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mythicalsecretsanta · 4 years ago

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Cohabitation (T)

This gift is for: Rebecca (AKA @arel-rhink)

Happy holidays! Summary: Link is fixated on the physicality of their shared spaces, from childhood to adulthood, he finds comfort in having Rhett by his side.

From your Secret Santa, Cyrene (AKA @killthenaughtyboy)

Link to AO3, or read below:

It’d been a build-up to this, really. An inevitability that they’d end up occupying the same physical space in perpetuity. The realization comforts Link.

Link remembers the first time Rhett had spent the night at his house. It was Link’s first real sleepover ever, actually, and he was nervous but so, so excited to have a friend like Rhett. They stayed up all night long making each other laugh and getting shushed by his stepfather. Link didn’t think he’d ever be happier than that first night together.

But there were many more sleepovers. The ones Link loved the most were the ones at Rhett’s house, when Rhett’s mama would drive them down to the video store to pick out movies and popcorn and candy. Rhett always seemed to know how to pick out the best movies, even if sometimes Link found them to be just a little bit scary.

Of course, it was Rhett who suggested that he and Link make their own movies together someday. After that it was all he and Rhett talked about during their regular sleepovers, coming up with stories and characters as they lay side by side in their sleeping bags. Link was sure they were meant to do great things together. Together.

By the time they were in high school, they still talked about making movies, but now much of their time was spent in a group of friends. In truth, Link missed having Rhett’s attention all to himself. But he’d never admit it out loud.

Camping trips were a regular occurrence. Rhett and Link and all their friends would hike into the woods, crossing the river to find their favorite spot on an island between two streams. They’d stay up late, gathered around the campfire laughing and joking and goofing off. But once the embers of the campfire died down and a chill set in, Link was more than eager to retreat to his sleeping bag.

Of course, he and Rhett always shared a tent. It was a well-won old two-person tent that Rhett’s family had owned for ages. They’d used it a hundred times as kids and it had always seemed so big back then. They didn’t have sleepovers anymore now, they were too old for that, but Link loved their camping trips. It reminded him of all the times they used to camp out in the McLaughlin’s backyard, staying up late and looking at stars through the mesh roof. Even now, as teenagers, Link felt a special comfort in there being just the two of them. He’d fall asleep in his sleeping bag, pressed up against the edge of Rhett’s, knowing that as long as they were together, everything would be ok.

College came and they didn’t make it to film school. But they’d resolved to stay together no matter what, and as they unpacked their belongings into their shared dorm room for the first time Link was absolutely sure they’d made the right decision. The thought of going to film school alone, across the country, while Rhett stayed behind in North Carolina to play basketball made Link’s stomach hurt. They’d figure out a way to make movies no matter what, and that could only happen as long as they were physically together in the same space. Like they were meant to be.

It was the little things about their dorm life that Link cherished most. Sure, there were parties and people and classes and a whole mountain of brand-new experiences to be had, but the time he and Rhett had all to themselves could never be matched. To Link, it was doing laundry together, cleaning the dorm together, and making cheap dinners together that made him truly feel like Rhett was his person. The intimacy of doing simple daily tasks with Rhett by his side made his heart feel full.

The dorm was their own little world and it was absolutely everything they’d dreamt of since they were kids. They filled the space with their favorite things: pictures of Lionel and Merle, posters of their favorite movies, and references to a lifetime of inside jokes only they could appreciate. Most of all, Link loved referring to their shared items as “ours.” Our couch, our ‘fridge, our room. It made him feel warm and fuzzy every single time. Link decided it was a feeling he always wanted to have.

Eventually, they’d moved out of the dorms and into a shared apartment with two other guys. He and Rhett had still decided to share a room though - that choice had been obvious. Despite all the fun they had as a group, Link always looked forward to weekends the other guys were out of the house. When he and Rhett would stay in and rent a bunch of movies and spend the whole night out on the couch in a pile of pillows and blankets. Half the time they didn’t even pay attention to what was on the screen. Instead, they made jokes and laughed and came up with silly scenarios of their own. The things that he and Rhett came up with were always a hundred times more entertaining to him than any movie they could rent.

But eventually college came to an end and they moved on. To separate homes with separate families, separate jobs, and separate lives. It was hard at first, and Link found himself suffocating and stagnant, like he felt himself moving farther and farther away from how he’d envisioned his life. He loved his family, so much, but there was something missing.

Rhett had felt it too. So, they decided they’d make a new oath. That they’d drop everything and come together once a week, just the two of them and create. Anything. A song or a story, a movie idea or a funny video. And Link began to feel whole again. Maybe he and Rhett couldn’t live together forever, that reality had made itself known early, but they could still be together creatively.

And after months and months of hard work, of risks and worrying and hopefulness, they’d decided to take the plunge. They rented a small studio for just the two of them, dedicated solely to making videos, and cultivating their growing internet success, allowing them to create bigger and better things together.

Once again Link found himself fixated on the physicality of their shared space.

They’d decorated the new studio together, spending hours at the hardware store picking out the right shade of green for the walls, gathering items here and there to furnish the space, and selecting important pieces of their history together to represent their joint-ownership of a new business based around their friendship.

As they fell into the swing of things their success only grew, and they spent more and more time together in their tiny studio creating. Sometimes they’d end up sleeping at the studio, frantically trying to make a deadline. They’d take turns napping on the ratty used couch, and Link would fall asleep comforted by the sound of Rhett tapping away at the keyboard just next to him. They were exhausted, but here they were, together, creating. Doing exactly everything they’d promised each other since those first sleepovers so many years ago. Link smiled into the floral print fabric of the couch as he drifted off.

Hours upon hours of hard work and sacrifice and millions of subscribers later they’d decided, together, to make the move to Los Angeles. It was scary and adjusting to life in California wasn’t always easy, but Link had Rhett by his side. They’d packed up everything they’d owned into a van and set out across the country. And as Link fell asleep, tucked in carefully next to Rhett on a shabby motel bed somewhere between Fuquay-Varina and Los Angeles, he thought about how happy his younger self would be to know that they’d made it this far. That they were making good on their blood oath. And that they were well on their way to a life path that involved them being together always.

Over the years they’d shared countless motel rooms. In the beginning, it was always a shared room with a single bed, because it was all they could afford. But Link never minded. Rhett liked to joke that Link slept “with reckless abandon,” but Link truly never felt more relaxed than when he was physically close to Rhett. Eventually their success allowed them to book separate rooms with king-size beds, but they often found themselves opting for a shared suite when possible. It was just easier when they were in the same space, they said. It was more practical. Even when they stayed in separate rooms, they always found themselves lounging together in a single room until it was time to go to bed. It was just an unspoken need to inhabit the same physical space.

Their success grew, and they built an empire around their friendship. Eventually they found themselves with a huge studio and dozens of crewmembers under their employment. Throughout it all they’d maintained a shared office, eventually moving into one with a secret loft space, just for the two of them. But as their productions grew and their crew expanded, they began to crave creative solitude again. At first, they’d rent out a cabin for a week to work on a specified project. It was always the most productive they’d been in a while, allowing them space to be unguarded, joking without upholding a camera-ready persona, or just allowing themselves to settle in to a comfortable silence side by side.

It was Link who first suggested the idea of renting out their own home. A creative house, he said, just for the two of them. No crew, no cameras, no need to be the talent or to be bosses. It had sounded ridiculous at first. An entire house? Who would maintain the yard? Would they need to buy furniture? Stock a refrigerator? But after a few online searches, they eventually decided on a place not far from the studio and their own homes, to see with a realtor.

Link hated how cliché it sounded, but he fell in love with the house at first sight. It was a cute little home with grey stucco and flower pots in the front yard, in a quiet little neighborhood. It had three bedrooms and a pool in the backyard and it took no effort at all to imagine he and Rhett filling the space with themselves. They’d signed a lease agreement that very day.

It was surreal, at first, almost like going all the way back to that very first dorm room he shared with Rhett. There was a giddiness and awe they felt at having their own place, despite the fact that they’d both owned houses and an entire Burbank studio. This was different, it was just for them. Almost a sacred place. A refuge.

They painted the middle room the color of their skin. It was all a part of a bit, something funny and ridiculous and surreal that represented their brand of humor. But the symbolism wasn’t lost on Link. That room represented the physical coming together of their bodies into a shared space. Just like they were meant to be. It was almost like a culmination of the blood oath they’d shared as kids. They did it. They made great things together. And now here, in their new space, they’d continue to make things. As long as they were together, they could do anything.

And just like in that very first studio, Link’s favorite thing was decorating the house. Filling it with representations of themselves. They bought a soft, cushioned black couch and a coffee table shaped like a cassette tape, a custom display rack for Link’s vinyl records, and a beautiful wooden shelving unit that would take up an entire wall. It had been Rhett’s idea that they raid their prop storage facility for more furnishings. It would save some money and they’d have the opportunity to fill the space with some of the quirky items from their past. It symbolized a new beginning filled with treasures from their past.

Eventually Link brought his smoothie machine from home and Rhett brought his yoga ball. They brought bowls for the dogs, and Rhett’s favorite knife. Link brought all of his favorite vinyl albums, to display proudly on the wall. They had everything they needed.

But Link’s proudest moment was decorating the big wooden wall-hanging shelf. While Rhett was at the Burbank studio, Link had spent the whole day at the creative house planning the layout of his shelf. He’d spent days before, carefully selecting items that represented the gamut of their history together. Magazines with Merle on the cover, awards they’d won, gifts from Mythical Beasts, and a more few of the quirky items they’d collected along the way.

Link’s favorite part was the hidden drawer. In it, he’d placed his favorite photos of he and Rhett together as kids, carefully laid flat and framed: the one of them in matching purple gorilla shirts, their special handshake on Rhett’s lawn before their high school prom, and a third photo of them with Ben. Alongside the photos were their two VIP badges from the time they’d met Merle, and finally, their shared artist badge from the Nashville Comedy Fest. To Link, the drawer represented proof that they’d fulfilled their blood oath, and then some. They were his most precious memories with Rhett.

Now, after almost a year in their home together, the once stark white walls and empty rooms glowed with warmth from the items that now filled the space. Like a museum dedicated to their entire life together.

Link considered the house the best idea they’d ever had. Their friendship was stronger than ever and they’d managed to rekindle their creativity and productivity without feeling like they were burned out. The house was a refuge, away from cameras and responsibilities as bosses, a place where they could spend all night hashing out the details of a big project, where they could spend a weekend lounging by the pool, or where they could film a silly video based on a spur of the moment idea.

It was winter now, and the weather was growing cooler, even if by California standards. One evening, Link found himself bundled up on the couch across from Rhett, blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a laptop perched on his knees as he concentrated on a line of dialogue from an upcoming project they were working on. He’d tuned everything else out, but suddenly he became aware of a deep silence in the room. When he looked up, he found Rhett staring at him, a small smile tugging at his lips and a warm in his eyes.

“What?” Link asked, a small grin coming to his own face. He wondered how long Rhett had been watching him.

“Nothing,” Rhett said, shaking his head, his eyes never leaving Link’s. “C’mere,” he laughed, patting the soft couch beside him. “Let’s watch a movie, your pick.”

Link searched his eyes for a second, finding only warmth and comfort. He set his laptop closed on the coffee table and shuffled around to Rhett’s side, fuzzy blanket still draped over his shoulders. Rhett scooted over and made space by his side, resting his arm across the back of the couch so Link could settle in next to him. It was something they hadn’t done since the dorms back in college, but Link fell back into the routine easily. It wasn’t about the movie really, it never was. It was about the physicality of being in each other’s space.

As the opening credits of the movie started to roll across the laptop screen, Rhett leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to the hair above Link’s temple. That part was new for them, but it didn’t take Link by surprise. He settled into the warmth of Rhett’s side, in their shared home, surrounded by memories of the past and plans for the future.

#mythical secret santa 2020 #type: fic #rating: T #gift swap #rhink #submission

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fresafresitawrites · 4 years ago

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oklahoma sunset conversations

hi so heres another creative writing assignment i did! a lil vignette that follows my oc andrew... i have more than can be found here if u wanna read them! i really appreciate anyone reading this... pls read it ... the rest is under the read more!!!

I could have been anywhere else. Maybe on the moon, or inside a Mondrian composition painting, or at that 7-Eleven we passed on the way from the airport, but instead I was in the passenger seat of a rusty Chevrolet watching the Oklahoma landscape cycle past like the backdrop of an old film.

Januarys are reserved for snow days and reclusiveness, but my mom convinced me to accompany my younger sisters to visit their dad’s extended family. The family lives northwest of Oklahoma City, surrounded by nothing but grassy plains and dry trees. The last time I visited, I was twelve years old and still tripping over my English. Something no one in their household hesitated to point out.

I’m trying not to be cynical about it all.

My mom warned me not to be as I lifted my suitcase from the cab, letting it slam down on the concrete outside the terminal at LaGuardia. She reached dainty, pianist hands up to fix the ear flaps of my hat, out of motherly habit. Between breaths of cold was the scent of eucalyptus, the essential oil she’d send me to Rite-Aid to buy for her arthritic wrists.

“Solo será por una semana, Andrés.” Her lips were a thin line. Ma’s intention wasn’t to comfort me, it was to remind me what was expected of me. She poked her lips out to point towards my sisters, Sofi and Eli, who were walking on ahead towards the glass doors. The two walked one behind the other, like birds down a wire. Their pastel-colored parkas would be my way of keeping track of them against the neutral tones of the crowd and the gray New York morning.

My sisters have been to Oklahoma many times, usually with their dad, to visit his brother’s family. In his SUV, the three of them road trip about twice a year to various places where his siblings are spread out. I never go. Our parents were only married for two years, anyway. The first and only time I visited Oklahoma was a few weeks after they married. Ma was still pregnant at the time. Maybe six months along— before we found out they’d be twins. The three of us left after two days into what was supposed to be a week, after an incident where I heard porcelain smash against kitchen tile. My view from the kitchen doorway was Ma’s wild, dark curls and the frozen expression of the brother’s wife, Heidi. Eyes wide, and her lashes fanned out like spider legs.

“You are so ignorant to ask me that!” My mom gritted through her teeth. “I’m marrying him because I want to. I’m nice to you and I help you here and you have done nothing but laugh at me and judge me and I can’t stay here anymore.” She kicked the broken pieces of a #1 MOM coffee mug underneath their cabinets. “Let’s go, Michael. Andrés, arregla tus cosas.”

My mom retold the story on the cab ride to LaGuardia this morning. “Maybe I overreacted.” I noticed a slight smile from her in the rearview mirror.

Sofi and Eli passed out in the backseat within minutes of us settling inside their cousin Noah’s Chevy. The two were awake the entire plane ride, since Eli’s nose started bleeding. She usually gets them during the winter when the heating system dries the air inside the apartment. I should’ve known the high altitude mixed with the dry air would do this. Sofi and I spent almost an hour trying to get her bleeding to stop and her headache to calm down. I let them use my debit card to buy a movie for the rest of the flight.

Noah had the Eagles playing through light static on the radio. Earlier at the baggage claim, I was able to recognize him immediately from the thick, brown eyebrows my sisters also inherited from their grandfather. Noah wore a flannel hoodie over a Johnny Cash t-shirt and jeans stained with industrial paint. A side effect from working at his father’s hardware store.

The afternoon sky curved over the horizon like a lullaby, lacing the clouds orange and yellow. The expansiveness overwhelmed me. Maybe I’d grown used to chasing the view from one end of the island to another.

I was just starting to fall asleep when Noah spoke.

“Hey, Andrew… Andy… can I call you that?” He glanced over after I flinched from his voice. “Oh! Sorry, man. I didn’t realize you were sleeping. You’re probably tired.”

There was a smooth, country drawl to his voice that could put me back to sleep.

“Nah, you’re good.” I stretched my arms and cracked my knuckles. “And yeah, yeah, that’s all right.” We’d been on the road for about an hour and a half, according to the time I called my mom to let her know we arrived. The town was two hours away from the airport, close to the Kansas state line and thirty minutes away from the interstate.

“I heard you’re in school… Do you like it? What are you studying or what’s your major? Are you working too?” He glanced at me. “Oh, sorry! So many questions! I sound like a parent or teacher or something.”

I tilted my head. There was a curious nervousness to him. I flashed to a memory of him where he handed me a Nerf gun and a plastic army helmet and said, “If we break something, we’ll just tell my mom it was the cat.”

“I’m doing mathematics, because I’m good at it,” I replied. “But I don’t know. I don’t know if just being good at it is enough.” I noticed my voice fell so I picked it back up. “Maybe I’ll change it though.”

“You do math? All the time? You chose this?” I usually get this reaction. I smiled.

“What’s the word my friend called me?” I wondered out loud. “A masochist.”

He laughed, easing the energy between us.

“Can I ask what happened here?” He traced a line with his finger from his eyebrow down the side of his head, ending at his cheekbone. “You didn’t have that there before, right?”

I smiled, suddenly excited. “No no no, yeah, this happened almost a year ago. I was with some friends at one of the piers, facing Jersey. My friend, Markus, and I climbed over the railing onto the rocks… oh, this was at like, two in the morning, so no one was really around. Anyway, once we started heading back, I climbed the railing again…” I turned a little so I could sort of face him in the car, using my hands to tell the story even though he was supposed to be focused on the road. “And I slipped, and I guess there was a piece of metal sticking out and it sliced my face. I almost fell into the water too, but my friend caught me.” I leaned in the back seat. “Doesn’t it look cool though?”

“Woah… So… Sorry, it was a railing you said? You slipped? Sorry, sorry, it’s a little hard to understand you from your…”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” I apologized, trying to sound more American and less like a Spanish New Yorker.

“Damn… I couldn’t really tell at first because of the glasses kinda cover the scar, actually. Sorry, I was just curious.”

“It’s fine, really.”

“Sorry if I keep apologizing, man.” He confessed. “I guess I feel sort of guilty. I know it was a long time ago and we’re not really related, like your sisters are with me, but it was kind of a wreck last time you were here, and I feel bad. To be honest, I actually don’t talk to any extended family much. They’re scattered around, as you probably know, and no one ever wants to visit our small town in the middle of nowhere. The ones that do live by are Aunt Karen’s kids, I don’t know if you ever met them…” I haven’t. “But they’re even younger than your sisters, I mostly just end up babysitting them.”

“I get it.” I tilted my head, thinking about it more. My mom and I have not visited Buenos Aires since I was fourteen. “I guess that’s the same with me.”

The radio was getting more staticky, so I fumbled with the needle to find a station that wasn’t playing country music or Christian talk shows while also not sounding a thousand miles away.

“It barely works. I broke the antenna live five years ago. This car is from 1980-something.”

“It’s fine.” I settled on a station playing classic rock. “It’s nostalgic.”

#my writing #writing #writer #vignettes #my vignettes #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr #fiction #fiction writing #creative writing #stories #short story #flash fiction #original writing #writeblr #write #spilled ink prose #prose

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af-answers · 5 years ago

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Four Times Artemis Tried to Convince Holly to go to Mars with him and the One Time he Didn’t

The First Time | The Second Time | The Third Time | The Fourth Time

The Time He Didn’t

Holly arrived at the private airstrip in Italy two weeks later. She’d had to call in two and a half favors to get authorization to go topside without divulging why, but the mountain views alone made it worth the hassle.

The mountain-hedged valley belonged to Giovanni Zito, who’d become a close confidante of the younger Artemis. He was one of the few Artemis had told about the self-winding rocket project, though Holly suspected this was so he could have access to the valley. In an odd turn of events, the launch pad was built not on the landing strip, but in a copse of hot springs in a craggy outcropping to the west.

Fifty meters away and twenty meters up on the strange launch pad, Artemis’s ship gleamed in the noonday sun. As she approached, the polished titanium alloys gleamed in a way Holly could only describe as optimistic. The name of the ship was embossed on the cone in sans-serif script: Ingniculus ex Decorum. She smirked to stem the tears pricking her eyes. Artemis was being sentimental. She never thought she’d see the day.

A couple humans she didn’t recognize circled the spacecraft, squinting through the glare and marking on clipboards. She hovered above the craft, still shielded, until they cleared the hatch, then flew through.

She heard Artemis before she saw him.

“I appreciate your concern signor,” she heard Artemis say from the bridge, “but I’m confident in my calculations.”

“As am I, il mio giovane amico.” Zito’s accent was accentuated by the speaker phone. “But you’re not running a test, you’re risking your life. I’d like it to be as slight a risk as possible. And don’t worry, the engineers have signed multiple NDAs. If any scrap of their future research resembles your magnum opus in any way, they’ll be paying for it from jail cells for the rest of their lives.”

Holly dropped to the ground and took off her helmet as she walked down the narrow galley path. She looked up and around the cylindrical compartment: this would be Artemis’s home for the next five years. It could have been her home, too. She snorted softly and shook her head.

“I appreciate your loyalty, Giovanni,” Artemis chuckled. “Though if this technology succeeds, I plan to make the blueprints open source. I suppose as long as they’re here, I can consider their opinions.”

“For once, I hope I am wrong and there is no need for concern.”

Holly knocked on the ovular doorframe.

“Ah,” Artemis said from the captain’s chair, his back to her. “I have a guest. I’ll see you in five years, my friend.”

“Call before then, you son of a jackal!”

Now he laughed. “Of course, ciao.”

As soon as the call ended, the doors behind Holly slid shut. Artemis turned the captain’s chair to face her. His blue eyes sparked with a rare energy, a kiddish glee he never showed in his actual boyhood. Her eyes widened when she noticed his space suit. It looked almost exactly like a padded, fire retardant LEP containment suit, except light blue and grey instead of green and brown. For some reason, the connection made her chest clench.

“Commodore! Thank you for coming.” He pivoted the co-pilot’s seat toward her. “It means a lot. Please,” he motioned to the chair.

Holly flitted over, not trusting her legs not to shake. “To be honest, I almost didn’t,” she said. “You were so hellbent on my coming along, I thought you might commit an encore kidnapping.”

To his credit, Artemis recognized the joke. “As tempting as that is, I couldn’t handle twelve hours of angry fairy, not to mention sixty months.”

“Damn right.” She hoped he didn’t hear her throat constrict on the last word. To be honest, she did have doubts about staying behind. She’d actually packed a bag before coming to the surface, just in case she decided to go after all. In the end, she’d forced herself to leave it behind.

“Who else is in the farewell party?” she asked before she fell too far down the rabbit hole of doubt.

“Besides Zito’s surprise inspectors? No one. Butler is talking with Juliet at the moment, but I wasn’t allowed in on the call as it might blow her cover somehow.”

“What is she doing?”

“Not a clue.”

A pause.

“So— no family, then?” she asked.

He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, there never would have been. Mother will be livid, of course— this will be the third time I’ve left without warning, and will be my longest departure to date. I left them all digital messages, though, and a way to call me in space, solar flares willing. Speaking of—“ he leaned behind him and plucked what looked like a high tech monocle from the dash. It was, in all actuality, a tiny screen held in front of the eye by a wire attached to an ear piece.

“It can also interface with other mobile devices,” he explained, “but only the monocle’s receptors can pick up on this ship’s signal.”

She accepted it, cradling the hardware in her lap. It would fit her perfectly, she could tell. He made this specifically for her, which he wouldn’t have done if he’d believed she was coming with him. Even though she’d rejected his offer, he still wanted to share this adventure with her. Why did her decision, which was so obvious in the beginning, feel like a betrayal now?

“I’m sorry.” The words cut through Holly’s fog of thought. She looked up at him, confused.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, “for making this separation harder on you than it should be. I never should have been so insistent. I was so consumed with how much I needed you— still need you. You’ve always been the best of me.” He laid his head back against the head rest, staring up at the ceiling. “But I made your decision all about me, and I’m sorry.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. “Haven needs you. And though they don’t know it, humanity needs fairies like you, too. To put myself over the needs of the many shows I haven’t grown as much as I thought.”

She pursed her lips. Though he was haughty and smug, Artemis was one of the most humble humans she’d ever met. He was always the first to admit his shortcomings, and he constantly worked to change them. Sure he was a pain, but he was also her best friend, and rightfully so.

“I wanted to go,” she admitted. When he squinted at her, she clarified. “With you, to Mars. Going to another planet isn’t something I’d thought about before, but if you were going to space it seemed natural I’d be going, too. We’re part of each other, Artemis,” she gestured between them. “Two sides of the same coin. Even though you don’t have my eye anymore, that hasn’t changed. And that’s part of the reason I can’t go. The two of us, sharing close quarters for so long? We’d either kill each other, or—” she took a deep, steadying breath. “I told you once I couldn’t do without you.”

Mention of that strange chapter of their friendship made Artemis go very still, and she wondered off-handedly if he was holding his breath.

“And I haven’t had to do without you, for years. We haven’t been apart longer than a month since…” she bit her lip. Thinking about the six months he had been dead still hurt. “But though we’re stronger together, we don’t need each other. You’ve always had that spark of decency, even before I came along.”

He grinned. “So you approve of the ship’s name?”

She shrugged. “It seems a bit self aggrandizing.”

“That wasn’t my intention, it was supposed to be a dedication to—“

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, her coy smile cutting him off.

“You’re joking,” he realized, his frustration deflating.

“Yes, and I love the name.”

His gaze dropped to the communicator in her hands. “Now I hope more than ever those are functional.”

“What’s this?” She tilted her head. “Artemis Fowl isn’t sure of his programming abilities?”

He rewarded her with a classic vampiric grin. “It won’t happen again.”

Setting the monocle on the armrest of the co-pilot’s chair, she flew over and pulled him into a hug.

His grin shrank to a warm, genuine, one as he carefully returned the embrace. Not that he was afraid of hurting her, but as a full-fledged human adult, hugging tiny fairies presented a unique challenge. “I’m going to miss you, Holly,” he said, hooking his chin over her shoulder.

Hot tears stung her eyes when he used her name, and she curled her arms tighter around his neck, threading her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ll miss you too, Mud Boy.”

A few minutes later, the baffled engineers informed Artemis the ship was sound and ready to fly, to the best of their knowledge. Artemis had smirked at the phrase. He and Butler shook the strangers’ hands before boarding the ship for the final time (for two and a half years). As the two entered, a shielded Holly disembarked, grazing her friends’ elbows as she passed them. They all smiled knowing smiles as the hatch hissed shut.

Holly hovered a few feet away from the two engineers, all necks craned back to watch the launch.

Artemis had designed the tall launching platform to artificially compress a geyser beneath the ship to a meticulously timed breaking point. When the countdown on the inside of her visor reached zero, a column of water erupted from the pad, catapulting the ship into the air much like the hot air pushed a shuttle pod up a chute. One of the engineers yelped, realizing until very recently he’d been standing on all that pressurized power.

Holly waited with bated breath as the water flew hundreds of meters up before being reclaimed by gravity, waiting to see if the ship would succumb to the same fate. The craft, now but a speck in the cerulean sky, wavered for a few tense moments as gravity fought for dominance. Finally, the engine took over and the ship darted at a shocking speed up into the atmosphere.

When Artemis finally called her she was still at the launch site, lounging in a hot spring with her suit thrown over a tree branch overhead.

“I’m not even gone two hours and you’re already on vacation, commodore?” he asked. Though she’d been careful not to engage the “visual” half of the audio-visual headset, he could still hear and thus deduce where she was.

“Not even gone two hours and you’re already checking in, mud boy?” she teased.

“To be honest, I thought you would have called me an hour ago,” he said. “It was a highly unorthodox launch, Holly. The first of its kind. I thought you would, at the very least, be anxious to know we escaped Earth’s orbit unharmed.” She didn’t have to see him to know he was pouting. And he didn’t have to know she’d been monitoring every news site on or under the earth for reports of mysterious explosions in the upper atmosphere. True, she could have gotten the news straight from the horse, but she was curious how long it would take him to call her.

She shook her head with a smile. She had spoken too soon when she said she would miss him, and presumed too much when she thought even parsecs could keep Artemis Fowl and Holly Short apart.

After their chat, she received an image file. The first was a photo of Artemis and Butler in zero gravity, which she promptly saved to her home server. The second was a picture of a second self-winding spacecraft, this one named The Commodore. It came with a note. Under an address in Switzerland, Artemis had written, “In case you change your mind.”

Holly grinned.

#artemis fowl #holly short #fanfic #The Fowl Twins Spoilers #mild spoilers #last chapter

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daybreak-delusion · 4 years ago

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Chapter 9

Introduction: Whitney Goodwinson was planning on inheriting one of her deceased grandmother's properties, but not a little house off the coast of North Carolina. As she struggles to meet new people, fix up her new property, deal with troublemaker JJ Maybank, and perfect her grandmother's infamous lemonade, she might just find that the Outer Banks has more to offer than it seems.

Series Masterlist

Previous chapter

I want to say that on Sunday I was totally independent and was totally not missing the presence of a certain golden boy at all, but I’d be lying to myself. It wasn't a complete waste of the day though. I did manage to drive the Bee (my new nickname for the Volkswagen) to the hardware store that I saw yesterday and picked up some essentials for fixing up the house. Blue tape, a bunch of paintbrushes and rollers, a couple of gallons of primer and white paint, drop cloths, this anti-rust spray for the garage, about a million trash bags, and some other items that I had to pre-order. The store had limited options for paint so I had to order some from a manual and it would be coming later this week. I figured I would stick to the yellow/lemon theme that she had going on and picked a shade of light yellow. Since the paint should be arriving in a week I had time to get everything situated. Somehow I managed to shove everything into the Bee and make it home. I mean back to the Lemon House. Back at the house, I placed all of my new equipment on the back porch and then headed to the garage. My task for today was going to be cleaning out the garage. I parked the Bee closer to the house so I could have more space and started to realize the trouble I was in. There was just so much junk and the last thing I wanted to do was find the pests that had made a mess of the place. I decided to change into a more suitable outfit for the deep cleaning I was about to do. After switching my sandals for some sneakers and putting on some leggings I made my way back to the garage with a trash can, recycling bin, and a box of trash bags. It was gonna be a long day.

The boxes were filled with all kinds of things. There were old suitcases filled with clothes, rusty pans with ancient stains on them, old fashioned jewelry, and a bunch of old photographs that were in good shape. I was really conflicted about what to get rid of and what to keep. I decided to ditch the pans and pots seeing that they were out of shape. I kept the clothes in case there was a thrift store I could donate them too. Most of the stuff could also be given to thrift stores or antique shops, but there was one box underneath this ancient-looking blanket that seemed different from the others. First of all, it was an actual wooden box, not like the cardboard boxes that had held all of the other items. Unfortunately, there was a lock on the box and it wouldn't open. I didn’t want to break it in case I broke something in the box. Then I remembered the bulletin board where I found the car keys. Walking over to it there were a bunch of different labels for different keys, but one of them didn’t have a label. I figured it was my best bet. Thankfully it was a pretty good bet. When I opened it, a disgusting spider the size of one of Grandmother's lemons crawled out and I bolted out of the garage screaming, knocking over a few boxes in the process. It took me a couple of minutes to calm down and I reluctantly walked back into the garage with a baseball bat I found in my hands. I was shaking as I started to open the box again until I was sure the spider had disappeared. In the box were a bunch of misshapen things covered in old linen cloth and unfortunately spiderwebs. Not wanting to be in the pest infested room anymore I decided to take a break and bring the chest on to the porch. It was a lot lighter than I expected and stained my gray shirt with dust. I placed it on the porch and went inside to grab a damp cloth to clean off the dust. Sitting on the porch I cleaned the box and opened it again. The first misshapen item was a gold locket in good condition, I was excited to see what was in the compartment only to find it empty. The next item was a silver ring with a crop of wheat engraved on it. It was a bit bulky for my taste and definitely had belonged to a man at one point. I slipped it onto my thumb and thought it looked nice with the rest of the rings that I had on. Then at the bottom of the box was an old cracked leather journal with yellow pages. On the bottom right-hand corner the name Elenora Stanton was engraved in gold letters. I instantly knew this stuff belonged in a museum or something the date on the first page was from April 1843.

“Holy shit,” I whispered to myself stroking my hand across the faded ink. The writing was in a small cursive that I could barely make out. It would be easier to read with a magnifying glass. I carefully wrapped the leather-bound book in the white cloth and placed it back into the box. Walking inside I cleared a space for it on the table and set the box down. Thankfully from my knife search when I was making lemonade I got an idea of where everything was in the kitchen and I remembered seeing a magnifying glass in a drawer with a bunch of other random items. I brought it over to the table and opened the old book again. Thank god Mother made me practice writing in cursive or this would have been a nightmare.

23 April 1843

Dear friend as of today, I am eighteen years of age and now get to embark on the responsibilities of an adult. I had received many good wishes of health and good tidings for my birthday and my dearest younger sister Juliana gifted me my most favored gift, this diary. I was also gifted a new church dress from Mother and Father and Aunt Alice promised to take me into town to buy a new corset. She said that all adult women should own a suitable corset and if I am to live with her and Uncle Harry this summer it would be an absolute necessity for me to own one. Mother wishes I would stay home and help care for my younger siblings, but I find it absurd that she puts the task of looking after them on me. If Mother feels too overwhelmed with her offspring then she should simply just hire a nanny. I pray that whoever she hires will be able to keep her sanity after a week of working with my siblings or perhaps Juliana will have to bear my burdens. No matter I mustn’t worry about my family anymore. I am an adult as of today and now am able to focus on the wishes of my own heart. In all truthfulness, my wishes are few in number, but this summer I hope to make more. Aunt Alice says that Outer Banks is a marvelous island and I count the days until we depart. Nonetheless, I still have time to prepare for my departure, till next time dear friend!

30 April 1843

Dear friend this week has been excruciating. Father is beginning to go back on his promise to let me live with Aunt Alice this upcoming summer. He is skeptical of the owner of the island being a colored man and all, but Aunt Alice says that to be truly Christian we must see and treat all people as the children of God and that my father is little-minded. I would never speak to Father with such forwardness so to help my case I have been taking on extra tasks and duties around our home. Juliana has been accompanying me in my tasks as she will be taking over my responsibilities as I predicted. She is quite a quick learner and I’m sure she will be able to manage all of my duties when I leave for the summer. Today we-

The rest of this entry was just explaining all of the chores that Elenora and Juliana had to do on a daily basis. I was incredibly fascinated with the diary and was confused as to why it was in Grandmother's garage? I am interrupted from my thoughts by a buzz coming from my phone on the table. I placed a stray piece of paper where I left off and reached for my phone. Checking my phone I noticed a text from an unknown number.

U/N: Hey Whitney it’s Sarah! My friends and I are going to the beach tomorrow afternoon! I remember you said your board was coming in tomorrow, but if you don’t have it yet John B has an extra one you could borrow! BTW this is nonnegotiable you are coming! We’ll be by at 1. See ya then!

Oh thank god, I was so scared it was going to be Rose Cameron inviting me over for brunch or something.

Also, my mom wants to know if you can do brunch sometime.

Great. Oh well, I guess there could be worse things than free food.

Me: Tell your mother that brunch this Saturday will be fine and I would love to go to the beach with you guys! About the board, I’ll be sure to let you know if I need it or not.

Sarah: Sounds like a plan and be by your dock at 1

Me: Got it see you then!

I was excited to finally have plans that didn't involve me having to wear a dress. I just hope that my board would get in before the afternoon, I’d hate to have to be a bother. I eyed the journal and decided to continue reading. What else did I have to do?

The next few entries were about Elenora’s daily life. Taking care of her siblings, washing the laundry, having tea with her mother’s sewing group, and walking through town with her friends. It was starting to become boring until an entry from June 3rd.

3 June 1843

Dear friend today is the day! I am finally leaving this simple town and am leaving with Aunt Alice and Uncle Harry to The Outer Banks of North Carolina. My soul has reached happiness beyond my comprehension. All of those days of labor around the house finally served a purpose in my measly life. Now I will be embarking to a new place where hopefully anything can happen. Nonetheless, I will not be staying there without a purpose, I am to work in Uncle Harry’s tailor shop mending minor rips and sewing on buttons and such. Mother and father are still reluctant for me to leave our household, but Aunt Alice is most persuasive especially when her favorite niece is involved. We will leave today at noon and then will stay in a tavern closer to the ferry we will take tomorrow. I am just jittery with excitement, this will be a new area for me to explore and I cannot wait to see where it takes me! Till next time dear friend!

It was so strange that this lady, Elenora, was so excited to come to Outer Banks, and just two days ago this was the last place I wanted to be. Maybe I was being a bit ungrateful, maybe this place had more to offer than it seemed. I was absolutely fascinated with the diary, but for real why did Grandmother have it? Maybe she bought it in an auction or it was a gift or something. Looking at my phone for the time I realize it’s a quarter past 1 and I still need to clean out the rest of the garage. Sighing, I closed the diary with a makeshift bookmark and left the house. Bagging up the clothes took the longest, but with the music playing, I didn’t really mind it that much. I had also gotten used to the heat, kind of, so it wasn't completely unbearable. After cleaning everything out and dusting some of the hard to reach corners I decided to power wash the garage. It was disgusting, but it had to be done. The garage was still wet so I decided to bring the remaining boxes to the porch. I was definitely done cleaning for the night and needed some relaxation time. So I cooked up some pasta and steamed vegetables and sat down for dinner. As I was eating my lonely feelings were coming back to me. I was craving company and turned to the diary for something to do.

10 June 1843

Dear friend, I have been staying with Aunt Alice and Uncle Harry for a week now and it has been a thrilling experience. On the ferry ride to the island Uncle Harry let us sit on the top deck and it was exhilarating leaning over the edge to see the water. The shop that Uncle Harry owns is the only tailor shop on the island so they are always busy. We stay in the apartment space above the shop and one of the windows in the parlor gives the most breathtaking view of the ocean. It is so vast and wide that I feel as if I am a small button on a white collared shirt. The apartment is quaint, but I have my very own quarters! There is so much space that I felt quite foolish when I only had my small bag to fill up the drawers. However, Aunt Alice says that if customers are satisfied with their work they sometimes pay extra and that I can keep the excess money for myself! Me owning my own money! It will truly be thrilling I know it. I pray that my skills will be adequate for the shop and that I will exceed my skills. There is still more work to be done, so until next time dear friend!

19 June 1843

Dear friend, I thought that my experiences here on this island could not have been better, but I was proven wrong! This week has been most eventful. It all began on Monday the 13th in the tailor shop. Denmark Tanny, the owner of practically the whole island, came into the shop. He was accompanied by his eldest son Robert Tanny and as they were discussing business with Uncle they mentioned the expertise work on the stitching of a new suit and it was my own work! Thankfully Uncle gave me the credit and I had the pleasure to make their acquaintances. They were truly delightful people and invited us to tea that coming Wednesday at their residence at Tannyhill. Their home was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen in my existence. It was a mansion. I felt so quaint in my three-year-old Easter dress compared to the lavish home. The Tanny family was most welcoming and tea went by too fast. The conversation was most interesting, although I did not speak much. They talked of the economy and politics and I was too mature on the subject. However what was most interesting was during the conversation I prayed my mind was not presuming it, but Robert kept looking in my direction. Looking back on the occasion I should not be assuming such things, but one cannot help themselves when the presence of an attractive male is in the room. When he smiles I feel nothing, but sunshine and complete bliss. The feeling magnifies when he smiles in my direction. I was anticipating our next meeting, however, Mr. Tanny did not come into Uncle’s shop for the rest of the week. Not all hope was lost however because today after our church services Robert Tanny asked to accompany me on my walk home. I almost fainted with excitement, however, I kept up my studious facade and accepted. On the pathway home, we talked of nature and the ocean. To my disappointment we arrived at the shop rather quickly however, Robert promised to take me to the beach to search for shells so that I may decorate my quarters. I am counting the second until this Thursday comes along. Until next time dear friend!

I wanted to keep reading, but I noticed it was past midnight and I still had a lot to do tomorrow. JJ would be by and I had a list of things for him to get done. I also needed to get enough rest if I was going to go surfing and I didn’t want to be the one lagging behind. Elenora’s diary was just gonna have to wait. As I fell asleep I tried to imagine myself in Elenoras place, wonderstruck about Outer Banks, and starting a relationship with a true gentleman. Oh, how things have changed. Still, the name Tanny sounded really familiar to me, especially their house, Tannyhill. This all did take place on Outer Banks, so maybe some of the places Elenora was talking about still exist. I would have to save it for another day because for now, I needed as much beauty sleep as I could get.

a/n: Hey guys sorry I haven’t updated in a while I am on vacation and have been going through a bit of writers block. But I am revived and am so excited to finish this story. Also like PLOT TWIST can’t wait for you guys to read what’s next! I’m still on vacation so I’ll try to update when I can.

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a-very-fond-farewell · 5 years ago

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The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 18/?

University AU: “Negative Space”

[ok so, self projection is a bitch, but I am petty to myself on a regular basis so it’s ok]

[title is from the Japanese concept “ma”, which Wikipedia describes as:

“a Japanese word which can be roughly translated as ‘gap’, ‘space’, ‘pause’ or ‘the space between two structural parts.’ In traditional Japanese arts and culture, ma is more carefully defined as the suggestion of an interval. It is best described as a consciousness of a sense of place, with the ‘intervals’ suggested often being more than simple gaps, instead focusing on the intention of a negative space in an art piece.

Ma is not necessarily an art concept created by compositional elements, such as the literal existence of a negative space. Instead, the intention is often to create the perception of an interval in the viewer experiencing the elements forming an art piece, making maless reliant on the existence of a gap, and more closely related to the perceived experience of a gap.

Ma has also been described as ‘an emptiness full of possibilities, like a promise yet to be fulfilled’, and as ‘the silence between the notes which make the music’.”

Fun fact: “ma” also means “but” in Italian, which is what usually follows whatever intrusive thought may plague my mind. Eg: “I may be useless now, BUT just you wait until I get some dopamine to get me through this shitty times.”]

Wei Ying never asked for much in his life. He’s content with cleaning classrooms and toilets and nobody can beat him at wiping the marble floors if he works hard enough. Granny Wen, his supervisor, is slightly impressed with his ability to make the wood shine for ages to come. His nephew Jin Ling sometimes comes to check on him when he’s done with senior classes or cram school in the evening, and together they sit down and listen to whatever his older friends in music production came up with during the day. Jiang Cheng occasionally would ask him to keep him company while he grades papers and they bitch about ZiXuan and his inability to dote on their sister. The cafeteria ladies are always nice to him and they give him extra congee because they worry for his questionable consumption of spice products.

He’s fine, really.

So why can’t he stop wandering over to the science building these days? Looking for a clean board to use, for an equation to finally solve? Even if in the end he just takes the chalk in hand and simply stares down at the inky surface in front of him, unable to write. His mind working on a software too advanced for the hardware that constitutes his brain.

Thirteen years. It has been already thirteen years and yet it feels like yesterday, or like it never happened at all. Like it has yet to be. Time blindness is a bitch to deal with, yet dyscalculia and ADHD makes a joke out of you when you love math on a visceral level... but you burned too bright too fast and now you function on no data and with an even shittier signal. Having a burnout at 23 should have taught him humility instead of pride, but Wei Ying has always worked out of spite and certain habits are difficult to forget.

Couldn’t put the number in the right order, switching digits left and right since he was young? Fine. Numbers were concepts anyway, entire civilizations working their magic without even knowing what “zero” stood for. A brain steaming with a million ideas per second? Good. New connections brimming with ideas he could use to better the world.

It worked fine until he let himself down. Until he became a useless empty lighter, a wet match tossed out, carbon monoxide in the air.

Dropped out before finishing his very ambitious, highly dangerous for his psyche, thesis project. Aunt Yu never forgave him for that, not after paying for his advanced classes, not after trusting Uncle Jiang and supporting him despite his many flaws. What good is being first of your class every year, poster child of a teaching system done right, graduating bachelor at 21, if you can’t finish your master at 23 and get your PhD at 25 and start teaching by 27 and drive yourself insane in the process?

Wei Ying dropped out and didn’t finish his master, didn’t enroll in the teaching program, and let everyone down. His Uncle and Aunt looking down on him, whether out of pity or shame. Jiang Cheng may have been the one leaving him behind, but he used to be the one saying “you should have tried harder”. YanLi worrying over him when she should have focused on her career first. Jin Ling growing up with stories of his uncle “not being worth the money put into his education”, taught to not disappoint and make his family proud. The Jin side, that is.

And now the kid comes crawling in defeat to him instead of Jiang Cheng after bombing a test in high school. And they chat of what he would like to do and how much he likes sports and how much he despises the idea of getting a scholarship for that and being called stupid or something by his classmates. And he cries when he thinks Wei Ying cannot see him as he leaves the campus late at night.

Wei Ying didn’t even want to solve that impossible theorem he fixated on in his early twenties. His thesis project was inconsequential in the great scheme of things and his professor only wanted him to be his one trick pony in the end. No. Wei Ying wanted to teach math in elementary school, hell... even in kindergarten. He wanted to change the approach to the subject. Because numbers cannot be taught like language is and there are many ways to teach how to sum up digits and divide quantities and there are no rules on how to make sense of space either.

But how can he teach when even time eludes his senses?

Something that nobody can define, but certainly most perceive as linear... but not him. Not since his brain fried up in his attempt to function like a normal human being.

After thirteen years nothing has changed.

Until one day he hears something else aside from his usual intrusive thoughts and burdensome memories. A melody so quiet he almost mistakes it for the wind, coming from the music building.

He walks slowly, night surrounding him like the embrace of a friend as he makes his way to the traditional musical instruments room. The one where Jin Ling’s friends meet sometimes as they wait for the younger boy to join them. Wei Ying holds his breath as he spies through the gap of the door left ajar, neon light slicing his face like moonbeams as he peeks in and recognizes Jin Ling’s friends and another figure sitting on the ground, guqin on their knees.

But before he can lean in and breathe in the vibrant sounds all around, the door opens and music theory Professor Lan finds Wei Ying clutching his mop for dear life.

They said the man could see colors within the notes, that he despises language outside of his class or office and that only his brother, the history of art TA, could convince him to talk every now and then.

If numbers were created to measure space, Wei Ying firmly believed music had been invented to make sense of time and count its seconds in rhythm and notes, pauses and beats. Yet, time seems to stretch to a stop as the janitor focuses all of his attention on professor Lan’s stern face and his heart quickens its pace.

Wei Ying takes a rushed breath and dives right in with a weird sense of hope pumping in his veins. A small, timid voice whispering that life is not made to be atoned, but to move on and grow.

One step at a time.

“I’m Wei Ying, Professor Lan. May I listen while you play?”

Yes, maybe it will be enough just to let time flow at its pace.

Whatever rhythm that may be.

[some hcs down below]

WWX does not magically solve the math theorem. he may or may not help kids figure out how to use numbers on the long run tho. no, he will still work as a janitor and there’s nothing wrong with that.

yes, LWJ is autistic and stimms and finds WWX’s honesty soothing. yes, you can add your hcs on the matter. he has synesthesia, but more on the grapheme-color side of the deal than anything else and he sees certain letters/numbers/notes in different colors. people think he can see colors in music, but they misunderstood and thought he could recognize different hues while listening to music instead of reading it.

JC has grown since his uni years and doesn’t resent WWX anymore. he teaches astrophysics as a TA and doesn’t pressure his brother to pick his studies up anymore. WWX has mixed feelings about this: he feels he’s a lost cause, to the point not even his brother spurs him to best himself anymore, but he is grateful for the patience anyway.

LXC is the official LWJ translator of the campus along with their cousins SiZhui and JinGyi. he bonds with WWX and JC over how tired they are, seldom staring at flies roaming above them in the cafeteria bc none of them can even move. he lives on caffeine and regrets, but he’s getting better as he develops a love for his plant babies and tries to not let them die on a daily basis.

Wen Ning and Wen Qing are little overachievers and adrenaline junkies, hence their competitive streak on their way to their third master degree just for funsies. they scare people with how driven they are, but the juniors love them.

NMJ is the one to go to if you need to get away with murder, but JGY will actually be the one helping you dispose of the body. the fact that they both work in criminal law is somewhat both reassuring and disquieting. they hate each other and yet cannot stop hang out, they are close to 40 and need the rivalry to keep going anyway. nothing beats a good nemesis. not even sex. maybe.

NHS has failed his entrance exam to become a nurse too many times to count, but he is determined to see the end of it. even if he could potentially work in the family business, but he doesn’t know anything about managing an empire of bricks and he doesn’t care. if NMJ could run away, well, so can he.

MianMian is Wei Ying’s bestie and has the biggest crush on JGY’s sister A-Su the kindergarten teacher, but since they are childhood besties she doesn’t know how to approach her. she is Jin Ling’s idol and a certified boxer and refers to herself as a useless bisexual. Wei Ying boxes with her sometimes, she always win.

YanLi is an equestrian mum, but in the best way possible: she coaches children for shows and teaches them horses should be loved and feared equally and that if you want to shoot arrows from a running horse you should always, ALWAYS let go of the stirrups the moment the beast gets too unhinged to ride. JC fears her, WWX is only glad she didn’t train police dogs for a living.

ZiXuan actually loves his wife, but WWX and JC question his career choices and the fact that he’s a retired lawyer spending his family fortune while he’s a stay-at-home dad and does all the housework. WWX and JC believe he should give their sister a better life and work his ass off to deserve her, but he does make amazing rice cakes and keeps up with Jin Ling’s studies and is very supportive of his dreams.

A-Qing and Song Lan are siblings and sometimes bring JC food from the campus cafeteria where they both work at, while Xiao XingChen and his carer Xue Yang work with LXC for a project on accessibility for visually impaired visitors of the local museum. JC and LXC work to make Song Lan and Xiao XingChen fall for each other, but the youngsters are too protective to let them play matchmaker so easily.

[this is all for now. please, if you want, add your own headcanons!]

#mdzs #cql #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs/au: modern #mdzs/au: uni #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #nieyao #xicheng #wangxian

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years ago

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Strange Fates

Pairing: None at the moment

Warnings: nope

A/N: This series will feature polyamory, sex, and language amongst other things. Warnings will be placed on individual chapters. Except for language. Just assume it’s in everything. This series is going to be a hell of ride. Enjoy.

Chapter One - Welcome to New Orleans

New Orleans. You’d fallen in love with the city the first time you’d visited when you were twelve years old. Over the years you and your grandfather had made the trip many times. It seemed as if he knew every bit of history that lived in that city. He had you looking at it with new eyes every time you visited.

This time, however, you were making New Orleans your home. Your ailing grandfather had finally passed away about six months ago. He’d left you everything in an ironclad will. The rest of your family was furious. But they hadn’t been the ones taking care of him as the cancer ate away at him. They barely even came to visit, let alone do anything actually useful. You had acted as his primary caregiver until the very end.

You’d never fit in with the rest of your family. You were your father’s daughter. The byproduct of an affair had in the year before he married the woman you spent your childhood believing was your mother. Your father died when you were twelve and she had wasted no time informing you that you weren’t her problem. And your sister had been quick to help push you out the door.

Your grandfather had been there to pick up the pieces and made sure you knew that there was at least one member of your family that loved you unconditionally. Your sister Emily was his granddaughter as well, but he barely tolerated her. He always said she was too much like her mother. And you guess she’d proved that when he got sick. They certainly showed up when it was time to read the will though. Assholes.

You sighed and gripped the steering wheel a little harder. Reaching over, you turned up your music and let yourself get lost in the rhythm. This move was about making a new start and you didn’t need to worry about them anymore. Your grandfather had made sure of that. You’d sold his house, packed up his stuff and transferred all the funds. You would never have to step foot in that stupid little town again if you didn’t want to.

It wasn’t long before you were pulling up in front of the little house you’d purchased. It needed some work, but you were already in love with it. And you’d never been afraid of a little bit of hard work. Four men got out of a car down the street when you pulled up. You recognized one of them as the mover you’d hired a few weeks ago to help unload the truck. It was good to be home.

***

You spent the majority of the day directing the movers in the placement of furniture and boxes. When that was finished, you made a trip to the hardware store and picked up some of the supplies you needed. There was no point in unpacking a room just to have to move everything to do the work. By the time you’d done all that and made sure your bed was set up, you were exhausted. You’d grabbed some dinner while you were out, but now you wanted nothing more than an ice cold beer. Surely, you’d earned one by this point.

Remembering passing by a bar within walking distance earlier, you decided that would work just as well as anywhere else. You changed your shirt and fixed your hair before grabbing your keys and walking the few blocks to Rousseau’s. The bar was relatively quiet when you arrived, but it was the middle of the week. You took a seat at the bar and a happy blonde came over to take your order. “What can I get for you?”

“Give me a beer, something dark and in a bottle.”

“You got it.” She popped the top off and sat the beer in front of you.

You took a long swallow and closed your eyes as the cool liquid ran down your throat. Yeah, you needed that. “Thanks.” You slipped her a twenty. “For another one of these in a bit. The rest is yours.”

She grinned. “Thanks. I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before. What brings you in?”

“You’ll be seeing a lot more of me. I just moved in not far from here.”

“Well, that’s convenient.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I always look for a bar within walking distance when I buy a home.”

She laughed and held out a hand. “Camille, but you can call me Cami.”

“Nice to meet you, Cami. I’m Y/N.” As you shook her hand, you caught sight of the small triangle marking on her wrist. Everyone was born with three dots somewhere on their wrists or hands. When they met their soulmate, the dots connected to form a triangle.

She noticed your gaze and smiled as she pulled her hand back. She turned her wrist so you could get a better view. “It’s new. We just met a month or so ago, but I think I already love him. Is that crazy?”

You shook your head. “Isn’t that the whole point of a soulmate? They’re your perfect match. I would think it would be weirder if you didn’t feel that way.”

Cami grinned again. “I like you. So, what about you? Have you found yours yet?” She held up a hand to stop you before you could answer. “Hold that thought. Let me get these guys a refill,” she said with a gesture down the bar.

You nodded and finished off your first beer. You hated the soulmate discussion, but it was inevitable. If you were going to spend time in this bar, you were going to run into Cami again so you might as well get it out of the way now. When she came back, she switched out your bottle for a full one.

“You don’t have to answer that question, you know? My friend Haley keeps telling me that just because I found my soulmate doesn’t mean everyone else wants to talk about it. Of course, she found Jackson years ago so the thrill has worn off a bit I guess.” She shrugged.

“It’s okay.” You turned your arm so she could see the five perfectly spaced dots on your arm. If the dots connected as they normally did, that would be three triangles. That mark wasn’t the only thing odd about you, but it was the only one you typically shared.

Cami grasped your arm and turned it so she could get a better look. “What does it mean?”

You shrugged. “No one knows. I’ve heard of people getting another set of marks after a soulmate dies or something, but nothing like this. And trust me I’ve looked.” Your grandfather told you there was a time when such a thing was common amongst your people, but that wasn’t a conversation for a stranger. “My sister says it’s because my mate will reject me so I need backups.”

Cami blinked. “Well, she’s a bitch.”

That pulled a surprise laugh from you. “That she is. You’d think if this meant I’d have three different soulmates over my life that I would have met one of them by now. Maybe it’s just not meant to be.”

“Don’t say that. Your luck is changing, I can feel it.”

You arched your brows. “Can you feel someone coming to help me paint? Because that would be awesome.”

Instead of answering, Cami looked past you as the door opened. A huge smile covered her face. “Hey, you.”

“Hello, gorgeous,” a man said as he leaned over the bar just down from you. Your eyes ran between them as they kissed. He was just as gorgeous as she was. They looked good together.

When they finished greeting each other, Cami turned to you. “Marcel, this is my new friend Y/N.”

The man held out his hand. “Hello, new friend Y/N. As you just heard I’m Marcel.”

You gave a crooked grin. “It’s nice to meet you. I sincerely hope you are the new soulmate or this is going to get awkward.”

He laughed flashing white teeth against dark skin. “That would be me, so no worries.”

“Y/N here was just mentioning needing some help doing some painting. Think you could help her with that?”

Surely, she wasn’t suggesting he help you paint. You’d just met them. Your frown faded as Cami passed him a pen and paper. He scrolled through his phone for a minute before writing something down and sliding the pad in your direction. “Jackson Kenner. He and his wife own a little rehab company. Do a lot of remodeling, construction, that kind of thing. He’ll take care of you.”

You tore off the sheet with the number. After folding it in half, you stuck it in your pocket. “You are a lifesaver, and you two are now my favorite people in New Orleans so far.”

“And how many people have you met exactly?” Marcel asked.

“You guys and the movers.” You finished your beer while they laughed. You grabbed a pen and jotted down your number before you thought better of it. You handed back to Cami. “Just in case you decide you need it for something. I’ll see you around.”

You waved at them before you walked out the door and into the crisp night air. Taking a deep breath, you smiled as you shoved your hands in your pockets. Not bad for your first day in New Orleans. You couldn’t wait to see what tomorrow would bring.

#the originals fanfiction #Klaus Mikaelson x reader #Elijah Mikaelson x reader #kol Mikaelson x reader #Mikaelson brother fanfiction #series #strange fates #Klaus mikaelson #Elijah mikaelson #kol mikaelson #the originals

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ask-de-writer · 5 years ago

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DARING DO and THE GRYPHON’S QUEST! : MLP Fan Fiction : Part 19 of 19

Return to the Master Story Index

Return to MLP Fan Fiction

DARING DO

and

THE GRYPHON’S QUEST!

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

and

Carmen Pondiego

Cover art by Aranel the Cyborg, now Wind the Mama Cat

29584 words

Writing begun 03/29/16

This is a Fan Fiction based on My Little Pony. Canterlot, Princess Luna and the name Daring Do are owned by Hasboro Inc.

//////////////

Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions, provided that such things are done without charge. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of fan art, cosplay, music or fictions is actively encouraged.

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Chapter 19. Enlightenment

While Friend was tending to her newest “nymphs,” the young Eagles, Daring Do asked, “What was it? I guess that I was poisoned?”

The nurse, taking advantage of Friend’s slight distraction, started to take Daring Do’s blood pressure and stuck a thermometer in her mouth. She replied, “It was a whole Hellbore mushroom in the sauce and diced throughout your steak. They had two of them. The other was being prepared for the Imperial table.”

Grata, crest set to thanks, carried on, “Luck alone caused a server to be over eager for the credit of destroying the Blasphemer. If we had all been served at once, as planned, they might have killed much of the rule of the Empire.”

Carmen picked up the story. “You have chosen well to have Friend as your “hive.” That is what she means when she calls you Matunen. I know that you know what it means.”

Daring Do managed a small nod.

“When you fell, Friend was off that nest in an instant. She wrapped you in a form of magic that none of us, not even Uncle M, has seen. We know that it stopped your heart beat and breathing. It was impenetrable as well.

“Friend’s magic that seems so delicate? It reached out and sealed the whole banquet hall. One conspirator tried to fly through it. All that hit the floor was a rain of blood, feathers and shreds of flesh and bone. No other was stupid enough to try that again!

“She sort of swept the room with it. All of the conspirators there were wadded up and dumped before the Throne like a pile of rabbit droppings! Krapper was still yelling about Blasphemy.”

Daring Do chuckled. It hurt. A lot. It was worth it. Friend put down the Eagle chick that she was tending and stepped over to lay her horn to Daring Do’s forehead.

Calmly she stated, “Matunen is tired. She needs more prey.”

The voice of steel called out, “Friend needs more prey! You five! Come out for selection!”

General Ironhooves escorted the unlucky five Gryphons into the room. One whined, “It is bad enough that … that thing is killing us by torture. Why do we have to watch it happen?”

Grata, crest raised in outrage, demanded, “So, it was a matter of celebration to use THE COWARD’S WEAPON of poison against one who was PROVING our Legends but it is not OK to see the consequence of your criminal and cowardly actions?”

As they were speaking, Friend’s delicate seeming magic settled about one of the five. He gave a despairing squawk as he aged visibly. Feathers began to loosen and fall out. His eyes filmed over, going to an opaque pale blue. He simply withered where he stood, until he could stand no more.

Friend stepped over to her victim and simply bit into his neck. There was not much blood. The Eagles hop-fluttered to his carcass and began to strip what was left of his meat from the bones. One of the four being made to watch vomited.

Daring Do felt the soft, loving magic that she trusted absolutely settle through her. As it did, it brought safety, strength and comfort.

Having eaten her fill, Friend returned to her happy preening of Eagle chicks. A hospital aerie orderly came in and cleaned up the remaining mess. As he carried away the bones and scraps, he commented with cheer, “Another one for the midden.”

Daring Do brought something to mind. “The civil war? Did we stop it?”

General Ironhooves replied, “Oh, it started while the banquet and Friend’s little round up was going on. It is down to a few isolated actions in several valleys. It should be over completely in another few days to a week.

”For a long planned revolt, they were really poorly equipped.” He cast a glance at Carmen as he went on, “I can’t imagine how they wound up so short of equipment and ammo.”

He grinned hugely. “Carmen and VILE have the best combination of Intelligence and sabotage that I have ever had the pleasure of having on my side!”

Grata, crest rippling in amusement, added, “VILE sold us a most amazing array of military hardware at very reasonable rates! At prices like that, one would ALMOST think that they were not acquired honestly!”

Daring Do snickered. “VILE has never been proved of or caught in any illegal act. They MUST have been properly obtained.”

There was a small commotion at the door. Grata told the guards, “That is Marehem. He is both family and has Imperial clearance. Let him in.”

The blue changeling with his orange mop of a mane, entered the room. He made a sideways grin as he handed a check to Carmen. “Here you are, my Dear. The last of the settlements. It seems inconceivable, but Allstable Insurance has some unhappy customers.”

The General raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Marehem snorted, “We have been very actively selling insurance on collections of militaria throughout the Empire. Mostly to First Creationists.

“Recently, they opened up their warehouses and vaults. Many valuable articles were missing! Articles like main battle tanks and artillery pieces.

“Careful examination of each case resulted in denial of the claims for methods of loss not covered by the policy.”

Grata, crest dripping sarcasm, asked, “How could that possibly have happened?”

Daring Do managed to point a hoof at Marehem. “HE wrote the policies! That is how!”

Carmen agreed, “It is indeed how. Agent payrolls must be met someway. I was happy to be of assistance in this case.” She grinned happily, “In the course of evaluating the “collections of militaria”, we found a few other things to acquire! Our private museum’s collection of Gryphon art and sculpture is much improved!”

She turned to the General. “Your advice on military collectibles has proved invaluable, General. We had not done much in that regard but now have the start to a good collection. Thank you.”

He tipped his hat. “It was a pleasure, Ms. Pondiego.”

Daring Do was hit by a question. “Umm, the war is almost over? How long was I unconscious?”

The nurse replied, “Define unconscious. By every test that we know, you were dead for the first week. We remember the fool that tried to fly through that weak looking magic of Friend’s!

“She was taking three or four prey a day for that week. She said that you were loving her back properly. Then you started to breathe and your heart to beat. That was two weeks ago. We have gone with her assessments ever since!”

Daring Do’s mind was ticking off the time that they had known Friend and helped her with her precious eggs. “Shouldn’t the eggs have hatched some time ago?” Friend looked up from her chick preening and feeding. “Friend loved them to wait so that Matunen could watch her nymphs emerge.”

There came a voice from the doorway that could be as loud as a Royal Canterlot Voice or as soft as a dream. Princess Luna entered the room.

The nurse, showing a typical Gryphon respect for leadership, crest rippling with amusement, commented, “Good thing that we don’t have a Navy! This much brass could overload and sink any ship!”

Luna turned to Grata and said quietly, “I am glad that you Gryphons can handle such informality. Our Court …” She shook her head. “Bunch of overstuffed lunks for the most part. No sense of humor.”

Grata, crest rippling amusement, replied, “You have had thousands of years of practice at being fluffed feathers. Give us time. With luck, we will learn to avoid that pitfall by seeing your experience.”

Chuckling, Luna stepped around the hospital nest and smiled at Friend and her nymphs. She stepped close and nuzzled Friend. “Thank you, Friend. You have given me the best gift that I ever got. These Gryphons that you loved into being are the best thing that ever came of our horrible Nightmare Wars.”

Friend looked up to Princess Luna, tears in her eyes. “They are good nymphs.” She suddenly made hardened steel seem soft. “Some are failed nymphs, good only for prey. They hurt Matunen. I take them and love their lives to help Matunen.”

Without any disturbance at all, Princess Luna said, “So I have heard. Why did you choose Doctor Do as Matunen? You know that she can’t give you eggs to tend.”

Friend stared over at Daring Do with love. “From her first word, Daring Do shared care for Friend. She shared mind/heart/love without hesitation or fear. She found out about my eggs. With many other things important to her, she made my eggs most important. No better Matunen could be.”

Luna nodded. “I do see now why you chose her. If none have told you so, Friend, you are wise.”

Luna turned to Daring Do and offered, “You have our greatest thanks, Doctor Do. We found your exhibit on the origins of Gryphons at the end of the last Nightmare War in the Royal Museum. Some, on the acquisitions committee, wanted to remove it until it should be properly cataloged and formally accepted. I ordered it kept on display without reservation.”

Daring Do glanced a question to Carmen. Carmen shrugged. “We know how much of a pain it is to give anything to the Royal Museum. True that they are far better now that Count Umber is out of the woodwork, but it is still not easy. It seemed more expeditious to simply install it in its logical place.”

Daring Do grinned at that. Turning to Luna she said, “I thought that you would like to know that this whole wonderful species came out of that terrible time. That such goodness and honor arose from that dark part of our past.”

Luna nodded slowly, tears at the corners of her eyes. “You were so right, Doctor Do. It really does help.”

Daring Do replied, “I am glad that it does.

“Friend, may I see our nymphs? Up close, I mean?”

Smiling, Friend brought over one chick at a time, using her egg turning claw as a sort of perch and support. After holding each chick close for examination, she set it down on Daring Do’s blanket and fetched another. When the last of the chicks had been transferred, Friend clambered up onto the hospital nest along with them.

She was happily preening the chicks and feeding them. Daring Do realized that she was feeding them by regurgitating small amounts of food. And what, or rather who, the food was.

Oddly, it did not bother her at all. She lay there and thought it over, figuring out that her sharing with Friend had been more complete than she had at first known. It was actually a comforting idea.

About two weeks later, Daring Do was back in the Royal Banquet Hall. In a mobility cart. Friend was pushing her along. In the cart with her was a collection of eaglets, just starting to fletch out.

After the meal, of which Daring Do could only eat a little, she was wheeled about to a place in front of the display of Gryphon origins.

She began, “As I was about to say, before I was so rudely interrupted …”

–THE END–

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<==PREVIOUS

#DARING DO AND THE GRYPHON'S QUEST!#Part 19 of 19 #MLP Fan Fiction #Written by De Writer and Carmen Pondiego

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thorongil82 · 5 years ago

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A Broken Heart Bleeds Tears - Chapter 1 - The Big Announcement

Fandom: Spider-Man, MCU

Chapter: 1/?

Words: 4090/?

Summary: Peter should be happy with his life. He has a great job helping people alongside a smart and wonderful man, Spider-Man is still needed and supported by the majority of Queens and New York, the Avengers are happy to have him part of their group, and his friends and family are all living healthily and happily. He should be happy, right?

But he's not. Because the love of his life loves someone else. And it feels like it's killing him.

Tag-list: @forasecondtherewedwon @seek-rest

Can also read on AO3 here.

AN: Just a quick thing to say, yes, I’ve seen FFH (went to see it today), but there won’t be any spoilers for it. Not in this chapter, anyway. If there will be within a reasonable time of FFH’s release, then I’ll post a warning beforehand. Hope you all enjoy!

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

System Check Failure. Receptor Efficiency Levels at 28%

Peter Parker groans as he stares at the interface blinking defiantly in front of him. Another component that didn't want to cooperate with him. So many little pieces of technology that couldn't work together for some inane reason, piling together to cause one big mess that needs fixing in a weeks time. Preferably earlier to get the testing done beforehand. Peter's certain that the man waiting for his prosthetic arm would prefer to have it as soon as possible, with minimal glitches, if any, circulating through the system. There's so many problems that comes with helping people – if anyone would know, it would be Spider-Man.

Why can't doing right by people be easy? Maybe to make sure people who think they're doing the right thing when they're causing the opposite can't harm too many innocents.

Peter runs his hands over his face, drawing large circles that squeeze and push his sweaty skin out before it snaps back into place, as he stares intently at the screen of the laptop in front of him. Maybe staring long and hard enough will get it to work. It hasn't been his experience so far, but you never know. With a hiss he throws his hands up to aimlessly reach for the rafters as he stretches out his arms and back, the cushioned chair beneath him creaking as it arches back, before they drop back down to brush lightly through the soft brown curls of his hair. Still the system failure blinks back at him, unfazed at the intensity of his stare.

Pity, he'd been working hard on becoming more intimidating. Many a remark has been said about how he couldn't frighten anyone if he wanted to. Clearly, they haven't witnessed him walking on the ceiling without the mask concealing his identity. Though, criminals didn't seem scared of him either. Sure, they were afraid of the prospect of being caught, but of Spider-Man himself? Not so much. And this system was proving to be in agreement with the majority. Six hours of working, fuming, contemplating and attempts at glaring resulted in receptors that weren't responding to begin with still not responding. If only he was more like one of the women most prominent in his life. He was sure that Pepper, Aunt May or Michelle could easily glare this stupid program into submission. Hell, most of the Avengers team could too, though he doubted Shuri would even need to.

Maybe it's just a female thing. Or he finds them more intimidating because he's a man. Maybe both – they'd all have a field day torturing him if they found out he only thought they were intimidating because of gender stereotypes and identities. They'd never let him hear the end of it.

“Why are you such a pain?” Peter mutters to the laptop as he presses a few keys, pulling out from the system for the receptors responding to the nerve signals of the patient and running a full diagnostic check.

Seeing the assessments start up, he gets out of his chair and double-checks that the cables are secure as they snake from the laptop to the jet-black and graphite-grey metallic arm dangling lifelessly off to the side. If all goes well, it could potentially function better than the real one that it was replacing. Peter reminded himself to talk to Shuri about how she managed to get Bucky's arm to work so well. He had asked Bucky, but the White Wolf couldn't explain how any of the arms made for him had worked, only that it was second nature like any other limb. Maybe the next time they talked …

“How're the receptors coming along, Pete?” asked a raspy male voice from behind the pile-up of dressers and parts in front of Peter. Walking around the cluttered shelving is an elderly balding gentlemen with a tuft of greying hair wrapped around the side and back of his head, a pair of thin spectacles over his eyes, draped in a long white lab coat identical to the one covering Peter's clothing, save that it says Dr Otto Octavius across the right side of his chest, whereas Peter's has his own name.

“They're more frustrating than they were when I left them last night,” Peter answers, shooting a side-glance off at the screen.

“Why? What's the matter?”

“There's still complications in transferring messages,” Peter explains as Dr Octavius walks over and has a look at the running diagnostic check.

“Uh-huh.”

“Also, the response time is still way too slow, and that sudden energy drop still seems to be an issue.”

“Well, that's not good,” Otto murmurs, standing up straight and placing a hand on his chin. “How did the movements look when I sent the signals through?”

“They seemed to move fine, though I think some of the joints aren't fitted quite right,” Peter answers as he moves closer to the limb. “Parts seemed to be grinding together throughout some of the flexes.”

“Yes, I did hear that screeching,” Otto replies as he moves next to Peter. “Whereabouts do you think the rubbing parts are?”

“Along by the elbow joint,” Peter says, pointing at the hinge, “along with some in the wrist. I'm not sure if that means some pieces have loosened, or if they were too big to begin with.”

“Well, at least it's a hardware issue,” Otto remarks. “That'll be easier to deal with than the software.”

“It just feels like we're running out of time,” Peter admits with a sigh, leaning up against the bench and crossing his arms over his chest.

“We've still got time,” Otto replies with a warm smile, moving back over to the laptop. “This is just progress. Sometimes it's not as fast as we would like, but nothing that's ever worth doing will be done quickly. What was the efficiency levels on the receptors?”

“28 percent.”

“See, that's better than it was yesterday,” Otto grins. “Going from 12 percent efficiency to 28 is progress. And pretty significant at that.”

“It's still not good enough,” Peter glumly admits, wandering over as a loud beep sounds out from the laptop indicating that the complete diagnostic check has finished.

“Nothing ever will be,” Otto points out as he leans down to read the report. “There's always going to be a bigger problem that our solution can't fix. But that doesn't make what we do and the people we help any less important. Take a look at this.”

Peter leans down beside Otto and begins looking over the information.

“Everything's responding better than yesterday,” Otto summarises. “Energy levels, range of movement, stability, reception.”

Peter takes a slight glance at the older scientist and catches him looking back at him before he continues, “Here; able to operate at 54 percent capacity, efficiency at 63 percent. Everything's progressing fine.”

“There's still some system failures,” Peter points out, taking in the flashing orange and red errors that have also popped up. “Still some critical that'll disable the entire network.”

“Perhaps, but there's still less than what there was before.”

“Don't worry about it, Peter,” Otto says as he claps a hand down on the younger scientist's back. “The receptors were always going to be the most complicated part. And the energy drop. Once they're solved, everything else will fall into place. Don't worry about it.”

Peter looks over and gives his mentor a tight lipped smile before looking back at the screen.

“Look, if it makes you feel better, copy the receptor program down and work on it over the weekend,” Otto sighs, his comforting hand rising away from Peter's shoulder. “Just make sure you do get some sleep. A good night's sleep can work wonders. You might even find that you've been staring at the solution all this time.”

“That'll be more annoying than anything it that does happen,” Peter says as he reaches into his backpack that had been lying beneath the bench where he was sitting, rummaging through and pulling out a hard drive. “But thank you, Otto.”

“Don't mention it, Pete,” Otto chuckles, walking over to the mechanical arm.

Peter plugs in the hard drive and starts the process of the program downloading before he gets a buzz in his pocket. Pulling his phone free from the pocket, he looks down to see a bright notification flashing back up at him – a message sent from Aunt May.

Reminder that dinner is in 30 mins

Peter slowly smirks as he unlocks the device and quickly shoots back a response.

So ordering Thai in 15?

“Plans for the evening?” Otto inquires, his voice filled with a warm, humoured tone.

“Yes, for once, but not like that,” Peter clarifies. “May's invited some friends round for dinner.”

“Ah, well, it's better than spending it alone,” Otto admits, turning his attention back to the mechanical limb, gently prodding and moving the fingers to test the joints.

Peter had mentioned details of his personal life to Otto many times during their projects, simply making conversation to pass the time as they worked on their experimental projects, both funded or otherwise. Otto knew that Peter had moved out from May's, though he still sometimes stayed over – though not always for the reasons he gives. Otto knew that Peter lived in an apartment with his best friend Ned Leeds, who occasionally helped them out with coding and programming if they couldn't quite grasp it. Otto knew that Ned had been spending more and more time away with Betty, his beautiful girlfriend, which was more than okay – it was their lives to live and who would Peter be to keep them from being happy. But even then, coming home to an increasingly empty apartment was lonely, especially after some of the things he'd have to see as Queen's favourite neighbourhood superhero. Not everything comes down to giving directions to lost tourists and old ladies, or rescuing cats stuck up trees. Otto knew of the times, few and far between, that Peter had been set up for a date, blind or otherwise, by his concerned friends. And Otto knew that those few setups and occasional one night stands after a night out remained short term were because Peter didn't feel a connection. They had been kind, and funny, and attractive, and sweet, but the young Parker didn't feel a connection. Otto and his friends knew there was no spark, because young Peter Parker couldn't stop picturing and comparing them to someone else.

The one he could never get over. The one that he could never get.

Hopefully not

The phone in Peter's hand buzzes off again – another message from his aunt, just as the program finishes downloading onto his drive. When he goes to reach for it to unplug it, his phone vibrates again.

It does look edible this time And no burning

Not always a good sign

Peter quickly shoots off the response with a grim smirk, remembering the many times his aunt's attempted cooking ventures had failed spectacularly, the Parker boy returning home after a late decathlon session or a patrolling swing-about as the man in red-and-blue to find smoke billowing out of whichever door or window was opened. Miraculously, the apartment never burned down – how, Peter could never figure out. There was no formula for how May could constantly mess up a recipe, regardless of if it was inspiration or from a recipe book – it was always difficult to distinguish between the two – nor for how the apartment managed to survive each and every disaster. It even fended off the charred cereal fire of 2024, and the inexplicably boiled whipped cream incident the year later, when nary a lit flame could be found in either scenario. Maybe there was something more to his survival skills than he thought.

Hey!!! I do manage to cook some things right

I know

Peter disconnects the drive and places it in the backpack before the short break between the messages is broken by May's response.

The menus are on standby

Peter chuckles to himself and shakes his head, pocketing his phone before turning to his mentor. “Do you need a hand cleaning up?”

“No, no, you go on ahead,” Otto answers, shaking his head with a smile. “I wouldn't want you to keep May waiting.”

“Are you sure? Because I don't mind helping clean-”

“Peter,” Otto says sternly, the way Peter's realised only someone who's dealt with children a significant part of their lives before can do. There's always a slight warmth to it that means they don't mean the tone, but you shouldn't push your luck else disaster strikes your youthful life. May always had such a knack for tapping into it more than enough times for the Parker boy to know that trouble was abound, even before gaining his wondrous spider-sense.

“You could probably come along as well,” Peter squeaks out, “I-If you want?”

“I wouldn't want to intrude,” Otto declines, his hands raised up and shaking the idea away. “Not uninvited, anyway. You just worry about getting there on time.”

“Okay. Thank you, Otto.”

“Don't mention it, Pete,” Otto says as he brings his assistant and protégé in for a quick hug before letting him break away to grab his backpack and sling it over his shoulder. “Give my best to May, won't you?”

“I will.”

---

“Peter!” May exclaims as she opens the door right on his third knock and embracing him in a tight hug.

“I haven't been gone that long,” Peter chuckles, deliberately tightening the constriction in his voice to humour the vice grip her embrace would have been were he not an all powerful superhero. “How did cooking dinner go?”

“The Thai been picked up,” hollers Ned's voice from further within, causing May to send a soft glare over her shoulder.

“It wasn't that bad,” she stresses, letting go of her nephew and allowing him to enter the apartment. “But we figured it was probably better to order takeaway. Just in case.”

“Sticking to what you know?”

“Precisely,” May grins, walking into the kitchen and allowing Peter to take a breath.

Instantly, he grimaces and pulls his head down, the coarse scent of ash, burnt meatloaf and vegetables seared to charcoal wafting over and bristling his nostrils. Admittedly, not the worst smell he's come across in this apartment, but still pretty bad in terms of cooking ability. There was definitely a reason why he took a cooking unit back in high school.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” Peter coughs up, the dry air choking his throat. “Otto sends his regards.”

“He's a sweet man,” May says, scrubbing away the blackened remains out of her pan with a metal scour. “You could have invited him.”

“I did offer. He said he didn't want to intrude.”

“Well, he'll just have to come around next time. Sit down, sit down. I'll go grab the dishes. Ned, can you unpack the containers?”

“Sure thing, May,” Ned answers from the dining table, standing up from beside Betty as she untangles her arms from around him and pulling out the many containers from their bags, setting them side by side in the middle of the table.

“Aw, my Neddy-Bear's such a gentleman,” Betty coos from her chair, her arms folding over on top of her backrest before leaning her head onto her limbs, sending a bright wide smile towards her partner.

“If you had told me, I could have grabbed the food on the way-”

“Oh, nonsense, sweetie,” May says, hurrying over and pressing a kiss to Peter's cheek while ruffling his messy brown curls. “Guests shouldn't have to pick up food.”

“But I'm family.”

“You're still a guest when you're not staying here,” May points out, before ducking into the kitchen

“At least you didn't burn the place down,” Peter calls after her, chuckling softly to himself.

“Yeah, right, Parker. Like none of us know about your chemistry exploits,” drawls a voice behind him that silences his laugh in an instant, matching neither the one that emanated from Ned nor Betty beforehand. A voice that pulls on one of the many coils threaded tightly through his chest, wrapped tightly around his heart and squeezing it like a vice. The voice lathered in honey and laced in silk that drags upon his beating centre, wrenching it down into the unbounded dark pit within himself. The voice that both fuels the hope and fire in his heart, yet also tortures him in the eternal night with sharp pains and throbbing aches.

“Or would you prefer accidents?”

“W-What?” he stammers as he slowly moves through the apartment, circling round the happy couple snuggling by the dining table. “W-What accidents?”

“You know, spontaneous combustion, suddenly exploding drawers when there shouldn't be anything inside even remotely volatile,” continues the agonisingly beautiful voice from the couch. “Like when we're just taking a theory lesson, for example.”

Finally, as his feet haul the rest of his being round the dining table and the long end of the couch in the adjoined living room, his eyes confirm what his ears had suspected, not that he can completely trust them after so many false leads and wishful thoughts tricking his heightened senses. For lying down on some mass across his Aunt's couch, head buried inside a book as thick as a wizard's tome – hardcover, as to make sure not even the most ignorant fool would ever dare try to attack her, long brown curls elegantly cascading down like the spray erupting over a waterfall, is one Michelle Jones. Very close friend, former decathlon captain, eerily observant person capable of discerning any secret that you would dare to try and hide from her, and, ultimately, a thief.

Yes, Michelle Jones is guilty of theft, and of destruction of property, but not even his alter-ego can catch her. For Spider-Man cannot catch someone who has taken something so intangible, regardless of the pain it leaves. Nor punish them for breaking something they do not know they have broken, let alone prove that the damage is done.

“I-I don't know what you're talking about ...” he lies, hoping that the look on his face didn't give away the truth, both of the fib and the other secrets he's held inside.

“Of course not, just like how you conveniently forgot when we had decathlon practice,” she jabs, her eyes not darting off of the pages laid out in front of her, yet by the slight drawl in her tone and the prickly pinch crawling along his skin, Peter was fairly certain that she saw right through his immediate fabrication. “Time and time again.”

“Come on, the man's always got a lot on his plate. He's allowed to forget some things,” interjects a smooth masculine voice from beneath MJ's form, alerting Peter to his presence. Tanned, strong arms are wrapped around her waist, while his legs lay tangled together with Michelle's. His head peers out from behind her mane of hair, his own short brown curls slicked back with gel. “I'm sure you've forgotten things before when you're busy.”

“Nope,” she answers bluntly, turning her head away from her book to look at him. “Must be a guy thing.”

“Of all people who could make a stereotype ...” he chuckles as he trails off, smiling a bright smile showcasing his pearl white teeth. One of his arms leaves her waist and travels to her face, gently brushing away her hair.

“Harry? You're back?” Peter inquires.

“In the flesh,” he replies, shuffling out from underneath MJ and stepping up to Peter, grabbing his hand for a shake before pulling him in for a bro-hug, both patting each other's backs. “Flew in a couple of hours ago.”

“How was France?”

“Pretty good. Would have been better with you guys but, hey, that's the downside of business.”

Harry Osborn, close friend to the lot of them, carefree, relaxed, charming, heir to his father's many ventures and darling in the eyes of the media. In all fairness, Peter did really like the guy. He wasn't Ned, but he was a great friend to have. He was always looking out for his friends, cared about other people's problems, and could have a good laugh with anyone. And, if he tended to say something that wasn't quite right, he would generally realise it very quickly – though it does help having Michelle as a friend to keep that ingrained. Overall, they got along really well. There was just one thing that irked Peter about him …

“I'll just have to take you guys with me next time,” Harry continues as they pull apart before sauntering back to his formerly shared place on the couch that was now fully occupied by MJ, having returned to her book. “You mind moving over, babe?”

“I thought you hated pet names?” Peter directs towards Michelle.

“I do. He knows that.”

“Maybe, princess, but I'll get you to break eventually,” he smiles.

When she doesn't move, he shrugs and goes to sit on her long legs, flopping down on them and prodding and poking them with his fingers till she eventually squirms them out from under him, drawing them close to her body.

“Get off,” she huffs, a strand of hair falling across her face.

“Come on, MJ,” he persists, leaning over and resting his head on her raised knees. He reaches a hand out and gently pushes down on the binding on the book, dragging it down. Undeterred, she continues to read, her eyes tracing the lines and words quickly. That is, until he reaches his other hand out and cups her chin, slowly raising it up and getting her to look to him. “Hey there.”

“I hate you.”

“I know,” he smirks, before pecking her lips with his own, Peter turning away just before it happens.

There are some harrowing things he can endure, but some things even his mighty Spider-heart just can't take.

“Gross,” she mutters when Harry pulls away, yielding his hands away from her book and letting her continue reading. Her stoic expression seems to remain intact, though Peter does notice the corner of her lips have curled up and, had he been as close as he yearns to, he would have seen a slight tinge to her usual colour tone.

“Come on, dinner time!” May calls out from the table, followed by a metallic clutter as the cutlery rattles along the surface. “Wash up and get over here.”

With everyone cleaned up and sitting at the table, they start to dish up their food. All bar Peter, patiently waiting for the others to get their share. At least, that would be his excuse if he was asked. His heightened metabolism does need a lot of food, but he's not about to take all the food from everyone. In reality, he was just captivated watching Michelle, taking in everything about her that he could and engraving it all into his mind. Her laugh, her smile, her quirks and ticks. Everything. And desperately hoping that he wasn't being obvious.

He had wondered if her being taken just made him want her more; the temptation of the forbidden fruit. He wondered if being in love with MJ made him a bad friend to both her and Harry, partners that seemed quite happy with each other and have been since their last year in high school. As much as he loved Michelle, being jealous of Harry and wanting to be beside her instead of him, he just couldn't do anything that would hurt them both. They were some of the best friends he'd ever had. He didn't want to throw that away in a petty move.

“Peter, you going to eat?” May asks, her voice cutting through his lost wondering and shaking him from his reverie.

“Huh?” he squeaks, suddenly noticing all the eyes on him. “O-Oh, uh, yeah.”

He reaches forward and pulls the container of larb closer while the heads turn towards Michelle and Harry.

“So, MJ, you said before that you wanted to tell us something?” May asks.

“R-Right. Uh ...” Michelle falters nervously, shuffling a little closer to Harry. He leans in and whispers something into her ear, whatever it is making her giggle softly before looking towards everyone. “So, Harry and I ...”

From underneath the table they lift their held hands up and lay it down on the surface, with hers on top. But all Peter could find himself looking at was the sparkling diamond sticking out from the shiny golden band on her ring finger.

“We're getting married.”

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

AN: As a quick heads up, the next chapter will involve some Endgame spoilers. If it’s up quickly, then I’ll post a warning at the start of the chapter.

Please feel free to let me know what you think; constructive criticism, thoughts, anything. And feel free to just hit me up for a chat if you want. I’ll try to get the next chapter up as quickly as I can. Until then, adios!

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myhauntedsalem · 6 years ago

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The True Texas Chainsaw Massacre and the Terrible Crimes of Ed Gein

Although Leatherface may terrify in movie theatres, it was the bizarre creations of Gein’s gruesome imagination that first fixated a nation on the terrors that lie behind the most banal of small towns.

The notorious Ed Gein and his fictional counterpart Leatherface, from the horror classic Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Many see Ed Gein’s infamous crimes as waking a nation from its own innocence, even as social change was transforming 1950s America. In particular, the discovery of this farmer’s body snatching and murdering ways woke an entire nation to the darkness swirling beneath the façade of the American Dream. His practice of making keepsakes from dead bodies and from his own victims has inspired many horror films, novels, and other stories – including the landmark films Psycho and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The latter specifically embodied that same sense of dread – that something so awful could be hiding in plain sight.

To this day, Gein’s terrible legacy is a reminder that the smiling faces of friends and neighbors all too often hide an unfathomable darkness – one that may be an essential part of America itself.

Edward Theodore Gein was born on August 27, 1906, in the small farming community of Plainfield, Wisconsin. Between a slight growth over one eye and his effeminate personality, Ed was regularly bullied. He found little comfort at home, though, where his alcoholic father, George, endured verbal abuse from his mother, Augusta, for being unable to hold a job. They had moved to their 155-acre farm after selling a grocery shop in the city, but he’d had little luck in keeping work as a carpenter, tanner, or insurance salesman.

August, meanwhile, enforced a strict interpretation of Lutheran teachings and regularly read biblical verses on death and retribution to her sons. She instilled a strong fear of sexuality and drinking in her two sons, along with a belief that all women were inherently evil. Furthermore, they were forbidden from having anyone over and were often punished for even forging friendships in the first place. So, it is far from surprising that, by all accounts, Ed grew up into a reclusive young man who often laughed at jokes only he seemed to hear.

Then, on April 1, 1940, George Gein died at 66 years of age when his heart gave out. The brothers began picking up odd jobs to support the farm, and their neighbors found the two to be reliable handymen, though Ed also took to babysitting on the side. Henry, meanwhile, began dating a divorced mother of two and considered moving in with her. He began speaking ill of their abusively co-dependent mother around Ed to try to pull him from her clutches, but that likely drew a wedge between the brothers, instead.

In the midst of these changes, Henry died in a seeming tragedy – or possible early sign of Ed’s homicidal tendencies. In 1945, the two brothers were managing a brush fire on their property outside Plainfield when it got out of control, and the fire department was called in. After the flames died down, Ed reported that his brother had gone missing, though he was soon found, dead from asphyxiation. The coroner did not note anything suspicious, though he later recalled that Henry had a head trauma that could have resulted from foul play.

Augusta, meanwhile, had grown to rely on Ed, as a stroke had left her relatively immobile for several years. She remained as fanatical as ever, though, with one local story telling how she witnessed a man kill a dog but focused on the fact that he invited an unmarried woman into his house. However, she too passed away in 1945, at the age of 67, and Ed was left without friends or family. He held onto their farm but boarded up the rooms that his mother had used, including the drawing room and entire upstairs.

In time, he became more and more of a recluse, with the kitchen and single room that he used becoming more and more run-down. Left to his own devices, Ed Gein only ever left the house to do occasional work for a municipal road crew or to help with crop-threshing. After selling his brother’s land, he began relying upon a farm subsidy in 1951. At the same time, his hobbies focused on devouring books about cannibals, the Nazis’ atrocities, and various aspects of human anatomy. Soon enough, he started digging up recently-buried women who resembled his mother – dissecting them and tanning skin to experiment in taxidermy. But things changed when he started hunting the living.

On November 16, 1957, Bernice Worden, the owner of Plainfield’s hardware store, disappeared – her truck having driven out of town around 9:30 AM. After the store remained closed all day, her son, Deputy Sheriff Frank Worden, entered around 5 PM to find the register open with blood on the floor and a lone receipt for antifreeze on the counter. Recalling that Ed Gein had said he’d stop by to buy antifreeze the night before, Worden pointed out the connection, and Gein was arrested that same evening.

Upon searching his family’s farm, the authorities found much more than they had bargained for. To start, they discovered Bernice’s decapitated body hanging upside down from her wrists in the shed. She’d been shot with a .22-caliber rifle and dressed out like an animal, with her head stuffed in a burlap sack and her heart sitting in front of the stove. In further examining Gein’s home, the police also found the remains of missing tavern owner Mary Hogan, age 54, who’d disappeared in December 1954. She was in pieces, as well – her face tanned as a mask in a paper bag and her skull hidden away in a box.

But that was not the end of the gore in the Gein family home. They found skulls mounted atop his bedposts, with others made into bowls. Skin had been used to create a wastebasket and chair coverings, and Gein had fashioned clothing from the dead, as well. Police found a shoulder-to-waist corset made from a woman’s tanned torso, along with multiple face masks and leggings crafted from human leg skin. Ed had stored 9 vulva in a shoebox, including 2 from teenagers, and he kept a box of noses, a belt of nipples, a face lampshade, and a window shade drawstring made from a pair of lips. All told, the remains had come from around 15 women’s bodies.

Gein told investigators that he’d regularly entered a hypnotic state and visited local graveyards on around 40 occasions between 1947 and 52. While he could normally stop himself from grave-robbing, Ed often returned home with parts of women whom he thought resembled his mother. On those occasions, he would tan their skin to make the gruesome paraphernalia discovered in his home. He confessed to robbing 9 graves and led authorities to some to demonstrate that he’d been strong enough to do the work on his own.

At one point, Gein admitted that he’d realized he wanted to become a woman after his mother had died. To satisfy his desire, he’d started to create a woman suit and had often donned the tanned skin. During the questioning, though, Sheriff Art Schley banged Gein’s head face-first into a brick wall – claiming later to be traumatized by the man’s crimes. Schley was horrified when this made the confession inadmissible in court, and he later died of heart failure just before Gein’s trial. With no confession and no warrant to have conducted the search in the first place, the accused pled not guilty and was declared unfit for trial.

Meanwhile, the people of Plainfield who had been Gein’s neighbors tried to process his actions. For some, the horror was overwhelming, including one teenager who had asked Gein about his masks only to be told that they were relics from the Philippines, sent by a cousin during World War II. At the same time, other murders suddenly seemed connected, including the disappearance of babysitter Evelyn Hartley in 1953. With Gein’s crimes highlighted on Life and Time covers, the town and the entire country were shaken to the core.

Ed Gein was eventually tried for the murder of Bernice Worden and sentenced to life in prison. However, in a second trial, he was found not guilty by reason of insanity and sent to Central State Hospital for the Criminally Insane in Waupun, Wisconsin. He was diagnosed as schizophrenic and never tried for the murder of Mary Hogan, as he would spend the rest of his life in a mental health facility either way. In 1968, Gein was sent to Mendota Mental Health Institute in Madison, where he died from lung cancer at age 77 in 1984.

Back in Plainfield, the Gein farm burned down after being auctioned off in 1958, and his car was sold to a carnival sideshow for people to gawk at. In the long run, Gein’s actions inspired a long list of fictional serial killers, too, from Psycho’s Norman Bates to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’s Leatherface, and, most recently, Bloody Face in American Horror Story: Asylum. Each plays on the nightmares beneath the American dream, but none captures the true horror of Ed Gein’s mind – or the objects that he crafted from human beings.

#The True Texas Chainsaw Massacre and the Terrible Crimes of Ed Gein #Serial Killers #paranormal #ghost and hauntings

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emybain · 6 years ago

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After Archenemies Part 4/?

ngl I had trouble writing this part. It’s not my favorite piece, but I think it’s necessary for the continuation and flow of the story. I like it to an extent, let’s say that. im just not the biggest fan bc there’s no action lmao. anyways, enjoy!

here’s part 1, here’s part 2, and here’s part 3

Adrian couldn't tear his eyes from the screen. They were glued on the picture of the younger Nova, a happier Nova.

“No,” he murmured. “That...that can’t be Nova. Her last name is McLain. She was taken in by her uncle. She’s...she’s not missing.” He forced himself to let go of the computer mouse. Ruby turned her gaze to him, Oscar too. Their looks were sad, filled with the same disbelief as Adrian.

Ruby reached out for Adrian’s arm, but he pulled back. “Adrian…maybe there’s an explanation and we’re just jumping to conclusions, but that,” she waved her hand at the computer screen, ”is Nova.”

Adrian knew she was right. Everything lined up. Nova lost her family to a hitman when she was six, she had had a baby sister named Evie, and the girl in the photo was undeniably her.

“Maybe Nova was kidnapped by the man she thinks is her uncle,” Oscar mused. Adrian could tell he was trying to brighten the darkened moods of the three of them. “Forced to change her last name. That would explain why we’ve never met her uncle.”

Ruby shot Oscar a look. “Well, that is an explanation, but not a very good one.”

“Just trying to help.” Oscar raised his arms in defense. After a moment, he said “What should we do? Talk to the Council?”

“No,” Adrian said before thinking twice. He felt himself blush. “I mean...not yet. We don’t know too much about any of this. They wouldn’t do anything about it. I think...I think we need to keep doing research. For all we know, it could be a fault in the system.”

“And then?” Ruby raised an eyebrow.

Adrian took a shaky breath. “And then we talk to Nova about it.”

Oscar and Ruby exchanged glances, and Adrian was reminded of his dads and how they would give one another similar looks. They didn’t say anything, much to Adrian’s relief. He returned to his chair, his hand shaky as he reached for his mouse.

They stayed in the library for another two hours, collecting information about what they knew about Nightmare. Adrian refused to think about Nova and what they had learned about her past. The picture of her and her sister still haunted his mind, making it hard to focus. He was able to make a list of places Nightmare was spotted at most. The majority were dated back to months ago, before she became a real threat. They were mostly hardware and convenience stores that she robbed. Adrian made a mental note to ask the store owners what she would often steal.

When the librarian walked by for the umpteenth time, she ushered them out, insisting that they do something more fun than research since they had been there for so long.

“Anyone up for a smoothie or something?” Oscar offered as the three of them walked down the hall, each holding notes of information. Adrian shook his head, shouldering the backpack he had brought with him.

“You guys go ahead. I think I’m going to head home.”

“You sure?” Oscar shot Adrian a worried look. “You going to be okay?”

Adrian pressed a smile to his face. “Yeah. I think I need some rest, though. With everything going on lately..” he trailed off, and his friends nodded in understanding. They said their goodbyes, and Adrian watched them go. It would be good for the two of them to get some alone time, anyways. Adrian had a mission of his own.

On his way out of HQ, Adrian peeked into Max’s quarantine. He could make out the hospital bed and the lump of blankets. In the lobby, prodigies were rebuilding and fixing the damage done by Nightmare’s fight with Frostbite’s team. Their work was faster than a normal person’s, but there was a lot of damage, and only so many prodigies with powers fit for reconstruction.

Cold air blew at his face as he stepped outside. The weather was changing fast this year. A shame, really. Adrian liked summer the most out of all the seasons. He walked past a group of tourists that gasped when they saw him. He heard the click of a camera and ignored it.

He immediately thought of Nova, despite trying not to, and how she had said people would be better off without the Renegades. How they either idolized or hated prodigies. Adrian remembered all the times he had come across Renegade merchandise. They were celebrities, whether they wanted to admit it or not. He shoved the thought away and pulled his jacket closer around himself.

It was a long walk to his destination. Adrian wondered how Nova managed to do it daily, multiple times a day. He thought of all the times she had been late and had to run. Adrian shook his head. That girl never ceased to amaze him.

Adrian didn’t know why he was going to Nova’s, especially considering the mental state he was currently in, and the fact that she told him not to stop by. He pictured the look on her face when he showed up unannounced. It wouldn’t be pretty, either. She hated surprises, after all. Maybe it would be best to text her…

No, her uncle took away her electronics. Maybe if Adrian brought something for her and explained the situation to her uncle.

Adrian stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk. He was walking through a small park near Nova’s neighborhood. There was a bench nearby. The park was mostly empty, so Adrian claimed the bench. He took off his backpack and set it beside him, pulling out his sketchpad and a pencil. He flipped to the most recent page. It was filled with sketches and dimensions of a ring he had drawn for Nova. he had been working on it in small bursts, especially on nights when he couldn't find sleep, which was more often than not in recent days. He had crossed out design after design, growing frustrated at the difficulty of designing jewelry. Finally, the other night, he had come up with a design that was simple yet charming. It was a plain band with a white stone in the center, small but stately. A ring, he had come to realize, was an odd gift, but he had found resources online stating how much all girls loved rings. He disliked generalizing Nova with thousands of other girls, but the explanation he found was interesting: rings held significant meaning when given as a gift from someone the wearer cares about. Adrian had been wanting to give Nova something meaningful in the past few weeks to show how serious he was about her, but had struggled with finding something she would like. He had planned on giving it to her later, but maybe if he gave it to her now, it would brighten her mood, and give him an excuse to see her. He pulled the ring from the paper and quickly sketched a jewelry box for it. He pursed his lips, then, as an afterthought, also drew a Peony. With the ring now safe in the box and the flower clutched in his other hand, Adrian set off for Nova’s house again.

When he reached Nova’s street, Adrian’s hands grew clammy. When her house came into sight, he gulped. He remembered the last time he had showed up unannounced at Nova’s door. He remembered how he had cried into her stomach about Max. How she had held him. How he had stayed there for what seemed to be hours until she walked him home. How she had bid him goodnight for the second time before walking herself home. How he had watched her go until she was gone, not wanting her to leave him.

Adrian walked up the sidewalk to her front door, stepping over the overgrown grass that grew between the cracked concrete. From inside the house, he could hear voices, two to be exact. It was a man and a woman, and the woman sounded like she was crying. Adrian lowered the fist that was about to knock. His insides grew cold. What if he was at the wrong house? But no. One look at his map on his wristband told him he was at the right place. And Adrian remembered the way her house looked, as it was one of the only better kept looking houses of the street, although not by much.

He straightened when he heard Nova’s voice, too muffled for Adrian to understand what she was saying. Feeling awkward, Adrian knocked hesitantly on the door twice. The voices inside dropped, and Adrian heard movement. A few moments later, the door clicked and swung open, revealing Nova dressed in sweatpants and a loose tank top with holes along the seams. She wore no shoes on her feet, just a pair of old socks that didn’t match. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes were bloodshot. Despite not needing to sleep, she looked exhausted. She blinked at Adrian, as if she couldn’t tell if he was real or not.

Adrian had the absurd thought that she looked beautiful.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed after getting over her shock, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder and pushing Adrian back so she could step out onto the porch and close the door behind her.

Adrian cleared his throat, although no words came out. He stared down at Nova, whose expression had quickly changed to an angry one. “I...I um..I just wanted to give you something,” he finally got out, cheeks burning. “I know you told me not to stop by, but..” Unsure of what to do, Adrian held out the jewelry box and Peony. Nova looked down in surprise, mouth opening in a small ‘o’. Her face softened.

She took the box with two fingers and looked back up at Adrian. “Do you…” she licked her lips, drawing his attention to them. “Do you want me to open it now?”

Adrian scratched the back of his neck, eyes staring a hole into the ground. “Um...sure. If you want, that is. I don’t want to pressure you to do anything you don’t want to because-”

“Okay, I’ll open it.” Nova reached out her free hand to nudge Adrian’s chin. When he met her eyes again, they were a bit brighter than before. Some color had returned to her face. Adrian watched her open the box, bit his cheek as her mouth fell open again.

“Adrian...this is…”

“I wanted to get you a gift,” Adrian explained. His throat had gone dry. “For um...to prove that my feelings for you are very, very real. And they’ve only grown more in the past few weeks. I guess this is also a thank you gift for being there for me through this whole Nightmare and Max stuff? If you don’t like it, I understand, it’s just-”

Nova interrupted him again by silencing him with her lips. She reached behind his neck and pulled him down to her height. He dropped the Peony and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. She gasped, and the heat from her lips drove him crazy. He pushed her back until she was against the door, bathing in her touch and taste and scent as they kissed. He reached up and curled his hand in her hair. She responded with the softest moan, pushing closer to him.

A photo of a younger Nova holding an infant flashed through his head, and his eyes shot open. Nova continued to kiss him, and he responded, half-distracted. He forced his eyes closed again, forced himself to enjoy being so close to Nova. He kissed her harder, and she breathed his name against his lips, sending a shiver up his arms. He didn’t want to think about what Ruby had showed him earlier that day. Maybe he was making a mistake, but he wanted to believe that it was all a big misunderstanding, and that Nova was who she said she was. He wanted to believe that he was falling for someone that wasn’t keeping secrets. He told himself he would figure it out, but not now. Not when he had started to climb over the walls of Nova’s heart, or so he believed.

He could go on kissing her forever. All of their kisses were more amazing than the last. But eventually, they had to pull apart for air, much to his dismay.

“I love it,” Nova murmured, pressing a shaky peck to the corner of his mouth. “Thank you, Adrian. I...no one has ever given me a gift like this.”

“I thought you would need something to cheer you up.” Adrian cupped her cheek, and when they kissed again, it was much more gentle and relaxed. Adrian allowed himself to just hold her in that moment, savoring every soft caress of her lips against his.

A large bang followed by a crash came from inside, causing Nova to pull back and squirm out of Adrian’s arms. She looked back at the door, anger and conflict spread across her features. She turned back to Adrian, and the look softened.

“You should go.” She started to push him gently off the porch, although Adrian refused to move.

“Is everything alright in there?” He looked at the closed door. A movement caught his eye, and he tore his eyes to one of the windows just in time to see a curtain close and a flash of gold.

“Um...yeah!” Nova shook her head, but Adrian wasn’t convinced. He thought back to the crying voice he had heard before. “My uncle has a um….a client over. One of his new ideas.” She laughed nervously and tried to push Adrian back again.

“I thought he didn’t let people over when you’re sick.” Adrian raised a suspicious eyebrow.

“Well...yeah.” Nova bit her lip. “My friends. He can have guests over as long as I stay up in my room.” That didn’t explain why Adrian had heard her voice prior to him knocking on the door. He shook his head. Surely there was a reasonable explanation, but clearly Nova didn’t want to share it with him for whatever reason.

“Um...okay then. Can I at least ask how you’re feeling?” He crossed his arms.

Nova shot him a reassuring smile and pushed him again. This time, he allowed for her to lead him off the porch and onto the sidewalk. “Better because of you.” She reached up and kissed his cheek quickly. “Now, please leave if you want to live.” Her voice was light, but Adrian had an unnerving feeling that she wasn’t lying.

She turned to go back inside; Adrian grabbed her hand, swiveling her back to face him.

“Adrian, I’m serious,” she said, and he could tell from her tone that she meant it. “You need to leave.”

“I know, but…” He stumbled over his words then, forcing out what he had been wanting to say for weeks now. “Wiyoubemgirfriend?”

She blinked. “What?”

Adrian took a shaky breath. His cheeks were on fire. “Will you be my girlfriend?” he got out slowly.

Nova’s cheeks brightened, and not from being sick. “Oh, um...was I not before?”

Adrian cracked a smile, shoulders relaxing slightly. “I just...wanted to ask. Officially. While I’m here.”

He didn’t get an answer immediately, which sent him into a panic again. His palm in her hand felt sweaty. He resisted the urge to pull back and wipe it on his jeans.

“Yeah,” she murmured, then stated louder, “Yeah. Um...totally.” She nodded and smiled genuinely up at him, and he returned it.

“Great. Awesome.” He leaned down and gave her one last kiss. “Get some rest,” he told her, which she responded with an eye roll and a snort. “I’m serious. Now get inside.”

“Bye, Adrian.” Nova squeezed his hand and let it go. “And thank you...for the um...the ring. I really do love it.”

Adrian waited until she was inside the house and he heard the clicking of a lock before turning and making his way home.

His communicator band buzzed. Odd, he didn’t think his team had anything going on.

It was from Simon.

Need you home right away.

Adrian froze on the sidewalk. He never, never got texts from either of his dads, as it was an unprofessional use of the issued communicator bands.

Adrian sprinted home.

Nova closed the door behind her and leaned back, holding her head in her hands. Yeah? Totally? Great skies, she sounded like some lovestruck teenager.

Which she was not.

Adrian Everhart was her enemy, and while she admitted to being more than just attracted to him, she had been trying to kill her feelings over the last few weeks. With Ace in the hands of the Renegades, it was dangerous to like Adrian Everhart. No, she had to stop her feelings for him, no matter how much it hurt.

She thought she had been doing good until he decided to show up unannounced and kiss her.

Well, she kissed him, technically, but it was his fault. He made her do it.

And Nova would not think about how it felt to be pinned between him and the door while he held her as if she were all that mattered in the world to him. She would not think about how he kissed her, and how much it made her insides turn to jelly.

She looked down at the ring that she had put on her middle finger, on the same hand as the bracelet from her dad. She let the jewelry box fall to the ground as she admired it. Honey’s words floated through her head then.

“They can offer you notoriety and a fancy pair of boots. They might even give you pretty gems like that bauble on your wrist.”

“What did your little boyfriend want?” Nova looked up to see Leroy walking into the room from the kitchen. Honey followed behind him, and there was a smug look covering the tear streaks on her face. She had been crying over Ace before Adrian knocked on the door, as she tended to do multiple times a week.

Nova blushed. “He’s not-” but she stopped herself, Because he was, at least technically. She agreed to make their relationship official, at least in the eyes of the Renegades and the public.

“Looks like I taught you well.” Honey sat down on the torn and rat-chewed couch in the living room. She curled a finger around her golden locks, shooting Nova a coy look. “You two had me weak in the knees. You looked like two lovers on a soap opera. It really is a shame he’s a Renegade.” She sighed. “At least you can have some fun with him, right?” At Nova’s appalled expression, she cackled. “Young love,” Honey teased with a roll of her eyes.

“You-you were...watching us?” Nova felt violated, disgusted. Not that her relationship with Adrian was real, so anything they did wasn’t genuine. What did it matter that Honey and Leroy had seen her rather hand-fanning-face short make out session with her fake boyfriend while she was in sweats?

“Well someone had to pull you apart.” Honey examined her nails, sniffling from her previous breakdown. Nova thought of the crash from before that made her and Adrian jump apart.

“That was you?” Nova crossed her arms. She was a little peeved at Honey. First watching them, and then being the cause for them to stop kissing.

“Enough, Honey Harper,” Leroy said sternly. Nova was about to thank him until he continued. “Let’s just hope Insomnia didn’t get her Renegade sick with that cold of hers.” He cracked a wry smile, and Honey burst into giggles.

Nova pushed past them. “If neither of you are going to take this seriously, then I’m going to grab my stuff and go to HQ.”

“Take what seriously, sweetie pie?” Honey gasped, unable to stop her laughter. “Your love life?”

Nova stopped at the staircase and turned back around to face them. There was amusement on both their faces. The hard set of Nova’s jaw loosened. It had been so long since she had seen them give a genuine smile. Not since Ace was captured. She took a deep breath and released it.

“Ace,” Nova said quietly. “Remember what we were talking about before A-the Renegade showed up?”

Honey stopped laughing. She wiped at her face, as if remembering she still had dried tears sticking to her cheeks.

“Yes, you’re right.” Leroy took a seat next to Honey, taking his time to get settled. Nova realized as she watched him how his age was catching up to him. He and Honey both, although Honey was more discreet about it. Still, Nova had noticed how Honey took her time getting to bed every night. Nova noticed the way Honey winced when lying down.

The Anarchists were weakening. Their numbers were small, allies were short, and bodies weren’t the same as they were a decade before. All except Nova, who was young and energetic.

They needed to act quickly.

“We know he’s in Cragmoor, so there’s a very low chance we would even be able to get past the security. Not even my chemicals could get us very far.” Nova nodded her head at Leroy. They had established that already. Breaking into the prison that held prodigy criminals was a death sentence. They would only succeed in wiping out their numbers completely.

An idea popped into Nova’s head. Something Adrian had said the last time he was at her house. The night of the gala. After Max…

“What about when they make a public event out of neutralizing him? When he’s back in the city?” Nova asked. She didn’t want to think about Max. Not when he was still sitting in a hospital bed because of her.

“That’s risky, Nova,” Leroy warned.

Nova sighed. “I know, but what if-”

“Don’t you remember the parade?” Honey snapped, standing up quickly. Fresh tears had brewed in her eyes and were threatening to fall. “You didn’t succeed then.”

Nova took a step back. She had lived with Honey long enough to know when to back off.

“Well, Winston didn’t exactly help,” she muttered.

“You still missed your target, Winston being there or not.” Honey crossed her arms. Nova mirrored the older woman.

“I could go to the event as Nightmare. Hide in the shadows. I could shoot Captain Chromium with an Agent N dart.”

“Nova, that would only reveal your position,” Leroy pointed out.

“Can I finish?” Nova narrowed her eyes at them. When neither spoke, she nodded. “Thank you.

“As I was saying, I could shoot the Captain. Everyone would go into a panic, whether I hit him or not. While everyone’s distracted, you two and Phobia can help Ace escape, and I can throw a few Agent N bombs into the crowd. Get rid of some Renegades.” The last bit made Nova’s stomach queasy, but what choice did she have? The Renegades were the enemy. They had created Agent N. It would be ironic to lose their powers to their own weapon, just like Frostbite’s team.

“That’s a lot of assuming.” Leroy stroked his chin thoughtfully. “And a lot of open holes for things to go wrong.”

“But what choice do we have, Leroy?” Nova leaned against the stair rail. “We can’t just let Ace rot away.”

Leroy sat in silence for a moment. Then, he got up suddenly and made his way to the kitchen. He waved for Nova to follow him.

“I’ve been studying his helmet.” Leroy explained when both Nova and Honey were in the room. He went to one of the cabinets and opened it. Inside, covered with fabric, was Ace’s helmet. “Back in the Age of Anarchy, Ace never let anyone touch his helmet.” He set it on the countertop. “I had always been curious of its elements and what made it so...special.”

Nova examined the helmet. It looked the same as it did the night when she had stolen it from headquarters. Her bracelet vibrated at her wrist, and she brought it up. It pulled towards the helmet.

Leroy hummed. “Very interesting. David’s pieces always worked in mysterious ways.”

Nova tugged her wrist back down, ignoring the buzz of energy from the bracelet. “What do you mean?”

“The helmet,” Leroy explained, “has special powers. When your father made it, he used metals that would enhance the wearer’s powers. Make them stronger. It explains why Ace could do what no telekinetic prodigy could do before him.”

“That doesn’t explain the bracelet.” Although Nova had an idea, and she didn’t like it.

“Your bracelet appears to be made of the same material.” Leroy took a step towards her and held out his hand. “May I see it?”

Hesitantly, Nova slipped off her bracelet and handed it to Leroy, who took it over to his microscope sitting among his temporary mess of a laboratory. It only took a moment of examining for him to nod and hand the bracelet back to Nova. She put it back around her wrist, feeling comfort in its presence.

“Just as I suspected.” Leroy sat in one of the kitchen chairs, sighing. “Although I can’t figure out that gem. What was it you said about it?”

Nova shrugged. “Some Renegade said it was worth a lot, but she’s a thief anyways. Anything to her is valuable.”

Honey tittered. “A thieving Renegade? How interesting.”

Leroy nodded. “Quite. If the Renegades aren’t as good as they make themselves out to be, I bet we could draw some over to our side.”

Nova thought of little Magpie, angry but still so young. She wasn’t much younger when she was taken in by Ace. By the time she had reached Magpie’s age, she had been robbed of a proper childhood, already exposed to the cruel world and bitter because of the unfairness of it all. She wouldn’t wish that life upon anyone, even on an unhappy Renegade such as Magpie who was forced to become a Renegade just as much as Nova was forced to become an Anarchist. “She’s just a child,” Nova explained. “Highly unlikely to persuade her when she hardly knows what persuasion is.”

“But if there’s one, there’s many, little Nightmare.” Honey rubbed her hands together. A bumblebee buzzed around her hair lazily.

“Back to the helmet.” Leroy cleared his throat, drawing their attention to him. “Your bracelet holds the same properties as it. Now, because it is much, much smaller, it only enhances your power a bit. Not near as much as the helmet would give.”

“So what are you suggesting, Leroy?”

Leroy held the helmet in one hand, weighing it in his palm. “I’m suggesting, little Insomnia, that you use it.”

#archenemies spoilers #renegades #archenemies #nova artino #Adrian everhart #nodrian #ruby tucker #Oscar silva #danna bell

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the-walking-memelords · 6 years ago

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Allegiances: Chapter 9

Series is rated M

Word Count: 4019

The day of reckoning has arrived and Clementine decides to spend her last day of peace with her friends.

Read it on Ao3!

Read it on Wattpad!

It’s almost time.

Her last day of peace. Once the sun set, all hell would break loose.

Might as well enjoy it.

The fall breeze played with her hair as she stepped out into the sunlight. The sun may be cheerful but gloom hung on the wind, infecting even the most optimistic member of the group.

“I have other stuff I need to do.” Louis argued with Violet at the entrance of the admin building.

“What stuff?” The blonde retorted, crossing her arms.

“Nothing, it’s just… it’s important.”

“Goddammit, Louis. Take this seriously for once in your life.” The argument grew more heated as Vi refused to back down.

“I’ve been taking this seriously for fucking days! Over a week!”

“So has everyone. Get over yourself.” Violet growled at the boy.

She watched Louis stomp away from Violet, his dreads swung in front of his face as he walked right past her. Deciding to give him some space, she went to get some answers from Violet.

“Hey.” Clementine caught the blonde’s attention.

“What’s going on?”

“We still got shit to do but Louis would rather goof off or whatever the hell he’s doing than help.” Violet let out a heavy sigh as she crossed her arms.

“He’s always been like this, finding every excuse to do as little work as possible and it’s fucking frustrating.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” Clementine anxiously scraped a rock back and forth beneath her boot.

“Yeah, he seems to listen to you at least.” Her angry expression changed to an apologetic one once the words left her mouth.

“Sorry, I- uh… shit. I just want to make sure we’re ready. If you’re right and they find us… I don’t want to lose anyone else to those bastards.” Her voice caught in her throat. The stress of keeping everyone together was evident in the bags under her eyes.

“I’m not going to let that happen, Vi.” Clem assured her, determination in her tone.

“If those fuckers try to get at anyone in this school they’ll have to kill me first.”

“That’s one of the things I’m afraid of.” She confessed.

“I don’t want you to get hurt either, Clem. You’ve dealt with a lot of bullshit the last couple weeks but you never ditched us. You could’ve just left. You could’ve kept running from the war but instead, you stayed to help us. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

“You don’t need to thank me for staying.”

Please don’t thank me for staying.

Those words caused an all too familiar feeling in her heart.

“I don’t want to go back to the way things used to be. It was killing me. I’m not sure how much longer I could have gone on.” A heart so empty of life it felt like it sometimes forgot to beat.

“I’ve never been in a group like this before. A real family.”

“You’re a part of that family too. We all care about you.” She smiled somewhere over Clem’s shoulder.

“But I think there’s someone who cares about you more than the rest.”

She followed Vi’s look to see Louis at the archery target. Brow furrowed as each arrow missed the wooden circle completely, sticking out of the dirt below it.

Clementine’s cheeks turned pink when she realized what Violet was suggesting. She opened her mouth, prepared to deny it all… but something was different. Her heart skipped a beat and for once, it wasn't out of fear. It was… hope.

“...Do you really think so?” She gave a nervous laugh as a smile tugged at her lips.

“Ah, so you do like him back.” Violet teased as she poked the blushing girl’s arm.

“Shut up.” She almost whined, her face growing warmer after revealing her secret, but inside herself, there was no denying how she felt about Louis.

He needs to know.

I want him to know.

“Ugh, it’s so cute I’m going to puke.” She joked, making a fake gagging noise.

“Marlon and Omar are out at the greenhouse and Aasim and Willy are working out some trap ideas so I guess I’ll go board up the back hallway since Louis isn’t going to do it. Can you see how the others are doing?”

“Sure.” She looked back towards Louis again.

“Don’t spend all your time on him, okay? I want to know if everyone has their shit together.” Violet wasn’t about to pass up an opportunity to privately tease her friend about her little crush.

“Go get him, tiger.”

“Violet, I swear to god.” Her face burned with embarrassment.

Violet held her hands up, smirk unfading as she backed into the admin building.

Clementine let out a groan as she pondered if that was a good idea or not. Looking over at Louis, still struggling with archery, she decided to find someone else before facing him.

According to Ruby and Brody, there was a lot of walker activity not far outside the walls than usual. It made hunting more difficult but maybe the dead would help keep Lilly at bay just a little. Mitch’s test bomb refused to go off meaning he would need as much time as he could get to figure it out.

The yard already looked like a war zone. Flipped tables creating barriers and narrow paths from the gate to the admin building. The rotten eyes of the decapitated walkers heads decorated pikes all around. Crudely painted banners and graffiti with messages such as “Leave or Die!” and “Fuck Raiders” among their other more decorative features were hopefully enough to at least make them look like more than a bunch of kids with sticks going up against a bunch of adults with guns.

“Hey, Clem.” a small voice came from behind her.

“What’s up, Tenn.” She greeted the excited boy.

“I wanna show you something!” He grinned ear to ear as he lead Clem by her hand to another one of the few unflipped tables in a shady spot in the yard. A few pencils were strewn across the boards surrounding a single piece of lined paper.

“Since you’re helping protect us from the bad people, I wanted to make you something, as a thank you.” The boy eagerly handed the page to her.

Clementine studied the little graphite figures, recognizing each member of the school standing in front of what appeared to be the admin building. The short girl with poofy curls standing in the middle appeared to be her, bow in hand with a proud smile.

Aw.

“It’s beautiful, Tenn.” A similar smile as depicted in the drawing spread across her face as she carefully folded it up into her pocket.

“I’ll keep it safe.”

The boy was pleased with Clem’s reaction. The grin on his face reminded her of AJ whenever he gifted her one of his masterpieces. Her blue cap loose on his head as he adjusted it constantly as he eagerly showed her the scribbled figures of the people he encountered in the Delta. Some she could kind of recognize, others were strangers. Her little boy gifted her many of his drawings. Clementine wished she had been allowed to keep them.

“I know a little boy like you. A lot younger, but he loves to draw, too.”

These two would be great friends.

“You do?” Confusion crossed his features.

“Where is he?”

“He’s… gone.” She took a deep breath, her smile becoming partially forced.

“But I’m going to see him again, one day.”

I will.

I promise.

“My sisters are gone, too, but I don’t like to think about it like that. I like to think about where they would be now.” His words caught her a little off guard.

“Sophie was really good at making stuff. She would build a place big enough for all of us and paint it too, and Minerva would be singing would be singing whatever new song she’d wrote.”

“Heh. That does seem like a nice way to think about it.” Her and AJ living free was all she could ever hope for.

Tennessee went back to his drawings as Clem thought about what it could be like if she really brought AJ to the school.

Clementine pictured what the school might be like on a nice summer day.

Relaxing on the couch under the sun, taking in the sweet breeze as she listened to the squeals and laughs of the AJ, Tenn, and Willy as they ran around in whatever game of make-believe they’d concocted. The others smiling and nodding whenever they passed by during their daily duties. She’d smile and wave back, resting her head on Louis’ shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her.

We could be happy here.

“Goddammit!” Louis exclaimed, swinging his bow in frustration as he plucked the arrows out of the dirt.

“Are you alright?”She asked. He glanced over with a small momentary smile before falling back into his downcast look.

“In a couple of months, or weeks, or days, or hours we’re going to be caught in the middle of a war we have nothing to with and a bunch of raiders are going come, burn down our home and steal or kill us.” He looked back down at the bow in his hand, biting his lip.

“And then It won't matter how much I sucked at this.”

“The raiders aren't going to burn anything or steal anyone.” It was disheartening to hear him on the verge of giving up.

“I’m not going to let that happen.”

“You sound like a one-woman army. Like you’re going to take them all down single-handedly.” He joked.

“Not that I’m doubting you could or anything. You are a certified badass after all.”

“Well, I have walked through many herds of walkers and come out unscathed.” She blushed at his praise.

“What’s a couple of asshole’s with guns, right?”

“Deadheads don’t shoot back.” He said flatly, not joining in on her joke.

“I’ve dealt with people who do, Louis.” Clementine pulled back the collar of her jacket, revealing the round scar where a bullet had torn right through her shoulder. He stared at it almost in horror.

“I was eleven when that happened. Haven’t been shot since.”

Well, not really.

But grazes don’t count!

“The fact that that might change soon is what terrifies me.” He leaned against the back of the couch.

“I want to be able to protect you, Clem. If something happened to you because of me… like at the hardware store…”

“Louis, what happened at the hardware store wasn’t your fault. Not to mention, you saved my life that day.” The look of pure rage on his face when he slammed Chairles into the head of that stranger was something she never expected from this soft boy.

“I… I’ve never killed someone before. I know that guy didn’t die… probably… but it’s the closest I’ve ever gotten.” His freckled face was scrunched in frustration.

“What if I need to when the fight comes and I can’t. If you got hurt or worse because I couldn’t kill someone… I-I can’t carry that for the rest of my life.”

Clementine’s heart ached as she saw him like this. Anguish in his watery eyes. Words on his lips he seemed to be biting back.

“I’m not going anywhere, okay? I believe in you. So believe me until you believe yourself, alright?”

“Easier said than done.” The light chuckle he produced didn’t feel genuine in the slightest.

Loud shouting sounded from the admin building startling the two. Louis squeezed her hand one more time before they wordlessly went to investigate. “Because you’re boring and your idea is stupid!” Willy yelled at a beyond frustrated Aasim. “Oh, I’m being stupid? You’re the one who can’t think straight. If you could hear yourself-” “Guys, what the fuck?” Violet stormed out of the admin building behind the arguing pair. “We were trying to work on the traps together but Aasim won't listen to anything I say!” The boy continued to raise his voice. “That doesn’t mean you have to scream at each other.” Louis crossed his arms. “I had the idea to use duffle bags full of bricks to drop on the raiders if they made it into the admin building.” Aasim explained. “But Willy here wants to use a giant idiotic swinging log to take out one raider at most.” Both boys looked to Clementine for a solution. “If we rig a bunch of duffel bags like mines above the stairwell they’ll have a hard time getting past without getting crushed.” She decided. “Practical, discrete, and deadly. That's what we go with.” “Mine’s all that too!” The young boy pleaded. “No, it isn’t.” Aasim continued to go after him. “It’s exactly something a child would come up with!” A swift punch to the gut to Aasim shocked the group as Willy quickly ran away inside. The boy groaned in pain and mumbled curses under his breath as he took a seat by the fire away from the others. “Great.” Violet growled. “We’ll all kill each other before the raiders get a fucking chance.”

“I have an idea on how to release some of the tension ‘round here.” The two of them plus Tennessee followed Louis to join their brooding friend by the fire. Here we go. “Hey, buuuddy, how’s it hangin’?” Louis greeted with a wide grin as everyone took their seats. “Dude, fuck off.” Aasim brushed him off. “Sulking in the corner isn’t going to help us fight off the raiders, or turn that frown upside down.” The freckled boy juggled his box of cards from hand to hand. “You get more annoying every day.” “Regardless, I’ve come up with a plan to make everyone feel better.” “What are we playing tonight, Lou?” The mullet-wearing boy asked. “Truth or Dare!” “You don’t use cards in Truth or Dare.” Violet pointed out. “You do in this version. High card asks, low card answers.” Louis insisted as he dealt a pile to each player, squinting suspiciously when he noticed Aasim glancing somewhere else. “If you want to ask Ruby to join, I don’t mind waiting.” Oh shit. “Shut up dude!” He panicked as Louis revealed his little secret. “I swear to God.” “You’ve got a crush on Ruby?” Violet teased the poor boy.

Aasim’s little crush became a running joke for the first half of the game, including a cruel dare from Clementine herself involving Aasim asking his dear, sweet Ruby for a kiss. A request that ended with him being promptly slapped in the face, sending the group of teens howling with laughter.

“I got this.” Louis said confidently as he drew the high card against Clementine.

“We’ve been pretty hard on poor Aasim here, teasing him about sweet Ruby. I think it’s time for us to mercilessly tease someone else about unrequited love.”

I don’t like where this is going.

“So.. Clem.”

Shit.

“Anyone here you… like-like?” Clementine didn’t know what was worse. The question, or the fact that Louis was the one asking. Her face began to feel warm and she prayed the others couldn’t tell how red it was in the dim evening light.

“Like-like? What are you, six?” Violet’s comment gave her a few extra seconds to think up a response.

“Seven, thank you.”

“I... uh.” Clem mumbled flusteredly.

Fuck it.

“Yeah.” She confessed, her face blushing more.

“I’ve definitely got feelings for someone.”

“Ha! Who is it?” Louis asked over excitedly.

“Not telling.”

Violet smiled at Clem with a knowing look, who in returned glared daggers at her.

“One more round.” Louis declared, his grin didn’t fade as everyone drew their next cards.

“Aasim! You’ve got the high card. And the loser is… Tennessee.”

“What’s something you never told anyone because you were afraid they’d make fun of you?” Aasim’s question made the nervous boy seem a little relieved that it wasn’t something worse.

“I think… I think walkers won’t always be around. They’ll go away someday.” The boy said hesitantly.

“The world goes in cycles, right? Stone age, Ice age, some other ages… So someday this age will end, and a new one will start.”

The group sat in silence for a moment, pondering Tenn’s perspective.

An age without walkers, like it used to be.

Such a world seemed like a lifetime ago, almost unreal. A world AJ had never known.

“Why is everyone looking at me like that?” The poor boy seemed to regret his words.

“Did I ruin the game?”

“I think that’s beautiful, Tenn.” Clementine assured him, sharing a warm smile.

“I never thought about it like that.”

“I think that feels like a good place to call it.” Louis collected his cards as everyone stood.

“We should finish our work, anyways. It’s getting dark.” Violet stretched as she stood.

“I’m going up to the bell tower to check our defences from up high. You can come with if you want, Clem.”

“Or you can hang out with me instead.” Louis poked her shoulder.

“There’s something I’ve been working on for a while and I want your opinion on it.”

Violet rolled her eyes and waved as she left the two alone.

Sorry, Vi.

---

“Is this another ‘Vacation?’” Clementine asked as they entered the mostly dark music room, a few candles casting a golden glow over the grand piano.

“Almost. Kinda. Sorta.” He laughed nervously as he leaned against his prized instrument.

“I want to show you something, but I need your help first.”

“Help? With what?”

Louis reached behind him, picking a specific key and pressing on it. The sound it made was far from melodic.

“Sounds awful, right? All we need to do is tune it.” He smirked.

“That’s why I need you.”

“You realize I know nothing about pianos, right?” How did he expect her to help?

“It’s easy, just take a seat and I’ll tell you what to do.”

She ran her fingers lightly over the smooth keys as she sat at the bench. There were so many. It was a mystery to her how Louis could know the sound each identical key made.

“Now press the A key.” He told her as he fiddled with the strings.

“Uh, which one’s the A key?”

“Y’know, the A key, next to the B key, after the G key.” He tilted his head as he pointed out each one. She pressed down on the key producing an off-tune note.

“Great! Now press the peddles while I make some more adjustments.”

Clementine followed his steps hoping she was actually helping.

At least he seems to know what he’s doing.

“Alright, now one more thing.” He stated.

“Blow on the strings.”

I stand corrected.

“It sound’s weird, I know.” He must have caught the suspicious look on her face.

“Cooling the temperature helps set them in harmony.”

Clementine stood reluctantly as she leaned over the body of the piano, blowing on the lines of piano wire before shooting him a glare.

“Great! That did nothing because that’s not at all part of how you tune a piano.”

I fucking knew it.

“But it was funny!” He laughed, his winning smile making her heart jump as always.

“I could have done something on like a molecular level, or maybe, it’s good luck to blow on strings.” He pressed down on the newly-tuned key, seeming satisfied with the noise.

“Okay okay, you got me.” Clementine couldn't help but laugh out loud as she scooted over, allowing him to sit next to her. There was a fluttery feeling inside of her chest as they sat so close on the short bench.

“It’s good to see you like this.” He said softly before turning his attention to the piano.

His fingers love elegantly across the keys. Playing a soft yet emotional tune. Louis seemed to become lost in the music, spilling his heart into the air with every note.

“What are you playing? -And don’t say ‘a piano.’”

“A song… that I wrote.”

He wrote this?

“What’s it called?”

It’s beautiful.

“I don’t know yet.” He shrugged, finishing off the last few notes

“There. First time played. We should mark the occasion!”

Louis pulled his knife out of his coat, carving an L into the wood before offering it to her. She carefully added her own initial to the left of his, also carving a little plus in between.

C+L

Clementine and Louis

“Are you done tattooing that piano?” He was only joking, but she wasn’t done yet. Something was missing here.

Clementine continued to cut into the wood. Her heart began to beat rapidly as she almost felt unsure of her bold and permanent move. Louis watched her movements in confusion before it began to dawn on him what she had drawn.

“Oh, uh… that’s a… that’s a potato?”

Really? That’s your first guess?

“It’s a heart! Yep, I see it’s a heart.” His face grew red as he tried to laugh off his mistake.

“That’s… super cool. Really cool.”

Clementine rolled her eyes playfully as her cheeks grew warm. Her hands nervously played with one of the buttons at the bottom of her coat.

“Hey, uh. I’m about to dig myself into a deep hole from which I’ll never emerge. Cool? Cool.” He loudly took a deep breath.

“Time to get serious.”

“Serious? Wow. Are you feeling okay?”

“Not really, nope. Mm mm.”

Clementine began to worry once more. It was clear that this was a side of him he never let any of the others see. The brave face falls and his smile drops revealing the struggling boy underneath. The people here have known him forever, longer than she probably ever would and they still failed to see through his facade.

“Thanks… for being here. Listening. Blowing on the strings. Coming to help me with my project even though you probably have way more important things to do, and… for everything I’ve had to work through, for myself.” He rested his hand on the bench beside her, their fingers barely touching.

“Everyone hears the jokes, the piano… and then they stop listening. But you didn’t.”

Clementine’s heart thumped loudly in her ears as she stared into his eyes. She didn’t want to wait any longer, her heart might collapse otherwise.

I have to tell him while I still have the chance.

“Louis I…” Her mind drew blank, all the words she had planned to say became caught in her throat. He looked at her expectantly with worry in his eyes as she struggled to say anything.

Clementine gave up on words. Looking into his eyes she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. Louis tensed up for a moment in shock before melting into the kiss, lightly cupping her face with his hands as she slid one of her own to the back of his neck. Slowly, they broke away, pressing their foreheads together as they peered into each other's eyes.

I can’t believe I just did that.

“I think that saves me the trouble of actually asking you out.” He smirked.

“Which is good, ‘cause I was a little worried you’d stab me if I tried.”

Clementine buried her face into the collar of Louis’ jacket as a fit of giggles overtook her. A little lightheaded with giddiness, she wrapped her arms around his neck and sunk into the warm fluff of his jacket.

“I know what to call the song.” he said as she sat up, their hands locked tightly together.

“‘Clementine.’ Y’know, cuz I like fruit, and I like you even more so… there.”

“You are such a weirdo.” Clem giggled, shaking her head.

“Yeah? Well, apparently you dig that. So who’s the weird one now?” He teased.

“It’s both of us.”

Clementine’s response to that was cut off by the frantic calling of her name.

“Clementine? Clementine?!” Ruby’s panicked voice sounded from down the hall, finding them in the music room just as Clem and Louis stood from the piano.

“Ruby! What’s going on?” She asked, but she already knew the answer.

“There’s someone outside!”

#Clouis #Louistine #Louisentine #fanfic #allegiances #my writing

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trumpetnista · 6 years ago

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CMW2/Trumpetnista: Safe (8/?)

Summary from FFN: NOW A WIP: She was Olivia Pope, not Alex Jones, not Julia Baker, and she was a mess;In this AU of 4x16, instead of Alex seducing Russell to feel alive again, Olivia decides on a better course of action, a course of action that starts with a phone call to Fitz;HEAVY SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 WITHIN;Rated for language, imagery, and later Olitz lovemaking;4th in my 2016 SSS Project

Teaser from Chapter 8: It needed to go.

The couch needed to go.

It was a constant reminder of what had happened to her, now. It was poison.’

Yes, she and Fitz had their good moments on it. After hearing their first time on tape, he had held her for One Minute, comforting her and saying goodbye. When he came to her to run out the clock, the couch had been where he sat, looking at her with all the love in the world, all the trust in the world. She had fallen into his arms on the couch, letting herself be loved and letting go...

...but now? The couch had to go. The couch and the whole apartment, for that matter! Why was she still living there? Even before her abduction, there were so many bad times in the place, more than good. It had been a point of pride to stay put. Olivia had seen it as a sign of strength to stay but had it really been? It was something to think about. It was something to talk about, both with her therapist and her family. She had money. She had contacts. Finding a new place in or close to DC would be simple, even with the inherent hassle of moving.

She would have one less piece of furniture to deal with in the process...

Disclaimer for the full story: “Honestly, it’s not mine!”

@douxbebearchives

3 Days Later...

"I'll take care of him. Consider it Handled."

"Huck."

"He shouldn't have broken into your place. You're trying so hard to get better. You are getting better every day. You're learning how to be happy again and he wants to ruin it. He wants to drag you back down into the Dark because that's the only way that you let him be with you. Even if B613 and Rowan aren't a part of his life anymore, he won't ever leave you alone so someone needs to make him go away for good. I can do it. I'll be okay after, I promise."

"You're getting better, too and I don't want Jake to ruin your progress. He's not worth it."

"But you are. Besides, if I don't take him down, Quinn will after I tell her what happened. Charlie will help her get rid of him because he wants her to be happy and he really likes you. Marcus will run interference if anyone asks where he is and Abby still has her gun so..."

"Huck, don't do it. Please?"

"Ballard hurt you before. He put his hands on you and made you feel scared. He made you feel dirty and wrong. We all let him hurt you before and it wasn't right. It wasn't fair to you. We're supposed to be Gladiators. We're supposed to be a family. Family protects family. Always."

"I didn't protect my family when it counted most. I ran away."

"We forgave you and if Harrison was still here, he would've, too. He loved you. We love you."

"...I know."

"Do you?"

"Yeah. Try not to do it. You all can go talk to him but just...try. For me?"

"...okay."

Olivia sighed softly and tossed her phone into the duffel bag next to her. The breeze was refreshing against her skin and she closed her eyes, already feeling tears sliding down her face. After what happened with Jake, she had booked an emergency session with her therapist. Linda Marbury had seen her first thing and she had taken the rest of the day off afterwards. During that off day, she had given her apartment a deep clean, both to calm down and to check for surveillance equipment. Jake said that he had left nothing behind but she would be a fool to take him at his word. She had found nothing but it didn't mean that she wasn't being watched.

Local news had brought up the fact that she was in counseling but she had been prepared. There was no shame in admitting that one needed help. With how stressful life could be, especially in Washington, getting help and support was crucial. Mental health was just as important as physical health, if not more important. After all, if one's mind wasn't right, then the rest of the body wouldn't be either.

The statement, along with substantial donations to local outreach programs, had quickly turned the narrative around in her favor. Olivia was a Fixer. She was the best in the business for a reason and it was nice to remember that she deserved help, too.

Opening her eyes, she looked at the couch. It was waiting near the quarry's small lake, looking both huge and small. She had been meaning to get rid of it since her abduction but she hadn't the time or the strength. But now that she was healing, truly healing, getting rid of it was just as important as taking her medicine on time and removing the toxic people from her life.

She had blocked Mellie's numbers. She had also put a strict policy in place for keeping her or her representatives out of OPA. True to Fitz's warning, a series of voicemails had been left by the embittered woman, dripping with alcohol laced venom. She had Huck save each one of them, added them to the black Kill Folder, and moved on with her life. Mellie losing her Election wasn't Olivia's fault. It wasn't Fitz's fault. It wasn't Cyrus' fault or the American People's. The loss was no one's fault but Mellie's. She didn't want to wait and build her brand. She didn't want to put the work in that her opponent had. She had felt entitled to Power and rightfully got a wake-up call.

Olivia had taken to letting Cyrus go to voicemail, too. Unless it was about Ella's wellbeing, she wouldn't take his calls. He was looking for her to get back into Kingmaking. He was looking for her to be The White House's personal Fixer again and Olivia wasn't interested. She wasn't interested in being called 'The Help' ever again. If Fitz needed her, then he could and would call her himself so Cyrus couldn't use that avenue to get her anymore. She wouldn't let him.

Just because he wasn't actively interfering with her life anymore didn't mean that he was trusted. Trusting Cyrus Beene would be just as foolish as trusting Jake. She was a lot of things but foolish? Not anymore. If she was really going to heal, she had to be firm. She had to be brave. Having support from her friends and Fitz was excellent but at the end of the day, it was up to her.

Reaching down to the large speaker, she turned the volume all the way up. Fighting back bile, Olivia lowered the needle to the record player and waited.

After a couple scratches, the music began.

Yeah, everybody's got a thing But some don't know how to handle it Always reaching out in vain Just taking the things not worth having but

Don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama 'Cause I'll be standing on the side When you check it out, oh

They say your style of life's a drag And that you must go other places Just don't you feel too bad When you get fooled by smiling faces

Don't you worry bout a thing...

It needed to go.

The couch needed to go.

It was a constant reminder of what had happened to her, now. It was poison.

She would have one less piece of furniture to deal with in the process.

Come on, everybody needs a change A chance to check out the new But you're the only one to sees The changes you take yourself through Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh

Don't you worry 'bout a thing, thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, thing...

After renting the truck and putting the couch inside, Olivia had driven to a small hardware store about 90 minutes away from DC. She had looked it up online, not wanting to deal with a large crowd. Not to mention that the sight of The Olivia Pope in a Home Depot or Lowe's would be instant Beltway gossip fuel. She didn't need that. She didn't deserve that. Over the years, she had become so protective of everyone else's privacy, everyone else's Reputation, that she had neglected herself. She had seen herself as a burden, as a Scandal, and it had led to some of the worst decisions she had ever made. That needed to change. Olivia needed to take control.

It was her life to live. It was her life to Fix so she could enjoy it again.

Don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama 'Cause I'll be standing on the side When you check it out When you get it off your trip Don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama...

The muscles in her body burned. Tears were falling and her body was shaking but with each blow of the sledgehammer, Olivia could feel more of the heaviness lift. The couch was going to be gone. She would never have to look at it again. She would still have the memories. She would still have the flashbacks and terrors but things would be better. Huck was right. She was trying. She wanted to be better. She wanted to be happy again. No one was going to stop her from being happy again.

Not Jake.

Not Mellie.

Not Rowan.

Not Cyrus.

And especially not herself.

Once she could lift the hammer no more, she let it fall to the ground and took in the sight in front of her. The couch was now a jumble of metal, fabric, and wood. There were cuts on her hands, small but stinging. She would take care of them soon enough. She wasn't done just yet.

Returning to the truck, Olivia got the red gas can and the engraved silver lighter. It had been a gift from Rowan. She couldn't remember exactly when he had given it to her but it was before she had realized the truth about him. She had found it during the deep clean of her apartment and it was only fitting to use it.

The remains of the couch ignited immediately and she threw the lighter into the flames, letting it all burn. Olivia knew that she still had a lot of work to do. She knew that her fight for joy was far from over but at the moment, she felt victorious. She felt vindicated and empowered.

She had taken back another piece of her soul.

She would never get them all back but that was fine.

She would always be more than a little broken inside but that didn't mean that she was unworthy.

It didn't mean that she was ruined.

There was hope.

As long as there was breath in her body, there was hope.

Don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama 'Cause I'll be standing on the side When you check it out Oh don't you worry 'bout a thing Don't you worry 'bout a thing, mama 'Cause I'll be standing, I'll be standing by you

Oh Oh oh don't you worry 'bout a thing...

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southsidexslytherin · 7 years ago

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I Wanted So Badly To Be Brave--Sweet Pea x Reader

Summary: inspired by the song “I Wanted So Badly To Be Brave” by The Wonder Years. After watching Sweet Pea suffer for years through an abusive relationship with his father, all you want is for him to run away with you.

Word Count: 3,405

Warnings: violence, physical abuse, language, alcohol abuse

Author’s note: while I’m still working on part 2 for Dirty Laundry, I was listening to this song and was inspired to write this piece. I hope you all enjoy it! Please reblog and comment if you do!

You leaned against the pool table at the Whyte Wyrm, absentmindedly flicking your switchblade open and closed repeatedly, waiting for you best friend to finish his game of pool. It was late, you were tired, and Sweet Pea was your ride home. He moved over to where you were standing, nudging you out of the way with his hip so he could take his shot. You rolled your eyes. “Hurry up so I can go home,” you sighed. Pea sunk the eight ball into the corner pocket, winning his game.

He looked down at you with a smirk and laid his hand on the back of your neck. “Just let me settle up with Hog Eye and we can go.” You watched him pay the man out with the cash from his winnings before returning to you. You grabbed your jacket from where it hung over a nearby barstool and shrugged into it. Sweet Pea did the same and you strolled out of the bar side by side. You both climbed onto his motorcycle and peeled out onto the road, headed towards the trailer park.

As Pea pulled up to your trailer his eyes were drawn to the one next to it, the one he lived in with his parents. Your gaze followed, noticing that all the lights were on despite the fact that it was nearly 2 am. There was a trailer-less semi parked alongside the trailer and you both knew what that meant. You looked into Pea’s face, watching it darken as his jaw clenched tightly.

“Hey,” you said softly, resting a hand on his leather-clad forearm, “crash with me tonight? We can watch a slasher movie. I’ll even make popcorn.”

His face softened. “Thanks, Y/N.” You took his hand in yours and led him into your trailer. Luckily your mom was working the night shift at Pop’s so you didn’t have to worry about bothering her.

You both hung your serpent jackets on hooks by the door, and Sweet Pea plopped down on the couch, running his hands through his sleek black hair. You walked into the kitchen and began pulling things out of the cabinets. After filling a pan with oil and popcorn kernels, you covered it with a lid and set it on the stove. As you waited for it to start popping, you looked over to the boy on the couch, a scowl on his face. Your heart hurt, knowing the pain he was going through at the moment.

Sweet Pea had been your best friend since you were four years old. You had grown up in this very trailer, right next to his. As kids you spent most of your days running around the trailer park, playing tag or hide and seek, or any other game that would keep the two of you out of the way. Your mother had been working the night shift for as long as you could remember, so when she was home you had to be quite so she could sleep.

As for Pea’s parents, his dad was your typical abusive alcoholic. You couldn’t ever remember a time when he wasn’t drunk and shouting some profanity or another. Growing up you only ever saw the inside of Pea’s trailer when his dad was at work. His mom was a kind woman, but had been verbally, and occasionally physically, abused by her husband for so long that she was mostly just a shell of a woman you never knew. She tried her best to shield Sweet Pea from his father’s rage by deflecting it onto herself. Because of this, Pea tried to spend as little time around his father as possible, hoping that if he didn’t engage him, he couldn’t enrage him.

This left the two of you time for many adventures. You spent most of your days in the nearby forest, leaping over fallen branches and trying to scare up the wild animals. On occasion you’d fashion yourselves bows and arrows out of sticks and rubber bands, brightly colored with spray paint you had shoplifted from the hardware store down the street. You’d run through the trees covered in warpaint made from crushed wildflower petals, trying to shoot each other with your poorly created weapons and laughing when one of you would trip over a tree root.

The two of you were inseparable from the moment you met. You couldn’t be seen anywhere in Riverdale without Sweet Pea by your side, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. You shared everything with each other, your hopes, your dreams, your secrets, even your first kiss. You had the same teacher in every grade in elementary school except fifth, and even then, Sweet Pea would sneak over to your classroom so often that eventually they just let him stay. Once middle school and high school rolled around you would create your schedules so that you shared every class together, and you would always be seen sitting together in the back of the classroom, occasionally surrounded by your friends Toni Topaz and Fangs Fogarty. You took turns taking notes so the other could sleep, though truthfully you took on the task more often, knowing how many nights Sweets spent lying awake in bed, listening to his dad yell.

It was no wonder Sweet Pea became the quick tempered, violent person most of the world saw him as. You learned at a young age how to bandage the cuts on his face from where his father had lost his temper, and how to wrap his bruised knuckles after he took it out on someone at school who pushed him too far. You didn’t approve of the violence, but you understood where it came from, and you found it hard to hold against him. After all, you knew the boy underneath the rough exterior. You saw the loyal, sensitive, loving person he truly was, the one that he had to hide from most people, the one the world had cruelly shoved into the ground over and over again.

When Sweet Pea told you he wanted to join the serpents at 14, you were right there with him, hoping beyond hope that it would somehow help protect him, or at least give him a safe haven and the sense of belonging he so desperately craved. You were surprised to find your own place amongst the gang, feeling for once in your life that the two of you had a family.

It didn’t stop the abuse at home, however. On the contrary, it seemed to make things worse. You didn’t know why it angered his dad so much that Sweets had joined the serpents, but it did. He would stumble into your trailer in the middle of a particularly bad night with a busted lip, blood running down his face from a cut above his eye. You’d watch the bruises grow around his eye and jaw as tears streamed silently down his face, angry at his dad, at himself, and most of all, at the world.

You had begged Pea so many times to talk to FP or any of the older serpents about his home life, but he refused. Pea was proud, sometimes too proud, and he didn’t want the Serpents to think he was weak like his father did. That was a huge trigger for Sweets. You knew that’s where most of the violence came from, that he was trying to prove to everyone around him that he was not the weak, scared little boy his dad had convinced him of so long ago.

Things got a little better a couple of years ago, when Sweet Pea’s dad took a job as a truck driver. He would spend weeks at a time away from home, leaving Pea safe until his inevitable return. You expected fewer nightly visits, and were surprised when Sweet Pea would continue to sneak into your room late at night and crawl into your bed, curling his tall frame around your body and holding you close. You couldn’t really complain; you always slept more peacefully when Pea was there, especially during the winter when your poor excuse for a space heater would crap out on you and the winter chill would come whistling in through the gaps in your window frame.

You were pulled out of your revery by the sound of popcorn popping rapidly. “Fuck,” you muttered as you quickly removed the pan from the stove and poured the hot, fluffy pieces into a large bowl. You carried it into the living room where Sweet Pea had put a movie into the DVD player and sat down next to him on the couch, setting the bowl on the coffee table in front of you.

As the movie opened on a young, blonde Drew Barrymore you laid your head on Pea’s shoulder. You didn’t know what to say. You weren’t sure there was anything you could say to comfort your friend. You were seventeen. In less than a year you would both be graduating, free to leave this godforsaken town and everything in it if you wanted. You certainly wanted. You hoped Sweet Pea would too, though you worried his bond with the Serpents would be too strong. As much as you loved the Serpents, though you were literally willing to die for them, if it were up to you, you and Sweet Pea would pack your bags tonight and drive as far west as you could. You desperately wanted to leave this place behind, but deep down you knew that wherever Pea went, you were going, too. You had made that pact a long time ago, and you didn’t intend to break it. It was as real and important to you as the Serpent code.

As you watched Drew Barrymore run for her life from the masked killer, Pea put his arm around you and you snuggled closer to him. You could hear his heart beating loudly in his chest and it made your own ache.

“It’s gonna be alright, Sweets,” you said finally. “You can stay here as long as you want. You know that.” He grunted in response.

“I’ll have to show up eventually. He’ll be pissed if I don’t. And if I’m not there to pound on he’ll—“ he stopped, fists clenched tightly.

“Hey,” You soothed, placing your hand against his cheek as you sat up to look him in the eye. There was so much pain, so much anger there. “Do you remember when we were twelve? And we were in your room, sitting on your bed playing monopoly? You’re dad came home early from work and he was already drunk. He had just lost his job again.”

He nodded sadly, trying to avoid your eyes. “The floorboards were shaking, he was stomping so loudly. It felt like an earthquake. We both knew if he found you he’d start—“ you choked off. Tears started burning in your eyes, and you rested your forehead against his. You let out a deep sigh. “I watched you put on a brave face. I wanted so badly to be brave. But you could tell I was terrified, so we crawled out your bedroom window and ran. Even though it was snowing, even though we didn’t have coats, even though we were barefoot.”

“We ran into the woods,” he recalled. I smiled softly. “You took out your old pocket knife and cut open your palm,” he pulled your left hand off his face and traced the scar that ran across it.

“And I made you do it, too.” You continued, holding his own scarred palm against yours the way you had done so many years ago. “Do you remember what I said?”

He sighed, eyes closed. After a moment of silence, he spoke. “You said, ‘you weren’t born my brother, but you’re gonna die that way.’”

“You said, ‘Don’t take me home. Please, Y/N, don’t take me home.” You tipped his chin up, forcing him to look you in the eye. “And did I?” He shook his head.

“No. You snuck me into your trailer and cleaned up our cuts. You wrapped me up in your favorite blanket, the one your grandma made you when you were a baby. You made hot cocoa.”

You nodded. “And we made a pact. To be there for each other no matter what. You and me, side by side, against the whole fucking world, fighting our battles together. You have always been my protector from all the evil in this world, and I’ve tried to do the same for you.”

“What are you trying to say, Y/N?” Sweets asked, his voice low and heavy with emotion.

“I’m saying let’s go. Let’s just fucking leave and never look back.”

Pea shook his head. “My mom—“

“We’ll take her with us,” You cut in.

“School?”

You scoffed, “What about school? Satan knows I’m not going to college. And we can always get our GEDs later.”

“The Serpents?”

You remained silent. You didn’t have a rebuttal for them. True, the Serpents were your family, but Pea came first, always. “If they knew… They wouldn’t want…” You sighed. “You can’t keep living like this, Pea.”

Suddenly he was angry. He dropped my hands and stood abruptly. “I can’t just leave everything behind.” His voice was gruff and it hurt to have his anger directed at yourself.

“So you’re just gonna let him keep hurting you until, what? He dies? He kills you?” You spat, frustrated.

Sweet Pea started pacing back and forth around the tiny room, eyes dark. His anger was bubbling into rage and you could see it in his face. He slammed his fist against the wall and you flinched as he let out a loud, frustrated scream.

You slowly got off your couch, walking towards the trailer door, and grabbing both of your jackets. “Let’s go for a smoke.” You offered Pea his jacket and he took it, pulling his pack and lighter out of the pocket before pulling it over himself.

You stood huddled close together, sharing a cigarette in the crisp night air, saying nothing. You had just stamped out the butt and Sweet Pea was reaching for another when you heard a loud crash come from Pea’s trailer. Then the yelling started. He took off towards the trailer.

“Pea!” you called, trying to keep up with his long strides. He burst through the front door with you on his heels. As you both entered, you saw the tall man throw a lamp against the opposite wall, narrowly missing the head of Pea’s mother, cowering against the doorframe to the bedroom. She was small, shriveled, a life’s worth of abuse erasing any traces of beauty from her features. There was blood dripping from the hand she clutched to her chest and you noticed there was broken glass strewn over the floor.

“STUPID BITCH!” Pea’s father bellowed. He was the same height as Sweet Pea, his towering frame swelled to be as intimidating as possible. His wrinkled face was red and snarled in with drunken rage. It took him a moment to realize we had entered the room. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Mom, pack a bag,” Pea growled. “Y/N, get your stuff. We’re leaving.”

Sweet Pea’s father laughed. “The fuck you are.”

“Pea…” You started. He turned to you, grabbing you by the shoulders.

“Go. We’re leaving,” he insisted. You hesitated for only a moment, afraid to leave him alone with the man who caused him so much pain in so many ways.

Then you turned and rushed back into your own trailer. You immediately ran into your room, grabbing an old backpack from the corner of your closet and shoving as many clothes in it as you could. You quickly made your way to the bathroom, grabbing toothpaste and toothbrushes, and whatever else you could fit. Finally, you ran back into your room, setting the bag down and lifting the corner of your mattress. You pulled out five thick rolls of cash and buried them in the bottom of the backpack. You had been saving every penny you made over the last three years between shifts at Pop’s, birthday money, and your winnings from hustling people at pool and poker. You had about five thousand dollars in cash in case of emergency. The rest was in your savings account. It was enough for the three of you to survive for a few months, longer if you found a safe place for Sweet Pea’s mom and continued on without her.

Ready to leave, you headed towards the front door, but stopped short, thinking about your own mother. You weren’t close; she had never been the greatest mother. It was hard to be when you were never around. Still, she worked hard to make sure you were cared for. You couldn’t just disappear and let her worry. You hurried over to the kitchen counter, where you scrawled a short message on the back of a neglected grocery receipt. Left with Pea. Not coming home. I’ll call when I’m settled. Then you headed out the door and back to the trailer next door where you could hear more yelling now.

Your heart beat faster as you ran, wondering if you should call FP, or at least Fangs, for backup. You decided there was no time. You dropped your bag on the ground outside and slipped your hand in your jacket pocket, fingers closing around the brass knuckles tucked inside.

Your heart stopped upon the sight before you in the trailer. Sweet Pea was on his knees on the floor, his father standing over him. He had Pea’s t-shirt in one fist, while the other struck him forcefully across the face. There was blood pouring from your friends nose and mouth, and you screamed for the man to stop. He couldn’t hear you, or chose not to. Sweet Pea’s mother was still leaning against the doorway, sobbing heavily into her hands.

Without thinking you took two large strides across the small room, fist drawn back as far as it would go. Before you could realize what you were doing, it collided against the man’s jaw, metal cracking loudly against bone. Pea’s dad was thrown off balance, and fell to the floor. You kicked him hard in the stomach before landing another punch to the side of his head. He groaned in pain. As he rolled onto his back you placed your boot against his throat, stepping down hard.

“You will never,” you hissed, “hurt them again.” He sputtered and gasped, trying to breathe under the crushing weight.

“Y/N…” you heard Sweet Pea call weakly from the floor beside you. You released the man at your feet and turned to help Pea. He winced as he stood, and you could tell his ribs were bruised, if not broken. You swallowed hard, refusing to let the tears fall.

Once Sweet Pea was mostly standing, using you as a crutch, one arm slung over your shoulder, you reached a hand towards his mother. She was still sniffling, quiet sobs escaping from her open mouth and her eyes wide with shock.

“Y/N?” She whispered.

“It’s alright,” you called, trying to sound calm, “it’s time to leave.” She shuffled forward, placing her trembling, bloody hand in yours.

You led the two of them outside and towards your car, releasing the shaking woman’s hand briefly to pick up your backpack from where it fell. You placed it and Pea’s mother in the back seat of your car. Spotting a shirt strewn across the seat, you grabbed it and ripped it into several strips. You wrapped one around his mother’s hand. The blood flow had started to cease by now, but you wanted to keep the wound protected and clean.

You then led Pea to the passenger’s side of the car and lowered him in. You pressed the rest of the shirt to his bleeding face to staunch the flow. He took the shirt from you and gave you a grateful look. You got into the driver’s seat and started the car. You pulled out onto the main road and finally released the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. You didn’t know where you would go, but it didn’t matter, as long as you were away from here, and as long as you were together.

#sweet pea #riverdale #fan fiction #sweet pea fic #sweet pea x reader #the wonder years #i wanted so badly to be brave #riverdale fic

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calvinphilip22-blog · 6 years ago

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Dreamers Share Their Stories On Miami Musician’s Grammy-nominated Album

Struck by the plight of the "Dreamers" — young people brought illegally to the United States who are now in immigration limbo — John Daversa decided to speak out about it. He did so as best he knew how: through music. The trumpet player’s resulting 2018 album, "American Dreamers: Voices of Hope, Music of Freedom," features 53 Dreamers representing 17 states and an equal number of birth countries performing with Daversa’s big band.

"I’m a musician. That has not changed," says Daversa, who is chairman of studio music and jazz at the University of Miami’s Frost School of Music. "I see the world around me, and I’m just trying to express what I feel about it.

It’s something that’s been brewing in me for a while, you know: What is the purpose? What is the meaning that I can bring to this life through music? They’re called Dreamers because of the Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors Act, which was introduced in 2001 but never passed by Congress. In 2012, then-President Barack Obama announced the start of DACA, or the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program, which protects about 800,000 undocumented young people from deportation. President Donald Trump ordered an end to DACA in 2017, but the matter is currently working its way through the courts.

Meanwhile, the Dreamers wait and worry. "I just want to introduce these human beings to everyone," says Daversa, whose grandparents immigrated to the U.S. Sicily. "These are people that are living shoulder to shoulder with us. They were brought here as children through no fault of their own. On the album, the Dreamer musicians tell their stories between songs. Response to the album has been more positive than Daversa anticipated. "I was expecting it to be more divisive," he says. But while recruiting and recording Dreamer artists across the country, Daversa found that folks were "very empathetic, very sympathetic" to the Dreamers’ precarious position. "So many people didn’t know about this issue, didn’t know it was an issue," he says.

Miami-based trumpeter Jean Caze, who was born in Haiti, is a member of Daversa’s big band. "This country is made up of a diverse fabric of different cultures," Caze says. "This diversity makes for a richer environment to live in. "Those are tricky to reimagine because they mean so much, and they mean a different thing to everyone," Daversa says. This is not the first time Daversa has successfully reworked songs everybody knows. "Kaleidoscope Eyes," his 2016 album of Beatles tunes, also received Grammy nominations. Daversa is coy about what’s next for him. He says he can’t talk about the project yet, but it "also is discussing some possibilities for social change.

Agent-artist manager and notable Tulsan Halsey has known Ripley for nearly four decades. "He was a kid when I met him you know, 18 years old or something like that," Halsey said. "When people talk about the Tulsa Sound, Steve Ripley was an important part of that, not only as a member of it and a producer of it, but as an archivist," Halsey said. One of Ripley’s most recent projects was the Leon Russell archive at the OKPOP Museum, which is set to break ground in the spring. "He was very critical in.. Leon Russell before he passed about acquiring the Leon Russell archives," OKPOP Museum’s Jeff Moore said. "And so we're working with the estate and the family and there's gonna be some exciting things coming from that. Ripley’s death, some could say, is the end of an era. "Unfortunately, you know, there's a generation of creatives now that are getting to that age," Moore said. He leaves behind a legacy so broad, Oklahomans and those who visit Tulsa will never forget.

Yob is a force to be reckoned with. They are hands down the best live band out there right now when it comes to raw performance, and this show was a pinnacle of the overwhelming amounts of times I have seen them. The energy they convey, the positivity they exude, and their ability to relate to their crowd is only matched by their always seemingly perfect performance. It was truly an honor to share the stage with them night after night, and this was one of those shows that I will never forget. Primitive Man are currently the most brutal band out there and have a tour schedule that has always been mind-blowing. I am lucky enough to call them my friends and have watched this band grow into a monster from day one. As much as I love small punk venues, it's always eye-opening to watch bands on incredible sound systems and stages.

Three of the teens accused of killing musician Kyle Yorlets in Nashville, Tenn., were evicted from a court hearing for laughing and talking, USA Today reports. The incident occurred during a juvenile court hearing in the case Thursday. According to USA Today, the teens continued laughing, talking and turning around in their seats even after their lawyers and court staffers told them to be quiet. The judge finally ordered them removed from the courtroom because of their behavior. "They’ve been sitting there like they’ve been sitting on the playground," Juvenile Court Magistrate Mike O’Neil said. Five juvenile ages 12 to 16 are accused of fatally shooting Yorlets, a Carlisle-area native, during a robbery outside his Nashville home. They are charged with criminal homicide. Yorlets, 24, was a member of the band Carverton. His slaying prompted a wave of mourning both in Nashville and central Pennsylvania.

There are only a select few individuals on Rowan University’s campus whose presence and recognizable aspects rival the Prof owl, Rowan’s mascot. Among those people is Steve Solkela, a senior vocal performance major. "This was definitely the grand finale of my time as a Rowan music major," Solkela said. However, it was no ordinary recital. Performing with Aaron Fagerstrom, a senior double major in piano performance and music industry, Solkela sang in several languages. This is a requirement of most opera recitals. His first set of songs were sung in Italian, indicated by the change of the little flag resting on the piano. After a few solo songs, Solkela then joined forces with freshman Laura Nolan in a duet to tell a story of young love. Nolan and Solkela first preformed their duet in a class called opera scenes, and then publicly at a concert last semester.

For Nolan, it was her first introduction into opera singing. "He was pretty encouraging for me to just go for it, even if I don’t know what I was doing," Nolan said. The tone (and flag) quickly changed thereafter to a set of German songs, more robust and angry sounding and marked by sharper gestures. Next came a set of songs sung in French, which touted an almost Shakespeare-esque monologue, complete with Solkela’s touch of hysterical laughing. The next set of songs were sung in his native tongue, Finnish. ], I would tap my head and mimic the wind pushing me. I didn’t really plan that, I just saw that the audience was intent and listening, and sometimes laughing at stuff.

That’s what you feel naturally when you are connecting with the audience," Solkela said. The performance rounded out with a 14-person ensemble piece called "Ballad for Americans," a piece using many Rowan students to display the hopeful message of America. "It was so hard to get us all together," Solkela said.

"Like all music performances, they’re scared at the beginning. So that’s why we had dress rehearsals, so they got more confident as time went on. At the end, Solkela credits his teachers, friends, classmates, supporters and family that have supported him through the years. This summer, Solkela’s band plans to tour Finland, Florida, Detroit, Chicago, Minnesota and Wisconsin. As he continues his endeavors in comedic novelty, a term he uses to describe his act as a comedian, musician and stuntman (listed on his business card). "I’ve never felt so loved and appreciated. I feel like I am such a welcomed puzzle piece to this university, and I’m going to miss the hell out of it," Solkela said.

Baroness frontman John Baizley recently had an iterview with Radioactive Mike, and talked about 2012 bus accident. Since then, everybody was curious about if any of his musician friends called him or not, and also why they didn’t packed up after that horrible crash. "I prefer not to speak for the other band members that were in our bus during that crash because everybody had a very uniquely different experience. "I particularly was struck, if you will, by that accident. I’ve got scars that won’t heal. I’ve got a seam running up to the entire length of my left arm, a ton of hardware - a bunch of things missing, a bunch of things replaced. It was really not a pleasant story from my standpoint. Also, Radioactive Mike asked if Metallica’s James Hetfield called him or not. "I did, and many since then.

Three of the five juveniles accused of killing Nashville musician Kyle Yorlets were removed from the courtroom during their hearing because the judge said he didn’t feel they were taking the severity of the case seriously. The three suspects - ages 13, 14 and 15 - appeared in juvenile court Thursday. According to the Metro Nashville Police Department, the suspects are 14-year-old Roniyah McKnight, 15-year-old Diamond Lewis and 16-year-old Decorrius Wright.

A 12-year-old girl and a 13-year-old boy are also charged. The judge said he excused the three teens because he didn’t feel they were taking the severity of the case seriously and were treating it like it was a playground.

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