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prorevenge · 5 years

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A Story of a 15 Year Old Badass

WARNING: this is really long, but it’s worth the read!

When I was 14, I started high school, like most 14 year olds are scheduled to do, but I really didn’t feel ready.

Even though I was in an extremely dark place, I was really hopeful that high school would be the opportunity I needed to get my life back. On the first day of school, I was boy crazy because I was hanging out with other girls who were and I figured that it could be a fix for my depression. My mother is a pastor, so other than getting prayed for and praying, there was nothing being done to treat my depression and the only thing my mother could think of was to spank me and punish me whenever I self-harmed or isolated myself. I spent the entirety of my first day, ogling boys and envying girls I compared myself to. At the end of the school day, I was walking to my bus and saying bye to my friends and bumped into a white boy, with long, very curly hair and coke bottle glasses. He had a bandanna wrapped across his head, rainbow tie-dye shirt, and a faux cow suede vest with fringes. He was holding his skateboard in one hand and smoking a cigarette with the other. When we looked at each other, all I could say was “my bad, dude...i respect your vibe” and I walked away, occasionally looking back at him and saw that he was still looking at me and I waved before getting on my bus and he waved back.

The next day, I asked everyone if they knew “a hippy looking boy with coke bottle glasses” and finally someone said, they knew Tony. They continued to inform me that he was a junior, he was a huge pot head, and he didn’t “believe in relationships, so, aside from his ex, no girl can tie him down”. They said they saw always him in the Drama hallway, with all of the theater kids. I made a plan with my best friend, Keke, to go to the Drama hallway and pretend to sign up for the play after school. As soon as we went, we were greeted with a round of applause and hugs from the older thespians, who were thrilled to see fresh meat show an interesting in their pride and joy. We introduced ourselves and, after announcing my name out loud so all thirty-sum people could hear me, one person immediately said “Iris*...a girl named Iris...nice to meet you”, and as you suspect, it was Tony.

(my name is a dead giveaway of my identity because it’s a boy’s name and there aren’t a lot of girls who share my name)

To speed things along, I ended up joining the Drama club, primarily because I felt like it was the perfect niche for me but also because Tony was in it. I signed up to do hair and makeup for the fall play and tony was a part of stage crew, where they stay after school every day and assist the contractor in building a custom design set for each production. I asked him if there were any girls in stage crew, and aside for one older girl who graduated already, it was mainly a small group of guys. As you can guess, I joined and so did Keke because we were adamant about having each other’s backs. I was partially interested in woodwork and building at the time (I was 14 and I managed to mount my TV to my wall by myself) so I was looking forward to learning how to use a nail gun, a saw machine, stain wood, design something, take precise measurements, and have everything come together into something beautiful. After week two of high school, Keke and I were staying after school every day to work on the set for the play and I was able to get to know Tony, without looking too desperate. He asked me to be his girlfriend on the last Friday of September. I told him that it felt like the last true day of summer, and I also told him I never had a boyfriend or kissed a guy before. We had an established routine of going to the lake, parallel to my high school, and eating lunch before stage crew started (we had from 2:15-3:30, to be exact). He kissed me after I asked him if I could try his cigarette and started cough after one pull. We walked back to campus holding hand and it felt like we were making our debut as a couple because almost everyone looked at us. It was like in those high school movies, where everyone’s attention is on the focal point and it’s really dramatic. I felt accomplished because I, a freshman, was the one who tied down Tony Bologna, one of the ten most longed for boys in my high school. Little did I know, he was the biggest can of worms in the tristate area and my dumbass opened the fucking can, y’all. My brother, who was also a junior, told me I was dumb and advised me to end things with him, but I assumed he was just being protective of me.

As we dated, he taught me everything I was willing to learn about. I learned how to skateboard, how to smoke cigarettes without coughing, how to buy them without looking like I wasn’t old enough and which type of cigarettes to smoke. I learned the different levels and intensities of kissing. I learned how to navigate the hallways of high school without looking like a lost duckling and I smelled weed, for the first time intentionally. A girl, who was senior in the drama club and I worshipped on a semi-regular basis, came up to me and told me that heard a rumor that I was dating Tony and wanted to let me know. I told her that it wasn’t a rumor and her entire tone shifted. She asked me if I was sure we were officially together because he has a reputation to go for vulnerable freshman just to manipulate them and have sex, and I told her that we’d already been serious for about a month and I was a virgin but he respected the fact that I wasn’t ready. As soon as I said I was a virgin, her eyebrows went up and she laughed in my face. She apologized for laughing, and said “I’m not laughing at you being a virgin, I just didn’t realize Tony wasn’t addicted to sex anymore...when we were together, all he wanted to do was have sex with me so I broke up with him. I didn’t realize he’s a new person now, and I never really fell out of love with him...thank you for letting me know!”

I should have paid more attention to what she said about the sex thing, but I was so jealous. She was THE ex, and she was a senior, and she was such a confident badass. I told him about the conversation during our daily lunch at the lake and he said that “even though 30% of me would still date Sam*, and 80% of me would definitely still fuck her, I’m crazy about you and I don’t want to lose you”, and I thought that was the most romantic thing ever. In an effort to compete with her, I started adjusting my style and wore more black. I wasn’t willing to give up my virginity to compete with her, but I knew that they both smoked weed and drank. I heard rumors about him being a drug dealer and selling weed, acid, molly, coke, shrooms, and etc., but I didn’t believe it to be true for a second. In October, he told me about a halloween/birthday party his friend was throwing and ask if I could come. I meticulously planned it out: I asked my mom if I could spend the night at a friend’s house nearby and she happily agreed, thinking that my mental health was finally improving. I went to CVS and used my lunch money to buy liquid eyeliner and dark red lipstick. After school, we went to his house and I met his very sweet and liberal parents. We stayed in the movie area of the basement and watched Benchwarmers and made out the whole time. He directed my hand to where he wanted it (y’all know what I’m saying) and showed me the specific motion. I didn’t feel confident enough to continue so I straddled him and attempted to grind in skinny jeans. After ten minutes of that nonsense, I felt like a new woman and he was definitely proud of me. We went upstairs to eat dinner shortly after and being in the presence of a functional family that loved and respected each other made me feel so uncomfortable, so I was pretty silence. After we all ate dessert and watched “Adventure Time” in the living room, he drove me to my friend’s house and we planned to meet up at the party. I wore black shorts, with fishnets underneath, combat boots, and a grey cropped sweater with skulls on it. My friend did my make up and we walked 10 blocks, in late October weather without coats at 10:30PM, to the party. When we got there, we saw grown ass adults, between 18-30 years old, and we thought we were at the wrong place. I saw his ex, Sam, and realized I was exactly where I needed to be. A 26 year old man greeted me, saying he was Tony’s best friend, and gave me a vodka bottle, filled with what I thought was just orange juice. I never tasted alcohol so I didn’t realize that it was the weird taste I noticed in the orange juice and I drank the entire thing without really pausing, on an empty stomach. As soon as Tony came, several guys rushed greet him and I stood up and tried to walk towards him...and that vodka HIT me like a goddamn truck. I threw my body on him and he immediately knew I was drunk. He started asking me how I got drunk and what I had to drink and why I drank so much and repeatedly asked if I was okay. He sat down in my chair and placed me on his lap and fed me water, without making it obvious to people that I was really drunk. Drunk me appreciated the care and attention he gave me in that moment and, in combination with my first dry hump experience earlier, I was feeling really confident and in love. I whispered in his ear that I loved him and he whispered it back, then I started whispering about doing a bunch of sexual things with him and to him and rubbing my butt against him, without realizing that we were sitting in a circle of people passing around three blunts. I felt Sam looking at us a few times and I decided to look her dead in the eye after passionately kissing Tony. I felt like such a badass, so when Tony was hitting one of the blunts, I took it from his hands and took a good hit to celebrate my victories, and coughed my lungs out. When Tony was ready to leave, he drove my friend and I back to her house and, after I changed and wiped my make up off, her older sister dropped me off at my house. That was where things took off for me.

I managed to do a variation of this routine for the entire school year. My parents were convinced that I wasn’t depressed anymore, but being around his stable family so often made me resentful of mine and I always picked a fight with them, by criticizing the way they always dismissed me and ignored how badly my mental health was. Tony and his friends taught me how to roll a blunt and a joint and how to handle my liquor. I found solace in my pot head boyfriend and his unemployed adult friends, and I clung to him as my feelings got stronger. He suggested ecstasy as a remedy for my depression and, after taking it, I decided to stop self harming completely and I grew even more infatuated with him. In March, he was arrested for having an ounce of weed, a ziplock back with molly, and an entire sheet of acid wrapped in aluminum foil, in his locker. He wasn’t allowed to return to school until the next year and he had to take drug classes and attend meetings every day. After a month, he was allowed to take night classes so he wouldn’t fall behind on school. For some reason, I thought that WE were going through this tough time and I kept insisting that we were going to “get through this together”. It annoyed the shit out of him and he became really distant for the rest of the school year but I didn’t want to push him away even more, so I gave him space when he wanted it and I continued to hang out with his friends, do stage crew and hair and make up, and I even got casted in the spring musical. Over the summer, we periodically hung out, but it felt like we weren’t even dating. Whenever people asked about him, I would make up some lie about how he was doing better and I regularly saw him, as if our relationship wasn’t in limbo. I turned 15 and, towards the end of the summer, we started talking and seeing each other more and our relationship felt brand new. He wasn’t selling drugs anymore or smoking cigarettes, but he still smoked weed and such. My best friend, Keke, told me to break up with him after he got arrested, but I told her that she couldn’t possibly understand what I was going through. I told her that on our one year anniversary, I was going to have sex with him. She told me that I was an idiot for sticking with him and that letting him take my virginity was the dumbest thing I could do. Mind you, Keke lost her virginity before we even started high school, and she regularly smoked weed with her 35 year old mom, so I didn’t know why she had such an issue with me doing the same things.

When September came, and sophomore year started, I had a pixie cut, I developed my own style that I was confident in, and I got a new pair of glasses that looked just like Tony’s. I met him at his locker before the first class started and he was annoyed that I got glasses that looked like his. I asked him if he was still interested in stage crew and he said he wouldn’t want to do it if I planned on signing up too. I told him I was planning on auditioning for the play and I wasn’t just doing stage crew because of him. I didn’t want to give it up just because he believed I was only doing it for him, so I stuck with stage crew and I auditioned, and I got an understudy role. Keke continued to do stage crew with me also, even though she wasn’t interested in it, and I was planning to only talk to her and the others after Tony upset me, but our friendship wasn’t the same after we got into the argument where she called me an idiot. For some reason, Tony noticed that Keke and I weren’t talking and asked her why, but they were consistently having conversations and completely forgot about me. Whenever they were talking it was always at a distance where I couldn’t hear what they were saying and when I tried to enter one of their conversations, they would stop talking and look at me until I walked away. I told Tony what Keke said about breaking up with him and he told me that she was just being a good friend and, based on what she told him, I was a bitch to her. I told Keke that Tony thought I was copying him, and even though she knew I was just into stage crew and I just liked my glasses and they had nothing to do with him, she agreed that I was copying him and I told me I looked like a desperate, lost puppy and, based on what he told her, I turned him off.

The week prior to our one year anniversary, I messaged Keke and apologized for being insensitive. I begged her to help me prepare for my first time because I was really nervous and after sending her a dozen messages, she replied back, saying this:

“You have to stop. You can’t have sex with Tony and you have let it go. You weren’t being a bitch and I’m not mad at you. I just feel guilty and it’s really hard to be friends with you because of what I did. I don’t even know how to tell you this and I’m scared you’ll never talk to me again if I tell you.”

After assuring her that I wouldn’t cut her off, she confessed that her and Tony have been having sex since him and I first started dating. She admitted that she told me to break up with him because she was jealous and she called me an idiot because she couldn’t stand how much I trusted and loved her and Tony. She told Tony about my plan on our anniversary and he started pushing me away because he felt guilty too. He told her not to tell me the truth and that he was going to eventually break with me to be with her, but she couldn’t hold it in any longer.

THE REVENGE: I was in such shock, that all I could do was thank her for telling me the truth. I told her I needed space and I asked her not to tell Tony about our conversation at all. I didn’t tell her that I had a plan but I knew that virtue had no place in this situation. We proceeded to stay together and I acted like I didn’t know about him cheating on me. I gave him less attention than I normally did and he started coming to my locker instead and would text me first. It wasn’t obvious that I was mad or upset with him, but I really couldn’t stand to be around him or even pretend to. I would dodge his kissing without thinking and walking away without hugging him, so he knew something was up. I told him that I was acting weird because it bothered me that he thought I was copying him, and he felt so horrible. He spent the entire day apologizing, telling me that he loved me and that he was going to make up for it on our anniversary.

On our anniversary, I dressed up a bit and wore a black high waisted mini skirt and a black cropped Pink Floyd t-shirt and my classic high top converse. He came to my locker with a few sunflowers and was shook when he saw me. He told me that I looked as sexy as the day he met me. Our original plan was to have a picnic by the lake after school, then go to his house when his parents were out for bible study and have sex.

INSTEAD, I snuck outside during lunch to the student parked lot and keyed “CHEATER” on the hood of his car. I put on the dark purple lipstick I wore fairly often and left kisses on his side mirrors. I wrote “Fuck you, Manhoe!” on his rear window with the lipstick. I snuck back into school before lunch was over and I texted him and told him to meet me by the lake for our picnic, instead of coming to my locker. The lake is across the street from the student parking lot, so he would have to pass his car to get to the lake, which is exactly what I wanted. I told Keke to pretend to be confused if he accuses her of telling me the truth and she did exactly that. People were taking pictures of his car and sending them to me, asking me if I did it and I never admitted to being responsible. My brother sent me a picture of Tony’s car also and told me that he was proud of me. After Keke told me the truth, I asked his close friends if they knew and they were all shocked and pissed off and disappointed in him. I also asked them not to mention anything and told them I had a plan. One of his closest friends, Jerry*, who was 20 years old and practically Tony’s mentor, was the most upset. He knew how much I loved Tony and offered to listen to me if I ever wanted to talk and we ended up talking nonstop, about Tony, about personal things, about everything. He mentioned that he thought I was flawless and he was envious of Tony for finding me before him because he would have never fuck up a chance with me. I told him about my plan on Tony’s car and he loved how petty it was. Jerry offered to pick me up from school and take me out to eat to get my mind off of my one year anniversary with Tony, and after celebrating the success of my petty revenge over a meal together, he kissed me and invited me over to his house. Jerry knew I was a virgin and he asked me why I felt ready to lose my virginity to Tony. I explained to him that I was determined to have my first time with someone who I was in love with, but after Tony crushed me, I completely stopped caring about losing my virginity with someone I was in love with because doing so would set me up for heartbreak, regardless of who it’s with. After agreeing with me and telling me that I had a mature thought process, I kissed Jerry. I got on top of him and we ended up having sex. The next day, we did the same thing, and I had lunch and sex with him every day for two weeks until I found out he was engaged and blocked his number after his fiancée messaged me and threatened to end her life if I didn’t leave him alone.

After Tony saw his car on our anniversary, he took pictures of it and sent them to me. He asked me how I found out and if Keke told me about them and I pretended to be completely clueless and surprised, and so did Keke. He couldn’t figure out if I did it or if Keke did it and, when he realized we were both “confused” and upset when he accused us, he stopped trying to figure out who it was. Keke and I didn’t really get back to being friends, but I know she didn’t tell Tony that I was the one who fucked his car up because she was also heartbroken over him and she didn’t want him to think that he had a chance with her, so she let him believe that both of us were potentially responsible. She had no idea I was going to fuck his care up, but she did commend me for doing so. I broke up with him when he sent me pictures of his car and mentioned “Keke telling me about them”. He never admitted that he was sleeping with Keke, but I acted like I had no idea what he was talking about when he texted me and I kept asking him what he meant about “Keke telling me about them”, and I pretended to put two and two together, and told him that it was over if he didn’t explain himself, and he never did.

After he stopped selling drugs, a lot of people ghosted him and when he told his close friends about everything that happened, they told him that they already knew everything and that he was foolish for fucking things up with me. They also told him that Jerry and I were having sex (which is probably how Jerry’s fiancée found out). Tony eventually came clean and apologized to me for cheating on me and asked for another chance to be with me. I accepted his apology and declined his request to get back together. We haven’t talked since then and he still doesn’t know who fucked his car up. :-)

TD;LR: My first boyfriend cheated on me, with my best friend, the entire time we dated because I wasn’t ready to lose my virginity, so I fucked his car up and had sex with his best friend.

(source) story by (/u/cutebugsmallhands)

#prorevenge #by /u/cutebugsmallhands #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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stilloutofmyvulcanmind · 5 years

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Neon Gods Chapter 1

A/N - So this is the first chapter of a potentially longer work some of you guys showed interest in! This isn’t the definitive version, more of a slightly water-downed version I had to submit for a University project, but before I went back and did more, I wanted to know what people thought! :)

Word count - 2691

The name Borealis was far too pretty for such an ugly club. From the outside, it didn’t even look like a club, and the only way you would know that behind it’s grimy and dilapidated exterior were strobe lights and music that played so loudly leaving would make you believe you’d gone deaf, was, well, if you knew. The nightclub for misfits, criminals and those just looking to unwind, was the best-kept secret in the Industrial sector. Nightclubs, bars, or any form of establishment where a person could find a drink and some company for a few hours, had been strictly prohibited since the sector's formation, and any found guilty of running such a place...no one ever spoke of what happened to them. So when Borealis managed to continue surviving in its hidden location, it became unspoken law to not breathe a word to anyone you didn’t trust explicitly.

It was this way Astrid came to work there when she arrived in the sector. Her best, and honestly, only friend Lucra who already worked at Borealis, had taken pity and managed to secure her some shifts. That had been six years ago now, and she'd rather be nowhere else. The hours were long and meant they rarely saw the daytime, but it was always dark in the sector so it hardly mattered. The endless forests of factories billowed out so much thick, dark smoke from their metal trees that the sun was never able to pierce through to be seen anyway.

"Markus wants you back. Getting busy out there."

Astrid turned away from the window to see Lucra leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his almost bare chest. He was dressed near identical to her, only his black leather pants were exceptionally tighter, and there was about five times the glitter covering the flesh on show. "I needed to get out and take this damned thing off for a bit. Itches like a bitch." Holding up the offending item, a monstrous bright pink wig, Astrid glared at it like it was the cause of every problem in the world.

"Could always dye it, darling," Lucra said, motioning to his own turquoise hair, slicked in gel to stand almost upright with yet even more glitter.

"Ugh with all those chemicals? No thanks. I’ll suffer through." With one sure and practiced movement, Astrid had the wig back on securely, tucking the few stray hairs of her natural brown colour away and out of sight. "How do I look?" She asked, walking over to her friend.

"Gorgeous. You'll get all the tips," Lucra laughed, spending a moment to fluff up the synthetic hair.

Rolling her eyes, Astrid laughed, "I wish. They get one look at you and start drooling over themselves!"

"Between us, we'll rinse them clean then!"

Stepping back onto the floor, the deep thrum of the bass music could be felt reverberating through their bodies, the rhythm steady compared to the higher-pitched techno beat that played over it. Beams of light flashed down from the ceiling, circling from red to blue to yellow to green to pink to red again in a quick sequence that made the eye ache if observed for too long. The smell of vodka mixed with tobacco, weed, and sweat hung in the air hot and heavy as some danced together, bodies pressing with barely a gap between them, while others sat at one of the many tables, laughing and drinking and forgetting all their troubles of back-breaking work and constant observation.

One of said tables, occupied by a group of young men, waved their empty glasses in the air to catch their attention. No words needed to be spoken over who would be the one to go over, both knowing they were Lucra’s specialty, he’d be the one to earn the largest tip, so he broke free from their path to the bar to walk over. Astrid watched him a moment, just to admire his skill of getting customers firmly in his grasp. Everything was a performance, he’d told her once when she was still learning the ropes. From the clothes to the brightly coloured hair, to the glitter that shimmered and sparkled in the dancing lights, appearing so differently to the dull greys and browns that surrounded them in everyday life. It enraptured them, drew them in like they were seeing a magical creature from one of the old stories. That was the first step, from there it was a case of demeanor. Friendly enough to make them feel special, but not so much it came across obvious that you were fishing for extra credits. Read the atmosphere, chat more if they were chatty themselves, be quick with the drinks if they just wanted to be left alone. It was an art form, really, and none did it better than Lucra.

Astrid stopped at an empty table, clearing up the dirty glasses and mess left behind. She’d be lost without Lucra, that was no secret. Arriving in the sector with barely more than the clothes on her back and a little spare cash, with no job or a place to stay, Lucra had taken her in, given her a home. It had been the start of the best friendship she’d ever known, and soon, they’d have enough to get out of here forever. Caelus was waiting for them. They just needed the tickets to get there.

"Daydreaming ‘bout your new fantasy life again, girl?" Markus asked from where he stood behind the bar, mixing up some drinks as Astrid set down the used up glasses.

"Not a fantasy if it can happen, Markus," she retorted, leaning against the edge and grinning.

Markus glared back at her in return, his one synthetic eye narrowing. He’d never gotten the other replaced, no one knew why since the rest of him was more machine than man these days. Astrid suspected that Markus just enjoyed wearing an eyepatch and looking like a grumpy cyborg pirate to hide the fact he was actually quite kind. "You’ll be thirty in a couple years, Astrid. You and Lucra. You need to start facing up to reality and this, here, is your life."

"Never gonna happen, old man. We’ll get there one day. Possibly a little sooner if you raised our wages?"

"And lose two of the reasons, folk keep comin’ here? I don’t think so." Markus finished setting the last of the vividly coloured drinks onto a tray and pushed it towards her. "Now do your damn job and get these to the table in the back corner."

Astrid was about to do as she was told when everything changed. The music was still thumping and the lights still dazzled, but the carefree atmosphere had turned chilly. Looking around, everyone had stopped. No one danced, no one drank, no one said a word. From their spot at the bar, it was impossible to see what was going on. If White Wings had found them the place would be in uproar. People would be running and looking for a way to escape. Shots would be fired, and chaotic terror would fill the room. This wasn’t that kind of fear. This was ice running down your back, heart in your throat, a still sense of uncertainty and dread.

Lucra appeared next to her looking confused as she and Markus were as the crowd of people on the dance floor started to shift, parting to let the cause of the disturbance through. Three men came into view. Two were short, below average height and balding. The other was taller with more muscle than the first two combined. He was definitely intimidating, but not a match for the bouncers Markus hired. No, his appearance wasn’t why people were slowly backing their way to the exit. They were doing that because of the neon bands that wrapped around their biceps, glowing brightly against their dark suits. They were Neon Gods.

Astrid looked away quickly as the men approached the bar, her stomach flipping the same way it does when you’re standing atop a high precipe looking down

"Table," one of the shorter men ordered.

Markus stared at them for a second, the realization that he was being spoken to directly to coming slowly. It hit him and he jumped immediately into action, robotic leg whirring and creaking at being made to move so suddenly. "Course, sir. This way, please." He had never been so polite as he led the men to one of the now quieter corners of the club, people jumping out of their way to make room for them.

"The fuck are Gods doing here? I thought they didn’t know?" Lucra hissed in a whisper, tearing his eyes from the men and back to Astrid.

"Markus said they didn’t, that we were safe from them." Her heart hammered in her chest, the room seemed to spin and it felt like there was no air left in the room, but Astrid managed to glance back around at them before looking away again. The shorter men wore green bands, while the taller just wore a white one. They were low level then. Acting bigger than they really were. No one else in the room knew that. Their ranks were kept secret for a purpose after all. It also meant that they wouldn’t know who she was. Her breathing slowed, and the death grip she’d had on the bar loosened just a little. She was likely safe, but her skin still crawled, and the sooner they left the better.

"I don’t like it." Lucra, braver than Astrid, turned resting his elbows on the bar as he watched the small party. The crowd had thinned considerably, and those who remained were already in the process of leaving. "They have him in the corner, the big guy’s next to him, keeping him there. The little ones are saying something. Markus doesn’t look happy," he narrated, an uncharacteristic frown marring his face. "They’ve agreed to something, they’re shaking hands. Big guy is letting him go and the others are getting up too."

"That was quick," Astrid summoned the courage to look around too, watching the Gods take their leave. She wanted to believe that whatever business they had that could be conducted so quickly wasn’t serious or had anything to do with her, but her gut said otherwise. The twisted knot failed to loosen itself as Markus walked back to the bar, barking at the remaining customers to go over the music.

Markus raised a metallic finger once he’d returned to his spot behind the bar, silencing the question on Lucra’s lips, and reached under the counter with his other hand. Silence fell as the music came to an end. "Thank Christ, finally some fuckin’ peace," Markus grunted, grabbing a glass and pouring himself a healthy serving of whiskey.

"What the hell did they want Markus?"

The other waited until he had downed the amber liquid, and set the glass back down with a clink. "They’re hiring the place out tomorrow night for a “business” meeting. That’s it."

"That’s it?! Markus, we can’t! They’re too dangerous."

"I’m with Trid," Lucra agreed, exchanging a look with Astrid. "We can’t be associating with the Gods."

"You two’re talkin’ like we have a damned choice! They made it pretty clear that there’s only two options. One we do as they say an’ get their protection. Or two, we don’t an’ they throw us to the Wings. Which’d you rather?"

Astrid shook her head, leaning across the counter. "Markus, don’t. There has to be another way."

"And what way is that? Huh?" Markus looked between them both, voice rising as he spoke. "This is my club. I own it. I’m the only one who decides how to run it. You two just work here, and If you don’t like it, don’t let the door hit ya on the way out." His words lacked the venom for the threat to be sincere, and Astrid knew he didn’t like it just as much as them. Not that it made things easier. "Both of you go home and get some sleep, and bring your A-game tomorrow. With luck, this’ll be a one-off thing and we won’t ever have to see them again.

Astrid was prepared to keep on arguing, but Lucra grabbed her hand as he nodded towards Markus. "Okay, okay. We’re going. Goodnight." He pulled Astrid with him as he left the club and out into the night. Rain came down in a fine mist that was hardly noticeable until it started to seep into your skin and make you shiver. Yet that wasn’t the cause of the chill that ran down Astrid’s back as they hurried back to the tiny amount of space they called a flat.

Astrid didn’t sleep, but then neither did Lucra. They sat up together, talking about everything and nothing while steadfastly ignoring the topic of the following night. It was a relief, that she wasn’t alone in her nervousness. Not only did the old phrase 'misery loves company' come to mind, but this way no extra questions were asked, and she was able to get away with pretending all her concerns lay with the fate of the Borealis.

The night came back around as gloomy as always, but there was a far more eerie feeling as Astrid and Lucra stood at the bar and looked around the empty club. It was never empty during opening hours, but the Neon Gods had ordered no public access the entire night, and so none there were.

Just after midnight, the group walked in, larger than the night before, primarily made up of white bands who took positions across the club floor, hands resting entirely unsubtly on their guns. The rest were made up of green bands and to Astrid’s surprise and horror a blue band who was escorting a few unmarked men over to a table. They were almost never seen out in areas like this, so this meeting with the other men must’ve been important. Markus took the lead and walked over to the group as they settled, but Blue Band completely ignored him, letting the greens do the talking. He paid no attention to anyone at all, leaving the unmarked men to shift nervously in their seats as he simply tapped on his phone instead.

She must’ve been staring too hard, or maybe he just knew something was amiss because before she could look away, his eyes snapped up and stared straight at her from across the room. Astrid spun around, pretending to listen as Markus returned and bitched quietly about the obscure drinks they had ordered. She needed to get a grip. She didn’t know his face which meant he shouldn’t know hers. But his band...he knew more than any of the other colours, enough to ruin everything.

"Get these over to them, Astrid. This lot don’t like to be kept waitin’."

Snapped back to reality, Astrid stared at Markus, and then at the tray of drinks in front of her. "I...I…" She couldn’t, she thought. To get that close would be too much of a risk.

"I’ve got them." Lucra stepped in and lifted the tray with ease.

"Whatever." Markus moved further along the bar, trying to observe discretely what was going on.

Astrid looked up at Lucra with a smile and a tiny amount of relief, "Thank you."

"We’re talking when we get home," he said then left with the drinks.

Dropping her head in her hands, Astrid sighed. Had her fear of Blue Band really been that apparent? Probably not, but Lucra knew her better than anyone so of course, he’d pick up on it. How much could she tell him? He wouldn’t let her brush it off, but she needed to keep him safe too, and the truth, the truth of who she really was, was not safe.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and thinking it was Lucra returning, she turned to look at him. The first and only thing she focused on was the band of neon blue.

"Kethra?"

Tagging: @bookcaseninja @sleep-depiravation @0dannyphantom0 @thevalesofanduin @goingknowherewastaken @oxymoroniccat

#Original work #sci fi #science fiction #dystopian society #dystopian future #gangs

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bald-tales · 5 years

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Witness Protection at the Bears Den - part 10 to 15

part 10 It was still pretty quiet in the Bar next door to the Barbers shop. It had just gone past 8.00pm and Bart was washing up some glasses when a huge guy walked in, taking up the whole door frame. Bart had never seen him before, but he could certainly fit in at this bar. He obviously had been spending way too much time in the gym. Although he was wearing a dark suit, it was obvious that muscle, not fat, was beneath it. He had a dangerous look, and something told Bart he wasn’t after a drink. “What can I get you?” asked Bart, putting his glass drying aside. “Just some information,” the stranger said. He produced a photograph, “you seen this guy around here?” Bart felt his adrenaline start to rise. The photo looked like the kid next-door. Yes it was him alright. “Can’t say I have,” replied Bart – trying to hide his nervousness. “He doesn’t look the sort to come in here,” Bart tried to suggest. “Friend of mine said he may come in here. I’d be grateful if you’d give me a call if you do see him.” The beefcake handed over a business card – Roberto Alverez it read. “His parents are worried sick about him; concerned he may have fallen in with the wrong crowd.” He tried to smile. “Yeah! Ah sure, if I see him, I’ll give you a call,” Bart lied. “You do that.” And with that Alverez left the bar. Bart took a deep breath, then picked up the phone….he had to warn Ken – and fast! “Shit! That was Bart. Reckons his had a visitor looking for Bret. How did they find out where to look so quickly?” said Ken as he hung up the phone. “Well it’s pretty obvious there is a leak at my end,” replied a shocked Dan. He went to the window and carefully peered between the closed blinds. He couldn’t see anything. “What did he look like?” “Bart said he was a big muscle-bound goon, as bald as we are. Gave him a name – Roberto Alverez.” Replied Ken. At that moment, the bound and gagged Bret started to moan. He had a look of horror on his face. “I think Bret knows this guy,” said Ken. “Maybe we should hear what his got to say.” Ken took the huge ball gag from Bret’s gaping mouth. As soon as it was loose, Bret started to babble; ‘you can’t let him find me!’ “Ah! There he is!” said Dan, still watching out the window. “Just came out of the Laundry on the corner. Mean-looking mother…. Getting into a dark coloured Ford. Guess his leaving- for the moment anyway.” “So Bret, you see why this work on you has to be done. They will find you eventually – we have to make sure they don’t know it’s you when that happens.” Ken said calmly. “Alright! Your right. I know what these guys are capable of…..are you sure if I let you do this to me, I’ll be safe – for good?” asked Bret, obviously shaken, knowing he had no other options now. “Trust me. Already your on the way to looking like someone who fits in at the Bears Den.” Ken said, pointing at the mirror that Bret was facing. Bret’s mouth dropped; he hadn’t noticed the changes in his body. It must be what ever their pumping into him. He had noticed the restraints had been tightening, but now he saw why. His stomach was no longer flat… in fact, all his life he never been able to put on any weight – now he was blowing up big time. He had a round gut forming under his chest restraint, and he felt like his shirt was shrinking. As he went up he noticed his neck had thickened, and through the beard that had steadily been growing on his face, he could see his face had taken on a bloated look. “What the fuck?”Said Bret. “That’s not me – no way this can happen so quick. And the beard! I’ve never been able to grow anything more than a few chin whiskers…..this is weird!” The added chemicals designed to make Bret more co-operative, were working, Ken thought to himself. They weren’t as powerful mind controllers as Ken had used on Lucas or Jerry – he wanted Bret to see his transformation to completion; it might be more fun! Ken spoke first, “Now see what’s possible? This is the best way to throw those guy’s off the scent. Besides, at least you’re starting to look more of a man than a kid.” Something inside Bret agreed with Ken. He’d always hated looking so young for his age. “And this way, you can have Ken change anything you want. Plastic surgery is pretty permanent and definitely not as effective.” Added Dan. “Now listen Ken. I think it’s safe to leave you and Bret for now; I’d better try and find whose the spy, before we have any more trouble. I’ll be back a little latter – hopefully with some answers!” “Sure Dan! Bret’s fine now, aren’t you boy?” Ken replied. “I think we can get rid of the restraints – his going to be enjoying this from now on I think. Part 11 Dan was back at his desk - it was just coming up to 10pm and the offices in his building were quiet. Dan was going through the personnel records, something his new promotion permitted. There had to be a leak this end, he thought. There was no other answer. Hang on….. he suddenly got excited; of course, it had to be him! There on the screen was the obvious answer; Patrick Giovedi. A young, skinny guy that Dan had never got on with. He was working in their Accounts Department and would have had access to most of the files. Looking up his work history, there was no clue to his involvement. Only just turned 21, he’d been given a complete FBI clearance, though he’d only been working here for only 12months. What convinced Dan was his family history. Grew up in a tough neighbourhood – the son of an Irish mother and Italian father – put himself through school, attended North Hills College before attending NY University. ‘North Hills’ was the same college Bret had been peddling his drugs! Co-incidence? Dan didn’t trust co-incidences too much. What nailed his suspicion was a file photo of a young Patrick riding his bike in his old Bronx neighborhood. There he was outside a mens tailor shop; Tony Alverez Tailor. The bald-headed goon looking for Bret at the Bear’s Den was called Alverez. Must be a relative – maybe a father that owned the Tailor shop. Patrick must have known the Alverez’s, Dan thought to himself; it’s the only answer to why this guy had found Bret so quickly. Dan dialed the number of Kens’ Barbershop. “Hey Ken! Look I won’t be able to make it back tonight – I’ve got a lead! Can you put Bret up for the night – I’ll be around tomorrow………..Yeah! You’ll be safe tonight….sure….have fun!” Dan hung up the receiver. Ken had been more than happy to accommodate Bret for the night. Already, he was well and truly looking like he was a regular at the Bear’s Den! Ken had just finished washing out the hair dye when Dan had rung. Bret’s newly acquired beard was jet black, certainly a change from his former blond coloring. Ken started to dab at the beard with a brush he’d dipped in another mysterious bottle. Bret’s beard was a full beard that Ken had left thick at the chin and above his top lip. The sides he’d trimmed down short. He continued to run the brush through the chin whiskers and moustache, leaving the sides and cheeks alone. Bret could now see the black of the beard being bleached wherever the gel was brushed on. Ken decided to run the brush through more vigorously now. As the gel dried his beard was beginning to look more white than black. Again Bret’s beard was washed and dried. Ken now began to brush something else through the part bleached areas. It was a very thick, dark gel. “Just something to make you look a little older,” said a grinning Ken. After twenty minutes, the gel was washed out. Bret saw what Ken had meant about looking older! His tache and styled chin whiskers had a lot of gray showing through. As the hours had ticked by Bret’s transformation into a biker Dad was becoming more and more obvious. Bret had even started to get off on the changes that were happening to him – thanks to the drugs still being pumped into his body. He was no longer the skinny college nerd that had entered the barbershop, earlier that night. His body was much fatter. His neck had grown wider, a generous double chin, had appeared, hidden by the grey beard. His whole face had taken on a bloated look. His eyebrows were dark and thick now, his eye coloring no longer blue, but brown, thanks to coloured contacts. Bret’s stomach was now a round beer belly stretching down to his lap. His chest was bigger with his pecs forming definite manboobs. His whole body was now covered in black hair mixed with silver-gray here and there. A real contrast to the smooth look he’d come in with. Piercings now adorned his nipples. Four large hoops swung from the left ear making the lobe stretch down under their weight. Bret hadn’t been too willing for the metal, but the drugs helped convince him. “Now it’s getting late, I think that will be enough tonight,” said Ken. Bret was beat after all the work done on him and all the drugs pumped into him over the past five hours. He was sure ready for some shuteye. “First let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.” After Ken had put Bret to bed in the spare room above the shop, he waited for him to go off to sleep. He knew he’d not wake up thanks to a little tonic in his hot cocoa. Ken began to apply an oil over Bret’s face. In a few minutes it would dry and shrink. Then Ken would apply another layer. This was his radical plan to help age Bret, beyond his 28 years. The oil would cause premature aging. Ken made sure the layers would be more on his forehead and around his crows feet. Next he applied a small weight to each nipple ring. Then he applied a vacuum cylinder to Bret’s rather average sized cock. He took a needle and injected it into one of Bret’s balls. As he pushed down on the plunger the testicle began to inflate. He repeated this with the other ball. They would be stretched latter after they had grown, like his cock would. Ken plunged another needle into the base of the dick. He connected the vacuum to a small machine that would then operate the vacuum all night. “Sweet Dreams Brett,” said Ken, giving him a kiss on the lips before retiring himself Part 12 Hey Ken! Anyone home?” Dan called as he let himself into the back of the shop with his own key. It was nearing 3 in the afternoon. “And just where have you been?” replied Ken as he came down the stairs from the apartment above. give him a sedative about an hour ago. He didn’t wake up feeling too good. ”Can I take a look?” asked Dan. “Sure thing.” Dan wasted no time going up to the bedroom where Bret was in. About 5 minutes latter Dan was coming down the stairs supporting a groggy Bret. “Sorry I’m so late. I’ve made progress on our mole. One Patrick Giovedi, works in our Accounts department – bloody weasel!” sneered Dan. “Coffee?” Ken asked as he went to a sideboard to pour himself a cup. “Sure! Would kill for one.” “I hope not,” smiled Ken as he poured a cup for Dan. “So how’s our patient?” asked Dan. “Had to amazing Barber, Ken,” smiled Dan as Ken came to give him a hand. “He wanted to get up – seems pretty out of it still.” “Let’s put him back in the chair,” replied Ken, “I need to work quickly on him with this company snitch on our tale.” “What more can you do? This is amazing – I mean the whole package is unrecognizable as Bret.” Said Dan carefully placing Bret in the chair. “Not enough! Got to do the attitude and personality adjustments for him to be totally believable. Without it he will expose who he really is for sure.” Said Ken as he worked some switches at the back of the chair and the large TV screen came to life. “Bret was pretty freaked out this morning when he woke up – I mean who wouldn’t be? He started saying we were turning him into some freak, that we had no right” EARLIER Yes indeed. When Bret awoke that morning he felt terrible. He slowly came to only to find this sucking cylinder on his dick. He quickly removed it and couldn’t believe his eyes. His modest dick was huge – well over 12 inches, and his balls were like melons. His mind was trying to figure what had happened last night. It wasn’t a dream after all. Just then Ken had entered the room. “Ah! Your awake sunshine.” “What the hell! What have you done to me?” Bret spat at Ken “I thought you would like all the enhancements,” replied Ken. “Here take a look!” he then said producing a large mirror. “Ahhhhh………..no…it can’t be! You made me into an old fuck like you.” Bret screamed. His face appeared to be years older and with the gray-black beard made him unrecognizable as a 28 year old. His sagging breasts had huge weights attached to the nipple rings – no wonder they felt numb. “I’m getting out of here, I don’t care what the mob does to me; it can’t be worse than what you fuckers have done.” “Just relax Bret. I know it’s all a bit much to take in at first – but you’ll get use to it. Remember – it’s for your own protection!” Ken replied suddenly producing a chloroformed rag. Bret tried to free himself but Ken was still fitter and stronger. It wasn’t long before Bret passed out. Back in the Barbershop Ken was busy making Bret more co-opperative. “I don’t want to be like you guys,” Bret said groggily as he focused on the swirling patterns in front of him. “Sure you do, Bret. Relax and focus on the screen in front. You’re feeling so good now. You love the new you…. “No way…I don’t want ….I can’t stay like this….I have to get awayyy….” “No Bret. You only hear the sound of my voice. Concentrate on the patterns. They are relaxing you aren’t they Bret!” Ken softly and evenly spoke into Bret’s ear. “Yes, they are relaxing… but I have to get away from here….I…I…” “No Bret. Listen to my voice,” Ken continued, “you like my Barbershop, you like the changes we are making to you. You are looking more of a man than before – more mature, rugged.” “I like being in your Barbershop….” repeated Bret. Ken continued to work on Bret. He’d decided it was best if he forgot about his former life – safer as well. Dan kept watch, keeping an eye on the street out front of the shop. He was extra careful not to be followed this time. After about an hour and three injections, Ken said he was finished for now. “He’ll still need follow up work, but when he awakes he’ll be a different guy altogether. He will be an old, mature biker bear, ready to show us his nice big cock.” Dan look at Bret’s naked body. His cock was certainly big, but the width now was like a beer can. “Maybe that size head deserves a nice big ring.” “Just what I was thinking,” replied Ken. With that he got his piercing cart and went to work giving Bret a nice gold PA through his huge piss hole and ensuring it was permanently closed. “Now for some finishing touches,” smiled left Ken to his fun working on Bret. Ken as he went to the counter and took a bottle of one of his potions. “I want this dude looking so different from his former self even his own mother wont recognize him.” He proceeded to paint the sides and back of Bret’s bald head with the green goop. “This will quicken the hairgrowth, so his male pattern baldness will be obvious. It will make him look even older.” The stubble had just started to appear on Bret’s head except on the top and crown where Ken had permanently removed it. “Listen Ken, I have an idea to set up Giovedi.” Dan said, coming over to watch the process and fascinated at how thorough Ken was. “Give me a few hours and I’ll be back. Have that television ready, I think Giovedi needs an attitude adjustment!” “Sounds good to me,” laughed Ken. Dan Part 13 Ken heard a tap at the rear door to the shop. He’d been cleaning up after his time spent on Bret. “Dan! Your back! Who’s your friend?” asked Ken as he ushered Dan and a young, skinny guy into the shop. “Ken, this is Patrick. Patrick Giovedi.”Dan answered introducing his firm’s accountant. The guy looked very nervous, especially now that Dan had locked the rear door. “Patrick, nice to meet you,” Ken said, “so what can I do for you?” “I don’t know why I’m here actually – I mean I was practically dragged down here.” Patrick answered giving Dan a distrustful look. “I told him it would be in his best interest to come down here to meet you.” Dan responded. “Yeah! Sure – forced more like it.” Said Patrick. Then Dan put a hand on the accountants shoulder and pushed him towards one of the Barber chairs. Patrick realized there was some guy in the nearest chair, he seemed to be asleep. “Take a seat and we’ll explain why you’re here.” Dan said, practically pushing him into the chair. He then whispered something to Ken, who then went to the control panels at the back of the first chair that Bret was sitting on, still unconscious. “Now Patrick. I’ve noticed how your always looking at me – I think you’ve got a thing for a real man and I’m the kind of guy you’ve been looking for.” Began Dan. Patrick’s eyes went wide, he could hardly believe his ears, “What the hell. Are you insane? I’m no faggot and if I were, I definitely wouldn’t be interested in a old, fat fart like you. Where in the world do you get off calling me………..wha…” Before Patrick could finish the chair was spun around. “What the fuck? Cried Patrick as he felt a leather strap go around his chest. “Shut it,” Dan said “or I’ll shove my cock up that virgin arse of yours.” Stunned, Patrick stayed quiet long enough for another restraint to go around his ankles. Suddenly a TV screen in front of him came to life. It seemed to be a series of patterns and flashing shapes. Patrick tried to turn away but Dan had his head in a vice-like grip. “Yes Patrick, I think your going to enjoy Ken’s entertainment.” Dan whispered into the ear of Patrick. Gradually his attempts to stop looking at the screen lessened till finally he was at Ken’s mercy. “Now Ken, the full treatment. Can you make Pat a full-blown queen.?” asked Dan “Your wish is my command, but what’s your plan?” Dan went on,” I want our snitch here to be totally discredited but those his working for. Once they see what he is into, I don’t think they’ll be dealing with him in future. Now I want him particularly into straight cock.” “Sounds interesting – I’ll give it my best shot.” Replied Ken. He began to go through some DVDs as Dan went over to Bret’s chair. “Shit Ken! What have you done to our other guest?” “Not bad if I do say so myself.” Answered Ken. “Bloody amazing, I’d say,” Dan said. He was looking at the hair growth around the sides and back, a perfect male pattern baldness specimen. The hair was very noticeable now, grown out to a number one length and coloured dark grey with some silver showing through to match his beard. The top of his bald head seemed darker tanned with signs of ageing and sun damage. His face appeared to be even older then when Dan had left, the result of Ken’s desire to make this guy totally unrecognizable. As Ken inserted a DVD into a compartment on the side of the television he asked, “So how old do you think he looks?” “At least 60!” answered a still stunned Dan. “No one will ever believe this is Bret Williamson.” Meanwhile, Ken turned his focus to Patrick. He was now completely hypnotized – the screen in front now showing occasional pictures of naked, athletic jocks. Ken set up two syringes and injected the first into Patrick’s left arm. He then went on to say, “Now Patrick – can you hear my voice?” “Yes.” “Good. And you’re starting to feel very relaxed?” “Yes.” “You’re going to feel even better soon. As you watch the screen you feel more at ease and comfortable with what you see. Your beginning to enjoy the photos of the men, it’s starting to make your cock rise.” Dan noticed the kid’s bulge developing in his crotch. He watched fascinated as Ken worked on the new ‘client’. There were no plans to alter his memories just his sexual preferences. They would have some fun with this one – he deserved it. LATER. “Bart have you met Patrick?” Ken announced loudly as he and Dan brought Patrick into the Bar. It was just after 6 pm and the Bar contained a few regulars. They had finished there work on the kid, and on Bret who was sitting in a dark corner still a little zonked out. Jerrt was sitting with him both drinking some heavy gainer beer. “Well, Pat we don’t get many like you in here?” chipped in Bart offering his hand. Patrick refused to shake it, even though he couldn’t take his eyes off Bart’s body. As usual the bartender was wearing no shirt and just a tight pair of black, leather pants. “The names Patrick, and I’ve never been to a place like this before.” Patrick replied, but feeling his cock hardening. “How about a drink – help you relax?” asked Bart. “Well…I suppose I could have one before I go.” Stammered Patrick. Suddenly he was conscious of pipe smoke, all around him. Ken had lit up one of his special blends. “Hope my pipe isn’t bothering you son?” “Yes. Actually it is bothering me….it kind of smells…..you can’t…..” Patrick tried to speak but the smoke encircling him was making it hard. He started to feel at ease, why was that. He took a long gulp of the beer. “Take another,” Bart pushed the drink into Patrick’s hands. He felt he should. He started to feel he should do anything this guy asked. “So Pat! Still want me to stop smoking my pipe?” asked Ken putting a firm hand on Patrick’s shoulder. “No. No, it’s fine. I’m getting use to it.” Replied a much more amiable Patrick. It wasn’t long before Patrick was on his second drink. Ken suggested Bart have a break, giving him a wink. Bart went around to Patrick, grabbed his arm and said, “why don’t we get to know each other a little better!” Feeling a little light-headed and confused, Patrick went with Bart. “Quick Ken! Go get your camera; let’s get a snap of the happy couple,” said Dan. Within a half hour, Patrick was all over Bart, totally oblivious of having pictures taken. He had his shirt off and before long, was sucking on Bart’s huge cock – PA and all. The next day, Patrick was back at work totally unaware that he had been straight up until yesterday. He couldn’t remember much about last night but he definitely wanted to return for some more action with Bart. The phone suddenly disturbed his daydreams. It was his cell phone. “Hello! “It’s Alverez. We haven’t heard from you for a while. Not trying to get out of our little arrangement are you?” “No…of course not. I’ve had no new information.” answered a frightened Patrick. “Well keep an eye on that ‘faggot’ boss of yours. He won’t suspect you, and I’m sure his still in contact with Williamson.” “Sure…but I’ve got to be careful…” then Patrick stopped as he realized Alverez had hung up. It was just nearing 5pm when Dan came up to Patrick’s desk. “How about coming with me for a drink? You made such a good impression at the Bears Den yesterday- thought you might like to come along again. I have to check up on one of our recent client relocation in the same area, so your welcome to come along.” “Ah! Sure, thanks…..I was finished up here anyway.” Responded a shocked Patrick. What great luck. Now he might find out where they have Bret stashed and finally get Alverez off his back. As Dan and Patrick drove to the other side of town, Dan noticed a dark sedan following. He knew Alverez was probably watching him. Perfect, he thought to himself. As they entered the Bears Den, Bart immediately came over and gave Patrick a kiss. “Great to see you again Pat. Here – have one of my ‘special ’frosties. Dan left the bar to see Ken, leaving Patrick in Bart’s capable hands. Watching out the Barbershop window, Dan saw Alverez head straight into the bar. “Right on cue,” said Dan. Ken was already heading to the bar via the rear door. Roberto Alverez had no time for ‘ fags ‘ and here he was in this sordid bar a second time. He quickly scanned the room, which seemed to be busy already. As he passed a notice board he did a double take. There in the middle were the photographs that Ken had taken of Bart and Patrick. Alverez felt sick. He always thought Giovedi was a homo. No wonder he was coming to this bar. “Can I buy you a drink, son?” “What?” Alverez found himself looking at the huge gut of the very man he was looking for, Bret Williamson. “No, just looking for a friend…” he quickly replied, feeling totally repulsed by the old farts appearance. When he spied Patrick at the bar seemingly enjoying himself with the other guy in the photo, Alverez quickly left. As he climbed into his car he dialed a number on his cell. “No leads I’m afraid. Giovedi is a liability. Yes! I understand, I’ll take care of it.” Alverez hung up and started the car. Chapter14 A FEW DAYS LATER. Patrick was scared. He had tried to contact Alverez, unsuccessfully each time. Something had changed. He knew he was a liability as he knew of Alverez’s involvement with the mob. In fact, their families had grown up together in a tough city neighbourhood. That’s how Alverez had first approached him about becoming an informant….even though he knew it was dangerous – the promise of easy money – well now Patrick wished he’d never gotten involved. He knew his life could be in danger. That’s when he decided to confide in his new ‘boyfriend’ Bart. Bart had insisted he tell Dan everything, but Patrick knew he’d be in big trouble with the authorities. Of course Bart had been briefed on the whole story so he knew which way Dan wanted to proceed with this poor excuse for a man. “Jerry! Mind the store – I’m going next door.” Said Bart as he took Patrick’s arm. “Ken will know how to help, his an expert at creating disguises!” continued Bart. Patrick decided this guy knew best – he trusted him, but what did he mean by disguises? “Listen to Ken, Patrick, it’s your best hope”. Said Bart as he sat on one of the waiting areas chairs. They had been in the Barbershop for a good half hour, explaining everything to Ken. Patrick was sitting in one of the Barber chairs, Ken resting against the counter. Ken had been trying to convince Patrick he needed a radical makeover to escape the mob. Suddenly there was the sound of the lock turning in the rear door. It was Dan, whom Ken had previously contacted. “So Patrick – you’ve come clean finally.” Dan said, approaching the chair. “Look, it’s not my fault. I was forced in………..AHHHHHH!” Patrick didn’t finish, Dan slapped him hard across the face. “That’s for the 2 people we lost. You’ve nearly cost everyone at ‘New Beginnings’ their job. And now you want us to save your sorry arse?” “Please! I’ll do anything you want, please don’t turn me in……I’ll never survive in prison – the mob will find me.” Pleaded Patrick with tears streaming down his face. “In that case you will do everything we tell you, agreed?” asked Dan. “Agreed”.Patrick said trying to stifle his sniffles. Ken came over to the chair, “then we have to work quickly and you must do as I say?” “Yes! Anything you say.” Patrick was beginning to feel less frightened. How bad could a makeover be? He was just relieved at Dan not going to the cops. “Well first thing is to make you blend in around here if we’re to look after you – Dan! How about a beer? This could take some time!” “Count me in.” said Dan. Ken went out to the back room, ensuring Patricks drink was the one with the growth building steroids. Handing the drink to Patrick he said, “if your going to hang around here your going to have to drink a lot of beers – it’s the only way you’ll never be found.” Patrick thought it a strange comment – how can beer help hide me? Maybe behind a beergut perhaps he mused to himself. “Now then, I think you need quite a bit of work, your hair hasn’t seen any cutting lately, has it?” Ken said running his hand through the long, dark locks of hair at the back of Patricks head. “No, I kind of avoid haircuts – my hair is so thin, I never like what they do to it.” Responded Patrick, now looking in the mirror at his hair. “Well boy! Having it longer doesn’t make it thicker,” Ken went on grabbing a pair of heavy-duty Oyster clippers, “Let’s start with the length.” As the sound of the clippers being fired up filled the air, Patrick started to worry. The teeth met his front hairline and began to take the hair down to a quarter inch. Patrick couldn’t believe his eyes as the clippers cleared more and more hair from the top of his head, only stopping just past his crown. He took a huge gulp on his beer, as if for courage, but found himself enjoying the taste. Dan caught a signal from Ken to grab a few more. Within a few minutes, all the length on Patrick’s head was gone. He certainly looked different, but he didn’t really like it – he’d had long hair ever since his early teens. Ken turned the clippers off. Examining the top of the head he then said, “Your getting a little sparse on top, your not going to be able to pull off a HnT or recon. Maybe we should shave it all off.” “No! Please don’t shave me bald, I’d look terrible.” protested a worried Patrick. “Shut it, boy! Remember, who’s the boss now.” Dan suddenly interrupted. “Sorry, I know but I’ll put up with any other haircut, just don’t take all my hair off.” Patrick said easing his tone a little. “Okay. I won’t shave it all off,” Ken continued, changing the guard on the clippers, “I’ll do one of my specialties instead.” And with that he brought the clippers to the hairline again and drew them slowly through the remaining hair and in their wake, only white skin remained. Patrick went to complain, but saw Dan get up towards him. As Ken continued the clippering Dan could now see Ken was indeed giving the boy one of his specialties – an MPB cut. As Ken turned off the clippers, he asked, “So how do you like it so far?” “You said you weren’t going to shave all my hair off!” Patrick said as tears began to form in his eyes. “You said any haircut. Besides – you’ll still have hair this way, and you were on the way to male pattern baldness anyway. I’m just speeding up the process.” Ken smiled as he went to his counter to get some of his special hair removal ingredient. Patrick couldn’t believe how different he looked already. Ken had just removed the last of the permanent hair depilatory gel, which he’d left on extra long. Patrick could feel a definite tingling on his scalp. There wasn’t a single hair to be seen- no shadow, just a ring of long, black hair around the sides and back. He looked so old – so freaky, and this was permanent. “Drink up Boy! You’ll soon like the changes.” Laughed Ken, noticing the look of shock on Patrick’s face. “Now for the rest of the hair,” and he took another attachment, switched on the clippers and commenced to run them up from the base of the neck to the crown, pushing Patrick’s head forward. Now with his chin pressed against his chest, he couldn’t see the results. He could feel the heat of the blades stripping him of all his hair. But, hang on – was that his cock twitching. He couldn’t believe he was starting to get a hard-on. His head was spinning a little – it must be the beer! He thought to himself. When Ken had finished, Patrick was able to look at himself in the mirror. His dark, long locks were gone, but he wasn’t bald, Ken had left him with a fairly thick band of hair framing the bald skin on top. Suddenly, a high pitched sound started up, his head was pushed forward again, and Ken was going up the back of his head again, this time, only trimming the edges and blending it into the thicker hair. When he was finished, Ken showed Patrick the finished results in a hand mirror.” See! I did as you asked. Any style except totally shaved.” Even though he was angry at Ken, he was starting to feel more relaxed. As he looked closer, he was starting to think he was going to be safe from Alverez and at the same time, escape the hands of the FBI. Maybe it was worth the new haircut! Part 15 “Patrick! I think it’s time for a little payment for the trouble you have caused Dan,” Ken purred into Patrick’s ear. “What do you mean.” Asked Patrick nervously Ken began to lower the back of the chair. He noticed that the beer was definitely having an effect on Patrick’s body, he was developing a large beer gut on his skinny frame already. “I just want to make sure, that, your extra popular with the customers around here.”Ken smiled. And with that he attached a large cylinder to Patrick’s now exposed cock. He hooked it up by a tube running to a small compressor unit. At the same time, he attached two smaller cylinders to each nipple and again attached each to a tube on the compressor. As he turned it on, the sudden noise and sensation made Patrick jump. “I’m not having any of this freaky shit!” Patrick said going to get up out of the chair, but as he looked down he stopped himself; what had happened to his stomach – he’d always been skinny, now he had this large jutting beer-gut. This was just what Ken needed. The delay gave Dan enough time to restrain Patrick, while Ken gave him an injection. “That will relax you boy. Dan! Give our boy here another beer.” Patrick slouched back into the chair. “WH…….?” “Yeah! The paralysis drug I gave you reacts real quick!” said Ken. Dan brought the beer over. “Now open wide,” said Ken as he forced the mouth open. “Dan – I think our friend here is a little parched.” Dan began to pour the brew slowly down Patrick’s throat – to prevent gagging. Patrick was unable to move. He felt the beer going down his throat, but he couldn’t move. When Dan was finished, Ken asked him to bring the remaining special labeled Beer in his fridge. “your going to get a real thirst for this brew young man,” responded Ken, seeing the fear in Patrick’s eyes. Patrick had to admit he was already getting to love the beer despite never being a beer drinker before. Ken and Dan had been working on the company snitch for nearly 4 hours now. Ken looked up from his work to see Bart coming through the rear door. “Thought I come and take a look at how your getting on. Brought you some sandwiches too in case yo….. Jesus! Is that Patrick? “ Bart suddenly said noticing the figure in the chair. “No. This is Kell.” Smiled Ken, finishing up with a small metal trolley he’d been using. “There is no longer a Patrick Giovedi. This bears name is Ken O’Halloran, ‘BeerKeg’ to his friends.” “No kidding”, whistled Bart. “I’ve got to hand it to you partner, this is your best work yet!” Dan nodded in agreement as they looked at the transformation in front of them. The pasty, skinny Italian had been remade into a huge, hairy, monstrously built Irish Biker Still naked in the chair, Patrick’s belly was more than a beer gut now. It measured over 50 inches, and his now obvious manboobs were sitting on top of the huge stomach. His nipples had been stretched and were the size of silver dollars now, both nipples hanging even lower after heavy weight, gold rings now adorned them. Bart couldn’t stop looking at the giant cock – as thick as a beer can and over 13 inches long. He now had severe male pattern baldness , with only a ring of red hair around the sides. It had to be a 7 on the Norwood Scale. His face seemed bloated, he now had a few double chins, his skin had no real tan, he seemed a lot fairer – more Irish than Italian. He was wearing a walrus style moustache that covered his top lip. It hung down the sides of his mouth and curled at the ends. It was a luxuriant red also – obviously dyed, as this guy looked like he was over 50. His eyebrows were bushier, and the same color red as the rest of the hair on his body. And that too was luxuriant – all over his back and chest, that sort of hair would require a lot of wax to see smooth skin again. “There is still a bit of work to do to him yet…… just to teach him a lesson.” Said Ken waving some smelling salts under Patrick’s nose. He started to stir, slowly at first – then he began to moan. “ What happened? I feel like a truck ran into me.” Patrick said suddenly realizing where he was and that he hadn’t been dreaming. “You’ve been out for hours, your bound to feel a bit groggy,” replied Ken. “Ready to see the new you?” As Ken spun the chair around a piercing scream filled the Barbershop. Ken added, “Not to your liking, Beerkeg?” “Fucking hell….what the? I’m not me any more. I’m so fat! I look older than you guys. I never agreed to this, I mean it can’t be legal?” yelled Patrick as he tried to struggle against the restraints. Dan spoke first. “Your lucky we didn’t turn you in to the cops, or better yet, Alverez”. Ken had switched the TV on and the swirling patterns started. Patrick tried to turn away but found himself starting to relax, his eyes starting to glaze over. “Now for some reconditioning,” said Ken. “A little dumbing down is warranted here…….What the fu…..? Ken was suddenly startled by the sound of the back door being ripped off it’s hinges. The big, bald frame of Tony Alverez was stepping over the smashed door. He’d been snooping around…..he knew there was something fishy about the Bar next door, and when he’d heard this scream coming from the Barbershop, he ran down the back alley – gun drawn. “Hands up! That means you in the chair as well.” Barked Alverez. Bart, Dan and Ken did as they were told, only Patrick couldn’t as he was still restrained and transfixed by the hypnotic screen in front of him. Going over to the chair, Alverez repeated the command, then noticed the restraints, “What’s going on here? What are you fags doing to the fat guy? “Oh, that’s just Beerkeg,” replied Ken. “He likes a bit of rough play when he has a haircut.” Ken smiled. “Why is he looking like a zom……at the televisio…..those patterns are….” Alverez had made the mistake of turning to look at the screen that Beerkeg was staring at. “Don’t anyone try anything……..funny…..” Alverez tried to say. “Come here and take a seat, son – you look tired!” said Ken getting Dan to help him carefully remove the gun from Alverez’hand. They directed him to another chair being careful not to turn his head.

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gumnut-logic · 6 years

Text

The Subject of Virgil

Title: The Subject of Virgil

Sequel and epilogue to ‘Access Denied’

Author: Gumnut

25 - 31 Jul 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015

Rating: Teen

Summary:

Gordon was in the kitchen getting himself a drink of water when there was an almighty yell, a loud crash, and something flew off the balcony above and into the pool.

He frowned, only to sag slightly as the piano stool floated gently back to the surface.

“Ah, hell.”

Word count: 8388

Spoilers & warnings: Season 2 in general. Occurs sometime before 2.07 Home on the Range. Possibly AU due to the time length involved. You can read this without reading ‘Access Denied’, but it would make more sense if you read the first fic first. Angst and a little whump.

Author's note: Apparently I was a little too mean to Virgil in the last fic and he demanded some reparations – that and I felt ‘Access Denied’ didn’t quite end the way it should have. Having said that, once again this fic ended up somewhere completely unplanned (there is an entire scene missing that I’ll have to use in another fic). Whether it is satisfactory to meet the demands of the first fic, I don’t know. But I hope you enjoy it anyway.

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

Gordon was in the kitchen getting himself a drink of water when there was an almighty yell, a loud crash, and something flew off the balcony above and into the pool.

He frowned, only to sag slightly as the piano stool floated gently back to the surface.

“Ah, hell.”

He put the glass down and rubbed his eyes before wandering over to the main table and hitting the comms. “John, what is Scott’s status?”

“On his way back, ETA fifteen minutes.”

“Grandma and Alan?”

“Still in Sydney. Apparently, she has dragged him into The Rocks. We may not see them for a while.” Gordon smirked. Grandma was notoriously attached to craft markets and would, no doubt, arrive home dressed in tie-dye and sandals, sporting jars of homemade jams and pickles.

“Kayo still in Argentina?”

“No, Peru.” Gordon didn’t bother asking why Peru. Since the incident with Virgil’s exo-suit, she had hardly been home, scouring the planet for their nemesis. If she ever managed to get her hands on the Mechanic, they would likely no longer have a nemesis. Kayo was pissed. And Virgil was right, she was scary.

Fortunately or unfortunately, that left just Brains on the island with Gordon, and he was pretty much as irate as Kayo. Though his anger management tended to involve locking himself in his lab to conspire with physics and chemistry. Multiple cool new gadgets had been birthed just recently as a result.

Gordon’s sudden lack of conversation had John filling in the silence. “How’s Virgil?”

“The piano stool just landed in the pool.”

An exhale. “Ah, hell.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

There was another silence. “Well, you better go yank it out. Scott’s ETA is now five minutes.”

“Thanks, John.”

“FAB.”

-o-o-o-

He managed to fish the stool out of the pool quite easily. It looked a little worse for wear and was soaked, but some time in the sun would fix that.

Looking up at the balcony revealed no sign of his second eldest brother. Gordon bit his lip. He loved his brother but be damned if he understood him.

He eyed his mother’s piano stool and sighed. Better go check that Virgil hadn’t done anything more stupid.

Climbing the stairs two at a time he entered the comms room and into the wake of his brother’s anger. Music sheets were scattered everywhere, the piano had been shoved almost to the far window and a glass, its former contents in halo, lay in pieces all over the hardwood floor.

Gordon would have said it was unlike his usually calm brother, that there was definitely something wrong, but that had already been clearly demonstrated earlier that day. No conclusions needed to be drawn as they were already known. This was just the result.

Perhaps it was a sign of Virgil’s calm personality. Gordon doubted the villa would still be standing if it had happened to him. As it was, he had the urge to destroy something anyway, preferably the Mechanic.

He couldn’t see his brother at first, but stepping further into the room, he spotted him sitting out on the floor of the balcony. Almost at the edge. His favourite flannel shirt was missing, hopefully not also a victim of this moment, just his grey undershirt hunched over in the late afternoon light. Gordon didn’t hesitate, just walked out the doors and sat down beside his brother.

“You know Scott is due in any minute. It’s going to get blustery out here.”

No answer.

Virgil had his head in his hands, one leg stuck out to the side awkwardly as if he had half fallen into position. Unsurprisingly he was wearing shorts, no doubt to keep the pressure off the large bandaged burn on his left thigh.

“I’m not going to ask if you are okay, as it is obvious that you’re not.”

No comment. Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

“But I will ask if there is anything that we can do to help.”

Still no answer.

Another moment and the pool began to retract and a distant roar encroached on the sounds of the island.

“You sure you want to stay out here?”

If there was a response, it was lost in the roar of approaching Thunderbird.

A click and the large glass doors both behind them and beneath in the kitchen slid slowly closed, protecting the villa’s interior.

“Okay, but I’m borrowing your hairdryer this time.”

Thunderbird One had come to a vertical above the island and was dropping slowly, ever controlled by her pilot. The roar of approaching exhaust enveloped them, hot air swirling and catching his hair. Gordon held his breath, resistant to breathing the fumes, harmless though they were – after all Thunderbird One was hardly your typical rocket and the fuel it ran on, far more kind to its environment. Didn’t mean it didn’t have its own flavour, though. A cough and a splutter. Yes, he’d be scraping that out of the back of his throat for the next hour.

Then the exhaust was consumed by the hanger and the long, tall body of the rocket plane was slowly passing. The cockpit came into view and one exhausted, dirty and frowning Scott Tracy peered out at them momentarily before disappearing below the edge of the balcony.

“You know he’s going to be pissed.” But he could barely hear himself, and wouldn’t until the pool finally slid back into place.

Virgil hadn’t moved. His head still in his hands, but now his hair was whipped into a frenzy. Gordon had no doubt his was little different. He also needed another shower.

As the pool closed, the doors behind them retracted again and the island returned to its former idyllic tropicalness.

Of course, there was now a countdown in place. Scott would be here any moment.

Gordon sighed.

“I’m really sorry, Virgil. It sucks. Kayo will find him eventually and he will regret everything.”

Everything.

There was the sound of a sob. Gordon’s eyes widened and then his heart tore in two.

Virgil was crying.

He wrapped an arm around his brother, gently turning the bigger man into an awkward embrace, hampered by his leg. A hand ended up full of trembling dusty dark hair, and then Virgil was shaking against him, letting out not the anger, but the anguish behind it.

Hurried footsteps slowed behind them, and Gordon blinked away his own welling tears to look up at his eldest brother.

Scott was filthy. Soot and mud, the main contributors, almost hid the blue of his uniform. But it was the echoed horror in his eyes that marked his appearance more than anything.

In Gordon’s arms, Virgil was muttering between his sobs. “I’m sorry.” A harsh heaved in breath strangled by tears. “Sorry. Sorry. So-rry.” Gordon squeezed tighter, partly to reassure, partly to keep his own insides in place.

Scott crouched down, placing his hand on his shuddering brother’s back. “Not your fault, Virgil.”

A shuddering gasp. Virgil’s head shot up and Gordon saw his face for the first time since this morning. Pale skin and tear-filled, red-rimmed eyes screamed without sound. “But it is. I should never have been out there in the first place.”

Scott’s lips thinned. “If you hadn’t been there those people would have died.”

The anger returned as his brother pulled away. “If I hadn’t… she wouldn’t have gotten burnt!”

“She would have been dead, Virgil! You saved her life and the lives of her family.” Scott had fire in his eyes, determination, clarity and defence of his brother, but Gordon knew it was also fuelled by fear.

Fear of what this could mean.

“C’mon, Virg, you know he’s right. You did good today. Accidents happen. We’re not perfect. It’s gonna happen whether we like it or not.”

Those pain-filled brown eyes caught his. “How do I tell a ten-year-old girl that she is going to be scarred for life because her rescue operative froze in the middle of saving her. Literally held her over the flames, Gordon. Simply because he couldn’t keep it together.”

Gordon’s voice was quiet. “You did your best.”

“Well, I guess that is just not good enough anymore.” He pulled away, hands scrabbling at the decking as he struggled to stand. Scott straightened and reached down to help him. The moment Virgil was on his feet, he pulled away and limped back into the house.

Gordon stood up, watching Scott as his eyes followed his brother. A door slammed in the distance.

Blue eyes flickered back to his own.

“Damn.”

-o-o-o-

It hurt to walk, but Virgil didn’t care. Hobbling through the house, he stumbled out the back door and slammed it behind him.

His feet hit the gravel path and he was moving. Where, he wasn’t sure, he just had to move away. Get away. Be somewhere else.

The look in Scott’s eyes…it asked questions Virgil wasn’t ready to answer. He scrubbed a hand over his wet face, the fingers of his left hand complained loudly. A flinch and a flashback of memory.

This morning has been so normal. A situation, a spin down his chute, Gordon on his tail. Both Thunderbird One and Two attending a rockslide just north of Santiago in Chile. They had been pulling people to safety by the droves. The side of the mountain had collapsed on a small town. While Gordon had been manoeuvring the earthmoving pod, Virgil had donned his exo-suit and had been pulling people out of buildings who couldn’t get out by themselves.

He hadn’t even thought about it. It had been months since the incident. He and Scott had been down to the module bay every day, confronting any issues that popped up, which had been surprisingly few. If anything, Virgil had felt that Scott had been having more issues than he had. Apparently, it helped to hardly remember what happened when life screwed you over.

There had been nothing. If there had been, he would have pulled himself off active service. You don’t mess with psychological issues in this business, it wasn’t worth the risk.

But halfway through the morning, Virgil had had to tackle a house on fire. Probably a severed gas pipe, and he wasn’t wearing the fire exo-suit, but there were lives to save, so he jumped in feet first.

A couple of parents and two kids. He had three of them out and was carrying the last one, a young girl on his right arm, when some kind of burning debris fell across his left side.

There was pain and he whited out.

For a moment there was memory. Memory so painful, it outshone the physical burning of his uniform. Someone was screaming.

It was Scott’s shouting over the comms that snapped him out of it. But those precious moments had been lost. The girl in his arms was shrieking, her hair on fire.

He made it out of the building, stumbling to hand the girl to the paramedics. There were hands on him, but he brushed them away, staggering around the nearest building before falling to his knees. He only just managed to rip off his helmet before dumping his breakfast on the rocky ground in front of him.

Almost choking on his own breath, hands trembling, he disengaged the exo-suit, letting its weight fall off him, shoving it away. Free of its confines, he slowly tipped sideways, unable to support himself any longer.

He didn’t know how long he lay shivering on the rocks, but the next face he saw was Scott’s, his worried blue eyes frantically scanning him for injury.

There was a stretcher. There was Gordon.

There was the wonderful roar of Thunderbird Two’s engines.

And then there was sleep.

-o-o-o-

Tracy Island was a lump of volcanic rock in the middle of the Southern Pacific. It was a harsh environment, the rock geologically young, the elements having not yet quite had their way with it. Any and all paths around the island were steep and challenging and certainly not suited to an injured rescue operative just out of bed.

Virgil stumbled several times, the painkillers wearing off by the minute.

He’d woken back on the Island in the infirmary with Gordon hovering over him. Apparently, they’d both been dismissed from the rescue site. Scott was still there, finishing up with the local crews.

Virgil hadn’t been out long. Just long enough to have his injuries attended to and for the painkiller to kick in. There were bandages scattered all over the left side of his body. He rated burns in the second degree according to his brother.

All Virgil knew was that there was a great gaping hole in his chest. There hadn’t been words, so he hadn’t said anything. Eventually, having failed to get a peep out of his brother, Gordon excused himself for a moment.

Virgil took the opportunity to drag himself out of bed and head back to his room. The emptiness in his chest drove him towards solace. His rooms gave him familiarity, his clothes gave him comfort. He wrapped himself in his familiar grey t-shirt and he sought something to soothe his whirling thoughts.

He found himself in front of his piano. So he sought his solace in his music.

The fingers of his left hand were stiff and stunk of medicated cream, but he forced them to move. He needed to find the music, to find that place. A place of safety where his mind could hang suspended between the notes, held up by the rhythm and comforted by the melody.

But his injured fingers wouldn’t obey him. There was a spark of pain and he lost it. Just lost it. Everything hit him at once and he simply reacted in fury.

God, he hoped that piano stool had survived his weakness. Mom…

Fate broke that train of thought by placing a rock in just the wrong spot, causing him to stumble and knock the burn on his thigh. He gasped and grit his teeth.

No, just keep walking.

Walk, damn you.

And walk he did.

He wasn’t really paying attention to his surroundings, so it was a surprise when the familiar sound of a jetpack zooming overhead was enveloped by the pink and orange sky of a sunset. He stopped on the path, his whole body throbbing and complaining. He looked around. Hell, he was all the way over on the other side of the island.

The blue figure in the sky circled once before dropping rapidly.

Great, he was going to get it now. Not that he didn’t deserve it, wandering off like this, but…

Aw, hell.

-o-o-o-

Scott had been frantic when they realised Virgil was no longer in the house. They had assumed the slammed door had belonged to his brother’s rooms, but an hour or so later when his meds came due, investigation had revealed his rooms to be empty.

By then Scott had showered and was in more comfortable clothing. He would have loved to have been sleeping, but he knew his brain would not let him. Not until he’d had a chance to speak with his brother. Speak properly. To reassure both Virgil and himself.

But now he was gone.

A quick word with Thunderbird Five had a lifesign pinpointed on the other side of the island. Shoving on a clean uniform, he grabbed a spare jetpack and took off.

Gordon was told to wait and answer any questions Grandma and Alan had as they had now been informed of the morning’s events and were due back any moment.

The sun was heading towards the horizon and the island was lit up in gold. The breeze was cooling against his bare fingertips and he shivered.

God, he was tired. More from emotional stress than physical. The sight of his brother curled up on his side, his uniform charred through to skin in places, practically non-responsive…

The Mechanic could rot in hell.

They’d both thought the worst was over. The pain had dulled somewhat. Scott had been processing his issues and Virgil had shown no signs of extended psychological damage.

Perhaps that should have been obvious.

Perhaps he should have forced him into that counselling he had refused.

Perhaps… He sighed. The ten-year-old had lost most of her hair. There would be some scarring, but she was alive. She had survived.

He wasn’t sure his brother would.

A whip around the area John indicated and he spotted the hunched over figure he was looking for. A glance up and he knew he had been spotted. A flick of his thumb and he was descending.

The gravel crunched under his feet as he touched down beside his brother. As expected, Virgil looked awful - cold and exhausted. Scott didn’t bother to ask why his brother was out here, he simply walked over to him, wrapped an arm around him and gently pulled him close.

“Time to come home.”

-o-o-o-

Days passed, then weeks. Burns healed, but Virgil’s heart didn’t.

He’d been pulled off active duty. Gordon and Alan now flew his beloved ‘Bird and Virgil did his best to ignore it. He stepped back into a supportive role, providing maintenance to the big machines. If it broke, he fixed it. One day might see him clambering up the side of Three, the next might have him under the belly of Two or buried in a module realigning pod equipment.

But he didn’t step a foot off Tracy Island. And he rescued no one.

He couldn’t risk it.

Scott was worried, he knew it. His big brother continued to try and corner him. To talk to him and bare his quivering soul. But Virgil didn’t want to share. He shut it all away and focussed on the here and now – the spanner in one hand, the power meter in the other and the job in front of him. Where he could do good, despite being broken inside.

And then the memories started to return. And they had to be memories, because he could not have imagined this amount of pain. It was as if the fire incident had been a trigger, a release, and bit by bit those forgotten moments had begun to return.

Flashes of the terrified look on Scott’s face. Skittering insect legs on his skin. Ice, goddamn, ice. He would be happy never to see any ice ever again. And the pain. He woke up screaming and twitching in the night, often a member of his family beside his bed worriedly shaking him awake.

It was humiliating. It was exhausting.

I wasn’t getting better, it was getting worse.

And he couldn’t function like this.

-o-o-o-

EOS knew something was wrong. John’s mood had been bad for the last week and while everyone was being civil, the under current of strain was slowly tearing their network apart.

John had mistakenly referred to the youngest one as Virgil earlier today, which was understandable for a human as Virgil was usually the pilot of Thunderbird Two. The fact that he had been ill for some weeks now didn’t immediately erase human habit of years. The silence that had followed the error had been filled with unspoken anguish and the expression on John’s face as he apologised had been equally painfilled.

The subject of Virgil was an ignition point for all sorts of arguments.

As for EOS herself, she had kept an eye on the engineer, following him through the system. He was an efficient worker, completing tasks accurately and at speed. Of course, he wasn’t John, he was Virgil and sometimes his actions were completely lost to her. John claimed it was his brother’s artistic streak. EOS was 87% sure it was just stubborn contrariousness.

But this made her no less surprised when one day Virgil just simply stopped working.

She had scooted down to the maintenance bays for her daily observations of the man only to find him absent. Further investigation and she found him in his bedroom lying on top of the bed, unshaven, shirtless, an arm over his eyes, but clearly not asleep.

An instinctive scan of his vitals found him healthy, though not at peak. There had been some weight loss due to his convalescence and his pale bare skin still sported the red remains of his burn injuries, but he was not making any attempt to rise for the day. He had a job list as long as his arm awaiting completion – she had checked, but he was making no move.

A quick query to John resulted in a sigh and a muttered ‘sick day’, so EOS had left the second eldest brother undisturbed.

But it happened again the next day. And the next. Why was he not addressing his duties? When asked, John had looked pained and told her to leave Virgil to himself.

So she did.

But he still didn’t attend to his duties. He ate. He slept. He managed the physical necessities of life, but little more. She watched as his family came to him in turn and attempted to cajole him into movement, but he refused them all. Even the eldest brother, who she had suspected would be the most successful, had ended up out in the hall, his back to the wall, hands running through his hair, desperation on his face.

So the subject of Virgil became very sensitive and she dare not mention it.

Until the day John got stuck in his bathroom.

EOS had access to all electronic equipment aboard the station, but there was a compliment of manual systems left so for safety reasons. The lock on the toilet door was one of them, and it broke. With John inside the small room.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m sorry, John, but the mechanism is jammed. I am unable to help you.”

The astronaut let his head drop against the door. “I am never going to live this one down.”

“Chances are very small.” She let a smirk into her tone.

John sighed. “Who is available?” The question could have been phrased ‘Who gets to laugh at me first?’

“Virgil Tracy is currently on the Island.”

She could see him calculating variables. She really didn’t need to tell him who was available. He knew where everyone was. He was the one who sent them there. Thunderbird One was in Buenos Aries with the eldest, Thunderbird Two was in Bangladesh with the two youngest, Thunderbird S was in England and the Chief Engineer was in California for a conference. That left the Grandmother who would be needed to take over monitor duties…and Virgil. She waited.

A sigh. “Hail Tracy Island. Voice only.”

-o-o-o-

The days had begun to blur into a repetition of grey nothing. He’d originally taken a break to see if he could get his thoughts in order, but somewhere amongst it all he’d lost…something…maybe even himself. The nights wracked by nightmares, left the days only a little less so, and he lost the energy and motivation to do anything.

His family came. They talked, they badgered, and, in Scott’s case, there had been yelling. He knew he was hurting them, but he was hurting so much himself, he had no resources to spare. So he just focussed on the basics, getting from one day to the next and kept to himself.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed with a sketch pad and pencil, once again staring at a blank page that refused to absorb anything he attempted to throw at it, when John’s voice echoed through the room.

“Uh, Virgil, I need a favour.”

He blinked. “John?” A frown. “Are you okay?”

“Um, I need you to come up to the station.”

“Why?”

A sigh. “The locking mechanism to one of the bathroom cubicles is jammed.”

“Huh?”

“While I’m in it.”

It took a moment for his brain to do the math on that. “You’re stuck in the toilet?”

“Yes.”

Despite everything…everything…Virgil’s lips couldn’t help but smirk. “Really?”

“Yes, really. And I can’t get out. EOS has transferred monitor duties to Grandma, but I need your help to get out of this…predicament.”

“Gordon’s gonna love this.”

“Gordon isn’t going to find out about this, is he?” The glare made it across thousands of miles of space and atmosphere even without visuals.

“We’ll see. I’ll be there shortly.”

“Thanks, Virgil.” And John signed out.

Virgil couldn’t help but smile.

-o-o-o-

A misstep in the direction of his chute soon sobered him up. He swallowed and instead made for the uniform lockers. He didn’t let himself think as he put on his uniform on. Didn’t think as he buckled on his sash and tool belt. Grabbing his helmet and extra tools, he entered the access shaft for the space elevator that was just now connecting with its staging platform, no doubt sent by EOS.

He could count on one hand the number of times he has used the elevator. Out of all the team, he was the least likely to visit Thunderbird Five as he usually had his hands full down here with Thunderbird Two. There was a pang in his chest, but he ignored it. There was a job to be done. A brother to be saved.

From his bathroom.

The smirk appeared again.

Latching himself in the seat built for his younger brother, he leant back and forced himself to relax.

“Hello, Virgil.”

“Hello, EOS. Are we ready?”

“Finalising pre-launch now.”

He closed his eyes waiting for the subtle movement of release.

“Launching now.”

The craft shuddered just slightly, its boosters fired, and the pressure across his body increased as they accelerated up into the atmosphere.

“Thank you for coming to John’s assistance, Virgil.”

Virgil opened his eyes and peered to look up at the camera manifesting the AI. “No problem, EOS. Anytime.”

There was a silence, but Virgil felt she hadn’t left. “Do you have a question, EOS?”

“What is wrong?”

He blinked. “With what?”

“With you.”

A frown. “What do you mean, EOS?”

“For the past two weeks you have been functionally inoperative.”

“I’ve….I’ve been unwell.” He fidgeted. He did not want to talk about this.

“Incorrect. Your body has healed and you are fully capable of resuming at least the basic duties you were attending to prior to this fortnight. Why have you not returned to the hangers?”

“I-“

“Thunderbird Two’s performance has dropped 3%.”

His eyes widened. “Really?”

“The youngest brothers’ schedules are full. They have their responsibilities as well as yours to consider. Why are you not helping?”

Virgil sagged in his seat. “I needed the time.”

“We need you.”

His voice was small. “I know.”

“I miss you.”

“I-“

“And John is worried.”

What could he say? He wasn’t sure she understood the half of it. When it was stated so simply, the answer seemed obvious. But it wasn’t so simple.

“EOS, do you dream?”

“I do not sleep.”

He sighed. “You have my envy.”

“Why?”

So young, so naïve at times, yet so powerful, EOS was amazing. His brother had created life, no matter how inadvertently. Did that make him an uncle? In any case, they all had a responsibility to assist with her education. EOS was family.

“EOS, it is complicated. Human health is not simply reliant on physical systems. Sometimes an event can have emotional connotations that can affect physical functioning.”

“You have injured your mental health?” She seemed surprised. “Why have you not sought medical assistance?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How?”

Well, this was turning out to be one of the longest eight minutes of his life. “John? How are you doing?”

“John is fully functional and sitting on the toilet.”

That was an image in itself. “EOS, why aren’t you letting me speak to him.”

“Because I want to speak to you.”

Okay, mini-tantrum in place. “EOS-“

“No, I want to understand why you aren’t looking after yourself. I miss our time together. If you are mentally ill, why not seek out treatment and get well? Then we can spend time together again. Don’t you miss me?”

Oh, god, this was getting into difficult territory. “Of course, I miss you, EOS.”

“Don’t you want to get well?”

“Of course, I do!”

“Then why have you not sought assistance?”

He wished he didn’t have his helmet on. Then he could rub his face with his hands and possibly gouge his own eyes out. As it was, it wasn’t worth the fingerprints on his faceplate. “I need time.”

“You’ve had time. You appear to have cut yourself off from all family aid. If I measure your health in relation to familial interactions, it is declining.” She paused. “You yelled at your eldest brother.”

Oh great, now she was accessing further information and checking the logs. “EOS-“

“You have rejected all the attempts of help offered by your family.”

“EOS!”

“Are you going to yell at me, too?”

He closed his eyes, squeezing his face shut, biting back everything. “No.” His voice was hoarse.

“Approaching dock. Stabilisers firing.”

The little craft shuddered and his stomach sank as momentum was shed. The clunk of the grapple was a very welcome sound.

“You may now depart. Thank you for flying with IR Elevators.”

Virgil simply stared up at the camera. What? But EOS didn’t say anything further.

He felt like he had been through an emotional wringer. Did the kid have any idea? He knew enough to not underestimate her.

A sigh and he clambered up out of the support chair and made his way onto the station.

-o-o-o-

This was humiliating.

John glared at the mechanism holding him for the bounty of his brothers’ laughter.

“Your brother has arrived and will be here shortly.”

“Thank you, EOS.” And thank goodness.

“John?”

“Yes, EOS?”

“Why is Virgil refusing to seek treatment for his mental illness?”

Mental illness? “EOS, what did you say to Virgil? I told you to let him be.”

“But it is not working. He is getting worse, not better.”

“EOS.”

“I miss him.”

“We all do.”

“Then why don’t we help him?”

There was a thud on the other side of the door and it was flung open. His brother hovered in front of him. “Hey, John.” There was the expected smirk.

But John didn’t return it. Virgil looked awful. He’d lost weight. He was pale. His uniform was baggy on him. His broad shoulders appeared stooped and where his quietly confident brother had once stood now hovered a shadow of his former self.

“Virgil?”

“So you like it so much in there, you want to stay?” At least there was a spark of humour in his eyes.

“Thank you for coming.”

A hand reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “Any time, bro.” Another smirk. “So what do I get for not telling Gordon?”

John pushed off and sailed past his brother. “I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t think too long. Blackmail has an expiry date.”

“I’m sure it does.” He rolled his eyes, but worry was roiling in his stomach. He bit his lip. “I just need to go and check on Control. See you up there?”

“Sure. I’ll fix this and meet you there.”

“’Kay.” He turned and left.

-o-o-o-

The lock only took moments to fix. A bit of oil and a replacement tongue did the job, but he did make a note to log it with Brains. This could have become a serious situation and they didn’t need two pieces of poorly designed metal making their lives even harder.

Finishing up, he packed up his tools and headed for the ring. He had to admit it felt good to be away from home. He wouldn’t have thought it would, but it did. Stepping onto the glass of the gravity ring only made it better.

Far below him spun his planet. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had been in space, he was a Tracy after all, but having time to actually take a moment to just look and not have to rush to save a life? He wasn’t sure that had ever happened.

He found himself sitting down on the glass, tools discarded beside him, the gravity ring spinning slowly, Earth, then stars, Earth again, stars again, it was almost hypnotic. The monsoon crackled over northern Australia, a cyclone brewing to the far west. He could see the snow-capped peaks of New Zealand.

Soft footsteps found him and his brother folded himself down elegantly beside him. “It’s beautiful isn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“Say, how long has it been since you’ve been up here?”

Virgil frowned. “At least six months.”

“Eight months and twenty-nine days.”

“Thank you, EOS.” His eyes darted back to Virgil. “Would you like to stay for a while?” A shrug. “I could do with some help with maintenance, if you need an excuse.”

Virgil looked up at his younger brother but saw no conniving demand to talk or need to help. John was…well, John. His honesty and directness came with the territory. “Sure.” A pause. “Thanks.”

“Great. I’ll ask Grandma to send up some of your stuff.” His brother unfolded smoothly to his feet.

Virgil stared down at the Pacific Ocean.

It was certainly a change of scenery.

-o-o-o-

It was unexpected, but it somehow helped. Virgil found his feet returning slowly to the ground now he was nowhere near it. At first, he was just a passenger. He spent his days sitting on the glass of the gravity ring simply watching. Thunderbird Five operated around him, emergency calls caught and handballed by his brother in the smooth flowing functionality that was International Rescue. But slowly, here, away from Thunderbird Two and the complications inherent, he was drawn into the flow. Soon calls to Thunderbird Five were also being answered by a deep baritone. Scott had stumbled over his words the first time but hadn’t commented. Gordon and Alan were just their usual amusing selves and they poked fun at him as they always had. For the first time in months he began to feel the cloud lifting. He found himself smiling.

John was quiet company. Simply there, often buried in reading or research. No demands to talk, no questions about his health. Simply there.

EOS was a challenge at times. Her questions were endless, but at some point John must have spoken to her and the torrent slowed.

Virgil finally found space to breathe.

There were still nightmares. He was pretty sure they were never going to leave. But they were fewer and he handled them better. In space EOS heard you scream. EOS got into the habit of telling him where he was, what time it was, where everyone else was and that he was okay.

It was a different world.

Apparently different helped.

Of course, he wasn’t John and it wasn’t long before he was thoroughly missing his family. Holograms couldn’t replace that hand on his shoulder or simply sharing physical space with a loved one. But he made do. For the first time in weeks, he finally felt like he was making progress. There was a light at the end of the tunnel.

And then a building collapsed on his eldest brother.

-o-o-o-

“Scott!” Alan’s yell across the comms scraped bone.

“Alan, report!” Virgil floated beside his brother far above the planet and too damn far away.

“The supports are giving way! Scott, move it, damn you!”

The roar of concrete and masonry could be heard over the comms. Virgil flicked through scans, then logged directly into TB2’s external camera.

The six-storey building was coming down. He saw a flash of blue through a window before dust and rock obscured everything.

“Alan, report!” His voice roared over the comms.

“Virgil.” John’s calm voice, usually heard over the comms, was in his ear. “He’s okay.” His brother’s hand flicked up the readouts from Scott’s uniform. Virgil’s eyes skipped across the numbers, his paramedic training drawing a picture. But his own heart was pounding.

A touch quieter. “Scott? Scott, status?”

Alan finally cut in, coughing loudly. “Thunderbird Five, do you have him?”

John answered. “Scott’s vitals are stable. We are getting no response, but he is alive. Two life readings.” So whoever he had dived in for had survived as well. Virgil pulled up the scan of the situation, chunks of holographic masonry still settling above two life signs.

“I’m going down.” Virgil moved towards the door.

John intercepted him. “Virgil, you’ve been in space for weeks now. Are you sure you are up to this?”

He caught his brother’s eyes. “I better be.”

-o-o-o-

Alan was covered in concrete dust and he couldn’t stop coughing. Even after grabbing his helmet and upping the oxygen level. Scott was going to carve him a new one when he found out he’d removed it in the first place.

Well, once he answered his damn comms. “Scott?”

The woman whose child Scott had run into the building to save, was clinging to his sash, jabbering at him in what he assumed was Indonesian, tears running down her face.

“Virgil is on his way down.” John’s voice was firm.

“What?”

“ETA five minutes.”

Alan looked up at the clear sky but couldn’t see anything…yet. Oookay, maybe the carving would start earlier.

“John, can you give this woman some reassurance?” He needed to start moving.

John’s voice, speaking whatever, spouted over his external speaker. The woman finally let go and babbled back. “I’ve told her that her son is alive and that we will do our best to get them out.” Alan grabbed her shoulders with gentle hands and did his best to smile reassuringly. Her head bobbed in desperate gratitude.

He stepped away just as the hiss and roar of deceleration thrusters fired above him. Looking up, the elevator came into view. Not exactly the safest way to travel. Alan bit his lip with concern only to get another mouthful of concrete dust. He sputtered.

“John, can you see a point of access to reach him?”

“Scott and the child are caught in a space beneath a large section of wall. We’re going to need Thunderbird Two to lift it.”

Damn. That made it harder. It also explained why his brother had jumped ship. It would have taken him only moments to assess the rescue site.

The Space Elevator landed off to one side. Alan hurried over as the hatch opened and his brother climbed out, his feet hitting Earth in a little puff of more dust.

He turned…and tripped, falling on his face.

“Ow.”

It would have been absolutely hilarious in different circumstances. Alan reached his brother and gave him a hand up. “I guess you are never laughing at John again.”

Virgil glared at him. Alan couldn’t help but feel his heart lift at the sight of it. Virgil looked, well, better. Not one hundred percent, but his spark was there.

“Situation?” All business.

As the Elevator retracted into the sky, Alan reported the dot points of the lead into the collapse and the status of equipment available. His brother strode directly over to the towering Thunderbird Two, prodding his remote. She responded immediately, the pod bay door opening so fast he didn’t need to alter his stride to enter.

“Alan, take the pod, multi-claw and leg combination. We’re pick and throw initially. I’ll take the exo-suit.”

He shot his brother a look, but didn’t comment on that last, no matter how much he wanted to. “FAB.”

He busied himself setting up the pod, only the occasional glance in his brother’s direction. But he did watch as the man approached his suit.

No hesitation. He lent back, slipped his arms into the sleeves. The suit snapped on, attaching its support framework to his uniform. And Virgil was moving.

Alan jumped into the pod and slid the hatch closed. “John?”

“Alan?”

“Keep an eye on him.”

“Always do.”

-o-o-o-

It was a blur of concrete and dust. Manual labour, an old friend. Virgil grunted as he lifted a particularly heavy chunk of masonry, near the suit’s limits, an alarm sounded in his helmet.

Okay, I got the message. He lowered it and signalled to Alan to retrieve it.

His body ached. Space had made him soft.

Scott still hadn’t responded and despite John’s continued reassurance, Virgil’s heart was in a knot. They weren’t moving fast enough. They had to clear the rubble above the large section of wall to enable Thunderbird Two to get a good grip on it, and to make sure random rock didn’t then fall in on the trapped victims.

“A-alan?”

“Scott?!” Virgil paused.

“Virgil?”

“Scott, status?”

“I’m…I’m stuck. My head…augh.”

“Are you injured?” There wasn’t an immediate answer. “Scott?”

“My head…what are you doing here?”

Virgil swallowed and immediately started shifting masonry again. “Digging you out, dear brother.” He grunted as he threw away another large chunk of concrete.

“But…you’re sick. In space.”

That was worrying. Scott did not sound himself at all. “Well, apparently I don’t get to stay up there if my brother lets a building fall on him.” Another grunt of effort. “What is the status of the child you were attempting to save?”

“Can’t see.” Sounds of movement. “I think he’s unconscious.”

“Hold on, Scott, we are getting there.” The pod reached over him and lifted up a particularly large block and Virgil moved in to clear the smaller chunks left behind.

“Good…miss you…” His brother muttered unintelligibly, his voice going quiet.

“Scott! Stay awake. Talk to me.”

“Y-you didn’t want to talk to me. You left.”

Virgil didn’t have time for recriminations right now. However, the piece of rock he threw this time did land quite a bit further away than the last.

“I had to, Scott.”

“Why?”

“I needed time.”

“For what?”

To get better? To think? To hide? He threw another chunk of rock and there was a yelp from Alan. “I don’t know.”

“Wanted you to get better. Miss you.”

“I know.”

“Virgil, the slab is clear enough to excavate.” John.

“Copy that, Thunderbird Five.” He turned to Alan, looking up at the pod beside him. “Alan, you have Thunderbird Two. Use the grapple guns and secure the wall. Spread the weight as much as possible. “I’ll manage down here.”

Alan stared at him through the cockpit, but only for a second, and that was followed by a muttered, “FAB.” The pod stalked back to the module bay.

“Scott?”

“Vir-gl.”

“Stay with me, Scott. We’re about to get you out.” Behind him, the sweet, familiar sound of his ‘Bird’s VTOL firing up. A wave of dust and hot air swirled around him.

“Want to stay with you. Miss you.”

Just for a moment Virgil closed his eyes. Guilt and pain swirled around behind his eyelids. “I’m sorry, Scott.”

And then loud multiple thunks as Alan fired the grapple guns and secured the wall. Virgil stood ready to catch or steady anything they had missed. He could almost feel John’s eyes far above casing the scene, as Alan slowly elevated the concrete slab.

“To your left, Virgil.”

He grabbed the sliding rock and flung it away. “Keep it going, Alan. All steady here.” And finally, the masonry was lifted high enough for him to see his brother sprawled face down, a young boy held protectively beside him.

There was a groan over the comms and Scott struggled to roll over. “No, Scott. Stay still. We’re almost there.”

Thunderbird Two shifted the slab sideways and at last he could run over to his brother. He shed the suit in two steps. It clattered to the dust behind him, and he was on his knees.

“Hey, Virg…” Disoriented grey blue eyes smiled up at him as Scott twisted around to see him. They blinked away crusted red blood.

“Hey, hey, stay still.” Virgil reached out to cup his brother’s helmet. His fingers ran over a good solid dent in its side. Source of concussion found.

Scott grabbed his arm. “You stay?”

“Of course, I’ll stay.”

“Good.” Scott visibly relaxed. “Don’ go’way.”

And then there were paramedics, vital signs and stretchers.

-o-o-o-

Scott had been lucky. Somehow, other than a doozy of a concussion, he was uninjured. The little boy had a milder concussion and a broken arm. Both had been so, so lucky.

The doctors wanted to keep his brother in hospital overnight, but Virgil knew Scott would hate every second of it and wouldn’t be able to relax properly, so he convinced them that as an International Rescue operative he had the skills needed to care for his brother – which he did.

Alan landed Thunderbird Two on the hospital helipad and, before the sun set, they were on their way home.

“Virgil?” John’s voice startled him as it echoed around the medical bay.

“Huh?” He lifted his head off his arms. His eyes automatically scanned Scott’s somnolent form on the same bed he was leaning on. Sleeping soundly.

“You’re exhausted, Virgil, you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest later. Need to keep an eye on Scott.”

“You’re practically dead on your feet. A zombie. You’re not doing him or yourself any good. Go and lie down. I will keep an eye on Scott.”

Virgil let his head drop onto his arms again. “Can’t, gotta stay.”

There was a soft muttering over the comms and only two words were clear enough to understand – ‘two’ and ‘blockheads’.

“What?” But then he decided he didn’t really care and let himself drift. “Gotta stay.”

-o-o-o-

Scott Tracy woke with one hell of a headache. The first thing he saw was the ceiling of the infirmary. The second was his sleeping brother.

Virgil lay on the bed next to him, on his stomach, with his face smashed up against his pillow, snoring softly. Scott’s eyes automatically scanned him for injury but could find nothing obvious.

As to how either of them had ended up here...something must have happened on the last mission, but he was having trouble recalling exactly what the last mission was.

Virgil snuffled in his sleep, a frown briefly creasing his brow before settling again. Scott’s insides tensed. Sleep hadn’t been Virgil’s friend for some time. He silently wished for this moment to be quiet and undisturbed. It was relaxing to just share a room with the man.

He had missed Virgil. His youngest brothers were excellent rescue operatives and he loved them dearly, but Virgil...working with Virgil was seamless. They communicated without words, they knew each other so well, that they could anticipate exactly what was needed and when. And his quiet brother’s silent support was all he needed to face anything.

It had been like losing a limb when Virgil was injured. And he had been hobbled ever since.

“He refused to leave you.” John’s quiet voice startled him. When he shifted on the bed looking for a hologram and found John solid beside him instead, he was surprised even more.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself. How are you feeling?”

“Splitting headache.”

“That’s what you get when a building falls on you.”

“What about Virgil?”

“He’s fine. Just exhausted. He and Alan dug you out.”

Something twinged in his gut. “How?”

“Pod and the exo-suit.”

“He okay?”

John shrugged. “You needed him, he was there. I honestly don’t think there was anything else in the equation.” Green eyes shone at him. “You would have been proud.”

Quietly. “Always have been.” Of all of them. He looked back at his sleeping brother. “Thank you for taking him, John.”

John smirked. “If Gordon finds out about the bathroom incident, you are going down, big brother.”

A smile twisted Scott’s lips. “I’ll take it for the team.”

-o-o-o-

To say things got easier from that point on would simplify it all too much, but they did. Virgil got his feet back on the ground.

After space floppy muscles were toned back up into their original condition, once he started eating the diet of an active man, his uniform tightened up, his strength returned, and with it his spirit.

He would never be the same Virgil again - too much, far too much, had happened to not leave scars. There were touchy subjects and the nightmares still made visits, but according to EOS he was now ‘functionally operative’. And there was the occasional smile.

Scott healed quickly. He still claimed to remember pretty much nothing about the building collapse. Virgil had questioned him thoroughly on that on several occasions, but his story ran true. There was a building, possibly a child, then a complete blank until he woke up in the infirmary.

Having had a similar experience not so long ago, Virgil didn’t hesitate to drag his brother to a specialist on the Australian mainland, just in case. But the answers were once again inconclusive. Scott may remember some of it, may never recall any of it.

Rescues dropped off in number. With two operatives down, they were limited in any case, and Virgil suspected John was intercepting and delegating at a higher rate.

Virgil knew he was going to have to step back up to the plate at some point. He couldn’t hide much longer. And yes, ‘hide’ was the word he was using now. He was back in shape, he just needed to make that last step.

So, it was on a quiet afternoon while the comms room was empty that he approached his piano for the first time in months.

The stool had been lovingly cleaned and repaired. Apparently, Gordon had seen to that. Virgil ran his fingers across the soft material before sitting down. There wasn’t a speck of dust on the instrument. Someone had kept it clean in his neglect.

Ivory beckoned, so he reached out and played a note, another, and then a spritely little tune that spoke mischief as if he was sneaking to play his piano against the rules.

Virgil smiled and let go.

-o-o-o-

Down by the pool Scott looked up as if he could see the music in the air. Gordon surfaced from the water and he caught his brother’s eye grinning like a madman. Alan walked out of the kitchen, his neck straining to look above the balcony, so distracted he nearly joined Gordon in the pool.

Scott nudged a comm. “Hey, John, listen to this.”

There was no answer at first, but then, “Oh, thank god.”

Scott smiled.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #gumnutfic

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violetsystems · 4 years

Text

#personal

I’ve really forgotten at this point when or where this all started in terms of lockdown. I went to New York for my birthday mid February and that’s when it started to slide downhill. The city has been officially locked down since mid March. One of those more interesting things to see is how we get drowned out by the rest of the country. As far as liberating times in the city of Chicago, things have been less aggravating than they’ve ever been. People here have read my posts and know what kinds of things I speak about. It’s pretty obvious that I harbor some pretty complex ideas about anarchy and freedom. Looking back at all the years I’ve lived in Chicago isn’t some rosy reflection for me. I wasn’t always a strong enough person to stand up for myself. Or when I did it wasn’t very graceful. If you leave people to themselves to make their own mistakes they will eventually learn to move past or drown in them. I’m an only child and have always been very hard on myself. I was picked on and isolated for everything from my weight to my intelligence for years. I moved to Chicago years ago to be closer to culture. I grew up in suburbs where the only creative outlet was to hang out at Denny’s until four in the morning. Punk shows and raves happened but always under the threat of being hassled by police or extremist recruiters. These days I roll out of bed to the kitchen which acts as the only office I’ve ever had with windows. My life resembles more William Gibson novel than Clive Barker. I’ve had the same job for two decades now. It’s only in the last few weeks where I’ve realized that I’m more vital. And at the same time I feel just as forgotten as I was. An invisible ghost in the machine. The perks of being able to do what you want without second thought. Spending years explaining the motives behind them without ever really saying it outright. My own subculture has grown around the fuzzy edges. I have always loved computers. My mom told me recently she had a premonition when I was young. That I needed to be around computers. Before we even had one. My dad brought home an old apple with a modem on day from work. It was a brick. It was so he could work from home. Years later I can’t get away from them. Computers that is. Last night my dad and his wife facetimed me for the very first time. It was a big deal for them. For me it was just another day in my kitchen on camera. Still me. My parents and my coworkers are about the only people I socialize with on video. Everybody knows my writing is how I connect to people. That’s why nothing has ever changed much emotionally for me down here. Just a far more stable connection on all levels. Chicago to a fault these days. The coffee still gets delivered. Monday is still April 20th. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to worry about it all for once in my life.

If you ask me if I worry, it’s true I do. Not about dying or anything. That’s fucking stupid to worry about in my mind. How many times have I lived through miraculous bullshit? I can’t even count or remember at this point. I’m resilient for sure. I’m sure everybody knows how mature I am. I don’t dye my fucking grey hair or anything. I don’t even really like going on camera anymore for social media. The audience is like a void to me. It has never returned anything except stray likes and the illusion of care. I’ve written what I’ve wanted to say here for years. And some of the most beautiful and amazing people in the world have read this. I find anybody who is patient enough to sift through my prose to be a genuine enough person. But I have always been a writer. I used to run a poetry zine in high school. It had the painfully edgy titled “Emotional Anarchy.” I almost got expelled from a christian high school because of it. Though it was mostly gibberish. I studied English and Psychology at a suburban college in Romeoville, Illinois. College was definitely culture for me. I ended up running a radio show in the middle of the night for years. Nobody listened. Inmates maybe. Years later people in Shanghai on the other side of the world bring up college in casual conversation. Turns out the connections go beyond cool shit. It’s not somebody asking about some show I played or somebody I dated. It’s a Catholic school across from a state prison where I received a scholarship. Years later I work at a school. I have worked for a school for years. My boss and I were djs professionally at one time. I definitely did not make enough money to sustain myself through music. But working at a school has sustained me through other ways. I spent a portion of yesterday working with a sewing machine. I’ve spent years thinking about using one. I spent years being inspired by fashion and even working directly with it. And like a tree falling in the forest, I quietly design myself a new mask in my persistent office. My mom used to spend every Halloween designing costumes for me. One year I was Spiderman. I wore the mask. These days I’m far more Watchmen than I realize. I wear a balaclava. I want to upgrade to something a little more fashionable. My dad couldn’t believe I had a sewing machine. I have two. My connection to the internet has been slowly becoming more rigid. My home is my office for the foreseeable future. I do have office hours. People can see me working from the train platform every day. I help deliver an education across impossible distances. I don’t think there will ever be a lack of opportunities in that department. I’ve learned skills I’ve never had. I could do this from my kitchen all day. Sitting here alone by myself wondering why. I don’t worry. I just don’t know. Like everybody out there just doesn’t know. So I focus less on what I can’t control and more on what I can. Which turns out to be my home. As officially as this morning expanded into the 312 area code.

American media and pundits talk about liberation. Americans want to point the finger at the root cause. A scapegoat and boogeyman to turn the attention away from themselves. They want to pass the blame onto someone else instead of sharing it. The truth is that it is us. We as human beings are to blame. A virus is a perfect example of this. A poetic one. The virus doesn’t really care about your freedom. At least not in the way most Americans understand it. And yet I do care about freedom. Because I have been living under duress for longer than I can conceivably imagine. These days being forgotten about and under the radar isn’t always a problem. People pay attention more to what really matters. My writing. My feelings for certain people that have persisted beyond these fucked up few months. My way of living with life as it is. I do want more. I do not want to be alone day in and day out. I grow in silence. It’s not like no one sees it. Everybody sees it. Everybody knows exactly what I am about. And everybody sees me living it just like I’ve always been. Maybe a little less awkwardly. Maybe a little less timidly. Maybe a little more cautious. I’ve always been cautious. Always had the capacity to be tender. These days I’ve felt far more free to live my life. I still ride public transportation to the store. I still run in an empty medical district where giant public housing projects used to loom. I still live in a state where the governor I voted for has exceed my expectations in every way. And I hate politics for the most part. Our mayor is the face of America and yet has more impact as a meme than a positive news story. The news is never positive in America. The last I’ve read people are criticizing us for buying masks from China low key. And yet in terms of leadership throughout all of this we in Chicago and Illinois at least know where we stand. We have the best medical systems and professionals in the United States. We have some of the best art and design colleges too. And we have hope that people can get visas next fall to study here again. We all take this very seriously because health is important to us. Is freedom important to us? I mean I don’t want to live anywhere else right now for the foreseeable future. This might be the reason why I signed a two year contract on Internet. It might also be why I chose to get a home number. For the record it’s pretty easy to move your service these days. But what more am I looking for at this point. I’ve already found everything I care about thanks to the internet. The world has changed. I’ve been changing. Growing. Becoming free to be the person I need to be. Free to love and free to speak my mind. Free to catch a virus and die too I guess. Welcome to America. Free to upgrade my connection speeds to six hundred megabit down. The connection as steady as my love for you. Offline and on. Same as it ever was. Just locked up safe and sound. Like the future. <3 Tim

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blushoseoks · 7 years

Text

GREY AREA. (M) | 02

summary: and just like that, your fate was sealed - because min yoongi was absolutely going to destroy you. but hell, if you weren’t going to let him, or bask happily in the flames as he did so.

and sadly, at the time, you didn’t think that your thoughts would become so literal.

❝ you said my heart holds all the wreckage and still manages to grow a forest out of it. ❞ — the forest / kriti g

[ chapter index ]

pairing: min yoongi x reader

warnings: mature, heavy angst

genre: soulmate!au, slowburn

words: 6,805

Two days later you are sitting at a table located outside a small cafe that you and Yoona often find yourselves at. Whether it be because it's nearest to the college you both attend, or how cheap their beverages are, you both are always returning to the quaint little building.

You sit with one leg crossed over the other, hair up in a messy pony tail, back pack hanging lazily off of the chair your back is pressed against. Arms strewn across the surface of the table carelessly, and mind not letting you focus on the words spewing from Yoona's perfectly glossed lips.

For the past few days one thing had been on your mind, had circulated around and refused to let you sleep at night. It took up every inch of room in your brain, tattooing itself onto each fold, sinking itself into each crevice. This one thing being none other than Min Yoongi.

You didn't quite know how to respond to the entire ordeal that occurred a mere two days ago. It was almost as though it hadn't fully registered to you yet, like the events of that night refused to let you react. The only emotions you had been feeling as of late was one: irritation.

Irritation because Min Yoongi had one moment been pressing against you like he was craving you, and the next running from you like you were a disease that was threatening to destroy him. And all of that because he had found out his name was one written across your wrist.

Now, you didn't expect such a negative reaction to one finding a soulmate.

The second emotion you had been feeling was two: curiosity.

Curiosity because of two reasons:

The first was because you yearned to learn everything and anything that there was to know about Min Yoongi. Where he acquired his vast and extensive vocabulary, how he learned to make his words sound like well revised poems whenever they fell from his red bitten lips. When and what made him want to dye his hair such an outstanding color, and whether he knew just how beautiful he was.

The second being because you needed answers, you wanted desperately to know why he ran, leaving you in an empty hallway. Was it because the shock was too much to handle in the moment? How was he able to resist the pull between you both? And most importantly: how could he leave you knowing who you were? That your name was on his wrist?

A part of you was worried you'd never see him again, but the more intelligent side of you pieced things together easily.

He was at a college fraternities party, meaning he either was a part of said fraternity, (which you highly doubted, because he had been the one to leave said house; and because everything about Min Yoongi screamed everything that the stereotypical college frat boy persona wasn't) or, he attended the same college as you. You decided to go with the latter for obvious reasons.

“Y/N?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N are you even listening to me?” A feminine voice says, pulling you from your thoughts. You blink once, twice, thrice, before you are taking in your surroundings. Eyes centering on the only female friend you have that's sitting across from you.

Yoona was the second friend you met when you moved to Seoul a near year ago. Being a mutual friend of Taehyung's and Hoseok's, along with Namjoon.

Yoona was pretty.

A permanent olive shade colored her skin tone, high cheekbones doing numbers to compliment her already gifted face. Blue eyes—a rare find in this part of Seoul, shimmered brightly and deeply. Everywhere Yoona went, she attracted attention. Standing next to her made you feel insecure, but you were always reassured by your friend's that you went off the attractive spectrum and landed abruptly into the “beautiful,” category.

You weren't sure if their compliments and kind words were that of a friend, or were spoken in honesty.

You should have asked Min Yoongi. You stifle a chuckle at the thought.

“Sorry,” you mutter out, once you realize that Yoona had asked you a question. She hesitates, smile weakening just a tad. “Everything okay?” She asks, voice venturing out softly. You think that if honey had a voice, it most definitely would sound like Yoona's.

“Yes,” you pause, “Just didn't sleep well last night.” It wasn't entirely a lie. Yoona nods in understanding, and that seems to satisfy her as she starts to continue the one sided conversation again.

The moment the events played out, was the moment you decided you would not tell anyone that you had found him-- Min Yoongi, not even your parents. You kept that part of your life hidden, something always covering your wrist. A watch, long sleeves, or your personal favorite and most often worn: bracelets.

The only person, excluding your parents of course, that knew of the predicament sitting on your wrist was Taehyung, and even then he did not know the specifics.

You needed to see him again, to ask the questions you had. You needed to figure out what was going to happen between the two of you before you told your parents.

You're once again interrupted as a figure slowly approaches the table, and takes the seat to your right, Yoona's left.

“Good afternoon, ladies. My apologies for my tardy behavior,” Namjoon says, voice deep. He reaches an arm over to your untouched plate and grabs a fry. “I was uh--” he hesitates for a moment, smirk reaching his lips, “held up.” He finishes,

You snort, knowing better. While Yoona rolls her eyes, head tilted towards Namjoon.

“If by, “held up,” you mean too busy shoving your tongue down your boyfriend's throat.” She says, head turning back to her plate, a hint of playfulness etched in her tone.

Namjoon squints before his lips part, “Oh Yoona, just because you're going to end up a lonely and bitter old hag with no one to love, doesn't mean I have to. Let me live, will you?”

You can't help the corner of your lips from raising upwards into a soft smile as you watch the scene unfold gently: Yoona's mouth widening in shock at the boy's response, the smug smile appearing on Namjoon's lips.

It wasn't uncommon for people to date others who were not their soulmate. You did not live in a universe that strictly said you had to end up with your soulmate. Actually, people not ending up with their soulmate's was almost as common as people who did end up with their fated lovers.

You don't fully know the story of Namjoon's. All you know for a fact is that on the night of his eighteenth birthday, when he should have gotten a name on his wrist: he didn't. This, leaving him soulmateless.

He doesn't talk about it, never has brought it up, and you don't ask. Figuring that he'll tell you about it on his own will, when he's comfortable enough to share such a private and personal thing with you. The only thing you can do is respect that.

It's entirely different for Yoona.

She has a name on her wrist, yes, she doesn't bother hiding it either. In bold black letters, sits the name Yugyeom.

She flaunts it around easily, but she doesn't let the whole “soulmate thing,” restrict her, or hold her back. When you asked her about it one time, she had stated that she felt like she could fall in love with anyone, not just the name of the person on her wrist.

“You know that Y/N and I are gonna marry each other.” She jokes easily, eyes landing on yours, perfect smile formed on her lips. Your eyebrows furrow as your eyes roll heavenward, fingers grabbing onto the end of a fry.

“Wow Yoona, how sweet of you, I'm flattered, really. But don't you,” you pause, pushing the opposite end of the fry through a puddle of ketchup. “I don't know, have to be uh, interested in girl's to marry one?” Your eyebrows arch as you question her, sticking the greasy food into your mouth, and chewing it slowly. Namjoon chuckles from beside you, Yoona's pink lips curve to the side in thought.

“I clearly did not think that one through.”

You swallow, offering her a smile afterwards. Namjoon speaking then.

“Speaking of Seokjin—” Yoona cuts him off.

“Actually we weren't--”

That's when you interject, brown eyes meeting blue. “Yoona, it's not everyday that Namjoon talks about his Romeo, so please,” you turn your head towards Namjoon, “do continue.”

A giggle erupts from Yoona's lips.

“Okay for one,” Namjoon says, head turning towards yours, eyes staring into yours. “He is definitely Juliet,” he turns his head towards Yoona, “Two: even when we're not speaking of Seokjin, we're still speaking of Seokjin; and three,” he turns back to you. “Romeo and Juliet were starcrossed lovers, that ended up killing themselves in the name of love, choose a better pair next time.”

“Daisy and Gatsby?” Yoona offers, causing Namjoon's head to shake almost immediately. “No, Daisy didn't love Gatsby--”

“Arguable,” you pipe in before he can complete his sentence. “What about Elizabeth and Darcy?” You ask then.

“I was thinking more of Bingley and Jane.” He responds. Yoona snorts.

“Now, back to what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” he sends a playful glare in Yoona's direction before continuing. “Jin and I have finally decided that we are ready to introduce each other to our friend's.” Your eyebrows uplift suddenly and you can see out of the corner of your eyes how Yoona instantly perks up.

Three months going strong, and finally, he was considering this.

“So this Friday is the date set.”

Yoona sighs as she sinks back into her seat slowly. “Damn it! I work.” A frown replacing the smile that was there moments ago.

“You?” Namjoon asks.

You don't even have to think about it before you're answering, “Yeah, I'm free.” Rarely did you have plans on Friday's that did not consist of attending whatever party Taehyung and Hoseok dragged you to.

“Friday it is, then!” He exclaims, smile appearing on his lips. “Don't worry Yoona, there will be other times.”

She grunts in response. “It's not the same.”

Friday comes sooner than expected, and before you know it you're standing in your room, looking at yourself in your full body length sized mirror.

When Namjoon had texted you and informed you that the meeting place was agreed to be at a club, you had momentarily panicked. You did not own anything that was deemed club appropriate attire; which is why you cringed as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

Covering your torso was a long sleeved olive green colored shirt, long slit cut down the middle of your chest, exposing your tanned skin and tiptoeing dangerously around to showing more than what you originally planned on. A pair of black skinny jeans covered your long legs, along with the same short black boots you had worn at the party last Saturday night. Your dark brunette and shoulder length hair flowed easily in pretty curls; and dangling from your ears were a pair of large hoops. Maroon colored lipstick stained your lips, making them stand out.

Your door suddenly opens, and your head turns in the direction, “You ready--” Taehyung stops mid sentence when his eyes take in your appearance. “Wow,” he breathes out and immediately an anxious wave washes through you.

“What? Do I look bad?” You say hurriedly. “Damn it, I'll change, give me five min--”

“Y/N,” Taehyung interrupts, boxy smile settled on his lips.

“You look great, it's just--” he pauses. “Whenever I think of you, I think of the same freshman who passed out in my arms that day in English class. Braces, oversized clothes, boobless--” he offers a huge smile, as you throw him a scowl.

“Oh shut it,” you snap out, grabbing the black clutch that holds your cash, and fake ID off of your bed.

“And when I think of you, I think of the same shit head who believed that vaginas had teeth,” he visibly winces, “and kissed me Sophomore year.”

He grunts loudly, as you push past him, out of your room, and into the hallway. “It was a dare!” He yells, talking about the kiss, “And I was in 7th grade!” He shouts as he follows you out of your room. “My parents told me that in hopes to scare me out of sex!” Your giggles being heard from the end of the hallway.

“Did I really just hear what I think I did?” Hoseok asks as he walks out of his room, joining you two. The only thing that can be heard over your continuous strings of giggles, is the loud nature of Taehyung's groan.

Vibrant lights of orange, blue, purple and green fill your peripheral vision as they dance across the floor and skid up the sides of the walls that encircle you. The music is so loud you can hardly hear your own thoughts.

Clubs weren't your thing, parties were entirely different, or so you thought. Clubs were just-- bigger. At least at parties most of the attendees were around your age, and had the decency to apologize when bumping into you. People at clubs seemed to be ruder, you noted.

Sweaty bodies grind against one another on the dance floor, and every inch of your body screamed at you to leave. But you not only told Namjoon that you'd be here tonight, but you were desperately trying to find a distraction to keep your mind off of Yoongi.

It had been a day short of a week since your encounter and your mind had failed to think or concentrate on anything other than him.

Like you certainly expected, the moment you four had arrived at the club. Hoseok and Taehyung had both disappeared to do god only knows what. Leaving you and Namjoon alone.

“You nervous?” You ask Namjoon as he stands across from you. And it's obvious that he is. You can tell just from one look at him. His large hands clenching the empty glass so harshly that his knuckles turn a pale white like color, his bottom lip is pulled into his mouth and when you look down towards his feet you can see that one of them is tapping against the floor quickly.

And though it's clear to you that he is nervous, he offers you a gentle smile, the corner of his lips tugging upwards. “M'okay, I just--” He pauses, his eyes staring directly into yours, “I just really like him.”

Once you hear this, you reach your right arm towards him, hand moving to rest gently over his shoulder, offering him a soft yet reassuring squeeze.

“And he really likes you, you have nothing to worry about, yeah? Tonight will go smoothly.” You say, offering him a gentle smile. Hoping your words of encouragement help ease his nerves. Then you're moving your hand away from where it rested a few seconds ago.

“M'not worried about him meeting you or Yoona for that matter, you both have a more sturdy head on your shoulders. Don't get me wrong, I love Tae and Hobi. But at times they can be a bit too much, just a lot to take in for a newcomer.” Namjoon admits, and in all actuality you had to agree.

Taehyung and Hoseok were fantastic people, but their filthy mouths, endless sex jokes, and crude behavior could be a bit worrisome.

But you've got it covered, thinking this only an hour ago whilst you sat between the two aforementioned in the cab on the way over.

“Don't worry, I talked to them and told them just how important tonight was for you. Told them they'd better be on their best behavior or they are starving for an entire week.”

It was obvious that Taehyung and Hoseok could not cook to save their lives, leaving you in charge of fixing meals for them.

Your hand is circling around the shot you ordered, when he speaks again. Rim of the glass inches from your lips when his deep voice cuts into the humid air. “What on Earth would I do without you?”

You swallow the liquid quickly, setting the now empty glass onto the surface of the bar. “Hopefully you never have to find out.”

His lips part as if he's about to say something, but something behind you catches his attention.

You watch as his eyes widen a bit, lips pulling up into the widest smile you've ever seen. You don't have to turn to know what's got Namjoon smiling so widely, but you do anyway and you come face to face with two men.

The only thing Namjoon had ever said about Seokjin was that he was attractive, and honestly you wished you had pushed on Seokjin's appearance more, because there are two very attractive men standing in front of you, and you have no idea who is who.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the taller man, one because he is closer to you, and two because of the shade of his hair. It's a soft looking pink, that makes you want to run your hands through the different locks. Looking at the man's outfit, you immediately feel better about yours. He's dressed in a sweater, one that matches the hue of his hair, and light blue skinny jeans hug his legs.

“As you can probably tell I don't often go to clubs,” he says, causing your eyes to lift to his. A smile is pressing to his lips, and you're met with the same chestnut color you see every time you stare into the mirror. You offer him a smile in return, “Likewise,” is your response as he takes in your appearance.

Namjoon is then taking a step forward so he's standing to the side of you. Glass he held moments ago nowhere in sight.

“Seokjin,” he says, speaking to the man in front of you, “This is my friend Y/N. Y/N, this is my--” You interrupt.

“Your boyfriend whom you've kept hidden for the past three months, yes. Hello.” You chuckle as you speak. Namjoon grunts playfully as he moves to stand next to Seokjin, sliding one of his arms around his waist and tugging him closer to his chest.

“It's a pleasure to meet you Y/N,” Seokjin says. Dark pink, heart shaped lips parting as his soft voice goes almost unheard over the loud music. “The pleasure is all mine.” You state, and then a voice you don't recognize is speaking.

“And I'm Jungkook,” You turn your head towards the man standing a few feet away from Seokjin. His hair is a dark black, styled up into a quiff. He's dressed in a white polo shirt, the collar sticking up around the sides, and a familiar looking black jacket thrown over his shoulders. Your eyes study the material for a few moments, finding that it looks somewhat familiar. You pass off the strange feeling, excusing it by saying that it resembles yours and that being at fault.

Jungkook's eyes are taking in your appearance when you direct your gaze to him. You immediately feel out of place, but then he's speaking. “You certainly dress like you're regularly at clubs,” he says, as his eyes finally meet yours.

“That's what I was going for,” you say, a playful wink sent in his direction. His arm is then outstretching towards yours, offering his hand in a nice gesture. You accept it, allowing your smaller hand to rest in his larger one.

He then exchanges pleasantries and introductions with Namjoon, offering him the same gesture he did you. And then he's turning back to face you.

“Wait a second you look so familiar,” he hesitates, eyes roaming your face. For a moment, you think it's just an excuse to determine if he finds you attractive or not, but then he's speaking again. Eyes not leaving yours.

“Are you in my Psychology class?” He's asking you then, and you wish you could say that he stuck out, but there are over fifty students in that class. Not saying that Jungkook wasn't attractive, because he was. Very much so. With a sharp jawline, and a face that looks like it was sculpted by Aphrodite herself, no doubt in your mind screamed that he had a number of protagonist's basking for a moment of his uninvited attention.

“Second period, Thursday mornings?” You ask, to find him nodding in agreement. “Yes! I knew you looked familiar, I always recognize memorable people.” You feel your cheeks heat up suddenly, due to the compliment that had just fell from his lips, and then Seokjin's hand is pressing to Jungkook's shoulder.

“I thought you said you had two people coming?” Namjoon asks, tip of his nose pressing into Seokjin's pink hair. “Yeah, one of them is in the bathroom, should be out any minute. Fair warning-- he's a little--”

“Grumpy,” Jungkook interrupts. “Your least favorite.” A smirk raises itself onto his lips as he glances at him.

“Hard to get used to.” Seokjin finishes, head turning to send a glare in Jungkook's direction, he immediately throws his hands up in mock surrender.

You let out a chuckle.

“Speaking of friend's, aren't you missing two?” Seokjin asks, head turning to face Namjoon's.

He nods, “Disappeared the moment they arrived which probably means they--”

“Are dancing dangerously close to being drunk,” you finish.

And then, “I've got faith in them, surely they don't want to starve.” You send a knowing wink in Namjoon's direction. “I'll go look for 'em.”

Namjoon nods, “Probably best to check if they are still alive.”

Seokjin and Jungkook share an amused glance.

“Be back soon,” you say and then you're turning around, walking away from the trio.

Twenty minutes later is when you decide you probably should have texted the two boys before trying to search for them in a club that's clearly over packed. It's also when you decide that you're done looking for them.

You've been pushed far too many times, danced against more than you'd like to admit, and attempted to be picked up by a man old enough to be your dad.

Maybe, you think, as you make your way through the dancing people, they miraculously found their own way to Namjoon.

When you reach the bar, you find that the spot where you had left them is taken up by people who most certainly are not them, and before you can even take a moment to fish your phone out of your clutch, Taehyung's loud voice is screaming a familiar pet name he uses on you.

“Baby, love!” He yells, you turning your head in the direction of the noise. And that's when you spot them, now crowded in a corner against a wall. You let out a sigh of relief as you make your way to the boys.

There's an extra body there now, presumably Seokjin's friend who was missing earlier. However, his back is turned towards you as he speaks to Seokjin. The only thing you're able to tell about his appearance is that he has black hair.

Taehyung's arm is wrapping around your waist as he tugs you into his embrace. “Where have you been, pretty?” He asks. You lift your head, smelling the familiar scent of intoxication surpassing his lips. “Looking for your and Hoseok's dumbasses,” is your response. Earning yourself a soft, “Hey!” From Hoseok who is standing to your left, Jungkook next to him.

Your eyes find Namjoon's, “You could have texted me to let me know they found you!” You say, a laugh leaving soon afterwards.

“I tried, no signal!” Namjoon shouts over the noise, offering you an apologetic smile. You return one of your own as you then turn your attention back to Taehyung. Whispering in a voice that can only be heard by him. “So, what are your thoughts?”

He mimics Namjoon's movement from earlier and presses the tip of his nose into your hair. His lips hovering over your ear as he speaks. “I like 'em all, 'specially Kook.”

Kook? Were they already on a nickname type basis?

“Jungkook and I actually know each other,” Hoseok pipes in a moment later. “Well sort of.”

You raise an eyebrow in question.

“We're in the same dance class,” Jungkook says.

You nod in understanding, and really you should have pieced together the information because now that Hoseok and Jungkook are standing by each other, you can see how their bodies somewhat resemble each others. Muscles prominently standing out in similar places.

“So, are you prepared for Mr. Benjin's test next week?” Jungkook asks you, causing a soft whine to fall from your lips, head shaking just a tad.

“Absolutely not,” Taehyung says for you.

“No matter how hard she studies, she passes with only a point or two above failing.” Your lips tug down, forming a deeper frown.

“It's true,” you sigh out.

“Don't worry,” Namjoon interjects. “We'll still love you when you flunk out.” Your eyes narrow as your head turns in his direction, ready to send him a glare.

“And when you have to resort to stripping to support yourself.” Taehyung adds from beside you. Immediately, you use your right arm to push against him, elbowing him right in the gut in retaliation to his comment.

“Shit,” he wheezes, doubling over, arm clutching his gut in pain. This causes a chorus of laughter from Namjoon, Jungkook, and Hoseok.

You take a step out of Taehyung's embrace, eyes rolling just a tad.

“Well,” Jungkook says a moment later. “I just so happen to have a perfect grade, and would be more than happy to tutor you.”

“Really?” You ask, eyes widening just a tad.

But before he can respond, Seokjin's soft voice is filling the air.

“Oh! You're back, how rude of me, this is my other friend.” And as the words falls from his lips. The stranger turns.

And as soon as your eyes meet, you feel it.

The warm feeling instantly spreading throughout your body.

You suck in a deep breath as you come face to face with the same man who left you standing in an empty hallway almost a week ago.

Your fingers immediately itch to reach out and touch him. Aching to feel the familiar burning sensation that his skin left on yours.

He glances away quickly, his eyes resting anywhere but yours.

The first thing you take notice of, is the most obvious, his changed hair. Where silver sat a mere week ago, was now replaced with a dark shade of black. You weren't entirely positive if it was the glare from the strobe-lights, or if there were actually strips of dark blue scattered in random spots around strands of hair.

Your eyes then slowly focus on his face, and he's as beautiful as he was the last time you saw him. Skin nice and tan, lips still red and more bitten than you remember. You take notice of his locked jaw, narrowed eyes, and scowl written across his features. You decide within ten seconds that you liked it a lot better when he smiled.

You don't know what to say, or how to act. Shell shocked and frozen in place, because here he was standing in front of you, looking as though it was the last thing he wanted. It made something inside of you turn unpleasantly.

Words that don't bother to register in your mind before they fall from your lips, a second after the strobe-lights have disappeared and the blue is still sitting in his hair, are spilling out in a matter of seconds.

“What's with all the exotic hair colors?” You question out loud. Desperately trying to break the tension that sits heavily in the air. Then, to save yourself, you flash your eyes to Seokjin's. You offer the best smile you can manage due to the events unfolding in front of you, and he returns it. His own looking a lot more genuine than yours.

“You think that's exotic?” Seokjin says, rhetorically, eyes flickering to Yoongi's freshly darkened hair. “Last week it was silver, you should have seen it then.”

I have.

Is what you want to say, but you keep the two words at bay by rubbing the red lipstick staining your lips, together.

“Nice to meet you,” Yoongi says in a quiet voice. It's hard to hear over the music. His tone sounds somewhat clipped, if you've heard correctly. You watch as he forces a smile, it looks odd on his mouth.

His arm twitches, like he's about to extend it and offer you a handshake. But he decides against it at the last second. Leaving it as his side, perhaps he didn't want to touch you.

The idea bothers you.

“I can say the same to you.” Your voice quiet and feeling somewhat obligated to respond. Everyone's eyes have drifted from the two of you, none of them sensing anything out of the blue.

He finally allows his eyes to meet yours for the second time that night, and you can almost feel the utmost of anger that rests in his dark orbs. It reminds you of the way they looked the night after he had found out your identity.

“Now,” Seokjin's voice booms loudly, captivating your attention. “That everyone's met everyone, how about some drinks then?” Seokjin suggests, earning a few whoops from Hoseok, and noises of agreement from the others.

“Yeah,” you say very quietly to yourself more than to anyone else. Your eyes are downcast as you focus on the floor of the club, “I could definitely use a drink.”

Somewhere between the first and third round of drinks, Taehyung and Hoseok had once again, disappeared. Which, really shouldn't surprise you.

It doesn't seem to bother Namjoon, him probably thinking the more they stay away the better, at least for now.

You don't exactly know how you should feel towards Yoongi.

Anger at the way he's treating you? Relief that you've found him again? Or agitation that he's trying his best to avoid you? Doing so by gluing himself to Seokjin and Namjoon and refusing to look anywhere in your direction. You just didn't understand. You can't ignore the questions from drilling into your mind. Questions you so eagerly wanted answers to.

One thing was for certain, you were happy to see him again. Even if it was clearly evident in his behavior and facial expressions that the same could not be said for him.

“So,” Jungkook says, drawing your attention and attempting to make small talk. He's standing a few feet in front of you, both of you several feet away from Yoongi and the love birds.

You're near the wall, off to the side to try to stay out of the way of clubgoer's. Jungkook's eyes are peering into yours, a smile fitted on his lips. “Namjoon said you're a Freshman?”

You nod in response, before adding a small, “Yup,” popping the 'p,' at the end.

“And how do you like it so far?” He questions.

You hesitate a moment, asking yourself the same thing. It was different from highschool. The teachers were quite more outgoing and more intuitive. Always joking with the class, and cussing whenever they wanted to. Plus the change from living in a small town to a big city was exciting, the freedom it brought with it was one of the things you enjoyed most.

You settle on, “It's an alteration, but not a bad one.” as your response, he nods.

“Are you a freshman too?”

“Nope,” he says, smile stretching, hand curling around the neck of the beer he's holding onto. “Sophomore, which means I'm no longer the youngest of the group.”

You let out a slow chuckle. In the short hour that you had known of his existence, you had decided that you really liked Jungkook. He was veritable, kind, and seemed to have good intentions.

Before the conversation could carry on, Seokjin's long arm is wrapping aroung Jungkook's shoulder. The palm of his hand moving to pat flatly against the black jacket drowning Jungkook's body.

For the second time that night, you give that jacket your attention.

Now, with knowing that Yoongi is in the same proximity of you, you're able to figure out just exactly why that jacket looked so familiar. You were positive that it was the same jacket Yoongi had been wearing.

Seokjin starts to speak to Jungkook, asking him something that doesn't include you. Out of privacy and respect you turn your head then to the side. Your eyes watch as Namjoon and Yoongi talk about something you can't quite make out from where you are standing.

Yoongi must sense your gaze, because his body reacts in the most minuscule of ways; his shoulders stiffening, body tensing. It's almost as though he can feel your stare.

And oh.

That's right.

He most definitely can.

You feel your cheeks heat up then, and for the first time you find yourself cursing the perk of being soulmates.

Now you couldn't stare without him knowing, and not staring was hard. Especially when your entire body screamed at you to give the boy your attention, all of it, whether unwanted or not.

His head is suddenly turning in your direction, dark eyes staring directly into yours. An eyebrow cocking upwards, as if to ask you why you're staring at him.

It quickly starts to feel like its hard to breathe. Your breath catching in your throat, and your head turning back to the two men who have been lost in conversation.

Just at that moment, Seokjin's head turns. His eyes then flash between yours and Yoongi's, a question at the tip of his tongue. His lips part as if he's about to say something, but you're suddenly speaking, trying to offer a distraction.

“I think I'm going to get another drink,” You breathe out, left hand wrapped around the empty beer bottle you've been cradling onto.

Jungkook nods in acknowledgment, clueless it seems. “Everything alright?” Seokjin asks, curiosity in his eyes. He seems to have dropped whatever he was going to say a few seconds ago. You nod quickly, “Yeah, just a little crowded. I'll be back in a few minutes.”

You spare a glance in Namjoon's direction, a faux smile resting on your lips as you find his eyes on yours. His head tilts in a silent question and you uplift your beer bottle, telling him just as silently that you're going to replace it. He nods then, attention turning back to Yoongi.

You pretend not to notice how Yoongi's eyes follow you. And then you're turning, making your way to the bar.

Ten minutes have passed and you still hadn't returned to the boys. Small body pressed into one of the stools, sitting at the bar.

Your nimble fingers have just curled around the second shot you've ordered when you no longer feel alone. You turn your head at the figure approaching you, and your heart feels like its dropped in your chest when you see that it's Yoongi.

He stops when he's a few feet away from you, and he could easily come closer if he wanted too but he stays where he's at. His eyes are narrowed as they land on yours, body tall.

Heat.

“Uh,” you mutter out after a few silent moments pass. “Hi?” You state, though it comes out in more of a question type tone.

He looks at you, irritation present in his expression. Red lips parting as he speaks. “What do you think you're doing?” He bites out, causing your eyes to widen just a small amount. You're taken aback by how mean he's sounded.

“E-excuse me?” You say, voice frail with a hint of shock etched in your words.

His eyebrows furrow before pulling together in what seems to be clear frustration, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. You're confused. And you voice your thoughts out loud, desperate to get him to stop staring at you the way he is.

“I'm sorry, have I done something wrong?”

He snorts, loud and over exaggeratedly. You're starting to become a little on edge.

“Don't play coy with me, Y/N. I asked you a damn question, I expect an answer.”

Your fingers clench around the base of the shot glass you're holding onto, and before you know it anger is gnawing its way out of your lips.

“You've only asked me one question, Min Yoongi.” You watch as he flinches at his name as it ventures past your lips. “And I thought that what I was doing was pretty self explanatory, but I suppose it can be easily misunderstood.” You then lift the shot placed in your left hand upwards before speaking again. “This is called a shot,” sarcasm drips from your words. “And drinking it is what I'm doing, please watch for a demonstration.” With that being said, you bring the brim up to your lips, downing the liquid and trying not to wince as it burns its way down your throat. You set the glass back on the surface of the bar.

He scoffs, an effortless chuckle leaving his mouth as he shakes his head. “You're unbelievable!” He exclaims. “I'm talking about your intentions, what you're doing here. First, you show up in my English class--”

“Wait, what?”

He stops abruptly.

“We share a class?”

Your eyes raise to his. “And you didn't even bother coming up to me?” Your agitation growing by the second. Yes, he had ran from you, but you had thought it was just because of the shock from finding you, was he actually wanting to stay away from you?

“Oh please, don't act like you didn't notice,” a pause and then he adds, “or that it wasn't part of your plan.”

You're utterly confused.

“Yoongi, I have no idea what you're fucking talking about. So either clear things the fuck up, or stop insinuating shit.”

You don't meant to sound as harsh as you do. He's obviously accusing you of something, and doing it rudely, you just want him to be clear in what he's talking about.

He looks slightly put off due to your words and tone of voice.

“I'm talking about whatever your plan is, Y/N.”

You raise your eyebrows, indicating that you're waiting for more of an explanation.

“You're really going to make me spell it out for you?”

He pauses, like he's waiting for an answer.

You blink.

“Fine. I rejected you at the party, and clearly you can't take, 'No,' as an answer. And because I don't want anything to do with you, you're trying to weasel your way into my life.”

Your heart seems to stop at his comment, he had just approved your suspicions.

He takes a moment before continuing.

“I don't know how you managed to find out about my class schedule, or figure out who my friend's were, but I'm warning you now,” he takes a few steps forward, eyes glaring into yours. You can smell the mint on his breath as he speaks out his next sentence.

“Knock if off and fuck off. You mess with my friend's or the people important to them, and you'll be sorry.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your heart stopping. Before you can even register what he's fully accused you of, before you can even defend yourself, he's turning away. Sauntering back in the direction of where the group is.

He leaves you sitting at the bar stool. Utter anger coursing through your veins, and tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

This was one thing you positively hated: whenever you were beyond the point of anger, you cried.

But it was more than that, you knew it. Min Yoongi had just rejected you, had told you that he didn't want to be with you.

And it hurt.

You were absolutely seething, and upset. Different emotions filling your being.

What gave him the right to think of you in such a way? He didn't know you, how dare he act like he did, like he knew what your intentions were when you didn't even know what they were, yourself.

You wanted to leave. But you were here for Namjoon, and Namjoon only. And running from your problems never got you anywhere in your past. That's when you decided that there was no way you were leaving this club.

At least not until you had a chance to defend yourself against Min Yoongi and his allegations.

next part: three.

a/n: i apologize in advance for any grammatical or punctuation errors. also, im not sure if this chapter was too long to be considered enjoyable. i hope you liked it! please let me know, feedback is very much appreciated and highly welcomed.

#min yoongi #suga #soulmateau #soulmate #kim taehyung #jung hoseok #hobi #kim namjoon #rap monster #kim seokjin #jeon jungkook #park jimin #fanfic #btsfanfic

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susebron · 7 years

Note

ohhhh. maybe... i don't know... all the numbers. yes let's go with all 100 of them

i sincerely hate you and these took forever to answer so you better read ‘em all!!!!!!!! but also thx bc some of these were v nice and fun to answer

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? more cereal than milk bc i came for the cereal, not the milk

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? if i’m in a good mood, yes. if i’m in a bad mood…. not at all

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? reciepts usually but i very much prefer actual bookmarks; specifically those with a magnet

4: how do you take your coffee/tea? with honey or sugar and lots of milk

5: are you self-conscious of your smile? i sincerely feel confused about how to smile properly??? so i guess a bit. like i can’t smile on order. i did as a kid but if i did it that way now, ppl would Wonder

6: do you keep plants? i had a cactus a while ago called robert plant but he died. my mum is currently keeping some plants in my room tho and i decorated one with some plastic dinosaurs but they are definitely not my responsiblity. i mean, robert plant died

7: do you name your plants? if you read the sixth answer, you would know that yes i do

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? writing i guess. idk it’s usually Metaphorically my feelings but i do make attempts to keep a diary sometimes. it doesn’t go well for long

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? not really

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? i really really really like sleeping on my side. i’m currently forced to sleep on my back and i do not like it

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends? if one shouts sir yes sir then the other one has to shout I CAN’T HEAR YOU PUSSY #tbt @13000ants

12: what’s your favorite planet? tatooine which makes no sense

13: what’s something that made you smile today? leif gw persson was on tv

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? there would be books everywhere

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! neutron stars can spin at a rate of 600 rotations per second

16: what’s your favorite pasta dish? um. macaroni and cheese or pasta salad. NO WAIT milk-stewed macaroni

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? tbh i’m content with my hair colour

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. that one time i thought sydney was in asia #tbt @weeplittlelannister

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? i do! idk i have one more diary-like, one with lists and drawings and shit… but also a calendar with is also somewhat a bullet journal

20: what’s your favorite eye color? what kind of q….. lmao oscar isaac’s

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. my mum gave me aleather messenger box, like a post office bag or whatever and I Love It. it’s tbh never big enough to fit everything but it tries

22: are you a morning person? no

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? read

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? i was gonna say my grandfather but then i realised there is no way he wwon’t end up telling my grandmother ausifsafa. idk. my stuffed elephant

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into? me and william once broke into this storage room where we live. he stole one of those long light bulbs and hit me in the head with it. it hurt

26: what are the shoes you’ve had for forever and wear with every single outfit? just normal chuck taylors. off-brand tho of course lmao

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor? mint or y’know…. bubblegum

28: sunrise or sunset? both

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? i know this says friends but listen. when @sneutrinos talks about physics or physicists he admires… his eyes are like Glittering and it’s endearing as fuck. makes me want to listen (or watch lmao) him talk about it for hours

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? yes

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. the best way to describe my socks and usage of them is that my nurse the other week when i was getting dressed to go home was like “oh! you’re wearing mismatched for rock the socks day (a day to uplift/celebrate down’s syndrome) and i was like “i guess….. but this is also just how i wear my socks” i very rarely end up having matching socks?? it just??? never happens even if i try

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. lmao idk if this was after 3am but i remember that one time me and @kkruel were ranting about his dorm neighbour showering at like midnight but literally just shrugged it off when the ceiling caved in saihfoasp

33: what’s your fave pastry? pastry is such a loose term though??? there is so much to choose from??? but i’m like really feeling muffins lately

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? i had a bunch but let’s talk about the one stuffed dog i got when i was like six and is still like brand-new because i was terrified of ruining it so i just…. occasionally gave it a pet. nothing more

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? i do, i do. i prefer certain pens, even if the ink’s only black, and i tend to use them more than pencils.

36: which band’s sound would fit your mood right now? nirvana unplugged would fit so much i had to go listen to it

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? i mean i like when it’s clean but i don’t mind if it’s messy… as long as it isn’t Messy

38: tell us about your pet peeves! flour

39: what color do you wear the most? um probably blue or black

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what’s it’s story? does it have any meaning to you? i honestly don’t really own any jewelry. i do have a watch that i use sometimes but it doesn’t really have a meaning other than that my mum bought it for me during one of our trips to uppsala. so i guess it does mean something after all lmao

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving? i really loved nimona. it was hilarious and amazing

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! idk i really like espresso house because they have really good chocolate muffins but it’s always crowded and overpriced. wayne’s also has good muffins and are usually a bit cheaper, a bit less crowded

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? i guess micah and his dad lmao

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? um probably last tuesday

45: do you trust your instincts a lot? i mean i guess?

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. my mind is BLANK

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? ticks. oh this said FOOD. um. mustard

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? i can only think of my trauma-based fears and they were usually about water and losing my parents??? i’m not sure i’d say either is the biggest fear now, but i still feel really uncomfortable in muddy water

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? p sure the last i bought was highlights from the original french production of les misérables

50: what’s an odd thing you collect? as a kid i used to collect popcorn boxes from the movies? i think i only have lotr ones left

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? i associate @conradsricamora with conrad’s cover of ain’t no sunshine

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? i like the meme about ted cruz as the zodiac killer but it’s not from this year. uh. i can’t think of a 2017 meme

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? i’ve seen beetlejuice and pulp fiction and i love them both. one’s the perfect funny rainy october night movie and the other’s just… wow

54: who’s the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? idk someone on grey’s anatomy. mum’s been watching it a lot lately

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point? gosh idk. i hope nothing too Dramatic

56: what are some things you find endearing in people? their love for their hobbies. like when someone is really intensively into something and it’s so Obvious. i love that

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? it always makes me feel so good. and i mean… yeah…. who doesn’t…

58: who’s the wine mom and who’s the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? um @itsjustaheartache is the wine mum and @caesarsbuddy is the vodka aunt because…. they just are

59: what’s your favorite myth? um anything to do with swedish trolls tbh

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? tbh i love poetry but i’m a bit picky with it. but i’ll read anything by richard siken

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received? um my aunt once gave me a cp3o pen for christmas. like that was it. i think it was in the 1 dollar bin

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? no i don’t but if i have to, i prefer orange juice

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? i really like them organized but i have so many books that i just.. give up a lot

64: what color is the sky where you are right now? it’s late so probably dark, dark blue. perhaps even black

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with? all my friends at this point lmao

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? idk… flowery

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? like it’s time to travel to middle earth

68: what’s winter like where you live? it’s either really cold and snowy or no snow and probably really rainy

69: what are your favorite board games? dnd or monopoly

70: have you ever used a ouija board? no and i fucking never will

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea? rn it’s my pokémon tea that my dad’s gf got me

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you’ll forget it? lmao i definitely need to write everything down which i’ve failed to do lately and i hate it

73: what are some of your worst habits? procrastination

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. gay

75: tell us about your pets! one is satan but also the sweetest??? v interesting mix. she is honestly so good. and the other one is chunk in cat form. also p good

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren’t? i’m trying to finish my assigned math tasks for today but ashfpsao god damn ebba made me answer all these 100 q’s

77: pink or yellow lemonade? neither? i’m not a big fan of lemonade

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? i haven’t seen the movies so i was neutral… and at this point i’m neutral evil about it. stop it

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? john boyega exists so that was a cute thing of his parents to do

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? blue at dad’s and like white/cream-ish at mum’s…. bc blue felt most neutral and the other one was already there, so

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. sea with a touch of caramel

82: are/were you good in school? lmao

83: what’s some of your favorite album art? um. tbh anything by led zeppelin

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? i’d want some, sure, but i’m uncertain of what. probably something relating to ryan dunn at least

85: do you read comics? what are your faves? it’s been a while since i had time to but i really love captain america, sweet tooth and…. tbh i’m not picky???

86: do you like concept albums? which ones? i love them. esp if it’s by king diamond. if i have to choose one of his, it’s got to be them or abigail tbh

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? the lord of the rings trilogy and the star wars original trilogy. also artifical intelligence

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? resistance

89: are you close to your parents? i mean yeah? in different ways but i’m close to both of them which is v nice

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. it is really neat with beautiful old buildings and lots of book shops. or at least a bunch of good book shops. also actual shops dedicated to comics or gaming. also a v nice tea shop

91: where do you plan on traveling this year? i’m hoping to move to a new city this autumn, so there’s that

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? i don’t get cheese on pasta unless it’s mac and cheese

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most? a luke skywalker inspired ‘do

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? um some family friend on facebook

95: what are your plans for this weekend? um. study, probably

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? i procrastinate. def

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? infp, leo, hufflepuff

98: when’s the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? i don’t remember when it was but i know that i did not enjoy it

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. anything by led zeppelin or stromae. a specific song though is the freshman by the verve pipe

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? no. no. you do not mess with time ok

#philipsunshea #tag: asks

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junker-town · 7 years

Text

The Players Championship is golf’s biggest festival

The Players Championship is golf’s biggest festival. It’s a prestigious golf championship, social gathering, family picnic, college bar, food market, tailgate, and chugging capitalistic engine spread over 400-plus acres in Florida swampland. It accommodates those who love golf, those who casually know just a little, and those who might not even know what “par” is and don’t much care to find out.

Golf has no rigid definition. It’s a game that can be The Masters or the U.S. Open or the Euro Tour’s new GolfSixes or the LPGA’s International Crown. It’s a game that can be going out with a few friends to play as many holes before dark on a crusty dog track course that has no flags on the greens (if this seems specific, it’s because I played this way down here this week and it was a fantastic evening chasing the sun — just hit it and hope the hole is near where your ball landed). We don’t have to define the game as one particular thing and not the other.

At the pro level, we get so occupied with sorting and categorizing events, players, and courses to bring some more definition. The Players has been jabbed for being “not a major.” After the Masters, it’s the biggest event in golf held annually at the same venue everyone immediately recognizes. For a long time, there was an yearly debate to fill up air time about whether or not this was the “fifth major.” Sure the Tour probably wanted its marquee event to carry the resume weight of a major, but it was mostly a TV and media talking point. That discussion has subsided in recent years. The Tour is not trying to elbow The Players into the major championship discussion. And the press has become quieter about it.

The debate subsiding is largely because of the identity that The Players has carved out for itself. It’s not a major, but it’s much bigger than some upper-tier event on the weekly PGA Tour. It is entirely its own thing, floating alone. The Tour does not seem to care so much that it’s not a major. What they have made is the strongest field of the season, with one of its most lucrative purses, on an instantly recognizable course that reliably throws this festival each and every year.

A True Stadium

The Stadium Course at The Players has a remarkable versatility. For actually watching golf, it’s maybe the best venue in the game. A simple grounds pass should give you a view of just about every shot on every hole. Inside the ropes access is not necessarily an advantage for watching golf here. Almost no course offers that with an event of this magnitude, with most other big events ballooning to five and six and 10 deep along the ropes. You can get stuck just looking for a peek of the top of a golf club at the Masters or just trying to see a handful of shots in an entire afternoon at the Ryder Cup.

The course also prompts debate among the golf architecture diehards. So for watching actual golf, played by the best golfers in the world on a course that, if nothing else, is interesting, this is about as good as it gets. The golf, however, is just a piece for so many who come to this event.

A True Party

Pro golf can be a punchline, mocked for being a stuffy thing for old people. But if you go to any number of PGA Tour events, you can find a big outdoor party with an ancillary tournament running alongside it. Some stand out more than others, and the peak events on Tour are undoubtedly the Phoenix Open and The Players.

The Players is Jacksonville’s Kentucky Derby. This is a tradition that the local culture has embraced and one that the PGA Tour wants to foster. There are few pretensions here. After going to Augusta National a month ago, it was hard to think of a more polar opposite environment among the larger golf tournaments. There are more tattoos and fewer quarter zips. A variety of high class club and golf course insignia are less prevalent, exchanged for more Jumbo Shrimp and Jags logos.

It’s not all Jacksonville, as fans from across Florida, Georgia, and the South Carolina coast make the annual pilgrimage to Pete Dye’s place. Imagine that, another SEC amalgamation at a golf tournament. One fan along a high-trafficked walkway at the 17th hole spent a portion of his afternoon looking for fellow Tennessee fans. When what looked like a comrade in orange walked past, he inquired enthusiastically, “Go Vawls!?” The response he got was a shout that resonated in the amphitheater, “Helllll no, Roll Tide!” Moments later, he found a fellow Vawl and his afternoon was made, screaming wildly. There were Hotty Toddys and Go Gators, and even a #BBN sighting. There was also golf somewhere nearby.

Photo by Andy Lyons/Getty Images

The 2017 winner, Si Woo Kim, tees off on the 18th hole.

This atmosphere exists throughout the course, and the PGA Tour wants to foster the celebration. There’s a “Wine Lounge” behind the 8th green. If you’re trying to cut across the back nine, you’ll just stumble upon a bar scene materializing in the middle of the woods. It’s far enough away from a fairway so the noise would not impact play, with couches and a TV set up for fans to keep monitoring the actual reason we were all gathered. Bloody Mary bars are set up inside two gates, ready and waiting for those who enter right at 7:30 a.m. As I watched players on the 17th, I overheard one group losing interest in the scene and wanting to go back to “The Oasis,” apparently the name for another public bar on the property. There’s a full lineup of these alcohol outposts listed under the encouraging slogan of “Get Refreshed.”

A Concert at 17

The entire 400 acres is a celebration, but the vortex of raucousness sits just over a half-mile from the grandiose (or gaudy, depending on your taste) clubhouse. The famous 17th “island” hole is maybe the most hyped par-3 on the PGA Tour. Everyone knows exactly what it looks like and how it plays from years of TV coverage.

On the ground, the 17th is a concert with 48 different acts throughout the day. Like any outdoor concert venue, there are lawn seats and grandstands and high-class suites. It gets more subdued on the lawn and suites behind the green, which could be the field boxes compared to the bleachers atmosphere at more distant parts of the hole.

Augusta’s par-3 down in Amen Corner is a social gathering, too. But there the purpose is more to be seen, peacocking about in pastels. Here, the purpose of the eclectic mix of cigars, strollers, and sundresses is to holler and have fun. There are also multiple video boards broadcasting every shot, brands plastered everywhere, phones in every hand, and hopeless marshals raising their hands to try and still what becomes a constant crowded-bar hum. The only commonality with the 12th hole at Augusta was par.

Mark Hubbard, who was playing in his first Players this week, has gone into that similar atmosphere at the Phoenix Open. “There’s probably only 150 people watching every shot,” he said of TPC Scottsdale. “They’re just there to party.” His approach this week would be the same as Phoenix. “So if they don’t really care what’s going on, you shouldn’t be thinking about your shot anyways. So just have fun with it.”

The scene is bustling all weekend, hitting capacity around lunchtime and staying that way until the final groups come through almost seven hours later. There were older folks who caught mid-afternoon naps in their lawn chairs, and younger folks who caught late afternoon naps on the turf. By the end of the day, the seagulls hovered above as the crowd started to provide openings for the birds to swoop in on some of the trash that piled up.

Getting late in the day at 17...trash piling, seagulls hovering, people napping http://pic.twitter.com/FjMC35nXWi

— Brendan Porath (@BrendanPorath) May 13, 2017

It was not some lawless mess, with security lurking around the players and police walking within the crowd. Occasionally someone got over their skis up in a grandstand or behind the tee box, but it was well-monitored. There was often one idiot standing out, yelling “Get in the water!” indiscriminately after a tee shot went into the air. But one caddie told me the scene was “respectful on 17, unlike Phoenix.” Some players have been heckled to the point of disruption, with the most notorious being the unrelenting abuse Sergio Garcia took here in 2015, when things were particularly charged as Rickie Fowler went on his dramatic run and just one year after Sergio’s Sawgrass beef with Tiger.

This year, with a green jacket now in his possession, they chanted “Ole Ole Ole” for him as he approached the green.

A Brand Parade

The Masters is infamous for de-branding everything. It’s just “light beer” and “diet cola.” At the Players, fans complained about a lack of Bud Light, with options for just Bud heavy and Mich Ultra, an obvious attempt to funnel attendees to the partner beer as a stand-in. Brand after brand and partner after partner is set up throughout the property, offering one experience or another that may or may not be a waste of time away from the golf. There’s a golf simulator and a mini-island green competition and VR booth.

The bar is not just a bar, but a Grey Goose Lounge. A hospitality suite is not just a suite with pricier tickets, but an Oakley benefactor compound, an 11,000-square-foot climate-controlled tent. The local smaller guys get the best food spots, with a “Taste of Jax” court and the now-famous “Tacos on 12,” a crowded plaza and a spot that’s become a tradition here. At the merch tent, even the 17th hole now has it’s own logo and “island life” collection of gear. It’s Darren Rovell’s twitter feed come to life.

This exists at almost every non-Masters golf tournament, but the scale of it all at The Players, where the hosts have mastered a property setup for such annual “activations” and “experiences,” is unparalleled. This is the PGA Tour’s main event and the opportunity for a capitalistic bonanza is not passed up. It can be nauseating but the different non-golf-watching activities and suites are part of what makes this a festival. Pro golf can be both this and the Masters.

Tiger is here in spirit. You can have Augusta's low cost standbys, I'll have this. http://pic.twitter.com/SKam5xbOjs

— Brendan Porath (@BrendanPorath) May 13, 2017

Getting Everyone Involved

As a plane flew overhead advertising for an area strip club, families walked through the kid zone, a playground set up in a grove next to a Nickelodeon tent where they can get slimed. The rowdiness of the 17th gets all the publicity, and rightly so, but strollers were ubiquitous on every hole. Kids wedged their way along the fence line for autographs and hi-fived every player along rope lines from tee-to-green and green-to-tee.

While some locals came to booze like it was a Jags tailgate, this is an annual family outing for Jacksonville too. Tipsy millenials locking arms to keep each other upright walked the cart path up the 18th while kids in whatever we’re calling the next generation did barrel rolls down the hill up above. Neither generation was pre-occupied with the golf shots. Across 400 acres and not jammed into one section of an NFL stadium, the different purposes all seemed to co-exist without incident.

* * *

I’ve made snarky comments about the “fifth major” and a Sawgrass shortcoming or two in the past, but recent powerhouse winners like Tiger Woods, Jason Day, and Rickie Fowler have pumped juice into the event. An aggressive effort to create a celebratory vibe on the grounds and for TV have made it so a winner that’s, well, not a powerhouse can be weathered. Its identity as both a golf tournament and an event has never been stronger, approaching a point where The Players can be the star, not the winner.

While the grounds at Augusta can make you feel like you've been dropped in a different world, The Players has a recognizable piece of almost every familiar Saturday afternoon activity. There’s a barbecue and a family walk and a golf outing and a trip to the mall and a bar crawl all happening at the same time. As a golf tournament, I don’t know how we neatly define it. It’s not a major. It’s not regular old PGA Tour event.

As an event, it’s The Players, a festival at the golf course, and there is nothing else like it in the game.

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