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gemsofgreece · 8 months

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You really should know about Storm "Daniel"

Unlike how much all of us Greek blogs notify our tumblr communities about the regular (at this point) arsons wildfires afflicting Greece, we did not say much about the floods the country has been suffering from right now. There was a mention here and there and I even made a joke post as the storm was starting but not a lot of stuff in general. So, I think there's a couple of things you should know and I feel like I could address about it and actually it's not just about Greece. So I believe this could interest a lot of people and it should be something known worldwide.

In the beginning of September there was an alarm about an extreme weather phenomenon forming above the Ionian Sea at the west of mainland Greece. In truth, the phenomenon was not caused by the climate change. It was just a very rare occurence where a high pressure atmosheric system was sandwiched between two currents of low pressure. Low pressure systems are the ones resposible for stormy weather while high pressure systems generally create stable weather. As the low currents encircled the high pressure system, the storm that had started forming became unusually stable for a storm. As a result, the storm moved northeast above Thessaly and other regions of the central part of Greece and... just decided to stay there for an indefinite amount of time. Furthermore, because it's September and the Ionian Sea had warmed up throughout the summer, the medicane (Mediterranean cyclone) gained tropical features as it was forming, pushing its intensity to extremes unknown to this area.

The storm remained above all of central Greece for about 4-5 days but at the meantime it was causing side-storms in neighbouring countries, such as Bulgaria and Turkey. Both countries suffered from floods causing damages and deaths.

Istanbul, Turkey (CNN).

Tsarevo, Bulgaria (CNN).

Four people died in Bulgaria and seven in Turkey.

But like I told you the core of this was exactly on top of Greece's central mainland and islands. So what happened there? I happened to experience this shit first hand. My recollection of it is that it was unlike any other storm I had experienced before. My knowledge on meteorology is not very advanced, however I believe due to the high pressure part, there were actually no winds at all - or they were insignificant, so it wasn't like what you might have in mind as a conventional cyclone. It was a rainstorm but it was like a rainstorm from hell. The crucial part is that in Greece summer violent rainstorms may last for about five minutes but certainly not for five days nonstop. There was no pause, not even for a second. It kept pouring and pouring in indescribable volumes, without decreasing or slowing down, not for a moment. The fourth day it started taking short breaks.

As a person with a phobia of lightnings since childhood, I kept wearing earplugs throughout all these days. For four days, ten seconds did not pass without at least one lightning shrieking exactly on top of our heads. In the end, I am dead serious, I think my lifelong phobia has been cured somewhat due to this extreme exposure that eventually had a numbing effect. I think only the first day there was a record of 7,000 lightnings. I believe there must have been dozens of thousands overall. The lightnings also caused fires but the downpour was so overwhelming no fire could ever stand a chance.

Whether during or after the rains, what I was seeing outside was post-apocalyptic. The only thing missing was the zombies. It really looked like a background from a videogame, including a constantly lit up sky. I was not in danger though people dear to me were. The worst for me was a huge fall in the quality of living but that doesn't matter. The rains caused severe destructions across cities and villages. They caused floods, they broke bridges, they broke a massive number of roads, they made walls collapse, they destroyed springs, they damaged water and electricity outlets entirely, they drowned flocks and flocks of animals, they destroyed mountainous and coastal villages alike, they made cars float and fly over each other and they uprooted houses.

Village in Mount Pelion, Greece.

But that's not the end of it. Four days later, the storm moved southwest towards the Ionian sea, basically to the place of its original formation. It side-swept over Athens in the meantime, flooding the city, but that doesn't mean much since I could cry and Athens would still flood with my tears. Anyway. AFTER the storm left, the floods caused by it started multiplying and expanding. Picture that: a crystal clear sky, a bright sun and your phone screaming state alerts about evacuating your village or town because a lake has launched at you! Here's the thing: Thessaly is a massive plain surrounded by a ring of mountains. Half of those downpours fell right on the lowlands causing floods and destructions the first days. The other half however fell on the mountains, filled the streams heading down and they all met up and filled the lakes and the large river of Thessaly, Pineios and they all basically exploded the next days. Pineios especially exploded both in its western and eastern part, sinking the entirety of Thessaly's plains under water. As a result, floods were actively taking place days after the storm had ended and the weather was good. The phenomena have only started subduing since yesterday.

The overflowing of the river, trapped by the mountains.

Farmers won't be able to work this year and next year is questionable as well. There are huge concerns about various epidemics breaking out as more and more dead animals are found in the waters. Entire villages are under the water. There are estimations that some villages in west Thessaly might have been lost forever and their residents will have to move elsewhere. Sixteen people have died from the rainstorm and the floods.

Actual villages in Karditsa, Greece.

A more longterm danger is that the ground received such an unnatural amount of water that it might have been severely eroded and destablised, making it vulnerable to natural disasters I don't want to utter. Many roads are either broken or bloated and Thessaly has been cut out from communication and transportation with the rest of the country. To this day, there are maps guiding people how to drive from North to South Greece and vice versa by entirely skipping Central Greece! (Hint: they will have to drive through Epirus, aka western Greece.) The first days there was also complete isolation from what was happening in the country and the world and also the very regions we were in as we had no electricity and our only chance was getting a call from somebody being elsewhere and telling us what is going on.

Volos, Greece (CNN)

Many regions have received within 2-4 days 55 times their monthly amount of rain or more than twice the yearly amount. Greek meteorologist Christos Zerefos estimated that such a phenomenon occurs every 300-400 years. Meteorologists were alarmed internationally - with Germans and Americans reportedly saying they hadn't studied such a phenomenon again in their career. Its intensity was record high in the history of Greece and right in the top of Europe's as well. They also agreed that such a phenomenon would be devastating even if it had hit the most advanced and prepared country.

BUT THIS IS NOT THE END. The weakened Daniel seemed to slowly move towards South Italy but it decided to take a turn and headed south towards Libya and Egypt. Quite possibly, as the storm was once again travelling across the warm Mediterranean Sea, it was rejuvenated and gained even more tropical traits. Eventually, the medicane hit Libya with unprecedented force.

The cyclone travelling from Greece to Libya.

The toll it took on Libya is unspeakable. As I am writing this,

More than 5,226 people are killed and more than 10,000 are currently missing.

Like, can you wrap your head around what I am talking about? I don't see this shit being acknowledged enough across the world. I am checking this again and again, to ensure I am reading this correctly.

Daniel has officially become the deadliest medicane on record.

Eastern Libya, from Al Jazeera.

In the meantime, Greeks found opportunities to practice their favourite sport: political infighting. People who weren't even here when hell broke loose say that if this or that was properly done, we would not have problems at all. I even saw an idiotic Greek expat comment how "we got drowned in a little bit of rain". The truth is we should bloody thank our lucky stars and I say this with the entire awareness of half of Thessaly being currently underwater. It is true that Greek governments and people have done so many things badly, like building on top of streams and rivers, changing rivers' natural route, drying up natural lakes and all that shit that guarantees you are going to have massive problems once a serious storm breaks out. Also, the disaster revealed that there was once more a very questionable management of all the money given by the EU for anti-flooding measures after a previous flood (Ianos). Of course, I would be happy if at last we viewed this disaster as an opportunity to improve ourselves and the management of our land, however whatever happened these days wasn't the fault of anyone in particular. On the contrary, A LOT worse could have happened. A lot. Maybe Libya is not an indication because if Greece is not used to such extreme rain phenomena, then Libya is probably ten times less used to them, however we should not forget that this monster was STUCK at least five days over the heartland of Greece. For this alone we should damn be thankful we did not get it any worse and that the land endured in any way and of course now we have to correct old mistakes as well but let's do it united and determined and without wasting time once more in pointless infighting, which in this case might even be unfair. (In fact I think the thing we should blame the state the most about was not making it clear beforehand that this was going to be unprecedented, not just "very severe". They probably didn't want to cause panic and mayhem but still. We should know.) Of course I am not talking about how the state will treat the afflicted regions from now on, which is entirely its responsibility. And we should stand next to Libya. Greece has its wounds to mend but it should absolutely provide support to Libya. We know what this freak phenomenon was like.

I know this text is long but please consider reblogging this. We should know what happens on our planet. Thousands of people are dead from a freak phenomenon devastating regions across lands and seas. Also forgive any mistakes I might have made although I believe the information is correct for the most part. I didn't speak more about Libya because I don't know enough to analyze the situation as much. Perhaps there are ways of supporting the country too. As a last note, this phenomenon was not freakish because of the climate change - it was just a very unusual occurence. However, the - otherwise normal - warmth of the sea did feed and intensify the storm and the climate change might in the future cause these super rare, accidental phenomena to become more frequent.

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lululandd · 6 months

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pretence;

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader

word count: 1,111

warnings: you’re kortac and also ghost’s ex, fluff

notes: written with my oc’s wholeass background in mind so idk if this will make that much sense (im too shy to ask someone to beta)

summary:

You know that sweet precipice right between being awake and falling asleep? That’s where you happily were before rudely disturbed by a knock on your door. With a groan and a grumble, you gingerly sat up on the 141 base’s creaky bed ready to greet whoever it is on the other side with a glare.

It was Simon.

“What?” A sore remembrance fills your heart and you unconsciously clench your jaw.

There was almost an apologetic look in his eyes when you stared up at him, “Wanted to check up on your arm.”

“It’s fine, Simon.” you vaguely gestured around you, “There’s like two hundred people here. If I speak a little louder, Roze is next door ready to help, or re-break my arm, depending on why I made a ruckus.”

You see him subtly shift his weight from one leg to the other, “What’s wrong with you? Can’t sleep?” When he didn't reply, you asked him with a resigned sigh, “Do you wanna come in?”

He side-stepped inside the moment you opened the door a little wider. You see him clench and unclench his fist reflexively inside his jacket pocket, apprehension emanating from his being as if he had done something wrong and is afraid of oncoming consequences.

Seeing him in such distress annoyed you a little bit. He was still the same man you dated ages ago, with the same mannerisms and same behaviour. The same Simon Riley who broke up with you out of the blue with a single post-it note and a dead phone number. As much as that broke your heart and trust in him—and anyone else that came after—it would be a lie if you said you don't have some lingering feelings towards him.

“Allright, bend over.” You instructed.

When he bent over with face away and his ass facing towards you, you couldn’t help but suppress a laugh. “The other way, idiot.”

He straightened his back, turned around, then bent at the hips and knees, making his face somewhat level to yours. You can see the fine lines on the outer corners of his eyes along with the sun-damage where his mask doesn’t cover his face.

A small little peck wouldn’t hurt, would it? The evil little part of your brain assures you that this is completely normal and you’re just helping him feel better so he can sleep.

Feeling you kiss his mask, he stood back up and removed it startlingly quick, making you jump back a little. He shoved the mask in his pocket before fixing his hair, shuffling it around, making it look a little more decent.

Moving slightly to his side as he lowered himself, you lift your hand and gently cradle the far side of his cheek before landing a soft kiss on his temple, his crooked nose, the corner of his mouth, and finally where his dimple would be if he smiled.

It showed itself as he actually did smile, first towards the wall in front of him, then towards you. “That it? Remember getting more back then.”

You tapped his cheek lightly, “Uh huh.”

He looked around your room as he stood up, his knees not so subtly cracking as he did. “Aight. Just making sure you’re fine.”

The man was always like this. You knew if he did something remotely affectionate, he had mulled over the action for hours, if not days. Simon cares about a lot of people, but he has learnt from years of experience it’s much easier for him to care from afar. Looking up records to see how people progress, eavesdropping conversations, pretending to be at the medic building the same time as the people he wanted to check up on, but if he comes up to someone personally it means he didn’t get the answer he sought for and nothing he previously did alleviates the worry and concern.

Studying his bare face, you saw something that made you want to laugh again, so you dragged him to the little cubicle of a bathroom and stood him in front of the sink with you next to him. The mirror was at a completely wrong height for him so he had to bend and brace himself on the small sink. The tight space could barely fit you both.

“Do you see it?” You started, smiling ear to ear as you looked at him from the mirror.

Simon stared at himself, then at you in the mirror, the actual you, and then back at himself. “All I’m seeing is self restraint to not pin you to the sink right now.”

You groaned at that, but tried to keep focus. “Your face has three shades.“ you pointed at the obvious discoloration around his eyes, “ There’s the tan not covered by the balaclava,” then you pointed at the more subtle tanned blend around his mouth up to his cheeks, and the tip of his nose. “The part not covered by the skull mask, and then the skull shaped part that’s safe from all the sun. Do you see?”

His eyes widened when he finally caught on to what you said and scrambled closer to the mirror, prodding his face. “Bloody fucking hell, I look like a fucking muppet.”

“You know, since it’s already tanned in the shape of a skull…You could use it as a base for a face tattoo.” It was now his turn to glare at you, so you continued, “Wouldn’t it be really funny if one day you get unmasked by an enemy and then they just see another skull?”

He was about to retort when he stopped himself as he saw you try to hide a yawn.

“Get some sleep, lov—“ He stopped mid word as he caught himself. “I mean, yeah you need some sleep.”

You nodded, feeling his hand on your lower back as he guided you out of the shower brought you back to that distant feeling of safety and security that was always present when you’re around him. Maybe he wants another chance, maybe he really was just worried about your broken arm, but you won’t know if you don’t do anything about it.

“Goodnight, Simon.” Twisting away from his hold, you faced him and raised your good arm and leaned in for a hug.

It came as a surprise when he stepped back and held you a little way away from him. “Don’t. It’ll put pressure on your arm.”

“How about you start worrying when we get home and it’s just the two of us?”

“What?”

“You’re gonna take care of me once you’re on leave right? Make sure I don’t go hugging people or sleep on my side or accidentally bang my bad elbow on the edge of a very sharp kitchen counter.”

“You’re fucking evil.”

Despite the acid bite in his tone, he showed up at your door two weeks later, both arms gingerly wrapped around your back, enveloping you in a gentle hug.

#call of duty #call of duty imagines #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #scuffed writing

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bliss-is-in-blood · 2 months

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Random (cute) thought on Hannibal and Mischa

The Lecter's Manor/Castle is still around and since Chiyoh is off and is not protecting the properties anymore (I do believe she sent the curious away and the few that wanted to make some urban exploration, off while she stayed). I'm sure some people went looking around.

Especially after Hannibal case resonates worldwide since he's one of the biggest and most impressive Seral killer of the century, whose finally been caugh, it's sure some are going to go looking around the Manor/Castle for fun and investigation.

You probably find video on youtube of people exploring, Lituanian autorities actually have to regulate that but surely some pass in the cracks of the net.

And what if Hannibal familly had a camera and films. That some of those trespassers would ultimatly find and post on the net too. Some would be very damaged but some other are in better condition.

One of the video is filmed by Hannibal's mother who hide at a corner, or at half the stair, it shows Hannibal and Mischa about a year before the tragedy, playing on the floor. Hannibal is literally lying down on the carpet, a book discarded at his side and a very expensive painting between them.

Hannibal took the painting from the wall to show it to her more closely, so she can see the details more clearly, because she was interested by it. He explains some stuff to her and she listen attentively, asking question, engaging with her brother. She has chalk on her hands from studying math on those small blackboard slate / or was drawing some stuff on it, and she's actively putting chalk print on the painting. And it goes on for a while until their mother interrupt their little moment with "Shouldn't you two be studying?" she says it with a laugh. But Hannibal immediatly look up, and with the quality of the video you can't really tell if he's worried, surprised or upset to have been interrupted but he gets up quickly and trot away calling Mischa to get up and follow, which she does without question and follow her brother. Their mother follow them right to the main door where you see Hannibal helping Mischa with her coat and scarf and gloves and Mischa laugh as if she don't understand they could be in trouble. Then they disapears outside, and it's so bright and exposed you don't see much but you guess it's snowy outside. last thing you hear is the mother telling them to get back before dinner.

Another one is just Hannibal and Mischa building a snowman outside and messing around.

Another one, this one it's Hannibal who hold the camera while he and Mischa tries to bake a cake, there's flour everywhere and while trying to hold the camera and mix eggs and flour and sugar the bowl rip away from his grip and fall and Mischa is laughing her ass off in the background, the camera turns to her her fingers covered in blueberries juice she's not sorry to not have been of any help.

Another one is in a more stern setting where Hannibal plays at the piano, he's very focused and it's clear he is observed by a small crowd. Mischa comes around and sit at his side and mess up with some piano keys. He shoo her away and other people are calling for her to stop bothering her brother but when she start to cry and their parent tries to bring her somewhere else, Hannibal call for her to sit back at his side on the bench, which she does, escaping the adults grasp. Hannibal show her a few keys to play, and when she get it correctly start resuming his own play, everytime he can free a hand in the music sheet he show her something else, it's all simple but it goes well with what he is playing.

There is a compilation too, it always start with Hannibal coming home, he's passing the door and you have a young girl screaming and crashing into her brother sometime violently enough Hannibal stumble, but Mischa always ignore the other people around even if it's her parents and welcome her brother first. Sometime he pick her up, always when she a bit less energetic or in a mood. She often tell him she missed him even if Hannibal was away for less than a hour (or so he says) or she ask him what he brough her and those time you see Hannibal pull out a feather or a rock or candy or whatever, and Mischa is always delighted.

You have another one that start at the high of an argument where Mischa is screaming, evidently upset saying "I don't like you, you're not by brother anymore !" and slapping the door of her room. Hannibal calmly return to his own room after looking at the camera with a bit of disdain or indifference. it keep rolling for around ten minutes, nothing happens, until Mischa gets out of her room and goes to knock on Hannibal's room. The door open.

"Can you play with me."

"I'm not your brother anymore, I'm not playing if I'm not your brother anymore." Mischa is clearly upset/frustrated by his comments

"That's not true you're my brother, you're always my brother stop lying !"

"If that's the case then what game do you want to play ?"

"The monster" She says happilly.

"The monster? then you better be ready because it's comming."

and a few seconds later you have Mischa running, happily screaming and laughing while Hannibal run behind her making noise and making sure not to be too fast so she can flee while he pretend he's going to catch her. as if the argument that happenned ten minutes earlier didn't happen.

All those video (and some more) are very cute and now everyone is wondering if they should warn Hannibal those video exist, that they exist for everyone to see, wondering if they should show them to him.

Bedelia tell them they should keep it secret, because even her doesn't have a clue how Hannibal could react to them. She know Hannibal lost the memory of his sister face during his trauma, it's locked away with it and recovering the memory of her face might unlock things nor Hannibal nor anyone dealing with Hannibal would be able to deal with. It's also a bit of a punition, because it might be the only way Hannibal could recover the full memory of her.

Now imagine post-fall, Will inform Hannibal of the existence of those video and when he is ready he can look at them. And he does, feeling safe even if he break down because Will is there to understand him and actually support him and help him deal with some door Hannibal hasn't dared to open, ever.

#HANNIBAL #NBC HANNIBAL #HANNIGRAM #MURDER HUSBANDS #WILL GRAHAM #MISCHA LECTER #HANNIBAL LECTER #sorry if this is a bit cheesy but my brain have been entertaining the idea h24 for two weeks at least #it was requiered to be put out in the world

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blueblobbing · 1 month

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This is a fluff one-shot I made. Please let me know if there are any issues, I do take constructive criticism.

I wrote this for @the-horror-and-the-wild-simp

The biggest Muriel Simp I know :)

Rainy days

Stone walls well worn by time, and wooden beams that have seen better days still lodged firmly in place. The roots of the tree above the hut poked through and laced their way through the cracks within the wall. A soft warm glow filled the room as the fire quietly crackled in the background. Standing side by side you and Muriel both watch through the doorway as the rain thumps against the ground.

Lightning crackles over you in the sky, lighting up the dark world just in front of you. Muriel lets out a small huff as he watches the rain. Though the rain never bothered him, this kind of rain usually meant there would be costly damage. Inanna slipped in between the two of you as she escaped the harsh weather. Her soaked fur brushed roughly against your leg soaking it in the process.

You could hear her steps stop before you slowly turn around. That's exactly when she starts to shake, covering everything in droplets of water. Muriel turned back around after being showered with water. He didn't seem bothered that much as he walked over and joined his companion on the floor next to the fireplace. You linger in the doorway for a moment before deciding to join as a brisk wind makes you shiver.

You shut the door before you glide over with sure footsteps despite the slightly uneven earth beneath your steps. You stopped short before descending down next to Inanna. She sat, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the warmth from the fire. You reach out and touch her head, her tail starts wagging as she has grown used to your affection. As you moved your hand along her head her tail started to wag faster.

That was before you reached right behind her ear. Instinctively she leaned into your hand as her leg thumped against the ground uncontrollably. You look up in time to see a soft smile on Muriel's face. The fire gave a soft glow to him as his eyes watched Inanna's reaction. They slowly raised and met yours as a soft blush crept onto his face.

His gaze lingered for a moment before he turned back towards the fire. A peaceful quiet settling in between you two. The only sound was from the rain pattering the roof and the fire crackling as it hungrily ate up the wood. In a hushed but gruff voice Muriel speaks fondly.

“...I like rainy days…”

You can't help but smile a little and nod in agreement. As you turn towards the fire letting its warmth envelope your face. Inanna got up and walked away as the fire was becoming too much for her, leaving the two of you alone. You spoke softly, adding to his comment.

“They are nice, the whole world goes quiet. Plus the smell of fresh rainfall is comforting.”

You gently scoot closer to Muriel before leaning on him. You gently let your weight fall onto him as you kept an eye out for any signs of him pulling away. Something you've grown quite good at after being with him for some time. He relaxes against you as he closes his eyes, soaking up the peaceful moment. A feeling that was always so fleeting.

A sudden crash outside spooked the both of you as you both looked towards the door. Muriel sat there before breaking the silence.

“Probably a loose branch, we won't know till the storm passes.”

You let out a sigh before looking back at him and gently leaning back into him. You close your eyes as he wraps his arms around you pulling you into his comforting embrace. He held you with certainty and fragility as he worried about hurting you. Sleep sunk its sharp fangs into you as it pulled you further into a sense of exhaustion you never knew you had. The warmth, comfort, and safety made for perfect napping conditions as the sound of the rain lulled you to sleep.

Muriel took notice of your condition as he shifted around a little before picking you up gently. He tried his best not to disturb you too much as he didn't want to break you from your trance. If there was anything he certainly knew about you, was your bad sleeping habits. You listened to the sound of him walking over to your guy's bed as he gently laid you down first before carefully laying down next to you. He laid there for a moment watching as you slipped in and out of consciousness before you softly spoke.

“Good night, love.”

He smiled before gently placing a kiss on your forehead as blush covered his face. He held you close to him before replying.

“Good night..”

You close your eyes as sleep finally won. The night went by quickly as you slept without issue. In the morning you awake to find Muriel long gone as he usually woke up before you. Slipping out of bed you walk back out and over to the suspiciously opened front door before stopping as a chicken bursts into the home followed by a very concerned Muriel.

“Their pen broke.”

You sighed as you found the rain day was over and so was the hope for another peaceful day.

#the arcana game #the arcana #muriel arcana #muriel x reader #muriel x mc

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hentyehottie · 2 years

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pairing: K. Bakugo x Chubby Black!Fem reader

w/c: 3k

c/w: 18+ MDNI

mentions of fingering, blowjobs, rough fucking, kitchen sex, stand and carry position lol, roommates, college au, fwb, you being a brat, katsuki falls in love at first sight lol,

chile this is all over the place but my beta told me to post it 😭 it’s kinda just a bunch of blurbs about you and bakubabe becoming roommates

❀

So, the story was he’d been kicked out of campus housing for blowing a hole through the gym wall and attacking Deku.

In actuality, it was him who’d been blown through the wall while sparring with the shitty loser, Deku still unable to fully control his given quirk.

It almost cost him his scholarship but after Deku begged and professors Toshinori and Aizawa pulled some strings—he’d only been reprimanded and removed from the on-campus housing in fear that he’d cause an insane amount of damage again in the future.

He found the ad on Reddit—$500 a month for rent and the only utilities were electricity and cable/internet, which would probably be split between him and the other tenant. Amenities included a full kitchen, washer and dryer and a full bathroom. The only requirement was that he was in attendance at U.A University, which he was, and a payment of first & last rent.

Of course he was going to jump on it, he was desperate and it was affordable. He even emailed the person who posted the ad, asking to meet as soon as tomorrow.

He paid the landlord with no questions asked, even after the unsightly security deposit was tacked on after running a background check.

He scratched his name onto every highlighted section, agreeing to live with a stranger for the next two and a half years.

***

Now, he did not expect said stranger to be so damn cute.

Cute chubby cheeks, full pouty lips and your curly hair was in a big poof on the top of your head like a bunny’s tail. You had to be at least a foot shorter than him, a tiny plump little thing you were. So damn adorable.

Well now he was absolutely sure he’d made the right decision. Who knows what some creep would do to a cutie like you if they had gotten the room before he did.

You greeted him with a hello and a smile. He responded with only a grunt as he lugged two duffel bags and a roller suitcase into the doorway.

He dropped them with a loud thud, turning to look at you.

“You my new roommate?” He asked, looking you up and down. Your attire was distracting—a small white shirt with your nipples peeking through the thin fabric and don’t even get him started on the way he could see your fat pussy print through your pink shorts.

“A hi, hey or hello would be nice.” You sassed, sipping from a pink drink. “I didn’t sleep with you last night.”

Looks like his bunny had a tongue like a scorpion’s tail.

“Hello.” He smirked, pleasantly annoyed at how your lips curled into a smile at the greeting. Almost like you wanted to bitch him.

“That’s better. Your room is the one on the left.”

“Gotcha, anything else?” He tried to focus his eyes on anything but your pretty face.

“Please don’t forget to put the toilet seat down, clean up after yourself and your company and lastly I’m not stingy with food, so what’s mine is yours, just please don’t be an asshole. If there’s not much of something please ask before you take it.” Your rules were simple enough right? Basic roommate etiquette.

“Ya think I don’t have any goddamn home training?!” Bakugo snapped, gritting his teeth.

You laughed at the angry blonde, he reminded you of an angry Pomeranian and it was actually quite cute.

He was relieved when you giggled at him. Some people took his snappy attitude way too serious, it was honestly annoying as hell.

You really didn’t mind the way Bakugo talked. You were probably just as bad, only difference was your mouth was slick as hell and he was just mean and loud.

“Do you cook?”

Your face lit up. “Yes! I love to cook.” Your smile was enchanting to him, almost made him want to give you one in return.

He shoved his hand into his pocket, pulling out an envelope. It was some extra cash, probably like a hundred bucks or so, since he had to draw extra money from the atm because the money order amount was only enough to cover rent and not the security deposit.

“Good. Use it for groceries or whatever. We can go together or…I’ll make a list.” His mouth and heart working against his brain. Words tumbling out before he could even think.

“Oh..uh, we can go together, since I don’t have a car.” You didn’t expect him to be so forward or so generous,

The blonde’s heart clenched at the thought of you being his pretty passenger princess. Maybe this roommate thing wouldn’t be too bad.

***

You and Bakugo as roommates definitely took some getting used to, since you’d occupied the unit alone for such a long time.

For instance, your weekday routine was set in stone, so like usual, by the time you entered the doorway you were already stripping . You left your black crocs at the door, stepping out of your scrub bottoms, pulling the top over your head the same time.

“Shit.” You sighed out, unhooking the bra you had on, breasts finally free as they fell out of the cups with a small bounce, rubbing the spot where the underwire kept digging into your skin.

Finally opening your eyes, you were met crimson and there he was, leaned against the wall, eyes glued to you like a lion hunting a doe.

You let out a shriek, using your clothes to cover your body the best way you could, shielding yourself from further embarrassment.

“Forget about me already, dumbass?”

Glaring at the blonde you scurried past him, seething at the shit eating grin on his face.

“You saw nothing.” You gritted out before running the rest of the way to your room.

But, as soon as you were gone the facade dropped and he ran his hands down his face, seemingly more flustered than you were. He’d never seen a woman naked before, outside of porn of course, and it just had to be you.

He hoped he hadn’t upset you, the look of terror on your face was just too fucking cute not to laugh at.

“Fuckkkk.” He whispered out, having popped a hard on in seconds.

Even Bakugo couldn’t deny how sexy you were. A pretty face and an even prettier body. You had a nice fuckin rack too, he was definitely an ass guy at heart but there was nothing wrong with appreciating a nice pair of tits every now and then. You were probably a double D cup since they had a natural lowness to them, he just knew they’d be nice and heavy in his large hands. To top it off you had big areolas and cute little inverted nipples that he’d love to coax out of hiding.

He didn’t know what he liked more— the sight of your juicy, thick ass bent over in a pink thong as you gathered your clothing off the floor or your pretty ass titties and how they bounced with almost every move you made.

The blonde trudged to his room, dick insanely hard and rubbing against his thigh.

Closing his bedroom door, he sat on his bed palming his dick through his sweat shorts. Taking his cock in his hand, he rubbed his thumb around the fat mushroom tip, shuddering at the sensitivity. He pumped his thick cock nice and slow, envisioning your beautiful body now that he could go off of more than just the illusion your tight clothes gave.

“Damn..” That was all it took for Bakugo to feel himself fall over the edge, thick ropes of cum painting his chest and belly as his body shook and his pants turned into slow ragged breaths.

Grabbing a couple tissues from the nightstand beside his bed, he wiped his stomach, chest and the tip of his dick before tossing them into the wastebasket.

Less than satisfied, he shoved his still somewhat hard dick back into his pants

Beating off to his roommate was not how he’d planned spending his first week in his new home.

***

Bakugo sat at the kitchen trying to take notes but he couldn’t even fucking focus. You were always on his mind, invading his thoughts every chance you got.

He wasn’t sure if he liked you, maybe it was lust, either way it was a fucking nuisance.

As more and more time passed, seven whole months to be exact, the two of you began to get very comfortable with each other.

Well, as comfortable as two hornballs could get without going all the way. Neither of you had ever brought anyone back to the apartment so it was assumed that the both of you were single. That was perfect because you two really enjoyed each other’s company, experimenting with things that were fun and worked well for your friendship.

Like studying together in the kitchen, sometimes Bakugo would take the initiative to create flash cards and test you.

Or the movie nights on the couch that occasionally ended with you in his lap, legs spread with two of his thick fingers deep in your creamy pussy.

And even the late night snack runs where you’d most likely end up with a mouthful of his cock in an almost empty Target parking lot.

He’d come to find out you were incredibly clingy too. If your classes happened to end before his, you’d nap in his bed until he returned, loving the scent of burnt sugar that stuck to his sheets and pillows. You loved his scent, since it was calming and reminded you of holiday sweets. Plus, you couldn’t fit his clothes so this was the next best thing.

He heard you softly enter the apartment, watching you stripping down at the door like you usually did until you were in a white, cropped tank and your underwear.

He also noticed you loved to walk around in nothing but tiny shirts and your panties. You’d been doing it a lot more lately since the weather was transitioning into those hotter months and you honestly reminded him of that silly little bear that loved honey.

“Hey.” He greeted first, something he began doing around the third month of living together.

“Hey.”

“What’s wrong.”

Something had upset you, he could hear it in your voice. He knew you like the back of his hand and you hated it.

“Nothing.” You kept your replies short but that didn’t keep him from pestering you. You weren’t upset with him, just annoyed at your dumb parents. You’d gone to see them, you hadn’t seen them in a while and you kinda hoped that they’d start giving you your full allowance again.

Instead they berated you, bringing up trivial things such as your weight and even the way you dressed. It was draining, they were draining, and you just wanted to be left alone right now.

“Fuck is your problem?”

Of course your roommate couldn’t take a hint, too stubborn and caring to just let you walk away upset.

Of course you wanted to tell him how you were feeling, but you hated the vulnerability that came with expressing your feelings. Plus, knowing Katsuki, he’d probably just yell at you and call you a dumbass for even caring about their opinions.

“I don’t have a problem Katsuki.” You rolled your eyes, more than annoyed at his tone. “It’s just school stuff, damn. Just leave it the fuck alone!” Was he really dumb enough to think talking to you like that would help?

“Excuse me.” You tried to slide past him, since he currently towered over you waiting for an explanation.

“Y’er not excused.” He pulled you back.

You yelped in surprise as you were shoved against the island, staring into his fiery eyes as he wrapped one of his large hands around your neck.

“Gonna talk to me?” He asked, staring down at you with those daunting crimson eyes. “Fuck off.” You rolled your eyes, pushing at his chest. Of course he didn’t budge, the 6’3 mammoth continued to peer down at you, brows furrowed.

His other hand trailed down, running two fingers up and down your cunt, catching some of the slick that had already began to pool there.

“Already soaking wet,” He shook his head. “Dumb lil’ slut.”

He spun you around just as quickly as he’d pulled you back, bending you over the island and pulling your thong aside.

Bakugo slapped his heated palm against your ass, the pleasant sting forcing a moan from your parted lips.

You heard the jingling metal of his belt buckle coming undone and your eyes widened.

“Katsuki, what-.”

“S’okay, I know exactly what you need babe.” He reasoned, pulling his underwear down and pressing his hard cock between your thighs.

The way you tooted your ass up didn’t go unnoticed either, attitude seeming to have melted away at the thought of getting your pussy pounded. The blonde smirked, shaking his head again.

His thick cock bullied its way into your virgin cunt, your already slick walls making it just that easy for him to slide right in like he belonged there. The squelch of your pussy was loud as he drilled in and out of you, showing you no mercy.

He reached his arms around, slipping his hands under your tank top to tweak your nipples and squeeze your heavy tits in his big hands.

“Mmmm..fuck Katsuki.” You moaned from the pleasure, loving the way he pinched and squeezed your sensitive nipples. He moved lower, spreading his warm palms all over your soft skin, stopping only to grab at the fat of your tummy.

You stood on your tippy toes, making you just tall enough to take his cock comfortably. The harsh slaps of his hips slamming into your ass, his grunts and your moans echoed in the small kitchen as he fucked you, gradually picking up pace.

He’d actually had a decent day, the academy usually kicked his ass on Fridays, and he wasn’t about to let your gross attitude fuck that up.

“This what you wanted, right?” He pounded your pretty little cunt, drawing out the most adorable little sounds from you.

He felt so good inside of you, like his dick was made for your pussy. Stuffing you full of his cock while he sent harsh slaps to your ass, brows pushed into a deep frown.

“Right?” He snarled, emphasizing his question with a particularly hard thrust, pressing his chest against your back and grabbing your jaw, twisting your neck so hard you thought he wanted to snap it.

You let out a strained moan as he stared at you with those darkened eyes, hips never faltering as he waited for an answer.

“Uh-Uhhuh.” Was all you could muster, Katsuki smirking at the way your eyes crossed and your jaw went slack in his hand.

“Yeah? Wanted me to fuck that nasty lil’ attitude right outta ya huh?” He placed a kiss on your lips, biting your plump bottom lip before he retreated back.

You nodded, vision clouded with specs of white as his thumb played with your asshole and his cock stroked that sweet spot in your cunt over and over.

“Katsuki.” You sighed out his name. “F-feels s’good baby.”

“I know,” He cooed, voice like caramel as he fucked into you, now at a slower pace. “Can’t have those shitty clinical’s stressing my pretty Princess out. How ‘bout you quit, be my lil cumrag instead?”

“Mhm, I will.”

It was like a switch had flipped and his sweet voice clouded your brain, making you forget all common sense. Right now you’d agree to just about anything right now as long as it kept his cock in you.

Bakugo on the other hand, a virgin less than five minutes ago, wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep this up. Especially with his cock now very acquainted with your tight, wet, warm pussy and wanted nothing more than to plant his seed deep inside you.

He unsheathed himself from your pussy, the cool air making him hiss as he spun you around.

He raked his eyes over you, taking in your fucked-out appearance. Tank top ill fitting and stretched out from all his pulling, slight bruising on your neck from when he held you there, your tear stained face was icing on the cake, and he absolutely loved it. A layer of sheen covered you, baby hairs now messily slick to your forehead , lips swollen and red from your biting.

He had so much fucking energy, must be the effects of your quirk. Yeah, it had to be the effects of your shitty quirk, even pre-workout never got him this energetic and all this stimulation at once felt so damn good. His heart pumped fast like it wanted to explode, blood flowed through his veins a mile a minute making his dick rock hard. Bakugo felt like he could fuck you for hours, but he knew his inexperienced cock wouldn’t allow it this time.

He lifted you as if you weighed nothing, locking his arms behind your knees and placing his hands on your fat, juicy ass. His wide palms dug into your doughy ass and thighs, giving you a nice hard slap every now and then.

Easing you down slowly, he splits you open on his cock again, feeding you dick inch by meaty inch until you’re filled to the brim once again.

The brawny brute handled your weight like the champ he was, lifting you with ease and it made your pussy so fucking wet. He bounced you on his cock loving your hot breath on his ear as you moaned and panted like a bitch in heat.

You couldn’t help it, as you were too deep in the throes of pleasure as his slightly curved cock kissed your g-spot with every single thrust.

“Mmmm Kats…g’nna cum.” Your sweet velvety voice spoke the lovely sentence he’d been waiting on all evening. You clenched and unclenched as he quickened his pace a bit, fucking you and himself to climax, cock slamming into your cervix so deliciously hard it knocked the wind out of you.

“Fuuckkk.” You held onto him for dear life, lips pressed against his as you made a mess on him, coating his cock in your cream. Burying your face in his shoulder, you cried out as he fucked you through your orgasm.

“That’s it…”

His thrusts grew sloppy and fast as he threw his head back. It felt so good, so good he almost contemplated filling you up.

But he pulled out, spurting out those warm ropes on your belly, some flying God knows where.

Before sitting you down on the cool granite countertop he slid a heated palm across the surface, warming up your seat. He grabbed a couple napkins to clean you up, watching as you leaned back on your arms, still sporting that blissful fucked-out expression on your pretty face.

“Now, stop acting like a spoiled fuckin’ brat and tell me what happened.”

❀

closing a/n: I hope y’all enjoyed it 😭 I’m still feeling iffy tbh 🫤 feeling like I wrote him too soft, ya know

#my hero academia #my hero x reader #boku no hero academia #katsuki bakugo x reader #black reader #bakugou x black reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou x chubby reader #bakugo x chubby reader #bnha bakugo smut #bakugo imagine #bnha x black!reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #bakugo katsuki #HentyeHottie

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writingbyshiloh · 9 months

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Dirty Little Secret

MDNI

HAUNTED HOEDOWN DAY ONE: taboo au + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into." Raymond Reddington x Reader

WC: 1.5k

AN: literally my third time writing smut for tumblr so pls be nice. About 1000 words of background/buildup and 500 smut lol, no beta so expect a few mistakes

CW: FEM! Reader, Prisoner reader, SMUT, dub con (just to be safe, Red explicitly says he was never going to kill reader but still), fingering, sex in a shipping crate, possibly OOC Red

Sometimes you think that you’re smart. You’ve made a small name for yourself, stealing paintings and priceless works of art, without getting caught. You could get into almost any place and leave without anyone knowing, stolen items are the only mark of your presence. Selling stolen works is more risky. Getting shot over someone not wanting to pay, making sure that transportation is undetected without any damages occurring to the objects you're trying to fence. Still, you think you’re pretty good at it.

Victim choice is where your intelligence falls short. You were advised to be extra careful by the buyers with this one. Stealing from any criminal is dangerous, but stealing from someone on the most wanted list, nay, the number one on the most wanted list is absurd. The payoff is great though. The man who hired you had a wife who was intimately involved with Raymond Reddington. You don’t blame her, he is handsome.

“Your drink will just be ready at the end!” the barista informs you. You thank her while moving to the end of the counter. The cafe is fairly empty, you should be able to get your drink quickly and leave before going to your storage unit where you stashed the painting.

“Those are pretty glasses.”

Your head snaps up, ready to say thanks but the words die in your mouth.

Oh fuck. Raymond Reddington saw right through your cover.

You manage to thank him before moving away from the counter to the closest exit. He stops you, grabbing your arm to keep you in place.

It's useless to try to flee. The grip on your arm is too tight.

“Those are pretty glasses.”

Your head snaps up, ready to say thanks but the words die in your mouth.

Oh fuck. Raymond Reddington saw right through your cover.

You manage to thank him before moving away from the counter to the closest exit. He stops you, grabbing your arm to keep you in place.

It's useless to try to flee. The grip on your arm is too tight.

“Those are pretty glasses.”

Your head snaps up, ready to say thanks but the words die in your mouth.

Oh fuck. Raymond Reddington saw right through your cover.

You manage to thank him before moving away from the counter to the closest exit. He stops you, grabbing your arm to keep you in place.

It's useless to try to flee. The grip on your arm is too tight.

You figure you’re in a safe room in some safe house. He apologized while a bag was pulled over your head and someone led you into it. It's large, with a couch, and a few chairs on a rug in the center. A large bar takes up one wall complete with a sink and a fridge. Directly across from the bar is the only door. It locked, but you’re sure you could figure it out.

He can tell you’re nervous. He's directly across from you on a couch, while you’re in a plush chair pretending to read a book he offered. Something about a bounty hunter in New Jersey. You’ve stopped hiding your body language since it's just the two of you. Leg bouncing while your gaze flicks between the fancy liquor in glass bottles in the bar, Reddington, and the main door.

You’re not cuffed to anything and have been treated well. Treated supremely better than the man who hired you. You watched Reddington kill him in front of you, keeping you alive as a prisoner for over a week. No torture, water whenever you want, occasional offerings of tea and coffee. Plus the food he's been giving you has been incredible.

On your millionth round of bar-Reddington-door, he catches your eye.

“I know you’re not going to flee, dear.”

“Why,” you ask. You still think if you needed to you could pretend to get him a drink, knock him out with a bottle and then flee. There is no one else with the two of you.

“I want to show you something.” He stands, and gestures for you to follow him. You do, rising obediently out of your chair.

He opens the large door and you’re hit in the face with wind, carrying the ocean breeze. Reddington's hand moves to the small of your back, to stabilize you in case you lose your balance. Thankfully the wind is blowing your skirt against your front, so you don’t have to worry about flashing anyone. Shielding your eyes with your hand you get a better look.

You’re in a shipping crate, on a boat in the middle of the fucking ocean. There's no way you can escape this.

Stepping back into the makeshift safe house, you wonder how much time is left in the journey.

“We still have another two days on the boat, you can play nice for that duration right?” he asks rhetorically while pulling the door shut.

You turn to go back to your seat, maybe finally being able to start the book. He follows, standing in front of you.

“Do you know why I’m keeping you alive?” he asks, voice quiet.

You truthfully have no idea, but decide to venture a guess.

“You want me to be your dirty little secret? Is that what you're into?”

Truthfully, you wouldn’t mind having sex once more before he decides if he is going to kill you and he is attractive. More of a gentleman than other crime bosses you've met.

You can tell your words piqued his interest. He tilts his head to the side as if to observe you. He opens his mouth to speak and then closes it.

“Are you offering sex so I don’t kill you?” he asks.

“More like trying to have sex before you kill me.” You already put it out in the open, you can’t turn it back on now.

He’s closer to you now, and you start to back up to give him room.

“I wasn’t planning on killing you. I actually need your skills to lift a fabergé egg. But your idea.” He pauses while your back hits the bar counter. You didn't even realize he was trapping you until it was too late.

“Your idea sounds more fun.”

Placing your hands behind you, you hop up on the bar, legs splaying open, causing your skirt to bunch around your hips. The whole situation is messed up. You’re a prisoner of the FBI’s most wanted criminal. The same man who is kissing your neck, as his hands push your skirt up further to give him more room.

You dip your head trying to catch his lips. He ignores you, instead fingers ghosting over your underwear, making you choke on your breath. You rock your hips off the counter to assist in him removing the garment before he tosses it on the floor.

He moves slowly, his hand tracing lines in one of your inner thighs before skipping to the other ignoring where you want him the most. You shift, trying to get friction from anything to relieve the aching feeling between your legs.

“I thought art thieves were supposed to be patient. God knows you must have staked out my safe house for weeks,” he says, clearly amused that he has you in this position.

“Yeah, but I did-.” You’re cut off from saying more by his hand slowly drawing tight circles on your clit.

You press your forehead against his suit-clad shoulder to hide some of your moans. He places a chaste kiss on top of your head contrasting how his finger speeds up as he builds a steady rhythm.

“You were saying?” he asks.

“Mhh, yes patient. And, uh, skill of course…” You kept babbling, anything heist-related you could manage to think of in case he decides to stop. You’re so caught up in the feeling of his hands and trying to ramble that you gasp when his other hand teases over your pussy.

The gasp turns into a moan as you feel his two fingers enter slowly. You savour the stretch and the feeling of being full. All you can do is go slack jaw as you feel him slowly curl his fingers, prodding for what feels best.

You let out a sharp gasp, when he finds it, your hand grabbing Reddington’s wrist to keep him close.

“Apologies sweetheart, you were saying?”

Your train of thought is abandoned as you chase your high, hips grinding to build a steady rhythm. You know you’re not going to last long. The pleasure keeps building in your lower abdomen.

“Raymond, I…” you cut yourself off to pull your head off his shoulder. You make a move to kiss him, but it's sloppy, and your lips land off-center. Neither care, you can hardly focus on kissing him, just moaning into his mouth.

He can feel you tightening around his fingers and moves to nip at your jaw. The feeling of his teeth grazing under your jaw does it. You feel your orgasm build and crest over you, leaving pleasure in its wake. Your nails dig into his arm as you moan.

Reddington gives you a few moments for you to catch your breath before removing his hands from you, one palm moving to slowly rub your back as your breathing goes back to normal.

“Now my dear, are you ready to discuss the fabergé egg?” Reddington asks, his voice low in your ear. You feel your lips curve into a smile.

You grab his belt loops and pull him close.

“Hmm, not yet.”

#hauntedhoedown #haunted hoedown #raymond reddington fan fic #raymond reddington x you #raymond reddington x reader #raymond reddington smut #ooooof it is done!! Thank you to the organizers of this challenge I had so much fun writing this!!!!!!

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startrekfangirl2233-writes · 7 months

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Something Blue (I Want to Take a Chance on You)

Dance Like We're Making Love Chapter 4

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Reader

Description: You're not sure how you're going to respond to Bradley Bradshaw - not after the revelations he clued you in on. Your head and your heart are telling you two different things. You're not sure you can truly trust Bradley Bradshaw. Not with your heart, and certainly not with your soul. Can one dance at a wedding change your mind? Disclaimers: Female! Reader, Dancing, Sexual Themes, Kissing, UST, Phone Sex Warnings: This story does not start explicit but does get there. Minors do not interact. This story is 18+. Word Count: 4285 A/N: Here we go with Chapter 4! It's been a long journey to get here and I hope you all love it! We're nearly at the end of this story. There is only the epilogue left to go. Thanks, as always to @desert-fern for beta-reading this chapter! Love ya, Fernie! AO3: Cross Posted Here! Wattpad: Cross Posted Here! My Masterlist Previous Part | Series Masterlist | Next Part

You spend the 48 hours before the wedding with Sophie and the other bridesmaids. And while the time should be focused on Sophie and Greg and making sure your best friend doesn’t have cold feet, instead it feels like the spotlight is on you. Everybody seems to want to know what is going on between you and Bradley Bradshaw. And the truth is, you don’t know anymore than they do. There’s potential, of course there is, but more than that, it’s the questions you have about him.

Over the past couple of months you’ve learned so much about Bradley Bradshaw. You know about Goose and Carole Bradshaw and their love story, about how much a young Bradley had idolized his father. But as a counterpoint to everything you know about Bradley Bradshaw is everything you don’t - like about the people he considers his family now, his career, his likes, his dislikes. Honestly you don’t know a single thing except for his parent’s love story, his favorite breakfast and what he likes to do in bed. The whole Abby situation is the first time you’ve ever doubted the potential the two of you have. You knew nothing about her, or their relationship before Bradley told you the little he has. All you can tell is, you’re her complete opposite, in every way. You’re as down to earth as she is up in the clouds (literally) but that’s just the tip of the iceberg. You hope you’re better for him, just a little.

The fact of the matter is, you could fall in love with Bradley Bradshaw. He’s so easy to love. That’s the other thing. He so obviously believes he’s not worthy of being loved. You’re not sure how much of that is residual damage from Abby and how much of it is because of how young he was when his parents passed away. He’s got walls up almost every time you’re together except for when he’s cumming or has just come. And it’s not like you can get any answers from him then. You need a functional brain to do that, and that’s decidedly not an option when Bradley Bradshaw plays your body like the piano he’s fond of playing late into the night.

Your preoccupation is making you a terrible maid of honor, you know it, because a part of your brain is continuously pondering the Bradley Bradshaw situation in the background at all times. It’s making Sophie worry too, her brow furrowing whenever she looks at you. You manage to stave away the worry until the night before the wedding. The other bridesmaids are partying in the basement of Sophie’s parent’s colossal house and you’ve taken refuge from the pulsing music and constant shots of tequila pressed into your hands.

You’ve traded the shot glasses for a mug of tea, and in theory, the fragrant steam should be loosening the knot of tension in your mind which even the masseuse Sophie’s family had treated the bridal party to was unable to unravel. But it’s not. You’ve been staring at the mug for the better part of an hour when a pint of ice cream pushes the mug out of the way and a spoon is dangled in front of your eyes.

“Hey, cutie pie!” You start on the high island stool, nearly falling off. It’s Sophie who grabs hold of you, and helps you balance on the stool.

“What the hell was that, Soph?!” Your heart’s beating out of control in your chest and you feel rather like you’ve run a marathon.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” If those aren’t ominous words to hear from your best friend on the night before her wedding.

"What about?" You smile at her as she settles into the stool in front of you and cracks open the pint of Ben & Jerry's fudge brownie ice cream open.

She digs a colossal spoonful out and shoves it into her mouth. Her eyes roll back into her head in bliss and her moan is borderline indecent as she savors her spoonful in kitten licks.

"I haven't had ice cream in months, cutie pie. God it tastes better than sex." You have to laugh at her cheeky grin when she says that. "But that's not what I want to talk to you about."

All the levity drains out of her face and you're very nearly terrified to ask the question which pours out of your mouth. "Is everything okay with Greg? If you need to cancel the wedding let me know."

"NO!" Her squeal has you rocking back on your stool even as you grip the counter with white knuckles. "No, Greg and I are fine!"

You wait for her to continue, smiling at her childish glee as she stuffs another chunk of ice cream into her mouth.

"I wanted to ask how you are. You've been different this week." She takes a deep breath. "Is it the stress of planning the parties? I know I've put a lot of it on you, but with Greg being so busy at work and then that huge project coming my way, I didn't know what else to do!"

You stop her before she gets too far by grabbing the spoon and putting another spoonful of ice cream in her mouth. "No, Soph. It's not the parties. I had so much fun helping you plan them. It's something else."

You stare into your mug like you'll magically find the words in it. To her credit, your best friend practically since you've been in diapers lets you ruminate on your words, only pressing the pint into your hands when it's your turn to take a bite.

"I-" your voice cracks on the first word, and before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, "I was so happy, Soph."

"I hated Bradley when I first met him, you know? But the more time I spent with him, the more I liked him." You're embarrassed to find you're swiping at tears as you recount the story to Sophie. At first she seems genuinely thrilled, over the moon for you. But the further your story goes, from lurid love affair right into telenovela drama her voice goes all pensive.

“You love him.” Her words strike you out of the blue. You can’t be in love. Not with Bradley Bradshaw.

“How do I know that, Soph?” You can’t believe you’re asking the question, but well, while you’ve loved many things in your life, you’ve never once been in love.

“How do you feel when you’re with him?” At your confused look, she continues. “I mean, take Greg and I, for example. He drives me crazy, you know that. How many times have I called you because he pisses me off? But, he’s also the person I want to wake up with in the morning. The person I want to share all of the milestones of my life with. I can’t imagine my life without him, because he makes it so much richer just being there.”

Her words are exactly how you feel about Bradley. “Oh. Oh.” It feels like you’re in the middle of a stage with the spotlights shining down on you. You feel uncomfortably exposed, the truth smacking you straight in the face as your brain finally listens to what your heart has been saying all along. You’re in love. You’re in love. It’s a foreign feeling, something both weighty and light all at once. It feels like there are butterflies in your stomach and rocks weighing your chest. It's those dual feelings which have you explaining the rest to Sophie.

The minute you explained what happened with Abby you are wholly unsurprised to see the rage on Sophie’s face. “That bitch!” You can’t help your grin as she raves about the red head you’ve so recently become acquainted with.

“It’s alright, Sophie.” At her confusion, you explain what happened outside the club a couple of nights ago.

“That kiss!” There’s understanding in her voice now. “That kiss was you forgiving him. You do forgive him, don’t you?”

“I did.” You can see the question on the tip of her tongue before she even says it.

“So why aren’t you happy about it? About him?”

It's a valid question. You are happy, at least you think so. Even so, you’re still not sure if your heart can take another moment like the one which Abby put you through. Can you overcome this? Or are you doomed to spend the entirety of your relationship trying to measure yourself against the ghost of the woman that was Rooster Bradshaw’s? You conceivably know that the man himself will not say a thing. There’s just the little matter of your brain. You’ll constantly wonder if Abby was better - in bed, in the home, as a girlfriend, as a wife. You can see driving yourself crazy thinking like that.

At the same time, you can see yourself being so happy with Bradley. It’s a jumbled snarl of feelings which you practically vomit out onto the counter between you and Sophie. All your feelings don’t even account for the US Navy and deployments and all of the pain, sorrow and stress of those. Through it all, Sophie just continues to force ice cream on you until your stomach is full and your mind is mostly settled.

“I don’t know how you’re going to handle it, not at all. But I know you’ll find a way. That’s who you are. You’re the one person who I know who would drop what they’re doing to help me with anything I need, no matter what. You’re a fighter, cutie pie. A fixer. You’ll see the problems and not slap a bandaid on them. You’ll fix them, from the ground up. And any guy who can see that and wants you for all of that big beautiful mind and soul in addition to your banging body is the right guy for you.” You have to smile at the big breath Sophie takes mid-tirade. “Now I don’t know if Bradley Bradshaw is the right guy for you. But in all the decades we’ve known each other, I know I’ve never seen you act like this about a guy. NEVER! So for this alone, I suggest you try it. Start a relationship and see how happy you are. If he doesn’t toe the line or meet the mark, well you’re gorgeous and we’ll find another guy who will.”

You have to laugh at your best friend’s vehemence, but even so, her words resonate with you as you fall asleep that night after getting all of the others into bed. Sophie’s always managed to put things into perspective and ease your mind. You’re filled with hope, your dreams light and easy and filled with Bradley.

The morning of Greg and Sophie’s wedding is sunny and bright. You wish you could say the same about the other bridesmaids. But this is what they get for doing Tequila shots until the small hours of the morning. Sophie looks like she could conquer the world, and truly, you feel the same way. All of your worries, all of your pain seem to have dissipated into the fresh summer breeze. The breeze which kisses the flowers you’re holding in your hands, ruffling the hem of your pale blue bridesmaid’s dress and which tries to tease your hair free of the flower encrusted up-do the stylist has done it up in.

It feels like a magical day and you know Sophie is going to cry the minute she sees the aisle with its beautiful flowers and crisp white linens. You can't be happier for your best friend. After all she's gotten the wedding with her Prince Charming that she's been searching and dreaming about for her whole life.

Since this is Sophie's dream and you're her maid of honor it's your duty to take Sophie's final letter as Greg's fiancée to him. The envelope feels weighty in your hands, not because it's actually heavy, but because it has the weight of Sophie's heart in it. You're committed to depositing the letter right in Greg's hands and only into his hands. But you're not expecting Bradley Bradshaw to open the door, even though you should have.

His eyes seem to light up, going all molten and gooey when he sees you. If your heart had its way, you would give in to your suddenly weak knees and swoon at the pretty picture he paints. He's in blue, as ordered by the bride and the rich navy shade highlights the auburn in his hair and the broadness of his shoulders all at once. When he tugs the door open, you're surrounded in a cloud of his cologne. It smells like spice and musk and feels like a hug. It also makes you remember what it felt like to fall apart because of his hands and tongue and dick and that mustache, but well, you're a woman on a mission.

So you smile and hand him his sports coat before marching right into the Groom’s dressing room. The other groomsmen nearly squeal when you walk in. It's their fault for wandering around in their boxers forty-five minutes before a wedding ceremony after all. What did they think was going to happen? It was either going to be you walking in or the wedding planner.

Greg cries when he reads the letter. But what you're not expecting is his sincerest thanks. He thanks you for allowing him to love Sophie, even though you had misgivings about him at the start. By the time you walk out the door, you're a little sniffly yourself. You haven't spent much time with Greg one-on-one, rather choosing to observe his relationship with your best friend from afar. It's true. You hadn't liked Greg all too much in the beginning. But then you'd seen him with Sophie. How good he was to her. How he treated her. In short, he treated Sophie the way you've always wanted to be treated in a relationship. The way nobody has before Bradley Bradshaw.

It feels like time slips away from you because you're soon standing in front of Sophie, at the head of the procession of bridesmaids, ready to walk down the aisle. Sophie had elected to have the bridesmaids walk solo behind the little flower girl, her youngest cousin. It's a relief because at least you won't have to touch Bradley so soon after he left you reeling. But at the same time, it fills your stomach with butterflies. Because, it means you'll see him standing there at the end of the aisle.

What are you going to say to him? What can you say? Can you forgive him? Can you embark on a relationship with him knowing his propensity for keeping secrets? Before you can tie your brain into any more knots, the heavy wooden doors creak open. The opening notes of Canon in D Major resonate in the air, and like the Bridal party, tiny flower girl included had rehearsed, you glide down the aisle. Each measured step is in direct contrast to the staccato thud of your heart against your ribs and when you finally, finally lift your head from the determined smiling grin you'd affixed to the back of baby Willa's head, you're transfixed.

The entire church looks like a fairy-tale. You knew it would, and you'd seen it with your own two eyes. Greg looks excited and nervous all at the same time, standing there in his navy blue tux. But that's not what's blown you away so completely and utterly. It's the look on Bradley's face as he takes you in. Slack-jawed and disbelieving. His tongue, pink as it flicks out to lick his lips. Whiskeyed eyes dragging torturously slow up and down your frame, sending heat licking through you.

If you didn't know any better you'd have thought you were walking naked down the aisle. His gaze continues to sear through you even as you take your place on the other side of the aisle and the other bridesmaids follow you. You take Willa's small hand in your own, grinning fondly down at her as she smiles up at you and offers you one of her tiny white carnations. You tuck the bloom into her dark curls as the organist begins to play Felix Mendelssohn's Wedding March.

When Sophie walks through the double doors, the entire church falls silent. Her mom’s already patting tears away, and you’re too close to doing the same thing. She looks radiant, like an angel who has come down to earth. She’s smiling from ear to ear, and you hug her close, sniffling a little when she hands you her bouquet.

“I’m so happy for you, Soph.” Your voice is a soft whisper and nearly a sob as you hold your best friend close.

“I love you, cutie pie.” It doesn’t surprise you to see the tears swimming in her big eyes. “Promise me this isn’t the end of us?”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried, Soph. Now go marry your man!” She smiles wide and open before turning towards Greg again.

With the entire audience once again focused on Greg and Sophie, you carefully juggle the bouquets and grab a tissue just in case your tears finally spill over. But when you should be focused on Greg and Sophie and the minister as he officiates, instead there are eyes which you’re all too familiar with peering what feels like right into your soul. And his eyes make you think you could dream.

If you blink you could so easily see yourself in Greg and Sophie’s places, wearing a gorgeous dress facing someone who adores you. Someone who so clearly loves you the way Greg looks at Sophie. But the more you ponder that thought, the more you’re sure you want to be standing up there with one specific person. More specifically, with Bradley Bradshaw. You can picture it as clearly as if it is happening before your very eyes. The tears in his eyes as you walk down the aisle. The way he can’t keep his eyes off of you for even a second. The vows, vows which make a lump form in your throat and tears threaten to spill over your lash lines. And above all else, being able to kiss him, soft and sweet. The kind of kisses which show your heart and pour every bit of your feelings out.

The sudden applause from the wedding guests and the insistent tugging on your dress from Willa drags you out of your reverie. At that moment, all your fragile heart wants is to be in Bradley Bradshaw’s arms. But you have to hold yourself together. Having to hoist Willa up onto your hip and listen to her babble helps. So does having to smile and mingle with all of Sophie and Greg’s friends and family.

You manage to choke down half of your catered meal because sitting at your table with half of the bridesmaids and half of the groomsmen, you suddenly remember that you have to dance. In front of people, including your parents, that you’ve known your entire life for the most part. People who have seen you as a baby in diapers, in tiny frilly dresses playing dress up and princesses with Sophie, and with crooked teeth and glasses. People who know you and can and will judge you are going to see you dance, rather sexily at that, with a man that you barely know.

A man whose bed you leapt into feet first. A man who you kind of adore, and a man who you want to risk your whole life for. Even the fact that you’re doing this for Sophie doesn’t seem like a good enough reason. Not at all. Now more than ever you feel like your actions over the past months have been terribly rash and incredibly cheap. You feel like a tramp, and a slut. But for better or for worse, you have to stick to the schedule. It means you’ll miss Greg and Sophie’s first dance as a married couple. But you have a tight fitting tango dress to wriggle into and you need to touch up your hair and makeup. If you don't, the wedding planner will definitely have your head.

Your hands and feet barely cooperate with you, as you’re getting dressed. You fidget relentlessly in the makeup chair as the music ebbs and changes. The butterflies in your stomach feel like a swarm of feral bees, intent on stinging everything in sight. It’s almost too natural to force your uncooperative feet into moving you on beat and rhythm with Bradley. All of the groomsmen are still wearing their blue tuxedos. But all of the bridesmaids are in tango dresses. The wedding party looks like a flock of brightly colored parrots taking flight.

As the final tunes of the song Maria and Rodrigo selected for the bride and groom’s parties to dance to melts into the tones of your song, through the twin lines of dancers, you see Bradley waiting for you on the other side. He’s taken his jacket off and is just wearing his tailored trousers and his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. It feels like destiny, because the minute you hear the song and feel the bass shudder up your body via the soles of your feet, all your nerves, all your fears melt away. And you just move. Each footstep feels measured and sure. With the sultry look searing into you that Bradley sends your way, you feel powerful. But more than that, you feel like you can do this.

When your palm meets his and his hand curls around your waist, you can’t help the smile which curls your mouth at his whispered greeting. Nor can you resist the near giggle which bubbles out of you as he dips and turns and twirls you perfectly on beat. If Maria and Rodrigo could see you now, you’re sure they’d be smiling and applauding. You feel rather like doing so yourself when the song finally peters away and Bradley dips you so far that you can feel your hair touch the ground. Your chest is heaving and you can feel heat suffusing your cheeks as the big ballroom fills with cheers. This is it. Your final gift for your best friend for her wedding and your final chance to tell the man you’re starting to find special what he means to you.

But before you can grab Bradley by the sleeve and pull him into a dark corner to talk, actually, really talk, you’re mobbed by Sophie and your family and friends. Your best friend is nearly crying as she thanks you over and over again for your gift. What can you say except it was your pleasure? It’s late by the time you finally stagger out into the fresh night air, looking for Bradley. All you want is to talk to Bradley again. To apologize, to tell him the truth. But all you see is the valet at the stand looking at you like he’s waiting for you to ask him to retrieve a car. So you skirt around the building. Back when Sophie had toured this place, you remember her mentioning a gazebo and a lake out on the grounds.

You let your feet lead you on a meandering path, enjoying the light breeze playing with your hair. This whole place is really out of a fairy tale. The gazebo is all white marble, shining softly in the moonlight. The same moon reflects off the still waters of the small lake. The gazebo is bigger than it seems, and unexpectedly, you find the one person you’ve been looking for under its domed roof.

“Roo?” Your voice is soft, breaking the pregnant silence.

“Hi, Tiny.” He’s got his arms braced against the railing, the muscles tight and corded in the half light. “You looked beautiful today.”

“I felt beautiful today.” You’re not sure where that honest, nearly too honest confession came from.

His hum is gentle, tired and sad all at once. That’s when all of the words you’ve been using to draft your apology since earlier that afternoon all seem to disappear from your head.

“I need to talk to you.”

“I think we need to talk, sweetheart.” It doesn’t surprise you at all to hear that you have the same idea as Bradley Bradshaw yet again.

“Yeah.” You motion for him to continue, waiting with your heart in your throat to see if you truly are on the same page as he is.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should’ve told you what happened between Abby and I. I should never have kept her a secret from you.” His eyes are soft and sad as he looks at you. “I never cheated on her. You’re not a cheap slut or any of the things that you think about yourself. You’re my Tiny Dancer. My beautiful girl. The only one I think I want to wake up to for the rest of my life.”

His chest heaves as he gazes beseechingly at you. “So what do you say?”

“I say,” you’re whispering as you step as close to him as you’re able. “Bring it on, Bradshaw. I’m more than a little bit in love with you. Can you forgive me for thinking so badly of you when I should’ve known better?”

You don’t get a verbal response. Instead you get kissed like you’re the most precious thing in Bradley Bradshaw’s life. And somehow, you just know that you are.

Taglist:

@dingochef @mak-32 @atarmychick007 @chaoticassidy @kmc1989 @shanimallina87 @dakotakazansky @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @sarahsmi13s @roosterforme @thedroneranger @cherrycola27 @beyondthesefourwalls @mamachasesmayhem @hangmansgbaby

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE, ON WATTPAD, OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

#star writes #top gun fanfic #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #dance like we're making love #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader

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roboticnebula · 7 months

Note

Trick or treat!

You get a… trick?

This is a snippet from a fic concept I’m exploring but still hesitant to actually write! It started out as a silly ‘Barry and Jay are in a passive-aggressive argument and Alan and Hal do not understand how is it the speedsters are fighting instead of them’. And then it got... sad.

Background AlanJay and Halbarry.

Jay is aware he and Barry are arguing over two barely distinguishable shades of beige paint for the guest room, but their fight isn’t really about the paint color anyways. Alan and Hal made themselves scarce a few hours ago, the moment Jay commented he didn’t want his guest room to be the same shade as Barry’s sweater vests, and Barry immediately retorted it was a good thing Jay wouldn’t actually be the one sleeping in the room then.

This was after a long debate over paint swatches, where both Alan and Hal’s inputs that the room should have a nice non-beige color, had gone entirely unheard. The lanterns had realized they were standing in the blast zone and been unwilling to risk becoming collateral damage. Jay is glad to see that after all these long years with them, the GLs are finally starting to be smart about the whole fearless thing.

It’s a good thing they left when they did too, because paint started flying quickly after. The walls of the guest room are absolutely atrocious right now, randomly sploshed with paint and primer, a whole gallon wasted and spilled all over the floor, but Barry and Jay have retreated to the kitchen to wash up and calm down. Jay is leaning against the counter, waiting for the water to boil for his tea. He’s got paint in his hair, but hasn’t bothered to try and get it off, only rolled up his sleeves and washed his hands. Barry is very quiet as he scrubs his arms and forehead free of the paint, his annoyance is palpable in the air, and Jay doesn’t know why he’s so irritated when he insisted on helping out with repainting the room.

Barry won’t leave him alone these days, it’s annoying.

“Did you go get that extra gallon from the garage, yet?” Jay asks him, gruffly.

Something flashes in Barry’s eyes: sad, scared, quickly buried, and Jay realises it’s not the first time he’s asked.

“Yes,” says Barry.

For the first time all day, his tone is light and neutral, instead of passive aggressive, and the patience behind it annoys Jay even more, a flush of rage crawling up his throat. The phone is deadly quiet on the countertop between them, and Jay vacillates between grateful and irritated that Barry is handling him with kid gloves.

They both know what diagnostic is coming: it’s why Jay hasn’t actually kicked Barry out of his house yet, even if he’s still mad at him for confronting him about this and convincing him to go get tested. Jay didn’t want to be alone when he got the call. Jay didn’t want to get the call at all, doesn’t want to have to break the news to Alan and have Barry, Wally, Bart and the others worry. He wants to stay in denial, wants more time. At 90, Jay hasn’t been bitter about slowing down until this very moment: when it gives his own damned mind the chance to fall apart at the seams.

Barry is saying something about the quality of the wall primer when he’s interrupted by the shrill ringtone of the phone. They both fall quiet and stare at it, their fight entirely forgotten. Barry practically falls in the seat in front of Jay, but doesn’t press: they’re both stretching the seconds of this moment, remain on the cusp of change before it becomes irreversible.

Jay’s first instinct is to run the phone to the Atlantic Ocean and chuck it, but he focuses on Barry and catches his own reflection in the oven door behind him. They both look ridiculous, the first two Flashes, covered in paint, and childishly arguing. He laughs, slightly hysterical, but also absolutely delighted. He looks at Barry and thinks: this man is my legacy, I would not choose any other and it gives him the courage he needs. He stays standing up, picks up the phone and places it down on speaker between them.

“Mr. Garrick, this is Dr. Brady. I have your test results in front of me and I’m sorry but I have some bad news.”

---

The idea would be to explore speedster physiology as they age/effects of the speed force long term/what that healing factor can handle, but also how chosen family can rally around you when you’re dealing with something like Alzheimer.

Apart from some stray notes and drafts, this snippet is all I have to show for it for now.

Thank you for the ask, I hope you enjoyed! Happy Halloween!

#the flash #barry allen #jay garrick #halbarry #alanjay #trick or treat ask #my writing #my fics #flash greenade #alzheimers tw

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momotonescreaming · 1 year

Text

More Clarkson. What was supposed to be just a short thing, quickly spiralled out of control. Wayne gets asked if he wants to stay the night. (6k)

It had been storming a lot in Hawkins lately. That heavy, pounding rain that came down in torrents and threatened to flood the streets only to fade away into a light drizzle and then back to a torrent again.

Wayne was used to getting all hands on deck when it happened — him and Eddie getting out the buckets and bowls to catch the leaks that dripped through the trailer ceiling when the rain got heavy enough, Eddie trying and failing to clean the big water damage stain on the wall of the bedroom, Wayne driving slower on his way to work because it was always dark and he couldn’t afford to fix his truck should he hit anything.

But here, in the comfort of Scott’s house, he didn’t have to worry about any of that. He could listen to the rain on the roof and take comfort in the fact that the water was definitely going to stay on the outside of the house. Wayne let himself sink into the plush couch and listen to the patter on the roof, taking comfort in the soothing repetitive sound.

“It’s coming down hard,” Scott mused, voice barely audible over the sound of the pounding rain and the Creedence Clearwater Revival record playing softly in the background.

The evening had winded down slowly, with their dinner eaten and the dishes washed. Wayne had made them both a cup of tea while Scott picked a record. He was starting to learn where everything in Scott’s kitchen was now. It was the sort of domesticity that Wayne didn’t know he wanted until he had it. Him and Scott, listening to the rain, feeling the warmth of the cups seeping into their hands, curled up on the couch together. They were in their own little bubble where everything felt soft and slow, sleepy and relaxed.

Wayne hummed, running his fingers along the soft wool of Scott’s sweater absent mindedly.

“You sure you’ll be alright out there?” Scott continued, twisting in Wayne’s arms to look over at the other man. His brows furrowed, a worried purse to his lips. It was winding down to the time when Wayne would kiss him goodbye, and make the drive back to Forest Hills.

Wayne gently pressed his lips to Scott’s temple. “I always am.”

“You could—“ Scott starts, before he stops himself. Wayne watches as he takes a breath, almost steeling himself before continuing. “You could stay the night?”

Wayne feels himself freeze, muscles tensing. It was like he was a kid again, being told off for fidgeting in the church pews. All too aware of what his body was doing. Every breath, every move and tensing of his muscles.

He knows Scott can tell, feel it from where their bodies are pressed together and Wayne wishes that he didn’t have such a knee jerk reaction. Wishes it was something that he could hide, hold back until he could wrap his mind around the words. Take in the meaning and feel out an answer.

But he he did. He froze, and now he’s all to aware of Scott pressed into his side — his once still fingers now fidgeting with the cup in his hands. Scott was so good at waiting while Wayne took his time with speaking, not letting the silence feel oppressive and instead sitting in it comfortably.

Now the air felt thick, and the rain heavier as it pounded on the roof.

It was just so sudden.

“I’m sorry - I should have — “ Scott starts, gesturing with his cup as he backtracks, words tripping and stumbling over his tongue. “With the rain I — forget I said anything.”

The bubble has definitely burst now, their once calm moment now run through with nerves.

With the offer out in the open, Wayne feels rather exposed. Like his skin got rubbed raw, red and fragile.

Wayne listens to the rain, and takes a breath. It’s not like he hasn’t thought about it before — what it would be like to fall asleep with Scott in his arms, or with Scott’s arms wrapped around him. Even just laying together in the same bed, feeling the warmth of Scott’s body next to his. A daydream he was content to let lie in the comfort of his mind.

But now the offer was real and Wayne wasn’t quite sure how to react with the prospect that a daydream could become his reality. He could open the door in the hall that he never opened, he could see what sheets Scott used and what side of the bed he slept on. Learn all those little details that you only ever learned by living with a person.

“You have no reason to be sorry,” Wayne says, voice thankfully steady as it breaks through the quiet. He can feel the tenseness of his muscles, his breath stuck in the back of his throat. Scott turns to look at him, eyes wide and nervous. He taps his nails against his cup, a repetitive tink noise. “One day, I’d like that.”

He feels, rather than sees, Scott inhale sharply. The tapping of his nails stop.

“Not today, but someday.” Wayne continues, feeling his own heart clench in his chest as he speaks. He’s never been one to lay it all out like that, and he’s glad the rain muffles the sound. Makes it seem less scary than if he had to voice this all in a quiet room. The words don’t cut into the quiet, but settle into the white noise comfortably. “I’d need to talk to Eddie first.”

“Of course,” Scott replies, nervousness melting out of him. Tension leaving his shoulders as it did Wayne’s, heartbeat settling into a more steady rhythm. His gaze softens, as it often did when Wayne talked about Eddie — about his boy. Eyes shining and his lips curled up into a small smile. They both knew how much his nephew meant to him. “I understand.”

“He doesn’t say he does — not in so many words — but the boy worries.” He says, thinking about the notes left on the counter, the messages on the answering machine, the phone calls. The pair making each other more aware of the other’s movements, and after spring break, Wayne doesn’t blame the boy. It’s nice, to know where the other is, and that they’re safe.

“No rush to give me an answer,” Scott says, putting his cup down on the coffee table — making sure to use one of the coasters he has laid out — and holds his hand out tentatively towards Wayne. Fingers twitching, slowly inching towards the other man. Wayne doesn’t move, and lets it happen. “But the offer’s there.”

Scott lays a hand on Wayne’s side, fingers slowly rubbing at the soft fabric of his flannel shirt. He takes a slow, steady breath as he feels the warmth of his palm, the gentle weight, the brushing of his fingertips.

“Thank you,” Wayne almost whispers, vulnerability cracking through, and Scott leans up to kiss him.

—

The wind blows a chill through the trailer park, nipping at Wayne’s bare skin, and he debates going inside to grab his jacket. Something to fight off the chill. Instead he brings the cigarette up to his lips, and takes a slow drag. He watches the light flare, feels the burn and relief of the smoke entering his lungs.

Wayne blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, watching as it curls up into the sky. It’s grey and miserable, with the wind picking up — but at least it isn’t raining.

With the small break in the weather, Wayne finds himself sitting outside the trailer on their porch couch, slowly smoking. It’s nice having this small moment all to himself — even if the wind is cold and there’s a loose spring starting to dig into his side. He shifts, and hears Eddie rattling around in the kitchen through the walls.

Wayne lets himself think. Dangerous that, given that every time he has a spare moment he finds his mind drifting towards thoughts of Scott. Of his offer. He’s been careful not to say anything, let anything slip in the days its been since Scott asked. It feels like a big step, if he said yes. And Wayne wasn’t sure if he was ready for it. He wanted it so badly and dreaded it terribly at the same time.

He takes another drag of his cigarette, savouring the burn and letting it pull him away from his thoughts. A gust of wind blows the smoke away, and Wayne shivers.

“I hope you’re in the mood for boxed mac ‘n’ cheese because that’s what I’m making,” Eddie shouts as he bursts out the front door, letting it slam open behind him. He hangs off of the door frame, his hair hanging across his face.

“Your culinary genius continues to astound me,” Wayne deadpans, looking over at Eddie hanging off the doorway. The worn fabric of his shirt rustles in the wind, an old stretched out thing that was black when they bought it, but is now a soft faded grey.

Brows furrowed, Eddie looks over at Wayne, quickly flicking his eyes back into the trailer and then back out at Wayne again. Lips pursed, Eddie jumps off the stairs by the front door, landing on the damp grass in his socks. Before he can blink, Eddie climbs onto the porch where Wayne sits, the boy all limbs and awkward movement.

“You couldn’t’ve used the door?” Wayne says, gesturing to the door behind them with his lit cigarette. Eddie smiles boyishly and merely shrugs.

“This was more fun,” Eddie replies, sitting down on the couch next to his Uncle and sinking into the cushion with a soft oof. Digging through the pockets of his jeans, Wayne watches as he procures a dirty penny, holding it out between them. Eddie tilts his head. “Penny for your thoughts.”

Wayne huffs out a laugh, more an exhale of air than anything else.

“What!” Eddie exclaims, laughing. “You’ve got your thinking face on.”

Taking the coin, Wayne shakes his head and holds the pack of cigarettes out to Eddie. The boy takes it, shakes out a cigarette before tossing the pack on the side table and swapping it for Wayne’s lighter.

He lights it — after the lighter takes a few tries to work — and the smoke slowly starts to curl away into the wind. They take a drag, the pair almost in perfect sync.

Wayne took the penny — he has to say something now. He’ll never hear the end of it from Eddie if he doesn’t. His boy will throw himself down on the couch, arm over his eyes, and he’ll whine about the betrayal, and how Wayne is robbing him blind. Normally, he doesn’t mind it. It’s loud and dramatic, and it’s very Eddie.

But he’s too caught up in his own mind to ‘properly appreciate’ it (Eddie’s words). So he sits and takes another drag of his cigarette. It’s late, but not dark. They’re both quiet as the cold air blows around them.

He takes a deep breath, feeling the cold air and the cigarette smoke burn his lungs, and speaks so low only Eddie can hear him. “Last week, when I had dinner with Scott — he invited me to stay the night.”

It feels dangerous, saying those words outside where anyone could hear them. Without the safety of the trailer walls surrounding them. The walls are thin, and barely muffle sound, but they’re there and they make it all feel a bit safer. In the trailer it’s a secret, whispered. Outside on the porch it’s a quietly spoken truth. One step closer to reality.

He ignores the way his heart clenches in his chest.

“Did you?” Eddie asks, his cigarette burning between his fingers. “Say yes.”

“I said I’d talk to you.” Wayne replies simply.

If things were different, he can hear the jokes Eddie would make, clear as anything in his head. How Wayne doesn’t need his permission to have sex, how he doesn’t need to phone a friend every time he goes to fuck. He can hear the indignant scoff he would make as he shoves Eddie away. It ain’t like that. Make a comment how he doesn’t know how Steve puts up with it all.

But things weren’t different. Spring break happened, and they both came out changed. Eddie more so. And now they both knew that Eddie felt safer when he knew when Wayne was leaving, and when he was coming back.

Wayne worked nights sure, but this would be different. Staying the night away at Scott’s on a night when he would normally be home. Break the pattern, disrupt their rhythm. He wouldn’t be there if Eddie needed him.

“Thanks.” Eddie says quietly, fidgeting with his hands. Eddie takes a long drag of his cigarette just for something to do. Something to distract himself. It sits in his lungs, and he lets himself really feel it before letting it out in a long exhale. The wind picks up, whisking the smoke away. He fidgets again, anxiously squirming in his seat. “Maybe just let me know beforehand?”

“I can do that.” Wayne replies with a slight nod of his head, sure as anything. If his boy needs comfort, he’ll give it to him. “I’ll even call you in the morning.”

The emotions melt away and Eddie nudges Wayne, digging his elbow into his side. “So… staying the night huh?”

Wayne swats at Eddie’s arm, determinedly looking forward as Eddie collapses into giggles beside him.

—

The phone cord would stretch to the couch if he tried hard enough, Wayne knew. He’d watch Eddie determinedly pull the phone all the way over, cord fully extended, so he could talk to Steve and lay down at the same time. Eddie would end up half hanging off the couch, pulled between the wall by the kitchen and the couch, and yet still insisting it was comfortable.

It was more reasonable to sit at the kitchen table while on the phone, which is where Wayne found himself. Perched on one of their mismatched chairs, phone pressed to his ear as he absent mindedly flicked through the paper and picked at a sandwich.

“I just don’t understand why they think they can get away with it,” Scott says, voice tinny through the cheap phone speaker. There’s a rustling of paper on his end. “They all submitted the exact same paper, in the exact same class, for the exact same teacher to grade.”

Wayne hummed that he was listening, smiling to himself. Eddie wasn’t home — over at Steve’s place for a movie night, due back around 9am — and so he was free to smile as much as he wanted without the threat of his nephew there to tease him. Make a joke how just because he was dating a middle school teacher, it doesn’t mean he has to giggle like a school girl.

But Eddie wasn’t home, and Wayne was content to listen to Scott’s rant through the phone. It was a new thing; them carving out chunks of time in the hours when they were both awake, not at work, and free to talk. The pair would talk on the phone for an hour or two, after Scott got home from school and before Wayne was due to start his night shift at the plant.

He’d eat something and flick through the sports pages, making notes of upcoming games to talk to Steve about; while Scott marked tests and graded essays. They’d talk about their days, how they were. Easy and comfortable conversation. It was nice.

“It’s science class!” Scott exclaims, and Wayne can almost picture the way he’d throw his hands up in the air. “We don’t even have that many essays!”

He chuckles, low and deep, as he hears Scott take a deep breath on the other side of the phone, it crackles down the line.

“I’m sorry,” Scott says, voice low. Another rustle of paper. “Here I am just ranting at you. You don’t need to hear that.”

“Hey,” he says, hoping to interrupt his train of thought. Wayne wishes they were in the same room so he could gently rest a hand on his shoulder, or his thigh. Something comforting. He’s always sounded far too gruff over the phone. “It’s what I’m here for. If anyone deserves to moan about work for a bit — it’s you, putting up with all those middle schoolers.”

“Thanks,” Scott laughs, weaker, a little quieter this time. “You’ll have to repay the favour then. Next time the day shift messes it all up for you at work.”

“You’ll be the first person I call,” Wayne responds, hoping some of the fondness he feels leaks through the phone. That Scott can understand it. What he does to him, even from so far away. Makes him softer, happier. That Wayne is content to listen to him complain about middle schoolers plagiarising their essays if it eased his burden - even just a little.

What they had together made him ache in such a way that Wayne had never really felt before.

It was everything and it was never enough. He had a man who he cared about, and who cared about him. Who was happy to stay on the phone ranting about work or sometimes not saying anything at all, as long as they could hear the other at the other end of the phone, breathing down the line. They could kiss, and they could hold each other, and Wayne could let himself dream about it knowing Scott was dreaming of the exact same things.

He longed for more but that longing terrified him.

Wayne couldn’t stay in this limbo forever. Scott had been brave, and had asked him to stay the night. One step further into their relationship. It was perhaps time Wayne was brave back.

Clearing his throat, Wayne starts to speak and hates that he can hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Do you remember what you asked of me, last time I visited?”

“I do.” Scott says, soft and steady, words carefully chosen. Wayne wishes he could see him. His reaction. This was such much harder over the phone than he thought it would be, where he can’t see Scott’s face — but he doesn’t know if he’d be able to do this face to face. If he’d be able to pluck out his vulnerabilities and lay them bare before the other man, watching and waiting. He’s afraid of what he might see on Scott’s face.

Wayne finds himself looking for any hint of hurt, of anger, of any sign that Scott’s displeased with him. He doesn’t want to find it, and the logical part of his brain says he won’t find it — but he finds himself looking anyway, almost subconsciously. Any hitch in Scott’s breath, any variation in tone.

“I talked to Eddie,” he finally says. His breath hitches his his throat. Why does this scare him so much?

Scott hums in acknowledgement, a gentle warming noise. He doesn’t say anything else, not wanting to pry Wayne for an answer he doesn’t want to give. The sound of paper rustling has stilled, and it’s more noticeable now, with both men sitting silence as Wayne gathered his thoughts. It was nice, having someone who understood that Wayne liked to take his time with his thoughts, his words. Running them over in his mind until he was sure he had the answer with the words in the correct order. Now, he appreciated it more than ever.

This was important. He was taking a big step.

“I’d like to stay, if I’m still welcome.” Wayne says, voice low and soft, vulnerable but hopefully clear enough that his words won’t get lost down the phone line. Blurred with static and poor connection.

“Of course you are,” Scott replies, words tumbling out of his mouth as if he can’t say it fast enough. He can feel how earnest Scott is, hear it covering his words like honey. It’s a balm on Wayne’s nerve wracked soul. There’s a moment of silence, before Scott speaks again. “What did Eddie say?”

“He’s fine with it,” he says, hoping that simple statement eases some of Scott’s worries in return. Wayne knows the man worries, just like he knows he can’t ever imagine a world where Eddie isn’t fine with it. “He just wants to know beforehand.”

“We can do that.” Scott says simply. Wayne’s told him a little of Eddie’s worries; his need to know where the people he cares about are, and when they’ll be back. There’s a copy of Steve’s work schedule by the phone, right next to Wayne’s. Scott understands, he’d never give Wayne grief for looking out for his boy.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. Wayne feels the tension leave his shoulders, his muscles loosening as his body relaxes. The churning in his gut uncoils itself and the longing loosens its vice grip hold on his heart.

“So no spontaneous sleepovers then?” Scott jokes, letting the residual tension break under his words. “It’s all the rage at school right now.”

“Afraid not,” Wayne jokes back, letting himself smile. “You’ll have to miss out on that particular middle school experience.”

“Drat,” Scott exclaims. Wayne can hear him click his fingers through the phone, can picture him clearly, making one of those aw shucks motions. He laughs.

—

“Is this what it was like sending me off for the first day of school every year?” Eddie jokes, before shovelling a handful of pretzels into his mouth. He’s sat cross-legged in the middle of the couch, bag of pretzels resting in between his legs.

Wayne looks up from his duffel bag just in time to see Eddie drop crumbs all over his sweatpants — the forest green ones that have HAWKINS HIGH SWIM TEAM up one leg, and HARRINGTON up the other. An old pair Steve left at the trailer that Eddie never returned. They’re slightly too big for him, and Wayne can see Eddie has double knotted the drawstring to make sure they stay up.

“No, there’s less complaining.” Wayne deadpans, folding up a pair of sleep pants and putting them in his duffel bag — currently resting on his armchair in front of him.

“Rude!” Eddie exclaims through a mouth full of pretzels. “Lies and slander! I’ve never complained about anything, ever, in my life.”

Wayne snorts. “So if I said we’re having salad for dinner tomorrow I wouldn’t hear a word from you?”

Eddie screws up his face and Wayne chuckles to himself. Getting his nephew to eat his veggies when he first started living with him was about as fun and easy as taking a feral cat to the vet.

He finishes pushing everything down in his bag and zips it up. Looking up, Wayne can see that Eddie’s face has morphed from played up disgust and humour to something more real. Unsure and unsteady. The pretzel packet crinkles and rustles under Eddie’s fidgeting hands. He bites his lip.

“You done packing?” Eddie asks, biting his lip, anxiously making the chapped skin worse. He quickly notices himself doing it, and stops. Shoves more pretzels into his mouth, ignoring the crumbs that fall onto his pants and wedge themselves into the couch cushions.

“That I am,” he replies. Wayne doesn’t move to pick his duffel bag up — an old army green thing, slightly on the smaller side, but still fit for purpose — and lets it lie on the armchair where they both can see it. It seems to take up more space than it actually does.

Eddie visibly swallows, and takes a deep breath. Putting the half eaten bag of pretzels off to the side, he stands up and moves towards Wayne.

Wayne doesn’t say anything, knowing that underneath all that bluster and dramatics, sometimes Eddie needs to take his time with his words just like Wayne. Not often, and never out in public. When it’s just the two of them, or when he’s with someone important. Someone he can be vulnerable around. Like Steve.

His fingers are twitching, constantly moving — the motions somehow more noticeable without all his rings on. And in one swift motion Eddie throws himself at Wayne and wraps his arms around him in a hug.

Wayne responds in kind, hugging Eddie back, his arms tight around his boy. He worries he’s holding him maybe too tight, but Eddie merely squeezes Wayne back, almost burying his head in Wayne’s neck. He inhales — they both smell of cigarette smoke and dollar store cologne.

Eddie doesn’t move, makes no indication of doing so soon, so Wayne starts gently rubbing his hands up and down Eddie’s back. Running over the bumps in his spine, smoothing out the fabric of his T-shirt.

“I got you, boy,” Wayne mumbles, voice grumbly and low in his chest. Eddie shudders out a breath.

A moment passes, and Eddie loosens his hold, slowly pulling out of Wayne’s arms. He carefully doesn’t say anything how Eddie is still gripping the fabric of Wayne’s flannel.

“You call if you need anything, boy.” Wayne says, voice soft and still low, gesturing to the phone on the wall in the kitchen. They keep a list of important numbers on an old piece of scrap paper there. The police station and Hawking Memorial Hospital at the top. The school, the plant, The Hideout. Jeff, Gareth, and Frank’s houses. Some of his friends from the plant.

And then right at the bottom, clearly written, was the numbers for Steve Harrington and Scott Clarke. “I mean it. If you need me, I’ll come home — no questions asked.”

“Thanks Pops,” Eddie mumbles in reply, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and shuffling his feet on the threadbare carpet. His voice gets quieter. “Could you call in the morning?”

“Of course,” Wayne replies, gently placing a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. He smiles, a sly joking thing, before continuing. “You sure you’ll be up that early? It’s rare to see you up before noon.”

“Shut up,” Eddie laughs, pushing at Wayne’s shoulder. “I’ll get Steve to wake me up.”

He lets his boy laugh, taking some of the nerves out of his system, and Wayne looks over at the clock. Eddie spots the moment, following it with his eyes.

“Time to go?” Eddie asks quietly. It reminds Wayne of when he first came to stay — scrappy and scrawny and very quiet. Shrinking into himself. It breaks his heart, just a little.

Wayne nods, he doesn’t want to be late. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

—

Dinner passes without much fanfare in the end, despite the residual worry sitting low in Wayne’s gut. They comfortably fall into the routine they’ve settled in — Scott picking a new recipe from his book, or returning to an old one Wayne likes, and Wayne happily following along. Cutting what ever vegetables need cutting, stirring the pot, putting something in the oven. He’s no longer just a guest, sat on the stool at the counter and watching Scott cook in a flurry.

Occasionally Wayne will stop by the supermarket on the way there, buy a bottle of wine or something easy for desert. He thought about it this time, but every little glance at his duffel sitting on the passenger seat made his chest tighten. So Wayne took a breath, adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, and kept driving.

And now he was here in Scott’s kitchen, cheeks flushed and belly full, slowly drying dishes with a now damp towel. Another part of the routine that they fell into easily. Wayne with the dish towel, slowly learning where all of the dishes went in the cupboards, and Scott up to his elbows in sudsy water.

It’s domestic. Homey. The two of them working around the kitchen in almost perfect sync. Scott handing him a clean plate without looking, knowing Wayne is there to take it off his hands. Wayne rolling Scott’s sleeves up when they start to slip down for him, so he doesn’t have to worry about getting them wet with his still soapy hands. Knowing when to move around each other to open a cupboard, grab something off the counter. Anticipating where the other was going and adjusting to make it easier for them.

What would it be like, Wayne wonders, if they got this every day. Would Wayne take his turn in the kitchen, cooking something simple and easy — making sure to put some aside in a container for Scott to take to work to have for lunch? Would Scott swing by Melvalds on the way home, grabbing toothpaste or cigarettes or shampoo, because he noticed Wayne was running out before he did?

Would they spend their free time together on the couch, Scott planning lessons while Wayne watched the football, explaining the rules to Scott as the game went on? Would they share clothing, Scott borrowing one of his flannels to wear on the weekend while Wayne borrows one of Scott’s looser sweaters when the temperature drops?

He let his attention drift back to the dishes — to where Wayne had found himself drying them absent-mindedly, stacking them in a pile on the counter next to him. Looking up, Wayne found Scott looking back. The corners of his eyes crinkle, shining as he smiles at Wayne.

He’s still wearing his button up he wore to school, sleeves rolled up to his elbows with the top buttons undone, neck bared. His hands are covered in soap suds, and his cheeks are flushed as he locks eyes with Wayne. Ignoring the fluttering in his chest, Wayne give in to his impulses and kisses Scott on the cheek, feeling the scratch of stubble underneath his lips.

They don’t say anything. They don’t need to. Scott kisses him back — on the lips this time — the pair leaning over the sudsy water. The dishes get cleaned, dried, and put away; the men working quietly, save for the splash of the water.

Scott drains the sink and dries his hands on a clean towel, looking softly over at Wayne. He can see the clock behind him, ticking quickly down to the time when Wayne would normally leave. He’s all too aware of his duffel bag on the arm chair by the TV.

“Want to watch a movie?” Scott asks, hanging up the towel and then looking back at Wayne, eyes shifting nervously. “We’ve got time. Unless you need to call Eddie?”

He feels his heart swell at Scott’s words, at his concern for Eddie. It meant a lot that Scott knew how important his boy was to him, that Wayne would always be looking out for him.

“Tomorrow morning,” Wayne replies with a gentle nod of his head. “But he has your number if he needs anything.”

“You know where the phone is if anything changes,” Scott replies, walking out of the kitchen, pass the dining room, and into the main living room. His eyes are on Wayne, making sure he follows. Wayne lets himself be led. “So. Movie?”

“I’d like that,” Wayne says, and watches Scott beam. He shows him to his collection of tapes, tells him he’s welcome to pick any he likes, and starts setting up the TV while Wayne chooses.

Predictably, there are a lot of Sci-Fi movies. A few he recognises from one’s Eddie’s bought home, or talked Wayne’s ear off about. The Thing, Alien, Star Wars, Blade Runner. None of them quite catch Wayne’s eye, they don’t feel like they’d fit the mood with his staying the night hovering over them like a fog. There are a few that are more Wayne’s speed. A singular western, a slice of life flick. A selection of oldies that Wayne remembers saving up to go see in theatres.

He pulls one of the oldies off the shelf — it feels like a safe option. Scott smiles at him. “Good choice.”

Scott pops the case open, puts the tape in the player — already re-winded back to the start — as Wayne settles into the couch. It’s just as plush and comfortable as always, adorned with the same crocheted blanket draped across the back.

Once the tape is in and playing, Scott sits next to him on the couch, smiling at him as he knocks their knees together. They’re sitting too close to be considered just friends, but aren’t as entangled as Eddie and Steve usually are when he spots them on the trailer’s lumpy couch. He can feel Scott’s body warmth next to his, and Wayne lets himself focus on that, drawing him back into the comfortable softness that permeates these moments with Scott.

The movie passes also without much fanfare. Scott will occasionally tell him a fact he knows about the making of the movie — about a camera technique or how they made a scene work the way it did. Wayne listens intently, as he always does when Scott gives him these facts. Gifts them to him. He doesn’t have much to say in kind, but he admits he always liked one of the male leads — just so he can see the smile on Scott’s face.

They sink into the moment, and the rain starts up. A slow patter at first, and then more intense, water pounding on the roof. Lit only by a nearby lamp and the TV screen, listening to the calming sound of rain on the roof, Wayne lets himself enjoy it. Lets himself admit that he’s happy here with Scott.

He drapes an arm across the back of the couch. He doesn’t say anything, merely lets it be the invitation it could be. Head turning ever so slightly, Scott follows the movement, and takes a breath. Subtly, ever so slightly, Scott shifts closer to Wayne. His muscles relax, the music in the movie swells, and Wayne watches as he sinks into it — into his side. Neither of them say anything, but they catch each other looking out of the corner of their eyes, and smile.

They watch the rest of the movie like that, bodies pressed together, heads tilted towards the other, almost sharing the same air.

The credits roll, the music stops, and the tape clicks off.

Neither men move, breathing together, listening to the patter of rain. Scott slowly draws himself out of Wayne’s hold, turning towards the other man. He misses his warmth already, can feel it pulling at his gut, tugging at his heart. They lock eyes, and it’s like time stops, everything halted in its place, nothing moving. With dinner eaten, the dishes washed, their movie watched, there was only one thing left.

Wayne felt so tired and so awake at the same time.

“So,” Scott says, voice quiet, before he clears his throat. “Are you tired?”

Wayne nods, not trusting his own voice.

“I want you to know,” Scott starts, clasping his hands together in front of himself, gently resting them in his lap. His eyes are wide and earnest, shining in the low light of the living room. Wayne thinks he looks beautiful like this. “That by inviting you to stay I wasn’t expecting anything, I just love spending time with you. My heart aches when you leave.”

Wayne melts. If he thought the tugging in his heart was bad before, it was unbearable now. A gentle tugging on his heartstrings was now a sharp pull on his heart itself. Compressing his ribs, churning his gut with a thousand butterflies. He knows I love spending time with you is different from I love you, which is different from I’m in love with you but Wayne aches all the same.

Scott has him feeling all sorts of ways, giddy and happy and content and other indescribable emotions he can’t quite put to words. He doesn’t know how to respond. How to tell Scott just how happy, just how out of sorts those words make him feel.

“I-“ Wayne starts, voice catching in his throat.

Bringing his hand up to his face, gently cupping Wayne’s cheek, Scott lets the words fade off into the air. Lets them die on Wayne’s tongue. He rubs his thumb along his cheek, along his beard.

“I miss you too,” Wayne eventually says, voice quiet, whispered into the shared air between them.

Scott’s gaze softens, and leans in to kiss him, soft and slow.

#Wayne Munson #Eddie Munson #Scott Clarke #Clarkson #Steddie #stranger things #stranger things fic #my writing #i don't quite know how this happened i didnt mean to write 6000 whole words #but i hope you all like bc i havent been able to think of anything other than this

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yellowocaballero · 4 months

Text

Fire Emblem Three Houses: Byleth and Three Houses Search For Rat People

The only downside was that Byleth was feeling the usual background discomfort of spending time with all three House leaders at once. Something about mild knowledge of all the mutual murder attempts really put a crimp in the relaxing smoking sessions.

Alternatively, this could be a good opportunity to address the problem. Damage control was the name of every game.

“We should bond,” Byleth announced.

Half of the students tripped on their own feet.

Dimitri, who was already walking at her elbow, turned to her and beamed. “That’s a great idea, Profesor! What do you want to talk about? I understand you and Felix talk about your feelings quite a bit. Maybe we could also -”

“I meant all of us.”

“Oh.”

I'm playing Ashen Wolves. This fits into the continuity of Weekenders but is not canon and absolutely no knowledge of Weekenders is needed. This is just four pages of stupid jokes. Written in less than an hour. It's a goof. A gag. A chortle, even.

The tunnel was musty and obviously structurally unstable, and flecks of dirt rained down from the ceiling with every step they took. Hilda squealed whenever she imagined she heard the rustle of what might be a rat, frightening Ashe each time, making Lindhardt say something disparaging about dramatics, making Hilda look straight at him and squeal about the ugliest rat in the world in front of her, frightening Ashe, etc, etc.

Byleth hadn’t expected to find herself here. Most of the time, when you were out after dark with a gang of teenagers getting tremendously high, the student yelling and ranting about the giant rat person who disappeared into a wall wasn’t actually onto anything. Claude was a trustworthy person, which was why Byleth believed him completely when he claimed the monastery encouraged students to smoke after curfew and that she should join them - oh, right, what’s up Prince Dimitri, forgot you follow this one around, etc. It went to show that a reputable man like Claude wouldn’t lie about giant rat people. But even the most trustworthy student could fall off a cliff and die in the underground tunnels, so Byleth reasoned that a good teacher followed students on their adventures.

Alternatively, this could be a good opportunity to address the problem. Damage control was the name of every game.

“We should bond,” Byleth announced.

Half of the students tripped on their own feet.

“I meant all of us.”

“Oh.”

“Wait,” Lindhardt said, “Felix talks about his feelings? I thought all he did was growl and insult people.”

“Byleth has feelings?” Hilda asked. “Whoah.”

Surprisingly, it was Edelgard who thought carefully for a few seconds before nodding. “That is an excellent proposition, Professor. Inter-house unity is one of the noble goals of Garreg Mach, and I feel as if our year has failed in that regard.” Left unsaid: what did this year have that the previous years didn’t have, huh? Byleth? “Why don’t you go first, Claude? Tell us about yourself.”

“I love it! I’m a Gemini and my favorite food is - what’s your favorite food, Dimitri?”

“I would have to say cream soup -”

“Cream soup!”

“Wow,” Ashe said, fully genuine, “that’s such an interesting coincidence!”

Dimitri visibly struggled to determine if he was being made fun of.

Edelgard turned to Byleth, who was currently fighting waves of pity for her most pitiful student. Or so the others had elected him. “What about you, Professor? What causes do you believe in the most?”

“Keeping my students alive.” Byleth had thought it was a relatively innocuous sentence, but it made Claude and Edelgard look thoughtful. Whoops. She hadn’t meant to actually give Edelgard anything to reward her obvious fishing efforts. It would just encourage the behavior. Byleth was trying to encourage less murder here. “Bonding idea. Why don’t we go around and say something we like about the other houses and its students?”

The crew fell awkwardly silent. Their footsteps echoed in the encroaching tunnels, only shuffling a little as Lindhardt struggled to avoid walking into any walls. Right. They might all still be a bit high. That would explain a little.

As always, it was Dimitri who jumped to her rescue. “That’s a great idea, Professor.”

Quietly, Lindhardt moaned, “Does he think every idea of hers is good…”

“The Professor only has good ideas!” Ashe said heatedly.

“I admire the Blue Lions sense of loyalty to their Professor,” Edelgard said, straight faced.

“Who wouldn’t be loyal to the Professor?” Dimitri cried, fired up. Ashe nodded empathetically and pointed at him. “Her virtues are endless! Even setting aside the sublime nature of her physical form, I -”

“She’s in the room with us this time, Your Highness.”

“I am very strong,” Byleth said thoughtfully.

“She’s very strong!”

Claude leaned back, speaking into Hilda’s ear. “I thought this would get less funny. It’s still funny. It’s getting even funnier.”

“Really?” Hilda said. “I think it’s sadder.”

“Give me three bullion and I’ll ask her out.”

“Please! I have makeup to buy. And is three bouillon really a good price for your life?” She patted his head lovingly. “Charge five, sweetie.”

“You strike a hard bargain -”

“I can hear you,” Dimitri said.

Immediately, Claude said, “I really admire the auditory talents of the Blue Lions!”

“Even if none of you choose to take the Professor’s request seriously, I recognize the value in reinforcing our old relationships.” Dimitri looked straight at Edelgard, who met his gaze evenly. “El. I haven’t had the chance to say it often, but I really do admire you. Your sense of justice, your strength, and your kindness - not many people hold all three traits, and not enough people find them all so equally important. I understand our lives have taken us in different directions, but you will always be as close to me in my heart as you once were. If that is something you consent to.”

Edelgard was staring fixedly at a wall. Her back was straight, but her shoulders were a little hunched.

Dimitri faltered, and his shoulders drooped too. “Ah…never mind. I’m sorry. I actually am sorry, that must have crossed a boundary. Please disregard -”

“You are a good person, Dimitri,” Edelgard said stiffly. “Forgive. My. Ah. Hm.”

Bored, Lindhardt said, “She’s awful with compliments.”

“Thank you for your contribution, Lindhardt.”

“Thanks, I didn’t want to give it.”

But Dimitri just smiled again, half-shadowed by the dim light of Byleth’s lantern. “You mustn’t feel obligated to reciprocate. It is just a sentiment I wished to express.” Dimitri turned to Claude, who has an increasingly strange look on his face. “And Claude, I -”

“Please, please, please don’t -”

“ - think you’re very handsome.”

“Thank fuck.” Claude paused a beat. “Wait, what?”

Dimitri shrugged, as if he had said a normal thing. Hilda, Lindhardt, and Ashe were losing their minds. Edelgard had her face in her hands. “I don’t know much about you. What I do know…if you forgive me for saying so, I don’t overly trust it. But I can tell that you take a great deal of care in your appearance, and your efforts have paid off.” Quickly, he added, “I would not have complimented that if you hadn’t, or if you would not like others to notice your appearance, but it’s clear that you’re very proud of your looks, so I assumed it would be an appropriate point of compliment.”

Claude was undergoing a complex emotional journey, which Byleth could easily recognize for its sheer familiarity. Many who met Dimitri experienced the journey. It roughly approximated - ‘Is he so smart he’s stupid or so stupid he’s smart? Does he know how the words coming out of his mouth sound? Does he have an ounce of self-awareness? How is a real human being actually that nice?’. Byleth sympathized.

Hilda brightened, pointing unnecessarily at herself. “Am I cute, Your Highness?”

“I spend my allowance on charitable organizations, Hilda.”

“Damn, you’re useless.”

Ashe gasped, waving his hands. “You can’t call His Highness useless, Hilda.”

“Why not? He’s not my highness.”

“It’s a fair statement.” Dimitri paused a beat. “I mean - her freedom of speech is fair.”

Byleth gave him a supportive pat on the back for his attempts to obscure his abysmal self-esteem. He blushed.

“I admire the Blue Lion’s sense of cohesion,” Claude said, having seemingly recovered from Dimitri’s earnest barrage. “I wish the Golden Deer and the Alliance knew how to work together and get along like you do. And I think you’re attractive too, Dimitri!”

“You do?” Dimitri asked, pleased. “That’s - very polite of you to say.”

Incredibly, Claude sobered a little. “Do you have any idea where you ranked on the polls, man? Stand tall.”

“Polls?”

‘ “Where am I on the polls?” Byleth asked, fascinated. Hilda made frantic slashing motions at her throat. “Oh. Not a teacher thing. I understand.”

“There’s a separate teacher one, Teach.”

“Yeah,” Hilda said, “and she’s on both.”

“And I admire the Empire’s passion!” Claude said loudly - either covering himself or covering Hilda. Byleth wondered vaguely if she should investigate this or if it would be, as Sylvain would say, ‘uncool’. Best not to make a big deal. Sylvain would start crying if he wasn’t at the top. “Edelgard, I also think you’re -”

“Think carefully about the end of that sentence, Duke Reigen.”

“ - a strong, independent woman!”

“I don’t think Dimitri’s attractive,” Edelgard said. This seemed to cheer Dimitri up. “I admire the Blue Lion dedication to hard work and training. I think the Black Eagles could learn a lot from their efforts.” She paused a beat. “Maybe that’s why Petra Macneary requested the transfer. Perhaps if the Black Eagles had satisfied her -”

“Oh Goddess,” Lindhardt moaned. “Get over it, Your Highness, it wasn’t personal.”

“Of course it wasn’t personal,” Edelgard said stiffly. “I just wonder why she returned my exit survey unopened -”

“What, did you ask her why she was canceling her subscription to Adestria? Do you think the political ho -”

“Regardless of the political motivations, Petra Macneary had an exceptional educational opportunity with us, and I am simply curious as to what was more important than her -”

“I’m just wondering who was hotter than Dorothea,” Hilda muttered. She glanced at Byleth out of the corner of her eye. “Nah, never mind.”

Dimitri glanced at Byleth out of the corner of his eyes. Byleth shook her head.

Dimitri coughed, gathering everybody’s attention. Delicately, he said, “We know how private Petra is. I’m certain she hasn’t been transparent about her motivations with any of us.” Everybody around them nodded slowly, even the dejected Edelgard. “But if I may hazard a guess…based off some overheard conversations, you understand. This is highly confidential. Perhaps I shouldn’t -”

“We don’t tell anyone!” Hilda cried. “Come on, what’s the dish!”

Dimitri sighed and leaned into Hilda’s ear, whispering loudly. “I understand her breakup with Dorothea was…explosive. Apparently they couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as each other anymore. She took drastic action, and Dorothea herself begged the Professor to help give Petra some space from their heartbreak. The Professor was sympathetic, and she helped Petra file the paperwork for the temporary class relocation the next day.”

Edelgard perked up. “You’re certain? The reason for her departure was romantic turmoil?”

“I can’t say for sure,” Dimitri said humbly.

“It wasn’t a matter of my leadership?”

“Your leadership’s amazing, El.”

“Or the political hostage situation?” Lindhardt asked, somewhat dubious.

Dimitri widened his eyes guilelessly. “Of course not. The Black Eagles gave Petra an exceptional educational opportunity. She said many times how grateful she was to receive the opportunity, yes?” Most of the team mumbled assent. Claude had a mysterious half-smile. “It was simply an unfortunate measure of circumstance. Her family opposed it, but…well, you understand a young woman’s heart.”

“Sounds about right for girl drama,” Claude said cheerfully. “You’ve had your own struggles too, huh, Hilda?”

“Oh, that’s so sad.” Hilda sighed, pressing her hands over her heart. “Of course I have. There’s this one boy in my class who I hate. I hate him so, so much. And yet I have to sit next to him in class. Every day. No matter how terrible he is. He’s so handsome and rich and such a great leader, but he doesn’t do a thing for me. If I could switch Houses too I would. Every day this man doesn’t ask somebody out for three bouillon I cry myself to sleep -”

“Five and I’ll do it.”

“Deal.”

“Ask who out?” Dimitri asked.

Before Claude could lie as quickly as possible and save his own skin, a chorus of voices broke in from the darkness. Their entourage halted, hands flying to their weapons. Dimitri moved to cover Byleth. Hilda cowered behind Claude, holding an ax taller than she was behind her back.

“What the fuck are you guys talking about!”

#my writing #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #stress writing.#i dont know them much but I fucking love Claude and Hilda and I could write them just being terrible and mean together forever

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ice-cap-k · 7 months

Text

Pan-Pan

I, uh, really got carried away on this one...

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Pan-Pan

_______________________________________

“Pan-pan, pan-pan, pan-pan.”

No answer. Tango twisted the dial on the CB radio.

“Pan-pan, pan-pan, pan-pan. Is anyone out there? This is an urgent distress call from Engineer and Supplementary Technician Tango Tek, calling from the underground testing Bunker 2. Two days ago, warnings went out for a total reactor collapse at Bunker 3. The event led me to the decision to cut power to Bunker 2. Presumably, all other facilities are down. Our major operating systems are barely running and the event inflicted severe damage to many minor systems. Emergency operating systems have kicked in, including the safety back-ups put in place to lock down the compound in case of a leak. Unlocking mechanisms are unresponsive when a manual override is attempted. Total damage assessment is impossible…”

Tango trailed off.

He should throw decorum to the wind. He was getting sick of this. Two days alone trapped in the basement of a bunker would do that to a man. Two days of sending distress call after distress call over the radio, never to get a response back. Two days of flipping back and forth over forty channels, waiting for a response that never came. Two days of not knowing what had happened out there.

An entire reactor had supposedly gone down. The fallout had to have been immense above ground. He should consider himself lucky, but he didn’t feel very lucky. The reinforced concrete walls that encased Bunker 2 were just as capable of keeping unwanted radiation out as it was of keeping radiation contained. But that also meant he was trapped down here alone with an inactive reactor.

It had been days. There may not be anyone left to care about proper call signs.

“Well, I’m requesting an immediate response. Bunker 3 operational status compromised. Bunker 2 operational status is critical. Please respond. Please…” There was no answer. Just the muted buzz of radio static in his ears. “Pan-pan, pan-pan- oh just forget it.” In a flare of anger, Tango grabbed the microphone hanging off the headset and ripped the whole thing off. The padding on the speaker pulled painfully at his ears as they came off at an awkward angle. “I’m still doomed,” he huffed, dropping his head onto the desk. His forehead thumped against a keyboard, rendered useless without power to run the computer it was attached to. “Doomed with a capital D and extra death sauce.”

The radio only hissed unhelpfully in reply. Tango bumped his head against the desk a second time for good measure. The wood surface didn’t feel fantastic, but he let his head rest there for a while, not quite focusing on the curve of the grain.

Get a grip, Tango. You’re not dead yet. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Focus on what you can hear. The static of the radio. He should probably turn that off to conserve battery, but he can’t be bothered to reach out and flip the switch just yet. Behind that is the hum of massive amounts of water being piped into the coolant systems. The steady drip drip drip of water droplets falling somewhere in the background. He let out another deep breath.

The situation could be a whole lot better right now. There was no getting past the door and getting out of here. Not unless he had a way of getting through the steel plating on the walls or clearing out the hallway leading to the maintenance hatch. The one that had collapsed when the building started shaking. He wanted the number of the fool who did the math on that side of the structure’s factor of safety. Austenitic stainless steel was supposed to be able to withstand entire explosions. Clearly, their stress calculations were off for something that was supposed to be designed for seismic activity. That, or someone had cut corners during construction.

He had been working on the hallway when he could. It was a mess of concrete and twisted metal. Clearing it out on his own would take a stupid amount of time, but if he could just see what had gone wrong then he might be able to repair it.

Still… He could hold out down here until then. Nobody knew how this place ran better than him. He had managed to switch off his bunker’s reactor on his own and didn’t come across any issues. You know, besides the obvious ones.

The remaining dregs of power in the bunker could be diverted to dropping the control rods, effectively cutting off the power output. He still had the generator too. Most of its power output was reserved for the radiation detectors, water-level monitors, and pumps. A very small amount of power went to the red emergency lighting, but even that had to be carefully monitored. Even a downed reactor took a lot of power.

Especially when it came to keeping the fuel rods cooled. That’s the thing about radioactive substances. They’re always emitting neutrons. And sure, you can catch those neutrons with control rods before they blast other particles to bits, but you’re not going to catch all the heat that comes with ‘em. You use water for that instead.

Water was his most precious resource down here. Yeah, it’s great for drinking and as long as the faucet ran he had plenty of that. But running water also works great for catching excess heat. And that water had to keep moving in order to do that. That’s why reactors had entire networks of pipelines and water pumps in place, shunting massive amounts of the stuff to be superheated and then brought back to the cooling tower.

Keeping up with the pipe maintenance for this place was taking most of his time. It was probably the only thing keeping him from dying a very horrible death.

All of this just to justify that he had barely started clearing the way to the maintenance hatch and instead chose to prioritize calling for help. Both of which were starting to feel like fruitless endeavors.

It was all fine and dandy for now until he ran out of food, the generator gave out, or the water shut off.

Wait a minute. Tango blinked, pulling himself from his thoughts, only just now noticing the large knot in the oak wood beneath his face. Hadn’t he heard…

Drip.

Drop.

Drip.

Oh no! Something was dripping!!!!

Tango flung himself back out of his seat so quickly, that the chair went clattering to the floor. In an instant, he had snatched his toolbox off the floor and a mask off the hook on the wall. He threw open one door and barreled through another, desperately looking for the noise coming through the cracked open windows. Then he took the perforated stairs two at a time. They groaned in protest with every step of his steel-toes.

Panicked thoughts raced through his head. If one of the Inconel pipes were leaking, there wouldn’t be much he could do. He could weld- scratch that. No, he couldn’t. There wasn’t enough power to run welding equipment down here. Switch off the valve, maybe? Depending on the location there might not be a valve he could shut to keep water out. Not if it was in an important location. He could always seal off the room and hope for the best.

Drip.

Drop.

The spent fuel pools lit the room with their own greenish-blue light at the bottom of the steps. The dripping was a little louder here, though, which made Tango’s already racing heart tighten anxiously. The fuel rods at the bottom of the pool cast a ghostly underglow on the piping running across the ceiling. There was no telltale glimmer of radioactive droplets falling from above. Nor were there growing wet spots on the floor. The surface of the pool was as clear and flat as a sheet of glass. All was still and empty and cold.

Where could the sound be coming from?

He followed the noise through a pair of double doors he had left propped open. They lead out of the pool room to a prep locker room and emergency wash station.

The place was empty, save for a few protective suits left lying on a nearby bench. The angry red glow of the emergency lights made the spare sets of gloves and boots stick out like shining red beacons in a sea of matte paint and cement flooring.

He caught a dark spot on the floor in the corner of his eye. When he whirled around, he saw a slow red trickle coming from the base of the chemical shower, drip-dropping into a gradually growing puddle beneath it. His own eyes stared back at him from its surface, glowing crimson in the emergency lights.

Oh. False alarm. It was just a little tap water.

The wave of relief that washed over him at the sight was immediate and immense. It made his knees shake. He couldn’t help but laugh at his own panic. “HahaHA! I’m so dumb! Hehe.”

Sound sure could travel in this place. Best he gets this fixed up before he could forget about it. With a thud, he dropped his toolbox onto the floor. The Teflon tape had worked its way to the bottom, but the wrench he needed was near the top. He fished them both out and went to work sealing up the leaky threading on the pipe.

Despite the easy work, he couldn’t seem to calm down. He’s wound so tight, it felt like he might come unraveled. The flickering red lights weren’t helping either. Here he was, terrified by a few water droplets, struggling to fix a pipe he could barely see.

Somewhere deeper in the plant, there’s a loud thunk as one of the pumps switched off and another one whirred to life to pick up the slack, and he nearly dropped his wrench at the sound.

“There. All fixed.” The pipe was no longer leaking. He didn’t bother to clean up the puddle beneath it. Doesn't dare make eye contact with his reflection again. Instead, he tossed the Teflon and the wrench back into his toolbox and brushed his hands against the legs of his pants.

"I should go for a walk. Do something else to take my mind off things. Get back to work in that hallway or something…" With a sigh, Tango picked back up his toolbox and went back up to the office.

The radio is still where he left it on the desk. The headphones are still hissing away dutifully, waiting for someone to send something worth hearing over the airwaves. He must have forgotten to shut it off before he ran out. "Any luck," he asks, not even bothering with the receiver. "Anyone out there?" A response would have been nice, but he doesn’t expect one. There's no one to respond. Just white noise. Too tired and anxious to be angry about it anymore, he grabbed the CB radio and tucked it under his arm so he could carry it with him to the ruined hallway.

Who knows. Maybe someone will start calling while he's working?

____________

Four days down here and Tango has barely made a dent in the hallway’s wreckage. There’s a few places he can stand on the cracked tile now, though. A few piles of dirt and chunks of concrete had been moved deeper into the bunker where they wouldn't be in the way to make that happen.

At least he’s managed to devote more time each day to clearing out as much of the mess as possible. Huh. Wait… Was it actually day? There was no way to keep track of time right now. The clocks didn’t work down here anymore. For all he knew, he might be sleeping during the day and working by night now. Not that it really mattered.

He had settled further into a rhythm that he had started on day two. When he was too tired to keep his eyes open any longer, he passed out in the chair he had hauled up from one of the break rooms. It was small enough to fit in the space he cleared, but not cramped enough that he woke up feeling worse than you would expect from a long day. Then he would send out a distress call over each channel on the radio. Usually, he would move some of the smaller bits of plaster and wires as he called. Then he would run his daily check on the pumps and essential pipelines. Something that had gotten surprisingly easier over time. Not easy, per se, but the pipelines needed less babysitting now that the reactor has been stable and inactive for a while. That and Tango was now used to attending to the areas that regularly needed overseeing by what normally would take a team of people. Sometimes there were pressing issues that required rerouting water lines. Once he was certain there were no more major issues for the day, he would tap into what was left of the food supply in the break room, have lunch, and then haul up enough packaged foodstuffs to get him through dinner after a couple of hours of hauling building bits.

Right now, he was ignoring the rumbling in his stomach as he reached into the wreckage and pulled out something that appeared to be on the lighter side. His hands came in contact with something smooth and elastic. With a yank, he pulled free stretches of hosing and brass fittings. Redstone wires were knotted at one end where they had been soldered to a loose sensor.

“Aww. That’s such a waste.” He felt like a little piece of himself was dying on the inside. He recognized the scraps of the pneumatic hook-up for a vault door he designed. Most likely meant for a high-clearance lab or pressurized combustion chamber. Considering how high he was above most of the steam generators, he would put money on the former over the latter. It would have been built into the wall before the collapse, which meant the pistons and doors would be buried somewhere beneath everything as well. Now it was all useless.

Careful not to let the corrosive redstone drip from their rubber casings, he untangled the rest of the pneumatic tubing from a bent aluminum frame and tossed it into the mess of scrap that would have to be hauled away later.

It always made him feel bad to see good circuitry go to waste. Electronics didn’t often behave as predicted. There were always opportunities for unforeseen events. Sometimes it took a bit of trial and error to get right, which took time, thought, and plenty of resources. He had put a lot of time into that design to make sure it would hold up in extreme scenarios. Made sure that the steel would give out before the pressurized air in the compressors would leak. Done extra research to find materials that would be both nuclear and redstone grade….

His stomach growled again.

Yeah, he couldn’t keep working like this on an empty stomach. Not now that he was thinking about wasted redstone. So he crawled out from the edge of the wreckage and brushed some of the grease off his hands onto the hem of his shirt. By the time he made it to the little pile of junk food he had stolen from a broken vending machine, he was sure the rumbling in his stomach could be heard from the very bottom of the bunker.

He sat down in the little chair he considered his bed and ripped into a granola bar. He had just sunk his teeth into his first bite when a soft TINK made him flinch.

It was the sound of one of the emergency lights burning out. He knew it pretty well after a few previous scares. The red lights weren’t made to burn consistently for such a long time, and who knew how old they were before the bunker was sealed? He could count on both hands the number of lights that had already burnt out. It was hard not to let the sudden noise take him by surprise, though.

It was quiet down here. Not the kind of quiet you feel under a blanket when the fabric eats up the sound. The hollow kind where you can hear a leaky pipe from the floor above, or the steady hum of the generator several floors below. The noisy kind of quiet where you can hear every little thing as if it were right next to you, echoing through empty walls like the ghosts of something that refused to go forgotten.

Still chewing, Tango reached for the CB radio next to his chair. He hung the headphones around his neck and flipped the power switch. The familiar hiss of static flared to life in his ears. It was surprisingly soothing just to have that little bit of background noise. The food went down much easier now that he had it.

Since he was already on the radio, he might as well use it. The needle turned in between bites, switching between channels. “Pan-pan, pan-pan, pan-pan. Anyone out there? This is Tango of the Tech variety-” he stopped just long enough to break into a candy bar. He was well past caring about protocol by now. “Used to be an engineer here in good ol’ Bunker 2. If anyone’s out there, I’m still here. Still trapped.”

He let himself chew into the sugary sweetness of the candy bar. Nothing like a bunch of junk food to make you wish desperately for a nice, warm, homemade meal.

“You know, it’s kinda silly that they make us say these lengthy distress calls. The pan-pan call sign is meant for international transport vehicles. Not testing facilities that fall outside of single government-regulated territories. Besides, it’s not like I’m skadoodling anywhere anytime soon...” He breaks into a heavy sigh. Maybe if they had completed the testing phase he would have been shipped out with the equipment, but there was no way that was going to happen now. “Anyway, if you can hear this, I could really use some help. Tango out.” He knew better than to hold his breath and hope, but he allowed himself a brief pause to listen for something. Anything.

Nothing. Just static.

One more bite and his candy bar was gone. His stomach didn’t feel like it was going on strike anymore, so that was his cue to get back to work. He reached down to flip the switch on the radio.

“T…go…”

His finger froze over the power switch. Had he imagined that? One hand still hovering over the button on the radio, he reached up with the other hand to lift one of the headphones off his ear. The rush of white noise lessened to be replaced with the echoing hum of pumps, water moving through pipes, and not much else.

“..... you st… …ere Tan….”

It was a voice! Tango dropped the side of his headphone as the words filtered through. It snapped back against his head painfully. “Ow! YES! Yes, I’m here, can you hear me?!” he practically shouted into the receiver. The other hand felt along the face of the radio for the nob and twisted it back and forth ever so slightly, hoping to get a clearer signal.

He could have wept tears of joy as the voice replied with crystalline clarity. “Tango! It is you! I can’t believe it. We can hear you loud and clear. I’m so glad you’re still alive, buddy!!”

Wait a minute. He knew that voice! “Zedaph!??”

“The one and only!”

“Oh my gosh!” Tango gripped at the wire of the receiver like the lifeline it had become. He didn’t even notice that his fingernails were digging into his palm. “Oh my gosh, you have no clue how happy I am to hear your voice, Zed. HaHA! Where are you? Is everything ok? What’s going on up there? ”

“Whoah, slow down there for a second,” another voice cut in. “I can’t keep up with all that.”

“IMPULSE!?” The receiver probably couldn’t pick up his voice as his pitch and volume skyrocketed in equal proportion to the rush of relief and excitement that came with hearing another achingly familiar voice. At least he had enough sense to move the receiver back away from his face.

Of all the people it could have been, he was glad their voices were the first signs of the outside world he could hear. They were some of his closest friends, his coworkers, and people who knew this plant as well as he did. Maybe even better. It may have been presumptuous, but he could already picture the three of them going back home together to their families. Of playing video games, of him dragging them along to watch his favorite hockey team, and of chatting for hours about anything other than work like they had already done countless times before.

It was really them!

Zed was the one to answer. “Didn’t catch that, Tango. You’re voice cut out. What did you say?”

“Nothing important. I just… Impulse, you’re there too?”

“There he is again. Yeah! I’m here too. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m stuck down in Bunker 2! Where are you guys?”

The line crackled for a moment. He could hear Zedaph and Impulse’s voice fade slightly as they began to talk to each other. It was a little harder to make out, but their words still came through on his end.

“2!? I thought 2 went down when 3 collapsed?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t stop to make sure before I slammed the door shut.”

“That’s a good sign then. It means it was only 3 that we had to worry about. Thank the heavens he’s still alive.”

“Yeah, but that also means he didn’t get out-.”

‘Uh,” Tango cut in. He could hear the sharp intake of breath from both of them as they realized he was still on the line. “You know I can still hear you, right?”

“...either. Right…” Zedaph finished. He sounded a little guilty, even through the distortion over the airwaves. “Sorry. We’re in Bunker 1. I’m going to be honest, when we heard you over the radio we thought you might be the rescue crew coming back for us.”

“Oh.” Tango’s heart skipped a beat. His stomach dropped so deep it felt like it was gone completely, leaving him a hollow shell. If the receiver wasn’t already attached to the headset, he would have dropped it. He let out an empty laugh, more for the sake of filling space as his brain came to terms with what that meant. “You guys are trapped too.” It wasn’t meant as a question. It was a statement because he knew it was true. Still, Zedaph answered honestly.

“Yeah…”

_______________

Tango was, admittedly, just as disappointed they weren’t part of some rescue party coming back for him as they were when they realized the same about him. Once the initial disappointment gave way, though, he was honestly really happy just to hear from them. If they were all stuck, then at least now they were stuck together. He wasn’t alone anymore. There were other voices alongside his echoing through these empty rooms.

They talked for what must have been hours sharing information about their situation. There was a lot to go over between the two different bunkers and the matter of their circumstances.

Zedaph and Impulse told him that they had locked themselves in Bunker 1. Impulse had been planning on going inside to check on a few parts that were scheduled for pre-emptive maintenance and replacement. Zed had only tagged along to keep him company and tell the other man about his latest plan for game night. The two of them had been taking a casual stroll across the grounds when the reactor in Bunker 3 blew. They were looking in the other direction when the portion of the building above ground started to collapse, but there was no missing the way the ground heaved beneath them. And when they looked up it was impossible to miss the massive cloud rising in the not-so-far distance.

The door to Bunker 1 was unlocked. It was nearby and built to block radiation. Zedaph was the first to realize what they were witnessing. He put two and two together first and realized it equaled, ‘We need to get to safety.’ So he dragged Impulse into the closest concrete building and locked the door behind him. The two of them weren’t sure what had happened above ground after that.

Both of them had been down there ever since. Impulse had been juggling the mechanical systems pretty well, and Zed was charged with keeping an eye on the reactor. Between the two of them, they’ve had a pretty good handle on the situation. As good as two people can manage on their own, at least.

Zed in particular explained that they were hoping to wait for a rescue team to come in. According to him, a nuclear fallout is most dangerous for 48 hours after a blast, but there’s still some risk of radiation and other unforeseen hazards. Technically, they weren’t actually trapped. Not in the sense that Tango was trapped. They were playing it safe by sheltering in place.

In return, Tango told them everything that he could about what had happened at Bunker 2 since the incident.

He told them about how he had been checking in on the new control unit he had designed for the spent fuel pool, killing some time until the rest of the crew showed up. At some point everything had started shaking. The alarms went off and he saw the warnings flash across the announcement screens mounted in the hallways. He told them how he only knew that something had gone wrong at Bunker 3 because of those warnings on the screen. Other than that, he didn’t know what happened.

He told them about how he was trapped underground. That the hallway collapsed and he had been trying to clear a path. That he hadn’t even gotten halfway to the maintenance hatch. He wasn’t sure how long it would take him to make it through all the mess, let alone fix whatever damage had been done that was keeping the way out so tightly sealed.

He told them about how he had deactivated the reactor to reduce the risk of another incident. How he had been trying to take care of the coolant systems on his own.

“That’s crazy. You’re crazy. I’m friends with a crazy person.” A small smile spread across Tango’s lips. His chest swelled with pride at the awe in Impulse’s voice. “You’re telling me you managed all that on your own? Even lowering the control rods? I let Zedaph take care of that over here. I never would have risked it on my own. I don’t think I would have risked it even if I wasn’t on my own and it had been anyone other than Zed.”

“Aw, Impulse, how sweet of you. Good to see you think so highly of me.”

“It’s not like I wanted to,” Tango said. He shrugged as well, but they couldn’t see that. “It’s not like I could just leave it running and risk explodificating my face off. Not everyone is lucky enough to have a Zedaph on hand.”

“You too, Tango!? Oh my gosh, you guys are so sweet. I think I might cry.”

“Besides. I’ve got the gist of a little of everything down here. Just because I’d never done it on my own before doesn’t mean I have no clue how it’s supposed to work.”

“Still, I’d consider you pretty darn lucky so far. I know you’re not very familiar with the heat transfer system.”

“I'd say I’m getting pretty darn familiar now,” he shot back with a chuckle.

“Fair enough.”

Something new crackled through the headset of the radio. It took Tango a second to realize the sound was Zedaph yawning in the background. His own exhaustion came crashing down on him all at once. He had been so caught up in talking that he hadn’t even realized that he was tired until now. They had been at it for a while after all. Who knew how many hours he had let pass, neglecting the debris in the hallway to chatter with his friends like it was another night in the group chat. He couldn’t help letting out a little yawn of his own.

“You too, eh Tango,” Zed mumbled, sounding every bit as tired as Tango felt.

“Sorry guys. I must be getting tired. It’s hard to keep track of time down here.”

“Same,” Zed mumbled around another yawn. “I don’t think we’ve got a single clock working down here.”

Tango was about to say something about not having any clocks in his bunker either but decided against it when he heard Impulse break into a yawn as well. “Hmph. Impulse here looks like he’s half asleep already.”

“I’m fiiiine,” Impulse drawled. “I think the time just finally hit me. Give me a second and I’ll get a second wind. I can stay up all night if you want.” The lazy lilt to his voice said otherwise.

“Nah,” Tango says with a chuckle. “I think it might be time to call it a night. I feel like I’m going to pass out too.”

“Go ahead and get some rest. We’ll get a little shut-eye ourselves. Will you still be available on this frequency if we try to get a hold of you tomorrow?”

“You kidding me? You guys are the only thing I’ve heard on this thing. I’m keeping it on this frequency for good as far as I’m concerned. The others might as well be dead to me.”

That got a laugh out of Zed. It almost drowned out a much fainter noise in the background. Something Tango couldn’t place at first. Something rhythmic and slow, like breathing. Like… “Uh… Is that Impulse snoring?”

“Yeah. He’s already out like a light. Lasted all of ten seconds.”

That was shockingly fast.

“Welp! We’ll keep our radio on this frequency as well. I think I’m going to join Impulse off in dreamland. Have a good night, Tango.”

“Night Zed…” The speakers in the headset remained silent when Zedaph didn’t reply. The silence hung for a heartbeat as his friend most likely reached for the switch to shut off the equipment, and then the familiar buzz of empty static filtered through. They were gone.

The sounds of the bunker came rushing back into focus with the silence. The hum of motors the buzz of the emergency lights and the subtle sound of his own breathing making themselves loud and clear.

Tango found himself curling up deeper into his chair. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open. He let the headset rest in his lap, the bulk of the radio left on the floor within arm’s reach. He had a feeling that tonight would be filled with good dreams.

____________________

The next two days were better. A lot better. It was nice to have Zed and Impulse to keep him company. It was a bit cumbersome to haul the old CB radio around the bunker with him when he went on his rounds, but it was worth it to have them one quick call away. He finally had someone he could bounce his thoughts off of. Impulse was always quick with advice when he was worried about the pipes. Zed was even quicker to make him smile with a joke and wash his worries away when he started panicking about all the wrong things. Weird stuff dripping from a pipe? No worries. It’s just condensation, not a leak. Another light went out? Good thing there’s a whole box full of replacements on the second floor. Tango was even able to help them with some things, like overriding the electronic locks on one of the labs.

Then, as if the world was out to spite him, things started spiraling out of his control.

One of the pumps was losing head pressure, and it was causing a slower flow rate.

In other words, the water in the pipeline was slowing down. Slower pipe-flow meant the water flowing through the reactor would be coming out hotter than it should be. If the pump degraded anymore, the water would stop moving and whatever was in the pipe inside of the reactor would keep heating up. It would eventually become so hot it would try to expand and become steam. The pressure inside the pipe would be immense, and the pipe would probably burst. Tango really didn’t want that to happen.

The thing is, though, Tango wasn’t sure how to fix that. He knew the basics of how to work a pump, but that was about it. He was an engineer first and a technician second. He never had to know the workarounds for keeping a pump running while also improving head pressure that really had no apparent reason to be dropping. If he could reduce the sheer amount of pipe length the water had to go through, that could help. If he could introduce a new pump into the system, that could help. But he didn’t have spare piping or a replacement pump that could keep up with that sort of power. He couldn’t risk shutting down the water for the time it would take to play around with pipe lengths. None of those were possible options right now. He wished someone had left a manual lying around, although it probably wouldn’t be much help.

He thought it might be possible that air was getting into the system. He risked shutting down the pump for less than a minute to check the inlet, but didn’t see any leaks. If air was getting in, there had to be a leak somewhere.

He really hoped that wasn’t the case. He could even partially convince himself that wasn’t the case since he had been monitoring the pipelines so closely. Still, he couldn’t account for leaks occurring in the underground pipes.

So he explained his predicament to Zedaph and Impulse. Mostly to Impulse, since he was the one with more experience on the matter.

“You didn’t happen to add any piping to the system,” Zed asked half teasingly.

“No,” Tango snapped, entirely serious. “I’m not about to go making things worse. I haven’t even tried rerouting the water flow. That will just make the path it travels longer too.”

“How’d the motor look,” Impulse asked over a snickering Zed. “Any signs of it burning out?”

“The motor was fine too, as far as I can tell. There was a weird clanking noise earlier that I couldn’t pinpoint, but that stopped a while ago.”

“Oooh, I bet you the impeller broke.” Tango could practically hear his friend nodding to himself. “One of the fins probably broke off and is floating around in the system.”

Zed snorted on the other side of the line. “That’s a thing that can happen?!?”

“Sure. All parts are made to break eventually. You’re just supposed to replace it before it reaches the end of its cycle life. Sometimes a part has an internal defect that speeds up that process.”

“What am I supposed to do about that then?” Tango asked.

“That depends. Do you have an extra impeller lying around?”

Tango thought back to every storage room he had gone through during his rounds. He had gone through plenty of supply closets while he was stuck down there, looking for spare parts and tools. He would have noticed if there had been a loose impeller just lying around. “No. I mean, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen one down here.”

“What about another pump?”

That was something he had seen. There had been a small pump hanging out of a box. “Yeah actually. A small one. Like, really small. Will that work as a replacement? I thought smaller ones didn’t have as much oomph?”

“Normally they don’t, but if we can hook that one up in succession with the other it can give things a boost.”

“That’s a thing?!?”

“Will the two of you stop that?” Impulse snorted. “Yes, it’s a thing. It will help with the head pressure, and keep the water flowing.”

“That’s all I need.”

“Good. Now go grab that pump. I’ll walk you through the installation.”

“Thanks, buddy. You’re a lifesaver!”

Before he could grab the CB radio and rush off to the nearest supply closet, though, Zed spoke up. “Hey, uh, I don’t mean to be that guy that questions everything…”

“But…?”

“But what about the broken impeller?”

Tango froze. “What about it?”

“Well, it’s still broken. Aren’t there still the broken bits floating around somewhere? I might be wrong, but wouldn’t that cause issues at some point?”

“Well…”

Tango’s heart skipped a beat. “I don’t like the sound of that ‘well.’”

“Ok, yes that is true. If the impeller really did give out, then yeah. There are pieces of it floating around in the pipes. Best case scenario, the water is moving slow enough that it doesn’t carry them very far and they settle at the bottom of some pipe.”

“And worst case scenario…” Tango asks tentatively.

“That’s a bit harder to say, but it is possible it keeps floating around and gets caught in something important. Like the pumps. There’s a non-zero chance it might end up back in there and bust it up even more.”

“Okay…” Tango’s brain started racing. He was already kicking back into ‘problem-solving’ mode. More damage to the pump would mean a bigger drop in pressure. It might even take the pump out of commission completely. “That would be all sorts of bad with extra bad sauce. Is there a filter or something where they might get caught?”

For a moment, Impulse doesn’t answer. Tango assumed the other man is simply taking his time to answer. Likely trying to run through the map of the coolant system in his head. Then Zedaph spoke up. “Use your words Impulse,” Zed says after a pause. “He can’t see you shaking your head.”

“Sorry. I forgot for a second there. I don’t think so. I know they wouldn’t have used a sediment trap, but I’m not sure if they would have added a strainer anywhere.”

Tango could work with that. “Then I’ll look for one. I only have one extra pump. I can’t let one of the ones keeping the water scooting go caput on me. You can describe what it’s supposed to look like and I can check for it after we finish with the other pipe.”

At least there was still a chance that he wouldn’t have to worry about the impeller causing more problems. He was already on the move. The CB radio was tucked uncomfortably under one arm as he walked. He would have to grab his toolbox from the office after the pump, but there was no way he was going to be able to carry everything down at once. He would have to make a few trips, leaving either the radio or the pump downstairs when he went to get his tools.

“And I take it that if there isn’t one, Tango’s still running the risk of more damage,” Zed asked.

“More or less.”

“I see. In that case, I’m going to go crunch some numbers.” A high-pitched squeak like a chair scraping across tile filtered through the radio. The noise was so awful Tango had to shift the ear pads of the headset to hang around his neck.

“Zed, where are you going, man?” Impulse’s surprised shout sounded a little less clear now that the speakers weren’t pressed to Tango’s ears.

Tango silently wished for the umpteenth time that he could see them instead of just hearing them. “What’s happening,” he asked. “Don’t leave me in the dark guessing.”

“I don’t know. He just ran out.”

“Should you go check on him?”

“I… You know what? Nah. He’ll be fine for now. Let’s get you squared away first and then I’ll check in on him after.”

Impulse was probably right. All three of them had a tendency to get lost in their own thoughts and sucked into personal projects. Something they said had given Zed an idea, and he was probably off to go puzzle over it until he could come to his own answers. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

“If you say so. I’m already at the supply closet anyway. Let’s figure this out.”

________________

“Ok Tango, remember when I said you were crazy? I take it back,” Impulse said. Even over the radio, Tango could hear the sheer disbelief in his friend’s voice. “You’re not that crazy after all. Clearly Zed has you beat.”

“Excuse me, I take offense to that.”

“No Zed,” Tango chimed in. “He’s right. That sounds like a surefire way to get killed. Or lost. Or any number of terrible, horrible things.”

“But not from radiation poisoning!”

“It still sounds dumb.”

“Thank you for agreeing with me on this, Tango.” Impulse sounded really tired. It made Tango wonder how long they were discussing this before calling him.

“But Tango needs help and he’s going to need it soon. I heard about your little ‘I spy’ trip through the bunker. You never found a filter, did you.”

Tango flinched. “No…”

“Nor does he have another pump in case anything else goes wrong. And, might I add that Tango can’t leave whenever he wants like we can. But if we just go and get help-”

“You’re talking about trekking through a nuclear detonation site!”

“It’s been days,” Zedaph insisted a little more firmly. “A week, even. By now the bulk of the nuclear fallout will have passed. The smaller airborne particles will have settled, the radionuclides will have mostly decayed away, and the leftover radiation levels will be fairly low. We shouldn’t go, you know, ingesting anything while we’re out there. Just in case. But I can jimmy together some sealed suits if it makes you feel better. We can pack some food and bottle some water to find help without too much worry.”

“I don’t think we should be jumping to such risky conclusions, Zed. Even without the radiation risks, what about if one of us gets hurt? We’re miles from civilization.”

“If you’re that worried about it, you don’t have to come along, Impulse. It’s alright if you want to stay here. I can just go on my own-”

“Nuh-uh. No way. Don’t even bother finishing that sentence. That’s even worse. Of course, you’re not going alone out there.”

“Good! Then it’s decided. The two of us are going to go find help.”

Impulse made a strangled noise. Tango could just imagine the myriad of emotions flashing across his face. They couldn’t be much different from the clashing emotions he was experiencing.

Personally, he doesn’t like this idea one bit. If they went in search of help, that meant traveling through a stretch of land that could technically be considered survivable but was still recovering from massive nuclear destruction. Who knew how the surrounding area had been affected? And Zed was suggesting they do it for the sake of helping Tango. Tango, who couldn’t go after them. Tango, who would be helpless and unable to do anything if something went wrong. Tango, who would absolutely blame himself for anything bad that might happen, and was already in the process of feeling extremely guilty for making them think they needed to take this risk for him.

If they did this, he would be on his own again. Left alone to live on a prayer.

“You don’t have to do that.” Tango’s voice is shaking. He hopes the static of the radio helps to cover that up on their end. “The pressure is stable for now. I’ve been holding down the fort for this long. I can hold out a bit longer while I clear this hall.”

“It’s not like we can stick around here forever anyway. They’re not coming back for us. ”

Tango can hear Impulse’s breath hitch. He had to suppress a shudder of his own at Zedaph’s bluntness. It wasn’t like the thought hadn’t crossed his mind that they had been left for dead. He had just about resigned himself to the fact before he first heard Zed’s voice through the radio speakers. But it was a thought he had pushed to the back of his mind when he found out his friends were there as well.

“I’m sorry…” Zed’s voice startled Tango out of his own thoughts. His friend sounded sad. Almost remorseful. It made him wonder if it was because of whatever reaction Impulse might have had. “But it’s been too long. The largest risk occurs during the first 48 hours. If they didn’t come looking for survivors after that, then it must be because they assumed there were none left to save. And if they HAD come looking, then they missed us. It’s not like any of us were supposed to be in these bunkers at the time anyway. We were all here early.”

Impulse sighed on the other end of the line. “I guess you do have a point.”

“You’re not actually considering this, Impulse,” Tango asked nervously. He could feel his chest tighten at the thought of them going up there, leaving him behind in his dark hole while they ran into… he didn’t even know what. Danger. Definitely some sort of danger.

“Oh, to be clear, I still think this is a bad idea. But…” Of course, there was a ‘but.’ Why did there always have to be a ‘but?’ “He’s making some good points. He IS the expert on the subject, and I can’t just let him go alone.”

“But if you guys leave, then I’ll be alone. Again.”

There’s a loaded silence where none of them spoke. They don’t have to. Tango could practically hear the thoughts in their head. He just knows them that well. ‘You’re already alone,’ they’re thinking to themselves. ‘We’re not really there. And we couldn’t get to you if we needed to.’ That was the problem with this entire situation after all.

He tries again. “What if something goes wrong with the pump after you leave? I won’t be able to ask you about it, Impulse.”

“We’re going to bring the radio with us,” Zed assured him quickly. “Sure, we’ll be more focused on finding civilization, but if it’s an emergency we’ll be able to stop and answer the call.”

“I’m starting to think he’s right, Tango. I think we should go. Especially if you end up having more trouble. There’s only so much I can do to help you over the radio. And as much as I hate to think about it, me and Zed are going to have to leave the bunker at some point.”

“The sooner we leave, the sooner we can get you out of there,” Zed says, and he says it with confidence. Tango gripped at the wire connecting the headset to his radio. There was logic in their words. It was fairly sound logic too, or Impulse wouldn’t have given in so easily. They were good at logic and had already made up their minds. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

_________________

“I suppose there’s no way for me to talk you out of this, huh?”

“You still have a mountain of trash in front of that maintenance hatch?”

Tango lets out a defeated sigh. He’s standing in front of said ‘mountain,’ getting ready to start working at it for the day. He still has a long way to go. But his friends were preparing to leave. They had spent a full day preparing water and packing away whatever food they could scrounge up from a break room. Zed even told Tango about the sealed suits he had put together with duct tape and plastic cover-alls. They were ready.

There wouldn’t be much more for Tango to do other than get back to work once the radio went silent. It would give him something else to focus on, at least. Something other than worrying about their safety. Something other than the fear that they might not come back.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Then you focus on that, buddy,” Impulse soothes. “Try to clear out as much as you can for when we come back. With any luck, we’ll have an army of people with us to help dig you out.”

“Yeah. Sure. Just you wait. By the time you guys come back, I’ll have this whole place spotless,” he tries to joke. They don’t laugh, but he hopes that maybe there’s a growing smile or two that he can’t see.

“Alright Tango,” Zed says. His voice sounds odd and distorted through the respirator mask he is pulling over his face. “As you know, we’re bringing the radio. The main problem is that we’re going to be mobile and the suits will make it hard to hear and respond. Try to only call us if it’s an emergency, ok? If we’re stopped for any reason and can get to the radio, we’ll call you and keep you updated.”

“Is that thing even going to work out there with all the scary radiation rays bouncing around?”

“Oh yeah. An initial blast might mess with radio waves, but we’re long past that. It should work the same up there as it does down here. All set Impulse?”

“Ready!” The other man’s voice also sounds like a muffled mess behind a mask. “I’ve got the radio and the food. You’ve got the water and the first aid kit. That’s everything. Man, I’m nervous. Look at my hands shaking.”

“Just some pre-journey jitters. It will probably get better once we get outside and see what we have to work with. Come help me with the door.”

Tango can hear the loud clunk of the sealing mechanism sliding out of place for their door. “Stay safe out there, alright guys?” His voice cracks a little. “You better check in at least once a day. Promise me.” Both of them answer him instantly.

“Promise.”

“We promise.”

The sound of pneumatic hissing blends a little into the background static of the radio as pistons pull their door open.

“Okay, Tango. This is it. We’re going now. You stay safe down there.”

“Don’t have too much fun without us.”

“Bye.” Tango hates how small his voice sounds. He’s not even sure if they could hear him on the other side, but it’s all he can manage. He’s afraid that, if he tries to say anything else, he’d fall apart into tiny little pieces. Whether they heard him or not, their end of the radio cuts out. The speakers switch back to buzzing with that familiar, empty white noise.

They’re gone. They’ll be okay. They’ll be back. They’ll get him out of here and then they can all go home.

He starts reaching towards one broken half of a door when one of the emergency lights goes out in the hall. It pops with a sudden tink. There are still other lights in the hall, but with one less to brighten the space the shapes in front of him are harsher. Bright red edges and curves are made stark in contrast to hard-lined black shadows. Somewhere from further down in the bunker, he can hear the hum of the pump. The steady drip, drop, drip of water. He didn’t need to run to check for a leak this time, though. He wanted to, but he didn’t. Now he knew from experience that it was coming from water condensing on the cooler end of the bunker wall where the pipe went into the soil outside. Something that Impulse had kindly explained to him. The place wasn’t in any immediate danger of leaking toxic fluids, as Zedaph had made clear. But old superstitions were easy to let creep back in when you could hear everything and there was nothing to be heard.

So Tango put the headset of the radio back on before he dug into the pile. With one hand, he hit the dial to switch frequencies while he pulled away the wreckage with the other.

He had a lot of frequencies to get through before he would end up back on the one his friends would be using. It wouldn’t be too hard to go through all of them and make the most of his time while he waited. And if he could help Zedaph and Impulse in some way, it would be worth it.

“Pan-pan, pan-pan, pan-pan. Is anyone out there? This is an urgent distress call from Tango Tek, calling from the underground testing Bunker 2. I… uh… I know this isn't protocol, but if anyone is out there, then you should know that there are two amazing people out there right now looking for help. They go by Zedaph and Impulse, they just went topside of Bunker 1, and they’re carrying a radio of their own. You should know that they are some of the smartest, bravest people I have ever met and their safety means everything to me. You might not know them, and you probably don’t know me, but if there is any way you can help them, then please, do whatever you can to make sure they make it home.”

#whumptober 2023 #prompt no. 7 #“I paced around for hours on empty I jumped at the slightest of sounds”#Radio Silence #minecraft: hermitcraft #hermitcraft #creative writing #isolation #nuclear disaster #tangotek #impulsesv #zedaph #alternate universe-modern setting #sound science #realistic engineering in fanfiction #CB radio

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frigidsilver · 13 days

Text

--Chapter 3--

Catch a Tiger By the Foe

"Now why would Khan want your services? His wealth and status got dragged down with him when we all kicked the bucket. Surely, he has lots of pilots underneath his claws."

The irritated tapping of Rebecca's finger gradually filled the room. Karnage plucked the record off the desk and flipped it open. The contents inside were bare. No description of the package, no location to deliver it. Just Shere Khan's initials written in a deep red ink on the receipt.

"Would've said something about Khan in my report to the authorities. But knowing that tiger, he would've made my life an issue if I even hinted at a connection to Baloo and Kit's disappearance."

"I may not be no business man. But this doesn't seem to be all too professional, Mrs Cunningham. You out of everyone knows what that tiger was capable of. He even hired my glourious self to do his dirty work at one point."

She winced in regret. Acknowledging her fault in the disappearance.

"I needed something, ANYTHING to break this dull streak of the same old deliveries. Shere Khan offered good money for this job to be done.

It's hard to find the motivation to do anything in Wasteland these past years. Hard to remember how exciting we used to be when we were still..."

Don looked up from the file at Rebecca for a brief moment. Her aggravated tapping coming to a halt as she drifted off into her own thoughts. His face was unchanging, but he stared at the Rebecca briefly with a look of empathy.

Recalling the shared feeling of bittersweet nostalgia the cast all held for their former days of glory. Before their inevitable fate that lead them down into Wasteland. The pirate repressed these feelings to the back of his mind and continued speaking.

"I did not invite you to have a pity party. What we need is a SEARCH party to raid Khan's office and get that information. Now if you follow me back to my airship-"

"What? That newly destroyed death trap floating in the harbour?"

"MY SHIP IS NO DEATH TRAP. It's a deadly weapon that needs it's captain back. As if your little wrinky dink shack is any safer."

"That piece of junk would probably sink with us on it."

"At least no blot-like creatures can surprise us by thinning through the wall and turn us to mush."

Vincent silently trailed away from the desk to continue rummaging around the cargo. Knowing he was unable to contribute to the conversation beforehand and didn't want to add gasoline to this newly lit fire of an argument.

He dug deeper into the crates and packages that were stamped to be sent all over Wasteland. Mean street, Bog Easy, reconizing the usual deliveries of parts that were shipped to Slalom.

What caught his eyes was something more simplistic. A pile of metal cans gathering dust tucked deep within the pile.

He grabbed one from the top placing it on top of the crates. Taking a knife from his waist, the mechanic pryed the lid off. Inside sloshed around a thick cyan substance. Light danced across the surface with every ripple. Anyone would brush this aside as a can you'd find in a garage for art projects. But to a toon, this was more than just that.

He picked up the can carefully and walked over to one of the thinner eroded walls. Covered in gaping holes and warped remains of what was left.

Rebecca and Karnage continued to loudly bicker in the background before being interrupted by a loud splash from the other side of the room. Turning around in unison to see the bat standing in front of a wall, now covered in the cyan liquid.

The liquid didn't trickle down the sides of the planks, but seeped into the fibers of the wood like water. It spread out to cover the holes. Forming bright blue puddles over the damaged parts of the wall. Once it fully dissipated, what remained was a fully repaired wall. Looking even more vibrant than before.

Paint

The remedy to the plauge that the thinner was. Falling into the Wasteland alongside it's destructive counterpart all those years ago. Most claim that it was an act of mercy given by Yen Sid. Others say it was used by the famous rat trying to cover up for his ignorance or attempting to fix his mistake before fleeing for years. It's orgins didn't matter to the bat. What did matter was the properties it held.

"How many more cans do you have, Mrs. Cunningham?"

She pushed herself up from her seat in a huff.

"Those are property of Higher for hire. The first thing you good for nothing pirates do is take my cargo?

Don walked around Rebecca and grabbed the can from Vincent. Swirling the paint inside to hear it slosh around.

"Such manners torwards the pirates generously helping you.

If we are going to work together, you must be willing to share some things, yes? We work by the hour, after all."

"They'll be put to good use, I promise."

The three walked with hands full of cans of paint back to where they had landed the plane. Droplets of paint spilled out leaving saturated portions of dock restored where it landed. Their moods still sour from this unlikely team up this disaster lead to.

Rebecca trudged behind them quietly. Not wanting to be associated with them and never agreeing to the use of her business small supply of paint. Vincent turned around and saw the business woman's closed off demeanor. Her eyes glued in front of her staring between the gap between the pirates. His ears were tired of hearing the loud thumps of their feet and the aggressively idol storm above.

"I recall that you had a daughter, Mrs, Cunningham. Molly, was it? Did she not -"

Rebecca sternly interrupted Vincent. Keeping her eyes locked straight ahead with a burning glare. The bat knew if she was staring at him, he would've been fried.

"I HAVE a daughter, thank you for your concern. I'm very lucky that she came down here in one piece. Unlike most people."

"Then where is your little troublemaker? Is she in the company of that mechanic person you employ? I also noticed the lack of him when we were at your business."

Karnages voice made its way behind him. Tiling his head behind him over his high collared coat. Not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

"They left early this morning to take a projector over to mean street. I was supposed to join them. But decided to stay behind and try and make the best of what we had."

Rebecca clenched harder onto the paint cans along with her teeth.

"If only I had gone with them. Then maybe I'd feel a bit better about all of this nonsense.

I keep repeating these same stupid mistakes over and over again.

But here I am, WILLINGLY following air pirates to their ship. What a time to be forgotten."

She pushed herself through the two trying to get though the non existent crowd. Inpatient to get all of this over with.

Once again surprised no spatter vandalized Don Karnage's plane or taken by a desperate toon in attempt to escape. They fastened the cans into the plane with some rope from a worn down shack near the plane.

It once lead tours to a island home to a famous bar popular among pilots. Sadly, that doesn't exist anymore.

As they pulled the rope nice and tight onto the hull, Karnage knew that his small fighter plane only could carry so much weight on its wings. His eyes scanned around the pier to find a mode of transportation for the short tempered Rebecca, like a boat or another plane. Alas, all the working boats and planes had been taken by all the frantic victims of the storm.

Fortunately, the next best thing way to the Vulture was running a check on the plane. The bat caught the captain looking at him. For a moment he was confused, only thinking Don was admiring his own plane. Only to realize what his captain wanted him to do.

His eyebrows weighed his eyelids down as he shook his head. Karnage nodded his head with more emphasis. This childish shaking game continued until Vincent gave up. Growling sorely as he turned over to his passener.

Who stood quietly at the service desk. Staring at the various worn out photos of the owner advertising various drinks in a dazed state.

Once Vincent did a final check on the plane, Don hopped into his seat and warmed up the engines. Cans rattling against the red painted sides as the propellers gained speed. Before they knew it, the plane had taken back off into the air.

The captain clenched his teeth together as he flew torwards his airship. Anticipating another barrage of ink to come pummeling down from the sky. Which seemed to snicker at the toons with each burst of thunder.

The plane made a circle around the idle ship a few times. Observing that the main entrance inside was wide open with numerous similar fighter planes lining the runway. Their pilots aimlessly shuffled around the hangar. Trying to repair the damage the Blot Storm had caused to the best of their abilities.

This pleased the Captain as he landed onto the run way. Crewmates huddled around his plane, thanking Yen Sid that their captain was safe and sound.

"Don Karnage is pleased to know this sludge of a cloud hasn't detered you away from your duties.

Now do your said duties and untie the cans."

His crew made quick work of his request, cutting away the rope off his plane and placing the cans down with a thud. Karnage turned around back to the big opening to see a loud arguing amalgamation of Magenta and green making its way toward them.

"I TOLD YOU BEFORE WE LEFT TO WATCH YOURSELF!"

"FORGIVE ME, BUT I FLY A CERTAIN WAY, I CANT JUST TURN ON CRUISE MODE FOR YOU!"

"YOU COULD AT LEAST FLY STRAIGHT"

"IM AN AIR PIRATE. THERE'S NOTHING STRAIGHT ABOUT ME!

Now I'm wondering if Baloo even is missing and just hiding away from you."

Vincent valiantly fought the urge to toss her into the ocean to let her swim aboard. Setting her down gently with a soft scoff. He left her alone, walking over to Karnage. Grumbling and kicking the scraps on the ground with his black boots. Left over thinner from the storm dripped from the openings and fell to the floor with a sizzle.

"My poor Vulture..."

"You really didn't expect the spatters to tidy up the place after their party, now did you?"

Karnage waved away Vincent's sarcasm. Sighing away his frustration.

The voice of Ratchet echoed off the hangars in attempt to catch Don and Vincent's attention. Vincent plucked one of the cans off the floor and rushed over to him.

Don followed him over to the engineers to see poor Jock's condition after being hit with Thinner had worsened. Who now looked like a melted candle. His pepper colored fur melted together with his striped shirt. Ink dripped to the floor from all over him when he looked up at the two with glossy eyes. Unable to speak with his muzzle now reduced to a mere bump on his face

Vincent tore the lid off the can and drenched Jock with paint frantically. Moments passed as Vincent and Ratchet attempted to rub the paint into Jock. From a distance, it looked like two grown adults playing with an oversized pile of clay.

To their luck, the paint was quickly absorbed by the old dog's ink. His body slowly began reshape itself to its original form. Globs of ink returned to familiar textures of fur and cloth. Sharp breaths escaped the moment the ink around his face shaped back into his short muzzle.

Ratchet didn't even give him a chance to let the paint fully sink when he toppled over Jock with a tight hug.

"I thought I'd have to watch you turn into goop. I couldn't lose another one of my mates."

Ratchets voice cracked with relief. In response, Jock silently patted him on the back.

A curious Rebecca had watched the recovery from a short distance. A bit startled to say the least. Seeing how bad the damage was to the ship and its inhabitants.

"At least the paint was for a good use like you promised."

It was quiet in the hangar after the commotion had subsided. The unattended thinner droplets continued to burn away at the floor. Vincent and Ratchet left Jock to recover the ink he lost while they analyzed the damage the storm had caused. Leaving Don Karnage alone with a twitchy Rebecca and a dazed Jock regaining himself.

The halls and corridors of the airship gave a ghostly silence with cold wind blowing in from the damaged walls to match. They nervously opened the door to the engine room they were in prior to the storm. Ash had caked the walls and pipes all leading to the blown out engine that sat there crumpled in a corner. Picking around and noting what needed to be fixed while looking over their shoulders for any other surpise guests.

After some time, the surveying duo came back into the main hangar. Talking amongst themselves before confronting their boss.

"How bad is the damage those pests caused?"

Ratchet and Vincent stood in front of him, mirroring two brothers telling their father they broke a window. Ratchet fidgeted with his worn out baseball cap in his hands. Looking at the bat nervously, with panic in his eyes. This was a sign he wasn't go to be chatty. He never was the one to be anyways. So Vincent took one for the team and did it for the both of them.

"To our luck, the hull took most of the damage. Keeping all the instruments untouched.

Discluding the engines. Which both got overloaded with the spatters that left Jock a melting ice cream cone. Still able to be salvaged, fortunately."

The optimistic words degraded with the exhausted tone he spoke in.

"We're just going to need a handful of paint and scraps to get this place fixed up."

Karnage looked down at the empty can and back to the few remaining ones that they left by his plane sadly.

"If we are going to make the Iron Vulture airborne again, I say we start making our way to Shere Khan's tower. It is safe to say that the tiger has lots of goodies for us to snag, Yes no?"

"We ALSO need to look for traces of Baloo and Kit may I remind you. The whole reason why I'm here on this ship with you of all people."

Rebecca cutted in to remind him the reason the pirates even got paint so easily in the first place. In which he rolled his eyes over to the rest of the men lining up besides the other two awaiting orders.

"Yes, Yes I'm aware, Rebecca. My personal self simply have more room for goals than the vast emptiness of your head.

Now, let us give Khan a little allo, yes no?"

Now looking at his crew at this moment. Don realized how small and plucky his horde of pirates had been reduced to from the army he commanded when their show first aired. Many didn't make it to Wasteland after being forgotten, being lost to the archives of time. Others had parted ways and left the vulture nest to make a new life in this place.

He bit the bottom of his lip with a silent thank you to Yen Sid that no one above had seen how pathetic they all had become. Before addressing everyone.

"Ratchet and Jock will stay here to keep guard and work on the Vulture. They wouldn't be of good use while they are dazed like penguins in the desert.

The rest of you: TO YOUR PLANES!"

They all fumbled themselves into a salute and made their way to their planes. Rebecca slumped her shoulders with a groan and turned to her previous flight attendant. With long ears painted back immediately on guard.

"Hey, I'm the one trying to be patent with you out of the kindness of what would be my heart. If I had that, I wouldn't be down here dealing with your foul attitude.

So either work with me to find a compromise or curl onto one of the plane's wings, hedgehog style, and prey your don't fall off."

Engines harmonized together high above the city. Flying over the numerous blotlings that roamed the streets like tourists at a theme park. Lanky ranged Sweepers, Hulking Slobbers and the generic spatters. The flock of planes formed a single file line to land in an open area near Khan Industries tower.

Two pirates were tasked to guard the planes. Not wishing to push their luck leaving them alone again with so many on the line.

The small group of pirates-

(Rebecca Included), all walked along the long winding road eyes peeld for anything. Avoiding the water that became diluted by the green acid. Emitting a suttle fog from a violent storm. Sitting in the potholes akin to bear traps wating its next poor victim. The wilted buildings all hunched over them grimly. Mourning over the loss of their vibrant colors and stability.

Khan industries rooted their base of operations in the tallest building in all of Cape Suzette. A revolving door lead in and out. Above that, glass panes lined every to let the people of power watch over the inferior from the comforts of their polished leather chairs.

An overwhelming scent of lemon cleaner burned at their noses worse than all the thinner outside when they walked in. The interior was dimly lit from a minimalist chandelier pinned on the high vaulted ceiling.

Vincent pushed to aside everyone and planted his feet in the middle of the room. He took a slow deep breath in, letting his wings droop ever slightly. Then let out a high pitched whistle. The sonorous sound echoed from all over revealing a chorus of similar tones all responding to the bat. Who listened intently to each sound with his eyes shut tight. The small group held their breaths close to their chests to not interrupt the performance. Don's fur stood on end until the room was quiet once again and his personal sonar was done. Vincent turned back around to his audience with his ears still twitching.

"The first four floors are clear. No blotlings and no employees to be heard. But that's no reason to be aloof."

Karnage stepped beside him, giving a toothy smile at his work. Impressed how his theatrics can be so useful. It was now his turn for his voice to echo

"Khan has a storage room that may be filled all sorts of goodies. Find any materials that will be of use to us.

And a little something for me, yes,no? I've been having a rough day."

Once again it was back to the two stars and the mechanic. Standing in front of a elevator framed by symmetrical stone carved wall. Rebecca clicked the calling button once.

No response

Don pushed Rebecca aside and continued to press at the button impatiently for a second or two before kicking at the doors with a hollow clunk.

"He dares calls himself the wealthiest tiger of Wasteland. THEN NOT PAY FOR THE SIMPLEST OF REPAIRS?"

"Or you know: A giant ink monster attacks the city, taking out the power?"

"Then why was your littlest sausage fingers pressing the button in the first place?"

At this point, they had no reason to argue. They had one goal in mind: get to the top of the tower any way possible.

Farther back behind the elevator was a tight stairway made of cement that spiraled on and on. Foot in front of the other, they hiked up eatch flight with less charge than the last. The air was stuffy and the steps even stuffer. Karnage panted and wheezed out some words out of his dry mouth.

"You know...

I had the most brilliant plan, Vincent."

He stopped for a moment catch his breath before speaking again.

"Why don't you go and rally your little gremlin pals and ask them to be so generous and help fix our ship?"

Vincent quietly panted to himself not wanting to show any trace of exhaustion to the other two. Gave his best breathed response.

"If the power doesn't even work, what's to say the projectors are even functional? It would take ages for me to fly there myself and then back again with reinforcements. Just thinking about it makes my wings want to fall off.

Do you know how secluded Cape Suzette is from the rest of the areas? You all are on the edge of Wasteland."

"It has its benefits, you know. We were forgotten a long time after the thinner disaster, one perk. Then the blot's rampage didn't make it that far when the mouse had made his surprise visit."

"Making it one of the most populated areas for toons to live. Since most other places were wiped out over time."

"Then some group of air pirates decides they want to raid the city like we're still on the air."

They climbed another flight in silence to give their heaving lungs a break. Before resuming their conversation.

"I have no shame in saying that I, Don Karnage. Do time and again try to seize your wonderful city.

Though now, it's the only familiar place to enact my plans. Since my hideout no longer exists and the only pirate related place is preoccupied by a rusty bucket of bolts with a sad excuse for a hook.

He simply can't handle that air pirates are far superior to the below than average sea pirates. He is one insufferable idiot, I must tell you."

They stopped in their place and let their aching bodies take a rest. Vincent leaned against the wall and stretched his legs. Looking at Karnage and Mrs Cunningham. Seeing how these two talked about their former glory stirred some question inside his mind. He curiously asked a simple question:

"What was it like?"

"My amazing hideout or my hatred for the deemed codfish. It all started on Raw Toona-"

Vincent cut Don off quickly with a louder tone before he got back into his rivaly with the sea pirates of Wasteland.

"No, Karnage. As much as I would love to hear it.

But being famous, like you two were."

They both turned torwards each other. Looking to see if the other had a proper answer for the question they echoed off the walls and their heads. Rebecca led with honesty while Don took a moment to ponder. Scratching at his chin.

"Well, I mean, I really didn't pay much attention to it. But a part of me liked the idea that my hard work in Higher for Hire had been recognized. Even though Baloo was the star of the show."

"Unlike the humble-type of person Rebecca is. I lived for the fame. In and out of the show, I was known for my dashing good looks and my magnificent voice. I feel like I was the only one that enjoyed the love of our adoring little admirers.

Vincent turned over to the prince of pirates. Who was thinking about it harder than he should. It looking like he was preparing for a speech.

I would give anything to feel that once again."

He stared off into the darkness, placing a hand on his chest for a moment. Before slowly letting it drop to his side.

"I realized I took it all for granted after we all lost our hearts and got sent here.

It happens to everyone at some point, I suppose."

Rebecca finished her comments with a wry smile. Hoping that satisfied Vincent's question. Then continued her climb up the stairs without another word. He began to follow Rebecca's lead. Turning back around to see Don taking another moment to regroup his thoughts before trailing behind.

The time had dragged on for what felt like an eternity, when the exit leading to the final floor stood in front of them. The thin metal door creaked open, the cold air gave a sharp greeting to their destination.

The reception area acted like a guardhouse to the massive gates that lead into Shere Khan's office. Vincent readied himself to survey the area with another whistle. But nothing came out of him, because he already was listening to something else.

The noises were faint, but there were too many to leave it unattended.

"There's something up here with us, Captain.

You two go on ahead and get the files. I'm going for a little stroll to see what this is about."

Without another word, he marched away from the massive doors. Don watched him leave with a haste in his step, with a hint of concern when calling our for him.

"You better not wander off too far and make the fool of yourself. That's an order from your captain, I know you can hear me."

The bat was long gone on his own expedition. Leaving him alone with the eager business woman, already pushing open the heavy doors into the office.

Vincent's ears twitched in all different directions while he crept through the dark halls. Quietly pulling his pistols out of their holsters into his hands. The sounds gradually became more clear.

They were voices. Some were hushed in whisper while others cried out, banging on the walls. But all shared the same message of getting out.

His short fur stood on end from the chill that ran down his back. Locating the source of the voices coming from a conference room. Barricaded by debris from a collapsed ceiling. He desperately pushed at the rubble with all his strength. Not even an inch was moved. Frantically looked around for something to help him. Bolting through the rooms and rummaging through cabinets. He found a stash of cans filled with both Paint and Thinner locked away in a glass container with blueprints of machines of all sorts. Which was immediately shattered and robbed of its contents. He dashed back to the barricade and tore the lid of the can of thinner. Taking a step back, he tossed the contents onto the blockage. Withering away, leaving the door left. He was ready to tear the door off its hinges:

Until he saw a chain with a padlock wrapped tight over the handles.

The situation just kept getting worse and worse in his head. He took a step back, avoiding the thinner he spilled and shot at the lock. The chain slithered to the floor, and the door was kicked in.

A blur of white charged straight at Vincent and clung to his torso. Her gloved hands wrapped around him tight in a embrace.

"Oh Vincent, is that really you? Thank Yen Sid you're alright."

Out of anything he expected to find. Hilda, the woman who had been relentlessly looking for him, had been found by him. She rested her chin on his shoulder for comfort. Vincent didn't even know what to feel at this moment.

Relief, confusion, fear?

Fear had been the feeling that prevailed. Not just because of Hilda being here of all places during this storm.

When his eyes focused to see the rest of the room. It was filled with numerous other people. Pilots, janitors, security guards that wore company uniforms. City residents from all over all crowded in the large room.

"Khan Industries offered us shelter when the Blot had attacked the city. Then when we least expected it-"

"He locked us in here and threw away the key"

The voice of a 12 year old came from within the room. A small bear cub rose from his feet from the floor. He wore a green swear with a small patch on his elbow with a blue and red baseball cap over the shaggy head of light brown fur.

Vincent had recognized the young boy immediately. Quickly pushing Hilda away from him while confronting the child.

"You're Kit Cloudkicker"

"Yeah who's asking?"

Kit was very weary of this random stranger. Being defensive and short in tone.

"If you're in here,

Where's Baloo?"

"Wouldn't you like to know, fruit bat?"

"Why is everyone in this show so snarky?"

He was forcing himself to be calm and already tired of all these people. Regrettably, he had a captain to report to soon. Bitting his tongue with his sharp fangs.

"Wait a minute....DON!"

An ignorantly bliss Don Karnage and Rebecca walked deeper into the tiger's den. Their footsteps clinked across the marble floor that formed a long walkway. Leading to the extravagant wooden desk that sat at the end in front of a window dressed in expensive red curtains. Jungle's worth of exotic plants lined the walkway and reached for the rafters.

The two looked at all the plants curiously.

"For someone who looks the least like his primitive predecessor. He sure does lives like him."

Low cold laughter came from the other side of the room. Stopping them cold in their tracks. Behind the chair emerged a finely pressed suit sleeve that bloomed a powerful orange hand with razor-sharp claws.

"More than you can imagine, Mrs Cunningham..."

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

Thank you guys so much for your patience. I was busy with finals and stuff and wrote the majority of it all in one night :D

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3

#don karnage #talespin #epic mickey #epic mickey rebrushed #epic mickey 2 #the power of two #gay #oc #oc artist #o.p.a.t #furry

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