#incorrect seven o’clock | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brown-little-robin · 3 years ago

Text

31: Learning to Purr

part one | previous | next | masterlist | ao3 version

Joseph took the week off of most of his commitments—weekly board game night, teaching at the community center, meeting up with Victor on Wednesday, everything in the afternoons. He’s overdue for a vacation from everything, and he wants to focus on figuring Thad out.

That week, Joseph discovers that Thad is a lot like a cat.

He sleeps so much. Joseph goes in to check on him at ten o’clock the first morning and finds him sleeping like the dead. Thad gets up at noon. Joseph asks if he usually sleeps until noon. Yes, it’s the depression, Thad says dryly.

Ah. All right. That’s something to watch. Joseph might need to establish an earlier morning. Sometimes that can help.

“Do you have antidepressants?” Joseph asks.

Thad snorts.

“I’m a speedster. Medication doesn’t work on me.”

Oh, yes, Joseph forgot. He hasn’t worked with speedsters very much. It’s a shame medication won’t help; Thad needs all the help he can get.

The second day, Thad wrinkles his nose and refuses hot sauce on his omelet. He explains calmly that the speed force is made of lightning, so he’s had enough of his tongue being burned. Seven years is enough, he says, perfectly casual.

What? The speed force burned him?! Wally West didn’t say anything about that! Joseph gives Thad a horrified look.

Thad smirks at him.

“Come on. It’s funny. Admit it.”

Joseph blinks at him, still processing the—the absolute horror of it—and Thad sticks out his tongue.

Joseph laughs.

Thad laughs triumphantly. It doesn’t seem malicious, though. Just childish.

But Joey kept thinking about Thad’s hurts. Wondering if there’s anything he can do for him. And he thinks there’s at least one thing.

When Joseph kissed him that first time, Thad looked like Joseph had short-circuited him. He just sat on the couch, hands drawn up by his heart, wide-eyed, for a solid five minutes. It frightened Joseph. He doesn’t know Thad, doesn’t know what kind of comfort would help and what would just make things worse—trigger him to melt down or lash out or go silent.

So he made hot chocolate. That’s a comfort drink, right? You can’t go wrong with hot chocolate, he thought. That turned out to be incorrect, but Joseph tried his best, so he doesn’t beat himself up over it. And crying was clearly progress for Thad. He was obviously taught never to show weakness.

But anyway. Thad looked like he was in pain when Joseph kissed him. And then he clutched his heart the whole time the hot chocolate was warming up. So Joseph figured he was probably touch-starved.

He decided to try pushing Thad’s limits.

Thad didn’t say ‘don’t touch me’. He said ‘ask before you touch me’. So Joseph started asking him every time he got the impulse to touch him, which was often.

And Thad absolutely ate it up.

He said no a few times. But mostly, he just nodded and went very still, watching and waiting and savoring Joseph’s touch. The first two days of this, Thad was stiff and unresponsive, like someone in shock. Joseph was patient. The way Thad stilled at touch didn’t seem like he was uncomfortable… more like he was afraid that if he made the wrong move, Joseph would revoke the privilege.

So Joseph kissed Thad’s forehead, squeezed his shoulder, held his hands, pulled him into short sideways hugs, always careful to let go quickly so the boy wouldn’t start feeling trapped. And Thad held very, very still, like an abused cat barely holding itself back from running away.

On the third day that Joseph hosts Thad, Thad asks if they can go to the North Metropolis Public Library. He explains that he needs to study for the ACT, which is next Friday, and that he goes to the library almost every day with Max. Joseph could have cried with relief. There is at least one normal, healthy thing in Thad’s life. Thank God.

Thad goes straight to the upstairs sunroom and plants himself in the corner. Joey goes downstairs, gets himself a promising-looking fantasy novel, and settles in opposite Thad, facing the window.

Thad lays on his stomach, comparing books, mouthing words to himself.

After a while, Joseph spots Superman flying by. He smiles and waves to him. It startles Thad.

“Joseph?”

“I saw Superman,” Joseph explains.

“I don’t know that word.”

Oh! That’s the first word he hasn’t known. Joseph signs it again, one fist making a large “S” over his whole torso, then fingerspells it.

“Oh, the Kryptonian,” Thad says. “Is it… customary to wave to him?”

Joseph shrugs.

“Lots of people do. Superman is well-liked.”

“Do you like him?”

“Yes. He’s nice.”

Thad hums lightly. He doesn’t seem upset at all. It seems that he’s not sensitive about all heroes, then… just the Flash and Impulse.

That night, Thad stays up late, sitting on the couch. He doesn’t talk to Joseph or ask for attention, but Joseph thinks he looks lonely. He sits down next to Thad.

Thad shudders. His fingers dig into his arms.

Okay. Okay, okay, something is wrong. Joseph gets up slowly, holding up his hands. Thad watches him with wide eyes and still doesn’t speak.

Joseph signs, “How are you feeling?”

Thad shrugs. “Jumpy.”

Joseph knows what that’s like. And he has an idea.

Joseph signs, “Can I try something?”

“Um… what?” Thad asks warily.

Okay, that did sound unintentionally intimidating. Joseph pushes the air as if to clear it of his words.

“I’d like to introduce you to music. Sometimes music helps me calm down.”

Thad snorted. “You could have said that to begin with. I thought I was trusting you with my life or something.”

Joseph laughs. Then he goes and gets his guitar. He’d love to introduce Thad to classical music, and pop and folk as well, but his heart is telling him that tonight is a guitar night.

Thad watches him with an almost frightening intensity as he settles himself cross-legged in front of the couch. He holds the guitar with the familiarity of having owned this machine for decades. Joseph won’t be able to speak while he’s playing, but that’s fine. He’s learned that when Thad is comfortable, he wears his feelings on his sleeve. Joseph will be able to hold an entire conversation with him via music.

Joseph starts with the Beatles. “Hey Jude”. Just the melody line. No need to dive right into anything complicated.

He plays the first verse without looking at Thad, just swaying himself into the feeling of the song. Melancholy, but sweet. He glances up just before the second verse, and—

And Thad is looking at Joey like he’s magic.

Lips parted, eyes soft and pleading, leaning forward. Joey falters, then sets his fingers in motion again. He looks away from Thad to play the next verse, allowing himself to ache with sympathetic pain… then he reaches the wistful little section in the middle, and he looks up again. Thad is hugging his knee, rocking back and forth to the rhythm of the song.

Well. Joseph was going to move on to some happier, more exciting pieces, maybe some classical music or rock if Thad seemed interested. But he ends up just playing lullabies and folk songs, little wistful tunes that make Thad sway.

Eventually, Thad started rubbing his eyes, and Joseph puts aside the guitar and guiltily looks at the time. 9:45. Much too late for Thad. He sends the boy off to get ready and go to bed.

And then he smiles to himself for the next ten solid minutes. Maybe it won’t be as difficult to get through to Thad as he thought.

The breakthrough with touch happens on the third day, when Joseph and Thad are leaving the farmer’s market. Joseph has two bags hooked in his elbows so he can still sign a bit. Thad’s holding the soap, onions, and kale, looking adorably serious about the task. They stopped at the car so Joseph could find his keys. It’s a beautiful day, sun shining past scattered fluffy clouds, and Thad has his long blond hair loose as usual. On an impulse, Joseph asks Thad if he can touch him.

Thad nods, and Joseph transfers the bag of tomatoes to his other elbow so he can ruffle Thad’s hair. And as soon as his fingers touches Thad’s head, the boy leans his head back against Joseph’s hand.

It startles Joseph so much that he draws his hand back.

He can’t see Thad’s face, his reaction, so he snaps his fingers. Thad looks at him. He’s grimacing. Joseph tilts his head and gestures inquisitively, trying to ask whether it would be okay to touch Thad again.

Thad closes his eyes.

Like a cat, Joseph thinks. Like a cat that feels safe.

Joseph ruffles his hair again, and again Thad presses back into Joseph’s hand. Joseph could cry with joy.

Joseph was going to start a soup when they got home, but he sees Thad run his hands through his hair, wince, stop, and try again, and he gets an idea.

“Thad?” he asks.

In a blur, Thad’s hands are behind his back. He looks guilty.

“Yes?”

“Do you ever braid your hair?”

Thad blinks, looking completely baffled.

“Um… no? My hair was always much shorter than this. Except when I was pretending to be Bart.”

Thad grimaces as his brother’s name leaves his mouth.

Joseph signs, “Do you mind if I ask why you keep your hair long now?”

Thad laughs quietly.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says. “After I ran away in the speed force, I was there for seven years, and it’s not like I brought scissors. And I didn’t have a physical body by the end anyway. The speed force spit me out like this.”

Wait. Wait, is Thad saying that he died? He died for real? Thad looks up at Joseph and winces.

“You don’t have to be so worried.”

Urgently, Joseph signs, “Can I touch you?”

Thad hesitates, then nods.

Joseph kneels down and pulls Thad into a hug. The boy stiffens up as usual. But then he sighs, and he puts his hands on Joseph’s back, and he squeezes him tight.

Joey holds him tight. His heart hurts. Of all the horrendous ways to find out that Thad died—and that he came back to life for no known reason—this might actually be among the worst.

Thad’s raspy voice comes from over his shoulder. “Joseph? Are you all right?”

Joey rubs Thad’s back reassuringly. Then he goes to puts his hands on Thad’s shoulders, and the boy lets go and backs up so fast that Joey doesn’t perceive the movement. His hands are behind his back, shoulders pulled back.

Suddenly, Joseph recalls why that mannerism is familiar. It’s from his own distant childhood. His older brother used to put his hands behind his back when he wanted to impress their father, before Slade taught him to salute. In a makeshift way, Thad is trying to be good.

“I’m OK,” Joseph signs. “Thank you.”

Thad relaxes a little.

Joseph figures out quickly that Thad is nonverbal. This is the first nonverbal episode with Thad that Joey has seen, so he wants to be… particularly careful. He doesn’t want to push Thad outside his comfort zone, but it’s not okay to infantilize people just because they can’t speak. So Joseph pursues his previous question: “Would you like me to braid your hair sometime?”

Thad nods emphatically. Hmm.

“Would you like me to braid your hair now?”

Thad is very clear about his yes, so Joseph sits Thad down in front of the couch and finds a comb and a ribbon. Blue, to match Thad’s outfit.

Donna Troy taught Joseph how to French braid back in his Titans days, and he makes a mental note to thank her later. It’s a good skill to know. It’s been a while, but the pattern comes naturally: over, over, gather more hair, over, over. Thad’s hair is more fragile than Donna’s, of course. He’s not an Amazonian. But it is very soft and long, excellent for braiding, and it feels nice and smooth on Joseph’s hands. Thad sits very still and does not complain at all, even when Joseph hits a knot and is sure it must have tugged.

The braid reaches the middle of Thad’s back. Joseph ties the braid off with the blue ribbon and pats Thad’s shoulder. Thad turns around. His face looks more solid when it’s not framed by his hair. Less angelic, more tired.

Joseph signs, “Done.”

“Thank you,” Thad says aloud.

“You’re welcome.”

Thad reaches to the nape of his neck and touches the braid, pulls it over his shoulder and inspects it. He seems fascinated by the texture.

“Huh,” he says softly, still running his fingers over the bumps. “Not very… practical, is it?”

Joseph raises his eyebrows.

“Why not?”

“An opponent could yank on it. You could get your neck broken like that.”

“You can yank on long hair, too,” Joseph points out.

“Well, but that’s not sporting,” Thad says disapprovingly.

Joseph gives him a “that’s interesting” look, but Thad doesn’t see; he’s engrossed in the hypothetical.

“I’d only yank someone’s hair to be purposefully mean. It kind of lowers you, doesn’t it? Or if I was about to die. I’ve done that before.”

How many times has this child had brushes with death?!

Thad flashes Joseph a look that’s half grin, half wince.

Joseph flashes the letters “OK.” He’s been doing that a lot lately. Then he signs, “Are you comfortable with having long hair?”

“Comfortable?” Thad repeats, an edge of irony in his voice.

“Would you rather have short hair? You could get a haircut.”

Thad blinks rapidly.

“I… I don’t know.”

Thad takes a halting step back, and then another, like Joseph is threatening him. Then he jitters, hesitates, sits down on the floor, and starts running his hands down his braid.

Joseph stays on the couch and waits. Eventually, Thad looks at him, ready to start talking.

“I liked my hair short,” he says, voice high and defensive. “It was practical. I chose it. I liked it.”

Joseph nods.

“I had it short and I was different from Bart, you know? And his…” Thad laughs bitterly. “His stupid, impractical hair…”

Joseph doesn’t ask him about Bart. When Thad speaks again, it’s quieter.

“I don’t understand why I don’t mind it this way. I shouldn’t want long hair. I shouldn’t want to be like him.”

“Maybe it’s not about Bart.”

Thad makes shocked eye contact for a moment.

“How can it not be about Bart? Everything is about Bart!”

“Maybe long hair is a luxury… because it’s impractical. Or maybe you just like how long hair feels on you.” Joseph shrugs.

Thad is quiet for a while. Then he drops his head into his hands.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Joseph wishes so badly that he could speak. He gets off the couch and comes and kneels beside Thad, hands folded tightly in his lap, watching him, waiting. He can see Thad’s back moving with deep breaths.

Eventually, Thad looks sideways at Joseph. His shoulders are hunched.

“You can leave if you want,” Joseph reminds him.

A short nod, and Thad’s gone in a flash of lightning.

Despite the setbacks, Thad slowly settles in. He starts moving easier, speaking more freely, laughing more often. He’s curious and bright. And Joey comes to appreciate his gallows humor. He doesn’t mean to hurt anyone with it; he’s just processing what happened to him. And he is wickedly clever.

The next-to-last day that Thad is to stay with Joseph, Thad comes to him and asks, “Joseph, sir?”

Startled and more than a bit concerned, Joseph turns from his easel to see Thad standing behind him with his shoulders hunched, one hand crumpling the sleeve of his pale grey button-down. What’s wrong? Why did Thad call him ‘sir’?

“Thad,” Joseph signs, careful to keep his motions smooth and definitely not angry. “What is it?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yes,” Joseph sighs, one hand in a fist, ‘nodding’.

Thad says, “You know I don’t always know how to be polite, so I’m sorry if this is rude. But I want to know about your scars.”

Ahhh. Joseph wonders tiredly if ‘scars’ is a euphemism for his muteness. Then he dismisses that thought. Thad isn’t devious like that. If he meant Joseph’s voice, he would have said so.

“Come sit with me,” Joseph signs. “I’ll show you them.”

Joseph leads him into the bedroom for this. The privacy of it feels right. Joseph sits down at the head of the bed. Thad hesitates at the edge, and Joseph pats the blanket in front of him. Thad does one of those speedster jitters that Joseph’s eyes can’t track, then climbs onto the bed.

Joseph signs, “I might have to stop talking about it at some point. That doesn’t mean I’m mad. Okay?”

Thad grins wryly.

“I have no room to complain.”

Joseph smiles knowingly. Then he extends his left leg. There’s a bullet scar in his calf. He got it while he was with the Titans, a stray bullet from a henchman in New York. He doesn’t even know which goon shot him.

Thad listens with interest.

“The Titans were worried,” Joseph signs. “I knew I would be all right, though. It was just annoying and painful.”

“Does it hurt?” Thad asks.

“Sometimes. When it rains.”

Thad nods.

“Can I touch it?”

Joseph blinks at him, nonplussed. Thad flushes.

“I’ve never had a scar,” he says. “I heal too fast.”

Ah. Joseph is a little jealous. But he’ll take his physical scars and anxiety medication over Thad’s perfect body and inability to get medicinal help any day.

Joseph gestures invitingly and holds still while Thad’s fingers gently touch the bullet scar. It tickles a little. Thad draws back his hand and waits.

Joseph points to his temple, where he knows the little line of a scar is visible.

“This came from Changeling.”

Thad blinks blankly. Joseph explains, “Changeling is one of my friends. He’s a shapeshifter. He can turn into any animal. I love him, he’s wonderful, but he can be overenthusiastic. We were play-fighting one time and he turned into an eagle.”

“He hurt you,” Thad says.

“Yes.”

“Were you angry with him?”

Joseph laughs. Thad smiles a little.

“Not even a little. I was only really angry at Changeling once, when he was accusing me of something I didn’t do.”

“What did he accuse you of?”

“Being a double agent.”

Thad flinches. Oh, no.

Joseph can’t lessen the blow, not really. It is what it is: it’s offensive to be called an impostor, and that’s what Thad used to be. But he tries.

“Changeling was very upset. Someone he loved had recently betrayed him and then died. He was hurting. He lashed out. The whole situation was a mess.”

“Yeah,” Thad mutters. “Mine too.”

Joseph holds his hand out, and Thad places his hand inside Joseph’s. Joseph rubs his thumb over the back of Thad’s hand and lets go.

Joseph holds out his right arm, then his left, and points to three faint scrapes.

“These are from blocking a wooden staff with my arms.”

That was painful. The staff left splinters in his arms. Joseph is definitely never going back to the vigilante lifestyle.

Thad winces appreciatively.

Joseph touches his cheek, expecting, as always, to have some kind of tangible reminder of his older brother punching him. But Grant left him no scars. Joseph tries to remember if he has any more non-Deathstroke scars. He’s only delaying the inevitable. Oh yes! His back! Joseph turns around and pulls his shirt up. Thad shifts a little closer.

Joseph contorts his arm behind his back, feeling for the marks. He can’t sign to Thad with his back turned. He finds one of the indents of the viper soon enough. He’s been told that they’re subtle, so he points it out.

“I see them,” Thad’s voice says.

There’s no missing the magician’s starburst and the sword scar, which goes straight through the middle of his back to his upper chest, so Joseph puts his shirt down and turns around.

“A magic giant viper grazed my back with its fangs,” he signs. “The venom burned me a little bit.”

“Acid,” Thad says approvingly. “Nice. I died of acid a lot in VR. It’s very effective.”

Joseph can’t hold it in anymore.

“How many times have you died?”

Thad winces, looking embarrassed.

“Maybe once, in the speed force, but I don’t know if that really counts. But in virtual reality… sort of… a lot. Like… hundreds.”

Joseph doesn’t have words. He opens his arms. Thad crawls awkwardly into his lap and lets Joseph hug him. His body is so small, so packed with wiry muscle. No child should have to be like this.

Joseph rocks him back and forth, presses a kiss to the side of his head, and lets him go. Thad scoots back. Joseph does not miss how his pupils have dilated.

“What about the white… snowflake thing?”

Joseph smiles despite himself. It was a horrible, horrible experience to get that scar, but it does make a good story.

“A magician tried to put an ice demon under my skin.”

“Tried?”

“I did battle with it in my mind,” Joey signs. He leaves out the detail that he had to face horrible illusory versions of all his friends and family before he reached the demon. “I won, and the demon exploded.”

“Under your skin?”

Joseph nods. Thad grins, intrigued.

“Wow. That never happened to me.”

Joseph smiles. The moment stretches out. And out. He’s going to have to tell him. There are only two scars left.

Thad shifts a little closer, looking up at Joseph seriously.

“You don’t have to tell me everything.”

Oh, sweetheart. “Thank you.”

Thad eyes Joseph thoughtfully. “Would you like to watch a movie with me?”

Joseph signs an enthusiastic “Yes!”

Joseph pulls his television out of the closet—it only gets used when other people are around. He finds some choices for Thad, dvds of his favorite movies. It’s quite an eclectic mix. Joseph is curious to see what Thad will pick… he noticed that Thad checked out quite a few non-fiction books at the library, books about arctic animals and mushrooms and such. Maybe he’d like a nature documentary. Joseph could swear he had one or two of those in here… he digs around in the box. Yes! Two of those old nature documentaries with the British narrator. He brings them out in triumph.

Thad takes them reverently. Quietly, he says, “I used to watch these with CRAYDL.”

CRAYDL, his dead best friend. Joseph clasps his hands and listens. Thad opens his eyes again, staring past Joseph’s shoulder with a frighteningly blank look.

“We didn’t get to do a lot of just-for-fun things,” Thad says softly. “Our documentaries were… special.”

He looks down at the dvd cases. He seems to be in awe.

“Joseph… Joseph, these are a thousand years old to me. They were in a museum database that CRAYDL had access to… they were historical artifacts, that’s why we could view them. I’ve seen this one…” his fingers trace the title Caves. “Four times. But Fresh Water… there are no known copies. This is amazing.”

Joseph reaches out and touches the dvd case. The smooth plastic trembles under his fingertips. Everything is so fragile. And yet Thad recognizes this from a thousand years ago.

He won’t even suggest that Thad watch them with Joseph. They’re a special memory. But Joseph wants him to have them.

Joey signs, “Keep it. Keep both of them. They mean more to you than me.”

Thad looks startled. Then he hugs the cases to his chest, and Joseph looks away. He’ll let him have his privacy with the memory of his friend. The boy is so mentally ill, bless him, that it’s easy to forget that he’s grieving, too.

Thad’s voice asks from behind him, “Will you watch Fresh Water with me?”

Joseph turns back. Thad’s eyes are screwed closed, determined. Joseph waits until Thad blushes and opens his eyes.

“Sorry,” Thad says, but Joseph just laughs. It’s an honest mistake.

Joseph makes popcorn and positions the television on the nightstand, just in front of the foot of the bed; they’ll watch from the bed. It’s the best place in the apartment for a movie.

Joseph looks forward to moving out. The apartment served its purpose, but Joey really thrives with more space. A dedicated art room, rooms big enough to host multiple friends or have parties… places to duck away for privacy… he’s looking forward to the mansion. He just hopes Thad will be happy there, too. Happy enough to make it his home.

He turns back from setting the television on the nightstand and entering the dvd to find Thad under up the blanket, two pillows leaning on the headboard like backrests. Thad lifts the blanket invitingly.

Joseph climbs in, careful not to touch Thad or jostle the bed too much. But the boy scooches over and leans himself against Joseph’s side with a sigh, pressing his legs up against Joseph’s thigh.

Joseph stills, worried. So much has happened to Thad—what if he was assulted, too? Did he misinterpret the situation? What if settling Thad on Joseph’s bed was a bad idea?

He turns, slowly and gently, and pushes Thad away by his shoulders. The boy shudders. He looks distressed.

Joseph signs, “How are you feeling?”

“Um—” Thad’s hands bunch up the blanket. “I’m sorry. For touching you. I know I should have asked before I touched you. But we’re watching a movie and Helen says the rule is that you have to cuddle when you watch a movie and I assumed—”

Joseph lets out a deep breath, utterly relieved.

“OK,” he signs, cutting off Thad’s nervous ramble. “That’s OK. You can touch me without asking, just make sure I know you’re going to. But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Thad nods. Carefully, he scoots closer and leans on Joseph again. His head only comes to Joseph’s shoulder.

The documentary is nice. Joseph expected it to be… emotionally fraught. But it’s mostly just fun. Thad gets very invested, and Joseph enjoys watching him.

“There’s a new movie from Pixar out,” Joseph signs after the credits start rolling. Despite the jostling of Joseph’s arms moving, Thad keeps leaning on him. “Maybe we could go to it sometime.”

Thad hums sleepily. Joseph smiles and puts his arm around Thad to pet the back of his head. It’s only mid-afternoon, but he has a suspicion the boy is going to sleep soon. Emotions wear him out.

Again, Joey finds himself worrying about his mother. He needs to suck it up and call her soon. Let her know that he wants to adopt, and he wants her to meet his—possible—son. A former supervillain. Adeline is not going to like this.

Thad’s head falls back into Joseph’s hand. The boy is putting his whole weight on him. Trusting him.

If Adeline isn’t okay with Thaddeus, Joey might end up telling her no. The idea of going back on a promise isn’t a comfortable one. But for Thad… he just might.

There’s a thrumming vibration against his hand. It’s been happening for a while, but Joseph only just registered it, and suddenly it tickles. Joseph jumps. Thad jumps, too, and ends up with his back pressed to the far wall. His fists are up, eyes wild.

Thad takes a moment to calm down, breathing deeply. He unclenches his fists and shakes his hands sharply.

Calmly, Joey signs, “What was the trigger?”

“I have no idea. I think I…” Thad touches his throat, frowning. “I started growling… I didn’t mean to growl…”

“Growling?” Joseph asks.

“If I slow myself down and vibrate my throat, it sounds like a growl,” Thad explains. “It’s not useful, obviously, because you have to slow down to do it. It’s just a speed force trick.”

Joseph looks at Thad, still backed against the wall like a scared cat, and he realizes what happened.

“You were purring.”

“I what? I’m a human being! …mostly.”

“You’re a speedster too.”

“I don’t purr,” Thad insists.

“Then what was that?” Joseph signs playfully, grinning. “Was it a growl?”

“…not exactly,” Thad admits. His eyes go wide again. “Joseph. I was purring.”

“You were purring,” Joseph agrees.

“I didn’t even know I could do that…”

The boy touches his throat again, astonished. Joey smiles so hard his face hurts. Thad himself might not realize it, but Joey knows what this means. Thad felt safe. For just a moment there, he felt completely safe.

Joey gets up.

“I think this calls for a celebration,” he signs. “How would you like to visit an art gallery?”

Thad asks, “Will there be a lot of people there?”

“No, it’s very quiet.”

Thad grins.

On the way out the door, Joseph nudges Thad with his shoulder. The boy looks up.

“You were purring,” Joseph signs, grinning.

Thad snarls mock-furiously. “Shut up.”

#The Strange Redemption of Thaddeus Thawne #Thad Thawne #Joey Wilson

23 notes · View notes

ofamin-a · 4 years ago

Text

WHAT: my muse accidentally calls your muse (aka the incorrect number) to invite them out WHEN: whenever tbh! AVAILABILITY: open, @roswellstarters

they’re distracted as they type in someone’s seven digit number, and by distracted they mean they’re sucking on a vape pen & getting high off its contents ( though it’s also safe to mention they’re inserting a number they found in their back pocket from the night before & they may or may not have entered some of the digits wrong ). but nonetheless, they hit the call button once it’s done, sooner propping their phone up to their ear & cutting to the chase after three rings. ❛ hey, jason bourne, right? ❜ avi reads the name scribbled onto the loose piece of napkin, unaware that jason bourne is a movie character — though they’re quick to continue on so the person on the other end doesn’t correct them about it, ❛ so i totally remember last night, ❜ they don’t, ❛ and i think we should do it again. whattya say? area 51? eleven o’clock? i’ll slap some glitter on my cheeks so you know it’s me. ❜

#* 𝗣𝗢𝗣 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗕𝗨𝗕𝗕��𝗘𝗚𝗨𝗠 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧 : open ⧽#* 𝗣𝗢𝗣 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗕𝗨𝗕𝗕𝗟𝗘𝗚𝗨𝗠 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧 : para ⧽#( feel free to assume connections / have fun with this !! avi is a Mess and i'm sorry for them )#( but i saw this prompt & thought it was a neat idea for a starter & def something avi would do so .... here ya have it! )#smoking tw #vaping tw #drugs tw #roswellstart

82 notes · View notes

wizkiddx · 4 years ago

Text

Forget the world

I really really hope everyones okay at the moment. The world is truly fucking shit, but sending all my love, and it is okay to feel completely done at this point (I do hence why I wrote this instead of meeting my deadlines :/)

Summary: readerxtomholland -- pure fluff when everything gets a bit much for Y/n

||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

A third lockdown in the UK. More than 1000 deaths in a day. US capitol riots highlighting just how stark the white privilege is. The worlds a scary place and sometimes it gets too much. It’s good to be informed, to be politically and socially active, fighting the good fight… right? Well yes, but we are humans.

Humans are more complex than that. We ruminate we feel and we empathise. None of these issues have directly affected you, but that doesn't mean these things don’t hurt you - even a little. Bit by bit, a person can so easily get chipped away until there’s not a lot of fight left.

These daily 5 o’clock briefing, the prime minister in all his stupid oafish idiocy invading your living rooms with his persistent if oh so incorrect chat of ‘how well the UK has handled this crisis’. Then going on to spout more and more bad news. It was like a scheduled form of torture that Brits just had to through. And it just got a lot.

What didn’t help at all to you, was the fact your boyfriend was leaving for work again. You’d barely had him for two weeks before he was being whisked away in his private jet again. And even that time, it wasn’t really couple quality time… not by a long shot. Because of the complicated and ever-changing laws in the UK, you had both moved into his parents' house rather than being stuck just the two of you over Christmas. Don’t get the wrong impression, you lovvvveeeeeddddd his family - it was crazy, chaotic and infuriating in the best way.

That, however, didn’t get away from the fact you missed him. You missed lying in till the afternoon. You missed having breakfast for dinner after cooking it up in your skimpy pyjamas. You missed silence - of the two of you just coexisting. You missed your Tom.

SO fair to say you were not feeling particularly over-enthused on this overcast Tuesday morning. Somehow sensing this while you were still asleep, Tom chose not to wake you and instead crept out the room to go golfing with his brothers and dad for the last time before he left. Having woke up a couple of hours ago, you made the executive decision to just stay there - just feeling like the energy it’d take up to move was too torturous to expend. When Tom and the boys got back then, they immediately recounted the whole experience to Nikki - Harry showing off at his particularly good round - before Tom naturally started searching for you. His mum, being almost psychic, instantly noticed and just shook her head over Harry’s droning voice as she pointed upstairs. And with a thankful nod, he snuck away - if anything grateful for the escape.

“Love…. Love?” Tom hesitantly crept into the room, your body facing away and still wrapped like a burrito in the duvet. You rolled over and gave him a small smile, to which he grinned at and immediately leapt on to the bed. Land directly on your stomach. With force. You let out an ‘ooof’ as his not so petite body knocked all the air out of you, making you groan and recoil to your side as he laughed pitifully at you. “I missed you” He just grinned, worming his way from lying horizontally across you until he was lying completely on top of you his chin resting on your chest bone as he smiled at you. “And you thought you’d jump on me to show that?” “I couldn’t help it you just looked so peaceful” You quirked your head, not seeing his point. “And your not allowed to look like that without me!” He huffed, finally rolling off you as you giggled at his stupidity. “But seriously you good? Its 12 and you’ve not moved yet.” “Mhmm just… just.” “You're just just?” He teased, now leaning up on his elbow as he smiled down at you. “Exactly. I just can’t deal with today.” You sighed as you spoke, looking up to him with eyes as if asking him to help. It made his jokey and teasing demeanour take a serious turn, his eyebrows furrowing as he really inspected your face - as if trying to the find the answer written in small print under your nose. He whispered a ‘what do you mean’ asking you to go on. “I don’t know …it’s just lockdown and America and…and you going. I’m just self-pitying really.” “No” Tom stated rather adamantly, as he sat up and then pulled you up by the arms earning yet another groan from you as he interrupted your cocoon of warmth. “You're allowed to feel shitty because it is all actually very shitty indeed.” You rolled your eyes at that, even if you did agree because you didn’t want to be the mopey desperate girlfriend who can’t handle when he goes away. “Y/n/n I’m serious. The news and everything… it’s a lot and you're allowed to feel like you can’t comprehend whats going on.” In response you just nodded, averting your eyes away from his because, for no real reason at that moment, his eye contact seemed to be forcing you to cry. But the boy did not let up. Instead, he crawled up to you, his legs sandwiching yours as he kneeled in front of you. “And… I’m going to miss you a lot when I go.” Tom gently pushed your chin up so his locked eyeline with your watery ones that instantly started to overflow. Tom murmured an ‘oh love’ as he threw his arms around you, letting you cry into his shoulder - most probably ruining his new fancy golf shirt.

You stayed like that for some time, him gently hushing you and stroking the back of your messy bed head. Until you’d finally calmed into little hiccups and Tom arched back. He cupped his hands around your cheeks, his thumbs brushing away your tear tracks. “Let's have a just us day huh? We can… forget the world.” “Forget the world?” Your laugh was a little wet and sad sounding but it was music to Tom’s ears and only spurred him on more. “Yeh! Fuck the world. It’s just you and me and we can do whatever you want!” “You’re stupid” you just giggled, trying to hide your face because he had you blushing like a lovestruck teen… which was exactly how he made you feel. “I know! So come on what should we do… movie or something isn’t right because you still can think about- I got it!” He leapt off you and started looking around the room, first pulling the chair out from its position in the corner and then whipping the duvet cover off your legs. “TOM! what-“ “We are building a fort!” And his stupid grin said it all. It took next to no convincing before you were running downstairs with him, ransacking the sitting room of all blankets (earning you some comically quizzical gazes from his Dad and Sam) before running back up.

This stupid stupid boy that you had to pleasure of calling your boyfriend had you revert to a seven-year-old as the two of you attempted to construct this fort. Attempted being the keyword, it kept collapsing when one of you accidentally stubbed your toe on the chair holding all the structural integrity of your creation (*Tom). However, after a ridiculous amount of attempts you were adding the piste de resistance - aka fairy lights - to the interior while Tom set up a game of Harry Potter monopoly on the next floor you’d made.

And that’s how you burned the day away; laughing whilst getting overly competitive at your Harry Potter knowledge; ordering pizza that you forced Harry to delivery to the entrance of your fort from the front door (you even managed to make Harry knock on the makeshift blanket door, which had the two of you cracking up no end); generally just being stupid together. Before you knew it, the time had ticked to half eleven and the both of you knew it was time to bed down for the night. With a sigh, signifying the beginning of the end of Tom’s last day in the UK, you went to crawl out of the fort - expect your boyfriend had other plans. Rather, he yanked you back towards him so you almost fell into his front and then proceeded to roll you both, so now you were lying flat on the ground while he leaned above you. “You … little miss… are not going anywhere.” You hummed at him about to ask why, before being rudely interrupted as he pressed his lips against yours. You didn't fight it though, immediately relaxing into it and wrapping your legs round his waist to pull him impossibly closer. After a few moments, you broke the kiss staring up at him with the softest eyes. “Sorry I just had to stop you from ruining the moment.” He jibed, and again you went to scowl but were cut off by his soft lips on yours once again. Tom only pulled away when both of your lungs had started to burn a little, needing to come up for air. With a whisper telling you not to move, Tom bolted out the fort. You could hear him scurrying around in the room - to be honest, it sounded like he was ransacking it- before the big light was flicked off and he crawled back in in the darkness.

This time you’d learned your lesson, waiting patiently until he spoke first. “I got a surprise… it was uh- supposed to be for when I was already away but I think now works too” You couldn’t see his face through the darkness, but what you knew, either way, was the excitement that’d be on his face - he loved revealing stuff like this to you because he is, as previously mentioned a child. And then he flicked the switch and the interior of the tent was illuminated by a pattern of stars, projecting upwards and swirling around on the blanket roof. The sight had you audible gasping, this time the dim light it gave meaning Tom could see your eyes widen in delight. “Tom its-“ “Not as beautiful as you.”

Hell, you knew how fucking corny this was. And how if any of your mates ever recounted the story you’d be recoiling is dismay at the cliche-ness of it. But at that moment you swore your heart could burst, looking between the twinkling projections and Tom’s dimly glowing features - the blue light bouncing off his cheekbones and making him look just even more divine. “We are sleeping here tonight because I just don’t want this moment to end” You whispered making Tom chuckle as he lay back down next to you, letting you curl into his side and resting your head on his chest - so you were watching the swirling walls whilst listening to his heartbeat. “This fort… will always be ours.” He spoke lowly, reaching for your hands and entwining his fingers with yours slowly. “I’m going to mis-“ “Shhhhh” He blocked you from finishing the phrase, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before continuing. “ Don’t forget we’re forgetting the world yeh? It’s just you and me.” “Just you and me isn’t half bad.” You whispered, using your thumb to draw little meaningless patterns on the top of his palm. “No… not half bad at all.” His voice was so quiet, so calming he barely even used his voice - rather just breathing the words out as he squeezed you into his chest. You knew he was trying to make you fall asleep. This is what he always did, a kiss to the head, his voice barely existing, him squeezing you just a little tighter. But you didn’t want to. Because that meant that he’d leave when you woke.

You desperately tried to fight the waves of relaxation, trying to pay attention to each little swirl and tinkle of the projector but it was hypnotic, and that coupled with the steady beat of his heart had you soon losing the battle. Tom could tell you were fighting, Tom could always tell. So he gently shifted his arm under you baggy t-shirt, allowing Tom to trace little circles on your bare skin. That was enough to have force your eyes to become deadweights as they locked shut.

“I got you…I’ll still be here when you wake up” You hummed, pressing yourself into his side a little more. “‘hankyou for… for…” Tom grinned, knowing you weren’t going to make it to the end of the sentence. But that didn’t matter. At that moment, the only thing in the world that matters was having you in his arms.

“I’ll always forget the world when I’m with you.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #fluff

80 notes · View notes

dustofbrokenheart · 4 years ago

Text

The Covenant: Tech Guy

Reid Garwin x Reader

Word Count: 3,826

Summary: After renting a laptop from your campus library, you run into a download problem. A call to Library Tech Services for help introduces you to Tech Guy. Good at his job, but with questionable people skills, you learn to work with him. It certainly helps that he has an attractive voice.

This was not good, not good at all. It was less than an hour to midnight, the sun long since having set, and time seemed to pas faster, not slower, the later it got.

Now, you considered yourself to be pretty good with technology, perhaps not a computer genius but good enough to be able to troubleshoot most of your problems. It was pure bad luck that the night your capabilities failed was the night before you had an assignment due in Graphic Design.

Your own laptop had been ruined after an accident in the library had left the screen nothing more than a web of shattered fragments, but thankfully the library also carried laptops for checkout which saved you from having to fork out money that you didn’t have to buy a new one. You thought that checking out a laptop would be a quick fix to your problem, but you underestimated how high their demand was.

The librarian you spoke with at the circulation desk put you on a waiting list much to your disappointment and you left the building empty handed, unsure when one would become available.

The answer was six days later, the night before you had something due.

When they left a voicemail on your cell phone around seven o’clock to tell you that it was ready for pick-up, you immediately hopped on a bus bound for the library. The anxiety should have been somewhat alleviated because you could actually start to work on it now but when you got back to your dorm room and opened it up, another problem presented itself: the program you needed wasn’t installed.

Bad luck 1 – You 0.

Every time you tried to install it a message would pop up prompting you to enter an admin username and password in order to start the process. You had never seen that message before and innocently tried your own username and password. When that didn’t work, you tried three more times just to be sure.

Next stop was the internet, everyone’s favorite place to ask questions. You ran a quick search describing the problem and read through a couple of chat room threads. Disappointingly, nothing really applied to the situation at hand.

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have spent so much time trying to fix it because all that came of it was a lot of wasted time and you still hadn’t installed the program. You really didn’t want to take another trip to the library tonight if you could help it.

Frustrated and stuck you opened up the library’s webpage to see if there were any answers to be found. They didn’t but you did find the phone number for Library Tech Services, which was miraculously open even this late in the night.

Punching in the numbers you dialed and waited for someone to answer and when they did, it was short and to the point. “Library Tech.”

“Umm, hi… my name is y/n and I’m having an issue installing a program on my laptop rental.”

“Hmm. What’s the problem?” Again, not much to go on but the you could admit that tech guy’s voice sounded attractive.

“Well. I clicked on the install button, but as soon as I did a message telling me that I needed admin permission to continue flashed on my screen.”

“Did you try your university username and password?”

“Yes.”

“Did you double check that you typed everything correctly?”

“Yes.”

“Did you try Google?”

“Of course, I did,” you answered with exasperation. He snickered and you felt your hackles rise. You called the number to get helped, not to get laughed at. Attractive voice be damned.

“I promise I exhausted every trick I know, I’m not stupid. But I do have something to finish tonight so if you can help me out here, that’d be great.”

For a split second you felt bad for being short with him but the aggravation was quick to return. He was the one providing terrible customer service… why should you feel bad calling him out on it?

He must’ve gotten the hint because he cleared his throat and started being serious. “The library puts restrictions on its laptops because they don’t want people downloading stuff willy nilly. What do you need to install?”

“Just Adobe Illustrator.”

You heard him typing on a keyboard in the background. “Sounds okay to me. I’ll just give you the admin credentials so you don’t have to make a trip over here tonight.”

You started to say thanks until you processed the end of that sentence. “Wait, what do you mean by that?”

“Normally we require people to come in person to fill out a form. Once the request is approved, a person is supposed to enter in the admin stuff, but I’m going to give it out over the phone to save you some time.”

His words left you speechless. You had no idea there was a whole process to do something so simple as install a program; you should’ve asked more questions before you walked out with it. It was a good thing to remember for next time. And the earlier guilt returned, too. He was being so nice now, bending the rules so you didn’t have to make another trek on the bus, which was quite frankly a gamble after dark.

You thanked him profusely, the tension draining from your shoulders. Once you told him the laptops id number and he was able to confirm that it was rented out to your account, he shared the username and password with you.

With baited breath, you typed in exactly what he told you to and couldn’t help the happy noise that escaped you when it worked. It was impossible that tech guy saw your chair dance through the phone but he laughed again, making you question if he somehow knew anyway.

“Thanks, you’re a life saver!”

He cleared his throat and said “Glad to be of service.” Then he hung up without another word.

You pulled the phone away from your ear and looked at it blankly. What the heck was that about? Thinking back on the conversation left you feeling very confused but you threw yourself into getting your images drawn up on Illustrator and soon lost yourself in the work.

You ended up staying up late well past your normal bedtime but the deadline was enough motivation for you to push through the drowsiness and yawns. Around 3:30 you finally finished and emailed it to the professor so you wouldn’t have to worry about it in the morning.

Sleep came easy that night and you vaguely remembered dreaming about tech guy’s voice which was utterly ridiculous. He hadn’t even mentioned his name, for goodness sakes! Plus, he was so hard to read, bouncing between jerk and nice on a whim. Nope. You were not going to stoop to finding out who he was. Not a chance.

After yesterday’s incident, your first course of the new day was to go grab a cup of coffee. You weren’t an easy riser on a good day, even less so after being up until the wee hours of the morning and caffeine was going to be essential for powering you through your classes.

Your go-to place was a campus coffee shop two blocks down from your dorm. It was still winter but you found that as long as you bundled up, the walk over went quickly and the cold air worked wonders for organizing your thoughts. But the real reason it was your favorite was not its closeness, it wasn’t even for the coffee; it was because of the heavenly pastries they made daily. The croissants, the eclairs, the danishes… they were all excellent. None was above their banana chocolate chip muffins.

A little bell chimed as you opened the door and the blast of heat from inside the shop felt nice against your chilled cheeks. The familiar worker at the register looked up and smiled when they saw you. “Hey, y/n! Should I start working on your cappuccino order?”

“Yes, please!” You approached the counter, removing your gloves to make it easier to take out your card from your wallet. A gleaming dessert case also caught your eye and you tried to glance over discreetly. As subtle as you tried to be, the cashier knew you too well after serving you for the past couple of years.

“Oh, sorry. We’re out those again.”

“Again?” you questioned sorrowfully.

He gave you a sympathetic shrug. “They’re very popular, they always go fast.”

It used to be that you could get your hands on a banana chocolate chip muffin whenever you wanted one but the secret must’ve gotten out to the rest of campus because you’d struck out for the past weeks. With a dramatic sigh, you settled for a chocolate croissant. It was no muffin but it was something to tide over your stomach until lunch.

“You know,” you started conspiratorially, “How can someone be so talented yet stupid simultaneously? If that no-good-baker bothered to make more of them knowing how fast they sell, this wouldn’t happen.”

You had never actually met the baker that was the source of the yummy pastries. In fact, you’d never even seen him and only knew that he was good at what he did and that he never came out to the front of the shop. There was really no reason why you ragged on him that morning other than you had major plans for that muffin that now had to be put on hold.

The cashier chuckled as he rang you up and looked back at the door to the kitchen for a moment. “I’ll pass along the message.” He slipped the croissant in a brown paper bag and handed it, along with the travel coffee cup, over to you. “Have a good day. See you next time.”

You accepted it with a “You, too,” and were out the door to catch the next bus to your class.

***

Later that week, you ran into a familiar problem with the laptop. This time you needed to add Photoshop but figured that it shouldn’t be an issue now that you knew the password. So when you typed in the exact same thing as last time and the computer told you it was incorrect, you dragged a hand down your face and groaned. Well, you weren’t going to make the same mistake twice.

Swiveling around in your chair you grabbed your phone and called the Tech Services line again. The only thing that would make this even better would be if tech guy answered again, that’s how your luck was going that week. And sure enough, “Library Tech Services.”

You refrained from groaning again. Out loud anyway. “Hi, it’s y/n again. I was the one who called about the admin credentials Monday night?”

“What’s up?”

“I’m trying to install Photoshop right now and it’s telling me the username/password is incorrect, which is impossible because it’s what I used the last time.”

“Right. We had to change the password for our monthly maintenance, it’s a security thing.”

“You’re kidding,” you said surprise coloring your voice. “Any chance you can share the new one with me?”

“Technically, I wasn’t supposed to give that to you last time.”

It was time to turn on the charm and convince him like you managed to previously. As you pleaded with him to do you this favor he interrupted you.

“How bad do you need it?”

What was wrong with you that hearing him say that put your mind in the gutter? He definitely hadn’t meant it that way when he said it! He was much chattier this time around so you were able to appreciate his voice better and his voice just did it for you.

You cleared your throat. “It’s not an emergency this time, no impending next-day deadlines, but I do want to get working on this new assignment…”

“Okay, okay. You’re lucky I like you.” That was news to you because you didn’t get that vibe based on the last call. It was nice to hear though. Some clicks sounded from the other end of the line and you waited silently for a few moments before he was ready to say the new password.

“Whew, we’re good to go,” you updated him as the Photoshop installation started. Another moment of silence passed.

Finally, he said a quick, “Good.”

You weren’t caught off guard when you heard the click that signaled he had hung up. Unlike the last call, he hadn’t seemed rude and he did mention that he liked you. Maybe he was just an awkward sort of guy, despite his killer voice. That might explain why he worked an IT job, weren’t those kinds of guys supposed to have terrible people skills?

You worked with Photoshop for a bit and when you reached a good stopping point, you got ready for bed. That night you laid awake for a while, unable to drift off to sleep. Instead, you replayed the conversation with tech guy over and over in your mind.

He was very helpful when he wasn’t giving an attitude and he this was the second time he had bent the rules for you. That pesky word ‘like’ kept rattling in your brain and you started to wonder if that nice voice belonged to a nice face. Furthermore, was there a chance that he found your voice attractive as well?

***

Sunday morning on a college campus seemed like a smart time to visit the coffee given that most of campus wasn’t up yet, which increased the chances of you getting your hands on a banana chocolate chip muffin. Maybe even two or three if you were honest, to make up for the past several failed attempts.

The sun hadn’t been up long when you opened the door, the little jingling bell announcing your presence. A barrage of delicious aromas caressed your nose and to your extreme delight, one of the scents you detected was a banana-chocolate combination.

You walked up to the counter and the cashier smiled as he told you good morning.

“So… can I get three banana chocolate chip muffins?”

He merely smiled and started working on your cappuccino. “Of course. Reid just finished them so they still in the kitchen, piping hot.”

Reid must be the baker that was responsible for the muffins as well as responsible for never making enough. “Finally! This is a long time coming for me.”

“I passed him your message, I think he took it to heart.” He handed over the drink and turned to go to the kitchen. “I’ll be back with the muffins.”

He pushed the door open and for a split second you caught a glimpse of a side profile belonging to a blonde guy. He was too far away to distinctly make out any facial features but he had nice shoulders framed by his black tee and obvious blonde hair that was hard to miss. He looked cute to you, at least from a distance.

Those two details were the only things you took note of before the door closed, effectively blocking you from more staring. Too bad. It was totally ridiculous to think about but tech guy’s voice would be a good combination with baker guy’s looks.

You picked at the lid of the coffee cup while you waited for the rest of your order already anticipating how they would taste. Your plan was to only eat one this morning and to ration the rest, but you were honest enough with yourself to know that you might enter a feeding frenzy and have all three finished by lunch.

When the door opened up again your eyes searched for the seemingly cute baker but there was no sign of him. There wasn’t a chance to get down about it, however, because a smile lit up your face as soon as you saw the medium sized brown paper bag that held the muffins.

“Reid says these are especially for you,” the cashier said as he lifted the bag over the register.

You were quick to raise your hands to take it from him and made sure to thank him as you left, not questioning why Reid, a person you’d never met, would make a comment like that, figuring that he was referring to how you complained that the muffins were always sold out.

The morning air was especially cold as you trekked back to your dorm, your breath condensing into a fleeting, frozen cloud around your face and the only thing keeping your hands warm was the cappuccino you held between gloved hands. Still, the trip to the coffee shop was definitely worth it and you were hoping that it was a good omen to start the day off with.

***

Perhaps you were still experiencing the high of the morning victory at the coffee shop, but later on that night while you were working on homework once again, you started thinking about tech guy again. There wasn’t any need to call him; you now had both Illustrator and Photoshop on the laptop and there wasn’t anything else that you needed to install.

Still, you debated calling him. Not because you needed to but because you wanted to. Which was weird, even to you, but you had missed him the past couple of days, bad people skills and all. After the second call, you felt even more confident that he wasn’t as condescending a guy as you had first thought him to be. And you wouldn’t mind getting to know that awkward version of him better.

The hard part was you literally knew nothing about him other than he worked the night shift at the library. You didn’t have a name, a face, not even a work schedule to confirm whether he was working tonight or not. Reid must’ve been serious when he told the cashier those muffins were made especially for you because there had to have been a secret dose of recklessness mixed in there. How else would you explain this strange, and potentially creepy, call you were about to make?

The dial tone rang and you took a deep breath, not sure how this would turn out. On the fifth ring, someone finally picked up. “Library Tech Services.”

You laughed in relief. Tech guy was the on the other end of the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey, y/n. Having another crisis?” On one hand you felt a little embarrassed that you no longer had to say your name for him to recognize your voice but on the other, the possibility that he enjoyed talking with you, too.

“It may come as a surprise but I can get through a day without having a tech issue that needs solving.”

“Oh, really?”

“I swear.” You crossed your heart even though he couldn’t see you.

“Well, what do you want then?”

Time to be brave. “Actually, I called for you.”

“I would hope so, I’m the only who works this shift meaning I’m your only option.”

“No, um, I meant I wanted to tell you thanks for helping me out with installing that stuff on the laptop. You were a lifesaver.”

“I try.”

“Seriously! I definitely would’ve missed one graphic design deadline, potentially two if you hadn’t come to the rescue.”

That seemed to get his attention. “Is that your major? Graphic Design?”

“Yep. Don’t I give off bumbling artist vibes?”

“Hmm you seem pretty confident to me but there’s nothing wrong with that. My grandma was—” He started that sentence but abruptly cut off and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Are you saying I remind you of your grandma?”

“Shit,” he grumbled. “My friends told me to stop bringing her up when talking to hot people.”

“Don’t sweat it, she sounds like she was awesome so I’m honored. But back to the part where I’m hot… do you really think so?”

“Obviously. Do you think I hand out library secrets to every person who calls? Your voice is strong and you sound super smart so I tried my best to be cool with you.”

“Okay but future tip: hanging up on people and not telling them your name is rude, not cool.”

His embarrassment was tangible through the phone and you let him sweat momentarily before speaking. “Luckily for you, I like dorks such as yourself and am willing to look past it as long as I get your name.”

“It’s Reid. Reid Garwin,” he rushed to say.

Now that was interesting. You fell back on your bed, your brain trying to make connections. The name while not super common, wasn’t rare either and what were the chances that you met two of them on the same day. If Reid with the nice body and tech guy, er, Reid with the nice voice were one in the same, you wouldn’t be upset. Quite the contrary.

“Reid as in Reid who bakes my favorite sugar fixes on campus?”

“One in the same. You seen me there before?”

“Only once,” you reveal. “When I went to pick up some muffins this today.”

It was his turn to laugh. “Wait. Are you saying that you’re that customer who called me stupid the other day?”

“…Maybe.”

“They don’t let me out front cause I’m ‘too much’ for people but rest assured that the door isn’t that thick. I feel like an idiot for not recognizing that it was you though.”

The revelation that Reid was baking a tech hero, a winning mix by the way, thrilled you all the way from your head to your toes. At the moment you didn’t even care that he heard you calling him names at the coffee shop although you were sure the mortification would set in later.

“Would you like to go out sometime—”

“You do want to go out with me sometime—”

The two of you spoke at the same time and when you realized that the other had read your mind, you both giggled.

“After you,” you assured him.

“Shit, would you like to go out sometime? There’s a restaurant downtown that’s really good and I promise not to bring up grandma Garwin again.”

The plan was to pretend to think about it but your excitement overrode your brain and you said, “Deal as long as you promise to tell me more about her, not less.”

He started to answer you but stopped suddenly and you could vaguely hear him getting scolded by someone, reminding you that technically he was still on the clock.

“Sorry,” he grumbled, “The librarian on duty told me to stop flirting and get back to work. Stop by the coffee shop tomorrow though and we can talk more.”

You said your good-byes and rolled around your bed, the comforter thoroughly rumpled by the time you stopped. It seemed that your luck may be turning around for the better.

_______________

Thanks for reading my most self-indulgent piece to date. Also my longest! Reid may consider himself to be mister cool, but he is also an awkward bean who would make a great tech guy. It's also my first time experimenting with moodboards, let me know what you think :)

#the covenant #reid garwin #reid garwin x reader #imagines

74 notes · View notes

stayarmytinyzenmoa-l · 4 years ago

Text

Locked and Reloaded [Ch. 5]

Marvel AU

TW: Language, Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood, Gun Violence, Implied Abusive Household

Genre: Action, Light Comedy, Angst

Pairing: NCT Dream x Reader

YN Pronouns: Female (She/Her)

(5/?) [First] | [Previous] | [Next]

[Main Masterlist] | [Locked and Reloaded Masterlist]

Word Count: 6.5K

Notes: It’s about time these members entered the story. I’m dropping this now instead of a Saturday upload because I’m getting my second dose of vaccine in about nine hours, and from how both of my parents reacted something tells me that I’m going to be incapacitated for the next two days, so I decided to finish this bad boy up now! Currently next on my list to work on is Infatuation, so I’ll see you in that update!

Disclaimer: Please remember that this is an AU and a work of fiction, obviously the idols mentioned/written about in this story would never partake in or condone these actions. I would never wish any of these actions to occur to the Idol(s) mentioned in the writings of these stories, nor do I wish any harm on them.

“That’s stupid,” you told your older brother. Baekhyun just laughed. You had just finished ranting to him how a majority of the premise of chemistry was ridiculous, being founded on one key theory that could be amended at any moment, something now set in stone or put to law. It was a theoretical science that clashed with the lawfulness of physics and the puzzle of biology. “Chemistry is literally the weakest link.”

“I don’t quite think so, songbird,” the nickname was sweet in his voice, it was one you had had for as long as you could remember. He leans against your desk and he points at the picture. “It’s just atomic theory.”

“Yeah, and it’s stupid. Imagine, all of this work, all seven hundred of these pages and countless other books could get proved incorrect if someone disproves it.”

“You read this entire textbook and that’s all you have to say about it?” Baekhyun raised his eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Wah, you’re so amazing and you don’t even know it,” he hugged your head to his stomach and you pushed him away.

“Ew, you’re so gross,” you wiped the sweat from your face. “At least shower before coming into my room! You’re disgusting when you use the gym.”

“And miss my darling sister? No way, that and I came to congratulate you!” He points at the certificate on your desk just under your coffee mug. “Not every day you win the science fair… again.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” you put a textbook over it. He was right, but it was hardly an achievement for you at this point, it was an expectation.

“What did you do this year?” None of them even showed up, the only person there to help you with your project was Jeno, but he was always there whether you liked it or not.

“You don’t know?”

“I was at the conference, remember?”

“Oh, right,” you sighed. “It was just an observation on bees.”

“Whoa! Bees are great! They’re so helpful for pollination, for honey, and so much more!” Baekhyun smiles. “Hey, your birthday’s coming up, right? Fourteen? Oh god, oh no, my songbird? A teen? I don’t think I can handle this.”

“You’re overreacting! It’s not like I’m going to be any different. Plus, I’m already a teen.”

“Oh, (Y/N), you have no idea. Thirteen is the one year free trial before you start having to pay to be a teen. Once you turn fourteen, ugh, I don’t even know how to say this,” Baekhyun fake cries and wipes away the invisible tears. “It’ll be like you’re a whole different person.”

“Stop that! Why are you acting so weird?” You laughed and turned to him. Baekhyun crossed his arms over his chest and your smile dropped. You knew that look on his face better than anyone. “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I leave tonight,” he says.

“How long?”

“Maybe a week this time, dad wants to show me the properties over in Zone 8.”

“Seriously? What for?” The factories that far out from the city were nearly ghost factories, they just handled building the smaller removable parts of the weapons your father developed. You couldn’t think of a possible reason why Baekhyun would have to go out that far.

“I have no clue, maybe he just wants me to see the Byun system at a smaller scale,” Baekhyun sighs. “Will you be okay here?”

“Will I be okay here? Don’t make me laugh,” you slammed your textbook shut and stared at him. “She hates me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“She does! You’ve seen the way she talks to me when you’re not around, Baek, I genuinely think that woman wants to get rid of me.”

“She’s your mother.”

“No, she’s your mother.” You didn’t mean for it to come out as accusing as it did. But you could genuinely say that you never felt anything from her aside from the obvious disdain she must have held for you. But what could you do? You’d hate you too. If one day your husband showed up at your doorstep with a kid you didn’t recognize telling you to treat her as if she was your own, you’d despise that child’s existence. All you were was proof of infidelity, and your stepmother made that very clear. You were her daughter on paper alone, but in reality, you were nothing more than a freeloader. “I’m just the bastard kid from dad’s mistress.”

“Do not,” Baekhyun held a finger up and stared at you with an intensity you’ve never seen on his face before. Seriousness wasn’t something that Baekhyun often used, especially around you. “Do not ever reduce yourself to that. Do you understand? You are so much more than that and you can’t let anyone who says that to you bring you down, you cannot let that weigh on you. Who even told you that?”

“She did. Who else?”

“God…” Baekhyun looked away and huffed. He held his hand to his forehead and sighed. “Keep in touch with me, okay? Just one more year and I can take it to court.”

“Forget it, Baek,” you waved your hand. “It would never work. We have no proof.”

“Well,” Baekhyun pressed his lips together and placed a tape in front of you.

“A tape? Seriously?”

“Don’t hate on old tech, they’re still around for a reason. I have a walkman in my room, second drawer on my desk. Listen to it later, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” you placed the tape in your own drawer, out of sight and out of mind.

“Just wait for me, alright?”

“Yeah.”

“(Y/N), I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be back, okay?”

“Okay, just go, dad’s probably waiting for you,” you opened your textbook again and stared at the passages on it. You had a really bad feeling about tonight, but you couldn’t quite place your finger on it.

“Love you, songbird.”

“I know.”

“Sungchan! Four o’clock!” You shouted towards the agent. Sungchan, moving a second too late was met with the spine of a book to his face, promptly knocking him out. “Aw, geez,” you shoved your bag under a table, hoping that it would be somewhat okay after the fight, and threw a metal tray, the circular object blocking one of the flying weapons from hitting Shotaro on his way to Sungchan.

“Thank you!” He shouts. He leans next to his best friend and tries to wake him up while the fight continued.

“I’ll try to keep you guys covered, but you might need to fill in for me eventually, Reaper’s not doing too good over there,” you stumbled over to the two and handed Shotaro one of the pillows from the couch. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, just knocked out, but I have to watch him just in case… you know.”

“I do, just make sure he’s fine.”

With Jeno’s sudden appearance the Sanctum became a new battleground. Ancient artifacts were being used left and right for battle, whether they were used correctly or not, and with incoherent shouts filling the previously calm room. Strange was doing his best to prevent anything potentially world-threatening from happening, the Sorcerer Supreme understanding the laws of the universe, as well as any of you did, while the Maverick worked to bring down Vulture. The surprise attack rendered them at an unfortunate disadvantage. Strange was more concerned with keeping the battle within the Sanctum than he was helping any of you out, which was entirely understandable.

“I got it!” Peter shoved back the bookcase that was about to fall on you.

“Thanks, Peter.”

“Just so you know I am so sorry I did not mean for any of this to happen I didn’t know.”

“Oh goodness, no hard feelings, Peter, it happens to the best of us,” you said to him. “There’s no way you could’ve known.”

“Thanks, (Y/N), that means a— Watch out!” He pushed you out of the way just as a shield lodged itself between you, you turned towards the source and saw Vulture, and you had to stop yourself from getting any more frustrated than you already are.

“Fucking hell,” you clapped your hands together and jogged in place. “Stretching before fights is good for you, Peter, don’t forget that,” you said to him. Then you saw Cap waving his hand. You pulled the shield from its spot and threw it back to him.

“Nice arm!”

“Don’t lose your shit!” You moved your head to the side just as a bullet whizzed past you. “And watch where you’re aiming!” You dodged another bullet as it ricocheted off of one of the metal artifacts of the Sanctum.

“I am,” Jaemin’s voice was steady despite the chaos. “Reaper!” Jaemin tossed one o the artifacts towards the other, particularly a sharp one, and Jeno drove it into the wall next to Vulture, just barely grazing the Follower. Vulture grabbed onto the back of Jeno’s neck, the razor claws on his hands emerging and sinking into the half-demon before Vulture slammed Jeno’s head through the wall.

“Urgh, I felt that,” you rubbed the back of your neck as the phantom pain shot through it. You quickly stepped back just as an eldritch whip snapped in front of you.

“Mr. Wong?!” Peter gasps.

“That one isn’t in our database,” Jaemin grabbed onto the whip as it went towards you again, ‘Wong’ staring at him with a slight confusion, to which Jaemin just tugged it away from the other’s hands, watching the concentrated energy dissipate.

“Well then add him later, dammit,” you charged towards Vulture but soon felt something wrap around your ankle. You looked at the portal next to your foot and the hand around it. “Ew! Oh my god!” You yanked it out of ‘Wong’s’ grasp and shot towards him, the bullets disappearing before they could get anywhere close. No wonder it was so fucking convenient, you hoped whoever the real Wong was and where he was currently wasn’t too horrible.

“We should name this guy,” Jaemin dodged the eldritch disk that nearly sliced his throat. “I’m thinking Frisbee.”

“Oh come on, let’s stay true to tradition and wait for Hyuck,” you pulled a sword from the suit of armor next to you and blocked the whip again. You turned the hilt in your hand and smiled. “Ooh, I like this. You know my ex used to be an expert fencer.”

“I almost forgot about that one,” Jaemin hums. “What’s with sleeping beauty over there?”

“Got hit in a face with a book.”

“Oh that’s good, one less bomb we have to worry about.”

“That’s rude,” you scolded him.

“Can someone help me over here?!” Jeno’s pissed off voice came from the office. He pushed himself up from the rubble and cracked his neck before his knuckles. “I’m going to kill this guy, fuck the Agreement.”

“Does the Agreement even apply this far out?” You asked. Jaemin pulled out his phone briefly. The Agreement was offered by the D98 Avengers, basically promising not to do any dimension altering things, but it was just a promise, nothing was set in stone and thus was lacking in any legality. It was a gentleman’s promise, so to say.

“Technically it doesn’t, D62 is far out of D98 bounds. And since none of the Avengers are here…” Jaemin let Jeno fill in the blanks himself.

“Good,” Jeno tapped his wrists together, a blood-red magic circle appearing between them.

“Wait, do you guys hear that?” You looked around while skillfully parrying evil Wong’s attacks.

“Hear what?” Shotaro was nursing the passed out Sungchan while blocking any projectiles that made their way towards him.

“It kind of sounds like screaming,” Jaemin furrowed his eyebrows.

“No, it sounds like… no, of all the members to send,” you groaned. Then the sound of doors crashing open accompanied the chaos that was the Sanctum while a familiar face ran in head first, literally, screaming his head off, and rams into Dr. Strange.

“I got this one, V! Don’t worry!” Chenle shouts.

“You idiot he’s on our side!” Jeno grabs a polearm from a nearby suit of armor and whacks it over Vulture’s head, the polearm breaking in half right after and really just pissing off the Follower more.

“Oh is he? Sorry!” Chenle detached himself from the sorcerer.

“Looks like we’ll be having a change in plans,” Strange murmured and disappeared from the room.

“Did the wizard just dip?!” You yelled.

“I think so!” Chenle yelled back, despite being right next to you.

“Why are you even here?!”

“We were talking to Fury when Jeno just fell into a sudden pool of blood! I followed your tracker here because I figured you’re in trouble. Be grateful!”

“I never said I wasn’t?!” You heard a pang next to you and turned to your side, a circular shield blocking your vision for only a brief moment before connecting with Other Wong’s abdomen.

“Thanks,” you nodded towards Steve.

“No problem,” he says. “But where’d that bullet come from?” Cap looks around the room. Jaemin rushes next to you and grabs something, pointing it upwards. Within a few moments, someone materializes next to him. A classic cloaking spell, of course, right when you needed it most.

“Monsieur,” her voice was hoarse.

“Lynx,” you saw him grimace while the woman drove a knife into Jaemin’s side and twisted it harshly. A loud groan left the man’s throat while you darted next to him and tackled the woman to the ground.

“I like your D62 version better!” You pressed your gun to her head and she threw you off before you could pull the trigger.

“Nat!?” Steve blocked another gunshot from her with his shield.

“Not Nat,” Bucky answers.

“Where have you been?”

“This thing’s still glowing,” Bucky held up the crystal.

“Give that to me!” Chenle appears next to them and grabs it. “You meaty idiots don’t know what to do with this.”

“Was that an insult?”

“Apperio!” Chenle ignored the Captain and chanted the charm, a magic circle appeared around the crystal. Following the ripple of two blue circles that expanded throughout the room, two more people appeared.

“There’s more of them?!” You shot Vulture in the leg. Before you were two other notorious members of the Elite. Arachnid, who you fought before, and Dead Shot, someone you were hoping not to run into in this dimension. “Someone get Parker out of here as soon as he touches Arachnid it’s over!” You shout.

“Oh please, I wouldn’t even try that. What good is this mission if any of us blow up the dimension while we’re at it,” Arachnid catches the flying dagger and flings it back towards Jaemin, who easily dodged it.

“We have orders to keep you alive, Vendetta, comply and the others will live,” Dead Shot spoke in his trademarked mechanical voice.

“Fuck that,” you pointed your gun at Arachnid and click. Click, click. “Well, this is awkward,” you chucked the magnum at Arachnid, the handle of the gun hitting the area between the mutant’s eyes and stunning him briefly, while Dead Shot released a flurry of bullets. You ran along the wall to dodge them, looking for something to shield yourself with now that Cap and Bucky were busy with Lynx, Jeno had Vulture busy, and Jaemin moved over to Arachnid so that Peter could handle Evil-Wong instead.

“Surrender or be forced to, Vendetta.”

“Well, shit,” you held a book in front of you while Dead Shot went through consecutive rounds.

“How could you not know a Follower was here?!” Jeno was pushed back next to you while deflecting Vulture’s attacks.

“How the hell was I supposed to know?! I didn’t even know that those three were here until a couple of minutes ago!”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“No, I’m not kidding you because if I was we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“It has been thirty minutes! I let you and Jaemin go for thirty minutes and this happens!”

“In our defense,” Jaemin gets pushed back to the other side of you and clears his throat. “Peter brought us here.”

“I said I’m sorry!” Peter brushes off the embers on his suit. “Aw man, how am I going to explain this to Mr. Stark?”

“Explain? Have you been reporting us to him?!” You asked.

“Uh… no,” Peter’s phone goes off and he answers it. “Hi, Mr. Stark, there’s kind of a situation going on right now—”

“Tell them not to come here! If any of the other Followers show up it could tear the fabric of reality apart!” Chenle shouts. A magic circle appears under Peter’s phone and it short circuits. Chenle adjusts the watch around his wrist, a much larger magic circle appearing from it.

“Vocavi te ab umbris,” at the utterance of the words the shadows in the room gathered together to a much larger amalgamate. “Go, Vendetta, I’ll keep them handled.”

“Fuck,” you spotted your backpack, which was pushed up against the wall on the other side of the room.

“What now?” Jeno asks.

“Backpack.”

“What about it?”

“There’s something really important in there,” Jaemin sounded disappointed. “We could hole-in-one it, V.”

“We could,” you said. “But that risks shaking it up too much.

“Hot potato then?” Jeno offers.

“Who would start it?”

“The closest person is Shotaro, if he throws it far enough I could probably catch it,” Jeno says. “Pass it over to Jaemin.”

“Then I’ll pass it to you. But by then you need to be in that hallway,” Jaemin says.

“Got it, I can do that.”

“And if anything goes wrong?”

“Wing it.”

“We’re going to die in this dimension, aren’t we?” Jeno frowns.

“On the count of three, break,” Jaemin says, ignoring his best friend’s words. You hand Jeno the old sword, which he took without question. “One.”

“What do I need this for?”

“Well, I certainly don’t need it.”

“Two.”

“Wait, are we even on the same page?”

“I don’t know, are we?”

“Three!” Jaemin shoved you forward and you took off, dodging literally everything on your way to get out and probably get some more help.

“Shotaro! Pass me that backpack!” Jeno shouts over the gunshots. Shotaro perked up and grabbed the black bag, chucking it towards Jeno, who caught it easily. “Monsieur— Fuck, too far, Apollo! Pass this over to him!” Jeno tossed the backpack towards Chenle, the heavy bag slamming into the magician mid-spell.

“What the hell?!”

“Pass it here!” Jaemin knocked over Lynx and used her head the propel himself up and grab the backpack after Chenle threw it. He ran over towards you and threw it. Right as your hand grabbed the strap, it was yanked away from you.

“Fuck!” You looked back at who had it now, seeing your backpack in the hands of the last person who should have it. You were about the run over to him, but the bullet that landed too close for comfort reminded you that you had to leave now. “Arachnid has it!” You’d just have to put your trust into the three that were already here.

“Got it,” Jeno bashed his knee into Vulture’s head, finally incapacitating the Follower and switched targets. You turned around and ran into the hallway. You just had to call one of the other members to run over here with some extra materials. You hit the side of your phone, which only frizzed at the motion. Chenle must have jammed the signals to prevent more reinforcements from coming, great. You couldn’t run around forever, Dead Shot always hit his targets in the end, you continued down the hallway, not bothering to look back, but when you found yourself cornered against a hallway, you forced to figure out a solution. With the smell of smoke and the sounds of bullets hitting the ground— Wait a second. You looked down the hallway, bullets hitting metal and ricocheting towards you but never hitting any intended destination, there wasn’t even a bullet hole in sight, instead there were just empty shells on the ground. But in your analysis you failed to notice the stray bullet that was right in front of you. Then you saw someone’s closed fist in front of you.

“Did I get all of them?” He panted. He opened his hand and twelve bullets fell out of it.

“Oh my god, Mark, you’re just in time, I don’t remember you being this fast either,” you caught your breath and hugged the speedster, separating quickly. Mark pat down the smoke on his boots.

“I don’t think I’ve ever run that fast…” He stretches his back and kicks the bullet shells aside.

“How’d you even get here?”

“The sorcerer guy called Baekhyun and asked us to come right away. I had a feeling it wasn’t anything good so I came first, told them I’d scout the area. It’s a good thing I came, otherwise you’d look like Sponge-Bob…” He laughs awkwardly. “You’re at your quota, aren’t you?” He looks down at your feet. You followed his gaze and saw the rusted knife sticking out from it, then you noticed the bloody trail you left behind. You sighed and pulled the old thing out.

“Remind me to get a Tetanus shot.”

“You are at your quota,” he gasped.

“Can’t afford to possibly die right now,” you shook your head. “I thought since the dimension was far enough it’d get me some leeway, but I guess not,” you grimaced.

“Shit, it really is a good thing that I came just in time,” Mark looks over his shoulder. “Dead Shot should be on his way, you didn’t make it hard to find you.”

“Don’t smart-mouth me right now, Mark.”

“Right, yeah, sorry about that,” the speedster ruffled his blue hair and unzipped his jacket, pulling out a book from it. It was heavy, no doubt, leather-bound with metal embellishments around it. The book had lived through as many eons as it did dimensions. You had asked Mark to try to get it for you if he could, but nothing more than that. Better to leave him in blissful ignorance. “Look, I don’t have a lot of time to say this,” he says while he hands it to you.

“Just spit it out.”

“I was looking into that thing you asked me about and here, this is all I got,” he says. “Whatever you need it for it’d better be important, I almost got turned into a frog for it. The guy I got it from warned me not to read it though.”

“Why?”

“I dunno, something about corrupting the person who reads it.”

“Oh shit, I should have Jeno read it then.”

“True, you can’t corrupt a demon.”

“But then again he is only half.”

“Look, (Y/N), I only got you the book because you were so insistent on it. Just reassure me and tell me that you won’t do anything stupid with it.”

“I won’t, I won’t, I may be stupid but I’m not that stupid, Mark. When are the others coming?”

“I just gave them the signal to enter, they’ll be taking care of the Follower problem here in a bit. But you’re going to have to explain why you’re here to them, and I’m afraid that it might involve you revealing your identities this time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Why else would you be in D62 being housed and paid by this dimension’s Avengers?”

“Fair enough—” you were cut off by the bullet grazing your ear and landing in the wall behind you. Another one rang out and Mark grimaced, holding his hand to his shoulder

“Argh! Come on!” He grunts. He puts a hand on your back and one behind your neck.

“Why?”

“Whiplash,” you blinked and suddenly found yourself back in the Avenger’s Compound.

“Mark, don’t you dare!”

“Sorry! Jeno’s orders! I’d rather a pissed off you than Jeno!”

“Mark, I swear if you zoom out of here—” but the speedster was already gone by the time you turned around. “Dammit!” You kicked the wall and winced immediately, you completely forgot that it was the same foot that had a knife driven through it earlier.

He was right, you’d reached your quota. There was a certain amount of times you were allowed to “die” until it would be too much, and you knew you’d be at this quota when your body would stop healing itself, it was getting ready for its original host to return. You just didn't think you’d reach it soon, and who knows until the number resets? It was always a varying number, and until it did you had to lay low. It was such a hassle that you always tried to avoid it, but coming to this dimension seemed to have expedited the whole thing. You heard a bag of chips drop behind you.

“(Y/N)? When did you get here?” Jisung stared at you while he picked up the bag.

“Mark.”

“Mark’s here? Where?” Jisung looks around.

“There was a complication at Dr. Strange’s place,” you limped towards him, he rushed over to you and reached for your hand to help you, but you tugged it away. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” Jisung gave you a little more space, but still walked next to you, sporting that easy-to-read concern. “Do they need help?”

“No. The Avengers are coming.”

“Oh… oh no,” Jisung caught onto why you were being short now. “Oh no, oh no, we won’t have a choice then.”

“No, we won’t,” you heaved the large book under your arm. Jisung looked at it but chose not to question you. “I’ll be in my room, I have a lot of thinking to do before we explain ourselves to the lapdogs so, if you need me, I’ll be in there,” Jisung says.

“Oi, (Y/N)!” Haechan held his hand up and Jisung furiously shook his head. Hyuck pressed on regardless. “Think you need this,” he waved the small box in his hand and you did a doubletake.

“Where did you get that?!” You rushed forward and snatched it out of his hands. “Be a bit more gentle with it!”

“Whoa! What’s got you pissed? Jeno drowned and dropped this. Changmin said to give it to you so I figured it’s important, damn.”

“The Avengers are coming.”

“Like… these Avengers?” He points around the room. “Or our Avengers.”

“The second one,” Jisung nods. “Right, (Y/N)?” You didn’t answer, you were already halfway to your room. You tossed the book on your bed and you opened the small box, pulling the vial of iridescent liquid from it. You twisted it open and downed its limited contents in one gulp. You felt all of your muscles relax at once and you sat on the bed. The wound on your foot closed quickly.

“Postponed, at least for now,” you stretched your arms. “But not permanently,” you placed the vial back in the box and you grabbed the book. As you held the two sides in your hands, ready to open it, you recalled Mark’s warning. Then you remembered the words of the Demon King himself.

“If you know what’s good for you, and what’s good for the world you reside in. Do not seek more than you already know about yourself.”

The times you spoke to Jeno’s father were limited, and your best friend liked it that way, preferred it actually, but the times you did talk they were always pleasant. Save for that warning. He knew something you didn’t, the both of them. You acquired this book without any of their knowledge. For years you just went with it, there’s a quota for death, there’s a reason why you can’t die, there’s a reason why you should avoid stepping near the Seraph, but now in this new universe, you had to know. There was something calling out to you in this dimension, it was very faint, and you didn’t truly notice it until you walked into the Sanctum.

You put the book away, sliding it under the bed.

Trust is mutual, if two very powerful beings are telling you to stay in your lane you probably should. You knew the bare minimum of your condition, so to say, you knew what you had to. Die too many times too close together and something else will come and reclaim its host, and all you knew about that entity was that it was some eldritch creature that took a millennia to finally contain, and for some reason, it had some affinity for you. That is where your knowledge stopped and your curiosity began. What could be so powerful that even the all-powerful Demon King wanted to keep it contained, and what did it have to do with you? Your answers were under your bed. But you risked too much by simply opening the book on its own. You hit your head lightly on the wall behind you. The liquid in the vial would extend your quota by at most three, you had to use them carefully. If you were going to attract a horrific monster, it would probably be best to not do it in a world that you didn’t belong to.

There was a knock at your door.

“What do you want, Renjun?”

The door opened slowly, and someone else stood at it.

“Is now a bad time?” Stark asks. You shook your head.

“It’s your building, come in,” you sighed. He walked in at your invitation, sitting at the table to the side.

“So this is what S.H.I.E.L.D. meant by living accommodations,” he laughs.

“What did you need, Mr. Stark?”

“Tony’s fine, thanks,” he says. “Sorry, it was eating away at me, I had to ask.”

“You wanna know about what you’re like in my dimension, right?”

“I’d appreciate it, but, something tells me I should come back later.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine.”

“Where are your friends?”

“Probably getting their asses kicked, but I’m here instead,” you shrugged. “Honestly, you’re not that different. Maybe a little less depressed, but that’s about it. For what it counts, to our knowledge, you aren’t a Follower. You work closely with the Seraph, if they found out then you would’ve been executed on spot, at the very least.”

“Oh yeah? Crazy leader or rational one?”

“Bit of both,” you leaned forward on your bed, kicking the book further under your bed. “Want to know anything else?”

“I was wondering if you could walk me through your Traveler of yours, is it anything like Time Travel?”

“Let’s call it two sides of the same coin.”

“How so? What do you use? Cosmic strings? Möbius strip?”

“Have you heard of the infinite cylinder theory?”

“Also known as Tipler?

“Yes!”

“Then yes, I’m aware.”

“How about Schrödinger’s Equation?”

“We’re talking hamiltonian operators?”

“Bingo. If you can manipulate those two concepts, you can get time travel, but it’s not perfect. So manipulate them differently, add a few more concepts because you have to take relativity into account, and bam. Dimensional Travel.”

“That easy?”

“Yeah, well, no, but in theory sure.”

“And you never went to high school?”

“What’s that got to do with it? If you need a degree to prove you’re right then you’re probably not the sharpest tool in the shed,” you shrug. Tony opened his mouth to retaliate, but couldn’t think of a good comeback to that. “Something tells me you want to ask me something more specific though, Peter let slip that he’s been sending you updates, so I’m sure you’re here for a different reason.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why help us?”

“Don’t really know how to answer that one, Tony,” you placed your ankle on your opposite knee and rolled out your ankle. “Usually we just take whichever job pays the most, but Changmin asked us personally to take this one, so how could we say no? The guy rarely ever asks us favors, and it was the least we could do.”

“That simple?”

“What? Did you want me to say that we wanted to meet you guys? I mean, it’s certainly a plus. Most of your team happen to be carbon copies of the same one who wants to kill us, so there’s that, we’re observing the ways you act, maybe it’ll help us in the future, maybe not. It’s like a two-way deal, you get your Traveler, and we get data.”

“Data,” Tony scoffs. “I can see why you’d come to that conclusion.”

“What can I say? It’s helpful. But, I can definitely say that we might be relieved of our duties soon, we’re technically here illegally, I’ll have you know,” you said to him. “We’re supposed to get official approval from the Secretary of Travel before jumping dimensions, but we’re not exactly law followers so we never did. But now that an official government team is on their way, hoo boy, my greatest rival is yet to come. Paperwork,” you made light of what would otherwise be a very very bad situation.

“I heard, so we get to meet the other Avengers.”

“Yup. And, let me tell you right now, they’re not the nicest people.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, just you wait until I tell you about them.”

The shadow amalgamate shattered into what it once was, scurrying back to their original positions, once Chenle had the wind knocked out of him by Lynx. He landed harshly on Jaemin, who then lost his balance and sent the two tumbling down to the first floor of the Sanctum.

“Sorry,” Chenle rolled off the top of Jaemin.

“It’s fine, call it even for the incident with the banshee.”

“Agreed, ugh, my head’s doing cartwheels…”

“Cartwheels? I feel like mine is being churned,” Jaemin holds his head. Chenle and Jaemin lay next to each other for a moment, trying to stop their spinning heads when someone stood over them.

“Are we bothering you, gentlemen?”

“Ugh, these fuckers are here,” Jaemin covered his eyes with his arms. “Tell me when they’re gone, Apollo.”

“That’s kind of mean,” Mark frowns. Jaemin moves his hand.

“Mark’s not a bad person, actually, Tony. I feel bad because I encouraged him to join the Avengers when they asked, but the other guys saw it as a complete betrayal. But he’s loyal, he doesn’t hate us and we don’t hate him, or at least I don’t.”

“Oh look! The traitor!” He lazily points at him. “Do you know how much shit we’ve been through since you left?”

“All the dishes we’ve had to wash?”

“V won’t even let us take your room because she thinks you’re coming back! You dumb traitor, what happened to our friendship bracelets, Mark?! Huh?!”

“You guys, don’t call me that, come on! Look I’m still wearing it!” Mark whines.

“Go away! You left us for your cooler friends who can legally blow things up, go! Go have fun with them!” Chenle points an accusing finger towards the speedster.

“Just leave them there,” Mark whispers.

“We’re looking for Strange,” a deeper voice says.

“Oh my god, is that Wong Yukhei?” Jaemin asks, his blurred vision not helping him at all. “You know, Vendetta has a cardboard cutout of you, I think she talks to it sometimes,” he laughs, his words slightly slurred as a result of the head damage received when he fell on the hard floors in the first place.

“Flattered,” Yukhei responds.

“Wong Yukhei, decorated soldier from the order of war and the first in the super-soldier experiments. Actually not a bad guy, but feels the need to flex his bravado every now and then because of the team he’s on, and honestly, I kind of relate to that.”

“The hatless wizard is somewhere upstairs,” Chenle points up and lets his arm drop to his side. “We’d help, but you guys look like one big ugly walrus right now.” Jaemin starts cracking up and the two high five.

“Do we have to work with them?” Another voice snapped.

“Li Yongqin, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul, Lee Youngheum, he has too many names to remember so people usually just call him Ten. He was a perfect student in the military academies, which I’m guessing where his nickname comes from. But he’s pretty impatient, rather ill-tempered from my experience."

“We don’t have a choice,” a more suave on this time.

“Ooh, Lee Taemin. He's an interesting one, Tony. We’re actually pretty close, or used to be at least. He’s very good at what he does, he has years of experience under his belt, but it’s pretty scary. He’s probably done his research by now, be careful, he knows you better than you know yourself. Don’t argue.”

“Gentlemen, let’s end this, we have clearance from the Seraph to exterminate the Followers,” a more powerful one.

“Oh, oh, Lee Taeyong! He’s great. I’ve seen him work a couple of times, I think he’s shot me in the head before. Don’t ask. I have a great deal of respect for him, but he’s kind of anti-social, not easy to get along with him, but I think it’s all miscommunication in the end. I think if we really got to know each other we’d hit it off, but otherwise, I think I’m just a person with a bounty on her head in his eyes.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Jaemin pushed himself up, his eyes finally focusing. “Exterminate? Yeah, you guys do that, but let the Maverick leave first, we don’t want to get caught up in your deathmatch again,” Jaemin hits the side of his head a few times.

“Where’s the Vendetta?”

“Not here! She left because Reaper was being a little bitch!” Jaemin laughs again and Chenle joins him.

“We’re wasting our time here with these idiots,” another person says. Chenle squints his eyes to make out the figure.

“Now there’s Kim Jongin, he’s one of the people who started the Avengers project and got them all together. He’s an indispensable member, in my opinion. But when you’re in a team with that many star-studded members who are constantly in the public eye, it’s easy to get lost in the lights. But he knows how to keep things according to itinerary.”

“Who are you again?” He asks. “I thought the Avengers only had six members,” he stifles back a laugh.

“Dude that’s low!” Jaemin cackles. Mark swallows down a laugh when Taemin looks over at him, both of them trying to be respectful to their teammate.

“I know that’s why I said it!” Chenle hits his teammate’s arm and Jaemin winces, but the two continue in their little circus.

“Forget them, let’s just go,” Jongin. The team ascends the steps.

“Enter, the Avengers,” Baekhyun smiles.

“And finally there’s their leader. Byun Baekhyun— yes, he’s my older brother, no we don’t talk, and I don’t think he even knows I’m alive. He’s similar to you in some aspects, he pays for all of their shit. But he’s manipulative. He knows how to get into your head. Be careful with him.”

General Tag List: @vickylamore @yeongwvnhi @mizzdivagirl7-blog @sehunnies-hunnie96 @roses09020617 @bat-shark-repellant @cloudreads @awesomei @raeincitizen @here-aeth

Locked and Reloaded: @leesalts @lublyrecs @beefchippp @hiqhkey @tyuningkai @p-mini @ellie-idk-anymore @mischiefmakerliesmith5 @gaiyofanfiction @lucyinthesunshinee

If you want to be added to either tag list just send me a reply to this post, and ask, or a DM and I’ll add you as soon as possible!

#nct #nct dream #nct u #marvel #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct u x reader #nct fics #nct dream fics #nct u fics #my writings #L&R

30 notes · View notes

whumphoarder · 5 years ago

Text

Emergency Contact

Summary: It’s not that James disliked his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.

Or, in which fifteen-year-old college freshman Tony Stark needs a ride to the ER and James Rhodes is too responsible for his own good.

Word count: 4,050

Genre: sickfic, hurt/comfort, angst, whump

A/N: Thank you so much to @xxx-cat-xxx and @sallyidss for beta reading, ideas, and encouragement!

Link to read on Ao3

It’s not that James disliked his roommate, it’s just that they didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.

To be fair, the skinny five-foot-four prepubescent kid who’d walked into James’ dorm on move-in day didn’t look much like a college student, nor was he lugging in cardboard boxes and duffle bags filled with crap like the rest of the freshmen in the hall. There was no air of excitement and trepidation to him—no telltale buzz of new experiences. Not to mention, James had spent the majority of his summer away at Air Force ROTC camp, cut off from most forms of media and therefore oblivious to the rumors that Howard Stark’s infamous fifteen-year-old child prodigy was set to start his engineering course at MIT the very same semester that he was. It was hardly his fault for not recognizing the kid.

Even so, he probably shouldn’t have addressed Tony as ‘champ’ and asked if he was there to drop off an older sibling. That was on him.

What was not on James, however, was the fit Stark pitched at the resident assistant’s office upon realizing that his father had evidently not set him up with a single room after all.

“So move me then,” the little twerp demanded. “Just put it on the old man’s bill—he’s got the money. I didn’t just live through the last seven years of boarding school dormitories only to have to keep sharing the fucking bathroom in college.” He glanced over his shoulder at James, before adding, offhandedly, “No offense—I’m sure you’re swell.”

James huffed out a short, ironic laugh. He was standing in the back corner of the office with his back leaning against the wall and his arms crossed over his chest, quietly taking in the scene unfolding in front of him. “None taken.”

(At this point, he wouldn’t have minded a switch either.)

The mousy redhead at the desk looked frazzled. “Look, I’m very sorry, Mr. Stark,” she tried to explain, “but there’s nothing I can do. All our single dorms are fully booked.”

Even when the kid shoved a wad of cash at her tall enough to make James’ eyebrows rise, the RA held her ground.

“It’s a first come, first serve policy,” she explained, her voice faltering, but words firm. “At least until something opens up. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it has to be.”

So there they were, a nineteen-year-old Air Force cadet from a working class family in Philly who had gotten into ‘fancy school’ on an ROTC scholarship, a 3.87 GPA, and a prayer, and a spoiled rich brat with a pile of daddy issues taller than the Bunker Hill Monument. The two were going to be stuck together for at least the next few weeks and neither of them was particularly thrilled about it.

Despite James’ initial concerns, rooming with Stark wasn’t actually that bad.

James had an additional scholarship that was dependent on his academic performance, so he joined several study groups to keep his grades up. Between ROTC, student government, and mock UN, along with his never-ending mountain of engineering coursework, he was rarely home.

Meanwhile, Tony might look like a twelve-year-old, but that certainly didn’t get in the way of his budding popularity on campus. The kid was swimming in invites to different parties and events (though whether that was due to his own sharp wit and natural charisma, or simply his undeniable social status as the son of Howard Stark, James couldn’t tell). Either way, between James’ busy schedule and Tony’s avid social calendar, the two could go days without seeing each other, which suited them both just fine.

With all the partying, James figured his roommate’s grades must be suffering, but a curious glance at the quarterly report letter lying on Tony’s desk last week proved otherwise. The kid had straight A’s in all seven of his classes—two more than James himself was taking.

(Alright, maybe he disliked Tony a little bit.)

James knew it wasn’t going to be a good day from the moment he woke up to see sunlight streaming in through the blinds. That just wasn’t supposed to happen at 5:45 a.m. in November.

“Shit,” he muttered, scrambling out of his twin-size bunk. The display on his alarm clock was silently blinking the very incorrect time of ‘12:00’. The previous night’s storm must have knocked out the power. He grabbed his watch from atop his desk to check the actual time and immediately breathed out a sigh of relief. 7:22. No morning run today, but he should still be able to make it to his eight a.m. class if he hurried.

Still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he snagged some clean clothes from his dresser and made a beeline to the adjoining bathroom. He pushed open the door and slapped on the light switch, but the second the room illuminated to reveal the scrawny figure sitting slumped on the floor between the toilet and the wall, James froze.

“Tony?” he asked in confusion. He hadn’t even heard the kid come home last night.

Without opening his eyes, Tony hummed a bit in response. Then all at once, he lurched forward and gagged, coughing up what looked to be mostly bile into the toilet bowl.

James grimaced. It was definitely not the first time he’d seen his roommate severely hungover, but it was the first time he’d seen it happen on a Tuesday . At the rate this kid was partying, he’d be lucky if he had any liver function left by the time he graduated.

With a sigh, James set his stack of clean clothes down on the sink counter. “Look man, I’m sorry, but I really gotta shower. I know you’re not feeling too great, but do you think you can give me, like, five minutes in here?”

Tony blinked up at him, seeming to process the question. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay…”

Doing his best to ignore the acidic smell of vomit, James stepped carefully around Tony into the small room. He flushed the toilet and grabbed the metal trash can from beside the sink while Tony pulled himself shakily to his feet.

“Thanks dude. I promise I’ll be fast.” He passed the can off to Tony and watched him stumble back out of the room before shutting the door.

If the military had taught James nothing else, it was efficiency. He emerged ten minutes later—showered, dressed, and clean shaven—to find Tony sitting listlessly on the edge of his bed. The boy looked more dead than alive, with one arm wrapped around his stomach and sweat soaking through his thin gray t-shirt. Just the sight of him was practically an underage drinking PSA in itself.

“Bathroom’s all yours,” James announced as he grabbed his backpack from the floor.

Tony acknowledged him with a small grunt, but didn’t make any effort to move. His mouth was slightly open and he was breathing through it carefully, warily eyeing the trash can on the floor in front of him. For once, James was glad he had an eight a.m. class to get to; he figured in about five minutes, he wouldn’t want to be here anyway.

In a spur of the moment gesture of kindness, James grabbed a fresh bottle of water from the case under his desk and tossed it onto Tony’s bed. “Feel better, dude,” he said on his way out the door.

Tuesday was always a busy day for James. He had back-to-back classes all morning, followed by a student council meeting in the afternoon and a mandatory ROTC training session. It was nearly seven o’clock by the time he made it back to the dorm, and by that time he’d honestly forgotten about that morning’s excitement until he opened the door to their room.

As miserable as Tony had appeared that morning, he looked decidedly worse now. He was lying curled up on the edge of his bed in a tangle of sheets and blankets, cheeks flushed and body shivering. The whole room carried the vague scent of vomit, though the trash can by the bed was currently empty.

“So… I take it this isn’t a hangover?” James deduced, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. He plopped the paper sack of Taco Bell that was going to make up his dinner onto his desk, causing Tony’s face to scrunch up in displeasure. “Stomach flu?” he guessed.

Tony made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat.

“Think you got a fever?”

Another low noise issued from Tony, somewhere between a grunt and a moan, which James took to mean something along the lines of ‘don’t know, and don’t care.’

James hesitated a moment, unsure what to do. If his mother were here, she’d tisk her tongue and press her hand to the kid’s forehead to gauge his temperature, but somehow he didn’t see that going over too well with Tony.

Instead, James checked his watch and sighed. “I can give you a ride to the student health center if you want,” he offered. “They don’t close until eight.”

“Don’ have to... ‘s just a bug,” Tony mumbled into the pillow, the most consecutive words James had heard from him all day. “I’ll be fine.”

The thing was, if Tony were one of his ROTC buddies, James would have dropped it right there. He’d never been particularly good at caretaking, and besides, he had a test coming up in his thermal-fluids class tomorrow morning that he should really be studying for. But something about the utter vulnerability Tony was displaying at the moment gave James pause. True, the kid might be a stuck-up asshole, but he was also just that— a kid. Only a few years older than James’ own kid-brother.

James looked at Tony appraisingly. “Can you handle a shower?”

“Huh?” Tony breathed.

“A shower,” James repeated. “Remember those? Water, soap, maybe even some shampoo if you’re feeling adventurous,” he said wryly. “That is, if you can do it without passing out.”

Tony fixed him with a rather pathetic glare. “Not gonna pass out.”

“You better not,” James quipped, crossing his arms and watching as Tony pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’ve seen more than enough white boys’ pasty asses this summer to last a lifetime. I have no desire to add another.”

(Tony lifted his middle finger weakly in his roommate’s direction.)

Over the sound of the shower running in the background, James ate his tacos and started flipping through his class notes in preparation for the test the next morning, but he was finding it unusually hard to focus. He kept listening for any sounds of distress from the bathroom, and after fifteen minutes had elapsed, he got up from his desk and crossed the room.

“Hey, I was serious about the ‘no passing out’ rule, Stark,” he hollered, rapping his knuckles against the door. “If you biff it in there, you’re on your own.”

As if on cue, a loud crashing sound immediately issued from inside the shower.

James’ eyes widened. He jiggled the door handle only to find it locked. “Tony?” he called. “Did you just fall?”

There was no response.

James cursed. He grabbed a paper clip from his desk and quickly jimmied the flimsy lock open—a skill he’d learned from his cousins years ago—before pushing open the door. “Tony?” he called again.

Suddenly, a hand emerged and pulled the edge of the shower curtain back just enough for Tony to stick his head out the side. His face was totally straight, but there was a hint of mirth in his eyes. “Whoops, must’ve dropped the shampoo bottle,” he deadpanned. “Thank god I’m rooming with the US Coast Guard.”

“Air Force,” James corrected irritably.

Tony pulled the curtain back closed. “Whatever.”

James rolled his eyes. “Next time I’m letting you drown, Stark...” he grumbled as he stepped back out of the room.

By the time Tony finally emerged from the bathroom an additional twenty minutes later (the latter ten of which he’d spent retching loud enough into the toilet that James had broken out his walkman and headphones), all traces of his earlier humor had dissolved. He moved shakily back to his bed and managed a couple sips of water before curling up on his side, the trash can within easy reach.

James tried to turn his attention back to his textbook, but Tony’s labored breathing as he drifted in and out of consciousness was making it difficult to focus. James kept stealing worried side glances back at the bed, wondering whether there was something else he should be doing.

At around nine-thirty, Tony jerked up suddenly and stumbled back to the bathroom to start dry-retching into the toilet again, and that was when James gave up trying to study for the night. He got up from his desk and pushed open the hastily half-closed door to the bathroom to wet a washcloth at the sink. When the mostly unproductive spasms ceased, he handed the cloth to Tony.

“Have you eaten anything today?” James asked, though he was pretty sure he knew the answer already.

Tony just grimaced and shook his head.

“Want some crackers or something?” he offered. “I can go raid the cafeteria soup station.” James might not have had as packed of a social calendar as Tony, but it wasn’t like he never partied. He still knew the college hangover tricks.

Tony shook his head again, eyes closed. He seemed to lack the energy for words.

“Gatorade at least then?” James tried again. “All I’ve seen you drink today is one water bottle—you’ve gotta be getting dehydrated by now.”

Another head shake. “I’ll jus’ puke it up again…” Tony muttered. “Prob’ly a kidney too at this rate.”

“Well it’s better than puking up nothing,” James reasoned. Technically, he didn’t know if that was true or not, but he was tired of watching the kid be miserable. He moved back to the room to grab his keys and jacket. “What flavor do you want?” he called.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony croaked back from the bathroom. “They’re all terrible.”

“That’s the most ignorant thing I’ve ever heard you say,” James retorted. “Just for that you’re getting purple.”

And with that, he exited the dorm and shut the door behind him with a bang.

It turned out that the vending machine in the lobby outside the dining hall only sold three Gatorade flavors—blue, orange, and red. James bought a bottle of each, then slipped into the deserted cafeteria to snag a handful of individually-wrapped saltine packets from the clam chowder counter before heading back to the dorm. It took some cajoling, but he managed to get two full crackers and half a bottle of the sports drink into Tony before it came right back up.

“Told you,” Tony rasped, spitting neon blue strings of bile into the toilet bowl. “Lost cause.”

“We’ll try red next,” James said, cracking open a fresh bottle. “One of them’s bound to stick.”

But red didn’t stay down any better, and neither did orange. James mooched a can of ginger ale and a quarter of a bottle of Pepto Bismol off a fellow cadet down the hall, but those fared no better. Even the cup of tap water James kept bullying him into taking sips from proved too much.

By midnight, Tony was still sitting slumped against the toilet on the bathroom floor, barely conscious, and James was at a total loss. “I think we have to go to the ER,” he admitted finally.

Without opening his eyes, Tony made a low noise of discontent in the back of his throat. His eyes were sunken in and he was alarmingly pale.

James let out a deep sigh. “Look, I’m sorry man, but we’re running out of options here. If you can’t even keep water down, you’re gonna need an IV.”

“No…” Tony lifted a shaky hand to try to take the cup of water James was holding. “I’ll-I’ll try again… just—” His words were cut off by a weak gag.

James cursed under his breath and quickly steered Tony’s head back over the bowl. It turned out not to matter though because for the next several minutes of miserable retching, nothing came up. When it was finally over, Tony slumped back against the wall. His eyes were red and puffy, and James figured it was only dehydration that was keeping the tears from falling.

“Alright, that’s it,” James declared. He wrapped an arm around Tony to lever him upright, feeling the feverish heat coming off the kid in waves. “I’m not letting you die on our bathroom floor—we won’t get the deposit back.”

Tony breathed out the ghost of a laugh. “Jus’ tell Howard to write you a check at the funeral...” he murmured. “‘bout all he’s good for,” he added under his breath.

James’ brow furrowed but he chose not to comment. He hoisted Tony to his feet and bore most of the kid’s weight as he led him back to the bedroom and sat him down on the edge of the mattress. “I’m gonna get you a clean shirt, okay?”

Tony nodded, gazing blankly forward with half-lidded eyes. James ended up having to help the kid pull his sweat-soaked t-shirt off and guide his uncooperative arms into a fresh one, followed by his coat. When they got to the shoes, James didn’t even bother having Tony try himself. He just stuffed the kid’s feet into a pair of sneakers for him.

“I taught my little sister how to do this last summer,” James explained as he tied Tony’s laces, if only for something to fill the awkward silence. “She’s in first grade.”

Tony hummed lightly. “I never went.”

James frowned, pulling the knot tight. “What do you mean?”

“Firs’ grade,” Tony clarified. “Or second. They started me in third.”

James smirked, imagining tiny five-year-old Tony filling out his multiplication tables in a classroom full of kids a full head taller than him. But his face quickly fell again as he suddenly realized a potential flaw in their plan. Tony may be in college, but he was still technically a minor. James wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to bring him off campus. “Shit, we’re gonna need to call your parents...” he said.

Tony’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Why?”

James raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m about to haul their fifteen-year-old son’s ass off to the hospital? Have you been following this conversation at all?”

“Oh. Jus’ leave a note for the RA.” Tony shrugged, listless. “They won’t care.”

James gave him a strange look. “Of course they’ll care—they’re your parents.”

Tony’s eyes were glassy with fever. “They won’t,” he croaked. “Been in boarding school since I was seven.” A shiver ran through his body and he swallowed hard before continuing. “Got pneumonia one winter and was in the hospital eight days. Dad jus’ paid the school to handle everything—didn’ even visit.” A tear finally slipped down the side of his cheek. “I was twelve.”

James knew it was just the fever making Tony so forthcoming at the moment, but it didn’t make his words any easier to take. As much as James always complained about his own mother’s doting whenever he wasn’t feeling well, he couldn’t imagine being sick enough to be in the hospital and not having anyone there for him. He didn’t know what to say.

Thankfully, Tony broke the awkward silence. “Sorry,” he whispered, closing his eyes and pressing his palm against them. “‘M fine.”

With a quiet sigh, James put his arm around Tony to help him back to standing. “You know what? We’ll just call them when we get there,” he said before leading Tony out to the car.

The drive to the hospital was uneventful. Tony sat curled up in the passenger seat of James’ old beater of a Chevy Monza with an empty plastic bag in his lap, quiet except for the occasional whimper he’d let out when they’d hit a bump in the road. When they arrived, James got Tony checked in and situated in the waiting room with some forms to fill out before stepping out to the foyer to use the payphone.

James fished the scrap of paper containing the number that Tony had finally agreed to give him out of his pocket. He dialed it three times. Each time, the call was picked up by the answering machine. On the third round, he left the Starks a brief message stating which hospital Tony was at and how they could contact their son, then hung up quickly before he could add anything else he might come to regret.

He reentered the waiting area to find Tony sitting hunched forward in his chair, breathing shallowly and clutching the small kidney-shaped basin that the triage nurse had given him like his life depended on it. “What’d they say?” he murmured. James wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard just a hint of hopefulness in the kid’s voice.

Without meeting Tony’s gaze, he slid into the seat beside him. “They didn’t answer,” he said guiltily.

Tony’s tone returned to flat: “Shocking.”

“They’re probably just asleep,” James reasoned, trying to sound more certain than he felt. “I left a message, but we can try again later.”

Tony hummed absently. Then all at once, he brought the small plastic container he was holding up to his mouth and threw up whatever little liquid remained in him. His hands were trembling so hard that James had to help him steady the basin.

When the heaving stopped, one of the nurses from the front desk exchanged the used basin for a clean one. Tony grunted in thanks, then looked up wearily and locked eyes with James. “You really don’ have to stay.”

James gave a tiny scoff. “What? You think I’d just leave you here to faceplant on the linoleum?”

Tony shrugged a bit. “‘S not like we’re friends, Jim.”

James pondered this for a few seconds before returning the shrug. “I guess you’re right.” He settled back in his chair and picked up a copy of Good Housekeeping from the stack on the waiting room table, flipping it idly open on his lap. “Too bad I’m invested now.”

It was around three a.m. by the time Tony’s name was called. He was taken back and briefly examined before getting hooked up to an IV line for fluids and antiemetics. The doctor ordered some bloodwork to be sure, but said that all signs pointed to a virus. As soon as they could get the vomiting under control and Tony’s vitals stabilized, he should be good to go.

While Tony dozed in and out of consciousness on the ER bed, fluids dripping steadily into his arm, James just sat there, silently mulling the events of the last sixteen hours or so over in his mind. It was weird seeing Tony like this—weak, and small, and just so undeniably young.

James waited until the clock struck five before slipping quietly over to the phone located near the nurse’s station. This time, he dialed a different number—one he knew by heart.

A familiar voice answered on the third ring: “Hello?”

Instant warmth flooded James’ chest at the sound. “Hey Ma,” he said softly.

“James?” His mother’s tone changed from puzzled to concerned in two seconds flat. “It’s so early, baby. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Ma,” he assured, the corners of his lips turning up into the smallest of smiles. “Just wanted to catch you before you left for work.”

“Well, you got me,” she laughed lightly. Over the line, James could hear her bustling around the kitchen, pouring coffee into a mug. “What do you need, baby?”

James hesitated a second, his gaze shifting back in the direction of Tony’s bed. “It’s nothing, just… I wanted to ask if I could invite someone home for Thanksgiving next week.” He shifted his gaze back in the direction of Tony’s bed. “I get the feeling he could really use it...”

Link to all my fics

#sickfic #ironbros #tony stark whump #sick tony stark #mit era #rhodey is a good bro #tony stark needs a hug #teenage tony stark #mcu writing #my fic #vomiting

267 notes · View notes

fandom-necromancer · 5 years ago

Text

1537. I didn’t know you could talk.

This was prompted by the amazing @anxiousmessofaperson! It has quite a lot of backstory but I hope you enjoy it!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900

As Gavin had left the Captains office being tailed by another goddamn Connor lookalike, he had thought his days at the DPD were over. If that machine was just another know-it-all machine following protocol and forcing him to do the same, he knew that he would have handed his badge over not a week later. But to his surprise, once they had reached his desk, the android had just sat down and quietly started working. Systematically, the new unit began finishing reports Gavin had started, pointed out incorrect passages and errors and even offered better cover for Gavin’s more… dubious actions. The Detective had been annoyed with his demand of correctness no one would give a damn about, but the lack of any scolding the android gave him for continuously acting on the fine line between legal and illegal to stop a criminal as fast as possible made him rethink that.

The lack of speech at all made him really look at his new partner for the first time. There were a few minor physical differences between Connor and this… RK900, but it was the behaviour that really set them apart. The new RK kept to himself and seemed to love his job above all else. Gavin had never met a more diligent partner that he got along so well with. Maybe it was because he never spoke. Never even once. That didn’t mean he didn’t communicate. He offered polite nods as a greeting to everyone he liked, or he considered neutral. The people he disliked were just stared at. Gavin could observe very closely how this behaviour started and how it also seemed to be affected by who said something against himself. He wouldn’t go out of his way calling the new bot loyal, but at least Gavin seemed to be on his good side. Further proof were little gestures of the android: a generally more open look when facing Gavin, the occasional coffee cup, following him out for smoke breaks sometimes.

It was a bit creepy, being followed by a silent machine that only showed his attention by minute changes in posture and gesture. But Gavin could manage that. He got used to it. It really wasn’t that difficult. The android understood him, so Gavin could talk to him and depending on his reaction, the Detective got his answer. Mostly it was frowning, dropping his face in his hands or looking desperately his direction, when he told him his mission plans or deductions. Then they would spend hours on Nines pointing out how idiotic his idea was. Or rather reckless. It was only idiotic if it didn’t work and Gavin had been lucky all his life, thank you very much. Of course the android never let him follow through with his plans unless he changed them to his liking and begrudgingly the Detective had to admit the new missions were a lot safer and sometimes even more effective.

Gavin didn’t hand in his badge. Gavin still had his partner. Gavin didn’t complain about it.

Still, he was amazed as Fowler called him in his office and congratulated him to finally have a partner stick around for half a year. He had been about to throw some harsh words at his Captain, when he stopped himself. Half a year. That really was longer than any partner he ever had. So, instead of his usual clashing, he just grinned at his superior and said: ‘I promise, I’ll try harder the next half.’ He wouldn’t, of course. But he had a reputation to uphold. No, the RK900 was the perfect partner and Gavin would even admit he rather liked the android.

So, even after another half a year, RK900 still stuck around. They were a real team now. Nearly nowhere to be seen alone, unbeatable as Detectives and both had saved the other’s life or at least health uncountable times. And if they vanished to the archive room a few times and came out more dishevelled than they should be after filing some data, well, no one really bothered. It took only a few more months until they left and arrived at work together. It had been the android, now affectionately called Nines, who had suggested to move together. Gavin wasn’t sure, what it was they were having, but he had decided to just follow Nines’ example and never give it a name.

The one thing he did know was that it was the best experience in his life. Except maybe for Nines’ interest at being at work at precisely seven o’clock in the morning. Not a minute too early or too late. Gavin, who would rather have slept in after last night, didn’t respond too well to being woken up, what the android answered by refusing to make him breakfast. Used to just eating a bit that the android prepared it was getting late and there really wasn’t more time than for a coffee. That was, when Gavin’s brain had the most brilliant idea in his life. It was his triumphant giggling of: ‘Oh, this is brilliant!’, that made Nines stop at the kitchen door and stare at the human hunched over his coffee mug pressing something down with a spoon. Curiously, the android walked closer and Gavin grinned at him. ‘Oh, Nines, this will revolutionise breakfast!’, he called out, before lifting something out of his coffee. An egg. Completely mortified, Nines looked at the human excitedly peeling off the eggshell.

‘Gavin, what the fuck?’ Too excited, Gavin didn’t even realise the words: ‘Nines, seriously! You can’t drink too hot coffee, so why don’t you use the first few- wait a minute…’ He eyed the android up and down, only now catching up to what happened. ‘Holy shit, Nines, I didn’t know you could talk!’ The android just stared at him, then the slightly brown but boiled egg in his hand. But Gavin just laughed. ‘Well, that’s that mystery solved, if you choose not to talk, I don’t have to worry about you anymore. Anyways, this is truly genius!’ He took a bite of his egg and immediately his face scrunched up in disgust. ‘Ewww, okay, this is not as genius as I thought…’ Nines answered by shielding his eyes and questioning his life decisions.

Needless to say, they weren’t punctual that day.

#detroit become human #dbh #Reed900 #Gavin Reed #RK900 #you know I searched for dumb office ideas like life hacks #and I stumbled upon this #Don't try it it doesn't work #but it looked so damn stupid #this is the future maybe egg physics changed idk #sorry egg fandom

47 notes · View notes

criminalromantic · 5 years ago

Text

Cornelia Street - Chapter 7 (Billy Russo x Fem!Reader)

Summary: What happens when you and Billy don’t see each other?

Word Count: 1797

A/N: this is kind of a filler chapter, but I hope you enjoy it

Warnings: none

********************

Don’t come over today.

Was the text that you quickly sent Billy as you were ready for work. To say that you were nervous was an understatement. Never before you sent Billy that kind of text, but then again, you were always excited to see him. That one week alone was already quite a ride and you just wanted to be done with it and sort through your thoughts. It seemed to be chilly, but sunny day and you were not willing to let anyone or anything ruin your Friday.

As the day went you were feeling less tense, but at the same time more. You were thankful for every single minute when Billy didn’t show up. At the same time, you were scared that Billy replied to your text or worse - he would come through the door anytime and confront you about it. That is why you didn’t touch your phone since you sent the text and it has been hours since then.

The worst thing probably was that he didn’t know the reason behind your sudden change of heart. He didn’t know what he did or how you felt about it. According to his reputation and how it portrayed him to be, something like this was exactly something he would do.

Sound of the door opening brought you down to earth. It was a woman who bought a small bouquet for her friend’s birthday. Moments after she left, a man walked in.

He was tall, visibly muscular with short dark hair. As he walked towards you, you noticed his face looked like it had experienced a lot, but you didn’t judge.

“Hi, how may I help you?” You asked somewhat cheerfully out of habit as the man now stood on the other side of the counter.

“Hi, I’m looking to buy something for my girlfriend. A good pal of mine recommended this place, saying it’s his favorite in all of New York.” For some strange reason, he seemed a bit nervous as he spoke, a little smile on his lips.

“Well, I’m happy to hear that. I’m guessing that your friend really must like flowers. Anyway, what can I get you?”

“Seven pink roses, please. And no, he was never particularly into flowers. At least until, recently.” He explained as you grabbed the flowers and positioned them to arrange them. Could it be?

“Really? That’s interesting, but not in a bad way. Flowers can make our lives a little more beautiful one bouquet at a time.” For a second you raised your head to smile at the man. As you were finishing with your work, in the corner of your eye you saw him shifting from one leg to another uncomfortably. But you didn’t say anything.

“Alright, your total is 26 dollars.” He put a few bucks in front of you before you even finished your sentence. You handed him the change, he took it and put it all in your tip jar.

“Wow, that’s quite generous of you, thank you.” You said as 14 dollars landed in it.

“Excellent service, what can I say?” He hung around like he wanted to say something. Seconds later he turned around with a quick “bye” and left.

The rest of the day went by fast. Like every Friday, there were a lot of people buying flowers for dates or other celebrations, but the last hour was basically dead. Sometimes you wondered what it is like - to be hanging out with friends at a party or a bar or someone’s place. You never really get to do that. Usually, you’re tired after work and you’re more of a daytime person anyway. Most of your friends are like that too and the ones that aren’t - you aren’t that close to them. You are your own boss and you could close up early whenever you wanted, but you wanted to maintain a routine.

The clock struck 8 o’clock so you closed the shop and made sure everything was taken care of before you left for the weekend. Slowly you grabbed your phone and looked at it dreadfully. You didn’t want to check your notifications, but never using your phone for the rest of your life was kind of impossible. When you finally unlocked your phone, you saw… nothing. No notification. You felt relieved and slowly made your way upstairs to your apartment, where a hungry cat was already awaiting you.

While your day was calm, Billy’s wasn’t at all. Fridays were always hectic because everybody was trying to get their work done before the weekend - at least most people he worked with were like that. That meant that the entire day Billy was drowning in a pile of reports and contracts that needed to be checked. Not to mention that two days ago a friend - Dinah Madani - asked him to help her with a case. So basically since he got back to work on Wednesday, he hadn’t had a moment to take a breath. The whole day he was feeling stressed and became angrier and angrier when he discovered that some of the reports had incorrect information or some contracts didn’t have all the signatures they were supposed to have. Amateurs. Billy thought as he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes.

He looked at this phone, lying on the desk, and thought that he could use a little break. The first thing he saw was a text message from you. He was excited for a moment - until he saw what you wrote. What? He opened the conversation and his fingers hovered over the keyboard. He ended up writing nothing because he didn’t know what to write back. Instead, he just stared at the four words. When he finally put the phone away to get back to work, he couldn’t. Different reasons why you wouldn’t want him to come popped up in his mind and none of them were good. What if something happened to you? What if you felt sick again? What if you just didn’t want to see him again? But he was going to respect your wishes. Then he came up with a plan to see what was wrong and picked up the phone again.

“Hey, Frankie, uhm, are you free right now?” Billy asked a little timidly, not knowing how to word his question.

“Uh, yeah, what is it, Bill?”

“I need you to go to Y/N’s flower shop to check on her. For some reason, she doesn’t want me to come and I want to make sure she’s all right.”

“Wait, hold up. What do you mean she doesn’t want you to come over?” Frank was often Billy’s voice of reason and now it even seemed like he could read his mind.

“That’s what I don’t know, but she doesn’t want to see me today and as much as I want to go there right now, I can’t. So, will you go over there?” Billy flinched at how desperate and urgent his voice sounded, he was not used to that.

“Sure, why not. Send me the address.” He thanked his friend and quickly typed the address before sending it. He wasn’t completely calm, but he did feel a bit better and went back to work.

He was happy to hear from Frank that you were safe and nice as ever. He smiled at how Frank described your dedication to your job and mentally agreed. Another reason he smiled was that Frank liked you and his opinion mattered to him a lot. They have been through a lot together, seen each other’s ups and downs. They were always looking out for one another and that meant in all aspects of life - romantic included.

But one thing kept him up at night. If you were all right, why wouldn’t you want him to come over? Maybe it was nothing, maybe you were just as busy as he was. Maybe you had a lot of work to make up for the first three days of the week. But he had been there when you had a hard day and you never sent him on his way. He had a feeling that this was bad. And he didn’t like it one bit. What if you didn’t want to spend time with him anymore? Did he do something that made you change your mind?

He kept turning in his bed from one position to another. After a day like that, he thought that he would fall asleep as soon as he got into bed, but he couldn’t get you out of his mind. His phone was on his nightstand. Within reach. He contemplated calling you. Then he remembered that it was the middle of the night and he would probably wake you up, you would get angry at him for waking you up and he couldn’t come up with how that scenario would result in a good ending. He thought about sending a text, which he also figured was a bad idea. It was Friday and sending you a text would make it seem that he was getting drunk somewhere and texting you because of the alcohol. Neither of those options would give you the impression that he would like. Somehow, slowly, his eyelids became too heavy and he finally drifted off to sleep.

When you checked the weather forecast the next morning, you thought about how you were going to spend the day. To be more specific, you were thinking about outdoor ways to spend the day. Most of your week you were stuck inside and you felt more than ready to go out and enjoy some sunlight and fresh air. After a few minutes and consulting with your cat, you decided to go on a hike somewhere outside of New York.

Quickly you packed a bag with everything you might need. Some snacks, treats for Benjamin, a lot of water, some wet wipes - you never know when you might need those - and some other stuff. When you were satisfied with the contents, you got dressed into some comfortable leggings and t-shirt. You packed a spare t-shirt, in case you got sweaty and a hoodie if it got cold. Lastly, you put on some hiking boots. Only one thing left to do - get Benjamin ready for the adventure. You put the harness and leash on him and topped it off with a treat.

“Are you ready for adventure, Benji?” You asked in a baby voice.

“Meow.”

“Okay, let’s go.” You made sure you had everything, took Benji’s leash, and walked out the door.

When you stepped outside, you were met with chilly morning air. Taking a deep breath you felt good about your day.

That was until you stood face to face with a certain raven-haired man.

********************

Tags: @1-800-heartbreak @churchb

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo imagine #ben barnes #the punisher #billy russo flower shop #billy russo cornelia street

42 notes · View notes

justasparkwritings · 4 years ago

Text

May: TinyDoubt

Previous: April’s The Wild Lillies

Pairing: None

Genre: Creative Angst

Rating: PG13

Word Count: 1.5K

Warnings: Swearing!

Summary: Creative block is alive and well as you stare at the figurines in front of you, your only comfort? The voice in your head challenging you to soldier on.

Notes: I tried to channel my deep deep writers block for this. Do I hate it? Maybe. Do I feel all those things about my writing? Oh absolute. Is that inner voice how I talk to myself? You bet it is. Is the title so good? Yes, yes it is.

Paintbrush

Sculpting clay

Carving tools

Dry hands

Paint under fingernails

Hair swept back

Slick drying on cheeks

Shoulder’s tense

Should’ve sprung for the expensive chair, the one that holds my legs back and supports my core.

It isn’t too late, I could still spring for it after this batch sells… if I sell it.

I sigh, glancing at the clock, 5 minutes to midnight. How long have I been sitting here? When was the last time I ate or drank anything? Too long. I’ll feel it tomorrow, the ache in my joints, the exhaustion in my body, limbs sore, eyes worn out, all craving nourishment and rest.

Gently, I place the figurine on the clean expanse of my drying rack. Thin and leucite, it supports the variety of creations I’ve been making, each in a different state of disarray. None have ended up being perfect, none are worthy of completing, except maybe, just maybe, this one.

Standing perfectly still at 3inches, somehow, in the bright light of my desk lamp, magnifying lens on its second highest setting, I had perfectly sculpted the manicured swoop of hair. Each strand carved delicately, the part off center, the lingering hair nearly over the left eye, all made from modeling clay. It had taken days to perfect the lift, the arching bow from one side. In its naked form, it looks immaculate. But I know I can only succeed if the coloring is perfect, if the glasses I made, labored over, filling with resin in raspberry pink, fit properly over the new ears I carved days ago.

Ears were always the easy part, a simple structure on the head, never taking more than a pin-head size of clay. Noses too, tiny and dainty drops, always done in the middle of creation.

Staring at this latest iteration, I can’t help but wonder if this is worth it. Meticulously drawing every line, breaking my back mixing yellows to get the golden shade and all the highlights, not to mention the truly painstaking part of it all, hands. Is it worth it, the weeks spent making this tiny, tiny creation, only to deem it unworthy, and left incomplete?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

It’s always worth it, despite what the odds tell me. There’s always that voice in my head, telling me that not only is my skill appreciated, but worth something. The last set sold for five times the asking price. This set could double, triple that… Maybe if it did well enough, I could transition to this, full time. Though the thought of working on perfecting miniatures for 12 hours a day sounds quite possibly like hell.

This isn’t hell, or horrible, you’re too hard on yourself.

The voice in my head tells me. Laughing, I counter that statement. “I am not, they’re all shit,”

They are not.

“I should’ve stuck with wood carving,” I grumble.

You cut yourself pretty badly the last time-

“I know I did!”

I can’t tell if I’ve fully lost it, or if this conversation is going to lead to a creative breakthrough. Though based on my running internal monologue, which yes is voiced by Nicole Byer, I am due for a serious heart-to-mind pep talk. It’s not that I haven’t scolded myself recently, or lamented about how completely incompetent I am, how horrific my work is, or how I am wasting my youth sitting at a cramped desk with coffee I’ve reheated four times. I haven’t had the full ‘this is meaningless, stop wasting your time perfecting the shades of blonde on this plastic and clay figurine and go figure out the next steps in your career’ in at least three weeks. I suppose, staring at these in complete monstrosities, that a conversation with myself regarding what I’m doing is far more enjoyable than listening to my father droll on about how I am in command of my destiny.

Because I’m not in control. If I was, I wouldn’t be sitting here making TinyTan figurines, crying when the paint dries a different color than my swatches or weeping when a miniature dot of adhesive gets stuck on the outside of the clay and chars the entire piece in the oven.

So I’m not in charge of my fate.

You make your own luck.

“Alright, I didnn’t ask you.”

Who did you ask then? Jimin? Yoongi? Oh wait, they don’t have mouths and they’re made of plastic!

“See, they don’t have mouths because they fucking suck and I should give up.”

They’re probably better than you think, you’re just too close to it.

“I think that’s actually incorrect and there is nothing wrong with how close I am to these figures,”

You are though

“What do you suppose I do? Capture their souls? Summon them with a knock off The Power of Seven Will Set Me Free, while I hold their tiny little plastic hands?” I throw the ball of clay I’ve been rolling onto the table, the small glob sticking to the side of a larger block I had been carving from.

Do you always have to be so difficult?

“You’re inside my brain! You know how creatively frustrated I am! And you know how absolutely fucking bitchy I get when I’m upset!”

Why are you frustrated?

I groan, standing up from my chair and walking to the kitchen sink. The hot water scalds my dry hands, melting the clay and paint off, the extra judicial scrubbing peeling back layers of grime I’d let build in the last 10 hours.

Why are you so frustrated? Is it because you aren’t good enough? Are you scared it’s going to be your senior year showcase again, where that girls sister didn’t understand you collage and made snarky comments?

I dry my hands, unwilling to answer the questions my mind was asking.

If you don’t talk about it you’ll blow up like a volcano…

“Because! Fuck, because I can’t get any of this right. I just got the hair done, and that’s taken me two weeks. All I’m doing is chipping away, carving away, fucking up and starting again. When I’m not working on it, all I’m doing is thinking about it. They haunt me in my sleep, their little round bellies body rolling to Mic Drop, trying to get me to eat the mini quiches they’ve carved their initials in. My life is consumed by these tiny fucking figures and it’s making me absolutely hate them.”

Hate them?

“Whoever decided TinyTan needed to be a thing,”

Shouldn’t you be mad at whoever told you to create your own versions of them?

“Oh, so you want me to be mad at myself? Aren’t I already?”

Okay, point made.

“I just stare at them, their little body parts, heads on a platter like the Addams Family.. Everything I make is ugly, everything I make isn’t good enough. Every curve, every cut… garbage.”

Do you want to quit?

“Give up on my project?”

Yeah, say fuck it, toss them out, never come back to them.

“I, should’ve gotten into doll houses,”

Why?

“They’re easier, the rules aren’t as rigid, it’s an interpretation and you can do that 1000 different ways,”

So quit, move to doll houses, sell all your tools. But, answer this, what happens when you get upset or frustrated making doll houses?

I sigh. “I don’t quit craft projects.”

… didn’t you just say you wanted to?

“I don’t quit crafts. Relationships and friendships, that’s another story. But art?”

Then why are you bitching?

“I just,” I sigh, slumping into my couch. “If I finish them, and they don’t turn out, what kind of artist will I be? What does that say about my craft? My ‘talent’?”

What kind of artist do you want to be?

“This Socratic method is really fucking annoying.”

I’m your mind, stop doing it if it bugs you so much

“I just, what does it say about me if they aren’t any good?”

I’m not sure it says anything about you as a person.

“Me as an artist?”

I don’t know if we can answer that.

“Maybe you’re right,”

About?

“Maybe I just, I’m too hard on myself. A set of figurines isn’t going to break my hobby… even if it’s broken my spirit,”

If it’s broken your spirit, why keep doing it?

“I love the finished product, but I love the process more,”

Then keep going.

The thing about the voice inside my head is that no matter how hard I try to lie to it, it always knows. It always comes back with wisdom and truth, shining a light on exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid.

“Tonight?”

No bitch, you need sleep. TinyTan will be there tomorrow.

“Is this when we sing Zero O’Clock while we brush our teeth?”

Only if you want to.

I rise from my couch, slipping my apron off, putting it on my crafting chair and clear my throat.

“Oo- and you’re gonna be happy,” I sing as I move through my apartment, miniatures drying, waiting for another day of scraping, molding and painting, my broken spirit stitching itself back together as the clock resets.

Next: June Pride

#thebtswritersclub #monthlychallenge #BTS fanfic #Tinytan #Tinytanfic #bangtanuniversity #bangtanarmynet #btsgoldnet #ficswithluv

1 note · View note

dancingkingvaan · 7 years ago

Text

Vaan: What if the only reason why we can't walk through mirrors is that our reflection blocks us?

Hyun: What if they're protecting us though? What if they know that the other side is horrifying and painful and they are trying to keep us from crossing over?

Vaan: I must be on the wrong side of the mirror then.

Hyun: Maybe you're the reflection–

Taeyoung: I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD IF YOU BOTH DON'T SHUT THE FUCK UP–

#i’ve been gone #again #im back #and i’ll make sure to update more frequently #seven o’clock #soc #7 o’clock #vaan #sangwon #hyun #taeyoung #staro entertainment #incorrect seven o’clock quotes #incorrect seven o’clock #incorrect 7 o’clock #incorrect 7 o’clock quotes #incorrect soc #incorrect soc quotes

10 notes · View notes

anotherkpopvictim · 6 years ago

Text

Love You Always - NamJin Littlespace Drabble

(Source - yon-gi)

“ sujisuzysoojin said: Namjin: Namjoon walked in on Jin while he was little and causes Jin to cry, so he tries to comfort him to his best ability while looking up “Why is my boyfriend acting like a 3 year old” and overall luckily getting his question answered. He then takes care of his baby Jinnie 🥺”

A/N: Another great request! Thank you so much!

Enjoy :)

Disclaimer: I am not a little myself, nor have I ever met a little in real life, so some things might be incorrect. If you happen to notice something that is incorrect or offensive to littles and caregivers, please kindly let me know. The last thing I want to do is offend anyone. I am simply writing from what I understand but I know there is more I need to learn.

Pairing: Little!Seokjin X Caregiver!Namjoon

Rating: G

Words: 2291

Hurt/comfort, fluff, non-sexual

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Namjoon wasn’t meant to come back to his and Seokjin’s apartment until seven o’clock sharp. Jin had purposely made sure of that.

Yet, here the younger was, at four-thirty, walking in on something he shouldn’t have seen.

Two sets of eyes locked, widening to the size of dinner plates. One was in surprise, with a little confusion, and the other was in complete and utter fear. Namjoon was frozen with his hand still on the doorknob, looking at his boyfriend of just over a year.

Jin was sat on their living room floor in a cute, creamy yellow onesie, coloring book in front of him and markers scattered around. A sparkly purple pacifier slipped from the older’s lips as they parted in shock, clattering to the floor.

Namjoon blinked. “Uh...”

He was cut off when Seokjin burst into loud wails, backing away from his boyfriend with shaky movements.

The younger still didn’t understand what was going on, but Jin was crying and he wasn’t about to just stand there and do nothing about it. He was beside his hyung in a moment, pulling him into his arms. Seokjin went without much of a fight, too scared of Namjoon’s reaction to finding him in littlespace. Namjoon settled the two of them on the couch, the older in his lap.

“Jinnie-hyung,” the younger began, voice cautious and gentle as his eyes searched his hyung’s face. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

His boyfriend only shook his head and shoved it into Namjoon’s neck, sobbing there. Namjoon didn’t like the way Jin was trembling in his embrace. The older had always been really strong, and there were only two times in their three years of knowing each other that Namjoon had seen his hyung cry loudly like this. One was when he received news that his family dog had died, and the other was when there had been a scary run-in with an ex-boyfriend of his. Even then, Seokjin hadn’t been as scared and sad as he was now.

“Baby, please,” Namjoon begged, his voice cracking as he struggled to hold back his own tears. “What can I do, baby? Tell me what I can do to help you right now.”

The pet name made Jin whine. Oh, how his little side loved it when he called him that. “S-Sorry.” the little choked out.

“Sorry?” Namjoon’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What did the older have to be sorry about?

Seokjin clutched at the younger’s shirt, “J-Jinnie sorry, Da - Joonie.”

Namjoon was confused about why his boyfriend was talking in third person like that, but he pushed it out of his thoughts right now. He needed to calm down his hyung from the panic attack he seemed to be having. “What are you sorry about?”

Once again, the other just shook his head and continued crying.

The younger didn’t know what to do, so he pulled out his phone and googled “why is my boyfriend acting like a child?”. He was met with blog upon blog and forums explaining what littlespace was. Namjoon probably spent a good ten minutes wrapping his mind around all the new information before he locked his phone. He knew what he needed to do now.

From what he now understood, Jin was a little, which meant that sometimes he fell into a headspace called littlespace. Essentially he had just age regressed to the mindset of a very young child - three or four if Namjoon were to guess - and he needed to be taken care of just like another kid.

Now, the younger man didn’t have a lot of experience in taking care of children other than the few babysitting jobs he’d done when he was eleven of his little cousins or brief meetings with various acquaintances’ babies. Namjoon was smart though, and he trusted that his high IQ would help him through this.

“Jinnie baby,” he said, voice softening immensely as it just felt right. “Are you a little?”

His boyfriend whimpered and nuzzled closer to him, attempting to hide away in his neck. That was answer enough for the younger.

“I’ve never heard of littlespace before, so I don’t know much, but if you’d like...” Namjoon bit his lip, “I could try taking care of you, baby. I could be your...caregiver.” it took him a moment to recall the term he’d read about.

Seokjin froze. He pulled back slowly and looked up at the younger, eyes wide and glassy and full of hope. “R-Really?” he squeaked out, almost unbelievingly.

The sight of his hyung acting so cute made Namjoon chuckle adoringly. “Yeah, Jinnie. Really.” he replied, “Even though I’m new to all of this, I’ll take care of you the best that I can, baby.”

Jin threw himself forward into his boyfriend's arms again, wrapping his own around the younger’s neck. “T-Thank you. Thank you, Da - Joonie.”

“You can call me Daddy if you want, love.” Namjoon assured him, pressing a soft kiss to the other’s chocolate brown hair as his big hands settled on Seokjin’s hips.

“D-Daddy,” the little croaked as he tightened his arms, hugging Namjoon with all he had. It felt so good to be able to use the name unrestrainedly, so he kept saying it. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.”

Namjoon couldn’t deny that he felt something when Jin called him that. The older had used it sometimes during sex, but it took on a whole different meaning now. Instead of feeling aroused by the name, the younger felt a sense of pride. His boyfriend was trusting him to take care of him in this vulnerable headspace and he wasn’t going to let him down. He couldn’t. But he still needed to know more.

“Baby,” he said, receiving a little hum in response, “Do you want to watch something on TV?”

Seokjin pulled back to look at his new Daddy with excitement. “Paw Patrol! Paw Patrol, please, Daddy!”

His enthusiasm and his bright smile were enough to melt Namjoon’s heart completely. He was sure he wasn’t ever going to be able to say no to Jin. “Alright, love. Let me go grab my laptop, okay?”

The older needed multiple forehead kisses before he let Namjoon go to his bedroom and retrieve his laptop. He returned to the couch where he looked up episodes of the same show one of his cousins was obsessed with. He connected the laptop to the television and began playing the animated children’s show.

The caregiver picked up the pacifier that had fallen to the ground earlier, as well as a Beauty and the Beast blanket he hadn’t noticed before. He wiped the sparkly purple pacifier before holding it out just in front of the little’s mouth questioningly. Seokjin accepted it gratefully and suckled contentedly, smiling behind the object.

Namjoon got himself comfortable on the couch and held an arm out in invitation.

Jin grinned before he scrambled clumsily into his lap. The younger settled his boyfriend on his lap, facing the television so he could take in the bright colors on the screen. It didn’t take long for the little to become enraptured with the show, and if it meant Namjoon could watch Seokjin’s adorably awed expression and wide, curious eyes, he didn’t mind it either.

Eventually, the younger managed to break his gaze away from the precious sight before him. He needed to get back on track with his plan.

Now that the little was thoroughly distracted, Namjoon pulled out his phone from his pocket again and this time, dug deeper into the forums and blogs on littlespace. Just like any other book would do, the younger became immersed in all of the new knowledge.

By the time he finally felt educated enough (for now anyway) Namjoon realized that the television show was still playing but it was fully dark outside now. A quick glance at the clock told him it was nearly eleven o’clock in the evening.

Namjoon found Seokjin still on his lap, but now he was fast asleep. The soother bobbed with his mouth’s movements. He was leaning back against the younger, his hands bunching up the blanket in his fists.

Namjoon wanted nothing more than to take a picture at the adorable sight, but he didn’t think Jin would like that. He’d have to ask him about it later.

The younger carried the two of them towards their bedroom after he turned off the show, and he gently set the little on their king-sized bed. Namjoon set about changing out of his work clothes (which he had forgotten about in all the chaos) and returned quickly to his hyung’s side under the covers.

Even in his sleep, Jin seemed to sense his presence, because he whined a bit and shuffled himself closer. Namjoon, ever fond, guided the little to settle his head on his chest, allowing his large arms to wrap protectively around him.

Though today had been stressful, they both slept deeply and peacefully that night.

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

When the two of them woke the next morning to birds chirping outside, Seokjin wasn’t in littlespace anymore. Namjoon had thought that maybe Jin would be scared when he came out of his headspace, but thankfully he was only a bit embarrassed.

The older set about making breakfast, just some simple toast and blueberry jam, as well as two cups of coffee - one with two cream and two sugar for Namjoon, and the other with three cream and three sugar for Seokjin.

Once they were settled at the little dining nook in their kitchen, nibbling at their toast and sipping the steaming coffee, the gazes met and the look shared between them was clear - they needed to talk.

“W-Why...” Namjoon began, nervous as he didn’t want to potentially offend his boyfriend. “Why didn’t you tell me?” his words were soft, not in any way accusing, but they still made Jin curled in on himself a little in shame.

Seokjin sighed, “I..I was afraid of how you’d react, I guess.”

“And I can understand that,” the younger said, “But don’t you trust me?”

The older gave him a pained look, “Of course I trust you, Joon-ah.” his eyes averted away and settled on the toast he was picking at. “I trust you more than anyone...but I thought that this might be it.”

“What, like you being a little would make me leave you?” Namjoon asked, “I’m still new to your little side, and littlespace itself, but I still love you so much, Jin-hyung.”

When his hyung finally met his eyes again, they were glazed over with the most vulnerable expression Namjoon had ever seen on him. “Y-Yeah? Y-You don’t hate it? Even a little bit?”

Namjoon wiped off his hands of the toast crumbs before he reached them across the table and took the older’s in his own. His long fingers intertwined with Jin’s in the perfect way. “Hyung, I don’t think there’s anything that could happen that could make me hate you, let alone something like littlespace. If going into a headspace like that is what helps you relax and makes you feel better, who am I to tell you not to. You’re not hurting anyone.”

“I-I guess.” Seokjin replied, cheeks reddening. It was still clear that he wasn’t quite convinced.

“I get obsessed with books. Reading interesting stories for too many hours is what makes me feel good.” Namjoon said, “You don’t hate me for that, do you? Even when I disappear into my own kind of headspace for hours and hours.”

The older shook his head frantically, “No, Joonie, of course not. I could never hate you for being you.”

Namjoon released one his hands and lifted it up to cup his boyfriend’s cheek caringly. “Then how could I hate you for being you?”

It finally seemed to get across to Seokjin that what the younger was saying was right. Why should he be ashamed about something like this when it was an important part of him and didn’t hurt anyone?

Jin leaned forward across the table, a little awkwardly as the edge was digging into his stomach, but he didn’t mind. Not when his lips were pressed to Namjoon’s in a familiar kiss. The older swore that he would never get tired of the man kissing him. Even after a year, every time Namjoon kissed him had the excitement of the first time.

Their lips moved in synchronization, the way they could only when two people knew each other better than the individuals knew themselves. Seokjin’s right hand still clasped firmly in his left, their free hands allowed themselves to wander. While Namjoon’s lifted to meet his other and caress both sides of the older’s face, Jin’s reached up to tangle in the short hair at the back of the younger’s head.

When they finally pulled away from each other, they kept their foreheads pressed together closely. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you, Joonie. I trust you and I love you, but I think anxiety just clouded by judgment.”

“It’s okay,” Namjoon replied, lips pressing a gentle kiss to the older’s nose. “We’re human, it’s alright to be afraid. Just know from now on that you can tell me anything and I would never judge you for it, okay?”

Seokjin nodded and pulled back to sit properly in his seat - the wooden edge of the table digging into his stomach had become too uncomfortable. “I love you, Namjoonie.”

The younger graced his hyung with one of his smiles, specifically the one that really accentuated his deep dimples. Jin had to fight the urge to poke them, they were just so cute. Namjoon lifted one of the older’s hands and laid the most loving kisses all over his hand.

“I love you too, Jin-hyung. Forever.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

A/N: so that’s the drabble. I think it’s alright? let me know maybe?? *shrugs shoulders*

If you would like to request something, please refer to my Request Guidelines page.

#bts #bts littlespace #bts little space #bts seokjin #bts namjoon #bts drabble #bts drabbles #bts fanfic #bts fanfics #bts fanfiction #namjin

12 notes · View notes