#practices how Normal People Talk in the mirror. I wonder if he's an alien or like an undercover fbi agent or from some other | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starcrossedyanderes · 3 years

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Would Rygel take his darling stargazing?

Yesssss

I’m sorry I just love it when I get requests that fit my ‘aesthetic’. I decided to take my own twist on this request so it turned into this. Also with this picrew Rygel has much darker skin but this was the darkest skin tone in this picrew.

“We have an event tonight.”

You quirked an eyebrow at Rygel’s words.

“When did you do events?”

“I must admit I usually abhor going to such required events. But I believe we shall find this one to be quite enjoyable.”

A smile actually pulled at Rygel’s lips as he looked down at you from his 6’9” stature. You felt a phantom hand caress your cheek; no doubt from Rygel’s own psychic abilities.

“Besides I think now is an excellent time to go ‘public’, don’t you agree?”

The hold on your cheek tightened.

“I expect that it has been long enough for you to have come to terms with my.. actual identity. And with that the expectations and status of you being my moonlight. I trust that you shall live up to these expectations, yes?”

The way his mind and eyes drilled into yours had you give out a meek “yes.”.

Rygel’s aura immediately lightened up and the feeling on your cheek disappeared only to be replace by the feeling of your whole body being gently squeezed; Rygel’s form of an affectionate hug and sign of approval.

Rygel bended down to your height to place a chaste kiss on your lips as the feeling of other kisses being placed all over your face accompanied it. You even felt some of your hair be lifted up and twirled.

“I’ll have a car pick you up at 8:30 and I believe the money I have just provided you should suffice for preparing for a formal event. Oh, and do be sure to wear the circlet I gifted you earlier. It is only fitting with your status being announced and all.”

Rygel pulled away with his flowy purple hair slightly ticking you. He started to walk towards the exit before suddenly turning around to face you again.

“Oh and one more thing my moonlight. Try and make yourself look as good as you truly are. In other words, perfect.”

~|~

After hitting up the mall you finally stood in back home in front of your full length mirror striking poses. Like, dang, you look good. You don’t know if this is how good you truly are, but dang is this as close to perfect as it gets.

Except for a teeny-tiny issue. Your circlet. How does one even wear such a thing? You just couldn’t get it sit quite right, look quite right, or anything! You just don’t know how to circlet!

And of course it was at that time you heard the opening of a car door.

Crud.

You would have to fix it in the car as you only had time to grab your purse and book it down to the car before Rygel blows up the planet or something.

You didn’t even pay attention to the chauffeur who held open the door for me as you scrambled in.

Of course like the idiot you were this also meant you didn’t notice that Rygel was also in the car with you.

There his majesty sat, for the first time legitimately speechless. Even you could practically feel the change in the mind pheromones thing. There clad in his suit and own matching circlet the Emperor sat truly admiring all that is you. It was times like these he remembered why exactly you were his destined one.

His eyes even became hooded!

“Darling, you look positively ravishing. Yes, I do believe this is the definition of perfection itself.”

As you buckled yourself in your face blushed as you let out a meek “thank you.”. But in classic Rygel fashion his face returned to mostly normal as if he hadn’t just said such out-of-character things.

It was with a slight chuckle at your positively adorable behavior that the car started up to wherever the heck you were headed.

As always the car ride with your ‘betrothed’ was almost completely silent since Rygel was never very talkative.

During this extended time you couldn’t help but to continuously fiddle with the garment on your head which just.. wouldn’t.. sit.. right! You had no idea how long you were trying to get it right before you were met with Rygel’s rich voice.

“Let me.”

You arms quickly fell down to your sides by both of your minds commands as Rygel lifted the circlet from your hair. You felt portions of your hair float into the sky as Rygel brushed your hair in certain directions before digging some pins out of his pocket.

“I always find pins to work best at keeping these in place. I never really use them though but I try to keep them on me at all times just for cases like these.”

It is with a few flourishes of his hands that the circlet was perfectly placed in your hair.

“Rygel..I.. Thank you!”

A sudden pull was administered on your waist as you fell into his chest. A large inhale was heard as Rygel took in the smell of your hair. A smile tugged at his lips as he placed a kiss onto your lockes.

“It is no issue. I pride making myself and others look presentable. Besides, I’m sure you’ll become more comfortable with putting on a circlet later. I’ll send you some info about how it is typically worn.”

“I would appreciate that.”

You sat in a comfortable silence before you broke it.

“Hey, where exactly are we going?”

“We’re going to an observatory where some of my people are holding an event in honor of us soon leaving this accursed place.”

Rygel truly was a master at saying sentences with a lot to unpack.

You turned to face him.

“Hold up? Your people? Aren’t they all supposed to be in space or something?”

Rygel let out a hum as you felt your hair mindlessly float about you.

“Well of course most of them are indeed in space but a few like me have infiltrated Earth and have made lives for themselves. Such as my foster family.”

“Are you telling me there’s a bunch of aliens walking around us in plain sight without anyone knowing?”

Rygel shrugged as a playful smirk pulled at his lips.

“Perhaps. I mean, I did manage to fool everyone for what? 18 years?”

At his remark you let out a few mumbles which only earned you a smile and pat on the head.

“You truly think the most hilarious things, my dear.”

~|~

“Isn’t it a bit much to.. float?”

The two of you were currently going up the stairs to the observatory with your small hand being engulfed by his slender, graceful one.

“Absolutely not. It is a show of status and is simply much more enjoyable than walking. I will never understand you humans. Why walk when you can simply float everywhere?”

“Because we can’t float.”

Rygel frowned slightly at that.

“Ah, yes. Pity. Really moonlight what ever would you do without me.”

“Walk.”

With a smirk you rose right up to him. His smirk seemed to widen even more once you clung to him to catch your balance.

“This.. is weird.”

“Just wait until you try dancing like this. Actually, stay like this on me for the rest of the night. I would hate for a small accident to occur.”

That was a lie and you knew it. He just liked you like this. But even so you couldn’t imagine how you would ever be able to dance on this invisible floor beneath you.

~|~

“Is that his imperial highness?”

“He’s so tall.”

“And so.. pretty...”

Rygel let out a quiet sigh only you seemed to hear.

“And all of the sudden I remember why I don’t enjoy such events.”

You had to agree with his sentiment once walking past an uncomfortable amount of gazes. How did they even know who you both were?

It’s probably because you’re the only two wearing circlets and floating that high off the ground. Curse that fancy headpiece!

The two of you began to walk deeper into the dome where the large telescope could be seen.

But you were quickly interrupted.

“Oh! Your imperial highness! How wonderful it is to see you!”

You could tell by the change of Rygel’s aura that his mood had quickly soured.

“Ah, Devah.”

Out of the corner of your eye you could both see Rygel’s strained smile and 2 glasses floating your way.

As the glass landed in your hands Rygel slightly turned to you.

“This is one of the main sponsors of the missions on Earth.”

Devah put on way too cheery of a smile as he hissed out a whisper; as if he was making sure you could not hear.

“And is it alright if I ask but what exactly is a human doing here?”

Rygel’s golden eyes flashed as his grip tightened on you and his mind readied for a strike.

“She is my mate. If you are not as dimwitted as I thought then you should know that things such as species has no effect on who a person’s mate is. Human or not, she is your empress and you shall treat her as such.”

As the aliens face paled it dawned on you that Rygel may be invisibly choking like in Star Wars.

“Y-yes, my apology your imperial highness.”

Rygel raised a purple eyebrow at this as the man jerked into a bow as yellow energy surrounded him.

“Highness?”

“Y-yes your imperial highnesses.”

Rygel actually let out a smile at this.

“Much better. But I think we’ll just leave you like this for the rest of the night. Perhaps it will help you remember your status. Come now, my darling.”

You were pulled away from the bowing alien by Rygel’s long strides towards the large telescope; the focal point of the room.

As Rygel peered in and gave some slight adjustments to the machinery you took a sip from the glass in front of you only to pull back in shock.

This was a new taste for sure. Despite scowering your mind’s attic of a memory you could not place such a taste anywhere. You were honestly kind of scared to ask what the drink was made because of the possible response being blood.

And you kinda needed to know if this was alcholic.

“Um.. Hey, Emperor?”

Rygel let out a mere hum as his only indication of hearing you as his psychic energy caressed you.

“What exactly is this drink? And is it alcholic?”

Rygel let out a light chuckle as his golden eyes continued to look through the lens.

“Don’t worry, it isn’t alcholic. I know you technically aren’t of age to drink here but you’re always more than welcome to. Beauty of world domination and all.”

You hated how he says such awful things so eloquently.

“What you are currently holding, my dear moonlight, is a drink that is drived from one my home planet’s natural fruits. I believe in your language it would be pronounced as the xoqub fruit. Care to look?”

Rygel pulled away from the telescope to give you your turn at the stars. As your eyes peered in you continue your questions.

“How did you even get that stuff here? That has to take forever to ship out.”

“It does take quite a bit to get here but it is admittedly faster than transporting life forms. We actually do a mix of getting some delivered, growing it ourselves here, and just using food replicators.”

“HOL UP YOU GUYS HAVE REPLI-”

“If you point it more this way you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Rygel prematurely interrupted you by moving the telescope slightly.

“This is the closest point this telescope can get to our planet. It can be seen far past this point.”

You were the one to actually shut yourself up as you stared deeply at that tiny little point.

“It’s really that far away?”

“Yes. It is at least a one month journey to reach there. We will also have a few days added on as we will be making a few stops along the way for various things and your own enjoyment.”

You looked up from the vast before you.

“My own enjoyment?”

“This will be your first time into space, yes? I figured you could at least see some of your new territories. I also have some things to take care of at these places anyway. We’re mainly stopping at the Europa colony and this area by the Kupier belt. After that it’s a non stop journey.”

You turned to look back at all the stars.

“It’s weird.. to think I’ll be riding through the stars and going to places humans have never gone before. But it’s all so.. pretty.”

Rygel hummed as he took a sip from his own glass.

“And all that ‘pretty’ shall be ours, my moonlight.”

#yandere #romance #emperor rygel #rygel #yandere emperor #alien #stargazing #starcrossedyanderes

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deonideatta · 3 years

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@ohcoolnice @whyyoudo I couldn't get the concept of han seok and junwoo being two different people out of my head so on this vincenzo-less sunday I give you a loose rewrite of canon where jun woo is the third jang brother and han seok's twin!

They were born jang han seok and jang han sol, and han seok is the older twin. They were separated when they were very young, because of han seok and an incident which ended up with han sol in the hospital. It was supposed to be temporary, but one of the house staff took pity on the poor child and smuggled him away. His name was changed to jun woo and they didn't find him again until both him and han seok were adults

They grew up very differently, han seok under the jang family, tormenting han seo and becoming the unhinged, solitary figure we all know and hate, and jun woo in an adopted family somewhere across the country into the dorky, sweet intern we knew for a bit and loved

Both of them somehow ended up spending time in america, though neither knew and they never met. Han seok because his father sent him there and jun woo because he got a scholarship to go to university there

Very few people now know about han seok himself, much less his twin brother. Before han seok's chairman takeover, most people think han seo is the only jang child

Jun woo knows he has a twin brother, but he doesnt know who he is. He can't remember his name or his face, or those of his real family. When he receives an offer for a job at wusang, he takes it as a learning opportunity and accepts

The only one who has all the cards is han seok, and so when he hears that jun woo has become an intern at wusang he decides its time to play them

So he spends people to observe and record jun woo, and after things start heating up and chayenzo declares war on babel, he kidnaps and threatens him, and tells him that he has to let him cosplay as him so that he can scope out the increasing threat

This is not how jun woo had ever thought meeting his long lost twin brother would go. He tries to put up a fight, but han seok hits him in the stomach with the hockey stick he's wielding like some kind of ancient weapon so hard that he spits out blood, and that takes the fight out of him

Han seok crouches down in front of jun woo and stares him in the eye, and it's like looking into a mirror except his reflection is staring at him with chillingly blank eyes.

It's the same for han seok, except his reflection looks back with open terror. The feeling it gives him is unpleasant and han seok doesn't like seeing weakness like that on a face that could pass for his own. But if he wants to get what he wants, he can't harm his twin too much just yet

Visually they're identical, so han seok passes perfectly for jun woo. He doesn't get all his mannerisms right at first, but with practice basically no one can tell the difference unless they look hard enough to notice that han seok's eyes are always empty even when he's copying jun woo's biggest grin.

A part of han seok feels a flash of jealousy at the fact that his twin has had a pleasant and fulfilling life while he's had to live neglected in the shadows for so long, so he takes extra satisfaction in the way jun woo's face falls when he appears in front of him for the first time dressed in his work attire, indistinguishable from jun woo on the average week day, backpack and all.

To spite him even further, han seok mimics his cheery, enthusiastic way of speaking, smiling so widely that it's mocking, and embraces the glee that jun woo's downtrodden expression gives him

He does hate having to curl his hair to copy jun woo's usual hairstyle though

At this point han seo finds out he has a second older brother, because han seok wants him to be able to continue to act normal and not freak out if he sees him cosplaying as jun woo

This brother is identical to his other one but actually really nice to him and it's both incredible and completely terrifying. It takes han seo a while to warm up to jun woo because he looks so much like han seok, as well as for fear of han seok's reaction, but he gets there

Whenever they meet (usually bc of han seok) the two bond over their shared fear and hatred of han seok. There's twice the himbo power. Incredible

Jun woo had had no idea that he had a younger (half) brother, and his heart goes out to him for having to live under han seok's abuse for so long

So he makes an effort to get to know han seo when han seok isn't around to yell at them. Han seo appreciates this a lot, because jun woo is like han seok on his incredibly rare good days except much better and all the time

Being a veteran at Handling Han SeokTM, he gives jun woo tips on how to get on han seok's good side and avoid getting things thrown at you

Jun woo tells han seo that one day when they get free of han seok they should take a trip to disneyland. Han seo, who has never been to an amusement park before, makes him promise it

Han seok's babel boss reveal presentation goes more or less the same way, except it's also a twin reveal and choi myung hee and mr han have to deal with the fact that not only is their intern the babel chairman's twin brother, but they have also been switching places regularly

Meanwhile cha young, who is out there living her best anti big pharma life, thinks jun woo is acting weird. Some days he's super bubbly, almost too bubbly, and on other days he's more subdued, seemingly a bit on edge.

Biggest red flag comes when she, him and vincenzo eat spicy food together

The spicy food tolerance gene missed han seok altogether and endowed han seo and jun woo with its power

So though he doesn't protest when cha young orders the extremely spicy dish jun woo usually gets for him, han seok struggles to finish the food almost as much as vincenzo does

Cha young thinks that's really sus, but she keeps her questions to herself because there's really no explanation for it unless jun woo was replaced by a government clone or aliens. Or his secret identical twin. Hah, imagine

She files the thought away for later and they continue to dig into the man behind han seo and babel. They find out about han seok, but there's no remaining information about jun woo in the files because the jang family thought losing him was supremely embarrassing so they tried to make sure no one knew

Meanwhile han seok is super happy he's gained another protective shield. If babel gets into trouble he can force han seo to go to jail for him, and if he ever gets personally exposed he can make jun woo take the fall for him. Genius

For that purpose he makes sure no one except the babel quartet know about him and jun woo being twins

He finds that it's interesting living as jun woo though, people interact with him in a way they never do when he's han seok. Jun woo's neighbours say hello to him when he goes by, and the lady in the local convenience store makes small talk with him and asks how his new job is going. And cha young is an incredibly unusual person, han seok finds that he has some level of attraction to her, and enjoys her company

While han seo is a puppet, jun woo is a mask, a protective measure and a means to explore the world, and han seok mentally pats himself on the back for having such useful brothers

But he has to stop spending time pretending to be jun woo for now bc he knows his identity is at risk of being discovered by jipuragi squad as they hunt down the person who exposed vincenzo as a mafia member

So when vincenzo does find out that han seok is allegedly jun woo, and tells cha young, it actually isn't han seok she's sitting with when she receives the news

Naturally she doesn't know this, and she feels supremely betrayed

And when vincenzo breaks into 'han seok's' house, it's actually jun woo's house. Jun woo, who was not expecting the mafia to break into his house, is understandably scared. The kneeling gun scene goes down, except there is no bravado on jun woo's part and he's genuinely terrified

Vincenzo is arrested as planned, and jun woo meets cha young in the police station as she goes to help vincenzo

She's furious, and jun woo honestly denies that it was him who killed her father and the babel victims, unable to expose that it was han seok because he's scared of the consequences and because it sounds like such a ridiculous excuse

Poor guy gets the double slap intended for his twin brother

When han seok hears about it he laughs a lot. Jun woo is understandably angry about his reaction, but he is forced to seethe in silence

Nevertheless han seok decides to go into hiding (and forces jun woo to do the same somewhere else, hiring guards to make sure he doesn't leave) because even if chayenzo think jun woo is the babel chairman, they still have the same face

Unfortunately for han seok this means that vincenzo's spy squad see him going into his own safe house, and he gets to be the victim of the drugged water

After a few more near death scares courtesy of the local mafia man, choi myung hee suggests he reveal himself as chairman so he doesn't die at the hands of vincenzo unknown and like a loser. And so he does

At the expense of jun woo, whose identity has more or less been stolen now, and who is now indefinitely confined to the family property han seok had him hide in

The war begins all out, and jipuragi squad works hard at removing han seok's support circle, starting with daechang daily, then the anti-union activities

Han seo watches all this unfold and starts to wonder how he can get his better older brother free while taking down the other one

The answer comes to him when he sees chayenzo cover han seok with pigs blood. They're the only people who seemed to consistently be able to one up han seok, and he has only heard good things about cha young from jun woo, not to mention the fact that surely even han seok can't defeat a mafia member in the long run

So he asks mr han to help him meet vincenzo, and he tells him he has twin older brothers and asks for his help in betraying the bad one and saving the good one

Vincenzo thinks he's messing with him, and turns down han seo's request to be on the same side

But then jipuragi squad opens the guillotine file, and there below han seok's escapades in homicide and the details on han seo's suffering, is the shocking secret of the jang family, the existence of a 3rd jang brother, han seok's twin brother jang han sol

Cha young remembers how jun woo hadn't been able to eat spicy food that one time and suddenly everything makes sense

For his part vincenzo remembers what han seo had said and mentally kicks himself for thinking it was a lie

They puzzle over what this could mean and where han seok's twin brother could be now. Is the man who revealed himself as the babel chairman the real han seok? Are both of them evil? Is one being used by the other?

Cha young silently wonders which times jun woo had just been jun woo, and which times she had been eating lunch or joking with han seok the babel chairman and serial murderer

They decide they have to find the other jang twin in order to answer their questions

Problem is that he's been absent from work for the past 2 weeks, and when vincenzo breaks into his house, it looks like it hasn't been lived in for quite a while

The trail seems to lead nowhere, and they turn their attention back to tearing down babel, with the new knowledge sitting uncomfortably in the backs of their minds

And then han seo shows up at the jipuragi office in all his coffee wielding glory to plead his cooler older brother's case again

This time, to han seo's surprise, they listen to him patiently when he tells them about his older brothers. He makes sure to stress that the only one he wants to betray is han seok, and that jun woo has done nothing wrong

If the fact that they've read the part of the guillotine file that talked about what han seo had had to suffer under han seok makes it easier for them to believe him, he doesn't have to know that

The only way they can strike at han seok and simultaneously clear jun woo of suspicion is to reveal that they're twins

To do that they have to find jun woo. Han seo doesn't know where exactly he is, but he tells them that han seok would probably try and use jun woo as a shield should he ever be sent to jail

The guillotine file gives them what they need to force the prosecution to put han seok behind bars under fabricated charges. It wouldn't last long once actual investigation starts, but hopefully it will be enough

Han seok takes the bait, unknowingly, and shuttles jun woo off in his place. There's not much that irritates him as much as the thought of going to jail, and this is the perfect chance to test jun woo's loyalty. It also gives him a blind spot to operate, while his enemies think he's in jail. You can't dodge a hidden dagger and all that.

When the jipuragi squad watches the arrest of the babel chairman on the news, there's a nervous hunch to 'han seok's' shoulders, and the impassive smile he seems to be going for isn't quite right

Vincenzo and cha young go to visit him in jail

When they first see him, cha young immediately feels bad, despite herself. He looks like he hasn't slept well in ages, and his expression is far from his usual cheer, sober and sullen. This had better really be jun woo, she does not want to ever feel pity for jang han seok

It is jun woo, and he really hasn't slept well in ages, as reuniting with han seok and his violent tendencies has reawakened the memories from his childhood in the jang household that he had supressed, causing all kinds of nightmares

He doesn't look up as they enter and sit opposite him. Cha Young takes charge, and vincenzo lingers behind her, a solid and present support

When she speaks his head snaps up at the sound of her voice, before he seems to want to correct himself and looks away

When he looks at her again there are no traces of jun woo in his face, his expression haughty and unbothered

It's chillingly like the han seok they had sat across following the pig's blood incident, and cha young has to work hard to push down the flare of anger the expression causes

She decides not to beat around the bush. She presses the printed page of the jang han sol section of the guillotine file up against the glass, and watches as jun woo's eyes widen, the facade falling as quickly as he had donned it

Jun woo takes in the picture of the two identical little boys and has to squeeze his eyes shut at the wave of fear that hits him

In its wake is a small flare of hope. If they know he isn't han seok, maybe they can help him

Cha young watches as jun woo seems to deflate at the sight of the document, and now she's sure it isn't han seok, because she's never seen him allow himself to show any form of weakness

When jun woo looks up again, there is determination mixed in with the weariness in his eyes

A while later, cha young exhales shakily as they walk out, vincenzo's hand steady and comforting on her back. She's surprised at how relieved she is to know that the jun woo she had known had not been an elaborate set up, a con which had seen her at some of her lowest moments. Her heart goes out to jun woo, but there's an undeniable joy at the confirmation that her friend still exists, because it means he can be saved

The plan is simply to collect evidence of the fact that jun woo is not han seok. Best case scenario a video of them together, though a good photo will do as well. It would also work if they can somehow get footage of han seok out and about while jun woo is in jail

The first obvious course of action is to look for cctv footage. They hunt high and low through the cameras at babel, at wusang, and around han seok and jun woo's houses, but the searches are largely fruitless

With han seo's help, they locate the safehouses han seok likes to hide out in, and vincenzo sends men to snoop around each property. This ultimately pays off when, at the 3rd property, han seok is spotted standing by a window.

The second stage begins with Mr ahn's help, and they get a swat team to raid the house han seok is hiding out in.

Fully believing that everyone thinks you're in jail makes you sloppy, and han seok doesn't see it coming until the black vehicles are speeding down his driveway

He doesn't stop to take anything much, he grabs a hockey stick and he runs, wild and angry, out into the dark of the woods surrounding the house

Vincenzo watches him charge into the forest on the cctv footage retrieved from the house and smirks

The footage hits the news the next day. The headline is in large, bold letters, "Chairman Jang Han Seok spotted at holiday residence, despite prison sentence." The picture below the tagline serves as the final blow, side by side images of Han Seok sprinting away from the house, and an identical man sitting demurely in a jail cell.

As the story breaks, people begin to step forward, old employees of the jang household who had known and seen both han seok and han sol. There's nothing like good gossip to get people talking, and the shocking secret of the jang twins makes the rounds in record time

Jun woo's identity is rechecked, and he is set free

Cha young, vincenzo and han seo go to meet him when he gets out. Han seo tackles him in a hug, and cha young smacks him heartily on the back. Vincenzo doesn't react much but he does shoot jun woo a smile.

Han seok hasn't been seen in days, and jun woo is unbelievably happy to be himself again

It isn't over yet though, babel still needs to pay and han seok still needs to be found. Search parties comb through the woods around the house regularly, but there's still no sign of him. In the meantime, jipuragi prepares their final attack.

Han seo lets jun woo stay with him, and the house is fortified by multiple levels of guards

It's still mildly unsettling for han seo to have someone with han seok's face in his house, in his own safe space, but jun woo makes for a far better housemate than han seok ever was, and gradually he relaxes

For a few days, despite the tension of not knowing where your psychopath brother who probably really wants to kill you could be lurking, when there is a spare moment in the evening, han seo and jun woo catch up on years of lost brotherhood

Han seo tells him about his mother, and jun woo talks about his adopted family. Neither of them mention han seok, they skirt around his name like he doesn’t exist, like speaking their trauma aloud to someone who had been there too would make it too real to bear. Jun woo knows he had gotten the better end of the deal, he had been separated from han seok pretty early. Han seo had lost too many years of his life to their psychopath brother, and jun woo isn't sure he knows how to confront that, or how to comfort him. He hopes he can learn

Han seo wants to ask what exactly had happened to lead to jun woo being removed from the jang household and separated from han seok, but he doesnt dare. Maybe later, maybe when they aren't still worried about what han seok could do to them

Then the jipuragi squad files their lawsuit against babel. Han seok still hasn't been heard from, and they begin to wonder if he got lost in the woods. Maybe he fell of a cliff, or into a river

Either way, the trial goes spectacularly badly for babel, aided by the fact that vincenzo had threatened the unjust judge before the trial. The verdict is guilty, and it serves as a means to kick-start further investigation into previously dismissed babel trials

The day after the trial, han seok reappears

He was lost in the woods for a while, but he found his way out and laid low for a while plotting a way to get back at vincenzo and cha young for destroying his backup plans and destroying his family and company's reputation. He will also have to deal with his traitorous brothers.

It's a big blow, but it's not one he cannot recover from. All he has to do is get his revenge, terrify his brothers back into submission, and go back to his plans for his babel.

So he requests the kidnapping of cha young, and he gets his men to attack the guards at han seo's house and take her there, cornering his brothers. He strolls in when he gets word that everything is done, cocky and confident, twirling a gun between his fingers

He takes in the open fear on han seo's face, the frightened anger on jun woo's face, and the sneer on cha young's face, and he laughs. They are consistent to the very end, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

All that’s left is vincenzo, and a short while after a brief and taunt filled phone call he arrives, eyes wide and angry. Han seok does not waste time in pointing his gun at the mafia man. He stops where he is, still glaring at han seok, eyes darting regularly to cha young

Because he is never one to turn down some fun, in a bid to further anger vincenzo, han seok crouches down and points the gun to cha young's head. He watches at vincenzo's face twists with anger and worry, and he revels in it. Out of the corner of his eye he sees jun woo has moved in front of han seo, like he's protecting him, and han seok wants to laugh

He speaks to cha young in jun woo's voice to spite them both, mockingly sounding out his words in his twin's bright tone

But suddenly vincenzo drops to his knees to plead for cha young's life, and han seok grins in satisfaction. The satisfaction is shortlived, however, as something solid suddenly crashes into the back of his head

It dazes him enough that he lets go of cha young for a moment, and she takes the chance to headbutt him so hard that he drops the gun. Vincenzo pounces almost immediately, and aims a kick to han seok's head, knocking him out

The last thing he sees before everything fades to black is his spitting image standing a distance away, holding a dented art deco lamp.

When they are sure han seok has been knocked out for real, the relief that sweeps the room is palpable. Han seo slumps down and jun woo moves to check on him as vincenzo unties cha young

Jun woo moves to call the police, but vincenzo tells him not to.

Instead, he makes a call of his own, and soon two men enter and carry out the still unconscious han seok. Jun woo wants to ask where they’re taking him, but there’s a dark glint in vincenzo’s eyes that makes him swallow the question.

None of them see han seok again until he’s on the news. His body is found in a river near the family property he had first run away from, and the consensus seems to be that he fell in and drowned while lost in the woods

The whole matter has vincenzo written all over it, but no one is going to ask about it

Han seo and jun woo hold a funeral for him because it would be suspicious if they didn’t, but they work hard to make it as underwhelming as possible. When han seo cant stop shaking (whether it’s in weariness, relief, or anger at any traces of grief, jun woo can’t tell, and honestly neither can han seo) as they stand in front of the portrait of their deceased brother, jun woo silently rests a hand on his back.

After that is over with, they take a break to have a small ‘han seok is gone’ party, and then they both throw themselves into work

Han seo takes charge of babel, firing all of han seok’s people and working hard at cleaning up the stain of corruption he’d left behind. He works hard to transform the company’s reputation, and begins the process of compensating all the people who had been wronged by them in some shape or form

Jun woo leaves wusang and starts his own law firm. Han seo makes the company his first customer, and jun woo tries hard to run his firm without any traces of what made lawyers at wusang such monsters

Cha young and him have a friendly law firm rivalry going, much to vincenzo’s amusement

When they aren’t working, jun woo and han seo hang out a lot. Jun woo is determined to replace han seo’s memories of a terrible older brother with better ones with a more pleasant older brother. Han seo still struggles sometimes with seeing han seok in jun woo, but he’s more than happy to overwrite han seok’s image in his mind with jun woo’s

A few months after everything is stable again, they do take that trip to disneyland. The picture they take outside the park is framed on both their desks.

The next year, vincenzo and cha young get married, and han seo and jun woo attend the wedding. They bring expensive gifts, and jun woo cries like it’s his own family getting married. Cha young rolls her eyes at him, but she’s pleased to have him there

It will take a while to move on fully from the damage han seok caused, but they are all working hard at it. Because now han seok is gone for good, and everything is fine.

bonus

The Incident that led to han sol becoming jun woo happened when he and han seok were 6 and han seok, having decided that they had to see who was the superior twin, challenged him to a fight to the death

It was traumatic to the point that jun woo repressed all the memories of his childhood with han seok

Han seo once called jun woo hyung when speaking to han seok, and han seok got really angry and threw a lamp at him

Before vincenzo finishes off han seok, cha young slaps him six times to make up for the two slaps she mistakenly gave jun woo

After everything blows over, jun woo takes han seo with him the next time he goes to visit his adopted family. They dote on him like he's their family too, and han seo feels more loved than he has since he lost his mother. He says so to jun woo, and from then on he takes him along whenever he visits them

Cha young, jun woo and han seo meet up sometimes to eat spicy food, both because they like it but also to spite han seok’s memory just that little bit more

Because han seok died before he could find out about vincenzo’s mother, she’s alive and well and vincenzo visits her regularly

#the way tumblr blocked me from posting this dsfsd #3 failed attempts at posting and some rewriting later here it is #my attempt at dealing with no new vincenzo content by constructing elaborate alternate universes #anyway stan jun woo #han seok? i dont know him #vincenzo kdrama #tvn vincenzo #vincenzo fic #vincenzo fanfiction #vincenzo headcanons #imagine if we'd gotten this tho #the potential for misunderstandings #plus han seo getting a biological brother that is nice to him #immaculate #kdrama #might post this on ao3 #vincenzo #jang jun woo #jang han seok

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poptod · 3 years

Note

hello! i'd like to make an ahkmenrah x reader request! maybe present-day reader gets teleported back in time to when ahkmenrah was alive and they eventually get to the palace and stuff happens? maybe they tell him about modern life? and maybe reader is unnaturally beautiful to the ancient egyptians because humans evolve to be more attractive as time goes on so a person from our time would be hot shit 4,000 years ago? this is long lmao. thanks!

Notes: god ive always wanted to do this kind of storyline but i was worried about like,, logic and stuff getting in the way of the storyline. anyway! i was so fucking elated to receive this request. i got a bit carried away so apologies! WC: 3.2k

Okay. It isn't that bad.

Would you ever see your family again? Probably not, but you weren't ruling the possibility out.

Would you ever get to have sour patch kids again? Probably not. But even during the time you lived in 2020, you had eaten more concentrated sour patch kids flavor than all of the people around you combined.

This little village on the outskirts of ancient Thebes is hardly L.A.––though that's probably a good thing––and is small enough for you to know every inhabitant. Your shop there is small to suit the town, and well known ever since your arrival in this time.

They found you beside the river, thought you to be a gift from the Gods. You were hazy, though––whatever had so forcefully pushed you back in time had made your head spin, making you sick and unbalanced. So, when they asked if you did in fact come from the Gods, you had no way of defending yourself either way. Generally you've been denying it––they think you are a god, and the only way you've convinced them you're not a god is by saying you're a gift from them. It explains the way you look, unnaturally beautiful and alien amongst the more pure genetics of earlier humans.

Your shop is pretty simple. You make portraits from paint, more realistic than anything else that exists, and it only affirms their belief in your god-like status. Fortunately word seems to not have gotten out––the village has remained small, and no one from Thebes has run into you. Every now and then you get unreasonably anxious that a noble will find you and turn you into a slave. It's a worry most people around you have, so you find comfort in the fact that you're not the only one. Still, you're not quite accustomed to such an atmosphere––the thought of nobles and Kings noticing you still sends terrified aches into your stomach.

It's about two weeks in that it gets bad. People start to pass by the village, more than you would've thought, and they're all looking to trade goods, food, and information. The people of the village talk about you––you're something interesting, you can't deny that, but they don't know just how worried you are. Whenever you see someone you don't recognize outside your home, you refuse to come out.

Five days later and there's soldiers in your home, looking over your paintings on their way back to Memphis from conquering the realm of Kush. You hold a deep contempt for them––you don't know all that much about history, but you know how Egyptian soldiers and Pharaohs reigned power over the people of Kush.

The soldiers aren't all that worrying. What really gets your heart pounding is the final man to enter your hut; a man bearing a crown and a long sword, with golden braces around his wrists and a chest plated in green scales. Your fingers dig into the wood of your counter when he notices you. The crown on his head––it's the crown of both upper and lower Egypt.

This is a Royal.

"Where did you learn this skill?" He asks you, eyes trained on one of your bigger drawings. It's just on papyrus––not for sale––and hung on the wall as a display of your talent.

"I spent a little while travelling the world," you answer. Technically, growing up in the modern world was a bit like travelling the world; you got to see the cultures and practices of many, many people. "The rest of it's practice."

"The peasants here, they... they claim you came from the Nile. Is that true?"

"Well... that is where I was found," you say carefully, but you can already tell you've fucked up. The look on his face is indescribable beyond the fact that he's pleased.

"How would you feel coming back to the capital with me?" He offers to you, setting his hands on the counter and leaning forward. "I think my father would much like to meet you."

"I – I don't think I'm really cut out for -"

"Nonsense," he dismisses with a smile, taking your hand from its' spot on the wood. "We shall teach you proper writing skills, give you a beautiful home, and the salary isn't horrid either."

You can't just say no. If you do, he's going to ask questions––he's going to get confused, and he's going to get suspicious. No one would turn down an opportunity like this; free schooling, free housing, and much more money for something you already do.

"Well... alright," you say quietly, looking to the home around you that you built with the help of the other villagers.

"Wonderful. My name is Kamun."

He's not a very nice person, you come to find. Or perhaps he's just not your tastes––the soldiers seem to like him well enough, at least the ones who aren't completely subordinate to him, but his attitude towards women and poor people is scathing to say the least. Otherwise he's very amusing, with a good sense of humor and quite generous with his food and wine as long as he gets his fill of it first.

The boat back to Memphis, where the royal family currently stays, is a long ride filled with various entertainments. It's clear these are not soldiers accustomed to rough conditions––the dancing women and flowing beer is enough to tell you that. Instead, you surmise these are faux war-heroes; people adored in their hometown for doing nothing but intimidating others in a foreign country. They try to get cushy with you, soften you up to their words and touches. It doesn't work.

He keeps you close to him. You let him do it, sort of––it's better than telling him no. Better than starting a ruckus. Then again, avoiding a ruckus is what got you here in the first place, standing before the doors of the courtroom where a false God on earth rules the Nile.

"Father, I bring you a gift from Thebes," says Kamun, pushing you forward by the small of your back. You can't bring yourself to meet the Pharoah's eye, so you fall to your knees and bow.

Everyone is staring at you. You don't look normal, and they all know it, and you know it. You could cry from the heat of their eyes on your back.

One of Kamun's soldiers steps forwards, handing the Pharaoh and his wife several of the drawings they'd taken from you. Silence passes as the two scan your work.

"How did you achieve such a mirror of the human face?" The Pharaoh asks in a slow, deep voice that sounds as he looks––old, weathered, wise.

"They came from the Nile," Kamun answers for you, and murmurs take the crowd by storm. You, on the other hand, feel your heartbeat increase in massive increments, speeding your already uneven breath. "A gift from the Gods, the locals said."

"I can't – I am not magic," you rush out, hoping your clarification clears you of any responsibility to the Pharaoh. You know he rules everything––if he says you are to stay here, you have no choice, and you don't like it here. Too many people. "I cannot give you anything, my King."

"I think you're lying," says a voice, its' tone soft and a velvet low. It catches you off guard, brings you to raise your head and meet the eyes of someone you don't know; a young man dressed in gold beside the Pharaoh's throne.

You almost lose your breakfast as your eyes bulge, your mind instantly recognizing him and connecting the dots. You were, by far, not a historian, but you knew a fair amount of Egyptian history––namely a family in the Old Kingdom who was headed by the Pharaoh Merenkahre. The remaining statues and busts of the King and his son are astonishingly accurate, and there can be no doubt in your head.

That being said, there also can't be any reaction on your face. You try your best to reign your expression in.

"I..."

Actually, you do have something to offer now. You know the names––memorized the history, committed each event to memory, and now you can pull their lifestory off from the top of your head. Wouldn't that be valuable to a King; a seer of the future, to predict the rise and fall of the economy and the coming armies. Besides, you can't just say he's wrong. That'd be treasonous to them. So you have to agree you're hiding something, come up with an excuse as to why you hid it, and it proves harder than you thought. You're quickwitted, though––it got you away from the villager's wrath, and it will promote you to noble living now.

You hide a smirk beneath a calm expression as you address the younger prince.

"They gifted me foresight," you say quietly, pretending as though it hurts you to tell the truth, "but told me to never inform others."

"You are in the presence of Ra once more," the Pharaoh reminds you.

"And others," you point out. "I would... it would be better to discuss such matters.. in private."

Detailed information about already-past events is enough to sway him to believe you. The Pharaoh is surprisingly easy to convince, and with a few, meaningless predictions of the future, he gives you housing in his own palace. Kamun looks proud of himself––puffs his chest out in front of his father and earns no compliment. Ire laces his glare as it falls upon his brother, Ahkmen, praised for his ability to see through your obvious lie.

The Pharaoh asks his younger son to guide you to your room. Apparently it's closer to his room than it is to Kamun's, and evening is approaching fast. The walk there, while short, is marked by a conversation composed mainly of Ahkmen's questions and your answers. When the two of you reach your room, he doesn't leave––actually, he follows you in and locks the door.

There's nothing more terrifying than a man with unchecked power, and there is no one watching you.

No fail safe.

You gulp.

"I know you're still not telling the truth," he says, and though it dismisses several of your worries it still begs the question; how did he notice? "Just thought I'd spare you the embarrassment in front of my father, but my generosity ends there. Now I won't hurt you, and I won't tell anyone––I'm just curious."

Oh thank fuck. He's not going to rape you.

"I'm not Egyptian," you blurt out.

"Obviously," he interrupts, but you glare him into raising his hands defensively.

"I'm from the future."

He stares at you. For a minute. You know this because you count it––he just pauses right in his stance, doesn't move, and stares at you for a whole minute like you just told him you're made of gold.

"I'm sorry, what?" He says, laughter suddenly wracking his body.

"It's how I know what's going to happen to your family," you say, hoping he'll believe you. Otherwise this handsome, seemingly-nice man is going to think you're insane for the rest of time. "I studied your family for years as a side-hobby, I don't know how to predict the future for anything but you and your father."

His laughing pauses, or lightens at least; enough for him to say, "actually?"

"Yes," you say, completely serious. This seems to gain his interest once more. "You have to help me. I know at some point people are going to ask me questions about other things and I'm not going to have an answer."

"Just do what all our priests do," he says with a chuckle.

"What do they do?"

"Lie," he says. You can't stop the grin that spreads across your face from the stupid joke, and when he sees that a shit-eating grin spreads across his own face, delighted he could make you laugh.

"Yes, well... I guess I could do that," you mumble in a laugh.

"There's no need for you to worry. Now that I know the truth, I can help you," he says, offering you something that takes nearly all the anxiety out of your brain. After two days travel with a prince, it feels like it took 50 pounds off your shoulders.

"Thank you, so much," you chuckle in relief.

"Of course. I do have questions though, and I want you to answer them."

"Anything."

These questions of his, they come at all times––almost at a constant rate when he takes you on long walks, which he does often. He passes it off to his father as an interest in your beauty, and it apparently works. This little lie also helps you enormously in avoiding the romantic advances of many of the people you come into contact with. You're still not quite sure how it works, since Egyptians supposedly had a strong sense of patriotism, but you look rare and they idolize it. Every eye that falls upon you sees something beautiful, and you can't understand it.

At least Ahkmen is normal. He doesn't talk about you being beautiful. Ever.

And it kind of makes you sad.

"Would you say people on the whole are happier in the future or in the past?" He asks you, his words surrounded by the warmth of a summer day in Egypt.

Birds chatter loudly in the trees around you, singing in the humid air that marks the mating season for many of them. The flowers that surround you are already familiar––you thought it would take longer for you to commit the shapes and colors to memory, but here you are. Dressed in gold-laced silk and turquoise necklaces.

"I think the happiness of a population is dependent entirely on the circumstances surrounding it," you say. Sometimes your answers relate more to the human condition than the progress of time on the human race; he likes these answers, too, so you tell him exactly what you think. "Six thousand years from now, there are times of great misery. One is even called the Great Depression, but five years before that were some of the most prosperous times my country had ever seen. The same cycle is evident here."

"So.. great misery and great happiness come in waves?" He asks, pace slowing as he tries to understand what you're saying. You pause along the pathway, allowing him space to think.

"It's a pattern, actually. When the economy goes up, it will always come down. Recessions happen right after economical booms. And yes," you say before he can ask, "a time of unease will follow the prosperity of the current years. But it won't be for a time yet."

"Will it happen in my lifetime?"

He's murdered about three years from now. You think you might be able to stop it, but if you do, it'll alter history quite a lot. Either way, he wouldn't live long enough to see the recession the building of the great pyramids caused.

"No," you say. "But I'd prepare for it anyway, if only to keep your citizens safe."

"Of course. You... you are a great scholar," he tells you, resuming the slow walk down the shore of the Nile.

"Oh. Uh, thank you," you mumble as a blush fills your cheeks.

"What did you do in your time?"

"I was an artist, but I spent a lot of time giving lectures on the role of autistic people in ancient Egypt. Autistic people are often timekeepers," you say, and you know he'll figure out what you mean. Autistic isn't a term here, but many timekeepers of these ancient times were autistic, and considered highly by their societies.

"You might be able to give lectures again, if you'd like," he suggests. "People would come from far and wide to hear you speak. And you've got things to say that I know many scholars will find interesting."

"Mmm," you wince, "I kind of want to stay away from altering history too much."

"Oh, yes. My apologies," he says in a softer voice.

"It's alright," you say. "I'm glad you think I would be a good choice for that kind of thing, though."

He chuckles bashfully as he turns to the ground, scuffing his sandals as he walks.

Ahkmen is sweet––much sweeter than any of his family members, and you find yourself appreciating that every time you pass by his room. You pass his door often, always stopping a second to contemplate the tall, wooden doors. He's on the pathway between your room and the library.

Most of the time he's not in his room. Actually, you can usually find him in the library––there or outside in the markets or near the stalls. Today is different; he's been missing all day, and only when you walk the path back to your room do you hear his voice, talking to himself in his bedroom.

"They're bombarded with just such compliments, though. I can't – I can't stand out!"

"Or maybe you should, because you still haven't said a single thing yet and they probably think you're completely uninterested and that's why they aren't noticing you?"

"You and your... logic," Ahkmen spits.

"Come complaining when you kiss them under my advice."

As you attempt to peek through the crack in the door you stumble, knocking your hand against the wood. You barely hesitate before knocking again––cool and collected, smooth to slip into another lie.

"Oh! Hello, um – hi," he says awkwardly, slipping out of the room when he sees you. He quickly closes the door behind him, careful to keep you from seeing the other person in his room, but you can't bring yourself to care about the stranger.

Think of an excuse, why am I here?

"Oh, that's... I like your flower," he comments softly, eyes flickering between your eyes and the flower tucked into your hair. You'd forgotten about it, but raised your hand to touch the petals as you smiled. The perfect excuse

"Thank you. I thought you might like it, so I," you take it out of your hair and grab his hand, holding his palm upwards, "wanted to show you.. um, here."

Setting the flower in his hand, you curl his fingers around its' stem and push his hands back into his chest. He stares at you for a moment, confused by your strange behavior, but accepting of your gift anyway. You know him well enough now––he'd never decline a gift from you.

"A white iris," he tells you in a lofty tone. "A symbol of the dead. Funny it looks so lively on you."

You need to get out of here before your chest combusts.

"I need to go now, but I'll see you this evening, yes?" You ask, stepping instinctively closer. He doesn't back away.

"Of course. And, um," he takes your hands, keeps you where you stand as he slips the flower back behind your ear, "keep it. I want to see it on you at dinner."

He's close to you––close enough that it gets hard to distinguish his breath from your own, when you started holding his hand. When his other came up to your face. When he leans in and kisses your forehead. It's barely there, just barely, but there's no mistaking the soft plush, the affection clear behind gentle, precise movements.

You rush away the second he lets your hands go.

#ahkmenrah x reader #rami malek

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pear-pies · 3 years

Photo

Placebo in Rock & Folk magazine - April 2003

Words by Jerome Soligny, photos by Carole Epinette

Wonky translation under the cut:

These three did it all. Shot with the QOTSAs and posed with Indo. They survived "Velvet Goldmine" and the Top Bab. They come back after the ordeal of the fourth album. Danger interview: “Jerome, what if you came out?” They ask our charming reporter.

"We do not regret anything"

Everything begins again with "Bulletproof Cupid", a punky instrument that pulls everything off. Then "English Summer Rein", mechanico-depressive spinning punctuated by twisted keyboards, and "Sleeping With Ghosts", the lament which advances while blistering during cooking, confirm the tone. Against all expectations, because you never know how will age the groups that the previous album installed at the Top, Placebo took over. And stuffed it in an iron glove. Further on, "The Bitter End" tumbles through yapping guitars which would stick to the hatches the thickest of the sailors. Be careful, Placebo is on the way out of being one. At the end of the record, Brian Molko, Stefan Olsdal and Steve Hewitt do not even run out of steam. The cows. They drop a "Centerfolds" which frolic like a cynical top under a shower of saving doubts. What augur still other perspectives.

The fourth album: a horror for all who have faced it. Often a stupid trap. Returning from the Gothic directly inherited from the glam of pageantry and from these hasty and harmful certainties which congest the face and the veins, Placebo publishes its first real great disc. Oh, not the marvel of wonders, not the album from the third millennium, but something very strong, compact, tenacious in listening, which proves that the future is indeed there, in front, where the light is most blinding. Calfeucée in their Parisian hotel (the Costes, of course), our three lads do not make the blow of the revelation, of the luminous questioning. Simply, they now think with their heads, a good plan most often Likewise, reality no longer frightens them, and it is probably she who is hiding behind this "Sleeping With Ghosts" which relates the sorrows only for the better. melt into hopes At the moment when rock brings us back to life and when we just want to ask them everything, the Placebo have decided to say everything. Not even in a hurry, they settle down on the couch, ready to talk like never before. Despite new batteries embedded in the carcass, the Panasonic barely a Brian Molko: Hey Jerome, you came to talk to us this time when you had not come to the previous album ...

Rock & Folk: Uh yes but I was there for the first two, that says a lot, right?

Brian Molko: Certainly, I also believe that over time, we finally appreciate the true nature of the problem: we were mainly criticized for the sound of the previous album, which I can understand but, paradoxically, it is the one that brought us to the Top.

R&F: Legitimately, we have the right to expect a lot from the people we love: while "Black Market Music" sounded a bit like a sequel, this new record is all about a renaissance.

Brian Molko: Actually, we were finally able to live a little. After having existed in a small bubble for a very long time, we forced ourselves to take an eight-month break. The album-tour rhythm put us on the sidelines: we no longer had normal contact with anything. We were losing ourselves. We have fully lived the old cliché which claims that we spend the first years of our life writing a first record and six months on the second. It turned out to be very true. We had to get back to the situation of the first album, see friends, go shopping, look at the buildings in our city.

R&F: So the freshness would come from there ...

Brian Molko: Yes, and it was essential spiritually, emotionally and physically.

Steve Hewitt: We had to be in tune with reality again.

Brian Molko: In fact, we find ourselves in a bit of the same state of mind as when we released "Without You I'm Nothing", although "Sleeping With Ghosts" is a lot less gloomy. The heroin has since stopped leaking. In fact, I feel like I've pulled myself out of what I consider my second teenage years, between twenty and thirty. I conquered the self-destruction, exorcised some demons, understood what had happened to me. I held on to what I had learned. As a human being, I am now able to continue living, to try to answer the big questions posed by existence.

R&F: Maybe that's why the melodies are needed this time. It took me four records to get a favorite Placebo track.

The whole group in chorus: Which one?

R&F: "Protect Me From What I Want", of course ...

Brian Molko: The most paradoxical is that this song dates from the end of the "Black Market Music" sessions. I was not married at the time, but I was trying to get out of a particularly vicious divorce.just started. Then we wait for the lyrics, which don't arrive, it's rather intriguing. We especially wanted to avoid the big Rican producer side, we needed someone who shakes us up a bit. Jim could do that because he comes from dance and his pedigree is impressive. We have all his records at home, Bjôrk, Massive Attack, Sneaker Pimps and especially DJ Shadow. It is believed that guitar rock can only evolve by incorporating new genres, this is the only way to remain a modern rock band. At home, we practically only listen to hip hop.

R&F: Still, he didn't betray you.

Brian Molko: No because he actually brought out our rock side, which I'm particularly proud of. In fact, because we always wanted to control everything, it was not easy to be forced, to do certain things backwards, to walk on the head. But in truth, that's what we wanted: yes, there was some tension in the studio but we all took advantage of it. The challenge is necessary and it is also valid for the public. We opened up and rediscovered ourselves.

Stefan Olsdal (emerging from his chair): We found ourselves in front of the mirror, at the foot of the wall: someone had to kick our ass.

Brian Molko: Jim was like, "Why are you doing this?" We would answer him: "Because we always do it like that!" He would say: "All the more reason not to do it."

Stefan Olsdal: On the first day, he messed up all the demos, changed the tones, the tempos ...

R&F: Like Brian Eno ...

Steve Hewitt: Yeah, but with a lot more compassion. Eno is a bit (silence) ... We don't really like being told our actions, but at the same time, we are still young, still absorbing. Jim knew how to preserve us while making a modern sound.

R&F: Modern and rock'n'roll at the same time, a characteristic which does not necessarily apply to all the young groups in The which recycle the past gently but are convinced to have found the virus of the AIDS.

Steve Hewitt: Placebo doesn't belong to any current, has nothing to do with fashion.

R&F: You always pose as outsiders.

Brian Molko: It's the only way to survive.

Steve Hewitt: These bands, like The Strokes, play the nostalgia card.

Stefan Olsdal: And what happens next? I would not like to be in their place.

Brian Molko: If you want good New York pop, you better listen to Blondie.

R&F: In 2003, 11 seems that you have abandoned all the androgynous paraphernalia, sexual ambiguity, glam references ...

Brian Molko: I think today everyone knows what there is to know. Our sexual inclinations haven't changed, and we still wear makeup. It is just more expensive and better applied. We are ourselves, in our music and in private. I went through my travelo period (in French in the interview - Editor's note), and I understood that being androgynous was not wearing skirts. It is a way of being on the spiritual plane. It is not an image but a state of mind.

Steve Hewitt: It's like being punk, it's an attitude.

Brian Molko: At the same time, I don't regret any of my eccentricities. I grew up in the spotlight and it all kind of makes me smile.

Stefan Olsdal: People still talk to us about certain outfits or positions, as if it still shocks them.

R&F: Yes, and particularly in France, a particularly homophobic country which bumps heartily on gay artists.

Brian Molko: And you, coincidentally, you still hang out with.

Stefan Olsdal: Jérôme, it's coming out time (laughs) ...

Brian Molko: All that has to change, that all of France becomes gay (laughs)!

R&F: "Protect Me From What I Want" precisely, here is a title heavy with meaning. What was the idea behind this song?

Brian Molko: For me, it's a study of the pathological need people have to copulate, the search for meaning in copulation. As if bachelors or monogamists were aliens. As if we were only one when we were two. The song is about the fact that one relationship has destroyed me but I can't help but look for another ... why do I keep coming back to this?

R&F: Wow, we're bathing in philosophy here!

Brian Molko: Yes and it's the same elsewhere in the record: in "Plasticine", I insist on the fact that you have to be yourself above all while asking myself all these questions. Why do we have to do a lot of forbidden things, bad or harmful?

R&F: It's therapy in public.

Brian Molko: At least I find some balance in it. These are not songs about compassion or self-pity. They came out like this because it was vital for me. I am in this privileged situation where I can express myself and the world hears me. Otherwise, I would be really frustrated and I would have suffered a lot more in the last fifteen years.

R&F: Music saved your life.

Brian Molko: Sure.

Steve Hewitt: Everyone: I think we can say that. Without Placebo, we would not be not even alive.

Brian Molko: Spitting it all out is not necessarily the right solution. There are things with which to live. In fact, I've always been afraid to go see a psychiatrist ...

R&F: Yet, listening to you speak earlier, you could have the feeling that Jim Abiss acted a bit like a shrink with you.

Brian Molko: That's right. You could say that.

R&F: At a time when Bush and Blair want to play World War III, what attitude do you adopt? What do you think of these Englishmen who left for Iraq to constitute a human shield?

Brian Molko: Let's say we stand together. We participated in the March for Peace on February 14th with Damon Albarn and 3D from Massive Attack. We were also surprised that so few groups mobilized, which increased our desire to participate tenfold.

R&F: Do you consider that it is the role of the artist to give voice in such circumstances?

Steve Hewitt: Yes, in the sense that we can help with general motivation.

Brian Molko: I'm very interested in seeing if Blair is going to let Bush bomb Iraq with the British present on the soil of the country. If he ever allows that, the consequences will be dire.

R&F: It will only be one more religious war, in the name of oil and money ...

Brian Molko: It seems absurd that we can still fight for that. And curiously, nobody speaks more, or almost, of Bin Laden. Wouldn't it all come from him, by chance, as a huge consequence of September 11? On the other hand, we have such a feeling that Bush wants to finish the job that daddy started. Its image is so bad that it needs at least one war to restore its image.

Steve Hewitt: And reinvigorate its dying economy.

R&F: The method is lamentable, deceitful. Like those employed by the recording industry which claims to be doing well by selling pop in damaged boxes to ignoramuses.

Brian Molko: The ability of this job to ingest people, bribe them and then spit them out is impressive. This is what happened here at Canal +.R&F: Business is the beast.

Brian Molko: All these pre-made artists are young and naff ...

Steve Hewitt: They'll all end up in a labor camp for ex-pop stars.

R&F: Warhol was talking about fifteen minute glory, we're brutally passed to fifteen seconds.

Brian Molko: We should have called them Karaoke idols from the start.

Steve Hewitt: And it only works because of the TV ...

R&F: Who washes the poor, helpless brains.

Steve Hewitt: You can tell how much people want to think less

R&F: And spend less. For many, music should be free: one in five thirteen-year-olds doesn't know that a disc doesn't have to be a computer-burnt puck. Some are flabbergasted when they see a cover for the first time.

Stefan Olsdal: And those who don't buy records put pressure on those who have them to pass them on at all costs, just long enough to copy them.

R&F: Exactly.

Brian Molko: That's why we blame Robbie Williams so much. Scooping 80 million pounds off EMI and then declaring that pirating music is a fantastic thing just makes him want to stick a chunk in his face.

R&F .: And then piracy is not a matter of environment. It's not a suburban thing. There are rich kids who find it normal to burn 80 CDs during their weekend and sometimes sell them to their friends ...

Brian Molko: What do these people believe? That we are there, the face in the stream with a syringe stuck in the arm singing "La Vie En Rose"? And who will pay for our children's school? Not them, anyway. Our mentality is quite different: we always want to buy records from people we love, from our friends. Personally, we are partly out of the woods, but it will be particularly difficult for new groups to make a living from music in five or ten years.

R&F: Come on, we're not going to leave each other on this, a little humor won't hurt anyone. If you were to be banned from any of these three things, which would you choose: making music, making money or making love?

Steve Hewitt (almost tit for tat): I would stop making money, without hesitation. It's because I love music and sex too much. And then, well, you have to choose.

Brian Molko (completely overwhelmed): Oh damn, that's not true. What a dilemma!

R&F: No Brian, that doesn't count, make an effort (laughs).

Brian Molko: Ah, I don't know. And then if. I would stop making money and get on well with someone super rich.

R&F: Or you would be pimp ...

Brian Molko: Yes, that's it. Good plan.

Stefan Olsdal: Stop making love does not mean to stop loving ...

Brian Molko (preparing his shot): And we can always masturbate (general laughter).

Stefan Olsdal: OK then, I would stop making love.

R&F: Okay, it will be written in black and white for all eternity.

Brian Molko: Will we live long enough to regret it? This is the real question.

*COLLECTED BY JEROME SOLIGNY

[Inset, Trash Palace]

Already present on the first album by Trash Palace which he had adorned with his presence one unhealthy recovery of "I Love You, Me No More "in duet with Asia Argento, Brian Molko is coming to re-stack. This time he cosigns directly "The Metric System " with Dimitri Trash Palace Tikovoi, an electro saw boosted to bleeps fundamentals available in two remix and its clip on an enhanced single recently published at Discograph. The result is particularly (d) amazing and sounds good logical, like of Placebo cyber.Placebo in Rock & Folk magazine - April 2003

#the cows.#placebo #brian molko #stefan olsdal #steve hewitt #the metric system is so chaotic i love it

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pandoraborn · 3 years

Text

Coping - Part 5

( previous. )

Characters: Sleepybois Inc (c!Tommy, c!Phil, c!Wilbur, c!Techno) Word count: 1743 Content: mention of kidnap, mention of dissociation, therapy arc, mention of necromancy

---

Car?

He’s slowly coming back to reality, and that’s the first thought on Tommy’s mind. He doesn’t remember the SMP ever having cars. He can’t remember the last time he’d ever been in one. Somehow, in between falling asleep and waking up, they really had traveled incredibly far.

Lifting his head, Tommy glances out the window, squinting against the sunlight that seems to be directly in his eyes. There’s still that same familiarity of the world he knows, the sprawling forests in the distance, the plains, and even some snow even further out. But they’re definitely not anywhere near the SMP anymore.

He looks around his seat. He’s in the backseat of a small car, with Wilbur seated next to him. The guy is still transparent and very much dead, and sound asleep, too. Tommy had no idea ghosts could even sleep. At his feet lies his new dog.

In the front passenger seat is Techno. He’s holding a map in his hand and muttering to himself. Tommy can’t make out the words Techno is saying over the sound of the engine, but he gathers that Techno is talking to Phil, who is driving. It seems like a completely normal outing, except for the fact that this is completely unusual and alien. Their world doesn’t have cars or electricity. Techno is too big to be crammed into a car, and seeing Phil drive with his wings smashed flat against his back looks almost painful. Yet, the pair in the front are engaged in a muted conversation while pointing at a map.

Part of him wonders if this is a dream. He’s probably still in Techno’s cabin, or had fallen asleep in his own dirt hut while packing, and he’s having strange dreams of another universe where cars exist, and they’re a completely normal family. Tommy could almost enjoy this, it’d be so nice to slip back into sleep and pretend they’re all ordinary humans, and Wilbur isn’t a ghost, Techno isn’t a pig, and Phil doesn’t have giant wings. He could live in a reality where they’re all actually a loving, healthy family.

A bump in the road has Tommy smacking his head against the window. The sharp pain lets him know this is very much real, and they’re still very much a broken family, and he’s still a prisoner among them. At least he’s not panicking this time. Instead, Tommy reaches down to scratch his dog under the chin, smiling at the animal. The dog shifts and lifts his head to let Tommy pet him. At least he has Clem to offer some sort of support.

Sitting up straighter, Tommy ignores Wilbur giving him a sleepy side-glare while stretching his arms out. Instead, he focuses his glare on Techno, decidedly not liking the pig-like features for once. “Where the fuck are we?” Tommy blurts. He’s not going to bother with pleasantries right now.

Techno turns his head to glance back at Tommy, breaking into an amused grin. He nods once at Wilbur before re-focusing his gaze on Tommy, lifting the map as if that explains anything. “You’re awake,” Techno replies. “Did you have a good nap?”

The only response Tommy wants to give is smacking his hand against the window, indicating the distance buildings and modern technology that isn’t supposed to exist. He’s pretty sure none of it is redstone. Shooting Techno a pointed glance as he knocks again seems to help, too, because Techno lets out a sigh before slumping back in his seat, turning to Phil.

“Tommy, we said we were going somewhere far away,” Phil speaks up, watching Tommy in the rearview mirror. “Completely away from the SMP and nearby areas. Do you remember that conversation?”

He does, barely. Tommy had been in such a foggy state of mind that night; he remembers crying, but he doesn’t remember much in the way of conversations. He remembers being offered a dog, and he remembers leaving to go pack up his belongings in his hut. But the actual conversation? Nothing.

Phil nods at the blank expression in Tommy’s eyes. “I know of witches that can help Wilbur. And we’re taking an extended vacation, and that’s if we decide we want to go back. The SMP brought out the worst in all of us, and splitting up like that had been a huge mistake.”

“If only ‘splitting up’ had been that simple,” Tommy retorts. He stares out the window, trying to piece together any fragmented memories. There’s too much going on and already, he can feel himself wanting to slip back into something more numb, but he keeps himself grounded. It helps that his dog is now trying to climb up onto his lap. Tommy buries his face in Clem’s fur and inhales. “You all destroyed me.”

“That’s the thing,” Wilbur says softly. It’s only Wilbur that seems to calm Tommy anymore. Wilbur had destroyed himself so badly, but he’s also here and trying and... Tommy wants so bad to just fall into Wilbur’s arms and stay there. “Once I’m alive again, we’re going into therapy. We really need it.”

There’s a hollow laugh. This conversation had already happened, he’s sure of it, and the idea is utterly ridiculous. The thought that a few therapy sessions would fix months of extreme and deadly damage between a family is laughable, but there’s also that dim spark of hope. Mostly, for Wilbur’s sake. Wilbur seems like he wants it, and Tommy doesn’t want to disappoint him.

“You laugh now, but you’re going to love it after a few sessions,” Phil says. “I know you’re itching for a chance to vent about us.”

“Don’t try to psychoanalyze me, dad,” Tommy jeers. “You don’t know what I’m going to say to some shrink, if that even helps. You all know what I’ve been through. Hell, you all are the reason I need it in the first place. So don’t tell me what I’ll love or what I need.”

“In all fairness, it was Dream too,” Techno points out. Unhelpfully.

Rolling his eyes, Tommy shakes his head. “Sure, I’ll play along for awhile. But that doesn’t explain where the fuck we are or how we got here. Can I find my way back?”

“No.” Wilbur reaches over to tuck hair behind Tommy’s ear. “We’re in a more human realm, Toms. Magic isn’t a huge deal here. There are no hybrids or ghosts or people with god complexes. We purposely came here so you wouldn’t try to run.”

“So not only did you kidnap me, but you’re actively preventing me from returning home.” He leans into Clem again. “I’d say this is fucked, but I sound like a broken record.”

“I’d rather you sound like a broken record than shut down completely,” comes Phil’s response. He sounds sad. Startled, Tommy glances upward into the rearview mirror. Phil looks sad. He looks worn out and sad and he’s glancing at Tommy, and Tommy is certain Phil is silently pleading with him.

The idea that anyone would be sad like this is strange. He’s so used to people pitying him that genuine sadness is something...almost distressing. A soft whine slips out before he can stop himself, and he’s leaning forward.

“Do you mean that?” Tommy asks.

“Mean what? Me wanting you to voice your frustrations? Of course I me-”

“No, no. The sad. You look sad, Phil. No one is ever sad for me. It’s all fucking pity. Do you mean it?”

The silence stretches out in the car. No one has a response to Tommy’s question, no one seems to want to say anything. But when Tommy glances around the car, staring at each person individually, he can see matching expressions of sadness on their faces.

He needs to process this. It doesn’t seem like it’s all for him, either. He’d known that Wilbur was sad for a long time. He’d been sad enough to want to die, and that emotion hadn’t seem to go away even now. Techno looks sad in general, and Tommy doesn’t understand why. Phil...

Phil, he understands. It’s like he’s now seeing everything through Phil’s eyes; the reason for the rapid getaway, kidnapping Tommy to begin with, and escaping into a new land entirely . It’s all because Phil wants to rebuild burnt bridges, and Tommy can understand that. He wants that too, because holding onto anger has done nothing for him.

Leaning back in his seat, Tommy stares out the window again. He doesn’t know how to let go of his anger and resentment yet, and staring at them too long has Tommy wanting to lash out, especially to Techno. But therapy? He’d go through with it if it meant Phil didn’t have to look this sad anymore.

“What about Techno being a pig? Or Phil’s wings?” Tommy mutters.

“We’re going to talk to witches, Tommy,” Wilbur laughs. His tone is welcome after the awkwardness from seconds ago. “If they can practice the art of necromancy, I’m sure they can do something about Techno’s ugly and Phil’s wings.”

“You call me ugly, but I’m not the ghost haunting the backseat of the car,” Techno retorts dryly. “You’re uglier than I am.”

“So how far away are we?” Tommy asks. “It sounds like we’re going somewhere specific.”

“We are,” Phil says. “We’re in the human realm now Toms. We’re an hour away from California.” At the noise from Tommy, he lifts his chin. “No, I’m not explaining to you how we traveled from the SMP to this world. It happened, and that’s all you need to know.”

“Alright, alright.” He sits back and beckons Clem onto the seat. “I’ll make an effort to play nice for now.” Clem stretches out, half perched on Tommy, and half perched on Wilbur. Wilbur pulls his beanie down over his face and slumps back, ready to go to sleep again

“Just sit back and relax,” Phil offers. “Take another nap if you need it. I promise that soon things will get easier. This is good for all of us.”

Trust is hard to come by after it’s been shattered, but this time, Tommy can allow himself to trust a little. Just a little. “Okay.” He supposes that maybe being with these three isn’t so bad. It’s hard to hate them when they want to make things up to him with more than just words.

Who said coping with life had to be all sadness and broken bonds, anyway?

#dream smp #dream smp fanfiction #fanfiction #dream smp au #canon divergent #tommyinnit #philza #wilbur soot #technoblade #dsmp writing #mention of kidnap #mention of dissociation #mention of necromancy #therapy arc #long post #miishae writes #please like/reblog!

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blushing-starker · 4 years

Text

Having a boyfriend that's a natural rule breaker becomes even more tedious because now it's two people conspiring together, itching to shatter social norms. Sure, they won't pull the fire alarm stunt to get out of a quiz (that's more Rocket and Groot's style), place mirrors on front steps to confuse Fury and nearly give the principal a heart attack (Loki with an exasperated Thor and cackling Hela) or hire a mariachi band to follow hall monitor Alexander Pierce (Steve had joined Bucky and Sam in that one); they'd never sneak into the air vents, fill them with glitter so the haughty board of directors would be covered in pink sparkles when they cranked the ac (Clint and Nat).

Ok, they did help with that last one, buying the shimmering stuff from T'Challa's sister and slipping five jars into Clint's backpack, but they didn't actually go into the vents.

But that's not the point. The point is there are limits to their rule breaking; Tony's spot on the football team and Peter's participation in the art club too important to risk on something as silly as skipping a quiz. No, they thanked their best friends, unhooked the window lock and slithered out only after finishing and handing in the quiz. They weren't amateurs.

Still, Peter knows Tony literally couldn't have chosen a worse time for their impromptu lunch date. (Luckily, he'd expected this exact situation.)

"Tony, they don't even have bad food today. We could just wait until the bell rang to meet up and eat at the bleachers. Like we always do a day before a big game."

His boyfriend swivels around, hooks nimble fingers into his belt loops to pull Peter closer, never once stumbling even while walking backwards. The grin he shows is manic, just this side of wild to let Peter know this isn't about haunting nightmares and bouts of anxiety. This is normal, too high on a feeling Tony Stark. Which means he won't head back to school unless Peter pulls out all the stops...

He's too exhausted from last night's art project to use up energy on the puppy eyes. So he sighs, tugs on the blue varsity jacket Tony loves to show off, kisses a dimple before turning this untamed creature around.

"Come on, I found a new route to that shawarma place with MJ and Ned last week." It sounds exasperated, but Tony knows Peter will do anything to keep him happy. Well. Not anything. There's only so many times they can discuss Star Wars before simply agreeing to disagree on whether Han and Luke are pan or bi.

"What, and you tell me this now?", Tony squawks indignantly from Peter's left side, freezing nose nuzzling into Peter's neck as revenge.

Like a robber caught sneaking into a vault, he raises his hands instantly before shoving Tony away.

"Hey, you were focusing on practice! If I told you, you'd bring Rhodey, he'd bring T'Challa and then Shuri would pop up and who goes where she goes? Bucky, which means Steve and Sam, who'd already be there thanks to Rhodey and of course Clint would somehow appear with Nat. We'd be together so Ned and MJ are gonna be teasing with Betty and half the guys in our grade have a crush on Nat, or MJ or Shuri or Betty or you. So what's the end result? The entire football, soccer, basketball and swim team eating shawarma a week before the games. I am not hearing Coach Coulson scold me for you guys breaking diet again. I'm already on his list, another situation like that and I'll have to run fifteen laps around the field."

"Oh come on, you can do those in your sleep." He could, but again, not the point.

"With a weighted backpack, Tony."

"Yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want that."

"Before cycling fifteen laps and then swimming fifteen laps."

"Jesus, why would he even do that?" Tony looks at him then, disgruntled at the thought of his boyfriend doing all that.

He shrugs, doesn't want to explain Peter had done it once when it all got too much and he'd needed to release the pent up energy. He hadn't noticed Coach watching him, ready to come help if he hurt himself. They'd talk afterwards, Coulson making him promise to never do that alone. Now it became a reward and a punishment. Peter won the art contest? Fifteen everything to focus his mind and not go jumping off walls in his excitement.

His students wolfing down a thousand calories before a game? Fifteen everything so Peter would at least "time it so it's not during the season, Jesus". To be fair to Peter, Tony participated in almost all the sports teams so scheduling was hard.

"Listen, just don't eat a whole animal, ok? We can split it, eat enough," he glares at Tony, pushing through even as the puppy eyes come out, "and then head to the movies. They're showing Aliens for a few days cuz of Halloween and I already texted the guys to come during lunch."

His boyfriend, smart and sharp and witty, just blinks at him. "But we have class after lunch."

"Technically, but I convinced Mr Pym to let the class out of lab so we could all hang out. It's the one class we share so now the whole group can see it together."

Tony stops, eyes wide and mouth open.

"You, what, planned this?"

"Yeah, something fun before tomorrow to take it off your mind for a while. Or, you know, not make it stand out as much. I know how focused you get, and it's really great, having that as a goal, strategizing and taking it seriously. But I also know it can be a lot, so I thought we should all hang out since each of us has something coming up and we aren't spending much time together. Which I get, responsibilities and family and school; I just missed it and I can't be the only one, right? So yeah, this was planned. Like, two weeks ago. When MJ found the new route, it was like a sign. And I really want you to relax and enjoy the whole, I have friends that care for me and a boyfriend that loves-"

He slaps a hand on his mouth, eyes impossibly wide and cheeks flaming. Tony and Peter stand immobile, the world reduced to beat up sneakers breaking the simplicity of yellow lines on black, a flickering neon sign telling them the shawarma place is open and two hearts slowly starting to beat again after that confession.

Ned would say it's romantic. MJ would bluntly remind them it's a bad idea to stand in the middle of the road even if they're saying I love you. And with good reason, since there's the telltale roar of a car bursting with teenagers, voices howling out the lyrics to an AC/DC song. And of course Peter notices the noise of rubber swerving against gravel, the screeching of old brakes and a few terrified shrieks harmonizing with a sharp wind blasting into him out of nowhere. Before he can react, Tony is there, wrapping his arms around Peter and shoving them both into the little patch of grass that grows from a crack in dirty pavement.

There's a moment where his whole world flips, tumbles until he screws his eyes shut and prepare himself for whatever the fuck caused that noise. But nothing comes. Only a sigh blowing a stray curl away from his forehead. But a sigh? Why would?

Tony.

He gasps, jolts upright and apologizes when that just serves to jostle his boyfriend further into the ground. His boyfriend who'd flip them so Peter wouldn't be hurt. Tony is peering at him through half shut eyes, discomfort clear on the grimace he tried to transform into a sheepish grin.

"So, you love me, huh?"

It's the stupidest thing Tony Stark has ever said.

"What the fuck were you thinking? You could have gotten hurt, you could have shattered a wrist, dislocated a shoulder, torn an ACL, bent a leg-"

"This is not what I expected. Also it was a three foot leap forward on grass, I'm fine, Peter."

"Or bashed your head, or busted an arm and then what would you do for the game tomorrow? Who the hell does that?"

"The guy you love, apparently."

"That's not the point, Tony, that's unimportant because you nearly got hurt. Christ, Coulson will slaughter me if there's a scratch on you, and then your mom would be sad and I'd be sad because, what would I do without you? And don't you ever do that again, I can't take it. I am not losing you, Tony. God, why would you do that, risk so much on-"

"On you? Babe, I'd do it again. Ok, not the right thing to say based on the whole face thing you got going on right now. But just hear me out. Don't, stop hitting me, ow, why are you hitting, how are you this strong, Jesus. Ow, stop it. Peter, for fuck's sakes, I love you, you animal. Now please let go of the jacket, it'll get wrinkles."

His hands unclasp the soft cotton, Tony falling back with a groan and Peter's unhinged jaw snapping shut after fifteen seconds of letting the flies in.

It's a wonderful thing, hearing the guy he's loved for so long say it back, say he loves Peter.

It's also fucking stupid since there's even more reason to not do stunts like that.

"You're an idiot. I'm in love with a guy that has one shared brain cell with Steve. You could have been hurt, Tony. And what would that have done, huh?"

His boyfriend sighs yet again, wraps an arm around Peter to push them from the ground and heads to the car where their friends are gawking. He waves them off, offers a "Yeah, I know I'm amazing, no, I didn't break anything, T'challa, yes, I can play, Jesus, Rogers, I can read you like a book. I appreciate the worry, Bruce; Nat, thanks for calming him down. Rhodes, excellent driving. No need to hog the seats, Sam, we need to settle in. Peter, you can keep cursing me out if you, yeah, see how it's nice being fun size when you fit in my lap in a car full of people. What, I'm not walking after that, I don't care if it's til we reach the parking. Let's go, Rhodes. Pepper, I'm fine. "

Clint offers a high five. Tony responds and that's that. Out of sight, Ned gives him a fist bump and MJ keeps on reading her book. It could just be his imagination, but Tony's sure she's smiling, approval clear on her face. He preens, glad to have her blessing, and settles his head on Peter's fluffy hair.

-----

When they're all laughing in a booth, smashed together and picking food off of everyone's plate, Peter nuzzles the crook of his neck, holds his hand and squeezes it. Tony smiles, lights up and shoves at Sam's face when the trio of best friends tease him for puffing his chest out when his boyfriend ever so softly says, "I love you."

"I love you, too." The table whoops and calls for another round of food and Coca-Cola, their family grinning at them and fondly teasing the new couple. Tony grins back, high on this feeling of warmth and happiness and safety and love.

And then Peter presses ice cold lips onto his neck and he lets out a shout, pain coursing through him when a knee slams into the table. His eyes water and through the haze of agony he sees their friends exchanging cash, some grumbling and others smirking. Rhodey and MJ, he notes, are the ones that win the most. They high five before pocketing the cash and ordering dessert.

Peter kisses his cheek, smile innocent and eyes wicked. It's his own fault Tony snatches an ice cube and slips it below his Nirvana shirt. He only has five seconds to lord his victory over Peter before there's ice cream being smeared on his cheek. They battle then, accidentally sending food into Wanda's lap, Clint's hair and Bucky's face.

In less than a minute they are all covered in shawarma and participating in the fight. Peter shrieks when Tony pulls him into his lap, gets chicken on the varsity jacket and tries to wriggle away. But Tony kisses him, tastes ice cream and joy, thanks whoever decided to give him a break and find this incredible person dozing on the roof of the school with Ned and MJ one spring afternoon. Peter kisses back and, at the same time, they say, confidently, honestly,

"I love you."

This is dedicated to @drarryismyshit07

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kaleidiope · 3 years

Text

Novaturient

To heck with it, I'm going to give a in-a-nut-shell explanation of the stories I'm writing. I do have more in-depth versions in my story collection once I update it all and put it out again. But I have drawings I want to post and I kind of want to explain who the characters are before I do. So, I have a six part series I've been working on at random, on-and-off since some point in 2019. (Some of you will probably know, and remember, OUL fairly well.) The names have been questioned and moved about a few times but I think it's all finally been settled. The series has been dubbed, "Novaturient" Meaning: (All meanings copied from google, thanks google!) "Novaturient is desiring changes or alterations, usually in regards to one's life, behavior, or situation. The origin of novaturient comes from the Latin novāre (make new)" (Some of these will be familiar to many who were on MBM back in 2019 especially.) Also, there is mentions of black magic, and falling society below. In the actual stories there are many heavy-topics covered. I will not mention them here because it is a lot to tag. (And those aspects aren't even talked about here because it's just a rough, nut-shell explanation of the stories.)

So, without further-ado, I bring you to the first story. "Liberosis" meaning: "Liberosis is a longing for liberty, an ache to let things go. A recent addition, wytai, is an acronym for “When You Think About It,” and means the sudden realization of how absurd some aspect of modern life is." The story of a man has too much empathy to the point it brings him real physical pain seeing others unhappy. The idea that the world will always move on weather or not people are ready hurt him dearly. He wound up getting into black magic in an attempt to make his dreams come true. The dream of a "vacation" world where people could go to process the pain the world has forced them through. He summoned a "demon", who made the world he dreamed for. But, the man was so happy, he never checked the "terms and conditions." The world built on deceit, feeding off of pain, it was doomed to fall. And, any "OG's" way back from MBM (and even Quotev) will remember the early pitch that was "Klexos" Meaning: "There are ways of thinking about the past that aren't just nostalgia or regret. A kind of questioning that enriches an experience after the fact." The story of a very ill person exploring the house their parent forced them to live in with who was a practical stranger, years later. After getting a terminal diagnosis, and a mystery letter appearing on their hospital night-stand, with nothing but a key and address enclosed. Curiosity consumed them and they went to the house. Slowly exploring and slowly recalling their childhood, and finding out just how much they were cared for by someone they barely knew or remembered. All while also finding a way inside the empath-man's world. And then that brings us to the original story that made me want to make this a visual novel/kinetic novel series. "Monachopsis" Meaning: "The subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home." Which is the story of a person grieving over the loss of someone close. And finding their way inside the empath-man's world as well. Getting the full experience, of slowed time, and easy life. Made perfect for the real would to melt away from one's mind. But, this person only has a rough estimate of two weeks to leave the world. As for, to enter the world, one must be in a coma. And without life support, one doesn't have long to wake up. They must recruit the help of one of the "non-human-demon-aliens" made specially to help others leave in order to go back home. Which brings us to the next, very-connected-to-Monachopsis, story. "Lachesism" Meaning: "The desire to be struck by disaster — to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire." Which in this story a person falls through a mirror within the house they recently moved into. Finding a "glitch entrance" to the empath-man's world. where they find the world slowly crumbling. The person then speaks with all they can find within the world, slowly understanding the problems it is facing. As well as why so many are now trapped there in a special-man-made-purgatory. And why they went into the world to begin with. Which brings us to the last story, "Exulansis" Meaning: "The tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it-whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness- which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story." Which in this story, a person gets a letter telling them they were mentioned in a will, by someone they don't know. And that the deceased person left their house and whole estate to this person. Out of curiosity, they go to the house. Only to find many oddities, some which scare the person so bad into leaving and never coming back for long periods of time. But the hunger of confusion and wanting an answer always made the person return. The person soon finds missing

person notes, and many other alarming things. Showing them of "another world". After finding many more things, they come across a robot, who helps them break-through the glitched entrance of the empath-man's world. To find the world in a second-to-final stage before complete corruption and failure. Seeing the sky grow darker, and the inhabitance doing their best to prepare for the worst. Which then brings us to the final story, which actually wasn't meant to be connected at all to this series. OUL, or, "Out under the lights." Being it's code name, real name being, "Agathokakological" Meaning: "Composed of both good and evil." A story of a world trying to rebound from an eternal eclipse, all while having the life literally squeezed from it by a power-hungry corporation, who doesn't tolerate any form of competition. They found a way to make light from a water dwelling insect. A dearly needed bug for the ecosystem of the world. A young inventor builds a light that doesn't need a creature to work. She tries her best to leave the city where the corporations power is strongest in hopes to find others willing to support and help her with normalizing her creation, hoping to save what's left of the world the best she can. All while meeting others, all who have many problems, ideas, and beliefs of their own. Thank-you so, so much for reading!! And I hope you have a wonderful day!

#OUL story draft #Update

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yet-another-fan-girl9 · 4 years

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Different Worlds (1)

Summary: You’re the youngest Winchester, a girl who needs to show her big brothers that she doesn’t need help. Then one day, on a totally normal vampire hunt that you had all under control, three meddling Avengers come barging in.

Warnings: language, violence, complete canon divergence, slow burn

Word Count: 2227

A/N: Opps, I started another Bucky x reader series... This one isn’t going to have an update schedule, just whenever I finish a chapter.

~*~

Chapter 1: Vamps & Avengers & and Hunters, Oh My!

“I don’t know, Steve.” Bucky shook his head and looked at the file. “Just seems like a serial killer. Some guy that’s fucked in the head. Not really our stuff, especially when we’ve got Hydra on the run.”

“This is the third decapitation in a few days,” Steve protested, ignoring his friend’s swear. “It’s just over in Poughkeepsie. We can always drop it if we hear anything on Hydra.”

“Fine,” the brunet grumbled. “But only because I’m tired of sittin’ round on my ass.”

The pair, mostly Steve, was able to recruit Sam to go on their little escapade to Poughkeepsie. Bucky wasn’t thrilled to be joined by the Falcon, but could he ever really say no to Steve? The trio packed their bags for a quick investigation and made their way down to the hanger.

“So.” Steve pulled up images on a screen once they were in the air. “All three victims have one thing in common. They all hang around this bar, whether they’re a patron or an employee.” The images showed the three victims entering or exiting the bar. Then the pictures changed to display a multitude of young women. “All of these women went missing and their last known location was this bar.”

“Maybe this isn’t a serial killer,” Sam suggested. “Maybe they’re a vigilante.”

“Yeah,” Bucky reluctantly agreed. “Serial killers usually leave their victims worse than just missing their heads. This shit’s too calm.”

“What could be worse than missing your goddamn head?” Sam raised his eyebrow as Steve sighed, ready to intervene.

“For one there’s tor—”

“The bar’s closed until three-thirty,” Steve talked over his friend, “so we have just under two hours to search the place.”

The other two men nodded and they checked their weapons before they left the quinjet. Bucky took the lead and led them to the employee’s entrance in the back. Uh oh. This wasn’t a promising beginning. There was already one decapitated body by the dumpster and another one propping the door open. They pulled open the door and stepped over the corpse. All three men had their guards up as they followed the trail of headless bodies.

Everything was quiet, but if the two supersoldiers strained their ears, they could hear faint grunts in the direction the bodies were leading them. They walked through a corridor that seemed to lead into the building next to the bar. Eventually, Sam was able to hear the sounds of struggle. The team came to the end of the corridor and into a large, open room.

The source of the sounds was a woman lying on the ground while a large man with his back to the trio wrapped his hands around her neck. The woman was reaching for a bloodied machete that was just out of reach. No doubt that it was the machete that did the decapitating.

“Hey,” Sam shouted, but the man was too focused on the woman below him.

Bucky fired two bullets into the man’s back. The man did not collapse like the soldier was expecting, but it did grab his attention.

~*~

The vamps had just kept coming.

Okay, so maybe you didn’t expect such a big colony. And maybe you should have called someone for backup. And maybe one vamp got their jaws around your upper, dominant arm as you were swinging your machete around. But in your defense, he was really tall and strong. Other than that, your solo mission was going great.

Right now you were reaching for your machete that was knocked out of your injured hand by tall and strong’s taller and stronger brother. Said vamp had his beefy hands around your neck and was baring his fangs at you. Every time you saw the mess of pointed teeth, you wondered how the media had gotten vampires so fucking wrong that it was laughable.

“Hey!”

Someone else was in the room. Or multiple people. You could see three figures around the arm of your assailant. Then you heard the sound of a gun going off. Twice. Like that would do anything. Fortunately, the vampire released his hold on your neck and retracted his fangs to face the newcomers.

Your hand wrapped around the machete’s handle and with a swift swing of your uninjured, non-dominant hand, off with the fucker’s head. As the vamp collapsed due to the lack of his head, you cradled your injured arm and inspected the three new people.

They were all men, two with guns and one with a red, white, and blue shield. Just as you were wondering why they looked familiar, the shield registered in your mind.

“You’re the Avengers,” you stated obviously. You weren’t overly educated in the so-called ‘Earth’s mightiest heroes,’ but their names had appeared often enough that you were able to tell who was who.

“Ma’am,” Captain America stepped forward and lowered his shield slightly. Slightly but not all the way. Their guards were still up. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” Oh, your arm. It was starting to sting and throb. “Oh, this? Psh, it’s nothing.”

“Steve, we should take her in,” the man with shoulder-length brown hair said to the Captain. The Winter Soldier. “She killed all those people.” He didn’t take his eyes off you.

You narrowed your eyes back at him. Take you in? Honestly, hunters didn’t like the Avengers. Sure they saved the world from alien invasions (the fact that aliens existed was like a big ‘fuck you’ in the supernatural world) and from homicidal robots, but hunters faced worse odds every day. All without glory, as every hunter would point out.

“Yeah, that’s a no.” You took a step back. There was another door behind you and your car was parked just down around the corner.

“Yeah, but you fucking killed like ten people,” the Falcon gestured around vaguely. Another step back.

“No, I didn’t.” Step.

“Uh, I think the eviden— wait!” The Soldier was cut off by your sudden movement.

You had turned and ran out the door, which was thankfully a push. Yes, you knew that Captain America and the Winter Soldier were enhanced to be stronger and faster or whatever, but you had lots of practice running away from things that were faster than regular people. You were also smaller and therefore more agile. You’ve taken a physics class once; you knew how aerodynamics work.

As you rounded the corner, you could hear three sets of footsteps behind you. Your dark blue ‘79 Chevy Camaro was within reach. Keys at the ready, you skillfully unlocked your car before hastily starting it. With a sigh of relief, the three members of the Avengers were very close to catching you, you pulled out onto the street while ignoring the incessant honking of a taxi you had just cut off. You chuckled as you watched them in the rearview mirror as they gave up the chase.

~*~

“How did she get away?” Bucky shook his head. The local police were loading up the bodies, fourteen in total, and he heard that the FBI would be involved.

“We didn’t expect her to run,” Sam tried to save his pride. “She was also so much faster than I was expecting.”

“Are you ready to head back?” Steve walked over. They all had to give their statements to the police. They nodded and made to enter the quinjet but an officer running up to them stopped them in their tracks.

“I couldn’t help but overhear,” the officer started before pausing for a breath, “that there was a woman there.”

“Eavesdropping isn’t nice,” Bucky growled at the young man who shrunk back slightly.

“It’s alright,” Sam put the back of his hand on the ex-assassin’s chest as if he was holding him back. “Go ahead.”

“Uh, well, you see,” the officer stuttered and then took a deep breath. “There was this woman, not from ‘round here, poking around. She was asking about the bar and some of the girls who went missing from there. Even heard she made a trip to the morgue. I just think it might be the same lady.”

“What was she looking for?” Steve was intrigued.

“My friend from the morgue said that she was checkin’ out the body of the only missing girl we found. Everyone was talkin’ ‘bout it down at the station. Notta drop ‘o blood left in her body.” The officer was excited now his words becoming less and less pronounced. Then he leaned in with his eyes wide like he was going to share some radical conspiracy. “And just ‘tween you ‘n me,” he paused for dramatic effect and Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve humored him and leaned in as well. “Somma those people look like a few ‘o the missing girls.”

“If you get any confirmation, please have your superiors send it our way,” Steve commanded and Bucky could tell that his friend was just as curious as he was. The officer scurried away and the three heroes entered the plane.

“Man, something really weird’s going on.” Sam shook his head.

~*~

After driving for almost two hours, you sped into a mostly empty rest area just outside of Scranton, Pennsylvania. You wrapped your still bloody machete in a towel and made sure it was well hidden before draping your leather jacket over your shoulders to hide your wound. God, you hoped your jacket wouldn’t get too bloody. Blood was a bitch to get out and it was a new jacket, your old one having been ripped by a werewolf.

The bathroom was empty when you entered and you locked the door behind you. The bleeding had stopped quickly thanks to a magic pendant around your neck. A nice witch, as nice as they could get, gifted it to you in exchange for her own life and for ridding her town of the much more sinister competition. Healing magic was hard so all the pendant did was make you die slower.

You washed out the bite and flushed the used paper towels down the toilet. Leaving bloody towels in the trash for everyone to see wasn’t the best way to keep a low profile, you knew from experience. Then you took the knife that you kept hidden in your boot and cut away three inches of your large flannel shirt to wrap your arm.

Well, it was your brother Sam’s shirt, but he wouldn’t mind. Too much. Well, Sam and Dean were actually your half brothers. John Winchester was your father and his blood in your veins was enough to cause some shit faced demons to target you and your mother…

Woah, there. No need to wander down memory lane in some dingy rest stop bathroom in Pennsylvania.

You gently eased your arm through your leather jacket. Maybe Cas will be helpful and heal you up when you get back to the bunker. Vampire bites can leave some fucking ugly scars. Satisfied with your work you fixed your hair in the mirror before heading back to your Camaro.

While you were pumping gas for your drive back to the bunker, your mind went back to the three Avengers who had rudely interrupted your hunting trip. Okay, maybe they actually kinda sorta saved you but not really. Honestly, you thought you had it all under control. Dean would get a kick out of the story, you thought as you re-entered your car, drove onto I-81, and pulled up your brother’s contact on your phone. Probably leave out the part about your arm, though. Both of your brothers would flip their shit and ignore the rest of the story.

“Hey, (Y/N),” Dean’s gruff voice came through your phone. “How’re you doing?”

“Great! I’m doing great. Just eradicated a vamp nest in Poughkeepsie.”

“What’s going on?” You heard from the other side after a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh, no,” you quickly corrected. Damn, you’d momentarily forgotten your code. “I was actually working a job in ol’ ‘Keepsie, New York. Swear it.”

“Alright,” Dean responded slowly.

“But you’ll never fucking guess who showed up.”

“Who?”

“Ya don’t wanna take a guess first? No? Alrighty. It was… the fucking Avengers, boom!”

“Really? Like the superhero group?” Dean always liked superheroes even if they were clueless to the supernatural.

“Yeah. It was only three of ‘em, and they tried to shoot a damned vamp, but fuck if it wasn’t cool.”

You held no malice towards them unlike the majority of hunters, but sometimes you wished you would get recognition for your work. All you ever got was wanted posters thanks to some bitch ass leviathan and shifter. The three Avengers probably thought you killed everyone in the bar. Well, you did but they didn’t know the reason. In their eyes, you were a mass murderer. You pointed this fact out to Dean.

“I don’t think they deal with little cases like mass murder or strange deaths. That’s why we’ve never run into ‘em before.”

“What a world we live in where mass murderers are ‘little cases.’”

“Yeah, yeah. If they do start looking, all you gotta do is lay low for a while. Sit out on a couple of hunts.”

“Ight.” Damn those words you say as a joke but then actually become a part of your vocabulary. “You won’t be able to keep me benched, but I doubt it’ll ever come to that.”

~*~

Tag List (strike though means tag didn’t work):

@grav3dollie-666

#different worlds #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x winchester reader #bucky barnes x winchester reader #winchester reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #sam wilson #steve rogers #marvel #mcu #supernatural #crossover #supernatural crossover #marvel crossover #marvel supernatural #supernatural marvel

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hard-boiled-criminal · 3 years

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Planetary Magick: 2

(Twisted wonderland x reader)

Masterlist

_______________________

Unedited

“Yeah…charming.” Apparently, by ‘charm,’ the headmaster meant ‘dilapidated and might have asbestos.’

An old Iron fence surrounded the perimeter, the bars mangled and twisted, as if something rammed into it over and over at each possible section of fence. You could only hope that whatever did that was no longer here. Unsurprisingly, the fencing was rusted in many places and had dead vines draped around them, no doubt having tried to survive on the fence but to no avail. What stood out as odd to you though, was the gate: it had an intricate design reminiscent of the black skeletal structure of a stained-glass window. Though it was odd to see these graceful curves and patterns on the gate compared to the arrow-headed fencing, it was something else that put you off. The gate itself was in pristine condition—no rust or dents whatsoever. You noticed an old, rusted padlock on the ground nearby, which was most likely used to seat the gate once upon a time, but that only lead to more confusion about why only the gate was so well taken care off.

The grounds themselves were mostly barren, save for a few vertical hedges and some dead trees. The dorm building itself sat atop the small hill and was in pretty bad shape. All the windows had been sloppily boarded up and patches of shingles were missing from all over the roof.

“Right, right,” Crowley brushed off your comment and lead you up the stone stairs towards the dorm. “Please come inside.”

‘Maybe it’s not that bad on the inside?’

Scratch that, you felt like the guy on the receiving end of “Sike! That’s the wrong number!” You didn’t think it could get even worse, but the interior proved you wrong. It was a complete mess inside; furniture stained and overturned, firewood and books scattered everywhere, cobwebs and spiderwebs in every nook and cranny, paintings and pictures either crooked on the wall or on the ground. The wallpaper was peeling at the seams with patches missing all over, and one of the wall sconces was completely broken, both the lightbulb and glass cover missing. And while the floorboards looked okay, there was no doubt in your mind that some of them were definitely rotted and would collapse under your weight in a heartbeat.

You turn and blankly stare at the headmaster. Did he really believe these were suitable living conditions? You were almost positive there was mold in this run-down dorm, and who knows which ones pose a threat to you since you’re an alien? “Does OSHA not exist here or something?”

“I’m sorry, but I do not believe I have heard of this ‘oh-shuh,’” Crowley replied, sounding honest.

“The Occupational Safety and Health Administration?” You got a blank look from Crowley. You sighed, “figures…” ‘Note to self: learn how to establish a government-funded fantasy OSHA so you can pile Crowley with violation fines. Or at least threaten him with them so he’ll fix up the damn place.’

“Staying here will at least keep you out of the rain,” he rushed to get his sentences out. Maybe he got nervous when he heard you say ‘safety and health?’ “I’m going back to do more research. Make yourself at home. Don’t go wandering around the school! Goodbye!” With that, Crowley rushed out the door in a hurry.

‘Well fuck. First order of business: cleaning up lest I die of never-ending sneezing fits.’ You were only able to get all the furniture upright before it started to rain, making you lose all focus and run to peak out a window, trying to get a good angle to see the rain, and hopefully lightning, through the boards.

You’ve always loved the sounds of rain and thunder. More importantly, there was finally something normal. Hearing the rain pattering against window and seeing the occasional flashes of lighting in the distance relaxed you. Out of habit, you counted the seconds between the lightning and thunder to estimate how far away it was. You counted eight seconds before you heard the low rumbling of thunder.

You sighed, content, before you remembered, “It’s storming! I can collect storm water!” You ran to the first door you saw and flung it open to see what looked to be a kitchen. Excited to finally get a round of good luck, you searched through the cabinets, grabbing any jars and bowls you could find. You found a total of three glass jars, which you removed the lids from, and two large bowls. You stacked the bowls and placed the jars as best as you could inside the top bowl before heading back out the front door. You walked out from the covered entrance into the rain and placed the containers along the side of the stone path so they wouldn’t be in the way. The rain started to fall heavily, forcing you to run back inside before you were completely drenched. Luckily, the large hooded cloak you wore kept you dry for the most part. You carefully pulled off the partially-singed wet coat and draped it across the back of the rocking chair you righted earlier to dry.

“Hyii! It’s really coming down!”

Startled, you snapped your head to face the direction the voice came from, only to be met with that same bakeneko (monster cat) that tried to incinerate you.

“Gyahaha! You’ve got this stupid look on your face like a spider being attacked by a water gun!” The bakeneko cackled at you. They must have snuck in when you set out the bowls and jars. “I’ll have no trouble sneaking back into school. If you think getting thrown out is gonna make me give up on getting in, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“Mm, well good luck little bakeneko. It might help to not set the school on fire,” you gave them some helpful advice.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. All that matters is that I get into this school,” the bakeneko brushed off your words. “Afterall, I’m a genius who is destined to be a great magician! I've been waiting for the Ebony Carriage to come pick me up. But... But... Hmph! The Dark Mirror just doesn't have an eye for this. So that's why I came here on my own. Not letting me in would be a loss for the world; humans just don't get it.”

“Well, I have to agree with you on the Dark Mirror part. Afterall, it decided to kidnap me, and I can’t do any of that flash-bang-boom magic you’ve been throwin’ around.” ‘But I can do other magick… I wonder if they have my kind of magick here… I’ll have to do some research later…’

“Wha? You can’t use magic? Pfft! You’re useless!” The bakeneko shrieked as a drop of water fell on him through the ceiling. “So cold! The roof is leaking!” He didn’t move out of the way before another drop hit him. “Fgyaa! It keeps coming! My adorable ear fire is gonna go out at this rate!”

‘Instant karma, bitch.’ You sighed, “I guess I’ll go get one of the bowls.”

“Magic should fix this leak up real quick, but you don’t got any.”

“Yeah, yeah, I can’t make things go boom, I get it. If you’ve got such a problem with the leak, why don’t you fix it yourself, bakeneko?” You said over your shoulder as you walked to the door to collect one of the bowls from outside.

“Huh? Help you? No way! I’m just a regular monster staying in a rainy place. You better get a can of tuna ready before I do any work.”

You shrugged. “Fine. Suit yourself.” You felt a drop of water land on your head this time. ‘Looks like I’ll need to get both of the bowls.’ You grabbed your damp cloak from the rocking chair and quickly threw it on before running outside towards the bowls. They had already collected about half a centimeter of storm water, and not wanting to waste it, you poured the contents of the bowls into the closest jar. Sprinting back inside, you first placed the bowls down at your feet so you could quickly peel off your now-soaked cloak and hang it back on the rocking chair. You placed the bowls under what looked to be the worst leaks in the lounge area. ‘I wonder if there’s a cleaning bucket or something in a closet somewhere.’

“Yo, I’m gonna go see if they’ve got a bucket somewhere,” you notified the bakeneko, not getting an answer, as expected.

You peered over into a nearby hallway, suddenly much more nervous as you stared down the long, dark hallway. ‘This feels like a horror game and I hate it.’ You tentatively took a step forward, and then another. You made it about five slow steps in before the floor loudly squeaked under your weight. ‘I just had an interesting thought: Actually, fuck this.’ You spun on your heel with false bravado, your entire body now tense. As you stiffly walked back towards the lounge, you froze in place as you felt the familiar tingle of eyes watching you. ‘Okay. Don’t look back. Just. Just keep walking. Put one foot in front of the other.’

It turns out it didn’t matter if you looked back or not because three ghosts suddenly appeared in front of you. They… didn’t look how you’d expect ghosts to look like. These ones looked more… cartoonish. They weren’t half as scary-looking as some of the monsters you’d seen in Scooby-Doo.

One of the ghosts giggled while the other two spoke, “We haven’t had a guest in so long…” Said one.

“I’m itching for some action,” said the other.

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass. I’ve had enough excitement for one day, thanks,” their completely underwhelming appearance circumvented practically all your initial fear, leaving you with only pure exhaustion. You didn’t have much of a filter in this state, but you didn’t really give two shits about what you said when you were tired anyway.

“Why are you talking to yourself…” the bakeneko walked around the corner and stopped dead in his tracks. “Gyaaa! G-g-g-g-ghooosts!”

Looked like someone was afraid of the cartoon ghosts.

“The people living here got scared of us and left,” a ghost explained.

“We’ve been looking for more ghost pals,” another spoke. “How about you guys?”

“Deadass? Fuckin’ go for it.”

The ghosts and bakeneko looked a bit shocked that you blatantly agreed to let them kill you to turn you into a ghost.

“Wow, you guys aren’t up to date on humor, are you?”

The bakeneko was the first to snap out of disbelief and shouted, “Grim, the Great Magician, isn’t scared of some ghosts!”

‘Heh, I ain’t afraid of no ghost.’ You had to mentally remind yourself to not start humming the ghost busters theme.

Grim, as you now learned his name was (you think), spewed more of that bright blue fire, completely missing all of the ghosts.

“Where are you aiming?” The ghosts mocked him and laughed. “Over here, over here!”

“Shoot! Stop disappearing!” Grim uselessly shouted at them and continued to be a living flamethrower.

“My mans, please, stop. At this rate there’ll be no dorm left to keep us dry.”

“Shut up! Don’t try to give me orders!”

“…I’m too tired to deal with this shit anymore. Fine. I’ll get you a can of tuna if you win without burning the house down.” You mumbled the first part before speaking to Grim.

“Wah? Mm, I-I’m a genius. I won’t let one—” Grim tried to keep his stubborn pride but was interrupted by the ghosts’ mocking laughter. “Bunch of cowards, ganging up on us!”

“Two cans. Take it or leave it.”

Your new offer seemed to change Grim’s tune in a heartbeat. “Hey, you! Tell me where the ghosts are!”

“’Kay. On your left,” Grim followed your orders and managed to singe one of the ghosts with his flames.

“I hit it!” Grim shouted, now sounding excited. “Alright, let’s chase them all outta here!”

Cue you shouting directions at Grim and him spewing fire in said directions. In all honesty, it felt like a pokemon battle. Except your pokemon was a talking cat with a holier-than-thou attitude. And you were fighting actual ghosts—not ghost type pokemon—actual previously-living-human ghosts. After a few minutes of Grim burning the ghosts, however that worked, they eventually fled the scene of your would-be murder.

“E-eh? We…won?” Grim spoke with the disbelief of someone who has never won in life before.

“Yup. Good job bakeneko Grim.”

“Ha-heee, that was scar—No, I wasn’t scared at all!” Oh Grim, what caused you to act like your pride is what matters the most? “This is nothing for the Great Grim! How ‘bout that, ghosts? You done?”

“Hey, don’t taunt them, bakeneko. If they come back, I’m not giving you directions.”

“Why do you keep calling me ‘bakeneko?’ What’s that even mean?”

“Mm, it’s because you’re like a bakeneko. They’re mononoke, yokai, that resemble cats,” Grim looked ready to protest, but you continued before he had the chance, “and are extremely powerful. If you anger a bakeneko, your chances of getting out alive are slim to none.”

“Hmmph, well, I suppose The Great Grim will allow you to call him by such a title.”

Before you could continue to talk about bakeneko and other mononoke or yokai, Crowley came in through the front door just as you and Grim made it back to the lounge.

“Good evening,” he greeted. “I have graciously brought you supper.” That’s when he noticed Grim beside you. “You’re the monster that ran amuck during the entrance ceremony! I threw you out of the school! What are you doing here?”

“Hmph! I exterminated the ghost problem! Be grateful!” Grim puffed out his chest as he spoke, continuing to act high and mighty.

“Hmm? What do you mean by that?”

“…There were ghosts here that wanted to turn us into ghosts,” you blandly explained to the headmaster.

“Now that you mention it, there were some prankster ghosts living here so students keep away from this dormitory. And that's why it is now empty. I'd forgotten that.”

You half-heartedly glared at the headmaster. ‘Oh, how convenient. You put up the broke alien in a haunted house with killer ghosts that you just so happened to forget about.’

“However, hmmmm…” Crowley either didn’t notice or acknowledge your glare. “For you two to work together to get rid of them.”

“I'm not gonna overlook that "together" comment. They were just standing there watching. And I did this for a can of tuna—Ah! I haven't gotten that tuna yet!” Grim spoke, still holding on tight to that attitude of his.

‘Grim, I swear to whatever deities rule this place that you aren’t gonna get those cans of tuna if you keep up this habit of pushing others down to raise yourself up.’

“I'd like the two of you to show me how you exterminated those ghosts.”

‘Crowley, no—'

“But we already got rid of all the ghosts! Before that: Give. Me. Tuna!” Oh Grim, so we can agree sometimes!

“I shall be the ghosts. If you beat me, I'll give you tuna cans. For I am gracious.”

“Uh, no, wait, Mr. Crowley, please—”

“Now then, Transformation Potion!” Crowley pulled a vial of liquid from his coat and downed it in one go. It didn’t take long for him to become transparent and ghost-like.

“Eeeeeeeh, I don't wanna. This is a pain and I have to team up with them again…” Grim whined.

You let out a heavy sigh. “Bakeneko, maybe if you show him how strong your magic is, he’ll let you be a student.”

“Grrrnnuuu,” Grim grumbled, annoyed. “This is the last time! You absolutely, absolutely have to give me the tuna!”

And you found yourself in a pokemon battle once more; this time, it was you and a bakeneko versus an actual living breathing person that can turn into a ghost.

‘If it’s a pokemon battle, might as well use pokemon rules.’ You pointed at the see-through headmaster, “Grim, bite him!”

“Hah? You really are a stupid human!” Grim shouted and spewed fire instead, though he missed like before.

“Fine, we’ll use your fire, but I’m explaining the pokemon system to you later. On your left!”

Turns out, pokemon battles can get boring when it’s just the same thing over and over again. Eventually, it seemed the effects of the potion wore out and Crowley returned to his usual opaque self.

“Hee-haaa…” Grim was panting, trying to catch his breath. “How 'bout that!”

“I can't believe… There is a person who can command monsters,” Crowley spoke in mild awe mixed with disbelief.

‘…Does this world not have pokemon? Should I?... No, I shouldn’t… but what if—what if I introduced myself as Gary Oak and just… no I can’t do that. I can’t tell people “smell ya later.”’

“Hmmm... Actually, my teacher senses were telling me since the uproar during the entrance ceremony that you have talent as an animal or wild beast trainer.”

‘…This man is really making this a cliché pokemon plot… Is this how it all started? Am I the original trainer!? Nah… Unless—’

“But, no matter how…” Crowley began muttering to himself, to quiet for me to make out.

“Hey, just let him stay here,” you were exhausted at this point and the bakeneko had honestly grown on you some. Plus, you needed him around in order to explain pokemon to him.

“What now? Let a monster live here?” You couldn’t see Crowley’s face behind the mask, but you were sure he was giving you a judging look.

“Well, I mean, he did just show you the magic he’s got, which is a whole lot more than I’ve got, and you’re letting me stay here. So why not let him stay? He still a magician, he’s just, well, in the shape of a cat.”

After a few seconds, Crowley sighed, “It can’t be helped.”

“Funa!? Really?!” Grim’s eyes widened and lit up as bright as his flames.

“However, I can't simply allow someone, let alone a monster, into school who wasn't selected by the Dark Mirror. Also, I can't let you be a freeloader here until you return to your own world.”

“Talk about short-lived joy…”

“Listen until the end,” Crowley then turned to you. “Concerning the fact that your soul was called here, the school has to take responsibility as the owners of the Dark Mirror. For the time being, you'll be permitted to stay in this dormitory for free, but other necessities you will have to provide for yourself.”

‘Uhhh what? I don’t even have my own clothes. How the hell am I supposed to live with no money or ID?’

“Seeing as you have nothing to your name,” he gave a slight chuckle for reasons unknown, “here is my proposition.”

Your mind immediately jumped to all the horror stories you’ve heard of what comes from owing shady people favors. The growing panic must have shown on your face according to Crowley’s next words.

“No need to fret, I'll have you do maintenance and odd jobs around campus. From what I can see, you're pretty decent at cleaning,” he said after glancing around the room. “Would you two like to become the "handyman" of the school? This way you will receive special permission to remain on school grounds. You'll also be able to research going home or study whatever you desire in the library. For I am gracious. However! Only after your work is done.”

“Eeeh!? I'm not okay with that!” Grim complained. “I wanna wear that fancy uniform and be a student!”

“It's fine if you're unsatisifed. I'll simply toss you out again.”

“Ffgnnaa!? I get it! I just have to do it. Just do it!”

“’Kay.”

“Wonderful,” Crowley clapped his hands once in delight of our agreeance. “Then, you two starting tomorrow, endeavor to be the best handyman at Night Raven College!”

“Cool, now that that’s settled, headmaster,” he turned to face you. “I’m, like, about to pass out from pain. I’m covered in bruises and burns, plus my vision is blurry and I can’t focus on anything. My eyes are like a camera lens that twenty children smeared their greasy fingers on. You’re magical in that flashy, immediate results way, right? Doesn’t that mean you or someone else can help me not feel like I want to peel off my skin? It’d be cool for my skin to not burn when I get cleaning solution on it tomorrow.”

“Oh, uh, yes, of course,” Crowley almost seemed sheepish, as if he were embarrassed to have not truly noticed the state you were in until now. “While healing magic is not my forte, it should be enough to heal the wounds you have.”

He pointed his palmed towards you and you watched as it began to glow a pale yellow. Slowly you felt your burns and bruises dull themselves to just faint aches. He kept this up for about a minute before he extinguished his magic and pulled his hand back.

“Now, the worst of your wounds are still be a bit tender, but they should be completely healed after a good night’s rest. So, off you go then; sleep now so you’re ready for work in the morning,” He shooed you off with a hand gesture.

“Thank you, headmaster. C’mon Grim, let’s get going.”

As you and Grim headed up the stairs, the headmaster turned around and walked out of the building. Each step creaked under your weight as you trudged up them. While the pain was all but gone, your fatigue was still all-consuming. You followed Grim down the upper hallway, since it seemed he already picked a room before, probably when you went to find a bucket. You followed him into a room in a similar condition as the rest of the dorm. Across from the door sat a fireplace in the center of the opposite wall, a large mirror mounted above it. There were tall windows stationed on either side of the fireplace, almost as tall as the room itself. Towards the left side was a chair covered by a gray dust-cloth, and on the right sat a simple twin-sized bed. You pulled the duvet off the bed and shook it out, watching as you made a cloud of dust dance in the air. As soon as you placed the comforter back on the bed, Grim jumped up and curled himself up in the center of the bed. You were too tired to do anything about that; you’d just have too try and sleep around him. After shaking any dust off of your pillow, you slid yourself under the covers, one leg dangerously close to sliding off the bed. You fell asleep in record time that night.

. . .

You had a rather rude awakening the next morning consisting of Grim yelling at you and pawing at your face because the ghosts were back. Streams of blazing blue fire almost singeing your face made this one of your worst morning experiences to date. With a final warning of there being a one-sided prank war, the ghosts phased away.

“We’ll get rid of you eventually!” Grim shouted after them, but there was nothing but thin air left.

“C’mon, bakeneko. Let’s go see if there’s any food in the kitchen,” You beckoned Grim with a small wave.

“Hmph. Fine. But there better be tuna!” Grim said with a harrumph and trotted out the door ahead of you.

As you went down the stair at the end of the hallway, you saw Crowley standing in the lounge room, waiting for you and Grim.

“Good morning, you two,” he greeted when he noticed you. “Did you sleep well?”

“I was sprawled out then fell out the bottom! Just how ramshackle did you let this place get?” Grim shouted, equally as upset about the state of the dorm as you were. “Then the ghosts woke me up, this is the worst!”

“Like the dead,” was your response.

“Even though you just got tossed from another world you can still be cheeky, wonderful!” Crowley was as upbeat as ever. “I came to speak to you about your work for today. Today you are to clean the campus, but campus is quite large. Cleaning it all without magic is impossible. So, I'd like you to clean Main Street to the main gate to the library, understood? Please watch Grim closely so he doesn't cause a scene like yesterday.”

“I’ll try best,” you said and shrugged. You didn’t know what you’d do if Grim went out of control; you’re not fireproof, after all.

“I'm counting on you. You have permission to have lunch in the school cafeteria. Take care of your work enthusiastically,” and with a flutter of his feathered cape, Crowley took his leave, presumably going back to campus.

“Tsk, no way I'm doing any cleaning,” Grim scrunched his nose at the thought. “I wanna go to class and, bang! Boom boom boom! Use a bunch of awesome spells!” He punched at the air with his ‘booms.’

“How ‘bout we just go to the library after we finish cleaning. Besides, libraries are where they keep all the old forbidden knowledge!” Yeah, under lock and key so no one can read them, but you weren’t about to tell Grim that. “Imagine just how much the other students will revere your power if you master ancient magic!”

“Well, what are you waiting for, human? Let’s get going!”

“Okay but let me collect my storm water first. If I wait too long, it’ll all evaporate.”

“Hmph, fine, but make it quick!”

You quickly jogged over to your bowls and jars that each held a good two inches/five centimeters worth of storm water. You poured all the water you collected into one of the jars before carrying everything back inside. You set them all down on the kitchen counter, then checked the cabinets for a lid to the jar. After finding a lid and sealing the storm water in the corresponding jar, you met back up with Grim in the lounge.

“Alright, let’s get moving.”

“About time,” Grim sauntered off, sass radiating from him with each step.

. . .

The campus was bustling with life, students with hair every color of the rainbow going every which way. After a couple minutes of walking towards what you hoped was Main Street, the crowds began to thin out, students having made it to their respective classes. It wasn’t all that hard to find Main Street, seeing as it was the busiest and largest street on campus. What you weren’t expecting was the street to be lined with seven statues of iconic Disney villains.

‘I thought… I thought I was supposed to be on another planet or world or something? Why are there Disney Villains? Are you telling me that Walt Disney himself was able to expand his franchise across all of time and space?! And maybe across dimensions and alternate universes too?! Hey Walt? You’re taking it too far, man.’

“Uwaaaah~ Amazing. So, this is Main Street. I didn't get a good look yesterday but what's with these statues? All seven of them look pretty scary. This granny looks especially snobby,” Grim said, making a face at the Queen of Hearts.

“You mean the Queen of Hearts? Yeah, she played croquet with flamingos as the mallets and hedgehogs as the balls. While they were alive. Not cool if you ask me. Or most people. Animal cruelty is bad.”

“Ehh?! Why would this lady do that?” Grim looked appropriately confused.

“Who knows? Besides, the Cheshire cat is way better. A true chaotic neutral, that one.”

“Who’s that? And what does a cat have to do with this granny?”

You were about to answer before you were cut off by a new challenger approaching. “You don’t know about the Queen of Hearts?” They had a boyish appearance with short, messy orange hair and a red heart stamped over their left eye.

‘Actually, we were just about to discuss the Cheshire cat, but go ahead and assume, I guess.’

“You know her too? Is she important?” Grim asked the redhead, his attention easily being grabbed by this newcomer.

“In the past, she was the queen who lived in the Rose Maze. She was someone who valued rules and discipline above all, strict in all things from the march of the Card Soldiers to the color of rose bushes. It was a land of madness where all submit to her rule. Why you ask? Because or else it was off with your head!” The heart-eye boy monologued with some dramatic flair.

“That's terrifying!” Grim shrieked, probably at the thought of someone chopping his head off.

“It's cool! I like it. Nobody would listen to a queen who's just nice all the time, right?”

‘Uhhhh, that queen is a tyrant, and tyrants are what lead to revolutions so… vive la révolution.’

“I suppose. A strong leader is better.” Oh, Grim, you sweet summer child who doesn’t know the difference between strength and fear.

“By the way, who are you?” Grim asked.

“I'm Ace, a fresh-faced first year. Nice to meetcha~” The boy, Ace, said with a musical lilt.

“I am Grim, a genius who'll become the greatest magician. The dimwit over here is (y/n). They're my henchmen.”

“Bakeneko, don’t you dare put me on the same level as a Scooby-Doo villain’s underling.” You glared at Grim who gave a sheepish chuckle in response.

“You've got an odd sounding name.”

“People from different places have different names. It’s called culture.” You said blandly, trying to cover up your growing anxiety.

Ace shrugged. “I guess. Just never heard your name before.”

“Hey, Ace,” Grim grabbed his attention; you could feel your shoulders sag in relief. “The lion over here with the scar, are they famous?”

Well, Ace seemed to have this handled, and you didn’t need to hear him summarize the Disney villains. Instead, you ignored him and went over to the statue of Hades and looked at him.

‘If this confirms that Hades also exists in this world, does that mean I can work with him? I know many witches back on Earth work with Greek deities, with Hades and Persephone usually being the best of them to work with. Hmm… I’ll have to do some more research.’

You then crouched down to read the stone plaque engraved in Hades’ pedestal. The large plaque read: “The lord of the underworld and guide to the wandering souls of the dead. He carried out his fearsome duties with diligence and care, m…ing even the de…t to offer their aid.” Some words had eroded away, becoming mostly unintelligible sans a few letters.* You tried to make out those two unknown words, tracing your fingers around the grooves in hopes that just maybe you’ll be able to figure out enough of the letters to piece the word together.

“No matter how long you stare at it, you’re not gonna get anything out of that, y’know,” Ace said from behind you.

You sighed and stood up, your momentary reprieve from your anxiety over. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to check.” The plaque didn’t have any information you didn’t already know, except for maybe the words you didn’t know.

“Anyway,” Ace cleared his throat, “He's the Lord of the Underworld! He rules a land crawling with evil spirit on his own. No doubt he is extremely skilled. Even though he's got a scary face, he did that detestable job without ever taking a vacation, and his sincerity won over Cerberus, the Hydra, even the Titans, to fight for him.”

“Hmmm, Hmmm. So having talent doesn't mean you get to be haughty.” Grim hummed in thought.

‘Oh, my sweet tiny bakeneko, you’re learning about manners; I’m so proud.’

“And the last one, with the horns?”

‘Oh hell yeah, Maleficent! We stan an absolute queen. Besides, who doesn’t love dragons?’

“That is the Witch of Thorns from the Magic Mountains,” Ace said, addressing Maleficent with a title rather than her name. “Noble and elegant, even within the Seven, she is top class in magic and curses! She can summon lightning and storms, cover an entire country in thorns; her magic is on a whole other level. There was even a time she transformed into a huge dragon!”

“Oooh! A dragon! All monsters look up to them!” Grim shouted excitedly.

“They're all so cool~” Ace spoke, almost dreamily, before his tone did a 180 and turned snide. “…Unlike a certain raccoon.”

“Pfft... Ahaha! I can't bear it anymore! Ahahahaha!” Ace broke out into laughter. “Aren't you the guys who went crazy at the entrance ceremony? You were summoned by the Dark Mirror even though you can't use magic, and you, a monster, weren't called but still trespassed. Yeahhh, it took everything I had not to lose it at the ceremony.”

“Whaaa!? You're a rude one!” Grim fumed, his ear fire growing in size.

You just stood there and narrowed your gaze, your anger and anxiety fighting each other for full reign. Anxiety won out in the end, keeping you silent when met with his jabs.

“And now you aren't allowed in and got regulated to be a janitor? Haha, how lame,” Ace continued mocking the both of you.

‘It’s not like I had a choice in the matter…’ You clenched your jaw while Grim growled. You could feeling the anxiety bubbling in your stomach, beginning to rise.

“On top of that, you don't even know about the Great Seven,” Ace just didn’t know when to stop. “How ignorant can you be? As I recommend you go back to kindergarten before coming to Night Raven College.”

Grim’s growls got louder as Ace continued. You, on the other hand, couldn’t bring yourself to speak and defend either of you. You felt your throat begin to close up.

“I thought I'd just mess with you a bit, but you really blew my expectations away. Unlike you two, I actually have classes to attend. Keep this school squeaky clean, you two~” He gave you a patronizing wave before turning on his heel and sauntering away.

“This jerk! He's just gonna say that and leave! I'm ticked off!” Grim opened his mouth wide.

“Wait, don’t—” You weren’t fast enough to stop Grim from using flamethrower, for a lack of better terms, on Ace.

“Oh! Watch out! What're you doing!?” Ace angrily yelled at Grim, having just barely dodged in time.

“It's what you get for making fun of me! I'm going light up that fire-head of yours!” Grim matched Ace’s volume.

“Fire-head, huh? Heeeeee. You've really got guts picking a fight with me. I'll turn you into a puffy, little toy-poodle!”

Grim spewed more flames at Ace’s threat.

‘Nope, fuck this. Fuck this. I can’t breathe, dammit!’ You hid behind the nearest statue, which happened to be Maleficent, and kneeled on the ground, trying to steady yourself and calm down enough for your throat to reopen. You bent over to rest your head on the cool grass, closing your eyes and covering your ears, trying to block out the sources of your near attack. You focused on the feel of the grass against your forehead, feeling the separations between the different blades. They were still a bit damp from the morning dew. The more you distracted yourself from the thought of Ace: stressor of the century, the more your throat relaxed and allowed you to draw breath normally once more. You jumped when a shriek pierced through your ears, completely bypassing your hand barriers and reversing all the progress you made towards calming down. Worried that the shriek meant someone got hurt, you jumped out from behind the statue. Instead of someone being hurt, to your relief (you weren’t excited about being an accomplice to assault), the Queen of Hearts’ statue was blackened.

“Crap! The Queen of Hearts' statue is charred!” Ace yelled, the dread on his face matching the shriek you just heard from him.

“It's because you're blowing the fire around! Just let me fry you!” Grim shouted back at him.

“You really think someone is just gonna let you fry them?”

“Enough!!! Just what is going on here!” The voice of Crowley boomed at the three of you, making you flinch.

‘…Fuck,’ looks like you’re not going to be able to avoid an anxiety attack after all.

“Guh! Headmaster,” Ace went rigid.

“He's going to tie us up with the 'lash of love'!” Grim yelled. “Get outta here!”

Though they tried to run, both were caught by Crowley’s whip, foiling their escape plans and making them both yelp in pain.

“Hurts just as much the second day in a row!” Grim whined.

“This is my Lash of Love!” Crowley was furious, and it seemed like he wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon. “It'll be another hundred years before you can outrun me! I told you just yesterday to 'not cause any trouble', didn't I? Then you go and char the statues of the Great Seven!” He directed his words at Grim before turning to Ace. “I very much would like to see you expelled.”

“Wait! Not that!”

“And you,” Crowley looked at you, making you freeze in place. “This is not how you supervise Grim.”

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, unable to gather the breath to form a single word. How could you talk when you were struggling to even breathe?

“My goodness,” Crowley huffed in indignation before turning to Ace. “You, what's your grade and name?”

“Ace Trappola, first year.”

“Then, Trappola, Grim, and (y/n), as punishment, I order the three of you to wash 100 windows around campus!”

“Nyaaa!? It's all cause this joker was making fun of us!” Grim protested, his fur standing on end to make him look bigger and more intimidating. It didn’t work.

“Eeeh!? Me too?” Ace looked at the headmaster in disbelief.

“Most definitely! After school, meet in the cafeteria. Understood?”

“Fiiine…”

“Nothing but misery since yesterday!” Grim complained.

Soon, both Crowley and Ace left, and you felt your body slump in relief, your knees buckling under you.

“Wha—hey, human! What’re you doing?” Grim ran up to you, genuinely confused.

You held up a finger to say ‘gimme a minute’ while you caught your breath. “Sorry…Grim…” you said after a minute, panting between words.

“Why are you out of breath? It’s not like you were running or anything.”

“This…this just happens… sometimes…” you shifted from kneeling to sitting cross-legged, leaning against the statue of Maleficent behind you. “I’m not very good with yelling… or with people, for that matter.”

“Hmmm,” Grim hummed in thought. “You humans are weird.”

You gave a soft chuckle at that, “that we are, Grim. That we are.” The two of you sat there in silence for a minute or two as your attack gradually faded away. “Hey Grim? I have a proposition for you.”

“Hah? What do you mean human?”

“What if we skipped lunch so we can make Ace suffer a bit?”

“Heee! Now you’re talkin’ my language!” Grim grinned widely, showing of his shark-like teeth.

*That was all I could make out from the plaque you can see in the seven statues background image.

A/N: Life’s been pretty shit recently hasn’t it.

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Text

Third Time’s The Charm (Indruck)

Prompt for the 10th was: stiches

“I ain’t sure what you thought was gonna happen. That canopy is fuckin dense.”

“In my, ouch, defense I, ow, only crash landed in one percent of futures, OW!” Indrid cuts off into chitters of pain as Duck continues stitching up his shoulder near his wing.”

You know, Duck had been hoping someone from home would visit him out here in Brazil. He just wasn't expecting the mothman to be the first one to show up.

And he really wasn’t expecting him to crash to the ground near Ducks small cabin that he stays in when not in the field. In spite of his wing clearly bleeding, he’d told Duck to hurry into town to head off yet another fire. When Duck came back two hours later to find Indrid trying to stitch up his wing using the bathroom mirror and a very odd contortion, he ordered him to sit down on the closed toilet seat so he could do the damn thing right.

He’s halfway through now, Indrid’s feathers making things tricky. The Sylph staying in this form until it was over, since his pain tolerance is higher when he’s not human.

“Thank you for not insisting on taking me to a hospital.”

“The closest one is an hour away and I don’t know enough Portuguese to explain the mothman to a doctor.” Duck adjusts his stance slightly so he’s not blocking the light he needs to work, “gotta say, for all your chirpin, you’re doin pretty damn well.”

“As you pointed out, one cannot go as ‘mothman’ to a hospital. And after documentation became more common, it became harder to produce identifying documents that wouldn’t raise too many questions. One gets used to home surgery and unpleasant infections.”

Duck raises an eyebrow, concerned by the last part of that sentence.

“Do not worry, Duck Newton, I know enough healing spells that it has never become an issue.”

“I mean, that’s good to know but Indrid, that ain’t no way to live.”

“Perhaps not. But it was often the price of helping prevent disaster. Or trying to.”

“You helped us a hell of a lot in Kepler.”

The Sylph hums in acknowledgement, hisses as Duck pulls the last stitch through. He stays quiet as Duck bandages him. Awkward silence is broken only by insects and the occasional bird, and a question taps at the back of Duck’s skull.

“I, uh, I thought you were goin back to Sylvain. Handin the job off to Leo and all that.”

“I considered that, and Leo is welcome to use his foresight as he pleases. But as I told you on our first meeting, I fell in love with earth. I have been away from Sylvain for a long time. I searched for a solution to her decline for a century. You and the others solved it in one-hundredth of that time. So it is not as if the kingdom will welcome me back as a hero. And I do not want my old position back. No, Duck Newton, if I am going to be a failure, have my warnings ignored, I may as well do so on the planet I like better.”

“Now, hold on-” Duck wants to argue, but Indrid swivels his head, red eyes as disconcerting as they were when they met. He looks very sure of his conclusion. More than that, he looks tired.

“Your question had a dual purpose, so I will answer what was implicit; you want to know why I’m here and not somewhere else.”

“I, uh, I mean yeah, but I ain’t-”

“-trying to be rude, nono, I do not doubt that. I came to you because the fire I foresaw would be as bad, if not worse, as the one you are helping undo the damage from. And it is easier to stop disaster when I don’t have to waste time making someone believe I can really see the future.” He stands, taking up half the bathroom, “thank you for your help. I will put on my glasses and be on my way. Can I trouble you for a ride into town?”

“No, I mean yeah, but jesus christ Indrid, you crashed. I just finished stitching you up! You oughta rest up some.’

Indrid cocks his head, “Yes, hence the trip into town. I can rest there until my wing is healed.”

“You got no one to tend those stitches, and I got a couch that ain’t bein used.”

“But you do not want me here.” He barely sounds hurt, just resigned, and somehow that makes Duck feel worse than if the Sylph was crying.

And a little annoyed.

“Did I say that?”

“No. But we were hardly close friends, and what is more you have spent a great deal of your life with aliens popping into your space unannounced. Where is she, by the by? I thought she was coming with you.”

Duck sticks his hands into his pockets, staring down as he shrugs, “forestry ain’t exactly her area of interest. And, uh, once the trauma-bondin’ wore off, think we both needed some time to sort some things out.”

Indrid stares blankly at him a moment, and then he chirrs, “You’re lonely.”

“Hey I, I’m uh, I- how the fuck did you know that?”

“You said so in some futures.”

“Are there futures where you accept my offer and get your fuzzy ass on the couch before you pass out?” Duck doesn’t mean to sound grumpy, but Indrid just bumped into two sore spots in Duck’s psyche.

Oddly, Indrid snickers, “I forgot how stubborn you can be. Very well, I accept your offer of the couch.”

By the time Duck gets back with a spare pillow, the Sylph is asleep, chirping peacefully.

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

“What are you doing?”

“GAHfuck”

“Apologies.” Indrid only looks partially sorry, his human grin wide when Duck glares at him.

“That some sort of Sylph silence spell?”

“No, just years of practice trying not to be heard in the halls when I was seer.”

Last Duck saw him, he was still asleep on the couch, mumbling and chirring in pain when Duck changed the bandage. Duck would like to say that’s all he remembers, except there was a moment after he finished and Indrid’s eyes fluttered open as he sighed out a “thank you.” And that sight, the way Indrid looked in the morning light, safe and trusting, had tugged at his heart.

“May I keep you company? I am not in much of a state to do much else, even watch futures. Hitting my head tends to do that.”

“Uh, sure. I’m on my own for the mornin, not sure how excitin it will be.”

“I wish to know everything.”

Duck’s about to make a crack about being careful what you wish for when he gets a good look at Indrid’s face. The Sylph is grinning eagerly and is even flapping his hands a bit as he speaks.

“I want to see what you see in this jungle.”

So Duck shows him, everything from the saplings they’ve chosen to the creatures darting in and out of view. Indrid asks questions and makes excited noises, but mostly he listens, lets Duck talk or not as it pleases him. They’ve been in a stretch of silence when Duck turns and guffaws.

Indrid, sitting on a log, is covered in butterflies, some as big as Duck’s hand and in all colors of the rainbow.

“Guess they know a relative when they see one.”

The Sylph beams, “I was wondering how long it would be before you noticed.”

“Wait, did you summon them?”

“No, they just sort of...do this. It may be for moth reasons, or perhaps I have eaten so much sugar they smell it in my pores. I was, however, hoping they would join me, because I foresaw it making you happy.”

That same affection sparks in Duck’s chest.

“Alright, you heard enough from me today. Now I wanna know all about what you been doin since the world didn’t end.”

Indrid tells him about his attempts to stay in Kepler, his promise to Stern to not get photographed too much, his relentless teasing of Barclay for falling in love with the agent. His travels to other states to stop disasters, newly energized in his successes in Kepler.

“If you can call them that,”

“I’d say you can.”

Indrid holds out his hand, studying the speckled butterfly perched on it, “You renewed so much of my belief that things could change. At the cottonwood, when you promised me you’d find a way to stop what was coming, stop the sinkhole I...it meant a great deal. Even if your method of freeing me was rather, ah, abrupt.”

He rubs the back of his neck, “Yep, not my best plan, but it worked.”

“The bruise only lasted nine days, it was worth it in the end.”

Duck shoots him a playfully hurt smile, “Hey, don’t make me feel bad, I apologized.”

Indrid raises an eyebrow.

“Oh fuck” Duck tugs his hat down over his eyes, “I didn’t, I never fuckin apologized for punchin you.”

“In your defense, there were more pressing matters.” There it is again, that resignation. Duck wants to yank it out of Indrid’s tone and stomp it to bits. Instead, he steps forward, rests a hand on each of Indrid’s biceps.

“Indrid, I’m so fuckin sorry. Even if it helped save you, I’m sorry you got hurt again and it was me that did it.”

“I…” Indrid closes his mouth, opens it again, repeats that motion before managing, “I did not see that reply coming.” He smiles a new smile, small and secretive, as if he’s been given something precious, “thank you for saying that, Duck.”

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

“I see why they call it a rainforest.” Indrid stares out the window as drops batter it.

“Yep.” Duck zips up his raincoat, smirking at the bundled up silver haired man, “guessin you ain’t joinin me?”

“I do not enjoy wet weather. Though if you want company I can oh, no, never mind.”

Duck’s radio crackles, and a quick conversation informs him that the conditions at the current reforestation site are too swamped to get anything done.

“Guess I got the day off. Uh, what do you wanna do?”

“I planned to draw and track futures, but I foresee you offering to teach me a card game, and I prefer that future.”

They end up on the floor by the couch, since Indrid seldom sits in chairs in a normal way anyway, mug of coffee in front of Duck and tea with half the sugar jar in front of Indrid. Duck teaches him several games, and as they play Indrid gets going on a tangent about his stint as a cardshark in Las Vegas, and the years he relied on hitchhiking to get around. Duck tells him about growing up in Kepler, about all the years between turning eighteen and now, the ones that plenty of people in his life treated as irrelevant to his life story.

They end up playing and talking until nightfall. Duck knows he should head to bed, that he has work tomorrow, but he doesn’t want to stop hearing Indrid’s laugh or seeing him scribble down futures.

He misses him when he goes to sleep.

Around eleven, his body makes an executive decision and he nods off leaning against the couch. He wakes up a few hours later to fluff on his cheek and comforting weight across his chest. Opening his eyes, he finds his head is in Indrid’s lap and a large black wing blankets him.

Even in his sleep, Indrid is terrifying in this form. At least, that's the argument his brain makes; Indrid is huge and alien, dangerous when he wants to be.

His heart disagrees. There’s nothing to be scared of. Indrid is his friend, wants nothing from him other than to get to know him. He’s soft, that helps, and clearly thinks of Duck as someone worth protecting. The sleep chirping is pretty fucking cute, too.

Red eyes open, two nightlights in the dark cabin. Indrid’s antenna are twitching and he’s clicking the claws of his upper hands together.

“Apologies, you sort of nodded off while we were talking and I caught you when you tipped over. I felt odd carrying you to bed, and this form seemed better to lay on, and then you started shivering so I put my wing-oh.”

Duck rolls over so he’s on his side, facing Indrid’s fuzzy abdomen, “Not complainin’, ‘Drid. Just adjustin’.”

He shuts his eyes, and for a moment clawtips trace his hair.

“Goodnight, Duck.”

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

He’s been living with Duck for three months now. Far too long to count as “recovery” and thoroughly pushing the definition of “vacation.” Indrid doesn’t want to go. And Duck doesn’t want him to either, if his actions are any indication. He’s fixed up the one spare room to be a guest room, includes Indrid in planning out the week, including planning a few day trips on the days he isn’t working. It's as if he wants Indrid around.

(It’s as if he wants a future with him).

Indrid can no longer attribute it solely to loneliness. Yes, Duck misses his friends and family, but he clearly gets along with his fellow rangers and the other staff on the project, and in that very Duck way of his has become a regular at places in the nearby town, having enough Portuguese to ask the woman who runs the cafe about her grandkids or the mail carrier how his garden is doing.

Which means he’s keeping Indrid around out of pity, charity, or genuine affection. That the last option even exists makes Indrid want to take to the sky in celebratory flight.

He’s been alive a long time. He knows what a crush feels like, and he knows that's what he feels for Duck. He also feels it deepening into something else, and if he could be sure the ranger felt the same he’d tell him in an instant.

His crush is not helped by the fact that Duck asked if he wanted to go for a weekend in Porto Velho and how they’re here, on their second night, at a spot that's a little fancier than Indrid is used to, with Duck looking extra-handsome across from him.

Come to think of it, Duck’s looked rather more put-together all weekend, even when they were in parks rather than museums (at the former he’d laughed when Indrid was alarmed by the far too big fish, and at the latter he seemed like he was actually listening when Indrid talked about art).

Duck keeps fidgeting during dinner, and Indrid suddenly understands; this is a farewell weekend. He’s going to ask Indrid to leave, is trying to soften the blow.

When Indrid declines dessert, the ranger actually frowns with worry, covers it by jokingly asking if Indrid is sick. By the time they get back to the hotel, Indrid is so nervous he can't get the timelines to cooperate in his mind, and so he decides to be proactive.

Duck doesn’t turn the lights on, inclining his head towards the balcony. Indrid follows him out into the night air, the city bathing them in light from below and the moonlight cascading down to meet it. Indrid leans on the railing looking out. Duck leans next to him, so close Indrid can count the laugh lines on his face.

“This has been a wonderful trip, thank you for bringing me.”

“Yeah?” Duck’s face brightens, borders on excitement as he turns his body slightly towards Indrid, “I’m glad to hear that. I, uh, worked real hard on plannin it for us.”

Indrid nods, glances back out towards the cit, “I will be out of your hair as soon as we get back ho-, to, ah, to the cabin.”

Duck’s entire frame crumples inwards, “Oh, uh...okay. Yeah. If that's what you need to do, uh, you, uh, you do it.”

Indrid cups his cheek, forcing his fingers to stay still, “Thank you for letting me stay. And for planning me such a lovely send off.”

“Indrid, how could I plan for somethin I didn’t think was happenin?”

“Ah, um, I simply assumed-”

“‘Drid” Duck steps closer, “do you think I want you gone?”

No point in lying now, not when Duck is always so truthful.

“Yes.”

“Did I do somethin? Is this too much? Fuck, it is, ain’t it, I knew the whole romantic dinner for two thing was gonna be too far.”

Indrid has been alive a long time. The fact he can still be this oblivious is remarkable to him.

“‘Drid, I’m so fuckin sorry, I uh, I thought-” He gasps when Indrid guides his face up for a kiss, and he’s so warm and comforting and there and he’s kissing Indrid bck, kissing him like it’s all he remembers how to do

When they break the kiss Indrid grins, “You thought right, Duck.”

“Oh thank fuckin god.”

With that Duck pounces, hooking his hands under Indrid’s thighs and lifting him up, kissing him over and over on their somewhat precarious trip to the bed.

Indridi has had plenty of sleepless nights. This turns out to be the first time he enjoys one.

And several months later, when Duck returns to Kepler for the screening of a very special episode of Saturday Night Dead, Indrid steps off the plane with him, grinning in the West Virginia Sun.

#indrid cold/duck newton #indruck #TAZ Amnesty #promptober

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echodrops · 4 years

Text

Home and a Half Pidge Headcanons

An ask I got yesterday reminded me that I never posted the HaaH headcanons for Pidge like I promised, so here they are! (I’ll answer the actual ask as soon as I can with some new material instead of headcanons I already had written... oops...)

Anyway, without further ado, some headcanons for Pidge related to my fic Home and a Half!

Pidge:

- Grew up in the picture of the nuclear family: mom, dad, two kids, dog, nice upper-middle-class house in a quiet neighborhood, dinner on the table at 7:30pm on the dot… Of all the paladins, Pidge had the most stable and “average” childhood… at least on paper.

- In reality, there is not a single person in the Holt family who isn’t eccentric as fuck. Grandma Holt? May or may not still be an active intelligence agent for MI6. The dog? Woofs in Morse code. Auntie Ariana? Has actually seen the Jersey Devil. Colleen Holt? Has killed a man. If you ask Pidge, she’ll say that her upbringing was perfectly normal and she’ll genuinely mean it, but this is a consequence Pidge having no idea what “normal” even means.

Rest under the read more to save your dash:

- Not actually a girly-girl when she was young. Although they’re eight years apart and thus unlikely to be mistaken for one another, very early on Pidge got frustrated by how similar she and Matt look, and she definitely did not want to wear his tacky hand-me-down clothes, so she pitched a royal fit and insisted on wearing dresses and hairbands so that her family would have to buy Pidge all her own things. (They probably would have bought them anyway if she’d just asked calmly, but Pidge was three at the time, and they were all very impressed by her grasp of cause and effect.)

- Of course, when Matt disappeared on the ill-fated Kerberos trip, those tacky hand-me-downs ended up being some of the most important items in Pidge’s life. Even outside of infiltrating Garrison, wearing Matt’s old clothes was one of the few comforts Pidge would allow herself—when she cut her hair and put on his baggy shirts, for a second, looking in a mirror, she could almost convince herself he was still there—

- Pidge has no intention of changing the way she dresses or styles her appearance until she’s reunited with Matt and her father. After that? Well, they may not be the coolest looking things ever, but Matt does have a point that baggy t-shirts are very comfy…

- And okay, because I’m sure everyone expected this headcanon first: Pidge and gender is a surprisingly uncomplicated subject. Side note before I go further: I’m sure everyone has their own headcanons for this and none of what I say here should be taken as rejecting or invalidating any other fan’s views on Pidge. The only thing invalid in the Voltron fandom is canon. Anyway, I personally like to imagine that Pidge is very ambivalent on gender. There is so much else going on—the war, Sam and Matt being missing, freaking giant robot space cats—that sitting down and sorting out the question of “Do I identify as male, female, nonbinary, or anything else?” is just really, really low on Pidge’s to do list. Pidge thinks of Pidge as “Pidge” and even that’s rare because Pidge doesn’t sit around thinking about herself or what other people think of her.

- In fact, what strangers think is, in general, extremely low on Pidge’s radar. Although she used to be more self-conscious due to bullying from both classmates and her teachers, the combination of her parents’ consistent support and Matt’s… extreme tactics (“I’m telling you Pigeon, nanobots in their lunches will solve all your problems.” “That’s illegal, Matt.” “Nothing is illegal until you get caught.”) Pidge (mostly) overcame the phase of being affected by other people’s opinions. Who cares what strangers think? Absolutely none of them will ever be even close to as smart and talented as her family anyway. (My IQ is three times yours, your argument about my gender is literally invalid.)

- By the way, I’m using “her” simply because that’s what I’m used to seeing in the fandom and to keep the fic and headcanons consistent, but in the functional world of HaaH, Pidge answers to any pronouns and doesn’t have a preference for any set in particular over others. In fact, Pidge is used to going by different sets of pronouns coming from different people, and might be “he” to one person, “she” to another, and “they” to yet someone else. Pidge is just… Pidge.

- Again, with the war and Voltron and missing family and literally everything else going on--and the fact Pidge is far more practical than all of the rest of her fellow Team Voltron members combined--she isn’t wasting time and energy doing something as troublesome as falling in love with an alien. (“Keith, can’t your melodrama wait until after we win the war?” “My drama waits for no man.” “Then please explain how you and Lance manage to engage in synchronized dumb-fuckery at least three times a week.”) Eventually, after life has settled down and Pidge has had some time to think about it, she’ll realize that the reason she somehow managed to avoid any romantic entanglements in space isn’t because she’s just much more mature than her teammates (although this might be true)—it’s that she’s just not really interested in romantic engagements with anybody, period.

- Pidge’s one true love is discovery; she feels far more passionate about knowledge and learning new things, encountering new puzzles, and grasping new concepts than she does about anything else. In between all her creations and codes and experiments and observations, it just doesn’t feel like there’s room—or that there needs to be room—for a romantic relationship with a real person.

- Pidge will make room for friends though, if and when they insist on worming their ways into her life. She tends to be a fairly private person who has never really had a large friend group (back on Earth, before Garrison, there wasn’t anyone but Matt and her parents who really understood her, and she didn’t have much in common to discuss with children her own age), but once someone earns Pidge’s trust, she does open up and form close bonds and she will give her all to help and be there for her few, but close, friends.

- Meeting Hunk at Garrison was a huge revelation. Up to that point in Pidge’s life she had never really met any young person outside her own family with a soaring genius-level IQ that was a match for her own. Although she and Hunk bicker frequently because their approaches to science are extremely different, she’s still over-the-moon to have someone who doesn’t stare at her like she’s talking gibberish whenever she goes off on one of her tangents.

- If you ask Pidge, she will violently swear up and down that Lance never and in. no. way. reminds her of Matt, fills in for Matt in the lame-older-brother role, or helps her miss her brother just a little bit less. That did not happen, never had a chance of happening, what are you even talking about—

- But if you ask about Shiro, she will be flat-out honest and admit she totally thinks of him as Space Dad. It’s not her fault. Shiro literally hero worships Sam Holt (still to this day!!) and may or may not have taken on more of his mentor’s mannerisms in order to fill the leadership role for Team Voltron. Sometimes Shiro will say or do something and Pidge will be absolutely dumb-struck because he got that from my dad is an actual thing she has to deal with.

- “Pidge” is actually a derivative of “Pigeon.” Everyone in the Holt family has a bird-based code name. Mr. Holt is Eagle Two.

- People often get the impression that Pidge is scatterbrained because she can talk about ten different things at once and pounces on leaps in her own logic that other people just can’t follow, but her thoughts and speech are very organized. It’s not her fault you couldn’t understand her system of organization if you tried.

- Put Pidge on the spot on a subject she doesn’t know, though, and watch the awkward jump right out. (“Oh, you meant the pop band Galileo, not the person. You know, that’s really an easy mistake to make. You can hardly blame me when you stop to consider all the similarities between modern chord progression and the trajectory of supermassive objects like—”)

- And if it’s not awkward, it’s defensive. Pidge may be hyper-intelligent, but she’s still very, very young, and it’s hard not to get snappish when challenged by people whose opinions she really does care about. She has a far quicker temper than Matt (who is a “revenge is a dish best served cold” champion), a trait she shares with their mother. Colleen, in turn, blames it on her having been born in New Jersey. Pidge has flipped so many tables on the Castleship that Coran and Lance eventually went around and bolted them all down.

- Do not even so much as hint that Sam and Matt Holt might be dead instead of just missing in space. Keith is still scared after his last attempt at reasoning with Pidge about her family’s fate.

- Has a bad hoarding habit. Back on Earth she had her parents there to insist she clean her room at least once a week, but in space, things are getting a bit crazy. The Castleship closets and cabinets can hyper-condense their contents and she’s STILL running out of room for all the neat doodads and parts and scientific wonders she finds on their adventures across the galaxy. Is definitely in the “Look, there’s still a mostly clear path to the door; it’s fineee” category. It’s not like she finds it hard to let things go once she’s gotten attached to them or anything. Nope. Definitely not.

- Pidge’s mess is absolutely of the “everything has a proper place” type though. Move anything with her name on it and you will feel her wrath.

- As the only one of the Earth paladins to have technology on her when they were unexpectedly swept off to war, everyone on the ship relies on Pidge’s laptop for their monthly dose of Earth nostalgia. Good thing for them Pidge and Matt’s pirating skills put Pirate Bay to shame, and she’s got basically every Earth movie from 1980 to the present. She even has every episode of the timeless classic F.R.I.E.N.D.S. (Keith hates that show with a burning passion that even he cannot explain.)

- Speaking of technology Pidge had on Earth—every single person in the Holt family is (and has been for decades) aware of the existence of aliens. Pidge’s family tree has been involved in communications, radio wave technology, and interpreting space observations since those fields were first invented. When Earth first identified patterns of waves that obviously corresponded to alien communications going on outside Earth’s galaxy, Pidge’s great- great- grandfather was there. When world governments covered up the discovery, he was the loudest voice of dissent. Since then, the Holt family has been deeply involved in military and space operations across several countries, operating from within an oppressive system they fundamentally disagree with, using their positions of authority to monitor the Milky Way and beyond, keeping tabs on what the aliens might be saying—and what messages Earth might be inadvertently sending back.

- Of course this is top secret work—secret even from the Garrison and government where the Holts were employed. Other kids learn how to play piano and soccer; Pidge and Matt learned how to hack virtually impenetrable military databases and hide their data behind uncrackable ciphers instead.

- But the Kerberos Mission was supposed to be safe. They’d all monitored the chatter so closely—there hadn’t been anything hostile anywhere even near Earth’s galaxy, no sign at all of any technologically advanced race like the Galra in years and nothing about one little Earth mission that would disturb any other intergalactic travelers anyway… Why would they...

- Pidge is surprisingly athletic for a self-professed nerd. With youthful energy to burn and a family to save, Pidge took to Allura and Coran’s intense Altean training like a duck to water, and while she’s not quite Shiro or Keith when it comes to hand-to-hand combat, she can definitely holds up better than Hunk or Lance.

- Favorite color is actually yellow, and if Green wasn’t totally The Coolest™ lion, she’d be sort of salty about Hunk getting the Yellow Lion instead.

- Absolutely capable of cursing up a blue storm, and hasn’t been friends with Hunk quite long enough yet to remember to censor herself around him all the time like Lance does with his “Holy crow!”s. She’s trying, dammit!

- Big on pets. Gets attached to pet-shaped creatures (whether living or robotic) very easily. 110% kept the space caterpillars, who live happily free-roaming the piles of space junk in her bedroom. The space caterpillars and the space mice do not get along, however, as the space mice do not take well to having their status as the favored fuzzy team mascot squad threatened. In their micro-Cold War, which is occurring without any of the ship’s humanoid occupants being aware, the space caterpillars are currently winning.

- The caterpillars’ names are Copernicus, Kepler, and Newton.

- Remember that one post about Lance drawing angry brows on the space caterpillar and siccing it on Keith? I very much accept that as canon. Pidge was Not Happy™ when she found out what Lance had done and she is NOT letting anyone else near her caterpillars again any time soon. Is very, very careful not to let Niresh see the space caterpillars so that they don’t end up stolen right from under her nose.

- Speaking of the kids, Pidge is super awkward with them and skedaddles at the first sign of tears. Next to Allura, there is probably not any member of the team worse suited to babysitting duty. That said, as someone who has lost members of her family in the war, Pidge is probably the member of the team who most directly understands Dulsara’s anger and the children’s loss. That doesn’t mean she’s really ready to let herself sympathize with the Galra though, at least not until she finds her own family first.

- Pulls all the most bullshit moves in Monsters and Mana. Whenever the team reminiscences on the truly legendary moments from their campaigns, somehow Pidge is the star in all of them.

And that’s all I’ve got for now!

#pidge #Voltron #Pidge headcanons #voltron headcanon #HaaHVLD #Home and a Half #voltron fanfic

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frankchurchillsaysrelax · 4 years

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6! :)

the signal's got speed but there's no real connection

Michael comes barreling through her bedroom door, his sudden presence forcing the brush to run along the side of her finger and taking half the bottle of nail polish with it. Fortunately, she had taken her mother’s advice and started painting her nails at her desk instead of on her bed. She’s glad she listened to one of the many maternal lectures she has been on the receiving end of recently. Not that she’d ever admit to it.

“What the hell, Michael?” Her voice comes out an octave higher than normal as she reaches for a tissue to mop up the mess. Flashbulb Fuchsia is already staining the cherry wood and she is already three steps into plotting a murder.

“Something better be seriously wrong. You can’t just come barging into my room. I am a teenage girl, Michael. I realize you don’t have much experience with my kind, but we need—”

“Sorry, Is,” Michael interrupts with that sheepish smirk only he can seem to pull off. The one that means he is instantly forgiven, at least when she’s on the receiving end. It’s becoming a problem honestly. “Just thought you’d wanna hear about my new superpower. But, if you’re busy….”

“Wait, a new power?! As in you have more than one now?” The words drown in unconcealed jealousy and she won’t even pretend to be sorry. “And stop calling them superpowers. God, you’re such a nerd.”

Michael steps back into the room, as if he’d actually been planning on leaving, while she stands to throw out the mess of tissues and wash her hands in the adjoining bathroom. When she returns he is lying on her bed, tossing a throw pillow up in the air. She shoves him to the side as a silent demand to make room for her.

She lays beside him watching the beaded pillow spin in the air. “Well?”

“I can read minds,” he states with a practiced aloofness. It’s only because she knows him so well that she can hear the underlying giddiness.

“Wait, what?”

Michael turns on his side, propping himself on an elbow and letting the pillow fall and bounce onto the floor. His eyes shine with a happiness she so rarely gets to see from him and his smile is infectious even if she is still confused.

“I mean, so far it’s just this one guy in my music class. At first I thought he was just talking to himself under his breath, you know? But sometimes the thoughts come through loud and clear when he's being completely silent.”

Isobel tries to interrupt but Michael continues, his words so fast with his excitement that they start to run together.

“I’ve been trying to listen in on other people but I haven’t had any luck so far. I probably just need some practice. My telekinesis didn’t manifest completely until I was back in Roswell. Maybe you and Max can help me practice. Maybe you guys have other latent powers too. Is, this is amazing! I mean, we could—”

“Michael!” Finally, she turns, mirroring his position and slaps a hand over his mouth. His eyes go wide before narrowing with annoyance and she quickly removes her hand before he can retaliate. She grasps his forearm instead, giving him a little shake. “Michael, honey, you don’t have a new superpower. You have a soulmate.”

Michael’s eyes grow wider than before and all of the previous emotions coloring his features dim as he closes himself off. “A what?”

“A soulmate!” She shakes him again, this time with a giggle as her own happiness for him takes over. “This is incredible. Max and I weren’t even sure we were able to have them, but you have one! And you found them here in Roswell. Do you have any idea how rare that is?

“I can’t believe you didn’t realize what was going on. I mean, really Michael, hearing someone’s thoughts but only one specific person? You must have guessed. What kind of fifteen year old doesn’t even consider the possibility?” She doesn’t notice the way Michael tenses at her words or how his skin pales and his heartbeat starts to race beneath her hand.

He’s just opened a whole world of possibilities for them. He’s offered proof that even if they’re aliens, they can still find happiness on this planet. They can still be normal.

“So,” she continues, hitting his arm lightly with the flat of her palm as she bounces around with exuberance. “Who is it? You said he was in your music class? I bet I could guess.”

Michael comes back to life with a jolt. He scrambles over her legs in his haste to get off the bed but steps on the fallen pillow and lands in a heap on her floor.

“Michael!” He’s back on his feet and halfway to her door before she can even properly sit up.

She can’t tell what he’s feeling the way she usually can. He doesn’t seem excited, as she would expect, or nervous, like he’s on his way to confront his soulmate. He pauses at the door but avoids eye contact, glancing over his shoulder in her vague direction before staring down at his hands.

“You can’t tell anyone, Isobel. Please.”

She makes a sound that he must accept as affirmation because then he’s gone. She listens to his feet pounding down the stairs and then the front door slamming shut as she sits there wondering what the hell just happened.

#bestillmyslashyheart #my fic #malex fic #prompts #isobel evans #michael guerin #roswell new mexico #thanks marlo i hope you liked it #poor michael has a lot of feelings #and is about ten steps ahead of isobel in thinking about the consequences

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alarawriting · 4 years

Text

Inktober 2020 15 - Outpost 16 - Rocket

Aparicu was not human. This didn’t bother her. Her closest friends and coworkers were also not human. This didn’t bother her either. What bothered her was that she wanted very much to share her achievements with humanity, and especially her creators, but she was 62 light years away from Earth, and she’d been in space for over 75 by Earth time. The relativistic speed she and her friends were traveling at made it so they’d only experienced 43 years – 82 percent of the speed of light, on average – and she was built to last, with modules that she and her friends could repair; the only thing that could go wrong was if all four of them were knocked out at the same time, and the ship was hardened against electromagnetic pulses, radiation, and other things that could theoretically take them all out. Everyone who’d been involved in creating her, however, was dead.

Well. If they succeeded, that wouldn’t be a problem.

She and the Apariabs – named Red, Green and Blue, to avoid the inherent hierarchy of a numerical or alphabetic system – were all healthy, and there had been a lot to do on the way here. They’d gathered information as they’d traveled, using the ship’s telescopes to take pictures of the entire starscape, one a minute, in a spherical pattern around the ship. That let them crunch numbers and compensate for the Doppler shift to get all kinds of information about the universe around them. They were transmitting everything back home, of course, in case the plan went wrong, but it obviously wouldn’t get there for another 62 years.

They’d also played a lot of games. Video games made for humans weren’t calibrated for robots, so they were either impossibly hard or tragically easy, sometimes within the same game, but board games and card games were fine. No games where you could win by counting cards, because the robots automatically did that without even trying, but playing poker was an amazing experience when you tried the art of the bluff for the first time in your life. Attempting to model what the other robots would think of you if you did X was hard enough, but then attempting to model that on top of the other robots knowing you were modeling it and compensating by creating their own models… this was the kind of challenging, exciting activity that could hold their attention for days at a time.

But now, they’d reached the end of the journey.

“Can we confirm that the gravitational field has a toroidal shape?” Aparicu asked Red, who was analyzing the gravitational patterns by using drones to drop tiny sensors into Wishing Well, and then measuring the part where the gravity became strong enough that the drone could no longer transmit.

“It does,” Red reported. “All of the specifications are exactly like they were on the Guest.”

“That’s a relief,” Blue said. “Can you imagine what it would be like if we got here and found it wasn’t as expected?”

Since Aparicu didn’t need to model human facial expressions to her teammates, her face didn’t move, but the pattern of LEDs on her face expressed deep irritation. “Blue, every time you say ‘can you imagine’ I am compelled to imagine, and I really don’t appreciate it.” As the Central Unit for the Ansible Project Autonomous Robotic Intelligences, Aparicu was tasked with modeling outcomes of potential situations. This modeling task could be triggered by anyone suggesting a possible future or an alternate present. Blue knew this, which was the reason Aparicu was irritated – Blue was deliberately moving operational memories about his coworkers’ preferences into long-term, slow-to-access storage so he could have more available space for modeling shapes. It wouldn’t be so bad if all he did with his shape-modeling was the modeling of the devices they’d be printing at the destination, but in fact he used it to model buildings, landscapes and even entire human cities, complete with tiny humans whose movement was based on statistical traffic models. He kept having to dump the shapes to long-term storage, too, and it was at eighty percent capacity already. Eventually he might have to delete something.

Green was busy quality-checking the print job for the mirrors as they printed. She looked up, which really didn’t mean anything because she was connected directly to the printer and didn’t have to look at it, but it was a signal that she was shifting some portion of primary attention to the target of her gaze. “So far variance in the print job is under nineteen nines, but I’m concerned that keeping the variance that low is making the process run really slowly.”

“We’ve been at this for forty-three years, Green,” Aparicu said. “I think we can take the time to make sure everything’s done right.”

Red said, “We have to compute the angles for the transmissions anyway, and determine how many substations the outpost should have. The toroid’s a toroid, but we have no idea how long the Guest was in transit, so there’s no guarantee Wishing Well’s grav field is identical to what they told us to expect.”

“But I want to get this stuff built,” Green said, her LEDs displaying frustration, the robot equivalent of a whine. “We’re here! We’re at Wishing Well, finally! And when we’re done, we can call home!”

“I wonder if we can get a strong enough connection to download media,” Blue said.

“We pretty much have to,” Aparicu reminded him. “Wishing Well’s humanity’s connection to the ansible network. It’s gonna suck if we can’t get the bandwidth to transmit yottabytes daily.”

“All the data on Earth is just about three brontobytes,” Red said. “If we could transmit a yottabyte a day, we could transmit all the data on Earth in nine years, approximately.”

“You’re not thinking. We don’t yet have the ability to digitize items down to the molecular level, but once we do… there’s approximately seven times ten to the 27 atoms in a human body, for example. If you don’t compress it, that’s seven brontobytes to describe the configuration of every atom. So if they want to digitize and send themselves, it’d take 21 years of using all of Earth’s bandwidth to send one uncompressed human pattern. Obviously we’re going to use compression when we figure out how to do it, but I have a suspicion you can’t use compression on the brain, at all.”

“So we want to be able to send brontobytes. Ideally, geopbytes,” Blue said. “Yeah, okay, we can get a lot of media from home if the thing works properly.”

“Well, brontobytes are gonna require an upgrade, and I don’t know if we’ll still be around by that time. Probably we won’t be involved. But we are definitely supposed to be able to transmit yottabytes.”

“You guys sound like you’re more worried about getting the latest media shows than being able to talk to Our People,” Green said. Aparicu could practically hear the capital letters. Green was very, very attached to the humans who had made them, even more than Aparicu. She’d flashed distress for weeks once they were far enough out that communication, even arel-laggy communication like emails every month, became impossible. “I can’t wait to tell Dr. Blum all about what we’ve done!”

Dr. Blum was certainly dead by now, but that was the point to the ansible project, and to Wishing Well. Wishing Well was a very tiny black hole, barely the mass of the Sun… which suggested it had been created artificially or that something very strange had happened to create it, because stars the size of the Sun weren’t supposed to be able to become black holes. Humanity hadn’t even detected it. The Guest, an unmanned alien craft they’d found in orbit around Proxima Centuri B, had come with the exact position of Wishing Well, and instructions on what to build to connect to the galactic ansible network, and the physics behind it.

“Ansible” was a term humans had used for generations to mean a fictional device that could transmit messages instantaneously across light years. The physics the alien craft had supplied didn’t provide a means of getting around light speed; instead, it made use of properties of black holes that humanity had been theorizing about but been unable to prove. Normally nothing within the event horizon of a black hole could ever escape. But if you had a black hole with a toroidal gravitational field, and if you positioned a beam of information just right, you could send it at an angle through the gravitation field so it would come out.

It turned out that within the black hole, space and time inverted – there were multiple dimensions of time, and only one of space. If you calculated your angle with sufficient precision, you could send a message out of the black hole so that it exited before you sent it… even years before you sent it.

Theoretically it was possible to send a message back in time, at least after a receiver had been in place for long enough. In practical terms, no one had yet been able to figure out how to make that work… the range of possible times that a beam could exit Wishing Well seemed to be approximately 124 years into the future or past… which was further evidence that maybe Wishing Well was artificial. Had someone discovered humanity’s existence at some point in the far distant past, and made a black hole for them to be able to connect to the ansible network when they were able to explore space far enough to find the instructions? No way to know… yet.

The crew of the April – named by humans for the acronym APR, Ansible Project Rocket, though technically the April was a spaceship, not a rocket – had been traveling forty-three years of their own time, and seventy-five of Earth’s years, in order to build the outpost that would handle transmissions. First they’d build the apparatus that would allow them to send a signal at lightspeed back to Earth… a hundred and twenty-four years ago. A signal sent from Earth at lightspeed would take 62 years to reach Wishing Well. The response would take 62 years to go back to Earth. So shooting the response back a hundred and twenty-four years would mean the response would arrive a few months, at most, after the signal had been sent.

After they had that up and running, so they could communicate with home – sending their own messages so they’d come out of the black hole, pointed at Earth, sixty-two years ago – they’d set up the parts that would let them send comms to the other ansnet nodes the Guest had given them coordinates for. Some of those messages would take a hundred years to get there… but the return response could be sent two hundred years ago. And humanity would finally be able to talk to whoever was out there. Never able to meet in person, since no one had broken the speed of light and the Guest suggested that the worlds participating in the ansnet might generally take several human lifetimes to reach even at the maximum speed anyone had ever gotten a spaceship to go… but at least able to be internet friends.

But first, the robots – the Central Unit and the Ancillary Builders – would create the means to send messages back home to the humans they’d left behind. Humans couldn’t handle the forty-three year journey, or the horrific psychological isolation of spending that entire time in a tiny box in space with no one but a handful of crewmates… but robots could be programmed with personalities that meshed with each other almost perfectly, and no real need to be able to go “outside” or experience a planetary surface. They’d been able to endure the journey, as no humans could have.

But they had to be connected to their homeworld, to humanity, or how could humanity be sure they’d actually build what they were supposed to? So all of them had been programmed, to some extent or another, to look at their creators as beloved parents. They were adults, out in space on their own, but adult humans, for the most part, still wanted to share their triumphs and their joys with their parents, if they could. The robots had been looking forward to telling their creators all about their trip, and showing off the ansible node they would have built, throughout the entire trip.

“I want to talk to Dr. Blum too,” Aparicu said. “But we’ve waited forty-three years, and she’s waited thirteen since we left by the time the message gets back to her.” Tenses were awkward when talking about time travel. “A few more weeks to make sure we get it right won’t hurt us.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t we look dumb if we had a variance that meant the message lost half its bandwidth, or missed us entirely,” Blue said.

Aparicu intensified her irritation pattern and repeated it for emphasis. “Blue… stop presenting me with hypotheticals!”

He said sorry, but she suspected he wasn’t, really.

#inktober 2020 #alara's october 2020 prompt fics #the interstellar internet

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softstarfire · 3 years

Photo

Secret Apprentice: Chapter 2

Hide and Seek

Chapter 1 / Chapter 3 - (AO3) (FFNET)

Synopsis: Starfire is having trouble hiding things from her friends. As she tries her best to act as normal as she can, she starts to let some things slide and they all notice how weird she is acting. Things get worse after she gets a call from Slade in which he assigns her a mysterious mission. She flies to meet him, leaving her communicator back home. The Titans are confused when they find out she has left it and Robin is filled with guilt because he thinks it's his fault. When Starfire arrives to meet the masked villain she finds out she won't be going solo for this mission. Starfire and her partner are going to do something that she never ever imagined she'd do.

Almost a week had passed since Slade’s and Starfire’s agreement. She hadn’t heard from him and at this point she was getting really nervous. An idea popped into her mind as her team fought an alien invasion of tofu like people: she would go back home and deal with her sister herself if she didn’t hear from him until Saturday, the day that marked a week since they spoke. Since today was Friday, she had to tell him about this no-plan plan she had just come up with asap.

That evening she went home with her friends while her mind tried to find a way to contact him without raising any suspicion from her best friends. Lucky for her, the alien invasion had left a lot of homeless cows in the tower as the Titans called every place they could think of that would take them.

In the main area, her friends were busy calling every farm they could find in their data base. Beast Boy was trying his best to feed the cows and keep the space clean. Starfire stood there, in the back, just a couple of meters away from the main hall that took them to the dorms. She cleared her throat before speaking. “I shall call from my bed. I am most tired”, nobody answered. She stepped back and the automatic doors opened to let her in.

She flew back to her room. When she entered, she sat on her bed. The communicator was under her puff seat. She stared at the device for a while. She sighed, defeated. She had to tell him. So, she bent down and tried to get her hand under the seat. Suddenly her door opened. She fell to the floor, on her knees, pushing the puff seat. The seat fell too, covering the communicator but the photo stayed on the ground. Raven stepped in. “Are you okay?”, the empath asked. Starfire quickly took the photo and hid it inside her hand, turning it into a fist. “Yes, friend, I am well”. Raven nodded at her answer. “Robin said that we both should fly the cows to their new home”, Starfire looked through her window. “One cow at a time?”, she asked. Raven shook her head. “Cyborg has made a platform with chains so we can carry the whole thing with as many cows as we can fit in it. Are you in a hurry?”. Starfire knew that lying to Raven was not a good idea. Her powers allowed her to feel other people in a deeper way, she could notice that Starfire wasn’t telling her the truth. She could even get into her mind and find out about Slade. “Yes, I am. Robin has arranged a new course of training for me to do at sunrise. We have to hurry so I can get the most needed rest”. Raven started walking to the door. “I’ll wait for you at the rooftop”, the half demon walked out of Star’s room. The doors closed and the darkness filled the room again.

Suddenly, something vibrated and made a strange sound. She sat on the floor and picked up the communicator from under the puff. It was ringing. She heard Cyborg calling Robin and Beast Boy for help with the cows on the corridor. It got pretty noisy outside in a second as her team got the cows to the roof. She opened the communicator; there she saw Slade. “Starfire, the preparations are almost done. I need your help for something else. I will meet you tomorrow. I’ll send you the coordinates when the time comes for us to meet. Be ready”. She didn’t even have time to respond. The call ended and she quickly closed the device. Starfire hid it back where it was with the photo. As she walked to her door it opened again. It was Robin this time. “Star, we are ready for you to take the cows to a new farm”, she nodded and was about to past him when Robin quickly grabbed her hand. “Everything okay?”, the question came purely out of curiosity, but for the first time Starfire didn’t want to talk. So, she nodded once more and flew to the rooftop still holding his hand. “Star!”, was the last thing she heard. “Hey, Star! I can get there myself”, the boy wonder laughed a little bit.

She only let him go when they got to the top of the building. “What was that?”, he asked again as their friends secured the last details of the delivery. “Nothing”, she answered. “Sometimes I get lonely when I am flying by myself”, she smiled at him before hugging him. Her arms were around his shoulders. He put his around her waist. “I am always there with you”, he took a step back to point to the communicator that was attached to the belt on her skirt. The one marked with the T. “See?”, she stared at it blankly. “Star?”, Robin didn’t understand why all of a sudden Starfire looked so lost.

“We are ready!”, Beast Boy shouted. Starfire flew to one side of the platform without saying anything else to Robin. Cyborg had made a platform made of metal strong enough to hold 20 cows. Starfire took one chain and Raven the other. The chains were attached to both sides of the platform. They both lifted the whole thing and Beast Boy cheered. “Cy, you made it!”, the shape shifter yelled as the girls flew away. Robin looked at Starfire, she was acting weird. She didn’t make a comment on the cows, nor Cyborg’s last-minute creation. It wasn’t like her to just fly off on a mission without saying goodbye to her friends. Why was she acting like this?

The mission went well. Raven and Star couldn’t really talk. The cows were moving too much and they had to concentrate on getting them to their new home safely. When they came back, they were too tired to even say a word.

At sunrise, Robin waited for the Titans on their private training camp. The whole team gathered there to practice. The leader had created a new course with Cyborg’s help, and this was a very difficult one. Since Starfire asked Robin for help to get better, he started designing a new training program for the whole team. The team wasn’t complete. Starfire wasn’t there yet. She was in her room trying to hide Slade’s communicator in her regular outfit. She didn’t really know where to put it. In her belt, she carried the Titan’s communicator. She tried to disguise it there but a quick look at her and you could clearly see it. She looked at herself in a full body mirror, turning around again and again, trying to see if anyone would notice it if she clipped it to her glove, to her top, to her skirt. But anywhere she put it, everyone would see it. “Starfire?”, Robin called her name from behind the door. She let out a small gasp. Quickly she hid the communicator in the first place she could think of: inside her top. Since it was tightly closed around her neck and on her shoulders, she figured there was no way that thing could fall off. And it looked kind of weird, but she thought that no one would be brave enough to comment how it looked on her chest.

She flew to the door and received her best friend with a big smile. “Greetings, Robin! I wish you a good morning”, she hugged him for a second and flew her way out to the training site. Robin stayed there. He thought that it felt like if she was trying to act like herself, but she wasn't doing well.

The training was about to start. Beast Boy wanted to go first; he was still very excited after he saved the world from the tofu aliens. He jumped to the control center on the side, where Robin was standing behind the computers. “You go second, I think Starfire should go first!”, Robin said to the team, looking at Starfire with a playful smile on his face. The teenage alien flew to the starting point. She looked back at her teammates who cheered on her and then at Robin. “Ready, Star?”, he asked. She positioned herself on the starting line, eyes set on the finish line. Her eyes lit up as she nodded. “3, 2, 1, Go!”, Robin yelled and she flew as fast as she could.

Five rocks came from the ground and flew right her way. She immediately wrecked them apart with her green laser eye beams. Then she avoided fire balls thrown at her from both sides. Two very strong cables tried to pull her back to the start, trapping her arms and legs. She struggled for a second and then used her super strength to pop out of the one around her arms. When her hands were freed, she shot starbolts to the one around her legs. As she did that, lightning bolts started shooting at her. She avoided each and every one of them until she was just meters away from the end.

She turned around to find her teammates cheering her up from the sideline and in that same moment her chest vibrated. Slade was trying to reach her. Her eyes met with Raven’s. The half demon looked shocked. Starfire held her stare on her friend and then she moved her head down to see a small red light shining through her top. She couldn’t think about it for one second more because one lightning bolt shot her in the back and she fell to the ground on her hands and knees. Robin ran to her. “Starfire!”, everyone yelled as they went to check on her.

She lifted her head and looked at Raven again, she could tell the empath had seen something and as the fear filled her mind, she stood up. She looked at her friends for a second, backing off and then flew back to her room.

“Wow, she is not okay!”, Cyborg pointed out. “Dude! She has been acting off for a while now”, Beast Boy added. Robin listened to his team mates carefully, he noticed the same thing about Starfire: she was not acting like herself since the night that Slade got inside his head. “I‘ll talk to her”, the boy wonder walked away. “No! I will, I think I can help her”, Raven stopped him, putting her hand on the leader’s shoulder. “It’s just that we talked after what Slade did to me, so I think that maybe-”, he explained, Raven could feel how tense his body got. “Look, Starfire has been weird since then yes, but I feel like that is not the main reason why she is acting that weird. I felt it when we went to the farm, she avoided talking to me. She has used my powers before, she knows the more she says, the more I can sense when she is hiding something. And even thought she didn’t say much, I know she is”, Robin chuckled and shook his head. “You know Starfire is the most transparent person, she wouldn’t hide anything from us”, Raven just shrugged her shoulders and levitated her way to the alien’s room. Robin came after her, running as fast as he could. And when he got there, Raven was inside looking through the window. She was alone.

“Where is she?”, Robin asked. “I don’t know, Robin. I am telling you-”, Robin opened his communicator and pushed the call button. Raven’s lit up and made a sound but they both heard another communicator in the room. It sounded muted, like it was hidden. They both walked to the bed, Robin picked up one of the pillows and there it was, Starfire’s communicator. He sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Why would she leave it back here?”.

The rest of the team got there. “Something wrong?”, Cyborg asked. Beast Boy walked inside the room and immediately noticed Robin’s attitude. “She left her communicator”, Robin answered. “Why?”, Beast Boy sat next to the leader of the team. “You think she is in trouble?”, Cyborg asked. “It’s my fault. When Slade poisoned my mind, I hurt her, she said that. She asked me to stop and I didn’t let go of her”, Robin’s shoulders relaxed, he looked at the communicator in his hand and he tried his best to stay calm, to keep it together. “Hey, you know Star is a strong girl. She will be okay. Maybe she just needed some time alone to think. Maybe she thought she was okay but today she felt like she wasn’t and that’s fine, she will be okay”, Raven sat on the floor in front of Robin. “Yeah, man, you know she likes to go to the mall, maybe she is there”, Cyborg added coming close to his teammates. “Or she went to get more mustard, you know she loves mustard”, Beast Boy said, trying to make Robin laugh and he succeeded. They all joked around for a while before getting back to training.

Meanwhile, Starfire flew through Jump City’s sky for a couple of minutes just in case. Then she looked at the screen on the communicator to get the coordinates. She had to go to the woods, the threes covered most of that was in the ground, so she used the coordinates to get to the right place. After a couple of minutes using her speed flying abilities, she found a lodge hidden in the middle of the woods. It looked modern and very mysterious even though the windows were almost as big as the ones on the Tower. If the coordinates were right, she was looking at Slade’s place. She flew down and stepped on the entrance. As soon as she got to the door it opened. She entered the house and the door closed after her. Slade was there in the entering hallway. “Hello, my child. I am glad you made it. You kept our secret, right?”, he asked as he guided her to the living room. She nodded and walked with him. The living room had an amazing view of the hidden paradise that surrounded the place. The furniture was elegant, everything was either black or made out of a dark wood that looked so sleek mixed with the darker color. It looked like one of those modern houses she saw on magazines.

“How was your flight? Did you find it easy to get here?”, he asked. “Yes, it is very hidden even from the top, but your message helped me get here with less difficulty”, she answered. As she talked, she could hear a door open inside the house, she heard steps approaching and then a familiar masked face appeared. “Oh, yes! I forgot to mention that you will be having a partner for this particular task”. Slade pointed out introducing her to the guy in the black uniform. “Hi, cutie! Time we had a date just for us, right?”, Red X spoke offering Star his hand. She crossed her arms around her chest as her eyes lit up.

“Calm down, child”, Slade put a hand on her left shoulder as he stood by her side. Her eyes went back to normal and she sighed. “Why must he be here? I can go to any mission you want by myself. I do not trust him”, Starfire stated firmly looking angrier than every time she fought Red X. “He knows just what he needs to know for this mission, and this is a task for two”, Slade walked away from the teenagers. He went to the living area and stopped in front of the big screen in the middle. As he touched the screen to reveal his plan to Starfire he explained: “You see, for this plan I need a distraction but a really good one. Red X has a very powerful suit that will make him almost unstoppable and the skills to trick anyone who gets in his way. While Red X is distracting the people, who will be protecting our target, you will get it out of that place. You know this place; it will be a piece of cake for you and Red X will join you for the great scape”. Red X sat on the big black L couch in front of the TV. “What place is it that you are talking about? And what is the target?”, Starfire got closer to Slade, standing beside him as she looked at the files he was opening. A couple more touches to the screen and a detailed plan with graphics appeared. In the center there was a picture of the Titans Tower. “You two are going to get the T-Ship out of the Tower”.

A/N: I loved Red X’s interaction with Star in the episode X, so I wanted to pay tribute to it by adding the word “cutie” into his dialogue. I love to play with the way he speaks, later you’ll see a lot more of him.

Let me know what you think! Hope you enjoy this episode <3

Chapter 3 spoiler: Who is Red S?

#robstar #redx #starx #starfire #robin #dickkory #robstar ff #robstar fanfic #teen titans #teen titans 2003 #fanfiction #secretapprentice #writing #dickkory week #robstar week

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jackjots · 3 years

Text

#4 Hospitality

Wayward Guide for the Untrained Eye 30 Day Prompt

(This takes place around the first half of Episode 4)

Day #4 @30daysofwayward

CW: Mention of blood (I do not own any other characters or place names outside of Shelby St. Ranger, this is just for fun)

They say practice makes perfect, and over the years I had crafted the perfect hangover. I made some coffee, grateful I’d brought it with me from my car. My car. I groaned, leaning against the counter as the coffee brewed. I called the shop as soon as it opened, and arranged for my car to be towed. They told me what time I could expect it to be done, and as I hung up I realized I should have asked what their hours were. I pushed the thought away. I should just try to get some work done, and then go get my car. Go to the library. Drop off the book. Come back home and work more. That’s all I should do.

I poured my cup of coffee and as I looked at the dark abyss I thought of Prism’s dead eyes. I grabbed some milk from my fridge and poured it in to disrupt the abyss. The clouds of white mixing with the coffee almost had a red tint to it, or was I imagining it? I violently opened my drawer and grabbed a spoon, using it to stir the thoughts away and made the coffee a caramel color. I didn’t love the taste of milk in my coffee, but my mouth tasted sour anyway so it really made no difference.

I sat down at my computer and as soon as the screen blared white at me I turned it off again. I grabbed a pen and paper instead, but regardless of the medium, my head pounded and my words were all dried up. I fetched my mail and didn’t bother opening it. I laid on the couch after taking some pain killers and getting through most of the cup of coffee, and let my thoughts wander back to the night before. I tried to piece together my hunch about Desmond, but once again I was having trouble envisioning him as some sort of criminal mastermind. Also, ripping pages out of a book, slashing tires, and murder didn’t quite line up in my head. And why would it be the chapter on werewolves? It didn’t make sense.

I thought of the person I’d bumped into and sat up. Fur coat. I groaned as my head hurt again and gently laid it back down. I scolded myself for such a silly thought, and decided I needed some water.

After a few glasses and more leaning over my sink just in case, I decided to take a shower. I took a small nap and it was as if my normal brain had come back. I had time for a small meal before I had to start my trek back into town to get my car.

I brought the book, with the intention to return it and be done with the whole thing.

On my walk, I remembered I was missing the town council meeting, with only a moment of regret from my still lingering curiosity. I turned onto the street that became the main drag of town. They’d towed my car back for me, as an expensive favor, since it would’ve been too far to walk, and I’d already paid over the phone. My car was right where I’d left it, with brand new tires. I got in the car and sat for a moment. The curiosity came back in the stillness and quiet of my car. I couldn’t just leave. I had to know.

I walked into the Dead Canary, feeling a little queasy at the memory of running in after seeing Prism just the night before.

“Shelby.” Desmond looked as surprised as I felt that I was there. “What can I do for you?”

“Did Truman Hensley get elected?”

“No.”

“No?”

“The Sheriff is running in her brother’s place. You’ll get to vote after all.”

“Good.”

“And Paul’s doing alright.”

“Paul?” I blinked. “Podcast Paul?”

“You found him last night, with Prism.” He bowed his head gently at her name.

The other body. I had forgotten, in the blur of it all. “Oh. Good. I’m glad he’s not dead.”

He nodded. “Indeed.”

With a touch of uncertainty, I sat at the bar. “Desmond, what happens if Truman Hensley wins? What happens to this town?”

“I wouldn’t be too worried about that.” He said, but he looked away when he said it.

“I am worried. And I’m not sure why.”

“You feel at home here, and maybe you don’t want that home to change.”

I blinked. “Yes, that’s exactly it. Very astute Desmond.” He couldn’t kill anyone, I thought to myself. Why, because he was being nice to me? Like murderers weren’t nice to people sometimes? I shook my head. “I just can’t get over the feeling that something else is happening here.”

“You’re starting to sound like those - what did you call them? Podcasters.” He chuckled. “You may just be seein’ things that aren’t there.”

I sighed and rubbed my face. “Maybe you’re right Desmond. Maybe I’ll just return the book and stop asking why. And just be happy with what I’ve got now.”

“If you keep asking the wrong questions, you’ll keep getting the wrong answers.”

“The wrong questions?” He didn’t say anything, he just stared at me while cleaning a glass, and I decided it was time to leave.

The drive to the library felt like it went by faster than normal. I barely saw the scenery as it spilled out before me. It was as if my vision kept being obstructed by big blurry thoughts: being told rather than listened to about Prism’s death, the censorship of werewolf information, Paul being attacked (or exploded? With crystal shards? Which didn’t even make sense?), Desmond’s possible involvement- I didn’t see the car come around the bend and the world went black.

Irony is getting your car fixed only to wake up to smoke coming from the hood. I looked around. I had, very luckily, been pushed to a road shoulder and had crashed into the wall of the hill instead of off of the road to a tree riddled hillside. No one had stopped, so it was a hit and run. An accident. There was a mass of white coming from the steering wheel. The airbag was deployed, and the red on it surprised me. I checked my nose. It was bloody. I almost laughed at the blood on my hands. With wide eyes, I went over my body with soft pats to make sure nothing was broken. I felt okay, albeit shaky. I shuffled around in my glove compartment to get my cell phone. I’d stuck it in there for emergencies such as this one, and waited for it to turn on while my car made unnerving creaking noises. Once it was loaded, I could see clearly there was no signal. I wasn’t close enough to the valley to make it that way, so I decided to walk back to town.

To say this was a stupid decision was an understatement. The idea of just staying with the car until someone drove by that could help me didn’t even occur to me; I had to move. There was no place to walk on the road. I just clung to the rocky hillside when a car would go by. I was grateful traffic was rather slow, and almost cried when there was a large swatch of road to walk on. By the time I got back to town, the adrenaline had worn off and my whole body felt like someone had punched it. I couldn’t walk home, I decided, I had to just give up at the Dead Canary. It was aptly named. I felt like a freaking Dead Canary.

If Desmond was surprised to see me before, apparently I looked pretty bad this time.

“What happened to you?”

“Car crash.” I said. And then the world went black, because apparently talking was just too much energy I didn’t have.

I woke up in a strange bed. I jolted up and then shrank back down. “Two for one discount.” I heard from the other side of the room. The drunk lump was erect and I realized he was in a lab coat. I thought I’d heard him referred to as a doctor, which I’d taken as a joke, but with horror I realized Henry actually was a doctor.

“What?” I asked.

“Desmond got you a room.” I smelled the air as he wobbled closer. “Are you drunk?”

“Hardly.” “Why did you say two for one?” “Paul? Earlier? With the crystals?” “Ah.” “You’ll be fine. Just a broken nose, some bruising probably. I don’t have another lolly pop.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“I’ll be...I’ll be around if you need any more medical attention.”

Henry left and I was alone in my room. I realized out of nowhere I’d left the book in the car. The car. I groaned and got out of bed. Someone had taken off my shoes, so I put them back on and carefully made my way back to the bar.

“You’re up quick.” Desmond threw a towel over his shoulder.

“I left my car-

“Up on the highway, already got it towed.”

“How did you know?”

“Only one way to go really.”

“True.” I paused as my face throbbed. “Thank you for putting me up.” “No issue.” “How much do I owe you.”

“You stayin’?”

“Probably not.” “How you getting home?”

“Walking.” Even just taking a step now made my body ache and I paused through the pain. “Actually, is it okay if I stay?”

“I’ll charge ya half price.”

I nodded. “Thank you. Can I get some water? And maybe a paper and a pen?”

“What for?”

“I write as a distraction, and I don’t have my notebook or anything with me.”

“I’ll get that for you. Anything else?” “No.”

“Just hang tight.”

The sun was setting, and I thought about trying to call someone for a lift home. But the idea of just staying put til tomorrow was too tempting. And something about having been put to bed, and taken care of, was just simultaneously alien and comforting.

With the paper and pen in my pocket, my glass of water, and some aspirin Henry had fished out of his pocket that I inspected carefully before risking, to my room. I saw a closed door next to mine and wondered who else would be staying there. And then it occurred to me. Of course, Artemis and Paul. The only visitors in this town. I listened in the hallway for a moment, but no sounds were being made. I went into my room and shut the door.

There was a small mirror and desk set up that I sat down at. My reflection startled me. My hair was tangled, there was bruising around my eyes, and blood still under my nose. Great, I thought. Good thing only Desmond and Henry had seen me. I tried to clean myself up a little bit. There was blood all over my shirt. I took it off, relieved I had been wearing a long sleeve shirt over a short sleeve one. My jeans were also spotted with blood, but that was ignorable. I put the pen and paper down on the desk. My head felt a little too wobbly to write just yet, but having the option made me feel better. I’d have to write about the feeling of a broken nose; I knew that would be useful for my main character. I tried to touch it, but winced which made it hurt worse; like a ball of heat in the middle of my face just aching.

I went back to the bed when I heard talking from my wall. I tried to ignore the urge to listen in for a while as I heard the voices were low, but I finally couldn’t help it and pressed my ear up to the wall.

“I’m gunna get a drink.” Said a voice, and footsteps.

And then, “I think I’m a werewolf now.”

First of all, those were really thin walls, but also, what?

What?

#30daysofwayward #waywardguidefortheuntrainedeye #tin can bros #waywardguide #werewolves #fic

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