#i need to draw for 2 museums at least to then send it to them as a gift cuz people there were so nice???? AAAA | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

reidingmelodies · 3 years

Text

His Greatest Mistake

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn! Reader Category: Angst with a dash of fluff Includes: Sad Spencer, brief mention of injury, implied emotional cheating Word Count: 1.4k (oops) A/N: This was requested by @ssa-m-187 based on the song Be My Mistake by The 1975! Thank you so much for the request, this one was a challenge in the best way and I loved every second of writing it ♡

Masterlist | Ash’s 500 Bash

It was never supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be him taking engagement photos with you, him sending save the dates with you, him sitting by your side and planning the wedding you had always imagined.

Instead, it was him clutching the picture he was so obviously absent from to his chest in the dim light of his apartment.

He knew something had happened the second he walked into the bullpen that morning. The room was quiet, any and all previous conversation halting the moment he locked eyes with Penelope across the way.

And he knew. When her eyes shifted towards the floor and her breath stuttered in her throat he knew in his soul that it had to do with you.

But he never imagined this.

She dropped the picture into his hands with murmured words of comfort, leaving him with the promise that she would be in her office alongside a cup of coffee with his name on it if he needed to talk.

And as she walked away, he turned the picture over and felt his heart break into a thousand fragments with no hopes of ever being repaired.

The phrase ‘save the date!’ glared at Spencer from the top of the cardstock, but nothing compared to the feeling of ice in his veins at the sight of your smile.

It was a smile he hadn’t seen in person in 3 years, 4 months, and 12 days, but it still danced through the forefront of his brain each night he went to sleep and each morning he awoke next to his greatest mistake.

And as he sat in his apartment after a day of comforting glances laced with pity thrown at him from each direction he couldn’t help but relish on the what ifs.

What if he had loved you better?

What if he had fought harder?

What if he called you instead of her that night?

Loving you was the easiest and yet the most courageous thing he’d ever done. With you, casual touches came quicker, tough conversations came easier, confessions of love flowed smoother.

Not like with her.

He had met you exactly 6 years, 5 months, and 18 days ago in the most cliche of ways- when he spilled his coffee on your shirt as you were reaching around him for your own drink.

Stuttered apologies somehow turned into telling stories over cups of freshly brewed coffee and before either of you knew it he was leaving the shop with your number in his phone and plans to see you again on Saturday at your favorite museum.

And then Saturday brought along the promise of more dates which turned into spending nights entangled under sheets and mornings filled with apartment hunting before finally signing the papers for a place of your own.

And for 3 years, 1 month, and 6 days it was bliss.

At least that’s what he liked to tell himself.

The bricks that had surrounded his heart were entirely non-existent when it came to you. You held the key to the inner workings of his heart, and you would safeguard it with your life if you were asked.

And he held the key to yours too, but it turns out that only meant so much.

The majority of your relationship was simplicity in the sweetest form. It was the feel of your favorite sweater, the smell of your favorite candle, the taste of your go to comfort beverage.

It was simple. And yet, it was everything.

He longed for the moments a case would end and he could fall into your arms with the promise of drifting to sleep with the feel of your fingers mindlessly spelling ‘I love you’ along his back. Time off of work was spent cuddled together on the couch, letting the sounds of whatever was playing on the television serve as the background noise for whatever silly debate the two of you had fallen into.

It was simple. But somewhere along the way the simplicity gave way to complications.

2 years, 9 months, and 18 days into your relationship he found himself enthralled by a guest speaker at your favorite library. You had to work late so you weren’t able to come, but at the moment he found himself grateful for that because it meant more time with her.

It meant more time to bounce theories off of her, more time to be absolutely captivated by her genius.

It also meant more time for them to trade phone numbers.

And later that night as he told you all about the speech and the amazing lecturer he had met you were ecstatic that the lecture turned out even better than he had hoped.

That ecstatic feeling probably would have dimmed if you knew about the phone number burning a hole in his pocket though.

As the weeks flew by he found himself calling her more and more. It was never of a romantic nature, always related to one theory or another, but it was enough to draw his attention away from you.

And as the distance between you and him grew, and grew, and grew, one of you was sitting at home desperately thinking of ways to fix it while the other was making up excuses about misplaced paperwork keeping him at work while the low battery tone of his phone chimed away in his pocket.

And on the 1,132nd day the greatest love Spencer ever knew crumbled to the ground.

The case was bad. So bad, in fact, that he found himself in a hospital bed for a few days after a close call with an unsub.

But as much as everyone told him to call you, you weren’t the one he longed to talk to.

As visiting hours ended and the team left his bedside to get some well-needed rest, he found himself glued to his phone talking to her.

And while her voice was what he so desperately wanted to hear, he couldn’t help the pang in his gut every time he ignored one of your calls as yours was the voice he so desperately needed to hear.

On the plane ride home, he thought of all the ways he could explain the delayed homecoming to you, all the ways he could hide the wounds gracing his chest from you for the next few weeks.

But, he should’ve known someone would have told you.

He came home to your suitcases packed while you sat in the sea of luggage against the sofa you had picked out together in the blissful beginning of your relationship.

Oh, how he longed to be back there now.

He wanted you to scream, to storm out, to do anything that would lessen the guilt that maliciously tore at his soul.

But instead, you were calm, albeit heartbroken. You explained you had a feeling something was going on, but the fact that he had gotten hurt and didn’t even tell you proved it. You told him it was okay, that you wished him all the best, and then you left. With a tear running down your face but your posture holding all the grace in the world.

And somehow, your calm nature in the midst of his internal storm made it even worse.

He needed to do something, anything, to get out of the apartment that was a living, breathing museum dedicated to your love.

He should’ve chased after you. But instead, he went to her.

And with that decision, his future was set in stone.

No matter how riveting his conversations were with her, they didn’t hold a candle to the debates he had with you. With you, cuddles before bed were an honored tradition; with her, it was custom to stare at the wall and keep his hands to himself until he fell asleep to the thought of your smile.

He saw you in everything. In the bouquet she placed on the table (they were your favorite flowers), in the body wash she used (it was your least favorite scent- and because of that it was his least favorite, too), in the book she kept next to her bed (it was the book he used to read to you on nights you couldn’t sleep).

You were everywhere and nowhere all at once.

And now, as she called him to bed and he stuffed your photo in between the pages of the first book he could reach he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had made a terrible mistake.

A mistake that he was destined to fall asleep next to that night, wishing that instead of her, it was you.

***

Link to join my taglist ♡

Permanent Taglist: @calm-and-doctor @reidyoulikeabook @shadyladyperfection @homoose Spencer Taglist: @averyhotchner @muffin-cup

#Spencer Reid x reader #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid imagine #Spencer Reid self insert #Spencer Reid fanfic #Spencer Reid angst #spencer reid x gn!reader #criminal minds self insert #criminal minds imagine #ash’s 500 bash 💕#ash writes #queue’d

435 notes · View notes

whump-town · 3 years

Text

Stubborn

Everybody taking care of old Hotch because... I don't like it when old Hotch gets left to just die on his own :( don't ask why that's where I draw the line

No pairings

No warnings

In Jack’s second semester of his junior year, Hotch collapses again. He’s home this time, out in his garden under the glaring sun. The day had begun no different than any other. The birds on the powerline chirping and causing their disturbances, as eager for the day to begin as the school-aged children shouting in the street. He’d watched them from the sliding glass door facing the street, his tea warm in his hands. He’d waved at a few, the older ones who recognize him as a mystifying adult with stories to be unlocked. The younger children give him a face akin to a monster’s, his mystery horrifying in their already confusing enough lives.

It’s an hour before lunch. Two hours before Spencer shows up because it’s Thursday and he teaches a class on this side of town every Tuesday and Thursday at 2. One that he occasionally asks Hotch to attend -- as a guest lecturer, as a treat to his students, or just for the company.

He could call just about anyone.

Emily’s downtown, on her way back from a meeting with the Department of Justice. She’d be thrilled for an excuse to not go back to the office and spend an hour or two in his kitchen telling him about those pretentious assholes.

Garcia’s about ten minutes away, working at a nonprofit teaching “at-risk” kids how to code. Being the guiding hand she’d needed as a teenager so that they might not repeat the same mistakes she made. She was lucky, Hotch saved her but he’s not around to catch any more kids like her.

Morgan got hired by a family two streets over to fix up their house before they move in. He’s there now, tearing out rotting beams.

This collapse is not of the life-threatening kind. Not to Hotch at least. There’s no internal bleeding, no emergency surgeries. He doesn’t even need stitches but he’s on so many medications that thin his blood that it’s just on the safer side. From the hospital, he calls who he needs to. Reid first, he’ll worry when he gets to Hotch’s house and sees his truck gone. Then, Jack, it’s better to hear this sort of thing from him and not Emily in half an hour when she needs to yell at someone and who better than the son of the idiot she hates right now? Dave and Emily follow and he trusts them to carry the news the rest of the way. Rather, he simply doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and he’d rather Garcia and JJ and Morgan and everyone else just be mad at him than go on to have another conversation about how he’s feeling.

Fine. He just got light-headed. It was the heat and his perpetually low iron and probably his thin blood (the killer had been his blood pressure but they’re working on that). He just needs to get better about remembering to eat breakfast -- a larger breakfast than just tea and toast. Fainting, he assures Dave, happens. Jack’s seen it happen. The heat makes it worse, the summertime drains him. He’s come in from the garden and gotten weak in the knees plenty of times. He actually moved some chairs around the sliding glass door to the yard, prepared for this exact problem.

This over clarification does not help.

Made only the more complicated when he explains his head is fine. The fainting thing really isn’t a big deal, he just needs a ride home. He’d landed weirdly and pulled his back. He left with a new problem entirely, a torn ligament in his shoulder. That is a problem for a different day.

The surgery is set for the week just before Jack’s finals. Armed with a suitcase full of textbooks, his laptop, notes from this semester (and a few from last), and just enough clothes to recycle a few and still be fine, Jack shows up on his father’s doorstep. “I mean, the hospital isn’t exactly the library… but it’s not the worst place I’ve studied.” It’s far too late to send Jack back but Hotch is reluctant to let him stay. Even if he does prefer Jack be his ride rather than the likes of Penelope and that tiny green eye-sore of a car she drives or leave him to Reid and his defensive, jerky driving.

To the sound of “Aaron Hotchner November 2, 1971”, Jack settles down with his books. He tries to put himself in the right headspace for studying but it’s harder than he anticipated. The constant motion of the room unsettles him and he looks up several times to see his father’s reaction. To gauge the anxiety in his face, in the deep breathes that he pulls in through his nose. In how tight his fists are holding the sheets underneath him. It’s a simple surgery and they’ll be out of here in no time.

“Young” his heart had not handled the heavy sedatives and morphine well. Then again, those incidents are always hard to measure against a thing like this. Rushed into the ER with nine chest wounds and having nearly bled to death, it’s natural to conclude the stress of his depleted blood supply and his very recent trauma had caused his heart to stop on the table. That said trauma was the reason his heart had maintained to be a steady problem up until they released him. Again, when he was brought in with some of the worst internal bleedings the staff had ever seen. His heart had given them trouble too.

Jack is staring blankly at his flashcards when the doctor comes out.

Hotch had gone to Georgetown to be a lawyer like his father and his grandfather. Jack went to Georgetown to get an Art History degree. He was lead by something else. Not chasing some shadow, clutching at a lie he spoonfed himself. Jack didn’t live in anyone’s shadow, never felt the pressure to look and act a certain way. Was never beaten into submission or told to hold his tongue. Jack went to museums every Saturday with his father, preferred them to the aquariums and the zoo. Hotch held him close to the artwork, pushed his dense schedule around to go to new shows, and learned the names of pieces just to recite the knowledge back to Jack.

In his lap, Jack is memorizing pieces of art like his father had years ago for him. He’s stuck on The Anatomy Lesson, eyes glued to the details. The way colorless skin is held in forceps, peeled back to reveal angry red. He can feel the pinching teeth on his own skin, feels the heavy flow of hot blood spilling down over his arm.

“Hotchner?”

Jack flinches, caught completely off guard. He stands, flushing as he tucks his notecards into his textbook, and stands. “Ugh, yeah. That’s me.” He wipes his hands off on his pants, rubbing away the nervous sweat he’s built up.

The doctor recognizes him from earlier. He’d watched Jack and Hotch get out one last goodbye. Jack pulling up a nervous smile, dirty-blonde hair, and light eyes a complete contrast to Hotch’s ever-darkening features. Somehow more solemn, voice taken by the sedatives already working through his body. He hadn’t said a word, eyes vacantly following Jack’s movements but unaware.

Jack expects the same monologue he hears every time. The one that comes out so dry and perfect that they must practice it in front of the mirror, say it softly to themselves as they as they get ready each morning. He’s got it memorized himself -- the bits about recovering in post-op, make a full recovery, and whatever on the fly timeline they give for access back to the room.

“But he’s-- He’s okay? He’s--”

Jack feels impossibly childish. Five years old and Emily’s chilled fingers brushing his tears away, “baby, I know you miss your mommy. But you’re being so terribly mean to your daddy.” He had been, a terrible little monster squirming away from his father and refusing to eat anything. Throwing tantrums about nothing and everything. Screaming and crawling under his bed every chance he got. Pushing himself to the wall knowing he couldn’t be reached.

Now he can remember Hotch just sitting at the edge of the bed. There on the floor for hours. Sometimes he read, would pick up a book, and just start from wherever just to make it so his voice was reaching where he couldn’t. He slept there too, on the hard ground just to make sure Jack knew he was there. Slipped strawberry pop tarts on crazily designed animal plated under there, offered bites of his own food to the darkness under the bed. Sippy cups full of chocolate milk and juice.

He feels like a little boy again, getting news that he has no idea how to handle.

“He’s okay?” Jack stammers. “He’s going to be okay? I can see him?”

Hotch remembers those days under the bed too. Waking up in the middle of the night as Jack groggily curled close to him, still under the bed but crawling under his blanket. The ends of those awful sobs, Jack’s little chest jerking as he hiccuped. The force of his sorrow was too much for his little body. And Jack would fall into his lap, exhausted and needing comfort. His little fingers tracing the scars on Hotch’s face. How he whispered “thank you” and “please” from underneath the bed and how he’d pop his head out to say, “Daddy, I’m going to potty. I’ll be right back.”

Jack’s legally old enough to drink now and Hotch still sees that little boy. The three-year-old wiping his snot on Hotch’s dress shirt. The six-year-old holding his hand and reminding him to look both ways twice before crossing the street. The eight-year-old he left the hallway light on for, old enough now to think he needed to brave the night without a nightlight. So Hotch would offer to keep the hallway light on, not for Jack but for him because he doesn’t like the dark. The ten-year-old sheepishly offering him a father’s day gift he bought with saved allowance, a t-shirt he’s now worn the words off of. The fifteen-year-old curling up beside him on the couch, seeking his comfort but not sure how to ask anymore. The eighteen-year-old as tall as him talking his ear off while he tries to get dinner ready, sticking his fingers in the pan and sitting on the counter.

How did he grow up so fast?

He’s not a little boy anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.

The creaking of a chair moves Hotch’s attention and he looks away from Jack. Away from the sight of his little boy curled up on a cot, drooling onto a pillow and notebook still open, a pen dangling from his fingers. He looks over and Emily’s sitting up, her reading glasses precariously sat on the tip of her nose. “Oh look,” she mumbles. She stretches out, groaning as her joints complain from being held in this miserable hospital chair for hours. “You’ve decided to join the land of the living.”

Hotch watches her fold the thin black frames of her glasses up, gently sits them down by his hand as she stands up. Jack had called her, even though he promised he wouldn’t worry anyone. Hotch didn’t want anyone else coming to the hospital over something so small and though Jack protested that their concern wouldn’t be because he was bothering them but because they love him. The very same reason he’d come home is that people gather after these sorts of things. They need reassurance that he’s alive and he’s just going to have to accept that. They compromised in the end, everyone could come to smother him in worry after he got home from the surgery.

But Jack was scared. He called the only person he could think to, the woman whose role in his life that was never really clear. She’d gotten on him about his grades, smacked the back of his head when he said something stupid, and always let him taste-test her wine at Thanksgiving dinner. Emily knew things that not even Jessica knew and she could be sterner than both Hotch and Jessica and also more relaxed, more understanding. She was always there for both of them, in the same capacity as Jessica and yet her own unique one. A friend Hotch trusted and loved and Jack could understand that. His friends always wanted to know if they were dating and he knew intuitively that the answer was no but he would hesitate to try and explain. But he didn’t understand the gravity that pulled them together, adults and their relationships far too complex to fit it into his simple understanding of love.

He did understand she was the only person to call.

“What’d he do this time?” she asked and knew she was playing the wrong role for the wrong Hotchner because no sooner than she could ask she had an armful of Jack. She sat with Jack for hours, let him get his fear out. Held him while he sobbed, felt pulled to the past. When it was Aaron on her shoulder, terrified he’d lose his son. Life has this very odd way of bringing everything full circle.

“I bet you’re hurting.” Emily moves to the table and pours water into the little paper Dixie cup left by the nurses. “Been right dramatic this afternoon,” she informs him, a dissatisfied matter-of-fact tone in play. “I know you find that to be particularly taxing.” She holds the cup for him, gentle despite her annoyance. She’s close enough to see the iodine on his skin. Dark orange swipes across his pale skin, the smell burns with its strength.

He pulls greedily from the cup, mouth impossibly dry. Stopped only by how little she poured, he sinks back heavily into the pillows behind him. His shoulder hot and angry from forcing himself upright.

“They’re going to let you go in the morning,” she says, sitting back down. He won’t remember this in the morning. Emily holding his hand, whispering thickly how angry she is with him as tears fall down her face. How scared she was getting that phone call from Jack, racing down here to be a composed person to comfort his son thinking her best friend was in the morgue.

He’ll wake up with a pit in his stomach, residual feelings from the night before he can’t tie down to memories. Emily shows no inclination to repeat herself, just coldly informs him that she’ll have Penelope make him a cardiologist appointment (it’s unspoken that no one trusts him to do this himself). Jack walks on glass, close by but terrified of being pushed away. Hotch is too out of it to put up much of a fight, by the time the morning shift has their hands on him he’s silent. Properly dosed up for a ride home and out of his mind.

He’s groggily propped up on pillows, watching Jack and Emily fight over if he has the right to wear shoes or not. Emily wants to hold them captive, he won’t run off or refuse the wheelchair without them and Jack shakes his head, “he’s not our P.O.W, Emily. He’s even going to get that far if he does try to run.” He’s given his shoes but Emily makes a point to collect his cane, holds it while the nurse helps him into the wheelchair. He’s a flight-risk and she’s not going to trust him, he’s run off on her too many times for that.

At the house the other’s have gathered up, having nothing better to do evidently on a Wednesday at ten in the morning. Penelope’s frying eggs and bacon, the carnage it takes to feed their brood spread out on his kitchen counter. Reid sitting on the counter, Hank in his lap, and the two of them watching Penelope. Derek’s on the sofa, feet kicked up on the coffee table, and Savannah learning on his shoulder. Dave’s getting orange juice from the store declared them all lawless, and didn’t trust them to get the right kind.

Hotch is granted his cane to get back inside the house but Emily threatens to kick it out from underneath if he tries anything fast. He smacks her ankle and Jack has to actually step between them to keep them apart. It’s in times like these where Jack finds himself wondering how these two ever had any role in raising him at all.

“Don’t you have jobs?” Hotch asks, hooking his cane over the coat rack and toeing his shoes off. He ignores the hand Emily places on his arm, afraid he’ll knock himself over. He manages just fine, has the whole house set up so that every other step is within arms distance of something to lean on. Fingers trailing the back of the couch he limps past Derek, smiling when Savannah offers a soft “glad you’re okay”. She pats his hand and he nods back.

“Up for some food, sir?” Penelope asks and she’s not taking no for an answer. They might be having heaping servings of eggs and bacon and gravy and orange juice but she’s made two small bowls of oatmeal. She takes the medicine Jack tosses up on the counter, puts it at the end where the rest of his medication sits. “I cut up apples,” she tells Hotch with a wide grin, sliding the bowl in front of him. “Dashed a little cinnamon and sugar in there, it’ll stick to your bones. Keep you healthy.”

He’s at a healthy weight at the moment, not as thin as he leans to when he’s sick but with Hotch, it’s always a good thing to have some collateral weight for the “in case”. Lifting the spoon in his left hand he scoops some of the oatmeal up, doing his best to hide his annoyance at how weak his extremities still are. How his hand shakes under the light strain of the oatmeal. He looks up, watches Spencer carry Hank over to the highchair sitting at the table beside him. He’s distracted so Emily swoops in, takes his spoon from his hand, and tries his oatmeal. He lets her do it. He raises an eyebrow and she shrugs. She likes it. He nods, it’s pretty good.

Hank immediately knocks his spoon on the ground and makes a low whining sound in the back of his throat. “Hop help,” he whines, pointing down at his spoon. His speech is still developing so he pronounces help and hop nearly identically but Hotch understands the difference. He just can’t bend over like that. His right arm is still pinned to his chest in an intricate web of gauze and this sling.

“Reid,” Hotch calls. His voice is deep, strained from intubation and anesthesia. It makes him sound sick. “He’s dropped his spoon.”

Reid nods, he already knows.

Hank points to his shoulder and frowns, “Hop fall down?”

Hotch nods, that is pretty much what happened and at the same time, Emily sweeps in and tickles Hank. She presses kisses to his face and making him laugh loudly. “That’s what happens,” she says. “Hops is just old.” Hank is too distracted by the ongoing attack to defend Hotch not that a toddler rising to his defense is very helpful.

Hotch sighs as Jack comes up behind him, stealing his spoon too. He takes a bite of the oatmeal and deems it nearly as good as the kind that Jessica makes. Hotch wants to be annoyed by it and yet all he does is nod and finds himself smirking just a little.

Penelope calls everyone in for breakfast and Hotch ignores the kisses pressed to his cheek as people drag chairs to the table around him. To the hands that slide over his back, assurance of life he remembers Jack calling it.

Derek slides him a mug of tea, made exactly how he likes it. He sits across from Hotch, close to Hank in case either needs assistance. Emily sits to his left, slides her coffee up beside his tea so he can have some if he’s quick about it. Jack sits beside her and the rest is a blur, too much motion at once for him to take in without his contacts or glasses. Penelope slides a tea plate to him, his medicine on it, and kisses his head while he’s still scowling at the plate.

They don’t leave him alone all day.

He ends up taking a nap with Hank, the toddler’s sticky little fingers holding onto his shirt as he finds himself unable to fight off the effects of the medicine and his full stomach.

He’s squished on the couch between Derek and Dave, forced to watch baseball because he can’t worm his way upright again just yet.

They change the dressings on his shoulder, his teeth clenched tightly so that he doesn’t let anything slip.

At midnight he wakes up on the couch. Jack’s bedroom door is shut, he’s sleeping peacefully inside. His heating blanket is pulled up to his chin, the heat turned up all the way. He can’t remember getting into this state himself but he has a fate memory of JJ helping him move his hand to his mouth, encouraging him to take the pain killers before bed. Of Derek making sure he didn’t just fall straight over onto his side. He manages to find Dave stretched out on the Lazyboy -- the chair he got Hotch for his fifty-something birthday. He’ll wake up in the morning to more food being made in his lonely kitchen, JJ this time. She’ll make blueberry waffles.

If he’d wanted attention, Emily will tease the next morning, he could have just asked. And he didn’t even know he wanted this. He never finds the words to ask for it to continue but every Saturday morning it happens anyway -- his kitchen and living room full of pajamas and suits in varying degrees depending on who has what to do that morning. The fainting thing is not cool but he considers this to be a good trade.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #savannah hayes #hank morgan #jack hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia #spencer reid #jennifer jareau

63 notes · View notes

literate-lamb · 3 years

Text

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises.

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store.

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night.

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him.

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.”

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops.

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches.

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair.

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date.

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say.

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it.

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days.

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?”

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things.

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour.

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby.

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane.

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka.

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling.

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled.

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago.

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster.

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you.

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.”

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?”

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers.

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors.

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand.

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore.

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms.

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third.

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?”

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar.

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt.

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world.

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two.

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

“Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry.

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know.

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in.

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.”

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire.

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.”

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers.

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.”

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.”

“The 16th.” Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence.

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back.

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed.

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.”

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running.

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately.

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?”

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.”

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt.

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand…

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this.

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end.

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive.

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.”

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—”

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room.

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains.

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his.

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his.

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed.

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red.

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds.

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala.

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it.

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you.

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it.

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived.

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself.

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America.

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar.

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said.

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access.

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter.

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes.

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment.

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication.

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #fluff #angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #happyhoelentinesday2021

251 notes · View notes

mochibrokenheart · 3 years

Text

SVSSS: Guardian of the Museum

Mobei Jun x Shang Qinghua

Word Count: 2,756

Summary: Of course there's ominous growling and destruction to the building on Shang Qinghua's first night as a museum curator. Of course there is! Besides being desperate to keep the job, he's not sure what possesses him to actually walk toward the dangerous situation. His survival instincts were better trained that! Except...wait a minute...the terrifying creature causing all the ruckus is actually the hottest thing he's ever seen???

My first contribution for Moshang Monsterfucking Month (and my first fic for the fandom in general!) Heavy on the monster part as the nsfw is not explicit. Who knew that it would be hard to write something short. Inspired by the Day 2 prompt: horny.

Also posted on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34305571

A nearby bell tolled at midnight just as Shang Qinghua locked up the museum for the night, which meant that he was officially off for the weekend. Being a party of one, he celebrated with a groovy victory dance while turning the key over in the lock.

There was a little click and he rattled the knob, checking that the door was properly locked—if anything was stolen or vandalized during the night, he would most definitely be blamed as the recent hire!

The job was an important stepping stone in his career path plan to being a rare artifacts curator. He really needed the experience. It was hard enough to land the job, so he wasn’t above looking neurotic by double, and triple, and quadruple checking everything before he left.

A chilly breeze tussled his hair and raised goosebumps down his neck. It was October, he supposed while drawing up his hood to block the chill, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to complain.

He was much to delicate for cold temperatures and would exercise his right to curse out the changing seasons. Of course, he could move somewhere further south, so that he wouldn’t have to put up with it anymore, but still!

The only good thing about the loss of summer was the bugs, he decided.

Clearly, Shang Qinghua was irresistible because bugs treated his blood like an all-you-can buffet. If only hot men thought the same. But alas.

Sighing, he turned up to admire the full moon, who seemed to sympathize with the sad state of his romantic affairs, being the moon and all. Something about it’s pale gray-white color naturally emoted a sad, longing reflection.

It was as he was looking up that he heard a growl, loud not because of its pitch—it was actually quite low and gravelly—but because it vibrated the very air around him.

Shit. Shit. He wasn’t equipped to deal with some beast! He had no weapons and there was no way his body was going to get the job done either. He was a delicate flower, just ask the bugs who always feasted on him!

He rummaged through his bag frantically for his phone. That was what the authorities were for.

Opening his phone, his mind was racing. Who did you call when there was a potentially wild animal on the loose? The police? Animal control?

Gasp! What if it turned out to be a demon?

…!!!

He didn’t have any shamans or priests on speed dial. There had never been a reason to until then but if it would save him, he’d buy up every type of religious necklace he could and wear them around his neck daily. It was like insurance—it never hurt to cover all of his bases.

While he was wasting time on the sidewalk, what appeared to be small bits of gravel drifted down from what seemed like the roof. Scurrying to get closer to the streetlight, which casted a circular light on the steps of the museum, Shang Qinghua bent down to get a closer look.

It felt dusty when he rubbed his pointer finger against his thumb and did match the shade of stone the building was…The new evidence presented a bit of dilemma. Yes, he was still itching to call somebody have them do the dangerous work, but at the same time, his boss might fire him if something happened to the museum under his watch.

“Well, if there’s more damage, I guess I’ll take a look,” he muttered. He clasped his hands together. “But please, take mercy on me, moon! I promise that if you get me out of this that my next erotica will be dedicated solely to you, and in very large print, so that my readers know the reach of your mystical power!”

His hands remained clasped high above his head as he waited. So far so good.

There was still the scary growls, of course, but those didn’t count because he wasn’t going to investigate that. It was absolutely common knowledge that people who investigated weird sounds always ended up dead, at least in horror movies, and that was all the proof he needed to wash his hands of it.

No, the only thing that could sway him from his crouch on the front steps was…was…

Tears shimmered in his eyes as more rubble was knocked off from the roof, the fine particles irritating his nose and causing him to sneeze.

Thoroughly betrayed, he used his sleeve to wipe at his nose. Forget the moon. Clearly the bond he felt had only been one-sided, and now he was obligated to actually suck it up and put himself in harms way.

The Shang Qinghua of five minutes ago would’ve screamed and called himself a fool. Why ignore those highly honed flight instincts?! Even the Shang Qinghua of the present was screaming and calling himself a fool when he took the first hesitant step inside.

It was deceptively quiet in the stairwell but that wasn’t enough to calm him. As the saying went, it was the calm before the shit storm and he was about to be right in the middle of it. How careless of him.

Just in case this was the end, he started to draft an epitaph—it’s not like anyone else would put in the same amount of effort.

His minor following would be too busy wailing about the permanent book hiatus; his boss would have their hands full dealing with insurance over the architectural damage; and that hot-and-cold cucumber bro of his would still be nagging him in the afterlife, criticizing him for his stupid plan when it ‘clearly would’ve been better to do such and such’. But back to him.

We are gathered here to mourn the passing of one Shang Qinghua, a bright hamster that was taken from Earth far too soon. His exhibit work was flawless, his knack for collections cataloging unrivaled. There was never a day without bountiful office supplies with him around. We thank him for his singular brave—foolish?—sacrifice in the name of historical value. Shang Qinghua is survived by several dying houseplants and the stray dog he usually fed on his way home from work.

There. That sounded as good as he was likely to get. Wait. No. He almost left out the most important part: the secret letter of last words meant only for cucumber bro’s eyes. Bro, if you’re reading this it’s because I died a terrible and scary death. Please take pity and wipe all of my search history. It was all for research, honest! It’s bad taste to judge a dead man.

The access door to the roof was large and imposing in front of him, even though there was still no noise coming from the other side. He was going to be mad and then relieved, in that exact order, if this turned out to be nothing.

He inhaled. Exhaled. Jumped around and shook his hands where they hung down beside the length of his body. He’d watched enough athletes—for research!—throughout his short life and getting loose always seemed to pump them up for competition. The same principle should apply here.

The door gave with a loud screech and he suspected that it wasn’t in regular use. Not that there was probably much to see up there anyway. Just roosting pigeons, stone slabs, and—

His mind went blank.

Crouching in the corner, so close to the edge that all it would take was a gust of wind to send him tumbling down, was some sort of winged creature. And the wings were massive things that arched up before curving downward completely over it’s back, the tips draped on the ground. Judging by how large they were, they had to be functional, which nearly caused him to wet himself.

He didn’t want to imagine that thing taking flight after him. Not that he would be exciting prey. Gods, this probably how a mouse felt when a hawk was flying overhead.

But it was the horns that really caught his attention. They were hulking black spirals and the sharp points were pointed right at him. Even in the poor light, it was obvious that they were pure black. Any other time, he might comment on how cool they actually were, how they were a cosplayer’s dream, but it wasn’t cool when it was a matter of life and death.

And he would most certainly die if those menacing horns and wings were any indication.

Trying to keep the element of surprise, he slowly let the door swing shut. Until a little bat started flew over squeaking, which caused him to squeak as well. The door hit the frame with a loud rattle. His body went heavy with fear and his eyes snapped shut, a natural prey response. He had never, ever been this scared.

Not patient enough for Shang Qinghua to turn around on his own, the creature flung him around to face it with an aggressive growl. And he had thought it was loud when he was on the sidewalk. Which wasn’t true at all. It was much louder and more intimidating when it was right in his face.

“Trespasser!” it growled, teeth clicking.

…Okay, so it could talk. Maybe this was a good thing. Now could grovel with it to spare him!

Blinking rapidly, he opened his eyes and looked up, up, up. It didn’t look as horrific from the front as it did the back. In fact, it had a humanoid appearance and was distinctly male. He was the hottest thing he’d ever seen, a total fantasy come to life. How the hell was he real?

His was incredibly tall, his huge wings proportional to his size now that he was standing up. Now that he saw them up close, Shang Qinghua noticed that they were a beautiful shade of blue that started out dark but lightened to pale blue once it reached the tips, which also had sharp spikes—Nails? Claws? He wasn’t well versed in anatomy—attached.

The top of his ears were pointy, too, just like the tops of the wings. Oh, and the horns! There were two of them, both pure, glossy obsidian, that sprouted out on either side of his temple, the bases thick and ridged as they spiraled like a ram’s. The only difference was that his horns were much larger. He could maul someone with those along if he wasn’t careful.

But now that he considered it more—even in times of crisis, he could multi-task when it really counted—the horns only added more to his attractiveness. They were intimating, sure, but also sexy, in a monsterfucking type of way. He gasped as a clawed hand wrapped around his throat. Yep, he could definitely get into the horns and claws. Mark him down as scared and horny.

The growling died down but sharp teeth were still on display, and there was a stylized tattoo-looking mark on his forehead. Despite the snarl, Shang Qinghua instinctively knew that his face was insanely attractive; it had to be to match the rest of him. Speaking of the rest of him…

He dropped down in front of him, making sure to drag his hands down that ripped physique and gave his massive pectorals a quick squeeze before he landed on his knees in a kneeling position.

His face was right in front of the creature’s impressive package, covered only by a flimsy loin cloth. It fluttered in the night breeze and he had to bite down on his finger to stop his depraved moaning. “Ff-forgive me, my good-demon-sir, but I swear I’m not trespassing. I’m a humble worker here at this museum.”

He quickly took out his employee badge to offer it up to the demon who barely gave it a glance. “Gargoyle,” it said in reply.

“Oh. I’m sorry but I don’t really know what you mean by that.” Wait, why did he say that? He didn’t want to get further in the demon’s bad side than he already was! “I mean no offense, of course. I’m sure gargoyles are absolutely lovely—”

“No,” he interrupted, his face smoothed out into blank slate. It made it harder to read him but Shang Qinghua quickly decided that it was alright. “I am a gargoyle, human. You may address me as Mobei Jun.”

Ohhh. Now that he mentioned it, his wings and horns could belong to a gargoyle. He knew that they were popular parts historical buildings that had a strong Western influence, which the museum did.

“And I am a king. Not a sir.”

Curse his authority kink. He was sure that any new fantasies he conjured up would be staring this particular king and Shang Qinghua as his servant.

“Of course, my king! You’re reeking of kingly handsomeness. As a lowly human, my apologies for the obvious mistake.” The gargoyle king didn’t make any move to acknowledge his words other than a slow blink, so he figured that it was all good. “Excuse me if this sounds rude, but what are you doing up here? And what was all the noise about?”

“Guardian. I was charged with the safety of this place by a war lord.” Jeez. So he’d been with the building for centuries at least, maybe even millennia.

There was a pause and he realized that he wasn’t going to answer the second question. It also seemed like the gargoyle king was waiting on him and a light bulb went off. “S-sorry again my king. I am Shang Qinghua. I am in charge of the rare artifacts inside of the building, so you may see me closing up most nights.”

The gargoyle king nodded sagely and he figured that the role must be acceptable to him. A loud sigh left him and his muscles relaxed just in the slightest way. He might survive this encounter yet. Ever better, survive and be able to go home and break out that new bottle of lube that he bought last week. There was plenty of new material to work with, that was for sure.

Then the gargoyle stepped back, giving him more space, which was actually the opposite of what he wanted. Feel free to punish him for earlier transgressions, king, especially if they were rough in a sexy way!

Unaware of his inner pleadings, he continued walking away to crouch back near the edge of the roof.

“Umm, be careful, king. It’s dangerous to be that close—”

“I am a king. Concerns such as that are not applicable,” he said, puffing up his chest. Those pecs! He might have to put in a request tomorrow to do more work on the roof. It was a crime that no one was admiring that body on a regular basis. “Leave. Return home. The circles under your eyes are hideous.”

He gasped, touching his bags. Rude! He had just finished a long shift and definitely wasn’t at his best. He was going to have to step up his game if he was going to tempt this gargoyle in the future. Trying his best not to show embarrassment, or disappointment, he agreed to leave.

“Whatever you want, my king. I’ll leave for now but if you need anything, I’ll be back tomorrow and the day after as well. In fact, every night, in case you need me.” Screw his weekend off. Who needed one of those when there was a hot gargoyle of legend serving as the guardian of the museum. Not him, that’s who.

He scrambled to his feet and bowed again for good measure. The door was open and he was across the threshold when his dream gargoyle muttered something. “Did you say something, my king?”

He cleared his throat and spoke gruffly. “The pigeons pooped in my hair.”

Suddenly, the growling from earlier made sense. No matter if you were human or gargoyle, having birds shit in your hair, especially hair as luscious as Mobei Jun’s, was bound to make anyone furious.

Determined to keep his laughs to himself if it was the last thing he did, he merely replied, “Yes, my king. I will make sure to chase them away from you next time.”

“See that you do.”

On cloud nine, Shang Qinghua grinned as he bounded down the stairwell. The gargoyle’s comment implied that there would be a next time. And he intended to romance the loincloth off (literally) of the serious gargoyle king.

Hope you all enjoyed! So happy to share this with everyone. Thanks for reading :)

#svsss #svsss fanfic #mobei jun #shang qinghua #moshang

14 notes · View notes

fiddlepickdouglas · 3 years

Text

Viva Las Vegas, Pt. 10 - Clean This Up

Summary: Sunset Curve Alive AU, Willex, who is he really?, 2.9k

@trevor-wilson-covington is the bestie who makes these lovely edits, we stan supportive friends

WARNINGS: abuse, mild violence

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Alex had said to check the diner, so Victoria opted to have dinner there and asked to see the owner. She was aware of the vigilante-style work she was doing, but with everything else going on in her life, this couldn’t possibly hurt any worse. Folding her hands, she breathed calmly as she peeked at the menu. It was important not to act as authoritative as she usually did, she reminded herself. A portly man with short gray hair and a mustache came over and took the seat across from her.

“Hi there,” the man said, shaking Victoria’s hand. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi, I’m Victoria Molina,” she introduced herself. “I was actually trying to find someone and I was told you could help me.”

The man raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, alright. Who are you looking for?”

“I’m looking for a young man of about seventeen, he goes by Willie? I was told he works here. I just have some questions for him. Would he happen to be in at all today?”

“We don’t have anyone named Willie here anymore,” the man told her. “I actually just bought this establishment along with the hotel about two weeks ago and a few of the staff followed the previous owner to a different business. You might want to talk to him instead.”

“Oh,” Victoria sat back in slight disappointment. “I take it you’re not Caleb Covington?”

“No, he’s the guy I bought it from. I’m Frank Wolfe. I can give you his contact information, though.”

Nodding, she smiled politely.

“I would appreciate that. Sorry I had to come bother you, though.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I apologize that I can’t be any more useful. If you like, I can take your order.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll actually have the carne asada.”

“Perfect,” he smiled as he took her menu away. “I’ll have that information for you in just a minute, too.”

Taking a gulp of water, Victoria sighed. It certainly felt just like any regular case. The fact the business had recently changed hands made her want to be suspicious, but she fought to remain level-headed. It was enough that she was going off the word of a teenage boy and an old poster. If it was a dud, if this trip led nowhere, she would buy Carlos a gift and head home safe and sound.

After finishing her meal, she returned to her hotel room and pulled out the business card Frank Wolfe had given her. Something about the dark purple design and the old-fashioned lettering he’d chosen made her feel like Caleb Covington was at least a little pretentious, if not flashy about his business. Picking up the phone and dialing the number, she held her breath waiting for an answer.

“Caleb Covington, who may I be speaking to?” a baritone voice chimed on the other end. The touch of sing-song in his tone was unexpected.

“Hi, my name is Victoria,” she introduced herself for the second time that night. “I was told you were the guardian of a young man named Willie?”

“Are you with social services?” he asked.

She furrowed her brow. “I’m sorry?”

“I usually only get a call when we have a hearing scheduled, but our last one was just a couple months ago.” His tone had gone from happy to serious at such a jarring speed it took Victoria a moment to process his words.

“No,” she said finally. “No, I’m not with them. I didn’t mean to confuse you. I’m actually reaching out on a personal favor. See another young man I know says they met a while back.”

“Oh, is it the band that came through a few weeks ago?” Caleb immediately picked the cheer back up.

“Yes, I’m glad you remember,” she responded, surprised.

“How are those boys doing?”

“Oh, they’re just fine. I think they’re gonna be a success.”

“Good to hear it,” he said. “Listen, no harm done. I own a swanky little club just in the south of town. I would be delighted if you gave me a visit, and I’d be happy to chat.”

“Sounds great, thank you,” Victoria smiled, unable to believe how easy that felt. “I can stop by tomorrow evening.”

“Wonderful. If it isn’t too much, I’ll make you a reservation.”

“Well, I can’t say no to such generosity!” It had been a long time since Victoria had gone on a night out. This was a much needed vacation, and if it killed two birds with one stone, all the better. She said goodbye and decided since she was practically getting everything she needed at the club, the rest of the day would be spent treating herself for once.

Willie skateboarded up the driveway and only just remembered Caleb’s rule about the pool in time to hop off before pulling off his helmet and going around the back. He took the back route into the house and dropped a number of grocery bags on the counter. One of these days he would age out of the foster system and not spend the morning being Caleb’s errand boy, but for now he just laid Caleb’s credit card on the table and went outside toward his shed.

Opening the door, he saw Caleb standing in the middle of the room, looking around at all of his drawings. Paper covered most of the walls now. Faces with no names to them, locations with no map to their destination - only snippets of a past life. Willie couldn’t stop drawing them. There still weren’t many memories returning to him, but any detail was an important one. He hadn’t drawn this much in ages, since before he found Sheldon. The backwards dream had become a recurring one by now, and there was still very little that he understood about it. Still, he had so many scenes made out of it that he could almost recreate the dream in a very rough animation.

“Hi C-Caleb,” Willie stammered. This never happened. It made him immediately nervous.

“What a collection, William,” Caleb said, not exactly sounding like an awed patron in a museum. “I mean, the sheer volume of work that went into these is absolutely mind-blowing.”

A small pebble of pride rose in Willie’s chest.

“Really?.... Um, thank you.” He couldn’t suppress his smile.

Caleb held up a hand and looked down at his well-manicured nails, and then back up.

“I just don’t understand why I look so hostile in this one,” he said, pointing to the picture in question. “And that one. And all of these in this corner.” His gaze returned to Willie with unprecedented menace.

Willie immediately shrank away, his mouth gaping open.

“Well...I..they’re from a dream.”

“A dream?” Caleb repeated, not liking what he was hearing.

“Yeah, I think it was a memory.”

Willie watched the man straighten his posture, a calculating expression on his face.

“Are these all memories?” Caleb asked after a tense moment, casting his eyes about the room.

“I think so,” Willie said hesitantly.

Caleb lifted a hand and grabbed the bottom of one. It was the first one WIllie had done of his dad sitting inside the truck and smiling at him.

“Hm,” was all that he said for a second.

And then he tore it in half.

Willie made toward the picture in alarm, feeling a part of him inside being torn just the same, but was stopped as Caleb held a hand out.

“Ah ah,” he said. “What have I told you about becoming your own person regardless of the past?” He took a handful of another drawing and ripped that one too.

Ignoring what Caleb said, Willie lunged forward to try stopping him anyway. Caleb was faster, grabbing his shirt and tossing him backward into the wall. He couldn’t help but begin crying.

“But these are my memories, why would you - ” he sputtered, lost for words.

“Because, William,” Caleb continued loudly, pulling as many as he could off the wall and shredding them into smaller pieces. “Your history? The one full of loss and being shuffled here and there? That is all that awaits you. You know it’s the truth; that’s how you ended up here. I offer you the opportunity to become a new person, and I can’t allow you to spoil yourself with reminders. And besides, those little friends you not-so-secretly made a few weeks ago have started snooping around in my business, and I can’t have that.”

He didn’t even pick anything up, he just left paper strewn all over the floor and walked all over it. As he made for the last wall, Willie made one more attempt to overpower him. He leapt onto Caleb’s shoulders and tried to pull him back with all his weight. A fist landed in his eye and he slacked his grip. Caleb wrestled him onto the bed and held him down, a crazed look in his eye that Willie swore he’d never seen no matter how familiar it felt.

“I don’t understand, what do they have to do with it? Why can’t I have friends?”

“I’m doing this for your own good,” Caleb hissed at him. “You” - he reached up and touched the scar on Willie’s head with his finger - “You got a reboot and you know how many people are lucky enough for that? You should thank me. Unfortunately, you can’t have friends when they send someone asking me questions about that little past of yours. That’s just asking for trouble.”

All Willie could do was hold his eye and lay back as Caleb tore up the last of the drawings. Once he finished, Caleb patted himself off and made his way out the door.

“Clean this up,” he told Willie. “And don’t bother doing any more art.”

As the door shut behind him, Willie scrambled onto the floor to search for just one of the drawings. Shuffling through smudged pieces of paper, he saw a few tears drop onto his ruined work. Eventually, he held the picture of his father in two pieces in his hands. Sobbing, he tried to hold them together evenly, but Caleb’s work had made that hard to do. His only hope was to try drawing it again, but he was already terrified of what Caleb’s reaction to that would be if his first one had been this.

A piece of another drawing caught Willie’s eye from underneath. He recognized Caleb’s snarling face from the dream and was surprised at how well it captured what he’d just witnessed. His mind went back to the way he knew the look in Caleb’s eyes. Suddenly, the awful realization dawned on him: he finally understood the dream.

Victoria walked into the club that evening, glad she had taken the time to look and feel fresh. This place was clearly up to snuff and then some. A live band played with dancers scattered throughout, all in bright, sparkly, feathery getup. A tall man with neatly styled dark hair was mesmerizing the crowd as he sang, keeping the energy high. As she was led to a table, Victoria simply sat and watched, greatly impressed with the talent.

Once the man’s solo finished, he bowed, gestured at the band to play on without him, and exited the stage. To Victoria’s surprise, he took the seat directly across from her.

“Ms. Victoria, you look so lovely, how are we this evening?” he asked with a charming smile. “I’m Caleb Covington.”

“Are you kidding me?” she started. ��That was you up there? You’re a man of many talents; I’m already dazzled.”

“Oh, well, I hope that remains a constant while you’re here,” he said. "But you came to ask me about some other things, what were they?”

“Yes, I had some questions about Willie.”

Willie sat outside the bodega, unwilling to move for a while. He felt like everything inside of him was empty, as if Caleb had possessed claws and dug everything out until he was left hollow. The many ideas that had risen in his mind in the past few hours were all too much, all at once. If he dared, was he sure he could handle everything that might come his way? Every time he’d heard that ridiculous speech about starting over, becoming his own, yada-yada, he hadn’t considered any of the options he was now contemplating.

He’d already done some things. Already bought some things. Now he got up to collect Sheldon and held him tightly as he nodded to Escobar, who saluted him back. The man had said he didn’t want a dramatic thank you. Stuffing the items he purchased in his bag, he kept a hold of Sheldon as he skated off into the darkness.

“So, you see, Willie isn’t missing. He was abandoned,” Caleb was saying to Victoria. “Poor thing has struggled to adjust. I’ve dealt with some handfuls in the past, but I really have been doing the most for him, and he’s been with me for more than three years. I think it’s really sweet of those boys to raise a concern, and I hate to be a dead end, but that’s the truth of it.”

Victoria sat, nodding in acceptance.

“That makes a lot of sense, Mr. Covington, thank you for providing that for me.”

“Oh, call me Caleb. We’re all friends in here.”

“Okay, then, Caleb,” she corrected. “What got you into foster care?”

He put a hand over his heart and a fond look came over him.

“The youth are just full of so much magic, and I hate to see that their parents have chosen to lay it to waste. I’m the one who takes some of the tougher cases so I can bring out the best in them. You see that young man over there, Dante?” Caleb pointed at one of the dancers. “Classic rebel when he was young. You wouldn’t even know, he’s turned into such a gentleman. There’s a few more here and there in the club. I call them my graduates.”

“Well, I will tell you,” Victoria said. “When I first talked to you on the phone I wasn’t expecting you to be so generous. But now I can see that it’s just how you are.”

Caleb shot her a playful smile.

“Victoria, no need to butter me up. I do have some tight business practices to keep up.”

Fluid poured over every inch of the shed. Willie had made sure it was more than enough to get things going. He’d made sure to get the essentials: food for himself and Sheldon, a few changes of clothes, and a stash of money he’d taken from the safe in Caleb’s bedroom. The man shouldn’t have given him the combination in the first place.

Stepping out of the shed he looked at it one last time. What a sad, lousy existence. Living to perform for this man who shut him up inside this little thing and he had actually called it home? The further he was into his plan, the bolder he began to feel. He remembered when he had missed getting into the Pearl and that feeling of wrongness that had made him so frustrated. This feeling he had right now? It was so right. It was so right it drowned out anything scary about this whole idea.

He looked back at where he had put Sheldon on a small leash and tied him along the fence around Caleb’s backyard. It was definitely a safe distance. Then Willie pulled a box of matches out of his pocket, lit one, and looked at the flame for a minute. He held it just over the threshold of the doorway so it would land inside. It was so weak, like he had been ever since his accident. But he knew it was going to become so powerful, and he desperately hoped that he could retain some of that power for himself.

“Clean this up, Caleb,” he said, and he let his fingers go.

Victoria had stayed just a little longer to enjoy more food and music before standing up and heading toward the door. Caleb saw her on her way out and made her stop for a moment.

“It’s been a lovely night, and I’m grateful for everything you told me,” she said to him.

“Well I’m glad you took the opportunity to see what I have here,” he replied. “If you’re ever in the city again, please stop by. We’re always partying and putting on the best show.”

“Oh, I most certainly will,” she said, smiling as she made her way outside.

Someone tapped on Caleb’s shoulder from behind. Wordlessly, he turned to see who it was and why it was important.

“Sir,” one of his servers said. “You have a phone call. It’s the fire department.”

“What?” Caleb spat as he went to pick it up.

Willie sped along on his board the best that he could with Sheldon in his arms. He carefully made it down the ramp onto the freeway, controlling his speed as well as he could. He could picture Caleb now, just getting back to his home, eyes wide as he came upon the blaze. It was a very strange feeling, but right now Willie chose to focus on his newfound freedom. The cost wasn’t the matter right now. Freedom was all that was going to take him and his cat as far as they could go. The destination for now was Los Angeles.

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #fanfic #jatp fanfic #willex #alive au #alex mercer #willie #luke patterson #reggie peters #bobby wilson #aunt victoria #caleb covington #tw abuse #tw mild violence #viva las vegas #clean this up #fiddlepickdouglas

22 notes · View notes

rowdyravens · 3 years

Text

Meet my apprentice!

I warned you I would soon infodump about my apprentice so here they are

this is going to be a pretty long post so info under the cut

I pretty much lifted this whole character sheet from pinterest with some added categories so if you want a blank for yourself you can find it here

Full name: Alas Jóhannesson Nicknames/ Aliases: Alas, the apprentice, little rabbit (only by his mother) Pronouns: He/ They Sexuality: bisexual Alignment: Neutral good Enneagram: 6 MBTI: INFJ-T Favorite food: Saffron risotto Favorite drink: Cherry kirsch Favorite flower: Edelweiss

Likes: Watching others enjoying themselves, taking care of others, animals, babies, cozy fireplaces, fall, giving gifts, spending time with friends, long journeys, pretty rocks and crystals, pressed flowers, handmade gifts, research deep dives, silly mugs, art museums, cafes, old book smell, writing with a new pen, caffeine, white wine, baking, over-planning, dark nail polish, barely-there makeup, handwritten notes, vacations, exploring, watercoloring Dislikes: the bitter cold, heavy snow, unsure plans, others being upset, violence, being unable to help, people who are mean for no reason, people who mistreat animals and children, homelessness, being sick, taxes, swimming, Lucio

Birthday: Dec 7 Age: 25 Zodiac: Sagittarius Height: 5'5" Body type: lanky but slightly muscular from working outside Eye color: grey-blue Hair color and style: wavy, black, shoulder length, usually in a low ponytail or braid Defining features: very pale, freckle under left eye, both ears pierced. Walks with a walking stick that they enchanted with a balancing spell. Personality: Reserved and stoic around strangers. Can come across as rude and aloof. Genuinely kind and nurturing towards loved ones. Dry sense of humor. Lets loose and has fun around friends. Designated driver friend. Languages spoken: At least 2, can carry a simple conversation with Julian and Mazalinka so maybe 3 Hobbies: Reading and drawing. Goes on long walks with Bear when he needs to think. Draws strangers and loved ones when they aren't aware. Quirks and habits: Serial lip biter. Runs his hands through his hair, braids and unbraids it when thinking deeply. Doodles on margins of important papers.

Sidenote for this part: I know there isnt an official world map so I used this map found on the wiki for my geography Place they grew up: South of Hjalle in a shepherding village at the foothills of the Southern Spines. Lived with their mother and father herding sheep and goats until 17 when they left for Vesuvia to pursue magic.

Post-Upright end: Travelled with Julian and Portia for a year and a half. They returned to the mountains to meet Alas's parents and stayed in the village for two or three months. His parents nagged them about when the wedding was the whole time. Returned to Vesuvia and now owns the shop/clinic with Julian.

Favorite memory: Shortly before leaving for Vesuvia they discovered an elkhound puppy living among the sheep. The sheep thought he was a lamb and had adopted him. Alas brought him home and named him bear. They are now inseparable. How this affected them: Bear is his familiar and occasionally acts as a service animal. Worst memory: When he was a teen he had a rebellious phase after discovering his magic. After a fight with their parents they left the village in the middle of the night during a terrible snowstorm to reach out to their magic. He fell down a cliff and landed in a snowdrift, breaking his right leg. They stayed there and nearly froze to death while Bear went back to the village to get help. After this their parents decided sending them to Vesuvia to practice magic would be safer. How this affected them: Walks with a walking stick after he broke his leg. Enchanted with a balancing spell. Unable to run long distances without pain. When it gets cold his knee hurts. Has nightmares of being stuck in the snow.

Dreams/goals: Pretty much accomplished everything they wanted by moving to Vesuvia, owning a shop, and living with the love of his life Fears: Losing his loved ones, heights, dying alone, bad snow storms. Strengths/virtues: Generous to a fault. Anyone is allowed to crash on the couch no questions asked. Gives random gifts all the time. Very dry, sarcastic sense of humor. Gets along really well with children and the elderly. Weaknesses/flaws: Extremely clumsy. Overworker. Has to be dragged from their work at the shop. Hyper critical of himmself. Impatient, gets overly excited about things to come and wants them to happen now. Can be a little demanding. Sometimes forgets others don't tend to overwork themselves like he does. Sometimes sarcasm can bite a little too much.

Secrets: Still has a little crush on Asra and doesn't know how to tell Julian (spoiler: he would be more than okay with it)

#the arcana oc #the arcana apprentice #apprentice alas

33 notes · View notes

snowdice · 4 years

Text

Folds in Paper (Chapter 4: Before All the Paperwork Got Signed)[Folds in Time Universe]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Janus/Patton, Remus & Roman, eventual Logan/Virgil (maybe more)

Characters:

Main: Janus, Patton, Remus

Appear: Remy, Emile, Virgil, Logan, Roman

Summary: Janus, a disillusioned senior agent working for the Time Preservation Initiative, struggles to find meaning in a world where time travel could change everything about your life’s history in less than a moment. When time distortions start popping up, threatening the timeline and the fabric of reality as he knows it, it becomes a race against the clock to fix the damage before everything unravels. And the problem with time travel… you never how long you have before the clock strikes 12 and your time is up.

With a partner who has more mysteries in his past than Janus had anticipated and an enigmatic free agent time traveler mucking about time always with a clever pun or a time appropriate pet name on his lips, Janus will need to figure out what went wrong with time, and more importantly, how to fix it.

Chapter Summary:

I can draw a straight line Through my mind Right back to the good times Back when all the stars were aligned Before all the paperwork got signed

Notes: Time travel AU, mystery, enemies to lovers, alcohol

This is a fic I’ve been writing on study breaks that you have probably all already seen at this point. I’ve slightly edited it for wording and grammar, but not for content from my previous posts. Feel free to send in asks to direct it because I’m not 100% sure where this is going and you can help decide if you feel so inclined! You can see the process I went through to build this at this link.

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted).

AO3 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Janus was frozen in surprise for a few long moments after Pat disappeared. Which had been, admittedly, his mistake, because, while their window had technically been until 11:17pm and it was only 11:10, the loud crack that whatever Pat had been using for time travel made, garnered the attention of someone else.

“Uh oh,” Remus said, likely hearing footsteps. “Hide.”

That snapped Janus into action, but instead of hiding immediately like a sensible human being, he chose to go for the only link to the man who’d just stolen time travel tech and waltzed away: the mask.

Which… was why he ended up getting arrested.

Remy tsked the moment they were all alone in the police car having come to ‘transfer Lee to another facility.’ Remus was already waiting in the front seat, and flashed Janus a smug smile. If Janus wasn’t still handcuffed, he’d slap him.

“Well,” Remy said. “At least you didn’t shoot anybody like I asked. I was joking by the way. I didn’t really want to pick you up from a 1920s police station period.”

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mmm, nah, ‘cause Remus managed to not get arrested this time, so you defiantly screwed something up.”

“Oh, he defiantly wanted to screw something all right,” Remus said joyfully.

“Remus,” Janus hissed.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not the horny one for once. Well, no, that’s a lie, but it didn’t affect the job this time.”

Janus groaned and leaned his head back against the seat.

Remy pulled into a seemingly random garage around 20 minutes later. “Alright,” he said. “Here we are.” He got out of the car and then helped Janus out before uncuffing him. “Here’s your ‘watch,’” Remy handed him the timepiece that had been confiscated when he’d been arrested.

Janus put it on and activated it. “Shit,” he said.

“What?” Remus asked.

“An appointment with cultural outreach has already been downloaded to my calendar for once we get out of decon.”

“Oof. Going to baby jail,” Remy laughed. Remus was cackling.

“This,” Janus said, “was not a cultural faux pas. I did nothing that indicated that I was not from this time. I am not some rookie.”

“Don’t forget cell phones don’t exist in the 1920s,” Remus sang.

“The real question is whether or not my foot exists in your…” Remus disappeared before he could finish, a smirk on his face. Janus growled. “By Remy,” he gritted out. He selected the decontamination chamber from his queue, ignoring the appointment that came after it for now.

He knew exactly where Remus would be standing when he landed, which was why he stepped forward on reentry to ram into him.

He yelped in surprise. “Sorry,” Janus said pleasantly. “I must have also forgotten landing procedures.

Remus laughed good naturally. “Aw, come on Jay,” he said, bumping Janus back, albeit much gentler than Janus had been. “It’s not a big deal. You just go talk with some crusty old college professor who is far too interested in spoons or something than can be healthy and then everything’s fine.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” he growled. “They’re treating me like I’m an idiot who accidently invented disco in the 1920s when I was conned by some free agent time traveler.”

“‘Conned,’ Remus said. Is that what they’re calling it now?”

“I know where and when you live Remus,” Janus said.

Remus gave him a dopey smile as the decontamination cycle finished and the door unlocked. Janus’s wrist buzzed telling him that the coordinates to the cultural outreach office were now unlocked. Instead of pulling them up, Janus walked to the door.

“Um,” Remus said, following him. “Aren’t you supposed to be going to your appointment?” Janus just kept walking towards their office. “Uh… Jan?”

“It’s absolutely ridiculous that I have to go to Cultural Outreach,” Janus said. “In fact, no one can make me. If they want me to go have a discussion about the definition of ‘bushwa,’ they’re going to have to have me dragged there.”

“Mmm, I feel like The Boss won’t be too happy about that, and I have a feeling she’d be 100% down to dragging you there herself.”

“Well, then, let her,” Janus said, stalking through the door to his office. “I’m not going to…”

“Ah, Agent Picani,” the woman standing next to his desk, clearly waiting for him, said when he came through the door. “Dr. Picani was informed that there were complications with your last mission and wishes to have a conversation with you. He asks that you meet him in his office at the AMO.”

“Oh, um,” Janus said, stumbling a bit before plastering on a regretful half smile. “Unfortunately, I actually have an appointment right now at Cultural Outreach. It’s mandatory and very important, and I have to go now. So, I’ll have to take a raincheck on that.”

“But-” she started, frowning.

“Remus, work on the report!” Janus said quickly as he waved his hand to bring up his timepiece display and jammed his finger at the glowing appointment card in his queue. A few moments later, Janus was at Cultural Outreach.

Cultural Outreach was not part of the TPI, though it often worked very closely with them. It was a collaboration between the government and multiple universities to help government workers, politicians, and other citizens understand and bridge cultural gaps. It had existed before time travel was invented but had expanded to also teach people who needed to time travel how to behave in unfamiliar times and cultures.

After it had to be expanded to provide for the TPI, it had been moved to Silver Mountains University. The building had once just been a museum, but it had been thoroughly renovated and there had been add-ons for office space and some classrooms. It was still a museum, however, its purpose had expanded greatly and there were many areas that were off limits to the general public.

One of these areas was the fourth floor, where Janus’s timepiece had dumped him. This was the floor that was almost exclusively for TPI agents and the staff of Cultural Outreach who worked with them.

He immediately turned away from the reception area, hoping that he could escape and go sit on the university’s quad or something of the like for the next hour or so in hopes the woman his brother sent to fetch him would give up and go back to the AMO. Yet, the receptionist apparently saw him.

“Janus Picani?” he asked.

Janus grimaced and turned back towards him. “Yes,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “You’re 5 minutes late for your appointment and seem disoriented.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Is your timepiece malfunctioning?”

“No.”

“Uh… okay. Well, if you sign in here, I can take you to your appointment.”

“…Fine.”

He begrudgingly stepped forward and touched the screen the receptionist gestured to for him sign with his fingerprint, and then let the man lead him down the hall.

The door they stopped at was propped open slightly, but he still paused and knocked. “Professor Eran? Your 2:30 is here.”

Janus had just a moment upon hearing the name to think that maybe there was actually some sort of intelligent design of the universe and whatever being of ultimate power had crafted it was a dick.

The door opened and Virgil Eran’s eyes immediately narrowed on him. “Janus.”

“Virgil.”

“I see you’re still late for everything.”

“I see you’re still a bastard.” Janus saw the receptionist slowly back away in the direction they’d come.

“Why don’t you come in?” Virgil said faux pleasantly.

Janus did, because he really didn’t have much of a choice at this point unless he wanted to jump out of a window… or push someone out of a window.

Virgil turned back into his office and took a seat behind his desk. Janus unhappily followed him in and sat across from him.

He took his time pulling up whatever the TPI sent him and reading it over. “So, I see you failed your recovery mission and were arrested in 1923.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Janus said. “I shouldn’t be here.”

Virgil gave him that same suspicious look he used to give Janus whenever Janus claimed to have not eaten his hot pockets out of the freezer in the middle of the night. He’d only been lying 80% of the time. Virgil had a tendency to forget what he’d eaten in a half-conscious state at 3 o’clock in the morning.

“I shouldn’t,” Janus snapped defensively. “Nothing went wrong with anyone from the time period. An illegal time traveler screwed up the mission details.”

“Well, it is still protocol to make sure nothing slipped when agents go off script. You weren’t prepared to be in a jail cell, and it is possible that you screwed something up.”

“I didn’t screw anything up,” Janus growled.

“Alright,” Virgil said, pulling up a document on his desk. “The mission started on July 27th, 1923 at 9:58pm, correct?”

“Oh, god, we’re not really going to fill out a time sheet? I don’t have time for that today.”

“It is protocol and best that the information is documented when it is still fresh in your mind. Besides, your schedule has been cleared for the rest of the workday.” The bastard was enjoying this. He knew how much Janus hated this stuff.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Janus said, “it was the damned illicit time traveler.”

“And I will be the judge of that,” Virgil said. Janus should have just bit the bullet and had coffee with his brother. “If you truly did nothing wrong, your supervisor will see that when I send this to her.”

Yet, despite the fact that Virgil clearly relished in his suffering, he was charitable enough to do most of the actual filling out of the forms. He’d read out the questions and write down what Janus said instead of making him do it himself. Janus really only had to do a quick quality check and sign it at the end.

He still was an asshole about the details, but really he’d been like that about stupid thing like the settings for the dish washer and how the pantry was organized during their college days before they’d had their falling out, so Janus wasn’t particularly surprised. When they were finally done, Virgil sent it off to get filed by the TPI.

Then, they were left staring at each other with nothing between them but almost a decade of radio silence and a whole lot of awkwardness.

“I should go,” Janus finally said, standing up.

Virgil tilted his head slightly to the side and gave him a half smile. “Don’t lock the door behind you,” he said. “Not that I’d expect you too.”

Janus took it for the clear attempt at a joke it was intended to be and puffed out a breath of amusement with a head shake. “No risk of that,” he said. Then, he turned and walked out of the office.

Want to read more? Click below!

AO3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

#sanders sides #janus sanders #patton sanders #remus sanders #moceit #time travel #adriana writes #folds in paper #folds in time universe #remy sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #emile piccani

27 notes · View notes

themadauthorshatter · 4 years

Text

WELCOME BACK ONE AND ALL!

Welcome back to MY take on Toppat!Charles, the series that gives you... angst and cliffhangers in every chapter, just like Game of Thrones😅.

In case you haven't read them yet here are links to the first three parts, which I recommend you read because the brief recaps don't do them justice.

Part 1:

Part 2:

Part 3:

BRIEF RECAP AND HEADCANON TO FOLLOW FOR THE POST TIME!

After his attack on Burt, Charles has caved and is now open to what Right has to say and vice versa. Henry and Gerneral Galeforce, more Galeforce, have been contacted by the Center for Chaos Containment and offered their men for one Henry Stickmin. Ellie has been good emotional support, but Henry goes against Galeforce and Ellie in order to save his friend.

Got that? Great!👍

So what's the headcanon this week? Well, @triple-threat-toppats and @azuri-the-imperfect-artist have AU's/headcanons that Toppat-ing is in Henry's blood, whether that be biological or otherwise, and we'll be meeting a new character this chapter who ties this all together perfectly😈.

We all good? FANTASTIC!

LET'S DIVE IN!!

We pick up where we left off with Henry outside as a receptionist, of sorts, freaks out that he called, telling everyone on the floor and shouting for an official to take the call.

Through this entire exchange, Henry rolls his eyes at how much of a fan boy the receptionist is, groans that no one can find an official at two' in the moring, and eventually takes a seat and listens as a few mid-ranking officials argue about who gets to talk to him; 10.6 anomaly, he's a pretty big deal to them.

They all fall silent when a man shouts, "Hand 'im over to me."

Henry should be scared, but he's glad that FINALLY someone is on the other end to talk to.

"Mr. Stickmin," says the official. "Nice of you to call."

"Who am I speaking with right now?" Henry asks as he stands up, not at all interested in playing games. (The irony that hit me after I typed that🤦‍♀️😂😂)

The official scoffs, "Not one for banter. I respect that. Son, name's Corporal Bill Bullet, leading official of the Center for Chaos Containment. How can we help you at this hour?"

Henry paces as he continues talking. "You talked to General Rupert Galeforce, right?"

"We did, actually. About you, but you probably already guessed that."

Henry looks back at the toppat orbital station, staring at it as he stays silent. Again, he is not in the mood for games.

Bullet sighs on the other end of the phone. "Guess you calling means you've made you're choice?"

Henry is quiet for a second and swallows a lump in his throat. "What happens if I agree to the terms?"

"Take a guess, kid."

Henry sees flashes of his life if he is in the CCC's custody and groans at the migraine said flashes give him.

"You're quite the interesting person, Henry. Robbing a bank with a bag, breaking out of prison by dogding and throwing bullets before stealinga police car, stealing a diamond by pushing yourself off a bridge, taking down the toppats, and escaping a maximum security complex with barely even a scratch."

Henry bites his tongue as he remembers those moments and their alternative paths INCLUDING the fails.

"But you didn't just get a few scratches, you did? 10.6 is a pretty high rating on our meter. Can't imagine what would happen to a person who causes as much chaos as you."

Henry shakes his head and snaps, "Just tell me!"

Bullet is silent once more, disappointed at how he can't at least tease what is essentially a rabbit walking right into an easily seen trap.

"We'll study the source of your... ability. How one person can live one life before jumping to the next, but existing like he did before that life ended.

"You may be a young man, Henry, but you've probably lived longer and died more than the rest of us put together. Why is that? How, excatly?"

Despite the knot forming in his stomach, Henry nods and hums to let Bullet know he's listening.

"There's also a certain balance to the world, one that shouldn't be bothered, 'less we want to cause A LOT of collateral damage. Lead to a lot of people getting hurt, cause a lot of casualties. You already lost one person you care about. What if you lost all of them?"

Henry gulps as he remembers the complex riot and how a robot was sent to tear down the museum he stole the Tunisian Diamond from.

Any of those people could've easily been Ellie or the General or, if he'd gone down the Toppat route, the entire clan.

Bullet may be manipulating emotionally, but he kind of has a point.

The chaos Henry causes is extremely dangerous, if what we've seen in StD, ItA, FtC, and CtM are any examples. Imagine if he had caused that sort of chaos in a major city, like real world New York or Detroit.

I don't know about you guys, but if something like any of the games happened IRL, all caused by Henry, there would easily be cities flattened to the ground with COUNTLESS fatalities.

"Helloooo? You still with me, Mr. Stickmin?"

Henry snaps out of his stupor and takes a deep breath before talking again. "Promise me you'll help. I want your honest word."

"Which I'll stay good on as long ad you keep your end of the bargain," Bullet retorts. "A quarter of our forces at your disposal to help you get your friend back as long as you turn yourself in to our facility. Deal?"

Henry is silent again, but when he speaks again, he tries something:

"Will I still talk to anyone outside? Send them any letters?"

"Not really. Think the government would handle our research well? Or what you can do?

"Last chance, deal or no deal?"

Henry stares up at the sky, counting the stars and moon, and then watches orbital station drift across the sky, covering part of the moon.

"Sir, we have a situation!" Someone yells on the other end.

Bullet does one if those angry growls or snarls. "Don't keep me waiting on your answer, Henry. Our resources are limited, too. Make your decision and call me back the second you do."

"Sir-"

"I'M COMING!"

The call ends and Henry lets out a sigh as he drops to his knees and then hugging them to his chest, shaking and now doubting whether or not he's making the right choice.

Unbeknownst to him, however, Ellie had followed him when he walked out and is struggling very badly with hiding her tears and sobbing from Henry, who is over a few feet away.

JUMP TO SOME FAN SERVICE!!😍🤩

Er, Charles. Jump to Charles. I SAID CHARLES!!!!!

Charles is mostly done showering, mostly because he's done washing and cleaning himself up, even shaving because he looks better without facial hair, and is now simply standing in the shower and letting the water fall on him.

He can't exactly remember how long it's been since he showered last, but he doesn't bother trying to because it only makes him think about how the government destroyers were blown up and anyone who managed to get on the station was killed as a message to the government and Henry and Ellie, and as an example for Charles, in case he gets any ideas.

He keeps thinking about how Henry looked at him before he went unconscious, how Henry did nothing to help him even though HE could've done something. He had before on missions, so what had stopped him then and there?

"I was wondering the same thing," Right says, though Charles doesn't hear him over the water running.

Charles gasps as he slips to the ground and realizes how he's thinking about his friend, forgetting Right was standing on the other side of the wall and curtain to keep an eye on him, just in case.

"N-no," Charles says to who he thinks is himself. "He... He wouldn't just leave me. None of them would."

Right rolls his eyes at this and steps closer to where he's in front of the curtain, though he does grab a towel. "You know, you talk to yourself a lot. 'S kind of freaky."

Charles curls into himself and into the corner of the shower and covers his ears. "Shut up! Just shut up and leave me alone!"

"How long have you been here?" Right asks as he looks up at the ceiling. "And why isn't Henry here to get you out? Aren't you two supposed to be friends?"

"Stop it!" Charles cries, curling into himself further.

Right smirks and decides to twirs the knife. "He helped that Ellie girl, didn't he? When she needed his help? I wonder if what they say is true? Birds of a feather flock together? They're both criminals, so I wouldn't really blame them for teaming up."

"SHUT YOUR STUPID MOUTH!" Charles screams. "YOU'RE WRONG! ALL OF YOU ARE WRONG! HE'S COMING TO SAVE ME, THEY ALL ARE!"

Right's smirk drops and he raises and eyebrow before drawing back the curtain.

Charles flinches back, covering his head and waiting for the strike.

But it never comes.

He looks up at Right, who's standing and giving him a look that says very clearly, 'I'm getting sick of your shit, stop.'

The two stare at each other for a bit, Charles wide eyed and scared before glaring as hard as he can.

Right keeps his bored expression because while he's probably in the best shape he's been in in a WHILE, Charles has lost at least twenty-five pounds and is cowering in the corner of a shower with long hair and clean shaven face; one lesson they teach you: you don't always need a mirror to shave your face.

The two continue their staring contest until Right slings the towel over his shoulder, takes off his top hat, and reaches into the shower with his cybernetic hand and turns off the water, flicking any off his fingers before stepping back and putting his top hat back on, Charles staring the whole time in case Right attacks him.

Right doesn't, of course, and tosses Charles the towel before pointing to a set of clothes hanging behind him and , just something neat but comfortable, not exactly a sweater and sweat pants, but close enough.

He then walks away until he's facing the door, his back to Charles.

"Hurry up and get dressed. Your room's ready."

Charles dries off and does get dressed, but he's careful to not take his eyes off Right.

First this guy got Charles captured and isolated him from everyone else, and now he's letting Charles shower and have his own room?

What's he up to?

Don't worry, he doesn't talk to himself this time.

Charles finishes putting on the clothes Right gave him, and looks at the towel he'd just hung on the hanger that held his clothes. Then he looks at Right, who's back is still turned.

You know EXACTLY where this is going.

Charles takes down the towel, careful that it doesn't hit the wall, and starts twisting it up as he sneaks up to Right, who either looks down at a wrist watch or checks a pocket watch because now he's getting a little bored.

Just as Charles is about to get the jump on him, Right pivots to face him.

"Good. You're done. It took you long enough."

Charles is absolutely speechless as he goes completely pale his face drops.

"Here, let me take that for you." Right pulls the towel out of Charles's hands and unwinds it. "Shouldn't do this to a wet towel. Could get moldy."

Right nods his head as a 'follow me' and leaves the showers.

Charles remains shell shocked for a minute and tries not to burst into tears at how his plan blew up his his face, but ultimately walks after Right, who strides ahead with a smile on his face.

Think Henry got away with that call? Weeeeeeeelll...

CUT TO THE GOVERNMENT

Galeforce SLAMS his hands on his desk, making Henry jump slightly in his chair and Ellie flinch against the wall, her arms crossed and shoulders hunched.

"HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND!? ACCEPTING THE DEAL MADE BY THOSE NUTJOBS!? WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?"

Henry's sign is sloppy and fast, but the general still understands it. 'Wanted Charles safe.'

"So do we, Henry, but not by selling one of our best!"

Henry shakes his head and signs again, this time more clearly. 'You can't make me change my mind.'

Ellie speaks up after being silent for so long: "Henry, think about what you're doing."

'Already did. Made up my mind.'

"Son, it's not worth it."

Those words hit Henry harder than they should, making him grit his teeth.

"Trust me. Those CCC guys are nothing but trouble. We can't accept their help."

Henry shoots up to his feet. "I DON'T CARE!" He screams. "CHARLES IS TRAPPED IN SPACE WITH NO ONE TO HELP HIM AND IT'S MY FAULT HE'S UP THERE TO BEGIN WITH, SO LET ME FIX THIS!"

No one talks as Henry pants, falling back into his chair and holdong his head in his hands, pulling slightly at his hair and shaking.

"It's all I can think of doing. It's our only option. I can't think of anything else."

Ellie and Galeforce exchange glances before turning back to Henry, who leans heavily on one hand or arm as he meets their gaze.

"You're sure you know what you're doing?"

Henry looks at them both for a moment while not speaking before nodding slowly. 'I can't think of anything else. The corporal hung up before I could say yes. Someone talked about a 'situation.''

Ellie and Henry stare at each other, the former more puffy eyed than she was last night because this could very well be the last time she sees her friend.

She doesn't want him to leave, but if it's really his choice, who is she to not support him after all he did to help her?

"When do you-"

'I'm going in to visit later. Called back and told them I'd gove my answer AFTER I talked to someone.'

Both look at him incredulously.

"Talk to who?" Galeforce asks as he turns his head to look at Henry through the corner of his eye.

Henry takes in a deep breath through his nose and holds either of his hands at the top of his head, raising them up and down, gesturing a top hat to them.

BACK TO CHARLES

Right leads Charles to the room and watches him walk inside and look around, almost confused because it's been so so long since he'd last been in a normal bedroom. And because there's a chance this could all be a trick.

"Been a while since you had a decent room. Prob'ly nicer than what you're used to."

Charles takes a seat on the bed and keeps his head down, confused and tired of Right's games.

"You don't really believe Henry's gonna save you, do you? It's been a while since the last destroyer was sent and the government has more pilots. You military people are pretty easy to replace. You are just a pilot, after all."

Charles keeps his head down and lets his hair hang; it's obviously grown longer and Right gave him a razor but no scissors.

"Why are you doing this?" Charles asks. "What do you want from me?"

Right fights a smile and approaches Charles, taking a knee infront of him and waiting for the pilot to acknowledge him, which Charles does by picking up his head and meeting his eyes.

BACK TO THE CCC HEADQUARTERS!!!!!

Henry is being led by four guards and Bill Bullet. He hasn't gotten a lot of sleep, but he's good at not showing it.

"Weird request to visit someone before you make your decision. Usually we don't allow visitors." Bullet turns and sees Henry keeping up behind him, zoning out slightly but snapping out of it when he sees him looking. "You're not as talkative as you were on the phone the other night."

'Only way to contact you,' Henry signs.

Bullet smirks a little bit. "You deaf in one of your ears?"

'If I need to, I'll talk. Otherwise, I'll sign. Now where is he?'

Bullet sighs stops at an acrylic wall, seeing a doctor talking to a man.

Henry bristles slightly before calming himself back down.

"Guessing you two haven't talked in a while. I love reunions."

Henry narrows his eyes at Bill and gestures to the room. 'Private?'

"Enough. Don't worry, we won't listen in." Bill then grabs Henry by his jacket lapel and shoves him against the wall, catching the attention of doctor and occupant. "But I'm warning you right now," Bill growls as he leans close to Henry's face. "Try anything funny while you're in there, and I'll make you regret ever being born."

Henry nods and Bullet backs off him, letting him collect himself as the doctor walks out.

"Sir? He's done with his tests. His vitals and mental state are stable. He's also ready to see his visitor."

Bullet sweeps a gesture to the door. "He's all yours, Mr. Stickmin."

Henry nods and enters the room, his eyes on its occupant.

The two stare at each other for a bit, taking in each other's features.

"Hello, Henry."

The man in this room used to be moderately fit, and a REAL charmer, but years spent in the CCC's facility have taken their toll. He's gotten skinnier, his face is wrinkled and sunken in, and his hair, while it's slightly longer than Henry's, is greying and becoming thin. He doesn't look terrible by any means, but he has definitely seen better days.

He has cybernetics for both his arms and one leg, along his spine, neck to tailbone, and in part of his jaw. Where his left eye used to be, the eyelids are closed and flat; he's not even allowed to have a glass eye.

Being overthrown by Reginald Copperbottom, both literally and figuratively, forever left him with a permanent reminder.

The two stare at each other for a little while longer before Henry replies to the notorious worst leader in the toppat clan's history.

"Hi, Dad."

The two continue staring, Henry shuffling in place and Terrence rubbing his neck.

Henry signs, 'How is it here?'

"A hell hole. Nothing to do, no one to talk to, and you only get something when they say you can. Other than that, it's peachy."

Terrence's eye darts to the guards and Bill before moving back to Henry. "Guess what they said was true. You're actually coming here so you can save your friend."

"Yeah," Henry replies after a second.

I know I'm putting in a lot of pauses, but these two don't even send letters to each other, so sharing a room and having a conversation for them is awkward and extremely uncomfortable.

Back on track, Terrence scoffs at Henry's line of thinking, commenting, "And I thought these doctors were crazy. Let me guess: Reggie decided to take something from you because you took something from him? He always was a child."

'Reginald's been in prison since I arrested him.'

"You arrested him?" Terrence repeats as he stands. "The leader of the toppat clan, the most infamous group of bandits and thieves, and you just turned him in to the government? Why didn't you join him, you would've been perfectly fine!"

'Right hand man has my friend, I need to get him back. That's why I'm here.'

Terrence puts his hands on his face and groans. "No. Do not tell me I'm hearing this." He meets eyes with Henry, who nods with a shrug.

"You broke out of prison with a bar from your own cell, stole a diamond on a scooter, and escaped a maximum security prison, but you arrested the leader of the toppat clan, the son of a bitch of did this to me-" Terrence holds his arms out to gesture to his cybernetic body. "- and gave him to the government, but didn't see his lap dog wanting to settle the score or even the odds with you!?"

'A lot goes through my head on missions, okay!?'

Terrence nods, humming cheekily. "I'll bet. Think it would've gone better if you'd used that gun you had? We both know he wasn't going to do anything."

Henry sees himself charging at Right rather than throwing away his gun, but signs back, 'You don't know what he would've done. You haven't seen him.'

Terrence points to a tv in the corner of the room, one right next to the camera. "Saw how he got an upgrade. You can groom and pamper a dog all you want, its bark will still be worse than it's bite."

Henry spots Bill talking to the guards before waving at him and tapping on his wrist, more specifically on a watch. 'Don't take long.'

"Saw their orbital station, too. Like hell you're getting your friend out of space. And like hell sunglasses over there is gonna let you out of his sight if you're serious about that deal."

Henry looks Terrence directly in the eye and nods. 'I know.'

Terrence's face drops as Henry continues.

'During the mission, I hesitated because I was scared he'd kill Charles, my friend. I helped the government by giving them plans, but nothing worked. This is my last option. You are my last option. You weren't around then to tell me what to do, but I need you now because for once I have everything I could ever want, and I'm about to lose it all for being a coward. I know you're not going to like it, or even care, but I just need you to be here when they bring me in. Just be there and tell me I did enough for once, when you're really around. That's all I need right now.'

It's this that makes Terrence drop the "tough loving father" act and makes him realize that this is for real. This is not his son saying, "I made a mistake, fix it for me." This is his son telling him that this is his plan and he needs support to know he's doing the right thing.

Henry is extremely shaky because this is something he does not do with his father. They aren't usually open with each other, as in they do get emotional; toxic masculinity at its finest... and daddy issues.

Regardless, Henry collects himself before signing again.

'I'm going to agree to the terms. If they can send a piece of the ground to space or erase the universe, then they can help me. It's all I can think of doing that'll work.'

Terrence is quiet for a moment, looking at Bill and the guards as they gossip about something before turning back to Henry.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?"

Hebry nods. 'It's all that I can think of that's going to work. Again, if they can send a chunk of land of space or erase the universe, then they can help me.'

Terrence steps back and shakes his head.

"You're going to die here. You know that, right? I'm telling you now it's not worth it."

Henry's face drops.

"Look, I get it. You never were good at keeping friends, but, Henry, I'm telling you, just let this guy go. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life locked in a cage?"

Henry shakes his head as he signs. 'No, but I'm not going to abandon my friend like you abandoned us.'

"I had a clan to run, Henry!" Terrence snaps. "I wanted you to stay, have an easy life, but no. You two just ran off on me!"

'Just because something's easy doesn't always make it right,' Henry signs. He begins signing something else, but stops before continuing. 'Look. I'm accepting the terms. I wanted to tell you now ao you're not disappointed later.'

Henry holds up a hand in farewell and turns to leave, ready to get back to the base and start forming a new plan.

"Henry?"

He turns to see Terrence staring once again, but also sees his throat bobbing, like he's coughing or about to be sick.

"Good... Good luck. Getting your friend back."

Henry's eyes widen and he shakily nods. 'Thanks.'

The two stare at each other like before, but this time they slowly advance towards one another, maneuver their arms until they're in an admittedly awkward, uncomfortable, but welcome embrace; again, emotion is not their strong suit.

"You're going to regret it. Turning yourself in. Life's for living, and you're throwing it away."

Henry pulls back and waves 'goodbye' once more and leaves the room.

"Took you long enough," Bill says as Henry rejoins him. "Have a nice visit?"

Henry narrows his eyes.

"Well, you got your visit. Hope you know how to get into that station."

Henry takes one last look at his father before nodding.

'The terms-'

"Same as advertised," Bill interrupts. "A quarter of our forces as long as you come quietly so we study your ability."

'AFTER my friend is rescued and safe.'

Bill waves him off. "Fine, yes. After your friend's back home and safe." He holds his hand out infront of him and Henry. "What do you say, Henry? Do we have a deal?"

Behind the acrylic, Terrence watches the two of them, his hands against the wall and his eyes on his son.

Henry keeps his eyes on Bill's hand before looking into his eyes. With a mental push, he claps his hand into the corporal's and shakes it, nodding.

"Deal."

Terrence bumps and shakes his head against the wall. "You idiot," he murmurs. "What are you doing?"

AND THAT'S A WRAP ON PART 4!!!!! Oh my goodness, did I enjoy writing this one! A lot of twists and turns and opportunities to just leave you all hanging, I'm not even joking. I haven't really written manipulation or character dynamics like Henry's and Terrence's before, and I think I did pretty well.

Again, check out @multiverse-madness and @azuri-the-imperfect-artist for their Terrence Suave AUs because they are both amazing artists and, honestly, do better with the character than me.😅

For real, all of you, thank you, thank you, thank you, so much for your patience with this one. Like I said in my update post, I have a lot going on in my personal life and just couldn't get in a good creative mindset to do this.

I know we didn't see a lot of Charles this time around, but that's gonna change in Part 5😈

ANYWAY, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!!!!!

#henry stickmin #angst tw #mild swearing tw #slight abuse tw #absent father #terrence suave #charles calvin #ellie rose #mental manipulation tw #emotional manipulation tw #completing the mission

13 notes · View notes

tangent101 · 4 years

Text

Pricefield Dabbles

I found this list of “send me a ship idea” from @writsgrimmyblog and realized I could answer most of these for Pricefield! So... here we go! =^-^=

1. Who makes the first move and how?

Max Caulfield after being dared by Chloe to kiss her now.

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

It would be easy to claim Max, but to be honest both are equally insecure. Chloe is just better at hiding it except when things really start to pile up. What used to make Max feel more secure was taking photographs, at least before someone went and fucked that all up for Max. Now? Chloe helps Max feel better. As for Chloe... sappy as it sounds, Max helps her feel better. When you play LiS you see her slowly calm down and heal over the five days you see them together. Max is very much the catalyst for Chloe’s growth and healing.

3. Who is the most romantic?

That depends on how you define “romantic.” But the person most likely to indulge on a whim to show the other how she feels is Chloe. Max is more likely to show her affection through physical actions - little kisses, spontaneous hugs, and the like... but Chloe loves the more sweeping gestures. Dragging Max out to a club to go dancing, making her dinner, or even bringing her to an art museum because Max commented on some artist who’s being exhibited there.

4. Who can’t keep their hands to themselves?

It’s about equal. Chloe has no sense of personal space and is very bouncy. If she gets excited and enthusiastic she’s all over Max. But it’s Max who is more spontaneous and physically romantic with hugs and eventually kisses. Seriously, in LiS it’s Max who initiates the kisses we see, and I suspect that never truly changes for these two.

5. Who says ‘I love you’ first?

Chloe. But it’s casual. The first person to say it in a tone that gets the other to blush and bite her lip is Max.

6. Who would they ask if they ever had a threesome?

Steph. Max never met her as far as we know, but she was likely in college when the events of LiS happened. (Damn it, now I have another idea for a fanfic! Not a threesome, but for where Max and Chloe end up soon after the end of LiS....) Steph is very much a geek and Chloe likes and even trusts her. I could easily see Max becoming good friends with her as well.

While there are a lot of folk who’s want to see Rachel with them... well, even if Rachel were available, Max would feel entirely too self-conscious and feel that Chloe would be better off with Rachel. It wouldn’t work out without something to initially draw Max and Rachel together and then the two of them reaching out to Chloe. So with an existing Pricefield dynamic? Amberpricefield isn’t happening.

7. What do they get up to on a night out?

They probably relax and enjoy each other’s company, helping each other in the kitchen cooking after a hard day working crappy jobs while trying to get Max’s pictures out there.

8. What do they like in bed?

Cuddling. Sex is great and all that but just being together, touching each other gently, looking in each other’s eyes... realizing they’re together on a grand adventure called life and yeah it sucks at times and they miss those they left behind but... they’re together. That’s what’s important.

9. What's the most embarrassing thing they've done in front of each other?

Deliberately or accidentally?

Max would say the time she tried to do a striptease in front of Chloe and ended up falling on her ass because she had trouble getting out of the tummy-control nylons she picked up rather than stockings which you can take off one leg at a time.

Chloe would claim she has no sense of shame but she probably feels rather wretched about some of the times Max ended up holding Chloe’s hair out of her face when she got shitfaced drunk and was worshiping the porcelain throne (and that’s one reason why she used to cut her hair short, damn it!)

As for accidentally? Walking in on each other when someone was... scratching an itch in the shower, shall we say? Though there was also a certain thrill to that so it might have become a game at times....

10. What two songs, two books and two luxury items do they take to a desert island?

For Songs? Syd Matters "Obstacles" (Max absolutely loves this song), and oddly enough “Paradise by the Dashboard Light” by Meatloaf (for Chloe at least, Max hates the ending of that song).

For Books? Chloe loves the Lord of the Rings. Max is amusingly enough into Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice.

And luxury items? A solar-powered laptop with a huge screen and hundreds of movies downloaded into it, and a solar-powered fridge stuffed full of food and booze (Chloe said the second part. Actually she mentioned the laptop as well and even added “solar-powered” seeing she’s a bit of a geek under her at-times punk exterior).

11. What do they hide from one another?

Chloe hides the fact that at times she wishes Max could have saved Rachel, somehow. But she’s never going to ask as she doesn’t want Max to get hurt. As for Max? She hides that she still hears that bastard’s comment of “always take the shot” when she takes a picture and that at times it fucks up an otherwise perfectly fine photograph even though that bastard is rotting in jail.

12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

Max loses her nervousness. Seriously, when things get tough she suddenly hardens and becomes “SuperMax” and pushes up her sleeves. Chloe is very impressed with her and loves her to pieces, but also doesn’t want to see Max go through something like that again as afterward Max does fall to pieces and Chloe doesn’t like seeing her hurt. As for Chloe? She actually takes a backseat and does whatever Max tells her to. She trusts Max.

13. When do they realize they should get together?

They realized it when swimming in Blackwell’s swimming pool after the school was shut down for the night. But neither thought the other felt the same way. When Chloe watched Max strip down to jump into the pool she had to look away as she realized she was enjoying watching Max undress and Max... Max was talking in the pool and just... realized. She wants Chloe to remain by her side. Always. The kiss the next day in Chloe’s bedroom just was icing on the cake, even if it took them a couple more days to become “official” in each other’s eyes.

14. When one has a cold, what does the other do?

Chloe makes a homemade soup for Max. She’s actually gotten fairly decent with her soups and experiments with various recipes. She then babies Max even as Max is all surly and insisting she doesn’t need to do this.

When Chloe inevitably gets ill afterward, Max repays the favor with the rest of the soup (Chloe’s realized that she usually gets sick afterward and has taken to making enough for a week at that point) while hiding her own symptoms as she’s still suffering a bit from her cold. But she’s not going to let Chloe know that because otherwise Chloe will push herself too hard!

15. When they watch a film what do they choose and why? Who gets the final vote?

Bladerunner (the director’s cut). It’s their favorite. And it’s always unanimous. Though sometimes they indulge themselves with lighter fare like Princess Bride or Labyrinth. Or even Lord of the Rings because Chloe is a secret Tolkien fangirl

16. When the zombie apocalypse comes, how do they cope together?

Max warns Chloe a couple days ahead of time and they get as much canned goods and the like as they can and then “go camping” - they end up far outside of the cities and someplace defensible until the military or cold weather ends up taking care of the zombies.

17. When they find a time machine, where do they go?

Yeah... no. No playing with time. Not anymore. Well, unless they met the Doctor at which point they go wherever the Doctor suggests because it’s the freaking Doctor, of course they’re going to go with her!

18. When they fight, how do they make up?

Max shrinks in on herself and looks all hurt and Chloe just... she gets flustered and starts apologizing and then they start apologizing to each other and finally start laughing as the silliness of apologizing for “making” the other apologize just gets to them.

19. Where do they go on their first date?

That depends on what you consider a “date” - I mean, that Blackwell swimming pool could have been a “date” after all. But their first real date after leaving Arcadia Bay? Chloe saw a little restaurant on the side of the road and then smiled, looked at Max, said “hey, how’d you like to go out for dinner? Just the two of us, and our stolen Blackwell money...” and Max blushed and said “we really shouldn’t spend it unless we have to” and Chloe just sweet-talked her into it and the food was only halfway decent but it was being together that just made it work for each other.

20. Where do they go on holiday?

They’re kind of working retail and the like in hopes of getting Max’s photographs to various galleries. So there’s no actual holidays per say. But they have plans for Paris, one day. And they visited Chloe’s step-dad in Arizona and that went surprisingly well, David stopped being a step-douche and has kind of become a second dad for Chloe, and loves both Chloe and Max. Oh, it wasn’t all roses and the like, but it was David who reached out to them, and Max helped talk Chloe into visiting and giving David a chance. It worked out.

21. Where do they get nervous about going with one another?

Chloe always gets nervous about going to a gallery with Max. She tried bleaching the blue out of her hair but... well, that just turned it into a mottled pale blue-green that she’s now just growing out and she’d have hacked it off by now but Max actually likes her hair longer so Chloe’s been putting it off. She still feels nervous going into art galleries and the like, she’s blacked out her sleeve tattoo with a black sharpy and is dressing less punk these days while trying to fit in with Max. But she still feels like an outsider at times.

As for Max? She’s nervous whenever they go into a club or go dancing. She thinks she can’t dance and that there are lots of girls better than her but... Chloe loves her. So she goes outside her comfort zone for Chloe. And enjoys herself.

22. Where does their first kiss happen?

Chloe and Max were in Chloe’s old bedroom and Chloe double-dog-dared Max to kiss her. Max did so. Chloe was very shocked and pulled away (useless lesbian that she is). Their next kiss (multiple kisses) was a couple days after they left Arcadia Bay.

23. Where is their favourite place to be together?

To be honest? The place doesn’t matter. What matters is just... being together.

24. Where do they first have sex?

In Chloe’s truck a couple weeks after having left Arcadia Bay, and then finding a motel room because a truck isn’t exactly the most comfortable of places to have sex in, especially an older truck like Chloe’s was.

25. Why do they fight?

Chloe thinks Max is pushing herself too hard and refuses to accept that she is talented. Max gets annoyed because Chloe just stacks dirty dishes in the sink rather than on the counter because if they’re all in the sink then you can’t wash them you have to take them out and Chloe just stacks more dishes on the counter next and... yeah.

26. Why do they need to have a serious chat?

It was about Chloe’s step-dad. Chloe wanted nothing to do with him after they left Arcadia Bay. It didn’t matter that David helped in dealing with the Dark Room situation, Chloe had too many memories of David hitting her, and blaming herself for instigating David at times though that doesn’t forgive David’s actions damn it! But... Max insisted. She talked to Chloe about David, and about how Chloe’s mom allowed this to happen and blamed Chloe instead... and even about how she should forgive David and move on.

In the end? Chloe feels a lot better about listening to Max. David will never replace William. But he’s kind of stopped being her step-dad and is more her real dad now. Enough at least that Chloe’s the one who calls David.

27. Why do their friends get annoyed with them?

Chloe will blow off plans to get together because she doesn’t want to. Sometimes it’s because Chloe is exhausted after working retail and they are trying to make ends meet but... yeah. And Max? Oh Max, we love you dearly but will you start actually believing in yourself more? You’re a talented photographer and when Victoria or Steph tell you you’re good, just accept it rather than try to insist they’re wrong. *shakes head*

28. Why do they get jealous?

Max remains jealous of Rachel to this day. And she does get a bit miffed when Chloe compares Max to Rachel because Rachel was so much more awesome than Max is and is Chloe wanting Rachel by her side instead of Max?

As for Chloe? She’s scared that Max regrets her choices and will leave. She is so scared of being abandoned. Max left for five years... yeah, it wasn’t Max’s choice, her parents moved away when she was only 13, but part of her feels that Max could have made more of an effort to remain in touch even as she realizes she in turn could have. And she’s scared Max will find someone else.

29. Why do they fall a little bit more in love?

Chloe sees Max doing something, be it suddenly geeking out over a perfect photography opportunity or a bit of art or even just a computer game, and her heart just... contracts. At times she has to restrain herself from spontaneously hugging Max, especially if Max was geeking out while taking photographs as she doesn’t want to ruin a perfect shot.

As for Max? Waking up and seeing Chloe sleeping next to her... she falls in love deeper and deeper every day.

30. Why does it work (or not work) between them?

Because they’re Max and Chloe. And they’ll always be together. Always.

#life is strange #max and chloe #pricefield #max caulfield #chloe price #lis #after the storm #bae over bay #happily ever after

50 notes · View notes

widisamutdr · 3 years

Text

SafeCovid

SafeCovid - Blockchain Platform Game NFT

What is SafeCovid?

SaveCovid is a very unique, powerful and transparent project. on the one hand SaveCovid can also be said to be like "SafeStore" or a fun gaming platform and the historic NFT market around Covid-19 with automatic donations to UNICEF. the team presented this big project for future needs. The presence of a project like this will certainly attract a large market investment, so what are you waiting for? Opportunities are right before your eyes, don't waste this golden opportunity and it's time for us to build a SafeCovid Family! don't forget to join and be a part of this Great project

Decentralized Finance, or DeFi, intends to use progress to kill delegates between parties in money-related trades. DeFi fragments are stablecoins, use cases and stacks of use-enhancing items. Establishment and use cases for DeFi are currently being created. This time I want to share a project that is unique, great, has a positive reputation, is transparent, and is called SAFE COVID. Since the emergence of Covid, special drugs are needed to deal with this infectious disease. and at the same time the project team had a smart idea by creating a project with the COVID Concept and building the Blockchain Platform owned by BinanceSmartChain (BSC).

How does safeCOVID work?

You are a responsible person and believe in yourself. You trust your family to do the right thing too… But what about your neighbors? The guy at the checkout where you picked up a pack of gum? Your parents? Cousin? SafeCOVID teaches you a new set of skills, these are - making masks at a low price, wearing them properly, and washing your hands. Once you have worked out and shared with the people you live with, you are safe COVID level 1.

When you meet someone in person, you must insist that they show their safe COVID level. If they can't, or aren't wearing masks, you have to assume they are unsafe and politely practice social distancing. The current recommendation is 6 feet, or 2m. Please don't harass them, but encourage them to 'level up'. Every time you meet someone your level takes a hit, but not if you share your level first. stick together, the more similar your level becomes. The longer you stay at home, the higher your level. If you meet someone who is traveling and you meet a lot of people, your level will be affected. If you enable location warnings in the app, your level will increase by 1. The location warnings do not send any data to the server, but remind you to wear a mask when starting a new journey. This can be verified by looking at the source code. We also encourage good behavior by letting people take photos of themselves with masks on the phone, to see if it works fine. Again, this photo is not saved and the privacy-preserving ML can detect air gaps in the skin.

Displays SafeCovid

Auto-Staking by fighting Covid-19 anxiety. SafeCovid is a three-tier automated custody protocol on the Binance Smart Chain.

The reward on each transaction is 2% for holders, 2% auto-liquidity

Three Tier Auto Bet The more time you have, the more you will earn. With each new level, your rewards increase.

NFT Covid-19 History Museum NFTs Community Museum around Covid-19 to commemorate this historic period.

Play and donate Play, earn and donate. 20% of game transactions are automatically donated to UNICEF

Milestone 13 Airdrops Waterfall is linked to achieving market capitalization. (please see the Airdrop table at the bottom)

SafeCovid feature

SafeCovid is a fun and enjoyable platform game that allows users to play against covid-19 anxiety and earn rewards. SafeCovid is built on top of the Binance Smart Chain platform, which enables the platform to operate fast, low cost, securely, and is supported by the well-known Binance ecosystem. SafeCovid has a three-tier auto-staking protocol, which allows users to earn more tokens if they have more tokens. But not only that, there are still a few other SafeCovid features:

Prizes for each transaction: SafeCovid distributes 2% prizes to holders and 2% auto-liquidity.

NFTs Historical Covid-19 Museum: NFTs are trending right now. SafeCovid will provide a special NFT museum around Covid-19 to commemorate our memories of Covid-19.

Airdrop milestone: SafeCovid conducts an airdrop program to promote platforms and services.

Play and donate: Users can play games and get prizes. Later, 20% of game transactions will be automatically donated to UNICEF.

World Mini-games Platform: Users can get more SFC by playing mini-games created by developers around the world.

Autostaking protocol

In every transaction:

- 2% redistributed to all holders

- 2% is automatically added to liquidity in Pancake Swap

Each transaction is limited to 30 million SFCs to fight whales selling their bags all at once. For every 30 million sales, the price of SafeCovid and the value of the whale's pocket will go down.

3 reward levels for all holders according to the time of loyalty.

- Level 1: new holder

- Level 2: hold 45 days

- Level 3: hold 150 days

Every month our best holders will receive a special airdrop in the holding period function

SafeStore

SafeStore is a mini-game platform. Soon, all developers around the world will have access to it, as a result all SFC holders can play and earn SFC.

Initially, game publications will be pushed manually. Later, automatic protocols will allow it in Safestore.

NFT Marketplace

The market place will be open to all NFT builders if at least one creation is related to the COVID theme. The NFT will be used first on the Binance Smart Chain and afterwards on the Elrond Network. Each sale will be allocated according to the below model:

- 70% for sellers

- 20% for UNICEF

- 5% for creators

- 5% for liquidity

Museum Covid NFT

Every week, one NFT will be selected by the community to integrate the NFT Covid Museum from the selection determined by the team.

Later, the NFT decentralization selection will be submitted with the votes of the holders. The NFT of the week will be displayed forever on NFT Covid Museem with a collection of values for creators and owners.

Tokenomics

Total Supply: 7,000,000,000

Circulating Liquidity: 4,500,000,000 (64.28%)

Team: 1,200,000,000 (17.14%)

Airdrop milestones: 650,000,000 (9.28%)

Marketing: 350,000,000 (5%)

Game: 300.000.000 (4,29%)

Autostaking protocol

In every transaction:

- 2% redistributed to all holders

- 2% is automatically added to liquidity in Pancake Swap

Each transaction is limited to 30 million SFCs to fight whales selling their bags all at once. For every 30 million sales, the price of SafeCovid and the value of the whale's pocket will go down.

3 reward levels for all holders according to the time of loyalty.

- Level 1: new holder

- Level 2: hold 45 days

- Level 3: hold 150 days

Every month our best holders will receive a special airdrop in the holding period function

SafeStore

SafeStore is a mini-game platform. Soon, all developers around the world will have access to it, as a result all SFC holders can play and earn SFC.

Initially, game publications will be pushed manually. Later, automatic protocols will allow it in Safestore.

The first game developed by the team is LuckyDraw, a simple lucky draw (every 8 hours).

Game reward transactions will be allocated according to this model:

- 70% for players

- 20% for UNICEF

- 5% for game developers

- 5% for liquidity

NFT Marketplace

- 70% for sellers

- 20% for UNICEF

- 5% for creators

- 5% for liquidity

Museum Covid NFT

Every week, one NFT will be selected by the community to integrate the NFT Covid Museum from the selection determined by the team.

SafeCovid Roadmap

To conclude

Covid-19 is a deadly virus that has claimed many lives around the world and caused considerable economic losses in many countries. As a result of this virus, many people have lost their jobs and caused their financial conditions to deteriorate.

Learn again:

Website: https://safecovid.io/

Document: https://docs.safecovid.io/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/safecovidbsc

Telegram: https://t.me/safecovid

by ; MoraCoin66

link: https://bitcointalk.org/index.php?action=profile;u=2579413

1 note · View note

putschki1969 · 4 years

Text

Hikaru//’s Free Writing Vol.#2

Note: This is my English translation of Hikaru//’s Free Writing Vol.#2. Please enjoy!

『teamLab Borderless Forgetting Time Within “Art without Borders”』〜 Hikaru//’s Free Writing Vol.#2〜

Hello, this is Hikaru//. In this second column I will be doing another "report" just like I did in Vol.#1. I was super thrilled on the day of the shoot because I have always been interested in this place! This time we went to... 『MORI Building DIGITAL ART MUSEUM: EPSON teamLab Borderless』 !

The nearest stations are Aomi Station on the Yurikamome Line or Tokyo Teleport Station on the Rinkai Line. In the stations you will see lots of posters guiding you to the venue. When you look at all the ads you will get even more excited!

At the venue itself visitors are asked to wear a mask as a measure against COVID-19. You also need to disinfect you hands at the entrance. If you wish you can also get disposable vinyl gloves. On the left side of the entrance there are also lots of coin lockers where you can store your luggage. You should definitely make use of that...I recommend going inside carrying as little as possible! When entering the first room your temperature is measured with a thermo camera.

After the temperature measurement there is this huge message plastered to the wall. What do they mean by "wandering"? That’s what I asked myself when I saw these words. But once you have experienced it all, the words will make sense *laughs* Well then, let’s go inside! You have three options at the beginning. Many museums have a certain route that you need to follow in order to enjoy everything properly but with "TeamLab Borderless" it’s up to you where you want to go, you can go wherever you feel like going. Being led by your feelings is the best way to enjoy art!

I really like butterflies so I am going to the "Butterfly House" first. Butterflies are flying all over the room! If you try touching the butterflies because you think they are so beautiful and cute they will crumble and fall to the floor...The butterflies born here jump out of the room and move on to join the other art in the museum. So you don’t have to feel sad about saying goodbye to the butterflies since you will meet them again soon, you only have to take a few steps to see them flying around in various places.

After chasing butterflies I went to the "Forest of Flowers and People, Lost and Reborn". There are flowers all around the ground and across the walls! Flowers will appear where people are standing and after a while they scatter again, when you stay at a single place for a longer time the flowers will bloom. It’s a very photogenic space. It's large as it is but since there are so many mirrors the space feels even wider! ♪ You can easily take a ton of selfies here *laughs*. Enjoy the various flowers! There are some smaller rooms with several little spaces where the work is displayed on monitors. Also, you can see some animals decorated with flowers moving along the walls. Please try to touch those animals and see what happens ♪

After encountering the animals I entered a space with a big waterfall. The flow of water changes when people stand or sit on it and when you stay there for a while flowers will start to bloom. On the walls where the water doesn’t flow you can see all kinds of art. What might happen when you touch the flowing kanji? Please experience how the art changes when you manage to touch it!

"Team Lab Borderless" is a permanent exhibition but depending on the season you can see lots of different art! Right now you can experience a special "seasonal exhibition", I got to see it. iI’s amazing art that feels reminiscent of Japanese paintings! Apparently this is the first time the exhibition, “Proliferating Immense Life” is open to the public in Japan. Even though it’s a seasonally limited exhibition I would like to talk a little about the art. In the “Flowers - Layered Ultrasubjective Space” you can drown within countless semi-transparent images of hydrangea from June to July. The space “Memory of Topography“ depicts a rural mountain landscape of varying elevations. The scenery instills in the viewer a feeling of eternal permanence. From June to August you can enjoy lush rice fields and crepe myrtles. With the flow of real time the scenery is continuously changing so when I was there, thunder struck and it rained down heavily onto the rice fields (※ Please note that there is no actual water in this exhibition).

In the “Forest of Resonating Lamps” you can experience the sensation of being surrounded by the soft light of lamps whose colour scheme changes as people stand nearby. This production is very much reminiscent of the hydrangea you can see from June to July. The lamps are specially arranged and they are hand-made from Murano glass (Venetian glass). If you take a close look at each individual lamp you will notice that they all look different. The seasonal art is constantly changing. Even the staff members do not know when something new will be installed. So I consider myself very lucky to have been able to experience all these seasonal exhibitions.

Now, let's return to the permanent art. When you continue onwards you will be joined by crows as you enter the “Cave Universe”. This work is to be viewed from a position close to the entrance. The work begins when crows of “Crows are Chased and the Chasing Crows are Destined to be Chased as well” enter into the Cave Universe in the middle of the aisle. If you stand at position close to the entrance the boundary between the wall and the floor disappears, the real space dissolves and the lines drawn by the trails of the crows appear to be drawn in three dimensions in the space. Eventually the body becomes immersed in the artwork world, and the border between the artwork and the viewer dissolves. I really want everyone to experience this!

The next space you will reach is "Wander through the Crystal World". This interactive installation artwork uses an accumulation of light points to create a sculptural body. The Crystal World is created when people use their phones to send elements of the natural world into it. It's beautiful and fun ♪

Then we continue towards the “Athletics Forest“ area. In the “Weightless Forest of Resonating Life” you can be three dimensionally immersed by various objects of light that move as though they’re defying gravity, they will also be changing colours... I tried putting an object above my head *laughs*. The “Aerial Climbing through a Flock of Colored Birds“ space features connected boards hanging in mid-air on ropes, creating a floating three dimensional space. You can train your body by trying to navigate the space in mid-air *laughs*.

In “Graffiti Nature - High Mountains and Deep Valleys, Red List” various creatures drawn by visitors live in a large, three-dimensional space consisting of slopes with different elevations. Challenge yourself and draw one of the endangered animals! I did it, I completed my drawing! Once you hand your drawing to a staff member it will appear within the space..It almost feels like you are a parent watching over your child *laughs* You start getting attached!

Last but not least I would like to introduce the "EN TEA HOUSE Genka-Tei". This is the only food and drink art space in the museum. The first thing you will notice when you enter the room is the strong aroma of tea. There are four types of tea, tea leaves from the mountains of Hizen in Kyushu are used. There is also a set menu with rich green tea ice cream filled with umami flavor and accompanied with shirotama. You have to order first at the reception. Then you will be guided to your seat. Tatami mats are used for the tables and chairs, making it a relaxing space. Tea and ice cream are brought in, the art starts once the set is placed in front of you. Make tea and a flower blooms inside the teacup. Flowers bloom infinitely as long as there is tea. Smell, taste, sight... It was a space where all senses were stimulated, a truly healing experience.

There are so many great artworks in "Team Lab Borderless", I cannot possibly write about all of them. I hope you will visit and experience it all for yourself! These are the words written at the exit.

This time, I was wanderiing around the museum for about two and a half hours without a map. Even though I spent so much time there I still couldn’t go everywhere, I only saw parts of it. There is still so much left to discover. I wanna come here again! And here’s a bonus pic for you! I was so absorbed in the art that I didn’t really take too many pictures of myself... *laughs*.

I had a great and exciting time, this experience gave me the opportunity to reflect on many things! Well then, until next time! Text = Hikaru// Photography = Yuki Ohashi, Hikaru//

#kalafina #hikaru #otaku #spice #hikaru//#helical #h-el-ical//#spice series #Hikaru//の自由綴文 #Hikaru//’s Free Writing #text heavy #picture heavy

15 notes · View notes

nobodyfamousposts · 5 years

Text

This Story Deserves a Better Class of Villain

Can I take a moment to indulge in some salt—or at least pretend that I don’t otherwise do so on a daily basis—and note just how horrible Gabriel is as Hawk Moth and the overall set up of the show in general?

And I don’t mean horrible as in him being a monster—we all know he is. I mean horrible as in him being an idiot. I know I’ve called him as such before, but I think I haven’t quite fully explained just WHY.

By all counts, the entire premise of the show shouldn’t even work. We are shown in Origins that Gabriel has found out about the Miraculous (later revealed to be because his wife is in a coma directly because of one), has found Nooroo and the Butterfly Miraculous, has discovered that combining two very specific Miraculous will grant him ANY wish, and at that point decides for an as of that time unknown reason that he wants those two Miraculous and is willing to use the one at his disposal to obtain them.

So what does he do?

Does he create an akuma that can just locate Miraculous? No.

Does he create an akuma who can translate the magic book he has? No.

Does he create an akuma that can accomplish his wish for him without the need for the Miraculous? No.

What DOES he do then?

He immediately chooses to declare himself a supervillain and starts attacking Paris with the clear expectation that the two specific items he is after are 1) somewhere in the city and 2) will show themselves in order to stop him.

And what does he have to base this expectation on?

NOTHING.

This is a problem for multiple reasons.

First off, since Gabriel has no idea where the Miraculous are, that means he has no indication that any Miraculous would just happen to be in the same city as himself, much less the specific two he needs. He doesn’t know about Fu either, or that there would be ANY Guardian. So the fact that Fu just HAPPENED to be in Paris at the time and thus in a position to act against him is mere coincidence—or rather contrived convenience, because we wouldn’t have a story if he wasn’t.

Second, he’s making a major assumption that whoever has the other Miraculous knows about it. Given that the Miraculous look like normal items, they could very well be on display in a museum or antiques kept in a lockbox somewhere. He has no way of knowing!

Third, he’s assuming that if someone does have the Miraculous and is aware of what they have, that they would in any way be willing to reveal themselves and fight him. He even comes out and states as such—“what attracts super heroes better than a super villain?” This would require that whomsoever has the items in question not only knows about them but that they WOULD use them to be superheroes or that they would use them specifically against him if he presents himself as the opponent. He even comes right out and declares himself as an intentional supervillain specifically for this purpose. What if the people who had the Miraculous didn’t care?

Fourth, he’s assuming that if anyone DOES come forward to stop him, it’s actually going to be someone with any Miraculous at all. This is a world where superheroes are noted to already exist. That means that someone like say Majestica or some other random hero with a NON-Miraculous-based backstory and powers could show up and kick his ass. Given Alya and her fixation with heroes as well as Damocles and his Owl-themed Batman-esque repertoire, it’s fully possible that someone would have jumped from the woodwork to challenge him and they quite possibly would have been completely normal.

Fifth, he’s clearly expecting that if any of the Miraculous ARE to be used against him, it will be both of the specific two he’s after and not, oh I don’t know, ANY of the fifteen others we now know exist. There are specifically Miraculous that can make shields to protect people and paralyze the akumas—either of which would be notably more conducive to a much quicker fight. Not to mention we know of at least one Miraculous now that can specifically travel through TIME (which could be used to go back to before Gabriel sends out the first akuma and promptly take him out then and there before any of this can happen).

What it comes down to is that Gabriel’s plan can only work due to a number of conveniences that all just HAPPEN to be the case. That doesn’t speak of Gabriel’s efficiency or ability as a villain, that speaks of the narrative causality and Fu’s own foolishness for playing into Gabriel’s hands like this and putting himself and the rest of the Miraculous at risk.

If Fu was hanging out somewhere in another country, Miraculous Ladybug wouldn’t even be happening. In fact, to prevent the issues of the series, all Fu would have had to do was just…NOT respond to Hawk Moth’s appearance at all.

Arguably, this could be a matter of Fu trying to retrieve the lost Miraculous, which is all well and good except that his first inclination is to just hand off BOTH of the most powerful Miraculous to teenagers without telling them ANYTHING about what they’re doing or why.

That said, let’s focus again on Hawk Moth.

So okay, his plan worked by sheer luck, and not only are the EXACT TWO MIRACULOUS he needs suddenly present but they’re being used to fight him by teenagers who are new to their powers and new to being superheroes, and thus either prone to making mistakes or overlooking some of the major potential pitfalls of superheroing.

So what does he decide to do?

Does he make an akuma to track them down in their civilian lives so he can grab the Miraculous when they’re unprepared? No.

Does he create an akuma who can just brainwash all of Paris at once so the heroes will hand over their Miraculous? No.

Does he create an akuma and set up a situation to draw them into a direct trap? No.

Does he create an akuma that is sneaky—one that nobody actually realizes is an akuma so it can get the drop on the heroes? No.

Does he in any way look into investigating these heroes or try to figure out who they are so he’ll have that advantage? Hah hah, NO.

Instead, he pulls a Rita Repulsa and just sends out an akuma every so often ONE AT A TIME to draw the heroes out, have a fight, get defeated, and monologue while throwing in a pun before he calls it a day.

The big problem is that all of his akumas are loud, showy, and above all—OBVIOUS. Anyone who sees the akuma is immediately going to run. When the akuma appears, people are immediately going to send out warning and call for the heroes. And thus the heroes are generally going to KNOW that Hawk Moth is attacking and go in prepared for battle. For a guy who is the head of a company and a world renown fashion designer, he knows NOTHING about subtlety.

It’s the same thing every time. Someone feels an emotion he can take advantage of, he sends out an akuma to turn them into a monster, they wreck shit with no real purpose other than what the akuma themselves want or just to get the heroes’ attention, and then the heroes come out and save the day. That’s it. With few exceptions (by which I mean like…MAYBE two), that is every episode up until the Heroes Day two parter, which is quite possibly the first attack he fully plans for, goes all out on, and very nearly wins because of it.

It may be the nature of his particular powers in that he has to take advantage of situations made available to him, but even then, he isn’t taking full advantage and there’s no reason for it. On two occasions now, he’s been able to akumatize Miraculous users, first in Queen Wasp and then on Heroes Day—something he clearly planned for in the latter. On both occasions, he had them completely under his control. But rather than have them go and hand over their Miraculous to him to increase his own arsenal before their otherwise inevitable defeat at the duo’s hands, he just has them act like any other akuma and wreck havoc.

His weirdly convoluted style of planning becomes evident particularly in Collector, where it was officially revealed that yes, fan theories and TV tropes was actually right in that Gabriel Agreste is Hawk Moth.

In Collector, his Miraculous book was lost and while he KNOWS it was because Adrien took it, he ASSUMES that somehow his enemies have it, ASSUMES that they will somehow know the book is his, ASSUMES that they will suspect him because of it, and proceeds to akumatize himself to try to trick them into thinking he’s not actually Hawk Moth.

And what evidence does he have for all this? What is there that supports this overly complicated plan to counter this possible suspicion from his enemies?

Again, none.

Even if he DID somehow manage to look into things to see what happened to the book, the most he would find is that Lila stole it and then threw it away. Nobody saw Ladybug grab it from the trash or run off with it. He has absolutely NO reason to believe Ladybug or Chat could have gotten ahold of the book or especially that they would track it to him. No reason except for sheer paranoia.

The fact that he happens to be correct doesn’t make any sense. If anything it’s another example of the situation being contrived for the sake of him rather than him actually planning for the situation.

Even worse is that at the end of that day, it’s a pig-tailed schoolgirl reminiscent of a certain pig-tailed superhero who just HAPPENS to show up with the book and return it. For all his paranoia about the heroes, does he even suspect that this girl might be one of the very heroes he’s fighting against?

Hahaha, of course not!

All in all, it’s another indicator of bad writing when the plot is turning on itself to justify Gabriel’s canyon-sized leaps in logic. Gabriel as a villain has the appearance that he is SUPPOSED to be an intelligent and dangerous mastermind who is always just one step ahead of the heroes. But instead, he’s a monologuing recluse who appears overly paranoid at the strangest of times and needs a matter of plot convenience to prove he’s justified in doing so.

The fact that his plans even work for however long they generally do speaks less of his ability and more of the desperation of the writers to make him seem like a real threat rather than the sheer fluke he actually is.

#ml salt #hawk moth #gabriel agreste #hawk moth is an idiot #gabriel is an idiot #gabriel salt #hawk moth salt

521 notes · View notes