#it’s like watching the worlds richest car crash | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

novelconcepts · 3 years

Note

i think always about the scene where dani and flora were about to escape the manor before viola showed up, and flora asks where are they going dani said “i don’t know” or something. do you think that if they succeed to leave the house dani would’ve tried to reach jamie? after all they in theory had a date in the pub, so in theory dani knew the little flat above the pub…

It's complete luck, Dani will think later. True idiot luck, nothing more--maybe the first lucky thing to happen in the last hour. Absolutely, they shouldn’t find the village at all. Absolutely, they shouldn’t have managed it: a grown woman with no car, no idea where she’s going, and an eight year old girl sobbing against her shoulder as she runs. They should wind up lost in the dark, staggering desperately in a circle, maybe turning right back up where they started.

Utter luck, that the adrenaline holds out, that the darkness doesn’t swallow them whole, that she finds herself stumbling through the door of a ramshackle little pub with Flora. Shouldn’t happen. Some tiny part of her wonders if this isn’t the magic of Bly, extending far beyond the reach of that house. Some tiny part of her thinks, If it can reach this far, what’s stopping them from doing the same?

“Hey,” the old man behind the bar snaps. “You can’t bring her in here!”

“Please.” Her head is pounding. Her throat is raw. Screaming hoarsely into a gag will do that to a person. “Please, I’m looking for--for Jamie...”

She trails off, realization striking: she doesn’t even know Jamie’s last name. A woman she somehow feels she’s known forever, a woman she is painfully certain she is already growing to love in ways Eddie couldn’t have pulled out of her with an infinite lifetime, and she doesn’t know her last name. It would be hysterically funny, if she could remember what laughter tasted like.

More good luck, sweeping in like a thunderstorm: the old man is nodding, though he still looks uneasy at the sight of Flora’s puffy red eyes. At the sight, too, of Dani’s rubbed-raw mouth. They must look awful, a pair of ghosts in their own right, crashing into the easy calm of his night.

“She know you’re comin’?” he asks gruffly, and Dani shakes her head. “But she knows you.”

He’s looking at Flora, and Dani wonders if the small-town awareness Owen has spoken of with such irritation extends to the Wingrave children. Probably. Probably everyone in town knows the miserable story of two orphans left to cope in that big old haunted house.

“She knows,” Dani says, when it becomes clear Flora is incapable of her usual boisterous chatter. “Please. Can you call her?”

He makes a face, his hand straying to the black plastic handset behind his head. “Fine, but if you’re lyin’, it’s only fair I warn you she's got a temper--”

Dani lowers Flora onto a stool, leans her weight against the bar, presses a hand to her head. This is insane, she tells the spooling pressure in her chest where air does not seem willing to flow. This is insane, to think there are ghosts pulling at the Wingrave children’s strings, pulling at Miles even now.

Miles. She left him. She left Miles, Rebecca Jessel’s warm voice still ringing in her ears. It’s too late. Too late. Too--

“Dani?” Jamie’s voice, just behind her. She can’t bring herself to lift her head and look. It’d be so much sweeter to remember her last image of Jamie instead, the last glimpse of normalcy drunk greedily in with no knowledge of what would come next. There will be other nights. Promise. Jamie’s hands curled around her own. Jamie’s kiss pressed to her lips with uncharacteristic euphoria. Jamie had giggled, and Dani had felt ten feet tall, the luckiest woman in the world, the richest--

“Flora.” Jamie is bending, a hand pressed to Flora’s face, smoothing back the sweaty mess of her hair. “What’s going on? Where’s Miles? What are you--”

Flora makes a hitching sound, and Dani imagines trying to explain it--not to Jamie, who believes her so readily even when there’s no reason, but to Henry. Henry Wingrave, trusting her with his brother’s children. Henry Wingrave, who she’ll have to face and say, Sir, I did my best, but you never warned me about the ghosts--

“C’mon.” Jamie’s uttered that word once before, an incontrovertible command. Last night, taking Dani’s hand in the kitchen, leading her out to take in flowers and stories. She doesn’t quite do it the same way now--her hand brushes the small of Dani’s back instead of her fingers, urging her gently along--but Dani can hear that same calm charge in her voice. It’s as though Jamie understands something has broken, and has chosen stability in answer to the too-big horror strangling Dani’s ability to explain.

She lets herself be propelled through the pub, through a door at the back, up a flight of stairs. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she’s loosely aware that it shouldn’t be this way--that she should have visited Jamie’s flat for the first time on Jamie’s schedule, in Jamie’s truck, with Jamie grinning at her over a beer. But, then, what about tonight has gone to plan? What about tonight has been right?

“Sit,” Jamie says, urging her visitors toward a lumpy couch at the center of the small room. She looks calm, though Dani suspects it’s the kind of calm that might at any moment crack open. “Talk.”

An invitation, more than a demand. Dani buries her head in her hands.

“It’s crazy. It’s crazy.”

“You ran here in the dark,” Jamie says. “You ran here in the dark with Flora. Wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t bad.”

Shouldn’t have done it at all. Should have called Jamie--run through the house in search of Hannah--done any number of things that wasn’t a flat sprint over unfamiliar ground into town. Should have kept her head.

“Miles,” she says, and almost shatters right there. Her head is a land mine, pulsing warning. Her chest aches. Jamie is kneeling on the floor, she realizes, her hands busy at Flora’s face, her hands, searching for sign of damage. Dani inhales. “She’s--she’s okay. Rebecca made sure of it.”

Jamie looks up sharply. “What?”

Dani knows what she looks like, what she must sound like: a rumpled, ragged mess spouting dead women’s names like she has any right to them. Still, Jamie isn’t staring at her like she’s crazy. She’s watching with guarded eyes, her hands--satisfied that Flora is, physically, unharmed--moving to Dani.

“What about Rebecca?”

“She let us go.” Jamie’s thumb is pressing very gently to her jaw, tilting her head to give the lamplight room to spill over her skin. She hears a breath catch, hears Jamie make a tiny, wounded sound at the sight of the skin rubbed red around Dani’s mouth. “She told me to take her and run.”

And I shouldn’t have. I’ve never listened to ghosts before. Why start now?

“Rebecca,” Jamie repeats. Her hand slips behind Dani’s head, gently inspecting; she finds the knot soon enough, Dani’s telltale gasp of pain pulling something taut behind her eyes. “Fuck, Dani, what--”

“Peter.” Flora’s voice is very small, a shock of unexpected color amidst Jamie’s usual palette. “Peter said we were helping.”

The calm in Jamie does not just break at those words; it erupts, her entire body revolutionized by her sudden rage. She’s got a temper, the old man had said, and Dani’s seen notes of it--at the rose bushes, hoisting a shotgun in the dark--but never quite like this. She stands abruptly straight, her shoulders pulling back, her expression livid.

“What,” she says, “do you mean, helping?”

It spills out in a chaotic rush--Flora, mostly, explaining through hiccups. Dani supplements where she can, as if she understands any of it. As if she hasn’t, in some part of her throbbing brain, wondered all this time if the evening wasn’t a hallucination born of her concussion.

“He hit you,” Jamie says. Not a question. “Tied you up. In the attic. And he took Miles.”

Those are, Dani thinks wearily, the bullet points. “He said they were trapped. That the house would wear them away. Rebecca wouldn’t...”

“'Course not,” Jamie says hotly. “’Course she wouldn’t. Fucking Quint.”

Dani blinks up at her. Her vision is gray around the edges, she realizes. Can’t be a good sign. She shivers. “You believe us?”

A little of the rage melts out of Jamie at this--her eyes softening just a bit, her fingers uncurling from a fist. She almost smiles. “You two? Best people I fuckin’ know, why wouldn’t I believe you?”

“Because it’s crazy,” Dani says hollowly. “It’s crazy, but--” But that little boy had stood wrong, with Peter pulling his strings. That sweet, lovely little boy had gone hard around the mouth, had gone steely at the shoulders, had held himself like a man three times his age and thirty times more capable of cruelty.

“I believe you,” Jamie says simply. She gives Dani’s shoulder a squeeze, Flora’s hair a gentle ruffle. “I believe you.”

The flat is quiet after that, for a while. Wrung out, Flora is dozing against the arm of the couch before she seems to know it. Jamie gestures for Dani to stand, the pair of them gently shifting Flora until she is resting comfortably on a throw pillow. She breathes like she’s still preparing a scream, like she is still ready to charge back into that house after her brother, even as Jamie drapes a blanket over her small frame.

She leads Dani to the bathroom, then, sets her down on the toilet seat. Her hands are steady as ever, gentle as she administers a warm cloth to Dani’s scraped skin--cleaning around her mouth, around wrists that have been chafed nearly bloody--and a bundle of ice to the back of Dani’s head. Dani chases a handful of aspirin with cool water and tries to look as though the whole world isn’t swimming away from her.

“It’s bad,” she says. “It’s so bad, Jamie. I couldn’t do anything.”

Jamie makes a soft sound of acknowledgment. Dani’s wrist is upturned in her hand, her fingers skimming lightly across rope burn. Dani barely feels it.

“What if--” She doesn’t want to give it voice. Doesn’t want to admit it’s even possible. Isn’t there something to be said for the power of belief, unpredictability shaped by human faith? “What if he really is gone for good? How do I explain that? How do I live with that?”

Jamie raises her eyes. “Not gonna have to find out.”

Dani frowns. “What do you mean?”

“I mean.” She turns, drops the wet cloth in the sink, clicks the cap back onto the bottle of pills. “Didn’t let Quint get away with this shite in life. Don’t think for a fuckin’ moment I’d let him do it now.”

Dani shakes her head. “It’s too late--Rebecca said--”

“Love Rebecca.” Her voice is strangled when she says this, as though Jamie is speaking through the entire last year of grief at once. “Loved Rebecca, sister I never had. But she didn’t know everything. Christ, even just getting wound up with him--she makes mistakes, too.”

“But--”

“Dani.” Jamie takes her face between steady hands. Even just this easy proximity, the sweep of her breath not far from Dani’s own, settles something Dani thinks has been screaming most of her life. “I promise. Whatever we have to do--whatever it takes--we’ll fix this.”

“We’ll fix a ghost,” Dani says flatly. Jamie smiles, leaning in until her forehead knocks lightly against Dani’s own.

“We’ll fix Miles. Kid’s been through too much already. I’ll be damned before I let Quint have him.”

It’s just as insane a thing to say as the rest of the night. Jamie doesn’t know--can’t know--how to make this right. Jamie is just one woman, though maybe the best person Dani’s ever been fortunate enough to find. Jamie can’t turn back time.

Still. She almost forgets that, watching her make phone calls--to Owen, and to the house, where it rings and rings and Hannah never picks up. She almost forgets that Jamie is not a superhero, as she presses the ice pack to Dani’s head with one hand and says into the receiver, “Quint, yeah. Dunno how. Does it matter?”

She almost forgets that they are not superheroes when Owen knocks on the door. That they are only an au pair, a gardener, a cook, and a little girl. That they are no match for whatever the house has become over the years. She almost forgets.

Because the set of Owen’s mouth is uncompromising for the first time since she’s met him. Because Flora, refreshed from her nap and no longer tilting toward tears, is grim in the seat beside him. Because, thigh warm against her own in the backseat, Jamie is holding her hand like it’s never crossed her mind to let go.

They are not superheroes. They are not prepared for the ghosts of Bly Manor. They don’t know where Hannah is, how Rebecca is holding on, what Quint will do in Miles’ body. They don’t know anything at all.

But they are going back. Because some stories need changing. Because some tragedies cannot be simply accepted. Because Peter Quint deserves to be put in his place, and Miles Wingrave deserves a life of freedom, and whatever’s gone wrong at the great, good place--their home--can be set right. Dani can feel that, way down beneath the headache and the fear. It can be, even if she doesn’t yet know how.

You, she thinks, looking from Owen at the wheel, Flora seatbelted carefully in, Jamie running a thumb over her knuckles. Me, she thinks, watching her own battered face in the rearview mirror. Us, she thinks, remembering the dinner table earlier that night, Hannah’s smile, the music of their mingled laughter.

This can be fixed. Somehow. It must be.

“Right,” she says in a voice much stronger than she expects as they pull up the long drive. “Step one: find Miles.”

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #the haunting of bly manor spoilers #dani clayton #dani x jamie #I suspect this was a question more than a prompt but I've gotten it prompted a number of times #and...thought why not

160 notes · View notes

many-gay-magpies · 3 years

Text

@loabivey @honeyseungz @angelhee @ofaffectionate @yixiangs @cherry-riki

so uh. heyyy <3

pt 2 (technically pt 1 because it happens before) of blood bonds is here!! tagging everyone that i tagged for blood bonds (except for kyu </3) bcs why not

i'm not 100% on this, but that's mostly because i've been staring at it for a week, and y'all haven't, so i hope that you'll enjoy it thoroughly more than i do

wc: 1.7k, tw for blood, blood-sucking, death and mentions of death, and vague descriptions of a car crash. same as the last one pretty much, let me know if there's anything i missed!

that being said, have some bloodlust.

It's a scent that stops him in the middle of the street, blaring alarms through every inch of his body—thick and sweet, intoxicating, like the richest chocolates and tenderest meats. For a second, it brings him back to his days in the castle; feasts coating tables upon tables in every decadence he could imagine. He hasn't felt that kind of indulgence in a long time.

Jungwon is immediately aware of his instincts overcoming him; he knows what the smell is, he's smelled it coming off the other boys enough times to be familiar with it. But not this strong. Never this strong.

His head swims. Stars cloud his vision, and yet everything is ten times brighter, more crisp; his senses sharpened, sensitivity heightened. Jungwon battles with himself for a moment, there, on the side of the road, watching the car with the contents of it's driver's seat smelling so delectably like food as it drives by; no, no, don't give in, don't succumb, you've made it so far already, just hold on a little bit longer—but the gut-wrenching hunger inside him is like none he's ever faced before.

It tears at him, the unbearable hunger, the emptiness; twists his insides into knots and makes him double over against the brick wall beside him. He doesn't want to give in, doesn't want to take, doesn't want to hurt—but he's so, so hungry, and it smells so, so good and he just can't take it anymore. It's a kind of longing that burns him from the inside out, and maybe... maybe it wouldn't hurt, to... to give in, just this once.

He's hungry. He needs food. Really, when he thinks about it for long enough, rationalizes it in his mind, that's all there is to it. Lions don't feel bad when they hunt gazelle, do they?

(Something is different here, though. Lions, unlike vampires, will stop. Lack of food will make their body grow cold, their energy sapped until there is nothing left; they grow tired, bodies moving slower and slower, until they breath their last breath. Vampires do not. Vampires will not stop. The hunger depletes them, eats at them, and then when it can eat no more it consumes them completely—writhing black hole taken ghastly, human shape. Death evades them, and so they become death in it's place—emptiness so great it would eat the whole world if it could.)

So, with his resolve melting as his hunger rages, Jungwon presses onward—taking advantage of the scenery's sudden clarity to slink towards the moving car at a truly frightening pace. Plus, it could be... fun, he finds himself thinking; fun, to play around a bit, see how much fear he can truly instill. In the past, Jay and Sunghoon's jokes to Sunoo to "not play with his food" when me mentioned spooking his victims the tiniest bit before feeding had left Jungwon feeling sick to his stomach—but now, the idea doesn't seem so bad.

A voice in Jungwon's head (the more logical Jungwon; the one that isn't starving, the one that's still on the edge of rational) tells him, you're being stupid, as he throws caution to the wind and teleports directly in front of the car. Someone could see you, do you even have any idea what you're doing? But the voice of hunger rises above all others, and Jungwon, smirking at the screech of tires on asphalt as the car skids to a stop in front of him, tells the voice, it's dark out, and we're in an abandoned part of the city; who, really, do you think could see us?

The voice protests, but the drone of Jungwon's hunger drowns it out. He feels cool metal on the palms of his hands, hears the metallic clang of his boots against the car's hood. The trembling of the man inside tinges his nerves with delight.

He raises his finger to his lips in a single gesture, shhh, and wonders if his eyes gleam red.

Thoughts run one by one through his mind, though they are fleeting, like mice; skittering into the darkness as soon as he catches sight of them. He should have listened to the hyungs, he should have been more careful, he shouldn't have waited this long—he knows the consequences of vampires going too long without blood from Sunghoon's stories, how could he have been so stupid?

But it all fades, irrelevant, in face of what sits before him now—food. A meal. Satiation, finally, an end to his hunger. He can feel his conscience slipping away more and more as the moments pass, the little Jungwon in his head letting go of it's logic.

It is with this quieting of the rational voice and sudden booming of the instinctual one that Jungwon teleports himself to the back seat of the man's car. It doesn't take long for him to be noticed—even the lack of his reflection in the rear view mirror cannot disguise the creak of expensive leather and the sigh he lets out.

"Jesus Christ--" the man nearly shouts, car jolting forward as he slams on the breaks. Jungwon doesn't flinch. He turns to look over his shoulder and meets an unblinking vermillion stare. "W-what the hell are you, kid?"

"Go on, guess," he says, brow raised. "I have all night."

Though even as he speaks, Jungwon knows the statement is a lie—he's the closest to the man, the closest to a human he's ever been since turning, no plexiglass or metal barrier between them—the smell of the man's racing heart and pumping blood chokes his senses like smoke, so thick he can barely breath. Jungwon doesn't know how long he'll be able to hold out—but he can feel how the seconds tick by, as if there's a pocket watch embedded in his skull. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

Agonizing. Even so, Jungwon delights in the fear, the rabbit-quick pace of the man's heart. Equally as amused as he is overwhelmed, he decides that quickening it a little more won't hurt, and smirks, doing well to lick over his fangs in perfect line with the man's eyesight.

"Shit--" Eyes widen comically, and breath grows shaky with the reckless fumbling at car door handles in an effort to escape, pure, cold fear jolting through bones and bringing goosebumps to unsettled skin. It's useless, though; because all the doors lock, jammed shut, and the most he can do is huddle as close to the door as he can, as far away as possible from the boy with glowing eyes suddenly perched in his passenger seat.

"Surprised?" Jungwon asks with a grin.

The man gulps. "Th-this isn't happening," he mumbles, eyes focussed somewhere off in space, past Jungwon. "This can't be happening to me. This... this is impossible."

"Oh, it's very possible," hums Jungwon. "You'd be surprised to find out how much is." And he smirks wide again. He probably looks like a madman, but he doesn't care. He can taste the man's blood on the air.

"Please, don't kill me," he whispers. "W-whatever it is you want, I'll do it, just-- I don't wanna die. Please."

Any other day, the pleading would have gotten to him—any other day, Jungwon would have cried and screamed and torn at his own skin at the prospect of ever killing anyone, let alone drinking from them. But now, the logical him (the human him, he thinks for a moment) has been tucked into the deepest recesses of his mind, and the sound is like music to his ears.

"H-have mercy," the man stutters quietly.

Jungwon tilts his head. Mercy? a voice in his head whispers. It is a voice he hardly sees himself in, and yet it consumes him completely. There is no mercy. You are only prey.

It's funny how suddenly it hits him—how long he's waited for this, and how he can't stand to wait a second more. Faster than lightning Jungwon blinks on top of the man, pinning him down; the protests (physical as well as verbal) make no difference to him. He searches for a carotid artery with shaking fingers and, once he finds it, sinks his teeth in with a groan.

The car swerves in a panic, and the sound of it crashing into a streetlight is a distant ringing in Jungwon's mind. Everything is muffled, as if he's been thrust underwater, and he might as well have, with the way the smell and taste of blood blooms around him, inside him. He feels himself wanting more, needing more, craving more, the hunger never-ending as he sinks his teeth even further into his victim's neck.

Nothing else matters in that moment, and he knows, now, he knows what the others were talking about—how good it feels to feed when you've starved for so long.

His victim loses consciousness soon after that, but still Jungwon drinks. He can't find it in him to stop—it tastes so, so good and he's still so, so hungry, and it seems his hunger only grows the more he feeds; every bit of blood he drains, the sickness and lethargy drains away with it, leaving a hunger larger than he had known behind. Eyes closed, the world spins around him, and Jungwon can feel himself slowly revitalizing as he drinks, and drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

Jungwon loses track of time the longer he sits there.

The hunger is less ravaging, now, only a low growl in the back of his throat; and soon it peters out entirely. The body under him has grown cold—it's warmth taking new ownership. He feels the stolen blood and pulse humming under his skin.

There is plenty to worry about, he knows—plenty things he should, realistically, care more about than he does. But for the life of him he can't pick out what they are, buried beneath layers of cotton he doesn't care to reach through.

His mind is heavy with fullness, and heavy with sleep, and for the second time that day a little voice in the corner of it urges him to just give in—so he does.

#magpie writes #magpie's writing adventures #enhypen fanfiction #enhaverse fanfiction #enhaverse writing #enhaverse #enha theories #gay yearning #bloodlust

33 notes · View notes

viltrumitesuperboy · 4 years

Text

Sandman (Peter Parker x Sandman Reader)

Sorry this one’s kinda shit cause I meant to put it with the other villain request. I decided not to and ended up having no ideas for this one.

Requested by: anon Could you pretty please write a Peter Parker x Sandman!Male reader? He was always my favourite Sinister Six member growing up and for now nobody has been cast as him in the MCU, so it feels like a perfect role for reader inserts. You could make the reader straight up evil or you could make him a more sympathetic antagonist like the Sandman was in the OG trilogy.

Word count: 1617

When they told you they could make your life better, you didn't think you'd end up as a science experiment. You had just gone through the events of the Battle of New York as a child and lost your family. The first people you turned to were adults who said they could help, and they lied.

They had done testing on you after you panicked about being able to turn into sand of all things. But within a few days, you found a vent with just enough space for you to filter yourself out and back into the real world. You changed your appearance when alone in public and didn't draw attention to yourself so they couldn't find you.

There wasn't a day that went by that didn't make you think of the Battle of New York. Your whole life was there in New York City, so you couldn't leave. You saw your family dying when you fell asleep. When you woke up, your roommate would give you a sympathetic smile as she made you breakfast.

Betty Brant was understanding and had lost family in the event as well. She wasn't too close to her cousins, but it still affected her and her family. Her parents were kind enough to let you stay with them for many years, knowing how much the event affected your life. None of them had anticipated exactly how much it affected you.

The first time you used your powers in public, you stopped a car crash, but the traffic caused more damage than the initial crash. You fled immediately, and suddenly your fleeing figure was on the front page of newspapers and TV news channels. Still, you remained hidden.

The ability of changing your appearance was by far one of the best parts of your unwelcome powers. Turning into sand served as a good way to sneak around. It led you to your job working with another scientist. Sure, they weren't exactly your favourite people, but Toomes had a goal of keeping his family safe considering the dangerous lives people lived when amongst superpowered people. You knew that he was just doing what he could to keep his family supported.

Whenever he needed a hand, you snuck out of the Brant's house late at night to aid him in collecting technology from different facilities. Sometimes it was just a more difficult job, like Avengers-related items, which meant that you would have to help. Your only request was that he did not go near Midtown Tech. You had to keep Betty safe. He agreed, since his daughter was there.

Then Spider-Man came along and tore that life apart.

Toomes was sent to jail, and he had broken his promise of not going near Midtown. He let Shocker stand guard there on the night of your homecoming dance, of all times, fighting the vigilante. He had put your one, and maybe only, friend at risk for his own desires. You split from him and took your own path. It wasn't quite the best idea.

"Hands in the air!"

You mumbled a curse to yourself as you turned around, your arms up in surrender. Your appearance was that of a random person you had seen the other day. The news caught on eventually that all these random people, ex-criminals or not, were not the ones committing petty theft or, in your current case, not-so-petty theft.

"Look, I'm not just going to stand around," you called back, the new voice unfamiliar to you. "I'll escape easily."

There were a few more shouts and you stepped out of the broken glass window and onto the sidewalk. Suddenly, you were hit in the shoulder and thrown to the ground.

"Hey! What the-"

A web covered your torso, holding you down. Spider-Man.

"God, you're stupid," you grumbled.

You let yourself turn into sand and escaped his webs easily. He stood on a rooftop, and you turned back into sand to get yourself up there.

"So, we finally meet. After you took down my employer and I realised who he really was, I thought I wouldn't have to see that stupid mask in person," you said.

"H-Hey! It's not stupid!" Spider-Man whined.

"Oh really?"

You shifted your appearance to look like him, a perfect copy.

"Oh, do I really stand like that? Wow, that's so awkward," Spider-Man mumbled to himself. "Maybe I should put my arms-"

"Pay attention!" you shouted. "You don't know anything about me, and I don't want to get involved with you. You let me leave and never cross paths with me again, and life will be better for you."

"Are you threatening me? Cause that kind of sounds like one. I don't really wanna fight anyone if I don't have to," he said, quickly enough that you couldn't interrupt him.

You got closer to him until you were only a foot away, and pointed your currently red-gloved finger at his chest.

"If you stay out of my life, I'll stay out of yours. I'm sure you have loved ones you don't want getting hurt, do you?"

"You wouldn't."

"No, but information is easy to get, Spider-Man. And no one can get it quieter than someone who can turn into sand."

"You've lost someone, haven't you?"

It was quiet, and the only thing you could hear were the sirens still surrounding you, and the occasional shout from a drunk person on the street.

"It’s none of your business."

You collapsed yourself into a pile of sand and left with the night wind to blow you back home. You could still feel the crack in your voice, sounding just like Spider-Man, in the last sentence you spoke.

———

It had been a few weeks since you took any jobs. Betty was completely oblivious to anything you had done in the past year, but she knew when something was wrong. Every once in a while, she'd come to the room you shared with her with two bowls of your favourite snacks and would watch a film or show you enjoy. She knew you so well and you felt bad that you never told her about what happened to you. Still, you had to keep her safe.

It was some random day during midterms when you were just stressed about everything. You found a random rooftop in the city to hang around, wearing the face of yet another stranger. You heard a distant whooshing noise and then quiet footsteps on the roof behind you.

"The city's beautiful at night, isn't it?" you asked, leaning back on your hands. "Too bad it's the reason we can't see the stars out here."

"Uh, yeah," Spider-Man responded. "Sometimes I just like to hang around Times Square with all the billboards."

He took a seat somewhere on the edge of the rooftop near you. You turned to look at him.

"That's the same suit you wore last time. You used to have that old one with the hoodie, didn't you? Like when you were fighting Toomes," you observed.

"Yeah, I have a... sponsor?"

"You don't seem so sure about that."

Spider-Man laughed, mimicking your position leaning back on his hands.

"Hey, about last time, I didn't want to overstep any boundaries. If you have lost someone, I'm sorry," he said, just loud enough for you to hear over the nighttime city sounds.

"It was my family. Battle of New York. And now I have these stupid powers because of it."

Your voice began to break again. The first time telling anyone the truth was always the hardest.

"Let me guess: you didn't know where else to go?" Spider-Man asked. "So you took the first option and it was the worst one?"

You nodded, tears beginning to fall. He shuffled a bit closer and put a hand on your shoulder.

"You know- no, you don't know. God, that's stupid."

You let yourself chuckle at his awkward slip-up.

"Okay. When I first got my powers, I did something stupid. It got my uncle killed. But he gave me words to live by and it's the one thing that pushes me forward. I do what I do because I have the ability to do it. It's so easy for people to give in to the money, but I guess that's the one thing that makes me different. I might not exactly be the richest person around, but what does it matter when there are people whose lives could be saved because a kid decided that he didn't want them to go through what he did?"

You took a few moments to contemplate his words as you searched his mask.

"How... how do you give so much even when you're struggling like that?"

He shrugged and stood up, offering his hand.

"Maybe another time. Mind if I swing you around? Just for fun."

You ended up going through Times Square, laughing all the while. You had him bring you home and let your disguise fall.

"Hey, this is... Wait, I know you. I-I've seen you," the vigilante stuttered.

"This is Betty Brant's house. I'm (Y/N)," you said.

The extremely stupid man pulled off his mask in excitement.

"No way! I'm Peter! From the Academic Decathalon team with Betty!" he exclaimed.

"Perfect disguise, huh? A teenage nerd who can hide his body under baggy clothes. Way better than what I can do," you joked.

He gave you a hug as he was leaving, both of you holding on longer than you had to.

"You can always talk to me. I know what it's like to lose family and get some really weird powers along with it. You aren't alone."

You smiled into his shoulder. Maybe things would be okay.

#x male reader #peter parker x reader #peter parker x male reader #peter parker x male!reader #spiderman x male reader #spiderman x reaer #peter parker imagine #male reader #peter parker #request

264 notes · View notes

beauvibaby · 4 years

Text

Friends With Benefits

Request: can u do rafe where like u guys r like fwb and one day hes like why dont we go on a date and u say no but see him w another girl later and get jealous

word count: 945

You know, sleeping with one of the richest guys in town sure was interesting, I definitely saw some things that the average person wouldn’t. For instance, accidentally walking into his fathers office instead of Rafe’s bedroom. That was, well, very awkward, considering I was already half undressed and maybe a little tipsy.

I couldn’t help but sigh a little bit as I routinely got up right after I caught my breath, searching for my clothes that were scattered all over the giant room. “You don’t have to go.” Rafe muttered, not budging from his spot, I could practically feel his eyes burning holes into my body. “We have a deal for a reason, Rafe, strictly sex.” I spoke, not daring to look back at him, knowing I would feel like I wanted to crawl back into the bed. “Hey,” he paused, waiting for me to turn towards him, I did, skeptically, never hearing this tone of voice from him before. It was gentle, sweet even. “Would you maybe want to go out sometime?” He asked, extremely hesitantly, I began to panic. “No.” I blurted our, instantly regretting it, seeing the hurt in his eyes and feeling the hurt in my chest.

***

Three long weeks have passed, we haven’t spoken to each other, or seen each other, but I’m sure that all will change at the party tonight. If I know one thing, it’s that Rafe can’t pass up a good party.

Entering the overly packed house, was a little nerve wracking, knowing that I wouldn’t get to leave with him. I hate this, I hate feeling like he should be mine, I had the chance and I blew it. My thoughts came to a crashing halt when I saw him, across the room dancing with another girl, I knew of her. She isn’t smart or anything really, she’s kind of just a pretty body with no brain. I couldn’t help but feel a pang if jealousy, which I have no right to feel... right? I started making my way over there, unsure of my plan. As I approached them, I noticed there was a few cases of beer behind them, perfect I’ll just grab one and he’ll have to see me. I squeezed past them making sure to brush up against his back as I did, making his head snap in my direction. We stared at each other for a moment, I almost forgot what I was doing. I turned, grabbed the beer and headed straight for the back door, needing to get some air.

“Who is that?” I heard the girl ask, clearly seeing him watch me, “the one that got away.” My heart skipped at his answer, no, I already blew it, I need to move on. With that sudden realization I walked up to the closest drunk kook I could find, and instantly started dancing extremely close with him, obviously he didn’t complain, since he grabbed my hips and spun me around, forcing me to basically grind into him. Fantastic, what have I gotten myself into. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse, this guy started pressing drunk kisses to the side of my neck, I could gag just at the smell of beer coming from his breath. “Stop.” I pulled away, he looked at me, shocked. “What the fuck? You’re the one who came up to me!” He snapped, I backed away from him, instantly feeling like the dumbest girl in the world. “Leave her alone, man.” Rafe demanded, giving the guy the most threatening look I think I’ve ever seen.

Everyone was practically looking at us, it was making me beyond uncomfortable, so I did what I do best, run. I took off away from the party, wanting to be alone, but of course I heard Rafe running after me. “Leave me alone, Rafe!” I snapped, stopping on the side of the insanely big house, no one in sight. “Y/N, please, don’t do this.” He begged, walking closer to me, he hesitated, reaching to push my hair from my face. I stared at his face, reading every emotion going through his eyes. “Kiss me.” I whispered, catching him off guard, but he didn’t hesitate. This wasn’t our usual kiss though, normally they’re hungry and urgent. But this, this was soft and sweet, full of emotions. My eyes burned with tears, I’ve never felt this way towards anyone, one must’ve slipped out of my eye because he instantly moved back, his hands still on my face. He wiped the tear away, pain in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” He asked, probably thinking the answer was about him. Well, it was, just not the way he was thinking. “I think I love you.” I whispered, barely hearing my own words.

Rafe just looked at me, shit. I ruined it again didn’t I. He grabbed my hips, backing me into the side of the house, his face inches from mine. “I think I love you too.” He spoke, his lips practically already touching mine, I closed the gap, unable to keep myself from smiling in the kiss when he lifted me up, smushing me between himself and the house. “Let’s get out of here?” He questioned, unable to take his eyes off of me, I nodded giving him one last peck on the lips, expecting him to put me down. “Rafe, put me down!” I laughed as he started walking towards his car, hands on my butt to hold me up, I wrapped myself tighter around him, placing soft kisses on his skin where his neck and shoulder met, I felt him shiver at the action, “I’m never putting you down.”

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #outer banks #john b obx #obx #obx imagine #outer banks imagines #outer banks imagine #imagine #imagines #drew starkey

275 notes · View notes

ahmedmootaz · 4 years

Note

Magica is trapped in an alternate timeline where Scrooge never became the richest duck in the world.

I-It’s been five thousand years...but finally, finally, I have finished writing, @veryman ! It’s been around six months, and for that I am sorry, but I had little time to write lately.

Either way, I finished the prompt which you sent me, and I’d like it if you would tell me your feedback! I expanded a bit on what you gave me; I added Poe as a secondary protagonist, and I added a bit more before the disappearance of Scrooge, and I do hope you do not mind. But regardless, I am eager to hear your feedback! I appreciate every comment I get, so do leave one, please. Again, my sincerest apologies for the wait.

Here’s the story:https://archiveofourown.org/works/29333367

And for anyone who does not want to visit Archive of Our Own for whatever reason, here’s the story on Tumblr! Just note the italics don’t go over too well.

Mount Vesuvius was like a wonderfully drawn painting; it managed to capture many elements at once, and yet showed little of them at a time. Its grey, ash-covered surface was only stopped by the occasional greenery or shrubs, grown from the rain's puddles on its cliffs. A towering mountain, its silhouette gave a grandiose sense to the city it was in. The contrast between the calm forests below it and the harsh towering structure, like any great painting, only added to the beauty of the panorama it created.

And, of course, like any great painting, it hid a secret. A teeny, tiny secret, really; it was a volcano. With enough power to completely melt the colourful villages surrounding it, alongside the better part of Naples. No one often went to the top, as its unpredictable eruption patterns made it a dangerous venue. Besides, the summit was completely barren, with only the rare lizard or the few bushes up there. Only a madman would even think to consider it "hospitable."

Well, barring the small, comfortable looking wooden house on its top. That looked hospitable enough. Old and nearly falling apart, it was a miracle it didn't need supports at this point. It was as if it was held by magic. On this summit, there was nothing. A cold, harsh breeze that encouraged none to remain there, and the dead atmosphere certainly clashed against the small farm and the clothes left to dry in the sun. The unusual sight would perhaps intrigue a traveller who managed to get to the summit, but the few crashed cars next to the hut would probably dissuade them from going any further.

In this calm wasteland, where the air never relaxed, every second more tense than the last, silence reigned supreme, utoppab-

-"BWAHAHAHA! I did it, Poe! I did it! At last, I managed to brew the perfect potion! It'll finally give the Lucky Dime to its rightful owner, destroy my greatest enemy and make me the greatest sorceress on earth!", well, it was dominant for a moment, at least. The victory cries from this little abode came from none other than Magica DeSpell, the solitary sorceress who called it her home.

Standing before a large cauldron, a large potion-book beside her and several jars of materials arranged in a neat order on the table next to her, her joy was a sick, intoxicating one, filled with villainy and vengeance. On that table stood a raven, much larger than the average one, almost twice the size, with its only distinct feature being a small summer hat, black with a white stripe going around it.

-"Yes, very wonderful, Mistress Magica.", adding to the unusual situation, the raven spoke back, both admiring and giving the sorceress in front of him a reprobating glare. "Though I have to admit, it wasn't easy very much to gather the ingredients. We almost lost our lives three times too much getting these things...", he added, turning his neck to the pots and bottles of the materials they gathered throughout the month. The sorceress, however, appeared irritated.

-"Oh, for goodness' sake! We're alone, Ratface, why can't I call you by your real name? If you keep pestering me with that, then I'll have no choice but to keep reminding you of your awful grammar.", she complained, hunching her back a bit, an invisible pang of guilt hitting her chest for a second before she shook it off.

Magica DeSpell was known for many things, but guilt was, perhaps unsurprisingly, not one of them. It wasn't a trait preferred by Villainesses such as herself. An exception to that rule, however, was her brother, Poe. Or as he went by these days, Ratface.

Once a regular duck like her, he was the closest person she had left. He'd accompany her on pretty much anything, alongside her raids on Scrooge. One fateful day however, a spell ricocheted of a wall and hit him, and she never forgave herself since. It was supposed to hit a blank! But of course Scroogie had to have a mirror behind him...why wouldn't he? At this point, everything she did was always countered by him somehow...And of course the spell had to be an irreversible one. Why wouldn't it have been?

-"Well, this time he'll pay...", she mumbled to herself, having forgotten about the outside world for a second.

-"Hm?", the raven inquired, and when she ignored his curiosity, he gave a glare before speaking. "We must speak like this, Mistress, because otherwise we may end up revealing our identities by accident in front of someone who shouldn't them know.", he explained for the umpteenth time at this point, trying to redress his hat with his wings. It was difficult to get used to them at first, however, he eventually managed to somewhat use them as hands. "And we don't want these people to know, because they can black-mail us. And because I don't want anyone discover that now I am a raven.", he added, ignoring the mumbling from his 'master'.

-"Yes, yes. Whatever, Ratface. Besides, you don't get to lecture me; I am the boss-lady after all, eh?", she shot back, enjoying the eyes of her 'familiar' as they narrowed and his beak as he grit it.

-"While that may be true,", he started, a bit calmer than you'd expect, not wanting to lose this teasing contest, "I also have my rights to input my optional completely suggestions, boss-lady, and I believe they have been proven to be quite useful in the past.", he added, stopping for moment and looking at the sorceress in front of him, who fully turned to him and gave him a wide, fake grin.

-"Hmm...They're fine points, but is there something that reaaaaally to force me to listen to you?", she repeated, hoping to break his constant mantra of hiding his identity. Partly because she wanted to be able to call her brother...her brother, y'know, 'call a duck a duck' sort of deal, and partly to escape this guilt she felt by teasing him, trying to forget her guilt for the moment.

Poe wasn't one to care much what people thought of him. He was a man that went on his way and never looked back. Too many times, anyways. They were basically a dream-team until this stupid raven stuff happened. But now, ever since that incident, he merely avoided anyone who knew of his existence and kept this fake-name. She suspected it was out of shame, and it weighed heavy on her, trust her. She tried waving these thoughts away as she watched the bird in front of her almost simmer at this point.

-"B-Because, dearest mistress, me-am a bit older than you in raven-years, which gives me a-", he stopped his imminent rant, sniffing something in the air. "THE BREW!", he yelled, dragging the tall magician's attention and making her run to the pot, which was on a gas cooker. Hey, they had the old log-chimney pot, but they were modern magicians, and when they were pressed on time, it was simply easier than to collect logs or buy them. Freaking inflation and rising wood prices...

-"Alrightalrightalright, so now we...uh, the lizard tail, sewn with tarantula silk to a lizardfish tail, we put it in...", Magica mumbled to herself, picking up the ingredient and throwing it in. Trust her when she said tarantula silk wasn't cheap, but the results were going to be so, so worth it. "And we mix things up until it turns dark-blue.", she finished, bringing a wooden spoon and turning it in the boiling, sickly-yellow liquid.

-"That's it? No 'innocent's blood' this time?", the black bird next to her spoke as he moved closer to the pot. She shook her head, knowing where he was getting at. For some reason, a lot (a lot) of spells needed blood for one reason or another, and it often had to be 'pure duck blood'. It often was an issue for most accomplished sorcerers to find it, and despite it being an advantage to the pair, they didn't really enjoy sticking needles into their own arms and using their blood...

As he sighed, relieved at what meant that he wouldn't have to take a pinch of his blood this time, as they did alternate that role, he watched the viscous brew boil more ferociously, unnaturally strong as it started getting darker and darker while the duck brewing it kept stirring and stirring, carefully avoiding the splashing from the bubbles.

-"Alright, Ratface!", she announced as the potion's colours darkened in front of their eyes, her voice going low and becoming more and more sinister by the second, "This is the Magnum Opus of an entire month's work! The Bougeaia Autrepart!", she proudly boasted, a smile growing on her pale, green-ish face.

She quickly moved her hand to shut off the gas, probably waiting for the awe her partner-in-sharing-the-household would give her. Not that he did so much, as he wasn't one to be entirely surprised by her actions given his time with her, but when he did, it made all of her effort a lot more worth it, if only to see a dumbfounded expression on his face while she proudly explains her plan.

-"Very well. It is one of the most difficult potions a magician can make, and we have a quantity very large. It is perhaps one of our better devised plans.", he devilishly added, not really that surprised. She found it hard to blame him when they both worked for around 25 days to gather the ingredients and the money; somewhere down the line she must've told him. Or maybe he read up on what they were going to create.

-"Indeed it is, and now, hand me the doll, Ratface!", she commanded, raising a clenched fist for dramatic effect, He shook his head at the dramatic display and went to the other end of the table he stood on, picking up a small doll that vaguely resembled Scrooge McDuck with his claw and handing it to his 'mistress'. "Just be a bit careful. It wasn't easy to make this thing.", she called out, cringing at the inelegant handling the raven gave the doll.

-"Oh, tell me about it. I was with you at the Hydra's lair, you know that? And I gathered half of the Mortal Sand we got there, so don't think I don't know how precious is this.", he complained, remembering something for a second, "Speaking of which, you never did make up for that hat I lost there.", he reprimanded, trying to cross his wings. He didn't have much success, but it looked good enough, and he couldn't ask for more, really.

-"Yeah, maybe later.", she ignored him, and before he could begin scolding her for the umpteenth time today, she picked up a ladle and started submerging it in this 'Bougeaia Autrepart.', taking care not to spill any on herself before she started coating the small doll in her hand with the liquid, watching as the dark blue colour got embedded in its cloth.

-"You know, I'd like a quick reminder on what we're doing here before we get started. Don't want another plan where I have to figure out the details as we go on, because those just work so wonderfully.", Ratface...or, well...Poe? Whatever, he asked, looking a bit worried as his sister laid the doll on the ground in a neat and clean corner or their household, one that was made for spells which required some space.

-"What, Alzheimer's gotten to you that quick?", she shot back at him, not daring to look at him before she finishes laying the doll on the ground. When she noticed he wasn't going to argue with her, she started explaining. "Honestly, we were just talking about it...but fine, here's the general outline: We both agreed that taking Scrooge is pretty difficult on its own, yes? So how about a world without Scrooge in the first place? The Bougeaia Autrepart is designed to move people into other places, but with some of the additions we've made, in combination with this little vodoo doll, it's going to be rather interesting, and we can remove Scrooge from this world!", she repeated the plan they'd agreed on, trying again for her dramatic accent.

-"Right, right. And we're just going to take the dime in his absence.", he completed, scratching his 'chin'. "I don't know, Ma- Uh, Mistress, our luck with reality-altering spells is pretty...", he hesitated, trying to find an accurate description of their experiences.

-"Is pretty much the definition of the word 'failure' in every single language on this earth?", she finished with him, somewhat bitterly.

-"Well, when you put it that way, I'll just have to agree.", he agreed, shrugging.

-"Yes, yes, I know, but trust me, this time this time, it'll be different!", she argued back, somewhat on the defensive. "See, this time, with Scrooge never actually in this world, it can't go back to bite us; we're not playing with the rules against Scrooge, he's not there in the first place.", she laughed, basking in the glory of her flawless plan. "...You're still not impressed, are you?", she narrowed her eyes as she stared at the raven, who seemed lost in thought.

-"I don't know...these things are so vaguely written in the books, and always it turns out to be un-complete. We practically re-wrote half of our tomes, remember?", as it turns out, several of the Elder Sorcerers were, believe it or not, villains, and trying to keep the most knowledge to themselves, their writings were often incomplete, especially the bigger spells. They had to applaud their tenacity at first, but a few failed plans later, it started becoming less interesting and more devastating.

-"Well, yes,", Magica admitted, looking at the floor for a moment, "But the worst possible thing that could happen here is it not working, or being temporary. It can't be that bad."

-"I mean...The offer of Scrooge just poof-ing away is tempting...And I can't think of a too terrible outcome...", he slowly came around, and the green-ish duck immediately jumped on the opportunity to convince him. Well, not so much convince him so much as it was to quickly to the spell before he starts thinking too much about it.

"See? You were just being stupid, But worry not, my dear familiar, I, Magica DeSpell, am not without mercy, and I will forgive this outrageous way of talking if you just help me do this spell as quickly as possible.", she proudly boasted, bringing a hand to rest on her chest. His blank stare gave her the impression that he wasn't all too impressed with her gloating. "Just come here and let me finish the recitation, alright?!", she snapped at him, having had enough of his cynical behaviour.

-"What, with these clothes? Shouldn't we prepare for something or-", he started, looking at her 'battle-clothes': her cloaked witch robe, stained with their various ingredients. But before he could even finish his sentence, she'd already turned to the wall, sat on her knees and opened her arms to both sides, as if she was awaiting an embrace.

-"Too late; I'm starting it now.", she turned her head back to him, sticking her tongue out for half a second and ignoring the 'Wait!' he produced. "O' sanguina del mon enemmi mortel, repondra O' appels que t'entendra, O' abyssum qu'attend, repond à ma voca!", she started the chant, immediately letting the room darken and letting loose some purple sparks from the lifeless doll, which started levitating. "Bring my greatest wish true; with the final words of my mouth, McDuck shall be gone like a moth!", she suddenly spoke, the doll spinning a bit too violently for her taste.

The room kept on darkening, and some of the pots and containers she had began to hit each other. Which was basically the same thing that happened with every other spell nowadays. It lost its original impact. Regardless, she felt Ratface beside her, and the doll started emanating even stronger sparks, making a dull, constant humming that kept getting louder and louder.

Her breathing got heavy for a moment, alongside her head, and she felt herself blacking out as if something was choking her. The air grew heavy for one fateful moment, and then with a 'zap', everything returned to normal. Her breathing suddenly cleared, and she took a deep breath to celebrate it. She noticed Ratface also took a gasp. Apparently, this one didn't just affect the caster, but the entire area. That was something they'd have to add to the spell book. She hoped there weren't too many others.

-"...That's it? Feels rather underwhelming, but maybe it's my experience with spells that affect the caster.", her brother suddenly managed out. Of course his first action after this would be bragging. Why wouldn't it?

-"Oh, zip it, feathers, I heard your panting. Bragging doesn't change the reality.", she looked at him as he felt his small hat and straightened his feathers, some of which had puffed out due to his quick breathing.

-"And so I shall, Mistress, O' queen of humility, if only the entire world is humble as you were!", he praised her, raising his wing up above him, as if to glorify the duck beside him. "Then you'll find out how terrible you are at boasting.", he added under his breath, a wide grin on his beak.

-"Oh why you...!", she got on her legs and reached for him, hoping to catch him, but he was faster than her, and his wings were infinitely more developed, and so he took to the skies...or, well, to their roof, avoiding her grasp and yet flying just out of reach. "Just wait until I've had my hands on you, you walking grammatical error! I'll pinch each and every one of your feathers off!", she yelled after him, shooting a few simplistic spells at him, which he avoided with ease.

-"Sure, blame the italian guy you forced to learn English in two weeks, typical.", he shot back, his wide grin still present, the only spells catching him barely grazing his tail. A few moments later, she gave up on de-feathering her brother, stopping to take her breath.

-"Oh, bugger off, you've had far more time to practice. You're just messing with me.", she countered, looking at him as he lightly flapped above her. She turned her head away from him with a frown and looked at the outside. Yep, still as sunny as ever. It wasn't really ideal weather for staying inside, but villainy did not take vacations!...Well, that was a lie, but she'd take one right after her great success with this plot. "The outside!", she suddenly yelled out, running for her door and opening it, walking onto her 'Welcome' mat before stopping and looking around.

-"Uh, Mistress?", her familiar said as he landed on her shoulder, something he'd been practising for a while now; he didn't hit her head anymore. "Is there something about the sun...?", he suggested, looking around him. The same small magical farm, their clothes were in the same position, and the same pile of crashed cars.

-"I don't know...Guess I thought there'd be some change, I guess.", she answered, scratching her head. "Which isn't that smart. Now what? How do we know if something's happened?", she asked him, turning back to enter her home.

-"...Probably from the bald, skinny vulture we have on our dart-board now.", her helper suddenly noted, and she turned her head to the wall where she had Scroogie's head on display. As a picture, unfortunately, but all in time. What interested her, however, was that her nemesis' picture's was now replaced by a vulture. An ugly one, too. And it's not like Scrooge was Mr.America, but this one had wrinkles.

-"What the heck? I thought the spell removed Scroogie from the world! What did that have to do with this chuckleschmuck?", she walked to the picture on their dart-board, focusing on their apparently new rival, who had a few darts scattered around various parts of his face.

-"Unless...", the raven on her shoulder started, bringing a wing to his face and trying to imitate a knuckled fist. "Unless it removed him from this timeline in first place, after, making someone else become the richest duck in the world. Or richest vulture in the world.", he theorized, his tone becoming a little too aggressive at the end. "Another addition to the tomes...", of course. It could never be that easy. Why would it be?

-"...Great.", well, at least she could openly complain about it this time, given that there was no warning of this beforehand. She brought a hand to her face and quietly facepalmed, shaking her head for a bit. "So we still have some old, ugly miser we have to take care of. And we don't have any memory of fighting this guy.", truly a situation that couldn't be envied. The one time the casters of the spell are unaffected by the changes to the world, it happens in a world where they'd do better to have some memories of the changes. Well, she couldn't say it was the worst thing a spell has hidden from them, truth be told, but still.

-"Well, what now?", ever the planner, the bird on her shoulder asked the only question that could be asked. He narrowed his eyes and extended his neck a bit from where it was, trying to read some writing underneath the picture. It used to scare Magica a bit whenever he did that, now she mostly got used to it. Mostly. Stupid bird biology creeping her out. "What are we going to doing to this...Bradford Buzzard?", he squinted a bit, making out the letters. He then turned to their T.V. with a curious motion. "Ma-uh, Mistress, look."

As the green-feathered duck turned her head, she noticed something. They had stolen their T.V. from one of Scroogie's enterprises, mostly out of spite. But their current television had "Buzzard Enterprises" on it. Apparently, this vulture had truly inherited everything the old miser had, including their rage. She felt a slight tingling in her chest, but she ignored it to focus on the more important matters they had at hand now.

-"So, apparently we're struggling to get the dime from this old man?", well, considering they're not rich right now, and that Poe was still a raven, that meant they still had the same problems as they did with Scrooge. Not good, if you ask her.

-"And apparently he, too, managed to turn me into raven.", Ratface spat out, growing very, very bitter. Unsurprising, really; this 'Bradford' did not seem to be able to move much. How did he manage to turn Poe into a raven this time, then? "Besides, are we trying to get his dime? I'm certain not what we were doing in this timeline up to this point, and I don't suppose we've been writing our memoirs to help us out.", he...uh, he joked? Deadpanned? His tone wasn't too amused, by the looks of things. Not that she could blame him, given how things weren't quite going according to plan.

-"You tell me.", the sorceress sighed, not really in the mood for the demoralisation Poe could offer at this time. He didn't mean to be such a pessimist (probably), but his constant remarks didn't do much to improve the mood. Her eyes then spotted a small purple ball on the ingredients' table. It was a small teleportation spell, using some materials from the area where she wanted to go to, it was a nice substitute for those who both lacked the Teleportation branch of magic and didn't have time to travel by broom. "That's it!", she suddenly yelled, getting up and nearly dropping her brother off of her shoulder.

-"W-What's it? What are you-"

-"We'll go pay this Bradford a nice little visit, and we'll see what he's really made of! We already prepared to go to the Bin, what's the worst that could happen?", she encouraged both him and herself, picking up the teleportation spell to Scroogie's bin and another one back to her home, quickly pocketing them in her robe and scavenging for some offensive spells to take with her, alongside her Sumerian amulet, of course. "Do not answer that!", she warned her brother, earning a sceptical look. "Listen, we've seen almost everything from Scroogie, we'll see what we can do this time, and then...well, I don't know, but we'll manage!", she finished triumphantly, quickly putting on her heels and going out of her house, stopping mid-way through her throw of the teleportation spell. "...You're not convinced, are you?"

-"Are you?", well, he wasn't wrong, but he wasn't right, either. Everything deserved a shot. Even if that thing had a very small chance of working. Maybe. Probably. Listen, Magica DeSpell was many things, but she wasn't willing to give up now! She never did, perhaps to her own detriment, but it wasn't this old vulture that was going to stop her now, she fought against Scrooge McDuck, this was barely even a challenge!

-"Could you not rain on my parade for five minutes?", what was a challenge, was keeping Poe positive on this mission.

-"Alright, alright. Here we go, Mistress! Go get that fool!", he put on an enthusiastic façade, making the sorceress grin as she resumed her movement, throwing the spell on the ground with a large 'Bang!'. Aquamarine smoke came out and covered the area where they both stood, and when it was gone, so were the both of them.

Now, it was only a matter of time before they faced Bradford.

Bradford Buzzard was perhaps the single most boring person she'd ever had the displeasure of fighting.

It wasn't that he was difficult to fight against, oh no, in fact, she was surprised he managed to stop them for so long in this timeline, but he always played by the book! Not a single interesting move! He didn't boast, make dramatic moves, or do anything Scroogie did, really. All he did was avoid, dodge, and stand behind his fancy machines. Which...yeah, okay, it wasn't that bad, but he was terribly uninteresting to fight against. The Bin stayed in its regular shape, and so did most of Duckburg, though it had a bit of a fancier design when it came to buildings.

Regardless, Bradford didn't even try to seem interested. He always seemed (and most likely, was) always annoyed, always spiteful, and just...indifferent. He didn't care about anything she and Poe did, he just wanted it to end. His immediate reaction to their arrival wasn't to fight...it was to sigh and complain about how he didn't have time for them. Which wasn't only rude, but incredibly hurtful. He had no idea how much these teleportation spells cost, and she truly did her best to deliver a spectacular entrance to her foes. The least he could do was at least seem interested.

The worst part is that apparently, in this timeline, they had never plainly told him they needed his dime; they were after his fortune. Which she probably realized they did because they wanted a challenge, considering the fact that the moment they asked for the dime, he handed it over.

She was so dumbfounded at first that she thought it to be a prank. A trap, even. But no, apparently Bradford cared just as little about his first dime, talking about how "He can always make a copy." or some such thing. If she didn't know any better, she'd have said he was searching for an opportunity to get rid of it, and yet a quick curse-check from her part revealed no dangers. He was just...boring. And it's not that he was scared of their power, at least that might've made up for something, he just gave them the dime and told them to go off.

So there she was, back in her hut, Lucky Dime in hand, an unbelieving expression across her unfocused eyes as she sat on her television's couch, still trying to reflect on the events of the day, trying to see if she misunderstood a word or a euphemism from the vulture's monotonous voice. She found none.

-"I mean, it's been a while when we saw the Dime last, Mistress.", throughout the long silence, from their unceremonious return to them now sitting, unable to decide what comes next, this was the first thing Poe muttered. It wasn't bad as an encouragement, but it didn't quite catch Magica's attention, either.

-"Mhm.", she mumbled absently, not even opening her beak.

-"Sure, it wasn't as spectacular as we both thought, but that doesn't matter! Do you know what this means, Mistress? Do you know just how much power we have in our hands?!", now, Poe was known for many things following his unfortunate transformation, but optimism was not one of them. That actually made her turn some of her attention to him. "It's the end of the old-centuries rivalry between us DeSpells and the...Mc...Ducks...", he slowly realized, opening his eyes a bit more. It wasn't the fact that they had gotten the Dime so easily which was bothering Magica, it was that she didn't even know if it was worth it.

She spent little under fifty-five years fighting against Scroogie. At some point, both of them knew that there would be no Scrooge without Magica, and there would be no Magica without Scrooge. Every single victory she had in her life was directly or indirectly caused by a desire to earn revenge on Scrooge, he was her greatest goal, and defeating him would be her Magnum Opus. Years upon years of work, blood, tears...all for some vulture to hand this over.

-"...Is the Dime even useful now?", she muttered, her eyes going to Poe, pleading, almost unsure of her every word. He seemed to have gotten the gist of why this victory in particular was unsatisfying, but now he simply blinked at her, not wanting to cause her any grief. "I-I mean, why did we even go after his Dime in particular instead of killing him or...or whatever?", her voice shaky. She knew the answer. She always did. She just had to hear it from someone she could trust.

-"We wanted it because it was Scrooge's the most important coin; it was his first, imbued strong emotional attachment, and we could use that attachment for our magic, alongpart the hate we had for him.", he repeated their goal slowly, trying to get where this was going. "Using the immense power extracted from it, we would do as we pleased. We'd turn me back into a duck, turn stones into gold...its possibilities were endless.", he finished, the massive smile on his beak dropping for a bit.

Bradford had handed them the Dime without a hitch. If he had any attachment to the Dime, then it wasn't enough for him to care about it. This would mean the Dime was useless...it couldn't do them a thing, or if it could, then it was severely weakened. Even if it wasn't, it didn't...it didn't feel as if they earned it. Okay, this was stupid, since they were villains, after all, they weren't about being fair, but after all these years, having such an underwhelming encounter...it just left a sour taste in her mouth.

-"Who gives a flying duck?!", a groggy, loud caw was the answer she got to her suspicions. "So what, we had a disappointing enemy, we have the Dime of the richest du- vulture in the world! So what if it not has emotional attachment, we'll find another object with emotional attachment! Anything would be better than Scrooge!", he yelled, sensing the conflict his sister felt and trying to set the record straight. "Anything would be better than being stuck as a crow."

The speed with which she spun her head to him could perhaps snap many necks, but Magica didn't care for the pain in her neck so much as she focused on the bird on her shoulder. She knew exactly what he was getting at; Poe was stuck as a crow for nearly five years at this point. He never loved his situation for even a second ever since the accident with McDuck and his two ducklings. Throughout these years, he worked with her for the Dime less out of a general desire for villainy and a want to help her, he worked with her because he also wanted the Dime's power.

And now he probably feared she was going to throw all away, just because wanted a 'real' fight.

-"R-Ratface! How dare you suggest I'd do something like that!", she vehemently denied. She then resisted the urge to slap herself because she just admitted to something he was yet to accuse her off. She stared at him, the eye he turned at her undecipherable. He remained silent for a moment before speaking up.

-"Do you want us to talk, Magica?", he offered, and she looked surprised. He seldom called her by her real name, and it was often a sign she could call him by his. She swallowed before nodding, as if the word 'Yes' would take too much energy out of her. He nodded in return, jumping off of her shoulder and landing beside her. "What's the issue, Magica?"

-"It's...It's stupid. I know it is. You wouldn't approve, and I know you taught me that the only good victory is a quick and easy one, but...but...It's just so maddening, you know?", she began, hunching her back and turning her head to him, a twinge of uncertainty in her voice. "I spend all my life hunting Scrooge McDuck, wanting his head on my wall, and when I finally win, I don't even win against him. I don't even know if I got the right object in this world.", she complained, bringing her hands to her face and covering it. Her entire life was built on waiting for this one, singular moment! All of her moves, triumphs and losses. So why wasn't she satisfied?!

-"...I get what you're saying.", the raven replied after a moment, trying to understand her, apparently. "I get it. It feels as if we were robbed of our moment, doesn't it?", her sat down on the couch, trying his best to imitate a regular duck sitting. She hesitated before nodding, almost afraid of his answer. "...I cannot say it doesn't leave an undelicious taste, to be honest. We've worked so hard for this moment. And yet, what other choice do we have? What were you planning on doing? What do we have to gain from a Scrooge in this world?", he questioned, not with a hostile tone, but a rather intrigued one, as if he truly wanted to know more about this situation they found themselves in.

-"I- You know what? Forget it, we'll melt this dime and find the strongest emotional object here-"

-"Answers, Magica.", he firmly repeated, turning his head to her.

-"I don't know!", she yelled out, partly angry, partly anxious. "How should I know? I spent all of my life fighting Scroogie and I'm not even the one to take him out! It's all a stupid spell...And I can't bring him back, because this stupid spell will account for the past, and that means the source of our power, the one in my hand right now, would be gone.", she started laughing out of desperation, holding the Dime up in the air and trying to channel some energy into it. It emitted some energy, sure, but it wasn't as strong as you'd think or want. "And so would any of chance of turning you back to a duck since we'd need the power it grants for a chance at reversing back the irreversible...", she venomously spat out, frowning at her momentary meltdown and at the situation.

Magica DeSpell was known for many things, and losing control of herself was not one of them. It wasn't publicly known, anyways, but this...this mess was a whole new low. They'd failed before, but never before had they gone so horribly right, and they never found themselves in a situation where they had to ponder if bringing back their biggest enemy would be a good idea or not.

-"We could find another McDuck, Magie.", he tried soothing her, reserving his own thoughts for later. "Someone must've made it out there. Be it hero or villain, there must be someone like Scrooge. There have to have been.", he comforted her, trying to his best to rest his arm on her shoulder. Or his wing on her arm, in this case.

-"I know, Poe.", she sighed heavily, leaning a bit onto his arm before quickly rethinking that decision as he struggled against her weight. "But there's no Scrooge McDuck. There's always someone like him, but there's never the Scrooge McDuck.", she bitterly admitted. He was a worthy rival. Many had come and go, and most were able to face her again. Some couldn't continue on living, for that matter. All but Scrooge had fallen to her.

At first, she had only rage and fury for him, but as the years went on, she started to love their fights more and more, her schemes became more and more elaborate, her plans became works of art that she spent more time on than she cared to admit, and she invested so much emotion to her fight against him that seeing him gone in such an anti-climatic way was...depressing, honestly. Scrooge brought out her worst, in a way no one else could, and for that, she (secretly) thanked him; her worst was scarier than her on a rampage, and that didn't just say something, it spoke volumes.

-"So? You'll bring him back? Just because of that?", another caw, this one a bit more inquisitive and pushy. She tried looking the other direction. "Down here are my eyes, Magie.", he pushed her. She looked at him, a twinge of guilt in her eyes.

-"I don't know. We didn't do much in this world, y'know. We can live like this never happened.", she suggested, her voice a mere whisper. One that sounded like a yell in the dead silence in their home. Her brother kept staring, part sympathetic, part...was that sadness in his eyes?

-"Magica,", he began, trying to find his words, "We're villains. We're the worst people on God's green earth, and we care certainly not about who we hurt, maim, and kill. And when you're a villain, you fight against Karma and the universe magically siding with your enemies, not mention having to work with The Evil Overlord List to keep everything in check.", he explained to her, his eyes never leaving her. "It's not about who we're fighting. I just want a world without Scrooge. How bad can whoever replaced him be?", he begged, stopping for a moment before adding, "My freedom could be a battle away."

Well, he was certainly making the choice easy, wasn't he. So? So what? Does she just leave her brother to suffer? The one, and so far, only man to stay with her for all of her life? Just for another rival? She prided herself on being heartless, but this...She didn't know anymore.

What was her happiness anymore? Could she not find happiness without her endless fight with Scroogie? Who was she? Her own independent person, or merely a shadow in Scrooge's massive figure, never to step out from under it? What was her life? An endless chase for a goal which she could only achieve in one way, lest she render it underwhelming for her? She's been building up the moment so much, for so long, and she sacrificed everything to have it. Everyone. Was the chase she started what defined her? Or had Scroogie won without realizing, making her little more than another person swallowed by the ever-greedy monster that was his shadow?

-"I don't...I don't know, Poe.", she hitched, suddenly realizing that this wasn't good for her figure. Not at all. She suppressed any emotional instinct in her body and brought her knees to her chest, resting her head on them. "I don't know what to do anymore. All this chase...All this madness. And I never won.", she closed her eyes, sensing a bit of a stinging sensation and trying to block it. "And when I did, I still lost.", alright, she wasn't going to speak now. Her voice was dangerously close to cracking.

-"You're wrong. You've won several times, and were -still are- Scrooge's most dangerous foe for years. Several set-backs, sure, but all great people have set-backs.", he started brushing his wing against her arm, not really able to pat. She interrupted him before he could speak further.

-"Isn't it funny? The day I win, I can't even be happy. I need Scroogie to be happy. Laughable, isn't it? I'm becoming less and less my own person. Just a planet in a star's orbit. My own shadow is slipping out from under me and becoming his.", she lamented, her hitches a bit more noticeable.

-"Then reign your shadow back in! You're Magica DeSpell, for goodness' sake! Control it, make be it yours!", the raven stood on his two feet, trying his best to be considerate. He was making her happier, sure, but he was not so truthful, was he?

-"...Maybe. I'm...I'm sorry about this Poe. This...idiocy. I guess I'm not as sturdy as I thought myself to be.", she sniffed again, looking at him as he stared back.

-"Nobody is. We all think we're invincible at one point. The only thing that matters is getting back up. Bigger, better, badder.", his voice lowered, and the pure devilishness in it was infectious. She smiled a weak smile, and he returned it in kind. "So, when are we going back to our timeline?", he suddenly questioned, and she opened her eyes wide at his question.

-"You...You're okay with it...?"

-"If I said I was, you'd know I'm lying. But it's not the biggest issue, either. This dime isn't solve my issue anytime soon with its power like that. And we have no real other target at this point. So it wasn't that close to me. I hope.", he explained himself, trying to have an air of dignity before swallowing and continuing, "...Since we're being truthful here, I won't say that this doesn't feels like a wasted opportunity. I've long dreamed of a world without Scrooge, but to tell the truth, someone like Scrooge will probably as be annoying as Scrooge. Probably.", he concluded, some of the sadness in his eyes washing away. He removed his eyes from Magica for a moment, looking at the ceiling.

-"I...And leave you as a crow? Do you have any idea what you're saying?!", she refuted the idea, earning a quick glance. "No, I...I shouldn't...I can't do this! We have to find the closest thing that'll help you! We must!", she started panicking, trying for once to think of him more. He smiled and rubbed her arm again.

-"Primarily, I am a raven. And I thought you were a heartless, selfish villainess? Or do we need to spend more time learning how to be proper villains?", he tried easing her worries away, a teasing tone in his voice for a moment before he cleared it. "Listen, Magica, whatever happens, one of us isn't getting what they want. If we go back to our timeline, there's always a chance we'll get Scrooge. A chance we'll find some other solution. If we stay here, there then won't ever being another McDuck.", he explained to her, his voice calm and collected, trying his best to keep her calm. "And you'd better do it when I'm in a good mood, because I'm sure this will bite my tail sometime later.", he added, deciding that perhaps some pressure is needed.

-"But-"

-"NOW!", he ordered her, and she jumped, surprised from his cry, heading to where she'd first preformed her spell, hastily picking up the Scrooge doll and covering it with more Bougeia Autrepart, setting it on the ground where it once stood.

-"O' sanguina del mon enemmi mortel, repondra O' appels que t'entendra, O' abyssum qu'attend, repond à ma voca!", she repeated the same chanting she said this morning, waiting as the puppet levitated once more and sensing her brother come beside her. "Bring Scrooge McDuck back and reset this timeline on the right track!", she cried out, letting the doll emit sparks once more, the spinning a bit faster than the first time they cast it.

The same suffocating sensation they felt this morning soon filled their house, forcing them to wait as the constant 'zaps' and 'bangs' started whittling down. It wasn't any more pleasant than it was the first time, but at least they anticipated it. A few painful moments later, their breathing regained its regular pace, and their house started becoming more illuminated.

-"...Ugh...", the small black bird on the ground tried holding his head between his hands as he stared immediately at the wall behind him. Yep. Scrooge was back alright. "We really need to find a spell that counters harmful effects from other spells. I don't think I want to keep do this...", he complained, allowing their home to bask in the silence for a moment. Even the air had stopped its continual blow for a moment. A moment of peace wasn't rare when the pair of them were both adults, but the whole 'evil magic' thing didn't also allow for too much peace.

Then there was a sob.

It wasn't a particularly sad sob. Particularly pained, either. It was simply reigned. Defeated. When he turned back, the green-ish duck was still on her knees, her hand covering her eyes, emitting another sob every few moments before interrupting it with a quick chuckle. He gave her the moment; no need to be pushy now. He already knew what was bothering her.

-"I guess...I guess I really am a screw-up...", she mumbled between her hitches. "Fifty years and I cannot get a dime. Fifty years and I've also grown attached to winning by one single method...I'm hopeless, Poe. Hopeless.", she ended solemnly, not showing her face, afraid of even worse humiliation if she was shedding tears.

-"No."

-"Stop it. You're the best person I could ask for now, but lying won't make me better.", she bitterly refuted, making her hand leave her face as she tried tucking the threads of hair that made their way to her eyes away.

-"Then what will?"

-"I don't know! Winning? Not being a failure? Something along those lines! I've been working my bum off for years, playing off every failure as a learning experience, but it's too much. I've had it. I just want to win for once. Is that too much?", indeed, Magica DeSpell was not known for making such emotional rants, and yet, everyone had moments when they snapped. She just needed to let some steam off. That's all.

-"I meaning, we are villains. Winning isn't really something we do often.", well, he was certainly keeping his realist tendencies. That was fun. "...I don't know Magica. I wish I had some magical answer to tell you, but there really isn't. We're back to square one.", he stated as a matter-of-fact, quickly picking up the pace before she could reply, "But that doesn't matter. You're Magica DeSpell! Sorceress of the Shadows, Empress of Napoli, and my favourite little sister. You'll push through. Somehow, against all possible odds and against your better judgement, you'll rise up again. You always did.", he resumed, an encouraging tone in his voice. He held his had high, looking the sorceress in the eye. She seemed touched.

-"Poe...that was...Absolute malarkey.", she admitted, chuckling with him. "But you know what? I'll take it.", she laughed, opening her arms for a moment as the raven in front of her understood what she wanted and opened his wings. A small moment ensued before she went down and gave her brother a quick hug. A silent one, and those were rare, so he'd better cherish it. because she wasn't planning on giving much more of them. "Alright, that's enough."

-"Aw, and here I thought you were going to showing some more affection to me.", well, it wasn't that she didn't love him, but disregarding the rare outburst of emotion, she never showed much emotion to her brother. He, on the other hand, didn't try to hide it. At least, before the whole raven business. And now she was sad again. She snapped out of her internal thoughts when she noticed he perched himself on the couch, almost as if waiting for her to come closer. "So, what's the plan now, Mistress?"

-"The plan?", oh, right. A plan. A plan to reclaim herself. To try and fight against this feeling of hopelessness. "I'd...I want to try and train my Shadow Magic a bit more. Perhaps having more control over my shadow will make me get in a better place. It can serve me, and it's the most loyal helper I'll probably ever get.", she mumbled, earning a disapproving glance. "Besides you, of course.", she added, and the glance went away. "Besides, shouldn't you be a cold-hearted, uncaring villain? Why do you care whether or not I consider you loyal?"

-"No, I meant the plan to get rid from Scrooge. Or to win over him. Or any other plan.", oh, so that was how it was going to be? Now he was going to ignore her questions. We'll see about that, Mr. Tough Guy. We'll see. She wiped her eyes, making sure there wasn't anything in them.

-"Hey, when did your English improve all of a sudden? And why didn't the cracks show when we faced Bradford? Are you really sure you're just having some difficulties? Because I'm telling you, you won't get on my good side if I figure out you've been messing with me...", well, two could play at that game! She, too, could ignore his questions, although he replied to this particular question with a most satisfying answer: A shrug. One day, she'll kill him. Not today, however.

-"So, plan is being?"

-"Now you're just forcing it.", she rolled her eyes, walking a bit closer to him as a most devilish plan popped into her mind. "You know, I think I have a new plan.", she began, and he immediately became attentive. Or at least, feigned attention. "I'm planning a vacation."

-"A what?", the pure, raw confusion in his voice was priceless. If for nothing else, this plan in particular was already working.

-"A vacation. It is when someone takes a break from a particular work or job.", she dully explained, watching him mutter something under his beak.

-"No, I know that! Just...really? The last vacation we took together was in the seventies. It's an...uh, a strange extremely proposition.", he explained, apparently coming on board of this particular plan. "I guess you finally decided that some relaxation can benefit the both of us. So, where to, Mistress? I think Sardinia would to be very nice.", he suggested, a small list of places they could go to popping up in his mind. It's been a last while since the two of them actually planned a relaxing trip together. Usually they'd just yell at each other before one of them storms away for a few days and relaxes on their own.

-"Actually...I've been thinking about staying here. I mean, look at our home. It needs some work, that's for sure. We have some laundry, and to be truthful, when was the last time we walked around Napoli? Must've been three years at least.", she tried to remember, and he thought about it for a moment before agreeing.

-"You know what? You're right. We'd do better to stay here. Away from McDuck, away from our troubles in life.", there we go, he was starting to see from her perspective. "And our house does look like it hasn't been cleaned since the dawn of time.", well, that wasn't such a great perspective, but it wasn't wrong per say.

-"Alright, consider us on vacation from now on!", she announced, looking around their ancestral home for a moment. "I think we'd best start on cleaning this place up if we want to finish quickly", she stated, and she earned a nod from her brother as he went to a broom nearby. She then remembered something. "And...uh, Poe?"

-"Hm?", huh. He didn't immediately object to her using his name. That was encouraging.

-"Can we...you know, use our names from time to time? Maybe the weekends? Just...sometime when we can be ourselves for while, yeah?", she timidly suggested, trying to decipher his expression. Poe had donned Ratface as his name for a while now, and she knew that he didn't exactly like the name, only keeping it so that nobody recognizes how low he sunk. But she already knew who he was, so it wasn't that big of a deal...right?

-"...Sure, I suppose. Only on weekends though.", his murmured, his voice so low, almost as if he hoped she wouldn't catch it. He knew she did from her relieved expression, though. "Well, don't just stand there. Get in work; grab the mop.", he ordered, turning his head away.

-"Will do, Ratface, will do.", well, if there's one thing that this disastrous spell helped with, it's that it made the rift between them slightly smaller than what it used to be after the raven incident. Slightly.

As she headed off to find the mop, passing by Poe while he tried his earnest to brush the dust away, she couldn't help but reflect on this day. So, another thing to add to the tomes. Another failure, too, but this time, she couldn't help but feel it was self-inflicted.

She was this close. The Lucky Dime was quite literally in her hand -she quickly checked, obviously finding nothing- and she let it go. Why? Was this really the only way she could find her satisfaction, by defeating Scroogie herself? How far was she willing to go? How much more would she have to sacrifice?

Would she even get there?

Perhaps not. However, it was this 'perhaps' that kept her going; Magica hadn't expected Scroogie to be such a persistent opponent, to always be watchful, to always be determined to win, to always be so confident, yet never passing the line that would make many other fall for an over-inflated ego. And yet, he slipped from time to time. She knew that, as a villainess, the world was basically working against her, and yet...there were times where she came so close, she could not actually believe it. But he always bounced back up, striking her and Poe down at the last second.

And yet, she could not imagine any more hollow a victory than what she had today. For all she hated him, Scrooge was such a worthy opponent that anyone else simply could not reach the golden standard which he'd set. The snark, the fighting, the boisterous spirit that just felt so wonderful to crack with a devious plot...It all made her unable to imagine a victory over someone other than him when it came to the Lucky Dime.

The issue was that she feared he became less of a rival, and more of an obsession. Was she truly unable to accept winning over someone else? How much control did she have over this rivalry of theirs, really? She always thought that he'd be living in fear of her, making his every more around her fearsome existence, and yet it appeared she was the one who was losing her mind about him.

So what would she do? Realize she's become in his orbit? Accept it? Try to cut all ties and just stop going to North America altogether? It was all just so maddening...

And yet, the answer she found herself satisfied with was that she had to try harder. She couldn't possibly let Scrooge rob her blind; she was Magica DeSpell! She went so far to get to defeat Scroogie, and she wouldn't simply let go! She'd get better, stronger, more dangerous, and she'd have to balance this out a bit. Scrooge was not the main character of her life; she was. He wasn't going to out-shine her in her own life.

And yeah, the Lucky Dime is essentially her sole goal which she's been working towards, but perhaps trying to regain more control before going after Scrooge again will make her feel more firm about her position. Honestly, it was all so complicated that she couldn't help but feel a bit bad for leaving a Scrooge-less world behind her, but after all, a world without Scrooge McDuck is certainly not the world she was used to. She wouldn't simply leave the world behind her and run away, she'd stand up and get a hold of this situation again. It's what she did before, and what she'll be doing for a long time, or else her name isn't Magica DeSpell.

-"Mistress, what on earth is taking so long?! Have you forgotten what a mop is?!", and her name wouldn't be Magica DeSpell if she stopped doing dramatic monologues and forgetting about her surroundings, either.

-"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming you smart-mouth...", as she picked up the cleaning supplies and headed to where her brother was, she couldn't help but stare at Scrooge's picture, filled with darts.

Perhaps a world without Scroogie would be a world that's less dangerous. A world that's more successful for her. Far easier, too. But she did not care about easy, she cared about the challenge and the victory that followed. For now, she could handle a world with Scroogie. The question was: Could he handle what was coming next?

Oooooh, that was a good one! She had to write that down for her next confrontation with the old miser. Right after they finish their vacation, of course.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #magica de spell #poe de spell #duckverse #My writing #ask #Life crisises and siblings and magic #we have it all

16 notes · View notes

iselsis · 4 years

Text

Unholy Matrimony 2

Jack had left early in the morning two days later for his meeting with Mr. Wayne, and Tim had been waiting in the grand foyer almost without a break ever since.

He knew, like, intellectually, the Mr. Wayne wouldn’t buy him, because, duh, Batman, but he was having a hard time convincing his body of that. His heart pounded wildly, his hands were clammy and gross, and his stomach roiled, both with heat pain and at the thick scent of distress and pheromones in the room. Janet had tried to order him to his room, but he kept sneaking back, and eventually, she just gave up and opened windows.

In the end, he decided that he was less worried about what would happen if Mr. Wayne bought him, and more worried about what would happen when he didn’t. His parents were going to be furious, and while he kind of hoped that they’d just spend a lot of time thinking about what to do next, go on another trip, and forget, like they usually did with commitments they made to him, he didn’t think that that was going to happen this time.

After a few hours, Janet wordlessly stepped into the room. Neither of his parents had spoken to him since the first morning except to snap order and make absolutely sure how much of a disappointment he was. Instead of acknowledging him or snapping at him to stop making her house smell like a crime scene, she leaned against the banister to watch the front door with him. He supposed that meant that his dad would be back soon, and his gut wrenched again. He wasn’t sure if that would be good or bad, but at least it would mean an end to the waiting.

It was only a few more minute before they heard the Drake’s rental (they were never in town long enough to need their own car) roar up the front drive with a worrying speed. His dad was either really excited, or really mad. Tim was leaning towards mad, given the whole “trying to sell my kid to the unholy terror of the night” thing, but that wasn’t assured, he realized. He might have drastically mistyped Batman, and the real Bruce Wayne was more of a “do as I say and not as I do” type person, or maybe he didn’t really mind child brides. Like, he’d stop a grab & go rape, but if they were, like, married, then maybe he wouldn’t really mind.

The door flew open and Jack stormed into the foyer, his whole body and scent screaming rage.

Tim breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He wasn’t getting married, then.

Janet frowned in confusion. “He refused.”

“Refused? Refusing is one thing, but that bastard,” Jack snarled, hurling his briefcase at the floor, where it landed on its spine with a resounding crack and an eruption of papers. “That absolute bastard had the nerve to lecture me about how we should ‘respect and treasure our son’ and ‘cherish the time we have with him.’”

Oh, that was… That was beautiful. Poetic. The small part of him that had been worried about Mr. Wayne actually wanting him that way curled up and died of laughter. The thought of his parents actually following through on Mr. Wayne’s suggestion and respecting him and cherishing their time with him, though, was just too much.

Jack turned and shot a glare at Tim, like it was his fault that Mr. Wayne didn’t want to buy him, and Tim struggled to keep his grin in check.

He must not have been able to keep his amusement from his scent, because his father’s expression darkened, and he stalked toward Tim.

“You think that this is funny, bitch?” Jack snatched Tim’s collar before Tim could make a run for it and shook him harshly.

Tim stumbled, throwing his head back in submission to bare his throat. Jack growled and slapped Tim hard across the face with enough force to send him crashing to the ground.

His head hit the tile hard, making his vision swim with disjointed shapes and blurred edges. He tried to get up, but his father’s shoe slammed into his ribs and he was down again with a cry of pain. The next kick landed in his stomach, then another to his ribs, then his mother’s voice was saying something quietly that Tim couldn’t hear over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“He deserves it, pompous little omega brat!” Jack snapped venomously.

Tim chanced a glance up, but found only a furious glare from his father and a cool, calculating stare from his mother.

“True.” She lifted her chin so that she was looking down her nose at Tim even more than she had been before. “But we won’t get as good a price for him if he’s broken and ugly. His only asset is his pretty face, dear. Luthor or Queen might be interested if he looks decent.”

A small, ridiculous part of Tim was thrilled, because calling him pretty was the nicest thing his mom had said about him in years. A larger part of Tim cringed at the idea of having to marry Lex Luthor or Oliver Queen. Mr. Wayne was Batman, which meant that of course he would never agree to marry a kid. Tim was sure that the drunken playboy role was just an act.

Lex Luthor, from what he had overheard from his parents, was arrogant, cruel, manipulative, and completely amoral, and that was just with his business partners. Tim was sure that he wouldn’t object to being given a child bride, and Tim also knew that his parents had wanted a deal with Luthor almost as badly as they wanted a deal with Wayne.

Oliver Queen, he knew less about. He did know that he was the CEO of Queen Industries. His parents didn’t think much of him. He was apparently what Bruce Wayne pretended to be: a drunk playboy with too much money and low moral character. He was a useful idiot, though, and they might try to get the better of him with a stilted business deal and a young omega. For all those faults, though, Tim was pretty sure that he wasn’t a criminal.

Jack growled and kicked Tim once more before storming out of the room.

Janet’s lips curled into a frown of distaste. She didn’t have to say anything to communicate just how disappointed she was. After a few moments, she calmly followed her husband out of the room.

Tim tried to get up, but it hurt too much to move. He lay there, curled up in a fetal position on the tile floor, where at least the icy tiles numbed the pain of his bruises and heat, for a long time.

Finally, Tim dragged himself up off the floor, and up two flights of stairs to his bedroom. If he even had his own house, he was going to get a ground floor bedroom, like a sensible person. Or maybe he’d just take suppressants for the heat, and stay away from angry alphas.

Tim slipped into his room and shut the door behind him louder than he would have normally dared with his parents home, but he was hurt, and they were already mad, so he didn’t think it mattered if he slammed the door.

Tim wanted to just curl up into a ball and fall asleep for the next five years, but he had research to do first.

He dragged his laptop out from under his bed, where he’d hidden it in case his dad took it like he’d taken Tim’s phone. Jack had said that Tim didn’t need it anymore, but Tim had a feeling that it was really more out of a fear that Tim would go on social media and paint his parents and their company in a bad light in an attempt to get out of a marriage.

Tim was smart, though, or at the very least, smarter than that.

Options were limited for omegas. He could live on the streets, but he doubted he’d survive long without a pack. Jason Todd had done it, but Jason Todd was an alpha and he was strong enough that Batman had impulse-adopted him to be his Robin. If Tim wanted a prayer of survival, he’d probably have to find a pimp or an alpha. He didn’t want to, but if his other option was Luthor… He’d have to see.

Foster care, especially in Gotham, was basically just the prostitute option. He’d have a guaranteed roof, and probably food, but he wouldn’t get to keep his money and his parents would probably be able to get him back. Gotham’s omega group homes were also hotbeds for abuse without pay.

Tim’s main problem was that what his parents were doing wasn’t technically illegal. Even though omegas weren’t legally considered property anymore, they were second class citizens. If their parents wanted, they could marry them off to any alpha they wanted. Most didn’t anymore, but most also weren’t negotiating multimillion-dollar business deals. His new husband would be his guardian until he was eighteen, and he couldn’t even be divorced until then.

At the very least, Tim was the only one in the marriage who could request a divorce. Something about the alpha assuming responsibility since the omega had little real-world experience before the marriage. If he wanted, once he was eighteen, he could just be really really annoying until whatever alpha married him agreed to give him a severance check and alimony.

That plan probably wouldn’t work. There weren’t any rules about beating your omega for being a brat, or marital rape.

He needed to make a plan, and for that, he needed information.

A search on Lex Luthor turned up relatively innocuous results, until Tim started trying to get around any doctoring of the algorithm by adding keywords like crime and conspiracy. Most people turned their noses up as soon as the word conspiracy was uttered, but Tim had figured out that the richest man in Gotham ran around town dressed as a bat and beating people up with his underage accomplice all because of an acrobatic move. Small clues were important, and rich people are weird.

It turned out that the internet suspected Lex Luthor of a lot. Illegal weapons deals, links to supervillains, human testing, abuse, rape, murder. There wasn’t much that he wasn’t suspected of. Several of his more vocal accusers had turned up “suicided” as some had termed it. There was one, a CK, whose allegations of Luthor’s crimes was so extensive that Tim wasn’t sure if it could actually be true that one man had committed so many crimes.

Luthor was a hard no. Tim would rather chance the streets. Tim would rather die. Heck, if he wanted to die, marrying Luthor would probably take care of that pretty quickly.

Oliver Queen was a different story. Tim couldn’t find many accusations against him of anything, and the accusations he did find were mostly just being a drunkard and a whore. He didn’t seem so bad, or so smart. He seemed like he’d be nice enough, and Tim might even be able to manipulate Mr. Queen into letting him go to school. He’d probably be safer than the streets even if he couldn’t, and if he wasn’t, then at least the streets of Star City weren’t nearly as dangerous as the streets of Gotham.

It struck him while he was looking at a photo of Mr. Queen at a charity gala for polio or rickets or something. Mr. Queen’s beard seemed…familiar.

There was no way.

Tim quickly split the screen and pulled up every picture the public had of Star City’s Green Arrow on one side, comparing it to the picture of Oliver Queen from the newspaper.

How.

Had.

No one.

Noticed?

The facial hair was the exact same, the build, the hair color. Wouldn’t it be more efficient to wear a mask over his mouth and nose than over his eyes? It would take away the risk of the domino slipping over his eyes and actually cover extremely identifiable marks.

His heart sank. Mr. Wayne wouldn’t buy him, because he was a hero. Mr. Queen was a hero too.

He was being sold to Luthor.

#batman #bruce wayne is a good dad #tim drake #bruce wayne #omega tim drake #alpha beta omega #alpha bruce wayne #adoption #accidental baby acquisition #fake marriage au

32 notes · View notes

jonathanvik · 3 years

Text

Starlight Dream - Chapter 2

A cruel chuckle escaped Lilha’s lips as she watched her prey walk down the street with her ridiculous friends. Her fairy companion circled around her, chatting away useless nonsense. Above the vampire queen, the sun rained down its hateful light. While not dangerous to a higher vampire like herself, it still significantly weakened her. At this hour, most vampires were asleep, hiding in terror from this magical girl menace.

She’d been planning this attack for days, studying the girl’s habits and moods. A predator needed to understand its victim before destroying them. Since the return of the sun, Seina had spent an unhealthy amount of time outside. This park was one of her most favorite places to visit. It wasn’t difficult to devise the perfect plan to kill this pathetic, naive girl. Once Lilha’s plan was complete, vampires would return to their correct position as the world’s undisputed masters, now and forever! Darkness would reign again for all eternity!

“Uh, excuse me, but could I have a scoop of chocolate ice cream?” A young child asked, interrupting Lilha’s victory gloating.

Reality crashed down on the vampire queen, forcing her to return to her job. When Seina had devastated her vampire masters, Lilha had lost everything, a queen in name only, forced to work at an ice cream stall to pay the bills! Her uniform was a tacky red hat and an ugly striped shirt.

Before, she had lived in a palace that even the richest of kings would envy. Now, she dwelled in a one-room apartment with a leaky roof and rats. In happier days, her late husband delighted in making humans live in utter squalor for his amusement. It didn’t leave her with many suitable places to live. Her pride made her refuse to live in the sewers like other displaced vampires.

“Here,” Lilha said, handing over the boy’s orders with little enthusiasm. Her excitement had drained away, making her feel dead inside. This brought back too many terrible memories of working at a McRonald's before her queenhood. Back then, Lilha had sworn she’d possess only the best in life.

Curse that magical girl! Curse her! From the corner of her eye, Lilha watched Seina get into position. She bubbled with excitement, eager to see herself avenged.

“I love this view!” The magical girl said, looking over the bridge, watching the clear sky and the cars driving beneath them. After the vampire’s downfall, humans were working hard to return to their lives pre-darkness. While there were fewer cars than in ages past, it was a solid return to normalcy.

“Really?” Colten asked, tilting his bulbous head. To him, it wasn’t that extraordinary. “Oh right. You seldom saw the sun.”

Seina shook her head. She closed her eyes and extended her arms, soaking in the sun. “I could stand here all day!”

The magical girl’s brainless friend laughed. “You’re so silly, Seina!”

The fairy, however, seemed touched, lips extending into a slight smile. “Stay as long as you like.”

Idiot, you’re making this so much simpler! With a slight flick of her hand, the vampire queen signaled the beginning of her plan. In a few moments, the meddlesome magical girl would be dead.

From the darkness behind a trash can, Cugo, the fifth greatest vampire assassin, struck. He pulled out a long green tube and placed it over his shoulder. After closing one eye, Cugo aimed his rocket launcher and unleashed the missile. The target struck home, and Seina’s friends screamed in horror. The projectile exploded, sending the magical girl flying upon impact. Lilha cackled in delight as the girl’s body rag dolled in the air, landing in the busy street.

“Seina!” The fairy’s voice cracked, eyes widening in horror.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Lilha’s mirth increased as the magical girl’s lifeless body landed before a heavy truck carrying construction equipment. The vehicle couldn’t avoid the girl in time and bumped as its enormous tires ran over her.

I did it! Lilha did a victory dance, heartened by the gruesome death of her most hated enemy. Freedom at last!

“Oh, she’s fine. T-thank goodness.” Colten said, throwing cold water at Lilha’s celebration.

I-Impossible. The vampire’s queen stomach twisted in dread, running towards the railing. Sure enough, Seina was sitting up, rubbing the back of her neck. Except for her charred and burned dress, the girl seemed otherwise unhurt. The truck driver exited his cabin, relieved to discover the girl he’d struck unharmed.

“You have to got to be %@$&* kidding me.” Several more curses escaped the vampire queen’s lips. How, why? How did she survive without her magical powers?!

“Change Change, Magical Love Dress Up!” Moments later, Seina leaped to the bridge above to confront her attacker.

“Aiko, are you okay?” Seina asked, concerned.

“I’m fine, just a little scared.” While a little bruised, the girl appeared alright.

“What a dirty trick! Vampires.” The fairy used the name like a curse.

A new voice snorted in derision. “Lucky. I've heard you weren’t easy to kill.”

“So, you’re my attacker.” Seina glared towards the newcomer. Her friend yelped in surprise and fear, hiding behind a nearby bush.

The vampire cackled. “Correct, little girl. My name is Cugo, and I will be your death!”

The vampire was a gruesome sight. Over his pale bare-chested pasty body, tiny bones protruding from his body, each from his many victims. Cugo enjoyed claiming tokens from the people he killed. The sight made the magical girl recoil in disgust.

“Like my prizes?” Cugo purred. “I have so many. It’s my goal to one day kill a billion people!” The vampire assassin cackled again.

Colten snorted in amusement. “You already look like a pincushion. How the heck will you fit a billion?”

“Yeah, I don’t really see how that works,” Seina added. “Why kill a billion? And doesn’t it hurt?”

“Pain is my power! I revel in slaughter and blood! Death is my constant companion.” Cugo withdrew a knife, licking the blade with his tongue. Blood oozed from where he’d sliced its surface. The blood muffled the next words pouring from the assassin’s mouth. “Hurt me more! The more pain you cause me, the more invincible I become!”

“Okay,” Seina replied, nonplus. “And that doesn’t really answer my questions.”

“Why’d I even bother?” Lilha returned to her ice cream cart, discovering several more children impatiently awaiting their treat. While she served her customers, the ex-vampire queen heard her hired assassin’s screams. Moments later, the park was silent. That sneak attack had been their best opportunity to kill the hated magical girl. Lilha wasn’t under any illusion that the idiot had any chance otherwise.

Is this my life now? A single tear slid down her face. Fate had thrust Lilha back into the horrible existence she lived before her turn. The ex-vampire queen wiped her face and pretended to smile as more brats demanded ice cream. She could at least maintain some dignity.

---

“I’m fine, don’t fret, Colten,” Seina said, both annoyed and amused by her fairy friend’s attention. He was examining her for injuries, making sure everything was okay.

“I’m just worried. I was so scared I’d lost you!” Tears welled in the fairy's eyes.

Moved by her friend’s distress, she gave Colten a hug. “I’m not going anywhere, okay.”

Colten sniffed and nodded. “Yeah, I’m just being silly.”

“That was something. How did you survive that?” Aiko asked. “I’m glad, but I thought your brooch gave you power.”

“Yeah, what happened?” Siena asked.

In the month since they’d first met, he’d been vague about this magical girl business. The fairy only stated he’d arrived from somewhere beyond her universe. He’d mentioned magical girls were common where he came from, but revealed little beyond that tidbit. Seina pressed him for more information, but the fairy was sparse on more details.

“It’s your magic, Seina,” Colten replied. “It protects you even when you aren’t transformed.”

“What happens if she loses the brooch? Will she be vulnerable then?” Aiko asked, curious.

“Nope, it’s part of her soul now,” Colten replied smugly. “She’s a magical girl forever.” Despite this simple explanation, Seina got the distinct impression that was something else her fairy friend wasn’t telling her. What was with these secrets? Did Colten enjoy just being obtuse?

Whatever, she’d press him for more answers later. Seina just wanted to enjoy the walk with her friends. Vampires or other problems could wait. They deserved the peace. Besides, she could handle any trouble that could arise, even if she hadn’t learned how to cast spells with her staff yet. The trio was laughing and joking as they headed back home.

After the fall of the vampires, Seina had taken residency in an apartment building uptown. The new prime minister had insisted that she live with him after multiple assassination attempts. With no other place to go, she’d readily agreed. Seina still wasn’t on speaking terms with her parents. They’d disappeared since the incident in the colosseum. Not that she needed them, anyway. She was a big girl, almost an adult! Besides, she had Colten, she didn’t need anyone else.

“Seina, thank goodness you’re okay.” The guard, Ryo, said. “We heard about the assassination attempt. We’ve been looking for you!”

“I’m fine.” Seina waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not even scratched. Prime Minister Ogawa doesn’t need to worry.”

“No, the Minister insists on seeing you, now.” Ryo pushed Seina towards the elevator leading to the Prime Minister’s office, leaving a waving Aiko behind.

“Seina, it’s so good to see you safe!” Uncle Kenji batted his head with a handkerchief. He wasn’t really her uncle, but she’d known him since childhood, and the nickname stuck. After Lothaire’s fall, people had thrust him into a leadership position, taking advantage of his natural talent. Taking the position hadn’t given him much pleasure, but someone needed to be Prime Minister.

“I’m fine,” Seina said, annoyed. “Like I keep telling everyone.”

“If we ever lost you…” The Prime Minister coughed into his hand, embarrassed. “Well, I suppose you magical girls are tougher than you look. Lothaire learned that the hard way.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” Seina had wanted some ice cream, but Colten had insisted it would ruin her dinner, leaving her starving. “Is it true they’d finally caught some fish?”

The darkness had devastated the earth’s wildlife, not leaving much food for humanity. Still, life persisted, and fishermen had already constructed new boats, hoping to return to their old profession and feed their families.

“That can wait. There’s something I wish to discuss first.” Uncle Kenji said.

“About what?” Colten asked, landing on Seina’s shoulder.

“It worries me every time you leave the safety of this building.” The prime minister sat behind his desk and steepled his fingers. “I realize you’re young and you can’t stay cooped up here. After some consideration, I decided it would be wise to assign you a guardian. Come in.”

Moments later, a scary-looking man with intense, piercing eyes entered the room. His brown hair was wild, and silver earrings pierced both of his ears. A small goatee ordained his face, adding to his rough features. He gave the Prime Minister a bow and studied Seina with interest with those terrifying eyes of his.

“This is Masato Kiyojiro, and he’s going to be your bodyguard.”

The man in question gave a polite bow. “I will protect you with my life.”

Seina gave her own awkward bow. After a moment’s hesitation, she gained the courage to speak her mind. “Um, I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m pretty powerful by myself. Not even a rocket launcher can kill me!” What if he attempted fighting something beyond his ability to beat? He couldn’t really protect her, so she hated putting him to the trouble of watching over her.

“This isn’t only about having someone to protect you. You’re a ten-year-old girl, Seina. You need someone to watch over you, and Kiyojiro is the man.” Kenji replied.

Colten snorted and puffed out his chest in pride. “She doesn’t need a protector. Seina has me!”

“Didn’t you say you’re nine?” The prime minister said, amused by the fairy’s bravado.

“A very mature nine!” Colten shot back.

Seina gave Mr. Kiyojiro a polite bow, who only replied silently with a cold-eyed stare. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kiyojiro, but I don’t think this will work. You’re just, well, a guy. It’s best if I worry about my own protection.”

“Seina, we aren’t arguing this. Kiyojiro is accompanying you from now on.” The Prime Minister’s voice brooked no argument. “And that’s final.”

“But!”

“Seina.” Uncle Kenji’s expression hardened.

“Fine.” Seina looked away, surrendering to the adult’s argument. Still, why this man? The prime minister could have found someone nicer.

Might as well face it now. “Hi, I’m Seina. It’s nice to meet you.” Seina gave her best, winning smile. It did little to improve her bodyguard’s mood, he only gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

Seina's smile turned awkward, but she wanted to make a good impression.

“This is so dumb!” Colten flew around in circles in agitation. “Well, I suppose it’s nice to have someone around to carry our bags or something.”

The fairy flew into the bodyguard’s face. “But know this. Seina’s protector is me! Got it? We’re partners, after all.”

Mr. Kiyojiro scowled, giving a snort of irritation. Colten quickly flew behind Seina for protection from his magical girl’s thuggish bodyguard. Seina sighed, knowing this change would be difficult to adjust to. She only hoped her new guardian wouldn’t scare her friends away. Her life had enough complications!

“Anyway, I’m famished,” Seina said. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Mr. Kiyojiro nodded. “I’ll prepare something for you. How does curry sound?”

“That would be great,” Seina replied, taken aback.

Truth be told, she’d never eaten curry before. For most of her life, before the sun’s return, Seina had spent her days eating nothing but slop and the occasional rat for a special treat. It was hard to know what exactly she liked with such little experience with actual food. Still, curry sounded interesting, and why not? She’d taste anything once.

“Mr. Kiyojiro is an excellent chef.” Uncle Kenji said in amusement. “It’s one reason I hired him. He isn’t just muscle, you know.”

“Huh, I suppose that somewhat justifies keeping him around,” Colten replied.

---

“So, this is the place? You’re certain?” Takako tilted her head, studying her surroundings. She watched as a couple walked down a park. Despite the park’s dead trees and general ugliness, they held hands, smiling without a care in the world.

“It should be. The universal coordinates are correct.” Nier said, landing on her shoulder. “Something’s not right here. Can’t you feel it?”

“Yeah.” Takako flicked her skull-shaped earrings.

People approached, and she hid behind a tree before they could notice her. These folk dressed in thick overalls, picking up trash, cleaning graffiti, and marking trees they found too hopeless to live. She’d seen people like this all around the city. They were ordinary folk attempting to restore the broken pieces of their lives and repair their broken world. It seemed almost everyone had volunteered to restore the city to its former glory.

“This wasn’t how they described this world to us at all!” Nier’s flying became more erratic as he got frustrated.

“Something huge happened here.” A jogger passed her, each step filled with effort and determination. The general wrongness was making Takako’s stomach queasy. While faint, her senses detected something. A presence that shouldn’t exist.

“We should find the source before this gets worse!” Nier said, and Takako couldn’t agree more.

With a gesture, she returned to normal. Her transformed state would draw unwanted attention. Whatever had caused this radical shift might learn of her existence, and that would be bothersome. Nier flew into her handbag. His head popped out, watching his surroundings with a keen eye. While still flashy, Takako’s outfit wasn’t as noticeable as her magical girl form. Takako briefly considered disguising herself in the local rags but decided against it. She had standards.

With a flick of her hand, a black umbrella plopped open and placed it over her shoulder. The shade it provided was a great comfort. The sun’s rays were almost oppressive as it shined down on them.

“Come, let’s investigate!"

#fiction #anime #anime stories #written story #parody #Starlight Dream #magical girl #humor #vampires #Adventure

3 notes · View notes

mighty-ant · 5 years

Note

if ur still taking new drakepad prompts, how about a scene where the boys meet runaway! gosalyn mallard, maybe a bit like lena?? sorry if thats like a little too specific, ive been missing my girl and wondering if and how she’s gonna show up.

It’s late enough to be considered early, with the inklings of dawn only a handful of minutes away.

Launchpad left about an hour ago, to get some rest before he flew Mr. McDuck to a dig site in Birdbados. They’re still trying to find a balance between his job as chauffeur and pilot (though increasingly just chauffeur) to the Richest Duck in the World and their nights spent crime-fighting. As a result, Drake often finds himself venturing out alone.

But it’s been a good week. Launchpad was able to join him on his patrols of both Duckburg and St. Canard nearly every night, flying in the Thunderquack he built from scratch that still makes Drake want to hop up and down like a child whenever he so much as thinks about it. And just earlier tonight, Launchpad had asked in that quiet, fumbling way of his when he was genuinely nervous about something, if Drake wanted to move in with him.

“Not-not in Mr. McDee’s garage,” he’d hastened to explain. “I’ve been doing some thinking you know, and I thought it was time I found my own place in town—with-with you, if that’s what you want, but y’know, no pressure, but I really like you and I’d like—I’d love to live with you—”

Drake couldn’t help but laugh, reaching up to snag Launchpad’s wildly gesticulating hands and cradle them in his lap. “I like you too,” he’d said, hoping to convey the measure of his affection by the warmth in his voice. “And I’d love to live with you.”

That had been some hours ago, and Drake’s barely coming down from cloud nine. He and Launchpad crossed over to St. Canard sometime around one in the morning, and stopped a couple muggings and attempted break-ins in between discussing possible living options. Duckburg’s still in the midst of a housing shortage, and Drake isn’t sure how he feels about moving back to his hometown of St. Canard. However, considering he’s been crashing at his hideout more than his actual apartment, he doesn’t really have the right to be picky.

It’s been quiet since Launchpad left, nobody out on the street below and nothing on the police scanner. Drake supposes that even St. Canard’s criminal underbelly has to sleep sometime. Not him, though, at least not until the sun’s up.

Drake’s taken to sitting on the roof of apartment buildings when his patrols are winding down, and tonight is no exception. He’s finishing up his burger from the 24-hour Hamburger Hippo just down the street, the one with the staff so regularly exposed to the depravities of humanity that they don’t even blink when a duck in a mask and a cape comes in to order a combo meal.

He’s still scanning the street as eats, and that’s when he sees her.

A blip of red in an ocean of night, and Drake has to do a doubletake to make sure his mind isn’t playing tricks on him. Sure enough, there’s a small figure, a kid, walking down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. He only catches a glimpse of her red hair when her hood falls, just as she steps into a circle of light provided by one of the few working street lamps.

Even as she tugs her the hood of her jacket back up around her face, Drake can tell she’s young. As in, way too young to be wandering around the Tenderloin at any time of day, much less the dead of night. Her watches her pause and look up and down the street, before crossing over to the sidewalk beneath him.

She has on a large backpack that nearly dwarfs her, and she adjusts the straps with obvious discomfort. It doesn’t stop her from peering at the parked cars she passes, with a veneer of nonchalance that he doesn’t understand the reason for. She pauses at the mouth of the alley beside the apartment building he’s perched on, and quickly scans her surroundings again. The street continues to remain empty, and she enters not a moment later.

Curious and more than a little concerned, Drake rises from the roof edge facing the street, leaving his half-eaten burger behind. He walks over to the ledge overlooking the alley, peering down, and his dark-adjusted eyes find the girl quickly.

She’s nearing the end of the alley, her gait purposeful. She keeps sneaking glances over her shoulder as she tugs her backpack around to sit on her chest, and begins to pull open the zipper. Whatever she’s heading toward, it’s apparently in this dead end alley.

Realization strikes with all the delicacy of an piano falling on his head, and Drake resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. “Oh, horsefeathers,” he mutters, in absolute disbelief.

He left the Ratcatcher parked in the alley below.

The girl’s pulling a lug wrench out of her big backpack, and Drake stops wondering why she’s carrying around something so big. She crouches beside the Ratcatcher, putting her backpack down on the ground beside her, and gets to work on stealing his tires.

She goes about it clumsily, because motorcycle tires and car tires are have little in common despite being used for the same purpose. But she clearly has experience with this, obvious in the confident way she holds the wrench and angles her body. If Drake doesn’t do something soon she’ll probably be successful.

With an ease born from practice, Drake hops off the edge of the building. He lands soundlessly on the second to last fire escape, and finds himself immediately at a loss. He can see the girl a lot more clearly now, and he has a sinking feeling developing in the pit of his stomach.

She’s shaking as she tries to undo the bolts on the Ratcatcher’s tires, and he watches her nearly drop the lug wrench twice. It’s the reason she’d looked clumsy from above, Drake realizes. He fights the sympathy that wells up in him at the sight. She’s still trying to steal his tires, and he kind of needs those to get home. Or anywhere, really.

Drake jumps down the dozen feet that remain between him and the ground, landing behind the girl. She doesn’t hear him, judging by the small curse she mutters when she drops the lug wrench with a clatter. He approaches her silently, at war with himself. As Darkwing, criminals he can handle, arrogant cops, even the odd grateful citizen. But a wannabe delinquent, a kid, alone in a dangerous part of town? What can he say that won’t immediately send her into a panic?

As ever, Drake’s mouth moves before his brain can catch up with him.

“Ahem,” he says, like the tactless buffoon he is.

The girl gasps, reacting instantly. In one quick motion she jerks to her feet and swings the lug wrench around, very nearly cracking Drake’s beak. She pulls her arm back in preparation of another backhand before he finally regains his senses.

“Hey, hey, whoa, you’re okay!” he tells her, raising his hands in what he hopes she’ll take for the non threatening gesture it is. “I’m not gonna hurt you!”

Her hood’s fallen back, revealing red hair tied in low, messy pigtails, and wide, panicked green eyes in a gaunt face that’s mostly brown, but still slightly yellow with down feathers. Her hands are wrapped tight around the wrench, so much so that her knuckles stand out. Up close, her oversized green hoodie is dingy in a way that speaks to poverty.

Drake’s pity gives way to anger at the injustice he sees before him. If he had any doubts as to why this kid was trying to steal his tires, he doesn’t now.

The girl’s panic-blind stare abates slightly as her brow begins to furrow.

“D…Darkwing Duck?” she breathes.

Any other time, Drake would be overjoyed at being recognized. But now his stomach just churns. “That’s right,” he replies. He gives her a pointed look, tempered with a smile. “You do realize whose tires you were stealing. Right?”

“Duh,” she retorts, clearly trying for a sardonic sort of tone but her voice trembles too much to sell the act. “You do you realize you parked your awesome motorcycle in a dark, spooky alley. Right?”

Drake chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s relieved to see the girl lower the wrench, no longer quite as on the defensive. “I guess you got me there.”

The girl smiles, quick as you please, and Drake doesn’t buy it for a second. “Well, great to meet you, Darkwing, big fan, but I should get going,” she says at a rapid pace. At the same time, she moves to pick up her backpack and slip the lug wrench back inside.

“Thank you for not arresting me, that was really cool of you, ‘cause technically I didn’t even do anything wrong and I don’t think you want people to think of you as the superhero who throws people in jail for not doing anything wrong. I mean, I bet Gizmoduck would never do that!”

She pulls her backpack on while talking, staggering briefly under the weight. She takes two steps forward, clearly intent on breezing past him and him just allowing her to do so.

“I don’t think so,” Drake says dryly, stepping in front of her and crossing his arms over his chest.

The girl immediately looks wary, her pasted on smile sliding off her face. She tightens her grip around the straps of her backpack, like she’ll make a run for it the second Drake makes a wrong move.

If he bombards her with the questions he’s desperate to ask—why is she out here alone? Where are her parents? Does she have somewhere to live?—she’ll shut him out. She might feel cornered, and try to attack him again, this time for real. Either way, she won’t let Drake help her if he takes the direct route.

“We haven’t been properly introduced,” he says conversationally, purposely relaxing his stance. He sticks out his hand. “I’m Drake.”

The girl seems to forget to be suspicious, judging by her startled expression. After a moment’s hesitation, she reaches out to take his hand. Her hand is dwarfed by his own, her knuckles scabbed over and her fingers still sticky with grease from the Ratcatcher’s tires.

“Gosalyn,” she replies, and looks surprised at herself for doing so.

“Great to meet you, Gosalyn,” Drake says. “You hungry? I know a great little place just down the street.”

“I can’t believe no one said anything about Darkwing Duck walking into their restaurant!” Gosalyn declares, impassioned, as she waves her milkshake around in the air. “Like, do they live under a rock?”

“I don’t know,” Drake replies nonchalantly, “I stop by there so often, they probably can’t bother being surprised anymore.”

“Still,” Gosalyn mutters, on the verge of pouting, and reaches over to take another handful of Drake’s fries.

They’re sitting on the rooftop Drake had vacated little over an hour ago, but feels like so much longer now. The sky is gradually lightening from black to blue with the coming dawn, and a stripe of orange has begun to crest the rooftops.

They started out with a Hamburger Hippo takeout bag each, but after watching Gosalyn practically inhale her burger, Drake gave her his too and settled for french fries instead. Of course, Gosalyn would go on to steal the fries from him too, but he can hardly bring himself to care. The promise and delivery of food seems to have endeared him to her, judging by the more natural, snarky humor she seems to fall into. She’s more relaxed around him now, and he’s grateful, because he’s only gotten more worried about her.

“Speaking of which,” Drake says, after taking a sip of his soda, “how did you recognize me? I only recently started patrolling in St. Canard. I didn’t think too many people here knew me yet.”

Gosalyn looks down, playing with the straw of her milkshake and avoiding his eyes. “Oh, uh…y’know,” she hedges, and Drake doesn’t rush her. She glances back at him for a fleeting moment, something about the hesitant hope in her gaze reminding him of himself before he met Jim Starling, in the short-lived moments before his hero spat his admiration back in his face.

“Well,” Gosalyn starts to say, setting her drink down so she can reach for her backpack behind her. “I, um. Well.” Words seem to fail her, and she’s pink with embarrassment, but she pulls a blue 3-ring binder out of her backpack all the same.

“I’ve kinda sorta known who you were since you first started,” she says quietly, and she’s not looking at Drake as she opens the binder and maybe that’s a good thing because his beak falls open in astonishment. The binder is filled with clear plastic sleeves filled with carefully cut newspaper clippings of his exploits, starting with the first one that made headlines: his defeat of the escaped convict and crime boss, Taurus Bulba.

“This is…wow,” Drake breathes.

Gosalyn is watching him now, waiting for his reaction with wariness mitigating her expression.

Drake reaches for the binder. “May I?” he asks, already overwhelmed by the child’s admiration in him.

Her expression alights with joy, which she immediately tries to hide behind a careless shrug. “Sure,” Gosalyn says, but her apparent lack of concern is belied by how gingerly she hands the binder to him.

Drake immediately starts flipping through it, alternatively smiling or groaning when he sees a positive headline versus ones mocking him for his blunders. He finds the picture that the news keeps circulating whenever he and Gizmoduck work together, the one where the other hero used his wrong arm to wave and ended up blocking Drake’s entire face.

“Hey!” Drake says brightly, turning the binder so Gosalyn can see where he’s pointing. “You even have ones that mention my partner! So many of these call him him my sidekick, and it may not bother him but it certainly bugs me.”

Gosalyn rolls her eyes, but she looks pleased. “I know, right? He looks super cool in all the pictures I’ve seen of him, but nobody talks about him! I had to steal Mrs. Cavanaugh’s newspapers for almost three weeks to find a good article.”

It’s the first time Gosalyn’s mentioned anyone in her life by name, and she knows it too by how quickly she goes quiet. Drake sobers as well, but he doesn’t press, and he doesn’t move the binder from his lap. He can only hope that Gosalyn feels safe enough to tell him the truth of who she is.

She tugs her legs up to her chest, and wraps her arms around her knees. She looks very small, and something in Drake’s chest aches at the sight.

“Mrs. Cavanaugh’s the lady that runs the orphanage where I…lived,” Gosalyn mutters.

“When did you stop living there?”

She shrugs, laying her chin down on her knees. “Two weeks ago.”

Drake grimaces. It’s not far from what he expected, but that doesn’t mean it’s good. “Why did you leave?”

She shrugs again, a smile developing on her face that is anything but happy. “Oh, y’know, I figured I could use a change of scenery.”

“Gosalyn,” Drake starts to say.

“Nobody wanted me,” Gosalyn cuts him off, and he shuts his beak with a harsh clack. “Okay?” she snaps, “why does anyone run away from an orphanage? Nobody wanted to adopt me.”

Drake resists the urge to reach out to her, unsure of how his attempt at comfort would be received. “I’m sure these things take time,” he tries.

Gosalyn snorts. “Everyone I knew when I first got the orphanage has already been adopted. I’m one of the oldest kids there.” Her eyes are shining with tears when she looks down at her feet, and she roughly scrubs at her eyes. “They say I’m a problem child. Prospective parents and the people who work at the there. So I figured I’d leave, and stop being their problem.”

“Gosalyn—”

“There was only time it wasn’t so bad, being there,” she says, reaching for her binder. Drake hands it to her, his mind churning with concern so strong he almost doesn’t hear her. Gosalyn flips back to the first page, with the news clipping of when he initially made headlines.

“Taurus Bulba killed my grandpa,” she says, and Drake’s heart damn near stops in his chest. “He was a scientist. I was still awake, sometimes, when Bulba came to the lab in the middle of the night to talk to him. Everyone said he died ‘cause of a heart attack, but I always knew what really happened. But Bulba was in jail then, so y’know, whatever, even if he wasn’t in there for killing my grandpa he still did a lot of other really bad stuff.”

She starts crying anew, and she furiously rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm. “But then he got out, and I was so mad, I—he killed Grandpa, and he was just free, flying around in the stupid spaceship shaped like his head. But-but then,” Gosalyn looks up at him, eyes red with tears and shining with an awe and wonder that Drake knows he doesn’t deserve. “Then you stopped him. No one else could do it, but you did.” She shrugs, smiling sadly. “You helped me without even realizing it. How could I not recognize you?”

Drake’s own eyes are burning with unshed tears, but he blinks them back. He carefully picks up Gosalyn’s binder and sets it on the rooftop behind them. Then he slowly, gently, draws Gosalyn into his arms, giving her ample time to pull away. But she lets out a half-stifled sob and buries her face in his chest, gripping the back of his uniform and cape in trembling fists.

He rubs her back as she shakes from the force of her grief, remaining quiet as the sky continues to lighten behind them.

“Hey,” he murmurs after a moment, “Hey. You’re okay.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” Gosalyn mutters, startling a small laugh out of him.

“I know it doesn’t.” Drake leans back, gently clasping Gosalyn’s arms. She looks at him, her eyes red and puffy. “I’m sorry about what happened to your grandpa.”

Gosalyn sniffles, wiping her cheeks. “Thanks. Sorry for getting snot on your costume.”

Drake chuckles. “I’ll send you my dry cleaning bill.”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he laughs again. He lowers his arms, ending their embrace, but Gosalyn still remains close.

“I’m honored that I could help you, Gosalyn, even in some small way,” he says, looking back at her binder. “I’d like to help you again, if you’ll let me.”

“You want to take me back to the orphanage,” she deadpans.

Drake offers a sympathetic smile. “The whole teenage runaway thing isn’t working out to well for you, kiddo. You’re too young to live on your own, and I think you know that.”

Gosalyn scowls, but she doesn’t argue. She remembers as well as he does how ravenously she’d torn into an otherwise mediocre meal, and Drake almost doesn’t want to consider how long it’s been since she last ate.

“But wait,” she says suddenly, looking unaccountably panicked. “Will I ever see you again?”

Drake blinks, taken aback by her vehemence. “Of course I’ll visit,” he replies, and at that moment realizes that it’s the truth. He doesn’t want this to be the last time they see each other either. “I’ve gotta make sure you haven’t made another run for it, don’t I?”

He ruffles her messy hair, and she ducks out from under his hand with a grumble. But she’s smiling, brighter than he’s ever seen, and the rising dawn pales in comparison.

Darkwing takes Gosalyn back to the orphanage on the Ratcatcher, which is as awesome as she always pictured it would be despite Darkwing driving at the speed limit, which he never does on the news. He doesn’t have a helmet that fits her, but he tightens the strap under her chin as best he can and has her sit in front of him. It’s the safest she’s felt since her grandpa died.

But of course that comes to and end when they get to the orphanage. Someone alerts Mrs. Cavanaugh to the vigilante sitting outside with their missing kid, and everything immediately erupts into chaos. Gosalyn is hustled into another room, the police are called, and through it all Darkwing stays. She only catches brief glimpses of him in between both of them talking to the orphanage staff and the police, and he doesn’t look mad, or even annoyed by the constant barrage of questions.

She knows that he’s a superhero, and plenty of the articles she’s collected talk about how adept he is at disappearing into thin air whenever he so chooses. The fact that he stays is significant. She knows it is.

The sun is nearly setting anew by the time they let her go, and all she wants to do is crawl into her creaky bed and forget the last two weeks ever happened. But Darkwing stops to say goodbye, looking so incongruous in his dark costume against the pale walls of the hallway, smiling and standing tall like something from a dream.

Gosalyn’s throat closes up at the sight of him, because seeing him at all is still almost too good to be true. She wraps her arms around his waist and almost expects him to push her away. Instead, he wraps his arms around her shoulders.

“You’ll visit right?” she asks, and doesn’t care about how pathetic she sounds.

Darkwing squeezes her shoulders. “As soon as you’re off house arrest, kiddo. That’s a promise.”

He sweeps out the window in a pink and purple arc, and Gosalyn runs over to the window sill just in time to see him roar away on the Ratcatcher. But hope continue to war with dread in her gut, because when did she last get what she wanted?

Mrs. Cavanaugh grounds her for the next month. She isn’t allowed any visitors (there’s only one she cares about now, anyway) and one of the orphanage staff has to walks her to and from school, and nowhere else. She isn’t allowed to play hockey or pull any of her usual pranks or watch any television.

Gosalyn doesn’t complain (well, give her a little credit, she only complains a little) because she did run out on them without warning for two weeks and she feels kind of bad about that. But also because some stupid, ridiculous part of her wants to prove to Darkwing that she can be a good kid. That being a bad runaway and stealing tires isn’t all she is.

The month ends faster then she expected, and Mrs. Cavanaugh lets her off the hook—for the most part. Gosalyn knows she’s still on thin ice, and decides to save her hilarious pig in the bathroom prank for another month.

But Darkwing still hasn’t shown up.

A week goes by, and Gosalyn starts to wonder how he’ll know when it’s okay to visit her. Then she starts to wonder if he’ll even bother. He’s a superhero, like Gizmoduck, he’s got to be busy all the time, helping people who deserve saving. No one else cares about little orphan Gosalyn Waddlemeyer, so why should he?

Of course, she gets a visitor that very next day.

“Is it—” Gosalyn cries, sitting up in bed. She’s been staring at her history textbook for so long that the words have blurred together in an incomprehensible soup.

Mrs. Cavanaugh seems to resist the urge to sigh longsufferingly, but only barely. “No, it’s not the superhero. But,” she says pointedly when Gosalyn groans, “you should give him a chance, dear. He might be prospective parent.”

Gosalyn neglects to retort that the only prospective parent she wants now spends his free time beating up bad guys and giving the best hugs she’s ever received since Grandpa, because that’s a little pathetic, even for her.

Still, Gosalyn does as Mrs. Cavanaugh asks because that’s what she does now. She even changes out of her pajamas before stomping downstairs.

Mrs. Cavanaugh beats her to her office, and Gosalyn can hear her talking to her so-called visitor inside. “Gosalyn will be right down, Mr. Mallard. She’s had a bit of a bad week, so I apologize if she isn’t up for a long visit.”

An impossibly familiar voice replies, “I’m sorry to hear that. I hope she starts feeling better soon.”

Gosalyn starts taking the stairs two at a time.

“Speaking of,” Mrs. Cavanaugh is saying, when Gosalyn’s nearly at the door, “you don’t look so good yourself.”

Gosalyn hesitates as she reaches the door to Mrs. Cavanaugh’s office. She’s half certain that she’s imagining things, so she only tugs the open door open wide enough for her to peer inside the room.

She gets a perfect view of her visitor, sitting across from Mrs. Cavanaugh’s desk. He had a cast on his left arm, and he’s looks like a dork, wearing a pink plaid shirt with a pair of sunglasses hooked over the collar.

“Oh, this?” he responds, lifting his cast. “I got into a little accident on my way home from the dry cleaners.”

He glances over at Gosalyn in the doorway, like he knew she was there the entire time. She forgets how to breathe until he winks at her.

“Well, I hope your arm heals soon—” Mrs. Cavanaugh starts to say, but Gosalyn interrupts her by rushing into the room. “Oh, Gosalyn!”

Gosalyn stops herself from tackling Darkwing just in time. He’s out of costume; Mrs. Cavanaugh will definitely be suspicious if Gosalyn acts like she already knows what should be a perfect stranger.

“This is Mr. Mallard,” Mrs. Cavanaugh tells her, but Gosalyn’s not really listening anymore.

Darkwing stands up, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles at her. No one had looked so happy to see her since her grandfather. He offers her his hand, that one that isn’t in cast. “Call me Drake,” he says.

“Gosalyn,” she replies. She shakes his hand, and it feels like a promise. She trusts him to keep it.

#ant writes #I just wanna see my daughter frank #drakepad #gosalyn #darkwing duck #reference to batman comics

742 notes · View notes

undergroundkid · 4 years

Text

Prologue: Once we pass the gate

You nervously gripped your purse, trying to take a deep breath. Well, it’s not like it’s your first job interview, right? You worked before. As a camp counselor when you were sixteen for example. Tough work with kids not so much younger than you. And you handed out flyers for this new pizza place last summer. Small works for neighbours counted too? You looked at CV in your hands with furrowed brows. Well, you didn’t put such information there.. under what category would it belong? Experience? Volunteering?

CV was almost empty. Basic informations, address, phone number.. looking at this, someone could think you didn’t do anything last few years. Graduated high school, did two courses at city’s Job Center and that would be all. You were thinking about putting something about college, but your mother advised you against it. „Do you want them to see you gave up?”, she said. You didn’t give up, you just left, because college became living hell – no friends, no interesting lessons, only slow suffocation. Without future plans, you started to look for a job, but you became a victim of a obvious, old cycle: no experience, no job – no job, no experience. Until now. Building on the opposite side of the street looked fancy even outside. Big glass doors with golden knobs, four floors, red curtains in the windows. Cars parked outside were definitely one of the best and newest models. People came in and out all the time, making the street pretty busy. It started to get dark already, so the sign above main door suddenly came alive with a bright light: Shangri-La Hotel****. Small voice at the back of your head suggested it’s time to come inside already. Yeah, of course. It’s cool. Your whole existence screamed it’s definetely not a place for someone like you, but you’re not gonna waste your chance for a decent work – why the heck they called you, anyway? For lolz, maybe? Surely not for your resume, so.. You crossed the road before your mind could register your movement. Squished between group of businessmen, you finally entered the place and barely could stop your jaw from dropping; it was a mistake. Golden chandeliers, deep brown wood, carpet in the richest red colour. And people around - ladies in elegant furs, gentlemen with leather briefcases. - Excuse me, do you need help? You tore your eyes from gawking at surroundings to meet a friendly, smiley face; young man in dark blue uniform kindly bowed his head. - You look lost, young lady. Can I offer my service? - Ah, yes, sorry – you bowed automatically too, even if it wasn’t really necessary. He smiled again, not full teeth, but it reached his eyes, making him more charming. That was when you noticed his bellboy cap and name Yoonho written in pretty cursive on his ID. Of course there would be a freakin hotel porter. - I am looking for a reception’s manager – you informed him, going straight to the point of your obviously unfitting presence in luxurious hall:- I was supposed to have a job interview today, at 6 PM. He smiled widely this time and you couldn’t resist the urge to do the same. - Oh, I see! Please, come with me then! * You left the building on little shaky, but otherwise light legs. Looking around, you didn’t catch the person you were eagerly looking for, so you quickly fished the cellphone out of your purse and clicked the numer with signature heart at the end. - Hey, you were supposed to wait for me outside hotel? - Yeah, I know love – your boyfriend’s voice was a little muffled with street sounds in the background:- But there was a horrible car incident in the city centre and the traffic is endless . Sorry about that, I am just getting out of my district. Didn’t you hear? - Oh, not really – you murmured, poorly hiding your disappointment:- I just came out of interview and was too nervous to watch any TV before.. - It happened about an hour ago, so it’s understandable – he sighed:- Some woman crashed her car on the main bridge. She was the only victim, but there were a lot of other vehicles included, so it’s a mess. - I see – you responded, crossing the road like earlier:- We won’t see each other tonight, then? - Oh no, no! We must meet! I want to hear about your freshly new career. You got it, right? You giggled, even if deep down you felt some kind of irritation. „Without college, you must find a job” was a phrase you’re used to hear almost everyday. Still, it didn’t stop to irk you everytime you heard it. Of course, your loved ones only meant the best, you knew it. Parents lived in their own world, thinking that without futher education you won’t make it far, but your boyfriend was always supportive. Last months though, he became more forcible on the topic. He even suggested you were purposely avoiding any possibility of work during one of more heated arguments you two had, but he apologised afterwards. Couples fight after all, you reasoned – it was just a bump on the road. You started dating back in highschool, scoring all the firsts together – first sweetheart, first kiss, first I love you. Something as trival as work won’t tear you apart. It’s just this, work – you will make money somehow anyway, why is everybody so pushy about it? But maybe you’re just chilldish and they’re trying to take care of you. With bitter taste in your mouth, you will fulfill their wish of you getting stale position. Maybe that will make their nagging stop. Maybe that will make you happy it the end, too. - Yeah – you breathed with relief, the air from your lungs visible in the chilly evening:- 3 months of mandatory contract, then full time employment. The happy scream of your boyfriend from earphone could be easily heard by random strangers passing by; they gave you surprised looks, which made you shrug your shoulders in response. - Congratulations babe! I am so happy for you! You really tried to not think happy for me or happy for yourself? - I knew you could do it, you’re the smartest girl and somebody finally noticed – he continued, which made your heart flutter. You shouldn’t be so hard on him, he was so lovely and caring as usual:- You’re totally gonna nail this. Isn’t that a perfect beginning? Look, maybe we’re going to be able to move out and rent a flat next year! As always when he mentioned living together, the butterflies tickled your whole body. It was a scary vision at first, leaving your parents, but now it only excited you; wall colours of your own choice, breakfasts together, bubble bath surprises, loud, explicit nights and silent, sweet mornings. Every girl’s dream. Alright, maybe you started to feel happiness about it all. And blooming hope for a better future, despite everyone insulting your choice of living. - We have to celebrate then! - Oh? – you chuckled, this time from the heart:- Should I buy wine or something? Champagne? - The plan may include those, but not only. Get your sweet ass here, we must dance as much as we can before your busy schedule begin. - Here? I thought only two of us, my place ..? - Tempting, I admit. But not today. Come on babe, it’s Friday night and you got your first real job! Let’s livin’ it up, we will become adults tomorrow! Or.. Monday if you allow, huh? You laughed at his antics, so opposing to his previous behaviour. It was refreshing and made you think you should start jobhunting with more confidence sooner. His positive attitude was infecting you too; so before you could think otherwise, you agreed to meet at your usual party spot. The stars shined brightly above you, even in this part of the town. Or maybe your free heart just made them look so – it didn’t matter. It was gonna be a long night and it was better for a stars to shine strong enough to witness it all.

thank you for reading

next chapter >

#My writing #shangri-la fc #monsta x fanfic #monsta x reader #monsta x imagines

8 notes · View notes

kahlanmars · 5 years

Text

Bad Behaviour

Ok guys! I’m italian so I’m very sorry if I made some mistakes, it’s not my mother-tongue.

Yes, it’s about Morgan’s sister, my OC. I do not own anything about the MCU, RDJ or Gwyneth Paltrow. Sadly.

(Gif not mine)

1. BAD BEHAVIOUR

When I wake up everyday I’m perfectly aware that I’m one of the most lucky person in the world being one of the richest heiress alive. The last daughter of the great Tony Stark.

Everyone thinks that we, me and my sister, are going to be heroines. Wrong. We got everything from our father. The brain, that’s Morgan. I’m the bad behaviour.

Truth by told, Morgan is the perfect daughter. Not only she has a superior intelligence, the kind of intelligence that could build an armour in a cave, but she has our mother’s character. She’s always calm, delicate, careful. The eldest daughter.

When I wake up today, I sense it’s too late to have breakfast. Maybe lunch? …I hope not dinner. I’m used to wake up at midday after a party. Mary Stark, the troublemaker. Mary Stark, the party girl.

«MARY NATASHA STARK.» …Mary Stark, the girl who’s gonna be grounded for the rest of her life. A very furious Pepper Potts comes into my room. She doesn’t mind the AC/DC posters, the mess in bookcase or even my messy hair and make-up, but something tells me she minds the car that I crashed last night.

Ehi, it wasn’t all my fault. I was distracted. By a boy, but I don’t think it’s a good idea that I tell her that.

«Mother, how are you? Do you want a proper cup of coffee in a proper coffee pot?» I’m very proud of my ability to say this tongue-twister without stumbling. According to her face, she’s not.

«We can’t do this anymore, Mary.» Her warning face is something she only has with me, my privilege. Morgan never got that. Well, my beloved sister never disobeyed like that.

Don’t get it wrong, I love her. She is America’s little star and I think it really suits her, and she’s sweet, she is smart, all perfect. I am… I am what Tony Stark was when he was twenty years old. I’m following my father’s footsteps too!

«What? I’m back home! Safe!»

«They saw you last night with Cruz Beckham.» Her voice is so desperate that I almost feel sorry for her but really, how many eighteen years old girls stay at home knitting? I’m just famous. I never asked for my mother. Or father. Or the money, but I have it.

«And so what? He’s great!»

«He’s thirty! And you were drinking! And you were dressed like…» She doesn’t finish the line, but I can imagine.

«Like a slut?»

«I never said that.»

«No I get it. You think I’m a slut. If Cruz Beckham does the same thing that I do in a party he is a great man and if I do that I’m America’s Whore.»

«Language!» I hear it while I slam the door. I’m not in my pajamas, I’m in the same black skirt I was last night, a purple crop top, but of course I took off the heels before going to sleep. And apparently I didn’t wash my make up, because I look like the Winter Soldier, according to the pictures. Not as good looking as uncle Bucky, tho.

Morgan is staring at me, with a sympathetic look on her perfect face. I can see she’s struggling to evoid the judgment.

«You’re home.» I start, walking in the kitchen with a huge smile on my face. Nobody needs a kitchen that big, let’s face it. We have it because we are rich. We are famous, that’s what famous people do, right? It’s stupid that I’m so hated. “Mary Stark in trouble again”, “Mary Stark walking in the streets with no jeans on”, “Mary Stark fails to be the perfect daughter”. Not that he could see it, obviously.

I’m not the first heiress who goes a little crazy. Paris Hilton. Kim Kardashian. Blair Waldorf – I watch Netflix at night, old shows and everything.

«Yes, mama wanted to talk to me.» She answers. Morgan is twenty-three, rising and shining. She had five years with dad. I look at her, she’s majoring in law in college so I never gets to proper see her. Brown hair, like mine (but combed), dark eyes, not so tall but petite, cute.

«She is scared you could be Iron Girl.» I warn her. The thing is that Morgan can be Iron Girl. She has the brain, she has the heart. Mom is just scared and I get it, but Morgan wants to help.

«So having me here, with all dad’s machines… is not a great idea.»

«Completely controlled, Happy behind every door.» We laugh. I bring the milk, even if it’s midday, hoping that Miss Potts doesn’t show up.

«Mary… Happy isn’t doing a wonderful job with you.»

«Happy likes you, cheeseburger’s girl. He loathes me.»

«He doesn’t! He is just concerned.»

«Of what? I’m safe and sound like Taylor Swift.»

«You are in, like, all the magazines. In lingeries. Playing, or flirting, or… dancing.»

«You brought the magazines?» I ask with a bit of impertinence. She glances at me. Just. Like. Mother

«I’m just worried about you, sis.»

«No reason. I’m a Stark, right? Not the “Winter is coming” ones, that family is unlucky. But we are!»

«Sure.» She mutters back. «It’s just that you are so good when you behave. You have an artistic mind, great sense of colors, if you just-»

«So what are you working on?» I try to avoid another argument. One day at a time. And I know Morgan always works on something.

«Pardon? Nothing. I’m very busy studying.»

«No you are not. You passed your final test studying the night before it while I was chatting with you about Peter Parker.»

«You had a huge crush on the guy.»

«I was thirteen and stupid and he was always around. Morgan! C’mon!»

«Not this time. You will see it when I will finish it. Don’t be the annoying little sister.»

«But I’m the annoying little sister! And I will go to the garden, so mom won’t find me.»

«Dressed like that?» She looks at me and immediately blushes. Sometimes she seems like she is the main character of Downton Abbey. A fiancé, a good job, perfect hair, so boring, no fun. In a lovely way, because I love her.

«Mom is in my room, I can’t change myself.»

«Well wash your face at least.»

I obey, Morgan commands more gracefully than mother. I just think that after the flawless experience she had raising Mor she would never expect me. I don’t blame her.

«Oh, Mary? Don’t go to the garage please.»

------

The next place I go to is the garage. C’mon, it was a hint. She wants me there. Otherwise she would never tell me that, she knows the first thing I want to do is the forbidden one.

I sneak through the garden and I end in front of the garage. I never came here. That’s dad and Morgan’s place, not mine and I respect that. It’s large, in cement, and the door is locked but… my sister is the mastermind of this place. And she would never change something dad created, even a little code.

Five. Two. two thousand nineteen. Her birth date.

Well that’s normal. I feel happy for her, she has memories of the past, father loved her. He would have loved me too, he just never met me.

The inside of the garage is wonderful. I imaginated it as greasy, old and grey, and instead it’s a tech paradise. Not really my kind of paradise, but still… a paradise. Desks, labels, tables, it’s written in greek according to me.

«Wow I’m so stupid.» It’s the first though it comes to my mind. I could never project something like that. The second is “I need some music”. I search until I find a vynil. Wow, so edgy, daddy. Or sis, I don’t know, but I bet on daddy.

The first notes of “Back in Black” fill the room and now that’s my place. I scream, and I sing and I dance like there’s not tomorrow, who said I can’t enjoying myself while I’m hiding from my mother? I find myself dancing in the middle of the room and for a moment, just for a moment, I think that maybe mom and dad did that too when they were young. Dancing in the lab. No, mom would never do something like that.

The song ends and I stay there, getting out of breath. Just a moment after I become aware that there’s something wrong with my thumb. Something on it. A liquid? A fluid? I try to get off me but suddenly everything is very heavy. My eyes want to close themselves. I try with all my strenght not to fall asleep. It would be a terrible idea. Well, if I just fall asleep for a minute Morgan will find me… eventually.

Hey! If you want to be in a list just ask me!

@pies-wands-and-more

#tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark #tony stark x reader #mcu x reader #avengers x reader #fanfiction

74 notes · View notes

imhereforbvcky · 6 years

Text

Bad Things

Summary: Steve’s question mark of a relationship is full of surprises. (wow could this be more vague?)

Prompt: Bad Things by Meiko

Warnings: Probably swearing, a lil pg-13 implied steaminess

Word Count: 1465

Author’s Note: JFC this took me forever and so many attempts. @redgillan I’m so sorry!! I can’t be trusted with limitless challenges. I’m so slow I can’t find the OP anymore and I don’t know how I was supposed to tag this or what the rules were... Thank you for being an actual angel and putting up with me.

Steve lay across the bed, head swimming in the bittersweet taste of “after.” The cool air drifted over his skin now like a soft kiss, cooling the traces of sweat that lingered there.

A feather light touch dusted over his eyelashes, pulling a smile to his lips, nearly even a laugh.

“What are you doing?” he chuckled.

“You have the most beautiful eyelashes,” she hummed, sweeping over them again.

This time he did laugh. “Not one of the things people usually notice about me.”

“Then I pity them.”

His smile lingered along with that sense of contentment that always seemed to settle over him when he shared moments like this with her. Or when he woke with her curled against his side. Or when he heard her slightly off-tune humming from the shower.

If it were up to him they'd stay like this all day. For days.

“I should go,” she whispered. Her lips soothed their mutual disappointment with slow, roving kisses against his heated skin.

“Mmmm. You could stay.”

He knew it was futile. His life didn't allow for more than stolen moments and hidden liaisons. Neither did hers.

The tickle of her hair drifting over his shoulder as she moved away from him was answer enough. She tried to placate him anyway. She hated that wounded look behind his lazy grin.

“You know I can’t,” she explained while she deftly hooked her bra behind her back. “I have a deposition, remember?”

He hadn't remembered but it hardly mattered. There was always something. Or nothing but the threat of something. And in Steve's world, that was reason enough.

Without further protest he savored the minutes they had left. He breathed in the smell of lavender still clinging to the sheets from her soap. His eyes followed delicate silk strings and buttery lace gliding over her skin as she dressed.

He thought of the way his hands moved over that skin. Of how her warm and yielding form molded in perfect contrast against his own rigid plains of muscle.

She stood as a beacon made just for him. Just to wake him from a world of work and duty and sacrifice. Just to jolt him back into the land of the living, only to leave as quickly as she came into it. Just to torture him with want; with hope.

Now padding to the entry of his apartment, she slid into a pair of sharp polished heels before turning back to her lover for a reluctant goodbye.

Steve pulled the dress shirt over his shoulders and gave it a firm shake to adjust its fit against his neck.

“You sure I can't convince you to come with me to Sam's barbeque?” Steve asked for the second time since Friday night. “It'll be casual. No pressure. Sam's starting to doubt you actually exist.”

She smiled, taking the edges of his button down into her hands and giving a swift tug.

“I like you. A lot.” She looked up at him with clear eyes and an honest smile. Her fingers worked to slowly button his shirt. “But it's not a good idea. I'm at the office more than I'm home and you drop everything and everyone when that phone rings.”

He hated that she was right. Clear blue eyes dropped to his hands curling around her waist as a sigh rolled through his lips.

“I love what we have here. I really like being with you.” Her eyes skimmed over his features, searching. “But neither of us are in a position to be sacrificing for love. So lets… enjoy this, whatever it is, without complicating it. Okay?”

He took another deep breath, measuring his response before speaking.

With the final button closed, her hands swept across his chest and down his shoulders. She took a reluctant but necessary step back.

“I really like you, Steve. If this arrangement still works for you, I’m here.” She leaned up on her toes to kiss his cheek. Her chest tightened around her lungs and she lingered for a moment, withholding her goodbye. Fearing it.

His hands curled around the back of her neck and held her there with an equal measure of apprehension.

“‘Til next time, then,” she murdered as she pulled away. The decision of when that next time would be now lay in Steve's hands.

“‘Til next time,” he repeated after her. It was a promise that at least, there would be one.

When Steve finally turned up at the compound two hours late for his standing morning jog with Sam, his friend had given him more than an earful. Truly exhausted from the teasing and the physical exertion he’d metered out in an effort to focus on anything but her, Steve collapsed on the couch in an empty great room with a deep sigh.

He rubbed the crease above his nose as he paged through the channels on the television. While his eyes lay on the screen, his mind was elsewhere, firmly stuck on the woman who held him so close and yet firmly at an arm’s length.

“You’d better pick something good. I have had one hell of a day.”

Tony crashed onto the other end of the couch with as little ceremony as possible. Steve peeled his eyes open at the sharp crack and hiss of a freshly unsealed beer.

“You look like it,” he smirked, crooked and jovial.

Tony nodded as he swallowed a long sip of beer and handed a can to Steve.

“Yeah, well. I spent the last 12 hours locked in a room with New York’s richest human tapeworm, five attorneys and a stenographer. What’s your excuse?”

“Lawsuit’s not going well?”

“Understatement of the century. Of course it would come from the resident centenarian,” Tony took another sip. “Their lead attorney is some… disaster relief specialist. Absolutely killing me with PR. This girl is kicking my ass. Is it in unethical to double her salary to switch teams and lead my defense?”

“How is that possible? You’re not responsible for damages caused by aliens,” Steve scoffed. He turned his attention back to the TV, passing channel after channel. Twenty-four hour news networks should be blocked in this compound. Nobody can relax when work is streaming into your living room in life sized high definition.

“That’s her!” Tony shouted, pointing at the TV with his beer. “How do I make her play nice?”

Steve laughed, searching for the unmute button. His heart stopped before his eyes even flicked back up to the screen. He knew that voice. Focusing on the face before him only made it drop into his gut.

He watched with a flagging chin as the reporter withdrew his microphone to lob another question her way.

“Is it true you’re suing The Avengers?? How does your client feel about going after what many would call heroes?”

“No, that’s an inaccurate claim. Our client is seeking reparations from multiple parties including Stark Industries for damage to their home and business – their livelihood – resulting from the incident involving the Avengers on May 4th of 2012.”

“Does your client blame the Avengers?” the reporter persisted, incredulous.

“Thank you!” Tony rolled his eyes, falling back into the couch.

Steve sat slack-jawed staring at her face on the screen. She looked so different than she had this morning.

This morning she was soft, warm. Comfort. She had been everything Steve had come to know of her, everything he wanted.

“That’s for a judge to decide.”

The woman on the screen before him had transformed into her exact opposite.

She was a statue of unshakable impassivity. Sharp features, determined eyes, her lips were drawn into a firm line. She stood resolute in the face of the barrage of questions.

Steve watched in awe, as the woman on the screen pushed through the sea of reporters, trying to make her way down the stairs of the sleek modern building. A shocked huff punched from his lungs when he realized he was sitting inside that very building. She was just downstairs and had never said a word.

“That was Y/F/N Y/L/N, an attorney for Bradford, Hale, & Associates leaving the Avenger’s compound. No doubt here hoping to work out a settlement for the law firm’s long-time client Oscorp, who claims their labs, and as we’ve just learned the owner’s residence, suffered significant damage following the events in New York City…”

Steve shoved himself up off of the couch with a sharp scowl hardening his features and moved quickly toward the wall of windows at the front of the building. From above, behind the safety of the darkened glass, his gaze followed the curling wave of reporters as they chased her to her car. For the second time that day he watched her slip away. The closest stranger.

Will reblog with tags shortly

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fic #steve fluff #steve angst #steve fic #steve fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #avengers fanfic #writing challenge

454 notes · View notes

phantomofsilence · 5 years

Text

Title : Just Married

Warning : Curse words, violence . Personalised fic , requested.

Request

Basically Winter soldier/avenger Bucky falls in love with one of the richest business men in the world spoiled daughter (me) duh 😂 , who was destined for a more socialite match, such as slick family friend(name of your choosing) they still get married against the wishes her friends and family and go to Europe for their honeymoon. Unfortunately for them, her parents send her ex-boyfriend (name of your choosing) to break up the happy marriage.Although they're some scenes from the movie i want them to be included if you don't mind?

Author’s Note : It was done for a while but tumblr wouldn’t let me post it. This fic is based on a movie Just Married, i hope you like it ! As always gifs are not mine, they are all of Google.

Sitting at the airport waiting for their flight Mara leaned her head on Bucky’s shoulder and allowed her mind to flash back from now to the moment they met. James Buchanan Barnes was a working-class man and Mara upper-class woman, they met when James accidentally hit Mara with a football. It seemed like from the very start the world was against them, Mara’s family opposed them claiming James was not the right man for Mara but despite it in few short months they got married.

“Passports please.”

Both James and Mara took out their passports and gave them to the man working at the customs control. ” Are you leaving with any fruit or vegetables over 10000 dollars?”

Smirking up at the man Mara replied in a serious tone.” No. No, but my husband does have two pounds of hash hidden in his rectum.”

That joke resulted in James having a full body check or as he put it when he was finally allowed to board limping ‘the first sex that he had on his honeymoon was with a man named Santino’ which made Mara chuckle.

Thinking back Mara knew she wasn’t being fully honest with James, as she didn’t tell James that she slept with Mark Prentiss, a childhood friend and her family’s friend, after she and James had started dating, but she wasn’t the only one with a secret, James didn’t tell Mara that he accidentally killed her dog.

They flue to Europe for their honeymoon, and even attempted to consummate their marriage by joining the mile high club, but failed rather publicly. When they arrived at their classy hotel at the foot of the Alps they found that Mark had sent them a bottle of cognac “with love”, while James’s friend Sam had sent them a Thunderstruck A-200 sex toy.

Stupidly James has tried to force the toy’s American plug into the European outlet and managed to shut down the entire village’s electricity. After a heated argument with the hotel owner James and Mara had to leave the hotel and pay a large bill to repair the power.

As they were trying to find another hotel they crashed their undersized car into a snowbank, and got stuck until daylight and once again were unable to consummate their marriage. Fortunately they make their way to Venice, and stay at a pansion recommended by Mark’s father. The pansion turns out to be a wreck, but they tried to make the best of it but decide to check out when a cockroach crawls over James when they tried to have sex.

Thank’s to Mara’s father’s financial help they manage to secure a far better Venetian hotel. After checking in Mara and James decide to go and explore but after a short period of time James got bored with it and left Mara, so he could get to a bar and watch sports. On her way to the hotel Mara runs into Mark, who is staying at their hotel on business.

Upon returning to her room she initiated a conversation with James in which he revealed that he accidentally killed her dog, and she revealed she slept with Mark. After the confession both of them storm out of the hotel and each go their way. James went back to the bar, where he met an American tourist Wendy, and Mara went sightseeing, where Mark followed her.

In the bar Wendy flirts and dances with James, who after he finds out that she wants to have sex with him escapes through a bathroom window. He returns to the hotel, only to learn from the maître d’ that Mara has gone out with Mark for the evening. James in his state decided to return to the bar, where Wendy joins him again. After a while James finds himself in his hotel room with a half naked Wendy who upon entering took her entire top of, as she tried to have sex with him James blurted out that he is married and is on his honeymoon, which prompts the girl to leave.

On the other side of the city Mara got drunk so Mark takes her back to the hotel, and kisses her at the entrance, after which she slaps him and reminds him that she’s on her honeymoon but all James sees from the balcony is a kiss but not the slap.

“You slut!” James yelled out as Mara entered their room.

“Excuse me?!”

“You let him put his tongue down your throat, i saw it out the window!” James threw a glass he was holding, breaking it on a wall. Keeping her voice as calm as possible Mara replied.” Did you see me slap him, then?”

“Ah, don’t give me that. Some part of you wants him. Just say it!”

“Fine,I’m not gonna lie anymore. Certain things would be easier given his background. And a small part of me thought that i wanted it once, a very small part.” As she said it Mara walked past by James as he continued talking.

”Why would you invite him on our honeymoon?”

“I didn’t invite him, i don’t know how he found us.” Mara said but James wasn’t pleased with her answer, thou she didn’t pay much attention to it as she saw a flash of red on a chair next to their bed.”Oh yeah, oh maybe it was magic. Peter is a warlock.”

She got closer and picked it up to inspect it. A woman’s bra. A red woman’s bra. She turned towards James still holding the bra. At the site of the bra James temper calmed, he gestured towards the bra and with his voice cracking said.

”That’s yours.” The audacity! Thought Mara as she scoffed and hit him with the bra.” Yeah, sure. It matches perfect with my call girl panties!”

“Okay, i met woman at a bar. Nothing happened.”

“You picked up a total stranger at a bar, brought her to back our honeymoon suit and took of her disgusting red bra!”

“Nothing happened, i swear.”

“No, no, no, the bra just jumped of her naked breasts.” Said Mara and threw the bra at him, and moved passed him towards the table.

“Mara…”

“You sit there and make me feel guilty of a kiss. A kiss i didn’t want in the first place!’ After those words the anger in Bucky returned.“Don’t tell me you didn’t want it.You wanted it. I could see from the balcony, you wanted it!”

Enraged without a thought Mara grabbed an object closest to her and threw it at James, the object happen to be a pretty large ashtray and it landed right on James’s face knocking him down to the ground. As it hit him, Mara grasped her face with her hands realizing what she did.

“I’m sorry.Oh my God.’’ She approached him and knelt next to him. “Son of a beatch! My scull is on fire!” As she went to access the damage a knock was heard. ” Who is it?”

“Room service.”

Mara rose from the floor and opened the door, On the other side was Mark,as soon as she saw him she tried to choose the door in his was telling him to leave, but he wouldn’t budge.” No, listen. I’m leaving, last chance. Come with me to Seattle.”

“Hello, Mark! So glad you could join us. Welcome to the honeymoon from hell.” James rose up from the ground and was holding a fire poker, As Mark saw the fire poker in James’s hands he hid behind Mara who spread out her hands protecting Mark.

” What are you doing, James?”

”I think it’s time for Mark and i to tango!” Using the fire poker James broke a lamp in front of him, Mara moved away from Mark towards the wall protecting herself from the glass shards.

“See you have no future with this lunatic!” Yelled out Mark glaring at James.

”Shut up, Mark! Buck, you’re acting like a crazy person!”

“Maybe it’s cuz i just got hit in a head with a ten pound ashtray!”

“I gotta warn you, Barnes. I studied karate with a Chinese grand master.”

“Yeah, well i hope he showed ya, how to put a fire poker out of your ass!”

“James. Put the poker down.” Mara gestured towards the poker, while Mark took that to his advantage, pushing Mara in front of James as he bolted out of the room, James following right behind.

As he descended down the stairs he ordered the receptionist to phone the police. As he reached the lobby James swung the fire poker repeatedly trying to hit Mark.

“You sat at our wedding! You heard us take our wows! You still had the nerve to show up on our honeymoon, and try to have sex with my wife!”

That fight was what led them to jail, still without consummating their marriage. It was Mark that bailed them out of jail, but the damage was already done, both James and Mara decided to return home alone. Right after they returned Mara moved out of their apartment and moved back to her parents home.

James was crushed by her choice, he loved his wife and wanted her back, so he made a decision to try, one last time to win back the woman he loves. After talking to his mother who encourages him to try, James attempted to see Mara on her family’s estate, his friend Sam decides to join him for support but even after he rammed his car into the gate remains unsuccessful. Once last time. If she doesn’t want me, than I’ll leave.

“Listen Yuan, Willie, whoever else is listening. You don’t want me to be with Mara and i can’t change that. In ten, twenty, forty years. i don’t know who we’re gonna be. I don’t know if I’m ever gonna be able to give her all of this.There are a million things that i don’t know. But there is one thing that i do. And that’s that i love Mara. And i am going to love her day in and day out for the rest of my life. Now will you please…please…open the gate so i can tell that to my wife.”

James brokenhearted with tears in his eyes slumps against the side of his car defeat. She doesn’t want me. It’s over. Just as it seemed that all hope is lost the gate opens and James takes off running. After hearing the speech Mara opened the gate herself, her father stared at her and all she said was that she loves him.

“Then go get him.” Her father said and Mara gave him a hug before taking of herself towards James, they both keep running until they meet outside of her house. They stopped and said hi to each other. Bucky was the first one to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

“I miss wreaking airplane bathrooms with you.”

“I miss sleeping with you inside a snowball.”

“Torching hotels in Europe.”

“I miss doing time in prison with you.”

“Do you wanna try to?”

“Definitely.”

71 notes · View notes

yellowdistress · 6 years

Note

Could you do a story with teenage peter getting kidnapped again and his dad absolutely hugging him like if he let go he’d loose him after they find him))

Sure! But this won’t be considered canon ‘what we are’ verse, just cause I knew it’d be something that would have had to be brought up again at some point. So it’s still ‘what we are’, just not…canon? If that makes sense haha

I’ve always considered a plot like ‘Ransom’, you know that movie with Mel Gibson? This isn’t that, but it reminded me of that idea.

Peter was only thirteen, but he had just experienced the longest night of his life.

The threats on Peter’s life had been coming in since he could remember. Despite the fact that his father tried to hide most of them, Peter knew there were people out there who wanted to hurt him and his father. Whether it be for fame or money, or revenge, it didn’t matter. It was still smothering, gut wrenching and terrifying when it had happened. A split second decision that had led to a night of police chases and ultimately ended with their car crashing into a light pole.

Happy had gotten out of the car…After picking Peter up from Ned’s house. He was just going in the store for a minute to pre-pay their gas. Peter had sat alone in the car dozens of times, and he was mostly distracted by the homework he was trying to hurry up and finish before he got home, because it was meant to be done at Ned’s house and his dad would be mad if he got home and it wasn’t finished. Because then he would have to stay up late, and then he wouldn’t wanna get out of bed the next day.

But then the man in the hoodie had jumped into the driver’s seat…Had been carrying a gun in his hand.

It hadn’t felt real at first, because he hadn’t spoken to Peter for several moments when he sped out of the parking lot of the gas station. Peter didn’t even have time to be terrified at that point, not until the guy had glanced back, had pointed the gun…His face unshaven and mouth frowning deeply.

“Stark’s kid right?”

Peter had said nothing.

The gun made a sound, as he slid his thumb over the back, “Be good and you’ll go home soon. Hopefully ‘daddy’ is willing to pay to get you back. We’ll see if he likes you enough.”

And that was the beginning of their car ride. Peter didn’t know what the guy had been thinking, maybe the intention had been to take him out of the city. But all of his dad’s cars had trackers, and it didn’t take long for the police to start chasing them. For them to get run off the road. Peter thought of all those movies, where kids were kidnapped for ransom. Where the bad guys wanted money. Usually there was some sort of phone call, the gun was used, someone got hurt. But it didn’t happen that way. Peter escaped with a few bumps and bruises, after being thrown to the floorboard before the police swarmed the vehicle and he was pulled out so forcefully by a police officer that he almost had whiplash.

He had been practically thrown over the officer’s shoulder, carried away, the police lights flashing off his eyes as he watched the man with the gun, his face now bloodied from the air bag, being thrown on the ground and handcuffed. There were so many cops, more than Peter could remember ever seeing, maybe since New York. People had stopped on the street, there were men and women with cameras (Peter would find out later the police chase had been shown live and they had compared it to OJ Simpson’s…whoever that was.)

Then Peter was placed in the back of a police cruiser, a blanket wrapped tightly around him as he sat at the edge of the seat, the door open to the chaos but facing away from the cameras.

There he waited.

In retrospect, it seemed shorter than it was. The hours of sitting in the back seat, trying to be silent, not knowing what to say. Not asking questions, not crying, just knowing he was in a bad situation and his dad was going to kill that guy. He wondered where his father was, during all of that, if he had been told he wasn’t allowed to put on his suit and intervene. He could only imagine how angry he was, and Peter shivered at the thought where he sat, and his head hurt from the lights.

But then a car pulled up…and his father, Happy, and Pepper stepped out.

The cameras behind them started to flash even brighter as his father appeared, but he didn’t even seem concerned about the press as he immediately walked towards the cruiser. Peter stood, gripping the blanket tighter, and maybe if he was younger, not so self-conscious, he would have sprinted to his dad. But he felt…deeply shocked and worried and so Peter’s steps weren’t sprints, but they were wide strides towards his father.

The moment he was in arms reached, his dad wrapped him in a tight embrace.

His dad leaned down, almost like a tree, bending protectively over the small teen. His dad was in an expensive suit, maybe he had been at work when everything had happened, and Peter felt bad - even inconveniencing his father with his brief but big kidnapping…he felt bad.

There were so many voices, the clicking of cameras, but Peter’s father whispered in his ear, continuing to shield him, “Are you okay?”

The hug was so tight, his father’s voice was trembling. Peter bit down on his lip, the guilt rising as he replied, “Yeah…”

He paused, then.

“My homework is still in the car.”

There was a deep breath, “I don’t think you need that.”

When his father stood back to his full height, Peter was pulled close to his chest, having to peer up at the others with his neck turned at an odd angle. The hand continued to cup the back of his head, and Happy and Pepper were both standing in front of the line of press. Happy looked exhausted, and Peter tried to smile at him, but the adults were hardly looking at him…And he supposed it was because there were other pressing matters to deal with.

“Get us a different car, one the press isn’t going to trail all the way home,” His dad ordered sharply, “Tell the police if they want Peter’s statement they have to get it from our place, we’re not going to the police station tonight.”

Peter squirmed, but his father’s hold was firm. Fingers carded his scalp, but still no one was looking at him. Peter also noticed the way Happy nodded quickly and rushed away to do so, and Peter hoped his father hadn’t been mean to Happy about what happened at the gas station…It didn’t feel like it should have been his fault.

Pepper spoke to his father, “They’re going to need to know what happened, Tony.”

“Okay, well like I said, they can come to our place,” His dad repeated, sounding more frustrated, “Tonight has been the night from Hell, Pep. My kid just got snatched from a damned gas station. Give me that. I’m taking him home. At least until we make sure this was just one crazy.”

“Dad…” Peter breathed, trying to get his attention, but suddenly they were being waved away by Happy in the distance…Which meant he probably found a car. He was finally released from the embrace, and instead a hand wrapped around his own, pulling him away…

Peter didn’t get to finish before he was put in the back of an unfamiliar vehicle and brought home.

…

“Abraham Mennington. Thirty-two-years old, former charges for robbery and identity theft. Released last month on good behavior. Seems he has been watching you for a while, Mister Stark…”

Captain Stacy paused in his explanation and Peter wasn’t supposed to be listening, where he hovered in the mouth of the hallway, peering around the corner so that he could see the officers and Peter’s father and Pepper in the dark dining room, illuminated by the light above the table. Peter recognized Captain Stacy…he had met him at some of the city’s charity events that Peter had been brought to.

He then continued, “He had Peter’s school schedule in his computer database, wrote down when your driver would usually stop to get gas. It seems he was very prepared for this evening…but didn’t take into account that your vehicle would be tracked. From what we could tell, he planned to bring your son upstate to his mother’s old cabin. Wanted to hide out there until he could get his ransom demand…”

A pause.

“He was planning on asking for almost seventeen million,” Captain Stacy finished.

He heard his father sigh, and he watched him pinch the bridge of his nose. His dad questioned, almost too quietly for Peter to hear, “And how do you figure we approach this?”

“My honest opinion?” Captain Stacy questioned, “Up your security. Get the boy more protection, other than a former boxer. You’re Iron Man and one of the richest men in the world. Your son needs safety.”

“We’re attempting to give Peter a normal childhood,” This time Pepper spoke, “Surrounding him with bodyguards isn’t what we envisioned for him.”

Captain Stacy sighed, “With all due respect, it could be the only way of preventing something like this from happening again.”

Silence shriveled up, Peter felt shaky. Security meant smothering, and Peter already felt he was smothering sometimes. His hands trembled, and Peter was about to turn and go back to his room when Captain Stacy’s eyes left his father and Pepper’s faces, over their shoulders. They met Peter’s, and Peter felt heat rise in his face almost immediately when both Pepper and his dad turned as well. Peter gritted his teeth, made a small sound before he turned and rushed down the dark hallway, ducking into his bedroom and practically catapulting into bed.

It didn’t take long for his father to arrive.

“You know…” His dad hummed, leaning against the door frame as Peter peeked out from under the blankets, “I thought we talked about you eavesdropping.”

“We did…” Peter whispered.

“And?”

Peter pushed himself to a sitting position, poking out his lower lip petulantly. His father entered further, coming to sit on the edge of the bed and Peter scooted closer, pushing himself to his knees as to be the same height at the man. It made it easier to talk to him when he felt he was on the same level. His dad raised an eyebrow and Peter explained, “If you’re talking about me I should get to listen…You know…tonight it happened to me.”

His father stared a moment before he sighed, “Yes, but it’s our responsibility to make sure you’re safe. So we’re going to have conversations you don’t need to be there for.”

Peter crossed his arms over his chest, “Why, so you can decide if I have to be like those kids who never get to do anything fun cause they have twenty Happys chasing them around all the time?”

“Don’t,” His father’s voice was warning, “Okay? Don’t. You can’t begin to understand the gravity was what happened tonight. We caught this guy, but what would have happened if he had taken you further? Had gotten out of the city? Had been able to make that demand? I…I don’t even want to entertain that thought. So you’re…”

He trailed off, maybe thinking better but Peter wasn’t sure. Peter gulped thickly and asked, “What?”

“You’re too young to understand.”

Peter felt his stomach plummet. He felt nauseated with anger. Peter glared, he was always being treated so young…Like he was stupid or something. He resisted the urge to poke his father, to demand he listen to him and what he had to say. But then he couldn’t anymore, and he pressed his index finger into the man’s chest, voice wavering as he tried to sound adult, “No I’m not. You just - you never listen to me, and just cause some crazy guy grabbed me doesn’t mean anything, you can’t treat me like a little kid all the damn time - ”

“Hey,” His dad grabbed his wrist, stopping him from poking him, voice almost venomous as he held tightly, “One: don’t talk to me like that. Two: You are a kid. Whether or like it or not, there are things you don’t understand. You’re not indestructible and you’re my son, so I’m going to do what I have to do in order to protect you from crazy people like this guy.”

Peter’s face fell. He stiffened his mouth, but his eyes dropped and the bravery went away. The hand continued to hold his wrist and he heard his father sigh, voice going soft as he explained further, “Peter…I love you. And this guy could have hurt you. It wasn’t a game - or a movie with a car chase, it was real.”

“I know that,” Peter’s voice cracked, “I - I know. I was scared.”

His father made a face…As if he was suddenly taking that fact into account. The man’s head nodded and he tugged on Peter’s wrist, pulling him to his chest in another embrace, tighter than the one earlier. His dad held on and on and on and Peter said nothing…Just listened as time silently ticked on.

His father reassured, “I might not have told you…but even adults get scared so…that’s not why you’re young. It’s okay to be afraid in a situation like that.”

His father knew him too well. Knew his habit to fight down anything that threatened the perception that Peter could be older than thirteen.

#what we are au #biological father au

54 notes · View notes