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sabineelectricheart · 2 years

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Celine’s Not Nervous

Summary: Celine has to tell Charlie that she has got a job interview. She is not nervous. Not at all.

Rating: T - Suitable for teens, 13 years and older, with some violence, minor coarse language, and minor suggestive adult themes.

Words: 2700

Notes: Now that everyone thinks the teach is it, I thought there is no better time to post something like this.

Celine is not nervous.

No, nervousness would imply guilt or wrongdoing on her behalf, neither of which should apply. Her conscience is clear, as it should be. The way her hands are trembling must be attributed to something else. It would not make any sense otherwise, would it? This loss of appetite, nonstop churning in her stomach, and overall inability to sit still could be a premonition of illness. Perhaps the flu or a cold is on its way. Or winter’s chill has seeped through the windows, as they are not very well-insulated, which could explain her shaking.

She is not nervous because of him. She is not nervous, she is not…!

“There’s no need to glare at the plate, I promise. That chicken’s not coming back from the dead to haunt you.”

Charlie pops in from the front door. His light-hearted assessment of her current condition has her face warming up. Were her thoughts bleeding into her facial expressions that much?

If that is the case, then he must be the polar opposite of her. Every expression the college professor wears would not be there had he not wanted it to be. She wishes that he was easier to read, or possible to read at all. Instead, she is left to decipher his closed-mouth smile and seemingly omnipotent eye.

“I wasn’t glaring at it.” The young woman mumbles.

The man mutters his half-hearted assertion, not even bothering to sound like he believes her. He leans forward and rests his chin atop his hand.

“Glaring, scowling, call it what you will. I could debate semantics with you all evening. What isn’t up for debate, however…” His voice drops, as does her racing heart into her stomach. “Is that there is something you want to tell me. Am I right, sweetheart?”

Celine swallows a growing lump in her throat. He is just teasing her, that is all there is. That is how he has always been, ever since their first encounter at that fateful astronomy class. Poking and prodding at her, but always in good fun, never with malicious intent.

The dining room goes deathly silent. She had thought over the different ways to broach this subject, and each time, she could never settle on the least offensive way.

She decides to come right out and say it, exhausted from beating around the bush for weeks. “I think I’d like to move out.”

The tall man raises an eyebrow. “You think you want to move out?”

“Ah, I mean, I know!” She corrects herself. Why is she trying to soften the blow to a statement that should not be hurtful? “It isn’t that I don’t enjoy our current arrangement. I’m immensely grateful for all that you’ve done for me, while I’ve been down on my luck.”

Down on her luck might be an understatement, considering that she was borderline homeless when she pleaded for his help, after failing to secure a sponsor and having been kicked out of college and from home. If Charlie plucked her out from a shelter, it would have been functionally the same.

There is no time, however, to consider her words so carefully. She carries on, half-convinced that stopping now would render her permanently paralyzed.

“I found a job opportunity.” She says, with a sigh. “A promising one, it’s to manage a apparel store in town, nothing too fancy. I think that it’ll work out, so I won’t have to keep mooching off you.”

He nods. “Getting ready to leave the nest, I see.”

Hopefulness rises in her chest, and for a blissful moment, she thinks she may have gotten her point across sufficiently well. Until he speaks again.

“You really aren’t a bother, Celine. Did I somehow give you that impression?”

The lack of humour in his voice takes her back from her optimism, and she rushes to defend herself. “Oh, no, it’s nothing like that!”

“There’s no harm in staying, then. If I hadn’t made it obvious, I quite enjoy your company. It’d be lonely without you around.” He sighs to add his classic dramatic flair.

The tension in the air ebbs and flows at his command, and with the pendulum swinging back from serious to casual, she is tempted to leave it at that. He is offering her an unspoken out from this unpleasant topic.

If it had been a few weeks ago, maybe Celine would have gratefully accepted this chance. She could have joked that she was being unreasonable, maybe she would have felt embarrassed about his admission of being lonely without her, and that would be that. They would have dinner, then go watch some TV before bed, and tomorrow it would all have been forgotten for good.

How tempting it is to fall back into her familiar routine! That would lead her back to where she started, staring at a crossroad with one path easier to traverse than the one she needs to take. She needs to not have almost all aspects of her life reliant on Charlie. She needs her independence back.

“I’ve already scheduled the job interview.” She admits, further proving her concrete stance on the issue. “I’m more than happy to repay she for everything, of course. Lodging, extra groceries, or any other inconvenience I may have posed.”

“You’re breaking my heart here. Do I strike you as the type to hold debts over others?” He chuckles lightly at her loud silence. “I suppose I might for anyone else. You’re admittedly a rare case. That should make you feel all the more special, shouldn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but…”

He cuts her off. “Then I don’t see the problem.”

His dismissal both perplexes and frustrates her. He is adding sentiments that do not need to be there, weaving webs to keep her stuck in place the more she struggles. Various arguments flare up and then dissipate in her head.

She should not need to make a case for going back into the real world on her own, she is not on trial and defending herself. This was always meant to be a temporary situation, a leg-up when she needed it, before they part ways, at least in theory, and she goes out to make a life for herself again.

It has been years now, and she still is in the same vulnerable position she has always been. They progressed from teacher and student, to a benefactor arrangement and now they are dating, but he has always been in a position of power over her. It is hard for her to build a proper relationship with this man under these conditions, but it seems that the only one bothered by it is her, regardless of the spoused motives for that rationale.

She is weak. She has always been weak, and she will always be weak.

For the rest of dinner, Celine remains quiet. Charlie regales her with tales of the local academia, about the progress of his research, the absurdities coming from the students and juicy department gossip. His voice is the only sound filling up the otherwise quiet apartment.

She offers only half-hearted responses in return and pick at her plate. Her appetite is nowhere to be seen, even after she worked hard on preparing this meal herself. The goal was to put her boyfriend in a good enough mood to hear her request out, but that did not end as she intended.

If the man notices her crestfallen attitude at all, he has made a point of not mentioning it.

“I can handle the dishes tonight.” She tells him, plucking up the silverware she had barely used. “It sounds like you had a long day.”

Charlie hums an affirmative but does not say anything further than that. She starts the cleaning up process on her own, wiping down various pots and pans by the sink with a rag.

The window in front of her gives an overview of Sugardale and the twinkling lights in the lively city. The warm glow of the artificial lamps that she would walk under after a hard yet fulfilling day’s work, the vendors who would greet her by name and offer discounts on baked goods that did not sell well, winding concrete paths with various dips that she knew to avoid by heart.

Celine misses it. She misses her life, her freedom, the wonder about life and future that she used to nurture as a teen. She feels so lonely, so isolated.

It is his musky cologne that she notices first, mixed with the faint scent of whisky that he must have indulged in before returning home. He smells so good, so familiar, that she cannot help but take in a deep breath.

His lithe arms snake around her waist and pull she against his warm chest. His grip is never tight on her, always lax and almost lazy. It gave the illusion that she could get away if she ever decided to try.

“Are you mad at me, sweetheart?” His warm breath tickles her ears and she shivers. “C’mon, be honest. Lay it all out, I can handle it, I promise.”

Can you, though? A part of her wonders.

The woman shakes her head at the word in question. “I’m not mad.”

Anxious, mad, irritated, frustrated. These descriptions do not do justice to her unknown, unnamed feelings. He did not do anything that could be described as diabolical, she supposes. She mentioned getting a job and he assured her that it is not necessary.

On paper, this does not sound bad, not even close. Many a person out there would like to not have to work, after all. Nevertheless, she still feels discouraged, depressed, disappointed.

The professor blows on her ear playfully. “Hm, is that so? I think someone is being a little dishonest.”

She scoffed. “Can you of all people find fault with that?”

He chuckles, his chest rumbling as he does so.

“You got me there. Allow me to impart some advice then, as your former teacher and as a senior in the art of deception. You’ve got lots of room to improve. For one, you wear your heart on your sleeve. And your lovely, lovely eyes…” His voice drops an octave. “They give you away each and every time.”

“Maybe I’ll just keep them closed when you’re around, then.” She huffs, not wanting to give his words more thought than necessary.

Charlie does not need to point out her inability to lie, at least not how she cannot with him. Lying to herself, however is something she is growing more proficient at by the day.

“It’s not a big deal.” She proclaims, letting out a heave. “If the timing isn't right, I’ll just try again in the future. You’d probably waste away without me here to take care of you.”

He settles his chin on her shoulder. “How would I ever survive without you around, I wonder?”

Celine would like to know that as well.

This arrangement could be argued as mutually beneficial if observed from the right angle. He goes and does his professorial work and his investments while she handles chores and occasional errands. Without having to worry about paying rent or how she will afford her next meal, she can dedicate more effort to her hobbies, or picking up new ones that she never had the time for. It might be a bit old-fashioned, being a housewife, but humanity has operated in this manner for millennia. There must be some upside to it.

Upon Charlie first opening his doors for her, she was met with a clean if not unlived in space. The furnishings were the bare minimum to qualify for a home, and even those were more spartan than what they provided at the dorms. It was a combination of boredom and wanting to express her gratitude for him allowing she to stay here that had she sprucing up the place. Calla lilies in vases on the windowsill, drapes that complement the wallpaper, canvas paintings in areas of the room that felt bland.

It was not anything too out of the ordinary, and everything still felt decidedly Charlie, rather than Celine. Little flourishes that left her mark and seemed to amuse her host. She remembers a comment he made while she tended to the flowers that have long wilted by now.

“You’re almost like my spouse at this point.”

It made her smile and roll her eyes at the occasion. As they are now, she is not sure what to make of it. There may have been more truth to those words than she initially noticed.

“Charlie?” She calls.

“Yeah?”

A pause. “You do know that I can’t stay here forever, right?”

The faucet drips into the basin at an unsteady rhythm. She complained about it to him once, something about the water bill being worse than it needs to be with a leak. He laughed and promised to do something about it. She is grateful for the pesky drops now, reverberating in an otherwise hushed room.

“If I didn’t know any better…” His fingers dance up and down the sides of her waist. “I’d say it sounded like you wanted to get away from me.”

Her breath hitches, and Celine laughs, breathless and forced. “You’re imagining things.”

Those fingers of his engage further in their dangerous waltz, roaming where they please, going everywhere and nowhere at once. She wonders if he can feel the rush of her pulse and each frantic beat of her heart through her flesh and bone.

His faint reflection shows in the window’s sheen. While her stiff head looks straight ahead, he gazes at nothing but her, fondness mixed with something else etched onto his handsome features.

He was right, she thinks, her grip on the plate tightening until her knuckles hurt. My eyes do give me away.

Glossiness has begun to form on her lower lash line and her pupils have dilated to the fullest extent. Her colour drains from her cheeks and her nostrils seem wide and dark like a black hole.

She is not nervous.

Charlie brushes his lips against her goosebump-ridden neck, then deeply inhales, savouring her distinct scent. He makes the same wistful expression after taking the first sip of his Jack Daniels on a Friday night, when he told her that Dean Monroe got sacked and the Sociology department lost its funding or when she welcomes him home with open arms.

It betrays his enjoyment over this situation.

He might try to hide it, but when she is like this, trembling as if she were a new-born doe, he is truly content with the world. She does not know what that means, what she is supposed to do with the information. Everything feels so confusing and strange, and all she wants is to leave.

“I am, aren’t I?” He presses a chaste kiss to the conjunction between her neck and jaw. “Right. That’s my bad. About your interview tomorrow, don’t worry your pretty little head over it. I’ll handle the details myself.”

The most Celine can bring herself to do is nod.

He smiles widely. “I’m glad that we’re in agreement then. Thank you for dinner, by the way, it was delectable. I thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.”

Charlie sets his plate down on the counter and saunters off. For the first time in ages, she is able to finally breathe again, air rushing into her greedy lungs like she had just been freed from a corset after an evening dancing at a ball.

She takes a long look at the reflection staring back at her, which resembles her features just enough to be recognizable. For the first time ever, as she is able to gauge her own inability to lie against herself, she manages to identify the unknown emotion that has reared its ugly head recently.

The woman finally understands that she is not nervous, or even mad, as he so tastefully proposed minutes prior, nor any of those d emotions that rushed through her head in the heat of the moment. That is the absolute truth, and there is no reason to be any of those.

Rather, Celine is horrified.

*_*_*_*_*

College Craze Masterlist

#college craze #Charles McGregor

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icycoolslushie · 3 years

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THG Thomastair AU

“I wish we could find sanctuary,” Thomas said. “You know, with shelter and such.”

“But Thomas,” Alastair said, “you are my sanctuary.”

TW/CW: If you're reading this, you've probably read The Hunger Games books or watched the movies so this has the same stuff as in them!

Idea // OG post // Ask

Disclaimers: This has headcanons along with snippets. Hopefully it's not OOC. Any Persian is what my Iranian friend told me. I like to headcanon that all the districts have their own language. Warning: The plot might be non-existent. Also, if you see any kind of mistakes (grammar, spelling, etc.) please let me know! Kinda long :)

Thomas is from District 7

Alastair is from District 11

The president is Josiah Wayland

The Head Gamemaker is Maurice Bridgestock

Eugenia is part of a group to overthrow the Capitol

Barbara and Oliver died in a previous Hunger Games

It was like it was in the books

Alastair used to be in a relationship with Charles Fairchild, son of the mayor of District 11, Charlotte Fairchild

Risa is Sona’s sister so Alastair’s aunt

Alastair volunteers for Cordelia

Cordelia struggles with him and finally says in “I love you” in Persian (dooset daram) before Alastair goes on the train

Cordelia is like Prim

Alastair’s mentor is Ragnor Fell

They be sassy together

Thomas’s mentor is Charlotte

Alastair’s stylist tells him Alastair should dye his hair back to black

In the opening ceremony, Thomas dresses as a tree and Alastair thinks how Thomas makes “a boring costume look beautiful”

Alastair has a suit on with leaves embroidered on it which Thomas later tells him “it was like nature blessed you”

Jem may or may not be an Avox Jem is Alastair’s Avox

Thomas Tanner is Thomas’s Avox

For training Alastair throws spears and pulls a 8

Thomas uses a broadsword in training and pulls an 8 as well

Thomas gets a compass rose tattoo from his stylist for the interview

The arena has a structure that looks like the Eiffel Tower at one end

The arena is covered in forests, except for the Cornucopia

When the canon sounds, Alastair runs toward the Cornucopia and escapes with a dagger to the forest

Thomas runs straight (ha!) into the forest

9 children die in the initial bloodbath

Alastair and Thomas both spend the night in trees about ten minutes away from each other

In the morning, Alastair hears rustling and eventually confronts Thomas

They first try to kill each other, but then they hear someone else and work together to fight the District 9 male tribute

Alastair puts his dagger at the tribute’s throat and stabs him there

Alastair doesn’t want to partner up and vice versa

“Alastair—I think you’d be a great person to team up with, but I . . . I don’t want to team up with you. I don’t want to team up with anyone. We—we might survive till the end, and then—” “No, Thomas, I understand. We’ll pretend this never happened. We’ll go our separate ways.” Thomas nodded, a sinking feeling in his stomach. Part of him had been hoping Alastair would disagree with him, even when it was reasonable. He ignored it and set about laying the food they’d gathered.

But they gather food and decide they’ll have a meal together and then go their separate ways

They make a meal of some fruits they find on trees and on the ground

Thomas just cannot eat the celery

They part ways

By the second night, fourteen people in total are dead

Thomas goes to the Eiffel Tower structure the next day

He climbs onto the first level and greets Alastair

Alastair’s leg is wounded

Alastair explains that the Careers fought him

The Careers include Augustus Pounceby and Clive Cartwright

“Tell me. Tell me who hurt you. I’ll kill them.” Alastair had never seen anyone so angry on his behalf that it unnerved him. “It doesn’t matter, it was the Capitol—” “Don’t,” Thomas said quietly. “Don’t try to downplay it. I want to make them pay.” Alastair paused. After a minute he said, “It was the Careers. The District 1 and 2 tribute. Augustus and Clive. They climbed onto here and started fighting me. I gave Augustus a good cut on the arm and Clive a nice scar on his cheek but they overpowered me. Augustus stabbed my leg. They left laughing.” “They didn’t finish you off?” Alastair shook his head. “I think they . . . wanted me to suffer. It isn’t like I can go anywhere, and I have no allies, so probably wanted to come back tomorrow and then finish me off. But it’s not like I’m going to last that long.” The last sentence caught Thomas off guard. “What?” “Aren’t you going to kill me?” Thomas thought about the District 1 tribute, Augustus, who had been saying that Barbara was weak before the Opening Ceremony. That Barbara, who had gotten him out of a scuffle with a Peacekeeper, was weak. That Barbara, who had volunteered for her cousin in the Reaping, was weak. He thought about the hate he had felt for the Career. Then he thought about graceful, elegant, bleeding Alastair in front of him, the way he had hugged his sister, the way he guarded himself, and decided. “No,” he said. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Thomas bandages Alastair’s wound

“Alastair, you’re hurt. Please let me wrap your leg in leaves and vines.” “Thomas, you don’t understand. I’ve always bandaged my own wounds. It’s not going to change now.” “Sometimes,” Thomas said, “it’s better to let others take care of you. They do a better job than you realize. Alastair, please. You’re bleeding. Let me help.” Alastair saw something in Thomas’s eyes: truth. He thought back to how many people would want to help him: his father, his mother, his aunt Risa . . . when he was young. As he grew up, all of them faced the same cruel system and all of them were expected to take care of their own wounds. Now, here was someone willing to help him when he should be killing him. It gave Alastair such a feeling of care and belonging that he nodded. It wouldn’t hurt to let someone take care of him for once.

They eventually decide to team up

Thomas makes a meal out of things he finds in the forest

He and Alastair eat it

Alastair heals from his wound

By that night, nineteen people are dead

Augustus, Clive, and the District 8 female tribute are still alive along with them

Alastair takes first watch during the night, Thomas takes the second

Alastair gently moved his fingers across the compass rose tattoo that Thomas had gotten from his stylist. He felt Thomas’s pulse. He promised himself that that pulse would go on even when his own didn’t.

The next day Alastair and Thomas set off (Alastair’s leg is healed)

Augustus and Clive are waiting for them

Thomas kills Augustus, attacking with A LOT of force

Clive gets a good hit on Thomas with a sword on his left arm

Alastair and Clive fight, Clive flees finally while he’s bleeding from a dozen cuts

Alastair bandages Thomas’s wound with leaves and vines

“I love it when you say my name. Say it again.” “Thomas—Thomas, you’ve lost too much blood. You’re going delirious.” Thomas sighed softly. “I would go delirious if that meant I could hear you say my name one more time.”

They get a sponsor gift: a whole meal of steak and sides, which they finish that day

When Alastair bites into an apple, Thomas wants to kiss him

Both of them fall asleep at night

When they wake up, they’re in a prison; a Capitol prison

They were in prison. But even if they were in hell, Alastair wouldn’t have minded. They were together.

They lie in each other’s arms, seeking warmth

“Why are we in prison? What did we do?” Alastair demanded, getting up as Josiah Wayland stuck his ugly face in front of the bars. President Wayland’s lip curled. “It isn’t you that did something, it’s your family.” Thomas gasped sharply. “Eugenia.” The president smiled cruelly. “So you do know her crime.” Thomas swallowed. Alastair put his hand in Thomas’s. “What did my family do?” Alastair asked, trying to change the topic. “Why, your sister did the same thing,” Josiah Wayland said. This time Alastair gave a sharp gasp. Thomas squeezed his hand, and Alastair drew a bit of comfort from him. But his mind was on Cordelia, his little sister, what would happen to her— Wayland, the monster he was, smiled wider as he saw Alastair and Thomas despairing their sisters’ fate.

Cordelia joined the same rebel group Eugenia was in

“But why are we here? What did they do that you had to take us out of the Games?” Thomas demanded when he had finally calmed down. It seemed that all the Lightwood siblings would all die in their youth. “As soon as they are in our custody, they will be executed. In front of you two. Everyone thinks the two of you killed each other. After they’re dead, both of you will be executed.” Thomas swallowed. “Why? Why will you execute us?” “Your sisters should have thought about your safety before they did what they did. At least you’ll be able to tell them goodbye. If the executioners give you the chance,” President Wayland added before he gave another cruel smile and left.

Thomas and Alastair despair over their and their sisters’ fates

“We’ll fight them. I don’t care. We’ll fight the Capitol. We’ll make them pay for what they did to Barbara and Oliver and Jem and Will and Tessa and my mom and every single person they hurt. We’ll make them pay, Alastair.”

Thomas sighed. “If only we had hope.” “I don’t think about hope, Thomas. I think about you. You’re my hope.” And now I’m going to lose you, Alastair wanted to add, but he didn’t. And then I won’t have any hope left.

“The odds were never in our favour, Thomas,” Alastair whispered, closing his eyes. Then he added softly, “And they never will be.”

Letter addressed to Alastair Carstairs, District 11 male tribute of the 56th Hunger Games, from Charles Fairchild, son of the mayor of District 11, found crumpled in a trash bin of the Training Center floor 11

Taglist: @della-vacker-supremacy @themadhatter999 @writeforjordelia @theenchanteddreamer Also tagging @jurdan-my-beloved who originally requested the headcanons and @youngreckless Lmk if you wanna be added or removed!

#thg #thomastair #thomastair au #the hunger games #headcanons #ace writes #thg thomastair au #thomastair week #tlh #tsc #thomas lightwood #alastair carstairs #Yes I used the sanctuary scene for the title sue me

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cheri-translates · 4 years

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[CN] Victor’s Perfect Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 完美之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

More from this collection: Gavin l Kiro

[ Released in CN on 24 Dec 2020 ]

MC: Ha--ahh--

During the fourth hour of the meeting, I finally can’t help myself and release a long yawn.

Before my mouth can shut in time, I meet the eyes of Victor, who is sitting in the middle of the long table.

Victor: ...

Victor: That’s all for today’s meeting.

Everyone in the meeting room releases sighs of relief, leaving the room in groups.

When we’re the only two people left in the meeting room, Victor lifts his head and sends me a straight look. Understanding it, I hurriedly head over to receive a lesson.

Victor: Were you working overnight on a program again?

MC: I promised to give it to you today. So of course I had to spend the night finishing it!

Victor: I remember saying that it wouldn’t be late even if you gave it to me tomorrow.

But it’s Christmas tomorrow... I say this inwardly while pretending to look humble, nodding my head repeatedly.

Victor: Don’t do what you can’t accomplish.

MC: Yes yes yes, CEO’s criticisms are correct. Now, could I give you my report on...

Just as I’m prepared to verify the itinerary for tomorrow, an employee returns and interrupts.

Employee: CEO Victor, there’s a small issue regarding the program you mentioned during the meeting earlier...

Victor signals with his gaze that I should wait at the side for a while. I keep the schedule that I had taken a long time to prepare.

With nothing to do, I stare out the window. The setting sun is hanging low along the horizon, and the streetlights lining the roads have started lighting up in succession.

Mainly red and green coloured lights entwine around the trees flanking the roads, and lights in the shape of stars and snowflakes embellish the open land around the city.

MC: It’s Christmas tomorrow...

Ever since we spent a rather hurried Christmas the previous time due to work, I’ve been looking forward to the arrival of the subsequent Christmas.

Despite knowing that Victor doesn’t care about such festivals, I hope we can leave a perfect and ordinary Christmas in our memories.

Which is why since a week ago, I’ve “bribed” Goldman, troubling him to help keep Victor’s time on Christmas free.

Victor: Why are you in a daze?

Returning to my senses, I realise that Victor has already finished his discussion, and has his arms folded over his chest while looking at me.

I once again open the schedule book Goldman left me, pointing at the line which reads “Spend Christmas together with MC”.

MC: Cough cough. CEO Victor, Goldman has requested that I remind you about tomorrow’s schedule.

He sweeps a glance at the notebook, his expression blank as he turns to grab his coat off the back of the chair. After taking a few steps towards the door of the meeting room, he turns his head towards me with a frown.

Victor: Do you have plans tonight?

I shake my head in confusion, not comprehending why he’d ask such a question.

Victor: So why are you still in a silly daze? Don’t Christmas celebrations start from Christmas Eve?

By the time we leave the shopping mall carrying heavy Christmas supplies, the open square next to it is already filled with crowds here to visit the Christmas market.

Our car ambles past the restless streets. I can’t help but roll down the window and take a deep breath. It’s as though the romantic ambience of Christmas is being swept along with the cold air.

Victor: Opening the window while smiling in a silly manner. Don’t weep and wail when you breathe in a stomach full of cold air.

The window of the car rolls up slowly. I pull a long face at the reflection of Victor in the glass.

Broadcast Host: ...it’s another year of Christmas. I trust that every citizen of Loveland City is looking forward to the arrival of this beautiful festival.

Broadcast Host: This Christmas, the Loveland Financial Group will be giving citizens of Loveland City a big Christmas gift at 12am!

Broadcast Host: ...if you have any Christmas wishes, you could participate in our program by typing “LFG’s Perfect Night” in our social media account.

The voice of the broadcast host seems especially excited within the enclosed vehicle.

This is a special Christmas broadcast by the Loveland City Government, sponsored by LFG.

When I received this news a week ago, I tried extricating information furtively from Victor, but his response of “no comment” left me without room for argument.

MC: Victor, you really can’t disclose a little bit on what LFG’s big Christmas gift is?

Victor: LFG is just the sponsor. I’m not privy to the contents of the program.

Victor lowers his head as he flips through a report, looking uninterested in my question.

MC: ...how is it possible that you didn’t check the quality of the program? You even correct the punctuation marks in my proposals.

He doesn’t express an opinion, arching his brows. Refusing to give up, I squeeze my face on top of the report, trying to fill his entire field of vision.

MC: In that case, what does a perfect Christmas look like to you?

Victor: Do you think that I’m idle enough to think about this question while tossing and turning at night?

Sensing the hidden meaning in his words, my ears flush. With an awkward and polite smile, I return to sit at my side.

Through the reflection in the window, I see that he has once again lifted up the report, and I can’t help but mutter softly.

MC: When someone asks you about your perfect Christmas, you should reciprocate and return the question...

Victor: Fireplace, Christmas feast, snow. A certain person has already posted her perfect Christmas on Moments twice.

MC: ...and you don’t know how to leave a ‘like’ even after seeing it.

Although my mouth is grumbling, the corners of my lips curl upwards involuntarily. I turn my gaze to the gloomy sky outside the window.

MC: It’s a shame that the weather forecast said it wouldn’t snow today...

Victor: Is snow that important?

MC: Of course! Just as how fried chicken is paired with beer, and how hamburgers are paired with Cola, Christmas must be paired with snow for it to be perfect.

Victor: At first glance, that does sound a little logical.

MC: It’s still very persuasive even if you give it a careful analysis! Also, everyone on Moments has been feeling regretful that there won’t be snow this Christmas...

Victor seems to be contemplative as he turns to look at the boundless night sky, the corners of his lips turning upwards with a small arc.

Pushing open the door to Victor’s house, a bundle of heat waves rushes towards me.

With a sudden thought, I rush into the living room. Just as expected, the fireplace, which is normally “on strike”, is currently lit with a few tiny flames.

As though I've been set alight by these flames, my heart also becomes warm.

As compared to doing something trivial such as leaving a “like” on Moments, he always fulfils my wishes in a more direct manner.

Pudding: Meow--

A ticklish sensation is at my calf. Lowering my head, I see that Pudding is rubbing the bottom of my trouser leg affectionately.

MC: Pudding, I’m wishing you a Merry Christmas too!

I carry it up, scratching it on the chin. All of a sudden, I start worrying.

MC: What if Pudding gets too close to the fireplace and gets hurt?

Victor walks past me, both hands full with ingredients.

Victor: Do you think Pudding is as stupid as you are?

Pudding: Meow meow meow!

Pudding seems to be responding in protest, struggling for a while before leaping out of my arms.

MC: ...let me help too!

I roll up my sleeves, planning to give Victor a hand.

Victor: If you want to eat soon, it’s better if you don’t cause trouble.

My whole-hearted enthusiasm is doused by his cold water. I stand numbly in place.

Victor: If you really want to help, you could decorate the place with the trinkets you bought.

MC: Okay!

Folding my hands across my chest in satisfaction, I admire my work--

The small bells and coloured lights on the Christmas tree complement each other perfectly. The French windows in the living room are decorated with mistletoe wreaths - simple yet in good taste.

Snowman-shaped Christmas candles are on the dining table and coffee table, and a charmingly adorable Santa Claus doll leans against the arm of the sofa.

Most importantly, the Christmas present I’m giving to Victor is hidden in a certain corner of the living room.

MC: Pudding, what do you think?

Pudding circles and rubs against the legs of my trousers, letting out rumbling sounds. I remove a bow from a branch of the Christmas tree, tying it gently onto its neck.

MC: This is a Christmas present for you.

Just as I plan to call Victor over to check the fruits of my labour, a rich fragrance of cake drifts from the kitchen.

Without prior agreement, Pudding and I follow the fragrance and head towards the kitchen. Craning my head at the doorway to take a look inside, I find Victor half-squatting in front of the oven, looking very focused.

He’s resting a hand casually on the marble kitchen counter, his slender fingers tapping on the surface rhythmically.

Ding-- Just like a magical sound, an even stronger fragrance assails the nostrils the moment the oven stops operating.

And this baking magician methodically “creates” a pair of brightly-coloured red mittens - the pair that I had pestered him to include in the shopping bag.

Despite how distasteful he felt towards the mittens in the mall, Victor still wears them as he pulls the baking tray out, carefully checking the colour and lustre of the cake.

MC: Pfft--

I can’t help but laugh aloud, and Victor immediately turns towards the sound.

Although he's been working in the kitchen for an hour, there isn’t a single oil stain on him. Not a single crease can be found on his shirt either.

Even the stray hairs on his forehead remain as tidy as ever, falling naturally in front of his eyes.

It’s just that pairing the stern, cold appearance of Victor together with this pair of overly jubilant mittens seems a little out of place.

Pudding has long since given up resisting. It walks forward, pacing frantically in the vicinity of the oven.

Victor: Wipe the corners of your lips. Your drool is about to flow to the ground.

I subconsciously rub my mouth with my sleeve, but find that my the corners of my lips are dry.

MC: Liar... there’s no drool.

Amused, he taps Pudding’s head with the mitten.

Victor: I was referring to this greedy cat. Who asked you to take it as a personal attack?

Before I can salvage my pride, Pudding starts meowing, trying to tell Victor about my “crime”--

It shakes its neck. With a tactical retreat, it struggles free from the bow I gave it.

MC: I put it on so it could celebrate Christmas too. But the bow’s probably too heavy, so it doesn’t like it...

Victor stands up, then cuts a thin ribbon from the bag of ingredients on the counter. He bends down and ties it onto Pudding.

MC: That’s right, why didn’t I think of using...

Before I can finish my words, I watch as Victor picks up the bow that Pudding rejected, stretching out his arms and encircling me gently.

His upper body leans slightly on my side, and I feel his steady breaths on the crook of my neck.

MC: ...Victor?

Victor: Don’t move.

My body tenses up, and I don’t move an inch. The fragrance of cake from his arms encases me, and my heart rate involuntarily quickens.

A faint rustling sound drifts from behind me, followed by a weight on my ponytail.

Victor: Done.

I reach out to touch the ponytail on my head, discovering an additional bow on it.

Victor: This way, both greedy cats have bows.

...Victor actually does such childish things too. Could this be what they call “loving the house and its crow”?

[Note] MC is making reference to an idioms, 爱屋及乌 (“ai wu ji wu”), which conveys how if you love a person, the love extends to even the crows on their roof. It means you love everything about something or somebody.

Of course, I lack the boldness to make such a thick-skinned comment. I simply keep touching the bow on my ponytail happily.

MC: Pretty?

Victor: Pretty. Just that you smile like a dummy. If you continue smiling like a fool, your Christmas feast will get cold.

[Note] I’M SCREAMING. MC is clearly asking about the ribbon, but her question is written in such a way that it’s ambiguous as to what she’s referring to. SO VICTOR SAYS SHE’S THE PRETTY ONE UIHRGEJKDV

The facts reveal that Victor underestimated my ability to eat.

Without giving the feast a chance to grow cold, I tuck into the meal while it’s still piping and fragrant.��On the other hand, Victor doesn’t eat much.

MC: So full...

I look into the distance while holding my belly, leaning against the chair and sighing with emotion.

Victor: Why are you eating so quickly? No one’s snatching it from you.

MC: I couldn’t control myself since it was too fragrant...

Victor: In that case, what do you plan to do with this cake?

He points at the perfectly flawless cake at the far corner of the table. The tone he uses to ask this question is reminiscent of a CEO who is pressuring his employee to work overtime.

MC: I was too focused on eating the feast earlier and forgot there was still cake... But since girls have an extra tummy for dessert, I can do it!

While saying this, I’m reach for the cake. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Victor furrowing his brows.

Victor: Don’t force yourself if you’re full. The cake can be eaten later.

I retract my hands in embarrassment, then puff out my chest and clear my throat.

MC: Victor, in order to thank you for fulfilling my perfect Christmas, I’ve hidden a present for you in the living room. Search for it!

Victor’s gaze falls on the colourful decorations in the living room.

Victor: The present you’re referring to - is it how you didn’t make a mess out of the living room?

MC: ...of course not! Also, I put in a lot of effort while decorating, so of course I wouldn't make a mess out of the living room!

Seeing my flustered and exasperated state, Victor chuckles softly.

He stands up, walks to the Christmas tree, bending down to pick up a conspicuous box.

Victor: In that case, it’d be this box.

MC: ?!

MC: When did it get there? I distinctly remember hiding it.

Victor: When you were gorging yourself with food, Pudding carried it in its mouth and walked around in the living room for a long time.

MC: ...Pudding!!

Pudding: Meow--

The chief culprit licks its paw elegantly on the sofa, without feeling apologetic at all.

Victor sits down on the floor next to the Christmas tree, unwrapping the packaging of the box in an unhurried manner. I shift over to his side, filled with anticipation as I observe his expression--

Victor: ...

Victor: Are your designs too novel, or are your skills so poor that they have reached this level?

I lower my head to take a look. The painstakingly arranged handmade biscuits have gotten mixed with the shredded paper meant to be used as a cushion. Even I can’t tell how they looked like originally.

It’s all Pudding’s fault!

MC: H-hold on!

I snatch the box in a fluster, performing a “surgery” to separate the biscuits from the shredded paper. Victor purses his lips, revealing a faint smile.

MC: Done!

I once again present the box of handmade biscuits to him--

A Victor dressed in a Santa Claus outfit, a gingerbread-shaped me, and a few ordinarily-shaped biscuits meant as embellishments.

MC: How are they? I made them myself.

He reaches out to take the gingerbread biscuit, then holds it in front of my face.

Victor: Silly-looking - very similar to you.

Even though his assessment isn’t that nice to hear, the tender gleam in his eyes disclose his good mood.

MC: ...on account of the Christmas feast, I won’t bicker about this with you.

I hold up an ordinarily-shaped biscuit.

MC: Want to give it a try?

Before Victor can express an opinion, Pudding scurries out, grabbing the biscuit in my hand with its mouth.

MC: Pudding!

Just as I try it to release the biscuit from its mouth, Pudding nimbly leaps onto Victor’s shoulder.

As though knowing that it has found a strong and powerful backing, it turns around unhurriedly, looking at me provocatively.

MC: Pudding, spit it out quickly. Cats can’t eat milk biscuits!

Victor observes the farce before him in slight interest, seemingly unperturbed by Pudding’s claws creasing his clothes, keeping himself out of the matter.

Pudding goes one step further to flaunt, affectionately rubbing the side of Victor’s face, seeking his protection.

Pudding: Meow--

Victor: I don’t participate in cat fights.

Seeming to realise the reality that "God helps those who help themselves”, it turns around, leaping towards the sofa. I hastily chase after it.

The heavy curtains of a majestic human-cat chasing war are pulled open.

Pudding excitedly hops atop the sofa repeatedly for a while before turning to the dining table.

After numerous failed attempts of chasing it around, I change my tactics. Pretending to pass by Pudding unhurriedly, I suddenly pounce--

Pudding didn’t expect that I’d have such a card up my sleeve. It instinctively leaps into the air, finally planting itself squarely into the cake.

MC: ...

Victor: ...

I stand frozen in place, sensing two searing eyes at my back that seem to dig two holes into the back of my head.

MC: Erm... Victor... didn’t you keep the cake away...

After a period of silence from behind me, I’m at a loss on whether I should turn around to see Victor’s expression. All of a sudden, something flicks the back of my head.

Victor: Time for a bath, King of Causing Trouble.

He picks Pudding up with a hand, then walks to the bathroom with heavy steps.

...as expected, this Christmas can’t be spent perfectly just like before.

Although that's what I originally think, seeing Pudding lying in the wash basin with its eyes wide and with a piteous appearance makes me happy once again.

MC: Hahaha, Little Kitten, you have your day too~

Beside me, Victor’s movements are adept as he rubs the fur of the cat. Meanwhile, I playfully stack foam bubbles atop Pudding’s head.

MC: Look! A poop hairstyle!

Pudding obviously feels indignant, meowing complaints at Victor. Victor gives it comforting rubs on the belly.

Victor: Don’t fuss over things with a dummy.

I purse my lips in dissatisfaction. As though I‘ve lost all reason, I lift up a heap of foam bubbles and rub it onto Victor’s cheek.

MC: Santa Claus!

Victor pauses in his actions, lowering his head and arching his eyebrows while looking at me.

Victor: Do you find this very interesting?

Reason returns to me, and I’m just about to reach out to wipe the foam bubbles away when he suddenly leans his face over, rubbing the foam bubbles onto my face.

Victor: Mrs Claus.

An hour later, Victor and I finally put an end to this chaotic cat washing battle.

We are all taking a short break on the sofa in front of the fireplace. The wood in the fireplace crackles from time to time, and the warm yellow light from the fire casts our faces in occasional brightness and darkness.

The sweet and refreshing scent of Pudding after its bath diffuses in the surroundings. The song “All you need is love” is playing from the broadcast, resonating in the living room.

Feeling drowsy, I’m using Victor’s lap as a pillow. Occasionally, he uses a hand to comb through my hair.

MC: Victor...

MC: Which movie is this song featured in? It sounds so familiar...

Victor: “Love Actually”. I remember someone mentioning liking that show. Looks like it was just a superficial fondness?

I turn, hugging Victor’s arm tightly before drifting entirely to sleep.

How nice, Victor still remembers that I like this movie.

MC: If it were to snow this Christmas, it’d truly be perfect...

I mutter to myself, descending completely into dreamland.

Not knowing how long I've slept, I suddenly feel a weight on my face. Opening my eyes, I realise that half of Pudding’s body is sitting on my face.

With a dark expression, I carry it away. When I sit up, I discover that a blanket has been draped over me, but Victor isn’t by my side.

The sliding door to the balcony, which was originally shut tight, is now pulled open halfway, and the curtains are drifting slightly.

Stepping closer to it, I find Victor standing at the outdoor balcony, lifting his head and thinking about something.

MC: Are you waiting for Santa Claus?

He turns around at the sound of the voice. Seeing the thin knitted shirt I'm wearing, he frowns.

Victor: Why did you come out without wearing a jacket?

I squeeze myself into his woollen coat, lifting my head and giving him a grin.

MC: I won’t be cold like this!

Victor: The turtledove occupies the magpie’s nest.

[Note] Victor’s use of the idiom, 鸠占鹊巢 (“jiu zhan que chao”), conveys the idea of seizing the territory of someone else.

Despite what he says, he tightens his grip around me slightly.

MC: Why did you come to the balcony? Aren’t you cold?

Victor: A dummy kept talking in her sleep, so I came out to get some peace and quiet.

MC: ...what did I say in my dream?

Victor: Wanting to have a snowball fight at one point, then wanting to build a snowman at another. Not even a moment of idleness the entire night.

I suddenly recall that I did have a dream, and there seemed to be something snow-related in it.

MC: What one thinks about in the daytime will be dreamt about at night... but...

I stick my face close to his chest, hearing the steady and powerful heartbeats drifting from it.

MC: Even if there isn’t snow this Christmas, I’m already very very contented. After all, I had a Christmas feast, baked next to a warm oven, and even saw Santa Claus!

I lift my head, deliberately giving him a teasing glance. He chuckles lightly.

Victor: And Mrs Claus.

That scene from the bathroom earlier is vivid in my mind. Embarrassed, I bury my face in his chest.

MC: Most importantly, I’m spending this Christmas with you. In my heart, this is the perfect Christmas.

My head remains buried in his chest, anticipating VIctor’s response. However, I suddenly feel something cold dripping on the roof of my head.

MC: ?!

I lift my head violently.

MC: Victor, are you crying...

It’s snowing.

The moment I lift my head, I see the entire sky filled with drifting snowflakes.

It’s actually snowing!

The sparkling, jade-like crystals rustle and land on Victor’s eyelashes, and very quickly turn into transparent water droplets.

I reach out to rub at his eyes gently, a moist and cold sensation on my fingertips.

MC: Victor! It’s snowing!

I happily unfurl my hands to welcome the snowflakes, showing them to Victor excitedly. However, I realise that his expression, which wears a slight smile as he looks at me, is not at all astonished by this unexpected snow.

Victor: Mm, it’s snowing.

An answer faintly surfaces in my heart. Before I can open to my mouth to probe further, the host’s voice from the broadcast drifts vaguely from the living room.

Broadcast Host: LFG... big Christmas gift... artificial snowfall...

Just as expected!

It turns out that this snowfall was LFG’s Christmas surprise to the citizens of Loveland City. No wonder Victor looked like he was waiting for something on the balcony earlier...

I deliberately fold my arms across my chest, tilting my chin angrily.

MC: A certain CEO even pretended not to know anything about it...

Victor: I thought surprises meant that they wouldn’t be disclosed until the last second. Or does a certain dummy have an issue with this surprise?

Seeing him arching his brows, I immediately correct my posture obediently.

MC: No, no! On behalf of the citizens of Loveland City, I sincerely thank CEO Victor for the surprise!

He laughs in spite of himself, lowering his head and meeting my forehead.

Victor: Now, you can say that this is a perfect Christmas.

I hide in his arms as I look up at the sky. The snowfall is getting increasingly heavier.

Even though I'm just wearing a thin woollen shirt, I don’t feel cold at all in his arms.

It’s probably because the person before me has shielded me from all the piercing wind and snow, keeping them out of my world.

MC: Come to think of it, do you really not have a perfect Christmas in your heart?

He once again tightens his grip on me, resting his chin on the top of my head.

Victor is silent for a very, very long time. It’s so long that I can hear the rustling sound of snowfall.

Victor: This moment right now. It’s perfect.

Phone calls: here

Texts: here

#mlqc #mlqc cn #mlqc spoilers #mlqc victor #mlqc best boy pudding #pUDDING I LOVE YOU #VICTOR'S A+ COMMENTS #AHUIEFDJNKS #A+ DATE

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therivergirl · 3 years

Text

I so, so wanted to post this before the new year, but alas, that did not happen. Here it is now, the show, the chaos, the most chaotic episode of Dewey Dew-night!

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, Gen

Fandom: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)

Relationships: Louie Duck & Dewey Duck, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera & Louie Duck, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera & Dewey Duck, Scrooge McDuck/“Glittering” Goldie O'Gilt, Louie Duck & Dewey Duck & Gladstone Gander, Background Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters: Louie Duck (Disney), Dewey Duck (Disney), Scrooge McDuck, “Glittering” Goldie O'Gilt, Fenton Crackshell-Cabrera, Gladstone Gander (Disney), Flintheart Glomgold, Drake Mallard (Disney), Launchpad McQuack, Gosalyn Mallard, Webby Vanderquack, Penumbra (Disney: DuckTales), Emily Quackfaster

Additional Tags:, Family Banter, Family Feels, Light Angst, Dewey Duck angst, Louie Duck Angst (Disney), Scrooge and Goldie are not having a great time, but in a funny way, Quackfaster likes to mess with people, And this time she is messing with Goldie, Louie Duck is being the responsible one, he does not like it, Louie Duck Needs a Hug (Disney), Dewey Duck Just Wants Some Recognition, And an Autograph, Dewey Dew-night, Fenton is just here to be supportive, Lucky Gladstone Gander (Disney), Sort Of, He is in some trouble though, Gladstone Gander Needs a Hug (Disney), can be read as a stand alone story; angst

Language: English

Series: More Ducktales adventures, part 6

“Live from Dewey Dew-night!” Dewey, dressed in a blazer covered in blue sequins, sat in a fancy, velvet armchair behind an equally nice desk, Dewey Dew-night theme playing in the background, “Or should I say Dewey After-dew? Huh, huh? Doesn’t have the same ring, does it?” his pun was followed by mild laughter, and he grinned, a delighted if a bit surprised expression on his face.

“You might be wondering what is going on, why is a usually late-night show, or as late as mum and Uncle Donald allow,” he said, followed by another small bout of laughter, “happening in the afternoon.”

“Well, my deal ladies, gentlemen and of course, our nonbinary friends, it’s a very special episode of Dewey Dew-night, I mean guys, have you seen this set” he gestured to his surroundings.

The set was placed in the back of the large, cream-coloured room. A desk, behind which Dewey sat, was in the corner, and with Dewey Dew-night logo stuck to the wall behind it. The humble poster seemed somewhat out of place, next to a tall window covered by heavy curtains in front of which sat a luxury sofa and an armchair. Next to the desk was a beautiful changing screen, leaving a bit of intrigue for the show.

“It’s something, isn’t it? And, before we get to our tonight’s guests, I want to say that this episode is kindly being sponsored by Hotel Augorix, right here in Duckburg and this is their conference room. And guys, my old followers might know that in the past I struggled with getting a live audience but that is no longer the case, come on guys, let me hear you!”

There were a few shy cheers, but they quickly died down.

Dewey pouted, “Ok, come on guys, they’ll accuse me of just putting my aunts and uncles in the audience and telling them to act excited! Please, people, make some noiiiisee!!”

This time Dewey got a still shy, but more enthusiastic response.

“Ok, ok that was much better. Thank you! This is a trial period-it’s these guys first time they are in an audience like this and my first time with a large live audience but I’m sure everything will go right.”

“You are probably still wondering what this is all about, right? Well, one more thing before I get to our tonight’s guests! You will like who you see on the set, I promise! And I can promise a bit of drama! But tonight, this is not a one-man show. Firstly, we have a sound guy today, but he says he doesn’t want to show his face before the end of the show. He is a bit shy! But we can still hear him, right?” Dewey Dew-night theme filled the room once again.

“There you go, that was him, we’re happy to have him. But we have one more person helping out today, let me introduce my tonight’s crew member, she came all the way from St. Canard, the camerawoman Gosalyn Waddlemeyer! Come here, Gos, the camera wants to see your pretty face!”

“Oh, I’m sure it does, especially once I give it something actually nice to look at, next to your ugly mug!” Gosalyn bounced into the frame, dressed in a simple purple dress and a black blazer with black sequin trim.

“Hey, you just need to get my nice side!” Dewey said, posing for the camera.

“That is impossible!” she elbowed him slightly in the ribs, “I only can only get the ugly or the unsightly, so you’ll have to pick between those two!”

“Gos, Gos, Gos! Don’t insult the face of the show! Especially since that face lent you that jacket!”

“And this face is keeping it!” She said, playfully pulling on her own lapels, “We kind of match, though, equally sparkly!”

“Nope, nope, I’m way more sparkly!” Dewey made a few dance moves to show his jacket off, “look at all this pizzaz!”

“Yeah, you need it! To distract from your face,” Gosalyn teased.

“Uh-huh, you just make sure you get that face on camera, please!”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job!” Gosalyn laughed, “I think the camera is autofocusing on something that is not you, and we can’t have that, can we, oh all important star of the show! See you later,” she gave an exaggerated curtsey for the camera and then rushed back behind it.

“And that was Gosalyn, she does great work and I’m very grateful to have her! Just as much as I’m grateful to have our tonight’s guests! Yes, our dear viewers, this is the moment! We have not one, not two,” he counted on his fingers, making a small pause after each number, “not even three, but four guests! And I’m certain you want to meet them, don’t you?” He got some excited cheers from the audience, “Yeah, that sofa has been, empty for too long, let me introduce them.”

Gosalyn turned the camera, so it was facing the side door at the end of the room, and the drum-roll sound filled the room.

“They say ladies first so, I’ll start with the-“

“I AM NOT A LADY!” came a loud voice from behind the door. The drum roll stopped and everyone in the room started to laugh as Dewey stood in the middle of the set, slightly taken off guard.

Gosalyn’s voice could be heard, “Keen, gear! You tell them, girl! We don’t all have to be ladies!”

“Ok, ok, so we won’t start with her!” Dewey said matter-of-factly, still clearly in shock, promoting more laugh from the room. He cleared his throat.

“In that case, we will follow the rules of hospitality and say-the guest comes first. Gosalyn is not the only St Canardian with us here today. She is not even the only St Canardian in purple! Or maybe, she is. Because we don’t know where our tonight’s guest is from. You could say he is a daring duck of mystery. He was on this show before, please give a warm welcome to Darkwing duck!”

Darkwing got on the stage, dramatically showing off his cape, accompanied by an epic rendition of Darkwing Duck theme. His entrance was followed by very lukewarm applause and someone yelling “Wait, who is this guy again?”

Behind the camera, Gosalyn was stifling her laughter at Darkwing’s offended expression.

“Oh, come one guys,” Dewey said, trying to save the situation, “that is not a warm welcome! Come on, he is a hero, the champion of right! He-he has that cape!”

“NO CAPES!” someone yelled from the audience, followed by a bout of laugher.

“Oh, come one people…come on!”

“No, no Dewey, it was a mistake,” Darkwing said, recovering somewhat, whispering in Dewey’s ear, “I picked the wrong way to enter the stage!”

“Want to try again? We’ve got some time to spare!” Dewey whispered back and, when Darkwing nodded he spoke to the audience again, “I see you are tough crowd, huh? Well, want to see a special DW entrance!”

The audience gave affirming applause as Darkwing retreated to the side door and Dewey rushed to the light switch and dimmed the light in the room.

Smoke filled the stage, “I am the terror that flaps in the night,” came from the side door, “I am a pop-up you can’t skip” Darkwing’s voice was now coming from behind Dewey’s desk, Gosalyn following his figure, only barely noticeable in the smoke, with the camera, “I am Darkwing Duck!” Darkwing stood in the middle of the stage, showing off his cape in full.

“And I won’t stand for any anti-cape rhetoric brought by that film The Invincibles!” he said, making the audience erupt in laughter.

For a moment, he revelled in it, the recognition he received, he smiled at the camera, or rather, the girl behind the camera as in saying I told you so.

“Good stage entrance!” someone yelled then, and Darkwing’s smile fell somewhat. It was clear that he was hiding his frustration, especially as Gosalyn’s distinct laughter joined.

“Totally not cool from you, guys,” Dewey said, “It is not a stage entrance, it’s a superhero entrance. I’ve seen this man in action and let me tell you-it’s no joke when it’s not on a stage. You don’t want to be on this guy’s bad side! But now, we must get our other guests. Darkwing, please, take the seat!”

Darkwing did so, leaping over the set and landing on the sofa.

“She may not be a lady,” Dewey said, “but she might just be made of iron. Got to the position of Duckburg Fire Department lieutenant faster than any other officer in history of Duckburg, and just last week she helped save the city from another disaster brough by Mark beaks-unfortunately I was out of town, but I hear it was crazy-the one and only, Lieutenant Penumbra!”

Penumbra walked into the stage with much less dramatic panache than Darkwing. She stomped to the sofa and nodded at the audience, greeted by polite applause and someone shouting, “She saved my sister from a crazy robot last week!” from the back.

“Saved your sister, you said, good sir?” Dewey pointed to the man in the back, “Penny can I call you that on the show too? You will have to tell us all about it!

“All right! I shall regale you all with the tales of my achievement!” Penumbra said, earning a surprised look from Darkwing. He could appreciate her dramatic inflexions.

“And we shall listen intently,” Dewey said and then turned to the camera, “trust me guys, Penny might be a warrior of few words, but you will love her stories. One even involves yours truly,” he gestured to himself. “But enough about me, we will move to our next guest!”

He knew he wouldn’t be able to get Penny to just ramble about, or to kill time showing off as he could do with Darkwing. There was a reason he, or rather, Louie, persuaded her to come, but it wasn’t to chit-chat. The reason behind it was simple-the Moonvasion. With Flintheart Glomgold, self-proclaimed hero of Earth, and Penumbra, the actual hero of Earth in the same room, the drama was about to happen.

He knew Penny wouldn’t be able to hold back from calling Glomgold out once he started to brag about being the one and only saviour of Earth. In fact, he counted on it. It would just put more pressure on Glomgold, and then, it would be a simple matter of pushing the right buttons to get him to admit to his part in the entire Gladstone situation.

But for now, he had another guest to introduce. Smoothing his hair and smiling like he didn’t have a care in the world, Dewey reassumed the role of a show-host, “And now, you know him, you love him, you’ve seen him walk the very streets you take every day to work, or to class-that is if you live in Duckburg. If not, I’m sure you’ve heard of him, seen him on TV, or on the internet, I’m pleased to introduce-

“FLINHEART GLOMGOLD!!!!” Glomgold jumped on the set, pushing Dewey away, and walking so close to the camera that Gosalyn took two steps back, almost colliding with the first row of the audience “HEAD OF GLOMGOLD INDUSTRIES, THE MOST SCOTTISH CITIZEN OF DUCKBURG AN HERO OF EARTH! I DEFEATED LUNARIS AND SAVED THE PLANET. These people have nothing on me!” he boasted, pointing to the sofa.

Gosalyn kept the camera focused on Glomgold and Dewey, who fell to the ground. She avoided filming the two on the sofa. As soon as Glomgold spoke, Penumbra flared up. She was angrily pointing to Glomgold, glaring daggers at him and tried to get up, while Darkwing was doing his best to keep her seated. He failed, as Penny got up and started dragging him behind her. Looking at the Moonlander’s buff physique, Gosalyn had to admit, just the fact that he managed to slow her down was impressive.

She gave a slightly worried look to Dewey, who managed to get up, and was straightening his jacket. But he was calm. He was expecting most of this. The only thing that was a surprise was Penny’s I’m not a lady moment. He assumed Penny would take more time to snap, but her reaction wasn’t worth panicking about. Still, he had to give Penny a moment to cool down, he knew that.

“So, Mr Glomgold, you just couldn’t wait could you!” Dewey spoke genially as if talking to an old friend. He subtly moved to the other side of the set, nudging Glomgold to follow him.

“Oh, I could wait, but I know the audience couldn’t so I selflessly walked out early so they can see me! Can you hear the ovations!”

But the ovations never came. Only a single woman in the front row, dressed in a server’s uniform, gave a small, polite, barely audible clap. Someone from the back yelled, “Booo!”. Most people seemed more interested in the struggle between Darkwing and Penumbra.

Dewey glanced at Gosalyn and gestured towards the duo with his head. She nodded and went to help Darkwing out. He managed to stop Penumbra, or rather Penumbra decided to stop charging forward, but he was unable to convince her to return to the sofa or to stop glaring at Glomgold. Gosalyn caught their hushed conversation as she approached.

“….so let’s sit down and wait for the show to continue.”

“Oh, like you are not here partially to show off!” Penumbra countered.

Darkwing looked mortified, “I am offended! I’m here to help a friend set up a show!” Penumbra looked at him with a raised eyebrow, “Fine, a bit of notoriety is nice! But neither of us will get it if we ruin the show right away. Now let’s sit down and allow that big lump of fake Scottishness to make a fool out of himself and then we can grab all of the good press!” he gestured to the sofa, “Remember the exact reason why we’re here!” he grumbled under his breath.

“I don’t care he is spreading false rumours!” Penumbra replied, undeterred, looking at Glomgold in a way that made Gosalyn assume she was thinking of the best way to kill him.

“Yes, we know!” Gosalyn jumped in, “which is why we’ll put up a PSA, remember? Telling the truth! Also,” she whispered sharply, “trust me, everyone here knows he is full of shit!”

“Language, young lady!” Darkwing chided.

“Oh, now is not the time! Besides, Penumbra is not the only non-lady here!”

Penumbra glared at Gosalyn for a moment, the and the girl returned with an equally challenging glare. Finally, Penumbra’s face softened. She sighed, and rubbed her forehead, “Right. I apologize. It’s just that he makes me…ugh…”

“He makes you furious, we get it,” Darkwing said reassuringly, “Just remember, it’s all part of the show! Gos has to work on her language, but she is right, nobody here is stupid enough to believe him.”

As Darkwing and Penumbra returned to the sofa and Gosalyn moved back behind the camera, sticking her tongue at Darkwing one last time for good measure, Glomgold was revelling in what he perceived as utter infatuation from the audience.

“See, they are so thrilled to see me they are speechless,” Glomgold elbowed Dewey.

“Yeah, yeah, our audience is sooo overwhelmed by your presence!”

Completely deaf to the sarcasm in Dewey’s voice, Glomgold continued, “They have to be as I am the most beloved citizen in Duckburg!”

“You know what, why don’t we create a poll? We’ll allow our viewers to say who they think the favourite Duckburg citizen is? Now please, join the others on the couch!” he pointed to the empty spot on the sofa.

“But I should get a longer segment, I am, after all, the bestest guest you’ll ever have on the show!”

“You most certainly are, Flintheart, can I call you Flintheart? And I would absolutely love to chat about your accomplishments. I mean that giant squid you managed to catch with your bare hands? Just…leaves me speechless. But,” Dewey leaned towards Glomgold in conspiratory manner, “Between you and me, if we let you take more time, it might completely overshadow other guests. Not that you aren’t already overshadowing them, but I need them to still look cool, you know. Otherwise, I’ll get flack for having lame guests. And I can’t have that, can I?” he asked, even adding a wink at the end.

“Oh, right, right! And I am generous, you know. So, I will go sit down and let other, lamer guests, have their lame time in the spotlight!”

“You go do that,” Dewey said, mentally apologizing to both Darkwing and Penny, “And you will get your time to shine later, I promise!”

“We will talk about my last expedition, right?” Glomgold asked Dewey, “that hag Roxanne ruined my segment on the news today, and I need to tell everyone about how amazing my plan…I mean my finding is!”

“Yes, of course, we will discuss your plan in detail,” Dewey said, “and how absolutely amazing it must have been for you to accomplish such a great feat! But now, please, sofa, so I can introduce our next guest!”

When Glomgold was finally in his seat, Gosalyn came into the frame again,

“Before we continue with our next guest, allow me to issue a Public Service Announcement. You might have just heard that Flintheart Glomgold is solely responsible for saving the Earth during Moonvasion. This is false!”

“WHAT?” Came and offended growl from Glomgold.

“Yes!” Penumbra victoriously clenched her fist. The two proceeded to glare at one another and Darkwing, who sat in the middle, suddenly felt like a guy sitting at a dinner table between a liberal and a conservative relative and someone just brought politics up.

Gosalyn ignored the drama and continued, “While his involvement and contribution is, weirdly, undeniable, the defence of Earth was a group effort. To point a few contributors, we have tonight’s guests, one of which you’ll see shortly and the host, Dewford Turbo Dingus Duck!” she couldn’t resist not saying Dewey’s ridiculous full name, to which he rolled his eyes.

“And I would like to highlight Penumbra who,” Gosalyn turned to smile at the Moonlander who was quickly becoming one of her idols, “delivered the finishing blow to general Lunaris! Thank you for listening to this PSA!” With that Gosalyn moved back behind the camera, allowing Dewey to take back the spotlight.

“This show is chaotic, isn’t it?” he asked, “See, that’s the reason for you guys to watch Dewey Dew-night, just plain chaos, every time!”

“But now, we have to introduce our final guest. He fights chaos, yet he is chaos. Some call him the hero of Duckburg, and I don’t think he needs any further introductions, dear viewers let me introduce….” he allowed the drum roll sound to take over for a moment,

“GIZMODUCK!” he said, in unison with the superhero who rolled to the set. His entrance was greeted by roaring applause, approving shouts and whistles as he circled the small set two times.

“All, right, all right guys, calm down!” Dewey said, but the audience didn’t stop.

“We love you Gizmoduck!” a few people said from the audience.

“Can you sign an autograph?” someone asked.

Gizmoduck rolled over next to Dewey who was trying to get the audience to calm down, “Ok, so, we do have signed photos of all four of our guests tonight, you will get them by the end,” Dewey said, then turned to Gizmoduck, “So, Gizmoduck, did I do it right?

“What exactly?”

“The shout! Is it GIZMOOOODUCK? Or is it more like GIIIIIIIZMOOODUUUCK?”

“Oh, well, I usually put most emphasis on the U sound,” Gizmoduck said.

“So like GIZMODUUUUCK!” Dewey shouted.

“Yes, there you go you got it! Wait…don’t tell me you want to steal my career!”

“No, no, I just want to do my job right! You can still freely keep yours!” Dewey said, “Besides, If I wanted to take the superhero route, I’d go in a completely different direction.”

“Good, because I like my job. I’m finally getting used to the spotlight, took me two years…”

“Wow, two years? That’s a long time to be in a superhero business, isn’t it? And a long time to get used to the spotlight! I know I would not need that long!”

“Honestly, it feels like yesterday!” Gizmoduck shrugged.

“I bet it does. So, before we continue, can you tell us, the best thing about the job?”

“That’s simple. Helping people!” Gizmoduck said, sounding genuine.

“Oh, come on, we all know that you are a hero after all! Give me something less generic, something, well not personal, but you know, a little detail, something random!”

“Umm…I don’t know, I guess…I don’t have to worry about missing the bus,” Gizmoduck shrugged.

“Wait, wait, does this mean that it’s entirely possible that at some point someone saw you and was like oh look Gizmoduck, flying to another super important mission, getting someone from a burning car, saving a kitten stuck in a tree while you are just late to the movies with your girlfriend, boyfriend, significant other?”

“Well…I will neither confirm nor deny it,” Gizmoduck laughed sheepishly.

“So… it definitely happened,” Dewey said flatly, “Look, we all get it, we would all do it! But now, spill the tea! What is the worst thing about the job? I mean, besides getting punched and stuff, that is a given!”

“Umm… not sure,” Gizmoduck scratched his neck.

“I know what the worst to me would be!” Dewey said, “Not being able to moonwalk into the room, like this!” he rushed to the door and moonwalked back to Gizmoduck. “See, something Gizmoduck can’t do!”

“Unless Gizmoduck’s secret identity is a dancer, and he is now laughing at that pitiful moonwalk of yours!” Gosalyn shouted from behind the camera.

“Are you?” Dewey asked Gizmoduck.

“Hey, hey, my lips are sealed!”

“Nah, you are not a dancer. I bet you either have the most boring job in the world, like a night janitor or an assistant accountant, or it’s, like the coolest job ever! Like a stunt double or a wilderness explorer.”

“All I can say is, I like my day job,” Gizmoduck said, “And don’t put janitors down, kid! Or accountants!”

“Ok apologies to all the janitors and accountants. You are all amazing people, but I would still find your jobs boring. So, to me, it’s impressive you do them! Before we get further into the dangerous territory of revealing his secret identity to the world-this is not Iron Duck after all-let us end this small conversation. Gizmoduck, join the others, please.”

With one last bout of applause, Gizmoduck rolled over to the armchair

“See, when I started this show, I told myself, Dewey, this really should be a true Duckburg show something to encapsulate the essence of the city! And you can’t say I’m not getting that! I mean, talk about the chaos, the unexpected group of guests we have today, you could say-it’s like a hurricane! That was a bit too on the nose, wasn’t it? Yeah, yeah I know!”

“I think that was enough of an introduction for our exceptional guests tonight,” He back into his chair, relaxing into it. Now the important part began, “so, let’s start with our first guest. Darkwing, we heard about that chaos last week in St Canard. How did you handle it?”

“Well, Dewey, I handled it very professionally, and quickly!”

“What?” Glomgold stared at him, “We’ve all seen the video of you falling flat on your face!”

“Well, I was falling very…professionally!” Drake huffed.

“Glomgold, please, don’t try to put down the other guests, ok?” Dewey said. “You will get your turn!”

“Yeah,” Gosalyn yelled behind the camera, “It screams of insecurity! Oh, maybe his story of the week is so lame that even falling on your face, even outside of it being part of a superhero heist, would seem impressive in comparison!” she said, looking at him with a mischievous grin, the audience exploding in laughter.

“WHAT?” Glomgold growled, “you little-“ he tried to get up, but Darkwing grabbed his arm and pulled him back onto the sofa.

“Hey, no threatening the camerawoman with me around!” Darkwing warned.

“She was making fun of me, ye purple weirdo!”

“Well, she was making fun of me earlier, you don’t see me exploding!” Darkwing retorted.

“Huh, maybe he really is insecure,” Penumbra chimed in from the other side. “I mean, we are talking about a man who inflates his contribution in saving this planet daily!”

“I’m nea insecure!” Glomgold huffed.

“Hey, hey, guys! Guys!” Dewey got their attention, “Let’s not fight! Although, Flintheart, I really must agree with Darkwing that threatening our camerawoman is not acceptable. You’ll get your time to tell what amazing story behind that treasure must be hunt we heard about this morning. Now, back to Darkwing. Do you think I could pull off the same thing you do?”

“Being a superhero? Well…I guess you have the skills and the drive…”

“Not just a superhero, I know I could pull that off with enough training! I mean, like, adopt the identity of a superhero from a show I really, really like and be that! I mean, I’m assuming you were, and still are, a fan of Darkwing Duck the show?”

“Yes, I’m a huge fan of the show…but we’re reaching the territory where I could slip something about my secret identity. And we can’t have that, can we?”

“Well, something like that would certainly make the show memorable, and would get me a lot of views, but I guess secret identities have to stay secret! As I said, this isn’t Iron Duck! So, about me being a fandom-inspired superhero?”

“Well, I would not advise you to get into the field for a few years. And pick someone with your set of skills-I’m going to assume you can’t turn into a giant green monster on a whim or run super-fast.”

“Nope, but this one time I got my hands on a piece of Zeus’ crown and became a super-dancer. As in, my moves were literally electrifying! Ok, thanks Darwking, we’ll get back to you. Now, let’s talk to the other superhero we have with us tonight. Gizmoduck, I forgot to ask, how are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you very much!”

“Not tired from the fight last week?”

“Oh, I’m always tired. Chronically underslept. But, no more than usual, no!”

“Wow, the work-life balance must be bad when you’re a superhero,”

“Well, I think that this is one of the few things Darkwing and I agree on,”

“Don’t put words into my mount, you metal hunk!”

“…ant that is that, yes, it can get difficult! But the job is worth it! Isn’t it, Darkwing?”

Darkwing gave him a stink-eye, pouting like a child, “Ok, fine, I do agree with that! But that is like, one thing!”

“Now, last week, the Waddle disaster, I completely missed out on it! Can you give us a few details on it?”

“Huh, another interview about that, should have expected it,” Gizmoduck muttered, “Well, I can’t say more than has already been saying. Putting an improperly tested product out on the market like that was a disaster waiting to happen. And it happened. And stopping it was, first and foremost, a group effort. And a difficult one at that. If it wasn’t for your mother and Dr. Gyro Gearloose from McDuck labs, it would have been even worse. And I must put a highlight on lieutenant Penumbra’s contribution here,” he turned to Penumbra with a grin. “She got me out of a few scrapes.”

“Wow! Penny, can you tell us, what’s it like getting a literal superhero out of a clutch?”

Penumbra chuckled, “Well, Blue Della, I mean Dewey, I don’t see a difference. Although, he is more capable of saving himself than most of the people around me, Moonlanders and you Earthers alike. I do have to say you have a knack of creating troubles for yourself.”

“Hey, don’t put us all in the same basket as Mark Beaks!” Dewey complained.

“Apologies, the grey parrot is more annoying than all the other Earthers I’ve encountered so far, I understand if you would take offence!” she said, then smirked, “That being said, even the non-annoying amongst you have a knack of getting yourself into trouble! And I’m not talking only about your family and your adventures. I’ve seen a lot of stupidity as a firefighter.”

“Well…fine, I can’t argue with that! Now, Penny, how did you decide to become a firefighter?”

“Well, dangerous and challenging situations are my own version of Earth-fun. To a certain extent, last week’s event was not too hard but got frustrating repetitive. I realized that there are a couple of career tracks that align with my abilities and aspirations and becoming a firefighter seemed like the best option.”

“And moving through ranks so quickly, wow! That is impressive, is it even legal?”

“I assume it is, though I will admit I left that aspect to those who I assume are more well-versed in your laws than I. I will say that I’m aware of my abilities and I do believe I got the position deservedly.”

“I’m going to second that,” Dewey said.

“And I’m going to third that!” Gosalyn shouted supportively from behind the camera. “You totally kick butt!”

Dewey nodded in agreement, “You saved me and Webby once and, saved that guy’s sister, most impressively, you saved Gizmoduck! How many people can say that?”

“I was not on duty when the last week’s fight occurred, so it can’t count into my rank.” Penny pointed out.

“Who cares? Still proves you are absolutely amazing!”

“Hey, it’s my turn now!” Glomgold interrupted

“No, no it’s not! I’m still talking to Gizmoduck and Penny, heroes of last week. Don’t worry Flintheart, we’ll get to you! I mean, the stunt you pulled this morning! Finding that comb! You beat Scrooge McDuck to that treasure! A feat not easily achieved, and I should know, he is my uncle, well great uncle! I’m leaving the best for last!” he kept mentally apologizing to Uncle Scrooge.

“Well, of course! I’m Flintheart Glomgold and I-“

“Will not be interrupting this conversation anymore!” Dewey cut his gloating off, making him cross his arms and grumble under his breath.

“Huh, I would assume you just faked the comb scenario,” Penumbra said coldly. “I mean, you are utterly incompetent, even by the lowest of standards.”

“Tricked? Faked? Incompetent? How dare you, you moon scum! I am the most capable person in this city!” Glomgold jumped on his feet, “I’ll have you know I had the perfect scheme to get to Scrooge McDuck! Not just beat him but beat him using his own! I knew that with the comb being lost and if he and other explorers couldn’t find it, if I, who is better than all of them haven’t managed to find it using me own abilities, it was no matter of skill. It was a matter of luck! So, I hatched my plan! You see there are good luck charms out there but none strong enough than Scrooge’s own…nephew? Relative?”

He turned to Dewey, “I don’t get how your family works! But whatever, he is Scrooge’s family. So the defeat would be worse by his hand! I remembered him from the day the Moon invaded. And I saw him on TV when he won the lottery. I knew he was lucky, and he was stupid! I tricked this naïve fool-seriously, kid,” he addressed Dewey again, “Scrooge is a worthy opponent. Even you would be somewhat worthy opponent, how is that naïve fool related to you?”

Before Dewey could even consider answering, Glomgold continued rambling, “But he has this magic luck! He is a useful tool! So, I tricked him into working for me! And I used him to find me the comb! I used Scrooge’s own family to win over Scrooge and now, I can say I found a treasure he didn’t! I’m better! DOU YOU HEAR ME SCROOGIE! I’M BETTER, I HAVE BETTER PLANS THAN YOU! MWAHAHAHAHA, MWAHAHAHAHA!”

Gasps of shock and outrage and confusion filled the room. Some of the audience members were looking at Dewey, watching the boy’s reaction to the revelation. Penumbra grinned smugly and Gosalyn smiled with delight, while Gizmoduck somewhat anxiously watched over the audience, in case someone starts making a ruckus.

Dewey allowed a few moments, so everyone had time to let it out of their systems. Glomgold was still laughing maniacally while doing a mocking dance at the camera in the middle of the set, showing his rear towards the camera which prompted Darkwing to rush to Gosalyn’s side, and much to her annoyance, attempt to cover her eyes.

As the crowd started to calm down despite the chaos, now looking more confused than outraged, Dewey looked towards the changing screen and nodded to whoever was behind it, his eyes resolute.

Slow claps could be heard from the screen in the corner. A child, or a young teenager, dressed in a dark green outfit and with a dark helmet on his has walked from behind it and took nonchalant steps towards Glomgold, “Bravo! Way to foil your own plan!”

“What! No, no I didn’t!” Glomgold said, his face turning from victorious to angry.

“Dear guests, I mentioned him before, but now you can meet him!” Dewey announced, acting as if a huge drama wasn’t just occurring on his own set and everything was just a normal development of the show, “DJ Daft-duck!”

“No, no, I’m not taking your stupid DJ name,” the teenager, sounding like a boy, said “If anything, I’m DJ sharp-duck! Or DJ Sharpie or something!”

“Huh, those don’t sound half-bad actually!” Dewey nodded approvingly.

“Especially since I came up with them on the fly, right?” the DJ said, “But, enough of this! How do you breathe in this helmet?” he tried taking it off, but failed, “Help?”

Dewey tried to help remove the helmet but had no more success than the DJ so Penumbra rushed to their aid and a few seconds later, the helmet was off, revealing...

“Llewellyn duck?!” Glomgold gaped, while a few members of the audience started to whisper among themselves. “Oh no…”

“Ugh, please, not my full name!” Louie complained, “But yes, it’s me! Surprised?”

“So, you’re behind all this?” Glomgold asked in shock.

“Um, no, no I’m not! Haven’t you heard this is Dewey Dew-nigh? Not Louie Lou-night! I did help a bit, though. You know how it is, family helps family and all that jazz!”

“It was a team effort,” Dewey said, throwing his arm over Louie’s shoulders.

“Well, your scheme was fruitless! You got nothing on me, you can’t prove anything!” Glomgold said, putting his hands on his hips.

“Oh really? You mean, besides your recorded confession? Dewey, please, can I take over for a bit?”

“The stage is yours, brother of mine!” Dewey gestured towards the middle of the set formally.

“Thank you,” Louie said, amping up his charm to the max, “Lovely people in the audience, viewers at home, dear guests, people backstage, I’m asking you for a bit of attention,” Louie said, but it was unnecessary. Every eye in the room was focused on him ready to learn the secret behind the drama unfolding on the set. “I mean, what I’m about to explain is relatively simple, really, so I won’t take long!”

“You have no proof you little-“

Louie pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, raising and eyebrow.

Glomgold’s eyes started to twitch, “The…the contract?!?”

“Yup! AKA: the proof. Do you want me to read this out loud for everyone to hear? By the way,” he turned to the audience “if there are any English teachers in the audience, for your own sake I would advise you to cover your ears. If you’re watching this at home, turn the mic off. The contract itself is not too bad but the grammar? Atrocious! I could have probably called the contract invalid just based on that, but where is the fun in that?”

“No, no I…didn’t go against any of the clauses!” Glomgold insisted but he seemed very unsure about that.

“Oh, so you do want me to read this out loud! Any lawyers in the audience? No? Well, I guess my own casual interest in the topic will have to suffice! But before we get into the nitty-gritty details of the contract, allow me to give everyone a briefing on what is going on because I’m assuming everyone is a bit confused by this development. Long story short, earlier today Dewey and I had reasons to believe our uncle Gladstone Gander, yes that Gladstone Gander who you heard about on TV because he won the lottery three times this year, was working for Glomgold. Or rather, has been tricked by him ad was being exploited for his rather extraordinary luck.”

“So,” Dewey joined in, “after some poking and prodding, a bit of convincing, out-of-the-box thinking, thinking on our feet and quick thinking, we realized not only were we right in our suspicions…”

“…but we also found proof of them. Henceforth, the contract!”

“Ha-ha!” Glomgold jumped, sounding victorious once again, “if you know about the contract that means Gladstone broke it too! So he-“

“Nope!” Louie said, so confident he almost sounded bored.

“What do you mean nope?” Glomgold look like he was about to pop the vein, “He must’ve told you about it! And you are Scrooge’s associate!”

“Ok, so, before we were rudely interrupted, I wanted to say that according to the contract, Uncle Gladstone has to work for Glomgold. Now there is a non-disclosure agreement in this, AKA, they can’t talk about it with other people. However, there is something specific about this NDA. It only applies to Scrooge McDucks associates or public discussions of the topic! And the same goes for the employer, that is, Flintheart Glomgold right here.”

“And he broke it first if you know about it! You are Scrooge McDuck associates!” Glomgold pointed his finger at the brothers, who simply exchanged a lazy look and it started to dawn on Glomgold that there was a possibility he was fighting a lost battle.

“Nope again!” Louie smiled innocently, “see, in legal terms I’m not Scrooge McDuck’s associate! My former company, Louie Inc., is currently under restructuring, not working and most definitely not working with Uncle Scrooge or McDuck Enterprises. And while I’ might associate with him, in the same way, everyone associates with their family, well, legally that word holds no weight in that context. The same goes for Dewey. Since the NDA only applies to associates in legal terms, there is absolutely nothing stopping Gladstone from discussing it with people who do not work for, work with, and are not business partners off Scrooge McDuck, as long as it’s done in private spaces. And we’re the only two people Gladstone talked to about the contract and the arrangement, while in his private hotel room.”

“Bu-but…you are talking about it right now!” Glomgold said, “Publicly!”

Louie shrugged, “So? There is nothing in the NDA, and trust me I checked it, I combed through it, that says anything about us not telling anyone about it. Nothing against spreading second-hand knowledge. So, the terms are not broken, not on Gladstone’s side at least.”

“Lou, you used a pun!” Dewey said, delighted, putting his hand over his heart.

“Well, in that case, I didn’t break it either!” Glomgold insisted, but he was losing his resolve.

“Oh really? Because, oh look!” Louie feigned surprise, “Gizmoduck is here! And he is McDuck enterprise employee! And look there, at the door! See that tall redheaded man? That is LP, Scrooge’s driver and pilot! And there at the back, that guy, dark blue suit, striped tie,” he pointed to a tall pigeon in the back of the audience, “Uncle Scrooge recently made a deal with him, joining businesses, I don’t want to bore everyone with details! So, there are three associates in here!

Dewey jumped in for the last bit, “But even if none of them was here, you still revealed the details about the contract,” he took one long, sweeping step to the camera and pointed to it, smiling deviously, “on a public platform!”

“What? No!!!!!”

“You played yourself, Glomgold!” Louie smirked, “Firstly, why did you even put that you can’t talk about the agreement into the contract? You just had to keep your mouth shut and only brag about the comb and not the plan!”

“No! Curse you Llewellyn Duck!”

“I win again, old business partner,” Louie said smugly as the audience broke out into pleased chatter. Half of them were still not entirely clear what just happened, but none liked Glomgold much.

“Wait, so this entire ruse is over?” Penumbra asked.

“Seems like it,” Darkwing said.

“That took…surprisingly short time…” Gizmoduck said.

“I was trying to make him annoyed, but I didn’t expect he would blurt everything out at my slightest teasing,” Penumbra noted. “It was too easy.2

“Yup, I had all this plan to grill him but, no, he gave up the truth almost instantly,” Dewey said “I’m almost disappointed! I had this whole thing planned out!”

“I am disappointed, that would be fun to watch!” Gosalyn agreed.

Glomgold turned to them, flabbergasted, “So, you were all in on it! But why?”

“Because I don’t want to see a man used for another’s gain?” Darkwing said.

“Because that’s just what heroes do!” Gizmoduck straightened.

“Because it’s fun seeing your pathetic ass get humbled!” Gosalyn teased.

“Language!”

“Because you are constantly underplaying my achievements and achievements of my friends and allies only to inflate your own ego,” Penumbra said bluntly, her eyes gleaming dangerously, “Also, you keep referring to my people as moon scum.” She gave Glomgold a toothy, slightly unsettling, grin.

“So, it was about revenge? I curse you all, I am better! I don’t need some luck guy! I’ll get all the other elusive treasures myself. I don’t need anyone! I don’t-

“You might need a better security system, though,” Louie said smugly, “I little birdie told us you left the comb in your personal vault. And said birdie, golden birdie, just texted me that you are currently being robbed of your glittering possession!”

“What? O’Gilt! No, not my precious finding!” he said taking his phone only for it to have 5 unread messages from his head of security. “Curse you O’ Gilt! Curse you Scrooge! Curse you Lewellyn! How’d you even figure it all out? Never mind! Curse all of you!” with that, he rushed off the stage, almost pushing Launchpad and Gladstone who stood there.

Gladstone looked a bit sad for a moment, finally fully accepting that he was simply being tricked and used, but then he lifted his head and smiled at Louie.

Dewey was wrapping the show up, thanking the audience, all of them the workers and patrons of the hotel. He knew there was no point in trying to restart the casual conversation, even if it included two superheroes, after the spectacle that just occurred. No matter what story they told, it would be overshadowed.

“So, that went decently well,” Dewey said.

“It would be greater pressure to trick someone who is, you know, more competent,” Louie said, pulling his brother in a side hug, “but yeah, it was pretty good. Hey, Uncle Gladstone, come one out, no need to hide your involvement into all this now the show is over and the cameras are off!”

Dewey and Louie turned to their uncle to be met with a grateful grin. Just as Gladstone was about to take a step onto the set, Launchpad tapped him on the shoulder, awkwardly looking behind them. Gladstone followed the taller man’s gaze, looking over his shoulder.

Suddenly, both men looked like boys caught in a prank as they walked to the stage, much to everyone else’s confusion. Louie shot a questioning look to his uncle, and Gladstone opened his beak to answer, but before he could say anything, someone else started to speak.

“I would love to know how this entire thing occurred!” came another Scottish voice from the door, sounding more amused than angry. Scrooge McDuck walked to the stage, looking around himself like he simply found casual interest in the set, but there was a gleam behind his eyes. Still, he smiled at the group of surprised people on the stage, and Louie and Dewey knew that, while they had a lot of explaining to do, Scrooge truly wasn’t angry. If anything, he seemed somewhat impressed, “Kids, Gizmoduck, Darkwing, Penumbra! Nice to see you too, Gladstone,” Scrooge McDuck tilted his hat.

“Come on, Dewey, let’s put this all back the way you found it,” the old businessman said, and then he addressed Gladstone, “After that, let’s get some tea in your room, I want the whole story!”

#fanfiction #ducktales #ducktales 2017 #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #louie duck #dewey duck #gladstone gander #fenton crackshell cabrera #drake mallard #gosalyn waddlemeyer #penumbra ducktales #flintheart glomgold #the mysterious appearance of gladstone gander #more ducktales adventures

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 4 years

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Rose Red’s All Hallows Eve: Ticket Please?

Summary- 4.2k Curtis Everett x You. Your boyfriend got you tickets to a charity Haunted House, and the special features include immersed scenes from the movie of your choice. Once you hear that the one and only Curtis Everett from Snowpiercer is a part of the choices, you just have to go. Prepare for a night of apocalyptic fun!

Warnings- Blood/Gore, brutal killings, swears.

A/N- Written for @jtargaryen18 Haunted House 2020. This is a 3 chapter story that will be posted within a few days of one another. Be sure to read the warnings for each chapter. The page dividers were made by @firefly-graphics , I highly suggest checking out her work, its really excellent and a bit of everything to choose from. The manor described in this story, Rose Red, is a piece of work from Stephen King, and I highly suggest watching the tv mini series, if you can find it. Perfect for this time of year. Special thanks to @what-is-your-plan-today for being my Beta in this project. Happy Reading and Haunting! 😈🎃

“What do you mean Bryce that you can’t come? You promised you would! When is New York State ever going to open Rose Red to be explored like this again Bryce?” You spoke into your cell phone while looking in the mirror, currently doing a french braid to keep your hair out of your face. Your expression reflected back at you was a mixture of fury and disbelief. You had only been talking about this charity for 6 months, and here was your boyfriend backing out after he’d promised to come with you numerous times.

“Something came up with Maya, okay? You know my sister can’t do anything without fucking it up. Besides it's just a house”

“Bryce, don’t talk about your sister that way.” You sighed exasperatedly before your voice dropped slightly conveying your disappointment “And it's not just a house, it's just the most haunted manor and grounds in New York. They had it condemned supposedly just for that reason! You really can’t come?”

“You know that shit isn't real. Sorry Baby, but why don’t you take one of your friends? How about that Karen chick?”

You gave a sigh and roll of the eyes, Bryce never bothered to get to know any of your friends, not like you did with his friends. “You mean Stacey? Her name isn’t Karen.”

“Well, she’s like a Karen.” He retorted with a condescending tone.

“Whatever Bryce, I’m hanging up now.” you snapped out, he was being an ass especially considering this entire night had actually started out as a treat to him from you.

“Hey, Hey, I was kidding. Take Stacey. You know I wouldn’t be any fun, I never liked Snowpiercer, remember?”

“That’s not the point Bryce…” you sighed again.

“Look, go have fun with Stacey, and tomorrow morning I will pick you up, we can go for a drive down the coast, just the two of us. Maybe have a long weekend in Hampton. How does that sound? I will even take you to that hotel you like. That one right on the beach with the view we stayed at last summer. We had fun there, didn’t we Sweetness.” now his tone was a hint of teasing and promise, and although you were still mad that he ditched you again, you felt a warmth bloom in your chest that he was trying to make it right.

You bit your lip remembering, it had been a fantastic vacation, and Bryce really showed you a good time without ever having to leave the room. At your silence he gave a chuckle of triumph. “That’s what I thought, I'm gonna call them right now. Have fun tonight baby.”

“Okay, but you better be here bright and early Bryce. Love-” Before you could even say the words, he hung up, and you hit the end call button, trying to get over the feeling of disappointment before you called Stacey. You could already hear what she would say, but as your best friend, she would be there. She always was. Dialing her number, you pulled out the tickets from your purse, allowing yourself a smile.

What could you say, you were a fangirl. Snowpiercer was such an intricate dark story, you had fallen in love with it the first time you watched it on Netflix. So when Bryce mentioned his grandfather was helping sponsor a haunted house charity at the town's resident creepy manor, and it was featuring several film sets. Including none other than Snowpiercer, you just had to have all the details. It even went as far as Bryce having his grandfather putting in a good word of how much of a fan you were to get you in. You scrimped and saved, Bryce as well helped you with paying for the tickets. You had really wanted to do this with him too. No, he didn’t share your love for the story, but he was your boyfriend and Halloween was your favorite holiday. It was something you two could have shared.

Oh well, next year we will do what he wants to do, you thought to yourself waiting for Stacey to pick up her phone.

A familiar voice answered, jerking you from your thoughts. “What’s up? I thought you would have already left for the charity function?” Stacey questioned.

“Slight change of plans, something came up with Maya, and Bryce can’t make it.”

“Big surprise.” the answer made you wince, cause this wasn’t the first time you called Stacey about Bryce. “You want some company? I can be ready by the time you get here?”

“Please?” you already had your purse over your shoulder and were heading out the door as she answered.

“Don’t worry girl, I got you. See you in a few.”

The line to get into the grounds was long, cars piled up as the two of you pulled to a stop. Stacey leaned forward to look out the windshield, giving a soft whistle. “Damn, they pulled out all the stops for this charity, didn’t they? Isn’t that the Rose Red Manor?”

“Yea, they were able to get it for the night from the Governor. Pretty crazy since this place has been condemned, they were supposed to demolish it back when Ellen Rimbauer’s grandson sold it to New York. You know the stories here, don’t you? Men die, Women disappear never to be seen again. The house somehow has random room built on out of nowhere. No one actually knows how many rooms Rose Red has, and the grounds are much larger then the records state.” You let your foot off the brake, easing forward.

“Shut up, that’s not true.” Stacey gave a shudder and you laughed, winking in a teasing manner. “How does a house keep getting bigger? I say bullshit.”

“It’s all just for spooks, the place is safe or else they wouldn’t let us on the grounds.”

“If I die Y/N, I’m haunting you.” Stacey jibed back, pulling up to the concession stand, and you rolled down your window.

“How many, and what set are you here to visit?” a tired voice sounded at you while you pulled the tickets out of your purse and handed them out the window.

“2, for the Snowpiercer, Curtis Everett set.”

The redhead took your tickets, her green eyes flickering to check them before she gave a slight smirk of perfectly painted ruby lips. She leaned forward, to look into the car. “Curtis Everett you say? A personal favorite of mine, the set reminds me a bit of home.” Your eyes flickered to her name tag, reading Natasha Romanoff, it sounded Russian, where it is assumed the train derailed at the end of the film. “Curtis is a bit intimidating, but don’t get scared, it's all a part of the show.” She stamped your tickets and collected bracelets, handing them back to you which you and Stacey both snapped onto your wrists. “Enjoy, and make sure you have those tickets on you. The Wilford on set will be looking to collect them. Bozhe, pomiluy tebya.” God have mercy on you.

Your brows came together in confusion at the foreign launguage and gave a nod. “Thanks?”

The woman smiled and snapped her window shut, ending the conversation. Pulling the car away to continue to park, Stacy wrinkled her nose. “What was that about?”

“You got me. I don’t even know what language that was, I’m guessing Russian?” You watch and follow the people directing you to park and are soon in your designated spot. “Whatever, you ready?” The uneasiness slipped away as you got excited, cause lets face it, Curtis Everett had been a crush for you since you saw the movie. And now you were going to see him, well the actor in the role, once again. From what you could tell this charity was an a-list kind of deal, cause after hours of scouring online, you found nothing talking about Chris Evans doing this function. Maybe Bryce was good for something, you thought as you got out of the car, and then chided yourself for being so cruel to your boyfriend. After all, if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t be seeing Curtis or the Snowpiercer set. While you two were walking, apparently the last ones in the queue, you pulled out your phone to send him a message.

Hey, Stacey, and I just got here. Miss you and Love you.

It wasn’t even a few minutes till your phone pinged back

Have a good time and don’t get too scared.

Smiling to yourself at the glowing screen, you stuffed your phone back in your purse and proceeded towards the front where you showed your bracelets.

“Ahh Snowpiercer, you actually go around back. Follow me.” Your host said as he led you around the side of the building, away from the last of the people disappearing inside.

“We're not going into the house?” you couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the idea, it was supposedly one of the most famous haunted houses in New York State. The well-dressed host turned, looking at you for a moment before putting on a suave smile.

“Since you are special guests, I’ll wait for you after your tour with Curtis Everett on Snowpiercer. Give you a proper tour of Rose Red. But I assure you, that you’re in for a better treat, this is a truly exclusive walk though as hardly anyone gets to explore this much of Rose Red. Did you know that Ellen Rimbauer also had a private train on the grounds? It’s not documented as extensively as the house is, but many strange occurrences have happened here as well. It’s rumored that a single match light can be seen running up and down the aisles. Workers will be glimpsed from the corner of your eye in the darkest shadows. The ones that have visited the train claim to feel extensive chills, and in the engine, ramblings and whispers of madness can be heard. Most assume it's the conductor, looking for his replacement.” Your host continued, while out of the darkness a massive ominous train loomed, vines all over it, and it almost had a skeletal appearance as windows were busted out of it, and it looked pitch black in all the openings.

“The workers used the train to bring in materials from the harbor to the construction site. And in 1903, a riot happened on the train, the crew claimed that they weren’t being compensated for the conditions, and they demanded better wages. When W. Rimbauer refused them, they put a stop to the train for good. Resulting in many deaths.” Your host led you to the front car, in which a pale man stood with a lantern and a single red rose he was twirling in his fingers, and upon seeing the trio of you, he promptly slipped the delicate flower into his robe and smoothed down his outfit. Giving a wave, he stepped down and you noticed that oddly he was wearing what looked like a luxurious robe, his bald head shining in the glow of the lamp. The more you studied him, the more you thought he looked exactly like Ed Harris in his Wilford role. You were about to ask, when he interrupted you with his own question to the host.

“Blackwood, this the Curtis couple? We were a bit worried you wouldn’t show up tonight. Which is a shame, as Curtis has been waiting for you.” He seemed to direct his answer solely at you, his pale blue eyes glinting gleefully at you, it was the only way you could describe it, but they still sent a shiver down your back. Ed Harris or not, he was a good Wilford, you thought to yourself as you tried not to let his act give you the creeps. Stacey pulled in closer to you, hooking her arm through yours and whispering.

“You sure we should go on this train? It’s pretty fucking creepy back here. And where is everyone else?”

Blackwood cleared his throat with a smile. “Now ladies, the Curtis scene was very exclusive. In fact, only you two were able to get tickets. Seeing how it’s away from the main house. But I’m going to leave you in the capable hands of Wilford here as I must return for the next group. I will be back soon to give you a house tour afterward. You ladies enjoy the fully immersed experience.”

Your host left you with Wilford, who lifted his lamp to show a path that led down the side of the train. “It’s just a way down here, Curtis will meet you inside, and take you on the tour of Snowpiercer. Now, remember, he will not be breaking character as is per his instructions. We want this to be as authentic as possible.”

You and Stacey follow along behind his seemingly smooth stride, both of you tripping up a bit although Wilford seemed to have no issues with the uneven ground. Both of you were panting a bit when he came to a stop, and held a hand up to a ladder, leading into the darkest opening you’ve ever seen.

“There are no lights inside?” You drawled out and Stacey braced her hand against the train to catch her breath.

“How the hell are we supposed to see? And climb in with heels? No one told us that this was going to be an expedition just to see a movie set.” the woman snapped out, and Wilford turned that gaze from you to Stacey, giving a cold smile.

“It will all come on once you're inside, everything is in its preordained place in Snowpiercer and we are allowing you to really see it all come to life. But before you two go on, can I have your tickets please? No one goes onto the snowpiercer without one.” His grin turned eerie in the shadows on the lantern he had brought with him, and you were quick to look away from it,

Fuck he is weird. You shudder, while searching your bag and handing over both tickets. He immediately put them in his robe and held the lantern up so you could see a bit better to get inside. Grasping the ladder, you start to climb in, Stacey following right behind, holding onto the back of your shirt. One you stumbled in, and Stacey did too, you both turned to look back out, expecting Wilford to follow you in, but the door slammed shut, and a shudder went through the train, hard enough so you both yelped, falling into each other.

“Y/N! What the fuck is this? We have to get out of here.” You could feel Stacey digging into your arms in a panic, and you stumbled back to where the door was, your hands slamming against freezing cold metal, your palms pounding on the vibrating metal.

“Why is it vibrating? WHY IS THE TRAIN MOVING?” You started to yell, and Stacey moved up next to you, also slamming her palms against the metal walls. Blinding light made you both yelp and cover your eyes, stumbling to land in a heap when you pulled your arm away from your face, blinking to get your pupils to focus. It was an empty train cart, windows that appeared to be filled with bright natural light lined the walls, and at each end, metal doors that have yet to be opened. Stacey takes the first tentative moves to stand up, pulling herself to look out a window and her eyes widened in disbelief.

“What is it?” You ask as you start to push yourself up to a stand, and she shakes her head as if to shake whatever she was seeing away, muttering over and over.

“What the fuck?”

You make your way over, and all you can see is snow. Snow and ice, speeding past like this train were actually able to run on a track. Buildings encased in snow, making way to nothing but white, everywhere. Even the windows had frost encasing around the edges, your breaths fogging the glass.

“How? What?” you question, beyond confused and rubbing at your face to look again. How the hell could this be? You go to reach in your bag for your phone, and look down to see it is gone. And not just your phone, your bag. Scanning the train, there was no sign of it. Panic settled in a little more now that you didn't have a way to call for help should you need it.

Stacey pressed her fingers to the glass, her tone a bit shrill as if she was trying to convince herself it was make believe. “Gotta be like we're watching a screen right? Just supposed to look like the trains moving.” Although the train gave another shudder, swaying back and forth.

You never got an answer, as one end the doors swung open and people wearing all black spilled into the train, all carrying axes, faces masked so you couldn’t see anything discernible about them. Except for flashing teeth among happy grins. Each one hefting their ax like it was a toy. Your confused addled brain screamed at you to pay attention. Danger. But you were in too much of a shock to really focus.

Another whoosh and you spin around to see who was coming out the other side, Stacey whimpering in fear next to you, still staring at the first group. But your eyes raked over these men, dirty and worn looking. The one in front had a wide stance, his feet braced against the rocking of the train like he was familiar with it. A black trench coat swept around him, ragged sweaters piled over a broad chest and your gaze fell onto a familiar hard face, scanning his opponent, drawing himself into a more fighting stance. Curtis Everett.

“Oh shit” it dawns on you what scene this was and you draw Stacey closer to you, and back against a wall.

“What? Oh god, I don’t understand what is happening.” Stacey said in a panicked voice, and you shook her a bit.

“I don’t know either, but stay out of everyone’s way, okay? Those axes are not fakes!” The weapons they held were clearly not props, the heavy blade handles slapped in palms, and gleamed in the winter sun streaming through the windows. A touch would easily slice into anything. And these two groups look ready to hack into each other.

“Shouldn’t they help us get out?” Stacey’s eyes rolled wildly, and you gulped, seeing the large trout get passed up, and just as you guessed, the ax easily sliced into the fish’s flesh, drizzling blood down to see along the edge, dripping down the handle and to the floor.

“I don't think so Stace…” You whipped back to look at the opposing group, feeling Curtis’s gaze seeking yours with a glimmer of hatred and confusion behind them. For half a second, then it was back on their enemies. You could see it, the taunting lunges each group made, and just when they both broke for each other, you screamed and yanked Stacey down onto the ground as they all collided. Attempting to avoid stomping feet and falling blades, you two tried to stick to the wall, screaming and covering your heads, blood splattering everywhere above you in hot sticky sprays that rained down on your two.

Stacey wouldn’t stop screaming, her voice piercing above the noise of the fighting, bodies started to litter the floor, and you tried to make your way towards one of the exits, your hands and knees slipping in warm fluid. Over bodies you dragged yourself when Stacey’s screaming changed to one of pain and panic. Looking over your shoulder, she was getting dragged away by her ankles, her fingers trying to find a hold in the floor, nails raking through the blood to create long rakes through all the red.

“Y/N! Y/N! Help!” she continued to scream, and you twisted to go back for her when she was whipped to her back and her arms came up in defense, trying to cover her face or neck.

“No!”

Whump! This is when you lost all your control and started to scramble back for her. There was so much screaming and you never realized it was coming from you.

Whump! The ax planted in Stacey’s chest and she jerked upwards, trying to push the blade away, and the militants foot planted on her stomach, yanking her loose. You would still see her moving, still alive. You were closer.

Whump! this one landed on her skull, blonde hair turning stringy red and his boot planted on her face this time, crushing in her forehead and nose as he yanked it out, once more red spray flew through the air.

Several whacks fell on her, over and over, spraying you with each yank the axe gave off Stacey's body, the militant man grinning as her blood sprayed all over him, you, any nearby person.

You were in shock, your hands to your mouth, as you saw Stacy's body collapse into broken pieces, blood spurting out of her mouth and she went limp right in front of you. His gaze fell to you and his wide bloody grin looked like he just won the prize, his axe lifting when he was suddenly thrown back and slaughtered himself. You didn't pay attention to who took him out, only catching sight of a whipping coat snapping in the person's actions, you turned towards your best friend's body, convinced she might still be alive. This was all just for fun, pretend after all, right? Snowpiercer and the Revolution did not exist.

“Sss-Stacey?” you crawled over to her, your hands cupping her broken face and leaning over her still warm form, doing your best to hold what remained of her face together, as if you could just piece it back together like a puzzle. You kept shaking her, although she had several gaping holes in her body.

“Come on Stacey, we got to move.” you sobbed over her, unaware once more of what was going on.

You didn’t notice the fighting stop or the survivors rush to look out the windows in a panic, but you did feel a hand yank the back of your shirt to slam you into the wall and keep you pinned in place. Even as you struggled to get back to Stacey’s body, lying lifeless. You didn’t notice any of these things till a growl snarled in your ear. “Girl, stop it! What’s wrong with you?” A vicious shake thudded your head against the wall, and the crack against the back of your skull made your eyes roll back in pain. The world tipped upside down, Curtis’s scowling cut face tipped around, and you went under, the blackness welcomed from the hell you just experienced.

“Hey Curtis, she’s awake.” was the first thing you heard, your head pounding and when you started to pry your lids open, figures were blurry, moving around, flashes of light blinding you till they were blocked back out by bodies. You gave a moan and lifted your hand to your face when the larger one slapped it away, and the cold slick hand grasped your throat, dragging you forward. “Focus Bitch, we don’t have all day.” Your eyes snapped obediently to Curtis, fearful and wide-eyed as you took him in.

In the movie, he was large, towering over others. Here, as he was staring you down, face contorted to semi-controlled rage, and leaning over you so you could feel his hot breath wash over his face, how the blood dried to crack along his cheek, and eyes that you swore were debating snapping your neck.

“I don’t understand what is going-”

“Shut the fuck up, you’re not asking questions here. Wilford sent you?”

“Wilford? Yes, yes.” You stutter, his fingers squeeze further and you can feel the hot tears streaming down your face, landing on his filthy hands. “He put Stacey and I in here, m-m-my friend. She was…” Your eyes rolled to where her body was twisted strangely, smeared in gore from where she slid around, or someone tripped over her. All you knew is her eyes started up at nothing now. Her wounds were gaping and bled out.

Curtis gave you a shake, his snarl brought you back to him. “She was what? What did Wilford send you two back here for?”

“We were here for a charity! I was supposed to meet Chris Evans, You as Curtis Everett.” your voice started to rise in a panic, your hands grasping his wrist at your neck. “That’s it, why is the train moving? Why are you all using real axes, fuck I just want to get off.” You sobbed, the survivors looked at you with disgust, shaking their heads.

“Once you’re on the Snowpiercer, there is no getting off.” Curtis leaned back a bit, looking you up and down as if inspecting you curiously. “You’re such a fragile little thing. Just like a baby bird, all brittle bones and helpless.”

“No getting off? What are you even talking about?” your tears started to sting your eyes, the panic settling deep in your chest like your heart was about to explode.

Curtis ignored your question, his free hand tugging at your thin sweater and shaking his head. “Fucker didn’t even send you back here properly dressed.”

You tried to struggle and Curtis slammed you back hard enough to make you stop.

“She’s fucking whacked out of her gourd. Gotta be a kronole head someone spouting that shit.” A young man said behind Curtis, and he got in your face, tapping your cheek smartly. “Girl snap out of it, that shite fucking rotted your brain.”

“No Edgar, this is different, she's lying. Good at it, but lying.” Curtis made to stand, dragging you up with him. You stumble in his hold, falling against his body before he dragged you along, hissing in your ear.

“I don’t know what Wilford was thinking Little Bird, sending you back to me with this innocent act of yours. But don’t worry I will make you sing.”

#jshauntedhouse2020 #curtis everett #curtis everett x you #snowpiercer #curtis everett fanfic #snowpiercer fanfic #dark curtis everett #amber writes #sweater writes #halloween 2020 #halloween #fanfic

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amphtaminedreams · 3 years

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Sitting Front Row at...(On a Budget Obvs): Lookbook no.15

Hey to anyone reading!

And welcome to my fave lookbook I’ve done in a longggg ass time! Yes, that’s partially because it involved making collages and doing the low effort work of scouring Vogue Runway for “research purposes”, but I promise, that statement wasn’t made out of COMPLETE laziness-I am super happy with it too. It’s been a good use of pre-part-lockdown-lift time in the interim between that brief period of Christmas celebrations and eateries finally fucking opening again because let’s be honest, I always knew I was gonna get distracted by oat milk vanilla lattes and veggie all day breakfasts once I could actually sit down with them at my fave local cafe. You could say I was very much operating on a self-imposed deadline.

The “what I would wear to sit front row at...[insert designer here]” TikTok/Instagram reel trend was something I wanted to get on board with ever since I first saw one and whilst the option of doing my own live action take-I really cannot bear the thought of having to edit footage of myself awkwardly attempting to sit nonchalantly in front of a camera for hours on end-was off the cards considering my complete lack of screen presence, I decided a Tumblr text post would work just as well, and if not even better in a way. Given the absence of the time limitations you face when you’re making a reel or a TikTok I thought it’d be cool to present the looks as part of a mini moodboard for each designer which adds a bit of context to each look even if you aren’t familiar with their past collections and establishes the general vibe of the brand I’m attempting to replicate. Not to sound snotty or as if I am the font of all knowledge on anything high fashion related but even with my amateur knowledge I noticed that as the video trend took off and was adopted by big name influencers, it became less about the average person putting their own personal spin on the aesthetic of the labels we can’t ordinarily afford and more about them building outfits that only vaguely resemble the general public perception of the brand around the real corresponding (and often gifted and thus inaccessible to someone who doesn’t makes thousands for a sponsored post) pieces they own SO I thought I’d take the trend back to its roots and get a bit resourceful. All that being said, in no particular order, here are the outfits I would wear to sit front row at Gucci, Vera Wang, Miu-Miu, Marc Jacobs, Dolce & Gabbana, Brock Collection, Alexander McQueen, Etro, Burberry aaaand Saint Laurent based on their past collections and guess what? They didn’t cost a shit tonne of money :-)

-disclaimer: will include an asterisk before any new purchases if from a high street store though to be honest, I don’t think there are any, we shall see! I do include where I got old purchases from in case anyone wants to search anything on Depop/Ebay-

1. Saint Laurent (formerly Yves Saint Laurent)

-blazer from identityparty on Depop, pleather trousers from Zara, jewellery from Dolls Kill-

I know technically abbreviating Saint Laurent to YSL doesn’t really make much sense anymore given the brand’s name change in 2012, but I’ll always think of it as that in the same way I’ll always associate it with the slightly dishevelled yet simultaneously glitzy rock n’ roll aesthetic. The thing is, whilst YSL hasn’t done anything wildly out of the box for a long time, it’s rare they put a look on the runway that I wouldn’t wear; they never end up being a fashion week standout but the Parisienne take on grunge we’ve seen Anthony Vaccarello establish as his go-to will always have a place in my heart.

2. Alexander McQueen

-embroidered leather jacket from Ebay (originally Topshop), harness from Amazon, dress from ASOS, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

Alexander McQueen is a brand that is pretty much universally liked, from the historically extravagant and groundbreaking shows the man himself put together to Sarah Burton’s more toned down but still beautiful collections. Obviously I didn’t attempt to do justice to the former, so I tried my hand at putting together a look inspired by Sarah’s blend of delicate femininity and nomadic edge, and it went...okay? Like it’s definitely not my favourite of all the looks because it does give off slightly cheap copycat vibes buuut outside of the context of this lookbook it’s cute.

3. Brock Collection

-boater hat from Ebay, midi skirt from morganogle on Depop, corset top from ownmode_, heels from amybeckett1, bag from Primark-

Brock isn’t as well known a brand as most of the others in this list but I adore everything Laura Vassar Brock does and I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to try and channel the vision of one of the OG pioneers of the cottagecore vibe through my own wardrobe. I mean fr, this woman’s work as a steady provider of meadow photoshoot worthy dresses and corsets and skirts is v slept on and I will not stand for it. I will sit in front of a camera and then write a paragraph in my blog post begging anybody who reads to give LVB (an abbreviation I acknowledge is unlikely to catch on because Lisa Vanderpump anybody?) some form of acknowledgement for her services to period romance novel inspired moodboards everywhere.

4. Marc Jacobs

-coat from House of Sunny, white shirt from Retro World Camden, co-ord from Sugar Thrillz, bag from Poppy Lissiman-

If there’s one thing Marc Jacobs always does, it’s COMMITS. TO. HIS. THEME. I just KNOW he has a secret Pinterest with separate boards for every fashion era of the 20th century and he is putting those boards to good use providing us with collections that are as immersive as they are eclectic year in year out.

5. Miu Miu

-beret from H&M, hair clips from H&M, jewellery from Primark, coat from mollyyemmaa on Depop, shirt from YesStyle, sweater vest from YesStyle, skirt from Depop, diamanté belt from Brandy Melville, shoes from Koi Vegan Footwear-

We all like to talk about Bratz dolls and Monster High dolls and Barbies as fashion inspo but can we all focus on Cabbage Patch dolls for two secs so as to acknowledge the fact that a Miu Miu collection is basically all their fits grown up? And made boujie as fuck? If I want my fix of Wes Anderson meets Scream Queens (what a combo) inspired outfits, if I want prissy and girlish but also glam, if I want to look like a bratty rich girl whose one redeeming quality is her eye for vintage clothes, I know where to look and that is the Miu Miu section of Vogue Runway.

6. Vera Wang

-blazer as in no.1, velvet bralet from catdegaris on Depop, harness from Amazon, skirt from Ebay, knee high socks from Ebay, lace up boots from Ebay-

Vera Wang’s RTW aesthetic, a blend of the ethereal, ultra-feminine bridal designs she’s known for and British style punk rock influences, is something I feel has only become firmly established in recent years but it is everything I ever wanted and more. I always find myself trying to balance the part of me that loves everything girly and delicate and pretty and the part of me that would love to be in a biker gang and Vera’s collections are always an inspirational reminder of just how well it can be done.

7. Burberry

-coat from charity shop, suit from emmafisher3 on Depop, top from simranindia, shirt underneath from Zara, jewellery from ASOS-

Now I’m not gonna lie, I’m not the biggest fan of Burberry but there have been a few looks over the past few years I’ve really liked and as someone who owns numerous trench coats, high necks and way too much plaid, I thought it’d be an easy one to replicate. Plus, if you can count on Riccardo Tisci for nothing else you at least can rely on him giving you some layering inspo which is very much needed in a country where it literally just snowed in April and where my plans for today have just been cancelled because the iPhone weather app did a Karen Smith and didn’t predict rain for today right up until it started raining so thanks for that one British meteorologists. Your incompetence strikes again.

8. Etro

-corset from Urban Outfitters, vinyl trench coat from Topshop, boots from Ebay, black slip dress from kaoanaoleinik on Depop, fur trim afghan coat from louisemarcella-

Like with Brock Collection, Etro isn’t a hugely well known brand, but it is always one of my favourites-to add a spanner into the works of any attempts to cultivate a firm sense of personal style, I live for the ornate Bohemian look that Etro does so well just as much as I love both grungy and girly pieces, and so I really wanted to include a brand whose collections go down that route. It was a toss-up between this and Zimmerman, the flirtier, free spirit counterpart to the dark romance of Veronica Etro’s designs; her vision really shines through the most when it comes to the brand’s winter collections, imo, and given that I live in a country where winter or some weather state resembling it does seem to take up 70% of the year, I did decide on channelling her work rather than that of the equally talented Nicky and Simone Zimmermann this time round.

9. Dolce & Gabbana

-flower crown from ASOS, tiara from Amazon, earrings from YesStyle, dress from alicealderdice1 on Depop, opera gloves from Ebay, boots from Koi Vegan Footwear-

D&G is a brand I felt really conflicted about doing-I don’t include their current collections in my fashion week reviews based on the actions of designers Stefano Gabbana and Domenico Dolce over the last few years because I don’t want to mitigate the collective effort of fashion critics to push them towards irrelevancy. Though people like to claim the brand has turned a corner since Lucio Di Rosa was brought on board as the manager of celebrity and VIP relations last year (they are as prolific a force on red carpet fashion as ever), we haven’t seen any real meaningful apologies or reparations made by Dolce and Gabbana themselves which once again leaves us in the all too familiar quandary of whether or not we can separate the art from the artist especially when it is far too much of a simplification to only credit the two men for their work given there’s a whole design team behind them. There are a LOT of shitty people working in fashion, the whole industry is a bit of a cesspit if we’re honest, but I don’t think that should stop us from at least being able to appreciate old collections if we make sure we aren’t engaging in any kind of promotion of current works whilst doing so. D&G are a brand of high highs and low lows, with looks that range from hideously ugly to showstoppingly beautiful in a single show-when the looks are good, they are GOOD-and their presence in the fashion world is most definitely felt whether we want it to be or not. It would just be shit to refuse to recognise the existence of some real iconic runway moments, the practical work that went into the ornate detail and opulence that helped cement D&Gs place in sartorial history, the styling that’s made goddesses and fairytale queens out of modern day women as they’ve glided down catwalks, the far more extravagant and, let’s be real, sexier version of our world D&G shows have transported us to in the past. Will I talk about D&G ever again? No, and if you Google the scandals their brand has faced over the past few years, there are more than enough reasons why, but just this once I did want to pay homage to some of the collections, the snippets of which I saw on my Tumblr dashboard back when I was about 13, that first got me into fashion.

10. Gucci

-fur coat from Topshop, clips from Zaful, glasses from Ebay, dress from gracewright246 on Depop, shirt from Boohoo, blazer from charity shop-

Now last but, if you ever read any of my fashion week reviews (the likelihood of someone actually having read one of them and reading this is incredibly, incredibly slim lol, I wouldn’t read me either) you’ll know, definitely not least, is Gucci because Alessandro Michele comes through every!! single!! time!!

The man is truly the king of quirky throwback maximalism and it hurts my heart that a lot of people seem to think of it only as a brand associated with ostentatious displays of wealth. Year after year since Michele was made creative director he has released purposeful, fully-fleshed out collections which unravel themselves to us on the runway like time capsules containing the belongings of the rich and whimsical and yes that can sometimes result in outfits which are *ahem* a bit mismatched but it doesn’t matter because through fashion he manages to take us to a vivid version of the past where people could dress as freely and lavishly as they wanted to, into the wardrobe of a person unaffected by the side-eyeing of others. You get the impression he doesn’t design so much as plays around with some kind of enchanted dress up box and takes inspiration from there and to give that impression is only a credit to his talent-to make outfits so kooky and extravagant look like they were meant to be takes a boldness and genuine love for clothes that I do tend to feel a lot of the big name designers have lost in the pursuit of profit and the necessary placating of the dying customer base that keeps that coming in. Of course I'm not for a second saying Gucci does not care about profit, but at the very least, they have on board a creative director who genuinely has fun with what they’re putting out there and wants to make a statement too and that really shows; you can rest on your laurels and sell tweed boucle jackets to rich old white women for eternity but nobody’s going to mention your brand name and the word groundbreaking in the same sentence ever again unless they’re talking about what it was a century ago, you know (mentioning no names...unless...did I hear someone say Chanel)? That feels like such a shady way to end, lol, but I’m sure said brand will survive-to be fair, they’ve been included in every other What I’d Wear to Sit Front Row At video I’ve seen so although I’m always slagging them off for doing the saaaaame thinggggg year after year, for that same reason their aesthetic is instantly recognisable and so will always be a source of imitation. There are obviously pros and cons to being a brand which constantly reinvents itself but I think it’s totally possible to do that whilst maintaining an overall mission, and Alessandro Michele’s work at Gucci demonstrates that with ease.

Anyway, if you got to here, thanks for reading! I know I’m super behind on this whole TikTok trend and I know a Tumblr post instead of a video is a bit of a cop out but all the real, physically awkward ones out there know that watching yourself back is excruciating lmao, so I hope this does the trick. After this, I’m gonna get back to the reviewing S/S21 collections post though knowing me I’ll probs take a few days to get back into that because I feel like since I left full-time education (RIP me going back in a few months) writing continuously like this for any longer than about 15 mins fries what brain cells I have left. Again, thank you for reading and if you are, sending many good vibes your way! Stay safe!

Lauren x

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Level Up, Chapter Eleven (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

“I don’t think I could come up with anything negative about you.”

Brooke’s eyes are sincere as she says it, and Vanessa’s heart starts to beat just a little bit faster. Vanessa’s a person who’s always on the go, not one to slow down if she doesn’t have to but Brooke has the ability to make her world pause for just a second. Brooke changes Vanessa’s focus from what’s in front of her to solely her, and Vanessa almost wishes she could keep it there forever.

It’s never that hard for Vanessa to come up with words to reply with, especially not towards Brooke, but her brain feels like it has shuddered to a stop, pressing on the brakes because the small smile on Brooke’s face is more important to focus on. She could say something stupid, something funny, maybe return the sentiment but she doesn’t get a chance to decide on what to do before Yvie lets out a scoff.

“Except for your dislike of Chicken Little. That’s a negative if I’ve ever seen one.”

AN: Hi, I'm still alive, I promise. Popping back into this lovely fic nearly eight months later (a new job, a new apartment, a new city, and a new cat later too) and I love it just as much as I did in January. Eight months is good for plot to marinate and develop and I'm excited to get back to writing this fic again. If you're still around for this journey, thank you and know I'm so grateful for it. Please do tell me your thoughts if you read! Thank you writ for betaing ily <3

“So you have that interview with Glamour, I’ll set it up for some time this week, and Teen Vogue wants to do something on their Youtube channel. Who knew that was a thing? I’m working on Adidas’ rep to finagle a sponsorship outta them, and Under Armour on the backburner just in case-”

Vanessa bursts through the doors of the gym while Detox continues talking in her ear, not at all apologetic about the way that she has to interrupt her as she ambles towards Brooke’s office. “Just reached the gym. We’ll have to continue this later, ‘cause training waits for no one, right?”

“I see exactly what you’re doing, but I’m not mad at it. Go work on building those boxing skills that’ll keep lining your pockets for years. Toodles!”

Vanessa lets out a snort when Detox hangs up the phone. “Toodles? Who the hell says that?”

“Detox?” Brooke looks up from her book, an amused smile on her face. “I know that trick.”

“What trick?” Vanessa squints her eyes as she sits down, trying to read the cover of Brooke’s paperback. “Are you reading Chicken Soup for the Soul? ”

Brooke waves a hand. “Doesn’t matter. And the trick of dipping out of Detox’s phone calls. Why else would you get to the gym so early?”

“Oh, come on. I’m early sometimes. Occasionally,” Vanessa grins, and Brooke doesn’t buy it in the least from the way she raises an eyebrow. “Okay, maybe not. I like Detox, I really do, don’t get me wrong. She’s hysterical and good at her job, real good at it, but damn.”

“Detox works hard,” Brooke nods, understanding in her eyes. “It’s a lot to handle sometimes.”

“She cranks up the exposure by a million and targets it in specific places and it works, ‘cause I have a lot of followers and deals now but…”

“But what?”

Brooke leans forward, pushing her book to the side as she looks earnestly at Vanessa. It’s striking, sometimes, how Brooke gives her full attention. How much she cares sometimes.

It’s nice.

“It feels real wild, y’know? Like all I did was become a meme, and now my face is going to be in a Spotify commercial. How does that jump happen?” Vanessa shifts in her chair, letting out a sigh. “It’s only been a few weeks.”

It’s as if Vanessa is riding in a car that’s only getting faster and faster, not quite in control of the steering wheel or knowing when she’s going to be able to stop. Sure, the ride is fun, but it also feels like she’s driving without a license, as if she’s skipped the learner’s permit stage and hit the highway instead.

“She wants to capitalize on it as much as possible. Keep you in the spotlight even after the next big meme rolls around,” Brooke shrugs, before pausing for a second, a look of concern in her eyes. “It’s not too much, is it? I can always talk to Detox with you if you feel like it’s overwhelming-”

“Nah, I’ll survive,” Vanessa shrugs, giving her best reassuring smile to Brooke. “Lush sent me some free shit the other day. I like goodie bags.”

Brooke snorts. “Fair enough. Bath bombs are a reason to keep going.”

“Want some? I got enough for a month's worth of spa days.” Vanessa makes a mental note to bring some of the freebies for Brooke on their next practice. She’s earned half of everything, at least.

“You have any of the sakura ones?” Brooke is tentative with her question, and Vanessa nods enthusiastically.

“You’re getting all of ‘em.”

“Now, hold on a second-”

“It’s six. Don’t we have practice to start?” Vanessa’s up and out of the office before Brooke can protest any further. “I’m gonna go change.”

Practice is nice. Practice feels familiar amongst all the new chaos in Vanessa’s life. It lets her turn her brain off and get away from the people that recognize her out in public, the way her Instagram is now solely for sponsored posts. The way she feels like a caricature of herself, almost, because others have an opinion of who she is based on a ten second video clip.

But practice isn’t like that. In the gym, Brooke is the same as ever, pushing and pushing her until sweat is drenching her back and her mind is spinning and she feels more alive than she ever has. When Brooke throws moves at Vanessa that she has to work in overdrive to block and counter with some of her own, it’s familiar. Even though she’s tired and gasping for breath, it’s what she knows how to do, and in an environment that isn’t unsettling or foreign.

The best part about it? Vanessa can still feel herself learning. Growing. Stepping up to the challenges that Brooke throws at her. Sure, she’s not aching to get back into the competition ring anytime soon, but the approving smiles from Brooke when she gets in a good hit or when she avoids a shot that would previously knock her on the ground gives her a thrill every time.

The end of practice leaves Vanessa with a new sense of longing that’s only been present the last few weeks, since this whole meme mess has started. Leaving the gym is hard, because it means Vanessa has to go outside again, pull her hat down when passerby on the sidewalk give her a second look. She has to unlock her phone and pretend to be busy, but then she’s faced with comments pouring in on every social media account that she opens. She can text one of her friends but it’s hard to continue a conversation, really, after it starts with a rousing Miss Vanjie, no matter how much in jest.

Being outside the gym means that she’s reminded of her new loss of normalcy.

She takes her time switching back into her sweats after she showers, dragging her feet as she leaves the change room with her gym bag slung over her shoulder. When she squints her eyes she can see Brooke at the far end of the gym, teetering on a stool as she repositions one of the crooked banners. Brooke turns around almost as if she can tell Vanessa is there, a good natured smile and an easy wave following immediately.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Need any help?” Vanessa’s stalling a bit by asking, but maybe Brooke really could use a hand with the banners, or at least an extra set of eyes to make sure that they’re nice and straight.

She’s just helpful, that’s all.

Brooke, to her credit, doesn’t call Vanessa out for it as she squints, admiring her handiwork. “I think they’re as aligned as they’re ever going to be. I’m going to get ready to leave for the night, too.”

“Oh,” Vanessa doesn’t mean to sound a little disappointed as Brooke jumps off the stool, fiddling with the jacket that’s slung across her arm. “Already?”

“It’s almost eight thirty,” Brooke points out, padding past Vanessa towards her office door and grabbing her coat off of the hook. “You’re not tired and ready to go home yet?”

“I just…”

Vanessa trails off, looking down at the ground. She’s not sure what to say, really. All that’s waiting for her is her apartment, but she can’t mindlessly scroll Twitter or Instagram before bed without seeing her face again. She needs to reply to her friends’ texts, but the notifications are piling up on top of one another like a mountain that she’s not really sure how she’s going to climb.

Vanessa just wants to avoid it all.

Brooke pauses, and each second that passes makes Vanessa’s heart constrict because maybe she should just try to explain, but she doesn’t know how to and it feels like too much-

“C’mon. My roommate and I are having a late dinner and rewatching Chicken Little. Are you in for a nacho night?”

Brooke’s looking at her expectantly and Vanessa wants to say yes, but what pops out of her mouth is what’s pressing on her even more. “Did you say rewatching Chicken Little?”

“It’s a good movie!” Brooke’s defensiveness makes Vanessa crack a smile despite how restless she feels, how much she’s fidgeting while standing in place. “Come over and you’ll see.”

“Y’know, we haven’t talked about movies before, but this recommendation is making me question what your taste is like,” Vanessa lets out a giggle, when Brooke’s mock offense takes over her face as she puts a hand to her heart.

“The disrespect. You’re not getting nachos with those kinds of statements,” Brooke grabs Vanessa’s gym bag, slinging it over her shoulder as she holds the door open. “Now c’mon.”

Brooke’s apartment is not what Vanessa expects - there are colours and tapestries lining the walls and even one on the ceiling, and she’s pretty sure she sees a bong on top of the refrigerator. It’s pretty, though, with the art splashed across every free surface and the shelves filled with books upon books, piles of even more on the actual floor. Vanessa has to resist the urge to go and sit down on the wicker chair in front of the television that’s suspended from the ceiling.

“Yvie’s the one behind the decor.” Brooke has a knowing smile on her face and Vanessa can feel her cheeks heat up, from how easily Brooke can read her mind. “Moved in a few years ago after she broke up with a long term partner. Never really got around to adding things of my own to the walls.”

Vanessa snickers before she can even get her joke out properly. “What would you add? A Chicken Little poster?”

Brooke, for her part, doesn’t miss a beat. “Nah. A poster of your meme.”

“Wow-”

“I know we were thinking nachos, but picture this. Chicken nuggets while we watch Chicken Little.” A girl with bright green hair pops her head out from behind a door, waving at the two of them.

Vanessa waves back, her eyebrows lifting higher and higher on her forehead when she realizes how tall the girl is as she walks closer. Even Brooke has to look up at her which is a strange sight on its own, considering how much Brooke towers over Vanessa.

Then again, Vanessa’s used to being the short one.

“Vanessa here is doubting the movie’s genius,” Brooke raises an eyebrow, and the girl lets out a fake gasp.

“Um, not a movie. Chicken Little is a film. An artistic masterpiece.”

“Are you two the presidents of the Chicken Little fan club?” Vanessa asks, as Brooke sticks her tongue out at her.

“Yes. And no, you can’t join.”

It’s interesting how Brooke’s work demeanor has dropped now that she’s in her own apartment, her normally squared shoulders a little more relaxed. It reminds Vanessa of when they went roller skating, seeing how much fun Brooke had while pulling her around the rink.

Vanessa wants to see more of it.

Brooke points at her roommate as the girl sticks out a hand. “Ness, this is Yvie. Yvie, Vanessa. I’m coaching her.”

“You’re introducing her as if I haven’t heard you talk about her every single day for the last however many months,” Yvie drawls and Brooke’s sputter is immediate, making Vanessa’s breath hitch a little in her throat.

Brooke talks about her?

Yvie pats Brooke on the back as if she’s choking on her water rather than on some words, sticking her other hand out for Vanessa to shake. “You’re Brooke’s favourite student. Also her only student, technically, but still a favourite nonetheless.”

Brooke’s cheeks are bright pink and Vanessa can’t deny that the sight is adorable, seeing her flustered for once. Still. Brooke probably recaps their training sessions and nothing more.

“As long as it’s mostly positive,” Vanessa shrugs, and the way Brooke emphatically nods makes her feel better than she wants to admit.

“I don’t think I could come up with anything negative about you.”

“Except for your dislike of Chicken Little. That’s a negative if I’ve ever seen one.”

The platter of chicken nuggets that Yvie places on the coffee table with a flourish is impressive, to say the least. There’s a little bowl of ketchup on the side, along with sweet and sour sauce and something that looks to be...ranch?

Whatever it is, Vanessa’s nose wrinkles at the sight. “Which one of you eats ranch with chicken nuggets? Is that legal?”

Yvie’s cackle and Brooke’s flushed cheeks tell Vanessa all she needs to know as she plops down beside Brooke on the couch, nudging her side. “Really?”

“The flavour combination is great!” Brooke mutters, grabbing a chicken nugget and dipping it in the ranch for posterity, holding it up close to Vanessa’s face. “Try it.”

Vanessa scooches herself towards the edge of the couch, away from the chicken nugget and the ranch that’s slowly dripping down like a melting ice cream. “Absolutely not.”

“It’s delicious-”

“It’s cursed-”

“More for me, then,” Brooke tosses the chicken nugget into her mouth, and Vanessa’s not sure, really, how she’s handling the flavours together without puking. “You’re missing out.”

“Very happy to miss out on that, thank you very much. I’ll take the ketchup.”

It turns out that Chicken Little isn’t so bad with Yvie and Brooke peppering in commentary as they watch, and Vanessa finds herself getting swept into the plot, as ridiculous as it is. The glass of cider that Yvie’s brought for each of them is making Vanessa feel a little more relaxed, her shoulders not as stiff anymore as she leans against the back of the couch. It’s fun to watch Brooke’s face, really, and the way she lights up while quoting the movie as it plays.

Vanessa makes a mental note to invite Brooke over to watch more movies. Better movies. Expand her palate. Chicken Little cannot be at the top of Brooke’s movie pyramid, not when there are better choices available, like Pretty Woman. Sure, Vanessa’s not exactly a film connoisseur herself, but still. Anything beats Chicken Little, right?

Maybe it’s just the cider settling in, maybe it’s the full stomach of chicken nuggets, but...it’s nice. Comfortable. Vanessa pulls her feet up behind her on the couch before grabbing a throw pillow to hug on her lap, and really, she could fall asleep right where she’s sitting, even to the dulcet tones of the main chicken character screaming about an alien invasion. Brooke looks over as Vanessa settles herself more into the couch, her expression unreadable but then she reaches over the back of the couch, grabbing the throw blanket behind them.

“Wanna share? It’s kinda cold.”

It’s not cold and Vanessa knows it, she knows that Brooke does too, but Brooke’s face is soft and tentative and adorable and sharing a blanket with her would make the couch situation even more cozy.

Plus, she can cuddle with Brooke, because Brooke is tall and thus is a tall, comfortable cushion to lean against.

Brooke throws the blanket across both of them and Vanessa scoots closer to her so that their laps are covered, the fabric fuzzy and warm. The side of Vanessa’s upper thigh leans against Brooke’s and she’s not sure why she’s so hyper aware of the fact, or why Brooke’s arm across the back of the couch makes her want to snuggle in even closer.

It’s just Brooke, after all. Brooke, who’s seen her when she’s all sweaty and about to collapse on the gym floor. Brooke, who had been there at her worst after the last tournament and still wants to coach her and spend time with her. Brooke, whose secret love for Twilight will never fail to make Vanessa laugh.

If it’s just Brooke, then why is Vanessa’s heart taking flight in her chest when Brooke starts to absentmindedly trace patterns on her palm? She doesn’t know why Brooke’s touch is lighting up a pattern of sparks on her skin either, or why Brooke’s side is so comfortable to lean against. Why Vanessa almost wishes that the movie could go on forever, so that she can stay warm and safe under Brooke’s arm that’s now draped across her shoulders.

Maybe Vanessa doesn’t need answers for all of those questions, not yet, not if finding out the answers would mean disrupting the delicate balance that hangs in the air between them. Brooke shuffles a little bit and when Vanessa’s head ends up against her chest, she can feel the way Brooke’s heart is beating, surely faster than any heart should. It’s a contrast from how seemingly relaxed the rest of Brooke’s body is, how her arms around Vanessa aren’t tense, restricting, but rather grounding, pulling her down.

Leaning back against Brooke is warm, familiar. It’s a feeling of home in a situation so novel, so different from how they usually are, like pulling on a sweater that Vanessa’s not sure how she’s ever lived without. Maybe, just maybe, Vanessa doesn’t ever have to take it off.

Vanessa doesn’t realize that the credits start rolling on the screen until Yvie rolls off of the lilac armchair, reaching for the remote on the coffee table. She lets out a yawn, stretching her arms up high before shutting off the TV. “I, for one, am exhausted. And as fun as this was, it’s my bedtime.”

Brooke snickers, and Vanessa can feel the way her chest reverberates underneath her. “You and I both know you’re about to go Facetime Scarlet.”

“That’s what bedtime means,” Yvie wiggles her eyebrows, and Brooke’s noise of disgust is immediate.

“Horrifying. You two better keep it down this time. My ears still haven’t recovered from overhearing you both last week,” Brooke shudders as Yvie cackles, shutting the door to her bedroom with a click.

Vanessa turns in Brooke’s grip, shooting a questioning look. Surely Yvie can’t be louder than the average person on Facetime. “Overhearing what?”

Brooke makes a face, the haunted look in her eyes almost comedic from the way that she sighs. “Let me put it this way. Yvie and her girlfriend are in a long distance relationship, which is hard on them for a multitude of reasons. One of them being their libidos.”

“Their libidos…” Vanessa trails off, her face falling when she realizes what Brooke means. “Oh no. Not that. Tell me not that.”

“Exactly that. They’re quieter over Facetime than they are when Scarlet visits, at least. That’s a blessing.”

Vanessa shudders. Sure, she’s not exactly quiet in bed either, but the thought of people on the other side of the wall being able to hear everything is horrifying, especially because of the fact that she lives with Alexis. Her sister does not need to know details about her sex life, that’s for sure.

Still, Vanessa wonders how loud Yvie must be. “How do they even make so much noise with phone sex, anyway? Yodel?”

“Mating calls that would fit in perfectly in a National Geographic documentary,” Brooke lets out a snicker, her hand clapping over her mouth when Yvie lets out an ‘I heard that!’ from behind her bedroom door. “Still, glad I’m not about to suffer through overhearing it alone. You’ve saved my evening.”

Vanessa snorts, pulling back from Brooke’s embrace to face her, leaning against the back of the couch. “Glad to be of service.”

Brooke is softness and kindness and contentment all at once, and the easy smile on her face is one that Vanessa feels so lucky to see the longer and longer that she knows her. It’s moments like these that Vanessa wants to hold on to forever - when Brooke’s guard is down, when her posture is relaxed and she’s looking over with eyes that Vanessa could drown in. She wants to package up this version of Brooke that isn’t tethered by reminders of her past, or with upholding a legacy that defines her whether she likes it or not. At times like this, Brooke isn’t a boxer with her father’s last name, or Vanessa’s coach responsible for facilitating her success. She’s just Brooke, a girl whose gaze is so mesmerizing that makes Vanessa’s breathing hitch in her throat without even realizing it.

Brooke holds out a hand and it’s almost second nature for Vanessa to link her fingers with hers, their hands fitting together in a way that doesn’t make sense, not when Vanessa’s hands are so much smaller. But Brooke’s grip is an anchor that keeps her from floating away, one that centers her and lets her focus on the upward curve of Brooke’s lips, the softness of her eyes when she smiles.

Except then Brooke’s brow is furrowing, a hint of concern in her eyes that Vanessa wants to brush away for her. “You okay? You’re quieter than usual.”

Vanessa can feel her face heating up as she stutters, pulling her eyes away from Brooke’s face to focus on the stitching along the couch cushions. “I’m fine. I...nothing.”

She can’t exactly go out and tell Brooke, someone who’s a coach and also a friend for that matter, that she’s just a little bit mesmerized by her face. Not something that’s likely to go over well.

Vanessa’s past relationships have been nothing short of peacocking, making herself known to those she’s had an interest in because they’d inevitably chase her right back. She knows her worth, knows how to go after what she wants, but…

What does she even want, now?

She doesn’t want Brooke, she can’t, not when Brooke is her coach and someone who’s becoming more and more important towards every aspect of her life, someone who she texts when she wakes up in the morning and who she’s messaging as she’s falling asleep.

Brooke’s not the type of person that Vanessa can parade around and go on a few dates with while drinking the cheapest wine on the menu for shits and giggles. She’s not someone that Vanessa can let go of easily, the way she’s had to with previous relationships that didn’t work out. Brooke is different from them.

She’s not disposable, not someone that Vanessa wants to let go of from her life. She isn’t someone that Vanessa can let go of at this point, because the thought of not seeing her amused expressions in the gym or the pride on her face while they’re training is too much to deal with. Vanessa’s only beginning to read through Brooke’s pages to learn more about her, and finding out little details that make her want to melt and pull Brooke just a little closer to her heart.

Brooke is too important.

Sure, Vanessa’s breath hitches in her chest whenever Brooke pulls her closer, and maybe Brooke’s smile is enough to drown out any background noise buzzing around them, but Vanessa also knows that she falls hard. And fast. She’s impulsive, following what her heart tells her to do and most of the time, she can deal with the consequences because she knows she’ll be able to get back up again.

But if this is a miscalculation? If saying something means that they’ll end up in pieces that neither of them will be able to put back together?

It’s too big of a risk. At least, for now.

Vanessa can’t be the one to take the jump off the cliff, not yet.

So she smiles, puts on the most reassuring expression that she can, hoping that it’s enough to soothe the concern that splays itself across Brooke’s features. “Really, I am. Just thinking about all the press shenanigans that Detox has lined up for me tomorrow.”

It’s enough for Brooke’s features to relax just a little bit, the smile on her face almost nostalgic. “I’m glad it’s you now, and not me, on Detox’s receiving end. She’s ruthless in the best way.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

There’s a sinking feeling in Vanessa’s chest by going for the cop out, but...she has no other choice. It’s not the way she normally handles situations like this, a fact made clear by how much she has to push down the butterflies in her stomach, and hide them behind a door so that they don’t escape and ruin stakes that feel too high, too much of a risk.

Still, Vanessa’s a bit of a sucker for punishment, and so when Brooke pulls her closer into a hug, it’s as easy as breathing to snuggle into her and rest her head against her chest, because Brooke’s arms are warm and safe and manage to slow her thinking down just a bit.

Part of Vanessa feels like she can handle it and hold herself back from doing anything stupid, if only to not mess everything up. She can be this close to Brooke and not have her chest split in two and maybe it’s a blessing, and something that she has to hold on to. Except that by leaning against Brooke, she can feel how fast Brooke’s heart is beating, threatening to escape from her chest before she can possibly stop it. It’s a contrast from the gentle way that Brooke’s fingers run through her hair, betraying the calmness on the outside that she’s trying so hard to convey.

Maybe Vanessa’s not the only one holding back. Maybe Brooke also feels it, maybe she’s also teetering on the bridge that Vanessa’s trying her best not to lose her footing on, and the thought gives Vanessa pause for a second, because maybe the risk is one they can manage, something they can work with...

No. No.

They can’t.

Not if it would lead to everything falling to pieces around them, not if it would mean no more training and no more Brooke in general. Because that’s how relationships always seem to end, don’t they?

As much as Vanessa has always wanted the romantic movie ending and a kiss in the rain, it hasn’t happened to her yet, much to her teenage self’s disappointment. There’s too much on the line to see if Brooke will be the one to veer her onto a different path and change the outcome.

So, Vanessa has to be happy with what she’s getting now, this friendship with Brooke and the coaching and accept it for all that it’s worth. Because Brooke’s important, maybe the most important person in Vanessa’s life and she has to take what she gets.

She’s lucky enough to have it in the first place, after all.

#rpdr fanfiction #vanessa vanjie mateo #brooke lynn hytes #branjie #lesbian au #boxing au #boxer au #level up #holtzmanns

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nightswithkookmin · 4 years

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I am a hard Taekook shipper but recently Jikook have been melting my heart by being so cute and cudly and loving. I understand and i am sorry for so mhch hate from Taekookers but trust me Taekookers are a bit shaken right now. I cannot disclose my name here but i would like to say if Jikook is real or they decide to come out which i higly doubt then i am 100% in support and also ur page helped me open my eyes and see a diff sude of shipping which is needed alot more. I am Loving Love ryt now.

C'est la vie!

So sorry for the late response love. You've always been on my mind.

I get not every Taekooker is wild and rabid just as not every Joker is sane and fake woke. Lol.

I mean I'm still holding on to my grudge against your people for storming my business pages and leaving shit reviews on my books- and laughing about it? What was that? Damn. Had to change my author name and everything and I've since been publishing under an alias- let me tell you, it's no fun at all.

In retrospect, I shouldn't have called y'all's ship dead- but honestly it dead, it dried up like a drop of sweat on a dessert. What can I say? People just don't want the truth, lol- had these angry thirteen year olds and fake woke Jokers coming for my ass and my business ass on the flamingo app. Chilee. Your people don't want to be civil. Sigh.

Some people just have no sense of personal responsibility and when they get called out for it they slap you with the whole, 'no one asked you to put yourself and your business out there' - this creepy behavior and mental adroitness is not far from rapists blaming girls for wearing short shorts and mini skirts or thieves blaming people for not putting up a fence and shit to protect their property. It's fucked up.

And don't get me started on what they do to Jimin or JK... or even Tae- not to make you feel bad or anything. It's just my people suck, your people suck, we all suck square- don't apologize for it unless you plan on doing something to change it?

As for Taekook, yea I don't think there is anything wrong with shipping them. They have a beautiful bond, they are both visuals and both funny as hell. If you won't ship them I will. Lol.

Just know the reason you are shipping them? If you are shipping them because you genuinely believe they are a couple too then you need to stop shipping them and start supporting them?

And once you start supporting them then I think you'd sooner realize there isn't anything there to support in the first place. Lol.

I support Jikook because I believe with my full chest they are real and are closeted- emphasis on closeted. And for the record, they are the only queer couples in BTS.

Tae lost his queer card when he accidentally outed Jimin on that radio show. 'I think he likes men' yea, straight up het behavior. Lack of homo sensitivity.

Did you see JK's reaction when JM was asked to spill tea on their pervy behaviors behind cams? My butt quivered. Chilee, I thought he was gone out JK too. Damn.

I think the word real and closeted have come loose and cheap on these streets these days. I don't think most of these shippers when they throw it around fully understand the term or realise what it means and what it takes. If they did, they wouldn't randomly be labeling every ship as 'real' within the fandom.

If you believe Taekook is real and that they are equally hiding their sexuality as well as their relationship within the group, then you should understand how severe and traumatizing this fact is and would be for them as gay men?

The thing is, they are not just hiding parts of themselves and their identity for the sake of their careers or military or whatever if they are real, they are lying to millions, millions of people at a time about who they really are by keeping their identity a secret. Secrets are lies honey, however way we want to see it.

If they are real then they are concealing their true identity away from not just their families and friends- if they haven't come out to them, but acquaintances from work, businesses who wouldn't work with them otherwise, brands, sponsors, Heads of states, their fans....

It's one thing for a heterosexual to keep their heterosexual relationship a secret, it's another for a queer person to keep their queerness and or queer relationship a secret.

A lie as heavy as this is bound to take a toll on them, no matter how good they are at hiding it. A secret gets heavy before it gets easy. Not to sell you on anything but do you see any such secret taking a toll on Taekook? Because I see it taking a toll on Jikook.

Do you believe Taekook are closeted? Because I believe Jikook are.

Being closeted means they have to carry the guilt of knowing that each time they pander to heteronormative roles in variety shows or interviews, or imply by omissions that they are straight, or make generalizing statements about their sexuality to avoid addressing their sexuality directly or give it away, that they are lying to people and spewing half truths- seven years in a roll.

Being closeted is not a joke. It's heavy. I think you need to grasp this before you claim it for anyone.

People like to throw the 'closeted' phrase around willy nilly but fail to comprehend its weight and complexity and consequences especially for people that they believe are actually queer.

It's not easy lying to people about who you are. Unless you are a pathological liar and a psychopath, it's like drowning each day you wake up. You die a little each time. Your sexuality is a huge part of your identity and when you deny it for so long by lying and suppressing it, it's like shutting out a peice of yourself and silencing your own voice. The more you push it aside the louder it screams and the harder it fights to come out.

It's a state of constant internal struggle. You wake up everyday contemplating whether to risk the perfect life you've spent years building just so you can turn off the guilt that comes with keeping a secret of this nature.

And each time you get better at omitting or generalizing and evading questions that hint at your truth, the more you hate yourself and the more guilt you feel. This guilt can become a driving force that pushes you to make risky moves and take impulsive actions such as 'borderline outing your relationship'- does that sound like Taekook to you?

If you are not driven by the love you feel for your partner, you are driven by the guilt and neither is a great place to be if you are queer.

You lie everyday, you get caught up in the lies and soon you start believing in the web of lies you've woven around yourself such that you don't even recognize who you are or why you are, anymore. As such, you are constantly searching for yourself, to reconcile the bits you've hidden away and perhaps forgotten, and you keep exploring your identity because you are unsettled- honey, that sounds more like Jikook than Taekook to me but c'est la vie.

Being closeted is not about moments that get cut by editors, or less interactions, or being seperated or seated further apart from eachother. These are just ship street parlance. Being closeted is an attitudinal, internal attribute rather than external manipulations or influences- it's a science. Lol

Coming out may be risky for any of these boys if they are real, but I promise you hiding is much harder for them.

And so When I look at Taekook, and I see how beautiful they are yet I don't in God's honest truth see them 'dealing' with any or all of these struggles Jikook deal with or have dealt with at one point, in my opinion- forget the homophobia, the wanting to come out, the low key microaggressions they deal with even within the group- 'the Jk never stops crying,' 'the real men don't do this and that talk' talk, the toxic masculinity and internalized homophobia traits JK and Jimin used to exhibit in their early days talking about 'real men don't twerk,' 'real men don't wear rings on their pinky'- all the times Jimin have had to defend his masculinity or even femininity, or stand up for Kook's within the group. 'Men, men, men. What is men?'

Jikook are the only two within the group that in my opinion have struggled most with their identity, with embracing aspects of themselves; you hear them complain about 'living a lie' 'tired of hiding, lying' and all these are themes consistent with closet behavior that they've both explored in one way or the other and even as of 2020 they are still dealing with or 'exploring' their identities perhaps as a means to reconcile their true selves? I'm really struggling with this post because I don't wanna get salesy on your ass. Lol.

Don't get me wrong, Tae struggles and deals with issues too- mostly with loneliness, lowkey depression in my opinion, lowkey bullying- sometimes, lol and he often expresses a desire to find someone and be happy and yet 'his supporters' don't recognize that...

You can wait till Jikook come out officially as queer, if they ever chose to, to support them- Or you can choose to support them and love them now because that's what they need in order to officially come out as and when they choose to? Ok I'm being salesy. Lmho. I'll stop. Don't mind me. But think about it.

Ship whatever ship you want but support Jikook. It's all I'm asking. And by support, I mean don't exhibit any anti homosexual attitude towards them- deadass. You and I gone fight, square up toe to toe, if you do. Lol.

People don't need to be afraid of Jikook. They just need to treat them as human beings and not reduce them to a mere ship. They are a ship too yes, but they are more than that if you ask me.

You sound nice. I love you. I'm glad you enjoy my posts. Merry Christmas and cheers to our ships.

Keep supporting Jikook. Jikook is real.

Signed,

GOLDY

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chrayari · 3 years

Text

ayarimun or phoe (she/her, 21+) here with the second year medical intern who suggests britney spears as the OR playlist, aoyama ayari 😭✌️ please like this post if you’re interested in plotting, and read on if you’d like a (somewhat) brief introduction to her!

PROFILE. BIO. PLOTS.

“aoyama” is a household name in healthcare in japan; an aoyama’s identity is inextricably linked to the fact that they either 1. ARE a leader in medicine or 2. WILL be one. to pursue any career outside of this bubble of theirs is considered menial, and to be essentially outcasted from the family isn’t out of the question

naturally, aoyama rei (ayari’s mother) is subjected to these same kinds of expectations. unfortunately for her, the makings of an outstanding physician do not come naturally, and she struggles to gain her father’s approval. confidence issues, daddy issues, you get the gist of it.

to put it simply, she is average. and average, despite how fun of an example of alliteration it would be, an average aoyama is not something that should exist. rei becomes a doctor without borders in both an effort to please her father and remove herself from that environment of expectation.

as such, she vows that should she have children, they would not be subject to the same kinds of expectations she had to endure. but of course, and as life would have it, she does that very thing when it comes to ayari.

kid one, kaito, goes off to pursue something worlds away from medicine. ayari, on the other hand, breaks that single streak. rei is nervous about her daughter’s natural interest in medicine, and despite trying any effort to introduce her to something else, is unsuccessful.

ayari shows promise as a natural talent in medicine. this is where rei’s anxiety transforms into jealousy. it’s tamed, of course, but as the years pass and rei finds that this is her reality, that jealousy evolves from bubbling at the edge to toppling over.

in essence, ayari is everything that her mother wanted to be. when rei sees ayari, she sees what she could have been, and more importantly, what she should have been. her issues with her father + the insurmountable expectations as laid by her family name, paired with the absence of talent and finesse make it the perfect storm to envy her daughter.

with a bit of luck, rei saves the life of a local cambodian leader on one of her postings with Doctors Without Borders. that single headline gifts her with a nod of approval from her father, and the attention she craved as an average physician. like a drug, she chases after events that would add to her esteem. they aren’t done, however, in the name of medicine or with compassion

ANYWAYSSSS...mom has an affair in south korea with a world-renowned neurosurgeon for the sole purpose of propelling her career forward --> divorce from ayari’s father, and they move to sk

mom continues to pursue headlines by sponsoring charities, making generous donations, and mobilizing outreach efforts to 1. build her prestige and 2. to make sure that her daughter will never reach the same level as she did --> a “competition” of sorts, that for the most part, ayari finds herself playing into but also it really fucks her up to know this is the dynamic she has with her mother

fast forward to hannam, ayari is shadowing and volunteering her ass off so there’s no question about her acceptance into medical school; she inevitably makes a lot of strong relationships with the patients there, one being jung sohye, a 12 year old with biliary atresia in need of a liver transplant

but surprise...a friend of ayari’s step-dad, who happens to be a wealthy business mogul, essentially takes the liver promised to sohye just weeks prior to her scheduled operation

ayari is, understandably, pissed. she feels extremely disillusioned at how, even in medicine, something that should be equitable, is not free from the grips of corruption. her step-dad tasks her with making sure his friend has a stellar experience at the hospital. she spends a lot of time with this man to 1. get her step-dad out of her hair and 2. to enact her own sense of justice by giving him the most subpar experience ever

but she can’t. because her moral compass and empathy disallows it. but as fate would have it, he has a stroke during one of her visits to him, and in a split second, ayari becomes judge, jury, and executioner when she moves the nurse call button to the paralyzed side of his body

he passes away. sohye gets the transplant she deserves. all is well, right? rose says fuck no, and of course, the decision haunts and continues to haunt ayari

flash forward to the present, she’s now a second year intern at SNU COM where she’s become known for her talent, finesse, and compassion. just finish this year off, apply for residency, and you’re home free, or so she thinks...

plots ––

“i plead the fifth.” “you can’t do that.” “then to jail i go.” ayari is put under review for possible malpractice, may be escalated to a lawsuit which could be either legally sound or one brought up out of malice against her or her family (lawyer/law firm muses?)

“i just caught you in 4k…in clogs, no less.” she’s extremely adherent to the hippocratic oath. what happens when she catches a colleague, or better yet, a good friend, violating their promise to do no harm?

“i didn’t violate HIPAA in between the tears, did i?” ayari experiences her first emergency room death, and has no idea how to cope with it. could be a good friend that helps her, or a complete stranger to which she drunkenly sheds tears of sympathy in front of.

“i know i’m supposed to be professional, but jeez…mind if i take a picture?” ayari treats your muse after they wound themselves, either resulting from a serious situation or a lighthearted accident.

“i’m so sorry for your loss.” someone in your muse’s family passes away, and as one of her tasks to harden her for these kinds of moments, ayari is the one to break the news to you and your family.

also if anybody wants the mogul who ayari let pass away to be their dad...let’s gooooo

#LMFAO i forgot the read more the first time i'm sick #sorry if that alarmed anybody #𝗼𝗼𝗰 / 𝗱𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲.#chrintro

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cupstealer · 4 years

Note

Re: your last ask.

I am also no longer into the fandom side of hockey anymore and hardly ever read fan fic anymore. (A senior thesis will do that to a person 😔) Buut I want you to know that I think about contact high on a regular basis. Once a week maybe type of regular, when I’m wishing I was reading something fun and not a science journal. Is that weird?! I mean I know that sounds a little crazy- but it might be the greatest fic I’ve ever read. While I was reading it I got the sense that it would be one of my favorites, but I had no idea how much it would still ruminate with me a year and a half later. I don’t think I can recall a single other rpf work like I can that one. You are such an amazing writer! And I hope you continue to write- whatever it may be that your writing about! 💕

(Sorry to keep putting these on y’all’s dash, but it’s the only way I can THANK these anons and they definitely need thanking.)

Your timing OP ;.; I really got this ask when I needed it most. 💕 Thank you thank you thank you! Sorry for the delayed response—it’s so hard to figure out how to thank somebody and explain how much words like this mean while not sounding like a flu patient or something.

To answer your question, it’s not weird! There are absolutely fics that live rent-free in my head to the degree that I’m basically sponsoring them on a permanent residency program [cut to footage of bring it if you really want it by staraflur]. And god, what an honor that Contact High is like that for you 🙏 Contact High is my favorite thing that I’ve written. A lot (pfff, all) of the content was so self-indulgent for me, just utter wish-fulfillment, which I usually try to dial back, but I wanted to see what might happen if I really leaned in instead. (The thing with toothpaste/walking in on someone actually happened to me when I was staying over at a friend’s house in high school... Sorry again to her brother, I promise I barely saw anything.) There isn’t a single element of that fic that I wasn’t excited about while I was writing it. And it’s that much more touching when the work that feels the most ‘me’ is someone’s favorite.

Anon, I hope you get some free time to read fun stuff soon! You deserve it. And good luck on your thesis! Defend that sumbitch like you’re Connor Murphy (no idea if it’s the kind of thesis you defend, but you get my meaning). Thank you again 💕

I am still writing, by the way! Just as slow as ever though, and for a very mixed bag of subjects! No hockey lately, though I have a few unpublished 1988 WIPs that I haven’t touched in a long stretch yet haven’t let go of either. Every fall, I pump myself up to roll up my sleeves and edit/finish this genre-confused frankenstein of a haunted house-type fic, and I haven’t given up hope yet! (Plus if I finish it, I can finally read jezziejay’s witch Jonny fic—which got posted while I was writing mine, and I made myself bookmark it for later so I wouldn’t be influenced or in my head about any overlap even though they’re almost certainly totally different in every way. I’m dying to read hers ;.;)

Hmm I hesitate to say this, but... If anyone is really interested regardless of fandom, there’s also an unorthodox fic I wrote as a Christmas present for my sister back in 2017 that she keeps telling me to post. (I know, and it gets weirder from there.) I think I want to but I’ve hesitated for several reasons. First: I need to re-do the ending now that I’m not scrambling to finish it on Christmas Eve. Second: It is a pairing that does not exist and kind of bananas. More info under the cut if you’re interested.

Basically, years ago, one of my sisters and I had a looong conversation about who was worthy of being shipped with Stacker Pentecost from Pacific Rim, and when none of the characters from the movie satisfied us, we reached out into the vast universe of basically anyone from any media to find him love, guess-and-check style. After literal hours, I brought up one of my favorite under-appreciated characters, Linus Caldwell from Ocean’s Eleven (Matt Damon). Which makes no sense, but doesn’t it a little? It became a running joke, and then a running a joke that I was gonna write it, and then not a joke. Ain’t that the way?

So yeah—Third: I’m hesitant to get somebody excited about a new hockey fic only to open the email and see it’s a batshit crossover that literally no one (except my sisters) is asking for. That being said, I started it as a joke/challenge, but ended up making something that I find quite a fun little ride because I was so loose with it (because, like, who’s ever gonna see this, right? Some real dance like nobody’s watching shit). I’ve written a bunch of stuff never meant to see daylight, but this fic in particular feels complete. It just has a lot going on (Hidden identities! Never Been Kissed-style fake student/professor tension! Chase scenes! Cameos! Close-up magic! Heist crew banter! Idris Elba’s North London accent! My total lack of military knowledge!). Also it’s over 30k words. (Yeah.)

Is there any interest in me posting this?? To be clear, I’m definitely not expecting it to be popular or anything, but taking the time to fix it up only makes sense if I know at least two people will lay eyes one it, lol. You don’t have to know both films really well for it to make sense, but familiarity with the Ocean’s trilogy and characters probably helps a lot for context since it takes place in between those movies. Goes without saying that no offense will be taken if there isn’t clamoring demand amongst hockey rpfers for 30k of Pacific Rim crossed over with a George Clooney movie franchise in a fic that has neither giant robots nor giant monsters (nor George Clooney, in any appreciable quantity)... Think I’m capable of taking that sentiment on the chin. 🤙

#replies #lOng replies damn #fic stuff

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artxyra · 4 years

Text

Wake Me When It’s Over

Note: I must really like you guys enough to create a sequel for something that was never supposed to get one. Also, I kind of lost my train of thought as to where this story will end towards the end, sorry about that.

The miraculous magic flies through the streets of Paris, France. Those that were turned into stone now gasping for air and looking around very confused. On a rooftop, a certain model stands naked hoping that no one would see him searching for clothes and a way home. Back at the venue where the dance took place, Alya whoops at the defeat of the Empress of Mean. She holds Nino closes to her before realizing that something had happened to Lila. Her attention immediately goes to her phone messaging the one person that started this all.

No one knew what to say about the latest akuma victim. It was Marinette, the one person they never thought would fall into the hands of Hawkmoth. Was it really due to her jealousy of Lila? When was she akumatized? So many questions ran to through the student’s minds, that faithful night.

It wasn’t until Monday morning when everything came undone.

Throughout the rest of the weekend, the LadyBlog was receiving various comments about the Empress of Mean. Some comments were harsher than others. Alya couldn’t find it in her to make a new blog post regarding the aftermath or of the lack of thereof to her viewers. She wasn’t able to reach Lila at all and neither could rest of her classmates.

Entering the classroom, Alya could see that majority of the class was there expect for Adrien, Lila, and Marinette. She quickly managed to get the class huddled together.

“It isn’t like Marinette to be akumatized, especially about something so trivial as the dance.” Rose pipes up with a pout resting in her lips. “She handles stress better than any of us.” She then adds on causing everyone to turn to her.

“She was jealous, and that’s final,” Alya states, slamming her hands down on the desk in front of her. Everyone could see the twitching in the blogger’s eyes and a slight shaking of her body. Nino wraps his arms around her. “There’s no other explanation.”

“It was rumored that she and Adrien were secretly dating.” It was Nathanial who speaks up next. Soon all eyes were on him.

“You lie…” Everyone suddenly begins to shout.

“No, I’m serious. Marinette hangs out with Marc every now and then and he tells me that they were probably dating. I may an artist, but a broken heart can cause anyone to be akumatized if done correctly.” He continues before pulling out his sketchbook and begins drawing as if he didn’t just pull a fast one on his peers.

The classroom is met with silence aside from the sounds of a pencil against paper.

The classroom’s door opens revealing a frustrated yet silent Adrien Agreste with the one and only Lila Rossi standing behind him. Expecting cheers and concerns, they were meet with the opposite.

“Adrien, did you ever date Marinette?” Juleka asks with her voice dangerously low for all that can hear her. Her response came with an awkward neck rub and wondering eyes from the man in question. Juleka turns to Lila as if she had just woken up from a nightmare. Years of listening and believing the two people in front of her, denying everything her brother has ever said to her. Juleka didn’t know what to do at the moment. Emotions were not her strong suit even after all these years of being around the same people for years.

“I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Adrien finally speaks up before walking over to his desk and pretend that last weekend did not just happen.

The room grows cold. No one knew how to respond.

“Oh my gosh guys, I’m so sorry for not responding to any of your text. After what Marinette had done to me, I really needed therapy. My mother was able to find someone at the last minute and I had no cell service.” Lila gushes about her latest problem hoping to grab some sympathy. Immediately it was meet by her “loyal” peers, all asking if she’s alright.

Those who weren’t as fooled by the Italian’s response, stood there wondering if she was lying or just pretending. Anyone with text receipts on knew that the girl had read their message and just didn’t respond.

“But you were dating Marinette?” Nathanial speaks setting his pencil down to give Adrien his full attention.

Adrien turns to the artist like a deer caught in the headlights. He could feel Lila’s glare on his back despite not looking at her. “Uh…We were never official. She knew that we were friends.”

“How long?” Juleka’s voice got softer.

“About a couple of months, why?”

With that, breathing became harder for those that knew Marinette well enough to know that the designer practically holds her heart on her sleeves. If Adrien thought they weren’t dating and Marinette did, that changes a whole lot of things.

Before anyone could tear Adrien a new one, Max mentions that class was about to start, and they should get into their seats. Only one seat stood noticeably out to everyone, and they knew she would be in much later.

Mild chatter about Lila’s therapy session broke the silence while everyone else waits nervously as more time past by. Their teacher has yet to enter the classroom nor has the class representative.

When Marinette finally did enter the classroom, everything goes silent. The loyalist of Lila’s group glares at the designer while the others couldn’t find the words to start something with Marinette without fearing the worst-case scenario.

Marinette had just sat in her chair when Mlle. Bustier entered the classroom in a panicking mess. Apparently, after the dance, a lot of parents were chewing out the school officials asking what caused the young designer to attack the school first and for the school not calling the parents. It was later found out that Marinette had no problems with the rest of school just her classmates and the partygoers were just so happened to be affected like everyone else which ends up causing more problems than less.

Caline couldn’t handle all this backlash. The school board officials decided that since Bustier’s class had the most akumatized victims out of all Dupont, Caline’s teaching habits must be reevaluated. They were sending someone in to review her class and teaching methods. All this being planned last minute which means that Caline was struggling to find the proper lesson plans and attitude before the official comes in.

“Today, we will be having a guest staying with us for the week. When this person enters please be on your best behaviors.” Mlle. Bustier stress to the class as she finally pulls out the last of her files from her briefcase.

Everyone, aside from Marinette, wonders who the guest will be. They receive their answer when the door opens once again to show an older-looking woman in a business suit with hair similar to Marinette’s overlooking the class before taking an empty desk in the back. The perfect view to oversee everything. Caline was seconds away from sweating bullets as she struggles to find the right word to begin the class period.

Lila, finding a new problem with this, tries to make Marinette look bad at every attempt she could get. However, all her attempts just made Caline’s teaching habits appear worse than what the school board could imagine. It was only a matter of time for Caline could kiss her job goodbye.

When the class finished, those that had a wake-up call rushed to meet with Marinette. Juleka was unsure how to feel when she saw her brother, Luka, and that fencer that was once an enemy talking to Marinette huddle close together.

“Are you sure that you don’t want to transfer?”

Juleka turns to Nathanial and Rose hoping that she heard wrong. Marinette could not transfer, it just felt so wrong.

“Luka?” The trio turns to the guitarist’s younger sister. They could see the fake smile placed upon Marinette’s face.

“I’m so, so sorry, Marinette.” Juleka followed by Nathanial and Rose immediately apologizes. Marinette stares at them with somewhat blank stares.

A moment past before Marinette whispers, “I forgive you. You’re not at fault here.”

The recently forgiven three runs to embrace Marinette. Tears of joys escape from their eyes.

Only a day later would the class of Mlle. Bustier finds out that their teacher has been suspended and will no longer be teaching the class. Their new teacher was strict and took no bullshit from the class. It was either hard facts or detention for the day.

Lila tried to lie her way out with the new teacher but was constantly shut down the moment she opened her mouth. As her web began to dwindle, she knew that it was only time before her super loyalist realizes the truth of their “best friend”.

It was a hard-felt battle to the end of the school year. Lila had tried everything to maintain her loyalist to her side. She even went so far to bully Marinette out of the classroom only to be defeated by a wave of Marinette protection squad from another classroom.

Alya still blogged about Lila’s so-called adventure with Ladybug, her following begin to dwindle with the announcement of a Ladybug sponsored blog called Miraculous Out. Alya had a hissing fit and tried everything in her power to control the damage.

For Nino, he was feeling the pressure to getting his big break. Lila had promised him so many opportunities and as the school went along realization began to sit. He tried his hardest to shake Alya out of her Lila induced daze as the time went by, but he had no luck. He wanted to apologize to Marinette for everything that he had done, but the fear of being unforgiven hold him back.

When the school year returned everything was different. Caline Bustier was no longer their teacher. Marinette had transferred out of the class and to a new school all together. Everyone that had a wake-up call suddenly felt sick to their stomach from believing in Lila’s lies and seeing the Italian native. Nothing would ever be the same for them, not after all of this.

Specific Tag List: @traveling-with-thedoctor | @nexitye | @blueberrinette | @seraphichana |

#queen of mean au #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug #the empress of mean aftermath #slight class salt #eh I'd tried

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moneymingyu · 4 years

Text

[cw: mentions of death, wonwoo displays a panic attack]

It’s hot.

It’s hot in their normally freezing apartment and that sets off alarms in Wonwoo’s head.

In his sleepy haze, he wills his sleep heavy body to get up and run — urgent. He falls off the bed and croaks out a “Pumpkin!” that’s muffled by the carpet before he all but crawls to the door, the wood flying open so fast that he nearly hits himself in the face.

But it’s so hot and he needs to get out of here—No, he needs to find his siblings first.

He’s throwing open doors and crawling into cabinets in order to find his younger siblings because his apartment is so hot and that isn’t normal.

“Wonwoo?” a voice sounds from behind him.

He jumps up, feels all of his blood fall to his feet so fast that he feels dizzy and when he finally clears his vision in the slightest, he sees Pumpkin rubbing her eyes in the doorway.

She’s standing a lot taller than he remembers. Her signature ponytail is now a flop of loose strands and she had a small pout on her face. “Nu, it’s three in the morning. What are you doing?”

It’s then that he notices that he’s shaking, drenched in sweat and barely able to see. There’s a mess on the bathroom floor from where he’s thrown cleaning products around and he’s managed to spill the mouthwash all over the tiles.

He stares at the mess he’s made and realizes that he’s not 14 anymore.

“There was uh...a roach,” he fumbles in hopes that his sister doesn’t notice his strange behavior.

She’s too tired to even process the tsunami waves and says, “Ok. Well, keep it down. Jeonghan is sleeping on the couch.” He nods, mostly to himself as she turns to leave. “Night, Nu. I love you.”

“I love you too,” he replies, voice foreign.

He sighs and cleans up his mess before going back to his room (if he turns down the heat again and places another blanket on top of Jeonghan, nobody has to know except for the moon).

Wonwoo can’t sleep for the rest of the night and that’s fine. It’s fine even though he can feel his eyes burning at first light. It’s fine even though he can feel his head throbbing in pain. It’s fine.

It’s only six in the morning when he gets up to shower, cold water prickling his skin. He downs some pain medication to will away his headache (he still doesn’t know if it’s from lack of sleep or a hangover) afterwards and pulls on a hoodie. He quietly slips out of the door not too long after.

It’s quiet outside. There’s a small gust of wind that reminds him that it’s November and a familiar stillness in the air.

Sunday mornings are his favorite. The part of Sunday morning that nobody gets to see — when the sun is just rising in her blush of pinks and orange. Mingyu says that his dad always used to wake him up at this time and they’d go on a walk. Mingyu said that this is the only time during the week where everything just seemed to stop and for a moment, crime, hatred and harm ceased to exist. It was during that small window of time where Mingyu’s dad wasn’t a firefighter. He was just his dad.

Wonwoo assumes that because of this reason, Mingyu used to always come to the cemetery around this time. He had done it on his own for two years before he started to drag Wonwoo and Pumpkin along, the three of them all shivering with a thermos of hot chocolate during the winter and cool tea during those mornings where humidity had their clothes sticking to their bodies.

He didn’t bring a drink today, though he usually does. He was too afraid to wake up Jeonghan, too afraid to look into his skeptical eyes that are always watching, picking up on your hiccups and painting the big picture in his head.

He loves Jeonghan and Seungcheol, he really does.

But having them know about his past with Mingyu, about how he continues to visit this man would mean that he’d have to go through years of pity stares and hand outs once again and he promised himself that by the 10 year anniversary, he’d have it together for the sake of Pumpkin and if having it together means almost bursting at the seams, at least it’ll still count as one piece of clothing.

Oh, how Jungkook would’ve loved them, he thinks as he fiddles with a ring that is hung around his chest.

It’s gold plated and dingy. He’s gotten it wet a couple of times — Jungkook wore it in the pool once. But it was all he had left of him and it was completely by accident.

He remembers going to bed that night and seeing it on the bathroom sink. He remembers slipping it onto his ring finger because his brother so careless and 13, doesn’t understand how easily things as small as this could be washed away.

Jungkook was always so careless.

“No,” he hears his brother’s voice over his shoulder, a whisper in his ear, “It’s called being carefree, hyung! Whatever happens, happens! And life goes on!”

It was nothing special. It was just a plain band. But to Wonwoo, it was the only piece of his brother that he had left.

He plops down in the grass in front of Mingyu’s late father before the tears can start to fall.

“Hey,” Wonwoo starts. “I see Pumpkin brought you peonies last week,” he says as he eyes the dead bunch of flowers that will be replaced in a couple of hours. “How fitting.”

Joshua slipped to Wonwoo one day that Pumpkin was still visiting Mr. Kim. She thinks that when Mingyu left, Wonwoo cut off every piece of him the way that the younger did to them and didn’t want Mr. Park to feel forgotten. So, for the past five years, she’s been buying flowers to place on his grave just like Mingyu used to do.

What she doesn’t know is that Wonwoo still comes here.

In the five years since Mingyu’s left, he comes and spends the sunrise of Sunday mornings with Mr. Kim and has only missed a handful of days.

It’s a ritual to him. He feels like he’ll have an off week if he doesn’t do so. He’s been doing this for seven years now and doesn’t plan on stopping just because Mingyu doesn’t talk to him anymore.

Mr. Kim saved my life. This is the least that I could do.

Usually, Wonwoo will update Mr. Kim on Mingyu’s youtube channel. He’ll tell him where in the world Mingyu’s ended up and what antics his friends put him up to. He’ll tell him about what he’s posted on social media and about the company his video is being sponsored by this week. Sometimes, he even plays the videos outloud so that Mr. Kim can hear his son’s voice.

On good days, Wonwoo will stay until the world begins to wake then quickly leaves back home before Pumpkin wakes up. On the bad days, he stays much longer and confides in him.

Today is a bad day.

Mingyu is standing about twenty feet behind Wonwoo.

There he is, he thinks. So close yet so far away.

There’s a longing that ignites in him. He thinks of long talks sitting at this grave with Wonwoo and Pumpkin, thinks about how they all shared their hopes and dreams in this very spot. He thinks of the times he and Wonwoo would come here and cry together, two boys missing pieces of their hearts. He thinks about how he promised Wonwoo to always protect Pumpkin in the times that he couldn’t because there used to be three Jeon kids and Wonwoo just could not do that again.

All of these thoughts have Mingyu slowly backing away until he’s away from the cemetery.

He can’t face him right now. No, not any time soon.

Because if there was one thing he remembered about the Jeon kids, it was that Wonwoo was the least forgiving one.

He retreats to a bakery that he’s never been to before. The boy behind the counter has a stone cold face but kind eyes and as Mingyu places an order, he can’t help but wonder if Wonwoo’s ever been here before.

He comes back a couple of hours later only to find Pumpkin there this time. There’s a boy standing at the tree nearby with soft eyes. Mingyu stands near him, bowing slightly when they make eye contact.

“Relative?” Mingyu asks, hoping he doesn’t recognize him even though he has a mask and a hat pulled across his face.

The boy tilts his head towards Pumpkin. “She visits him every Sunday. He saved her life when she was younger. You?”

“My dad,” Mingyu nods a bit too numbly. His eyes flicker back to the girl just as she folds her hands into a prayer.

He smiles at her. Some traditions never die, he thinks. Though none of them were ever very religious, Pumpkin always made it a point to pray for the souls in the cemetery and that they find peace on the other side.

She sits back on her knees as Mingyu nods again towards Joshua, venturing further into the cemetery until he finds a bench where he could still see his father’s grave but without being noticed by Pumpkin.

He waits there for about ten minutes, watches Pumpkin talk in the same animated notion that she’s always talked in, all hands and wild eyes and sound effects. The boy behind her smiles with fondness and Mingyu half wonders who he is. He recognizes him from somewhere but his head is already spinning from this new found information that the Jeon kids are still keeping up his Sunday traditions in his absence.

They leave shortly after but not before Pumpkin presses a kiss to her finger tips then brushes them across the headstone.

“He’ll be back soon,” he sees her mouth.

The boy wraps his arm around her shoulder, smiling at her. It reminds him a lot of how Wonwoo looks at her — gentle yet ready to throw himself into harms way for her.

When they’re out of sight, Mingyu walks towards the grave. A bouquet of pink carnations sitting there.

I’ll never forget you.

His chest suddenly feels heavy, eyes watering as he slowly traces his fingers over the letters of his father’s name.

“Dad,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Chapter Seven: What I Miss

Summary: If home is where the heart is, then the hearts of Kim Mingyu and the Jeon siblings must lie within the stars. Maybe that’s why the always feel so out of place. Maybe that’s why Mingyu left town and never turned back. Maybe that’s why the Jeon siblings can’t leave this town. Maybe this time, the stars will align and things might start actually making sense.

previous (chp 6) | next (chp 7)

master list

to be added to the tag list, just leave an ask or dm me!

a/n: if you guys don’t know why mingyu calls pumpkin hobag, hobag is the korean word for pumpkin 😂 don’t forget to let me know how i did!

a/n 2: personal criticism is that i should’ve done these last couple of chapters closer to the beginning but o well we’re here now.

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aerialflight · 4 years

Text

Fic Recs

I haven’t done this in a while, recommending fics. But there were some fics these past couple of months that put a smile on my face, so I want to spread that joy to others. Seriously, they’re so good and I want to shove all these recs at people and have them appreciate them as much as I do. Everyone stay safe and I hope these recs make staying home easier for everyone!

[Fullmetal Alchemist]

maestoso by novalotypo

Edward Elric is about eleven when he stands up, makes an extended effort to knock as many books off the old bastard’s shelves as he can, and says, “Fuck the military. Al, you interested in music at all?”

Everybody's got their own ideas of retirement.

The Elrics don't even do retirement, what with the world trying to blow itself up every other month, but this shit has got to take the fucking cake.

(You want a fic that’ll make you cry tears of uncontrollable laughter? I point you to this fic. The shenanigans, the fact this is a time travel fic, the fucking headaches the Elrics cause, the I-Have-No-Fucks-To-Give attitude. Legend.)

[The Magnus Archives]

we raise it up by savrenim

Jonathan Sims reads a book and saves the world; although maybe the real salvation is the friends he makes along the way.

OR: in which Jon is not the only Archival monster for very long, Sasha James is competent, Tim Stoker finds some catharsis, Helen Richardson is sexy, Melanie makes a very successful youtube channel revamp, and Martin Blackwood gets to brew a lot of new friends tea.

(This is literally the most creative, fucking inspired tma fic I’ve ever read. You literally will never be able to guess what happens next and it’s just so much fun.)(Kinda Time Travel, you’ll understand what I mean if you read it, it’s so well done and amazing.)(The characterization for Sasha makes me want to weep, I’ve never seen her characterized this way before and it makes SO MUCH SENSE.)(@savrenim you are a QUEEN and you inspire me to be a better writer.)

[Marvel]

Crash Landing by Nyxelestia

"You could've left me there," Adrian murmured, jerking his head back towards the burning beach in the distance. "For Stark and his DODC people to find me. Liz and Doris' lives would've actually fallen apart with my arrest, and all my work to take care of them would've gone to waste. You could've just left me there...but you didn't. So I'll make you another deal."

Peter clenched his hands, fists shaking hard. "I'm giving you a second chance - but if you go back to what you were doing...I can't make any promises."

"It would be stupid of me to expect you to, after all this," Adrian said. He looked at Peter, at the hints of bruises and all the blood. He had trouble reconciling this fragile-looking kid with the superhuman who's been destroying his business, his daughter's homecoming date with the boy he'd nearly killed. "That's not my deal. My deal is, we both walk away, and neither of us say a word about any of this to Liz. Anything else - we'll cross those bridges as we come to them."

Swallowing, the boy nodded.

Instead of gift-wrapping the Vulture for Happy to find, Peter lets Mr. Toomes go.

(Honestly, I’m disappointed in the fact there’s not many Vulture-centric fics out there. This was so great and Peter was wonderfully characterized here along with Ned.)(I have a deep craving now for more Adrian Toomes fics and I blame this fic for that. I don’t regret it one bit.)

[The Witcher]

all some children do is work by some_stars

It's two children, he realizes as they slowly sit up. They look about eight or nine, not that he's much judge of children's ages. One is a girl, dark-haired, in a shabby dress. The other is a boy. His clothes aren't much better, and his hair isn't much lighter than the girl's, but his eyes—

His eyes, Jaskier realizes with a distant sense of horror, are gold like a cat's. His mind makes one more valiant effort to keep from connecting the obvious dots and recognizing them, and then it finally does.

"How in the unholy fuck," Jaskier says to no one, "did this shit happen?"

(So sweet it’ll give you cavities. Break your own heart reading this, I dare you.)

of music and motion and love by WriteThroughTheNight

When Jaskier was four, he slipped his mother’s watch and went to the field to gather a bouquet of dandelions. He climbed back into the yard, as stealthy as a child really cared to be, and crept over to the barn. In the barn, lived a secret. (The man he thought his father said the secret was a monster, a plague. His mother said the secret was his sister.)

Jaskier comes from a far humbler background, and would really like to know why Yennefer never came back for her youngest brother.

(YENNEFER AND JASKIER AS SIBLINGS ENOUGH SAID. FIENOWPAFE)

to render it transparent by theundiagnosable

Geralt wakes up warm, peaceful, and utterly content, which is how he knows that something is severely wrong.

(Where Geralt wakes up in the future and Jaskier and Geralt live at the Coast.)(They are Disasters. What else is new.)(Everything’s lovely and emotionally repressed.)

[Game of Thrones]

if I give you my heart, will you promise not to break it? by janie_tangerine

Ship: Brienne/Jaime

“It’s not broken,” she protests.

“Please,” Ronnet goes on, “it’s all red. Red hearts like that are broken and their owners are either useless or more effort than they’re worth. ‘Course you would get a broken one, who else would want you?”

“It’s not,” Brienne hisses, and at that he stops talking. She realizes her voice had turned cold. Very cold. A coldness that doesn’t belong to her, she’s never sounded like that, but it seems to come from the pulsing warmth in her hands, again - “and the day I find him you’ll see he’s not broken or damaged or unworthy. And I sure as the seven hells hope no one got saddled with yours.

in which soulmates find each other through one of them having the other's heart.

or, in which Brienne gets a mostly broken one the day Jaime Lannister kills Aerys Targaryen.

(So this is a series, just want to put that out there. And I read through all of them cause I just couldn’t do otherwise. Brienne is obviously the bravest, most noble, most amazing of course. And Jaime makes me want to punch a wall because feels.)(This soulmate idea is so creatively and well done, has become one of my favorite soulmate tropes.)(There are a lot of interesting pairings in this series and the way the author went about the relationships and this expanding world has me giving all the yeses.)(Please read!!!)

[Gilmore Girls]

Weather Me by missgoalie75

Ship: Paris Geller/Jess Mariano

A year in the life of Paris and Jess.

(PARIS GELLER AND JESS MARIANO AT THEIR VERY BEST HOLY SHIT!!! I can hear their voices in every line, every thought, every damn interaction and I am so in love it's ridiculous. Paris in particular won me over, I have become incredibly fond of her and it's honestly brilliant! And Jess has a beautiful mind and I love him, I do. God, do I.)(missgoalie75 did it again.)

Living With It by thesaltyavocado

Ship: Lindsay Lister/Jess Mariano

#Future Fic, #Post-Season/Series Finale, #So Your Ex is Now Your Step-Cousin, #And You're Dating Her Ex's Ex!, #A Step-by-Step Guide to Getting Over It

(There’s no summary, it’s a series, and I’m in LOVE. I am a sucker for really, really well done rare pairs, and this is the rarest of them all. Go for it. It’s beautiful.)(Also, the author is literally the BEST, the VERY BEST at making me want to ship people I never even thought of. They’re awesome.)(check out all their fics, I went on a spree and you should too.)

[The Hunger Games]

Speechless by thesaltyavocado

Ship: Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket

Effie was kind, she was warm, she offered comfort to anyone who needed it, microphones be damned. She had a reputation for generosity amongst the Victors that Haymitch hadn't paid any attention to, because he was so paranoid about showing his hand that he barely even said her name around other people, barely even acknowledged her existence. Everyone thought he hated her, Beetee had explained. Everyone knew the stories about how he'd made her cry in the sponsor's lounge at the opening of the 61st Games, how he'd blown up at Cecelia that time when she'd asked him to pass a message onto Effie for her. Is that why none of you assholes ever liked me? Haymitch had asked. No, we didn't like you because you were a prick, Beetee told him, which was fair enough.

(The best, and I mean the best fic I’ve ever read regarding this pairing. Nothing is ever going to top this. Nothing.)(The WORLDBUILDING. FUCK.)(Literally everyone is perfectly characterized in new, heartbreaking ways and I just, fuck. Fuck.)(I don’t care if you’re not into the fandom, this will make you fall in love and see the characters with new eyes and it’s absolutely stellar.)(I want to cry.)(You don’t even have to be here for the ship, just be here for the writing, characterization, the WORLDBUILDING, fucking everything.)(Please.)(This fic NEEDS more love.)(I have fallen in love with Effie Trinket.)(This is my life now.)

[Harry Potter]

Walkabout by thesaltyavocado for teethandstars

Ship: Hermione Granger/Sirius Black

"You are always far too handsome for your own good," Hermione says, "in any timeline."

(The author strikes again when it comes to shipping people I don’t expect to love, yet here it is. Such an interesting fic where the time travel already happened and it’s the aftermath that the fic covers.)(Again, characterization off the fucking charts and I just want to wrap myself up in their words and live there.)(A story about broken people trying to find peace within themselves.)

[Stranger Things]

and you hunger for the time by missgoalie75

Ship: Steve Harrington/Kali Prasad

after the battle of starcourt, steve figured the rest of the summer would involve not working, waiting for his busted ribs and face to heal, hanging out with robin and the party, and trying to ignore the panic he feels whenever he thinks about his future. All that does happen, but other unexpected things happen too.

(Bet you didn’t see this ship coming, did you? Neither did I, yet here we are.)(missgoalie75 is the gift that keeps on giving.)(But in all seriousness this is my favorite characterization of Steve, hands down.)(This fic needs more kudos and comments and basically all the love it deserves.)(God tier characterization and relationship development.)

[Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas]

nfwmb by perennial

Ship: Eris/Proteus

The goddess of discord isn't careless enough to fall in love with a do-gooder mortal prince—unless, of course, she doesn't know it's happening.

(Okay, hear me out. I know it’s weird, I can feel the judgement coming from my screen. But I am weak in the face of rare pairings that actually work and the fact I fucking loved this movie ever since I was a kid, okay? So if anybody else loves this fandom as much as I do, stand up and take notice of this. I am here to tell you there are worthwhile fics to be read in this very, very small fandom.)

I'll keep turning down the hands that beckon me to come by deavors

Ship: Marina/Proteus/Sinbad

“Jealous?” Sinbad says, voice easily and casually mocking, but there’s something else under there, an undertone that speaks of so many things Marina isn’t even close to understanding.

“Extremely,” says Proteus, cracking a half-smile, but Marina feels like he’s not joking.

They stare at each other for a few moments. Marina’s gaze flickers between them. Sun and moon. She wishes—she doesn’t know what she wishes. Her heart is twisting again, but in a different way from before: as though it’s half-empty and longs to be full.

(You have no idea how in love I am with the idea of these three being in a poly relationship. No idea.)(I’ve been shipping all of them the moment I was introduced to the idea of polyamory relationships.)(This is THE poly ship for me.)(Nothing’s ever gonna come close. Nothing.)

[Crossovers]

Trust Me, I'm an Alchemist by metisket

Fandoms: Yuri!!! on Ice, Fullmetal Alchemist

In which Yuri Plisetsky began life with the name Edward Elric, and this has made the world of figure skating a significantly stranger and more alarming place.

“Are you saying you lived a life of crime before you began skating?” “I’m gonna have to check the statute of limitations on a couple things and get back to you on that.”

(Meme Alien Edward, Ninja Alphonse who’ll smile at you as you Perish, Disaster Gay Victor, Disaster Gay Maniac Yuuri.)(If this isn’t incentive enough, the Elrics traumatizing and delighting social media with their Life Stories and their Life of Crime.)(Feral Elrics being Feral Elrics.)(It’s the kind of fic that gets better with every chapter, cause the shenanigans just keep ESCALATING.)

#Fanfiction #AO3 #Fic Rec #Fic Rec List #Fullmetal Alchemist #The Magnus Archives #Marvel #The Witcher #Game of Thrones #Gilmore Girls #The Hunger Games #Harry Potter #Stranger Things #Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas #Crossover #Yuuri on Ice #Shipping

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ckret2 · 5 years

Text

Ghidorah & Gigan Crash the Opera

It's hard for a blade-covered chicken-penguin cyborg and a three-headed snake-cat-bat dragon to get opera tickets.

But it's fine, Gigan has a plan: convince the ticket seller they're VIPs.

... Or, failing that, plan B: mug somebody.

Written to an anon’s prompt: "Hello! If ye be currently accepting ghid/gigan prompts rn (honestly love the ship too), how about the destructive duo crashing an opera performance or something like that? Love your work!" and to @soundwavereporting‘s prompt “Something for either rodorah or Ghidorah/Gigan? :D” from ko-fi.

This is part of an ongoing series of KOTM-verse one-shots. If you don’t wanna read the others, all you need to know is: Ghidorah was originally three dorats (small winged feline/lizard pets) who were turned into a monster by Xilien aliens; after Ghidorah escaped the Xiliens and before they arrived on Earth, they worked as world-destroying mercenaries and occasionally teamed up with Gigan; Ghidorah objects to being named so Gigan mercilessly nicknames them; and Ghidorah and Gigan have mutual semi-secret crushes. Links to the other fics are in the source at the bottom of this post.

###

"Where are the lines?" the triple threat asked. Gigan watched as they stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to peer at the ground around their feet, and then toward the opera hall. "We can never remember our seating footprint," they said, a tad more irritably, "how are we supposed to calculate it?"

Every planet that served as an interstellar hub eventually had to deal with the fact that intelligent aliens came in as many different sizes as planets themselves did. Some planets carefully planned separate neighborhoods and business districts to cater to different sizes ranges, segregating aliens out by height; some catered only to aliens their own size, leaving any aliens too large or small to fit in to fend for themselves.

Stellae Binariae XI's entertainment venues took full advantage of easily-retractable furniture to provide seating for as wide a variety of sizes as possible. A standard bench was designed to hold ten aliens of the most average size in the local interstellar community. Benches were retracted into the ground to provide a seating space for aliens too big to fit on one, their seats assigned based on height—tallest in the back to avoid obstructing each other's views—while seats for standard-sized and smaller aliens were set up into bleachers in the front. The large aliens had their ticket prices calculated based on the number of benches one of their seats would take up—their "footprint"—while smaller aliens' ticket prices were calculated based on the number of standard seats they took up. The very smallest could pack together ten to one seat and see a show on a single ticket, as long as they didn't mind sitting in the front.

Gigan and his buddies, however, shelled out hundreds of times more than the average customer for the honor of sitting on the floor in the back.

"This isn't some cheap second-run theater, they don't have lines," Gigan said. The three of them were used to that theater chain that printed rectangles on the lobby floor you could stand inside to guesstimate your footprint. "Stop looking so cranky, someone's gonna think we're here to burn the opera house down."

"We are cranky, it's late. We're tired."

By their standards, "late" was "any time past sundown." Gigan sent a ripple of brighter red light from one side of his optical visor to the other in an attempt to imitate eyes rolling. "It's barely nighttime," he said. "Anyway, you suck at using the lines, you always buy twice as much space as you need."

"We do not. We get the smallest space we can stand inside."

"You always include your wings! You tuck your wings under you when you sit, you don't need that much space."

"We don't want to be crowded. What do we do if we get to our seat and it's not enough space?"

"You could stretch out on my lap?" Gigan said, the absolute picture of innocence.

They smacked his leg with the side of a tail. "Be serious."

He kind of was, but he wasn't going to tell them that now.

The Eburnean Opera House was, Gigan suspected, the only venue on Stellae Binariae XI that not only accommodated aliens their size but also was fancy enough to mandate a minimal dress code even for aliens with a license proving nudity was the cultural norm for their species—which, of course, having no ties to their home worlds, neither Gigan nor the trio had a license for anyway.

(Gigan—after what felt like an eon's worth of wheedling and a mountain's worth of gold bribery—had gradually persuaded the trio to give him enough of their shed skins to patch together a snazzy-looking vest and pouched belt. The three of them, for the sake of not getting any more dirty looks than they were already bound to just because of their size, had elected for the evening to conform to the cultural mores of one of the more influential species in this solar system, which considered any body parts in excess of a standard bipedal plan to be signs of an impending budding and therefore taboo to expose in public. They'd wrapped up in sheer red shawls—stolen tents—and draped two as veils over Front-And-Center and Righty's faces, leaving Lefty unobstructed and thus in charge of observing the world on their behalf. They all looked very fancy and felt very uncomfortable. Although Gigan was digging the belt pouches.)

Most facilities that prided themselves on their exclusivity tended to exclude bodies that didn't fit in the local cultural limits for normalcy, size included. But this two-thousand-year-old structure, from what Gigan had heard, had been sponsored by and named for some big patron of the arts—with "big" meaning both "famous" and "huge." That was probably only the reason they'd be let in the door at all.

No discounts for being the size of the guy they named this place for, though. An average seat in this place probably costed as much as one movie usually did for Gigan and friends. He was about to drop a small fortune on seats.

Worth it though, if he got to take the triple threat to their first opera.

"Don't worry about your footprint," Gigan told them. "I know what size you are, I'll buy your ticket."

"If you don't give us enough space, we will sit on you." They paused. "Don't look so happy about it."

"Happy? You're seeing your own reflection off my beak. You wish you had an excuse to take a seat on this." He gestured at himself.

He wasn't sure which head scoffed, but he'd put money on Righty.

As usual, they skipped most of the line to the tickets by casually pretending they didn't notice it as they stepped over it. Gigan crouched down to smirk at the knee-height ticket seller. "Hey!"

The ticket seller looked up at him disapprovingly, clicked a button at his desk, and waited while the entire box office slowly elevated to eye level with Gigan. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah, we're here to get tickets for, uh, The Devil in Love?" In his peripheral vision, he could see all three heads perk up. Yeah, he thought so. He hadn't told them which opera he was going to take them to. This one, as far as he could tell, was their favorite—certainly, he constantly caught them singing songs from it.

"What name are your tickets being held under?"

"No no, we don't have them yet," Gigan said. "We're here to purchase."

The ticket seller's look of disapproval deepened. "We don't have spare seating for guests of your stature the day of a performance," he said. "Nor usually the month of a performance."

"Oh, no worries, you've got room for us. We're VIPs, see," Gigan said. "Here. Our credentials." He rummaged in a hip pouch on his belt until the magnetic back of his tablet stuck to his scythe, pulled it out and tapped with the tip of his other scythe on the screen, and held it out for the ticket seller to inspect.

He looked skeptically at the page Gigan had pulled up. "This is a news article about a planet being destroyed?"

"It sure is," Gigan said, leaning in with a faux conspiratorial hush to his voice. "And we're the monsters that destroyed it. Like I said, pal—we're VIPs. And we're willing to make ourselves very immense problems if we don't get to see this show."

Getting the picture, his buddies raised their chest and arced their necks to surround the ticket seller's box, doing their best to loom threateningly. "Threatening" didn't take much effort for them.

The ticket seller looked between them and Gigan. "Ah. Yes. I understand. Shall I call someone to escort you? He gestured with a flourish toward one of the larger stickers mounted on the box office window. It said "Zone Family Security."

Gigan's back went straight "Oh! Y—y'know what? You guys look like you've got a pretty busy night, we can... we'll come back when it's less crowded."

The ticket seller nodded smugly.

The trio stared at Gigan in disbelief. "What?"

"Come on!" Gigan leaned against Righty, slung an arm around their shoulders, and didn't make any efforts to be gentle as he dug his scythe into Lefty's neck. "C'mon, c'mon, it's fine. Let's go."

"What is it?" Lefty tried to peer at the sticker as Gigan tugged them away. Front-And-Center ducked around Righty to give Gigan a baffled look through his veil. "We're not running from security guards?"

"It's not just security, it's Peacelanders," Gigan hissed. "We don't mess with Peacelanders."

"Why?" "How tough can they be, they're called Peacelanders." "We wanna fight 'em." They tried to turn back around.

Gigan dug his scythe in harder. "Nuh-nuh-nuh-nuh. No. We are not fighting the Zone family."

"So we're just going to leave without seeing the show?!" "After we got all dressed up?"

Gigan grabbed for the nearest head—Righty, as it happened—and tugged him over so he could whisper to him quietly enough that the sound couldn't carry to the ground. "Of course we're not leaving," he hissed. "I promised you an opera, didn't I?" He nodded toward a narrow alleyway—well, to them it was a narrow alleyway; to most other aliens it was a broad empty street that was blocked off with a sign that said Opera Access For Gigantic Patrons. "We're just not going in the front door."

###

"Seriously, why are you so tired?" Gigan asked, leaning away as Front-And-Center let out a massive fang-exposing yawn. "It's only a couple hours past sunset, you should be fine." And they'd only been waiting on the rooftop of the warehouse neighboring the alleyway for about half an hour.

"Ih's cloudy," Lefty said through a yawn of his own; Gigan elbowed him to get him to turn his face away. Now Lefty was gonna set off Righty and Righty was gonna set off Front-And-Center again. "We're always sleepy when it's been cloudy a few days." (And there was Righty's yawn.)

Gigan shook his head. "I swear that's the biggest irony of your lives," he said.

"Hmm?"

"The Golden Demise! Superpower number one: automatically summons hurricanes with every flap of their dread wings. Superpower number two: solar powered." (He noted, smugly, that Front-And-Center had just yawned again.)

"'The golden demise,' what is that?" "Did you just make that up?"

"I'm trying to think up a title for you guys to market yourselves under. Not a name," he knew how tetchy they were about the idea of being named, "just—something customers can look up if they wanna find you."

"Customers already find us."

"More would find you if they had a name they could search for instead of 'hey, we want this merc that's really good at flattening planets, no idea what they're called, ring any bells?'"

That earned Gigan a double snort. Fronty said, "'Golden demise' sounds pretentious as hell."

Gigan leaned away and gave them an exaggerated up and down. "You are pretentious!"

"We're sophisticated," they said pretentiously. Gigan hooted.

"Anyway," Righty said, weaving between the other two to lean closer to Gigan, "that's not the biggest irony of our lives."

"What, you've got a bigger one?"

"Yes," Righty said, mischief glimmering in his eyes.

"Okay." Gigan waited. "You gonna tell me what it is?"

"No," Righty said.

Gigan waved Righty off in a way that very nearly decapitated him, and leaned against Lefty. "So what's Righty's big irony."

"I dunno," he said cheerfully.

"What?"

"He won't tell us."

"What?!" Gigan flung up his arms in disbelief. "You can hide things from each other?"

"He can." Front-And-Center tapped his horns against Righty's. "We're not so good at it."

"Why do you even have that ability?"

Righty said, "Solely and exclusively to torment you."

"I'd believe it," Gigan grumbled. His attention was caught by the gate at the alleyway's entrance as it slowly rolled open. "Oh," he elbowed them, "here we go." A luminous ivory-colored slug riding on what looked like a parade float progressed down the alleyway, accompanied by practically an army of small quadrupeds wearing glowing jewelry that matched the slug's off-white glow. "Between slimy here and its entourage, they've gotta have a big enough seating footprint for the four of us, right?"

They leaned forward, their heads tilting thoughtfully. "If it plans on sitting on its big skateboard," Fronty finally said.

"I can't imagine it'd get off, where would they stow it?" Gigan stood. "Okay, showtime. Get your battle faces on."

Lefty shook his head to loosen up his neck, Front-And-Center stretched his jaw with a hiss that made his veil flutter, and Righty snapped his fangs a couple of times. "After you."

Gigan slammed down in front of the little parade, clashing his scythes together. "Good evening!" The triple threat hit the ground behind the parade, hissing static and sparks. Between them, the tiny bipeds clustered up around their slug, who rippled fearfully. Cheerily, Gigan said, "Wonderful night for an opera, isn't it? My friends here and I were hoping to go, in fact, but they didn't have spare seats for us. Imagine!"

He pointed at the slug, the tip of his scythe almost near enough to slash its quivering throat. "I don't suppose you have spare tickets, do you?"

###

Gigan pulled the curtain aside. "Nice! A private box!" He pulled down a cushion scaled to his size from the wall, dropped it on the floor, and plopped down. "Now this is real luxury. We wouldn't get this with orchestra section tickets." He pulled up the drinks and snacks menu on the touch screen at the front of the box. "Concessions too! Do you think they deliver or do we have to pick them up?"

They sat on the floor with their legs folded under them, crossed their wings on the box railing, and Lefty got to work scoping out the facility while Front-And-Center and Righty peered curiously at the stage. "Were concessions covered in their ticket price?" Fronty asked. "Or are they purchased à la carte?"

"À la carte, listen to you. You're almost starting to talk like people." Gigan elbowed them. They whapped him from behind with a tail. He must be on thin ice; the spikes almost got him that time. "No prices listed, so who knows. But we didn't have to buy tickets, so we can cover it."

With his mandatory survey of the room finished, Lefty twisted around to inspect the menu too. Righty asked, "Any fossil fuels?"

"Didn't see any in the snacks, but I haven't gotten to the drinks menu yet."

"Any samplers?" Fronty asked. Lefty butted Gigan's shoulder, "I want tapas."

"You'll just lick everything."

"You can eat what we don't like."

"What, after you lick it?" But despite his protests, Gigan scooted over to let Lefty take over the touch screen. He uncurled one wing to poke at the screen with the tip.

If there was a way to order, they couldn't figure it out from the touch screen. They decided someone was probably supposed to come around to take their order. By the time they started wondering where their waiter was, the lights dimmed, and so they settled in for the show.

###

For the first fifteen minutes, the trio was enthralled. Front-And-Center and Rightly flipped up their veils and all three stretched out of the box, watching with rapt attention as the performers on stage sang the opening numbers, quietly rattling their tails to the beat of the music.

Then Righty's attention drifted, followed by Lefty's. By the half hour mark, Fronty's attention was wandering as well.

At about forty minutes, Gigan gave; for all that he appreciated operas as one of the finer things life could offer, he didn't go to them for the entertainment so much as he did for the social cachet. This one sure wasn't doing anything for him, and if it wasn't doing anything for his friends then he could skip the rest. He elbowed them and scrolled a single word across his optical visor: "BORING?" One of them clicked his tongue in the affirmative. Gigan jerked his beak toward the curtain. The next time there was applause, they took the opportunity to cover the noise of their exiting the box.

"They just stood there singing at each other." "We at least expected dancing!" "And where did they get the lead contralto, she's clearly got her wings tuned to sing at equal temperament when the whole orchestra is using just intonation."

"Okay, I was with you but then you lost me."

They offered a triple sneer. "We could sing in tune with the marimba section better than her if we were using a tesla coil."

Gigan held back a squawk of laughter.

The right two shook their veils back down in place. "Let's raid the concessions stand, come back for the ingénue's solo, and blow this place."

"Blow like leave it or destroy it?"

They tilted their heads, considering the question. "Leave it," Front-And-Center decreed. "We can see a better show later."

Here Gigan had been afraid he'd turned them off to opera forever. "Hey, at least we saw this one free." They started down the spiral ramp to the ground level. "It'll be easier to afford the next one."

"We've got to find a cheaper way to get tickets. Think they'll notice if we keep mugging people for seats?"

"Maybe we can slap leashes on you and claim you're my support animal," Gigan joked.

They looked thoughtful.

"Oh no."

"Is this one of the states where support pets get their seating footprint for free?" "It's about half of Stellae Binariae XI now, right?"

For a moment, Gigan allowed himself to bask in the fantasy of locking three collars around the willing throats of a monster that could slaughter him without a second thought. It was a very nice fantasy.

But no. Playing at being a pet was one thing. He could get into it if it was just playing. Under the circumstances, though, he was pretty sure that would just go further to convince the trio that they were pets. How many centuries had he spent now trying to get them to treat themselves like people?

"Not gonna work," Gigan said. "We'd have to get documentation to prove your species is used as support animals."

"We were support animals," Lefty said, and Righty quickly clarified, "We weren't, we weren't trained for that. Our species was." Fronty said, "We're not about to call home for proof, though."

"Well, there goes that idea."

As they reached the bottom of the ramp, they slowed down. The way off the ramp was blocked by a small party standing in the lobby talking together: the giant slug they'd robbed earlier and its entourage, and several bipeds of wildly varying heights with matching silver armor and glowing eyes... Oh. Oh. Hoo boy. That was the Zone family. Gigan froze and held out an arm to block the trio from walking forward. They walked into it with a clang of metallic scales on metallic scythe.

The whole party in the lobby turned to look at Gigan and friends.

They stared back.

Gigan croaked, "Hey! Funny running into you, we just, uh... wanted to ask if you wanted to switch for the rest of the show? We're heading out early." In his peripheral vision, he could see flickers of yellow electricity as lightning slowly worked its way up two of the trio's throats. Gigan elbowed them.

The tallest of the Zones turned to the slug and said, "Are these the muggers who stole your tickets, Madam Goddess Eburnea?"

"Eburnea!" Gigan said, his voice going even higher. "As—as in the Eburnea that the Eburnean Opera Hall was named after?"

The Zone nodded slowly.

Gigan slowly nodded back. Then turned to the trio and said, very calmly, "Fly for your lives."

###

They made it out in one piece.

And the opera hall almost did too.

(And Gigan accidentally cut off his own belt with his abdominal buzzsaw. Now he had to drape it around his shoulders like a scarf.)

Eburnea's devout worshippers agreed to drop charges, if they agreed never to set foot in the state again and each prostrated themselves before Eburnea a thousand times.

Gigan wasn't sure how the triple threat managed to convince Eburnea that each one of their bows counted for three; but as they wandered around loudly griping about how long Gigan's was taking and debating (out loud, which meant they were only doing it because they wanted him to hear it) whether they should just fly off and leave him behind, he kind of hated them for it.

But not really.

###

The four of them retreated a couple of states away, found a neighborhood with some buildings built to accommodate their size, and grabbed seats at an outdoor table in front of a closed cafe as they pondered what to do with the rest of their night.

Fronty and Righty tossed their veils back to wear like scarves, no longer concerned about who they offended if they didn't have a fancy show to go to. Fronty scrolled through the tablet Gigan had loaned them looking for somewhere interesting that was still open and could accommodate their size, Lefty took in the street around them, and Righty leaned in toward the other two, gaze vacant, mentally withdrawn inward.

Gigan used to think that when their attention went three different directions like that, it meant only one of them was focused on the task at hand; but over time it had dawned on him that they did that because there was no reason all three of them should have to stare together at the same object when each of them already saw what the other two saw. Fronty went through the tablet, and because of that Lefty and Righty could consider the available options. Lefty looked around, and because of that Fronty and Righty knew what the street looked like. Whatever Righty was pondering, the other two were no doubt tuned in to.

And meanwhile, the outsider tagging along on this little committee meeting, Gigan sat backwards on a chair at the next table and watched them.

Sometimes, when they were in motion, looking at them was like looking at three marionettes someone had spray painted the same color, snipped apart at the joints, and tossed into a washing machine with a window in front: an anarchic tumble of shapes and body parts that never quite seemed to connect to each other in any logical way.

But then, sometimes when they were still like this—sitting on a chair turned sideways, leaning one side against the back, their feet curled up in the seat, their wings crossed on a table and taking up the entire surface, a single street lamp illuminating them in orangish light from the side—he saw them all as one continuous, sinuous, glorious shape.

Sitting behind them, the light shining straight through the sheer fabric delicately wrapped around their shoulders and back, he could trace the entire length of their left and right spines with his optic: from their napes nearly hidden beneath their crowns of horns, down the centers of their necks, over the curves of their upper back where their spines crossed through two sets of powerful muscles, down to the point where their spines narrowed toward each other along the small of their back, over their hips, along the length of their tails to their twin barbed rattles... He could see the slightest asymmetries around their spines, the evidence of ancient surgeries: the way their right upper back was a little bit wider and their left upper back hunched a little bit higher; the scarred lump near the base of the right tail where part of one spine had been grafted to another; the cleft between the vestigial shoulder muscles in the middle of their back where their middle spine dipped in and vanished from view. Their dull gold glowed in this light.

Gigan couldn't remember what his body had looked like before he'd been a cyborg—if he'd ever known what it had looked like. But he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that before he'd had scythes, he must have had some sort of—of fins, or vestigial wings, hell, maybe even tentacles—something like that at the end of his arms. Something that tapered to a soft point that could feel. And he knew that because when he looked at them like this, he craved so badly to run his whatever-he'd-had-down their back, tracing alongside each row of barbs that ran down their spines, all the way from the napes of their necks to the tips of their tails. But all he had was scythes.

"There's karaoke a short flight away. Open all night," Lefty reported without glancing at the tablet. Righty added, in that slightly dazed voice he sometimes got when he was exiting the triple threat's inner mental landscape and reconnecting with the real world, "We'll have to duck to get through the doorways, but we should fit."

"What're the drinks like?" Gigan asked.

"Let us check." After a moment, they grumbled, "Overpriced."

"For us, or in general?"

"In general."

He made an annoyed buzz. "We'll jack some rocket fuel on the way over."

"That works." They stretched their wings, slid off the chair, and waited for Gigan to retrieve his tablet.

"So, what's tonight's playlist going to be?" Gigan asked as he checked the map to the karaoke bar. "The opera we missed?"

They considered it. "No." "We're feeling more like cheesy war songs."

"Ooh, haven't heard the death growls in a while. Better get a private room."

He stowed the tablet in a pouch and they took off.

###

(Replies/reblogs are welcome & encouraged! Check the “source” link below for my masterlist of KOTM fics in this verse, as well as my AO3 and Ko-fi links.)

#ghidorah #king ghidorah #gigan #godzilla #kotm #ghidgan #(if nobody else has made a ship name then I'LL DO IT)#fanfic #my writing #(also featuring: cameo appearance by Zone Fighter and family)

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