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thewhumpstuff · 4 years ago

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Flashback

Flashback - [So, this got longer than I intended. It probably needs to be cruelly edited. But, nah. I’m just going to throw it into the void!

@badthingshappenbingo [Original Characters and content for - Reopening an Old Wound] Whumptober Day: No. 6 - Please - “Get it out!” No more. “Stop, please!” [Sorta all three] Ten Trails: Heart and Soul (2)- Repressed memories [@yuckwhump] CW/TW: Uncomfortable invasion of the mind. References to interrogation, captivity and potential torture. Reference to implied bullying in the OC’s past. [Please let me know if I missed anything] [I don’t think there is anything triggering about the abstract art, hopefully, so its just out here. FYI-That is a man casually ‘caught up’ in his brain.]

Zach drummed an arrhythmic beat against the edge of his table, when the door to his office slid upon and the framework framed Akira like a painting, “Ah, good! You’re here. I’ve been led to believe you possess a unique set of skills and are the perfect candidate to... solve a little problem I’ve chanced upon. Shall we?” She wasn’t given a chance to make her way into his office. Within a moment, he was already crowding her. Zach shepherded her towards a vehicle. They rode in uncomfortable silence. There weren’t too many people who could set Akira on edge, but Zach was definitely one of them. She assumed it was because she couldn’t get a read on him. And the tenebrous past he shared with Jared. The vehicle pulled up and she almost opened her side of the door into Zach’s crotch, accidentally. She stopped herself just in time, leaving the door slightly ajar. With a soft huff of disappointment and impatience, Zach opened it all the way and waited for her to step out. Akira really wasn’t accustomed to this level of archaic chivalry. The silence continued to loom as they walked past the wired fence, to the decommissioned lab. It was marked for repair and rennovation. As they rounded to the door, he went on to warn her, with feigned concern, that did fool her. “This is not going to be easy. It certainly isn’t for me, but I trust you know, that as Amity Enforcers, it's our duty to defend the goals of the Global Confederate. ”

Her brows knitted and her eyes narrowed, but she nodded. They made their way inside. Their footsteps echoed in the vacant reception area and continued to click as they walked through the lobby and the labyrinth of corridors. The first couple of floors had already been revamped and restored. From the corner of her eyes, she noted the silhouettes of wrapped equipment. She recognized them with ease, some were bots for medical procedures, others were devices typically used for research… on human subjects. They were flush against the walls haphazardly. He led her into a softly lit room, and stopped by two-sided mirror. The other side was dark. Akira stared at their reflections. In retrospect, the sincerity in Zach’s expressions, would surprise her. Another guilty reassurance followed. It felt like he was setting her up for some kind of a climax, “I assure you, I’ve done my due diligence, and grave apologies that I wasn’t able to get to him before the others. He’s a little roughed up. Needless to say, he’ll be fixed up. Perhaps you can help with that too…” Zach fiddled with something that looked like a keypad touch screen. Bright fluorescent lights illuminated the room beyond the mirror. Akira did a double-take and didn’t realise she was holding her breath. Jared. She didn’t need to see his face to recognize him. He didn’t have a shirt on and his pants looked scruffy. Angry, fresh bruises covered most of the skin that she could see. Cuffs cinched his wrists behind his back. His cheek sat in a small pool of blood. Crimson that leaked from a cut lip and from his nose. His chest rose and fell erratically. Jared didn’t react to the lights. He was either asleep… Or just unconscious. Zach’s little roughed up didn’t exactly do justice.

She couldn’t tear her eyes off Jared, but she found her voice and addressed Zach in an indignant hiss, “What the fuck is this?” Zach ran gloved fingers through his silken strands, “I told you this wasn’t going to be easy. I recognize that your relationship, predisposes you to defend him. To take his side. And that’s good. Because-” Aki interrupted him through grit teeth, “Get to the point damnit. What reason do you have to hold him like this?” She found it very hard to maintain composure. Her eyes still riveted on Jared, till Zach’s fingers found Akira’s jaw. He held it to force her to turn and look at him. She did turn, but also jerked away from his hand. He didn’t press for contact. Zach’s voice darkened. It got colder and softer with a bridled rage, “I’m going to let that tone slide. Compelling evidence has surfaced, that declares him responsible for the death of my mother… and my subsequent capture. And that he either is, or was associated with SpecSyn.” His tone reminded her of the chilly one that Jared assumed, when he had reason to truly mean whatever threat he was uttering. The comparison was unsettling. Zach went on, “And I’d like very much to believe this evidence is bogus, because I don’t want it to be true. As much as you probably don’t. We grew up together, him and I. We trained in G.C.A together, served in Sector Nine together… ” She noticed a sort of hurt in Zach’s eyes. The kind of pain that screamed betrayal. For the briefest of moments it made her trust him, as he went on talking, “And I’m doing my very best to not fall prey to my anger… Akira. So please… help me. Help me wipe these allegations once and for all. You convince me, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Akira sounded hesitant, she was processing everything a little too slowly to immediately recognize what Zach wanted. So she defended Jared rather simply, “Look, I don’t know what to tell you, he never told me anything-” Zach’s voice changed to something practical and detached again, like this was just any other mission detail. This also reminded her of Jared. “No, of course he didn’t. Despite how intimate you two are, I doubt he would’ve trusted you with anything important, or too personal. He’s always been an agent first… Apparently, just not for G.C.” She could sense that he was provoking her now and instilling doubt again… Somewhat successfully. Jared had always been rather tight-lipped. Even more so around the subject of the events that led to Azrael’s death and his missions. They’d argued about it on more than one occasion. Now was not the time to get hung up on the way the truth of his words stung. She turned her back to Jared and leaned against the two-way mirror. Zach went on, “Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t simply-” She challenged with another interruption, eager to defend the relationship he sounded so dismissive about. “What? Just read him? Relationships don’t work like that, Zach... I trust him. Still do. Always will.” Her heart sank when she finally realised what the man wanted. And he made quick work of confirming Akira’s assumptions, “Well, push has come to shove. And if you trust him so much, you shouldn’t find anything in there-” He rested one hand against the glass of the two-way mirror and tapped it. ‘-In there, that’s too alarming. I say you- and by that I mean we, because we’re running out of options. So, convince me, he truly doesn’t know anything. And I’ll make sure he’s free to go. And you.” And me? She folded her arms across her chest, “I didn’t realise I was not free to go. So what, I’m a prisoner now too?” Zach stepped in closer and placed his other hand on the surface of the mirror behind Akira. Her face was between his palms and she felt a little trapped, by the situation and literally by Zach’s proximity, but she did her best to not show it. He shrugged, “The Jared I know, would’ve worked alone, but the others would not hesitate to assume your involvement by proxy. And it doesn’t help that you’re a Niner. But, like I’ve said before I’d like to stay on your side, on his side.” She drew in a long shaky breath, her voice fell to an uncertain whisper, “It…. My power doesn’t work like that. It’s not so perfect… I can’t just give you what you want.” He smiled, realising that she’d understood that her options were limited and was at least, considering compliance. “I know how your power works. And I’ll guide you. We’ll have to find a way, for his sake.” Nonetheless, she obviously had to check if there was in fact, any other way. She wasn’t too keen on breaking that sacrosanct trust, “What if I say no?” Zach huffed brusquely, “Then I’ll have no choice but to give the two of you up. I can only buy so much time. They’ll either force a confession false or not... or kill both of you in the process of doing so… So, Akira, I really don’t want to spend our time constantly reminding you, that I’m the only thing standing in the way of a very… very bleak future for both of you.” So, no real choice indeed. A small part of Akira rejoiced and then recoiled with guilt. The part that did want to know all of Jared’s secrets, just so they could clear the air once and for all. The part she’d leashed, with difficulty and upon his insistence- out of respect for what they shared... Another part of her curled up in fear of what she’d actually find. And how she’d hide it from Zach, if it was indeed incriminating. “How do you expect me to convince you?” Zach looked beyond her, presumably at Jared, as he laid out the plan, “To make sure you aren’t lying, I’ll first have you dredge up memories of his time with me, details that I can confirm. Things you’re unlikely to know about, at least not in all their specificity. Then we can work towards the rest. It’ll be a process… But hopefully, Jared gets out of this absolved and we all walk away unharmed. I’ll have Mark monitor your stats when we get to the important stuff. So I’ll know if you’re lying. You know Mark right, I believe you’ve worked with him? That should make all this a little easier...”

Carrying a glass of water, painkillers and some tissues, she walked into the cell alone. Her SmartNeura was connected to Zach’s, so he could instruct her without Jared’s knowledge. Jared was still curled on the floor. He had not moved almost at all. His knuckles were unbruised. But his wrists bore evidence of struggle. She gathered that Jared had not resisted arrest and that they’d hurt him after he was already cuffed. Presumably to get quick answers. Knowing him, he must’ve chosen silence. She assumed he was in some drug induced stupor now, she was wrong. “Jared…” He sat up so quickly, she and her heart jumped. “Shira? What the hell are you doing here?” Why did his tone sound accusative? “Z-” Before she could tell him, Zach interrupted her sharply, “No. Don’t name me. He doesn’t need to know of my involvement yet. Tell him someone else asked you for help with the interrogation-Better yet, tell him you heard and volunteered. Keep it vague.” Akira chewed the side of her lips and looked at Jared as intently as she could, she wasn’t sure if he could see truth in her eyes. She went and flopped by his side, cross-legged. And put the water beside him, along with the painkillers and tissues. He picked up the latter to wipe away the blood. She repeated Zach almost word for word, “I… heard they caught you and volunteered to help.” She was hoping Jared would recognize the foreignness of her words. Unfortunately, given his current state, he either didn’t, or did a damn good job of hiding it. His eyes widened. She knew he was definitely closing in on her intent. And desperately hoping it wasn’t true, just like she had been, just moments ago. “Help how?” She was at a loss of words. Aki jerked her chin towards his head. She really didn’t want to spell it out, “You know… I’ll just… Read and confirm you innoc-” Jared shot up like a spring, and was on his feet. He staggered as he backed away from her. He sounded uncharacteristically flustered, his words as choppy as his faltering steps, “Why the fuck would you- We’ve gone over this… We agreed- It’s the one thing I’ve asked for- Wait you told them about your- Just…Just… Get outta here and let them do what they want. You don’t need to get involved. Why would they believe you anyway?” He kept shuffling away as he talked, to literally stay out of her reach. Till he had nowhere left to go. Akira didn’t move towards him, she remained on the floor and stared at it. She wanted to yell. To let him know in no uncertain terms that she didn’t want any of this. That she had no choice. That it wasn’t going to be a damn walk in the park for her either. That she’d been summoned. And that she was glad that she’d been called. At least she could buy them some time to figure this out. That she couldn’t, in good faith, just… let them do what they wanted. She sat frozen, screaming internally till Zach was compelled to intervene. He sounded impatient… but Aki could swear, he also sounded mildly delirious, “Tell him, it's too late and you’re already involved. Tell him, he doesn’t have a real choice. Then ask him about Erebus at the C.T.F we did for training at G.C.A. Read the memory that comes up. I’m staring us off easy.”

In his impatience, Zach was revealing himself with every suggestion and Akira was glad that he was. Though she wasn’t sure if Jared was truly catching on, or not. She’d heard him speak of Erebus - now an Acer himself, working in the resources department- and not too fondly. She had nothing specific enough for her to fib her way through this. Akira cleared her throat and repeated Zach’s words, paraphrasing just enough to change the perspective, and couch her question as a memory-trigger, “Look, I’m already here. So this is happening, whether you like it or not. Let’s talk about Erebus. You two were in G.C.A together, right? Did both of you participate in the capture-the-flag game? Were you on the same team?” She hoped that the confusion that flitted on Jared’s face was a sign that he was starting to catch up. He had to have figured out that they were being watched by someone, if not specifically Zach. Jared asked, “Erebus? Why? I’ve barely mentioned him” She made up a lie, now improvising without Zach’s direction, “He’s... A suspect too...” She was grateful that Zach needed to confirm her compliance with… hopefully benign memories. But, with the way Jared tensed up, perhaps even this was not as benign as she was hoping. It’s just C.T.F… How bad could it be? Jared sighed, like he’d curtailed an exasperated warning, “Shira… please just...” After one last look of what she perceived to be despise- aimed either at her, or at the very least at the situation, he closed his eyes. With a dark, heart-rending resignation, he slid against the wall, till he was sitting on the floor with his knees pressed against his chest. She knew he wasn’t the sort to protest once he realised it was futile. She sat there feeling a little paralyzed. There was no going back once she crossed this line. Zach prompted her into action, “Go on! Remember we’re still time-bound. Wordlessly, she inched closer to Jared and set his hands on his exposed arms. -

Lying on the ground, stomach first. The wetness of dewdrops against the cheek. The chilly breeze against a bareback. The smell of damp earth and grass. The blurry sight of the green blades and the soil - shuffling shoes and ankles in the distance. The recently-cracked awkward husk of a pubescent voice, “This’ll teach you to fucking play decoy for Pixie-dust!” The sound of vague, bitter and cruel jeering. Shoes sliding closer. Fingers curling around wrists and ankles, tightening with a certain envious sourness. The soles of shoes against the back of the knees… and the elbows, with the wobbling, inconsistent, but hurtful pressure. The body, contorts and twists to see the sneering face of the kid who spoke. A raspy, baleful protest, claws out of the throat, “Get your lackeys off me ‘Rebus!” An unavailing struggle that ensues. Another soul pressed against the lower back, with a pathetic finality. And then the sound of the marker, shot at point-blank range. The smarting slap of the bullet splattering between the shoulder blades. The strangled roar, interrupted by another shot… and then another. The headache-inducing grit teeth and set jaw. The metallic tang of blood and the annoying stab of a bitten tongue- completely overshadowed by the aching throb of the back. The burgeoning tenderness and the blooming bruises. Finally, after half a dozen shots, the deafening silence. The splattered, viscous paint, that felt as good as blood, rolling down the sides of the torso. And a soft, defeated whine. The vague thought that this must appear rather comical to an onlooker… but sure didn’t feel that way. -

Jared’s quieter whimper met Akira’s louder groans, they tapered to an uncomfortable silence, first him, then her. She blinked away, the tears that collected on the side of her eyes. When she let go of him, she noticed her fingers had left a print on his pale skin, blanching through a bruise. She had just experienced his memory in first person and forced him to relive it too. Aki could still hear the echo of the shots and feel her back smarting. He probably felt the same lingering effects. She knew it’d fade soon enough, but it left her heaving for air. Her emotions were mingled with young Jared’s- contempt for this Erebus kid who pressed him into the ground and shot him. Despair... that it happened. And her instinct was more violent than his, “What a fucking tool. I’d have kil-” She cut herself off when Jared opened his eyes. The dejection in them tore at her. And Zach’s voice broke the moment, “Why did you stop? Tell him you want to know what happens and go back.” Akira hesitated, till Zach made the order in no uncertain terms, “Do it, now!” She echoed his suggestion with a slight startle, like a spurred horse, “I… I want to know what happens next-” He let his fingers lace with her approaching hands. A plainative squeeze followed, “No! Stop it… Shira… Please. Please no more… Not again.”

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defectivenancydrew · 5 years ago

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MID Review (finally)

Now that I’ve had a while to reflect on MID, I feel like I can give an honest, spoiler-free review. This turned out to be a much more in-depth review than I had planned on doing, but you can just read the italics at the end of each section if you just want the gist.

Controls: Okay, so for like the first fifteen minutes (or however long it takes you to adjust), the controls are frustrating. Once you get used to how to move (and it is still point-and-click), you’ll be fine. The only thing that I still didn’t have a solid grasp of by the end of the game was moving Nancy’s head around with the right mouse button--it might have helped to slow the mouse down for this function. That being said, the controls offer a lot to the game. The environments and navigation feel more realistic, and instead of jumping from scene to scene, Nancy slides through the space. It’s weird at first, but it’s ultimately superior. (Just for kicks, I went back and played a bit of LIE as a comparison, and the jumpy movement felt so weird after the smoothness of MID). Controls get a 8/10 for the steep learning curve and the more realistic movement.

Graphics: They’re not that bad, okay? On high render, the environments actually look really good and the characters are decent (low render is an understandably different story). Given the technical reasons behind the graphics looking as the do (full 3D render here versus painstakingly painted video files before), I don’t think that they’re really that bad. Puzzle renders and zoomed-in items/POIs really shine, appearing arguably better than previous games. It’s also important to consider what SCK/STFD look like compared to SEA--MID obviously looks better than SCK/STFD, but it has room for improvement. Just like the development team refined the graphics on their proprietary engine, they will refine the graphics on Unity over time. Again, looking back to the first three games, there is a huge jump in graphics quality between each game, indicating their ability to improve quickly. I’m willing to best that the next game (yes, I believe there will be a ‘next game’) will look much better than MID, and so on from there. Character renders are not as great, but this, too, is likely to improve and is probably also due to the fact that it’s 3D and not a painted video file. Their movements may be awkward, but the fact that they are mo-cap means that they may improve in future games. The only real gripe I have about the characters is the lack of facial expressions. Graphics get a 7/10 for up-close realism and room for improvement.

Performance: If you have a gaming PC or a relatively new device, you should be golden. The game runs smoothly at high render on my 2018/i7/SSD PC, but has some lagging issues at high render on my 2014/i5/HDD PC (issues that all but disappear by adjusting to low render). For those with older PCs or PCs with less processing-power, you may have to deal with way-off lip-syncs and choppy cut scenes if you also want to see the best possible graphics. The game only crashed once on my older PC (and it was more likely due to unrelated background processes I was running), but the autosave feature prevents crashes from being anything more than a brief annoyance. Performance gets a 6/10 for high requirements and the Sophie’s Choice of graphics or speed.

UI: I love the sleek, full-screen appearance and minimalist inventory/phone bar. If I had to ask for any improvements here, I might suggest that the inventory collapse into a bag icon when it’s not in use. UI gets 10/10 for maximizing space and minimizing distractions.

Environment (independent of graphics): HeR definitely stepped up their game (heh) on this front. While there are arguably no more locations to explore than in SEA, the environment is far more expansive and cohesive. You feel like you are in a small town (Salem), and you have the freedom to explore all the relevant places without jumping around or magically transporting. There’s only one location that is distant from the town center, and Nancy travels via car to get back and forth, which adds a dose of realism. We have our usual forest navigation (though it is mercifully straight-forward, unlike DOG or CAP), with the added bonus of looking around and using it to get from one place to another. The game makes good use of each space, though it’d be nice if there was more to do in certain lesser-used locations. Some of the locations really only seemed to be present to flesh out the whole environment--which is fine--but it’d be nice to utilize those locations a bit more. And when graphics are set high, the environments are quite stunning. The lighting and weather also do a good job of reinforcing the current atmosphere in-game. Environment gets a 9/10 for cohesion and light usage.

Characters (independent of graphics, story): This is probably one of the spots where MID won me over. Not only do we have eleven (11!) official characters, we have background characters that make the setting real! I didn’t count, but there were probably 10+ background characters that were present for minor commentary and realistic liveliness. For the first time in a Nancy Drew game, I wasn’t questioning where the rest of the world was. Yes, their movements were awkward and if your computer couldn’t handle the graphics, then their lips were flapping in mysterious ways, but they moved around and interacted with each other in semi-human ways. It is absolutely baffling to me that there are people who think there were too many characters. For one thing, we as fans asked HeR for more characters and that’s what they gave us. For another, the game never felt crowded. There were seven characters that were considered “main” that you interacted with often, three side characters that you interacted with occasionally, and one character that you only interacted with once. If they hadn’t been fully-formed characters with solid backstories, I might be persuaded that the number was an issue, but almost all of the characters were fully- or mostly-developed. Characters gets a 10/10 for quantity and quality.

Puzzles: This is probably the one facet of the game where it is most clear that HeR listened to fans’ requests. We asked for more realistic puzzles that were integrated into the game play and not totally irrelevant. That’s what we got. For some people, I think this made it seem like there were fewer puzzles, but I think there were just as many as before, it just wasn’t always super obvious that you were solving a puzzle (and they all but eliminated chore-type puzzles). The cooking mini game and serving mini game were both fun, nostalgic time-wasters in the best of ways. Another nice thing about the puzzles was that they weren’t super difficult as long as you were paying attention, so there wasn’t any need to google solutions or get frustrated. Puzzles get a 9/10 for fan service and perception (after all, perception is reality).

Story: MID really shines when it comes to the story line. The game delves into the full history of Salem, rightfully choosing to discuss topics that were always skirted in earlier games (prejudice, discrimination, slavery, torture, etc.). My only issue regarding the presentation of history is that a lot of the learning is optional, and can be easily ignored or missed. The actual story line of the game is well-established and doesn’t have any gaping plot holes (at least that I noticed on my first play through). There are multiple crimes to solve, multiple items to recover, and thus multiple endings/outcomes to achieve. I can’t go into too much more detail without spoiling parts of the game, but suffice it to say that the story has depth and gravity that might even place it ahead of previous games. Story gets a 10/10 for more mature themes and multiple, successfully interweaving story lines.

Dialogue: While the content of the dialogue is great and forms the foundation for much of the story, it loses me in presentation. First, the line-by-line captioning system is awkward at best, and a monologue behind at worst. I see no reason not to present the player with sentences or paragraphs at a time as before. Second, dialogue options are not so much options as dialogue tasks. You have questions you can ask, but there is no choice of how to ask them or how to respond to an answer. For the most part, you are just choosing the order in which to ask things. This, in my opinion, is a step backward from the previous games, where Nancy could be optimistic, pessimistic, direct, or passive-aggressive. Lastly, there is a strange lack of subject in Nancy’s sentence structure at times. She says “should do xyz” instead of “I should do xyz,” or “wanted to ask about abc” instead of “I wanted to ask you about abc.” While this isn’t really too weird in the context of modern speech patterns, it is still a little awkward. There are examples of this in previous games when Nancy speaks to herself, but never in dialogue with other characters. Again, this isn’t a big deal, but it crops up enough to make it noticeably strange. Dialogue gets a 6/10 for solid content and poor presentation.

Music: At first, the music seems to be nothing special; the main theme is quiet, unassuming, and a bit repetitive at times. But much like the rest of the game, it gets better as you progress. The music in Luminous Infusions and at the end of the game really stick out as great pieces, although the rest of the tracks are also very well-composed. There is thematic continuity between tracks and the tracks also reflect the game’s current atmosphere well. The music, while from a new composer, is still reminiscent of the old games, particularly the mystical tracks in CUR. I’m hoping HeR releases a soundtrack for MID in the future, but I do know there are no current plans for an official soundtrack (though you can find unofficial ones on YouTube pretty easily). Music gets a 10/10 for quality and cohesion.

Nancy: Nancy finally sounds like the late teen that she is meant to be! Nancy is witty and assertive, no longer speaking with the voice of a thirty-year-old and expressing the thoughts of a thirteen-year-old. The new voice actress is just what Nancy’s voice needed, in my opinion, though I have admittedly been a supporter of replacing Lani since about DED/GTH (don’t get me wrong, I love Lani and she will always be the classic voice of Nancy in my head, but I could also admit that her voice was losing its spark and pep). It takes a little while to get used to the new voice, but once it stops sounding different, it’s easy to fall in love with. Another great aspect of Nancy 2.0 is that she’s willing to get into it with other characters, even if they are in a position of authority. Nancy has always been an assertive character who stands up for what is right, even if it’s not easy to do. We see the return of this kind of Nancy in MID, and I hope we don’t lose her in future games. The only thing that I found a tad bit odd was how sugar-sweet Nancy was toward Deirdre. I like how their relationship was updated in order to model more appropriate/healthy female friendships, but it is a little weird considering the canon interaction model set forth by ASH and DED. Nancy’s other relationships have also matured and improved. Nancy gets a 10/10 for assertiveness and expressiveness.

Physical Copy: Well, almost two weeks after the release date, I finally got my physical copy of MID. This is unprecedented, as I always received physical pre-orders the day of or even the day before release. The long wait drove me to buy the digital download, which I didn’t mind doing, but this could be very frustrating for those not willing to pay for the game twice. I was disappointed to find that the disc art is just a copy of the cover art (which is minimalist at best), and not a characteristic color like the other games. The box art seems like it was put together at the last minute, not unlike the cover art. If it weren’t for my compulsive need to own all of the physical copies, I probably would have skipped it. Physical copy gets a 1/10 for slow delivery and lackluster appearance.

Weird Things to Complain About: Yes, there is one background character whose voice sounds like it was recorded on a Motorola Razr, but she says one sentence that you don’t even have to listen to. Yes, some of the background characters are overt clones, but we’ve never even had background characters to complain about before. Should there have been more to do in the Hathorne House or other one-off locations? Yeah, probably, but we were given a ton of locales to visit. The characters were always bobbing around and breathing, but--surprise!--this is something that real humans do. Did their feet/hands occasionally meld with other objects or the environment? Sure, but why were you looking at their feet during a conversation? Admittedly, Teegan sometimes looked like she was trying to scare off a bear or prepare for flight, even I can’t argue that that wasn’t odd. But for the most part, these are minor, petty issues. There weren’t gaping plot holes, there was actually a mystery to solve (looking at you, MED), and we got a lot of the things that we asked for over the years. There is always room for improvement, and this game is certainly no exception. I expect that the next game will make refinements based on our feedback and be even better. HeR completely changed the Nancy Drew game formula, but they used our input as a guide. They’ll take what we say about MID into consideration with the next game, and hopefully over time we will see the same level of improvement we saw from SCK to SEA. They started from scratch, and even though they had five years to work on it, the first time you try something new is almost always the worst. I don’t condone the way they treated us over the hiatus or how they treated their own staff, but I don’t think it’s time to abandon ship yet. If you play this game with nostalgia goggles on and a closed mind, you’re going to hate it, you’re going to ask for a refund. If you go into it with an open mind and excitement for something new, you might just find that you like MID more than you’d care to admit. Weird things to complain about gets an 8/10 for minor oddities that should be expected in a pilot endeavor.

Conclusion: Change is inevitable. If you were around when TMB came out, you might remember the absolute uproar that came with the UI change. People threatened to walk away from the series because of the new menu screen and bulkier interface. If you’ve played the original SCK and STFD, then you know how drastically the games improved over the span of a single year. And compare those games to SEA and it’s clear that the games are always improving. But you have to start (or in this case, restart) somewhere, and MID is our new starting point. The games will get better, and we’ll still find things to complain about (like we always do), because there is always room for improvement. There’s no point in lamenting about how good the game would have looked on the old engine, because that misses the point. The old engine could not deliver what we as fans desired. It could not handle more than six characters or more than eight hours (this is being generous) of game play. It couldn’t give us more expansive environments or smoother navigation. The new engine gave us all of these things, but sacrificed a bit of graphics. Big whoop. I’m willing to bet that none of us got into the games for their graphics, especially those of use who became fans early on in the games’ history. Bottom line? HeR gave us a good game. Not their best game, maybe not even one of their better games, but it’s certainly better than MED or SCKR. And hey, at least we finally got the game. Midnight in Salem gets an 80%, an admirable B-, because the effort and progress is there, but there are definitely things that they could have done better.

#nancy drew #clue crew #midnight in salem #mid #review #open to feedback #wow this was way longer than i intended it to be

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donatello-writes · 6 years ago

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Not Quite Human - Donatello x Reader

Part II can be found here --> (x)

The gentle glow of the television lit up your darkened apartment, you were wrapped up in a blanket on your couch hanging on every word of a news broadcast. Four mysterious vigilantes aided the police department in defeating the ominous alien spacecraft that threatened New York city not but a week ago. A smile crossed your lips as you entertained the idea that if aliens existed in this scenario, perhaps the vigilantes weren’t human either. Gossip flew regarding the identities of the heroes ranging from aliens to monsters, and many accounts claimed to have seen what were described as “swamp things”. A notion that delighted you, as matters of the occult and mythical creatures had always held your interest, even though you knew that none of it was real.

“Maybe I’ll see one of those swamp things,” You voiced to your empty apartment and chuckled.

Deep down within the sewer systems, a certain nerdy turtle sneezed while in the midst of having the meltdown of his life. The champions secured their victory over the Krang, and they finally had some down time, but Donatello couldn’t relax. The brainy terrapin paced back and forth in the living room of the Lair so furiously, one would think he was attempting to wear a hole in the floor. He was understandably restless, as his thoughts on what his older sibling had done whipped around in his head like a maelstrom. A memory so vivid in his mind, it felt as if it’d happened yesterday. The vial of ooze shattering against the walls of the lair, lost forever.

“How could he do this?!–Don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical question…I know Raph is a doer not a thinker,” the teched-up turtle vented his frustrations to Michelangelo, the person he often turned to for emotional support. Much like himself, his little brother was more sensitive and empathetic than their other two brothers.

“I dunno, dude…but hey, it’s not all that bad bein’ green,” the orange masked turtle smiled warmly, trying his best to comfort Donatello, as he always did. Despite his cheerful demeanor, he was hurting over the impulsive decision as well. Raphael meant no malice with his actions, he honestly had no idea what this meant to his younger siblings, but that fact didn’t make up for the outcome.

“Neither of them understand, but I know that you do, Mikey,” the fretful terrapin sighed heavily, meeting eyes with his brother. Both of the young turtles yearned to know what it felt like to be human, to be able to walk around topside without being viewed as freaks or, worse yet…monsters. With their only chance having been destroyed by an act of impulse, they were both understandably distraught.

“Yeah, I totally get it,” Mikey admitted, finally showing his disappointment with the situation. “But what can we do? The purple stuff that we had is gone now.”

Donatello’s expression fell into anguish at the veracity of his brother’s statement. “That’s true, and it’d be impossible for us to successfully secure more from the Shredder…Not just the two of us, anyway,” The bespectacled turtle’s eyes focused downwards as he finally settled down into a seat. “Also, we don’t know for sure if they have more of the formula created.”

Michelangelo’s face almost looked pained at this point, he didn’t want to think about the harsh reality of the situation for even a moment longer. He rose from the table, giving his brother one last half-hearted smile.“Well, it was a nice dream, but what-evs,” the now undeniably gloomy young terrapin patted his brother on the shell before getting up and trudging to his room.

Donatello pinched the bridge of his snout as he sat alone in the common room, despair consuming him. All he wanted was to experience what it was like to be human, and he would never get that chance now. The ooze was unsalvageable, what little remained was now still splattered across the lair walls. His golden eyes became misty as they beheld Raphael’s masterpiece, in all it’s glory. Suddenly, a bit of light reflected off a small portion of the stain, grabbing the brooding turtle’s attention. Was it really still liquid? Impossible.

Jumping to his feet, he approached the wall, inspecting it thoroughly. The ooze had somehow remained viable, his jaw dropped in disbelief. The once sorrowful terrapin’s hope was renewed, all he needed was even the smallest amount for analysis and he could find a way to replicate it. Now filled with excitement, he bounded into his lab to retrieve a petri dish and swab to collect the ooze specimen. He scraped his prize from the surface with great precision, careful not to contaminate it with too much concrete from wall upon which it was affixed. After successfully recovering a sample, Donatello let out a relishing chuckle as he shut himself away in his lab, fueled by enthusiasm and determination.

In the months following the start of his endeavor, he lied about the specifics of it, telling his brothers that he was working on some amazing invention that would aid them in their missions. It was obvious that he couldn’t tell Leonardo or Raphael, as they clearly didn’t understand. And after much debate, he finally came to the decision to leave Michelangelo in the dark as well, not wanting to get his hopes up; that, and he was awful at keeping secrets. The genius worked tirelessly, months rolled by, and before he knew it, a year had passed. He felt as though he wasn’t accomplishing anything, becoming increasingly frustrated with each passing day.

It was 5:00 a.m. when a sleep deprived and starving Donatello stumbled out of his lab in pursuit of sustenance. He wore his purple mask as a necklace and groaned with every step that he took towards to the kitchen. Once there, he made a bee line for the coffee pot, his savior. Raphael had just finished his early morning workout and spotted the elusive mad scientist, stalking him into the kitchen.

“Whaddaya doin’ outta yer geek den?” the question came in the form of a growl as the burly terrapin eyed his younger sibling, who simply responded by shooting a glare in his general direction.

Choosing to ignore him, Donatello simply continued setting up his coffee, clicking the appliance on to work it’s magic, and then reached into one of the cabinets, to retrieve a box of blueberry flavored Pop-Tarts.

“Whut eva…” the hot-headed turtle’s words trailed off as if he had more to say, but he stopped himself; this silence was fleeting, however. As always, he just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, so he started again,“Ya know…when I got a problem wit someone I tell ‘em, but I guess I’m just bawlsier than most.” the bait was set, and he waited for his younger brother to take it. The troublemaker used this tactic with frequent success, but Donatello was in no mood for his shenanigans, and the mechanical sputter of the busy coffee pot was the only thing to be heard between the two turtles.

The still sleepy terrapin proceeded to pour his coffee, and munch on his breakfast, letting Raphael stand there and simmer. When it became apparent that he the he no interest in talking, the rageful reptile’s temper went through the roof. “FINE. I thought so! Avoidin’ any sawt of conflict like usual! Enjoy yer cawffee break.” He stormed out of the room grumbling.

“Conflict…” He muttered to himself as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, the word turning over and over in his head before he had a sudden realization. “That’s…that’s it!!!” He exclaimed, rushing from the kitchen with his coffee mug in one hand, and half-eaten Pop-Tart in the other. The genius sped past Raphael, rattling off scientific terms to himself like a mad man. When he reached his lab, he turned and stopped to stare down his brother before grinning wide and slamming the doors shut.

“DONNIIIIIIE!!!” Raphael roared, racing up to the large laboratory doors and thrusting his fists into them. The doors showed no signs of permitting entry from the assault, but he did leave a significant dent.

*****************************

Across the city, you ran down the darkened streets dressed in a lab coat and business casual. You were late for work, but chose the sweet relief of alertness over punctuality, as you quickly slipped into a small coffee shop to grab a cup. And today, you needed that extra boost of energy more than any other. After securing your liquid adrenaline, you happily headed to work, not needing to walk far. You approached the gigantic facility that was TCRI, and walked inside. As always, you held up your credentials to the guards at the desk, who permitted entry, and touched your badge to an electronic pad which then granted you access through secure titanium doors.

Doing your best to stifle the overwhelming stress that all but consumed you as of late, you drew in a deep breath and went about your normal routine at the laboratory. As the day wound down to a close, you prepared to carry out the mission you had been given. It was now late into the night, and all of your colleagues had long since left for the day.

You remained, working on the latest project involving nano technology as a form of biological warfare. Subtly sabotaging the efforts of the project; in good conscience, you couldn’t allow it to be successful. The very idea of implementing this abhorrent tactic made you cringe, but you did what needed to be done in order to carry out a far more important assignment, retrieving a vial of Dr. Stockman’s highly sought after genetic modification formula. Tonight, you would secure a sample to bring back to your actual employer.

The security guards weren’t even a bother, all you needed was a little bit of Nitrous Oxide to temporarily take care of them. Slipping silently into the main laboratory, you did a quick survey of your surroundings before proceeding. Having already knocked out the security cameras, and programmed them to show previously recorded footage, you were not concerned. Knowing exactly where it was kept, you located the ooze and tucked the vial into your pants pocket posthaste.

“Y/N?” Instantly recognizing that voice, you turned to see one of the head geneticists, Sampson, steadily approaching you from across the room.

“Hello, Sampson.” You greeted your colleague tactfully, showing not even an ounce of lost composure from his unanticipated presence.

“Why are you in here? This isn’t your working sector.” He inquired through narrowed eyes, all the while analyzing you skeptically.

“Doreen asked for my assistance with the centrifugation of subjects 2201XJ8 and 2243XW9.” You had glanced briefly at the recent project files earlier in the day to prepare yourself for just this type of scenario.

“That’s odd…2201XJ8 and 2243XW9 were contaminated and, thus, thrown away several hours ago…” suspicion piqued, he advanced towards you quicker than you could react. Attempts to flee came too late, and he managed to grab hold of your collar. Swiftly wriggling out of your lab coat, you gained freedom from his grasp. Thinking on your feet, you hit the conveniently placed bright red lock down button and slid underneath the door, trapping your coworker inside. Something told you that you weren’t the first person to do that.

Sampson wasted no time dialing a contact in his phone as he watched you escape, “Yes…Hello, I heard that your gang will do pretty much anything for the right price…I have a job for you.” He knew full well that he couldn’t enlist the foot ninjas for assistance, admitting his incompetence to the Shredder was a fate worse than death. Completing the transaction with his hired thugs, he smiled deviously as they confirmed their pursuit of you. The sunrise met your eyes as you fled the building, taking off down the street knowing that you weren’t out of the woods just yet.

*********************************

It had been over a year since Donatello began his quest for the ooze, and now the culmination of his hard work was finally coming to fruition. And in all irony of ironies he, partially, had Raphael to thank for it. The purple liquid bubbled within the beaker that housed it, begging to be tested, and the genius just couldn’t resist. He carried on like a kid who received the keys to a candy store.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t test it right away, what with his brothers in the lair. With all of them present, it would be impossible for him to slip out in his human form unseen. So he waited. Several days later, the police scanner picked up a report of foot clan activity, and Leonardo called his brothers together to discuss plans to investigate. Donatello smooth talked his way out of going, claiming he was close to a breakthrough in his research, which wasn’t a complete lie. He simply neglected to mention that it pertained to the purple ooze.

With his brothers out chasing the foot, the brainy terrapin had the lair to himself, at long last! Well, with the exception of Master Splinter, but sneaking past him was a non-issue. Donatello was beaming as he peered into the vessel that contained his scientific masterpiece, just one sip should be enough…He knew that the effects of his synthetic ooze would be temporary, a purposeful attribute given to it by him, it’s creator. All the purple clad turtle wanted to do was experience what is was like to be human. If, following the testing phase, he felt as though he was meant to be that way, he’d later rework the formula to be permanent. That, however, was a venture for another day, now was the time for experimentation.

Shutting his eyes tight, he drank from the vial. After waiting for a moment, he opened them, unsure of when it would take effect. Suddenly, his muscles began to ache, as a tense feeling surged throughout his body. He watched his fingers divided from three to five on each hand, just as he’d witnessed when he tested the formula previously. Gradually, his skin changed from green to a pale peach and his scales smoothed out into soft flesh. The excited lad tripped over himself while rushing into his bathroom, wanting to watch in the mirror as the transformation unfolded.

Donatello stared back at himself in awe, he had ears! The oversized tortoise shell glasses he always wore slipped down his face more than usual as his snout took the shape of a much smaller, yet still prominent, human nose. Freckles dusted across his pale cheeks and shoulders as wavy raven black hair cascaded down from his head, delicately framing his face and stopping just a few inches past his jawline. He was so distracted by his new facial features that he didn’t even notice his shell had disappeared.

Once the metamorphosis was complete, the triumphant brainiac threw his head back, and laughed like an evil genius. A slight reduction in body mass occurred during his shift in form, not enough to be discernible to the naked eye, however, it was enough to cause his pants to lose their grip on his hips. The villainous laughter was interrupted when his bottoms proceeded to slip from his slender human waist, and he grabbed his Millennium Falcon patterned boxers before those followed suit.

“Oh no…what am I supposed to do? I can’t go topside in the nude.” to remedy his immediate and unexpected need for human clothing, he turned to Michelangelo’s room. That pack-rat of a turtle collected mundane artifacts as if they were valuable treasures to be hoarded, surely he’d be able to find something usable in that mess. Donatello entered the room, piles upon piles of clothing, unusable electronics, and other clutter filled it, along with several empty boxes of pizza. He scrunched his nose at the effluvia that hung in the air, his little brother somehow managed to make his particular corner of the sewer smell even fouler.

Holding his breath, the nerdy young man randomly chose one of the many mounds of oddments and rummaged through it. After some digging, he managed to find one black muscle tee that read “Rad Dude” in a trendy red colored font, a pair of very worn black converse shoes, and a pair of denim jeans, ripped at the knees. The best article of clothing he’d found in the stash being a flannel shirt in various shades of purple. Having no time to be picky, the thief made off with what he’d found.

While returning to his laboratory to get changed, the turtle turned human was nearly knocked out by the putrid clothing that he held in his arms. This was unacceptable, there was no way he was going to wear something that smelled worse than a sewer, he needed to wash the garments before he ventured to the surface. Stepping into the seldom used laundry room, Donatello flicked on the lights and blew the dust from the old machines. As he reached for detergent, he wondered if they even still worked. Tossing the clothing and soap into the washer, he turned it on to find, much to his surprise, that it was still fully functioning.

Now needing to wait for his clothing to go through the entire washing and drying process, the impatient turtle fidgeted in frustration at the unexpected delay. Coming to terms with his predicament, he passed the time by logging the alterations that occurred during his shift in form, to ensure he had enough information to further his research on the ooze’s effects. Making quick work of his notes, he then switched the laundry to the dryer. The waiting game began anew and he swiftly found himself consumed by boredom once more. He wondered what else he could do to fully immerse himself in the human experience.

Thinking about how atrocious his clothing smelled, and worried the washing may not fully rid the garments of their stench, he decided to create a fragrance. Knowing full well that humans often wore scents to conceal smells, but also for the purpose of attracting potential partners. Donatello scoffed at the thought, the likelihood of him finding another person who shared mutual interest during the, more than likely short, duration of his experiment was slim at best.

As if he were concocting a a witches brew, the bespectacled lad swirled together various scents into one of his unused beakers. In no time at all, he had a cologne with top notes of orange blossom and vanilla, middle hints of almond, and a musky base. More than satisfied with his Eau de Don, he dabbed it on gleefully.

All the sudden, a clatter came from the living room, and the sound of his brothers voices could be heard. Donatello’s smile dropped, there was no way they’d already returned from their mission, it felt as though they’d just left. The digital clock on one of his many computers proved him wrong, it was already 4:00am! He’d gotten so carried away in preparation for his excursion topside, that he paid no attention to how quickly the hours flew by.

Thankfully, the time spent wasn’t a complete waste, he documented when he administered the ooze and was tracking the duration of it’s effectiveness. Exactly eight hours had elapsed, and he was still human. Quite an impressive lasting ability, he thought, giving himself a congratulatory pat on the back. Unfortunately, with his brothers now home, he was effectively trapped in his laboratory for the time being. He couldn’t just saunter out of his lab looking the way he did, what a spectacle that would be.

“Looks like I have another sleepless night, er…well, day at this point.” He chuckled to himself, slumping back in his computer chair. It took two more hours before the potency of the ooze came to an end. The reversion from human to mutant being, unsurprisingly, more painful than the obverse. Now returned to his old turtle self, the purple masked ninja ventured out into the common room, only to find his brothers passed out on the couch and the floor. He stifled a laugh, turning on his heel back into his laboratory. Seizing this opportunity, he wasted no time administering himself more ooze and stealing up and away to the surface.

Wintry weather was drawing to a close, and a slight warmth danced on the breeze as spring began to move in. The mutant in human’s clothing relished in the glow of the sun, something he didn’t have the privilege of doing often. Strolling down the street like Toby McGuire in Spiderman, Donatello was smiling from ear to ear. He was topside in broad daylight and not a soul took notice of him, he couldn’t believe it, it almost felt like a dream.

Not paying attention to where he was going, the happy go lucky lad found himself lost in a more secluded side of town. Sure, he could easily navigate New York at night, but the city looked so different during the daytime. Suddenly, a cry of distress shattered his concentration. It came from somewhere nearby. Instinctively, the ninja rushed in the direction from which the voice originated.

The shouts led him to an alleyway where two rough looking men circled around you, your hands poised to fight, but subtle shuddering alluded to hesitancy and fear. They were both very muscle bound, one slightly smaller than the other, with distinct purple dragon tattoos on their arms. When Donatello approached, they immediately took notice of his presence.

“What’s going on here?” He demanded a response from the ne'er-do-wells, despite knowing the answer.

“Get outta here, four eyes.” the smaller thug scoffed, “You see, this little rat has something that we want.” and the larger man chimed in, “So, it’d be in your best interest if you left us to our business.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Donatello stood his ground, “It’d be in your best interest if you left them alone.” He then assumed a fighting stance.

The brawnier of the two men eyed the brave young man and laughed incredulously. “And just what exactly are you going to do to stop us, little man?”

To which Donatello replied, “Looks can be deceiving.” aside from having a height advantage, there was no denying that the thugs had significant size over him. They were far more massive compared to his still muscular, yet lithe, build. Finally acknowledging their potential threat, the two men advanced towards their new target, leaving their prey behind.

The stranger turned hero locked eyes with you, “Run, you have to get out of here, it’s not safe!” an exclamation that was cut short by the smaller thug, who came rushing at him, brandishing a knife. With keen reflexes, Donatello deflected the attack, kicking upwards at just the right moment to send the knife whipping over his assailant’s shoulder. Once you’d seen that maneuver, there was no way you were about to leave. You were far too intrigued by this ridiculously tall young man with undeniably amazing fighting skills, you yearned to learn more.

“Alright, mister fancy feet, it’s time to dance.” the larger man jested as he cracked is fists, fitting brass knuckles onto them. Donatello scanned the area and grabbed a nearby pipe from the dumpster, twirling it through the air, just as he would his bow staff. If there’s one thing his father taught him, it was that anything can be used as a weapon if wielded properly.

“Haha, look at this, I guess dance class is over, and now it’s time for baton practi–” using the metal pipe, Donatello knocked the wind out of the hulking hoodlum before he could even finish his taunt, sending him flying backwards into a pile of garbage.

“I suppose I can strike ‘taking out the trash’ from my list of chores.” Donatello snorted at his own one-liner and his gaze happened upon you, as you watched with wonder. A smile played across your lips, and you laughed at his witticism, waving to him. The suddenly flustered hero awkwardly waved back.

The knife wielding thug recovered his weapon, catching Donatello off-guard as he flirted with you, slipping the knife to his throat from behind. The thug was unsuccessful in his attempt, however, when the captive drove his heel into the man’s foot, causing him to release the knife. While his assailant was distracted, he reached both arms around, heaved the man over his shoulder, and back dropped him onto the hard pavement. There was no recovering from that attack anytime soon. He then shifted his stance to face the other foe, who had since recuperated from the previous assault. The behemoth barreled towards him like a charging rhinoceros.

“Bad move, I know exactly how to deal with this.” Donatello smirked as he anchored himself with the pipe, and delivered a swift low kick to the thug’s ankles, causing him to topple to the ground. Confident that he had both enemies disabled, your victorious rescuer turned his attention to you.

“Are you alright?” the lanky lad inquired as he sprinted to your side, adrenaline still pumping from the fight. He failed to stop soon enough, resulting in him accidentally knocking you against one of the brick walls in the alleyway. The two of you were nose-to-nose, so close that you could feel each other’s breath. His towering form would have been intimidating, if not for the goofy smile on his face.

“Aaah, oh my god, I am so sorry!” He promptly leapt back, “You didn’t need that on top of what you’ve already been through today. I am really, really sorry, I’m such a klutz.” He apologized profusely, running his fingers through his purple tinged black hair, refusing to meet your gaze.

“Jeeze, that was like something straight out of a cheesy rom-com.” You jested, in an attempt to ease his nerves.

Not the reaction that he was expecting, the nervous hero let out a sigh of relief. “Y-yeah, I suppose that it was, wasn’t it?” He stuttered, still a bit anxious, but less so thanks to your funny observation.

“And you’re certainly no klutz, I saw the way you fought off those goons, you’re incredible! How’d you learn to fight like that?” You asked him, eyes filled with amazement and genuine curiosity.

“Well, my father taught me, along with my brothers…” Donatello replied flatly, in an attempt not to appear worked up by your compliment, for fear that he’d make a fool of himself further. Butterflies were forming in his chest, he’d never spoken to another person so close to his age, aside from April and Casey.

Unfortunately for him, you were eager to learn more about your happenstance hero, and before he knew it, he was being quizzed rapid-fire. “Oh, you have brothers? How many?” and with barely a breath in between, you rattled off more questions. “What are their names? What’s yours?”

“Uuuh…three…Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo…And I’m--my names Donatello.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Donatello. My name is Y/N! What interesting names…are your parents big fans of Italian Renaissance artists?” You looked to him, eyes wide with curiosity.

“Okay, stop. STOP. I don’t recall agreeing to a game of 21 questions!” He put an end to your onslaught of inquiries.

Enthusiasm quashed, you backed off, smiling at him sheepishly. Though it wasn’t long before you bounced back, and with one hand on your hip and the other pointing at Donatello, you offered a proposal. “Alright, then…Would you like to play 21 questions?” Your eyes flickering with anticipation, the same kind of unrelenting determination he frequently saw in his brother, Mikey.

From experience with this personality type, Donatello knew it would be easier to simply humor you rather than try to get out of it. He was absolutely baffled by you, your intentions were unclear, and he was not certain that you were someone he could trust. Regardless, he reluctantly agreed to engage in your game.

“I’m so sorry for that…sometimes I get a bit carried away. I enjoy meeting new people and learning about what factors lead to making that person into who they are.” You grinned, playfully kicking up your feet as you strolled down the street together. It was obvious that Donatello was trying to keep his distance, as the space between the two of you was fairly significant, to the point where it appeared as if you were walking separately. “You don’t trust me, do you?” He cursed at how perceptive you were.

“Well, to be honest, no…not really. We’ve only just met.” He stated simply, his eyes scanning you up and down with suspicion. There was a long silence before you broke it with another question.

“How tall are you?” He was amused by the obvious question and quickly answered, “6'6”“

“You must garner a lot of attention walking down the street.” a comment that threw him into a fit of laughter as he thought about what he actually looked like. If only you knew how little he drew attention this way compared to if he strutted down the street in his real form.

“What? HA! Me? No way. Now if I were–” Donatello clammed up, he nearly outed himself to human that he’d just met. As if you’d ever believe him, but still…there was just something about you, you were easy to talk to. He laughed again at the thought before continuing, “Uuuh, so, you said that you have a dog, right?” He attempted to redirect your attention by also engaging in the game with his own inquiry.

“What was that? You just trailed off mid-sentence.” an attempt to no avail, you demanded a reason for his inexplicable change of subject. “And…I don’t remember telling you that I have a dog.” in that moment, roles reversed, and you were the one suspicious of him.

Another misstep, this was very out of character for Donatello; and for the first time in a while, he felt vulnerable. After some quick reflection, he realized that he’d picked up on the dog’s scent during your accidental close encounter in the alley earlier. Though his nose appeared human, his senses themselves, remained as sharp as they’d always been.

“Are you a stalker?” You questioned him bluntly.

“What? No, I’m not stalking you, I promise.”

The sincerity of his answer confirmed your speculation to be false.“Alright…but I’m watching you!” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Who’s the stalker now?” the charming young man shot you a cheesy grin upon delivering his terrible joke. You stuck your tongue out at him, and he chuckled. A sudden breeze whipped up, startling the two of you. Even though the winter weather had mostly gone, a slight chill remained in the air. You shivered reflexively, realizing that you had sacrificed your coat amidst the chaos of escaping from Dr. Stockman’s laboratory.

Donatello immediately noticed your discomfort and removed his flannel over-shirt, giving it to you with a warm smile. His cold blooded innards were not happy with his choice to shed clothing, and he was unable to disguise his own trembling reaction to the cold as he handed you his shirt. Without saying a word, you reached out a shaky hand and took it. While you were putting it on, a blush crossed you face for just a moment, as his scent wafted up from the clothing.

“Thanks.” the pleasantry was all that you could muster for words as you fought hard to stave off your rosiness.

“Purple looks good on you.” that sweet compliment pushed you over the edge, and your face flushed completely red as you turned away from him.

“Y/N…Are you alri–” His sentence was brought to a halt as an all too familiar feeling hit him abruptly, indicating that the ooze’s potency was waning. Aware that his time as a human was now limited, he took a queue from his older brother, Raphael, and acted on instinct. The distressed young man proceeded to back away slowly before breaking out into a full sprint. With your back turned, you were none the wiser. Feeling suddenly alone, you finally turned to find that your escort had vanished, leaving only his flannel shirt to remember him by.

…to be continued.

#this is it...#i really hope that you guys like it #fan fiction #bayverse tmnt #headcanons #donatello x reader #my writing #god i'm so nervous #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #don's quill pen

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imamotherfuckingstar-lord · 5 years ago

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No Goodbyes

Matt Murdock x Reader

A/N: commission for @danileidiota

Summary: The big fight is here; The Defenders vs. the Hand, and you aren’t ready to say goodbye to Matt.

The city was eerily quiet, the apartment lights off except the kitchen. You stood at the window watching for something, but not knowing what. Sometimes you wished you knew where he was at all times, but Matt Murdock could be a man of mystery. That was why you loved him, that was what drew you in years ago and when he had confessed to being the Daredevil of Hell’s Kitchen, it had not really surprised you. It made you worry less about him, if that made sense, but tonight it felt different. When he had kissed you goodbye hours ago, he promised to keep you updated, but the last call you got from him was rushed and he had not said much, but that he loved you. It scared you, and as you stared out the window, you watched the roofs of the surrounding buildings – hoping to catch a glimpse of him.

After an hour of just watching, your realized doing nothing was not going to help – so you started to cook some dinner. Opening the fridge, you studied what Matthew had and it was not much. A trip to the store would be a must, even though Matt had asked you to stay at the apartment after dark. It was not too late, so you grabbed a coat and headed out, cell phone tucked into your pocket.

The night was cool and the city was not as quiet as it seemed up in the apartment, in fact, it felt lively and your mind began to relax, hopeful that whatever the Hand was up to, Matt and the others would successfully shut it down. You had faith in them all, especially Matthew – he was the most faithful person you met, although there were times where he tethered between his own beliefs. Yet, he always found his way and that was enough to calm your heart.

You walked down the street into a grocery shop, walking down each aisle looking for things to stock the fridge up with; eggs, cheese, bacon, and such until your cell phone rang. Immediately, all the calmness was replaced with anxiousness as you saw that it was Claire Temple. Glancing around, you waited until the woman next to you walked away to answer the call.

“Claire?”

“Y/N, you need to come to the Harlem precinct. Matt and the others are here.” Heart dropping, you asked if he was okay. “I checked him out, he’s fine. He’s passed at right now; you should be here.”

Looking down at the basket of groceries, you said you’d go. “I’ll be there, if he wakes up, please do not let him leave before I get there.”

“Don’t worry.” Her voice was strained and that worried you. “Just get here as soon as you can.”

You hung up and rushed to the counter, apologizing and explaining you had an emergency leaving the basket with the cashier. Outside, you held a cab and when you got in, you took a deep breath and told yourself everything would be fine – you just needed to get to him, that was all.

…

The police station was buzzing; officers coming and going through the halls. You managed to get by, claiming you were there to see Misty Knight. They let you in and you walked down the hall, passing by several offices trying to figure out where everyone was; until you spotted Foggy and Karen conversing down the hall. Walking over to the pair, you hugged them both and asked the important question.

“Where is Matthew and was he wearing the suit?”

“He’s an idiot,” Foggy answered and you glared at the man.

“I did not ask what he was, I asked where he was and if he was wearing the damn suit.”

Foggy’s face fell and he cleared his throat. “Thankfully not, but the police want some answers from him. He was found with two bodies, I have to tell you, Y/N, this does not look good.”

“I guess it’s a good thing his best friend is also a lawyer,” you smiled, trying to hold it together. “I need to see him.”

Karen pointed to the room across the hall and you thanked her, taking a deep breath before entering; it smelled like stale coffee and blood. Matthew was laying on a couch, wearing a New York City Police Department tee shirt, looking dead. Closing the door behind you, you walked over to the couch and sat on the edge, reaching down to touch his face. He startled from your touch, jumped up and nearly knocked over the lamp on the end table.

“It’s just me, Matthew.”

“Where are we?” He asked, placing the lamp back down, he stood up and touched his chest. “I didn’t have the suit on.”

“Foggy told me, we’re at the Harlem precinct.”

He stood still for a moment before reaching over to you, he pulled you close and when you embraced him, his body relaxed. “They have Danny, I have to help him. Stick is dead.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his ear, kissing his cheek softly. You caress the back of his head, his hair soft and warm. He could hear your heart beating and asked if you were okay. “Claire called me and said she checked you out, you’re fine but the police want answers.”

“That doesn’t matter, if I don’t get Danny back, the Hand will destroy this city.”

Pulling from him, you touched his face and sighed. “Claire told me Luke and Jessica are here, let’s go talk to them; you need to figure out a plan.”

Matt agreed and you watched as he put on his jacket and glasses – you were scared for him, for the city and for yourself. Of all the times you felt fear, whether it was as a child scared of the haunted house down the street or the first time Matt came to your apartment, bloodied and bruised – none of it compared to how you felt now.

“I’m scared, Matthew.” The words came out low and, in a whisper, but you knew he heard because he reached once again for you. His body was warm against yours and he kissed your temple, telling you things would get figured out. Yet, you noted how he did not promise everything would be okay, that he would be fine and that tore you up.

“Come on,” he said, kissing you softly on the lips. “Let’s go talk to the others.

You followed him out of the room, motioning for Foggy and Karen to not follow – the less they knew the better, but Foggy called out to you and you left Matt’s side to see what he wanted.

“Take this, he might need it.” He handed over a briefcase and you knew what was inside. You gave him a tight hug and when he whispered for you watch over Matt, you just squeezed him back without an answer. Leaving him, you walked into the room Matt went into and saw that everyone was there.

Jessica, Colleen, Claire, and Luke were in the breakroom, and when you walked in, you realized they had quickly devised a plan. You stood in the background listening to what seemed like a suicidal mission to end the Hand. Your eyes watched Jessica and Luke banter back and forth, knowing that they were not like you. They were strong, beyond humanly strong, and Matt had his own abilities. Then there was Danny Rand, who was the Iron Fist and Colleen who could hold her own. That left you, a regular human being – someone who had no superpowers or abilities, but that did not stop you from wanting to go. So, you waited for the group to stop conspiring and followed them out through the backdoors. The night was still cool, and you listened as they devised a time and place to meet. Twenty minutes in front of Rand Enterprise Building.

There was no time to go back to the apartment, so Matt and you dipped into an empty alley. You handed him the briefcase and he smiled.

“Foggy?”

“Foggy.”

He nodded and began to undress, you leaned against the brick wall and watched. Your eyes scanned his chest for any bruises or blood, but he was all good.

“I’m okay,” he said, pulling up his suit. He tossed you the clothes he had been wearing and you folded them over your shoulder. “This is going to work; we’re going to end this tonight.”

“What does that even mean, Matthew?”

Sighing, he zipped up the side of his suit and turned up his head in your direction. “Whatever it takes, it is going to stop tonight.”

“Let me go with you.” Your words came out quiet and Matt shook his head, saying that it was not going to happen. “Why not? Claire is going! I can be useful too!”

“I’m not saying you can’t, I just – I can’ be distracted tonight.”

False anger brewed in your veins and you stepped up to him, slapping him hard on the face. “Fuck you, Matthew. Fuck you, I am not a damn distraction! I’m a person who wants to help – who wants to help the man I love!”

Your chin trembled, tears fell from your eyes and down the sides of your face – hand stung from the slap and you regretted it as soon as it happened. Matt stood there; jaw locked with silence.

“Just stand there, Matthew, stand there and say nothing,” you shouted, pushing him away. “I’m no one, I guess. I hope you figure shit out tonight.”

Your stared at his face, his brown dark eyes and held back the rest of your tears. He listened to the beating of your heart and it killed him, it pained his body to know what he was doing to you, but he could not have you with him tonight. You were not a distraction; you were a risk he was not taking. He could not lose you above anyone else, he cared about Jessica, Claire and the others, but you were his heart. His chest was heaving as you said goodbye and the sound of your footsteps echoed in his ears the further they got from him; his mouth dried and when he opened it to speak, he had to clear his throat.

He called out your name not once but twice – the second time was more of a plead that had you turning around. His figure loomed in the dark alley, it reminded you of the times you would go up to the roof of his apartment and spot him on the edge, looking out to the city. There was nothing distinguished about his features in the dark, but you always knew it was him by the way he stood, and it always made you feel safe.

The roof was dark as you closed the door behind you, there was no point in being quiet because he heard everything. Staying close to the door, you watched him for a few moments – standing there tall and full of mystery, gazing down toward his city. He loved Hell’s Kitchen and saw it as his job to keep it safe, and he did, every night. The two of you had been together for a year before he divulged his secret and it made you closer, it gave your relationship a stronger bind. He trusted you and that was enough to know that you meant something to him, so when he called out for you, you went to him. Then when he held out a hand, you took it and let him pull you up on the edge.

“I won’t let you go,” he said, and you knew that was not lying. His hand held tight onto yours as you stood next to him, the city lights illuminating like a million candles. The noises came swirling up like a soft song playing in the background, a child’s lullaby as Matthew’s hand gripped yours. “I love you.”

Although the two of you had dated for a year, neither of you took those words lightly – always waiting for the perfect time and it seemed it had finally come. Staring over at him, you smiled and squeezed his hand. “I love you too, Matthew.”

The memory washed over your tears, and it felt different now – something was going to happen tonight and leaving things like this with Matt would be the biggest regret of your life. So, you rushed to him and with every ounce of force, your body tumbled against his so hard he had to take a few steps back. He chuckled and begged you to stop crying, wiping the tears from your eyes. His smile was sad but gorgeous as you touched the side of his face, studying it, trying to memorize it. Your fingers traced his jawline, the scruff a little rough on your skin – his bottom lip full as you touched it, your skin making him tremble until both of you had tears falling from your eyes.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” you whispered, cradling his face with both hands. “I don’t want to ever say goodbye to you, Matthew.”

“We don’t have to,” he said, regaining control of his face. He was so handsome in his suit, but he needed his mask, so you gently moved away from him and kneeled to where the briefcase laid on the ground. His hand came to your shoulder as you touched the mask, fingers caressing it slowly until you gripped it and got back up.

Inhaling deeply, you placed the mask on his face and smiled. “Remember the first time you kissed me?”

Matt chucked, adjusting the mask. “It was outside that terrible dive bar Foggy made us to go that night.”

“Yeah, that place had weak drinks.”

The two of you laughed as Matt wrapped an arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him. His other arm slipped up around your neck, pulling your head to towards his. The back of your neck warmed as he rubbed his fingertips into your skin, his laugh giving your insides life.

“We went outside to get you a cab,” he explained, his mouth inches from yours. “You looked so beautiful under the streetlamp.”

“How would you know,” you teased.

“I just knew,” Matt insisted, his lips pursed into a smirk – that knowing smirk of his. “And I thought to myself, it was now or never. I just wanted to kiss you so badly and I could hear the beating of your heart; you were nervous, and I knew you wanted me to kiss you.”

“So, you did,” you mused, tapping his nose with a finger. “It was probably the best first kiss I ever had.”

“Please, keep stroking my ego.”

Smacking his chest light, your eyes fell to his lips. “I love you, Matthew.”

His laugh faded and everything seemed to quiet around the two of you; like the world was being quiet so you could have this moment together.

“I love you, and I know what tonight means,” you continued, rubbing your thumb across his jaw. “I know you might not come back to me, but I do not want to say goodbye. I can’t say goodbye, do you understand?”

Your voice cracked and Matt nodded his head in a frenzy, bringing his forehead against yours. He was trying to keep it in and so were you, so neither of you broke. Instead, he whispered that he loved you, loved you more than anyone in the world and that there were no goodbyes for the two of you.

“I love you; it has always been you,” he said, and you smiled, pressing your lips rough against his. He melted into the kiss and wrapped both arms around you, thrusting his body against yours. Time was ticking, both of you knew that, but he kissed you hard and longing. You groaned into his mouth and open it, his tongue clicking against yours. Feeling your body urging for more, you slowed down the kissing until it was down to gentle kisses, the two of you stopping to breath.

You chuckled and he laughed, sighing deeply. “I have to go.”

“I’m going to head back to your apartment, might pick up some food on the way.”

“It's your apartment too,” he said with a smile.

“Last time I checked, the lease was in your name,” you answered back, touching his chest. The fabric of the suit was smooth, fingers scooting up to his neck. “I’ll see you when you get home, okay?’

“Yeah, no goodbyes, right?”

“Not a single one,” you cooed, kissing him again – this time it was gentle, like the first time he kissed you outside the bar as a yellow taxi pulled up to take you home. It was like a row of flowers blooming in the pit of your stomach, making you feel light. He kissed you once more, touching the side of your face before saying he had to go.

“Be careful, Matthew.”

He nodded and pulled away from you, his hand slowly slipping from yours. “I’ll try.”

You watched as he made his way to the end of the alley, jumping onto a closed trash bin to reach the fire escape ladder. Following his every movement until he reached the roof, you steadied your breathing and told yourself there was no goodbyes, and when he stood at the edge of the roof, his head looked down in the direction of you.

“I love you,” you whispered, knowing he could hear you. He stood still for a moment before disappearing and you were left to put away his discarded clothes. Gathering the clothes, you placed them in the briefcase and walked out of the alley.

Thirty minutes later, you were back at the apartment, with Chinese take out and a few groceries for morning breakfast – Matt would be tired, maybe even sleep in and you wanted to have food for him. Locking up, you settled in the kitchen and started eating at the counter. That’s when you noticed an envelope with your name written on it. Shocked, you placed the chopsticks in your hand down and grabbed the envelope. Opening it, you saw that it was a lease for the apartment.

Tears flooded your eyes and your hands shook as you read your name where his use to be - it was your apartment now too and it hit you like a ton of bricks.

He said no goodbyes, so why did this feel like one?

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#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil #marvel imagine #matthew murdock x reader

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callboxkat · 5 years ago

Text

Infinitesimal (part 39)

Author’s note: Thank you everybody for being patient! <3

Warnings: fear, crying, injuries, blood, illness, over-exertion, death mentions, one accidental misgendering

Word count: 5273

Look for the masterpost in the notes!

...

Patton left Virgil alone in the ruined main room of the house and reluctantly shuffled into the bedroom.

The bedroom, thankfully, had been spared the rat’s destruction. The doorway was narrower than the main one; and the pest must have either been unable to fit, been too distracted by the food to try, or simply not had time before Virgil chased it off.

Patton sank down into the blanket nest, his sore limbs protesting. The ringing in his head hadn’t stopped since he’d woken up that morning, and it seemed louder in the quiet, dark room, making him dizzy. He wasn’t quite as okay as he’d been leading Virgil or the humans to believe, physically or mentally; but he wasn’t what was important: Emile was.

Emile, who had been missing for two whole days at this point. Possibly longer.

Tears pricked at Patton’s eyes, and he took a deep, shaky breath to try to calm down. It didn’t work. Before he knew it, he was full on crying, his hand pressed to his mouth to stay silent, even though it was probably unnecessary. He had plenty of practice in crying quietly. As he lay there, shaking with soundless sobs, Patton could feel the ridge of the thick scar marring his palm pressed against his lips.

He closed his eyes tightly for a moment, squeezing out a couple more tears. They rolled down sideways and collected on the blanket he was laying on.

Patton tried to focus on the sound of Virgil cleaning in the other room, to use it as a sort of white noise to calm down and fall asleep to; but even as tired as he was, he couldn’t do it.

After a few minutes of this, he gave up, opening his eyes again. He rubbed his tears away even as more formed to replace them, looking across at the rest of the far-too-empty blanket nest.

Patton silently reached over and fastened his hand in the blanket directly in front of him: a sky blue piece of fabric with an image of a human house carried by balloons on it. It was one of Emile’s favorites. Emile had told him once that the image was a scene from a movie, but Patton couldn’t recall the name.

Patton choked back another sob and brought the blanket closer, curling around it almost as if it were a teddy bear. He buried his nose in the fabric and closed his eyes.

…

Patton wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, his exhaustion finally overcoming his sadness; but the next thing he knew, he was being woken by a quiet knock at the door. Patton blinked, rubbing at eyes itchy with dried tears, and rolled over. Virgil was standing there, silhouetted by a halo of light from the other room. He had both crutches now, but what really drew Patton’s attention was the look on his face. Virgil looked utterly shell-shocked.

Patton immediately sat up, far too fast if the way the room spun around him was anything to go by. He was sure that he looked like a mess, but all thoughts of hiding that fact left his head at the sight of his friend. “Virgil?” he asked hesitantly.

Virgil didn’t look at him. He took a shaky breath and let it out. “I… I know where he is.”

Patton’s mouth opened in surprise. He stood up almost warily, keeping one hand on the wall. “You do?” He wanted to be happy, to grab Virgil’s hand and pull him out of the house so they could go and rescue Emile; but… Virgil wasn’t exactly acting like this realization was a good thing. His darkly dressed form practically radiated dread. Patton felt the feeling settle in his own stomach.

“Virgil, what’s going on?” he asked softly, unsure if he wanted to know the answer.

“He’s—he’s on the seventh floor,” Virgil said in a near-whisper, his voice cracking. “We alm-most never go there.”

Patton opened his mouth and shut it again. Neither Virgil nor Emile had ever once mentioned the building having a seventh floor, not in the entire time that he had known them. That seemed like a pretty big detail about the building to have never come up. He didn’t like to think about why that might be. He slowly took hold of Virgil’s arm. “Let’s go tell Roman and Logan,” Patton said softly. “They can get to him faster than we can.”

“It’s too late,” Virgil whispered.

Patton took his other arm and shook him once. Virgil blinked, startled, and met Patton’s eyes for the first time.

“Virgil,” Patton said. “We don’t know anything yet. You figured out where he is! That’s great news. M-maybe the seventh floor is dangerous—I don’t know. But we don’t know anything else, so all it does is hurt us by jumping to conclusions. Let’s focus on what we can do. Let’s go down to the second floor, tell the humans where Emile is, and do our damnedest to save him. There’s always a chance, right?”

Virgil said nothing.

“Virgil?”

There was a brief pause, and then Virgil nodded, seeming to come out of his shock slightly. He blinked. “Y-yeah, you’re right. Oh, god, of course you’re right.”

Patton smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Okay, then. Let’s get our stuff together, and we’ll go.”

Virgil nodded quickly and practically dashed into the other room.

Patton swiped at his eyes, dropping his other arm to his side. A released a trembling breath, but he successfully held his tears at bay this time. He didn’t know what could be on the seventh floor that had so thoroughly rattled Virgil; but whatever it was, they couldn’t assume that it was too late to save Emile. He knew the odds were slim, were growing slimmer every moment; but the fact was that they simply didn’t know for sure.

After all, Patton had been missing for what was likely literal years, and no one had ever come to save him. Not a single soul, little or otherwise. Most likely it was simply because no one had known where to even begin to look; but those years in the dark, all alone, weighed on him like a heavy coat that he could never take off. He couldn’t let anything like that happen to Emile.

Patton turned around, impulsively grabbed Emile’s beloved blanket off of the bed, and hurried after Virgil.

…

Within a couple of minutes, the littles were making their way down to the second floor. They moved as fast as they dared, as fast as they could without making a slip up. Neither of them said a word along the way. A part of Patton wanted to ask his what was so dangerous about the seventh floor, but he figured that now was not the time to ask, and he wasn’t sure that he really wanted to know. He didn’t want to waste time; and honestly, Patton didn’t mind the silence. He needed the spare energy for the journey, anyway. He refused to take a break this time, even if he collapsed when they arrived. Virgil occasionally glanced at him in concern as they made their way down through the walls, but Patton just ushered him on each time, refusing to stop. He would be fine.

When they finally reached the shelf on the second floor, both littles stepped out with no hesitation.

“Roman!” Patton yelled, putting his hands on his knees and panting. “Logan!”

At the same time, Virgil practically screamed, “Humans!”

There was a surprised “Oh!” from the kitchen, then a banging noise, and finally a pair of footsteps rapidly approaching. Logan swept into the room.

“Patton? What’s going on?”

“We know where he is,” Patton said quickly. “We know where he is!”

Logan turned towards the kitchen. “Roman!” he called.

“I’m right here,” the other human answered, jogging into the room. He was wearing the same clothes as earlier, when he’d gone with his roommate to search the apartments, but now he wore dragon slippers instead of shoes. “What’s going on?”

“We know where he is,” Patton repeated. “Virgil, tell them.”

“I will fetch the supplies,” Logan interrupted. “Roman, you get the information.”

Roman nodded, and Logan speed-walked back out of the room.

“He’s on the seventh floor,” Virgil said, staring at Roman intensely. Meanwhile, Patton sat down heavily, leaning on one of the knick-knacks on the shelf and trying to catch his breath. His vision swam, but not enough to concern him.

“The seventh? But I thought you said—”

“I know what I said! I was wrong!”

“Okay, okay,” Roman said soothingly, holding up his hands. “Where on the seventh floor is he? Do you know which apartment?”

“7A,” Virgil said. “He’s in 7A.”

Roman paused, and then his eyes widened like saucers. It might have been comical under different circumstances. “Oh.”

“‘Oh’?” Patton repeated, looking from Virgil to Roman and back. “What’s ‘oh’?” Did Roman also know what was wrong with the seventh floor?

Roman looked towards Patton. He looked briefly concerned at Patton’s condition, but all he said was, “There’s a cat in 7A.”

Virgil swallowed, clenched his jaw, and nodded.

Patton’s mouth went dry. His eyes slowly drifted down to Virgil’s tail, to where it ended far too quickly.

He suddenly understood.

He understood why neither little had ever so much as mentioned that floor, much less brought him there. He understood why Virgil had been so sure that Emile wasn’t there, up until….

“But… how do you two know that’s where he is?” Roman asked, voicing Patton’s own question. “It’s a big building. Surely he could be somewhere else? We haven’t searched everywhere.”

“The lights,” Virgil said quietly, offering no further explanation. “That’s where we get the lights.”

…

Emile sighed with relief, setting down his latest haul with the rest of the supplies he had gathered on his trip. He straightened, cracking his back, and dusted off his hands. He rested his hands on his hips, regarding the impressive pile of supplies. He’d need to take multiple trips to take all of this back downstairs. There was far too much for him to carry back himself in one go. Maybe, he thought, he could let Virgil help him with that. Extend an olive branch. Show that he knew Virgil could be helpful.

The eldest little was feeling a lot better after their talk the day before, even if he still believed that Virgil was lying about the reason he hadn’t told him about Patton sooner, about not having thought that Emile would be unwilling to help. To be fair, Emile was pretty sure that his brother was lying to himself about that, too. He seemed to truly believe that he hadn’t considered what Emile would think, but that couldn’t be true. Not with how long it had been going on. But in any case, Virgil seemed to truly regret having done what he did, and Emile had forgiven him, even if it still stung.

Emile sighed, nudging a couple of toothpicks with his shoe. He had everything that he normally collected on these trips, and he still had plenty of time left. So far, his scavenging had gone off without a hitch, and he was ahead of schedule. He only had a couple of items left to collect, in fact. One more stop, and then he could go home.

It was true that this was also the most dangerous part of Emile’s trip, but he’d done it several times before; and he was almost too careful, if such a thing existed. He should be fine.

A few days before he set off on this trip, Emile had been inspecting the lights of their home, trying to figure out what was causing their flickering. He’d realized that one of the lights was about to go out, which explained why that specific one flickered, but not why the whole line of lights sometimes did as well. The circuitry was set up in a way that one light shouldn’t have taken out them all. So, he’d gone and checked out the wiring, searching for an explanation. Fortunately and yet unfortunately, he’d found a section of wire that had been damaged—presumably, chewed by some creature that had made its way into the walls of the apartment building. His guess was either a small rat or a large mouse had done it, based on the teeth marks. He hoped it was a mouse. Rats were cleverer, grew larger, and were overall harder to deal with.

Regardless of what had damaged the wiring, the fact remained that Emile needed to get a new bulb and wire. As bad luck would have it, there was only one tenant in the building who kept a lot of Christmas lights and wouldn’t notice them going missing. So, a trip to the seventh floor it was.

Emile hated the seventh floor. Not only was it cold and far from their home, but it also held a host of awful memories. It was, after all, where he had come closest to losing his only remaining family. He shouldered his bag; and as he did so, the image of Virgil lying pale and still in a growing pool of his own blood, of the cat looming over him with a bloody paw raised, flashed in his mind. Emile winced, the scars on his own arms burning at the memory. With a grimace, he began the climb to the floors above.

It didn’t matter how much time had passed. It didn’t matter that Virgil had healed. Emile would always hate the seventh floor.

…

Patton and Virgil sat together on the shelf, pressed against each other’s sides, Patton’s head resting on Virgil’s shoulder. He was exhausted and scared, but he was determined to see this through. He had one of Virgil’s hands held in his, offering his silent support as his friend told the humans about the apartment where they would likely find Emile. Logan was back now, standing below. Roman, sitting on the couch, was putting on his shoes. He hadn’t bothered to grab a pair of socks.

“When he goes there,” Virgil was saying, “he follows the wall across from the windows in the kitchen. There’s a—the closet in the hall.” Patton felt him raise his arm and didn’t need to look up to know he was pointing in the direction of the corresponding closet in this apartment. “He’d probably be somewhere around there. Unless….” Virgil didn’t finish the thought. Patton squeezed his hand.

“Thanks,” Roman said, getting to his feet. “Are you two going to be okay?”

“We’ll be okay,” Patton confirmed softly. He hoped it was true.

…

He made good time. Emile was a fast climber, even for a little.

Now, he nudged open the doorway into the human apartment and peered out cautiously. He was in the kitchen, at the top of a cabinet. He could hear the television playing in the other room. In another apartment, he might have been dissuaded from his task by the human being home, but not here. This tenant was an elderly woman who rarely ventured outside her apartment, and those rare occasions didn’t seem worth attempting to predict. He just had to hope that the cat was caged, as it sometimes was even when the owner was home. Emile didn’t know or care why.

Emile looked around, confirming that the beast was in its cage in the corner of the kitchen. He let out a sigh of relief, shooting the animal a glare as he opened the door more fully.

Now he just had to make it to the hallway, grab the supplies, and get out.

…

“I think that’s all we need,” Logan said. Roman, at his side, agreed with a nod. He was tempted to reassure the mouse-men, to tell them that they would find Emile, but he knew in his heart that they were probably not going to find him alive. He didn’t want to make a promise that he couldn’t keep.

Logan and Roman turned to go. Just before the two of them left the living room, though, the mouse-man spoke again, in a tearful voice.

“Wait!” he cried. “If—if you find him, and he’s….” He swallowed. “Tell him—tell him Virgil sent you.”

Both roommates stopped in their tracks, then each slowly turned back around. Roman was too taken off-guard to know how to react, but Logan spoke in a calm, level tone.

“We will,” Logan said. “Thank you, Virgil.”

…

Logan and Roman made their way up to the top floor. Roman tried not to think too hard about what they were going to find there.

Roman knocked three times. Strong, authoritative. Official. A moment passed before the door opened. A short, elderly woman in thick bifocals stood there, squinting up at them through their battered frames.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked. Her voice crackled like a poorly-watered houseplant.

Roman did a little bow. “Certainly, my good lady. My colleague and I were sent by the landlord. If you would be so kind—”

“Oh, are you here about the mice?” she interrupted. “Those pesky things. And here I thought John didn’t give a damn about it. Come in, come in.”

The two men gratefully accepted. Roman decided that now was not a good time to point out that their landlord’s name was Joan, not John.

“Now, ma’am, if you could please tell us, why do you think there are mice in your apartment?” Roman asked. He hoped that this was merely a coincidence, and that it didn’t actually have anything to do with the missing mouse-man; but he seriously doubted it.

“I saw them! I was taking a nap in my chair over there, and I got up to get a glass of water, and there it was! Would’ve thought I’d imagined it, since my eyes don’t work so well anymore, but I nearly caught one of the vermin. Gave it a good smack, too, but it got away. Broke my remote, even! So I can’t watch my stories, and now I can’t even find the darned mouse. Maybe you two will have better luck. I know it’s still here somewhere—Poor Fluffy has been going bonkers trying to get the thing.”

Roman tried not to shiver at the woman’s words. This did not bode well for Emile.

“Where did you last see this mouse?” Logan asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“Up there, on the cabinet.” She stepped to the side and pointed an arthritic finger towards a china cabinet in the kitchen. A couple of angel statues stood on top, one on either end of it. One of the statues had been knocked over, leaning against the wall. Between them was a haphazard, precarious pile of newspapers.

Roman nodded, trying not to seem impatient. “Alright, thank you, ma’am. Why don’t you go relax, and we’ll take care of your mouse problem?”

“Just like that?”

“We… we have a new spray, cutting edge technology. It’s completely organic, safe, and drives away pests. 100% natural. Why don’t you just go back to whatever you were doing before we got here, and we’ll get started.”

“How much?” the woman asked, squinting slightly.

“Completely free!” Roman quickly assured, eager to get to that cabinet as soon as possible. “You’ve been troubled enough dealing with these pests.” He paused. “Oh, and would you mind bringing Fluffy with you?” He put a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “This one’s allergic to cats.”

Thankfully the woman didn’t seem eager to keep talking for too long, just in case they changed their minds about not charging her. She croaked another quick thank-you and called for her cat, who came trotting over reluctantly from the direction of the china cabinet.

Roman didn’t like that.

She scooped up the cat and finally left, tottering off down the hall towards one of the bedrooms and shutting herself inside. Roman and Logan simultaneously raced towards the cabinet. Logan knelt down first and peered behind it, squinting.

“Emile?” he called softly, only to be met with no response.

Roman turned on the flashlight on his phone and shined it around the edges of the cabinet, pausing when something glinted. Silently he reached up and picked up the angel statue that had fallen over. It was about a foot tall, ceramic, with wings spread out behind it. A chunk of its robe had been broken off, and wedged into the tip of one of its wings was a small piece of metal. It was a fishhook, bent sharply to one side. A long, pale blue string trailed from it, the frayed end reaching about halfway to the floor.

“I’m guessing this is his,” he murmured, holding it up for Logan to see.

Logan positioned himself in front of the cabinet. “Roman, I need to move the cabinet if we’re going to reach him, but I need to know that it’s safe. Can you see him?”

Roman knelt down and looked closer at the floor. “There’s a bunch of papers and dust and stuff,” he said to explain the wait. He put the fishhook on the floor behind him, reached behind the cabinet, and pulled out a few of the papers—mostly scraps of old newspapers, the print faded. If Emile had fallen here, perhaps those had been enough to break his fall?

After the first few were removed, Roman stopped. “I think I can see his head.” He wasn’t moving. Roman bit his lip, looking up at Logan. “He’s—he’s close to the wall. You can move the cabinet. Slowly.”

Logan nodded, his expression impassive, and started to slowly scoot the heavy china cabinet away from the wall. His expression was tight—not only from the strain, but he had to be careful to not let any of its contents fall over. Roman couldn’t help him with it without leaving his spot, and he wanted to be extra sure that nothing more happened to the mouse-man.

“Okay, that should be good,” Roman whispered. He reached in and removed a few more papers, until he could see Emile properly. He was sitting up against the wall, in the very middle between where either end of the cabinet had been, his form slumped. He must have dragged himself there, probably to stay out of reach of the cat. “I think he’s unconscious,” Roman said. He hoped that was all it was. He didn’t know if he could face Patton and Virgil if…. Roman shook that thought away. “Come help me.”

“Let me get him out,” Logan requested, already pulling items from his bag. “We have to be careful to jostle him as little as possible, and you don’t have any first-aid training. Can you see any injuries?”

Roman shined the light over Emile again. His face was turned away, his left side towards Roman. “I can’t tell.” Maybe he was just asleep? That was possible, right?

“Let me in.”

Roman moved aside, letting Logan take his place. He couldn’t see Emile anymore, but he watched as Logan pulled a small, lidless cardboard box, like the kind a bracelet might be sold in, from his inside jacket pocket. Roman watched as Logan put it on the floor, along with some scissors, a laminated 6-inch ruler, and one of those foam pencil grips that he remembered using in middle school. Logan must have found it buried with his craft supplies.

…

Logan crouched down where Roman had been sitting, putting his supplies at his side. He turned on a flashlight that he’d brought and set it on the floor at his feet to illuminate the area behind the cabinet. The flashlight rolled slightly, settling in the groove between two clay-colored tiles.

He gave his eyes a second to adjust, and then spotted the tiny “mouse-man”. Like Roman, Logan couldn’t see any injuries from this angle; but the fact that he remained so still, crumpled awkwardly against the wall without reacting to their presence, was not reassuring.

“Emile?” he whispered, hoping for a response this time.

Again, it seemed that Emile didn’t hear him. Logan grabbed the laminated ruler and started to cut it, putting small slats in either side of it. He was trying to create a makeshift backboard—for all they knew, Emile could have a spinal injury from a fall like that, and Logan didn’t want to make anything worse. He reached forwards, intending to retrieve Emile, but paused as he shifted against the wall, groaning softly.

The “mouse-man” turned his head towards Logan, who inhaled sharply.

Blood coated the right side of Emile’s face, gleaming a dull red where the light hit it.

“What’s wrong?” Roman asked, hovering nearby. Logan waved him off silently.

“Hi,” he whispered. “Please do not panic. Your brother, Virgil, sent us. May I get you out of there? I promise to be gentle.”

The “mouse-man” blinked lazily. Only one of his eyes was open. He didn’t seem alarmed by Logan’s presence, or by what was going on. Logan wondered if he even realized that the humans were there.

“I’m going to get you out of there, now,” Logan said softly. He reached into the gap and pulled out a few more pieces of paper to make space, then reached in with the ruler. He slipped it behind Emile’s back, gently holding him against it. The “mouse-man” let out a low whine, and Logan winced. He gently maneuvered him down, fully onto the backboard, and then out from behind the cabinet, laying him in the bracelet box he’d brought. Emile’s eye fluttered shut as he was laid down.

In the light, his injuries only looked worse. The blood on his face was only partially dried, matted in his hair and smeared across his face, dripping down onto his neck and chest. A few specks had made it onto his patched gray pants. Logan couldn’t see the wound itself, which was covered in a scrap of fabric, clumsily tied in place with another piece of the broken blue string, which had already started to loosen. His clothes and skin were filthy with blood, sweat, dust, and whatever else. There was also a bright red mark on his bicep, and that arm overall looked… off.

“Possibly dislocated,” Logan commented, looking at the arm. “Or broken. But I’m more concerned about this head wound….”

Roman bent over, trying to get a look. He winced.

Logan got to work skillfully fitting a piece of string in the slats he’d cut in the laminated ruler, lacing it almost like a shoe to hold its occupant still. They had to get him out of here in one piece before they could better address his injuries. “Roman, could you hand me the pencil grip and the scissors?”

Roman scrambled to do so, and Logan cut the grip into a makeshift collar to keep his patient’s head still. By some miracle, it was nearly the perfect width: If anything, it was loose, but insignificantly so.

When Logan moved back, picking up the small box Emile lay in, Roman shone his own flashlight behind the cabinet again to make sure they had everything. He paused when something caught his eye, then reached in and picked up what turned out to be a small bag, fashioned out of leather and with a small, very familiar button holding it shut. Roman’s heart clenched, but he just stuck it in his pocket and grabbed the bent fishhook.

“I think we are ready to depart,” Logan said.

Roman nodded and got to work shifting the cabinet back to where it had been before. He gathered the paper scraps they had pulled out from behind it and tossed them in a nearby wastebasket.

“Would you mind going ahead and telling the others about this development?” Logan requested. “I want to stop somewhere and take care of some of these injuries before I bring him home.”

“Yeah, you got it. But… is he gonna be okay?”

Logan looked down at the “mouse-man”, frowning. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully.

Roman bit his lip, cast one more glance at the jewelry-box-turned-gurney, and hurried out of the apartment.

The door shut with a bang, Roman having made less of an effort to slow it down than Logan felt he probably should have. Logan glanced towards the box as he heard another groan, but his attention was pulled away as a door opened. The little old lady from before shuffled into view, looking confused.

“Young man,” she croaked. “Are you slamming my doors? And where did that handsome fellow get off to?”

“My—my colleague unfortunately had to leave,” Logan stammered, quickly hiding the box that Emily lay in. “I’m sure he didn’t slam the door intentionally. It is undamaged. I only need a few more minutes, and then I will be leaving.”

The woman frowned, looking towards the door and squinting at it—whether this was skepticism or purely because she could barely see it, Logan did not know. After a moment, she turned back towards her room, muttering.

Once she was gone, Logan looked to the small box in his hand. He was both startled and relieved to see that the tiny man in it was looking right back at him—one eye half open, the other mostly hidden from view.

“Emile?” Logan whispered. He held up a finger and brought it slowly from right to left. The small, injured person’s gaze followed it. “Try not to move,” Logan whispered, unsure if the “mouse-man” was able to understand him. “My name is Logan. Virgil sent me—your brother. I’m bringing you home.”

Emile’s just let out another small groan. Logan wasn’t sure he’d heard him, but he figured that the most important thing was getting him out of there. Logan carefully stood, holding the box as still and level as possible.

…

“Patton! Virgil!” Roman called out as soon as he opened the apartment door. “We found him!”

There was a scrambling noise, and then a shout: “Where?! Is he okay?”

“Logan has him,” Roman said, entering the living room. Virgil and Patton were there, Virgil standing at the edge of the shelf, Patton getting to his feet beside him. “They’re on their way.”

“Why isn’t he with you?” Virgil demanded. He was visibly shaking, even from here.

“Logan’s better at… this kind of stuff. I came ahead to tell you the update.”

“‘This kind of stuff’?” Virgil echoed. “What kind of stuff? Is he okay? Is he even alive?”

The image of Emile’s bloodied face flashed in Roman’s mind’s eye, and he faltered. Patton moved to Virgil’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. Virgil shrugged him off.

“Roman!” Virgil’s voice grew shrill as he stabbed down one of his crutches for emphasis.

“He’s—he’s hurt,” Roman confirmed. “It looks like he fell off a cabinet. The tenant—she, um…. She threw a remote at him.”

Virgil froze. Patton returned his hand to his shoulder, and this time, Virgil didn’t seem to even notice it was there.

“He… he hit his head, and there’s something wrong with his arm. Logan wants to move him as little as possible, so it might be a while before they get here,” Roman said, speaking slowly. “But the cat didn’t get him, and he is alive.”

“How bad?” Virgil asked, his voice cracking.

“I don’t know, Virgil; I just don’t,” Roman said, shaking his head. “Logan’s smart, though; and I promise you, we are going to help him as best we can.”

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #infinitesimal!sides #g/t #sanders sides g/t #ts fic #sanders sides fan fiction #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #emile picani #fanfiction #ts fanfic #infinitesimal fic #*squints*#I think this is good... but just wait #I'm gonna post it and then 10 dumb typos are going to appear

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heoneyology · 6 years ago

Text

Silent Feelings

A/N: Written for @hongjoong-kim 💕 This was a ton of fun to write and gave me a bunch of Jongho feels so I hope you enjoy it c:

Pairing: Jongho x Reader

Genre: fluff, 14/70/80 from 100 Ways to Say I Love You prompt

Word Count: 2372

Summary: A night out with friends turns into an one-sided emotional night you’d rather not remember—until someone unexpected comes along and sneaks his way into your heart. But, you realize, he’s been there all along... and you just never realized it.

It was possibly the single-most ridiculous thing to be upset over, you admitted to yourself silent. Yet you still found yourself upset. It wasn’t like he was your boyfriend, you had no claim over him. You sigh, staring down at the drink in front of you on the bar top. Idly, you run your finger over the edge of your empty glass. The contents had long been emptied, and not even the slight buzz you were feeling was enough to wash away your emotions.

But still, you wonder, if you were going to agree to be someone’s date for a night, even if just on a friends basis, shouldn’t you uphold that as a promise? This went against so many silent agreements to friend code. You frown down at your empty glass. Maybe another drink?

You dare a peek over your shoulder. There he was, across the room—off dancing and having fun with someone that wasn’t you. The first pretty girl that had batted her eyes at him that night had caused him to turn into a pile of useless pulp.

This was supposed to be a night to let go of your stresses, but somehow you found yourself more stressed out than before. The entire point of the night had been to simply have fun and let go for the weekend, not think about anything and not let the worries of daily life get in your way. Have fun and let loose with no repercussions. That had been the plan, anyway. You’d both come with an entire friend group, and this had turned into the outcome.

At least everyone else had stayed loyal to their respective dates, friends or not.

You sigh, pushing your glass away abruptly with enough force that you almost shove it straight off the bar top. As the song changes, melodically smoothing out into something slower, you decide it’s time to blow the entire joint. Staying home would probably have been a better idea, anyway, and you feel foolish for allowing yourself to be persuaded into this weekend by your friends. Returning to the comfort of your apartment and your own bed was enticing, if not for the fact that it was now a two-hour train ride away.

This night was just bumming you out more than necessary, now—and the aftermath would be something everyone would have to face together when you all woke up the next morning in the hotel rooms you’d rented out.

Making to leave, you push yourself to your feet, sliding off the bar stool. You take a moment to pause, fixing the skirt of your dress.

“Can I have this dance?”

Surprised, you glance up at the voice that suddenly interjects your escape. Lifting your gaze, you meet Choi Jongho’s brown eyes. He has a sweet yet expectant smile on his face. It softens his expression in a way that melts his brown eyes, and you find yourself melting at the sight. Of everyone in your friend group, Jongho had always been such a sweetheart to everyone.

Just over his shoulder you can see the dance floor, which had been filled with an almost suffocating energy from the upbeat music, shift as everyone slows their pace. A small sigh escapes past your lips. It wasn’t his fault, he didn’t know how terrible your mood was at the moment.

You’re about to decline when he lifts an upturned hand out toward you.

Maybe he didn’t know your mood, but he did know that you were terrible at saying ‘no’ to people.

You glance once more over his shoulder, gnawing at your lower lip. You really didn’t want to go out there, let alone go anywhere near your crush and whatever girl he’d picked up for the night. But you can’t find a plausible excuse to get out of this. The entire reason for the weekend getaway trip was to forget things like this, anyway.

Taking his hand, you attempt to offer up what you hope is a smile. You really didn’t want to take this dance, but not only was it difficult to say no—it was especially difficult to say no to him, of all people. It wasn’t fair to take this out on him.

Of all your friends, you had to admit you felt closest to Jongho. At the very least, dancing with him was better than someone else. He did a great job at seamlessly interjecting himself into different situations and conversations, getting along with everyone with such ease. For his age, he was mature beyond his years. He always knew the right thing to say, at the right time. But he was also surprisingly youthful amidst the maturity he showed, often breaking out into song and dance, and cracking jokes, at the most random moments. His sense of humor was the type that drew everyone in.

Even though you had a crush on someone else—though your heart currently ached at the thought of that—you had to admit that, along with the amazing personality, Jongho was quite handsome. He had soft features, with fairly prominent cheekbones, and even softer brown eyes. He was athletic, and well-built in a way that felt protective, rather than intimidating, with broad shoulders and lean muscles. Just standing next to him could make anyone feel safe.

Jongho gives your hand a small squeeze as he leads you to the dance floor, turning to face you. Keeping hold of your hand, he lifts it and slips his other around your waist, pulling you a little closer. He leads you in the slow dance, his movements careful, catching on to your distraction.

“Wait.” A thought comes to mind then, and you glance up, glancing over to your hands, suspended in the air next to you. You let out a small laugh at the absurdity. “Isn’t this too formal for a club setting?”

When you look at him, you find yourself taken aback to see Jongho studying you carefully, but with such an intense gaze. Maybe it’s the lightning of the club, neon hues of pinks, oranges, and purples that fall across the patrons like glowing halos—but the intensity in Jongho’s pupils is so intense it almost seems electric.

You tense, about to step away from him. You aren’t sure why, but you suddenly feel small and hyper-aware under his stare—but before you move, he slips his hand from your own, sliding it down to your wrist. He leads he hand he’d been holding to his shoulder, so both your hands are draped around his neck.

“Better?” He wonders, dropping his hand down so both rest at your waist. He tugs you forward gently, pulling you closer to him. You can’t help but stiffen in his arms, aware at how close you were, swearing that he could probably feel your heart pounding wildly against the confines of your rib cage. His typically warm, comforting demeanor somehow feels different.

If he notices how tense you’ve become, he doesn’t say anything. “Not as cheesy for you?” He teases lightly.

“Yeah, doesn’t feel so much like high school prom anymore,” you joke, letting out an unsteady breath. You can’t help but focus on the way Jongho feels against you, so much closer than you’re used to; his strong arms wrapped around you while your bodies sway to the smooth, slow music, melding together.

You try your hardest not to focus on the proximity of Jongho, but you also find that if you don’t, you mind wanders toward the man your thoughts had been on at the start of the night, and what it would be like to be in this same position with him. But then you can’t help but wonder about the girl he’s with, and so you allow yourself to indulge in Jongho’s presence, figuring it’s better than anything at this point.

“You know,” Jongho suddenly speaks, his voice in your ear. You lift your gaze from a spot on his shoulder you’d trained your eyes to in an attempt to not look anywhere else, turning your head a fraction to look at him. “You’re important, too.”

For a moment, you stare at him, dumbfounded by his words. Brows furrowing together, the only thing you can think to ask is, “What?”

The statement feels completely out of the blue, you aren’t sure you’re hearing him correctly over the song for the slow dance, coming through the speakers at a deafening volume.

Jongho turns his head partially to meet your gaze. “I’m serious. You’re important. Why do you let him treat you like that? String you along like that?”

“I just—” You start, before cutting yourself off. You aren’t sure how to sum up the words, wanting to defend yourself. To defend him. But you can’t. You can’t find the reasoning to do so, and you can’t find a way to put it into words.

Honestly, Jongho is right… why did you follow so blindly after that boy? He’d never paid you more attention than necessary. You supposed that’s how infatuation worked, how crushes worked. They were short-lived, but intense moments of passion or admiration. They could blind you and make you do ridiculous things. Jongho’s words settle over you like freezing cold water, realization setting in.

The slow song nears its end, and without pause, the speakers thunder back to life with a louder, more upbeat song. Immediately, you break away from Jongho. His words leave too lasting of an impression on you, and in that moment you decide it’s time to follow your earlier instinct to get the hell out of the club for the night.

“Hey, thanks for the dance,” you say quickly, turning on your heel and escaping successfully this time. You think you hear Jongho call after you in surprise, but you’re already pushing through the crowd, lost in the sea of bodies. They part for you as you slip through, and when you finally reach the exit of the club, the chilly night air comes as a shock to you in your short dress.

As your body adjusts to the outside temperature, a shiver passes through you. You decide to walk, idly heading away from the club as you meander down the street. Moving is better than standing still in the cold, although it’s honestly not that bad. It’s the middle of spring, and temperatures are warmer, but the nights are still a bit crisp if not properly dressed. You reach into the pocket of the leather jacket you’re wearing as you walk, slipping out your phone to check a few apps.

Because it’s prime time for activity, the next Uber won’t be available for at least thirty-five to forty minutes. You lift your gaze from the screen of your cell, glancing around at your surroundings—spotting a bus stop. It’s a better place than any to wait this late at night, you figure, deciding to make yourself comfortable.

Another shiver passes through you as you sit at the bus stop bench, the cool metal another start against your bare skin. Sighing, you reach into your pocket again to pull out earbuds, slipping them into your phone, and then into your ear, focusing on the music to drown out the disappointments of the night and Jongho’s words. The saddest part was that you hadn’t even had enough alcohol to wash away any of these mixed emotions.

The music in your ears does a good job at blocking out the sound of the real world around you. You don’t notice that there’s company at the bus stop with you until a headphone is being snatched from your ear. Startling in surprise, you let out a yelp—ready to propel yourself up from the bench—before you notice Jongho plopping down beside you.

“J-J-Jongho?!”

All he does is nod, leaning forward for a moment to rest his elbows on his knees. You realize that he’s panting, catching his breath. Had he run after you?

“God, woman,” Jongho finally breathes out, sitting up and turning to look at you. “You’re hard to catch.”

“Sorry… I guess?”

Jongho shakes his head in exasperation, before suddenly leaning back—and to your surprise, he drops his head right on your shoulder. His shoulders are still rising and falling heavily from the sprint you assume he’d made, and at his proximity, you smell a bit of alcohol you hadn’t caught wind of back in the club.

“Jongho…?” You ask quietly, afraid to move. You feel your heart again, hammering loudly in your chest. There’s no way he can’t hear it. It’s so loud it’s pounding fills your ears.

He shakes his head again, against your shoulder this time. “Let me stay like this,” he murmurs. “You’re warm.”

You give a small nod, not sure what else to say or do, and attempt to ease yourself back into a relaxed position. But you can feel your thumbs tapping nervously where the fingers of your hands are wrapped around your phone, and you find yourself at a loss of what to do in this situation.

For the life of you, you could never remember being this nervous around Jongho. He’d always been a sort of safe haven—not just to you, but to all of your shared friends. Maybe you’d had more to drink than you thought…?

You jerk your hand in surprise at Jongho’s sudden touch against your skin. Glancing down, you bite your lower lip, watching as he winds his hand beneath one of your own, nervously twitching. Gently, he pries it free from the hold on your phone, snaking his fingers between yours and resting it there between your laps.

“I mean what I said earlier, you know,” he murmurs.

Slowly, you nod, feeling your cheek rub against the top of his head. His fluffy hair tickles your face. Staring at the empty street, you gnaw at your lower lip and wonder just how long it’s been like this—how long had it gone on, where everyone knew, except you? How long had you gone not noticing?

He gives your hand a small squeeze.

You stop biting your lip, letting out a small smile. Easing yourself up, you rest your cheek against the top of his head, where he rests on your shoulder.

You return the notion, squeezing his hand back.

#jongho fanfic #ateez fanfic #jongho imagine #ateez imagine #jongho scenario #ateez scenario #ateez au #jongho #ateez jongho #ateez fanfiction #m.writes

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buckysforeverprincess · 6 years ago

Text

What Do You Want From Me? Ch 21

Lance Tucker X Reader

Words: 3369

Warning: Language

A/N: This is the final chapter. There is a short epilogue, but that’s it. Thanks for reading my Lance fic, and I hope you all enjoyed it!

“Did you hear what I said?” You were standing next to him at the kitchen island, trying to go over his schedule for the day. The man's face was distractedly in his phone.

“Huh, yeah-sorry! Meeting with my agent at eleven, his office. Then I need to swing by that baby store and pick up the stroller that just arrived. After that I need to go grab the last few items on the Christmas list, and...be to the gym by five for the Christmas party for the kids and families. Did I miss anything?” Lance grins at you, but it slowly fades as the look he's getting in return makes him realize he did in fact miss something very important.

“I said they've scheduled me for tomorrow.”

Lance looks at you surprised, he obviously doesn't know what to say.

“You ok?” You ask.

Lance still hasn't come out of his shock. “Uh-huh. But-um, when did you find this out?” Lance knows you went to the doctors yesterday and thought he would have been told shortly thereafter.

“Doc told me yesterday, and before you get upset, I was going to tell you, but you got tied up in that photo shoot and I was in bed before you got home.”

Lance nods and accepts that answer, but it still doesn't make him happy. “You could have text me...I would have answered.” Lance now has his arms wrapped around you.

“Oh, no! You're a total fucking diva when you're at a shoot. I was not setting myself up for the brunt of that shit show!” You laugh, and he smiles. He leans in for a quick kiss, and you gladly welcome it now that you officially could.

“So, here's what I propose. Today's December twenty first. Let me cancel my meeting, and we go do the other things together. Let's spend this last day together before we welcome our children tomorrow.” Lance still has his arms around you, and you melt even further into his touch.

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” You place a quick kiss to his lips and waddle your way into the bathroom getting ready for the day out with Lance.

“Everything ok, baby?”

The two of you had been out for a while and were now having a much needed lunch at your favorite deli. You had been having contractions all morning, but really weren't worried about it. Dr. Tucker said Braxton Hicks was common being this far along, and you were scheduled for delivery tomorrow anyway. All you had to do was make it through the day and be at the hospital at eight am. Nothing to worry about.

“Yeah, just having contractions,” you told him nonchalantly, “I'm good, just hungry and tired.”

Lance scrunched his face, contemplating your answer, but let it go. “Alright. We'll see how you do after you eat. If you're still feeling tired, we're heading home.”

You nod and take a bite of your turkey club. The flavors do not disappoint, and you let out a lewd moan as you swallow it down.

“Careful, baby,” Lance chuckles, “Those noises are reserved for me in the bedroom. Don't want to make anyone jealous!” He smiles, but you don't. The sandwich suddenly not agreeing with your stomach, and you feel like you could vomit. “You ok?” Lance is a little worried about the look on your face, and he should be. Something just doesn't feel right to you. You may need to go in tonight instead of tomorrow if you keep feeling like this. The pressure in your stomach is too much to handle, and the pain in your back is getting intense.

“Lance...I think-I need to go...to the hospital...now.”

He gets it. Lance jumps up and moves over to your side to help you up. Lance, who under normal circumstances would clean up after himself, but not now he needs to get you to the hospital and lucky for you, his Cadillac is parked right out front.

Getting you to the hospital is easier said than done. The streets are littered with last minute shoppers and cars everywhere. Lance is loudly cussing, and you start to count how many times he could say ‘fuck’ on the way to your destination. You lost count when the contractions became more intense and shorter, signaling to you that this was active labor and not Braxton Hicks. It looks like Team Tucker was ready to make their debut today.

You know Lance got you to the hospital. You also know you were taken to labor and delivery. What you don't recall is getting on the gown and onto the bed that would serve as the place you would bring these twins into the world. However, you do know when Lance finally made his way up and into the room, strutting in like he owned the damn place.

“Fucking finally! Where the fuck’ve you been?”

Lance looks at you with a sense of shock and awe. “What the fuck, Y/N! I had to park the car. By the time I was done they’d already brought you up here. Chill out, I got here as fast as I could!” Lance was standing with his hands on his hips, defending himself to you.

“How many phone numbers did ya’ get along the way?” You had no idea where any of this was coming from, but the words were already flowing out like hot lava from a volcano.

“None! See, I'm in love with this crazy woman, who is in labor and even though she's having contractions, she's still using this moment to yell at me for my past issues!” He lets out a sigh, hoping you drop the subject.

There wasn't time to say anything else before another contraction hit and you were trying to breathe through the pain. You really wanted it to stop but you knew this was a natural part of labor and in the end, everything would be worth it.

Lance looked at the monitors and back at you with a look of confusion. “Where's her doctor? Are you guys giving her anything for the pain?” He questioned the nurse who was busy preparing the room.

“Anesthesia is on their way, and so is her physician. I expect them both here soon.” The nurse answered as calmly as possible, most likely having dealt with panicked new parents regularly.

Lucky for you, anesthesia came before your doctor, and once that epidural kicked in, you were in an entirely different world. So what if you couldn't feel the bottom half of your body. It greatly reduced the pain, and the irritation of your boyfriend at your side. Lance was becoming increasingly antsy and your contractions were speeding up. You just wanted him to stop being him until these babies made their appearance. After that, you'd take his assholery in spades.

“Sorry I'm late!” You recognized the voice of your very attractive doctor coming into the room and announcing his presence.

“What the fuck?!” Lance stands up, looking directly at the man who's just walked in.

“I could say the same thing!” The two look like they’re about to have a pissing contest right there in the delivery room.

“What are you doing here Drew?” Lance has immediately gone into defensive mode. You're sure his asshole side is about to make an appearance.

“I know you're lacking some very important brain cells, but I thought it'd be obvious given my profession that I'm about to deliver a couple of babies!”

Yep, pissing match has commenced. Dr. Drew successfully throws out the first punch.

“Typical Drew. Always need to have your hands in someone's vagina! Clearly some things never change. This one's off limits, so back the fuck off!” Lance’s arms are now on his chest, dominance strongly asserted.

“I think you got the wrong guy...last time I checked, you're the one who can't keep his dick in his pants. I'm surprised that thing hasn't fallen off yet!”

Ouch burn! Second point goes to the hot as fuck doctor. He obviously came to the gun fight with a fucking AR-15, decimating Lance Tucker.

Lance looks like he's about to go bat shit crazy on the doctor, and all you can do is lay there and watch, fighting through each new contraction as they come closer and closer. Even the nurse is highly entertained by the drama unfolding in the room and shows no signs of interrupting the ongoing cock fight between them. Eventually something has to give, but you're not sure who's going to be the one to stop it.

“Ya know, I'm tired of the self-righteous act you got going on here! Admit it...The only reason you went into this field was because you couldn't get a pussy to save your life. That's the only way you'll ever get your face in one!” Lance yells at the man, and boy, that does not look like the right thing to say.

Dr. Drew gives him a smirk and looks over in your direction. Oh, shit! He looks like the devil and is about to sin twice on Sunday. Something tells you he's about give it to Lance Tucker really good, and fuck all if you're in any position to stop it!

“Is that your girl, Tucker?” The Doctor asks him with all the fuckery and swag he can muster, “Because I just want you to know…I've been all up in her vagina, nice and deep like; showing it no mercy, touching it...like man starved!”

Your mouth dropped open wide, contractions long since forgotten. Dr. Drew just annihilated Lance Tucker, and after doing so, just stood there smiling like a cat that caught the canary.

Lance looked like he was going to full on punch the man in the face, and you’re pretty sure that's what the balled up fist was going to do, but right as the catastrophic event was about to take place, you were hit with an epic contraction and let out a moan so monstrous, the devil himself would weep at your feet.

The noise was enough to bring both men out of whatever the hell had been going on between them and shift their focus back on you. You'd been having contractions the entire time these two were at it, so you were almost relieved to not have to hear the two of them duke it out anymore.

“You want...to tell me... what...the fuck...is going on Tucker?!” You pant out, the pain becoming too much for you to handle.

“Baby,”

“Ms. Y/L/N…” they both say at the exact same time, and you just look at them slightly confused.

“She was talking to me, asshole!” Lance bites back at the doctor, rolling his eyes at him before looking in your direction.

“Honey….” Lance starts out trying to be as calm as he possibly can through gritted teeth. “This…,” he points to the man standing next to him, “is my older brother, Drew. Drew and his twin brother Dillon are the bane of my existence, and part of the reason I have nothing to do with my family.”

Dr. Tucker scoffs at the younger Tucker, “You're such a drama queen, Lance. You just hate the fact that we don't kiss your rosy red ass! Maybe if you weren't such a bitch all the time and didn't spend your entire life moving from one vagina to the next, you'd actually see we just want what's best for you!” The doctor looks pissed off, having yet again gone off on his brother.

Lance looks as though he has a rebuttal coming, but you seriously have had enough. These two have been arguing nonstop, clearly forgetting why they're here in the first place. Everyone, including the nurse has ignored you on the bed in labor, contractions becoming worse and your cervix fully dilated.

“Fucking stop!” You were able to yell out before another contraction started. “Whatever the fuck your problem is with each other can be put in a tiny little balloon and shoved so far up both of your asses, a full body cavity search wouldn't find it!” You bellowed from the depths of hell inside you. “Seriously, fuck you both! I'm laying here on a bed with my vagina exposed, which both of you have seen; thanks Dr. Drew for letting me know my children's uncle has been ‘all up in my vagina’…not a fucking picture I need to live with, but you and your brother are good at reminding people just how fucked up their life choices are! Now if the two of you can put your monster cock ass egos to the side for the duration of this labor, I’d like to get out the spawns of Satan that have taken up residence in my body…now!” You we're looking at the men with a new level of intensity, hoping to get on with the matter at hand.

“Yep!”

“Sorry!” Both men said at the same time, and now it was back to business at hand.

The fight between brothers forgotten and everything prepared and ready to go, you were finally able to push out the babies inside you. Lance was by your side, holding your hand giving you words of encouragement and praise as you pushed out first your daughter, followed by your son, looking identical to the man standing next to you.

“Oh my god!” Lance excitedly exclaimed when his brother placed his son on your belly, “Even through all the gunk, he looks like me!”

You only smiled and looked down at the precious babies you had carried inside of you.

“Just what the world needs, another fucking Tucker!” His brother says sarcastically still between your legs, his job far from over. “However, they're both perfect...and I'm honestly a pretty proud doctor right now. I got to deliver my niece and nephew. Best life moment ever!”

You look up at Lance giving him a threatening stare, and he rolls his eyes at you. “Uh-Drew?”

The Doctor looks up from his position, “Yeah?” The man looks suspiciously at his younger brother.

“Thanks...and I'm sorry. You-uh, there's no one else I would've wanted to do this.”

“You’re welcome, little brother.”

“So, do we have names?”

Oh yeah! There's a nurse in here and she's taking your daughter to get cleaned up.

“Yes…” You looked up at Lance, who had no idea you had chosen anything for them yet. “London Noelle and Landon Joseph.”

Lance nods in acceptance of the names of his twins. “You giving all our kids names beginning with the letter ‘L’?” He joked.

“Oh, you think this is happening again?” You challenge him. “There is absolutely no way you get in my vagina again, unless there's a ring on my finger and a change in my last name!” Lance gave you a smile and Dr. Tucker gave a laugh.

“Sounds like you better wife her, Lance. Someone needs to keep your ass in check!”

That was so true, he needed someone that wouldn’t put up with his antics. You were probably the only one that would ever be able to handle this man.

“I plan on it, but first…” Lance pulls out his phone and hands it over to his brother who has finished his job in your lady parts, “can you get a picture?”

Drew smiles and takes the phone from his younger brother, “Just so you know, I'm sending it to mom and Dillon.” Lance doesn't put up a fight, just shrugs his shoulders at the older Tucker.

The nurse had brought London back over all wrapped up and cleaned off, and the both of you decided Landon looked decent enough for a picture. Lance got in close to you and was holding his son while you held your daughter. Drew got a couple of pictures of the four of you and was happy when Lance asked the nurse if she'd mind getting a couple with Drew in them as well. Lance decided those ones would be the ones sent to his family. The pictures of the four of you would be kept private.

Once everyone was cleaned up, you and the children were taken to another room to rest. Dr. Tucker had said his goodbyes but told you he'd be back to check on you before discharge. It didn't escape your notice how Lance had gone into the hall with his brother and came back some time later, a happy smile across his face.

“He likes you. Matter of fact…,” Lance pulls out his phone, “looks like my mom and Dillon are excited about the additions to the family. They'd like to come see you in the morning, but only if you're feeling up to it.”

You scoff at your boyfriend, “Lance Tucker! You suddenly have a change in heart? Are you welcoming your family back into your life? Are you officially a changed man?” There was sarcasm in your voice with a hint of teasing.

“Yeah, guess the right woman and two amazing children will do that to you,” he bent down and placed a gentle kiss on each of the sleeping twins heads.

“Good, cause I ain't got time for your ego or bull shit. We do this right or not at all, understood?” You question him, and he gives you a nod. “I'm not waiting for you to have an epiphany moment. I've waited too damn long as it is. I want a proposal and a ring, and an actual wedding, real soon! This is a package deal Lance, and it better-”

You stopped the second Lance pulled out the ring box. “Oh, this was all I had to do to get you to stop talking. All these years and this is all it takes. Guess I should have done this sooner!” You knew he was joking, but oh my god...Lance Tucker was officially taking himself off the market!

He opens the box and there before you, is the most beautiful gold ring you'd ever seen, diamonds sparkling like the night sky.

“Just-yes-now!” He didn't even have to ask, and you couldn’t even form a sentence. Lance hurriedly placed the ring on your finger and leans in for a tender kiss.

“Merry early Christmas, and happy birthday to our beautiful babies!” Lance wraps you up in a hug, careful not to squish the twins.

“Merry Christmas, Lance. This is the most perfect gift I could have ever asked for. Thank you.” You melted into his embrace.

Lance takes his son from your arms and sits down on the bed with you. “Thank you, Y/N. None of this would have been possible if you hadn't walked into my life. I'll never be able to show you just how much you mean to me. I love you and them, so fucking much and this is only the beginning of our story. There's so much more to come.” You know he sounds ridiculously corny, but you'll take it nonetheless.

Sitting on the bed, you could feel sleep approaching fast, but you could help but look back in your life. Three years ago, you answered a job ad, having no idea you'd be working for Lance Tucker. So much has happened in those years, and many times you had wanted to walk away from his fuckery in hopes of finding something less stressful. But sitting here now, you knew everything you endured was well worth it.

You finally had the man you had been in love with for years, and the two of you had created the most beautifully, perfect babies. This time there would be a wedding, and you'd celebrate this new beginning with Lance’s mother and brothers, inviting them to all share in your happiness.

This new chapter in your life was filled with so much hope and promise, and even though there were going to be a few kinks in the road ahead, it would all be worth it.

“I love you, Lance.” You let out, right before you closed your eyes and went to sleep, exhausted from delivering your twins.

It only took three years, but you think you finally figured it out. The only thing Lance had ever really wanted from you…was you, all along.

#lance tucker #lance the fucker tucker #lance tucker x reader #lance tucker fanfiction #the bronze #the bronze au #pa!reader

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fayewonglibrary · 4 years ago

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“Fei” Culture (1999)

(* SOME REVISIONS TO SPELLING/GRAMMAR/WORDING)

After Jeremy Healy and Tom Ford, Faye Wong is my next biggest idol.

An indisputable icon of the 90's, Faye Wong was born in Beijing on August 8, 1969. At the age of 18, Faye migrated to Hong Kong, took up singing lessons and embarked on her first steps into major superstardom.

In 1989, she released her first album entitled "Shirley Wong" under the stage name of Shirley Wang Jing Wen. A year later, she released two more albums, "Everything" and "You're the Only One". But when her career appeared to stall, Faye became restless and headed to New York to study music.

Making a comeback a year later with renewed confidence, she also made the shrewd move of changing her stage name from Shirley to Faye. Slowly, her personal image transformed from hick to hip and caught everyone's attention. Now Hong Kong's coolest and hippest are looking to this Bejing-born lass for style tips.

In 1992, with the song "Fragile Woman", Faye captured fame and she started to gain more control over her songs and her image. Soon, she started composing her own music and lyrics, and drew inspiration from the likes of The Cranberries, Bjork, Teresa Teng, the Cocteau Twins and even Sinead O'Connor. She penned the lyrics for the title track of her next album entitled "No Regrets", which broke the platinum sales record.

Besides singing, Faye took her talents into acting. In 1994, she starred in Hong Kong award-winning director Wong Kar Wai's film, Chungking Express, which she was nominated for a Best Actress Award at the Golden Horse Film Festival. But Faye felt totally inadequate acting. Thus she concentrated on her music that led to her mega hit "I'm Willing". In April 1994, she topped all the charts in Hong Kong, Taiwan and Southeast Asia. In the same year, she released two more albums, "Random Thoughts" (Cantonese) and "Sky" (Mandarin), both of which rocketed to the top of the album sales charts in Asia.

After two successful albums, Faye embarked on a concert tour, bringing her beautiful lilting and clear voice to the US, Canada, Hong Kong and other parts of Southeast Asia. With 18 sold-out concerts in Hong Kong, Faye became the talk of the town. She is the only female artist among Hong Kong’s top ten highest paid stars. Yet her main concern is still to be able to do things her own way and to be happy.

In 1996, Faye shocked the shamelessly commercial Chinese pop music industry with "Fuzao", an album that contained only a handful of songs with intelligible lyrics in 35 minutes and 19 seconds of music. Who else has the gall to release such an album?

In May 1997, Faye signed with EMI Records. Already a mother, Faye still secured her "Heavenly Queen" position in the Chinese pop industry while releasing only one album a year. Faye released "Sing and Play" last year, which saw her successfully enter into the Japanese and Korean music scenes.

No doubt about it, Faye Wong is the biggest star in the region. She has done it with her own unique style and undeniable talent

FAYE WONG IN SINGAPORE

The Press Conference - Feb 12, 1999

Finally, after four years, the diva Faye Wong, one of the 50 coolest women in the world (chosen by British GQ Magazine) and the seventh most beautiful person on EARTH (voted in a poll by US People Magazine), is coming here for a 2 night concert.

While sitting inside the ballroom, waiting patiently for Faye Wong to arrive (side note: she was 50 minutes late!), my heart was thumping wildly (imagine the feeling when you see someone you have a crush on). The presenter made a gentle reminder that we are not supposed to ask any questions pertaining to her personal life as Faye always draws a line between her work and personal life.

The moment arrived.

Standing at 1.72 m, the cool Queen of Chinese Pop, was wearing a transparent, long-sleeved blouse over a shirt with the words "Attention" printed across it and black pedal pushers. She made her way into the ballroom and straight to her seat onstage. There was not even a trace of makeup on her, except for her glossy lips. Her skin looked translucent and her sparkling bright eyes were simply stunning. I was looking at the most beautiful woman on earth.

Sadly, the press conference only lasted a paltry 15 minutes. All her answers were short and straightforward and at the end of the press conference, she left the place rather hurriedly.

The Concert - Feb 14, 1999

Valentine's Day. February 14, 1999. I decided to spend it with Faye Wong. Sitting inside the indoor stadium for the first time together with more than a 9000 strong crowd, you can't help but feel excited. The 2 night concert promised a highly charged and elaborate production, with the entire production directly imported from Hong Kong. Joining Faye Wong was a crew of 50 people - including Dou Wei, Zhang Ya Dong, Elaine Wong (hairstylist) and Singapore born talent - Zing.

The concert started at 8.30 PM some thirty minutes after the scheduled time. As the lights dimmed down, Faye appeared "rising up" from the extravagant stage dressed in a white T-shirt covered with black "spider webs" and a black skirt. Her voice was beautiful but somehow the EQ of her microphone was a bit too sharp, causing some irritating feedback. Fortunately, the problem was rectified quickly, as Faye continued singing two more songs before she actually greeted the audience.

"Um...thanks for coming and I'm so happy that there are so many people here today to spend Valentine's Day with me."

Very few words, no small talk, and she got back to singing again. I guess her intention of emphasizing solely her music still applies. Faye Wong said some years ago, "If you want to watch, fine. If you don't want to watch, I don't care!"

In fact, for the entire concert, she spoke less than 10 sentences. Just like a house party, where the DJ will not talk much and let the music speak for itself. I think Faye was using the same formula.

The highlight of the 2 Singapore Scenic Tour concerts was the ever-sophisticated stage. There was a revolving small circular platform that moves along the circumference of the stage that allowed fans to see Faye up close. Not to mention the secret elevators that transported her below the stage for a quick change of clothes. And of course, the snow flakes that fall from above while she was singing her hit - "Sky". During "You’re Happy So I’m Happy”, the four giant screens ran a clip of both mother and daughter. After watching that clip, I think Faye is a cute mother.

The whole concert, which seemed almost an hour shorter than the norm, came to an end after the song "No Regrets". A few commented that while Faye is not much of an entertainer, it was still a great concert. To me, it is her voice that touches me the most. Honestly, who on earth can wrap their voices around songs like "Give Up Halfway", "Cold War" and "I'm Willing" the way she did?

Faye Wong will be heading to Japan next, where 12000 tickets to her gig were snapped up in 2 hours. She will also perform in Las Vegas. Wherever you are and whatever you do, Faye, I wish you the best.

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

SOURCE: JUICE MAGAZINE // TRANSLATED BY: UNKNOWN - PLEASE CONTACT ME

#1999

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dyde21 · 7 years ago

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Princess 2: Poison

Hey! So this is the other chapter from the Princess!AU I had going. It isn’t sequential, and takes place much farther in the future. Percabeth is an established thing, has been for a while. Again, this won’t be a series any time soon, you guys just requested the other chapter I had in mind, and this was it! More after! Oh, and shoutout to @cakesnomnom for convincing me to actually write it up.

XxXxXxXxX

Annabeth peaked out the window with a sigh, watching the forest pass by them as they trotted along. Now normally, Annabeth would have preferred to ride out in front on a horse with them, next to Percy, but he had thrown a fit. They were traveling to a neutral village to have peace talks with their neighboring country. They had been in a slow war for a few years now, neither side willing to fully invest themselves into a massive assault.

Hence, the fact that they were traveling outside of the safety of their borders.

Percy, being the overprotective boyfriend/knight he was, refused to let her ride out in the open. Now while she had the authority to do whatever she wanted, she was the princess after all, it was clear how much it worried him. He had started rambling on about ambushes, archers, traps. He had even started warning her about the dangers of poison ivy. To shut him up, and get rid of her least favorite expression he wore, one of concern and fear, she had kissed him and agreed to ride in the carriage. At least once they had crossed the border.

So now here they were, just a few minutes outside of the village. Percy had put his helmet back on, and was riding in the front. Unfortunately. Annabeth hated that helmet. When he wore it, she couldn't see his expressions, his messy hair, her favorite smirk. Most importantly, it hid his beautiful eyes. She had actually ordered him to never wear the helmet unless they were in some sort of official or public business. Luckily he didn't seem to mind, claimed it was too stuffy anyway.

Annabeth was about to get out and just ride the rest of her way when she heard his voice cut through the forest.

“HOLD!” His voice was clear and precise. “Jason, Frank, on Annabeth.” He ordered as he hopped off the horse.

Peering out the window curiously, Annabeth's hand grabbed her sword just in case. The hell if she was going to be protected while she sat in a little box while her friends risked their lives. Looking farther down the lane, Annabeth's heart skipped a beat. There was a little girl, her back against a tree as she sobbed, two thugs looming over her. She couldn't hear the conversation, but they said something, the girl flinched, then Percy stepped up. Words were exchanged, and Percy glanced back, as if asking for permission.

Hardly debating a moment, Annabeth nodded, as she placed her sword back down and rested her arm on the window to watch. Percy said something to the thugs, who both drew their swords. A few minutes later both of them were on the ground, and Percy was stowing his sword as he turned to the little girl. The little girl said something, and Percy knelt down. A small smile played at Annabeth's lip as she saw him speak to her, before rustling her hair, then she wrapped her arms around his neck in a hug. A warmth spread through Annabeth's chest. Percy really was good with kids, and some part of her imagined seeing him with kids of their own. Blushing, and shaking out her head, she saw him walking back. Eating... something. Quirking an eyebrow, she looked on until she saw he was munching happily on an apple. “She was delivering them to her grandparents. Made me take one as thanks for saving her.” He offered with a shrug. He climbed back on the horse, and soon the caravan was finishing up the last few minuets of the journey. Realizing she actually had to get back into princess mode, Annabeth took a deep breath and pushed idle thoughts of domestic life out of her mind.

They were dealing with the kingdom of Tartarus. Where luke had fled after he betrayed them. Still, they needed this war over. It was costing too many lives, and there was little prospect for either side actually winning in any meaningful way.

The air had been tense as they made their way through the village. Everyone could tell it was a royal caravan, and no one dared tried anything risky. Especially those who recognized some of the elite members of the Olympian army guarding the princess.

When the caravan finally wound to a halt, Annabeth made sure her crown was on just right, and settled her necklace properly. A gift from Percy after their first year knowing each other.

The door opened, and Percy was standing there, hand outstretched as he helped her out of the carriage. Hardly needed, but they were in public and their image was important. It had never been confirmed to the public that they were an item, but there certain had been rumors flying around for a while now. Ones she hadn't exactly denied overtly. It was just better to stay quiet, for both of them, until a more opportune time presented itself. No matter how much she just wanted to brag about her boyfriend, and use him as a shield from the annoying suitors that held no interest in her other than what rested on top of her head, and between her legs.

No, it was all proper and formal procedure as they were lead to the neutral grounds for the negotiations, and as they began. Both Annabeth, and one of the princes from Tartarus sat in the room, each allowed a single guard, the rest waited outside. There was no question who Annabeth chose, but she didn't recognize the guard of compatriot. Which was both good, and bad. Glad he didn't seem to be famous enough for a legacy, but unknown factors were always scary.

It seemed like her fears were for naught though, as the negotiations had passed without a hitch. They hadn't exactly reached a clear agreement yet, but it seemed both kingdoms tired of the war, and the drain it put on them, and were both looking to settle. It would take some more time, and some more consultations with the heads of each country respectively, but Annabeth felt hopeful.

“I guess that concludes talks for the day.” The man said with a yawn, rolling up his scroll of notes and passing it off to his guard to hold. Annabeth neatly closed her book and wrapped the cord around it as she tucked it into her bag. She trusted Percy with her life, her heart, and her kingdom. But damn if she trusted him with anything she needed him to keep in his possession for more than 5 minutes. His ability to lose things was only matched by his skill with a sword.

As she stood up to leave, she heard the man say one last thing.

“Say, Princess Chase. Have you ever chopped a redwood before?”

She froze, instantly understanding he was hinting at something. Standing up straight, she looked back at him with a careful expression. “I have, actually. It's extremely practical to learn basic survival skills. That includes camping.”

The man nodded, unphased. “They really are mighty trees. Stretch all the way to the heavens, and larger than a man laying from one end to the other. How do you suppose you go about chopping one. Do you start at the top?”

Annabeth paused, regarding him carefully. “Of course not. That's the hardest spot to reach, and needless effort. Take out the base, and the rest will come crumbling down.” Annabeth offered.

The man nodded, his wicked grin never leaving his face. “Of course. Just thought I'd ask. I'm thinking of going camping later, and thought I'd make sure I was doing it right.” He offered, before standing up and walking out of the room before Annabeth could respond.

Letting Percy lead the way as she tried to puzzle out the remarks from the prince, Annabeth had a bad feeling in her gut. Her intuition was screaming that something was wrong. There was no chance in hell he was just asking about logging. He was far too smart for that. She had barely flinched as a random villager had jumped out of the crowd with a knife as he headed for her. Percy had successfully pinned and disarmed him moments later anyway. She merely had hopped in the carriage and was beginning to the ride back. At one point she had seen Percy pulled up next to the carriage on his horse. He took off his helmet as he leaned over to speak with her.

“Why was he asking about chopping down trees. Wouldn't he have someone else to do that for him?”

Annabeth just laughed, reaching out the window to cup his face with a hand gently. It seemed Percy had caught the strange remark as well, even if he hadn't quite pieced together what the meaning was behind it either. She was about to reply when she noticed his condition. She frowned, leaning over to get a better look. “Percy, you look a little pale.” She said, concern dripping from her tone. “Maybe you should ride inside...”

Percy sat back up proper, putting on his helmet after flashing her his signature grin. “I'm fine. Just a little tired is all.” He offered before riding back to be in the front of the caravan.

Annabeth glared after him, debating pulling rank and just ordering him in the caravan. But she figured he was as stubborn as she was and that he was also built like an Ox so he'd be fine. She would just make sure he had the day off tomorrow. Maybe they could finally try that new restaurant that had opened up too.

Before long they had successfully passed the border back to their own country without issue. They were met at the border by the local guard, and Annabeth switched to riding her horse back. She needed some fresh open air after that long ride anyway.

Normally whenever she was riding, Percy would fall in beside her almost immediately. Both for security reasons, and because they just enjoyed each other's company. Only this time, he didn't make a move from the head of the caravan. Frowning, Annabeth began to feel a panic building up within her. First he looked pale, and now he was ignoring her. Craning her neck to look ahead, she saw his head was down. Was he moping about something? Annabeth ran over the entire meeting in her mind, but she couldn't think of any thing Percy could have done that would have him upset. He had acted perfectly.

Spurring on her horse, she sped up to his side.

“Percy, are you okay?” She asked gently, peaking over and trying to get a good look at his face under his helmet.

He gave her a quick nod. “Just a little tired. Been in the sun too long in this armor I think.” He offered. His voice sounded off, but Annabeth figured it was just exhaustion. They had been riding for ages, and Percy had been tense since they first left the borders.

“I see. Well you can say what you want about that kingdom, their architecture certainly is beautiful. If you noticed the molding on all of the buildings, they run with the theme of...” Annabeth continued to recount what she had learned both from the visit there, and the books she had read on the subject.

Before long though, she realized Percy wasn't even offering the polite “uh-huh” that he usually did when she got into a rant about architecture.

“You know, even if you're only pretending to listen, you could try a little harder.” She teased.

When she didn't hear a response, she looked over curiously. Her eyes widened when she saw Percy's head bobbing, before he slumped forward on his horse.

Before Annabeth could grab the reigns of the horse. Percy's body slid off the side and collapsed in a heap on the ground. She saw him fall in slow motion, her heart falling with him and shattering to pieces.

Letting out a shriek, Annabeth quickly hopped off her own horse as she knelt down next to him, trying to roll him over. Ripping off his helmet, she found his face a pale green. Most concerning though were the streaks of blood leaving the corners of his mouth. Reaching up with a shaking hand, she found his temperature was burning.

In a second, the rest of her guards had formed a protective circle around her and Percy, looking for any possible outside threats as Jason knelt next to her to figure out the situation.

She saw his eyes widened, before he quickly fished around Percy's neck for a pulse. Letting out a sigh of relief, she saw him looked at her as his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. “He has a pulse.” He confirmed, letting Annabeth breath again. “But it's weak. I don't know whats wrong with him... it's like he was poisoned... But we never ate any-”

“The apple.” Annabeth spoke in a cold tone. The apple the kid had given him. Fist clenching in the dirt, Annabeth felt a fist around her heart. She didn't know if the kid had known what they were doing, but this war had already cost too many lives. Percy's was not one she was going to lose. She refused.

Standing up and attempting to hide fear that was growing in her very core, she looked at everyone.

“Percy's been poisoned.” Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, nevertheless she pressed on. “Jason, get him into the carriage, we're heading straight back now, as fast as we can. Frank, get Hazel. Now.”

The large man paused, clearly not expecting to be called out. “I... I do-”

Annabeth took a step towards him, the frustration leaking from her. “I don't care about the kingdom's policy on witches. I swear on the crown she'll have my protection while she's here. I know you are close to her. Go get her now and bring her to the castle, or else.” She said, before turning without waiting for a response. Frank was a good man, he'd never let his friend die. Neither would Hazel, from what Annabeth had heard.

Jason was already finishing loading the young man into the carriage as Annabeth climbed in with him.

“Get us home. Now.” She ordered before closing the door.

Beginning to strip Percy out of his armor, she kept running a hand through his hair. It was faint, but she could see the smallest rise and fall of his chest. She felt like her world was cracking. Her mind wasn't quite as sharp, and her heart rate was far too fast to be healthy. Percy was dying in her arms, and there was nothing she could do about it. No knowledge in her arsenal would cure him. No gold in her coffers would help. She would bring together all the best magic and medicine she could to save him. She would save him, if it was the last thing she did.

They had been through far too much together to be separated by a poisoned apple.

She had too keep it together though. Too much was riding on this. No matter how much of her life was currently dying in her arms, she was still the princess and she didn't have the luxury of losing control. Percy would be fine, and then they would address this unforgivable act.

She jumped when she felt a hand cup her cheek.

“Your nose scrunches up when you're angry.” Percy's weak voice offered. His thumb brushed over the edge of it gently. “Promise me you won't do anything stupid. I'm not worth making a mistake over.” He said, before he coughed a few times, splattering Annabeth's sleeve with blood. He tried to reach up again, but his arm struggled to make it. Leaning down, Annabeth gently nudged her head into his hand, staring at him with wide desperate eyes.

“Shut up Percy. You are worth everything to me. This crown means nothing to me if you aren't by my side. You aren't allowed to leave me. You will be okay. I order you to be.” She said weakly, unable to stop the tears that cascaded down her face and splashed onto his.

Percy just offered her one last grin, wiping a tear with a weak thumb before his eyes slid shut and his head lolled to the side.

Annabeth shrieked in horror, but she still felt a gentle breath coming out of his chest. He was alive. By God, he was alive.

Annabeth just ran her hand through his hair over and over again like she knew he loved.

He would be okay.

When they finally reached the kingdom, Annabeth found the best doctors already waiting for them. Apparently someone had rode ahead and warned them of what to expect. Chiron had already put everything in place, and Hazel was waiting as well.

As they carried Percy in on a stretcher, she strode elegantly beside him. Her red eyes the only sign of any crack in her composure, in the public she remained as regal as ever as they accompanied Percy to the infirmary.

She stood by the side as they worked, attempting to figure out the exact poison, how to counteract it, and Hazel's magic. She refused to leave her side, and thankfully her status prevented anyone from even thinking of ordering her to.

After what felt like hours, the doctors had identified the poison. It was strong, but with a name to the poison Hazel was able to counteract it. Annabeth had already sent to have any imaginable ingredient or catalyst brought over so they were quick to act.

Eventually the witch had told her that it was up to Percy now. The poison was being burned out of his system, but his body still had to fight the fight.

Percy was resting in Annabeth's personal bed, and only Jason was left.

She turned to him, still sitting on the edge of the bed and running a hand through her knight's hair. “Get Piper.” She said without looking up from Percy's sleeping face.

Jason nodded. “As you wish. Should I bring her here directly?”

Annabeth looked at him, and she could already feel her walls crumbling to bits. It was a miracle she had kept it together as long as she had.

“Please.” Was all she said as her voice cracked on the word.

Sensing her distress, Jason quickly made his way out towards his girlfriend's house.

Meanwhile, Annabeth lost it. Collapsing on the bed, she curled up against her boyfriend's side as she sobbed into his shoulder.

Any dignity or grace she had left her as she broke down. She wasn't the princess of a kingdom. She wasn't the youth prodigy of the battlefield. She was just a young woman who had nearly lost the love of her life.

Annabeth couldn't tell how long it had been but eventually Piper had barged into the room. The merchant girl had a small bag which she dumped on the edge of the bed before she pulled Annabeth into a tight hug.

Accepting the comfort from the only person she trusted as much as Percy, she just cried over her shoulder. Piper held her friend, rubbing her back gently.

Eventually Annabeth calmed down enough to sit back.

She saw her friend looking at her with a patient smile. “I brought you cookies and your favorite cider.” She said, gesturing to the end of the bed with the bag.

Unable to help the small smile that crept on her face, Annabeth nodded. “Thank you.” She said in a slightly hoarse voice.

Piper just nodded, patting her on the head patiently. A few minutes later and the girls were sitting on the end of the bed, quietly chatting. Piper was telling Annabeth all the stories of the varied, and unusually odd customers that always found their way to her shop. Annabeth had to suppress her giggles a few times to avoid disturbing Percy, but she was grateful for Piper. She had needed a distraction to break her from her own downward spiral of worry and doubt.

Eventually though, Annabeth put down her cookie and hung her head. “What if he doesn't get better? I can't... I don't know if I can do this without him. He's save my life so many times. I know it's silly. He's just... so important to me.” Annabeth trailed off, glancing back at the sleeping boy.

Piper rested a hand her shoulder. “Annabeth, look at me. You won't need to. Percy is too stubborn to die. He will be back to normal before you know it, goofing off with Jason. The four of us can get a nice quiet dinner somewhere, and try to forget everything, okay?” She said, her voice slipping into that tone that seemed to sway anyone's mind.

Annabeth nodded after a moment. “That sounds... nice.”

Piper smirked. “Of course it does. Now it's late, and I need to get back. I kinda left things in a hurry. If Percy isn't better by tomorrow I'll swing by again, and I'll bring some wine this time.” She said with a wink.

Annabeth nodded after a moment. Moving over to her dresser, she pulled out a small bag of coins. She gave it to Piper. “I'm sure I cost you money by dragging you out here tonight. I know today was a prime day for sales.” She offered a bit sheepishly.

Piper just shook her head, pushing back the money. “I'm not friends with you for your money, princess. I'd close down my shop for good before I turned my back on you.”

An uncontrollable grin crept over Annabeth's face. “I know. That's why you're the best. Even if you're still technically not allowed to sell to the crown because you're too good at bartering.”

Piper just winked again, nudging Annabeth with her hip.

Annabeth laughed and forced her to take the money. “It's really my pleasure though. You've done a lot for us. Use this to treat yourself for once. Take a day off.”

Piper looked in the bag, gasping slightly. “More like a week.” She muttered, before rolling her eyes and safely storing the coin. “Fine. If you insist.”

Giving Annabeth one last long hug, she turned to Percy. Leaning down, she kissed his forehead, whispering quietly. “Get better Percy, your princess needs you.”

Waving goodbye to Annabeth, she quickly made her way back to her shop, a whistle in her step and a jingle in her purse.

Judging by the moon in the sky, Annabeth figured she had talked with her friend longer than expected. Quickly giving an order to the guard outside her door, she arranged for an escort for her friend. It wasn't exactly safe to wander the streets at night with an absurd amount of money in a purse.

Telling her guard she was turning in for the night, Annabeth quickly changed into her sleepwear.

Raising the covers, she slid underneath them and nestled herself against Percy. He was looking a little less pale, and his breathing was more consistent. She kissed his forehead one last time. “I'm waiting for you, seaweed brain. Please come home.” She muttered, before she curled up a little closer and passed out.

XxXxXxXxX

Annabeth woke up to the sun streaming through her windows. She figured they must have canceled her wake up call after the events of the last day, something she definitely needed to thank them for.

Annabeth had hoped to wake up to her favorite pair of strong arms around her, but Percy was still fast asleep, even if he did look a little healthier.

Sitting up, Annabeth dropped her head into her hands as the gravity of the situation set in again. Moving to the edge of the bed, she set her feet on the floor. She should get up, get ready, and call for doctors. It had been a while, maybe there was something more they could do to help Percy n-

“It's too early.” Percy's voice was so soft, Annabeth would have missed it if she hadn't been yearning to hear his voice for ages.

In a flash she was next to him, leaning over him. “Percy? Was that you? Say something. Please.”

Annabeth saw his eyes shift before they fluttered open after a moment. They were a bit bloodshot, but they were open. Thank God they were open.

“An-nn..” He muttered weakly.

He tried to sit up but Annabeth held a hand to his shoulder. “No. You were just poisoned and nearly died. Do not try to move right now.” She ordered. She was not in the mood to deal with his defiant ass, especially after he was so close to recovering.

Percy seemed to understand her tone and she felt him relax back against the bed. “Okay.” He muttered, before his eyebrows knit together. “Poisoned? Are you okay?” He asked worriedly, one hand reaching up to grab her wrist.

Nodding, Annabeth felt her heart swell at the sound of his voice. He was okay. He was okay.

“It was just you, idiot. We're all fine. We're going to be okay.” She repeated to herself.

Percy nodded after a moment. “As long as you're okay.”

Annabeth just leaned down, kissing him properly. “You can't scare me like that again. I almost lost you. We have too much to do, you mean too much to me. Promise me you won't almost leave me like that again.” She said before she kissed him again.

“Promise.” He said after a moment. His eyes were drooping, and it was clear he was still utterly exhausted.

“Good. Now sleep. You still need to recover.”

Percy nodded. “Sounds good.” He muttered, before his hand snaked up her arm a little. “Can I be selfish?” He asked in a whisper.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow. “Always. What do you want?”

“Can... you stay? I know you have meetings and stuff. But... One of my dreams had you being attacked... and I wasn't able to do anything... And I know you can take care of yourself, but I can't sleep knowing you could be in dan-” He was cut off from his tired rambling as Annabeth kissed him. “Quiet. Of course. The kingdom can wait a day. Besides, I don't think you understand how worried I was. It's not like I can think very clearly with you sick as well.” She offered before she pulled the covers back and snuggled up against him under the sheets. His arms wrapped around her, not quite their usual firm embrace, but welcome just the same. Annabeth made up for it by snuggling just a little closer anyway. Before long she felt his breathing slow as he fell back asleep.

Annabeth figured the officials could wait for a debrief a little longer. She had written out a brief note for them anyway when they were working on him so they knew the details. Kissing Percy's jaw, she buried her head into him and let sleep overtake her again.

Percy would be okay. They would be okay. They'd figure out everything else later, right now they just had each other and that was enough.

XxXxXxXxX

Thank you for reading! That’s the last of this AU I will be posting for a while. I’m going to try and get back into the swing of the Cafe!AU. I have a lot planned for that, just got held up on a chapter. I also want to finish the Prompts I have from you. Haven’t forgotten them, just haven’t gotten around to them yet. They will be answered!

Thank you to all my readers. I really do appreciate all the notes. I hope I can continue to provide you with some good Percabeth fluff!

Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

#percabeth #pjo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #Princess!Au

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i-w-p-chan · 7 years ago

Text

Connections, Part 8

The hilarity from what was later dubbed The Sugimura Incident did not last long.

The Thieves didn’t know what happened this time- what was so different to cause such an outcome.

Okumura Kunikazu had suffered a mental shutdown in the middle of his confession during a press conference, and with his health…

Okumura Kunikazu died not long after.

It was devastating, horrifying and terrifying.

This was the first time something like this had happened, and the Phantom Thieves of Hearts had no idea what changed.

And then things grew worse. The public denounced their group as murderers, the police were knocking on Shujin’s doors again to interrogate the students, Haru was stricken due to her father’s death, and Goro was barely around with the media clamoring for his presence in talk shows more to interview him about the Phantom Thieves and what he thought of Okumura’s death.

And then Futaba informed them about the person who was behind Medjed’s threat being behind Okumura being voted as target on the Phan-site.

They’d been played, for a couple of months, at least.

With a sinking feeling in her stomach, Ann recalled the conversation Ren had with them about what could happen with the Phantom Thieves’ growing fame.

Makoto seemed to share her thoughts, “I think… I think we need to go talk to Ren-san about this, they may have something to say.”

“Should we call them, then?” Yusuke asked.

Makoto nodded, “Please. I’ll make sure to fill Goro in later.”

After Yusuke made the call, Ren did not take long to arrive, which clued them in on the fact that they weren’t very far from the aria.

Ren stepped into Leblanc’s attic, which was, once more, loaned to them for their meeting- the Thieves owed Akira so much for letting them crash at his place for meetings away from the public.

Ren looked at them all and sighed, “I was afraid things may come to this.”

Ann blinked at them, “You expected someone would frame the Phantom Thieves of Hearts for murder?”

Ren shook their head, “Not exactly for murder, but yes, I did expect that the Phantom Thieves of Hearts would be framed for a crime they didn’t commit. After all, their M.O. makes it easy to do so.”

“How?” Makoto asked.

“No one knows anything about them,” Ren started, “The only thing the public has to link them to anything is the calling card- which isn’t exactly a reliable source for verification, as it could be faked. But it’s not like the public would care. The Phantom Thieves don’t have a voice, they’re mysterious, hidden, with no face to show to the public, and as such, they can’t give out their accounts for the public.”

“Give their accounts for the public?” Ryuji parroted, “Isn’t staying hidden the thing about phantom thieves?”

“True. But if you’re a phantom thief and seek to remain hidden, you should cover all your bases to avoid copycats and your name being used by others. Having a public persona has its pros and cons. Pros include having a defined presence in public; cons include leaving behind a trail that could be tracked if you don’t hide it well enough, which increases chances of being caught.”

“You know a lot, Ren-chan,” Haru said, “That’s amazing.”

Ren merely waved it off, “I did tell the rest of your group before that they’re not the only ones following the career of a phantom thief. Besides, I know for a fact Tantei-san could have told you the same thing had he been around and you asked him.”

“True.” Makoto nodded.

“Speaking of Tantei-san.” Ren sat down on one of the chairs, “I can’t believe he’s now receiving attention from the media. I’m pretty sure the phantom thief community is quite scandalized.”

“Why?” Yusuke asked.

“Why?” Ren parroted, sounding incredulous, “Oh, Tantei-san had only been thwarting phantom thieves for only two years. The media is at least one year too late to clamor for his attention.” Ren scoffed, “If he’d only let me…” Ren trailed off, their eyes glowing with an unholy gleam that promised untold horrors.

“Speaking of which.” Futaba piped up, “You know some of those phantom thieves Goro stopped on more than one occasion held heists in public? And some of those heists were recorded and can be found online?”

Haru perked up, “Oh, are you suggesting we watch some of those?”

Ren leaned forward, “The Clock Tower Heist is a favorite of mine, I highly recommend you watch it.”

With the school festival coming up, Makoto recruited the Thieves attending Shujin plus Akira as members of the executive committee. While they couldn’t discuss phantom thief business with Akira around, they had managed to get Goro to at least exist in their vicinity, even if it was just to do more work, or rather…

The group worked quietly as Goro slept, his head cushioned on his arms over the table. It wasn’t the most ideal sleeping place, but Goro needed all the sleep he could get; the bags under his eyes were starting to look like they could hold all their Metaverse supplies.

“I had thought we could get him to rest and catch up on sleep on the festival day,” Makoto murmured as she opened the paper in her hands, “But I don’t think that would be possible. All the students are voting to have him on the panel as a speaker.”

“We probably could have gotten away with telling everyone we couldn’t get him to attend if he didn’t attend Shujin in the first place.” Haru bit her lip.

“Yeah.” Ann sighed, “They’d all complain about how the executive committee couldn’t get one of the students at the same school to be the speaker on the panel. Ugh.”

Goro stirred a bit in his sleep as if he was about to wake and Akira reached a hand to card gently through Goro’s hair; Goro sighed contently and relaxed in his posture, returning to his slumber.

Makoto smiled softly, “Thank you for helping us out, Akira-kun. I’m truly glad Goro met you; I don’t think I’ve ever seen him relax around someone so fast.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Akira whispered as he returned to opening the votes one-handed, “Goro seems to have grown quite popular, should I be worried that someone may attempt to steal him from me?”

There was a smattering of muffled chuckles around the room and Ryuji shook his head in disbelief, “Dude, I don’t think that’s even possible.”

“Too true,” Makoto said with a mischievous smile on her face, “I think it’s the legs.”

“Should I start wearing dresses then?” Akira inquired, face perfectly calm.

Ann sent him a wicked smile, “Our class is planning on involving a maid dress in our stand, should we have Akira wear it, you think?”

Akira cocked his head to the side before leaning towards Goro and whispering into his ear, “What do you think, master?”

Goro buried his head into his arms and whined, his voice muffled, “Akira!”

“You woke him up?” Ann and Makoto hissed at Akira who shook his head.

Goro raised his head, and attempted to smooth his disheveled hair and push down the blush staining his cheeks a bright red, “I’ve already been awake for a couple of minutes, and…” He trailed off before turning to look at Akira with a serious look on his face, “You don’t have to worry about someone stealing me from you. Even if something similar to it happens, I trust that you’ll steal me back?”

Akira’s eyes bore into Goro’s with an inscrutable look before he leaned close to Goro and whispered with a deep voice laden with promise, “Of course.”

“Whew!” Ann mimed fanning herself, “Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here?”

“Hot?” Akira inquired, still staring intently at Goro, “Should we strip, then?”

Goro’s face flared a brighter red, “No!”

The second day of the festival came and with it the guest speaker panel- though maybe calling it a ‘guest’ speaker panel wasn’t exactly accurate given that the speaker was a student of the school itself.

Goro was asked plenty of questions about the Phantom Thieves, which he deflected easily with the excuse of not being on the Phantom Thieves case in the first place and, as such, not having access to information. He and Makoto successfully redirected the questions towards a different route Goro can answer comfortably, and that was other phantom thieves.

It was rather amusing to watch for the Thieves, given that most of the students barely knew much about any phantom thieves aside from the Phantom Thieves of Hearts, and so didn’t have any important questions.

Goro ended up regaling the students of tales of events that happened during Phantom Thief Joker’s heists- including one where Goro himself ended up in a dress.

Ann was honestly amazed by Goro’s ability to direct the questions in the directions he wanted; it never ceased to impress her to see Crow negotiate with Shadows for money or items in the Metaverse, and seeing it in real life only drove it in deeper.

She wondered where all that eloquence disappeared off to whenever he was talking with either Akira or Ren.

After the panel drew to a close, Goro and Makoto sought the rest out.

“Where is Akira-kun?” Makoto asked as she and Goro directed the Thieves towards the PE faculty office, which was empty.

“Dunno.” Ryuji shrugged, “One moment he was there, the other he wandered off.”

“At least this way we won’t have to come up with an excuse to gather without him,” Goro said and Makoto gave him a look.

“You know, I know that the Phantom Thieves business is an important secret, but I also know that Akira-kun is very important to you. Why do you insist on keeping this a secret from him?” Makoto asked, looking a little bit miffed.

“Plausible deniability.” Goro smiled at her.

“Man,” Ryuji started, “I could’ve sworn I heard you say something similar to this some time ago.”

“It was about Ren-chan,” Ann said, “When we first met them, remember?”

“Oh, right.”

“Moving on,” Goro started, “There is something important I want to discuss with you.”

The Thieves focused all their attention on their leader as he spoke.

“The situation surrounding the Phantom Thieves of Hearts is escalating,” Goro started, expression grave, “And things are growing considerably serious. Various phantom thief capture taskforces are being disbanded and regrouped into one single taskforce under Sis’ command to capture the Phantom Thieves. So, not only do we have to deal with the police and Sis, but also other phantom thieves.”

“What?!” Ryuji exclaimed, eyes wide, “Why?! Aren’t they phantom thieves too? Why would we have to deal with them?”

“Our group is different from the other thieves in this regard- unlike us, having a taskforce is a point of pride for a phantom thief; a taskforce is a recognition of sorts to the thief’s skill and so phantom thieves grow possessive of their respective taskforces.”

“Which would mean other phantom thieves would come after us to get their taskforces back,” Makoto said, “Is there a chance that other thieves may help us instead?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t know how I factor in all of this for other thieves. I am a member of a specific taskforce myself while also being the leader of the Phantom Thieves of Hearts.”

Makoto hummed thoughtfully, eyebrows knitted together in deep thought, “How would Joker take the situation?”

Goro closed his eyes for a moment before he sighed tiredly, “Joker is the type to stick his nose into such situations and I don’t want him involved. At all.”

Ann smiled gently, “I guess that thief-taskforce possessiveness doesn’t go in just one direction, right Goro?”

Goro stared at her in slight shock before he shook his head, smiling ruefully, “You’re absolutely correct.”

“What about Niijima-san?” Yusuke inquired, “What methods has she come up with to capture us?”

“This is where the situation becomes graver.” Goro frowned, “It hasn’t been announced yet, but there is going to be a reward of thirty million yen to anyone who turns in the Phantom Thieves.”

“For real?!”

“Thirty million yen?!”

“That’s crazy!”

“Indeed. They are planning to take down the Phantom Thieves no matter the cost- even if they have to falsely accuse an innocent for it.”

“What?!” Ann cried out, “You can’t be serious! Makoto! Say something!”

Makoto avoided the looks sent her way from the others, her facial expression clearly torn,” I’m sorry, Ann,” Makoto said in a regretful tone, “I’m afraid I can’t deny it. Sis… Sis has changed and I can’t say she won’t resort to such methods to close the case. She’s doesn’t have her eyes set on finding out the truth… I… I am sorry. I haven’t told you all about this before but…” Makoto trailed off and Goro nodded, seemingly knowing what she was going to say.

“You didn’t want to believe it. I understand; it’s a difficult pill to swallow,” Goro said, looking downcast.

“What are you two talking about?” Morgana asked.

“We’re talking about the fact that Sis has a Palace,” Makoto answered, “I’ve known for some time but I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Mako-chan.” Haru put a comforting hand on Makoto’s shoulder.

“Niijima Sae has a Palace?” Ann murmured to herself.

“Should we do something about it then?” Yusuke wondered.

Futaba frowned, “If we change her heart, it will help with the investigation, won’t it?”

“Besides,” Goro added, “Having Sis in such a position makes her a prime target for the culprit behind the mental shutdowns, and that is something I don’t want to risk. So, please, would you all help me change Sae’s heart?”

“Of course I’ll help you and Mako-chan out!” Haru chimed, sending a soft smile Makoto’s way.

“Yeah!” Ann said, “Count me in!”

“Me too!”

As the rest of the Thieves chorused an agreement, Morgana piped up, “All in agreement? We have our next target now! We’ll begin looking into the Palace tomorrow!”

Niijima Sae’s Palace was a casino. It was completely unexpected.

Crow observed the place and the cards falling down from the ceiling and snorted.

“What’s the matter?” Fox asked.

“Casino. Playing cards. Aces high Jokers wild.” Crow huffed a laugh, “I’m somewhat expecting Joker to dramatically crash through one of the windows and land right in front of us.”

The rest of the Thieves shook their heads in amusement and followed after Crow when he started moving.

“So, we’re going to get ourselves membership cards?” Panther asked, “I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”

“Can you imagine if we actually ended up having to gamble our way through the Palace?” Crow tilted his head to the side to look at her, “The mere idea makes me want to just scour the place and loot everything, get back to the real world and get ourselves a couple of grapple hooks and a length of rope.”

Queen stared at him, “That sounds… good actually. We’d save up a lot of time and effort if we did have a grapple hook.”

“How about a grapple gun?” Noir quirked her head to the side, “That would be better, right?”

“Except for the part where none of us knows how to use one.” Mona lamented, “As many supplies as we have with us, there are certainly certain aspects of phantom thievery that we’re missing out on.”

“Well,” Crow started, “Phantom thieves don’t typically have to engage in combat like we do.”

“We’re quite combat-focused for thieves, aren’t we?” Queen wondered.

“Hey, at least our leader nabs everything that isn’t nailed down,” Oracle interjected.

End Part 8

#akechi goro #amamiya ren #kurusu akira #takamaki ann #sakamoto ryuji #kitagawa yusuke #morgana #p5 morgana #sakura futaba #niijima makoto #okumura haru #connections #persona 5 #p5

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nancydsmithus · 5 years ago

Text

Smashing Podcast Episode 1 With Andy Clarke: What Is Art Direction?

Drew McLellan

2019-11-05T14:30:59+02:002019-11-05T16:06:22+00:00

The new Smashing Podcast is the perfect way to take a little bit of Smashing along with you on your morning commute, when working out at the gym, or just washing the dishes. We’ll be bringing you a new interview with a Smashing expert every two weeks, directly to your podcast player of choice. You can subscribe in your favorite app to get new episodes as soon as they’re ready, or just listen using the player below.

To get things off with a bang, we’re launching the first two episodes today. Each episode will be accompanied by a post (just like this one) with a full transcription of the interview here on Smashing Magazine.

In this inaugural episode, Drew McLellan talks to designer, author, and speaker Andy Clarke about Art Direction. What is it, and how can it be applied to our web design projects? We dig into the topic and see if we can get to the bottom of things.

Show Notes

We discuss Art Direction for the Web, a new book by Andy Clarke.

Andy’s Inspired Design Decisions series of articles can be found on Smashing Magazine, and are available first with your Smashing Membership.

We found some examples of the art direction involved in the Boddingtons Cream of Manchester campaign discussed in the episode.

You can follow Andy on Twitter where he is @Malarky or via his website Stuff & Nonsense.

Transcript

Drew: He’s a well known designer, public speaker and author of numerous influential web design articles and books and has recently released his new book, Art Direction for the Web, with Smashing Magazine. Along with his wife, Sue, he founded and runs a web design studio, Stuff and Nonsense, in North Wales where he consults with companies big and small all around the world. You may know of his passion for gorillas but did you know that as a school child he was Junior National Bassoon Champion for three years in a row. My Smashing friends, it’s Andy Clarke. Andy, how are you today?

Andy Clarke: Eee, I’m smashing, lad.

Drew: So, as I mentioned your new book, Art Direction for the Web, is now available but obviously this isn’t your first book. Hard Boiled Web Design, that I’m sure people will know, and way back in the day, Transcending CSS. When did the idea for this particular book come about?

Andy Clarke: This was an interesting one because, like you say, this is number four in terms of books. Sue had always said that she’d hunt down and kill anybody that asked me to write another one because I am such a bastard when I’m writing books. I’m just not a nice person to be around and so I kind of didn’t ever want to do another, kind of, major book after Hard Boiled. So my original plan was actually to write three little, we called them shots in the whole, kind of Hard Boiled theme. Three kind of little 80 to 100 page, little shots. In the kind of the style of, or the length of, A Book Apart type length. Art Direction was going to be the first one and when I started to get into it which was way back at the beginning of, I think it the beginning of 2018 when I started it.

Andy Clarke: The more and more I kind of got into it, the more I realized that this, there was no way this was going to be a short book. All the things I wanted to talk about were just never going to fit. So I kind of threw the whole three shots idea out of the window and we just concentrated on doing this one. So I suppose the idea for this one came actually quite a few years ago even before a lot of the stuff that I talk about in the book in terms of what we can do with design and what we can do with CSS and all that kind of stuff was even a possibility. But it’s been a long time coming this one, I think it’s the kind of spiritual successor to some of the other stuff that I’ve done in the past. That sounds a bit grandiose, doesn’t it?

Drew: No, not at all. I mean, like many people, I’ve come into this field of building stuff for the web without any real formal background in, well, I’m a developer. I don’t really have a formal background in programming. I’ve just sort of picked it up as I go along and I certainly don’t have a formal background in anything to do with design. I’m not really familiar with the terminology and the concepts and the, a formal training would instill, particularly in design. So for people like me, when we talk about art direction, what exactly is art direction?

Andy Clarke: That’s an almost impossible question to answer because it means so many kind of different things at different levels. But I’m going to give an example. Do you remember back in, I mean we’re talking 15-odd years ago now but do you remember the adverts? In fact, for the show notes I’ll send you some links. But do you remember, there was an ad campaign called “The Cream of Manchester” for Boddingtons Beer. One of the things that they did, there was some really funny TV commercials but one of the things that they did incredibly successfully was a whole series of graphics which went on posters and various other things which were a glass of Boddingtons beer with the incredibly creamy head, which was the most important part of Boddingtons Beer and they shaped the head into all kinds of different things. So it looked like an ice cream and it looked like a quiff and it looked like all kinds of stuff. And what that did was it told the story of what was important about Boddingtons Beer through the medium of design. So it didn’t necessarily just say Boddingtons has a very creamy head. What it did was it showed you that through the visuals but then with the, in combination with the words, you got this very, very clever idea about what Boddingtons Beer was all about. And that, in one level, is art direction.

Andy Clarke: Let me give you another example. I can’t remember which magazine it was, now it might have been Rolling Stone. I can’t remember exactly which magazine cover it was now but a couple of years ago there was a very famous magazine cover and it was a picture of Donald Trump and they’d taken the barcode which normally sits in the bottom left or bottom right hand corner of the cover of the magazine and they’d put it on his top lip and made him look like Hitler. That’s art direction. That’s using design to convey a message to tell a story, to communicate something to an audience but through design.

Andy Clarke: And when we think about applying those things to the web, it is exactly the same kind of purpose but what we’re doing is we’re using all of those aspects of design. We’re using a layout. We’re using typography. We’re using color choices. We’re using all of these kind of design ingredients to do whatever it is that we’re trying to do online. So we might be telling a story of…a story through an editorial magazine or a news story or we might be telling a story about why you should buy my brand of power drill rather than somebody else’s brand of power drill. And it extends even into user experience because we’re really thinking about what is somebody feeling at this point? How do we communicate with them? How do we try and cheer them up, try and cool down. Do we want to be kind of quirky and delightful or do we want to be sort of more serious and conservative. And all of those aspects of evoking an emotional response in somebody is art direction.

Drew: Like accessibility, we often say that that really is the responsibility of everyone in the team but then in practice there tends to be an accessibility expert who really knows their stuff and can sort of help everyone review their work and push things forward. Is it the same with art direction? Is it something that everybody in a team should be looking at? Or is it something you hire in a big bright art director like yourself to come in and tell everyone what they should be doing?

Andy Clarke: No, it is exactly the sort of thing that everybody should be paying attention to. Every decision that we make in terms of design is an opportunity to tell a story. And that can be a big story or it can be a tiny story. And even things, for example, the style and the wording of microcopy can help to tell the story. Now, what we really need is not just everybody kind of paying attention to what that message is but we also need to know what the message is to begin with.

Andy Clarke: And one of the things that I think has been lacking over the last however many years when we’ve been kind of evolving the web as a medium is we’ve kind of moved away from this idea of the web as either a kind of creative medium or as a great medium for storytelling. And that’s the kind of thing if you go to an ad agency, then you’re not going to walk far through the door before you fall over an art director. But that’s not something that you generally find, it’s not a job title that tends to happen at digital agencies. It’s just, you’ll find UX people and project managers and developers and all manner of different, in parentheses, product designers. But the overall thinking about what message are we trying to convey, how do we implement that through design? But then there’s that kind of, what you would think of as creative direction but it is slightly different. Where somebody is basically just checking that everything is on brand, is on message, is part of telling that story.

Drew: As a developer, if I want to start getting involved in the art direction of my projects, where on earth do I start? Is this something that I can learn or do you have to be born this way?

Andy Clarke: I can’t think about the way you were born. You’ve landed on your head. No, it is something that can be taught and it is something which takes practice. So you don’t need to have gone to art school or studied advertising or whatever. I never did. I didn’t even do a graphic design degree back in the ‘80s. I was a failed painter. But it’s the kind of thing where, I think it’s a change of kind of, mindset a little bit. In thinking about, it’s not just about the practical aspects of designing a website but it’s also the thinking about, “Well, what are we trying to do?”

Andy Clarke: So let me give you an example, right. So Smashing Magazine, I did some early conceptual work with them for the redesign that we see right now. And the way that we did that was to basically just host a bunch of workshops where we all got together and we sat around a big table for a week and we did this kind of three or four times where really what we were trying to do was to get to the bottom of what the Smashing message was. And how Smashing wanted to be perceived and that was basically a great big roundtable exercise which was basically designed to just get the Smashing guys, Vitaly and Markus and others, thinking about what the real purpose of Smashing was and how they were going use design to communicate the unique kind of personality and attributes of Smashing.

Andy Clarke: And to help that along, we did a load of, kind of early rough design stuff. And then from what they learnt, they then turned to Dan Mall and said, “Right, we’ve got these words, we’ve got these, call them design principles if you like, that we want to then pull out through the design. We want to be bright and bold. We want the experience turned up to eleven. We want to be quirky” and all these kind of words that had come out of our early design discussions. And then he would then produce designs that sort of fitted with that brief.

Andy Clarke: And the interesting thing about that if we relate this back to your question where you’re saying “Where do I get involved?”, it’s, is, if we were kicking off a project for Notist, for example. The very obvious thing is that it does some things. It hosts your slide decks. It adds your speaker profile or whatever but those are just, they’re the things that it does. But your aspirations for that product are much, much more than just the bunch of practical things that it does. So from a brand and from an art direction point of view, yes, you want to be designing a product which is streamlined and simple to use and reliable and all of the stuff that it, kind of goes with it. But there’s a bigger picture and I would be speaking to you about what that purpose really is. Is it to inspire other speakers to get onstage? Is it to share information more widely? Is it to make talks that happen at remote conferences much, much more visible to people wherever they are in the world. There’s obviously a bigger thing going on in here.

Andy Clarke: And then once we’ve kind of understood what those real, kind of, what our real purpose was, then we can think about how do we convey that message through the design. And that’s where a designer would come in with a creative brief and then we would look at, well, what typography style is going to convey that message? What kind of layout? What kind of color scheme? What kind of graphics are going to really tell that story because you can easily just say the world’s most popular slide deck sharing site as, what’s that nasty one? Not Speaker Deck, the other one. SlideShare. Dreadful, absolutely dreadful. What we would look to do is something like Notist if we consider an art direction point of view is to consider, how do you want people to feel when you’re using the product and how do you want them to feel when they’re making the decision to choose your product over somebody else’s. And that’s essentially what it boils down to.

Drew: So it’s very much about how the brand, in a sense, is embodied in every little detail and every part of the design, both the sort of visual design and the functional design. Would that be accurate to say?

Andy Clarke: Yeah. Yeah, absolutely, and that should be the case with anything that we’re making. It’s why I get so disappointed when I see stuff which is not a gajillion miles away from framework default in terms of layout or button styles or type hierarchy or whatever it happens to be, all of these kind of design things. Because, to me that’s like completely missing the point of the design. Yeah, it might be a functional thing to use but does that make it nice?

Drew: So obviously modern websites are mostly spat out of a CMS into identical templates. So if kind of one of the jobs of art direction is to invoke this sort of emotional response to something on a page, can that be done through spitting out content into templates or can it be done by machine?

Andy Clarke: Well, if I had the solution to that problem, I’d be a very rich man because it is actually the problem that a massive amount of the web is struggling with. Whether it would be news outlets or magazine outlets or editorial or whatever. And it’s a question which comes up again and again and again. And actually the people that have really solved this problem best of all that I took to my knowledge it ProPublica who I talk quite a lot about in the book. And our old friend Rob Weychert basically designed the CMS implementation for ProPublica. And the way that they did it was that they said, “Right, okay, these are our foundations style, this is what the ProPublica website looks like and an article on that website looks like if I do nothing. This is what it is.” But obviously they want to be able to customize that in all kind of different ways whether it would be type or layout or color theme or anything else. What they did was very simply they just had a field in the CMS that they could inject custom CSS. And because they understood the cascade and they understood how CSS builds they would only then be able to overwrite certain things.

Andy Clarke: Now, not everybody’s going to want to go to the extent of custom designing articles in the way that ProPublica do. And they don’t art direct or over design everything. It is only these really kind of special pieces that they tend to do a really great art direction job on. But there are ways in which we can do this. One of the great, we always talk about separation of, or we used to talk about, it used to be the thing where we would separate content and structure and style and behavior. Now it seems like everybody piles everything into JavaScript but moving swiftly on. One of the things that you can do, is you can separate out the CSS logic. And as long as you don’t bake in the style of the page into the HTML, as long as you keep things flexible, you can then do an enormous amount, particularly when we’ve got things like CSS grid, flex box, which are kind of, almost like content independent in a way, and CSS variables.

Andy Clarke: So I’m working on site with a French football magazine which will hopefully be finished by the time this podcast goes out and that’s a question that we’re trying to solve right now. So what I’ve done over the last couple of weeks is I’ve designed probably about half a dozen different layout templates. Now, some pages are fixed. They’re never going to change, they’re never going to be wildly different. If you think about something like a league table or a list of results from a football Saturday then you’re not going to do an enormous amount with it. But when it comes to things like player profiles and team profiles and some of the more, kind of, involved content, what I’ve done is I’ve designed about half a dozen different layout combinations. All based on exactly the same CSS. And what I’m doing is I’m then extracting out certain things that, for want of a better word I’m calling themes. Just in terms of right, in this design, Design A, and I give them all names. I give, I’ve given the theme, I’ve named them after French football players. So if you want to, if you look at the Cantona design or Cantona theme, what do the headlines look like? What do the block quotes look like? What do the table headers look like? What do the buttons look like? There’s a specific style that goes into that theme which is independent of the layouts.

Andy Clarke: And the other thing which is independent of that theme is the six different color schemes that I’ve come up with. So basically by the end of the project, you’ll have a color layer, a theme layer and a layout layer that they are able then to kind of pick and choose. And that can be automated, it can be turned into toggle switches in the CMS or whatever it might happen to be. So there are ways of doing that.

Andy Clarke: Now that’s not a particularly kind of appropriate thing for, in terms of pure art direction but the same mechanics can then be used if we want to be saying right, “Well, we do want to customize this so let’s introduce these new fields.”

Drew: One of the examples in the book, quite early on of a, sort of art directed site is the UK government’s gov.uk site, which is excellent as a user of it. It’s a site I really enjoy using it but it’s not one that I would immediately think of as being art directed, in inverted commas. It’s not very visually rich. It’s quite sparse and not sparse in a minimalist way but sparse in a utilitarian way. Art direction doesn’t need to be flashy, I’m taking from that?

Andy Clarke: Well, I have spent years joking about gov.uk and I’ve always thought of gov.uk as being the website that design forgot. I’ve often said gov.uk, not known for its creative flair. And it was interesting, when I was doing a series of podcast interviews for the book, I was talking to Mark Porter, who used to be creative director at the Guardian. You can’t read a book about editorial design without Mark cropping up at some point. In fact, he’d be a great person for you to speak to on this podcast at some point to get a different perspective. And I was saying to Mark in our conversation, “Look, I can remember great art directed ad campaigns on TV, in magazines. We’ve talked about art direction in newspapers and print publications, etcetera, give me an example of what you think is great art direction on the web.” And I was absolutely stunned when Mark said, “Gov.uk.”

Andy Clarke: And it took a while to sink in but actually he was absolutely right because if art direction is about making people feel in a certain way then gov.uk does its job incredibly well. It doesn’t need to be flashy. It doesn’t need to be overly designed. It doesn’t need to push boundaries or do any of these things that you might associate with newfangled CSS grid webby stuff because it does what it does and it’s, the design is absolutely appropriate to, not only to the audience and what they want to do but also how gov.uk want people to feel when they’ve left the site. When you’ve gone on there and paid your car tax or looked up when your bin collection’s going to be or whether it’s safe to travel to Cameroon or…I leave that site reassured that I’ve been given the information that I was looking for in a thorough and professional way. I don’t think to myself, “Oh, is that site trustworthy?” And not just because its gov.uk but because the whole experience has just been designed to leave no unanswered questions in my brain.

Drew: Yes, it’s so, sort of simple. It gives you real confidence in the information you’ve found is correct or the process that you followed, there’s a very clear way through it so you feel like, “Yes, I’ve completed that successfully because it was unambiguous.”

Andy Clarke: Now, would I design certain things differently? You can bet your bottom dollar I would but would I want to think about improving typography? Yes. Would I want to get more granular in terms of typographic design so that we can improve the way that numerals look or dates look or tables of data look or whatever? Yes, absolutely there’s some things that I would look at there and say, “I want to improve the design of that aspect of gov.uk.” But in terms of the art direction, no, everything that they, that you see whether it’s intention or not in terms of, I don’t know whether there is an art director at gov.uk, but everything that you see just contributes to how people feel at the end of the experience and that’s good art direction.

Drew: The book itself is really beautiful. I’d seen the ebook version of it early on which is absolutely terrific and I recommend that. But then I had the pleasure of picking up an actual printed version and I really recommend the printed version even more. It’s, every sort of spread is as you’d expect, sort of custom designed and it’s just jampacked with loads of inspirational examples. And it’s so heavily illustrated, I mean there’s hardly a double page spread that’s all text. It’s all illustrated with stuff. It’s really great. To be honest, it’s not the sort of book, not knowing anything about art direction before our conversation, and before looking at, actually looking at the book. It’s something I wouldn’t have picked up thinking it was for me but once I started looking through it, I thought, “Yeah, this is really good.” Obviously, you’ve designed it, you’ve designed every spread by hand. What was that process like?

Andy Clarke: It was a lot of work. I mean, first of all, I just want to say an enormous thank you to my son, Alex, who actually typeset that entire book from start to finish. What we wanted to do when we set out to produce the book was to show off some inspiring stuff but we also wanted it to be incredibly relevant to people at various different stages or different areas or whatever. And Sue would be quite, sort of brutal with me and say, “Don’t forget to explain it this way. If somebody’s using Squarespace or Shopify or Bootstrap Grid or whatever, then you need to talk to those people as well.” So what I did was, I actually spent about three months designing a whole ton of different examples. And me being me, I had to kind of, everything had to be perfect. There had to be a theme so I kind of came up with this hard boiled based London gangster theme for an app and a website that kind of goes with it. And then everything kind of just spread on from there. What was interesting in terms of the actual design of all those examples was what you learn how to design in one part of the book you then learn how to build in another part of the book. So there is this kind of balance to it.

Andy Clarke: But then, so basically what would happen is, was that I came up with about half a dozen different layout scamps for the main body of the book. I was much, much more detailed on the, sort of the examples I didn’t design, some of the other examples from elsewhere on the web. But the general body of the book, I just did half a dozen, kind of just very simple box layout sketches. Alex would then interpret that and chapter by chapter we would then go through it. So literally every single page has been tweaked. And I haven’t done, I’ve never done a book that’s got, had that much attention to detail.

Drew: Yeah, it really shows and the end result is fantastic and I’ve been learning a lot from it. So something I always like to ask people. I’ve been learning about art direction, what have you been learning about lately? Is there anything in particular in your work and your projects that you’ve been learning and swatting up on?

Andy Clarke: Yeah. I’ve been really trying to get to grips with more advanced grid stuff. That’s something which I’ve been really trying to sort of push the boundaries of. And along with this kind of, because I’ve been experimenting with, “Here’s a great, here’s a quirky layout. How would we build that?” And along the way comes things like SVGs and making SVGs responsive and I actually learnt today that you can’t use the picture element with inline SVG. You have to use an IMG element if you want to swap one picture for another or one source for another in HTML. So my main, I’ve actually been going back to really just learn a hell of a lot more about code. I think that quite, you go through phases where there’s a huge amount to learn or it seems that way and there’s something new that you want to get to grips with. And then things kind of plateau out and you churn through the same stuff or you use the same patterns or the same kind of methodology for awhile and then there’s another spike. And I’m kind of in one of those spikes at the moment.

Drew: Obviously the book is available now. You’ve also been writing a series of articles for Smashing Magazine around some of the same sort of ideas, picking out some bits and bobs which we’ll link to in the show notes. But you’re also doing a webinar series, is that right?

Andy Clarke: Yeah, well, the articles in the webinar is all the same stuff so I called it Inspired Design Decisions. And it came about because I was actually in Magma Book Shop, which is a brilliant magazine book shop in London, before Christmas. I was with our friend, Al Power, and we were kind of thumbing through magazines and I was geeking out and going, “Oh, look at this beautiful quote. That layout looks amazing. Coo, I love the way that they’ve tied this image with the color of the text and blah, blah, blah.” And Al said, “Well, I’ve never really thought a bit like that. I’ve never really thought about lessons that we can learn from editorial design or magazine design or other things. And you just talk about it in ways that just make sense. You ought to write about this stuff.” So I don’t want to write another book at the moment because well, Sue would hunt down and kill anybody that asked me to. So the idea came about was, well, why not do a series of articles over the course of the year where I would touch on a particular topic and a particular piece of inspiration.

Andy Clarke: There’s three gone out now, so far. There’ll be four, maybe five by the time this podcast goes out. Each one is the webinar content with Q&A. Everybody that is a Smashing member also gets access to a really, really nicely designed PDF version of all of the articles and all the code that goes with it. And then what we do a month later is we’ll put that article out for free on the public Smashing Magazine website. And what we’ll do sometime next May, is we’ll collect all of those twelve articles together and we’ll re-edit them and get the continuity right and that’ll be another book that comes out, probably next April, May time.

Drew: That sounds great.

Andy Clarke: It’s a lot of fun.

Drew: If you, dear listener, would like to hear more from Andy, you can follow him on Twitter where he is @Malarkey and find examples of his work and hire him via his website, stuffandnonsense.co.uk. Art Direction for the Web is available now through Smashing at smashingmagazine.com/books and I commend it to you. Andy, do you have any parting words?

Andy Clarke: (Beep) to Brexit.

(dm, ra, il)

0 notes

serenephenix · 7 years ago

Text

Chamomile Tea

If there should be things depicted very wrongly about prostheses, please let me know and I’ll do my best to rework the parts. I’m taking a lot of liberties for the sake of plot.

Also, this is not a statement about taking or not taking one’s prescribed meds. This is just my own worries and woes expressed in a creative way. (After horribly failing one of my exams mind you.)

Hope you enjoy!

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Chamomile Tea

[Fandom]:Voltron: Legendary Defender

[Rating]: Gen/ Gen

[Genre]: Friendship, Team as Family, emotional hurt & comfort

[AU]: Shenanigan(g)s series, college AU

[Word count]: 4.000

[Warnings]: author being probably inaccurate about some medical stuff involving protheses; dealing with medication and taking said medication

[Status]: completed

Original AU by @taylor-tut

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Shiro had been warned in advance and he was taking those warnings seriously. It was why he had taken all the necessary precautions. It was why he had armed himself with a hot, steaming mug, glad that his prosthesis was insensitive towards temperatures.

He hoped that the rich and sweet smell of hot chocolate would be enough to lure his friend out of their self-imposed exile.

“Pidge, c’mon, open up.” He called, knocking on her door plastered with all of his friend’s favorite stickers – witty jokes and one-liners, slogans for rallies conventions and poetry slams, and their favorite They Are Out There in glittery purple on a starry background.

“Go away.” The whine was drawn out and all too pitiful. No wonder the others had been reluctant to approach her – that was not Pidge-like behavior. Good thing that Matt was only a text away and that Shiro was more stubborn than could be considered healthy.

“I got hot chocolate.”

There was a pregnant pause and Shiro grinned when he heard the muffled shuffle of small feet in socks and finally the loud click of the doorlock. His grin dimmed somewhat when a single eye was visible through the crack Pidge had inched open, red and puffy and a little too dim.

She was quick to glance down and Shiro knew he had sparked her interest when he could see a little more of her caramel-brown as her eye widened.

“Whipped cream.”

Shiro nodded at her flat tone but it was clear that she was tempted. Hook, line and sinker.

“And cinnamon.”, he added, bringing the treat a little closer with a slow circling motion, the topping bobbing enticingly. Pidge’s eye followed the cup as though under a spell. It was entirely too amusing and far too endearing. No wonder Matt had told him to not let his guard down.

The fingers gripping onto the wood tapped a nervous rhythm, Pidge clearly undecided as to what she should do, probably knowing that this was a ploy to get her to give up on isolating herself. The single eye narrowed, her head tilting so that Shiro saw the outline of her pinched lips.

“Matt is a damn snitch.”

He let out a chuckle: “Can’t argue with that. So, are you gonna let me in or do I have to bring out the big guns?”

“Like what?” And Shiro was relieved to hear some of that snark return.

“Well,” he began and casually, slowly brought the mug closer to his face without actually looking at it, watching with great delight as the door opened further as Pidge tensed and seeing as what he could glimpse of her face was overtaken by alarm, “I could just have you watch me drinking this delicious-“

He didn’t even get to finish as the door was ripped open so fast its handle slammed against the wall with a bang. It was a miracle he hadn’t startled hard enough to spill half of the hot beverage over his prosthesis.

He was dragged in before he could process what was happening, standing there stunned in the middle of Pidge’s domain as the lock turned.

The room was more of a mess than usual. Books were lying on the floor, single leaves and sticky notes littering whatever part of the boards had not been claimed yet by the unsteady pillars. The workplace had to be about the worst of it with cables lying desolate and a little lost on the table, with mugs and a few plates piling up and obstructing the view of the impressively huge monitor.

While the carnage around him spoke of struggles indescribably, the nest of blankets and laptop on the bed told the sad tale of the aftermath.

Pidge dragged him over to her bed, gingerly picking up her laptop and depositing it close to the headrest, the screen lighting up and the familiar black and red of Netflix, popping up to ask whether she wanted to watch the rest of the third season of some space mecha animated series.

She paid it no mind though, rearranging the blankets and other pillows so that they could both sit comfortably, Shiro doing the most important job of not spilling any of the hot chocolate with all the hustle and bustle.

It was somewhat disheartening to not see her nod in approval at her own work, something Pidge did so often when she successfully saw a project (or even such mundane tasks) to completion.

Still, it was to be expected. The whole thing had been a huge blow to Pidge’s pride and even Shiro could admit that he would only have been more worried if she had carried on like nothing had happened.

Finally, Pidge plopped down, patting the place next to her in invitation. Once Shiro was settled, she pulled the laptop back onto her lap, tilting the screen so that Shiro could see it without trouble or with the colors being adulterated.

He would have preferred to cut to the chase but he knew that with Pidge there was not pushing it. And anyway, the fact that she had already allowed him inside and had arranged for him to stay longer than five minutes could be counted as a victory in and of itself.

“Do you want to watch something else?”

He glanced at her but could not catch Pidge’s eye with how intently she was staring at the screen in a helplessly obvious effort to evade his gaze. He would indulge her for now, so long as she would allow him to help later.

“It’s alright, I haven’t seen that episode yet.”

He made sure she could hear the smile in his voice. She nodded, finger tapping onto the touchpad.

They watched as the poor kids in the show had to sort out their constellation as a team with one of their members having gone MIA during their last stand against the evil, crazy guy in a cape and Shiro couldn’t help but feel bad for all of them. Even he could admit that when they all had watched the finale he had been at the edge of his seat.

The cup went between both of them, Pidge insisting he take a sip as well. She had not even needed words, her caramel eyes boring into his with quiet adamancy that was hard to refuse.

It was an interesting blend but Shiro generally preferred darker and bitter flavors, thus leaving it to Pidge to empty most of the mug.

By their third episode, the mug had been drained of its steaming content and Shiro could admit that he was growing antsy. He was not someone that could remain seated for hours on end, needed to be moving and be doing something. And right now, that something was getting Pidge to leave her room again before Matt would drive here from two towns over to take matters into his own hands.

“Are you alright?”

Pidge’s nose scrunched up, her glasses bobbing up and down before she gave a long-suffering sigh. The characters on screen froze in the midst of a battle with the enemy team.

In the silence dragging on and on, Pidge let her thumb thump gently onto the plastic casing of her computer.

“Not really.” she finally conceded, sounding annoyed “I’m mostly just angry at myself.”

She looked up at him, her expression just as carefully neutral as Shiro’s as he listened.

“I mean, I have no excuse for the bullshit I pulled, do I?”

“The fact that you didn’t want to work on the assignment and then proceeded by procrastinating and doing any and all other projects that weren’t as important?”

It might have sounded harsh if he hadn’t sent her a lopsided smile, trying to lighten the mood but it did not soften the blow anyway. Pidge’s brow furrowed further, eyes narrowed as she drew her knees up to her chest, resting her crossed arms on them and hiding the bottom half of her face in the folds of her enormous sleeves.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

Shiro internally winced, knowing he had hit a nerve. Still, it had been Pidge asking him to remind her of the assignment and it had been him she had ignored again and again, waving him off casually, saying she had it all under control. Until she didn’t anymore. Until she came back from her lecturer’s office, saying that she had failed the assignment.

He looked at her, the disaster of a mess that was her room and let his eyes fall onto a spot on her desk that was suspiciously untouched. A rectangular box that was not supposed to look new and pristine.

He could feel his brow furrow.

“Did you take your meds?”

It was a question he felt needed to be asked, consequences be damned, because he and Pidge knew the repercussions of such actions… and because it would put all that had happened into a new light. Instantly Pidge’s shoulders went rigid, her hands cramping up. There was something dark and dangerous overtaking her expression, an emotion unlike any Shiro had ever seen on her face before. It was… ugly.

“So what?” She spat, her voice low with anger. “Are you going to lecture me like dad?”

The question was mean-spirited, a silent warning for him to stop prodding where it obviously hurt the most, to back off, to not dare dig deeper for the actual skeletons in the metaphorical closet.

Shiro was wary, granted, but he was not dissuaded even less intimidated by such a display of raw, teenage petulance and misplaced stubbornness.

“No. I’m just asking if you took them.”

When nothing else followed his statement, no questions, no attempts to justify his curiosity, some of the tension seemed to bleed out of his friend. There were questions in her eyes but she held them back, probably to test his patience, to make him crack and admit he did have ulterior motifs. But when Shiro failed to do any of those things and furthermore refused to leave, she appeared to have accepted that he had indeed not bribed his way inside her room to reprimand her.

Heaving a huge sigh, she enveloped herself into one of the soft fuzzy blanket pooled around her.

“Sorry for being so snappy. I just hate being reminded of it.”

Shiro blinked in failing comprehension. Luckily, Pidge caught on fast.

“I hate being reminded of the fact that I’m… not alright.”

She grimaced at the last words, as though she’d bitten into a lemon.

“What are you talking about?” Shiro did not mean to make this more difficult than absolutely necessary but Pidge was being unusually unprecise and he now noticed how much he had come to rely on that particular strength of hers.

Pidge grumbled, clearly unhappy. The tip of her nose was threatening to disappear within the folds of the galaxy print of her hoodie.

“The ADHD.” The admittance sounded painful, deep furrows appearing between Pidge’s eyebrows.

“Okay,” Shiro said slowly, rolling his shoulders nervously as Pidge’s face took on a rather stormy expression, “but what does that have to do with anything?”

“FUCKING EVERYTHING!”

Shiro barely had enough time to duck out of the way of the hand shooting out of the blanket cocoon as Pidge exploded. He remained in his somewhat inclined position, resting most of his weight on his elbow as Pidge began to rant.

“Why does it always have to be about my fucking dysfunction?! It shouldn’t matter! It didn’t matter two years ago, before that damn shrink ever brought it up! Two years ago, I could tell myself that if I messed something up then I’d just have to work harder to make up for it! Two years ago, I could tell myself that I was just being irresponsible or lazy or whatever else the fuck I could change about myself! But now! Now, all that I have is this goddammit diagnosis telling me I’m broken and useless and that I cannot do anything by my-fucking-self! And I can’t stand it!”

She had jumped off the bed, Shiro fearing she might get tangled in her cocoon and trip and hurt herself but Pidge was not to be stopped. She circled the small space, furious and tense.

Finally, she stopped with her shoulders hunched and her head ducked but Shiro still saw the tears clinging to her lashes before they fell.

“I should be stronger than this. Mind over matter. That’s how the saying goes. Then why can’t I do it? I don’t want to think I’m that weak. So why can’t I just do it?”

There so much sadness and frustration lacing her voice. Shiro had never realized how much of a problem this actually had been to his friend for such a long time. Because this was no sentiment that came overnight. Because up until now, Pidge had never let it show how much this had bothered her.

“Hey…” he made his voice as gentle as possible, Pidge looking at him through the tears, sniffling and wiping at her blotchy face with her sleeves. With her glasses riding up, she almost looked like a kid really.

He patted the empty spot next to him and although Pidge seemed reluctant, she still followed his invitation.

Testing the waters, Shiro put his hand on her shoulder and when she did not shrug it off he let it stay there.

“I get it.”

She did not roll her eyes at him but it was clear she felt he was trying to give her a friendly but ultimately useless pep-talk. Her flat expression was indication enough and Shiro tried his best at not letting it get to him.

Maybe he really ought to change tactics then. He waited a moment longer, just until Pidge had pulled a tissue out of the dispenser close to her pillow and finally blown her nose.

“Did you know that I actually screamed at Matt once?”

The change in topic seemed to do the trick, his friend staring at him wide eyed as she still wiped her nose.

“You, scream at Matt?” She teased, sounding not the least bit convinced. “You’re not being serious are you? The two of you are married.”

Shiro could not help the grin: “Maybe a little. But I’m being completely honest.”

“No way.” She whispered, he voice taking on that amused lilt, clearly thinking he was pulling her leg when Shiro was anything but.

“I’m not joking.” He made sure he sounded serious enough for her to understand he was being earnest but still kept his voice light. The point of this was to make her feel better. “It was after we had moved from the very first prototype and fitting to the more nimble model.”

Pidge nodded absentmindedly, her eyes alight as she probably saw the blueprints flash in front of her mind. She had helped with coding and programming, eliminating as many of the bugs that she could, helping Matt turn a vision into a reality.

“Matt had me trying to hold a glass – not the thick and heavy ones but those fragile things that crack if you put too much pressure on them even with a normal hand. And now imagine me, with that unrefined prosthesis and trying to hold one of those. Yep.” he agreed when Pidge gave a wince “my point exactly.”

He felt his lips twitch in a lopsided grin, unclenching his fist when he noticed Pidge’s eyes flickering to it in mild concern as it still clasped her shoulder. He needed to relax. It was strange how, even after all those years, he could feel that bitterness and helplessness of the first months. Shiro had never been good at letting go, even if his friends did not believe him.

He took a deep breath and went on, forcing it all back for Pidge’s sake and because he knew that it did not matter; that those feelings had never helped him any.

“It was the most horrible, most grueling exercise of them all. And yes, I am saying this while still remembering the first few weeks of rehab.” He added when Pidge’s eyebrows disappeared behind her messy fringe. Back when he had done his best to regain mobility and muscle mass in his shoulder, he had at times yowled in pain when the therapist would rotate what was still left of his mangled arm. Keith, Matt and Sam had unfortunately been there to witness some of the more unpleasant sessions. His heart still grew heavy at the memory of Keith’s pale face and wide eyes.

But nothing had compared to the glass-holding exercise.

“The part that made it so horrible was that, for weeks, all I ever managed to do was crush the damned thing into dust. I just couldn’t get my hand and fingers to minimize the pressure.”

“After what felt like the thousandths try and Matt once again telling me to just be patient and to focus, I snapped.”

When he looked at his prosthesis - this mismatch of metal and plastic. If he squinted hard enough he could still see the sparkling powder that had always mocked him for his failure.

He felt Pidge’s gaze on him and was grateful that she gave him the time he needed to put the events of that day into words.

She could not possibly know but he had never told anyone about it. Not even Keith. It would have broken his brother’s heart.

“I screamed at him.” He said quietly and with calmness he certainly did not feel inside as he let the words slip out. Funny, how he was now the one unable to look Pidge in the face. “Told him that what we were doing was a waste of time, since there was no way I could ever do this. That I couldn’t do it. That I was broken and useless and that he should pour his time and effort into someone who would not disappoint him. And when all he did was stare at me, telling me ‘Bullshit’ in that deadpan voice of his… yeah, maybe… I kind of punched him.”

Pidge let out a snort but refrained from outright laughing– she was too much of a good sister to do that.

“So that was why he came back that black eye that evening.” Her gaze drifted over to the other side of the room, unseeing. She let out a whisper, turning back to him. “This explains so much.”

Shiro could not help himself: “What did he tell you guys?”

Pidge gave a shrug, the blanket lifting up a bit.

“Just that the calibration was off and that your arm jerked when he was about to do small adjustments.”

Oh, Shiro would have much preferred that to be the case.

“Yeaaaah, no.”

Shaking her head, Pidge fixated him with an inquisitive stare.

“So, what was the point in telling me that? Did my brother kick your butt until you finally managed to hold the glass?”

He chuckled at her impatience, relieved that, slowly, she was more at ease again.

“The butt-kicking part? Definitely. Matt was merciless on that one. As for me overcoming the impairment on my own? Sure as hell no.”

She squinted at him and Shiro rested his cheek against his fist, leaning most of his weight into the leg he had drawn up and on which he had been resting his elbow for a while now. When her mouth just opened and closed in failing understanding, Shiro decided to cut her some slack.

“After another few sessions and after me acting like a depressed puppy, Matt figured that this problem also wasn’t a simple mind over matter issue.”

He had said depressed puppy jokingly, but it had been anything but amusing. It was the only time, aside from when he had woken up in that hospital room, disoriented, panicked and overwhelmed by flashbacks of the car flipping over and over and over again, that he had cried after the accident. Out of sheer frustration. Out of frustration with himself.

The same frustration he was seeing in Pidge.

“So, how did you do it?” There was something hopeful and mystified in her voice, in her eyes that seemed so much bigger behind her round spectacles.

“I needed Matt to readjust the prosthesis. I never had any part in finally being able to hold that glass.”

Before her face could entirely be overtaken by dismay, he went on: “I think what I want to tell you by that… is that it isn’t your fault. Maybe, the part about you not taking your prescribed meds, yes, but not the fact that you need them in the first place.”

He flexed the fingers of his prosthesis, both of them staring at the joints bending, listening to the almost inaudible creaking and grinding of the two different materials against each other.

“I cannot say what my life would be like without this prosthesis. Maybe I’d be doing just fine, maybe everything would be a whole lot more difficult. But I know that my willpower alone would not have been enough to pass that test.”

Shiro could still feel the sting of his smile as he had beamed at Matt while he held the delicate stem of a wine glass, could still see the thumbs up coming from the disheveled mob of brown hair with bags under its eyes that Matt mutated into over the course of the nights he had kept tinkering with his invention.

“I have always needed an aid to use that arm correctly. It doesn’t mean I didn’t work hard to get the dexterity I have now but even while doing this,” and he reached for the forgotten mug to emphasize his point, holding it up to Pidge’s face, his friend going cross-eyed as she followed the movement “I am painfully aware that it would not be possible for me without Matt having built in a sort of buffer. I will always need some sort of ‘help’ to keep myself from destroying stuff with such an advanced and strong prosthesis. Just like you might need help in the form of your pills to keep focused. And there is no shame in that. That’s something Matt has taught me.”

It was impossible to define the expression Pidge was wearing but Shiro felt like he had done something good when she smiled at him, eyes a touch too bright for it to be normal, and wound her arms around his torso to hug him.

He put his arm around her shoulders, holding her close as well.

“It’s also okay for you to say that you don’t want to take the meds. It will just mean that you will have to take the necessary precautions. Either way,” he said, jostling her a little so that he could be sure he had her full attention as she peaked up at him. Her eyes were positively brimming with tears, the kind of tears that made you feel lighter once they were shed, “we will be there to help you every step of the way. No matter what you decide, we’ll help you. That’s what friends and family are for.”

With how hard she was nodding, Shiro had to brace himself against the wall to make sure they were not toppling over. But he did not miss the quiet murmur coming from the bunched up folds of his sweater.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

He smiled, carding his hand through her hair, watching pictures of their last game night flash over the darkened screen of Pidge’s laptop.

#vld #voltron #shenanigan(g)s #shiro #pidge #katie holt #matt holt #fanfic #completed

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etn-story-archive · 4 years ago

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Enter the Nomicon - Chapter 9: Tengu Feathers

Randy stared at Nomi's back, deep in thought. He wasn't sure for how long, but he knew the sky had darkened outside. The rain had gotten worse. He cringed at each flash of lighting and scooted closer to Nomi. Randy dove back into his previous thoughts; he had been wondering and worrying as to what had happened to Nomi. He felt confused, and he felt a sense of underlying fear for him. The thought of Nomi's scream made him shudder, and then suddenly he had the strangest urge. Randy had an urge to hug Nomi, he felt the need to. Maybe it was because it was something his mother would do whenever he felt down. Even now she still did so.

Randy wasn't sure if Nomi was even awake, or if he would be okay with it, or even how he would react to the gesture. Still...

Randy couldn't squish the feeling, the thought of wrapping his arms around him, embracing him. Maybe it was the fact of what Nomi had said earlier that stung and hit a nerve.

"I'm only going to be with you for three more years, Randy."

It hurt. Randy had grown so close to him. They had become friends. And if there was one thing Randy loved, it was that he loved his friends to death. They were one of the many things he cared for most.

Randy knew Nomi wasn't too fond of the idea of him having friends since it was a 'weight that the ninja could not carry', and all that ninja stuff. However, Randy felt determined to show Nomi that there was nothing bad about friendship. In fact, there were a lot of goods to it.

Thus feeling bold, courageous, and determined (as he usually was), Randy scooted as close as he could next to his roommate and wrapped his arms around his waist as gently as possible, and buried his face into his back.

Randy froze stiff and squeezed his eyes shut when he felt Nomi stir. Either Nomi had been awake the whole time, or he had just woken up.

Randy held his breath and waited to see what Nomi would do. He opened an eye and was surprised to see that Nomi hadn't done a thing.

In truth, Randy wasn't sure what to do now, and he suddenly felt slightly embarrassed, but he couldn't pull away now without alerting his teacher.

"God I am a baka," Randy thought to himself, as he gave up and decided to just go with it.

Yet it bothered Randy how calm Nomi was despite everything that had transpired. He didn't even seem to want to talk about it. What had scared him so badly? Randy desperately wanted to know, but he knew he would be crossing an invisible boundary.

Randy couldn't bear the thought of Nomi being upset because of him. Plus, it was the middle of the night now, or something, so now wasn't probably the right time to ask.

Letting out a puff of air, he snuggled closer to Nomi and fell asleep.

...

Morning had come and the silent pit-patter of rain woke Nomi. His mind still groggy from sleep, Nomi lifted a hand to his face and rubbed his eyes before yawning deeply. He groaned when he felt a terrible ache all over his body. Nomi tried to stretch, but stopped when he remembered Randy had his arms wrapped around his waist.

He peered over his shoulder again and found him half buried into his back and the thick blankets. Nomi drew short, shallow breaths as he tried to shift positions without waking Randy, and without causing himself too much pain. He sighed with relief when he successfully laid himself onto his back, and Nomi blinked away the dried tears and sweat from his eyes, and stared up at the ceiling.

He had subconsciously wrapped his right arm around Randy, pulling him slightly closer, while he laid his left arm across his sweaty forehead. Nomi stared tiredly at the barren wall above him. Despite it being plain and empty, Nomi stared up at it so intently it was as if he expected the answers to all his problems to suddenly appear. After a few minutes of staring at the ceiling, Nomi smacked his chapped lips before licking them, then swallowed spit down his dry throat.

He eyed Randy and realized he had an arm looped around Randy as though they were...Nomi's thoughts trailed off, and he suddenly scowled at himself. Gently plucking off Randy's arms, he scooted away slightly (causing him much pain, I mean literal pain, not emotionally).

For a few moments, Nomi stared unsurely at Randy before suddenly a goofy grin etched itself onto Nomi's features. Randy's mouth hung slightly open, and he mumbled incoherent words. Nomi let out an airy laugh. It was rather typical of Randy. After months of being with Randy (as a book mind you), Nomi had easily become accustomed to his many interesting quirks. Nomi had noticed that Randy always seemed to talk to himself when sorting out problems, both ninja related and when he wasn’t in combat.

Every strange little thing about him made Nomi smile and laugh. Another thing about him, his smile. It was contagious, and before Nomi would know it he slowly found the corners of his lips twitch upward into his own little smile. Nomi's cheeks burned, the tips of his ears turned red, he found himself grinning even wider, and he hid his face in the blankets.

God, if his brother Naru had seen him he would have told Nomi that he was acting like a giddy little village girl. Nomi snickered at this, as his mind began to travel.

He found himself thinking of the dream he had the day before, and almost instantly the smile that had found itself on Nomi's face was quickly lost. Nomi wasn't sure as to what to make of the dream. His skin prickled, and he felt goose bumps erupt all over his body.

The silly romantic escapade sent his heart soaring, making it beat faster and faster; it was certainly something Nomi wouldn't mind having for the rest of his life. His entire face burned hotly, and he cursed under his breath.

A part of him wished for it so badly that it hurt, but another part of him refused it, didn't want to accept it.

He knew it was bad to think of Randy as anything more than a friend. For one thing, it would distract Randy from his more important duties as the ninja, and his even more important mission to prepare for his final battle with the Sorcerer, as he had warned Randy after he had successfully stopped the Sorcerer from obtaining the key to his escape not so long ago.

Those weren’t the only issues to take into consideration. Nomi was immortal. He was 800 and a half years old. He was sure Randy wouldn't exactly find that very attractive. Even then, Nomi was only going to be with Randy for three more years. Randy deserved to be with someone that would stay with him longer than that.

Randy would become another sad chapter in his tragic cliché life of immortal magical teacher, and Nomi couldn't possibly even think of hurting Randy in such a way.

Their relationship would seem meaningless, and it would shatter Randy. Forever scar his pure and honest heart. No, Nomi could never hurt Randy like that, no matter how strongly or deeply he felt for him.

Heck, Nomi wasn't even sure of Randy's preferences! He wasn't even sure of his own preferences or feelings for him!

Nomi thought of the dreadful nightmare that had sullied his beautiful glorious dream, his romantic escapade. His heart clenched tightly at the horrifying thought of Randy, slowly dying, draining away in his arms. The feeling of being unable to do anything but watch in terror. The thought made all the hairs on his neck stand on end, including the part when he began to turn into something...monstrous.

Nomi felt his feet turn cold, his thoughts clashed together. Oh son of a Tengu, Nomi felt terribly lost and confused. Either dream could come true, and at this point Nomi wasn't even sure which would and which wouldn't. What was he to do? Nomi bit his lower lip; he needed guidance, someone who could give him advice. Who? Who could possibly help him? Who was wiser than he, an 800 year old magical book?!

S. Ward Smith.

The name rolled off of Nomi's tongue faster than he could think it.

Nomi and the ninja's history with S. Ward Smith was a long one that dated back in the early 1970's, when for the first time in nearly a century, the ninja broke all of his weapons. In a very similar way to Randy, unfortunately. Nomi, though filled with 800 years of ninja-knowledge, was not a very good black smith. He didn't have the skill or crucial patience needed to be a good black smith, and he usually tended to burn himself. Nomi had panicked. Monsters began to run amuck, causing mayhem, making it extremely hard for the ninja to perform his duties since he had no weapons to fight with.

Now, Nomi never really had a problem with black smithing, since he would usually do it himself, but every single weapon?! He knew how to fix a few things, but every goddamned weapon!? Not only that, but they were in pieces, nearly like dust. Nomi couldn't do it, and he didn't know who to ask for help.

Luckily, the young ninja had come through when he remembered the estranged welding teacher at the high school. The dark skinned man went by the name Stone Ward Smith, or S. Ward Smith.

Nomi had learned a few things about Mr. S. Ward Smith: he was a good blacksmith, he was blind, and he was wise.

With his help, they were able to get the weapons fixed. They stopped all the stanked kids and were able to keep the Sorcerer at bay. The ninja also didn't have anymore setbacks after that, and definitely took better care of his weapons (after S. Ward Smith gave him a piece of his mind that is).

After the entire incident, Nomi had went to S. Ward Smith and all but begged for him to become an ally for the ninja and himself. S. Ward Smith was more than honored to do so and accepted. Nomi had helped him build a secret lair where S. Ward Smith could specifically black smith weapons for the ninja.

Since then, S. Ward Smith became one of Nomi’s and the ninja's greatest allies along with many others he later on came to need and meet. S. Ward Smith, wanting to keep the tradition of helping the ninja and Nomi, had even begun to train an apprentice to carry on his pact with them.

It had become tradition with S. Ward Smith being the first to start it. Quickly, the old man had become somewhat of a friend to Nomi whenever he felt he needed some help.

So from time to time before choosing a new ninja, and guardian/protector/bodyguard, Charles Daniels (the cowboy hat guy), picking him up and dropping him off to the new ninja, he would visit S. Ward Smith, or whenever he got the chance to sneak away.

They would usually catch up with each other, share a few stories, drink some tea, and then part their ways to carry on their duties. Yes, thought Nomi, he needed to see his old friend and ask for his help. Because once again, he desperately needed it.

Immersed in his thoughts, Nomi was quickly startled out of his reverie when he felt Randy stir again. He watched as he snuggled up against him with a somewhat cat-like essence, before wrapping his arms around him again.

Nomi raised a playful brow, then looked around him and saw Randy's clock, which read 9:00 am. It was time to wake up Nomi supposed, so he carefully nudged Randy.

Randy frowned in his sleep. He muttered something along the lines of "five more minutes" as Nomi continued to nudge Randy.

The younger teen pouted and snuggled impossibly closer to Nomi, and Nomi was sure his face had turned different shades of red.

"Randy..." Nomi cringed at how terrible his voice sounded. He cleared his throat before trying to speak again. "Randy, it's time to wake up now."

Randy didn't seem to hear or care, as he continued his slumber with a small smile now. Nomi was curious. A few seconds ago he had been frowning, but now he was smiling.

"You smell good."

Nomi perked up, and stared down at Randy in surprise.

"H-huh?"

"You're cuuu..." Randy slurred. He was blissfully unaware of the words leaving his lips, as this time he really was asleep and he didn't know he was talking in his sleep.

It dawned on to Nomi, and he felt himself foolish for thinking it was really Randy talking.

"I love you...Nomi."

Nomi jumped. He stared at Randy with sad eyes and shook his head slightly. He muttered quietly, "No, you don't."

Sighing, Nomi removed Randy's arms from his waist again, and shook him awake.

Randy's eyes shot open and he nearly decked his teacher's lower jaw.

"N-Nomi what the juice!?"

Nomi who was now sitting up turned to Randy with a slight smirk.

"It's late. It's already past 9:00, Randy.”

"Oh, well you didn't have to fucking scare me juiceless! That was so not Bruce dude."

Nomi rolled his eyes. "Well I tried to wake you, but I couldn't. In fact you started to talk in your sleep."

Randy snorted. "I don't talk in my sleep."

"Oh yes you did! You said I smelled good!"

Randy's cheeks turned red. "No I didn't!"

Nomi laughed as Randy turned away in fake anger. He ruffled Randy's hair, making his bed hair even worse.

"Hey!" Randy faced towards Nomi, and dove after him, giving him a noogie. Randy snickered at Nomi, whose hair looked as though he had walked through a hurricane. "Alright, we should probably get out of bed. So are we going to train?" Randy shifted and turned towards Nomi with an eager grin plastered onto his face.

Nomi hummed for a moment, then reached forward and lifted Randy's shirt up. Randy jumped in shock, but quickly calmed himself down. Nomi began inspecting the scar and nodded to himself.

The magic thread was from a dragon's mane. It helped any fatal or non fatal wounds heal faster than anything else. Nomi could have used the healing spell, but it wasn't meant for this type of injury. The spell brought things back to life, yes, but Mr. Driscoll, for example, didn't have any flesh on him when Randy had accidently reanimated him. This spell helped heal certain mundane injuries. It helped bring back energy, but it didn't always completely heal, especially not someone with Randy's injuries. Or even injuries like Nomi’s fractured leg.

"Well...I guess we can train, but all we'll be able to do is meditate."

Nomi, expecting Randy to complain, was shocked the teen hadn't even batted an eye as he nodded.

"Alright."

With ease Randy hopped off the bed and landed on his feet. With a spring in his step, he happily walked over to his dresser and began to pull out his clothes for the day, which consisted of dark sweats and a long sleeved tee with a Grave Puncher's logo.

Nomi found himself staring at him, his eyes never leaving his back.

"So are we going to train?"

"H-huh? Oh...yes, we are."

"Alright well come on dude, get off of your lazy butt!"

Nomi nodded and grasped his amulet which he had on through out the night. It was a miracle he had not suffocated himself. He tried to move to the edge of the bed, wincing as he swung his leg to the edge of the bed and struggled to even step on to the wooden ladder of Randy's bed.

Randy's grin went away.

"Hey, can you get up dude?"

Nomi chuckled breathlessly at the ironic question before nodding.

"Yes Randy, I can get up."

Nomi found the question ironic as he had asked a similar question yesterday.

With Randy's help, Nomi was able to climb down the wooden ladder onto the carpeted floor.

...

Much to Randy's surprise when he and Nomi had reached the bottom of the stairs, they had found Randy's mother humming her own cheery tune in the kitchen preparing them breakfast.

Though the delicious aroma was enough to make anyone's mouth water, Nomi's was as dry as a desert. The thought of eating made him queasy.

Ruby Cunningham peered over her shoulder and gave the two a kind smile.

"G'morning you two! I made you guys some pancakes!"

Randy was more than eager to eat the fluffy breakfast cakes. Nomi didn't show as much enthusiasm. Ruby began plating their breakfasts and Randy began to join his mother when Nomi walked up to Ms. Cunningham and bowed respectfully. He spoke in a quiet voice.

"Thank you Ms. Cunningham, but I'm not hungry."

Ruby rolled her eyes. "Well from what Randy told me, you don't eat a lot."

Nomi rose quickly and gave a dark look to Randy who shrugged with a sly smirk upon his face.

"Yes, well, food is no longer a necessity for me, so thank you, but no thank you."

"Uh huh. I may not have any authority over you, but if you're going to stay in this house you are going to eat at least one pancake."

Nomi stared, speechless, but after a few moments of hesitation he bowed again.

"Y-yes ma'am."

Being that Nomi had been born in ancient times, he had been taught to give respect to his elders, especially women, so he didn’t argue with Randy’s mother.

...

Breakfast had passed with Nomi barely able to keep down the pancake, Randy happily digging into his stack of pancakes, and Ms. Cunningham reading the newspaper with her usual daily brew of coffee.

Suddenly out of the blue, Randy spoke up.

"Hey Mom, aren't you supposed to go to work?"

Ruby let out an annoyed huff. "Yes, but I said I couldn't go now, so I'm stuck with the night shift." The thought of being alone with Viceroy, McFist, and the horrendous creature called the Sorcerer made her skin crawl, and at night? The thought was unfathomable.

Randy suddenly grinned. "So does that mean you're going to be here all day?"

If there was one person Randy loved more than anyone in the world, it was his mom. She was like his best friend, except, well less wonky and grumpy like Howard was.

The scowl that had etched itself onto Ruby's face melted away, and she smiled.

"I guess I am, huh?"

Nomi stayed silent, deep in his own thoughts. He knew Randy's mother was working in McFist's company, which was extremely dangerous. However, Nomi couldn't blame the woman. After all, this job kept the two alive. Without it, Tengu knows what would happen to them, and Nomi could never picture Randy and his mother out in the streets.

Still, it bothered him. What if the Sorcerer were to find out Randy's identity? He could use Ruby as blackmail.

Nomi looked over at the two sitting next to him. They looked absolutely ecstatic that they were going to spend the entire day together. It was obvious the two never got to spend time like this together, and thus Nomi didn't dare voice his thoughts. He didn't want to sour their happy moods, and he found himself smiling fondly at Randy and Ms. Cunningham.

"Nomi? Nooomi?"

Nomi blinked and looked at Randy slightly dazed and confused.

"Hm?"

Randy shot him a curious and concerned look, but repeated himself. "I was asking if we were going to train now, dude?"

Nomi's scowl vanished and his face became calm again. He nodded.

Ruby cast a glance towards Nomi. Something was bothering him, she could feel it. But she didn't dare ask, whatever it was. It was something only he could decipher. This was his business and his business alone.

...

Ms. Cunningham plopped onto the plush black couch happily, a cup of hot chocolate in hand, and watched her son and his teacher sit in the center of the living room.

Though meditating wasn't exactly all exciting, nor action-packed, it was safe, and to Ruby that was enough action for one day anyways.

Nearly a good hour had passed with the house in complete and utter silence. Nomi had all but become dead to the world around. He focused on nothing, but at the same time everything and beyond. He felt as though he were slowly leaving his body (though technically his soul was in his amulet). It was strange and comforting. Meditating blocked away all the pain, the sufferings, the deaths, and time.

Then suddenly it was shattered like broken pieces of glass.

Randy's cell phone's blaring ringtone went off, startling everyone in the room. Nomi's eyes had snapped open widely, and Ms. Cunningham had nearly dropped her hot chocolate. Nomi gave Randy a dark glare which Randy replied with a sheepish grin.

"S-sorry dude!"

Nomi snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Just answer it."

Randy quickly stood up on his wobbly chicken legs, pulled out his phone and answered it without even having to check who had interrupted his training.

"Hey bro what's up?"

"Cunningham, you gotta come over! I think I just unlocked some new bonus round in Grave Puncher! It's so honkin' Bruce!"

Randy's eyes lit up excitedly. "Whoa really!?"

"Yeah, now get your butt over here you shoob!"

Randy's smile faded away instantly. His blue eyes flickered over to Nomi. He had closed his eyes shut, but was no doubt listening in on his conversation with Howard.

He then looked over at his mother who gave him a look as if saying, 'no, you're training right now and you are still in trouble', so sighing sadly, he whispered almost mournfully," I-I can't dude. I'm...training—"

"Cunningham that's wonk. C'mon dude! It'll only be for an hour!"

"Dude, I can't. I'm still grounded remember? Plus, I can't blow off Nomi! He's supposed to be teaching me to be a Bruce ninja."

"Randy, c'mon, you can't leave Nomi waiting on you. He may be immortal, but that doesn't mean it's okay. Now hang up the phone mister."

"Whoa—wait, Cunningham, was that your mom!? Hold up, does she know-!?"

"Yeah, look dude, I have to go! M-maybe tomorrow?"

Randy cringed when he heard his bro groan in annoyance.

"You know what? Fine. Go hang with the book. See you tomorrow you chowder headed shoob."

"Bye. See you—"

Beep.

Before Randy could even finish his goodbye Howard had hung up on him. Randy let out a shaky sigh. He quickly stuffed his phone into his pocket and walked back over to where Nomi sat. Hurt didn't even begin to describe how horrible Randy now felt. He scratched the back of his neck and sat across Nomi again.

Nomi opened a brown eye and looked up at Randy, his eyes once again too glossy for either's liking, and Nomi felt his dislike for Howard grow. The entire aspect of friendship made Nomi uneasy, and it bothered him. He didn't really have any reason to truly despise Howard or protest his and Randy's slowly falling apart friendship.

However, once upon a time, there was a ninja who perhaps could've been the one to defeat the Sorcerer. Once upon a time, there was a jealous friend. The end of both stories, ended in death of one and hell for the other.

Nomi had had young ninjas on their first year killed before for 'friends', and Nomi couldn't risk any more deaths. It was rare for the ninjas to die, but more often than not shattered friendship was the cause for it. Which was why Nomi always warned the ninjas it was too risky, though they never really listened.

Going off track. Nomi was no fool, he knew full well of Howard's feelings towards Randy. He wasn't jealous if you're wondering, he supported a healthy and happy relationship for Randy. Even if he wouldn't be a part of it. Randy deserved so much, but Howard?

Nomi didn't trust him with Randy's life. Howard was selfish, rude, inconsiderate, and sometimes he didn't seem to understand Randy's choices when it involved his ninja duties.

Howard needed to understand the consequences of being the ninja's friend, and that Randy would not always be there. Randy had responsibilities that came with being the ninja whether he liked it or not.

Still, however, Nomi couldn't blame the pudgy teen. If he could, he would stay with Randy for as long as the teen had a breath in him, yet all the same, he didn't trust Howard. Randy did, but Randy trusted people maybe a little too easily, so Nomi felt the instinct to protect Randy overwhelm all other senses and thoughts. After all he could betray Randy, double cross him, sell him off to the Sorcerer, etc. etc. It would put everyone in danger, and Nomi couldn't bear the thought of Randy actually dying in his arms.

He didn't think he could even stand up again if anyone else got hurt. Nomi bit the inside of his cheek till he tasted blood. He needed to prevent all the things that happened in his dream from coming true.

Even if it meant sacrificing any chance of romance.

....

Howard glared angrily at his phone, tears threatening to spill out of his light brown eyes. He couldn't believe Cunningham would choose a stupid book over him! His bro! His bro, who he had known since kindergarten!

All stupid Cunningham ever talked about was about the ninja, ninja this, ninja that, ninja everything! Not to mention his annoying stupid lessons, and he was always NNS'ing or Nomiconing him!

Howard growled as he went back to the game in front of him. He gripped the remote controller angrily and pressed the colorful buttons, surprisingly not breaking them. He felt so mad, but at the same time he couldn't stay mad.

He loved his shoob of a bro, Cunningham. Sometimes it stung to know that he would prefer to hang with a book (even before they knew it, well, he, could turn into a human) than him. Not to mention how he so badly wanted to tell Cunningham how he felt, but as badly as he wanted to he didn't. There was always that small chance he'd get rejected, and the thought terrified him greatly so as to make sure no one had an inkling of his feelings for his bro, he made sure to be as much of an asshole as possible, be it Randy, or anyone else. It was a sort of defensive mechanism for him that slowly became a part of him. It actually worked more often then he thought it would, and he hated that. He wished he wasn’t rude, mean or grumpy.

Finally getting frustrated with the game, he threw down the small game controller. He brought up his knees as close as he could and hugged them tightly. Tears began to fall freely, and he couldn't stop them no matter how much he tried. They kept falling, just like how he was falling deeper in love with Cunningham. He so badly wanted to just yell it out loud and not be afraid that Cunningham would hate him.

He had been able to say all his feelings to his sister Heidi, who accepted him. She hadn't teased him, blackmailed him, or even made some sort of smart ass comment. Though it didn't seem like it, Howard and Heidi cared about each other more than they let on. They just fought a lot. Sure, they didn't always get along, but still they were siblings and siblings stuck together.

When Howard had come out to her she hadn't said anything, she didn't say one word. Howard had begun to panic, but...

Heidi Weinerman, the biggest bitch you'll probably ever meet, had hugged her baby brother in a tight embrace.

Howard sniffed and rubbed at his nose when it became all runny, tears still flowing without end.

"Howard, get down here and wash the dishes or I'm going to tell Mom!"

The sound of his sister's voice startled him out of his despairing thoughts, but he didn't bother to answer back. Instead he could already hear her angry footsteps coming up the stairs to his room. She had all but kicked the door open, and was about to yell her lungs out when she noticed Howard's teary eyes and runny nose.

"How? Howard, what's wrong?" Almost instantly her caring big sister mode came on and she quickly sat next to her brother.

Howard stared sadly at nothing in particular and answered with a coarse voice.

"The usual stuff."

Heidi furrowed her brows. “Baby bro...I told you—"

"I know, I know! B-but...I...R—Cunningham...there's this new guy, a-and he keeps taking him away. I can barely hang with him now!"

Heidi placed a finger on Howard's dry lips and gave him a encouraging smile. "How, what does this guy have that us Weinerman's don't?"

"Apparently everything good enough to get Cunningham's attention."

The older girl rolled her eyes playfully. "No you shoob, I'm being serious! Dandy—"

"—Randy—"

"—Sandy, would be crazy if he didn't see just how amazing you are. How, baby bro, you're perfect and Mandy doesn't see that just yet."

Howard stared up at his sister with slightly pink eyes filled with a newfound hope.

"Really? Do you think so?" he asked with as much wonder and naivety as a child in Whoopee World.

Heidi nodded. "Yes, really. Now stop being such a baby and help me watch the dishes, or Mom and Dad are going to take away your McFist pad again."

...

How long had he been here? How much longer could he stand it? When would he fall to insanity? Would he ever truly escape?

The Sorcerer knew not the answer to these questions that swirled aimlessly in his wicked mind. He thought of nothing in particular as he swirled a green ribbon of magic in his hand lazily.

All he wanted was to create sweet, sweet beautiful chaos. Perhaps ruin a couple hundred lives, destroy cities, take over the world. Was that so much? Couldn't he ruin a least a few lives?

Apparently no. The Sorcerer gritted his crooked-board-like teeth, the magic in his hands dissipating.

He had been so close to ruling the world, just one person's death away. The blasted Norisu had fought him and won...well, only one of them had defeated him. He mused that entire family of highly trained ninjas couldn't defeat him, but the little runt could.

Nomi Conikos Norisu. The Sorcerer frowned, deep green wrinkles nearly engulfed his white beady eyes. He had tamed his precious chaos into plain old harmony! Bah! Harmony without chaos. Life was far too simple, too peaceful! No excitement!

The Sorcerer looked down at his sleeping companion, the sewer rat. Wickedly, he snatched the poor thing up by its tail, startling it awake.

"Oh woe is me to forever be sealed in my prison of cement. To wallow in my defeat!"

In his hand the Sorcerer had thrown the poor rat around like a rag doll in his hands, not caring if he was hurting it.

The two idiots McFist and Viceroy were getting him nowhere. All of their idiotic plans and schemes were no match for the ninja.

He had been so close to grasping the key to his escape, but the ninja had stopped him! He could've been the ruler of earth by now if the clumsy rat hadn't spilled his cauldron filled with magic.

Weeks ago he had Ninja Nomicon in his grasp! He had been so close, but how could he not have been able to open it?!

The Sorcerer snarled. It couldn't be, could it? Did that wretched little hellion survive!? Could he be the ninja?! The Sorcerer began squeeze the poor rat.

"No! IMPOSSIBLE!"

In his tantrum he threw his rat companion at his 'window' to McFist's office. Forgetting his anger, the Sorcerer crawled over to his 'window' and stared curiously at the giant plasma TV McFist had left on. There was an apparent emergency.

When he realized it was an emergency broadcast he had instantly perked up and sat as close to his 'window' as he possibly could. He eagerly waited for the misery and misfortune of others. He hugged his thin sickly green legs tightly with a sinister grin plastered on his face.

He was, for the first time in centuries, in shock.

"It appears the ninja has an ally. We are unable to identify said ally, as they are moving faster than the cameras can capture. The recent footage we showed earlier from the local Game hole down a few blocks, reveals the ninja could possibly be injured, or even dead."

The dark skinned reporter showed a quick clip of the scene where the ally dove after the ninja.

"We aren't sure if they—hold up! I got word that the Sweet Tooth candy store caught the ninja and the ally rushing into the school! Good news for Norrisville as their hero has survived the fall!"

Another clip appeared this time. It showed the ally and the ninja limping to a broken window before diving inside.

"I'm Jenny Jones and we'll be right back after these messages."

The Sorcerer's jaw dropped as he stared at the screen. An ally? When the bloody hell did the ninja get an ally?

"So the ninja doesn't like to play fair...well, two can play that game."

His gaze darkened, and just as he was about to turn away again, his shockingly okay rat pointed to the TV. The Sorcerer followed its tiny finger and stared confused at the commercial.

"Hi! I'm Mac Antfee, the ex-owner of Ninja Camp! I can teach you to be a better-butt-kicking ninja than the ninja himself-! I-I mean person! Come over and see where all the s'plosion is at today! And we'll teach that good for nothing—I-I mean, totally cool ninja, how much of a good person we all are!" With that Mac Antfee proceeded to destroy blocks of cement with his fists.

The Sorcerer stared and rolled his eyes, but stopped. He eyed the commercial as it continued to blabber on.

"Hmm. He seems to know some form of martial arts."

He rubbed his chin. Perhaps this Mac Antfee could level the playing field? All he needed was a little dark magic. The Sorcerer gave a sinister look at his hands as he summoned powerful green magic and swirled it around again like he had been doing just a few minutes ago.

Yes, yes. This Mac Antfee could help him finally rid the world of the ninja and his apparent ally! Then he could get his hands on the Ninja Nomicon and deal with the Norisu who had been hiding under his nose for so long!

"Yes, victory will be mine! I'll soon rule the world!"

The Sorcerer's laughter boomed loudly, echoing throughout the cement walls of his cell. His rat companion joined him, but then stopped when the Sorcerer gave him a dark look.

Now all he had to do was get rid of the idiot McFist, but maybe not his assistant Viceroy. The dark skinned man could prove useful enough to keep alive. The Sorcerer smirked. He could almost see it now. The look upon McFist's face when he double crosses him, then ends him!

Then suddenly the commercials were over and the Sorcerer sat back in front of his 'window' and stared intently at the TV.

Soon, he thought, soon...

...

An entire hour passed with no more interruptions before Nomi suddenly stood up.

Randy opened his eyes and stared up in surprise at the outstretched hand in hovering in front of him.

"We're done with training today."

"Really?!"

Nomi chuckled. "Yes, Randy. Am I that repulsive?"

"What?! No! It's just—!"

"Randy I'm kidding."

"Oh."

Nomi smirked before he started making his way upstairs to Randy's room.

"H-hey! Nomi, where the juice are you going?!"

Nomi froze and looked over his shoulder hesitantly. "I'm going upstairs."

"What, come on, let's just hang for a bit dude! All we do when we chill is talk about ninja stuff. Come on, this'll be a chance for me to teach you some teen stuff!"

Nomi shook his head. "Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live."

"Huh?! Nomi, what'd I tell you about the riddles?! I can’t understand you."

"I mean go hang with your mother. You two need it."

Randy cocked his head to the side and stared up at Nomi with wide eyes. "Well, yeah, but...I don't want you to be up there all by yourself. You're my friend dude, it's cool."

Nomi bit his lower lip and scratched the back of his neck before turning around completely.

"I don't—"

"Nomi, we don't bite,” said Mrs. Cunningham, who had a bowl of popcorn in her arms. “Now come on, there's some good movies on!"

Nomi looked at her and nodded.

Randy shot him a slightly sheepish grin, though on the inside he was beyond happy that his mother had spoken up when she did.

....

Nomi sat as close as he could to the edge of the couch, away from the two, once again not wanting to ruin their happy moods. Throughout the entire time Randy and Ms. Cunningham were barely paying any attention to whatever film was on and were mostly chatting with each other. Occasionally dragging Nomi into the conversation.

Though Nomi wasn't really paying much attention to them, he was thinking when was the best time to visit his old friend, S. Ward Smith.

Ruby had noticed the noble red head's strange behavior since breakfast. He seemed distant and lost in deep thought. She looked over at her son who was oblivious to his teacher's behavior.

Ms. Cunningham hummed, then smiled. She knew exactly what was wrong.

After a few moments, she looked at her clock. Sadly, it was almost time to go work.

"Randy hon, I have to go soon, so let me make you guys some dinner."

Nomi perked up at this, and a small plan formed in his mind.

While Randy and Ms. Cunningham had begun preparing dinner, Nomi, not wanting to disturb them, had snuck away, or, well tried to. He had underestimated the two Cunninghams. With Randy's ninja training and Ruby's motherly instincts, he had been caught and captured, and was somewhat forced to eat by Ms. Cunningham.

Afterwards, Ms. Cunningham had left (reluctant of course), leaving Randy and Nomi to their own devices.

Sitting by the counter, Randy slurped up what was left in his juice box sucking it till it shriveled up, however, he didn't stop. Nomi smirked at his childish antics.

Randy's mood had risen, and his issue with Howard all but forgotten.

Randy suddenly spoke up with some unknown aggression, which was completely out of his character.

"What happened last night?"

Nomi blinked and turned towards Randy facing him fully, Randy mimicked him.

"What the juice Nomi! You scared me shitless!"

Nomi was surprised that Randy dare questioned him.

"Randy, it was nothing. Just...a bad dream."

Randy, unconvinced, leaned forward and got as close to Nomi as he could without bumping their heads together. Nomi didn't even flinch. He placed on his 'no emotion mask' and stared down Randy. There was a sudden air of tension. It bothered both Nomi and Randy.

"Dude, you woke up screaming, crying, and throwing up. If it were nothing that big, then I would believe you."

Nomi turned away. "It's nothing."

Randy groaned. Nomi was unyielding. He remembered his thoughts from the night before, and that determination returned.

"No, I want you to tell me!" Randy rose suddenly, nearly knocking the chair behind him over.

Nomi was actually a bit intimidated by Randy's dominance, but he didn't dare show it. He couldn't let Randy know. There was no way, not now at least, or maybe ever.

He stood up. Randy still towered over him, but Nomi showed him his own display of dominance. He hissed out the words.

"No. Now drop it Randy."

"Not until you tell me, dude!"

Nomi shook his head and proceeded to walk past Randy, when he was yanked backwards.

"Nomi please!"

Nomi looked up and was shocked that tears were starting to form in the corners of Randy's blue eyes. Nomi felt his heart shatter, the very thing he wanted to avoid, he had done.

"R-Randy..."

Randy looked down at his feet. He wiped away the tears that had begun to form and spoke up bitterly.

"Whatever then dude."

Nomi stood and he felt himself shrink.

"Randy, look at me, please?"

Randy ignored.

"Randy, look at me."

Randy didn't bother. He didn't even cast a look.

"Randy!"

Nomi felt his heart begin to beat fast, as he felt anger and shame. Anger at himself for being afraid to say what happened the night before, and shame for hurting Randy's feelings.

Hanging his head, he squeezed his eyes shut," I'm sorry okay!? Do you want to know what that dream was about?! FINE!"

Randy snapped his head up, shocked by the sudden outburst. Had he pushed his teacher too far? Had he hurt his friend? Did he make Nomi...mad?

"First off, we—"

Randy suddenly rose up and wrapped his arms tightly around Nomi, nearly engulfing him completely.

"N-no. I'm sorry, Nomi. Please don't be mad at me." Randy buried his face into his shoulder. He was embarrassed that he was crying. God, he must look like some big baby.

Nomi stood, shell shocked by the sudden turn of events. He stood stock still for a moment before he buried his own face into Randy's chest, tears flowing down his face as well.

"You shouldn't be—"

"No, I-"

"But I..."

The two pulled away after a moment, and stared at each other. A heartbeat later the two began to laugh. If someone had walked in on the two, they would've deemed them mad.

"Okay so we're both sorry? Are we uh, good?"

Nomi chuckled and before shaking his head no. Randy's eyes widened, but Nomi raised a hand.

"First, let me tell you about the dream."

Randy blinked and nodded, and the two sat back down on their original seats.

Nomi sighed. Was he really going to go through with this? He eyed Randy, when he remembered advice he had gotten from his father.

"Sometimes the greatest love, means sacrificing your own for others, my son."

"It was a terrible nightmare. We were in the Sorcerer's lair..."

Nomi had explained how Randy was slowly dying in his arms while the Sorcerer mocked them. How he encircled them, like some predator would do to its prey. How Randy died, how he tried to fight, but failed. And how he began turn into a monster...but not the last words he said to Randy. Not the "I'm so sorry...love" part. Not that.

Randy sat in silence and Nomi soon joined him. He reached out for Randy and grasped his hand.

"That's why I didn't want to tell you, Randy. If it were anything else, then I would."

Nomi looked up at Randy. The two stared at each other.

Randy felt himself wanting to lean forward, to do something. He had never kissed anyone. He'd had crushes and stuff and—whoa, whoa, whoa. Kiss? Why would he want to kiss...Randy's cheeks turned a light shade of pink.

Nomi had seen this, and he turned away.

"We should probably rest. Tomorrow we'll meditate again. I'll try helping you finish early so you can go hang out with Howard. You deserve it."

Randy stared, with his mouth hung open. He was speechless, what was he about to do?! Had Nomi just rejected him? Randy didn't dare ask. He simply nodded.

Nomi cringed on the inside. He could sense some sort sadness, or disappointment in Randy, but it was perhaps for the best.

....

Going upstairs, Nomi sat on Randy's bed and stared at the ninja mask and hummed.

Randy noticed, before he could say a word, the mask was suddenly tossed his way.

"Put it on."

Randy did so without question.

Black ribbons began to wrap around him, engulfing him in its magic. Before Nomi sat a very confused ninja. Nomi began to quietly inspect the ninja suit. He paused; there was a large gaping hole where Randy had been impaled.

Nomi cursed under his breathe.

"Dammit! We'll have to go see the Tengu."

Randy's eyes widened. "The T-Tengu? Why?!"

Nomi looked up. "The ninja suit has a hole in it."

"So? I think my mom has black thread—"

"Randy, this is a magic suit, not a costume. Using regular thread will turn the suit into a regular cheap Halloween knock-off,besides the suit is made of feathers,not regular thread."

"Yeah, but remember how hard it was to fight that thing?!"

"Randy, you must have faith in me. All will be well."

Randy silenced, then nodded.

"Okay dude, I'll trust you."

"We'll head over to the school at least three days before it reopens and classes start up again, okay?"

Randy nodded, before crawling underneath the blankets tiredly.

Nomi did so as well, but this time he turned back into a book. He missed the sad look Randy gave him before they both fell asleep.

....

The week went by fast with Randy and Nomi meditating, and Ms. Cunningham coming and going from work to home. Howard dropped by from time to time, whatever tension there was somehow resolved itself and none of them questioned it. There were some pretty nasty arguments between Nomi and Howard, or even Randy and Howard, but it was quickly resolved before it got any worse.

By the third day of the week (Wednesday), Randy was back on his feet, fighting a few stray monsters and robots. This time Nomi didn't interfere, though he did provide advice. Much to Randy's disdain, in riddles.

"The higher you climb the heavier you fall."

"A watched pot never boils."

"A burden one chooses is not felt."

You get the jist?

Soon it came down to breaking into the school to get the Tengu's black feathers for the ninja suit.

As Nomi began putting on his cape with his relic in its usual spot, he turned towards Randy and noticed he was...making something.

Randy was busily making something out of paper mache.

"Randy, what are you doing?"

"I'm making you a mask! Last time no one saw who you were, but we can’t risk someone seeing you this time."

Randy held up a well crafted paper mache mask. It was pure white, not counting a few blue markings underneath the eyes, and the cream colored beak. Yes, a beak. In fact, said beak looked exactly like...

"Is that a Tengu mask?"

Randy nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Pretty Bruce, eh?"

Nomi stared at it curiously. It was made very well actually, and Randy was right. He needed something to conceal his identity, and this mask was more than perfect.

Nomi gently grasped the mask. He touched the beak and saw that it was smooth to the touch, like white porcelain. The beak's details were very convincing as it had crevices to match the lines that ran down the actual demon bird's beak. The markings (though a bit off) were nearly exact, and looked correct on the mask.

Then Nomi noticed that the mask didn't have the red mane that surrounded the tengu's white face. He also noticed that there was a stretchy string to prevent the mask from falling off his face.

Nomi looked up and Randy who looked at him with an expectant gaze.

"Hey shoobs, hurry up!"

Both Randy and Nomi broke contact with each other at the sound of Howard's voice. Nomi snorted, rolling his eyes, he carefully put on the mask. His bangs were brushed back into spikes, making his hair look like the tengu's great red mane. It fit a little big on him, but Nomi wasn't complaining.

Howard marched upstairs and as soon as he saw Nomi, he nearly shrieked.

"The T-Tengu...!"

Randy snickered as Nomi removed the tengu mask, who was smirking.

Howard glared.

"Ass."

...

It was almost completely dark, except there were bright street lights, the stars were out, and there was a full moon. Howard had disguised himself with the horrible mask he had made to look like himself from the last time they had snuck out, and was bundled up for the cool night air. The rain had stopped and the sky was clear.

In the low light Randy's blue eyes glistened. He of course was disguised in his ninja suit. Sadly, he wasn't as well protected from the cold as Howard was. The gaping hole at his stomach seeped through the shirt he wore, and he shuddered when a cold breeze brushed against his belly.

He looked over at Nomi. He bore the tengu mask Randy had crafted for him. His usual spiky hair was even more so, being pushed back by the paper mache mask. He wore his majestic cape. From the cape Randy could see Japanese symbols changing to different images and such. It surprised Randy that he hadn't noticed it before.

The ninja clip glistened brightly, glowing with the life contained inside, and it caught Randy's attention. It flashed brightly providing them light when they were a good distance from the neighborhood.

They had to hurry. If Randy's mother came home and saw that he wasn't at home, she would ground him for life.

Then again, it was official ninja business, so maybe his mother wouldn't get mad? Or at least not as mad if it weren't official ninja busyness?

Randy, realizing they had stopped, looked at the building in front of him. It looked almost like the abandoned construction site at the edge of town fifteen minutes away from where they stood. The white building of the school casted a large shadow, the moon's light casting a soft blue glow. It was both serene and eerie all at once.

Making haste, the three teens jumped through a barren window. It lacked all glass: not a single piece stuck to the frame.

The three walked in silence. The halls were illuminated by the moon's light. It was frightening to both Randy and Howard. However, Nomi didn't seem to be bothered by the scene in front of him.

After a few minutes they found themselves in a large room where in the center lay the colorful tiles that made up the carps mural. Randy and Howard stood by the entrance of the room. The last time they had come in was when they dealt with the Tengu.

It wasn't that they were afraid. They simply never really went in the room in the first place.

Nomi calmly and quietly walked to the fish eye of the tile design carp. He began to mutter things. His eyes were unable to be seen as the mask hid them, making him look terrifying. Suddenly, Nomi pulled out an orb similar to the one stuck in the ground.

He continued to mutter words undecipherable to Howard. However, Randy understood the words as they were muttered in Japanese. Well, in Randy's mind, they were in English.

“Right now I need to burrow my head under my arms,

close my eyes and hide until this litany of fear subsides.

Let this parade of memories pass by, this charade of bravado

fall, this mockery of compassion drop it's walls,

to make the Tengu fold its wings, breathe its last,

cease feasting on the salmon stuck downstream

between boulders, slick sides gleaming as he wiggles

desperately toward forgiving, fertile waters, knowing

only that where he is not where he's meant to be.

He's far wiser than at one point-

Me.”

Randy watched as the eyes of the tile carp began to glow a bright blue. Nomi peered over his shoulder. His eyes were shining a bright white, the orb in his hand mimicked the orb in the ground. He gently plucked the carp eye from the ground and replaced it with the other orb in his hand.

Suddenly all light died away, except that of the moon's and the stars'.

Nomi stood still for a few moments, before walking towards Randy and Howard. The two teens, unsure of what to expect, backed away in fear. Nomi held out the orb to Randy. His own eyes shining in wonder, he picked up the orb and placed it in his hands. It was about the size of a softball at most.

He looked up at Nomi as he whispered cryptically, "It's time for its rebirth."

The words sent chills up and down Randy's spine, and Howard cowered behind him as well.

The small orb then began to vibrate and move, trying to roll out of Randy's hands. Randy, having not expected the sudden movement, began to try to stop the orb from falling to the ground for fear of breaking it.

"Nomi, what the juice?!"

Nomi smirked. "We're going to hatch the Tengu. It's time we washed away its evil. The past ninjas did wonderfully...all except one."

"M-Mac Antfee?"

Nomi shook his head. "No. It's a long story, but a past ninja had tainted the good in this bird's heart."

Nomi stared at the egg that kept moving in Randy's hands intently.

"Okay, but why is it moving so much?!"

Before either of the two could even blink, Howard took the egg from Randy's hands.

"Cause you're not holding it right, shoob."

With that Howard placed the egg on top of his head, and instantly the egg stopped moving.

Nomi raised a brow, but shrugged.

"I suppose that works."

The three proceeded home.

#Enter the Nomicon #ETN #Chapter 9 #story repost

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