#and the one with kid hopefully says 'oh yeah mirrors can be scary' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

olliedollie1204 · 4 years

Text

everything fits (1/8)- the meeting

Single father Patton is utterly devoted to his son Virgil. Recently divorced Logan is utterly devoted to his twin sons Remus and Roman. The pieces come together.

Pairings: Romantic Logicality

Word Count: 3,495

Tags: Single dad Patton and kid Virgil, Divorced Dads Logan and Janus and kids Roman and Remus (their split was mutual and their relationship is good)

listen y’all, i started this AU in January of this year, it is VERY near and dear to my heart, so even though it’s not finished i wanted to make myself happy and post what i have to hopefully motivate me to finish it <333

also a very late shoutout to @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno for reading a few chapters/oneshots for this AU... hm, six months ago? and giving me the best positive feedback i could’ve asked for. she’s a queen and a legend :D

(Read it on AO3!)

“Daddy?”

Patton woke up to two tiny hands pressing into his back. He blinked, fumbling for his glasses on his messy bedside table. As he pulled them on, blinking the sleep out of his eye, he couldn’t help but break into a large smile at the figure standing next to his bed.

Virgil was always small for his age, and the giant purple hoodie he insisted on sleeping in practically swallowed him in its soft, thick fabric. It made him look, in Patton’s professional dad opinion, even more adorable than he already was.

He had obviously just woken up— his dark hair was sticking out in all directions, and there was a small line across his cheek that Patton suspected was dried drool. His oversized hoodie sleeves idly swung by his sides. Patton would give almost anything to wake up to that sight everyday.

“G’morning, stormcloud,” he murmured, reaching out to stroke Virgil’s hair. “How did you sleep?”

“Um, good.” Patton frowned a little at the short response.

“What’s wrong, kiddo?”

The little boy gnawed on his lower lip— a nervous habit that Patton had never been able to get him to break.

“Um, um, um— I’m sorry I woke you up, but—”

“Hey, Virgil, what’s the sorry rule?” Patton interrupted, grabbing Virgil’s hands to pull him closer.

Virgil looked down at their clasped hands, their fingernails painted a matching shiny purple.

“Don’t say sorry unless something bad happened,” he recited. It was a highly oversimplified rule, but a seven year old could only handle so much nuance.

Patton nodded, leaning forward to plant a kiss on Virgil’s head. “That’s right, kiddo. Nothing bad happened, so no need to say sorry, right? And in a minute I’ll get dressed, and we can go make waffles for breakfast—”

“But that’s on Saturdays!” Virgil interrupted.

Patton frowned again. The words ‘it is Saturday’ were on the tip of his tongue, until something clicked in his sleep-addled brain and— oh, fuck.

“Oh, bother,” he said aloud. “It’s Friday, isn’t it?”

Virgil continued to chew on his lip, nodding. “I woke up and I went to the, the kitchen, and the clock— the big hand was on the nine and the little hand, the little hand was almost on the seven, and—”

6:45. Patton cursed internally again. Virgil was meant to be dropped off at school by 7:00, and although Patton was rarely on time, he was supposed to be at his first job by 7:30. So much for that.

“— so I came, I came in here to wake you up,” Virgil finished, looking at his dad with wide eyes.

Patton took this all in, sighing as he ran his fingers through Virgil’s messy hair.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did, kiddo,” he finally said, smiling softly. “Because somebody—”

He poked Virgil’s cheek, giving a little laugh when his son giggled and batted the finger away.

“—Needs to get to school, huh?”

Virgil eyes lit up, bouncing on his heels. “Dr. Picani said, he said, he said we’re gonna play with clay today!”

Patton gasped as he stood up, reluctantly letting go of Virgil’s hands to get to his closet.

“Oh my gosh, that’s gonna be so much fun!” he cheered, pulling out two polo shirts and holding them up for Virgil to see.

“Grey or blue?”

Virgil pondered, brow furrowed in concentration. “Blue,” he finally announced.

Patton grinned. “I was thinking the same thing,” he whispered with a wink. “Now how about you go get dressed— I’ll help you with your hair and teeth in a minute— and I’ll throw some bread in the toaster, and you can eat it on the way, okay, stormcloud?”

Virgil nodded. He started walking towards the door, but stopped, fiddling with his sleeves.

“Um—” he blurted. “Can I, can I have a hug, please?”

Patton melted a little at Virgil’s tiny voice.

“Aw, Virgey,” he cooed, “you never need to ask me that!”

He scooped Virgil up into his arms, pressing a wet kiss onto his cheek to make him giggle.

“Ew!” He squirmed in Patton’s grip, laughing maniacally. “Daddy!”

Patton laughed, setting Virgil down. “Now go get dressed, I’ll be with you in a minute.”

He straightened up and watched as Virgil left the room, his smile dropping almost immediately.

Of course he had to go and forget to set his alarm last night. Ever since Sunday night, when he had picked up a last-minute shift at the bar, Patton’s internal calendar had been thrown off by a day.

He ran a hand through his hair, sighing again as he picked up his phone. Today was not off to a great start.

“All good?” Patton asked, twisting around to check the seatbelt on Virgil’s booster seat once more. Virgil nodded, his mouth full of bread and jam.

“Okay, let’s hit the road!”

With that, Patton pulled onto the street a tad bit faster than he normally would, a ‘Best of Disney’ CD playing in the background.

Patton sang along, but his attention was not on the music. Rather, it was on his son, who was getting more and more fidgety the closer they got to the school.

At the next stoplight, Patton turned down the music, catching Virgil’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Vibe check?” he asked. It was a silly joke, some meme Remy had started quoting that Patton had picked up without even really knowing what it meant, but it soon became his and Virgil’s code word for talking about scary stuff like feelings.

Virgil didn’t answer right away, but Patton was patient.

“I don’t… I don’t want people to look at me when I walk in,” Virgil eventually muttered, eyes on his lap. “‘Cause they’ll think it’s weird that I came in late.”

Patton’s heart sank.

“And… and what if I miss something important, and I won’t know how to catch up, and Dr. Picani will get mad at me—”

Virgil’s voice broke a little as the boy started sniffling.

“Oh, kiddo,” Patton murmured, reaching behind him to grab Virgil’s sticky hand. “Virgil, honey, can we take deep breaths?”

He inhaled loudly enough for Virgil to hear him, and after a few seconds the two exhaled together. They did this for a few breaths, in and out, in and out.

When Patton was confident Virgil wouldn’t start crying, he let go of his hand, bringing it safely back to the steering wheel.

“Are those all the bad things that could happen?”

Virgil nodded in dejection.

“What are the good things that could happen?”

Now the child paused. “Um, um, um, I don’t know.”

Patton thought for a moment. “Well… I think Kai will be pretty happy his best friend came to school, even if you’re late, right?”

He looked to Virgil for confirmation, and after a beat the boy nodded.

“And if you miss any classwork, then maybe Dr. Picani will let you go to the library during playtime to finish it.”

Virgil nodded again, a little more enthusiastically. He hated the chaos of playtime; children screaming and running around and roughhousing with each other— the library would be a welcome boon from all of that.

“And…” Patton racked his brain for a third example. “And you won’t have to listen to the morning announcements, ‘cause they already happened!” he finished triumphantly, knowing that the ancient speaker system was especially grating on Virgil’s ears.

“Plus, have you ever thought someone was weird, just because they came in the classroom late?” he continued. Virgil shook his head. “So I don’t think anyone will think you’re weird.”

Virgil hesitated. “I guess.”

Patton winced.

“I’m really sorry you feel nervous, kiddo,” he said softly. “And I’m sorry I put you in this position.”

Virgil looked up at him, eyes wide. “It’s okay,” he replied automatically.

Pattons smiled a little. “Are you saying that not to hurt my feelings?” he asked, kindly but sternly.

Virgil looked torn. “Well… I mean— I guess I mean I’m not mad at you, because everybody makes mistakes, and I love you.”

Patton gave a surprised laugh. “I love you, too,” he responded, once again thankful beyond words that Dr. Picani was teaching his son healthy ways to express complex feelings.

“It’s very kind of you to be considerate of my feelings,” he continued, pulling into the school parking lot. “But I’m your daddy, and it’s my job to take care of you. I made a mistake, and I’m sorry, and I’ll be double sure it’ll never happen again.”

He looked at Virgil in the rearview. “Can you forgive me?”

Virgil nodded, eyes wide. “I forgive you.”

Patton sighed, looking at his son with adoration. How he got such a great kid, he’ll never know.

As soon as he turned off the car, he hopped out to help Virgil unbuckle his seatbelt and get his backpack on. The young boy clambered out of the car, but made no move towards the large school building.

Patton knelt down to his eye level.

“Do you wanna walk in by yourself, or do you want me to come with you?”

Virgil fiddled with the string on his hoodie. “Aren’t you late for work?”

Patton paused, checking his watch. “Yeah,” he admitted. He always tried to be honest with Virgil when he could. “But I called my boss and told him what happened, so I won’t be in trouble.”

He wasn’t gonna get paid for the hour of work he was going to miss, but Virgil didn’t need to know all that.

“Plus,” he added in an encouraging tone, “you can show me that drawing you told me about? The one Dr. Picani put on the wall because it was so good?”

Virgil flushed a little at the praise. “He put everybody’s drawings on the wall, Daddy,” he insisted, but there was a small smile on his face now.

“Yeah, but I’ll bet there was only one person who thought to draw a robot shark and a sabertooth tiger being best friends. I mean, that’s so creative!”

Virgil shrugged, smiling down at his shoes. “I guess you can see it, if you wanna.”

Patton laughed and held out his hand. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

Hand in hand, the two made the long walk up to the building. As they got closer, Patton squeezed Virgil’s hand.

“What do we say to the door?” he asked— another little ritual between the two.

Virgil giggled, throwing his arms out in front of him like a wizard casting a spell. “Open sesame!”

Patton laughed as he grabbed the handle.

“Thank you, kiddo,” he said, and pulled.

The door stayed shut.

Patton frowned. He pushed it instead. Nothing.

Virgil lowered his arms. “What’s wrong, Daddy?”

“Nothing,” Patton hurried to say. He pulled again, then pushed again. “I think… I think it’s locked.”

Immediately Virgil’s smile dropped.

“Why is it locked?” he asked, a little bit of anxiety returning to his voice. Patton pulled the door yet again, but it stayed firmly shut.

“I don’t know, kiddo.” He scanned the wall for anything that would unlock the door. There was a keycard scanner on the metal doorframe, but Patton didn’t have a clue how to activate it.

He could sense Virgil was about to get upset again, and he rubbed a hand against his son’s shoulder.

“Okay, let’s take some deep breaths. We’ll get you into class, one way or another.”

“Why would they keep the stupid door locked?” Virgil demanded, and normally Patton would remind him to use nicer language, but to be honest, he was thinking words that were a fair bit harsher than ‘stupid’ at the moment. He didn’t look at his watch again, but he knew that he really didn’t have the time to wait around for someone to walk by the door.

He turned around, about to suggest they try to find another door to get into the building, but found himself face to face with… another pair of glasses?

He gasped, hand flying up to his chest as he stepped back from the figure who was suddenly in his personal space. The other man— tall, sharply dressed, with square framed glasses perched on his nose— looked appropriately guilty at Patton’s reaction.

“Apologies,” he commented in a clipped tone. “I was in a hurry and I did not realize you weren’t entering the door.”

Patton was having a little trouble bringing his focus away from the man’s deep blue eyes, until he felt Virgil squeeze his hand, bringing him back down to Earth.

“No worries!” he responded faux-cheerfully, as the blue-eyed man moved around him to approach the door. “We, uh, we think it’s locked.”

He paused, looking back at Patton as he pulled something out of his pocket. “I have a keycard.”

With one swift motion, he swiped the card, pulled on the door, and moved to the side, holding it open as he looked at Patton expectantly.

“Oh, um, thank you,” Patton stammered, gently pushing Virgil through the door in front of him. “Come on, Virgil.”

The two made their way into the hall, Virgil pulling Patton by the hand through the unfamiliar building.

“The office is over here,” he whispered, just loud enough for Patton to hear. Patton nodded, picking up his pace a little bit but still lagging behind Virgil.

They walked a few feet before a voice chimed in again.

“It’s a safety protocol.”

Patton turned in confusion, finding Blue Eyes walking nearly next to him with long, confident strides. He opened his mouth to ask for clarification before he realized that the man was not looking at him— he was looking at Virgil. Patton turned around just in time to see Virgil give the man a suspicious look.

“What?” Patton winced a little at his bluntness, but Blue Eyes seemed unbothered.

“You asked why they keep the door locked. It’s a safety protocol. It prevents unauthorized people from entering the school building during the day.”

Virgil frowned and curled in on himself. Patton waited two beats before realizing he wasn’t going to reply.

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense!” he jumped in, not wanting to be rude to the man, who turned his gaze onto him.

“Yes,” Blue Eyes replied after a moment, “although I suppose there should be some way for parents and visitors to enter the building without having to wait for someone with a keycard to happen by. I will be certain to address this in our next staff meeting.”

Patton blinked, a little bit unsure if the man was still really talking to him or just thinking aloud.

“Probably a good idea,” he replied anyway.

He suddenly felt himself jerk as Virgil turned a sharp corner, pulling him into a nearly identical hallway. Blue Eyes continued to walk with them, speeding up to keep pace with Patton.

Patton gave a sheepish smile. “We’re running a bit late,” he said by way of explanation.

“As am I,” Blue Eyes replied. “Almost ten years of teaching and this is the first time I’ve been late to work.”

Patton’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh! Well, I hope— I mean, obviously, I don’t want to keep you from your class, if that’s the reason you’re walking with us—”

He fumbled through the sentence, trying to politely let the man off the hook if he was already late for work, but he stopped himself as Blue Eyes shook his head.

“No, no, it’s nothing to do with you. I need to pick up some photocopies for my class from the main office. I would be going this way regardless,” he stated. Patton felt himself blush a little.

“Oh, okay. Good.”

The trio arrived at the office, again with the blue-eyed man holding the door open for Patton and Virgil. As soon as they were inside, Virgil bolted to the back of the office where the late entry sign-in sheet lay. Patton meandered towards him, but stopped when he heard the man clear his throat.

“After some… reflection,” he began with consideration, “I realize that my behavior might have seemed off putting, or perhaps even rude. I apologize.”

Patton blinked in surprise at the sincerity in the man’s voice. “No, are you kidding? You definitely saved our butts back there, getting the door and all. You’re my hero!” he joked, choosing to ignore the potential awkwardness of the statement.

Nevertheless, Blue Eyes smiled. “Well, then, you’re welcome.”

Again Patton expected that to be the end of the conversation, especially considering the man apparently needed to pick up some papers for his class, but Blue Eyes continued to look at him.

“Logan Croft,” he said suddenly, sticking out his hand. Patton was picking up on the man’s— Logan’s— tendency to jump between conversation points.

“Patton Hart,” he responded, shaking his hand. Logan’s grip was firm in his, and Patton became very aware of the jam residue Virgil had left on his palm.

Despite this, Logan made no move to pull away for a few more beats, eventually dropping his hand.

“How old is… Virgil?” Logan asked, eyes darting to the young boy again.

Patton smiled on reflex. “Seven.”

Logan seemed pleased with his answer. “Ah. A good age. Hopefully not too rebellious yet.”

“No, no, he’s a great kid,” Patton assured, laughing lightly. The two watched as Virgil stood on his tiptoes to fill out the sign-in sheet, his pencil gripped tight in his fist as he wrote his name in careful, blocky letters.

“Do you have any children?” Patton asked on a hunch. He smiled to himself as he saw Logan’s eyes light up. Bingo.

“Twin boys, age ten,” he replied in a voice full of pride.

Patton laughed again. “Oh, gosh!” That made a lot of sense, given how Logan was currently watching Virgil with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. “Twin preteen boys, that can’t be a walk in the park.”

“Yes, they can be… more than a handful at times,” Logan admitted. “My husband—”

He faltered for a brief moment.

“... My ex-husband handles their fluctuating emotional states much more delicately than I do,” he finished.

Patton knew not to comment on Logan’s slip up, or the change in his demeanor. Instead, he smiled softly.

“Well, you’ve been nothing but kind to me and Virge here,” he said, shrugging lightly. “So I reckon you’re probably a really great dad.”

Logan met his eyes again, giving him a smile that made Patton feel a little flushed. “Likewise.”

Patton felt a tugging at his hand again, causing him to look down.

“You ready, kiddo?” he asked. Virgil nodded, a tardy pass clutched in his fist.

Patton turned to face Logan again, but he wasn’t there. Confused, he looked around, just in time to see the other man duck into a back office space.

That was… surprisingly disappointing, but Patton couldn’t dwell on it. He turned his attention back to his son.

“Let’s get you to class, stormcloud,” he chirped briskly, moving them both towards the door. He had just started to push it open when he heard a voice behind them.

“Virgil?”

The two turned in sync. There was Logan, watching them from the doorway he disappeared through, a stack of papers in his arms.

“I like your hoodie,” he said.

Patton felt Virgil abruptly squeeze his hand tighter, a slight distraction from the way his own heart seemed to skip a beat. He smiled, opening his mouth to respond on his son’s behalf, and—

“Thank you!” Virgil replied.

Virgil… replied? To a stranger? Without Patton prompting? He felt his eyes bug out of his head, and he tried not to openly gawk at his son, who was— oh my Gosh. Virgil was smiling at Logan, and suddenly he raised the hand not holding onto Patton, and he waved!

Patton whipped his head back to Logan, watching in shock as he waved back at his son. He met Patton’s eyes, and his friendly smile turned into one of understanding. Patton couldn’t help but grin a little too wide as he waved as well, the two of them finally exiting the office as the door swung shut behind them.

“Daddy! He said, he, he said he liked my hoodie!” Virgil was practically jumping up and down. Patton didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“I heard,” he finally managed, his smile somehow growing even wider as he added, “And you said thank you, just like you’re supposed to when someone compliments you! You did such a good job, kiddo, I’m so proud of you!”

Maybe he was making this into a bigger deal than it was, but Virgil was almost cripplingly shy when it came to strangers, especially grownups; and yet within five minutes with Logan, he had been able to smile and speak and even wave.

Patton changed his mind. This was one of the best mornings in his memory.

“Alright, kiddo,” he said, urging Virgil to pull him down the hall. “Lead the way!”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #logicality #patton sanders #logan sanders #virgil sander #roman sanders #remus sanders #janus sanders #my writing #my posts #everything fits

46 notes · View notes

strange-changes-ln · 3 years

Text

“ Strange Changes. “

Chapter Four: “An Episode.”

Okay.

This is- fine, this is A- for- Alright. Just- enter the elevator. And- And get this box to the Lady already. So… why is he hesitating? Is he nervous? Course. Why not. He made it all the way here, he could probably turn around and go back, but that would’ve been a lot of time, simply wasted. So, he’s just- gonna have to suck it up, and go in. Roger presses the button on the side of the wall, waiting for the constantly rising, and lowering box from behind the metal doors to show up.

This? This is okay. Nothing’s wrong here.

For now, he can just look around for a while, he supposes. With the new sight. He’s still wondering how this happened. Was it merely by chance? Was something or- someone causing this? He highly doubts it’s a someone, but-

“ Janitor? “ A voice. Came from in front of him.

. . . The Lady.

Oh— Oh she was in the- he didn’t- think-

No- focus! Don’t start acting idiotic now, Roger.

“ Ah— My Lady! Uhh- I-I didn’t think you were coming down, you- usually don’t. “ He- tried to his best not to stammer, but it was bound to happen. The Lady slowly moved her way out of the elevator, her kimono making it seem like she wasn’t touching the ground to move. She stared. Silently, at him.

” … “ He blinked, awkwardly. “ I-uh- ahem- brought you something. This was supposed to be given to you. I don’t know why, there wasn’t anyone there when it arrived. The Ferryman just saw the package, with a note, by the dock, saying that it had to be given to you. Don’t know how it arrived, again, it just kind of appeared, and.. and I, uh… “ He glanced back up at the Lady. She was still silent. She- might’ve been getting tired of his ramble. Ah jeez.

“ ..M..My apologies, my Lady, I-I should’ve just given it to, huh. “ He let out a fake chuckle. That- didn’t make this looming, discomforting sense of tension any better.

The Lady simply approached him, looming over his shortened stature. She seemed to…examine him. Something was different about him, something she didn’t see at all before. She stared directly at Roger, technically making ‘eye contact’ with him. Her expression was hidden behind her cream white mask. The Janitor shrunk, just a bit, under her gaze.

” ..um..ah-haha- uh.. m-my Lady?- Is there, something you would- “

” Where are your eyes? “ She finally spoke, her voice was soft, and calm. He flinched. Not again.

” ..uh.. p..pardon? “

“ Your eyes. You do not seem to have them. “ It’s something she never knew, due to the skin acting as a blindfold most of the time. How interesting, this was.

He- really didn’t wanna get back on this again, but- he assumes he has to. Deep breath.

“ ..Well, you see, I— t-this is a past scar, it’s nothing, b-but… most of the townsfolk didn’t exactly appreciate that I was around. They saw me as a freak of nature, and… i-it isn’t like I could tell them they’re wrong. So, a- a group cornered me as I was just trying to find solitude, and.. they, uh.. “ The paining quiet, the uncomfortable stare of the Lady, having to recall this moment all over again— he just did his best to keep calm, despite the stuttering. Why was he acting like this, he’s an adult, suck it up.

“ ..They— did their damage. They got what.. what they wanted for the most part, heh-… “ He laughed it off. Like his normally would have, but it wasn’t helping. It didn’t help any of the times he’s tried it so far. The Lady still, stared. She was waiting. He wanted to just cut it short and give her the package. But… he kept going, he didn’t really know why. “ S-Sure, they most likely wanted me dead a-at best, but hey! At least.. they were satisfied, eheheh.. “

The Lady nodded. He’s kind of surprised she listened to all of that. He had the feeling she would have cut him off right then and there, but-

“ Did it hurt? “ She… unsettlingly asked. Roger was mostly looking at the ground during this, but now he had perked his head up to meet Lady’s eyes.

“ ..did it…hurt? “ He squinted.

“ The attack. Was it painful? “ ..That’s a…strange question to ask. But a question nonetheless.

“ ..Y-Yeah. A lot, actually. It was.. kinda scary, too, I couldn’t see.. everything was dark, it was cold.. raining. Nobody seemed to come to my aid, so I just- had to go off, on my own. I-I kinda thought I was- gonna die. My eyes were bleeding, I felt that if I lost too much, I would’ve…u-uh…mm- “ He shook his head, before continuing. “ T-Though, I- found my way to…somewhere, can’t remember where. And- luckily, there was a gauze. Just had to.. wrap myself up. Was lightheaded after. Cold. A-A little too cold. And alone, kind of when…wh-when I shouldn’t have been. “ He once again, tried to laugh it off a bit. But it progressed.

No.

No no no no no NO. NO. STOP. You- You shouldn’t be having one of these now, not in front of the Lady..! Calm down, calm down, you’re just talking.

The Lady seemed confused. He had been giving out chuckles of discomfort a few times during this, but now? Now it seemed to escalate. To a strangely high degree.

” I-I don’t know where— my Mom- m-my Dad, they- weren’t around, they- I-I lost them, I lost- I-I was lost, so- s-so lost, it- it was cold, I was scared out of my mind that someone w-would’ve found me and tr-tried t— o-or hoped that someone would’ve helped, b-but funnily enough; nobody did!! “

He was rambling again, nonono, stop, calm yourself down! You’re being overdramatic, Roger, stop it. “ I-I could’ve…….c…..could’ve…… heh…heheheheh- n-no one was there, no one stopped it, I-I was on my own, b-but that’s what I wanted, right?— W-Well, I mean- sure, but- but not like that, not like that, not like.. someone, a-anyone could’ve done something, s-someone could’ve helped, someone, SOMEONE.. “

This was… spiraling out of control, the Lady finally made note. Roger was backed up against a wall, hand to his hat, putting an immense amount of pressure onto it, still talking to himself. She didn’t know what was going on with him, but it was best to calm the situation down at this point in time.

She gently put her hand on the Janitor’s shoulder. He jolted, eyeing up at the tall, elegant woman. He was a shaky, stammering, panicked mess for a couple of moments there. Another one. Really?

His breathing slowed, his hand slowly lowering from his hat and down to his side. The…The shaking was still prominent, but not as much as before.

This seemed extremely unprofessional. And he felt as it was. But the Lady simply brushed it off, and eyed the little box he was supposed to have given to her sooner. It fell to the ground, as he lost his grip. She reached down, and picked it up, firmly. Once more, eyeing Roger. He immediately diverted his attention, looking to the left.

“ ..I-I’m.. “ He began to speak, eyeing the Lady, still… stuttering. “ ..I’m s- “ He was stopped, the woman putting her hand in front of him. She didn’t need an apology. She simply turned, went into the elevator, and went back up to her quarters.

. . .

He’s so… so… tired.

Mentally, and emotionally. He just- wants to get back to his comfort zone. Where he doesn’t have to be around people other than the kids. Alone. By his own choice.

Passing through the Kitchen, he doesn’t even know what time is it, but he notices Marcus still up. He’s smoking. He’s…not supposed to be. But he still does, and Roger never knew why. The Chef had noticed him from where he stood.

“ -Oh, hey R..uhh… you okay? “ He squinted one eye. “ Did you get the box to- “

” Mhm- yep. “

“ Oh. Uh. Was she mad, or.. “

” Nono, uh… it didn’t seem like it. “ He could’ve only been able to tell if she had spoken, if she had a certain tone to her voice. But she sounded calm and collected. So… hopefully she wasn’t mad afterwards. “ I just.. “ Roger ‘crossed his arms,’ which was just an excuse to not say that he was hugging them instead of having his arms crossed. “ ..I’m just gonna go. I’m tired. You should, uh.. probably go too, Y’know? “

” ..Yeah. Yeah, I probably should. “ Marcus nodded, and put whatever he was doing at the cutting board to a halt. He started to head off, off to his living space. Marcus glanced back at-

Oh. The Janitor was already gone.

Huh.

…

Y’know, he— he kind of got curious. About the box. Whoever sent it to the Lady must’ve been… maybe… important? He doesn’t know. He never gets to see her often.

Eh, whatever. He’ll just get some rest. Marcus kept thinking to himself. As he carefully entered his bedroom, careful as not to disturb his brother.

. . .

The Lady hummed. She held the box firmly in her hands, as she made her way over to the wooden desk-like object, with the broken mirror.

She quietly sighed, before continuing to hum. She quickly inspected herself. She still looked the same. She was still elegant. She was still…

Hm. Eyeing the little box that had been sent to her. It was a cardboard box, with a little dark blue bow on the top. She squinted behind the mask. How…simple of a design. She gingerly removed the blue bow, and put it down on the wooden surface she stood at. She then began to open the box up itself.

She wonders.

Once the box has been properly opened, she sees— a letter? Just- a normal, white letter. She hums, lifting it from out of the box. She removed the seal, carefully, with the best precision she could muster. Inside, was a folded piece of paper, exactly three times, it had been folded.

. . .

Unfolding the paper, she skimmed over the note for a moment, before taking the time to actually read it. Once that was done, she read.

She, ah— read it a couple of times. Because-..

Well..

” … “ She stood in a sort of- shocked silence.

She then muttered.. something.

. . .

She simply put the paper onto the wooden surface, and vanished. Into the shadows.

#ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #little nightmares #little nightmares lady #roger the janitor #Strange Changes

6 notes · View notes

aarcanechaoss · 4 years

Text

☆ DAD!? BoYfRiEnD!? ☆

Kosuke was nervous, what could she say having her quite protective father meet her quite careless boyfriend... what could go wrong? She could only hope they would get along.

Osamu didn’t have nerves, worries yes but nerves he honestly thought being nervous was behind him until he realised he was meeting his partners father. He hoped whoever Mr Fukuzawa was he was nice and didn’t mind how excentric he would be. Mr Fukuzawa?

Yukichi wasn’t a stone cold man, protective yes but cold no. He would smile down at the picture of his daughter, he couldn’t call her little anymore she was only a few centimetres shy of being as tall as him but she was growing up fast.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Dazai stop dozing off and pay attention to the work on your desk.” Kunikida yelled as he slapped the dark haired man upside the head. Dazai fell forward and smacked his head against his desk.

“Uh Dazai?” Atsushi said worriedly.

“What is it when your chest feels on fire and your stomach fills with butterflies?” Dazai asks.

“Are you sick?” Kenji calls out- Yosano turns to him with an evil glint.

“No just... I’m meeting Ko’s father tonight.”

“Oh you are? Have you never met him before?” Naomi calls out. “Also can we meet her at some point?”

“Nope. Like I said meeting him tonight.” Dazai sighed. “Uh maybe.”

“What about her mother?” Junichiro tilts his head.

“It’s just her and her dad she doesn’t know her mother... before Kunikida opens his mouth yes I have been dating her for nearly a year and not yet met him- we are both busy but I’m meeting him tonight.... I guess I’m nervous.”

“Dazai.. nervous?” Atsushi muttered.

Suddenly the brunette stood and smiled.

“Time to go- Ko wants me home early.” Dazai smiles. “Will let you all know how it goes.”

“Please do!” Some one called out.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“President!” Kunikida yelled as the silver haired man stepped through the door.

“I will be on my way out finish any work needed and head home.” He smiled.

“Yes sir. It’s just paperwork and everything should be done as soon as possible.” Kunikida answered.

“Good to here. Have a good evening I have a young man to go scare.” The president let out a deep chuckle.

“Pardon President?” Junichiro asked.

“Oh my daughter, I’m meeting her boyfriend- goodbye everyone.” Fukuzawa laughed again as he left.

“The president has a daughter!?” Naomi called out, Kunikida stood with his jaw dropped.

“The president has daughter and Dazai has a girlfriend.” Atsushi mused... his eyes widened. “Hey guys-“

“Yeah?” The detectives responded.

“Is there a small chance Ko is the president’s daughter and dating Dazai... Dazai is meeting her father and the president is meeting his daughters boyfriend?” Atsushi pondered. The room fell deadly quiet leaving only the sound of Ranpo eating his snacks. “Ranpo?”

“The president’s daughter is named Kosuke.” Is what he says. “She’s a mirror image of her father- I met her when the agency was forming.”

The agency fell silent again with only one question in mind- if it’s true will Dazai live to see tomorrow?

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

“Kosuke.” Dazai pouted and dug his face further into the silver haired woman’s neck.

“Yes Osamu?” She hummed.

“I want attention.” He whined.

“My love when don’t you want attention?” She giggled. Dazai’s arms tightened around her waist pulling her back flush against his chest. She giggled again and gave his arm a pat as she continued to finish setting up dinner.

“Yeah but you are so focused on your dinner and stuff that I haven’t even gotten a kiss yet.” She placed the last of the cutlery on the table and spun in her lovers arms, her own wrapping around his neck as they nuzzled noses.

“Still want a kiss from me?”

“Always.” He breathed pressing his lips against hers, leading her towards a wall. Their lips fit together perfectly, his hands fit perfectly with her own it was like her body was half of his to create a perfect whole- he loved her he truely did.

“That’s enough love.” He pouted as he rested his forehead against hers. “Go get cleaned up dad should be here soon.”

“But Ko..”

“If you do well with dad I’ll give you a special present later.” She winked and off he went excited and merry. She laughed and shook her head.

A knock sounded at the door- her father was here. The door swung open to show a silver haired man, his metallic eyes glimmering in the harsh light of her apartment- she really was a mirror image of her father.

“Dad!” She exclaimed wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“Sunflower how are you?” He grinned.

“I’m great.”

“Where is the boyfriend?”

“Osamu dad is here!” She called out. “Sorry he was just in the bathroom washing up.” Kosuke let her father inside and ducked behind him to shut and lock the door.

Osamu? The president raised a brow at the name, now wouldn’t that be funny if~

“President!” A familiar voice started Yukichi from his thoughts and at first he was shocked- why was Dazai in his daughters apartment... oh... OH.

“Dazai?”

Dazai on the other hand his mind was racing Fukuzawa that name should have clicked much... much earlier in the relationship than it did. Yukichi’s eyes widened at Dazai’s appearance, he had on his usual outfit without his trench coat and most importantly without his bandages for his eyes to notice many many marks... he was comfortable in this apartment.

Kosuke turned to see her father and boyfriend in a confused-frightened-worried-nervous stare down. Then it clicked.

“Oh shit Osamu why didn’t you tell me you worked for my dad?”

“Why didn’t you tell me your dad was my boss?”

“Why did neither of you tell me you were dating specifically.” Yukichi pinched the bridge of his nose.

“How about we sit down and eat before the food gets cold okay?” Kosuke’s voice raised in pitch as she asked. They all sat at the table and slowly began to dig in.... shit it was awkward.

“So dad.” He hummed. “How was your day?”

“My day was good. Not much to do though mostly drank tea, looked over new assignments and signed paper work though I did see a fluffy cat outside the apartment.” Yukichi said fondly.

“Oh that’s Mrs Nakamoto’s cat Whisky... yah I made the same face dad.” Kosuke laughed trying to ease the tension. “I’m going to be adopting that cat we were talking about Osamu. I finally got the paperwork through.”

“We can officially get Bella.” Dazai’s eyes widened- Yukichi watched Kosuke fondly whilst offering tiny glares towards Dazai but more or less he was happy for them.

“You should get a second one later and name it Donna.” Yukichi said seriously. Kosuke snorted and began laughing so hard her stomach hurt. Osamu laughed quietly. “Now... May I say something serious~ I have to say something fatherly now don’t I?” He smiled.

Osamu gulped. He just had big flashing lights in his mind screaming ‘He will kill you! You are dead! RIP Osamu Dazai didn’t even get to make Kosuke, Kosuke Dazai’ - not that that was going to happen for at least another year.

“I don’t expect you to drop formalities with me at work Dazai but since Kosuke is clearly happy with you I cannot refute or disagree even if I did disapprove.” Kosuke’s eyes widen, “Don’t worry I don’t. He’s careless yes but you both clearly care for each other. I’m still your boss but I’m also your partners father so I give you permission to drop formalities you may call me Yukichi instead of President or Mr Fukuzawa.”

“Thank-you pres- Yukichi. I think it’s safe to say Osamu is fine for you to address me as. I won’t hurt her ever never intentionally and hopefully never unintentionally either. I love her.. I love you Ko.” Dazai held his hand out across the table for the older man to shake. “This is a little awkward I will say that no offence is to be made but Ko you are near identical to your father.”

Kosuke started laughing again and nodded.

“Yeah we get that a lot.” Yukichi’s eyes were drawn towards his daughters neck- he hadn’t noticed earlier but she didn’t have her bandage on around her neck- she truely trusts and loves Osamu Dazai and that’s good enough for him.... but if dead Uncle Mori found out, hmm.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

The next day Dazai had stumbled into work tired, disheveled and kind of dopey. His shirt was messy and the bags under his eyes indicated a strong strong lack of sleep.

“Is Dazai okay?” Haruno asked after watching the man stumble around for a few hours now.

“Hmm? Yes I’m fine.”

“Damn was her old man that scary?” Kunikida laughed.

“Oh no we got along quite well after a few minutes of awkwardness.” Dazai perked up and fixed his shirt, leaving his hair a tangled mess. “I just got a present for being good is all.” He winked.

“What is her dad like?”

“Uh well-“

“Osamu.” Yukichi smiled as he entered the angency office. The agents looked to the pair in question- is Dazai in trouble why did the president use his first name? Where they right about him and the president?

“Oh more Yukichi- President sorry.”

“It’s fine. Ranpo my daughter will be dropping off those sweets you asked for.” The president said.

“Yay Kosuke!”

“Speak of the devil and I shall appear.” The woman who walked in- Ranpo wasn’t kidding when he said she looked like the president.

“Hey Koko.” The Great Detective calked our as she handed him his box of sweets.

“I thought I was going to be late but I arrived as the shop opened so I just zoomed over. Hi everyone I’m Kosuke Fukuzawa.” The woman had a nice rich voice and a pleasant smile.

“Ko.” Dazai grinned and jumped towards her. “You were gone when I woke up.”

“You pout like a small child love.”

Beat

“EH! Love!” The agents yelled.

“Yeah this is my girlfriend.” Dazai’s shit eating grin was evident and sent the other agents into a spin. Ranpo, Yukichi, Kosuke and Osamu began to laugh.

“Your coworkers are strange.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Yukichi gave Kosuke a pat on the head before walking to his office. “Goodbye.”

#bsd #Bungou Stray Dogs #bungou stray dogs oc #kosuke fukuzawa #Osamu Dazai #Dazai x oc #yukichi fukuzawa #bsd oc

25 notes · View notes

longitudinalwaveme · 4 years

Text

Where Are The Ghostbusters When You Need Them?

Hi! Thanks for checking out my story!

Despite the title, the story actually does not feature the Ghostbusters, but it does feature the Flash Rogues. That's almost as good, right?

The story can't really fit anywhere canonically since Evan and Sam are alive simultaneously, among other things, but hopefully it'll be an enjoyable story anyhow.

Mirror Master I: You ever seen one of those creepy houses? You know, the ones with broken windows and crumbling spires and ivy growing all over them? The ones that used to belong to super rich people and are now allegedly owned by some mysterious “third cousin once removed” that no one’s ever actually seen? The ones that stupid teenagers dare each other to spend the night in? Well, Central City has one of those creepy houses. Or, more accurately, Central City’s Pine Woods suburb has one of those creepy houses. It’s commonly known as the old Jackson place. It's a three-story mansion, with broken windows, crumbling stone, a creepy staircase, massive spires....the works. It was even used as a set for a horror movie back in the 80s. Even though it technically isn’t in the city proper, it’s close enough that everyone knows about the house-and the stories surrounding it. Allegedly, the old Jackson place was built by Adolphus Jackson in 1792, after he immigrated from somewhere in Ireland with his family. They were Central City’s first settlers (the Rathaways were second). He and his wife, Betty, had sixteen kids (although only ten survived to adulthood). All the dead kids were buried in the backyard of the house, so things are already getting creepy. (Some people say that you can hear crying when you go by the house, and other people have claimed to see ghostly children.) His oldest son, Jared, inherited the house when old man Jackson died in 1846. (He was buried behind the house, and yep, people have claimed to see him, too.) Jared worked alongside Martin Garrick (yes, he IS related to Jay Garrick) and my great-great-great-great-grandfather, Shawn Scudder, in Central City’s Underground Railroad. (Am I shaming my heritage? Yeah, probably. Moving on.) People have claimed to see the ghosts of slaves and such around the old Jackson place, and they’ve also claimed to see the ghosts of Harold and Rufus Jackson, an uncle and nephew who fought on opposite sides of the Civil War. In 1877, Jared died, and his second son, Arnold, inherited the house. (His oldest son was Harold, who died at the Battle of Chancellorsville.) Arnold got married to his second cousin, which is several levels of weird, and he added onto the house, making it a lot bigger and more impressive looking. He died in 1885, after adding to the family’s sizable fortune, and his son, Bernard, inherited the house and made it even fancier. Bernard is also where the really messed up stories about the Jackson place begin, as his oldest son, Robert, fell in love with a girl his father hated (partially because he had planned for his son to marry Lydia Rathaway, Piper’s great-great-great aunt). Their arguments over it got really nasty, and so eventually Robert ran away with his chick and got married to her, only for his father to threaten to cut him off. Sonny boy decided that he wanted the money more than his wife, and he abandoned her and was remarried to Piper’s great-great-great aunt. There was only one snag: his old wife had gotten pregnant and drowned herself in the pond (now dried up) on the back of the property to get revenge a few days after her baby was born. (People claim to see her ghost quite frequently.) Her parents, the Desmonds (and the Rathaways, who were mad that Bernard had had his son marry their daughter when he already had a wife) sued the pants off the Jacksons and the family was reduced to semi-poverty. Robert hung himself a few weeks after the lawsuit was settled (he allegedly haunts the house, too) and Bernard started drinking. A lot. He died in 1910 (probably from alcohol poisoning) and the estate was inherited by his only surviving offspring, a 19-year-old daughter named Alicia, who became a librarian and never married. (Alicia didn’t live in the house after the age of 21, probably because of all the bad memories, but people still see her ghost there.) She died in 1971, and the house, which had sat unused for over three decades, had already gained a reputation as being massively haunted, a reputation that only increased when some stupid 17-year-old broke into the house on a dare, fell down the old stairs in the dark, and broke his neck in 1995. (Since then, people have claimed to see HIS ghost as well.) So you get the point: the old Jackson place is massively haunted, massively creepy, and massively empty, so, of course, Captain Cold decided that we needed to break into the place on Halloween. Now, to be fair, we do something to get our adrenaline up every year on Halloween, but there’s a difference between going to a commercial haunted house, where nothing is real, and going to an old house that might actually be haunted, especially when said old house is falling apart and everyone is wearing ridiculous costumes (as we do every year). Earlier in the month, we had decided to dress up as classic movie monsters. Or at least I thought we had. As it turned out, some people had badly missed the memo….

Mirror Master II: Okay, so maybe the scarecrow costume I had wasnae all that scary, but it wasnae my fault! How was I supposed to ken that all the scary scarecrow costumes would be sold out by October 24? I wasnae PLANNING to be the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz! But I’m off topic. All of us had agreed to meet on the front lawn before we broke into the haunted house, so at 7:00 PM on Halloween night, I got into me costume and went to the lawn. Golden Glider (dressed as a vampire), Scudder (dressed as a zombie), the Trickster (dressed as a bedsheet ghost), Captain Boomerang (dressed as Frankenstein’s monster), and the Pied Piper (dressed as the Phantom of the Opera) were already there, and, of course, as soon as he saw me costume, Scudder started laughing. “They were sold out of the scary costumes, ye eejit,” I said. “Then why didn’t you alter it or something? You don’t look scary at all!” Scudder asked. “Hey, at least I look scarier than the Trickster. And besides, not all of us be seamstresses, Scudder,” I replied. (He’d made his own costume and thought that nobody knew. Eejit.) Scudder flushed and suddenly became very interested in the bushes. At this point, Captain Cold showed up in cat ears. That was his whole costume. Otherwise, he jus’ looked like a hockey fan (which he be). His sister-a bonnie lassie, she-wasnae pleased with that. “Lenny, you were supposed to dress up as something scary!” “I did. I’m a werecat.” I’m nae sure why he thought that would be convincing. “Oh, come on! You didn’t even try!”“I never try. Why are you acting like this is something new?” The Glider threw up her hands. “Because you promised me you would try this year!” “I have a tail. Does that make it better?” The Glider rolled her eyes.“I give up.” She tossed her golden hair over her shoulder-I tell ye, she is a bonnie lass-and went to talk with the Piper. The Weather Wizard showed up a few seconds later, and I saw soomthing I never wanted to see: him in a dress. “What are ye supposed tae be, me gran?” The Wizard scowled.“I’m a witch!” I looked at him oddly. “Ye could have been a werewolf, and ye decided tae be a witch?”“It’s thematic! You know: wizards are magic; witches are magic….” I laughed. “Look, if ye want to dress up like a lassie, ye kin. Just donae expect me tae understand why.” The Wizard stormed off, and the Top arrived on the lawn, dressed as a gigantic top. Scudder laughed so hard that he had tae sit down, and I laughed pretty heartily myself. “What is so amusing?” the Top asked. Naebody bothered to explain that it was because he wasnae cooperating with the theme, because we all knew he wouldnae listen. “They’re just being stupid, sweetie pie. You look amazing,” the Glider said. (I’m nae sure if she meant it or if she was just trying to calm him doon.) Luckily for the Top, Heat Wave decided to show up at this point, and his costume made Captain Boomerang laugh so hard he wet himself and made me laugh so hard that I had to join Scudder on the ground, so everyone forgot about him. “Why are you wearing a tutu?” Captain Cold asked (as soon as he was capable of speech again.)“Well, I was gonna be Frankenstein, but Digger stole my idea, and I didn’t have any other ideas, so I decided that me in a tutu was scarier than any monster,” Heat Wave replied. I looked him over again and immediately wished I had nae doon it. He was right; the sight of a 6’6”, 250 pound man in a frilly pink tutu is more terrifying than any monster. His logic seemed to work on everyone else, too, because Captain Cold quickly changed the subject. “Okay, are we ready?” Scudder raised an eyebrow. “To break into the creepy ghost house? No, but I know I’m doing it anyway,” he replied. (At the time, I thought that he was being a wet blanket, but as it turned out, he was right to be a tad worried.) “As long as we’re bringing flashlights, I suppose so,” the Piper said. (He had been against going to the haunted house, tae, but he had been opposed to it because of some kid who had died there back in the 90s because the house didnae have lights, not because of Scudder’s ghosties, which he didnae believe in. Because of that, he had changed his tune after Cold promised him that he could bring a flashlight if he wanted tae.)“Then let’s go,” Captain Cold ordered. With that, Scudder and I transported everyone to the house via Mirror Realm. Having only lived in Central City for a year, I had never seen it before, and I was a tad freaked out by what I saw. The house itself wasnae too bad, but the creepy dead grass and trees, and the graveyard in the back of the house, were spooky, especially under the huge moon.“‘Abandon all hope, ye who enter here?’ Really?” Golden Glider said scornfully, pointing at a sign in the yard. Her brother shrugged. “Probably some kid’s idea of a prank.” Piper, meanwhile, was looking nervously at a different sign. “Cold, this sign is from the government. It says the building is condemned. Are you sure we’ll be safe to go in there?” he asked. “Since when do we care what the government thinks?” Captain Cold replied. “When a building might collapse on our heads!” Piper exclaimed. “And when it’s haunted!” Scudder added, sounding happy to have an excuse tae go home. Captain Cold sighed and rolled his eyes. “Piper, if the house seems like it’s gonna collapse on us, we’ll just have Scudder and the Scotsman transport us out. We’ll be fine,” he said. Piper seemed to relax.“Good point,” he said. Sam didn’t look as calm. “But what about the ghosts?” he asked. “Sam, ghosts don’t exist. They’re a product of overactive imagination and too many horror stories,” the Piper replied, only for Captain Boomerang to join the conversation.“They are too real! My second cousin’s ex-girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend’s dad’s third cousin’s aunt saw one!” he exclaimed, sounding offended. Piper didnae look convinced. “That’s hardly conclusive proof of-” he began, only tae be cut off by Captain Cold. “Enough about ghosts! Let’s go inside already!” he exclaimed. With that, Trickster picked the lock on the door. He pushed it open, producing a loud CREAK, and then we went inside.

Weather Wizard: I’m going to tell you a secret: the witch costume was an accident. I swear, I thought I ordered the Dark Wizard costume, but when I opened up the package a week before Halloween, I found a witch costume instead, and because I didn’t have another two weeks to wait (or any more money) I was stuck with it and just decided to pretend it had been my plan the whole time to save face. (At least it matched the theme, unlike cats, tops, and ballerinas.) But I digress. So, after the Trickster picked the lock, we went inside and Piper and Cold turned on their flashlights. The hallway contained cobwebs and a moth-eaten carpet, but nothing else.

“We'll cover more ground if we divide and conquer, so let’s split up into groups and search this place for valuables. Lisa, you’re with me. Scudder, you’re with McCulloch. Mardon, you’re with Rory. Rathaway, you’re with Jesse. Dillon, you’re with Harkness,” Cold barked.

“WE’RE SPLITTING UP? That’s like the #1 way to die in a haunted house!” Scudder whined. (As it turned out, he was right to be worried, but at the time, I thought he was overreacting.) Hartley sighed.

“Sam, ghosts do not exist,” he said. (He was wrong.) Then he turned to Cold and asked,

“How will the Mirror Masters be able to transport us to safety if we’re not in the same part of the house?” Cold rolled his eyes.

“Piper, unless there’s an earthquake, the Mirror Masters will be able to get to all of us before the house falls. They basically have access to a teleportation system. We’ll be fine,’” Cold replied. Piper didn’t look entirely convinced, but he didn’t keep arguing.

“Why am I with Harkness? He’s an uncultured boor,” Dillon demanded.

“Well, I ain’t too fond of you, either, you wowser!” Harkness yelled.

“Why can’t I be with Roscoe, Lenny?” Lisa asked. Cold sighed wearily.

“Fine. Dillon, you’re with Lisa. Harkness, you’re with me. Sam, stop whining. Now let’s go!” Cold exclaimed. McCulloch saluted, dragged Scudder into a mirror, and vanished, and the rest of us fanned out to search the house. After walking through some more cobwebby hallways, Mick and I reached what I assumed was the living room. The room was filled with decaying furniture and mysterious old knicknacks, everything was covered in cobwebs, and part of the roof had fallen in. Seeing this, I had to wonder if the Piper had been right about the dangers of the building.

“How long do you think it’s been since someone touched any of this?” Mick asked me.

“If I had to guess, I’d say at least forty years,” I replied. I glanced out the window and noticed that a cloud had covered part of the moon and that the rest of it had turned red, and I shuddered. “Mick, there’s a blood moon.” I said quietly.

“So? They talked about that on the news,” Mick replied as he started pawing through the knicknacks laying on the floor.

“Never mind,” I said quickly as I joined him. I didn’t want him to think I was scared or anything. Several minutes later, we were still sorting through things and had found nothing but a broken teacup, a broken porcelain doll, and a dusty beaded shawl.

“I hope the whole house ain’t like this. If it is, Captain Cold’ll be mad,” Mick said. I shrugged.

“That’s his problem, not mine.” I heard a rumble of thunder in the distance, and, a few seconds later, the sobs of a child. Mick looked up from the floor in shock.

“Did you hear that?” he asked me.

“The thunder, or the kid crying?”

“The kid crying!” I nodded.

“Yeah, I heard it too. Why?”

“Because we need to go help that kid!” he replied. I rolled my eyes.

“Mick, we’re here to get rich, not help some kid.” Mick ignored me and pulled me in the direction of the crying sound, despite my attempts to break free from his grasp. We had gotten halfway across the living room when we saw a little girl. Her hair was in...uh, ringlets, I think they’re called?-and her dress came down to the floor. She was crying (of course) and Mick went over to her.

“Hey, there, little one. Are you lost?” he asked gently. I thought about leaving Mick with the girl and continuing to search for loot, but there was something about the little girl that made it impossible for me to pull away, and NOT in a “she’s so small and helpless” way. Mick reached out to put his hand on the girl’s shoulder-and his hand went straight through her! My knees went weak under me, and then the world went black. When I came to, I found myself on a dusty couch. I looked around the room and saw Mick waving good-bye to the vanishing ghost.

“Oh, hey, Mark. Glad to see you up-although there wasn’t really a reason for you to faint like that. Georgia was just worried that we were gonna hurt her doll. When I told her we weren’t, she cheered right up and went away,” he said cheerfully.

“The ghost has a name? And is friendly?” I asked. Mick nodded.

“I don’t even think she knew she was dead. Poor little thing,” he said, and I sighed in relief.

“In that case, let’s get back to work. If she’s the only ghost here, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” I said. (Famous last words.) With that, the two of us continued our search of the living room.

Trickster: The Piper and I- James Jesse, con artist extraordinaire-decided to investigate the attic. I’m a horror movie junkie, so if I’m breaking into a haunted house, what better place to get that adrenaline rush than the attic? Piper and I climbed three sets of narrow, creaky, cracked, cobwebby stairs to the attic (although Piper got winded halfway up the second flight and I had to drag him up the last one). Then I opened the door to see lots of cobwebs, a shattered mirror, a broken window, an old, rusted bedframe, some old-fashioned cabinets, a sword, an old rocking horse (sadly, it was too small for me), and a bunch of other old stuff. The roof was low, and it was really dark. My heart pounded, but in a good way.

“This is so much better than the fake haunted houses! We should go here every year!” I exclaimed. Piper swept his flashlight from left to right, and then started examining the boring knick knacks that were lying around. I pulled out a yo-yo and some bubble gum and waited eagerly for the walls to start dripping blood. After about two minutes, Piper pulled a stack of old papers out of one of the cabinet drawers.

“James, these are from the Civil War!” he exclaimed excitedly. I yawned.

“So?” I asked. Piper looked shocked.

“James, these are valuable historical documents! If they’re really as old as they look, they could provide priceless information about the role of Central City in the Civil War!”

“Can they summon a ghost?” Piper sighed.

“No. They cannot.” I blew a particularly large bubble.

“Then I’m not interested. Let’s find something that CAN summon a ghost!” Piper rolled his eyes.

“James, you’re not going to find something that can summon a ghost, because ghosts-” Suddenly, the windows rattled and we heard a loud moan.

“Don’t exist?” Piper squeaked. Five seconds later, a transparent man with a noose around his neck appeared and floated towards us. Piper screamed and bolted down the stairs, and I whooped with joy and followed him, narrowly missing the ghost’s clammy hands.

“Catch me if you can, you stupid ghost!” I yelled. I followed the Piper to the second floor and into a spooky old bathroom, complete with dusty mirror, a big tub with clawed feet, a broken toilet, and a sink. Mold was growing in the sink and on the walls, and I grinned. This day just kept getting better and better! Piper slammed the door and locked it behind us.His chest was heaving and he looked exhausted. (Rich kids don’t have much reason to be athletic.)

“You were saying?” I asked ‘sweetly’. Piper gave me a death glare.

“NOT the time!” Piper said. I laughed.

“Do you really think a locked door will keep out a ghost? It can’t even keep us out!” I asked him. Piper’s face went white, and he ran over to the dirty mirror.

“Sam! McCulloch! Get us home now!” he yelled. There was no response.

“Piper, you know the Mirror Realm doesn’t work that way. You can only talk to them through it if they want you to, and if they haven’t had the good luck to run into a ghost, they won’t be able to guess that you might want them to pick us up.” I said as I played with my yo-yo. Piper whimpered and buried his head in his hands, then started muttering incomprehensibly as I whistled merrily.

“How can you be so happy?” Piper demanded after a few minutes.I grinned.

“Kid, we’re being chased by a real, honest-to-goodness ghost! It doesn’t get more awesome than that!” Just then, the ghost drifted through the door, and I pulled out my camera and started snapping pictures as Piper screamed.

“We’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodiewe’regoingto die !” He darted to the door, fumbled with the lock, and opened it just as the ghost brushed his clammy fingers against his back. He screamed louder and ran down the hall. I snapped a few more photos, stuck my tongue out at the ghost,and followed Piper. The ghost roared angrily and flew after me. I caught up with Piper after about a minute and lead him into a dumbwaiter, then slammed the door behind us.

“James, how is this closet preferable to hiding in the bathroom? The ghost can still walk through walls!” Piper demanded.

“Piper, YOU’RE the one who had all the servants. Shouldn’t you know what a dumbwaiter is?”

“I know what a dumbwaiter is,I have just never seen one before. I was not allowed to spend time with the servants.You can hardly blame me for mistaking it for a closet. Besides, my point still stands: why would hiding in here keep us safe from the ghost?” I laughed.

“Piper, that ghost is Robert Jackson, who hung himself because he wasn’t rich anymore and gave up the love of his life for money! Entering the dumbwaiter that the servants used would be beneath him. As long as we’re in here, we’re safe. For a guy who’s college educated, you sure are stupid,” I explained. Piper frowned.

“You were taking selfies with the ghost, and I’M stupid?” he yelled. I smiled “innocently”.

“I never said I wasn’t stupid...but I’m not a graduate from Harvard, either. But I knew how to save us from the ghost, and you didn’t,” I replied. Hartley sighed wearily.

“Whatever you say, James...but how did you know what a dumbwaiter is? You thought that the American Civil War started in 1961 until last month, so you cannot have known about them from history, and you were not wealthy, so you cannot have had servants who used one,” he asked.

“My Nonna Gianna was a maid for a wealthy family in Italy when she was a girl, and she used a dumbwaiter when she worked for them,” I explained.

“Wait...you’re Italian?” Hartley asked.

“Sí. Well, Italian-American, anyhow.My paternal grandparents immigrated from Italy in 1935 after Mussolini took over and invaded Ethiopia. When they got to America, they joined the Big Circus because my Nonno Antonio had been an acrobat in Italy. They had a whole lot of kids, and my dad was the youngest. He was born in 1955, and he married my mother, who was a second-generation Italian immigrant herself, in 1980. I was born eight years later,” I explained.

“But your name is James Jesse! That doesn’t sound remotely Italian!” Hartley protested.

“Hel-lo! My nonni were Italian immigrants performing for the American public at the height of World War II! They took stage names: Jesse for the last name, and Rosie and Jared for their first names. By the end of the war, they’d gotten so famous under the Jesse name that they couldn’t really change it back to their real one, so they just kept the stage name. My dad’s real name was Alessandro, but he called himself Jacob. My mother’s name really was Helen, though, because her parents had given her an American name. My real name’s actually Giovanni Giuseppe. How’s that for a mouthful?” I exclaimed.

“Sai parlare italiano?” Piper asked.

“Nonni, nonna, nonno, pizza, spaghetti, Venice, Rome, sí, il Dulche, Mamma Mia, madre, padre, nipote, figlia, figlio,Ti amo, caro, Coinvolgimi, bella noche, Dov'è la birra? That’s all the Italian I know. Well, that and a lot of swear words,” I replied.

“En d’autres termes, tu sais autant d’italien comme vous le français?” Piper asked. I looked at him oddly.

“English?”

“So, in other words, you know as much Italian as you do French?” he replied.

“Yeah, pretty much. Not everyone can afford tutors for twenty languages,” I said.

“I only speak six languages-Spanish, French, German, Italian, Japanese, and Mandarin Chinese, and I can only write in the first four. I’m passable in Arabic and Russian, too, but I’d hardly say I can speak twenty languages.” I grinned evilly.

“Let’s go find some more ghosts!” I exclaimed.

“No! I’m staying right here, where it’s safe,” Piper yelled.

“Spoilsport,” I said. I started using my yo-yo again.

Captain Cold: So, as I guess you already know, I ended up partnered with Captain Koala, because he and Roscoe insisted on being stubborn morons. I wanted to look for the safe, but Digger insisted that we go to the kitchen because he was hungry, and, since Digger seems to have an immunity to food poisoning, I figured it would probably be safe to let him eat 85-year-old food, and feeding him would get him to shut his big mouth besides. Digger, who practically has an internal homing device for food, found the kitchen in about a minute flat. The kitchen was dusty, covered in cobwebs, and filled with a lot of rusted-out junk, and it was so dark that, without my flashlight, I don't think I would've been able to see two feet in front of me. It was a little creepy, I’m not gonna lie. But I don’t scare easy, so I started pawing around for valuables while Digger found the world’s oldest box of crackers and started digging in. I found a bunch of silver spoons and shoved them into my bag…and then something weird happened. A really attractive lady appeared out of basically nowhere and walked right through me like she couldn’t even see me. It felt like when I accidentally shot myself with my cold gun, and I frowned. Ghosts weren’t supposed to exist. However, I had business to do, so I ignored the ghost lady and went back to my work. Digger, on the other hand, didn’t take the ghost so well. He let out a string of Australian swear words, yelled something about a “ghost sheila” (knowing him, it was probably the exact opposite of polite), grabbed his crackers, and started to run. I grabbed him by his scarf before he could exit the room.

“Let me go, you bloody loon! You’ve got kangaroos loose in your top paddock if you want to stay here with a ghost, Cold!” Digger yelled.

“Stop freaking out, Digger. She doesn’t have any weapons, she’s not dripping blood, and she’s not bad to look at besides. Just ignore her. We have work to do.” Digger looked closer at the ghost and grinned.

“Bloody oath! She is a beautiful Sheila, ain’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s pretty. I just said that. Now get to work.” I said. Digger ignored me and walked over to the ghost.

“G’day, Sheila. I’m Captain George Harkness of the Australian Secret Service. Who are you?” he asked. (He tells every girl he takes a fancy to that he worked/works for the Australian Secret Service. It’d be a great pick up line if it wasn’t a total lie.) I rolled my eyes as I helped myself to some fine china plates. Was Digger seriously hitting on a ghost?

“Is Australia a northern state, Master Harkness?” the ghost asked. She sounded terrified, and had an accent I couldn’t quite place. Digger laughed.

“Oz? In the North? Sheila, it’s called the Land Down Under for a reason,” he replied. The ghost looked terrified and started to cry. I tried valiantly to ignore the sound and shoved the remainder of the china into my bag.

“What’re you crying for, Sheila?” Digger asked, sounding annoyed.

“B-b-because if you a Southern soldier, you gonna take me and my baby back to slavery!” I noticed that she was, indeed, carrying a baby and grimaced. I did NOT have time for dealing with this crud. Digger walked back over to me.

“I didn’t notice she had an anklebiter. She’s a lovely sheila, but not enough for me to want to be a daddy. And why’s she wailing about slavery?” he asked.

“How should I know? I dropped out of high school at 14, and I don’t have many dealings with ghosts,” I replied in annoyance as the ghost’s wailings got louder. She moved rapidly toward Digger and fell on her knees.

“Please, don’t take my baby, Master Harkness. Let him be free, please, please!” she begged. Digger shot me a pleading look, and I sighed wearily. How did Digger get himself-and me- into these situations?

“Look, lady, we don’t want you or your baby. Now go on, shoo. You and the kid are free, and “Master Harkness” and I have business to do,” I said. The ghost stared.

“Ain’t you Confederate soldiers?” she asked, obviously confused.. Digger and I looked at each other in equal confusion.

“What’s a Confederate?” Digger asked the ghost.

“They’s the soldiers who be fighting to make their own country,” she replied.

“What’s she talking about?” Digger asked me. I shrugged.

“The Civil War…..I think,” I said, drawing desperately from my memories of 8th grade history.

“You mean the war you Yanks had between each other? What’s that gotta do with this sheila?” I racked my brains for any connection between the two and wished that I hadn’t chosen 8th grade history as the class to sleep through.

“Um...she was talking about slavery…I think the South had slaves...probably….and that was maybe why the war started? Possibly? And-and since you said you were from the South, and she’s probably about as well-educated as we are, she didn’t realize that you meant you were from another continent entirely, and so she thought that you were gonna want to make her a slave again,” I said, feeling pretty proud of myself for figuring all that out.

“Didja hear that, Sheila? I’m not a Confederate, whatever that means! Australia’s an island. It ain’t part of America. Now, it’s London to the brick that I’m dangerous, so you probably wanna steer clear of me, but I’m not gonna be taking you to slavery, neither. And, hey, if you got any single friends without anklebiters,, tell ‘em t’ look up Captain Harkness, will ya?” Digger told her cheerfully.

“I..I’m free?” she asked quietly.

“As a bird. Now get outta here. You’re safe in this city,” I told her flatly.

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!” she said. She kissed her baby, and they passed through the kitchen wall and vanished into thin air. As soon as she was gone, I glared at Digger.

“Okay, now that you’re done hitting on a ghost, can we get back to work, please?” I asked.

“If you want to, that’s fair dinkum. I’m gonna go back to my chips,” Digger said. He tried to walk back to the table, but I grabbed him by the scarf before he could and forced him to clear out the rest of the valuables while I took a smoke break. He swore colorfully in Australian the entire time, but I ignored him. He was just packing the last of the chinaware away when another ghost, this one holding a gun, showed up. One look at him told me that we were in trouble, and so I ran out of the room, Digger hot on my heels.

Golden Glider: So, while Mick and Marky-Mark were in the living room, James and Hartley were running around like lunatics, and Lenny and Digger were running away from history as much as they were running away from ghosts, Roscoe and I had decided to investigate the backyard. It contained a rotting porch and a small cemetery, one which was surrounded by a wrought iron fence. It was quite dark, because there were no porch lights, but that just made it all the more romantic. As soon as we left the house, I snuggled up close against Roscoe and we both sat down on the one intact porch step. “Isn’t the darkness so romantic?” I asked him. He looked puzzled, and it was adorable. “I believe that the darkness is the absence of light, my darling,” he said. I tittered. “You’re so funny, Roscoe,” I cooed. He smiled. “I am glad I have pleased you, sweetums,” he said. A cloud moved and revealed the moon, big and red and lovely. I pointed at it in excitement. “Roscoe, look at the moon! Isn’t it beautiful? Doesn’t it remind you of us?” I asked. Roscoe looked concerned. “My darling, the moon is a celestial body that revolves around the Earth. I do not see how it can remind you of us. Did no one teach you about the nature of the moon? It is not a human being,” he said. I sighed; having forgotten how literal Roscoe can be. “Roscoe, dear, I was speaking figuratively. I said it was like us because it’s beautiful, just like we are,” I explained. Roscoe’s eyes lit up in understanding. “I see. Forgive my confusion, my darling,” he said. I kissed him on the cheek. “Of course, honey,” I replied. He kissed me on my cheek, and then I kissed him full on the lips. We were still embracing five minutes later, when a young girl in a white dress appeared. She was completely transparent, and stared at us in silence for a few seconds. “Are you lovers?” she asked quietly. “We are indeed, and my Lisa is a goddess among women,” Roscoe replied. Her face fell, and then twisted into fury. “How dare you flaunt your happiness in front of the grave of a poor rejected woman? Is it not enough that I was rejected by my Robert? Is it not enough that I killed myself of despair? Must I be mocked by your love as well? For your impudence, I will make you suffer as I have suffered!” she screamed. She moved over to Roscoe, kissed him on the lips (please don’t ask me HOW) and then disappeared. Roscoe shoved me off his lap violently and stood up. “Get off of me, you wretch!” he spat. The words felt like a blow. “R-R-Roscoe, what….what’s wrong?” Roscoe had never talked to me like that before, and in that moment I saw Lewis-my “father”-in his face. “You are what is wrong! I am a gentleman, and you-you are common trash. Why I was mad enough to kiss you I’ll never understand!” Roscoe said coldly. “What are you saying?” I asked. “I am saying that I have had enough of dating a welfare queen,” Roscoe replied. Normally, I would have struck back, but I was so bewildered by his behavior that I just stared at him. After a few seconds, he scowled. “What are you staying for, you pathetic wretch? Leave me!” he ordered, and I found my tongue. “No, Roscoe. I am staying right here with you. You may not think you love me anymore, but you will not drive me away. I won’t give you the pleasure of ordering me around like a dog,” I said. “Why not? You are a dog,” Roscoe spat. I moved to slap him, but before I could, we were interrupted by another ghost, this one wielding a old-timey gun, who charged at us. I kicked at the ghost on impulse, but, of course, it went straight through him. While I was distracted, Roscoe abandoned me, but after I regained my balance, I rushed after him and we went into the dining room. “Stop chasing me, you hussy!” he yelled. “I’m not chasing you, I’m running away from the ghost,” I said. As if on cue, the ghost lifted a table and threw it at Roscoe’s head. I pushed him out of the way and narrowly avoided being hit myself. “Why did you save me? It will not make me love a woman like you,” he demanded harshly. This time, I did slap him. “You’re welcome,” I spat. Roscoe frowned. “You dare lay a hand on a gentleman?” he demanded. Before he could continue, however, the ghost levitated all six chairs in the room, and so I grabbed him and pulled him into the hallway. A series of loud crashes followed almost immediately. “I notice that you don’t complain when I touch you in order to save your life,” I said pointedly. Roscoe sniffed haughtily and didn’t reply. Under normal circumstances, I would have led us to the door and left the house, but with Roscoe acting so strangely, I couldn’t. I didn’t want to leave only for Roscoe to keep treating me like dirt, so I decided to stay and take charge of the situation. “All right, so where do we go from here?” I asked. Roscoe scowled. “‘We’ are not going anywhere. Have I not made my disdain for you utterly clear? I am going to one of the bedrooms to go to sleep, and you-I care not where you go, so long as you stay away from me,” he said. I shook my head firmly. “No, we’re staying together. Even if you really do hate me, from a logical standpoint you’re obviously safer with me around,” I replied. Roscoe pondered this for a few seconds, then nodded. “Very well. We will stick together. However, let me make one thing clear: I do not love you. Our current predicament does not change that,” he said, and I felt my heart break. I slapped him again and said, “Fine! See if I care!” With that, I pulled Roscoe up the stairs to the second floor and into one of the bedrooms, which contained an canopy bed, a broken window, an old armorie, and a painting of a handsome young man. The plaque beneath it read "Robert Jackson, beloved son". It was a picture of the man who had spurned his lover. How appropriate. Roscoe laid down on the bed and fell asleep almost immediately (he is definitely not a night owl) and I started crying. How had this perfectly romantic night gone so badly awry?

Mirror Master II: After a quick trip through the Mirror Realm, Scudder and I arrived in the basement. It was awfy dark doon there, I’m nae gonna lie, but the way Scudder was reacting, you’d have thought it was a torture chamber. He was jumping at every little sound and keeping so close tae me that I was practically tripping over him. After aboot a minute of that, I got fed up with him and decided tae tell him tae grow a spine.

“Stop acting like a wean, will ye? It’s hard eno to move doon here without having tae avoid you,” I told him. He moved about an inch further away.

“If we run into a ghost, I’m feeding you to it,” he muttered. I laughed and started looking for trinkets, while he stayed right next tae the stairs. After a few minutes, I uncovered an emerald ring.

“This is worth something, int it no?” I asked happily. Scudder shrugged.

“Great, you’ve found your prize. Now let’s get out of here!” he said.

“Not yet! I need a bigger haul than this!” I replied. Scudder frowned.

“Look here, you second-rate Mirror Master. I am not about to have my brain turned into soup by a ghost just so that you can sell two rings instead of one. We’re going upstairs now,” he said.

“Who are ye calling a second-rate Mirror Master? I use the Mirror Realm better than ye ever could, ye minger!” I yelled.

“You don’t even know how it works. You just swiped my equipment, you Glaswegian thug!” Scudder replied. Then I punched him, and he punched me, and we got into a fist fight. He was trying tae get oot of my stranglehold when soomthing weird happened: a ghostie showed up. You ken those drawings of fat rich people? It looked like that. I was so surprised that I let Scudder go, and he screamed like a lassie and dove intae the Mirror Realm. Me? I just froze. I didnae have a clue how to fight a ghostie, so I did soomthing pure stupid: I waved at it! The ghostie levitated a lamp and threw it at me head, only narrowly missing me. I dove intae the mirror after Scudder. He was panicking.

“I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die I don’t wanna die; please don’t let me die please please please don’t let me die!”

“Calmy doony, Scudder. The ghostie canae come intae the Mirror Realm,” I said. Ten seconds later, the ghostie came intae the Mirror Realm.

“You just had to say it!” Scudder wailed.

“Dinae just stand there, run!” I yelled. Both of us took off running, and only stopped when the ghostie vanished. I grinned.

“We did it! We escaped the ghostie!” I yelled. Scudder smiled slightly, but then he looked around and his smile vanished.

“Oh, no. This is bad, this is bad, this is really bad,” he said.

“What do ye mean? We escaped from the ghostie!” I replied.

“Look around you! Do you recognize any of this?” I looked around, and realized that we were in big trouble: I didnae recognize anything around me, and I ken most of the Mirror Realm like the back of my hand.

“We’re lost,” I said.

“No duh, really? I had no idea,” Scudder replied sarcastically. I tried tae punch him for that, but he dodged me swing.

“I don’t see why you’re punching at me. I was against coming to the creepy ghost house from the start, and if we had stayed home and watched A Nightmare on Elm Street like I suggested, we wouldn’t be in this mess! But did you-or anyone-listen to me? Oh, no! “Ghosts don’t exist, Sam.” “Stop being such a wimp, Scudder.” “We’ll be fine.” “Stop being such an idiot, Scudder.” Well, WHO’S THE IDIOT NOW?” he yelled hysterically, and I wished that Captain Cold hadnae put me with him, because he looked downright loony.

“Ah am, all right? Now help me find a way oot of here!” Sam laughed weakly.

“Find a way out of the Mirror Realm? You might as well tell me to beat Superman in a fist fight. It’s impossible. There’s a reason that I never go out of sight of the mirror portals: the Mirror Realm is so vast that if you get lost, you’ll probably never find your way back to them-and they’re our only way out of the Mirror Realm. I can’t get us out without the portals, and, thanks to you, Len, and that ghost, I have no idea where they are. Heck, I don’t even know where WE are!” he exclaimed.

“The Land of Abstract Art, mebbe?” I suggested. We were surrounded by swirls of colors and strange shapes, ye ken? Scudder didnae seem to find that as funny as I’d thought it was.

“Really? We’re lost in a never-ending mirror maze, and you’re cracking jokes?” I shrugged.

“Aye. Beats whining aboot it, ye jerrie.” To tell the truth, I was just as freaked out as Scudder was, but I wasnae about to let him know it.

“You’re a lunatic,” he spat.

“Ah am’nae!” I yelled back. I punched him, he punched me, and we ended up in another fistfight that only ended when both of us collapsed from exhaustion. Apparently, all the running had taken a lot oot of us. Scudder basically ended up falling asleep on my lap, and I was too tired to move him. After aboot a minute of embarrassment, I fell asleep tae.

Heat Wave: Hi, there. I’m Mick Rory, but you can call me Heat Wave. Everyone does. So, uh, while everyone else was running away from angry ghosts, Weather Wizard and I were still searching for valuables, and not finding any. After about an hour of searching, I got bored, pulled out my flamethrower, and lit the sofa on fire. It was beautiful and pretty and warm, and I decided to touch it. Bad idea, because I was still wearing the tutu, and..well...tutus are really flammable. The fire didn’t exactly hurt me (the prison doc tells me my skin’s so badly burned by this point that it doesn’t feel pain anymore), but it did freak out Weather Wizard, who doused me (and the sofa) with what felt like a gallon of water.

“Hey! You put out my beautiful sofa fire!” I complained. The Wiz scowled.

“In case you didn’t notice, YOU were on fire, too!” he said angrily.

“And now I’m sopping wet AND don’t have my precious fire. I don’t see how that’s an improvement,” I replied. In response, the Wiz beaned me over the head with his wand. (He doesn’t have a good swing, so it didn’t really hurt.)

“Being wet doesn’t kill you, you big oaf! You know what does? BEING ON FIRE!” His face was red and his eyes were crackling with electricity, so I knew he was pretty upset. Because he can create tornadoes, I decided to apologize.

“You’re right, Mark, and I’m sorry. Thanks for saving me,” I said. His eyes stopped crackling.

“Just don’t do it again,” he said. I nodded and sat down on what was left of the sofa, and Wiz went over to the window and gazed out of it.

“A storm’s brewing,” he said. I don’t think he was trying to sound spooky, but with his tone of voice and his witch costume, he did. A few seconds later, lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Wiz opened the window and leaned out. The wind whipped his (impossibly spiky) hair, and he stared at something in silence. After a few seconds, it got creepy, and so I went over to him and dragged him away from the window. I closed it as soon as he wasn’t in the way.

“Come on, Mark, let’s go to another room. Captain Cold’ll be mad if we don’t find something valuable,” I said. When he didn’t move, I picked him up, threw him over my shoulder, and took him up the stairs and into a bedroom which looked like it might have belonged to a little kid at some point, since there were a bunch of old toys in it. One of the windows was broken, and everything, including the toys, a rocking chair, and a crib, was covered in dust and cobwebs. It was very spooky, although it was in better shape overall than the living room had been. I started looking for something valuable, and the Wiz made a beeline for the window.

“Hey, knock that off! Just ‘cause you’re the Weather Wizard doesn’t mean that you get to look at the weather and not help me!” I said. Wiz turned around and locked eyes with me.

“The storm...it’s an ill wind that blows no good,” he muttered. It was almost like he was in a trance or something. And then it happened: a ghost appeared. Now, it wasn’t super gory-really, it just looked like a transparent teenager-but let me tell you: it was scarier than anything I’ve ever seen in a horror movie. At almost the same time, it started to rain heavily. The Wiz passed out again, and the ghost advanced on me. I decided that discretion was the better part of valor (what? I saw Shakespeare on TV one time), threw the Wiz over my shoulder, and ran downstairs and out of the house with him. (Question: Why is it that he was WAY heavier when he was unconscious than when he was conscious?) I wanted to make Captain Cold happy, but I wasn’t gonna fight a ghost just for some loot. As soon as we got out the door, the ghost stopped following us, so I dumped the Wiz on the ground and began what proved to be a LONG wait for the Mirror Masters to come pick us up. Wiz woke up about five minutes after we got out of the house and cleared up the rain (thank goodness), then took a look at me and smiled.

“You should see yourself. Your tutu’s unrecognizable and I can see your underwear,” he said. I felt my cheeks heat up. Man, that was embarrassing.

“Yeah, well, you fainted twice, so I think we’re even,” I replied. The Wiz flushed, and looked at the ground. A few seconds later, he yawned, then produced a wind that dried up the ground.

“I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when Scudder shows up,” he said. With that, he curled up on the ground and dozed off. After a couple seconds, I sat down next to him, and, after a few minutes of trying and failing to come up with an excuse for not finding any loot, I dozed off too. (One of the benefits of being….less than legally employed is that you learn to fall asleep anywhere.) I woke up about twenty minutes later when the Wiz poked me in the side with his wand.

“Huh?” I asked drowsily.

“Where are the Mirror Masters at? Surely they’ve gotta be finished by now,” he whined. I shrugged.

“Maybe they’re still looking for stuff. Or maybe they hit the jackpot and are still gathering up all the stuff they found,” I suggested.

“Well, they better hurry up. I’m bored and tired and I want to get back to my nice soft bed,” the Wiz replied.

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon,” I said. Then I fell back to sleep and was dead to the world for another forty minutes.

Pied Piper: After being trapped in the dumbwaiter for about ten minutes, I turned off my hearing aids. Not being able to hear is never a pleasant experience, but it was highly preferable to listening to a bored Trickster sing “This Is the Song That Never Ends” again and again and again. This solution worked reasonably well until I realized that I very much needed to use the powder room and needed advice as to how to do so without attracting the nightmare creature that wanted to devour my internal organs. Therefore, I had to turn my hearing aids back on, because none of the other Rogues have ever bothered to learn sign language and I had no desire to play charades. As soon as my hearing turned back on, I was greeted with what must have been the fortieth rendition of “This is the Song That Never Ends”.

“James. James. JAMES! I, um, need to use the powder room. Do you have any idea as to how I can do that without meeting the ghost?”

“Depends. What’s a powder room?” He batted his eyes and smiled in the most irritating manner imaginable.

“You know full well what a powder room is!” I exclaimed. James’ smile grew wider as he shook his head.

“I can’t help you if I don’t know what you need, Piper,” he said. I sighed and gave in.

“It’s a restroom,” I said, blushing terribly. James laughed and did a particularly impressive trick with his yo-yo.

“Oh, so you need to pee! Why didn’t you say so?” he asked.

“Because my parents did not allow me to discuss bodily functions in public. Ever,” I replied.

“Did your parents allow you to breathe without their say-so?” I frowned. My parents had indeed controlled my days down to the second before they disowned me, but I didn’t want to admit it, so I said,

“Never mind that. Just tell me how to use the powder room without getting killed!”

“Oh, that’s easy. I’ll close my eyes, and you can do your business in here,” James replied. As I did not have access to a mirror, I cannot be sure about this, but I believe that I blushed even harder.

“No!”

“Why not? You can even blindfold me if you want. Believe me, I do NOT want to watch that,” James replied. I scowled.

“Because that is disgusting, James.”

“I don’t see why. It’s what we did in the circus,” he said, sounding genuinely confused.

“This is not the circus!”

“Well, it isn’t exactly Rathaway manor, either. I’m not saying that it isn’t gross, but this place is in bad condition already. You can’t make it much worse,” James replied.

“I think I would rather face the ghost,” I said. James laughed.

“I can’t believe that you’re more scared of breaking your parents’ rules of being “proper” and pretending that you don’t have bodily functions than you are of a literal ghost,” he said.

“This has nothing to do with my parents!”

“Somebody’s in de-ni-al!” James singsonged.

“I’m not in denial. Just because I do not want to be Digger does not mean that this has anything to do with my parents,” I insisted.

“Yep, definitely in denial,” James said. I ignored him and pulled out the mirror that I had brought with me in order to contact the Mirror Masters.

“Sam! McCulloch! If you can hear me, I need you to get me-and James-out of this house!” Nothing happened, and I sighed wearily. There went that idea. About three minutes later, I decided that I couldn’t wait any longer. I opened the doors nervously and, not seeing anything, bolted down the hall to the powder room, used it, and was on my way back when the ghost reappeared. I screamed like a little girl (which is quite humiliating in hindsight) and just froze up in terror. If I had been alone, I don’t want to know what would have happened next, but, luckily for me, James showed up at exactly this point and yelled,

“Hey, Casper! Over here, you preposterous poltergeist!” The ghost howled and started chasing him, and he whooped with glee and ran down the hall in the direction of the staircase. Thirty seconds later, I heard a loud cry of pain from James. I bolted to the top of the stairs and saw that one of the steps had given way under James, and that he had clearly broken his ankle. Worse, the ghost was floating over top of him, and, for the first time, he looked scared. I stared at the scene for a few seconds, unsure of what to do, and then pulled out my flute and started playing it in the desperate hope that its hypnotic powers would work on a ghost. I tried to ignore the fact that my knees were shaking under me as I played, and, after a few seconds, the ghost stopped howling and floated away from James. I carefully went down the stairs to my partner, still playing, then knelt down beside him and put the flute away.

“Do NOT do that again! You scared the daylights out of me!” I snapped. James smiled.

“Aww, you do care,” he said. All his fear seemed to be forgotten and I shook my head in amazement. He had almost been killed (possessed?) by a ghost, and he was already making jokes.

“I did owe you. After all, if you had not attracted the ghost’s attention, I might have been killed. How’s your ankle?” I asked.

“It hurts like the dickens,” he replied.

“Can you walk?” James stood up shakily, winced, and quickly sat back down, then smiled and said,

“I can walk on my hands!” He proceeded to demonstrate. In spite of myself, I laughed a little.

“Can you keep that up long enough to get to the front door?” I asked him after I stopped laughing.

“Probably. Why?”

“Because we are leaving. I don’t know how long my hypnosis will last, but it will wear off eventually, and I do not want to be here when it does,” I explained.

“Aww, but I wanted to see some more ghosts!”

“Can you run on your hands?” I asked. James grinned slightly.

“Maybe?” he asked. I shook my head.

“Let’s go. We can watch The Shining when we get home if you want,” I said. (It’s James’ favorite horror movie, and very useful as a bribe.) James’ grin widened.

“You know me well, Piper. Let’s go home,” he said. With that, we left the house-only to find Mick and Mark asleep on the lawn; Mick in little more than his underwear.

“There’s something you don’t see every day,” James said.

“What, Mick and Mark sleeping on the lawn or Mick in his underwear?” I asked.

“Both, but mainly Mick in his underwear. That’s an image I’ll never get out of my mind,” he replied.

“Me, neither,” I agreed. After a few seconds, James sat down on the ground and pulled out a pack of bubble gum.

“I swallowed my gum when that step broke under me. Want some gum?” he asked.

“I suppose,” I replied. James handed me a stick of gum and then took out one for himself as well. I sat down next to him, unwrapped the stick of gum, and started chewing it. James blew a huge bubble.

“How do you do that?” I asked.

“Blow bubbles? Haven’t you ever had bubble gum before?” he asked. I shook my head.

“My parents said that gum was for plebeians,” I replied.

“Well, if they really did cut you off, you are one now, so that shouldn’t be a concern anymore,” he said. I smiled.

“You have a point. So, carnie, how about teaching this ex-patrician how to properly blow bubbles with bubble gum?” I asked.

“You’re on!” James exclaimed.

Captain Boomerang: I hate all the bloody ghosts in that bloody ghost house! (I also hate Cold for making me go into the ghost house, but that’s beside the point.) After Cold and I ran out of the kitchen, the ghost chased us through several rooms and to the basement stairs. We exchanged a brief look and ran down the stairs into the basement.

“If that bloody ghost follows us, I’m gonna be as mad as a cut snake,” I said. I was tired of all the running, tired of risking my life, and even more tired of not getting to eat my chips.

“I think he’s stopped chasing us,” Cold said as he looked around. Then he gasped.

“What is it?” I demanded. Cripes, I need a coolie , I thought.

“The Mirror Masters...at least one of them left their Mirror Gun here. It’s their only way back into our dimension. They’d never leave it here.”

“Well, if they’ve carked it, there’s nothin’ we can do. Let’s take our loot and leave this spooky place before another ghost shows up!” I said. I thought that I’d made a good point, but Cold disagreed and punched me in the face.

“We don’t have any proof that they’re dead, so we’re goin’ in after them. They’re too valuable to lose, and besides, the Rogues don’t abandon their own,” he said. Cold activated the portal to the Mirror Realm and dragged me inside by the scarf. As soon as I got inside, I had a sickie and vomited all over the floor.

“Scudder? McCulloch? It’s Cold. Where are you?” Cold yelled. No answer. I stopped vomiting and looked around, then noticed something shiny. I went over to it and discovered that it was an emerald ring.

“Cold, have a Captain Cook at this! We’re rich!” I exclaimed. Cold looked at it...and went pale.

“Oh, no….one of the Mirror Masters must have been spooked by something and dropped it-and if they ran that way and were so panicked that they didn’t notice that they dropped a valuable thing like that, then they’re lost in the Mirror Realm,” he said.

“Okay. They’ve carked it. Oh, well. Let’s go home,” I replied. Cold shook his head.

“No. We’re gonna find them,” he said.

“Cold, you just said that they were lost in the Mirror Realm. If THEY got lost, we’ll get lost, too,” I protested. Cold didn’t listen.

“We ain’t gonna get lost, because we’re going to make a trail to follow,” he said. He drew one the spoons out of the bag and placed it on the ground next to his feet. Then he moved about ten feet forward and did the same thing, and did it again about seven feet after that. He’s got kangaroos loose in his top paddock for sure, I thought.

“What are you doin’, Cold?” I demanded.

“I’m making a trail,” he said.

“Outta spoons ?” I asked.

“Didn’t you ever hear the story of Hansel and Gretel?”

“I don’t read fairy tales. They’re for wusses,” I said. Cold scowled.

“Look, I have a little sister, okay? Anyway, Hansel and Gretel didn’t want to get lost in the woods, so they used bread crumbs to mark where they’d been. That way, when they turned around, they’d know which way would take them back to their starting point. This is the same idea, only our markers can’t be eaten by anything,” he said. With that, he started dragging me by my scarf towards the direction he thought the Mirror Masters had taken.

“You know, I can walk on my own,” I said.

“ Maybe so, but if I let you go, you’ll probably be walking towards the exit, so I’m keeping ahold of you to be on the safe side,” Cold replied. I stuck my tongue out at him, but he ignored it. After about twenty minutes of walking, we entered the weirdest place I’d ever seen. There were all these bloody weird shapes and colors, and I couldn't tell which way was up. It freaked me out, but for some reason, it didn’t seem to bother Cold at all.

“Cold, this is really freaky. Can we go back now? We’ll never find the Mirror Masters in this crazy place,” I said.

“Shut up, Digger. We are going to find them, and we are not going to stop walking until we either do or run out of silverware,” Cold replied.

“Ace!” I muttered sarcastically.

“What was that?”

“Nothin’,” I lied.

“That’s what I thought.” He dragged me along for about ten more minutes before I opened my big mouth again. (I think that must be some kind of record.)

“Can we stop now ?” My legs were killing me (not to mention my neck)!

“No. Stop acting like a six-year-old,” Cold replied. I really need a coolie, i thought.

“I wouldn’t be actin’ like an anklebiter if you weren’t actin’ like a dictator,” I snapped. Cold punched me in the side and continued to drag me along like a bloody kelpie. After about four more minutes, i decided that I’d had enough of being dragged around and stabbed Cold in the arm with one of my razor-sharp boomerangs. He swore in pain and let me go, and I grabbed the mirror gun and ran towards the exit. Sadly for me, Cold managed to bean me over the head with a plate and knocked me out. When I came to, I awoke to see a pair of unconscious Mirror Masters. Normally, I would’ve been crosser than a frog in a sock that Cold had knocked me out, but at the moment I was too glad that Cold wouldn’t be dragging me through the Mirror Realm anymore to really care.

“You little Ripper! You found them!” I exclaimed happily.

“No thanks to you,” Cold muttered. He shook McCulloch awake.

“Cold? How did ye get in here?” he asked.

“Either you or Sam dropped your Mirror Gun outside of the mirror in the basement, and I used it to get in here,” Cold explained.

“But how did ye find us?”

“Stubbornness, mainly,” Cold replied. I laughed.

“That’d be right!” I exclaimed. Cold looked at McCulloch oddly.

“Why is Sam sleeping in your lap?” Cold asked.

“ WHAT? ” McCulloch yelled. He quickly moved Sam off his lap and stood up. This woke Sam up, for obvious reasons. Once he realized what had happened, he noticed Cold, gave him a huge hug, and then punched him in the face.

“I’m...getting some mixed messages here,” Cold said.

“I’m happy you found us, because I thought we were going to die here, but I’m about equally angry at you, because you wouldn’t have had to rescue us if you hadn’t decided to take us to the creepy ghost house in the first place,” Sam explained. I laughed. It’s always good to see Cold get taken down a peg, the arrogant knocker.

“I do nae see why you being here is a good thing. We do nae ken how to get back to the Mirror Portals from here, we’ll all die here,” McCulloch said.

“Actually, we won’t. I marked the path we took from the portals with our loot, so we’ll able to get back fine,” Cold replied. McCulloch grinned, and my stomach growled.

“Can we go home now? I’m hungry,” I asked.

“Ye and me both, Digger,” McCulloch said. Cold nodded.

“Let’s get back to our reality,” he said. With that, we started the long walkabout back to the Mirror Portals.

Top: My nap lasted precisely twenty-five minutes and fifteen seconds. Then I awoke to see Lisa crying quietly. Normally, I would have felt horrible upon seeing such a sight, but at the time, I simply felt disgusted.

"Stop sniveling, you piece of gutter trash. I will not be moved by your feminine wiles,” I spat. (I have since apologized profusely for this comment, and for all others made under the influence of the ghost, but my darling Lisa is still distrustful of me, and her brother would have beat me to within an inch of my life for them had she not stopped him.)

“All right. I WILL stop crying. I should have known better than to show weakness in front of a man who’s just like my father,” she replied angrily. If I had been myself, I would have been horrified by this accusation, but as I was, I merely sniffed dismissively.

“I am nothing like your father. He was an alcoholic boor who lived off of welfare for most of his life, and I am a gentleman,” I said haughtily.

“And yet you’re calling me names just like he did,” Lisa replied. (In hindsight, her self-confidence was quite admirable, but at the time, I found it irritating.)

“Shut your mouth!” I snapped, unable to refute her argument.

“And let you walk all over me? I don’t think so,” Lisa said. Furious, I raised my hand to slap her, but thankfully, the Civil War-era ghost interrupted us before I could. Lisa grabbed me and pulled me out of the room before the ghost began to levitate anything, thereby saving my life for the third time that night.

“I told you not to touch me!” I said icily. In response, Lisa kissed me on the cheek and I pulled away sharply in utter disgust. (I believe that she was trying to make me uncomfortable in an attempt to snap me back to my senses.)

“I just saved your life again , and you want to complain about me touching you? AGAIN?” she yelled.

“I was aware that we were in danger. There was no need for you to touch me,” I replied coldly. The ghost drifted out of the bedroom we had been in, and the two of us ran to the stairs-only to find that one of the steps had collapsed. Lisa sighed and slid down the banister to the bottom of the stairs, and I reluctantly followed her when the ghost appeared behind me and it became apparent that there was no other means of escape. (We were able to keep our balance because my darling Lisa was a figure skater and I am very resistant to vertigo.) We ran back through the dining room and back into the backyard, and were greeted by a most unusual sight. The ghost who had kissed me was holding hands with another ghost, this one with a noose around his neck.

“Oh, darling, you’re back!” she cooed. The other ghost kissed her.

“Yes, and I’ll never leave you again. I’m so sorry that I abandoned you all those years ago. My father was wrong: you were more important than our money ever could have been,” he said.

‘I forgive you, Robert,” she replied. Lisa started to cry again.

“Oh, shut up, you sniveling hussy! You are too far beneath me to deserve my sympathy,” I said harshly. Lisa frowned and dried her tears rather angrily, then elbowed me in the side.

“Where have you been, Robert?” the female ghost asked.

“I don’t know. All I remember before seeing you tonight was a lot of anger at something,” the other ghost replied. The female ghost embraced him.

“Oh, well, you’re here now. That’s all that matters,” she said. They kissed again, and then the female ghost noticed us and frowned.

“Are you the lovers?” she asked.

“Formerly. I thank you profusely for showing me my folly,” I said. Lisa nodded sadly.

“Why do you want to know? You can’t possibly make me any more miserable,” she said. The ghost smiled.

“Because I am going to show you both mercy. Since my happiness has been restored, I will restore your happiness,” she said. She kissed me once again, and all my love for Lisa came flowing back-as did a crushing sense of guilt.

“My darling, I am so sorry for what I said. I don’t know what came over me, but I swear to you that I do not care how rich you are. You are a goddess, and I adore you. Please, please forgive me,” I pleaded. I felt like an utter cad. Lisa frowned.

“R-Roscoe?” she asked nervously.

“Yes, sweetums,” I said. I tried to kiss her, but she pulled away.

“Don’t , Roscoe. After what you said to me tonight, I just don’t trust you. How can I be sure that you aren’t saying you don’t care that I’m “gutter trash” only because of your hormones? What if two or three years down the line, you don’t find me attractive anymore? Will you still love me, or will I suddenly become a “welfare queen” again? I still love you, but I can’t trust you anymore,” she asked

“You...you are breaking up with me?” I was heartbroken and rather tempted to attack the ghost (if that was even possible), but I could not really blame her.

“I’m not sure. Let’s call it a vacation,” she replied quietly. There was an awkward pause, and then I said,

“In that case, since our date is off, perhaps we should go to the front lawn and wait for the Mirror Masters to take us back to our hideout.” Lisa nodded, and we left the backyard, walked quickly through the house, and made it to the front lawn of the house without issue. Upon arriving, we saw Mark curled up on the lawn, fast asleep, Mick napping in little more than his underwear ( a sight that will haunt me until my dying day), and James and Piper blowing bubble gum. James waved at us.

“Hi there, lovebirds! How was your date?’ If there is one thing that James is the master of, it is saying things at the most inopportune times.

“Badly,” Lisa replied. With that, she left my side and sat down next to Mick. James looked at me quizzically.

“It is a very long story that is frankly none of your business,” I told him. I walked a few feet away from him, sat down, and buried my head in my hands, ashamed of what I had done to the one person in my life I ever cared for. Apparently, I dozed off at some point, because the next thing I remember was the two Mirror Masters arriving alongside Digger and Leonard.

“Look alive, everyone! We’re moving out!” he barked. Five minutes later, we were all back in our hideout (thanks to the Mirror Masters). Lisa immediately ran over to her brother and started sobbing. My stomach twisted with guilt and I looked away.

“Shhh..shh...shhh..Sis, what happened?” In response, Lisa told him the whole story through hiccups and sobs. When she was finished, Leonard marched over to me.

“ Is this true, Dillon?” he demanded.

“Sadly, yes,” I replied awkwardly. In response, Cold punched me so hard he knocked me to the ground.

“Then you’re gonna wish you’d never been born. NO ONE hurts my baby sister,” he snarled. He moved to hit me again, but before he could, Lisa ran over to him and grabbed his arm.

“Lenny, don’ t! He was under the influence of a ghost! It wasn’t all his fault,” she said. Cold scowled, but he walked away anyway as Lisa helped me back to my feet.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Better than I should be after treating you so terribly,” I replied.

“It’s good to to have you back, Roscoe,” she said.

“Does this mean that we’re back on?” I asked eagerly.

“No, Roscoe, I’m afraid not. It’ll probably be awhile before I feel comfortable around you again,” she said. She left me and went upstairs, and I was left to mentally berate myself for my idiocy.

Mirror Master I: And...that was basically it. We managed to get home alive from the creepy ghost house, everyone changed out of their costumes, and most of us, exhausted, went to bed (except James and Piper, who decided to watch The Shining for some reason.) The next morning, Trickster went to the hospital to get his broken ankle treated, and the rest of us decided to never, ever go to any house that was supposed to be haunted again. A week later, the Flash caught Len trying to fence his loot, so he’s in prison again. Lisa still hasn’t forgiven Roscoe, and James’s ankle is still very broken, but otherwise, things are pretty much back to normal for us Rogues. So, with that in mind-we would like to wish you all a Happy Halloween!- What James said.

FIN

#flash rogues #ghosts #dc comics #lisa snart/roscoe dillon #len snart #sam scudder #evan mcculloch #james jesse #hartley rathaway #george digger harknesss #mick rory #mark mardon #fanfic #@gorogues

10 notes · View notes

monabela · 4 years

Text

I'm back! well I guess on this blog it's not odd that I don't post for a while but still. I'm back! and since it's @aphrarepairweek2020 and I made best friends with a little girl on my mail round when she followed me through two streets and helped me put mail in mailboxes, this is the perfect time to indulge this ship that I'm not sure is actually a thing or I made up myself, and some kidfic (sort of)! this is for day 2, thunderstorm :0

~~~

(rain’s a part of) how life goes

pairings/characters: Poland (Feliks)/Sweden (Berwald), Sealand (Peter), Ladonia (Lars)

word count: 2419

summary:

Even if Feliks is still unsure of how he fits into the lives of Berwald’s sons, there is only one thing he can do when one of them is afraid of a thunderstorm.

~~~

Feliks is just about to put in his earbuds to listen to a podcast, when he hears a small, unfamiliar sound over the rain clattering against the windows, crashing into the sea somewhere near. He puts his phone down next to his crossed legs. Listens.

He can still hear the shower, barely, so it can’t be Berwald already. Maybe he dropped something, in there. His depth perception is awful without his glasses; Feliks wouldn’t be surprised. Hopefully, he’s almost done cleaning by now, anyway. Taking a shower during a thunderstorm isn’t the best idea, and Feliks feels a little guilty, since he was the one who dropped his drink on Berwald.

Thankfully, they’ve been dating long enough now that he doesn’t feel the terrible embarrassment he’s sure would have overwhelmed him in the beginning.

It seems to be silent now, or relatively so, given the downpour outside.

A clap of thunder, and another noise just out in the hall. Feliks half-turns to look over the back of the couch as the living room door opens, and a small, pale face peers through the gap, single blue eye wide. Ah, of course.

“Dad?” comes the usually so loud voice of Berwald’s eldest son, now just above a whisper. Feliks laces his fingers together in his lap, and takes a deep breath.

“Your dad’s taking a shower, Peter,” he says, smiling in what he hopes is a reassuring way when the boy spots him. Both Peter and his younger brother Lars know him well enough by now—he’s spent enough time around their father lately—but Feliks can’t deny that being around the boys still makes him a little nervous, if only because he knows they mean the world to Berwald and he’s terrified of somehow doing wrong by them. Having kids was never something he seriously thought about, because he just didn’t think he would be any good with them. The little Oxenstierna family is doing their best to prove him wrong.

“Oh,” Peter is saying, and he is already closing the door when the thunder rolls again, and he practically sprints into the living room instead, halting next to the couch. He’s clutching the hem of his pajama shirt with his small fingers, knuckles whitening. Feliks shakes his thin hair out of his face, meeting Peter’s eyes.

“Are you…” He tilts his head, assessing how Peter appears to be trying to control his fear. “Did you want to check on your dad, Peter?”

Peter nods vigorously, grateful, and Feliks can’t help but smile.

“Is he afraid of the thunder?”

Nodding again, Peter shuffles a little closer. His pajama shirt has a pirate ship on it, and the pants are printed with tiny rapiers and skulls, but he is no longer wearing the eyepatch and hat he had on this evening, when he insisted the trampoline in the backyard was his pirate ship and tried to get his brother to walk the plank multiple times, in increasingly loud pirate brogue. Lars kept refusing, of course, and Feliks had been tasked with distracting Peter. He could probably do so again, even if there’s no way he’ll go out and try to do tricks on the trampoline again like he’s seventeen and still dreaming of a career in gymnastics. Not in this weather.

More thunder.

Peter winces, hands wringing into his shirt. Feliks’s heart clenches. With how boisterous he is, it’s easy to forget that Peter is still just a six-year-old boy, who wants his father to comfort him during a storm even if he’s too proud to admit it.

“I’m afraid of thunder, too, you know,” Feliks tells him, which isn’t true—thunder is one of the few loud noises he actually doesn’t mind—but that doesn’t matter.

“I’m not!” Peter insists, even as he climbs on to the couch next to Feliks, who grasps his shoulder to steady him. “I’m a pirate, an’ pirates are never afraid!”

“Yeah? You must be worried about your ship, like, with all this rain, right? The waves must be huge.” Feliks holds his breath while Peter sits close to him, pulling his legs up on the couch and wrapping his arms around his knees.

“My ship is undestroyable,” he declares. “It’s called—it’s called Storm Dee-mise!”

That one’s Feliks’s fault; he inadvertently taught Peter the word demise just this afternoon as he tried to think of a name for his trampoline ship, and the boy has used it in all the names he’s come up with since then, of which there have been about twenty. He’s got a very vivid imagination.

“An’ it’s got cannons that’re louder than the thunder, an’ the sails—” He cuts himself off at a particularly loud roll of thunder that seems to shake the house and follows the lightning almost immediately. He scoots closer to Feliks, who tentatively holds out his arm at just the right height for the boy to duck underneath it. After a second, he does so, nestling himself against Feliks’s side.

God, if his twenty-year-old self could see him now, Feliks thinks. Or even his thirty-four-year-old self of two years ago, when he’d first been introduced to Berwald through mutual friends, most of whom had been as surprised as Feliks himself when they started dating. Partly because Berwald had children, and Feliks supposes he’s never been known for his great social skills, whether with children or adults, and partly because everyone still remembered that he had been very intimidated by the tall man when they’d first met. And Feliks says strange things when he’s intimidated.

There’s only so much time you can spend awkwardly standing next to each other not knowing what to say while your friends blather on, though. And once they started, it proved difficult to stop.

“Hey, Pete,” he says, softly, and he thinks it’s the first time he’s called the boy that, the first time it’s felt appropriate.

Peter looks up at him from underneath his arm, blue eyes mirroring his father’s. Feliks has no idea where those dark eyebrows he’s currently drawn into a frown have come from, though.

“Are you still scared?” Peter asks manfully.

“A little.” Feliks shakes his hair away again. “Do you think I could come onto the Storm’s Demise?”

“’Course.” He burrows further into his side and the couch cushions at another clap of thunder, following the lightning flashes ever closer now.

“I bet you can’t even, like, hear the thunder belowdecks, right?”

Peter nods against his ribs. Still cautious, Feliks reaches for the mop of blond hair hiding his face, and cards his fingers through it. It’s all sticking up even more than usual. He must have spent some time tossing and turning in bed before this. For a young boy, it’s far too late to be up, especially after all that trampoline excitement. It’s not something Feliks thinks he would have even known a year ago, but he’s concerned about it now.

“Your dad would like to be on the ship too, I bet.”

“Lars can come too,” Peter mumbles through a yawn, and he glances up with half-lidded eyes when Feliks can’t help but chuckle at that.

“Good! That’s good, Pete. You look after your little brother.”

“He’s only five. He’s a baby.” The words are mumbled into his hoodie. Well, Berwald’s hoodie. Maybe Peter finds the fact that it smells like laundry and wood as comforting as Feliks does. “I’m six years old.”

“Yeah, you are. Do you know how many years old I am?”

Peter looks up appraisingly, silent for a long moment save for the rain pounding against the glass like an unwanted stranger. The sound of the shower has stopped, but Feliks couldn’t say how long ago that happened.

“Dad’s forty years old,” Peter eventually says, thoughtful. Berwald is thirty-nine, but it’s almost his birthday, so that’s fair. “You must also be forty.”

Fair enough.

“Almost,” Feliks replies, and Peter smiles proudly, probably glad to have worked out that puzzle, and he still winces when there’s more thunder, but is still smiling when it’s over.

“Uncle Søren is thirty-seven,” he starts recounting, “an’ Ashleigh is six also and Refik is seven an’…”

Feliks tunes him mostly out while he lists the ages of all the neighborhood children, his grandparents—which he’s pretty sure are wrong, because he’s met Berwald’s parents and doesn’t think either of them looked anywhere near a hundred-and-twenty—and then who knows who else. He just ruffles the boy’s hair every once in a while, when there’s more thunder, even though Peter barely seems to notice at this point, caught up as he is.

Not for the first time, Feliks catches himself thinking that Peter has inherited his father’s logical mind, to be so fascinated with numbers, and then, definitely for the first time, he thinks, well, there’s something I can help him with when he’s older, because Feliks likes numbers too. They’re nice and straightforward, don’t change values depending on context. He thinks about helping Peter or Lars with math homework in a house he designed, at a kitchen table Berwald has built, and it’s a bit of a terrifying thought, but not so scary that he refuses to think it. Not so scary that it can’t be a silent hope.

He would have locked it away, not so long ago. The Oxenstiernas are teaching him things in more than one way. Or maybe he’s just finally growing up as he nears forty.

“Feliks?” A heavy hand on his shoulder. Feliks startles out of his daydream. Looks down at Peter, who is silent now, and—oh, he has fallen asleep tucked against him, one hand grasping the hoodie.

Swallowing heavily, Feliks shifts his gaze up, to where Berwald is smiling down at him. His eyes are bright in that way that Feliks has realized by now suggests warmth. It’s easy to mistake it for judgment, or indifference, but he knows now that Berwald cares deeply about many things, his sons above all. You just have to know to look for it.

“Everything okay here?” he’s asking now. He reaches over to where Feliks is still absently stroking Peter’s hair and pushes it out of the boy’s closed eyes. “Pete couldn’t sleep?”

“I convinced him I was the one who was scared of the thunder,” Feliks whispers, briefly wondering if maybe that was the wrong thing to do—because surely, it’s important for Peter to learn that it’s okay to be afraid of things himself—but Berwald smiles, familiar laugh lines forming around his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure, like…” He doesn’t know what to say, so he just looks down at the boy peacefully sleeping against his side. “Of course. He’s… Of course.”

Berwald walks around the couch silently and gazes down at the two of them, seemingly similarly lost for words. He has already changed into his pajamas. Quite unexpectedly, Feliks is out of breath at how quaint this all is, and how much he wants to keep it. He blinks rapidly as Berwald crouches down. The man rests one hand on Feliks’s leg while he gently touches his son’s forehead with the other, callused thumb smoothing away a frown as it appears. Peter doesn’t wake. Berwald looks up at Feliks, who chews on his lip until he reaches up and cups his jaw.

“Okay?” Berwald asks, his voice deeper than the rolling thunder but infinitely more soothing.

In response, Feliks smiles, and untangles his fingers from Peter’s hair, careful not to jostle him, to run both hands through Berwald’s short hair instead until he’s cupping the back of his head and Berwald is leaning up with his leg as leverage to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He smells like shampoo now. Feliks smiles, ruffling his hair this time.

“Alright,” Berwald mumbles, pushing himself to his feet, dropping a kiss on top of Feliks’s head as he goes, “let’s get him back to bed. ‘S too late to be up.”

Nodding, Feliks shifts so Berwald can gather his son into those strong arms of his. He could probably pick Feliks up with the same ease, but it’s never come up. Peter sniffles and curls into his father’s broad chest, but doesn’t wake even as thunder rolls again.

As Berwald moves towards the stairs, Feliks decides to follow, turning off the lights in the living room and carefully closing the door so it doesn’t rattle in the wind that will inevitably creep in. While Berwald tucks his son back into bed, Feliks brushes his teeth, changes into his pajamas, and uses the bathroom, and they meet again on the landing in front of Berwald’s bedroom, where Feliks smiles softly and starts to whisper something about Peter, when Berwald leans over and kisses him, grasping his face with those big hands.

Feliks hooks his fingers into the man’s old T-shirt, smiling into the closemouthed kisses pressed against his lips.

“Thank you,” Berwald mutters, again.

“It’s nothing.”

“’S not, Feliks.” His gaze is intense in the low light coming from his bedroom, blue eyes nearly transparent behind his glasses. “You know it’s not.”

Of course it’s not, but…

Not sure what to say, Feliks just presses his face into Berwald’s warm neck, standing on his tiptoes, breathing in his clean scent and listening to his steady heartbeat. The man rests his chin on top of his head, folding him into his arms. It feels secure, in a way that few things have done in Feliks’s life, and he think he might understand how Peter felt, safe from the thunderstorm. He isn’t the boy’s father and will never be, but maybe, maybe, Feliks could mean something similar to him.

Thunder rolls. Feliks swallows.

“You’re doing great,” Berwald says softly.

He wants to muffle words into the man’s neck, wants to tell him he loves him, and may very well love his sons too, but Feliks can’t bring himself to say it quite yet. It’s a truth he didn’t think he’d ever get to say, so it can wait a while longer. Just a while.

It won’t be long.

A small noise, down the hall. They both look at the wide blue eyes underneath a mop of ginger hair, peering around the bedroom door with Lars painted on it in a child’s clumsy hand, the s backwards.

“Dad?”

Berwald kisses Feliks’s forehead and trails his fingers down his arm as he walks over to his youngest son. Feliks smiles, and wanders after him.

#aphrarepairweek2020 #svepol #Hetalia #aph poland #aph sweden #aph sealand #fin #w: 2500 #u: human #I was gonna go with a different name for sweden #but i think for now i'll only do that when he's a background #character #maybe #is this named after the only vienna teng song i know?#maybe.#u: rpw

19 notes · View notes

salted-cushions · 3 years

Text

All the reasons I gave you, the things I wanted and didn’t want - they were real, but they paled next to you. Like candles lit under the midday sun. And I, weak and stupid, watched the sun set on my life for the last time instead of snuffing even one of my candles out. Now they’ve all burned out, and so I’m sitting in the dark with nothing but my regrets to keep me company.

Long-ass emo post that takes a long time to get the the point, be warned.

I have taken up running in the past few weeks. I am not a strong runner, but my aerobic capacity is slowly improving and I’m starting to enjoy it... slightly.

I ran a community 5K this morning, and the emailed me my results about an hour later. I ran it in 33:15, which was much better than last time but still slow as fuck in the grand scheme of things - the fastest guy there posted a time of 17:30ish, which I know because he lapped me about 10 meters before the finish line.

So I was pretty confused when they told me I ran the fastest time in my age category. Like wtf? So I opened the results page and sorted it by age category - and it turns out that out of 182 runners, eight of them were between the ages of 20 and 29.

Where the fuck do I find people my age to make friends with? Most of the people in my course don’t speak english well enough to really get to know them, and besides they tend to form their own little cliques based on nationality - the chinese students have their own little groups, as do the indians and sri lankans. The singaporean and hong kong group is a bit more welcoming (and they tend to speak better english too), but like... I can get along with them well enough, but not well enough to be part of the in crowd, y’know? And it feels kinda weird to be the only white guy hanging out with an entirely asian crew. Plus their main social activities seem to be hot pot and boba tea, neither of which I’m that in to.

I’d really hoped that I’d be able to make some friends doing this running group thing, but I guess only the young and old do it. Ever since I’ve moved back to the suburbs I just never see anyone between highschool age and middle age. And the people who are kinda around my age are like... young families who’re starting out with homeownership and having kids, just at a different stage of life than I am. I guess all the young people are living near unis or towards the city.

A few years ago, I wanted friends who went out and got drunk, had house parties, did drugs and had lots of casual sex. And I had that, for a little while, working at a bar near the city - we’d pull 12 hour shifts, sit in the bar after close and drink our paychecks, hit the clubs and dance for hours, hook up with strangers, crash somewhere for a couple hours sleep and do it all again tomorrow. But it’s not as fulfilling as I thought it would be, I think I only wanted it because I thought I missed out in my teens and early 20s. (Hospitality bosses want their employees to do this, by the way - they’ve created this culture where you basically get abused by them and the customers all day, then spend all your money drinking at your workplace to get the bad feelings out, and then by the time the next shift rolls around you’re so tired and hungover all you want is to get through your shift and get drunk again. It’s disgusting, and I hope I never work at a bar again).

So what sort of friends do I want now? I don’t really know. I want to be able to talk about things that are on my mind, share my accomplishments and have them celebrated, get support when I need it and give it when they do. I want to host dinner parties and cocktail nights, and go to my friends’ dinner parties and cocktail nights. I want to go to nice restaurants and classy bars for celebrations, and maybe hit a club and dance until I can’t stand once or twice a year - but not on a school night, that’s not very smart.

I guess part of my problem is I want to do everything and be accepted everywhere (thanks, ADHD). Not that many people want to go and see the ballet or a musical, and also get high and talk about life, and also exercise every day and be fit and healthy, and also get shitfaced and dance until the sun comes up. People I meet seem to have space in their lives for work or school, family, a couple good friends, and exactly one ‘other’. My ‘other’ is a list a mile long, and everything has to be done at 110% otherwise I’m not interested in the slightest. I miss dancing - but there’s no point taking it up again until I can commit $5k/year and 15+ hours/week to competition training, plus probably another $5k/year on costuming, shoes and travel. I miss world of warcraft - but there’s no point playing unless I’m gonna do 10-15 hours of keystones on top of raiding three nights every week. I miss league of legends - but there’s no point playing unless I’m gonna play four hours a night to keep my skills sharp, oh and also that game makes me so fucking angry that I’ve broken more than one keyboard playing it. I miss martial arts - I kinda wanna do jujitsu, but it’s so expensive and you gotta buy all the gear straight away, and I know that if I get into it I’ll start wanting to train every day and spend all my time and money on it. Plus I don’t always get along with the kind of people who do it - the typical BJJ guy is either an older dude who realised he was getting fat and had a midlife crises, or a younger guy with a shaved head and intense eyes with dark circles whose bought into the culture with a cult-like intensity and has the vibe of being on the precipice of getting an SS tattoo. I miss magic the gathering, but collecting cards for a competitive decks is an incredibly expensive and time-consuming process with significant setbacks every couple months when a new set comes out, plus MTG people tend to be have this unique combination of zero social skills, zero personal hygiene, and intense arrogance that makes them eminently unlikeable.

I like lifting, but I don’t really like gym culture - if it’s powerlifting, it’s all bearded bikie sorta guys listening to heavy metal. If it’s weightlifting, it’s very insular and cliquey (although the scene in my city is very small, so that might be a poor judgement). If it’s ‘bodybuilding’ - not people who compete, but guys who want big pecs and arms, and girls who want a skinny waist and a fat ass - it’s all ‘yeah brah’ meathead vibes and shallow instagramming. Besides, I spent all this money on my home gym stuff, so I can’t really justify paying for a gym membership just for socialising.

I like running, or I’m liking it so far. I don’t know about the people, they seem a bit too... normal for me. Everyone’s chatting about their spouses and kids and dogs, except the little group of competitive runners who seem to be more interested in training than chatting (funny that). Maybe that’s how I find myself and make some friends - keep moving towards having a house and a spouse and kids and a dog. That’s scary though. Is that what I want?

This has been on my mind a lot recently, to be honest. In a year I’ll be finished with my degree (theoretically) and hopefully find a professional, salaried job. What then? Except for the year I decided I would drop out of school and have a career in hospitality (bad idea), that’s been the point where my idea of the future stops for quite a while now. I know I want to buy a house or an apartment at some point, and since I found out that my sister and I are inheriting an interstate property homeownership is actually starting to sound realistic. I know, in broad strokes, the field I want to work in. But... do I want to live in the city and live the urbanite single life? Do I want to have a family and live further out where there’s space and more greenery? If my research project goes well, maybe I could try and get hired on as a research assistant, or if I find something worthwhile I could put together a PhD proposal (lol good luck with my amazing 1.1 GPA). I could work for the local government, or the state government, or the federal government, or a design firm, or a construction firm, or a consulting firm... the options are so many and I don’t even know how to begin evaluating them.

Of course it’s all a bit of a pointless exercise right now, because I’ll honestly take whatever job I can get when I graduate. There’s a lot of jobs for civil grads, but with my awful grades, dodgy resume and just being older than the rest of my cohort, I won’t have the luxury of being choosy. Public, private, non-profit, research, city-based, rural or even interstate - I’ll be submitting as many applications as I can and taking whatever I can get. And that will cut down my options for stuff like where I like and what kind of lifestyle I want to lead, like I can’t be seeing musicals every weekend and frequenting trendy cocktail lounges if I’m living and working off in Traralgon or whatever, and I can’t be living on a ten-acre rural plot with some sheep and a couple of border collies if I need to drive into the city for work every day.

I’m not ready to turn 30. I’m getting my shit together, but it’s so fucking slow and frustrating. At the start of the year I tore up my life and started from scratch - like I have every few years since I turned 16 - but I think and hope that this will be the last time, now that I’m aware of my patterns, medicated, and trying to plan for my future. But making those plans means... I need to figure out who I am and who I want to be. I need to separate what’s a part of me from what’s manifestations of ADHD. I need to figure out what I genuinely like, and what I think I like because it’s novel, or stimulating, or because I saw people doing it and instinctively wanted to mirror them. I need to dig through the ideal version of myself, the person that I want to be, and figure out what pieces are good and what aren’t. A couple years ago, I had this idea that the ideal me would say ‘I’m gonna do what I want, and the people who don’t like that can piss off.’ Well, I woke up one day recently and realised that I had no friends because that attitude had systematically pushed everybody that I cared for out of my life, so that’s one idea that I’m working on getting rid of.

There is one part of that which is very difficult for me to approach, though... and that’s my ex. She told me that she thought I looked hot with a beard, and so that became part of my ideal version of myself. I normally wear stubble these days - but with the nice clean line shaved into my cheek, just like she liked. I tell myself this is the way I think it looks best. But maybe I only do it because my ideal me is built for her. Before I met her, I already wanted to be fit, healthy and strong - dance training, lifting, sometimes running (but never sticking to it). But fitness was a big part of her life, and while we were together I absorbed some of that from her. It would be stupid to drop it from my life altogether, but I can’t help but wonder how much of why and how I do these things is constructed around her.

I never met anyone who understood me like she did. I’ve never liked sharing hobbies with girlfriends - inevitably they don’t quite get it, just as I don’t quite get theirs. Like, girls who wanted to play video games with me didn’t understand my drive to improve and be competitive - how when I play a game I’m constantly striving, in every moment, to be that little bit quicker, more accurate, more efficient, to make the right calls, to pick the right strategies. To them, a game is just a game to play for fun - and there’s nothing wrong with that, but it’s not how I enjoy video games and I’m going to be intensely frustrated for every single second of you clumsily trying to participate in something I’ve spent thousands of hours getting better at. I can’t even play Mario Party without becoming a ruthless monster, please let’s put on a movie or something before my head implodes.

She got it, though. Not with video games - she didn’t give two shits about them - but about fitness. She wasn’t like those people who come to the gym to half-heartedly do a set on every machine and then go home to eat ice cream, or the people who just do an hour of incline walking while watching tv and playing on their phones. She did research, and made intelligent plans, and took it seriously. She’d grit her teeth and push through the shittiest days, where lesser women (and men) would have cut their workout short and gone home. She badly needed to succeed, so badly that every little failure cut her to the quick. Healthy? Fuck no. But just like me. More than me, better than me. We understood each other. And let me tell you, you’ve never known love until you’ve watched your girlfriend grind her way out of a PR squat that by all rights she should have failed - and then seen the elation on her face once she’s racked the bar and realised what she just achieved.

Jesus, I’m close to tears now. I just wanted to bitch about not having any friends and I’ve once again segued into pining over her. God I’m so lonely. Why am I like this?

Reading over that last paragraph... it does sound like I have genuine feelings for her, and not just an obsessive need to recapture the one that got away. So that’s... good, I think. It doesn’t change anything really... it doesn’t uncover a new course of action to take, or instruct on how to manage my feelings better. But I don’t want to be that creepy, obsessive ex. I’ve felt like that a lot over the past couple years, but only internally... I’ve tried to leave her alone and done pretty well, I think. Like yeah, I think about her way too much and stalk her socials pretty regularly, but if she doesn’t see any of that then... it won’t make her uncomfortable. That’s the theory. And I’m getting better with the stalking... I just open her instagram and say to myself ‘see? still blocked and set to private. you didn’t miss anything.’ and then I can close it and go about my day. Not great, but... better than the alternatives for now.

This is where it all comes together. I want to text her, have another shot, lay everything out and say ‘I want now what you wanted from me two years ago.’ And I think that’s an actual desire, even a plan, not just me desperately trying to grab on to the last few shreds of dopamine I could get from her. But... I’m not ready, and it’s not the right time. I need to keep getting my shit together, so I can face her and be proud of myself. I don’t want to be embarrassed by living in an ancient, dirty and broken-down house - but I’m working on that. I don’t want to be embarrassed by my inability to stick to an exercise routine for more than a few months - but I’m working on that. I want be confident when I say I’ll finish my degree this year. I want to be confident when I say that next year I’ll have a job and be looking at buying a house. I want to be confident when I say that I’m quitting smoking - or, better yet, proudly say that it’s been so many weeks since my last cigarette.

I hurt her, in the past. And I regret it, and I’m ashamed - because as I’ve learned more about myself, the reasons are becoming clear. She wasn’t happy, and she would break up with me. I would say, ‘well of course I don’t want that, but you need to do what’s right for you.’ And then I would go cold for a couple of days until she inevitably came crawling back - until the last time, when she didn’t. I shouldn’t have let it go on. And why did I let it? Because I’m weak and selfish. Because I ignore issues that I don’t want to deal with, and happily go on with my life as if they don’t exist. Because I’m desperate for approval and validation, and couldn’t do the right thing by her because it would have meant losing a huge source of that. Because I think I can get away with anything, and I care more about whether there will be immediate consequences for me, rather than if something is right or wrong or affects someone else.

I took so much from her. Her friendship with our other roommate - destroyed, and at the time I said ‘that’s between the two of them,’ but I was the one who came into their lives like a hurricane. Her house - she was the one who had to move, even though she’d lived their long before me - I was the one who should have moved out, but I said to myself ‘she’s the one who’s leaving, that’s her prerogative.’ Her gym - I should have stopped going there when things were moving towards the end, but I didn’t. Then I told myself that we went at different times now and wouldn’t see each other, so it was fine - until one day when she came in, saw me, went to the bathroom and hid for at least an hour until I’d left. It shouldn’t have taken that much to make me change gyms - and for what! That gym was her community, for me it was just the most convenient place that usually had a free squat rack. And I took it from her. All of these things were so easy to justify - ‘I’m gonna do my thing and if anybody doesn’t like it - they don’t have to stay in my life.’ I was so fucking selfish, and I have so much regret. The only thing I could possibly do is apologise. And I hate apologies - words mean nothing without actions backing them up. There’s no action that I could possibly take that could give these things back to her, so all I could do is grovel at her feet and tell her that I’m sorry and that I’m trying to be a better person.

I’m scared. Even if I do get my shit together and sack up enough to text her, and even if she actually replies, and even if by some miracle she wants to try again - I’m scared that I’ll hurt her again. That I won’t have grown out of my selfish, irresponsible ways. I can SEE the patterns, but can I change them? I think so... but it’s not an overnight thing, and it’s not a neat and direct path from A to B. It’s a messy, unclear, painful and difficult thing that I have to do if I want to be a better person, if I want be capable of having a stable and loving relationship in the future. I can easily see a future where, if all the pieces fall into place and we start dating again, I just use her up and toss her away again - just like every woman I’ve ever dated. Then I’m back exactly where I am today - lying in bed emptying my feelings into the internet - and she’s twice scarred from having me in her life. And then I hurt the next woman, and the next, until I eventually die bitter and lonely, looking back on the trail of pain and heartbreak I’ve left in my wake.

I’m scared of the other options, too. I’m scared that she rejects me and it doesn’t help me get over her. What do I do then? This would be a real hail mary, there’s no third chance - hell, the second is already a stretch. I just cannot go on for the rest of my life feeling like this - it’s been two years! The first three months or so were by far the worst, but after that it’s like... this became my new baseline. A bit of ebb and flow, but never gone. Maybe it’s worse than usual right now because I walked past her last week... and maybe it’s worse than usual because I’m trying to dig these things out from the depths of my brain in the hopes that the light and air will cleanse them. Maybe by going through this phase of rawness and regret, I’ll be better equipped to move on and this will all die down. Although I’m pretty sure I would have to genuinely accept that I can’t have her, and... I don’t know how. Maybe an emphatic and absolute rejection would do that for me. I’d probably have to throw away some of the stuff she gave me. I don’t know. I’m not equipped to approach that idea right now.

And then... what if she says we can try being friends? How do I navigate that? I’m not capable of doing something halfway, I’d spend every waking minute looking for an angle. It’d be an opportunity, not a friendship. That’s... manipulative. I don’t want to do that. And I don’t want to lie to myself and pretend I could do that. I don’t think it would happen, anyway - I don’t see that coming from her. Although I have seen her being friendly with an ex of hers, so... maybe I’m wrong.

And what if she says yes... but then I find out that I was in love with the idea of her that I’ve constructed over the past two years, and the person she is now doesn’t resemble that at all? What if I was just caught up with new relationship energy and a novel person, and really the connection and rapport wasn’t as deep as I remember it being? What if I do everything right this time, and still end up unhappy? I know that dating is always a risk, but... I don’t want to be dumping her six months down the track because she didn’t live up to this ridiculous, unrealistic fantasy version of her. And I don’t want to end up a bitter old man in a loveless marriage, any more than I want to end up a bitter old bachelor with a collection of broken hearts. I think about it and I’m pretty sure that the connection we had was real, and the reasons I want her are real and accurate - but ever since I started wrapping my head around this ADHD thing, I’ve stopped trusting my perceptions of things so much. If I want something, my brain will tell me pretty much whatever I need to hear so that I can rationalise my doubts away.

And that’s part of this whole thing - all this work that I’m trying to do on myself, how much of it is for her? I say it’s for myself, but I wouldn’t put it past me to be rationalising it that way, when it’s really all part of a larger scheme to win her back. Like, I clean my kitchen benches with spray and a cloth every single day now, sometimes two or three times if I’m cooking a lot. I think that’s because I want my house to be cleaned to that standard - but she had extremely high standards of cleanliness, so maybe I’m just trying to make myself the person who can tick that box for her. And I can say, well, if that’s the case that’s ok - the motivations don’t matter as long as you’re improving yourself. But if that’s the case... what happens after I text her? If we get back together, and my brain goes ‘cool goal achieved, we can shut this all down now’ and all the good traits I’ve painstakingly developed collapse back into nothingness. Or if she says no and I actually accept that, then my brain might go ‘ok this is pointless now, let’s get rid of it’ and the exact same thing happens? I want to be a whole, complete person on my own - and a good, responsible, reliable person who does stuff like keep a beautifully clean house - and so the idea that all of that might be built around this hope of having her back in my life is... uncomfortable, at least. As is the idea that I’m constructing a persona who’s only purpose is to win back an ex-girlfriend, as if life is some stupid romcom.

This has gone way off track, so... I’ll leave it there. R, if you’re reading this... I’m so, so very sorry about so many things. I hope you’re not reading it, because I’m not ready - for the apology itself, or the conversation that might follow. But I also hope you are reading it, because that would put the ball in your court and absolve me from the need for action - and I’m still too weak to do the difficult things in life.

When I told you I would come with you, I should have followed through. And I had reasons for not doing that - like I told you in my letter - but looking back I don’t think I was being honest with myself or with you. I was just too weak to do the difficult thing, and so I told myself half-truths until they sounded true enough to tell to you. All the reasons I gave you, the things I wanted and didn’t want - they were real, but they paled next to you. Like candles lit under the midday sun. And I, weak and stupid, watched the sun set on my life for the last time instead of snuffing even one of my candles out. Now they’ve all burned out, and so I’m sitting in the dark with nothing but my regrets to keep me company.

That’s it from me, everybody. Thanks for reading my blog.

#adhd #long #long post #poetry #...sorta #relationships #adhd relationships #emo #regret #loneliness #a bloo bloo bloo #prose #i miss you #i’m sorry #blog post

1 note · View note

humanmoodring-retired · 4 years

Text

A Spoonful of Poison Makes the Brains Go Down || Nadia? and Remmy

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Remmy and Lydia’s House PARTIES: @humanmoodring and @whatsin-yourhead SUMMARY: Before heading to Pat’s Place, Nadia needs to make sure that Remmy eats. Drug Manipulation TW

Tommy’s instructions had been pretty clear: Nadia was to poison one Remmington McAllister for blowing up a The Ring, which was apparently the monster fighting ring that Kaden had mentioned. Small fucking town. Now, as cute as she thought Remmy was, Nadia had no trouble at all poisoning them for the amount of money she was getting paid. There’d always be cute zombies out there. Maybe more than there should be, really. She walked up to the house, remembering it vividly from her stay there when she’d fallen out the window, and knocked on the door, the vial of infector mortis in her button up pocket.

Tonight was going to be good, Remmy had decided. No moping, no bad thoughts-- just them and Nadia and a room full of people. And fun. They could do this. It’d been a few weeks since the Ring had blown up, and nothing had happened. They were going to be fine. And it was time to get back to normal life. Or, as normal a life as they could have, being a zombie. When the knock on the door came, Remmy gave one last glance into the mirror-- they’d opted to go for a more casual look, but still nice. A good button up, a cardigan, some nice jeans. They’d even done up their hair. They pulled the door open to greet Nadia, smiling. “Hey! You made it!”

“I’d hope so. After all, this was my idea, cutie,” Nadia teased, looking forward to Remmy’s reaction. Teasing them was too damn fun, and it was a shame she wouldn’t be able to do it any more after all this, but this wasn’t on Nadia. She wasn’t the person that wanted Remmy dead. All she was doing was being the messenger. “So, they don’t open for a bit, and I can’t imagine you’re gonna like the taste of the fine Americana food they’re going to have, so if you want to grab something before we go, and then maybe we can go on a walk or a ride or something.” She glanced back at where her motorcycle was parked near the street. “Do you like motorcycles?”

Remmy would have blushed had they could’ve and they gave a sheepish smile, choking on their words for a moment. “It’s, I mean, like-- yeah. Of course! Yeah,” they stuttered, before stepping aside and motioning for her to come in. “Oh, uh, yeah! Yeah. A snack, I should-- definitely. Eat first, yeah. Uh, do you want a drink? I can get you something,” they offered, heading into the kitchen. They’d told Lydia about their date tonight and she’d let them have the house for the evening. “Motorcycles? Can’t um-- can’t say I’ve ever ridden on one, actually. They had weird little like...scooters that we got to ride around on at base camp, but that’s definitely not the same thing.”

Laughing, Nadia followed them into the house, at ease in the space and with the company. For all their undead might, Remmy, she was sure, was harmless. “Yeah, I’ll take a water, if that’s alright. Don’t want to get too boozy and then have to drive. Ever ridden a bike tipsy? Not fun, and even less so when you add a few hundred pounds and make it motorized.” Her first body, may it rot in peace, had survived only one drunk motorcycle accident before Nadia had said never again. She hadn’t made that mistake in this one. This one was far too important. She watched Remmy piddle around the kitchen. “Base camp? Like, military?”

Once in the kitchen, Remmy pulled down two glasses and filled them with water, setting one on the counter for Nadia before heading to the fridge to pull out their container of brain. Lydia always made sure there was a fresh one for them in the house, and they’d already diced this one up and spruced it to look a little less...brainy. They set it on the counter and looked up at Nadia. “I have, actually. Back in high school. We actually made games out of drink bike riding. There uh-- wasn’t a lot to do for fun in the small town I grew up in.” They propped the container open and scooped out a few pieces, before reaching across the counter for a treat and handing it to Moose. “Oh, uh, yeah. Military. I served for a while. Was recently discharged, though, for uh...medical reason.” Gave Nadia a shallow smile, hoping to breeze past the topic. “What kind of motorcycle do you have?”

Everything had to be calculated, Nadia decided as she watched Remmy pull the container of brains out of the fridge. She didn’t trust just poisoning the water, didn’t know if infector mortis had a particular flavor. She wasn’t a poisoner; she was a thief, a con artist, occasionally a demolitions expert, but she didn’t really poison people. Whatever. “That sounds like teenage shenanigans anywhere, not just a small town.” She brushed her hand against the pocket, maneuvered the vial out, and reached to scratch her shoulder, the tiny vial hidden in her palm. “I grew up in a city, and, uh, we still pulled that shit pretty often.” The second Remmy turned to give the dog a treat, Nadia reached to grab her water and poured the contents of the vial in the brain mixture. But… not all of it. A part of her head told her hand that there was plenty of the poison in the food even with the vial not completely emptied, and she decided to go with it. “Ah, cool.” Didn’t seem like something to talk about, then. She leaned back, glass in hand, and took a sip of water. She should’ve asked for alcohol, since she wouldn’t be drinking at Pat’s, but she perked up at the mention of her bike. “It’s a Harley. Street Bob, so a bit sleeker than some models. Wicked cool, wicked fast.” She grinned. “And I’m a great driver, so it’s a guaranteed good time.”

“I guess that’s true,” Remmy noted, trying to think back to the other shitty things they did as a teenager and finding themself unexcited about the memories. They stopped the thoughts and turned to look Nadia again, none the wiser as they plucked up a piece of brain with a fork to eat. “Guess all teenagers are just the same, really,” they said idly, before giving Nadia a smile. She seemed excited to talk about her motorcycle, and while Remmy didn’t care for them either way, it was always nice watching people get excited about something. They liked it when they could let people do that. “Well, I really don’t know much about them, but that sounds super cool. I do know Harley’s are like super popular motorcycles. They’re the really loud ones, right?” they asked, trying to make sure their interest seemed genuine-- because it was. “And hey, well-- it sounds like a lot of fun. Why not try it, right?”

“I like to think so. What’s that song? Nadia thought on it a moment as she made sure Remmy was eating. “Teenagers scare the living shit out of me, or something? I think that’s universal.” She wondered how long it would take for the poison to start reacting. Not for a while, maybe, hopefully. Probably once they got to the restaurant. It’d look suspicious, otherwise. “It can get pretty loud, yeah. I thought about getting something like a Ducati or Kawasaki, something quieter, but I’m a sucker for the classics.” She grinned, pleased with the way Remmy reacted to things. She thoroughly enjoyed their interactions. “I like your enthusiasm. Everything’s worth trying once, you know?”

Remmy chuckled, taking another few bites before closing up the container and setting it back in the fridge. “I dunno,” they said, looking back over at her, “I think they’re a lot less scary when you remember they’re just kids trying to explore the way they fit in with the world. It’s hard being so young and having all those conflicting responsibilities.” They used the water to wash down the rest of their snack before turning back to Nadia. “I don’t...know what either of those are, but I’ll trust your word that they’re quieter. Classics are classics for a reason, though, right? Cause they’re good and long lasting. Like classic rock, or old movies.” They pointed at her drink. “All done?”

“Astute observations,” Nadia said with a smile. She was always a bit surprised by how optimistic and open this zombie could be. Usually zombies and vampires seemed pretty broody and narcissistic, only worried about their souls and how they weren’t even alive. They didn’t care to see the fucking brightside to anything. At least they had their own bodies and didn’t have to go out searching for a new one. It always riled her up, but this one? She liked this one. She was kind of sad to see this one go. “I mean, anything that goes that fast is gonna be loud, but quieter is a subjective term. But, exactly. Classics are where it’s at. I love old shit like old cars and bikes and movies, especially westerns.” Fuck, she could talk about this all day, but they needed to get moving. She finished her drink. “All done. Let’s get this party started, huh, cutie?”

#chatzy: remmy mcallister #a spoonful of poison makes the brains go down #drug manipulation tw

7 notes · View notes

onthevirgeofdestruction · 4 years

Link

Dreaming While I Wake

Sanders Sides Foster Care AU - Roman-centric Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Abuse Recovery

Roman tries to be upbeat and hopeful despite all the shit that’s happened to him. And a lot of shit has. Luckily, his new foster home is with two literal rays of sunshine (and a sarcastic asshole).

Words: 3,314 Triggers: spoilers in warnings Characters: Roman, Thomas Universe: Dreaming While I Wake Genre: Power Angst

Chapter 14 (Check end notes for trigger warnings)

chapter 1 for new readers - ffn mirror

Roman slowly blinked when he woke up again. It was dim in here and a pleasant temperature. There were soft windy trees and cricket noises playing. Despite the soreness in his everything, it was a pleasant way to wake up. He yawned and blinked the sleep away from his eyes again to try to focus them. He was laying in his own bed at the Sanders’ house, which he was extremely thankful for. Somebody must have closed the curtains for him and put on the noisemaker app. Probably Thomas. He didn’t remember getting back to the Sanders’ house at all, which meant he either blacked out again or fell asleep. It also meant Thomas managed to carry him up the stairs while he was out. Roman knew he didn’t weigh too much, but honestly, he was still a little impressed. He used to have to carry little kids up the stairs to bed all the time and it was hard to balance.

A glass of water was also left out on his nightstand, which he drank its entirety as soon as he realized it was there. Everything still hurt and he was still tired, but he was awake enough to feel kind of gross. Kind of very extremely gross. He wanted to go take a hot shower. Hopefully, he was still allowed to. He couldn’t be sure since he’d never been punished by them before. Roman couldn’t figure out where the line was, but there’s no way he wasn’t grounded until they kicked him out on Friday. If he was already in trouble, he was already in trouble. He could at least sneak one shower before they had a chance to tell him he couldn’t take a hot one or ban him from the shower altogether.

He crept out of bed silently, very practiced at this. His feet hurt like shit when he put weight on them, but he couldn’t take being this filthy anymore. He couldn’t make the shower be silent, but nobody would know he was in there until he was already safely locked in the bathroom. He only had one house where they had a key to the bathroom door, and that was kind of a whole fucking deal that he had trouble picturing the Sanders doing. He may have fucked up, but they weren’t that fucked up even in this scenario. Roman shifted and moved silently across the hall to the restroom, locking himself in and turning on the showerhead to start the hot water.

Roman definitely deserved like seven ass-kickings for ending up at the hospital, though, and he wasn’t sure exactly how that was going to play out. Roman sat in the tub when it was hot enough and showered facing the back to try to keep his feet away from the water as much as he could. They were probably the one thing on him that was clean and Roman knew you had to keep bandaged things dry already, even if he was iffy on why they were bandaged at the moment. He was still half asleep and didn’t really care much about trying to remember something that involved him getting bandaged. Roman cleaned off slowly, and the hot water was amazing on his back.

What punishments would he get for his stupidity? No food? No showers? Not leaving his room? No electronics? Yard work at 6 AM? A super strict schedule? Tight rules? Yelling? Not leaving their room? Having to go for a run on these bandaged up feet? Nothing fun and he just has to sit there and do nothing? That one’s his least favourite. He’s really, really bad at sitting still and doing nothing. The punishments always got worse after that. Maybe Roman pushed their limits and they will hit him.

He didn’t want to think about that. Roman was the biggest fuck up in the universe if he could break two nice people like that. Maybe that’s why Virgil does asshole stuff. He’s looking for their limits. It is kind of scary not knowing their boundaries. There’s always some arbitrary line somewhere Roman couldn’t understand. Roman finished off his shower and got dressed in fresh pajamas. Some bandages on his feet were loosened in the shower, but bending forward hurt so much that he couldn’t imagine trying to fix them right now. He cracked open the bathroom door, and nobody was waiting there for him. Maybe Thomas didn’t hear the shower. Roman sneaked back across the hall and into his room, closing the door slowly so it wouldn’t click.

It was late enough in the afternoon that Roman wasn’t tired anymore, so he needed to do find something quiet to do before he wasn’t allowed to do it anymore. Roman sat on his bed, getting off his feet and looked around the room. He certainly wasn’t doing his homework. If he was going to be banned from doing everything he’d be damned if the last thing he did was homework. Oh, god. He was going to have so much more homework after missing today. How did going for a run escalate so badly? It was just a run! Well, it wasn’t completely just a run. If he didn’t fall asleep under those bleachers and get- Oh god. Roman’s breath hitched with the realization.

Did- the cops caught him. The cops definitely caught him. Oh, he fucked up really, really bad if the cops got involved. Never involve the cops. Never, ever. No cops, he’d always been told ‘no cops’. He’d learned the ‘no cops’ lesson hard and painfully. And Roman go caught by the cops! Oh shit. Roman pulled his hands through his hair and stared at the floor, started rocking slightly, feeling like he couldn’t process this. He was so overwhelmed. He was caught. It was all too much. There was too much.

• “Roman?” The bedroom door cracked open as Roman’s heart leaped into his throat. He stared blankly forward and held himself, digging his nails into his arms. “Roman, woah, woah,” Thomas stepped into the room quickly. Everything- everything was too much. “Roman, look at me. Roman, let go, you’re bleeding!” Thomas said, but Roman wasn’t able to respond. He only barely heard the words. “Roman stop scratching! Shit, augh, I’m stopping you, okay?” Thomas pulled Roman’s arms off himself and held them. “Can you hear me?” Roman swallowed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to say anything. He didn’t feel like he was there anymore. Everything felt very distant and surreal.

“Roman, look at me,” The voice said more firmly. He saw Thomas. “Shit. Okay, hold this,” The voice sounded panicked, and there was something red in front of him. Something put his hands on the thing. “No more scratching, hold the blanket. Do you know where you are?” Where was he? The thing was soft. He examined it. “Can you not talk?” The red fuzzy thing was nice. Roman ran it between his fingers.

“Pat, he’s not talking, and he’s barely responding. I don’t know what to do. Are you serious? Yeah, okay, I’ll try. Will you please keep your phone with you? Thanks, I’ll let you know. Roman, look at me,” Roman saw Thomas again. “Pat says you might be disassociating. Do you know what that is?” Roman just stared blankly at him. “Would you sing a song with me? I bet you know Oliver & Company,” That tugged at something in him, but he wasn’t sure.

“One minute I’m in Central Park. Then I’m down on Delancey Street. Said from the Bow’ry to St. Mark’s. There’s a syncopated beat,” He sang. It did sound kind of familiar. “I said, Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo. I’m streetwise. I can improvise. I said, Whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo, whoo. I’m street-smart. I’ve got New York City heart,” Thomas kept singing. He remembered this song. He liked this song. “Why should I worry?” Roman joined him and Thomas smiled slightly. “Why should I care? I may not have a dime. But I got street savoir-faire,” Roman and Thomas sang together. It almost felt like something clicked in him as they kept singing the song.

“Are you finally back with me?” Thomas asked after finishing the song. He leaned down to look Roman in the face.

“I, uh, think so, I’m sorry,” Roman muttered sheepishly.

“Are you able to tell me what happened?” Thomas asked, looking concerned. “Why you… started doing that?”

“Th-the cops,” Roman’s breath hitched as he tried to explain and his throat threatened to close on him again.

“No, they’re not here, you weren’t arrested, you’re not in trouble. You’re perfectly safe,” Thomas insisted. He looked like he meant it, but Roman just couldn’t believe it.

“The bad stuff can s-still happen a-after the cops leave,” Roman choked out. Like being punished for being caught.

“No ‘bad stuff’ is happening. You’re safe, I promise. They aren’t coming back and you aren’t being punished,” Thomas insisted again. What? No. No, he didn’t deserve this. He was supposed to be punished. Why wasn’t he being punished? The cops caught him!

“No, no, I fucked up spectacularly! I deserve it, I do! I don’t deserve all this niceness, Thomas! The cops were involved! I know I deserve-” Roman started rambling and rocking again.

“Roman, no. Stop. I don’t know what happened, but I don’t think you intended for any of this. Nobody deserves to be hurt over making a mistake,” Thomas said firmly, putting a hand on Roman’s shoulder while he shook.

“What if it wasn’t a mistake? What if I ran off and committed dangerous crimes intentionally?” Roman said angrily. Why wasn’t he being punished? He was supposed to be punished!

“Did you?” Thomas looked at him intensely.

“No! I just ran! Nothing else seemed to make sense at the time!” Roman shot. “You’re just so fucking nice and I don’t deserve any of this and I’ve fucked up so many times already and all this nice stuff freaked me out! It felt like the only thing I could do was run! I was scared! Why aren’t you punishing me?” Roman asked angrily and wrung the blanket in his hands.

“I mean, I’m not happy you went for a barefoot run in the middle of the night, but it sounds like you weren’t thinking straight. Why do you think you messed up?” Thomas said, not exactly chidingly, but maybe something adjacent to it. Which was still too nice for Roman.

“I did!” Roman shouted. “33 times! I keep talking back and being rude and upsetting you and Patton and breaking the rules and I made a scene and cost you money and I’m not doing enough around the house and I fought with Virgil and I literally ran away from you yesterday, Thomas! And that’s not counting being caught by the cops and the ER!” Roman could feel the hot tears running down his face.

“Roman. You’re not in trouble. None of those things are actually problems. Things got out of hand, but it’s not your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong in my eyes,” Thomas said seriously. “Would you have come back when you went for a late-night run?” He asked carefully.

“I-yeah, I was just so tired. I think I sprinted all the way to the school, I don’t know, it was kind of a blur. I was just taking a break under the bleachers. I passed out, I guess. It was already past dawn when the cop found me and kept trying to wrongfully arrest me,” Roman squeezed the blanket as he tried to explain what happened sheepishly. But Roman barely knew what happened. He just remembered freaking out, running, freaking out, and then everything after that was all fuzzy and garbled and senseless.

“Wrongfully arrest you?” Thomas asked incredulously, sounding concerned.

“He didn’t actually catch me breaking any laws and tried to get me to incriminate myself,” Roman mumbled. “I mean I did break curfew and trespass but he didn’t actually see me do any of it. I was always warned about cops like him. I tried to leave and walk home before you should have been up, but he wouldn’t let me go and when he told me to get into his car, I blacked out… I don’t remember much after that,” Roman explained sheepishly, feeling like a fucking idiot, wringing the blanket in his hands.

“See, you made a bad judgment call, and it spiraled out of hand. I’m here to protect you from things like that. If anything, I’m the one who messed up last night for not making you feel safe enough to come to one of us when you were struggling,” Thomas said, critically of himself. What? That’s the wrong person! Thomas didn’t do anything wrong! Roman fucked up!

“What? No! I freaked out because you’re so nice and this place is so nice and I just don’t deserve any of it! I’m a bad kid! I’m an awful kid who ran off at one in the morning because I’m so much of a terrible fuck up that I couldn’t take it anymore!” Roman shot bitterly, feeling his eyes burn from the tears that kept escaping despite himself.

“Why do you think you’re a bad kid? We’ve never told you that,” Thomas asked, looking terribly sad. No!

“You don’t have to, I already know I am! I’m shit in school, I’m always in the way, I’m annoying, I do stupid shit without realizing, I’m rude, I can’t sleep, I can’t keep track of time, I can’t do anything I’m supposed to do! You have to see it! You have to see I don’t deserve any of this and on Friday send me off to another shit home I actually deserve to be in!” Roman shouted, clenching his fists around the blanket.

“Like the Halls?” Thomas supplied, his eyebrows furrowed. Roman looked down in shame.

“Maybe? I don’t know!” Roman choked on a sob. His nails dug in through the blanket, he was grasping it so hard. He felt the tears roll down his face and drop on his blanket and clenched his eyes tightly shut, trying to stop it.

“Did somebody there pull a gun on you?” Thomas asked and Roman’s eyes shot up to his face in surprise. Thomas looked intensely at Roman and he froze.

“How-how did…” Roman trailed off. Fuck. Holy fucking shit. “In general, having firearms means you fail the foster care pre-checks,” Roman tried to dodge the question nervously and looked away enough that he wasn’t looking Thomas in the face but still able to keep an eye Thomas’s reactions.

“What job did you have while you were with the Halls so you could support yourself?” Thomas looked very concerned, and Roman recoiled back slightly. He… he didn’t know what to do. Did Thomas know? He thought no one would ever find out. Nobody was supposed to find out! It was supposed to be a secret Roman was taking to his grave. Roman took a shuddering breath and tried to focus.

“I… I ran errands for Jet, my older foster brother,” Roman offered. That was close enough, right?

“Errands that got a gun pulled on you?” Thomas asked, somewhere between disbelieving and distressed.

“I never meant to hurt anyone. I was just… running errands,” Roman looked down at his hands twisting on the blanket instead of seeing that expression anymore. He swallowed and there was a tense moment of silence between them.

“Fine, what did your foster brother do for work?” Thomas tried changing tactics. He didn’t look annoyed, but he did look kind of desperate and maybe a little sick. Roman could relate. Though he wouldn’t say ‘kind of’ or ‘a little’ about how he was feeling. Deeply and inconsolably desperate and close to throwing up was much more accurate.

“He was in sales,” Roman said firmly, shaking a little. That was the truth. He told the truth. It had to be enough.

“I’m sure that’s what he told you to say. But what did he actually do?” Thomas questioned him again.

“He sold things that make people happy,” Roman tried dodging the truth again with something else Jet said.

“Roman, I’m not taking you to the police. You’re not in trouble. It was in the past and it’s staying there. But I’m very worried about what kind of errands they were and I need to be able to take care of you. I can’t do that without knowing what’s going on. What did they make you do?” Thomas sounded really firm and clearly wasn’t going to drop it. Roman didn’t feel like fighting it anymore. He was sick of pretending it never happened or that it was okay.

“Drugs,” Roman whispered. “I… delivered drugs and made pickups for Jet. I was fast, and they didn’t think to look for kids, so…” Roman trailed off and carefully glanced up for Thomas’s reaction. Thomas’s eyes went wide, and he leaned back slightly, looking completely blindsided.

“Holy shit, Roman,” Thomas whispered back and Roman broke down crying again. Thomas came forward again and Roman took his shoulder this time. Thomas silently held him for a bit while he cried. It was so relieving to finally admit it, but at the same time, it hurt so bad. Now Thomas finally knew how much of a fuck up he was and he’d make the right choice. But he hated knowing that Thomas knew how bad Roman really was. The crying hurt his ribs, and he kept flinching from the pain, but he just didn’t know how to stop it.

“Listen, Roman, it wasn’t right that they made you work to pay for yourself, and it wasn’t right that they forced you to go through any of that. You’re not a bad kid for trying to survive in a terrible situation,” Thomas said softly, holding on to him gently. What? No!

“I am though, people got hurt because of me. You weren’t there, Thomas, you don’t know what I had to do!” Roman cried and clenched Thomas’s shirt tightly. “And there were all kinds of other stuff I did, too, it wasn’t just the drugs! All the talking back and broken rules and-” Roman tried to rattle off the list but Thomas interrupted him.

“Roman, I think you were unfairly punished for that stuff. And while I don’t know the whole situation, I don’t think it was really your choice if you did what you did to survive. If you really wanted to do it, you wouldn’t be so upset right now. You are not a bad kid. I’m so sorry you’ve had so many voices in your past telling you that you were,” Thomas interjected, and Roman couldn’t help but cry harder. Thomas reached up and rubbed his back. That couldn’t be right and he was so nice and Roman didn’t deserve any of this. He knew he was a bad kid. He thought this could finally be over if he just admitted it to Thomas and he could go be bad with other bad people again like he’s supposed to.

“I forgive you for anything that happened that you thought hurt our feelings, okay? We were just worried about you. We didn’t mean to make you feel like you did something wrong,” Thomas apologized and it sounded so sincere and…

“No, no, please,” Roman choked. “I don’t-” Roman tried to stop him.

“You deserve forgiveness. You deserve to be happy. You deserve food and shelter and clothes being provided for you. You’re a kid, Roman. I’m so sorry you had so many bad things happen in your past that hurt you so badly that you don’t think you should be allowed to be safe and happy,” Roman didn’t have any response to that. Just what felt like painful, unending tears.

personal taglist: @bunny222 @elizabutgayer @prinxietyforever @kanene-yaaay-o-retorno

the taglist repository:

High school: @dragonwithproblems @starlight-era @averykedavra @potatsanderssides

Roman-Centric: @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd @callboxkat @k1ngtok1

Fostering AU: @i-am-not-a-dinner-roll @nonasficcollection

literally everything sanders sides: @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888

#tsss #sanders sides #tsss fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #tsss fanfic #abuse mention #abuse referance #trigger warnings above #angst #power angst #roman angst #fanfiction #teen!roman #dad!thomas #dreaming while i wake #ayri writes

9 notes · View notes

fandom-imagines-stories · 5 years

Text

Father’s Day

Tony Stark x Daughter Reader

Words: 3447 Summary: After seventeen years of living with her mother and abusive step-dad, the reader runs away to Malibu, California to find her real father. Tony is in for a surprise just in time for Father’s Day.

Notes: I had two and a half days to write this so… I don’t know how it is turning out. Hopefully you all will enjoy! Also, the year for this is about 2009, so it takes place sometime after the first movie. (And for the purposes of the imagine, the reader’s features will be mentioned as similar to Robert Downey Jr.’s, so if you look nothing like him, ignore those parts)

Warnings: Abuse and some probably inaccurate science stuff

The bruise on your left cheek was the last straw. For three years, you’d put on a brave face, ignored Mal’s verbal jabs and the constant smell of beer. The first time he hit you, you even pretended that it was your fault. At least, that’s what your mother told you.

But you were finally fed up with all of her bullshit. With a backpack and an old photograph in hand, you boarded the bus to Malibu.

Music blasted through your headphones, drowning out the sound of the other tired passengers with the Eagles and Aerosmith. You were surprised by how awake you were. It was nearly 3:00 in the morning as the bus began its journey and other passengers quickly dawned their neck pillows and fell asleep. You’d always been a bit of an insomniac though, constantly finding things to occupy you instead of sleeping.

You stared down at the photo, still in utter disbelief. How could your mother not have told you? When you were little, you’d always ask about your father. She would always tell you he was just a fling when they were both going through some rough times. You looked at the date on the back. December 30, 1991. It would have been right around when his parents died in the car accident and your grandparents kicked your mother out of their basement. The picture was from the concert that they’d met at. It was also the last time that they saw each other… meaning it was the night that made you.

You pulled an old leather-bound journal out of your backpack and added that day’s events, using the photograph as a page marker. You’d kept that journal since you were a kid and even though you thought it was ridiculous, you’d kept writing in it. It wasn’t just the emotional thoughts of an angsty teen, though. It’s where you kept all of your sketches- houses, motorcycles, and even the occasional flying car. Ever since you could remember all you wanted to do was build things. Maybe you got that from him.

As the bus pulled into the stop, you pulled out your headphones and shuffled out along with the other passengers. The soft summer breeze and the sound of the ocean gave you the shot of adrenaline you needed. Inside the station was a small shop that you bought a cup of coffee and a pair of aviators that were screaming your name. After that, all you needed was a taxi.

“Where to?” The driver asked, looking at you in the rearview mirror. There was a hula girl on the dashboard that swayed with the rumble of the engine.

“10880 Malibu Point.” You answered without hesitation. One Google search was all it took. The driver turned around.

“You sure, kid?” He lowered his sunglasses to look at you. You handed him a hundred dollar bill.

“Pretty sure.” You smiled sarcastically as he took the money excitedly. You’d snagged some of Mal’s drug money before you left and you had no problem giving it away. You watched the palm trees against the clear blue sky as you drove passed, feeling your heart begin to beat faster. This was really happening. You were really going to meet him.

Tony was lying on his couch, debating life when Pepper walked in with her usual handful of papers and look of disappointment on her face.

“Have you done anything productive today?” She sighed, placing the papers in front of him. “This is the last of the papers you need to sign to finally dissolve the weapons manufacturing division… I hope.” Tony groaned, sitting up and grabbing a pen.

“I’ll just be glad when the board stops trying to convince me to change my mind.”

“I’ll be glad when you start doing your homework on your own.” She scolded, but when Tony gazed up at her, she was smirking.

“Sir, I hate to interrupt, but there appears to be a teenager at your door,” Jarvis announced. “She doesn’t appear to be selling something, either.” Tony raised an eyebrow and looked at Pepper.

“Could be interesting.” He said, putting down the pen. She shook her head.

“Or it could just be another Iron Man groupie.” Pepper tried to block him from the door as he walked towards it. “You need to finish these.”

“Signing will take me two seconds.” He whined. She returned a raised brow. “I’ll sign them, I promise… After I exchange snarky comments with this kid.” He finally brushed passed her and opened the door.

You froze. You literally couldn’t move. Tony Stark was standing in front of you. Your father was standing in front of you.

“Um…. hi.” You greeted with a mix of nerves and awkwardness.

“Alright, what do you want me to sign?” He asked, leaning against the door frame.

“What?” Your mind was still hazy.

“Is that why you’re here? To see Iron Man?”

“No,” You laughed anxiously. “Actually, I’m looking for him.” You handed him the old photo and watched his face morph with confusion.

“Where did you get this?” He looked back up at you and you gave him a half smile.

“My mom.” You watched as the realization washed over him.

“No.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Nope. Sorry.” He started to close the door, but you put your hand up to stop it.

“Mr. Stark, please…” You begged. You dropped your gaze to the ground. “I have nowhere else to go.” He sighed and opened the door again.

“Come on, then.” Tony watched you carefully as you walked, trying to find anything that might prove you wrong. The scary part was- you looked like him. From the shape of your face to your eyes, there were definitely similarities to his own features.

“Oh,” Pepper exclaimed when she turned around to see you beside him. “W-who’s this?”

“This is-” Tony began, but stopped with a grimace. “Shit, I didn’t even ask what your name is.”

“I’m Y/N.” You reached your hand out to shake his, feeling even more awkward than before. He shook it with almost as much awkwardness.

“Where are you from?” Tony’s mind was reeling. What questions was he supposed to ask? Did he even believe you? Could this be real?

“I was born in San Francisco, but my mom moved us to Phoenix a couple years ago when she got married.”

“Right, and your mother is…?” Maybe the identity of your mom would prove all of this was a mistake.

“Angela Larson.” Shit.

“And how old are you?”

“17.” Double shit.

“Hi, hello,” Pepper interrupted, “mind if I ask what’s going on?”

“I’m his…um…” The same look of realization fell over her and she took a step back.

“We don’t know for sure.” Tony blurted, earning a hurt glance from you.

“Do you think I’m lying about this?”

“No, I just think you might have been misled. I don’t exactly remember Angela being the most trustworthy person ever.” He searched for every excuse. This couldn’t be real. “She stole my wallet after this picture was taken.” He handed it back to you.

Your demeanor fell and you blinked back sudden tears.

“I guess you’re right. Lying about who my father is wouldn’t be the worst thing she’s ever done.” You took one more look at the photo before folding it up and putting it in your pocket. “Sorry for wasting your time.”

Suddenly, you felt tired. Like the weight of everything was finally bearing down on you. You couldn’t go home, not after stealing from Mal. You obviously weren’t welcome here. Every part of your instinct was telling you that he was your father and that leaving would be a mistake. But hearing him trying to explain you away showed that he didn’t want any part of the mess that was your life.

Tony watched in shocked silence as you left. The sound of the door closing echoed as he and Pepper exchanged a glance.

“What the hell, Tony?” She exclaimed. “You’re just going to let her leave?”

“What else am I supposed to do?” He fired back. “I thought you’d be on my side here. The daughter of a one night stand shows up saying I”m her father and I should just automatically believe her?” She put her hands on her hips.

“You could at least give her a chance.”

Tony’s conscience warred with his logical mind. Of course, Pepper was right. She always was. Not that he’d tell her. He quickly ran outside, spotting you walking away with your hands in your pockets.

“Y/N!” He called, catching up with you. “Wait.” You turned around and he felt the weight of guilt when he saw the tears streaming down your cheeks. “H-have you had breakfast yet?” You quietly shook your head. “How about I make you something and we can talk, alright? You came all this way.”

“Yeah.” You agreed. “Thanks.”

Tony made you an omelet and some more coffee. Afterward, he said he needed to grab something from downstairs, leaving you with a very nervous Pepper Potts.

“So you’re the famous assistant right?” You wondered with a small smile.

“That’s me.” She sat across the table from you, sipping her coffee slowly. You wiped away the remains of the tear streaks and finished your drink, noticing Pepper’s expression change.

“What, do I have spinach in my teeth?” You asked, feeling blush rush to your face.

“No… what’s on your cheek?” Her voice was concerned, almost motherly. You panicked, looking down at your sleeve where a smudge of foundation had rubbed off.

“Sunburn.” You quickly covered it before she could get a closer look. “I have weird reactions. It’s a skin thing.” You jumped up from your seat, grabbing your backpack. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Upstairs, first door to the left.” She replied, pointing you in the right direction. You scurried off, keeping your hand over the left side of your face. Pepper quickly went downstairs to find Tony and tell him about the obvious bruise.

Tony was sitting in front of the computer waiting for results. He had snuck the fork you were eating with downstairs and had Jarvis scan it for your DNA. He just had to know.

“Tony, there’s something wrong with Y/N.” Pepper began, coming down the stairs. He turned, blocking the screen.

“What do you mean?”

“She has a bruise on her cheek.” Pepper evaluated, crossing her arms. “She covered it with makeup, but I saw it.”

“A bruise from what?” He didn’t know what, but his body tensed. He was almost angry.

“No idea. But it didn’t look good.” Before they could discuss it further, Jarvis finished calculating.

“Sir, I have the results of the test.” He announced. Tony frantically turned around, frantically awaiting his answer. “Angela is definitely her mother.”

“I figured that much.” Tony scoffed. “Tell me what I want to know, Jarvis.” There was a long pause.

“You share DNA, sir. You are undoubtedly Y/N’s father.”

Tony fell back into his chair, running a hand over his face. He was a father. No, he’d been a father for seventeen years and didn’t even know it. He imagined Y/N growing up in San Francisco, probably while Angela picked pockets. Had he known about her… could he have done better?

“Tony,” Pepper whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. He recalled what she was saying earlier and felt his blood boil.

“What were you saying about the bruise?” He stood up and headed up the stairs, leaving Pepper in a mild state of shock. She looked at the screen, seeing the word Confirmed blink across a picture of Tony.

When Tony came back to the kitchen, you weren’t there. Instead, you were in the living room standing in front of the window, looking out over the ocean.

“I didn’t even see you over there,” Tony laughed anxiously, joining you by the window.

“Ever since we moved, this is what I missed the most.” You said quietly. “We had a pretty shitty apartment, but I would always sneak out to the beach just to hear the waves.” You glanced at him and cleared your throat, changing your tone. “You probably don’t care about that, right? Too much teen angst?”

“No no, I like the view too.” He gave you a small smile. “What would you say about staying here for a while? I don’t want you stuck up in some hotel by yourself.” You blinked, surprised by his offer. A few hours ago, he didn’t want anything to do with you.

“Yeah, that would be nice. Thank you.” There was a moment of quiet, but it wasn’t awkward anymore. It was… nice.

“Tony!” Pepper called out, coming up the stairs. “I’m going to take the papers back to Stark Industries, but you have to sign them first.” Tony grabbed a stack of pages off of the table.

“No need, I’ll take them.” He turned to you. “You can come with if you want. Get to see where I work.” You smiled. Actually, truly smiled. And it was contagious. Seeing your face light up made Tony feel something he’d never felt before.

“Let’s go.”

He took you down to the garage and you felt like you needed someone to pinch you. You had to be dreaming. The room was lined with some of the coolest, most amazing cars you had ever seen.

“Take your pick.” You walked around until you saw a car that was begging to be driven. A white Audi R8 Spyder glistened in front of you. Tony chuckled behind you. “Good choice, kid.” He opened the door for you and you slid into the passenger seat. Pepper had followed the two of you and handed you a pen.

“Make sure he signs those.” She smirked.

“Will do, Miss Potts.” You grinned back. Pepper watched as the two of you put on your sunglasses in unison and leaned back in the car seat, both resting your arm on the door. She couldn’t help but laugh to herself. You were just like him.

Stark Industries was even better than you’d expected. Just the building itself made your sketches seem like kindergarten drawings. You slung your backpack over your shoulder, not noticing your journal fall back into the seat. It fell open to one of your sketches and Tony picked it up to examine it as you walked ahead. He flipped through to a few more, admiring your attention to detail. He couldn’t believe that a seventeen-year-old had come up with all of this stuff. He even felt a little proud.

But then he found a few journal entries. “Mal freaked out again today.” One began. “I don’t understand what I did. He just kept screaming at me until… Mom says it’s just a fat lip. That it’s not the end of the world. She also says it was my fault. She always takes his side.”

He found more and more entries with similar events. He felt sick. Like it was his fault.

“Are you coming?” You call after him. He stuffed the journal into his suit jacket.

“Yeah, just hold on!” He replied grabbing the papers and put on a fake smile to hide his concern. At least now, he knew where the bruise came from.

You spent a few hours in his office while he had to deal with some aggravated board members, but afterwards, you grabbed some take-out and headed back to the house. As weird as the whole situation was, you were starting to feel like he was accepting you.

When you got back, however, there was a familiar piece-of-shit truck sitting in front of the house.

“Dammit.” You muttered. Tony looked at you with worry.

“Who is that?” He motioned to the two people standing on his front steps.

“My mom and my asshole stepdad.” You ducked down under the dashboard, but they’d already seen you.

“Get out here you little bitch!” Mal barked. Tony gripped the steering wheel, parking quickly and getting out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

“If you want to talk, you’ll have to make an appointment-” Before he could finish, Mal right hooked his jaw.

“Tony!” You yelled, hopping out of your seat.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing here?” Angela snapped, but you ignored her, heading straight for Mal.

“Leave him alone!” You demanded, standing in between the two men. Mal grabbed you by the hair, dragging you back towards the truck, making you scream.

“Where’s my money?” He boomed, pulling you up towards him, his spit spraying against your forehead.

“Bite me.” You snarked back and he slammed your head down on his knee.

“Hey, Breaking Bad!” Tony shouted. When Mal turned around, Tony’s face was covered by a metal helmet. Pepper had heard the commotion outside and brought out the suit in the form of a metal case. Now, Tony had his hand, loaded with repulsor beams, pointed at Mal’s head. “Put my daughter down.”

“You didn’t tell me your ex was Iron Man!” Mal said, shoving you to the side. Angela ran towards Tony.

“We’re leaving. And we’re taking Y/N with us.” She jeered.

“You think I’m letting her go back with you?” He opened the mask, revealing his furious expression.

“Seventeen years, you can’t just decide to be a father.”

“Cause he’s doing such a bang-up job.” He pointed to Mal. “You want to take this to court, Angie? Because I think the odds are in my favor.”

“You’re fancy lawyers don’t scare me, Stark. You didn’t even know she existed.” She challenged. “She’s coming with me.”

“No.” You shakingly got to your feet, head still spinning and nose bleeding. “I’m not mom.”

“Shut up, Y/N!” She shrieked.

“Who do you think they’ll pick, Angela?” Tony wondered. “The billionaire philanthropist or you; the petty thief and Meth Breath over there? I’m her father, Angela. Just because you tried to hide it, doesn’t change the facts. Now, you can either leave now and never come back, or I’ll dig up every one of your dirty secrets and turn them into the cops.”

Both of them froze, exchanging a look before Angela spit at Tony’s feet and the two got back in their truck, without looking back.

“Oh my god!” Pepper finally gasped. “Are you guys okay?” Tony rushed over to you, grabbing you as you toppled forward, stilling holding your throbbing head.

“Pep, grab me some towels.” He asked as he helped you through the front door. “Oh, and Pepper? Get me a drink.”

When you woke up the next morning, you heard the sound of ocean waves and smelled bacon. Tony had opened one of the windows to give you some fresh air and had started making breakfast. Your head still felt heavy, but your nose had stopped bleeding and you could see straight.

“Good morning.” He greeted, placing a plate of pancakes in front of you. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made french toast too.”

“This is fine.” You laughed, picking up the fork and digging in. You were starving. Tony sat on the floor across from you, drinking a smoothie that Pepper said was healthy, but it tasted like grass.

“I should, uh, I should give this back to you.” He placed your journal on the table. “I saw what you wrote about Mal.”

“You read my journal?” You exclaimed, and he put up his hands in defense.

“It fell out of your backpack. I didn’t know what it was.” He gave you a small smile. “But I did see some of those drawings. They’re pretty good.” You felt yourself blush.

“Thanks.” That meant a lot coming from one of the most brilliant engineers you knew. You set down your fork and started to dig through your bag. “I almost forgot about this.” You handed him a Rubix cube.

“What’s this for?”

“It was my seventh-grade science fair project.” You moved around the table and sat next to him. You pressed the middle red square and the cube began to shift in Tony’s hand, turning and twisting until all of the colors were on the same side. “It’s a Rubix cube that solves itself.” You brushed your hair out of your face, trying to hide your nerves. “I brought it to give to you… for today.”

“Today?” Tony tried to remember what was special until he figured it out, a smile spreading across his face.

“Happy Father’s Day dad.” You said and he drew you into the hug you’d been waiting your whole life for. You finally felt like you had a family.

#happy father's day #tony stark is the best dad #tony stark daughter #tony and pepper #let me know if you want more #Robert Downey Jr #iron man

333 notes · View notes

krreader · 5 years

Text

BTS scenario → doing their daughter’s hair/make-up/nails.

pairing: bts x reader fandom: bts warnings: / genre: fluff ; crack

a/n: aaaaah omg I loved this so much,I hope you like it!!!

kim seokjin

“Seriously, daddy?” your eight-year old asked with an attitude and an eye roll that she sure as hell didn't inherit from you, “You got color all over my skin!”

“My hands are too big for your tiny ones, it's not my fault,” Jin tried to clean it up with a cotton pad, but then he ruined it even more by accidentally removing the nail polish from the nail itself.

Your daughter sighed heavily and got up from her bed, “Never mind, I'll just ask mommy to do it.”

“No, no, wait!” he managed to grab her arm before she could leave and pulled her back, “Let me try again. I can do this just as well as mommy.”

It took him almost an hour for something that you managed to do in five minutes, but Jin didn't want his little princess to come running to you and say how much of a loser her dad is.

He still wanted to be the cool dad in this household.

min yoongi

“I don't understand why I have to do this,” Yoongi complained when he brushed his daughter's hair back, “Your mother is a lot better at this than me.”

“Mommy is tired, daddy.”

“Yeah, well daddy is tired too, you know? I have to work. A lot.”

“And mommy has to take care of my baby brothers,” she looked up from her barbie doll in her hands, looking at him with hooded eyes through the mirror that made Yoongi gulp from how scary she looked all of a sudden, “And she told me that I should blame you for that.”

“Excuse me?!” Yoongi snorted, remembering only all too vividly about how it had been you who wanted him to..- no. No, he wouldn't think about that when he was tying his daughter's hair, that wasn't appropriate, “You know what? I'll tie your hair so amazingly that you never want mommy to do it again.”

It was only a ponytail, you couldn't do much wrong, but he managed to do it rather well. It looked nice afterwards.

jung hoseok

Had Hoseok known that having a daughter would require him having skills in painting nails, he would have taken a course before you had brought her into this world.

Your little girl was only three, yet she already wanted her toe nails to be painted just like Hoseok’s sister had them painted a week ago when you all met up.

Your daughter was over the moon, begged his sister to do it for her too.

And now his sister was sitting in the other room with you and having a cup of tea, while he had to be the one to paint toe nails that were way too small to paint on.

“NO DADDY! YOU'RE NOT DOING IT RIGHT!” she yelled out.

“Are you sure I shouldn't do it?” Jiwoo asked.

“No, don't worry about it,” you smiled as you took a sip from your tea, “He'll be fine.”

Hopefully..

kim namjoon

“No, daddy, I want more blush!” his daughter pouted, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Sweetheart, trust me, this looks good enough as it is.”

“But I want more blush!”

She was already looking like somebody painted on her face, which was true, because Namjoon had no idea how to apply make-up on a woman, or a young girl properly. All he knew was that if he applied any more blush, she would look either sick or like a prostitute and he didn't like either of these options.

“You know.. your mommy always told me that she likes it when there's not too much blush. She says it looks more natural.”

She nibbled on her lower lip, then she asked: “Really? Does mommy really like it like that?”

“She loves it, sweetheart. Trust me.”

And when you came home later that night, you had to sit through an hour long fashion show hosted by your daughter: the models? Her and her father.

And you didn't know how, but she had somehow convinced him to put on make-up as well. More than his normal idol make-up.

And you did love it. Every second of it.

park jimin

“I have no idea how to do this, love,” Jimin re-watched the last scene of the YouTube tutorial and then tried braiding his daughter's hair once again.

She was only two, there wasn't much hair to braid in the first place, but her big sister had braids when she left for school today, so now the younger one wanted braids too.

However, you had been the one to do the hairstyle for her this morning. Now you had gone to work and Jimin was left with a toddler who wanted that same hairstyle recreated with her hair

She was sipping on her cup and watched her father's movements through the mirror.

He was so focused on getting this right and on proving that he could do a good job at this too that he really did end up with a nice hairstyle afterwards that made you and your older daughter look at the little one with wide eyes.

“How did you..-” you started, but then stopped when he kissed you.

“You married a pro, Jagi.”

He didn't tell you how long it took, though. That would have ruined it.

kim taehyung

“No, daddy, that's for the brows,” you took the pen out of his hands and replaced it with a..-

“Arya, I won't put on liquid liner on your eye lids.”

“Why not?” she cried out. Oh, he could feel the tantrum coming.

“Because you're nine. You don't need liquid liner.”

“I just want to try it out! Please, daddy! Please do it for me, I can't do it on my own!”

Sometimes it was just better to give them what they wanted. Taehyung was exhausted and wanted his peace and quiet. If he didn't do what she wanted, he would have to deal with an annoying kid for the rest of the night.

“Alright. We'll try it out and then we remove it again, okay?”

Even Arya agreed to removing it again when she saw how horrible she looked. Not because she wouldn't rock liquid liner – if a nine year old could even do that – but because her father wasn't all too talented at applying it.

jeon jeongguk

“It's not that hard,” Jeongguk snorted as he slid down his daughter's bed and began painting her toe nails.

“Mh, I'd like to see that,” you sat down in a chair next to the bed, watching your husband try his hardest with his tongue sticking out of his mouth, while your daughter pressed her teddy harder against her chest, slowly but surely regretting having asked her father to do it and not you.

But Jeongguk always performed well when someone else was challenging him, that's why you never played any games with him, because you absolutely always lost.

Her nails looked amazing afterwards, so amazing that his daughter told him she would from now on always ask her dad to do it for her and not you.

And once you two were in your bedroom that night, Jeongguk wiggled his eyebrows and pulled you towards him.

“Are you mad that daddy is better than mommy at painting nails?”

“Not at all,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I'm glad, actually. Now you have to get up an hour earlier in the morning to help her get ready by doing her nails, her hair and everything else that needs to be done and mommy gets more sleep.”

Yeah, that's not..-

“Okay, wait, I didn't..- (Y/N)!” but you were already walking into the bathroom with a giggle.

#bts imagine #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts #bangtan #bangtan reaction #bangtan boys #kpop #kpop imagines #kpop reactions #bangtan sonyeondan #reader #bangtan x reader #bangtan boys x reader #requests

562 notes · View notes

currentlyreadingmanga · 4 years

Text

Toilet-bound Hanako-kun Chapter 12: The 4pm Bookstacks (Part 2)

Previously: Yashiro and the suspicious girl (yes, I’m gonna keep calling her that until we learn her name) met for the first time. Her suspicion levels rose to even greater heights since she seems not only to know about Hanako (and the other mysteries) but also she seemed to imply that there’s possibly another little ghost boy going around? Which made me ask a lot questions last chapter, and apparently they will be answered in due time, so I won’t repeat those here. Anyway, following her advice, Yashiro and Kou ventured into the 4pm Bookstacks a.k,a. the fifth mystery of the school to hopefully learn more about Hanako. And Yashiro did find some details but the big terrifying butterfly monsters in that boundary made their little expedition come to an unexpected end. Thankfully, Hanako and...Tsuchigomori, yes, that was his name, appeared just in time to get rid of the two big butterfly Yashiro and Kou look-alikes. Tsuchigomori really wasn’t pleased with the state the kids left the bookstacks in sooo..... we’ll see what happens.

Now onto the next chapter!

Ohhhhh we’re starting with a colour page of the last portion of last chapter! It’s so gorgeous and btw one of the main things that caught my attention when I saw the anime screenshots was the art style and the colouring. And I gotta say, the manga really doesn’t dissapoint, it’s so beautiful.

Okay, so onto the actual chapter and....

I legit had to go check how the last chapter ended again because I thought I was forgetting something but no. It seems like we’re starting after a little timeskip and Tsuchigomori wants Yashiro to say something?

Ah, here’s narrator Yashiro again. And I just

There’s so much going on here. Hanako cheering with the fans, the little “shame” sign above her head, the “(working title)” gag, and omg the little radishes with the microphones pffft I can’t. This manga really is something else.

But yes, Yashiro is recapping what happened between the end of the last chapter and the start of this one.

Kou mentions that he can’t believe that one of their teacher’s is not actually human and yeah, finding out someone you interact with almost every day is actually a supernatural being must be quite a shock. huh? But! Tsuchigomori says that it’s more common than one would think

Huh. When he puts it like that, I can see his point. I mean, there must be an array of supernaturals that aren’t necessarily bound to a place and they might not want to live in hidding. If they can blend in with the humans and live semi-normal lives, then why not do it? Also, being able to influence your own rumors makes a lot of sense, that way you would be able to stop them if they got too out of hand. But also

................well, now that he’s said that, I’m 90% sure that one of them will end up being a supernatural. Because come on, it would make the plot more exciting.

Yashiro brings up a good point: that could be dangerous, but Hanako says that they shouldn’t worry since that’s what the mysteries are here for and I just

There’s something so funny about this panels. Like, the contrast between Hanako’s cheery disposition and Tsugochimori and Yako’s just overall “done” aura it’s just great.

It just keeps getting better pffffft Yeah, idk if that’s the best way to describe their group. “Emo spider” made me giggle more than it probably should have

............Yes, the leader thing is clearly true. And I talked about it during last chapter, but I really wonder if he’s the “boss” because he’s the most powerful one of the bunch and because his task is to take care of not only the random apparitions but also the mysteries themselves (like with what happened with Yako). Also jfc sometimes I forget how scary Hanako can get

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh we have a clearer picture of the mysteries!!! Okay so we have Hanako, Yako and Tsuchigomori highlighted since we have met them already. Then we have another three: I had noticed the girl and the mirror before but this confirms that they are two different mysteries; then there’s a clocked figure....that I know it’s facing away from us but my brain just keeps seeing it as a big bug that has huge bulging eyes and almost human teeth and I hate it. But this is just showing six right now, yes? There’s one missing? (EDIT: Oh, I think I see it now, there’s a separate silhouette between Yako and the bug man, right?)

But anyway!! the important point is here is that apparently they think there’s a traitor among them. And they think this traitor has tied their fate to a human and they’re using this human as a way to alter the rumors around the school. So the human would be the suspicious girl because we know that she’s been spreading rumors. And if that’s the case, then this possibility about the “other Hanako” being the traitor would also be high. Because, come on, the drama would unbelievable

Ohhhhhh that’s interesting. So the reason they think that one of the seven is behind this is because only a powerful supernatural would be able to change the rumors in a way that would actually affect another one of the seven mysteries. And I was right to a point: there meeting was indeed about the changes in the rumors.

...........oh. I mean, I guess that would get rid of the problem. But I really need to know what that would entail. Because it obviously isn’t permanent if he says it’s only “for a while”. Like, would it involve doing something like what they did with Yako? Because Hanako had said that she had to “return her number” or something of the sort when he fought her, right? And she has less power than she had before, too, right?

Ah, okay. The next page confirms that yes, that’s exactly the case. And because of that, Hanako’s idea is to destroy all of the mysteries’ yorishiros before they even have a chance of going berserk. And I can see the value in doing that but like, what if the “traitor” isn’t, for some reason, actually part of the seven? Wouldn’t that leave them vulnerable?

And I agree with Tsuchigomori (side note: my brain always autocorrects his name to “tsugochimori” and I have to make a conscious effort to actually type his name the correct way why is this so hard for me). It does seem like quite a rash plan to put into action, even if they can reappoint the mysteries later on. Then again, I understand why Hanako wants to avoid pissing Teru off because we know how that went and... yikes

Pffffft this face made me laugh so much, it reminds me of one of my favourite Tanjirou faces.

^this one

Also ngl my heart stopped for a second when he said “no” because I thought it would lead to a fight but then I scrolled down so thankfully that’s not the case.

.................. *looks up echinococcus*: any of a number of tapeworms of the genus Echinococcus whose larvae are parasitic in humans and domestic animals.

Omfg by e that’s harsh but also so nerdy. Yako’s response is both appropriate and incredibly over the top at the same time. I really like their dynamic so far

Ohhh okay. Tsuchigomori says that he’s a supernatural who craves knowledge, and if they’re gonna destroy his yorishiro and temporarily take away his boundry, then he wants information that would be valuable enough as compensation. And, okay, I now see what the beginning of the chapter was about.

Ah, he says that he will still let Yashiro destroy his Yorishiro even if they don’t tell him anything, but he says that if they don’t, then he will broadcast their most embarrassing secrets to the school. That.......that would do it, yeah, I completely understand why Yashiro was so willing to talk at the beginning. That would be a nightmare jfc

.............still kinda hot ngl

Btw I love that this is drawn as a fighting game, it’s so cute.

Yashiro gives it a shot but Tsuchigomori is not impressed.

(Side note but Hanako’s reaction just gives me life:

He doesn’t even try to hide his jelousy, does he?)

Omg he’s reading the one of the letters she “exchanged” with Teru and omfg Tsuchigomori stop she’s already dead

Okay now it’s Kou’s turn. Good luck, sweet child. It’s probably something really pure

...........Baby boy, bless him

Both of them are getting fired up and spitting out their secrets and they’re such small and dumb secrets, bless their little hearts

Ohhh and Kou is appealing to what’s probably their last resort: asking Hanako to spill any secret he might have (there are probably a lot of secrets, my instincs tell me Hanako’s secrets probably have secrets)

Oh? What’s this we have here? Those looks scream shared history. Well, I guess that Tsuchigomori could have read Hanako’s book since that’s part of his boundary. It would make sense for him to have read it. But idk, I feel like there’s something more to it that I can’t quite put my finger on. Like, why would he say “enough”? Because he’s read Yashiro’s book and he still wanted to know more. What makes Hanako different?

ಥ‿ಥ

and

ಥ‿ಥ ಥ‿ಥ ಥ‿ಥ

They’re so freaking cute I can’t deal with it omg Also look at Hanako’s surprised face! The NeneKou combo is too pure to resist

.......................................................of all the things I could have expected, this was not one of them. I- why is that so wholesome, though?? like, it’s really silly but also no one gave this child the right to be so freaking adorable (EDIT: also, is this gonna be relevant to the chapter title “donuts”? is Hanako gonna get some yummy donuts? I would honestly be okay with a chapter that centered around that. let the baby have his donuts)

“Are you both morons?” Yes, Tsuchigomori, they are. geez, I thought you had read their books, you should know by now. But also give them so leeway, they’re excited to learn more about their ghost friend. Like seriously

Look at them, they’re so happy together, even Hanako has what seems to be a genuine smile. And by that comment I’m guessing that Tsuchigomori noticed that, as well

Hmmm. Okay, two things: 1) so Tsuchigomori did read Hanako’s book and knows everything about his life 2) the fact that, knowing everything about him, he believed that Hanako wouldn’t want to create any new friendships AND the fact that this kinda implies imo that he hasn’t seen Hanako making that kinda gentle expression before is all just. really sad and it makes my heart hurt

Anyway, sad thoughts aside, spiderman here tells them their time is up because their secrets are so ridiculously dumb that they’re not worth discussing.

Why is he so fucking weird? and why do I kinda fucking love him already??

This man just keeps earning more and more points in my book

But yeah, he says that he’s not gonna broadcast their secrets since he was (kinda) joking and he did end up seeing something interesting after all. In the end, he agrees to take them to his yorishiro! Yaaay!

#toilet bound hanako kun #jibaku shounen hanako kun #jshk spoilers #tbhk #jshk #live blogging

15 notes · View notes

disabled-queen-hc-blog · 5 years

Text

A vent piece about a not so talked about side of Autism and something I’m struggling with lately. Angsty.

John awoke to the lovely sound of his alarm clock softly singing the Adventures of Winnie the Pooh theme song. He couldn’t help but to smile and hum along as the lull of sleep faded away from his eyes.

He let it play it’s tune as he stretched out his limbs, an array of cracks and creaks echoing through the empty room. With a big yawn, he sat up and pressed a button on the alarm, shaped like the silly old bear’s head. John let out a content sigh, looking around his bed at all his stuffed animals strewn about chaotically. He wondered if they all slept well as he did.

With a bit of effort, he got out of bed and wobbled over to his bathroom, rubbing eyes and yawning some more. After a quick trip to the loo, he set out on washing his mouth. His toothbrush was bright pink with hello kitty on the handle. It wasn’t his first choice, but he was quite fond of the cat too. With a strawberry flavored toothpaste, mint tasting way too strong, he brushed his teeth, a task he didn’t like to do.

Spitting into the sink, he rinsed his mouth, his head bobbing back up into place. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Wrinkles on his forehead. Grey growing well past his temples. John quickly exited the bathroom, his stomach grumbling, hopefully from hunger and not embarrassment.

He put on his house slippers, Mickey Mouse of course, and hurried over to the kitchen, ready to prepare himself the same breakfast he’s had for nearly 40 years. Cheese on toast with a cup of milk. Even after decades, the staple food never grew old.

John sung Part of Your World quietly to himself as he slapped on a slice of cheddar onto the toast simmering in the pan, a smile tweaking at his lips. He found breakfast to be one of the high points of his day. It was the few parts of a regular day he had all to himself. No one to bother him. No expectations. Just him and his toys to keep him company until the afternoon. He laughed when his voice cracked at the climax of the song.

With a plate of warm toast and a cold cup of milk in hand, John went to the living room, setting everything down on the floor before turning on his telly. Saturday morning cartoons were on. He heavily preferred his Disney VHS’s to whatever the BBC was playing, but the cartoons weren’t half bad. Munching on his toast, he happily rocked as he watched.

It was 11am when the phone rang. John frowned, not wanting to set down his Legos. He was very much enjoying lining them up for the 4th time in a row. He was working with just the animal Legos this morning, something he didn’t do often.

Pouting, John got up to grab the phone, mumbling a somewhat pleasant “Hello?”

“Deacy!” an excited Roger screeched on the other end of the phone. John cringed at how loud the blond was.

“Oh, hi, Roger.”

“Mornin’ John! Hey, me and Brian were getting together this evening. There’s this new restaurant that just opened up. Imported wines. A live band. Sophisticated as all hell. You want to come?”

John’s nose crinkled up the more Roger talked. Nasty wine? Weird unpredictable food? Music he didn’t care for? And a suit and tie requirement? No thanks.

“That sounds stuffy,” John said honestly.

“You could use some stuffy in your life, mate. Come on. You can bring some of your fluffy friends if you’d like,” Roger said, a pleading lilt in his voice.

John shrugged to himself, a hand going into his hair to pull out a few strands, a nervous habit of his. “I don’t know. It sounds um…” Adult-y. “Like a lot for me, you know. Maybe we can do brunch or something soon.”

“Ah, alright, Deaks. Don’t say I didn’t invite you!” Roger said, disappointment in his tone, not that John would catch it. It wasn’t obvious enough because Roger expected that answer. John was never fond of refined things. Roger still tried after all these years.

“Yeah. Sorry. Bye bye, Rog.”

“Bye, John.”

John hung up, an anxious hand rubbing his chest. He tried to stop the bad thoughts that started to bubble in his head by throwing himself back into lining up his Legos, but it didn’t work.

He tried lining up his plushies on his bed, but the thoughts started to drip like cement into his chest.

He tried watching Snow White, but the thoughts began to feel like spider webs and char in his lungs.

He broke down, running into his bathroom, the quietest and darkest place in his house, slamming the door shut behind him.

Curled up on the cold tiles, as the tears began to pour down his face, his brain assaulted him with words.

Delayed.

Spaz.

Man-child.

Retard.

Delayed.

Stupid.

Lagging.

Delayed.

John sobbed, his hands flying to either side of his head, hitting himself to make his thoughts go back to normal.

You’ve got the brain of a 10-year-old stuck in a 39-year old’s body. It’s pathetic.

The people around you only pity you.

You’re not a failure to launch. You’re a failure to thrive.

It was cute when you were 19. Now you just look pitiful.

Have you even tried to act your age?

Your mother likes your sister better. She’s a proper adult. Married with kids. Working.

You need a babysitter to make sure you don’t starve or die.

It’s sad.

You’re an embarrassment.

You’re not a man. You’re a child.

John pressed his forehead to the floor, his chest aching with how hard he was crying. As more and more painful truths vomited themselves into his mind, he could only sink under their weight.

He tried to ignore it. And for a long time, it was easy to ignore. The words the therapist said to him.

“You’re developmentally delayed, John. You might not ever catch up. You might be stuck at a certain developmental age.”

At 15, it’s not too noticeable. 20, people just think you’re not one to take yourself too seriously. At 30, there must be something wrong with you. At 40, you’re a lost cause. A burden. On society, your friends and family and more importantly, yourself.

And despite what anyone said, it was true. John looked like an adult, but he didn’t have much going on upstairs. He couldn’t talk taxes or even pay his own. Doing laundry was always meltdown worthy. Wine tasted gross. The word sex made him giggle and the act was unimaginable. McDonald happy meals were a real treat and toys were rewards.

No matter how much the people around him said otherwise, he was a child. And it killed him. It hurt. The lack of maturity was blinding. The delay unable to be hidden. He was a walking freakshow and despite his best efforts, he was thoroughly stunted.

He wanted to be like his friends. So badly. Go to clubs with Freddie and not feel scared. Drink with Roger and not gag at the first sip and order a soda instead. Hell, he’d take sleazing around like Brian if it meant he’d be a real man.

But he was just a little boy. Trapped in a perpetual childhood that not even humiliation could wake him up from.

He liked the kid’s menus. And he liked watching Sesame Street. And he liked when his aides and carers came over and took over. He was a kid, through and through. It was only a shock because his body dare betray him by growing up, leaving his brain behind.

It wasn’t just embarrassing. It was isolating. He didn’t get along with adults. They didn’t understand him, and he didn’t understand them. It was a miracle the rest of Queen even tolerated him. He preferred children but one could see how bad of a look that was. So, who else did he have beside his Lego figures and his teddy bears?

His own mother coddled him, which felt both wonderful and shameful. He wasn’t a child. But he was. But he wasn’t.

John raked his fingers through his hair, tugging painfully at his scalp, his knees pulling up under him, a subconscious need to be small.

No therapist really understood the plight he went through. They all told him that it was okay. He was fine. Nothing to be ashamed about. But how easy was that to say when you weren’t a middle-aged man who needed a night light to sleep? Or a grown man afraid to cross the road without a real adult’s hand to hold?

Nobody understood. Their reassuring words fell flat when it came to the reality around him. John was delayed and the world looked down on him for that.

He was like Peter Pan without a safe place to run to, surrounded by other people who too could not grow up.

It hurt.

It hurt all the time.

Every time he colored a coloring book, he knew he should be drinking a beer besides a wife who was expecting another kid. He knew he should be ordering filet mignon rather than chicken nuggets. He knew he should be so much more and so much better than he was.

John laid flat on the floor; his eyes physically unable to produce more tears. With all those thoughts jabbing at his skull, all he could do was throw himself to the floor and cry like a child. Even knowing he wanted more for himself, he couldn’t get up and do it.

He sniffled and hiccupped, his head pounding from how deeply he had been wailing.

All of these thoughts were too much for a child. Too big and scary. Complex and refined.

He sat up and slowly got up, his knees cracking as he did so. Without another whimper he went back to his room, crawling underneath his blankets, into the embrace of many furry friends. He closed his eyes, hugging a purple elephant to himself and prayed he’d be finally big tomorrow. An adult. All caught up. A prayer he’d been reciting for years.

He brought the elephant to his face, nuzzling the soft fabric. He wondered if the elephant would take a nap with him too.

#r slur #ableist slurs #john #autistic!john #developmentally delayed!john

52 notes · View notes

starryknight09 · 4 years

Text

Unforeseen dangers Ch. 2

Summary: As Peter recovers from his capture by Ross, a photo of him with Tony and the Avengers leaks and is splashed all across the media. Luckily, no one can figure out who he is and everyone thinks the buzz will die down. However, the public’s interest has been ignited. While Tony worries it’s only a matter of time before Peter’s identity is exposed, Peter isn’t as concerned. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen anyway?

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“Does that hurt?” Bruce asked as he pressed near the wound on Peter’s leg while Tony stood off to the side and tried not to fidget.

“No.”

Bruce hummed and shot Peter a look that Tony had been on the receiving end of more than a few times. It was his ‘I know you’re bullshiting me, but I’m too polite to call you on it’ look.

“Are you sure?” Bruce asked and pressed a little harder. Even Tony caught his son’s slight flinch.

“Um maybe just a tiny bit.” Peter admitted.

Bruce nodded. “Lay down for a second.”

Peter shifted, pulling his legs up and resting them on the bed so he was no longer sitting with them dangling over the side. Bruce kept ahold of his bad leg and helped lift it as he moved, but Tony still noticed Peter’s wince. He knew his kid didn’t need his help, but he couldn’t stop from giving him a reassuring shoulder squeeze.

“Let me know if any of this hurts.” Bruce said once Peter was settled on his back. Tony watched as his friend moved his kid’s leg, slowly flexing and extending it.

“How does that feel?” Bruce asked.

“It aches a little, but not too bad.”

Bruce nodded and flexed Peter’s leg so is it was bent with his foot flat on the bed.

“Try to straighten it out. Slide your heel down.”

Peter hesitated for a second but then he did it. Bruce watched Peter’s face carefully throughout the movement.

“No pain?” Bruce asked.

Peter shook his head. “Not really. Just sore.”

“Ok. Now bring your foot back up. Flex your knee.”

Peter did, and he still didn’t seem to be in any pain.

“Good.” Bruce nodded. “Now straighten it back out again.”

Tony watched as Peter’s movements grew less tentative now that he knew it didn’t hurt.

“Ok. Now try to lift your leg up off the bed.”

Peter lifted it a few inches into the air.

“Good. Try to hold it there.” Bruce said, hand hovering under his ankle in case he needed to catch it to keep it from falling roughly back onto the bed.

After a handful of seconds, Peter’s leg started shaking with the effort.

“A little longer. You can do it.” Bruce coached him.

Tony could see the tension on Peter’s face as he grit his teeth and tried to do as Bruce asked. He managed another ten seconds or so before he gave in with a grunt and Bruce caught his leg before it could fall.

“Sorry.” Peter took a few short breaths. “I can’t.”

“No that was good.” Bruce smiled at him. “I think you’re ready to try walking.”

“Really?” Peter asked, excitement wiping away the fatigue.

“Really?” Tony echoed. The kid could barely hold his leg up and Bruce thought he was ready to walk?

Bruce nodded, smiling knowingly at Tony. “Let’s see how it goes.”

“Great.” Peter sat up and moved his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m ready.”

“Take it slow.” Bruce warned and grasped Peter’s upper arm to support him. Tony mirrored him and did the same with Peter’s other arm.

Peter slid off the bed and onto his good foot. He tentatively placed the foot of his hurt leg down on the ground.

“How’s that feel?” Bruce asked once Peter was standing normally, weight balanced between both legs.

“I think it’s ok.”

“You think?” Tony asked. He didn’t like the hint of uncertainty in Peter’s answer.

“It’s fine Dad.” Peter rolled his eyes and then looked at Bruce, “Can I try walking now?”

“Yes, but take it slow like I said. One step at a time, and Tony and I are going to help you.”

“Ok.” Peter didn’t waste a second before taking a small step forward.

Tony automatically tightened his grip, afraid Peter’s leg would give way and he’d topple to the ground. But he didn’t. His leg supported his weight just fine. After the first step, he took another, and then another, and pretty soon he’d crossed the Medbay, reassuring Tony and Bruce he was ok all along the way.

They stopped when they ran out of room and Bruce smiled as he suggested, “How about you walk back to the bed on your own now? Think you can do it?”

Tony shot him a sharp questioning look, not at all comfortable leaving Peter bereft without support yet, but Bruce refused to look at him.

“Yeah. Ok.” Peter smiled and pulled away from them, walking slowly back to the bed. Bruce followed a few paces behind, but Tony hovered a couple feet off to the side. Just in case.

It turned out Bruce knew what he was talking about. Peter made it back fine. He didn’t falter once.

“How was that?” Peter asked, beaming once he completed his trek. Tony didn’t see a hint of exertion or pain on his countenance, only pride at his success.

“Good job kid.” Tony patted him on the back.

“That was really good Peter.” Bruce agreed. “I think it’s safe to ditch the crutches.”

“Awesome.” Peter grinned.

“But,” Bruce held a finger up, “no crutches doesn’t mean walking all over the place or running around Spidermanning.”

“Oh don’t worry. There won’t be any Spidermanning.” Tony added.

Peter looked abashed at the reminder, but Bruce shot him a confused look. Tony sighed.

“He’s grounded, remember?” Tony had told all the Avengers about Peter’s hack job on FRIDAY and subsequent punishment a couple days ago.

“Oh that’s right.” Bruce said with a wince as he cast a sympathetic glance toward Peter.

Peter’s cheeks flushed and he shot Tony a slightly betrayed look.

“Well I guess we won’t have to worry about the Spidermanning part for awhile.” Bruce said as pulled off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt.

“Nope, no Spidermanning for a long while.” Tony reiterated, reaching out to ruffle Peter’s hair to soften the blow.

Peter ducked away with an eye roll.

“You guys know that’s not actually a verb, right?” Peter asked as he tried to fix the mess of his hair.

When both he and Bruce frowned at him, Peter clarified, “Spidermanning.”

“Yes it is.” Tony argued. “It is if I say it is.”

Bruce snorted.

“Technically, you should say ‘going out as Spiderman’.” Peter corrected.

“That’s too many words kid.” Tony said.

“It’s really not.”

“Well, if you want to get technical it should be Spiderkidding not Spidermanning, since, you know, you’re a kid and all.”

Peter narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to argue when Bruce cleared his throat, interrupting their banter before it could devolve any further. “Anyway, you’re good to go. But still try to stay off your feet as much as possible. At least for now. And let me know if you start having any problems.”

“Ok.” Peter readily agreed.

“I mean it. If it starts bothering you, don’t keep it to yourself.” Bruce said, eyeing him seriously over the rims of his glasses.

“Ok.” Peter repeated, more sincerely this time.

“I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”

Peter nodded.

“All right kid. Let’s go. Brucie here has things he needs to do and there’s a couch with your name on it upstairs.”

Peter groaned, but Tony could tell it wasn’t heartfelt.

Bruce just chuckled at the familiar teenage angst.

Tony grasped Peter’s shoulders from behind and nudged him gently toward the elevator. They made it there without incident. Tony couldn’t wait until Peter was completely back to normal. Maybe then he’d finally be able to put this whole nightmare inducing event behind him.

“So um you told Bruce about the no Spiderman thing?” Peter asked from his position on the couch with his head in Tony’s lap as they watched some kind of cop show Peter seemed to like.

“Yep.” Tony said as he ran his fingers through his kid’s soft hair.

“Why?” Peter asked, eyes flitting up at him with a narrowing of his brow.

“Because I need all the help I can get to keep an eye on you so you don’t get up to your shenanigans.” He answered, his own eyes dancing in amusement.

Peter huffed and went back to watching TV. Another few minutes of the show passed in comfortable silence before he asked, “So how long am I grounded for?”

“Three months.” Tony answered. He knew it was severe, but it needed to be to keep Peter from doing something like it again.

Peter’s eyes widened in shock, but he surprisingly didn’t protest the punishment.

“Harsh.” He mumbled instead and sighed. “I guess I deserve it.”

Tony hummed. All the white hot anger he’d felt about it before had evaporated in the aftermath of his kid’s kidnapping and near death experience.

“Can we count this week as time served? For good behavior?” Peter asked hopefully.

Tony huffed out a short breath of air, feeling equal parts amusement and annoyance. He shook his head ruefully. “Sure. Why not? You still have two months and three weeks left to go though.”

Peter nodded. “I know. And I know I told you before, but I really am sorry.”

“I know kiddo.” Tony kept running his fingers through Peter’s strands, trying to keep the tone of the conversation light so he could hopefully lull his son into sleep. It was past time for his afternoon nap, but he hadn’t shown any signs of fatigue. Maybe he really was on the mend.

“You were really mad at me.” Peter continued so softly the sentence was barely audible.

“Yeah I was bud.” He frowned. It was the second time Peter had brought up his anger in regard to that situation. Maybe it needed a little more examination. “Did that bother you?”

Peter shrugged.

“Hmm?” He prompted, scratching his kid’s scalp gently. Peter’s eyes closed predictably.

“I guess.” Peter admitted with a sigh.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess it maybe kind of scared me a little.”

Tony swallowed hard and his fingers froze, memories of his own fear of his own dad bubbling up.

Peter turned to look up at him and quickly correctly, “I’m not saying I was scared of you. Just that it was scary.”

“Ok.” He let out a little puff of air in relief but asked, “If it wasn’t me then what was scary about it?”

“I don’t like fighting with you. And I know we’ve fought before, but you haven’t been like that since the whole ferry thing and I think maybe it brought me back there, and we weren’t exactly good then.” Peter hesitated and glanced up at him again.

Tony nodded in encouragement for Peter to continue.

“I guess I was worried that, like back then, you wouldn’t think I was worth the trouble anymore.”

“Never.” Tony said with the gravity of solemn promise.

“I know that now.” Peter smiled up at him. “We talked about it after you got me back, remember?”

He nodded. He did, but he wasn’t sure if Peter did with all the drugs that’d been coursing through his veins, it would’ve been enough to make anyone’s memory hazy.

“Um, for what it’s worth, I promise I’ll never hack FRIDAY again.”

“What about promising to never sneak out again?”

Peter looked up at him, mischief written all over his features. “Well, I’ve got to keep you on your toes somehow.”

Tony shook his head and ruffled Peter’s hair. “You’re a demon child.”

Peter laughed, leaning into the contact instead of away.

“Good thing I love you.” Tony said, letting all the affection he felt for his kid saturate the words.

Peter smiled, his own feelings apparent as he echoed, “I love you too old man.”

Instead of faking indignance at the title, he scoffed and said, “Damn right. And don’t you forget it. I’m not getting any younger, and all the grey in my hair is from you. I don’t know how much longer my poor heart can take all this stress, so can you try to cool it, and stay under the radar, and behave for awhile? For me?”

“I suppose I could do that. For a little while at least.”

“How about until you turn eighteen?”

Peter laughed and complained, “I have to live my life sometime.”

“That’s what college is for.”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Ok how about this, just promise me no more getting kidnapped or almost dying.” Tony hesitated briefly before adding, “Or actually dying. Fair?”

Peter’s amusement faded slightly, and he nodded, looking chagrined as he agreed, “Ok. I guess I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Peter turned the corner of the hallway and stopped in front of the secretary’s desk. He waited patiently for her to notice him as she examined something on her desk. When a few seconds had gone by, he cleared his throat quietly. She looked up and her mouth parted in surprise.

“Oh sorry. I didn’t hear you.” She apologized.

“It’s ok. I was quiet.” He smiled. “Is uh Ms. Potts in?”

“She is.” The woman said hesitantly. “Do you have an appointment?”

“Um no but I was hoping I could talk to her real quick? It’ll only take a minute.”

“And you are?”

“Right. Sorry. I’m Peter. Peter Parker. Ms. Potts knows me, I promise.” He stepped forward and held out his hand.

She shook it weakly still looking perplexed as she asked, “Are you a new employee?”

“Oh no. I’m just um…” He trailed off, not quite sure how to explain his relationship to Pepper when no one knew he was Tony’s kid. Maybe this had been a bad idea, but he couldn’t think of any other way to talk to Pepper alone without Tony finding out about it. Although knowing Tony, he might still find out about this. There wasn’t much that went on in his Tower that he wasn’t aware of. Peter would have to think of an appropriate alibi for the visit just in case.

“I’m family.” He settled on. It was sort of true.

The secretary frowned and looked him up and down, hopefully deciding that he wasn’t some serial killer or weirdo since he’d cleared security and been granted access to their floor.

Still, he tried his best to look as innocent as possible under her scrutiny.

“Let me check with her.” The woman said finally, picking up the phone to the left of her computer and pressing a button.

“Ms. Potts, there’s a Peter Parker here requesting to see you? He said you knew him?” She said into the phone, her tone disbelieving.

“Oh.” The woman’s eyes widened. “Of course. I’ll send him right in then.”

She hung up the phone and stared at him, scrutinizing him for an entirely different reason now.

“So can I…” He motioned toward the closed office door.

She straightened and cleared her throat before telling him, “You can go right in.”

She pressed a button on the underside of her desk and Peter heard an audible click as the door unlocked. Impressive security, although he should’ve expected nothing less.

“Thank you.” He smiled politely and walked right in, not sparing a glance to the secretary even though he could feel her gaze on his back.

“Peter.” Pepper greeted him warmly, standing up from behind her desk to walk over to him and give him a hug. “What a nice surprise. You’re looking better. No more crutches?”

“Nah. Bruce said I could get rid of them yesterday.”

“And your leg’s feeling ok?”

“Yeah it’s not bad. Hopefully I’ll get to go back to school in a couple days.” He really hoped so anyway. It felt like he’d just gone back after the school had been rebuilt and now he’d been out again for over a week.

“Just in time for holiday break?” Pepper teased.

“Yeah I guess.” He smiled. “But at least I’ll get to see my friends before I have to spend the entire break trying to catch up on all the work I missed.”

Pepper nodded and gestured toward the sitting area with a small couch and a couple chairs off to the side in her office. “Why don’t we have a seat? You can tell me what I’ve done to deserve this great excuse for a break.”

Peter laughed. Pepper seemed to genuinely mean it. It still surprised him sometimes how much Tony’s friends and the Avengers actually cared about him. He knew Tony did, but that didn’t automatically mean everyone else had to. For some reason, they all did anyway.

Peter chose a seat on the sofa and Pepper sat down on the other end of it, slipping her heels off and turning to face him with her legs curled underneath her. Even in such a relaxed position she still managed to look regal.

“I was actually wondering if you could help me with something?” He started out right away.

“For you? Anything.” She said warmly.

“You know how Christmas is coming up soon?”

She nodded. It was only a week away.

“Well I had this idea for what I wanted to get Tony as a present, and I wanted it to be a surprise, but I wasn’t sure how to go about it without him finding out, or if it was even possible to do it without him finding out.” He rambled. “So, I thought I’d ask you and maybe you could help?”

“Of course. What is it you want to get him? I have to admit I’m curious. He’s notoriously impossible to buy for.”

“It’s not something I want to buy. At least I don’t think I have to buy it. Maybe it actually does cost some money.” He frowned.

Pepper leaned forward and placed a hand over his to stop him from wringing them in his lap. “Before you start worrying, why don’t you tell me what it is first?”

“Right.” He nodded. “Um, I…I want to change my name.”

Pepper’s brow furrowed slightly before it shot to her hairline, obviously realizing what Peter meant. A smile slowly spread across her face.

“That’s really sweet.” She said. “Tony will like that a lot.”

“You think?” He asked, suddenly insecure. He’d figured Tony would like it, but he hadn’t been entirely sure, and he hadn’t wanted to run it by any of the other Avengers, or Happy, because when it came down to it, he didn’t trust them not to ruin the surprise. For being superheroes and spies, they sure were huge gossips and terrible secret keepers.

“I do.” Pepper patted his leg in reassurance.

“Ok.” He managed to give her a slight smile in return. “So um, how do I go about doing that? Without him finding out? Is that even possible?”

“Oh I’m sure it is. I can’t imagine it’s all that complicated, but I’ll talk to our lawyers about it and get things rolling.”

“And you’re sure Tony won’t find out?” Peter asked.

“I promise he won’t find out. Our lawyers are very discreet, and I’ll make sure everything goes through me.”

“Thanks Pepper.” His smile widened.

“You’re very welcome.” Pepper said as she unfurled her legs and stood. “Now, I’m starving and it’s almost lunch time. I don’t suppose I could convince you to take an old lady out to lunch?”

“You’re not old.” Peter rolled his eyes. “But I’d love to go to lunch with you.”

“Great.” She held a hand out and helped him to his feet. “What sounds good to you?”

“I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

“There’s a new fusion restaurant on 5th I’ve been meaning to try. It’s a blend of Spanish and Caribbean. My friend told me it was delicious. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah sure. Let’s go there.” Peter readily agreed.

Pepper nodded and paused to type something on her phone. A few seconds later it vibrated as she received a text message in response.

“Happy’s going to drive us so I don’t have to worry about trying to find parking. That’d be a nightmare.” Pepper informed him.

“Oh. If Happy’s busy, I wouldn’t mind taking a cab.” He knew his dad and SI employed the man, but Peter still felt guilty whenever he had Happy drive him around.

“We’re not taking a cab.” Pepper shook her head, looking amused at the suggestion. “Does Tony really let you ride around in cabs?”

“Um…” He thought about it. “I guess it hasn’t really come up?”

“Well I can tell you I don’t think he’d like it.” Pepper said and started ushering him toward the door of her office.

“Why not? It’s not like anyone knows who I am.”

“Let’s just say Tony’s always been overly cautious when it comes to the people he cares about, and I can’t see him letting you to ride in a stranger’s car when he could have Happy take you instead.”

“Yeah you’re probably right.” He admitted.

As he thought about Tony’s overprotective instincts, another realization struck him while Pepper held her office door open for him to pass through. His eyes widened and he looked up at her before blurting out, “I guess that means the subway’s out too?”

Pepper laughed and reached out to pat his shoulder. “You would guess right.”

Peter sighed, face falling. He wondered why he hadn’t realized sooner that he hadn’t actually taken a cab since they’d moved back to the city from the compound, and the one time he’d taken the subway, he’d done so without Tony knowing about it, and it had only been because decathlon practice had been canceled. Either Tony took him everywhere himself or he had Happy take him.

As they walked past the secretary, Pepper informed her, “I’m going to lunch. I’ll be back in an hour or two.”

“Of course Ms. Potts.” The woman nodded back. “Have a good lunch.”

The secretary eyed Peter again.

“Um it was nice to meet you.” He said over his shoulder as Pepper guided him toward the elevator.

“You as well Mr. Parker.” She said in response. He was surprised she remembered his name, but he figured she must be excellent at her job. Pepper wouldn’t hire anyone less.

“Oh Ms. Potts.” The receptionist called out as Pepper pushed the button to the elevator.

“Yes?”

“Would you like me to add Mr. Parker to your list of pre-approved visitors?”

“Yes Shannon. Thank you.” Pepper answered.

“Very well.”

The elevator dinged and Peter stepped in, Pepper a step behind him.

Once the doors slid shut, Peter commented, “She seems nice. And competent.”

Pepper smiled. “I’m glad you think so. She’s been working for me for a couple years now. I’d hate to have to fire her if she was rude to you.”

Peter glanced over at Pepper, trying to decide if she was joking. It didn’t seem like it. Something warm blossomed in his chest.

Another few seconds passed in silence as the elevator descended. Peter tried to get his ears to pop as the pressure changed, one of the side effects of living in the tallest building in New York.

“Oh,” Pepper said suddenly with a slight shake of her head, as if she couldn’t believe she hadn’t already considered whatever it was that had popped into her mind. She turned to him. “Before I forget, when I talk to the lawyers, what should I tell them you want to change your name to?”

“Um…Stark?” He thought that’d be obvious.

Pepper let out a small laugh. “Of course. I mean, what about the rest of your name? Are you changing your middle name to Parker or dropping it all together?”

He knew Pepper didn’t mean it maliciously, but the way the phrase came out, the dropping it part, still made him cringe.

“Sorry.” Pepper apologized. “If you want, you can think about it and I can let the lawyers know once you decide.” She offered, misinterpreting the reason for his unease.

“No, it’s not that. Uh, I’ve thought about it.” He had thought about it. A lot actually. “You can tell them I want it to be Peter Parker Stark.”

In the end, he’d decided to keep Parker as his middle name and forgo Benjamin. Ben was still a Parker along with May and his parents. And he knew Ben would understand. They all would. They’d told him as much when he’d been officially dead. It was actually what had given him the confidence to decide to change his name.

“Peter Parker Stark.” Pepper echoed, trying the words out on her tongue. She nodded and gave him a warm smile. “It has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah? I thought so too.”

“He’s going to love it.” She didn’t have to specify who she meant by he.

“I hope so. It’s not too forward? Or overstepping? You don’t think I need to ask him first?”

“Definitely not. Trust me, he’s going to love it.” Pepper kept smiling, eyes twinkling. “I think you’ll be giving him one of the best presents he’s ever gotten.”

Peter didn’t know if that was true. He figured Pepper was exaggerating, but then he remembered the adoption paperwork Tony had given him on his birthday. That had been way better than the Audi. The love he felt toward his dad swelled just at the thought of it.

“I hope so.” He said, unable to completely keep his deep seated insecurities at bay.

“I know so.” Pepper said with absolute certainty.

Maybe she was right.

Either way, it was too late to turn back now.

#unforeseen dangers #ch 2

10 notes · View notes