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yesterdaysanswers · 1 year

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Mauro Pagani has his say (Gong, April 1975)

It is another world. We have been there three times since last June and have had an amazing ride, all over the North, Detroit, Chicago, New York three times, then Ohio with Columbus, Cleveland, which is already a pretty strange downtown area (Country Music reigns supreme), then we will go South, to New Orleans, Miami in Florida, Texas to S. Diego, Sacramento, Los Angeles, Portland, and we have been all over Canada. We immediately realized that we had landed on the moon.

There is still the conception that having become rich is a sign of personal ability. You still find people who, accompanying them home, say phrases like: "everything you see around is my stuff”. And musicians among others are not saved: They are people who have done this job all their lives, one cannot speak of victims of the system as is often done (in Italy, for example, we tend to blame all the organizers of concerts or the record companies, without thinking that even the artist who asks for fees of millions to play two pieces is rotten). After all, there is nothing crazier than an enriched rock singer, guitar, bass, drums, Texan hat, spurs and music at 12,000 volts. The J. Geils Band, for example, are horrible people. We played with them on the last tour and found out that they are foulness itself, unspeakable, I don't even want to talk about it. (Carlos Santana, on the other hand, even if I don't share his mysticism, is one of the few musicians I've met who I liked on a human level, a clean one who believes in what he does). Yet it has been seen that people like Bob Dylan and today like Frank Zappa, why not? They had a huge following making music of a certain type. I'm sorry if Zappa makes a lot of money and doesn't spread it around, as would be coherent from his point of view, and I'm sorry Dylan broke out and sold out. But their message remains, and I don't dispute their beginnings, when they were pure and honest musical heroes.

The discussion on the cost of music is completely different in the USA. The records, first of all, sell for much less, from 4 to 5 dollars, that is to say between 2,500 and 3,000 lire which for them, with what they earn, then becomes more or less 1,500 lire. So they can afford to buy even 5 albums a week. About 1000 new ones come out every month, and for us Italian groups, it is terrible competition (in Canada it is differs because they also have a cultural background closer to the European one, and they understand PFM music better: we have sold 20,000 records out of 18 million people, while in the USA, where almost 250 million people live, we have passed 100,000 LPs). The concerts cost much more than here. No American organizer would dream of bringing musicians into the theater working to the bone as almost all of us do (except two or three). And then there's the manipulation of ratings and the mafiette to get on TV. We have had the good fortune to meet people who love music, for once not being overly schemed, who made us do television shows with very high approval ratings, something like 25, 30 million viewers per evening. There are 3 rock programs a week, almost two hours each, which are broadcast in a row on Friday evening. That day you sit in front of the TV at 5 pm and finish listening to music and it's already night. But they almost always screw up the choice of appearances. For example, PFM was put with Steppenwolf and Herbie Hancock (by the way, he broke out too, with the upholstery-style jacket, the puffed sleeves like a page. He’s also a clown and plays absolutely useless funk). Dave Mason is perhaps one of the few musicians met on these trips who doesn't sell himself like a whore. He goes on stage, plays, sings, doesn't fuss, doesn't bang. He stands out completely as an American-style type of entertainer. In fact, in my opinion, the audience that follows him is wonderful, finally a credible, fair audience that doesn't need the buffoon on stage. In general, the artist in the USA is forced to undertake tremendous scenes. They must amaze, nail to the chair. It's one of the most passive artist-to-audience relationships I've ever seen. At concerts people want to get high, blitzed, stoned, wasted. There is a lot of beer and alcohol (and drugs of course): they consume everything, just to get drunk. In Italy, all of this is inconceivable, the kids still come to listen to music, with a very different cultural and political background. They may not know exactly what they want, but what is certain is that they do not want to lose touch with reality. Made in USA fans want to be physically involved, so they don't abandon the most indecent hard rock. Rock just hits; progressive music also involves you from a mental point of view, it stimulates creativity and imagination. Even the European progressives who made it big in those parts must have had scenic "skills": Emerson Lake & Palmer, or Yes arriving at the concert in a hot air balloon. Another proof is that jazz in America is not as popular as it is here: the artist sits there and plays almost exclusively for himself. You're the one who has to move your head and make images come to you.

Not for nothing is the current American artistic production dying of gigantism, it impresses, it leaves nothing to the imagination.

Have you seen "C'era una volta Hollywood” [the 1974 film “That’s Entertainment”]? Billions of extras, the public is doing well, without thinking, without producing. An indelible trace of psychedelic culture has remained in the US, but sucked into the system. There has been no development. It was an identity crisis, that of the sixties that led the American youth to look within. But when people found out who the fuck they really were, they said, "well, now I know,” and went back to doing things exactly like before. In the end, the American way of life hasn't changed much.

The Americans liked PFM after all. The reviews have always treated us well, sometimes they spoke enthusiastically about us and badly about Poco, for example, to whom we "supported" (they never got angry, they were the first to come and congratulate, to say that the we were nice and they respected us. Well, I have a happy memory of them). In three tours we've only had two concerts where we didn't really connect with the audience until they asked for an encore. The fact is that we are, together with some new German groups on the rise, a bridge between European and American culture. We don't make a scene and we never will, but we play happy, popular music. Celebration, without killing anyone, involves entirely. Live, they notice our vitality, they appreciate us as individual musicians, which is very important (we always improvise when we can). The elite in the US feel the need for a breakthrough and so does the general public, even if they don't ask you directly and they are satisfied with what they have. They have exported blues, rock, and jazz to Europe and we have assimilated them there, mixing them with the music of our home. In turn, however, the US, with the Beatles and English music, had an injection of novelty years ago (Eleanor Rigby would never have been created in the USA, even if the Beatlesian matrix then comes from Little Richard and the Everly Brothers). Now in America they are waiting for the second European return and they are not waiting for it from England, which is now dead, killed by business. Perhaps they expect it from us. One amazing thing: avid collectors have all the records by the New Trolls, Le Orme, Osanna, for them they are relics.

The meeting with the Italian emigrants was contradictory. In Toronto, Canada, they welcomed us like a true home away from home, but it's only natural because their culture doesn't clash so strongly with the local one as it does in the US. At the Academy of Music in New York there were almost 200 Italians that had made a tremendous fuss, unfurling a 15 meter tricolor banner on the balcony. It felt more like a football game than a concert. Among them there were certainly those who had known us in Italy in 1971 (they asked us for Impressioni di Settembre) and who, now seeing each other again, it felt like home.

But in a radio station where they were broadcasting our records together with an interview in the Italian language, the transmission was interrupted by a compatriot who shouted angrily, "it's not our music, it's not genuine, they sing in English”. Once, Maurizio Vandelli of Equipe 84 had gone to Brooklyn to play and he was surrounded by a Rudolph Valentino-like group, with pomaded hair, who attacked him because he had long hair and a face that "brings dishonor to the country”. There are real fascist overlays carrying weight down there. That's why I don't believe it when record companies make speeches about the fact that your records abroad can be based on an Italian audience.

As far as the political matter is concerned, there are precise responsibilities on the part of the artist, as I have already said, but there are very few worldwide who really intend to carry this discussion forward. In Italy there will be at most 4 or 5, even if something is moving, but unlike overseas, we have better prospects, something behind that moves us faster than elsewhere. I'm not a revolutionary barricade, I don't have the preparation for it, but I'm a comrade and whatever doubts and impressions I can express, I try to do so as a comrade. In short, I'll be in the square with the others. Banchetto and l’isola di Niente do not have revolutionary lyrics, but they show which side we are on, what our problems are, and also our limits.

PFM is made up of different people that are not all comrades, in the strict sense of the word, there a few who perhaps feel like simply being a musician, but there is an average of common approach from which no one fails. In short, we know what things we want or what not to do. Pay attention to a pricing policy, help this organization rather than that one. But it is a type of our image that has not yet come out well. On a musical level we have made a certain type of experiments, just for our evolution in the early days. Storia di un minuto, when it came out it was an avant-garde album. But there comes a certain point that the head is ahead of the hands that hit the keys or tend the strings, and then it's time to stop and study. We intend to intelligently exploit the classical culture that we have more or less left behind us (I did 4 years of violin, Flavio 5 years of classical guitar, etc.), especially in the arrangements (there is a symphonic way of developing a theme that can be used on any kind of music). But that's not enough.

The actual direction is about valuing popular culture (this is a creative period for us, we're tired of our usual language). Since the days of Celebration we were convinced that it was necessary to do this: that song was edited in a very short time, we were all full of energy. On stage it was truly a party, a bravado (but sincere), almost from the Commedia dell’Arte.

And I don't agree with those who argue that our way of filtering popular materials is too external and spectacular. What must be avoided in these operations is cultural complacency, but it is not right to give up on oneself, on the vitality of one's roots. Our way of using popular music is not pandering or shameless: in this sense, Harlequin is also a sycophant, that is, a street theatre, but a true, authentically popular one…

About the future. Back from America, we perhaps have some big news in store for the album we'll be making (with an almost live album feeling): a sixth element will enter PFM, probably definitively, whose name I still can't reveal.

We have increasingly felt the lack of a natural singer, we were all a bit tired of our vocal performances and above all of the fact that none of us was a natural singer and it cost us a lot in concerts to approach the microphone, giving up the maximum concentration on our instruments. The singer we've set our sights on is full of grit, and not only has a beautiful voice, but also composes and is a profound student of popular music culture. I hope that the adjustment to the lineup goes through soon and immediately gives positive results.

Mauro Pagani

#please enjoy some hot takes from mauro #mauro pagani #pfm #premiata forneria marconi #gong magazine #gong rivista #translation #my translation

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primordialsoundmeditation · 1 month

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This week’s astrology forecast: April 15th to 21st

David Pond in Reno May 17th - 22nd

For a talk and Astrology consultations

I will be in Reno next month, giving a talk at Lorna Benedict's healing studio and I will be available for astrology readings while I am in town.

Upcoming Astrology Cycles: 2024 and Beyond

Saturday, May 18th 6:00 - 7:30 $20

626 Humbolt Street, Reno

Call Lorna at 775-322-7438 for reservations

Consultations. If you would like to schedule an astrology reading, call Laurie at 360-918-8411, or email her at [email protected] and she will help you make the arrangements.

Hope to see you soon!

Message for the week:

The much-anticipated Jupiter/Uranus conjunction in Taurus occurs this weekend, opening the door for adventures, getting off the beaten path, exploration, and unexpected opportunities. This conjunction occurs every 14 years, and historically, has shown to be a time of major new beginnings and breakthroughs—in the arts, sciences, technology and lifestyles:

Music, Bob Dylan, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Elvis, Bo Diddley, Buddy Holly, Chuck Berry, Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, Billie Holiday, and Joni Mitchel all launched their first albums during a Jupiter/Uranus conjunction.

Film: Charlie Chaplin’s “Charlie”, first talkies, Monty Python, Spielberg, Scorsese, Polanski, Paul Newman, and Woody Allen all launched their first movies. Notable films: Easy Rider and Alice’s Restaurant exemplified the spirit of this conjunction.

Technology firsts: telegraph, light bulb radio broadcast, TV transmission, internet, computer, quantum physics. space flight, wright brothers, and the Moon landing

Literature: Shakespeare, Milton (Paradise Lost), Dostoevsky, Melville, Dickens, Mark Twain, Henry James, Jane Austin, , William Blake, Emily Dickenson, and Alan Ginsberg all published their first writings, again, during Jupiter/Uranus conjunctions.

Cultural: Woodstock as well as 16 other mass music festivals.

This is a wave you will want to catch—if you are ready to launch something, this is the ideal time. In general, this transit is so positive in its potential, the only downside might be not taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity that presents itself. The heads up this week is to stay open to new experiences and unexpected opportunities.

Mercury (the mind), Venus (values) and Chiron (the wounded healer) are all conjunct this week in Aries—a good time to draw on the strength of courage for moving forward, and perhaps bolster others who may lack courage.

Monday: Mercury is conjunct Chiron—you may be called on to motivate a co-worker, friend, or family member to move forward with confidence. The Moon is in Cancer square to the Sun in Aries, while also being in a flowing trine to Neptune. You may experience some push-pull within yourself as to whether to be cautious or bold, with the Aries/Cancer square—draw on faith (Neptune) to proceed. The Moon will be moving into high-spirited Leo this evening.

Tuesday: Let your light shine today with the Moon in big-hearted Leo with no aspects. “Put a little love in your heart”, are great lyrics to carry as a mantra to take advantage of this unimpeded Leo energy.

Wednesday: This is a good day to unleash your inner rebel and push yourself to be more innovative and to reach for the stars, with the Moon in confident, creative Leo and motivated by the Jupiter/Uranus conjunction. The Moon in a supportive trine the Mercury/Chiron conjunction will facilitate communication and persuasiveness.

Thursday: This is a good day for spring cleaning with the Moon entering fastidious Virgo this morning. This is excellent for tackling some of the “to do” list, getting rid of clutter and old stuff, and generally getting your life to run more efficiently.

Friday: The Sun enters quality-seeking Taurus this morning, initiating a month of enhancing security and the quality of your life. A little bit of luck is in the air with Mars sextile to the fortunate Jupiter/Uranus conjunction—act on unexpected opportunities. The Moon is in task-oriented Virgo, and you may feel pressure to get everything done before the weekend with an opposition to pressure laden Saturn this afternoon—Breathe!

Saturday: A potent day in the heavens with much going on. The much-anticipated Jupiter/Uranus conjunction occurs today—stay open to unexpected opportunities and stretch your wings to catch hold of the updraft. The Moon is in conscientious, detail-minded Virgo in a harmonious trine to this conjunction—see the big picture but focus on the next step. There may be some confusion this afternoon during the opposition to the Mars/Neptune conjunction, however a peaceful and harmonious evening unfolds with the Moon entering harmony seeking Libra.

Sunday: You may have to work at keeping the peace today, or avoid manipulative people, with the Sun square to manipulative Pluto and the Moon in fair-minded Libra. Libra, the sign of the scales of balance seeks win-win involvements with others—this is a day to consider to compromise is a failed win-win. If it doesn’t feel fair, don’t do it.

May the stars be with you!

David

Donations: Although these weekly updates are free, if you would like to support the newsletter with a donation, go to my website and click the “Donate” button on the menu. You can donate in increments of $5. You can also donate through Venmo: David-Pond-17 If you would like to send a check, contact us for our mailing address. Thanks for your support!

Consultations: I am available for consultations if you would like to see how your astrology chart can help you connect with your true self, explore your life’s purpose, better understand relationships, find your right vocation, or to align with current astrological influences. Contact us by email, phone, or through the “Services” tab on our website, to set up a session.

Email: [email protected]

Website: Davidpond.com

Phone: 360-918-8411

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ilearnedthistodaysblog · 1 year

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What was the last Apollo mission?

What was the last Apollo mission? The last Apollo mission was Apollo 17.

The Apollo program stretched from 1967 until 1972. There was supposed to be an Apollo 18, 19, and 20 but they were all cancelled. The booster for Apollo 20 was repurposed to launch Skylab, America’s first space station into orbit. The decision to cancel the last few missions was taken in 1970, after congress cut NASA’s budget. There is some evidence that after the Apollo 13 catastrophe and rescue, President Nixon wanted to cancel Apollo 17 as well.

The Apollo space program took over after the Gemini and Mercury programs which had worked to build rockets capable of orbit and putting people in orbit. The first Apollo mission, Apollo 1, was meant to launch in 1967, but it unfortunately never flew because a fire in the cabin tragically killed the crew. The next Apollo rocket to fly was number 4 and that, followed by 5 and 6 were all unmanned and were used to test out different systems. Apollo 7 was crewed and orbited the Earth. Apollo 8 orbited the moon. Apollo 9 orbited the moon and tested out life support systems. Apollo 10 sent a Landing Module down within 15 km of the moon’s surface as a test and flew home. That must have been hard for them not to go the last little bit. Apollo 11, as I’m sure you are aware, landed on the moon. Apollo landed on the moon. Apollo 13 had several problems and didn’t get to land on the moon. The Apollos 14, 15, 16, and 17 all successfully landed on the moon and returned. Apollo 17 was the last one and Gene Cernan was the 11th and last person to walk on the moon. So far.

So, why was Apollo 17 the last mission to the moon? The main reason was money. NASA was started in 1958, when President Eisenhower signed it into being. After World War 2 and the Korean War, the Department of Defense had become very interested in upper atmosphere rockets and they wanted to launch orbital satellites. High speed planes were being built that could fly at the edge of space. Russia had launched sputnik in 1957, and America felt that it was getting left behind. Every time America made a technological advance, they found that the Russians had already beaten them to it. Later on, they would find out that the Russian space program was basically held together with chewing gum, but they didn’t know that at the time and there was a desperate feeling of losing to Russia. JFK tapped into this when he became President and used it in his famous, “We choose to go to the moon … because [it] is hard,” speech. And NASA was basically given a blank check.

From the beginning of the Apollo project until the end, NASA spent $28 billion, which is $280 billion when adjusted for inflation. This seemed like a good deal while America was trying to beat Russia, but once the race was won, people couldn’t see the need to keep spending so much money. There were so many other things the money could be spent on. The late 1960s were much harder for people than the early 1960s. The growth after the end of World War 2 had started to slow. Inflation was beginning to rise, and the dollar wasn’t as strong as it had been. The Vietnam War was picking up and social problems in America were coming to the fore. Getting people on the moon was no longer a priority.

People had lost interest in the space program as well. It had been a source of national pride during the space race, but now that was over, people weren’t interested. Space flights and moon walks were not broadcast on TV, and without public opinion behind them, NASA couldn’t get funding. And without funding, there was no way to get more people on the moon.

The goals of space flight changed as well. The purpose of all 6 of the Apollo missions that landed on the moon was experimentation and geology. They wanted to know all they could about the moon. To that end, the crew of Apollo 17 were scientists and geologists. By Apollo 17, NASA realized they had learned everything they needed to learn from the surface of the moon and experiments in space could be carried out from far cheaper space stations in orbit around the Earth.

When Congress cut NASA’s funding in 1970, they had to make choices. They could continue with the moon landing planned for Apollo 18, or they could use the money for several other projects that would have more value. They obviously chose the other projects and Apollo 18 was abandoned. After Apollo 11, though, all future trips to the moon were basically doomed because they cost too much, and people weren’t interested once the race with Russia had been won. And this is what I learned today.

Read hundreds of articles like this on my blog: https://ilearnedthistoday.com/index.php/2023/05/23/what-was-the-last-apollo-mission/

Image By Harrison Schmitt - https://www.hq.nasa.gov/alsj/a17/AS17-134-20378HR.jpg, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=113250319

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riseofthecommonwoodpile · 2 years

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for no particular reason, here's 20 of my favorite David Berman lines:

When you're fifteen, you wanna look poor. You do unto others and run like a mother. I don't wanna look poor anymore.

I believe that stars are the headlights of angels driving from heaven to save us. Look in the sky- they're driving from heaven into our eyes.

Oh, come let us adore them. California overboard. When the sun sets on the ghetto, all the broken stuff gets cold.

Won't soul music change now that our souls have turned strange?

In 27 years, I've drunk 50,000 beers, and they just wash against me like the sea into a pier.

Ghosts are just old houses dreaming people in the night.

And when I see her in the park, it barely merits a remark how we stand the standard distance distant strangers stand apart.

Time is a game only children play well.

My every day begins with reminders I've been stranded on this planet where I've landed, beneath this gray as granite sky, a place I wake up blushing like I'm ashamed to be alive.

I wasn't done being my mother's son. Only now am I seeing that being's done.

I had this friend. His name was Marc with a "C". His sister was like the heat coming off the back of an old TV.

So you've got no friends and you wander through the night, and now you watch the sunrise through a rifle-sight.

Repair is the dream of the broken thing. Like a message broadcast on an overpass: all my favorite singers couldn't sing.

There is a house in New Orleans. Not the one you've heard about, I'm talking about another house.

When the dying's finally done and the suffering subsides, all the suffering gets done by the ones we leave behind.

What was not but could have been was my obsession way back when. Now I just remember this: what is not, but could be, if.

No, I didn't really want to die. I only want to die in your eyes. Grant me one last wish: life should mean a lot less than this.

Well, I wish they didn't set mirrors behind the bar, cause I can't stand to look at my face when I don't know where you are.

The moon was worn just slightly on the right, and they slow danced so the needle wouldn't skip until the room was filled with light.

We were built to consider the unmanifested and make of love an immaculate place.

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analoghorrorexplained · 3 years

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Local 58 Explained (10/19/21)

[This post contains spoilers for the above series. Please do not click on this post if you do not want to have the plot of the series spoiled for you. This post also contains disturbing/upsetting material. Reader digression is advised. All of the series I talk about can be found on youtube]

ACTIVE WARNINGS: alien invasions, cosmic horror, suicide

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THE PLOT

Local 58 is a series that takes the form of TV broadcasts that take place on the titular local 58 TV channel (stationed in Mason County West Virginia). These broadcasts take place across a large chunk of time (from the 1950s-now) and seem to all allude to either an alien invasion, or a cosmic horror hatching from the moon itself (possibly both at once).

The story is not very clear yet (so some of this is speculation on my part), but from what we can infer this entire situation started roughly around when the US and Soviet Union first started the space race. It is implied that whatever is in or on the moon does not like radio signals being passed through its domain, so it retaliation it sends its own (which leads to the events of the contingency episode where a fake government issued suicide command gets played on the station at around 3am). It is implied that these broadcast interruptions get worse once the US lands on the moon itself, and it is also implied that the US government builds some kind of base on the moon itself to observe whatever this thing is (which again makes it angry).

In modern day the US government at large seems to be aware of what the moon creature’s memetic properties and seems to be issuing warnings to help lessen their effects on the population at large (hence the weather advisory). But whatever it is on the moon seems to be aware of the government doing this and actively fights with the local 58 station to continue playing its broadcasts. It also appears that it has learned how to manipulate GPS and tracking technology since we see it lure an unnamed man to his death via manipulating his GPS. This is also the first time we see one of the ‘alien’ entities in the series.

The series (as it currently is now) ends with the “skywatching” episode where the moon creature ‘hatches’ and the full scale invasion is now in full swing.

THE MOON CREATURE AND THE SMALLER ALIENS

From what we know so far the aliens seem to operate in a way similar to bees or ants. The thing in the moon seems to be their queen (the moon is referred to “its throne” in the series) and the smaller aliens we see on earth seem to be its drones.

The drones seem to exist on earth to help prepare for their queen’s ‘awakening’. They seem to do this via inciting fear in the humans on earth and by using their memetic abilities to lure humans to their deaths. It is unclear when these creatures surfaced on earth: but from what we can infer from the episode “show for children” their eggs (or juvenile versions) ended up on the planet some time in the 1980s. This gave them time to mature and get a foothold on the are.

Meanwhile the purpose for the queen is unknown. Its unknown how it got inside the moon, if the moon was just always an egg, or if these creatures come from another planet entirely and are looking to colonize. But from what we do know the queen seems to be the master controller of the smaller drone aliens.

REAL SLEEP

This episode seems to be an outlier since it totally diverges from the general flow of the series. But trust me, it goes along with what we are seeing.

The episode is a recording of a program created by the Thought Research intuitive meant to help strip people of their dreams to aid them in sleeping (or create a deeper state of sleeping). However, this video causes Prosopagnosia (face blindness) because it employs the Flashed face distortion effect to acheive this (an actual psychological thing that you can try yourself). The recording we get to see is one that belongs to a Mr Philip Gerhardt and seems to be custom made to him. But from what we can infer most of the tapes are probably the same.

The Thought Research Institute seems to be either a puppet organization used via the drones to instill fear, or it is a cult that worships the moon creature and is furthering its agenda via use of the tapes. We have already established that the moon creature and its drones can manipulate digital and radio broadcasts and signals. The video not only exists to help virtually incapacitate people by inducing a deep coma-like sleep in them. But it also seems to exist to make it harder for people to recognize each other and thus inciting fear (which would make cooperation/resistance harder).

#local 58 #analog horror explained #analog horror #lore

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sunflowerheartsandstarryskies · 3 years

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The Devil and the Mermaid - Chapter Four (Lucifer x Mermaid!Reader)

Author’s Note: The inspiration here came from a dream of mine, also one of my favorite shows “The Legend of the Blue Sea” has some heavy inspiration in here as well. Thank you so much for the support of the series! I will also create a tag list for this story since I saw people interested in that. Again I love reading your guys’ comments and if you want to be part of a tag list for this series please let me know :)

Warnings: None, maybe mild violence? (You shove a guy out of the way)

Taglist: @th3gl1tt3rgam3roff1c1al, @magnet-girl, @roxytheimmortal

Prev Chap Next Chapter

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You were covered in darkness, but you were adjusted to the darkness, you lived in the dark with your clan who usually swims in the parts of the ocean where the light just barely touched your skin.

However instead of the comforting warmth and assurance, you had when you were a woman swimming with your clan, your family, it was a lingering warmth and a reassurance that had made you realize you were dreaming and not of your memories.

“(Y/N) you have met an interesting fate having fallen for Lucifer,” a voice echoed around you. You looked around in the dark space to search for the voice but found no answer to that.

“I would not have known of your existence if you hadn’t gone out of that water, it’s strange what this world has created once I left it.”

“Are you the moon? What do you mean by that? All I know is what I have been taught and seen when I was in the ocean”

“You could say I am the moon, but I am more than that and also less than that at the same time. I affect the world around me indirectly but you have caused quite a stir where I am at with your involvement with Lucifer, I wish you the best of luck and the best of health.”

With that, you were startled from your sleep by pressure on your shoulder, and you opened your eyes to see Lucifer smiling at you. Once he saw you were awake he went to say, “Good morning my dear, have a good dream?”

“Funny you should mention that, I heard a voice say that they were the moon, I think anyway. I don’t quite remember what they said but I remember your name,” you say as you start sitting up from the bed.

Lucifer sat down next to you as he took in what you said, humming in thought, he turned to you and patted your shoulder.

“Well the only one I know that could do that, would be my Dad, but I don’t know why he would want to talk to you.”

After a couple of days, you have gotten well versed with different aspects of human life and culture, mainly you are not allowed to eat spaghetti with your hands. You also have gotten interested in the tv that had got you basically hooked on the subtleties of different subsets of human culture, one being that if bad men are about to hurt you you can beat them up.

“Anyway, darling remember when I was talking to you about my consulting job for the police?”

You nodded remembering the different stories of his workplace along with his partner, Chloe. She seemed weird but nice from what you heard from him.

“Well, I have to go in today there is a case that the police department says they need my help with,” Lucifer continued, “and I want you to come with me.”

“I would like to, is it going to be like what I saw on tv with how they deal with violence?” you asked.

“Kind of, it depends, now love let’s get you ready for the day and we can get going.”

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

You and Lucifer walked into a one-story house it looks plain and forgettable with its beige outside paint and white shingled roof. There were also some beautiful hydrangea bushes in the front, and you noticed them because they were the only splash of color in the whole property. There were police officers around the property and you saw one documenting the bushes. You tilt your head as you were stalling to enter the house and saw footprints underneath the bushes.

“(Y/N) are you okay? Come on,” Lucifer urged on. He leads you into the home, and you immediately see the crime scene.

It was an execution. Plain and simple. The victim was a young woman from what you saw, and she was shot point-blank in the back of the head as she was sitting on her couch, she probably knew the killer, since the tv was still on.

The aquarium was direct across from the living room, and you saw the fish in there was trying to get your attention. You can hear the voices of the fish repeatedly crying out, “He hurt her! Help her! He was her friend” You looked at the aquarium and the fishes seem to surround you as they try to talk to you through the glass. ‘Can you show me what he looked like,’ you broadcasted to the fish.

Lucifer was looking at you confused at what you were doing and was about to talk to you when he got interrupted.

“Oh no, you did not bring a civilian to a crime scene” you hear a voice coming towards you.

“Ah detective, how good to see you again, and this is (Y/N) she is my assistant and friend,” Lucifer says.

You turn your head away from the aquarium and saw a stressed blonde woman coming towards you, and you realized that this must be Chloe Decker. She tilted her head with furrowed brows and a hand to her hip as she eyes you.

“Why would you need an assistant?” Decker questioned.

“You know there are always things that I could miss out on while we’re out here and plus don’t you want someone who can put me in line and in order for once?” Lucifer replied.

“That’ll be the day,” Decker snorted.

You tugged on the jacket sleeve on Lucifer to get his attention to you, and he leaned for you to whisper to tell him the thoughts and profile the fish given to you about the person who committed the murder.

“Oh that’s brilliant, darling, see Detective my assistant just gave us a solid lead to go off of. We have a suspect!” Lucifer exclaimed as he grabs your hand and leads you out of the crime scene.

“Wait a minute can you tell me what means?” Decker ran off to you two.

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

So the three of you ended up at an apartment building on the opposite side of Los Angeles waiting to interview the suspect that the fish had identified to you at the victim’s home.

Lucifer ended up filling into Decker that you had deduced based on the footprints outside the house and the way she was killed, it was someone she knew intimately enough to let the person in without a second glance. You just confirmed that for him with the description of the man the fish saw kill their owner, Blaire Wright. He also found that there was a single picture of him and the victim together faced down so he connected the dots to realize that the relationship must’ve turned to an obsession for the man and had gone possessive over the woman. The old “if I can’t have her nobody can” cliche, which made Lucifer quite bored about that trope but you can’t always choose what happens in your cases.

You all made your way to the apartment building, Decker went to find out from the landlord about the suspect and you and Lucifer were ordered to stay out in the parking lot. You spotted the man that matched the description the fish gave you and the picture Lucifer showed to verify it. His name was Oscar Grant, and he’s suspected to have developed an obsessive behavior over Ns. Wright … and he was heading your way.

Lucifer seemed to be aware of it as he straightened himself and walked over to where the man was walking into the parking lot.

You felt a strange sensation of being submerged in the water again, you felt heavy and light all at the same time. You couldn’t hear what the two were saying, but you felt the danger and sensation of a cornered animal, and that’s when you felt that you had to move. So you did. Grant pulled a gun but as soon as he did you grabbed his forearm and threw him towards the dumpsters that were ten feet away from him. You may have used a bit too much of your strength. There was now a new dent behind Grant that there wasn’t there before and a shocked looking Lucifer next to you and staring at the gun in between you and the culprit.

You heard Decker walking behind you and you heard her go with a bewildered voice, “How in the-?”

When he came to a few seconds later, he was given his rights by Decker and placed in the back of her car off the police department. While you were walking up to you and Lucifer’s ride you felt a lingering gaze on your back throughout that entire encounter. You just shook your head in an attempt to get rid of that feeling.

Later on, Oscar Grant ended up confessing to both the attempted murder of you and Lucifer and the murder of Blaire Wright. Decker relented upon the idea of Lucifer bringing you to cases because you ended up being a pretty good asset.

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

Now you were back at Lucifer’s penthouse and you were in pajamas lounging around the bar area in his place. Lucifer was down at the LUX club area taking care of some business that he needed to get done as he told you.

There was a small pool that he had in his apartment which you found, and you can hear the call of the water no matter its state. So you took off your clothes and went in the pool, your tail and scales came as soon as you were submerged and your whole body was singing with happiness as it felt alive again.

The more you spend on land without the return of the love that you came out of the water for, your heart will stop beating unless you step back in the ocean. You forgot to tell Lucifer about that specific part of the deal of you coming on land because you didn’t want him to feel the pressure of returning a love that might not be real, to begin with.

You begin to worry about what might happen if he found out you didn’t tell him the whole truth of your situation to him. You didn’t want him to concerned for your fate, because you never know what might happen there might be a happy ending for you both.

As you were swimming in the small pool brooding in your thoughts you heard the elevator ping, so you peaked your head over the corner of the pool. When you just saw it was Lucifer and no one else you let yourself be seen by him.

“Well hello there, I see you have found my pool then?” Lucifer greeted you. You beamed at him and nodded fervently at that.

“Y’know I never actually saw you as your original mermaid self? Is it alright if I watch you swim?”

“Um sure if you want to, I’m not the most beautiful, there are others in just my clan that have amazing scales and tail fin,” you state.

“Let me be the judge of that, love-” he cut himself off with a mouth agape look as he marveled at your full beauty.

Your tail was massive and the scales decorating and protecting your body were glittering with a rainbow of colors complementing your skin tone. It made you look heavenly and the flowing tail at the end made you look that way even more so.

You became self-conscious at the way Lucifer was just staring at you, so became to fidget under his heavy gaze in the water.

Then he spoke gently, “You are beautiful, absolutely gorgeous. Thank you for letting me see your true self like this.”

“Thank you Lucifer, that means a lot to me.”

The brooding can wait, you have time to be hopeful and to think about that happy ending.

#lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer netflix #lucifer #x reader #Lucifer Morningstar #lucifer imagine #lucifer fox x reader #imagines #mermaid reader

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mannien · 3 years

Text

Mornings in Sheffield Park | TH - CHAPTER 1

The one with stress, takeout food around the world, late night walks, and Disney dreams.

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: some stress, some anxiety, mention of sex, and a lot of smiles

Masterlist

Fourth week into the morning pitch meetings at BBC, Millie felt lifeless and drained. The room was usually exploding with ideas, creative energy, and a lot of constructive feedback to the few interns who were allowed to join the conversation with editors, writers, and producers. That morning had started ugly enough for her: with an overwhelming number of e-mails about the schedule and missing content for Politics Live.

When she first landed her spot at BBC, Millie was over the moon. She was constantly calling it a dream come true, a once in a lifetime opportunity for her to begin a writing career in media. Her degree seemed to be the best choice for her future and Millie was ready to prove that graduating from humanities can actually land her a decent job. Her first days were filled with morning preparations, early commute to the city centre and exceptionally smoothed out shirts. The work environment in such a fast-paced industry felt inspiring and daunting at the same time, but Millie felt obligated to use this experience to its full potential. Each day she attempted to learn more than the day before and possibly show off a tiny bit more of her creative skills to her superiors. She spent her evenings researching topics and people, trying not to fall out of the loop. Being one step forward was hard work, one that Millie desperately wanted to ace.

The second week of her internship brought a slight shift to her agenda. After grasping the general concepts of working for a major radio and TV broadcasting company, she was aware of the production processes. She tried to happily follow up all the details about the work of a writer, a researcher, or an editor – just so she could be prepared for the follow-up of the introductory week. And as she hoped her interview was remembered and she would soon contribute to any program touching upon music or pop culture, her dreams and calls were slowly fading away. The intern manager ascribed her to the team devoted strictly to politics and daily news, having no vacancies for the popular radio programs. Even though she took whatever spot was offered, it was only to get more insight and experience.

Having already managed to speak up a few times during the morning routines in the conference room, Millie eased herself into the work environment and was treated like a regular employee. But the first wave of success quickly passed, especially when she was hit with growing emptiness in her brain. She did not enjoy politics, so as far as she could, she attempted to sneak in a sociological aspect into the context. But her tactic had an expiration date.

A couple of heads were expectantly turned at Millie when she was unsurely stuttering her weak ideas for the upcoming programme. She knew it wasn’t going well and she was mentally cursing herself for trying to impress the producers that much so early on.

“This isn’t gonna work. We’ve covered this enough in the evening news. Let’s take five, and maybe you’ll come up with a different angle. I’ll give you another shot here.”

Hugh, the head writer took off his glasses and watched her fidget in her seat. She nodded and took a deep breath, before leaving the room for a short break. Her mind was racing in panic; she wasn’t ready to admit that she didn’t have any idea. She walked back and forth through the corridor until she cursed quietly and walked away to the main hall. She pulled her phone from the back pocket and without overthinking this anymore, she called her boyfriend. He picked up after the third ring.

“Babe, can I call you back…”

“No, Frank,” She felt determined and fierce. Her hands shook from the pure view on board members slowly coming back from the kitchen with fresh coffee mugs. They were probably waiting to hear her another take on the TV show which Millie, wholeheartedly, was beginning to hate. “My work on the programme is too basic and I’ve been roasted for the past fifteen minutes or so. Hugh has me in the spotlight in front of everyone. Help me, please?”

“It’s not your fault they’ve given you a job you’re not good at, babe. It’s just an internship, they will roast you anyway.”

Millie’s lungs were ready to stop working and suffocate her. She feared she might start hyperventilating, or at least meet up with a panic attack from the nerves. Franklin’s reaction seemed to be absolutely unfair and inconsiderate of her actual feelings, and he must have felt that through the piercing silence on the line.

“Look, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t worry so much about it. They will probably just give you another placement where you’ll fit more, I don’t see why it’s such a bad thing.” And just like that, she started doubting herself and her right to overthink her situation. It didn’t sit well with Millie and she could feel anger slowly making its way through her veins.

“Can’t you just fucking help me? This one time?” She lost her temper, she lost her patience. At the same time Riley, one of the end writers, started waving at her from the end of the hall as to show her that her time is coming to an end. “I need a hook, or something that would spark a debate. Brexit-themed, maybe. Can you think of anything?”

Frank groaned loudly. He wasn’t exactly happy that she made him break down his ambitious wall and let her in on topics he was too invested in. Millie could hear him moving around as he left his desk of the equally large office of The Guardian, until the line went surprisingly quiet. Her anger and fear made her clutch her phone tightly to her ear, while her legs started carrying her slowly to the terrifying conference room.

“Think internationally. See what the Spanish had to say about May’s resignation from the Office. Think economics in the EU. Try to stand on the Union’s side and do some fair judgement.”

“Give me facts, not ideas. You’re the one who knows politics.”

“Spanish government says that May’s resignation is bad news. Compare it to the popular opinion that she was the worst Prime Minister since the 18th century and the American war on independence.” Millie breathed in, trying to desperately grasp all the details he just provided her with.

“That’s a… harsh and history-digging argument,” She mumbled in surprise, “where did you get that from?” She grabbed a yellow post-it note from the reception desk and quickly scribbled the key words on it. Her briefing on politics was never something like this and she could feel the embarrassment making its way into her heart. It wasn’t her way of thinking and she felt like a fraud.

“I can’t tell you that.” By the end of the single sentence Millie could feel the blood escaping her face, making her look pale and scared for dear life. She didn’t want to have heard that sentence, she was definitely happier not knowing how did he come up with a story like this. That was one of the many reasons she tried not to talk business with him.

“An opinion entry. A column for The Guardian. Shit, you just busted one of your colleagues.”

“Sometimes I hate it that you’re smart. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You just saved my internship!”

“Please don’t say that. I will pretend that we just talked about the weather.”

“I’ll spend them the details. You’re the best, Frank.”

“Alright, go kick ass.”

And that she did. Franklin did save her internship, mainly because Millie avoided the specifics about who and why said something so harsh about the resigning Prime Minister. However, it definitely did spark interest among the production board. Afraid of not being so lucky next time, she decided to politely suggest a replacement for her permanent internship division within BBC, due to her ‘personal discomfort with discussions over issues of such importance and potential shame to their glorious country.’

Millie felt bad for using her boyfriend’s knowledge for survival at work. She wasn’t genuine and her idea didn’t come from her hard work - it was sourced in fear and anxiety-driven reactions. This situation proved to her that she wasn’t fit for the position, but it also raised her stress levels around the fact that she couldn’t get by on her own in the industry. She didn’t want others to navigate her through it all, but the conversation she had with Frank had also made her uncomfortable. Her need of support in a stressful situation was primarily turned down, so—naturally to her character—she started to worry even more.

With a heavy heart and two bags of Wagamama takeout, she walked up the stairs to his apartment. She was usually working until later hours than Frank, so all she really needed was for him to open the door for her. She leaned on the doorframe as she waited patiently for the two turns of the lock. He opened still in his work attire – tailored jeans and a light grey button up shirt. He was holding his phone next to his ear and humming approvingly to the speaker when he looked her up and down. He winked at her and let her in, as he continued to talk with someone.

Inside, Millie found the TV turned on with a football game playing. His work jacket was still hanging on the back of the tall stool in the kitchen, and the grocery bags laid unpacked on the table. She took off her shoes and made her way to the kitchen, where she made a little room for their food on the countertop. Pulling off her sweater, she peeked into the shopping bags – she wasn’t surprised to find a couple bottles of beer and food essentials, a multipack of tissues and a large box of condoms.

“What’s all this, babe?” Franklin came up to her and briefly kissed her on the lips, before looking into the boxes with deliciously smelling food.

“I just thought it might be nice to eat some goodies,” She smiled, trying to sniff out his mood first. He smiled back at her with approval and reached for the plates in the cupboard, so she continued, “also, it’s a ‘thank you for being my saviour today,’ kinda thing.”

“Ah, yeah. I bet everyone on my floor will hate BBC’s guts for that.” Frank said it so casually, with a shrug to follow up, that Millie struggled to understand the dynamic he had at The Guardian. He seemed to be a great fit for his team, because a week into his new job, he was already invited for Friday drinks and talked about his co-workers just like anyone would about their long-time friends. She couldn’t understand how was he getting so lucky at any step, but the last thing she wanted to do is doubt him. Any time worries and competitiveness clouded her brain, Millie was making extra room for compassion and support.

Frank unloaded some of the curry on his plate and started eating with a fork, and then made his way to the living room where he spread out on the sofa. He didn’t say anything else, somewhat scaring Millie that he will let her know he’s uncomfortable randomly, on a promisingly good day. Trying to figure out her brain, she followed his actions and took some extra food to the coffee table, before sitting down next to him.

“But you’re not gonna get into trouble for that, are you?” she was biting the inside of her cheek hard, definitely not used to not being judged for using someone else’s help.

“Nah, I don’t think so. They don’t know I’ve got a girl at BBC, so I should be just fine.”

Millie ate her curry in silence, suddenly at loss of words driven by his surprising statement. She didn’t want to raise an argument or seem overly sensitive. But for some reason she hoped that he would talk about her at work, especially considering his already formed strong bonds in the office, and a definitely higher success rate in his position. Ever so charming Franklin, he always glowed among people. She couldn’t really fight with this, so she just kept any comments to herself and focused on her food.

Frank switched the channel to the evening news and pulled her to his side once they were done eating. It comforted Millie to know that at the end of the day, they could both enjoy each other’s company, no matter what was happening at work. She didn’t pay much attention to the news, but rather focused on the way he reacted to it and what he enjoyed. She felt too tired to get invested in another load of politics, so she just soaked in his warmth and curled more into his side. He smelled of coffee and heavy, musky cologne that he liked to reapply frequently. Millie closed her eyes and breathed out the stress that weighed her down after a long day, finally finding peace.

“I’ll go grab a beer, you want one?” he abruptly stood up, making her slightly loose her balance and lean back towards the pillows. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips in a thin line.

“I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure? You’re awfully quiet today.” He spoke already from the kitchen, not even catching a glimpse of her pursed lips.

“I just need to wind down. It’s been stressful day.” She pushed a little smile on her cheeks as he came back with a frown. He took a few large sips of his drink and put it on the table, before lowering himself on the couch and leaning over Millie.

“I can help you relax, if you want.” He raised an eyebrow in a flirtatious manner, leaning into her and leaving a series of delicate kisses on her lips. He then moved onto her jaw and sucked on her skin, but never left a mark. Slowly massaging her waist, he slid his hand under her shirt and sprawled his fingers across her hip to pull her closer.

Millie enjoyed the warmth that started to spread through her body, but she couldn’t find any energy to give some of it back. She felt drained and exhausted, so a mere thought about participating in sexual activities was sure to make her at least slightly uncomfortable. Unless Frank was willing to change something about it.

“Okay, hold on,” her chuckle and a light push at his chest made him narrow his eyebrows in confusion, “I don’t think I’ve got enough energy today, Frankie.” Her whisper was followed by a reassuring smile. She weaved her fingers through his short hair and kissed the tip of his nose.

“What if I provide you with some energy first?”

“What, you’ll give me an energy drink?” She laughed at her poor joke and he chuckled, too, but more at her silliness than anything else. He laid her down comfortably and cautiously peppered her with kisses on her neck and the tiny bit of cleavage that was available without unbuttoning her shirt. She was slowly giving in, allowing him to get lower on her body and touch her. Frank either wanted to make her feel better, or was really horny. But whatever the case was, she didn’t want to stop him and ruin his enthusiasm. The glow in his eyes and admiration painted across his face were too intoxicating to back away. His touch was filled with sparks of emotions and a kind of drive that Millie was addicted to. She felt wanted and needed, and that’s what made her return the heated kisses despite her hooded, weary eyes.

They walked hand in hand through the chilly evening, sometime after she persuaded Frank to walk her to the nearest tube station. The wind was slightly tickling her neck, but other than that she felt at peace. She let her hair down, flowing gently with each blow of the air and lightly caressing her face like a safety blanket. They swayed their hands until they had to make room for a group of people passing by.

“Jane texted me about a little get together this Friday,” She mumbled into the night, trying not to disrupt the peaceful atmosphere around them.

“Ah, yeah. Aaron told me about it, too. I guess we’re going, right?”

“Yeah, it might be nice. The girls mentioned this new club near their apartment? I think that’s where they wanted to go.”

“Cool. I could use a little break.”

As they continued their walk, Millie mostly focused on leading the way through tight London streets. Franklin’s parents rented him an apartment in the city centre, close to everything you could dream of in London. It also meant crowded streets at any hour, so to have a nice walk around the neighbourhood usually requested it to be late at night. But it didn’t matter to him, as long as he had a short commute to the office and all other things that life requested from him, within reach. There were times when he would mention coming back to Manchester and supporting his parents at their law firm, but Millie saw how much he preferred his growing career as a journalist. Mathilda and William were a generous couple, so they shared their resources with him and tried to help him get into the business as smoothly as possible. Sometimes she wanted to ask him about his permanent position at The Guardian and whether his name had anything to do with it, but she never felt comfortable enough to do it. Some things were better left unspoken.

Reaching the staircase to the station, Franklin stopped and made her turn to him and look up at his smiling face.

“Thanks for coming over tonight. I had fun.”

“Yeah, me too.” She smiled shyly, nodding her head in reassurance.

“I wish you could finally move to the city, though. It would be so much easier if you were a few blocks away.”

“You do realize that even if I moved out, it wouldn’t be anywhere nearby?” Her chuckle resonated through her body, almost as if she wanted to humour herself at the topic that had started to come up more often in their conversations.

“I could ask around the office if anyone has a room available to rent.”

“But I don’t want to share my personal space with strangers, you know this. Don’t try to change my mind about it.” She smiled tightly.

Frank has been trying to persuade her into moving out for months. He wanted to be closer to her, within a short train journey, rather than a whole commute in and out of Kingston. He felt comfortable in the business of London, and Millie liked to call him out on being spoiled by having an apartment on his own in such a lively part of the city. But she wasn’t financially ready to leave her family home in equally comfortable Southwest London, where she had all she needed within her reach, and her social life was just a tiny bit longer train trip away. It was a source of their small disputes from time to time, because it was Millie who spent more time on going to his place and spending time there. Naturally, it made her feel more engaged in their relationship and Frank tried his best make up for the difference. But one thing that never occurred, was Millie staying over for longer than a night. Even a night’s sleepover was a rare event, somehow always blessed by excuses from either one of them.

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he pecked her lips and brushed her cheek with his thumb. “I talk about it out of concern, okay?”

“Okay. But I like my train rides and I like Kingston. So let’s just deal with it for now, yeah?”

“’Course,” He sent her a tight smile before giving her one last kiss. “Text me when you get home.”

“Will do.”

Millie was one of those people who could be easily judged as thinkers. Years of taking trains and buses in and out of central London taught her to cherish every moment of peace she gets during her journeys. That’s how she learned to create playlists for each season – summer commutes were always different than autumn ones; they required different sounds and lyrical quality. Intense months during university semesters also showed her how to read fast between the stops and how to juggle standing on the tube and holding an open book without falling, as the train slowed and rushed every few seconds.

As she was approaching her station in Kingston, she stopped the music but kept her earphones in. A bunch of other people was hurrying to get out of the train and get home as soon as possible, but after leaving the station, she would have a lonely 15-minute walk to her neighbourhood, so she always tried to stay alert in the evenings. Getting on the sidewalk in the busiest area of Kingston, she closed her book and put it back in her backpack, pulled the jacket tighter around her middle and continued her steady walk.

The air was getting crispier with each minute outside. It was refreshing and calm, disturbed only by a few laughs from the pub across the street and two cars passing her by. She turned into one of the quieter streets, where the buildings were becoming shorter and more separated from each other. Brick fences and trimmed hedges adorned the concrete sidewalks on both sides of the street, illuminated only by a few lanterns. Most of the light was coming from the windows in a row of semi-detached houses that Millie has known for a good chunk of her life.

Right when she wanted to cross the street and take a right, she heard a subtle clicking of a dog collar and a leash. Soft padding from the back was slowly approaching her and becoming louder, as well as someone’s whistle.

“Tess, come here!” a hushed call didn’t disrupt the peace of the night, but rather added the familiarity that Millie adored. She slowed her walk and turned around, just in time to be met with lightly jogging blue Staffordshire Bull Terrier. She panted lightly with her tongue out and reached Millie’s legs, where she tucked her head and mewled timidly.

“Oh, and who do we have here?” Millie chuckled at the dog’s persistence in keeping close. She scratched her head and patted her on the back, “are you on your evening walk, Tessa? Is that right?”

“We didn’t mean to scare you, Millie,” Dominic reached them and sent Millie a kind and apologetic smile, “good evening.”

“Hi, it’s good to see you.” She beamed at the middle-aged man, whom she learned to adore like a family member.

“Likewise, yeah. Heading home?”

“I am, just got off the train.”

“We will keep you company, then. Is that alright?” He fixed his glasses and leaned down to attach the leash to Tessa’s collar. Millie’s insides warmed and her mind calmed down at the idea that she will get to spend a few minutes with a friend.

“Absolutely, thank you.”

“Ah, don’t mention it. I bet Tom would have my head, hadn’t I offered,” they chuckled at the mention of his son. Their laughter died off comfortably and escaped into the night air, while Millie reminisced about the caring nature of the Hollands. “How is it going at BBC?” he asked after a moment, letting her go first through a narrow passage.

“It’s… going,” she smiled shyly, not sure how to dress up her words. In Dominic’s company she always felt one step behind in her creative skills; his writing and comic abilities exceeded her capabilities, or so she thought. “but I feel like I’ve definitely hit an end with politics. I know it’s only been a month, but it’s just… it keeps on proving that I should be writing about something else.”

“Oh, it’s totally understandable. Rest assured, you’re not the only one stuck like this,” They turned the corner onto her street. “but I wish you luck there. They have some sensible editors, so I assume you’ll get a chance at something else as well.”

“I hope so. Today I asked them about switching departments and the intern manager told me she will think about it, so there is a tiny light.”

“Something will always work out. You’re smart, you’ll find your way there.”

Dom and Millie continued down the sidewalk, until Tessa stopped near the gate to Millie’s house. She sniffed the pavement and turned back to the girl who crouched down to pet the Staffy one last time.

“Thanks for walking with me,” her smile was genuine, coming straight from her heart. “please say hi to Nikki and the boys. Is Sam still home?”

“He is, he starts his practice at the end of June. So, we all will be here to celebrate your birthdays.”

“Oh, that’s great! It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”

“That’s true. But you’re welcome to stop by anytime.”

“I know, thank you.” With fondness painted across her face, she scratched Tessa’s ear and stood up straight, reaching for the keys in her pocket.

“Have a good night.”

“You too. Bye, Tess!”

Whenever she got the chance to interact with someone from their family, Millie instantly felt their love and care penetrate her straight to the core. It was this kind of relationship that had been built through the years, only making it stronger and bringing it closer to the concept of family.

Nikki, Dom’s wife and Anna, Millie’s mother met shortly before Millie and Tom were born. At first only neighbours, soon they became best friends to the point of engaging their families in a kind affair. Greetings at the doorstep turned into late night family dinners and weekends away with the kids. They were used to spending most of the birthdays and holidays together, especially when Millie and Tom’s birthdays two days apart brought them all closer. She raced her best friend in Anna’s womb and came out to this world right before the brown-haired boy. Ever since the Beavers celebrated the birth of their third and youngest daughter, the Hollands began their journey with four boys. They always stayed close and treated each other like family, deeming it necessary to nourish their friendship and turn it into something everlasting. The example of their parents taught Millie and Tom to mimic the closeness and made them create their own little world.

Millie’s older sisters also treated Tom, Harry, Sam and Paddy like brothers, but not as much as Millie did. Samantha and Liz were already grown toddlers when the families got together, so they figured more as the female patrons of their youngest sister and her adventures with the boys. But Millie and Tom’s friendship turned into something so effortless and harmless that no supervision was necessary. They were each other’s partners in crime, best friends from next door. Their mothers had signed them up for the same dance classes, helped them get to the same summer carnivals, and let them have late nights in makeshift dens. Millie was one of the first people their dog, Tessa, got familiar with. She missed him dearly when he started his journey as a young actor, but Nikki made sure he always made the time to call his best friend when the time zones were somewhat cooperating. They nurtured their friendship through Millie’s education and Tom’s career, not stopping even for a moment. He was there for her always, carrying her home when she scratched her knee after falling off the slings. She would help him with homework whenever he felt too embarrassed to ask his parents. Tom escorted her home from her disaster of a prom; he was the first one to understand her anxiety and help her through it. And Millie always read the books and scripts Tom needed to prepare for auditions. Just like that, they always found home in one another.

Their house smelled of baking and freshly watered plants. As quietly as possible, Millie took off her shoes and tip-toed into the kitchen, turning on only the least invasive, small lights. She put down her backpack and lightly stretched, letting out a tired, yet content breath. Her eyes scanned the kitchen in search for the source of the sweet scent, and there it was, on a cooling rack in the corner, covered with a tea towel – fresh lemon sponge cake, the favourite of Millie’s mother. Lightly dusted with powdered sugar, it added an extra layer of sweet comfort to the late night’s atmosphere. She left the cake untouched, but put the kettle on to quickly make herself a cup of tea for a good night’s sleep. She let out an overwhelming yawn and rested her hips on the side of the countertop, patiently waiting for the water to boil.

She felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans. The brightness of the screen was almost blinding, until it adjusted to the low lighting in the room. She could feel the anticipation growing in the back of her head as she noticed a new message.

(Tom) I got you something today

After a second or two, a picture loaded under the message. Millie gasped and smiled like mad, when he showed her a pair of Minnie Mouse sequin ears. It was an artefact that Millie has always dreamt of, not having an opportunity to go to Disneyland ever in her childhood. She awaited the chance with high hopes and wandering mind, but she knew the trip had to be thorough, well-planned, and wholesomely happy.

(Me) You were in Disneyland????

(Tom) yeah we did promo for spidey today

(Me) I’m so jealous rn

(Me) THANK YOU FOR THE EARS!!!!!

(Tom) it’s alright

(Tom) I didn’t get any weird looks at all

(Tom) Just casually carried around this shiny sparkling beauty

(Me) I bet you loved this feeling

(Me) I bet you bought yourself a pair too

(Tom) Don’t tell anyone

(Me) You could always pretend they’re for Tessa

(Me) I just saw her and your Dad btw

Whenever her and Tom texted, it always sparked a never-ending conversation about sweet nothings. They mocked each other, talked about their days, spoke about all things home. It allowed them a safe space from their daily hustles; Millie was able to breathe lightly and happily, and Tom had a chance to detach from the world he desperately tried not to drown in.

Almost spilling the tea, she slowly made it upstairs without losing the sight of her phone screen. She struggled to turn off the lights in the corridor without making a noise but somehow, she managed not to disturb her parents too much, as she reached her bedroom. Safe within her own little space, she put down the mug and let go of her backpack and jacket. She threw herself on the softest bedspread and waited patiently for Tom’s reply.

The text bubble stopped and a massage didn’t appear, but her phone started ringing. Millie answered the FaceTime call and waited for the camera on his phone to adjust and show his familiar face.

“I had a meeting with Disney and they want me to participate in one of their projects for a Marvel-themed ride at Disneyland,” from a crooked angle she could see his neatly gelled hair and uneven eyebrows. Tom was walking somewhere, but then sat down and perched his phone on the mug that stood on the coffee table, so that she could see him better.

“That’s exciting, right?”

“Oh, yeah!” She could see him rummage in a brown paper bag and pull out a box with some takeaway food. “But I’m telling you this because we could turn it into our Disneyland trip that you’ve wanted, right?”

“That would be nice, yeah.” She smiled back at the screen, but a terrible yawn sneaked in to her expression. Tom scrunched his forehead and took a large sip from a bottle of water.

“I didn’t wake you up now, did I?”

“No, I just came back home. I am tired, though.”

“Yeah? How was work?”

“Stressful and not nice. It wasn’t a good day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Wanna talk about it?”

Tom spent the next minutes carefully listening to her words and trying not to spill his soup on his fresh clothes. He hummed to some of the stories and asked little intrusive questions, to get the whole picture. She kept rubbing at her eyes and stifling her yawns every now and then, at last making a mess of her mascara and getting it all over her skin. Despite the seriousness in her voice, Tom smiled fondly to himself at the view of her ruined face that probably mimicked her current mental state. It wasn’t something he should laugh about, but it was rather endearing to have her so comfortably sharing her lows with him, while he casually ate his lukewarm, very late lunch.

“Why are you laughing at me?” She returned his smile, knowing it was probably something she did.

“You made yourself look like panda.” He chewed on a chunk of chicken from his second plate. The wrinkles by his eyes deepened with each of her chuckles and proved to them that this is the lightness they need in their daily routines. “Well, it’s good you asked for a new placement. You should be comfortable in your work environment. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks,” she yawned again and stopped herself mid-rubbing her eye again, earning a wholesome, groggy laugh from her friend, “your dad thinks they will give me another chance.”

“I mean, he knows some people there, so he probably has a point.”

“Yeah, I just don’t want to get my hopes up too high, you know?” A comfortable silence rested between them after he nodded and continued munching on his food. Millie stood up from her bed and took the phone with her, but also started to slowly get ready for the night.

“You will know when the moment feels right and shows you something worth a shot. Trust yourself, Mills.”

“I guess…” she trailed off, making her way to the closet to find fresh pyjamas. “I’m glad my panda face entertained your… what is it, lunch break?”

“Sort of, yeah,” he chuckled, enjoying the playfulness of her tired self, “I should be coming back in two weeks. We could hang out then, if you’ll have the time.”

“Oh, for sure.”

“Alright, I’ll let you rest. Text me anytime, yeah?”

“I will. Thanks for the Minnie ears!”

“You got it, Minnie Mouse. Sweet dreams.”

* * *

After her little mishap with Politics Live, Millie tried her best to keep up the hard work, but stay low. She tried not to focus too much attention and just assist other workers in their tasks, only coming up with ideas when necessary. She strived to come back to her public voice, but she knew she needed it to have a comfortable outlet, preferably in another setting and on different topics. She was greeting the intern manager with additional caution and kindness, trying her best not to leave her case forgotten.

Segregating files for the research team seemed to be the best solution to her temporary creative break. Her attention to detail and wholesome care about the task being done to its full potential came in handy. She volunteered to help the group of meticulously scribbling and researching men in keeping their documents in order.

The soft mumble of the radio in the background was interrupted by a guy named Tim. He always wore rock band t-shirts under his jackets and Millie swore she had seen him participate in a wild dance routine during the last year’s Glastonbury Festival. He stopped typing on his keyboard and started to quietly hum a song that was definitely different to what Scott Mills was announcing on Radio 1.

“Oh my God, do you guys know this song? I can’t get it out of my head!” he groaned in frustration, making a few people in the open space office chuckle.

“Do you know any words, maestro?” Millie’s head snapped up at the sound of Kim, the intern manager’s voice. She was passing by with a bunch of files and a coffee, before she perched herself on his desk, obviously making fun of her friend.

“It’s got this very cool, mariachi-like trumpet between the lines,” he mimicked a trumpet player and hummed some more, “and the guy sings something about stopping a feeling…”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“You know he’s not my jam, Kim! It’s an old-school song.”

“You’re the old-school one here.” Kim’s comment earned a couple more laughs at poor Tim, who was genuinely struggling. “you’re the researcher, have you googled it?”

“Of course I googled it, stop mocking me! People are watching.”

Their little light-hearted exchange brought a breezy atmosphere to the office and made Millie smile some more. She kept on looking up at Tim to check if he’s found the song he was looking for, but without luck. Her fingertips started to tingle with each swipe through the pages in a file, because she felt like she knew the song. Deciding to come against her decision to lay low, she gently cleared her throat and swallowed her nerves of speaking up in a new environment.

“Hey Tim, have you tried to find it on Spotify?” they both looked at Millie with playful smiles, as anyone would to the up and coming intern fresh out of university.

“I don’t think it’s the title of the song, so I won’t find it there.”

“But you actually could,” she offered, biting her lip nervously “since the recent update, you can now type in the lyrics into the search bar and the results will show you all licensed songs with the same or similar lyrics.” Tim instantly reached for his phone and started typing away.

“Oh really? I didn’t know that, let’s see…” Kim looked into his phone and watched his progress.

“And since you’ve remembered a catchy verse, it’s very possible that others also tried to find this song through the same words. So, it will probably come up within the first few results.”

“Alright, smarty.” He shook his head in amusement. Millie watched as Kim’s face got ridden of any emotion and just stared at Tim’s work.

“But if nothing comes up, you can always try ‘Hooked on a Feeling’ by Blue Swede.”

Millie waited with racing heart at their reactions. Tim clicked on one of the results and raised the volume, filling the room with a sound so familiar to Millie’s memory. She smiled shyly and internally patted herself on the back, before coming back to her task.

“How did you know this song?” His triumphant smile was radiating, as he did a little dance in his seat and twirled on his rolling chair. “It’s such an old tune, I didn’t think your generation would know it!”

“Yeah Millie, how did you know?” Kim encouraged his question and watched her carefully, almost as if she was studying her intern.

“It’s in the soundtrack to Guardians of the Galaxy. I wrote a paper on it.”

“Hm.” Kim’s unreadable expression was giving Millie chills, but in a positive way. She liked to be asked about things that interested her and prompted her to be creative, so the way this situation evolved was close to burst her heart into passionate flames. “I’ll ask the Radio managers if they want a music and pop culture geek, how’s that sound?”

It sounded like Millie put the trust in herself at the right time.

****

tagged: @peeterparkr @katieraven @kozybear@sunsetholland @hey-marlie @lauras-collection@cunaeparker @constellationsv @heyhihellowhatsup0 @spideyspeaches

If it bothers you that you’re tagged, please let me know!

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #tom holland x oc #mornings in Sheffield park #misp #tom holland fanfic #tom holland blurb

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sparkkeyper · 3 years

Text

And They Flew Anyway

Summary: It’s 1969 and Crowley and Aziraphale sit in a pub watching humans make their own history.

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

It was a raucous night in the London pub.

Indeed, Aziraphale had chosen this one specifically because of the excitement pouring out of it. He didn't have a television in his bookshop and if he was going to experience what was certainly a significant moment in Earth's history, he wanted some suitably celebratory surroundings. His search for the prefect venue (which consisted chiefly of picking a district of bars and restaurants and walking the streets with all his senses extended until he'd found the happiest, liveliest pub with a TV set) had resulted in a pub that would have been rather spacious if it wasn't packed to the brim with Sunday night patrons. A football match had apparently concluded not long before, and a sizable group of young people in the corner were drunk and rowdy in celebration of whatever team had won.

Football notwithstanding, there was a swarm of people crowding up towards the bar where the television was located. Aziraphale's eyes landed on the back of one head in particular, the haircut not so different from when he had last seen it in a Bentley in Soho two years prior. "Crowley, is that you?"

The demon turned, face spilt in an enormous smile. "ANGELLLL!" he crowed loud enough to be heard on the street outside, and Aziraphale winced, as though that in itself was enough to summon Gabriel. But Crowley was already bounding towards him, stumbling gracelessly around the people in his way and beaming like a bonfire. "Fancy runnin'in'ina you 'ere! Wonderful, marv'lous, just in time!"

Aziraphale couldn't help but smile back at the enthusiasm as Crowley clapped him excitedly on the shoulder. "And just how drunk are you, exactly?"

"Oh, unbelievably drunk," Crowley confirmed gleefully. "Hideously drunk. Only way to be, night like tonight! Least until the main event. Got your work cut out for you if you wanna catch me up. C'mon! C'mon, got good seats, right by the telly!" He flung an arm around the angel's shoulders and Aziraphale let himself be dragged over to the bar, not the least bit put out by this unexpected company.

The counter was packed full of people, but two barstools and a few cubic feet of space seemed to grow out of nowhere for them to sit comfortably. "Oi, Rico!" Crowley called over to the bartender. "One for my mate, same as me! Put it on mine!"

"Oh! Well thank you. What are you drinking?"

"I have *no* idea." The demon knocked back another mouthful of whatever was in his glass.

Aziraphale accepted the drink - some pinkish cocktail - from the bartender graciously and bit back a protest against 'my mate', figuring Crowley was drunk to the point that admonishment wouldn't stick. "So. Red letter day for downstairs?"

Crowley pulled a face and waved the notion off, swaying unsteadily on the stool. "Nahhhh. Nothin' t'do with it. Red letter day for...monkeys! Humans! Mad li'l tail-less monkeys, they are." He gestured at the television set where a pair of news anchors were discussing details. "They're tras'iting...tra'smit...they're sending the broadcast all the way from America. Got Cronkite and everything."

That was indeed true, Aziraphale saw. The conversation in the pub hadn't decreased a bit in volume, but he could tell that it was shifting more and more away from football and towards the news programme.

"Angel, d'you know how long I've been waiting for this? Six centuries. No wait..." The demon paused to count on his fingers. "- ty. Sixty centuries. Ever since Adam looked up at th' night sky and went 'wha's tha' thing, then?' I've been waiting for th' humans to get to see it up close." He raised his arms to encompass the ceiling, sloshing half his drink from the glass and nearly smacking the man next to him in the face. "She put all that beautiful, magnificent stuff waaaay up 'n the sky, way up where they could never touch, and stuck 'em down on th' ground. Gave 'em feet 'n legs 'n stuck 'em down in the mud and said 'here, you can look at it I guess but tha's it'. And humans, they looked up at the stars and said 'that's bollocks, d'You know how bollocks that is?' and got to work mapping th' sky 'n figuring out rotations and then! And then!" He grabbed the angel's shoulder hard enough to bruise. "They built a set of wings out of a metal capsule and a bunch of maths and wires and they called it Eagle! I mean, mostly I think it's the Americans being ostentatious but come on! Eagle! And they said 'nuts to Your limitations' and they went and flew anyway!"

His eyes were shining, and Aziraphale thought he had never seen Crowley so proud. "They do have incredible ingenuity."

"Blessed right, they do! W'as the time?"

"Nearly eight, I think."

"Blimey, it's soon. Hang on, I wanna 'ppreciate this." The demon ducked his head, hands gripping the counter. He let out a pained grunt and an obscenely undignified belch as he forced the alcohol from his system, and Aziraphale rolled his eyes just a little. Crowley scrunched up his face in disgust and washed down the taste of suddenly-not-drunk with another sip of the cocktail.

"They made this leap so quickly," Aziraphale observed as the anchormen began to look more flustered. "It's only been, what 70 years or so since they started toying with motorised flight?"

"Tenacious, this lot." Crowley side-eyed him. "You didn't have anything to do with this, did you?"

"No," Aziraphale answered truthfully. "In fact I was specifically told to leave the research alone."

"Same."

The whole pub was focusing on the television now as radio broadcasts came in. Radio signals from space - Aziraphale could hardly believe it. If someone had told him a hundred years ago that humans would get to this point so quickly he'd have laughed in their face.

"I was at the launch, you know." Quiet awe coloured Crowley's voice as he watched the screen. "Hopped a flight to Cape Kennedy earlier this week. Oh, it was brilliant, angel; you should've seen it."

The broadcast switched away from the anchors to an indoor studio somewhere. A model lander was being lowered slowly, awkwardly onto a model set, with the caption "CBS News Simulation" beneath it. But with the accompanying radio transmissions, it didn't take too much human imagination to make the visuals match the audio.

The murmuring of the patrons around them died slowly with each minute that passed until the entire room was silent, watching the screen. Even the drunkest of the football fans recognized the weight of what was happening.

"Four forward," crackled the radio signal. "Four forward, drifting to the right a little. Okay, down a half."

Aziraphale risked a glance beside him. Crowley was wholly focused on the television set, stock still and not breathing. In fact, the angel would have bet money that he hadn't remembered to breathe in several minutes. His glasses had slipped a bit down his nose so he could see the broadcast unhindered, and his yellow eyes were wide, waiting, desperate: hope and joy and fear raging behind them in a maelstrom.

"Contact light. Okay, engine stop. ACA out of detent. Mode control, both auto. Descent engine command override off. Engine arm off. 413 is in."

"Man on the moon," one of the news anchors breathed, but the pub held its collective breath. It had to be official. If anything went wrong at the last second...

There was were a few moments of radio static.

"We copy you down, Eagle."

"Houston... Tranquility Base here. The Eagle has landed."

"Roger, Tranquility. We copy you on the ground-"

The pub exploded, drowning out the rest of the broadcast. Crowley was on his feet, whooping and hollering with the loudest of them. Aziraphale applauded enthusiastically and clacked his glass against the beer of the gentleman beside him. "Well done, humanity! Well done indeed!"

Crowley was jumping up and down and screaming himself hoarse, hugging whatever stranger happened to get close to him and being hugged by other random strangers in return. One of the drunker football girls kissed him full on the mouth and he didn't seem to care in the least, going right back to his screaming as she moved on to kiss the bloke beside him.

Aziraphale couldn't help but bask for a moment in the happiness radiating from the humans around him. It wasn't hard to find excited people if you knew where to look, but it was rare that one found so many people all deliriously excited about the same thing. He could feel a sizable portion of Europe celebrating tonight.

Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him enthusiastically, breaking him out of his reverie. Aziraphale thought he glimpsed tears glinting from the corners of the sunglasses. "They did it! Angel, they did it!"

"I can see that! It's very hard to miss."

"Sixty centuries and they made it! Take that, You great cosmic killjoy!" This last was hollered at the ceiling but Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to be cross about it, not with so much happiness humming through the air. "Rico! New round for me and him! Ah Heaven, round for the bar!"

"You're cut off, mate!" the bartender yelled back. But a snap wiped his expression clean as that particular thought was miracled out of his head.

"I," Crowley asserted, downing the rest of his cocktail, "am fresh and ready to go. This party's just getting started. Gonna join me, angel? Betcha the news coverage'll go on for ages."

Aziraphale took the offered refill, already tipsy off the joy coming from both the humans and Crowley. "Oh, why not?"

#good omens #good omens fic #apollo 11 #the moon landing #my writing #it's fun listening to the original radio transmissions

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yeoldontknow · 4 years

Text

Back To The Stars: Primis

Author: @yeoldontknow as part of The Fault of Light collaboration with @j-pping Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: astronaut!au; space travel!au; mars mission!au; soulmate themes; romance; smut; heavy angst; themes of abandonment Summary (this installment): Chanyeol is 11 years old the first time someone walks on the Moon. He is 11, and already he feels his life is changing. Rating (this installment): G Warnings: none; chanyeol is just a cute beybey with his big ears and big eyes and big heart and big excitement and i made myself terribly soft for someone who doesnt really like writing children :( Word Count: 4.2K

masterlist

JULY 20, 1969

It’s the biggest televised event since the coronation of Queen Elizabeth.

At least, that’s what his teachers tell him.

He struggles to understand the magnitude of their words, finding it terribly difficult to wrap his mind around the concept that Kings and Queens could still exist. It seems very fanciful, this idea, but he likes that some kind of magic still seemingly exists within the world. Having spent so long ensuring his best grades are on mathematics and science, keeping his father placated, he feels reassured that there is some truth to fairy tales - a new Queen stepped into power; the books on his shelves are true even if he does not understand why, even if he was not alive to witness it.

Even if his family was still in Korea, so far removed from the pomp and circumstance of this celebration he doubts his parents even remember the significance of such an occasion.

Cuddling into his mother’s side, Chanyeol presses himself deeply into the couch, and listens intently to the anxious chattering of his father as he turns the dial of the TV. It is one hour past his bedtime, and already his eyelids feel heavy with sleep, but he and his sister have finally been allowed to witness the secret activities of adults after they have been tucked into their sheets, and so he listens, not wanting to miss any details. Lips set in a small pout, he nods in time with his father’s pauses, hoping this makes him look mature and astute, wanting, more than anything, to be encouraging.

This is the single most important moment of his career, he says, and Chanyeol hums, aware that his father has been a mathematician his whole life, presumably always, the concept of a career so far reaching and permanent he knits his brow together as he tries to fathom it.

This is precisely why he brought the family to America, and therefore this evening is momentous and personal. Chanyeol was very small when they immigrated to the country, but he distinctly remembers the terribly long boat journey and the way his mother always looked pale and slim under the dim lighting, lips pressed into a tightly shaped grimace that never managed to smear her lipstick. He enjoyed the spray of the ocean as he hung over the railings, and even now he can recall the faint droplets of mist on his fingers; the sort of refreshing happiness that still makes him release a giggle, recalling the faint bubbles on his skin, and his mother hugs him to her side tightly, pleased by the sound as she presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

He remembers the journey, and while he still does not yet fully appreciate why they are here, he knows his mother likes this house more than the other, and that it made his parents happy enough to provide him a sibling. This kind of enthusiasm is something he understands quite well. At eleven years old, he thinks everything should carry this kind of excitement, and so it is nice to see his father finally allowing the tone of it to saturate his words, not just his actions.

And tonight, this is the most excited his father has ever been.

Slowly, and with careful footsteps, his father backs away from the television, doing his best not to introduce any static by interfering with the antenna behind the box. The barely contained apprehension and exhilaration in his joints keeps his limbs remarkably still, even as he relaxes into the reclining chair without truly relaxing at all. Leaning forward on his knees, he adjusts his glasses on the tip of his nose and releases a slow, almost silent sigh. Chanyeol releases his own deep breath, hoping he sounds just as serious and invested.

'How come you're not there, Papa?' he questions, looking between his father and the television.

For months, he has been working late, coming home with deep set bags under his eyes long after supper has been cleaned and put away. It strikes him now that his father came home relatively on time today, joining them for dinner without eating, talking in large, complicated theories and figures that has his mother nodding in interest. Kicking his feet against the couch excitedly, he wonders if, maybe, he will see his father on the television.

'They don't need me there,' he explains, getting off the chair to turn the volume up. 'I helped with only some of math, some of the planning. Essential people are there to provide emergency support.'

'Oh,' he hums airily, and his mother chuckles, pointing at the screen for him to pay attention.

Muffled voices speak over an insignia he can only just make out. Low and gruff in their authoritative urgency, they confirm a rotational degree that has his father releasing a grunt of confirmation, seemingly pleased by the number. Over and over, he traces the shape of the logo with his eyes, its blurry letters arched elegantly above a rocky landscape. CBS news broadcasters talk amongst themselves in between command announcements, narrating a screen they confirm to be an animation, and Chanyeol’s eyes bug slightly, having been convinced the rocket was entirely real. A countdown clock depicts twelve minutes and twenty-seven seconds until touchdown, the rocket releasing a blast that has fire streaking across the screen.

Wiggling out of his mother’s hold, he leans forward and points. 'What's that, Papa?'

'Those are the thrusters,’ he says quickly, though he does his best to keep his voice gentle, doing his best to educate. ‘They help with getting the rocket into orbit for landing.’

Transfixed, he stares at the screen and reads the numbers in English. Recently, his teachers praised him for his excellent reading skills, and he takes his time forming the words with his mouth and tongue, ensuring there is no trace of his natural accent.

‘Velocity is 4,000 F.P.S,’ he recites, folding his hands in his lap, proud that he can pronounce numbers so well in his second language. ‘Altitude is 45,000 feet. That’s higher than Mount Everest, Mama,’ he says, offering her an informative smile as he, too, adjusts the glasses perched on his nose.

‘Is it?’ she asks, sounding surprised. Keen to hear more, she leans close, regarding him expectantly.

‘Yes,’ he nods seriously. ‘We just learned about it in geography this week. This is higher by about…’ Knotting his brow together once more, he quickly does mental math the way his father taught him to, converting kilometers to feet, counting diligently with his fingers. ‘By 15,900 feet,’ he finishes confidently.

‘That’s very high,’ she affirms, looking at the television in wonder. ‘And some very large numbers. You did well.’

‘Well, I am eleven,’ he chastises, because she should know that he is old enough to manage the digits and carry his zeros well.

Still, it bothers him that he does not have a proper scale to understand how high these numbers are in physical metrics, and he quietly makes a plan to create this with his own hands by collecting popsicle sticks his sister discards after her snack.

Focusing his attention back to the screen, he sees that it has changed, the animated rocket moving over the rocky landscape, and now he can finally see the words clearly. The land below the letters is dotted with black holes, some areas brilliantly smooth and others, craggy and mountainous. It is unlike any place he has ever seen, and he casts a sidelong glance to his Atlas in the living room bookshelf, wondering if he missed a page, a country, or, perhaps, if he has not studied the section on the sea closely enough.

'Apollo 11,' he reads out loud, cocking his head to the side as he racks his brain for a country with this name. 'Where are they going?'

To no one in particular, his father smiles. 'That's the Moon.'

‘The Moon?’ he exclaims, incredulously. Sitting up straight, he casts his father a bewildered expression, feeling the tips of his ears growing hot in anticipation. ‘This is the Moon landing? We’re watching the Moon Landing? That’s what you’ve been working on? Why didn’t you say anything?’

‘I couldn’t tell you what I was doing.’ The explanation is curt, brief at best, and pressed between the pauses on the television. ‘It was classified. Besides, isn’t this a nice surprise?’

‘No, it’s not,’ he protests. As he speaks, he hears his voice become filled with the emphatic and insistent cadence it adopts when he has been scorned or told that he is wrong when he knows he is right, and while he can hear it happening, knows that this kind of indignant protesting will result in his being scolded, he simply does not know how to stop. ‘Everyone knows someone is going to the Moon. It’s all anyone has been talking about at school.’

‘Yes.’ The nod of vague acquiescence he receives makes his hands grip the cushion of the couch, the tips of his fingers taking on a curious tingle, swollen with adrenaline. ‘But I couldn’t have you telling everyone your father was involved, could I.’

Chanyeol shakes his head vigorously, lips parted in slight dejection. ‘I wouldn’t have told anyone.’

Finally turning to look at him, his father peers at him knowingly over the rim of his glasses, one eyebrow arched in warning. In this false sense of quiet, Chanyeol is filled with the overwhelming sense that he is treading on dangerous waters, his overzealous nature getting the best of him - a habit he has and, at such a young age, is still learning to manage. Silence is difficult, makes his skin hurt when he is this passionate, this eager, finding it impossibly difficult to calm his abject disquiet at being denied information.

Still, his father’s watchful brow is admonishing enough, words drying in his throat as he crosses his arms over his chest with a quiet huff.

Falling back into the couch, he frowns and settles back into his mother’s side. ‘Okay,’ he mumbles, doing his best not to sound dramatically despondent. ‘But only just Rodney. He’s my only friend, and he’s here all the time anyway.’

Turning his attention back to the television, his father effectively puts an end to the conversation. ‘Just watch.’

It takes less than six minutes for his sister to fall asleep, shoulders slumping as she curls in their mother’s lap, tiny hands gripping her shirt for comfort. She breathes evenly, peacefully, and while Chanyeol does long to join her, steadily growing more tired the longer he stares at a terrain that looks precisely the same from all directions, something in his belly keeps him awake, far more alert than he usually would be. He can hear it in the voices of the announcers, the way they say just enough, never too much, mystified just the same by the words of the commanders.

As time passes, he latches on to certain phrases, words that normally would not go together but sound remarkable when said within the same breath.

Fuel Monitor. Approach phase.

His vocabulary books have not yet taught him some of these words, but he recalls, very distantly, hearing his father muttering numbers and ratios alongside these phrases late at night while hunched over the dining table. Sometimes, when he would sneak down from his bedroom in the late hours of the night for a glass of water, Chanyeol would see him curled over in his chair, scribbling notes in the dim light of a desk lap. At the time, they sounded musical, like lullabies he might have been rehearsing to help his sister fall asleep.

Now, he chastises himself for not having paid attention to the way they are heavy, powerful, curving around his tongue as they take hold of parts of him he did not know existed. They cling to him, burrow down into his marrow and settle, not unlike roots.

Wondering how they would sound coming from his mouth, in his voice, he mumbles to himself, silently letting them escape on his exhale, trying them on for size. All at once he feels terribly important, the sudden weight of responsibility impossibly great, and so he returns to simply watching, feeling as though he has rushed himself somewhere he is not yet ready to be, but wants just the same.

When the countdown hits zero, he expects a cacophony of noise, and inwardly prepares for an eruption of joy so volatile he thinks the earth may crumble. It is finished, so therefore everyone should be celebrating its completion, but still his father remains seated - though, he is hardly in his chair at all. Over time, he has inched forward on the cushion, preciously balanced on the edge as he presses the palms of his hands into the fabric of his slacks.

Everyone seems to be waiting, and so he decides to wait too, the tension in the room feeling not unlike the threat of loss. Wringing his hands together, he squirms restlessly, room so quiet he wonders if anyone is even breathing, if even the men on the news have decided to stop the air in their lungs, oxygen unnecessary now that men have learned to walk through space.

Eventually, after what feels like an impossibly long time, he hears it:

“Houston, the Eagle has landed.”

In one swift motion, his father leaps from his chair, hands clutched at his sides in fists and eyes latched on the screen as his mouth opens, uncertain if he should laugh or cry or both all at the same time, a guttural noise of unprecedented awe. His mother lifts one hand to her mouth as she laughs, the fervor of her amazement jostling him gently, their determinedly poised expression of triumph somehow wondrously loud. Outside, beyond the picture window of the living room, he can hear other families celebrating, some brought out into the street to set off firecrackers; the magnitude of their excitement a thunder that rolls through the night sky, victorious in nature and marvelously unifying in its breadth.

Craning his neck up and back, he glances out the window to the night sky and studies the moon, her paltry light and her enduring solitude, and he shifts against the couch cushion to get closer. Nestled deeply into the inky black of the night, the moon is not yet full, little more than a sliver of light he thinks could be his fingernail, a piece of him etched into the sky. Never in his life as it appeared so close, the surrounding shadows doing little to mistake her shape for smallness, so near to him now he imagines he could reach out and touch it. He tries to picture it, the bodies of people walking along the surface as he holds it in his hands, tries to imagine them, their figures moving through the light, but sees nothing, just the rise and fall of her light, the craters and the white.

When he looks back at the broadcast, once more the scene has changed but this time the animations and projections have completely disappeared. Now, it is simply the Moon - the Moon and its landscape, inching ever closer as the rocket made its descent. A small notice in the corner states that footage comes with a delay, and therefore he is seeing, now, what he should have been seeing several minutes ago. He falls into them the same way the rocket seemed to fall slowly, delicately, to the surface, as though he was there, as though this secondary, retroactive landing is all his own.

Gripping the edge of the cushion, he finds there is something profoundly compelling about the surface of the Moon, and all its vast emptiness. Though there is nothing, it seems there is an ever present something, an itch at the back of his mind that feels perplexingly like delight and disappointment at the same time.

‘How come we’re only seeing these now?’

Looking to his father for just a moment, he hopes there is a reasonable explanation for why he should only be receiving this information now. Now, when there is likely so much more to be seen, so much more to know, and so much he is unable to see, doing his best not to feel heartbroken at the prospect.

‘It takes time for the image information to come back to Earth,’ he explains evenly, having finally reclined back into his chair now that the great work has been completed. ‘It takes time for Mission Control to receive, process, and broadcast them.’

It is logical, he knows, but still it is not enough. He thinks nothing will ever be enough, ever again. ‘Why?

Chuckling, his father releases a sigh. ‘Light has to travel between Earth and the Moon, and our technology just hasn’t caught up with light yet.’ He pauses momentarily, falling quiet in that dreamy way Chanyeol admires when his father is about to say something profound, something that always makes him feel like puzzles are the embodiment of bliss. ‘It will, though, one day.’

Chanyeol likes that idea, the notion that something, anything, could move alongside beams of light. Sometimes, when his mother lets him set up the tent in the backyard, he takes his flashlight and his binoculars out and points them to the sky, hoping for a better view of the stars. The beam from his flashlight reaches upward, higher than his own arms can stretch, far past the trees and up into nothingness. It always seems to happen in an instant.

‘How fast is light?’

His father hums, considering the question. ‘Think about it this way,’ he begins, still sounding far away, immersed in his thoughts. ‘It takes light from the Sun eight minutes and seventeen seconds to reach Earth.’ Chanyeol’s eyes widen, acutely aware of the vast distance between the Sun and the Earth, and the way his parent’s Buick could never go that fast - not even the boat they took to get here could compete. ‘Imagine moving that fast.’

His attention moves back to the lunar surface, eyes still wide as he studies the deep craters and the way the black of the sky beyond is somehow even more black than the one he sees beyond his window. This black is infinite, all consuming, and he has the creeping sensation that if he were to reach out to touch it, his very hand would disappear. Swallowing thickly, he stares at it, mystified, trying to recall if the monochrome of their television has ever been so dark.

“It’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”

A laugh erupts from his father, the loudest his laugh has ever been and his mother simply shakes her head, voice having fled perhaps to where the stars are hung. Chanyeol watches as his father laughs and claps his hands, a myriad of emotions walking over his face with each exhale of breath.

‘Whose voice is that?’ he asks, wanting to know who made his father so happy.

‘Astronaut Neil Armstrong.’

Astronaut. This is a word he knows, one his classmates have been saying repeatedly over the last three days. The first time he’d heard it, he returned home and went immediately to his mother’s English dictionary, searching for a better definition than the one his peers have provided.

Astronaut. A noun. Added to English lexicon in 1929, a date not too far reaching in the past, a date that reminds him of sepia toned white linen clothes and Japan. A compound of Astron and Nautes, Greek for Star and Sailor respectively. Popularized in 1961 due to America’s space travel program, now meaning space-traveler.

He likes Star Sailor better, but up until this moment he had no frame of reference for the application, no sense of who would do such a thing, or how. Astronaut Neil Armstrong has a rich voice, one that he likes listening to, clear toned and full of good humor. Apprehension waits at the back of each of his words, every word he says a first, every step he takes a first, everything about Neil Armstrong is first.

‘I could do that,’ he whispers to no one, just for himself and the sky.

Gripped by his sudden jealousy, by Neil Armstrong’s voice, and the way he must wait, impatiently, for several minutes just to see something new, he seemingly both forgets his parents are in the room with him and wishes, simultaneously and all the way into his blood, that it was him on the Moon and not Neil. He doesn’t want to wait to see it all, he wants every moment to be filled with this kind of enterprising discovery, this kind of relentless adventure. It is not enough to see the high contrast of black and white on the screen, because he knows, as though he has always known, the world beyond is so much more colourful than this.

Sometimes, when he goes camping with Rodney and his parents, they sneak out of their tent long past bedtime and look up at the stars - the sky dotted endlessly with blots of light. In the shimmer of night, the light has colours - the sky a deep purple, the stars a mix of red and blue and yellow, sometimes even green in their hue. Surely, the view from the moon must be just as brilliant, and Chanyeol hates that he is not seeing it, not really, not for himself.

It’s when Neil Armstrong begins to jump that things begin to change, the lines between himself and the astronaut blurring altogether. In the low gravity of the Moon, the scene fades from the surface of the moon to something new entirely, the broadcasters laughing incredulously at the sheer silliness of it. Neil Armstrong takes long strides, lifting off the balls of his feet and jumping forward, landing gently on the surface before repeating the action.

Everyone is laughing. Neil’s voice is full of childish glee. His father presses his head back into the cushion of the chair, eyes closed as though welcoming a rapture. Beside him, his mother swallows her laughter, afraid of moving too much and waking his sister. Chanyeol thinks the whole world might be laughing in unison, bonded by the pure euphoria of this moment.

But he is excluded from this. He is not euphoric. He is ravenous.

Chanyeol rises to a stand, convinced now that he is just the same as Neil and, because there is no difference, he should not have to wait to touch the Moon himself.

Moving through the living room with fast strides, he is reminded of his mother’s rule that there is no running in the house. He’s not really running, he thinks, moving at a speed just below the true definition of running, passing through the kitchen to the sliding glass door and into the back yard. Behind him, his parents are calling out, demanding that he come back to the couch. But he ignores them, eyes trained on his singular goal.

Summer’s trampoline is set up in the center of the soft grass, just beyond the patio. A consolation for their lack of a pool, he spends most of his days bouncing while his sister watches from the side, head craned upward to watch him soar. He’s been tremendously silly, he thinks, spending nearly the entire month of June and into July attempting a back flip when he should have been doing this.

Hippity hoppity.

Climbing onto the trampoline, he takes off his slippers and socks, tossing them over the side and into the grass. His mother lingers in the doorway, calling for him to come down and come back inside, but he doesn’t listen. Chanyeol jumps, bracing himself and bending his knees for each landing so he can gain more height, more speed. With each rise and fall he keeps his eyes trained on the Moon, the sliver of light that looms ever closer, growing more bright the longer he looks. At his highest point, he reaches out his arms, letting his hands trace its edges, before falling away, slipping away back to Earth.

If he gets close enough, he is certain he could grab hold of it, certain that he too is defying gravity, the laws of science that his father so often lectures him about. Putting more force into his knees, he jumps again, his mother’s voice a scolding bark of annoyance and irritation - claiming that he will break the trampoline, that he will hurt himself, that he will wake his sister and other neighbors.

Let them see, he thinks. Chanyeol wants them all to watch as he grabs hold of the Moon and refuses to let go.

Because, why shouldn’t it be him?

Hippity hoppity.

Author’s Note: this originally was intended to be part of the much larger one shot, but as i was writing i felt that it kind of stood alone as more a prologue than anything else. this moment is not referenced again in the full story, but it does set up a lot of information about chanyeol, why he goes to space to begin with, and will be reflected in a different scene within the full story. @j-pping and i both agreed it suits the series best as a prologue so i hope you enjoy it ;--;

Research Notes: i watched the archival footage of the Moon landing from NASA and CBS news archives. the quotes italicized were actual words said during the landing. neil’s famous quote is actually ‘one small step for a man [...]’ however due to delay and dropped frequency the word was lost - this is also why most commands and answers were four words at max. the original news broadcast was done in technicolor, however owning a TV in technicolor was still not entirely common in the 60s and become more prominent in the early 70s, hence why Chanyeol watches everything in black and white. if anyone reading this is an astrophysicist, im doing my best to research everything featured in this story to precise accuracy but if something is wrong im sorry and please let me know :(

tag list: @delightpcy @noellestrash @falsemagic @wonderlustlucas @junkfoodwriting @taestfully @heatofmyexoheart @5am-rainyandgrey @dont-have-fear @cloudyhaechan @pimolalola @ahgishaman @softly-savage-mint-yoongi @yehet-me-up @lamichellee

#chanyeol x reader #chanyeol x you #exosnet #kwritersworldnet #exowritersnet #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol angst #chanyeol au #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol fanfiction #chanyeol romance #exo au #exo scenario #exo romance #exo angst #exo fanfic #exo fanfiction #park chanyeol

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mydearfortune · 3 years

Text

Love in a mist

@meroniaevent day 3: spring

Sorry for being this late. I didn't plan to write a whole fic for it but it got out of hand and here we are. Enjoy :3

AO3

Sumary: It's still cold outside, but the buds of spring have begun to sprout.

Near wakes up to the sound of the morning broadcast. Strange feelings of nostagia occupy him. They never need to check the news on the television, L has access to information sources from all over the world. They never need this television in the first place, he has those specialized for his job, this is one of the properties go with this house they bought and Near doesn't bother to remove it. But the sound has something familiar. How long has it been since the last time they heard something playing on the screen? Now after years of living together in this cottage by the lake, previous memories at Wammy House feel so old and rusty.

Little clanking noise can be heard from the kitchen. Near leaves the TV on, and makes way out of the bedroom. Mello is preparing breakfast with chocolate in his mouth. Some sausages have been plated on the table, along side another bar of chocolate, and a fleshly-picked flower placed in a glass bottle.

Near pauses at the flower. Snow has stopped for a few weeks now, but it's cold outside and Near doubts any buds of spring have begun to sprout. Yet the flower is lively vivid before his eyes, spreading its blue petals as it blooms. He sits down and doesn't ask what is it or what it's for, silently observes it while waiting for Mello.

Nigella damascena, common name "love-in-a-mist". Native to southern Europe, north Africa and southwest Asia, can be found on neglected, damp patches of land. Grows to 20–50 cm tall, with pinnately divided, thread-like, alternate leaves. The flowers are most commonly different shades of blue. Mello probably chose it on purpose, the flower called love in a mist means perplexity in flower language. "You puzzle me", it says.

They exchange small touches here and there, none of them speak about the flower and Mello leaves after breakfast. It’s strange how their love work, as strange as how Mello manange to pick a love in a mist when spring has yet to come, Near muses, but then stops himself from thinking further. He has given up on analyzing Mello. Mello doesn't like being analyzed by anyone, he despise those "all-seeing dark eyes", as how Matt described in a conversation Near overheard back then when they were at Wammy's. This is just a flower, Near decides and tries not to overthink. He wants to extinguish the idea of know more about it, or Mello’s purpose. It’s dangerous because he has to do the one thing Mello most hates. And it’s not worth, risking this peaceful life to do so.

__________

It’s late summer, the season of love in a mist. The flower they had in the bottle has long withered and Near threw it down the lake, but its after-image comes back to life inside his head after months of forgotten. He has never taken a step out of his house but he gives it a try and talk to some locals. They don’t help much though, beside confirming him that there’s no love in a mist growing in the area. Near returns home after a walk in the forest, an envelope in their suppose-to-be-emty mail box greets him.

The successor from the first generation sent them a handmade postcard, spilled in red liquid. Half jam half blood, must be some unfortunate animals, he examines while Mello amusingly fliping it backward and forward. How fast of him. The news came five days ago, Beyond has been granted amnesty. Kira had B's face and name but couldn't kill him. Death Note did give him a heart attack, but B recovered. He isn’t a complete human afterall. His status in Wammy House files marks as "Deceased", Watari was neglectful when it came to failed products and L was busy with his new interest. Near wonders if it's worth spending twenty years in prison for someone who died chasing the moon.

Mello goes downtown and they have a drink. Near doesn't join them. They talk to B in different manners, on different subjects, with different points of view. Both of them prefer to avoid clashing their differences, given it ended up with nothing good in the past.

Mello rushes to their bed and is dead asleep the momment he returns. Near assume they have a good time, but B never satisfy with Mello’s side of the story. He knows B would come for him and keeps the kitchen light on, waits for B crawling up one of the windows. They stay up until 2am. B loves the game they played and feeding him with their own old stories so he would shut up and leave them alone is tiresome. Near doesn’t want to remember that time. He made mistakes, terrible mistakes. He underestimated Kira. He thought Mello was dead and therefore didn't want to open the LABB Cases paper they got from Mello's hide-out. He missed out Mello's message hidden in it. By time Near was able to find Mello again, four years had been wasted. For all those mistakes, it's overwhelming that the game ended and they both settled down.

"You know both of you can never settle, Nate."

B laughs and disappears into the dark forest as he leaves, waving hand holding the copy of his case written by Mello. Near turns off the light and returns to where the other is sleeping. He lets himself fall heavily on their bed, not expecting a slightest move from his dearest. Mello’s hand goes for his hair, he is awake. It’s a humid night and their clothes come off easily. Near’s mind wanders in the land of mist as they start kissing. Their love, the flower means it. Love in a mist. He can feel the shapes of it, but he can’t see anything clear. Should he try and see what is there? Near hesitates.

He remembers times when he received such anger and hatred for knowing what Mello would do and what Mello would not. He remembers the cold gun against his head, seconds after he said he valued Mello action. He was genuinely grateful, but Mello has always let words from Near sieve through his inferiority-powered filter, and nothing affectionate remain. Near rarely show any clear emotion in his tone of speaking and that make it worse. Any effort of knowing Mello turns into gloatings about how Near see through him inside Mello’s head, that’s why he chose to stop making effort. But it’s has been a while since then, they are close for long enough, has anything changed? Is it fine trying to understand Mello now? Beause he wants to know.

Near has to be careful. He can't risk throwing this life away. This is what he has ever wanted, to be with Mello. To be able to touch him and hold him. To feel his warmth and breath, to feel Mello alive and feel alive. One wrong decision and everything would be destroyed. How did Mello fall for him shouldn't be so important at this rate, but Near wants to know.

His head fill with numb from where their skin meets. Mello gave him a flower, a signal that it’s the right time, is it? Does Mello want him to know? “You puzzle me.” “You puzzle me too.” Near replies himself. He wants to know.

"How did you find that flower here in February?" Near whispers, as if he afraid Mello would hear it. As if it’s a wrong decision. Mello turns to him with a smile.

“Wait until next year. I’ll show you.”

__________

Near wakes to the sound of morning broadcast. Strange feelings of nostagia occupy him. Mello is standing next to the television, waiting him to get up. It’s was this day last year, wasn’t it? The day Near saw their love in a mist.

Their boat travels across the lake. The fog makes it hard to know the direction, but Mello knows where he’s going. Near shivers when a gust of wind blows by.

“I want to take you to the other side of the lake, where the buds sprout and become flowers. I want you to understand.” Mello looks at him, hand fixing his white hair.

“I want to understand as well. You didn’t let me in the past.”

“It wasn’t the right time in the past. The winter was cold and we built fortress to hide ourselves in. My fortress wasn’t a very hospitable one. And the winter become colder, the sun was gone. I had to built a bigger fortress, supporting my ego from falling apart. No one in, no one out. I didn’t like it when you knocked on my door back then. I wouldn’t like it now, but I’m living in a cottage. The fortress has long gone. I left when the snow stopped, winter wasn’t over and it’s still cold outside, but the buds of spring had begun to sprout. I found them, my love in a mist.”

They arrive at the shore. Bushes of love in a mist blooming before their eyes, lively and vivid, spreading their blue petals like diamond. Mello reaches his hand out to pick one of them.

“I was also cluecless of how I fell for you. It baffled me and I don’t want you to be the first one to find out like you always are. I want to discover it myself and share it with you. Takes years, but it comes out beautiful.”

Near stares the flower. “They don’t grow in this area, they don’t bloom in spring.” He should be satisfied with Mello’s answer, he should have said something nicer, but he wants to fully understand it, to fully understand Mello. He knows the process, but it’s impossible to start it considering the plant’s nature, Mello’s nature.

“I can make the impossible happen. You are a part of how this happened.”

“You mean we can make the impossible happen?”

“You said it yourself before you even have my permission to do so, and now you are asking me?”

Near replies with a smile. Was Mello there hearing when he declared? Toghether we are… together we can… Some memories flash through his mind. Mello pulls him closer and they hug. It’s a cold morning but they are warm in each other arms, their clothes may come off easily. They wouldn’t want to tumble down into the water but everything else shouldn't be so important at this rate. The buds sprouted. Spring is here.

#meroniaevent #meronia #mello #near #fortune draw #fortune rant/write

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neo-culture-mafia · 4 years

Text

그림자

last chapter

"'sup bitches." Hyuck called, walking in the front door with groceries in hand.

"Duckie, I have told you 9 separate times to not greet like that." I spun around in the swivel chair, "it's rude." I reasoned and he took his sunglasses off his face, holding them in the same hand as his motorcycle keys. "Whoops?...I guess." He chuckled, strutting over to where I sat at the living room desk.

I turned back around to look at the paperwork spanning across the wood surface. "What's this, sunflower?" He asked grabbing the first paper he could grab. He flicked his brown curls from his vision to have a good look at what was taking place in black ink.

"Money flipping?" He asked me, with a cocked eyebrow and an unamused look. "Yep. Just for a little while," I winked and snatched the paper back. I sighed, setting it back down on the desk, "just until we have enough for an apartment in the city."

He groaned and walked down the hall to the kitchen. "We have everything we need here." He called as I knew he was emptying the contents of the grocery bags into the respectful places they belonged.

I leaned my arm on the desk, laying my head in my hand and staring at the Polaroids above the desk. Some were of us: me, Mark and Hyuck, and some of the rest of the boys...now just a distant memory is what they felt like.

483 days...483 days since we last saw each other. On that damn night. That dreadful night that me and Mark were turned away and shunned like we were dogs.

Then we traveled back to Seoul to find Duckie. After he was missing for 3 weeks, I ran into him by chance in an alley. We actually had gotten in a first fight till his hood fell back and I was met with the melanin enriched skin that made my eyes weep.

I told him to leave, go back, that he was welcomed there. But, he didn't want to leave me or Mark. We lived in the shit shack eating nothing but crackers and water for a couple months, sometimes we opted for sleep as our daily meal.

Until Mark came home with money. He had gotten that damn tunnel door open by the grace of a higher-being: filled with cash to the brim.

Us 3 bought a 2 bedroom farm house in the somewhat country where we were best friends with our retired neighbors; their thoughts and whispers of us being in a 3-way relationship being the talk of the small farming town. We didn't care. We knew what we were doing here and what we needed to do in the future.

"Oh honey. I'm home." Donghyuck called through the house and a door opened to a wet Mark who was towel drying his hair in nothing but sweatpants. "Did you get me the stuff?" He asked all serious, and I looked down the dim hallway to see Mark's blonde hair being tossled by his towel.

Hyuck gave him a flat face, a hand on his hip and another holding him up on the counter. "Yes, Mark. I got you your 'stuff'." He rolled his eyes, going away and returning with a big ass watermelon.

"Yesss," Mark took it and automatically held it to his ear, knocking on it like it was a heavy wood door. "you picked a good one." Mark looked lovingly at the fruit in his arms as if it was a child.

I laughed as I looked at my wacky friend. "Why can't you be obsessed with something usual. Like beer, or poker."

The curly headed boy asked as he walked back down the hall towards me. Taking his thick jacket off and throwing it over the arm of the couch; sitting down he unlaced and unzipped his boots, throwing them by the door.

You watched the conversation play out like a terrible teen-sitcom. "Cause I'd rather die by watermelon overdose than alcohol intoxication-" Mark was cut off as he walked slowly to the front room where Hyuck and I sat. "Yeah yeah yeah. Too many big words for this early in the morning." Hyuck put his arm over his eyes and laid back.

Mark looked at me and we both looked at the clock. "Sweetie, its 3 in the afternoon." I giggled and he whined. "It's so early." He said and stood up.

"I'm getting changed and I'm gonna chill." He said looking at Mark who still clutched his watermelon to his bare chest, damp towel thrown over his shoulder.

"And?" Mark asked. "Why do I care?" He asked and the younger boy just shrugged. "Also...your night for dinner." Mark reminded him and Hyuck whined louder, running down the hall and smacking into our bedroom door.

"Donghyuck!" I jumped up, wanting to check if he was okay. He just kept on whining as he opened our door and went in, closing it.

You could still hear his shrieks as he was probably running around getting changed into comfier clothes.

"Then there were two." Mark sighed as he set his watermelon on the kitchen window, and plopping onto the long couch on the opposite side of the living room.

"I need to redo your hair soon." I said getting up and laying on the ground next to his couch. "I might let it grow up to a ponytail." I sat up quickly. "Uh. No you're not." My voice was harsh and he laughed.

"Girl you need to chill. I was joking." He chuckled, stretching and yawning.

Something that Jaemin used to say to me atleast once an hour. My smile faltered and I became more solemn.

"Do you miss them?" I asked and he just stared at me for a moment. "Who?" Was all he said and I knew that he knew exactly who he was talking about but it still hurt a little bit.

"Your boys." I said and a faint smile was broadcasted over his facial features as he stared into what seemed like distant space but was really just the dark TV.

"Of course." He exasperated and he looked back at my face who was just searching for reassurance that this path was the right one to take.

"But I am so thankful for the two of you, right here, right now." He smiled and my heart was put at ease.

"Alright I'm back. I sensed you guys missed me so I returned. Just for you guys!" Hyuck said as he sat down next to me and leaned back on his arms for support. "Oh yeah. 'Cause we were literally dying without your presence." I said sarcastically and he shrugged.

"Exactly. That's what I just said." He said as serious as possible and me and Mark laughed. "Oh you think you're so funny." Donghyuck said picking me up and pulling me on his lap, his hands reaching for my sides and tickling.

My shrieks and laughs radiated through the house as Mark watched on in admiration. He felt blessed that he made it this far. He also never failed to tell us atleast once a week. We were all each other's life and support systems.

Once hyuck stopped his evil act, I just laid there across his lap trying to resteady my breath.

"What's for dinner?" I looked up at him and he shrugged. "I haven't really looked to be completely honest." He said yawning.

"Well let's go see and then we can make it, eat, clean, and then chill for a while." I said getting up and putting my hand out for him to take.

He groaned but obliged at my request.

He was in some shorts and a basic hoodie. The scarring on his legs reminding us all of a dark period. A painful time that sometimes still follows us.

I have a scar on my back from that night. I don't remember anything of the tunnels but the burning pain in my calves, wanting to stop sprinting through the dark and lonely concrete jungle.

Him and I stood infront of the cupboards in silence.

I suddenly felt so tired and out of it. Like a heavy weight was on my chest and it wouldn't budge.

"Oooo. Spaghetti." He said stretching and reaching the noodles and sauce on the top shelf. I shrugged as he looked at me for my reaction to his suggestion.

"You okay?" He asked and I could only shrug and try to give a convincing smile.

"Yeah. Just thinking about stuff." I shrugged once more and he understood.

"Can you help me with dinner?" He asked and of course I agreed, wanting to get my mind off the looming darkness in the corners of the house.

"Alright. We need 2 pots and then you can figure out some sides we can have with it." He said and I was already grabbing the 2 pots.

I set them on the stove top and he began doing his own thing. I rummaged through the cabinets and fridge before feasting my eyes on what seemed like the perfect pairing.

"Salad?"

~~~~~~~~~

Trying to sleep that night was rough. It was just tough and not even the usual cuddly nature of the sleeping Hyuck next to me could lull me into dream land.

The dark feeling still followed me through dinner and to bed.

I tried staring at the wall but even then the small cracks started freaking me out. I turned towards Hyuck who's curly dark hair framed his face perfectly.

Don't get us wrong. We're not a thing. We're just close. Once we found each other again he has stuck to my side in hopes of fulfilling what he thought he didn't in the first place- protection.

I don't mind. We've always been close and now we've just gotten closer. Was sharing a bedroom in our plans?...no...but we didn't want to put up with Mark and his farting so he was blessed with having his own room.

We're just making do with what we have.

My finger lightly traced shapes on his arm tattoos, trying to pass time and get myself to sleep.

I groaned and his eyes opened. "What's wrong?" He asked looking at the alarm clock on the bedside table.

3:29 AM

He turned back to make sure I was okay. He sat up on his arm and just looked at me for a moment. "Are you hurt?" Was all he asked and I shook my head no. I wouldn't know how to explain the hurt I was feeling anyway.

"I just need water." I said getting up and crawling to the end of the bed. "Be back in 5 minutes please." He said grabbing his phone. I mumbled my recognition and opened our door.

I strided down the hall and grabbed a water bottle. I walked into the hall where the corridor meets living room. Hyuck's phone lit one end of the hall in our bedroom while the other was illuminated by the moon light.

1 sip.

I breathed and looked out the front window at the old couples house across from ours.

2 sips.

I can hear my heart beat as I try to drown it out with gulps of water.

3 sips.

I have a sudden urge to sprint up and down our street to try and rid the shakiness of my body.

4 sips.

I'm not even cold but my anxiety makes my bones sound like wooden spoons and my body go cold with shivers.

And that's when I see it.

The shadow.

It moved on the front porch.

"I'm going crazy." I spoke in a monotone.

"What?" I heard Hyuck call out, now sitting up in the bed.

The shadow came closer to the door, an arm raised, as if it was going to bash in the glass.

"That's not real." I said louder, my water bottle now dropped from my cold hand.

I heard a thud and a swear along with an opening door.

"Mark. Up, now." And a pair of feet come closer down the dark hallway.

The shadow just seemed frozen now as Hyuck stood right by me.

"What is that?" He muttered and Mark now was coming closer, trying to see tiredly through his glasses.

The arm went back and forth a couple of times. "Hyuck go get your gun." Mark said lowly but I wanted to fight this thing head on.

I walked straight to the door before any of their hands could grab me. I threw the door open as my heart felt like it was going to beat right out of my chest.

I was met with bleached blonde hair, a blood splattered face, a cold stare, and a muscly build that held ink and a face of an old someone I used to know.

"Jeno?" I choked out, wanting to vomit as my body went numb from shock. This wasn't real. I was dreaming. This wasn't happening.

I held my hands out towards his face, moving ever so slowly until his own hands held my own.

The boys behind me became silent as I knew one of them held a gun, still on edge for this too good to be true situation.

I threw myself at him and just held onto his muscular frame. His arms held me tight in a grip that I used to miss.

The metallic smell on him made my nose scrunch up in disgust but I was just too wrapped into the moment to care.

My body was yanked back forcefully and I was thrown back into the living room at the feet of a shell shocked Mark who could nothing but stare forward.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I thought Donghyuck was losing it as he cocked his gun and held it at the face of his once brother.

"Duckie what are you doing?" I asked getting up and grabbing at his arm.

Jeno just did nothing but stare down the metal barrel in front of his face, his hands being raised next to his head.

"I did a sweep of the surrounding place and it's sketc-" another body came walking up our porch.

The tall boy still seemed lanky but had glasses this time. His hair was now a lighter brown and it seemed like he had grown another 4 inches in the span of a year.

"Jisung?" I muttered and he was still met another gun barrel.

This time from Mark who had shoved me back again.

"Please don't shoot." Jisung pleaded, scared setting into his features.

"We need help. Please." Jisung begged but Jeno still held his stare with Hyuck.

"Everyone is gone." Jisung pleaded.

"Please." He whispered, his eyes were threatening to spill.

182 notes · View notes

loyally-unfaithful · 4 years

Text

desolation!au (lunatic!kaede au)

summary: in canon, kotetsu manages to restore barnaby's memory at the last second, but what if it didn't work? what if kaede ex machina never got the chance to save her father at the top of the apollon media tower and restore the other heroes' memories? in fact, what if she never knew they were being brainwashed in the first place?what if kotetsu died that day?

basically me developing my idea of an au where, consumed by anger and grief, kaede seeks lunatic to help her in carrying her revenge and murdering her father's killer.

illustration of lunatic!kaede is attached at the very end of the fic :3

a/n: tbh, i was watching tiger & bunny w/ my friends and at some point i thought about kaede being lunatic's student because i just want to see her start shit and it wasn't anything much at first, just small headcanons here and little doodles there. but then idk , i made a little sketch and it all snowballed from there.

i ended up developing this au and have become quite invested in it.

i’m aware the format looks like cat shit on mobile, im sorry. if it’s super disruptive to the reading experience, feel free to refer to the ao3 version (links are in my desc).

alternate names lmao

lunatic!kaede! au

cats-on-the-moon!au

revenge girl!au

revenge-girl-out-for-revenge!au

vendetta! au

synopsis

follows the same storyline up until the memory loss arc, where the au experiences a massive canon divergence.

kotetsu receives a chance to escape after being aided by lunatic, and, not letting his unsuccessful attempt at making his friends remember his true identity deter him, he gathered them at the top of the apollon media tower. he tries again to make them remember that he is wild tiger, and not a murderer, but much like in canon the rest of the group do not believe him—though some falter briefly. unlike canon, however, is that kaede ex machina does not appear in time to unleash maverick’s next power that she copied to restore everyone’s memories.

she does make an attempt to reach the tower where her father is taking a stand, but she does not encounter maverick and on her way up the roof the elevator stops—as it should during emergencies... without her interference, the rest of the hero team overpower kotetsu who is smashed through the roof and lands into saito’s lab. realising that the latter doesn’t remember who he was either, kotetsu quickly grabs his suit and motorbike to try to escape and regroup with ben. the rest of the heroes rush to go after him, though some (blue rose, etc) are more hesitant than others (rock bison, etc). on the way down they [the heroes] find kaede and become preoccupied with her. they’re experiencing an emergency but the child refuses to leave, so some of the heroes have their hands full handling her.

during this, the cameras continue to follow kotetsu. in the end, barnaby pursues kotetsu on his own vehicle and they fight at the bridge where they first teamed up. kaede can follow what is currently happening as the event is broadcasted and grows increasingly hysterical, screaming that she needs to be there and that they’re [blue rose, sky high, etc] supposed to be helping her dad, not pursue him. at some point before the final blow, the feed cuts—the camera probably got hit by chunks of armour or other sort of debris.

the fight follows canon up until barnaby intends on delivering the final kick

« so this is it, eh? take care lil’ bunny…»

this time, the kick connects.

at this point kaede is inconsolable, not being able to handle the fact that the broadcast cut and she can’t check her father’s condition in real time anymore. the heroes’ attempt at getting her to speak or to tell them who her guardian is is met with choked sobs and no response.

there’s two way i see her finding out about her father’s defeat, and subsequent death:

the least traumatic, but still traumatic option: the feed was the last time she ever saw her father. the heroes only hear that « the criminal has been captured/dealt with by barnaby » on their private channel so they slowly excuse themselves and disperse, leaving kaede alone. some of the security guards approach her, trying to get a number to contact but eventually learn that she wasn’t speaking and let her sit there for a bit before calling the authorities.

the intensely traumatic “whoa you ruined a perfectly good 10-11 year old” option: as kaede grows increasingly distressed and the heroes try to keep her under control, she sees members of staff trying to cart something off discreetly. she gets a quick glance on what is being carried and recognises the hand poking out under the large tarp covering the rest of the body. it had her father’s wedding band, which he continued to wear, and upon realising what had happened, she immediately goes catatonic and wouldn’t react to the heroes anymore.

she either sits in the empty building until very late at night, sits outside on the bus stop with no intention of getting on simply watching the last of the buses disappear in the horizon, or waits at the police station with no intention of telling them who to call.

she eventually reaches the conclusion that her father will probably never come back as he died on her own and breaks down.

much like option 1) she sits in the empty building, waiting for someone who will never return.

in both options, ben ex machina (yes kaede got demoted in this au im sorry) finds her and explains to her that he was her father’s boss. this gained her attention somewhat, and she let him drive her back home after he told her that her grandmother has been frantically contacting ben after realising that kaede wouldn’t pick up.

during all this, she remains silent and out of it, still not fully accepting that her father wasn’t coming back home: kaede knows it’s no use to wait for her father anymore, but doesn’t outwardly admit the fact just in case he really is alive. she knows she’s just lying to herself.

on their way back to the kaburagi home, ben explains to her that he tried to get on that bridge as fast as possible to intercept the two, but only arrived after barnaby had left the scene. he doesn’t go into much detail, but does give her the few things he had found and recognised was kotetsu’s:

the tiger emblem that he kept this whole time

the two matching christmas pins that (unknowingly to both ben and kaede) he shared with his former partner

the first sound kaede makes in a long time is more wracking sobs as she clutches the small objects.

she passes out sometimes during transit, and wakes up the next afternoon in her room, the memorabilia safe in her pocket.

the next day, hero tv, and the organisations that funds it, refuses to make an official statement on kotetsu’s whereabouts after being intercepted by barnaby—they know that the latter murdered kotetsu, but they avoid the question in order to save his and the company’s reputation. they would answer something like:

kotetsu running away

being imprisoned for 250 years, with no visitors.

accidentally got himself killed

for the most part, the general populace accepted this outcome and thanked the diligent work of the heroes, but kaede and her family know better. kotetsu wasn’t the type to just leave, and he wouldn’t have committed murder in the first place. this official statement further cemented the fact that kotetsu had died—been killed. within sternbild, another powerful figure also doubted the credibility of the statement. yuri would literally see the red flags, but the situation really isn’t in his favour and he doesn’t know where to even tackle this. he’d need to do more digging up before planning out his attack.

kaede concludes (correctly) that barnaby was behind her father’s death, and possessed with anger and hatred, decided that she will get revenge one way or another and prove her father’s innocence.

basic plot

headcanon form now, because it’s more convenient.

the lead-up:

during the few days/weeks that followed, she barely went out of her room unless necessary.

she barely ate, even ignoring the flan pudding she adored so much.

in her self-imposed isolation, she marinates in her own grief, which turns into anger and hatred.

at first she regrets not having spent more time with her father and reaching out to him, instead of expecting kotetsu to do that for her.

but the focus slowly shifts to wanting to make kotetsu’s murderer suffer as he has made her dad suffer.

you know what, throw in the rest of the heroes.

they should’ve been kotetsu’s friend and believed him instead of pursuing him relentlessly: they’re complicit too and should be punished accordingly.

it’s important to note that, since kaede didn’t interact with maverick and inherit his next power, she doesn’t know that the heroes have been brainwashed.

she just thinks that they’re secretly an evil group posing to be heroes.

she loses faith in them, and their flawed justice that got her father killed

she wants to avenge her father and prove his innocence so badly, but doesn’t know how or where to begin. the odds are stacked against her, since only her family and a few people here and there believe in kotetsu’s innocence.

while she’s holed up in her room, she mindlessly replays the video clips that featured her dad over and over again until she memorised every single word and committed her father’s movements to memory.

one day, as she flips through the different collectibles and magazines that featured him, she came across one such issue which showcased a different type of “hero”: the sanctioner with blue flames.

the vigilante who’s idea of justice was becoming more and more appealing to kaede the more she thought about it.

she’s seen the clips, how his next power allowed him to continually keep up with the 100 power duo. how it always allowed him to have the upper hand and to deliver his justice.

kaede wants that kind of strength, that kind of power, to avenge her father.

she resolves herself to find or contact the vigilante no matter how, though that seemed to be a complicated enough task in and of itself.

kaede figures that when she does find him, she’ll either get him to work with her to get her revenge or copy his power if he refuses.

her searches prove more or less fruitless tho since lunatic can't be found when he doesn't want to be found lmao

after a few weeks/months, she grows disheartened and becomes rather depressed again.

the actual encounter:

i don’t have an actually have a concrete idea on how they met and how kaede convinced yuri to work with her, just a bunch of possibilities going from plausible to straight up crack

one way she could meet him is by bumping into judge petrov when she’s tagging along with her fam to try and claim kotetsu’s body.

the intent was to go to sternbild to recover kotetsu so that they can bury him in the family grave (and rejoin tomoe), but since the city refuses to acknowledge that kotetsu is dead and admit that a hero killed a person, the kaburagi fam can’t get his body back.

very sad times, maybe after the unsuccessful hearing kaede cries and rlly begs to be able to get her father back, and grabs hold of yuri to make her point come across or something.

do you even see a judge when you try to claim a criminal’s body? idk it’s probably illegal to make physical contact w a judge but kaede is only bby so maybe she won't go to jail? i don’t know i’m dum

anyway, he’d probably carefully peel the child off of him and say something vaguely sympathetic before going wherever the hell judges go after trial? court? i know nothing about the legal system and it shows

uh oh skin to skin contact

kaede unwittingly copies his power and moves on with her day. it wasn’t until she came home and felt a burst of anger that she noticed that??? she can summon blue flames??? like lunatic does??? except she doesn’t recall meeting him at all???

she puts two and two together and susses yuri out

or instead of literally harassing him in court

maybe she just stumbles on lunatic because his favourite hobbies are standing ominously on roofs and killing murderers, in that order.

kaede: why is there a funny looking scarecrow on the roof…???

kaede: hoLY HECK

how she manages to get lunatic on her side is more convoluted

one way would be her going back to the city and confronting yuri about it. of course, he’d deny her claim until she gets angry enough and her eyes light up.

yuri’s like “oh sHIT”.

she could threaten him by saying that if he won’t help her then she will just seek her revenge by herself.

yuri doesn’t want her to do anything rash and cause him to get in hot water because he rlly doesn't want to deal w/ the aftermath. also he doesn’t want to like, see a whole child get hurt :(

so i guess he’s like, “this is my lot in life now”, and accepts to take her as his apprentice so long as she doesn’t cause any trouble

that was the peaceful route

kaede could also fight fire with fire

just hound down lunatic instead of yuri and when she finds him it’s on sight. chuck a whole fireball to catch his attention and demand that he takes her as his apprentice. idk maybe threaten to fight him mono e mono unless he complies.

lunatic would probably just ghost her lmao

but she’d continue to show up whenever he’s raring to kill a murderer so maybe he’ll accept because it’s getting more disruptive if he doesn’t

if anything, her persistence would impress him somewhat: she’s determined, and even when she’s only had the flames for like, what? 3 days? she can already control it well enough to shoot projectiles. she has potential and would be a helpful ally instead of burdening him.

the chaotic crackhead route is for kaede to somehow get her hands on yuri’s address and bully him until he listens to her

just show up outside his room at 3 am, eyes glowing, floating 3 feet from the ground. hell, t-pose outside his window.

terrorise him.

she’d play loud music or shout at him day in day out

she may even follow him to work and just pester him

constantly asking him to mentor her so she can have her revenge, poking and prodding about his secret night job as lunatic

kaede will leave mama petrov alone this doesn’t concern her

her beef isn’t w mama petrov

ever since that encounter, yuri has not known peace

yuri has 2 ghosts to deal with

that’s 2 too many

he’s gonna take one out

the minimum age of criminal responsibility in japan is 14, while in new york it’s 18 (thanks google)

take your pick

kaede is 10-11

so either way yuri can’t take her to jail for harassment

she’s coming out of this scott free

he snaps and literally begs her to stfu if he follows her wish :b:lease

he hasn’t slept for 34 days

regardless, kaede will come out victorious and yuri is now stuck with a child

on a more serious note, yuri’s and kaede’s agenda are the same and it just so happens that their goals align. he has been suss since day one ever since the kotetsu debacle.

in hindsight maverick really should’ve brainwashed the only judge, the person in charge of the justice bureau, the curator who has access to the hero’s files

maybe i’m jumping to conclusion

for all i know maybe maverick also attempted to invite yuri to that announcement “party” thing

but yuri was like

« no ? fuck off »

and went on his way

yuri wants to look oddly menacing in his basement dungeon thing

and maverick brushed it off because he didn’t think yuri was lunatic, or a next one the first place

we know that yuri learns that maverick is behind all of this and is probably a next on his own, but decides against taking action. i suppose in canon because he knows it’s not his battle to see through, but in the au maybe because he knows he’s fighting a losing battle. also he kinda injured his arm after being shot by H-01, so he doesn’t want to fight with a handicap.

he doesn’t want to take any rash action and cause more problems for himself.

potentially putting his whole secret identity scheme in jeopardy.

he chooses to take a moment to regroup and plan his actual attack. he couldn’t take on 7 heroes and 1 android at once, and risk getting brainwashed too.

at first, even if working together seem to only benefit kaede, the situation also gives yuri some strategic advantages.

like once he finds out that kaede’s power is a mimic ability, not the flame ability. i feel like he’d find that hella useful

also kaede is a child who’s also basically a nobody in sternbild. she can infiltrate spaces he can’t, and not raise any suspicion.

possible denouements:

i see 3 major endings possible, with secondary endings which is just a one of the 3 major endings with some slight changes:

1. all sinners must die ending

pretty self explanatory. kaede gets her revenge: with the help of lunatic she kills barnaby and maverick, potentially killing or maiming the rest of the heroes. her father has been avenged, but the city is more or less in a panic because there are no more heroes to protect them. “faith” in the vigilante, or at least in kaede, plummets because they attacked “innocent” people. it’s possible that she brings her father’s framing to light (but not that the heroes were brainwashed), though it’s doubtful that she gets the chance after causing such an uproar.

kaede probably never learns the truth: that the heroes were brainwashed.

this may or may not leave kaede incredibly bitter and nihilistic, as even though she got her revenge she doesn’t feel any satisfaction or sense of closure. she doesn’t get any form of catharsis and probably still has a difficult time moving on and coping with her grief. the city of sternbild adopts a very cold atmosphere and regains a strong distrust towards nexts, kaede may or may not continue to be a vigilante as she’s still trapped in grief limbo, yuri has to deal with the messy aftermath.

overall, it’s probably the worst possible ending.

of schemes and double agents ending

a kinda slow burn route, i suppose? in this ending, kaede realises that the heroes are being manipulated unlike in the previous one. she decides to restore the hero’s memories one by one and getting them to secretly help her. i don’t think she could recruit everyone, but i’m thinking about those like blue rose, who seemed to remember somewhat after kotetsu’s speech thing. kaede could slowly remind them, and despite initial mistrust and animosity they would come round and realise there was a huge discrepancy in their memory.

outright rebelling against maverick would be rash and the heroes risk being brainwashed once more, so they figure they would pull the strings somewhat and provide kaede/lunatic with internal knowledge to help them.

in the epic showdownTM, when the heroes and kaede finally have a face off, barnaby (and those who weren’t approached by kaede) would experience quite a curveball: those who regained their memories would side with kaede.

safety in solitude ending

in this ending, kaede works alone (with lunatic) without having recruited the other heroes even after realising they’ve been brainwashed. perhaps because it’d be too risky just in case they get brainwashed again or that they don’t agree with the vigilante’s idea and rat them out, whatever the reason may be the duo works alone.

this will lead into an even more epic showdownTM where it’s 2 v. 8: even though the stakes are not in the duo’s favour they somehow manage to come triumphant? or maybe the heroes regain their memories one by one and decide to stop fighting, even though they don’t exactly join the duo’s side.

constants:

maverick dies. lunatic kills him. i doubt many are against the idea though.

barnaby’s memories would be the last one she “restores”: (courtesy of my friend) it would probably go something like, in a burst of anger she jumps him and gets his hundred power. as she punches at him, she tearfully confronts him about how her father must’ve felt in his last moments and how much kotetsu seemed to adore him back when he was alive.

if bunny dies (ending 2/ending 3) kaede would not feel as angry and cynical, but more regretful or grievous. she’d probably stop using her next powers to do much anything (instead of continuing to be a vigilante like in ending 1). she’ll move on eventually, with more than less difficulty. the city of sternbild is on edge, but continue to place their faith on heroes.

if bunny lives (ending 2/ending 3), kaede would get a stronger sense of closure as she would be able to dialogue with bunny. barnaby would however, feel unending grief once he realises what he has done.

regardless if bunny is dead or not, the truth is revealed to the general public along with maverick’s scheme and true intent in ending 2 and 3. so basically canon episode 25 ending except more angst and kotetsu is dead a while ago

not a constant… but it’s possible that because of lunatic’s whole code being “kill murderers and those who protect them” he’d be displeased with kaede choosing to spare bunny. maybe he’s the last boss… kaede and bunny defeat lunatic with 100 power, much like barnaby used to do with kotetsu?... nah that’s too messy and honestly i prefer lunatic and kaede to remain on peaceful terms lmao

lunatic’s satisfied with killing maverick, he’ll back off of this one—barnaby was manipulated anyway. so technically... it wasn’t his conscious decision nor his fault???

basically i don’t want kaede to fight her mentor figure, but i’m merely acknowledging the possibility.

actually…

maybe he walks up towards barnaby, the other heroes too beat up to do anything but watch while kaede remains by barnaby’s side

and lunatic just stands ominously in front of bunny, looking like he’s about to shoot him

but then he turns away

« hmph, how ridiculous. repent for the rest of your life, barnaby brooks jr. »

and then lunatic disappears in a flash, leaving a singed mark—the only proof that he had stood there.

heck, remember how she recovered the christmas pins? she could chuck those angrily at barnaby’s general direction to put emphasis.

kaede knows she’ll never be able to bring her father back, but she’d manage her grief easier. if barnaby lives, kaede would probably become a hero to honor her father and to use her power for good as her father would’ve wanted her to do.

miscellaneous

headcanons in no particular order, certainly not chronological. crack, fluff, angst, just whatever comes to mind. for ease of reading, i will try to organise them thematically.

relationships

tiger x bunny

rest in peace king, you will be missed.

kotetsu ded so the gay cannot be, rip in species.

but i’m putting this here because prior to the brainwashing they do be kinda gay tho, and even if kaede doesn’t know the exact nature of the relationship between the two she knows that her father was very fond of barnaby and cared for him deeply.

lunatic | yuri petrov & kaede

this au is pretty lunatic & kaede centric, because well,,, kotetsu kicked the bucket, and barnaby and the heroes are considered the villains here

i see lunatic and kaede having a mentor-student kind of relationship, that can be fluffy sometimes a found family trope could eventually be established, but that’s super delicate

on another note, if you really want to fuck up your 11 year old because you absolutely want to give kaede the worst possible outcomes for some reason, she could—as a young child who has lost both her parents at a very young age—develop an unhealthy dependence on this [lunatic] new authority figure. she might incorrectly interpret his concern for familial care, etc… but i’m not even going there, that’s too messy.

tbh the real tragedy would be kaede imprinting on yuri’s garbage sense of fashion… the secret to dressing well died with kotetsu.

idk if i should explicit this, but just in case: this is not a romantic ship please don’t come for my throat. literally this au was created because i wanted to see kaede start shit—just go absolutely feral and start chaos lmao

i would like snapshots of him teaching her how to control the flames better but also look out for her general well being because this kid has issues. basically give me a montage of yuri mentoring kaede and slowly becoming fond of her or give me death:

lunatic probably made his own costume so? i’d like to imagine yuri takes the time to make one for kaede too?? also he makes sure it wooshes cool in the wind and idk, flammable enough to allow her to burn the cape off before she attacks???

just yuri hand sewing some apparels for kaede uwu

also give me vaguely domestic yuri or give me death

also mayhaps, gives kaede affirming headpats?

like if she performs well and her mastery over her powers improves in leaps and bounds? or when she finally unlocks a skill she’s been struggling with for a bit?? just a proud head pat and a well-intentioned-but-cold-sounding « well done »???

maybe when kaede first actually learns how to use her powers, her emotions might get the best of her or maybe she’s plain nervous because fire = danger and scary.

and it shows because the flames grow more erratic and out of her control, and yuri grows very concerned for her well being because he doesn’t want her to get burnt like he did when he first awakened his power.

before it all degenerates, he helps calm her down and prevent his house from burning down. or wherever he goes to when he’s doing lunatic stuff…

a dungeon ?

his basement ?

my basement don’t look like that

we know where all the judge money is going: renovating the basement

much like her mentor, when she gets rlly angry her eyes burst into flames. to prevent her from getting into trouble by accidentally activating her power and injuring someone or simply revealing her identity, yuri would teach her grounding exercises or anchoring phrases that he himself uses.

idk just teach her breathing techniques to ease her anxiety or a mantra to recite if she feels like she’s gonna set someone on fire

also idk if i should give kaede a different weapon from lunatic (i know i will because the crossbow is lunatic’s aesthetic, and his only), but i like to imagine yuri teaching her how to shoot crossbows and her becoming oddly proficient at it

grandma kaburagi wondering why kaede has wicked aim all of the sudden

tbh kaede would just shoot w her hands. just pew pew finger.

or she does the kamehameha thing she did w blue rose’s power lmao

at first he kinda sees being responsible for her as a bit of a chore and annoying, but maybe he slowly grows fond of her and idk, dotes on her.

protecc the bby

help her do her homework

« i’ve only had kaede for a day and a half. but if anything happened to her, i would kill everyone in this room and then myself. »

on the flipside, at first kaede thought that yuri is hecking weird, man. just creepy suspicious prosecutor dude who she allies with because revenge girl rlly wants revenge

but he grows on her and kaede thinks he’s not so bad after all. an good authority figure whom she respects and cares for

she still probably thinks he’s hella weird tho

kinda weird but also sometimes kinda cool

eccentric but like in a good way

like your weird neighbour henry who means well despite what he says sometimes

kaede would learn his corny cool catchphrases and repeat them when she’s out and about as a vigilante.

just adopt/mimic his speech pattern of saying things slowly for more oomph

gotta do the whole code of justice and thanatos speech before she bombards barnaby with flaming arrows

yuri feels oddly proud

they’re both probably hella protective over each other tho. because that’s just kaede’s personality and yuri feels responsible for the safety of this child that he has been entrusted with.

children love sweets right? yuri secretly likes sweets. they can share sweets after setting murderers on fire uwu

idk man i just want some good mentor-apprentice relationship

it doesn’t have to always be angst

we can have fluff

maybe they can learn from each other and be semi-functional human beings

that thing where the apprentice’s outfit is like directly taken from their mentor’s but also vaguely different. i want that.

sometimes the real revenge is the friends you make along the way uwu

school + domestic life

ok so like

kaede gets big depressed because duh your dad just got murdered by his partner

and she rlly misses him and wished she was more understanding back then. she wished she spent more time w him back when he was alive

but it’s too late now and that makes her big depressed

so i feel like for the first few weeks/months after her father’s death, kaede wouldn’t go to school?? and i feel like her grandmother would understand and just like

not pester her about it and let her sort out her emotions first before talking to kaede about the elephant in the room

but also like, the school board also agrees to wait it out because the parents are kinda iffy about what has transpired

to be fair, oriental town is probably one of those small towns where everyone knows each other? so the parents/adults who know kotetsu are like??? kotetsu wouldn’t kill a person??

but the children who are more connected to the media and don’t know him personally believe that kotetsu murdered someone and deserved to be “arrested”? because why would you doubt hero tv and the heroes, they’re the good guys after all.

so when kaede found it within herself to finally go back to school, she has a rude awakening and learns that words travel fast in a small community

the other kids, not knowing any better, believed that kotetsu is a criminal w their whole chest and started all kinds of rumours on kaede

when she went to class she was greeted w her desk being pushed far away from the rest of the class, the other students steering clear from her

all sorts of nasty things were carved/marked with a sharpie on her locker and table—some others stuck paper with w the word “murderer” on it

kaede lost most of her friends and the rest of the classmates avoided her like the plague as they say vile things about her and her father

« look she’s back »

they don’t even try to hide the fact or bother to mask their voice and speak in a hushed whisper.

« they said her father killed someone, who knows what she could do »

so kaede hears everything.

« don’t get close to her, or we might end up finding your body in a ditch »

kaede doesn’t follow through, but sometimes she thinks about running away from school to escape the bullying.

« come to think of it, she was always weird wasn’t she? she’s so creepy! »

maybe at some point it gets so disruptive that kaede can’t have a functional or healthy school life due to the constant harassment and alienation, so the school board agreed to let kaede do the rest of the year through online classes or homeschooling

in a way this works out very well for kaede, because it allows her more freetime to do vigilante stuff and she gets to avoid people’s gaze.

she’s grown to dislike them, the scornful gaze of her peers and the pity from the adults.

the student’s parents always come to apologise to her, but for some reason their pity infuriates her to no end.

sadly this means that kaede isn’t as cheerful as before and becomes more closed off and reserved :(

kaede would continue to do ice skating tho

because it’s her passion

but also because she’s obstinate like that

« oh the others don’t want me here? they hate me?? they think i don’t belong on the ice??? they can go stick it, i’m gonna be amazing out of spite! »

at home kaede becomes even more protective over her grandmother, as seeing as she’s being homeschooled means she gets to spend more time w her and help her out with the housework

idk the blue flames could be handy for doing housework

oh the stove won’t light up? oh you’re gonna go get a different lighter? nice this is a convenient time to use my next power to spark the stove! when grandma is back kaede is just like « look i got it to light up, guess u didn’t have to go through all that trouble huh? » :D

since the fire doesn’t burn indiscriminately, could she, theoretically, control the heat/where it burns to make laundry dry faster???

kaede nearly gets a heart attack seeing the new scarecrow for grandma’s cabbage patch, but turns out she just found kaede’s vigilante costume laying around and didn’t think twice about it

bonus points of grandma uses lunatic himself as a scarecrow

lunatic would make an incredible scarecrow fight me

despite not being able to retrieve kotetsu’s body to bury him with tomoe, kaede often visits their family grave and the shrine in kotetsu’s room and bring them flowers.

she knows she’s just talking to air, but she likes to recount her day to her parents. about whatever she’s up to, and keeping them updated on everyone’s condition: grandma and uncle are doing well. grandma is still healthy thank god, while uncle sometimes like to joke about how his store is terribly quiet now without kotetsu around.

she tells them the whole truth, how she found lunatic and was going to avenge her father. that she was going to prove his innocence to everyone, if it was the last thing she’ll ever do.

in a bittersweet way, it comforts her somewhat that her father is finally with his wife again and that they’re both watching over her.

of next powers and secret identities

to this day, kaede is the only one who knows about yuri’s secret identity

they’re both complicit in this secret matter

schemes

this continues even after the endings

even if she became a hero she’d refuse to reveal lunatic’s real identity

it’s a matter of principle

she will always hold a great deal of respect for her mentor

schemes

on another note, i’m fixing kaede’s next power because it’s too broken and is kinda inconvenient lmao: in this au she needs actual skin-to-skin contact to assimilate someone else’s next power, so if the individual is wearing gloves or touching clothes it won’t work.

adding on to this, kaede starts wearing gloves when she’s up and about so that she can limit the amount of nexts she may unknowingly make contact with and keep her current ability [blue fire].

the power would be super useful tho. like you can make yourself disappear into a puff of flames,,, so theoretically if kaede finds herself in a situation she’d rather not be in she can just ghost you irl

« y’all ugly. boom. »

remember how kaede’s room is filled to the brim w barnaby merch???

great for target practice and for letting out your anger

also to dramatically scribble out the eyes in black sharpie to get the revenge girl aesthetic

oh man she’ll probably be sad that she snipped her father off from that one picture with barnaby

in that regard her attitude towards bunny will take a complete 180

she used to think the world of him, but now all she thinks about is crushing him under her heel

also, i know she’d imitate lunatic’s whole speech thing, but what if she repeated her father’s catchphrase to provoke barnaby?

also in homage of her dad ofc

« it’s time to let out a wild roar! »

*strikes pose*

*angery barnaby noises*

what if as time goes on it gets increasingly harder and harder to hide the fact that kaede is a vigilante.

like at first, her family is like “oh she’s grieving in her own way, let’s give her some space” and they’re surprised by how well kaede is taking it because she’s so calm, even if she’s more distant

while kaede sneaks out at night to start shit

and her grandmother starts to notice how she seems more alert and jumpy, or sleep deprived. how kaede seemed to be hiding bruises and injuries, and tries to clean her wounds herself late at night.

when asked kaede would deny everything and say she doesn’t use her next powers anymore because it freaks her out

but grandma is suss

she concerned for her granddaughter

maybe she doesn’t know about kaede’s secret identity but maybe she finds out she’s been meeting with yuri

a grandma beats up a man in his late 20s-mid 30s on live television

maybe at some point the heroes learn kaede’s real age, or assume correctly that she’s barely a teen and they’re like

is lunatic forcing you to do this ?

you don’t have to do something you don’t want to

it’s not too late for you if you give up

when rlly this was all kaede’s choice in the first place, not even lunatic’s

and that assumption rlly makes kaede angry, because their inactivity led to her father’s death and forced her hands

so it’s not their place to act like they’re concerned for her and her safety

just rlly distrust and dislike the heroes

has a strong disdain for them

real talk, but kaede doesn’t know that the heroes were brainwashed. that’s why she’s able to be so ruthless against them, because she thinks they’re evil and working for some big conspiracy while playing a helpful and friendly front.

but when/if she does learn the truth? the kotetsu factor jumps out.

they aren’t acting as if they were the good guys, they rlly think that they are because to them they just took out another criminal and not their longtime friend.

she’ll have an inner conflict. because on one hand, the heroes don’t know any better and are being manipulated so it would be cruel to punish them so harshly. on the other hand, they got her dad killed and for that she wants to inflict them as much pain and grief as they have caused her.

the kotetsu factor would keep her going tho. now she’s determined to not only clear her father’s name, but also restore everyone’s memory, because it’s the right thing to do.

but now everytime she has to face them and fight, she feels a slight hesitancy and feels sorry for them.

mayhaps blue rose as double agent ???

origami got big double agent potential, but he wasn’t having any of kotetsu’s shit so alas

another important character we gotta talk about: h-01

hear me out

so the android isn’t built with a voice box so it can’t speak. it don’t got any acoustics. but because of maverick’s brainwashing, when the heroes talk to the empty air they hear “tiger’s” response, which is purely borne from their own psychosis.

h-01: …

barnaby: perfect idea tiger, you can cover me

rock bison: who is that guy?

h-01: …

rock bison: yeah they look very suspicious to me too…

h-01: …

barnaby: i know!

anyway, it’s very weird and surreal to watch

just the heroes having a very one sided conversation

lunatic and kaede don’t know what to make of it and finds it really bizarre, because they know the android isn’t saying anything at all

yet the heroes are convinced he’s communicating with them

so maybe if kaede manages to restore someone’s memory, they start to notice that “tiger” doesn’t actually talk. he never did this whole time.

and it gets hard to come up with a response and pretend he answered them.

the restored heroes also find it super creepy how it’s just silent and watching, how the others seem to think that the robot can speak.

maybe this will cause some suspicion amongst the heroes (who will brush it off) and maverick, and the restored hero will have to pretend to still be brainwashed to not get manipulated a second time

basically h-01 is creepy and just generally not fun to be around

illustration

edit: thank you @kyarymell for cleaning the sketch up on photoshop ;w;

LIKE MY WORK? CONSIDER BUYING ME A COFFEE // CHECKING OUT MY MASTERLIST | LINKS CAN BE FOUND ON MY DESC

#tiger & bunny #kaede kaburagi #yuri petrov #kotetsu t. kaburagi #barnaby brooks jr #taibani #wild tiger #au #falselywrites #im oddly invested inthis silly au #i just #want to see kaede start chaos #and yuri being a mentor figure #i am easily pleased #pls #i'll probably make a reference of kaede sooner or later...#desolation!au

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vydante · 5 years

Text

Restart | Avengers x Male! Reader | 9

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Avengers x Male! Reader (romantically: multiple)

Plot: Dr. Strange said there was only one possibility of winning the battle against Thanos.

But when (Name) is forced into the past and into his younger body, he’s suddenly given the chance to start over and prevent the future from happening again.

So which route are you going to take? Are you going to risk the future and take preventative measures, or live life with the Avengers for the next 4 years, knowing what will soon come?

A/N: Long- 5.29k words. Lmao did y’all miss me? Also, completely in POV of future timeline, so no actual (Name) ‘till next chapter. Granted, next chapter we get to meet someone pretty chill, so there’s that. So... yah.

It's safe to say that it's been a complete shit storm on Earth, Carol muses behind her cup of coffee.

Of course, it's not just Earth that's undergoing complete mass hysteria from the reversed blip. Other planets and societies beyond the Terran solar system were facing the after-effects of what had happened, too- and it doesn't help that Earth was so cut off from the intergalactic systems, so nearly everyone else didn't know of what had happened.

So least to say, she was quite busy trying to maneuver her way through the galaxies (with help, of course) to try and spread the word of what had happened.

Regardless though, she'd thought that after weeks and weeks, perhaps maybe the news would've slowed down a little bit. And it seemed to have, just a little bit, but for every time news slows, another wave comes in.

The first wave was about, obviously, the reversed blip. Of course, that one didn't have enough time to slow down as the next wave came around. The death of Tony Stark was announced a week after the fight- just so his family and friends had enough time to mourn in privacy. Then the next one about the sacrifice Natasha Romanoff made- though it was a smaller wave, it was one that still had a huge impact. And for a while, it seemed like that was that- weeks pass, and just barely had the craze around the reverse blip (Lord, there's got to be another name for this, Carol thinks) lessened.

And then (Name) Stark is pronounced dead.

To say the headlines erupted once again in a mad-dog-like frenzy would be an understatement. Hell- Carol would even dare say that it was almost as talked about as his father's death. Of course, it was in part due to, well, (Name) fucking Stark being pronounced dead. A man of his status was bound to capture the headlines with his passing for weeks, just like his old man.

But it was also in part credited to something else: the timing and nature of his death, or lack thereof.

Carol remembers watching the SI press conference a couple of hours ago, just as it finished broadcasting. She was a few light-years away from Earth as she heads back for check-in.

(New message, 3 hours ago: Maria R.

'Hey, I think you might wanna watch this before you come back to Earth. Just broadcasted. It's about (Name) Stark.'

Carol pauses, midway through drying her hair as she's about to put her uniform on. She'd be lying if curiosity wasn't eating at her, so she still clicks on the link Maria had sent her.)

(Name) was... A prominent figure within Earth's society. Being the CEO of Stark Industries (a massive company, so she's been told), a superhero/ Avenger, and the world's 'longest-running most eligible bachelor' (Carol scoffs- why is that one of the main things the public likes to point out so much?) definitely lands you underneath the people's microscope more often than not.

They'd pick at every nitty-gritty detail one by one and shred into it without mercy.

And even in his death, they did the same thing. Unsatisfied, they practically crucified Stark Industries and the Avengers after SI’s press conference.

She glances around her, the local tavern loud with nothing but one word on their lips: Stark.

'Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he died from like, an inside job or something.'

'Died too young, man. The kid had so much potential to be great... May God rest his soul.'

Carol shakes her head. They weren’t wrong- from what she’s seen working with (Name), he was a hard worker, that’s for sure. Sighing, she left a tip at her table and quietly left.

Hopefully, for Earth, they’ll come to find some peace soon.

"You okay, punk?”

'No,' Steve fiddles with nail absentmindedly, 'I'm not.'

That's his honest answer to the question. He wants to scream and shout to the world that no, he is not okay whatsoever, but he knows that's one of the many luxuries he'll never get to have anymore- even to the people closest to him. Too much of a burden no one would want to carry.

So, instead, he smiles at Bucky with more teeth than necessary, face straining ever so slightly.

"Sure thing, Buck'. Are you?"

The brunette offers him a small, sympathetic smile back. It's not the same as Steve had remembered- it used to be confident and relaxed, but nowadays it's always tense and careful. But then again, it wasn't like Steve was the same man either, so he'd be hypocritical to expect the same man from his memories from his old pal.

"I'm managing."

It was always something along the lines of that. Never an okay, never a not okay. Just... managing. Short and simple.

It's scary how much Bucky's reserved presence reminds him of how Steve himself used to be, back when he was wide-eyed and naive to what the world has become without him. He didn't really feel like he was actually there and knowing how separated he and the rest of the world were made him want to close in on himself.

On one hand, he'd never wish that feeling of emptiness on anyone. But on the other hand, he's almost relieved he's not the only one who's felt so completely alone in this world anymore.

Almost.

Steve doesn't say anything as Bucky comes over to where he was in the living room and sits adjacent to him on the couch. For a brief moment, they say nothing as the TV plays the news station. Steve pretends to watch the news, but he can't find the energy to care about what's going on in the news. It's all the same thing nowadays: Blip, Blip, Avengers, Blip, Starks...

Settling down in his seat, he lets his mind drifts off other places instead.

It drifts to a cramped, moldy apartment that was too small and cold for the average person, but just enough for him.

It drifts to an ugly tower, placed right at the epicenter of one of the most beautiful yet terrifying cities he's ever been in. Charming, and in every way a wonderful representation of the future.

It drifts to the loud yet comforting hum of the inside of the quinjet, sailing ever so smoothly into the night sky after a successful mission. Bruised, but satisfied.

It drifts to a sly redhead with one too many daggers slipped around her person, sitting next to a tired brunette wrapped up in blankets. Deadly, yet delicate. Open, yet intimate.

It drifts to a mystical long-haired blonde and an erratic billionaire, sitting together and joking about as if they hadn't just fought neo-nazis no less than an hour ago. He remembers a rush of fondness glossing over him as he passively observes them.

It drifts to a pair of warm, mirth filled eyes as they listen attentively to Steve ramble on and on about the war as if he had hung the moon. He relishes in the spotlight of their monopolized attention.

It drifts to the nights where life's not as unbearable as it usually is, as he sits across from a usually aggressive young adult quietly chatting about books they've read together: their own secret club. Warm, he reconsiders, comfortable. Content.

It drifts to quiet nights where he tries to focus on the ceiling rather than the erratic beats of his heart, images of his own teammate grinning tiredly at him, lips bruised, split, and inviting. Guilt courses through his veins, but so does heat.

Steve's mind drifts through lots of things before Bucky murmurs into the air nonchalantly.

"It's about Stark, isn't? The son?"

Steve holds back a flinch, praying that Bucky doesn't notice the red crawling up his neck. He wouldn't have been embarrassed if Bucky had meant Tony- of course, Steve misses him dearly- but for Bucky to go straight to you instead is mildly humiliating, to say the least. He can feel Bucky's eyes burning holes into his skull. It'd be no use trying to deny it, so Steve conceded with a reluctant nod.

"That obvious?"

"It's written all over your face."

Steve doesn't offer to say more, so Bucky continues, quieter this time.

"He seemed like a great kid."

Steve huffs with a small amused smile. He thinks back to when you two spent Valentine's Day together- not as a couple, obviously, but you claimed that the two loners on the Avengers team should have each other's backs. He chuckles absentmindedly. You two did nothing but watch movies and critique them all night.

Granted, it was more one-sided as he spent the whole night listening to you go on and on about how objectively, the Hunger Games books were far better than the movies, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. It was nice to hear you talk, especially when it's about something so trivial but important to you.

"One of the best," Steve half-heartedly offers.

"Tell me 'bout him." Bucky isn't looking at the TV anymore as his eyes are trained on Steve's.

Steve shrugs with a sigh.

"What more can I say that hasn't been said already?"

Ever since the SI press conference, countless of people came out to say great things about you, as they did with Tony. Countless of people praised you, especially with your efforts to help society get back on their feet ever since the blip. Even random people gave their one anecdote with you, whether it be a barista that had served you or folks at Morgan's daycare center whenever you picked her up.

Nothing but words of praises and kindness for you.

Bucky hums, understanding what he means. It wasn't like he hadn't looked at the news as of recently, either. For every 10 headlines that are published, chances are 9 of them have at least one mention of a Stark, whether it be the senior or junior.

They sat in silence once more, something Steve noted as a reoccurring theme between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it did make Steve's skin crawl, hoping for the other to say something just once.

"... You were sweet on him, aren't you?"

Though, maybe this was the one time he wished Bucky would've just stayed silent.

It would be horrifying to hear someone accuse him of being in love with his own (ex-) teammate if he hadn't already come to terms with it. Still, it's unnerving to hear someone pinpoint his feelings within a matter of a week or two when it had taken him up until it was too late to figure it out.

"Did it matter?" Steve runs a hand through his hair, almost as if it were a defense mechanism, but he insists it's not, "It's not like he was interested in me, anyways... Not especially after..."

Steve laughs quietly, almost bitterly so. If he thought he had any chance with you before, he sure as hell threw that chance straight in the garbage the moment he locked eyes with you at the airport. And it sure as hell didn't help when he had practically rag-tag teamed up against your own dad.

"Besides... He's a man of the future, Buck. He's so... so bright compared to everyone else. I can't- I don't have much to offer. I'm just- all I'm good for is fighting."

He sighs, and he'll deny it if anyone comments on how resigned it sounded.

"Not to mention, there're other people that he'd be happier with. People that wouldn't- wouldn't hurt him," 'Like you did,' his subconscious bitterly reminds him. And he wasn't wrong- there were other people you could be wonderful with.

You and Queens already had some chemistry, from what Steve's heard in the air. There was never anything substantial, but he'd pass by a few newspapers mentioning you and Spider-Man spotted together more often than not. You two would've been cute, Steve reluctantly admits. He wouldn't even be surprised if you two were dating.

Then there were a few others, too. Surprisingly enough, he saw you and King T'Challa, of all people, together too often in the New York Times, and even Wakanda's own news websites. His Highness' explained it was only ever about the Accords, but Steve wasn't so blind as to not notice how much more genuine T'Challa's smile seemed when you were brought into the conversation.

There was also Thor, too. You stopped talking to the rest of the Avengers save a select few after the initial blip in 2018, so there wasn't any new thing between you and Thor, but Steve reminisces when he'd catch you joking around with Thor and teasing the poor God. If not lovers, you two were most definitely good friends. Steve hates the fact that he's exceptionally happy at the prospect of you and Thor being just friends.

Not to mention the other seemingly boundless amount of people who you'd make a great couple with. Maybe it was just Steve being excessively attentive when it came to you, or maybe it was because everyone's eyes just seemingly happen to gravitate to you, no matter if there's hundreds of people in the room at the same time.

Bucky sighs and mutes the TV. Steve gives him a questioning look, but Bucky only raises an eyebrow back as he looks at him straight on.

"Those just sound like excuses. Never took you for a coward."

Steve bristles.

He'll admit that he's a lot of things. Frustrating, thick-headed, and quick to anger. And knowing other people, they have a whole list to add on to those too, whether it be positive or negative. But one thing he's never been was a coward.

"I'm not- look, I just know a lost fight when I see one, okay? He just- wasn't interested in me, and that's fine. Hell- he's probably not even into men."

Steve's mind lingers back to a picture lying in your old room, back when he used to come visit you just to say goodnight, or to ask you to join him in his morning jog. He never brought up the picture, rationalizing that it was too invasive of a question. You were with a girl- both of you seemed quite young- but it was obvious that you two were more than friends judging by the way you held her and the very obvious hickey on your neck.

His ears burn, and he's not sure if it's with embarrassment or envy.

"But you don't know that, though, do you? You ever asked him any of that? If he was into fellas? If he was into you?'"

Steve tears his eyes away from Bucky's stare, feeling his eyes burn into his skull.

Sure, he never asked you outright anything Bucky had mentioned, that much was obvious. And sure, even entertaining the (pleasant) idea that you were into men, it didn't take a genius to guess that you absolutely loathed Captain America. It was obvious, too. Especially ever since the 'scandal' of you deleting any tweets or photos you had uploaded that Steve was in.

(Of course, you deleted any photos the Rogue Avengers were in, but that didn't make the stinging hurt any less when Steve had found out.)

Bucky sighs and turns the sound back on. There was a tension in the air between them, but Bucky beat Steve from saying something as he speaks up.

"And the whole thing 'bout you knowing a lost fight when you see one?"

Steve raised an eyebrow. Bucky half-smirks.

"Not the Steve Rogers I know."

He gently punches Steve's shoulder and ruffles his hair, much to Steve's amused annoyance.

"The Steve Rogers I know would've charged headfirst into a battle, even if it was just him against the world. Oh wait- you already tried doing that."

Steve rolls his eyes and playfully shoves Bucky. The amount of razzing he had gotten from Bucky- and others, too, like Sam and Bruce (his heart curls, knowing that Natasha would've been among them as well, telling Steve off for trying to pull a 'bull-headed' move)- was more than enough for Steve to feel bad anymore at this point.

"Shut it." Steve jests.

They fall into a comfortable silence again, though this time Bucky turns back on the TV to a low volume. Steve glances at Bucky, who's got his chin rested absentmindedly on his hand.

"You know... You're taking this awfully well."

Bucky pauses, peering at Steve with a raised eyebrow.

"Taking what?"

"Me bein'," Steve pauses, trying to find the right words before giving up, "Er, into ladies and fellas."

Bucky doesn't say anything for a solid minute, and before Steve was about to start rambling, trying to just get Bucky to say anything, the brunette speaks up, but timidly so.

"It's... not somethin' I ever thought about, y'know? You bein'- bein' into guys, I mean."

He sighs and runs a hand through his shaggy hair. He keeps his eyes glued onto the TV with a soft gaze, so distant that Steve wants to know what he's really thinking about.

"We just... Never talked about it. Never... Never gave it a thought. I'd be lying if I said I was 100%, er, up to speed with it."

Bucky pauses mid-sentence. He waves his hands and flickers his attention to Steve for just a split second, almost as if he's nervous about what he's saying.

"Not the bein' gay thing, or whatever. Just... How open people nowadays are with that stuff."

Steve unclenches his jaw, not even realizing it had been clenched this whole time. It wasn't something that Steve had thought would be new to Bucky, and he almost feels dumb for not realizing it sooner. Hell, even when Steve himself had been defrosted, it shocked him that something as gay relationships were accepted now. Not that he was against it- but to see that the world had progressed like that without him made him hurt less whenever he thought too hard about the old times.

"Oh, Buck..."

Steve places an encouraging hand on Bucky's shoulders, and he almost seems to sag into it.

"Back then, you'd practically be crucified if you were caught."

Bucky's eyes are unfocused, lips pressed in a firm line. Steve doesn't say anything since he doesn't even know what to say to that.

Bucky, seemingly haven snapped out of it, smiles; though, it looks more like a grimace in Steve's opinion.

"Just- give me some time, 'kay? I'll come round sooner or later. Just... It's all still a lot, even after years of bein' here..."

'To the 21st century,' the words lingered on his tongue. Steve sure knows how that feels, to be overwhelmed by the new world. It's almost suffocating, knowing how much you've missed out on, and how different everything is now. It's like drowning, really.

Surrounded by so much, too much, and at one point it even feels like Steve's being dragged down further and further away from the surface no matter how much he tries swimming up. There's no one there to save him, either. No one to dive their hand down into the waters, no one to hold onto as they pull him back up to the surface.

It's just Steve, alone, in a bottomless ocean, drowning. And it's constantly filling up and up and up and God all Steve just wants to do is get away from there and be able to breathe.

Steve pats his shoulders, pulling him in for a side-hug as Bucky returns the gesture. He playfully ruffles the blonde's hair, much to Steve's annoyance, and gives him a lopsided smile that makes the tension in Steve's shoulder loosen.

"B'sides, you're still my Stevie. Not like you've sprouted horns and started killin' people."

Steve rolls his eyes but doesn't comment on that. Once again, they fall into a comfortable silence, though Steve's shoulders feel unexplainably lighter than it has in days.

The sun's almost gone by the time Steve gets home from the group therapy session he was at. It was the same old, same old. Go in, talk about your feelings, and listen to other people afterward. Sure, it helped, and it felt great to empower people to get back up from a great fall, but it just...

It doesn't really fulfill him nowadays.

Hell, he's not sure what can fulfill him now.

Settling in, he notes that Bucky's room is dark; chances are, he's probably out right now. Before, Steve used to be worried about him, but now it's not uncommon for Bucky to be gone every now and then. Steve doesn't really ask where he's going, so long as Bucky doesn't tell him. One day, maybe he'll ask.

Regardless though, Steve rummages around in the fridge to see what he has to work with in terms of dinner. But before he could even take out anything, his phone buzzes with a notification.

Taking out his phone, still halfway into the fridge, Steve glances at the display name.

It's from Rhodes.

Raising an eyebrow, he taps on the notification. It's rare that Rhodey texts, and it's even rarer for him to text Steve of all people. Nowadays, other than any Avenging business, they don't really talk. Granted, Steve also never finds the energy to talk to anyone these days, save a select few and those at the group therapy sessions, but that's beside the point.

So if Rhodey is texting him, it's gotta be important.

And judging by how fast Steve had bolted out the door and onto his motorcycle, it sure as hell was important.

From: Col. James Rhodes.

To: Capt. Steve Rogers, Dr. Bruce Banner, +3 others.

"Dr. Strange's back. He has new information about (Name), and it's major. He's not staying for long. - James."

Pepper doesn't want to be here.

There was no going around it- as composed as she was and had to be, she knew she could only take so much before she would snap. And sitting in the compound once again, she wouldn't be surprised if what she was about to hear would be the final straw.

She had plans today, too. She was supposed to take Morgan to go see the neighborhood fireworks festival, and she remembers distinctly looking forward to taking Morgan on the ferry-go-round, too. And yet, here she is, at the compound which once used to be lively, but only whispers of her husband and son echo in the hallways.

She had already been sitting in here for an hour before Steve had finally made it. By then, Bruce and Strange had already explained why they were here.

Just like Tony and Natasha, it seemed like your fate had already been set in stone the moment Stephen had spared the time stone for Tony's life.

But that wasn't what they were called in here for; or at least, in a way that Pepper had initially thought.

Bruce was talking, and as if he was concluding his monologue, he spares a sympathetic glance at everyone in the room, especially at Pepper. She just wishes he'd stop throwing glances at her as if she was a fine piece of China ready to tip over from the cupboard at any moment now (She knows she almost is, but she'd rather be caught dead than to have an emotional breakdown at a time like this. What was it- Stark men are made of iron?)

"And besides... We've retrieved video recording of what happened that day. From DAHLIA."

The only thing in her vision is red. But she doesn't raise her voice. ('Am I going to have to watch it?' She thinks) She doesn't move from her spot as she stares at Bruce, eyes dilated ('Yes, of course, you want to know what happened,' her subconscious betrays her). Her ears are pounding and she doesn't know whether she wants to laugh or cry.

"And why did it take you so long to get the recording?"

She watches like a hawk as Bruce and Stephen grimace. They glance at each other with uncertainty, but it's Bruce who bites the bullet and speaks up.

"Because, ah... We didn't think about it...?"

Suddenly, all she wants to do is scream. Lifting a shaking hand to her head as there's now a pounding at her skull, she clenches her eyes shut.

Breathe in, breathe out.

She opens her eyes and boy, does she hate the way that everyone's avoiding her gaze. Even the ever so elusive Sorceror Supreme (In her head, she knows he's not at fault. In her heart, she wants to spit on his name.) pretends to be busy, but she knows.

She knows.

She sighs, ignoring the tremble of her lips, and dismissively waves her hand at Bruce.

"Just play it. Please."

Bruce silently nods and pulls up a recording. It's dated back to the day of the reversed blip, a quarter past afternoon.

Pepper crosses her arm, praying that no one sees her hands quake as the recording starts.

It's dark and decrepit, with a good portion of the screen glitching out. There are charts and tables everywhere, and Pepper now recognizes them as his health stats. The walls all blur together as she tries to bite back the tears.

There's rubble everywhere. In the distance are lights from fires, but you're so far down there's barely any light at all. Your face isn't in view, and rather what she sees makes her heartache even worse than before.

A gleam of metal jutting out of your stomach is front and center of the camera. It's huge- about the width of her thigh- and it's stained red. Your breathing is labored and short, obvious signs of a panic attack as the sounds of you gasping echo in the room. No one says a thing as an Australian voice speaks up in a frantic.

"Doll! Doll, I need you to breathe! You're going into shock!"

There's no response from you as you continue to hyperventilate. Out of the corner of her eyes, she sees Steve's jaw clench and Bruce covering his mouth. She doesn't react to Rhodey's hand squeezing her shoulder as they all watch on.

There's a weird sound coming out of you. Pepper's heart clenches, and at this point, she doesn't even care that she's crying now- because she knows what that sound is.

That's the sound of you hiccuping.

You're crying.

You- one of the strongest men she knows, an Avenger, a hero, her baby- are crying, alone, and she was none the wiser to your suffering.

You're moving- oh God, your arm- and the video feed pick up scuttering and growling. Her stomach drops even further. Chitauri.

Your other arm grasps all over your lower body, barely gliding past your wounds (oh God, please tell her that's not a steel beam) and into your pockets. There's an orange tint, barely there, but in your hands as DAHLIA speaks up again.

"Don't move! You've been impaled by a steel beam and your prosthetic arm has been dislocated- any more movement will result in an increased blood loss! I am attempting to contact Mister-"

There's the sound of glass shattering before the video camera shuts off. The charts suddenly spike unnaturally, going practically haywire as the only thing left coming from the screen is the sound of DAHLIA's voice glitching.

"-er-er-er!"

It was a horrific way to go if Stephen's being honest.

Of course, as both a doctor and Sorcerer Supreme, he's seen- and even experienced- his fair share of gruesome injuries and deaths. It was par the course, so it wasn't enough to make him want to empty his guts.

But he'd be lying if he said that he didn't at least feel his stomach curl in when he had to witness your 'death' the first few times.

Seeing you crushed under debris, your prosthetic arm hanging by a few strings, and literally impaled by a steel beam wasn't a pleasant sight whatsoever. Add on watching your scared form hyperventilating and hearing your A.I. trying to calm you down with heartbreakingly real panic in her voice, and it was downright unbearable.

And that was the best of it: there were ones where the steel beam had sliced through your skull or where you had been straight up mauled by the Chitauri as you didn't have your suit on hand, for whatever reason. There were other scenarios where the chitauri had mobbed-up your decapitated head, and Thanos had presented it to the older Stark, just as he was about to grab the stones. That one move proved fatal for everyone, as even Stark had lost his composure at the sight of his dead son.

As much as Stephen doesn't want to say it, he knew that what had actually happened to you was the best possible route that had been chosen for you.

The video ends, and the Captain leans away from the wall he was positioned on.

"What the hell happened? One moment- he was trapped under rubble, the next, nothing? Suddenly we lose all contact with him? What- did he just- pop out of existence?"

He's frustrated, angry. Stephen would be lying if he didn't feel an inkling of the same emotions as him. Stephen runs a shaky hand through his hair.

"You're not entirely wrong, Captain. What happened to him was similar to that of St- Tony," He corrects himself prematurely, "and Romanoff."

"You telling me he was meant to- to die too? Like Tony and Natasha?"

Stephen shakes his head, ignoring the seething anger in the captain's voice. In the corner of his eyes, he sees Rhodes wrap his arms around Pepper, who's sat still in her chair, staring blankly at Stephen. It's almost as if she's seeing past him for a split second as if she's looking at someone else behind him.

There's only a wall next to him. He ignores her, skin prickling at her unwavering attention, yet eery silence.

"It's a means to an end. I can't pick their fates, Captain. That's not how my powers work."

'Though, it would've been better for the sake of everyone had it did work that way.' Stephen bitterly remarks.

"Besides that, I never said he's dead, Captain. Or, shouldn't be, anyway." Stephen carefully avoided answering if it was a necessity that you were to go.

Stephen internally sighs, knowing immediately that wasn't the right thing to say judging by the 'oh God' Pepper just muttered.

Rhodes speaks up with a clenched jaw. He had been silent this whole time, but Stephen wasn't foolish enough to not recognize how even he had been bothered by the film. Whether it was because of the gore, emotional connection, or both, Stephen doesn't care enough to ask.

"Then what exactly are you saying?"

Stephen, once again, ignores how confrontational his tone is. He doesn't blame Rhodes for his frustrations; being a doctor, it's inevitable that he'd come and get used to people like this.

'They're mourning,' he hears imaginary Christine chiding him.

Stephen sighs. He's not even sure how to break it all to them, as even he's not too sure of what has become of you after the film. But regardless, Stephen reels himself back in and composes himself.

He pulls back the need to add any fluff words and says what he's been inching to say ever since he had attended Tony's funeral.

"Stark's traveled back in time; the only problem is, is that we don't know when and where."

Masterlist

Tagged: @unsolvetheheckoutofit

#avengers #avengers x male reader #avengers x reader #male reader #male reader insert #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x male reader #male!reader #stephen strange x male reader #bucky barnes x male reader #carol danvers #pepper potts #james rhodes #rhodey #bruce banner

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