#i made these in ms paint in approximately an hour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seabreeze2022 · 2 years

Text

Grand Banks to Sturgeon Bay, WI. (Part 1)

Nancy and I delivered a 42’ Grand Banks trawler from Columbus MS, to Sturgeon Bay WI, Sept-Oct. 2022. The trip took 25 days and approximately 928 miles, with 20 locks. We put 175 hours on the two engines.

On Sept. 26, 2022 we flew from Syracuse NY to Columbus MS. Where we boarded the “Susan Lee” (SL). It is a 1974 boat built in Singapore. This boat was kept in meticulous shape, mostly in freshwater.

After a quick check of the boat we borrowed the marina’s courtesy car and made a run for groceries. This is where Nancy’s help is so valuable. She bought $400 of food from Walmart, providing us with 2 weeks of balanced meals.

We started out early the next morning at mile marker (mm) 335 on the Tennessee-TomBigBee river. I had stayed at the same marina in June on another trip. Our first lock was the “Aberdeen Lock” at mm 357. Aberdeen lock is pretty typical of the US Army Corp of Engineer (USACE) locks. It is 600 ft. long and 100 ft. wide. This lock has a lift of 30 ft.

Here is Nancy on the foredeck wearing a required life Jacket while in the lock. Plus she has heavy gloves. This trawler had everything including a set of wireless headsets, referred to as “marriage savers” on boats. We were able to just talk to each other without screaming. Nancy gives me distance to the lock wall or dock. Since I can not see them very well from the upper helm.

She has already tied us “starboard side to”, on a floating bollard. More about that later. This trawler has both bow and stern thrusters, plus two engines giving me differential thrust. The down side of the Grand Banks is, it has very small rudders. At slow speed you end up spinning the wheel like the “Wheel of Fortune”. When using differential thrust you just park the rudder in the center and maneuver the boat by going either one in forward and the other in reverse. Or some other variation. Below is a photo taken of a similar Grand Banks running gear.

This is the first nights dinner of pork chops, field peas and mashed potatoes. We had anchored well off of the channel at mm 393, just north of Fulton MS. Each day when we retrieve the anchor, Nancy has to hose off the mud stuck in the chain links. This keeps the anchor locker clean.

We woke up to steam rising from the river. Mornings were calm with winds picking up in the afternoon. Rankin Lock was just up the river with a 31 ft. lift. Below is Nancy tied off to a “floating bollard”. It raises and lowers as the water level in the lock changes. Beware it could hang up. Two schools of thought. Either do not cleat the line, just wrap it around the cleat keeping tension on it. Or be ready with a sharp knife to cut the line.

After Rankin lock came Montgomery lock with a 33’ lift. Then the Jamie Whitten Lock with a 84 ft. lift. That morning our generator would not start or even turn over. It appeared to be electrical in nature. After consulting with my boss, Karl. It was decided that we would pull in at Aqua Yacht Harbor Marina, just south of the Tennessee border. We pulled in around 3 pm. A lead mechanic came and did a quick look at the generator and agreed it was electrical in nature. He would send a mechanic around 9:30 the next morning. The next day the two of them showed up. The other mechanic pushed in a circuit breaker that was painted red like the whole generator. It started right up. I had gone through the manual and it mentioned a circuit breaker, but never had a diagram to show it. That was a $100 lesson.

While we were docked there, I was talking to a guy who was working on his boat across from us. His voice sounded familiar. I finally asked if he ever worked in Charlotte NC, 30 years ago. Turns out he was in a new hire class at Piedmont Airlines right behind me in 1987. Barry Marshall is still flying for American. He lives an hour and a half away, in Memphis. Small world.

This is the 84 ft. lift Jamie Whitten lock. It is the highest lift we will go through. A bit scary thinking about how much force is on the other side of the forward door. Water constantly leaks around the door. At the top of the lift, I glanced at the depth sounder and saw 110 ft. while still in the lock. Amazing!

Here, Nancy is concentrating on steering SL, while slowly passing this “Tow boat” pushing multiple barges. We only made about 8.5 kts. while on the rivers. Which only gives us a couple of knots advantage over the “tow boats” going the same direction. Nancy had called the Captain of this “Tow boat”, who told her to pass on “two whistles”. It would take us up to 12 minutes to pass one of these large barges. They can be 3 barges wide and 5 barges long.

Just because you passed the barge, doesn’t mean you are out of danger. If you lose steering or engines while you are still a mile in front of these guys. They can not really turn or stop in time to keep from running you over.

Above is the “cheat sheet” with the whistle signals. Each dot equals a whistle. We say on VHF that we will pass on “one/two whistles”. In the old days whistles were actually used. Now for the most part it is just a term used on the VHF radio.

While on the Ohio river just short of the Mississippi a tow boat Captain had been parked with the nose of his barge against the bank. He was pulling off the bank in reverse and told me to “pass on ONE whistle”. That was impossible. His barges were still on the bank, and I could not pass on his starboard side. I asked him, “ You sure, you do not want me to pass on TWO whistles?”. He quickly answered, “Yes, two whistles”. Thinking back, I believe the Captain was turned around looking astern and got mixed up.

Nancy is a clean freak and we all know that, here is the proof. Not only does she vacuum the floor but the ceiling also. Actually she was very cleaver in vacuuming bugs off of the ceiling instead of smashing them and making a mess.

The anchorage that night was at Eagle Nest cutoff, on the Tennessee River. Plenty wide, no barges, just a gentle current holding us in place. Nice not worrying about a tidal change and fouling an anchor in the middle of the night. We woke up before daybreak with lots of steam coming off of the river. Temperatures are in the low 40’s. Heavy dew on the isenglass prevents us from seeing very well for the first hour or so. We open the front window on the upper helm till it clears off. So it is a bit chilly first thing in the morning.

As we motored up the river with the steam rising. I witnessed a very strange thing. We have all seen “dust devils”. This was a “Steam Devil”. It rose at least 40-50 feet in to the air, slowly dancing around.

Another great breakfast of sausage and eggs to start the day.

Photo of the upper helm, with its “wheel of fortune” steering wheel.

The next night we anchored off of the side of Kentucky Lake at Little Crooked Creek after an 83 mile day. Having done my homework I picked a great spot. When we pulled in, there was another boat anchored exactly where I wanted to go. So I had to find another spot with enough swing room. This is a manmade lake, which flooded roads, bridges, and cemeteries. Right behind us was a submerged bridge. Not something you want your anchor to get hung up on. See the second photo below. The photos are snap shots from Navionics which I use to navigate with.

Below is a photo taken while Nancy is hauling in the anchor chain and washing it down. Note the orange “Trip bouy” hanging off to the right. The theory is, should the anchor get hung up on something like a tree or submerged bridge. You motor up to it and pull the anchor out backwards. This would be very tough to do with high current in some of the rivers.

At the end of each day, I do my homework for the next days travel. Plus keeping a journal on my iPad of times and distance done for the day. Each morning we check engine oil, transmission fluid, alternator belt and fuel filters. Engines have to be warmed up 15 minutes minimum. Once engine water temperature is approaching 200 degrees I start motoring for the day.

Here is an abandoned grain Dock after the area flooded. About a mile further is a car ferry that runs across the lake. We passed about a half dozen on our trip.

We had an issue with excessive water leak coming from the port prop shaft. I was able to pull into a quite cove and tighten the packing nut. The packing nut needs to “weep” while running, just not pour water into the boat like it was doing.

We ran up to Green Turtle Bay Marina for fuel and waste pump out. To do this, you have to take a canal cut between the Kentucky Lake to the Barkley Lake. They were full and could not allow us to dock for the night. Talking to the dockmaster about local knowledge. He said “Do not anchor” anywhere on the Barkley Lake. Taking his advice we ran back to Kentucky Lake and found a small cove.

This cove is very tight. One “day boat” was parked where I would have preferred. That left me to anchor very close to a submerged bridge. See the photo below.

The next day we had two options of locks and rivers to get to the Ohio River. Commercial barge traffic has priority over Recreational Craft (RC). The Kentucky lock and Tennessee river are 25 miles shorter than the Barkley lock and Cumberland River. Taking a chance I called the Kentucky Lock by cell phone. The lockmaster said, “Come on down, no barge traffic”. That saved us 25 miles. This was one of only two locks where we dropped down in height.

This is the Kentucky Lock with a drop of 57 feet. There is a thing called, “The Great American Loop”. Those doing the loop are known as “Loopers”. This time of year, all of the “Loopers” are migrating south. We are the only ones heading north. As many times that I tell lockmasters we are “up bound” they don’t catch on and have we have to wait while they turn the lock around for us.

Today we make 78 miles covering about 298 miles to date, going through 10 of the 20 locks on this trip. Once we hit the Ohio River the barge traffic is very common. Just when you think it is obvious which side the Tow Captain will tell you to pass on. They tell you the other side. Sometimes they are going to an area to park the barge or cut across our bow.

That evening we anchored at the very junction of the Ohio and Mississippi River at the Angelo Tow head. Looking at Goggle Earth it looks like you can motor up the inside of the oxbow. Busy place, tow boats everywhere. Lots of current, dredge and bridge behind us. There was already one boat anchored close to shore. Water levels are down and there are snags sticking out above the surface. If levels had been higher, good chance I would have tried to anchor further up the canal. No telling what damage would have happened. Talked to the other couple and they had been up the canal in a dinghy. Agreed it was not navigable.

Now we are officially in the “Mighty Mississippi River”, I was dreading this 217 mile leg. The head current will drop our speed from 8.5 kts. to 6.5 kts. making passing a tow very long and tedious. You have limited width to pass between the shallows and the barge. They move so much water around between their prop wash and pressure wave, you are fighting the wheel the whole time. Last time I was here in June there were lots of floating tree parts. Some only a foot long, but one tree was 50 ft. long.

This is was taken at sunset of the boat anchored just ahead of us at Angelo Tow head.

What is the Mississippi without a paddle wheeler? Here is the “American Princess” heading to Memphis.

When traveling the Mississippi there are almost no marinas and no tow services. Only two fuel stops in 200 miles. And only two safe anchorages off the actual river. So we had a short day of a 47 mile run to “Little Diversion Channel” just south of Cape Girardeau, MO. The channel is 8 ft. deep and navigable for about a half mile. We were the 4th boat in from the far end nearest the bridge. By nightfall there were 10 “Loopers” anchored with us.

One guy was super nervous, it was only his third day of boating. He picked a hell of a leg to learn on. At least he was buddy boating with two other boats. The channel was so narrow you could not put out enough anchor chain, without swinging on too the shore. So we put out a stern anchor, just laying it in the mud to keep us from swinging. The nervous boater said he was going to stay up all night on anchor watch. So when sent over a “care package” of beer and Little Debbie’s.

Next morning was foggy. We left at daybreak heading north to Kidd’s fuel dock at Cape Girardeau. I had called Charlie Brown the day before and arranged to borrow his fuel dock for two hours while he was in a meeting. The owner of the boat, Dr. Bernie Patterson, needed to get some jewelry off the boat for his girlfriend. We had him bring 2 cases of oil and absorbent pads. He spent an hour and a half showing us how to drop the radar mast so we could get under bridges near Chicago. This really cut into our day but it all worked out.

We ran till about 4pm and I checked out a possible anchorage off the side of the channel behind a wingdam. The river looked lower than I remembered. The depths didn’t check with my Navionics maps. Wisely I decided not to press into the anchorage. Instead I made a last ditch effort to run to Kaskaskia Lock. We were running out of daylight, with no good options to anchor. Did we make it before dark?

Was there room to tie off to the lock wall, or was it full of “Loopers” already?

For the answers, see Part 2.

0 notes

kiirokero · 3 years

Text

Selcouth (KNJ)

Selcouth: Unfamiliar, rare, strange, and yet marvelous. Old English.

Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot Series!

Masterlist

Pairing: CarMechanic!Namjoon x Writer!Reader

Genre: Fluff, a bit of angst, but a happy ending :)

Note: I stg this Aquafina water be hittin’ different nowadays

Summary: Having your car break down? Sucks. Having your car break down in an unfamiliar town after losing basically everything? Yeah, that really sucks. Hopefully, the smartest mechanic in town can get you back on the road quickly.

Word Count: 3.6k

“W-What do you mean you’re letting me go?”

“I mean that you’re fired, Y/n, but I wanted to put it in a nicer way,” Your boss explained, releasing a sigh. “B-But why?” You sputtered out, “Mr. Choi, you know I need this writing job... No other position is open the city...” You begged, having the smallest of hope that he would reconsider. “I know Ms. L/n, but the company is going under, even if you stay I can’t pay you,” Mr. Choi groaned, one of his palms resting on his face.

You felt like crying. Ever since you were little, you dreamed of being a writer and sharing stories with others. When you got older, that dream changed to wanting people around the world to read what you wrote, so why not write articles for newsletter companies?

It was difficult. The city you lived in was full of competition for every job you could name. Office workers, technicians, writers. But you had nowhere else to go. You moved away from home for this. Your family sorta cut ties with you shortly after, never really caring for you in a parental way... They were just there. So you needed to succeed. You needed this job.

And now that was all gone.

So you went home, searched up writing jobs in a 50-mile radius, packed your things, got in your car, and started driving. In the next city over there was a new newsletter company getting started and they were looking for writers. It was just the thing you needed. Maybe this was the universe telling you that you needed a change of pace. That you needed a new routine, a second chance to start over and make life your bitch.

The blur of lush, green trees whooshed past your car windows as you kept your eyes on the coarse road in front of you. The rhythmic hum of the machine you were operating was the only sound you could hear. You had a music playlist, but after an hour and a half, it got more irritating than relaxing. So you sat in silence, mind blank, as you ran on auto-pilot.

Until your car made an odd sputter.

Creasing your eyebrows, you looked at the dials on your dashboard, waiting for any warning light to shine, but none did. You shrugged it off, still feeling slightly uneasy, but trusting your old machine to safely get you to your destination. Besides, there's nothing out here. It has to.

Nothing happened for another half-hour. Just the same methodical vroom of your tires on the road and whoosh of your air conditioning vents. You were just thinking about turning on the radio to whatever channel reached out here when... Sputter... Sputter.

Twice now, your car sputtered twice now. “God, please don’t do this,” You groaned to yourself, praying to whatever miracle maker was in the sky that your car wouldn’t break down on an obscure road with no big commune around for miles. Sputter... Sputtt... Sputter... It was getting worse now, but being the stubborn person you were, you refused to believe that the car you had since teenage hood was finally giving out on you.

Sputter... Sputter... Sput... put... pu.. tttt...

Sighing, you pulled over to the side of the road with what little acceleration you had left on your- now dead- car. You sat there in the driver seat for a second, gathering your scattered thoughts, blinking back your tears of frustration. “I can’t believe this,” You whispered to the quiet air in the car. You hit your steering wheel in anger, immediately regretting it when the sting of the hit hurt your hand in turn. Curse you Newton and your 3rd law.

Pulling out your phone from your backpack that laid in the passenger seat, you looked up mechanics you could call. Surprisingly, there was a tiny village not too far from here, only 2 miles, that had a mechanic. Bangtan Village. “Huh,” You murmured, “Never heard of it,”

You’ve never heard of Bangtan Village before. Then again, you’ve never went traveling around these parts either. You were always confined to the big cities for work, so it wasn’t a mind blowing revelation that there was possibly a village out here.

Dialing the number listed, the phone rung a few times before the voice of a man answered. “Hello Kim’s Car Repair, how may I help you?” His voice sounded very warm and friendly. The soothing tone called down your panicking heart, and for that you were grateful.

“Hey, um, my car broke down, do you do towing?” You asked, nervously fiddling with your fingers.

“Yes we do! Do you know where you are?”

You told him what road you were on and approximately how close to town you were and he reassured you that he would get to you soon. So you had no choice but to wait.

20 minutes later, the rumble of the tow truck caught your attention. A tall man, about 6 foot, stepped out of the truck and gave you a dimpled smile. He had tan skin and gold brunette hair that was dirtied by what looked to be the black residue that comes from working on cars. His brown eyes crinkled endearingly and he was dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans combo. He looked like the type of man who starred in a romance drama.

“Hello! I assume your the Y/n I spoke to on the phone?” He asked, walking up to stand in front of me. For a man so tall, his height was comforting in a friendly giant way rather than intimidating. “Yeah, that’s me,” You chuckled, scratching the back of your neck. “I’m Namjoon,” He said, shaking my hand. “Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” You smiled, thinking that his hands were calloused from the work he did, but they were also a tough sort of soft.

“Okay, so the plan is to tow your car back to my shop, see what’s up with it, then get you back on the road,” Namjoon explained, smile never slipping off of his face.

“Sounds good, Namjoon,” You smiled back.

Namjoon hooked up your car to the truck as you sat in the front passenger's seat, watching him do his work smoothly, like a true professional. Once Namjoon was done, he got back in the truck, “Ready?” He asked. “Ready!” You firmly nodded. “Let’s go then” Namjoon grinned.

The drive was smooth and somewhat quiet. The two of you talked here and there. About where you were going, your profession, his profession. Just very basic small talk. Before you knew it, you were in the quaint tiny village of Bangtan. Everything was spotless. The streets were free of litter, murals were painted on store walls, people were chatting friendly on the sidewalk. It was an enormous difference from the dirty, tagged, unfriendly streets of the city. It was a pleasant sight to see, a soul-cleansing image.

Soon, Namjoon had your car in the shop and was inspecting it in no time. Already getting down to the problem while you waited anxiously waited for a verdict. “Well, I have good news and bad news,” Namjoon sighed, wiping off his dirtied hands on a hand towel. “Tell me the bad news first,” You said, grimly expecting the worst. “Okay, so, it’s a problem with your engine that will take at least a week to fix minimum.” He sighed, a sad smile on his face. You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “But the good news is! You’re in Bangtan!” He said, giving you jazz hands.

“What do you mean?” You asked, raising your eyebrows.

“Everyone here is friendly, and I know you don’t exactly have a place to go, but I’m sure someone would be willing to house you” He shrugged.

“Namjoon, I don’t have the money to pay a rent.” You sighed.

“Then you can stay here! Free of charge! Consider it a few add on to me fixing your car,” He smiled.

You felt a little better at that. You would have a place to stay, and it wouldn’t cost you a thing. Thinking about how much money was in your savings account, you felt like angels were singing at Namjoon’s suggestion. “Really?” You asked, eyes lit up in hope. “Of course. I’m not going to kick you out on the street,” He chuckled, giving you that same adorable dimpled smile. “Thank you so much, Namjoon. I’ll make it up to you!” You grinned, bouncing in excitement. “No need, I’m just glad to help.”

Namjoon lived on the second floor of his shop. It was a small apartment, an open living room-kitchen plan with amazing natural light. His apartment was full of plants. Flowers, mini trees, elephant leaves. He even had a beautiful bonsai that obviously got a lot of care. “Your place is nice.” You complimented genuinely, smiling at the little things spread around the room. He had a Ryan cushion on his couch, a bookshelf full of classics, and solar powered toys in the window. The ones that bobble back and forth. “Thank you,” Namjoon chuckled, scratching the back of his neck while the two of you took off your shoes. “It’s a bit messy, but it’s home,” He said, leading you through the apartment to his small guest bedroom.

“Here it is!” Namjoon said, leaning his head against the doorway. “Thank you again, Namjoon. I’ll be sure to be the best temporary roommate ever!” You promised. Namjoon laughed, patting you on the back with his large hand. “Just don’t murder me in my sleep and we’ll be fine,” He said, and you snorted. “Have you seen yourself? You could snap me like a twig,” You chuckled, gesturing to his sculpted arms that he no doubt got from his rigorous line of work. “I’d never,” He smirked, giving you a wink that made your heart flutter and cheeks heat up.

You nervously chuckled, looking away from him to look around the room a bit, dropping your backpack off on the bed. “I’ll let you get settled, I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” Namjoon said, giving you a little wave goodbye as he closed the door, giving you some privacy. Sighing, you flopped on the soft white bed and let out a groan at how good it felt to lie down after driving for so long. You didn’t realize just how tired you were until you drifted off to sleep, letting the sweet shackles of your subconscious lock you in a state of rest.

“So you’re telling me, that you had to write an article about animal genitalia? And ducks have corkscrew penises?” Namjoon laughed from under the car he was working on. “Yeah, and let me tell you whatever FBI agent is assigned to watching my internet history has quit by now,” You joked, laughing along with the man who has been your roommate for the past 4 days. “Wow, that sounds... interesting,” Namjoon chuckled, rolling out from under the car and sitting up straight to look at you. “Quite,” You answered back, handing him his hand towel so he could clean off his oily hands. “Hey um, I have a weird question to ask,” Namjoon said, grabbing your attention.

Quirking your head to the side, you raised your eyebrows, “What’s up? Nothing can be weirder than a duck's dick.” You giggled, earning a smile from the man in front of you. “Would you... like to go out for dinner? There’s this nice restaurant in town that I think you’d like,” You asked nervously, his pitch gradually increasing as he got more anxious. You internally giggled at the fact that he was nervous at asking you to dinner, but smiled at him nonetheless. “That sounds nice. Are we going tonight?” You inquired, leaning on the edge of your seat. “Um, we can... if you’d like too...” He shrugged, fiddling with his grease stained hand towel. “I’d love to,”

Namjoon’s smiled widened as he stood up to put away his tools. “Great! Um, we can go at 6?” He offered, and you have him a nod. “6 sounds good,” You answered, standing up to go and get ready. “I’ll be waiting.” You smiled, leaving Namjoon swooning as he gave you a look of admiration. “Yeah, yeah I’ll see you soon,” He smiled back, giving you a little wave as you walked out of his shop, running upstairs to pick out the nicest outfit you had from the limited clothes you brought with you that aren’t packed in boxes.

Soon you picked out a cute skirt and sweater, modeling them in the mirror. Once you were satisfied with the way you looked and didn’t look like you crawled right out of bed, you checked the time. 5:45. You had a bit of time left before you left, so you sat down on the couch for a bit. Once you got out there, you couldn’t help but pick up one of Namjoon’s books that were lying around to help pass the time.

The Catcher in the Rye. A classic. Everyone in their senior year of highschool has probably read this book, willingly or not. The sheer amount of angst in this book would seemingly drive reader away, but it does the opposite. “I see you’ve found one of my favorites,” Namjoon chuckled from the doorway, pulling you out of the world in the book. “I have a feeling all the books on those shelves are your favorites” You teased, closing the hard cover and placing the book down on the coffee table.

“Maybe, but I’ve been on a Pride and Prejudice kick lately,” He chuckled, looking over to the bookshelves he had in his living room. “Really? For the dramatic love story or the social critiques?” You asked, but Namjoon didn’t answer right away. He just looked deep into your eyes, something that resembled longing swirling in the brown weaves of his irises. “The love story,” He spoke softly, not daring to take his eyes off of you.

Namjoon looked at you like you were a star in the sky and he was the moon, longing to hold your light in the palms of his hands and never let go. Like he wanted to take you on his personal nature walks and talk to you about all the different flora he’s identified on the trails. Like he wanted you there, 24/7, while he worked on the cars in his garage. Working was a lot less lonely when you had someone to tell you about the anatomy of animal genitalia for an article they were writing that was totally scientific. But Namjoon knew that tomorrow he would have to deliver the news that your car was in working order again.

And then you would leave him...

“Let’s go,” Namjoon whispered, giving you his classic dimpled smile that made your heart swoon every time he flashed one at you. Nodding, you got up from the couch and followed him out the door, taking a walk through the village, waving to a few people that you’ve briefly met, and arriving at the small bistro that was situated on a street corner.

The inside of the restaurant smell heavenly and made your already empty stomach growl in anticipation. “Hungry?” Namjoon teased with a smile. “Extremely,” You dramatically sighed back, chucking along with him. “Well then, let’s eat, shall we?”

“Alright, I know you said you get your money’s worth here, Namjoon. But this sandwich is huge,” You stressed, looking at the thick one foot sub that laid ominously on the ceramic plate in front of you. “You can always save it for later,” He suggested, taking a bite into his own, 6-inch, sandwich. He groaned in delight at the taste. “I love food,” He sighed. “Well, you kinda need it to live, Joon,” You chuckled, taking a bite of your own sandwich.

Namjoon paused mid bite, looking up at you with wide eyes as you eyed the sandwich currently in your hands, trying to figure out how they made sandwiches that tasted like Gods ambrosia. “J-Joon?” He asked, and you looked up to meet his stunned expression. “Oh, sorry, was that not okay? I won’t say it again,” “N-No! I just, I liked it is all,” Namjoon interrupted, stumbling over his words while he examined the sandwich in his hands like you had been doing moments before.

You chuckled, “Well Joon, I saw that you ate my mozzarella sticks,” You playfully scolded, giving him an unimpressed face. “What? You left them in the fridge for too long,” He argued back with a smile while you took another bite of your sandwich. “Mmhmm,” You hummed, chuckling to yourself. “I um, have some good news,” Namjoon spoke up after a beat of silence.

You raised your eyebrows, signaling him to continue what he was saying. “Your car should be ready to go tomorrow,” He mumbled, and you stopped chewing. Swallowing-more like gulping-you let out a deep breath that you were unconsciously holding. “O-oh? Is that so?” You said, feeling a tad bit disappointed now that you didn’t have an excuse to stay.

Namjoon nodded, fiddling with his sandwich. “Yeah, um, I got it fixed up. All good now,” He coughed, feeling unhappy about the thought of you leaving. “That’s good... Thank you Namjoon,” You said back, truly meaning the words, but not having the excitement to put behind them.

The two of you continued to eat and chat with this air of uneasiness around you. Neither one of you talking about the possibility of you leaving tomorrow, continuing your journey and forgetting about the adventures you had here. You weren’t quite sure what you wanted to do. On one hand, you had gotten so used to Namjoon and his presence that being without him would be a hard pill to swallow. But on the other hand, you knew that moving to the city where you could get a job was the safer, and more financially wise, option for you. You were stuck between your happiness and your routine normality that you have gotten used to having.

You looked at your now fully packed backpack in contempt. The feeling of dread that you got about leaving Bangtan village only increased as the day went on and you prepared for the journey to the next city over. You didn’t want to go, but could you truly stay? What would you do? What would be your source of income? You didn’t know, and not knowing this made you feel anxious.

“Are you ready to go?” Namjoon asked you from the doorway. You looked up at him into his golden amber eyes, not saying anything just yet. You thought about the time you shared with Namjoon. The movie nights, dinners, the time in his shop. All seemingly small and domestic things you never thought about in the moment, but now that you're here getting ready to say goodbye to it all, you weren’t ready to.

But you didn’t have a choice. Namjoon wasn’t going to let you live with him forever and you didn’t know if anybody in the town needed a writer for anything, so you had to toughen up and say goodbye with tears stinging in your eyes. “Y-yeah, I guess so,” You mumbled. Namjoon nodded, walking you down to the street where your car was running and waiting.

You stood there next to Namjoon for a couple moments. Basking in the comfort of his presence as you took a deep breath and let it out with a weak sigh. “I guess this is goodbye,” You whispered, kicking stones that laid on the sidewalk. “I guess it is,” Namjoon replied, pretending to care about the dirt that forever laid in his nail beds.

Gathering up all the scattered courage you had, you took a couple steps to your car. You were about ready to opening the driver’s side door when Namjoon called out to you. “Y/n! Wait!” He yelled, as he ran down to your side, putting his hand over yours to stop you from opening the door. “I- Y-yes?” You asked, looking at his fiery, determined eyes. “Stay with me,” He begged quietly.

“What?” You gasped.

“Stay with me Y/n, here, in the village,”

“Namjoon, you know I can’t-”

“Why not? If you’re worried about finding a place to stay, we could live together. I’ll get better at cooking, I promise,” Namjoon wavered, taking your hand fully in his. “Please Y/n, I know we may not know each other that well and you had a plan to move into the city and restart your life but... Can you restart it here? With me?” He begged, confident demeanor slowly slipping away. You were stunned into silence, unable to look away from the man beside you as he gave your hand a squeeze.

“We can continue to have those movie-nights together. The ones where we watch bad horror films that you still get scared at and hide into my arms to get away from the jumpscares,” He said as the two of you chuckled in harmony. “You can teach me how to cook those amazing dishes of yours... We could even get a puppy in the future...” He whispered to you, gradually getting closer. “Please Y/n. Give me a chance to be your second chance. I promise to take care of you,”

“What about a job?” You asked,

“There’s this newspaper that the town has, or my friend Jimin knows a publisher that you can reach out to. Maybe you can follow your old dream of becoming an author,” He encouraged as he spoke softly to you. “I know this is sudden, and we don’t know each other all that well, but we can get to know each other,” He finished, eagerly awaiting your answer.

You didn’t have to think twice before nodding your head, wrapping Namjoon in a hug. “You can be my second chance,”

#namjoon #kim namjoon #rm #rap monster bts #bts namjoon #bts #bts oneshot #namjoon x reader #rm x reader

35 notes · View notes

impaladolan · 4 years

Text

Capture - Grayson Dolan [2/-]

summary: after an unsuccessful attempt to escape, Y/N is in for more than she bargained..

warnings: lil bit of smut, swearing, and bdsm undertones

a/n: this is part TWO of this little series! check out part one before reading this!

Your senses slowly began to settle back into you, and you finally realized just what kind of mess you were in..

Right after his bold exit, your exhaustion caught up to you and your eyes became as heavy a dumbbells. But when you awoke for the second time that evening, the situation truly hit you right in the noggin.

You were in a foreign place, that you were incredibly scared to even attempt an escape out of. The foggy memory of the stunning man that had entered the room, was becoming a false reality. Had you dreamt of him? Was he just a twisted piece of your imagination?

Surely not.

It seemed so utterly real that the nameless man had to be an actual human. And even that thought scared the absolute shit out of you. If he were to barge right through the same door, you wouldn't know how to even address him, let alone look at him. So you stayed hidden beneath the large comforter, softly shaking with fear as your eyes began to water. You were starting to miss things you never thought you could miss. Like the pumpkin-apple candle that you'd light from time to time, or your piano you love to play, to wake you up in the mornings and settle you down in the evenings. Hell, you were even beginning to miss your refrigerator that held all your favorite foods and drinks, and your spacious bathroom that you regularly took a soaking bubble bath in.

Oh god, a bathroom. Just at the mere thought, your bladder revolted and signaled it's everlasting need to be freed. But you were too scared. Though, you couldn't last much longer without accidentally pissing yourself, but that'd just make this dreadful day even worse. So with your fears in mind and the shaking of your body reminding you, you pushed back the covers and lifted yourself from the cushiony mattress, your toes curling at the frigid touch of the marble floors. You oddly looked left and right, in search of what could possibly be a hidden camera or worse— a person, but came short with nothing of the sort. You began your tip-toeing steps towards an open door that unmistakably led to the sacred toilet you were literally yearning for, and ever so softly shut the door, for at least a little privacy. It was an expensive looking bathroom with even more expensive looking appliances.

But without further examining you rush to the porcelain bowl and pull down your undergarment, quickly seating yourself and letting all the filtered tension go. A relieved sigh escaped your lips, but your asscheeks sure did feel sore.

Maybe it wasn't a dream..

You let your thoughts roam as you emptied your bladder and tore a piece of toilet paper from its roll and wiped, finishing with the click of the flushing button and directing yourself towards the sink. The women in the mirror caught your eye, though she looked oddly untouched. You thought you'd at least have a bruise or two fluttered across your arms or your face, but it appeared as though you were as good as new and unbothered. Whoever had kidnapped you didn't fully intend harm, but rather some other premeditated plan that you weren't truly sure of.

Though you felt somewhat at ease, your frightened thoughts lingered and you washed your hands quickly and tip-toed back to your aclaimed warm bed that you slightly missed the absence of. You could've gone for round three of sleeping that day, but yet again, to your dismay, the familiar sound of a door opening and closing kept your eyes open, and an unfamiliar scent glided into your nostrils and made your stomach growl profusely.

"Hungry, darling?" The same voice from your dreams questioned the air around you and just as before, you couldn't refrain from laying your eyes on him. He was undoubtably real, except this time he was fully clothed in a tucked white dress shirt and pants, a belt tightly wrapped around his waist. He was even dreamier than before with his hair all done up and his fingers clad with shiny rings that hadn't caught your eyes before. You drew your attention away and slowly nodded, bringing the large blanket up to shield yourself from his eyes. He set the platter down on the nightstand with what looked to be a sweet smile and grabbed a little portable table to set just above your thighs. He neatly settled the prepared food onto it and seated himself at the end of the bed, motioning his hand for you to begin.

You were hesitant to eat anything he could've made at first, but you were more scared of him becoming mad, so you gladly picked up your spoon and began to chew on the nice noodle soup, it's brothy flavor feeling nice on your throat. You almost whimpered at the taste when you finished your very first bite, your eyelids shutting and your head titled back in sensation. "Good?" His deep, softened voice brought you back to reality and your head was nodding before you could detest anything of it. "For how mouthy you were this morning, you sure haven't said much at all." His words struck true as you thought back to the prior events, his seething words and your snooty comments that arises the anger in him.

"Well, I'm sorry to inform you, but you had caught me in a moment of weakness and I will forever regret it. I was taken against my own free will, without the ability to even fight for my freedom, and you think it's fair to treat me like a whore who "deserves to be punished" and was in quite a drowsy state of mind. You're a sick bastard whether you've been told that or not." You seemingly growled at him, but he didn't seem to be angered, let alone offended. With all the stillness and subtleness in the world, he answered;

"Yes, it may have been a moment of weakness, Ms.

Y/L/N, but when was the last time that that pretty pussy of yours was touched, hm? How long has it been since you've came by someone else's hand, or cock perhaps? Darling, I may be a stranger to you, but you're no stranger to me." And with that, he left you stunned (and regrettably horny), all alone in the same room you've been trapped in for who knows how long? Ugh, it was so angering the way he could flip what you say into something far from being similar to anything you were trying to argue.

But he was right..

Yes, it's been a rough couple years in the dating life for you. Though, it never had to do with "supply of men" because here and there, you'd get a little flustered by a handsome man wondering if you'd like to get coffee sometime. But you'd always sweetly decline and carry on with your day. You were a focused, driven person that had their mind set on nothing else but your arising business endeavors. You simply didn't want to begin a relationship because you weren't fully ready to give so much attention to one thing while you were too focused on another.

And being honest, men are very clingy. And mysterious..

His final little statement about "You're no stranger to me" really confused you. Had you met him before? Was he from your hometown? It was truly a mystery. Who's to say he wasn't some sort of stalker whose been following you for the past five years? But that sounds absurd. Why would such a handsome, dreamy, sexy— a'hem, man want to have anything to do with you? Whatever it is, you weren't exactly mad about it. Because just like earlier, when you were hazy and half asleep, you felt the same tingling and flutters right down to your core. He was so smooth with his words, it's hard not to fall to your knees and become his beckon call. Fuck, anytime you laid eyes on him, your body begins to writhe with shudders, creating that pooling sensation where your core throbbed the worst. A large part of you couldn’t wait to see him tomorrow, throw some sly comments at him or even try escaping, anything to catch his attention.

So before drifting asleep, your mind raced with loose plans and tactics for tomorrow, when you’d awake in the same room for presumably the third or fourth time.

Go time.

Initially, you had planned to sneak out only to anger him, but now that you were thinking about it, why not at least try to escape the clutches of the room and run away, hopefully home if you could.

You were missing it so much already, though you’ve only been gone for approximately thirty-two hours (maybe). But you were becoming bored with the view of absolutely nothing except gray walls and the one large painting on the wall. It looked like a countryside, a barn with a red roof-top and white siding while trees decorated the entire area around it. It was an odd picture to be put in this room, it didn’t really match the minimalist vibe the entire rest of the proximity put off. But anyway, it felt weird getting out of bed and twisting the handle on the door, and to your satisfaction, it opened with a faint click and you were finally able to be freed of this room.

The even more so frigid air smacked you straight between the eyes the moment you fully opened the door, it made your eyes water slightly. Taking the very first step out of the room, you notice that the walls in the long hallway are a powder color, which brought a weird grin to your face.

Those gray walls just weren’t doing the trick.

You slowly begin to tip-toe to the right of the entryway, looking in every direction possible. You didn’t really know if he lives alone or with others, but you were banking on the possibilities that there were others in the nice, freezing home.

Why the fuck does he keep it so cold?

You continued your slow, padding steps until you came across another door-less room; the kitchen. Thankfully there was no one in the huge kitchen, and your stomach jolted to the smell of just another soup, you just couldn’t recognize it. You almost scavengered for a spoon, but the faint sound of shallow footsteps corrupted your hearing and you b-lined straight to a cabinet, that happened to be a pantry once you were enclosed inside. Before entering, the pairs of footsteps let out a few hoarse chuckles and cackles, ultimately placing them as men. From what you could see in the tiny, barely visible crack, you could for sure make out who was standing directly left to the cabinet you were stuck in; the panty-dropping hottie from earlier.

You were just praying to God that he wouldn’t find you.

You took every breath as carefully and slowly as possible, not moving a muscle as the two men conversed, though it was muffled and incomprehensible. After what seemed like hours, you swore you heard a few goodbyes and a loud door shut. You wanted to sprint out of the damn tight-knit cabinet and run for your dear life, but you slowly opened the door and breathed in a large breath once you were finally free of your slight claustrophobic fears.

“Better run, sweetheart.” His deep, distasteful voice scared the wits out of you, which made your instincts ignite the moment he took a step closer to you. Before you knew it, your feet were pacing back and forth in long strides as your arms pumped up and down, though your blanked mind came to a loss on the directions out of the house.

This was it.

There was no way you’d make it out of here. He was obviously much faster and actually knew the layout of his own house, while you, on the other hand, had no damn clue where the front door is. So your heart sank deep in your chest when you felt his warm, muscular arms wrap around the entirety of your waist before you hand could even grasp an unknown handle that you were violently reaching for.

“Think you’re fucking smart, princess?” He whispers in your ear, carrying you away, presumably to your prior settings while you helplessly let him. You didn’t even thrash against him, or even attempt a kick to his groin.

You just.. let him.

“Fuckin’ lucky I don’t tie you up and spank your ass until it’s numb again.” He murmurs to himself, dropping you off on the same bed you’ve been sleeping and awakening in whilst he shuts and locks the door too. Just his little comment to himself made your mouth water and your pussy clench. It was hard enough being in such a close proximity with him.

Once testing the door to see if it was locked properly, he turned back to look at you with a cold, lustful stare that had you aching all over yet again. For someone that you don’t even know their formal name, you sure did have the ‘hots’ for him. In a flash, his shirt was off and his pants were unbuckled, the heat arising in your cheeks as he strode over to you in his nakedness. “Knees. Now.” He points to the floor below him, watching with demanding eyes. You, of course, reacted before thinking. You were on your knees in seconds and had your hands wrapped around his increasingly large girth. You really hadn’t looked at it before, you were honestly terrified to. But now that it was right in front of you and your fist was slowly pumping it, you craved it.

“Since you haven’t been very nice to Daddy, you’re gonna have to give him a little sweet treat..” He caressed the top of your head, looking down upon the sight of you stroking him made his cock jump slightly. With your own eyes in him, you ran your tongue along the protruding, red vein of his cock, suctioning off his tip like it was a straw. He threw his head back with a pleasured sigh as your warm and thick muscle made his erection grow. With a few internal encouragements in your head, you let your mouth intake more, slowly edging its way to his public bone. What you hardly couldn’t fit, you let your fingers glide over. His sharp intakes of breaths and groans had your own self a mess, and you almost wanted to creep your own two ‘flimsy’ fingers down there and relieve it.

You let your hands travel to his constricting balls, fondling them with the slightest of touches. He squinted his eyes and held himself back from coming right then, but it was too late. For his thick, hot ribbons of cum released all the way down your throat and to your chin.

He didn’t last long..

It unusually tasted sweet, compared to others who seemed to be sour and gummy. Though he was done and physically drained, you continued slow motions, only quickening them by the second. Overstimulating has and will always be one of your favorite kinks. To see someone shaking and aching from their own sensitivity made you all the more horny and sexually-frustrated. But the overstrung man put an end to the real quick, pulling you to your feet and shoving you back onto the cushiony bed where your comfy gown rose and his intense stare darkened.

“Don’t you make one fucking sound..”

(masterlist)

136 notes · View notes

fae-redux · 4 years

Text

im stuck on you

S: People usually find their soulmate by following their heart (the closer you are to your soulmate, the warmer you’ll feel). Remus has been pining for so long, he doesn’t know how to handle himself.

P: dukeceit

happy birthday, @littlemisschameleon!! it’s corona and i can’t give you a physical present so have some dukeceit soulmate au!! i hope you like it :D (here’s an ao3 link if yall like that formatting better)

***

Remus sends the letter because Roman’s teacher thinks a penpal will help him learn English. Also, because Roman thinks it’s stranger danger and won’t.

If he gets kidnapped, at least there’s a chance for his heart to feel warmer whichever direction his kidnapper goes. Fact remains, he’s freezing and bored and he’d do pretty much anything to not be.

He neglects to say that in the letter.

His penpal instead receives the gift of approximately two full pages of fun facts about different species of mushrooms and how fast they can decay different animals. It’s pretty well written, if he says so himself, and it’s all in English because he’s polite, not because it has to be.

Any who, Ms. Andrea says she’s not going to read the letters before they’re sent, and Roman is only required to send one at a time, so Remus signs it with his own name and lets it go.

He doesn’t expect the letter he gets back to be so nice.

His penpal’s name is Janus and he doesn’t like to eat mushrooms unless they’re in fried rice, but he loves how mushrooms look.

There are little mushroom doodles that line the bottom, along with a few snakes, which Janus goes on to say is because they’re his favorite animal because of the way they unhinge their jaws.

Remus has never wished to be in the same school as someone more.

***

The next letter they write to each other includes their emails, and Remus takes full advantage of it to send Janus all the deadliest snakes he’s found out about in the library, and includes a pain scale with human accounts of getting bitten.

Janus sends back a heart and fun facts about the deadliest octopi in the ocean.

He feels his heart get slightly warmer when he hugs the monitor, and when he loudly proclaims he found his soulmate, he gets a laugh from Roman.

He asks him what his plan is here, and Remus tells him to shut his fuck and keep his nose out of it if he doesn’t want to get smacked.

***

When they’re old enough to have phones, they exchange cell numbers, and Remus gets daily updates instead of sporadic emails.

He finds out that Janus likes to dress a little more on the punk side and that he wants a million tattoos as soon as he’s old enough. Janus tells him about foster homes and how he thinks he might be sticking with one of the other kids he met who is a little older than him, but is sort of like him.

Janus is smart, smarter than anyone he’s ever met in real life, and he wants to go to law school because he knows he can talk his way out of hell if the devil asked him to try, and Remus is inclined to believe he could do it if he wanted to. He thinks through all his words, his every movement, ten times before he follows through, unlike Remus’ zero-thought policy.

He learns that Janus likes boys, but there aren’t really other people in his hometown like him, and that he wants to study in a big city someday so he’s not so alone.

He learns that Janus wants to keep talking to him forever, or at least that’s what he tells him.

Remus in turn tells him about his brother, and their origin story. He tells him about how everyone else just seemed to have grown out of curiosity and how he feels out of touch with other people his age sometimes.

There’s still a part of him that feels like he’s been touching all the stars in the sky, but none of them have set his orbit quite right, leaving him drifting endlessly.

He tells him that he might like boys too, but he doesn’t really want to tell his mom because she already rags on him for everything else, like wanting to go to art school and his knife collection and how he’ll never meet his soulmate with an attitude like his.

He doesn’t tell him about the small seed of doubt in the back of his head that Janus won’t want to stay if he ever meets him in real life.

He tells him he wants to keep talking forever too.

***

They don’t ever talk about meeting in person. For the first time in their lives, they’re in the same city, but every time he goes to bring it up, seeing a picture of Janus in the financial district, or near his favorite Starbucks, something makes him hesitate.

Remus wants it so bad, it feels like all the air in his lungs isn’t real sometimes, or like something cut up his insides then spooned all the pieces out to replace them with ice. Still, the thought lingers in the back of his mind that Janus hasn’t suggested it for a reason.

They still talk all the time though, whether it's to rant about professors, or homework, or siblings, or just about something they saw recently.

Janus tends to hyperfocus on cases he works on in his internship sometimes, and when he’s allowed, he tells Remus all the gory details and grins when he revels in the fun, while also giving valuable insight that contributes to his defense.

Remus in turn sends him the paintings that don’t involve Janus’ face and stupid selfies he takes at random food carts around school that are rumored to give you instant food poisoning.

He makes sure to send progress updates on the projects he really feels good about and sends him updates on Roman and his new trends, whether they be six second dance videos or random quotes he’s said to him of varying hilarity based on how stupid they are.

The longer he lives in the city, the more Remus knows his heart feels warmer. He’s been feeling it since the start of the semester, but he hasn’t said anything yet, at least not to Janus. Roman is free game, though:

“Roman, I swear to everything fuckable within a ten mile radius, he probably goes to the same college as me,” Remus groans, his feet propped up on the back of the couch as he lies upside down. “I get warmer every time I go to campus.”

“There’s a million colleges in New York, so he really might not be,” Roman says reasonably, doing his eyeliner in the hall mirror. “Besides, he’s pre-law, right? There’s no way.”

“You’re just being uppity because you fricking met your soulmate on campus,” He responds grumbling.

“You’re right, I am. My soulmate’s a genius and I am very lucky to have met him when I did,” His twin’s pride infects the room, and he throws one Roman’s unnecessary couch pillows at him. “If you make me screw up my eyeliner, I’m going to run you through with one of your stupid wall-katanas.”

“They aren’t stupid, and I’m never going to see him face to face at this rate, so you might as well,” he snipes back, his purely decorative wall-mounted katanas be damned.

Roman raises an eyebrow, as if his mocking will affect Remus at all, “I’ll be back in like three hours, then you can mope your heart out, okay?”

He gathers his things from the hall table as Remus yells at his retreating back, “I don’t mope, I’m not you!”

“No, you’re not, and that’s why you don’t have a hot date tonight!” he hears as the door shuts.

He wishes he kept the pillow to suffocate himself with.

***

When Roman knocks on Virgil’s door, he doesn’t expect the person who answers the door to be so familiar, and he’s sure the answering party doesn’t expect him either.

“I thought-Sorry, I thought my roommate’s soulmate was coming over,” Janus says, a flash of recognition in his eyes, completely stunned in a way Roman has never heard while listening in on his brother’s phone calls.

“Yeah, no, I’m here for Virgil. Janus, right?” And at the immediately suspicious look goes, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, you send my brother at least five selfies a week, and he agonizes over your beauty for ages after every single one, you have to know I would recognize you on sight.”

“....Roman?” he asks, like he doesn’t actually know what was going to leave his mouth when he said it.

“That would be me,” Roman just goes for the back of his neck, before wincing at the Remus-like gesture. “So, uh, Virgil?”

“Yeah, yes!” Janus opens the door fully so fast, Roman almost expects him to run himself over, “Do come in. Would you like anything while you wait? Water? Tea?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Janus hovers for a moment like he’s going to say something, but bites his lip instead, “Want to know how my brother is doing?”

He shifts elegantly, though his chains rattle, making the adjustment more obvious, “Of course not, what do you take me for?”

“A liar, you definitely want to know how he’s doing. Well, you’ll be happy to know he lives fifteen minutes away,” Roman grins, “And he’s home alone right now, pouting about wanting to see you, if you wanna go over.”

“It would be rude to leave you unattended in my home,” Janus replies, his voice strangled. “Arrangements can be made to get Virgil to hurry up.”

Leaving the room in a swift movement of leather and metal, Janus nearly vaults the couch in his haste. Roman can hear him yelling at Virgil to “Hurry up, you nasty, spider-pet keeping bitch,” and his soulmate’s yells to “Get out of my room, you tattooed skank!” Then an offended gasp, “How dare you?” and the snarling response, “You barge into my space and-”

“You hooked up with my soulmate’s brother-”

”Who is my soulmate, idiot!”

“Would you just-”

“Fine!”

Janus leaves the room and, in Roman’s line of sight, straightens his shirt as if he’d just been in some sort of scuffle. “Virgil will be out shortly, if you wouldn’t mind giving me the address.”

“You two are going to be related if you marry my brother, you know?” Roman grins as he puts the address into Janus’ phone.

He takes the phone back and rolls his eyes, “We were fostered by the same family. We really can’t get any closer, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“We were adopted by the same person, Jan, why do you always conveniently leave that part out?” Virgil grumbles as he enters the room. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and be safe.”

Janus sniffs turning up his nose, “I’m going to get violently murdered before I even make it there,”

“Don’t test me, I will put off this date,” he pushes Janus’ head forward so he can’t look up at them. “Be safe, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Janus mumbles, fixing his hat and his chained belt, “Do I look okay?”

“My brother is a trash rat,” Roman responds, louder than he means to, “You will look like a model next to him and you will constantly get questioned as to why you’re in a five foot radius of him.”

“So, good?”

“Fantastic,” Roman confirms. “Now have fun.”

Janus double checks his pockets for his phone and his wallet, and then he books it in the direction of the twins’ apartment.

***

For the first time since he moved in, Remus feels himself getting warmer by the second. It’s not as though he’s moved from his spot going over every single thing that could currently be going wrong at Roman’s date, but somehow, his heart is pounding like he has.

“What do you see?” He asks it, vaguely aware it can’t actually respond. Either his soulmate just figured out where he lives, or there is something extremely important happening in the city.

Picking up his phone to check, it lights up with a text from Roman reading ‘Sending a pick-me-up your way,’ but he has no idea what it means.

After two minutes of constant heat, he searches for major events happening nearby. Nothing.

Five more minutes pass, and he thinks he might die young to a heart attack.

There’s a knock on the door.

His self preservation instincts must be completely nonexistent at this point because he yanks the door open with a knife in his hand and freezes. There, right in front of him, is Janus, who he thought he’d never see, and who was always too good for him, and yet, perfect for him in every way and, “I could have accidentally killed you with one of my many wall-hung weapons because you didn’t knock like Roman,” and that is the first thing he chooses to say to his soulmate.

“I wouldn’t have appreciated the trip to the hospital after I just sprinted over half a mile to see you,” he pants a little, “I know we didn’t talk about it, but Roman showed up at my door, and I knew you had to be nearby, and I just-”

Remus yanks him forward into his arms, and sighs in relief as the heat abruptly goes away, “Mr. I-think-everything-through needed to be impulsive, huh?”

“Yes,” Comes the fervent response as he clings to Remus’ body. “I missed you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to meet up. We didn’t even-”

“I know,” And Janus’ mouth brushes his cheek, just barely, because he’s not tall enough to reach, and Remus bends down, and kisses him soundly on the mouth, the feeling running through his body like a new kind of heat and comfort, and it feels like he’s done it a million times, even if it’s the first time.

Breaking apart, he notices they’re just standing in the doorway of his apartment. “Come inside, sweetheart,” He wiggles his eyebrows salaciously, Janus bursting into laughter as he pushes him back.

“Nope,” He grins fondly, and this is the first day of the rest of their lives, it hits Remus, “I think I’m going to cause problems on purpose.”

“Fair enough, honeybee,” He tugs at the yellow cuffs of Janus’ leather jacket, pressing a kiss to a tattoo at the edge of his hairline, “Want me to carry you? Roman did say he was sending a pick-me-up, and I can definitely pick you up.”

He’s giggling, Remus delights as he scoops him up, kicking the door shut behind them, “If you call me one more pet name, I will combust, and you will have no soulmate to be with, is that what you want?”

And he says what he wants to say, because Janus has never once cared about the shit that leaves his mouth, “Biscuit, I’ve waited so long to see you, even death couldn’t keep me away from holding you.”

Janus pushes into him and kisses him again, putting a hand in his hair, tugging slightly to get the angle he wants, “I wouldn’t want it to,” Then after another kiss, “Love you.”

Remus sighs into his mouth, his world aligning so he could be the orbit to Janus’ sun, the whole system correcting itself. “Yeah,” He holds him just a little bit tighter, “Love you, too.”

#dukeceit #remus sanders #janus sanders #ts remus #ts janus #sanders sides #intruceit #awen writes #its the floof guys #im also getting into human au stuff and like punk sides #you can blame tulip for that one #punk janus is a classic tho #imo anyways #remus uses pet names because all the others cringe something awful whenever he uses them and janus is the only one who gets normal ones #did i project my wish to be called honeybee into this fic? yes #would i do it again?#also yes #hey alex #go listen to falling for u by mxmtoon thats what the titles from

30 notes · View notes

hanadoesstuffbadly · 4 years

Text

‘Online’ ch I - RS&t7D University AU

Hello, I was looking for Red Shoes fanfiction when I discovered that there are little to no Modern AUs being written. So i figured, screw it, I’ll do it myself because I love modern AUs.

This is the first chapter and it is very long, so if you don’t feel like reading it, fair enough. I’m planning to write the whole thing anyway because I also love writing and it’s good practise.

Small warning if you do want to read this: Merlin is British. I am British. British people are very sarcastic and very moody all of the time. This entire first chapter is from Merlin’s perspective so there are a lot of British phrases and idioms used. If you are fortunate enough to not be an eternally grumpy Brit, don’t worry, the next chapter will be a very bad written impersonation of an American!!

Also, this is my first ever fanfiction so please don’t judge me too harshly, I am but a young peasant girl.

Sooooooooo.... Summary.

Merlin is a twenty year old student at Southend University. To combat his detrimental narcissism, his counsellor suggests online gaming. Merlin tries to cheat by using an ancient game called Fairytale Island, which designs your avatar to match a photograph. This plan falls apart when his laptop explodes, turning his avatar tiny and green. He ploughs on regardless, sure that he will encounter nobody. Little does he know, that a newly moved student from the States is coming online the very same night. :)

(It’s kinda switched so Merlin is the last of the F7 to get his attitude set right.)

With that done... I hope you don’t hate it!

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

Merlin couldn’t stand mornings, especially Friday mornings. Because for the duration of his first year of Uni, Friday’s lessons had always begun at the reasonable hour of 2 o’clock in the afternoon. This left Merlin a good half hour to be awake, out of the door and on his bike, zipping past the crowded Southend beaches. In short, Merlin hated Friday mornings because he had not seen one in fifteen months. Needless to say, it was not a welcome reunion.

Approximately twelve minutes prior to commencing with today’s zipping -at the unlawful hour of nine in the morning- Merlin had been idly stirring shredded wheat into a depressing gruel (much to the disgust of the ever-vigilant, ever-attentive, red-haired cook,) basking in his own tardiness.

Had he asked for counselling? No.

Did he need counselling? None of their business.

Did he want to be dragged out of bed at half-eight by six overbearing housemates who apparently believed it was "necessary" or "overdue"; to be packed off to the Resource Centre so that they could “Evaluate any and all emotional or psychological issues which may have arisen for you, as a student whom we have identified as being at risk, before the beginning of this new academic term”? No, he did not!

Contrary to a promising forecast, the sky was a sapphire pool overhead. Thus, the fantasy of motorbiking down empty seafront roads, the brassy drumming of thunder and the gurgle of saltwater smothering his roaring engine (Hans called him a madcap but personally, Merlin preferred the term Raptor-trainer) was squashed. And given that a motorbike charging down the road in the wee hours of the morning was frowned upon, Merlin was forced to content himself with walking at a purposefully counter-productive pace to the bus stop down the hill. Stubbornly, he insisted on himself that he wore a cobalt-blue, long-sleeved shirt with grey trousers; dressing not for the weather he had, but the weather he wanted. This was a stupid idea and the sleeves were rolled up before he reached sea-level. He had to restrain himself from missing a bus entirely. It wasn’t crowded, because of course it wasn’t. Everyone else in Southend had better things to be doing.

Like sleeping.

The bus didn’t even go all the way to the college, stopping at least a dozen yards from the entrance like a noncommittal shrug. It took everything in Merlin to not keep his butt planted securely in his seat; let the busyness of British public transport whisk him away to the Leigh on Sea station; catch a train to Fenchurch street; disappear into Central London; never be seen or heard from again, especially by Dr- as a student whom we have identified as being at risk- LeFey; then inevitably die from water pollution at a ripe old age of thirty-five. It took everything in him, but he walked down to the building, through glass-doors ornamented by a million sweaty fingerprints, and into a waiting room that smelt of Sellotape.

Unsurprisingly, the stately woman at the desk gave him barely a passing glance, handing him a form to fill in with the enthusiasm of an automatic door sliding open. Also unsurprisingly, the assistant behind her paused in rearranging a filing cabinet to brush a couple of sandy hairs behind her ear and chew the end of a pen like it was made of liquorice. She even wandered aimlessly away from her task altogether, sidling up to the front desk most inconspicuously.

Merlin's mood brightened. While he leant down to scribble his name and address on the paper, he winked discreetly in her direction. In spite of definitely not looking at him, her cheeks turned beetroot crimson and what might have been a giggle or the beginnings of a small heart attack escaped her lips.

Against all of the shoddiness of his day so far, Merlin grinned inwardly, sizing her up with half of his attention. Tall, slender, twenty-one, twenty-two most likely. Stray blonde curls framed a thickly tanned face, the rest piled atop her head in a bun. In all, not a bad picture, although her wardrobe did leave something to be desired: Bell-bottomed jeans and a T-shirt reading "Darth Vader was framed", betraying that

A. She still thought that bell-bottomed anything was a good look, and

B. That she had never paid more than six quid for a shirt.

However, her figure and the hang of her hair more than made up for those discrepancies. Perhaps he could get something out of this counselling after all. With this in mind, he cleared his throat loudly,

"I'm terribly sorry, Miss," he waved the form vaguely in front of his face, "but I have a small problem."

Perhaps knowing exactly what he was doing and being used to it by this point, the woman, Ms Marion- who had decided that underneath a lace cardigan was the place for a name tag- ignored him completely, leaving miss bell-bottoms to round the edge of the counter and come to stand by his side over the offending form.

"What's the matter?" She asked, sincerely.

"Y'see," Merlin began, fixing her with a smile that even Jack admitted made anyone weak at the knees, "right here it's asking me for something that I just don't really get." He pointed accordingly, and bell-bottoms leant in closer. To get a really good look at the text, of course.

"We need your mobile number."

"Oh, I see, now here's the thing." Wearing a look of utter helplessness, he faced bell-bottoms completely. She appeared confused, her face becoming redder by the second. "I don't have one of those."

"What?"

"A mobile number." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You wouldn't mind terribly giving me yours, would you?"

If he squinted, Merlin was fairly certain he would see her bell-bottomed soul leaving her body and fluttering out of the window. He took her lack of reaction as an invitation,

"Lin Pendragon." He extended one hand, still cloaked in a fingerless glove the colour of wet bark. Despite his housemates deciding otherwise, Merlin was in fact not his actual name, and he would sooner be caught dead than introducing himself with it to an attractive young woman such as this. "Part time Ancient Historian, full time Romantic."

Bell-bottoms took the hand and shook it with unexpected firmness,

"Gowlle Delocks. Part time assistant, full time, um..." She seemed a little lost, floundering like a GCSE English paper "Full time-"

"Doctor Morgan LeFey. Part time tolerator of tardiness. This is not one of those times Mister Pendragon."

Spinning on his heel and effectively knocking the form onto the floor, Merlin faced the speaker, who stood in the doorway of a side-office like a disgruntled flamingo.

One thing came to mind when Merlin looked at the counsellor and that was the smell created when someone burns popcorn in a microwave. Forehead too small; nose too large, a hairy wart taking up most of it; everything that should end in a curve ending in an acute, needle-like point. She looked like a bad imitation of a Picasso painting come to life. Yellow hair that might have been blonde hung from her scalp, which he could almost see for how thin the stuff was; and her olive skin was definitely closer to a pale, sickly green from where Merlin was standing. The murky, sky-blue gown that would have looked excessive in the nineteenth century certainly didn't help. Summed up, she looked like a creature one would throw something at if it approached them on a dark night. Merlin felt his nose wrinkle in disgust.

So, he had been forced into counselling by a literal witch. Today was just going swimmingly wasn't it.

Dr Lefey's "office" was exactly what Merlin expected. Save of course for a cauldron, broomstick and small children in display cases. Indigo curtains rather than blinds hung at each side of a wide picture window that looked out on a garden peppered by horrendous little gnomes. Their China faces were stained green by years of mildew build-up. Her wooden floor she had covered with gaudy, knitted rugs, and the sides of her desk had glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to them. On the off-white walls hung various, tasteless frames of all sorts and colours, each depicting a photograph taken by somebody who was evidently not a professional photographer. One such picture especially caught his eye.

"This you, Miss… Lefty?" The question was stupid, of course it was her, every other human being on the planet had at least managed to look like one. The photo showed the woman sitting in a cluster of children underneath a cobbled-together shack, a paper tiara on her head and a wand made out of several plastic straws. "The fairy princess in the mauve cardigan?"

"First," She answered, pushing the door shut behind her with her pointy hip, "It's Doctor Lefey, but you will call me Morgan in these sessions." Merlin couldn't help but smirk internally when she assumed there would be more than one of these nightmares. "Second, yes, that is me in the photograph, November, four years ago, Uganda, a recycling activity. And third," The slam of a hefty file being dropped unceremoniously on to a desk made Merlin jump. "I was the fairy Queen."

"Well, your majesty," he ducked his head in a mock bow, "you've aged..." At first, he searched for an adverb but then realised, he didn't particularly need one.

Morgan gave Merlin that pinched smile that he'd seen Arthur's girlfriend, Gwen, give customers at The Golden Goose Cafe when they told her she had no idea who she was dealing with. Also called the 'booting-you-into-next-Thursday-would-cost-twenty-pounds-an-hour-but-i-am-legitimately-considering-it' face. Merlin ignored her easily. He'd had years of practise doing so.

He plopped himself down onto a teal green sofa with a ketchup stain running up one arm. It wasn't a comfortable seat, but the garish pixie cushion did help somewhat. Morgan paid him no attention, leafing through the thick file which she had retrieved moments before. She paid him no attention for a little too long.

As aforementioned, Merlin was fine with ignoring people. Even enjoyed it sometimes. Unattractive waitresses, bin-collectors, overweight people at the gym, pedestrians. Being ignored, however, was a far less comfortable experience. Probably because it was such a rare one. He coughed into the pasty silence.

"Those your medical records?" The room was quiet enough to facilitate a pin drop sounding like a bowling ball being dropped. A long, controlled intake of breath was easily made out. “Cosmetic surgery?”

"No." She said shortly, continuing with her browsing, "but they are yours." Merlin quickly stopped ignoring her. "And your birth records and your parents birth records and every other detail of your stimulating life story, Merlin." He short-circuited momentarily.

"That's not my-"

"No, it isn't your given name, but it's what your roommates call you and according to them, the one you prefer going by." Alright, those googly snitches were going to pay later. He recovered from his surprise gracefully as always, but that left him no less indignant.

"I- I wasn't aware that you'd have access to that information."

"Several reliable sources have identified you as being at risk, Merlin, everything in this folder is strictly need-to-know." A smile that could have been genuine spread across her features, and it may have been nice if it weren't so nauseating to look at. He crossed his arms and sunk lower into the sofa, muttering to himself,

"You hardly 'need-to-know' about the name though."

"Obviously, anything said in this session doesn't leave this room and the values and standards of Southend University are to be observed at all times." With quick strides on legs like skipping ropes, Morgan left her desk and placed herself gracelessly on a trademark shrink chair.

The ‘So, Merlin.’ Was audible on her spindly lips before they left them.

"So, Merlin. First, I'd like you to relax," Difficult, I'm sitting across from a gorgon, I'm a man moments from death, "and tell me about your background, where you're from, your family." He gave her a blank look.

"You just told me that you have a massive file telling you that stuff."

"Yes, but I'd like to know that you also know that stuff. Reviewing your case will prove very difficult if we aren't on the same page. Now, if you please." With an exasperated puff of air into his cheeks, Merlin leant forward so that his elbows braced against his knees and his hands clasped together.

"Fine. I was born in Seoul, South Korea; my parents died in a car accident when I was three. I was brought to England to live with an aunt in Ipswich."

"And you were comfortable with this change?" The interruption caused Merlin to blank for a second.

"Wha- I was three. I was comfortable sitting in a tumble dryer with knickers on my head!" This retort was not appreciated, judging by the tapping of Morgan's pencil against a green clipboard that had seemingly materialised out of thin air.

"These are regulation questions, try not to overthink your answers." With this she returned to drawing writing utensils from the ether apparently, a silent signal for him to continue. Already, Merlin's mind was going through fantasies of sprinting down the hill, across the high street and off the end of Southend pier.

"Alright then, the aunt was arrested when I was six-"

"Why was she arrested?"

"Are shrinks meant to interrupt their patients?"

"I'm not a shrink, I'm a University counsellor, why was your aunt arrested?" Nothing about this experience was relaxing. Getting a Frostino with Miss Delocks, the part-time-assistant would have been relaxing.

"Possession of illegal firearms. Just a taser. Five years in prison under the law of the United Kingdom. Happy?"

"Yes, this is very helpful. So, your guardian was arrested and…"

"I went into care, obviously. Seven foster homes over six years. Adopted after my eleventh birthday by Igraine Pendragon and her husband. I moved into their home in York, Summered in Cumbria; went to school with their son. Igraine died when I was fifteen, Uther when I was seventeen. Arthur and I moved out to one of the cottages we own in Leigh two years ago. It was all perfectly fine and now here I am at Southend University in a counselling session I didn't ask for with a counsellor that I'm certain nobody has ever asked for." Okay, the last bit slipped out half unwarranted, but he might as well be honest.

Long, mole-flecked fingers curled and tightened around the edges of her clipboard, leaving dents in the malleable green cork like it was plasticine.

"Right." Came a snarled response from between smiling teeth. "Now, on to some more current information: Who do you live with during your time at the University?"

"Igraine’s son, Arthur, and the five student tenants who rent out rooms." That felt weird to say. For some reason, whenever Merlin thought about the six other occupants of Stanrocc cottage, it was hard to remember that they weren’t all related in one way or another.

“Right, and are you comfortable with these living arrangements?”

“I’m a University student who gets to live in a fully catered house free of charge, what do you think?” The pinched ‘threaten-to-speak-to-my-manager-again-and-I-will-hit-you-with-a-shoe’ smile returned.

“Okay then.” A rustling of paper signalled that the background questions were mercifully coming to a close, as, Merlin hoped, was this entire experience. Unfortunately, the next words out of the witches’ mouth weren’t, ‘thank you for your time, Mister Pendragon, I hope you and Miss Delocks have a splendid afternoon.’ Instead she intertwined her grotesque fingers and looked him in the eye. The fact that he didn’t turn to stone was a shock.

“Now, Merlin, I’d like to know what features you look for when meeting new people.” Alright, not what he’d wanted or expected to hear.

“Is this a personal interview-”

“Just-” Morgan closed her eyes and pressed her lips together until they completely disappeared into her face. “Answer the question, Merlin.”

“I look for the same things anyone looks for. Do they look approachable? Would I want to be seen with them out and about? Those kinds of things.” He darted his eyes from Morgan’s varicose ankles to her sloping forehead.

“So, you base the value of other people’s company solely upon their outward appearance and draw any and all judgements from those assets?” There were too many words in that sentence, was all Merlin could think in response. When he did finally puzzle out what the question actually was, he gave the woman a jovial nod. Finally, they were on the same wavelength.

“Of course I do, how a person looks tells you a lot about who they are, doesn’t it?”

Morgan must have been writing something down, but it still felt as though her eyes had not left Merlin for a second. An intake of breath through her wide nostrils filled the room.

“To some extent, maybe.” She shifted on her chair and the look in her eye of a person who had gotten exactly what they wanted was unnerving. “Merlin, do you think you feel this way about other people because these mentalities could have been forced on you in the past?” Her nasal voice had become one of understanding and professionalism, the Northern accent thinning considerably. Merlin didn’t like it at all. “Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look?”

Throughout this entire, stupid session, Merlin had been wanting to avoid answering questions. Now all he wanted to do was say something so devastating yet so on point that it would shut this witch up for the rest of her career. And yet his tongue remained still, rooted to the floor of his mouth.

“I see.” The counsellor stood and shook out her skirts with the smug air of a woman victorious. Merlin wanted to throw something at her. Like a shoe. She went around to the back of her desk and retrieved a post-it-note shaped like a unicorn. “I’m giving until the beginning of the new term to combat this problem that we seem to have here." In one motion she ripped away the post it note and was making her way back towards him, brandishing it like a literal curse rather than simply the figurative one that it clearly was. She handed it to him unforgivingly.

"I'd like you to try a social activity that is purely audio based. Interactions with others that don't allow them to see your appearance." The urge to crumple the note into a ball was strong. “I’ll schedule another session three weeks from now.”

"And what if I'm perfectly happy with the way things are? I don't need to change anything." Merlin shot back, and control of the situation brushed his fingertips before Morgan's condescending smile dragged it out of reach again.

"Tell me, Merlin, how many reports do you think I received from your professors and peers of this self-important, judgemental behaviour?" Merlin was already standing as he milled the question over for a full couple of seconds.

"One or two, I'd imagine." He finally mumbled. The witch drummed her pencil against her crossed arms and shook her head. "Well," Merlin started, "it can't have been-"

"Twenty-four." She didn't look victorious now, just a little sorry. That was so much worse. "Twenty-four different people, who you have known for only a year or so. Still think you don't need to change anything?"

Merlin didn't want to look around at her ridiculous face again. He didn't think he even knew twenty-four people well enough for them to report him. Her voice carried on no matter how much he wanted it not to.

"If I don’t see improvement three weeks from now, regardless of how you feel about it, I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely."

The facts stung like poisonous, green smoke in Merlin's head. He pulled at the ornamented door handle, dismissing himself. Then a question came into his mind and forced itself to be asked.

"What activities would you suggest, then?"

"Start an interactive podcast; volunteer for a University chat-line; Online gaming." Merlin's humourless scoff punctuated her list.

"Yeah, no. I'm not an ‘over the phone’ kind of guy." He stepped out into the hallway and noticed Miss Delocks' head spin in his direction. The last ten minutes had dampened any mood he might have been in for going out, but that didn't mean he couldn't at least try to cheer himself up. He heard one last reply from the witch before he strode off in the assistant’s direction,

"Keep that attitude up and you won't be a "Part-time Ancient Historian" either."

In case the presence of a pale pink fiesta with mermaid stickers running along the doors wasn’t indicative enough, the loud guffaws and scattered shouts told Merlin that his housemates had company. This was before he even reached the top of the hill. Night was creeping across the sky already. Merlin would have liked to stay out longer, but the witches’ words had stuck a little too keenly to him, and a college bar surrounded by five beautiful young ladies was not, it seemed, the best place to process things.

Stanrocc cottage was one of a kind really. It was called a cottage because it managed to be too small to be a villa but also too pretty to be a house. The walls were brick, covered in an artsy kind of cement stuff with shells mixed into it, then painted white. Kingfisher blue window frames peeked out from beneath an overgrowth of marble-like gladioli and ballet-slipper foxgloves. The diminutive front garden was mostly taken up by the wild-cherry tree that had looked hurricanes and landfalls in the face, released a string of angry expletives and stayed precisely where it was with zero intention of ever going away. Around its ankles sprung up Snowdrops every Winter, but right now, in the twilight of August, the space was taken up by a hoard of decaying daffodil corpses.

Through one of the windows, a blonde head was just visible. It stood up haphazardly and came to the door when Merlin knocked. Jack appeared in the doorway, but he’d barely laid eyes on Merlin before he was leaning back inside and shouting into the noisy fray, his accent thick, probably from laughing,

“Ee’s back!” With that he left the door hanging open. Merlin entered, a little disgruntled at the lack of welcome, until he got inside and found out why. Seated on the various beanbags, chairs, and sofas, were their usual six occupants, but with them were four less usual ones. Alright, not that unusual, three of them Merlin knew he recognised.

First was Arthur’s fiancée, Gwen. She was a common recurring visitor. Whenever Arthur wasn’t following her around the café, she was following him around the cottage. The other two present were less clearly defined by engagement rings or Facebook relationship status’.

Upon sitting back down on his very expensive armchair, Jack had one-hundred-and-fifty centimetres of pink-leggings wearing, ashen skinned vegetarian seating herself comfortably on his lap. That one was Viviane… Or Niniane. Merlin never actually paid attention when Jack gushed about her, but he was almost sure her name was one of those. She was Jack’s “study partner'', both of them being up and coming chemists. Funny, because to Merlin’s knowledge, studying didn’t usually involve reclining on each other’s laps; playing with each other’s hair (or her playing with his, at least) and going out on spa trips together. If they weren’t together, Merlin couldn’t blame Jack. All spread-out, round eyes and large lips, she did look a little like a fish with legs.

Lastly there was Briar. Nobody actually knew what Briar was. Was she Hans’ friend? His girlfriend? A kind of omnivorous goat? It was a mystery. Altogether they knew seven things about her: Like Hans, she was German; she took fencing lessons; her wardrobe consisted entirely of ankle-length, floaty skirts and a special talent of hers was tripping over literal air. She slept with a baseball bat, wore purple contacts in her eyes and, while you wouldn’t imagine so from her physique, she had the appetite of a full grown horse. They didn’t even know what she was doing at the Uni. With her legs folded in front of her, she leant on her maybe-boyfriend-maybe-friend’s signature bean bag chair, one hand holding a row of scrabble pieces. The other was surreptitiously burrowing through Hans’ homemade bag of steak flavoured crisps, which famously tasted like dog food to everyone but those two. The curly-headed bag-holder didn’t seem to mind at all.

There was one other girl with them, seated on a folding chair between Briar’s feet and Arthur’s elbow. Merlin gave her barely a passing glance however, taking in a round figure, cherry-pink shorts, and shoulder-length brown hair before he lost interest.

Maybe you feel as though you personally are liked or disliked for nothing besides how you look.

The counsellor’s stupid voice drove through his thoughts unbidden like an off-rail train. He shook his head and shoved them back down into his subconscious where they belonged, ready to be forgotten.

The ringing of the words, however, was replaced by his stomach gurgling irritably. A muffin and a salted-caramel hot chocolate were not enough to go on for a whole afternoon. His eyes fell on the Chinese food containers strewn about the coffee table and surrounding floor. A takeaway was a rare occasion in Stanrocc cottage. In the entire county of Essex, there were exactly four fast-food establishments that Hans trusted and respected, and thus, would allow them to purchase from. Two of these were fish-and-chip shops; one- Merlin’s particular favourite- did flame-grilled kebabs; and the last one was the Jade Dragon Restaurant. Very expensive- meaning Jack was probably to thank for it- and very, very good Chinese food. It dawned on Merlin a little late that this uncharacteristic treat might have been meant to make him feel better, judging by the sizeable stack of barbecue kebab boxes that could be seen just inside the kitchen door. Nobody else liked barbecue kebabs.

But he was too tired and too hungry to feel bad for not coming back. He’d been busy.

The energetic game of scrabble had come to a standstill when his arrival was announced. Now ten pairs of eyes were on him and six of them were concerned. Merlin made for the kitchen, the multitude of expectant faces making his chest knot.

“Don’t worry about me,” he insisted, half-heartedly when he noticed both Arthur and Hans shifting as if to get up. “I’m going to bed.”

Noki, the second of the triplets, swept up a container filled with Prawn crackers and extended them in Merlin’s direction. He waved them away dismissively.

“Really, it’s fine, I’ll grab something from the fridge.” And with that he left the room.

Much to his dismay, the fridge was a sorry sight, being mostly bare save for half a watermelon and an empty milk carton. It was a Friday, he soon remembered, which meant Hans would be grocery shopping tomorrow. Also, Briar was there.

Footsteps came thudding along the short passage between the living room and the kitchen. Merlin didn’t have to look up to know that an orange vest with arms was blocking the door.

“What do you want, Arthur?” Even in the fridge, Merlin could feel the glare in the back of his head. Crossed arms also wouldn’t be a surprise.

“I want to know where you’ve been, and why you didn’t feel the need to tell us you weren’t coming back?” Merlin finally selected a yogurt cowering at the very back with a best-before date of yesterday. He shut the fridge door with his foot, searching for a clean spoon on the draining board.

“You know you aren’t actually my dad, right?” He plunged the end of the spoon through the paper covering and started ripping the excess away. “I can go where I want.”

“No.” Arthur had now moved completely into the room. “But you’re still one of us, mate, and we were all worried. The triplets almost got in the truck to come pull you out of whatever ditch you’d fallen into.” Merlin actually looked him in the face this time. He was scratching his ghost of a goatee the way he always did when he felt in deep water. “You didn’t exactly leave in great spirits this morning.”

“Lurrk, uum fyrn.” Merlin said through a mouthful of yogurt. The stuff was absolutely repulsive, but it was the best conversation avoidance technique he had without a book to hand. He manoeuvred around Arthur, trying desperately to keep from openly weeping at the foul stuff. The best-before date ought to have been the may-not-kill-you-before date.

“Yeah,” Arthur sighed behind him. “I can see that. But you’re-“ Merlin dashed up the stairs, discarding the yogurt discreetly in the kitchen bin as he passed it.

Arthur had changed since meeting Gwen. It was like something had been plucked out of him. The thing that had made Merlin feel close to him while everything was happening: The adoption, losing both their parents. It was like Arthur had grown up, changed somehow. And had left Merlin behind.

And from what he had seen in the other room, Arthur wasn't the only one.

Merlin emptied the yogurt out of his mouth and gargled mouthwash to get rid of the lingering flavour of overripe strawberries. A knock at his bedroom door interrupted him.

“What did the counsellor say?” It was Arthur again. Merlin had honestly had enough of today. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him be? He wasn’t hurting anyone.

He poked his head out, startling his friend who still had his fist raised to knock again.

“She suggested I take up gaming.”

-*-

Hours later, Merlin turned over his pillow again, trying his absolute hardest to fall asleep. He’d tried relaying a movie in his head, but thinking about the ending just made him sad. He’d tried reading his new book, but Neil Gaiman wasn't particularly relaxing. At last he had just shut his eyes and told himself to sleep, with real authority and gumption. That just made him more awake because his brain hated him.

Eventually he sat up and tugged the string on his lamp. The clock on his desk told him it was 2:26. Merlin’s bones told him that he was actually in a void in which time was a construct of society, and he felt much more inclined to believe the latter. Seeing as somebody, probably Hans, had left a plate of reheated kebabs in front of his door, Merlin hadn’t starved, so he couldn’t explain the hollow discomfort that was plaguing him now.

Actually, he could, he just didn’t want to.

Twenty-four people thought he was a self-important, narcissistic idiot.

Walking around his room to clear his head quickly turned into walking downstairs and into the kitchen to get some shreddies. There were still a few chocolate ones left, them mercifully being the one cereal that Briar didn’t love more than life itself.

As he dejectedly spooned the stuff into his mouth, green smoke came unfiltered through his head again, spelling out: I won't have anything to present against a decision to remove you from your course entirely. Merlin groaned and pulled at his bark coloured hair.

Ancient and Medieval History, while not a popular course, was still difficult to get into. Only twelve or so universities in the country even offered it. And even then, Southend alone offered the module on folklore and mythologies. So many essays, so many projects, so much time spent reading about the sordid love-lives of ancient deities. For nothing apparently. All because some people he didn’t know thought he was self-obsessed.

Nothing added up.

And gaming? Really. Podcasts and chat-lines were an instant nope, but gaming. In his entire twenty years, Merlin had played one game and one game alone. And well, that one was…

Next thing he knew, Merlin had left the congealed cereal lonely on the sink and was fighting his way through a wall of cobwebs into the storage room. The lights hadn’t worked in there for years, so Merlin clasped a battery powered torch from Colchester castle like a lifeline.

With his finger and thumb he gingerly shifted bicycles, boxes of DVDs and even a taxidermy rabbit that had gone to holes, until he saw it. The shiny, green corner of a laptop-games-console-hybrid emerged from the darkness. And then was immediately plunged back into it when the torch exploded in Merlin’s hand, the light flickering away with a puff of smoke. Merlin had expected this, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing the game and high-tailing it out of the storage room before the shadows could grab his ankles and eat him. Safe in his own bedroom again, Merlin intrepidly opened the game.

Fairytale Island was created by Avalon Games nine years ago. In its entire run, localised in Southern England, it sold about three-hundred consoles. These consoles were box-like laptops, but a more accurate comparison would be an oversized Nintendo DS. The keyboard-space was taken up by the controls, while the screen was above. Graphics-wise, it was surprisingly ahead of its time. What you did was you uploaded a full body photograph of yourself, lined up the limbs and head, and voila, you had your avatar!

This particular console had been bought by an incredible woman named Igraine, for the eleven year old boy whom she had fearlessly rescued. Merlin ran a finger gently over the sticker, feeling the scratchy remnants of its glitter-glue border. On it was a simple little message, rounded off with a clumsy smiley face and the letter I, in wide swirling print.

For the most handsome Prince on Fairytale Island!!!

Obviously his avatar had to change, lest he wanted to continue with the slenderman-esque creature created by his imaginative twelve-year-old self.

Merlin had to stand on his bed to get himself into the frame of his plug-in webcam. Not really knowing what to do with his arms, he did the only rational thing and T-posed. In his pyjamas. In front of a game for preteens. At twenty past two in the morning.

If one of his housemates came in now he would kill them and dissolve the body in acid.

The screen counted down, readying the camera.

Three… Two… O-ghlowhfsajfhlsdkhlhdsjfh…………….Error………...rebooting, thank you for your patience.

Well. That seemed fair.

Hopping down as quietly as possible, Merlin watched the static clear from the screen like ghost lightning. He should have expected it. Motorcyclists had long said that ‘Love is when you like someone as much as your motorbike.” Merlin was inclined to disagree, because his bike was the one piece of mechanical equipment that didn’t figure it should explode whenever he dared breathe nearby. No bond would ever be able to trump that kind of loyalty.

Reservedly, he fiddled with a Rubix cube until the screen returned to normal. Nothing seemed that wrong with it.

Until his avatar loaded again.

A brief visit to the bathroom mirror was made so that Merlin could examine both his eyes, but when he came back they found the same sight.

Where there should have been a tall, thin, carrot-shaped, Merlinish mage character, there now resided a tiny, stout- if still Merlinish- one. And it was green. Not even a nice green, like fern or emerald or sage. This was a green that reminded a person of snot and nothing else… Except maybe a dehydrated basil plant.

Merlin bashed his head against the edge of his desk. What had that witch done to him? Why was he concerned about this?

Giving up on answering that question, he looked up to face the diminutive monster that bobbed in place like an excitable pea with legs. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, he tried to reason. If he didn’t focus, it almost looked like an obese, unwell Gollum. But hey, maybe the other players will like that kind of thing?

Without realising it, Merlin scoffed out loud at himself.

Other players? This game had a range of a thousand kilometres squared and was being handled by a technopollyon (a word that was not a word until Merlin discovered there was no term for a person who inadvertently breaks technology, but there were a multitude of Greek words that he could misuse in its place.)

The chances of another pathetic Englishman within his third of Essex being in possession of and online on Fairytale Island at two-thirty that night, were not worth thinking about. Because they were nonexistant.

With that in mind, Merlin took one last bitter look at his avatar, and continued resolutely on to game.

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

Wow! Thanks for reading that!!! I hope you enjoyed it!

(Btw, Gwen, Viviane and Briar are my headcannons for the end credit characters and Morgan LeFey is the fairy princess)

Again, thanks so much. I’m putting the next chapter up at some point, this one from Snow’s perspective.

52 notes · View notes

badbadbucky · 4 years

Text

The Haunted Haunted House

The little girl, Magda, looked at the little boy, Billy, skeptically. “What do you mean you’ve never been to a haunted house?”

The two children sat together on Magda’s bed. Billy wore a cowboy costume. Magda wore a cat costume. They were waiting for Magda’s mom.

“My mama said I wasn’t allowed to go. They had one a couple towns over, in Gerda, and my friend Georgie, his daddy took him and he said it was real scary,” Billy said.

“But this is a haunted house,” Magda said.

Billy looked at her like she was stupid. “No it ain’t, it’s just got ghosts in it.” Billy knew a little something about Halloween. Halloween had always been his favorite holiday. Before… he’d always stayed up until the small hours of the morning, and not just because he was buzzing off sugar, but because he didn’t want it to be over.

For the first few months her family had lived in the big old mansion Magda had been terrified, but Billy had shown her that all the ghosts were actually nice, even if they did look scary sometimes (or all the time in Starla’s case).

“Haunted houses got like rattlin’ coffins, and guys in costumes jump out at ya, and there’s spiders and blood and skeletons everywhere. That’s a real haunted house,” Billy said.

Magda didn’t argue with Billy, sometimes she thought that even though she was younger than Billy--he was eight and she was six--sometimes she just understood things better. He always seemed a lot younger than he actually was. She didn’t know if it was a product of being dead, or if kids were just more innocent in the 50’s.

“That was the year though,” Billy said. He played with the fringe on his satin shirt with the pearl snaps.

“The year what?” Magda asked.

“My daddy said he was gonna take me. Got tired of me askin’ probably. It was Halloween, and I was waiting for him to get home then we was gonna drive to Gerda. I was practicing twirling my toy gun. I dropped it. And it broke. And a cowboy couldn’t have an empty holster right?” He dropped his head so that the low brim of his cowboy hat--that he never took off--blocked his eyes.

Magda reached out and laid her hand over his. It phased right through, but he said that he could still sort of feel it.

“My daddy’s gun was a lot heavier than my toy one. I didn’t expect it to be so heavy,” Billy trailed off. He glanced up at her and wiped away a few tears. “I really woulda liked to go the haunted house.” Then he disappeared.

Magda looked around. “Billy? Billy?”

Billy didn’t answer and he didn’t reappear.

“Ms. Elizabeth?” Magda called.

A stately woman in a maroon gown appeared, a slash across her throat continuously dripped blood down her front. She had dark hair and dark sad eyes. “What is it Magda?”

“Billy’s upset.”

“It is a rather hard day for him,” Ms. Elizabeth said.

The little girl told the ghost her plan. And then the ghost set about her preparations, while the girl set about her own.

When the girl got home from trick or treating she ran straight up to her room.

“Are you there?” She whispered.

Ms. Elizabeth appeared. “All is ready, Ms. Magda.” She smiled down at the little girl. She held out her velvet gloved hand and very nearly touched Magda’s cheek.

Magda could feel a cool soft whisper on her cheek.

Then Ms. Elizabeth removed her hand. “Find Billy, I have to get into place.”

Magda nodded. She walked out to the hallway and to the staircase that led to the attic. When she reached the top of the stairs, she called out “Billy?”

She heard a sniffle coming from behind an old painting of Ms. Elizabeth in a gilded frame. Magda walked toward the sound. The floor creaked underneath her. Magda stuck her head around the painting and found Billy sitting on the floor, curled up, with his arms around his knees. His hat sat on the floor beside him. “Billy is that you?”

When Billy heard her voice he snatched his hat off the floor and jammed it on his head, though too late to prevent Magda from seeing the small neat hole in the middle of his forehead. Though, because Billy was her friend, she pretended that she hadn’t seen it.

Instead, she said, “I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?” Billy asked. He wiped at his eyes rapidly, cowboys didn’t cry.

“If I told you it wouldn’t be a surprise anymore dummy. Come on.” Magda said. She swiped at him, and through him several times, since she couldn’t actually pull him to his feet.

Billy climbed to his feet. He never could resist a surprise.

They climbed down the stairs from the attic and went to the main entranceway in the house. Magda’s gaze slid around, it seemed that everyone and everything was ready. She positioned herself and Billy in the very center of the room.

Ms. Elizabeth emerged from the shadows. In addition to her customary velvet gown, she wore a cheap black cape, she’d painted fake blood around her mouth, and she wore plastic fangs. The ghosts who were older were better at interacting with physical objects.

“Velcome travelers,” Ms. Elizabeth said, in her best approximation of Magda’s best approximation of a Dracula voice, “Velcome to my home.”

“What’s going on?” Billy asked.

Magda shushed him and pointed at Ms. Elizabeth.

Ms. Elizabeth continued, “I exp-, I exp-” she struggled to speak around the fangs, “Heaven’s sake.” She removed the fangs. “I expect that you’ll want a tour. So I shall show you around. But be warned, my friends are in town. And some people find them quite...frightening.”

The lights flickered and there was a great crash of thunder.

Billy jumped.

Magda shot her mom, who was hiding under the stairs operating a sound machine and a dimmer switch, a thumbs up, she’d hit her cue perfectly.

Ms. Elizabeth walked out of the entranceway and Billy and Magda followed. She led the two children toward the massive kitchen. And there stood Old Man Gibbons at the stove, stirring a bubbling cauldron of green muck. His face was painted green and he wore a ratty wig with long black hair and a pointy black hat. He cackled as he stirred.The witch costume did a marvelous job of hiding that Old Man Gibbons’ legs were nothing more than bloody stumps. He’d been the groundskeeper on the estate and had a terrible accident with a tractor. A stuffed black cat sat on the counter behind him.

“Ah, here we have my old friend Hilda. And what diabolical potion are you making Hilda?” Ms. Elizabeth said, maintaining the Dracula accent.

“Hehehehehe, this potion turns little boys into little mice! Ahahahaha!” Old Man Gibbons said. He lifted a spoonful of the “potion” toward Billy’s lips. “Want a taste?”

Billy leapt backward, “no!” he squeaked.

“Perhaps later, Hilda,” Ms. Elizabeth said. “We have many more rooms to visit.”

“Hilda” cackled. “Let me know if you get thirsty. I could use a nice fat mouse to feed my cat, HEHEHEHEHEHEHE!”

Billy and Magda hustled out of the kitchen and followed Ms. Elizabeth to the dining room

Tomas stood behind the long banquet style table, dressed in a white labcoat. Lucindra lay on top of the table, under a sheet.

“Victor,” Ms. Elizabeth drawled, “you said you would show me your latest creation.”

Tomas nodded eagerly. “Ooooh yes, she’s nearly ready.” He rubbed his hands together in manic glee. “Igor! It. Is. TIME!”

“Yes, master,” a voice rasped from right behind Magda and Billy.

Billy let out a little shriek and turned around.

Stuart, the devastatingly handsome senator’s son with the rope burn around his neck, had sneaked up behind them. He lurched and staggered toward Tomas and handed him what looked suspiciously like salad tongs. Then he dragged his leg behind him until he reached the light switch.

Tomas placed the salad tongs on either side of Lucindra’s head. “Give me power Igor!”

“Yes, Master,” Stuart said as he flickered the lights.

Lucindra thrashed under the sheet.

It had taken some convincing, and a private threat of grounding from their mother, but eventually even Magda’s brother Todd had agreed to help. He was under the table, making electricity noises with his mouth and rocking the table occasionally.

Billy took a step behind Magda, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the scene.

“MORE!” Tomas screamed.

“Yes, Master,” Stuart grunted. He flickered the lights more.

Lucindra flailed, occasionally the sheet would flip off her face and Tomas would quickly pull the sheet back over to conceal her face. It was not yet time for the big reveal.

“MORE POWER IGOR!” Tomas yelled, his eyes rolling madly in his skull.

“But Master--” Stuart began.

“NOW!!!!”

Stuart turned off the lights, plunging everything into darkness. Then he turned on a black light. The sheet over Lucindra glowed an otherworldly white. As did Tomas’s labcoat as he danced around the table.

Todd deployed the fog machine. Tendrils of fog curled out from under the table. Billy was too entranced to hear Todd’s muffled coughing and choking.

Slowly, Lucindra raised her shaking arms.

“It’s alive,” Tomas howled. “It’s alive, it’s alive.”

Tomas whipped the sheet off of Lucindra revealing her face. The blacklight made the paint on her face glow demonically. She hissed at Magda and Billy. Billy gave out a little yip and even Magda jumped a bit.

Magda and Billy ran back out into the hallway, giggling. Stuart and Ms. Elizabeth shared a soft smile.

Todd climbed out from under the table, he rolled his eyes at the two ghosts making googoo eyes at each other. According to Chrissy, these two had apparently been doing this dance since at least the 80’s. He stomped out of the dining room and yelled up the stairs “Okay mom, I helped. Can I go now?” He had a date with Becky Sherman, and she’d told him that he was really going to love her costume.

Ms. Elizabeth led the kids up the stairs to the long hallway where all the guest bedrooms were. The hallway was strung with fake cobwebs everywhere. Magda got caught in them while Billy easily phased right through them. They reached the end of the hallway and Ms. Elizabeth held the door open for the two children.

In the middle of the room there was a sarcophagus, which was really a trunk from the attic that Magda had decorated with hieroglyphics. The lid rattled ominously.

Magda’s father, dressed as Indiana Jones, ran up behind them. “You better get outta here kids. The mummy inside will curse anyone who looks at him, and he’s waking up!”

But before the kids could turn back, the door slammed in their faces. Magda tried the door. Ms. Elizabeth held it closed.

“We’re trapped!” Magda yelled to Billy.

“What do we do?” Billy asked.

The lid of the sarcophagus flopped open. Bandaged arms gripped the sides.

Billy and Magda huddled together. Though Magda wasn’t scared. Of course not. But maybe she’d huddle a bit closer to Billy, just to make him feel better.

The mummy, really Chrissy wrapped head to toe in bandages, rose from the trunk. He moaned and groaned dramatically.

“Don’t look!” Magda’s dad yelled. He stood in front of the kids. “Squeeze your eyes shut.”

Magda and Billy both squeezed their eyes shut. Then, Magda’s father gave a great yell and flopped to the ground. Then the only sound was the mummy shuffling toward the kids.

Billy and Magda couldn’t stand to keep their eyes closed anymore. They looked down and saw Magda’s father lying frozen on the ground, his face wrenched into an exaggerated rictus of pain. Billy and Magda both gave little shrieks.

When they looked up, the mummy was no longer shuffling toward them, they twisted around to see where the mummy had gone, when suddenly he appeared right behind them and grabbed Billy’s shoulders. Billy screamed and jerked away from the mummy, then laughed shrilly.

Ms. Elizabeth opened the door and took the kids back down stairs to the conservatory. Magda’s mother had transferred the fog machine to the conservatory and it had been filling with smoke while the kids were upstairs. Wisps of smoke hovered around the bases of the trees, turning the bright cheery room into a haunted forest.

Billy and Magda hesitantly entered the room. Ms. Elizabeth disappeared into the fog and so the two children were left alone. They walked between the trees.

Magda jumped when she heard a bird chirp, and Billy gave out a faint scream when he’d mistaken a potted tree for a figure coming for them.

A figure whooshed past them. The kids turned to see what it was, but it was too fast. Then something went by again, and Billy was able to catch the flapping tail of a sheet.

“There!” He pointed to the center of the conservatory. “It went that way!”

The kids chased after the figure, laughing. They almost caught up with the figure, but then lost it again. They found a small area that was largely cleared of the fog.

The figure was hiding--very poorly--behind a tree.

“We see you!” Magda called.

“Yeah, we see you,” Billy said.

The figure, dressed in a sheet with eye holes cut into it that had been nearly bleached white over the years, but still had the faintest hint of a floral pattern, stepped out from behind the tree. The very spooky ghost, Starla, raised her arms over her head and the sheet dropped back a bit, revealing her blackened flesh. She wiggled her burnt red fingers. “Oooooooooooo.”

Billy giggled. “You’re not scary.”

The sheet twitched a bit, as Starla smiled to herself. She liked the idea of not being scary, if only for a time.

Ms. Elizabeth returned, and she’d put the fake fangs back in. “I hope you enjoyed our little tour. Because you can never leave.” She lunged forward with her fangs bared.

Both of the children screamed and ran out of the conservatory.

Ms. Elizabeth reached out and squeezed Starla’s hand. “Well done, darling.”

Magda pulled Billy up to her bedroom. They jumped into her bed and threw the covers over their heads. Magda stuck her arm out of their blanket fortress only long enough to snag her flashlight off the floor. She turned it on, casting both their faces into sharp relief.

“I think we’re safe,” Magda said.

Billy nodded.

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Did you like it?” Magda asked shyly.

Billy answered by trying to throw his arms around her. He phased through, but she got the idea all the same.

They lay down for a bit, but both of them were still wide awake. Their eyes slid towards each other.

“I can’t go to sleep,” Billy said.

“Me neither, Magda said.

They sat, talking and laughing until 11 o’clock, when Magda’s mother stumbled in and told them to go to bed. Then they huddled under the covers, whispering and giggling, until 2 in the morning, when Ms. Elizabeth appeared and told them in no uncertain terms that they must go to sleep “this very instant.”

It was only then, that Magda’s eyes finally began to flutter, and Billy found it harder to hold his form. Eventually Magda fell asleep and Billy went where all ghosts go when they are too tired to be visible anymore. For them, Halloween was over.

#Halloween #ghost story #here is a little story i wrote for Halloween #ghosts #writblr

7 notes · View notes

wedreamerz · 5 years

Text

The Island of Maravu - Chapter 2

The Island of Maravu

Chapter 2 - The Bunker

Pairing: Starker AU (Peter is 22)

Rated: Overall: E / Chapter: T

Status: WIP

Summary: The Avengers are in shambles and Tony Stark just needs to get out from under the fallout. So, he does what every genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist does - he buys an island. Maravu is just the escape Tony is looking for until one morning a beautiful young man arrives with secrets and a smile that makes Tony’s broken heart beat again.

Some Tags: AU, A little angst, Smut and Fluff is the goal here people but I can’t just do that apparently without backstory and plot. No real trigger warnings that I can think of unless water or storms are an issue for you. If you run into something I didn’t think of, let me know.

Chapter 1

~~~~~~~~~~

The birds hated him. They were in cahoots. Thirty-three days on Maravu and the birds woke him up before the sun every freaking morning. Tony stirred, rolled over and scowled at the open window. They were at it again.

He groaned and put a pillow over his head.

"Friday, play something loud."

"Playing your Something Loud playlist," Friday said. Tony rolled his eyes, noting the amusement in her voice before the opening guitar riff of Def Leppard's Photograph blasted through the speakers.

The cabin, a simple, but cozy one-room affair with a fireplace, sofa, kitchenette and dining room table, suited him perfectly. One of the two luxury items he'd insisted upon, besides Friday and the technical upgrades he'd made, was the queen-sized bed that dominated the bedroom area of the cabin. He'd have flown in a king if it would have fit. But even the queen was pushing it.

The cabin came equipped with an attached bathroom and shower. But Tony had grown accustomed to showering in the original, outdoor shower that ran using accumulated rainwater. Something about showering outside in the sun brought out the hedonist in him.

During his first week on Maravu, Tony installed a self-sustained arc reactor to solve the electricity problem and ensured they’d had fast reliable wi-fi. The plantation resumed operation the following week with Mr. Umbari as manager. Tony liked the huge mountain of a man. They worked well together and at the end of a long day, he often sought out his calming presence at the community fire that burned in the village's center courtyard most evenings.

They would talk about the day and share a drink before retiring. Tony liked to watch him talk, his expressive, deeply lined face and white, wiry hair and beard that stood up as though it had a mind of its own. Mr. Umbari had learned to speak English by watching episodes of old American shows like MASH and Happy Days and Tony found himself smiling when now and then he recognized a familiar phrase. When the reactor went live, Mr. Umbari had celebrated by giving Tony the double Fonzie thumbs before dragging him into a chest busting hug.

For the most part, the islanders didn't intrude on Tony’s solitude. Mr. Umbari was a fair and able leader, so Tony didn't get involved in the day to day operations unless they needed him. But periodically he'd be working in the lab he’d set up near his cabin and hear someone call out "Turaga Ni Kaukamea!" Tony would look outside to see someone emerge from the trees and request his assistance at the plantation.

Mr. Umbari addressed him as Mr. Stark even after Tony had invited him to call him by his first name. But the rest of the islanders called him Turaga Ni Kaukamea or sometimes just Kaukamea. Friday had translated it as basically Man of Iron.

So, they were aware of who he was. But no one ever asked to see the suit or wondered why he'd chosen to live on the island when it was clear his own house was in such disarray. They didn't bring it up at all. They expressed their gratitude in humble ways and treated him like anyone else on the island, which was perfect with Tony.

He peeked out from under his pillow to find that the sky has lightened into a midnight blue with the faint orange glow of dawn creeping up behind the windowsill.

"Okay, okay. Stop the music and start the coffee," he said, giving in. "And play me something tropical.”

"You do realize that the current temperature is 76 degrees with a humidity of 94%?" Friday asked as the sound of steel drums and ukulele began.

"My body still thinks it's December in New York, don't judge me," Tony snarked back, smiling when the coffee pot came to life. The rich aroma of the local blend infused his little cabin as the sun crested the horizon.

Tony threw back the sheet and stretched. He drew a deep breath and padded naked across the wood floor to the little kitchenette that consisted of the smallest stove he'd ever seen, a microwave, and a refrigerator that was straight out of the '70s in avocado green. The fanciest thing in the kitchen was his second luxury item – his beloved Concordia espresso machine.

He poured a cup into one of the chipped mugs that had come with the place and took it outside to the fire pit he'd built in the dooryard. His cabin was far enough away from the beach to be safe from the tide but close enough that his view from the fire was the perfect place to watch the sun come up. Tony lit the fire and settled into his camp chair with his coffee to do just that.

Although he tried to focus on his plans for the day, his mind wandered down paths he preferred to avoid. He tried not to spend his time worrying about the wayward Avengers, Rhodey, and the countless ways he had and continued to fail Pepper. But in those quiet moments when it was just him and the traitorous birds, Tony let it in.

He rubbed his chest. Like a phantom limb, it ached as it had for months after his last meeting with Steve.

And Barnes.

Tony sighed. Pepper had insisted he see a shrink after everything went down. He'd gone - a couple of times. But he still couldn't talk about it. Hell, he couldn't even think about it without igniting the flame of resentment and hatred. Logically he understood that Barnes had been brainwashed by Hydra. He was no more responsible for his actions than Clint had been for what he'd done when under the power of Loki's scepter.

Nevertheless, here Tony was. If Barnes were to materialize before him, Tony would probably try to bash his head in with a coconut.

Probably. Maybe.

Barnes may have the benefit of Tony’s doubt, the mind-controlled pass. But Steve...Cap…he’d made his choices all on his own. Tony oscillated between hope and fear that the big, stubborn man would get caught. He had no idea what he would say to the man if he ever saw him again. But he had the little burner phone Steve had mailed to Tony Stank tucked into his sock drawer nonetheless.

The temperature had risen just a little. On the horizon, Tony spied a rain cloud, one of those slow-moving clouds you could watch approach with its sheets of rain that blanketed the island at least once a day.

He frowned.

"Friday, what's the weather supposed to be like today?"

"Fair in the morning with severe thunderstorms rolling in at approximately 1:34 P.M."

"I suppose I should get started then," he said, gulping down the rest of his coffee. He put the mug in the sink and fished a fresh pair of shorts and a t-shirt from his dresser. It was time to check on the arc reactor.

~~~~~~~~~~

"Boss, the Fiji Meteorological Society has issued a tropical storm warning with potential for rotation in this area and is expected it hit earlier than expected," Friday warned.

Tony crawled out from under the arc reactor's electronics panel and adjusted his glasses.

"How bad?" he asked, wiping his hands on a towel. He peered up at the doughnut-shaped reactor housing. The walls of the cave in which he'd built it flickered blue and purple as it purred softly.

There was a certain amount of poetic justice in this, he thought. He'd started this in a cave. And now here he was again, minus the car battery and armed guards. And this arc reactor was designed only to help.

Tony climbed a small set of metal stairs, freshly painted safety yellow, which led to the ground floor. He opened a set of doors and entered the circular antechamber where islanders could look through the reinforced glass at the arc reactor below. They'd installed bunker doors at the mouth of the cave for emergencies. But they were usually left open to the public. The reactor itself was locked and protected by Friday. No one entered without Tony's knowledge.

Outside, the palm trees swayed and here and there little puffs of dirt from the path twisted into the air with leaves and rocks. Tony had been in the reactor bunker for a few hours and the wind had picked up considerably.

"Radar indicates wind speed of approximately 22 miles per hour. No active rotation," Friday said.

Tony chewed his lip and considered the news. When he'd moved in, Mr. Umbari had gone over their storm preparedness plan. The island had a storm bunker for its inhabitants. As though he'd summoned the man, Mr. Umbari and his orange menace of a golf cart sped around the corner. He slid in next to Tony's red cart, barely missing the tail end as he turned the sharp corner. Tony chuckled and shook his head as Mr. Umbari unfolded his long legs and climbed out from under the orange and white striped canopy. He hurried toward the bunker as the first drops of rain plip-plopped against his yellow rain slicker. As soon as he saw Tony Mr. Umbari grinned and waved. Tony ushered him inside and hit the button to close the bunker doors.

"Mr. Stark. The boys said you were here," Mr. Umbari said, entering through the single door.

"Yeah, I was just checking on the reactor, giving her a tune-up. Friday says we've got a storm on the way?"

Mr. Umbari had been introduced to the AI and he seemed completely charmed by her.

He smiled at the ceiling. "Hello, Ms. Friday. Thank you for keeping Mr. Stark so informed."

"It's my pleasure, Sir," she answered in her pleasant Irish lilt earning a grin from Mr. Umbari.

"Unfortunately, Ms. Friday is correct, Sir. Since this is your first storm on the island, I wanted to make sure that you were safe."

"Thanks for your concern. I'll finish up here and go down to the cabin, batten down the hatches and be in the bunker in time for dinner, Dad." Tony smiled at the large man as he put away his tools."

Mr. Umbari laughed, deep and genuine. "Good, good. I'm glad to hear it. I hear that Skillet has already begun a pot of lamb stew for the occasion."

Tony's stomach growled at the thought of food and he realized he hadn't eaten yet today.

"Skillet's cooking?" Tony asked and Mr. Umbari grinned.

"If Skillet's in the kitchen I'm not gonna miss it," Tony said.

Kitchen wizard and culinary school dropout, Skillet worked the plantation to help pay off his student loans. But one meal at Skillet's table told Tony that the young Fijian was wasting his talents.

Tall, whip-thin, with long black curls he kept up in a messy bun most days, the kid could cook rings around the overpriced chefs at any of the five-star Manhattan restaurants. Tony had offered to pay his debt and set him up in a spot of his own, wherever he wanted. But Skillet turned him down every time.

Tony, being Tony, had been trying to come up with a loophole that kid would accept to no avail. But he had one final trick up his sleeve he planned to save until the right moment. As Tony's chef, Skillet would both pay down his debt and have his talents recognized by the top critics around the world at the events Tony threw. It was a win-win for both of them.

Mr. Umbari nodded, evidently pleased with Tony's response.

"Good. Good. I should go to make sure the animals are safe. I will see you there, my friend! Goodbye, Ms. Friday," he said.

Tony smiled, amused at the way the islanders treated everything with a relaxed acceptance. Even in the face of a potentially damaging storm, they prepared for a gathering of families.

"See you there."

~~~~~~~~~~

Tony stepped into the storm bunker and was immediately enveloped in the delicious aroma of stew and fresh bread. He breathed in deeply and looked around the room, impressed by the setup. The bunker looked like a basement with concrete walls and floors. A bar and small kitchen stood on the right side of the room where Skillet was working his magic. The left side was lined with padded seats. They'd made the cold, grey room into a warm and comfortable place to gather with tapestries on the walls, and woven rugs and pillows on the floors.

"Turaga ni kaukamea!" several children called and swarmed, reaching up to be held and tugging him toward the group of adults who sat at the tables lined up end to end in the center of the room.

"Oh hey!" he exclaimed when a little girl who couldn't be more than four climbed him like a palm tree. The adults laughed as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He sat down in one of the folding chairs and held her on his lap.

"Kaukamea, what are you building in your lab? Filipe says you have a ghost and you talk to it. Does it help you build things?" she asked.

"Who told you that?"

The little girl pointed to a boy with bronze skin and wide, curious eyes. He looked up at Tony in fascination from the safety of his mother's arms.

"Filipe?" Tony asked with a raised eyebrow. The boy nodded dramatically.

"And what's your name?" Tony asked the girl.

"Sara," she said.

"Nice to meet you, Sara and Filipe. It just so happens that I am currently working on some upgrades to the arc reactor technology that runs the island. Have you seen the new bunker?"

All the children nodded in unison.

"So, if...and Filipe, I'm looking at you here… IF someone were sneaking around my lab, they may have heard me talking to Friday, who is not a ghost. She's more like a really, really smart computer who can talk."

"Is she smarter than you?" Sara asked, wide-eyed.

"Well...technically, yes. I built her. But I taught her to learn. She has access to all the information on the internet. So, she knows like...everything."

"Woooow," the children chorused.

"Right? She’s crazy smart.”

"Kaukamea, can we meet Friday?” Sara asked. "I have a computer at home. But it's never spoken to me before. Do you think if I brought it over, Friday could teach it how to talk?"

The children murmured their agreement, each of them wanting Friday to teach their computers to talk too. Tony noticed that the adults had stopped what they were doing to listen to the conversation.

Tong chuckled. "Unfortunately, your home computers aren't quite as smart as Friday. But if it's okay with your parents, you can come by the lab to meet Friday. But listen, it's super important that if you come to visit me that you don't go into the lab by yourself. You never know what I'm working on. And it could be dangerous. Do you all understand?"

The children agreed and ran off to play. The adults chuckled and resumed their conversations. Sara wiggled down from his lap and grabbed Filipe's hand.

"I told you there wasn't a ghost," she said.

"Well, it sounded like a ghost," he said.

"Sorry about that," one of the women said, taking a seat next to Tony. "The children are so curious about you. I'm Delana, Sara's mother." She held out her hand and Tony shook it with a smile. Delana was a little younger than Tony with caramel skin and sleek black hair she wore swept up in a ponytail.

"It's okay. I'm used to it. I just wanted to make sure they don't get hurt."

"Thank you for looking out for them. And for everything you've done for the island. When Mr. Umbari was forced to sell, we thought that everyone here would be forced off the island. But you swooped in and allowed us to keep our homes, brought reliable electricity and Wi-Fi, and helped us keep our jobs. You have truly been a blessing."

Tony nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. "I'm glad I could do some good," he said.

Delana tilted her head; she studied him a moment before smiling and patting his hand. "Let me get you some stew," she said finally before getting up and heading to the kitchen where people had begun to get in line.

Tony tuned in to the conversations around him. The people spoke in a mix of English and Fijian. Friday helped by providing translation on the lenses of his glasses and he followed the conversations. Delana returned with a big bowl of stew and a plate piled with roti, a flatbread the islanders seemed to have at almost every meal.

The storm hit late in the evening with everyone gathered around a large pot-bellied stove as Mr. Umbari told stories to the nervous children. They invited Tony into one of the wooden rocking chairs by the fire. He'd refused several times because although he owned the island and everyone had been more than welcoming, Tony couldn't shake the sense that he was still an outsider, merely a means to an end for these people. But eventually, he accepted and as the wind howled outside and Friday fed him updates about the storm, Tony drifted off to sleep in the warmth of the fire.

~~~~~~~~~~

Tag List: Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed

@caseyhasissues @iroironfestivalgoopmaker @unicornpower5301

#starker #tony x peter #peter parker #tony stark #mcu fanfiction #mcu fanfic

26 notes · View notes

rosesisupposes · 5 years

Text

To Dust or To Gold

Part 8 of Another Goddamn Hero Story

read on ao3

Chapter Pairings: established Royality, Analogical, pre-romantic LAMP (emphasis on Moxiety and Logince)

Chapter Warnings: Hospitals, death threats, background character deaths, some gore, hallucinations, self-hatred, bipolar cycling (both depressive and manic), cliffhanger ending :D

Word Count: 9,395 [it’s a doozy]

Taglist: @residentanchor @royally-anxious @bewarethegrammarpolice @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse @thelowlysatsuma @monsterinatophat @turtally-pawsome @um-yes-hi-hello @idkaurl @potestessemagishomosexualitatis @hawthornshadow

~~~~~~~~~~

“So,” Logan began.

“So,” Roman responded, reclining in an ornate ruby chair.

“Sew buttons!” Patton interrupted, draping himself across Roman’s lap.

Virgil growled in frustration. “Can you please focus for a single second?”

The heroes had relocated to the supers’ gym, still anxious to keep the untested villains away from the mayor.

“We don’t take orders, Reflex,” the Marauder replied evenly. “We’re only here because you two don’t seem as incompetent as the rest of the super assholes.”

“You don’t need to take orders,” Logan said, shooting Virgil a reassuring look even as he spoke. “We just need to know what exactly you can do, and plan how we’ll stay in contact.”

“Asking for my number already? I couldn’t possibly, not so soon,” Roman responded, fluttering his eyelashes.

“We’re not joining your ‘hatchet’ or whatever you call it,” Patton added. “We’re here to take down a murderer, not get sucked into the system.”

“We’re not asking you to join H.A.T.C.H.,” Logan said patiently. “But if we don’t know where you are or how to contact you, that just makes you a liability.”

“Actually it’s just an air ability,” Patton quipped back. His lips didn’t twitch. He didn’t grin. But the smugness was palpable from across the gym. Logan lost his train of thought at the overwhelmingly familiar feeling of a punster at work. He could practically see his dad’s irritatingly-pleased grin shining through Patton’s smooth mask.

Virgil, a true hero, came to Logan’s rescue. “So, air ability. Air manipulation, no matter where the air is, yeah? Inside or outside of a person?”

Gale Force paused, then nodded.

“And you, Shiny Red Boy, any limitations we need to know about?”

The Crimson Marauder gasped. “Shiny red boy? That’s the best you can do? I am appalled, I am disgusted, I spend my life dedicated to being chaotic neutral and this is the thanks I get??”

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Okay, Drama Red Queen, shall I paint the roses for you or are you going to answer the question?”

“Joke’s on you, I like that nickname,” Roman said with a sniff. “I just need to keep focused. And my constructs can only be autonomous if they’re tiny. And I can’t do more overall mass at once than something about the size of this entire room.”

Logan looked around the echoing room, designed for whole teams of heroes to practice in at once. “That’s some power,” he said softly. “And limited only by strength of mind. Fascinating.”

“And what about you two?” Patton asked in a saccharine-sweet voice. “You wouldn’t get us to divulge details without returning the favor, would you?”

“I have, as you’ve seen, a super speed ability. I can also speed read or manipulate just a hand or limb to go at enhanced speeds. I can go from 0 to 60 in .0001 seconds, and my top recorded speed is 1,700 miles per hour, or approximately 2,700 kilometers per hour.” Logan responded matter-of-factly.

“And what about you, Tall, Dark, and Muscly?” Roman asked.

“I picked my super name as Reflex for a reason. I’ve got fight, flight, and freeze. Super strength, superflight that can rival the Doc here for speed, and the shockwave you both saw the other day. I send out a burst of energy that stuns or knocks out anyone in a given radius.”

“Can you control who it affects?” Patton asked curiously. “Or is it just anyone?”

Virgil’s mouth twisted. “I can sometimes control it, yes. If I’m focused, and I’m not too upset at the time. It’s not guaranteed.”

“How upset were you the other day then?”

“You’d just attacked my partner. I was pissed, but in control. If you’d more seriously injured L- the Doctor, you might have needed more than one day to wake up from the coma I put you both in.”

“Partners are important,” Patton said softly, running a hand through Roman’s dark, wavy hair. He turned and made eye contact with the heroes. “If you hurt him, I will end you.” It wasn’t a threat, but a statement of fact.

Virgil locked eyes with the villain, jerking his head at Logan. “And if you hurt him, you’ll wish I’d only killed you.”

Roman chuckled, flashing a smile at Logan over Patton’s curly head. “Aww, look at then, they’re bonding!”

Logan looked up at his partner and back to Gale Force. “They’re bonding over death threats. I don’t think this is how I expected a hero-villain team-up to go.”

“It’s okay, Doc, you and me are clearly the pretty faces of our respective teams next to the brawn of our boys here.”

“Excuse you, I did not get three degrees in the time it takes most people to get one to be called just a pretty face,“ Logan said with an frown.

“Doesn’t make it any less true, though,” the Marauder replied with a wink. “Your face is pretty, you gotta accept it.”

Logan stared at the villain. “Is this flirting?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“No, I’m legitimately asking, I’m apparently unable to identify it on my own.”

Virgil and Patton stopped staring one another down in time to hear the last comment. Virgil snorted. “Doc, you have understatement down to an art.”

“Shush, you,” Logan said, blushing faintly.

“Do you have, like, a crush on him?” Roman gushed.

“Please, no-”

“Oooohhhh, he totally has a crush on him!!” Patton chimed in, bouncing in Roman’s lap.

“Reflex, I take all of this back, this was a terrible idea, I’m leaving…”

Virgil gently nudged Logan with a shoulder. “No you won’t. This is too important. And you and I are good, no matter what.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Darling, I think they might be gay,” Roman stage-whispered to Patton.

“And I think you might be annoying,” Virgil shot back. “Enough fucking around. We know your powers, you know ours. What we don’t know is anything about the bastard out here killing our city.”

Logan adjusted the goggles on top of his head. “We can tell you what we know from the Mayor. It’s not much. They clearly can cause some sort of nightmare or hallucination in others. The survivor mentioned the outline of a smile in the dust clouds.”

“Like the Cheshire Cat,” Roman murmured. “How very Carollian.” Logan started, a curious expression on his face as he looked at the taller villain.

Winds gusted around Gale Force as he lifted himself up off of his partner’s lap. “A survivor? Who saw what happened?”

“Yes, a teenage girl. She’s in the hospital.”

“Could we ask her for more detail?” Virgil mused aloud. “Get a full description of events, see if there are any little details she may have missed?”

“It’s worth a shot.”

~~~~~~~~~~

To say that the hospital staff reacted oddly to seeing the until-recently most prominent villains strolling in the front door, accompanied but not restrained by some of the best-loved heroes would be putting it mildly. Reflex had to undergo a brief concussion test administered by a well-meaning emergency tech, and Doctor Vectorious had to calmly talk a doctor into putting the defibrillator back on the wall and stop brandishing it as a weapon.

Once the misunderstanding was cleared up, Virgil politely asked after their patient.

“Ah, yes. She’s conscious and stable, if still very shaken. Her family is in with her right now.”

“Can we see her?”

“Not all of you! Pick just one, and her mom stays no matter who it is.”

Virgil nodded. “We should ask who she wants in there. Who she’d be most comfortable with. She’s just a kid, after all.”

The doctor nodded. “I’ll ask. You may wait here.” She paused, looking around the waiting room with many sets of staring eyes. “On second thought, follow me.”

Patton seemed completely oblivious to their observers. Roman stared at his surroundings as they walked, sniffing the air frequently. Virgil walked closer than normal to Logan, accidentally bumping him several times as he fought the urge to shrink into the hoodie he wasn’t wearing.

The doctor showed them to a smaller, empty waiting room and left them there with a brisk nod.

“Why’s it smell so weird here?” Roman finally asked.

“Weird?”

“Like, sharp. Stinging in smell form. Kinda acrid, I guess. But also a bit like soap?”

“That’s the antiseptic,” Logan said. “Have you not been in a hospital before?”

Roman went quiet, then finally said, “I haven’t been to a doctor’s office before. Not that I remember, anyway.”

Logan pursed his lips and Virgil was about to speak when the doctor returned.

“The patient has made her request,” she began.

“Yes?”

“...she asked for him,” the woman replied, pointing at the Crimson Marauder.

The group looked to Roman, then back at the doctor as one.

“I confirmed it with her. She specifically requested ‘the red one.’”

Roman nervously adjusted his cape and mask. “Can she speak to me now?”

“Yes, follow me.”

He stepped into the indicated door to see a middle-aged woman with plenty of silver threads in her plump braid helping the young woman on the cot drink from a pink plastic cup. “Um, hi, Ms. and Miss Rodrigeuz. I’m the Crimson Marauder,” he began.

The young woman sat up without her mother’s help, leaning forward eagerly.

“Are you really, though?”

“...would anyone try to impersonate me?”

“I mean… I saw the group. You’re with the heroes again. Are you still the Marauder if you’re back?” she asked with a bruised smile.

“Back…?”

“You don’t remember me, do you. I was probably one of many people who thanked you, back in your Prince days.”

Roman’s eyes went wide. “Sofia? That Sofia?” he asked, voice cracking. “The little princess?”

“You do remember,” her mom commented softly, brushing a gentle hand through Sofia’s hair. “She kept that crown for years. Even when she insisted that princesses were ‘only for los niños’, she would keep pulling it out when she thought we couldn’t see.”

Roman swallowed a lump in his throat. “I could never forget. You were the first person ever to thank me. The first civilian to treat me like a real hero.”

“Only the first civilian?”

“I- another hero did, too. Many years ago.”

Sofia tilted her head. Her bruises were shockingly colorful, and she spoke carefully around a tender jaw, but she seemed otherwise in one piece. “Why did you stop?”

“What?”

“You were ours. The Prince of Sycamore Heights. Why did you become a villain?”

Roman looked down. “It’s… complicated. But I thought I could do a better job for our home this way.”

“Things did get better,” her mom said. “For years, it was so much better. After you got rid of the Patrol.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Roman responded automatically.

“You and Copper Eye. I remember,” Sofia said. “I loved watching her work.”

“So did I,” Roman said quietly, swiping at the tear wriggling out of his eye. He swallowed and settled his shoulders, trying to compose himself. “Sofia, can I ask you about what you remember about this attack?”

“It’s not much,” she warned.

“Anything helps. We’re going to get whoever did this. I promise.”

Sofia looked up, meeting his eyes directly. “Don’t promise unless you mean it.”

Roman looked back steadily, and placed a hand over his heart. “I, the Crimson Marauder, formerly the Scarlet Prince, promise you, Sofia Rodriguez: we’ll get the one who hurt you and all those people, or die in the attempt.”

Sofia nodded fiercely. “Here’s what I remember.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The Crimson Marauder sat on a red swing floating from nothing as Gale Force reclined on air beside him. They faced the heroes, who were more sensibly sitting on the edge of the roof of an office building near the middle of the city. All four contemplated the details Roman had shared in their own ways. A tiny tornado ran up and down Patton’s fingers, Roman created and vanished mini constructs, Logan’s fingers tapped so quickly they left erosion trails on the concrete, and Virgil hummed tunelessly under his breath.

“You know what seems weird to me?” Reflex said at length. “I don’t know if this means anything, but your friend seems like an extremely level-headed teenager. And yet...”

“...you gonna finish that or do you just think teenagers are dumb.”

“Oh, I don’t think they’re dumb, they just scare the living shit out of me,” Virgil said with a quirk in his smile. “No, she seems really collected, really rational, and yet she didn’t think twice before leaving safety to get to her family.”

“It’s family,” Patton said curtly. “Of course she didn’t.”

“Believe me, I understand protecting family,” Virgil replied. “But not even trying to confirm? Not even when she saw others running? It seems like she was just operating off panic.”

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Mr. Brendon Urie Wannabe,” Roman snarked. But he had also reached out and grabbed Patton’s hand, squeezing reassurance to his partner to counteract the dark cloud spread across his face.

“Do you think that tells us something about how the villain operates?” Doctor Vectorious asked Reflex, pushing them back on track.

“Maybe it’s more than just visual hallucinations?”

“Hm, interesting theory, but-” Logan began, when their watches began to blare with a new H.A.T.C.H. alert.

“Fuck, the harbor!” Virgil said.

“Southeast,” Logan said at the same time. He looked up at both villains. “Meet us there.”

Reflex was already soaring away, a streak of black and purple stretching through the city. A second blur joined him, black and white and blue paralleling his trajectory from the ground.

Roman squeezed Patton’s hand once more, tightly. “We’re doing this, yeah?”

“We are. We have to.”

“Okay then. Time for some thrilling heroics.”

As one, they went from sitting to moving, both riding a red hang glider that sped as quickly as the ripping wind that sprang up to carry it.

They soared over the city towards the water, following the heroes. Roman nudged Patton as they approached.

“What is that?”

“Looks like a dust cloud. Someone’s being naughty.”

“Should we land?”

Patton nodded, letting go of the frame to point to roof where the heroes were braced, trying to see into the obscured area. He floated down to land softly, Roman a breath behind him. They stared at the enormous cloud of dust and debris, trying to make out what was happening underneath.

Reflex frowned. “It’s not moving.”

Doctor Vectorious nodded. “If it were a true debris cloud, it should be dissipating or growing, not just staying static. It’s obscuring something, and I can’t tell what.”

“Maybe I can help clear things up,” Gale Force offered, sending winds towards the very center of the obstruction. Dust and rocks and debris blew up and away, out of the three-block radius and into the harbor.

The Crimson Marauder gasped aloud as the cloud faded. “Whatever I was expecting, that wasn’t it.”

The dust cloud had been pushed away. But a dark mass remained. It oozed through the streets, a bulbous form that dragged on corners and sidewalks but left no residue. It was mesmerizing, in an off-putting way. Colors shifted and played over its dark surface like far-off nebulas brought to earth, now an orange veil, now pink, now a green or blue haze. It absorbed light rather than giving any off, but besides the flicker of changing colors, no movement was seen.

“...I know I’m gonna regret this, but I think we should go straight into it,” Reflex offered, stepping out into the open air. “We need to know if it’s solid, and this is where the alert said the disturbance was.”

“Are all heroes dumb enough to wander into Definitely-Murderous-Glow-Clouds or is it just you?” Gale Force asked mildly.

“All hail the Glow Cloud,” Logan and Roman said at the same time, then scowled at the other for having the same thought.

“What else do you suggest then?”

Patton huffed, and paced on the edge of the roof. “...I don’t know.”

“We’ll send the strongest two first, then,” Doctor Vectorious mused. “‘Flex, you fly in with Gale Force to blow off any more debris, and to see if you can wind-funnel your way in. We’ll back you up, ready to pull you out if needed, or Marauder here can add a construct tunnel if you’re able to open it up. Is that acceptable?”

Patton frowned at what felt like condescension, at this hero trying to tell them what to do. But, with resignation, he realized he didn’t have a better plan, and Valerie’s murderer could be getting away right now for all they knew. Stiffly, he nodded his assent.

Roman cupped his neck, fingers tangled in the curls at his nape. “Be careful, gingerpie,” he whispered. “If you die, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Don’t worry, honeygold, I’ll be your boo no matter what,” Patton murmured back with a grin. He kissed Roman firmly on the mouth, right under his mask.

“I’m too pretty to date a ghost,” Roman complained, but he was smiling all the same.

Virgil rolled his eyes. “Okay, Hurricane Gay-trina, let’s not waste any more time. Can you make a wind tunnel I can fly through without getting hurt?”

Without a word, air raced past them into a clear cone that hollowed out, a tube of rushing wind that stretched from their spot towards the mass. Virgil acknowledged his villain partner with a two-fingered salute and sped down it, rocketing towards the form that continued to shift colors. He extended a clenched fist, bracing himself to collide with the edge, ready to use all his strength to bust through if possible.

Instead of hitting a hard edge, though, he just passed into it as the sun disappeared. Darkness surrounded him, the pitch black of an overcast midnight. He could suddenly hear impacts, crunching rock and shouts and screams, and froze. He couldn’t move suddenly, not without seeing around him. He might hurt those near him worse with too fast a movement or a misplaced step.

Virgil had never expected to experience relief at seeing Gale Force, but the tunnel of wind opened up the mass and brought in Patton and the setting sunlight in a joint beam. “It worked!” Virgil said. “Quick, blow away as much of this as you can. I can try to stun everyone if I need to.”

The villain didn’t pause or argue, but multiplied the cyclone until copies branched out in all directions. They punched through the dark haze in dozens of places, bringing in the scant evening light and blessedly fresh air. Some of the screams faded, and Virgil could finally see the faces of surrounding civilians as their terror faded into confusion.

Both hero and villain could see what had caused the screams. A young villain, a H.E.A.R.T.S. dropout Virgil remembered, had paused in the center of the chaos. They blinked, slowly shrinking their hands back from huge, car-sized fists to normal limbs. The villain looked around them, and down at their torn costume. It was as bloody and ripped as their hands, the bold gold and red of a ringmaster’s coat turned into something out of a horror film. The Contortionist fell heavily to their knees, still shaken.

A burst of blue fire brought attention to the other active combatant. This was a current H.E.A.R.T.S. student, not yet a full hero, and even through her mask it was clear she was terrified. Another flash of light and she popped into being closer to the newcomers.

“V- I mean, Reflex?” she asked in a tiny voice.

“It’s really me, Blynk,” he reassured her, crouching slightly to shrink the almost-foot difference in their heights.

“I- where did they go? The ones attacking me? They were… everywhere.” She balled one hand in the loose blue dress that made up her costume as the other pulled up the attached hood nervously.

“It was an illusion,” Patton explained. “This new villain, Agent Whisper. They make you see things that aren’t there.”

“I couldn’t get away,” she whispered. “No matter how many times I teleported, they were still there to catch me.”

“They’re gone,” Virgil assured her. “You’re safe.” He offered his arms, and the young hero dove into his embrace. Speaking over her head, he looked up at his villain partner. “Can you fully break this up?”

“Here comes Mister Blue Sky,” Patton said with incongruous cheer, expanding the existing funnels. Light filled more and more of their view until the full sky returned and the last of the strange substance melted into air.

A zip and a thud heralded the arrival of the missing hero-villain pair.

“Good work,” Logan told them both. “A small bit seemed to split off, but you cleared the area and appear to have fully disrupted any illusions.”

“They got away?” Patton asked sharply. “Which direction?” He was already started to drift into the air.

Virgil grabbed the loose tunic and tugged him down. “We can’t just chase after them!”

“Why the fuck not?”

The angry question was spat into Virgil’s face, but it was Logan and Roman who answered simultaneously, “We need to help the people here.”

The fading sunlight showed just how right they were. Craters littered the landscape around them. So did bodies. Every visible face was bruised or bloody, but luckily, most were moving as civilians picked themselves up out of the wreckage.

Logan was already confirming that emergency care was on the way as he zipped around the battlefield, assisting where he could. Roman took one look at the injured and started to conjure glowing splints and crutches.

Patton was still staring angrily at the direction Logan had indicated was that of Agent Whisper’s escape, straining at Virgil’s hold. “Let me the fuck go,” he snapped. “I’m not here to be your goddamn hero, I’m here for revenge.”

“You think I don’t get that?” Virgil snapped back. “I want the bastard dead as much as you do, so don’t think for a second that you have a monopoly on rage here.”

“Then what are we waiting for? We’re the strongest and those two both know it. Let’s follow this piece of shit, grind them into dust, and be fucking done with this ‘partnership.’”

Virgil’s grip slackened for a second as he looked around them, a cloud of anger on his face. But it passed, and he pulled Gale Force all the way back to earth. “We can’t just rush in. This isn’t just for revenge: it’s to stop more people getting hurt. And it’s because we’re the strongest that we can’t risk blazing through, because we’ll be the reason more are hurt.”

Patton crossed his arms, glaring at the taller man. “What makes you think I care about a couple of casualties if it means I get revenge?”

“Because you’re still human,” Reflex responded. His gaze was level, understanding. “If all you wanted was their death at any cost, you wouldn’t have come to us. I’m not asking you to admit anything, but I have a feeling you know more about collateral damage than you ever wanted to know.” A nerve in Patton’s cheek jumped at that and Virgil nodded. “Like I said. Not asking you to admit anything. But I get it. I never wanted to be a hero. But then my partner convinced me that it’s not about getting recognition, it’s not about the fights. It’s about doing the best you can for as many people as you can. It’s about using these powers I never asked for to do what others can’t.”

Patton grumbled, but assented. “Fine. What can I do here, then?”

“Help me with the rubble? Drop it in the harbor if you need to.”

Reflex and Gale Force joined their partners in cleaning up the disaster zone. ‘Flex lifted enormous chunks of rock and concrete gently to free trapped limbs or to uncover more bodies. He tossed them into the air, where the wind-manipulator caught them and floated them safely to the water.

The Crimson Marauder flew into the air to check for more injured civilians, held aloft by his glowing hands. He was aware of Doctor Vectorious moving quickly somewhere below him, running up buildings and around the square to find civilians who’d been outside as well as in the surrounding apartments and offices. Was anyone limping? Anyone who needed a temporary bandage? Where was the emergency services van, shouldn’t they be here?

A huge crack of of rubble and rock shifting distracted him, and he whirled to see where the noise was coming from. By the time he registered that it was just Reflex working with Patton (aww, his love was working with one of his crushes!), he’d lost focus and his glow went out. He fell, stomach dropping as he tried to conjure something, anything, even just a mattress or a trampoline to break his fall.

A warm impact hit him as a blur originating from a nearby roof crashed into him and carried them both to a fire escape on the other side of the narrow street. The blur resolved back into Doctor Vectorious, and he found himself being held in the shorter man’s arms.

The speedster stared for a moment, then looked away with a slight pink tinge to his pale cheeks. “You’re, um,” he said, jerking his head towards him without looking back. “Uncovered.”

Roman started, feeling his face. The impact had knocked off his mask, and the hero was pointedly looking away to preserve his identity.

Or, perhaps, Logan was looking away because his internal monologue had been hijacked by the phrase, “Oh fuck, he’s hot.”

Roman quickly conjured a replacement mask and slid out of Logan’s hold to stand on his own again. The hero remained with his gaze averted until a siren’s blare drew close, announcing the arrival of the emergency crew.

“Thank fuck,” Roman sighed, and flew himself down to greet them. He explained quickly that his constructs needed to be replaced now so that they wouldn’t fade if they got too far away. He was already grateful that they’d be detached from him long enough that they hadn’t faded when he momentarily lost focus, and was eager to be able to draw back his energies further.

Virgil, Logan, and Patton ferried the injured from ruins of the street to the vans, including both the young hero and villain to the separate supers truck. Finally, they were able to move out. The heroes had acquired a better-functioning scanner for the villains, one that could call them specifically when they were needed, and allowed the villains to call them securely if they should so choose. About to part, Reflex paused, and offered Gale Force a handshake. Warily, the villain accepted, and the Marauder did too, in turn. Doctor Vectorious was more hesitant, but copied his partner.

Back in Logan’s apartment, the shorter man washed his face thoroughly, still shivering slightly at the remembrance of so many hurt. “How many casualties was it, all told?”

“Ten. All civilians. Both The Contortionist and Blynk are on bed rest, but they’ll recover. Total injuries are at about 25 people, but the techs said at least ten additional civilians avoided worse injuries that could have lead to critical conditions thanks to our timing as a group.”

Logan sighed. “I know I should be grateful that we were able to help so many, proportionally, but…”

“I know.”

“This villain is no joke, Virge. 35 deaths and it hasn’t yet been two days.”

“We’ll get them, Lo. I promise.”

Logan looked up. Virgil was back in civilian clothes that he left here in his partner’s apartment, one of his trusty black hoodies unzipped over a plain tee and sweatpants. Logan had changed back into his version of casual: a button-up not fully buttoned, no tie, and jeans.

“Speaking of promises…” he began. He ran a hand through already-mussed hair. “I was cut off, yesterday. I know that there are bigger, more pressing issues now but I still want to finish the thought I was trying to express.”

“Lo, it’s okay if you don’t return the sentiment, you know that, right? I’ll still love you as a friend no matter what.”

Logan sat next to Virgil on the couch. “I appreciate that, Vee, but that’s not where I was going.”

“Oh?” Virgil asked, smiling hopefully.

“I apologize for my obliviousness, Virgil, and for how long it took me to put this together, but I believe I feel the same type of romantic sentiment towards you as you’ve expressed that you feel towards me.” Logan reached out a tentative hand to take Virgil’s in his.

“You’re sounding like a textbook again, Lo,” Virgil teased, squeezing Logan’s hand.

“Sorry, I just-”

“I’m not complaining, not in the slightest. It’s part of you, ya know? It’s part of the charm.” He shifted over on the couch until their thighs were touching, and, receiving a nod of approval, draped an arm around his partner’s shoulders. “I love you, Logan.”

Logan blushed deep. “I love you as well, Virgil.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“Please do.”

Lips met in tentative sweetness and softness, neither pushing or needing to. This was them, comfort and companionship that felt as natural as breathing. And at this particular moment, breathing was the more difficult option of the two.

At long last, Logan broke off and looked up into Virgil’s dark eyes. “Are we… dating? It seems like an odd term, or at the very least an odd distinction.”

“I mean. We’re already partners,” Virgil said with a shrug and a grin.

“Oh no, don’t you start on puns too, now. There’s already Dad and Gale Force, I refuse to take any more of this.”

“Okay, okay,” Virgil said, laughing. “I’ll have mercy. Because I love you.” He most definitely did not add in the phrase because it was a relief to say it out loud after so many years of thinking it. He would definitely not continue to sprinkle it in liberally after seeing Logan’s pink-cheeked reaction to hearing it.

“I must say, I was quite impressed by the Marauder today. I thought he’d entirely turned his back on heroing when he realigned, but it appears he really is a hero at heart. Or, at the very least, a super who cares about the well-being of civilians over his personal gain.”

“Almost like people can have a change of heart without a change of personality,” Virgil commented mildly.

“He’s still a villain, though,” Logan added sharply. “And don’t think I didn’t see Gale Force trying to run off before you talked him down.”

Virgil sighed, letting his arm fall off Logan’s shoulders. “He’s not all bad, Lo. He’s just an angry human with far too many scars that haven’t come close to healing yet.”

“So are you. And yet you’re still a hero.”

“But I’ve had you, for nine years. He only has whats-his-name. Roman. Princey. Who’s just as burned, if not quite so angry.” Virgil’s voice was soft.

Logan frowned. “Why make excuses for them?”

“Because it’s not hard for me to picture a different world where I went that direction instead, Lo. I… I could picture myself neutral, hiding from my powers. Or a villain, angry at the city for not finding me sooner. Gale Force understands that. The fury. And besides that… I like them. For all that they’re frustrating and have evil tendencies and all the public displays of affection.”

An eyebrow raised above glasses frames. “You like them?”

“I mean, you know I’ve been flirting with Princey during fights. It’s not just because I’m a walking stereotype of a snarky hero. And the other one, Patton, he’s not bad-looking either.”

“Ah, I see,” Logan said quietly.

"This doesn’t affect how I feel about you, Lo, not in any way,” Virgil rushed to clarify. “It could never. It’ll always be you, no matter if I pursue these other feelings or not.”

Logan relaxed slightly. “I don’t know that I feel similarly, or even could, not when I only realized how I felt about you through a strong platonic bond over literal years.”

“That’s more than okay. You mean the most to me. If you’d rather I keep quiet about these feelings, just let them fade…”

“No, that’s unnecessary. I am not opposed to you, ah, pursuing them, just keep me informed. I do understand the… attraction.” Logan blushed lightly, but coughed and continued. “And as long as you’re safe. They’re still villains, Vee. We can’t trust them, not past taking down Agent Whisper.”

“You may be right. You usually are. But, I don’t know, man. I feel like maybe we can, this time.”

Logan raised an eyebrow again. “Virgil the cynic, wanting to trust people?”

“Oh look, it’s the pot, calling the kettle black,” Virgil replied, shoving Logan lightly in the shoulder.

“Guilty as charged.”

“By the way, can I borrow your phone charger, I wanna call Mom and Mama today, and the sibs if they’re home.”

“Why do you think I bought an extra-long purple cord?”

~~~~~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337475 Classification: A.3.i [Tertiary Tier Hero, Legacy] Name: Blynk Status: INACTIVE /////////Reason: Injury Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: TOP SECRET] McKenzie Bleu Affiliation: Hero /////////H.A.T.C.H. Status: Temporarily Inactive Partners/Sidekicks: N/A Primary Foes: N/A Powers: Short-Range Teleportation; Enhanced Durability; /////////Range approximately 100 yds; does not need to see destination, but does need to focus on it Costume: Black leggings with lace up ballet slippers; blue dress with white stripe on the skirt with attached hood Age: 17 Height: 5’4 Pronouns: She/Her H.E.A.R.T.S. Class: Enrolled, anticipated ‘19 Note: Daughter of DI#265353; Not yet cleared for independent hero missions - involvement in IR 18-Z-0015 unintentional and due to proximity alone

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337432 Classification: Z.3.iv [Tertiary Tier Villain, Unknown] Name: The Contortionist Status: INACTIVE /////////Reason: Incarceration, Injury Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Tai Kim Affiliation: Villain Partners/Sidekicks: N/A Primary Foes: N/A Powers: Body Plasticity - Medium Spectrum; /////////Can alter density and length of body parts; cannot fully transform into other shapes Costume: Bodysuit in black, red, and gold; designed to look like a tailcoat with gold braiding; /////////Strongly reminiscent of a ringmaster outfit, but able to stretch with them Age: 19 Height: 5’10 Pronouns: They/Them H.E.A.R.T.S. Class: Dropout Note: Believed to have left the city until involvement in IR 18-Z-0015

~~~~~~~~~~

They were woken early the next morning by yet another H.A.T.C.H. alert. Virgil gave a single breath to regret his poor, poor sleep schedule before changing into his costume.

Mayor and S.E.A.M. Stokes weren’t sure of the exact nature of the disturbance, but they knew it involved supers. In this uncertain climate, that meant sending their best, just to be prepared. At Virgil’s urging, Logan had conceded to alert their villain partners as well.

“What’s the harm in being ready, L?”

“They’re collectively responsible for over fifteen felonies.”

“...yeah, but they’re on our side now.”

Logan fixed his partner with a look.

“I know, I know. We can’t trust them entirely. But you trust me, right?”

Logan softened. “Of course I do. I trust you with my life.”

Virgil paused, blushing slightly. “I… god, I love you, Lo.”

“I love you as well.”

Standing by the window, in full costume, seconds before rushing to whatever crime scene had alerted them today, Virgil stole a moment to pull his partner in close and kiss him softly.

They parted, both pink-faced. “I’ve just got a hunch, Lo. I think we’ll need them, or at least not regret bringing them along. And I swear, I’ll protect you if they try anything.”

And thus, as they surveyed the scene from the top of a nearby building, the villains arrived as well.

“I don’t see Agent Piss-per anywhere,” Gale Force said with a frown.

“We haven’t either,” Logan replied evenly. “But they’ve been targeting super fights so far. It’s only logical to conclude that any fight between persons with enhanced abilities will continue to be targets for them.”

“I’m not participating in your self-righteous state-sanctioned vigilantism,” the Marauder said, lounging against the wall. “Who’s even fighting?”

“They’re a recurring duo. They either partner up or are on opposite sides, it depends on which muse is controlling her,” Virgil explained, gesturing to the dark-clad figure visible from above. Many brilliant lights surrounded her, with more seeming to sprout from the galaxy print on her suit. Tiny constellations flew towards her opponent and swirled around the other’s massive, cascading skirts. With Gale Force’s help, they could all hear the conversation on the wind - a steady stream of chat and compliments, even as star constructs disrupted the princess-figure’s attempts to infiltrate the nearby museum.

“Who’s this?”

“Today? Nebula. You may also know her as Ghost. But she’s not nearly as active as some I could name,” Logan explained, glancing side-eyed at where Gale Force seemed to be taking notes.

“Yes, but what about the aesthetic one,” the Marauder asked with a tone bordering on reverence.

Virgil smirked. “She’s known as Lovely Darling. A mesmerizer with a strong affinity for princesses. So you know, pretty familiar, except more people are infatuated with her than just herself.”

Roman pouted at the tall hero and opened his mouth to object when the air suddenly shifted and four sets of eyes snapped to the scene below.

A dark dust cloud was rising, despite the complete lack of debris or destruction from the existing fight. Looking for the details, Virgil saw how the ‘dust’ cloud dragged and stuck on corners as it neared both supers.

“Heads up!” Gale Force shouted, and the air itself carried his voice, surprising them both as they noticed the impending danger. Logan was there a breath later, grabbing them both and pulling them away before rejoining the group in a blur.

“Go in all at once?” Virgil asked.

“On y va,” Roman said firmly, and they moved forward as one. The minute they passed into the cloudlike mass, Roman had the strangest sense of someone muttering, Oh, this should be fun.

And then the world went grey. His limbs went heavy and his heart turned to lead. A sluggishness settled over his entire body as he crumpled to his knees. He couldn’t muster the energy to do anything but struggle to stay upright, and he watched his constructs melt away in a blink of an eye. Of course he couldn’t create anything. He was useless. Everyone knew he was the weakest of their group. No raw power like Reflex, no elemental power like Patton, no brilliant strategy like the Doctor. He just had his little red toys. And now, he didn’t even have those.

It was fitting, wasn’t it? Let everyone see how worthless he was, whether a hero or a villain. He could die here, in this cloud, and the world would not note his passing nor feel his loss. A tear coursed down his cheek and fell onto his hands as he struggle to just barely brace himself. All he was good for was tears. How had anyone been fooled enough to believe anything else? Had they even been fooled? Or had they just been humoring him, pretending that he had something to offer. Seeing his obvious fragility and flattering him the way you compliment a child’s terrible scribbles. Who could ever truly believe in him? His arms trembled, and he collapsed fully, prone upon the ground, awash in despair and listlessness.

Logan was running as he passed into the cloud. He was surprised to see it was only a hair’s width as he passed through, coming into practically the same daylit scene on the other side. He kept running as he looked for the villain. Ro- the Marauder was flying on his right, with Virgil and Gale Force on his left. Was that Agent Whisper up there? The dark, humanoid shape was further back than he’d guessed. He pushed himself to speed up, to get there faster before the villain could escape again. He was reaching a rate of one hundred miles per hour - why weren’t they getting closer? His muscles felt odd, not the normal level of burn for this speed, but the wind was rushing through his hair and he could see the world flashing by through his goggles. Perhaps his workout routine was finally helping him reach new speeds. He pushed harder, blurring into five hundred miles per hour, fighting to reach the villain. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his villain partners had fallen behind him, but Virgil was still there on his left. But Agent Whisper was still so far away. He ran faster, nearing his top speed. He was a blur, a bullet streaking towards its target, but he could still see and feel his whole body. Finally, the dark antagonist was near, and he went to slow down to grab them, incapacitate them, bring them to justice.

But he couldn’t stop. His legs wouldn’t slow, his arms still pumping in rhythm to keep running. He was still moving, still in the nimbus of speed that almost no one could see. He looked frantically around only to see that he’d left Virgil far behind. He tried to turn, but couldn’t. He was just running, running, through the city, past the city, over hills and mountains and water and more mountains and he couldn’t stop. How would he get home? How would he live? How would he see Mom and Dad again, how would he be there for Jem and Bea? How would he be with Virgil, now that they finally were? He’d left him back there, surrounded by villains. He’d left him all alone, the one thing he’d promised would never happen back when they’d first met. How would time pass while he was stuck in this endless speed? Would he even feel it? Would he just run until his body gave out from the stress or exhaustion?

“Please!” he tried to yell. “Please, get me out!”

But his words were whipped away by the rush of air and movement all around him. He was trapped.

Virgil was prepared for his first step into the cloud, for the light to cut out and the fog to surround him. He felt slightly more of the texture this time, a weird film that clung to his skin. He strode in, scanning for the villain, trusting his hearing more than his sight, which extended only about three feet in any direction. He turned almost instinctively to look for Logan at his right, to check if the speedster had dashed in. He saw his partner but… Logan was frozen, eyes jumping and flitting around. His muscles twitched, but he seemed glued to the spot. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Past him, a red-and-black form lay curled in a fetal position, unmoving.

Virgil reached his partner and love in a single step, reaching out for his shoulder. The impact caused Logan’s eyes to snap open as he cried out in pain. Virgil immediately pulled his hand back, only to see bones protruding from Logan’s arm from how strong his touch had been.

“Fuck, Lo, I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry-”

“You always are,” Logan snapped back, blood seeping down his shoulder. “Sorry will mean nothing when you kill someone. They won’t care that you didn’t mean it!”

Tears sprang from Virgil’s eyes. He looked down to see the concrete was crumbling where his foot had touched the ground. “Please, Lo, let me help-”

“Don’t touch me!” his friend screamed, terror in his eyes. “Stay back!”

Virgil swallowed hard and obeyed, stepping back, but craters formed with each step. He backed into something and whirled to see a huge wall sway and fall, crushing those who’d been unlucky enough to be sitting behind it.

“Stop it!” Logan yelled, and his terror had shifted to hatred. “You ruin everything you touch!”

“I don’t-”

“Just hide away, Virgil. Just leave this city, leave your family, hide away where you won’t hurt anyone anymore. You’re a threat to everyone around you, so just go!”

Tears coursed down Virgil’s cheeks. “Lo, please-”

“You are and always have been nothing more than a ticking time bomb, Virgil. Didn’t Sandry teach you that?”

The tall hero froze. Logan no longer sounded like himself. Virgil knew his dearest friend would never mention that, no matter his anger. No one would - except Virgil himself. Logan’s words were Virgil’s own, the ones he directed against himself on all the dark days. The world crumbling at his touch, inadvertent pain against the one he loved? This was his own private nightmare made real. He took a deep breath, in for four counts. Hold for seven. Out for eight.

“I am not a monster,” he whispered to himself. “I have enhanced abilities. I use them to do the best I can to help others. I pull my punches, I take care to not use too much force. I don’t hurt my loved ones. I am a hero because I try to be one, and I succeed at an above-average rate.”

Slowly, the craters fixed themselves, and the wall re-erected itself. The blood and bones vanished off Logan’s arm, and he was now as he had been, frozen, looking with distress off into nothing as his eyes shifted rapidly. Virgil reached out slowly, gently, to brush his shoulder with a feather-light touch. His partner didn’t respond, but neither did he bruise.

Virgil turned, hearing footsteps. He kept breathing evenly, repeating his mantras to himself, and stepped towards the sound of movement. It was Gale Force, Patton, walking evenly through the mist without hesitation.

Patton stepped through the border of light to dark as easy as breathing. It took him almost ten steps before he realized he no longer heard the heroes and his partner on his right. He turned to see them all paralyzed. Roman’s beautiful, radiant red fire had faded. Patton had been around for enough dark days to recognize the despair etched into his love’s face. He almost ran to him when he saw that the Doctor was frozen too, not on his knees but standing. Doctor Vectorious, who was intriguing and infuriating and condescending and so very pretty seemed to shiver and jerk with some internal movement. Even Reflex had paused, looking confused and distressed. His love and his... partners. Not friends. They were coworkers, if that. Nothing more. What had put them in such a state?

He felt a slight weight on his chest. An impression of tears, of bricks and water and twisted metal. He turned, and walked towards the center of the cloud, seeking Agent Whisper. He was sure he was getting closer, he could feel it. And with every step he saw flashes of the past. A dusty courtyard, the Hundredth-of-an-Acre Wood. A lanky child carrying two giggling girls on his back. Phantom hands smacked his and ran away laughing in a game of tag. Two women smiled down at him, hands linked.

Now they shifted. Bruises and blood appeared, torsos were covered in brick. Limbs became maimed and mangled beyond recognition. And voices drifted out of mouths that couldn’t possibly be producing them.

“You should have saved us.”

“Why were you the only one to survive?”

“You let me die.”

Patton lifted a hand casually to push back the clouds and give himself more visibility. Finally, a form in the mist. It seemed to eat the light around it, a human-shaped hole cut out against reality, a black pit that had no eyes to stare at him.

“How?” a voice asked, shrieking in impossibly high and low octaves at once. It was an eagle’s cry and an earthquake’s rumble, unnatural and natural at once. Patton turned to it, and smiled brightly.

“Oh, kiddo, were you trying to make us feel bad? Here’s a fun little factoid for you!” He grunted with effort as he conjured a cone of air, tightly wound and pointed away from his team. His face fell into a dark mask as he sent the tornado hurtling towards the dark form opposing them. “I’ve felt worse.”

The form dodged easily, but backed up. Reflex appeared at Patton’s side, scowling and tensed to attack. The mist started to lift, helped along by Patton’s winds.

Both hero and villain heard a sound that might have been the crack of rock and might have been a swear. Clouds suddenly rushed past them, flowing from their backs towards Agent Whisper. They swirled around them and starting to soar into the air, a column of dark clouds even as the last traces faded from the square. Reflex shot off from the ground, ready to give chase, but in a breath the clouds were gone and out of sight.

“Fuck,” he said, coming back to land. “That was rough. How were you so unaffected?”

“It’s just ghosts,” Patton replied with a shrug. “I’m always surrounded by ghosts. I’m more worried about our partners.”

Reflex nodded, and they both flew over to where Roman and the Doctor were recovering. Patton was immediately kneeling at Roman’s side, rubbing a warm, grounding hand on his lower back.

“I’m here, love,” he whispered. “The dark is gone, you’re safe, and wonderful, and deserving of all the love I could possibly give you and at least twice as much on top of that.”

Roman stirred, slowly uncurling out of the fetal position. “Sunshine?” he asked raspily. “That’s really you?”

“It’s me, my ruby. I’m here. I love you. You deserve that love.”

Roman moved slowly to sitting up, shuddering. Patton continued to rub small, comforting circles on his lower back, the other hand coming up to run through Roman’s silky, dark hair.

“How did it come on so suddenly, Pat?”

“Agent Whisper, sweetness. I guess that’s what the illusions are - a blast of bad emotions, and our brains fill in the rest.”

Roman shivered and nodded. “Makes sense. And I’m already starting to feel better. Thank you, honeybunch. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Virgil half-listened to the villains’ conversation but his main focus was on Logan. He gently touched his arm, still flinching at the idea of accidentally hurting him. But the speedster’s eyes had finally gone back to normal, focusing on Virgil’s face instead of cycling rapidly.

“Vee?” he asked, voice barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Is this real?”

“Yes, L, it’s real,” Virgil murmured back.

“Can I-” words seemed to fail him, but he lifted his arms enough for Virgil to understand him.

“Of course,” he said, smiling as he wrapped his arms around his friend and partner. Logan hugged back tightly, burying his face in Virgil’s muscled shoulders to avoid knowing if there were tears on his face or not. Virgil hugged tighter, lifting Logan fully into the air and surprising a laugh out of the shorter man.

“Hey! I’m not a child!” he complained, grinning.

“But you are my babe,” Virgil responded, teasing. “My tiny boyfriend.”

Logan blushed a deep red at that. “Oh, yes, I suppose I am.”

“That’s gay,” Roman drawled, standing with Patton’s help. “Dear, look at the heroes, they’re gay.”

“Heroes? More like queeroes!”

Logan’s blush didn’t fade as he glared over. “That was terrible.”

“Is that why you’re laughing internally?” Virgil asked blandly, to Logan’s indignation.

“Hey, don’t out me in front of them!”

“Oh horror of horrors, the nerd might actually have a sense of humor,” Roman said, draping a hand dramatically over his forehead. Color had returned to his golden cheeks, and his eyes were practically crackling with rich hazel energy.

“I’m glad you’re both feeling better,” Virgil said, putting Logan back on his feet. “Even if this Whisper fuck got away again.”

“We know what they’re capable of, now,” Logan said. “We can prepare for next time. Or at least brace ourselves for it.”

Patton nodded. “‘Flex and I are proof it can be overcome. So there’s hope for you two as well.”

“Go home and get some rest, gather your emotional strength,” Virgil advised, slipping his hands into Logan’s grip. “I’ve got a feeling we’ll be called again much sooner than we’d like.”

The villains nodded and flew off together, Roman rocketing ahead of Patton.

“Ladybug, slow down,” Patton complained. “You’re going too fast for me!”

“You’re going too slow!” Roman cried happily, looping in circles high and low. “God, I can’t believe how much better I feel now that we’re away from that creep!” He laughed and created a glowing red surfboard. He stood on it and balanced with exaggerated outspread hands, conjuring a huge red wave that crashed over Patton as he flew through the air still. He giggled, and the wave crashed into an explosion of butterflies and ruby wings sprouted from his back.

“Ro, come on, let’s go home,” Patton pleaded. “We can bring the butterflies if you want.”

“Butterflies are old news,” Roman replied, snapping his fingers. The forms around him melted into a huge dragon that carried him on its back as it blew sparkling fire.

“Roro, please!”

“No, not a dragon. A witch!” Roman cried, unhearing. “No, both!” Crackles of energy sparked as the dragon shifted and twisted into a dragon-witch complete with crystalline hat.

Patton sighed. The emotional manipulation had triggered a manic phase, and there was no reasoning with Ro when he was in mania’s throes. He turned in mid-air and flew to their home alone, trusting that his love would come find him when he’d calmed.

Roman flew, creating and destroying and creating anew until the sun started to fade. When the light in the sky began to match the red light of his constructs, he looked up at the clouds and thought of Patton. His love, his salvation, his partner in crime. Literally. Not that they’d been caught more than the one time.

He flew lower, just above the rooftops, finally traveling at normal speeds once more. Just as the forced low had been brief, his uncontrollable high was resolving faster than normal, too. He sheepishly contemplated the apologies he would need to make to his partner for worrying him and leaving him behind when he’d soared into the sky.

He floated down to earth to walk the last few blocks home. He stepped off into a dark alley to change back into civilian clothes.

If only he’d looked a bit harder at the shadows.

~~~~~~~~~~

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337403 Classification: M.1.ii [Primary Tier Neutral, Acquired Powers] Name: Ghost/Nebula Status: ACTIVE Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Lulu Ador Affiliation: Neutral /////////H.A.T.C.H. Status: Blackout Only Partners/Sidekicks: #337471; #337402 Primary Foes: #337402 Powers: Shadow Teleportation; Psionic Construction [Star Sprites] /////////As Ghost, can travel through any shadow to any other; As Nebula, can summon star-sprites who are directed by her thoughts Costume: Tailored suit in a galaxy print and bow tie with a matching mask Age: 27 Height: 5’7 Pronouns: She/Her H.E.A.R.T.S. Class ‘10 Note: Valedictorian of her class, on similar caliber to DI#337255 - Doctor Vectorious. Ghost appears to be almost like possession, while Nebula is the 'true' form. When as Nebula, she is a hero, albeit one frustrated with the overly-physical nature of typical heroing due to her fibro. Classified as neutral because any given day she may be one or the other

D.R.E.A.M. Index #337402 Classification: Z.2.i [Secondary Tier Villain, Legacy] Name: Lovely Darling Status: ACTIVE Civilian Name: [CLEARANCE: CONFIDENTIAL] Danielle Disney Affiliation: Villain Partners/Sidekicks: #337403 Primary Foes: #337403 Powers: Mesmerizing; Power of Suggestion; Forced Infatuation /////////Anyone within a radius of approximately 10 yards is susceptible; focus on a particular person makes it more compelling and longer-lasting Costume: Purple and pink ballgown with a hoop skirt; heart-shaped mask Age: 26 Height: 5’7 Pronouns: She/Her H.E.A.R.T.S. Class ‘11 Note: Teams up with DI#337403 - Ghost/Nebula and feuds with her in equal measure, depending on how much her current scheme might affect others

~~~~~~~~~~

a/n: Spot the Steven Universe reference! There's also a Firefly quote in there. Partly an homage to one of the other possible names for this fic as a whole, ‘Big Damn Heroes’

(Fanfic writing, aka, finding ways to sneak in references to other fandoms and also inserting your friends in as background characters <3)

37 notes · View notes

dailybuglenow · 5 years

Photo

TUESDAY, 13 AUGUST 2023. EDITED BY J. JONAH JAMESON.

THE TRAGEDY IN TIMES SQUARE: MUTANTS & TERRORISM

TW: The article contains anti-mutant rhetoric that could be considered offensive

Some things are never meant to be. In the last week since I wrote my piece on the decimation of mutants Post-Cleanse ( see our august 7th issue for full coverage ) I’ve received a fair share of negative comments that I was not giving mutants a chance or my words were generalizing and hateful. I, personally, was not offensive. It’s my job to report the news and if that gets people talking it’s good. It’s on this side of a terrible tragedy though that I see I am now justified in my beliefs. Yesterday at approximately 1700 hours energy spikes were reported in Times Square. A popular New York tourist trap, the few blocks that it encompasses statistics show an average of 330,000 - 460, 000 visitors daily. News of this energy spike should have been reported to the Avengers instantly due to the high number of civilians, but it was instead the mutant X-Men who arrived at the scene to handle the situation internally. Recognized among the group was not one but two Cyclops (Scott Summers), the Wolverine (James ‘Logan’ Howlett) and two Icemen (Robert Drake). Also in the group was an unidentified man with Wolverine like claws, a telepathic man with a golden energy beam, a silver haired speedster, an unidentified who looked surprisingly like the deceased Pietro Maximoff and a woman in a baseball cap that some onlookers said looked like the Avenger Wanda Maximoff. Please see page two for elaboration on the potential presence of Maximoff.

Leading this merry band of mutant terrorists was Erik Lehnsherr, a man known as Magneto who has often been painted as the bad guy in your history books. Lehnsherr has, as of late, been residing on the mutant island nation of Krakoa and is believed to be in the Hellfire Club, headed by one Emma Frost. Next to him was Jean Grey, an original founding member of the X-Men who passed in the late 1980′s for reasons undisclosed but has been present in the last five years. All of these mutants stood against the 21 year old mutant Jean Grey ( not the one who was deceased ). Before going into the conflict, I have to ask my readers: how are the X-Men duplicating themselves? Are they clones? There’s no one worse to clone than a mutant, that’s for sure. The double appearance of Iceman, Cyclops and Grey raise some valid questions but the doppelgängers are surprisingly not the worst part of this situation. It was the younger Ms. Grey who seemed to be the problem. Early reports from the tragedy state that Ms. Grey arrived shortly before the other mutants did and seemed to be talking to herself and agitated. When the X-squad or whatever they like to be called these days arrived they attempted to talk to Ms. Grey before she lashed out and attacked. After that it appeared to be an all-out brawl with some civilians being escorted to safety and others being left behind and in danger. Photos and videos taken on site show something beautiful, terrible and disgusting. The pretty colors and swooping mutants may look like something out of an action movie but they were not superheroes. They were abominations with very little regard to human life.

Within the course of 45 minutes Ms. Grey managed to incapacitate most of the group and nearly killed a good deal of them, including the elder Ms. Grey. The conflict was only ended when Mr. Howlett managed to stab Ms. Grey through the chest, effectively stopping her attack. There was then an explosion that caused tremors and shattered windows as far down as the West Village. The explosion manifested itself in the shape of a giant bird made of fire, with reports stating it was picked up by satellites globally. In an exclusive video taken by an onlooker Grey’s body can be seen prone on the ground at the center of the blast radius. This video contains graphic imagery but can be found on the Daily Bugle webpage. Grey was later confirmed to be deceased, but Lehnsherr had fled the scene with her body before ambulances or reporters arrived. All of the mutants conveniently left, actually, before they had to answer for their actions to the public. Though it came as a surprise to this humble supporter, Mr. Lehnsherr responded to our requests for a statement. He advised the Bugle, “What happened in Times Square can only be described as a tragedy, as I am sure you have all already concluded on your own. Jean Grey lost control and it was our job to help her and control the damage to the best of our ability. It was never her intention to cause harm to either our kind or yours. In the end a decision was made, one that ended not with us helping her but with us taking her down. These were the decisions and actions of a small group who took the situation into their own hands. We will never know if the situation could have ended differently, but the city is safe now as it stands. Even though Jean paid for it with her life. Her body was immediately taken to the Island of Krakao after the incident and will remain there until a proper ceremony is planned in her honor. She will be missed.”

It wasn’t her intention. A rather weak excuse considering the irreparable damage that has been done. Hate is the last thing that we need to promote in a world like this one, one rocked by prejudice and both literal and figurative monsters. What happened in Times Square last night is, by all means, an act of terror against those who couldn’t defend themselves in a gross disregard. Property damage around the area has yet to be assessed by damage control services, but several theaters in the area and other restaurants and museums have been shut down for the foreseeable future with companies promising to get them up and running again as soon as possible. Some onlookers spoke of a voice in their ear forcing them to fight one another, but that ended as soon as Grey was fatally attacked. As many as two dozen civilians have been confirmed as deceased with up to a hundred injured and currently being checked at Mt. Sinai hospitals around the island. If you have a loved one who has not been accounted for yet, please call the Bugle Hotline to connect with others and authorities.

Regarded as a leader on the island of Krakoa - which is a whole subject of suspicion all together - Ms. Emma Frost also released an official statement for the Hellfire Club and the mutants of the nation. Ms. Frost went on record saying, “We hate to see history repeat itself, but sometimes it does. The world has never been kind to mutants but we aren’t prone to pity ourselves or perceived injustices. Instead we plan and we protect our own, which we attempted to do here. The Hellfire Club was not made aware of the plan to subdue Miss Grey due to the urgency of the situation, but we will not persecute our friends and family where no persecution is due. An action of a man is not limited to one finite moment in time and while Logan Howlett has chosen to not speak with the media for obvious reasons and a general lack of interest in a witch hunt, his actions were understandable. The same goes for still living Jean Grey, long a staple member of the community. Both are acting as Co-Headmasters of the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning and would not take the loss of a student lightly. Tragedy is tragedy and we would never deny that. We will, however, remain thankful that the blast radius was not as deadly as it could have been. At this time we ask that the general public leave Krakoa to process this and the loss of one so young. As stated, her body will remain on the island until buried and there is no intent to turn it over to the United States government. We are mutants and we will do as we must. Any further questions or concerns can be direct to Briar Raleigh and we will respond at our discretion and convenience.”

After all we know about Frost and Lehnsherr it’s hard to take either of them at their word. Magneto has often been seen going against the X-Men, so his supposed grief at the loss of one seems to be a cheap act. Frost is held in higher regards due to her work with children, but her ascension to the throne in the long rumored and formerly secret Hellfire Club has swayed public perception away from her favor. Regardless, it is the ever steady former acting president Senator Robert Kelly who has weighed in on the incident. “We need to call things as the are,” he told a solemn crowd at the site of the incident this morning. “We’ve always needed to call things what they were but we never wanted to. We got caught up in mutant rights when there should be no such things. Mutants are not human. They don’t pretend to be. Mutants are as much human as Thanos was. Their bodies do not belong and they are a danger to others and clearly themselves as well. Had they truly cared about the American people a problem of this magnitude would have been reported so inhibitor collars and Sentinel Services could have been present to deescalate the situation. If an animal attacks a human they’re put down. Ms. Grey should have been put down long before she was able to do as much harm as she was. The innocent people who died today won’t get brought back, so I truly hope Jean Grey feels the weight of those souls wherever she is. I’ll be speaking directly to President Ellis about the incident and reaching out to the Avengers for their compliance in helping to control this dilemma that is haunting the American people. In the meantime, hold your loved ones close. Watch your back when you’re on the street. America is no longer safe as long as mutants run free.”

What happened is a tragedy. No one can deny that. It doesn’t matter if you side with the mutants or the humans. Lives were lost and people were fractured. Once again we have to rebuild from an incident that never should have occurred. Today I wrote this article with a heavy heart. I pray I don’t have to write another tomorrow.

—- Gayle Rogers, Daily Bugle News

A FAMILY AFFAIR:

As mentioned above, photos from the incident in Time Square place a woman who looks remarkably like Wanda Maximoff was spotted on site. Maximoff, an Avenger since 2015, has had a rather rocky career in the limelight due to her attack on Lagos and later status as a war criminal along with Steve Rogers. A confirmed victim of the Cleanse, Maximoff returned and was soon associated again with the Avengers after being pardoned for her international crimes. Interestingly enough, another figure at the scene was a silver haired speedster who resembled Maximoff’s deceased twin brother Pietro, who was a casualty of the Ultron attack in Sokovia also in 2015. The presence of the Maximoff twins lines up only when you remember the fact that they are the children of Erik Lehnsherr, a fact known by the public despite a lack of official acknowledgement by any of the three. The Maximoff involvement would be another strike against the Scarlet Witch as the Avengers have purposefully remained out of mutant affairs so far. A representative for Maximoff or the Avengers could not be reached.

IN OTHER NEWS:

Public opinion polls have shown that reception to our new Captain American, Sam Wilson, is currently lower than that of Steve Rogers before he put down the shield. People have cited that they lack the familiarity with Wilson that they had with Rogers while others could not list a specific reasons. Some have wondered if the lack of interest is due to the turbulent history of the shield as of late or due to more racially charged matters. There’s been no word from Wilson on the matter.

Everyone’s favorite Champions were spotted in Libya recently as shown by the news and social media posts. They continue to take the world by storm with their modern way of reaching their audience and social justice causes. Ms. Marvel and Spider-man ( not the red and blue one ) were recently seen in Manhattan along with a few other members of the team taking selfies before having to leave on a mission. We’re rooting for you, Champions!

What is Krakoa? There will be an academic lecture at New York University on Thursday with Dr. Kate Peterson and Dr. Edward Busha to discuss the political implications of a mutant nation on a social and economic level. Tickets are being sold in advance and at the door.

General Thaddeus Ross is currently traveling to Latveria to meet with their leader, Victor Von Doom. This coincides with meetings the United States Government are scheduled to have with Wakanda this week following the return of the perviously snapped King T’Challa.

#daily bugle news #all #mutants #daily buzz #gayle rodgers

6 notes · View notes

ehyeh-joshua · 5 years

Text

Fallen-Star, 1st chapter.

As promised yesterday, the first draft of the 1st chapter of what will be the only novel planned to take place on Earth during the post-Flood era and before we go to the stars. I am after all, a firm believer that we cannot stay in the cradle forever, my only concern is if He returns before we depart...

Bonus internet points for correctly figuring out the final sentence; apologies for the poor MS paint drawing, but it is close enough. This first draft is 3 pages of A4. Ish.

“What am I looking at, Commissar.”

“We don't know either, General.”

The two men stood above the large crater; the cause of the crater, this thing – thing? Yes, thing, whatever it is – laid out at the bottom crater it's impact had left. More than five metres tall, yet vaguely humanoid according to the team establishing the outline of the otherwise invisible, but very, very present, thing; there was a man stood on top, carefully trying to assess the height off the ground. Other soldiers were taking photographs and assembling a shelter to preserve the site as best they can; it was winter.

One man was here to represent the Party, the other the military; usually they argued, but for once, they were united; neither of them knew what lay before them.

“What do we know?”

“The ballistics squad calculate the invisible structure is approximately eight thousand kilograms, and hit the ground at in excess of a thousand miles per hour, leaving this very sizeable crater. The local populace have been told it is a new German bomb, and been evacuated. Our artillery spotters report that they watched the German artillery fire, one particular shell detonated prematurely, while still airborne, and suddenly a huge explosion occurred on impact with the ground.”

The Commissar paused, thinking how he would go about explaining this in debrief. “I don't know what to think, General. I would think we were mad were it not for the fact I am here, looking at this strange occurrence.”

The General's face soured. What travels at over a thousand miles per hour? Or can turn itself invisible for that matter. But then an even darker thought entered his mind. “Let's get the essentials out of the way – you said an explosion? I hope you mean the impact, or is it worse, a missile of some kind? Is it still armed? Is it dangerous?”

The Commissar shrugged. “We do not know.”

“What do we know!” The General grew frustrated, and picked up a rock, and threw it to vent his annoyance a bit; he had expected it to simply hit the ground, but it did not. Instead, quite bemused, he watched a shimmer of light appear, slow down the rock, and it dropped harmlessly, and gently, to the ground. The ground shook, as another impact mark appeared next to the markings that indicated an arm-like structure; the thing became visible, revealing it was getting up, while the man on it's chest sub-structure had only just jumped to safety in time, having felt it move beneath him moments before. It took a moment to survey it's surroundings, before fixing it's... eyes? maybe? upon the General. It stood silently, watching. Waiting. The crowd of Russians stepped back as the thing looked at the ground, lifted a leg into the air; a thruster assembly tried to fire, but it was damaged, and merely spluttered.

The General tried to see if there was damage from the impact, but apart from having a substantial coat of rocks and earth, the overall structure of the thing appeared completely undamaged from it's impact. While he was busy looking over the leg with the damaged thruster, the thing looked back at the General. By now, the armour he had called in on the way over had arrived; the thing noted their presence, a few hundred tanks, but seemed as uncaring as before. Either it didn't know what was arrayed against it, or it did, and it did not care. The General gulped as he completed looking, and concluded that the thing's armour was entirely undamaged from hitting the ground at such high speed; even if all his tanks hit just the right spot they probably couldn't even dent it. And with it's mass distribution, they might not even be able to knock it over if it crouched; for something as immense as it was, it was highly agile.

Sound emanated from the thing; language perhaps? But none of the Humans observing knew; the sounds it made were not Russian, or English, or German... The General looked around at his soldiers, and as none of them tried to translate, he was forced to conclude it wasn't any modern language. Not for the first time, the thought occurred to him that it probably wasn't Human in origin anyway, and this seemed to reinforce that disturbing notion. All the General could do, was hope this was some strange dream, and that he'd wake up soon, but deep down, he knew he wasn't dreaming.

A heavy transport truck arrived, reminding the General of his duty; the General pointed at the vehicle. The thing stared back at him. Challenging him? No, why would it need to challenge him...

A tank fired a warning shot just above it's head, interpreting the staring as hostile; the thing didn't even try to evade, for the shell faced the same fate as the rock the General had thrown earlier, except this time, the thing caught it, and looked at it, it's eyes rotating as it analysed the shell. Then the thing merely raised an arm to the sky, and a volley of green-coloured lightning, several inches thick, shot upwards, rending the air as it travelled. The general returned to his earlier thought; it did know, and it was incomprehensibly superior. It could turn invisible at will, and wielded pure energy as it's weapons, and normally it could presumably fly, basically impervious to attack with it's ability to decelerate incoming armament and withstand the immense collision forces it had done...

But how did it even get brought down then? The General thought it through for a moment; the Germans just got lucky, that's all. Maybe it hadn't thought to look for incoming shells while it was invisible? The odds of being hit would be exceedingly low after all...

No matter, back to the task at hand. The thing was now up and walking, it had to be contained before word of this spread. He pointed again, this time one of his men got in the back; maybe it would follow the example? It seemed to work, for the thing walked, and sat in the truck, making a noise that reminded the General of humming somehow. The General got in the truck, and the vehicle departed for Leningrad, far to the north.

The journey was slow thanks to the transport, but uneventful. The General kept silent, thinking about the situation over and over again. Three hours ago, he had been directing what he hoped would be the final assault in Stalingrad upon the Germans; two hours ago, he was told of unconfirmed reports of a low-altitude sonic boom, and then a huge explosion. An hour ago they found the crater, and now he found himself thinking about the strange thing still making that strange, low level vibration that you felt as much as heard. What was it? Some strange Nazi weapon? Or an American device? Perhaps a time-traveller from the future? Or what if it was something else altogether...

The General decided that was most likely, but all he knew for sure was this thing was not hostile – surely if it was, with the power it displayed earlier it could wipe them out. Why wait? Why give them a display? And why comply with the request to get in the transport; it doesn't know where they are going, how can it? But what if it can...

He thought back to staring into those red... eyes? They weren't like any eyes he had seen before, but somehow, what else could they have been. While the whole visage was menacing – the segmented plate, lizard-scale patterned, non-reflective dark armour, the weaponry, the immense power it possessed, the silence – the eyes were the most menacing. Unblinking, save for momentary adjustments of some kind; somehow, you felt like it wasn't just seeing the light you reflected.

Perhaps... Perhaps this was a very, very bad idea.

“Commissar, have arrangements made to secure Pitomik, strictest possible security, and bring in the right people to analyse this thing. We'll have to change plans.”

“Certainly General.”

The truck pulled into the recently recaptured airfield, reversed up to a warehouse that had been cleared for the situation – temporarily, until a more permanent location could be established, and research staff brought in, but for now it would do – and the thing dismounted, and headed inside, sat down, and began to assess the repairs necessary for the damaged thruster. Seconds later, the General observed as it began to look around the now evacuated airfield for any parts it could repurpose.

Several hours passed, as the thing ransacked disabled fighters, and assembled what looked to the General as the components of a hang-glider, obtaining a Junkers Jumo 213 for propulsion for the craft; it carried the near-tonne engine in a single three-clawed hand, seemingly without difficulty. Satisfied with the layout of the rudimentary aircraft, the thing observed it's work. The General watched as the eyes rotated – magnification, perhaps? - and a light appeared and then shifted through the EM spectrum out of visible light, and it now began scrutinising it's creation, using it's energy weapons as welding tools to seal every part of the structure.

By now, the research staff arrived, and began monitoring it – it glanced at them, before returning to it's task. The scientists worked very quickly to try to obtain as much information as they could, but they quickly concluded very little beyond the General's realisation that this thing clearly was far too advanced to be Human in origin, and speculation led to argument. A heated argument, between those advocating that this thing was product of an immensely advanced ancient Human society, and those saying it was alien; they all agreed that it's capabilities were far in excess of any known technology.

At nightfall, it looked up, paused for a moment, before standing, walking away, then returning, pulling an empty oil barrel to just inside the entrance, filled with slow burning combustible material, which it fired it's weapons on and lit, before looking at the crowd of spectators, fixing it's red eyes on them for a few seconds as they rotated around, before returning to it's project.

The Humans for their part, crowded around the barrel, realising just how cold it was getting; snow was starting to fall, and soon tools and research equipment all around the airfield were downed as people joined the fire. The General organised a guard detail, but otherwise allowed the assembly.

It was a curious moment the General noticed, that once every person on site had assembled by the fire, or at least within audible range, that the thing stirred, with it's aircraft nearing completion, though still not quite finished to the thing's standards. The room fell silent as it stood up to full height, towering above them, as high as the roof of the warehouse in fact; it's deep red EM receptors – that they were eyes of a kind had indeed been established, certainly able to read at least radio, visible light, infrared and UV bands, as those had been tested – stared down at them. It's arm moved out, and a torrent of energy, less powerful than the earlier blast, shot at a wall, and it carved/scorched what seemed to be seven pictures into the wall:

4 notes · View notes

jsmulligan · 5 years

Text

Smile for Me

New “Tales We’ll Tell” entry featuring Claney and Celeste below the cut.

Somewhere in the Tower watching over the Last Safe City of humanity. Approximately four years before the Destiny campaign.

“Again,” Titan Claney Beamard demanded, bringing his arms up in a boxer's stance.

“It's not fair, you're too big,” would-be Hunter Celeste Etain whined, rubbing her left arm.

“And Fallen Barons, Archons, and Kells are bigger than me, and they won't pull their punches. Same with Hive Knights and Ogres. What's your point?”

“My point is you're being mean.”

“No, Kiddo,” the Titan said, “I'm trying to make sure you stay alive.”

“By beating me up?”

Claney sighed and placed his hand on a handrail, intending to lean against it, but the damaged metal gave way beneath his weight. He stumbled, righted himself, then sat down on the stairs leading from the floor onto a low platform. As he did, dust kicked up around him. Behind him, a row of smashed computers stood dark, unused for at least a few decades.

The two Guardians occupied a room in one of the Towers damaged in either The Battle of Six Fronts or The Battle of Twilight Gap. Or maybe some other attack by Fallen on the City. They all began to blur together after a century of being under siege. Since hardly anyone ventured into the damaged Towers, they made excellent places to carry out training that was not exactly sanctioned by the Vanguard.

“I'm trying to teach you to fight so that things out there that are a lot meaner than me won't do a lot worse than give you a few bumps and bruises.” Claney ran a gloved hand over his close-cropped red hair. “You asked me to start training you. What were you expecting?”

The young girl shrugged, kicking at the ground with her toes. “I don't know. Light stuff? Supers, grenades, blowing stuff up.”

“That all comes later. In the field, Light can fail, guns jam, and ammo depletes. You need to be able to fight if you want to have any chance out there. You need to be a weapon.”

Celeste looked at Claney, confusion evident on her face. “Light can fail?”

The Titan nodded, grim. “Yes. They've been teaching you about the history of the Traveler, correct?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Claney said, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “So you know about the Collapse and the Darkness. Well, as much as most of us know about it, anyway. There are still areas out there that are known as Darkness Zones, where whatever the Darkness did during the Collapse still lingers, partially cutting us off from the Light while we are there. We can still use the Light, but it recharges slower, and your Ghost will not be able to revive you without help.

“Beyond that, though, there are enemies that can dampen or drain your Light. Not a worry with the Fallen here on Earth, but if you run into the Hive...”

The Titan trailed off there, a haunted look passing over his face. His hands fell still and his eyes turned away from the young girl, staring into the shadows in a far corner. Celeste watched him, concerned.

“Claney?”

The man shook his head clear, returning to the present. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine. What was I just saying?”

“You were talking about enemies that can take your Light, then you got all sad looking.”

Claney tried to force a smile, but could only manage about halfway, and it did not make it to his eyes. “Just thinking about something. Where, uh, where did I leave off? Oh, right, the Hive. They have Wizards that can just strip the Light out of a Guardian and their Ghost. Do me a favor and stay away from the Moon, okay?”

Celeste nodded.

“Well, I think that's probably enough for today,” the Titan declared abruptly, rising to his feet. “I should go on Patrol. Head on back to the Anusky's.”

Celeste nodded. Claney waited until she had left the room before heading out himself. A few minutes later, he had transmatted to his ship and was heading for the Cosmodrome.

For her part, Celeste did as she was told, making her way out of the ruined tower and strolling along the Wall back to the tower that the Guardians, along with a smattering of civilians, called home. She was heading to the dwelling of two of those civilians, John and Susan Anusky. A kind, middle-aged couple who had always wanted children but had never been able to have any, they had gladly agreed to help take care of the young Guardian when Claney first brought her back to the Tower. They had always made her feel welcome, and Celeste was grateful for everything they did for her, but she had to admit that she preferred when Claney was around and she could just stay with him.

Thinking about the big man reminded her of the look that had crossed his face when he had spoken of the Hive. She had seen other moments like that from the Titan. He tried to hide it from her, but the more time she spent with him, the more she learned to catch them.

He had never smiled much, but Celeste had always just thought he was a serious person. In stories and videos, there was always the tough, no-nonsense loner who did what he had to do to survive, and she just figured that was who he was. It was a fair assumption, given the first time she met him, he'd been fighting for both their lives, killing aliens that were trying to kill her as soon as she had been reborn. Plus, a lot of Guardians acted that exact way. Now, though, she was certain it was something more.

Well, if there was something that was making Claney sad, Celeste decided that she would take it on herself to try to cheer him up. She started working on ideas as soon as she made it home.

…

Claney was not going to have time to help train her for the next few days, so Celeste sneaked down into the Tower on her own, trying to practice some of the different blocks and strikes that Claney had shown her. She had gotten her Ghost, Whisper, to gather video recordings of other Hunters, mostly gleaned from Crucible footage, so that she could study them as well.

“Whisper,” she said, holding out her right hand. It was an unnecessary gesture, and the Ghosts were perfectly capable of materializing anywhere they chose, but most Guardians seemed to it, and she'd picked up the habit as well. The little star-shaped robot materialized over her outstretched hand.

“Yes?” he asked in his small voice that always sounded like a nervous little boy who had just broken his mother's favorite vase.

“Play Hunter Comp. 1 for me, please.”

“Right away,” he replied, then swung to face the least damaged wall in the room. A beam of Light shot out from his core and he projected the video image for her to watch. Figures sprang to life, capes trailing behind them as they jumped, spun, and rolled.

“Oh, and keep the time displayed as well,” she said. The Ghost bobbed a nod in response.

Celeste watched for a few moments, and then began copying the moves. The first time she had tried a roll, she hadn't tucked her body in enough and banged her shoulder hard on the floor. She had not let Whisper heal the resulting bruise despite his insistence because she wanted it to be a reminder for next time.

She spent several hours ducking, dodging, rolling away from, and striking at invisible enemies. The Vanguard did not want to let her out of the Tower yet, and she understood why, but she planned to work hard enough that they would have to admit that she had the skills to survive and would let her outside soon. She also knew it would surprise Claney to see how much progress she had made on her own. The thought of catching him off-guard like that brought a grin to her face.

As she trained, she watched the clock. It would be far too easy to lose track of time down here on her own, and she had an appointment to keep and did not want to be late. When the time drew near, she stopped her training and sprinted home, drawing curious looks from others roaming the Tower. She cleaned up quickly, then set off toward the north side of the Tower.

Celeste crossed through the main courtyard, pausing only briefly to watch Guardians coming and going. She felt a surge of envy rise up that she had to force back into place. One day. She climbed the stairs to the hallway the lead to Tower North and followed the hallway. She went down the final set of stairs, glancing over at the New Monarchy gathering to her left before turning right.

“Ah, Celeste, so good to see you,” a voice called out as the young Hunter rounded the corner to her little shop.

Tucked back in the small alcove was the workstation of Eva Levante, Guardian Outfitter. There were several tables and shelves all cluttered with signs of her occupation. The woman herself was dressed neatly in green and yellow, a purple shawl draped over her shoulders.

“Hi, Ms. Levante,” Celeste replied with a wave.

“Please, call me Eva,” the gray-haired woman replied.

“Okay, Eva,” Celeste said experimentally. The woman smiled.

“I was so thrilled when you asked about helping me out,” Eva said. “It can be difficult to keep up with shader and emblem orders at times. Guardians do love to make themselves look unique or find new styles.”

“And what we talked about...?”

“Yes, yes,” Eva smiled again. “I will pay you some glimmer and paint supplies for your assistance. You don't think old Eva would try to rip you off now, do you?”

“No, ma'am, I just...”

Eva raised her eyebrows. “Thought I might have forgotten because I'm old?”

“What, no, I just...”

Eva laughed and looked at Celeste with a twinkle in her eye. “I'm sorry, dear, I was just trying to have a little fun. I didn't mean to rile you up so.”

Celeste let out a breath and smiled. “Okay, good.”

“Come then, young one, let's get you to work, shall we?” Eva turned to her wares. “These emblems aren't going to craft themselves.”

…

Celeste spent several hours each day for the next three days working with Eva. She was able to pick up quite a few tips from the outfitter, and was surprised at how willing the woman was to take her suggestions as well. Once they were finished on the final day, Eva dusted off her hands, smiled, and patted Celeste on the shoulder.

“Well now, you definitely have some talent,” the woman said. “If you ever feel like helping out again, you just let old Eva know, and I'll be glad to let you design more emblems. I'm sure the Guardians will love these.”

“Thanks,” Celeste replied, “it was a lot of fun.”

“And good luck with your project, dear.”

“Thanks. Again.”

Celeste waved and left, a bounce in her step. With what she had gotten for helping Eva the last three days, she should have no problem following through on her plan. Now, just to figure out exactly what she was going to be working with.

“Whisper,” she said, holding her hand out again for the Ghost. He materialized, and she drew him in close. Once she stepped out into the courtyard, she ducked behind some boxes that were piled near the wall. “Show me the current Tower vendor inventory.”

“I can, but no one will sell anything to you since you haven't been officially named as a Guardian yet.”

“I know, I know,” she said with a huff. “I have a plan to get around that. Just do it, please.”

“Fine,” the Ghost whined, then brought up listings for all current weapon and armor vendors a the Tower.

Celeste swiped through them until she found the perfect piece. Once she knew what she wanted, Celeste reached behind the box and pulled out something swaddled in a dirty cloth. She carefully unwrapped it, revealing an older model Guardian helmet. She had found it in the old Tower and grabbed it out of curiosity one day. Now she took a moment to clean some dust off of it, then shoved the cloth back behind the box.

“Uhm, what are you doing with that old thing?” Whisper asked, his shell twitching.

“I'm going to wear it. Duh.”

“But... why?”

“Just get this thing working, then watch and do what I tell you to do.”

Celeste slid on the helmet, which smelled old and musty inside. Everything was pitch black for several moments, but just before she snapped at Whisper, the HUD sputtered and then flickered to life.

“Good work,” she said. With the helmet on and functional, Celeste stood and strode confidently out of the shadow of the boxes. She moved around the small building that housed the Guardian post office, and leaned up against the corner.

“What are you doing?” Whisper asked over their shared bond.

“Shh, just wait and be ready.”

A Titan that she didn't know transmatted into the Courtyard. Celeste broke from the wall, walking urgently toward him, waving her hand over her head.

“Hey! Hey, buddy!” she called out, and the Titan turned to look at her.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” she said. “Look, I'm in a bind. I have to rush out on an important mission. Bad guys to shoot, doohickeys to reclaim, you know the drill. Anyway, I really, really need to get this item,” Whisper displayed the image, “from the Vanguard vendor, but I have to run. Would you get it for me? Thanks.”

She handed him the glimmer that Eva had paid her. The Titan looked at it and tried to sputter a protest.

“But... what... you're... who...?”

“Look, it's super important. Keep any change. Just make sure it gets delivered to Claney Beamard. C. L. A. N. E. Y. B... something. And, uh, if it doesn't show up, I'll kill you. Hunter style. Okay? Okay!” Privately to Whisper, “Now, transmat me out of here.”

“To where?”

“I don't care where, just out of sight.”

“But...”

“Do it now!”

“See ya, Ti-” Celeste began as she felt the grip of a transmat catch her, and she made finger guns at the Titan just before she vanished. She finished the motion as she reappeared, “-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan... Whisper! What did you do?”

The Hunter flung herself backward. She was standing on a ledge twenty feet below the top of the Wall, looking down over the City. A heavy gust of wind threatened to knock her loose.

“You said out of sight.”

“Yes, but not where I might fall to my death. Inside, inside!”

“Okay, just let me see where that Titan is...”

The transmat caught her again, and Celeste found herself back on top of the Tower, standing in the hallway that lead from the main courtyard to the hangar. She collapsed to her knees in relief and took off the helmet. Whisper materialized and swooped around her, his shell drooping.

“Sorry.”

“It's fine. We're fine,” the Hunter repeated to herself several times, waving him off with her empty hand. “It's fine. We're fine. Store the helmet away, would you?”

Whisper shone a beam over the helmet, scanning it. After a few seconds, it transmatted away, stored for later use. Celeste patted the little Ghost, then made her way to the living area and found a spot to spy on Claney's door.

After half an hour of waiting, she started to think the Titan had stolen her money. Just as she started to get angry, a delivery person dropped a box off at Claney's door. Celeste waited for the courier to leave, then slipped out of hiding, swiped the box, and darted away, making her way to one of her secret spots she had found in the Tower. Once there, she opened the box and grinned at the contents.

“Perfect.”

…

The next day, Claney returned from the field to find Celeste waiting outside his door. He offered her a weary half smile.

“Hey, Kiddo.”

“Hey, Old Man. Rough trip?”

“You could say that.” Claney opened the door to his quarters and stepped inside and Celeste followed on his heels.

Once inside, the Titan took off his helmet and tossed it on the couch. Celeste glanced at it, noting some new scarring. There was a new crack on the back of his chest piece that Elgan had not quite managed to mend either. Definitely a rough mission.

“So,” Celeste began, “I know you just got back, but I was wondering if we could go to the old Tower today.”

Claney opened the fridge, looked inside, then shut it without removing anything. He turned to look at her. “I know you're excited about training, but I really don't think I can do that right now. How about tomorrow.”

“No, no training. I actually did some on my own while you were gone, actually. There's something I want to show you.”

The Titan stared at her as if he was thinking about it.

“Pleeeeeease?” she asked, wrapping one hand around the other, bringing them to her chin, and batting her eyes at him.

“That's fine,” he said, “just stop with the cuteness. Let me grab a bite to eat and we'll go.”

They made a quick stop at one of the many food shops and Claney grabbed a burger. Food in hand, they strode along the Wall, heading to the old Tower.

“So you really trained on your own?” Claney asked her.

“Yep, all the different strikes and guards you taught me.”

“Good. I'm glad to see you're taking it seriously,” the Titan said, patting her on the back. “We'll have to put you through your paces tomorrow and see how you're doing.”

Eventually they reached the Tower and worked their way down to their training room. They stepped in and Claney glanced around. Nothing out of the ordinary jumped out at him.

“I thought you had to show me something.”

“I did, hang on,” Celeste said, and crossed the room. She yanked open an old cabinet door and reached inside, pulling out a large bundle wrapped in a cloth. “Here.”

“What is this?” Claney asked, accepting the offered item.

“Just look.”

Claney unfolding the cloth, letting the folds fall way. In his hands, he was looking at the backside of the new Vanguard helmet.

“Celeste...”

“Turn it around,” she said with a barely concealed grin.

Claney gave her a curious look, and turned the helmet around in his hands. Plastered on the faceplate of the helmet was a large, yellow smiley face. Curiosity on his features turned to confusion.

“That is something,” he said.

“I know it's not really your style, but, I wanted to do something special for you,” she said. “I've noticed lately that you just seem sad sometimes, and I thought this might cheer you up. Or, at least you'd look happier when you wore it.”

The Titan looked at the helmet, then looked at her again. He turned it around so that he was looking at the backside of it again, then raised it up and slid it over his head.

“How do I look?” he asked, holding his hands out wide, the grinning yellow face covering where his actual face would have been.

Celeste just smiled.

…

This story was inspired by an image that NetRaptor showed me that she found with a Guardian with a smiley face painted on his helmet aiming his weapons with a young looking red-headed girl behind him and said it reminded her of Claney and Celeste. It fit so perfect that I had to use it for a bit of inspiration.

#Destiny the game #fanfiction #Tales We'll Tell #Claney Beamard #Celeste Etain #writing

1 note · View note

tv-jars · 6 years

Text

Hell space chapter one wip

He sat in the office silently, his face was furrowed and his legs were folded together. He had been waiting there for approximately 10 minutes. The principal had currently been talking with Arthur. Little Mr. Perfect. It brought Luca a little joy that he had slipped up, and apparently bad enough to be dragged into Mr.Hanagine’s office. Finally the door to the office open and Arthur slinked out red in the face, not looking at Luca. Avoiding his gaze in fact. Of course he was, honestly people at this school looked at him as though he was the spawn of sata-. “ Ms. Harrington.” Spoke a droaning voice, breaking the stale office air. He clenched up at the ‘ms’. “What Ms? I don’t see any women in this room.” He spoke softly. Mr. Hanagine let out a sigh. “My… apologies, I always forget, Mr. Harrington, please come in we need to talk.” He gestured for Luca to follow him in. It was a small rectangular room, the walls painted an ugly shade of green. Wooden bookcases stacked miles high with various books on education and discipline, with a few comics scattered around, and there in the center of the room was a big oak desk with a small tea kettle . As Luca entered the room a faint smell of ginger broke the air, he scrunched up his nose. “ Tea..?” Mr. hanagine asked numbly, mixing in the honey. He shook his head. “You know I don’t like ginger.” The old man smiled weakly. “ How could I forget, silly me.” He sat down in his chair, making far to much noise for what was a simple task. Luca shrugged. “ Just surprising you keep forgetting, you offer me some almost everyday” The man laughed gruffly. “ I wouldn’t be, if you kept your ass out of this office for more than an hour” Luca cracked a bitter smile. “ So what did you do this time? Set fire to another desk?” “ That was a misunderstanding-” “ Set free the frogs in the girls restroom again?” “ Alright listen- Margret started that when she glued my ass to the seat in Bio” Mr. Hanagine let out a wheezy laugh. “ Mhm, Vandalize another teachers car?” “ I still say I did nothing of the sorts.” “Well did yo-” Luca cut him off. “ How is it you can remember every single thing I’ve done wrong in the past, but not the fact I don’t like ginger?” “ Well I quite like telling stories, and you create the most interesting chaos, keeps an old man on his toes. Honestly the last time I’d met a student quiet as-” He thought for a moment, “ troublesome as you was almost 20 years ago!” It was Luca’s turn to laugh. “ Yeah….Sister Teresa doesn’t talk fondly about my mother too often.” “ Ah, that women hated your mother. Since middle school, I’m shocked she took you in, no offense of course. You know your mother once set fire to the poor girl's hair, although I admit it wasn’t uncalled for- you know…” He continued to ramble on about Luca’s mom, he’d heard it all before, but he didn’t mind, liked hearing about her. Made him feel less alone. “ anyway! Back to why you’re in my office. What was it this time?” Luca made a face. “ I- uh got into a fight…” He nods, it seemed hannigan had already heard it from Arthur, “... you already knew didn’t you.” “ Did you think he wouldn’t tell me? Hell five people had already told me, and the gossip is spreading like wildfire.” Luca groaned. “ that's what karma is kid. Now do you want to tell me why, you punched Mr.Smith in the face?” “ Im… just so tired of him. Being perfect. Being fucking… happy…”he looks down at his lap, “ being so.. Sure of himself, having a plan…” He sighed, “ I was suppose to graduate last year…” “ Yes, you were. But listen here Luca, Im aware what it feels like to be bitter. But don’t take it out on Arthur…” “ Its not just that! He always talks like he’s better then everyone else! Always bragging about his family, ‘ ooooh my MoM and DAD toOok me to the TheaTER” “.....Luca I know, it's been hard for you. Especially recently with Sister Teresa, but I think you’re letting it affect your hearing. Listen I, the young man i am”

#Hell.space #long post

10 notes · View notes

spidcr-man · 6 years

Text

set it up: one ↬ t.h

summary: y/n and tom are two overworked and underpaid assistants, aspiring to be something more. what happens when the two meet and come up with a plan to get their bosses off their backs by setting them up with each other? pairing: Tom Holland x Female!Reader notes: chapter one is finally here! i hope i didn’t completely fuck this up because it’s a little short yikes. it’s also a little slow to get going, but i feel like i’ll have a ton more inspiration with the next chapter. anyways, i had a really fun time writing this, so i hope you guys enjoy it! word count: 2657 warnings: cursing date published: 062318

Shuffling out of bed, your bare feet hit the cold tile that covered the entire floor of your shoebox apartment. The only form of light was the clock to your right, reading 5:30 am in bright red block letters. Letting out a small groan, you and trudged two steps into your kitchen, lazily removing various packets from your cabinets to make your morning coffee. Ever since your boss’s divorce last summer, she made all her employees start coming in an hour earlier. It was some bullshit about wanting to have team meetings before work, but they usually ended up in her ranting about her own downs in life.

Leaving your coffee maker to its job, you went back into your room to find a suitable outfit. Just as you were about to reach down for a pair of leggings a sudden ‘POP’ comes from the kitchen, followed by the shrill sound of the smoke alarm. If you weren't awake before, you sure were now. Practically tripping over your leggings, you ran into the kitchen to see that your coffee maker had decided to completely give up―much like you wanted to. A light trail of smoke waved above the machine while coffee trickled from beneath it. Carefully unplugging the cord from the wall, you let out an audible sigh of pure exhaustion.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you huffed, standing in front of the mess, unable to properly register the situation due to a lack of sleep. Regaining your composure, you slid an Ikea brand chair out from under its matching table and climbed on top of it, tasked to stop the agonizing noise. After prying open the smoke detector cover, you forced the battery out and chucked it onto the coffee stained counter. Still standing on the chair, you averted your eyes towards the flashing microwave clock.

“Shit!” you exclaimed, hopping down from the chair and rushing into your bedroom to finish getting dressed, not bothering to put the cover back on the smoke detector or clean up the coffee coated counter. You had to be at the office by 6:30 am with a large half-caff, nonfat, soy latte, no foam on your boss’s pristine desk, and it was approximately 6:10. The walk to the coffee shop took at least 5 minutes and then another 10 or so minutes to get to the office. These measurements didn't even take into account how the busy the coffee shop would be. If you didn’t leave now you’d surely be late, which was never favorable in the eyes of someone you wanted a promotion from.

Frantically throwing your hair up into a loose ponytail and sliding on a thinner jacket, you stuffed your phone into your back pocket and ran out the door of your small apartment. The walk to the coffee shop was anything but peaceful. Normally, you had an extra five minutes or so to collect yourself before the rough day ahead, but that was not the case this morning. The speed of your walking only increased with every step you took along the surprisingly busy sidewalk. Finally arriving at the coffee shop, you kindly placed your order, requesting they put it on rush so it would come faster―it didn't. Your leg bounced up and down as your anxiously awaited your name to be called, praying that a miracle takes place. A wave of relief washed over you at the sound of your name signaling for you to come collect your coffee. Once acquiring the warm drink, you quickly turned on your heels to leave but instead, fell into someone. Not even knowing how to react, you simply looked down at the hot coffee that was once securely in your hand but was now covering your sweater and the once clean floor.

Your eyes immediately met a pair of soft, tired brown ones, “I―I 'm so sorry, “ the man spoke, trying his best to read your neutral expression. Were you going to scream? Cry? Worse yet, scream at him? No. None of that. You simply glanced down, noticing two perfectly untouched coffees wrapped in heat protectors in his hands. At this point, you were going to be late anyway, but whether you showed up with or without coffee was the question. Then without even thinking you grabbed the cup from his left hand and darted out of the door. The sound of a distant yell, fading as you made your way across the street.

Walking down the paved sidewalk, you buried your free hand into your pocket, the brisk air feeling like repeated smacks in the face with each step. Though the coffee you stole from the man just moments before warmed your hand, it offered no aid in warming up the rest of your body. Just a few more blocks and the distant outline of your office building came into view. As expected, you were late. It was only by a few minutes, but still not something your boss would easily brush over. Your feet carried you all the way to the glass building before stopping at its front, allowing you to take in your disaster of a morning. As soon as you entered the bustling building, you reached for your phone in your back pocket and sent your co-worker, Charlie an incoherent message.

Y/N: elevator with new sweater.

Once the text was sent, you swiftly made your way to the elevators, pressing the floor number in which you needed to go. The soft noise of the elevator in progress filled your ears as you patiently awaited your destination. Your thoughts only growing louder and louder with every stop that wasn’t yours. The number of your floor flashed in orange above the metal sliding door causing you to shuffle your way to the front in order to exit.

“You’re late, Y/N,” Charlie piped out, already waiting for you upon your entrance.

“Don’t remind me,” you replied as she handed you a grandma-esque sweater.

One good thing about working for a fashion company was that there were plenty of spare clothes in the dressing department, however, the inexpensive ones tended to lack the certain modernity that many these days strived for. You gave her a look that read, are you joking? only to receive a sympathetic one in return.

Glancing down the hall to your boss’s glass office windows, you could see the annoyed expression that always seemed to be plastered onto her face. She was doing her least favorite thing, paperwork. Tucking the clean sweater under your arm, you made your way past the sea of cubicles to deliver her the coffee.

Politely knocking on her door, she immediately yelled for you to come in.

“Good morning, Ms. Willem,” you greeted with a bright, fake smile that had replaced a frown from moments ago.

Her expression was anything but pleased. Ms. Willem had never been the most friendly or even kind woman but she definitely had a knack for what she did. It was one of the main reasons why you applied to be her assistant in the first place. Who better to take notes from than one of the most successful businesswomen in the workforce?

She then slowly took her reading glasses off, tossing them onto her desk as you sheepishly set the coffee in front of her. You held your breath as she picked up the biodegradable cup, bringing it to her crimson painted lips to take a sip. Her nose scrunched in disgust and she immediately threw the cup into the garbage beside her.

“Y/N, are you aware that you just handed me a pure black coffee?” she questioned, looking at you with pure distaste.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you stood still, not wanting to say the wrong words in the already sticky situation.

“I know I didn’t give you the job of assistant for you to disappoint. Keep it up and you just might find yourself...well, unemployed, “ she harshly spoke, pushing herself up from her chair.

“Make sure you get those fabric pieces for Mr. Marsden. His assistant should be coming to pick them up,” she ordered before making her way towards the door. Then before leaving, she turned to you once more, “Clean up before the team meeting. You look like a mess.“

Speechless, you only turned, locking eyes with Charlie through the large glass windows who was standing up in her cubicle, offering you another sympathetic glance. You opened the heavy glass door and walked into the employee bathroom, picking a random stall to change in. The sweater was quite large and had one of the most confusing patterns you had ever seen in your life. You looked like a complete mess. After changing, you headed towards boardroom 3 knowing the rest of the department would be just starting their morning meeting. You kept your head down in embarrassment as you opened the door, scurrying to find a spot in the back so you would go unnoticed. Today’s meeting was short and surprisingly not all about Ms. Willem’s problems, which came as a shock to all.

From the boardroom you went to straight to your desk, wanting to get some work done before your boss requested your presence. Pushing up the sweater’s itchy sleeves over your elbows, you logged onto your computer to read over your boss’s schedule. From there, you’d be in charge of creating your own schedule, which primarily consisted of doing simple errands your boss wouldn't have time to do. You schedule her meetings, her breaks, and everything in between. You sometimes even have to schedule her personal time with her own family. It mainly consisted of whether or not she’d have time to attend her son’s extracurricular activities—she never did.

Today’s schedule was manageable. There were only a few things you needed to get done before having to pick up lunch at 12:30. The first task on your list to complete was replying to the hundreds of emails that were redirected to you. The emails you received consisted of many topics. They were mostly sponsorships, potential clients, business offers and sometimes even job applications. It was by far the most time consuming and boring task of each day.

Without realizing, a couple of hours had passed and you were still replying to emails and elite invitations. By the time you finished, it was only 8:50am and you already wanted to go home. As you were logging off your email your mind wandered, thinking about what you’d later do for dinner. Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the loud sound of your desk phone ringing. Snapping out of your daze, you picked it up, expecting it to be a client or another assistant confirming meeting dates.

“Hello? Ms. Willem’s assistant speaking,” you answered, waiting to hear from the other side.

The line remained silent for a moment while a pair of voices spoke in the background. You waited a little longer before one of the voices came on, “Ah yes, we have a Mr. Holland here to see you. . . he said something about picking up fabric samples for his boss?”

As soon as you heard the words come from the other line your heart stopped. You had completely forgotten to pick up the swatches Ms. Willem had reminded you about earlier in the morning. Cursing under your breath, you lifted up from your chair still on the line with the front desk.

“Yes! I will come down to get him,” you rushed, throwing the phone back on its platform and heading towards the elevators. Thank God fabric was only two floors down.

Arriving on the fabric floor felt like a weight was being lifted from your shoulders. You walked to their front desk and was instantly met by someone in the department. You offered him a polite smile before telling him why you were there.

“Ms. Willem requested some samples. . .” you trailed, hoping he’d catch on to what you needed.

A puzzling look crossed his face as he bent down to open a drawer and search for the order. Shaking his head, he looked back up to you.

“I don’t have the order made, but if you give me an hour or so to collect and cut the fabrics, It will be done.”

Great.

“Oh, no uhm, I need them now,” you replied, in the kindest way you could, not wanting to sound rude.

He shook his head and let out a sarcastic laugh, “One hour,” he stated, turning to collect the materials he needed.

With a timid nod and barely audible ‘thanks’, you made your way back down the hallway and to the elevators that would take you to the main floor.

Just as you rounded the corner from the elevators, you noticed a man patiently sitting in one of the lobby’s artistic yet obscure chairs. He was leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees, scrolling through his cell phone. You made eye contact with the woman at the front desk as she pointed at the same man, confirming that it was him who needed to pick up the samples. Straightening your posture, you cautiously walked over to him. The sound of your shoes softly hitting the tile floor made him glance up from his phone and directly at you. You almost stopped in your tracks as your eyes met a pair of unforgettable soft brown ones—the same soft brown eyes you met this morning. Jesus fucking Christ. Of all people it had to be the person you had stolen a coffee from. Instantly recognizing you, his neutral expression contorted into a more stern one. He got to his feet and looked you dead in the eyes, silently taking note that your sweater was different.

“You owe me a coffee— “ he accused before you interjected.

“And you owe me a sweater,” you barked back.

In all honesty, the man owed you nothing. What had happened this morning was a complete accident, but you wouldn't dare let him know that—not if he was going to act this way.

“Looks like we’re even,” he stated, his accent smooth, almost calming when he spoke. He ran his fingers through his curly brown hair, shaking his head unbelievingly.

“We’re not even, you almost cost me my job!” you whisper yelled, not wanting to make a scene in the busy lobby.

The man scoffed, “And you almost cost me my sanity! Do you know how important coffee is to me?” he exaggerated, matching your whispered pitch.

“Who orders plain black coffee anyway?” you retorted, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

Were you really arguing with a complete stranger? It seemed to be almost as unbelievable as your entire morning so far.

“My boss,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

With that, you crossed your arms over your chest, “The samples aren't done yet so if you could come back later that would be great.”

He mimicked your new stance and shrugged, “I’m not leaving without those samples—trust me, love, I’ve got time.”

The way he said ‘love’ made your stomach do backflips in the worst kind of way. There was absolutely no doubt that the man was attractive. It was his personality that seemed to be the exact opposite.

“Then I guess you’re stuck with me for the next sixty minutes, and I have errands to run,” you retorted, hoping he’d just give up and come back when the samples were ready.

There was no sign of resistance in his expression, “Fine, I guess I am.”

“I’m Tom by the way,” he introduced, not even offering you a proper hand to shake.

What a gentleman.

“Y/N,” you bitterly spoke, biting the inside of your cheek out of habit and partial nervousness.

You then gestured for him to follow you as you began to make your way back towards the elevators.

This was going to be one long hour.

tags: @softboyhollands

(if you wish to be tagged in this series or would like to request something, please feel free to message me here!)

89 notes · View notes