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zintranslations · 3 years

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Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 120

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Chapter 120: The Thirteenth Door

Right after the new year, it came about time for Gu Longming to enter his door.

Ruan Nanzhu selected a sixth door hint slip, and on it was a name familiar to all—Minotaur. A monster from ancient Greek mythology with a bull's head and a human's body that guarded a maze.

In the myth, it was a creature of an extremely violent temperament born of a human and a white bull. Shut away in the Labyrinth on the island of Crete, it ate seven pairs of boys and girls each year. Then it was killed by a bastard son of Athens, Theseus. Point was, there wasn't much intel to gain about the door from a hint like this. Only once they went in and encountered the actual situation could they connect it to the hint on the paper slip.

Lin Qiushi also showed this hint to Gu Longming ahead of time. After Gu Longming received it, he expressed his thorough gratitude for Lin Qiushi, and Lin Qiushi too was forthright with a vaccination—he said that in this door, he could not be responsible for Gu Longming's life, and Gu Longming ought to prepare himself accordingly.

Gu Longming agreed to every stipulation, and said he had already prepared himself for never coming out.

Their time of entry was roughly the tenth of the lunar new year, when celebrations were trailing off, leisurely vacations were coming to an end, and everybody grew busy again.

Lin Qiushi readied everything and began to wait for the door.

The tenth quickly came. It was a bright, sunny afternoon, and few people were in the mansion. There was only Lin Qiushi sitting in the living room eating Lu Yanxue's freshly cooked pumpkin seeds. Lu Yanxue's culinary skills were, as usual, the best; the pumpkin seeds she fried up were flavored with the five spices and fragrant as all hell. Lin Qiushi could pass an entire afternoon with just a handful of the stuff.

Ruan Nanzhu had already gotten changed and was waiting upstairs. Lin Qiushi saw that it was about time, and so hoisted his hefty backpack and headed upstairs to go look for him.

Due to their last door, Lin Qiushi intentionally stuffed his bag with a great number of food items. Daily necessities from outside could be brought inside, but weapons that were more against the spirit of the doors were not. Guns and other firearms, for example, could not be brought inside.

Once you'd entered the doors, of course, there might exist some special limitations, like in the sanitarium door when the NPC told them the rule where they could not eat food brought in from the outside. The reality was that these kinds of limitations were rare, but all Lin Qiushi wanted to achieve was the principle of Better Safe Than Sorry. At any rate, the condition from the tenth door where they had to open a chest if they wanted to eat had left quite the shadow on his psyche.

Lin Qiushi entered Ruan Nanzhu's bedroom and sat with him on the bed for a while. Then he felt the atmosphere around him change. It took only the time of a blink for Ruan Nanzhu, who had been sitting right beside him, to disappear without a trace. Lin Qiushi pushed open the bedroom door in front of him and saw that what had originally been the hallway was now a series of twelve black metal doors. What a familiar sight.

He walked to the sixth door and gave it a tug. The next moment, Lin Qiushi was sucked in by an immense force. The scenery around him was also altering dramatically, and by the time he opened his eyes again, he could feel a faint rocking beneath his feet.

Lin Qiushi took a closer look, and discovered that he'd appeared on a large old ship. It was just about sunset, and there were black clouds frighteningly low in the sky, as if they were going to smother the horizon at any moment. Inky seawater tossed before him, blown into violent waves by the winds.

Lin Qiushi smelled the gamy salt of the ocean, and because of the excessive waves, the ancient deck beneath his feet was ceaseless in its swaying. He saw that on the floorboards, there were seaweed-clung creatures clutching at the wood, making for an immensely uncomfortable sight.

Lin Qiushi took a few steps forward and saw in the ship cabin a dim-glowing light. He followed the corridor to the interior, and heard miserable wailing coming from inside.

"Uwaaaa, why am I here? What the hell did you all do to me?!" It had been a while since he last heard these cries of a newbie—Lin Qiushi was actually a bit surprised. He spotted the crying person immediately. It was a young woman, wiping at her tears with her hands. "You goddamn perverts, you guys must have kidnapped me. I'm going to call the cops and have you all arrested!!"

Most people were listening to her sob in silence. Newbies, after all, only ever reacted in so many ways: most cried; some tried to run; and some, of the truly psychologically frail sort, came in and pretty much had an immediate meltdown.

Lin Qiushi stood where he was. He noticed that around this girl were a few people who didn't look so good, who also seemed in various degrees of panic. They clearly weren't prepared to enter a door, and were likely newbies like the girl. But at least they weren't wailing endlessly like the young woman, and were still calm in comparison.

Lin Qiushi's gaze searched through the crowd and very quickly found its target—a woman seated in a corner and smiling at him.

The woman wore a long dress—the same outfit Ruan Nanzhu wore before they came in.

Lin Qiushi had the script in his head, and he took his time approaching the woman and holding out his hand: "Yu Linlin."

"Zhu Meng." The woman took his hand and smiled. "The red thread of destiny found us inside this door, let's cherish this meeting."

Lin Qiushi couldn't help but laugh.

"Indeed. Let's cherish this meeting."

Really, this little drama queen of his—putting on a show even when there was no stage to be had.

Just as the two were talking, a young man came tumbling in through the door. Though his face was unfamiliar, his clothes told Lin Qiushi his identity—it was Gu Longming, who'd agreed to meet with Lin Qiushi over the internet.

Gu Longming was entirely soaked. Once he came in he began to curse under his breath: "fuckers, throwing me on a lifeboat—why don't you just throw me into the ocean huh? Goddamn jealous of my beauty or what—"

Though he kept his voice down, Lin Qiushi's hearing was superb, and so could easily hear all the crap he was spewing. For a moment, Lin Qiushi himself didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

Of course, he didn't laugh. He only cleared his throat once and covered his mouth with his hand, swallowing down the urge to smile. Gu Longming's eyes lapped the gathered people and very quickly fell upon Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu. He came over with a bright grin, greeting the two as if they'd just met completely by coincidence.

As a matter of act, this little trick where they faked a chance encounter was only useful for the earlier doors. Once in the later doors, that old fox-spirit manifested in everyone, and not having a partner actually made you the odd one out.

As for whether or not somebody would identify them as part of the same crew, Lin Qiushi used to worry about that. Now though, not so much.

The cabin of the old ship wasn't big, nor was it bright. The only lighting equipment was a handful of tiny kerosene lamps overhead, flickering periodically with the sway of the ship.

The sky grew darker outside, and the number of people kept increasing. Finally, it stopped at the count of fourteen.

Everybody assessed their surroundings as they met up with their own teammates. The crowd seemed to be very quickly divided up into teams, with the handful of newbies left out. Without much choice, they had to make up their own team.

Just as the crowd grew noisy with discussion, a middle-aged man came in from the outside. His get-up looked a bit like a medieval pirate, and he carried a swaying kerosene lamp in his hand.

"Welcome to the Black Skerry," the man spoke. His voice sounded quite raspy, like the effects of long-term drinking or smoking had brought about irreversible damage to his throat. "I hope you all have a good time here."

After he finished saying this, he laughed like a maniac, and his high-pitched laughter, like fingernails scoring a chalkboard, sent goosebumps rising along the skin.

"In ten days, the Black Skerry will reach harbor," the man said. "Our voyage will end then, so please enjoy our wonderful time together."

Just as he finished speaking, somebody rushed out of the cabin. Lin Qiushi first thought that this person had gotten scared, but not long after, there came from outside the sound of violent vomiting—it seemed that some unlucky bastard was seasick.

"Where in the world are we?" The sobbing young girl had also been scared by the man before her, and she spoke: "are we filming a show? I'm really, really scared, can I please quit? I don't want to play anymore, I'm begging you…"

The man completely ignored her. He merely went on watching the crowd with a cool gaze.

The girl seemed to want to go up and take hold of him, but when she got to his side she suddenly stopped, face draining of all color. She then backed up a few steps, as if she'd seen something truly terrifying.

Lin Qiushi's eyesight wasn't as good as Ruan Nanzhu's, and due to the dim lights he didn't see a thing. It was Ruan Nanzhu who quietly explained the situation to him:

"That person's covered in some sort of black insect."

Gu Longming shivered.

"Is he dead or alive then?"

"I don't know," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Doesn't look too good either way."

Under typical circumstances, only the NPC who provided them with the key information was somewhat normal. If even that NPC wasn't normal, then there really weren't any normal people to speak of.

Lin Qiushi hadn't imagined that their door this time would be an ancient ship. And by the looks of things, the time limit was ten days.

"Come along, I'll take to to where you'll sleep," the man said. "It'll be dark soon…and it'll rain."

After this, he began that manic laugh again, and the group was even more disturbed.

The man brought them to the guest cabins and began divvying up the rooms.

Most of the rooms here were doubles, with a rare triple here and there. At first, Lin Qiushi was assigned a double, but Gu Longming brazenly went and found a man to switch room numbers with, strong-arming them into a triple.

"You'll bargain for even this sort of thing?" Lin Qiushi shot Gu Longming a look of admiration.

"Well I'm scared of dying, aren't I…" Gu Longming said. He didn't want to sleep alone, and though it wasn't quite right to be a third wheel, being a third wheel was much better than being dead.

Ruan Nanzhu’s smile was inscrutable.

"That's fair."

They'd planned to inspect the entire ship, but because the night was already so dark, moving about outside would be too dangerous. They would rest first, and wait until tomorrow to make plans.

And so the three got their key and went to their room, getting into bed after quickly washing up.

When Ruan Nanzhu went to change, Gu Longming took the opportunity to poke at Lin Qiushi, whispering, "yo, not cool man, how come you didn't tell me you had such a pretty girlfriend?"

Lin Qiushi answered a vague: "…mh."

"Oh she's stunning," Gu Longming said with a sigh. "If I had a girlfriend like that I'd want to stick around her every day too."

As he spoke, he looked to Lin Qiushi with an expression that was both envy and admiration.

Lin Qiushi watched him back and wondered how he would react if he knew Ruan Nanzhu was drag queen. Of course, it wasn't something he could tell Gu Longming now. Gu Longming was not yet part of Obsidian, and the fact that Ruan Nanzhu wore drag was Obsidian's biggest most vital secret…

After Ruan Nanzhu got changed, he came back inside.

"What are you two talking about?"

"Nothing," Lin Qiushi answered in brief. "He said you were pretty."

Ruan Nanzhu replied with a meaningful oh.

Gu Longming: "…" Why did a chill suddenly go down his back?

The beds on the ship all emanated a damp smell—very uncomfortable for the people lying on top. At this point, the waves and wind were getting bigger, and even the sleeping quarters were beginning to rock. Lin Qiushi remembered that ridiculously seasick, endlessly vomiting pal of theirs from earlier and thought that that guy was pretty much done for.

The sky outside gradually darkened in entirety, leaving only the bellowing winds and the sound of waves beating against each other. With his eyes shut, Lin Qiushi grew drowsy—but before he could fall asleep, he was woken by a sudden crack of thunder. It was like lightning had struck right above their heads. With the loud boom, all three of them awoke in an instant.

After that, it was the pattering pour of rain. The rushing rain and the howling wind—they seemed on the verge of destroying everything.

Their quarters rocked even harder. Lin Qiushi sat up in his bed.

Through the window, he looked to the black evening outside. He saw, however, two illuminated lights. It seemed like the only light sources on deck were kerosene lamps, but how did these lamps stay so bright in the middle of a thunderstorm…? Just as Lin Qiushi wondered this, he suddenly felt that there was something off about those two lights, and Ruan Nanzhu, sitting behind him, spoke up quietly:

"Don't look anymore."

Lin Qiushi, "hm?"

"Those aren't lights," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Those are eyes."

A pair of yellow, inhuman eyes. The owner of the eyes spied through the darkness with malicious intent, as if a beast looking for its prey.

Lin Qiushi instantly looked away, and asked, "what is that thing?"

"I don't know, I can't tell," Ruan Nanzhu said. "The shape is humanoid, but it doesn't seem to be human."

Lin Qiushi's brows lightly furrowed, but by the time he looked out the window once more, the eyes were gone.

Thunder rumbled on and on, and that stench of ocean salt grew thicker and more cloying.

Ruan Nanzhu climbed into Lin Qiushi's bed, and holding each other, the two very quickly returned to sleep. However, the only bachelor present Gu Longming didn't have such luck. Lying beside Lin Qiushi, he stared with plaintive eyes, thinking that in the following days, he'd be fed enough dog food to bloat.

The rainstorm lasted until dawn, and though the rain let up, the weather did not turn any sunnier. Black storm clouds still hovered over the ship, and when the alarm rang, Lin Qiushi actually thought it was not yet morning. He checked the time, however, and saw that it was 8AM. It was just still dark outside.

"Good morning," Ruan Nanzhu greeted Lin Qiushi.

"Good morning. It's so dark outside today."

"It's probably going to keep raining," Ruan Nanzhu said. He walked out onto deck with Lin Qiushi and watched the black waters roil underneath the ship.

Looking up, they couldn't see any land, only the endless swath of sea. Only the old ship beneath their feet felt like any sort of reality.

This sort of isolating environment was easily taxing on the psyche. Even for Lin Qiushi, the scene before them was discomforting.

"Come on, let's go get breakfast," Gu Longming called to the two.

"He's pretty thick-skinned," Ruan Nanzhu commented after hearing Gu Longming's call.

"Yeah," Lin Qiushi said. "His nerves are petty good."

Inside the doors, you didn't have to be too smart, but you definitely had to be brave enough. Before terrifying situations, fright could make a person abandon a large part of their cognitive abilities. The smartest person could lack a strong heart and still do worse inside the door than the obtuse, oblivious Cheng Qianli.

The three went to the dining area and found there an atmosphere that could very well be called lifeless.

Lin Qiushi didn't know why at first. After he saw the menu, however, he couldn't help but also feel a touch of depression.

All the ship offered was fish. And it wasn't even fresh fish—Gu Longming poked at a dead-eyed staring head with his chopsticks and said, "is this thing even edible?"

It was disgusting just to look at.

"It looks gross," Lin Qiushi said. "Try a bit?"

Gu Longming took a bit of meat from the gills and gave it a taste. His expression twisted.

"Fuck, did they deduct the food budget for this door or what? It's disgusting. It's like they’ve had it outside for three days. You try it?"

Lin Qiushi, "oh no, no thank you."

Gu Longming: "…"

The breakfast served in the dining room was, for the most part, stale fish. Aside from that there was only flavorless noddles and peas. The environment had already been vicious enough, but the food in front of them now was salt on top of the wound.

But Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu didn't care at all. After seeing the inedible breakfast they snuck back to their room and fetched from their bags the food they'd prepared.

Gu Longming watched as they pulled out a bottle of chili sauce, eyes bulging out.

"You guys even brought Lao Gan Ma? Did you come here to picnic?"

"Want some?" Lin Qiushi drizzled the Lao Gan Ma over some noodles they'd brought out of the dining hall.

"Yeah yeah yeah. More please." Gu Longming's expression was shameless.

With breakfast finally done, they got ready to search the ship.

There were a total of three decks in the ship, constructed a bit like the sailing vessels of the great nautical era of the Middle Ages. It was extremely old, was all, covered in the marks and traces of times past.

Beside that NPC, they didn't see any other crew members on deck; there was likely only the one NPC on the entire ship. Wait for the ship's return was the mission the NPC left for them this time, but Lin Qiushi had thorough reason to believe that if they couldn't find the door in ten day's time, this voyage of theirs would cycle back and repeat—and they'd experience the ten days all over again.

When Lin Qiushi climbed onto the second deck, he heard a sort of thumping sound, and was uncertain if Ruan Nanzhu and Gu Longming had heard it as well. So he asked, "did you guys hear that?"

"What?" Gu Longming didn't seem to have heard.

Ruan Nanzhu said, "I think I did, but not very clearly."

"I think it came from the corner…" Lin Qiushi followed the sound forward. "Let's go see."

But before they could get close, Lin Qiushi was hit with a thick, fishy stench. It was disgusting and nauseating to smell; fortunately Cheng Yixie wasn't here, or he might have passed out immediately upon smelling it.

The source of the sound and smell was the same room, and they were close enough now that both Gu Longming and Ruan Nanzhu could hear the thumping noise as well.

The three of them slowed their steps, and through the window, looked into the room.

It was a kitchen with knives and other tools hanging inside. The most eye-catching thing, however, was the dense masses of dead fish hung up on hooks all over the sides.

A person in an apron stood in the center of the room with their back towards them and head down. They were chopping something. After some observation, Gu Longming almost gagged, and said, "don't tell me he's making our breakfast—"

Ruan Nanzhu was very calm.

"It's possible."

Gu Longming did gag. He'd even had a bite of that fish that morning.

Lin Qiushi gave Gu Longming a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.

This person in the kitchen, however, was the second living NPC they'd found on the ship.

The three of them stood watching in the kitchen doorway for a while, and saw that besides chopping fish, this person didn't do much of anything else. And so they decided to go see elsewhere first.

Very soon, they discovered a more peculiar room. This room was locked, and curtains were drawn over the window. It was quiet inside, but they could still smell that thick waft of stale fish. Lin Qiushi initially thought the smell had clung to them from the kitchen, but after a careful sniff, found that it was coming from inside the room.

"Do we go in?" Gu Longming was pressed against the window trying to look in, but he could see nothing.

Ruan Nanzhu gave this some thought, before saying, "let's try," and getting out a hairpin to pick the lock.

Watching his adept motions, Gu Longming's eyes widened. Then Gu Longming glanced at Lin Qiushi.

"Is this…is this a basic skillset that y'all come with?"

Lin Qiushi grinned as he joked, "yeah. You have to learn to pick locks if you want to join us."

As he said this, there was a click. Ruan Nanzhu really got the lock open. But oddly enough, after he unlocked the door and gave it a push, he found that though the door lock was undone, there was another lock hanging on the inside. The chain on that lock held the door closed, and they could at most manage a crack—it couldn't be opened at all.

"Wait," Lin Qiushi suddenly said, stopping Ruan Nanzhu from going up and pushing the door. "Stop for a second. There's movement inside."

Ruan Nanzhu halted, and just as he stopped mid-step, a hand, sharp-nailed and covered in scales, reached out of the door. And through that crack in the door, a pair of yellow eyes looked out, peering at the world outside with malicious intent.

Translator’s Note:

The name of the ship could more simply be translated as “Black Reef,” but “Black Skerry” sounds more like a ship name? Let me know if you think otherwise (or know if it’s a specific reference to something).

Lao Gan Ma is a brand of **hot sauce (edited: 7/26), as you can probably tell from context. The original next never uses “hot sauce” though, and just call it Lao Gan Ma in both the prose and the dialogue.

[Ch. 119] | [Ch. 121]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒 #NEW ARC #i like ships where the people take on characteristics they like about each other #and this is the peak 'rnz is a horrible influence on lqs' arc #but also rnz is a great influence on lqs #honeymoon door baby

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misterewrites · 3 years

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Secret Agent Bard (Welcome to the Underground!)

Hello everyone! E here with a new chapter of the underground! Woo! I hope you are all doing good and staying safe.

So I actually have more to say today! That's a trip. I’ll have an author’s note under the line.

So that's it for now. Stay safe, take care of you and your loved ones, stay out of trouble, wash your hands, wear your mask, get vaccinated if you can and push to release the vaccine world wide cuz we're all in this together. Have a great week and thanks for reading. I appreciate it and feel free to tell your friends, reblog, drop likes and feedback i love it all. Bye for now and enjoy!

If you want an easier place to read the story cuz tumblr sucks sometimes here’s a link to the chapter https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/79541746

The First Chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/68094967

and since you made it this far here’s a link to all my stories!

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/pseuds/MrE42

Byeeeeee!

Author’s note: Today’s work will be a little different as there will be singing. The chapter with the bard is gonna have singing? Go figure haha So if you see a sentence in Italics, that means someone is singing. Bold and italics represents various people singing as a group. The song in question is called twiddles. There's different versions of it but the one I chose is from the misbehavin maidens. Great group but all their work ranges from innuendos to straight up not safe for work so listen at your peril. I have now completed my responsible adult duties haha. here’s a link to the chosen song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iS1-_fKF5ug

Summary: Oliver has quite the task ahead of him as the group splits to achieve their goals. Leading Sel and Flora, the young bard will have to think quick on his feet to ensure this mission is a success. Luckily he's an old hand at this. Ironically the one person who could distract him may make a surprise appearance tonight.

-----

Oliver stood quietly, arms crossed and his mind thoughtful as the group prepared to go their separate ways. While ideally nothing would go wrong, that was a childish belief: Every person and robotic being here knew safety was not guaranteed in their line of work.

Even the old man knew the risks.

Oliver hated doing nothing. He thrived when he was busy, focused on whatever task required his attention whether it be being a better bard or upholding the Choir’s values. Too many ghosts and regrets lingered on the edges of his mind and he found the best solution was to simply keep occupied.

But that was his coping mechanism, not everyone else. He knew better than to rush his team: The party would last at least another few hours and beside the goal of getting Sel to the third floor, there was nothing else to do. No information to gather, nothing to review. Let them have their moment, it was good for morale.

Terri and Flora were sickeningly adorable: Hands clasped tightly with Terri tearfully asking her girlfriend to not poison everyone. Flora gave a halfhearted promise while as they shared a tender kiss. Terri noticed her less than enthused tone but refused to press the matter further.

Tyrell stood awkwardly to the side, his face twisted in a strange mixture of sick and excited. He fidgeted with something in his pocket, seeking comfort from whatever lay within. Given the shape of the bulge and size, Oliver guessed it was a knife.

Sel stood nearby, motionless in the shadows of the alley. They hadn’t moved in some time though he suspected the automaton was simply waiting for the next phase of the plan.

“Alright” Oliver spoke up, his voice firm yet gentle “Times up. You have your assignments?”

Uneven murmuring responded.

“Let’s go.”

Oliver, Sel and Flora went down one end of the alley, Terri and Tyrell disappearing in the opposite direction.

-----

It didn’t take long for the trio to find the main streets of the Merchant Ward and make their way towards the Brambleoak banking office. The crowds weren’t as thick as they had been during the day but Oliver knew everyone out and about did so with a purpose.

“Bard.” Flora asked without warning, breaking the awkward silence “Question.”

“Answer.” Oliver cheekily replied.

Flora glared.

Oliver coughed “Yes?”

“You are a First Chair Soprano correct?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Yet you are so young. How did you manage that? I thought First Chair ranks were only reserved for experienced or particularly skilled members. You don’t seem to be very magically powerful.”

Oliver paused for a moment, trying to best answer the question.

In a way Flora was correct in her assessment: He wasn’t particularly powerful as a spellcasting bard. Unlike Flora who clearly committed herself fully to nature and thus druidic magic, Oliver had only recently thrown himself into the magical arts.

Unless you were a wizard who studied the secrets of the universe with a very intimate and well versed knowledge of magic, most spellcasters drew their power from sources of existence: Clerics from their gods, Druids from nature, Warlocks from something beyond mortal existence yet not quite a deity, sorcerers because a family member fucked around with pure incomprehensible concepts. Magic was the fabric of the universe and the more you threw yourself into a source of power, the more the source threw itself into you, guiding your hand and your spells.

Of course each, wizards exempt, were limited in their spellcasting options. Clerics were powerful holy/unholy practitioners but couldn’t command plant life to save their lives. Druids were in tune with nature and the weather and all the lovely flora and fauna but ask them to superimpose an image onto something and they’d give you a dumbfounded look. Warlocks kinda just do whatever their sugar patrons felt like lending.

Magic bards drew their power from the arts: Drawing, singing, poetry, even witty and funny satire. Bards were in tune with life, with existence. Art could heal, could hurt, could make you feel happy and sad. It could make you feel like a whole new person or perhaps take you to a time and place you’d forgotten. Bards sung the song of life and Oliver was no exception.

However, Oliver still wasn’t sure what he could do exactly. His magical muscle was average on a good day and he could only cast a few spells before needing a good night’s rest. The basic healing spells and comprehension language he cast earlier today had taken a good chunk of his energy but he relied more on his wit than raw magical strength. He discovered creative and useful ways to cast his spells like amplifying dissonance noises to distract and disorient foes or temporarily place another person’s image over himself. Magic was as much about creativity as it was skill, pushing the limits of what you can do with your particular brand of spells.

“I’m clever.” Oliver answered honestly “The whole magic of the arts is new to me but I’ve been in the Choir for a long time now. I used to be Tenor like Sel here but more fast talking than breaking and entering. I guess they carried over my old position into my new one.”

Flora nodded, satisfied “That answers much. How long have you been a bard?”

“Few years now.” Oliver checked the street sign to ensure they were on the right path “The magic part is going on 3 years.”

“I see.” Flora scratched her chin “I’ve been a druid my whole life so it is a strange concept to be so new to the spellcasting arts yet hold such a high rank.”

Oliver gave a casual shrug “Not sure what you want me to say. We’re here by the way.”

The bank looked as unkempt as Oliver had remembered: Faded, peeling green paint with gaudy gray stone pillars. Two guards in green uniforms stood in front of the massive reddish brown doors that led into the bank.

“Lea’s mercenaries.” Sel pointed out “They are not letting anyone in.”

“Correction.” Oliver brushed off nonexistent dirt from his washed-out outfit “They’re not letting nobodies in. Luckily tonight we’re somebodies. Follow my lead.”

Oliver let out a tense breathe before strolling forward, his mannerism cocky yet unsteady. He reached the top of the steps when two sharp looking blades reached out to stop him.

“Halt” The elvish woman spoke with a hint of irritation “You lost?”

“Not at all!” Oliver beamed with a smile that was too wide to be natural “I’m here for the party. There is a party inside no?”

“No” The human man spat out.

Oliver gave a forgetful grin “Oh? I could’ve sworn Brambleoak was having some sort of charity event tonight. I’d show you my invite but I think I misplaced it.”

The elvish woman sneered “Right. How convenient for you having lost your special one of a kind invite.”

“Pfft.” Oliver scoffed “Special one of a kind invite? Reiner hands them out like candy. Probably find one in a gutter nearby.”

The guards shared an unspoken understanding with one another.

“Well.” The human began “Let’s pretend that is true.”

“It is but go on.”

The human’s eyes narrowed “Why should we let you in? You dress rather poorly for someone claiming to be in Reiner’s usual circles.”

Oliver let out an exaggerated gasp as he puffed out his chest “Do you know who I am?”

“Umm no.”

Oliver growled unhappily, his fist clenched tightly within his pocket “I am rich! I AM POWERFUL! AND I DEMAND ACCESS!”

As quick as lightning, Oliver flung a handful of gold coins towards the pair. The two reeled back in surprised as the money clanked onto the smooth marble floor. A moment hardly passed before the guards were shoving the loose coins into their tunic pockets like hungry dogs. They straightened up, eyes alive with greed.

“Of course sir” The elvish woman bowed her head in apologize “Deeply sorry for that.”

“Please go ahead.”

Oliver gave a self satisfied nod before moving past the pair only to stop as he heard the sounds of swords scraping each other. He turned backwards to see the guards barring access to Flora and Sel.

Flora looked back and forth between the guards, her eyes calculating and cold. Sel stood still but clearly at the ready for any sort of trouble.

“They’re with me.”

The Elvish woman shook her head “We said we’d let you in. These two? Definitely not Reiner’s usual prey.”

“They aren’t” Oliver admitted “But I need them.”

The human turned to him, suspicion in his eyes “Why?”

“She…” Oliver pointed lazily towards Flora “Is my street doctor.”

“Street doctor? As in….?”

Oliver gave a cheery wink “The fun kind.” And for give measure, he added a weak shiver to his act “Ugggggh I feel cold, are you cold? It’s cold.”

Before anyone could say anything, Oliver began shaking. He rubbed his hands for ‘warmth’ while swaying back and forth.

“Uh oh.” Flora spoke dully, pushing past the guards and holding Oliver steady “He’s crashing. I need to give him his umm medicine.”

“Medicine?” Oliver repeated, his voice soft yet manic “Yes medicine. I need it. I NEED IT!”

Folks began to turn their way, the guards shifting uncomfortably under the sudden attention they were receiving.

“And this one?” The Elvish woman gestured to Sel.

Oliver began to rock back and forth, his voice a harsh whisper. “Guard. Guard. Guard guard guard guard.”

The human threw up his hands in defeat “Bah! Get him in there and fixed! Any trouble and I’ll personally come over to beat your asses.”

“Thank you sir.” Flora murmured through gritted teeth. She guided Oliver and Sel through the doors and into the party within.

Flora sighed as Sel cracked the tension out of their fingers. Oliver straightened up, wiping the sweat from his brow.

True to his expectations, the bank had been altered to be suitable for a charity event: Torches lined the walls, casting the building into a bright light. The desks normally found on the floor were gone as to allow a more spacious setting. Oliver counted a handful of guards scattered about, wandering about for any sign of trouble. All except for the lone guard beyond the empty elevated platform who stood in front of the stairway to the upper floors.

“What now?” Flora asked

“Split up. Sel stay close to the door, Flora and I will figure out a distraction.”

“Sounds good.”

And without another word, Oliver was swallowed whole into the crowd.

-----

It had taken an hour for Oliver to figure out what kind of distraction he would need.

The patrols themselves hadn’t been very difficult to plan for: They would move randomly about, keeping an eye on the party and each other. He counted about 6 of them total and each one of them was easily starstruck. At the sign of any disagreement, they would swarm in groups of three and quickly threaten any troublemakers into compliance. However, upon meeting anyone with even the smallest bit of fame, they would subtly motion to each other and make their way as one to the person in question, hoping for a glance or the chance for an autograph.

So the floor guards were no problem but the one standing watch over the door was much more difficult. Evidently Lea was smart enough to give the most important job to the most responsible of his idiots. The stairway guard or Stairy as Oliver labeled him, would not budge at the sign of any trouble. Loud arguments, agitated party goers, a waiter being tripped (sorry it was for science buddy). None of these would pull him from his post. Celebrities wouldn’t either. Any time his buddies motioned to a famous person, he would shrug his shoulders and stay put.

Oliver was beginning to wonder if Flora needed to poison Stairy until he noticed something about half way into his observations: Stairy was a music lover. Specifically a cute girl music lover.

His gaze would wander every time he caught sight of a pretty girl who happened to be too close to him. Oliver wasn’t sure at first so he decided to test his theory. With his pocket change lessened, Oliver noticed how often a girl would catch Stairy’s eye. His attention didn’t shift when they fell in front of him, obviously in distress, or walked slower allowing him to enjoy the view longer but Oliver caught him smiling and tapping his foot when the odd girl would sing. He even staggered away from his door a few steps at a time before catching himself and returning to his post.

So the best distraction would be a girl who could sing and have some level of fame attached to her name.

Oddly specific and Oliver hadn’t the slightest idea how he was going to mange that. He was attempting to solve this puzzle when something caught his ear.

“Get off me you mulched dirt licker!”

That rather unique set of cursing could only mean one thing: Flora.

Oliver turned to where he last spotted her and found the young druid being hassled by a tall man in an elegant uniform.

Oliver noticed the guards were looking about, not yet spotting the commutation but aware something was going on. He needed to act first if he wanted to stop Flora deciding to kill everyone in the room.

The bard quickly slipped into the crowd, darting and weaving between any and everyone he could. He saw Flora slip a small vial into her hand as the man towered over her.

“I jus wanna dance.” the man’s words slurred out of his mouth “A pretty thing like yo shou wanna dance”

Flora’s eyes narrowed angrily “For the last time you dried poop stain, LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Flora pulled back her hand, prepared to throw the mysterious vial at the drunk’s face.

“Whoa!” Oliver cried out, tightly grasping onto Flora’s wrist “What seems to be the problem?”

“Nothing I can’t solve on my own.” Flora coldly glanced towards the drunken man.

“One sec.”

Oliver eyed the man carefully, absorbing every little detail he could.

He could see the muscles strain against the fabric of his light green tunic so this man worked in something physically laborious. The sheathed sword on his belt weight seemed to throw him off balance with every step. His gaze was unsteady and Oliver could see his pupils dilating wildly.

So this man was physically fit, armed with a sword in a charity event for the rich people and wearing light green tunic while currently drunk.

“You should leave her alone” Oliver said, sarcasm dipping from each word “You are so not her type.”

“So?” The man hiccupped “What’s the big deal?”

“So she’s got a girlfriend you idiot.” Oliver gestured with his hand “Besides you should go before your boss Lea gets here. I’m betting he won’t be happy one of his undercover mercs is currently drunk on the job. Of course I could always tell your captain what’s going on. That’s him over there right?”

Oliver gestured to the closest guard making his way towards the trio. He didn’t look any different than any guards but Oliver noticed his green was a shade darker than the rest. Lea probably used different hues to signify rank in his mercenaries.

The drunk’s face paled as he fidgeted nervously. He rose his hands in surrender, eyes darting between the two “Sorry.”

“Any trouble?” The captain approached, his hand tightly held around the hilt of his blade.

Oliver beaned cheerfully, trying his best to pull attention away from the fuming Flora “Not at all my good sir. This man simply mistook us for someone else, correct?”

The drunk nodded slowly “My bad. Forgive my intrusion.”

The captain gave a cold smirk “Apologizes. Mikey?”

The drunk flinched “Yes sir?”

“A word in private. Now.”

Oliver let out a sigh of relief as the captain dragged Mikey away..

“You should’ve let me poison them.” Flora muttered darkly.

Oliver scratched the back of his neck tiredly “Night’s still young. Still might get your chance if I can’t figure a way past Stairy.”

Flora tilted her head quizzically “Stairy?”

“The asshole at the base of the stairs.” Oliver answered absentmindedly as he spotted a familiar streak of platinum blonde hair among the crowd of strangers “And I just figured it out. Can I trust you not to poison everyone here?”

“You have an hour. I get bored easily” Flora swirled the sickly purple liquid in the vial threateningly.

“You and me both.” Oliver patted her shoulder before chasing down his perfect distraction.

-----

Oliver’s heart began to thunder loudly in his ears, a nervous and uncontrollable energy overtaking his resolve. The mission was important but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy to see Maria today.

Maria Thoreau was the daughter of a powerful, influential family. The Thoreau’s were more concerned with their standing in high society than any virtuous endeavors and thus each one of their children was trained from birth to excel in their chosen field. Maria’s older brothers were an aspiring politician and merchant respectively.

Maria’s path was to be a well famous singer and patron of the arts. She wanted nothing more than to sing for the people. Unfortunately, her father only saw a chance to further the family’s good name and tied his desire for power with her passion and dream. It was bittersweet really but nothing much could be done about it.

Yet.

Maria knew Oliver as a musical rival who thwarted her group’s attempts at winning local competitions which in turned derailed her father’s plans. So needless to say she was less than thrilled when she caught him making his way over.

“Ollie” she forced a smile while her hazel eyes narrowed, peeved “I’m surprised to see they let you into this exclusive event.”

Oliver gave a cocky shrug “Well your beauty caught my attention and I couldn’t resist trying to figure out a way in.”

Maria’s cheeks burned a pinkish hue.

Maria was the same age as Oliver with short, tastefully cut dark brown hair. A single streak of platinum blonde hair hung off the side of her face, giving her such a cute look. Her clothes were practical tonight since she wasn’t performing: A simple white blouse with a long flowing dark blue skirt that went all the way down to her feet. Her shoes were sensible dark blue flats designed for comfort over style.

Maria coughed into her hand, willing her blush away.

“So.” She cleared her throat “Is this your sad attempt to throw me off my game? You won’t win the next competition. We’ll be dealing with professional judges this time.”

Oliver’s eyes widen in false surprise “There’s a competition here? Fancy that. I hadn’t been made aware of that but since we’re both in town, why not have a round two?”

“Oliver….”

“I mean” Oliver went on, pretending not have heard “You are a much better singer solo than with those harpies you’re forced to keep around.”

Maria glanced to the side timidly “Don’t be absurd, the Melodic Maidens are a perfect, well oiled machine.”

Oliver scoffed dismissively “I suppose they’re nearby, listening in. Hardly leave you alone, don’t they?”

Maria opened her mouth to respond when a shrilly voice cut in.

“What do you know you two bit hack? How much did you bribe the judges last time?!”

Oliver gave a strained smile as the rest of the ladies forced their way into view.

“Lilly, Filly, Sally. You suck.”

The triplets snarled in unison, openly glaring at the bard.

Lilly, Filly and Sally were Maria’s chains: They were as much there to further her career as they were to report back to daddy to ensure the errant daughter stayed on course.

As triplets, they all shared the same features: Three pairs of dull green eyes and long messy black hair. Even their clothing were the same with each wearing a strapless dress that showed way too much skin and skirts that were way too short. The only reason Oliver could tell them apart was due to their preferred colors: Lilly in a shade of pink that was bright for her skin tone, Filly with a pale ugly yellow and Sally in seas of dark red.

The trio surrounded Maria, their arms embracing her in an uncomfortable hug. Maria bit her lip, trying to hide her uneasy.

“Still wearing that tacky outfit huh Ollie?” Lilly eyed his faded clothing distastefully.

Sally let out an unfriendly laugh “Ollie always looks like trash. Not even prize money could buy an ounce of class.”

“Actually” Oliver brushed his shoulder dismissively “Class is cheap. No amount of money could buy an ounce of character. You can blow hot air at me all you want but nothing in this world could ever change the fact that the three of you are bitches.”

The trio clicked their tongues disappointingly, their normally plain faces twisted into unflattering visages of rage while they screamed as one.

“HOW DARE YOU INSULT US?!”

“YOU ARE SUCH A POOR TACTLESS MAN!”

“YOU FUCKER!”

Oliver casually waved his hand “All bark and no bite. I’m supposed believe you’ve gotten any better in two months? Last time I checked I won the last competition.”

“OH YEAH?!” The triplets yelled, furious.

Maria threw a suspicious glance Oliver’s way “Girls, I don’t think…”

“Come on Maria, we don’t want to have to tell daddy you backed down from a challenge.”

A shiver ran down her spine, the fight draining out of her face. Oliver felt a tinge of guilt but said nothing as the girls took their positions.

Maria paused for a moment, her breathing slow and calm. The murmur of the crowds grew louder and louder upon the recognition that the ladies nearby were the Melodic Maidens.

Maria pivoted on her heels, a bright warm smile gracing her lips. Oliver could feel his heart skip a beat at the sound of her soft, airy voice beginning to sing

“Oh you hear a lot of stories about the sailors and their sport” Maria gave a playful wink his way. His cheeks burned brightly at her playful banter.

“About how every sailor has a girl in every port”

Maria twirled, her steps mischievous and alluring as her dark blue dress chased after her. She gracefully held two fingers aloft for everything to see, her smirk cocky and assured.

“but if you added two and two you’d figure out right quick”

Maria backed up as the triplets step forward to join her, the group made whole and ready for the chorus.

“It’s just because the girls all have a lad on every ship”

Maria turned to throw a sultry look towards her rival bard but instead of finding a dumbstruck Oliver, she found a smiling one. His gaze was gentle and loving as if he was seeing utterly beautiful. A small smile was tugging at his cheeks. Maria could feel her heart thunder in her ears as, without warning, Oliver gave a thumbs up and mouthed an appreciative “Thanks” before ducking into the growing crowd.

“And it’s twiddley idle idle idle, twiddley idle aye.”

What was once a spattering of folks formed into a massive gathering. Most of the party goers and guards had come over to catch the free show the girls inadvertently given and thus all focus shifted onto them. What was an attempt to show up Oliver ended up being a very unnecessary showcase.

“It’s often times a man will leave you broken with dismay”

Boy was Maria feeling that dismay right now.

-----

Oliver’s plan worked: Stairy hadn’t been to resist the siren call of a beautiful woman and her singing. Luckily the harpies hadn’t ruined it with their imperfect pitches. Stairy hadn’t taken more than a few steps when Sel slipped in behind and began working at the door. It took a moment but one blink later and the automaton vanished out of sight.

Oliver let out a sigh when a hand gripped his shoulder tightly.

“Hello sir.” A guff, low voice in a less than friendly voice “Might I have a word? You’ve been acting rather strange all party long.”

Well fuck.

#Welcome to the Underground #My Story #Original Work #original story

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alphadaddyderek · 3 years

Text

Not all math puns are awful, just sum (sterek fic, high school au)

ao3 link: click if you dare

summary: ’what is the probability that anyone will pass this fucking class? I’m thinking 1 in 100’

Stiles shakes his head because that was such a bad math joke that it was actually kinda funny. And, based on the expressions on people’s faces during class, also very true.

'i think there is statistical data to back up your theory’

AU where Stiles and Derek have to share a textbook and they write terrible math puns back and forth to each other.

Stiles sincerely, genuinely, regrets taking AP classes.

Well, kinda.

They would look great on his resume. Colleges wouldn’t even second guess accepting him and he would receive so many scholarships which would help his dad big time.

AP classes will also raise his GPA crazy high which, again, looks great to colleges.

Sometimes they just suck.

His AP Statistics class is definitely #1 on the ‘classes that suck straight ass list’.

It’s boring and it can be kinda hard. Plus it’s math so it’s automatically gross.

Stiles is good at math, but it’s not his forte, that’s more Lydia Martin’s thing.

Anyway, Beacon Hills High had to have some budget cuts this year, like, serious budget cuts. The sports teams are lucky that people care about people throwing balls all over the place, otherwise they would’ve gotten cut too.

Since the school has had budget cuts, the students don’t get individual textbooks anymore. Meaning, that they can only use it during class and then they have to leave it in the classroom for the next class to use.

So, yeah.

It’s the third week of junior year, AP Stat is as boring as always. He has Lydia to talk to sometimes but she has other friends in the same class, so he's not always entertained.

The teacher didn’t really care about whether or not students did the work, he just played chess on his computer the whole class anyway. He gave the page number that we were supposed to work on and that was that.

Stiles prefers that to lectures, but still. When he’s done the work there’s nothing left for him to do. He could go on his phone, but even that gets boring eventually.

What he’s trying to say is that he’s bored, okay?

Turning to the page that the teacher assigned, Stiles is shocked and wildly amused, to already see writing on the margins of the page. He figured it would take at least half the school year before people started vandalizing the textbooks. Although, it’s written in pencil so it’s easily erasable.

When Stiles actually reads what was written he snorts. Luckily, it’s loud in the class so the most attention he gets is when Lydia shoots him a weird look which he ignores.

'what is the probability that anyone will pass this fucking class? I’m thinking 1 in 100'

Stiles shakes his head because that was such a bad math joke that it was actually kinda funny. And, based on the expressions on people’s faces during class, also very true.

Should he write something back? Stiles doesn’t know if the person who wrote this is hoping for a response, or if they wrote in the book because they’re just as bored as Stiles is.

Eh, fuck it. Why not?

'i think there is statistical data to back up your theory’

Stiles snickers at his equally bad math joke before finally deciding to focus on the actual work. He didn’t want to be one of the ones who didn’t pass the class, because that would suck. So he does the work and for the remainder of the class he lets out a giggle or two every once in a while because even though he’s 16 years old, he apparently still has the sense of humor of a child.

π π π

It’s the next class and honestly, Stiles kind of forgot about the writing in the textbook. After he left that class he went to AP Geography where there was immediately a test, which he nailed by the way. Plus, with all his other classes, he just didn’t think it was important to remember a bad, but still funny, math joke in a textbook.

The teacher assigns them another page number full of questions to work on. And, just like last time, there’s writing in the margins.

‘i’m sorry, that was pretty mean of me to say’

That one has Stiles laughing out loud. Not too loud though, because he doesn’t have that much of a death wish. He just laughs loud enough to make Lydia send him another weird look, except this time Lydia questions him about it.

“What is so funny?” she asks, twirling her hair with her pencil.

Stiles shakes his head. “Nothing really. Just somebody writing lame math jokes on the book pages.”

“Well, you’re laughing at them. So doesn’t that make you lame as well?”

Stiles dramatically gasps.

“Wow, Lydia, that was pretty mean of you to say,” Stiles replies before bursting into more laughter.

At this point, Lydia is looking at him like he has brain damage but he really can’t bring himself to care. It’s hilarious and if she doesn’t think so then oh well. Her loss.

Well, she doesn’t know that that was the joke inside the textbook, but still, whatever.

It’s funny.

π π π

By this point, it’s kind of like Stiles and this unknown jokester are pen pals.

It’s been a week filled with terrible math jokes and Lydia probably losing more and more respect for him as the days pass.

He’s told Scott about his little pen pal and of course, Scott doesn’t really get it, but he’s supportive nonetheless.

It’s a Friday night and Scott is at Stiles’ house. They’re playing video games and eating so much pizza that Stiles will be bloated for an entire week.

Thankfully, his dad is on the night shift, otherwise, he would be heavily judgmental of Stiles’ life choices.

After several rounds of Mario Kart, they take a break to eat said pizza and talk a bit.

“So,” Scott takes a huge bite of his slice. “how are you and your math buddy doing?”

Stiles takes a bite of his own slice. “Why are you asking? Jealous?”

Scott laughs. “Oh yeah, I’m so jealous. Please, Stiles, make terrible math jokes with me.”

Stiles flips Scott off. “You only mock because you really are jealous.”

Scott rolls his eyes and then the topic is dropped.

At least for the next hour or so. Then after that, it gets brought back up.

“Do you think it’s weird to have a crush on someone you’ve never met?” Stiles asks, playing with a loose thread on his jeans.

Scott looks at Stiles, and Stiles does not want to see the weird look Scott has on his face so he continues looking down.

“You have a crush on this person?”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. They’re funny, and obviously, they’re smart if they’re in AP Stat. I would like to meet this person though, maybe. I don’t know.”

Stiles feels his cheeks heating up.

Scott nudges Stiles with his elbow. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s not weird at all. It’s kinda like online dating, but like medieval style.”

Stiles can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of his throat. “What?”

It’s like medieval style! ‘Cause, it’s in a book. Instead of online.”

Scott is always able to make Stiles feel better, no matter the situation. His goofiness especially lightens his mood.

“Okay, Scott. Are we going to go jousting next?”

“I don’t know. What you guys do on your first date is none of my business,” Scott says with a sly smile.

Stiles snorts and grabs a pillow off the couch behind them and smacks Scott in the face with it, resulting in a pillow fight ensuing.

And if anybody asks, Scott did not win. He didn’t!

π π π

2 weeks after he and Scott had that talk, Stiles continues talking with his pen pal. Although, maybe Stiles is looking too deep into this, but it kind of seems like flirting now?

Hear him out.

In the margins, the person started adding smiley faces and winky faces after every message.

Ooh and they actually put their initials! D.H.

Stiles doesn’t think he knows anyone in school with those initials. Granted, Stiles isn’t exactly a social butterfly so he’s not doubting their existence at all.

AP Stat only has 5 minutes left in the class. Stiles has already embarrassed himself in front of Lydia more times than he can count, so he decides to ask Lydia if she knows someone with those initials.

She purses her lips. “Why do you ask?”

Stiles sighs inwardly before answering. “Uh, well. I was just...wondering. Ya know. Trying to expand my friend circle.”

Lydia raises an eyebrow. And Stiles sighs outwardly this time.

“Fine. You know the jokes that were in the book?”

“You mean from like a month ago?”

“Well...we’ve kinda been continuing to exchange jokes and notes and stuff. And then recently they put their initials. Or, at least I think it’s their initials. I don’t know what else it would be. So, yeah.”

Lydia looks at him for a moment before her lips curl up into a smile. “You mean you’ve finally found someone who has a worse sense of humor than you?”

Stiles returns the smile. “I’ll have you know, my sense of humor is advanced. Way too advanced even for you.”

“Uh-huh. Anyway, the only name that comes to mind is Derek Hale.”

Stiles chokes on his own spit. “Derek Hale? You mean the star of the basketball team? The guy with eyes that are like fifty different colors and bunny teeth that would look ridiculous on anyone else but he somehow looks gorgeous with them? That Derek Hale?”

“Yes. Other than that, I don’t know anyone else with those initials.”

“Does he take AP Stat?”

Lydia shrugs. Stiles takes that as a no.

There’s no way that Derek Hale is the one writing these notes. No way in hell. Stiles isn’t that lucky.

Plus, even if Derek is the one writing these, hypothetically speaking, Derek wouldn’t be interested in him. Don’t get Stiles wrong, he knows he’s a pretty attractive guy. But nobody in this school is as attractive as Derek Hale. Let's be real here.

Okay, maybe Danny. Danny is kinda gorgeous.

But besides Danny, nobody is even on the same level as Derek.

Well, Lydia is too.

Okay, dammit. People are on the same level as Derek Hale. The point is that Stiles isn’t.

Stiles sighs for what seems like the eighth time in. “Okay. Thanks.”

Lydia gives him a scrutinizing look before nodding and getting on her phone.

Stiles sits there and ponders why his life is like this before deciding that he must've done something to piss off fate in a past life. Pleased with his conclusion, Stiles shoves his notebook and pencils into his backpack just in time for the bell to ring.

π π π

Okay, so, Stiles must be going crazy.

When he saw that his pen pal had written his initials he figured, ‘hey, I might as well do the same. It’s only decent right?’ so he had, and ever since then Derek Hale has been shooting him looks in the hallway.

Maybe he’s hallucinating, because Derek Hale is, well, Derek Hale. Out of everyone in the hallway, why would he be looking at Stiles?

Also, Stiles can’t be the only person in the school with the initials S.S. although, he probably is the only S.S. that’s taking AP Stat so there’s that.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do, should he wave? Shoot him a smile?

Actually no, he should do neither of those things because if he does, and Derek actually wasn’t looking at him, that would be so unbelievably embarrassing. So embarrassing that Stiles would have to transfer schools immediately.

Stiles shakes his head and opens up his locker to gather his things for his next class. When he closes the locker Derek is standing right there like they’re in a horror movie and Stiles jumps so hard that he drops his notebook.

“Shit. Sorry,” Derek says and bends down to swipe Stiles’ notebook off the floor.

“No, it’s okay. You’re awfully quiet for an athlete.”

Stiles holds his hand out for his notebook but Derek doesn’t seem all that interested in returning it to him just yet. Derek looks at the front of his notebook.

“Hmm. AP Stat. Interesting.”

Stiles bites his lip and nods. “Yep,” he says popping the ‘p’. “it is interesting. Well, actually it’s not. AP Stat is yuck sometimes and it can get boring but it’ll look great on my resume so.”

Derek nods. He looks at Stiles for a few more seconds before he opens his mouth, and the second he does, Stiles’ stomach fills with butterflies.

“What is the probability that anyone will pass that fucking class? I’m thinking 1 in 100.”

Stiles bites his lip to stifle his smile. He doesn’t want to cheese like an idiot in front of Derek Hale but he thinks that ship has already sailed cause Derek’s lips stretch into a big smile.

Stiles clears his throat. “I think there is statistical data to back up your theory.”

“Oh, is there?” Derek asks, smile turning into a smirk.

Stiles nods then looks at his notebook that is still in Derek’s hand. “Can I have my notebook now? I’m not sure what exactly you’re plotting but I don’t like it.”

Derek scrunches his face up. “Wow, that was bad.”

Stiles’ mouth gapes. “Like yours were any better.”

Derek shrugs, smile returning to his face. “I thought my mean joke was pretty hilarious.”

“Yeah, hilariously bad. I didn’t laugh at all, not one bit.”

Derek looks like he doesn’t believe a word Stiles just said, which is fair, he shouldn’t.

“So,” Derek begins, eyes boring into Stiles’— seriously, what is up with Derek’s eyes? — “what is the probability that you will give me your number?”

Stiles pretends to think about it for a second. “I'm thinking 100 in 100.”

#stiles stilinski #derek hale #Sterek #sterek fic #high school au #quite possibly the worst math jokes ever in existence #my fic

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hoseokslefteyebrow · 4 years

Text

You've Met With A Terrible Fate, Haven't You? || BEN DROWNED

Pairing : Yandere! Ben Drowned X Reader

Genre : Fluff, Angst, Yandere

Summary : Appears as a normal dude, but plot twist he's really not.

Wordcount: 4k lol

WARNINGS : This is fic is labeled as Yandere, for those who don't know what it means: "Somebody who is sweet and kind at first glance. But when it comes to their love (crush)they will act obsessive and violent." - Urban dictionary, poorly (but still disgustingly) described dead people, I know Ben originally doesn't kill but in the story he does, idk? Shit written¿

Also disclaimer this is my first time I've tried doing a yandere and it's obviously not my strongest point. Hope you enjoy either way.

You glance at the abandoned game console which your friend had dumped at your place earlier this day.

According to him, something was very, very, wrong with it. The Nintendo 64 was old, of course, but your friend mentioned not being able to pass the boss battle. He mentioned something along the lines of 'it keeps glitching and Link keeps dying'. In other words ' I know you're a hacker and I suck at this game, please hack it for me so I can feel less like a loser'.

You keep writing the email you're supposed to sent to your boss for another thirty minutes, before letting your curiosity lead you.

Before you know it, you've plugged in the old console with more cables than originally planned because of how old it is, and with how modern your tv is. The first odd thing that strikes you is that there's only one account on it, and it's not labeled with your friend's name.

Instead of 'Noah', it's labeled with 'BEN DROWNED' in bold passive aggressive letters.

Simply pushing it to the back of your mind, you start playing.

The second odd thing about the game is that the game has a specific date and it mentions how far BEN, or well, Noah is in the game. Yet when you click it, you have to start all over.

You shrug that off too, simply noting it as the game being old.

Before you know it, several hours pass, and you're finally at the boss battle Noah mentioned. Deciding to see if you can beat it first, you do not plug your laptop in at the Nintendo 64, and opt to play instead.

However just like Noah mentioned, you die as soon as you're close to winning and the game starts glitching.

It takes you barely ten minutes before you're fed up with it, and soon enough you plug your laptop in. You start up some programs and open up a few sites, quickly starting to work. Your fingers glide over the keys of your laptop as you type in the codes in order to hack the game, however after a few minutes, the game starts glitching heavily, and suddenly there's a sentence in bold red letters on the screen of your tv.

' YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE THAT'

It says before the glitching becomes way too much, and some weird kind of red circle appears. Your eyes widen before unplugging the tv and game console, forgetting that your laptop is connected to it.

You miss the small glitches on the laptop screen.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - -

He gritts his teeth as the access to his portal is suddenly denied, the power cut early enough to avoid him.

His red eyes wander in the green coded space, looking for an exit, something that'll make sure he can get his hands on whoever this is. Lucky for him, there's a small white space what'll lead to the outside of it.

Once he's trough, he realizes he's still close to his victim. In fact, he's even closer now.

He smirks as he realizes.

Killing her is fair game now.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - »

You tap your chin as you look as the items on the shelf.

" Should I get the red one or green one?" You mumble to yourself.

" I'd recommend the green one. Green is always better." A voice from behind you startles you.

You whip your head around to look at the stranger who's talking to you.

Behind you is a male you don't recognise from anywhere. And as you start to study him, you realize he's quite handsome. He's got blonde hair, blue eyes and a rosy skin colour. He's wearing black ripped jeans, a dark green shirt, along with a black zip up hoodie, which is left open, he's got a few black ear piercings in his right ear, and has a gold chain around his neck, which disappears beneath his shirt, weighed down by a charm hidden away from your eyes. To top it all of, he's got a matching dark green beanie on top of his messily styled bangs.

" What? Did I say something wrong?" The blonde boy suddenly sweats.

You smile and shake your head.

" No, you didn't. I just tough I was alone here." You smile at him.

ØⱧ ₴₩ɆɆ₮ⱧɆ₳Ɽ₮, ɎØɄ Ⱨ₳VɆ₦'₮ ฿ɆɆ₦ ₳ⱠØ₦Ɇ ₣ØⱤ ₳ VɆⱤɎ ⱠØ₦₲ ₮ł₥Ɇ ₦Ø₩.

" I take that you talk to yourself then?" The male spits at you.

You're not sure if that's meant offensive or not.

" Um, yeah? I tend to do that sometimes yeah." You say, looking down at your hands who're still holding the red silk scarf and green silk scarf.

Đø₦'₮ ฿ɇ ₳₣ɽ₳łđ, ł ₩ø₦'₮ ⱨʉɽ₮ ɏøʉ. Øɽ ₩łⱡⱡ ł?

The unknown male's eyes soften subconsciously, looking at you with an emotion you're not familiar with.

" My name is Ben. What's yours?"

Ben? Haven't you heard that somewhere before?

You smile at him, oblivious to the fact that you're talking to a killer.

" I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you Ben."

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS ? ¿ »

His mind flooded with ideas.

There's so many options on what he can do to her.

Should he mess with her laptop?

Should he just kill her now?

Or should he become closer?

Maybe he should.

He looks at her trough the screen of the laptop, which is almost always open, today not being any different.

He watches her as while she watches something behind the laptop, from the sounds he can hear trough the mic, she's most likely watching tv.

Perhaps he should become closer to her.

Pull her closer only to have her blood staining his hands.

Oh yes, her blood shall soon become his.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦łvɇ₴

She doesn't realize it when her laptop suddenly starts itself up, nor does she know that there's a figure crawling out of it.

He stared at her with deciphering eyes, silently wondering how she isn't dead yet.

If this was anyone else, he'd had them killed already. Their blood would already be staining his face and she would already be screaming in pain and dispair.

Yet here she was, laying peacefully on her bed. Asleep, obviously not dead.

He wonders exactly what he should do next. She doesn't know that he's standing right next to her. It almost makes him laugh.

She doesn't even know that he exists.

She doesn't know that he's here.

He glares at her before moving back into the world of codes and technology.

For now, she lives.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦łvɇ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ

" And then it suddenly started glitching and stuff. Weird isn't it?" You finish off your story as you look at your new friend, Ben.

After meeting in the grocery store, he had suddenly texted you.

Not knowing how he got your number, you got concerned, and asked him. According to him, you had given it to him yourself. At first you didn't believe him, until he told you to check the time of his first message, which somehow was indeed around the same time you were in the grocery store. After that you just shrugged it off as that you forgot it yourself. After all, you knew yourself to be a person with the memory of a goldfish.

Today the two of you met up again, for the fourth time this week.

" Odd indeed. What did you do after that?" Ben asked, acting as if he's interested, even tough he's really not.

" I unplugged it. I think I'm gonna lay off hacking for a while." You shrugged, taking a sip of your drink.

Before he could even think of a response, there was an unknown woman at your table, also holding a cup of coffee.

" Y/N? Long time no see." The new woman greeted you with a smile, sitting down beside you on the booth.

Ben scowled at the newcomer.

Ⱨø₩ đ₳ɽɇ ₴ⱨɇ ₴ł₮ ฿ɇ₴łđɇ ₩ⱨ₳₮'₴ ₥ł₦ɇ ₩ł₮ⱨøʉ₮ ₥ɏ ₱ɇɽ₥ł₴₴łø₦

" Hey, Sara. It's indeed been too long. How are you?" You started chatting with Sara.

Meanwhile Ben's anger only grew.

" My names Ben." Ben suddenly dryly joined your conversation as he slammed his drink down onto the table aggressively, looking straight into Sara's eyes.

" Sorry. Didn't see you there. I'm Sara nice to mee-"

" Yeah, yeah, whatever. Leave. We didn't invite you to come sit with us." Ben spat at her, looking at her with an intense look in his eyes.

Both you and your friend turned to look at him in confusion.

" Is something wrong with me being here? Did I offend you?" Sara asked, genuinely concerned.

Ben was fuming now, on the inside. Who does this girl think she is? First she comes to sit at their table uninvited, then she's capturing the attention of his new favorite plaything, and now she's questioning him? She has to go.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ

He heard her conversation with a male he certainly doesn't know trough her phone, using the microphone without her knowing.

According to what he knows, they're on a date. And according to her contacts, his name is Jaime. He can't find where they met, nor did he know why they met up.

But now that she's checked her reflexion one too many times, and made a pic of her full outfit to send to him, probably to mock him for not having her, ɏɇ₮, he realizes that she's on a date.

After some research by surfing quite literally trough the internet. It turned out this 'Jaime' person was Mexican, and had a soft persona. On his facebook page were pictures where he's working with animals or doing volunteers' work or overall just something where he's helping others. He found the black haired male pathetic, weak even.

In all honesty, even he himself didn't really find him a threat. Not when he looked like that and was overall just kind and bambi looking.

However, all his expectations are thrown out of the window when he hears them say their goodbyes.

" You know, I had a lot of fun tonight. You're really a nice person. In fact, I'd like to go on another date with you again." This voice was definitely that of a male's, probably Jaime.

" I agree. I had a lot of fun too." She said.

₣Ʉ₦? ⱧØ₩ ₵₳₦ Ł₮ ฿Ɇ ₳₦Ɏ ₣Ʉ₦ ₩Ł₮ⱧØɄ₮ ₥Ɇ?

" Good. Do you have a ride or would you like me to drive you home?-" He blocks out the rest of their conversation.

It appears that the good guy needs to go too.

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ - ᓍᕵᘿᘉ ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ∆

" We should spend more time together." Ben says randomly as the two of you snuggle on the couch.

You giggle, your ears tinting red.

" We're already together all the time tough." You tell him softly.

" I know, but still. By the way, did your stupid date reply yet?" He asked, eyes focused on the tv in front of the two of you.

" No, and don't call him stupid." You pout, softly scolding him.

₲ØØĐ

He grins at you with mysterious eyes.

You shrug it off, knowing it's part of him. The two of you have been hanging out for a while now. Almost three months to be precise. And you two have gotten very close. What used to be keeping distance and keeping the line between acquaintances and friends, had turned into friends or something more. You two almost hung out every day, you were basically attached to each other's hip now.

After a few peacefull moments, you excused yourself to the bathroom.

Right as you left, your phone rang.

He turned to look at the disturbing sound his eyes widening at the name which is appearing on the screen.

SARA

He stumbled over the couch to pick it up, an unpleasant feeling of suprise rising whitin him.

" Y/N?! You have to listen to me! Ben is not who you think he is! He's this-"

" I'm this what?" Ben smirked.

Damn you were taking a long time in the bathroom, not that he minded.

The other end of the line was dead silent.

" Don't worry. You don't need to say anything. I'll come home soon. And trust me, once I am, you will never be able to speak a word again." He spoke, an eerie calm in his voice.

" Goodbye, Sara." He said before hanging up.

" Sara called?" Your voice suddenly startled him.

" What? Oh, yeah. But she was in a hurry so she said she'd call you later." He smiled innocently.

You nodded and the two of you resumed watching the movie.

" Isn't there a way, that we could spend more time together?" He suddenly wondered out loud.

You sighed and turned to face him.

" I'm sorry Ben, but I have a job and I like spending time with other people too. So I'm afraid not." You told him softly.

An idea coded itself into his mind.

JɄ₴₮ ₮ⱤɄ₴₮ ₥Ɇ, ɎØɄ'ⱠⱠ ฿Ɇ ₥Ł₦Ɇ ₴ØØ₦

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ - ᓍᕵᘿᘉ ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ∆ - - - ᕲᓍᘺᘉᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ

You sighed in dispair in the night air as you walked home. Once again, you were rejected in a job interview.

A few days ago you were fired from the job you actually liked. You couldn't understand why either. You didn't do anything wrong, you were quite hardworking and always finished the documents in time.

Your supervisor looked afraid, terrified even when he told you to immediately pack your bags and leave, and ever since you just can't seem to get in anywhere. Not even the gas station wanted you in charge.

" Well hello there. What do we have here." A creepy voice suddenly sounded from behind you.

You turned around only to be greeted by a man with a creepy smile and even creepier, eye lid-less eyes. He was holding a knife, making his intentions obvious.

You didn't need to think twice about his intentions and whipped your phone out of your pocket with the intentions to call the cops and running.

The killer sadly isn't stupid, and has you on the ground under him whitin seconds.

Your phone's screen crack and slides to the other side, the dialed number not pressed on call yet.

" Don't cry sweetheart. It doesn't suit your pretty face. Don't fret, I'll make sure, you'll smile forever. " The killer tells you happily.

Both of you don't realize that your phone screen suddenly lights up in a green colour. Nor does either of you realize the figure crawling out of it.

The both of you don't realize, until the killer is off you and tackled down on the ground beside you.

" I've told you before. She's fucking mine. Go bother someone else." Ben's voice sounds suddenly.

You turn your head to look at him.

This time he does not wear jeans and a sweater. No this time, he looks like he came straight out of a... Video game? He looks like Link, the main personage of the game which your friend Noah had dropped off at your place around six months ago.

Ben never told you he was into cosplaying.

Your ears suddenly tinted pink as you realized, he called you his. Suddenly you felt a little giddy, the guy you like so much might actually like you back.

The killer underneath Ben growls out something you can't hear before throwing the shorter off him and leaving.

" Are you okay?" You ask him.

He turns to you with red eyes.

Red. Fucking. Eyes.

And that's not the only thing about his eyes that changed.

Instead of the usual white eyes have, his are now black.

And even there it doesn't end.

There's blood running down his eyes onto his cheeks, as if he's crying blood.

You take a step back.

What the fuck is this?

" Don't be afraid! I know I look a little... Weird, but it's all just part of my..... Cosplay." He explains.

You ponder over it.

He's never gave you a reason to not trust you right? Or did he?

You ignore the instinct to run away from him, instead choosing to calm down and follow your heart, which is telling you to trust him.

" Come with me. You can stay at my place tonight." Ben tells you, holding his hand out to you.

You take it.

₲ØØĐ ⱠŁ₮₮ⱠɆ ₱Ʉ₱₱Ɏ

- - - ᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ᓍᘉᘿ - - - » ᖽᐸᘉᓰᐺᘿS ᓍᖇ ᕼᘿᗩᖇᖶS ? ¿ » - - - ₭₦ŁVɆ₴ - - - ᖴᗩᓰᒪ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ SᖻSᖶᘿᘻ - - - ᖇᘿᗷᓍᓍᖶ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ - ᓍᕵᘿᘉ ᖴᓰᒪᘿ ∆ - - - ᕲᓍᘺᘉᒪᓍᗩᕲᓰᘉᘜ - - - ᕲᓍᘺᘉᒪᓍᗩᕲ ᑢᓍᘻᕵᒪᘿᖶᘿ ›

It took longer than expected to reach his house. The whole road to his house is creepy. Ben appartly lives in this supermodern house in the woods.

Which is off already, the woods are known troughout the whole town as mystery. According to urban legends, there's creatures loving in there who shouldn't exist. Because of that, there's barely any people there. According to Ben, everything is all clear and safe, and you trust him with your heart.

You don't question him after his answer and instead follow him into the,indeed very,modern little house which is situated hidden behind the trees.

You get directly hit in the face with a copper scent as soon as you step foot into his house.

" Would you like something to drink?" He asks you as you enter his house, neither of you bothering to take your shoes off.

" Just water please." You tell him as you study the place.

The inside of the small house is more modern than the outside, with a big living space and an open kitchen. There's also three doors in the hallway.

One to the bathroom, one leading upstairs and one leading into the basement.

" Here you go." Ben returns, handing you a glass of water.

" Thanks, aren't you going to take off your make up and lenses?" You ask him.

His smile fades a bit, and for a moment you think you've accidentally offended him, but he nods with a pout before you can think about it twice.

" Yeah, that's probably a good idea. The livingroom is at the end of this hallway, feel free to make yourself comfortable." He smiles before going upstairs.

You stand still for a moment in the hallway as an eerie feeling suddenly starts crawling up your spine.

You ignore it, and instead start walking towards the livingroom.

Until the sound of something falling reaches your ears.

A sound that is directed from the basement.

Your first idea is to call for Ben, to alert him that you two probably aren't alone.

You don't do that however, because it could just be something falling off a shelf, right?

And so you decide to investigate it yourself.

As soon as you open the door to the basement, you're directly hit in the face with a very prominent copper scent. The same on you already smelled when you entered his house, except it's way too strong and there's something eerily familiar about it which you just can't pinpoint.

You silently push the door open, and turn on the lightswitch to the basement. Behind the door is a stony staircase, the rest of the basement is hidden away behind a wall. Curiosity takes over you, and you make your way downstairs before you can think about it twice.

As soon as you near the bottom, you spot blotches of red. The deep red substance is spread like a trail from he bottom stairs onto the rest of the room.

And then it clicks in your mind. It's blood. That's also the smell in the air. Was the intruder injured?

You step down the stairs while following the blood trail with you eyes.

You stumble back in fear and unpleasant suprise at the sight that greets you.

There's dead people down here. Most of which you don't recognise, but a few you do.

You gasp as you look into a pair of wide blue eyes.

Sara.

She's sitting there, eyes wide open, with cuts all over. There's big ones in her rib case and near her organs, you can even see Intestines spread over the floor.

She's obviously dead.

But how come she's here?

Ben didn't do this? Did he?

Next to her is Jaime, who's eyes are closed but his chest is rising and falling.

He's alive.

You run over to him and shake him awake, not minding the blood that's now on your hands.

" Jaime! Please! Wake up!" You say desperately, tears now escaping your eyes.

" Y/N? Y/N! You have to get out of here. Ben, he's not who you think he is!" He tells you desperately.

" I'm not leaving you! Can you walk?" You ask him trough your tears.

" I'm chipped Y/N, you have to go. Get help. Ben's insane. He's a de-"

" Demon? Mass murderer? Failure? Dead? Is one of those what you wanted to tell her? How dare you lie to her! I'm none of those!" A voice suddenly booms trough the air.

You turn around while starting to shake. Jaime tries to hold you close to him with the little strength he has left. There Ben stands, still with red pupils and black eyes, dried red streaks still on his cheeks.

" Don't fucking touch her." Ben screams angrily, ripping you all but gently away from the male, causing you to tremble against him.

" Don't be afraid my love, he won't touch you again." Ben sushes you.

Is he really thinking that you're afraid of him?

" N-no. Let me go. Do-don't touch me." You tell him, pushing away from him.

He looks confused by your behavior.

" What's wrong baby? Please don't believe whatever lies he told you.-"

" What lies?! That you've killed my friend?! That you've killed these innocent people?! That you've chipped him?!" You yelled.

" They all deserved it Y/N! They're all in the way of our love!" Ben yells back desperately, stepping towards you.

" I don't even know these people!" You say, stepping back into the wall, knocking into a shelf.

You turn around to see what you knocked into.

Wait, is that the Nintendo 64?

" They all stared at you with sick twisted ideas! They really do deserve it." He tells you.

Suddenly it clicks in your mind.

" You're Ben from the game." You state.

He nods.

" Yes bu-"

" How?.."

" You clicked my game onto your computer remember."

" It was you wasn't it? You're the reason I've lost my job. You're the reason my friends all turned their back to me." You wishper, eyes now gathering in your eyes.

You've been so incredibly fucking stupid.

He's the reason your life has turned down the drain.

" Yes. But it's good right. Now we can finally be together." He says like a crazy man in love.

Which he is.

You start sobbing as you fall onto your knees realizing, all these people here. They've all died because of you.

" Hey, don't worry my live. We can now finally be together."

ɎØɄ'VɆ ₥Ɇ₮ ₩Ł₮Ⱨ ₳ ₮ɆⱤⱤŁ฿ⱠɆ ₣₳₮Ɇ, Ⱨ₳VɆ₦'₮ ɎØɄ?

ᘜ ᗩ ᘻ ᘿ ᓍ ᐺ ᘿ ᖇ.

#creepypasta fanfiction #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #ben drowned x reader #yandere creepypasta #yandere #angst #creepypasta one shot #jeff the killer #jkjk #first time lol #idkeitherman

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thedemonstherapist · 4 years

Text

Of Decietful Fate

Summary: “’Remember when we met here? What a beautiful night that was’.

‘Nothing could be more beautiful than you, my dearest. Sat on the bench, all alone, as if waiting for only me’”.

Wordcount: ~1,6K

Pairing: Unrequited! Barbatos x GN! Reader/MC

Warnings: Angst, unrequited love, (personified) self-hatred, some pining

Author’s Note: Aaaaand another wordvomit dump. I seem to only be able to write angst these past weeks, but it is helping me get back on track. I hope you like it nevertheless, once more, neither proofread or edited.

You shouldn’t have walked that way.

They’re so much prettier than you, pressed up against him. Their lips press against his with such gentle precision, with knowledge that they should be there. Their hands look natural intertwined, fingers delicately laced together. His other hand cups their cheek, lifting their chin towards him. They’re pulling him by his tie, a smile curving their lips upwards. Both of their eyes are shut in bliss, a perfect still-life of the perfect couple.

Happy. Together.

And you stand there, barely holding onto books and bag, frozen at the sight. You knew it would come to this eventually. You knew your denial couldn’t hold out much longer, that you would eventually be confronted by the truth.

You’re an obstruction to the beauty before you, and you want nothing more than to vanish. The seconds bend and twist, stretched out longer than they needed to be. You’re taunting yourself, your alter ego looming over you with a gleeful grin and a disapproving, arrogant stare. You should move. You’re the idiot, standing here, mask slipping, taking up space. You don’t belong.

So you turn on your heel before they even notice you were there.

---

Of course they notice a difference. Not that you willfully let them, but they know. They don’t pry, Asmo breeches the subject the most, always careful, always gentle, always stopping when you ask him to. You tried lying, and that was the most obvious signal that you didn't want to talk, but it didn't stop the gazes, the whispers, the concern. Nothing does.

And for a while, you allow yourself to live like that. Misery builds a strange shell, one that can only break if you allow it to, and you do everything to prevent the wreckage. You allow yourself to swallow the bitterness, to bite your tongue in anger, to numb your tears to simple technicalities. You’re not in denial about them anymore. You’re in denial of your own.

Somehow, it feels less painful to blame yourself than somebody else.

They don’t establish the connection, to your relief. After all, they have existed for a while, and everyone knew long before your isolation came. To them, it may be normal, may be a past pain, may be a depressive phase, may be something entirely else. You’re thankful you never made yourself so obvious.

Was it something I said? Mammon asks one time, voice so quiet and broken that you almost burst into tears. No, no, no, it’s none of your faults, you reassure him vehemently, giving a small smile, I’ll be okay, please don’t worry.

Of course he still does, gentle with his affections. Why couldn’t you fall in love with him, you sometimes ask yourself, late at night, staring out of your window. Lucifer might have disapproved, but you would have saved some heartache. Maybe. Who knows if Mammon would have reciprocated.

Probably not, your alter ego sneers, just look at yourself.

---

Solomon, ever so inquisitive, ever such a pain in the ass, figured it out.

A Ball. Another one, at the Demon Lord’s castle. The one where they would announce their forever. You feel empty as you stare at yourself in the mirror, absently smoothing out a crease on your sleeve. Weeks ago you would have been so excited for a night like this, spending hours getting pampered and dressed-up by Asmo. The smile you put on passes as well as the others you’ve put on these past days. It would do.

You enter the ballroom with the brothers, arm linked with Asmo, as per usual. Solomon greets you at the entrance, his own demon companion next to him, whom Asmo greets with the enthusiasm of an old friend. You barely have time to breathe before Diavolo is upon you, and his absence is immediately noticeable, replaced by a demon in a similar uniform and customary smile. Your eyes travel across the room to find him, knowing full well that they would make their entrance together soon. Your mind races to torture you, imagining how they would be dressed. Would they match him? You can only imagine the ripples of turquoise fabric, hair made into traditional fashions for the occasion, jewelry glistening across and down delicate hands, arms, necks, backs. Asmo had once shown you how one dressed for this celebration, chattering excitedly away as you stared at the magazine pages.

What a beautiful couple they would make.

Satan asks you something, ripping you from your thoughts. You jump to answer, giving a nervous laugh as Solomon’s apprehensive gaze falls onto you. Spotting Levi and Beel across the room, you excuse yourself, hurrying over to where you would hopefully be able to meld into the background and look away.

Of course, you don’t get that privilege.

Because Lucifer ushers you over no five minutes later, gathering everyone in a neat circle. You end up back between Asmo and Solomon, watching as Diavolo ascends to his seat, quietning the room. The flowers everywhere glisten so prettily in candlelight. You concentrate on staring at one of the lilies behind Diavolo’s left shoulder, drowning out his words. The anxious tapping of your nail against your glass fades into the background, heart pounding out of your chest. You feel dizzy by the time the roaring applause starts, eyes flying to the open doors.

In that moment, all you want to do is wake up.

Your hands find the rhythm by themselves, absently joining in the commotion. You don’t notice the hot, sticky track the tear makes down your cheek, in hollow acknowledgment of how happy they look together. He holds them so delicately, smile realer than you’ve ever seen it before, gazing at them in adoration. They are the epitome of elegance, expression bursting with joy, one particular jewel hung around their neck.

You’re glad that demon engagement customs differ from human ones. It makes it easier not to imagine yourself as them.

Somebody’s stare is burning into your sides. You turn to look at Solomon, in silent acceptance of his knowledge. His expression is pure surprise, slowly softening to apologetic sympathy.

He’s rarely looked so human.

You turn back around, lifting the glass to your lips.

---

It’s quiet in the palace gardens.

The sounds of you walking are all you hear, aimlessly wandering along the stone path, following a trail of lanterns. You’re not quite sure where you’re going, but the sounds of the party are diminishing behind you. It’s not cold, gentle breeze sweeping across the lake beside you, creating small ripples across the surface. You know that someone will come running after you any second now, telling you you shouldn’t be out here alone. You knew that the moment you passed the demons on the balcony, but you can’t bring yourself to care, just wanting to be alone for a while.

The trail ends at the small marble dome at the edge of the lake. Even this is decorated lavishly, candles casting flickering light onto your silhouette. You stand at the entrance for a few seconds, taking it all in. There is a hum of magic surrounding you, gentle and unabrasive. It’s almost angelic.

As you step inside, you can feel something click. You pay it little mind, stepping to the bannister. Your hands close around the cold marble, letting out a long sigh as you lean on it.

This is where you and Barbatos had your first proper conversation.

It was a similar night. The party had been loud, even from here, and you’d needed space. He found you, sat on the bench, staring at the lake in wonder. After the customary greetings and asking if you needed anything, he had lingered. You remember the exact hesitation in his expression, glancing at you from the entrance. You hadn’t known what to say, carefully asking if everything was alright. He’d smiled lightly, telling you not to worry about him, that he was only admiring the one of the constellations visible tonight.

Conversations about the stars became common between you two afterwards. You wish you’d known that it was never meant to be more than platonic.

Steps. Quick ones, almost stumbling over each over. You take a shaky breath, hoping your tears haven’t smudged your makeup, straightening up. Could it be him? Could it?

It is.

But not only him.

Their eyes meet yours, confusion flashing across them. Suddenly you realise why you stand in the midst of flowers and lanterns, why that gentle hum of atmospheric magic feels so comforting. Why they stand at the entrance, hands intertwined, cheeks flushed.

I’m so sorry. You want to vanish, quickly tugging your jacket closer to your body and stepping away from the bannister. I didn't realise-

It’s not a problem! We love this place, don’t we, Barb?

He nods, glancing over at you. Did you need some air?

You nod, staring adamantly at one of the pillars beside him, refusing to meet his eye. You feel so endlessly stupid. Your alter ego is right back behind you, snarling into your ear, venom seeping under your skin.

I better get back. Your voice comes out a whisper. Congratulations. You make a wonderful couple.

Thank you, that’s so very kind of you. They sound so sincere, and you can’t help but doubt it. Demons of deceit don’t tend to be honest.

Your eyes find him against your will, hope tugging your heart apart, and he smiles. Dutiful as always. Take care.

Remember when we met here? Their words almost stop you in your tracks, but you’re already past them, slowing to listen. What a beautiful night that was.

Nothing could be more beautiful than you, my dearest. Sat on the bench, all alone, as if waiting for only me.

The air feels a lot colder against your burning eyes.

Link to my Masterlist / AO3 // Requests currently closed.

#barbatos x reader #barbatos x mc #obey me barbatos #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #obey me angst #unrequited love #gender neutral reader #hope you enjoyed <3

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whump-town · 4 years

Text

Moments Too Late

Part two!

I don’t know it’s fun writing all this college nonsense (while ignoring my own college nonsense) and I think I’ll probably write a chapter three because this is giving me a little kick and it’s fun

Warnings: panic attack, briefly mentions Derek’s childhood, Carl Buford, and the insinuations of what that entails

Part One is Here

The quad, a great expansion of grass covered in a sea of moving sweaty twenty-year-olds, is nearly unaware of the scene played out before them. A mismatched group of a twelve-year-old, a Chicago born here on a scholarship football player, a brightly adorned orphan, a blonde basket case, an alcoholic, the Italian mobs missing link, and somebodies lanky older brother don’t typically need so much attention. They’re the sort to pass quietly through college. The blonde basket case might make honor roll and the football player might be seen in the back row of some newspaper before an injury takes him out but that’s about it. For them, that’s a point of pride -- not being noticed.

Derek knows from the pull of Aaron’s shoulders to the rattling sound of his breathing as he stumbles away from them that he’s having a panic attack. He watches Emily step to follow, knows she means well but will only make things so much worse. “Stay,” Derek shouts at Emily. Alliances mean everything to them, young and dumb and alone in a world not yet fully accessible to them. They need the little promises -- that Spencer will only eat red skittles out of the bag, that JJ will carry rocks in the pockets of her pristine clothing to give to Penelope, and that Derek sides with Emily.

Out of shock, Emily rocks to a stop. Derek’s never yelled at her.

“I’ll go,” he offers, not waiting for anyone to argue even though it looks like Dave might try. “Don’t follow.”

Aaron’s spider-like legs carry him quickly but he’s got nothing on the suicide’s Derek’s football coach has had him running for the past six months. Derek pulls them hip to hip, glad that the sun and the chatter pull all attention away from them. They look like tipsy girls on their way back from a party, stumbling into one another heads pulled in as if to discuss something of great importance.

Derek’s never been so thankful their dorms are on the main part of campus.

“Hey--” the RA, some poor kid just trying to put himself through college, watches Aaron and Derek come barreling into the building. He’s not on duty but he’d gone to get one of his kids the extra key to their room and been on the ground floor to watch Derek loop his arm around Aaron. Nearly having to pick the older boy up by his hips to plant him back on his feet. He’s got a split second to decide what to do.

To his defense, he knows Aaron and Derek. Aaron is a sophomore and never causes anybody any problems. Hell, he spent spring-break in the dorms and didn’t tell anyone the hot water went out. He just showered with freezing water for a week. Derek is a football player but not the sort that drags in all their muddy crap all over the carpets, when Derek comes in from practice there’s not a trace of his existence. When the two are together, they’re the least rowdy group to deal with (even though one or both has at least three or four more people in their rooms).

So, the RA looks at Aaron, looks at Derek, and decides whatever those two are doing… they can handle on their own. “Don’t fucking run! This isn’t a barn!” Hmm, just another job well done. Nice.

Derek looks over his shoulder, smiling despite how hard his hands shake with his anxiety. “Right!” he offers. “Sorry!” He’s not worried about tearing past everyone they see or that pulling Aaron’s heavy ass behind him is making his biceps burn. He’s worried about the tears Aaron seems to have no control over or how broken, how lost he looks. “Just a second,” Derek promises, throwing his weight into the bathroom door. The communal showers are empty, not many people take showers at two in the afternoon, and that’s what Derek’s banking on.

“I -- I --” Hotch goes where he’s pulled. His face numb and his feet heavy, it takes his brain a moment to really compute where he is. “What are we--” he coughs on a breath that doesn’t come outright. Whimpering and pulling his hands in towards his chest, trying to soothe the feeling of his sternum chipping away to shoot hard bone fragments of pain down his arms and up his throat.

His cry startles Derek enough to spur him to further action. Grabbing Aaron by two fist fulls of his ratty old sweater, a beige monstrosity that Aaron will never admit to having bought at Salvation Army with the last twenty dollars he owned, Derek pushes him into the shower. Holding him against the wall as he sputters against the shock of the freezing water beamed at his chest. Caring about neither of their clothes, he ignores his shirt wetting and sticking to his shoulders and back.

“Derek please--” Aaron cries, weakly pushing at Derek’s arms. He’s too disorganized, too frantic to push the stronger boy off. It’s nothing for Derek to grab Aaron’s thin wrist and pin them to his chest; not an issue of strength but it pains Derek to watch Aaron sob and try and pull himself free. If anyone were to walk in they’d think Derek was hurting him but this is just all Derek knows will help.

Derek feels Aaron’s body start to take to the cold, become too shocked to panic. “Just breathe,” he instructs. “Just calm down.” Carl Buford had been the person to teach Derek about this little trick. Naked and terrified and too trusting in all the wrong men. Buford had lifted him and dunked him in a freezing bath, shushing him when he’d scrambled madly out of the painfully cold water. Buford had held him, pinned Derek’s thin arms down, and held him down in the water. Buford held him close until he calmed down, Derek nearly felt safe once again as if the atrocities done to him never happened. He considered maybe they hadn’t.

“Shit,” Derek scrambles closer, grunting when Aaron’s knees just give out from beneath his body. They both as they hit the floor, a clatter enough to draw attention to them. Derek hits his elbow against the wall, sending sparks of pain through his nerves. “Alright, alright.” Aaron’s teeth are chattering but he’s not fighting, he’s not panicking. “Just --” he didn’t think this far ahead. To the aftermath. He needs a towel and someplace warm but not too warm. “I’ll be right back.”

He leaves Aaron sitting on the floor, curled as far as he can get from the water but just limply leaning into the wall. Temple resting against the wall and arms wrapped around his body and fingers clenching the wet material of his shirt. Staring vacantly at nothing.

He runs to his own room where his towels are sitting in his clean clothes basket from where he cleaned them three days ago but hasn’t needed to put them away just yet. He grabs two because he’s not sure what the damage is and it’s likely they’ll both need one. He’s in such a state he nearly busts his ass. His sneakers slipping in the water dripping off his clothes. He lands with a plop on his hands and knees, brain short-circuiting for a moment as all he takes in is the sting of the skin on his knees and the ache of his wrists.

In the hall, legs of a fawn not yet certain how to move its knees, arms wrapped tightly around each other, and jaw clenched tightly to prevent his teeth from clacking together and sounding out his painful retreat back to his room Aaron shuffles down the hall. Derek catches sight of just his drenched clothes, hanging pitifully off his frame and weighed down by the water, and can’t help but be frustrated but not entirely surprised.

“I told you to stay,” Derek fusses as he jobs up behind Aaron. He wraps a towel around his shoulders, wincing when Aaron looks up at him and Derek gets a good look at his face. Aaron’s always had bags under his eyes and he’s naturally just very pale but the cold has drawn any color out of his face leaving behind only the darkly contrasted proof that though he might tell them he’s sleeping well that he’s lying. That’s where you have to be careful with a man like Aaron -- they have long ago mastered the art of redirection and lies. A skill he learned at his mother’s hip as she dabbed concealer over his eye. Redirect their attention to protect yourself. It hasn’t failed him yet.

Well… except for today and, evidently, every day before that.

Derek allows Aaron to keep shuffling in the direction of his room with the assumption that the room will be a nice warm space to get comfortable. The problem is supposed to be in getting Aaron out of these clothes; Derek knows he won’t strip in front of him. Not that Derek is going to enjoy himself watching Aaron -- mostly because he’s a little afraid of what those oversized sweaters are hiding but also because Derek typically prefers women.

What Derek isn’t taking into consideration is that Aaron is a borderline masochist.

“Why is it so cold in here?” Derek takes a step back when Aaron manages to get the door open. Shivering at the cold air that comes rushing out.

Aaron shrugs, lips blue and jaw starting to betray him. “Can’t sleep under the blankets if it’s too warm,” he offers as if Derek might be the silly one here. But they both are really, standing in the doorway of a dorm shivering in soaking wet clothes. “Whatever you say, boss,” Derek mumbles with an eye-roll, stepping around Aaron. They’ve all grown very familiar with the layout of each other’s rooms. Even when new school years bring new floor layouts, some of them are more reliably the same than others. Emily is a bit of a wild card but people like JJ and Aaron have the same habits. And Derek knows where the changes of clothes he’s looking for are.

He’d borrowed a pair of Aaron’s slacks last semester for an advising meeting with people from his major and they’d been snug. Snug is an understatement -- he thought his ass was going to bust out of them. He’d even had to have Penelope bring them up two inches because, despite being the same height, Aaron has freakishly long legs. Derek would never comment on this, Aaron might come across as your normal brooding angst but he’s kind of sensitive. Though the others might not think so (given Derek’s nature to push and shove at everything Aaron says) Derek values Aaron’s friendship tremendously and Aaron knows that when Derek pushes it’s to understand boundaries and because he trusts Aaron.

“Oh my God,” Penelope exclaims from the doorway. “What did you do to him?”

Aaron jumps, wrapping his arms around his naked chest in a hurry. He shuffles back, trying to put some distance between himself and Penelope standing in the doorway of his room. Glancing at Derek as he does so, pleading with the other boy to do something and get the attention off of him.

Derek tosses a pair of pajama pants on Aaron’s bed, motioning for Aaron to turn and pay them mind. “Get out of those clothes before you get sick.” Turning his own attention to Penelope he averts her, shuffling her back until their both out the doorway. Giving Aaron the privacy he needs and letting her air-out her loudly proclaimed worries as he does so. “Baby girl,” he says over her rapid speech. “Baby girl, hey. Hey, he’s fine. Look at me, he’s fine.”

Penelope stops, mouth open and brows pulled down with great concern, “Derek, he’s soaking wet and pale--” She stops and really gets a good look at him. Standing before her in a shirt clinging to his skin and shivering slightly in the air-conditioned hall. “And-- And you’re soaking wet too. Derek Morgan, what did you do?”

Derek grimaces in preparation for how crazy he knows he’s about to sound. “I--I threw him in the shower.”

Penelope raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“He was…” Derek hesitates. He’s not entirely sure how much he should tell her, for the sake of Aaron’s privacy. If it was Spencer, there would be no doubts but Aaron is far more complex than that. “Sometimes cold showers can help nerves and so I directed him to that solution.” Leaving out the bits about Aaron’s panic or maybe anxiety attack, his vulnerability, and the wrestling that took place to get him there Derek feels he’s left Aaron’s virtue intact. A win. “It sounds crazy,” he admits, “but it helps, I swear.”

Penelope considers what she’s just been told and while she would like to implement further comments on the terms and conditions of a shower (even if it’s a cold one) with Derek Morgan, she just narrows her eyes and knows that Derek always seems to know what’s best. She trusts him. “So, he’s better now? Asides from the pale, shivering bit?”

Derek nods, “yeah but in my defense, he’s always pale and shivering.” Which is true, no matter where they go they carry blankets and jackets something to offer Spencer and Aaron when they inevitably get chilled.

“Okay,” she caves. That seems to settle some of her own anxiety. She looks sadly to the shut door separating her from Aaron. “Okay,” she repeats again, deflating at the thought of her poor Aaron sitting on the other side. Hurt and upset. “Do you think there’s anything we can do?” She looks to Derek, so hopeful that he’s come up with some solution she hadn’t come up with on her own.

Derek shakes his head, “I don’t think so, Penny. I think we’ve got to let them work it out. It’s not about us.” He sighs and he’s frustrated that it’s true but he can’t amend Emily’s words and he’s not so sure she can either. With a sigh he opens Aaron’s door back up, peaking in to see where the other boy’s gone.

Aaron’s climbed into his bed, lights off, and back facing them, covered in his mounds of blankets.

“I hate it when they fight,” Penelope whispers.

Derek takes one long look at Aaron, watching his back move as he sleeps. Panic attacks are draining, he’s just glad Aaron’s sleeping for once. “Yeah, me too.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #penelope garcia

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joezworld · 4 years

Text

Fools in Love (3/10)

Worst Thieves Ever

The next week passed in a blur of emotions and happiness for both engines.

Henry was astonished that he'd managed to miss all of the now-obvious signs that he was romantically attracted to Bear, and was now fully in the throes of "happy sickness", and genuinely felt better when Bear was nearby.

Bear, meanwhile, was on top of the world. Acknowledging that he was now actually in love meant that all of the pent-up emotions from the past decade were coming out all at once. He was downright chipper when he was alone, and when Henry was nearby, he was so absurdly upbeat that the other engines were wondering if The Fat Controller had bought another Hymek and swapped the numbers again!

“So,” Bear asked Henry as they sat in the yard between trains. “What do we do, now that we’re together?”

“I don’t know,” Henry said thoughtfully. “I know that humans go on things called ‘dates’, where they go to dinner and then the cinema, but I don’t think we can do that...”

“We certainly wouldn’t fit into the building.”

“And I don’t think we could eat dinner without bothering our crews.”

“Unless you want to pull a Thomas and crash through the restaurant wall.”

“Hah! We could always save that for the holidays.”

“Henry’s getting awful chummy with the Hymek, isn’t he?” James muttered suspiciously from the coaling stage.

“Goodness gracious me,” Duck said. “It’s almost like he’s known Bear for an extended period of time. What is it that happens when you spend a long time near somebody? I think you become friends with them.”

“You know what I mean. It’s like they’re different locomotives.”

“Perhaps their personalities contain more than one side. I hear that some engines can achieve that.”

“And what are you implying by that??”

“Your paint is dirty.”

“AAACK! Someone get a rag and some polish!”

46 040 smiled to herself as she watched the steam engines bicker. This was a funny little island, with so much more character than the Midlands.

Engines were nicer here, and they welcomed her as a friend on the first day she arrived - even if it had taken some time for their in-joke to be explained to her - she couldn’t believe that she’d rescued Spamcan’s rescuers. There was no in-fighting, no yard politics, just close-knit friends, even across class lines.

They also didn’t seem to give any mind to ‘how the railway should work’, as some of her classmates might say. As she backed down onto her train, she was acutely aware that the only engine newer than her was the laughing diesel-hydraulic in the yard. Everywhere else she looked, there was nothing but steam, steam, and more well-kept steam.

Modernization seems to have missed this island altogether. She thought as passengers bustled into the coaches. Even the rolling stock was antique - a bunch of ‘Big 4′ era corridor coaches, all nicely painted into a unified livery. On the mainland, the Mark 1s had displaced these old carriages from even maintenance trains, but Sodor was using them on top link services.

“Eurgh. Can you believe this, 40?” Oiled an unpleasant voice from alongside her.

She glared at the Class 56, annoyed by both his existence and his sudden appearance. From what she understood, the North Western Region often borrowed engines from other regions temporarily, which explained why she was still on the island and why the destable 56 was sullying this otherwise pleasant station. “What can I believe, 031?”

“This!” The diesel sniffed dismissively as 040 rolled her eyes. He had evidently decided that anything new to him was bad - a problem considering that he was barely two months old. “All of this outdated junk! I feel like I’ve been driven into a black-and-white film! Steam engines here, teak coaches there! I don’t think these vans are even fitted with brakes!” He looked back at his train - a line of surly looking vans glared back, clearly insulted. The brakevan on the rear seemed to be resigned to a difficult run before the train left the station. “I am immeasurably pleased that this is my last train on this island.”

“I think it’s charming.” 040 said quietly.

“You would.” 031′s tone was cold.

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you’d fit in here - you’re non-standard, just like they are.”

040 wanted to say something that would turn the air as blue as her paintwork, but before she could do so, a whistle blew, and 031′s driver began to drive the rude engine out of the station. “I don’t believe we shall meet again - your class’ time is coming sooner than you think.” 031 said with startling levels of nonchalance as he rumbled out of the station, his vans angrily trailing behind him.

“And good riddance to you too, you slag sucking shitstain.” 040 muttered to herself as the train rattled out of sight.

Shortly, her own guard blew his whistle, and she set off with the midday express.

Crovan's Gate Works - That night

"I didn’t think we'd be back here so soon." Henry whispered to Bear as they rolled into the Works yard.

"I didn’t either." Bear said, trying to disturb the rest of their train.

It was well past midnight, and both breakdown cranes, the support coach, and the battered Class 46 had nodded off on the slow ride from the accident site.

"Is she all right?" Henry asked quietly. He was leading the train, and couldn’t see.

"As well as she can be." Considering that the lightweight parcel vans had been reduced to so much kindling by the accident, it was amazing that the 46 was as uninjured as she was - just a few torn and warped panels, some gravel abrasions, and a broken nose.

If Bear was being honest, he thought that she'd gotten off better than the 56, who was physically intact, but had been subjected to one of the longest and angriest dressing-downs that The Fat Controller had ever given.

The poor engine had looked utterly shell-shocked as he took what remained of his train on to Barrow.

The two were silent as they pushed the sleeping 46 into the works proper, and then backed the breakdown train into its siding. Their crews were dead on their feet after eight hours plus overtime, and shuffled off to the works' bunkhouse for some well needed rest.

Henry and Bear watched them leave, not even remotely tired. Since their mutual revelation last week, neither engine had been able to sleep for very long, their minds spinning with thoughts of each other.

Even after a week, they had run out of all possible conversation, but could still spend hours without a word between them.

"D'ya think that this counts as a date?" Bear said after many minutes of comfortable silence.

"I think an argument could be made." Henry said thoughtfully. "We did something together, but from what I understand, usually there's supposed to be 'romance', and 'courting', not smashed vans and breakdown cranes. Also, I assume that, on a date, we should be enjoying ourselves and not wondering if someone is hurt."

Bear considered that for a long moment. It had been a pretty terrible date, considering they were clearing up a train crash. "Do you want me to court you?"

"I think that's supposed to happen before you fall in love, and I already have."

"Oh. Then what do we do if we're already..."

"Madly in love with each other?"

"Yes."

"I don't know."

"Well," Bear said finally. "Then we'll have to figure that out together."

------

Three Days Later

Henry didn’t see the 46 after he and Bear left in the morning - the massive service disruption caused by the accident meant that he spent most of the weekend shuttling ballast wagons back and forth between Cronk and Arlesburgh, as well as soothing Gordon’s temper over having to ‘dilly-dally in work zones all day’.

Fortunately, there wasn’t a great deal of damage on the main line, and after three days of frantic work, the maintenance of way crews had put everything back to normal. Henry was the first train through the rebuilt section with a massively-delayed Flying Kipper, and was surprised at how much damage the men had managed to reverse - the only remaining signs of the accident was the torn up lineside vegetation.

Arriving at Barrow, he found the yard in disarray - three days worth of goods trains were clogging the small yard, and the diesel shunter was so overworked that he forgot to be rude to Henry as he took away the fish vans.

The yard was so crowded that Henry couldn’t even get into the sheds to rest before his next train, and was forced to sit in the middle of the yard while his crew went for their tea break.

He wanted to get some rest as well, but the shunter was moving around the yard at such a rate that it was impossible to get more than a few minutes of rest before the Class 03 scuttled by with more vans.

After one large rake of hoppers were shoved out of the way, another engine became visible a few roads over - it was the 46.

Henry was surprised to see her - there hadn’t been enough time to fix any of her panels in the last three days, and indeed, she was just as battered and bruised as she was when he and Bear left her in the works. The only indication that anyone had done anything at all to her was the existence of a splint that had been taped over her broken nose to re-set it.

More worryingly, she looked almost haunted. Her eyes were wide, with a thousand yard stare, and she was mumbling something to herself over and over again.

“they don’t want me they don’t want me they don’t want me they don’t want me”

Henry wanted to ask her what was wrong, but before he could, a shout arose from deeper into the yard. The shunter had split a switch with some wagons and was now trapped in a dead-end siding. Men began rushing out with tools to re-rail the cars, but it was obvious that it would take some time. The yard master, seeing this incident, didn’t go over to the shunter, but instead made a beeline for Henry, his crew trailing behind.

“If he’s done for, then we need someone to organize this mess!” The man called, clearly not giving Henry a choice in the matter. “And you’re it!”

---

After 35 minutes of careful shunting, Henry was on his final shunting move before he could enter the sheds and rest, while the men seemed to be turning the corner on freeing the 03.

“Right, then there’s this Peak!” Called the yardmaster, who was riding on Henry’s footplate with a sheet of train orders in his hand. “It’s the 0Z59 for tonight, just put it somewhere out of the way.”

He scanned the yard. “Track 33 looks clear. let’s leave it there and be done.”

“Zero-Zed?” Henry asked. “You’re not going to move her, are you?” A zero headcode was intended for light engine moves, while a Z prefix meant that the train was to be handled specially by the dispatcher. The 46 was battered enough to require special treatment, but her unrepaired condition meant that she should not be moving under her own power.

“Nah, they’re gonna send an engine for ‘er later,” The yardmaster replied. “She’s going right to Derby.”

Henry sighed as he buffered up to the still-catatonic diesel. Sometimes life was easier if you didn’t ask questions.

“they don’t want me they don’t want me they don’t want me they don’t want me” The diesel said, her voice thick with horror. Her eyes looked at Henry’s face but saw nothing. It was obvious that she was off in her own little nightmarish world.

Then again, Henry had never had an “easy” life.

“What are they going to do to her at Derby?” He asked slowly, afraid of the answer he’d be given.

After flipping through his papers, the yard master gave a one word answer: “Scrap”

Henry stared morosely at the 46. She didn’t deserve this at all.

It took only a few minutes to move the 46 to an isolated siding near the sheds. As his driver uncoupled her from him, the 46 abruptly jerked out of her trance. She looked at Henry and his driver, her eyes suddenly clear and full of understanding.

“Save me. Please.” She said quietly. “They’re going to kill me.”

Henry was struck dumb by her request. The 46 had put more emotion in one sentence than some locomotives did in their entire lives. He wasn’t the quickest of thinkers to begin with, and now he had no idea of what to even say, let alone how he could help.

Fortunately, Sean - his driver - was much faster on the uptake. “Do you still work?” He asked her conspiratorially.

Both engines looked down at him. “Yes.” The 46 said after a moment. “They tested my motor and it works fine but they still said I wasn’t good enough to fix and oh god I’m going to die...” She trailed off in horror.

Sean turned an interesting shade of pale as he set the diesel’s handbrake. “We’ll do something. Just you wait.”

With that, he clambered back into Henry’s cab and set off for the sheds.

“We have to do something and I have no idea how we’re going to do it.” He said as soon as they were out of earshot of the diesel.

So concerned was Henry that he barely noticed Bear sitting in the shed as he pulled in.

“Is everything all right?” Bear asked as he saw the look on Henry’s face.

“They’re going to kill that 46.” Henry said without prompting. “She’s barely damaged and they’re going to take her to Derby and cut her up.”

“Right.” said Bear, looking like he just took a sack of bricks to the face. “Let’s figure out how we’re going to fix that.”

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

The harried yardmaster burst into the sheds. “Alright, up you get! The Hymek’s failed and we need you to drag his sorry carcass to the works!”

Henry, who had been pretending to be sleeping, set off at once.

Entering the yard proper, he found Bear at the head end of a train of cement tankers.

"Ah! Henry!" Bear called out in the least convincing voice anyone had ever heard. "As you can see, my complicated and unreliable gearbox has failed, rendering me immobile. Can you please pull me to the works?"

"Of course Bear!" Henry said in the same way that one would discuss the weather. "I will tow you to the works so they can fix your complicated and unreliable gearbox!"

The yardmaster watched in confusion as Henry backed down onto Bear's train. It was obvious that they were planning something, but what? This was about on par for a steam engine's level of deception, but diesels were usually craftier than this.

After a few minutes, Henry set off - or rather, he didn’t.

As he set off, his wheels slipped suddenly, his driver immediately closed the regulator, and both engines disappeared into a cloud of steam as Henry wheeshed in faux pain.

"Oh dear! He called from within the cloud. "I seem to have suffered a mechanical malfunction of some kind! Whatever will I do?"

"Who gives a toss about you!" Wailed the Class 03. "What about my work? You just blocked off half the yard!"

It was true - Bear had failed just before the switch to the main line, and when Henry had backed down onto him, he had completely covered the points. Now that he had failed as well, a large portion of the yard was inaccessible.

"I am terribly sorry." Henry didn't sound like he meant it. "Another engine will have to move us, as we cannot possibly move ourselves."

To his credit, the Class 03 tried, but with Henry and Bear's combined weight (and Henry holding the brakes on when nobody was looking), his little wheels just slipped on the tracks. "Super Rescue my buffers!" He scowled as the yard master started pulling his hair out. The yard was in a worse state than before, and there were no other engines that could reach the failed train.

Unless...

"Does that 46 work? The man yelled at his underlings, in the process missing the elated looks that flashed across Henry and Bear's faces.

"I think so!" Said one of the men. "They drove it here last night."

"Right!" He said with no small amount of relief. "Get that thing going - it'll be Crovan's problem and they can deal with it."

It took a few minutes for a crew to be found and for the 46 to be started, but soon enough she was being backed down onto the increasingly long train.

Henry and his crew watched with anticipation. Instead of damping his fire, Tim the fireman had been shoveling more and more coal into Henry’s firebox, while Sean had been nonchalantly walking around both engines and putting large amounts of sand under each driving wheel. As 46 040 was backed down onto the train, he gave a signal to Bear and his crew before climbing back into Henry’s cab.

The yard crew quickly coupled 040 to Henry, and waved to the signalman, who lined the points and dropped the signal arm.

The arm dropped. Henry and Bear's eyes followed it as it fell into the 'clear' position.

"Now!" Henry bellowed, and Bedlam ensued.

Sean hauled back on Henry’s whistle cord while shoving the throttle into the wide open position, sending sparks into the air as Henry’s wheels spun on the rails for a moment.

At Henry’s whistle, Bear's driver shoved the diesel's throttle to its furthest stop.

Black smoke belched out of both engines as they surged ahead. Henry slammed into the back of 040, shoving her along as his wheels found purchase on the sand covered rails.

Bear, his engine roaring, lurched ahead as he followed Henry, taking the tankers with him. The cement wagons yelled as the slack in their couplings was let out all at once, banging against each other as they were yanked into motion. A ripple of shock whipped all the way down the train, and the coupling in the last tanker was almost ripped out of its buffer beam from the violent departure.

040's crew were shoved forward in their seats by the sudden impact. Her driver had the throttle lever in his hand, and as he flew forward against the control column, he inadvertently shoved her throttle ahead to its furthest stop. The diesel shrieked in surprise as her motor revved to full power and she surged ahead with the rest of the train. 040 was a powerful express diesel, and she quickly began to pull the rest of the train along behind her as her engine reached its highest power setting.

"Go go go!" Henry yelled as the train accelerated away.

The yardmaster and the Class 03 watched in shock as the train thundered out of the yard. In just moments, it had cleared the yard boundary, and in just a few moments more, the last cement tanker was rattling over the lift bridge and onto Sudrian metals.

"What was that?!" The man said as Henry's triumphant whistle faded into the distance.

"More Sodor shite, I'd imagine." Said the little diesel as he rolled back into the yard - as much as he wanted to, he didn’t have time to speculate on what went on in the smokeboxes of those nutcases. "They're always up to some bollocks or another."

-----------

Henry and Bear yelled in triumph as they raced though Vicarstown and into Sodor proper.

"We did it!" Bear shouted.

"We did!" Henry chimed in. "You see that, 46?" He called up to 040. "That’s Sodor! You're safe!"

040 was astonished to the point of tears. "Thank you!" She said, her voice choked with emotion.

--------

Crovan’s Gate

Charles Hatt stared at the trio of unapologetic engines in front of him, unsure of whether he should be proud or upset.

“If I told you three that you damaged several of those cement tankers, the yard switches in Barrow, and exceeded the legal speed limit for a train of that configuration, would you be sorry in the slightest?”

“No sir / I’d do it again / Not at all” came the responses from Henry, Bear, and 040.

The Fat Controller hung his head in his hands. They didn’t even have the good graces to look sorry. The Peak was beaming from buffer to buffer, Bear looked sheepish but unconcerned, and Henry looked positively defiant.

“And you did this...?” He trailed off.

“Because otherwise they were going to kill her.” Henry said with a surprising undercurrent of steel to his voice.

“Yes. That...” Charles said again. “They truly told you that you were to be cut up?” He asked 040, slowly.

“Yes sir.”

“They did sir. There were train orders for it.” Bear said quickly. “She was supposed to be the 0Z59.”

“I see...” He turned to the 46 directly. “Who told you this?”

“Mister Stevens. He came down from the Midlands region to inspect me.”

“I see...” Charles mulled this over. He was vaguely aware of the nasty rumours surrounding the supposed railwaymen that the Midland Region was now employing, and this 'Mister Stevens' seemed like he fit the bill perfectly. “And you two did this... to help out your fellow engine?”

“Yes sir” Henry and Bear said in unison.

One hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

On one hand, these two had just damaged a significant amount of railway property and stolen an engine from a different region.

On the other... he did have a motive power shortage, and 46 040 was a class 4 - exactly what he needed.

And she clearly wasn’t needed by her region any more.

And stealing engines from the scrap heap was practically a Sodor tradition by now.

And he had acquired Bear in an almost equally brazen manner.

Sir Charles Topham Hatt II was many things, but a hypocrite was not one of them. “I must make a phone call. Talk amongst yourselves.”

The engines watched as he retreated to the foreman’s office. The phone was mounted on the outer wall, and his end of the conversation was very audible.

“This is Hatt, get me the London Midland Region please.”

“Yes, can you please inform Director Macready that Charles Hatt needs to speak with him regar- oh hello Lachlan.”

“Why yes, this is about 46 040.”

“I will have you know that we did not ‘brazenly make off with your property.’”

“To begin with, she was needed because the engines pulling the train ha- yes I understand that they didn’t actually fail, but-”

“Now there’s no need for that tone of voice-”

“Lachlan - Lachlan - Damnit Lachlan! That engine has only minor damage to it! You -”

“You clearly do not need it if - Spares? Lachlan, you just said that they were ‘going to the chop soon enough’, what could you possibly need spares for?”

“Now that’s just inappropriate.”

Whatever was said next was obviously deeply impolite, as the Fat Controller lost all patience with the Director of the Midland Region. “Now you listen here you limp-wristed disgrace of a Scotsman. That locomotive is mine now and will be forever more, you understand? If you ever try to come down from the ivory tower that has lodged itself in your rear end and do something about it, I will personally beat you to death with an Adze! Am I understood!”

After a brief silence, he spoke again. “I expect the transfer to be sent over at once. If they aren’t, I will forge your signature myself and I won’t stop with just those papers. Goodbye Lachlan.”

With that he hung up the phone and turned around to face the trio, who could barely contain themselves, and most of the works’ staff, who were surprised to see their controller use such harsh language.

“Don’t just stand there!” He said after a long moment. “Get to work! We have a new engine to repair!”

The noise from the locomotives was deafening.

#ttte #sodor shenangians #fic #headcanon #sodor #ttte henry #ttte bear #oc: Delta #ttte fat controller #literally half of sodor has been stolen from somewhere else #anyone who turns up in barrow yard and looks sad basically gets shanghaied #ttte duck #ttte james #fools in love

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glowyjellyfish · 3 years

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I’ve been watching a lot of b99 lately (stressful week, did not feel up to working on New Things), and somehow tonight my brain made some connections and offered me the prompt of what if b99 crossover with gargoyles and now I can’t shut up about it. Please let me know if this fic already exists somewhere, because I don’t think I can write it and I am dying to read it. I’ll probably try anyway, but those are not fandoms I have written much decent fic for soooo...

Anyway, the whole premise I came up with:

-one or all of the trio caught some criminals in the 99th and, as per elisa’s explanations of how precincts work, left them tied up on the doorstep for the cops to handle

-the 99 doesn’t usually have the gargoyle-adjacent cases since they stick to elisa’s precinct, and are baffled by this. Jake thinks it’s a superhero, clearly. Gina reads the tabloids with gargoyle conspiracy theories but i’m not sure exactly when this comes up. Oh, probably the criminals babble about winged monsters, Gina brings up the gargoyle stories, Jake counters with “that’s what people thought about Batman!”

-the member of the trio that dropped the criminals off also left a note which is equally baffling. The note is intended to point them towards the evidence to bring the criminals to justice but--Holt notes--reads like Jake wrote it. Correction, a teenaged jake with no respect or understanding of proper procedure. (...which makes me feel it was probably Broadway, using a mix of modern and noir slang)

-elisa’s frustrated that the gargoyles didn’t leave the criminals at her precinct so she could smooth things over, even though it’s probably slightly more legal to keep them in the correct precinct. And the criminals may be connected to something gargoyle-universe-bigger, so then Elisa starts petitioning to get the case transferred to her. The 99 Does Not Like Her. Although I feel like Rosa does a little. Some respect or something, idk.

-the 99 finds a few links between this case and Xanatos Enterprises, and also notes the weird history Elisa has with Xanatos--first there’s a vendetta, then he’s always personally requesting her to prove himself and she’s invited to his wedding and the birth of his son? And she’s got a free pass to wander into his home whenever she wants? ...of course the 99 concludes they had or are having an affair and she’s getting paid off.

-I don’t know how to get from point a to point b but

-when the 99 finds the truth and meets the gargoyles? Jake shows Broadway Die Hard and Elisa will never forgive him for that. Holt and Kevin start inviting Goliath to their dinner parties and Kevin likes Goliath more than Jake. Charles, upon learning how much Broadway enjoys eating, insists on treating him to what Charles considers to be the best New York has to offer, and starts off delighted somebody enjoys it all as much as he does, and ends up frustrated that Broadway’s palate is completely indiscriminate and he hasn’t actually found a fellow foodie, just a guy who happily eats anything. Gina wants to manage their reveal to the public and make them celebrities and/or social media celebrities, riding the wave to her own success. Lexington learns that Holt is gay and married to a man and is floored because he didn’t realize that was allowed. (we are setting this vaguely present day, gargoyles timeline is somewhere between the gathering and hunter’s moon, b99 timeline is after Amy and Jake are together but before they’re married, I’ll pin it down more if I ever write it, and the b99 date is roughly the correct one; Lexington has simply not been around openly gay people who talked about it around him, and his forays on the internet were all about technology and hacking and stuff, making it virtually impossible for him to deduce anything; he might have worked out the word is sometimes used as an insult and that is considered Not Cool.) (don’t worry, we are just going to politely ignore anything from gargoyles that suddenly makes no sense if it’s set 20ish years later, unless I think up solutions I think are clever.)

-somebody says something about xanatos being clean lately. Somebody else possibly Jake points out that he’s a billionaire and it’s physically impossible to become a billionaire without doing crime.

-Holt considers Xanatos’ tower to be a disgusting eyesore, and will rant about how disrespectful it is to the history of the castle at length to anyone who will listen. Probably citing Theseus’ ship ad nauseum.

-Jake is bi in this fic (honestly been watching s6 and I am genuinely surprised that’s not just canon. He canonically expresses way too much canonical attraction to canonically hot men to be straight.), and he finds Goliath super attractive. Hell, if they actually encounter Xanatos in this fic, probably Xanatos too. After spending ages giving Elisa a hard time for the affair he insists she was having with Xanatos, he meets Xanatos and is immediately like “...okay, I get it” (Elisa: “you thought I was what. oh my god no.”)

#gargoyles #b99 #don’t worry I am always coming up with the wildest crossover concepts and I never write them properly it’s fine #although I did write a whole opening to the b99/Xeen fic I talked about a couple weeks ago

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placebogirl7 · 4 years

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Why Jodie is so hated in DC fandom? - Analysis of an underestimated character and clarification about wrong assumptions

Preliminary remark: this post is just a personal opinion. No intention to start wars of any kind, I respect everyone’s opionion so I want my opinion to be respected too. If you don’t share it, it’s totally ok as it’s totally ok if I don’t share yours.

During these last 5 years I’ve been back into DC fandom, I notice all around the web many people spreading hate towards Jodie (not only here on Tumblr but everywhere, especially in forums and social media pages). It’s ok to not like a character, but you need valid reasons to hate it. If you hate it for bullshit, then it’s only hate based on nothing. And this is what I see everytime I read a bad comment about Jodie’s character. This is really annoying for a fan, to be honest. Now I want to point out some of the most popular reason why Jodie is hated and analyze them (maybe I have already explained my point of view about them in some other posts in the last years, but I will clarify them again).

1) “Jodie has become useless, she’s no more interesting and mysterious as she was at the beginning” You (Jodie haters) really notice this change only in Jodie’s character? Because I can mention at least other 10 characters who, at their first appearance, were described as mysterious and cool and whatever else, but now are “lying on the shelf” for Gosho’s choise. Jodie has been introduced in a mysterious way becase she was suspected to be Vermouth, so Gosho created the suspance around her character and made her act in a shifty way to make the readers believe that she could be one of the BO members. Once it has been revealed that she wasn’t bad, there were no more need to make her act in a shifty way. Many other character who were suspected to be Bo members but in the end were not have shared the same fate. But it’s Gosho’s decision, not Jodie’s fault. It’s not something related to her way of being, it’s a choise of the author. She has become usless? Ok, let’s face the reality: who is useful among the characters? A very few. Let’s take all the FBI Team: Gosho has painted them as a bunch of idiots that without Akai can’t do nothing. To make Akai “shine” he has denigrated Jodie, James and Camel. Camel doesn’t do nothing of his own, he always wait for Akai’s orders; James is supposed to be the chief but actually he does what Akai says; Jodie seems to make mistakes everytime she did something, even if she’s doing it in the right way. But again, it’s not their fault because we have seen them doing even very good things and being brilliant, so they have potential: it’s Gosho who decided to treat them like dumbs so Akai can be like a God who will save all of us. Don’t get me wrong, I love Akai, but I hate what Gosho is doing to put him in the spotligh. Again, it’s Gosho’s fault, not the characters who suddenly became usless and not interesting. The hate should be towards Gosho, not Jodie.

2) “After Akai’s death Jodie has become so annoying, she’s weak and she’s always crying” Ok...question for you Jodie haters: if you suddenly lose someone you love, what will be your reaction? Will you laugh as you were watching a sitcom, will you organize a big party with your friends or will you start throwing confetti in the air? Because if you do one if these 3 things, then...congratulations, you have won the highest award for the most cool /stone-harted/ heartless person in this world! You have no rivals, not even Shuichi Akai who is now jealous of you! Seriously...if the man you love so much dies suddenly, it’s LEGITIMATE to cry, to be desperate, to lose yourself. It’s like losing a part of you. But despite feeling lost, Jodie has been the only one among the FBI who never believed to Akai’s death since the beginning and she fought long and hard to find out the truth behind his death. Since when on the TV they show the incident at Rahia Pass and they say a man was dead burned in his car, she immediately thought that it wasn’t Shuichi and that he had surely used a trick to escape. Guess what? She was right! Do you still think she’s stupid? Jodie isn’t weak, she just faced an emotional breakdown due to the loss of a person she loved. This is being human, not being weak. Jodie isn’t always crying, she cried when everything and everyone around her was making her believe that Shuichi was really dead. At a certain point she stopped crying, when she saw hope, a hint that Shu was still alive. She isn’t a crybaby, she just needed hope.

3) “Since Akai’s death, Jodie hasn’t done anything interesting or exciting, she has become boring” If you didn’t notice by yourself, then I will reveal you the biggest secret of all: after Akai’s death, or better to say after the end of Scarlet Arc when Jodie and Camel discovered about Shuichi being alive and hiding behind Subaru’s identity...FBI hasn’t appeared anymore in the manga for ages, since the last files which came our recently! How are they (included Jodie) supposed to do something exciting or interesting if they don’t even appear? Gosho put them in the closet with the naphthalene and he concentrated his attention on other characters (first of all Amuro, which in my opinion deserves more hate than Jodie because of his behaviour but somehow is adored as a God in the fandom).Then one day he get up and he had the big flash of genius: “FBI still exist in my story, so better take them out of the closet and make them do something”. But in the end, as always, only Akai did something relevant. Camel has been a puppet in the hand of Akai and Jodie made a mistake. So, again, it’s not Jodie who have changed and become a worst character, it’s how Gosho is painting her and the other FBI agents which makes them appear less interesting or capable at the eyes of the readers.

4) “Jodie has become stupid” About this I made a “funny” post long time ago, so I will put the link below. I think it’s enough to explain all:

https://placebogirl7.tumblr.com/post/156414088650/jodie-has-become-more-and-more-stupid

I will also add something that surely will unleash the wrath of somebody and maybe they will start complain, but I honestly don’t care because it’s nothing against someone in particular but just something I noticed. This is absolutely not an attempt to start a ship war nor a free criticism end in itself, because I reaspect everyone ship and opinion even if I don’t agree with that. The fact is that I noticed that often (not always of course, but often) these criticism about Jodie are moved by ShuKemi fans, and considering what I said above it seems that their hate for Jodie is just because Jodie was Akai’s girlfriend before Akemi and she has the possibility (if Gosho wants) to be his girlfriend again the future, not really because they analyzed Jodie’s character before spreading shit about it. So I would like to point out to these ShuKemi fans who idolize Akemi’s character so much and tell shits about Jodie that Akemi sentenced herself to death with her own hands after making the worst and wrong choise she could have ever done in her life. I’ve seen many times Akemi being called “a hero” but chosing to death without obtaining nothing in return isn’t being a hero, it’s just being stupid in my opinion. Being a hero is another thing. You’re an hero if you sacrifice yourself with the goal to obtain something that worth your sacrifice, but if you sacrifice yourself knowing that you won’t obtain nothing apart from your death...well, that’s not being a hero at all. And before someone will say “You talk like this because you’re a ShuJodie fan”, please be aware that Akemi’s death has been shown before Jodie appearance and before knowing that Jodie had a relationship with Shu before he started dating Akemi, so I would have no reason to say these things just because of such trivial matters. The reason why I’ve never been touched by Akemi’s death since the beginning is because I think she has consciously chosen to die since the beginning of her “masterplan”. C’mon, how can you really think to make a deal with criminals? There’s a reason if they are criminals... She really thought that Gin would have kept his promise? If the answer is yes, then I’m sorry to say that but she’s stupid twice. So before saying that Jodie is the stupid one, at least analyze the things deeply and objectively.

Now I know that this will make someone mad but I’m sorry, it’s what I think. And not because I see Akemi as a “threat” for Jodie’s relationship with Shuichi, as I always said I don’t need to spread shit on some character to covince myself and the other that my couple is better, I really don’t need this. I love my couple and stop, the rest doesn’t matter. If I don’t like a character, there’s always a deeper motivation behind, which has nothing to do with OTPs and trivial matters like that. But before saying I don’t like a character and draw up charges on it, I always analyze the character. I’m sorry that nobody do it with Jodie.

Please also note that I used Akemi as example of character being idolized for no real reason because, as I said, I noticed that who talk shits about Jodie are often ShuKemi fans, but there are also other characters of course who are idolized when they actually have nothing to be idolized for. Another example is Amuro, I recently made a post about what I think of him. Now if you don’t like what I think and what I said you are free to unfollow me, I’m sorry but I really needed to make this post because it has become more and more annoying to see nonsense unkindness things about Jodie.

Peace, love and Jodie Starling ♥

#jodie starling #detective conan analysis #jodie starling analysis #I'm tired of non sense hate #possible light spoilers but not so much #detective conan #jodie #personal opinion #akemi #comparison #analysis #tired of this shit

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baloobird · 4 years

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Because I Said So

by @baloobird for @searching4sanity716 I hope you like this!!! 💜💜💜

This is my submission to the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange!!!

Ao3 Link (but it’s not revealed yet)

Words: 10.1k (hehe whoops)

Rating: Not Rated

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & May Parker, May Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, May Parker

**Slight Trigger Warning: mention of an eating disorder accusation but there’s no actual eating disorder. Attempted kidnapping while on patrol but it’s stopped before it goes anywhere**

Summary: He should be used to it by now, this almost constant state of hunger, and he knows he should say something to May.

But he can’t.

When his aunt found out about Spider-Man, she - understandably so - wanted to know any and all things about this double life: his powers, how they work, how they affect him, and the like.

So Peter told her everything…except for one small, teeny tiny detail.

That he now has a faster metabolism than everyone else.

Peter doesn't tell May that he has to eat more than the average person because he knows how tight money is for them. He knows his aunt can't afford it so why say anything? And besides, he's fine.

Honestly.

No way is this going to come back and bite him in ass…absolutely not.

Adding my taglist here but the fic will be under the cut. I hope you enjoy!!!

Taglist: @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @dexteritymisdirectionsuggestion @peuty @starkaroos2034 @marvel-us-world @podcastsandcoffee @bestofirondadfics @mmmmmmmmmchicken @riseuplikeglitterandgold @desirexwolf @theoceanphoenixhasrisen @ultravioletstark @just-the-daydreamer @my-leg-is-not-a-chew-toy @diminajackson @theofficialdeannawinchester @whatwasmyprevioususername @spidey-mood @autisticbabynurse @ironmanismydad @tinyandsteven @dreamingformuses @smokesteamair @intuitive-mathgeek @softrdj @legendarypenofeating @petermyspiderson @zselenophile @shymothstudios @and-so-my-adventures-begin @sarcasticmusic @fandomsofrandom @cluusheen @mjc-dream @emygirl @pxterbpxrker @pawprinterfanfic @innocent-until-proven-geeky @blackwatchandromeda @jaelyn-karrett @iron-damn @unnoted-invisible @pixeltrix-13 @anyonewantathroatsweet @m0ther-of-dragons @chaos-with-a-pen @spideynamu @bthtallmadge2 @verdonafrost @the-reverse-mermaid @icymapletree @kitkatwinchester @irondad-is-cannon-bitch @brushes-of-sage @ghostinthebau @canonismybitch @tmifangirl24 @loverofstuffsworld @stuck-in-a-fictional-universe @i-write-disney-not-tragedies @drowned-in-books @peanutdoodles @hauntedbybleachella @aelinasardothien @tonystark-built-this-in-a-cave @tonystarkweneedyou @spideygirl2003 @7peternotparker7 @justme--emily @dongjiayun @dykeragee @jmercer1997 @swagfictionreadingnerd @dredfulhapiness @fallenstar07

Let me know if you wanna be tagged!!!

Peter has been staring at that damn clock for about thirty minutes now.

But only one minute has actually passed.

Why do the last ten minutes of class always feel like another fucking hour?

Despite time moving as slow as molasses, the teenager keeps staring at the clock, seeing his life tick away closer and closer to death.

Hey, it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than learning about the Industrial Revolution.

Whoever decided to make AP History the last class of the day deserves to be shot like Abraham Lincoln.

Ten more minutes until Mr. Stark. Ten more minutes until I can finally freaking eat.

As if reading his mind, the boy’s stomach releases yet another growl, so loud that a few of the surrounding students give him weird looks, making him flush in embarrassment.

The hero smiles sheepishly as he wraps his arms around his torso, hoping to suppress any more incoming rumbles.

God, he is so fucking hungry, as he has been for the last couple of hours.

He should be used to it by now, this almost constant state of hunger, and he knows he should say something to May.

But he can’t.

When his aunt found out about Spider-Man, she - understandably so - wanted to know any and all things about this double life: his powers, how they work, how they affect him, and the like.

So Peter told her everything…except for one small, teeny tiny detail.

That he now has a faster metabolism than everyone else. With the powers of his super strength, stickiness, and “spidey sense”, it’s no wonder he developed an increase in his appetite as well.

Of course he wants to tell May, he desperately wants to tell her to buy more food, to make enough dinner to feed four instead of two.

But he’d be an idiot not to notice how tight money is for them. Peter doesn’t miss the bills with the dreaded red stamp that states “past due”, or the student loan payments that she is at least a couple of months behind on.

“You, food, and shelter are always my first priorities, you know that,” May has said on more than a few occasions.

While yes, she always has enough for rent, food, and their phones, the kid would be lying if he said that their water and power have never been shut off. And he can’t count how many months they’ve had to go without wi-fi.

Thank God libraries exist or he’d never get any homework done.

So the teen does what he can to keep from going completely insane from lack of food consumption: since he’s a part of that free lunch program, he thankfully always has a lunch - even though it’s not enough to leave him satisfied - and Ned, the wonderful, amazing best friend that is Ned always packs an extra apple or another sandwich to give him so he won’t feel like he’s completely passing out by the time history class rolls around.

But even then he can hardly stand it.

Peter keeps his arms wrapped around him, watching the clock at the front of the classroom like a hawk.

Watching the last seven minutes tick by at the slowest possible speed.

The genius feels his head start to droop with fatigue and jerks it upright, keeping it from slamming completely onto his desk. He winces as he feels his stomach release another round of grumbling and squeezes it to keep it quiet, even though it won’t do him any good.

He ignores the more questioning looks from his peers but he doesn’t miss the sympathetic one his best friend is giving him from the next desk over.

Peter looks away almost immediately. He already feels embarrassed enough for his obnoxious stomach, he can’t stand someone looking as if he’s a charity case.

Which is exactly why he hasn’t told Tony about this either.

He jerks his head up yet again after feeling it droop for a second time and stares at the clock once more.

Five minutes, just five more minutes, Spider-Man.

The teenager misses his masked alter ego. He hasn’t been able to don the red and blue as much lately for a number of reasons such as homework and decathlon.

The most annoying one being that he can’t patrol but for so long without Karen taking notice of his decreasing glucose levels which she would then send to Tony and the last thing he wants is for his billionaire hero to find out about his money troubles.

Peter takes a deep breath, constantly reminding himself to keep his eyes open, damn it, he refuses to fall asleep four minutes before the last bell.

He’ll sleep after he eats all of his hero’s food.

Because when he stays with Tony, he pigs out, eating enough food to feed a “whole army” his mentor has jokingly said.

And since Peter is planning to stay the night, he relishes in going back home that Saturday with a more than satisfied stomach.

Well, for a few hours anyway, until he gets to what his current situation is now.

The boy looks back at the clock.

Two minutes left, hell fucking yes.

God, he needs carbs if he has any hope of staying awake on his way to the tower.

He just needs food in general.

Any food…allllll the food.

The bell rings at long last, leaving Peter wishing he could race out the doors but he’s too sluggish to exert that much energy. Again, he ignores his friend’s pitying looks as he gets his things before walking as fast as he can to his father figure’s car.

The second he gets in and gives his mentor a tired smile, the volcano that is his stomach erupts in yet another growl, announcing the hunger it so desperately craves.

Tony giggles as he makes his way to exit the parking lot, “Somebody’s hungry, huh?”

You have no idea.

His protege sheepishly giggles himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach once again, “Uh yeah, sorry.”

“Only you would say sorry about being hungry,” the mechanic says with a snort, “McDonald’s drive-thru sound good to you?”

“Please, I can taste the Big Mac already.”

“How many do you want?”

“Uh,” Peter holds back as slight anxiety sets in, “Two?”

As they stop at a red light, his mentor gives him a deadpan look, obviously not believing him, and repeats, “Pete, how many do you want?”

“Four?” Said kid answers in a questioning tone, covering himself in case Tony thinks the number is too high. He then adds on, “All with fries? Please?”

Tony smiles down at his kid, ruffling his hair while keeping one hand on the steering wheel, “How many times have I told you that you don’t need to be shy around me when it comes to eating?”

“I know,” his interns says, slumping his shoulders but taking full advantage of this “curls massage” to keep his mind off his hunger, “I just feel bad -”

“Don’t,” the older man says, firm but keeping a gentle undertone, “If you’re hungry, you’re getting food, that’s the rule when you’re around me. It doesn’t matter if you want to eat the entire damn cow, you’re getting it.”

Peter feels a warmth filter through him at that, leaning closer to his father figure and smiling serenely at the hair ruffling, squeezing his stomach as it continues to gurgle periodically.

Tony lets go when the light turns green, his attention back on the road, “Didya even eat today, good Lord, kid.”

Barely.

“Yes,” the tyke responds, drawing out the syllable, “If I didn’t, you’d have to carry me to the tower.”

“That’s a terrifying image.”

“Relax, Mr. Stark, I’m more careful than that,” Peter responds with a cheeky smile.

It’s true, he thinks. Despite the constant hunger, he’s always been careful, never letting it get to the point of him not functioning as a human being should.

Yes, he’s hungry all the time, but not that hungry.

It’s fine.

It’s fiiiiiiine.

“You lost me at ‘careful’, does the word ‘Vulture’ mean anything to you?”

“Hey, I stopped him, didn’t I?”

Tony rolls his eyes with a defeated sigh, “Yeah, touché.”

Peter snickers in brief victory as they pull up to the drive-thru ordering station, “Hey, I may be clumsy but I’m still careful.”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” his mentor responds with his own snicker before lowering his window, turning towards the microphone. After the usual polite greetings, he says his order, making sure to order for himself as well, “Five Big Macs, five large fries, a Diet Coke, Dr. Pepper, and a side salad.”

“Ranch dressing okay?” The fast-food employee asks as Peter gives his father figure a look of pure confusion.

“Yeah, sure.”

“We’ll have your total for you at the first window.”

“Thanks,” Tony says, driving around the curve to the upcoming window.

Peter asks, “You got a salad? At McDonald’s?”

“No, I got it for you, you really think I’m gonna let you eat four Big Macs and no greens?”

“There’s lettuce on the burgers -”

“Nice try.”

“Jeez, ‘Helicopter Mom’, much?”

“You’ll thank me later when your stomach doesn’t hate you.”

For once.

Peter rolls his eyes as his stomach continues acting like a bear, looking on as his hero gives the cashier his credit card.

Eh, it’s more food, I’ll take it.

The second the boy takes his first bite of that heavenly, artery-filling burger, it takes all of his strength not to guzzle it down in five bites or less. He’s unfortunately learned from experience that not eating much for a week and then consuming enough food in one sitting to feed his entire apartment building equates to seeing all of that food again in a not so appetizing manner.

So by the time they get to the tower, only one burger is consumed and about half of an order of fries, yet the spiderling’s stomach is still growling. They settle in at the kitchen counter, with Tony digging into his own burger and fries, making light chatter with Peter unashamedly talking with his mouth full.

That Friday night and Saturday morning are spent in bliss, in more ways than one. The two heroes did their usual thing in the lab, Tony helped his kid with some of his homework, kicked back on the couch, and the tyke’s stomach was never not satisfied.

If only he could feel this way all the time.

The older man actually made dinner that night and told Peter he can take home the leftovers for him and May.

The teen’s heart did what felt like an actual backflip. He gratefully accepted the leftovers with absolute no intentions on sharing it with his aunt, instead his mind going into “math-mode” on how he can ration this throughout the week.

And when Happy drops him off that Saturday afternoon, he’s filled with the most energy he’s had since the previous time with his mentor, damn near skipping to his room in excitement to put on his suit and soar through the skies.

Until he sees May in the kitchen sporting a look of grim disappointment, and his whole demeanor falls immediately.

What happened? I haven’t done anything lately…at least I don’t think I have.

Hold up, did somebody die?

“Um,” Peter starts, gripping the straps on his backpack and praying his aunt can’t smell the leftover pot roast, “May, is everything okay?”

The nurse sighs despairingly, doing nothing to help her nephew’s case, “No,” she taps the barstool next to her, swinging it out, “We need to talk.”

The teenager’s anxiety spikes instantly.

Must she say the most horrible phrase in the English language?

Peter carefully sets his backpack on the couch before walking over and sitting on the designated stool, “Uh…what is it?”

“This,” his aunt slides a piece of paper over to him, “Progress reports were released yesterday and I didn’t check the portal until this morning. Explain this to me.”

Wait, progress reports? School isn’t even an issue, what the hell?

He looks down at the report and studies his grades, most of which are “A’s”, other than a “B-plus” that ruins the streak.

Fuck English and those fucking essays.

And there, at the bottom of the report, is his grade in AP History.

A “D.”

A big, fat, ugly “D.”

“What the hell?” Peter whispers in shock. This isn’t possible, he thinks, he’s never gotten anything below a “B” in, well, anything. School has always been his strong suit.

While yes, there were a couple of history quizzes he did less than stellar on, but shit happens, it certainly wouldn’t cause his grade to jump to a fucking “D.”

“There has to be a mistake,” he exclaims, still staring at the report with wide eyes, “There’s no way -”

“Really? No way?” May counters, voice a mixture of both anger and disappointment.

Making Peter want to crawl under a rock and die.

His aunt goes on, “Read the teacher’s comment.”

I don’t wanna.

The boy swallows a lump in his throat, reluctantly flipping over the page. He skims down until he sees the one for history and reads the comment.

Mr. Parker is no doubt a gifted student but he has difficulty with paying attention in class. While he does well on the homework, he lacks applying what he’s learned towards the tests and quizzes, both of which carry heavier percentages than the homework itself. I suggest taking more time to study, pay more attention in class, and, if possible, seek a tutor.

Peter scans over that comment who knows how many times.

Okay…maybe he’s done less than stellar on more than just a couple of quizzes.

How did he not see this, how in the fuck did he not know how bad his grade dropped?

The boy feels his stomach gurgle as it digests the last of his lunch that he had before he left to come back home.

Then it clicks.

Shit.

By the last class of the day, the food he’d eat at lunch has long since digested and his body is already begging for more.

So much so that he loses focus on the class and instead does what he can to keep himself sane until he can eat more food.

And the only reason why he’s able to do well on the homework is exactly that, he does it at home, where he’s hungry, but it’s bearable enough to where he can still concentrate.

At school, where he feels like his stomach might actually fall out of his body, leaves little room for concentration.

Peter looks back at his guardian with wide eyes, “I can explain.”

“Really? ‘Cuz I’m dying to hear it.” May lets out a light, humorless laugh, “I just, I just can’t believe we’re having a conversation about this. School was something I never had to worry about with you, what gives? Are you and Ned passing notes? Is there a girl you like that’s distracting you -”

“May, oh my God, I’m not ten,” her nephew says, annoyance in his tone, “And there’s no girl, for the record.”

“Then what is it, Peter?” May counters, getting annoyed herself, “Do you not understand the material, do you need a tutor -”

“No, no I don’t need a tutor. Look, I’m sorry, I’ll bring it up by the time report cards come -”

“You really think it’s that much of an easy fix?”

“Yes, look, May, it’s just a progress report, it doesn’t mean anything -”

“Oh, really now?” She asks, raising her voice slightly, “If they don’t mean anything, then why do they exist, huh? How would you feel if this was your report card? You’d lose your scholarship, Peter.”

Fuck, the fucking scholarship.

The teenager puts his head in his hands, his heart feeling heavy at the thought of being forced to leave Midtown, “Pretty shitty, yeah. May, I’m sorry, I didn’t know it got this bad, I promise I’ll bring it up. There’s a test next week, I’ll make sure to study for it.”

“Oh, you certainly will, no question, because until I see this ‘D’ disappear,” May hesitates before she says, “No more Spider-Man.”

“No!” The fifteen-year-old exclaims, head snapping right to his guardian, “May, please, please don’t take Spider-Man away from me. He’s what keeps me sane, c’mon, please.”

“He’s why your grade dropped, isn’t it?” The nurse asks, her only redeeming factor is that she doesn’t seem to like punishing him any more than he does, “That’s it, you’re too excited to be Spider-Man that you can’t concentrate on the class -”

“No, that’s not it! -”

“Then what is? Peter, help me understand ‘cuz I don’t know what the hell this is.”

The words are on the tip of his tongue.

I don’t get enough to eat.

He could say it, right here right now, he could say it. He would get to eat, and he could still be Spider-Man.

But May would feel awful.

And he can’t stand to see her more upset than she already is.

“You’re right,” Peter forces out, mentally kicking himself, “Yeah, it’s Spider-Man,” he concludes brokenly.

“That settles it then,” May confirms, voice small and filled with remorse, “No Spider-Man until you get your report card. And in three weeks, if I see anything less than a ‘C-plus’, it’s gonna be a long while before you see that suit again, you understand?”

As much as he doesn’t want to, the boy slowly nods his head, “This is so not fair -”

“It’s not up for discussion. Dinner’ll be in a few hours,” his guardian says, getting out of her chair to start chopping vegetables.

Peter quickly gets out of his own chair and gets his things before dragging himself to his room, the last thing he wants to do is look at his aunt let alone talk to her.

He gets to his room and slams the door, dropping his things and plopping onto his bed face down. He smushes his face on his pillow and screams into it as loud as he can without alerting May before slumping in defeat.

Words can’t express how mad he is at his guardian but it’s nowhere near how mad the kid is at himself.

How stupid was he? How did he not notice how bad he’s doing in the class? How could he have let it get this far?

And now there’s no more Spider-Man to at least soften the blow.

As much as he knows he needs to study, he doesn’t, he’d rather just lay in his bed and wallow in self-pity for the next week or so.

That’s just what he does until May calls out that dinner is ready. Peter wants to rebel by skipping dinner but realistically, he’d pass out if he doesn’t eat, and he wants to save those leftovers for as long as he can.

Dinner is the epitome of awkward.

Not much small talk is made as the kid eats his food as fast as humanly possible, afterward spending the rest of the night drowning out his thoughts through YouTube videos before succumbing himself to torture and digging out his history book.

No way is he letting the late 1800’s ruin his double life and his future.

The following week, he gets to work.

Unfortunately, his teacher doesn’t offer extra credit but he did say that if Peter continues doing well on the homework, studies hard for the upcoming quizzes and test, along with the paper due at the end of the month, the teen could have the potential to bring his grade up to a “B-minus”, maybe even a “B” if he aces them.

As long as his report card is above a “C-plus”, he doesn’t give a shit what it is.

The hero decides not to eat the extra food Ned gives him right at lunch and instead scarfs it down right before history. It doesn’t fill him up by any means but his stomach won’t sound like a thunderstorm either. Then when he gets home, he eats some of Tony’s leftovers, leaving his hunger manageable enough to make it to dinner.

It works for that week, to the teen’s pleasant surprise. Who knew that eating can make a person more focused and actually pay attention?

With this new routine, not only does the boy continue doing well on the homework but he damn near aces both of his next quizzes with a “B-plus” and “A-minus” respectively. The higher his grades get, the more confident he feels, he can almost taste the sweet freedom of swinging through the air and becoming one with the wonders of Queens.

Hell yes, Peter thinks, he’ll be back to donning the red and blue in no time.

However, that second week proves to be tougher than the first.

For one, Peter finished the leftovers; he didn’t want to, but he knew the food would eventually go bad if he kept it for much longer so he bit the bullet. Pair that with his dinner that night, it made him the most satisfied he'd felt since that waiter at the Thai restaurant gave May an extra plate of food for free.

God, why can’t that happen again?

He sticks to the same routine at school but when he gets home, he limits himself to a small snack to keep him satisfied until dinner.

But that has yet to work.

The teenager is having a hard time concentrating on his homework. The calculus that he normally breezes through is taking him twice as long to complete, same with physics, and he’s forced to put off history until after dinner, where his stomach doesn’t feel like it’s falling out and giving him enough energy to finish it with a passing grade.

Which is where Peter is finding himself now the night before that dreaded history test.

He huffs in frustration as he stares down at his dense brick of a history textbook, words blurring together as he reads over the same page for the fourth fucking time - and maybe the information might actually stay in his brain for once - and starving despite fixing himself a sandwich earlier.

Maybe his dinner should’ve had more sustenance than that but what the hell, he doesn’t know how to cook and May’s going to be at work until like midnight, he had to fix something.

Even though it’s only eight o’clock, the kid’s eyes are drooping with fatigue, resisting the urge to fall asleep on his book and thus making his chance of passing his test get slimmer and slimmer.

That lousy sandwich didn’t do shit.

Peter lightly slaps his cheek to wake himself up and he continues reading through that same page…again.

Why can’t I learn history dates as good as math formulas, this shit’s exhausting.

He studies as much as he can, going from the textbook to his chicken-scratch notes and now graded past homework and quizzes. Yet the more he tries to memorize political figures, the more he focuses on the food that’s in each and every one of the kitchen cabinets.

As if reading his mind once again, his stomach gurgles with hunger.

Okay, I think I saw another apple in the fridge. I mean, it can’t hurt.

Oh my God, and there’s a bag of chips we haven’t opened yet, maybe May won’t notice if I eat a few…or the whole fucking bag.

Maybe she’ll forget she bought them, no harm, no foul.

The hero’s mouth starts salivating at that. He can’t keep torturing himself like this, he has to get something to eat. Just as he’s about to do so, he hears a scream from outside his window.

“No!”

Peter’s head jerks to the window behind him, eyebrows narrowing in curiosity.

He’s normally pretty good at tuning out the murmurs that flood the mean streets of Queens…but that sounded close.

Too close.

Like right-outside-his-apartment-building close.

His worry grows when he hears another scream that sounds like it’s coming from the same person.

“Let go of me!”

Not just a person.

A kid.

Peter is out of his chair in less than a second. He opens his window and peeks out from the corner so he can’t be seen. After a few seconds of searching, his eyes land on a scuffle across the street between a middle-aged man with a black hoodie covered face and a little boy who can’t be older than eight or ten years old.

“You’re not my dad!” The boy cries, trying to get out of the man’s grasp.

“Shit,” Peter whispers, “Shit, shit, shit.”

The physiological need now forgotten, the hero races to his closet while he’s hurriedly taking off his clothes, putting on his suit in record time, and keeping a close ear on the scary situation at hand.

Okay, save the kid, come back, save the kid, come back…

He knows he’s breaking his aunt’s trust - which is saying something considering he kept this identity from her for almost a year - but he can’t just sit here and study shit that’s already happened while a child is being kidnapped.

The boy hears the usual greetings from Karen after putting on the mask, looking out the window once more before sneaking out of it, climbing the last few stories so he can scope the situation from the rooftop. He hears the little boy yell out again, “Let go of me!” but the kidnapper keeps dragging him along, mumbling some shit that Peter doesn’t find relevant to comprehend.

The teen swings to the next building, following the kidnapper and the poor little kid. He tells his AI, “Karen, activate web grenades.”

“Web grenades activated,” she responds, her usual robotic manner sounding out of place given the circumstances.

The spiderling swings to a building ahead of the criminal and waits patiently from the rooftop, web shooter aimed at the guy.

Keep walking, keep walking…aaaaand YEET.

He presses the button and a whole net of web fluid goes flying, trapping the kidnapper and hitting him against the wall of a closed bank. Unfortunately, the kid’s left hand got caught up in it and stuck around the web as well.

And he starts wailing.

Peter webs his way over in seconds, ignoring any bullshit the criminal is shouting, and lands in front of the boy.

He starts speaking words of reassurances, keeping his voice as soft and non-threatening as possible, “Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, I gotcha, you’re okay.” The teen whispers to his AI, “Karen, call the police.”

“Already in pursuit, Peter.”

“Thanks.” Peter uses his super strength to tear the boy’s hand free, applying a small amount of web fluid to keep the net intact. He kneels in front of the kid and asks, keeping his voice light, “Hey, I’m Spider-Man. Are you okay, did he hurt you?”

The boy sniffles, wiping away a few tears with his sleeve. He holds out his left hand as he says shakily, “Just m-my-my, my hand…he was, he was holding it too tight.”

The teenager sighs in relief, thanking God that nothing worse happened. He ignores his stomach’s occasional growls as he asks, “I’m sorry he hurt your hand, buddy. Do you know where your parents are?”

The boy hastily shakes his head, eyes widening in fear, “My-My mom, we were walking and-and there were all these people and, and I-I let go of Mommy’s hand but I didn’t mean to!” His panic increases the more he talks, “Someone, someone uh, someone bumped into me, it was an accident -”

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s not your fault, these things happen sometimes. So you got separated from your mom and that’s how you got lost?”

The little boy nods his head, wiping the last of his tears from his eyes, “And, and then, and then he,” he points to his attempted kidnapper, “Grabbed my hand and wanted to take me away.”

“He’s lying,” the offender says from the other side of the web net. Without even looking at the guy, Peter shoots a web at his face, successfully shutting him up.

The hero hears sirens in the distance and smiles from behind the mask, “The police are coming soon and they’re gonna help you find your mom, okay? Can you tell me your name?”

“J-Josh.”

“Well, Josh,” the teen holds out his fist as a police car turns the corner, “It was very nice to meet you.”

“Thanks, Spider-Man,” Josh smiles as he gives his hero a soft fist bump, biting his lip as he asks, “Can you stay until I find my mom?”

Another stomach growl escapes the spiderling but again, he pushes it down, “Of course, buddy.”

Law enforcement finally arrives and a female officer approaches the boy, taking his hand as the young genius stands up. His anxiety starts to rise as he starts to feel unexpectedly dizzy and he’s forced to put a hand on the wall to steady him.

Karen says into his ear, “Glucose levels decreasing rapidly, I suggest you seek appropriate nutrition or I can contact Mr. Stark -”

“No,” Peter commands, “Look, I’ll eat something after we find his mom, okay, just don’t tell Mr. Stark -”

“Are you talking to yourself?” Josh asks, turning around to look at the hero in confusion.

“Uh, just, um,” the other boy stutters, spinning around and again, having to use the wall to steady him, “Uh, Bluetooth.”

The little kid raises an eyebrow but simply shrugs and continues walking away, still holding the officer’s hand.

Peter uses his super strength to free the criminal and his mouth only for the guy to be arrested by two other officers. As they’re walking to a second police cruiser, the kid finds himself having to take short breaths and are his eyes deceiving him or is everything going suddenly blurry?

I thought my powers fixed my eyesight.

Karen again whispers in her owner’s ear, “Glucose levels are drastically low. Willing to contact Mr. Stark -”

“Please, Karen, no,” the spider-boy sharply whispers back, “I literally live here, I’ll eat something when I get back.”

“My concern isn’t when you’ll eat, but for if you can make it back at all. I have no choice -”

“Yes you do, don’t call him.”

Peter walks over to Josh, seeing his kidnapper being handcuffed and put in a car from the corner of his eye, albeit a blurry one, and says, “How you doing, little buddy?”

“Great! They found my mom, she called the police after I got lost and they’re bringing her here.”

Thank fuck.

“That’s great,” the hero says with as much energy as he can pull together, “I have to go now so you be safe, okay?”

“I’m never letting go of Mommy’s hand ever again.”

God, they’re so innocent.

“That’s good, good lesson,” Peter takes a couple more deep breaths as he stands up, ignoring the lightheadedness swirling in his brain, and with a friendly, “Have a good night”, he swings as fast as he can to his apartment.

Food, food, food, food, food…

The teenager sluggishly climbs back through his window and takes off his mask, swaying on his feet as his fingers start to shake. He starts to head over to the kitchen but grips onto the ladder of his bunk bed to let his vision catch up to him.

But then he looks at his bed.

His wonderful, heavenly, comfortable bed.

God, he’s so tired.

No, I gotta eat something.

However, he inches closer and closer to his bed, his world literally swirling around him in such a way that he’s amazed he can still stand up.

Maybe a little nap wouldn’t hurt.

He’ll just eat something when he wakes up.

No harm, no foul.

Peter then gets into position and starts to belly flop onto his bed.

I’ll just take a nap riiiiiiiight here -

He is out cold before his head even hits the pillow.

“Boss, Mr. Parker is in distress.”

Tony’s head snaps up from the TV, gaze going to the ceiling, “What happened? He’s not supposed to be Spider-Manning.”

“Sending Karen’s information to your phone now.”

The man’s phone vibrates on the end table barely a second later. He hurriedly grabs it, reading what’s on the screen.

“Peter Parker’s glucose levels are devastatingly low. His vitals indicate that he is suffering from malnutrition and needs to seek medical attention immediately -”

“FRIDAY, call a suit,” Tony exclaims as he’s getting off of the couch, waiting to hear the rest while on his way to his kid.

“Yes, boss.”

“Kid, what the fuck are you doing?” Tony mumbles as he’s racing to the lab. In no time but it feels like too much time, he punches in his code and walks into the room, instantly getting into his suit, “FRIDAY, read me the rest of what Karen sent, put Peter’s vitals up on the screen.”

“Yes, boss, tracking his location now.”

The hero is out and flying to the location on the GPS only to see that the destination is at…the Parkers’ apartment.

The kid isn’t out.

And Tony has no idea if that’s a good thing or not.

Now knowing where he’s going, he turns off the GPS, trying not to let any panic set in at the boy’s ever slowly decreasing levels.

Or at the open window leading into the kid’s bedroom.

The billionaire stops right outside the window, carefully slipping inside and lifting up his faceplate.

He sees the tyke out cold on the bottom bunk of his bed, his left hand gripping his mask and a small puddle of drool next to his mouth. Tony would’ve thought this was adorable if he wasn’t so worried.

The older man kneels next to his kid and gives him a slight nudge, “C’mon, Pete, it’s time to wake up.” He nudges him a little more.

And a little more.

Tony gets more desperate as his anxiety skyrockets, “Peter, this isn’t funny, c’mon, wake up, we gotta get your idiotic ass fed yesterday.”

But Peter makes no notion of any plans to get up. The only way his mentor knows he’s still alive is by his vitals FRIDAY is whispering to him and the boy’s back rising and falling to the tune of his breathing.

“Kid, you’re really about to make me fucking do this,” Tony says with a sigh, grabbing the teen’s mask and putting if over his head to hide his identity, “FRIDAY, alert medbay, tell ‘em we’re on our way.”

“Roger that, boss.”

The mechanic slips his nameplate back over his face as he picks up his kid, positioning him like a toddler and sitting him on his arm, cupping the boy’s head to keep it close to his neck, “Might need two beds if I get a fucking panic attack over this,” he mumbles.

“Roger that, boss,” FRIDAY responds, not noticing the sarcasm.

“I didn’t mean - whatever,” Tony turns on his repulsors so he’s now hovering over the floor and with one leg at a time, he oh so gently flies out the window, not even bothering to close it as his suit takes off at full speed, determined to get this kid some help before…

He refuses to think about the rest of that sentence.

The entire flight back to the tower, Tony keeps a tight grip on his kid, damn near smushing Peter’s head against his neck. The man says occasional words of reassurance even though he knows no one is listening, “You’re gonna be okay, kiddo, you understand me? You have to be okay so I can whoop your ass later.”

Honestly, he’s not sure if he's saying this more to the kid or to himself.

He has superpowers, of course everything’s gonna be okay.

Because I said so, damn it.

Peter comes to, finding himself in a hospital gown on an equally uncomfortable bed, a bunch of wires attached to his left hand and a remote on the table to his right, assuming to adjust the bed and TV.

“What?” He mutters, taking in his surroundings. The room is a standard size with a marker board stating the healthcare professionals’ names, a portable cart containing whatever necessities the patient and doctor might need, along with an attached bathroom and window with a view of New York City.

What the fuck am I doing here?

He shifts on his bed in an effort to sit up but he accidentally hits something with his right leg.

The spider-boy tilts his head in confusion only to gasp at the sight of his father figure sitting in a chair next to him, fast asleep with his head on his kid’s bed, resting it on his crossed arms.

Peter can’t help but smile at the sight of Iron Man snoring but that doesn’t answer his question. He looks back down at the wires on his hand and follows them up to an IV bag with the label “glucose.”

Wait, glucose?

Everything hits the hero like a sack of potatoes as his mind takes him back to the last thing he remembers: the hunger, the little boy, Karen constantly telling him about his levels…

Deciding to take a nap.

And he wakes up here.

“Shit…shit, shit, shit, shit.”

The teenager jumps as he hears random beeps on some machine to his right. He feels his heart racing with panic and his legs start restlessly jerking from underneath his thin blankets, thus accidentally waking up his mentor.

Tony’s head snaps up when he feels his arms being nudged for about the fifth damn time. After blinking out of his stupor, he puts his focus on his frightened kid, “Peter, hey, hey,” he grabs hold of the tyke’s right hand and gives it a heartfelt squeeze, “Kid, it’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe now -” he cuts himself off at noticing his words aren’t doing shit and his other hand goes the young genius’s shoulder, “Peter.”

The child stops abruptly, looking right at his hero. Said man gives him a reassuring smile and comfortingly rubs his shoulder to calm him, “You’re okay, buddy, take a breather.”

“Wha-what happened?” Peter asks between deep breaths, doing as his father figure says and trying to settle down, “Is May okay -”

“She’s fine,” Tony confirms, releasing his protege’s shoulder. He can feel the kid’s iron-grip in his hand and makes no move to let go, “She was here earlier but I made her go home for a bit and rest up. I’d rather there’d be one adult with a sore back than two.”

“Wait, how long was I out?”

“Well, considering it’s now,” the billionaire takes a brief look at his watch, “One PM, about fifteen hours, give or take. You had one hell of a nap, if I do say so myself.”

“That sounds like an amazing nap, I wish I savored it,” the teen replies, “But what happened?”

“Why don’t you tell me?” Tony responds, face looking upset, “Why don’t you tell me why your levels were so low that I had to come get you in my damn suit and bring you back here?”

Peter sighs in frustration, “Glucose levels -”

“That’s right. When’s the last time you ate?”

“Um,” the spiderling starts, trying to be as vague as possible, “Dinner.”

Tony raises a confused eyebrow, “How much did you eat at dinner?”

“The normal amount,” Peter answers with a shrug.

Please don’t see through my bullshit.

“And you didn’t eat anything later on? You always have to eat something before bed.”

“I, uh,” the boy lets go of their grip, feeling his hand start to tremble uncontrollably. He brings it to his lap and puts it with his other hand under the covers, “Forgot.”

“You forgot to eat,” Tony says, face the epitome of unamused, “How do you forget to eat, your stomach practically screams at ya.”

“I just-I just did, okay, I’m sorry -”

“Oh really, you’re sorry? This ‘forgetfulness’ put you in the damn hospital, ‘sorry’ isn’t gonna cut it. I want you to tell me right now what the hell happened. Why did you let it get this bad?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Peter retorts, getting pissed at the man’s tone, “I didn’t want to end up like this, I thought I had it handled -”

“What handled, Peter?” At hearing no answer, the billionaire continues, “I already know about you Spider-Manning when you’re not supposed to -”

“It was one time! I couldn’t just let a kid get kidnapped cuz Spider-Man got grounded.”

Tony’s eyes soften at that, “Was that what happened last night?”

“Yeah, I heard it right outside the apartment building.” The teen’s voice lowers, “I was studying and I was about to get something to eat when I heard the kid scream, I-I couldn’t just let that happen. I was just gonna save the kid and come right back, I didn’t know it got that bad.”

“How hungry were you?”

“What?”

“How hungry were you?” The mechanic asks, repeating the question, “‘Cuz if you were just hungry, your levels wouldn’t’ve gotten that low. Kid, you were way past starving.”

The kid looks down in shame, feeling his cheeks heat up and he can only imagine how red they must look.

Tony then asks, trying to keep his tone as gentle as he can, “What is it that you’re so afraid to tell me, Peter?”

Peter looks up at him with sad eyes, biting his lip.

Fuck, he’s seeing through my bullshit.

Seeing no chance at a loophole, he knows he has to bite the bullet…but how does he go about telling billionaire Tony Stark that he’s not eating because his aunt can’t afford more food?

Said man asks, keeping his same tone, “Why are you not eating?”

“I am eating -”

“But clearly not enough, why? When you’re with me, you eat ‘til the cows come home - oh shit,” Tony cuts himself off, covering his mouth as his eyes widen in fear.

Peter’s eyes narrow in utmost confusion, “What, what is it?”

“You’re not eating as much as you should,” the older genius mumbles, trying to piece all this together, “And you pig out when you’re here.” He turns to his kid, sporting a scared expression, “Do you throw it all up later?”

That makes the other’s skin prickle into goosebumps, his own eyes bugging out, “What?!”

“It all makes sense now,” Tony states, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms in concentration, “You eat like a horse when you’re with me, but I just brought you here because you’re not eating enough at your place. You already threw it up when you saved that kid, didn’t you -”

“Oh my God!” Peter shouts, the insinuation sinking in, “You think I have an eating disorder?”

“What the hell else is it, Peter? No wonder you were scared to tell me -”

“No, Mr. Stark, it’s not that, I promise it’s not that.” The kid swallows a lump in his throat as he briefly purses his lips, finally giving in, “You don’t understand.”

“Try me -”

“I’m serious, you won’t.” Peter props his elbows on his knees above the covers, putting his head in his hands, “And I don’t expect you to understand.”

Tony leans forward, crossing his arms next to Peter’s outer thigh, his face unreadable, “Then make me understand,” he says slowly.

After a long deep sigh, the boy finally spits it out, head still in his hands, “I don’t get enough to eat.”

“What?”

Peter lifts his head up, resting his hands in his lap, “I don’t get enough to eat. At home, I mean.”

“May doesn’t feed you enough -”

“No, she does, it’s not May’s fault. She feeds me enough food…for if I didn’t have powers.”

It takes a few seconds but the hypothetical lightbulb goes off over the man’s head, “May doesn’t know you have to eat more.”

The spider-boy silently nods his head.

Tony asks, “Why didn’t you tell her?”

The tyke’s shoulders slump with dread. The guy who can buy fucking Google is about to hear his stupid working-class money troubles.

He then says, eyes looking everywhere but at his mentor, “‘Cuz she can’t afford it.”

“Wait, what?”

“She can’t afford it. I don’t know how she manages to buy enough for if I was just a normal human being, with all the bills and her loans and everything. She can’t buy more food for me, Mr. Stark. I’d love to get a job and help her out but I’m only fifteen -”

“Stop, stop right there,” Tony cuts him off, looking even more confused than he was earlier, “That’s what this is about? You don’t want her to buy more food?”

Peter looks up at the older man, looking offended, “It’s not that, I’d love for her to buy more food but she can’t. I’ve seen the bills when she thinks I’m not looking, or her student loans she’s behind on. God, if it wasn’t for my scholarship I wouldn’t even be going to Midtown ‘cuz we can’t afford it.” His voice lowers as humiliation sets in, “Which is why I have to get my history grade up.” His eyes grow to the size of his head, “Oh my God, my test is today -”

“Don’t worry about it, I called the school this morning, you can make it up next week.”

“Next week? But it’s Thursday -”

“Yeah, you’re gonna need more than one day to recuperate after all of this,” Tony says, slightly annoyed, “Why didn’t you tell me you guys are having money issues, I can help you out -”

Peter cuts him off with a humorless laugh, “You really think that’s gonna solve everything?”

“If it means to get you to eat more, it absolutely will,” the billionaire responds, raising his voice in offense.

“I knew you wouldn’t get it -”

“Then make me get it, for God’s sakes, you need money and I can give it to you -”

“We’re not a charity case, don’t you understand?” The child exclaims, “We’re doing fine, we don’t need help -”

“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing -”

“But we are!” Peter sighs deeply in frustration, “You’re not the first person to offer us money, okay? You don’t know how it feels.”

“How what feels?”

“For someone to try and help you out by giving you money. It sounds great on paper but you’ve never had someone give you this-this ‘look’ of pity that makes you feel this big,” Peter shapes his thumb and index finger into the shape of a “C”, with both fingertips almost touching, “All because you’re not making that much money. I just, I don’t wanna put Aunt May through that again. She’s proud of what she does, she loves what she does, she loves helping people. I don’t want anyone belittling her again.”

That makes Tony pause.

While yes, no shit he knows the vast majority of people don’t have his kind of money but most of the people in his life over the years only hung out with him because of his money. He’s never thought about the opposite end of that coin, how someone is proud of making a living, especially being in a profession that they love.

And that as long as they can provide for them and their family, they don’t need to be a billionaire to be happy.

“You really love May, don’t you?” Tony finally asks, a proud smile spreading across his face.

“More than anything,” his protege says with a nod of his head, “So please don’t tell her -”

“You know I can’t do that -”

“Please -”

“No, Pete, while your intentions are good, I can’t let you keep starving yourself like this. Who knows what would’ve happened if you weren’t in your suit, if I didn’t get that notification from Karen.” The older hero grabs hold of his mentee’s hand again, “Hey look at me.”

Peter reluctantly looks up at his father figure, his shame slowly but surely ebbing away.

Tony gently his thumb over the tyke’s knuckles, giving him a reassuring smile, “You deserve to eat. We’re gonna tell May and we’re gonna figure this out, okay?”

An unexpected third voice erupts from the doorway, “Tell May what?”

Both heroes’ heads snap to the front to see the woman herself walk in, closing the door behind her. She immediately rushes to the other side of her kid, giving him a hug, “How you doing, sweetie, you gave us quite a scare there.”

Peter hugs her back letting go of Tony’s hand, “I’m better now, thanks to Mr. Stark.”

“It’s nothing, bud,” the mechanic says, comfortingly rubbing the tyke’s knee, “I’m just glad I can help.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Tony,” May says when they separate, sitting down in her own chair opposite the older man, “I know I said that like a million times, but really, I owe you one -”

“You don’t owe me a thing, not where the kid is concerned.” Tony turns to his intern, “But you actually came at the perfect time ‘cuz Pete here has something he’s gotta tell you.”

“Oh?” May turns to her nephew, grabbing hold of his left hand, being mindful of the wires connected to him, “Is it about what happened, I’ve been dying to know.”

“Yeah,” Peter replies, defeatedly, “I’m sorry I went out as Spider-Man but I had a good reason.”

“We’ll talk about that later, I’m just glad you’re okay. What happened, sweetie, you’ve been eating just like you always have, what was the problem?”

“That’s the thing, May,” the boy starts, scratching the back of his neck, “There’s something I didn’t tell you about me after I got my powers.” He doesn’t wait for her response, “I have to eat more than I used to to keep up with them. I have I guess what you call an ‘enhanced metabolism’, meaning I have to eat more than everyone else.”

The nurse’s eyes squint in confusion before her eyebrows raise as everything sets in, “Oh my God,” she says, leaning back in her chair and hand covering her face, not unlike what Tony did earlier, “So all this time you were starving yourself?”

“Well -”

“Why, Peter?! Why the hell would you do that?”

“‘Cuz I know you wouldn’t be able to afford it, okay?” Peter cries, “I didn’t want you to struggle any more than you already do -”

“Stop,” May cuts him off with another hug, her eyes glistening with unshed tears behind her glasses, “Stop, baby, stop.” She lets go and looks right in his eyes, “Don’t ever pull that shit with me again, you understand?”

Peter nods his head, letting a small grin escape him at hearing a muffled snicker from Tony, “I promise. Um,” he takes a deep breath as his aunt settles back into her chair, “It’s also why my history grade is as bad as it is.”

“What?” Both adults ask at the same time.

“Uh,” the teen starts, fidgeting with his top blanket, “So the free lunch I get at school doesn’t fill me up obviously and Ned sometimes brings extra food and that helps…for a while.”

“I know where this is going,” he hears Tony mumble.

“Yeah, and history is my last class of the day so by the time that comes around, I’m really, really hungry so I have a hard time concentrating. In my defense though, it’s boring as shit.”

Both adults can’t help but giggle, “Yeah, history wasn’t my strong suit either,” Tony says, coming to his kid’s defense.

“Peter, this is why you need to tell me things,” May says, “You still understand why I punished you, though -”

“Yeah, even though I hated it. Is Spider-Man ungrounded now?”

“You get rested up and eat for once and we’ll talk.”

“Deal,” the kid confirms with a grunt.

As if on cue, his stomach releases an ever so slight gurgle. As much as the IV bag has helped, he needs actual food sustenance.

Tony says, pressing the button to call a nurse, “And on that note, let’s get you patched up and we’ll order in, how ‘bout that?”

May cuts in, “And you can have allll the orange chicken your tummy desires.”

Peter gives them both a timid smile, wincing as another growl rolls in his abdomen, “That sounds amazing.”

“Mr. Stark, I’m a failure.”

“Kid, you know you’re not, it’s just a few dates and inventions.”

“You make the Industrial Revolution sound like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

It is now the following week, the day before Peter’s makeup history test, and the father-son duo are in the lab after school. Instead of actually working on anything, Tony is helping his kid study.

If only he can get Peter to put the material in that hard head of his.

“You get into that mindset, and it will be the easiest thing in the world, bud.”

“Easy for you to say,” Peter whines, “Your scholarship’s not riding on this.”

Aw, how cute that he thinks I won’t help him out.

“Forget about the scholarship, you’re already stressed as it is. Focus on the triple cheeseburger you’re gonna get after this thing is finally over.”

“The two triple cheeseburgers,” the kid shyly elaborates.

Ever since the tyke dropped that bombshell about him freaking starving himself, things have changed. For one, May - refusing Tony’s help - is buying more groceries and always makes sure her kid gets a lunch in addition to the free one that’s available. Whenever Peter stays with his father figure, things stay the same except now when Tony makes dinner, he purposely makes more for leftovers.

And now, the man is about to present his kid with another way to help him out.

“Pete, I think your brain might actually explode, let’s take a break for a sec, huh?”

After releasing a long, dramatic sigh, Peter drops his pencil, “Y’know what? Fuck history.”

Tony can’t help but bust out laughing, “Kid, you know why you have to learn it, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, but it’s not like I’m gonna be a historian or anything.” The teen gets up and walks over to where his father figure is standing, “Whatcha wanna work on?”

“Actually, I want you to do this for me first.” The billionaire takes a folded piece of paper out of his jeans pocket and unravels it, holding it out to his protege, “I want you to sign right here, and initial here.” He points to the designated areas where a signature is required as the teen takes the document, reading what it says in confusion before his eyes widen in shock.

“You’re…you wanna make my internship a paid internship?” Peter asks, not believing what he’s seeing, “And May already signed it?”

“Yup, you’re not eighteen so I needed May’s approval. So,” Tony casually leans against the table, holding out a pen for the kid, “What d’ya say?”

“I-I,” the teen stutters, his gaze not leaving the sheet of paper, “But like it’s not actually an internship, that’s just a front -”

“Really? You think all the stuff you do around here is just a front?” The older genius asks with a cheeky smile, “Making up web fluid and all the repairs you help me do, I should’ve done this a long time ago if I’m being honest.”

Peter looks long and hard at the writing in front of him, occasionally glancing back and forth at both that and the man who put it together.

He’s not stupid, the kid knows why his mentor is bringing this to his attention.

And he’s grateful.

Tony could’ve tried offering money again, making him feel like a loser even though he didn’t mean it in that way.

But no, Iron Man is offering him a job, a job where he can continue doing what he loves while he helps out his aunt in the process.

He can feel accomplished…proud even.

A smile breaks out across the teen’s face as he takes everything in, thinking about what he can do with the money he’s going to make in addition to helping May: saving up for college, a car, and ooh that Nintendo Switch he’s been dying to have -”

His thoughts are interrupted by Tony clearing his throat, snapping him back to reality, “My arm’s getting tired here, kiddo, you in or not?” The man asks.

Peter takes the pen and lays the sheet on the table, signing on the dotted lines before giving it back to him, “Um, th-thank you, thank you, Mr. Stark, you’re amazing.” He concludes with giving him a hug, wrapping his arms around his hero’s torso thus making the older man gasp in surprise.

“Well, I already knew that,” Tony says jokingly, giving the tyke a light ruffle of his hair, “But it sounds so much better when you say it. You’re the amazing one, don’t doubt that.”

“Tell that to my history book.”

“Speaking of,” the mechanic starts with a snicker, “The Second Industrial Revolution -”

Peter cuts him off with a groan, defeatedly resting his head on the other’s chest, “You said I could take a break -”

“Yeah, for a sec.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“But you ‘needa’, c’mon, back to studying.” Tony lifts his mentee’s head and lightly pushes him back to the direction of his textbook, “So, who invented the telephone?”

“Uh, ‘Mr. Telephone’? He probably used his last name when he invented it.”

Tony lets out about the deepest sigh he’s ever expressed, “So this is how my hair goes gray.”

The following week, it is an ordinary day at the Parkers’ residence. May is preparing dinner while her nephew - who is still feeling satisfied from his after-school snack - is at the counter working on homework, trying not to stare so much at his history test that his aunt stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet.

But damn, he’ll never get tired of seeing that shiny red “B-plus.”

There is a sudden knock at the door, making both Parkers tense up since they’re not expecting anybody.

May opens the door with her kid standing off to the side. On the other side stands a middle-aged man holding a clipboard with about half a dozen bags on the ground around him.

Are Peter’s eyes mistaken or do those bags look like the reusable ones grocery stores sell?

“Ms. Parker?” The man asks, voice neutral but friendly.

“Uh, yes?” May reluctantly responds, looking the epitome of confused.

“I got your groceries here for ya.”

“What, um I didn’t order anything, Peter, did you?” The nurse turns to her kid who responds with a simple shake of his head, his expression matching his aunt’s.

The man’s eyes squint at the small clipboard he’s holding, “Isn’t this your address, ma’am?” He holds the clipboard out to the older Parker and she studies the sheet for a couple of seconds, eyes looking more and more baffled.

“Uh…yeah, yeah that’s us but-but I don’t understand -”

“No need to explain, I’m just the messenger. If you would just sign right here, saying you received your items -”

“Sir, with all due respect, I’m not paying for something I didn’t order.”

“Don’t worry about it, that’s all taken care of. All I need from you is your signature.”

“Uh,” May stutters, shoulders slumping in defeat, “Okay, sure.” She signs the paper and gives it back to him.

“Do you need assistance with the groceries today?”

“No, we got it from here, uh, thank you, thank you very much.”

“Alright, have a good day,” the delivery man then leaves them be. They pick up the grocery bags and bring them inside, quickly going through them as if it’s Christmas.

They gawk at the food items in front of them: steak, salmon, lobster, there’s even veal and duck amongst a pile of vegetables, some of which they’ve never even seen before.

“Where did all of this come from?” Peter asks, amazed at all that “Santa Claus” has graced them with.

“Wait, there’s a note.” May reaches the bottom of one of the bags and pulls out a mini note card that could mimic one that goes in a flower arrangement. She then reads aloud the brief message.

This is what you get for refusing help. Expect groceries every Monday and Thursday for the next, well, ever.

Signed, “You Know Who I Am” -

“Mr. Stark,” Peter finishes with a disbelieving grin, “Of course he did this.”

May can’t help but laugh, not believing this herself as she gets out her phone, “I’m giving this man a piece of my mind.”

Her nephew giggles in response, already getting out his own phone and sending his father figure a text.

Thanks for the groceries but you reeeeeally didn’t have to do that

Tony responds not even a minute later.

I know 😉

Now for God’s sakes EAT!!

254 notes · View notes

jeonggukingdom · 5 years

Text

✰ m a s t e r l i s t

[ All the stories linked in this masterlist are the fruit of my own imagination, don’t copy or re-post elsewhere without permission. ]

I crosspost all of my stories on AO3 and nowhere else so if you find them somewhere other than these two accounts, please report them to me, thank you. I do not allow reposting, not even with credits, and I don’t allow translations of my stories, especially if you never asked me permission to do so.

⟶ guilty as charged ⟶ ✘ ↳ established relationship!AU, FBI-agent!AU, dom!AU ⟶ one-shot ✪

« Your boyfriend works for the FBI and you have learned how to appease him when he comes back home tired and stressed from work. Tonight, though, when he enters and you immediately take on your submissive stance, you still have no idea what you are going to get. When he ties you to the chair and spreads your legs, though, you quickly realize you are in for a treat.»

⟶ longing in Tokyo ⟶ ✘☀︎ ↳ established relationship!AU ⟶ one-shot

« It has been just two weeks. Two bloody weeks of nothing but text messages and phone calls and, quite frankly, Namjoon can’t simply take it anymore. He needs you. And it’s exactly that firing desire that prompts him to call you in the middle of the night in the hopes of quenching his unyielding desire for you once and for all.»

⟶ coming soon

⟶ love in the times of movies and duvets [feat. Jungkook] ⟶ ✘ ↳ exhibitionists!AU, three-some!AU ⟶ one-shot

« At the annual reunion at your friend’s house for an Harry Potter movie marathon rewatch, things get spicy between you and your boyfriend Jeongguk while everyone else is asleep. Or so you thought. When you catch Yoongi staring at you with one of his hands on his crotch, you can’t help but invite him in on the fun for a night none of you three will ever forget. »

⟶ to the beat of my heart ⟶ ✘ ↳ dancer!AU ⟶ one-shot ✪

« When you walk into the studio that Sunday afternoon, all you expect is a lonely and chill practice session but, a few hours later, your programs are shattered in thousand pieces by the unexpected presence of Jung Hoseok. And nothing could have prepared you for what he had in store for you. »

⟶ the bride of Ashmedai ⟶ ✘☀︎☁︎ ↳ demon!AU ⟶ one-shot

« You were born with only one purpose to fulfill: sacrifice your life to a Prince of Hell and save your entire lineage from eternal damnation. When blood trickled from your hand that night you were ready for doom or even worse, death. What you didn’t expect was for you to find gentle eyes of molten chocolate waiting for you and a wanton tongue welcoming you home. » ↳ alternatively: the prince of lust has a thing for cunnilingus and, apparently, so do you.

⟶ under the spell of a demon’s touch ⟶ ✘☀︎☁︎ ↳ incubus!AU ⟶ one-shot ✪

« You had believed, for your entire life, that creatures of the underworld were only a myth but you were proven wrong by the existence of Jimin. He is, according to his definition, a smaller type of Fae called Incubus. A creature of sex. Someone that can only live and strive as long as his sexual appetite is satiated every day. And Incubi are known in all of their myths to be insatiable and ravenous creatures. »

⟶ salacious propositions ⟶ ✘ ↳ phone-sex-operators!AU ⟶ one-shot

« You had been friends for years now and you were quite accustomed to the crazy ideas of Kim Taehyung but when he proposed to you a summer of working as phone-sex operators you had your doubts. Still, you indulged him and one day, passing in front of his door, you hear him. Next thing you know, you’re asking him to watch him as he works and well, from a call to being sprawled on his bed the step is ridiculously short. »

⟶ dick on the go ⟶ ✘☀︎★ ↳ friends!AU ⟶ one-shot ✪

« It was all shits and giggles when you and Taehyung were desperate seniors in High School, having no idea what to do with your lives, wondering if you’d ever find a decent job or even graduate in the first place. It is not so funny anymore when you come home from the big city to enjoy your vacation time and you find his sex-shop right in front of the house you grew up in when you were a kid. “If nothing works out I’m just gonna open a sex shop and call it something obnoxious like ‘Dick on the Go’ or something with a stupid zucchini logo flashing on top of the building.” He had said one time. Shit, you had no idea he actually meant it. »

⟶ across a lifetime ⟶ ✘☀︎ ☁︎ ↳ time-travel!AU, criminals!AU, sci-fi ⟶ one-shot

« In your world only a few rules exist: don’t reveal your true identity to anyone, kill or be killed and, most importantly, do not get caught. It only takes a few moments for the scale to be tipped to the wrong side, for the fine equilibrium to be easily ruptured by an inexplicable turn of events and for you to lose the only person that ever mattered to you. With the love of your life lost in the distant past, you are left with only one option: get caught.»

⟶ the shower experiment ⟶ ✘☀︎ ↳ newlyweds!AU ⟶ drabble

« You thought being on a honeymoon was not only about the sex but also about the cities and making memories together and taking pictures for everyone to see. Instead, you have been stuck in your hotel room and your infaticable husband has no intention of leaving anytime soon. The next room to conquer? The bathroom and, more precisely, the shower. »

⟶ the sea watcher ⟶ ☁︎✘ ☀︎ ↳ pirate!AU, witch!AU ⟶ one-shot ✪

« They call the women of your kind “The Sea Watchers.” Born under the favor of the Gods, your kind was bestowed with the power to bend air and water to your will. And with that power, you are set on saving the lives of your brother and your lover, Jeon Jeongguk. Two years have passed since you last saw either of them but you kept your promise, you have waited for him to return and now, all that is left to find out is if he has waited for you too. »

⟶ your every wish is my command ⟶ ✘☀︎★ ↳ genie!AU ⟶ one-shot ✪

« It’s Friday night and everyone you know in a 12 miles radius seems to be out and about dancing or drinking their lives away. Bored out of your mind you decide to call out the Genie that happened to fell in your hands a month prior to this very night. You just want some company, somebody to talk to and entertain you but things take a spicy turn when you accidentally make your very first wish and it’s a rather impious one. »

⟶ house of cards ⟶ ☁︎✘ ↳ apocalypse!AU, zombie!AU ⟶ one-shot

«What does safe mean when you are chased by zombie, when every corner you turn could be the last one for you? What do words like home and future mean when you’re always on the run and every moment could be your last? They mean nothing and everything at the same time and Jeongguk is all of the above. He is your safe haven, he is your home and he is your future. But things like that crumble easily in your world. »

⟶ split at the seams ⟶ ☁︎✘☀︎ ↳ dystopian!AU « Life in the Outskirts is not easy or grand and waking up every morning is both a blessing and a curse. On the verge of the breaking point, Jeongguk turns to the only thing out there able to save you: The Ring. So that first night, when he came home battered and bruised holding more money in one hand that you had seen in quite some time, you knew trouble would quickly follow. But if there’s something that life has taught you it’s this: as long as you and Jeongguk are together, nothing can stop you. »

⟶ splinters of love ⟶ ☁︎✘☀︎★ ↳ a collection of drabbles (one for each day of April) based on prompts by an online prompts’ generator site.

#!masterlist

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thosequeenboys · 4 years

Text

A Love is Lost, a Love is Won (Joe Mazzello/John Deacon-platonic)

A/N: This was written for @deakys-chesthair who asked me for a soft Joe and John. Hope you like, Love. Here’s my vision of Joe finally meeting John, who is living a gratifying life. They share their commonalities, joys and challenges. Also, Joe has an amazing movie in the works!! There’s a little repurposed content from a Love is Love chapter, now Joe-focused with mostly new material. The title is from Brian’s beautiful gem, Dear Friends.

Warnings: Reflections on death of parent and friend; some angst, mostly fluff

Sitting at the desk in his extra room just after daybreak, Joe eyed the weights and other exercise equipment around him, willing himself to work out for an hour. He sighed. OK, a half hour. Nope. Not happening. He stared hard, hoping the barbells could be moved through telekinesis and give his biceps a nice burn.

Joe slumped into the chair and logged into his phone instead. He hovered his finger over the Instagram app and then dipped it gently. It had been quite a while since he posted. He moved into the bedroom and took a quick picture of himself next to his packed, open suitcase on the luggage rack. He added the caption, “Headed to the UK for a great project. Stay tuned.”

As soon as he posted, the hearts and comments flowed: inquiries and congratulations about the project, declarations of love and a few marriage proposals. Given his non-existent love life, Joe wondered if he should consider them. Not all of those stans were crazed, he reasoned with a smirk. But then a wave of darkness crashed over him as snarky, negative comments were posted. Why were people outright mean? His heart rate quickened and he felt a sheen of sweat erupt behind his neck, physical signs of rising distress and anxiety: What if his fans were disappointed and the reviewers panned the movie? He wished he could call his father and hear his calming voice reassure him. With that not an option, he turned off his phone to stop those negative thoughts.

A few hours later, the phone rang with a London number. He presumed it was someone from the production calling to provide some details.

“Joe Mazzello.” He answered cheerfully.

“Hello, Joe!” The sweet, melodic British accent was unmistakable. “Brian May, here!”

“Brian, Hi! Wow! What’s up??” Joe asked excitedly. Had it really been almost a year since they spoke?

“Well, I saw on Instagram that you’re headed to the UK! Another movie?” Brian asked positively.

“Yes!” Joe responded, excitedly. “A tango of espionage and romance. Directed by Ron Howard. He’s a great guy. So far, so good.”

“That’s fantastic!” Brian said. “You deserve it!”

“Thank you! How have you been?” Joe inquired, adding, “I’d love to see you and Roger when I get settled in London. I’ll be there a few months.”

“Things are good. Families are good…Of course, we’d love to see you.” Then Brian hesitated, wanting to change topics. “Uh, Joe, I have a proposition for you. No pressure….I saw your post just before I rang John-Deacy-for our regular monthly call. I mentioned you’d be in London. He was very curious about you in a way he hadn’t been before. He said it was time for you two to meet. What do you think?”

“No kidding?? Wow! Yes! I mean….you’re sure he’s ok with it?” Joe was excited, though a bit of trepidation crept in.

“Yes, very much so.” Brian said definitively. “Veronica too. I’ll email you his contact information. It’s been a long time coming, yeah? Will you let me know how it goes?” Brian inquired, his voice rising with curiosity.

“Of course.” Joe said, thinking the conversation seemed surreal. He refocused on the call. “Great to hear from you. I’ll reach out to John-and definitely will be in touch with you. And thanks, Brian. Thanks.”

After Brian bid farewell, Joe smiled in a daze. He couldn’t believe he’d finally be meeting John Deacon. He laughed to himself as he conceptualized the reunion as a television mystery drama: “John Deacon: The missing link from BoRhap….uncovered years later.” He was curious how the show would play out.

*****

Joe stretched his legs and settled in comfortably in the back of the cab as it drove through the well-appointed residential communities on the outskirts of London. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face if he tried. Nor did he want to. His mind was peppered with positive thoughts. It felt good to have a day trip out of the city – and a break from the intensity of work. Though he wasn’t complaining; the filming was going very well. The cast and crew were fantastic, and working with Ron Howard was a dream. Not only was Ron a creative and supportive director, he and Joe bonded over their experiences as child actors whose impressive careers continued into adulthood. The film had already garnered a lot of positive buzz. Joe felt he was positioned for a professional resurgence, thought it took longer than he wanted. The worrisome thoughts and sadness that sometimes lapped at him were at bay. As the cab pulled into a circular driveway with two cars, the August sun ducked behind some clouds painting a silver lining. He paid the fare and grabbed his backpack. The footprint of a modest house was built out with additions. He checked his watch as approached the heavy wood door and knocked, pleased he arrived right at the appointed time for tea.

“Hello, Hello!” Joe heard that unmistakable, slightly garbled voice enthusiastically approaching the door.

John opened the door and stepped out into the covered portico. “Joe.” he said, extending his hand with a warm smile. “So nice to meet you.”

Joe grasped John’s hand. “So nice to meet you.” Joe responded. As Joe looked at John, decades of the bassist’s images flipped through Joe’s mind. It was hard to believe this icon he had played on the big screen was before him. They were both overcome with emotion. It was indeed a moment that couldn’t be scripted. Their hands still joined, they each lurched forward into a hug. John rubbed Joe’s back affectionately, and Joe held John tightly in the embrace.

John pulled away and he took in Joe slowly starting with the wavy auburn hair sprinkled with golden highlights of the summer sun. He moved down to the firm biceps protruding from his t-shirt and the outline of the broad chest. His eyes dropped and landed on his slender waist leading to fit legs accentuated by the low-slung black jeans. He was even more handsome in person.

“I clearly got a needed visual upgrade from my movie doppelganger.” John chuckled and winked at Joe playfully breaking his gaze. Joe laughed and stared at John. He was struck by John’s charm and ease, considering all he had heard about him being dower and anti-social of late.

“Come in, let’s get you comfortable.” John said warmly, as held the door and he stretched an arm out toward the spacious living room off the foyer. Joe unzipped his backpack and took out a blue silk pouch, which he slid into his front pocket. He left his backpack in the foyer and took a few steps into the comfortable room.

This life lived, which he knew from his research, was laid out before him. Gold records were displayed against a long wall in a den beyond. A long table in the back of the living room displayed photos in an array of elegant frames. There were intimate shots of John’s family, as well as a few of him with various combinations of his band mates. On the wall above the table hung a large framed photograph with about 20 people standing in a backyard. Joe walked toward it, curiosity overtaking him, and then halted, suddenly sensitive about invading John’s privacy.

“Oh, that’s….”John’s voiced hitched. He walked up to the photo and beckoned Joe with a long finger. John took a deep breath, steeling himself to go back in time to that moment. “That was September 1991. Had everyone over for a cookout to celebrate Freddie’s birthday. Veggie burgers for Brian, of course.” John chuckled, deflecting the emotions from the day, now rising in him.

“It was the last time.” He paused, his voice shaking a bit. “The last time I saw Freddie fairly at ease, before he…his final deterioration….” Joe took a small step closer to the photo. Freddie’s thin frame was accentuated by the large belt around his narrow waist. Freddie leaned into Jim, and John was on the other side of Freddie, his arm skimmed the singer’s back. Roger leaned into John, and Brian eased closely next to smiling Roger. All of their broods were in front of them. Freddie was enveloped by the love of his band mates and, though not legally acknowledged, his husband.

“That’s lovely. Shows how much you all loved him.” Joe said. John looked wistfully at the photo and then, he looked down. His eyes scanned for a new subject, needing to distract himself. Joe related to that reaction; looking at photos of his dad since his passing conjured a range of emotions that sometimes felt too much to bear.

John picked up a framed black and white photo of the band performing. “This was one of our earliest shows, when I joined the band. I thought you did a great job portraying that time in the movie-the energy, the possibilities. The four of us finding our togetherness….” He returned the photo to the table.

“Thanks,” Joe said, allowing a faint smile.

“Ah….,” John lifted a color photo in a wood frame which featured him in a blue t-shirt and pants standing behind Freddie at his piano, casting a loving gaze at the singer. “Some version of this is floating around out there. Freddie and me during “Somebody to Love” at the Montreal Concert. One of Freddie’s favorites. He got me to sing on the recording, amazingly.” John laughed. “There wasn’t much I wouldn’t do for him really.” John said solemnly as he stared at the photo.

“You were such a good friend to him,” Joe interjected positively.

“And, he to me,” John countered, his eyes intense. John opened his mouth to say more, but closed it as Veronica entered. She carried large tray with a teapot, butter, jam, sugar and cream-and a beautiful round loaf of bread on a wood cutting board. She placed it on the coffee table that held plates,napkins cups and saucers. The treats were surrounded by comfy chairs and sofas.

“Ah, here’s my blushing bride, Veronica. Ronnie, Dear, this is Joe, Joe Mazzello.” John exclaimed. Returning the photo, he shifted his focus to the present and his temperament to upbeat.

“Ah, I do see the resemblance. A bit uncanny, actually. ” Veronica intoned with a grin. “Welcome, Dear. Come sit and relax. How about some tea and bread-made by John!” she offered graciously, as she sat on a chair and started to serve.

“Really?” Joe queried. “ I’m impressed!

“Well,” John said, a grin spreading over his face, delighted to launch into the explanation. ‘For many years, I’ve gone to this little café most mornings to get a cup of tea and a treat-and read my paper. I read mostly online these days, amazing isn’t it? But I do like the feel of a freshly printed newspaper. Anyway, they make lovely bread, and I spoke with owner about her techniques. I’ve always loved fresh bread-and the science behind it. So, I took a class and have built bread baking into my routine. It’s calming and nice to have a tangible product for your efforts. This is a cottage loaf, two loaves melded together.”

“We all enjoy this hobby,” Veronica enthused.

“This is fantastic, so buttery. Thank you,” Joe said, licking his lips after swallowing a generous bite.

After tea, John asked Joe. “Would you like to see the garden?

“I’d love to!” Joe said.

John led Joe through sliding doors into the expansive backyard that had a magical and peaceful quality to it. Off to the side there was an intricate climbing structure in the shape of a castle, complete with a moat, drawbridge and turrets. The edifice included ropes, nets and bricks for climbing to the large room on top and a slide for a quick departure.

“Wow, this is unbelievable!” Joe said. John walked over to the castle, Joe in tow, and he flicked a switch under the slide. Suddenly, the window of the top room was framed in colorful lights. Joe’s mouth opened incredulously.

“Was bored one day, and rigged that up. The grandkids have their ice cream up there in the summer as the sun sets.” John said factually.

“Great to have a grandfather with an electronics degree.” Joe said admirably. “Gosh, my nieces and nephews would have a field day on that. And I would too with them!” he added sheepishly.

“Uncle Joe, eh? How lovely,” John praised.

Joe nodded. “Yeah, they keep me young.” Both men laughed. Joe looked around at the manicured plantings. “Your garden is stunning.”

“Thank you, yes, gardening is another past-time I enjoy. Keeps me grounded. No pun intended,“ John said with a giggle. “Let me show you my absolute favorite.”

John led Joe toward a large bed surrounded by a white wood fence, and he opened the gate. Twenty or so fragrant rose bushes of all colors surrounded a sturdy, hand-crafted bench, its weathered wood was lit by the late afternoon sun. John stopped at a yellow rose next to the bench that featured orange and pink shades at its billowy edges. “This is the Freddie Mercury Rose!” (1)

“No? Seriously?” Joe bent to take in the heady scent. John gestured to the long bench, encouraging Joe to sit. John took a deep inhale of the fragrant roses as he sat and Joe joined him.

“Yes, RosaBatMercury, introduced around 1994.” John elaborated, “Fan club members raised money to name a rose in memory of Dear Fred. It has special meaning for me; it helps pull me back when I start to descend into my caverns of darkness: loss, sorrow, worry.

“I have those caverns too.” Joe said, looking down. “Especially since my dad died.” Joe focused on the Freddie rose next to him to keep the tears at bay.

“So sorry to hear. When did he pass, Joe?” John asked softly.

“May 2018, as we were filming Borhap, “Joe said, looking down.

“Must have been so hard for you.” John’s empathy showed in his eyes.

“Yeah, but the guys…they were so supportive. I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without them.” Joe said.

Ah…good to hear you had their support.” John whispered. Then he let out a loud sigh. “Fatherless sons. We can be a sad lot.”

“Yeah, I know your dad died when you were so young. That must have been hard on you. I’m sorry..” Joe said softly, raising his eyes to John.

John nodded. “Thank you. It was-and it made Freddie’s death so much harder for me. Another profound loss. But Fred always lived his life to the fullest-and kept sorrow and worry in their place-even at the end. I know he wanted me to do the same,” John smiled.

“I’m working on that.” Joe said, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve. John reached over and hugged Joe, and Joe welcomed the older man’s embrace. Then Joe pulled away, a smile spreading over his face.

“I guess life hasn’t always been ‘a bed of roses,’ Joe smirked, adding, “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

John giggled. “True, hasn’t, can’t always be, can it? But yet-here we are,” he said, motioning to the tangle of beautiful, vibrant rose bushes surrounding them.

“One thing I’ve learned,” John said, “Millions of pounds in therapy later, is that sorrow can coexist with happiness. And it doesn’t have to be the melody of the song. It can have its day-yes, and sometimes it pulls you in. But then, you get on with it. You let in the good things-and the pleasant surprises along the way, yeah? The big success of BoRhap-and now this new movie for you. New hobbies for me. And a deep love of family – for both of us.”

Joe nodded and smiled. “It’s good to see you’re well. And happy. It’s a relief actually.”

John smiled cheekily. “Yes, the mind fills in what isn’t provided, and the narrative is often a negative one, isn’t it? Roger and Brian fuel it by pretending that we aren’t in touch. They’ve certainly had some dramatic words to describe my detachment,” he said, more bitterly than he intended. “But,” he countered softly,” I know they do it to protect me. They are well-practiced in protecting friends they love.” Both John and Joe looked down.

“We missed you during BoRhap,” Joe ventured cautiously, making eye contact with John to detect his reaction. John nodded slightly.

Joe continued, “I would have loved to have had you on set. And at the Oscars,” Joe’s face lit up, thinking of that special night. Then he focused on John again. “But, I respected your choice not to be involved.”

John looked over at Joe. “Sometimes, there’s no in-between. You’re either all-in or all-out and that’s what happened. I enjoyed it – well, most of it. But it ran its course, and after Freddie died, I didn’t...it was too painful without him.” Joe nodded.

John looked around at the roses and said, “’to everything there is a season and a time to every purpose.’ (2) That season had passed for me. Had to move on, protect myself-and focus on my family. I’m happy for Brian and Roger, that they’ve continued and their shows with Adam are successful. We all got what we wanted.”

Then John smiled and touched Joe’s arm lightly, “It’s great the movie was made, and you showed our music to so many new fans--and increased our royalties.” He laughed. “I really am appreciative.” John leaned in and hugged Joe.

Joe broke apart. “I have something for you. When we wrapped BoRhap, we were able to take some props. I took a few picks-and always hoped I’d be able to give you one. Not that you need it, of course.” Joe dug into his front pocket and retrieved the silk pouch and handed it to John. “And, Happy Birthday!”

John smiled at him and carefully removed the pick and held it up. “How thoughtful of you. Well, we must give it a workout, mustn’t we?”

“Oh, no,” Joe said, “I’m way out of practice.”

“Well, good,” John laughed, “You won’t upstage me, then. Come.”

John led the way back to the house and they entered a door at the basement level. He pressed a few switches on the wall and a studio with track lights came into view. Basses on a stands, amps, a small drum set, microphones and speakers were positioned around the ample area. “Luke uses this space mostly now. Here, let me set you up.” John gave Joe a bass and took one himself. After some tuning, John strummed and said, “So, how about ‘Under Pressure?’” They jammed for awhile, and then Joe looked at this watch. “I should head back. Due on set early tomorrow. He took out his phone and called for an Uber.

They stood at the entry foyer as the car pulled into the driveway.

“It was so great spending time with you.” Joe said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“You’re welcome. And, Likewise,” John said. “I’d like to stay in touch. if you….”

“I’d really like that.” Joe said.

As they hugged good-bye, Veronica looked on holding a parcel of bread for Joe to take with him.

John released Joe, “I think we can count each other as dear friends.”

Thanks @warriorteam1924 for the bass guidance :) Tagging some Joe & John fans: @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @deakysgurl @johndeaconshands @mazzell-ro @orionis8689 @hellysthings @cardboardbenmazzello @johndeaconstoothgap

Notes

1. Here’s info on this spectacular bloom: https://www.styleroses.co.uk/buy-plants/freddie-mercury-hybrid-tea-bush-rose

2. Ecclesiastes 3:1-8. This verse is beautifully captured in the song Turn, Turn Turn recorded by The Byrds, written by Pete Seeger

#john deacon #john deacon fanfiction #john deacon fan fic #john deacon fanfic #joe mazzello #joe mazzello fanfiction #joe mazzello fan fic #joe mazzello fan fiction #joe mazzello fanfic #brian may #veronica tetzlaff #john richard deacon #john deacon x joe mazzello

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nataliedanovelist · 4 years

Text

GF - How A Star Is Born. ch.VI

A Hercules AU, founded by @evaroze, whom this fic is a gift for. I hope y’all like it!

ch.V - ch.VII

AO3 link

~~~~~~~~~~

The little sailboat gently glided along the river that would eventually pool into the sea. There, just as the river touched the vast salty body of water, there was a harbor that began the huge troublesome town of Thebes.

“Wow,” Dipper awed as he tied up the boat. “Is that all one town?”

“One town, a million troubles.” Stan quipped as he walked along the dock and his student hurried to catch up. “The Big Olive herself: Thebes. They say if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.”

“Cool!” Dipper said as they entered the city. Never before had the farmboy seen so many temples and buildings clumped together, so many people in one place, so many speeding carts and horses and stray cats and the occasional mice that kept the cats fat and happy.

“Stick with me, kid,” Stan warned as they stopped with a group of people waiting to cross the street. “This place is dangerous.”

The horse-pulled carts came to a stop and some guy turned a red-hand vase so it showed a green walking man. They began to cross, but one cart sped by them and Stan had to dive on top of Dipper to push them both out of the way in time.

“Watch where you’re doing!”

“HEY I’M WALKING HERE!” Stan screamed back and made a rude gesture and he got up from Dipper, somehow miraculously getting a slight hint of a Latin accent. “See what I mean? Knuckleheads, all of them.”

“Then you should feel right at home.” Dipper sneered playfully, earning him a firm punch on the shoulder as they walked on.

A few minutes into town, after passing a shady conman that Stan saw right-through, a cute lady at a corner asking if anyone was wanting a good time, and a naked guy singing about accepting yourself, loving yourself, while waving around a dead chicken, the two men walked up to a fountain, taking notice of a group of people talking woefully.

“It was horrible.” A whiny troll-looking guy said as he rinsed his cap into the fountain, trying to get the soot off his clothes. “I lost everything in the fire. All of my beautiful vases and stone tablets.”

“Now were the fires before or after the earthquakes?” A big red-haired guy asked.

“They were after the fires.” A red-haired girl a few years older than Dipper answered with. “But before the flood.”

“Not to mention the crime-rate.” A skinny guy with a small mustache added in. “Seems every time I turn around, there’s some new monster running havoc!”

“1220 has got to be the worst year I’ve ever heard of.” The red-haired woman said as she kicked a rock harshly and crossed her arms over her chest. “Can’t we just move to Sparta, Dad?”

The entire time the locals were complaining, Stan was elbowing Dipper encouragingly and gesturing for him to go ahead. Dipper cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me.” When all the eyes were on him, he felt a little nervous, but he went ahead. “It seems to me that what you need is a hero.” He said confidently and puffed his chest out with his hands on his hips.

The crowd did not look impressed. “Yeah,” The big guy snorted. “And who are you?”

“Um, I’m Dipper.” The young man said, trying to keep his confidence up, but was failing. “But I happen to be a hero, and…”

The four laughed at him and Stan narrowed his eyes as the townsfolk had their doubts if this young man could possibly help them.

“Have you ever saved a town before?” The small troll-like man asked.

“Uh… n-no, not yet…”

“Or reversed a natural disaster?” The big guy asked.

“Uh… n-n-no, but…”

“Ugh,” The red-haired woman groaned. “He’s just another chariot chaser.”

“Don’t you knuckleheads get it!” Stan yelled, placing a hand on Dipper’s shoulder. “This kid’s the genuine article!”

The little ugly man narrowed his eyes and adjusted his thick glasses to get a good look at the old man. “Hey… isn’t that the fallen god that trained Achelles?”

Stan’s whole face turned red and he began to shake with anger. “Watch it, pal.” He growled like an angry dog.

“Stan…”

“Hey, you’re right, Toby.” The big guy said and laughed harshly. “Oh boy! I needed this! Some amateur hero trained by the worst god of existence!”

Stan let go of Dipper and began cracking his knuckles. “You wanna go, buddy, c’mon…”

“Stan, Stan!” Dipper had to use his god-like strength to hold his teacher back as it looked like he was going to pounce on the big guy who looked like he could rip a tree out from the ground if he wanted to. “He’s not worth it, let’s just go.”

Stan, still growing, allowed Dipper to lead him to a large set of stairs while the four walked away. Soon Stan swatted Dipper’s hands off of him and they sat to try to think.

Dipper, meanwhile, was thinking about what that guy had said. A fallen god? That may very well have only been a cheap insult for the Trainer of Heroes, but Dipper had first-hand experience in the matter. Gods can fall. Was it possible that someone who had practically raised him and trained him to be a hero so he could be a god again knew exactly what it felt like to be someone you’re not?

“Stan, wh-what those guys were saying…”

“Listen, kid,” Stan said tiredly and held his head. “You’re gonna hear some really bad stuff about me in this town, and some of it is true, but I need you to trust that everything I’ve ever done has been so that family sticks together, okay? I’m gonna get you to your twin, okay? I’m gonna help you become a true hero if it’s the last thing I do, okay? All I ask is that you trust me. Please.” And he looked up at the teenager heavily.

Dipper swallowed as he saw a million and one emotions in his eyes. After everything this guy has done for him and planned to do for him, Dipper decided that trusting him was the least he could do, so the younger of the two nodded, but their moment was interrupted by a cry for help.

“Help! Help, please! Help!”

“Pacifica?” Dipper muttered as he saw a lush amount of blonde hair try to make its way through the crowd. “Pacifica!” He stood and hurried to her as her eyes lit up at the sight of him and hurried.

“Wonderboy… Dipper, thank goodness! Outside of town, by the sea, this little boy was playing and there was a horrible rockslide! He’s trapped!”

“Quick, show me where he’s at!”

Pacifica grabbed Dipper’s hand, making his whole face turn red, and she led the way through town back towards the sea, north of the harbor and just below a mountain that led to Thebes’ Temple of the Gods. Stan quickly followed behind them and a few townsfolk decided to keep an eye for entertainment purposes mostly.

On the damp sand there was a rocky wall side from where the tide often comes in and forms a wall, separating the town from the ocean. Dipper could hear a boy’s cries coming from behind a rock and he hurried across the beach, leaving Pacifica, Stan, and the townsfolk on the sidewalk.

“Help! I can’t breathe!” The boy coughed and desperately pleaded, “Somebody call I-X-I-I!”

Dipper stood by the big boulder and said calmly, “Don’t worry, I’m gonna get you out.”

“Hurry, please!”

Dipper looked up at the giant boulder and took in a deep breath. This rock was huge, one of the biggest things he had ever had to lift, but if he could accidentally destroy half of his hometown, he can lift a boulder. Right?

He grabbed on from the bottom and struggled for a moment, but with gritted, deep breaths, and sheer determination (Stan’s calls of encouragement also helped tremendously), Dipper was able to slowly lift the boulder up from the tiny cave in which the white haired boy was trapped behind.

The boy ran out quickly and Dipper asked in a strained voice, “Y-You okay?”

“Yeah… J-Jeepers, mister.” The boy awed. “You’re really strong!”

Dipper smiled and said after he threw the boulder into the ocean, “Just try to be a little more careful, okay?”

“I sure will!” The boy replied as he ran off into the town.

Stan cheered and hollered, only stopping when he was coughing and he bent over a little to cough sharply into his fist. The townsfolk gave a small applause for him, only a little impressed, as the boy climbed up the side of the mountain and went into the mouth of a large cave, where he was met with Bill in his throne, sipping on live worms, and Pacifica, who sat with her legs dangling over the edge.

“Jeepers? Mister?” Pacifica sneered.

“I was going for innocence.” Gideon said as she changed back into his older self and sat next to Pacifica to watch the show.

“You both did good.” Bill said coldly. “I was really moved by your performances. Great opening act.”

Meanwhile, Stan was at Dipper’s side and patted him hardly on the back. “Great job, kid! They even applauded! Sorta, but still!”

Dipper heard something and turned to look out at the dark and dreary sea. Bubbles. “I-I don’t think that’s applause, Stan.”

Stan looked out at the ocean and saw a shadow form under the bubbles, and soon they were shocked to find a big green head emerge from the water with sharp teeth and small eyes, followed by a long neck and a fat body, the monster roaring like a horrible siren.

“St-Stan! What the heck is that!?” Dipper asked his mentor.

“The Gobblewonker!” Stan yelled as he pointed at the monster. He pulled out Dipper’s sword from his scabbard, put it in his hand, and ran back to the screaming crowd for safety.

“Let’s get ready to rumble!” Gideon cheered and Bill snapped his fingers to make a ringing bell appeared.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford and Mabel were sitting on the front steps of their temple, having tea, as the young muse happily chatted and the aged god happily listened, but they were interrupted by Fiddleford’s wind-breaking running as he hurried up to his dearest friends and was short of breath.

“St-St-Stanford! It’s Mason! He’s battlin’ the Gobblewonker on the beach o’Thebes!”

Ford choked on his tea and had to spit it out. “WHAT?!”

Mabel punched the air. “Alright! He can take down that big dummy! I wanna see him do it!” And the young muse got up and started to run out of Olympus.

“Wait!” Ford called as he and his best friend ran after her. “Mabel, wait!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper slowly watched as the Gobblewonker’s neck positioned itself for attack, like an angry snake. This was no different than those garden snakes at the orphanage, right? The monster attempted to strike, but Dipper dodged swiftly on the beach. Again, and another dodge. Again, another dodge.

“That’s it,” Stan coached. “That’s it, kid, dance around, look for an opening.”

The Gobblewonker struck again, digging it’s sharp teeth into the sand, and Dipper was almost hit, but managed to spit out some sand and stand strong, unfortunately realizing a second too late that his sword was no longer in his hand, but lying behind him. Now having to multitask running the opposite direction and dodging a monster, as if this battle wasn’t difficult enough.

To distract it and buy some time, Dipper used his super strength and threw a huge rock at the Gobblewonker, who crushed it in his jaws while Dipper retrieved his weapon. He stood proud and ready to strike, but in one instant the monster engulfed the hero in it’s mouth and held its head up high to swallow Dipper like he was a pill.

Pacifica held her throat and cringed as the Gobblewonker licked his chops, but soon it was wincing, like it was in pain, and a gruesome scene of Dipper cutting the monster’s neck from the inside appeared before the audience and the Gobblewonker’s head and half its neck flew into the ocean, leaving red in the water and on his body.

“YES! THAT’S MY BOY, THAT’S MY BOY!” Stan cheered as the Gobblewonker’s body fell onto the beach with a loud splash and the dizzy hero fell to his knees. Stan was right by Dipper’s side and helped him up, lightly tapping his face. “Good job, kid, good job. C’mon, let’s getcha cleaned up.” And the old man helped his student get on his feet and shake away his dizziness from the acid that had been in the neck.

Up in the cave, Bill was turning red and shaking. Pacifica smiled, ready to see Gideon be burned to a crisp, but the young man was still, miraculously, perfectly calm.

“Gideon, your plan…”

“Bill, Bill buddy, relax.” Gideon rested his hands behind his neck as rain started to trickle down on the mortal world. “It’s only half time.”

The Gobblewonker’s body twitched behind the two men. They both turned and were very disturbed to find it standing up on its own and suddenly three heads emerged from the opened neck, ready to attack the hero again.

“HOLY HERA!” Stan yelled and ran aside to give the hero his chance.

Dipper backed away until his back was against the rocks, smiling. “Ha! You’re trapped in water, huh?”

The three-headed-Gobblewonker must have understood the young man and decided to prove him wrong, because the sea monsters climbed up out of the water and onto the same to better attack the human.

“Oh, jeez.” Dipper groaned before letting instincts take over and he chopped an incoming head off to dodge and get out of being cornered against the rocky wall.

Dipper allowed his adrenaline to take over and soon he was swinging at anything that came towards him. This, of course, was a bad idea and soon Dipper stood with his back to the sea at a thirty-headed-Gobblewonker, bigger and meaner and more powerful than ever before.

“WILL YOU FORGET THE HEAD-SLICING THING?!” Stan yelled from the sidelines.

Dipper swallowed as a clawed-flipper scooped him up and pinned him against the mountain side, all thirty heads getting closer and closer and ready to rip him apart limb from limb.

“C’mon, kid!” Stan cheered. “Use that big head of yours! C’mon!”

Dipper did some quick thinking, looking up at the mountain, and without a second to lose, he pounded his combined fists against the mountain on his left side, causing an avalanche. One by one the heads were crushed and more red stained the rainy beach, leaving only a fisted-up claw in the clear, unnoticed by the audience.

“NO!” Stan screamed and hurried to the rockpile. “C’mon, c’mon kid, stay with me. Stay with me!” The old man fell to his knees and started to move rocks out of the way, trying to find his student. “No, no, no! Please!”

Meanwhile, Gideon and Bill were smiling twisted smiles. “Hm, nice job, kiddo.” Bill said to Gideon. “You’ve redeemed yourself.”

“Told you it would work.” Gideon said calmly.

Pacifica looked down at the old man trying to get the young hero back with sad blue eyes.

“I… I can’t…” Stan panted under his breath. “I can’t lose…” But then he heard something that made him stop digging.

The fist was wiggling, finally noticed. The townsfolk were worried it was the Gobblewonker, still alive, and Stan stood ready to die trying to kill the monster that took his kid away, but everyone who was watching was beyond surprised to find Dipper priding the monster’s dead fingers off of him and standing tiredly with his clothes in rags.

Cheer erupted, everyone deaf to the yells of anger from Bill and the yells of pain from Gideon, or the dark cloud that appeared by the small cave as the three vanished.

The townsfolk yelled and celebrated and ran down to Dipper and Stan, but Stan was the first to congratulate the new hero, holding him in his arms and giving him noogies and yelling to the top of his lungs. “YOU DID IT, KID! YOU WON BY A LANDSLIDE! HAHA!”

And there, up in the dark rainy clouds, Fiddleford danced with Mabel cheerfully for Dipper’s first victory, leaving Ford standing there, mouth open, speechless with pride. “I… I can’t believe it… my boy… he…”

“I told you!” Mabel cheered and punched her uncle on the shoulder. “I was right, you were wrong! Looks like somebody has to sing the Ford Was Wrong Song!”

Ford chuckled and smiled down proudly at his nephew, who was now being carried away by the other humans. To congratulate him, Ford threw down joyous lightning bolts to dance among the jubilant rain.

Dipper caught the lightning striking the ocean and he smiled to himself, daring to believe that his family might be proud of him.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the Underworld, Gideon was on his hands and knees, weak from pain and whimpering. This was the fifth time he was being punished, and Bill wasn’t done. The young white-haired man looked up at his boss and pleaded. “Bill, I…”

With a snap of the triangle’s fingers, Gideon’s tongue burst into flame and the teenager cried out and clawed at his mouth. Bill glared maliciously as he snapped his fingers again and Gideon’s whole body was suffocated in flames. Again.

Soon a sad pile of burning flesh was at Bill’s feet slowly healing again. “First you couldn’t even turn both twins into mortals. Then the one left mortal you let live. And now he lives and kills off one of my most powerful allies for taking this dimension!” Bill snapped his fingers again, burning Gideon alive again, sentencing him to pain that would kill a mortal.

Halfway through healing again, Gideon whimpered through tears, “I can still kill him. He’s still mortal. He got lucky.”

“You better.” Bill said coldly. “You’ve got one year to kill Pinetree, and every time you fail, I’ll kill you again until either he’s dead or you wish you could stay dead.” And the triangle left his minion alone to cry on the floor and think of how he was going to kill the man destined to defeat Bill.

#GF #gift #fanfiction #gravity falls au #dipper pines #pacifica northwest #bill cipher #gideon gleeful #stan pines #ford pines #mabel pines #Fiddleford McGucket

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