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that-one-weeb-but-it-transformer · 2 years

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Optimus with an artist human s/o

I must do the drawing is your always mood

But with art block half the time your chucking your shit out the window

He was there to actually pick up Jack, because Arcee was out on a mission with bulkhead you skipped class so you sat there sketching him, bee, and wheeljack

Couldn't get the grill right so you oh so casually went up and rubbed your hand against it

"Oh...so in....that looks right..."

Taking pictures for reference

"Can I help you-" "oh shit-"

It was just jack

"Sorry was taking refrence photos. Is this your truck?" "Uh...yeah..." "Can I get and interior shot?" "Maybe another day?"

Ayo Optimus not noisy but he kinda wanted to see them drawings

Turns out Arcee was out longer than expected and the next day you were there again and so was he because Jack was so nice and let you take some refrence photos of the outside you slipped a drawing through the open window with a thank you note and went about you way.

Hah. Not Knockout and breakdown thinking your an ally to the autobots and basically snatching you like they snatchin someones weave

"Ayo can I draw you-" "Bitch im litterally kidnapping you" "....okay so can I take some ref picks atleast? Please?" "...well shit you said please"

Not you having fun being kidnapped

"Damn I look good. Whats your name human?" "Y/n" "and why is such a fabulous artist with the autobots?" "The who?"

Oh. You- oh...oh shit.....

Not knockout dropping you off at your house and grtting your # ya'll buddies now

You despite being kidnapped for two days just show up again randomly and walk up to Jack.

"Yeah can I see the inside your truck no pictures no anything, just. Real quick?" "Sure?"

Oh shit your sitting in a transformer.

"Okay I know about your talking alien car that transformers into a huge robot"

Bam friends now now you go to the base everyday

Ratchet wasnt very Happy till he realized you were just extremely quiet. And YES he could work in peace

Often you sketch the autobots forms.

"Wow! Thats real detailed!" "Holy shit miko-"

You often let her go through your sketch book.

"This is a lot of-" "Shhhhh"

It was alot of Optimus: you dont know why to be honest it was like he your comfort person to draw

You've probably had every expression of his in your books, sketches of...well everything.

Mhmm those hip sketches somethin else dude

"I made my first art based Tarot card deck!"

Smokescreen realizes there based off them and is obsessed with his tarot card desgin (the sun card because come on its Smokescreen)

Optimus even compliments you on them and ask you about them you happily explain them to him

You tell him you based him in the Justice card and told him it was pretty explaintory

He told you he was honored that you seen him such a light, and there you go getting all flustered and complimenting him back

Arcee wants to know why shes the hanged man but your too busy being flustered

Now often he'll wander up behind you looking over your shoulder why you sketch away.

"What are you drawing today y/n-" "Ah! nothing! Nothing at all! Hah! Ha...."

Not more optimus hip images: they're just too fine not to draw

Despite being well Optimus he's very innocent and would simply see them as anatomy drawings

But they aint....you know that

For that reason: you refused to draw Optimus (or his hips) anymore and now your crying inside but tiding to have will power

HOT ANIME GUY POWER; drawing hot anime guys to leed your mind occupied but you just make Human Prime and your crying and screaming without the s.

Miko, knows because you forgot your bag at her house one time

"Damn man you got it bad." "I know..."

Luckily ratchet sees Vaule in your skills and ask you to draw out invention plans you say yes immediately

With Ratchet asking for help your around the base more often, sketching out plans for him

Which means you and Optimus talk alot more

He finds your conversations relaxing

You often fall asleep at the small table, after finishing plans and starting on your own work, usually homework

So that means he sees your litrle fifth grade crush drawings, you know with lopsided hearts and all luckily you know better to draw Human like alien robots in your notebook so he only sees the O + F/i surronded in hearts

He doesnt know why but now he's gotta talk to you more: its a now or never situation.

"Y/n-" "It wasnt me!-" "would you like to go home to rest?" "Um. Yeah that sounds great"

Optimus now drives you home everyday, and picks you up from school instead of you just riding with Bee and Raff

Litterally a dream come true on your part and on his part

Is it akward silence? Or do you both just think its awkward silence making it more awkward

Asking Ratchet to describe how the iacon archives use to look and sketching it out and giving it to Optimus

"Im not sure I got the file cases right. I had Ratchet describe the your world to me as best I could.

It was perfect to him, and he thanked you for it, it never leaves his glove box

Usually because your an artist your dressed in clothes that have paint stains, perhaps the back of your shirt is hand painted or your old converse.

Yet you had a presentantion you had to get dressed up for, for school, in a knitted pencil like skirt and a knitted sweater with some boots

He couldnt pick you up or drive you to school that day so Wheeljack went with you instead and Smokescreen picked you up

Not wheeljack bragging trying to get Optimus to confess that you look rather hot that day.

Turns out when Optimus returned to base he'd be blown away by your change in outfit.

"How'd it go!"

"All the energon secured. There was no doubt after all!" Wheeljack laughed, "Right Optimus."

You looked at him with such a big smile and eyes he only nodded with a smile

Wheeljack drove you home: saying the boss was tired and just like he had hoped you left your bag in his back seat

Now Miko and Wheeljack both have the power to tease you

Not Optimus seeing where you work and creating a holo form to go and see you

"Hm? Y/n?" The employee asked, "Yeah shes in right now there doing a study. Come on I'll take you there."

When he said study he thought idk maybe like with a book. Not figure studies, you know the ones where your naked

So he was not expecting to walk in with people surrounding you as you sat laid on a couch with a thin sheet covering your lower hips down, top bare and a hand propping your head up.

Poor baby had to stand there for twenty mintues attempting not to stare at you

But time was called and you got up going to dress again.

"Ayo n/n." "Hm?" "This guys here for you."

You only smiled hoping it was an art scout as you apologized for your current state and fixed yourself.

"Hello Im Y/n!" "I...I know..."

Voice sounded oddly familiar

"Do...I know you from....Wait a mintue!"

Pretty easy to figure it out, "stay there!"

He only listened as you rushed to your bag, flipping through the pages of one of your sketch books and lifted it up besides him.

"Its...Op-"

"I believe Orion- would be a better choice sounds more human."

Your weezing; hes evern prettier as a human

"I had no idea...you could..." "its older technology but works well." "Ah... I see..."

Thank god for being 18...primus hes just so pretty

"Um...I have to go pick up my work bag...do you wanna come along?"

Not you guys having a moment in the locker room where you told each other your feelings.

Making out in the locker room super softly? Absolutely.

Making out in his Alt form? Even a bigger yes, especially if hes dropping you off at your house

But its best to keep it a secret

Miko and Wheeljack notices that the teasing doesnt get to Y/n anymore and Miko realizes you stopped drawing Optimus and some human guy now. What a bummer

They realize Optimus does seem to have a much brighter glow to him, and he always lightly smells like something fimilar.

*cough* your perfume *cough*

"Is Y/n okay?" "What would be the problem?" "Shes always in a daze these days."

It true, drawings and plans you offered to help ratchet draw out are completed but sometimes you dont even remember drawing them or the process.

"Hmm? Yeah....I don't really care....whatever you want Miko." "Um Im jack and Im asking for the science text book back." "What!? Oh- sorry!"

"Ah Miko! Isnt the world so bright today!" "Its raining outside Y/n-" "Lets go run in it!" "What-"

You've never been so happy, even around finals your kicking your feet like a schook girl

It causes everyone great fear,

Not Optimus sneaking out of base to help you sneak out of your house so you guys can go have fun in some forest.

Refused to go into your room, its your private space but you convinced him anyways and well...its chaotic organization.

You show him around, pointing out things to him that your super proud of.

Ends in you guys on your bed trying to be quiet as you laugh with each other.

Falling asleep in his arms for the first time is wonderful

Not he leaving a jacket behind for you to wear and you do just around the house it did have the autobot insignia on it after all.

Sleeping prime refrence photos if you wake up before he has to leave

Can dance surprisingly well, and he'll go dancing with you in abanded parking buildings

You couldnt find a more perfect boyfriend

Finds a way to go to every art gallery your in.

You often do peices based on the bots and there stories, like a verbal reference

Some of your paintings worry him: you always reassure him you cant always have a happy peice but your happy to have him

Old people think your both just the sweetest couple

Until your parents pull up and your not a couple anymore, you try and keep it a secret from everyone and ya'll manage

Your parents like him upon introductions that you are both friends

Your dad's actaully a greek philosopher, and gets along very well with Optimus, he did introduce himself as Orion after all.

Life is good for the both of you

#transformers #tfp #tfp headcanons #transformersprime #tfp optimus prime #tfp fanfic #tfp fic #transfomers prime #transformers prime Optimus #optimus headcannons #optimus x reader

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lovee-infected · 3 years

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This idea just hit me like a train. How would twst boys react to WAP from Cardi B?? 😂😂😂

I'm trying to ignore the fact that I might've never discovered WAP without this request...🗿

Warning(s): What should I even tag as the warning idkk ckcjxjsjsjdjdjck- Mentions of WAP's lyrics, mentions of nsfw, Warning for Idia's part bc I think it went a bit too far-

Riddle Rosehearts

Heard of this song named WAP being trending between students -> Searched it up -> Riddle:... Riddle: *Turns off his phone*

Bans WAP from the whole Heartslabyul afterwards, and every student found listening to it will have to face Riddle's: "NOOOOOOO- NO WAP IN THIS HOUSEHOLD - GO TO HORNY JAIL OFF WITH YOUR HEADS YOU UNWORTHY CREATURES- "

Trey Clover

Searches: "What does WAP mean?" before wards and after reading the search results he decides that he doesn't really need to listen to the song itself anymore.

He just clears his browsing history and returns to baking cakes. Nothing has happened, he knows nothing.

Cater Diamond

He is the guy making those "Night raven college react to WAP!!" videos on magicam. His reaction videos get over 100k views and people from all over the Twisted Wonderland start following this dork for them.

Who cares about the WAP itself? As long as he can gain followers over these videos he doesn't care how the song is supposed to be.

But at last Riddle discovers his videos by finding other dorms' students laughing over them and forces him to take them down💀 Man, Riddle really did ruin his once-in-a-life time chance for becoming popular.

Ace Trappola and Deuce Spade

Riddle has banned WAP Heartslabyul so they're going to illegally listen to it. It was Ace's fault though, Deuce is innocent.

Ace searchs up the music video, Deuce just sees the thumbnail and tells Ace that he doesn't think that this is going to be a good idea but Ace cuts him off by asking him not to be such a chicken-

Though they had to stop because Deuce was all shaky and embarrassed after just 20 seconds :"Stop this-STOP THIS- I CAN'T DO THIS- WE'RE STILL TOO YOUNG" and Ace had to stop to shut Deuce because they could've gotten caught at any second because of his unholy screams.

[a few minutes later...]

Deuce: It was saying DOORS in this house

Ace: Bruh what the- we both know it was saying Wh*res.

Deuce: Y-you dirty minded bastard!! It was clearly saying doors in this house!

Ace: Why the hell would they say doors in this house!??? It was wh*res!

Deuce: Doors!

Ace: WH*RES

Deuce: DOORS

Ace: WH*RES

Deuce: DOOOOORRRSSSSSSSSS

Leona Kingscholar

See he might be a jerk but he hasn't yet gotten to the level of appreciating this way of presenting women in songs-

He's just going to pretend that WAP doesn't exist,but most of the Savanaclaw on the other hand are going wild because with WAP, now he can't even take a peaceful nap without WAP being looped in his brain.

Ruggie Bucchi

WAP isn't beyond his power, he's handled stronger songs.✨ He'd regularly rap WAP in public when he's feeling like it.

Now he goes around to recommend WAP to naïve students and taint their virginity by making them listen to WAP without knowing what it is-

Jack Howl

Catches Ace and Deuce listening to WAP and ends up listening to it because of them. He doesn't knpw what to say...

He isn't mad, just disappointed. Disappointed parent noises. Out of all these students, why should he best buddies which these two?

Time to drag Ace and Deuce to a corner and give them a long speech on why young men their age need to be focusing on mastering skills and achieving success through these golden years instead of violating rules and tainting their pure minds.

"Trappola-kun, Spade-kun, you've greatly disappointed me. You need to be more mindful of your actions as fellow freshmen of night raven college. Is this how the future's great magicians are going to be? How do you think your parents would feel about this new habit of yours? Have you thought of how despicable women are being presented through such songs? Are you going to support such a taboo message toward ladies?"

And Ace and Deuce end up having to listen to him and think of their bad actions for the rest of the day...

Azul Ashengrotto

[Before listening to WAP]: He hears of this WAP song being super trending between students. What might it secret be? What kind of magic would make a simple song so hecking popular? He has to find out.

Azul thinks that by learning WAP's ways, he might be able to produce songs that are even better for mostrolounge and even start his very own music company! But before that he needs to listen to wap itself...

[After listening to WAP]: ...He discovers what kind of magic is making it so popular, but decides that it'd be better for him take a step back from the world of music for now. Yes, he's traumatized

Floyd Leech

"Hey hey koooeeebiii chaaannnn have you seen my new dance~?" ah yes, he's got the WAP dance and he's proud of it. These are the time when he's genuinely thankful for getting to have human legs.

But the WAP dance isn't his only target, he realizes that Jamil doesn't seem to want Kalim to know anything about WAP, but thankfully, Floyd is going to be kind enough to bless the young Kalim with his wealthy knowledge on WAP. ✨

Jade Leech

"My...my...that was savage," Jade is amazed, it's quite wonderful how these fragile creatures can go from Micheal Jackson's smooth criminal to WAP in a matter of years.

He's still having trouble keeping up with latest human trends and popular songs but, he's slowly liking humans a lot more than before. These creatures have already reached the level to make put p*rn in music, impressive.

Kalim Al Asim

He hears students whispering about an epic song named WAP during the classes, and of course he'd be intrigued!

He looks up the song but Jamil has already blocked his access to any sources that he might find WAP in, yet Floyd was kind enough to lend Kalim his phone to let him listen to this masterpiece. Later on, Floyd tells him about the WAP dance and bam, Kalim is addicted.

"Everyone watch me! I've got the WAP!"

Poor Jamil doesn't know which is worse, having Kalim signing it loudly in the dorm or watching him showing off his skills in that WAP dance in public. It's time for Jamil to go on a long, long trip and never come back until Kalim graduates from this school.

Jamil Viper

Listens to WAP once, is going to spend the rest of his life pretending that he has never heard or watched it. The most ironic part about it is how he watches the music video instead of just listening to the song and...the snakes. Good lord the snakes- He isn't sure if he likes snakes anymore.

The snakes part seriously traumatizes him but not like Kalim does when he asks Jamil to learn him the WAP dance. And heck no Jamil isn't going to learn him how to dance like a wh*re. At this point, he decides to deny WAP's whole existence.

Kalim: At least tell me what a WAP is!

Jamil:

Jamil: Worship and prayer.

Vil Schoenheit

Hasn't listened to WAP and refuses to do so. He's got standards.

Rook Hunt

"Bravo!!! These Mademoiselles have taken the art of music to a whole nother level! Beaute! 100 points! 💯" (...what else did you expect him to say?)

Just as always, no one can really tell if Rook really liked it or not but from the way he acts he seems to be... intrigued. Apparently WAP starts to get too famous in school and Rook would always be the first one to find out if a student is secretly listening to WAP in public, so he doesn't mind popping up and reminding the students not to listen to such a potentially stimulating song so carelessly: "Monsieur (x), it's adorable to see you appreciating such a glorious piece of art in this lovely day, but I don't think that all of these students staring at us right now are yet prepared for such a beauty,"

Epel Felmier

He just asked Ace for some music that'll make him sound more badass and Ace gave him the WAP:

Epel listening to WAP be like:😳😶😨😕😭

His face is redder than a tomato after the first 30 seconds of WAP, but Ace tells him that he'd be the bravest human being ever if he takes the urge to listen to this in front of teachers.

Tries to dance to WAP and make a video with it to upload on magicam, but Vil catches him in the middle of process.💀💀💀 The video turned out pretty good though. It looks just like a mother (Ehm- Vil) getting into her child's room (Epel-) and finding them doing some crazy shit.

Idia Shroud

He's the silent and seemingly shy dude who's listening to WAP in the highest volume under those head phones during classes.

Divus Crewel: CaF2(s) + Br2(ℓ) → CaBr2(s) + F2(g)...

Inside Idia's headphones: " ~ Wh*res in this house~ there some wh*res in this house~ there some wh*res in this house~ there some wh*res in this house~"

Bonus: He once forgets to connect his headphones to his tablet before playing WAP:

[Wap is being played at max volume inside Trein's class]

Idia: *Thinks that the sound is coming from his head phones*

The classroom: "Beat it up, n*gga, catch a charge

Extra large and extra hard

Put this p**sy right in your face

Swipe your nose like a credit card"

Trein: 😳

Students: 😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳😳

Crowley about to jump down: 🤭

Idia still not realizing what the hell is going on: 'Lucy lucy baby~ hihihi- wait- why they all staring at me now...? Did they hear me internally flirt with Lucius?'

No need to say what happened to Idia after this...

Ortho Shroud

No WAP for him. You may find him reacting to "If you're happy and you know it clap your hands" if you're interested.🗿

Malleus Draconia

Thank goodness he just finds the censored version of WAP... Listens to the whole song, but doesn't understand most of the lyrics. The "Put this cookie right in your face" part confuses him the most, he doesn't get it. Why would you put a cookie in your face? Is this something humans usually to do with their desserts? Like, would they put ice cream in their faces too?

Virgin dragon keeps on asking people, including Lilia, to tell him what it means to put a cookie in one's face, yet no one seems to give him any proper answers ):

Perhaps human music just isn't his thing, he's getting back to sad violin noises which he listens to when he isn't invited.

Lilia Vanrouge

WAP go brrrrrrr. Our sassy grandpa is legit in love with this piece of gold and all of the humans for achieving such a glory. The beat is superb and the lyrics are: Delicious, motivational and creatively written.

Even better, WAP has an unofficial but smexy dance too. Old man Lilia is never too old for performing a sexy physically challenging dance.

You can now hear savage rock sounds combined with WAP playing in the background coming from his room when he's vibing in the afternoon.

(I can totally see him wearing a neko maiden costume while dancing to WAP and you can't tell me otherwise)

Silver

Finds WAP in papa Lilia's playlist...

Silver:

Sebek Zigvolt

Sweet mother of love Sebek feels like listening to WAP has taken his virginity away-

He is a good boy, no, he once was a good boy. He's no longer the worthy man he used to be now that this unholy song has tainted his soul.

Legit feels guilty and and sinful after WAP, so you can find him praying for forgiveness to that Malleus portrait in his room every night.

"Oh young master forgive my thoughtless deeds, I beg for your mercy upon me now that I've sinned..."

Dire Crowley

Not saying that a drag Queen Crowley dancing to WAP would be a thing, but a drag Queen Crowley dancing to WAP would be a thing- Everyone bow down to the Headmaster, the most gracious of them all 😩😩😩👌🏻

Please, don't blame him. Birby is under too much of pressure after the very recent overblot cases and he needs a way to let go of the stress😔😔😔

Sam

Is illegally selling copies of the WAP because most of the dorms had blocked access to this song for the students...

"Helloooooo little demons I've got the WAP! In stuck now-"

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #malleus draconia #vil schoenheit #idia shroud #Jamil Viper #kalim al asim #Azul Ashengrotto #jade leech #Floyd Leech #leona kingscholar #riddle rosehearts #Deuce spade #rook hunt #Dire Crowley

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finiteuniverse13 · 3 years

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home is people, not a place 2/?

Part 1

Summary: Clay gets attacked on base. DEVGRU finds an issue in that.

TW: Blood mention, physical assault, canon typical violence

Tag: @rebelwrites @chibsytelford @bravo-four-seal-team @velvetcardiganbucky @supervalcsi @abby-splace @itsonautopilot @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting @pinkrockstar19 @softi92 @mrsmarvelous1995 @jayhalsteadfan-2417

Lisa is pissed. She has every right to be. Clay had been attacked in the Bravo cages.

She’d watched the kid go from a strap who couldn’t stay in his own lane to an operator who could lead Bravo – and Tier One, for that matter – into the future. And then he’d been attacked in his team’s cages, in his own cage. Blackburn was still at the hospital – he’d found the kid in a pool of his own blood; Lisa wouldn’t blame him if it took an apocalypse to separate him from the kid – making sure that the kid got appropriate care.

She pushed open the door to Bravo’s briefing room, not that it actually had any members of Bravo in it. Alpha, Charlie and Delta were all there, waiting on her brief on the situation. Echo would have been there, if not for them being halfway through their first deployment as a team. There had been hesitation about deploying Echo – the loss of the last Echo line-up still sat heavily in the Tier’s mind.

The three team’s Master Chiefs and 2ICs had sat in Bravo’s usual chairs. Full Metal and Derek sat in Jason and Ray’s chairs, respectively. Beau and his second in command had taken Sonny and Trent’s, while TJ was sat in Brock’s. Delta Two had distinctively chosen not to sit in Clay’s seat, instead sitting in a chair usually used for either Cerberus or a support staff member, depending on the op.

(It was very funny to watch Brock and Clay push a wheely chair with Cerberus on it between the two of them, and they’d pretty much mastered the art of doing it in the last few months. Cerb had found that if he allowed it to happen, he’d get belly rubs and treats, so he was unbothered about it)

The other seats had a random assignment, seemingly first-come-first-serve. The ones unlucky enough to have not found seats stood tensely, arms crossed and grumbling under their breath to each other.

Nobody sat in Clay’s seat.

All 18 operators looked up when she walked in, attention snapping to the person with the most information. As she walked in, her gaze caught on the table space in front of Clay’s chair. Clay had left his book on the table. It’s about as thick as a brick, and Sonny would probably take a glance at it and tell Clay it was as dry as one. The embossed cover didn’t read English, and Lisa had a feeling that there would be very few, if any, people in the room able to read any part of the book.

She stood at the front and pushed her emotions down. These operators were here for information, not emotion.

“At 0145 this morning, 4 Green Team members entered Bravo’s Cage room. At 0157, they left, and returned to the Green Team barracks. 0204, Lieutenant Commander Blackburn entered the Bravo cages. He dialled 911 and was assisted by Alpha Four-”

She cuts herself off for a few seconds, as various operators slapped Jordan on the back, mumbled thanks spreading through the room as they reassured themselves that one of their own had helped their kid.

“Assisted by Alpha Four at 0207. Ambulance arrived at 0215. The Green Team members were apprehended by Alpha and Delta at 0248.”

She pauses again as a ripple of thanks goes through to room, Alpha and Delta thanking their Master Chiefs and each other and Charlie thanking both teams.

“Petty Officer Spenser was admitted to hospital at 0224, and was assessed as having a concussion, a broken nose and 5 bruised ribs.”

Alpha, Charlie and Delta’s medics all take note of this. They’re probably going to be on Clay’s ass for the next few months about this, right behind Trent.

“Bravo arrived at the Hospital at 0243. They are all with him. Hayes has asked that he is included in any appropriate punishments.”

Full Metal snorts. “Bet he didn’t word it like that”

A series of chuckles and grins echoes around the room. He did not word it like that. There was much more swearing, and much, much less formal language. He’d implied murder no less than 5 times.

Lisa allowed a smile to pass through the stony calm façade she had up.

“Command has delegated these appropriate punishments to be carried out within DEVGRU and have stressed the importance of leaving an impression on future graduates. This cannot be a recuring event.”

TJ pipes up first, almost before she’d finished talking. “I say we let Metal work his magic, make sure nobody finds them.”

This gets mixed responses, but Lisa isn’t surprised when none are wholly negative. They all had a younger brother in the form of Clay, and they had all trained for years in the art of killing their enemies as swiftly and efficiently as possible, and these candidates fell wholly and completely under the title of ‘Enemy’.

Metal gives a faux hopeful look to Lisa, and Lisa can tell that he’s not entirely dismissed the possibility, even as he does a terrible job at pretending to still consider it an option that Lisa could authorize. Lisa plays into the joke – god knows that Tier One needs some light in this disastrous day – and gives him the look mostly used for when Bravo (usually Sonny) suggests a stupid idea that shouldn’t had even crossed their minds. Blackburn jokingly referred to it as her “bad dog” look, and it worked for its purpose, making the operators put their tails between their legs. A few faces form smiles, and a few look to be wavering on the edge of smiling.

“No murder, and no death.”

This gets her grumbles, and not all of them are joking. Clay had gotten all of them out of sticky situations. Every operator in Tier One had a handful story where Clay had needed to be briefed on their op, and all of them had at least one where he’d taking calls at 2am to translate over a connection that he could barely hear English through. He’d never berated them for waking him up, and had often taken time to teach various operators key phrases, if he knew they were deploying somewhere where he knew the language.

Beau goes next, possibly the most level-headed of the Master Chiefs – both in the room and not. “Advanced SERE?”

Now this, Lisa can work with. Something about her posture must change, a twitch in her face, because the room suddenly erupts in sound. Charlie Two, Delta Five and Alpha Three all are in close enough range to clap Beau on the back, and they do so in quick succession.

“Gentlemen.” She raises her voice to be heard by the room. There’s nothing gentle about the looks on their faces.

“I’ll leave you to figure something out. Report to me with a plan of action.” And with that, she gives them a single nod and begins to leave. Her turned back does not block out the whispers of violence, but it does hide the vicious smile that’s stretched itself out along her face.

Nobody would even think about hurting their kid. Ever again.

As Clay blearily opened his eyes, he realised that he’d succumbed to pain-med-induced sleep. A few hours had probably passed since then, based on the fact that sunlight was now filling the room. Sonny was sat on his right side, gaze focused on the room’s TV screen, which was showing a play-by-play of a football game. The volume was cranked down, and even as Clay becomes more aware; he can only hear every other word.

“Son?” The word passes his lips without him meaning it to. Sonny’s head snaps over to Clay, so fast that Clay fears he may have given himself whiplash.

“Hey Bam Bam, how ya doin?” The toothpick moves hypnotically. Stop looking at the toothpick. Stop it. Stop it. Sonny’s casual expression is betrayed by the slight waver in his voice, a sliver of raw emotion that Sonny couldn’t fully supress. Clay gives him a strained smile in lieu of answering and reaches his hand out. Sonny catches the hand before it moves very far, holding it in a tight grip.

Sonny’s thumb absently runs across Clay’s unblemished because he hadn’t even been able to fight back knuckles, and his spare hand turns off the TV, leaving them in silence.

“Kid.” Clay’s eyes widen slightly, and he almost pulls his hand out of Sonny’s grip at the softly spoken word. He tries to get in the apology, the explanation, before Sonny can tell him that Jason is punishing him for being unaware.

“I should have being paying attention. I know I should have been paying attention, I was just so tired.” I’m sorry I’m so sorry don’t kick me out please

Sonny freezes. What?

“Clay. Stop. Stop-” he has to cut himself off before he says something that includes those really touchy-feely-emotions he’s feeling. Thankfully, Clay doesn’t take the pause as an opportunity to continue. “Stop trying to defend yourself. None of us blame you, Blondie. You were on base. You should have been protected. We won’t fail you again.” Sonny gives him facts, because he knows that if he tries to do anything else he’ll make it worse.

“Son?” Clay recalls a voice calling through the dark, through the black water he was floating in, a voice he’d recognised; “Did Blackburn find me? He- he had blood on his hands”

For a moment, Sonny curses Clay’s blessings as a sniper. He’d always been able to notice the little things, the things none of them would notice. “Yeah, he was checking that none of us were sleeping in the cages.”

Clay nods, and then his brows furrow. He breaks eye contact with Sonny and frowns in the genal direction of his feet. His face makes what Sonny calls his ‘Brainiac’ Face, and Sonny can only assume that he’s thinking about what happened with Blackburn, not rationalizing with himself that the beating was somehow his fault.

“Son, can I talk to him?” Sonny doesn’t want to think about whatever that conversation is going to be, so he nods and begins to gather his stuff. His cap is hanging precariously from one on the bed’s corners, his phone on the bedside table. He stands and ruffles Clay’s head, laughing despite the stink-eye he gets for it. Clay doesn’t mind it, and he has the feeling the next few weeks, if not months, are going to be filled with various forms of physical contact to reassure his teammates that he was still with them.

And now he’d asked Sonny to get Blackburn. God what do you even say to the guy who had found you beaten? ‘Hey Boss, I’m sure that what you saw was horrifying, but I’m alright now?’ God help him. Sonny hadn’t given him a weird look, so he’d probably been expecting Clay to ask at some point.

Clay’s train of thought is interrupted when a soft knock sounds on the door. There’s a second of pause before the door opens. Clay can’t think of a time when Blackburn’s looked worse. There are dark circles under his eyes, and a vaguely haunted look in his eyes. His eyes have a red tinge, and Clay can’t tell if that’s from sleep deprivation, or something else. His hands are rubbed red and raw, and Clay can tell that Blackburn had taken extra care to get every fleck of blood off his hands. He’s in a jacket that looks too big for him, and Clay suspects that Trent had a hand in that. Since the injured person – Clay – wasn’t someone he could immediately care for, Trent had gone for the next best thing, a shaken Blackburn. Under the jacket, he’s still in his fatigues, and by the time he’s finished the assessment of Blackburn’s top half, he’d moved close and sat down, hiding everything below his waist from Clay’s view.

Blackburn reaches out, putting a palm on Clay’s forearm, Clay’s hand mirrors it on Blackburn’s arm, and tension bleeds from Blackburn’s figure. His shoulders slump slightly, and he leans forward.

“How are you feeling?”

Clay considers lying, considers saying that he’s not in any pain, considers easing Blackburn’s mind. He decides against it. Blackburn had found him in a pool of blood, it’s the least he can do to tell him the truth. “My ribs hurt. But I’m, I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you were there.”

Clay is the sometimes literally bleeding heart of Bravo, levelling out Sonny’s emotional constipation, and the admission is the balm of some of the burns on Eric’s soul. Eric leaned forwards, shuffling closer to the bed, trying to hide the blood on his knees. He hadn’t been home to change, a call to his wife at 8am had told her that he wasn’t going to be home for a while. She, like the amazing wife she was, had been understanding, and then grumbled at him to let her sleep. They’d both laughed and exchanged ‘I love you’s before his wife ended the call. Clay didn’t need the stress of knowing that Eric had knelt in his blood. Nobody needs that.

“Gave me quite a scare, gave all of us quite a scare.” Eric doesn’t tell him that he’d spent the last half hour scrubbing his hands raw, that Jason had needed to strong-arm him into the waiting room, that Trent had given him one look and offered up his jacket, that he’d had his head in his hands until Sonny had come into the room and told him that Clay wanted to talk to him. Doesn’t tell him that he’d stood outside for nearly a minute before he’d knocked, that he’d needed to barrel in before he lost the nerve to speak to his operator. He usually prides himself on staying calm, on being collected, but Clay had been attacked in one of the few places on earth that he could honestly and without reservation call home. That scared Eric. If he couldn’t keep his operators safe on base, where would they be safe?

“Davis is talking to command about adding locks to the cage room doors, make sure this doesn’t happen again.” If she wasn’t already talking to command about it, she would be soon.

Clay nods. He shifts and grimaces in pain.

“Do you want me to get a nurse?” It’s a safe question, one that doesn’t involve the emotions in the room.

Clay ignores the lifeline. “I’m alright as I am. Did you get the guys?”

Eric nods. Breaking the news to Bravo had been the highlight of his morning. “Command is letting DEVGRU work out how to punish them.”

Clay grins. “I bet Metal is having fun with that.”

It’s Eric’s turn to smile, and a soft chuckle makes its way out. “Davis is under strict orders to not accept a plan that involves murder. I’m sure Alpha’s disagreeing with that.”

Alpha was most likely to deploy with Bravo, and all were in line with their Master Chief’s ‘Bury-first-questions-second’ policy when it came to Clay. Eric had a feeling it wouldn’t take much convincing to get Delta and Echo behind the plan, and that Charlie would only argue on principle.

Tier One was a brotherhood that didn’t take kindly to injury, as the world would learn.

Echo One – Zack Greer – a newly promoted Delta Two, wasn’t a very outgoing man. One and Twos were meant to both complement and contrast each other, a precarious balancing act honed over years of living out of each other’s pockets. TJ had needed a level head, so his Two was calm in the face of crisis.

Echo Two, on the other hand. A Floridian man, Elliot Howe, promoted from Charlie Three, who was under strict orders to never drink unsupervised with Sonny Quinn, lest they empty a bar and then burn said bar to the ground. He’d chaffed under Beau’s tight ship, so when the opportunity to move to form Echo had arisen, he was hard pushed to say no.

Together with Echo Three (Alpha Three), Echo Four (Delta Six) and two Green Team graduates as their Five and Six, they’d created a tight brotherhood.

Echo Five, Dan Wilder, a multilingual K9 handler, had initially been lost at DEVGRU, not quite fitting in. He’d reached out to the youngest operator – Bravo Six – in order to get some advice. What he didn’t know at the time is that their languages had overlap. Together with Clay and Ares – his K9 – he’d been able to find someone to practice with.

Echo had long since lost count of how many times Clay had come into their cage room, with a well-loved book, offering it to Dan with a brief explanation of how it would interest him. The book was never in English, and neither was the explanation. For all they knew, Clay could have spent the last few months giving Dan anything from Harry Potter to The Anarchist’s Cookbook (he’d actually only given Dan one of those, and Dan was under strict instructions not to tell them which, and Dan had been recommending others back).

Sonny, on the days when they were hanging out after work, sometimes tagged along to these exchanges. He’d joked about a book club, and Echo Two had picked up on the joke immediately, and since then the pair had resigned themselves to the nickname.

Between Clay’s frequent interactions with Dan and the fact that all of DEVGRU was deadly protective of Clay, it was no surprise that when Echo had heard the news, they hadn’t been happy. Command had fought a battle with Echo to keep them deployed, and Echo had nearly won. Dan had been on many rants, talking to empty space in Pashto – Four only caught a few words, and those were all along the lines of murder and death. Ares was giving out a low, constant growl. Both of the DEVGRU K9s were as protective as their owners, it seemed.

The door to their dorms slammed open and Zack marched in. Echo looks up in sync, and if it weren’t so serious, Zack would be amused by how much his men look like Meerkats. “Got word from Virginia.” This sets his men on edge, Howe half-steps forward, and his shoulders visibly tense up. “They found the green team rookies. We’ve been asked to approve the plan of their punishment before it gets sent to be approved by command.” Malicious smiles break out among the barracks.

They may be 7000 miles away, but they wouldn’t let anybody off the hook because of it.

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sweetestofchaos · 3 years

Text

𝓛ⲓⲕⲉ Ⲁ Ⲙⲉꞅⲙⲁⲓⲇ 🧜🏾‍♀️ 2,975

Series: 𝑁𝑒𝑤 𝐸𝑟𝑎 𝑜𝑓 𝐿𝑜𝑣𝑒 Waring(s): SFW. Friends to Lovers AU. Fighting. Cursing. Can’t Swim. College AU. Interracial Relationship. Mentions of death. Chapter(s): One Shot Description: You just wanted to get this project over with but once you were paired with Bambam something changed. Paring(s): FashionMajor!Bambam & DoubleMajor!Black!Reader

You know in the movies how there is always that super popular kid that everyone either likes or hates? The kid who has it all, money, looks and smarts. In your lifetime that kid is Bambam, the twenty something year old fashion major who has an eye for style and a bad habit of rubbing people the wrong way. Bambam was different to put it nicely. He had this odd charm about him that just drew people in, like a moth to a flame and once they got burned it was hard to recover. Bambam had a handful of good friends that he cared about, and the others were just for show. People he could hang around but didn’t really ever have his back. Most people tried to get close to Bambam so they could get something from him and for the most part he didn’t care. A lot of these people he would never see again, college was only four years, maybe a little more if he really wanted to be extra.

You were a double major in Fine Arts and Creative Writing, you tended to work close with the fashion depart since they supported most of the plays and tagged along to a lot of events. You worked with Bambam a few times and you kept your time with him as professional as possible. You didn’t have the time to get caught up in his drama that was sure to come. People always seemed to find out that you worked with him, and it was always an issue. Girls and boys alike were jealous, and you could never understand why. Bambam paid you no mind, he asked about your work and kept it pushing. You didn’t hang out nor did you really want to, hell you didn’t even have his phone number. You couldn’t understand why people would get jealous and you just learned to ignore it over time.

Today Professor Yin, your Creative Writing professor announced that she teamed up with Professor Goldson, the Fashion professor and together they came up with a “one-of-a-kind contest”. The fashion majors had to work with the creative writing majors and together they had to create a short story with three full outfits to go with the story. The winners of the contest would have the story turned into a short film to be featured in this years film festival and the outfits will all be original pieces made by the fashion student. You were excited and nervous since you couldn’t pick your partner. The professors came up with the great idea to pair students up based on their portfolios. By tomorrow morning you would know who your partner would be, and you prayed that it was someone you could get along with.

<><><>

You sit in the grass with your notebook in your lap, black and purple ink cover the pages as you scribble your thoughts down listening to a mermaid playlist on Spotify. You have a vague idea of a story, just one line came to your mind, and you ran with it. A shadow blocks the sun, and you glance up to see a tall figure leaning over you.

“Hey partner!” You offer your partner a small smile and go back to working on your story. “How’s the story coming along?”

“It’s going,” You mutter, and your partner sits down beside you.

“Can I help with anything?”

You think over the question as you stare at the pages in front of you. You set your pen down and turn your head to face your partner. “Are you any good at writing Bam?”

“Don’t know…I never tired, but it can’t be that hard right?”

“Oh yeah, it’s just like designing an outfit.”

Bambam’s eyes widen at your words as he realizes his mistake and he bites his lip in thought. “I came up with a few sketches just based off the plot.” Bam pulls his sketch book from his backpack and quickly opens to the newest page. “I know that we can’t show the full in-depth experience of being in the water, so I thought it would be best to use different shades of white and blue.”

You glance over at Bambam’s book, and the pen drops from your hand, “You made this?” You reach out and trace over the fine lines of the dress. “It reminds me of sea foam.”

“Yeah? Like when the ocean reaches the beach right?” The excitement in Bam’s voice makes you smile, and you nod your head.

<><><>

You don’t really know how Bam convinced you to join him and his friends on a weekend getaway to the beach. Maybe you were a little too invested in your story, but the chance to take a few concept photos was too good to pass up. Currently you are sitting on a large green blanket, your legs are folded criss cross and you are going through the photos that you took earlier. Bam and his friends are down by the water playing catch and goofing around. You listen to their shouting and laughing, and it makes you smile. Here surrounded by Bambam’s friends you see the real Bambam, and he is kind of cool.

You didn’t realize that Bambam had left his friends until he was standing in front of you blocking the sun. You bring your camera up to your eyes and take Bambam’s photo. His hair is wet from the ocean and droplet roll down his face, his brown eyes are shinning, and he is frowning.

“What’s wrong?” You question as you set your camera down in your lap.

“Are you going to sit here the whole time or are you going in with us?”

“In? Like in the water?” You shake your head and tuck some of your hair behind your ear. “Yeah, na…” You motion between yourself and the ocean. “I don’t do that…I-I can’t swim.” You admit and Bambam’s eyes widen.

“You can’t swim? How? You’re in your twenties!”

You wince at Bam’s loudness and sigh before you pat the empty space beside you. Bam raises an eyebrow, but sits beside you, nonetheless. Memories of your past flout around in your mind and you glance over at Bam who is watching you closely.

“Were you around in 20XX?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Do you remember the big news story about the woman that drowned in a boating accident?”

Bam sits in silence for a short while and tries to think of it, he nods his head when the story comes to his mind. “The foreign family that came here on holiday, right?”

“That was my family…” You stare down at the camera in your lap not wanting to see Bam’s face. “I was six years old, and my dad took us out on a boat that he rented. The weather was beautiful, but this storm hit out of nowhere. The waves were really rough, and dad made us all get inside of the cabin. I left some toy out on the deck and I remember crying about it getting lost at sea.” You shake your head at the memory and Bambam bites his lip as he listens to your story.

“I can remember my dad telling me to just forget the toy, he would buy me a new one, but my mom didn’t like that. I think the toy was a gift from a dead relative or something.”

Bam reaches out and grabs your hand, “She went out to get the toy and the deck was slippery. She went right over the railing and my dad tried to save her, but he couldn’t find her.” Tears burn your eyes, and you lick your lips. “My dad was never the same after that. He couldn’t raise me, so my mom’s sister took me in.”

Bam clears his throat and moves so he is in front of you. “She drowned and he lost his mind…” The words ring in the air, and you laugh bitterly while nodding your head. Those were the very words that you wrote down in your story. The story of a young couple who go out to sea for a date, Poseidon sees the woman and falls in love with her, so he creates a storm to steal her away from her husband. The woman goes overboard, and her husband jumps in to save her only to watch as she turns into a mermaid. The husband can’t fight through the storm and his wife saves him, by bringing him back to the boat. She pleads with Poseidon to let her husband live and in return she will stay by his side. The story ends with everyone thinking the husband has lost his mind with grief and he kills himself. However, when he jumps into the ocean Poseidon turns him into a merman and lets him live with his wife.

“Come on.” Bambam jumps up to his feet and pulls you along. “I want to show you something…do you trust me?”

You want to pull away and sit back down, but the warmth of Bambam’s hand in yours makes you question your own judgement. “I…I trust you.” You forget about your camera and follow behind Bam as he leads you away from his group of friends. The sound of the ocean crashing against rocks gets louder and louder the farther away Bam leads up and you see that up ahead there is what looks to be a large cluster of rocks. Bam tightens his hold on your hand and he helps you cross the smaller rocks until the both of you are standing on the largest rock in the center surrounded by the sea. “What are we going here?”

“I thought you might want to meet a real mermaid.”

“What?!” You stare at Bambam in disbelief, and he blushes, quickly moving to the edge of the rock. Bam looks back at you and motions for you to come stand by his side. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to Bam and he points down in front of him at the water. You glance down and your eyes widen, “Wha…” You are at a loss for words. Just below you in a trove of seashells is a beautiful statue of a woman who has a fishtail. Her face is turned up towards the sun and the waves crash around her, making the stone glisten in the light. “S-she beautiful.”

Bambam smiles at the awe in your voice, and he sits down at the edge of the rock. “No one knows how she got here. No one has ever come to claim her as their creation. The locals say she angered the sea gods and they put a curse on her for being ignorant.”

“Does she have a name?” You sit beside Bambam and your shoulders bump against each other.

“Perdita…it’s means lost.”

You stare down at the woman and your heart aches, “Perdita…please watch over us.” You sit with Bam for a while longer, the two of you watching the waves crash around you both. “Will you take me into the ocean?”

Bambam smiles and nods his head, “I won’t let you down, trust me.”

“I trust you.”

<><><>

Bam is freaking out. His sketch book has gone missing and neither one of you has found it. Bam informed your professors about the situation and they both gave a verbal threat to each class incase someone was stupid enough to try and sabotage the competition. Thankfully Bam was smart enough to include his professor in his thinking, so it is impossible for anyone to try and recreate Bam’s work. Having to start over from scratch, Bambam decides to stay in his studio late to reorganize his thoughts and go over new ideas. You sit with him and offer support in the form of ideas and opinions. Bambam is thankful to have you by his side, if the two of you didn’t get along so well, this whole thing would have been a lot worse.

You yawn mid-sentence and Bambam laughs. “Let me transfer over this last file and we can head out. Do you want me to walk you to your dorm?”

“Actually, can we get some food?”

“Hanchu Chicken?”

“Mmmm, that sounds amazing right now!”

“Okay, gimme a min.” You start to pack your bag while Bambam finishes up with his work and you find yourself grinning as you think about what you want to order. Bambam swings his bag onto his shoulder and throws his other arm over your shoulders. “Good thing I drove here today.”

You roll your eyes and Bam laughs as the two of you walk out of the fashion department together. Since you are running short on time, you decide to cut through the pool area and the smile on Bam’s face falls when he spots two guys sitting on the bleachers. Bambam squints his eyes and sucks his teeth, “You good?” You follow Bam’s line of sight, and your eyes widen. You know that silver and purple book anywhere. Bam pulls his arm from around your shoulders and hands you his bag before he walks right over to the two guys.

“Hey!” Bam calls out catching the guy’s attention and they quickly scramble to hide the book when they see Bam. “No! Give me my fucking book back assholes!” The two guys deny that they have Bam’s book and when Bam tries to reach for it, they push him away. Bam stumbles back and they try to make a run for it, but Bam’s arms are long. He catches one of the guys by his backpack and pulls him into his fist. The guy groans as he holds his jaw and Bam glares. “Come on man! What are you twelve? Give me my shit back.”

“Fuck you!” The other guy jumps in, and you shake your head, setting your bags down before you make your way over to the guys. As they are fighting, you notice that Bam’s sketch book has falling to the ground, and you grin seeing that no one has noticed. Just as you get close enough one of the guys grabs the book and rushes towards the pool.

“Really?!” You shout and run after the guy. You manage to grab the guy’s sleeve and he spins you around, pushing to away from him. You snatch the book from his hand, and he smirks making you confused. Before you can say anything, the guy pushes you harshly and you scream when the ground under you disappears.

“Y/N?!” The splash is Bambam’s worse nightmare come to life, and he pulls himself away from the guy under him. “S-she can’t swim!” Bam shouts and the color drains from both guys faces. They run away in fear of getting in trouble and Bam growls. “Hold on Y/N!” Bambam’s heart is racing as he jumps into the water after you. He is scared, is he too late? Are you okay? Is this the fear that your father felt when he saw your mother fall? Is this how your main character felt as well?

All the shouting and splashing is heard from one of the nighttime security guards’ and he hurries towards the pool area. His eyes widen when he sees Bambam struggling to get out of the pool with you in his arms. The guard rushes to the edge of the pool and pulls your limp body out of the water. Bambam pulls himself out of the pool and he’s panicking. Your chest isn’t moving, and your brown skin looks to be losing its natural warm glow. Time seems to move in slow motion as Bambam watches the guard start doing chest compression on you.

“Kid! Hey, kid!” The guard snaps Bambam out of his trance and he narrows his eyes. “Do you know CPR?”

“Y-yeah…”

“Take over, I have to call 119.”

Bambam nods his head and takes over for the guard. Bambam feels tears burning his eyes as he tries to talk himself through every motion. “P-please wake up Y/N.” Bambam pinches your nose and presses his lips to yours before he blows air into your lungs. Two more times Bambam does mouth to mouth, and he jumps back when you start coughing up water. Red and blue lights are flashing at the entrance of the college and the guard hurries to lead the EMTs to the pool area.

“T-the book-”

“You idiot!” Bam shakes his head with a glare. “You almost died!” Bambam grabs your face in his hands and rest his forehead against yours. “And for what? A stupid book…God, I hate you.”

You give Bambam a weak smile and nudge your nose against his, “I love you.”

Bambam is pushed away by the EMTs, and the police question him while you are taken away to the ambulance.

<><><>

“Bam!” You scream as Jackson tosses you into the pool and Bam’s eyes widen. He jumps up to his feet and rushes towards the pool ready to jump in, but he stops when he sees your head break the surface. “Look what I can do!” You soften your voice as you speak like a baby and twirl around as you tread in water.

“Wha! Wha?!” The guys all laugh at Bambam reaction and Jackson rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Sorry Bam. Y/N made me swear not to tell you.” Jackson jumps into the water and swims over to you making you shout and swim away from him.

Bambam watches as you swim around with Jackson and he smiles, “You swim like a mermaid.” You beam at Bambam’s praise and swim over to the edge of the pool, resting your arms on the ledge. Bambam crouches down in front of you, and you peck his lips, “My little mermaid.” Bam grins and kisses your forehead.

#soc writes #soc bambam #college au #soc new era #black!reader #got7 #bambam #friends to lovers au #like a mermaid

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thebibliomancer · 3 years

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Essential Avengers: Avengers #241: DARK ANGEL!

March, 1984

The Magical Menace of MORGAN LE FEY!

Hey, uh, Morgan. The pink dimension looks like its bad for your skin? You might want to see a dermatologist?

Also, stop squeezing She-Hulk! She’s not a novelty toy and her eyes don’t pop out in any way you’d want.

Oh! The Avengers book has gone from The Avengers to the Mighty Avengers again. Wonder why.

Anyway.

Last time on As the Avengers Turn: The Avengers get a call from San Francisco that Jessica Drew Spider-Woman is in a coma. Also, that Jessica Drew Spider-Woman is a person they know. They’ve forgotten. The whole world has forgotten because Jessica Drew, Spider-Woman had a wizard mind wipe the world of her existence after she went back in time and shoved Morgan Le Fey out of a tower.

Dammit, what is it with spiders and mindwipes??

The ghost of Morgan is keeping Jessica’s mind separate from her body, hoping to get her revenge by killing Jess and then stealing her body to revive herself.

The Avengers call in Dr Strange and World’s Best Biophysicist Hank Pym to help deal with Coma Jess (but not that one) and some of Jess’ friends like Tigra and the Shroud are also hanging around.

This time on Avengers of Our Lives:

Running and shouting in the hospital? Jessica Drew may be at stake but common courtesy is still a thing!

This random assortment of everyone who wasn’t already in the hospital room rushes towards the hospital room but finds that there’s some manner of glowing barrier blocking the entrance.

Doctors and nurses bang on the glow fruitlessly and Wasp joins them in that by blasting it to no effect.

Wasp: “Hmmm, my Wasp’s sting can blow a good-sized hole in any ordinary wall! This is a bother!”

You’ve kinda scaled back from bragging you could blow up a house, Jan.

Tigra goes to scratch the glowing barrier and just falls right through it.

Cue pratfall noise.

After some frightening expressions from She-Hulk, Wasp and She-Hulk figure hey maybe we can just go right through too!

And they doooo!

Shroud feels some resistance from the barrier but when he thinks about how worried he is about Jessica Drew, the barrier lets him through.

Meanwhile, the assorted medical staff still can’t get in hah

Inside, the heroes learn that the barrier was put up by Dr. Strange to keep out medical staff. Those trained professionals will just get in the way.

Scarlet Wanda the Witch also recaps for the people who weren’t in the room what happened last time with Spider-Woman’s ghost trying to reunite with her body but bouncing off and becoming a photo negative. And that if they can’t jam her spirit back into her meat, Jessica will be left a mindless vegetable foreverrr.

Also, Jessica’s vital signs are fading fast and Dr. Strange is needing to put a lot of attention to keeping Jessica’s astral form together.

It will be up to someone else to investigate!

Dr. Strange: “Whatever force is behind this, it must be incredibly powerful!”

Morgan, helpfully showing her entire hand: “Power?! Hah! You cannot begin to comprehend the extent of my power!”

It will be up to nobody to investigate because Morgan Le Fey is going to just broadcast her involvement, turning Dr. Strange’s barrier into a wide-screen tv.

Morgan Le Fey: “Hear me, mortals -- I am Morgan Le Fey, and I was all but supreme in the arts of sorcery, centuries before you were born! I shall not brook any interference in my quest for revenge upon Jessica Drew... she who called herself Spider-Woman!”

Morgan lays out all her grievances viz being pushed out a window by Jessica and her evil schemes ie stealing Jessica’s body but She-Hulk is She-Hulk and less than impressed.

She-Hulk: “You think we’d let you just waltz in and take over somebody else’s body?!”

Morgan Le Fey: “If you are wise, yes!”

She-Hulk: “No way, sister! And as for striking us down... I’d like to see you try!”

Morgan Le Fey: “Hah-ha-ha-hah-ha! Very well! But first -- let us have a bit of... fun!”

And Morgan summons a bunch of evil beasties and tendrils and pink beads strung together through the portal at the heroes.

Dammit She-Hulk, you antagonized the magic lady!

Dr. Strange blocks some of it but he’s still mostly tied up with keeping Jessica’s soul alive sooooo someone else get on this.

So someone else gets on it. The Avengers and other superheroes leap to fight these random spell effects as they do best. Mostly by punching. And there’s some blasting.

Shroud finds that the darkness he controls seems to disorient the creatures Morgan summoned. Handy!

But they’re just holding the line there and if they keep playing defensive, Jessica Drew is going to die since Morgan is blocking her soul from her body. So they need to take the battle to Morgan.

Thankfully Janet “Magic is a little out of the Avengers’ line” van Dyne has a plan.

The mystical window Morgan le Fey was doing magic through suddenly clouds up with Shroud’s darkness. She blows away the darkness with demon winds, as ya do, but when the winds clear away the darkness, bam, Scarlet Witch, She-Hulk, Shroud, and Starfox!

Morgan turned Dr. Strange’s barrier into a window so he turned her window into a door. Fair’s fair.

And Wanda instantly manipulates the probability of Morgan falling on her ass.

Good.

Starfox flies forward to finish Morgan off but this is page 10 not page 20mumble so Morgan blasts the hapless space idiot.

Morgan Le Fey: “I don’t care how powerful you mortals think you are! I am Morgan Le Fey! No one, not even Merlin himself, could contain me forever!”

Getting punched off a tower and disintegrating was a minor inconvenience!

Meanwhile, everyone who didn’t go through the barrier window door is still in the hospital room fighting off Morgan’s spells because yes she can fight several heroes on the astral plane while also maintaining a bunch of spells in another dimension.

Even Dr. Strange has to admit that she’s very powerful.

We do get a nice follow-up on Tigra’s time on the Avengers though as Captain Marvel’s determination in the face of spooky magic inspires Tigra.

Tigra: Incredible! This stuff has her nearly as spooked as it has me, but she’s working real hard not to show it! Somehow, that makes it easier to fight this stuff! But I still don’t like it!

Wasp assists World Famous Biophysicist Hank Pym as he monitors Jessica Drew’s vitals. No time for post-divorce awkwardness, Jessica Drew is at stake! And at risk of dying soon due to the stress of all of this.

Meanwhile, back in New York at Avengers Mansion, Captain America comes home from his solo adventures. Apparently he hasn’t heard about Vision the Great and Powerful hologram head because he’s confused.

Vision explains and then Hawkeye comes in and explains in smaller words and Cap is like Oh I See.

And then a computer in the communications center explodes. As one doesn’t.

Vision: “I really must apologize for that sudden overload in the monitor systems. It’s nothing to get alarmed about, though! I’ve rerouted that screen’s functions through a back-up system! No need to worry... I have everything taken care of! Everything!”

Dubious Cap: “Yes... I’m sure you have Vision.”

But Hawkeye pulls Cap away from his skeptical stare to take him to meet Mockingbird.

Vision: That power surge was similar to the one I detected previously -- but this one was even more powerful! The monitor overloaded before I could get a fix on it! But I msut find the source of this mysterious energy! I must! Anything capable of generating such power could upset all of my plans! And that must not be!

Hmm, I’m not sure what that power surge thing is. Could be Secret Wars lurking around the horizon... the time period is right. But more to the point, Vision, ‘that could upset all my plans’ isn’t something superheroes tend to say/think! That’s kinda ominous!

Back over at the A plot, Morgan Le Fey turns into a giant made out of random bits of terrain, as one does when one is Morgan Le Fey.

Morgan Le Fey: “ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE IN MY DOMAIN! AS YOU WERE ALL FOOLHARDY ENOUGH TO BODILY ENTER THE ASTRAL DIMENSION, I HAVE CREATED MYSELF A BODY WHICH YOU CAN BATTLE... A BODY FORMED FROM THE VERY STUFF OF THIS REALM!”

I don’t appreciate her evil schemes but I admire her energy. She’s villaining good.

Interesting that the cover still gave her ‘made out of random crap’ texture but used her normal colors instead of yellow, orange, and purple. I feel like at that point, just make her look like a normal giant Morgan Le Fey and have it be more representative of what happens than what actually happens.

Anyway.

Forcing Morgan to gigamax means less of her attention is focused on the hospital room which means all her spells there are getting weaker. Unfortunately including the barrier window door which starts shrinking. And unfortunately not including the barrier around Jessica Drew who is now in danger of going into cardiac arrest due to acute soul deficiency.

Dr. Strange decides that now, and not any moment before now, is the time to act. He uses the Eye of Agamotto to make contact with “the captive psyche of the motionless dark angel...”

So there we go. That’s why the issue is titled DARK ANGEL. This one off description of photo-negative Jessica Drew soul.

Personally, I think “The Magical Menace of Morgan Le Fey!” would have made a better title but Roger Stern and/or Mark Gruenwald probably know what they’re doing.

Dr. Strange makes contact with Jessica and empowers her with the Eye of Agamotto.

Jessica Drew, Spider-Woman: “Y-yes, I do feel stronger somehow! But I’m still so... so lost!”

Dr. Strange: “Never fear, Jessica! The light will show you the way home! Follow the light!”

Huuuuuuuuuh. Usually an iffy thing to tell someone in a coma but. I mean. He is a doctor.

But Jessica finds the.... astral winds? Some kind of winds. Which I think represent the barrier Morgan put up to keep Jessia out of her body. Anyway, there are winds and they are too mighty for Jess to make headway against.

AND THEN, MAGNUS.

He roused from Morgan’s sneak attack a bit earlier and now he’s here to narrate his entire backstory.

Because, of course.

Jessica also notes that he looks so pale but he’s the same shade of white as he’s been so I dunno.

Centuries ago, Magnus was but a student sorcerer. Merlin rejected his apprentice application so he became the student and lover of Morgan Le Fey. Because Morgan’s evil. You think she cares about student-teacher ethics?

Magnus was young and in love and convinced himself that all of Morgan’s rants about how much she hated King Arthur was totally not a problem.

And then she found the Darkhold and even Magnus realized ‘oh this isn’t great, is it?’

So he stole the Darkhold, hid it in a tower that those of evil intent could not enter, and then went on the run.

Morgan eventually found him and killed him while he was astral projecting, Magnus having to devise a spell pretty much on the spot to let him continue on as a not-Force ghost.

With great effort, Magnus could visit Earth for brief periods by possessing people. On some of those visits, he met and assisted and fell in love with Jessica.

Magnus: “Jessica, so much that has befallen you has been because of me! Morgan used you to strike at me, even as she used me to strike at you. Yes, and to my shame, I set you ‘gainst her! Because of me, you have existed these past days in a twilight between death and the life you love so much! I have seen people, good people, risking their lives to save you... I could do no less!”

So Magnus uses the last bit of his magic, and his cohesion as a not-Force ghost, to still the psychic winds and let her rejoin her body.

Not bad, Magnus.

You’re still a bit of a creep but good way to go out.

Dark Angel Spider-Woman melds back into Jessica Drew, her vitals stabilize, and she comes out of her coma.

Hooray, Jessica Drew has been undeaded!

In the astral plane, Morgan senses that the Great Jessica Drew Body Caper has been thwarted and she’s miffed.

Morgan Le Fey: “DEMONS OF CHTHON!! MY HOLD ON SPIDER-WOMAN HAS BEEN BROKEN! I CAN SENSE IT! BUT... THIS CANNOT BE!”

And while she’s distracted yelling at nobody in particular, Team Take the Fight to Morgan strikes her good.

Scarlet Witch makes it very probably that a bunch of pink explosions will explode all over her, She-Hulk and Starfox do her some punches, and the Shroud shrouds her face with shrouding darkness.

She-Hulk: “Oh, that jaw is just too tempting a target! Say ‘good night,’ Morgie! You’re gonna be a hit in the landfill business!”

You’re doing great, Jen.

Morgan Le Fey: “You... insolent... WHELP! You cannot defeat Morgan by mere physical might! I shall yet have my vengeance! If Spider-Woman is denied me I shall take your body!”

Ghost Morgan jumps out of giant rock giant Morgan to try to body-jack She-Hulk but Dr. Strange has something to say to that.

He says ‘nah.’

Or more specifically “Flame of Faltine swirl and sunder and turn ‘round this foul exchange! Let yon sorceress stay rock-bound... by the power of Doctor Strange!”

Which. To be honest. Is much cooler.

Makes sense though. He was tied up keeping Jess’ soul together for most of the issue. Not having to do that anymore meant he could slip in and punk Morgan.

She’s less than pleased.

Morgan Le Fey, from inside a giant disembodied rock version of her own head: “You’ll live to rue this day, Doctor Strange! From this day forward I am your sworn enemy!”

To be fair, you two would have wound up at odds eventually anyway if you insisted on being magical and evil so I don’t know how much remorse he’s feeling about thwarting you now. Probably none.

Anyway. Dr. Strange hurries everyone through the barrier window door portal before he runs out of effort to keep it open.

Back in Jessica Drew’s hospital room, Hank Pym announces the cost of getting uncancelled like she was.

Hank Pym: “The ordeal you went through caused some radical changes in your body chemistry. I’m afraid that your life as Spider-Woman is over... No more sticking to walls, no more venom blasts! From now on, you’re just a normal woman!”

Okay. So, her book got cancelled and she was killed off and written out of memory. Back in June, 1983. But now in March, 1984, that death and so on is being retconned. Jessica gets to be alive again!

So why does she lose her powers?

Well. She failed the sales test. And she was originally created to squat a trademark. And Marvel only puts so much support behind their trademark squatters. If all that matters is that someone is squatting the trademark rather than the character itself, it made more sense to Marvel to cycle through characters rather than supporting something that is losing them money.

It happened to Mar-Vell (death April, 1982) to give us Monica Rambeau instead (August, 1982). And now its happening to Jessica Drew. Her time as Spider-Woman is up because Marvel is just going to try another take on the concept. Julia Carpenter, coming soon.

Of course, you can’t keep a good Jessica down, either. Kind of like when Reed Richards makes any definite statement, Hank Pym’s assertion that Jessica has been rendered powerless is going to be proven not entirely true.

Either way, Jessica is too thrilled to be alive to fuss about losing her powers. She’s going to continue private detecting even if its harder without superpowers!

Hm. Jessica Jones being a rated M for Mature expy of Jessica Drew becomes more and more obvious.

Anyway.

The Spider-Woman may be gone, but for Jessica Drew a bright new life beckons!

Yay!

Follow @essential-avengers for Julia Carpenter? Yes, eventually. And maybe sooner than you’d think. Unless you look up dates. Don’t look up dates. Preserve the mystery. Or don’t. I can’t stop you. You’re too strong. Also, like and follow if you like.

#avengers #Morgan Le Fey #the Wasp #She Hulk #Captain Marvel #Monica Rambeau #Scarlet Witch #Starfox #dr strange #Tigra #Spider Woman #Jessica Drew #Hank Pym #Magnus the wizard who sucks at his job #he did an okay job here though I guess #essential avengers #essential marvel liveblogging

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magpiemorality · 4 years

Note

Oh! It’s Saturday! I can send in a prompt! So way back when Altruistic Skittles did the first of the nightmare series, with Remus, you reblogged and said you might want to write something based on the picture. Last I knew, she said that people can write fanfictions from the pictures, as long as they’re properly credited. If that’s still something you’d be interested in, I’d love to see it!

This is very big, somewhat in honour of Remus’ birthday today, a very long and dramatic origin for him.

Check out the amazing art that prompted this fic here :) and thanks to @altruistic-skittles for making it and allowing works based off it!!

Also thanks to @omgsomeonesomewhereonearth for giving this a glance over for me on very short notice :)

Warnings: unreliable narrator, Anxiety is viewed as a bad guy, Remus isn’t particularly friendly, long post.

AO3

***

Roman had been feeling off for a while. He was far from the only one; puberty was tough on every aspect of Thomas, including Logan who had been stretched to his limits trying to keep up with all the demands of an average American high school life. But with Anxiety suddenly in the picture things were even more complicated. Who was he? Where had he come from? And why wouldn’t he leave?

In all honesty Roman hadn’t actually known there were other sides. He’d sort of, maybe naively, assumed that the three of them were the sum of Thomas’ parts, and that they covered everything Thomas would ever need. Sort of like Inside Out, which had in no way at all influenced their existence; they were the pilots who tended to the world inside Thomas’ busy head, just… minus the less good parts. Maybe Thomas didn’t need avatars for those things; maybe he didn’t value them that way, or maybe he just didn’t view them as part of himself?

It was an unfinished theory, but Roman mostly left those sorts of things to Logan, and Logan was too busy for much introspection these days. Which was why Anxiety had gone unchecked for so long.

Sometimes it felt like only Roman was the target of his attacks. Logan faltered, sure, but he was stubborn as all hell when it came to his routines and priorities and Anxiety hadn’t managed to shake them too much just yet. Logan was too established in Thomas’ head to allow wiggle room for anxious thoughts to disrupt his work. Patton also seemed to get away with coexisting with the guy; they fed off each other, or perhaps Anxiety had seen Patton’s power and figured it was easier to work with him than against him, turning good feelings to worry and guilt.

Okay so maybe Patton wasn’t unaffected, but he was so good at putting on a brave face that Anxiety had evidently seen fit to back off out of pure pity, and that left Roman.

Roman, Roman, Roman, trying his best to stay afloat on the sea of schoolwork and stress, to throw creativity into Thomas’ days so his smile wouldn’t fade. Until stupid, miserable, Despicable He, came along and took it upon himself to thwart Roman’s noble goal.

Their fights were spectacular, unfortunately often feeding into the influence Anxiety had clawed for himself over Thomas and leaving him feeling worse than before Roman had begun the battle. Not that Roman ever started things! He just kept trying to do his work, to do his best, and then Anxiety would show up and bam! Thomas’ hand would falter when writing his cathartic fanfiction, or his mind would blank as he searched for the lines to his latest monologue, or his voice would wobble and break on the notes of a song.

So things were weird, and that wasn’t all.

All it took in the end were a few cutting remarks from Anxiety that didn’t make any sense, and Roman was lost to that edge of paranoia, forever wondering what he meant. A jibe about Thomas not being a perfect person; a sneer laughing at how none of them had even known Anxiety existed before he’d appeared; a scoff that came with the bold assertion that just pretending you weren’t like that didn’t mean you actually weren’t. He seemed to reference someone else sometimes, with a vicious sort of victory that was at least in part tainted with misery, someone who- if Roman was interpreting the clues right- Thomas didn’t even know worked for him, who Anxiety had escaped from.

And then there was the matter of the tower.

Roman stared out of the bedroom window. It was his bedroom, his own copy of Thomas’, and if he focused hard enough he could see the shimmering after-images of the original, with Thomas’ homework on the desk, his clothes on the floor, his posters not quite matching up to Roman’s. He wasn’t in his room like Roman was, downstairs at dinner with the family, and not thinking too hard with his creativity. It left Roman free to do what he so often did these days; stare out of the window.

Spread out below him was the familiar, comforting sight of the backyard, with its play area and the patio and the grass, the treehouse in the far right corner looking shabbier than ever from its lack of use. Thomas’ dad had been talking of taking it down soon now the kids were too old to use it, but both Patton and Roman- and in fact Anxiety in a rare display of unity- had dug their heels in as Thomas instinctively balked at the prospect of losing just another tie to his childhood. Patton had discovered nostalgia recently and Anxiety had discovered how much Roman feared the term ‘growing up’ and the treehouse was just a big old symbol for all of them to cling to. A beacon of bad things; a final point of no return.

Roman hadn’t been inside in years, in all honesty, but curiously Thomas had, and more than once. Whatever occurred in there Roman wasn’t sure, but he felt a sense of… something faintly off whenever he looked at the treehouse, that hadn’t entirely started after he’d stopped going inside. This time was no different, and he wondered what the slight churn in Thomas’ gut meant, now that Roman had inadvertently bent his thoughts in the direction of the bottom right corner of the garden. Why picking at the faint memories of the interior of that shadowy wooden structure made their creator push his food around the plate and focus extra hard on talking about his classes, shutting Roman out soundly.

The treehouse was still there, still dark and foreboding and strange. Roman’s eyes started to water slightly, warping the image, until it flickered ever so quickly.

He gasped, shoving his whole body forwards, pressing his nose to the glass as it fogged around him with his quick breaths, trying to see it again.

It remained stubbornly as it always had been, leaving Roman to wonder if he’d imagined the flash of dark, crumbling tower that had blinked into and out of existence.

But he hadn’t, because as he lay in bed that night, doodling ideas into his notebook while Thomas tried to fall asleep, the shadows outside his window lengthened and the light that should have fallen on his curtains was slowly, steadily blocked out. The darkness felt cool, and thrilling in the way watching a horror movie when you weren’t supposed to felt thrilling, with that edge of risk to it that got your heartbeat going and made your palms clammy. Roman could feel the moment Anxiety noticed it as well, because Thomas’ brain whirred back awake in an instant, the tossing and turning that disrupted him more and more often these teenage nights starting up yet again. Logan began gamely battling to get Thomas to continue on to sleep, Logic coming up against Anxiety for once, but Roman…

Roman got out of bed, creeping out of his room and down the hall, sneaking carefully down the stairs one by one so Logan wouldn’t notice and stop fighting with Anxiety. The tiled floor was cool under his bare feet as he crossed it to the back door, sliding it open with a soft whoosh of the well-used mechanism.

The tower awaited him, taller than the treehouse had ever been and far more foreboding. It was made of dark, black brick, slimy and badly worn, surrounded by thorns and with no discernible entrance. A real Rapunzel tower, straight from the Grimm brothers themselves.

A fairy-tale come to life. And Thomas hadn’t imagined Roman in the image of a dashing Disney prince for nothing; so he started forwards, heedless of his lack of shoes or weapons or anything. He had his curiosity and that was a thousand times more powerful in that moment than anything else. He wanted to know, and whatever thing (maybe a monster? Roman had only vague theories but he was leaning towards trapped monster) was imprisoned within; it felt close to escape.

Were he Logan in that moment, Roman would theorise that the tower held some kind of dark aspect of Thomas that he’d hidden from himself, and that in the darkness before sleep it was hardest to maintain the lie, confronted with the harsh truth of oneself. But Roman wasn’t Logan, and he didn’t think too deeply beyond thing bad- must know more.

He got through the thorns with relative ease, considering how large and deadly they looked from across the garden. All it took was a stick from the pile they kept for a bug hotel, a brief flash of inspiration turning it to a shining sharp sword that sliced neatly through each thick tendril until they started to wither away from him as he approached and revealed a door with no lock nor handle, carved into the base of the tower.

Curiosity won again as Roman kicked it in, crumbling the ancient wood. He gasped, coughing as a thick gust of stale air wheezed out. It left Roman’s stomach twisting with nausea, but the need to be the prince and climb the tower was too strong to be deterred. Inside the house Anxiety upped the ante and Logan turned too late towards his own window, missing seeing Creativity take a step forwards and disappear into the treehouse.

It was dark inside, that was the first thing Roman noticed. It was obviously going to be dark, a tower with no windows, but the darkness felt more than that. It felt like it hid an endless number of bad things waiting to come forwards, to pounce at any moment. The walls were horribly slimy when Roman used them to find the winding staircase, and the smell… Better not to mention it at all.

Suddenly, the sound of whispered movement from above.

“Hello?” Roman called softly, hoping he’d imagined it. Nothing replied, but the darkness felt closer, and he hurried upwards with the sword ready. “Anyone there?”

A pair of yellow eyes watched, waiting, from below, but Roman never looked down, intent on reaching his goal. He didn’t see the way the door was repairing itself, or how the thorns had regrown. His only thoughts were for the top of the tower and what lay in wait.

There was the tiniest crack of light when he got up at long last, feet sore and eyes dry from straining to see something. It was a sliver from under a door, faint silver light, the only hint there was a door there at all until he felt it under his fingertips.

It didn’t budge when he touched it, and once again there was no sign of a handle. Roman kicked it with a frustrated sigh, only to freeze totally still when the whisper of movement came again, -only this time, closer and clearer- it sounded a little like rusted metal, sliding against itself.

The eyes down below, having followed the prince’s progress, narrowed in thought, but before they could make a decision Logic gained the upper hand over Anxiety back in the house and for a brief, shining moment, the tower was lit up bright and the door clicked open.

Roman threw himself in before it could close again, and just in time too, because the light faded not a moment later, the door sealing itself up again. How he was going to get out, he wasn’t sure. But that was a problem for later- the fairy-tale dictated he had reached his goal. This was the end of the story.

So what was his prize?

There was a shape, in the room. A figure, about his own size, sat facing the window. Roman blinked hard to clear the spots that danced over his vision in the wake of the sudden flash of light, and the figure came slowly into view in the murk. A boy, with poufy sleeves and an outfit to match the setting, staring out of the window back towards the house. Back towards Thomas, back towards where Roman had been staring out from. The boy yawned, stretching his arms up and it was then that Roman noticed the chains.

He was chained to the floor. Was this the monster at the top of the tower? Or the… dude in distress?!

This wasn't actually a fairy-tale, so the former seemed exponentially more likely, and Roman gulped as fear took root.

“I know, I know, come to shut me up again. I just wanted a bit of fun, D-“

The boy stopped, frozen as still as Roman’s heart as it skipped a beat. Two identical faces, two sets of identical eyes, stared in horror and dawning, dim comprehension at each other.

“You’re Roman!” The other boy shrieked, loud enough to make Roman flinch back. It stopped the grin on the chained boy’s face in its tracks, and he tilted his head, eyes turning cold and calculating in a heartbeat.

“Who are you?” Roman squeaked, barely able to get his voice to work. “Why are you locked up? Are you evil? Does Thomas have…” his voice fell to a whisper. “A Dark side?”

The boy cackled, a joyful sound that shouldn’t have been as unsettling as it was. The clanking of the chains as he doubled over only heightened the feeling that something was wrong, and Roman screamed when the boy darted forwards suddenly.

He was yanked back by the chains, snapping his jaw in Roman’s face with a wild snarl and snorting with amusement when Roman’s back hit the far wall, sword out and shaking in his unsteady grip. “A dark side? Everyone’s got a dark side, Prince Perfect. If you think you don’t, you’re just not looking hard enough."

"Thomas is good!"

"Thomas is real,” the boy purred, moving back to sit at the window again, gazing back towards the house. The distant sensation of Logic and Anxiety fighting for the upper hand grew when Patton joined, his constant underlying guilt swelling support for their anxious antagonist. The chained boy laughed, fingers tapping against his face too quick for Roman to even see, lips moving soundlessly on words Roman definitely didn’t want to hear. “Have you come to defeat me, Roman? No, you didn’t even know I was here, did you. Locked in my tower, kept from my one true calling. It’s for my own good, you know? D- the dragon that guards me says so. It’s for everyone’s good that I don’t get out, most of all Thomas’.” The name felt reverent the way the boy said it, softly and sweetly, like calling the name of a deity. It made Roman wince. “It’s only right that a villain should be kept away.”

“Who are you?"

"I’m you, but stronger,” the boy retorted, breaking into cackles. “I’m you but scarier. That’s what they thought, anyway. I think I’m just something else. I think I’m bad news. I think Thomas is bad news…"

Roman wouldn’t stand for that. He held his sword out more confidently, raising his chin. "Thomas is a great guy! He’s the best! He’s full of good things and light and-”

“And darkness and wondering, wandering thoughts and impulses, just like anyone. Even you. You would kill me if you thought you should, if you thought it was your Disney story, wouldn’t you. Without hesitation, but Roman! Killing is wrong!”

“Not in Disney!"

”Even in Disney!“

A howl of rage echoed around the tower, along with the sound of metal on stone as Roman brought the sword down on the window ledge beside the boy’s hands. The chained boy didn’t flinch, just beaming victoriously at Roman, cackling his disquieting cackle.

"Who are you really?! Tell me!"

The boy opened his mouth to speak, a hunger in his eyes that Roman didn’t understand, but the tower shuddered. His eyes darted to the door and Roman’s couldn’t help but follow. "Oh dear, Roman. You shouldn’t have come here. Curiosity killed the cat, you know, and the witch is on his way to toss you out of the tower…”

“I thought you said it was a dragon?”

“Dragon, witch, there was a time when there wasn’t any difference to you. Maybe you’re learning some nuance now though. That’s gotta be rough, buddy, you’re practically made from simplicity.”

Roman narrowed his eyes at the insult, and the tower shuddered again. The boy picked up his cackling again, louder and louder as the shuddering turned to heavy footsteps approaching up the stairs. And Roman wondered, if this was the monster that guarded this boy, what did that make the boy?

“He’s here.”

The door burst open, a hazy shape flying in and grabbing Roman, what felt like giant claws snatching him up and carrying him out of the tower, dropping him hard onto the lawn before it whirled back around and vanished back into the… treehouse?

The tower was gone. The treehouse looked like it always had, dark and grim, but it was definitely just the same treehouse as ever.

He fell back, sprawling on the grass as his limbs turned to jelly from the residual adrenaline, while inside Anxiety let up at last and Logan won the battle for the night. Thomas slipped uneasily into dreams.

The tug of unconsciousness grew heavy, dragging on Roman’s very being now his creator had finally fallen asleep. He just about managed to drag himself inside to bed before succumbing at last, glad to leave the whole strange night behind him.

Masterlist | Buymeacoffee

#writepie #ts roman #ts remus #ts sanders sides #ts sanders sides fic #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fic #fucking READ MORES #FIX THEM

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heathert456 · 3 years

Photo

Response to videos.

(*Text underneath for readability)

‘How To Create A Great Character’ video by The Closer Look on YouTube

I liked this video because it discussed three main components that characters could have to different extents, likability, activity, and competency. The video described some existing characters who have these traits at different levels and how those levels change how they are as a character and how the audience will perceive them. I like this concept, because it is a simple way of approaching characters that can help to give them strengths/weaknesses and make them more developed.

The video mentioned how characters need to have these components at different levels, because a character who is perfect, like ‘Superman’ does not have as much depth, a character who has none of these components would have even less depth. Some rules that were provided were that, they need to be good in at least one category, and they cannot be good at all of them. Some rules that were provided were that, they need to be good in at least one category, and they cannot be good at all of them.

Pixar- ‘What Makes Characters Relatable?’ video by Kaptainkristian on YouTube

I found this video interesting and insightful because it gave information of how to create good storytelling through the use of relatable characters with goals, backstories, challenges, etc. It mentioned how Pixar films do this very well, as oppose to Disney, who base a lot of their films from fairy tales. Disney films usually involve romance as the main plot driver. However Pixar gives their characters other goals, influenced by their unique character and backstory. Pixar asks, ‘why do we need to tell this story?’ and teaches good life lessons that are relatable for all age groups, they include something for everyone.

The video also talked about how Disney villains are bland, they have little information on their contexts, what is their motivation for being evil? A lot of the time there is no backstory for them, they are simply evil. This is something that Pixar does differently, they give context and backstory for why a character is the way they are, for example, ‘Syndrome’ from the Incredibles movie, has a past where he was often disregarded, the constant rejection lead him to become a villain, this is something that is included in the storyline. However, Disney villain ‘Jafar’ from Aladdin only has motivation to be evil because he wants to be the most powerful in the land. You can see from watching the film, that he is always portrayed as the second most powerful and is treated as such, but apart from that there is no evidence as to his motivation.

‘Good V.S. Bad Character Design: Tips and Tricks!’ video by BaM Animation on YouTube

I really liked this video, it was very helpful, similar to the first video, it had a list of components that can help to create a good character design, silhouette, palette, and exaggeration. It mentioned the differences that a good and bad characters can have at a visual level, which I found interesting, how shapes can influence how a character is perceived. Squares could help to portray solid characters, circles for friendly ones, or triangles for fast and/or evil characters. It also talked about how colour theory can also influence a character.

Another thing that the video talked about was ‘shape language’, different shapes express different traits and aspects of characters. You can see this by looking at pre-existing characters and how their shapes communicate their personalities. For example, circles show no threat, they seem very approachable and friendly, whereas a triangle seems sharp and dangerous. Shape language can visually tell the audience what kind of character your character designs are.

They had some examples of fan art that they developed using techniques and processes shown in the video. One character had a mixture of different shapes, which could confuse the viewer to understand that character’s personality. They changed the shapes to triangular ones to convey a femme-fatale villain character. They compared shape motifs on a line-up of three characters. The shapes were at first jumbled up, but when they were rearranged to have only one shape, the characters were consistent, and their personalities were a lot clearer. Colour hierarchy was also mentioned in the video. How a main colour can be complemented by lesser colours and how the amount of a colour can convey character traits.

They worked on improving this design by first analysing what was wrong with it. A main thing was that it was too complicated, had too many colours, and some of those colours had the same values. They fixed the character by re-designing it in a simpler way and choosing less colours, that complemented each other and had had different value weights.

Another thing that was mentioned was that colours can help to show where a character is from, e.g. above the equator, colours are less vibrant on the bottom, colours are more vibrant. Something which I found intriguing was how some characters can be inspired by real life people. I already knew this, but I hadn’t previously thought about it as a possibility for a reference or a way to begin a design. And it is clear how these characters have been influenced by real-life. How a character acts or moves could also be inspired by real-life people. The video mentioned how artists/designers often look at the world and then apply real-world aspects into work.

Something else that was stated was that a character’s pose can influence how they are looked at as well. For instance, open, thoughtful, lazy, etc. We can perceive how a person or character is feeling or what they are doing, just by their basic figure. I found this interesting, because it shows how important pose can be.

This is another character design that they improved on. They talked about how you can block out a character’s shapes to help make it more dynamic, the design on the right was the original, but by simply changing the shapes, the design improved dramatically. I really like this technique; it is something that I would like to try out. The artist who sent the designs created them with guidelines to help with the proportions, this was a good approach, and is something I would also like to try.

They demonstrated how drawing characters with guidelines can be useful, how it can help keep the proportions consistent and how it can improve the designs overall. They talked about trios and how designing line ups of characters in three can help to give visual variation and complement each design. They suggested starting out with one square, one triangle and one circle and designing characters from that. They also suggested that colour could be used to further express the character’s personality. I like this technique, I think it could be a good exercise for me to further learn about how shapes influence character designs, create variation in my work, and experiment. At first, they did this in a basic way, then they exaggerated some elements to further express the characters and add variation to the designs. To push the concepts even further they created more dynamic poses and added expressions. I think it is really cool how their personalities come across, even though they are basic shapes.

They talked about how line-ups of characters can be dynamic. They gave two examples and described one as a fun roller coaster, and the other as a dull train track. They redesigned all of the characters that the artist sent in and displayed them in a roller coaster way. They explained how even though the characters are all different sizes, proportionality they are the same because of the use of guidelines. They showed comparisons of the before and after of the character designs. The original designs are okay, but the re-designs show major improvement. They exaggerated some of the features to express different features of the characters and gave them dynamic poses. the character’s personalities come across so differently in the re-designs and the messages behind them are clearer. They also each look unique, in the original designs, they looked kind of the same as each other and there wasn’t very much variation in pose.

‘A Guide to Good Character Design (Mega Super Ultimate)’ video by The Joopis on YouTube

This video had some very interesting points that I found helpful. The main point that came across was how important silhouette is. They mentioned how a character can be recognisable from only their silhouette and how this can help to identify characters. They also broke down popular character designs into shapes to show how characters can be made out of basic shapes. Another way they demonstrated how silhouette is important was by creating three head silhouettes and choosing their favourite, from there, they created three different character heads from the same silhouette. This was to show how big of an impact silhouette can have.

They talked about villain design as well, how across Disney characters, the villains tend to have similar colours, usually dark, and including black, reds and purples. This was to show how colour is important in identifying characters and what kind of character they are. They showed how they do this by showing a design they had done and a reference they used. They looked at the colours on a snake to inspire the colour they chose for their villain; these colours together are threatening and suggest danger. They showed how colour palettes could be extracted from things in real-life. For example; the muted pink colours from the kitten are soft and gentle, the colours from the birds are bright and vibrant.

They also briefly mentioned how clothing can add to a character’s backstory, context and further express their character. they talked about how the shapes of the clothing can also have an impact.

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bloodybells1 · 3 years

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Lucky Dog

No philosophers so thoroughly comprehend us as dogs and horses.

—HERMAN MELVILLE

I look into the eyes of an animal.

I am in the habit of doing this with a little Brussels Griffon by the name of Casca, my canine, whose gentle orbs and spunk and flexibility make me forget that he is in fact a dog and not a cross between an Ewok and a Koala.

Not right now, though. These are different eyes, the ones of a Maltese crossed with a West Highland Terrier, peering through a curtain of matted hair draping over his brow, as he lays back on my futon. He has jumped up here as I lay down on it, after having flipped onto his back in a split second, in what seemed to have been a familiar move, so natural and quick. It was a gesture of near total compliance. He was egging me to stroke his belly.

There was something deep about his gaze, somewhat simian in intelligence, communicating a kinship, but difficult to pin down. If this creature hadn’t the capacity to at least conceive of complex, putatively human emotions and other states of mind—like fear, relief, care, or pleasure—lacking only a verbal means to communicate them, then everything that I was seeing in his eyes, the layers of thought and feeling, were just a coincidence of Mother Nature, some thing that animals do which I don’t have access to, but which I insist I do in the form of anthropomorphization.

Yet, that doesn’t seem possible: the facsimile is too close. These have to be the same things, or similar things, that we humans feel, that I am now sensing coming from this upturned canine lying on my lap on the futon.

At this point in the story, the dog’s name is Sammy.

Sheri, the woman who’d found him on the street, had posted on the NextDoor forum hoping that someone might claim him. She’d grabbed him on the corner of Broadway and 177th. The dog was in a panic, chaotically searching for his owner, crossing the street with his leash in tow, and she’d scooped him up and brought him to her nearby apartment. Sheri’s domestic situation precluded a canine presence: she wanted to find the owner of the dog, but more urgently, she needed someone to foster him in the meantime. Otherwise, she’d have to put him in a shelter. My girlfriend Bernie and I had taken pity and responded, offering ourselves as foster parents for the interim. We’d hold him until the owner showed up or until he’d otherwise find a permanent home.

We’d started calling him Buddy, but Sheri had asked he be named something with an “S,” so Bernie suggested “Sammy.”

And Sammy is taking this house by storm.

As it turns out, I’d met Sheri once before, though neither of us know this during our Zoom call. She’s leaning back on the headboard of her bed with the soon-to-be monikered Sammy laying supine, his favorite position, by her side. Bernie’s been texting with Sheri and now she and I are talking to Sheri over Zoom to take a look at Sammy, who is all but glowing through the screen, despite his matted hair which, even on the call, looks as though it's never once been brushed.

I’m having that funny feeling you get when someone seems familiar and you can’t quite place why, until later on in the conversation Sheri tells us her address and a little about her job and I put two and two together and realize she’s the wife of a good friend, a fellow actor and writer named Michael who lives in the neighborhood. I know that Michael’s wife is a make-up artist for various TV shows and—bam—the memory of having briefly met her outside her apartment building once before enters my head.

“Oh my God, this is going to sound creepy but I know who you are, Sheri. I know your husband. I know your son’s name. I’ve actually met your son. Benjamin, right? I’ve been to your house.”

Sheri’s jaw creeps open in amazement over the coincidence and I add with ironic omniscience, “I know everything about your life.”

“Wait . . . what? For real?” Sheri is having a hard time processing all of the information but immediately knows what to do next, which is to walk out of her bedroom and open Michael’s study. My friend’s familiar bookshelves and wall art come into view of the camera.

“Honey, look who I have on Zoom.”

Michael turns around and sees who’s on the other side and yells out my name, happy over the coincidence, as I am as well.

We come right over to pick up Sammy and it’s a nice reunion during a bleak pandemic year when I’ve been seeing very little of people outside of my three-block radius.

It seems that Sammy’s a bit of a good luck charm. He’s bringing people together. Bernie and I are taking him around the neighborhood, to the park just a block above our apartment and everyone is asking who this precious, white-haired creature is.

“We don’t know!” we keep saying. “Our friend found him in the street.”

“Are you going to keep him?”

“We don’t think so.”

“But he’s getting along so well with Casca.”

Indeed he is. He’s friendly. But Sammy’s also timid and nervous. He is after all, a strange dog in a strange land. I can’t imagine what must be going through his head. Who are these strange people? What is this strange neighborhood? Where are my owners?

That’s the thing. The owners.

We’re not so sure whether, in fact, there are any. We hear stories about how animals are often deposited in the city, right on the street, by callous owners with little patience—and little humanity—who then drive off and disappear, leaving the poor animals to be discovered by locals.

Some of Sammy’s details align with those stories. He was discovered not far from the George Washington Bridge, which would lend credence to the account of a disinterested owner from some place in, say, Westchester, who’d decided that Sammy had become a liability they could no longer sustain and who had left him in Washington Heights just before taking the quick way out into New Jersey over the bridge. Sammy’s coat is also completely tangled, with small knots, very much like dreadlocks, peppered throughout, with dirt and lint encrusted within, which suggests a type of neglect that might align with the story of someone who no longer wanted him. He also smells profoundly of urine, though this is likely to have happened from having to spend a night alone, if that is even the case. We just don’t know. Finally, it is abundantly clear that Sammy has not been neutered.

But there’re other details that don’t lend credence to that story. It only takes a couple of hours with him to see that Sammy, who is responsive and trusting and loving, had been cared for deeply by whomever had had him. He was loved. A quick pull on his lower lip reveals pristinely clean teeth, as well. Yes, he’s nervous, and he keeps pulling on his leash like a caught snapper. Every time we walk him he juts around like he’s on a desperate hunt. He has an air of desperation, a vigilance for possibly familiar faces that might pop out any second. But he looks at you with an unmistakable sense of domesticity. And he’s clearly house trained.

Sammy definitely has an owner. Someone who loves him. Of that we are certain.

So then why was he running around on the street? Sheri says that when she grabbed him on the sidewalk he was so scared and confused that he jumped into a car, idling and double-parked, at random, surprising the passengers before being pulled back out by Sheri. It’s obvious that he was in a car just before he was lost. He’s looking at every car, every vehicle that passes by, almost as if to check the make and model, hoping against hope it’s the one that left him in this frightening place.

I think back to a woman I used to care for. I was volunteering for an agency, ComForCare, seeing to social needs for seniors, primarily those living alone. She lived in an elder care facility in the Upper West Side. She wasn’t all that much older, but she had a severe case of schizophrenia, for which she was heavily medicated. She was a lovely lady with a sense of humor and a deep appreciation of art. We used to go to the movies and to the Met. She had difficulty holding conversations for a sustained period and she hoarded. It had been bad enough that her old apartment had needed to be professionally cleaned out. I saw it once and was given a window into what real hoarding looks like: stacks of books up to the ceiling, along with opaque grime on the walls. Still, she was lucid and functional enough to be able to take her car out when she wanted to go for a drive, she could order food and sit through a movie and extemporize about it afterwards and she could use the bus if she needed to commute around the city.

It occurred to me that, had she been moved to, she could have had a dog. She could’ve seen to its needs, fed it, stroked it, watered it, and otherwise cared for it. But the dog would, like Sammy, have borne traces of a style of care that is not regarded as, shall we say, complete.

My theory was that someone with a condition misplaced him. There’re all sorts of humane concerns regarding cleanliness and desexing which take only a couple of Google searches to discover. Therefore, so I reasoned, though Sammy was loved, he nonetheless had been neglected, and only a mental illness may account for the discrepancy. This person likely became disoriented in an unfamiliar neighborhood; perhaps they’d needed to pull over unexpectedly, and hadn’t realized that all of a sudden Sammy wasn’t in the car and drove away. They hadn’t realized it until it was too late, and were now frantically searching around for him, most likely not able to make the right calls to the right places, for “obvious” reasons. The poor owner, I thought, unable to do the right thing. Or maybe they were about to make the call to us. Who really knew? We were just theorizing.

Or maybe I had it all wrong and it was actually much simpler. Maybe the owner just straight up forgot about Sammy.

Sheri’s put up fliers within a two-block radius of where she found Sammy. She’s gone into several vets office’s in the area with news of the found dog. Bernie takes a picture of Sammy on our couch, staring at the camera as though his owner might pop out of the lens. He looks lost, even though he’s been found. He is lost, of course; but we have found him. And we’re seeing to it that he gets to where he belongs. So we follow suit with Sheri’s efforts and post the picture of Sammy with a notice on the largest Facebook group for lost dogs in Manhattan. We also register him with a local shelter which will post his photo and his information on their website. We’re like scientists at the SETI Institute, sending out radio waves into the vast ether, expecting a response from the deep, hoping that if there’s anyone out there searching for us, they will now be able to find us.

We’ve given Sammy a much-needed bath. I didn’t want to just throw him into the bathtub after all that he’s been through, so I waited several smelly hours while he lay next to me before we scrubbed him down. He ran around the apartment like he had a rash, scraping and rubbing his body against any surface he could find, the bottom of the sofa, the rug, the futon, while we chased him around with a towel, trying our best to alleviate that weird feeling dogs get when they’re wet. Casca, ever the Ewok, just sits, enraptured by the sight, like an older brother watching from the sidelines. After Sammy calms down I do my best to brush his hair but the dreadlocks make a proper brushing impossible. Still, he looks much better. In light of everything else it’s pretty inconsequential, but I go ahead and schedule an appointment with Casca’s groomer. I want Sammy to look as spiffy as possible in case the owners don’t show and we need to start finding him a new home.

Bernie takes off from work and brings Sammy to the vet. We need to find out if he has a HomeAgain microchip, that tiny piece of tech injected in between a puppy’s two scapulae, often during the first vet visit, the universally recognized system for canine and feline identification. If he has a microchip, it will lead us to his owner. They could be just a phone call away.

Bernie’s away for hours. Patients are not permitted inside the vet’s office during the pandemic and instead must wait outside while the dog is seen indoors. Vets are overloaded (everyone’s getting a dog for companionship during quarantine). Wait times are much longer than usual. She’s basically gone half the day. I’m sitting in the apartment with Casca, who is oddly quiet. I know him well enough to know the kind of quiet he’s in. It’s the “where’s Sammy” type. I have it too. I’m actually missing Sammy.

But it soon won’t matter that Sammy, indeed, has never been given a microchip.

It’s the day after the vet visit and I’m sitting with Sammy in my study, his head resting on the futon by my side. Bernie comes in with the news: “Sheri says that the owners have contacted her.”

My heart sinks. It’s Day Three of the Sammy Show and I take note of my awful disappointment, how crestfallen I now am, that the possibility he may be out of our lives very soon is here.

“Sheri’s asking them questions, to prove they’re the rightful owners,” Bernie adds.

“Yes,” I respond, in a tone not unlike hasty justice seekers at a trial convinced that the murderer has been found and that the jury must cast its verdict responsibly. “We need to see pictures and they have to confirm the color of his harness and leash.”

I catch myself sounding stern and paternalistic, like an eye witness to the crime defying an alternative account. Who are these people claiming to be his owners? I’m not about to let him go. The killer has been found, I think to myself, Sammy was abandoned and justice demands that he be fostered and adopted. Whoever says otherwise—like the killer claiming innocence—has the burden of proof against them.

Sammy senses something’s afoot. We know this about him already. Earlier in the day Bernie had gone out on an errand and about a minute before she returned, Sammy had “sensed” that she was headed back and sat upright with his ears pricked. One of my favorite thinkers, a spiritualist-scientist by the name of Rupert Sheldrake, ran a study about this phenomenon and published his results in a book called, unironically, Dogs that Know When Their Owners are Coming Home. Apparently, it’s a thing, and Sammy, by my estimation, is particularly tuned to this frequency.

He’s whining and agitated all of a sudden, as Bernie and Sheri are on the phone with each other to compare notes on the photos the owners claiming him have sent. He really knows something’s up when we bring his harness into the room to compare it with the photo. He’s hopping off and back on the futon in a restless state that seems to signify his premonition that the family he loves dearly is one step closer to him finally. This is a dog who has not let go of his owners and has stayed vigilant, even as he’s been nothing but a sweetheart during his stay, a stay that is now painfully coming to an end.

The photos lineup perfectly. He looks a little different, but that’s because they were taken when he’d just been groomed. But his harness is identical. There’s no denying it. These are the owners.

Bernie and I look at each other and shake our heads. Like some waking dream, we become aware of a journey, a kind of psychic binge, for which we’d previously had no awareness. Without knowing, we’d consented to fork over our brains and our hearts to go on an emotional rollercoaster, a ride that is now slowing down and edging into the landing bay. It had all been going too fast for us to take real notice of what it was all about. Only in the end do we now see that we’d lost ourselves.

Now that we know that Sammy will be back with a family who loves him, whom he wants to be with more than us, that we are no longer Sammy’s protectors, we let the judgement rip:

“What the hell? How do you lose a dog? I can’t believe this! This is so upsetting. The negligence!”

Things go negative.

It never mattered while he was in our charge. Negative thoughts were like passing clouds. We wanted to keep the skies clear for Sammy. He was our responsibility and we wanted to protect him. He’d already been through enough. So we didn’t care too much for passing judgement. After all, we weren’t even sure who these people were or what were the circumstances. It was all speculation. What mattered was Sammy’s safety.

But the moment has arrived and therefore we feel free to be angry. We want justice for our pains. We want accountability. All of a sudden, we are keenly preoccupied with the wages of the vast emotions we have expended on Sammy.

Then it passes, the initial blast of ire gives way to reason. We come to our senses.

“Of course mistakes happen.”

And who are we to judge?

And so we are left with the brutal phenomenon, unadorned by the needs of the dog, the care which we’d now finally finished giving. He is safe now. We can be free to look after ourselves. The only thing that’s left is grief.

“Tell them to come meet us as soon as possible,” I tell Bernie, meaning that she should tell Sheri, who’s in contact with them. They are desperate to get their dog back. A couple who live in New Jersey. The husband is texting with Sheri, begging to be allowed to pick him up. His family has been broken by the loss and he wants to heal, he says. I can’t deny the obvious show of vulnerability. I want the reunion to happen as soon as possible. But first I need to eat.

The tears flow down my cheeks swiftly. We finish dinner in silence as Sammy watches us patiently from the sofa. I have to look upwards to try to think of other things, to stay the onrush of salty teardrops. We gather our things and put on our coats and I almost lose it and let a couple quakes of my sternum pass through me before pulling myself together.

It’s that old feeling again, like when my old boy Gaius passed two years ago from lymphoma after just having turned thirteen. That sudden loss. That sharp removal. The very quick evacuation of something within, and the consequent hollowness that emerges, as though you were a sack of something meaty and full, a container that held large books or hefty Christmas toys, only for that container to be suddenly relinquished of its contents, contents which evaporate somehow, now nowhere to be found, leaving you with a newfound emptiness.

What is this bond, this decade-and-a-half long relationship that severs with such sudden brutality?

Why do we do it, undertake to care for these creatures? Creatures, by the way, who inevitably will betray us with their short lives, and, furthermore, whom we shall likewise betray by replacing them with descendants after they die, with heirs to their vests and doggy bowls and chew toys and harnesses who are themselves doomed to renew the fifteen year cycle. We can’t refurbish our pets, so we hand them in to God and buy a new one from the breeder or adopt one from the shelter. They last as long as the average car, which we also replace with a shiny, new version. When Gaius passed I lasted only a month without a dog, unlike, say, some of my neighbors who could not live down the memory of their old dog, who could not so readily renew the pact.

Sometimes I see my rush to replace as a sign of disingenuousness, for if the love were as true as I say to myself and the world that it in fact is, how could I replace my dog? Aren’t I lying to myself in thinking that Casca, who came into the house as a two-month-old ball of fur, practically on the heels of Gaius’ deathbed, receives an authentic love? Isn’t love more weighty? doesn’t it come with heavier strings? Are these just playthings that garner my obsession and adoration, but not my true heart? Isn’t this a fantasy? Aren’t they just animals, expendable lifeforms, just pets? When I exchanged those pregnant glances with Sammy on my futon, wasn’t I just staring into the eyes of a mere animal?

There lies an epistemic gulf between Homo sapiens and Canis familiaris. It is a relation bereft of semiotics. They don’t even know what is happening around them. We, as their keepers, hold the light of truth, we grant them access to the benefits of our civilization, the very same benefits that first brought them to us, when scraps thrown from the Paleolithic hearth lured those friendlier wolves, those beasts who’d decided to sever their Darwinian program and break for the humans, who’d opted for the good life outside the law of the jungle and chose to linger with these powerful pack leaders in control of fire and food. They will never know any of this. Unlike our children, whom we may teach our ways, into whose brains we implant the needs of our legacies, whom we teach our languages and whose cooperation we induce, who will be free to continue it or change it or revolutionize it as will be their wish after we pass, our dogs share no such beneficence and will live out their days in the dark, their small brains incapable of absorbing the mandates of our times. Everything they live for dies with them. Nothing gets left behind. No records. No tapes. Nothing they can fashion in their names, no society they can consciously call their own to leave behind.

The fact, then, that, in the midst of this gap, this uncrossable line, something does indeed cross, makes the thing that crosses, that special communication, that comprehension of which Melville spoke, all the more special. Even as there is nothing to say between us but that nonetheless just about everything is said speaks to the power of connection.

Whenever a dog looks into your eyes it is saying this:

I have no need for your ways. They are nothing to me. I do not even know what they are.

And I do not care. I only care about this.

The artist Banksy used to share uplifting memes on his Twitter account. One of them showed a picture of a man and a dog on a hillside overlooking a bay with ships on the horizon and two thought clouds positioned over their heads respectively. The human’s thought cloud was full of worry and preoccupation: will they call back? Have I paid the rent? What should I do after this? The canine’s was simply a facsimile of the very scene before which the two were sitting: a bay with ships on the horizon. The caption read: And we wonder why they are always the happy ones.

With each glance exchanged, a dog returns to sender (without opening) the merciless crux of our hubris and ambition, throughout history, throughout life. The dog says, “No thanks.” It does this by reaching into our souls with the only truly meaningful thing in life: connection. Despite your best efforts, the dog says, I am still connecting with you.

It says nothing suspicious that we replace these creatures after they die, that we invite new babies into the home, even as their predecessors have only recently passed. You still need friends and relatives when someone near and dear has passed. The same goes for animal energy. Another dog is only the continuation of the much larger bond between the species. It is a way to honor the very possibility of the bond in the first place. At least it was for me. I almost felt that Gaius, were it possible for him to express the conditional, would have wanted me to find another dog, to renew the pact between us in the form of another one of his kind.

The grief is worth it, if only to repay the species for what it bestows us, the respite from the constant distraction of civilization, of society, of rules and of niceties. It is worth it for the love they bring, hermetically encased from all that would corrupt it from without, right to our doorstep. It is worth it for the break. For the truth.

We lead Sammy back to Sheri’s apartment. Or rather, he leads us. He’s tugging on the leash. He knows he’s headed home. Sheri’s organized his triumphant return to the family with whom he belongs and with whom he is desperate to be reunited. I am still holding back tears as I try to keep him at bay, as he continues to zig and zag. Casca keeps approaching him, almost as if to ask, Hey man this has been so much fun I hope we can be pen pals. It’s cold and noisy in the streets.

We arrive at Sheri’s and stay in the lobby and the family comes in and Sammy sees them and runs at them at full speed, his tail vibrating like a tuning fork. He jumps up and they catch him. It’s a man and a woman, a couple, and their adolescent child, hanging in the back. The man tries to give us a reward but we refuse. We don’t wish to deny him the opportunity to be grateful, but we also don’t want to take money for what we’ve done. If anything, we should be giving him a reward.

The woman recounts the story of noting the day of his grooming appointment and that he was still missing and she starts crying. Apparently, Sammy has a brother who’s been missing him, though they didn’t bring the canine with them. Bernie hands the gentleman an envelope with all of the info from Sammy’s vet visit: he now has a microchip and some shots. They can sort out what to do next for Sammy. He’s only eighteen months old, the woman says, so it’s not too late to get him neutered. Sheri needs to spend some time emphasizing how jumpy Sammy is and that he requires incredible vigilance. “He’s a flight risk,” she says, making sure they know what she’s trying to say to them, that is, to be more careful.

This prompts the man to recount the story of how he lost Sammy. He dropped off his daughter just down the block and got back into his car. He drove through New Jersey and into Pennsylvania and only then noticed that Sammy was not in the car. Believing that he’d lost him at a rest stop in Lodi, New Jersey, he sent out his notices over there. It only occurred to him several days later that Sammy had jumped out of the car in Manhattan, after which he consulted the Facebook page where we’d posted his photo and was able to finally locate his dog.

He tells this story with a nonchalance I find insufficiently penitent. The anger starts to curdle within. Every time I get in the car with Casca, I think to myself, I am looking at the back seat to see if he is ok, every five minutes, or less. How do you lose a dog and cross two states and only then realize your own dog is no longer in the car? How is that even possible? It escapes me, and because it escapes me it makes me want to scream at the guy, scream at the family. I think about how terrified this dog was and the distinct possibility that he didn’t have to be as lucky as he was, that he could’ve easily been discovered by others not disposed towards canines as much as we all were, and what then? What could have happened to this very lucky dog then? I want to scream all of this in his face.

Sammy jumps up to the adolescent and the kid grabs Sammy in midair and he’s licking his face all over and the kid is very happy to have his dog back. “Can I bring him into the car, mom?” he asks the woman. When she nods he goes through the door and I never see Sammy again.

We finally conclude all the talk and wish the family well and they are off. Sheri, Bernie and I keep talking in her lobby, while Casca sits on his side looking wanly through the doors to the outside. As Sheri departs she says we should all get together for some grub as soon as the vaccine gets distributed and some sense of normality returns. There are so many of these rain checks these days. I can only imagine it’ll be a nationwide feast once the masks are removed and people can feel it’s ok to breathe on each other again.

Bernie and I pick up a Christmas tree on the way back home. Plus a wreath. It’s cold outside and I don’t have cash and I run across the street to the ATM and then it occurs to me just how lucky I have it. I’m buying a tree without thinking about it. Something not everyone can do. I have privileges. Not everyone has the same opportunities. What’s more is not everyone has the same way of ambling about things, the same way of making one’s way. Some people, quite plainly, are just more forgetful. I remember a story someone told me of a friend of there’s who forgot their own kid in a public square and took a bus back home without the child. He noted that he loved his kids very much but that didn’t stop him from having a super lousy memory.

I feel stupid for my initial theory about the owner having a mental illness. I was wrong about that. They were just forgetful.

Obviously there are humane concerns. These dogs need to be cared for. But we have to care for each other too. And, in this case, that means accepting that everybody is struggling and everybody is hurting and everybody is surviving, and therefore compassion is the key.

Homo sapiens is an animal species too. When I look into the eyes of a fellow human, I am also looking into the eyes of an animal, as they are when they look into my eyes. We are animals. We are animals that have to take care of each other, too.

I can be angry that someone was negligent to a poor canine. But I also have to let it go. Who am I to judge?

As I purchase the tree and grab the wreath, something of the Christmas spirits wafts into the scene, and my ire lifts. Bernie, Casca and I are now free to return to our lives with all of the time and space that this pandemic allows for processing momentous events such as these.

How apt, we say to ourselves on the way back, remarking about Sammy’s real name, which we learned when the owners were initially claiming him, that he was called Lucky.

#dogs #dogs of tumblr #lost dog #found dog

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thejollyroger-writer · 4 years

Text

Heart and Soul - Part 2

SUMMARY: Private music teacher Killian Jones wakes one morning to the sound of his ten year old neighbor playing the bane of his existence: the recorder. In order to keep his sanity, he offers to teach Henry to play any other instrument – though partially because it means he gets to spend more time with Henry’s mother, Emma Swan.

READ PART ONE: ao3 // tumblr // // PART TWO ON AO3

TW: mentions of alcoholism, abusive parents, backstory that goes a little deeper than necessary -- you know, the things I do best, apparently.

a/n: This fic was inspired by waking up one morning over the summer to hear my neighbor playing the trumpet – though, thankfully, Sam is a much better musician than a beginner recorder-player. I complained about it on discord, and bam! this story appeared, a joint effort between myself and Meredith (@captainsjedi) . Even though she was unable to help me finish it because of her busy work schedule, her ideas are riddled through the story, not to mention the incredible art she made for it.

Thanks to @csconcertseries and @clockadile, who gave me a reason to finish this story! It feels really good to actually finish something that I’ve been working on in the midst of the chaos of the world right now, so even though the event was a month ago, I’m still super thankful for the opportunity.

-- -- --

Waking up to a message from Tink Greene on an October Thursday morning is one of the last things he expected, not having spoken to her besides the friendly neighborhood hellos since he broke off their dalliance the previous spring.

The contents of the message are even more of a surprise:

I've been hearing Henry Swan play in one of the practice rooms, and I think he would make a great addition to our student showcase for the Winter concert. He told me you've been teaching him, which explains a lot. Do you think you and he could work together on something by the beginning of December for him to play?

Of course, the first thing he wants to do is share the news with Emma. He should probably shower first. And maybe actually answer Tink.

I think that’s a grand idea. Henry has shown more growth than some of my adult students. Could you get me a song in the next week or so?

Her response comes rather quickly, given the original message was from two hours before, but he imagines there’s not much for the elementary music teacher to do all day. I’m thinking either First Noel or Hark the Herald Angels. It depends on which the recorder students are better at. He also may play it with a beginner violin student, Violet, who’s doing exceptionally well. I think he knows her.

He wonders if this is the same Violet from his soccer team, the one the boy has brought up a few times in conversation — but Tink doesn’t need to know that. Hell, he probably shouldn’t even know that, though he’s thankful that Henry trusts him enough to update him on his life during their lessons or some of the nights Killian finds himself staying for dinner.

But he still needs a response. Thanks again for those recorder students, by the way. I turned down a whole dozen of them within the first two weeks of school, the infernal instrument.

When Tink only responds with a few emojis — he tosses his phone back on the bed and pulls himself up, wondering if he is too late to meet Emma for her morning run.

So he texts her. Because that’s something they’re doing now, after her inviting him to some of Henry’s games and his joining them for dinner most nights after Henry’s lessons. It wouldn’t even be the first time she has allowed him to join her on her morning run, invited him into her place of safety and security.

(He would like to think of himself as a relatively fit human, but even he will admit that three miles, Emma’s regular distance, is a little much for him to start with, though he has been working on it more and more.)

Is it too late for me to join in on the day’s physical activities?

Even he is surprised by the pounding of his heart in his chest as he rummages through his drawers to try to find his athletic shorts, waiting for her answer, hoping for a positive.

The soft ding of her response almost causes him to jump out of his skin. Just getting ready to go, actually. I’ll meet you outside?

Perfect, is all he needs to say, splashing some cold water in his face as he stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn’t even realize the strong grip he has on the edge of the sink until he lets go to reach for his toothbrush.

“Christ, Killian,” he mumbles to himself, shaking his head as he runs his toothbrush under the water. It’s only a run.

But his nerves don’t disappear. If anything, they only grow exponentially, and by the time he meets her on the sidewalk outside her house, he is almost shaking from the adrenaline.

Good thing they’re going for a run, exerting this pent-up energy. He may even be able to keep up with her the whole time.

He spends the first block trying to figure out how to bring up his exciting news. And the second. But when she starts to slow down, asks him how his week has gone, he can’t keep it in any longer.

“Henry’s music teacher asked me this morning if I thought he should perform in the winter showcase.”

He can sense her excitement almost immediately, even before she slows to a stop, wiping the smooth sheen of sweat off her forehead with the bottom of her t-shirt before turning to him, the smile on her face making the physical exertion worth it. “And?”

“Of course I agreed. I know I’ve told you before, love, but your son is a very talented musician.”

She is still for a moment, looking somewhere over his shoulder, before she nods, gesturing for them to continue. “So, what, would it be a solo? Or would he be playing something with you?”

“Actually, Tink mentioned asking one of the girls in his class to play with him. A violinist, I think.”

“I wonder if it’s the same girl from his soccer team. He told me they met in orchestra, and I think that’s what she plays.”

“Violet, right? That’s what Tink said”

“Yeah, I think so. He’s got a bit of a crush, if you ask me, but don’t say anything to him about it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

“That’s so exciting, though. The kid deserves some excitement, with all the shit his dad is putting him through.”

At first, Killian isn’t sure that Emma even meant to say it, if they’re at that point in their friendship where she shares things like this with him.

“You know he’s trying to move away? Something about his dad giving him a job in the city, a corner highrise apartment, a position as a big shot in his company, when Neal can’t even manage to get his child support in on time every month.”

Now he really doesn’t know what to say — but she continues anyway.

“I try not to say anything bad about him around Henry, but my god, he just makes it so fucking difficult.”

Killian can’t help the chuckle that pushes through his lips. “I would assume my mum would have said the same about my father, if she ever had the chance.”

A moment too late, he realizes that it’s only the second time he’s mentioned his father, the only other being the first time they really talked when they shared lunch in her kitchen.

She doesn’t answer. He counts the time ticking away by their footsteps on the pavement, by the pounding of his heart in his chest.

She says nothing. They go almost a full block, slowing only to make sure they’re safe to cross the street.

He doesn’t know what he did. He doesn’t know what to do. So he just focuses on the pounding of his shoes against the pavement. Left, right, left, right.

“Sorry, I…” she says finally, the words going nowhere, but he feels the warmth of her fingers around his wrist, pulling him to a stop. “Can we go get lunch? Maybe that little place on Main Street? I know that’s not our regular route, it’s a little far out of the way, but—”

“Sure, love,” he says, not even needing to hear the rest of what she’s trying to say. Whatever it is, he will give her the time she needs to tell him — but there are more appropriate places for these sorts of conversations than on the sidewalk.

She asks the waitress for a table in the back, further away from the door and the line of regulars sitting at the bar, spending what feels like hours looking over the menu before the waitress returns with their drinks and to take their order. All she orders is a bowl of soup, Killian strangely in the mood for one of their salads, but the silence between them only returns when the waitress leaves their table.

Killian doesn’t mind, really. She decided that she wanted to tell him something, unlock some of the secrets of her past, which is more than he could have asked for.

“I was, uh, found outside an orphanage when I was just a few days old.”

Okay, it’s certainly not what he expected. It’s far more personal than he expected — but she’s telling him, and that’s the important part.

“I have no idea who my parents are, anything about my family, only that they wanted to name me Emma.”

Pausing, she takes a deep breath. A sip of her water. Her eyes don’t leave the spot on the table that they’re glued to.

He doesn’t mind.

“I was in and out of fosters for most of my childhood, and that’s how I met David. His mother was my last-ditch effort when I was seventeen, and if she didn’t work, I was going to be on my own. But, thankfully, she was an angel on this earth, and I spent a good few years with her, even after I aged out and as I went to college. I still think that’s why I kept coming back to Storybrooke, because it was the only place that felt like home, especially after everything that happened with Neal, except now he wants to leave Henry even more, move hours away to the city and see his own son even less than he does now.”

Still, Killian stays silent. If he’s honest with himself, he really doesn’t know what to say in the first place, and he gets the feeling that there aren’t very many people who just let Emma talk.

He will gladly be the one as often as she gives him the opportunity.

“Does Henry know that he’s trying to leave yet?”

She scoffs, looking up at him for a moment. Just a moment.

“I told him he had to be the one to tell Henry, to answer all of his questions. That he wasn’t allowed to just up and leave. But that doesn’t mean he’s not going to do it anyway.”

“I know it might not be want you want to hear, love, but sometimes it’s better for the parent to just up and leave if that’s what they need to do. He’ll still have to get you child support, no matter where he is.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

He doesn’t even know how to read her voice. She doesn’t sound upset, per say, but there’s definitely something much deeper than just curiosity.

“It’s just what my mother used to say, that we’d probably be better off without him than with him. But I can only hope that Neal is nowhere near the terror that Brennan Jones was.”

She nods, the very corner of her lips ticking up for just a moment. Says nothing.

And then it hits him: “Though, I suppose having a terrible dad around is something compared to having no one, no matter how much you may wish he wasn’t there.”

“Jackpot,” she mumbles. “But as hard as it is to admit, Neal really isn’t a terrible person. He can even be a good dad, when he tries to be, and Henry really looks up to him, which I don’t think he realizes. I just don’t understand how he can choose a job over his own son.”

“Granted, I don’t have the pleasure of offspring yet, but I would like to believe that I would feel the same as you do.”

Finally, she smiles. Actually makes eye contact with him. Warms his heart a few degrees. Just as the waitress brings their food.

Henry practically perfects the song — The First Noel — before Thanksgiving break, a whole three weeks before the concert. Killian even reaches out to Violet’s parents to offer to have them practice together in his studio instead of after hours at the school — or at either of their houses, which is a move that both Emma and Violet’s parents appreciate.

(Plus, with Henry taking the lead on their rehearsals, it gives him more time to sit in the corner of the studio, talking with Emma.)

They’ve built up a fine friendship since the first day of school, adding more weekly dinners as a trio, with Killian even joining Emma’s gym to work out with her with the weather getting colder.

Killian would even go so far as to say Emma and her lad have become a regular part of her life, though he still didn’t expect the day when she asked him out, sitting across the table from her brother and next to her at the Thanksgiving dinner table.

(What was different about this time? He had been to dinners with them, had spent time alone with Emma, but there was something about this that was different. He would be willing to bet it was the setting, the pressure of the situation.)

“So, Henry, your mom told me about your solo in the winter concert!” Mary Margaret says excitedly, trying to find a subject that Henry can take part in, since most of Emma and David’s conversation has centered around work.

Killian turns to the boy, seated at the far end of the table, just in time to watch his face light up in a smile. “Technically, it’s a duet, me and this one girl in my class, Violet —”

“The one from your soccer team? With the purple streaks in her hair?” David asks, the rest of the table watching Henry’s face turn bright red.

"Oh!" Mary Margaret practically squeals, which makes every eye at the table turn towards her, which Killian is sure Henry is thankful for — until she continues. “Do you have a crush on her?”

Henry sighs, his eyes falling back to his plate as his cheeks continue to turn as red as his shirt. Instead of answering Mary Margaret’s question, he says, “You know, I never understood why that’s what they call it.” His voice is small, incredibly embarrassed, as he swirls his fork around his pile of mashed potatoes. “Why is it a crush?”

Emma laughs, gently setting her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Aw, come on, you don’t have to embarrass him,” she jokes.

“Well, then,” David says, setting his fork down on his plate so he can cross his arms across his chest. “Should we talk about your little crush instead?”

“David!” both Mary Margaret and Emma say at the same time, and Killian can’t keep the heat from rushing to his face.

Why are you embarrassed, you idiot? he asks himself, trying his best to keep his thoughts off his face. They’re not even talking about you.

Unless… they are.

He almost doesn’t allow himself to even think it. Because it’s insane to even assume it.

And then Emma rolls her eyes.

Looks at him.

Pulls her bottom lip up between her teeth.

Blushes deeper.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

He tries to act like he missed her look, turns his attention down to his plate of food, but he’s sure it doesn’t work.

“Why can we bring up Henry’s and embarrass the poor boy, but I can’t do the same to my sister?” David asks, a wide grin spread across his face. Without even meaning to, Killian’s gaze rises, meeting David’s from across the table.

David winks.

Shit.

“You’re at least going to his concert together, right?” David asks, the same smirk still covering his features.

“I mean, we hadn’t really discussed it, but—” Emma starts, but Henry cuts her off:

“You mean, like a date?”

“No,” both Killian and Emma try at the same time, but it doesn’t work.

Mary Margaret’s poker face falters, turning into a grin that seems to brighten her already-shining aura. David somehow looks even more smug, though Killian wouldn’t have thought it possible.

And Emma, whose gaze Killian is very purposefully avoiding, is turning redder by the moment.

He’s sure he is, too.

(Because he desperately wants it to be a date.)

The next three weeks pass in a bit of a blur, between the holiday drunks that Emma has to deal with at the station and the last-minute lessons before recitals and concerts. It feels like the blink of an eye between their conversation at Mary Margaret and David’s thanksgiving dinner and Killian knocking on the door of the Swan’s house, making sure his light blue shirt is tucked into his dark jeans as he waits for someone to let him in. The waistcoat may have been a little more than necessary for an elementary school concert, sure, but there was talk before of Neal taking Henry and some of his friends for ice cream, giving Emma and Killian a chance to go out for dinner together.

Maybe even like a date, he allows himself to think.

It’s Emma that opens the door, and when he sees the same red dress that he remembers from last year’s concert, he’s glad he decided to go with the waistcoat — he would have been undoubtedly under-dressed without it.

Because, damn is she perfect, her golden hair falling softly over her shoulders and her lips a shade of red almost as vibrant as her dress. He tries his best to hide it, but his breath gets trapped in his chest.

She smiles. “Hey.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Killian, speak. He clears his throat. “Uh, hi. Is the lad almost ready?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Henry yells from just out of Killian’s sight, most likely from around the corner in the living room.

“How are you feeling, Henry?” Killian asks just as he comes around the corner, the bowtie of his suit unbuttoned but otherwise looking incredibly dapper from his gelled-back hair to the tips of his polished dress shoes.

He shrugs. “A little nervous, I guess, but that’s normal, right?”

Killian smiles. “Aye. Completely normal. But I know you’re going to be exceptional.”

At this, Henry smiles, slipping past Killian and out the front door. “Thanks. Now let’s go!”

Emma fiddles with her nails when she’s nervous. This is something Killian learns very quickly, sitting beside her in one of the front rows of the auditorium, especially after having noticed it in the car on the way here. It doesn’t distract him, per se; instead, it gives him something to focus on instead of his own nerves, the shaking of his leg, chewing on his bottom lip.

“He’s going to do great,” Mary Margaret says from the other side of Emma, probably sensing her nervousness the same way.

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Emma says, never taking her eyes off of the index finger she is focused on. “I just—” she lets out her breath through pursed lips, turning to look over her shoulder to where Neal is sitting at the end of the row behind them. Killian follows her gaze there, only to watch his attention turn from the cell phone in his hand to the watch on his wrist. “He wants to tell Henry tonight, that he’s accepted his father’s job offer. He leaves at the end of the month, but I told him he wasn’t allowed to ruin Henry’s concert by telling him before it. I can’t really even argue with it, he at least listened to what I told him.”

“Oh, Emma,” Mary Margaret mutters, setting one of her hands on top of Emma’s, which halts her ability to pick at the skin around her index finger.

“I’ve always been surprised he stuck around this long in the first place,” David— helpfully— adds, arms crossed over his chest.

Killian can feel the daggers that Mary Margaret shoots at her husband when she turns to him.

Emma manages to let out a single, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “You’re right, though, David. I never expected him to stay around after we broke up, so the fact that he’s waited this long is a bit of a miracle.”

“That’s not going to make it any easier for Henry, though,” Mary Margaret comments.

Emma just shrugs, but when she goes to respond, the house lights quickly dim to black, the spotlight shining on Belle French, the school librarian and interim principal, standing at the podium. In moments, the entire room is hushed.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” she says, the gooseneck mic only catching the last few words, the auditorium humming with low feedback. “As you all know, we here in Storybrooke love to do all we can to ensure students have the opportunities to practice the arts they choose, and music is at the core of this. Every year, we are proud to hold this showcase for our elementary students, giving them the opportunity to show off their talents to the community, as well as our elementary band and orchestra groups, who have all been practicing regularly since at least the beginning of the year. To open our concert for tonight, we have the elementary orchestra group, led by our music teacher, Miss Tink Greene.”

The auditorium fills with applause as the spotlight fades away and the curtains open to reveal a stage full of musicians, smiling out at their families and friends in the audience. When Emma turns her attention to Killian out of the corner of her eye, the smile spread across his face conjures one of her own. He looks so proud, with many of the students on the stage students of his own.

Halfway through the second song, Mary Margaret leans towards Emma, setting her hand on her arm. “I always forget just how awful elementary orchestra concerts are,” she whispers.

Emma lets out a light laugh, nodding. “Like, I’m glad Henry found something he enjoys doing, don’t get me wrong, but listening to him play a botched song on a piano and listening to a bunch of them play half-tuned violins are two different worlds.”

“Swan,” Killian whispers, his eyes never leaving the stage, even as he reaches over to set his hand on her arm. “Shush.”

Even as she rolls her eyes, Emma can’t help but smile at him. But she also can’t help herself from leaning closer to Mary Margaret and whispering, “Killian wants us to stop talking.”

He doesn’t even try to hide his sigh, but he doesn’t move to respond to her.

He leaves his hand on her arm, though.

Neither of them seem to care. Neither of them make a move.

The second song comes to an end, and they quickly begin the third — the final song, Emma is relieved to hear.

They’re followed by a blonde girl in a bright red shirt and black slacks, who plays “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” on her cello; a small group of students introduced as the “elementary jazz band” who play a somewhat-recognizable jazzy rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas”; and a trio that plays “I Saw Three Ships” in a round on their flute, clarinet, and violin.

Killian, of course, knows many of them, whispering things like, “Her mother tried to ask me out during one of our lessons,” and “They have the cutest little dog that really likes to lick my legs when they bring it with to pick him up,” when they are introduced.

(Emma wonders what Killian would say about her if he were whispering to someone else.)

And then next up is Henry. When the curtain opens, she doesn’t realize that she has changed her grip to holding Killian’s hand in her own — or, at least, one of them moved to hold the hand of the other — until she feels the way he straightens his shoulders, sucks in a breath between his teeth. But when she turns to him, taking her eyes away from her son, getting ready to perform, for just a moment, he meets her eyes.

Smiles.

Winks.

(The bastard.)

And turns back to the stage.

She’s glad they’re in a darkened auditorium, because she feels the way her face warms at the realization, hopes that Mary Margaret can’t hear the pounding in her chest that is only silenced when Henry starts to play, Violet playing along with him.

It’s much better than the sound of the full orchestra, Emma notices almost immediately, or any of the other groups that have played. It at least doesn’t sound like a bunch of screaming, dying animals.

Just sitting there watching him, she is overwhelmed by a sense of pride, something that washes over her like a wave as his fingers move perfectly across the piano keys. (Sure, it might not be completely perfect, maybe a handful of notes a little off between the two of them, but Emma doesn’t care.)

Killian turns to her, just slightly, if only because he knows just how bright the smile spread across her face has to be.

(He’s right.)

It warms him. It makes his heart pound in his chest, just how happy her happiness makes him. Of course, that’s not the point of taking on dedicated students like Henry, but if one of the perks of being able to share the joy of music with the lad is spending time with (falling absolutely head over heels for) his mother, he will certainly be the last to complain.

But, in looking over at her, he also happens to glance over her shoulder, where Neal is still sitting at the end of the aisle behind them.

Not even looking at the stage, his cell phone still in his hand.

Over the shoulders of Emma and Mary Margaret, David makes eye contact with him, raising one of his eyebrows in question, which Killian only responds to by nodding in Neal’s direction. David turns around, and Killian can tell by the rise and fall of his shoulders that he sighs. When he turns towards Killian again, he rolls his eyes.

The last group to play is the elementary band, who proves to be much easier on the ears than the orchestra. It’s not very large, just a dozen or so students spread across the three rows of chairs, with three percussionists standing in front of various instruments at the back of the stage.

And then, after the first song, out come the recorders.

It appears Emma spoke (thought?) too soon, trying her best not to wince through their rendition of “Jolly Old Saint Nicholas,” thankfully aided by some of the other band members to make it somewhat less terrible — but by a very small margin.

(Killian, however, does not have the same self-control, and every scrunch of his face is paired with the tightening of his hand, which still happens to be wrapped around Emma’s — though neither of them are complaining.)

The first words out of Neal’s mouth, while everyone else praises his performance, are, “You ready to get out of here, kid?”

The question is met with a glare from the rest of the group, all except Henry who just looks confused.

“Aren’t we taking some of my friends? We have to wait for them.”

Neal sighs, looking at his watch. “Well, can you rally them together? I have to be up early tomorrow so I don’t want to be out too late.”

“If you want us to, David and I would be willing to take Henry instead,” Mary Margaret says, her grip on David’s hand tightening to stop him from reacting.

Henry doesn’t answer, just turns his attention up at Neal, as if waiting to see how he responds.

He grinds his teeth together. “No, of course I’ll take him, I just — it’s been a long week and I’m a little exhausted.”

“I’m gonna go find Avery and Violet,” Henry says, obviously a little let down by Neal’s response, before walking away from the group — and, now that he’s gone, Emma allows herself to finally respond to him.

“I can’t believe you!”

Neal just rolls his eyes. Killian feels his jaw tighten, and David crosses his arms across his chest.

“God, Emma, just stop overreacting. You all knew this was going to happen someday, even Henry.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to tell him today. He just had his first performance, his first solo, and all he wants from you is for you to be proud of him, not to hear that you’re moving away.”

“Listen, you told me I had to wait until after the concert. The concert is over.”

“You know damn well this isn’t what I meant!” Emma moves to lunge towards him, but Killian catches her arm, holding her back.

“Not here, love,” he whispers. For a moment, Emma’s eyes are wide with anger, but when they meet his, they soften, and she nods.

Neal scoffs. “You want to call me out for being inappropriate, yet here you are, dating Henry’s music teacher.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes.

We’re not dating. Killian feels the words on the tip of his tongue, but he bites them back — this is neither the time nor the place, and besides—

“That’s none of your damn business, first of all,” Emma bites. "I will kiss and date and sleep with whoever the hell I want to, you have no say in it anymore."

"You slept with him?!"

"Again, it's none of your business whether I did or not, Neal. That's the point. God, I don’t have the patience to deal with you right now. Just make sure Henry gets to soccer practice on time tomorrow, please.”

“Now you’re going to tell me how to be his dad? Like I haven’t been doing it for ten years?”

Killian has a feeling that if his hand weren’t still wrapped around Emma’s wrist, she would have lunged again.

“Come on, Emma, let’s go,” David says, stepping between them. “He’s not worth it,” he whispers.

Still, Emma doesn’t move.

Killian tugs on her hand. “Come on, love.”

She takes a breath, apparent by the rise and fall of her shoulders, before she nods, finally turning back to face him.

“Yeah. Okay.”

They find Henry in the music room behind the auditorium, gathering his belongings. “Hey, kid,” Emma calls, walking towards him. “We’re gonna head out, okay?”

He whips around, stopping in the middle of his conversation with Avery. “Okay!” He rushes across the music room to wrap his arms around Emma’s middle. “Thanks again for coming!”

“Of course we came, lad,” Killian says, mussing his hair with a smile.

“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Mary Margaret chirps from behind them.

“But you have fun with your dad, alright?” Emma says. “Want me to take your dress shoes home?”

“I don’t want to stay at dad’s tonight, I want to come home with you.”

“Henry, come on, we talked about this already. Your dad asked for you to stay there tonight even though it’s not his night, and you have practice in the morning anyway. Please?”

Suddenly, his eyes light up. “Why? Are you two going on a date?”

David scoffs. Mary Margaret laughs, quickly covering her mouth with her hand. Killian is useless against the drop of his jaw. But it’s Emma’s answer that Henry laughs at: “What? No, come on, we’re—we’re—” she stutters.

Henry puts his hands on his hips, his eyebrows high on his forehead. Killian recognizes the look immediately; he’s gotten the exact look from Emma before, on quite a few occasions.

“I can assure you, lad, I’m just taking your mother home.”

This time, it’s David who laughs, just a single bark — but it’s all Killian needs to really hear what he has just said, and he quickly feels as heat rises to the tips of his ears.

But Henry doesn’t hear it that way, thankfully, and instead flashes a large smile at them. “Then you can just take me home, too.”

“Henry, please,” Emma says, crossing her arms over her chest. Henry’s smile disappears, and he nods even as his gaze falls to the ground.

“Okay, mom.”

He goes to turn away from them, but Emma reaches out to put her arm on his shoulder. “Hey,” she whispers, waiting for him to look back up at her before she smiles. ‘C’mere,” she whispers, leaning down as she holds her arms out to him.

Henry complies, even managing to crack a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow after practice, alright?”

“You’ll pick me up?”

“Sure. I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, mom.”

After quickly hugging Mary Margaret and high-fiving David and Killian, the four of them make their way out of the building to their cars.

“So, are you guys going on a date?” The question practically explodes out of Mary Margaret, and David is useless against the smile that spreads across his face.

“No,” Emma says, but Killian takes a chance and shrugs.

“What do you say, Swan? Want to get something to eat?”

No one looks more surprised by this turn of events than Emma herself. Killian’s glad they’re out from under the harsh phosphorescence of the school lights so the redness of his face is (hopefully) less obvious.

David’s eyebrows fly up his forehead. “Do I have to give you guys the talk?”

Killian doesn’t know how to respond, truthfully; instead, Emma hits his arm with the back of her hand. “Oh my god, David.”

Mary Margaret giggles — honest-to-God giggles.

“We’re leaving now,” Emma says, and Killian certainly doesn’t argue.

“So, do you want to eat, or not?” Killian asks, finally breaking the silence in the car as they pull out of the parking lot.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Emma mumbles, failing to hide the way she fiddles with her nails. “Wherever you want to go.”

He smiles. “I know just the place.”

Much to Emma’s surprise, he takes them home. To his house, more specifically, though for a moment she fears that he will drop her off at her front door and disappear forever. Instead, he holds open his front door for her, as nervous as she is.

“Can I get you something to drink?” he asks, helping her shrug out of her coat, which he then drapes over the back of a dining room chair. “Water? Wine? I probably have some whiskey somewhere around here, if you’re looking for something harder.”

Emma smiles, finding his obvious nerves charming. “Wine would be great.”

He hums, pulling a bottle of white out of the fridge. Of course, with the way his nerves have been acting up, he’s surprised he hasn’t already started rambling, so he’s not surprised when he opens his mouth and is unable to stop words from falling from his lips. “Liam always told me that the best way to impress a lady is to cook for her, but I was probably not supposed to divulge that information on a first date.” He hands her the glass of wine, then pours one for himself. “I was half-hoping this is where we ended up, you know. That’s why I prepared a little bit, why I thawed this piece of salmon and made sure I had what I needed for my mother’s favorite pasta recipe.” Quickly, he turns to face her, unable to stop his hand from scratching the spot behind his ear. “I hope that’s okay, now that I’m thinking about it, I never even asked—”

Emma holds her hand out, resting it against his hand on the counter. “Killian,” she says softly, and between that and her smile, he snaps his mouth shut. “Whatever you have planned, I’m sure it will be perfect.”

He wants to dive across the kitchen counter and kiss her right there, the salmon be damned. But that’s not what he does, holding himself back. Instead, he just smiles at her.

“You have too much faith in me, love,” he says, forcing himself to move to begin readying dinner.

“Maybe I’ve just gotten to know you enough to be sure that I can trust you.”

God, I love this woman, he thinks to himself, only allowing himself to pause for a moment as the realization hits him, knowing that more will draw her attention for sure. And if he called her out, asked what he was thinking about, he’s not sure he would be able to stop himself from telling her.

Because it’s true, he realizes — there’s no use hiding from it anymore. It’s true that he has fallen absolutely in love with Emma Swan, and there’s no going back now.

But the silence of the kitchen — of the whole house — gets to him before the oven is even preheated, and he has to find something to talk about before he absolutely loses his mind.

“Your lad did a great job tonight, you know,” he says, daring to glance at her over his shoulder, if only to catch the smile that he knows is on her face.

“Well, he had an incredible teacher,” she says.

“That may be true, love, but he had real talent when he started.”

“Which really is a surprise.” Emma tells him, not for the first time. “I know neither Neal or I have any musical ability, or Neal’s dad. Mary Margaret used to play the flute, but she’s not actually family, and probably hasn’t picked one up since college.”

“I know you never knew them, but maybe it’s from one of your parents.” This time, when he glances over his shoulder, she has her thumbnail between her front teeth, so he adds, “Or maybe it’s just him. It’s not unheard of.”

She attempts to smile, but it doesn’t stick. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he turns back to the counter, adding the last few sprigs of rosemary to the pan with the salmon before sticking it in the oven.

“That’ll take a little while longer than the pasta, so I’m going to wait a bit before I start that,” he starts, but when he turns back to her, she’s gone.

Shit.

“Okay,” she calls from the living room, which slows the terrified pounding of his heart almost immediately. Even after months of friendship with Emma Swan, he still somehow thought she would have walked out on him.

“So we, uh, have a little bit of time,” he says, finding his own glass of wine before following her voice into the living room. Much to his surprise, she’s sitting on the piano bench, her long, thin fingers moving gently across the keys, but not making a sound.

“You know,” she says, turning towards him as he fills the space between them. “I do know how to play one thing on the piano.” With a shy smile, she moves over on the bench to give him room to sit with her, patting it gently when he doesn’t move to join her.

But he’s useless against her, and can fight it no longer, so he does, trying to focus on something other than the warmth of her leg pressed against his. “Oh yeah? What is that?”

He's afraid to hear the answer, knows what she's about to play down deep in his soul, but he still cringes when he hears the first few notes: “Heart and Soul.”

"Anything but that, love. Literally anything."

“I don’t know about you, Killian Jones,” Emma says, letting him slip her jacket back over her arms before he leads her to the door. “But I don’t think I’ve ever had a better first date.” Even in the low light of the entryway, Killian knows that Emma can see the blush rising to his cheeks. “And I know I said it before, but that pasta was incredible. Really, one of the best things I’ve ever tasted.”

“Well, thank you, Swan,” he says, ducking his head to avoid her bright eyes. “I’m glad you think so. Both about the pasta and the date.”

“I may even let you walk me home.”

He’s at a loss for words — and even questions his own ability to speak when she follows up by running her tongue across her bottom lip.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“You’re a true gentleman, Killian Jones.”

“Always.” He even feels brave enough to wink at her, holding open the front door to let her through.

Their walk across the street is silent, save the light chuckle Killian allows when Emma threads her arm through his.

“This is my stop,” she says, turning to face him on her front porch. But instead of moving to open the door, she reaches out to take one of his hands in hers. Then the other.

“Yeah, I should, uh, let you get home,” he says, realizing that it is, in fact, the very last thing he wants to do.

She looks up at him, her green eyes bright in the front lights. “Yeah,” she whispers, barely audible. Swipes her tongue across her bottom lip again. And then leans forward, letting go of one of his hands only to wrap hers around his neck, and presses her lips against his. It’s soft, it’s gentle, it’s —

Perfect. Everything he imagined kissing Emma Swan would be.

And that’s why he loses himself in it, in her, for just a moment, living for the swipe of her tongue against his, before backing away. She takes a deep breath before opening her eyes, a soft smile spread across her lips.

“I don’t usually do this on a first date, love,” he whispers, leaning closer to her so he can rest his forehead against hers.

“Me neither,” she says back, her smile growing. “So take me out again tomorrow night and we can do it again.”

“Deal.”

She kisses him again, a single peck on the lips, and turns away.

tags: @let-it-raines @shireness-says @wellhellotragic @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @teamhook @profdanglaisstuff @thisonesatellite @superchocovian @carpedzem @darkcolinodonorgasm @resident-of-storybrooke @lfh1226-linda @singersdd @tiganasummertree @alexannam16 @therealstartraveller776 @spartanguard @jennjenn615 @pepperspotts

#my writing #megan writes things #megan finishes things #wordsbymeganmichael #cs fics #cs ff #captain swan #I don't even know how to tag things anymore

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perditaalottachocolate-blog · 5 years

Text

Spring Fever (3)

@adrinetteapril 2019 story

Chapter: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | art | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | art | 18 | 19 | 20 |

AO3 / fanfiction.net

Chapter 3. Embarrassing

In which Adrien is a keeper

Adrien shot out of his seat as it was on fire. Then he remembered his manners and with a flourish he let Marinette go out first. She smiled sweetly and joined Alya on their way to the locker room. Adrien followed nearby, the rest of the class at his heels so he needed to move fast.

He grabbed his spare t-shirt and a bottle of deodorant from his locker and made a beeline for the bathroom. When he emerged few minutes later, leaving the godforsaken cheese odour in the past, Marinette was still beside her locker chatting with Rose and Juleka.

Adrien’s heart did a little somersault. It looked like he had less and less power over his own organs. His cheeks already stung from the fierceness of their color but he soldiered on. He sent the girl an apologetic smile, but she didn’t seem bothered by his antics during the trip. Considering her own tendency to slip, squeak and stutter, he supposed she’d seen or experienced worse. He returned to his locker to take out some textbooks. Judging by the sounds of retreating steps and fading voices the girls were already leaving.

Good. He really could use a breather.

Tap.

His left foot took a step towards the locker room door. Without his intention.

Tap.

His right foot followed.

He was so shocked he didn’t even try to stop.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Another step and another. Adrien was staring at his feet in wonder.

Bam!

He walked right into the opened door of Chloe’s locker.

'Adrikins!’ she exclaimed. 'Are you all right?’

'Fine!’ he chirped, rubbing the bruise on his forehead.

His feet froze in place. He looked up only to see Marinette at the entrance, staring at him worryingly.

‘Is everything okay?’ The love of his life spoke and he no longer heard babbling Chloe.

‘Peachy!’ he squeaked in reply. He had been sure he’d never again hear those frequencies after his voice changed.

Marinette didn't seem convinced. ‘Maybe you should go to the nurse?’

‘I'm fine!’ Adrien insisted.

He noticed that he must have finally managed to freak her out because she never moved from the door. He couldn’t decide if this was a bad thing (because obviously she should already be here next to him, comforting him and tending to his bruise, which would be nice, because she smelled so lovely and Adrien get a grip on yourself, you hopeless dweeb), or a good thing (because he was a big boy who would not make a fuss of one lousy bruise, he was great all by himself, even if all he wanted was to never part with the love of his life, and Adrien focus, because you’re staring and rambling out an inner monologue, that’s not healthy). He took a deep breath. ‘I’m fine,’ he repeated in a calmer voice.

‘You know best,’ she shrugged and turned to resume her walk towards the classroom.

This time Adrien felt the pull that demanded he follow. He tried to resist, focusing on keeping his feet under control when the upper half of his body disobeyed him. He swayed forward and almost fell to the floor.

Something was pulling him after Marinette, an invisible force that literally dragged his body over the school grounds in the direction she went. All he could do was to try and stay more or less upright and appear to be walking intentionally. The result was… well very much zombie like until he finally stopped resisting.

And the grander the distance the stronger and more persistent the pull was, spurring him to move faster in his chase. He regained control over his limbs about a meter and a half around the girl, at the threshold of their class.

Marinette spun around at the sudden movement behind her back. His lips automatically stretched in a smile that he wished was more worthy of a model, less awkward and less toothy, too. His teeth apparently wanted to greet her very much. Adrien very much wanted to grit them but he didn’t dare at a moment like this.

The love of his life reciprocated with a reluctant smile and a raised brow. Her eyes searched his face blinking a few times. Adrien’s chest puffed at the attention. He felt emboldened enough to risk a small wave. To his utmost delight Marinette giggled and it was as if Venus herself spilled the finest pearls over the Dupont college’s floor.

'Marinette, you coming or what?’ Alya’s voice cut into what he liked to believe was adorkable silence. He wasn’t sure where the little pink bubbles came from, but the love of his life looked absolutely stunning with them as the background.

'You’re blocking the door!’ Another person shouted.

Embarrassment flashed in Marinette’s eyes as she stuttered. 'Right, right. I’m sorry. I’m coming, I’m coming!’

The sweetest of apologetic smiles tugged at her lips. She didn’t turn, just made a step back to enter the class.

Adrien’s right foot obediently took a step after her.

Damn, he forgot about that. The look of painful surprise on his face made Marinette freeze, but when he didn’t move she made another step back.

Adrien’s left foot stepped forward immediately.

The girl tilted her head. Her kind eyes got larger as she stared at him. Marinette wasn’t the kind of person to expect mocking from him, especially since he literally did nothing more than follow her.

Keeping her gaze fixed on him she stepped left.

Adrien’s right foot followed.

Her brow quirked and a shadow of smirk danced on her lips. Still watching him she took a step back, then chasséd sideways.

Adrien’s feet didn’t even ask, just carried out the instructions of the love of his life.

Marinette chuckled and spun in a pirouette, moving a little bit away from him. This time his feet spared him further humiliation and just stepped forward. He noticed that with each step the distance between them got smaller.

The girl made another step and her back hit the teacher’s desk.

Adrien had no other choice, the pull was too strong to disobey. He was right in front of her, only centimeters apart. His hands reached for her waist and it took almost superhuman strength to make them land on the desk, bracketing her sides instead. He gripped the wood so hard it creaked ominously.

It might have been his imagination, but the air between them seemed to be charged with static electricity. He took a deep breath and a delightful scent of spring filled his lungs, taking him straight into the garden of Eden.

‘Can I help you?’ Marinette’s voice brought him back from cloud nine. She looked to him. A little bit uncertain, but definitely not afraid. Rather patiently waiting for the moment when things start to make sense.

‘I just…’ gosh, he must have looked like a complete idiot! And he couldn’t do anything about it. Resigned, he decided he was hopeless enough to try it. ‘I just like to be close to you,’ he muttered for her ears only.

Marinette flushed bright pink at that. It was definitely a good color on her. Adrien instantly started to think of all the things he could do to make her blush more often.

'Ekhm, ekhm,’ Miss Bustier cleared her throat.

This time it was the love of his life who squeaked. She grabbed his hand, sending goosebumps all over his skin, and then she proceeded to drag him to his desk, taking a seat behind. It was close enough for him to stay in one place, even if the hair at the back of his neck rose and the faint tickling of the pull continued throughout the last of their lessons.

#adrinetteapril2019 #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #embarrassing #spring fever #perdita writes #ml fic

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angelofthequeers · 5 years

Text

Ladybug and Reine Nuit: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don’t own ML.

THERE IS FAN ART. @vitaliciouscreations drew Reine Nuit's head and I LOVE how it's just how I imagined her looking! Go and check it out and support this awesome artist!

Part 3 | Part 5

“So, wait, why exactly is her Lucky Charm so…weird?” Alya says from where she’s sitting cross-legged on her bed and finishing off the last of her homework, while Plagg stuffs himself with Camembert cheese nearby.

“Tikki’s the kwami of creation,” Plagg says. “Creation does weird shit. At least we’re pretty straightforward – wham, bam, take it down.”

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

“And that’s why you weren’t picked to be Ladybug.” Plagg’s shit-eating grin makes Alya’s eye twitch, but she chooses to ignore it for the sake of her newfound superhero status. Who knows if annoying the tiny god creature will screw with her powers? “Ladybugs have to be quick on their feet and be able to make plans out of the weirdest circumstances. Adapt to the situation.”

“I’m quick on my feet!” Alya protests.

“They also have to be imaginative and creative,” Plagg says loudly. Alya rolls her eyes at him. “You’re impulsive and charge without thinking, even if you’ll get flattened for it. That’s why you got me. We protect the Ladybugs, so they can fix the crap that the akumas cause.”

“So, what, like brains and brawn?” Alya says. “Both equally as important for different reasons?”

“Exactly!” Plagg gulps down more cheese. “And we both know which one you are.”

“Alya?” There’s a knock on Alya’s door before she can strangle Plagg, powers be damned. Plagg dives out of sight just in time; Otis opens the door, then wrinkles his nose. “Phew! Since when d’you like that stuff?”

“…Acquired taste?” Alya says. She picks up a crumb of Camembert and pops it into her mouth, struggling not to gag and grimace at the disgusting taste that explodes across her tongue. “Mmm!”

Otis just blinks. “…Okay. Well, Nora’s plans got cancelled, so she’s staying home with you and the twins. Just thought I’d let you know. Your mother and I will be back later tonight.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Alya says. Otis shoots her one more suspicious look before retreating from her room, and Plagg emerges as soon as it’s safe.

“I expect compensation for that cheese,” he says, diving back into his stink nest as Alya coughs and spits out the gooey bit of cheese in her mouth.

“It was one crumb to cover for you in the future!” Alya says, downing half her water bottle in one go.

“Doesn’t matter. Camembert is sacred.”

Alya rolls her eyes. Then she grabs Plagg, ignoring his squawked protests, and stuffs him in her shirt pocket before scooping up her phone and heading out into the living room.

“I’m going for a walk,” she says. Nora, who’s stretching while Ella and Etta watch TV, just grunts, so Alya makes her escape before she’s roped into doing chores or helping Nora “practice” for her next match, aka fulfil her sisterly duties of being a punching bag. Once outside, she walks around to the next block over and then ducks into the first alley she finds.

“Why would you separate me and my beautiful cheese?” Plagg moans.

“Because I’m gonna take a bit of time to practice without having to fight for my life,” Alya says. “Plus, I don’t have to listen to you if you’re stuck in the ring. Plagg, claws out!”

The transformation once again washes over her with its cold green power. It’s just as thrilling as the first time turning into Reine Nuit, and she can’t help her giggle when she looks down at her black leather suit, the green bits almost glowing in the evening dimness. She spots a nearby building, takes a deep breath to psyche herself up, then takes a running start and tries to leap to the roof without the aid of her baton. No knowing when she’ll be left weaponless, right?

As it turns out, her super abilities also extend to strengthening her leg muscles, because she’s easily able to make half the jump, then bound off the brick to reach the top. She whoops and punches the air and spins on the spot giddily, shrieking, “I’m a superhero!”

A ringing sound suddenly emanates from her baton, and she looks down to see the green cat’s paw on the end of it flashing. With a frown, she presses the paw with her thumb, and she gasps when a small rectangular screen pops out, then flickers to life to reveal Ladybug’s face.

“Ladybug?” she exclaims. Ladybug waves.

“Hi! Uh…I was just testing out my yo-yo. I take it you’re out practicing with your powers as well?”

“You know it!” Reine Nuit says. “Wait, so our weapons are also phones? How cool is this?”

Ladybug grins. “Since we’re both out, maybe we should meet up and talk in person? How about the Eiffel Tower?”

“Sure thing! See you there!” Reine Nuit presses the cat paw to hang up, causing the screen to retract back into her baton, and then she starts to leap and vault her way in the direction of the Eiffel Tower. Just like last time, the wind whistles through her hair, making her ponytail stream out behind her in a brown bush, and she can’t help the laughter that escapes her as she flips off a building, extends her staff as far as it’ll go, then vaults herself through the air and uses her staff to catch in one of the gaps in the Tower’s interlacing metal structure.

“This is like a dream come true!” she whoops, bounding up the Tower with a combination of her enhanced abilities and her staff. When she finally flips herself onto the same platform at the top where she and her partner had fought Stoneheart, she realises that she’s not alone; Ladybug has gotten here first, watching her with a small grin.

“From the sounds of it, you’re having a lot of fun,” Ladybug comments when Reine Nuit stops next to her, panting.

“Are you kidding?” Reine Nuit says. “This is – like – oh my god, all my life I’ve wanted to be a superhero! And now not only do I learn that this stuff is real, but I actually get to be one!”

Ladybug laughs and sits down, crossing her legs neatly. Reine Nuit follows suit, hugging her knees to her chest.

“I’m sorry I was late to Stoneheart the second time,” Ladybug says. “I…well, I nearly gave up. I didn’t purify the akuma, and everything was worse, and…I was convinced that whoever’s behind these earrings made a horrible mistake. I was going to give them to a friend, until I realised that I had to step up and do the right thing.”

“You nearly –?” Reine Nuit shakes her head. “Are you kidding? I’ve only fought with you twice and I can already tell you that I don’t want anyone else as a partner! The way you told Hawkmoth off like that? And how you talked to Paris? Oh my god, you’re, like, my idol.”

“Stop that!” Ladybug nudges Reine Nuit. “Don’t idolise me. We’re partners – we’re equals. I meant it when I said that we did it.”

“Well, that Lucky Charm just proves that you’re Ladybug,” Reine Nuit says. “I asked my kwami why you get weird stuff and he said that part of being Ladybug is being creative and imaginative and adaptable. If you weren’t any good as Ladybug, there’s no way you’d have made that whole plan in the stadium out of a wetsuit! Or up here with the parachute!”

“Really?” Ladybug tilts her head. Her blue eyes are dark in the evening light, and Reine Nuit once again finds herself questioning just how straight she really is. Not that she’s thought of herself as straight since she was ten and first heard of Majestia, to be fair. “My kwami never told me that.”

“Oh, mine was super rude about it,” Reine Nuit says. “He’s a bit of a douche. But apparently, I’m the brawn and you’re the brains. My power’s meant to work with yours to make sure that you pull your Lucky Charm off.”

“So, we balance each other out, then,” Ladybug says with a small smile. “That makes sense.”

They lapse into a comfortable silence, gazing out at the sea of lights that is Paris at night. The sight is nearly as mesmerising as her partner’s Miraculous Ladybug, although she’s not sure anything could come close to that beauty.

“I think we should talk about our identities,” Ladybug says. “It’s bound to come up.”

“I know you said that we have to keep them a secret,” Reine Nuit says. “And as much as I’d love to know who my partner is, I agree. The more people know who you are, the more chance there is of villains finding out, so the more danger your friends and family are in.” God, if anything happened to her parents or her sisters – or her new best friend Marinette…

“Not just that,” Ladybug says. “We’re partners. I get the feeling that we’re gonna become pretty close, since we’ll be working together to take down this Hawkmoth. And if I know who you are, it’ll make it harder for me to put my feelings aside and focus on the job when you’re in danger. At least by seeing you like this, it’s easier to tell myself that you can take care of yourself.”

“That’s…actually a good point,” Reine Nuit admits. “I didn’t even think of that, but you’re totally right.”

“Of course I am,” Ladybug says with a mischievous little smile. She sobers and looks back out at Paris. “I still can’t believe someone thinks I’m the best one for this job. It feels like…”

“A dream?” Reine Nuit says.

“Yeah. A dream. I keep expecting to wake up and find that it’s the first day of school and I was just having a really vivid dream.”

“Mood,” Reine Nuit says. She hums when a thought occurs to her. “Should we – I dunno – patrol the city every so often or something?”

“Patrol?” Judging by the way her forehead creases, the thought probably hadn’t even crossed Ladybug’s mind. “What for? We’ll know when an akuma pops up.”

“Who says we have to fight just akumas?” Reine Nuit says. “We’re superheroes. Our job is to fight crime. We can totally practice our skills on normal bad guys.”

“Huh. That’s not a bad idea. We do need to make sure that we can hold our own against akumas. And it would let us develop a working relationship with the public and the police.”

Reine Nuit snorts. “I still say you shoulda let me go that one for what he said to you. Honestly, like he’s never made a mistake before, especially when he was new!”

“He was scared and facing something totally new,” Ladybug says. “Just let it slide, okay?”

“Fine. Only ‘cause it’s you. So…what nights should we patrol? Obviously not every night, since I’ve got schoolwork and all…”

“Same here,” Ladybug says. “Every second or third night?”

“Should we really be that predictable?”

“Only at first. Just until we find our feet. Then we can organise a more random schedule.”

“True.” Reine Nuit sighs and then jumps to her feet. “I should get going. I told my family I was just taking a walk. The last thing I need is for them to think I’ve been kidnapped or something.”

“Yeah, my mum will probably be up to check on me soon,” Ladybug says. She tosses her yo-yo out into the city until it latches onto something that Reine Nuit can’t see, then smiles and waves at Reine Nuit. “See you next time, partner.”

“Later, angel bug,” Reine Nuit blurts out. She can’t help it; against the blanket of Parisian lights, Ladybug really does look like a softly glowing angel. Ladybug blinks. “Uh – sorry, that was probably inappropriate.”

“I don’t mind it,” Ladybug says. The corner of her mouth turns up, and she says, “Bye, pretty kitty,” and swings off. Reine Nuit stares after her, transfixed, until she shakes her head to snap out of it.

“Right. Home.” She starts to leap down the Tower, praying that she can get home before Nora gets too worried and starts asking questions.

#miraculous ladybug #aotq fic #aotq: reine nuit au #chat!alya #alya cesaire #plagg #ladybug #plagg you little shit #alya you need to take a chill pill #also your gay is showing

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sirjustice185-blog · 4 years

Text

Detecting crime

When counterfeit detector came in the resorted to bringing the covid with its medication know as the grown ginger GG, yet still made a curfew and when the curfew was to be abolished soon out of the gotten medication, they extended it still cause the coin counterpart of the above is handy. So when will it stop dude, using the underground fissures to get illegally printed money from other spheres and vice versa and place in those countries system, very very bad indeed, reason why many are mad with being Mr big men in their countries when the same unearthed they forced the poor with as it will be a big shame they cant propel their manifestos.

Calculate the distance between planet and see how long u can take in between two planets, lets say Earth and Mar as the airplane travels at 1000km/hr in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?client=ms-google-coop&q=distance+of+other+planets+from+earth

The confiscated guns in the links below were, some, confiscated at Kibuye Catholic ksm church and more, some even made in garages and peoples houses or in the dark, Catholic people often lick the pussy as i am told and part of reality of that name and they eat bat flesh or blood as olictigah

With mini-missiles military tanks are nothing but a heap of rubble if every nation can make the same.

Electric tankers images

https://www.edrmagazine.eu/idef-19-otokars-akrep-iie-an-electric-driven-recce-platform

https://www.google.com/search?q=electric-military+tank+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwjZ6Prhp7jpAhVBjxoKHfNhBxoQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=electric-military+tank+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1DZIVj5L2DKOWgAcAB4AIABzQWIAYQckgEHNC00LjIuMZgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1n&sclient=img&ei=qtK_XtnrEMGeavPDndAB&bih=910&biw=1280&client=firefox-b-d

https://www.made-in-china.com/cs/hot-china-products/horizontal_wind_generator_12v.html?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=01-pc-feedcs&utm_content=02-pc-feedcs-new-Oceaned&fbclid=IwAR3JtFzVkWVFjfkDkw9EEaTUdI8tgl7vCiPQVVhZhsazPUGb3Ew8vxde8WY

Police armored car in the link below

https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http%3A%2F%2Fcleantechnica.com%2Ffiles%2F2014%2F12%2Fimage6.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fcleantechnica.com%2F2014%2F12%2F11%2Fchinese-company-developed-armored-ev-police-car%2F&tbnid=OWjBySmUvMhs_M&vet=12ahUKEwj79MzgqrjpAhUU0YUKHbJXDSMQMygdegQIARBF..i&docid=dMbgos2ZVH8MgM&w=640&h=455&q=china%20made%20electric-military%20tank%20images&client=firefox-b-d&ved=2ahUKEwj79MzgqrjpAhUU0YUKHbJXDSMQMygdegQIARBF

Seldom apple leaves if u eat grows u hairy in chin and beards so can be packed and sold for the same, in ya local house mixed it with like kale or cabbage and take and grow hairy as it lengthens ya life span.

Universal charger can act like the missile/drone technology described below in the link below or the missile can use the solar technology

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=universal+charger+images&client=ms-google-coop&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjr9_mRobrpAhVx7OAKHWxbAMEQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=635

If going out of Australia was meant to be then getting out of that land u will get out as it was not ya land when every nation has learnt the art of making military machines and gadgets, cause 1st and 4most it aint ya land, so the truth dawns and they want to locate Aborigines with food (eat more than the normal person but not wanting other food daily as masai who r glutton when eating not on the pot) yet they are known with their nature of their hips like the upper swollen part of the chicken thigh, bam/paja women with Barnabas or little children with Christ to bring out reality while many are kamba blooded of sturbon blood wont get their as described below or the former in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?q=images+of+black+women+in+tumblr+waists&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiB6o6rorrpAhUI2xoKHSoGBKYQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=images+of+black+women+in+tumblr+waists&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1CQlAJYt6UCYIirAmgAcAB4AIAB8QGIAegQkgEEMi0xMJgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1n&sclient=img&ei=aNnAXoGWIoi2a6qMkLAK&bih=635&biw=1024&client=ms-google-coop#imgrc=6ntSNT7AkMEXTM

Getting to below the earth surface thins ya lips and make ya lips kinda started developing sickness as dry and fragile/cracked and its known that way bro, the cold of the below makes it that way and 4 people to see 4 curse to be on ya as it will formed part of ya judgement in after death time lest u repent to start again

Masai are always dummy in class those who got that blood as they don't understand things even if repeated to them and are known that way lest given leakage in a cleaver way to delude ya of the above and are known that way, so don't call me 1, people who need good things from people and cant live within their means or where they are as kebi do.

Like in the link below when the comb technology used on 12 DC bulbs it eliminates wires cause it will be opened wirelessly like with wireless door alarms and computer keyboard

https://www.google.com/search?source=univ&tbm=isch&q=wireless+keyboard+images&client=firefox-b-d&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjq9s6-pbrpAhUR_BQKHTo9A5kQsAR6BAgKEAE&biw=1024&bih=635

http://www.toyonix.com/?product=wi-fi-led-light-bulb-w-remote-control

https://www.google.com/search?q=remote+ps4+holder&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiFvrutprrpAhULnRoKHTjdC4EQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=remote+ps4+holder&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzIGCAAQCBAeOgIIADoECAAQHjoGCAAQBRAeUJ6cGFiu2BhgzuEYaABwAHgAgAGcAogB6hCSAQUwLjIuOJgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1n&sclient=img&ei=n93AXsXyDYu6ari6r4gI&bih=635&biw=1024&client=firefox-b-d

After acknowledging the above, delanu says i long to see these day as Malachi 4 puts it.

Grenades are made with cut tire parts placed in dough of a mini-cake size, old clothes, fallen dried leaves, cut brown grass, hay then u spit saliva upon it and boom its formed and the missile/drone can harbor grenade of another shape even inside with a wi-fi mechanism that pull its always pulled strip on the tip called the safety pin to detonate.

https://www.google.com/search?q=parts+of+a+grenade&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwid5Yrwp7rpAhVU8IUKHQEaC8UQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=parts+of+a+grenade&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzICCAAyAggAMgYIABAIEB4yBggAEAgQHjoCCCk6BAgAEEM6BQgAEIMBOgQIABADUNChCljywgpg28YKaABwAHgAgAGYAogBmx-SAQYwLjEuMTeYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZw&sclient=img&ei=N9_AXt3tFtTglwSBtKyoDA&bih=635&biw=1024&client=firefox-b-d#imgrc=juZmPOw6sue3BM

https://www.google.com/search?q=images%20of%20modern%20tea%20or%20coffee%20thermoses&tbm=isch&tbs=rimg%3ACfBCxYUza0J8ImBjERlUMp2iiYLHhYYfaxVsBzoGzoNcusNDdof3TUOIXZ11NVQBNQjdsNJ8rYkZ6-qrqxqq0TIW52AsdpuSPhbJWI8lsqR8iLuL21igpA0G4kp-nWlbM0Xq-u1rtOTHw2gqEgljERlUMp2iiRHP4qsXeGaR-SoSCYLHhYYfaxVsETL5qewiU3A6KhIJBzoGzoNcusMR9ggQZN0ndeYqEglDdof3TUOIXRFpeTW4g_1hCfCoSCZ11NVQBNQjdEVbXb8po2px4KhIJsNJ8rYkZ6-oRuvH1_1V2u3SEqEgmrqxqq0TIW5xEpGfdguQkyNCoSCWAsdpuSPhbJEcWPpuCQ8FVLKhIJWI8lsqR8iLsRuXAH9U30zSYqEgmL21igpA0G4hHQLyy47IspaCoSCUp-nWlbM0XqEW-oCuSGVL_1lKhIJ-u1rtOTHw2gRoNTMwZ2rKrFhwMlcZ32mp7I&client=firefox-b-d&hl=en&ved=0CCIQuIIBahcKEwjQ-u2gqbrpAhUAAAAAHQAAAAAQCA&biw=1007&bih=618

Disaster from the Northern Hemisphere as per the bible, S-Korea makes mini 40mm missiles that if made many can overthrow the USA and the Otutu generator is said to have been a joint venture between the 2 nations, USA think twice and the reason why it was placed between Russia and Japan to the East to out maneuver their ways cause they are jew of the same never listening agendas described below. omodisastereality bro, Just google homie, every kingdom atrophies, the Kikuyu, trukana and masai blooded, the triple evil

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Jeremiah+4%3A5-31&version=NIV

https://biblehub.com/jeremiah/1-14.htm

The mini-missile just gets into the puwa of the tanker as in the link below, mfalme wa yawhodi to cement the truth and worker and vineyard parable, the nose, like a frog gets into the nose (main gun) of kifaru as elephant, Rich-man with LAZARUS WARNING i got 5 brothers and king of the jew or Christ with little kids to bring out reality bro, Read between the line dude, stop asking much as kebi had foreseen their never accepting character to employ so they feel the same currently not to employ it at his ripe time 4 the explained in following tumblr a/c of this a/c

https://biblehub.com/jeremiah/1-14.htmhttps://ag.hyperxgaming.com/article/5256/anatomy-of-a-tank-in-world-of-tanks

https://www.reddit.com/r/LessCredibleDefence/comments/c1dw58/south_korean_lig_nex1s_mini_missiles/

A hole was blocked with sand along the ksm-kakamega highway in Kisumu that leads to the outer world which is like 2 x 2 in length and width, if dug again then u tell Mr devil to incorporate a golden wall of like 2-3 cm thick on its wall from above the earth to bellow to be used as a gateway 4 trade and getting to other planets like mars would be a big plus and a prudent way to facilitate the making of such planes of that size after the golden plate added which don't rot as now u know how gold are made with red guava added to much water that don't turn ya mind or that turn ya mind as with spirit make of human brown feces or corpse of those who were frustrated in life as never had it good, was rough 4 them.

Dude the plane to mass works this way, let it be long of the same width and length as described above let the seats rotate in that when going down that way, the seats rotates with ya where the place u ya back rest on points the floor to make ya body in the right posture as if it were traveling on earth on the roads or horizontally as that way its vertical, when many wants to take shower or get to rest rooms it stops, then turn from the vertical position it were while moving to be horizontal b4 the seats turn again to be in their normal state to facilitate the mentioned above. Water u will get from the atmosphere, don't worry with Christ another version and artificial food made inside b4 it turns vertically to commence on its journey to mass, women with Barnabas another version to bring out reality (Your back mentioned above, the splat), revelation 5 Root of David Rod, at that time dude, click the link below 4 more

https://www.google.com/search?q=parts+of+aseating+chair&client=ms-google-coop&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=L9izYJVlrdWlCM%253A%252Ckkfh22QnrJy6JM%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kThTqsa8tXkaR-VzU-ygDkFmE9X5Q&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjv4c--rrrpAhUwA2MBHa_OD80Q9QEwAnoECAkQGQ#imgrc=L9izYJVlrdWlCM:

Shoes builds Boston city and when many people in every nations have learnt that easy act, then the collapse of Boston lest they be good 4 people not find an alternative to their products, unless they pro-act and try to stop the modern woes like with Kebi problem with his cash and Mr Hindu cant tell him anything as directs him, even the insane as mad who knows to talk to the devil makes such, like in the link below

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark+5%3A1-20&version=NIV

When there are many shoes around hidden 4 high price and the deem rich now are gotten into pure jealousy of the deemed poor of yesterday becoming like them even wearing attires they ought to breeds or bring a spirit where is u were 1 of the former they look at ya shoes discouraging ya, but of 2 fold, if u have the shoes 4 long they leave that habit on ya as illegal sources to online cash they used to live on is removed so will get to the same position of yours, so want to know the best of few bucks that can take them long without public scorn, so fellow desist from quick outcry and hunger as that is the cry of the rich of getting back to square 1 even with their women if u can be with them and if u know the good and bad in society so they leave ya with them as reality has dawned on them they cant escape now when cash placed online as liquid cash eliminated.

With mini-missiles military tanks are nothing but a heap of rubble if every nation can make the same.

Electric tankers images

https://www.edrmagazine.eu/idef-19-otokars-akrep-iie-an-electric-driven-recce-platform

Police armored car in the link below

Most Beninese are kamba blooded and many i know not, so to get them in the society to stop the more spread of that rude don’t want to listen tribe as wants their own and cant serve justice u get them in a debate which they want to be winners no-matter what, if u refuse to let them on-top, kinda, u see their foreheads swells as protrudes like a pumping heart in and out then u leave then or can break into a fight. Malachi 4 to cement the truth. The ones hard to realize or got that blood as u locate it from far like Germans have the Benin blood of kamba as well as Gabonese.

The bible of God promises that women will be made strong in the end day of finishing kebi tricks and kingdom, where the same kebi will notify them 1st more than men how gadgets and artificial part of much staff are made like with soyi beans, sample placed in water then u hurl cold water unto it using a syringe and boom its formed synonymous with USA which imports much of that to China mixed with few Kg of real grown ones. They will know the same and sell among women themselves so will not depend on men to fund their progress as well as making illicit cash as gadget making as talking to the devil aint choosy as any gender can do it, so men who cant do the same will seek the face of these women more than men to have mercy or an helping hand on them, maybe their men counterpart can not afford to do the above to them and these women can do if they bend low and maybe give them what they have made to cut revenues that would have gone to men who make the same or sell their made gadgets or artificial foods 4 the women as be their sales persons mostly with men attires. Prophet Isaiah prophecy that women will be strong fulfilled like in the above or link below dude

The Drone with like missile look can have the propeller inside like with the computer CPU and uses the starter comb technology to heat its bulb, like with the bulb with the filament that lights the bulb as same with the very very filament in the gas as coil heating the gas in the cylinder b4 cold air is pumped like with petroleum pump as the propeller like the CPU ones circulates it more to either move forward or make corners as twist in the air when remote controlled, where the radar lost another person has similar remote controller like with relay in sports to still control it until it reaches the destination, b4 the head of a grenade launcher is fixed on its top either to discharge the same and come back as its capacity or detonates together with that bomb placed on its head/mouth

https://www.google.com/search?q=cpu+propeller+images&client=ms-google-coop&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=XT05h1MOBkww-M%253A%252C6mNKTLAAVNJF_M%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kTA9lrxV4wUS_VxcryFSqr7tEbTDw&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjQwMr347fpAhXLDWMBHXFrAVUQ9QEwB3oECAgQEw#imgrc=XT05h1MOBkww-M:

https://www.google.com/search?q=electric+bulb+filament+images&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiilPWS5LfpAhXMwoUKHbRqCLwQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=electric+bulb+filament+images&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzoCCCk6AggAOgQIABBDOgYIABAIEB46BAgAEBg6BAgAEB5QzCVYmIUBYJWHAWgAcAB4AIABngKIAaExkgEGMC4zLjI2mAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWewAQI&sclient=img&ei=w4u_XuKmFMyFlwS01aHgCw&client=ms-google-coop

https://www.jumia.co.ke/generic-3pcs-mini-micro-small-3-phase-wind-turbines-hand-alternator-generator-3v-24v-12v-new-11182009.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Type_69_RPG

https://www.shutterstock.com/search/relay+sport

Even countries that sells jet fuel are caught in a limbo, where the same can be made by placing a little in distilled water in a dark container then u spit saliva on its many people and boom that fuel formed hampering their revenues and long time lie of cheating people its mined and charging huge prices synonymous with Chicago, Illinois which when other nations learn leads to city collapse as well as with E-airplanes that is fuel less finishes the above like in the link below

https://www.google.com/search?q=images+of+china+made+electric-airplanes&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiSoPDu57fpAhUJeRoKHaxbDH8Q2-cCegQIABAA&oq=images+of+china+made+electric-airplanes&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1DKNli2QWCPTGgAcAB4AIAB7gGIAYAMkgEDMi03mAEAoAEBqgELZ3dzLXdpei1pbWc&sclient=img&ei=qY-_XtKnHonyaay3sfgH&bih=635&biw=1024&client=ms-google-coop

With E-airplanes as described above will eliminates complete what is explained in tumblr a/c davidomolo that many world navy champion 4 the same when that plane carries much cash to take from the seas to return to the economies to build, so that is stop with the above plane. Maybe another reason Chicago is falling,maybe built out of that cash and we know not.

Eu and America grows exponentially cause they are 1 tribe as opposed to Africa which got many tribes who wants u to do their shit even if not pro-you and then they get u in a bind with NY saying its cosmopolitan yet its more developed that many 1 tribe cities of the world. Answer is its 10-20 % of the main population cosmopolitan as over 80% is 1 blooded as British Immigrants and the rest all tribes of the world as opposed to Cities of Africa like Lagos and Nairobi which are purely cosmopolitan as their is not tribe, single, which dominates more than 20% of the population of that city and that’s the difference bro like in the links below

https://worldpopulationreview.com/us-cities/new-york-city-population/

https://www.google.com/search?client=ms-google-coop&ei=7ZK_XvWpOKijgwe39qyADA&q=population+of+tribes+in+lagos+city&oq=population+of+tribes+in+lagos+city&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQAzoECAAQRzoGCAAQBxAeOgYIABAIEB46AggAOgQIABAeUMmjAliA4wJg4ukCaABwAXgAgAGnAogBgRiSAQYwLjIuMTKYAQCgAQGqAQdnd3Mtd2l6&sclient=psy-ab&ved=0ahUKEwi11Nv96rfpAhWo0eAKHTc7C8AQ4dUDCAs&uact=5

https://www.google.com/search?client=ms-google-coop&ei=HZO_XqfLKPzigweKnpCQCA&q=population+of+tribes+in+nairobi+city&oq=population+of+tribes+in+nairobi+city&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQAzIFCAAQzQIyBQgAEM0CMgUIABDNAjIFCAAQzQIyBQgAEM0COgQIABBHOgQIIRAKULm5BViY0wVgmdYFaABwAXgAgAHMAogBlRGSAQUyLTguMZgBAKABAaoBB2d3cy13aXo&sclient=psy-ab&ved=0ahUKEwjnzb2U67fpAhV88eAKHQoPBIIQ4dUDCAs&uact=5

https://www.google.com/search?client=ms-google-coop&q=kinshasa+population&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiCq_fa67fpAhUS_RQKHXBPBOIQ1QIoAHoECAsQAQ&biw=1024&bih=635

N/B with Ny 80% of the black population are either insane,easy to manage or have disability benefits to sail through as opposed to African cities of young population as of Developed world are old as ageing population.

You can even chase sent missile using a fighter jet with inside guns and grenade launchers, but problem is if that sent missile has wireless controlled guns as well to fire ya mini-missile or even the same grenade launcher u got which are automated lest u build a bigger missile which is armored to counteract the shot bullets and grenades as u shoot their sent missile too which is armored until u collide head on if both are controlled wirelessly. Anyway what significance is violence that destroys the earth while the radio active emissions via flowing rivers got into oceans and lakes to destroy the well-being of the next generation. My friends get to ya country and control ya waters as the only remedy or advice like in the link below

https://newatlas.com/multi-platform-aircraft-designed-built-africa/33350/

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kpop-uni · 5 years

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Castles in the Sunset // Two

Idol!MarkxFem!ReaderxIdol!BamBam Words: 20.1K Chapter One // Chapter Three A/N: I’m on my way to see bts so pleaseeeeeeee let me know if there any errors! I’ll link the chapter to the master list soon~ Edit: I FORGOT TO POST IT I GOT EXCITED I’M SO SORRY

You went back to work that weekend, Faye joining you as she sat behind the counter, coloring book open and crayons everywhere. You scrambled around, the restaurant suddenly full with customers which really wasn't such a rare event. Afternoon’s like these were common, seeing as the restaurant was close to the beach and people usually came in for lunch or early dinner.

You carried an empty tray to the back, leaning on the counter next to Faye, looking down at her coloring book. She focused on the page before showing you it, giving you a grin. "Next fridge art?" You asked, resting your hand on the table, leaning closer to inspect the drawing.

"Yeah!" Faye excitedly exclaimed as she scribbled more on the page. The ring of the bell, signaling that food was ready, was your cue to continue with your job. You gave Faye a kiss on the head, reminding her to stay in her seat before going off again.

"It's packed dude, I don't know."

Mark resisted against Bam's tug, eyeing the number of cars parked and how many people were waiting for a seat. He cringed, having tried to convince the younger to go eat at a different place.

"The food here was great, believe me, you'll want to come again."

BamBam remembered how Mark always kept a folder of old photos with you and him on his phone. The first and only time he talked about you, was late one night, the group was opening up to each other when Mark spoke up.

"She's the love of my life... I just wish I could see her one more time and hold her."

Mark followed Bam in, Yugyeom finally joining them after parking the car, giving Mark the keys back. Bam looked around the place, grateful that a small table was empty by where he and Yugyeom sat last time, right away requesting it.

"Dude anywhere is fine-"

"No, I want that one," Bam insisted.

"Isn't that where the previous waitress was?" Yugyeom smiled, catching on the why Bam wanted to come so urgently.

"No, just shut up," Bam pouted, Mark and Yugyeom laughing as they were seated. Bam looked around the place, trying to find you when his view was blocked. He gave the waitress his attention before going back to look for you. He scanned the area more, trying his best but only seeing three waitresses. Bam sighed, resting his chin on his hand, looking through the menu absentmindedly before looking up, catching a glimpse of you on the other side, giving a customer a smile.

"There she is," Bam pointed over at you, Yugyeom looking over and spotting you going into the kitchen. Mark looked around, trying to find someone before looking at Bam.

"Who is it? There are too many people in here to know who you're talking about." Bam sulked in his chair, keeping his eyes on the door for you to come out.

Bam watched you come out, only for a group of people to walk by and block their view of you. All three men waiting for the group to pass but you were nowhere to be seen. Bam looked around, unable to see you. He was growing desperate, trying his best to see you but most importantly, for Mark to see you.

You walked past a couple of tables, being stopped by an elderly couple, assuring them that you would bring coffee shortly before making your way toward the counter. You tried your best to help as many customers as you could to help your coworkers, rushing around and meeting any needs.

Bam looked over Mark's shoulder finally spotting you before pushing his chair back, the loud screech causing a few customers to look over at him, including yourself. You watched as he waved, giving him a smile and waving back, turning to head back to the kitchen.

Mark watched the grin on Bam's face grow, turning around to catch just a glimpse of you. Mark furrowed his eyebrows, turning fully around to follow your figure, silently hoping you would turn to face them again.

You kept walking forward, smiling as a child dropped his fork and crouching down to pick it up, offering to get a clean one for the family. The child gave you a bright smile, waving his hand before stuffing his mouth with the french fry he had. You moved aside just as a few more customers came in, going to the kitchen to get the coffee.

"Is that the waitress?" Mark asked, never taking his eyes off your back until you disappeared behind the door leading into the kitchen. Bam nodded, smiling as Mark kept his eyes on the door, waiting for you to come out.

When you walked out with the coffee pot, you made a beeline to the elderly couple, Mark's eyes widening. He took in your form and the smile you had at the elderly couple when they thanked you for your trouble. Mark stood upright as you turned around, making eye contact with him right as your coworker passed by with a couple of dishes, the two of you crashing into each other.

The clatter of glass made you flinch, the hot liquid of the coffee burning your stomach and arms. You coworker gasping as the dirty plates clattered to the ground, some breaking. You right away crouched to pick everything up, ignoring the slight burn from the coffee you had. Your mind raced with so many thoughts, unsure if you really saw what you did and most importantly, why he was here in the first place. He lived down South, what was he doing so far up here?

You snapped your head up, your eyes landing to the counter where Faye was sitting, looking at you with worry in her eyes. You took in a breath, looking at your coworker who was picking up the plates that weren't broken, another coming over with a broom and mop.

"Get Faye to the back," You whispered at your coworker, looking at her urgently.

"What?" She asked aloud, confused about what you said, pulling back a bit as you shushed her.

"Just do it please, get her to the back and if she asks, tell her I said it was getting cold. I'll explain later,"

You finished picking up the dishes in a hurry as your coworker rushed off to get Faye, getting her things and playfully telling her to hurry to the back. You stood up, watching them disappear behind the door, your eyes going back to Mark who made a beeline toward you.

You apologized to the people around, assuring them you were fine and to not worry. You slipped past Mark as he finally reached you, keeping your head down and going straight to the kitchen, dumping the broken glass in the trash. You leaned on the metal counter, a breath leaving your lips as you thought about what to do.

"What was that all about?" Your coworker asked, walking over to you, a hand on her hip and the other on the counter. You shut your eyes, squeezing the bridge of your nose with your pointer finger and thumb, standing up straight.

"That's Faye's dad..." You whispered, looking behind your coworker to see Faye giggling at one of the bus boys, showing him her drawings.

"And? What you guys are on a bad note or what?" She asked, leaning on the granite after giving you a hand towel to clean your arms.

"He left me before I could tell him about her..." You sighed, closing your eyes again to relax, cleaning the sticky coffee off your skin. "I don't want him anywhere near her."

"Are you being petty because he left you?" She asked, rolling her eyes.

"He left me because I got in the way of his career," You say through gritted teeth. "I supported him through the whole beginning but the moment it got too serious, he ups and leaves me with only a note telling me that he's sorry."

Your coworker stayed quiet, sighing softly and shaking her head. "I swear... men these days being selfish and think that what they do is for us and our sake."

You didn't respond, taking a few breaths before fixing yourself. "These tables aren't going to wait for themselves." You mumbled.

"You don't need to go, I can cover for you."

"My shift is over in an hour, besides, with a restaurant full of people he won't try anything."

You continued to work like normal, ignoring as much as you could Mark's stare. He tried to get your attention, but he was nervous, knowing you had to be mad at him still. Hell, he was mad at himself. He tried to call you but you had changed your number, He went to visit you but you sold the apartment and he found all the furniture tossed in the back.

"Is this why you wanted to come here?" Mark asked Bam, turning to his younger group mate.

"You said you missed her... I thought maybe I was helping you by reuniting you both." Bam confessed, leaning forward as he whispered to Mark, watching you walk past without even glancing to them.

"I do! And thank you for this or else I would've never found her." Mark watched you take an order, nodding to the woman. "But she hates me... I know she does..."

When your shift was over, you went to the back to pack Faye's things, gently covering her with her sweater before carrying her. You let her sleepy form cling to you as you carefully made it to your car, gently setting the bag down and buckling Faye in, making sure she was secured. You walked to the trunk, packing your bag and Faye's bag in, closing it. You walked around to open your side of the car door, your hand freezing when another hand landed on the door, making sure you didn't open it.

You let your hand fall from the door handle, hesitating before turning to look up at Mark. His once dark hair was now drastically different, being blond now. He was taller if possible, looked a lot more built and definitely grew into looking like a man. You also took note on the barely visible circles under his eyes, not to mention how tired they looked compared to the bright tone they used to be.

"Where have you been?" Mark asked, taking you in. His eyes skimmed down your body, taking note in all the changes since he last saw you.

"I moved up north, you know, to start anew." You shrugged, wrapping your arms around yourself from the light breeze that hit. You looked away from Mark, noticing the waiting car a few spots away, Bam and Yugyeom waving at you. You looked back at Mark, seeing him still looking at you. You tried to shuffle a bit, trying to block his view from Faye, hoping she didn't wake up and knock on the window for your attention.

"How have you been?" He asked, pocketing his hands in his jeans and taking in a short breath.

"Great actually," You nodded, leaning on your car door. "Working, living on my own now in a nice place. I'm taking this time for myself."

Mark nodded, the silence between you both full of tension. Both of you knew full well that one wrong move and this could be made worse. Mark cleared his throat, opening his mouth to talk before you beat him to it.

"I should leave, it's getting late." You pushed a strand of hair behind your ear, standing up straight.

"Can I have your number?"

Mark tried to hide the desperation in his voice but even a child could sense it. He cleared his throat again, pocketing his hands in his jeans. "If that's okay with you."

You hesitated, giving Mark a small smile, shaking your head. "I'm sorry... But I don't think that's a good idea."

Mark nodded, biting his tongue to keep from saying something, taking a step back. "I'll see you around then?"

You didn't answer, instead, getting in your car and starting it. Mark took a few steps back, watching the car move out of its place and out of the parking lot. He felt the nerves come down, his brain thinking of the days he had left before going back to the car, sitting in the passenger seat.

"Did you get her number?" Yugyeom asked, the car coming to life as they exited out, heading the other way to Mark's home.

"No, she said it was for the best that I don't have it."

"Maybe she's right?" Bam asked, leaning forward from the middle seat in the back, looking at Mark. Bam gave Mark's shoulder a squeeze, patting him. "Maybe she just needs a little of space right now, I mean, you showed up out of nowhere."

Mark didn't answer, he kept his gaze out the window, thinking over to how you looked and how well you seemed to have your life. He was happy to know that you had a job you seemed to like and, according to you, a home. He just couldn't ignore the ache in his heart that he wasn't part of that.

You sat on your back porch with Faye, watching as she played with the seagulls, tossing them pieces of bread. She yelled back as they cried out for more food, laughing and flapping her arms when they flapped their wings.

"Here,"

You perked up at the glass of water your mom gave you, thanking her softly, going back to look at Faye. "Mom, can I ask you something?"

Your mom hummed, taking a sip of her water and waiting for you to continue. You placed the rim of the glass to your bottom lip, letting the cold of it rest for a bit before pulling back a little. "If you saw the love of your life again, would you give him your number? Even if he hurt you?"

Your mom took in a breath, thinking over what you said. Since you came home from work yesterday, you had been spacing out a bit and lost in your thoughts. She let you be, knowing you would eventually tell her. "I would, but that's me. I can't put myself in your shoes and say you should, but it's okay if you don't."

It was quiet between you both, your mom letting you think about the situation, taking in a breath. "The day I didn't want to go in, I met a guy. He was nice and all but he said I looked familiar to him. But I didn't know him or anything. He came in today with the same guy he came with the first night but..." You trailed off, looking at the shrinking ice cubes in your drink. "Mark was with them. I ignored him but he met me outside near my car and we talked for a couple of minutes. I didn't give him my number."

"Do you think you should've given it to him?"

"No," You answered immediately, shaking your head. "we are far better off like this than with each other and I moved on, I don't need him and my daughter sure as hell doesn't need him."

Your mom was silent as she watched you look at Faye, tapping your fingertip on the cold glass. "But you still miss him."

You scowled, setting your glass on the wooden railing, crossing your arms. "He hurt me, he ripped my heart to shreds and I'm so angry at him. But I would give anything to be in his arms and have him hold me..."

Your mom set her glass down, reaching over to rub your shoulder. "Does he know about Faye?" You shook your head, staying quiet. "He deserves to know about her."

"Not right now he doesn't." You shook your head, seeing Faye run after a seagull. "She's happy right now and I don't need him coming into her life and then leaving. I won't have her suffer like that."

Your mom dropped the subject, sitting back on the chair and watching Faye, eventually talking with you about other matters.

"Sorry, do you mind if I sit here? I can go somewhere else."

After three shifts, you were worried you weren't going to catch a glimpse of Mark again. Though you thought that you were fine with not seeing him but still, you couldn't help but feel disappointed when you finished a shift and you didn't see him. In the back of your head, you wished Mark walked through the door just so you could see him one more time.

Today, as you walked to drop off food, Mark stood beside an empty booth, looking down at you. You stopped in front of him, staying quiet. Mark cleared his throat, unsure if he could sit or not.

"It's fine, I'll be right with you,"

Mark slid into the booth, playing with his fingers as he looked around the place. The chatter of people around him was soft, each person being polite and not talking too loud to disturb anyone around.

"What can I get you?" You asked, taking out your notepad, waiting on Mark.

"Just a soda," Mark flipped through the menu, looking up at you. "When is your break?"

You sighed, letting your hands fall a bit as you looked at Mark. "My shift ends in about two hours, can you wait?"

Mark agreed, staying in his seat and waiting. He looked at his watch from time to time, feeling time move really slow, almost getting aggravated and feeling like he was being tested. He got up to use the restroom, leaning on the sink, trying to stay calm. He stared at his reflection, wiping his face with cold water and napkins, trying to calm his racing heart before going back to his seat.

Time seemed to go too fast for you, not giving you a chance to even think about what you would say to Mark. You were nervous, unsure if you wanted to yell at him or cry or just let him hold you and go back to the way things were.

When your shift ended, you clocked out, changing into a different shirt as your coworker got ready. "You have that boy whipped," She commented, fixing her shirt collar, double checking her makeup.

"Excuse me?" You asked, facing her in confusion as she laughed, closing her locker.

"He's been coming in at random times a day either eating in or picking up food and always asking for you." She smiled, walking toward the door. "Poor boy looks like a lost dog trying to find his owner."

You frowned, hooking your bag over your shoulder as you walked out the back and toward your destination. You took in a few breaths, trying to calm your racing heart before you slid into the booth couch across from Mark. You looked up to find a vanilla milkshake in front of him, topped with half a strawberry instead of a cherry.

"Thought you might like one after your shift..." Mark slid the tall glass to you, going back to holding his own shake. He never forgot how you would come home from work and pout at him until he gave in to going with you for a shake.

"Thanks, I haven't had one in a long time." You took the glass and took a sip from the long blue straw.

It grew quiet between you both, Mark playing with his fingers before taking a sip of his shake, gulping it down. "Anything new since..." Mark trailed off, unsure if he had crossed a line or not.

You hummed, thinking of Faye and biting your lip, shaking your head as you played with the blue straw. "Nothing other than this. Everything is pretty much the same."

It got quiet again between the two of you, Mark only nodding, taking another sip of his milkshake. "What about you? Did your band get big?"

"Yeah, actually, it did... The other two guys, Bam and Yugyeom are part of my group too, and there are four other guys too."

You let Mark talk about his group life, continuing to play with the straw before looking up at him. He was looking down at his shake, a smile forming on his lips before he ignored his shake, moving it to the side and focusing on talking about his life. You watched in silence before he looked up at you, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to get so excited."

You whispered that it was fine, taking another drink of your shake, taking the strawberry off on top and biting it.

Mark didn't know what else to say, clearing his throat. "Do you... I mean, you don't have to, but my parents are still on my ass about seeing you... Do you perhaps want to come by for dinner?"

"I can't, I mean I love your parents but tonight isn't a good night-"

"It doesn't have to be tonight," Mark interrupted you. "it can be tomorrow night or the day after. But if you don't want to because of me I don't have to be there. They just want to see you."

You didn't answer right away, playing with your fingernails and thinking it over. You knew your mom had no problem with taking care of Faye for a night while you went for a simple dinner. The question was whether or not it was okay for yourself.

"I can go tomorrow? I don't work and that gives me time to actually prepare to see them."

Mark gave you his number and his parent's address, assuring you they would be very happy to see you again. It continued to stay quiet between you both, your coworker taking your drinks before leaving you both again. You took in a breath, Mark fishing for his wallet before taking some money out, placing it on the table.

"I should go, I need to be home." You slid out from the booth, hooking your bag over your shoulder. Mark followed right after you, fixing his shirt.

"Can I walk you to your car? It's kind of dark."

You hummed out in an agreement, waving to your coworker as she cleaned the table, giving you a wink when Mark didn't look, smirking at your scowl.

The walk to your car was quiet, Mark walking next to you, licking his lips as he felt nervous, seeing your car ahead. He stopped right in front, opening the driver's side for you. You quietly thanked him, taking your bag off and reaching in to set it in the passenger side, looking up at Mark.

"Thanks again,"

"Yeah, it's no problem." Mark gave you a smile, tapping the car door before stepping back.

You turned to get in the car, about to close the door when Mark grabbed it, keeping a firm hold on it. You looked up at him, giving him a confused look.

"Are we going to be like this from now on? Full of tension and awkwardness?"

Mark watched your confused face go into shock before you let out a breath, smiling and shaking your head, looking away. You pressed your tongue to your cheek, huffing.

"You brought this on us, Mark. It's your fault that we're like this.” You pulled the door away from his hold, closing it right as Mark let go, saving his fingers from being hit. You turned your car on, not even giving Mark a second glance as you pulled out of the space and out the parking lot.

{Tag List}

@coolcat494 @syuperseventeen

#mark tuan scenario #mark tuan fic #mark tuan #mark scenario #mark fic #got7 mark #got7 scenario #got7 fic #kpop scenario #kpop fic #got7 #kpop #mark angst #kpop angst #got7 angst #Castles in the Sunset

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