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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 10 months

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Comet Donati [Chapter 2: Story Of My Life]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sexual content (18+), drugs, alcohol, smoking, mental health struggles, cryptic song lyrics, tattoos, motorcycles, pretentious veganism, the return of the Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “I’m not interested in therapy. But I’m somewhat interested in you.”

Word count: 6.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @tclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927

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Under the stars, under the canopy of incandescent string lights, you tilt a Salty Dog against your lips: clinking ice, rosemary, a wedge of grapefruit, salt on the rim. The indigo wind raises goosebumps on your arms. From the speakers flow notes muffled by car horns and ambient conversation: Coldplay, Life In Technicolor ii. The Missouri River is a snake in the distance, twisting and glimmering, silver scales built of reflected moonlight. It is one year before you fly to Rome. It is the prologue of a book you never thought you’d write.

“I hope you’re not cheating on anybody,” you say to Aegon. Your voice has that drowsy, unguarded honestly that follows good sex with someone you might have the capacity to love under the right circumstances. His does too.

Aegon snorts and shakes his head. There is sunburn on his cheeks like a stain of spilled wine; summer in the Lower Midwest doesn’t agree with him. It’s too hot, too primal. It’ll bite you if you’re not careful. “No. There’s no one.”

“Is there ever?” you ask. “I remember seeing paparazzi photos of Jace and Luke with their girlfriends, Aemond with Shelby, Cregan with…plentiful, interchangeable Victoria’s Secret models. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you attached to anyone.”

“Look, can I be honest for a second? I mean, I don’t want to offend you. But you seem cool, you seem like you might get it. Can I be real with you?”

“Yeah. Be real, I’d like that.”

“I love what we’re doing right now,” Aegon says. He takes a swig of his Salty Dog, your suggestion. His blond hair, nearly shoulder-length, whips in the night breeze. There’s something about Missouri that feels old, prehistoric almost, and you know because you’ve left it and come back: untamed, unrefined, brown recluses and black bears, copperheads and water moccasins, droughts and floods and tornados, humid and buggy like the earth the dinosaurs knew. “And I loved what I was doing last week in Boston and Philly, and I’ll probably love what I’m doing a few days from now in Houston. But if I knew I had to do it, I wouldn’t love it anymore, you know? That’s just how I am. It’s not a reflection on anyone but me. I can’t handle obligations, commitment, chains. I feel the weight of expectations settling on me and I run.” He rests his chin on his knuckles as he gazes at you like a distant constellation. “I don’t think my worth is determined by who or how I fuck. I don’t think yours is either. I think there are sluts who are angels and virgins who are demons. And I think to believe otherwise is not just archaic or puritanical or ignorant. I think it’s deeply, catastrophically harmful.”

You’re smiling; tears brim in your eyes. “Thank you, Aegon,” you say softly.

He is mystified. “For what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

Coldplay recedes from the speakers. Next—for no less than the fourth time this evening—is the Weeknd’s Starboy. Aegon groans and drums his Salty Dog on the tabletop. “Oh my God, this song again?!”

“They’re obsessed!”

“They really are.”

“It’s for you,” you tease. “You’re the big star. The boy band star. The Starboy.”

He takes your right hand, flattens your palm, and lays it against his chest. Through his t-shirt—Nirvana, grey, short-sleeved, from Target—you can feel muscle, bone, rushing blood. “Starboy,” he tells you, grinning. Then he presses his own palm to your heart, beating calm and slow beneath your dress the color of emeralds. “Stargirl.”

“Oh no. Wrong. I’m definitely a nobody.”

“You’re not,” Aegon says. And then again, to make sure you’ve heard him: “You’re not.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“So I only have to talk to two people?” Rhaena says suspiciously, like she’s waiting for you to pull the lever of a trapdoor.

“Exactly.” You take another bite of your carbonara, an Italian invention that would be at home in the Midwest: heavy, cheesy, lots of pork products. “At the meet-and-greet before the show tonight, I want you to pick two people. Just two. And they can be anyone you want. 13-year-old girls, frat boys, soccer moms, grandmas, whoever. And I want you to chat with each of those two people for two minutes. That’s four minutes total. And then you’re done!”

“I’m really done? You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Two people, two minutes. I can do that.” Rhaena turns to Luke, who has bits of lasagna all over his shirt and one wayward shred of a noodle in his dark curly hair. “I can do that, right?”

He nods encouragingly. “You can totally do that.”

Aemond is watching; you can see him on the periphery of your vision, short blond hair and a black t-shirt. He wears a lot of black, few accessories, like he’s trying not to be noticed. You look across the table at him. The band is enjoying a late lunch—everyone sleeps in until at least 1 p.m.—on the patio of a restaurant that overlooks the Palatine Hill. Intense midday sunbeams stream, in threads like tinsel on a Christmas tree, through the gaps in the pergola of grapevines, climbing roses, and ivy. In the daylight, Aemond’s scar is jarring—red, wrathful—and his sightless blue dreamscape of a left eye all the more peculiar. He fixes his gaze on you, daring you to flinch away, to be disgusted, to wilt like something parched and dying. You stare steadily back. Aemond sips his white wine, half-smiling, and twirls spaghetti onto his fork. You have white wine too. You keep choosing whatever drinks he does.

“You came all the way to Rome only to order the most basic, fifth-grader version of pasta imaginable?”

“It has marinara sauce,” Aemond replies. “I’m a vegan.”

“Uh oh,” you say. “For health reasons or the environment, or…?”

He shrugs, like it’s obvious. “I just feel that the world has enough suffering in it already without me contributing to the mass torture and execution of sentient beings.”

“Okay. Pretentious.”

Aemond chuckles, covering his mouth with one hand so he can chew his spaghetti with dignity. “What do your parents do in Kansas?”

“Missouri,” you correct, like a reflex.

“I know, it’s so confusing,” Aegon tells him. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses and a salmon-colored tank top that matches his sunburn. “It’s Kansas City, but apparently it’s in Missouri, not Kansas. But there is a different, smaller, much worse Kansas City in actual Kansas.”

“It’s confusing for your little hamster brain,” you say.

Aegon holds up a dark green bottle of olive oil that he’s been drenching his salad with: lettuce, tomatoes, black olives, skinless boneless chicken. “This is healthy, right?”

“Yeah, it’s really good for you. Antioxidants and anti-inflammatory properties.”

Jace snickers. “Dude, that has like 100 calories per tablespoon.”

Aegon frowns dejectedly down at his salad. “Fuck.”

Aemond asks you: “So what do your parents do in Missouri?”

“They have a farm just outside the city.”

“Oh. Nice.” Some apprehension now. “What do they raise?”

“Beef cattle.”

The rest of the table bursts out laughing. Aemond’s cheeks—one smooth and pristine, one cut in two by a rust-colored cord of bitter corporal memory like barbed wire—flush pink. He is happy in a way that he hasn’t been in a long time; you can see that in the warmth that glows on the others’ faces. He is alarmingly, breathtakingly beautiful. He has the sort of features that belong carved into marble, in myths, in museums. “I mean…I’m sure they do a great job.”

“You should visit one day. You can help brand the herd.”

“Absolutely,” Aemond quips.

“Nothing gets one’s deepest, darkest revelations flowing like hard labor.”

“I’m not interested in therapy.” He peers around the table for the basket of bread. “Jace, can you pass me some of that?”

Jace picks up a piece of crunchy Italian bread and lobs it through the air. It goes sailing right past Aemond, at least a foot from his fumbling, futile hands.

Aegon is exasperated. “Jace, bruh, you know he’s got no depth perception!”

“It’s fine,” Aemond says quickly, like he wants the conversation to be over.

“It’s not fine.” Aegon stands up and leans across the table to jab his index finger menacingly at Jace. “Have some consideration for anyone besides yourself. Have some fucking respect.”

Jace is more entertained than intimidated. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression that I outrank you now.”

“Yeah. And how’d you get there?” In the uneasy quiet that falls over the table, Aegon—quite tipsy already—lurches inside the restaurant to use their bathroom.

Daeron slides the basket of bread over to Aemond. Luke studies him sympathetically without knowing what to say. So much of what settles in us—accumulating like radiation, cooking malignancies into our bones—are things we cannot speak of. This is the great supposition of therapy. It’s what first inspired Sigmund Freud to get that fateful ball rolling in the latter half of the 1800s, before television or radio or record players, before airplanes, before Alaska or Hawaii were added to the Union.

Criston sighs loudly and stabs at his carne alla pizzaiola. Cregan stares indifferently out over the Palatine Hill: the Palace of Domitian, the House of Tiberius, the Temple of Apollo, ruins of gods and men. He slips a minibar-sized bottle of Absolut Vodka out of his sweatpants, empties it into his San Pellegrino, and gulps it all down. Jace has one arm slung across the back of his girlfriend Baela’s chair. She whispers something to him, clearly irritated. He replies briskly back. They have the look of a couple that has spent more time trying to claw their way back to a good place than they ever spent happy to begin with. Jace steals a glimpse of you, smirking. He turns away as soon as you notice him watching. His arms and chest, visible through his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, are a mosaic of tattoos: the Eiffel tower, cherry blossoms, Christ the Redeemer, an alligator, a pair of dice.

After a few minutes, Aegon returns to the table, noticeably more peppy. He starts collecting everyone’s silverware and piling it on a plate for when the servers clear the table. He sorts the utensils by type—forks, knives, spoons—and then by size.

“What is on your face?” Criston demands.

Aegon feigns innocence. Badly. “Huh? What? Face? Huh?”

“Your face. What the hell is all over your face?”

Aegon touches his fingertips to his nose. They come away dusted with white residue. “Um. Donuts.”

“What?”

“Powdered sugar donuts.”

“That’s what you were doing in the bathroom? Eating donuts?”

“…Yes.”

“Aegon,” Criston says sternly.

“They’re called zeppole here.”

Criston claps his hands together and rises from the table. “Okay, time for soundcheck!”

There are groans and complaints, but the band obeys, mopping stray sauce from their lips with cloth napkins and then heading for the black Escalades parked outside the restaurant…everyone except Aemond. He sips his wine leisurely, like he hasn’t heard Criston. You don’t leave either.

Criston regards Aemond with fatherly concern, a hand rested on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah. We’ll catch up with you later.”

“Really?”

“If memory serves, you don’t need me for this part anymore.”

“Right,” Criston admits awkwardly. “Well one of the Escalades will be waiting out front whenever you’re ready.”

“Sounds good.”

Criston and the rest of the band vanish towards the front of the restaurant. You can hear the slamming of doors and Criston shouting: “Get in the car…get in the fucking car…put your seatbelt on…Aegon, right now, put it on—!”

Aemond takes a pack of Benson & Hedges cigarettes out of the pocket of his dark jeans, puts one between his lips, ignites it with a small square metal lighter—vintage? heirloom?—and then throws the glittery gold pack onto the table. “Okay. Go ahead.”

You smile at him, bars of shadow and sunlight across both of your faces. The restaurant speakers, breaking the spell of the ever-ancient Roman mirage, are playing Foster The People’s Pumped Up Kicks. “I thought you weren’t interested.”

“I’m not interested in therapy. But I’m somewhat interested in you.” He exhales smoke like a dragon. “So go on, ask your questions so I can theatrically unburden myself and emerge from the wreckage like a phoenix, all shiny and redeemed.”

You gesture broadly. “How did this happen?”

“This?”

“You getting kicked out of Comet. Daeron being added to the lineup, Jace being promoted.”

He speaks nonchalantly as if discussing ancient history or the weather, like that’s just the way the world works, a morally ambiguous eventuality. Every once in a while a tsunami or a mudslide comes along and gobbles up a couple thousand lives, but the planet keeps on spinning. “The label made the call. An executive decision, they said. A boy band is a fantasy. It has to be light, fun, erotic without being scandalous or threatening. No one wants to watch some mutilated, half-blind guy strutting around a stage trying to reclaim some long-gone, better version of himself.”

You are at once immeasurably vengeful on his behalf, but you can’t show this. “That must have been difficult. To be treated mercilessly when you were vulnerable. To realize that something you poured your heart and soul into was so transactional.”

He shakes his head, smoking, not looking at you. He gazes out over the Palatine Hill instead.

“Aemond?”

“What do you want me to say?” he answers abruptly. “That I’m angry? I am. That I wish the accident had never happened? Yeah, I wish that. I wish it every goddamn day. But there’s nothing I can do about any of it. Of course I’m furious. Of course I’m resentful. I built this band. I got us together, kept us together, wrote virtually every hit we ever had. Comet was mine. It was my whole life, my past, my future, my legacy. And they took it from me. You want to know how I really feel about that? I couldn’t tell you in words. I’d have to hit something until my knuckles split through the skin.”

He puts out his cigarette in the ashtray with trembling hands, then he drags his fingers—long, uncalloused, dexterous, though you wish you could stop staring at them—through his hair. He glances at you, embarrassed. You look calmly back.

“Jesus Christ,” Aemond says shakily. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“The band was yours,” you agree. “So you’re the one who named it?”

“Yeah.”

“Comet Donati. The first comet ever photographed. 1858.”

He is impressed. “You’ve studied astronomy?”

“Well…I Googled it,” you confess, and he laughs. He’s relaxed again, he’s sunny like the sky. “But I really like it. A disproportionate number of astronomers are from the Midwest, you know.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Because there’s nothing to do there, so people watch the stars instead.”

He nods, thoughtful. “Better than livestock farming or teen pregnancies, I guess.”

“What is it about the comet that inspires you?”

Aemond lights himself a fresh cigarette. His last name is etched into the side of the steel lighter, you see now: Targaryen. “It has an orbital period of 1,740 years. That last time Comet Donati clipped by Earth, Abraham Lincoln was watching it from the front porch of his hotel. It won’t come back until the late-3000s. I’ll never see it. You’ll never see it. But it’s always there. And to me, there’s something really beautiful about that. So many things in life are invisible, silent, unspoken, unacknowledged, unknown, misunderstood. But that doesn’t mean they’re not real.”

You recall the woman you’ve seen standing beside him in countless paparazzi photos: an actress and influencer, 20 million Instagram followers, California blond, Ibiza clubs and Met Galas. “Where’s Shelby?”

“Not around anymore, obviously.”

“She left you or you left her?”

He flicks away ashes, vague, evasive. “She couldn’t handle it.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” It isn’t, that’s clear. It’s marked him somewhere deeper than the flesh.

“No, Aemond.” You reach across the table to take his free hand, his left hand, in your own. “I’m really, really sorry.”

He’s watching you, but he isn’t just watching; he’s a little bewildered, and little captivated, a little impishly proud like he’s won a bet. When you release his hand, he says: “Don’t worry about it. I don’t want someone who’s repulsed by me. Or worse, someone who can only see me as something damaged and pitiful. I don’t want to be fucked out of pity.”

Oh no, you think, gazing helplessly at his face, his fingers, his wrists, the slope of his throat. Oh no, I don’t think pity would be anywhere in my mind, not even a whisper of it, not even a ghost.

Aemond notices. His lips pull up at the edges into a sly smile…and then he grows solemn again. “Are you going to ask me about what happened at the Budokan?”

“No. I don’t want to talk about the past anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I think what happened to you was horrible and senseless and unfair. And the worst part isn’t that you look different. It’s that you are different. You can’t ever unlearn how people treated you afterwards, what their true motivations were. People who discarded you, people who forgot about you. You didn’t deserve that. You were worthy then and you’re worthy now. I don’t want to talk about your past. I want to talk about where you’re going next.”

“I have no idea. When I said the band was my whole life, I meant it.”

“You’ll figure something out. And maybe I can help.”

“Maybe.” He takes a long drag off his cigarette, intrigued. “What made you want to be a therapist?”

That nervous drop in your stomach; a sensation like falling. You disguise it expertly. “No no, I’m asking the questions here. I’m the one with the master’s degree.”

“Now who’s pretentious?”

You’re giggling, and then Aemond is too, like mirror images of each other: sipping white wine and averting your eyes—those so-called windows to the soul—towards the Palatine Hill before they can reveal too much.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Comet Donati performs now, Aemond isn’t on stage. But he never misses a show. He paces around with a black notebook and a white gel pen—Luke learned that from him, you realize—jotting down suggestions and critiques to share with the others afterwards. You follow him, trailing soundlessly like a shadow, through hallways and down aisles and across sky-high catwalks like ancient aqueducts. You’re wearing the only dress you brought from home: short, black lace, cold shoulders. Unconsciously, Aemond takes your hand to make sure you don’t fall behind. Wordlessly, he points out things that make you laugh: Aegon repeatedly slipping on a puddle of beer that he spilled, Daeron’s improvised dance moves (the Mailman, the Beached Whale, the Reckless Uber Driver, etc.), screaming middle-aged women flashing Cregan, Luke giving little crochet stars and planets and comets—handmade by Baela and Rhaena—to children in the audience. But Aemond rarely acknowledges Jace.

As you and Aemond lurk just offstage, the band is performing A Song I’ve Never Heard, the lead single off their first album and an enduring fan favorite.

“If you disappear, I’m going under

Telling you right now, there is no other

Who could ever replace you, no need to wonder

Your name is a song I’ve never heard before.”

“They’re really good live,” you shout, barely audible over the noise. You stand on your tiptoes and lean against Aemond’s shoulder so he can hear you. You are struck by the dormant power beneath your palms, his tense muscles, his radiating heat. You can’t help but imagine what sort of rhythm you might fall into together.

“Yeah,” he says distractedly.

“They’d be even better with you.”

Aemond turns, startled, then smiles. He passes you his notebook and gel pen so you can read his comments and add any of your own. You skim through his scribbled, pearlescent observations.

Cregan – Good smolder. Pay attention to every fan in the crowd, not just the fuckable ones. Thumbs up and high fives for kids. Fist bumps for dudes. Wear less clothes, maybe? If you’re cool with that.

Luke – Don’t be afraid to move around the stage more. Weave. Prowl. Pretend you are a shark.

Aegon – Wrong lyrics during Space-Time Continuum. And Lake Effect. And A Girl Named After A Car!! And The Worst Way To Be!!!! Please for the love of God the words are on Genius.com if you don’t know them.

Daeron – Really great overall. Missed verse during If You’re Summer I’m The Rain. Beware of handshakes with crowd, they could pull you in. Invent a new dance move, something inspired by Kansas City. The Tornado Watch? The Oppressed Beef Cow?

You write at the bottom:

Aemond – Cultivate at minimum one (1) hobby not directly related to Comet Donati. Or pretentious veganism.

You hand the notebook to him, and then he scrawls back:

Already have it. I’ll show you later.

When the concert ends, Aemond leads you backstage to reunite with the band, along with Baela and Rhaena who spent the past two hours dancing and shrieking in the front row.

“I did it!” Rhaena trumpets when she sees you, eyes alight and hands waving in the air. “At the meet-and-greet before the show! I talked to people for four whole minutes and then I got to sit in the corner and drink champagne all by myself and it was amazing!”

“That’s so great!” you exclaim, hugging her. “See?! We knew you could do it. But next time you have to talk to people for ten minutes.”

“Ugh,” Rhaena says, but she’s still beaming. She knows she’s capable of it. It might hurt, but it won’t kill her. And that’s true for a lot of things, isn’t it? The trick is figuring out which of our brains’ frantic doom-signals are misfires, exaggerations, genetic malformations…and which are warnings of something actually lethal.

Everyone piles into the Escalades for the short journey back to the Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel. You and Aemond end up sharing a car with Aegon, Luke, and Rhaena. Luke sits right next to Aemond, wants to see all his notes, wants to rehash every detail of the night with him: Did you like this little move I came up with? Was I too extra when I did that? Am I too low in the harmonies? Did you see how psyched that one kid was when I gave him a stuffed comet? As you watch them, streetlights passing by overhead like miniature suns, it occurs to you that Luke is the only person who still treats Aemond like he’s an essential part of the band, not a progenitor to be paid occasional pennies of homage but a heart or a spinal cord, something that can’t be excised without killing the host.

Aegon is lying on his back across the floor of the Escalade and scrolling through his phone. “Oh my God, guess who else is in Rome right now!” he gasps.

“Who?” Rhaena asks, but she rolls her doe-like eyes in a way that tells you this happens a lot.

“Selena Gomez!”

“Great,” Aemond says. “I don’t think she wants to see you.”

Aegon is typing manically with both thumbs. “We’re about to find out.”

Back at the hotel, a force like gravity—stringless, unthinking—pulls everyone towards Jace’s suite. The lights are low, the air smokey, the drinks misty with condensation, the balcony door open as people—friends and roadies and label executives—drift in and out of the starlit night breeze, the music loud and rumbling, lots of bass, Lifestyles Of The Rich & Famous by Good Charlotte. Crowded together in one corner of the room, illuminated by an end table lamp, are Jace, Baela, Daeron, Cregan, and Criston, who is observing with arms crossed over his chest and an exhausted, long-suffering sort of disapproval. There is a tattoo artist getting set up on the coffee table, laying out the needles and ink cartridges, latex gloves, sanitizer, a squeeze bottle of green soap.

“Get the Pantheon!” Baela is telling Jace. She’s sitting in his lap on the white leather couch, his arms locked around her waist but his eyes roaming around the room. “Or laurels, maybe. Or an eagle.”

“Get a gladiator!” Daeron says.

Baela grimaces. “Please don’t.”

“Get the Colosseum!” Luke says as he hurries over to join them.

“What’s going on?” you ask.

“He gets a new tattoo for every city we play in,” Daeron explains.

“Some are better than others,” Baela adds. “There were so many gorgeous possibilities for Miami and you chose an alligator?!”

“Every single city, huh?” you say to Jace. “You must have a lot of tattoos.”

He grins crookedly up at you through locks of dark, messy curls. He’s wearing a black and white striped shirt that is mostly unbuttoned. Aemond’s gaze flits anxiously between you and Jace. “I do. But believe it or not, we’ve never been to Rome until now.”

“Get the Leaning Tower of Pisa!” Aegon says.

Criston snaps: “Really? The one that’s in Pisa? Which is a completely different city? The one that’s four hours north of Rome? That Leaning Tower of Pisa? That one?”

“Well fuck, don’t let me inconvenience you with my presence!” Aegon thumps a fist against Cregan’s brawny shoulder and they disappear together, peering down at their phones, faces painted by the white-blue glow of the screens.

“What should I get?” Jace asks Aemond. It sounds like a loaded question.

“Julius Caesar. A usurper.”

Jace winks up at him, arrogant and taunting.

Baela rubs Jace’s bare, ink-adorned chest. “Baby, don’t.”

“I want the Pantheon,” he declares suddenly. “Right here on the back of my right hand. Prime real estate. I won’t be able to do anything without remembering this city, this show.” He turns to Aemond, victorious. “They were filming, you know. They’re going to make it a Netflix special.”

“I’m aware,” Aemond replies, flat, cold.

The tattoo artist is nodding agreeably at Jace. “Si signore, I do the Pantheon all the time. Tourists love to have a picture to take home with them. Nessun problema. You want it on this hand? You are sure? Va bene, place it here on the table. Si, si. I will clean the area and then we will begin.”

Soon the needle of the humming tattoo gun meets the skin: metal, blood, Jace hissing in pain as black lines spring to life across his metacarpals. Baela passes the time by chatting with you. She is clever and kind like Rhaena, but louder, tougher, beautiful yet barbed like a lionfish. She can talk to anyone and never drops her eyes. It amazes you how siblings, built of the same genetic Legos, can grow up to be so different: Baela and Rhaena, Jace and Luke, Aegon and Aemond and Daeron.

When Jace’s tiny Pantheon tattoo is complete and his hand bandaged, he goads you: “Now you’re getting one too, right?”

“Sure,” you say, and you are delighted to see the shock leap into his face.

“What?!” Baela cries.

“You’re joking,” Aemond says uncertainly. “She’s joking.”

“No, I really want one.”

“Get a gladiator!” Daeron bellows, jumping on top of the couch and flexing his muscles like Hercules.

“Get my name on the side of your face like Post Malone,” Jace says. And then, when Baela and Aemond glare at him: “What?!”

“I definitely don’t want that. But I do want something.”

“I will do whatever you like, signora,” the tattoo artist says, changing out needles.

“You’re actually serious?” Aemond asks. And what he means is: You don’t have to do this. It would be reckless. It would be permanent.

“Yeah.” You smile up at him. “I want to remember this little adventure. When I’m back in Kansas City…in a few weeks, or a few months, or whatever…I want to be able to look in the mirror and know that it wasn’t all something I made up. A fantasy, a dream.”

“You should get Comet lyrics,” Luke says excitedly. “Aemond’s lyrics.”

You tap Luke’s notebook: black paper, white gel pen, just like Aemond’s. “Absolutely. Help me choose them.”

Within ten minutes, you’ve settled on a design that Luke has sketched in starlight-colored ink and a location: upper back, equidistant between your shoulder blades, someplace you can easily conceal it when you’re working. It will be a small, minimalist comet—nucleus, coma, and tail—with cursive lyrics from a hidden gem off the band’s most recent album encircling it like the rings of Saturn:

I’ll come back for you if it kills me

Comets clip by again after eons and so can I

Somewhat clumsily, you manage to unzip your dress, shimmy the top part down to around the line of your bra strap, and then lie on your belly across the couch. Baela and Rhaena giggle at the way the men bashfully avert their eyes…all except Aemond. He is speechless, blinking, fascinated. He shakes it off and turns away when he realizes he’s been staring.

“I’m sorry, is this too unprofessional?”

“No, you were perfectly clear,” Daeron says. “You’re a therapist, but not our therapist. So feel free to walk around in just your bra anytime.”

“For real,” Jace adds.

Baela shoos him away: “Go, get us more drinks. Go! Bar! Now!” And Jace reluctantly retreats.

Using Luke’s rough sketch as a reference, the tattoo artist begins working once he’s thoroughly cleaned the area of perfume, shining perspiration, invisible fingerprints, tobacco, other remnants of life’s general untidiness. The pain is bad but not overwhelming, worst when the needle nears your spine. Aemond sits on the floor beside you and observes thoughtfully, sipping a rosy-pink Bramble. Aegon and Cregan wander back into the suite—white powder on their palms, more on their shirts, their pupils dilated and glassy—and are extremely amused by this turn of events. They stay for a while and then are gone again, forever both here and there, comets zooming around their elliptical orbits, Schrodinger’s cats.

“How’s it look?” you ask Aemond as he studies your back. You can’t see anything; you can only feel it.

“The tattoo, or…?”

You laugh and shove him away with your very limited range of motion; then, when you wince at the stinging pain, Aemond grips your hand in his. “I know I’m being pathetic. I know it’s not that bad.” Not compared to what you endured: blunt force trauma, partial blindness, your face stitched back together, your life’s work stolen from you.

“You’re not that pathetic. Louis Tomlinson probably would have cried.”

You laugh again, louder, and the tattoo artist scolds you: “Signora, per favore! Stay as still as you can, I beg you. We are almost done.”

Aemond’s iPhone rings and he glides it out of his pocket with his free hand. His ringtone is Mr. Brightside. “Oh. I should take this.”

“Go ahead,” you tell him. “Go, I’m fine.”

“Who is it?” Criston asks Aemond with curiously intense interest.

“It’s my mom.”

“Does she want to talk to me? To see how the tour is going?”

“No, Criston.”

“Fine,” Criston says testily. “I’m gonna go make sure Aegon isn’t on the roof or something.”

He departs from the crowded suite, momentarily parting the miasma of cigarette and cigar smoke like Moses split the Red Sea. Aemond goes out onto the balcony. Baela and Rhaena take his place next to the couch, fawning over your almost-finished tattoo and showing you their own: Baela has a ring of roses around one ankle, a quote from her grandmother across her ribs, and a compass on her forearm; Rhaena has a tiny L behind one ear for Luke. Even over the buzzing of the tattoo gun, the reverberating music, the chattering of new friends and perfect strangers, and the backdrop of traffic noises outside on the winding streets of Rome, you can hear chaos: yelling, banging, the pounding of sprinting footsteps.

When your tattoo is completed and bandaged, you fix your dress and follow the commotion out into the hallway. Several doors down, you find Criston in Aegon’s suite. He’s standing on top of the mattress and attempting to handcuff Aegon to the bedpost. Aegon, thrashing and yowling and shirtless for some reason, rips away from him.

“Give me your hand!” Criston roars. “Give me your fucking hand! You want to act like Motley Crue, you’re gonna get treated like Motley Crue.” He finally clicks a cuff around Aegon’s left wrist, fastens him to the bed, and then doubles over gasping for air.

You say from the doorway: “This is not what I, personally, would call effective conflict resolution.”

“Oh good, you’re here.” Criston wipes fat beads of sweat from his forehead with the back of one hand. “You talk to him. Meditation, yoga, hypnosis, a lobotomy, read him bedtime stories, get him a shock collar, I don’t care what you do, just give me fifteen minutes of peace. I need a goddamn San Pellegrino.” He stomps out of the room and is gone.

Aegon sighs listlessly. “I’d like to say I don’t deserve this, but I probably do.”

“Hey, Aegon?”

“Yeah?”

“What was up with your salad at lunch today? And the skinless boneless chicken?”

He smirks, an expression you can’t quite read. Nervousness? Cynicism? Shame? “I’ve gained like twenty pounds since last summer.”

“So?”

“So almost none of my tour wardrobe fits.”

“Can you not afford new clothes? Have you snorted that much coke?”

He chuckles, but his large blue eyes are sad, defenseless, watery. “The label doesn’t want a chunky popstar. Girls won’t spend thousands of dollars on tickets to see me anymore.”

“Yes they will. And I would too. In a hypothetical alternate universe where I was rich.”

He smiles, for real this time. “You wanna stay? I still have one hand free.”

“That’s a super tempting offer, but I think I’ll pass.”

He blinks up at you with groggy, drunken realization. “You got your eye on someone else, Stargirl?”

“I didn’t say that.”

He’s grinning, toothy, playful. “You didn’t have to.”

There is a knock against the doorframe. When you spin around, Aemond stands there. “Hey,” he says. “Found you.”

“How’s your mom?”

“Fine. Do you want to see something?”

“…Okay?”

“It’s outside.”

“Oh, no way,” Aegon tells him, still handcuffed to the bed, cackling. “No way is she gonna be down for that.”

“She might be,” Aemond replies evenly.

“You still got a second helmet?”

“Of course.”

“Helmet…?” you venture.

Aemond smiles, nodding towards the hall. “Let’s go.”

Aegon waves goodbye with his free hand. “Good luck, Stargirl. Hope your last will and testament is in order.”

“Like I’d leave you anything.” You set several bottles of water and a box of Nutella snacks on the end table where Aegon can reach them.

“Wait wait wait!” he cries when you are about to depart. “Bring me a trashcan too.”

You are puzzled. “Why?”

“So I can piss in it, obviously.”

“You’re an animal.”

He howls like a wolf, rolling around on the mattress. You supply him with a trashcan, as requested, and then follow Aemond out into the hallway.

“Stargirl?” he asks once the two of you are alone in the elevator and headed down.

“It’s a the Weeknd reference. It’s hard to explain.”

“And you and Aegon are…” Aemond raises an eyebrow, the scarred one, the one that’s cut in two. “Friends?”

“Yeah. Friends.” You’re worried your voice will squeak, but it is traitorously steady. Aemond seems mollified. And is that really such a lie? What would be closer to the truth? Yes, Aemond, your brother and I are friends. But we’re less than that, and we’re also more, because I’ve fucked him but somehow that was the very least of it. He looks at me and I feel understood like a language the rest of humanity has forgotten. I look at him and I see someone who I care for deeply, irrationally, who I could fall in love with in a slightly different world. But that’s not the world we live in. And in this world, the real one, you’re the person I’m falling in love with.

Aemond takes you all the way down to the ground floor and then out front to the entranceway, fountains, cobblestones, taxis, Ubers, stars. He speaks to the valet and within minutes, they ferry it out of the garage for him, growling and puffing like some kind of mythical beast, a dragon or the Minotaur or the Cerberus. The valet lowers the kickstand and then hands the keys over to Aemond.

“What is that?!” you exclaim.

“It’s a 1960 Gold Star, made by the Birmingham Small Arms Company.”

“Alabama?”

He is amused. “No, the English Birmingham. The original one.”

“Oh. Right.” The valet brings two helmets and two jackets. “You travel with a motorcycle?”

“It fits on the jet,” Aemond replies casually.

“You are so freaking pretentious.”

Aemond offers you a helmet and jacket, and he’s trying to keep the fear from his face but it’s there, because he keeps waiting for the spell to break, for the illusion of who he thinks you are to shatter like glass and reveal that all along you’ve been disgusted by him too, that you misunderstand or patronize or pity him. He surveys you with two eyes, one wary and clear and searching, the other a cloudy planet of misty blue like Neptune. And he waits for you to ask one of those fateful questions—Can you really drive this? Is it safe? Can you see well enough? Can I trust you?—and look at him with bleak, sympathetic skepticism.

Instead, you look at the motorcycle. There are extra mirrors on the left side, you notice, capturing angles that he would otherwise miss. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his maiming. He couldn’t forget it for a second. You don the helmet and jacket and say: “Are those leather seats, Mr. Vegan?”

He beams and straddles the motorcycle. “Shut up and get on the bike.”

You climb on behind Aemond, your arms around his waist, your lungs capturing pieces of him to absorb into your bloodstream: smoke, cologne, hair gel, gin, molecules that become your own. He starts the engine, flicks on the headlight, and steers his Gold Star out into the late-night traffic.

You fly through a nightscape of car horns and streetlights and babbling tourists clustered together on the sidewalks like prey animals, ancient landmarks whirling by like comets: the Piazza Navona, the Trevi Fountain, the Arch of Constantine, the Pantheon that Jace now has inked irrevocably to his flesh. The sky is freckled with constellations you couldn’t name. The moon is full and brilliant. There is a black limo cruising nearby full of hooting, half-naked frat boys and blaring Coldplay’s Every Teardrop Is A Waterfall. At stop signs and red lights, Aemond reaches down to rest a palm lightly on your bare thigh, just an inch or two above the knee—his wrist brushing against the black lace of your dress—but enough to pillage your mind of anything else, enough to rip the door to your skull off its hinges and build a home there in the web of neurons and flashbulb surges of electricity that we call memory, emotion, instinct, desire. When you close your eyes as the wind rushes by, you can imagine that you’ve always known Aemond and that you always will. When you press yourself against him as hard as you dare to, you can feel everything else dissolving away: pasts, futures, doubts, every other person on this planet, scars that mar the soul with jagged rifts and knots as red as blood.

In the abandoned, golden halls of the Anantara Palazzo Naiadi Rome Hotel, Aemond walks you back to your suite. His hands are in his pockets, his head down, his steps swift. He doesn’t speak. Neither do you. Your thoughts are deafeningly loud with clattering impossibilities: Me? Aemond? Lust? Love?

You arrive at your door, swipe your keycard, and open it. You stand at the threshold, but you don’t vanish inside. You don’t want to be apart from him. You gaze up at him, dazed with longing, resting your head against the doorframe, fresh ink burning between your shoulder blades.

“Hey, Aemond?”

“Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t fuck you out of pity.”

There’s satisfaction on his face, there’s pride, there’s hunger, but there’s trepidation too. He hesitates in the doorway. “Look, I, uh…” He sighs, resigned, perhaps warring with himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” But he doesn’t leave.

“Are you lost? Need a map back to your room? I can try to draw one for you. We could get one tattooed on the back of your hand.”

He laughs, marveling at you. “No, I’m good. Thanks.” He makes it halfway down the hall, glances back, shakes his head to himself, keeps walking until he’s disappeared.

You shut the door and say to your empty suite: “I don’t even like him that much.”

But I do. I do, I do, I do.

“Oh no,” you moan, covering your face with both hands. But you can’t stop smiling.

You take a shower, pull on an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants, then crawl into your hotel bed: scratchy comforter, a mattress that’s too firm, pillows that are too squishy. You turn on your laptop, open YouTube, and start searching for Comet Donati performances before Aemond left the band, scenes from a different lifetime under the same stars.

#aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aegon x reader #aegon ii #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen

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truthin32bit · 1 year

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Lightspeed over the Light Rail

Say what you will about the way American cities are laid out -- they make for some awesome race tracks.

When you string together a few 90 degree turns and connect it with a squiggly line on an empty lot, it can turn out to be racing magic. Such is the case for a circuit like Long Beach. A magical minute around the coast line through some of the most glamorous sights SoCal can provide a great spectacle that lives on in racing legend for decades. Toronto provides a white knuckle ride around Exhibition Place with little room to breathe, let alone race for position. Even something as silly as the new Nashville track can have its merits, albeit if it's just for a few laughs.

However, track designers must be careful balancing a very fine line between spectacle and disaster. The characteristics that can make for a great circuit can also lead to a terrible catastrophe -- something that has been seen time and time again throughout the last 30 years. With Champ Car and Indycar alike taking their chances to reach a wider audience there is bound to be a handful of nightmares for teams and organizers alike. San Jose and Baltimore prove as such examples for when public transport wreak havoc on suspensions.

In 2005 the CCWS went to San Jose for their inaugural Grand Prix. Looking to become a second reincarnation of Long Beach, the circuit was a blinding flash through the heart of the downtown district, only coming in at a mile and a half. Whilst the rest of the circuit wasn't very memorable, one part of it did stick out in the history books for all the wrong reasons. A fast chicane had the potential to be a fun challenge for drivers and a great spectacle for fans at the track and at home. Traveling at over 150 mph through this precarious flick would showcase bravery and skill, making the car dance right on the limit. There was just one problem though...

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This single light rail track would seal the fate of the GP. These stiff and agile Champ Cars would fly over this small little bump in the road, causing figurative and literal pain. Although the organizers provided a quick fix the next year, it wouldn't save the event as the demise of Champ Car would not see the event return.

Indycar picked up the slack, adding their own multitude of street circuits after the merger. In 2011 Baltimore was able to host their own race, funneling drivers around Oriole Park via a very technical layout. Drivers found the chicane before the light rail section unnecessary after the conclusion of the first ever race, leading the organizers to remove it for 2012.

They would regret suggesting it.

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Friday came around, with the drivers taking to the track for their practice laps. At full speed, the cars would visibly take off from the ground and come to a hard landing with not much time to react. Several Indycar and ALMS teams then pleaded the organizers to backtrack, re-adding the chicane and avoiding any potential chaos. Well, not really, but that came down to the rest of the track.

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Baltimore would exit the calendar without much grace after 2013, with scheduling conflicts and broken promises of increased city revenue ultimately killing hopes of becoming a regular fixture in the motorsports calendar.

#ALMS #indycar #Youtube

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doingthedirtydishes · 1 year

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Moving to Europe during Covid-19; Becoming poor and homeless in New York City.

After the success of my first book, Unbreakable Mind, endless projects were offered to me but none were a good match. There were many extremely attractive proposals. One was a second book, traveling to ten cities in the world, writing from an injured person’s perspective; an additional for NYT, to travel to 52 countries in 52 weeks, in a wheelchair; and, yet another, to create a travel TV show – but not any were the right fit, not one idea resonated with my soul.

Which avenue to further explore remained unclear until one fateful conversation in early May. I was on the phone with a friend from Amsterdam, a Norwegian-Dominican up-and-coming rap star, David AKA Big Mill, and he had an idea to share. “David,” I asked, “let me guess, another TV show idea.” He replied, “Yes, but this one is distinct.” Well, it was unlike all prior options – different to the point where I loved it. It made sense; it clicked with me – it felt right inside.

The other missing pieces to the puzzle would fall into place shortly thereafter. The morning of the 14th of May, my birthday, for some reason I was nudged to write an old classmate and friend, Adam, now living with his wife and four-year-old in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. He was recently laid off as an AV Director, a high position in the non-profit world of museums, now in search of a project to develop. I shared my idea for a new travel TV show with him and the rest is history.

After a seven hour conversation, going over every detail possible for how the project could ostensibly work, determining key people and positions needed to make a production company and TV show successful, and agreeing on a pilot location abroad (Amsterdam), we were off to the races. Since Covid-19 has affected so many business-people and investors globally, we were unable to raise the necessary funds. All agreed, signing on to the project on a shoestring budget.

One week later, with all airplane tickets and hotels reserved, my wheelchair supercharged by Gary Gilberti and his amazing team at Numotion Mobility, we were set to start filming pilot footage in Amsterdam in July and August. As I already live part-time in Amsterdam, I was planning on moving to Europe for two to five years. With everything [assuredly] in place, and not being a fan of storing items that others less fortunate could better utilize, especially during a global pandemic, I decided to give away my home, car, all my belongings to those in dire need.

What type spiritual person or leader would I be if I did not practice what I preached, helping others in life anytime one is able, truly living out the words I guide and ask of others to live, if I cannot do so myself? There was no need for me to store away furniture, clothing and other household items while others in my immediate presence were suffering from the current health and economic catastrophe. For two weeks friends and strangers came and took what they wanted.

Everything was going fine, just as planned. My home was donated, flights ready, bags packed and ride to airport sorted. Before flying out to Europe I planned to spend four days in NYC with an old friend, Georgie-boy, who lives across the Hudson River in Jersey City. George is an old and dear classmate from my irascible undergraduate days at Rutgers College; also the General Counsel for our production company. He has a thriving law practice in nearby Newark, NJ.

It was great to be back in NYC, my old stomping grounds in the late 1990s. There is nothing like “The City” – one of a kind, no other place like it on the planet. We spent an afternoon sunning on the spacious waterfront in Hoboken, NJ, a nice day playing Frisbee in Central Park West, eating amazing Mamouns Falafel and Prince St. Pizza in Greenwich Village. Though it was expected to see murals and damage from prior fortnight’s rioting, it was eerily strange in person.

It was Sunday, a day of respite before flying to Europe on Monday. George and I spent the day having a relaxing lunch at Iberia outdoor café in the Little Portugal section of Newark, NJ. The next morning we were up bright and early, soon off to the airport. When we arrived at Newark International Airport it was nearly empty. There was not but one person at the check-in counter – moi. The Delta terminal was empty. It was June 15th and Covid-19 was in full effect. Wow!

Having never seen such a normally super busy airport terminal this empty in my life, it did not give me pause. George, on the other hand, had a different feeling, and decided to stay with me until I was ticketed to board. After finding a way to get my heavy bags checked in with no fees I thought we were on plan. Then a hiccup: “Sorry Mr. Quigley, you are unable to board the flight to Amsterdam. Dutch Immigration in Holland is denying you entry without proper permission.”

Well, that was a first, and not only a huge surprise but a major setback to a monumental project. Oh shit! What do I do now? Thank goodness Georgie stayed with me; and thank goodness he was able to put me up at his place until this mess was all sussed out. It was an absolutely horrid situation; and to add salt to the wound, I was right smack in the middle of a Covid-19 USA EU political Visa predicament; whereas the EU would review country entry list every two weeks.

George was gracious enough to see me through the immediate emergency until it began looking like my delay would be a bit longer than originally anticipated. The EU placed a travel ban on Americans’ travel to Europe. And it would not be reviewed again until July 1st. My new ticket was issued for a direct flight from JFK, NY to Amsterdam, Holland, July 1st. This being the case, and since George had a life to live, I moved to a Hilton close by to JFK airport in Queens.

What started as a journey by giving away all my belongings in order to chase a dream project and move to Europe was swiftly turning into a situation that could easily result in me becoming poor and homeless in NYC. Hotels are not cheap in NYC – nothing is inexpensive in the Big Apple – you pay through the nose. The costs were quickly adding up and what small financial safety net I had set aside was speedily disappearing. I could not last long in a hotel in Queens.

The hotel itself was of no help to my stress and anxiety levels. They had me on the sixth floor, all the way down the hall, in the far corner, in a room that was a very tight fit for a wheelchair, and could only be reached after struggling down one hundred twenty feet of carpet. As if that was not enough, one week into my stay the GM, Tracy Kass, awoke me early in the morning to inform me I would reach my 14 day hotel stay limit after this registration renewal, and she was calling to inform me they could not extend it any further. I was astounded, appalled. Unbelievable!

Miss Kass, later when challenged, changed her story, informing me I did not let her finish, she had more to say on the call – that there was, in fact, no 14 day limit. Three days and three voicemails later, and no reply arrived from the normally overly pugilistic General Manager. Only once it was elevated to Hilton Honors corporate office level did she return my call. This was after numerous emails asking her to send me a copy of the policy. She refused. It does not exist.

Upon complaint to NY State AG, their attorney replied that I did not let her finish, that it was actually a 28 day limit. That is total utter bullshit! Firstly, then why call me only after seven days? Secondly, I met two people outside the hotel who received the same inhuman treatment. Thirdly, all her staff, including her Director of Operations, apologized profusely to me in person for her insensitive, cruel call. It should be noted that all other staff were caring and supportive.

Later that week, while in the bathroom, the grab-bar broke off from the wall while attempting a toilet transfer, sending me straight onto the hard tile ground, injuring my neck and back. Do you think the hotel or GM did anything to help address the issue, let alone make some changes to mitigate a more comfortable stay? No! The room was a disaster for a wheelchair user. My stay in Queens was quickly morphing into its own mini crisis. I was stuck in a cement jungle without any stores. I had only one friend to assist me – Sunita in Boston. Hilton corporate has yet to reply.

With every door opening but quickly closing, I was running out of viable options, rapidly. The immediate future looked grim. Running out of money (and patience), with no home to move to, with no home to return to, life was proving overly difficult. It allowed my mind to get the better of my heart, lulling it into anxiety, sadness and no hope for the future. Life was grim; I was not a happy camper. After nine years of struggle, I figured this project would run smoothly. Silly me!

After time searching deep inside, meditation and prayer, chats with mentors, close inner-circle friends and spiritual advisors, I decided that I would face the universe’s tests head on. It was time to truly practice my words – taking my hands off the wheel of life, as the universe has it under control. It was another example of ‘Doing The Dirty Dishes’ of life – the Buddhist principle that if you want to get anything done in life you first must put in your effort, getting your hands dirty.

In May, when the project began coming together, one night while deep in meditation, an angel came to me and told me: “Steven, after 46 years of white-knuckling the wheel of life, you can now finally remove your hands [from the wheel], let go, give up control of life (as if you ever had any in the first place) – the hardest lesson for most to learn, aside from reaction and attitude, or living through love – I am now at the wheel, in full control. Wake up each morning and relax. Forget about your past; do not worry for your future; live in the present moment – the now.”

It all sounded great until I awoke on June 15th, only to be denied entry to a plane that represented my life’s work and dreams. Or did it!? What was the universe trying to tell me through stranding me in NYC? What was the lesson? It did not come at first, but it did not take long to figure it out. The universe was sending me bigger struggles to overcome. Why? 1.To truly test if my hands were off the wheel of life, wholly trusting in the universe 100% ; and 2. At length, it still had to break and broke me before my dream could be realized. I am grateful to both my teachers, the universe.

Three days later a friend from Portland Maine came down to NYC to rescue me. As soon as I stepped into her car I felt an immense 800 lb gorilla freed from my back. Off to Maine.

To be continued….Click here to read part II.

Travel Blog: Click here.

Spiritual Blog: Click here.

Book: Unbreakable Mind. (Print, Kindle, Audio)

Doing The Dirty Dishes Podcast: Watch or listen to episodes and subscribe: Spotify, Apple Podcast, Buzzsprout. Also available on Google Podcast, iHeart, Tunein, Amazon Alexa and Stitcher.

Doing The Dirty Dishes YouTube channel – watch and subscribe.

Social Media links: Twitter, Instagram and Linkedin.

Travel Blog links: Covid-19 stranded in NYC JFK and Maine – also travel stories on Ireland, Spain, Sweden, Belgium, Iceland, Colombia (Espanol version), Amsterdam, Germany, New Hampshire, TN and NYC.

Personal Website link where you can also find my book, photos of my travels and updates on current projects.

Thank you for your love and support.

#steven quigley #steven quigley blogger #Unbreakable mind book #doing the dirty dishes #steven quigley writer #SCI travel #Steven Quigley author #doing the dirty dishes travel #doing the dirty dishes spiritual

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michaelluzich · 25 days

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Inside the Cockpit: The Mental and Physical Demands of F1 Racing

For many, Formula 1 racing epitomizes the pinnacle of motorsport – a thrilling spectacle of speed, precision, and engineering mastery. However, what often goes unnoticed is the intense mental and physical strain endured by drivers inside the cockpit. Beyond the glamorous exterior lies a world of unparalleled demands, where split-second decisions and peak physical fitness are the keys to success.

At first glance, the cockpit of an F1 car may appear snug and streamlined, but within this confined space, drivers are subjected to extreme conditions. Temperatures can soar well above 50 degrees Celsius (122 degrees Fahrenheit), causing drivers to lose several liters of sweat over the course of a race. Enduring such heat demands exceptional physical conditioning, with drivers undergoing rigorous training regimes to build endurance and stamina.

Furthermore, the gravitational forces experienced during cornering and braking can be immense, sometimes exceeding 5G – equivalent to five times the force of gravity. To cope with these forces, drivers must possess strong neck muscles capable of supporting their heads, weighing up to 13 pounds under braking.

However, it’s not just the physical demands that make F1 racing a test of human endurance; the mental fortitude required is equally crucial. Races often last for over an hour and can involve hundreds of rapid decisions, each carrying significant consequences. Drivers must maintain unwavering focus and concentration throughout, constantly analyzing data, anticipating competitors’ moves, and adjusting their strategies on the fly.

Moreover, the high-speed nature of F1 racing leaves no room for error. A lapse in concentration or a momentary loss of focus could result in catastrophic consequences, not only for the driver but also for their team and potentially other competitors. The pressure to perform flawlessly under such conditions is immense, pushing drivers to the limits of their mental capabilities.

Beyond the race itself, the demands of F1 extend to the entire race weekend. Drivers must contend with media obligations, sponsor commitments, and team meetings, all while balancing the need for rest and recuperation. The ability to manage one’s own stress and maintain a clear mind amidst the chaos is a skill honed over years of experience in the sport.

Yet, despite the immense challenges they face, F1 drivers are some of the elite athletes on the planet, possessing a unique combination of physical prowess and mental acuity. Their ability to thrive under pressure and perform at the highest level sets them apart as true sporting legends.

While the glamor and excitement of F1 racing may capture the imagination of millions around the world, it’s essential to recognize the incredible mental and physical demands placed on drivers behind the wheel. From enduring punishing G-forces to making split-second decisions at breakneck speeds, F1 racing is a test of human performance like no other. Inside the cockpit lies a world where only the strongest and most resilient thrive, pushing the boundaries of what is possible in the pursuit of victory.

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atlas-likes-writing · 3 months

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Febuwhump day 1: Helpless (DC)

Characters: Superman/Clark Kent, Lex Luthor, Darkseid

Summary: Superman is in the middle of fighting Lex Luthor. At the Kryptonian's failure, a new challenger arrives.

Word Count: 1473 words.

Tags: Action, whump, death, battle, graphic depictions of violence, guns/gun violence.

Author's note: Here's day one of Febuwhump! I hope you like it. I initially wanted to get this to 2k but the words weren't wording the way I wanted them to. Regardless, I'm pretty proud of this. Enjoy!

@febuwhump (forgot to tag you when I posted it. Sorry!)

Masterlist

“Come on, Lex. This is getting repetitive. Why don’t you take off the War Suit and come with me quietly back to Stryker’s Island,” Clark says firmly, dodging a flaming car that flies past his head. “I can talk to the judge and see if you can get a shorter sentence this time.”

“I don’t want a shorter sentence, Superman. I want you to leave my planet and my people alone! We don’t want you here,” Clark fights off the scoff that creeps up his throat and instead throws Luthor a poignant look.

“Racism? Really? In the 21st century? I thought you were better than that, Lex,” he states, a tiny grin growing on his face. He sees Lex turn all colours of the rainbow in his anger and Clark has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from laughing.

Lex rolls the shoulders of his suit as if stretching. The joints whir and rub together with a mechanical whooshing sound. His technology has improved, Clark realises, which means it’s going to cost more to repair. What a catastrophe! Lex is rich, right? He can afford it. Another car is thrown at him. This time, Clark catches it painlessly and gently places it on the ground behind him, the terrified family of four inside it scrambling out with a hurried “Thanks Superman!” as they run away down the street.

The Kryptonian cracks his knuckles where he stands, watching the family carefully to ensure that no more pieces of debris fly their way. He might as well get this over with. This is the second time this year that Lex has escaped (or rather, bribed his way out of) prison, and it’s only February. Money talks, as the saying goes. This is getting pathetic, now. The biggest risk Lex posed to him has come to pass. When he and Doomsday teamed up a few months ago, Clark thought it was the end of him, but with the Justice League at his side, Doomsday was destroyed and Lex imprisoned (which was a fact that Clark had made sure of. The remains of what is left of Doomsday’s body are currently floating through space millions of light years away in some galaxy far, far away).

Clark begins to turn around. “I thought you cared about human life, Luthor. If you really did, why would you throw a car full of civilians-”

A piercing pain shoots through his side. The force of it is so impactful that he actually falls over. He tries to get to his feet, but the whirring noise of a machine powering up grows louder and another object embeds itself into his leg and he falls again. He feels his strength slip away. His eyesight goes blurry, and a disgusting floaty feeling falls upon him. It’s a stupidly familiar feeling.

The feeling of Kryptonite. Of course.

“I used them as a distraction. A distraction, I’d like to add, that worked wonderfully. Your obsession with preserving human life will be your downfall, Superman. You should learn that.” The silhouette of Luthor’s suit appears in front of him atop a large pile of rubble, the light of the sun behind casting the man into darkness and causing Clark to squint. He grips his leg and watches with blurry eyes as the entry wound of the bullet closes behind it. He looks at his torso. The blue of his suit turns a gross purple as that injury heals over as well. The Kryptonite gun in Lex’s hand is shoved against his temple and he glares (or what he thinks looks like a glare) at the man above him.

“Say goodbye, Superman. I’ll send Lois Lane your regards.”

A lot of people beg for their life before they die. A lot of people crawl on their hands and knees and grovel at the feet of their killer in hopes that they may have a small fraction of mercy in their heart to spare them. Clark doesn’t. Superman doesn’t beg; not because he’s too proud or that he thinks he’s above it – Clark has simply never found a need for it and still hasn’t even now. He doesn’t beg. He doesn’t grovel. He sits there and closes his eyes and waits for the end of it all. He can hear the yells by the non-existent masses telling him he is a coward, and he simply does not care. Why would he care? He’d be dead. Dead people don’t care about anything.

But it doesn’t come. Instead, something wet and warm splats across his face. The thud of something heavy, followed by the thud of something heavier, is heard to his left. Clark opens one eye tentatively and looks to where Lex was standing. He isn’t there. Instead, he’s on the ground, his yellow metallic suit crumpled and limp on the concrete. He’s about to breathe a sigh of relief until he looks at where Lex’s head is.

Or rather, where his head was.

It isn’t there. The entire thing. It’s gone, and his eyes widen at the realisation. He’s seen death in his line of work - a lot of it at that - but anything he personally killed were not human. They were Parademons or other aliens or something else; never a human. Was Luthor a horrible person? Yes. Did he deserve death for it? That is where the debate lies. Something nudges his left thigh, and his eyes snap over to see what it is.

If he didn’t know where Luthor’s head was, he certainly does now.

Even with his vision warping, he can see that the man’s eyes are glassy and dead, his mouth open and too relaxed. Clark has never thrown up before, but he can feel bile rise in his throat at the sight of it. Lex Luthor - a living, breathing human being - is no longer living and breathing. Which begs the question: who killed him? The Justice League wouldn’t dare, and the cut is too clean for it to be a lucky shot by a civilian.

“Superman,” a dark, rumbling, sickeningly familiar voice bounces around his skull. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Clark’s eyes shoot up to try and pinpoint where the voice was coming from. A huge figure stands on top of the pile of rubble in the exact place Luthor was mere moments ago. The Kryptonian strains to see who it is, his eyesight twisting and blurring from his injuries which causes his sight to obscure itself. It’s only when the ash-grey face and the glowing red eyes come into focus that Clark realises who is speaking.

“Darkseid,” Clark states, a thick lump forming in his throat. “I thought we told you to never return to earth.”

“And why should I listen to you? Darkseid does not bow to the will of anyone and never will.” His voice booms and Superman fights back a wince as his leg shifts. He is in no position to fight, and he knows Darkseid is aware of that.

“Would you really fight a being that cannot fight for themself?” he questions, silently wishing that he had not been so arrogant when previously fighting Lex.

“No. I will not fight you,” the tyrant states, allowing Clark’s hope to fester before he squashes it. “It would not be a fight. Think of this as a mercy, Superman.” For the second time in the space of about five seconds, a sense of dread washes over Clark. It’s a feeling he detests; a feeling that suffocates him. It grips onto his throat and rips his trachea out of his chest. Superman is not one to beg, but he is one to fear. He is fearful now. If he didn’t believe he was going to die at the hands of Lex Luthor, he certainly believes he will at the hands of Darkseid.

Speaking of which, the shadow of the titan above falls upon him and Clark attempts to scramble backwards. His attempts are futile, of course. His right thigh is practically a piece of cardboard and nigh unusable due to the piece of Kryptonite lodged inside of it. The crystal in his side does him no good either. Every movement he makes shifts it around in his torso that makes him want to scream. He doesn’t scream though. He can’t. That is not what Superman does, so he doesn’t. No-one would think that Superman would die quietly, but if they just witnessed the happenings of the past ten minutes, they’d think differently. Darkseid braces his axe in his hands and brings it around his head, preparing for the strike. The killing blow. He can hear the voice of Batman calling him; the sound of Flash sprinting over to him to save him, but it doesn’t help. They’re too late.

This would be the day that Superman dies.

#dc #dc comics #superman #lex luthor #darkseid #tw violence #tw death #tw guns #tw blood #(sort of it's mentioned like once)#febuwhump #febuwhump 2024

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tomtenadia · 2 years

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A Little Braver - 43

Here I am with another update. As usual it has its own level of angst. The team has a really bad call.

Also, a little announcement: at the moment I have 66 chapters down and I am slowly moving towards the end. I have a few things to happen before the three main final events that have partially been written and then an epilogue. I think it will be around 70 odd chapters or maybe low 80s. I haven't decided yet. All in know is that I am not ready to say goodbye to this story.

Anyway, stop mauling... enjoy the new chapter.

The Saturday had been perfect. Aelin and Rowan had stayed in bed until late, then he had made breakfast and had round three in the sheets. In the afternoon he had taken her out for a walk in the forest and Aelin had discovered a part of her boyfriend that he had kept secret.

It all started when they reached a clearing with a boulder in the middle. Aelin had been puzzled when she saw him starting to collect pine cones and placed them on the rock. When she asked him what he was doing Rowan had replied that they were offerings for the Little Folk. She had smiled tenderly. That was something that her dad would do. While they were walking, Rowan started to open up, though. He told her it was something that his dad used to do whenever they were in the woods. That they were supposed to pay their respects. Then she eventually asked the question about his parents. He never mentioned them so she assumed they had passed, especially after the comment from Sellene. They sat near the bank of a river and he told her. His dad had been an airforce pilot in the Wendlyn airforce and Rowan had grown up surrounded by planes and running around the airbase. Eventually his dad retired after almost 30 yrs in service. One of his ex mates had offered him a job as a commercial pilot in Terrasen and he took it and they all moved to Orynth. Rowan had confessed that around sixteen he had started thinking about joining the airforce. His parents supported him and when it was the time, his dad helped him in any way he could. He told her he graduated at the top of his class and that his parents had been super proud of him. A month later his father was flying to Antica. His plane suffered a catastrophic engine failure and crashed near a small village. There had been no survivors. Eventually he confessed that his mother took ill a year later and she was gone within six months.

Aelin hugged him tightly giving him all the comfort she could. She could understand his pain. To cheer him up she had told him some of the crazy thing she used to do as a kid. He had laughed in the end. Aelin felt as if that moment had brought them even closer. It had been painful but somehow it had given her a precious glimpse in the life of the man who held her heart and an insight on why he badly wanted a family.

In the evening they had joined Lorcan and Elide and had gone out for dinner. She managed to admit that thanks to Elide Lorcan was now almost pleasant.

It had been a perfect day.

But now it was Sunday and sadness hit again.

She had to go back to work and Rowan would have to leave late in the afternoon and go back to Rifthold.

When she arrived at the station she noticed a new car parked near the pavement and when she looked inside she saw it was Sellene and Edna.

“Oh good, this is the right place. Enda is the worst navigator ever. We took the wrong junction on the ring road and we ended up at the wrong station. A guy called Aedion told us how to get here.”

Aelin laughed “That was my cousin,” she explained “he used to be my second here, but then he got promoted and got his own house.”

“I told you he looked familiar,” joked Enda while his eyes scanned the area.

“Let’s go inside and meet the team.”

It was early morning so everyone was still in the common room finishing breakfast.

“Team,” she announced as they entered “today we have two guests.” She turned to the new comers “This is Sellene and this is Enda. They are Rowan’s cousins from Doranelle.”

Then she turned to her team and introduced them one by one.

“Manon, you sure you are not related? Your hair is almost similar.” shouted Brullo from his seat on the sofa and the woman glared at him.

“Boys, why don’t you take Enda and show him the firehouse?”

Brullo stood quickly “come, we will give you the best tour ever.” Enda smiled.

“Cap, truck needs a trip to the petrol station, can we take him with us?”

Aelin nodded. “Just make sure he stays in the truck at all times.”

The boys cheered and she looked at Rowan “Wanna go with them?”

He shook his head “I’ll be one of the girls.” Aelin laughed and kissed him on the cheek. Had it been other circumstances she knew he’d have gone but they wanted to spend as much time together possible. Alas, Aelin was back on shift so they had to use their time as best as they could.

“Rowan is a firefighter ad honorem,” added Lysandra “same for Lorcan.”

Sellene gasped “Lorcan Salvaterre is here?”

Rowan nodded “We did high school together Enda Lorcan and I. Sellene was two years ahead. That’s how she knows him.”

“Is he still a grumpy bastard?”

Aelin laughed “a bit, but our Elide here,” and pulled the woman to her “is managing the impossible. They are dating and he is a smidge nicer.”

Sellene was once more shocked, she looked at Elide and then at Rowan “are we speaking about the same Lorcan?”

Rowan shrugged.

Sellene went to Elide “how did you manage it? Lorcan has a reputation and no woman ever managed to domesticate him.”

Elide laughed “Oh I know. I guess I have the magic touch.”

“As long as he is good to you. He was famous for not being a fan of monogamy.” The silver-haired woman continued.

“Oh, don’t worry, Sellene,” continued Ansel “he knows that if he misbehaves he is a dead man.”

Sellene laughed happily “It’s good to see an environment like this were women support each other,” she sat down “I work as a lawyer in a prestigious firm in Doranelle. I am a senior partner and I have been sent here to oversee the new branch we opened in Orynth.” She sighed and took a sip of her coffee “let’s just say that my appointment did not go down well and I had the worst reaction from some female colleagues.”

Asterin moved closer and pulled her arms around Sellene shoulder “if anyone in this branch gives you a hard time you call us.” She looked at her colleagues “we girls look after each other.”

Rowan nodded happily “they do.”

When lunch time came Sellene offered to cook. The team protested that she was a guest and should not have to but she admitted she wanted to cook for them as a thank you for the hospitality “It’s a famous dish in Doranelle and Rowan loves it.”

Aelin looked at her boyfriend and he smiled. She was a horrible girlfriend. She could not cook and couldn’t even prepare his favourite meal. She also had no idea what was his favourite meal. She knew he loved to cook fish and was amazing at it but he never voiced that a dish might be his favourite. A part of her realised that even after almost ten months together she still was discovering things about him.

They were all busy chatting away when dispatch alarm went off and the two guests looked around puzzled when they saw the team run away and disappear.

“That was dispatch alarm. It means they have been called to an incident.”

“What about lunch?” Asked Sellene.

“Just keep preparing. They will eat when they come back.”

Enda sat down while Rowan joined his cousin at the stove “do you do this a lot?”

“I visit often. The shifts are 24hrs so sometimes I stay here with Aelin.”

“I really like her and she makes you happy. I have never seen you smile this much.” She kept cutting and Rowan helped her “Why haven’t you proposed yet? What are you waiting for?”

Rowan ate a piece of carrot “I am not doing it while I am on active duty. I want a family and military life is not good.” He thought about Mark and how difficult it was for him.

“Your mum and dad made it work. They even had you.”

“And it was hard on mum every time dad left.” He said softly “Aelin and I have been together almost ten months and I spent six of those away. And now I am away again and I know how much it pains her and I cannot inflict this on a child.”

Sellene was silent for a moment “Just retire and to hell with duty, Rowan, I have always been supportive of you…” she said looking into his green eyes “but this woman is worth it. What’s stopping you? The truth this time.”

Rowan sighed deeply and eventually decided he could talk to her. They had always been close “I am afraid that I will be a bad husband. I cannot loose her and if I fuck up I could not cope with that.” He said quietly, letting out his fears “I messed up badly with Lyria, that cannot happen a second time. Aelin is this amazing woman and I cannot hurt her.”

Sellene grabbed his shoulder “I met Lyria briefly and I had a bad impression from the start. She never accepted you. The fact that she threw a tantrum because we started talking about your job was rude, the whole evening we tried to catch up and talk about people in Doranelle and she was annoyed. She knew we hadn’t seen each others in ages. She was controlling and a bit of a manipulative bitch.” Her tone had become hard “Gods, she made you change your mind about taking me around Orynth for a tour.” Rowan remembered that. He had suggested the three of them to go out for a stroll and show his cousin the sights. Lyria had refused and started saying that she was not feeling well, until Sellene admitted that she was more than happy to go on her own. She had left the next day with an excuse that she had to go back to work urgently.

“The fact that your first marriage ended badly was not fully your fault. I never wished to hit anyone as badly as I wanted to kick her.” She moved the ladle to him and he tasted the food “good.”

“Ro, I know how caring you can be and I have seen you and Aelin together. That woman is badly in love with you. Last night every excuse was a good one to have contact with you. Rowan, you know I am not much a romantic but the two of you together are perfect.”

Rowan sighed “I want to marry her, to have kids with her so badly and start our family.” His hand ran through his long hair “I even bought the ring, Sellene. That’s how badly I want it. But I need to wait.”

“Just don’t wait too long.”

It was an hour later when the team came back and he, Sellene and Enda had set the table all ready for the guys come back.

Aelin walked to Rowan and fished for a kiss but instead he flipped her nose “you are dirty.”

“Rude.” She added while walking away.

Lysandra and Elide sat at the table “this smells amazing.”

“I think I made a bit too much.”

Rowan grinned “There is no such thing as too much in this firehouse. When they come back from a call they are famished.”

“He is right. They polish everything.”

The team slowly re entered the kitchen and sat at the table making happy sounds at the smell of food.

Luca walked to Sellene and took the big oven dish in help “Thank you for the food.”

Sellene kissed the youngster on the cheek “It’s a pleasure. It’s an old family recipe.”

Luca started distributing the portions and Rowan was worried when Aelin never came back. Did something happened on the call?

But when he was about to go and look for her she entered the room and his heart sank. Something had happened.

Aelin stopped at the head of the table “I was just on the phone with Dorian.” The room fell silent “Chaol is awake. After the first set of test he has shown no sign of mobility in his legs, but the doctors want to wait a bit more before making an official diagnosis. They hope that by waiting a few days the swelling will diminish and they will have a clearer image.” No one in the room spoke and Rowan knew Aelin was not done “There has been an accident with the ambulance from North station. While out on a call they have been rammed by a pickup and broken into. The ambulance fell off the ramp and one of the paramedics is in grave condition the other is in the hospital with some broken bones. PD thinks it’s all connected.”

She looked at Lys and Elide and saw terror in their faces “I am aware we cannot pull all the ambulances out of service but this is serious. To be honest I do not want you out there just now and chief Harker is really not happy.”

“What is the police doing about this? One of their men is in hospital, two paramedics are in hospital what are they waiting for?”

Aelin sat down exhausted “They have no leads.”

Ress turned to Sellene “your food is amazing.” Trying to bring the conversation to an easier topic.

“Thanks.” She looked at the squad “I am sorry about your friends.”

“So,” started Ansel trying to change the topic altogether “have you visited anything?”

Sellene and Enda shook their heads “we arrived yesterday morning. We had a short walk around the city centre but not much. It’s very cold compared to Doranelle so I think we tackled a few shop just to stay warm.” She explained.

Ansel grinned “Well, we come off shift on Monday morning. We can meet after your work and show you some of Orynth.” Then she turned to Rowan “if you are okay with it. They are your relatives, after all.”

Rowan smiled at the woman gratefully “It will make me very happy, especially if you look after Sellene while she is here.”

Lysandra squealed “then it’s official. You are one of the gang.”

Lunch was a success and Sellene’s food disappeared and the woman could not believe how much they ate. Elide explained her that they consumed a lot of energy and that eating was the favourite past-time in the firehouse. She also suggested to the woman not to offer to cook or they would hire her as a chef and explained of all the times that Rowan and Lorcan had ended up cooling for the firehouse.

After lunch Rowan had spotted Aelin walk to the gear room and followed her. When he walked in he saw her sitting on the bench with her head in her hands.

“Aelin.”

“Ro,” she threw her arms at him. Rowan sat at her side and pulled her to him and deposited gentle kisses on her head he knew that what was happening was taking a toll on her and he was adding on by leaving her “are you okay?”

Her sigh was deep and Rowan wished he had a better way to help her. Seeing Aelin sad, hurt him.

“I am scared. Afraid for Lys and Elide anytime they go out on a call. They were already attacked once.”

This time it was his turn to sigh “It’s in the hands of the police. There is nothing you can do.”

Aelin stood abruptly and started pacing “This should not happen. First Hamel and now this.” Aelin sat heavily on the floor and he could see her deep desperation. So he sat at her side and grabbed her hand “You promise me you will not do anything stupid, please let PD deal with this.”

Her head leaned against his shoulder “no more undercover operations, I promise.”

Tension relaxed for a moment “I really like Sellene and Enda.” He kissed her head once more. He was leaving in a few hours and desperately needed contact with her “she likes you too. A lot.”

“I am very likeable.”

“Menace.”

She kissed his nose and Rowan grinned.

Later on in the afternoon, Rowan walked to Aelin with a weigh on his heart. It was time for him to go.

They had come back from a call half an hour later and she was on top of the engine tidying up the hoses. When he was at the firehouse he always tried not to get in their way, they were all working and he knew that Aelin could not spend all her time with him. But he was not bothered, just being around her was fine. He had developed a deep interest in what they did. He loved watching them running drills or just go about their tasks. Nox, who was the engineer/ mechanic of the group, had showed him some of the tasks he had to do and Rowan was fascinated when he saw the man tilt the cabin of both truck and engine.

Lysandra and Elide had taken him under their wings knowing that Rowan was interested in becoming a paramedic, so they had given him an advanced tour of the ambulance and he had been fascinated.

Now he was making his way to the engine.

He climbed and stood on the ladder “hey you.” He said sadly.

“Joining me for some fun?”

Rowan shook his head “I have to go.”

The smile disappeared from Aelin’s face and his heart sank at her pained expression.

She nodded and stood “I’ll drive you.”

Rowan took her hand “you are at work. I’ll take a taxi,” slowly he climbed down.

She joined him on the ground “no.” and she walked away, leaving him alone. He saw her walking to Manon, then walked back to the engine and wear bunker trousers and grab jacket and hat and finally went back to him “Let’s go. Manon is in charge while I am away and if anything happens I have my radio and my gear and I will join them on the scene.”

He kissed her head.

Then Rowan went to say goodbye to Sellene and Enda and promised to see her the following week.

Eventually Rowan started to walk to her car but Aelin pulled him aside “Oh no, we are taking the pickup. If I have to rush away this has sirens.”

The pickup was the only vehicle parked on the apron against a wall and out of the way. Their personal cars were on the kerb.

The pickup was red and read Terrasen Fire Department. He smiled at the reaction of the people at the base seeing turn up in the vehicle. Last time they had a visit from the fire department they had a fire.

Aelin threw jacket and hat in the backseat and climbed in the pickup followed by Rowan. She had tried to forget about the fact that Rowan was leaving again for the duration of the shift. The weekend had been great but she hated she had spent most of it at work.

“When you are here next weekend I come off on Friday morning and I am not due back until Sunday afternoon. We will have more time.”

Rowan nodded in silence and his hand brushed her hair. Five more days of wait and then a brief visit. This was going to be his life for the next five months and he stupidly had agreed to it.

“We can go out and do more hiking if the weather allows it.” Rowan smiled and kissed her temple “start looking at some paths and send them to me.”

At the traffic lights she grinned and turned to him and gave him a kiss “I love you.” She whispered to him

“You are my favourite person too.” He smiled at her.

The lights turned green and Aelin resumed the drive, the closer they got to the airbase the more his anguish worsened.

Eventually they got to the airbase. Rowan flashed his guest pass which allowed him inside the compound without too much hassle only because of the agreement with Adarlan school and the TAF.

“I wonder if mine is still valid.”

“Lorcan never deactivated it.”

She parked the pickup and they walked in. Once inside the hangar she saw some familiar faces. Hand in hand they walked to his jet and Rowan talked to the engineer. She looked for Greg and saw him busy on another aircraft. Now that Rowan was not in the team anymore he had probably been reassigned to someone else.

Rowan was doing his pre flight checks when a familiar voice reached them. Aelin turned and saw Lorcan “leaving without saying goodbye?”

Aelin looked at the man and from what Elide had told her he was still mad at loosing Rowan.

“Hi you.” Said Rowan patting his ex CO on the shoulder.

“How’s test pilot school?”

Rowan laughed “Do you remember the boredom of flight school at the beginning when you only spend time on books?”

Lorcan chuckled lightly “Oh the painful days.”

“With the added problem that none of us are cadets but we still have to listen a man drone on weapon systems and how to do flight checks.”

This time Lorcan’s chuckle was louder “You can just tell him how to do it while blindfolded.” Aelin did not miss the hint of pride in the man’s voice.

“The guys are out. I’ll let them know that you were here.”

With a nod to both, Lorcan left and they were alone once more. Rowan grabbed his duffel bag and threw it in the backseat and then pulled Aelin to him “I love you.” His mouth against the shell of her ear “Stay safe, please.” She could hear fear in his words so her arms wound around his abdomen tightly “You too, captain.”

Rowan’s laugh echoed in her “At the moment the biggest perils I face are boredom and paper-cuts.”

She looked up at him and gently kissed him on his lips, inhaling his scent.

“Tell bird Rowan to take good care of you.” His arms held her tighter “I have also put some food I made in the freezer. Just put it in the microwave. It should last for a few days when you are not at work. “

“You are perfect.”

Another kiss and then he pulled back “My window is coming up. I have to be in the air within ten minutes.”

Aelin nodded and stepped back and let him finish his checks. Once he was done he came back to her “It’s time.”

Aelin crushed her body against his and welcomed his arms around her once more. Then took a deep breath and pulled back, drying her tears with the back of her hand.

Rowan kissed her one last time and she nodded. He took a few steps away and Aelin stood still as he climbed on the ladder and into his aircraft.

He waved at her and closed the canopy.

A figure appeared at her side and she noticed it was Gregg “Come with me, captain.” He gave her a high vis jacket and together they just walked outside the hangar. He made her stop against the wall just outside. She knew she was breaking probably a million rules but Gregg did not seem worried. Aelin stared at the jet being taxied out and Rowan waved at her again when he spotted her.

The tug pulled the jet to the runaway and Gregg passed her some ear defenders.

She caught a bit radio chatter from Gregg’s radio and knew that Rowan had gotten his clearance. It was a matter of moments now. In the distance Aelin saw the afterburners lit up and even with protection the roar was deafening. Her eyes never left the sleek blue jet and the man in the cockpit.

In a matter of second the jet had started to move and then was up in the air. It banked once and a minute later it was gone. She pushed the tears down.

Aelin felt Gregg’s hand on her shoulder. She removed the air defenders and passed them back to him. Once inside the hangar she removed the high vis jacket “Thank you, you must have broken so many rule for that.” The man shook his head “The CO gave us his blessing.”

Aelin was stunned. Lorcan had authorised that?

She hugged the engineer “Thank you.”

Slowly she then walked back to the car. She had to go back at work, but before setting off she sent a text to Lorcan Thank you. It was simple but she was positive the man knew what she was talking about.

On her way back to the station the radio became alive and her team was called to a site. She did a u-turn and switched on the sirens.

The site of the accident was a middle sized house and the fire was wild. She parked the car and truck, engine and ambulance arrived a moment later. She wore jacket and hat and started directing the incident when the wind shifted and a strange smell hit her.

“Cap, can you smell it?”

“Is that cannabis I smell?” Asked Ansel behind her.

“Mask up everyone and let’s hope not to get high.”

She turned to Manon “You take truck team and do a primary search on the ground floor.” Then searched for another person “Brullo, you take engine and do the first floor.”

She watched her team ran inside and she placed a mask on. The smell was overwhelming. PD joined her a moment later to block off the street and stop curious people to get closer.

“Cover your mouths and noses,” she said to the two officers.

“Is that?” They had recognised the smell too.

Aelin nodded and saw the police officers pushing people away from the scene.

She looked at the house once more and the smoke turned black and almost thick. Bad sign “East team report.”

“We have found two victims and are extracting them right now. According the one victim there are three more.” Reported back Manon and Aelin anxiety grew they did not have much time “Lys, Elide, be ready.”

She then grabbed her radio “Manon you have two minutes to finish primary search, then you are all out.” The radio crackled static “Manon do you copy?”

No answer “East team do you copy?”

Brullo and Ansel appeared in that instant and carried out two victims. Lys and Elide jumped into action.

“You have one minute. The smoke has changed.” The two nodded and ran back inside.

That was one of the occasions she hated being incident commander. She wanted to be inside with her team “East team update.”

When no answer came she ran to the engine and grabbed a SCBA and donned it and ran in the house “Evacuate,” she started to shout. Aelin saw Manon with a man and grabbed him from her “Get our team out. Now.” The woman ran away and Aelin took the man outside. She was about to jump back inside when she recognised the signs of an imminent flashover. She turned and ran to Lys and Elide and pushed them on the ground.

Aelin then looked up, and ran inside the house. It was chaos. She saw some of her people carrying victims and she directed them to the exit. Then ran upstairs and walked through the remains of the house and she heard it. The PASS alarm. Two of them “I need assistance upstairs.”

Manon and Ansel joined her quickly and together they started looking for their friends.

“East team start a line and the water cannon.” Shouted Aelin. The fire was everywhere and the smoke was thick but they had enough visibility to at least see each other.

“On it, cap.” Came Nox voice over the radio.

“Fucking stupid kids,” cursed Manon while she frantically moved the wood beams and the debris “It’s Asterin and Ress. They were looking for the last victim.”

The beeping got closer and Aelin finally felt a body under the build up of wood “East to main, request additional ambulances.”

“Copy that east. We are dispatching ambulances at your location.”

“Manon grab that beam.” The white-haired woman moved quickly while Ansel was still trying to locate Asterin.

Luca and Brullo appeared a second later as they felt the water come through the broken window. The smoke was clearing and they could see better “Asterin is under here. I can hear her alarm.”

Brullo grabbed the young man and they started looking.

Aelin, Manon and Ansel finally cleared the broken pieces and saw Ress. Slowly they turned him enough to check for a pulse. When Aelin felt strong and steady she let out a deep breath “We need a backboard up here. “

“Aelin, what is the issue?”

“You are not coming in.” Said Aelin quickly at Lysandra’s question. It was not safe.

Wes arrived with a backboard and she and Manon placed the man on it and passed him to Ren and Wes.

A moment later Luca announced they had Asterin and Aelin ran to her, kneeling at her side. Damn she was not breathing “I need a intubating kit.” Manon disappeared in a second and came back quickly with what Aelin needed. She could do it. She had to. She tilted the woman’s head while Manon held her torch so that Aelin could see. Aelin’s hand were shaking. She grabbed the blades and followed the steps she was told in training. She visualised the vocal cords and very carefully slid the tube inside. With the stethoscope she made sure the tube was in place and eventually attached the balloon.

“Lys, we are coming out. Asterin is intubated.”

She and Manon lifted the backboard and slowly walked outside followed by the rest of the team.

Once she was out she noticed the fire was out.

Lysandra ran to her and she and Elide placed Asterin on the gurney.

“Ress is on his way to the hospital,” Kyllian reported “He was awake.”

Aelin sighed and her eyes never left the gurney. When Elide opened the jacket she spotted bruises on the woman’s body. Her head was bloodied too.

“We are taking her to the hospital. She is stable.”

The ambulance sped away and she breathed deeply “Let’s do a secondary search.”

Staying behind was always the hardest part when one of them was on their way to the hospital. She could see worry and rage in her people’s faces.

Aelin reached the kitchen and realised that was the origin point. Then she spotted the charred remains of whatever they had used to extract the oil to make cannabis “Do not touch anything the police will need to have the scene intact. This is now a crime scene.”

Her people moved away and filed out. Since the police was getting involved they could not do anything. Everything could be evidence and they had to leave the scene intact.

“Let’s board up the place while I get in touch with PD.”

By the time Aelin had finished her phone calls her team was done while the police blocked off the entire perimeter.

She sent her two teams back to quarters and told them she was waiting for detective Ytger. Manon asked for permission to go to the hospital and Aelin asked to keep her updated.

A silver car parked in front of the broken house half an hour later and Aelin went to greet the detective then passed her a mask “The fumes are still strong.”

She noticed the detective had worn safety shoes and remembered the memory of the first time they met and the woman almost tripped.

She gave her a torch each and with hers pointed in front of her she walked the officer toward the kitchen.

“This is the origin point.”

The detective kneeled in front of some remains “Is this the device?”

Aelin nodded “they had been cooking their own drugs and clearly did not pay much attention in chemistry class.”

“How many?”

Aelin turned to the detective “five, all in their twenties. They are all at the hospital if you need to talk to them.”

The detective scrapped something into a bag “I think they were trying to produce something else. These,” she rolled something in her gloved fingers “These looks like crystal meth but I will not know until I take them to a lab.”

Aelin’s head flipped to the detective “Any chance this is connected to what is happening now?”

“Until I speak with the five guys I can’t tell.” The two of them spent a good hour in the house and the detective took enough evidence.

They parted ways and Aelin sat in the pickup. She took out her phone and noticed a text from Rowan telling her he was back in Rifthold. She ignored it and placed the phone in the pocket of her trousers.

When she arrived at the hospital she parked the car and removed her bunker gear and ran inside the A&E.

She was so tired of spending her time in hospitals waiting for news on people she cared about.

Her team spotted her and Manon walked to her “Ress is fine. He is awake. He has a few bruised ribs, a bump on his head and minor burns.”

Aelin was afraid to ask the next question “We don’t know about Asterin yet. They took her to surgery. We are still waiting.”

She took a seat in the waiting room with her team and together they waited.

And waited…

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @courtofjurdan @whimsicallyreading @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity @acreativelydifferentlove @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98 @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost

#rowanwhitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin fanfic #angst #aelingalathynius #aelin x rowan #throne of glass series #throne of glass fanfiction #Rowaelin

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givemethatgold · 3 years

Text

Fix’er Upper - Part 13

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem! Reader Warnings: Talk of parent death Length: 2.1k words Notes: Okay bitches here we go. I’ve got 3 kids doing online schooling, a desk chair that just broke while I was halfway through typing this out, a raging headache, and couldn’t be fucked to edit. I love you al, thank you for sticking with me and this little brain baby of mine. My guidance counselor from high school can suck my dick, “You’re not a creative writer, Cher, you should considering taking Home Ec as an elective instead” I digress....

Series Masterlist

"No." You glared at him and squeezed his hand harder, "You're doing that thing again.

Frankie's head whipped over to stare at you, shocked by your assertive tone.

"You're pulling away. You're stressed, out of your depth, don't know how to deal with it and so you're pulling away again-"

"You don't understand," Frankie interrupted you, shaking his head and trying to pull his hands out of your grasp. This only served to strengthen your resolve, and your grip on him.

"No." You declare again, trying to stay calm and have a mature conversation despite the tension and running emotions. "You told me to give you time to get your thoughts straight and vocalized. I can't do that if I'm not here to hear them. I can't understand your predicament if I leave. So," You moved so you're sitting cross-legged in front of him, making eye contact in an effort to show him he had your full attention. "Why don't you tell me what that phone call was about so we can start figuring it out, together."

The situation was more complex than you ever could have imagined. Frankie's ex-wife, Karla, had died. Her car had been hit by a drunk driver. Annie, thank the gods, hadn't been in the car at the time. Before she'd died at the hospital, Karla had managed to say a few words to the paramedics. At the time they didn't make sense, however, the paramedic had taken the time to write the words down and included the scrap of paper with the patient's chart. This evidence, as it turned out, had been monumental during the resulting legal battle for Annie, all of which took place without Frankie even being notified.

Child services, lawyers, extended family, and even doctors had been involved in the court proceedings. All arguing over the future of the six-year-old girl. All believing that they knew what was best for her, most believing that she should live with them, some having the gall to pretend that they weren't aware of the sizable life insurance payout she was about to receive.

Eight words. Eight simple, beautiful words whispered through the broken, bloody lips of a woman who knew she was about to die. A young girl's future was being held in suspense, and as fate would have it, a wise and sentimental judge was overseeing her case. Eight words were all it took to convince him that Annie's mother knew what was best for her own child.

"Francisco Morales. Trust with her, he's ready now."

From the time Frankie had received the phone call from Karla's family lawyer, the two of you had two days to prepare for Annie's arrival. Frankie worked his magic and erected a wall across the bedroom portion of his loft, allowing for the little girl to have some privacy but not feel like she was being closed in.

He had fretted for a least twenty five minutes over colour swatches at Hank’s Hardware before coming to the conclusion that he should leave it white and have Annie chose her room colours once she had settled in. He bought himself a new couch, as well, that would convert into a bed and serve as his bedroom for the time being.

The conversation you never had a chance to have with him was still in the back of your mind, but you understood that moving in together as a couple was hard enough. Moving in together with a kid neither of you knew, whose life had just been turned upside down against her will, would be catastrophic. Instead, you focused on being as much of a rock for Frankie as you could.

You made a trip to the city and bought girls bedding, some stuffed animals, and a few little decorations to help Annie feel like the new space was special for her. You also thought to pick up comfort food that a kid might crave, knowing that when you were six the best way to your heart was chocolate. Just before you left the city, a sign caught your attention and had you swerving to change lanes, normally you'd feel slightly bad about your obnoxious driving but today you just waved your middle finger at the rear window in a mock salute.

The flower shop had so many bouquets and you had no idea what kind of flowers the little girl might like. You also had the morbid realization that bouquets might remind her of all the flowers she surely saw at Karla's funeral. Just as you began to second guess yourself, a stand near the back caught your eye and made you smile.

The day of her arrival came quicker than you felt prepared for, never mind how Frankie must be feeling. He hadn't had too much time to worry about how having his daughter would change his life, but once the two of you were standing in his driveway doing nothing but waiting, the nerves had finally settled in. You could see deep, calming breaths he was taking as they condensed into little clouds in the freezing air.

Grabbing his clenched fist, you felt his fingers relax enough to allow your gloved ones to slide through them.

"It's going to be weird for everyone, she's probably nervous too." You weren't sure if the words were reassuring or not but nervous talking seemed to be your forte so you ran with it. "I mean, she's probably sad that she's leaving everything and everyone she's always known, excited about moving to a new place, then feeling bad that she's feeling another emotion besides grief. It can be hard to juggle loss and hope. Just show her how much you love her and be honest about why you couldn't be with her before. Kids are smart and are aware of way more than adults give them credit for."

A few moments later a black sedan slowly crept up the driveway. You wanted to stay, to meet the little girl but had the feeling that Annie and Frankie were going to need time to figure out their relationship without another person in the mix. Suddenly having a new parent was going to be hard enough on the little girl, you were afraid that she might see you as trying to replace her mom and push you away.

Rubbing Frankie's back for one last show of reassurance, you kissed his shoulder then took a few steps back. You figured this was the best way to be there to support him but also staying in the background for the time being. Before the car could fully come to a stop, the rear door was flying open and, in a blur of movement, a little body was flying out of it towards Frankie. You know how people will say that there are times in their lives where important moments fly by so fast they barely have time to enjoy them? Well, this wasn't one of them.

As Annie barreled her way towards Frankie, you saw in slow motion how his handsome face went from being creased with worry, to eyebrow raised shock, to breaking out in a teary smile. He had just begun to crouch down and open his arms in anticipation of holding his little girl when instead she ran right past him and locked herself in one of the sheds.

Time continued to move in slow motion, making it all the more heartbreaking watching your boyfriend's face crumple, the tears of joy turn to tears of pain as he recovered from his initial excitement and realized that his child didn't want to see him.

Tiny, muffled sobs broke the moment and brought time, and the horrible situation, back into focus. The Child Protective Services worker who had accompanied Annie from California was calling apologies to Frankie while running after the little girl, trying not to slip in the snow in her hurry.

You wanted to go to him, to lend him some form of comfort, but you were also aware that some types of grief don't appreciate witnesses. Deciding to stick around and be helpful in the background, you made your way into the loft and started making coffee and sandwiches, foreseeing a longer stay for the caseworker than initially thought.

Nearly forty minutes had passed before you emerged again with food and drinks on a tray and the two adults were still talking to Annie through the cracks in the door. She had stubbornly refused to come out, demanding that she be returned to her home at once and that she hated snow.

Once you had set down the tray and cleared the snow off a picnic table, Frankie thanked you with a kiss to your temple and introduced you to Sharon after he convinced her to take a break from the negotiations. Sharon, who had been with Annie since the day of the accident, began filling Frankie in on what had happened to his daughter in the past month between sips of coffee. He was given a folder with notes from child psychologists, doctors, a letter from her maternal grandparents, and a journal Sharon had kept that described the ways Annie had been processing her grief.

While they talked, you decided to walk over and sit next to the door of the shed, laying a wool blanket down to protect your butt from the cold. You had no idea what to say to the girl but you figured she might like to be reassured she wasn't alone. Settling down, you dug into your own sandwich and hummed quietly to yourself.

You nearly choked on your next bite when you heard a soft voice singing along with the tune you'd chosen.

"Lavender blue, dilly dilly. Rosemary Green, if you are king dilly dilly, I'll be your queen."

After you'd repeated the song twice more, you stopped the tune and said softly,

"I've never heard those lyrics before, they're different from how I learned them."

A long pause followed, making you worry that you'd offended the child back into silence.

"How do you sing it?" Came the sweetest little voice, made all the more adorable with the barest hint of a lisp.

"We always sang, 'Lavender green', for one. Which never made any sense to me so I really like how you did it-"

"Yeah, cause lavender is another name for purple," she interrupted you with a matter-of-fact tone, "saying it's green is just weird!"

"Hmmm, it might be different," you conceded, seeing the opportunity for a lesson. "But either way you sing it, it's still a really pretty song, isn't it? Things can be different but it doesn't mean one is only good and one is only bad. Each version just had different good things."

Annie went silent again but this time you didn't worry about it, you knew she was thinking about what you said and needed time to apply it to what was happening right now. You eventually heard the shifting of metal and the creak of wood and had to will yourself to sit still and calm. The way you had let her approach you had worked so far, jumping up out of excitement could possibly erase all the progress you'd made so far.

Your patience was rewarded when Annie stepped out of the shed and lowered herself so that she was sitting on the blanket right next to you. Turning your head just enough to see her in your peripheral, you noticed how dull her eyes looked. Her hair was a mess and her skin looked pale for a kid who had been living under California's sun.

"My mommy is dead."

The way it was stated as a fact, with very little emotion, broke your heart. She was so little, so young, and so unable to fully grasp what kind of future had been ripped away from her.

"I know, I'm sorry that that happened to your mom."

"That man is my daddy." She was pointing at Frankie now, who was still engrossed in his conversation with Sharon.

"He's a pretty lucky guy to have you."

"That's the lady who has been taking care of me, she's been nice."

You were a bit out of your comfort zone with the conversation but there was no way in hell you were going drop it so you cautiously trudged on. Maybe verbalizing relationships and titles was helping her process?

"I'm very happy to hear that you've been staying with someone nice. Your dad is a really nice person, too, ya know? You should see the nice bedroom he's set up for you! I even helped him bake you an apple pie. Do you like apples? Or pie?" Her eyes went wide and a spark of happiness suddenly lit her face, making her appear more childlike than before.

"Is this an apple farm?" She practically squealed. “Like in My Little Pony?!”

Her outburst had finally drawn the attention of the other two adults, who were now only realizing that Annie had exited the shed. Frankie's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his two girls, beaming at each other. The twinge of jealousy from knowing that it had been you to draw her out was quickly squashed by how proud of you he was. He had been a little worried, although he hadn't voiced it, that his kid wouldn't take kindly to having a woman around but those fears were obviously for naught.

Part Fourteen

#Frankie Morales x fem!Reader #Frankie Morales x f!reader #Francisco Morales x fem!reader #Francisco Morales x f!reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x fem!reader #Frankie Catfish Morales x f!reader #fix'er upper #Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales fanfiction

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acquariusgb · 3 years

Text

9/11 Bill POV

While Hillary was in Washington and Chelsea in New York, Bill was in Australia. Here's an extract from Man of the World by Joe Conason, describing the events from that day.

In Clinton’s suite at the Sheraton Mirage, a luxurious hotel surrounded by palm trees, he turned on the television to see the nightmarish images that would soon become a historic symbol of horror for Americans. Across the bottom of the screen, a crawling ticker listed the names of passengers on the four flights hijacked by the al Qaeda terrorist teams. Suddenly, Clinton saw the name of a friend, someone who had worked with him for years, a man with a family of his own. “Oh my God,” he breathed.

He knew Chelsea was in New York City, visiting a friend before her scheduled departure for England. Now he had to find out exactly where she was and who was with her, but nobody had been able to find her yet. When Hillary finally got through to his room, she pretended to know already that their daughter was safe, hoping to calm him—even though she felt inwardly frantic as her Senate staff continued to try to locate their daughter.

By her own account, Chelsea had been watching television at her friend’s apartment in Union Square when the second plane hit, and quickly tried to call her mother in Washington—but as she spoke with an aide in Hillary’s office, overburdened phone lines went dead. In a panic, she left the apartment and headed downtown, searching desperately for a pay phone to reach Hillary’s Senate office again. She was standing in line at a pay phone, about twelve blocks from the disaster scene, when she heard the deafening roar of the second tower collapsing. She headed back toward Union Square, eventually found her friend, and they walked uptown, like thousands of other New Yorkers. When she found a working phone and reached Hillary, her mother burst into tears of relief.

At Clinton’s office in Harlem, Karen Tramontano and members of the foundation staff were meeting in a conference room with a panoramic southward view when they saw the first plane. Someone came running into the room and suddenly they were watching the catastrophe on television. Tramontano picked up a phone immediately, trying to reach Band in Australia.

With all flights into the United States canceled, the Clinton entourage was stranded in Australia. After talking with Band, Tramontano placed a call to Condoleezza Rice to ask for help. After some wrangling that involved more calls from Band to the Secret Service and to Transportation Secretary Norman Mineta, the Pentagon dispatched a military aircraft to pick them up at Cairns Airport in Port Douglas. “It won’t be very comfortable,” Rice warned, “but it’s the only plane we have available out there right away.”

It wasn’t comfortable at all aboard the C-130 cargo plane and the trip took almost twenty-four hours. There were no seats, there was no food, and at thirty thousand feet, the interior of the plane was cold—very, very cold. They stopped in Guam and switched to a refueling plane, which was no better. Band had tried to scrounge some sweaters and other warm clothing at the hotel, but they were all bone-chilled, starved, and exhausted when the plane finally landed at Stewart Airport, a New York National Guard airbase about fifty miles north of Chappaqua. Almost immediately they departed for Manhattan, where they headed to Union Square.

Despite their ordeal, Clinton was grateful to have gotten home, unlike thousands of Americans left overseas with no way to return until the airports reopened. Among them was Al Gore, who had been in Vienna when the terrorists struck, giving a speech to an Austrian Internet forum.

Evidently the Bush White House was not prepared to provide military transportation for the former vice president, who could find no way to get back except via Gander Airport, a tiny facility in Newfoundland. From there, he and an aide would have to drive southward across the Canadian border.

While seeking help with their predicament, a former Gore aide—who had also worked in the Clinton White House—called the Harlem office. Gore and Clinton had exchanged messages within the first hours after the terrorist attack, but had not spoken yet. Distant as relations between their bosses had become, the staffers remained friendly. When Gore’s aide reached Tramontano, they talked casually about “the crap that’s gone on for far too long” between Gore and Clinton—who literally had not spoken since a bitter two-hour argument about who was to blame for the disastrous outcome of the 2000 election. She suggested that on the long drive down from the Canadian border, Gore might stop in Chappaqua. When Tramontano reached Clinton to discuss the proposed sleepover, she wasn’t surprised by his enthusiasm. That evening around 8 p.m., the former vice president picked up his cell phone to speak with the former president for the first time in many months.

“Why don’t you come down here, and then we’ll fly down together Friday morning?” Clinton asked. An Air Force jet provided by the White House would take them to the capital for the special memorial service on September 14 at the National Cathedral.

Hours after midnight, driving a rented car, Gore arrived at the five-bedroom colonial on Old House Lane. Clinton was waiting for them in the living room, where he had been napping on and off, and got up to greet Gore.

As he climbed the steps to the front porch, the former vice president noticed a refrigerator, sitting where it had been moved while the kitchen was undergoing renovation—a tableau that struck him as more hillbilly Ozarks than chic Westchester. Eyeing the fridge, he cracked, one Southerner to another: “Well, you’ve really come a long way, haven’t you?” At the door, Clinton roared with laughter.

They stayed up almost until dawn, talking mostly about the 9/11 attacks, their own efforts to deal with terrorism, and the murky times ahead. Chelsea met them in the morning at Westchester Airport to fly to Washington. On the flight down, Gore invited the Clintons to join his family after the memorial service for lunch at his home in Arlington, Virginia.

At the cathedral, a century-old Gothic Revival structure on the northern outskirts of the capital, Clinton sat in a front pew alongside President Bush and the other living former presidents, Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, and George H. W. Bush. He listened as the president delivered words of compassion for the bereaved and a warning to the enemy. He was speaking out forcefully in support of Bush at every opportunity, starting with his departure from Australia. He had canceled all of his speaking engagements abroad to remain in Manhattan, spending hours at local vigils and especially at the Armory on Park Avenue, where he tried to comfort families whose loved ones were missing and presumed dead.

“They cheered, they wept, they hugged him,” wrote a reporter for London’s Daily Mirror. “All around him, New Yorkers gathered, some to pass on their thanks that he had rushed to their side, others to grab his hand and use him as an emotional crutch. . . . All felt lifted to be in the presence of the man they had looked to for most of the past decade when their country was in its hour of need.”

The Mirror correspondent was not alone in contrasting Clinton’s instinctive leadership with the unsteadiness displayed by his successor in the early hours following the attack, although Bush soon righted himself and took command. America and the world had turned a page, moving beyond the petty controversies that had almost consumed Clinton in the days after he left office. Gaunt, somber, and worried, he and his fellow Americans now found themselves in a very different world.

Not everyone was willing to leave old habits behind, however, especially among Clinton’s most rigid detractors on the right. Even as Bush and congressional leaders prayed for the nation to unite, the habitual haters simply could not resist a fresh opportunity to target him. Nothing mattered more than proving (or at least asserting) that the terrorist attacks of September 11 should be blamed not on the current president, but the one who preceded him. Before long a writer for National Review warned, only half-jokingly: “If we members of the Vast Right-Wing Conspiracy don’t get back to our daily routine of obsessive Clinton-bashing, then the terrorists will have won.”

#bill clinton #al gore #chelsea clinton #hilllary clinton #the clintons

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 3 years

Text

HASO “At All Costs.”

Sorry I didn’t get this one to you yesterday. it required me to read and listen to a bunch of Apollo 11 transcripts and watch more than a few videos to pretend to know what I was doing. So I hope you like it :)

“Did you know that if Apollo 11 Rocket were to explode, that explosion would have the force equal to a small nuclear weapon?”

Captain Richards turned his head inside the confined suit barely able to see the Admiral where he sat, “Serious?”

“Yeah serious.”

“No, I mean are you really talking about the Saturn V exploding when we are, and I might add, in an exact replica of the Saturn V.”

The man shrugged, though it was a difficult gesture to make out in his massive space suit, “Just making small talk.”

Captain Chavez piped up from his other side, her voice strange and tiny over the absolutely ancient radio setup, “Let's hear it Admiral, give us more Apollo 11 facts.”

Richards groaned though it was all in good fun.

“Up to that point the Saturn V was the most powerful rocket ever created, of course compared to the most powerful space ship ever created, The Omen, it can barely rocket it’s way out of a paper bag, but at the time it was a masterwork of engineering. As tall as a skyscraper it requires 4,578,000 lbs of fuel and 7.5 million pounds of thrust. It is 363 feet tall and weighs around 6.2 million pounds. Oh also the UN president will likely have two speeches already prepared, one if we survive and one if we die horrifically.”

“Why did you have to add the horrific part.” Richards wondered

Chavez laughed from the other side of the rocket.

He really was flying with two absolute psychos.

Chavez adjusted herself in her seat, “Hey, Admiral, is it true you survived the vacuum of space… what does that feel like?”

“Yep 12 seconds or less of pure unadulterated terror, and let me tell you it does not feel great. Ruptured blood vessels, severe dehydration etc etc.”

“Can we please talk about something else?”

The other two laughed at him.

***

“All ready for go, engineering?”

“Not yet, command, still working on it.”

“Just let us know when you are ready. Try to make it quick.”

Jade snorted, “I would rather have late astronauts than dead ones, mission control.” Her bluntness seemed to have shut them up for the moment, and she stepped up to examine the outside of the rocket once again.

It was then that she heard footsteps approaching and turned to see the strange starborn returning with a large blue shape in tow. The Drev was a good two feet taller than she was with carapace the color of a bright blue sports car. It jogged up, large silver/white spear in one hand, “What Can I do.”

She held out the little sample of tape the starborn had taken from the ship, “We found this covering a loose bolt in one of the ship panels. It isn’t heat resistant so it would burn up on exit and cause the panel to tear lose.”

The Drev nodded before she could even finish, “Causing it to go into a spin.”

Jade paused then nodded, “yes.”

“So sabotage.”

“It seems so.”

The Drev didn’t look surprised and just simply nodded, “Do we call off the launch.”

“This is an easy fix, and would have been the easiest way to sabotage the rocket in the first place. Everything else is monitored too heavily and tested too heavily to allow for it, but I am going to need your eyes. I only noticed because of the reflective properties of the tape as compared to the paint. WIth your eyes I might be able to find anything else.”

The Drev nodded and stepped back slightly, her head tilted up as she looked at the rocket. “Give me some time, and I am sure I can find them all. Just name the places where a panel tear will be the most catastrophic, and let me know as those will be the first places I should look.”

Jade nodded glancing back at the mission control building.

Her heart hammered inside her chest. She hadn’t intended for things to go this far, but they had. She was caught up in something she didn’t want to be caught up in.

The Drev handed a camera to the starborn, “Go, and make it quick.”

“Of course your royal highness.” He said, though he didn’t waste time as he grabbed the camera and floated back into the air.

****

“Chairwoman?”

She lifted her head turning to examine one of her assistants as they jogged over to stand next to her. She leaned her head down as he stood to whisper to her, using a dialect in their language which was difficult to read using translation equipment, “The launch has been delayed.”

She lifted her head slightly in mild surprise, “Delayed, why would it be delayed?”

He bowed his head, “It sounds like one of their engineers was slow in finishing up their final check.” he leaned in a little closer, “However, I saw the Saint heading over there just a few minutes ago.”

The chairwoman felt her insides churn with worry and anticipation, “Do you think they found something.”

“They might have, I don’t know.”

“Should we send someone over….”

She shook her head, “I don’t want to play our hand yet. We still have options if things go wrong.”

He nodded his head again and stepped away as one of the humans walked closer, “My apologizes chairwoman, the launch has been delayed a few minutes, but everything should be on track soon.”

She nodded tightly though her insides chured.

“Carry on.” She said, dismissing the human and watching him go after a few moments.

***

“What is taking so long.”

“Madam president, it looks like the engineers haven't finished their final checks yet.”

She tapped her nails against the lectern, “Is there any way to speed them up? They have been working on this for years now.”

\The service member looked a little taken aback stepping away slightly, “I…. well no ma’am if something were to happen during the launch because it was overlooked-”

She cut him off and waved him away as she looked over towards the distant rocket, white against the distant skyline.

Inside she was nervous. Something could go wrong at any minute, and more was likely to go wrong the longer they waited. She had to force herself to take a deep breath though. Things would be fine, they had backup plans in place in case something failed. Everything was going to work out.

Still this was Admiral Vir they were talking about.

***

Eris pushed her way gently through the crowd listening to the voices that flooded in all around her. She didn’t usually like crowds, too many voices all at once, but today they hardly bothered her, and she sifted through them like a machine, coming through their thoughts, looking for anything suspicious, anything she could use, anything she could find. She had been ordered by Conn and Sunny to look for someone who knew something about the outside of the ship, which had been tampered with, and so she did inching closer and closer through the halls and towards mission control. She wanted to know if any of them knew something.

No one looked twice at her as they rushed up and down the halls. But then again every time someone tried to notice her, she would turn their thoughts in a different direction. It was not a trick she used very often, but being half starborn and half human had melded and given her the odd ability to influence people’s thoughts as well. It allowed her to go places she wouldn’t have otherwise been allowed.

She pulled her hoodie closer to the sides of her head and paused outside the door allowing the voices and thoughts to well around her, searching for that one threat d that was out of place. She sensed excitement, nervousness, accomplishment. Every mind she sifted through there was nothing to indicate sabotage. These people were genuinely excited and scared about what they were doing. For many of them it was the most exciting day of their lives feeling much the same way that Adam did about what they were doing. She pulled back from the door frowning.

Well, if she couldn’t get the truth from them, she was going to have to get close to the one person she knew was involved.

The chairwoman would know if there were any other issues, as she was the one who had ordered the sabotage.

Eris turned on her feet and began to run.

“Countdown begins in ten minutes.” She heard over the intercom.

Shit, she hadn’t thought it was going to begin so soon.

Eris raced outside pausing on the edge of the balcony as she stared down at the crowd. With her bad knees, it was going to take her forever to get down those stairs….. Of course there was one option.

She grimaced at the thought, but then reminded herself that it was either that or a dead Adam.

Eris quickly pulled off her hoodie draping it over one arm and feeling the starborn ribbons uncoil and fall down around her back. A few of them were long enough to trail on the ground behind her. The open back of her shirt exposed the ribbons to the sun overhead warming her up and making her feel exhilarated.

She reached down to her belt to engage the gravity field before taking a long, deep breath. Ribbons billowed up around her from behind catching the light of the sun. She pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the balcony and then, with the gravity field engaged, she dropped. Her ribbons flared out from behind her, and she was given a sudden strange sensation, and as she played with that sensation she felt herself coasting forward on some unknown power. She floated over the heads of those below, slowly coming down at an angle.

Fingers pointed up at her as she went and she did her best to ignore them as she came to a stop at the edge of the crowd. The people stared at her wide eyed as she gathered up her ribbons and quickly pulled her hoodie back on, ducking into the crowd and elbowing her way through up towards the stage where the chairwoman and the Un president sat.

She was so close.

She could sense.

Eris froze in horror.

***

“That’s it, that’s the last one.”

“Four, seems like a good number, and all on the same panel. If they had put them anywhere else it would have caused suspicion as to why the entire ship tore apart.”

Conn floated down from above and handed off a fistfull of silvered tape.

She reached up to her mic, “mission control you are going for launch, I repeat, you are go for launch.”

The Drev and the Starborn floated after her, joining her in the small jeep as they rolled away from the base of the rocket.

****

“Four minutes and counting we are go for Apollo 11

“Apollo 11's launch operations manager wishes you good luck.”

“ Thank you, we’ll do their memory proud.”

“That’s three minus and 25 seconds in counting. We are still going at this time.”

“T minus 1 minute and 54 ten seconds and counting oxidizer tanks on the second and third stages have pressurized.”

“T minus one minute 35 seconds on the Second Apollo 11 mission flight to remember the first men who stepped foot on the moon.”

“T minus sixty second and counting.”

“Admiral Vir reports that the countdown is going smoothly.”

“Power transfer is complete.”

“All second stage tanks now pressurized.”

“T minus fifteen seconds and counting guidance is internal.”

“12 11 10 9 Ignition sequence starts 6 5 4 3 2 1 0 all engines running.”

A massive wave of fire rolled from the underside of the rocket spilling out onto the ground around it in smoke and flames as the scaffold holding the rocket in place detached against the roaring power of the rocket.

“Liftoff, we have liftoff, Tower clear.”

The rocket spears it’s way into the sky leaving smoke and fire behind it. For a moment it is obscured by smoke before cutting through and piercing the blue canopy of sky above.

***

Adam rocked in his seat pressed backwards by what felt like hundreds of pounds of force against his chest. The rocket vibrated and rolled around him until it was almost impossible to see with his eyes being jarred inside his head. He was mostly defensive, it was, admittedly like nothing he had ever experienced. He was used to smooth transitions in darkfriars and spaceships, but this…., this was something altogether different. His heart hammered as they went higher and higher, the roaring from the fire licking the windows outside clear as they shook their way through the lower and then upper atmosphere. The communications clicked on and off as he kept in contact with ground control below when it was possible, his body rattling a little as he tried to remain steady.

The sky was darkening above him from eggshell blue to that familiar blue black.

“Apollo 11 this is Huston, you are going for staging.”

His hands felt like the bones were going to rattle out of his knuckles. He had never experienced a launch this intense before.

“ll, this is Houston. Roger. You're (0 from the ground at 7 minutes. Level sense arm at 8 plus 17; outboard cut-off at 9 plus Il.”

“Roger.”

They were getting higher.

“Staging, and ignition.”

“Apollo 11, this is Houston. Predicted cut-off at ll plus 42. Over.”

“Shutdown.”

***

The rocket lifted into the sky and she craned her head back to watch it go roaring as it was carried upward on a pillar of flames. Her hand reached down stroking the red folder that lay just under her fingers.

“Tilt nominal.”

She held her breath tight, her chest pounding and watched as it went up and up and up.

No disturbances. Her hands gripped the side of the lectern turning her head to one of the agents who nervously glanced back. She nodded and he rushed away. Her hands were clammy.

“Come on, she muttered.”

***

Chairwoman of the GA kept her eyes locked on the flying deathtrap as it was hauled into the air, come on come on she thought to herself as it rose higher and higher. She turned her head to one of her men who nodded quickly and then rushed off. Smoke filled the valley below them.

***

They had dropped the first stage, and Richards hands were sweaty despite the water wicking gloves under his suit. He was communicating back and forth with mission control when he watched in horror as Admiral Vir cut off communications with ground control. They were in space now and earth was beginning to fold out before them on either side.

“What are you doing.” He hissed in near panic

The Admiral ignored him, keying the coms one more time.

“Red, this is Apollo 11.”

Richards sat in shock as an unknown voice responded over the line, “Is that you in that bucket of bolts cinderella?”

The man’s voice sounded like he was smiling, “yep it’s me, keep your men on standby red, we made it out of atmosphere, but I don’t trust them to let me make it out of orbit.”

“Copy that your highness.”

Richards glanced out the window, watching as a sleek racing jet pulled into formation just outside the window of their rocket. It was so close to them that he could see the silhouette of the driver in the cockpit beyond reminding him that….. Despite the feeling of their rocket. They weren’t as alone as those astronauts had been originally.

The admiral suddenly flipped the mike back

“Apollo 11 this is Huston, DO YOU COPY.”

“Huston this is Apollo 11, sorry comms went out for a second, got them fixed.”

“Roger, don’t scare us like that.”

***

The UN president turned her head down, caught suddenly by the feeling of being watched. Off to her side the Chairwoman was still staring into the sky, but slowly lowered her head as if she felt it too.

She looked down surprised to find a figure staring at them, instead of staring at the rocket. She was humanoid with porcelain white skin and large black eyes.

But the voice that filled the inside of her head was not her own.

“You….. It’s you.”

***

Ten remote operated Rundi drones detached from the space debris and rolled into place around the rocket.

The pilots, sitting safely inside their ships listened to instructions over the line as the chairwoman of the GA whispered.

“Keep Admiral Vir alive at all costs.”

217 notes · View notes

mochegato · 3 years

Text

Pixie Spy

Chapter 8

Chapter 1 Chapter 7

Ladybug swung through the streets as long as she could before the wind became too powerful for her to keep her trajectory. She only managed to make it about halfway to where the team was waiting before the wind became too strong. She landed on the street with a roll, deciding running would be more effective after the fifth crash into a balcony. She looked down at her yoyo as she ran looking for the dots indicating her team. Chat, Carapace, and Rena were already together under a bridge along the Seine. Bee was quickly approaching from the opposite direction.

Ladybug felt her progress slow as the wind suddenly picked up significantly. She blinked a few times when she saw a tornado barreling toward her. She gave a surprised squeak and jumped into an alley to get out of the tornado’s path. She breathed a sigh of relief, leaning against the bricks of the alley wall until she started sliding toward the alley entrance. Her eyes widened in surprise as she fell back and was sucked toward the tornado. She threw out her yoyo, capturing a pipe on the other end of the alley and held on as the tornado sucked the dumpsters out of the alley and flung them out into the street, demolishing cars. She stared at the pipe nervously when it started to bend under the pressure of the tornado’s pull on her.

She felt her body slowly lower as the tornado passed by and the winds died down. She took a few seconds to catch her breath before walking out to see the devastation. It looked like a bulldozer carved a diagonal path through the neighborhood. There were buildings destroyed next to buildings that looked completely untouched. There was wreckage everywhere. She could see at least one leg just barely sticking out of one of the wrecked buildings.

She scrunched her eyes shut and took a deep breath to focus herself. He hoped that was the only tornado they had to deal with, but with the way things had been going lately, it was unlikely. If it was following the regular pattern, the akuma would be flashy and devastating. While devastating, one tornado was hardly flashy. What she wouldn’t give for the early days of Mr. Pigeon or even Guitar Villain. That one was kind of fun actually. Even as a dragon, Fang was just a big puppy.

“Waiting on you, LB.” She heard over her com. She looked down and saw Bee had joined the others. She shook her head and started running again.

“Sorry, got caught up in something. Weather is crazy today, don’t you think?” She responded with a fake casualness.

“No idea what you mean, Dudette.” Carapace responded in the same tone. “I’ve just been chillin’ here watching the trees break in the breeze.”

“Screw you both!” Bee seethed. “That fucking wind absolutely destroyed my hair. That bitch is going down.”

“Is it Stormy?” Ladybug asked. It seemed like her MO, but it made no sense. She could do a lot worse. She had done a lot worse years ago.

“Can confirm, it is Stormy. I saw the butterfly land. One guess where.” Rena added. They knew all knew where it was. With Aurora, it was always her umbrella. “One guess who caused it too.” She added bitterly, her eyes darkened with anger.

Ladybug groaned. Most of the people at school had figured out to avoid or laugh at Lila, but Aurora still took everything to heart. She had grown a tougher skin, but criticisms still hurt. The insinuations still hurt. The judgement still hurt. And Lila knew just how to phrase her words to maximize the hurt and capitalize on insecurities. “Fucking bitch.” Ladybug muttered under her breath.

“That’s what I said.” Bee bit out. “And as soon as this is done, I’m killing her.”

Ladybug sighed heavily. “We don’t kill, Bee.” Fuck, now she sounded like Batman. She needed to say something to rid herself of this feeling.

“It won’t be permanent. I’ll do it before the miraculous ladybug.” Bee dismissed her.

Ladybug opened her mouth to reprimand her but that would be what Batman would do. What wouldn’t batman do… “That is very creative thinking, Bee. I love your creativity and passion.” She said focusing on the positives instead.

She jumped down next to the group just in time to see Bee’s face scrunch up in confusion and disgust. She turned on Ladybug and shook her finger in her face. “You… you… Don’t do that. You’re supposed to be our voice of reason.” She slapped Ladybug’s arm. “It’s creepy when you’re all supportive of my bad ideas.”

“If I wasn’t supportive of your bad ideas, I’d never be supportive.” Ladybug quipped before she thought about it. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she cringed. Damn, she was moving closer to Batman again.

Bee gasped dramatically and opened her mouth to respond but was cut off by Chat. “Yeah, yeah we’ll all just imagine the cutting response. Can we focus please?”

She sighed and turned to Rena, “So how bad is it?”

“At least twenty smaller tornadoes around the city. And by ‘smaller’ I mean just terrifying and destructive instead of horrifying and catastrophic like the one over there.” She motioned vaguely behind them. Ladybug looked warily at the rapidly swirling clouds in the sky. “News estimates that one is above an F-5, which is the highest known level.” She looked up with a haunted look. “If that thing were to start moving, nothing in the city would be standing. Nothing.”

“So why isn’t it moving?” Carapace asked keeping his eyes on the clouds in the sky. “Stormy has never held back before. We know she can do worse. So why isn’t she?”

“You think there’s something more going on?” Chat asked, furrowing his brow.

“Amok?” Ladybug asked looking at him.

Carapace shrugged. “Not sure what is going on. I’m just saying Stormy created a super volcano that almost destroyed us. A few tornadoes is stepping back a bit.”

Ladybug nodded and returned her gaze to the clouds. She ducked quickly when something came flying over the embankment and almost hit her. “We aren’t going to be able to get close to her with this wind. We need a way to neutralize the wind if we want to do anything.” She mused more for herself than the team. Her eyes darted around to her teammates and up at the sky. Her mind started running through potential plans and likely outcomes, backups, workarounds, collateral damage, risk assessment.

“We’re going to have to do it without talking too.” Chat noted. “Once we get up there, nobody is going to be able to hear anything even if we yell.” He turned to them with a small grin. “But, that means we’ll be able to sneak up on her without having to try to be quiet because she won’t be able to hear either.”

Ladybug made a note of his comment, adding it as a potential puzzle piece. She pursed her lips as the pieces started fitting together. It would take all of them working together, acting at the right moments, but lean more heavily on Bee than she wanted to. Not that she didn’t completely trust Bee. She knew Bee could do it, she just hated putting any of her team on the front lines while she watched from a safe distance.

She was putting the last pieces in place when she heard an eerily sweet voice floating towards them. “Come out, come out wherever you are, Ladybug and Chat Noir. I want to play.” Stormy’s voice took on a hard edge. “We can fly a kite.” There was a short pause before her voice returned to the eerily sweet tone. “I’ve already provided the wind and everything.”

Rena gave Chat a deadpan look. “So, not affected by the tornado’s noise and able to make her voice heard over it are part of her powers.”

Chat shrugged sheepishly. “That’s okay. We won’t need it to get the akuma.” Ladybug said confidently. All of the eyes turned to her, ready to take her orders. “Carapace, you’re going to create a shelter for us to hide in on a roof close enough to observe, but not so close the building might collapse under us. Then create a tunnel through the tornado to the eye, but you’re going to need to create it from higher up. Bee, you’re going to need the flying power up so you can fly through the tunnel into the eye. You’re going to drop down on her from above and use Venom to incapacitate her. Rena, on Bee’s mark, you’re going to create an illusion that the tornadoes are gone. The devastation will still be there, but her tornadoes will be gone. Bee will take advantage of her confusion to deliver the venom. Chat and I will keep an eye out for the amok, but this plan is mostly on your shoulders, Bee.”

“If she can talk through the wind then I imagine she can see through it too.” Chat commented somberly, looking around at the buildings near them and trying to remember the buildings around the Champ de Mars or the Trocadero. “We’ll want to pick a rooftop that gives us a view but that won’t allow her to see us.” He pulled up a map on his baton and examined it for a few seconds. “This one should work.” He turned and showed them the building he had in mind. He stared at Rena a few second and cocked his head to the side. “Or, we just have Rena hide us. Can you make that part of your illusion? Hiding us as well?”

“It will get a bit complicated getting the different layers and timing and complexities to work together, but I should be able to do it.” Rena nodded slowly, staring at nothing while she fit the pieces together in her head.

Ladybug nodded. “Good idea, Chat. Rena, can you give us some cover while we get there, too?”

“On it, LB.” Rena jerked out of her thoughts and nodded at her before playing her flute. “Mirage.” They looked around but nothing looked different.

“Uh… Babe?” Carapace started, looking around in confusion.

Rena gasped dramatically. “You doubt me?” Carapace rolled his eyes at her. Rena laughed at him. “It’s like a screen around this area, a screen showing a picture. Anyone on the other side won’t see any changes. We can move as much as we want and they won’t see it.”

“So are we moving or are we just going to hang out here until Stormy gets bored with us and moves on?” Bee asked annoyed with the lack of movement.

“Come on guys, we’re going to make her late for her spa appointment if we don’t move and Lord knows we wouldn’t want to be responsible for that kind of travesty.” Rena snickered.

“No, you wouldn’t.” Bee snapped. “Those spa appointments are the one thing that keep me from killing you all.”

“On that sweet, teambuilding comment, let’s get started. The sooner we stop this the better.” Ladybug grumbled.

They made their way to the rooftop, occasionally dodging random objects flying. “That was a…” Carapace’s eyes followed the object as it flew out of view. He whipped his head around to Rena, looking at her apprehensively. “There wasn’t a baby in that stroller, right? It was empty?”

“No Babe, there was no baby in the stroller.” Rena assured him. “It’s okay. The baby is safe. It was empty.”

Carapace nodded at her words. “Okay, good. Good. Good.” Rena looked over at Chat and grimaced. Chat gave her a sympathetic look and patted her on the back.

As soon as they landed on the roof Carapace called for shelter and Rena called for a new mirage. They huddled together under the camouflaged green dome and assessed the situation. From their new perch, the scene looked more horrific. The tornado was even more massive than before. Ladybug expected the buildings surrounding the area to start crumbling any second now. If the tornado moved even a few feet in either direction, they definitely would.

“Everyone knows their job. Everyone ready?” Ladybug looked at all of them seriously, looking for any signs of uncertainty before they started, especially from Bee. She was the one taking all the risks. She was the one they needed permission to start from.

Bee looked at her confidently. “I’m ready to go.” She said with conviction. She detransformed, pulled a power up out of her purse, and handed it to Pollen. As soon as Pollen was done, she called on her transformation again and looked back at Ladybug with a smile. “Let’s do this. I’ve got an appointment to get to.”

Ladybug nodded to her. “We don’t want to make her late for that.” Ladybug smiled slightly. “Rena, Carapace, you’re up.”

Rena called for Mirage again, camouflaging the area where the tunnel was going with just a few notes from her flute. Carapace moved forward and called out, “Tunnel.” A green tunnel only they could see formed in the sky linking the shelter and running through the side of the tornado. As soon as he nodded to Bee, she extended her wings and started beating them. She rose slowly off the ground. Thank God they had practiced with the power ups before. Otherwise she would be a jerky, uncontrolled mess right now, plus it was just extremely cool practice, much more fun than the fire resistance training. She gave them one last look before flying into the tunnel. After a few seconds, they heard a beep on their coms indicating Bee was in position. “Rena,” Ladybug cued her quietly.

“Mirage,” Rena called out again. This time, they all saw the change. The scene looked completely different. Not only was the tornado gone, but the trees appeared to have stopped blowing, standing tall and unbroken. They could almost believe what they were seeing if they couldn’t hear the wind against the outside of the shelter and on Bee’s coms. “She should be able to see what’s in the eye but nothing outside of it. That goes for both of them.” Rena reported. “Nothing except what I want them to see.”

They waited with baited breath for something to change, for the wind to stop or Bee to say something. They stared so hard at the spot where the tornado had been that it was amazing none of them broke any blood vessels in their eyes. Ladybug let out a loud yelp when she felt something touch her. She looked over and saw Chat give her a sheepish look and continue to pat her hand comfortingly a few more times. She let out a strangled sigh and turned back to the spot

The sound of the wind was starting to drive Ladybug crazy. It was a constant reminder that things had not changed. That Bee was still in danger. That she was out there by herself, with no backup. If anything happened to her, they would be too late to help. She was alone and Ladybug had sent her there.

After a few minutes they finally heard a break in the white noise the wind had become. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the easing of the wind as they had hoped. They all jumped and Rena’s illusion disappeared as Bee’s screaming rang in their ears.

“Bee, report!” Ladybug screamed. “Carapace, kill the tunnel. Bee, report. Are you okay? Bee!” Ladybug was getting more and more frantic with each word. She checked her yoyo for Bee’s beacon. It started blinking a few blocks away. “Damn it! I should have sent backup with her. Rena, Carapace please go check on her.”

“I’m fine. I’ll…” she cut off her sentence with a groan. “Yeah, these bricks are definitely hard.” She reported as she slid down the side of the building she had been thrown into. “There’s definitely an amok, by the way. The little bastard can ride the tornadoes and jumped me while I was focused on Stormy.” Bee groaned rolling onto her hands and knees.

“Bee, do you think you can get back here on your own or do you need a bit of assistance?” Ladybug asked gently.

“While I appreciate the offer of my own personal sedia gestatoria, and it is much deserved, I think I can make it myself.” She answered proudly but her voice was ragged.

Ladybug turned her com off and turned to Rena and Carapace. “Can you two go escort her anyway? She’s already weak after what I’m sure was a hell of a hit. If she gets caught in one of those random tornadoes, she might not be able to get out of the way in time.”

“Will do, LB.” Rena saluted her. “Come on Carapace. I’ll race you.” Rena took off running. Carapace gave them a weak smile and followed after her.

“Sending your underlings instead of dealing with me yourself, Ladybug? I’m hurt. I thought we meant more to each other. I just wanted to play. My little pet wanted to play, too. Unfortunately, your little pet Bee just wasn’t strong enough to handle him.” Stormy taunted, laughing eerily. “What do I need to do to get your attention? Should I send my pet after all of your little pets?”

“Right,” Chat grimaced at the thought of the pain he could hear in Bee’s voice. “I think we could use a bit of Luck right about now. What do you think, m’lady?”

Ladybug nodded still looking at the growing tornado. “I think you’re right, Chaton. Lucky Charm!” Ladybug called out throwing her yoyo into the air. She stared in bewilderment at the object that dropped into her hands. “Seriously? What am I supposed to do with this?”

She continued staring at the very distinctive red, full face mask now adorned with black dots that had dropped into her hands. Her mind raced through the possibilities. Was she supposed to wear it? Was Chat? Someone else? Was she supposed to throw it at someone? Did it have a voice changer she was supposed to use? Some kind of analytical software she could use? She could throw it into the tornado and it would become a deadly weapon as the force of the wind launched it. With her luck, it might hit Stormy… but that didn’t feel right. What did Tikki intend?

Chat cocked his head to the side staring at it with doubt as well. “Do you think it means he is supposed to help us with Stormy?”

Ladybug shook her head. “I doubt it. It is never that straight forward for me. If it was you, I would say that was what it meant, but Tikki always makes it more difficult than that.” She huffed in frustration. She looked around them seeing if anything jumped out at her.

“Maybe he has something you need then. Like when Tikki used to give you Lucky Charms to let you know you needed to go see Master Fu?” Chat offered uncertainly.

Ladybug’s eyes lit up. “Yes! That’s it. Great idea, Chat! That is exactly what it means.” She stood up to find Jason. “Hold down the fort. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Let me know if anything changes I need to know about.” He nodded to her, his eyes turning hard as he watched the swirling clouds above her as she swung away.

<><><><><>

Ladybug ran until she was out of Stormy’s tornado’s range then switched to swinging back toward where she had left Jason. She really needed to get his phone number. It would be a lot easier finding him if she could just call him. As it was, she was going to have to hope he stayed near where she left him and ignored his own self-interests to find a safe place to hide. If he was already hunkered down somewhere safe, she would never find him. Of course if he wasn’t hiding somewhere safe, she was going to kill him.

She reached the alley she had left him and pushed down a blush as memories of what had happened, what almost happened, came flooding back. She turned away instead and started jumping from rooftop to rooftop, keeping a keen eye on the alleys and any place that looked like it could be used as a hiding place. She finally found him walking a few blocks away, keeping close to the buildings. She dropped down into an alley just in front of him and reached out to pull him in with her as soon as he passed by.

He whipped his head around in shock, tensing his body ready to fight whoever had grabbed him. He immediately lowered his fist when she saw Ladybug’s raised eyebrow, giving her a dashing grin instead. “Ladybug, Paris’ hero.” He looked her up and down, his smile turning into a smug smirk. “You're quite a bit shorter than I expected.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Red Hood, vigilante of Gotham. You're quite a bit assholier than I expected.”

His grin grew larger. “I haven’t even gotten into my rhythm yet.” She rolled her eyes at him and punched him hard in the shoulder. He winced in pain. “What was that for?”

“You couldn’t find a better place to hide than on the street? Out in the open? Where you have absolutely no cover or protection?” A bit of concerned annoyance coming through in her voice.

“I don’t know what I’m hiding from and I wanted to see you in action.” He shrugged, wincing only slightly at the movement, his grin firmly in place.

“Tornadoes. Lots of them. Some stronger than others.” She huffed, looking to the alley entrance with apprehension. “Speaking of which, what do you have on you?”

He frowned at her in confusion at the seeming change of topic. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do you have on you. What equipment do you have on you?” She prompted him.

“Why do you need to know that?” He asked as he started reaching into his pockets and pulling out weapons. He lined them up on top of the dumpster lid as he pulled them out.

“My Lucky Charm gives me clues or tools to help me defeat an akuma. My Lucky Charm today was this.” She held up the black spotted mask Tikki had provided earlier.

“That’s… that’s my mask. Wouldn’t that mean you need me? It’s telling you to let me help.” He looked at her seriously as he pulled a knife out of his sleeve and placed it on the lid.

She shook her head at him. “No, it is never that straightforward, at least not for me. It is always a windy path to get to the real significance. And whenever it points me to a particular person, it means they have something I need to use; a tool, a weapon, information, something. I just need to figure it out. I’ll know it when I see it.” She watched in surprise and a bit of shock, as he pulled more weapons and tools out of his coat pockets, around his ankles, belt. “That’s… What the fuck? Seriously?”

He shrugged at her. “I travelled light today.”

She stared at him blank faced for a second. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not and I don’t think I want to know.” He gave her a dashing grin as he pulled out the last few items from a hidden pocket. She looked down to assess the items he had laid out. The last few items turned red with black spots. “There!” She pointed to them. “What are those?”

“These? Trackers. You plant them on someone or something and you can follow them if you have the frequency.” She nodded as he spoke. The pieces of the plan started forming in her mind. “It’s accurate to about 3 feet.”

She suddenly looked up at him with a calculated grin. “That is very helpful to know. Can I borrow these?” She asked as she grabbed them and dropped them into her yoyo.

“Uh… I guess. What are you going to do?”

“Track someone.” He huffed at her but didn’t challenge her. “You might want to put those away before another tornado comes through and starts flinging them around too. Find somewhere safe to hide and stay out of trouble.” She pointed her finger at him.

He moved a step closer to her and gave her another dashing smile as he started tucking weapons away. “Not my strong suit, either part, not going to lie.”

She raised an eyebrow at him and gave him an amused smile even as she groaned mentally at herself. He really shouldn’t look that sexy just putting weapons away. What did it say about her that him tucking a gun into a holster made it hard for her to breathe? “And what is your strong suit?”

He took another step closer. “Being handsome and charming.” He smiled wider as she rolled her eyes at him. “And causing equal and opposite trouble.”

“Well, I have enough trouble to deal with right now, so if you could contain your chaotic good for a bit, I’d greatly appreciate it.” She gave him a wry smile.

His eyes turned hard. “I can help. I can plant the tracker. I have years of experience doing it and massive amounts of training sneaking up on people.”

She gave him a pained look. “You don’t have any protection. Even with magically protective suits one of the team already got hurt. So unless you’re going to tell me you’re invulnerable, I don’t know that it’s a good idea. And we haven’t had the chance to figure out how you’re going to fit into all this and with the team. We haven’t even gotten the team to agree that you are allowed to fit in here. We don’t have time to figure this out now.” Her eyes softened a bit as her expression turned more solemn. “Seriously, there are at least 20 random tornadoes tearing through town destroying buildings and throwing cars, among other things. The one she has shielding herself is worse. Please, find some place safe to hide until we take care of this.”

He looked up ready to assure her that he has fought worse but instead, caught her eyes, which was a fatal mistake. She eyes were saturated with worry and fear for him. He’d seen that look before. He had that look when he was still Robin and Dick would do something stupid, more stupid and self-sacrificing than usual.

He gave out a deep sigh and dropped his head. He looked back up to her, his eyes took on a concerned look. He stepped closer to her again, close enough now to pull her close, to lean down and kiss her if they wanted. He reached to caress her face instead. He nodded slowly. “Alright. I’ll hide. But you need to promise to be careful. I didn’t finally find you just for you to die on me.”

She stared into his eyes and leaned into his hand. She opened her mouth to respond when something from the corner of her eye caught her attention. “Look out!” She screamed tackling him to the ground. They landed just as a table shattered against the wall they had been standing in front of. She stared at the table in dismay and back out to the street, searching for the tornado that had caused the table to fly at them. She inched closer to the opening to look around, but the tornado had already passed. “I really have to go. Get somewhere safe! That table means there is a tornado in the area. And these are magical tornadoes so they don’t follow normal tornado rules. Just because it passed already doesn’t mean it won’t come back.” He nodded to her just before she swung away.

He stood there for a few minutes looking in the direction she had swung. He looked out to the street in front of him assessing the potential danger and trying to figure out the best place to hunker down for the storms, ideally some place that would still allow him to watch the fight. The alley was fairly safe but exposed and he didn’t know how much longer it would be safe, especially if Marinette was right about a tornado coming. Plus, there was no way to see the fight and he was dying to see her in action.

He considered his options for a few seconds before realizing he didn’t know where she would be fighting. He gave a disappointed curse realizing he would have to wait to see her actually fight. He might as well follow her instructions and find a better place to hide. He walked a few blocks before he saw signs of a tornado.

Whereas the street he had been on looked pristine, when he turned the corner, there was carnage. Cars had been thrown on their sides, bikes were thrown through windows, balcony tables and chairs were laying broken against buildings, and more than a few bodies were laying under some of the wreckage. He walked near the bodies, searching for signs of life. He sighed as none of them moved. He started walking again when he heard crying and scratching. He followed the source to a mailbox in the side of a building.

He ripped the mailbox door and was met with wide, terrified green eyes, familiar green eyes. “You’re the kid from the bakery.” He said in English before he could catch himself. The kid’s eyes got impossibly bigger and started babbling to him in French. Damn it! Jason cursed to himself. This was going to be a crash course in French. He was fluent at some point, years ago, but disuse had dulled his memory. He thought about it for a few seconds, mentally switching to French. He just had to think of this like a mission and access those parts of his brain… quickly.

“I saw you in the bakery. I’m Marinette’s friend Jason. We need to go somewhere safe. Are you okay? What is your name?” He tried to give the kid a soft smile, making himself look as unthreatening as possible for a 6 foot, 225 pound man could seem. Kids in Gotham knew he was dangerous but only against the bad guys, not kids. He didn’t think this kid would be able to differentiate.

The terrified look lightened only slightly as he responded. “You know Marinette?” Jason smiled bigger as he nodded in response. The assurance seemed to work as the kid relaxed a bit and looked around. “My name is August. Have you seen my father? He put me in here when the wind came.”

Jason looked away and tried to hide his grimace. He had seen a few men on the street, none of them alive. “You know, I’m sure he found a place to hide from the big wind. I’m sure he’s safe somewhere. We can find him after Ladybug fixes everything. We can have Marinette call him to let him know where you are, but now that we have a chance, we should find someplace safer. Is it okay if I get you out?”

He waited until August nodded at him before lifting him out of the box. He set him down on the ground but August clung to his arms. Jason smiled comfortingly at him and settled him on his hip instead. “Okay, August. Let’s find a place to hide, yeah?” August gave him a watery smile.

He started walking, holding the little boy close to his chest, shielding his head so he couldn’t see what was happening around him. He just needed a safe place for them to hide, a building with a basement ideally. Like he would know that from here he grumbled to himself, and he didn’t have the time to get it wrong. Fuck! He should have done better reconnaissance, or any, before he came. They had walked another block and still hadn’t seen anything that looked promising. Pretty soon he was going to have to take what he could get. The wind was starting to pick up again, giving him the terrifying feeling that another tornado was headed their way.

He growled in frustration and looked around him again concentrating on the buildings. Surely there was a metro somewhere, right? He hadn’t seen a sign for blocks. They passed by a pile of cars and paused hearing pounding and screaming from under the cars. He searched for the source of the sound. His eyes widened in horror as he realized where it was coming from. A young girl had gotten trapped between a building wall and the pile of cars and was beating the cars trying to get free. He set August down with a reassuring smile and pushed the car on top out of the way. He reached down and grabbed the girl. She looked up at him with wide eyes and screamed.

He flinched at the scream and sighed in acceptance. “Yeah, I guess I deserved that. I’m here to help not take you. It isn’t safe out here and it’s about to get much less safe.”

She looked at him suspiciously, ready to say no to the giant of a man with scars who had grabbed her, until a head popped out from behind him. “Manon!”

“August!” She reached out to hug him but Jason grabbed her instead.

“Hugs after we are safe. It is getting worse by the second.” He looked around for a good place to hide with the two kids. Nothing much around them, a few shops, a few restaurants, a wine shop, a bookstore… Wait! He instantly started moving. When he finally reached the door, it was locked. “Who the fuc… why would you bother locking your doors during this?” he exclaimed loudly. “Okay, move over here for a second… and don’t do this yourself.” He rammed his elbow through the door’s glass, shattering the glass panel near the handle. He reached in to open the door, scratching his arm as he did. He hissed in pain but hid it from the kids.

“Why here?” Manon called loudly to be heard over the wind.

“Because wine shops have wine cellars.” Jason explained calmly. “Now in you go.” He pushed her through the door, following with August close behind.

<><><><><>

Ladybug landed inelegantly next to the team, taking a few seconds to steady herself against the sudden lack of wind. “I have a plan.” She smiled at them.

“Well then let’s hear it.” Rena encouraged her.

“Something better than the last one would be appreciated.” Bee grumbled.

“Sucks for you. Exactly the same plan as last time… kind of.” Ladybug smirked at them.

The sound of four people groaning at the same time made Ladybug smile even wider. “Dudette, maybe you missed how it turned out last time, but we lost.”

“I have faith this time will be luckier.” She smiled cheerily. “And we’re going to build failure into the plan… or at least the appearance of failure.” She looked over at Bee with a conspiratorial smile. “You’re going to lead them into a false sense of security thinking we are trying the same thing again, but the real goal…” she leaned in closer as she pulled the trackers out of her yoyo, “… is to plant one of these.”

“And what the fuck are those?” Bee demanded unceremoniously. “And just how the fuck are they supposed to change anything?”

“These my lovely pain in the ass, are tracking beacons. Carapace, you will do the exact same thing as before. You will create a tunnel from above through her tornado. Rena, you will create the camouflage illusion on the tunnel, Bee, and yourself this time. And you will need to use your flying power up.” Rena gave her a skeptical look.

“Bee, you’ll have to use my or Chat’s flying power up. Apologize to Pollen that it isn’t in her flavor. I suggest using mine. I don’t think Pollen will appreciate the cheese power up.” Bee huffed out a loud breath at the thought of that. Pollen would not react well to the disrespect. Chloe was going to have to lavish her with praise for days to make up for it.

“I hope you know what you are doing. Pollen will not appreciate this.” Chloe grumbled as she crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away.

“I understand and please explain how eternally grateful we are for how magnanimous she is in agreeing to this.” Ladybug rolled her eyes as she said it. “You’re going to pretend to try to take her out with venom again but it is a cover for Rena to plant this on her.” She said holding up the tracker before tossing it over to Rena. “And for you to actually get the amok with the venom instead.

“Rena, you stay camouflaged and try to plant that on her. If anything happens to Rena while she is planting it, Bee, you take advantage of her distraction to plant yours on her.” Ladybug tossed another tracker to her. “Once you have them planted, notify me and Chat. We will take her from there from below. Your sole focus will be the amok. We need you to restrain it until we can find the possessed item and free the feather. Hopefully, when we deakumatize Aurora, she’ll know where the item is or at least what it is.”

Chat eyed Ladybug suspiciously, slowly nodding as he picked out the key words he needed to figure out her plan, all the pieces quickly falling into place. “We’ll have to act quickly,” he warned her.

Ladybug nodded at him, “Getting the umbrella will be the top priority. Whichever of us sees an opening, we take it.”

“Hey Wonder Twins, care to let the rest of us mere mortals in on your part of the plan?” Rena asked unamused. Honestly, it was freaky how they could read each other’s minds sometimes. One of them would say one part of an idea and the other would act on it before anyone else had even comprehended what they had said in the first place. She understood that they had been partners for years now but if she didn’t know better, she would swear there was more to it than that. And that asshole cat better not be trying to replace her as Marinette’s best friend. She could and would skin a cat.

“We’re going to go into the sewers. We’ll use the trackers to know exactly where she is…” Chat started to explain.

“Within three feet.” Ladybug corrected. Chat gave her a questioning look. “He said there is a three foot uncertainty radius.”

Chat nodded, “…approximately where she is and get right under her. I’ll use Black Hole to create a hole under her, dropping her into the sewers with us.” Chat finished with a smile.

Carapace nodded at the explanation. “Removing her from the tornadoes. As long as you act quickly, her biggest asset is gone. Good thinking, Dudette.”

Ladybug smiled at him. “Thanks Carapace. We’ll need you to get as close as you feel is safe as well. We’ll follow you on our maps so we can get close to where we will need to be.” She turned to the rest of the team, her face turning serious. “Okay, we have the plan, everyone knows their parts. Let’s get out there. Good luck guys. Keep us updated.”

<><><><><>

“Why are we down here?” Manon asked annoyed.

“That’s what you do in a…” Jason started but quickly realized he never learned the French word for tornado. Honestly, why would he. It wasn’t something they experienced. “…tornado.” He finished in English.

Manon let out a critical huff and provided the French word for him. “Thanks” he grumbled.

“Why?” August scrunched his nose.

“I know you guys aren’t familiar with them, but tornados destroy things, like buildings. So you go underground. It’s safe underground.”

“Like the sewers?” August asked.

Jason cocked his head to the side to consider that. “That also would have worked.” He nodded slowly. “But we’re going to stay here. We’re not going to risk moving. We will be safe here.”

“Not worth getting dirty. It’s just Stormy Weather.” Manon showed them her phone which was playing the news. “They’ve fought against her before. They know what to do.” She continued flippantly. Jason stared at her trying to figure out if it was an act or not. He’d seen enough kids acting tough so they didn’t seem vulnerable and comfort the kids around them, to know it when he saw it. It was a constant for the older kids on the street when he was growing up. The older kids did it for the younger kids. It was a rite of passage.

She was more scared than she was letting on but Jason couldn’t tell how scared she was. August’s reaction to her was immediate though. He started nodding at her, thinking over what she was saying. The concern in his expression lessening with each nod. Manon continued to watch the news program as Jason took a seat, pulling out his phone as well.

After a few minutes, Manon sat near him and sighed. “Poor Aurora. She’s such a nice person, too. I wonder what happened this time.”

“Trying to destroy an entire city isn’t what I’d call nice.” Jason scoffed.

Manon shrugged, keeping her focus on her phone. “It’s not really her though. It’s the akuma. It makes you do things you would never have wanted to do. It takes over.” She paused for a few seconds seeming to stare past her phone. “And you don’t remember what you’ve done after. You have to watch it later. It’s like you’re watching a stranger, but it’s you. It’s so wrong.”

She said it with such conviction, so much confidence, like she was speaking from personal experience. Jason felt his stomach sink with the realization. “Have you ever become an akuma?” He hated saying the words but he hated the look that crossed her face when he asked even worse. The look of guilt and horror, the same look he saw in the mirror when he would get a flash of something he had done immediately after getting out of the pit.

“Yeah… more than once.” She said it quietly, still looking at her phone in an unseeing stare.

“Not as much as me,” August said sadly, taking a seat between the two of them.

“You’ve been an akuma too? Christ, you’re still a baby!” Jason exclaimed loudly.

“I’m not a baby!” August cried out.

“You were when you were first akumatized.” Manon pointed out.

August shrunk in on himself. “It’s okay August.” Manon reassured him, pulling him into a side hug. “I swear there are more people who have been akumatized than haven’t been and it’s not like you’ve been akumatized that many times.”

“More than you.” He said sadly.

“Well yeah, but not like M. Pigeon numbers.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Or is it M. Rat now?”

“Rat for a while before he stopped getting akumatized.” August confirmed. “I liked him. He was fun to watch.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Just hold up a second. There’s a guy that turns into a pigeon or rat that has been turned into an akuma dozens of times?” Jason asked shaking his head. What the hell kind of demented Disney movie was going on here?

“No, he controls the pigeons or rats. He is a big animal lover and anytime he thinks someone is abusing the animals, he gets upset. Like really upset. Akumatization level upset. Really nice guy normally.” Manon explained calmly.

Jason nodded thinking over what she had said, so more Steven King than Disney. “How many kids have become akumas?” Jason asked a bit scared of the answer.

“How young are you looking for? August was the youngest, he was like what 6 months old when you first got akumatized?” She looked over to him for confirmation. August shrugged. “I was about his age when I first got akumatized. He doesn’t go for kids as often as adults, but he doesn’t avoid us. I don’t think. Maybe this is holding back. How would we know?” As she spoke her eyes got darker and darker, anger starting to show through her detached façade.

“Holy fu…” he looked down at August and immediately clamped his mouth shut. “Uh… that sounds… traumatic.”

Manon let out a loud scoff. “Not nearly as traumatic as living through the other side of it.” Jason looked at her curiously, encouraging her to say more. “Most kids I know have died at least once. They’ve lost a parent right in front of them, some while they were holding them. They’ve lost friends, watched them die or get hurt. Most have experienced all three.”

Jason watched her eyes take on a haunted look as she spoke. “And if you’ve been akumatized more than once it’s like people are just waiting for you to get akumatized again. Put them through that again.”

“Yeah.” August agreed quietly. His whole body seemed to collapse in on itself in guilt. Just looking at him hurt Jason. All he wanted was to bring his mood back up.

“Not everyone though, right? Marinette seems to like you.” Jason reassured him.

“Yeah, she likes me. But that’s Marinette she likes everyone.” August waved him off.

“Pft, not everyone.” Manon scoffed quietly. Jason raised his eyebrow at that. He’d have to ask Marinette about it later. She didn’t seem the type to dislike people enough that a random kid would know about who she liked or didn’t. He knew she had an issue with Constantine… and apparently Batman, who didn’t though, and the rest of the Gotham vigilantes… and the entire Justice League… okay, maybe it made sense that the kid would pick up on some things.

Instead, he turned back to August. “Maybe, but she seems to like you. She must really think you’re a good kid. I mean she was sneaking you treats at the counter. I’m sure she doesn’t do that for just anyone.”

Manon whipped her head to August. August almost jumped when she yelled at him, “She gives you treats?”

<><><><><>

“How do we always end up down here?” Chat whined eyeing a patch of slick green something oozing down the sewer walls.

“Lucky I guess. It’s where we do our best work after all. We have a pretty good track record down here.” Ladybug quipped without looking up from the map display on her yoyo. “We need to take a left up here. We’re getting close.”

“You think it’s going to work this time?” Chat breathed out. He had faith in their teammates but he knew Bee was not working on full capacity. She took the failure hard. She would fight hard, but when Chloe doubted herself, it took a while to build her confidence back up. And he couldn’t help. He was stuck down in the sewers only able to hear their reports. If anything happened, he and Ladybug wouldn’t be able to do anything or even know what happened.

“I have faith. Our team can do this and they will. Bee always rises to the challenge.” She assured him as though she could read his true concern.

“Mirage.” They heard Rena say over the coms.

“Tunnel is up.” Carapace reported.

“Rena and I are going in. You guys close or are we going to have to buy time for you slowpokes?” Bee asked.

Ladybug rolled her eyes at Chat but smiled along with him. Bee was snarking at them. That was a good sign. “We’re close. Don’t wait on us. We’d hate to hold you guys back.”

“We’re good enough to pick up your slack.” Bee quipped, the accompanying hair flip evident in her tone.

“Right behind you on 3.” Rena paused before counting down. “3, 2, 1, and go.”

Chat shook his head and took a deep breath. It would be fine. They would get the job done. Alya and Chloe might fight like sisters but they defended each other like sisters too. They would have each other’s backs and together they were a force to be reckoned with. His anxiety would lessen significantly if he could just see what was happening. It was the being in the dark that made it all so much worse.

Chat and Ladybug made their way toward Carapace’s tracker in a tense silence, hands flinching towards their coms every time a grunt or groan or squawk came over the coms. Their footsteps hesitated when they heard Chloe whisper venom. Ladybug glanced back to him. They both took another deep breath and nodded to each other. Things were about to happen and they needed to be prepared. They were close to Carapace’s tracker already but moved with more urgency to close the gap.

“We’re here.” Ladybug reported over the coms.

“Working on it.” Bee grunted.

“Behind you!” Rena screamed. They heard some more grunting and the second tracker appear on the yoyo and baton screens.

“We got her, Rena. Go help Bee.” Ladybug ordered. “Ready, Chat?” She braced herself and settled into a battle ready position when Chat nodded at her and moved closer to the spot on his screen.

“Black hole,” he whispered. Speaking at full voice seemed irreverent in the quiet darkness of the sewer. He took a deep breath and took a running start. He planted his baton, extending it as he rose in the air. The highest point of the arc hit exactly where the tracker marked. He touched the ceiling as he sailed by, allowing his magic to create a large hole that went through to the street above. He landed with a roll. He pivoted as soon as he came to a stop, holding his own battle ready position, ready to pounce the moment he caught sight of Stormy.

He didn’t have to wait. Before he had even pivoted Stormy was already in sight, falling toward the sewer water. Chat jumped at her reaching to grab her umbrella before she could start another tornado down there. In their confined area, a tornado would be too strong and there would be no place to hide.

Stormy pulled her umbrella out of his reach just as he was about to lay his fingers on it. She held it above her head, giving him an irate look. “Stupid cat! Did you think that is all it would take to defeat me?” She sneered.

She jerked back in shock as a yoyo wrapped around the umbrella and yanked it from her hands. “Yes, yes we did.” Ladybug responded with a self-satisfied smirk as the umbrella landed in her hands.

“NO,” Stormy screeched. She reached out for the umbrella but fell to the floor instead when Ladybug broke the umbrella and a little purple and black akuma fluttered out of it.

“No more evil doing for you little akuma. Time to de-evilize.” Ladybug twirled her yoyo around in a circle a few times and threw it up to capture the akuma. Ladybug pulled the yoyo back to her and opened it again, allowing the now white butterfly to flutter out harmlessly. “Bye, bye little butterfly.” She waved peacefully at the butterfly.

While Ladybug was purifying the akuma, Chat ran over to Aurora. “Hey, Aurora. How are you doing? Are you okay?” He asked looking at her with concern. Aurora was a good person to begin with and had a fairly good temperament. She had been taking classes on how to control her temper on top of that, so whatever happened it must have been pretty bad.

Aurora looked around in a daze and held her head for a few seconds before she could respond. “Chat Noir?” She examined his face for a few moments to confirm it was him. She looked around until she saw Ladybug releasing the purified akuma. Her shoulders slumped and her face fell. “Oh no,” she whispered to the ground. “I did it again didn’t I?” She looked up at Chat with pained eyes. Chat gave her a sympathetic smile and rubbed her back. “How bad this time?” she looked back to the ground again trying to brace for the answer.

“I’m not sure. It was a few tornadoes but it could have been a lot worse.” He gave her a side hug when he saw some tears fall down her cheeks.

“We got the amok tied up, Ladybug.” Rena reported. “And you might want to hurry and find the item, Bee got hit this time and worse than I did.”

Chat looked up at Ladybug. She looked at him questioningly. He looked over Aurora, trying to find anything that stood out. When he didn’t see anything, he looked through her bag. His eyes lit up when he saw what he was looking for. He grabbed the kite and threw it over to Ladybug.

Ladybug looked at Chat questioningly. He nodded to her letting her know he would handle Aurora for now and meet her up top. She made a motion with the kite, letting him know she would purify it topside, so Aurora didn’t have to see it.

Once Chat nodded in silent understanding, Ladybug nodded back and spoke into the coms. “Got it. We’ll be right there.”

Chat leaned in closer to Aurora and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Personally, I think you might have been holding back. We both know you could have done far, far worse but you didn’t. That takes a lot of strength.”

She looked up at him with wide eyes. “You really think so?” Hope permeated her voice and expression.

Chat smiled at her. “Yeah, I do. I think you were trying to give us a clue about where the amok was as well.” She looked up at him with wide eyes.

“There was an amok too, huh?” She gave him a weak, guilt laden smile. “Guess I should have expected that by now.”

“Yeah, but we took care of it. Now, ready to get back topside?” She gave him a weak smile and nodded. “Okay, hold on.” He grabbed her into a princess hold and jumped through the hole, using his baton to give him more height.

As soon as they landed, they heard Ladybug call out “Miraculous Ladybug.” He let out a relieved breath and turned back to Aurora who was watching the miraculous ladybugs swarming throughout the city fixing all the damage with an apologetic look.

Rena joined them with a sympathetic smile for Aurora. “Hey, Aurora. Sorry this happened to you. You are a good person. We know you would never have wanted this. You didn’t deserve this. You are a victim too.” She gave Aurora a hug.

Aurora pulled back and looked at both of them with a smile that was a little stronger than the last one. “Thank you and thank you for saving me.”

Rena gave her a smile. The rest of the team came up behind Rena, all smiling at Aurora, except Bee who leaned against a recently returned car and examined her nails. “We done here or what?”

Ladybug scowled at her and turned back to Aurora. “Do you need a ride to your next destination?”

Aurora shook her head. “No, I’ll walk. Thank you though. I think I need the space to process.”

The team smiled at her and nodded in understanding. Aurora waved to them and walked toward her office.

Chat looked at Ladybug with a grin on his face. “Hey m’lady, ask me how I think we did today.”

Ladybug groaned. She knew that look. That was never a good look. She knew she was going to regret it but she couldn’t deny him this simple pleasure, something to bring his mood back up. “Okay Chat, how do you think we did today?”

His grin grew even wider and his eyes lit up with excitement that she was willing to play along. “I was blown away by our performance.” He started laughing at his own joke. Ladybug groaned even louder and hid her face in her hands, but Bee smacked him upside the head hard enough for his head to jerk forward making him laugh even harder.

“Thank you!” Rena groaned.

“What are you guys doing now?” Ladybug asked suddenly nervous.

“Meeting at the hotel?” Bee shrugged.

“Meeting at the office in… crap 12 minutes.” Chat groaned. “I need to go.”

“Homework,” Rena and Carapace said at the same time.

“Okay, are you guys free tonight to talk?” Ladybug asked.

They looked at each other uneasily. “About what?” Rena asked suspiciously.

Ladybug grimaced and clasped her hands together, swinging them in front of her a few times. “I have to go, LB. Spit it out.” Chat urged her.

“Red Hood found me today. Me, me.” They turned suddenly serious, all straightening their stances.

“How bad is it?” Carapace asked.

“Not bad, I don’t think. We can discuss it tonight when you have more time. I don’t think the rest of the family knows, just him. But we have things to discuss.” Ladybug confirmed.

“I need to leave now or I won’t be able to get out tonight. See you guys at 9.” Chat called over his shoulder as he vaulted away.

“You heard the cat, we’ll talk at 9.” Carapace declared. “See you then.” He and Rena jumped away together.

Bee looked at her and shook her head. “Unbe-fucking-lievable. Only you.”

Ladybug sighed and gave her a guilty look, “Sorry.”

“Sorry my exquisite ass. Knowing you this is going to be exactly what we need and it will be over in a few months like some kind of cosmic Lucky Charm and all because you got one of the most eligible bachelors in the world tottering after you like a lovesick puppy.” Ladybug’s jaw dropped as she watched Bee jump away.

“He is not tottering after me! But you are right, it is exquisite.” Ladybug yelled after her.

Bee turned her head to yell over her shoulder. “Of course I’m right… about both parts. Now go give him a kiss and ask him if he has any hot, rich, kinky friends for me.”

Chapter 9

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little-mad · 3 years

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Downsides of Thievery Pt. 7

~ Previous Part ~ Next Part ~

It was evident to Rael that the man called Kaydin was warring with himself on what to do. Not only did he desperately want to make off with the human that could potentially make him wealthy beyond his wildest dreams, but he also seemed unwilling to back down from a challenge. He was no doubt prideful, something Rael could actually relate to. However, realistically Kaydin stood no chance of success. Without his partner as backup, he was unlikely to be able to even make it out of the woods.

Rael was banking on Kaydin being at least reasonable enough to know when he was beaten, because while Rael was fairly confident he outmatched the ruffian, he worried what a scuffle would mean for Gavin Stone. The human was so fragile, and if even non-violent movements from alteons could bring him harm, Rael could only imagine what could happen if he ended up in the middle of a fight.

As irritating as Gavin had been, and as much as Rael didn’t care for humans, he still didn’t want to see the tiny man injured. He was no sadist. Besides, the Emperor would likely be more than a little upset if he found out the human got damaged during transit. Gavin was a prisoner, but his punishment, whatever it may end up being, was to be decided upon and carried out by the order of the Emperor himself. Until such a time, Rael’s job was to keep the human safe and alive.

Kaydin narrowed his eyes. “What if I told you, you either let me leave or I kill the human?”

A flash of rage nearly made Rael reach for his dagger, but he just barely held himself back. This brigand, this scum, really had the audacity to threaten to kill Gavin? And how stupid was he? Killing Gavin would not only remove his leverage, but also the source of wealth he craved. “The only way I am letting you go, is if you return that human to me,” Rael informed Kaydin darkly.

So long as Kaydin used logic to make his decision, he would do exactly as Rael wanted. However, if he allowed pride and anger to rule him, Rael would be forced to take aggressive action. “A quick stab to the chest...and then I try to grab Gavin before he hits the ground,” he thought as he tried to plot out his plan of attack. It was far from ideal, but it was the best contingency plan Rael could come up with in the moment.

A long pause stretched out between the two alteons. Rael braced himself, ready to grab his dagger at any second. Kaydin wore a bitter scowl on his face, his hands gripping Gavin’s cage so tight it almost appeared as though he’d bend the iron bars. Finally, Kaydin spoke. “Fine, but just to make sure you don’t try to nab me…” In the blink of an eye, the dark haired thug tossed the cage up into the air.

Kaydin took off, but Rael didn’t see which direction he went, nor did he care. His focus was entirely centered on Gavin, who was trapped inside a cage that was quickly plummeting towards the hard ground.

What was only a few feet to Rael, was a deadly height to the human. If Rael didn’t catch the cage, Gavin would undoubtedly die on impact. The catch had to be precise, and it had to be as gentle as possible to prevent serious injury. Any failure on Rael's part could prove catastrophic to Gavin.

Reaching out both hands, Rael watched almost as if in slow motion as the cage fell right into the perfect position. With all the deftness years of swordplay and archery practice afforded him, he closed his right hand around the side of the iron enclosure while his left hand grabbed it from below. As soon as the cage was within his grasp, Rael moved his hands downward a bit in order to soften the blow and prevent an abrupt stop that could be injurious to the human inside.

Carefully, Rael lifted Gavin towards his face. He peered inside at the crumpled form of the small man, trying to gauge his physical state. Immediately, he noted the fact that Gavin’s chest could be seen rising and falling as a result of fast paced panting. There was no blood, and from what Rael could see, no limbs twisted or bent in a manner they weren’t meant to be. All good signs, but he would have to ask Gavin himself to be certain.

Gavin liked roller coasters just fine, going up and down hills while in a little car? That was great, he’d do it over and over again. What Gavin did not like were those big drop tower rides they always had at amusement parks. He really didn’t get what was so fun about having your stomach thrown into your throat. Ever since he first rode the Power Tower at Cedar Point when he was twelve, he had sworn off those types of rides forever.

Well, you know what’s even worse than a drop tower? Falling down from an incredible height while trapped in a cage, with no seatbelt, and nothing to guarantee you wouldn’t collide violently with the ground below.

There hadn’t even been a chance for Gavin to fully contemplate the possibility of his own demise during his terrifying aerial trip. While he was flying through the air, his mind had gone completely blank--it was nothing but an abyss of blind fear.

And then the next thing he knew, a giant hand came into view. Everything came to a steady, but still plenty disorienting stop. Gavin fell into a heap on the floor of his cage, his whole body throbbing with a deep ache. “I officially hate this dimension,” he moaned internally.

For several long moments Gavin did nothing but lay there. He didn’t feel like moving even a little bit, nor did he want to address the giant he could feel staring in at him.

Despite the fact that he had been pretty peeved with the guy previously, Gavin wasn’t upset with Rael at the moment. He had just effectively saved his life by catching him. Plus, Gavin was too busy directing his anger at the asshole that had thrown him in the first place to have any leftover for Rael. That being said, Gavin just didn’t feel like he had the energy for a conversation with the alteon at the moment. Believe it or not, a near death experience kind of took it out of you.

There was a stretch of silence where Gavin just remained laying on the floor of the cage, and Rael looked in at him without saying a word. Sadly, the peace couldn’t go on forever, and for once, Gavin wasn’t the one to disrupt it. “How are you feeling?” came Rael’s voice in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

With a low sigh, Gavin forced himself into a sitting position. He raised his gaze to meet Rael’s, taking note of the intense look in those vibrant teal eyes. “Pretty shitty, but I don’t think anything’s broken,” Gavin replied, glancing down to assess himself for any injuries. Despite the fact that his whole body was radiating with a deep ache, it seemed as though Gavin would get away with nothing worse than some nasty bruises.

“Do you think you can walk?” Rael inquired seriously. If Gavin didn’t know any better, he might almost think the guy sounded genuinely concerned.

Looking down at his legs, Gavin noted that his lower half seemed to ache slightly less than the rest of his body. It seemed as though his arms and torso had taken a brunt of the damage. “Yeah, I think so. Wh--” Before he could finish his sentence one of Rael’s hands shifted to the front of the cage. Long fingers took hold of the latch on the cage, and a moment later the door had been swung open.

Gavin blinked in surprise at the open door and the upturned palm that was placed just in front of it. “What are you doing?” he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice.

“Staying in the cage during the remainder of our journey will exacerbate your pain,” Rael stated, and Gavin had to agree. Being constantly bumped by the movement of the alteon’s leg had been standable before, but now that he was peppered in developing bruises, Gavin expected the experience would be quite miserable. However, the idea of placing himself in Rael’s hands was even less appealing. His past experiences with the appendages had been less than pleasant.

“I think I’ll take my chances,” Gavin responded, eying the giant hand nervously as if it would attack him at any moment.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Despite Rael’s impatient tone of voice, Gavin could have sworn he caught a hint of what almost looked like a regretful look in the alteon’s eyes. “I’ll be careful. I am not entirely heartless, contrary to what you might assume.”

While Rael had certainly left less than a wonderful impression on Gavin so far, he actually didn’t believe the giant man was evil. He was a jerk, obviously, but for whatever reason Gavin still chose to give him the benefit of the doubt. Even if Rael had only saved him for the sake of his job, Gavin found it difficult to think too negatively about someone who had just prevented him from falling into an early grave.

So, if Gavin was going to give Rael a second chance (or maybe it was a third chance at this point), then he’d have to make himself willingly walk out onto the alteon’s waiting palm. “Just gotta think of it as a nice comfy mattress that can’t, and definitely won’t, wrap around me and crush me.”

Using the bars of his cage as support, Gavin slowly pulled himself up to his feet. His legs still felt a little bit like jelly after the near-death experience, so he waited a moment to gather himself before taking his first step forward.

The last time Rael had held Gavin, it had been when he snatched him up into a fist. This time however, Gavin was walking on of his own accord. The sensation of miniature feet stepping onto his palm sent a shiver across his skin. It honestly tickled a little bit, but of course, Rael would never allow himself to outwardly show a reaction. So instead, he just watched with wide eyes as the little man anxiously situated himself.

At first, Gavin seemed to have no idea what to do once he was on Rael’s hand. He appeared to be on edge, and tensed up anytime one of Rael’s fingers twitched involuntarily--which was probably to be expected considering...past events. Finally, the human just plopped down in the center of the palm, sitting with his legs crossed and his hands fiddling nervously in his lap.

It was still so surreal for Rael, holding an entire person in his hand. The slightest movement on his part could have a huge effect on the human, especially considering it was an injured human. Gavin may not have any serious wounds, but he was still obviously in pain. After the treatment he’d been subjected to by Kaydin, it was no surprise. Therefore, Rael's previous attitude of uncaring indifference in regards to the human’s comfort, would have to be...adjusted.

While keeping the hand holding Gavin as still as possible, Rael used his other hand to re-attach the now empty cage to his belt. Once that was done, he turned his focus to the tiny person sitting on his palm. “I’m going to move my hand, so brace yourself,” he warned Gavin, who offered a weak nod in response.

With slow and careful movements, Rael shifted the hand holding Gavin so that it was held up against his chest. The benefit of this position was that his chest created a living wall on one side of the human. His freehand would serve as a second barrier on the opposite side of the hand on which Gavin resided. The goal was to limit the amount of places the small man could potentially fall off of, as well as keep him hidden from view in case of any more run-ins with other alteons.

“I kinda feel like you’re babying me here,” Gavin called up, tilting his neck back to meet Rael’s gaze.

Suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he was practically cradling a human, Rael felt his face begin to heat up. How the hell had it come to this? He didn’t like humans--he didn’t necessarily despise them, but he certainly never before would have imagined himself holding one in such a gentle manner. Rael groaned internally. “This assignment is beginning to mess with my head.”

#g/t #giant/tiny #g/t writing #my writing #oc: gavin stone #oc: rael

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thanekrios · 3 years

Text

The way fall smells

SUMMARY: Tommy always loved the distinctive scent of fall. After a day patrolling with Joel, he remembers why.

The leaves had grown old and begun falling, laying carpets of warm hues on every trail surrounding Jackson. Tommy took a deep breath, taking in the unique sharpness in the air that came with the last months of the year.

It had been a good day. They had patrolled until noon, everything clear – no signs of Hunters or infected– and after checking in, left for the rest of the day to hunt and walk, to talk and have a snack under the orange light of the late afternoon just like they did when they were young.

Joel was having a good day too; Tommy could see it. For the whole afternoon, his shoulders had been relaxed, arms resting at his sides; every now and then, he stopped to take in the shushing of the leaves or the landscape. He was at peace.

Over the course of two years, Tommy had seen how his brother’s sharp edges had begun to dull and a smile would come to him easier than a frown. He talked more, about Sarah and Tess and sometimes even about himself; he hummed around Tommy, sang around Ellie. For a long time, Joel’s hatred for everything was like an all-consuming fire. But Tommy knew that as catastrophic as fires could be, they could also restore – he had seen it with grasslands, entire fields cleansed by the flames, making way for new vegetation to thrive. And now, he had seen it with Joel.

“We should head back.” Joel said as he got up and brushed breadcrumbs off his jacket. “We don’t want it getting too late.”

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed as they began walking in Jackson’s direction. “Got any plans for tonight?”

“Watchin’ a movie with Ellie.”

‘You’re both welcome to join us for dinner if you like.”

Tommy made a pause and considered his words.

Whenever they had them over, it wasn’t just dinner. It was a series of stories from any period of their lives. The brothers grew more excited with each anecdote, Maria would bid them goodnight long after their plates had been cleared; and as their laughter turned loud like thunderclaps, Ellie began knocking down every miserable object in her proximity as she became overexcited while shouting No fucking way! Then came the guitars. More laughter and clatter. And before they knew it, Maria was walking out the door for an early patrol.

So, Tommy added:

“Before your movie.”

“Thanks, but we don’t wanna interrupt Maria’s sleep two nights in a row.” Joel’s eyes ran across the golden foliage, the corners of his mouth curving.

“Well, I’m sure Ellie would appreciate some leftovers.” Tommy found himself smiling as well. “I can leave’em by the porch.”

“Usual place?”

“Usual place,” he confirmed.

“Appreciate it.”

They walked in silence for a while, enjoying the brittle sound of falling leaves and with each step, they walked into memories.

Tommy loved fall.

He first became enchanted with it as a child. He craved the crunching of a dry leaf under his booted feet, having a hot drink when his lips were chapped, listening to Joel play soft melodies as the sun set fire to the clouds. But above all, he looked forward to the unmistakable scent of summer’s perishing.

Tommy knew he came across as simple, devoid of imagination. Even before the outbreak people had assumed there wasn't much to him, that he never dreamt of anything other than a job in construction, blindly following Joel’s steps. He knew why it was easy to believe he had chosen an uncomplicated life rather than having settled for it. He didn’t make any effort to correct anyone. His dreams had been his own. Truth was, Tommy had wanted to be a storyteller in his youth.

During his childhood, he imagined the playful winds that came with fall were whispering stories, travelling through the rattling orange and yellow leafed trees, there for anyone who was willing to listen. Tommy imagined, to escape the empty rooms, the absent parents. He opened his mind and closed his eyes to craft tales of floating homes in the sky and flying whales and homemade dinners.

Fall shaped each story and realm that sprang in his heart and imagination. He didn’t speak of any of them, for whenever he had attempted to put it into words, the intricacy of each story, the vibrance of every world, the heartbreak experienced by each character became colorless.

"All imagination and zero talent," he confessed to Joel in his early teens.

Joel, who wasn't the wordy type either, comforted him the only way he knew how: by handing him his treasured guitar.

"You can tell stories with this, too."

By trading words for melodies, Tommy had compromised. If that was to be the only way to set his stories out into the world, it was enough.

Joel stopped and took in a deep breath, catching Tommy’s attention. His older brother let out a pleased sigh:

“I like the way it smells.” He didn’t need to say more, Tommy knew what he meant, but he continued, “Y’know, fall.”

He took in the words and allowed them to travel the usual road, back into his heart.

“Yeah,” Tommy agreed. He buried his hands deep in his jacket pockets and filled his lungs with fresh air. He had heard that many times before but never from Joel. “Y’know, Sarah used to say the same thing.”

Something softened in Joel’s eyes, the look on his face echoing the one Tommy had seen on him countless times, whenever he had braided Sarah’s hair with so much care and tenderness it made it difficult to think of him as anything other than a loving father.

“Did she now?”

Tommy nodded:

“She said she liked the way fall smelled and then, uh, asked me what the smell was.”

“What did ya say?”

“I dunno, somethin’ dumb, like dust from a dirt road or somethin’.”

“That…that’s pretty accurate. Why’d you say it’s dumb? Was Sarah disappointed or somethin’?” Joel asked after a moment.

Tommy quirked a brow:

“Sarah? Our Sarah? That girl didn’t act disappointed a day in her life.”

“Yeah” Joel agreed in a whisper.

“But she asked me again the year after that. And then the one after that. And it kinda became a game we played. I gave her the thickest answers and she took’em. Then she started havin’ answers of her own.”

“Oh, yeah? What’d she say?”

“Well, a bunch of stuff. Good stuff. I think one time she said, uh, sharpened pencil. Yeah, that was it. Sharpened pencil. She also came up with…”

In recent years, Tommy had become an active forgetter, a problem that had triggered countless arguments with Maria. But those moments with Sarah, he remembered better than entire years.

“Apples, yeah. Refreshin’ and sweet and sour. There was, uh, wet soil after rain and hot hay dryin’ in the sun.”

“That’s…that’s a good one” Joel chuckled before kneeling to tie his shoelace. Tommy was certain his brother was only pretending to do it to shield his face. Then, as he stood up, he held his gaze. His smile was wide, eyes gleaming. “What else?”

Tommy didn’t have to think too hard. He knew just the one.

It had been a late afternoon, two days before the outbreak. Orange tinted the town as if the moment already belonged to a memory. Sarah had a plan; she would go to Tannhaus Watches & Jewellery to get Joel’s birthday present and he would go to the bakery next to it and place an order for a cake.

“Divide and conquer!” Sarah had repeated on their way to town.

The breeze carried the earthy sweet scent of the piles of leaves, tickling his nose. For once, he had decided, he would ask the question first:

“What does fall smell like?”

It had taken her but a few seconds to whip up an answer, taking Tommy by surprise:

“Fall smells like you, Uncle Tommy.”

Tommy’s words had died in his throat. He looked down, speechless still, and rested his eyes on her smile, equal parts sweet and smug. The realization of never having felt more loved dawned on him—it was a similar sensation to floating downstream. He felt weightless. Tommy remembered how when Sarah was little, they spent most of their time lying on golden grass, looking for shapes in the clouds or loudly singing along in his car. Sometimes they sat on the porch and drank extra sweet hot cocoa and he told her – in his own convoluted way – the stories he had told himself as a child to feel less alone. Tommy had reminded her, through his stories and his terrible mac and cheese dinners, that he would always be there for her – just like Joel had been for him.

“Alright. You win, sweetheart,” he said when he meant to say Thank you, I love you too.

Sarah had wrapped her skinny arms around his waist. She would never do that again.

They made their way down the street, their sneakers brushing against the asphalt, the musky fragrance of wisterias faint in the air.

“I wasn’t tryin’ to win but I’m glad I did.” And she had meant I love you more.

Jackson peered through the trees, lights dotted across the county. The temperature had dropped, the chill bit at Tommy’s ears, pink shading his cheeks. A big lump had formed in his throat — there was no way he would be able to speak without his voice breaking. It didn’t matter, he wanted to share it with Joel. The words poured out of his lips as tears ran down his cheeks. He stopped. He half laughed; half cried. Then explained, in vivid detail, how Sarah had made him feel. He apologized. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. Talking about Sarah? Crying? He had grown so used to getting burned whenever he had brought her up, it was still easy to forget just how much Joel had changed.

After Sarah’s death, for the first part of the nightmarish years they spent together, barely scraping by, surviving at the cost of their own humanity, he dreamt of her almost every night. Waking up in sobs, the light dissolving into grey shadows. Joel had refused to look at him, splintering Tommy’s heart. They never spoke of the past. They never spoke of her. They took. They survived. And their hollowness deepened with every wretched day.

Time moved forward; the changing of the seasons serving as the last remaining proof of it. He found comfort in the breeze that came as the year was about to end, revisiting memories and his old stories. Sometimes, as he patrolled, he ventured back into his worlds and again greeted the heroes of his childhood. He knew that there was no room for dreams or stories and his heart ached as he gave them up all over again. And then, he watched how the seams of Joel’s humanity continued ripping one after the other. He had believed he would never get his brother back. But now, Joel’s eyes glistened, a combination of longing and joy. He told him there wasn’t a thing to be sorry for. He listened and placed a hand on his little brother’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” Joel said softly once Tommy hung his head and fell quiet.

Tommy nodded, letting out a trembling vaporous exhalation.

“I’ve always wanted to tell you about that,” Tommy said as the knot in his throat loosened and he looked back up at Joel “I just didn’t know how.”

“I’m glad you finally did.” Joel gave Tommy’s shoulder a little squeeze before letting go.

Tommy watched him walk ahead, his silhouette against the sinking sun. He couldn’t see it, but he knew Joel was smiling. He was smiling too. The wind blew. It smelled like fall. It smelled like home.

#the last of us #tommy miller #joel miller #sarah miller #ellie williams #galifreyas writes #this was supposed to be the first chapter of a big thing #but things went sideways in my personal life and i abandoned everything to pursue crying in the shower #anyway! i have healed since #i know the fandom has kinda died out but like whatever #here i wrote it

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 08

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, mentions of violence

A/N: hope you enjoy this chapter xxx

NEXT CHAPTER

The weather was chilly as they landed in mid French night. Y/N was the first one out the plane, feeling the wind hit her naked arms due to the short sleeved dress. Sebastian, on the other hand, was the first one out of the airport, excusing himself due to business which Gwen gave little care to. In all honesty, Y/N thought she was particularly fine with the idea of the only person powerful enough to order her around being as far as possible. After all, Paris is the city of love, endless possibilities in Gwen’s mindset.

They were driven to the hotel, the landscape from the nightly Paris making Y/N want to rush out the moving car and just sit down in the grass looking at the night sky. However, Gwen was tired and Y/N knew better not to argue. She would never win in an argument with Gwen, besides, she knew exactly how the heiress acted whenever she got her way. Thinking about it, maybe only once in their whole life had Y/N won an argument with her and that had been when she was 5 and not really understanding of her role in the family. Y/N was a handmaid, the literal definition of handmaid is a female servant so why should she put in danger her own survival? If Gwen really got mad at her and disposed of her or fired her, Y/N wasn’t entirely sure how to begin a new life. Sure, she had a degree, a perfect CV but other than working as a handmaid for the mob, she had never worked before and only know was she getting paid for it. She’d rather be silent about it than put her own stability at risk.

They arrived at the hotel at around 2 AM and were quickly checked into their bedrooms. As per usual, Y/N’s bedroom was always next to Gwen’s and normally on the top floor for safety reasons. Y/N rolled her suitcase into her bedroom, bidding Gwen goodnight as she went to sleep. She threw her bag onto the bed and rushed over to the window, opening it so the night air come could in.

She huffed, leaning against the railing of the balcony, looking up to the full moon that light the dark night sky. Her mind flew to Sebastian and his teasing comments at the plane. In any other occasion, maybe one where he wasn’t that angry at his associates, she would’ve fought him on her idea of dreaming. Dreaming. What did he even have to dream about? Like Gwen, he was filthy rich, heck even more than her. He had power, control ... if he had a dream, he could probably have it in a snap of his fingers. She guessed that at least she was in Paris and that was good, that was fantastic.

Frankly, her mind was just wandering around the Sebastian Stan subject because, well, it didn’t want to leave the subject. The casual and messy styles she had caught him on both in sweatpants and with his dress shirt unbuttoned had glued to a psyche. Half her brain was telling her stop thinking about your friend’s future husband and the other half was telling her to go right ahead, not like Gwen would worry about it.

Meanwhile, Sebastian was trying to handle a deal gone wrong. The most he could do was scream at them and threaten to have their head on a plate. Even with that, his associates would rather cry about spilled milk than go and try to fix it. His father was a great man but giving leadership of his French sector to Thompson Williams had been and would forever be the worse thing ever. It wasn’t like Sebastian could just demote him, it would make most of his supporters go against him and if he just killed everyone, who would do the dirty work after?

- It’s the second time this year. - Sebastian poured himself a glass of whiskey, trying to whisk away the fact that he’d much rather be in his hotel room, or probably Y/N’s, than dealing with a minor man’s mistake. - I’m starting to think Mr. Williams that we might have an issue here.

- The shipment was faulty, it is not my f ...

- I told you the shipment was much too cheap for its value. I remember fucking telling you not to buy it and you still bought it behind my back and lost me over three million. I will have your fucking head on a stick if this isn’t solved by you, by tomorrow. - he spat at the much lower ranked mobster who was sat down on his guest office chair, except on his own office chair. - And not a single cut of the deal will fly your way.

- It was a good bet, I had to take it.

- My fucking family is not fucking based on bets, it’s based on organised deals with serious fucking people who give a damn they’re part of it. - he slammed the glass hard enough against the desk to give way to a crack. - Fix it or I’ll cut your fucking hand off.

He grabbed his jacket’s from the hanger, slung it over his shoulder and walked outside the lesser man’s office followed by his swarms of bodyguards. Did he need the bodyguards? No, it was mostly a show of power and someone who could do the dirty job if it was necessary. However, at this point, his brain was still processing at Upper East Side times and not Paris. In simpler words, he could feel his lids heavy and his temples hurt but his mind was going haywire. He should’ve fired him, god all he wanted to do was diminish him to serving drinks at his engagements.

He reached the Hotel Montaigne closer to 4 AM and took off to his normally reserved suite. The hotel was his, or at least in the paperworks, his father’s therefore he had certain privileges such as being able to have his own room free from pesky guests, with the best view. A view of the Tower Eiffel. A view Y/N would probably enjoy.

- Sebastian? - his head swiftly turned to the source of the noise. He noticed Y/N standing there with sleep filled eyes in a white set of pyjamas. - You banged the door a bit too loud.

- Did I wake you up? - he tried to soften up his tone but, sadly, the business troubles were still very much present on his mind therefore his angry facade was still very much present too.

- I’m a light sleeper. Besides, you looked worried and I thought you might want to talk about it. - she leaned against the door frame.

- Is that what you do when Gwen’s upset? - he pulled on the knot of his tie, successfully loosening it up and throwing it to the side.

- No, when Gwen’s upset I lock myself in a bunker and hope she doesn’t come find me for stress relief. - Y/N closed the door behind her, trudging up to him who had now thrown his tie and jacket to the side, unbuttoning the top first buttons of his dress shirt. - I’m guessing the meeting didn’t go well.

- Catastrophic would be underrated.

- You did all you could. - she gave him a soft smile, the type of smile a partner would give you when you came back from a long day. The type of smile that wrapped you in the false idea of a comfortable home life, at least, to him. Nevertheless, Y/N seemed to embody that warmth specially when she gave him that traditional signature smile of hers. His hand, mindlessly, laid upon her elbow as to which her gaze immediately lingered upon. Once again, that typical heat that made itself present when she was around him made itself known and she shifted from side to side, teeth coming to pull at the skin of her own bottom lip. - I feel like you’re upset because have an issue relinquishing control.

Sebastian took a step back at her sentence, lips slightly open at her statement as he found it hard to reply to her. He wondered if there was something more to her ingenue environment or if that same ingenue atmosphere had given her the unknown courage of telling that to a mob boss. Of course he had to constantly have control, that was his job.

- You can’t control everything in your life, Sebastian. - she sat on top of his much comfortable looking duvet. Unlike her room which was decorated in shades of white, his bedroom was decorated in dark rich shades of scarlet red and light beiges. - It goes against the laws of nature itself doesn’t it?

- Well ... - he took to sitting by her side, leaving not much of two inches between the beginning of both their hips. - I believe that humans are really good at controlling even the laws of nature. We decide when plants bloom, when and how animals should procreate and even their genetics ... why shouldn’t I believe I can control everything?

- Just because you can doesn’t mean you should. If you worry about every single time you lose control over your business, it’s more like punishing yourself than punishing the ones you’re meant to.

- I’m really grateful for your concern, Y/N, but you’re not my handmaid, you don’t have to worry about me.

- Don’t tell me you even wish to control who worries about you and who doesn’t. - she crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at him but he merely chuckled at her.

Y/N gaze moved from his inspections one to the window, eyes agape as she came in contact with the most beautiful view she could ever picture. Mindlessly, the young woman rushed over to the balcony, only stopping once the rails hit her stomach. The night air and the look at the Tower Eiffel looked exactly like what one of her very good dreams would entail. Her eye sparkle and wondrous look did not go unnoticed by the mob boss who paced over to her side, gaze fixed on her soft complexion and how the smallest things just seemed to have the largest effect on her. Maybe owning the hotel had made him forgot how breathtaking the view really was or maybe it was because she was over there in white pyjama shorts and shirt with the most striking look in her eyes.

- Woah, angel. - he put his hand on her abdomen, slightly pushing her back before she could cross over the railing. - We don’t want you to fall, do we?

- It’s just marvellous. How can you even sleep with a view like this? - well, he would very much enjoy to fall asleep in that balcony if she were by his side.

- I’ve been seeing this since I was a kid, Y/N. It loses its charm.

- No, I don’t believe that. You just have no taste.

- I have no taste? - he furrowed his eyebrows at her. - Angel, I’ve had people’s head for less.

- Oh ... I’m sorry. - she took a step backward, playing with her hair.

- I was just playing. - his hand rested on her forearm, caressing the skin with the pad of his thumb. - Look, if you wa...

- Mr. Stan? - the bodyguard knocked on the suite’s door, making Y/N take a few steps back becoming void of his touch.

- WHAT?! - Sebastian barked at the man, turning around, hand on top of his silver revolver just in case. Not that he was gonna shot the man in front of Y/N, he would probably traumatise her and Gwen would sue him. The man cowered in front of him, eyes settled on the young woman by his side knowing she was the only reason he wasn’t dodging a bullet.

- There’s a call for you from Mr. Williams.

- You should go. - Y/N smiled, tired. - I should probably return to bed.

- Wait, angel, will you join me for breakfast tomorrow morning? I can get some room service, have it by the balcony.

- I’m sorry, Sebastian. I already promised Gwen I would go shopping with her in the early morning. - sure, she’d rather be having breakfast with the Tower Eiffel in sight than having to go to the Champs-Élysées with Gwen for some high spending shopping. Yet, on the other hand, it felt odd to have breakfast with her friend’s fiancé. She shouldn’t.

Without giving too much of a look to Sebastian whose traits probably included persuasion, she returned to her bedroom, locked the door behind her and tucked herself into the comfortable sheets. Her eyes were set in the darkness of the bedroom, heart beating like a drum as his touch seemed to linger on her skin, almost like a ghost feeling.

Y/N didn’t remember falling asleep, however it felt like she didn’t slept for long once her alarm went off. With a tiring motion, she lifted from her torso from the bed, rubbing the sleep off her eyes. She placed her feet on the floor and meandered around her room, hoping the cardio-like walk would wake her up a bit more. After sleep disappeared from her eyes she grabbed her clothing and walked off her bedroom, knocking on Gwen’s door. Much to her surprise, she was already prepared to go, sunglasses on and a dark velvet green dress on matched with brown boots.

- Aren’t you excited? Paris shopping. - Gwen pushed her handmaid by the arm, followed by the bodyguards onto the lift. However, all Y/N could think of was Sebastian. She felt bad for denying his request, mostly because she really did enjoy the request but being on his company all the time would probably hurt his image or even worse hurt Gwen’s feelings.

Maybe it had been her willingness to overthink a simple suggestion, but once her brain took her back to reality she was standing at the very long Champs-Élysées where Gwen was rushing around like a mad-men. Y/N always found the Champs-Élysées rather more accessible than the Upper East Side, mostly due to the existence of more low end shops and known banks than the New York district, yet, the overwhelming amount of high class shops like Marcs Jacobs and Channel made it look like a rich person’s playground. It definitely was that, but Y/N was most interested in the stores’ architecture and Paris’ landscape. However, she was not immune to some materialistic stuff, specially once the two stopped by the brilliantly built Ladurée. The shades of light turquoise like green made it look like something straight off a fairytale book and the sweets on the window display made everyone crave sugar.

- You look very lost today. - Gwen commented, entering the shop along with her handmaid. - I haven’t seen you look this lost since you finished reading Gone Girl.

- I’m just tired. - Y/N smiled tightly, dismissing her friend’s concerns, however, Gwen was much too curious to just let it go. - Couldn’t really sleep.

- Alexander told me you were in Sebastian’s room last night. Is there something happening that you haven’t told me? Is it about me?

- He just wanted to know how to get closer to you, Gwen. You know I wouldn’t tell him anything you didn’t want me to.

- I don’t know, Y/N ... - she pointed at a pink box of what looked like macaroons on the display, handing the cashier her card. - You are very ... righteous sometimes. Pretty sure you can’t lie even without a gun to your head.

- You know I’m loyal to the Forrest family, I wouldn’t tell Mr. Stan anything that you didn’t allow me to.

- Good. I heard he was pissed about Thompson. I don’t know why he wasn’t placed a bullet in the middle of his eyes, I would. - the cashier handed her the pink box and the two women followed by the bodyguards walked back outside onto the street.

- You can’t just shot everyone you hate, Gwen. Who would you rule over then?

- Newer, smarter people.

They were out on the street until late afternoon when Gwen decided it was time to return to the hotel, which Y/N’s feet were eternally grateful for. As per usual, she had ended up carrying her fair share of bags along with the bodyguards and the weight plus all the walking had left her wanting nothing but to lay down and perish for a few seconds.

After all the bags were in the heiress’ room and she had sneakingly, yet not that unnoticeably to Y/N, walked to the hotel bar with one of the bodyguards she was particularly found of, Y/N was finally free to return to her bedroom. Happily. she tapped her card against the bedroom door, a click indicating the door was ready to be open. Pushing her door open, her heart skipped a beat as a very familiar figure stood in the middle of her room. She let out a gasp, holding onto the handle of the door, ready to bolt off.

- Please don’t be scared, Miss Y/N. - Mr. Williams prowled to her, a bit to close for comfort. - I just needed to have a word with you.

- Mr. Stan and Ms. Forrest are not available, right now. Please leave my bedroom. - her knuckles held forcefully onto the handle of the door, hoping a bodyguard would notice the slightly creaked door.

- I wish to speak for you, please Miss. You must speak with Mr. Stan about me, try to get me in his good graces please.

- I think you should speak with Ms. Forrest about that not me. - well good luck, she liked him even less than Sebastian and unlike the mob boss was rather reckless in her decisions.

- I don’t think she is as influential as you are, Miss. With all due respect, I believe you’re the only one who can help me and maybe gain me some forgiveness. - his voice was honeyed, yet his words registered like nails on chalkboards on her brain. - Please, Miss Y/N, I’m sure if you ask him he won’t be as harsh.

- I think you misjudged my relationship towards Mr. Stan. I’m his employee, I would love to help but I don’t think he would care much for my opinion.

- You certainly have noticed you’re highly in his favour, Miss Y/N. Please, I’ll make it worth your while. - he grinned at her almost as if he was mocking her words, but that wasn’t what really was bothering Y/N. His presence bothered her, specially once his hand went over hers to pull the handle completely. - I would be grateful.

He opened the door completely, walking off and shutting it on the young woman. Almost out of memory, she locked the door and rushed over to her balcony to do the same thing. Y/N didn’t want to think about how he’d gotten in her bedroom, he clearly wasn’t in any of Sebastian’s favourite books and definitely not in Gwen’s.

- M’am? - her body trembled at the knock of the door but the voice soothed her. Thankfully, it was her bodyguard - It’s me, m’am. We can’t have the doors locked with you inside the room for safety measures.

- I’m sorry. - Y/N’s hands shivered as she unlocked the door, opening it slightly to stare at the bodyguard. - I’m sorry, Elias. I was just not feeling very well.

- Oh, would you like me to notice Mr. Stan or Ms. Forrest?

- No, it’s fine. It’s fine. - she gave him an understanding smile before closing the door again. Without much thought, she stripped off her clothes and jumped into the shower allowing the hot water to drip down her body. In his favour, she wasn’t in his favour. She was just his employee and his fiancée’s handmaid, meaning he shouldn’t really be rude to her.

It wasn’t like Y/N could just go on and tell him to go easy on one of his associates, she just couldn’t unless she wanted to be screamed at. Being screamed at is not something she really wanted but on the other hand, she didn’t want Gwen or Sebastian to shot him for no reason or for at least an unreasonable one. Besides, Mr. Williams looked scared. With that in her mind, she walked off the shower, putting on one of her sweater-like fabric dresses.

- Y/N? - she hunched her shoulders, hand on top of her chest as the knocks reverberated within her room. God, why does everyone want to speak with her today?

- Come in. - Sebastian came into the bedroom, back in his very business formal which somehow disappointed her. She definitely preferred the more relaxed style, at least on him. - Gwen is at the bar right now, if you’re looking for her.

- I own this hotel, angel. I know exactly where everyone is. I’m here because Elias told me you weren’t feeling well. - that little back stabber. - Was the shopping trip that bad?

- I’m just a bit ... I think overwhelmed fits.

- Too overwhelmed for a surprise?

- I think I’ve had my fair share of surprises today, but I wouldn’t mind seeing what you have in store.

- Well, c’mon then. - we checked his watch. - We have a few minutes.

She shrugged, getting up from the bed and following him into his bedroom, looking around to make sure Gwen wasn’t around to ask many questions. Her major issue was that her friend thought that she was feeding Sebastian information about her love life and maybe she would, if she remembered the last guy she was with.

Sebastian pulled her until his balcony, setting her so that her sight laid on the sunset landscape and the Tower Eiffel.

- What am I looking at? - not that she didn’t love the sunset, she absolutely did, she just thought it wouldn’t be something Sebastian would be particular excited to show her. Not that he should be excited to show her anything.

- Just wait. - he checked his watch once again, ensuring her gaze didn’t leave the iron lady. As Y/N readied herself to ask him what he wanted her to see, the Tower Eiffel lit up and like the building so did her eyes as she gasped at the sight in front of her. If she thought the view from last night was stunning, she did absolutely thought this thing was merely out of this world. - It lights up at sunset.

- This is just beautiful. Thank you so much. - she wrapped her arms around him for a few seconds before returning to look at the lit up building. - Ugh, I could just live here forever.

- You’re certainly easy to please. - he leaned against the railings, looking at her with the look of utter most adoration. How could someone in her field still enjoy the little things was always interesting.

- I ... I need to speak you. - she played with her nails, looking up to his eyes.

- Should I be concerned?

- It’s about Mr. Williams.

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