniacally as he suddenly ended off the song there. The girl stayed even after he went back into the green room to drop off his bass and reemerged; perhaps she was expecting something out of him. She wouldn’t be getting it.

Gyro decided that he was absolutely parched, and that the swill Devo left a cooler of in the room wouldn’t cut it. He hopped off of the stage and into the pit, swaggering over to the bar.

And that was when he saw him.

Peeking out from under a red fiddler cap were a pair of azure eyes, eyes that stared him down as their owner took a sip from some syrupy green cocktail. They were the type that demanded the completely undivided attention of those around him. His face, framed by feathers of blond, was set in a pout, though it didn’t seem like a particularly affected one. It was the kind that rested.

He was dressed a bit stuffily for the location, though his outfit seemed worn around the edges. A white cotton button-up shirt was accented by a soft yellow tie that had seen better days, his crimson high-waisted pants hugging his hips a bit more snugly than was probably standard.

The barstool next to him was invitingly open. Gyro took it.

“You the one that was singing just now?”

His voice was quiet, tinged with a subtle splash of sadness and what sounded like those ‘Southern country’ accents Gyro heard on TV now and then.

Gyro nodded, a slight grimace on his features. “Yup. How bad is it, doc?”

The young man gave a huff through his nose that Gyro thought was supposed to be laughter, though his lips did not show any sign of curling upwards. In the dim bar light, he idly registered a dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose.

“Not bad’t all. Pretty damn good, actually.”

“Hey, thanks. Means a lot.”

“No problem. You the one from uh...Vertigo, right?”

Gyro’s eyes lit up. Being recognized was a relatively new thing, and it somehow felt even better coming from this person. “Yeah! Yeah, I am. Bassist and lead shrieker.”

There was a hum from his conversation partner, who took another sip of his cocktail. Gyro didn’t know what exactly was in it, but judging from the smell it was some pretty strong stuff. He flagged down the bartender and ordered a whiskey on the rocks, catching it as it slid across the table towards him.

“We’ve been trying to sound heavier lately,” Gyro found himself blurting out, earning a cocked eyebrow from the fellow across from him. “I dunno if I gotta start yelling about blood and guts, or play faster, or what, but—ah, fuck. Sorry, didn’t mean to start rambling at you.”

“You try downtuning? Pedals?” The young man didn’t seem bothered by Gyro’s verbal diarrhea at all, swirling around the cherry in his cocktail.

“Hm? No, I—”

“Try out E. No drop tuning. As for pedals, Boss’s Overdrive crap might work for what you’re talkin’ about.”

The way he delivered this information, he’d seemed almost bored, but there was a notable glint in his eye that wasn’t there before.

“I dunno why I didn’t think of that,” Gyro mused, taking a swig of his whiskey. He looked behind himself to the stage, where he noticed Poco trying to wave him over.

Gyro frowned. Figures, when he finally finds someone that was actually interesting to talk to he’d be summoned by his bandmates. They’d barely gotten any real words in; Gyro didn’t even get the chance to ask him his name yet. He groaned and finished off his whiskey, slamming it down onto the counter and earning a glare from the bartender.

Gyro swiveled around to face him again. “Hey, I got— oh?”

The boy in the red hat was gone.

#gyjo #gyrojo #johnny joestar #gyro zeppeli #jjba #steel ball run #jojo's bizarre adventure #fanfiction #my writing

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peaches-of-1 · 6 years

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A/N: This is not yet formatted correctly. I will fix it later! Merry Christmas everyone!

525,600 minutes 525,000 moments so dear 525,600 minutes How do you measure, measure a year?

Some would count in daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. Others in inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. Let me ask, in 525,600 minutes, how do you measure a year in the life?

How about love? Hmm? How about love? I ask you. How about love? Would you measure in love? Seasons of love. Just seasons of love.

In her office, Maman scrolled through pictures of her and Hwasa. They were cute together, but the pictures didn’t show everything. Like the cheating. The breakup. The arguments. Just them smiling. Lying…

525,600 minutes. 525,000 journeys to plan. 525,600 minutes. How do you measure the life of a woman or man? Would someone measure their life in truths that she learned, or in times that he cried? In bridges he burned, or the way that she died?

Either way, it's time now to sing out, though the story never ends. Let's celebrate, remember a year in the life of friends. Looking back it was important to remember the love you’ve gotten before. You got to, you got to remember the love.

You know that love is a gift from up above. Religious or not, it comes from a place of light. Love comes from all that is good and hopeful in the world or out of it. Remember the love. Share love, give love, spread love. Measure in love!

Seasons of love. Just seasons of love. Measure, measure your life in love

______

It had been a few days since Christmas and was now New Year’s Eve. The crew hadn’t returned to their home since they had no idea how to get in and also there were cops patrolling. There weren’t many now that the year was coming to a close, so Hyuna, Hyojong, and Hui stood by the door.

Hui used his skills to slowly pan to the padlock, “New Year’s Rockin’ Eve: The Breaking Back into the Building Party.”

“How long till next year?” Hyuna asked now in magenta purple dress made of crushed velvet and lace around the hem. It was long sleeves which made her even warmer in her jacket and black heels.

Hyojong looked at his watch, “Three and half minutes…”

“I'm giving up my vices.” She said. “I'm going back - back to school. Eviction or not, this week's been so hot that long as I've got you, I know I'll be cool.” She booped his nose. “I couldn't crack the love code, dear 'til you made the lock on my heart explode! It's gonna be a happy new year!”

He lifted her off the ground and spun her around.

“A happy new year.”

Hui came back from making sure the patrols really were gone, “Coast is clear. You're supposed to be working.” He took the cheap alcohol from Hyuna. “That's for midnight. Where are they? There isn't much time.”

“Maybe they're dressing.” The red head teased. “I mean what does one wear that's apropos for a party - that's also a crime?”

“Chips, anyone?” Hwasa said in a bright red leather(?) bathing suit and matching heeled boots.

The film nerd laughed and pointed the older camera at her, “You can take the girl out of Hicksville, but you can't take the Hicksville out of the girl.”

She stuck out her tongue, “My riot got you on TV. I deserve a royalty!”

Hyuna snuck the bottle away from Hui, “Be nice you two or no god awful champagne!”

Hwasa skipped over to the beautiful girl, “Don't mind if I do. No luck?”

Hyojong sighed, “Bolted plywood, padlocked with a chain. A total dead end.”

“Just like my ex-girlfriend.” The short haired woman dialed her just mentioned ex. “Jagiya...? I know you're there...Please pick up the phone. Are you okay?”

Hui chuckled as he filmed his own ex acting not so differently but also slightly different from when they dated. She swatted at him.

“It's not funny! It's not fair!! How can I atone? Are you okay?” She sighed. “I lose control, but I can learn to behave. Give me one more chance. Let me be your slave! I'll kiss your Doc Martens! Let me kiss your Doc Martens! Your every wish I will obey!!!”

Maman spoke from behind the desperate artist, “That might be okay. Down girl.”

Hwasa kneeled.

“Heel...stay.” Then she walked past the leather clad woman to talk to the others. “I did a bit of research with my friends at legal aid. Technically, you're squatters. There's hope, but just in case.” She pulled out a white bundle from her purse.

Rope!

Maman and Hui then began to plot, talking back and forth with him starting out, “We can hoist a line--”

“To the fire escape--”

“And tie off at…”

“That bench!” They said in unison and pointed at the same spot. They high fived each other.

Hwasa pouted, “I can't take them as chums.”

Maman scoffed, “Start hoisting...wench!” She tossed her ex the rope but was then chased by her and ran away with Hui close by.

Even Hyojong was able to crack a smile at their antics, “I think I should be laughing. Yet I forget, forget how to begin. I'm feeling something inside and yet I still can't decide if I should hide or make a wide open grin.” He grabbed his girlfriend around the waist. “Last week I wanted just to disappear. My life was dust, but now it just may be a happy new year. A happy new year!” He lifted the champagne bottle up high.

That’s when Namjoon announced himself dressed in all black, “Bond, James Bond.”

Key posed by his boyfriend, “And Pussy Galore. In person!” She had bolt cutters in hand.

Hyuna was glad to see her friend dressed up so well, “Pussy, you came prepared!”

The two hugged and Key said, “I was a boy scout once, and a brownie...'til some brat got scared.” He pursed his lips.

Namjoon deepened his voice even more to exclaim, “Aha! Moneypenny, my martini!”

“Will bad champagne do?” Hyuna asked, pouring him a cup.

“That's shaken, not stirred.” He took a sip. “Pussy, the bolts.”

Key grabbed both handles of the bolt cutter, “Just say the word!”

“Two minutes left to execute our plan.” the red head chirped.

“Where's everyone else?” Namjoon asked.

Hyojong snarked, “Playing Spiderman.”

____

Once inside, Hui began recording on his older camera. Ironic close up: tight on the phone machine's red light. Once the Boho boys are gone, the power mysteriously comes on. Everyone looked around, confused and suspicious.

Hui kept the camera on the answering machine, “Hui, it's the Wicked Witch of the West: Your mother. Happy New Year from home. We're all impressed that the riot footage made the nightly news. Even your father says congrats, honey...call him. Love Mom!”

The next message played, “Lee Hwitaek, Alexi Darling from Buzzfed.”

“Oh, that show's so sleazy.” He snarked.

“Your footage from the riots: A1. Feature segment, network, deal time. I'm sending you a contract. Ker-ching ker-ching! Marky give us a call 970-4301 or at home try 863-6754 or my cellphone at 919-763-0090 or you can e-mail me at darlingalexinews.com.net or you can page me at--” It cut off.

Hwasa beamed, “I think we need an agent!”

“We?” Hui asked.

Maman shook her head, “That’s selling out.”

“But it's nice to dream!”

“Yeah! It's network TV and it's all thanks to me!” The short haired girl threw her hands in the air.

Hui whispered to Maman, “Somehow i think i smell a whiff of a scheme!”

“Me too.” She responded.

And sure enough, Hwasa said, “We can plan another protest!”

“We?” The lawyer asked.

She nodded, “This time you can shoot from the start, you'll direct, starring me!”

“5, 4, 3, open sesame!” The window unlocked quite easily. “Happy new year!” Everyone cheered. “Happy new year! Happy new…”

The sound of a party horn being blown and the face blowing it ruined the wild mood.

Choongmin smiled, “I see that you've beaten me to the punch.”

“How did you know we'd be here?” The videographer asked.

“I had a hunch.”

“You're not mad?”

The business man shook his head, “I'm here to end this war. It's a shame you went and destroyed the door.”

Hyuna squinted at him, “Why all of a sudden the big about face?”

He smirked, “The credit is yours.You made a good case.”

“What case?” Hyojong looked at her.

“Hyuna came to see me, and she had much to say.”

She folded her arms, “That's not how you put it at all yesterday!”

“I couldn't stop thinking about the whole mess!” The snake looked towards the camera man, “Hui, you'll want to get this on film.”

He shrugged and pressed record on his phone, “I guess.”

Choongmin faced the camera and cleared his throat, “I regret the unlucky circumstances of the last seven days.”

“Circumstance?” Hyojong laughed. “You padlocked our door!”

He continued, “And it's a great pleasure on behalf of Cyber Arts that I hand you this key.”

“Golf claps.” Key said sarcastically, clapping his hands together quietly.

Hui accidentally deleted the footage, “I had no juice in my battery.”

“Reshoot!” Choongmin said trying to keep his cool.

It didn’t get past E’Dawn, “Oh I see, this is a photo opportunity.”

Hwasa skipped in front of the business man and bowed low, “The benevolent god ushers the poor artists back to their flat.” She then flipped him off and went to sit on a table. “Were you planning on taking down the barbed wire from the lot too?”

“Anything but that!” Hyojong scoffed.

Choongie cut in, “Clearing the lot was a safety concern. We break ground this month, but you can return.”

“That's why you're here with people you hate instead of with Muffy at Muffy's estate!” Hwasa stated.

He brushed his finger through his hair, “I honestly rather'd be with you tonight than in West Port.”

Hyojong scoffed, “Spare us old sport, the sound bite!”

That’s when he started to get huffy and pointed at the blonde, “Hyuna, since you were so seductive--”

“You came onto me!” She made it clear.

“Persuade him not to be so counterproductive”

“Liar!” Hyojong yelled.

The yuppie smirked, “Why not tell them what you wore to my place?”

Hyuna set her jaw, “I was on my way to work!”

“In black leather and lace?” He asked. “My desk was a mess. I think I'm still sore!”

She stood and yelled back at him, “Cause I kicked him and told him I wasn't his whore!”

“Does your boyfriend know who your last boyfriend was?”

Hyojong screamed at the top of his lungs, “I'm not her boyfriend, I don't care what she does!” He glared at her and refused to touch her.

Key had to step in, “People, is this any way to start a new year?” Cue jazz hands. “Have compassion, Choongie just lost his cat.”

“My dog, but I appreciate that.” He corrected.

“My cat had a fall, and I went through hell.” Key explained.

“It's like losing a…” He paused. “How did you know that she fell?”

Namjoon stepped in handing a class to Choongie, “Champagne?”

“Don't mind if I do. To dogs…” He raised his glass.

Everyone snarked back, “No, Benny, to you!”

“Let's make a resolution~” Key said, holding Hyuna’s hand.

She gave a sore smirk, “I'll drink to that!”

“Let's always stay friends.” Namjoon said.

Maman pushed Hyojong back towards the girl he loved, “Though we may have our disputes--”

“This family tree's got deep roots.” Hwasa said, getting a soft smile from her ex.

Hui proclaimed, “Friendship is thicker than blood.”

“That depends…” the blonde said.

“It depends on trust.” Hyuna jabbed.

To which he replied, “Depends on true devotion.”

“I depends on love.” Maman nudged once more.

“Depends on not denying emotion!” Hui said, giving Hyojong a look.

“Perhaps.” Was his only reply.

Hyuna wanted to get out of there, but the others on her side kept her from leaving. It was gonna be a happy new year!

“I guess…” E’Dawn said. “You're right.”

Key cheered, “It's gonna be a happy new year, doll!”

Everyone left to give the two their space and see what was left of their living space. Hwasa and Maman even joined hands, having made up in their own way.

“I'm sorry.” They said in unison.

“Coming?” Hyojong asked.

She nodded, “In a minute. I'm fine. Go~”

He kissed her forehead, proud of her for being clean for so long and trusting her. He just thought she needed her space, but then the dealer arrived with her fix.

“Well, well, well. What have we here?” He asked, and the trade happened. “It's gonna be a happy new year.” He said mockingly.

________

VALENTINE’S DAY

Hui’s camera panned across the empty lot, “Hyojong’s down at Hyuna’s where he has been for almost two months now. Although he keeps talking about selling his guitar and heading out of town...he’s still jealous of Choong-ie. God knows where Namjoon and Key are...could be the new shanty town near the river or a suite at the Plaza.”

He decided to go for a walk and record some B footage and passed by where he knew where Hwasa and her on-again-off-again girlfriend would be, “Hwasa and Maman are practicing.” and the man was just about to open the door.

“I SAID, ONCE MORE FROM THE TOP!” Maman commanded.

“I SAID, NO!” Hwasa screamed back.

Hui backed up real quick, “That is if they’re speaking this week.” The he showed his face for the first time since filming. “Me? I’m here...nowhere...alone.”

~~~~~~

“The line is ‘Cyber Arts and its corporate sponsors: Great Communications wish to mitigate the Christmas Eve Riot’ What’s so difficult about that?” Maman said as if it were a piece of cake.

Hwasa gave her a pointed look, “It just doesn’t roll off my tongue.” Then she whined. “I like my version!”

She rolled her eyes, “You dressed as a groundhog to protest the groundbreaking?”

The short haired girl gave an excited nod, “It’s a metaphor!”

“It’s less than brilliant.”

“Ugh!” She stormed off the stage, “That’s it Miss Ivy League!”

Maman was surprised, “What?”

“Ever since New Year’s I haven’t said Boo. I let you direct. I didn’t pierce my nipples because you said it grossed you out. I didn’t stay and dance at the Clit Club that night because you wanted to go home!”

“You were flirting with the woman in rubber!” she pointed out.

Hwasa sighed, “That’s what this is about? There will always be woman in rubber flirting with me, gimme a break.” She went face to face with Maman. “ Every single day I walk down the street, I hear people say ‘baby’s so sweet’. Ever since puberty, everybody stares at me! Boys, girls, I can’t help it, baby.” She walked her fingers up Maman’s lapels and held her chin, “So be kind, and don’t lose your mind. Just remember, that I’m your baby.”

Then she strutted away, taking the long way back to the stage, “Take me for what I am! Who I was meant to be! And if you give a damn, take me, baby or leave me.” The short haired woman smirked. “Take me baby or leave me!”

She lifted her arms high, “A tiger in a cage can never see the sun! This diva needs her stage. Baby, let’s have fun! You are the one I choose! Folks would kill to fill your shoes! You love the limelight too now baby. So be mine, or don’t waste my time crying ‘Oh honey bear are you still my my my baby?’” She went to the center of the stage and stood on the highest stacked crate. “Take me for what I am! Who I was meant to be! And if you give a damn! Take me baby or leave me!”

Hwasa then did a very sensual strut as well as poses to try to convince her girlfriend, “No way can I be what I’m not. But hey! Don’t you want your girl hot? Don’t fight, don’t lose you head, Cause every night who’s in your bed?” She slunk closer. “Who? Who’s in your bed? Kiss, aein?” She stuck out her lips.

Maman put her hand to block it, “It won’t work. I look before I leap. I love margins and discipline. I make lists in my sleep. Baby, what’s my sin? Never quit, I follow through. I hate mess but I love you. What to do with my impromptu baby? So be wise, cause this girl satisfies.” She did a small sexy dance. “You got a prize, so don’t compromise. You’re one lucky baby!” She decided to use her girlfriend’s phrase. “Take me for what I am!”

“A control freak.” Hwasa murmured.

“Who I was meant to be!”

“A snob yet over attentive.”

“And if you give a damn~!”

“Loveable droll geek!” She said slightly above her normal level.

The older woman leaned in, “Take me baby or leave me!”

“And anal retentive!”

That was it! The straw that broke their back. They quit!

Maman wanted to give her a chance, “Unless you take it back!”

Women, what is it about them? You can’t live with them or without them! They said the same things over and over again without trying to compromise or understand the otherside. They just wanted to be taken for what they were, who they were meant to be!

“And if you give a damn, take me baby--” Hwasa began.

The lawyer imitated her lover in bed, “Oh take me, baby!”

“Or leave me!”

Maman yelled back, “Take me, baby! Or leave me!” Followed up by, “Guess I’m leaving!” as she walked away, grabbing her purse.

They both turned to face each other one last time, “I’m gone!”

~~~~~~

Seasons of Love B - What you Own

So I ask you again. How would you measure your life? In diapers, report cards, in spoke wheels, in speeding tickets? In contracts, dollars, in funerals, in births? In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes how do you figure a last year on earth?

Figure in love. I say figure in love. Please figure in love. Measure in love. Seasons of love.

Seasons of love.

It was now spring, and it seems as though Hyuna and Hyojong were missing each other once again. He had been waiting for her for hours now.

She walked in, obviously high, “Sorry, I’m late.”

“Where were you? No, let me guess.” He said, listing off the excuses she gave. “You lost your key? No, no, no. You went for a walk. You had to help your mother.” He sighed and set his jaw. “How’s Choongie?”

Hyuna laughed at the thought, “Babe…”

“Don’t bother.” He already had his guitar back in its case. “I’m working upstairs tonight.”

“Wait!” She called out. “I should tell you. I should tell you…” Then she turned around. “Nevermind.”

Hyojong let out a heavy sigh and began to climb the stairs back to his own apartment, the phrase “Happy Spring” faltering on his lips. Hyuna waited until he was gone to start working on getting her next high. Then she threw away the packet and realized how lonely she was.

Without you. She thought. The ground thaws, the rain falls, the grass grows. Without you the seeds root, the flowers bloom, the children play, the stars gleam. Her legs carried her to the window with her head full of thoughts. The poets dream. The eagles fly.

Without you. The earth turns, the sun burns. Hyuna felt the water droplet on her hands, “But I die without you.”

Time passed, and new flowers had come to life. The two lovebirds didn’t fly near each other much anymore. In fact, they actively avoided each other. Hyojong got angry every time he thought of Hyuna’s red hair, and she didn’t want him to see how bad she had gotten.

While trying to not go to the dealer today, she thought she saw him pass by.

Without you. The breeze warms, the girl smiles, the cloud moves. Without you the tides change, the boys run. The oceans crash.

And she continued her job at the Cat Scratch club, eyes bleary as she performed once again, everything moving in slow motion. The crowds roared for her as the days soared.

Hyuna sat outside again after work, not going to his place as she heard wailing. The babies cry without you. She looked up. The moon glows, the river flows, but I die without you.

Hyojong tried to write, “The world revives—”

She stared at a painting in Choongie’s office as she went to see him again, “Colors renew—”

But they knew blue, only blue, lonely blue, within them...blue. Even as Hyuna was undressed by the married man, she thought about her Hyojong and what they could’ve been. Without you the hand gropes, the ear hears, the pulse beats…

The musician couldn’t deny that things weren’t going well in his life either and sung to himself, “Without you, the eyes gaze, the legs walk, the lungs breathe.”

Their minds churned and their hearts yearned. Yet their tears dried without the other in their lives.

The blonde stared out the window to see her linking arms with the yuppie scum and thought Life goes on, but I’m gone cause I die without you. Hyuna looked back as she felt him looking at her, but he moved away from the window at the same time.

Without you.

_____

Hui was at home when the familiar “SPEAK…” followed by a beep went off. A familiar nasally voice rambled off.

“Lee Hwitaek, Alexi Darling. Labor Day Weekend in East Hampton. On the beach~ Just saw Shawn Mendes told him you said ‘Hi’!” She paused. “Just kidding. We still need directors. You still need money. You know you need money. Pick up the phone. Don't be afraid of ker-ching ker-ching! Lee~sell us your soul~”

Another pause, longer this time, “Just kidding. We're waiting…!”

Maybe it was better to take up that offer of recording an orgy that Key told him about from his hospital bed. It’d be less dirty than working for Buzzfed. Fall had approached quickly. It wasn’t soon after recording that Hui got the call that Key passed away.

Everyone rushed to the hospital and cried. Hyuna was holding it pretty well until the doctor unhooked the monitor. Then she sobbed.. Hyojong was gonna reach out to her, but she turned into Hwasa’s arms. Maman pat the young man’s arm while Hui comforted Namjoon who was trying to hold his feelings back but couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

Each of them spoke in turn at Key’s funeral. Then it was Namjoon’s turn. He tightly gripped the jacket his love had bought just last winter. Not even a full year ago. She was buried on Halloween, her favorite holiday.

He sang their song instead of speaking, “Live in my house…” he sniffled. “I’ll be your shelter. Just pay me back with one thousand kisses. Be my lover, and I’ll cover you...open your door. I’ll be your tenant. Don’t got much baggage to lay at your feet.”

Joon remembered that winter day they were making out before breaking back into their building. Key had looked amazing in those heels, but the first day they met felt like yesterday. Her legs in those zebra print leggings.

“But sweet kisses I’ve got to spare. I’ll be there, and I’ll cover you. Oh! I think they meant it when they said you can’t buy love, now I know you can rent it. A new lease you...were, my love on life. All my life I’ve longed to discover something as true as this is!”

Maman picked him up by chiming in, “So with a thousand sweet kisses!”

525,600 minutes.

“If you’re cold and you're lonely.” Namjoon continued with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“With a thousand sweet kisses!”

525,600 moments so dear.

“You’ve got one nickel only.”

Maman knew she would never feel as much pain as he did, but still cried along the others, “With a thousand sweet kisses”

525,600 minutes

“When you worn out and you’re tired”

“With a thousand sweet kisses!”

525,000

“When your heart has expired!” Namjoon wailed. “Ooohh, lover, I’ll cover you! Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeahhhhhh! Ohhh lover!” He stared at the coat.

525,000 seasons of love

“I’ll cover you!”

The guests decided to give Namjoon some more time to say goodbye for the last time. Hui had to make a call.

“Hi. It's Hwitaek. Is Alexi there? Uhh, no need to bother her. Just let her know that I'm running late for my appointment. I'm at my friend's---yes, I'll still be there. Yes, I signed the contract… Thanks.” He hung up.

As he gazed across the friends he had collected this year, he took out his phone and pressed record, “How did we get here? How the hell…

Pan left. Close on the steeple of the church.

“How did I get here? How the hell...Christmas.” He smirked to himself. Christmas Eve last year.

How could a night so frozen be so scalding hot?. How can a morning this mild be so raw? Why are entire years strewn on the cutting room floor of memory when single frames of one magic night forever flicker in. Close-up on the 3D Imax of my mind.

“That's poetic.” He said out loud and scoffed at himself. “That's pathetic.” He changed the angle. “Why did Hyuna knock on Hyojong's door and Namjoon choose that phonebooth back where Key-hyung set up his drums? Why did Hwasa's equipment break down?”

Then he got silent and asked himself, Why am I the witness? And when I capture it on film, will it mean that it's the end and I'm alone?

Hyuna stumbled over the last step looking sickly as she asked Hyojong, “It’s true you sold your guitar, and bought a car?”

He nodded, “It’s true. I'm leaving now for Santa Fe. It’s true you're with this yuppy scum?” He motioned to Choongmin.

The man was unhappy, “You said you'd never speak to him again.”

“Not now.” The girl with a splotchy red dye job said as he found someplace to sick.

Maman helped her.

Hwasa butted in, “Who said that you have any say in who she says things to at all?”

“Yeah!” E’Dawn said.

Everyone was hurting. Maman spoke up, “Who said that you should stick your nose in other people’s---”

“Who said I was talking to you?” Her ex snapped.

They covered their hurt with hate and yelled at others instead of dealing with the pain.

The lawyer caught herself and said, “We used to have this fight each night--”

“Calm down.” Hui tried to stop things from getting worse.

“--She never admit I existed!”

“Everyone, please!” He begged.

Hyuna gave a scornful scoff and paced, “He was the same way. It was always ‘Run away, hit the road, don’t commit.” She shoved him. “You’re full of shit!”

“Noona!” Hyojong called.

Maman looked her ex up and down, “She’s in denial.”

Hyuna did the same, “He’s in denial…”

Hui tried again, “Guys!”

But he didn’t get through to the girls as they aired dirty laundry on such a day as this.

“Didn’t give an inch when I gave a mile.” Doc Martins stomped.

“I gave a mile!” Hyuna yelled.

Hyojong retorted, “Gave a mile to who?”

Now both Hui and Choongmin were trying to get them to calm down, “C’mon guys, chill!”

The girls looked at each other, “I’d be happy to die for a taste of what Kibum had. Someone to live for, unafraid to say ‘I love you’!”

“All your words are nice, noona, but love's not a three way street.” E’Dawn snapped. “You’ll never share real love until you love yourself. I should know.”

Namjoon pushed them apart, pointing at them with Key’s drum sticks, “You all said you’d be cool today, so please for my sake!” He let out a sob. “I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t believe you’re going. I can’t believe this family must die. Our Key helped us believe in love.” He looked at his friends. “I can’t believe you disagree.”

In their hearts, everyone felt the same thing. I can’t believe this is goodbye.

Hwasa opened her arms, “Aein?”

“Honeybear.” Maman ran into them.

They chattered on about how much they missed each other and started to kiss. Even when one accused the other of biting their tongue, they made up and waved goodbye to the others to be with each other. The priest called for Namjoon who said he was coming to finish things up. Hyuna left with her businessman.

“I hear, there are great restaurants out West.” Hui tried to start a decent conversation.

“Some of the best, how could she?”

He cut the shit real quick, “How could you let her go?”

Hyojong shook his head, “You just don't know.” He sighed and looked at the church. “How could we lose Key-hyung?”

“Maybe you'll see why when you stop escaping your pain. At least now if you try, Kibum's death won't be in vain!”

Anger fueling his words, he replied, “His death is in vain!”

Hui was shocked, “Are you insane? There's so much to care about. There's me, there's Hyuna!”

“Hyuna's got her baggage too.”

“So do you.” He reminded his friend.

“Who are you to tell me what I know? What to do?”

“A friend!”

Hyojong clarified, “But who Hui are you? Hui has got his work’ They say ‘Hui lives for his work and Hui's in love with his work’.” He instead believed that, “Hui hides in his work.”

Hui scoffed, “From what?”

“From facing your failure. Facing your loneliness. Facing the fact you live a lie. Yes, you live a lie! Tell you why. You're always preaching not to be numb when that's how you thrive. You pretend to create and observe when you really detach from feeling alive.”

He set his jaw, “Perhaps it's because I'm the one of us to survive!”

E’Dawn scoffed and threw up his hand, “Poor baby!” He spat.

His dirty blonde friend wasn’t letting him do this to himself, “Noona still loves Hyojong. Is Hyojong really jealous afraid that Hyuna's weak?”

“Hyuna did look pale.” He admitted.

Hui spoke the truth as he wanted his friend to stay, to finish his business at least, “Hyuna's gotten thin. Hyuna's running out of time. Hyojong's running out the door!”

“No more, oh no! I've gotta go.” He grabbed the bag he had with all this things in there. It wasn’t much.

“Hey!” Hui called. “For someone who's always been let down. Who's heading out of town?”

Hyojong shot back, “For someone who longs for a community of his own. Who's with his camera, alone?” He didn’t apologize, but he said, “I'll call. I hate the fall.”

As he went towards his car, he ran into Hyuna.

“You heard?” The embarrassed blonde asked.

She nodded, “Every word...You don't want baggage without lifetime guarantees. You don't want to watch me die. I just came to say goodbye love. Goodbye love, came to say goodbye love. Goodbye. Just came to say goodbye love.

Glory. Hyojong reminded himself.

“Goodbye love.”

One blaze of glory.

“Goodbye love, goodbye.”

He rushed passed her, “I have to find…”

Choongmin reached out his hand, and Hyuna pushed him away, “Please don't touch me, understand. I'm scared. I need to go away.”

Hui spoke up, “I know a place, a clinic.”

“A rehab?” Her boyfriend suggested.

She nodded, “Maybe. Could you?”

He nodded as well, “I'll pay.”

Hyuna still said her farewells, “Goodbye love, goodbye love. Came to say goodbye love, goodbye. Just came to say goodbye love. Goodbye love, goodbye love. Goodbye love,” She coughed. “Hello, disease!”

She ran off, and Choongmin thought it best not to follow.

Namjoon came out of the church being yelled at by the parson, “Off the premises now, we give no handouts here!”

“What happened to rest in peace?” Hui asked.

The priest glared at him, “Off the premises,” and he used their word against them.

Namjoon pointed at him, his love’s drumsticks in hand, “That’s no way to send a boy to meet his maker! They had to know we couldn’t pay the undertaker.”

Hui went to comfort his friend. What would they do?

Choongmin spoke up, “Don’t you worry about a thing. Hey!” He called to the frocked man. “I’ll take care of it!”

The priest rolled his eyes and closed the door on them.

“Must be nice to have money?” Hui said.

“No shit.” The others said in unison.

Then the man wearing a gray beanie admitted, “I think it only fair to tell you, you just paid for the funeral of the person who killed your dog.”

“I know.” Choongmin chuckled. “I’ve always hated that dog.” He then threw his arm around the two and said, “Let’s pay him off and then get drunk.”

Hui sighed, “Can’t. I have a meeting.”

“Punk.” Namjoon said.

Choongie nodded his head to the nearest bar, “Let’s go.”

The two men left for the bottom of a bottle and the dirty blonde filmer sat in front of a camera and a colorful but neutral background as he talked about something going on in the world of k-pop and how it was coming more important in American pop culture, but it was just gossip about certain idols instead of the things that mattered. The things Hui actually wanted to do.

He asked himself what was he doing?

“Don't breathe too deep.” Someone scolded him.

“Don't think all day.” Another senior told him while handing him a new article. “Dive into work.”

December came even more quickly than it had last year. E’Dawn wasn’t getting jobs and found himself constantly writing about Hyuna. Everything he penned down or scribbled on cafe napkins was about her.

Drive the other way. Hui told himself. That drip of hurt, that pint of shame goes away just play the game. Why was this a thing? He chuckled and said to himself. You're living in America at the end of the millenium. You're living in America leave your conscience at the tone.

And when you're living in America at the end of the millenium. You're what you own. The filmmaker cannot see and the songwriter cannot hear. Yet Hyojong saw Hyuna everywhere while Kibum’s voice was in Hui’s ear. They tried to ignore it by telling themselves to just tighten those shoulders. Just clench your jaw til you frown. Just don't let go or you may drown.

You're living in America at the end of the millenium. You're living in America where it's like the Twilight Zone. And when you're living in America at the end of the millenium. You're what you own.

So they decided to own not a notion, to escape and ape content.

“I don't own emotion,” Hyojong said as he decided drive back to New York. “I rent.” He hadn’t painted his nails black in such a long time.

Hui stood on the roof of his building projecting clips onto a sheet and paused on a clip of the first day, “What was it about that night? Connection in an isolating age.”

For once the shadows gave way to light.

“For once I didn't disengage.” Then he stood and paced. “Angel, I hear you, I hear it

E’Dawn knocked on the closed pawn shop, “Mimi I see you, I see it.”

“I see it, I see it, my film!”

“I hear it, I hear it, my song!” the blonde said now with blue hair.

Hui quickly grabbed the land line and called to do something he had wanted to do for a long time, “Alexi, Hui, call me a hypocrite. I need to finish my own film! I quit!” He hung up. “One Song Glory.” No. That’s not what was important anymore. Was it ever. What mattered now was, “Hyuna, Your Eyes!”

“I quit!” Hui said.

Dying in America at the end of the millenium. They were dying in America to come into their own. And when you're dying in America at the end of the millenium. You're not alone.

Hyojong ran to the roof and smiled as he saw his friend standing there, “I'm not alone!”

“I'm not alone.” He embraced his cool toned buddy tightly.

Voice Mail #5 - Finale B

SPEAK. Beep

A slightly rough but beautiful voice came over the speaker, “Hyojong, this is your mother. Hyojong, honey, I don't get these postcards. ‘Moving to Santa Fe’ then ‘Back in New York Starting a rock band’ Hyojong, where are you? Please call.”

On a cell phone backstage at the Cat Scratch, a message was left, “Hyuna, dal, eodiya? Neoui eomma. Eodiya, Hyuna? Call.”

A very busy office phone remained unanswered, “Kitten, wherever are you? Call me.”

Later, over the speaker after SPEAK and a beep, “Hui, are you there? Are you there. I don't know if he's there. We're all here wishing you were here too. Where are you, Hwitaek? Are you there, are you? Where are you? Hui, are you there? Are you there. I don't know if...Please call your mother!”

______

Christmas bells are ringing. Christmas bells are ringing. Christmas bells are ringing. How time flies. When compassion dies. No stockings. No candy canes. No gingerbread. The homeless mourned: No safety net. No loose change. No change no...

“Santy Claus is coming!” He simulated jacking himself off.

The others just put up with it. Cause Santy Claus ain't coming. No room at the Holiday Inn again. Well, maybe next year or when.

Hui turned on the camera, “December 24th, ten PM. Eastern standard time. I can't believe a year went by so fast. Time to see what we have time to see.” He turned the projector on.

First shot was Hyojong with the fender guitar he just got out of hock when he sold the car that took him away and back.

He grinned, “I found my song.”

The dirty blonde nodded, “He found his song. Now if he could just find Hyuna.”

“I tried.” He said and added with a heavy heart. “You know I tried.”

Hui turned the camera on himself, “Fade in on Hui who's still doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

Hyojong joked, “But he's got great footage which he's cut together to screen tonight.”

“In honor of Choongie’s wife--”

“Muffy--”

The man chucked, “Alison, pulling Choongie out of the East Village location.”

Then the lights cut off.

The blue haired E’Dawn looked up, “Then again, maybe we won't screen it tonight.”

Sitting in one of the foldable chairs, Hui asked, “I wonder how Alison found out about Hyuna.”

“Maybe a little bird told her.”

Namjoon appeared in the doorway, “Or someone gave her the key. I had a little hunch that you could use a little flow.”

“Tutoring again?” Hyojong asked, accepting the cash.

“Negative.” He sat on the table and pulled his feet up.

Hui questioned, “Back at N.Y.U.?”

The man shook his head, “No, no, no. I rewired the ATM at the food emporium to provide an honorarium to anyone with the code.”

“The code?” Hui tilted his head but received no answer.

E’Dawn nudged Joonie, “Um...?”

Namjoon smiled, “K-I-B-U-M. Yet Robin Hooding isn't the solution. The powers that be must be undermined where they dwell. In a small, exclusive gourmet institution where we overcharge the wealthy clientele.”

They chuckled as their friend began to say, “Let's open up a restaurant in Santa Fe”

“Santa Fe” the other two copied.

“With a private corner banquette--”

All three said, “In the back.”

It felt like old times as they talked about Namjoon’s someday dream, “We'll make it yet, we'll somehow get to Santa Fe.”

Hyojong gave a little smile, “But you'd miss New York before you could unpack.”

Their fun humming and catch up session was interrupted by a call from downstairs.

“Hui! E’Dawn! Anyone help!”

Hui looked out the window, “Hwasa?”

Her and Maman were carrying something, or someone, “It's Hyuna! I can't get her up the stairs!” “No!” Hyojong screamed.

Quickly, the guys helped get Hyuna upstairs while they got her onto the table and used all their jackets to warm her up.

Hwasa explained, “She was huddled in the park in the dark and she was freezing, and begged to come here.”

“Over here? Oh, God.”

Hyuna mumbled, “Got a light. I know you. You're shivering.”

Maman put her scarf under her head, “She's been living on the street.”

“We need some heat.” Hyojong said.

“I'm shivering.”

Hui said, “We can buy some wood and something to eat.”

Namjoon put his hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I'm afraid she needs more than heat.”

“I heard that.” Hyuna piped up.

Hwasa held her hand, “Collins will call for a doctor, honey.”

She shook her head, “Don't waste your money on me…”

“Hello 911?” Namjoon spoke on his phone. Then he sighed. “I'm on hold.”

“Cold...cold... would you light my candle?” The black haired girl sang.

Hyojong nodded where she could see, “Yes we'll--oh God. Someone find a candle!”

She pulled him closer, “I should tell you. I should tell you.”

“I should tell you. I should tell you.” He forced back tears.

Hyuna touched his face, “I should tell you, Choongmin wasn't any--” She turned her head and coughed.

Wanting her to save her energy, Hyojong sushed her, “Shhh. I know. I should tell you why I left. It wasn't cause I didn't--” love you.

“I know. I should tell you.”

“I should tell you.”

She looked in his eyes, “I should tell you. I love...y…” her body went limp.

Hyojong sobbed, “Who do you think you are? Leaving me alone with my guitar?”

Hyuna inhaled deeply and coughed once more. Quickly, her true love grabbed his guitar and returned to his darling’s side.

“Hold on! There's something you should hear. It isn't much, but it took all year.”

The blue-haired boy strummed his guitar, “Your eyes as we said our goodbyes, can't get them out of my mind. And I find I can't hide from your eyes. The ones that took me by surprise. The night you came into my life/Where there's moonlight, I see your eyes. How'd I let you slip away when I'm longing to hold you? Now I'd die for one more day `Cause there's something I should have told you. Yes there's something I should have told you when I looked into your eyes.” He wiped his face. “Why does distance make us wise? You were the song all along and before the song dies! I should tell you, I should tell you”

He set the guitar down and held her hands tightly, “I have always loved you. You can see it in my eyes.”

They kissed and then she was gone. Hyuna stopped breathing. Everyone huddled together and held on to one another. Hwasa clung to her fiance Maman. Hyojong felt his heart break. He had tried to hard to find her so that he could be with her for however long they had left. It wasn’t supposed to be this short! He would do anything to have her back.

“NOONAAAA!” He wailed.

Hyuna sat up with a start, “I jumped over the moon!!!!”

Everyone was shook.

“W-What?” Hyojong asked.

“A leap of moooooooooooo…” She looked around, dazed.

Maman gasped, “She's back.”

“I was in a tunnel. Heading for this warm, white light!” Hyuna explained.

Hwasa hit her girlfriend’s chest, “Oh my god!”

She continued, “And I swear Key was there and she looked GOOD!” She let out a chuckle. “And she said ‘Turn around, girlfriend, and listen to that boy's song’”

Namjoon started to remove the jackets and blankets, “She's drenched.”

“Her fever's breaking,” The short haired girl added.

A profound thought came to Hui, “There is no future. There is no past.”

Hyojong looked at her, “Thank God this moment's not the last.” He hugged her tightly as both of them spoke together. “There's only us. There's only this. Forget, regret or life is yours to miss. Though it took just a year for them to learn here's only now, remind yourself that sometimes there's only here. Make sure to give in to love or you’ll live in fear. There’s no other path. No other way.

No day but today!

#BTS #Bangtan #SHINee #Maman #Mamamoo #Hwasa #Kim Namjoon #RM #Kim Kibum #Key #Triple H #Pentagon #Hyuna #Kim Hyojong #Lee Hwitaek #Hui #E'Dawn

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forever-rogue · 7 years

Text

Rooftop Sessions

A/N: Hey y’all! I hope you enjoy this part 1 of 2 (3 maybe?) little mini series that was requested/prompted! If you have any ideas/requests/prompts, feel free to send them in, my inbox is open! If you wanted to be tagged, or added to my general taglist, please let me know :D

Summary: Y/N is a therapist that works with war veterans that ends up meeting a mysterious stranger who asks for her help.

Word Count: 2.1k

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: mentions of war / mental health

PART II | PART III

“I think that’ll be enough for today, Kevin,” Y/N gave the man sitting across from her a big smile as she finished jotting down notes from their session. Kevin was a vet from Iraq that had been dealing with a variety of different issues that Y/N had been meeting with for several years now.

“Thanks, Dr. Y/L/N,” he gave her a small smile in return, happy with how today’s session went, “I really appreciate all your help, especially with the things that have happened recently. It’s been difficult.”

“And you’ve been handling everything really well. I’m very impressed, I know you can handle anything that’s thrown at you. And remember, I’ll always be here for you if you need anything,” she stood up and opened the door to her office. He followed her out and gave her a small side hug as he went. She was taken aback for a moment, but was happy to see he was getting comfortable with people again; she knew it was something he had struggled with.

“Thanks, Doc! I’ll see you next week!” She gave him a wave as he went along his way and slowly shut the door behind her, a content smile on her face.

Y/N let out a long, tired sigh as she flopped down onto the big couch she normally reserved for clients. She had had a long day, year really, as she had grown in popularity and gotten more people wanting her to help them. She wasn’t just like every other therapist, she specialized in working with war veterans. After she had witnessed her own father worsen and decline in mental health after he had returned from combat, she had made it her mission to help people like him. Many people chose not to understand their needs but she couldn’t stand seeing veterans get left by the wayside to suffer.

She put her hands behind her head and closed her eyes for a few moments, deciding a break was much deserved before she launched into her afternoon sessions. This afternoon she was meeting a newer client at the history museum, which is where he requested to have their sessions. One of the things she did that most other therapists wouldn’t dream of doing was meeting her clients where they requested so they would feel more comfortable and at ease.

Y/N felt herself slowly start to drift off as her eyelids grew heavier, when she heard her phone buzzing over on her desk. She groaned and dragged herself up and over to it and looked at the screen. To her surprise it was just flashing with anonymous. She debated if she should even answer it for a few moments before deciding it wouldn’t hurt anything, even if it wasted a few moments of her time. She picked up the call and curiously asked, “hello?”

“Hello, Dr. Y/L/N,” a warm male voice was at the other end of the line. It held a hint of familiarity, but she couldn’t quite place it. She dealt with a lot of people, it was probably someone she had encountered at some point.

“Hi...may I ask who is calling? Do you know me?”

“You could, but it wouldn’t really make me tell you who I am,” he laughed a little and Y/N could feel herself getting slightly irritated, “I’m sorry I woke you up, by the way. It looked like you were finally getting some rest.”

“Who are you? Why are you watching me?” She turned around and tried to find who was watching her. Her office was largely windows, which she preferred open for the natural light, so it wouldn’t have been too hard for someone to see in. The idea that someone was just observing her was a little unnerving though.

“Don’t worry, I’m not a stalker-”

“Really? Because that’s a little what this sounds like,” she peeked through her blinds, trying to see if she could spot anybody.

“You can keep looking for me, Y/N, but you won’t see me,”

“Where are you? How did you get this number?””

“I have my ways,” again with his soft laugh, “I have a question for you.”

“Oh?” Her curiosity was peaked, to say the least.

“I wanted to schedule a session with you, if that’s possible,” suddenly he sounded less confident. Y/N paused for a few moments as she realized this was just someone who wanted her help. That wasn’t exactly what she was expecting.

“Oh, I see. Yeah,of course. I can make some time this week,” she sat down at her desk and pulled out her planner, “how does tomorrow evening sound?”

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he sucked in his breath for a moment, “can I ask you to meet somewhere?”

“Yes, that’s what I do a lot of times,”

“I know. I’ve been observing. How about on the rooftop? Of your building?”

“Yes, if that’s where you’d like to meet, that’s fine by me,” she’d had had some weird requests in the past, but a rooftop was a first. As long as she felt she could actually be productive, she usually agreed to their requests.

“Thank you,” she could hear a note of relief in his voice.

“Now can I ask you something?”

“Yes,”

“Are you actually a veteran?”

There was a moment of silence and Y/N wondered if he had hung up on her. He cleared his throat before continuing, “I am...it’s been a while but I am. I’ve seen a lot of war and atrocity.”

“Well, I hope I can help you. I’ll see you tomorrow at 5?”

“Thank you, Y/N,” he ended the call before she could ask for his name. Y/N locked her phone and tapped it against her chin for a few moments. She wondered who he could possibly be. Obviously he wanted to keep some sort of anonymity if he was going to these lengths just to meet with her. Even if he wouldn’t give her more answers, she was going to do her best to help him.

The next day almost didn’t come fast enough for Y/N. She was morbidly curious as to who the mysterious stranger was, she almost couldn’t focus on anything else. She paced around her office as she waited for it to get closer to five, the tick of her office clock in the marking the time. After walking back and forth a few times, she sighed and pulled out her phone and scrolled through the news. Nothing of interest caught her eye, until she saw a small blurb about the man they called the Winter Soldier and his upcoming trial. She clicked the link and scanned the article quickly when her phone popped with an alert - it was finally time to go and meet with her mysterious new client.

Y/N climbed the stairs for the few floors that separated her office from the roof. She was a little out of breath when she got to the top and inhaled deeply a few times to try and even her breathing.

“Out of breath from that?” She heard his voice ask. She quickly turned on high alert and tried to see where he was at. The dying light of day made it hard to see him clearly, but then again maybe that was his plan all along.

“What? No, I’m fine,” she lied as she spotted his figure sitting on the edge of the roof, face hidden underneath a hoodie and behind sunglasses. She wasn’t sure if she should approach so she stood there awkwardly for a few seconds.

“You can come and sit, I won’t bite,” he gestured next to himself, as she walked over and took a seat, leaving just enough of a distance between them.

“So, you already know who I am, obviously,” she squinted and tried to get a better look at him, “but who are you? I mean you don’t have to tell me, but it makes things a little easier.”

“My name’s James,” he shrugged lightly and kept his gaze pointed away from her, “I’ve been listening to you for a while now. I like your style.”

“My style?”

“Yes. You’re very honest and blunt, but you’re also kind. A rare combination,” she could feel a slight blush creeping into her cheeks, “plus the sarcasm? A nice touch.”

“Hey, I can’t help that...it just sort of...happens” she had always been told her sarcastic nature would be the death of her. But that was just who she was, and she wasn’t about to change that.

“I figured, and your face, it gives you away every time,” she could see he had a small smirk on his face.

“You know, you’re sounding a little creepy, should I be worried I have a stalker? Do you just sit and watch me?” It was only a half joke at this point. She wondered how long he had been observing her.

“No, don’t worry. I just wanted to make sure you could help,” he admitted, “I didn’t want to open up to just anyone. It’s a very...hard thing to do.”

“I understand,” she agreed, “even I have a hard time opening to people. People can suck.”

“Trust me, I totally agree,” he let out a hearty laugh before pausing and pulling himself back in, and putting up a wall again, “so how does this work? For us?”

“Well, you tell me about yourself, your experiences and what you’d like to work on. Issues, such as PTSD and such,” she stretched out her legs in front of her and crossed them.

“Yeah, okay. Shouldn’t you be taking notes?”

“Oh don’t worry James, you’ve got my full attention,”

He gave her a heartwarming smile and wrung his hands nervously, trying to figure out where to start, “Well...let’s see. When the war started, I was eager to do; it felt like the right thing to do. But I realized pretty quickly I was very wrong…”

Y/N watched him closely has he launched into his tale. She could tell he was handsome underneath his disguise, and he seemed genuine. He was just someone who had been through a lot. The unease she had first felt around him was quickly dissipating as he talked more and more. Whoever he was, she was determined to help however she could.

She let him talk for a while, not interrupting as she listened to his story. She could tell he was a good person, just someone who got unlucky and handed some terrible situations.

“James?”

“Hmm?” He was quieter now, almost as though he was unsure what she would think after he had told her mostly what happened to him.

“I think you’ve Been through a lot and somehow you ended up here. If you’ve been able to survive what you’ve seen and had to do, you can take on anything,”

“I have a trial coming up,” he admitted quietly and let out a sigh.

“You have a trial?” Y/N’s voice faltered as she tried to hide her shock.

“Yes...it’s for war crimes...amongst other things,”

“I...wouldn’t have thought that you would-” “You don’t have to keep working with me, Y/N. I know most people think of me as a monster,”

His voice was cold and distant as he kept gaze pointed away from her.

“I don’t think you’re a monster, James,” she disagreed, “I think things have just..not been in your favor. I’d like to keep meeting with you, if you’re agreeable to it.”

“Really?”

“Really,”

“I would like that, Y/N,” he stood up slowly as he faced her. He took off the sunglasses he had been sporting, but it didn’t make much of a difference, the day had turned to night long along and there were only the streetlights giving everything a soft glow. She squinted and tried to make out his features to no avail, “when can I see you again?”

“I, ugh, I have the time this weekend? Whenever really,” she usually didn’t work on weekends but was willing to make an exception for him.

“Since when do you do weekends?’ She wondered how long he had been watching her.

“I do..sometimes,” she lied.

“Well, thank you for the exception,” he turned on his heel to start walking away, “I’ll be in touch,”

“But-” it was too late and he had already starting heading down the stairwell on the side of the building, “okay then.”

She stood up and stretched. She wondered if she was making a mistake with him. Even if he was going on trial, she didn’t think he was actually a bad person. She would just have to wait and see who this mysterious James really was.

Taglist: @ruinerofcheese @supernatural508

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #mcu #captain america #avengers #sebastian stan #mental health #imagine #request #captain america civil war #captain america winter soldier #oc #infinity war #chris evans

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actualbird · 7 years

Text

(wc: 2.8k. michael is the Sawi Best Friend . pining + pining + pining = pining. part 1. part 2. part 3. or read everything here on ao3)

The English Project Christine Crisis begins with Jeremy wordlessly sitting next to Michael during lunch, back stiff, face pale, looking a little bit like a gargoyle that just saw another, uglier gargoyle, before grabbing his bag and raptor screeching right into it.

“I have no idea what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, but honestly? Hard same,” Michael says, patting Jeremy’s back as his screeching slowly dies down into pained warbling. “Let it all out, buddy.”

“Mmmmmmrrr,” Jeremy says into his bag. He turns his head to face Michael, face creased from the bag, “Dude, do you ever feel like sometimes the universe is trying to be nice to you but it’s spent so long being a dick to you that everything is still kinda awful?”

“Uh,” Michael says. “I’m going to need a little bit more context.”

“Like, are you ever given a really, really good thing, but it’s the worst thing ever at the same time?”

“Okay, I catch your drift now,” Michael’s got the worst crush on his incredible best friend, so yeah, he gets it. Michael pats Jeremy’s head. “Wanna tell me what’s up?”

“Christine,” Jeremy sighs dreamily.

“Was she, like, extra cute in the hallway today or something?”

“She’s always cute in the hallway,” Jeremy says. “But uh, in English today, there’s this paper we’ve gotta write.”

“Uh huh.”

“And it’s by pair.”

“Alright.”

“And Christine was assigned as my partner,” he says, voice getting more urgent with each word.

“Well, that’s great news, isn’t it?” Michael grins, but Jeremy just looks like somebody just killed a bunny in front of him.

“It isn’t! I’m going to have to talk to her and spend time with her and stuff and it’ll be great but I’ll mess everything up because I always do,” He groans, burying his face back into his bag. Michael has to lean in to hear the rest of his muffled words. “How are people even supposed to function around people they like?”

Michael, expert at functioning around a person he likes, decides to be sympathetic. “Okay, first off? You don’t always mess everything up. That’s my best friend you’re talking about, so don’t be too hard on him,” he ruffles Jeremy’s hair. “It’ll be fine, okay? Just act like you normally do.”

“Anxious, tense, and weird?”

“Funny, sincere, and interesting,” Michael says, fingers threading through Jeremy’s hair. “A little awkward sometimes, but hey, who isn’t?”

“You’re my best friend, you’re practically contractually obligated to think all that,” he grumbles, but then he looks at Michael. “Thanks, though. Also, if you keep touching my hair like that, I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“Whoops,” Michael jerks his traitorous hand away. “So, uh, what’s project about?”

“The Tempest,” Jeremy answers, smiling a little bit. “Christine and I talked about it a little before class ended, and she was so excited, god it was so cute. It’s dumb, but I wish she’d get excited about me too.”

“Geez, dude, this project sure is going to be wild ride, huh? You just switched from dreamy lovey dovey to mega sawi in under a second.”Jeremy makes a questioning noise, one that Michael’s come to understand as Jeremy’s shortcut for what did that mean now that lately, Michael’s been speaking a bit more Filipino around him.

“Sawi literally means ‘unlucky’, in English, but lately it’s been kind of specific to describe people who are down in the dumps and shit when your love life is kind of crummy,” Michael explains.

“Why the hell does your language have so many fitting words about love?” and Jeremy’s face is back in his bag again.

“No idea, dude,” Michael sighs, wondering the exact same thing.

Here’s the thing about Jeremy:

He’s a big ball of nerves who’s anxious ninety percent of his waking life. He second guesses his second guesses and doubts as if he’s being paid good money to. He tries to hide it, but he’s bitter and pissed off about a lot of things in life like his parents or his social standing. Sometimes, even if he doesn’t mean it, he’s a bit of an asshole. The state of Jeremy’s self-esteem, based on what Michael’s seen, is akin to an on fire screaming garbage can that keeps setting itself back on fire every time Michael tries to put it out.

But he also wears these dumb cardigans that are really soft and often are too long, covering his hands til only his fingers peek out. He’s got a weird, adorable, wheezy laugh that’s a remnant of the asthma he grew out of when he turned eleven. He keeps a paperclip or two in his pockets all the time to give to Michael just in case Michael feels like he needs to fidget with something. He always remembers Michael’s birthday. His Filipino is atrocious, but he tries to speak words and phrases of it anyway.

The thing about Jeremy is that he’s pretty much the best person Michael knows.

heerefarwhereveryouare is calling…

“Coolest guy on the planet speaking, how may I help you?” Michael wedges his phone between his head and shoulder so he can continue to rinse plates with his hands. On the line, Jeremy lets out a very emotional screech. “Uh, buddy?”

“Are you busy right now?” Jeremy asks.

“Just dishes,” Michael grabs another plate. “What’s up? I thought you went to Christine’s place for the project?”

“Exactly! I mean, I’m home now, but, oh my god! I went to Christine’s house!”

“Ohhhh, I get it, this is call is going to be gushing about the whole experience, am I right?” Michael says fondly.

“No—I mean, yeah, but, you know.”

“It’s alright, Jer, you don’t have to justify it,” Michael thinks that if he actually had any other friends, he’d love to gush about Jeremy to them. Alas, he wasn’t as lucky. “Go for it.”

“For real?”

“It would be a privilege to have your sonorous voice wax poetic while I get sudsy with plates,” Michael tells him sincerely. “Unleash the raving dude. I am ready.”

“Okay, well,” Jeremy says. “Okay. Okay. I’ll start from the top. So like, she lives pretty nearby so we walk and it’s kind of awkward for a bit? I’m like, agh, fuck it, so I just say whatever the hell is on my mind and it turns out what that was was dolphins.”

“You fucking furry.”

“Says the guy who followed Meerkat Manor religiously,” Jeremy fires back with no hesitation. Michael has never been prouder of his boy. “There was a documentary about them on Animal Planet a few days ago focusing on their sonar powers so I just kind of blurt that out weirdly. I wanted to like, dive into a gutter and die, but then she just keeps asking about it? She got really interested in it. At one point, she makes this adorable dolphin noise, it was—” Jeremy makes a noise which Michael understands fully. Michael also feels very random noise over cute shit Jeremy does all the time.

“See? Being sincere works! Even if it’s about dolphins,” Michael laughs. “How’d the rest go?”

“Uh, well, we we’re productive, for most of it. We drafted what parts of the drama we wanted to expound on,” Jeremy sighs. “She’s really, really, smart Michael. I’m okay in English, but she’s a genius. She’s so passionate and perceptive about the themes and ironies present in the text. She’s a huge theatre kid and she’s super excited for the school play which is gonna have their sign ups soon. Dude, if she signs up, I will too.”

“Nice!” He smiles. “I’m loving the confidence!”

“Yeah, I—She’s just really confident with herself so she makes me want to try to, if that makes sense?”

“Of course it does. I’m glad she’s bringing this out in you, man.”

“I am too,” Jeremy sighs, ridiculously fond. It’s a soft sound, but it echoes in Michael’s head, bouncing off the walls of his brain, clattering around, causing all kinds of shit like aches in his chest or a hunch to his back. Oh, how he wishes. He wishes, real bad.

“Michael? Michael, you still there?” Jeremy voice brings him back. Right. Rinsing a plate and on the phone with a boy who’s got no idea.

“Yeah, still here, dude,” Michael says. “Just zoned out a bit. You know how I get with the dishes. All the soap gets really existential.”

Jeremy snorts, “Whatever you say, man. Listen, I’ve gotta go. I promised Christine I’d message her the google doc link to what we made today. Thanks for listening, Michael! You’re the greatest.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Michael dries his hands. “Good night, dude.”

“Night!” and Jeremy hangs up.

Michael takes a deep breath. Then another. And another. He runs a hand down his face and thinks, fuck. Michael is happy. He’s gotta be happy. His best friend is actually interacting with the girl he’s crushing on, so Michael is over the moon. But the tight feeling in his throat stubbornly says otherwise.

Sawi doesn’t even begin to describe whatever this is now.

Here’s the thing about Michael:

His head is a cluttered mess that goes eighty eight miles per hour basically every second, but never in any useful direction. He likes obscure stuff that not many other people can relate to. He gets that sometimes he speaks too fast or is too loud or generally just is too much, but doesn’t know how to tone himself down. He’s weird and uncool but he’s also aware that there’s honestly nothing wrong with that as long as he’s having fun. He’s a loner, but he doesn’t care because he’s got Jeremy.

Michael’s also been Jeremy’s best friend ever since they met twelve years ago at some undisclosed sandbox where Jeremy talked to him out of nowhere holding a beetle in his hands. He’s seen Jeremy at his highest (first place at the sixth grade science fair with his experiment that tested out the slipperiness of certain fruit peels), and his lowest (“Michael? Can I come over? Uh, well, I’m fine, I swear. It’s just—mom left and. I’m fine, I’m—”). He slowly dug himself a hole of non platonic feelings for his best friend and only noticed he didn’t bring a ladder with him to get out once he was already in too deep.

The thing about Michael is that he’s had a lot of practice at this.

Somebody taps Michael’s shoulder in the hallway and he almost has a heart attack. He turns around slowly, apprehensive, because Jeremy never touches Michael out of nowhere without clear visual warning, so it’s either a bully, an axe murderer, or the heaviest fly in the world.

None of the above. Michael has to look down a little bit to see Christine Canigula waving at him sheepishly.

“Uh,” Michael pulls his headphones down. This is odd. People don’t talk to Michael. Christine is people. He should probably say something. “Hi?”

“Hi, uh, I don’t know if you know me,” Christine says, gesturing wildly already despite only having spoken for two seconds. “But you’re Jeremy Heere’s friend right? Michael?”

“Yep, that’s me,” Michael smiles. Nickname wise, Jeremy Heere’s Friend is a lot better than Anti-Social Headphones Kid. He hopes it catches on. “You’re Christine.”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“Jeremy talks about you a lot,” he says because he’s a goddamn good friend, damn it. “Like a lot. You’re a great English partner. The absolute best, if his words are to be believed.”

“He’s just overselling me,” she laughs. It’s a dorky, wheezy laugh, Jesus Christ, they’re made for each other. “Jeremy’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, he’s like, the softest boy in the world,” Michael tells her.

“I really like your patches,” she segues, pointing at the Rise Above Racism one in particular.

“Thanks. I really like your dress.” Michael says, for the lack of anything else to say. There was never a walkthrough on how to do smalltalk. It really is a nice dress, though.

“Thanks!”

“So, uh,” Michael fiddles with the wire of his headphones. “What’s up?”

“Oh! Right,” Christine blinks, slinging her backpack off her shoulders. “He forgot his cardigan back at my place, yesterday. I could’ve returned it tomorrow, when we have class, but he’s pretty thin so I was worried that he might get too cold. I really don’t want my English partner to die from, like, hypothermia, or something. Especially since he’s been a great partner. I’m really glad I got paired with him, because I’m pretty sure everybody else in the class doesn’t really care all that much about the text. It’s like, there’s a reason Shakespeare is timeless, y’know? But a lot of people nowadays don’t wanna give it a chance long enough to see just how incredible all his works were, and still are, even now!” She says, impressively, all in one breath.

“Yeah, dude, rock on Shakespeare,” Michael smiles, kind of taken aback, but charmed all the same. Michael’s about as straight as a circle, but he can see why Jeremy likes Christine. “Jeremy’s the raddest.”

“Rad!” Christine cheers, Jeremy’s cardigan in hand. It’s adorable. “Here, you go. Heh, Heere. Heere you go.”

“Oh geez, I’ll tell him you said that, he’ll lose his shit,” Michael laughs.

“Nice,” she rocks back and forth on her feet, then suddenly she jolts, as if remembering. “Whoa, wait, sorry I’ve gotta run. Thank you so much, Michael. See you around!”

And she whirls off, walking away with a happy skip in her step.

Here’s the thing about Christine:

Michael doesn’t know her. He knows the adoring stained glass image collage of her that Jeremy has created through dreamy anecdotes and forlorn sighs. He’s aware that there might be a lot different between that image and the real Christine Canigula, but just by going off of what he’s seen, Christine is a great girl

She’s nerdy and unapologetically passionate about her interests. She’s a little all over the place, but so is Jeremy. She smiles a lot and happiness trails after her like an devoted puppy. She layers clothes like a boss. Michael doesn’t know her all that well, but she makes Jeremy happy.

The thing about Christine is that she makes Jeremy happy. And that’s the most important fucking thing.

“Dude, are you wearing my cardigan?” Jeremy asks later when they meet for lunch.

“Sure am,” Michael says, picking up his juice carton. “I bumped into Christine earlier and she told me you forgot it and gave it to me instead of waiting to see you tomorrow because she was worried your skinny ass would die from the cold.”

“She was worried about me?” Jeremy smiles like a dweeb, before blinking and saying, “Wait, that doesn’t explain why you’re wearing my cardigan, though.”

“It’s soft as fuck,” Michael bites his straw to hell and back. “You can have it back after lunch.”

“Fair enough,” he says, starting to eat whatever mush it is the cafeteria served today. “So what’d you think?”

“Of what?”

“Christine,” Jeremy says. “That’s the first time you met her, right?”

Michael nods, deciding to pick on Jeremy a little bit. “She’s nice, I guess.”

“You guess,” he hisses. “That’s it, take off the cardigan. Only people who appreciate Christine for all her glory is allowed to wear it.”

“Agh! I’m kidding, I’m kidding, she’s incredible and perfect and she’ll wage an army of puppies to fight off people who don’t like Shakespeare,” Michael laughs, batting away Jeremy’s grabby hands.

Jeremy huffs, sitting back down, and he’s silent for a moment. Then he says, “I think I might tell her soon.”

Those seven words rattle in his head. Clang, clang, clang, motherfucker. But Michael’s been doing this long enough to expertly cram all of it into a box in the corner of his mind for later. Priority number one: Jeremy. Always.

“Dude! So proud! High five,” Michael raises his hand. Jeremy sheepishly swats at it. Close enough. “How are you going to do it?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” he grumbles. “I always stutter and forget how to talk when I’m around her.”

“Maybe you can try writing a letter?” Michael suggests past the tight feeling in his throat. “She’ll love something like that.”

“You really think so?” Jeremy smiles, a little unsure, a little perfect.

“I know so,” Michael assures him. “And whatever happens, I’ll be here to help you through, ‘kay?”

“Thanks, Michael,” Jeremy leans his head against Michael’s shoulder. “What would I do without you?”

“Probably crash and burn,” he says, swallowing all the aches down.

His point is this. Christine, should she ever like Jeremy back—which is highly probable given that Jeremy is a fucking catch—would be really good for Jeremy. They’d be really good for each other. They’re both nerdy and cute and they’d be so good.

Michael might be the pining best friend, but really, he’s a best friend first. Best friends make best friends happy. Above all, Jeremy deserves that.

Even if it’s with somebody else.

(not as much filipino in this part :^(((. i’ll make it up in the later chapters [prayer hands emoji])

#bmc #be more chill #boyf riends #iwrotesomething #my laptop is dying i gotta post thisfast haha #jhfkjdskfd wordcount na pahaba pahaba ng pahaba

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docfuture · 7 years

Text

Sparring Match, Part 2

[ I originally intended this fill-in as a short vignette while I work on resolving some problems with The Maker’s Ark, but it kept expanding. It takes place during The Maker’s Ark, between Chapter 30 and Chapter 32. The most recent regular chapter is here, links to my other work here. I’m shooting for two weeks for the third (and hopefully final) installment.]

Previous: Part 1

A young man stood in the ruins of a house. He looked alert, healthy, and more than competent, but several parts of his body--the outer edges of his hands, both temples, and an area in the center of his chest--appeared to made out of some kind of green metal. The house had once been much larger, with side rooms fallen in turn to disrepair and collapse over many years. The last, central part had recently burned, and the ashes still emitted grey tendrils that were smoke one moment, ghostly fragments of old smiles and laughter the next. The ruins were alone in deserted wasteland that stretched to the horizon in all directions, under a pitiless sun. There were a few mountains, and distant lines of green and grey that might be oases or cities, but they wavered, mirage-like. Breakpoint's self-image turned to look at Yiskah with a faint smile. "So. This is my place. Not much, but it's where I'm at." Yiskah met his eyes. "Looks like long-standing recurrent major depression to me. That you've been very good at hiding, even considering your danger sense. Probably because of that." She pointed at his chest. "Which is worrying for a different reason." He frowned. "What are you pointing at?" "The green metal on your chest." "What green metal?" There were no mirrors for telepathic self-images, so it was quite possible for people to be unaware of how they projected until Yiskah told them. "Never mind," she said. "If you're unaware of it, it's almost certainly part of your problem, but I want to learn more before I try any kind of mind probe. Let's go back out." "All right." A shift in view, and they were sitting together on the couch in the isolation room Yiskah had selected for assessment. Her hand rested on his back. Physical contact made some kinds of telepathic work easier for her, and it could also make it less disturbing for the subject. Breakpoint looked up and smiled more normally. "Expected that to trigger danger, but it didn't. You're good at this." "Not as good or as experienced as I'd like to be. I think you didn't trigger because the consequence you feared has already happened--Jumping Spider dropped you as her partner, and won't even consider working with you until you've dealt with your problems properly. She suspected your danger sense was keeping you from getting help because of her." "Reasonable." He looked down. "And if you think it's possible, too, then she was right that it was a risk--and one my danger sense couldn't help with. I know what I'd do for her, so I understand. No matter how much it shook me." Yiskah leaned back. "Your Database bio was rather lacking, presumably at your request. So I have some background questions. What age were you when your powers first started to become noticeable?" "That's hard to answer, because it was gradual. It wasn't so much discovering what I could do as realizing what other people couldn't. By the time I was ten or eleven, I'd figured out that I was good at breaking things and getting away with it." He smiled. "And that this wasn't a talent I particularly wanted to use or tell anyone else about. But I thought it was just a knack, not anything extraordinary. "Then one summer when I was twelve, I had a couple spikes of panic out of the blue, and a feeling that things had sort of shifted. Something was different. I started paying more attention after that, and realized that I had something special. And that it was really important not to reveal it, because the backlash from the Lost Years open recruiting program mess was in the news. I didn't want to get 'recruited'." Yiskah frowned and tapped at her handcomp. "Could it have been June 21st?" "It might well have been. Why?" "A lot happened that day. Golden Valkyrie created Kyrjaheim, she and Doc gave it an ecosystem, and the portal zones to Xelia and Grs'thnk closed, among other things. Are those events that might have set off a reaction from your danger sense?" "I really don't know. Power, wide effect, and sudden change are all necessary, if it isn't something specific to me, but--" "Oh, and Flicker was conceived." "That would do it." Yiskah raised an eyebrow. "Is Flicker a common source of false alarms for you?" "Yeah. She's the loudest source on the frequencies I pick up. But it's not fair to call them all false alarms. If something is dangerous for the whole world, it's dangerous to me. And she's so fast that I'll often get an immediate threat spike--one I can't do anything about, but I can't just ignore, because it might mask something else." "I see." Breakpoint studied her for a moment. "I think you more than see--I think you deliberately used Flicker for masking when you were ready to contact Jumping Spider, just before I told you to stop." "Guilty." Yiskah smiled wryly. "I knew I couldn't deceive your danger sense, but I could overload it. You have a bandwidth problem." "Yeah, I do." He looked thoughtful. "That's fair. I knew I had some kind of problem, and I wanted help finding my limits and vulnerabilities. I didn't expect it to be easy. And your mind trap thing seems to keep my danger sense from picking up anything from you until you act or are about to." "That still leaves it quite effective. I can slip by if you're distracted--but not fool you. And I still don't have anything other than guesses at why a full probe is so dangerous. At least talking isn't." "Not yet." He smiled. "I spent most of my teen years training in martial arts when I wasn't in school. I also did a few things that made me look different than I do now, because I already knew that if I ever become a superhero, I'd have to do a clean break from my old life. No way I wanted anyone tracking down my family--that's why I've been vague about a lot of stuff, and used the cover identity Doc put together for me. I saw what happened to family and friends of superheroes who weren't careful enough, or were just unlucky." "Sounds like the Lost Years shaped you pretty strongly." "Oh yeah. I didn't try to start until they ended. Then I went to Doc, and--" "That part was in the Database. But back up a minute." "Okay." "Did you form any close personal relationships outside of your family?" Breakpoint shook his head. "Not really. My danger sense warned me away from a lot of people. I found it kind of annoying at first. Especially when it was a pretty girl who seemed interested in me. I tried to find a way around it once. I thought I could handle whatever happened--but she was the one who got in trouble. I paid attention after that." "Were you lonely?" "When I stopped to think about it. But I kept busy. I finally tried looking for interesting people who weren't dangerous, and that worked better." A half-smile. "I think I was getting warned away from people I might reveal my powers to." Yiskah nodded. "Which would tend to rule out anything close, at that age." "Yeah. There were a couple of my martial arts teachers who figured out I had something, just from what I could do. But they didn't push. The best one told me something that really stuck with me, though. He said that an important part of growing up for most people was learning from mistakes. And that if I wasn't making mistakes, I'd have to find some other way to get that part." "Ahh. And did you?" "For some things, yes. For others, I still don't really know. I read biographies and watched shows about people I admired. I learned meditation and a few other tricks. Some of them were a waste of time, but my danger sense steered me away from anything really harmful. And I've never been all that hot at studying, but practice is different." He met her eyes again. "After everything I saw and heard about during the Lost Years, I wanted to be the best superhero I could be." Yiskah drew in a breath. "I have a terrible feeling I know where this is going." "Oh?" "The green metal. I know what it represents. Did you think your danger sense would be enough to let you safely self-modify your mind?" "No. But my weakness detection works on myself, too." Yiskah bit back the urge to yell--because the person she most wanted to yell at was herself at sixteen, in her old body, falling prey to the same arrogance. "You went after your own mind," she said, choosing her words with care, "Chipping away at anything that wasn't 'perfect superhero' with the equivalent of a chisel. You didn't have a good model, or any theory, but you thought that wouldn't matter, because you'd always know the best place to hit next. Do I have that right?" He frowned. "Yeah, that's about it. But--" "Couldn't you feel how dangerous that was? Didn't it hurt?" "Yes, it was dangerous." He looked bleak for a moment. "And yes. It hurt. But it sure felt like it worked." "Doc and I both thought so too, when we made similar mistakes. I found out I was wrong and nearly died very quickly. And both of us had a lot more theory and practice. That's what was ultimately responsible for his coma." Breakpoint looked surprised. "I thought it was from an outside attack." "It was. The form it took was sabotage of mental self-modification. Which was very easy because it's full of subtle, lethal pitfalls. Some can take a long time before their final bite--it was twenty-four years for Doc." "Ouch. Looks like I did find a mistake to make." Breakpoint looked down. "And it's hard to learn from something if you haven't realized it was a mistake yet." "Yup. Who did you use for your perfect superhero template?" "The Volunteer." "Understandable. He's a good moral example. But he's not human, and there's so much you couldn't possibly have known about him." She shook her head. "I'll say this for your danger sense. It was good enough to let you fool everyone for a while--as long as they didn't get close. And it's kept you alive for twelve years, despite everything. But it makes it much trickier for anyone to help you out of the hole you've dug for yourself." He nodded slowly. "I can see that." "You've clearly been having trouble for quite a while. When did it start?" "Well, everything went fine for a while. I was making a difference. Putting supervillains away, helping root out police corruption, taking apart a giant killer robot--" "I remember that." "Everyone who knows about me at all seems to. Taking apart a hundred foot tall robot with just a crowbar--on live TV--sticks in people's minds. But there was only the one. I sure wouldn't wish for more--but I still had to find some other way to make myself useful. The cops learned to avoid me, the villains I put in prison mostly stayed there, and the superhero vocation started to change." "What do you mean?" asked Yiskah. "Well, there's Doc's crisis tracking system, alert rosters, and the rest. They work really well. They've cut down the average time from the start of an event until the first superhero gets there by a lot." Breakpoint smiled. "Which is good. It's what we all want. But it means the first superhero who gets there--isn't me." "Ah." "I can't fly, or teleport, or anything like that, and I don't work with anyone who does. So the faster superheroes usually have everything taken care of by the time I could get there, unless I'm already nearby. Which means in practice that I have to be in the same city. And I've always moved around, so I didn't have the local connections anywhere to dig below the surface and catch things before they happen, the way Nighthaunt does." He looked up again. "And without that--there wasn't enough in any one city for me to help with. To make enough of a difference. Which was my other problem. I can't stop an auto accident, or put out a big fire, or... so many other things. All I'm good at is breaking things and beating people up. And guarding. I'm great at guarding--but that's seldom vital." Yiskah raised an eyebrow. "Well, now I'm sure about another problem. You have a severe case of imposter syndrome." Another surprised look. "Me? How can a superhero possibly...have..." He stopped talking and his eyes unfocused as he looked inwards. "Okay. I guess it is possible. Not sure why I didn't see it before." "Probably because you didn't consider that constantly striving towards impossible goals might create a problem--because it was part of your ideal. For what it's worth, it helped me to know you were on guard when I worked on Doc." Breakpoint smiled. "Good to know. But I've always wanted to do more. And eventually I realized another thing I could be good at--backup. I didn't care about attention, or being in the spotlight, or any of that. I just wanted to make a difference." "So you decided to find a partner. Did you have some special reason for picking Jumping Spider?" "Well, I knew some of what she'd done, and could guess more. I knew there would always be secrets, things she couldn't tell me. And it would be hard to gain her trust. But I thought someone reliable with danger sense would be about as close to a perfect partner as she could get. I just ended up not quite close enough." Yiskah considered what she was picking up from her mind scan. "All right, you're not in a place for further questioning to be productive yet. How are you feeling about the full probe? Still dangerous?" He had already tensed. "Yeah." "Okay. I have another idea. I can do an emotional memory context probe. That's less intrusive and more impressionistic--I'll get images of memory groupings, filtered through your perceptions, then mine. I can get an overview, then look at a few samples, and back off if I sense you triggering. How does that sound?" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "More unsettling. Less dangerous. Which means better. Right?" "Yep. Ready?" "As I'll ever be. Go ahead." ***** Breakpoint's self-image had been about how he projected his identity. What Yiskah saw now was how he organized his memories. There were a few common themes, but the overall impression was quite different. There was a multi-story building, well designed and solidly built, by someone who had thought hard about earthquakes and hurricanes. But the inside was odd. There were several levels of humming machinery--procedural memory and trained reflexes. Those looked fine. The top stories were devoted to Breakpoint's memories of being a superhero. There was a multi-level library full of case studies, after action analyses, and cautionary lessons. It looked complete to the point of obsession. She glanced at a few--even the tiniest errors and perceived imperfections were the subject of merciless dissection. It confirmed some of what she'd already determined. The top level was more telling. It held his successes and accomplishments. But it was organized like a museum rather than a trophy hall--and it was conspicuously more than two-thirds empty. It was sized for what he thought he should have done, diminishing his real attainments. Yiskah moved on. Where was the all the rest? His childhood and everything else? She finally found an inconspicuous door leading to a basement. It was unpainted, and stuck when she first tried to open it--it wasn't locked, but it didn't quite fit the frame. That was jarring, compared to the rest of the building. Yiskah went down the dimly lit stairs--there was a lightbulb, but it was undersized--and entered the small room at the bottom. It was unfinished, with walls of bare concrete and no windows, and was stuffed with rows of utility shelves holding boxes. There was dust, and many of the older boxes looked like never-unpacked leftovers from a move. Yiskah ran her fingers over a few boxes, collecting impressions, and realized she was looking at how Breakpoint treated the entire rest of his life--everything before he became a superhero except training, and everything personal, ever. A few boxes were isolated against one wall and swathed in multiple layers of heavy tape, and Yiskah could feel a strong sense of tension when she approached them. She backed off; she didn't want to trigger his danger sense, and learning their exact content wasn't essential. One shelf looked recently disturbed. It was at a slight angle to the others and the boxes were newer. Several of them were still open or had been reopened. Yiskah stopped in front of one and paused. No sense of tension. These weren't dangerous to him--at least not now. They were memories of his time with Jumping Spider--everything other than fieldwork and operations. Yiskah touched the edge of one and got a vivid impression and a visceral shock. Not from Breakpoint, but herself. And not from the memory, or the context, or even Breakpoint's reaction--it was touching, and hinted at much more--but at where he kept it, and how little he valued his own part. Why didn't you keep this close? It should have been on the top floor, not hidden away in a box in the basement. It was time to go back out. She could see some of his problems much more clearly now. She just didn't know how to help. It was time to bring in someone who might. ***** "Breakpoint, this is Osk. She's a healer." Osk was one of the three Choosers in the group that had come to Flicker to secure her help in fixing the magical mess she'd unintentionally left behind in the Nine Worlds after killing the Wanderer. Yiskah had alerted Osk as soon as the seriousness of Breakpoint's difficulties had become clear. She was a strong empath, and had hundreds of years experience healing the physical and mental wounds of a hall full of warriors who spent much of their time killing each other for practice. Yiskah had kept her updated, and Osk already had strong opinions on what was necessary. Yiskah was less certain. The warriors looked human, but they weren't--and neither was Osk. How useful her experience would be was still an open question. "Pleased to meet you," said Breakpoint, and they clasped forearms. "I was busy at the time, but I know you healed Jetgirl after the Xelian attack. I also heard about your visit to Tokyo. You took the time to teach as soon as the battles were over. I respect that." Osk smiled. "Some tasks cannot justly be delayed." She nodded to Yiskah, conveying a load of meaning, and turned back to Breakpoint. "It is an honor to finally meet Earth's Battle Seer." "Battle Seer? I am unfamiliar with the term." "I will gladly explain at length, if your time allows it. It does not, yet. I would say, trust that I know them well. But trust is at issue, is it not? So look at me. What do you See? Do I endanger your honor or chosen path?" Breakpoint hesitated. Osk was honest and direct, but if she triggered his danger sense... Yiskah cleared her throat. "That may not be the best--" "Caution will not serve," said Osk, not looking away from Breakpoint. "His Sight will not allow you to learn what you wish from him without a promise you would be unwilling to make blindly. Or perhaps at all." "But--" Breakpoint interrupted. "Can you bring the dead back to life?" he asked Osk. "Yes," she responded. "Though not unconditionally. Do you fear that? Would you not wish to live again, given the choice?" "Not unconditionally." "I understand. I would not bring you back from your chosen end. But you are already deep in the Seer's madness, in a way I have seen before. You are closer to the edge than you think." Breakpoint raised an eyebrow. "My danger sense is working fine. Maybe too well. My problem--" "You See the slippery ledge clearly, where others see only fog. But you have lost track of your own feet. You are already standing on that ledge, dwelling on your lost rope, now gone into the abyss. Your problem is finding a way to accept a hand up, with none to trust and your Sight entranced by the fall." Breakpoint's eyes narrowed, and he straightened slightly. Even without a probe, Yiskah could feel the taste of his mind change. It was like... It was like the einherjar flying their mechs into the fleet battle, knowing they were going to die, and deciding whether it was time to start singing their death songs yet. Breakpoint thought he was going to die. Right here, in this room. Soon. He was struggling to accept it--but his danger sense wasn't going off. Which was dicey enough if it was just his self-identity as a superhero in question, but if-- Now Yiskah picked up a strong pulse from his danger sense, and he turned his head to look at her. "Yiskah, please," he said. "You have been kind. I don't want to hurt you when I go." "You can't--" "He can," said Osk. "You have been reckless, thinking he wished to live." She smiled. "But there is no need for you to interfere--I will speak to him, and we will see if there is a path for him that ends in life. He is more einherjar than any human I've met. He reminds me of Hrothgar, before the Trickster poisoned his mind and the madness fully took him, so there is hope." So many questions--but Breakpoint was listening. "Osk? Are you tantalizing him deliberately?" she sent. "Yes. He hungers to know of anyone like him--and curiosity may serve long enough for hope to return." Yiskah paused. "How can I help?" "Go to his partner. She will be key, if he is to live. Speak frankly to her. Dig, as only you can. She may resent you, but she will care for him more. We will bring him back, if his path allows. And do not berate yourself--your strength and compassion have helped. Everyone makes mistakes when young." "Even Choosers?" "Hrothgar was the first einherjar Lif pulled from the Void. He was not a mistake--but bringing him into a world with the Trickster was." "I see. All right, I'll be in touch." ***** "Come on in," said Jumping Spider over the external com, and Yiskah entered the secure guest room, closing the door behind her. Jumping Spider was leaning back in the chair at the main workstation, hands laced behind her head. She'd changed out of her costume, jump boots, and wig, so few people would have guessed her identity from her appearance--but she wasn't in disguise, either, so she still looked dangerous. A lot had happened since the last time she'd had safe, convenient Database access, and she'd been bringing herself up to date on the implications for her work. Yiskah sat down on the edge of the bed, and Jumping Spider spun the chair to face her. "How bad?" she asked. Yiskah took a breath. "I did all I could, then called in Osk. She told me to talk to you. She's keeping him breathing and curious enough to keep listening. But he doesn't believe he's going to walk out of the isolation room alive." Jumping Spider narrowed her eyes. "What the hell happened? I pulled the rug out from under him so he'd stop pretending he could patch things while we kept doing field work. You said you were ready. Did you botch something?" "I don't think so--at least nothing that would affect anything I'd try to do. But I don't know for sure. I never did a full probe--his danger sense never allowed it." "Oh, that's just peachy. So you don't even know what's wrong?" "I know enough to get us started. Here is the root of it--he was traumatized by the Lost Years before his powers manifested, and he was determined to protect his family. He spent years disconnecting himself from his old life before he became a superhero, then tossed it all into the basement of his mind and used his weakness detection to try to remake himself in the image of the Volunteer. Without any private life--because he didn't think the Volunteer had one." "Oh hell." "He doesn't seem to realize what he's missing anymore. All that work to protect his family and he barely remembers he had one. I couldn't even get names or faces from a mind scan. He got rid of his old life and didn't think he needed a new one, except as a superhero. He can fake one, and he has acquaintances. But no friends. He has no one at all." "Except me." "Except you. And I know what you're going to say. He can't depend on just you. And you're right. But if he's going to live, we need to start from where he is, not where he should be." Jumping Spider's real hairstyle was a dark brown buzzcut, with a touch of gray at the sides. She ran her hand over it and stared at the wall as she thought. "Damn," she said. "I knew he was a good actor, I knew. I saw it. I pushed him hard before I was willing to accept him as a partner. I even double-checked the Database to make sure he wasn't an alien or a demon. I thought he was hiding his life--for a good reason. But he was hiding his no life. And then... he started to have one, because of me." "There has to be more," said Yiskah. "Osk told me to dig--at you. And something bad has to have happened, recently. I can't see how he'd be in this much trouble, otherwise." "I'm going to have to run you through the whole mess, I suppose." "If you want to help him, yes." A snorted laugh. "I do. Oh, I do."

Next: Part 3

#Maker's Ark #FallofDocFuture #FallMisc

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sparklyeaglepoetry-blog · 6 years

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