#everyone paints him as this angry stupid guy with no depth | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shirohige-pirates · 9 months

Text

Birds of a Feather

CisFem Reader x Marco

CW: Violence, blood, language, adult themes and scenes. 18+ only

Summary: Life has not been kind to you. After a string of bad relationships, you're a little jaded and a little depressed in all honestly. The worst day of your life seems to be the turning point, but the roller coaster ride that follows could either throw you soaring free, or have you caged forever?

Chapter 7: Motor Running

That weekend, and the week after, went by slower than any other week before, as far as you were concerned. You and Marco met for lunch a couple times, but usually he had an appointment, or you had a meeting. Even when you had time enough to share a quick meal, it was indeed a quick meal. You both talked about work more than anything – you had tried to wheedle some details about the date out of him, but he was teasingly tight-lipped on the matter.

None of your time together had been uncomfortable, but aside from kissing the top of your hand at the end of dinner, Marco kept his distance. It wasn’t like he was avoiding you, but you weren’t sure if he wanted to take things slow, or if he was giving you the lead. Kid, and most everyone else you’d dated, were pretty physical.

It wasn’t like you got yanked into a dark corner and slammed against the wall all the time, or that you even needed that level of painfully obvious desire. It was just different from what you had become used to.

But Marco wasn’t in the city just on business. He wasn’t visiting from the ocean’s depths, and he wasn’t loud, or angry, or crass. There was passion there, unmistakably, and it had lit up his eyes more than once since you’d known him.

Maybe he was worried that if he came on too strong, you’d break and run. Whatever the case was, you weren’t going to worry about it for now. You weren’t going anywhere any time soon as it was, especially with your car still in Kid’s care.

Buggy dropped you off at home, and by that, he had the Bubble he’d ordered detour to your place before taking him home. Bon-bon and Ivankov had been taking you home for the most part, and you’d only stayed over at the office one day this past week. You’d taken a couple Bubbles to get into work, and one early morning Sanji gave you a lift.

You were going to be happy to have your car back.

Your phone rang shortly after you got home, and you recognized the shop’s number.

“Hey Red, what’s up?”

There was a short grunt on the other end of the line. “Got the body restored, waiting on a few more parts to come in before she’ll be ready. I called to see if you wanted a different paint job, you little shit.”

You laugh. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it. Hm, a different color…”

“I’m bringing in that long-nose artist to do the actual bird, so don’t worry about sticking with stock colors if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, when’s he coming in?”

“Sunday, it’s a personal project for him, so I’m trying not to tie him up during usual work hours. He should be in around 9am.”

“Hmm… Usopp opens up a lot of options.”

“Heh, he does. Guy’s got a good eye for things, even if he’s a little skittish.”

“Around you Kid, everyone’s a little skittish.”

“You aren’t, calling me by that stupid fuckin’ nickname.” He grumbles.

You grin. “I just don’t have the sense to be afraid of anyone.” He grunts, and you continue. “You remember that blue Killer was using for his welding mask?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you base coat her with that? I want to come by Sunday and talk about options with Usopp, but I know you need to let the base coat set before he starts.”

“Going with a whole different color scheme, huh?”

“The rust and the red went well together,” you muse, chuckling. “But if all the rust is gone, then it’s time for something different, right?”

Kid grunts, but doesn’t say anything.

“Something on your mind?”

He clicks his tongue, grumbles under his breath and then finally lets out a big dramatic sigh. “I feel like I’m the one being replaced.” He finally admits angrily.

“You’ll always be my unreasonable asshole ex-boyfriend turned marginally reasonable asshole best friend.” You say, a playful edge in your voice.

“… I better not be your best friend.”

“I mean, it’s between you and Buggy, and you’re more stable.”

Kid scoffs and laughs. “You’re kind of shit at making friends.”

“Pot and Kettle, I suppose.” You grumble back before laughing along with him.

There’s a beat of silence after you both settle down and Kid sighs a little. “That Vet does anything to hurt you, you tell me.”

“Pfft, I can bring him with me Sunday, maybe, you want to tell him to his face or something?”

“Fuck no. I ain’t gonna let him raise his guard like that!” Kid snaps before huffing. “Shop’s a public place though, I’m not saying he’s barred or anything.”

“Alright, I don’t know what his Sundays are like, but if I need a ride I’ll give you a call.” You say with a smile. “You’ll enjoy getting a look at his car up close, I bet.”

“I don’t need to see the inside of a ’72 SEL.” He grumbles.

“Not even one that’s washed three times a year? That engine was immaculate.” You tease.

“… You’ve been under the hood?”

“Mm, speaking of, if you have some custom hydraulic lifts, the hood lift’s busted. He hasn’t had any luck finding a replacement.” You mention it nonchalantly, but you can hear Kid’s mood shift before he even speaks.

“I’ll see what I have lying around.” He clears his throat. “I could probably make something in the next two days that would work.”

“Metal geek.” You tease.

“Book whore.” He shoots back.

“Greaser guzzler.” You’re barely able to keep yourself from laughing especially when Kid starts to cackle.

“Leaving me low hanging fruit. Ah, but I know, you’re going to end up that Vet’s pet, little mouse.”

“I’m not a mouse,” you insist.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re more like to hunt mice than be one.” You can picture him waving his hand dismissively.

You laugh. “Talk to you later, Kid.”

“Mm, later.”

You end the call and take a moment before you opt to send a text.

You: Sneakers or heels for tomorrow? Also are you available Sunday morning?

You peeled off your work clothes while you waited for a response. A shower before putting together something for dinner seemed like a good idea. You were going to work a couple hours tomorrow, but you’d decided to bring a laptop home vs going into the office. Going over some of the packets while you had breakfast and coffee was a good way to start your morning, and you wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught up at work and losing track of time.

Marco: I’ll show you my emo phase, if you show me yours. 😉

You laugh when you read the response.

You: It was more a punk phase, but sure.

Marco: I’m free Sunday, what’s up?

You: Kid’s getting the base coat down on my old firebird, and I need to go in Sunday to work with the detail artist for the final design and colors. I could use a ride, but Kid and the crew would love to see your SEL. (Also he might have an arm for your hood).

Marco: That’s doable. We can talk about it more tomorrow.

#Birds of a Feather #Marco x reader #x reader #reader insert #marco the phoenix #marco the pinepple #modern au

14 notes · View notes

chipper-smol · 3 years

Text

Hollow Knight Telephone Round Two: Babysitter SL

Prompt: Shade (lord) is in the midst of final exams and they’re more stressed and tired than usual while babysitting. They accidentally fall asleep in the middle of a calm spell and the god babies become worried. The next time Shade comes over, all of the god babies present a gift they all made together!

By @minnesotamidian-blog

Shade barely noticed their surroundings as they entered the nursery playroom. Plastic clattered and they sighed as Radiance yelled at the top of her lungs. At least she wasn't screaming. Yet. The scene was set: Unn was still in a crib and chewing on a bar, Root was climbing slowly onto a chair. Radiance was knocking over plastic blocks as Grimm cackled away. For once, Wyrm was playing peacefully with a kick toy, batting at it with his tail. Root got onto the chair and squealed, raising her arms. "Big Root now!" The little blue-eyed godling squeaked out.

Shade picked her up, hugged her to their chest before holding her out. "Now you're a flying Root."

She screamed laughter as Shade tiredly walked her around the room before setting her down near some of her favorite toys. They made sure nobody else had claimed the chair and took a seat, bending over to pick up the fussy moth. "Ancient enemy!" Of course she bit their hand.

Shade winced and just ran a hand over her fluff. "Are you hungry for something that isn't void?" They spoke tiredly.

"Oranges!" She yelled out.

The teen sighed as he went to the mini-fridge with snacks and found some miracle of miracles! pre-peeled oranges. Shade pulled them out and put her in a high chair with one at a time so she wouldn't be tempted to throw the extras at them.

Finals were here and they were really taking it out of the gangly god. Why did they have to know stuff about inorganic chemistry? Why did they have to know about history nobody cared about? There were some fun subjects, but the finals seemed to even suck the fun out of those classes, going over notes and studying everything just in case. They'd been pulling long nights and the night before had been an all-night cram session-and they still had to come to work, they couldn't afford not to. They'd underlined all the stuff the teacher had said was important to remember and had written down stuff from the last finals about each teacher's usual tests.

It made narrowing down what to study from impossible to I'm totally toast. They groaned as they set down a calmer Radiance the opposite side of the room from Wyrm. She found toys that interested her, at least. Root wandered over to Wyrm, who was really into knocking at the kick toy and purring. Root settled nearby and burbled as she hugged and gnawed a plushie.

The teen couldn't help it. The kids were calm for once; their head started to tilt forward, eyes heavy. They were exhausted. Shade's eyes closed and their breathing deepened. At first, their toys were too interesting to notice their babysitter's state; but it didn't take long for Grimm to get bored enough to fly over and notice. "...Shade? Shade's eyes are closed." They landed and the four children not in a crib headed for the batlike godling.

"Is Shade dead?" Wyrm sounded worried.

"Don't be stupid, they're having a nap!" Radiance huffed.

Root looked up and swayed before patting Shade's leg. "Grown-ups don't have nap times." She was tearing up.

"Nuh-uh, they're having bad dreams and it's tasty!" Grimm clamored onto their lap.

The others joined, Radiance grabbing Unn to join them on the sleeping teen. Grimm rested between Shade's horns, Unn was on one shoulder, Radiance on the other, with Root and Wyrm curled up together on Shade's lap, Wyrm purring for once.

When Shade woke up, they were surprised by the weight on their body and forced themself to look down and around before moving. "Uh oh, I fell asleep… sheesh, I'm glad this place isn't a fiery disaster." They picked the godlings up. "You're not dead!" Wyrm exclaimed.

Root burst into tears and even Grimm joined in on the crying spat. Shade sighed and spent the rest of the time comforting them until meal time and settled them down. Time to go home for them all!

But the worry didn't leave the heads of the little godlings. "We should make something for Shade. If they're having nightmares, they might be sad." Radiance sighed. "But that doesn't mean I feel bad for my ancient enemy!" "What do we make?" Root twirled around, slowly turning in place until she fell onto pillows in her dizziness.

"Something of clay! I can burn it dry!" Grimm hopped around.

"But there's no clay." Unn spoke slowly, thoughtfully. "But there's crayons and paper."

"Oooh. We can make a pretty picture for Shade!" Wyrm waved his head happily. The group went for papers and each started to draw on the paper. "You're taking up too much paper!" Wyrm whined. Radiance complained in turn, pointing at the color he was using. "I want that color!"

Wyrm growled and argued back. "I had it first!"

They started rolling around over their drawings, biting and clawing. Grimm gave a solid scream that startled the two. "You ruined Shade's pretty pictures!" He yelled.

The two looked at each other and hung their heads. "...sorry." Radiance muttered. "-'m sorry." Wyrm looked away from the moth, skulking. "Start again? You can have the crayon, Radiance…"

Radiance took the crayon and they all picked up the last piece of paper. "I think this is better." Root spoke cheerfully.

It was three days later, once Shade had a solid night's sleep and finals completed that they'd returned to work. A large construction sheet of paper in grey covered in scribbles and rough names and messages was waiting for them.

Feel better soon Shade

Love you

Best babysitter

Tastiest nightmare!

Not the worst anciant ancient enemy.Shade could only feel warmth and laugh, hugging the drawing to themself. There were some days the job felt like the best thing in the world. ------------------------------- By @tomatotimes

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

By @loud-whistling-yes

"No."

The kids protested louder. Shade lifted the TV remote higher up, now above their head.

"Screentime's over, I said no."

Wyrm attempted to crawl up their leg in what was a rather pathetic attempt at stealing the remote, but was promptly shaken off. Grimm tried next, flying overhead to snatch the controller. Shade ducked and grabbed him by the tail before he could send himself flying straight towards the ceiling fan for the third time that day.

"Find something else to do," Shade said as they stuffed the remote deep into their pocket, much to everyone else's dismay. "Look, as much as I'd love to shut you guys up for the whole day, you've all been staring at the TV for hours now and I don't want to get in trouble with your parents."

Louder complaints.

"No, no, no. I am not cracking this time." Shade announced as they pulled Radi, who was hissing like an angry cat, off their jeans and pulled their phone out. "You guys got me last week, never again. No more TV for you, we're doing something else before I lose my money for tonight. Google almighty, what is your suggestion."

activities to do with children

fun activities to do with children

activities to do with toddlers

what can I do with kids that isn't a major headache to deal with goddamnit

Go to the park? Shade took about half a second to consider the thought before wondering why they even thought it was possible anyways. Five kids from the deepest depths of hell, outdoors? No. No park.

Finger painting? A pain to clean up, but better than outdoors. Then they looked up from their phone and considered the idea with greater thought. Grimm's wings, Radi's legs, Unn and Wyrm's… er…. Body?.... Nevermind.

Play pretend? …. If they hear the name Hallownest one more time they might just go insane.

Hide and seek? No. No no no no no. No more hide and seek. Shade was utterly sick of hide and seek. If they had to spend another second stuffed inside the closet or trying to get Radi off the roof they'll probably quit the job right there and then.

Baking?

… That might work. Sure, cleaning up is gonna be absolute hell but it's the only thing Google suggested that they haven't tried yet without horrible results.

Shade stuffed their phone back into their pocket and made a getaway to the kitchen, everyone else following, probably still trying to get the remote back. Butter, eggs, flour, sugar, oh, even some chocolate chips…

"Well then," They declared, pulling every ingredient out of the cabinet and fridge. "We're making cookies! And no, no one is allowed to touch the oven when it's hot. If you guys behave we'll have cookies in like, an hour or something like that."

The kids watched in confusion as Shade ran around the kitchen, pulling out bowls and spoons and a bunch of other utensils while typing furiously on their phone.

Cookies recipe

Cookies recipe easy

Cookies recipe for beginners

Cookies recipe for kids

"What do you guys think about chocolate chip cookies?"

Multiple chitters of approval. "Chocolate chip cookies it is then."

Step one: sieve the flour. Oh wyrm, first step and it's already gonna go to shit.

"Okay, you guys can watch this but for the love of the holy wyrm, do not touch it." Shade measured the correct amount of flour before scooping Wrym and Unn off the floor onto the table so they could see while Radi pulled herself onto the chair. The Lady had already clinged herself onto their sweater and Grimm was doing just fine flying nearby.

“You guys get one chocolate chip each if you guys behave and don’t get flour everywhere.” Shade added. “Now, Lady, hold still and don’t move, I gotta keep my hands steady for this…”

************

"Okay, chocolate chip time." Shade popped open the jar of chocolate as the kids cheered. "Actually, we’re not supposed to be eating this plain, cause it's going into the cookies. But no one actually does that so you guys get five chips each for not setting the kitchen on fire so far."

"The recipe says a cup of chocolate chips but we all know that's a lie." They added while shoving their phone back in their pocket and grabbing a handful of chips before mixing the batter together. "I'm probably not someone you should take life lessons from, but here's one thing I can guarantee you should take to heart: never follow the recipe when it comes to chocolate chips, you count that with your soul."

Final step: oven time. The oven was preheated earlier, and the only thing left was to get the cookies into the tray and into the oven. "Now, who wants to make heart-shaped cookies?"

****************

Three deformed stars, five mutated trees, two malformed cats, several irregular hearts, a couple handfuls of chocolate eaten straight from the jar, and one (1) perfectly round cookie later, the cookies were on the tray, in the oven, and in a surprising turn of events, no one burned themselves… yet. Shade grabbed everyone and made sure no one was in a five-meter radius within the oven before picking up all the dirty bowls and utensils. “Cookies will have to sit in there for about 15 minutes, we’ll be cleaning up in the meantime.”

“Don’t look at me like that, and no whining, if you want cookies you gotta deal with the mess afterwards. That's the payoff, unless you're a wizard who has a passion for baking. Then that's fair, I guess." They dumped all the used utensils they could find and turned on the sink. The sief, three bowls, tablespoons and teaspoons.. Oh wait.

"Radi, the big wooden spoon, please?" Shade called, sponge in their hand and bowls being thoroughly rinsed.

Radi, of course, was not willing to help, because she's basically a feral house cat that just so happened to grow more legs than the average feline. Shade sighed and moved on to finding the next helper they could find.

"Grimm, I know you're touching the oven, stop it. I'm pretty sure you're immune to fire but not everyone else and you're setting a bad example for them. Get me the spoon please."

“Lady, here’s a cloth, help me dry the bowls up. Wyrm, … i have no idea how you can help, no limbs and all but uh, could you go get Unn? I have no idea where she went. Thanks.” The last sentence was to Grimm, who flew over with the mixing spoon and dropped it into the sink while Wyrm scurried away to find Unn, wherever she’s napping at.

"Radi? Radi, I know you're right behind me, stop pretending that you can't hear me. Lady has an extra cloth with her, you're on table wiping duty."

*********

“See? That wasn't so bad,” Shade sent the last of the bowls back into the cupboards and closed it shut. “And the cookies are pretty much done.”

“Also, no. You may not eat the cookies the moment I pull them out of the oven. These rules also apply to Grimm because it's unfair to everyone else.. Don’t look at me like that Grimm, I know you’ll eat them all before they cool and leave us nothing.”

The cookies smelt delicious, and were left on the dining table to cool. “Now that it's cooling down, it's naptime.”

A chorus of groans and wailing.

“It’ll be ready when you guys get up. Up up up, sleep time.”

**********

If you’ve been anywhere near toddlers before, you’d know that getting them to nap in their bedrooms is a near-impossible situation. And Shade was not a person who deals with near-impossible situations well. So following the months old custom, Shade turned on the tv, remote miraculously not pickpocketed, collapsed onto the couch, and waited for everyone piling on them to fall asleep before moving them into their bedroom and pretending they managed to wrangle them all into bed.

And it all goes to plan, the Lady and Wyrm were sound asleep on their lap, Radi and Unn were dozing off on their shoulders, and they're pretty sure the snoring from the top of their head was coming from Grmm. Now, step 2: get everyone off them and onto the beds.

… Or maybe later. It's been a long day, and the couch is pretty comfy. Yeah, just five more minutes, nothing wrong with that…

And if the parents came home to see a cleaner-than-expected kitchen, a tray of chocolate chip cookies, and five kids snoring on top of their babysitter, also sound asleep, then that’s nobody’s business.

And if the originally completely full jar of chocolate chips was pretty much empty, then that’s no one’s business as well.

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

By @astronomicartz

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

By @hollow-kin

Shade lord wanted to take a nap. They are sooo tired, but they are babysitting 5 baby gods for 5$/H. Grimm is a brat, Radiance his sister is also a brat. Unn was ether eating or seeping, same with grub1. Lady was, well sweet and cuddly. they needed to find a distraction for the kids, what would work?

Would tv work, would cartoons work? They had dinner already. Tv had to work or grub and radiance would destroy the house. They needed to take a nap. Now what to watch was a different question, they would have to ask the kids. “so, what do guys want to watch? “Movie!” well they were all in agreement, what was good. “What kind of movie do you guys want to watch?” “Fire!” “dath” “animal” “tree” “ok. No, we are NOT watching fire.” “awww” “i do not know what dath means so no. So nature show it is then.” they go over to the tv and turn it on, then select the world around us. Lady was quick to fall asleep, on their lap. Shade lord slowly fell asleep, and grub nested between grub and shade lord. Grimm climed up to shade lord's head.

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

By @hawaiianbabidoll

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

By @neoliberalsatan

A gentle darkness surrounded the shade lord. He finally felt at ease. "finally", he thought, "rest." it didn't take long after that before the darkness started to take shape and a whole new world created out of shadows sheathed him.

But the happiness of the shadows didn't last long. A new and a new sound drowned out their world and all the animals and plants took to hiding back in his head. The shade lord felt the distressed creations stir inside his mind and woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He rubbed his lowest eyes and accepted the call

"Hello, with shade lord. How can i help you?" "Oh sorry dear, i know it's terribly late but we got an unexpected call and need to leave. Since you've babysat Unn multiple times we assumed she would like to stay with you. Is it okay for you? Can we bring her to your place?" The shade lord thought for a moment and decided he could use the money. "Yea it's fine, she's always such a pleasure to babysit." The voice on the other side sounded relieved. "Thank you. You're a life saver. We will make sure you're compensated accordingly."

Feeling a bit more awake after the phone call he started to prepare for having baby Unn over. After a while her parents arrived and after some greetings he was home alone with the baby. He walked with her in his arms towards the living room and placed her gently inside the crib. She opened her eyes for a moment after losing the feeling of someone holding her, but then closed them again and fell back asleep.

The shade lord decided he couldn't sleep anymore and made some popcorn and decided to put on a movie. It didn't even take 20 minutes before he got called again.

"Hello, with shade lord. How can i help you?" "Oh yes finally someone who answers. Sorry but you're our last hope. We were going somewhere tonight but our babysitter called off. Do you think you could babysit our lovely Radiance? She's very good behaved and won't cause you trouble." "yea, no problem. You'll just need to bring her to my place if it's no trouble"

Not even 5 minutes later the parents showed up and dropped of their larva. Shade lord looked at it a bit confused but didn't get the time to say anything because the parents left as soon as they handed her over. He closed his front door and gave the larva a good look. She was white and had a fluffy appearance. She had 5 pairs of legs and yellow-orange eyes. She started to writhe a little bit and shade lord made sure to hurry to the living room. He took a pillow and placed it on the couch and softly laid her on it. She seemed at ease and rested on the pillow all stretched out

Shade lord continued his movie, which was finally starting to get interesting, but as usual the commercial break hit. He was in the kitchen making more popcorn when he got another call.

"Hello, with shade lord. How can i help you?" "Hello, is this the babysitter?" "Yes, that's the one you're speaking with." "Great, a family member had an accident and i need to be there for them so do you think you could babysit for me?" "Yep, totally." "Thank you, can we bring him to you?" "Oh yea, no problem."

A few minutes later his doorbell rang and he hurried towards it. The father carried his toddler in what could only be described as wing-esque appendages. The shade lord extended his arms for the man to put his toddler in and felt a gentle brush of the leathery membrane. He shivered lightly before feeling a sudden warmth light up in his face, like someone has started a fire. When he looked back up the man was gone and he closed the door. The creature he was holding in his arms was unlike anything he had ever seen. 2 horns sprouted from its black head. The face was as bleak as white linen on a summer day. It seems she likes make-up because she had already 2 black lines running from her cheeks towards her eyes, eventually fading into the darkness of her head. She had the same membranes as her father and no limbs besides it.

He wasn’t even in the living room before he heard his front door being was under siege. He put the weird creature down and opened the front door. Immediately he was assaulted by Hollow, a very energetic child. He was wearing a green cloak today and it finally seemed he was starting to grow bigger than a hand. His horns has also branched into the inside. Immediately after Hollow jumped on his he could hear Pale complain about his unprofessional work attitude. Although he was bigger than most it seems he wouldn’t grow much anymore. His tiny stature didn’t discourage him from being bossy. Finally White entered. By far the biggest of the bunch, she was also the most introverted. Her roots slid elegantly over towards him and even managed to stop Pale from talking for a moment.

He took them inside the living room only to find that somehow the larva and the winged creature had somehow gotten into a fight and now both were in hiding in opposite sides of the room. Normally he wouldn’t make such a big deal out of this if somehow his couch wasn’t full of tiny needles and a chair was on fire. He rushed to the tap to fill a bowl of water to extinguish the little fire. With the attention being diverted Hollow managed to slip from the watch of Pale and could now be found in the corner Radiance was hiding. The larva figured out quickly he liked to play games and had soon enough set up a plan to make him betray Pale.

In the meantime White had climbed the couch and started pulling out the needles while Shade lord had figured out what the membrane between the appendages from the weird creature were for. Namely, for flight. And now she was attacking his horns and he couldn’t reach her. As if her flying was not good enough alone, whenever he raised his arms she would back off and launch a little fireball All this commotion woke up baby Unn who slowly started to slither away from her crib to find food.

The shade lord finally had enough of the little fire hazard and rushed towards the pantry to get a kettle. Once he had found it he peeked around the corner only to find that fire hazard eating his popcorn! All caution was thrown aside and he grabbed her by the guts and put her inside the kettle. She tried to heat it but he added some water to it. While it evaporated quickly it was apparently enough to bring over the message. Now he could focus his attention back on the larva again, only she could’ve produced those needles, which White was making great progress with removing them as a quick glance told him.

Now back to Pale and Radiance who were apparently having a fight (Darkness, that larva really has a talent to provoke others). They were arguing near the coffee table, because apparently they wanted a fight so bad they just ran to each other and met in the middle. Hollow was climbing one of the legs of the table, but wasn’t noticed by the shade lord because he was too occupied with the other 2. He tried to separate the arguing pair but they were at each other’s throats. They even had summoned a needle and a tiny dagger to fight each other. The shade lord obviously didn’t count on this tiny factor and had soon enough one in each hand. He screamed, trying not to curse, barely not failing miserably, and Pale managed to escape. In any other situation this wouldn’t pose a problem, but Hollow, after eating some popcorn, found himself at the right edge of the coffee table and pulled out his tiny wooden sword he got from Pale. The larva, Darkness curse her, used this to her advantage and made the sign to Hollow to betray Pale. The act of betraying Pale involved jumping off of the coffee table and hitting Pale as hard on the head as possible. Naturally, all of this went according to plan and even brought some extra spectacle. After Hollow had hit Pale on the head he wasn’t prepared for the recoil of the wood and ended up hitting himself in the face.

All of this lead to 3 crying children (1 of them from laughing, the others from pain) and 1 very angry young adult. He put the larva on the couch and took care of the others while White held a close eye on the damned 10 legged thing. After Pale and Hollow weren’t crying anymore he took the little fire hazard out of the kettle and continued his movie, which was getting to an end.

After the film ended a documentary started and had all the kids hooked. He went to check on Unn only to find an empty crib. He could however see a slimy trail lead up his wall and onto the ceiling. It went through the door into the pantry where he kept his food and toys for the toddlers. He looked up on the ceiling only to find a sleepy Unn with a letter block in her mouth. Suddenly Unn started to make a very weird noise and fell from the ceiling onto his face. He swiped her off of his face onto his shoulder and then washed it.

He returned back to the tv to watch the documentary that was still playing and plopped down on the couch. Not long after he was asleep with White on his left shoulder, Unn on his right shoulder, the little fire hazard on the same arm and Pale curled up in his lap. Radiance and hollow were still awake but occupied with the documentary instead of causing trouble. After the documentary ended they crawled up against his sides and fell asleep.

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

By @constantlost

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

By @bugbeee

Exhaustion seeped into Shadelord’s body, limbs weighed down by a heaviness they hadn’t experienced in a while. The smatter of godlings that lay around them on the couch, or on them in Radi’s case, was enough to convince them that they had died and that this was the Eternal Void that was created to punish them for cheating on that test in the 8th grade. In their defence, it had been on rock sedimentation.

Wyrm continued his grumbling from the corner of the couch, still infuriated by the attack on his person only moments before. Root, the aggressor, looked remarkably pleased with herself. Shade knew they should probably punish her further in some way but... well, to be perfectly honest, they simply were not paid enough to do so.

They really should have charged more. Fifteen dollars at least per tiny demon they had to look after rather than the whole bunch. Fifteen dollars was not enough to encourage discipline. It was enough for them to make sure none of the godlings killed the other. And they had thought they had come up with an ingenious plan to secure some peace and quiet.

After much wrangling, they had finally managed to set up two separate playpens, each far enough away that the godlings wouldn’t start screaming if one of them saw their rival. Wyrm and Root in one pen, Grimm, Radi and Unn in another. It was a gamble, but one that thankfully seemed to have paid off. Radi was still exhausted from the tussle she had just had with Wyrm, and Grimm seemed content to chew off the heads of the plastic Garbies they had found. Unn continued to watch, and occasionally helped Grimm execute a Garbie in a spectacular manner. It was both reassuring, and beyond disturbing. Root and Wyrm meanwhile were cheerfully ignoring each other as they both played with their own toys.

It should have been foolproof.

Unfortunately for Shade however, they were dealing with infants instead of fools.

For some damned reason, Root had decided that now was the perfect time to act up, instead of being the sweet little darling she had been so far. Her target, much to their dismay, had been Wyrm. In all fairness, the godling had probably deserved it in some way; most likely he had tried to worm too close in order to steal some of the grubpaste and mushroom sticks Shade had left out as a snack. Root had seen this theft as a cardinal sin, and had subsequently decided that Wyrm deserved nothing less than absolute annihilation.

The momentary doze Shade had managed to fall into was abruptly interrupted by loud shrieking and wailing, resulting in them vaulting over the couch to hurriedly find out which one of the godlings was being tortured.

The scene that greeted them was... well, it wasn’t any less ridiculous than some of the other stuff the little goblins had pulled before.

Using her flexible tendrils, Root had seen fit to wrap them around Wyrm, and aggressively dunk him into the bowl of grubpaste he had attempted to steal from. His shrieks and hisses had woken up Radi and drawn the attention of the other children, who were now cheering on Root’s attack on Wyrm’s person.

“Enough,” Shade declared, shooting a glare behind them, “Root, let him go.” Root looked up innocently.

No, she seemed to say with her eyes, justice must prevail.

“Justice won’t get me my fifteen dollars,” they hissed out in return, and they could have sworn that Root shrugged, turning away from them to dunk Wyrm into the bowl yet again.

“No!” they cried out, quickly whipping down to grab the poor child before he could be further humiliated. After finally being saved from his vicious tormentor, Wyrm decided it was time to go into hysterics, lashing out with a sharp tail to fully show his displeasure. Root simply watched impassively as the rest of the children cheered.

Shade wondered if fifteen dollars was even worth it at this point.

“Alright, alright, enough! Root, you go in time out. We do not waterboard our fellow godlings in grubpaste. Wyrm, calm down, it’s just grubpaste- Settle down!” they yelped out, flinching as something heavy settled onto their head. The soft fluff revealed that Radi had decided to fly out of her pen and taunt Wyrm in person. Shade wanted to sob with frustration.

The door cracked open, and Ghost peered in, head tilted curiously.

Need help? they signed, and Shade wanted to collapse in relief.

“Please,” they begged, and their sibling nodded grimly, even as amusement danced in their eyes. Shucking off their school backpack, they quickly headed over to the other pen and signed to them, bobbing their head up and down in a soothing motion. Grimm and Unn were entranced. Radi less so. She remained seated on their head, but at least seemed to have finally stopped provoking Wyrm.

“I’m just going to clean him up,” Shade explained uselessly, watching as Ghost simply nodded and waved them off.

With a tired gait, Shade wandered into the kitchen and turned on the tap, listening as Wyrm’s panicked yelps grew louder at the realisation of what was going to happen next. Radi snickered softly, before leaping off and gliding back into the living room.

Bath time, according to the godlings, was a fate worse than death, and something to be avoided at all cost.

Unfortunately for both Wyrm and Shade, it was a necessary evil. Wyrm disagreed. Loudly. And with claws.

He howled furiously as Shade slowly lowered him into the warm water, softly scrubbing at the now-dried grubpaste sticking to his skin. Despite his attempts, Wyrm failed to prevent them from continuing his bath. He turned to pathetic pleading instead, making soft mewling sounds as though he was nothing more than a poor innocent child who had done nothing wrong, ever.

Shade, who remembered the little bastard knocking a glass ornament onto their head, was not convinced. Ultimately there was no escape, and Wyrm reluctantly gave in to the soft scrubbing, though he made sure his rumbling complaints were known.

“Yes, yes,” Shade said quietly, “I truly am the worst. Close your eyes so I can rinse you.”

Wyrm, in a dumb act of defiance, did not close his eyes. The hysterics started again, and Shade contemplated drowning themself in the half-filled sink. Fifteen dollars, they repeated. Fifteen dollars.

Grabbing a tea towel, they quickly dried the godling off, carefully teasing out water droplets from soft scales. He child gnawed on their fingers in revenge. “I’m done,” they announced, wandering back into the living room with a now clean, and furious, Wyrm.

Ghost looked up from their position on the floor, back leaning against the couch as they played with Grimm. Radi immediately perked up at the sound of Shade’s voice, and quickly flew over, making herself at home on top of their head. Unn seemed to have decided to undertake the momentous task of scaling up the back of the couch, leaving a thick trail of slime behind. Root, still stuck in her pen as punishment, let out a wail, demanding to be let out.

Shade was all out of energy to fight back or deal with a tantrum.

“Alright, alright, out you go,” they muttered, depositing Wyrm on the couch before reaching down to lift out the petulant child from her terrible prison. She clung to them desperately until they finally collapsed on the sofa. She quickly wriggled out of their hold and instead plonked down beside them. Wyrm had hissed at the sight of her, and slunk to the other side of the couch to sulk.

Grimm let out a raspy cackle at the sight, before diving down to nip at Ghost’s fingers.

Unn finally made her way to the top of the couch and waved her eyestalks victoriously. All Shade could do was give her a tired pat.

They sank into the couch, the exhaustion creeping back in. It should have been foolproof.

Fifteen dollars.

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

By @arandoskeleartist

youtube

#telephoneknight #hollowknight #hollow knight #BabysitterSL #shade lord #pale king #radiance #nightmare king grimm #unn #white lady

158 notes · View notes

earnestly-endlessly · 3 years

Note

kind of an odd request — do you have fics where erik is grumpy with everyone else but a ray of sunshine with charles?

Hi anon, thank you for the ask. First and foremost, I'm so sorry for how long this took me but I've been searching for all the fics that come to mind that fit your request. Second, this is not an odd request because I love this trope so much. I mean, it's basically canon that he's grumpy with everyone except for his Charles, right? Anyway, I might add to this list later on, but I can't sit on this any longer and hope that you have found some fics that you enjoy!!

Fic Recs Where Erik is grumpy with everyone but a ray of sunshine with Charles

Twice as Blind – Darksknight

Summary: Erik is probably the biggest asshole on the face of the earth, and because of this, he'll probably die alone. Charles is a complete flirt and playboy and, probably, will never commit to anyone ever.

(The lesson here is that when you have two friends who are BOTH secretly seeing someone, well, it's probable that they're seeing each other.)

In the moonlight, on a joy ride – scarlettblush

Summary: Librarian AU. Charles is the young librarian and Erik is the college student who is completely besotted with him.

The Proper Care of Actors – Clear_Liqueur, Clocks, Etherei, afrocurl

Summary: Erik is an A-list action star who is notoriously difficult to work with, until the day he gets cast alongside Charles Xavier, rom-com darling who can charm the pants off movie audiences the world over and apparently even one Erik Lehnsherr. The paparazzi catch them out and about soon enough, and their real-life Hollywood movie romance becomes instant tabloid fodder.

Rumor Mill – ikeracity

Summary: Erik is the grumpiest, most foul tempered worker at Stark industries. His grumpiness is the stuff of legends.

So it's obviously the talk of the office when Erik is being made to go to the company party and he's bringing his husband. There's rumors flying round about how much of a masochist or equally antisocial bastard Erik's husband must be to put up with him. Others think he must be a meek mouse perhaps bullied by Erik.

What they weren't expecting was the confident, charming, adorable and unbelievably nice Charles that turns up on Erik's arm. What they certainly weren't expecting was how much Erik obviously adores his husband and how happy he is to let others see this.

Work/Life Balance – pocky_slash

Summary: Alex is pretty sure his weird, anti-social boss is a robot. Right up until the guy's adorable husband shows up. His adorable husband who happens to be a famous actor. His adorable husband who happens to be the very same famous actor who was the source of many of Alex's teenage fantasies.

Terrifying Domesticity – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is the most dangerous and notorious mafia boss around for miles, and yet the strangest things terrify him.

For example: his children, and his very pregnant mate.

Of kittens and teacups and love – Ren

Summary: Modern AU in which Charles and Erik are flatmates. Charles studies psychology and likes tea and chess and keeps bringing home stray kittens, and Erik lets him because he's maybe perhaps a little bit sort of in love with him.

Fools Rush In – LoveSupreme

Summary: Erik owns a cafe on the edge of campus and accidentally starts maybe-stalking a Biology Professor there.

Growing Pains – ikeracity

Summary: Twelve-year-old Erik Lehnsherr is an angry, closed-off foster kid with trust issues and a bad temper. Ten-year-old Charles Xavier is a lonely kid in boarding school who just wants a friend.

Logan pretends he doesn't think they're both fucking adorable.

Series

Home Together (The Finding Our Way Remix) – significantowl

Summary: Erik is not the sort of person other students strike up conversations with. His expression, his posture, every part of his manner say: Don’t talk to me. I don’t want to talk to you. But none of that stops the boy ahead of him in line with the collapsible white cane, and nothing can stop Erik from falling for him, like it or not.

Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art – pocky_slash

Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby. Part of ‘the Daycare’ verse.

Walling in or Walling Out – stlkrchck

Summary: Erik stifles a sigh. Of course this is Mr. C. F. Xavier. Of course.

For the prompt: Charles and Raven are throwing a holiday party. Erik is the grumpy neighbor who is annoyed by how loud they are being. So he goes to complain, and Charles makes it up to him.

(Wise Men Say) Only Fools Rush In – wildelybroken

Summary: After reading a fic where Erik and Charles are super sluts, meet at what is presumably Raven and Emma's engagement party, and end up sleeping together, I made the following comment and just inspired myself.

"They start casually texting each other throughout the day, maybe while they’re bored or frustrated at work, and start out meeting up and sleeping together semi-frequently. And eventually they accidentally start dating without noticing it at first, not until Raven and Emma get them alone and are like “wtf you two super sluts are actually dating??” And at first they deny, but then they’re both like “holy shit, we are!” And they meet back at one of their places and they don’t have to say anything, they just look at each other and come together immediately, kissing passionately and ~making love~. In the middle of it they realise that’s what they’ve been doing for a long time now and they confess their love to each other and they live happily ever after because they deserve all the good in the world."

For Charles – Shigai

Summary: Tired of being told he has to find his 'heart', classical piano graduate Erik Lehnsherr decides to travel to Italy and drink from the famous Italian passion for music. While searching for it, he meets Charles Xavier, a graduate in Fine Arts who is basically travelling around the world perfectioning his technique, and who will turn his world upside down.

Together they will discover that, sometimes, what you thought you didn't need is what you needed the most.

Erik Hates People – Anonymous

Summary: Erik hates people- it's his rule, a way of living.

Sugar – humanitys_cutest

Summary: Erik glances at the clock for what feels like the tenth time in less than half the minutes. It feels like he's been in some meeting or other since the day started almost 10 hours ago, and he's had just about enough of listening to these pompous old men discuss what would be the best design for his building like they know anything about it. He tries as subtly as possible to massage his temples to assuage the building migraine, but he knows it's no use.

He just wants to go home.

Everyone Likes Charles – Rosawyn

Summary: '“Everyone who's met him likes him.” Cain's grin was even stupider than before. “Once you meet him, you'll see.”

It was almost like a challenge then. And damn. Erik hated saying no to a challenge.'

Still Going Strong – JackyJango

Summary: Speaking of forty-eight, Erik hates it. Hates it even more that others are aware of it. While he’s pragmatic enough to know and accept that aging is inexorable, the increase in number gives the people around him the freedom to pounce at him with questions, opinions and advice he'd fought to keep at bay all year.

Besides, Erik believes that youth is a state of mind, not a phase in one’s life.

You have a child’s mind in a man’s body, Charles constantly tells him.

But despite his age, Erik is healthy. He works out daily. His muscles are steel and he can dead-lift four hundred pounds. He can break bones without breaking a sweat. Most importantly, he can still carry Charles to the bedroom and fuck him senseless. And as long as Erik can do that, he’s perfectly happy.

All I know is pouring rain and everything has changed – hllfire

Summary: Charles meets Erik, the man he had heard about many times from his sister and some friends, on a rainy Sunday morning. The stories about Erik paint him as a distant and intimidating man, but Charles finds out that maybe the stories had been wrong.

How to Successfully Ruin Your Life – humanveil

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Charles Xavier accepts a job at his local café, expecting nothing more than a fun, new pastime. What he gets is a mysterious customer and a schoolboy crush.

Stolen – ishipitsobad

Summary: Erik is a miserable, grumpy, cantankerous bastard, and he has every fucking right to be. He drew the short end of the stick when he got the Underworld as his domain, and there isn't very much fun to be had in judging and governing dead souls who would rather be anywhere else but with Erik in the depths of Hell.

So when he meets Charles, brilliant and lovely Charles who is more popularly known amongst the mortals as Persephone, and feels the promise of something wonderful that could make his eternally doomed existence infinitely more bearable... you can bet all your drachmas Erik's not going to let Charles go any fucking time soon.

Erik Lehnsherr's Guide to Saving the Universe By Meeting Your Soul-Mate and Falling in Love in Less than 72 Hours – magneto, pangea

Summary:Army Pilot Erik Lehnsherr is just trying to enjoy his day off when a mostly naked person crashes through the roof of his car. Even more alarming, the strange falling naked person—who goes by Charles Xavier when he's not speaking an ancient dead language—brings tidings of the apparent potential end of the world, and begs Erik to help him put a stop to it.

Well. His mother has been nagging at him to go out and meet new people.

The Theory of Partnership Dynamics – Pangea

Summary: “Detective Lehnsherr, how wonderful to see you out on the job!” The fed in the front greets him as they draw nearer. He’s shorter than the other two by a full head, and he’s beaming at Lehnsherr as if completely undeterred by Lehnsherr’s paint-peeling scowl.

“What do the feds want?” Lehnsherr asks bluntly.

“You know I can’t tell you that,” the fed answers cheerfully. Then his gaze lands on Alex, and, impossibly, his grin gets even brighter. “Did you get a new partner?"

“No,” Lehnsherr says through his teeth while at the same time Alex says, “Yes.”

#fic recs #cherik fic recs #cherik #asks #earnestly answers #I'm sure there are waaaay more fics out there #might add more later

217 notes · View notes

taeyongdoyoung · 3 years

Photo

summary: you are a mermaid and you save a handsome man from drowning but little do you know it’s not his first rodeo when dealing with mermaids. seonghwa, a former prince, is currently hongjoong’s first mate and boyfriend. hongjoong is the captain, the pirate king of the most savage crew across the seas. and you want nothing to do with them. not because they’re pirates, but because they’re humans…

ships: mermaid!reader x prince/pirate!seonghwa x pirate!hongjoong; wizard!yunho x demon!jongho, pirate!yeosang x mermaid!soojin x pirate!mingi (implied)

genre: little mermaid!au, pirate!au, fantasy, humour, romance

author’s note: i can’t believe this is over omg?!?! im legit bawling my eyes out rn 😭😭 i hope you guys like the end of pirate kings because i poured my entire heart into it! 💖💖 also be on the lookout for take me home, aurora, one day at a time and promise references hehe 🌅 🌅 thank you for going on this journey across the seas with me!

warnings: some swearing, mentions of drowning & torture, bittersweet (?) ending

word count: 2.6k

chapter one ☠️ chapter two ☠️ chapter three ☠️ chapter four ☠️ chapter five ☠️chapter six ☠️ chapter seven ☠️ chapter eight ☠️ chapter nine ☠️ chapter ten ☠️ chapter eleven ☠️ chapter twelve ☠️ spotify playlist

🔮🔮🔮

Yunho's POV

My genius plan was that I would become more powerful than Jongho himself. So powerful that he wouldn't even be capable of taking my soul. So powerful that he wouldn’t even dare to try. Little did I know that as I shared my idea with Seonghwa, a certain someone was conveniently listening. Little did I know how this giant mess I'd created will play out...

Once Seonghwa was reassured that I would be perfectly safe despite the deal I had made with Jongho, he left me to my own devices. No sooner had I teleported myself back to my lighthouse than Jongho appeared out of nowhere, visibly angry. But there was something else in his expression. Something I couldn't quite define. Not yet, at least.

"How much of it did you hear?" I asked, already prepared for the worst.

"All of it," Jongho scoffed.

"Regardless," I spoke confidently. "Even if you do know what I'm planning, you can't stop me. You already know how much potential I have. Or else, you wouldn't have agreed to this deal. I'm right, no?"

Jongho shook his head.

"Your silly little plan won't work, wizard."

"Really?" I smiled, because I knew my own abilities better than he did. I was absolutely certain I could beat him. "And why is that?" I inquired, out of curiosity. He didn't scare me. Just...intrigued me.

"Because I never intended to take your soul, you fool."

Now, that was something I didn't expect to hear.

Jongho had somehow managed to catch me unprepared.

"W-what do you mean?"

"You know why I'm stealing so many souls?" I was about to open my mouth but Jongho wasn't having it. "Ah-ah, just let me finish. I know what you think. I know what everyone thinks. But it's an act. Apparently, I was too good an actor and completely fooled everyone, didn't I? The reason I've been collecting souls is not because I want to be more powerful than the devil. It's because I don't have one myself."

"H-huh?" I whispered in confusion. "Jongho, I don't understand..."

He placed a finger on my lips and I felt compelled to just...listen. Hear him out.

"But ever since I met you, I've felt...different. Like I could be more than just a demon making deals. Like I could matter."

I was too shocked to say anything so I just stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. And then he continued:

"What good would taking your soul do when you're the very reason I might be growing a soul in the first place?"

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" I had to make sure.

"I know it's fucking insane and you’re supposed to be my sworn enemy or whatever but—"

This time, I couldn't let him finish his sentence and interrupted him with my lips on his. To my absolute dismay, he was kissing me back with as much vigour as I was. As much vigour as he put into challenging me and getting on my nerves and frustrating the living hell out of me. As much vigour as I knew only he was capable of.

"I thought this was impossible," I mumbled against his lips once I broke away from the kiss.

"So did I. But do you want me to tell you how I know it's real?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to say anything else.

"Because when you look at me, I no longer feel the urge to torture you for eternity."

"I should feel flattered, I suppose," I joked.

"It's up to you how you feel, wizard," Jongho replied. "And up to me to continue making you feel this way."

"The terrifying Jongho — a hopeless romantic. Who would have thought?" I teased him relentlessly.

"It's not too late for me to change my mind and snatch your soul."

"You greedy little thing. My heart isn't good enough for you?"

"Your heart?" Jongho chuckled and wrapped his arms around my neck. "It's mine now."

☠️☠️☠️

Yeosang's POV

The more time I spent around Mingi, the more I could see how much he'd changed for the better. And how much he was about to continue changing. Despite everything that had gone down in the past, I was feeling incomprehensibly drawn to him. And I wanted to be there for him. I knew that it would take some time for the rest of the crew to get used to Mingi being out of his cell. But I was determined to give him a chance. And convince the rest of them, it was a chance worth taking. Especially my dear Soojin...

"Sangie, he literally kidnapped us and left us without water for a week!" she reasoned.

"I know. I'm not making any excuses for—"

"And he cut off your hand! Your hand, Yeosang!" she reminded me needlessly. As if I could forget.

"Like I said, I'm not going to justify Mingi's actions. All I'm asking is that you give him another chance. He's been showing remorse. And I truly believe that if the circumstances had been different, he wouldn't have behaved the way that he did."

Soojin sighed, unsure of what to say.

"People aren't born evil," I insisted. "Everyone makes choices. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. What matters is what we do to fix the bad ones."

"Yeosang...I really want to do as you say, but it just sounds so difficult, okay?"

"I'm literally a pirate, sweetheart," I rolled my eyes. "If you don't hold it against me, I don't see a problem. Mingi's not exactly the villain he's painted himself to be."

Soojin nodded thoughtfully.

"Alright. You have a point. I'll give him a chance. One chance and that's it. If he fucks up again, I'm taking him to the depths of the sea myself."

"I suppose that's fair," I shrugged. "You heard that, Mingi?"

"Loud and clear," he grinned, a couple of metres away from us.

"He was right there the whole time?!" Soojin hiss-whispered in disbelief. "This is so embarrassing."

"Oh, come on. Don't tell me you've chickened out and those were just empty threats," Mingi winked at her.

She physically shuddered and I couldn't help but laugh. So cute.

"Relax, Soojin. Mingi's our friend now. Aren't you?" I asked.

"If you want me to be," he scratched the back of his head a bit awkwardly.

"Come here, let's play cards," I suggested casually. "Loser gets to swim with the sharks."

"There are no sharks in this sea," Soojin pointed out confidently.

"Yeosang wasn't talking about actual sharks," Mingi correctly guessed. "He meant that I would have to go talk to Hongjoong and Seonghwa. Because, obviously, I'm terrible at cards and I would definitely lose the game. And these two are scarier than bloody sharks."

Soojin rolled her eyes.

"Pirates and their stupid way of talking."

"You get used to it," I playfully nudged her arm.

"There's no escape now."

"Let's skip the game," Mingi suggested. "I'll just go talk to the sharks right now and beg for mercy or whatever."

"We'll come with. Right, Soojin?" I offered.

"Like I have a choice," she groaned but I could tell that she was gradually warming up to the idea of letting Mingi stick around.

"Thanks, guys. I appreciate the moral support," Mingi blushed.

"I guess you could say...I'll be your right hand," I stared at the hook replacing my missing hand and snickered sarcastically. Mingi and Soojin were beyond mortified by my dark sense of humour. "Too soon?"

☠️☠️☠️

Hongjoong's POV

"I mean...we already had dealings with a demon and a wizard so I don't see how Mingi could pose a threat," I reasoned. "No offense, Mingi."

"None taken," he smiled.

"So, you're going to let him stay? Unguarded?" Seonghwa wanted to know.

"Let him stay — yes. Unguarded — no. If you're so insistent he's changed, you'll have to take full responsibility. You think you can handle that, Yeosang?" I posed the serious question.

"I've got this, Cap," Yeosang promised.

"I'll be around, too," Soojin vowed. "You don't have to worry, Cap."

I nodded in agreement. Seonghwa seemed to be on board with the idea. Honestly, after all the shit we'd been through with that demon, Mingi was the least of my concerns. But of course, I couldn't say that directly. So I had to play the "responsible leader worried for his crew" card. And apparently, I played it well.

"Wow, this went better than expected," I could hear Mingi whispering to Yeosang, as they were walking away. Seonghwa and I exchanged an amused look.

"Shh, we just caught him in a good mood," Yeosang explained carefully. "Be nice and he might let you stay for good."

"Guys, be quiet!" Soojin warned them. Clever mermaid, I told myself and grinned. Speaking of mermaids...

"Not so fast!" Y/N ordered them to stop. And so they did. Rightaway. Made me wonder who was the real Captain of this ship. Not that I minded her taking away some of my responsibilities. I even liked it.

"Yes?" Yeosang seemed kinda nervous.

"Make sure you treat my sister well. Both of you!" Y/N commanded them easily. "Or else...I'll have no problem letting the siren out to deal with you. And she's not someone you want to mess with. Ask Hongjoong."

The shock on my face was not at all exaggerated as I nodded to confirm her words.

"She'll be safe with us, Y/N," Yeosang made a pledge. "Right, Mingi?"

"Um, yeah, what he said."

"You don't sound very convincing," Y/N eyed him suspiciously.

Damn, I had to admit I was proud of her and how much she'd grown.

"Oh, let him go this time, will you?" I pulled her aside gently and she couldn't find it in herself to argue. Once Yeosang, Soojin and Mingi had taken their leave, she removed her "intimidating siren" mask and was back to her usual, gentle self I knew and loved.

"You guys think we made the right call?"

"It'll be fine," I was fairly certain. "If push comes to shove, Yunho will just help us out again, right?"

"As if he doesn't have enough problems with that demon," Y/N argued. "We can't continue using him for our needs."

"Yeah...about that," Seonghwa started.

☠️☠️☠️

Seonghwa's POV

As I was telling them about Yunho and Jongho's change in dynamics, Hongjoong and Y/N were too taken aback to react with anything else but by opening their mouths. Which was, to say the least, quite adorable of them.

"So...these two...?" Y/N asked as if to confirm what I'd just finished recounting.

"Mhm," I grinned.

"Wow," Hongjoong managed.

"I know."

"This is good news, yes? It means both Hongjoong and Yunho get to keep their souls," Y/N wanted to make sure it was indeed real.

"I mean, demons can be pretty unpredictable but judging from Yunho's happy expression when I last talked to him, I'm willing to be hopeful for once," I explained. "We've had enough trouble as it is, don't you think? We deserve something good to happen to us."

"Couldn't agree more," Hongjoong grabbed my hand and Y/N's. "But I get what she means. After all the dangers we've experienced, it just seems so unbelievable that we're finally safe."

"Too good to be true, eh?" Y/N sighed. "Let's enjoy this while we can."

"I think this one will last a bit longer," I smiled knowingly.

"Hey, don't jinx it," Hongjoong squeezed my hand softly.

"Just trust me, alright?" I looked at them both.

"I do."

"As do I."

"And I'm gonna catch you when you fall or when you're sinking," I murmured.

"I think I speak from experience when I say I'm the one more likely to save a pirate from drowning," Y/N poked fun at us.

"I was just trying to sound poetic," I pouted.

"And we appreciate the effort," Hongjoong reassured me. "But she's right."

"You two turning against me? Oh, how the tables have turned!" I announced dramatically.

"Don't pretend you don't like it," Y/N ran a hand through my hair and tilted her head towards Hongjoong. "He likes it, doesn't he, Cap?"

"I bet he does."

"Hey, Y/N. My eyes are up here," I reminded her.

"Oh, I know," she blinked, feigning innocence.

"Too bad I can't even be mad at you," I chuckled.

"Why be mad when you can be rad?" Hongjoong interjected.

"That was so terrible," I groaned. "You're lucky I love you."

"Both of us?" Y/N asked hopefully.

"Unfortunately," I admitted.

"Guess we'll have to work harder to turn that into a fortunately," Y/N teased. "Wait, my bad. I forgot you two already have a wholeass fortune in the form of a bunch of treasure chests."

"Is that why you like us?" Hongjoong teased. "Who knew mermaids could be golddiggers?"

"I'll show you a golddigger!" Y/N threatened and started chasing Hongjoong around the ship. They were so childish sometimes...

🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️🧜‍♀️

Reader's POV

You could tell that you had a couple of more minutes left until your siren-like side rose to the surface so you decided to enjoy them. As you were watching the sun setting, you couldn't help but recall your very first memories of Seonghwa and Hongjoong. What started as a simple joke, Hongjoong throwing Seonghwa overboard, followed by you saving Seonghwa from a whirlpool, had turned into so much more. It was funny how life often surprised you in the most unexpected ways. How a few months ago, if anyone asked you about pirates (and humans, in general), you would have scoffed distastefully. If anyone asked Seonghwa about mermaids, he would have still been haunted by the loss of Ariel. If anyone asked Hongjoong, he would have said mermaids spelled nothing but danger. And now...Now, the three of you had become so different. And in a way, so similar. Forgetting all these labels that once used to define you and just finding happiness in each other. In the adventures you'd had together. In the shared feeling of being trusted, feeling known. And loved. It was even funnier how you didn't find it strange at all. On the contrary, it felt perfectly natural that you were here. Made perfect sense that you had a home with Seonghwa and Hongjoong. A former prince, a pirate king and a lost but now found mermaid. You wouldn't have it any other way.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" you said out loud, sensing Seonghwa's presence beside you.

"Yes, it is," Seonghwa replied, looking at you.

"I have to go soon."

"But you'll be back in the morning. As usual."

You simply smiled. It went without saying.

"I wish I could stay the night," you whispered longingly. "Fall asleep in your arms."

"You could. I know you'll be able to control your powers. I'm sure Hongjoong will agree with me."

"I probably could control them. But I don't mind going back to my home in the night. Even though...this is also my home. Does it make sense?"

"I believe it does," Seonghwa rubbed calming circles on your palm. "Just like how you have a human and mermaid self, you also have two homes."

You nodded.

"Exactly."

"In a way, I feel the same. Both you and Hongjoong are my homes."

You rested your forehead against his.

"And we will always be your homes, Hwa."

"Don't go," he murmured against your skin. "I don't want to be alone anymore. Every night."

"You're not alone anymore. You have Hongjoong. And me. And I will be back with the first light of day."

"Promise?"

"I promise you, Seonghwa. Even if the whole world ends, I will always find my way back to you."

The end

#ateez #seonghwa #hongjoong #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #seongjoong #yunho #jongho #yeosang #mingi #ateez fic #ateez romance #pirate au #mermaid au #writing

41 notes · View notes

egcdeath · 3 years

Text

wrong place, wrong time

summary: a drunken mishap leads you to reconcile with someone from your past. (based off this prompt)

pairing: andy barber x reader

word count: 2.1k

author’s note: this fic has been sitting in my drafts, half finished, for like months. i hope you enjoy!

warnings: extremely brief mention of cheating

“I just think things would be better if we… you know, saw other people,” Oliver explained through the phone.

You sighed dejectedly into the microphone, before deciding to hang up, and aggressively tossing your phone onto the leather seat next to you. You’d already had a shit day at work, and you really didn’t think that you could handle all of this today. Especially considering that you were almost certain that there was the hint of a feminine giggle in the background of that call.

You’d been expecting this for a while, your relationship with Oliver had been falling apart- slowly but surely- for a few months now, and he was ‘working late’ way too many nights for you not to be the slightest bit suspicious. But it still hurt, you were now single, and you’d essentially wasted a precious year of your life with a douchebag who ended up leaving you anyway.

You pressed your foot on the gas, and began your drive back home, before telling yourself fuck it, and deciding to turn onto a side road so you could head to your local pub.

-----

Several drinks later, you were extremely drunk. From that point on, everything was a bit of a blur.

You stumbled out of the bar (against your own will? You vaguely remember someone telling you that you needed to leave), sat in the back of an Uber (how much did you tell them? Probably too much), arrived at your home (but why weren’t your keys working?).

Things were a bit less blurry here. You can remember yourself repeatedly stabbing your keys into the door, and when that didn’t seem to work, deciding to hoist yourself over your fence, and get in through the back.

During this whole ordeal, you tripped over a seat on the patio, losing a shoe in doing so, and nearly fell into a pool, since when did my house have a pool? You ignored that thought, then opened the back door, getting in with no resistance.

You hobbled inside, closed the door behind you, then stumbled up the stairs, before finally finding your (?) bedroom. You flopped down in bed before realizing that you really needed to pee, and as you went to go find your bathroom, everything seemed to go black.

----

You woke up extremely disoriented in a vaguely familiar bathtub. It faintly smelled of pine, and possibly a hint of vanilla. The tub had a modern and sleek look, yet appeared to be as sterile as a hospital room. This was absolutely not your home. But it possibly belonged to someone you knew. The tiles lining the wall did seem to ring a bell somewhere deep in the foggy abyss of your hungover brain.

As you sat up, you groaned due to the consistent pulsing in your head. This had to be one of the worst hangovers you’d had in a while, and you were lucky that you didn’t lean over and empty the contents of your stomach right that instant.

“Stupid fucking Y/N,” you whispered to yourself. “You’re lucky all of your organs are still intact.” After stating this, you glanced down at your torso just to make sure. But a larger question still remained, where were you? Did you hook up with someone? Did you just randomly break into someone’s home? That’s a little ridiculous. Who would do something like that?

Apparently, drunk you would. In the process of exiting the tub, you concluded that you absolutely were in someone elses' gargantuan of a home, and that that person was undoubtedly down the hall, taking a phone call. Also, you were definitely missing a shoe.

You glared at yourself in the mirror, smeared makeup on your face, hair that looked so frizzy that you may as well have been struck by lightning, and of course the overwhelming scent of dry liquor that seemed to be seeping out of your skin. You turned on the sink and splashed your face, trying to completely wake up, and to partially figure out if this was real life, or just a horrible dream.

“Fuck!” you exclaimed out loud to yourself. How would you even get out of this situation alive? Perhaps you could find a window to jump out of. No, too dangerous. Hide in the bathroom until the man leaves? Well, everyone has to go to the bathroom at some point. Leave without being spotted? Mhm, very likely. Go talk to the homeowner? It doesn’t seem like you have any other option right now. You internally screamed at yourself for being so reckless, especially having gone through all of this drama for a guy who didn’t deserve one ounce of your attention.

You slipped off your remaining shoe, then slowly made your way out of the bathroom, peeking behind the doorway to see if the coast was clear, and trying to plan your explanation in the process. As you peered around, searching for the quickest and easiest exit, you realized just how familiar the home was. But what really did it for you was a painting on the wall.

This was Andy Barber’s home. The same man you hooked up with a few times before ghosting. You sighed exasperatedly at your own poor decision making for what felt like the millionth time that morning.

You had to get the hell out of here. Fast. Lost shoe be damned.

You somewhat remembered the floor plan, so managing to get out unnoticed began to seem just a tad bit more possible. You began to jog it down the hall, trying not to be too heavy footed as you went, in the event that Andy was standing in the eyeline of one of the open doors. Unfortunately for you, in the midst of your beeline down the hall, you were spotted.

“What the..? You know what Lynn, I’ll call you back in a bit.”

“I can explain! Don’t like… kill me or something. I promise you that this is just a big misunderstanding,” you were speaking without really processing anything that you were saying. You turned to face the man, and couldn’t help but to smirk a bit at the sight of him. You forgot just how attractive he was, with a full beard, fluffy hair, and soft blue eyes that seemed to be boring straight into your soul from across the room. Not to mention his sculpted body, which you swore you could make out beneath his sweatpants, and worn white shirt. Really, Y/N? First you ghost a man, break into his home a year later, and now you’re objectifying him?

You moved towards the door and began to speak again, your words flowing out at a million miles per minute, “Uhm, so long story short, I basically got really drunk last night, and I thought your house was mine, so I kinda broke in. But I’ll be seeing myself out now,” You gave a curt smile, and looked towards the stairs. “Before I go, any chance that you’ve seen my left shoe somewhere around here?”

It was clear that Andy was very confused, but as you read his face, you could see that he was far more intrigued than angry. “Hey, not so fast.” He approached you quickly, his eyebrows lifting in surprise, and his mouth gaping open slightly. “No fuckin’ way. Y/N?”

You scratched the back of your head awkwardly and nodded, “yeah.”

“You’re not getting off the hook that easily. Lucky for you, I was about to make breakfast, aaaand I’m not totally opposed to being joined,” he gave you a genuine smile, and a playful little shrug.

“That’s fine with me but- this sounds kinda strange- can I use your shower first?”

“Go right ahead. Mi casa su casa, right? I mean, kinda sounds like that’s what you were thinking last night,” Andy peered at you inquisitively at this, “I’m just kidding. Feel free to use anything you need.”

You couldn’t even blame Andy for his passive aggression, but that didn’t stop you from sulking the whole way back into the bathroom.

----

“I forgot how good your water pressure is,” you announced while coming down the stairs, clad in a college hoodie that you’d found in the depths of Andy’s closet, and shorts that were just a tad too large for you.

“Thanks, I guess?” Andy flipped a pancake, then turned to get a good look at you.

“You’re welcome. It smells so good down here,” you slipped into a barstool at his granite island, and observed him while he cooked, “so... you still live here alone?” You asked while you were passed a mug of coffee.

“Well, yeah. I mean that’s kind of what happens after your wife and son die.”

“Uhm.. sorry. For bringing that up again,” you glanced down awkwardly at your dark drink.

“It’s okay, they’ve been gone for a while,” he sat down at his seat, setting down a plate of food for you and himself. “What’ve you been up to? Apart from breaking and entering, of course.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” you began, cutting into a syrup-soaked pancake. “You’re no saint either. I can’t think of anyone in their right mind who would gladly break bread with someone who drunkenly broke into their home.”

“That’s fair,” Andy stated, almost dismissively. “But it's not like we’re total strangers. We have history.”

You scoffed at this, “like hell we do,” you muttered. “Anyway, things with me have been pretty boring. Same job. I had a boyfriend, but he just dumped me like, 12 hour ago. I’m pretty sure that he’s been cheating on me for like, the past four months.”

“That sucks,” Andy commented, shoveling a piece of pancake into his mouth.

“Yeah, it does. How about you?”

“You know, same old. Still an ADA, still getting messages from random people about that trial, and of course, still perpetually lonely.”

“By no means do I mean to impede, but maybe you’d be a little less lonely if you let people in,” you suggested, looking up from your food to Andy, whose face gave away the offense he was feeling, “I said maybe.”

“What do you mean?” He questioned, brows furrowing.

“Come on, Andrew. You know exactly what I mean. Like with us, I thought everything was going perfectly well, until I was half asleep and you were telling me that you weren’t ready to commit. Literally moments after you were balls-deep in me.”

“Don’t call me that, Y/N,” Andy squinted at you in agitation. “Is that why you stopped picking up my calls?”

“What do you think?”

He sighed softly, “If it’s any consolation, I’ve been trying to do better. I talk to a… counselor… every now and then. Everything’s just been different ever since they passed, you know? It’s hard to form connections after your most intimate ones disappear in the blink of an eye.”

You frowned a bit at the man, and set down your fork. “I get it. I’m sorry.”

“Do you, though? Get it?”

“Not really. I was just trying to be supportive,” you turned a bit in your seat to get a better view of Andy. “I just wonder if we had this conversation a year ago if you and I would be in a better position now. I really liked you a lot.”

Andy was silent for a moment, and observed you pensively. “Let’s try again, then. It seems like you and I both are ready for something new.”

“Oh Andy,” you rubbed the back of your neck anxiously. “I just got out of a relationship less than a day ago.”

“Then we can take this, whatever it might end up being, slow. It would be nice to have a friend around who doesn’t just want to talk about work, and tell me that they’re sorry for my loss.”

You nodded, “I’ll probably need a shoulder to cry on at some point sooner than later.”

“So... friends?”

“Friends,” you agreed with a smile and a lift of your shoulders.

Part of you hoped that maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something great.

#andy barber x reader #defending jacob #chris evans x reader #andy barber x you #hey i wrote that lol

123 notes · View notes

passionesolja · 3 years

Text

First off, shoutout @everlastinq for bringing up this wonderful point.

I wanna give my thoughts on why I think this is.

Okay, so at the core of Pre-Disney Star Wars was this idea of corruption and politics. It’s all pretty naturalistic and doesn’t beat you over the head.

In the end of the OT, we meet Emperor Palpatine and he’s this decaying 40 year old man in face paint elderly sorcerer man who faces a justifiably anti climatic end. Which I think is fitting. Long live Sheev.

So as a viewer, you’re like “wow that guy is scary as hell. No one would willing vote him in. He had to be a dictator coup guy.”

But then you go to the Prequels and you see that Emperor Palpatine became Emperor through non-nefarious means on a surface level.

He started off as Senator, got legally and ethically voted in as Chancellor, then in a great time of turmoil and unrest hailed himself as Emperor and basically everyone wanted Sheev to be that because he was beloved.

That’s pretty realistic like it can happen anywhere. Even in a place as esteemed and long standing as the Republic.

The dictators don’t come in as people you hate, they typically are disguised as people you like.

We move on to the Sith.

The Sith. The Darkside. Scary bitches because in the OT, we see them as inhuman monsters like Palpatine and Vader.

As an audience member, you’re like “man fuck the sith I would never be one”.

But the Prequels come in and basically say “yeah the darkside is just when you use the force while giving into negative emotions like anger, hatred, greed, etc.”

Then shit becomes complicated. Because those are normal emotions to have.

If you don’t hate anything, you’re complacent in life.

If you never get angry at anything then you become apathetic.

If you aren’t greedy, then you never strive for better because you’re fully content.

The water is muddled by this further explanation. Hell, it’s complacency and going with the flow of the force mentality that causes the Jedi to fall.

They’re so invested in the Force that their eyes are closed, meanwhile the Sith have their eyes on the prize and are ambitious enough to play a thousand year long game while the Jedi chill with the force—doing jackshit besides revel in their republic given power.

And by all means, the Sith legally get rid of the Jedi with the same laws that the Jedi used to get rid of them.

This is pretty complex and shit is still the cause of debate even today because all of this shit depends on your perspective in life.

These are just two examples of countless.

However

Disney buys Star Wars and disney has a very simplistic moralistic message. Shit is easy to digest.

You’re basically watching hugbox films.

I’ll be real, mostly all their films are pretty boring but then again I’m not a small child so I accept they’re not for me.

Which is fine if you’re watching a Pixar movie but Star Wars is a political science fiction drama.

And disney being disney, they can’t give you anything but a “heroes are always heroes and no nuance allowed”.

This is why shit just doesn’t hit the same. Characters aren’t allowed to be anything but good if they’re heroes, and pure evil if they’re bad.

Hell, we see this bullshit with Cruella in that stupid flop ass live action film.

A character just can’t be bad, no we gotta have a so sad pity party because her dumbass mom got jumped by dogs.

Dumbest shit ever, whoever wrote that script should be ashamed.

What we’re seeing with Star Wars is an active and premeditated sterilIzation of any nuance, edge, or depth the series once had because Disney doesn’t operate in anything other than comfortable hugbox movies for small children and disney loving adults.

Shit is sad. And I don’t fuck with it. I never will.

#star wars #sw prequels #sw sequels #original trilogy #sw #sw hc #sw headcanons #sw memes #sw meta #long post #sw discourse #star wars meta

11 notes · View notes

re1d · 4 years

Text

different lifetime | spencer reid

→ summary: “only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.” - george elio → warnings: maeve’s death, graphic descriptions of murder, mentions of depression and drug use, basically major angst but a fluff ending → word count: 4.4k (ouchie mama she’s a slow burn) → a/n: based on no.74 from the prompt list ; “let go.” “i can’t.” // cassandra stop making spencer cry in her stories challenge : FAILED // also this is my first time using time skips n i kinda dont like it :[[ i hope u guys enjoy it tho !!

Books are ripped from his shelves, and Spencer can’t see straight. Papers fly around him as he relishes in the feeling of the pages cutting into the skin of his fingers. Blood forms and begins to drip, but he can’t bring himself to clean it up. His mom would’ve chastized him in that moment for damaging the worlds with his reckless touch. However, his whole world had just been destroyed as well. Pictures of Maeve traipse through his brain at an agonizingly slow pace; they mock him and wait for him to snap. And, he feels as though it’s finally time to do so.

Spencer screeches into the silence of his apartment, undoubtedly waking up his neighbors and possibly even alerting the police. He tears through his hair with bloodcrusted hands and debates on wrenching it out from the roots. Sitting on the floor in a puddle of sorrow and anguish, Spencer sobs. It’s the first time in his life that he’s been so consumed with grief and guilt that he can’t even muster the strength to stand. He merely clutches The Narritive of John Smith to his chest and continues to fall apart.

As tears run down his cheeks, he denies everything that happened in the last few hours. Maeve is still going to meet him after work next Wednesday.You didn’t cover him with your FBI jacket after she was shot. The blood that poured from the gunshot wound in her head was fake. It was a joke—a painful, stupid, not-at-all funny joke. Tomorrow, he would enter the office, ride the elevator up, and make casual conversation with all of his work friends. Thoughts race through his mind, and he finds himself laughing. Laughing. A voice in the back of his head tells him that he’s in shock, that he’s not well. Another voice tells him that he’ll never be well.

He doesn’t know who to believe.

A rhythmic knock on his door sounds, and Spencer pretends not to hear it. He knows it’s you. Part of him is screaming to let you in, telling him to accept the comfort you’ve come to give him. But, he decides he isn’t ready. Not yet. So, you decide to wait. For Spencer, you’d wait until time itself no longer existed.

Night approaches faster than you think. The sun is a paintbrush as it dips into the horizon and paints one of the most beautiful sunsets you’ve ever seen. It’s merely a passing thought, but you hope Spencer wills himself to see the pleasant combination of warm oranges and deep reds that are smoothed across the dusk sky. Glancing down at your watch, you read the tiny numbers with tired eyes—8:02PM—and, that’s when you realize you’ve been sitting for so long that your butt has gone numb. You register the pins and needles beginning to poke at your backside, but you make no move to stand or to leave. All you do is lean back, your head thumping gently against Spencer’s door while closing your eyes.

Spencer has no knowledge of the countless baskets of goodies from Garcia or the small notes that JJ has left behind after her short visits come to a close. He doesn’t even know that you’re still outside of his apartment. He knows nothing but the monotonous whir of his air conditioning and the smell of Thai food coming from his living room. Spencer tries to focus on anything but Maeve, but his mind is scattered, fragmented. He grows frustrated at the fact that his thoughts are moving too fast to collect. Blood. Bodies. Sweat. Tears. The feeling of your hands on his shoulders. Normally, Spencer is excellent at compartmentalizing trauma, but not this time. Not when his first true love had been so unfairly stolen from him.

Rage simmers inside of him as the clock strikes twelve. He clenches his fists, resisting the overwhelming urge to scream once more. Instead, he palms for the book nearest to him. With his original, hard cover, full-Russian version of War and Peace in his hand, he swings his arm as hard as he can at his door. Specks of dust fall from the frame at the impact, and a chip is now visible in both the book and the wood. Spencer hears a small yelp from the other side, and finally, something other than grief overtakes him. Confusion and anxiety course through him as he forces himself to stand, grabbing a kitchen knife before launching his door open.

You topple over, crushing his toes under the full weight of your upper body. Profanities are exchanged as your stare flicks nervously between his face and the butcher knife in his grasp.

“[Y/N]?! What are you still doing here?!” He means to sound angry, but the rasp in his voice does the emotion no justice. The weakness in his words is easily detected, and you find yourself studying his features from the ground. You’re profiling him, but you can’t help it. His shoulders are hunched, his five o’clock shadow has turned to six, and his eyes dart cautiously around your face. It’s as if he’s making sure you don’t see the torture his own mind is subjecting his body to.

“Well,” you begin, tone gentle, “I came to see you, but you didn’t open the door. So, I thought that I would wait you out, you know? Just to make sure that if you needed someone to talk to, that I would be there—ready to listen.”

Spencer’s expression is blank, his eyes having stopped their search a long time ago. “How would you have stayed? You have work, [Y/N]. Work that we both know doesn’t stop for time to mourn.” There’s bitter vitriol in his words; he can’t bring himself to care about how they effect you for the time being. But, you don’t mind. It’s only natural. Finally pushing yourself up from the floor, you stare through him and have to fight the need to place a hand on his shoulder, to try to connect with him. The two of you are still separated by the threshold of his door, but it feels as though the Grand Canyon itself is in between.

“Spencer, I can’t even begin to fathom what you’re going through, but—.”

“No,” his retort is clipped, “you can’t. Goodbye, [Y/N].” The door is slammed once again, leaving you stunned to to silence. Sure, you had expected Spencer to be different, but nothing like that. Torrents of rain pound against the roof of his building as dread flows steadily through you at the thought of having to step into it. Nonetheless, you collect your things and head into the office hoping to distract yourself until you’re really supposed to be in for work. The time is 12:54AM, and as you attempt to hail a taxi in the storm, a chill travels down your spine. It’s hard to tell what caused it—the thought of leaving Spencer alone or the copious amounts of coffee you will inevitably be consuming later today.

────

Eight o’clock rolls around quicker than you hope. From the corner of your eye, you spot Penelope and JJ walking in together, their normally bright faces marred with concern. Eventually, the clicking of their heels comes to a halt in front of your desk. JJ takes a seat on top of the files you’re working, moving your recently emptied mug out of the way with a tight smile. Garcia’s crosses her arms with a hmph as she stares down at you. Neither of the women are hostile—it’s moreso agressive curiosity.

“So, [Y/N] ...” JJ’s voice trails off a bit, “You saw Spence?” The nature of the question is pure. Worry is evident in her words, but as you try to answer, nothing comes from your mouth.

Garcia cups your face in her hands, squeezing your cheeks to the point of discomfort. “[Y/N]. All we wanna know is that he’s okay?” She declares, “If you perhaps could comfirm if he has gotten my muffin basket, that would also be nice—but, Boy Wonder’s safety is always first!” The chipper mask she uses to hide the pain is crumbling away, and it’s easy to see.

“Honestly, guys ... He doesn’t look good. Spencer—he, uh, his apartment is a mess, like, books everywhere, three day old Thai food in the living room. I’m worried about him—and, Garcia, he hasn’t touched anything outside his door. It’s kinda like he’s trying to fight reality.” Your explanation is obviously hard for the two women to listen to. JJ’s face is turned down, her bottom lip tucked in between her teeth. Penelope’s colorful appearance seems to dim as words continue to fall from your mouth. She gapes, evidently trying to come up with something to say, but her phone chimes.

“Jeez,” Penelope drags in a sharp intake of air, “this is a bad one. Hotch wants us in the conference room ASAP.”

Sitting around the round table, you take in the information about the case. Two people, a man and a woman, bore holes in the insides of their thighs, exsanguinated. But, there is no other chatter, no normal banter, no tossing around ideas. Only silence, and you feel as though you’re falling. Once you stand, your knees wobble and your hands shoot out to grab JJ’s shoulders. Her presence itself is an ocean of calm as she works to steady you.

“[Y/N] ... maybe you should stay with Garcia on this one? I’m sure she could use the company.” Although not forceful, JJ’s words are more of a command than anything, but you make the executive decision to dismiss them with a shake of your head. As you walk up the stairs leading to the jet, your stomach churns with the intensity of a thousand tigers.

The absolute quietude on the plane is staggering, and until Garcia’s digitalized face appears on the screen, no one dares to say a word. She briefs everyone that another body has been discovered, and Hotch moves directly onto assignments. “[Y/N] and Morgan, go to the ME and see if the blood results have come back, yet. Blake and Dave, head to the newest crime scene. JJ and I will start working with the local PD.”

As you stare out at the clouds, you wish so desperately to be one of them. Oh, to be a big ball of water and ice crystals and not have a care in the world. The sun reflects off of the white, and when you turn away from the window, you can just barely see Morgan’s form sitting in the leather seat across from you. A pensive frown is present on his lips, his eyes tracing your body, looking for something to tip him off as to what you’re feeling.

Eventually, he finds that he can’t pick you apart. It seems as though each layer he tears through, another is waiting to conceal the truth. “Alright, kid,” he starts, a light air of humor in his voice, “I’ll bite. What’re you thinkin’ about so hard over here?” To be completely honest, you’re positive that he already knows the answer.

“Spence.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

Morgan crosses his arms in front of his chest. It’s a tic; he does it when he’s upset. You watch him as he racks his brain for something to change the subject to, but the sigh he omits is a signal that he’s going to try to talk to you about him. Alarm bells shriek in your head, and the sound is deafening. You force yourself to resist the urge to cover your ears, knowing that it wouldn’t do anything.

“So, kid. Even though you’re pretty good at hiding it, you need to tell me what you’re really thinking, okay? I know you saw Reid, but that’s not what I wanna know about. Something else is buggin’ you—I can tell.” He’s beating you up with each word. A punch to the gut, a kick to the face, an elbow to the side—it’s relentless. He knows something is wrong, but you can’t tell him that you’ve been in love Spencer since the third month working at the BAU. It’ll ruin you—not your reputation or your future—it’ll ruin you. Your mind, your body, your heart. Even though you ache to tell just one person, your mouth won’t let you. But, your heart seems to win the fight.

“Derek, I—,” you pause, your voice giving out, “I’m in love with him. I’ve been in love with him. And now, I don’t know what to do.” Your colleague searches for words, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. He merely stares, his mouth a thin line. Discomfort settles in the space between the two of you, its thickness is probably felt by the rest of the team on the plane. You catch JJ’s glances at the both of you, but they go unacknowledged.

────

Spencer goes through the third stage of grief alone. Bargaining. The stage where he’s in grave need to talk to someone, he is only himself. His hands shake as he pours a cup of coffee, attempting to use the caffeine to stay awake. As the sun rises, a thought in the back of his mind sounds. It tells him that he’s been wearing the same clothes for the past four days. His sweat, blood, and tears have collected on the fabric, and even still, he doesn’t care.

The only thing he’s aware of is the fact that if he wouldn’t have tried to meet Maeve, she would still be alive. He curses Blake and his innate curiosity, and he curses the fact that his first words to her were, “I don’t love you. Sorry.” He curses the feeling of your jacket over his shoulders and the immense okayness that it brought to him, even while staring at Maeve’s body splayed in front of him.

Looking around at each book on the floor of his apartment, they somehow remind him of her. Some made him want to remember her happily, others made him want to vomit up his heart and cut it into a thousand pieces. If he had only said the right thing, maybe she would still be alive. Maybe they would’ve held each other tight and moved on. Maybe they would’ve gone out for three or four years, and then maybe she would’ve gotten pregnant. Maybe there would’ve been a miniature version of him with Maeve’s smile and his eyes. Maybe he would’ve been happy.

Spencer spits up bile into his kitchen sink. Happy? He’s not even sure he knows the meaning of the word anymore. Grabbing the handle of his coffee pot, he pours and pours until the scalding hot liquid burns through his mismatched socks. Wordlessly, tears brim in his eyes. Reaching down, he plucks off the soaked fabric and merely stands at the counter, staring down into the seemingly endless mug.

His phone chirps and effectively pulls him from his trance. Although there’s plenty of time to walk over and answer it, Spencer just reads Morgan’s caller ID and lets it ring. It goes to voicemail and immediately Morgan’s words fill the empty air.

“Hey, Reid, it's Derek. Listen, I got a work question for you. The unsub's exsanguinating victims and removing their eyelids antemortem. Does that mean anything to you? Hit me back.”

Ideas are weaving in and out of the genius’ head. Trudging over to his couch, he presses the call button and waits for Morgan to pick up. It takes less than two rings before the line clicks and he’s in the presence of someone else for a change. Spencer sits in silence, not speaking until spoken to. He feels like a kid, but truthfully, he doesn’t have enough energy to say more than he needs to.

“Hey kid, you’ve got me and [Y/N].”

“Hi, Spencer.”

The sound of your voice is a drive taken at the dead of night where all you can hear is nature. It’s a thousand waves of calm. Instead of giving you both an answer, Spencer revels in the small greeting. Maybe if things were different, he would’ve fallen in love with you first.

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out at first. He debates on slamming the phone back into the receiver, but decides against it. “Have the cornea or pupils been harmed in any way?” Morgan says no. “If he's taking care not to damage the eyes, then line of sight is probably what's important to him.”

“So this guy wants them to see what he’s doing.” Morgan pauses and the whole line goes quiet. Spencer yearns to hear your voice just once more before he hangs up. And, by the grace of a seemingly wrathful God, he does. But, it’s not exactly a question he’s prepared to answer.

“Hey, Spencer ...” You trail off. It appears as though you’re thinking through your next words, but you settle on a simple inquiry. “How are you?”

“I gotta go,” Spencer replies.

The line goes dead.

────

The case ends up being solved with the help of your Boy Wonder. However, as you board the plane alongside him, it’s obvious that he doesn’t feel very wondrous. Plopping down into the seat across from him—similar to what Derek had done—you shoot him a tender grin. JJ’s shoulder rests above your head, and Morgan stands, taking up the whole aisle.

“So,” JJ begins, “I counted—what—five baskets?”

“Seven, but I think Ms. Cavanaugh next door may have taken a couple.” Her laughter mixes with yours in a melody that brightens the atmosphere in the jet. Morgan snickers in the background, but all Spencer is focused on is your smile. A pang of warmth spreads through him for the first time in a long time, even though a frown is turning his lips down. JJ and Morgan eventually migrate to their respective spots—JJ on the couch ans Morgan with his head against the wall and his earbuds plugged into his ears.

You pick up on the scowl on his features and pat the table to attract his attention. He meets your gentle gaze with hesitant eyes. “Why the long face, Doc?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but he can’t even force out a laugh. Spencer succumbs to the monster that guilt presents itself as, cupping his cheeks and pulling down on his face. He tries to rid himself of the grime, the dirt, he feels on his body, but he doesn’t think it’ll ever go away.

“I dunno,” he slurs through exhaustion, “I was just thinking about how I acted when you came over, and I-I guess ... I just wanted to apolog—.”

“Spencer.” The severity in your tone shakes him to the core. His eyes widen as his mouth comes to a close. “Don’t apologize to me. You’re grieving, it’s only natural that you’d be angry. It was forgotten after it happened, okay? I promise you—we’re good.” There’s something you want to add, and Spencer can practically feel the words itching to come out. “And, Spence? If you need anything—anything at all—please, just ask. Please.”

His mind wanders back to his messy apartment, and he ponders the thought of asking you to help him clean. His mouth moves on autopilot, speaking before he even knew what to say. “Actually, if you don’t mind, I could use some help with something.”

“Of course. Name it, Spencer.”

When the wheels hit the ground, you and Spencer sit and wait for everyone else to clear out of the jet. Morgan and JJ squeeze his shoulder on the way out, and Blake shoots him a motherly smile. The sorrow in her eyes is blatant, but it travels to the back of your mind as soon as she passes. Standing up, you gesture in front of you, allowing Spencer an exit before you head down the stairs. He offers you a ghost of a grin, and it makes your heart bound in your chest. You didn’t remember signing up to run a marathon after this case.

The short stroll to Spencer’s Volvo in spent in a surprisingly comfortable silence. It is full of shy glances and small smiles, and you can practically feel yourself falling for him all over again. Climbing into his car, you turn on the radio to a classical station. Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major plays at a low volume, causing you to close your eyes and lean back against the headrest. The old car hums to life, igniting a sense of nostalgia deep in your soul. The drive to his apartment passes by in what feels like seconds, and he takes the keys and moves to open your door.

Giggling, you step out of his antique. The gravel crunches against the bottoms of your boots as you walk next to him up to his door. “So, this is the elusive Dr. Spencer Reid’s humble abode?” There’s a lighthearted teasing in your voice, “It’s cute. I like it. What d’you need me to do?” He cocks an eyebrow, looking around at the books scattered across his floor and he wonders how someone could find beauty in this. And then, he realizes that he’s standing next to you—Penelope Garcia’s closest confidant—and another question replaces it. Was there anything you couldn’t find beauty in?

“Well .... we should probably start with the books, and then, we can move on to the Thai food.” A grimace appears on his face and you laugh at the way it scrunches, “And, after that, we can talk.” The statement is more of a question, but it still makes you unbelievably jittery.

With a nod, you bend down to pick up story after story, every so often becoming enchanted by the bindings that surrounded the little worlds. Spencer crouches and pulls out a vinyl, placing it on the record player and lowering the needle. Once more, Chopin’s Nocturne in E Flat Major fills the air, the static of the record scratching every once in a while. “I noticed that you liked it in the car,” he murmurs, “I’m more of a Waltz in A Minor type of guy, but Nocturne in E Flat Major Op. 9 No. 2 is always a good pick.”

“I just love Chopin, to be honest,” you say, picking up the copy of War and Peace sitting at the threshold of his door, “his pieces are all good, really. They’re all great creating pieces, you know? Like, I could just sit, listen to them, and make up stories in my head for days.”

You’re making up one right now. It’s a sunny day, as opposed to the inky blackness outside his apartment window, and you and Spencer are walking down an ambiguous dirt path. Woods surround you as well as sounds of nature, birds sing and branches snap under your feet. There is no air of danger, and all you can feel is the warm pressure of Spencer’s hand in yours. A cool breeze kisses your cheeks, forcing you to stop and take it in. Spencer comes to a halt, his gaze shifting to you. Smiling, you both move towards each other like plants to the sun. Captivation, charm, magnetism. It’s inevitable, like the meteor that destroyed the first inhabitants of earth so long ago. You move closer and closer to one another; it feels as though you’re floating, you’re gravitating towards him—.

“You know, if you’re that fascinated by East of Eden, you could borrow it,” Spencer’s weak teasing breaks you from your reverie, and you realize you’ve been staring at the front cover for over five minutes.

“Ah, uh, no thanks. Reading Of Mice and Men in high school was enough John Steinbeck for me. Personally, I think he drones on and on about things for too long,” you grin while shelving the book. He hums an acknowledgement and picks up a paper container full of week old pad thai, the smell forcing his head in the other direction.

Soon enough, there are only four, thick novels left, and you two are standing side by side at the bookshelf. You gawk at the number of collections and volumes that reside on the freshly dusted wooden panels, eyes wide. Spencer has one hard cover in his hands. It’s in pristine condition, the white of the jacket glaring at you with a vindictiveness that only the dead can muster. Maeve’s memory is held in between his palms, and it becomes hard to watch him struggle with the thought of having to put it away.

“Spencer ...” Your voice is feathery as it rides on the heavy air, “Let go.”

The words are broken as they fall from his mouth. Tears drip gently onto the glossy cover, and it seems as though The Narritive of John Smith is crying along with him. “I can’t.” A sharp pain pierces your entire being. Seeing him so vulnerable, so fractured, is agonizing. He cries over the story, repeating the tale of his whirlwind romance over and over again in his head. Reaching out, you urge his hands towards the only remaining space on the shelf. The book slips in effortlessly, and Spencer collapses to his knees in front of it. His hands are limp by his sides and his head hangs low between his rounded shoulders.

You lower yourself to meet his figure on the ground. He doesn’t move, his spirit completely dulled. As you ghost your hands over his back, he leans into your touch. After depriving himself of physical contact for so long, he wallows in the feeling of your fingers rubbing soft patterns into his skin. Spencer allows himself to sink into your embrace, inhaling the sweet combination of vanilla and jasmine.

For some time, Spencer cries into your chest. He apologizes through his sobs for the darkening spot on your work shirt, but you quiet him each time with a shake of your head. The atmosphere in his apartment lightens to the point of comfort as you do nothing but hold him. It’s poetic, really—something that you’d listen to a Chopin piece to.

“In a different lifetime,” Spencer’s hoarse whisper is barely audible over the quiet buzz of his air conditioning, “I would’ve fallen in love with you first.”

You contemplate his statement, mulling it over in your mind with a giddy optimism not quite suitable for the situation. He can tell you’re thinking over his words, but he doesn’t comment on the length of time you spend with them. A significant amount of time passes before you offer him a small nod that he feels when your chin collides with the top of his head. Smoothing a hand down his curls that are already slicked with grease, you open your mouth to speak.

“It’s okay, Spencer,” you murmur, hugging him closer, “I’ll be waiting. Always.”

#mine #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

401 notes · View notes

twinkleallnight · 4 years

Text

Marshmallow

(Part-8) Fight or flight

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Liam x MC, Drake x ??

For previous chapters: catch up here

A/N: This fic is my submission for this week’s #WackyDrabbles. The prompt is: ‘Oh? Just once?’ and will appear in bold.

A/N 2: Thank u @ritachacha for helping out and connecting me to @queen-of-effing-everything who gave me a basic idea of the noble houses and further gave a lead and I met @lizzybeth1986 . Lizzy, your essays are amazing. You have helped me with your vast knowledge and It was an enlightening discussion. This chapter wouldn't have been without your inputs.

Music inspo: Connan Gray

Tags: @ao719 @aloneautumn @charlotteg234 @choiceskatie @cordonia-gothqueen @cordonianroyalty @daisydancer12385 @drakewalker04 @gardeningourmet @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @idontknowwhysblog @islandcrow @jovialyouthmusic @jaxsmutsuo @kingliam2019 @lovablegranny @mrswalkers-blog @mom2000aggie @no-one-u-know @ntoraplayschoices @ritachacha @speedyoperarascalparty @shanzay44 @texaskitten30 @loudbluebirdlover @queenrileyrose @sanchita012 @theroyalheirshadowhunter @wackydrabbles @yourmajesty09

The next few days are spent busy, at the stables. After couple of days, Liam walks in, as I am tending to Brawny in the separate temporary shed, that I got made for the infected horses. I signal him to wait. I change out of my protective clothes and scrub before meeting him outside.

“Welcome back home! So, how did Lythikos treat you?” I know I am beating around the bush, when I am asking it. But I don’t want to hit him straight with the awkward question. I know he is equally in an uneasy position.

“Yes, all well.” He gives me an agonizing stare. “I had a talk with her.” He brings up the inevitable topic. “I think she did it out of desperation and jealousy.”

“It is alright Liam. She is not blind and not a child anymore. She can see where you are inclined.” I let out a sigh, “It’s difficult to read a woman’s mind. I feel sad for the manner in which we are parting ways. Part of growing up, I guess!”

Liam gives out a sigh too and then changes the subject, “Everything under control here?”

“Yes. I reached in time. There were two more horses showing similar signs. Got all three horses isolated. And vaccinated remaining ones.”

“You are good at your job. Even father seems to have blind faith in you, when it comes to vet skills.” He chuckles.

“Thank you.” I smirk thinking of king Constantine. It’s his inherent nature to always doubt and question everyone. “I have to report and update it to him later today. Let’s see what he has to say.”

Liam gives me a friendly pat, and we head to the palace for a quiet lunch together. I get a call from Max soon after we finish our meals. “It’s an emergency. I am sending you the address. Meet me in half an hour.” He sounds serious.

I drive down to the coffee shop, which he mentioned in his text. When I walk in, I find him sitting in the corner booth, his feet tapping on the floor nervously, and his blue eyes scanning the scene around, in a hope to find solution to the problem he is carrying in his mind.

“What’s wrong?” I ask settling down across the table.

“I don’t know. Bertrand doesn’t seem to be interested in giving me the whole story. He thinks I’m still his baby brother.” He rolls his eyes. “All I know is, that the crew we hired for our yacht for the Royal Regatta scheduled tomorrow, has ditched us.”

“It’s just a symbolic boat race and not an actual one with a pressure to win.” I try to lay down the facts.

“But you know Bertrand. He won’t leave any stone unturned to win it. Also, it’s king’s favourite event. He wants that Riley should bag the prize, so that she gets a chance to interact with the king. It is kind of gaining brownie points.

“Hmm." I ponder. "How many members do we need? Let’s count. You and I will be there.”

“You will do that for me?” he says, his eyes widening with a shine.

“I will. If you promise not to crack your stupid jokes during the event.” I warn him. “Who else can be roped in?”

“I don’t want to include anyone else. I don’t know what is wrong with House Beaumont and it’s difficult to explain to outsiders. So, I think just three of us. I hope we will be able to pull through. Will you be okay with that?”

“Yeah, I see no problem there. What about Bertrand?”

“ He is in a bad mood. Angry, sad, frustrated, all at the same time. He should be fine by tomorrow to give us a helping hand.”

We finish discussing all the minor details for the boat race in next hour and then walk out of the coffee shop.

The following day, at the Royal Regatta, I stand on the deck taking in the salty air.

Riley comes and stands beside me. “What are you looking at?”

“I just realised the actual count of suitors for the first time, by the number of boats, of course. I hardly know any of them. For me they are only the names I hear from the conversation with Liam. I should know at least this much, right?”

“Yes, you are his best friend and best friend should know it all.” She says it with a wink.

“Am I missing something?”

“Just that, may be, I am falling head over heels for your friend.” She grins.

“And you are revealing this to me and not him?”

“I don’t want to burden him more. He has too much to handle already. I know, being a crown prince, he cannot open up about his feelings for one particular suitor in the midst of the social season. So, I don’t want to tell him, just yet, lest he gets anxious and tries to spend more time with me. That would put him in a tricky situation.”

I sweep her in a big bear hug. “Oh, Brooks! I am so happy to know that.” I part away and look into her brown eyes, tears of happiness glinting in them. “He is so lucky to have you. That’s all he needed. Someone who understands him, his struggles, his responsibilities.”

I hug her back and whisper in her ears, “Let me give out a secret. He may also be sharing the same feelings.”

“I know.” She says gleefully looking up at me.

“Okay now let me help you enhance your knowledge about my competitors.” She rolls her eyes. “Let’s start from the right.” She points out to the boat lined up in extreme right to us.

The sight is full of colourful sails. Each of these boats have a flag representing their house. The one Riley pointed to, has a black flag with a silver owl on it.

Riley starts “That should be from the duchy of Castelsarreillan represented by Kiara Theron, the future Duchess.” Riley continues.

“Yes, the owl represents their house. Their family has intelligence and art running in their blood. Duke Theron is a very wise man and the Duchess is an artist.” I add on.

“So, you have met him?”

“Once.”

“Oh? just once?” Riley gives me a playful smile.

“Yeah.”

“Kiara is very smart, logical person and a linguist.” Riley elaborates. “Next to her should be her best friend’s boat.”

I observe purple flag with golden waves and a narwhal painted on it. “Portavira.” I blurt out.

“ I guess, it’s the only duchy with a sea port. Penelope Ebrim represents the house. Easy way to identify her is, you will find her talking about her poodles every now n then. You may like her.” She teases me. “She is an animal lover and she is sweet and kind.” She flashes that smile again.

I cut her, “Wait. Are you trying to set me up, Brooks?”

She lets out a laughter. “No, I better not. I can see where your interests lie.” She raises a knowing eyebrow at me, making me blush behind my tough skin.

“Let’s quiz you with the one with green flag.” Riley gestures at the next boat where a green flag with a pine tree on it, flutters.

“Madeliene, right?”

“Yes, the ambitious countess of Fydelia.” Riley fans out her hand. “You must be knowing all about her from Leo’s social season.” She pauses and then claps for the boat next to us. “ And that’s my dear friend Hana as our left side neighbour.”

A pink flag with purple orchids, furnishes Hana's boat. Just then, as on cue, Hana appears on the deck. “Hey there guys!” She waves out. “Time to greet the king at the harbour.”

“Lets go!” Riley jumps up excitedly.

“You proceed. I am better here, away from the crowd. I will wait for you to come back, and then we do our favourite thing together. Race!”

“As it suits you.”

“Just one question. How do you know so much in detail about all the houses in such a little time? A few months back, you didn’t even know where on earth Cordonia is,!”

Riley smiles wide, “Bertrand is my teacher, remember?” she says gazing up at the House Beaumont flag on our boat that shines with its silver sheen, a squid in the centre and the motto embroidered in blue, 'Depths to remember'.

“We didn’t talk about your friend’s, House Nevrakis, but I am sure you don’t need introduction there.” Riley speaks looking at the only boat to our left side.

I shake my head and make myself busy, untangling the wires of my earphones that I plan to put on, till Riley returns and the race begins. She shrugs her shoulder, “Bye! See you in a jiffy!”

“Bye!” I wave out to her and turn to the sea.

Before I could plug in some music, the fluttering of the Nevrakis flag catches my attention. The crimson flag has a flaming sword of steel on it. The motto shines in gold,

‘If you can breathe, you can stand.

If you can stand, you can fight.’

Just then a seagull flies high over the boat, crooning a song for the lonely sea.

I plug in my earphones and the song fills my ears and my mind,

‘Something’s gotten into you

You don’t really look at me the way you used to

And I’m hoping it ain’t true

Every single rumour that I’ve heard of you say……..

It’s time to move,

Fight or flight….

Fight or flight.’

#pixelberry #drake walker #olivia nevrakis #playchoices #the royal romance #liam x riley #olivia #trr #trr fandom #hana lee #kiara theron #twinkleallnight

37 notes · View notes

getyallsshippingjuice · 3 years

Text

Complete

(This is romantic Remus and Roman you have been warned.)

(Pre series) He had been alone in the imagination. Well as alone as he gets surrounded by fake citizens. The point was there were no other sides there with him. Logan and Patton never really spent much time with him and he wasn’t allowed to see any of the others. So he was alone, as he had been for the past week.

He decided to throw a party to cheer himself up, a masquerade since he felt like it. He dressed up for it in a black and red suit, a change of pace from his white and red prince suit. Sometimes the white was just too bright and it lacked depth.

Either way he danced with figments not a word spoken. They never had anything interesting to say when he knew what they were going to say. That was until one wearing a puffy green shirt and black pants took his hand and spun him around. “You come here often?”

Was he...flirting? Roman smirked, “Once or twice.” The man was wearing a frilly black mask that made his eyes look intense. He wasn’t following the script that Roman had made up in his head. The only time things happened off script was when he needed something new to happen.

So he went with it.

“You seem upset.” The man commented tilting his head slightly to the side. His red eyes staring deep into Roman’s green ones. “Is the party boring?”

“Of course not! This is..fun.” Roman said, his voice sounding fake to even himself.

The man hummed. "You don't sound sure."

"I'm having fun." Roman said firmly more to confirm if to himself than to this random guy.

“I know how to make it more fun.” the man said with a wink. Roman stared at him for a second before sputtering.

“Oh..that’s...not..I mean. No thank you.” Roman said, causing the man to laugh.

Roman smiled for real for the first time in a long time.

---

Janus told him to stay away from the others but the imagination was his place even if he normally didn’t leave his side. So when he finds out that Roman is throwing himself another pity party he has to check it out.

He didn’t expect to actually feel bad for Roman. He didn’t expect to see Roman looking depressed af and wandering around silently. He also didn’t expect that he didn’t make himself the center of attention. He was just...sad

So he swept over and drug Roman into conversion as they danced simply to the music that played. He stared when he managed to get Roman to smile. It was so..pure. Just pure happiness. No twisted thoughts poorly hidden underneath.

Maybe it was impulsive but that’s what he did. He kissed him wondering if he could taste the happiness that wasn’t tainted by some negative emotion. He felt Roman stiffen before relaxing into the kiss. Remus pulled back. “Sorry. I should have asked.” Roman had just declined his offer and he went ahead anyway.

Roman blinked before opening his mouth but no sound came out. Remus smirked, “I didn’t think that would make you speechless.” He teased.

Roman teared up and Remus panicked. He didn’t mean to cause him to cry! He took a step back and Roman took the chance to disappear into the crowd, Remus tried to follow him only to find him gone. He cursed before leaving.

He tore the mask off and threw it on his floor. “Stupid.” He muttered falling face first onto his bed. At least Roman didn’t know that it was him.

---

Roman felt awful for running but he didn’t want his first kiss to be with someone fake. Not that he wanted to kiss Patton or Logan. He didn’t really have anyone he did want to kiss. But he didn’t want it to be fake. He wanted it to matter and not be some glitch in a script.

His fingers traced his lips, the ghost feeling of the kiss messing with him. Even if it was fake..He wanted to do it again. He wanted to talk to that guy again. He seemed more real, more put together than anyone else he ever made. He wondered if maybe Remus made him and he just wandered over. That would explain the bluntness.

He looked at himself in the mirror, what was the harm in a little fantasy? As long as Remus didn’t find out about it, or any of the others for that matter. He could keep a secret.

It would be fun and maybe make him feel less lonely.

A couple weeks passed before he got the nerve to throw another party and hope that HE would show up again. He called himself for stupid for looking forward to it. To see someone that was practically a living puppet to fill an empty space, but he needed someone in that space. And if that was a made up mystery man then he would take it.

God he was desperate wasn’t he?

He was pulled from his thoughts as there was a tap on his shoulder. He turned and lit up as the man was there, mask and all. “Miss me?” He asked confidently.

Roman laughed, “You wish.” He did but he wasn’t going to just say that! He didn’t want to seem desperate even if this was fake. Roman held out his hand, “Care for a dance?”

The man took his hand, “Only if I get to lead.”

They moved in sync. “I don’t know what to call you.” Roman mused not noticing the man stiffen. “I’ve been calling you Mask in my head which is rather silly.”

“Mask works.” He said smiling. Roman huffed.

“So I don’t get to know your name?”

“You’ll have to earn that.” Mask winked and Roman’s heart did a little stutter. He brushed it off by laughing lightly hoping that Mask didn’t pick up on his nerves. Why was he so nervous?

“Then I will endeavour to do so.” Roman vowed as he let himself be turned in a circle. Mask’s eyes were glued to his face as they danced. He almost never blinked which was a little unnerving but if Remus did make him then that was to be expected. Mask might go psycho on him at any moment.

Still more fun than listening to Logan and Patton. They never wanted to really listen to him and seemed to think they were better because their jobs were more important. He was too in the clouds and his expectations for events were too unreal.

He was just for fun. He didn’t get to speak on important matters.

“Are you ok? You got quiet.” Mask said. Roman noticed they stopped dancing, standing in the middle of the dance floor.

Roman shook his head. “My apologies, I was just...thinking.”

“Spew it out.” Mask said cheerfully leading him away from the crowd and into the garden.

“I guess...I mean I shouldn’t complain.” Roman said. He wasn’t sure that mask wouldn’t just tell Remus everything he said. He didn’t want his brother laughing at him, but then again he probably already was. Remus was probably laughing his ass off at the fact that Roman kissed Mask. Or not he hadn't seen his brother in so long he didn't know what Remus was like now days. Probably just as bloody and violent as he used to be.

“It’s good to get things off your chest before you explode.” Mask said sitting them down on a bench.

“No one listens to me!” Roman said angrily. “I mean I get it! I’m not important or real enough but my opinion should matter too!”

“You think people don’t listen to you?” Mask said in an almost angry tone.

Roman rubbed his face and slumped in on himself. “I know they don’t. I told Logan the same story four times and he still doesn’t remember what it’s about. And Patton..Don’t even get me started on how I can’t get anything right for him! That story is too sad! It needs a happy ending!”

Roman sighed and shook his head. “Maybe I’m the problem.”

Mask was silent. Roman didn’t expect advice from him, at least useful advice. “I think...You need a friend.”

“Are you offering?” Roman said off hand.

“Yeah...yeah I am.” Mask’s gaze was intense. Almost threatening. Roman still expected him to try and stab him in his sleep.

“Well… it’s nice to have a friend then.” Roman said honestly. Even if it's fake.

---

Remus was almost skipping around his room. Roman wanted to spend time with him! Well… He wanted to spend time with Mask but that was close enough for him! He could keep toning it down so he didn’t push Roman away.

He sat down on his bed and stared at the mask in his hands, the key to what might actually be a real friendship. Not like what he had now with everyone slightly afraid of him. Or ignoring him. Or hating him.

He felt a little bad that he was lying to Roman about it but that was easily brushed off. Roman didn’t need to know and besides, Roman was lonely too! This would be fine!

He put the mask on his nightstand as he got up to work on a random thought he wanted to follow. A painting of Roman alone in the dark. The pull to create was almost impossible to ignore. He painted with his fingers, letting the colors blur at the edges making it seem like some kind of melting nightmare.

He sat back to look at his newest masterpiece and found himself smiling, He wanted to see his brother again. Of course he would have to wait, which was hell for him to do but looking at the painting again, he found he had something to do to fill his time.

---

Roman was sitting in his room sketching mindlessly for a while before he realized that he was drawing the same pair of eyes surrounded by black lace over and over again. Those eyes that he knew he had seen before, but couldn’t place. It felt like someone he hadn’t seen in forever. Someone he missed.

Roman felt guilty again for letting himself indulge in whatever this was. Romantic encounters with someone that wasn’t real. But he was the romantic side, he thrived off of romance so it was just...in his nature to do this…. Right?

He could almost hear Patton telling him off for being selfish and doing something like this. Logan calling it a needless waste of time just like he was. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, muttering under his breath as he saw wet spots on his drawing from tears.

And Patton was supposed to be the emotional one.

Roman paused before grabbing a canvas. If he was going to make art of Mask he was going to make it good damn it! The lines were clear and bright, before long Roman had a painting of Mask smiling at him in a soft candle lit setting, one hand outstretched. The shadows are soft and non threatening. He looks like someone Roman could trust.

Someone he could love.

Waiting a week to see him again was going to be hard.

---

Roman saw Mask first this time. The party wasn't a masquerade but he still wore his mask. He was dressed in white and sea green this time. An octopus ring circling his thumb. There wasn't any doubt in Roman's mind that Mask was made by Remus. He was honestly impressed that Mask had so much deepth. If he could, he would ask Remus how he made him.

Pushing that thought out of his head he walked up and tapped Mask's shoulder. Mask turned to look at him and had a smile on that was borderline demenated. “You came!” They both said at the same time causing them to laugh.

“Well it is my party.” Roman said, “But I did it to see you.”

Mask, for the first time, was speechless and Roman counted that as a win in his book. “I wonder if we could go for a walk instead of dancing?” Roman asked.

Mask nodded, “As long as you’ll be there it sounds great.” Roman turned away so that Mask couldn’t see his face warming.

“I’ll lead the way.”

It took a moment to calm down and he could swear he heard Mask snicker behind him. He cleared his throat as he turned away and almost jumped as Mask was right behind him. “So…”

“Yeah?” Mask said.

Roman blurted out the first question he could think of. “Why did you kiss me before?”

Mask blinked, “You’re just now asking about that?”

“Well...I mean… yes.” Roman said looking away.

“I wanted to know what happiness tasted like.” Mask said almost wistful. Roman looked at him confused. “I mean, you just seemed so...happy and I thought maybe I could figure out how that tasted.”

“Would you like to try again?” Roman asked before he thought about it. When Mask looked at him he sputtered, “I mean you don’t have to it’s just a suggest-”

Mask cut him off by kissing him.

---

Remus pulled back and watched the way Roman held his eyes closed for a few seconds more before looking at him with something akin to fondness. It made his heart feel all squishy like a crushed grape, but also warm and comfortable.

He liked it.

“So anything you want to get off your chest?” He asked, causing Roman to start.

“Right! Walking! And talking!” Roman turned and started a slow pace that Remus easily kept up with. He started ranting about the Morality and Logic, both of which ignored him most of the time. “It’s only when they need something-”

“At least you’re needed.” Remus muttered not noticing he spoke aloud until Roman stopped and looked at him.

“Why are you here?” Roman asked, looking at him intensely.

“You asked me to be here.” Remus reminded him.

Roman looked disappointed. He turned away. “Right...I keep forgetting you aren’t..”

Remus wanted to rip his mask off but he knew that would just get him kicked out faster than he could explain. So for once in his life he fought off his impulses and just stood there. Roman stared off in the distance towards where Remus’ area was.

“Do you want to be here?”

Remus didn’t expect the question as far as Roman knew, he wasn’t real. He was nothing more than a thought that one of them had. Unless he knew that he wasn’t that. “It’s better than over there.” Remus said, looking off in the same direction.

“I wouldn’t judge it too harshly.” Roman said. “I’m sure my brother has his own charm.” Roman looked down, “Or maybe not...how would I know?” He muttered to himself.

“Do you miss him?” Remus asked.

“Maybe..or maybe I just miss feeling...complete.” Roman shook his head. “Not that I can see him...Patton is...firm about that.”

“Does he hurt you?” Roman looked at him startled.

Roman laughed nervously, “What? No! That’s ridiculous he would never hurt anyone...at least not on purpose.” Remus didn’t like the sound of that. “Is he happy?” Roman asked before Remus could comment.

“No.” Remus said.

Roman looked almost wistful at the dark forest. “Let’s talk about something less depressing.”

“What do you think Frogs taste like?” Remus asked.

“I hope you aren’t saying kissing me is like kissing a frog.” Roman said.

Remus didn’t know how he made that jump in his thought process but he ran with it. “Well you are a prince.”

Roman laughed at that, “Does that make you my princess?”

Remus snorted before cackling at the thought. “Sure! I’ll get a dress and everything!”

“Well I think you could pull off an evening gown.” Roman said looking him up and down.

“Oh I could pull it off!” Remus winked and Roman shoved his shoulder gently. Roman covered his smile.

“Of course that’s where you would go.” Roman grumbled, still smiling.

“You could wear a dress too.” Remus suggested. Roman stared at him. “I mean it! You’d look fantastic in a ball gown. Red and frilly seem like your style.”

“And what if I dressed in your style instead?” Roman asked teasingly. “Something green and black?” Remus’ mouth was suddenly very dry. He cleared his throat.

“Very good.”

Roman laughed.

---

“I can’t dance in this.” Roman grumbled as he bunched up the dress so he could sit down. Remus was trying very very hard to not laugh. Roman was just so pouty and grumpy. Like a half drowned cat.

Remus plopped down next to him, his dress not nearly as frilly and was easier to move in without tripping. “Well it was worth a shot.”

Roman hummed before half smiling at him. “This was fun. For real.” Roman looked down at his hands in his lap. This matter of real or fake bothered him. Remus didn’t get it, they were fake too weren’t they? But in a different way.

“What if..” Roman looked up at him. “What if I was real?” Remus asked.

“That’s a nice thought. But you’d have to be someone I Know and-” Roman snapped his head up to stare at him. Remus took off his mask.

“Surprise?”

Roman looked panicked. “No you can’t...Remus?!? What the hell!” He demanded jumping to his feet.

“Why do you think?” Remus asked, a little hurt by Roman’s reaction.

Roman was shaking, he looked….scared. “Look it’s ok-”

“No it’s not! Do you have any idea what’s going to happen if someone finds out?” Roman’s breathing was getting faster and Remus knew what a panic attack looked like. He grabbed Roman’s hands and started tapping out a pattern of four. “Just breathe.”

Roman calmed down slowly. “I can’t...You weren’t supposed to know about this!”

“Why not?” Remus asked.

“Because,” Roman tightened his hands in Remus’ “If you know then other people will know and If that happens…. I don’t know what they’ll do.”

Remus pulled him into a tight hug. “I won’t let them do anything to you.” He whispered sharply. Roman held on to him tightly.

----

Roman was in his room WITH REMUS! He locked the door and blocked it with the dresser, he doubted either Patton or Logan would come by but on the off chance they did. He was pacing as Remus watched laying on his bed.

“I’m so stupid for not seeing this before!” Roman groaned.

“Hey! I like to think I’m at least a little sneaky!” Remus said before he caught sight of a painting on the wall. “Is… is that me?”

Roman looked up at his painting of Mask- of Remus? “Yeah I...couldn’t get you off my mind.”

“Did you only make one? because I made twelve.” Remus said jumping off the bed to get a closer look at it.

“You make paintings of me?” Roman asked.

“Yeah! Wanna see?” Remus asked, holding his hand out, not unlike the painting.

Roman took it.

It didn’t take long for Remus to sneak Roman to his room. He locked the door and turned on the light to show several large paintings. Roman covered his mouth with his hands before slowly reaching out and brushing the dried paint with his fingertips. It was dark and gritty and sad. “You painted how I feel.” Roman breathed.

“So you like them?” Remus asked nervously. Roman beamed at him and nodded.

“You captured my loneliness and sadness.” Roman said, “I love it.”

“Oh! I know what we should do!” Remus said excitedly, “Make an art gallery in that one empty hall you have in your castle!”

“That’s a great idea!” Roman said grabbing Remus shoulders and tugging him in for a quick kiss before freezing. He backed up. “Sorry! I didn’t..”

“Hey.” Remus said firmly putting his hand under Roman’s chin and making him look up at him. “Did you like it?”

“What the kiss?” Remus nodded. “I..yes?”

“Then don’t let anyone tell you it was wrong.” Remus said firmly. “You are your own person and you can make your own choices.”

Roman blinked, “I can? ..I mean I can!”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

---

They still meet up every week but this time they worked together on projects they wanted to make. Their art gallery was quickly full and overflowing into the rest of the castle. It was no longer filled with fake people but paintings and art that made it feel far more alive.

The halls were filled with laughter and talking. Roman felt complete.

(After accepting anxiety.)

Roman was laying on a couch in the art studio that had been a dinning hall. Remus was painting the ceiling. He sighed dramatically for the fifteenth time in as many minutes.

“You’re being all depressio expressio again.” Remus said without looking away from the very gory piece he was working on.

“I know! I just...I feel like...What if I’m the bad guy?” Roman asked. Remus paused so he could look down at him.

“You think YOU are bad? What in the name of hell gave you that idea?” Remus asked.

“Well I’m not the nicest person.” Roman said.

“You have flaws? Hello? That’s normal?” Remus said.

“I’m dating my brother.” Roman shot back.

Remus smiled, “We’re dating?”

Roman blinked, “I...we are aren’t we? Or did you not want to-”

“No! I fucking love that! You just never said it before!” Remus said, jumping off the ladder and making Roman cry out in alarm before he landed fine.

“Give me a heart attack.” Roman muttered sitting up as Remus could sit down next to him.

“I try.” Remus said laying down so his head was in Roman’s lap. “So, you feel bad because you’re dating me?”

“Well not that’s it you just...you know.” Roman said.

“Oh! The incestous part of it!” Remus wiggled his eyebrows.

“I’m not even supposed to talk to you. I doubt anyone would approve of-”

“Does it make you happy?” Remus asked firmly.

Roman rolled his eyes. “You know it does.”

Remus laughed, “I know. It just feels nice for you to say!” Roman kissed Remus’ forehead.

“I’ll try and say it more then.” Roman promised brushing Remus’ hair back. Remus hummed and closed his eyes, a happy duke getting head pets. Remus was a lot softer than people expected. Sure he was terrifying but he could also be soft.

He just never wanted to be seen as afraid.

Just like Roman never wanted to be seen as evil.

Roman would just have to try harder to be good.

(After dealing with intrusive thoughts)

"Everything you don't want to be?" Remus asked.

Roman stiffened before spinning around and glaring at Remus, "YOU knocked me out TWICE!"

Remus shifted, "You said to make it look good!"

"I didn't mean attack me!" Roman said his voice strained. Remus reached towards him and...he flinched. Remus watched as Roman took a step away from him. "I didn't mean what I said."

"I'm sorry." Remus said, "I went too far."

"It's fine." Roman said in a tone that clearly said that it wasn't. "Can we just...forget about it?"

Remus didn't want to but he agreed anyway, trying to ignore the guilt everything Roman tensed when he moved close.

He could only watch as Roman got progressively worse.

Roman was depressed. He gave up everything he dreamed about in the name of what he thought would make him a good person. So why did he feel so...terrible?

Worse was he couldn't get rid of the uneasy feeling whenever Remus would move suddenly. He expected him to attack him again and it was just...he wished things played out differently.

(After selfishness verses selflessness redux)

"Roman?" Remus asked as Roman was curled up in a ball in the corner of his room. Roman didn't respond until Remus sat down next to him.

"I failed." His voice was bitter. He looked up, dark shadows under bloodshot eyes. "I tried so hard and I failed."

"You made mistakes-"

"I'm not a good person, Remus." Roman said, cutting him off. "I'm not a hero or a prince. I'm just...Roman. stupid and cruel."

Remus slowly pulled him into a hug. "You get scared and you lash out. That doesn't make you evil."

"It doesn't matter." Roman said, his voice devoid of feeling. "Not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm done. I just… I can't keep doing this anymore." Remus' stomach filled with ice, sharp and cold.

"Yes you can! Listen to me!" Remus forced Roman to face him. "I do not give a fuck whatever everyone else says you are not giving up on me!"

Roman teared up, "I'm sorry I can't be better."

Remus hugged him angry at everyone for the pain his brother was going through. Angry at himself for letting it happen.

---

Now that Remus was around more often it was getting harder to keep the fact they were together underwraps. Roman had a feeling Janus knew, he would give him long looks before looking at Remus and back. He would smile in an unfriendly way. Possible still made about the whole name thing, Roman and apologized but it didn't seem like it was enough.

Roman wasn't enough.

Remus watched as everyone just accepted Roman not talking anymore, brushing off his feelings and saying he was 'pouting'. Roman only ever talked to Thomas and Remus at this point and the others...were fine with that.

They didn't care.

One part of Remus was sickly happy about it. He got Roman to himself for the most part. But the other part was furious that they didn't care. He wanted to smack some sense into them but Roman told him not too.

Roman's ideas got darker. He stopped wearing his prince suit and switched it out for a white turtleneck and black pants. No one other than Remus commented on the change.

"You look good in anything but are you happy?" Remus asked when Roman asked how he looked.

"At least I still look ok." Roman said ignoring the question before going to work. He struggled to make more 'good' ideas and Logan was getting tired of waiting.

Remus almost bashed Logan's face in whenever he showed up and asked if Remus could try and replace Roman in case he might have something that would work. Remus stiffly declined.

He never told Roman about the offer but he knew the second Roman found out by the way the light in his eyes dulled.

Remus had to do something.

So he threw a party.

---

Roman wasn't sure why he was blindfolded and drugged off through his own castle but he didn't question Remus' surprises anymore. The quiet muttering of a crowd met his ears before the blindfold was removed and replaced with a mask.

"You threw a party?" Roman asked blinking.

Remus grabbed his brother's hand tightly. "It's the same party where we met...again." Remus said, dragging him out onto the dancefloor.

Roman smiled, the circles under his eyes still there but there was a spark of life in him again. Remus stopped in one spot. "Our first kiss." He said.

Roman chuckled and leaned in giving Remus a kiss, soft and quick but enough to make them both smile. "I'll always be here for you."

"And I for you." Roman promised putting his hand on Remus' cheek.

"Sap."

"You started it."

Remus hummed. "I did didn't I?"

Roman leaned his forehead against Remus' and closed his eyes focusing on the feeling of being with him. Of feeling complete.

They swayed slightly to the music. Time not mattering, the outside world not mattering, just this moment. When they left they would face the others but Roman decided they would face them together.

Even if they got angry or disapproved. They would have each other.

#roman #remus #Remrom #romrem #mild angst #fluff #unsympathetic sides #but only mention #no one other than Remus and Roman show up

3 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Mama Mina

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Denki Kaminari, Mina Ashido

Hey, everyone! Here’s another story for @bnhabookclub‘s weekly SFW prompt, “You can’t ignore me forever!” Enjoy! :)

Denki’s lips were drawn up in a cheerless pout as he lay sideways on his bed, repeatedly bouncing a ball against his opposite wall. With languid, practiced motions that were more muscle memory than actual attentive efforts, he flicked his wrist to lob the ball at the same spot on the wall he had been for the last hour. He watched with dull lidded eyes as the squishy rubber toy sailed across the width of the bedroom, struck the smooth painted surface, dove down at a forty-five-degree angle to bounce once on the polished wooden floor strewn with dirty socks and worn tee-shirts, then returned to his waiting hand. Shwip. Thunk. Thwock. Slap. The sounds echoed, just as depressing and lifeless as the ambiance.

“Stupid,” he muttered aloud as he hurled the ball across the room once more. “Absolutely useless. What’re you even here for, Denki?” The ball slammed into the wall as he subconsciously applied more force to the throw; in turn, its arc changed dramatically and crashed into his face instead of his hand. The ball ricocheted off his nose to collide with his desk lamp, causing it to spin wildly around and knock into the plastic cup holding his writing utensils. He cursed as he rolled onto his back with both his hands tenderly holding his bruised face, trying to ignore the added insult of his pencils and pens sliding over the desk and clattering to the floor. In the background of that and his groans, he could hear the rubber ball bouncing and then rolling over the wood to come to rest somewhere under his bed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Denki usually tried to stay positive. He really did. That was his thing, after all, being the plucky optimist. He had drained his supply of sanguinity, however; the cistern was as dry as a desert, not a drop of confidence to be found. How could he be self-assured, after making an absolute fool of himself in the third round of the Sports Festival? It had taken literal seconds for Ibara Shiozaki to obliterate him in their one-on-one battle. Denki had never suffered such a grievous insult in his life. Of course, it wasn’t her fault. It was all his stupid fault.

He pushed the balls of his palms into his eyes, trying to force the tears that were brimming there from leaking out. He failed miserably at that as well. The salty liquid rolled down his flushing cheeks to bead on his chin, then drip down and absorb into the collar of his tee-shirt.

“Ungh… Goddammit,” he sniffed and rolled onto his belly to shove his face into his pillow. In the back of his mind, he thought suffocating himself was preferable to the uncomfortable twisting in his gut and the stinging in his eyes. Unfortunately, the fabric of his pillow was much too breathable. The world is against me. Without removing his face from the cushiony construct, he slipped halfway off the bed to grope blindly around for the rubber ball. Continuously chunking it relieved some of his nervous energy, at least.

He stopped when someone knocked loudly and insistently on his bedroom door.

“Denki!” Mina’s high-pitched voice was still loud even bleeding through the wood. She rattled the doorknob experimentally to find it locked. ��Denki, lemme in! Let’s talk.” What the hell is she doing here?! “Me and Eiji and Hanta are all here to hang out. Your mom called us!” Of course she did… he thought sourly. “Hanta’s setting his PlayStation up downstairs! Come on! Let’s go play!”

He removed his face from the plush pillow to shout, “Dun wanna!” He scowled when the pink-skinned girl jiggled the metal knob again, more persistently this time.

“Denki, come on, you’ve been moping in here all day. It doesn’t do any good to sulk like this! Come onnnn! Let’s talk it out!” Denki snorted derisively and threw himself on his side, facing the wall and pouting childishly. If he were in a healthy state of mind, he might appreciate her kind gesture; however, incensed as he was, he could only be petulantly exasperated by her insistence. She continued to bleat invitational prattle before his doorway, and he decided not to waste the energy on responding. If I ignore her, she’ll go away. “Denki. Denki. Denki.” She began relentlessly chanting his name and punctuating each shout with a rattle of the knob. Grumbling unflattering words under his breath, he wrapped the pillow around his ears. The breathable fabric didn’t muffle nearly as much sound as he wished. “Denki. Denki. Denki. Denki. Denki. Denki.” He curled up so that his knees touched his chest.

Go away, he snarled in his mind. I don’t want to talk about how stupid I am. Leave me alone!

“Denki, you can’t ignore me forever! DenkiDenkiDenkiDenkiDenkiDen-”

“Fuck! Okay, I’m coming, just cut it out! Sheesh,” he yelled and threw himself off the bed. Somehow the angry motion was coordinated, and he landed on the flats of his bare feet. His stomps were purposeful and thundering as he stalked open to the door to unlock it and throw it open. “What?” he hissed at the smiling, bubbly girl, chest heaving and cheeks flushed with misdirected self-loathing.

“Denki, are you sad?”

“No! I’m not sad! Now, will you leave me alone?!” he huffed and went to shut the door in her face. In his heart of hearts, he knew that wasn’t right, but Goddammit, the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it. Sometimes a man just needed to brood in peace. Her pink hand flew up to slam against the wood, demonstrating surprising strength as it stopped it in its tracks.

“I think you’re lying.”

“So what if I am?!” Instantaneously, his cheeks flushed a rose color. Dammit, that isn’t what I wanted to say! Her face deadly serious and those black-and-gold eyes boring into the quivering depths of his soul, Mina leaned into the doorway. Denki gulped and subconsciously leaned back in the face of such unwavering resolve.

“I’m coming in,” she asserted simply. Denki deflated with a whine and trudged away from the door to throw himself face-down back on the bed. His groan of acknowledgment was muffled by that annoyingly breathable fabric of his pillow. He heard the soft scrapes of her socks over his floor. They were followed by the gentle click of the door behind her. Denki hugged his pillow as he moped over how rapidly the situation spiraled out of control; it was just par for the course for him, he supposed. Silly, stupid Denki with no spine-

“Denki. You know that none of us think any less of you for what happened at the Sports Festival, right?” He visibly cringed as she heartlessly jabbed at the core of his depression. Snorting, he rolled on his side such that his back was to her. Morosely, he curled his thin body around the pillow.

“Yeah, right. You guys probably thought it was hilarious. She wiped the floor with me.” His bottom lip wobbled pitifully just talking about it. It had been so humiliating. Finally, he thought he had his chance to show that he wasn’t just the dumb guy that fried his brain and mumbled “Yayyyyy,” but he had blown it in the most mortifying way. Kyoka was probably sniggering into her hand while she gossiped about him to Momo-

“Well, Hanta-”

“He was up against Todoroki, and he even got a good shot in,” he countered matter-of-factly. Angrily, he squeezed the plush body of the pillow but had not the raw strength to tear it to little shreds of fabric and cotton like he wanted to. “Stop lyin’ to me. You can say it. I’m useless and stu-”

“You are not stupid!” He jumped violently as her voice cracked like a whip in the relatively quiet bedroom. He yelped like a wounded dog when she wrenched him onto his back by the shoulder. Like it was a shield, he kept the pillow hugged to his body and stared owlishly up at the fuming girl. Her pink lips pressed into a thin line, and her fingers clenched into her hips. “So what if you’re not Bakugo or Todoroki or even Midoriya? You still earned your way into this hero course!” she scolded him. He just vehemently nodded along. Frankly, he was a little terrified she would whap him upside his head if he continued with the self-pity. Her face softened slightly, and she bent over him to ruffle his blonde-and-black hair affectionately. “You have your own merits, and believe it or not, we all know them. You’re loyal and care a lot about your friends.” She smiled brightly down at him as he blushed shyly. “Sure, it didn’t work out this time, but you’ve still got so much time to prove what you’re made of. Stop saying you’re stupid or useless, because you’re not. None of us think that.”

“Really?” he asked her with big, round eyes, and she nodded firmly.

“Pinky-swear!” she grinned and held up her pinky finger emphatically. “Not even Kyoka,” she added with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, which made him gulp and flush further. Still hugging the pillow but not as tightly, he sat up from the bed and rubbed the back of his neck. He had to admit, even though she had just basically reprimanded him like a stern mother, he felt loads better. He smiled warmly when she grabbed his hand and looped her pinky with his.

“Thanks, Mina.”

“No problem!” He chuckled, and she stepped away when he slung his legs around to hop of the bed. She stood on her tip-toes to muss up his already wild hair again. “Now get yourself dressed and come get some breakfast. Your mom said you haven’t eaten anything.”

“Mina, it’s like… two in the afternoon.”

“Brunch, then! Regardless, food! You need sustenance!” she insisted and jabbed him in his belly with her index fingers a few times. He squirmed at the tickling prods and skittered away from her to his closet.

“Yes, Mom!” he snorted, finally dropping the pillow to begin rifling through the closet for a suitable tee shirt. Mina hummed contentedly and strolled to the door, kicking aside a few of his discarded socks and underwear towards his dirty clothes hamper.

“Yup, that’s me. Mama Mina! If you’re not downstairs in five minutes, I’m coming back up to drag you by the ear,” she warned as she stepped out of the door.

“I’m coming! Promise!” he laughed, and she flashed him a teasing wink before shutting the door behind her. Amused, he stared at the wooden entryway for a few seconds, just smiling admiringly. “Mama Mina,” he huffed under his breath and shook his head before wrenching his shirt off and tossing it across the room into the hamper. The smile never fell from his face the entire time he was getting ready.

It just felt really nice to know he had someone looking after him.

“All right! Time to kick some ass, Denki Kaminari!” he told himself with a devilish smile. He cracked his knuckles and his neck, then did a couple pre-game stretches. He then all but bolted out of his bedroom and down the stairs. His friends greeted him with a chorus of “hello’s.” He snatched up a bag of Doritos from the kitchen counter and vaulted over the back of the couch, snatching up a controller and sticking out his tongue confidently.

“’Sup, guys? Ready to looooose?”

“As if!” Hanta cried and shoved him in the side of the head. “You’re the one who’s going down!”

“How do I play this game, Mina?” Eijirou frowned at the flickering screen.

“Just shoot the zombies, Eiji.”

“Shoot the zombies,” the redhead repeated unsurely under his breath and squinted at the television. Denki shoved a handful of nacho chips in his mouth and rolled onto his belly, legs still slung over the back of the couch, before holding the bag out to Mina. She took it graciously and patted him on the top of his head, making him smile widely.

I have really, really good friends.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @sadistiks @simplybakugou

#bnhabookclub #weekly prompt event #kaminari denki #denki kaminari #ashido mina #mina ashido #my hero academia #mha #my hero #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction

32 notes · View notes

make-it-mavis · 4 years

Text

Homesick (Entry #3)

(cw: alcohol) <-Previous | Next-> ----------- 12/18/87 4:04 AM

Hey.

Don’t know why I’m keeping up with this.

But don’t worry, I don’t think so little of you that I’d believe you were dead without question.

My first theory was that it was all a big joke. Some prank you’d set up with literally everyone other than me, probably payback for one thing or another. Far-fetched, but, hey. Less far-fetched than you being dead.

That theory was stretched to its limits pretty much right away. Game Central Station went on lockdown for a couple days, and then there was this… event. I guess it’d be called a memorial or something. Whatever it was, it was a Devout thing. There were preachers and everything, and GCS was done up all fancy. Everyone kind of pretended to be Devout that evening, all dressed in blue, like they’d all run for cover under this one idea that they thought would protect them. What you did, no one had ever seen before. I don’t think anyone even knew it was possible. And once they did, no one knew how to handle it. The world did not seem safe anymore. The whole arcade was just hushed and shaken and at a loss.

But, I gotta say, this “memorial,” it really wasn’t any sort of honor to your memory, or a funeral, or anything like that. I’m certain you would have wanted the arcade to come together and collectively wonder how in Litwak’s name they were going to go on without you, but that just didn’t happen. Hate to break it to you, but after the stunt you pulled, you stopped being a ‘good guy’, shot right past ‘bad guy’, and landed square on ‘worst guy’. No one really came to proclaim their love for the worst guy.

I am sorry about that.

Pretty much every sprite in the arcade was there, though. My whole game came out, with Fix-it being way too clingy, as usual. When I was able to get some time away from him, I even found Tapper. He closed his game down so that he could serve traditional blueberry wine at the memorial. When I saw him standing behind that table draped in blue cloth, part of me hoped that he would shed a bit more light on the situation for me. But he, like everyone else, reacted to me in a way I’d never seen. His eyes lit up at the sight of me, not quite with happiness, but with a sort of relief that seemed almost painful. It looked like he would have hugged me if I’d let him. Instead, he just told me how glad he was to see me all in one piece. And how sorry he was, a sentiment I was quickly growing tired of hearing. He did give me an entire bottle of that wine with his condolences, though, so I didn’t complain.

But I didn’t drink it, either. I felt a storm toiling in my belly, and it thundered at the thought of ingesting anything.

The event had a handful of preachers lined up to say their piece on the situation and try to give the masses some sort of faith to hold onto in such dark times. I didn’t absorb too much, but I was admittedly not paying close attention. My bored, wandering mind had found something else, and gotten entirely stuck on it.

There were two empty game ports that had otherwise been filled, last I could remember. Your game, and the game you hated. The entrances had been framed with blue ribbons and flowers of all things, and it was crossed with Surge’s yellow tape, barring entry. There were no lights, no gold hallway, just a black, empty terminal with a hole where the train tunnel should have been. I could see right through to the floor of the arcade.

There’s no faking that. It didn’t feel like a joke anymore. It went back to feeling like a dream.

It was all a really long in-depth dream, and I’d wake up on your couch, covered in candy wrappers, with a wicked hangover. Then I could tell you that your memorial flowers were blue, and you’d make gagging noises and tell me to lay off the sugar before bed. There would be soda and takeout leftovers for breakfast, and the arcade would open and close like any other day, and I’d no doubt end up on that couch again, covered in candy, goofing off with you. As per usual.

Just the thought cut me out of the heavy atmosphere around me and placed me in a fragile, eerie calm. That’s when a preacher finally earned my attention.

She was the only one who even spoke directly about you. None of the others had the nerve to do anything other than tiptoe. Though, she never did actually say your name. She just referred to you by a lot of unflattering descriptors that I don’t want to honor by repeating. Overall, her point was that you, by disrespecting the Devs’ design, let into your code a festering digit of binary that spread and corrupted your once favored, blessed, pure data. She said, in your final days, that you played host to a virus of avarice. You abandoned all the blessings and protection of the Devs for your selfish desires, and took innocent lives with you.

So then, of course, she turned it all into some bullroar cautionary tale. She said we are all, as sentient beings, at risk of your “fatal corruption,” and reminded everyone how to avoid a repeat of this disaster: The textbook long-winded “Follow the Devs, follow the program, sit down, stay still, shut up.”

Barf, right? I thought so, too. I’d had quite enough of it. Someone had to shut her up, and no one else was going to do it. I gave even less thought to consequence than I normally would -- none of it was real, in my head, so none of it would matter. It was free game.

So, I did just about the worst thing I could have done, and painted some fireworks. In the brightest red I could conjure up. You know, the color they should have been using for you.

Those split seconds between the whistle and the bang were some of the best I’ve had since you left, purely for the look on the stupid preacher’s face when I cut her off. But when the explosions hit, and Game Central was bathed in red light, and the whole crowd broke into screams, something deep inside of me changed.

I panicked.

That snap reaction, that fear that did not feel irrational, but rather, instinctual, took hold of me like a gamer’s command. I ran. I needed to get away, far away, quick. You know I live for my fireworks. But right then, the screams and the burning lights, they were something right out of a nightmare.

Even if I hadn’t been clambering to get away, that would have been my last moment at the event. The crowd didn’t take kindly to me or my display, so I was chased out of GCS by an instant angry mob. Shouting abuse and throwing their wine glasses and all that.

I hid myself away in my game, trying to rationalize it all. It had to be a dream. It was just a vivid, terrible dream, and I could wake up at any moment. So, I had the unique experience of staying up all night just trying to wake up.

There could be no reality where you and your game were gone.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #turbo #make it mavis #tapper #homesick #original character

9 notes · View notes

foursideharmony · 4 years

Text

Division of Labor

Summary: Creativity was not the first Side to split...

Word Count: 3,673

Relationship(s): Uh...hard to say. None of the characters are fully formed in this.

Warnings: Blood and violence mentions, arguing, proto-Deceit

When Thomas Sanders was very small, he got in trouble for hitting his brother, who was even smaller. They had been playing in the living room on a quiet evening, and Thomas saw movement out of the corner of his eye and looked up to see little Shea shamble over and start messing with the Spider-Man doll—his Spider-Man doll, that he won fair and square from the crane game in the pizza place while everyone cheered—and so he went over and smacked him. Shea dropped the doll, wailing, and Thomas grabbed it.

Dad saw the whole thing, of course. Oops. And Thomas was made to sit in the time-out chair for four whole minutes in a row and then apologize to Shea, and only then did Dad ask him why.

“That's not a good enough reason to hit someone,” Dad said afterward. “You should never hit. Your mom and I never hit you, even when we're angry, because it's not right. We use the time-out chair instead. Do you understand? It's not right to hit, especially someone smaller than you.”

Thomas did understand. The words right and wrong were frequently said in the Sanders household, so he knew they were important. He picked up the Spider-Man doll and handed it to Shea, who was by that point engrossed in some other toddler activity and simply threw it halfway across the room, but it was the thought that counted.

The next day, Thomas had kindergarten, which was the best now that he was used to being away from Mom and the house all morning. There were so many other kids his age to play with, and picture books to look at, and toys they didn't even have at home. And twice a week they had Arts and Crafts, which was, like, the best of the best! Thomas could never keep the grin off his face when the teacher opened the big cabinet and brought out the stacks of paper and six big jugs of finger paint with the pump spigots.

“Today we're going to do something special,” the teacher said. “We're going to learn how to mix colors with paint! I know you can all name these colors...” And she pointed to each of the six jugs in turn, and the children dutifully named the colors with one voice:

“Red! Blue! Green! Yellow! White! Black!”

“But what if we want more colors than that? What if we want orange? Or purple? Or brown? How would we get them?”

Something went ping! in Thomas's head, and he raised his hand so fast that he felt his shoulder pop a little.

“Yes, Thomas?”

“Red and yellow make orange!” Thomas said breathlessly.

“That's right!” said the teacher. “Good job, Thomas! Everyone take a little bit of red and a little bit of yellow and mix it on your paper!”

Now something in Thomas's head went whummmmmm, because the teacher had just used the same word Dad had used the previous evening.

Right...

Hitting Shea wasn't right. “Red and yellow make orange” was right. But the two...weren't the same, were they? It wasn't bad to mix other paints, trying to get orange. It just wouldn't work. And while hitting Shea had certainly worked to get Spider-Man away from him, it made Dad angry...it made Shea angry, for that matter, and even the memory of it made Thomas feel bad. It was mean.

Thomas had a lot to learn about right and wrong. What they actually meant, for starters.

*****

Whummmmmmm...

In the depths of Thomas Sanders's mind, someone coalesced from the swirls of thought and emotion. He didn't have a defined form just yet, but if an image is required, use this: a boy just Thomas's age, and looking much like Thomas, even wearing the same royal blue overalls over a charcoal gray tee-shirt that Thomas wore that day, but with the important addition of glasses.

Dad wore glasses. So did the teacher. And so, in time, would this fellow, because as of this moment, the moment of his emergence, all he had was his mission: to guide Thomas in the role of both Dad and the teacher. All he knew was his purpose, which was to know everything else, everything he could find out, so that Thomas could be right as much as possible, so that he could say the right things and do the right things.

It was going to require a great deal of thought, so let's call him Thoughtful. Just for now.

As far as he could tell, he was alone. That too would change, and soon.

*****

The general consensus was that Thoughtful was the leader—after all, he was made of grown-ups. He wanted to be a good leader, since that was Right, but he had a problem.

There wasn't much to be the leader of.

It was mostly just him and Pretend, and things were awkward. Thoughtful liked Pretend—he was good company, most of the time—but he didn't get Pretend. Their worlds were so different!

Thoughtful's world was the real world, with real people and their feelings, and real things, and it was reasonably predictable. If Thomas did this, then that would happen. If he did this again, that should happen again...and if some other thing happened instead, it was probably a sign that the this wasn't quite the same the second time around.

Pretend's world was...everything but the real world, it seemed. Pretend made things up. He made up songs sometimes, and those were nice. He made up nicknames for people, and Thoughtful liked those quite a lot, because they usually played with the sounds of words and that made them funny. Pretend also made up stories, and that was where Thoughtful got confused, because telling a story was sort of like explaining something that happened, but the things in the story weren't real. Sometimes they were impossible, and those were Pretend's favorite kind of stories. Thoughtful knew that hitting people was Wrong, but Pretend could make up a story where hitting someone not only wasn't Wrong, it was actually Right, because the one you were hitting was a monster and you were hitting it with a magic sword, and that was the only way to save the villagers.

Thoughtful could agree that, all right, if the only way to save the villagers was to hit a monster with a magic sword, then that would be Right. But that was also the sort of thing that could never ever actually happen.

But Pretend's way of telling stories was better than some mind-people's. For example, there was Worry, who also made up monsters but forgot to include the magic sword. And there was Sneaky, who made up all kinds of things and said that they weren't made up, which offended Thoughtful so much that he could hardly stand it. Sneaky tried to make Thomas lie to other people, which would make him a bad person, and even worse, he tried to make Thomas lie to himself, which would make him a stupid person. No, Thoughtful didn't like Sneaky one bit, and as the leader, he made Sneaky mostly stay in the shadows around the edges of Thomas's mind. Worry hung out there a lot of the time too.

So it was mostly just him and Pretend, but maybe that was for the best. Thoughtful had a lot to do for Thomas as it was, without also having to do leader things all the time. He was busy, busy, busy all morning at kindergarten, helping Thomas learn his ABC's and how to count numbers (up to 50, and then 100! The teacher was very impressed) and how to share the LEGOs. He was busy after kindergarten too, helping Thomas behave for Mom while she ran errands—and that was hard sometimes, because the store was boring and he couldn't carry more than one or two toys and Shea always got the seat in the shopping basket because he was so little. Thoughtful was even busy on Sunday, helping Thomas learn the Ten Commandments and why they were important, and other things like that.

Sometimes he thought he might be too busy. But there was only one of him, so he figured he was stuck with it.

*****

Time passed, as time is wont to do.

*****

“Whatcha drawing there, kiddo?” asked Dad.

“It's my superhero, Splitman!” Thomas explained, holding up the crayoned paper.

“Oh yeah? What does he do?”

“He can split in two and fight two crimes at once! But each half only gets half his powers, so like if there's a plane crash and a bank robbery at the same time, he can be one guy who can fly and be super-strong, and another guy who can zap people with lightning and doesn't get hurt by bullets, and fix both things.”

“Wow! How creative! I bet he'll have all kinds of adventures!” Dad ruffled Thomas's hair and continued to the garage.

How...what?

“Get the dictionary, Thomas,” said Thoughtful. That was always the first place to look for new words, to see what they meant. “No, not K...it sounds like create, so it's probably in the C-words.”

“Did you hear that?” Pretend bubbled. “Dad likes Splitman! I bet everyone will like Splitman! We're gonna sell comic books and make a million dollars and be famous!”

Thoughtful found that unlikely, but didn't contradict him. Instead he said: “But maybe Splitman shouldn't zap bad guys with lightning. They could die, and a good guy should catch the bad guys alive so the police can take them to jail.”

Pretend pulled a face, but it was his “considering” face, not an unhappy one. “Maybe. What if he freezes the bad guys instead? Not in ice, but just, like, they can't move?”

Thomas found the word he was looking for and skimmed its definition. Then he read it more carefully, tracing the bigger words with his fingertip in order to sound them out syllable by syllable. Yeah, that made sense based on what Dad had said. Almost involuntarily, his gaze fell upon the next two words in the book—creatively and creativity, and he read their definitions as well, even though he had a pretty good idea of what they would mean.

“That's me!” Pretend said. “I'm changing my name! I'm Creativity now!”

Thoughtful frowned. “You can't just change your name.”

“Says who? I picked my name in the first place and I can change it if I want. Besides, we're not five anymore and I can do way more than just pretend. Drawing pictures isn't pretending, it's creative!” He flopped down on the sofa and wiggled around until he was hanging his head upside-down over the cushion. “You could change your name too. I bet you're more than just Thoughtful by now.”

More? Thoughtful recoiled from the very notion. If anything, he wished he could be a little less—Thomas was learning new things every day and it was so much to keep track of! If only someone else would show up in the mindscape to help take the slack! But Thomas was seven now, and there were about as many of them as there were going to be unless something drastic happened: Thoughtful himself, and Pre...Creativity, and Worry, and Sneaky, and one or two other shadow-lurkers.

He wondered what might happen if he did change his name. Creativity had changed his because he was changing and the old one didn't fit anymore. But was it possible for that to work the other way around? Could Thoughtful become less by naming himself something less? If so, what would happen to the other parts? Would someone else show up to be those, or would Thomas lose that part of himself?

Better not risk it. But maybe he could test the idea—change his name just a little, and see if his purpose changed at all, and also see what else happened. Then he would know if it was safe to go further.

Just a small, simple change...

And maybe he could improve the grammar while he was at it.

*****

More time passed.

*****

“Now what?” Thoughtfulness snapped. “I don't have time for this! I need to help Thomas study for his science test!”

“That is exactly my point,” said Dishonesty with a smug smile while Anxiety fumed. “Thomas doesn't need to study for the test. He knows everything that's going to be on it. He can draw more pictures instead.”

“What if Mom and Dad come in and catch him not studying?” Anxiety pointed out. “He'll get in trouble!”

“It will be fine, Anxiety. “He can keep the science book next to him and pick it up if he hears anyone coming. Then we'll all be happy.”

“I won't! What if—what if Ms. Feldman put something on the test that Thoughtfulness doesn't remember? Thomas needs to study for real so he isn't caught off guard!”

“But studying is no fuuuuuunnnnn!” Creativity lamented. “And I have this great idea for a picture! Where the knight is killing the dragon and there's all this blood coming out and it's wilting the flowers and there are unicorns crying and—”

“ENOUGH!” Thoughtfulness barked. “Mom and Dad told Thomas to study for the test, and that's what we're going to do! Creativity, your picture will have to wait! And I don't like some of the things you've been imagining lately! All this blood and guts...Thomas is a good kid, and he needs to stay that way!”

“He won't be a kid forever,” Creativity sulked. “Only babies are afraid of a little blood.”

“I'm surprised you're taking Anxiety's side, of all things,” Dishonesty said. “Not what I would expect after what happened between you two yesterday.”

“Anxiety was wrong yesterday,” Thoughtfulness said, causing Anxiety to flinch a little. “Nothing bad was going to happen to Thomas just for asking the lady in the store where the pens and pencils were.”

“...it might've...” Anxiety mumbled.

“I'm just saying that you're not being very consistent,” Dishonesty said.

“Enough, Dishonesty. Go away. In fact, all of you, go to your rooms. Thomas needs to concentrate.”

And so do I, he didn't add. Maybe it was Dishonesty's lingering presence that prompted that little lie of omission, but...whatever. Disputes like these were becoming more common, and Thoughtfulness was finding both his patience and his problem-solving abilities taxed to their limits...on top of which he was still responsible for everything he had always done for Thomas.

I can't keep doing this. It's too much for one Side to handle...but what can I do?

*****

Later that night, while Thomas slept, as Thoughtfulness sorted through the memories he had accumulated during the day, deciding what to keep long-term and what to chuck into the Subconscious, he found himself with company.

“Hi, Thoughtfulness...” Creativity said, singsong.

Thoughtfulness made a non-committal noise; he was focusing on his task.

“I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about my darker ideas?”

“Oh? And...?”

“And...” Creativity took a deep breath. “...you can keep your big mouth shut about it! Thomas's imagination is my job, not yours!”

Thoughtfulness was so shocked that he dropped the memory he was holding into the “keep” bin without looking at it. (It was just the shape of a stain on page 76 of Thomas's science textbook, so no real harm done, but sloppiness always bothered him.) “How dare you!” he retorted.

“You're always saying you have too much to do!” Creativity pointed out. “Well, here's something you can stop doing! Quit trying to control me! Because I'm busy too, and if you have to check everything I do to make sure it meets your 'standards,' neither of us will ever get any rest! Do you want to see all the ideas I had today?”

“Of course I—”

“Here they are! Have fun!” Creativity manifested a stack of paper the size of a phone book, dropped it at Thoughtfulness's feet, and sank out.

Thoughtfulness steeled himself and resolved not to look at the ideas until he was done sorting the memories, but he found himself on the brink of tears. “Too much...” he muttered under his breath, “too much...”

He didn't have to go through all the ideas. But if he didn't, he would just be letting the increasingly erratic Creativity win. He needed to keep things under control, to make sure Thomas remained good and sensible.

He glanced at the top of the pile. It bore a single line of written text: “Make up a song for Aunt Patty's birthday.” That seemed harmless enough. Thoughtfulness dropped the last few trivial memories into the “Subconscious” bin and turned his attention to Creativity's work.

The second idea was radically different from the first: “Make fart noises when Jimmy Zarnecki gives his book report.” Thoughtfulness tore that one up—he didn't like Jimmy Zarnecki any more than Creativity did, but being disruptive in class was a big no-no.

The third one took up half a dozen pages. Thoughtfulness stared at the top drawing for a moment before he recognized the figure portrayed. “Splitman...” he said. “We haven't thought about Splitman in over a year. I wonder...”

Creativity had redesigned the hero's costume with a column of interesting symbols down the middle of his torso. And as Thoughtfulness went through the other pages, he realized what they meant. Each one stood for one of Splitman's powers, and the papers were covered with drawings showing how he could divide himself into different complementary pairs to accomplish various tasks, with the symbols divvied up between the halves of each pair.

Thoughtfulness couldn't speak for the merit of the idea itself, but he thoroughly approved of the organization. And it got him...well, thinking...

Could he split in two? He had always brushed off the idea of it even being possible, but he realized that he had always framed it in terms of duplicating himself. When he contemplated something more like Splitman, it seemed oddly plausible. The rules inside Thomas's mind weren't the same as the rules outside it. They could shapeshift, materialize and dematerialize objects, even teleport. They had superpowers. What was one more?

He manifested a new, blank sheet of paper and a freshly sharpened pencil and began making two lists.

*****

Okay, time to try this thing...

Focus on just half of my job...focus on just the/h/ot/a/the/l/r/f/half

I don't have to be in charge of all of Thomas's insights, just the rat/emot/ion/al ones.

Which half will get the glasses?

NO! I was getting somewhere! Okay, try again and focus...

Just take one big step to the righ/lef/t.

Concentrate on being object/subject/ive.

Y/w/I/e/ou can do this.

Help Thomas know what's R/R/ig/igh/ht!—

SPLIT

*****

Creativity rose up in the commons and did a double-take. “You changed your look. The lighter blue looks good.”

“You don't know the half of it!” the other Side said, waggling his eyebrows.

“I guess you also changed your attitude.”

“Not exactly. Uh...Logic? Can you come here a sec?”

“Who's Log—ah!”

A second bespectacled figure had risen up beside the first. “Will this take long? I was helping Thomas devise a mnemonic for his science test...oh. I see.”

Creativity had taken several steps back. His eyes darted rapidly between the two of them. “Wait...wait...which one of you is Thoughtfulness and which one is new, and who are you?”

“It's a little complicated,” the one in the light blue overalls said a little sheepishly.

“It may very well be accurate to say that we are both new...but also that we are both Thoughtfulness,” said the other, who was dressed in a crisp black polo shirt and dark blue-violet slacks. He adjusted his glasses as he spoke. “The workload had become untenable and so I...we...he...Thoughtfulness divided into two, in order to specialize for greater efficiency.”

“Divided in two? You—we—can do that?”

“It sure looks that way, doesn't it, kiddo?”

“Going forward, I will handle Thomas's logical thinking and intellectual learning, whereas Morality here will be responsible for his emotional intelligence and moral judgments.”

“Hey!” said Morality. “Morality was my father...you can just call me Dad!”

Creativity grimaced. “That doesn't make any sense.”

“Yyyes...I seem to have received all the sense in the equation,” said Logic. “It was largely by design.”

“Why didn't you tell me you were planning to do this?” said Creativity.

“Because we did not exist until it was done,” said Logic. “Lacking existence, we had no ability to tell you.”

“Oh yeah, you'll have to get used to that,” said Morality. “Logic tends to take things literally. Anyway, Creativity, it was kind of a spur-of-the-moment decision when Thoughtfulness saw your new pictures of Splitman. He made a list of everything he does, sorted it into two lists, and then...willed himself into two parts. And now here we are!”

“So Thoughtfulness is...gone?”

“Not precisely.”

“Everything about him is still here, kiddo, it's just not...all together. But this is really for the best. We'll be able to help Thomas a lot better now that there's two of us. And we'll fight with you less since we'll be less stressed out.”

“So...which one of you is the leader?”

Logic and Morality traded a glance. There was an eerie synchrony to their movements, as if they weren't quite completely separate. “We can work that out a little later,” said Morality. “And Anxiety and Dishonesty should be there too. This concerns everyone.”

“Are we done for now?” asked Logic. “Thomas needs me.” Without even waiting for an answer, he sank back out.

“He seems nice,” Creativity muttered, his voice brimming with sarcasm.

Morality sighed. “We'll work on that. And...Creativity?”

“Hmm?”

“Since it's just you and me right now, we need to have us a little talk about some of your ideas...”

Author's Notes: I wrote this to explore a little idea I had about Logan and Patton having been one at some point. It can't have escaped anyone's notice that their logos match—just as Roman's and Remus's do.

Thomas is five in the first part of the story, seven in the middle part, and about nine in the last part.

My headcanon regarding OG Creativity is that he started out mostly like Roman is today. But as Thomas got older and picked up influences from various less wholesome sources, he started indulging in more violent fantasies, gross-out humor, etc., until Thomas (via Patton and probably Virgil) was horrified enough to lock all that stuff away, resulting in the creation of Remus. That's not, by the way, what's about to happen at the end of the story. It's not that bad yet. Morality is going to try to talk Creativity around first.

#sanders sides #fanfiction #kid!fic

54 notes · View notes

kumeko · 4 years

Photo

Prompt: Brock gets shrunk to a finger size due to Hank Pym and Jack has to keep him entertained.

A/N: Written for HHdiscord, for @marveltrumpshate! I was originally planning a 3-5k fic (5 because it took so long!) but this mutated to a 7+k fic instead. I find this hilarious since the first thing I had to ask when writing this was “who’s Jack Rollins?”

Here’s chapter 1!

…

There were many reasons to work for Hydra—a chance at status, the money, the ability to alter the world, the money. No, seriously, if you got high enough in the ranks, the payout was unimaginable. Unfortunately, not one of those reasons was their medical plan, substandard as it was. It was a pity, considering how often Brock’s men got injured when facing a superhero.

Then again, maybe that was why they didn’t offer one. The overhead costs would be astronomical.

Still, there had to be a better solution than sitting in his subordinate’s kitchen in the middle of the night, the light flickering above him because Jack didn’t remember to screw it on tight enough. Brock couldn’t say how many times he’d visited Jack’s rundown shack of a home, only that somehow it looked worse at every visit. While they weren’t getting paid the big bucks, they were certainly getting paid enough to afford better digs. For some reason, Jack liked living here; he had a rare strain of loyalty, the stupid kind that would get him killed.

Brock just hoped that wouldn’t happen soon, it would be hard to find a competent replacement. Even more so now that the fucking Avengers were tossing everyone they could find into the slammer. A sharp sting interrupted his thoughts and he grimaced. “Watch it,” he growled, snapping his head to his right.

Next to him, holding a cotton swab dipped in alcohol, Jack raised a brow. “It’s not like it can sting less. It’s an open wound, what do you expect?”

It was the truth. Brock glared at him anyways. “I can still hurt you.”

Jack looked utterly unimpressed. Firmly, he pressed the cotton swab down once more, cleaning the wound. “If you can still threaten me, I guess you’re fine.”

“Like there was any doubt,” he muttered, glancing down at his raised arm. There were three long slashes on his arm of varying depths, all reminders of what it means to go against S.H.I.E.L.D. Begrudgingly, he had to admit their field operatives weren’t bad. At least they gave him a bit of a challenge; it would be boring otherwise and he didn’t sign up for Hydra to fall asleep.

Jack glanced at him, then back at the wound. Firmly gripping Brock’s arm, he started dabbing again. “No, you’re too good for them.”

“Damn straight,” he bit out, resisting the urge to flinch as the swab brushed a more tender region. It was easier to deal with when he was the one patching himself, but Jack had insisted. Distracting himself, Brock scanned the kitchen, his eyes jumping from the clean plates in the dishrack to the sparse but organized counters. There was something ridiculously domestic about Jack despite his hulking frame. No doubt there was a frilly apron hidden somewhere here, and Brock chuckled darkly at the thought.

Jack raised a brow at the sight but said nothing as he started to wrap a long, cloth bandage around his arm. He pulled tight with each round, almost enough to cut off circulation but not quite. “Maybe…”

When he trailed off, saying nothing, Brock turned back to him. “What?”

“Just…” Jack bowed his head, his shoulders hunched as he focused on bandaging. Hesitantly, he suggested, “Tomorrow’s mission, getting the Pym particles—maybe we should delay it.”

It was the most asinine thing Brock had ever heard. He snorted, not sure if he should be insulted or just amused. “As if. Think Hydra would stop for something like this?”

“Then what if you—”

Now he was insulted. “Think I would stop for something like this?” Brock snarled, yanking his arm out of Jack’s grip. The still untied bandage started to unravel, loosening around his forearm.

“Hey!” Jack protested, trying to snatch back the bandage.

“Do you?” Brock repeated, keeping his arm away. With his good hand, he grabbed Jack by the collar and pulled him down till they were at eye level.

Jack was good at many things, but eye contact was not one of them. He looked away. “No.”

“This is nothing.” Not quite satisfied, he let go and held up his forearm once more. “Don’t be such a fucking mother hen.”

“I’m not,” Jack shot back, tugging on the bandage harder than necessary.

Brock wanted to laugh. For someone with Hydra, he was a poor liar. No longer insulted, he eyed his subordinate, amused. Part of him wanted to needle Jack more, to push his buttons; he’s seen Jack scared, worried, hurt, but never angry.

At the very least, the sex would be amazing.

Maybe he could try after the mission.

-x-

“This it?” Standing in front of a tall, dilapidated building, Brock frowned. The place looked like an apartment on the verge of being torn down rather than a secret hiding place of a superhero. Sure, Hank Pym was an ex-hero at this point, but that sort of stench never really washed off. The government always paid them off one way or another.

“Yeah.” Jack shifted from one foot to the other, antsy. Dressed entirely in black, he blended in with the shadows save for his green night-goggles. The street was darker than it ought to be at midnight, the streetlights here dead so Brock didn’t have to break them. “Thought it’d be nicer.”

“Guess it doesn’t pay to retire no matter what side you’re on.” Brock shook his head, feeling mildly disappointed.

“Retire?” Jack gave him a look, before looking at the rest of their squad spread out around them. Half a dozen men dressed in black, tensely studying the building in front of them, ready for a fight. “That’s not even an option, is it?”

Brock didn’t bother to answer. Jack was right—Brock couldn’t even name some of the newer guys, they’ve cycled through so many. He had no illusions about his place in Hydra—they’d use him until they couldn’t, and then they’d dispose of him the first chance they got. Unless he rose to the top or saved a good nest egg, he wasn’t going to make it past 40. 50, if he were lucky.

Not that Brock needed luck. He made his own and in a place like Hydra, he thrived.

Jack checked his watch. “It’s almost time to start.”

“Have two guys come down from the top.” Brock pulled on his mask as he shifted to a commanding tone. His shoulder ached from the movement but he bit back a wince; he was here to do a job. If Jack noticed, he didn’t say anything. He liked that about him, it was hard to find a professional sometimes. “We’ll go in through the front and pin him in.”

“What if he shrinks?” Jack asked, pulling down his goggles and readying his gun.

“Doesn’t matter. We’re not here for him, but for the particles.” Brock gestured to two members of his squad. They nodded and quietly slinked toward the front door. One of them stood to the side, gun cocked, while the other forced the door open.

Nothing happened. Brock jogged forward, his gun drawn and goggles on. Scanning his surroundings, he commanded, “Catch him if you can. But I don’t mind if he’s bloody or dead.”

The inside of the building was surprisingly clean and empty. Someone lived here, even if it wasn’t Pym. For a lobby, the area was sparsely decorated, a wide square room with a single chair on side and a board full of keys on the other. Not bothering to grab them, Brock headed to the apartment rooms. “Everyone take a floor,” he barked, already making his way to first floor rooms.

He kicked in the first door he found and rolled in. Just like the lobby, the apartment room was empty, the walls all newly painted white. Signs of people without the people. His goggles indicated no signs of Pym, small or otherwise.

As he exited back to the hallways, he bumped into Jack coming out from the opposite room. “Not here, unless he’s small,” Jack griped, glaring at the carpet as though Pym was hiding in its fibers.

Maybe Pym was. As good as his equipment was, it wasn’t that good. Brock stepped more forcefully. “If he is, his fucking equipment has to be around. If I’m chasing him a second time, he’s dead.”

It was easy to keep up the energy as he burst into the next apartment. And then the one after that. The entire first floor was cakewalk.

By the fifth floor, however, it was just getting tedious. Even with the fact that his team had split up, dividing and conquering the fifty-storey building, it still took time to investigate each room. The results were the same each time—no Pym, no particles, no equipment. Occasionally, the empty rooms had furniture, indications of their previous tenants, but Brock wasn’t sure if it was just a red herring or if there was some meaning in it. He wasn’t a detective, he’d leave that work for the cleanup team after.

“The teams above are almost done,” Jack relayed to him, standing stock still as he listened to his earpiece.

Brock shot open a door half-heartedly, tired of it all. “Fucking finally. Can’t wait to leave.”

“After we finish this hall, we’re done.” Jack checked the room across the hall with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop.

“He wasn’t here at all,” Brock grumbled, checking the last room in the hall. “Who thought he was?”

Jack shrugged, already leading the way to the stairwell. “Dunno, one of the intelligence units.”

“When we get back, I’m having their head.” As Brock descended down the stairs, he ground his teeth. Their steps echoed through the stairwell. “Waste of a night.”

“Yeah. Everyone’s out now.” Jack opened the door to the first floor lobby and headed toward the front doors.

“Your house,” Brock stated shortly, still pissed.

Jack smiled. “I thought you didn’t like my house.”

“I’m not breaking my bed.” Brock snorted. There was only one kind of distraction he needed after this, and it was going to be rough.

“I don’t know why I bother to repair it,” Jack muttered, opening the glass door. He lingered at the entrance, looking back at him. “Coming?”

“One sec.” Brock scanned the lobby one last time. Just like when he’d arrived, there was nothing here that caught his eye, no sign of the man or the particles they were after. The door closed in front of him and he sighed before following after Jack. “What an utter was—”

As he exited the building, his body started to tingle. Brock stared at his hands as a fuzzy, glowing light enveloped him and the building. He felt disconnected from his body, like he was half-asleep and listening to Jack go to the bathroom.

He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the glowing lights were gone but he still felt fuzzy. Maybe his arm had been poisoned yesterday. Maybe it was blood loss.

“Brock?” Jack yelled, his voice sounding way too loud. His shadow fell on Brock, looking like it could eclipse the sun.

“What?” As usual, Brock looked up at his subordinate. And then he craned his neck back and looked up even more.

Fuck, Jack was always a tall man, but he was a fucking giant now.

#brock rumlow #jack rollins #hydra husbands #crossbones #captain america #mcu #forgive some mischaracterizations #i'm still working on voice #but hopefully progressive chapters sound better (i think i got a hang of it by ch 3)#fanfic

25 notes · View notes

laniidae-passerine · 4 years

Text

See, the big problem with Hitch is that he talks a lot about himself, but it’s near impossible to tell if he’s lying or not.

So, I’m going to collect information about him from the books that I think is either most definitely true or could possibly be true. Any other information I’ll discount as a lie or impossible to tell if it’s true, and I won’t write it down. Reminder that I don’t own books 2 or 3 and there are spoilers! below. Let’s begin!

Look Into My Eyes

He’s first described as basically a knockout stunner who walked out of almost everyone’s dreams. And so was I just not supposed to love him? Unrealistic.

“But when Ruby answered the door she was surprised to see a remarkably handsome, rather tall, formally dressed man. He was neither particularly young nor would he ever be considered in any way old - in fact it was impossible to really put any accurate age on him.” [page 46]

He’s apparently a man of culture, because he instantly knows what designer Sabina is talking about in regards to her jacket.

“‘Well it is an Oscar Birdet, maybe they felt a little out their depth?’” [page 51]

While he’s obviously very good at his job, he’s not so humble as to not be pleased with himself. He knows he’s good at what he does.

“Ruby looked up to see the amused face of Hitch. He looked kind of pleased with himself, which irritated her.” [page 55]

He’s surprised by just how observant Ruby is, clearly underestimating her right out of the gate.

“‘I’m surprised you noticed (my arm injury).’ And he was surprised too; he thought he had concealed his arm injury well.” [page 56]

Even a man of taste can’t help showing off, and it seems like every guy with enough money lining his pockets likes a nice car, as indicated by his colour choice in convertible.

“‘Well that might explain the flashy car - he’s got this silver convertible.’” [page 62]

He knows a stylist?

“Hope you approve. Had my stylist friend Billie pick these things out for you - she’s good at that kind of thing. Hitch.” [page 81]

He doesn’t have a peanut allergy, lucky him.

“He looked up, startled, and immediately began to spread it with peanut butter. ‘Toast?’ he said.” [page 81]

I am physically aching with how much Lauren Child loves to remind us how hot Hitch is - give us a break, or else I might cry with how good looking he is. But just in case you forgot, let’s remind ourselves about how Hitch is the most attractive man alive! Also, he’s got brown or hazel eyes, Mrs Bexenheath hasn’t decided yet.

“Mrs Bexenheath, the school secretary, looked up to see at what first glance she imagined to be some Hollywood film star. It was as if he had accidentally strayed off the ‘walk of fame’ and wandered unwittingly into the shabby halls of Twinford Junior High - so entirely out of place was he. However, this handsome man struck up and easy conversation with her and before a minute had passed Mrs Bexenheath had found herself agreeing to excuse Ruby Redfort from all lessons for the foreseeable future. She had concentrated carefully, all the while staring into his Hollywood eyes, wondering if they were brown or were they hazel.” [pages 105 and 106]

He knows he’s so attractive that he can just make stuff up and like Ruby, he’s one hell of a liar.

“‘Well, it seems that your grandmother had contracted a rare but not infectious virus while bird watching in the Australian Alps - condition, serious,’ Hitch said, turning the key in the ignition. ‘There are no Australian Alps,’ said Ruby. ‘Well someone should have told your grandmother that because now look at her.’” [page 106]

Hitch doesn’t know shit about children or teenagers until he meets Ruby, and that’s a goddamn fact.

“‘Buzz, give the kid a little tour of the gadget room,’ said Hitch. ‘That’ll keep her out of trouble.’ He was wrong about that.” [page 110]

Now for the moment that made me think he was cute when I reread the books as a teen - he’s not above messing with people and enjoys a good joke now and then.

“‘OK,’ said Hitch, holding his finger to his temple as if he was channelling the information. ‘I’m guessing... chocolate raspberry, strawberry frosting, rainbow sprinkles - am I right?’ Elliot, speechless, handed over the donut.” [page 148 and 149]

And the moment that made me realise I adored him. God yes he’s very handsome and yes he’s got money and yes he’s a secret agent but I’d trade all of that, just for a guy who admits when he’s been stupid. And somehow he can do that while also having and being all of the above.

“When he (Hitch) came in he said, ‘Look kid, maybe part of this is my fault, I accept that, I’ve been kinda ribbing you and talking down to you - so maybe you and I need to start over?’” [page 171]

He likes some of the finer things in life.

“Back at Cedarwood Drive, Ruby went downstairs to find Hitch, who was sitting in his small but comfortable apartment, listening to music and reading some papers.” [page 178]

He’s a charmer, obviously.

“It occurred to Ruby that Consuela was rather over dressed for this task, the stiletto heels and painted fingernails seeming to be more of a hindrance than a help. She was also laughing rather too much [at Hitch’s jokes], that sort of random giggling that certain girls at Ruby’s school broke into whenever Richie Dare walked past.” [page 181]

I don’t actually think he’s assigned to Spectrum 8 - he’s apparently not a Twinfordite or based in California as he implies when he’s about to leave the Redfort house,

“‘What is it? I got a plane to catch in less than,” Hitch looked at his watch, ‘seventeen minutes.’” [page 294]

He’s got a temper on him, and can get angry rather quickly if someone’s done something stupid.

“As he drove, Hitch thought about Ruby. He was about as angry as he had ever been. What on earth had gotten into the kid?” [page 297]

He doesn’t like Froghorn a the beginning of the books and also he’s the sick in the stomach guilt kinda guy.

“Hitch was feeling horrible - the kind of guilt that causes nausea. Why hadn’t he listened, he never should have let LB assign that numbskull.” [page 328]

He owns a gun and I’d assume it’s Spectrum issued.

“You tell him kid, hissed Hitch, his hand reaching for his revolver.” [page 378]

I can’t say for sure, but I have this feeling that he and Nine Lives were kinda close in the way that you must be if you’re continually trying to kill one another. (I’ve always thought of her as being smart enough to be a Spectrum agent but always refusing Hitch’s offers to join when they were younger, and he finally gave up when she started recreationally killing but that’s just my personal head-canon!) Anyway, her death has him feeling some kinda way.

“(Valerie) looked up at Hitch. ‘You killed me?’ she said as she slid to the floor. In her left hand the diamond revolver glittered, a pool of crimson forming where she lay. For just a second the three figures were frozen. Hitch had so many times fought Nine Lives only to watch her somehow leap to her escape - wounded but always alive. Could it really be over?” [page 381]

Feel the Fear

What does Hitch fear? LB? Death? Bears? No. He fears the most dangerous thing of all - meter-maids.

“Ruby looked up to see a tall, well-groomed man in a well-cut suit standing in the room. He appeared moderately anxious. ‘Am I making you nervous?’ asked Ruby. ‘The only person making me nervous is the meter maid on 3rd Avenue where I’m double-parked.’” [page 26]

He’s a trustworthy guy, so not just all stunningly good looks then.

“That was the thing about Hitch: he kept his mouth shut. He had to: 𝘚𝘗𝘌𝘊𝘛𝘙𝘜𝘔 𝘙𝘜𝘓𝘌 1: 𝘒𝘌𝘌𝘗 𝘐𝘛 𝘡𝘐𝘗𝘗𝘌𝘋. as one of the highest-ranking agents at Spectrum 8, he was trusted with heavily classified information. He didn’t squeal for anything or anybody.” [pages 28 and 29]

He loves Ruby, most definitely, like some kinda surrogate agent dad but by god how did he end up here?

“So how had a top-notch spy wound up working undercover as a bodyguard to a thirteen year old kid? Hitch, for one, asked himself this question practically every day.” [page 29]

It’s implied he’s never worked an actual real job in his life - obviously or else he’d have the worn down look of everyone who’s ever had to take a job in retail.

“‘No Redfort, not really, at least I doubt it, but they might fire me.’ ‘That would suck,’ she said. Hitch nodded. ‘Yes it would. I’d have to go and get a real job.’ He shuddered. ‘I’m sure my parents would keep you on.’ ‘Yes,’ said Hitch. ‘That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.’” [page 50]

He never sleeps. He never looks sleepy. All a man born in 1930 knows is coffee, play his clarinet, not sleep, be bisexual, work as an agent and lie.

“Didn’t matter what time of day or night, Ruby had never caught Hitch unprepared, asleep or even on the brink of dozing off.” [page 131]

He has the dad act down to the “I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed” voice.

“At that exact moment Hitch’s voice was the best sound Ruby had ever heard, even though it in fact sounded sort of furious. He wasn’t shouting, which made it worse, his voice heavy with disappointment, his expression telling her that at that very moment he wasn’t exactly pleased to see her breathing but was relieved that he hadn’t had to pick up the Ruby-shaped pieces.” [page 176]

He is apparently knowledgeable about French Antique furniture, specifically that of the 1700’s.

“Clancy led Hitch to his mother’s dressing room and Hitch surveyed the damage. He winced, ran his fingers over the wood. ‘Pear and walnut, made in the French provinces.’ He opened the drawers and examined their construction. ‘Circa 1727, very typical.’ He looked underneath the table top; found what he was looking for. ‘Surprising.’ Then he took a magnifier from his bag, held it over the damaged wood of the table. ‘A quality piece.’” [pages 210 and 211]

Listen, when I said he had money, I wasn’t joking. To misquote somebody, I don’t love him cause he’s rich, but it sure doesn’t hurt.

“Hitch took a fat wodge of twenty dollar bills from his wallet, peeled off a large number and handed them to the guy in charge, shook them all by the hand and watched them leave.” [page 211]

Hitch implies he’s attracted to women, but that’s not news to us because he’s obviously bi, duh.

“‘I think someone just tried to kill me.’ ‘You’re looking at the next guy in line - I just happened to be having dinner two blocks away with a very charming meter maid.’” [page 322]

He’s got a vaguely recognisable aesthetic.

“Ruby knew the Charles Burger, and upmarket burger grill place, with green leather banquette seating and polished wood tables. It was very Hitch somehow.” [page 366]

He can do parkour. It’s amazing.

“‘Let me explain.’ Without warning, Hitch ran. He was across the parking lot in the blink of any eye and headed straight towards a high brick wall - but he didn’t stop, he didn’t slow his pace, he ran at the wall and then up the wall, and when he got to the top... (insert long description of very cool parkour antics)” [page 372]

I literally do not understand how this handsome superman type of guy is single. How?! HE CAN JUMP BETWEEN WHOLE BUILDINGS!

“The crowd gasped as the woman flailed in the sky, and then they gasped again to see a figure in all black fly across the spotlight’s beam to snatch her from the dark.” [pages 478 and 479]

Pick Your Poison

Nobody knows an actual fact about Hitch and it’s very painful.

“‘When it comes to Hitch, I think it’s hard to know what’s true. You think you know him but, look at it this way, what do I really have as hard evidence? Do I know anything?’ ‘You know he likes coffee,’ suggested Clancy. ‘What I know Clance,’ corrected Ruby, ‘is that Hitch drinks coffee and a lot of it, but does he drink it because he likes the taste of it or because she need to keep from falling asleep? Well, it’s anybody’s guess.’” [page 31]

In case you forgot, because it really doesn’t get said often, Hitch is very attractive.

“She didn’t immediately spot Hitch. He was browsing chickpeas: a tall, good-looking man, wearing an elegant raincoat over a dark suit.” [page 60]

Dad jokes!

“‘Isn’t this a bit inconvenient?’ said Ruby. ‘I mean, having to walk through a store every time you want to reach Spectrum?’ ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘It’s a convenience store.’” [page 60]

This isn’t really a fact about him, but this part always makes me laugh so here we go.

“Hitch, who was standing behind Ruby, was trying silently mouth something to SJ and making a sort of cutting motion with his hand as if to say ‘stop talking’, but SJ wasn’t reading this and instead was making it abundantly clear that she was marking this incident up as attempted murder.” [page 228]

The amount of sass contained within one man... legendary.

“‘Kid, don’t you worry about your mother, I got that covered. I have someone watching her, just a precaution.’ ‘I hadn’t noticed,’ said Ruby. Hitch looked heavenwards. ‘He’s a professional, you’re not meant to notice.’” [page 228]

This quote is pretty self explanatory.

“‘So who’s the Aikido master?’ ‘That would be me,’ said Hitch.” [page 250]

He does in fact like coffee!

“‘Same place,’ said Hitch. ‘I only told you Lucello’s because the coffee’s good.’” [page 348]

We get a rare moment of Hitch actually chilling out and eating food!

“Hitch was there, eating a Digby club sandwich (a Mrs Digby special) and he raised a hand in greeting when she walked in.” [page 393]

Even secret agents want their downtime, and are prone to laziness.

“‘You couldn’t fix it yourself?’ ‘Sure I could,’ said Hitch. ‘It’s a simple case of replacing the valve, which if I’m looking at it correctly is a 3/4 inch ceramic. But I’ve got bigger fish to fry.’ [page 394]

He’s capable of getting shouty when he’s being told he can’t do his job properly.

“‘You didn’t have any traffic,’ said Ruby, angrily, ‘you came by helicopter, and by the way I radioed for assistance more than forty minutes back.’ ‘Well, that seems unlikely since we got no call.’ They were almost shouting at each other now.” [page 476]

Just like I mentioned with Blacker, it seems Hitch contributes to some of the dark humour at Spectrum 8.

“Hitch: ‘You don’t have to convince me, you should see the state she left Baby Face in - or rather I should say, states.’ Delaware: ‘How do you mean? Where is he now?’ Hitch: ‘Well, he left his heart in San Francisco.’ Blacker: “His head was found in Monterrey.’ Hitch: ‘And his legs have yet to show.’ LB: ‘Excuse me?’ Blacker: ‘He’s a goner.” [page 503]

Blink and You Die

Both Clancy and Ruby trust their agent dad.Also, I feel like Hitch is actually the closest thing to a dad that Clancy has, because his actual dad sucks, and that just gets me.

“‘So you’re going to have to talk to Hitch. You trust him, don’t you?’ ‘A hundred per cent,’ said Ruby.” [page 96]

He’s notable for his on-time nature.

“She sat down. All the seats around her were unoccupied and there was no sign of Hitch. Mr Punctuality appeared to be late.” [page 103]

Although I think he might be lying, it seems like Hitch enjoys stargazing.

“‘I like that place,’ said Hitch. ‘The planetarium?’ ‘Yeah, like I said, I find it soothing.’” [page 108]

He’s sincere enough to convince LB to do things she doesn’t really want to and he’s got Ruby’s back to the end.

“‘Hitch has persuaded HQ that it would wise to keep up the survival skills. He seems to think you need all the protection you can get, and though you are no longer a functioning field agent or coding agent, after much consideration, I am persuaded he is right.’” [page 113]

He’s got non-verbal cues that indicate when he’s pissed off - they’re minor but they’re there.

“They talked together got a few minutes, all perfectly fine until Hitch appeared to notice something - perhaps it was to do with Froghorn’s attire, it was hard to say from this distance but Ruby recognised the subtle change in body language and knew that he was not happy, not happy at all.” [page 180]

He’s been seriously injured before in his life, and why was nobody paying attention to these goddamn children, holy hell Spectrum dropped the ball on this one.

“While this drama was unfolding, so another was taking place - the screams of a boy who had apparently fallen into the shallows, but managed somehow to scrabble onto one of the rafts. He had incurred a life-threatening from a fifteen-foot crocodile, but he was lucky - his cries had alerted rescue and he was dragged from the river before he could be taken by the reptile. The boy suffered severe shock and could not be questioned about the incident.” [page 235]

I think that his name suits him well, but jeez, imagine looking at your baby and giving him this name.

“The second, the boy who was almost swallowed by the crocodile, was named as Art Hitchen Zachery.” [page 236]

He is not immune to the upset looks of Sabina Redfort.

“‘I’m afraid I’m expected elsewhere,’ said Hitch, glancing anxiously at his watch. ‘Oh no, really?’ exclaimed ‘Sabina. She looked so forlorn that Hitch found himself saying, ‘You know what, how about I stay for the starter - it really looks too good to miss.’” [page 260]

His birthdate was 1930!

“‘Just how old do you think I am?’ ‘I don’t know,’ said Ruby, ‘fifty-five... fifty-seven.’ ‘Kid, I’m forty-two.’ He shook his head. ‘Boy, never ask a kid to guess your age; they’ll always have you pegged at just shy of decrepit.’” [page 290]

I don’t even know what to caption this, except that he’s able to burst into hysterics. Also, he went with other Spectrum agents to Disneyland, which is adorable.

“‘Are you kidding?’ He began to laugh, really laugh. In fact, he laughed so hard that he didn’t look like he was ever going to stop. ‘What?’ she asked, annoyed that she wasn’t in on the joke. ‘That picture was taken at Disneyland,’ he wheezed. ‘He was made of rubber. Kid, you might to get a new pair of spectacles.’” [page 291]

More dad jokes!

“‘I’d love to, kid, but I’ve got places to be.’ As the doors closed shut, he called, ‘See you later alligator!’ ‘Funny,’ muttered Ruby, ‘real funny.’” [page 291]

While the revelation of Bradley being alive is a huge thing, Hitch still has time for sass.

“Ruby: ‘I’ve only seen two picture of Baker and in neither one did he have this whole wild man of the woods deal going on.’ Hitch: ‘You mean the facial hair?’ Baker: ‘It’s just a beard for crying out loud.’ [page 336]

He can play poker!

“By the time Ruby decided to turn in for bed, Sabina, Hitch, Bradley, Brant and Mrs Digby were settled in for a long night of poker.” [page 348]

The title of butler doesn’t sit great with him.

“‘He’s some butler,’ remarked Brant. ‘Honey, Hitch is a house manager,’ corrected Sabina. ‘He doesn’t like to be called butler, he’s very particular about that.’” [page 350]

He’s this close to dying and he’s still throwing out the snappy comebacks, what a guy.

“The Australian: ‘Of course. But try to refrain from doing anything stupid.’ Hitch: ‘What would add up to stupid?’ The Australian: ‘Any sudden movements; that wouldn’t be smart sweetie.’ Hitch: ‘I’ll try keep my nervous twitch under control.’ The Australian: ‘I’m impressed by your common sense.’ Hitch: ‘I’m impressed by your gun.'” [page 388]

He’s a real personality - the kind you miss badly when he’s not around.

“Thing moved like clockwork in the Redfort home, every household issue was attended to, and though no one was aware of it, their security was monitored and every safety procedure followed. But life seemed dull without Hitch.” [page 429]

He has a permanent scar from the crocodile incident.

“‘Wanna see the bite? It’s ugly, took an awful lot of stitches to put me back together.’” [page 509]

And those are all the facts I’ve found that we didn’t already know/ are relevant about one Art Hitchen Zachary! I omitted the other 700 paragraphs where we get reminded yet again that he’s very handsome, and still he is the most amazing man!

#rr #ruby redfort #art hitchen zachary #hitch #me reading all of this is just *heart eyes*#im loveeee #if ya man isn't like this do you even want a man at all?#anyway #agent blacker #lb #bradley baker #byd spoilers #blink and you die spoilers #blacker #miles froghorn #clancy crew

58 notes · View notes