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dumbbitchenergy17 · 4 years

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New Life Pt. 2

You lived any normal life get up, go to school, head back home, and repeat. It was until your school had an interesting meeting with the one and only Tony Stark. Will meeting him be the best moment of your life or worst

Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader, future-Peter Parker x Reader

Words: 2688

Previously

“You got that equation down well not even college students solve it. So you got a name kid.” He smiled holding a hand out.

“Y/n. Y/n Y/L/N.” You shook his hand with a small smile. Tony freezes for a second looking you up and down studying you making you slightly nervous.

“Nice to meet you but this might be weird but I just might be your dad.”

You laughed and not a chuckle a full-blown laugh leaning against your knees trying to catch your breath.

“Oh god. That’s good.” You stand straight wiping the tears looking at Tony still staring with no smile on his face. You look at Ned and Peter and they both have their jaws dropped

“Oh shit you’re serious.” You said. Tony nods shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah this is really weird, soo I’m just gonna go.” You point behind you and being to walk backwards.

“Wait,” Tony grabs your arm making you look back at him

“Look Mr. Stark this is just some huge coincidence and I would know if my dad the Tony Stark.” You try to ease the blow. Right before Tony try to respond

“Y/n!” Harry calls out making you look back to see him and Principal Mortia, “Your principal called really on your first day of scho-” Harry beginning to reprimand you when he sees who is still holding onto your arm he freezes and looks at Tony then back at you.

“Harry?” Tony askes in recognition.

“Mr. Mortia I’m sorry but Y/n will not be attending Midtown anymore,” Harry says and everyone freezes and your heart drops.

“What!” You, Peter, and Tony yell at the same time.

“Sir please think about this. Y/n is a bright student with a gifted mind and will excel greatly here..” Your principal tries to change his mind.

“Harry what are you doing.” You try to get him to realize what he is doing.

“Y/n we’re leaving.” Harry comes over and grabs your arm and begins to drag you out.

“Harry just stop.” You push away from him, “I like this school. I feel normal here and not the freak that knows too much.”

“We are not discussing this not let’s go.” Harry ended the conversation.

“She got a bright mind think this through, Harry.” Tony tried putting his opinion

“Stay out of this Stark.” He hissed back going back to grab your arm but you pulled back.

“Do you too know each other?” You asked looking at Tony and Harry.

“He was best friends with my ex-wife,” Tony said you look between him and Harry. You knew that Harry was best friends with your mom before she left.

“I think we should take this somewhere private.” Principal Mortia tried ushering the group to somewhere more private as a crowd was forming.

“What was her name.” You said over everyone arguing with each other. Tony look at Harry then looked at you

“Y/M/N.” He said making you suck in a breathe tears building up.

“Kid come on let’s go talk about this somewhere else.” Harry tried to guide you out of the crowded hallway.

“Did you know.” You deadpanned still looking at your shoes.

“Kid you know that I would-” He tried to defend himself.

“Don’t fucking lie to me. Did. You. Know.” You hissed out looking at him Harry looked down ashamed

“Yes.” You let out a laugh at how he felt guilty.

“How could you.” You whimpered a tear slipping down your face and you turned to look at Tony who looked equally upset.

“And you. How could you not try to look.” You shook your head wiping your face

“Y/n let’s just-” Harry tried to talk

“Just! Don’t” You lifted your arms up trying to put distance from them “just don’t” You grab your bag and rush through the crowd until you hit the door that leads to outside.

“Y/N!” they yell after you. The cold air hits your face causing pins and needles to appear as you make your way further away from the school towards the subway.

“Y/N Stop!” You turn and see both Tony and Harry standing there Peter and Ned behind them. You weave through the bystanders as you hear footsteps after you. As you enter the subway you make your way to the turnstile and try to get your metro card to work but won’t pick up the scan

“Y/n..” You hear your voice

“Come on. Come on. Come on.” You catch the attention of an elderly lady

“Here dear those things always are trouble-some.” She swipes her card and it lights up green.

“Thank you so much, ma’am.” You rush through the turnstile and rush down the stairs to the platform not even caring where the subway takes you. You just needed space from all this. You see a subway at the end of the platform boarding right as you hear your name beginning called.

“Y/n. Come on stop.” Harry yells. You run as fast as you can to get to the subway right as you are about to board an arm grabs you and rips you away from the doors, people still entering and exiting.

“Y/n, Don’t do this let’s talk.” Tony tries to reason with you.

“Talk, You had 16 years for you to talk, so just stay away from me.” You pulled your arm away from him watching his face fall. You enter the subway and the doors close right as Harry catches up and you both stare at each other as it moves and you are gone. You walk over to an empty seat, you lean your head back trying to keep your tears at bay.

You couldn’t remember where this subway was leading you to, but after almost an hour it stopped and most people got off. Walking out of the station and ended up on the street you looked at your phone and saw you were in Lenox Hill which was pretty far from home. You felt your phone buzz and saw multiple text messages and missed calls some from Harry and some from Peter.

9 missed calls from Harry Murphy

3 missed calls from Peter Parker

‘I’m sorry Y/n I should have told you please come home so we can talk.’ -Harry

‘Please come home I don’t know where you are’ -Harry

‘Please be safe wherever you are’ -Harry

The messages were all the same and you read one from Peter

‘Hey Y/n I know this might be so crazy and everything but please be safe, you’ve been gone for a while and know I’m here for you’ -Peter

You shoved your phone in your pocket and began wandering around the city just going where your feet took you. Before you even realized you had ended up in Midtown Manhattan the defining feature was Stark tower maybe 5 blocks away from where you are. You sigh going to turn away and just head home when thoughts about why you never met Tony or what really happened.

“Damnit just turn around and go home you’re only causing more pain for yourself.” You mumbled trying to force yourself to go home and forget it all ever happened. But you somehow ended up right in the lobby of the Tower workers and people made their way around the room with purpose, while you just look like a lost kid.

“You go up and ask if anything you get kicked out and look like a fool.” You hyped yourself up, you took a deep breath, stood up straight, and walk to the front desk where a woman sat typing away at her computer. When you go closer she looked up and gave you a smile

“Hi, do you have an appointment today.” She asked pulling up a calendar. You shook your head and immediately got nervous and ran a hand through your hair.

“Um...No, but I need to talk to Mr. Stark.” You said trying to seem as sure of yourself.

“I’m sorry but if you don’t have an appointment you can’t go.” She gave you a pity smile You nodded and began walking away before you turned back

“Can I give you a message.” You asked and she nodded. “Um tell him I’m sorry and I want to know more about my family.” The woman nodded typing it into her computer

“Thank you.” You gave her a smile and fixed your bag and made your way towards the door, right before you got outside.

You heard rustling “Miss! Excuse me!” you turned around to see the woman from the desk rush over to you. “I don’t know how but Mr. Stark would like to see you.” She said leading you towards the elevators. You nod as she presses one of the buttons and the doors begin to close when a hand pops in and they open again and it’s Steve Rogers.

“You’re Captain America.” You said in awe looking at the Avengers standing right next to you.

“Yeah, but Steve is fine, uh what floor.” He pointed to the array of buttons you pointed back towards the lobby

“I think the lady already pressed it.” Steve nodded

“Friday, to the common rooms.” He asked,

“Right away Captain Rogers.” A voice called out making you jump and Steve cracked out a smile.

“So what brings you to the tower.” He asked leaning against the wall watching the lights flash as you hit a floor.

“Um.. I have a meeting-thing with Mr. Stark.” You said running your hand through your hair nervous about what to disclose or not.

“You one of the Tony new prodigy kids he claims.” He jokes but you freeze at the thought of him having other ‘kids’ even though he did have one.

“Um not exactly.” You wrung your hands together feeling your hands get clammy.

Before Steve could respond the doors open up and you see most of the Avengers just sit around. Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes were playing some kind of game, while Natasha Romanoff sat next to Clint Barton who was drinking something while having a conversation, and Wanda Maximoff sat on the floor talking to Vision. But they all froze when they saw you standing there with Steve.

“Hey Cap, who’s the kid.” Sam called out causing more eyes to move to you and you could feel your hands shake nervous to be under the gaze of many heroes. “She here to see Tony.” He responded making Natasha chuckle “Another kid for him to claim.” Your breath hitched hearing that same word ‘kid’ were you his kid or just some random stranger who is just in the wrong situation. Before anyone else could talk Tony walked in and both of you stared at each other.

“Hi.” Tony breathes out scanning over you trying to take as much detail in as possible.

“Are you my dad?” You asked causing someone to choke on their drink

“I’m sorry I must be deafer than I thought. Did she said, dad?” Clint said making Natasha smack him in the arm.

“Well- I... I mean the logistics of it being.” Tony stuttered waving his hands but you cut him off

“Just a yes or no. Are you my father?” You stated your voice shaking trying to keep the tears at bay

“Yes, I think, god I hope.” Tony breathed out trying to smile. You nodded walking up to him and he opened his arms expecting a hug but a loud smack made everyone’s jaw drop. You slapped his square in the face so hard that even your hand hurt.

“Sixteen years,” You said as he pressed his hand against his cheek not even looking you in the eyes. “You had sixteen years to contact or I don’t know at least try to look.” You hissed clenching your fist up trying to get it to stop shaking. “Did you even try were you relieved that I was gone.” You cried

“Of course not..” Tony tried to console you

“Then why didn’t you try..” You whimpered a tear slipping down his face a hand touched your shoulder making you jump and you saw it was Steve.

“I think we all need a minute to just calm down and then we can sit and talk ok…” You and Tony both nodded. “Natasha can you stay with-” Steve started and was cut off

“I got it, Steve.“ Natasha stood up and wrapped an arm around you and began to lead you out and Wanda got up and followed you two and the rest of the men stated in the common room. You ended up in the kitchen and you sat at the island with Wanda next to you, while Natasha went to grab you water. “Here..” She stretched not knowing your name

“Y/n.” You thanked her grabbing the glass and taking a sip.

“So this must be a lot right now so just take your time.” Wanda rubbed her hand up and down your back calming you as you drank most of the water. You placed the glass onto the island and rubbed your eyes ridding the tears from your face.

“I never knew my dad that well just vague memories. All my life I thought there had to be some reason he wasn’t here, but there he was a fucking train ride from me.” You sniffled. Natasha nodded and Wanda grabbed your hand giving it a squeeze.

“Tony must have had a reason for this.” Wanda tried to console you

“Miss Romanoff, Captain Rogers would like you and your company to come to the common lounge.” Friday’s voice rang out

“Thanks Friday.” Natasha responded as she stood up, “You ready kid.” You nodded grabbing your bag and you three made your way back to the common room. When you got here most of the avengers had left giving you privacy, sitting on one of the couches was James Rhodes and Tony, with Steve standing in the middle.

“Can you stay.” You looked at Natasha when you felt her pull away. She nodded and Wanda gave you a brief hug before leaving you too to sit on the other couch.

“Uh, Bruce is gonna come and take some of your DNA for a parental test.” Steve explained and you nodded feeling eyes on you. Tony just stared at you his eyes red hair all messed up probably from running his hands through it a lot. Dr. Banner walked in with a kit and a computer as well.

“Hi, Y/n I just need to swab you.” He gave you a smile and you nodded letting him swab you and then he went over to Tony and swabbed him as well. “This should take about five to ten minutes.” Bruce walked over to one of the tables and started plugging stuff into the computer. You all just sat there in silence neither you nor Tony was looking at each other making things more awkward before Steve cut the tension by talking

“So Y/n where do you live?” Steve tried to start small talk

“Queens.” You mumbled and he nodded knowing he wasn’t making the situation any less awkward.

“You must be really smart to go to Midtown.” Steve added making you look up and then at Tony. He probably talked about you while you were in the kitchen

“Not anymore.” You remember you don’t go there any more thanks to Harry. Before anyone could talk Bruce walked back

“Uh the result is in.” he said making both you and Tony look at each other. “Friday.” Bruce called out to.

“The results from a Miss Y/n show a 49.3 percent relation to Mr. Stark and a 50.7 percent relation to Mrs. Y/l/n.” You could feel eyes on you as you stared at your hands.

“Wha-What happened to my mom.” You asked trying to focus your breathing looking up at Tony as looked back at you. Tony looked back down

“I-I don’t know.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #tony stark #tony x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark masterlist #ned leeds x platonic!reader #tom holland x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #New Life Masterlist

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doctorreids · 4 years

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folklore - spencer reid x reader

CHAPTER FOUR - exile

previous chapter | next chapter

word count: 2.3k

a/n: so i thoroughly enjoyed writing this chapter so i hope you all enjoy! i’m the slightest bit worried that spencer is ooc but i’ll let myself lose sleep over that at some point. the donny hathaway song i’m referring to is this one - one of my favourite songs ever, so so so beautiful. reblogs, likes and comments are, as always very much appreciated - thank you for all the love so far x

“i can see you standin’ honey, with his arms around your body, laughin’ but the jokes not funny at all.”

It had been 3 months, 2 weeks, 3 days. He wishes he could recall the exact time but, for once in his life, he can’t.

There was life before Y/N and there was life with her, he never imagined that there would be a life without her; because if this is life…

The curse of having an eidetic memory is recalling every word, every glance, every silence, and every mistake. They filled his head every day, cacophonous and relentless.

He knows that 50% of couples break up then reconcile, he knows that this is more typical for unmarried couples to do. Yet, statistics do nothing to calm his frustration at himself. Statistics don’t tell him what he can do to fix what is broken.

There’s so much that he misses; her jumping at any chance to be with him, accompanying him to foreign film festivals, conventions, and anything he showed the slightest interest in. She would do anything for him, long before he ever called her his.

He’s still processing the depth of his loss. He had convinced himself for the first month that he could carry on and ignore the chilling cold of his bed at night or the loneliness of the subway journey home. By the second month, he could hardly look at himself. Now, three months on, the pain is so visceral, so real, that he cannot escape the crushing silence that surrounds him. No more quiet conversations on the jet, or laughter in the bullpen.

He wonders if her apartment feels just as empty as his.

He can’t help but let his mind wander to the conversation he overheard between Emily and Y/N in the bullpen - something about setting her up with a guy she knew from outside of work. He tried hard not to read into how reluctant she was accepting Emily’s offer or how defensive she looked when he went back to his desk.

What did he miss? Were there signs? Or did he, like he always did ignore the cracks as soon as they started to appear?

He didn’t want to think about someone else holding her, making her laugh, or being the reason for her smile.

It was dark outside, leaves littering the street, the rain pattering on his window. The sound of the occasional car passing by was the only sound that filled his apartment. Autumn was always his favourite season, it reminded him of change and growth, and when he first met her. It was cool that day, she was wrapped up in a royal blue knitted scarf and a soft brown worn coat - he swore to himself that he’d never seen anyone as beautiful before in his life.

He could barely focus on anything nowadays, from paperwork to books, everything was too difficult to confront. Sure, he’d been attending meetings, discussing his urges to numb himself from the world again. The beginning of his battle with addiction came before she did, it haunted him.

If he was being honest with himself, his addiction was the only thing he had fully confided in her. She gave him all the understanding that, at times, his own chosen family didn’t give him. He didn’t resent them for it but it was frustrating.

He knew he immersed himself in work too often, the sea of paperwork and cases kept his head above the water that threatened to drown him. After all his years working for the BAU, he still didn’t know how to properly talk about what they witnessed. He tried to chalk it up to facts and probabilities, that evil exists in the world and all he can do is use what he knows to prevent it from happening again. But he couldn’t stop it from happening in the first place.

Despite how much responsibility he placed on his shoulders with his work, he questioned whether or not his career was what he really wanted. He’d promised he would find a cure for schizophrenia by the time he was thirty. Yet, here he is - alone, many a Ph.D. to his name but no overwhelming achievement.

He knew his first mistake was not telling her about how he was feeling. But he was angry, he didn’t know how to verbalise what was overwhelming him. Frustrated and choked up, he pushed her away. He kept telling himself that he felt suffocated, he was anxious that he would lose her to his job and he couldn’t prevent that. There was so much in his life that he couldn’t control.

His mother wasn’t improving, getting worse day by day, and all he could do was stand by and watch. He could write as many letters, call every day, and visit as often as he could but he couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t change what was happening.

He was surrounded by people he considered to be his family yet he felt alone. All the time. So, he pulled up his guard, plastered a smile on his face, and carried on. She would always go before him in his life, nothing could change that.

Work had been…tense. He knew from the start that the girls would be protective of her and he didn’t blame them - he knew that very next day when she didn’t reply to his texts or calls or when JJ told him to ‘give her space. His only other option was Derek and his advice wasn’t, at times, what he wanted to hear.

Derek told him to fix it actively but he wasn’t even sure what he was trying to fix. Himself or their relationship? Some big romantic gesture would win her back, he was told, but he knew she hated those. He tried bringing her favourite flowers, roses, but he would freeze up every time he got to her front door. By now, it wasn’t the season for roses and he was running out of options.

JJ, Emily, and Garcia never treated him any differently, he just felt exiled from their bullpen meet-ups. From the start, all he wanted was JJ’s advice. That night they all went out, he sat in her house with Henry, listening to him babble on about Aunt Y/N and Uncle Spencer.

He won’t ever forget the sad look JJ gave him when he left, underlying anger and bitterness in her voice when she bid him goodnight.

He can’t help but think that he had irreparably messed up.

“all this time, we always walked a very thin line.”

They always said that working together was more of a blessing than a curse, they were never without the other. They could read each other like the back of each other’s hand. Until one day, they couldn’t.

He wasn’t sure what switch flipped in his mind but his ability to be vulnerable with her and to open up completely was turned off. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t find the words to express what was going on in his mind.

Then again, neither could she. That connection between them was lost, there was this impenetrable distance between them now.

He couldn’t get comfortable in his chair, his glass of whiskey sitting beside his growing stack of books. He kept trying to find room for them but he just couldn’t bring himself to put them away - it reminded him of her apartment; books scattered on different tables, never on the shelf. It was the only trace of her left in his apartment.

His pillow no longer smelt of her, sweet and fresh. Her toothbrush was no longer sitting by his sink nor her shampoo in his shower. He’d taken down the photos, they were too painful to look at almost every day. Yet, he still kept that scarf she had left at his apartment after one of their dates, the royal blue one. Her perfume was fading on that too.

“you’re not my homeland anymore, so what am i defending?”

She had been quiet the entire car journey home, exhaustion clearly written on her face. Her brow was furrowed in thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked softly.

A slight smile flickered across her face for a split second. It went as quickly as it came, she was angry.

“I just want to get us home in one piece, Spence,” she snapped, “can you let me do that?”

“Sure.”

She wasn’t just angry, she was pissed.

By the time they got back to his apartment, she was tired, cold, and frustrated with him. He was equally as tired but grateful to be with her, alive and well. His run-in with the unsub resulted in an overnight stay in the hospital and minor surgery. Well, he thought it was minor. She clearly didn’t.

She didn’t stop for tea the way they normally would nor did she bother to leave the light on for him in the bathroom. She just crawled into bed without a word spoken to him since they’d gotten back to his apartment. In all honesty, he thought she was just going to drop him off then go back to her own home. He was surprised that she didn’t.

Lifting the covers, he slid into bed as silently as he could as not to wake her.

“What you did was really stupid, you know that?”

She was awake. He should’ve guessed.

‘I know.”

She sighed, turning to face him, “Spencer, I know our jobs don’t exactly meet safety regulations but you can’t play the hero all the time. I had to tell myself a long time ago, that you can’t save everyone. I know you, Spence. You’re a good man, brave and you have more courage in you than literally every other man that I’ve ever met and I love you for it. But you can’t keep doing this to me, to us.”

“Doing what?”

“Scaring us all half to death. You don’t remember me holding your hand while we waited for the medics. You don’t remember Morgan telling me that you’d pull through. You didn’t get to see everyone’s faces in the waiting room. But I remember it all, I don’t think I’ll forget it.”

He was stunned into silence.

“I could only think of the worst. How was I going to be able to tell your mother? How was I supposed to carry on knowing,” her voice broke and his heart shattered, “that I would never get to hold you again, or hear one of your many facts, or be able to explain how much you mean to me.”

“But, you didn’t have to-“ he started.

“I know. You’re alive and I’m so grateful. But if you ever pull a stunt like that ever again…”

His smile was sad, “I won’t ever leave you. You’re my home. I’d do anything to keep you safe.”

“And you’re mine too.”

“i think i’ve seen this film before and i didn’t like the ending.”

The memory echoed in his mind. He thinks about what could have been, the family he pictured them having. He knew, even though it was unsaid, she wanted a little girl. He couldn’t lie and say that he wouldn’t want to see a miniature Y/N running around. He always wanted his own kids ever since Henry was born and something inside him changed when he saw you holding Henry for the first time.

He saw his future before him.

Or so he thought. His dream disappeared when he heard his front door slam that night. He would give anything to take that night back. Take back the things that were said, the things left unsaid, and go after her.

By now, he thought he was too late. He witnessed the most perfect, the most precious thing he had in his life play out like a Shakespearian tragedy on the big screen. His heartache played like a movie he had seen far too many times before.

Maybe they were doomed from the start, their ending determined by fate. Something he only ever believed in with her.

“You can’t save everyone.” He couldn’t even save himself. He thought he was kidding himself when he thought he could ever win her back, too much time had passed, too much distance.

There were oceans between them, and for too long he was too scared to start to cross the vast space.

He stared at his now empty whiskey glass and out onto the street - the rain was heavier now. He had no idea what time it was, it was late. He wonders if she’s still up. If she’s sitting in that chair by her window, like he is, thinking about him.

His whole body aches for her touch. He aches to tell her everything, to apologise and to tell her all the small little things that have happened since they last spoke. Like how that mug she used to always drink out of shattered when he was putting it back in the cupboard and how he cried because he couldn’t glue it back together. Or how he searched and searched for a new one but he couldn’t find it so he decided to not buy a new one, it couldn’t be replaced.

He would tell her that he listens to that Donny Hathaway song she used to always play in the car late at night. He’d like to think that she would be proud that he knows all the words - that he doesn’t just listen to Beethoven. Morgan told him to play a song over a boombox outside her window. He didn’t get the reference but he knew he would play that song.

He opened his wardrobe to pull out his pyjamas when it caught his eye. The scarf, a shimmer of glitter caught in the moonlight.

He knew what he had to do.

Grabbing his coat, keys, and the scarf, he opened his door and walked out into the night.

#spencer #reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid/you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #reidxfolklore

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issa-me-addy · 4 years

Text

I want to stay up with you (BF! Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

hello! here is my lil participation piece for @aesthetical-bucky and her 1k writing challenge! the prompt is the phrase “I want to stay up with you” :)

Warnings: language? angst, fluff

Word Count: 1955

You and Bucky sat on your couch in your tiny little studio apartment, which was a 15 minute subway ride away from the Avengers tower. His flesh arm was wrapped around you and your thigh was draped over his knee as you lounged on the couch, the TV creating a nice luminance in the space as the sun began to go down.

“I should be going home soon, baby doll,” he said softly before pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

You immediately pouted and pulled away from his kiss, staring up at him with your eyebrows furrowed, piecing together an altogether borderline embarrassing facial expression. “No,” you said sternly, your eyebrows creasing so far down a shallow shadow formed above them.

He chuckled in response, bringing his metal hand across your cheek, swiping the cold thumb back and forth on your cheek, “Darlin, we’ve talked about this. If you want to come back with me that’s fine! I’m always more than happy to share my bed with you.”

You sighed, upset that you had to debate this again with him, but you were frustrated at this point. “What’s wrong with my place! You’ve *never* spent the night here. I just would like to sleep in with you, make you breakfast, not have to concern myself with Sam or Steve dragging you out of bed and leaving me to spend half of my sleep without you anyways.”

“Well, what about Shadow?”

You cocked your eyebrow at the annoyingly handsome man before you. “I can literally call Peter or Nat right now to get Shadow. They both love that cat. You literally have no excuse.”

His hand had already fallen from your cheek, made a soft trail down your arm before resting with his palm up on your knee. “What about clothes? A toothbrush?”

You began to smile, unable to hide your excitement even at the sheer possibility that he’d give in. “You really think I haven’t stolen enough clothes for you to have a change of clothes here? I even have an unopened toothbrush here because of this moment! I knew I’d get you to crack one day.”

He grinned back at you, unable to leave a microbreak in your heart again over this silly little fight. “Come here,” he said huskily, using his metal arm to scoop your other leg and place you directly in his lap, “I will stay the night. I was going to lose this fight sooner or later.”

You giggled, bringing your arms around his neck and routinely tangling your fingers with the longer locks at the bottom of his head. “You know, I’m really glad you’ve come to your senses about it.” You press a soft kiss on his nose and smile brightly at him.

The rest of the evening was fairly normal. Bucky helped you with the dishes and cleaned the kitchen after dinner-- he even took out the trash and your stomach filled with flutters, enjoying your domestic boyfriend fantasy.

You got ready for bed first, feeling your cheeks warm while you changed with your back to Bucky. You’ve stripped in front of him countless times but something about the newness of the circumstance made you move sheepishly. You tried to compose yourself as you tossed your day clothes into the hamper and rummaged through your wardrobe, searching for Bucky’s sweats and a white t-shirt.

You tossed them onto the couch cushion beside him and stared wide eyed as he simply stood up and peeled his clothes off. His eyes caught yours as he kicked off his boots and unbuckled his belt simultaneously.

“Do you need something, doll?” He chuckled, proceeding to remove his pants, leaving him in his dark boxers and black socks.

“You,” you responded without even thinking about it.

His smile spread wide as he finished changing, “You’re so goddamn cute,” he responded.

Your cheeks blushed red again. You fumbled as you folded the blanket back and slid into bed, pressing yourself all the way against the wall.

Bucky followed closely behind you, fluffing his pillow and placing it nicely between his ear and shoulder. He laughed at you, pressed up so close to the wall that there was at least a foot of space between the two of you. “Why are you so far away?”

You brought your shoulders up to your ears, shrugging.

He made quick work of dragging you back towards the middle of the bed and up against his chest. “Go to sleep,” he said, kissing the space where your hair began.

You pressed your palm on his chest, pushing yourself off of him enough to look into his eyes. “Do you ever sleep, Buck?”

His head cocked ever so slightly to the side. “Of course I sleep, darlin. Everyone sleeps, except maybe Vision.”

You rolled your eyes at his remark, “Shut up, I know that. I just mean, do you sleep well? I don’t know that you’ve ever fallen asleep first.”

He sighs and takes a moment to wrap both of his arms around your waist, the metal one underneath you, causing your spine to curve ever so slightly.

“I just have trouble sleeping sometimes, but I do sleep,” he said softly, his nose momentarily brushing against yours.

You took a moment to contemplate. You had no work the following day-- you actually had nothing to do the following day except play house with Bucky which simply made your stomach churn in such an exciting way. So in just a moment you decided!

“I want to stay up with you.”

His breath hitched for just a moment. If you weren’t pressed up against him you wouldn’t have even noticed.

Before he responded you had already opened your mouth again. “I want you to be the one to fall asleep in my arms for once.”

He smiled widely and u felt his arms curl you in that much closer, “I don’t know that I’ve ever been the one to fall asleep first.”

“Then I will stay up with you all night,” you whisper against his lips, pressing a soft peck shortly after.

A chuckle bubbled from deep in his stomach, “I love you, darlin, but that’s really not necessary.”

You pulled away, allowing your hand to cup his cheek, smoothing over the skin as your eyes darted between his blue eyes, “You’re not going to be able to change my mind this time, James.”

He grinned, “I would love to stay up with you then.”

Your determination to stay up with him resulted in the best conversations the two of you have ever had, which was saying a lot considering you were already right up there with Steve in terms of being close to Bucky.

You talked to one another, pressed up with your fingers fumbling with one another and your legs tangled until the sun came up.

You talked about how you want kids but sometimes you’re afraid because hearing people say shit like “nobody is ever really ready” does anything but ease your anxieties. He tells you about how he loved being an older sibling and how he would forget to breathe sometimes when he held the youngest in his hands-- he thought she was the most beautiful thing to grace the earth. You squeezed his hand a little harder when he said he wishes he got to be there to see her walk down the aisle at her wedding.

You both agreed that you would love to adopt a little girl one day, even if you do end up having your own kids. You both agreed that you couldn’t fathom loving a kid any less simply because they don’t share your DNA. He got to gush about how much he loved being a big brother to Steve but how really having someone who was truly there and would never leave was something indescribably worth living for.

You knew bits and pieces about how family before but it made your stomach fill with butterflies when he talked about his siblings only for your chest to ache when you remembered that you and Steve were all he truly had left. It was nice nonetheless for you to hear him talk about them by name, telling you the biggest thing he remembered about each of them, sharing memories of Coney Island in the summers and getting them ready for school early in the morning.

You talked about childhood best friends and how you had to learn to cope with the fact that conflict isn’t the only thing that ends friendships. Sometimes distance can take its toll and you know it’s nothing compared to what he’s been through. He kisses your forehead and tells you that you can tell him anything and that none of your feelings are miniscule because they’re yours and everything about you means everything to him.

The sun starts to shine through your window when he tells you about the time that he got himself and Steve stranded because he spent all his money insisting that he could win this girl a prize at the fair. You tell him that he’s a simp.

He pulls you closer and leaves a lazy kiss on your collarbone groaning, “Yeah, but only for you,” before really dozing off.

You whisper his name a few times and get no response and you let the calming wave of sleep crash over you shortly after, a small smile spread across your lips as you do.

3 Years Later--

And you and Bucky live in a little place in Brooklyn, only a few blocks from where he grew up. He’s technically been retired for over a year but sometimes they need him. The past 4 months he’s had an excuse though, seeing as you now have a bun in the oven.

Since entering your second trimester your sleeping schedule has gone to shit. This seemingly wouldn’t be a problem but through the duration of the past few years Bucky has gotten much better at falling asleep and now he’s almost completely ready to be a father seeing as he falls asleep wherever, whenever he wants.

You’ve been hiding it for a little over a week or two that you don’t sleep until well after midnight, but one Sunday night he catches you munching on the floor in the kitchen.

He turns the corner of the hall, rubbing his eye with his metal arm, “Doll? What are you doing awake?”

“Eating?” You say, with your mouth still kind of full.

“Hm, let me join you,” he says soft, sitting across from you, his knee softly brushing yours. “How long have you been up?”

“I never went to sleep,” you admit, shyly.

He takes the bag of chips from you and lazily shoves a few in his mouth, his eyes still blinking because of the bright kitchen lights. “Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t sleep?”

You shrug, “I already make you deal with a lot-- and you’re going to be the one staying up in about 5 months time, so I thought it fine to let you sleep.”

He shook his head softly, handing the chips back to you and taking your soda into his hands, tipping some of it into his mouth. “I want to stay up with you. You think I would ever willingly give up a single moment with you and babydoll?” He questioned.

You couldn’t help but smile, your heart fluttering every time he referred to your baby as babydoll after years and years of him calling you doll. “Thank you, Buck.”

“Until the end of the line, baby.”

“Isn’t that what you say to Steve?” you questioned, your brow cocked.

“I’ve been awake for 3 minutes, give me a break.”

#aesthetical-bucky1kchallenge #addy writes #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes oneshot #bf!bucky barnes #i apologize that this is late #also i don't think its wonderful but i hope yall enjoy ANYWAYS!#:D

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dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years

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Chat Log, Sept 28-ish - New York

Remember when Valera, Sir P, and Alastor went to a Broadway show? Sure you do, here’s the link. Anyway after that they hung out in New York. Like a bunch of frigging tourists, doing normal tourist things. Seeing Time Square. Checking out a local club. Singing musical numbers in the subway. Normal tourist things.

Valera

Wheeling Pentious out of the theatre is a simple matter, especially when he's too busy being.. Well. Probably horny, judging by his face, to kick up a fuss. With record, beau, and a murderous demon in tow, Valera exits the building, and the three of them are left blinking in the afternoon sun over 1960s New York City. Where to even begin?

Sir Pentious

The fresh(?) air hitting his face was definitely helping already. Sir Pentious is no longer biting his glove, having sat back in his seat, squinting up at the skyscrapers. Hmm. What to do with themselves now. He clears his throat, looking to the Radio Demon, "WERE YOU GOING TO TAKE US TO ONE OF YOUR HOT SPOTS, ALASTOR?"

Alastor

Give him a moment. It's been almost a century since he's been to New York City. About forty years from this particular New York City's temporal perspective, but for HIM, almost a century. The moment he steps outside, he's completely distracted by the street and buildings outside the theater, looking up and up. He'd forgotten what blue skies look like. "... What?"

Valera

Valera cocks her head, looking mAlastor up and down. Oh. "Nothing, dear fellow. Take a second, breathe in the air, the sights, the sounds. Let your memories come back. We've got all the time in the world to see the sights." She comes around to crouch in front of Pentious, fussing over his blanket as a cover for squeezing his hands. Plus a little forehead smooch, to distract him.

Sir Pentious

Oh, that was true, wasn't it. He had gotten so distracted with his red facedness that he'd somehow forgotten about the blue sky. That's why everything looked wrong to him. It was like Pentagram City was no longer bathed in blood red hues. It hurt his eyes, too. Still, seeing the Radio demon look so... well. Pentious couldn't think of a word to describe it. Soft and gentle words did not suit Alastor, not at all. The victorian gentleman's eyes squeeze shut at the forehead smooch, and his attention is brought solely on Valera once more. Well, he can give her actual eye contact now and... he risks a little smile, brow creased. "Hello," he whispers.

Alastor

No, such words don't suit him, but for a split second they're almost fitting. But he shakes himself out of it quickly. He's playing host to these two right now, he can't get distracted! He spins to face the two of them. "I just need a moment to orient myself! Can't see a street sign, there's so many theaters around I'm not even sure which one we've just come out of—do you happen to know which way Times Square is from here?"

Valera

She offers Pentious a soft smile in turn, smoothing the hand not holding his over his cheek. So pale, so fair. She could almost see the individual veins under his skin. He looked... Delicate? Delicate, like this. "Hello, dearest." A last bump, nose to nose, and she rights herself to turn to Alastor. "If we go southwest we can reach it in five, my good man! Hang a right and just go straight down 52nd!"

Sir Pentious

He breathes her in--how could he not? That would have to carry him through the rest of the evening, but Pentious is looking much more relaxed now. He's got a very bright smile on his face as he looks up at the two of them. Hmmm! These buildings were very tall, taller than they would have been when he would have been alive back in the late 80s. Not that he was in America, but still! Ever higher, theyd be able to reach a passing blimp!

Alastor

"52nd! Why, not far at all!" He slides his Record That Has Been Officially Autographed "Best Wishes To Alastor From Louis Armstrong" into another dimension, summons up his microphone cane—and if any passersby see these minor magics, that's THEIR problem—and points the way. "What sad excuses for tourists would we be if we didn't start off with Times Square? Onward!"

Valera

They could never live with themselves if they were stuck with the label of sad tourists, now could they? No, never them! If they're going to see the sights, they're going to do it well! Valera tucks their own record into the pocket attached to Pentious' wheelchair, moves behind, and trots after Alastor with Pentious in tow. Sure, he COULD push himself, but this is the perfect angle to dip down and give his hat a little smooch from. You can't take that from her.

Sir Pentious

He's not going to complain, he'd rather it be her behind him than Alastor. Pentious was trying to adjust to not having eyes all over himself, although if that counts as one of his abilities, he wonders if he could just grow eyes. Hmm. Pentious is marveling at the sheer size of the buildings, and the various machines driving around. Look at that! Getting excited over cars like some kind of TOURIST. "LOOK AT THAT ONE," he's gesturing at what appears to be a classic Dodge. Seats two, has space in the back, and top down! What a bright red. Pentious' eyes are SHINING. "I COULD MAKE MULTIPLE IMPROVEMENTS UPON IT!"

Alastor

They barely hit Broadway before Alastor recognizes his surroundings. If his heart was still beating, it would be trying to thump its way out of his chest. Sure, a few buildings replaced, billboards and signs trying to cover up the familiar facades, all the clothing and cars updated, yes—but he knows exactly where he is. It's hardly changed at all. He could walk from here to his old apartment with his eyes closed. And, in the process, run into a thousand people and get hit by a dozen taxis, but whatever. "Oh, I'm sure you could!" He drops back to walk alongside Sir Pentious and Valera—they're going to be walking in a straight line for several blocks, he doesn't need to lead the way—and claps a hand on Sir Pentious's shoulder. "I've always loved your cars, you know." It does not occur to him to stop and wonder whether this Sir Pentious also designed cars postmortem the way his own did.

Valera

Valera can appreciate the look of a classic car, even if her first few experiences with the four wheeled machines of anxiety-torture were, in a word, terrifying. Nicer from a distance, suffice to say. Seeing Pentious so excited was a surprise. Pleasant, but a surprise. Then Alastor, too! It was impossible to be anything but sunny with both her guests in such high spirits. All three of them, grinning away like fools as they stroll along. What a sight they must be. And come to think of it.. "When were cars invented?" More musing aloud than a true question, but she voices it anyway.

Sir Pentious

There's a hand on his shoulder, and Pentious looks up, closing his eyes as he puffs his chest out. "OHO, YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT! YES, I DIDN'T KEEP AT IT AFTER A CERTAIN POINT, BUT THE TECHNOLOGICAL ADVANCES IN HELL WERE EVEN WORSE THAN IN THE LIVING WORLD. I FIGURED BETTER TRANSPORTATION WAS A NECESSITY. A DESIRE TO IMPROVE MODES OF TRANSPORTATION WAS HOW I GOT INTO THE WHOLE AIRSHIP IDEA, YOU KNOW. IT WAS ONLY FITTING THAT I'D BE DOING IT AGAIN IN HELL." He's still beaming with pride, "I WAS APPROACHED BY THE MAGNE FAMILY, ACTUALLY. IN LETTERS, MIND, BUT APPARENTLY MY ENTRY INTO HELL, WITH THE EXPLOSIONS AND FIRE AND FLYING AROUND, THAT CAUGHT THEIR ATTENTION AND THEY WANTED ME TO BUILD SOME THINGS AROUND.... IMPROVE UPON THE GENERAL ARCHITECTURE OF THE PLACE! EVERYTHING WAS RUBBISH. I INITIALLY THOUGHT TO SAY NO, BUT HE WAS LUCIFER. HA! IF ONLY MY MOTHER HAD SEEN THAT, SHE WOULD HAVE DISOWNED ME AND HAD ME COMMITTED, HAD I NOT BEEN DEAD ALREADY." He's really just excitedly yammering on. It's like listening to one's exceptionally English grandmother talk about meeting the Queen. He pauses, to tap the side of his head, "INVENTED? OH, RIGHT, RIGHT. WELL, IN THE LATE 80s, MY LOVE. BUT PEOPLE WERE ALREADY THINKING ABOUT MAKING SOMETHING LIKE THAT FOR A WHILE, EVER SINCE THE STEAM LOCOMOTIVE'S SUCCESS, IT, IT REALLY DIDN'T TAKE LONG AT ALL. THOUGH TO ME, THAT WAS EASY. IF I'D TOLD YOU THAT I'D DESIGNED THE FIRST CAR, YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE ME, SO I'LL LEAVE IT UP TO YOU!"

Alastor

Alastor nods along as he listens, unconsciously tilting his cane in Sir Pentious's direction as though he's presenting a microphone toward an interviewee. He's heard most of this explanation before, years and years ago—but the details vary slightly, just enough to be intriguing. What he wouldn't give for two biographies of Sir Pentious from two different universes, laid out side-by-side for him to compare them. "Approached by the Magne family?! Now, there's an honor! As infamous as I am, even I've never been contacted by the royal family. I had to go and introduce myself to the princess." Alastor actually wouldn't have guessed the late eighties. "I don't think I knew a single person who owned a car until I was well into my teens. They were luxuries before then."

Valera

Valera hums, focusing on rolling Pentious through the crowds more than the actual conversation at hand. Still what she does pick up at least SOUNDS impressive. Lucifer was part of the Mange family. So... Charlie Magne. Oh, that's funny. Right. Plus being approached by the king of hell to improve the infrastructure of an entire kingdom, plus allegedly inventing the modern deathtrap that is a car. That's also impressive, yes. "I don't see why I wouldn't, you've certainly got the technical know-how to build any car you please. In fact, knowing they were built while you were alive, I'd be surprised if you didn't at least have some prototypes in the works before you died!" Mwah, another dip down to reach over one side and peck his cheek. Good work, Penny.

Sir Pentious

Oh he's being praised from both sides, he's going to bask in this for quite some time. "I NEVER FORMALLY DROVE ONE AROUND TOWN UNTIL AFTER I'D DIED. IT WAS MORE REASONABLE TO STAY OUT IN THE COUNTRYSIDE, UNLESS I WERE GOING TO MAKE A STATEMENT IN MY VESSEL."

Alastor

"Of course! You figured out how to get a steamer out of the ocean and into the SKY—who am I to question it if you say you got a train off its tracks too?" The praise train won't stop chugging. "I mainly rode them out in the countryside, too. Having them in cities just seems..." He gestures at the cars clogging Broadway and preventing each other from getting anywhere.

Valera

She coughs, a bit embarrassed. "I don't have much experience with cars, personally. Mostly riding in them and being incredibly confused about why I had to sit in the little fast noisy box instead of teleporting like a civilized being. Nevermind that most species aren't capable of such luxuries. Cars certainly look sleek though, and they're really not that bad. I prefer the convertibles though." Luckily, or unluckily, she can't do the full air quotes around Little Fast Noisy Box. But she shrugs, and it's close enough.

Sir Pentious

"IF THEY'RE BUILT WRONG, THEN THEY ARE BASICALLY LIKE DRIVING AROUND IN A COFFIN! JUST WAITING TO CATCH FIRE!" He even points out a car when he says that, "BUT YES, COULDN'T REALLY SIT IN ONE NOW. MY BODY IS A LITTLE LONG FOR THAT. I COULD MAKE A CAR THAT FITS MY NEEDS, BUT I DO NOT NEED ONE. I PREFER THE AIR."

Alastor

"Unfortunately, around our neighborhood, most civilized beings don't know how to teleport! It's a pity, you'd think they'd make that a requirement. Alastor glances Sir Pentious up and down. "You don't look too long now, we could go for a joyride before we go home. Know how to hot wire a car?" He's 100% not joking. Oh, they've made it to Times Square. Alastor's got to stop dead for a moment, just staring around at all the buildings. "Would you look at that." He's got that look on his face again. "It's exactly how I remember it." Minus the billboards etc., of course.

Valera

"I do. But I'm more familiar with modern cars. I doubt the design has changed too much though." Oh good, Alastor's distracted again. That gives Val time to drape herself over the back of Pentious' chair, propping her chin on top of his head in a lazy sort of hug. Maybe get a little hair stroking in there as she watches Alastor take in the scenery. He certainly did seem attached to this city, maybe she should offer him the same Deal she did his alternate someday..

Sir Pentious

Hey, hot wiring a vehicle does sound fun! Excellent with his wheelchair predicament, not so much. Pentious smiles up at his beloved, removing his hat to give her a bit more room for the moment. "CAREFUL YOU DO NOT CRUMPLE MY ACCESSORY, MY LADY."

Alastor

Okay, all right. He's had his moment. He's basked in the confusing glory that is somehow, impossibly, being back in NYC. Back to being a good host. He whirls back to Sir Pentious and Valera. "So! My old stomping grounds were in Harlem; if you want jazz, that's the place for it. We can take a taxi, take the subway—or hoof it, if we want to be elegant." He winks. "But I never have been an elegant man."

Valera

Valera doesn't bother pulling away this time, setting her cheek down on all the new space Pentious has opened up for her. Mwah, a kiss for the top of his head. He's to blame, surely. The reference gets a snort, but then she thinks about the question. A frown, and she lifts a hand to brush through Pentious' hair. Comforting? Maybe self soothing. "Perhaps the subway? I don't know how many wheelchair accessible taxis are around here."

Sir Pentious

The reference definitely is caught and Pentious makes a face. "YES, I AM NOT VERY ELEGANT EITHER, AT LEAST NOT ENOUGH FOR A JAUNT." He pats his immobile legs, "HOW IS THE RAPID TRANSIT IN NEW YORK ANYWAY? I'M AFRAID I AM UNFAMILIAR, I KNOW HOW IT SHOULD FEEL IN THEORY."

Alastor

"I'm sure that for a taxi ride we could teleport your chariot away and back"—he obviously isn't terribly concerned with subtlety—"but the subway will probably be more convenient anyway." He gets on his toes, looking around for the nearest subway station—he feels so short—then points and leads the way. "Wonderfully efficient, except when it isn't. But that was almost a hundred—er—forty years ago! No doubt the basics are the same, at least..."

Valera

Ugh, more moving? Awful. She has to stop her ridiculous draping over Pentious like some overly affectionate feather boa and go back to actually responsibly pushing him around! A last peck for the road, and she extricates herself to grip the handles and follow after Alastor's spritely steps. Wasn't HE energetic? "Ah, the subway. Never been, but I assume we'll need..." A glance around, and she adjusts the purse she for sure had this whole time. "...Currency to purchase tickets? Where would one go for that?"

Sir Pentious

That energy wasn't new to Pentious, but it did seem like Alastor was solar powered after all. He can recognize a clear difference--he looks like a man mere seconds from bursting into song. People are passing by, it IS New York after all, and some looks are being cast Alastor and Pentious' way--Valera's, too. She's quite the looker! Sir Pentious readjusts his hat on his head, and he drags his fingertips against his lips as he watches the scenery pass ever so slowly, "THIS CITY IS SO BOISTEROUS--WE ARE LIKELY TO BE PACKED INTO THAT TRAIN LIKE SARDINES. NO OFFENSE, MY LOVE."

Alastor

"Getting up close and personal with other commuters' body odor is all part of the busy city experience!" If he wasn't busy navigating/narrating, he probably WOULD burst into song. Watch out for humming. "There should be a ticket window downstairs! I'm sure you can cover the fare, can't you? You covered the theater tickets quite handily—" He stops dead at the top of the stairs down to the subway. Emphasis on "stairs." "Hm." Well, he's completely ready to carry Sir Pentious down the stairs. The question is how to say so without sounding eager about it.

Valera

The sardine comment earns Pentious a snicker. She'd do move, but alas, they must move. "Oh, yes of course I can. Now, 'scuse me, dear. Need to get down there!" Alas, poor Alastor. He'd set a precedent with all his summonings and minor magics. Valera saw no issue with swerving around their tour give and making an invisible (to any normal human) ramp straight down the stairs like it was the most natural thing in the world. Who's going to complain if Pentious isn't getting jostled around? Perhaps she simply has superb upper arm strength!

Sir Pentious

Oh. Stairs. Hmm. He's about to make a comment, only to notice the ramp. Ah! How handy. Sir Pentious beams as he's not being bumped around like a sack of potatoes. "YOU KNOW, ALASTOR, IT'S REALLY RATHER ODD TO HEAR YOUR VOICE WITHOUT ALL THAT RADIO STATIC IN THE WAY! IT MAKES YOU KIND OF FADE INTO THE BACKGROUND?" And it's probably weird not hearing Pentious hiss every time he says an S, although apparently he just naturally drags out his S's. He might have done that in life.

Alastor

"Fade into the background! You insult me, Sir." Tone of joking faux offense aside, he is insulted. Him? Fade into the background? THE Radio Demon? Broadcaster extraordinaire, voice that can command the attention of a million pairs of ears at once? How would Sir Pentious like being told the Wright brothers did it better? He brushes off the insult. He's been resting on his laurels for decades, he knows that. Maybe he should work on his presentation some more. "You think that's weird, try listening to a snake suddenly start talking like a human." A ramp works too. Maybe Alastor doesn't get to carry Sir Pentious, but he DOES get to kick a bit of flat rubbish onto the ramp and see if he can stand on it and sled to the bottom. He can. He trips at the bottom.

Valera

"Boys, boys, you're both pretty." Valera will do nothing to save Alastor from his own hubris. But she WILL make sure Pentious gets to see his antics before she moves along to purchase tickets for the three of them. A miserable affair, but all that's left is to wait for their.. train? Subway? Ride? She hums. "Is there any meaningful difference between a train and a subway? Surely not, right?"

Sir Pentious

"OH, I CAN'T IMAGINE WHAT THAT SOUNDS LIKE!" Smooth. Pentious snorts against his glove, watching him trip--it was always fun to watch Alastor prance about. He's going to look over at Valera, reaching for her hand to pet it gently in his, "A QUICK TRIP FROM ONE AREA TO THE NEXT! ALTHOUGH, FROM THE SOUND OF IT..." He can hear a train leaving, probably they were going to catch the next one. How the station fills with noise! "FASTER."

Alastor

Alastor picks himself up, brushes himself off with great dignity, and answers without acknowledging his spill, "Sure, it's for when the rail-way is sub-terranean!" He trots after Valera and Sir Pentious. "Actually, maybe we don't need tickets." He'd just seen the turnstiles and had his memory jogged. "We also might be able to put our nickels in at the turnstile. That was a new feature when I moved here, don't know if they kept—twenty cents?!" He gapes at the price card on the turnstile asking for tokens; and then, turning toward the other two, repeats indignantly, "TWENTY cents?!" Better buy some tokens after all. Once they're through the turnstiles and Alastor has recovered from this fresh scandal, he notices a route map on the wall—oh good lord, they multiplied—and starts studying it for a route. He puts one finger on Times Square, one near his old apartment in Harlem, and—oh, all right, there's the old line he used to use, buried beneath all the others. "Now, hold on! There's a lot more lines now, we don't know if that's the right—" He squints at the sign on the train that just pulled up, squints at the map, and yells, "It's the right one!" He books it for the train, half-breathlessly humming "New York, New York" as he goes.

Valera

Pentious' pats are appreciated, but all too soon she's distracted once more by Alastor's frantic energy. Mostly the offended outburst at the, apparently, ludicrous pricing. She blinks, uncomprehending. "Twenty cents..?" Is that a lot for this era? Surely she can find enough change in her purse-- Oh he's off again. Dear gods, are subways always so terrifyingly hectic, or is this just a perk of being here with Alastor? Valera swears under her breath, grabs the wheelchair, and starts chasing Alastor down. Hopefully he's as confident as he sounds with his choices, otherwise it's the blind leading the blind here, and Pentious is stuck along for the ride.

Sir Pentious

Twenty cents!!!!!!! Though he had used a different currency, his father had been american and he had been educated in such things. That was a lot. Couldn't be to maintain the train, right? Likely, that was the reason given, but in actuality, taxing people based on quantity alone was just good business. Local Villain Here. He'd charge twenty cents if it were him. Actually, he'd probably charge an arm and a l--EEEEEEEGHHHHHHHHHH!!! Quite suddenly, he's being RUSHED along in his wheelchair, holding onto his hat while his eyes are wide as saucers!!! "ALASTOR, YOU BETTER NOT BE WRONG OR YOU'LL BE MEETING THE TRACKS SOONER THAN THE TRAIN!"

Alastor

"If I'm wrong, we'll have an adventure somewhere else in the city!" But he's probably right. There's a lot less wood in these subway cars. Pity, they used to look nicer. He takes a seat with enough room next to it for Sir Pentious's wheelchair, crosses an ankle over his knee, and hums cheerily.

Valera

It's tempting to take a seat as well, but Valera will stand. SOMEONE needs to keep Pentious from rolling around the whole trip, and she's not going to leave her beau to defend himself against the crowds. And oh, dear gods, she hadn't thought about the crowding. It's fine. A few minutes of unpleasantness will be well worth it. Backing into the aforementioned space with fiance in tow, she scoots his chair as close to Alastor as she can manage, already on the lookout for any unpleasant sorts. With a face like murder and a voice like she was discussing the weather, she begins combing her fingers through Pentious' hair once more. "Wow, sure are a lot of people around here. We aren't likely to run into trouble, are we?"

Sir Pentious

Okay, he's not as jostled anymore, and with Valera and Alastor here, he wants to assume he won't get trampled. Well. Can't be sure of that from Alastor. He'd probably encourage a stampede, knowing him. Sir Pentious rolls his neck some, frowning at the lack of flexibility he'd become so accustomed to. Feeling hands in his hair, the former-snake quickly turns to look at Valera, and his briefly tense expression softens. Time to look back at Alastor, "YES, ONE CAN ONLY IMAGINE. YOU ARE IN THE COMPANY OF TWO DEMONS, VALERA. IF TROUBLE DOESN'T COME TO US, WELL, IT'S LIKELY TO MANIFEST FROM OUR GENERAL VICINITY!"

Alastor

"Three of us together, this time of day? Surely nobody would try to bother us!" He smiles innocently and bats his eyelashes. "If we want trouble, we'll just have to start it ourselves." On the other hand, one of them a woman, one of them in a wheelchair, and one of them using a cane—and the latter two dressed like they'd come from a costume party. If anyone wants to cause trouble, they might be targeted. But if they were, whoever bothers them is in for a series of rude surprises. He starts humming again as the train rolls along, this time wordlessly singing under his breath, "Da da-di-da dah~" The musical number danger zone has been breached, they are near the point of no return.

Valera

Oh no... She knows that tune, turning to raise an eyebrow at the musical strawberry himself. Really, Alastor? Right now? In the middle of a subway ride? Well, then again. He'd surely missed Earth, and the city life, and... Ah, what the hell, not like anyone here could STOP them. She grins, snickers, and starts humming along as her fingers start twiddling to the beat. There's never a bad time for a musical number when nobody can beat you in a fight, now is there?

Sir Pentious

........... WAIT, WHAT'S HAPPENING. Sir Pentious looks alarmed, glancing between Valera and Alastor. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WHAT IS THAT TUNE? I DO NOT RECALL IT FROM THE PRODUCTION!"

Alastor

"Oh, this tune won't be written for another decade or so! But you might be able to catch the chorus after a round or two." He's gotten too used to Hell, where the musically-inclined (and dangerous) can burst into song any time they want and nobody can do a thing about it but grumble and maybe laugh mockingly. Today, New York gets to experience true Hell on Earth: some tourist singing loudly on the train when you're just trying to get through your daily commute. Alastor stands, adjusts his monocle, winks at Valera—you know this one, right?—grabs a pole with one hand for support, and starts singing into his microphone cane: "Staaart spreading the news~" And he will keep singing until they reach their destination or one of the two people he actually knows tells him to stop.

Valera

Ah, could be worse. At least this subway car, Pentious included, gets to enjoy a LOVELY (allegedly) pair of voices on the trip over. Valera lets Alastor have his moment in the spotlight, harmonizing when appropriate and sticking to an acapella backing. So much harder to carry a tune without a band behind you, and she's perfectly happy to play the part. When they finally arrive at Harlem, she just. Wheels Pentious out like that was a perfectly normal thing they just did.

Sir Pentious

, Pentious can only stare at the two of them in abject horror. What are they doing!! Singing in public like this! It makes sense in a production, but this was real life! OH just... Hide his face...... Until they're off the train.....

Alastor

He's in the zone, he's having a good time. He doesn't even notice the horror he's causing until they reach their stop and he stops singing. As they get off, he wryly asks, "Too much?"

Valera

Valera snorts, rolling to a stop in an open area so she can pat her beau. "Oh don't worry my good fellow. Penny gets flustered over anything. Did you not enjoy our singing, love?"

Sir Pentious

He's so huffy, looking at the two of them with the reddest cheeks!!! "YOU TWO ARE INSANE. SINGING LIKE THAT IN PUBLIC! NO ONE ELSE CONSENTED TO BEING PART OF YOUR LUNACY." Says the Supervillain who Murders People.

Alastor

If he gets flustered that easily, that means they ought to be putting MORE effort into not flustering him, doesn't it? "Frankly, I don't care what any of those people consented to!" He gestures back at the subway car drawing away. "But VERY WELL! If you'd rather your regal reputation not be besmirched by your association with a couple of accompanying bards, then I'll simply have to resist the temptation in public." Alastor can sing any other time he wants. Like hell is he going to let a couple of musical numbers be a reason for Sir Pentious not to call on him to hang out again.

Valera

"Oh, Alastor! So considerate!" Valera titters, coming round the front of the wheelchair to look Pentious something akin to head on. Talking from behind him was getting weird! "If that is the bar you're setting, my love, so be it! But why is it alright to murder them, and not serenade them? Do you simply want us to... Reserve our voices for you alone?" A flutter of her lashes, first at Penny, and then at Stick. She's connected the dots. She's connected them. "Why darling, why didn't you say so? If I'd have only known!"

Sir Pentious

.............................. Sir Pentious is looking absolutely mortified.

"WHAT???? NO! THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT AT ALL!!!" Do not LOOK at him!! He scowls, pointing at Valera, "YOU ARE TWISTING MY WORDS!!! YOU ARE SINGING A SONG I DO NOT EVEN KNOW!"

Alastor

Goodness, Valera, don't say things that make Alastor's dead heart jump into his throat, it just hurts when he has to swallow it back down. And it leaves a funny aftertaste. "Don't you worry, my friend—no songs but the ones our listener calls up to request! Otherwise, the station will be playing nothing but John Cage's 4'33"!" He pantomimes zipping his mouth. It feels kind of weird without being able to add a zipper sound effect.

Valera

"Alright, alright. Message received, dearest." Pointing at your fiance is rude, Pentious. But Val can forgive him, this time. By taking his accusatory gesture in her dainty little human hands and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. Mwah. "Oh, 4'33"? I love that one! Though they keep copyright claiming and muting the audio on the websites I frequent. It's the damndest thing." A wink is thrown to Alastor, and she lifts herself up into a good stretch. "Alright, enough of our nonsense. Alastor, my dear fellow? Lets hunt down a jazz club for dearest Penny. Perhaps he'll enjoy a good trumpet more than our nonsensical crooning."

Sir Pentious

Oh SHIT she's kissing his hand again--well, fine whatever! He huffs. Pentious probably wouldn't have MINDED a musical number, but he is clearly the type to want a lot of ... warning. Or maybe to not be trapped in a wheelchair. Or maybe............. a slew of YEAH BUTs. You never know with this guy. (You do know. He's grumpy.) "I JUST WOULD PREFER SOME WARNING..."

Alastor

Alastor doesn't have the slightest idea what copyright claiming is, but he understands the concept of muted audio just fine. "I tried to watch a live performance, but I was so far back I couldn't even hear the song! What a disappointment." Asking for warning is quite a step down from asking for them to hold off on the musical numbers altogether, and Alastor doesn't trust this abrupt deescalation at all. Sir Pentious is probably proposing a compromise that will just inspire further irritation if Alastor actually goes along with it. Oh no. Alastor's playing it safe. "Don't you worry, I won't be subjecting you to any more musical embarrassments," Alastor reassures him. "Now! Most of the clubs I went to only operated at night, but that was back when booze was illegal! Let's see if we can't find one that's still open and has daylight hours!"

Valera

Or! Or he's had his ruffled scales smoothed by Valera's affections! She's good at that! But she doubts there'll be any more musical numbers anyway, it'd be rude to take over a jazz club for a number, and they already made an elegance joke on their commute. Another kiss to his knuckles, and she drops Penny's hand to go take up the handles of his chair again. You never know, with Alastor. He might start sprinting away again. "Oh? Are we going to have to go door to door then?"

Sir Pentious

Pentious leans back in his seat, looking around at the people passing by. "ILLEGAL! WHAT DID AMERICANS DO FOR FUN? OR TO DROWN THEIR SORROWS?"

Alastor

Sure, like Alastor hasn't seen enough lovestruck men to know how willing they are to say things they don't really mean when a lady they find pretty coos at them. The fact that Valera's here to smooth his ruffled scales is half the reason Alastor doesn't buy a word of the retraction. "Why, what do you think we did? We broke the law! Yessir, America drank more during Prohibition than it did before! We bribed the officials trying to crack down on bootlegging with whiskey! One story goes—at least, the way I heard it—that when a Mabelman came to Chicago to see how hard it was to find an establishment selling illegal alcohol, it took him twenty minutes! In Detroit, fifteen! In New Orleans—my beloved New Orleans—it took him five seconds! He got into a taxi, asked the driver if he knew where a man could get a drink, and the driver said 'right here' and pulled a bottle out from under his seat!" Door-to-door it is. While he waxes dramatic on the abysmal failure of America's dumbest amendment, he leads them down a street toward what had once been a hotbed of speakeasies where jazz played.

Valera

Ah, and there's Alastor, prattling on like the chatterbox he is. Valera doesn't even need to say a word, just humming at the interesting parts and rolling after the stoplight red radio host. Gods did he stand out, maybe she SHOULD have put him in a different outfit.. Ho hum.

Sir Pentious

The story gets Pentious grinning wide again--it's probably very weird seeing him without those sharp teeth of his. He slaps a hand down on one of the armrests as he laughs. "HAAAA HA HAHA!! OF COURSE IT WOULD BE THAT EASY!!! YOU CAN'T KEEP A MAN FROM HIS LIQUOR!!! THE MORE YOU HIDE SOMETHING FROM SOMEONE, THE MORE THEY WILL GO OUT OF THEIR WAY TO TAKE IT."

Alastor

"And trying to get it is just more fun that way." Like treats stuck inside toys as enrichment for a cat. It's weird seeing clearly-visible bars and clubs advertising their drinks freely. Alastor's used to it in Hell, but in this place, a place he remembers, it seems wrong. Several places advertise live jazz; he searches for one that's live right now,not in a few hours.

Valera

Venues, venues everywhere, and not a club to-- Oh, there's one with a few people coming out of it. And not JUST white people, at that. That's significant, for reasons Val doesn't quite remember off the top of her head, but she jerks to a halt anyway, giving the building a closer look. A flashy, lit up sign casting bright white light down onto the streets of Harlem. A strange little overhanging structure over the door. A.. Marquee? Yes, a marquee, advertising names she didn't recognize, declaring they were playing THAT NIGHT! People going in and out, lights on display... Surely it must be open? She moves closer, glancing over to see if Alastor's noticed the same thing she has.

Sir Pentious

Pentious doesn't really have anything to say, he's still watching people pass to and fro. People from all walks of life, it seemed.

Alastor

He certainly has noticed what she has, and he's delighted at the sight. "Well! Look who's still in business! I used to come here when I was alive!" The fact that not JUST white people were coming out of it was probably a contributing factor to that. "I even played here once or twice. You know—when they let the amateurs get on stage. Ha!" Tonight doesn't look like an amateur night—he doesn't recognize the names on the marquee either, but they certainly suggest the stage isn't free for casual jam sessions. Well, he doesn't think he's going to be performing any more today, anyway. He gestures grandly toward the entrance. "Shall we?"

Valera

"Oh good! You're familiar with the establishment, then? Perfect! Hope nobody recognizes you, they'll be hounding you for your beauty secrets the whole time!" A snort, and she pushes through the doors to reveal.. Well now, wasn't this lovely? A standalone bar, well spaced tables with lovely linen cloths, an open space for dancing in front of the modest stage. Open, accessible, and not a stair in sight! With the music already crooning and the smell of food from the kitchens, it was hard not to feel right at home despite never having been here.

Sir Pentious

Oh, now this is a venue indeed. Sir Pentious tilts his head as they head inside... What an atmosphere! He smiles, relaxing a little more. "AH, THIS WILL DO NICELY." Food.... Yes, he was getting peckish but he's not sure what would be on the menu.

Alastor

"If I run into anybody I recognize, I'll claim to be Al Junior and ask who knew my dad. Hah!" He idly wonders if his duplicate had ever even visited here. They can figure food out once they're seated—although, once they are, Alastor almost immediately forgets about the menu to pay attention to the music.

Valera

If only they could all be so easily distracted from the siren song of food! Valera fixates on the menu the second they're seated, tapping a few options before she looks up at her guests. "If it wasn't obvious, dears, I'm paying. Get as much as you want of anything you want." SHE is going to get an appetizer and a drink. It's only the afternoon, but an old fashioned and a shrimp cocktail are calling her name.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious looks at the menu, and... He makes a face, as he usually does when he's met with something he doesn't like or understand. He brings the paper closer to try to read out these items.... But then he just sits back, dropping the menu itself and drumming his fingertips upon the table. "WELL SO FAR NOTHING SOUNDS APPETIZING. I'LL HAVE A POT OF TEA." Scowl. It might be better to let him see what he'd be getting, since he's barely got any idea about many of these, "THEY LIKELY WON'T PREPARE IT THE WAY I LIKE." Big Fussy!

Alastor

"Oh, you'll regret that." Alastor is not known to be considerate when other people are paying for him. The music sounds like what he hear in jazz clubs in the—let's see, he remembers being incredibly drunk—the 70s? That must be the lag between mortal world innovations and how long they take to reach Hell. He finally picks up the menu—oh, ooh, he's probably going to order half of this.

Valera

"MAKE me regret it, my dear! I dare you." She's making money out of pocket lint and wishes, deer boy. You can't break this bank with a big appetite. A pause, and she glances at her beau in his huffy glory. Oh, Penny's texture aversion, right.. A closer look at the menu, and she leans in to point a few of the softer choices out to him. "Maybe the gumbo? That should be soft enough.. Or the steak? I hear they've got nice steaks. And just ask them to make the tea a certain way! I'm sure they'll cooperate."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious tends to expect others to disappoint him, but he'll try to be somewhat less pessimistic. He's having dinner with Alastor and Valera, after all. "THEN I'LL HAVE A GUMBO. SURPRISE ME." which probably just meant choose the type for him. "THE TEA SHOULD BE FINE, UNLESS AMERICANS DO NOT KNOW HOW TO BOIL WATER."

Alastor

"I'm never introducing you to iced tea." He taps the menu. "They've got sandwiches, too." Alastor isn't sure what Sir Pentious's issue with the food is—although now Alastor's heard the both of them mention that Sir Pentious is particular a few times—but Sir Pentious brought sandwiches to their indoor picnic, so that ought to work, right? "I think I'll get gumbo, too." He remembers being sorely disappointed the last time he tried it, but he wonders if forty years have changed that. "... And maybe the oxtail soup." To cover up the inevitable disappointment from the gumbo. And the filet mignon with mushrooms. And the live lobster, like hell is he passing up a chance to get fresh shellfish while he's in the mortal realm. And— He can take leftovers home, right?

Valera

"Who knows? As far as I'm aware, Americans are mostly known for throwing their tea into harbors, not preparing it." Perfect, here comes the waiter now. Valera orders their appetizers and drinks, then wave the poor human away before they hear anything they shouldn't. The last thing these three need is even more attention than the two demons are drawing with their looks alone. And now, while they wait for these brief minutes.. She leans back in her chair and sighs. This is nice, all things considered. Being able to relax to any degree around Alastor AND Pentious? Not something she'd expected to ever achieve.

Sir Pentious

ICED TEA??? He looks at Alastor with abject HORROR at the implication. The waiter coming and going was a fine moment of Sir Pentious just staring at people when they address him, rather than. Being casual about it. It was impolite to not face someone when speaking to them, his mother had explained, and apparently he'd gotten back at her for this by pointedly staring at anyone who spoke to him to the point of making them uncomfortable. HE WINS THE SOCIETAL ETIQUETTE CHALLENGE. HE IS THE VICTOR!!! Holy shit though, that was a LOT of food that Alastor ordered. Pentious can't help the grin that spreads on his face as he leans towards the deerman, "STORING FOR WINTER, ARE YOU?"

Alastor

"Sure, if I get through all this I'll need to hibernate for a month!" He also threw in a couple of sandwiches, a crab salad, an order of golden buck, and Roquefort cheese. When is he going to get this easy access to fresh mortal food next? "You're both welcome to steal off my feast, I plan to sample everything and take the rest home with me anyway."

Valera

Damn, she gives him a blank check and Alastor does his best to order everything on the menu. Guess he really doesn't like the food in hell! Valera stretches and leans back into the conversation, propping her elbows on the table to support her head. A lazy glance around to ensure nobody's looking too closely.. Good. A little attention was inevitable, but it would be a shame to play cleanup in such a nice establishment. A hum.. "Why thank you! But my goodness, if I'd known you were so desperate for proper food, poor dear, I'd have invited you to use my kitchens while you were over last."

Sir Pentious

Now there's an idea. Pentious thinks about the three of them in the kitchen and he can't help but snicker, "AND ALASTOR MIGHT HAVE COOKED ONE OF YOUR CITIZENS! NYA HA HA!" Very funny. He's started paying attention to the musicians now, turning to watch them with interest. The gentle crooning was pleasing.

Alastor

"I wouldn't say desperate! I would say incurable gluttonous and absolutely shameless about taking advantage of those who offer me kindness without putting boundaries on it!" The sweetest smile. "Plus, I'm fairly sure none of the money you're paying with is real." Now there's an idea. "Well, if you happen to have any citizens you wouldn't miss..."

Valera

"It's real enough!" A pause, assessing her statement, and she amends with a mutter of "It wont disadvantage the establishment any, at least. I'm not that heartless..". Cough. And how convenient, a subject change! She beams at the two of them, showing off those weird flat teeth humans have. "Oh, if you're interested in trying Veci, we have PLENTY of undesirables! Though I'd warn you that the different breeds give a wide variety of flavor profiles, so you'd have to plan accordingly."

Sir Pentious

Oh they are actually taking it seriously. He snickers at that!! "I DOUBT THAT KIND OF THING WOULD DISSUADE ALASssTOR. AS YOU CAN TELL FROM WHAT HE'S ORDERED, HE IS A BIT OF A FOODIE!!"

Alastor

"There's the understatement of the century." He leans toward Valera, arms crossed on the table. "Give me the menu! Fair warning, at times I'm a bit of a food snob. My tastes skew toward the upper class." Perhaps more honest to say that his tastes skew away from the lower class until he learns why, exactly, they were deemed "undesirable."

Valera

She blinks at Alastor, keeping a carefully neutral smile as she turns that over in her head. Was that a threat? No, that was silly. He wasn't stupid, he must believe status made a difference. And didn't it? Higher quality foods, higher quality meats. Yes, that makes sense. She clears her throat and nods, casting her mind back to what she recalled. Ahem. "Well! A coastal veci like myself has very tender, buttery flesh. Melts in your mouth, so they say. A more open ocean type like, say, my friend Istoph, has much firmer, strongly flavored meat. Very much the game of the Veci world. I'd avoid the deeper sea Veci, their meat tends to be..." She grimaces. "It tends to be either rubbery, or gelatinous. And they're scavengers, so they taste like the fermented meat they live off of."

Sir Pentious

This is a very weird conversation to be in the middle of. Sir Pentious is looking at Valera the entire time they're describing what the meat of her species is like. He has bitten into her before, he RECALLS the tender flesh. ............... Oh probably shouldn't think of that right now. "AND VERY POISONOUS, ALSO. THE LOT OF YOU, CORRECT?"

Alastor

And now Alastor is thinking of biting her, but for completely different reasons. Sounds delicious. "I'm sure you must have recipes to get around the poison issue!"

Valera

Valera reaches over, taking Pentious' hand to give it a gentle squeeze. "It's not uncommon for coastals to have some form of venom, but the flesh itself is safe. My toxins are the result of some clever genetic tampering." A proud little head waggle! "Oh, and yes. The toxins break down in heat, so fully cooking the flesh is enough. Or you can be immunized against them, like Penny was!"

Sir Pentious

He smiles, holding her hand in his and stroking over it with a gloved thumb. "DIDN'T YOU SAY THAT YOUR TAIL WAS TORN OFF AND DEVOURED BY SOMEONE BEFORE?"

Alastor

Alastor's eyebrows shoot up and he leans around to try to see Valera's tail before remembering that, in their disguises, she doesn't have one. "That's a fair amount of flesh to grow back!" Like a lizard.

Valera

"Hah! You remembered that? Yes it was, my love!" She snorts, pulling his hand up to kiss his gloved knuckles. Mwah. It's nice having things she mentioned so casually be remembered. Even if they're weird things. "Oh yes, my body repairs itself quickly. My tail was back to normal in an hour or two. Could have been faster, but I was burning energy helping him with meal prep."

Sir Pentious

They are Very Weird things but Sir Pentious is just that kind of guy. He's looking over at Alastor like do not try to Catch my Wife's Booty with Your Gaze, Sir.

Alastor

"An hour or two! With magic, I trust?" If it had been by devouring enough food to rebuild the missing flesh, she wouldn't have been worried about meal prep. Anything raw would do. It takes him a moment to notice Sir Pentious's Look. It takes him another moment to figure out what it's for. He decides to play dumb, props his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand, and leans toward Sir Pentious. "Listen to me, jabbering away with the lady and ignoring the gentleman completely! My apologies!"

Valera

"Magic! Plus the energy reserves in my.." She gestures at her chest. "..Body fat." FINALLY their food arrives. Or as much of it as the waiters dare try to fit on the table. Drinks, dinner, and the cannibalistic conversation conveniently avoided around any human ears.

Sir Pentious

Penny's

looking at Alastor. About to say something when their food arrives! Finally. That's... A LOT, DEAR SATAN.

Alastor

Oh. Oh that really is a lot. What consequences hath his careless words wrought. For a moment he stares in horror at the covered table. Then he says chipperly, "Well, like I said! Feel free to taste anything you want!" He's gonna go for... ooh, what's first... how about the lobster.

Valera

So much for a low profile. She looks over the table... Then to the cart the waiters have parked near the table with the rest of their food. Then to Alastor, eyebrows raising as she whistles. "Goodness, my dear fellow. We'll have to use poor Pentious as a tray to get these leftovers out the door." She reaches over to pluck Pentious' gumbo out of the chaos and put it in front of him, then tries to puzzle out her own meal. Steaks, steaks, everywhere... Ah, there were two filet mignons, one of those must be hers. Come to mama, beautiful.

Sir Pentious

"MOST CERTAINLY NOT!" Do not stack food on him, he would hate it!!! But he looks over at Alastor with a squint as he begins tucking a handkerchief into his collar, like a bib. "YOUR STOMACH IS GOING TO BE DISTENDED BY THE TIME THIS IS OVER, ALASTOR."

Alastor

Alastor tugs at the front of his coat to test its give. "Not much room for that. Good thing I plan on taking most of it home!" The lobster passes muster. Time to try something else. Where's that rabbit? "Tell me what you think of the gumbo—I'm wary of it anywhere outside Louisiana, I want to know what to brace myself for."

Valera

She's going to stack food on him. She's going to stack SO much food on him. Or she'll just make the staff conveniently ignore the fact that their doggy bags are suddenly gone to some pocket dimension. But threatening to turn Pentious into a cart is funnier. "Mmrph." Sorry, her mouth is full of approximately half her meal.

Sir Pentious

NOOOOOO Oh. He looks over his gumbo, stirring the pieces of chicken and veggies around with a spoon... like a particularly thick stew. It smells good, anyway... some of the meat doesn't appear to be as squishy as he wants, so he shoves them aside, instead looking at the veggies. Big Fussy. "ARE YOU GOING TO ATTEMPT TO HAVE SOME OF MINE? YOU ARE NOT TO PUT YOUR SPOON IN MY SOUP!" Rabbit's a bit left of Pentious' gumbo. He's looking at Valera, "....QUITE A LADY! HAHA!"

Alastor

"I ordered my own, thank you." The fact that Sir Pentious is already pushing aside bits of food is a dangerous sign, but Alastor will reserve judgment until he sees him actually taste it. Oh, there it is. He snags his next dish, glances at Valera, and laughs. "I take it the filet mignon meets your approval!"

Valera

She gets her meal, she starts eating, and now! She's the center of attention! She swallows with a bit of struggle, clears her throat, and picks up her napkin to daintily dab her mouth clean. She's got manners, sometimes. Deep inhale.. "It's good! Though I'd prefer it rarer next time." And now SHE can stare at Pentious. Try your gumbo, Penny. The audience is waiting.

Sir Pentious

Oh no they are both looking at him. He hates this. Time to go on a face journey while filling his spoon up with broth. He brings the reddish brownish liquid to his lips, flicking his tongue against it. Yes. He is human. But he has spent the last one hundred and thirty two year as a snake. Leave him alone. Okay... the taste isn't atrocious. Sir Pentious sips it up, smacking his lips a little. Beer tasting tik tok. Aaaaaaand he finally speaks, "YOU KNOW, IT ISN'T BAD. THE BROTH ANYWAY, I COULD GET BEHIND. THOUGH I AM NOT YET CERTAIN ABOUT THE VEGETABLES OR THE MEAT."

Alastor

"Do you prefer your meat raw, by chance?" No judgment, it's a fine culinary choice. Look at Sir Pentious. Going about it like a connoisseur. A connoisseur who sticks his tongue into spoons before sipping. Alastor can tell exactlywhat he's doing, which makes it even funnier to see with a human tongue. "Sounds like a recommendation to me!" Now for that rabbit.

Valera

The spell is broken, the table can breathe a collective sigh of relief. Pentious can enjoy at least ONE thing at the table. Crisis averted! Val can return to her meal, taking much more respectable portions of steak now that she knows she's APPARENTLY got an audience watching. They wave for a second old fashioned, and tuck in. There, much better. Civilized fish.

Sir Pentious

Very civilized. Maybe Sir Pentious just likes watching you eat food, Valera. HE'S NOT WEIRD, YOU'RE WEIRD.He's going to try the vegetables now... They're much softer inside the brother, and they kind of melt in a buttery fashion. Hmm... Not bad. The chicken is next... It looks tough, and he's not excited about it. Scooping the meat into a spoon, he brings it to his mouth and bites down on the spoon. .... A frown... And he unbites, putting the chicken piece back into the bowl. "NO. NOT A FAN."

Alastor

From the corner of his eye, Alastor is watching Sir Pentious's slow analysis with fascination. Oh, he's going to be a challenge for Alastor to cook for, isn't he? Good—no one else ever holds Alastor to any standards, he's going to have to actually improve his work. His face falls as much as it can when Sir Pentious... spits out? a bit of chicken. Alastor tisks. "We should have known better than to trust gumbo in New York."

Valera

"Hang on, I can fix this." Without missing a beat, Valera reaches over the table with their fork, rapid fire skewering a few pieces of chicken to steal away from Pentious. Down the hatch, and look. Nobody has to deal with them anymore! Isn't she generous.

Sir Pentious

............................ He wonders how that must have looked to literally anyone else.

[

11:41 AM

]

AND THEN HE PUTS HIS ARM AROUND HIS BOWL, AND LOOKS SO OFFENDED.

Alastor

"Well, if you don't like the gumbo..." He gestures around at the table. And the cart. "There's a couple of sandwiches on the cart if you want to try those." He got the sandwiches for Sir Pentious, because Sir Pentious eats sandwiches. He really did order this feast with the intent to share it with the table.

Valera

Val's completely focused on their own meal, smug as can be. Mm, yes, the mushrooms are so soft and lovely, mmm. Pairs so nicely with this steak. Better eat a little faster before anyone gets any funny ideas.

Sir Pentious

Oh sandwiches. He does like sandwiches... generally. Sir Pentious lifts his nose, looking over at the cart before he gestures, "I WILL TAKE A SANDWICH." And he is going to eat vegetables and this broth, because it is tasty, even if the chicken was TERRIBLE!

Alastor

"Have at it!" There should be some kind of meat sandwich, he forgets which one he finally ordered, and a jelly and cream cheese one he ordered mainly out of morbid curiosity. Okay, he's tried the rabbit, time to switch out the plate for his own filet mignon, Valera's making him jealous. "You know, I've been so distracted by this feast here, I've hardly glanced at the stage! After we came all this way to hear the music." He's gonna. Try to focus on that.

Valera

He's done with the rabbit? Perfect timing, Val's just about done with her own meal, and Alastor DID say she was free to sample. A few slices of lagomorph shouldn't be missed. Music? Right, yeah. Music. She'll worry about that when her stomach is done threatening to start dissolving.

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious smirks, "WELL WHAT WOULD YOU EXPECT? IT IS NOT AS THOUGH WE NORMALLY HAVE ACCESS TO FOOD FRESHLY PREPARED IN THE LIVING WORLD." He's going to take a bite of this meat sandwich... That's a happy Penny. He's going to delight in this soft bread.

Alastor

"True!" He pauses a moment to listen. Hmm. "If anything, I think the music in Hell is better. More time to practice, I suppose! Better music, worse food—not a trade off I would have expected, would you?" He's finally gonna try that filet mignon—oh, good God, this must be what they serve in Heaven.

Valera

She snickers into her food, moving on to the lobster now. She can't comment on the workings of hell, but she can appreciate a good meal on her own dime. Let the boys have their talk.

Sir Pentious

"I WAS THINKING SIMILARLY, ALTHOUGH, YOU WOULDN'T HAVE THIS PROBLEM IF WE WERE ATTENDING A FULL ORCHESTRA SHOW. TOUGH LUCK, ALASTOR." He grins, "STILL, IT ISN'T BAD. I FIND THE RAW, SOMEWHAT FLAWED STYLE OF PLAYING RATHER CHARMING. REMINDS YOU THEY ARE ONLY HUMAN, NYA HA!"

Alastor

Give him a moment. Give him a moment, he's gotta bask in the meat. Oh, that's superb. He makes a mental note to ask Valera to leave an exorbitant tip. "I think an orchestra that's been playing together for over a century, give or take a few exterminated cellists, is going to be able to show a thing or two to an orchestra whose members have only been playing their instruments for a few decades!" He glances at the stage. "But—you're right. Jazz is at its best when it's raw. Maybe we damned fools have gotten a little too refined in our playing."

Valera

Valera is picking away at the meals, humming idly but mostly ignoring the two.

Sir Pentious

IGNORING....

Sir Pentious sips more of the broth, then finishes off a sandwich before pouring himself some tea. "TOO TRUE. WE'VE GROWN ACCUSTOMED TO OUR UNLIVES. WHO COULD BLAME US? THE DEAD SHOULD NOT USUALLY RISE AGAIN."

Alastor

"And if they do rise, I'm given to understand the living expect we'd start eating their brains! Ha!" He pauses thoughtfully. "Actually, brain doesn't taste bad. Although it's got nothing on the filet mignon."

Valera

She waves the waiter over to take her empty plates and cups, then props her chin up on her hands. The music is nice. She'll just close her eyes for a second and listen..

Sir Pentious

Hopefully the waiter didn't hear that. Penny snickers, and sips the tea. Actually not bad. And then he's looking at Valera. ... He smiles, wide. She isn't looking at him, so he gets to admire them!

Alastor

Oh, Sir Pentious is distracted. They're both distracted. Alastor swallows down the urge to constantly be making sound so as not to distract them from their distraction. He'll watch the show and switch to trying his own bowl of gumbo. If it sucks, he can cleanse his palate with more of his steak.

Valera

It takes SEVERAL seconds before Valera realizes the two have fallen silent, brows furrowing before she cracks an eye open to make sure they aren't moments away from going for each other's throats. Does she need to step in? No, Alastor's eating, and Pentious is.. Watching her, it seems. She smiles and gives him a little wink, then blows a kiss. "Hey handsome."

Sir Pentious

Color reaches his cheeks, and he can't help the grin, avoiding eye contact now... One hand reaches for hers, and he squeezes it. Listening to decently played Jazz Music, sitting with his good friend, and the love of his unlife. And more food than they knew what to do with. Pentious feels.... Good.

Alastor

The gumbo isn't bad. It isn't great gumbo, but it's an okay soup. Maybe he should ask if Sir Pe—oh, he's having a moment. They're both having a moment, the two of them. Alastor will keep suppressing the urge to speak. BOY THAT SURE IS A BAND UP ON STAGE THAT ALASTOR IS LOOKING AT. RIGHT NOW. WITH HIS EYES.

Valera

Try not to break your neck, radio demon! Pentious' hand is squeezed back, and Val scoots her chair a bit closer with the excuse of messing with the blanket draped across his legs with her free hand. If she doesn't move away afterwards, well. She's just being cautious. What if it falls? "Enjoying yourselves, boys?"

Sir Pentious

C: He is very smiley. Sir Pentious turns around to look at Alastor, and then he closes his eyes, raising a declamatory finger. "ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, YES! I RATHER ENJOYED THIS EXCURSION."

Alastor

Oh thank god they're talking again. "Why, a show, a signature, another show, a feast fit for a king, and such fine company besides—I'm enjoying myself enormously! And will continue to do so for another few days at least!" Yeah he's hardly made a dent in the food. He's gonna have hella leftovers. If they're talking again he can ask the question he's been holding back. He leans toward Sir Pentious and elbows an edge on his wheelchair. "I'll trade you the vegetables out of my gumbo if you trade me the chicken out of yours." If the veggies were all of it that met Sir Pentious's tastes, Alastor was at least going to make sure he got a full serving of it.

Valera

"Glad to hear it, my dears! We'll have to arrange a second excursion at some point. Penny needs more broadway, and poor Alastor needs regular access to Earth food. Speaking of, how is that okra plant doing? Should I arrange for a replacement sometime soon, my fine fellow?" She snorts, eyeing the leftovers scattered around them. This had to be a week's worth of food for a single deer, right? Surely! But it's a fine compromise he offers. Hopefully Pentious wont be overly stubborn about it.

Sir Pentious

In terms of deals that Alastor could be offering him, this was by far the mildest compromise. Sir Pentious looks at him with his usual big eyes, raising a brow.... "OH THAT'S RIGHT, THE VEGETABLES THING. YES, GO AHEAD, ALASTOR." He slides his bowl over. Whatever remains of the chicken within!

Alastor

Vegetables thing? Did his duplicate have a vegetables thing? Well, whatever—he scoops out what's left of his veggies (farewell, dear okra) and claims the chicken. Speaking of dear okra—"The plant's doing marvelously so far!" So far. "I found a spot for it and that bell pepper plant I won under a nice sunny window in that ship embedded in the hotel, you know the one."

Valera

She DOES know the one, in fact. Even if she doesn't know how a boat wound up not only in hell, but somehow being used as part of the architecture for what seemed to be one of Lucifer's estates turned rehab facility? Hell was a STRANGE place. A puzzle for another day. Maybe Charlie would know. "Ah! Wonderful! Okra is such a hardy plant, if anything could survive in Hell it would be that little beastie. Maybe I'll bring you some other plant next time I visit? Sounds like you need some fresh tomatoes and you'll be set for a fine side."

Sir Pentious

Once the swap is finished, Sir Pentious slides his own bowl back towards himself and returns to eating. AH, this was MUCH better. He didn't eat all that much and seemed to be used to that fact. Hard to be overwhelmingly hungry when you already knew your texture issues would make it difficult to actually eat something. But he's smiling away as he consumes the veggie gumbo. He didn't think he'd like it, but the added flavor of the now removed chicken did good things for this.

Alastor

"You'd be surprised. It's harder than you'd think to find fresh okra in Hell! Probably some local blight that wipes them out, that would be the kind of thing Hell does." But tomatoes... it's easy enough to get jarred tomato sauce and canned tomato paste in Hell—albeit at exorbitant prices—but when was the last time he'd had simple, plain, fresh tomatoes? "Let's see if I've got a green thumb or two hidden under these gloves"—he wiggles his fingers—"before subjecting another poor plant to my tender mercies—but if the okra lasts long enough to give me a crop, tomatoes would be a fine addition to my little garden!"

Valera

She snorts, sudden visions of Alastor in overalls over his suit, wearing a straw hat with holes for his antlers invading her mind. Ah, and he would fertilize his bountiful crops with the corpses of his victims, and put a hoe head on his mic's staff. Behold his new show, Farm Talk Radio.. May the gods have mercy on her for these evil thoughts. AHEM. Back to reality, no farmer deer here, just a man with wiggly hands who hasn't managed to kill an Okra plant yet. "Of course! Now, do either of you want dessert, or should I flag down the waiter for our bill?"

Sir Pentious

"DESSERT? SHOULD YOU OFFER HIM MORE FOOD?" Pentious scoffed, still working on his soup. Dipp.... The sandwich.... IN THE SOUP. What a rebel. OH it's delicious.

Alastor

"He has a point. If I get any more plates, I'm going to have to start holding them in my lap!" He considers the offer anyway. The problem with ordering dessert is that, generally, you only get dessert foods. Anyway, he was pretty full. Surprise surprise. "I think I'm taken care of!"

Valera

"Alright, thank you Alastor." Valera raises a very pointed eyebrow at Pentious. Answer for yourself, fool. But he hadn't said yes, so she'll wave down the waiter.. and watch them put the bill in front of Pentious. Right, this is the sixties. She's just going to take that and pay, thanks.

Sir Pentious

He fucking gave it the STINK EYE like No fuckin waY. Still finishing off his soup... "I SUPPOSE AFTER THIS WE HEAD BACK?"

Alastor

Sir Pentious is over here reinventing the au jus sandwich, it's a wonder he registered the dessert question at all. "Tip them very well." Does Alastor want to see what the bill is? Probably not. "We could! Or you could put up with me while I drag you halfway around Manhattan seeing what's still standing! But you'd probably want to re-kill me by the end of that." He looks around, do they have doggy bags? Or is he going to have to slide this food into a pocket dimension as they are, plates and all? He wouldn't mind stealing the plates, but...

Valera

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe we'll have to make another day trip closer to your own time, Alastor! That sounds fun." Valera hums, looks at the food, looks at the pathetic little waxed paper bags covered in pictures of dogs the waiter gave her.. Then reaches into her purse and pulls out extremely not period accurate takeout boxes that CERTAINLY didn't fit in there to hand off to Alastor. "Here, dear. Don't worry, they won't see anything."

Sir Pentious

Sir Pentious is just like. Looking, but mostly after he's done his soup (finally) he sits back and cleans up his face, pulling the handkerchief out and setting it down on the table. "HA HA HA HA!!! OH, WHAT AN ENJOYABLE LITTLE TRIP THIS HAS BEEN!"

Alastor

His own time. He isn't sure if he even wants that. A question for later. He takes the boxes and starts loading one up. "Is that a reassurance, or are you planning on creating a distraction across the room? Because if you weren't, I was ready to ignite something on the table by the stage." He beams at Sir Pentious. "We must do this again! And sooner rather than later!"

Valera

"I don't need to make a distraction, I just suggested to the population of this establishment that they care more about their own business at the current moment. The guests are enjoying their meals, and the waitstaff don't need to come tidy up here for another ten or so minutes." Valera raises an eyebrow at Alastor, slides her gaze from him to Pentious and back again, and smirks. "Perhaps next time we'll have to visit a museum, those are always good fun. I'd be interested in seeing one of the exhibits on Pentious for myself, and I'm sure at least one of you would be over the moon as well."

Sir Pentious

Pentious glances over at Valera, and his smile falters somewhat. Thinking about it... Would he be featured in a Museum? Of course, he must be in some history books, but... Why hadn't he heard so much about it when he was in Hell? Was it just because he mostly met a lot of Americans? "ER, YES. QUITE! I WOULD LIKE TO SEE SOMETHING LIKE THAT--THOUGH I IMAGINE THEY WOULD ATTEMPT TO PSYCHO-ANALYIZE ME OR SOMETHING. IT WOULD BE EMBARRASSING WATCHING THEM ATTEMPT TO CRACK MY GENIUS MIND!"

Alastor

“Oh, we can go laugh at everything they got wrong, then! You can look at the artifacts and we’ll read the plaques for you and tell you which ones are the most wrong.” Sir Pentious’s lack of enthusiasm has been noted; but Alastor’s too excited by the prospect of the trip to focus on that at the moment. He wants to see a Sir Pentious museum display and by god, he’s gonna. “It sounds like a spectacular trip! And I’ve been dying to find out how your history differs from my local version of you!”

Valera

"It's one thing to know the man himself, but quite another to see how the world at large remembers their villains." She reaches over to take Pentious' hand, giving it a squeeze. It's alright. "I did cheat a little, I'll admit. I've been to this reality at least once before, so I did some research to find the museums that had the BEST exhibits dedicated to my beau. I've already got one picked out for the three of us, schedules permitting."

Sir Pentious

He looks up at her, eyes wide. There are a great number of thoughts buzzing around in his head. Why didn't you tell me? being one of them, but... Would he want to be told? It was hard even for himself to predict his own reaction sometimes. Still, the fact that there are exhibits dedicated to him..... Sir Pentious turns back round, settling in his wheelchair and adjusting his blanket. "VERY GOOD THEN! WE WILL MAKE IT A TRIP. I WILL MAKE A POINT OF POINTING OUT ANY AND ALL INACCURACIES."

Alastor

“Who could ask for a better tour guide!” That’s the last of the leftovers loaded into boxes. Alastor glances around to make sure everyone still seems to be paying them no attention, then quietly opens up a neat little square-shaped portal on the table and drops the boxes through. “Depending on what’s in the museum, maybe we could steal back some of your possessions. You know, if there happens to be anything you want to retrieve.”

Valera

"Is it really stealing if they're going back to their rightful owner? I would think not!" The conveniences of demon magic are not to be underestimated. Food no longer crowding the table and plates stacked for the busboys, Valera stands, reaches into her purse, hesitates a moment, then drops a pair of twenty dollar bills on the table. Is that a generous enough tip? She has no idea. But it's more than twenty percent and that's what matters. Probably. Hopefully. Alastor will probably say something if it isn't. Maybe. Gods help her.

Sir Pentious

TWENTY DOLLARS---oh right, Penny is from the late 19th century. He clears his throat. Sometimes he forgets that money is ridiculous in one hundred years. Though he does chuckle, "NOW YOU ARE A TRUE NOBLEMAN, VALERA. YOU HANDLE YOUR MONEY LIKE YOU'VE NO IDEA WHAT TO DO WITH IT!"

Alastor

“I would think not either! I doubt the museum will see it that way, but that’s their problem, isn’t it?” TWENTY DOLLARS—oh right, the money is imaginary and capitalism is made up. They’re going to be making some waiter’s night.

Valera

She looks at Pentious, glancing at the money on the table before clearing her throat and striking a dramatic pose, complete with fluttering lashes and her hands clasped together under her chin. "Money is like manure. It's not worth a thing unless it's spread around, encouraging young things to grow." Nice save.

Sir Pentious

Ohhh, he sees what you did there. Clap, clap, clap. "FROM THE GOODNESS OF YOUR HEARTS? NYA HA HA!"

Alastor

Alastor cracks up. It was a good reference! Applause from him too. “I did say we should tip generously!”

Valera

Oh thank the gods, they bought it. She takes a bow, then props her hands on her hips and squints down at the table in thought. Food was sorted, tip was sorted.. That was everything, right? A nod, and she retrieves her compact and begins reapplying her lipstick. She can't walk out of here looking like she ate or anything, goodness. "You did indeed, my dear fellow. Are you both ready to go, then?"

Sir Pentious

"YES, LET US BE OFF. I SHOULD LIKE TO RETURN TO MY TRUE FORM--IT IS A PAIN TO NOT BE ABLE TO MOVE AS EFFICIENTLY ON MY OWN. I SHOULD DESIGN A BETTER CHAIR FOR THE FUTURE ENDEAVORS."

Alastor

“And I’m missing my studio audience and sound effects department. The world’s entirely too quiet!” He says in the middle of a jazz performance. Quiet is relative. (It really is too quiet, though. For a moment, in the subway, he even lost the signals from New York’s radio stations. He’d forgotten the inside of his head could ever be so silent—and he can’t stand it.) Alastor gets to his feet, ready to go. “Let’s!”

Valera

Wonderful. Another tick off the checklist, then. Valera hops up, takes one last look around the club, and goes around to take the handles of Pentious' chair. "That sounds like a fantastic idea, love. If we really do plan on this being a regular occurrence, you're going to need a lot more freedom of movement." And with that, she pushes him towards the exit. It'll be a small matter to transport them back to her room as they walk through the doors, as seamless an exit as could be asked for.

#hissandvinegar #autokrates #chat log

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justoneday-namjoonii · 4 years

Text

color me moonlight | VI preview

☾ • I • II • III • IV • V • VI ☽

› Summary: Some flowers are not to be plucked, for their thorns are far too sharp for any hand to graze, yet, they were chosen. She shined, light radiating from the depths of her soul. She was radiant, powerful – she didn’t know it, but a creature as beautiful she could never be bad. However, he was made to consume the light. For her light was meant to dwell with darkness just as powerful, but far more dangerous.

› release date: sometime this weekend, that’s what I’m aiming for *fingers crossed*

- Flashback -

June 10th, 1981

“Happy birthday Lenny!”

The giggly 6-year-old blew out her candles and smiled when her mother began to cut her a huge piece of cake—probably too big for her little self. The party was a nice change for the rigorous studying Jane has been doing for school. She had just proven her research case study and her senior biochemists and doctors have been wanting nothing more than to work with her in opening her own center.

Unfortunately, after getting her slice of cake and watching Lenny open her presents, she had to get on the computer to work on some things. Jane sits at the living room table while her family watches a movie with Lenny and at times like this, she wishes she was gifted with a mind that required so much work.

“Jane,” Lenny suddenly hops off the couch and runs up to Jane with her new flamingo stuffed animal, “what’re you doing?”

“I have to write this paper that explains a patients condition, I’m sorry I’m doing this on your birthday, my deadline is tonight and I procrastinated,” Jane sits back from her computer and Lenny takes a seat on one of the stools with her poofy purple tutu.

“It’s okay, you always say ‘a doctor has a big responsibility,’ so I get it,” She replies rather maturely with a sweet smile, “I’m not mad.”

“How are you enjoying your day? Did you like the canvas and paint set I bought you?”

“I love it!” She smiles brightly. “How did you know I wanted it?”

“I just knew.” Jane simpers.

“Oh! Oh! I made you something this morning, let me go get it!”

Jane furrows her brows and waits for Lenny to come out.

“Here,” She comes stumbling in with her sketchbook and sits back in her seat, “I saw him in my dreams.”

When Jane looks a the piece of paper, she is at a loss for words. It’s a drawing of a boy in a pond of wilted flowers, a murky looking forest surrounds him, and dead animals lay at his side. This is the darkest drawing Lenny has ever created and it makes Jane’s heart sink at what this dream might mean. “Wow, um...Are those dead animals?”

“Yes, he controls the air...and he takes the energy of living things, it kind of scares me a little bit...” That made Jane even more worried because Lenny’s dreams never scared her. “But just a little, he’s actually a good person. He likes flowers, trees, he especially likes the sunlight.” She smiles.

“So, um, who is he? Does he have a name?”

Lenny hesitates, eyes drifting from Jane to the photo before giggling. “Well, you should know,”

“How would I know?”

“he’s your son.”

He went to work to pick up a few things from his office, but rather than taking his usual means of transportation, he decides to take the subway. Knowing that’s what you used to get around, he hoped that just maybe he might pass you. For a moment he thought he might get recognized, but with a casual hoodie and jeans, he doubts anyone will even notice him.

The crowded subway comes to a sudden stop. People are getting on and some are getting off, he eyes the crowd especially hard, in hopes that he might see you. To his disdain, it’s just a bunch of strangers, no one interesting.

He looks around, watching the woman across from him typing on her phone. Her aura is so gold, it’s glowing transparently around her. That color could mean many different things; happiness, eagerness, jealousy, and even apprehension. It all deepened on the hue, the shade of the aura. Whenever he sees that color, his mind get’s a little foggy, and as soon as that happens, the color begins to fade and that person becomes blurred from his vision.

When he confided in is father about it, he told him to try not to look if it made him feel unwell. That’s when they discovered that his body was reacting to the aura, in what way? They never had the resources to further research it, Jane invented most of the practices that went into making him. Unfortunately, there were some things Taehyung went through physically that his father wouldn’t know where to start in trying to help.

When the subway halts at his stop, he gets off, maneuvering through the crowd so he could start his walk back to his dads place.

It’s so quiet. That’s what he first notices when he walks along the sidewalk. His eyes follow the people walking in all different directions, hoping you might be there. But he’s only fooling himself, if you were around, surely he’d feel your aura.

When he enters his dads home, he sees that he already left to start his work shift. Not enjoying the silence, he trudges over to the couch and turns the TV on. Of course, the news is on and they’re covering the same forecast for the third time today, probably. He turns a def ear to it and leans back, not feeling good enough to start working. The thought that you might have just decided to leave him, it crosses his mind. But you wouldn’t do that, would you? It seems he’s discovered more about his powers in the short time that he’s known you than he has in his entire life.

It might seem too early to say, but he feels like he needs you around. Every fiber in his body seems to crave your presence in your absence. He’s never had this type of draw to someone, not even of his loved ones, not even his father. It’s not a platonic need, not an emotional or physical need, he’s not sure what it is. But ever since you two somehow merged consciousness, he’s felt the need to go back to that part of his dreams. But he doesn't know if he can do it without you.

Selfishly, that’s one of the reason he wants to see you. He thinks that maybe, if you two can connect like that again, you’ll both gain some clarity about who you really are and what you’re capable of.

His eyes try to stay open, but he soon falls victim to sleep almost instantly.

Gasping for air, his lungs expel water and his body jerks forward. When he takes in his surroundings, he’s in what looks like a lake it’s as dark as night. Swimming to the edge, he hoists himself out of it and stands to his feet looking around for some type of familiarity. When he fully takes in the new environment, he’s in forest. Trees and plants arch up, branches and vines hanging on them, ropy and sharp edges on it. None of them bright and bushy with life like one would expect. The leaves are dark, not wilted but dull and heavy.

Cold. He’s ice cold. A sensation he’s never felt in his dreams before.

“What is this place...” He mumbles, arms hugged to his side to supply some warmth to himself. His bare feet drag on the forest floor, it feels so real, it’s hard to grasp that he’s in a dream. Curious to find out what this place is, he tries to turn back to the body of water he came from. Coughing due to the cold temperature, he runs back to the body of water and stops right in front of it.

The lake is frozen over.

“What is this?...” He gets on his knees and looks down at the now icy body of water. Rubbing some of the ice from the top of it, he looks closer and for a moment he sees a light. Something familiar, warm. When he tries to get a better look, the ice breaks under his weight, a sound that nearly shreds his eardrums before the cold abyss swallows him whole.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in a same darkness he had been in with you, and he’s completely dry, not a drop of water on him.

Warmth.

He looks around, affirming that this place looks similar, but the plants are thriving bright green, fruit is growing abundantly. Everything looks dewy, ripe—nothing he’s ever seen before.

Light. The farther he walks towards it, the more it calls him—draws him in. He’s running, he’s running towards it. The closer he gets, the better he can see a silhouette, it looks like your silhouette.

“Y/n?...” He whispers, eyes narrowing when he notices you grow further away from him when he tries to get closer. “Y/n!” Desperately, he calls your name.

Why aren’t you looking back at him, can’t you hear him?

When he manages to get close enough to the ambiance surrounding you, he can only see the form of your body, almost appearing bare. It’s obvious that he’s not making any progress trying to follow you, so he stops, that’s when you stop moving.

“Y/n...” He’s entranced in the intense glow emitting from your aura, just trying to make out your frame. Suddenly, you start to look around, head turning left to right, as if you weren’t sure where you were. All while you obliviously look around, he’s thrumming in desperation to get closer. Physically, his energy responds so strongly to you.

He can’t take the distance anymore, he takes a step towards you and he cringes when you release a bloodcurdling screech.

Your body collapses and all he sees is darkness.

The warmth from your presence ceases, and he’s cold once again.

#bts mutant au #bts supernatural au #bts hybrid au #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #BTS au #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #bts imagines #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #taehyung hybrid #taehyung #taehyung mutant au #taehyung supernatural au #taehyung smut #color me moonlight

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pahrak-the-sinnoh-slizer · 4 years

Text

A Cowgirl in the King’s Court

(Out on an errand, Akira finds herself accosted by a familiar face. Akiruru oneshot.)

A woman in a suit emerged from the subway entrance, speaking brusquely into her phone. She’s worked at the same law firm for a decade. Finally, she’s been given the opportunity to be made partner, but the coworkers she’s stuck with for this case are such a nuisance they may cost her this shot.

On the other side of the street, two women sat on a park bench arm-in-arm, one repeatedly flipping a coin absent-mindedly while the other simply rested on her shoulder. They’ve been happy together for a long time now, and have begun to think about marriage. But she’s apprehensive, and her partner is so happy she hasn’t even noticed.

A taxi deposited someone on the corner. Their head jerked about as they took in their surroundings, and then they awkwardly ambled down the street. They’ve come to participate in their uncle’s funeral—not that they were ever all that close. It’s the first time in years they’ve seen most of their family, and no matter how hard they think, they have no idea what they’re walking into.

From where she sat, Akira’s gaze slid from one passer-by to the next, envisioning each as a role to be played with their own story, own goals, own struggles. It may not have been especially in-depth, but these brief snapshots of potential characters helped her keep her skills sharp (or, at the very least, helped her stave off boredom).

All the world’s a stage. I mustn’t let any opportunity to improve my skills slip by.

She checked her watch. After taking one last—

“Akira-chan!”

Akira locked up as a pair of arms were thrown around her. A moment later she finally registered the blonde-haired girl who had pounced on her from behind, murmuring, “Otsuki...Aruru?”

Aruru grinned at her. (Akira wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Aruru do anything but smile.) “How lucky running into you! Did I surprise you?”

“...Slightly.” Akira quickly recomposed herself.

Aruru ran around the bench, hopping onto the seat next to Akira. “What brings you here? You’re awfully far from Siegfeld!”

“I came to inspect a potential venue for an upcoming production. Now that that’s done, I thought I might take in my new surroundings.”

“You mean like sightseeing? There’s not much to see in this part of town.”

Akira shook her head. “There is plenty. In a busy place like this, there are countless people to observe.”

“Oh, so you’re people-watching! That sounds so fun! I love to come up with little stories for random people I see, don’t you?”

“...I find it a fruitful exercise, yes.”

“What about her?” Aruru pointed to a woman on the edge of the park, hastily setting up a food cart.

Akira hesitated a moment. …Any opportunity. “She has a passion for cooking, and dreams of opening her own restaurant one day. However, her parents’ financial situation has taken a drastic turn, and that dream seems farther away than ever now that she needs to support them.”

Aruru’s eyes twinkled. “Oooh! I’m sure she’ll find a way to make it!” Turning, she then pointed to an elderly woman scanning shop windows. “She’s the last descendant of a prestigious ninja clan, one that’s been tasked with guarding a cursed katana able to bring untold ruin! Now, she has to find an apprentice to carry on her work, but a rival faction is closing in to make things even harder!”

Akira stared at the woman a moment before looking back to Aruru. Curious…

Still grinning, Aruru said, “Your turn!”

Akira turned her gaze towards the park. “Do you see the person reading next to the fountain? They were a sailor many years ago, and their heart still yearns for adventure on the waves. However, they are not as young as they once were, and soon will have to face the fact they may never set foot on a ship again.”

Bouncing in her seat, Aruru said, “That’s so cool! Oh, and that girl on her phone by the bike rack: she’s an ex-magical girl who’s been called on to defend humanity again, but her new weapons aren’t cutting it! But when her friends are in danger, she reignites the powerful magic sleeping inside, and finally saves the day!”

Akira couldn’t help but chuckle. Aruru looked right at her, eyes somehow growing even brighter, and she did her best to stifle the laugh as she scanned the area.

“Hehe…”

She turned back to find Aruru staring, entire face alight in a smile. Akira blinked. “What?”

“That’s the first time I’ve made you laugh, isn’t it?”

“...I don’t keep track of such things.”

Aruru threw her hands up, as if cheering over her victory. “Well I do! It took a while, but I finally managed to make you laugh! I can’t wait to tell everyone!”

Akira’s gaze drifted up towards the sky. “Hm. I wonder if they’ll believe it?”

Aruru tilted her head as her arms lowered. “Huh? What do you mean?”

“I’m sure they think me stiff and humorless. Not without reason, of course.”

“No way! I mean, you do come across as super-serious, but no one thinks you’re humorless!”

Akira looked back to Aruru, holding her ambiguous expression even in the face of the other girl’s brightness. “...Very curious.”

“Huh?”

She faced forward, her tone sounding very matter-of-fact. “It surprises me that you’re so willing to reach out like this. I would expect everyone from Frontier to hate me.”

Aruru practically leapt back. “What?! Why would we hate you?”

“I dismissed you without a second thought the first time we met. I assumed, based on virtually nothing, that you and your friends did not belong on the stage. I would expect such treatment to be met with resentment.”

Aruru blinked, seeming genuinely confused by her question. “That? I already proved you were wrong, right?”

Akira thought for a moment. Then, she turned to look at Aruru, nodded once, and said, “Yes. You have.”

Aruru smiled brightly. “Then why would I be mad? I’m not gonna hold a grudge for something like that!”

For a few seconds, Akira could only stare at her. Then, turning in an effort to hide the small smirk forming on her face, she said, “Hm…it seems you have a knack for proving my assumptions wrong.” She rose to her feet before she could get a response. “I need to stretch my legs a bit.”

Aruru sprang up immediately. “Okay! Lead the way!”

Akira began walking, Aruru excitedly bouncing around her as she went. She asked about all sorts of things: what Siegfeld was like, what Akira’s favorite food was, if she’d ever seen an UMA. Akira asked a few questions back. The signs and store windows they passed provided plenty to talk about, but Akira was sure that Aruru didn’t truly need the help. She was overflowing—with brilliance, like any proper Stage Girl, but also with passion for every little thing around her, everything she could possibly think of. Akira could feel the pull of that passion. She did not submit to it (a long-standing principle she couldn’t quite remember the reason for at the moment), but she also didn’t fight against it…and that surprised her.

“I think the Abominamole got my point eventually,” Aruru said, taking several unnaturally-long steps ahead. “More importantly, we all got way closer, and we’ve been practicing harder than ever since then! Being a Stage Girl is so much fun! Right, Akira-chan?”

Akira realized they had come to an empty square. The sky had grown dark by now, leaving only the light of the street lamps, reflecting off the fountain at the square’s center like a flame beckoning for the company of moths. Aruru noticed how far ahead she had gone and hopped back to Akira’s side, giggling to herself. That was when Akira began to make sense of it.

“That’s what’s different,” Akira said quietly.

Aruru cocked her head, now walking backwards. “What’s that?”

“I’m lacking experience when it comes to this sort of dynamic. You…” Her steps slowed to a halt. “I’ve spent most of my life focused on nothing but honing my skills. I’ve gone out of my way to be recognized as the best whenever I could. It has served me well; however, when people engage someone like that, there tends to be...distance.”

Aruru stopped as well.

“I don’t much mind it. Normally I don’t even notice it. But you...you approach everyone as an equal, and even I can see the difference. It’s a philosophy I’m not familiar with...but I find it a refreshing one.” She smiled to punctuate the sentiment. “You have my gratitude.”

“Aw, you don’t have to thank me for that!” Aruru said with a grin. “Thank you for hanging out with me today! I’ve been wanting a chance to spend more time with you, I just never figured out how to make it happen. You’ve got such amazing skills, and that intense focus! But I can tell that, no matter how hard you’re working on-stage, you’re always having a blast!”

Akira chuckled. “Of course. The most important thing for a Stage Girl is to love the Stage. But then, you already know that.”

“Yep!” Aruru darted to the side then, leaping onto the rim of the fountain. She pointed skyward and declared, “‘And since I’ve known all along, there’s no way you can stop my plans! I’ve accounted for every possibility!’”

Not missing a beat, Akira stepped forward, slashing an arm through the air. “’That’s where you’re wrong! There’s one secret I’ve never shared with anyone…one I can use to topple your entire operation!’”

Aruru crossed her arms. “’Hah hah! Is that so? No matter! All I have to do is defeat you here, and it will make no difference! Prepare yourself!’”

Akira shifted her stance, raising one hand over her eye. “’Prepare yourself, my nemesis…this is my final contingency!’”

As Aruru prepared to make a move, an electronic chime sounded off. She nearly lost her balance, but she managed to keep her footing with a few awkward flails, giggling from start to finish. Akira checked her phone to find a text from Michiru.

“Hey, where are you? I was sure you’d be done by now—is everything okay?”

Akira quickly replied: “Fine. Just got a little sidetracked. I’ll be back shortly.”

Facing Aruru, she said, “My apologies, but I’ve been summoned back to Siegfeld. We’ll have to pick this up some other time.”

“Oh, okay!” Aruru jumped down and ran over, producing her own phone in the process. “Let’s exchange numbers then! It’ll be way easier to meet back up that way.”

“…Very well.”

“Alright, so what’s yours?”

“It’s…um…” Akira scanned her phone’s home screen, realizing she had completely forgotten where such information was stored. “…Hm…”

After watching her squint at the screen for a few seconds, Aruru held a hand out. “Mind if I take a look?”

Akira felt a shade of reluctance, but handed the device over nonetheless. Aruru swiftly typed into both phones, and in a matter of seconds, she cheerily returned the phone to Akira’s grasp, its screen now showing a new contact labeled “Aruru-chan!”.

That might be too familiar, but…I don’t know how to change it…

“Thanks again, Akira-chan!” Aruru said, fervently waving despite how close the two of them still were. “I’ll text you later! Take care!”

And just like that, she was gone. To her own surprise, Akira felt a bit sad to see her go.

A Stage Girl whose brilliant passion for life fills the hearts of all in her orbit. She’ll never waver in sharing that joy, never let it be taken from her or anyone.

She smiled. Pocketing her phone, she walked off in the direction of the train station.

Otsuki Aruru…I eagerly await the day we perform together.

#Revue Starlight #fanfiction #Yukishiro Akira #Otsuki Aruru #Akiruru

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anninhiliation · 4 years

Text

Survivor

La Guerra Del Mundo

Disclaimer: Don’t copy my work. I do not give anyone permission to do so. Stop copying and pasting and write your own pieces.

Warning: This is not light-hearted. The following depicts violence, terror, death and mentions blood. Please do not read on if violence, the mention of death and blood, or anything connected to war would trigger you.

The debris took weeks to settle down, but for those who breathed it in during the pure chaos, and aftermath trying to save their friends and family quickly fell ill. First, their breathing became tortuous, then blood would come out with each cough, and it did not take long after that for them to suffocate to death. You were lucky the woman handed you her handkerchief, preventing most of the particles from entering your lungs, thus saving you from inevitable death. Soon after the attack, food and medicine became scarce. Farms and hospitals in various towns and cities had been burned down during the invasion, only further weakening your country. As head of the house, you began scavenging abandoned buildings and homes of the dead. Your country became a target to Unum Imperium after Norway was conquered. International troops were sent to your country which only provoked Unum Imperium to attack again, only this time with the intent to take over. The once busiest part of town fell into the war zone. Snipers had been set up in the highest buildings that each side took over. The subways had been bombed so enemies couldn’t sneak in through the underground, and fallen soldiers rotted away in the streets. Sleeping through the night turned difficult as grenades were thrown aimlessly and painful screams echoed through the land. The days were quieter, with more precise gunshots, thus more killings and less destruction. Civilians tried to go on with their days, forming a new normal bargaining and trading became common among neighbors as a means for survival. Unum Imperium continued to burn down buildings, specifically anything they deemed unnecessary. Only further ruining your once beautiful homeland and making it even more difficult to survive and to fight Unum Imperium.

“We’re out of food” your mother sighed as she opened all the kitchen cabinets looking for anything edible for you and your siblings

It broke your heart watching your mother take smaller rations only for you and your siblings to have a little more. Her frame turned very fragile as time went on, making her almost unrecognizable to the woman she once was.

“Ms. Rodriguez died yesterday, maybe she has something?” Maria chipped in

Your mother shot you a look as you grabbed your worn-out black backpack off the coat rack.

“And that’s assuming the home wasn’t ransacked yet, or burnt down,” you said matter of factly as you tied your boots on “but it doesn’t hurt to check, and if she’s empty then maybe the pizzeria by where The Split Bean was has something under the rubble”

Luckily for you, The Split Bean was not at the heart of the utter and pure chaos, but it was still extremely dangerous to even step foot in that area.

“Y/N you have to be out of your mind” your mother frowned “that’s a suicide mission especially going now”

She was right, the sun was beginning to set only giving you enough time to check the house and make it back before nightfall. But this was something you had to do if you didn’t go now the chances of the house still being untouched were slim to none. Even one can of food, any food meant your family got to live another day.

“Well, hopefully, there’s food in that house because it looks like we have no other choice plus Rodriguez didn’t live far from the pizzeria it’s out of the way only by a little.” you stated as you made your way out the door “I love you guys”

You refused to look back after that, knowing that there was a high possibility you wouldn’t come home. You stayed as quiet as possible running along anything that could help possibly hide you. The sun’s rays gave a weak golden glow to everything it touched signaling there was little time left until nightfall. Your heartbeat out of its chest, with every move you made. It was only a matter of time until grenades would begin to fall from the sky. You knew you were getting close as what started out as hiding between bushes and trees slowly turned into sneaking around burnt cars for cover.

“Thank god” you mumbled to yourself as you spotted Rodriguez’s house in the distance

The house appeared to still be intact, making you bolt straight there as fast as you could. You checked the house for an easy access in, and to double-check there was no movement. But every door and window seemed to be locked making you groan in frustration. Looking around the backyard, you spotted a rock and figured it would do. You broke the basement window and kicked the remaining glass into the home. After it was clear, you threw your backpack inside and squeezed right in the small rectangular window. Landing on an old wooden table, knocking over a radio, a few books, and two picture frames. You then grabbed your backpack off the floor and quietly double-checked the home. You were lucky, the home had been abandoned, only with a few things missing as if someone took them with the intent on returning. You opened your backpack as you raided what little food was left in the pantry, and then the medicine cabinets taking whatever seemed useful. You checked the closets and dressers in case you missed something, but sadly nothing good was stored away and finally went to the fridge. You took whatever could fit and decided to check out the pizzeria anyways. It was only a fifteen-minute walk from where you were and you figured this was the perfect time as it was too dark to see anyone clearly but too early to start throwing grenades. You rushed over as quickly and as quietly as you could. Only two of the Pizzaria walls stood, mostly crumbled down, but enough to give someone the idea of what once stood. You stood in the back, assuming where the kitchen once stood and began shifting through the rubble. Finally, a lonely dented pot stood, giving you hope that maybe there was something close encouraging you to move faster. Suddenly a loud explosion erupted about 500 feet away from you, making you drop a can of tomatoes.

“Shit” you grumbled to yourself as your heart began to pound out of its chest

A second grenade went off, this time further away from you, but still making you tremble in fear. Abruptly you heard feet dragging and someone groaning in pain come closer to you. Letting instincts kick in you backed into what was left of one of the walls as you clenched a piece of stone tightly. You kept still and quiet until a soldier appeared. You didn’t recognize his uniform, but it wasn’t Unum Imperium. He fell to his knees on the rubble, making him wince as he clutched his side. He was covered in blood, and dirt, but his features stood out to you. A strong jawline broad shoulders, a few tattoos you could make out on his hands. His uniform and helmet covered most of his body, but you could easily tell he was attractive. You dropped the stone and slowly approached him, with open hands. He looked over at you gingerly looking at your every move.

“I can take you somewhere safe,” you said as you got closer “and I can fix your wound”

He continued to watch you with captivating brown eyes, making you a little nervous.

“It’s only like a fifteen-minute walk” you continued as he just looked at you

It felt like he was boring into his soul, with the only thing pulling your eyes away from him was the sound of the third grenade.

"I'm getting you out of here" you groaned as you grabbed his free arm and wrapped it around you as you helped him up and dragged him out of the dead zone

His body was heavier than yours, making your neck and backache as you moved as fast as you could. He winced every so, often making you mutter an apology each time, knowing he must be in excruciating pain, and walking an extra fifteen minutes must be hell. Then, the fourth grenade hit, exploding about 100 feet away from the two of you making you topple over, bringing him down with you. As you fell down, you made sure to break his fall, letting his body crush you further.

“Shit-” you winced as his heavier body crushed you “sorry”

He tried standing up on his own, groaning as he struggled, but his efforts helped you get back up and lean him over you once again. It was you who winced this time as your right leg felt nothing but pain as you continued to drag him back to Ms. Rodriguez. But you did everything you could to ignore your pain and help him. You were determined to get him to safety even if it killed you.

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

Text

First Day of School

This is just something that came to my head and I figured I’d write it down before I got it... Ru’Yi’s first day at Cassell College. Please enjoy.

======================

Ru’Yi pulled her shoulder bag a bit higher and she took a deep breath. Her parents stood side by side in the doorway of the cozy Chicago Townhouse.

“Okay... I ... guess I’ll see you on spring break?” Ru’Yi said, shrugging.

“Call us when you get there.” Her mother gave her a kiss on the cheek.

It was January 10th, the official start of Spring 2020 semester. Her father, Chu Zihang, and mother, Bai Meixiu, had enrolled her this year even though her dragonblood had been awakened all her life and she already knew her Soul Skill. She wasn’t going there to learn Dragonslaying or to become the hero of the world. It was just that her father and mother wanted her to have the best possible education among people like her.

Hybrids.

Unlike most hybrids, she didn’t grow up feeling the Blood Cry. She knew exactly who she was. Her father, Chu Zihang, was an A-rank powerhouse who had mastered the notoriously uncontrollable Jun-Yan - Royal Fire. He could summon flames so hot they could melt glass and metal.

Not only that, he knew the secret technique of Blood Rage, that could forcibly increase his purity to dangerous levels. He was a near unstoppable force. Not only that, he was peerless in martial arts and hacking. He was also very handsome, with dark hair, pale skin, and mysteriously golden eyes.

Her mother, Bai Meixiu, was even higher, Rank-S with three Souls Skills under her belt. She could Teleport anywhere she could visualize, summon blades of light and control them with a thought. But most terrifyingly, she could control the dragonblood purity of other hybrids. No Hybrid could ever stand before Ru’Yi’s mother without express permission. But looking at her, she was a petite black woman, well dressed and polite, who loved to dance.

To Ru’Yi, they were just mom and dad.

“One more thing...” Chu Zihang looked at his daughter, his expression serious.

“Yes, Dad?”

“If you ever meet a boy...” His eyes seem to glow behind the dark glasses. “I need you to tell me right away.”

“Zihang!” Meixiu protested. “Can you not! She’s old enough to make her own decisions!”

“It’s not that I want to influence your decisions... I just want to know about him. What’s his name? Where is he from! I want to know everything about this boy!” Zihang looked into her eyes with a sense of near desperation.

Ru’Yi gave a nervous laugh. “Don’t worry, Dad, I don’t think boys will be a big issue...”

Ru’Yi sighed to herself. Her father and mother were quite famous. Even while they toured the campus, most of the boys took on a ‘look and don’t touch’ posture, practically saluting in reverence to her father and not even looking at her. Who wants to date Chu Zihang’s daughter?

“Anyway, I’ll call you when I get there!”

The cab blew the horn, signaling his arrival. She gave her parents one last wave before heading away.

She got into the cab and looked up at the driver. “Subway station please!”

She put in her earbuds and started listening to her favorite song. She looked out the window. Her parents were waving her good bye. They kept waving.

She smiled, chest filling with excitement, she started to bounce and sing, giving finger guns to people out on the street. For the first half of her life, she lived isolated in Thailand. Her family lived far away because they wanted to get away from the life they had before, full of conflict and violence. Her father and mother only told her a little about how her life began, in chaos, filled with evil people who pursued them.

But things were different now. The evil was vanquished and the people running the school were their friends. They could finally live in peace.

But once Ru’Yi turned 14, they realized that living on an isolated island wasn’t good for her so they returned to the city.

Ru’Yi loved it. She could go shopping every day, there was a neighborhood of kids her age instead of just a few. And there were burritos and sushi and ramen! So much good food! She never wanted to go back to living on an island again.

The cab stopped across from the entrance to the station and she paid the fare and got out, still humming to herself. She waited for the light to turn and stepped off the curb to cross.

The sudden sound of screeching tires made her turn and look. Her vision was full of the radiator and bright headlights of a truck. It was too late to get out of the way. The driver looked into her eyes and realized what was about to happen.

Ru’Yi closed her eyes, waiting for the impact.

But the impact never came. She opened her eyes and she was off her feet, in the embrace of a stranger.

She looked up into a pair of brown eyes who looked down at her.

“Oh my gosh! That was close! Thank you so much!” She gasped.

“No need to thank me.” His voice was deep. He was taller, with brown hair and was wearing a camel colored coat. “Are you alright?”

“Yes... thanks to you.”

He set her down safely on the sidewalk and quickly started to walk away.

“Wait! What’s your name!” She ran after him as he descended the stairs to the subway. When she reached the stairs, he was gone.

She kept looking for him, scanning her fare card and wandering the platform. But he was nowhere to be found.

She had to catch her train.

She turned and made her way back to the platform to wait. She sat down on the bench, feeling her heart rate return to normal. She could have died! He must have been really fast to get her out of the way of the truck. She had frozen like a... well... like a deer in the headlights!

She heard the squeal of a train’s brakes. A short train, sleek like a bullet and displaying the World Tree symbol of Cassell pulled into the station in front of her. A man in a corduroy green uniform and formal top hat stepped out and bowed deeply. “Miss Chu. Your train has arrived.”

“My train?”

“Yes. You have been ruled a preliminary S-Rank hybrid. Therefore, the S-rank train has come to pick you up.”

She looked at it. It looked to only have two cars, the engine and the passenger car. People were staring at her, wondering who she had to be to get her own train.

Ru’Yi stood up, stunned. She carried herself and her luggage, following the man in the uniform. She stepped into plush surroundings. The train was wood paneled on the interior, full of fresh flowers and potpourri. There was even a bottle of wine waiting for her in the cooler.

She sat down in the red velvet seat, her mind still reeling from her close call and the mysterious man who saved her.

“Can I get you anything else?” The man asked.

“Oh... are there any other hybrids coming today?” She asked.

“Oh, quite a few! But you’re the only S among them.” He gave her a kind smile.

She nodded. “Okay...”

The train took off silently increasing to incredible speed out of the station. They disappeared into the tunnel, blazing down the usual route all trains took until it split off into its own track, aiming directly for a dense forest specially planted as cover for the route to Cassel College.

The trees were a blur of brown, black and green. She gathered her bags to herself. Her dad and mom had taken this same route and now she was going too. Like generations of Hybrids before her, Ru’Yi would be taking her own journey.

She burst into blinding light and the campus came into view, stately buildings up an artificial hillside split by canals and bridges. She was finally here!

The train squealed to a halt and the doors slid open.

Ru’Yi stood in confusion as hundreds of students milled everywhere, looking down at applications and up at signs pointing them where to go.

She patted her pockets. Right, she would need her application! She pulled the white sheet of paper out. “Please report to professor Miranis in room AB5 of the Hall of Valor...” She said to herself. She turned to walk and look for a sign for the sign of the Hall of Valor.

She immediately collided with someone, falling backwards.

“Ah! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” came a distraught voice.

Ru’Yi gathered herself up, “It’s okay! Are you okay?”

The dark haired young man was patting around the ground. His sunglasses were resting nearby him. She quickly gathered them up before someone could step on them.

“Here. Here you are.” She handed them to him.

He reached out blindly. His eyes were a gorgeous violet hue that Ru’Yi had never seen before, the color of lavender. But they stared blankly into the distance.

He was blind.

She quickly got him to his feet. “Are you looking for Valor Hall?” She asked him.

“Yes. Actually. Can you help me find it?” He laughed a bit nervous. “Sorry for the trouble.”

“Not at all.” She put the glasses in his hand.

“Someone said it was this way.”

She looked in the direction he was facing and saw the sign. “They were right. Are you here by yourself? Shouldn’t someone be with you?” She took his elbow and walked slowly but steadily.

He stammered, panting with exertion. “Well... I mean, yes but... like... it wouldn’t matter really. I have to get used to being blind on my own. It’s... kind of a long story, but ... my Soul Skill allows me to see. Without it, I can’t. They don’t let you use Soul Skills here so.. it’s kinda hopeless.”

“Wait... you could see before you got here?”

“Yes. Well... yes...” He frowned a bit. “I knew my vision would be affected but not this much. “

“Then you can’t read braille or anything? How are you going to study?”

“Books on tape?”

“Oh my goodness.” She put her hand on her face.

“My name’s Tom by the way. Thomas Allman. And you?”

“Chu... Chu Ru’yi.”

“Chu...” He suddenly stopped. “Wait. Chu Ru’Yi? Is your dad Chu Zihang?” His eyes widened.

“Yes...” Ru’Yi sighed.

“Oh wow! I... I’m so sorry I ran into you but... I’m so happy I ran into you! I’m a big fan!” An excited grin wreathed his face. “I’ve admired him ever since I was little. The unquenchable Golden Pupils!”

Yes, the golden light never left her father’s eyes. It was more of a burden than an asset though. Many people found his eyes terrifying, and for hybrids especially, those eyes had the effect of recalling to their minds the sacred words of the Dark King, Imperium, which gave people the urge to kneel before him. It was an unsettling feeling. Chu Zihang wore sunglasses and contacts to prevent people from feeling discomfort around him.

“See I kind of have the same problem.” Thomas explained.

“What do you mean? Your eyes aren’t yellow.”

“They are when I use my Soul Skill and I use my Soul Skill to see!” He explained.

“Oh... that’s right!”

“I have to wear contacts and sunglasses and things but... the contacts dry my eyes out so bad! Can you ask your dad what he wears? … Which brand?”

“Sure, I can do that.”

He started to blush bright red. “I still can’t believe I met you on my first day. I’m really super lucky!”

Ru’Yi gave a little laugh, unsure of what to say.

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing #RuYi

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winterromanov · 5 years

Note

Prompt idea: AU meeting Bucky on a flight back to nyc, hitting it off but neither has the guts to ask for #s and regret it, but they run into each other later

pairing: bucky x reader

You’d made it to your terminal with minutes to spare. Your chest is heaving from violently running from one part of LAX to the other, dragging your broken, three-wheeled suitcase lamely behind you. Nevertheless--you make it, passport and boarding pass between your teeth, sweat pooling in the small of your back. You don’t run, you absolutely don’t run, but you make an exception for the two hundred and fifty dollars you’d spent on this flight back to JFK. And the wages you would otherwise miss if you didn’t make it back to New York City tonight.

Relief flooding you, you quickly join the back of the queue heading out onto the plane. You manically check your passport, hoping you’d not managed to drop something on the way over. Because that would just be typical you, wouldn’t it?

“That is some impeccable timing you’ve got there.”

You look up from your frantic scanning of essential documents and see a man--also travelling alone, by the looks of it, the space between him and the couple in front too wide to be friends or relatives--his grin teasing and light. If you weren’t sweating enough already, the gaze of this man would probably do it. Blue eyes, tired from travel, maybe. Dark hair. Very pretty. Extremely pretty.

You attempt to pull yourself together, throwing him a slightly flustered smile back. The queue moves gradually forwards and you tug your unwieldy suitcase forward, grimacing as it squeaks loudly linoleum. “Let’s say that punctuality is not one of my strong suites.”

The man rubs his eyes in exhaustion. “And let’s say that I’m the exact opposite.”

“You’re one of those people who arrives at departures like seven hours early, huh?”

“Eight.” He smiles, and you notice his hand luggage is a neat little backpack, unlike your ten-year-old faithful monster half-broken at your feet. “Need to leave plenty of time for duty free, you know?”

He’s not holding any paper bags from the expensive cosmetics counters, no cut price bottles of wine, not even any snacks. Not a shopaholic, just anxious. You’re flustered, late, but not unobservant, even of strangers. “I mean, I wouldn’t. As much as the bargain Chanel was calling my name, I did literally just sprint here. I think my sister thinks I’m insane.”

His expression is tongue-in-cheek. “Not just your sister.”

“That’s a brave statement from someone I’ve just met.” You run a hand through your mussed-up hair in an attempt to tame it, not helped by the humid LA heat. Attractive man is talking to you, after all. That doesn’t happen so often. “You always like that?”

“Not always,” he says, but his sentence is cut short as he reaches the front of the queue and hands one of the stewardesses his boarding pass and passport. You jerk your bag off to the side to the second open desk, letting another go through your documents, but by the time you’re finished (as always, the lady seems to scrutinise every pixel in your photograph--your misjudged bangs from three years ago don’t make you look that different, surely) the gentle, teasing man has gone.

The air hostess directs you to your seat at the back of the plane and you find you’re in one of the sections to the right, not really looking at the other passengers as you try to find row F. When you eventually find where you’re supposed to remain for the duration of the flight, you blink in surprise.

“Mad girl,” To his credit, the man looks just as surprised at the coincidence as you do, looking away from the phone in his hand. “You sitting here too?”

“Yeah.” You half smile, struggling to stuff your bag in the overhead locker. He clambers out to help but you manage to squeeze it, wedge it in between his backpack and the lady in front’s briefcase. “And for the record, my punctuality aside, I’m not actually insane. Probably more verging along the lines of ridiculously ordinary.”

“I happen to think that ordinary is a myth,” he replies, subtly scanning your figure as you slide into the seat beside him. He has a copy of McEwan’s Atonement on his open tray, dog-eared and yellowed, perhaps borrowed from a friend. “Never met anyone ordinary in my life.”

“You might have to take that back after spending five and a half hours in my company.”

His glance is bemused as he shifts the headphones looped round his neck--you can hear faint conversation, listening to an audiobook or podcast of some sort. “I’m Bucky, by the way. Well. James. But everyone calls me Bucky.”

“(Y/N),” you offer in return, “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

It’s funny, because not once in the many years you’ve been old and responsible enough to travel alone has anyone engaged in as much conversation with you. For someone clearly so anxious about flying Bucky is open and friendly and funny and you think, maybe this is his coping mechanism. Then again--you can feel something lingering below the surface, something that makes you feel that you’re actually getting on, that you could have met in any place in any town and felt exactly the same. He asks about your family and you ask about his. Apparently he was in LA because his little sister is at film school and crippled by homesickness, so his body in her apartment for a few days made her feel a little less alone, a little less far away. He knows you’re a photographer, spending the last six days taking pictures for a client’s wedding on Venice Beach.

A couple of hours into the flight you begin to scroll through movies on the screens in the back of the seat, discussing the ones you both have or haven’t seen. He likes everything other than films about space--they give him existential horror--and you’re a bit wary around anything scary, so his finger hovers over Paddington 2.

“Surely a film about a well-mannered bear with a British accent can’t cause any problems,” he says, offering one of the headphones he’s plugged in between the seats. He wants you to watch a movie with him. Literally with him.

Well. You’re not going to say no. You take the ear-bud and pop it in, easing back into your chair, the film entertaining but his bright facial expressions even more so.

He tenses as the plane lands, his knuckles white round the arms of his seat. You wonder if it would be cool to splay your hand over his own, squeezing it in an attempt to calm his nerves. But you don’t know him, really. You don’t know him well enough to do that. And you wouldn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

So you lay back, close your eyes, feeling just a bit ridiculous as a vacuum opens in your stomach.

You’re tempted to ask him for his number as you make your way to the luggage carousel, walking in step with him. Instead you’re both enveloped in silence. Instead of actually, you know, fucking saying anything, you spend so much time trying to consider the words rather than biting the bullet and just doing it. Your lack of punctuality doesn’t just extend to your inability to make it anywhere until the last minute.

You often don’t say things until it’s too late, too.

“Have you got anyone waiting for you at arrivals?” he asks, pulling a cap from inside his bag over his head. The airport is packed, as usual, and you keep getting thrown around by tourists in sunhats and rushing businessmen. His hands grip round your shoulders to steady you immediately, towering above you.

You like him. You like him you like him you like him.

“Nope,” you reply, and a curious look passes over his face. The luggage carousel is in view and yours comes by but Bucky reaches out first, placing it down next to you. His doesn’t come long after. “What about you?”

“Nah. We could share a cab, if you want?” You usher out in the main entrance where you can see the black 11pm sky, hazy with the artificial orange from the lights in the city. “I never asked. Which part of the city are you from?”

“Queens.”

“Ah,” he grimaces, “I’m Brooklyn. That’s quite the distance.”

“In opposite directions.” You wonder if you visibly sink, melting between the tiles on the floor. “It’s cool, I was going to get the subway anyway.”

“We could go Queens first, I don’t mind--”

There looks to be hundreds of cabs lined up outside along the entrances, people piling in and out and journeying back into the city. You’re stood opposite each other and he’s looking down at you, face conflicted, but you know it’s stupid for him to share a car with you all the way to Queens only to have to spend even longer to get back to his own place.

Just ask him for his number, you fucking moron. This doesn’t have to be the end.

Your mouth opens, the vowels and the consonants on the edge of your tongue but again. Again your words fail to come, trailing behind you like your dumbass suitcase with its missing wheel. “No, it’s okay. I’ll get the train.”

“I...” Bucky starts, and for a moment you think he’s going to be the one who asks. The one who says he doesn’t want this to be the first and only time you meet. But it’s just your luck you meet someone almost as useless about these things as you are. “I guess I’ll see you?”

“Yeah.” You swallow hard. “See you.”

He looks over you desperately for a second, wondering if he might touch you. A goodbye squeeze of the shoulder, maybe a hug, but instead he rests his arms at his sides and gives you one last sweet smile before heading into a cab. You wait until his cab disappears before you decide to move. You can’t bring yourself to do so until then.

As soon as you get back to your apartment you face plant your pillow and scream into the fabric for at least five minutes.

The months pass quickly as they always seem to do and while Bucky stays in the back of your mind--mainly because every other man you meet is nowhere near as attractive as him, physically or otherwise--you don’t let it weigh you down. You know the possibility of ever meeting him again are next-to-nothing, and who the fuck spends their time pining after a man they met once on a plane? You’re often quite pathetic, but not that pathetic.

It’s July when you’re contacted to photograph the wedding of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts out in the country, the weather warm and the sky faultless blue. An old, crumbling manor house serves as the perfect backdrop for the big day, the ceremony itself held in the grassy, wildflower-adorned grounds in front of the porch. You follow around the staff as they prepare in a dusty pink summer dress, snapping some photographs of the exterior before the guests arrive for the vows. Eventually, you trail into the kitchen, hoping to get some pictures of the cake before it is cut and distributed out.

It’s then--it’s then you hear a familiar voice, shouting for the head caterer.

“Hey, I was just checking that--”

He pauses when his eyes settle on you. You almost drop your incredibly expensive camera into a bowl of flan.

“(Y/N)?” James says, mouth swinging open like a door on a loose hinge, “Jesus. I didn’t...”

“I’m the photographer,” you reply, like it isn’t obvious. You’re just surprised. “I’m Tony and Pepper’s photographer.”

He blinks. “I’m a friend of Tony’s. My God. Fate was really smiling on me today, huh?”

You grin is borderline ridiculous. “I think maybe she was.”

He writes his number on his reservation card with Natasha Romanoff’s lipstick. The night is in full swing. Everyone is either drunk or dancing. Mostly both.

“Not letting you go this time, mad girl,” he says, his body coming closer and closer to yours until your barely centimetres apart, your breathes hanging heavy. His number is pressed into your palm. “I think I’ve been hitting my head against my bedroom wall every single day since I got into that darn cab. My landlord is going to be suing me for damages.”

You bite your lip, clutching your camera. “And I’m being a really bad photographer right now.”

“Oh, come on, no-one will notice. I know for a fact Tony’s finished almost a whole bottle of Scotch.” His smile is almost shy. “Why can’t I stop thinking about you?”

“No idea.” You shrug, but your eyes remain focused on his. “I think I mentioned there is absolutely nothing remarkable about me, Bucky.”

“And I think I mentioned that I’ve never met anyone who wasn’t remarkable.” His hand finds yours and you let your fingers relax in his grip, curl round them. “Dance?”

You should be taking pictures. You should be doing your job. But there is a handsome man in front of you with a smile that could make the sun rise and put the whole fucking night sky to shame. There is a man in front of you who you watched leave once already. There is a man in front of you who wants to dance, who wrote down his number in Chanel Rouge Allure, who has spent the last six months with you hidden in his dreams and a dent in his wall as a receipt.

You can’t not dance with him.

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#I CANT RESIST AUS OKAY #im sorry about the fluff #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe

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silver-rings-and-rabbits · 4 years

Text

Sunlight and Shadows

Pairing: Rafael Aveiro x M! MC (Matthew Valentine)

Summary: A continuation of where Open Heart: Second Year chapter 9 left off. I was disappointed but not surprised that they opened chapter 10 with a time jump and left us hanging for two thirds of the chapter, so this is how I imagined my MC to react when Rafael first told him he was leaving town (I know it’s a moot point now, but it was fun to write)

Category: Angst, but with a bit of friendship (one-shot)

"I'm leaving town."

The words hit Matthew like a bullet, tearing right through him, leaving him breathless.

"L-leaving?" he stuttered.

"Yeah." Rafael looked regretful, and Matthew could see why he had tried to keep this news from him for now.

"But...why? Where are you going?" Matthew's voice was soft and hoarse, like it always was when he was upset. Rafael had heard his sad voice before, but knowing he was the direct cause cut him deep. Even though he deserved to feel bad. It was nothing less than he should have expected.

"I'm moving to Brazil," he said weakly. It was pointless to keep the full truth from Matthew now. The box had been opened.

"Brazil?!" Matthew's voice rose up a level and his big eyes widened. "That's so far away..." Matthew bit down on his lip, looking away from Rafael, only for his gaze to land on Kyra in her hospital bed connected to all kinds of tubes and machines, looking small and weak. He turned back to Rafael, his heart pounding in his chest.

"But...what about your family?"

Rafael swallowed. "I've talked about it with everyone. I'm going to stay with my cousin in Salvador and I'll be able to catch up with that side of the family. And my family in Boston are all for it."

"They're all for you just disappearing?!" Matthew asked sharply. He looked away again and drew in a deep breath. He was getting out of control. It was too much now. Maybe June had been right earlier. Maybe he should take a sick day...

Rafael was looking hurt. "I'll miss them, obviously, and they'll miss me but...I've lived in the same neighbourhood my entire life. Maybe it's time for me to start fresh. And that's what they support. I'm not abandoning anyone."

"But...what about work?"

"I quit," Rafael said simply, and Matthew's jaw dropped in surprise. "Being suspended lead to me thinking about what would come next. I always knew I wouldn't be a paramedic forever and maybe this is how it's meant to go." He shrugged, calmly accepting.

"Oh geez..." Matthew let out a rush of breath, leaning heavily against the wall trying to wrap his head around the news.

It had been six or seven months since Sora had come back to Boston causing Rafael to question everything. Matthew's heart was broken and he was going through a very long and slow recovery process. He had distanced himself from Rafael at first, but when they had danced together at Boston T-Party Music Festival Matthew realised how much he had missed being Rafael's friend. With constant, stern reminders that Rafael was no longer his, Matthew slowly started to let him in again. But now, hearing that Rafael was moving to another country, Matthew realised how much he treasured the few minutes at a time when he could chat to Rafael in the hospital corridors. How he still got a little rush if Rafael hugged him or if they accidentally brushed against each other. Now Matthew was faced with the cold, harsh truth that he had still been hoping Rafael might still have feelings for him, might someday come back to him. How stupid Matthew had been. He really didn't have a chance.

"Hey..." Rafael looked concerned and took a step closer, reaching out towards him. "Matthew, come on, it'll be alr--"

"Don't." Matthew hastily stepped away, and Rafael flinched. Matthew took a deep breath to try and pull himself together and tried again. "I'm sorry Raf, I just...I need to be alone right now. I need to...process..." he looked into Rafael's eyes--warm, chocolate brown; he had once seen them sparkling so beautifully under the light of a street lamp--and his heart seemed to shatter all over again. 'I've decided to be with Sora' 'I'm moving to Brazil'...Really, what difference did it make?

"I need to be alone," Matthew repeated, his voice soft again.

Rafael nodded, sadness crossing his face. He stepped away from Matthew, outstretched hand falling to his side. Once upon a time Matthew had grabbed that hand like a lifeline and dragged Rafael into the on-call room where he had broken down in his arms. That had only been a year ago, though it felt like another life. Maybe even a dream.

Without another word, Matthew turned away and began walking as fast as he could to the locker room. A few people he vaguely knew were in there and cheerfully greeted him. Matthew might have mumbled something in their direction--he was only vaguely aware of his surroundings--as he grabbed his bag and jacket and headed straight for the exit.

He stopped short in the car park, having spotted three familiar figures up ahead. His roommates were leaving, bantering with each other warmly, apparently unaware of the complete shake-up that was going down. Not ready to engage in conversation, Matthew's steps faltered and he slowed down, allowing the distance between them to increase. When his friends turned in the direction of the subway, he turned the opposite way.

His heart was still pounding and he felt shaky and light-headed. It was a little like how he felt after skydiving with everyone last year, except this time there was no security of a parachute and no solid ground to catch him safely. Or at all. He might as well be falling endlessly through nothingness.

As Matthew wandered down the street, a sign for Boston Common caught his eye and he headed for the park. His friends had come here a couple of times last summer to watch old movies, share picnics and try and relax after work. The first time he had gone, Rafael had been unable to join due to work. Eventually Matthew and Bryce had grown bored of the movie and snuck off to 'find an adventure' as Bryce had put it. Even though Matthew knew Rafael was at work, he couldn't help looking around the streets in the hope of bumping into him. Right place, right time.

Last summer had been possibly the best of his life. Moving to a new, scary but exciting city, starting his dream job, meeting his colleagues and finding a whole family in some of them. A handsome paramedic flying him above the city and its coastline as it was all washed in gold. Everything was more than Matthew could have ever dreamed. Only a year ago, but sometimes it felt like much longer. Other times it seemed like only yesterday.

This year should have been great; all his good friends nearby, the coveted position of junior fellow on the diagnostics team. He had grown a lot and come out of his shell since his first day, now he had more confidence in himself than ever before. And he was pleased with his success, but since the unexpected reappearance of Sora, shadows had been cast over his heart and mind.

A lump grew in his throat and his heart ache could have been a literal hole in his chest it hurt so much...but tears didn't come. He couldn't seem to manifest them anymore, even though the first few weeks after the break-up they hadn't seemed to stop. In some ways he preferred not being able to cry but now he wished he could. Anything to relieve the pain.

Matthew had tried to move on, really tried. His friends had encouraged him to go out as much as possible. He had thrown himself into his work more than ever before, to the point where Inez had worried that he was in danger of burning out. Hook-ups, dating apps, Bryce and Jackie being his wing man and woman, nothing really worked. Rafael was the only person Matthew had ever truly wanted to be with.

His phone buzzed against his leg and he dug it out of his pocket to find a text from Elijah: 'you about? We are ordering chinese, you in?' Matthew sighed and typed out a reply: 'Go ahead, but Im not very hungry'. He shoved his phone back into his pocket, ignoring the vibrations. He knew he had just thrown up a red flag. He had always been the type to lose his appetite when he was sad, and he hadn't eaten properly for several days after Rafael had chosen Sora. His weight had noticeably dropped, and ever since then his roommates had constantly checked what he was eating and how much he was eating. Sienna in particular would try and push him to second helpings as much as she could. It had been almost a little annoying at times...but it all came from a place of caring.

Not for the first time, Matthew thought about how lucky he had been to find his friends so soon. He had struggled to make lasting friendships in high school and hadn't kept in touch with many people from med school. At best he had hoped for some decent colleagues who could crack cases alongside him and enjoy a drink or two after work. On his first day alone, Bryce and Jackie had casually flirted with him, Jackie helped him revive his patient, Sienna intervened when Ramsey chewed him out, and Elijah had got lost with him somewhere within the hospital. Before he knew it they were living together and their small garden-level apartment quickly became a cosy home. It was everything he needed, even now.

Matthew smiled a little as he recalled an evening at Donahue's from a few months back. He had had some drinks and said 'I love you guys deeply. You've always got my back. I'd have lost my job without you all and I'm so grateful you're here and I don't tell you that enough.'

Bryce had ruffled his hair and laughed. 'You tell us that every time we get drunk and sometimes when we're sober!'

Letting out a slow breath, Matthew leaned against a tree and looked towards the sky contemplatively. He had already got more than he ever bargained for when moving to Boston, and never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined meeting someone like Rafael. Surely it was enough to have all that even for only a short time than not at all? Not everything would last forever. Maybe his relationship with Rafael was only ever meant to be short and sweet.

As Matthew left the Common and started home he thought back on his previous conversation with Rafael with a twinge of regret. He hadn't meant to fly off the handle and had almost used Rafael's love for his family as a weapon against him. He hadn't meant to but he was sure it had come across that way. Rafael had been genuinely stung by it.

Matthew didn't want that to be their last conversation and he definitely didn't want to be bitter. As he entered his apartment building, he dug his phone out of his pocket, unsurprised by the concerned messages from his friends. He leaned against the wall beside his front door and dialled, holding his breath while it rang...

"Hello?" Rafael's deep voice was breathless.

"Hey, Raf, it's me," said Matthew, relieved. He had half-expected Rafael to ignore his call.

"Matthew!"

"Hey. Listen...I want to apologise for blowing up at you earlier. And for what I said about you leaving your family. I shouldn't have said that, I know you'd never do it."

"That's OK, you were upset. I know it was a bad time..."

"Well, yeah, but you did try to warn me first..."

There was a pause. Then Rafael said, "Well, I hate to say I told you so but...told you so?"

They both laughed. The tension left Matthew's shoulders.

"When do you fly out?" he asked.

"Erm...end of next week," Rafael said, and Matthew winced. So soon. "Hey Matthew, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"When you moved to Boston...you'd never left Colorado, right? I know you'd moved within the state but this was the furthest you've gone?"

"That's right." Matthew frowned. "Are you nervous?"

"...A bit."

"Well, that's to be expected. I was nervous about moving to a different state but you're moving to another country. That's much further than I've ever gone."

Rafael chuckled. "True, but...well, how did you deal with it?"

Matthew thought for a minute. "First of all, don't bottle up the nerves or you'll become a time bomb." Matthew remembered a few weeks before he moved to Boston, he had pretended he was perfectly fine, then his uncle had casually wished him luck in the big city and he had suddenly broken down. "Make sure you talk through it with someone, you'll be surprised at how much it clears your head.

"But also...I knew this was the right decision for me, no matter what. I wanted to be a doctor and that meant going somewhere that would give me the best guidance and training I could get. And I had been inspired by Ramsey and studied his research the most extensively, so that meant applying to Edenbrook." He shrugged.

There was a pause on the other end of the line as Rafael considered this. "So, what you're saying is, you had a goal and moving to Boston was the best way to achieve it? Like, a means to an end?"

"That's right."

"Oh. I just wish I had a clear set career goal like you do," Raf admitted with a nervous laugh.

Stay in Boston and train to be an OT like you once told me you were thinking of doing Matthew thought suddenly. But he refused to say it. This was not about him. "Think of it as a means to an end to finding your dream job?" he suggested instead. "You might step off the plane and walk right into it for all we know." Rafael laughed again, and Matthew smiled wistfully. It was good to hear him laughing.

"Thanks Matthew. That does help."

"Good. And listen, Raf? If you think it's all gone wrong, if you need an escape, if you need anything at all...you'll always have a place to stay with me." He swallowed, the lump coming back into his throat. "I promise. The couch has your name on it."

"Thank you, Matthew," Rafael said fervently. "And the same goes for you. You will always be welcome to visit."

Matthew smiled sadly. "That would be great. But you know what my life is like. I don't have much time for vacation so don't hold your breath too tightly. I won't be happy if I hear you've suffocated." This time when Rafael laughed Matthew joined in.

"I'm...I'm really happy I met you, Matthew," Rafael said. His voice was hesitant, like he wasn't sure if he should say it.

"I'm really happy I met you too," Matthew replied, his voice soft but tender and earnest. Happier than you'll ever know he added silently. Out of nowhere, a tear suddenly welled in his eye and fell down his cheek.

"I'll be back to Edenbrook at least once before I go. I'll see you then?"

"Sure," Matthew said with a resigned smile. "See you around, Raf."

They ended the call.

Matthew sagged against the wall, a few more tears making their way down his face. It felt oddly nice to cry again. And even though it hurt he was glad to have made the call. Rafael had made him so happy, how could he want anything less for him in return? If that meant Rafael leaving Boston to fly to Brazil...so be it. Before his place at Edenbrook had been confirmed, Matthew would sometimes work himself into a state of anxiety worrying about what he would do if he was rejected and stuck in that small town. If Rafael was now feeling that way about Boston, Matthew could not--would not--hold him in bad faith.

Matthew straightened up and wiped his tears, taking a calming breath before he faced his roommates. He would let them take care of him, and then he would go into work and focus on his patients and do what he came to Boston to do: become the best doctor he could be. Meanwhile Rafael would go to Brazil and live and be happy.

Maybe the sunlight would return when Matthew met someone new.

#choices #open heart #rafael aveiro #rafael aveiro x mc #casey valentine #open heart second year #oh fanfic

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brothersinablackcar · 5 years

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Welcome 11 Wincestmas

Tomorrow will be our day 12, but for now, here is the stunning conclusion to Days 9 and 10. As a warning, there is an “on screen” death (minor character), and violence. I hope you enjoy it though. Not the death and violence, necessarily, but the story’s conclusion.

Sam wastes an eternity of seconds calculating where Dean must be, when it’s safe to follow. This time of night, not a lot of people are heading their way, if he jumps the gun, Dean will hear his footsteps and deviate. The thought of Dean leading him on a snipe hunt, then never letting him live it down, once again bubbles up in his mind. Sam knows Dean’s caught him watching on hunts, suspects Dean saw him the last time he tried to follow. With any luck, Dean thinks Sam snuck out for his own reasons, and hasn’t raised his guard since.

The bedside alarm clock goes off, radio blasting, tearing Sam from his counting. They argued whether it was broken, until both failed at trying to change the alarm setting. Who needed an alarm so late, Sam wondered. Dracula about to go on the prowl for his next meal, Dean teased. Sam rolled his eyes, but thought, or you. It takes several slaps to quiet the machine, leaving Sam flustered, uncertain how far behind he’ll be. Even still, he doesn’t slam the door behind him, doesn’t sprint to the end of the block, doesn’t draw attention to himself. Dean’ll take time retracing his steps, but Sam doesn’t care if someone’s following him, as long as they don’t delay him.

Dean’s definitely in the underground by the time Sam slips into his hiding spot, perfectly angled to watch for his brother’s exit. More minutes slip by; the calm that stole over him during his walk begins to fail. It never occurs to him Dean could’ve changed one of the million tiny details Sam envisioned he does, putting him ahead or behind schedule. It doesn’t occur to him, Dean didn’t bother with the pretense, that he walked directly towards the bars that don’t card, already sidled up to one ordering something light just to calm his nerves all the while bouncing his right foot.

Sam tugs his shirt, billowing air to cool down. Subway passengers discharge from below, bats escaping their cave. His training won’t let him ignore the group. His brain grabs details of the people in the crowd while his eyes scan for his brother. A man walks with a limp, but smoothly, not a new injury. A woman white knuckles her purse, anxiety – social, society? Sam curses under his breath, details matter, but all he wants is to see a boy with smiling eyes and killer intent. Two more groups emerge before he can’t stay where he is anymore. Sam heads to the closest entrance, pays a fare, but doesn’t get on a train. He checks each platform with an easy step that doesn’t match the increasing rhythm of his heart. There’s no sign of Dean as he completes the loop, exiting from the entrance he’d been watching.

If he were brighter, he thinks, he’d take this as a sign to turn back. Instead, he continues along the route he’s learned well in the short time they’ve been in this location. His thoughts turn inward, berating himself for missed opportunities spreading beyond today’s, but his senses stay alert. He passes a man throwing up, a couple making out, a group exiting one bar to walk one door down and enter another, a glass bottle rolling with enough force from the shadow of an alley to crack when it hits a brick corner. Sam halts staring for a long moment at the bottle before seeing it. There’s nothing special about the bottle, a careless employee tossing a bag of trash could’ve sent one rolling that quick. A couple trying to figure out how to have a quickie against a wall while drunk could’ve. A heated exchange escalating. All of them could, none of them did. Sam stares at the bottle, and knows. He’s not sure how he knows, he’s not a psychic, hasn’t decided if he even believes in psychics despite his family’s line of work, but he knows when he steps into the dark, he’ll find what he’s been looking for. He steps into the alley.

The stench from the row of dumpsters overwhelms in the heat. Bags of garbage line the bottom, some torn. Sam passes them, and the door he can hear music thumping behind. The bar’s located in a small building surrounded on all sides by larger ones. It’s managed to remain wholly separate, leaving a narrow gap between it and the building behind, a secret tunnel of sorts. It’s there Sam finds them.

He finds them in time to watch Dean slam her against the wall by her neck. Though her blonde waves hide his fingers, Sam can hear her choking, the change to the gargles when Dean adjusts his grip. Dean’s wearing Dad’s leather jacket, he marvels that no one questioned why such a heavy coat in July, doesn’t realize he didn’t notice Dean had it on until this moment when he’s watching the woman Dean’s strangling attempting to break his grip, beating at his wrists and forearms. There won’t be any scratches, but his brother will have bruises.

A horrifically comical pop sounds loud of the hushed struggle, the woman’s mouth fishes. Sam isn’t at the right angle to read lips, but she’s pleading, or trying to. Her flays grow weak then Dean let’s go. The suck of air is a wheeze that makes Sam’s stomach sink. Clearly she hasn’t had to endure the same training they have for there’s relief in the way she relaxes, doesn’t realize her windpipe’s crushed, and she’ll suffocate slowly, muscles burning through oxygen faster than she can supply, increasing panic only making it worse. Doesn’t understand it’s a mercy when Dean plunges the blade under her ribs up into her heart. Her paling hands beat on Dean as he controls her sink to the pavement.

Sam whimpers.

Dean rips the knife from the woman’s body, and whips around, ready for a fight. His mask crumples when he sees his brother, as pale as the corpse at his feet.

“Sammy?” Dean crosses the distance in a beat. “What? How? Why?” Dean’s as incoherent as Sam feels.

Sam, wanting to scream, instead lets Dean yank him into the narrow way by his shirt.

“Sammy. Sammy. Hey!” Dean shakes Sam, “It’s not. No. See. She’s a werewolf!”

“Werewolf?” The word is nonsense to Sam at the moment.

“Yeah! See? That’s why the silver blade, right?” Dean holds the knife up for Sam’s inspection. It is the same silver one Dean’s favoured for as long as Sam can recall, coated thinly in black blood. So little blood got on the blade, not even enough to drip onto Dean’s white knuckles.

“A werewolf.” Sam lets it sink in. He doesn’t know which of them needs to believe the lie more, but he does know Dean doesn’t realize why Sam’s willing to accept it. For longer than he can blame on shock, Sam stood by and watched. He let his brother kill the girl with wavy blonde hair, and a vaguely familiar button nose. He wanted to be beside his brother, to be the one instead of his brother. To crush her against the wall with one hand, and slice open her guts with the other. If that’s what they did, if that’s who they are, then they have to be bad people, but that’s not the narrative they’ve been fed, nourished on more often than food. If that narrative crumbles so too does all the rest of Sam’s world. Everything turns to ash, even Dean.

“Okay?” Dean tries to keep Sam from looking too hard at the body.

“Okay.” Sam agrees, meeting Dean’s eyes, willing his brother to lead him away from where evidence can prove otherwise, because if she’s a werewolf, then all the other scratches and bruises Dean came home with were from monster too, and that’s who they are, that’s what they do. Saving People. Hunting Things. The Family Business.

**********

AHHHHHHH, UR MAH GURRRRD. This? This stuff right here? STAB IT DIRECTLY INTO MY HEART LIKE ADRENALINE, OKAY? I looooove this so much. Dean, a serial killer, unwell on so many levels. Sam, who knows it ... and yet. Here they are. Inextricably entwined. As it should be. THANK YOU, YOU AMAZING CREATURE. This was delicious!

#12daysofwincestmas #wincestmas #gencest #wincest-ish?#whatever the case #the boys are toxic and that's just the way i like it #murder!brothers with benefits...#submission

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anoldfashionedlife · 4 years

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COVID-19: Sunday, April 12

Easter.

I read an article from the February issue of 1843 about headphone use in public spaces: "Headphones have destroyed our sense of common purpose,” the author writes. "A bedlam of babble in a handful of headphones.” Now, I read everything in the context of a global emergency: if we can’t be together together, how can we be alone together.

I run to Times Square. I leave my house and run my normal route to and across the Manhattan Bridge. I run a few blocks down Canal to Broadway, where I turn right and head north. Broadway will take me all the way to Times Square where it meets 7th Avenue and a whole mess of other things. It's an arterial avenue that cuts through the city from bottom to top.

I run through SoHo, which is empty. SoHo hasn’t been a “cool” neighborhood for a long time, but it’s still popular with tourists. It’s also the closest neighborhood when I need something from a big brand like CB2 or Uniqlo and don’t want to pay for shipping or wait a few days for it to arrive.

I pause at Houston because I’ve always paused at Houston. There’s little traffic so I could cross, but it seems safer to wait for the signal. “Look both ways before crossing, even when crossing a one-way street.” Advice given to incoming freshman at NYU—patronizing and comical, but useful because bikes and assholes don’t always follow the traffic rules.

I get the signal to cross, and I cross to the median where I pause once more. Out of habit I wait for any cars turning onto Houston, not paying attention to pedestrians, but there aren’t any. Everybody has different criteria for “when you become a New Yorker.” For me it was the first time I didn’t hesitate to yell at a driver turning into me as I crossed the street: “Fuck you! I’m crossing here!"

I didn’t live in New York on September 11th—I was a sophomore in high school in suburban Indiana—but I’d read accounts of New Yorkers in the days after who came out into the streets for no other reason than to be with other people, to commiserate and to mourn. Union Square was one place where they'd congregate, not only because it was a public space but because it was the largest and closest public space to the World Trade Center not cordoned off by the NYPD.

When I approach Union Square I slow down to keep my distance from others, mostly people coming out of the Whole Foods. I cross 14th Street into the park and most of the people there are homeless men, sitting on park benches with no place to go.

On the north side of Union Square I run past a bucket drummer, a nuisance in normal times but now a sort-of beacon in a sea of silence. I can hear him all the way past 19th Street three blocks away, and if there wasn’t a light breeze I could probably hear him for another few blocks.

Between 22nd and 23rd the sidewalk widens. There is plenty of space, but I run into the street to keep as much distance from others as I can. As I pass between two parked cars I lock eyes with an Asian woman who, behind a mask, looks at me as though she’s caught her pre-teen son out with friends instead of staying home to study for the PSAT: disappointment mixed with anger.

Continuing up Broadway I skirt between the Flatiron Building and Madison Square Park. Broadway between Flatiron and the ACE Hotel is an interesting mix of Yuppie District—sweetgreen, Milk Bar, Opening Ceremony—and the 28th Street Flower and Bargain Districts, but everything is closed. I run past a homeless man huddled next to an access ramp and think about white flight. In the 50s and 60s we fled to the suburbs. Today we've fled to our apartments.

I run through Herald Square and notice that the garbage cans outside Macy’s are empty. Garbage cans in Manhattan are never empty; they’re almost always overflowing with the detritus of petty consumerism: plastic Starbucks iced coffee cups, Chick-fil-A sauce, Hop-On Hop-Off bus maps.

I think about one of my favorite bars in the city, it’s nearby: Keens is one of New York’s oldest steakhouses, but if you’re not eating there—which I’ve only done twice—you can still order a drink at the bar, and they mix a good Manhattan.

I continue up Broadway and run past security personnel guarding empty office buildings and police officers patrolling empty public spaces. I make it to Times Square, and I think to myself: there are too many people here. There aren’t many people, but it still seems like too many.

I read the displays. Disney says: “Thank you to all the healthcare workers and first responders around the world / We are grateful for you.” T-Mobile says: “Please practice social distancing.” American Eagle says: “We are in this together. We are stronger together.” Clear Media says: “Not all superheroes wear capes.” Sephora says: “To all the healthcare, emergency, and social workers: \ You have our immense gratitude \ Thank you. \ We belong to something beautiful.” Green Giant says: “To all on the frontlines, you are the true giants.” Below the ball-drop is an impressive four-piece vertical public service display: “PL \ EA \ SE \ Practice \ social \ distancing \ & help \ save \ lives. \ cdc.gov/covid19 \ Prevent the spread of germs \ Please \ Stay \ Home \ When \ You \ Are \ Sick \ Prevent the spread of germs \ cdc.gov/covid19.” Amazon advertises a new album from The Strokes called The New Normal. #nystrong

What isn’t missing from Times Square is the guy who walks around carrying an “end is near” sign: “Because of sin Noah’s ark was built. No one believed him. Flood came—they perished. End is near. Judgement day is coming. Repent today. Confess Jesus as Lord and Savior. Only way to heaven.” That he isn't at whatever off-brand church he belongs to on Easter makes his message a bit less convincing.

I think about another one of my favorite bars in the city: Jimmy’s Corner, an old-school bar with boxing memorabilia covering the walls. You’d think in a place like Times Square it was actually owned by Yum! Brands or something, but you can find Jimmy there most nights.

I leave Times Square and run east on 42nd Street. Bryant Park is utterly empty. No homeless men, no vagabonds. Nobody except me and a park employee tending to the garbage cans, replacing one empty bag with another.

The emptiness isn’t surprising, but I should explain why. Since its inception the Bryant Park Corporation has been particularly aggressive in keeping out undesirables. First by removing park benches and adding metal tables and chairs. William H. Whyte, an urbanist in the 1970s, championed them as giving park users a semblance of agency in public space without actually providing it.

More importantly, removing park benches eliminated a surface on which homeless people could sleep. Over time, more and more features were added: upscale food for sale, movie nights on the lawn in the summer, a skating rink in the winter, Fashion Week. Sharon Zukin describes it as “pacification by cappuccino.”

Urban thinkers and advocates have been asking this question for years: Who’s city is this anyway?

I run a few blocks east to Grand Central. Once inside I don’t break pace as I run down the ramp towards the main concourse. For some reason this doesn’t strike me as unusual until I reach the main concourse. Shocked, I stop and take in the sight of an empty, cavernous space normally brimming with activity: commuters catching a train upstate if they don’t live in the city, the subway if they do; tourists careening their necks up to the ceiling painted with the constellations; me grabbing a drink at The Oyster Bar or Campbell’s Apartment, just because.

I’m lucky that my friends and family haven’t been infected by coronavirus; the hardest thing so far has been weeks of quarantine. I haven’t cried during this pandemic—I’m no “boys don’t cry” kind of boy, but doing so seems like an admission that things won’t resemble “normal” for quite some time. But standing here, taking in the sight of my city hollowing out like this, I tear up.

I turn around and run back home. I run down Madison Avenue to Madison Square Park. I turn left onto 23rd Street and then right onto Park Avenue South. Left onto 18th Street, right onto 3rd Avenue, left onto 12th Street, right onto 2nd Avenue. I cross Houston and take Forsyth to the Manhattan Bridge back to Brooklyn.

Back home I put a bottle of sparkling wine in the freezer, but it doesn’t fit because it’s full of frozen food, so I put it in my oversized ice bucket that once graced the tables and suites at the Waldorf Astoria. I bought it salvage a while back and don’t use it as often as I’d like: it fits two bottles comfortably, but one bottle looks silly, like a kid wearing his dad’s tuxedo jacket. I was hoping it’d be a fixture of backyard barbecues this summer, but that seems unlikely.

For dinner I make Ethiopian food. The doro wat turns out quite well, but the injera that’s been fermenting for a few days is an utter failure. I eat the stew with rice.

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maikatc · 5 years

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black sun tale but it’s the original first draft i wrote back in seventh grade like three or four years ago

and yes, i mean the entire 2k words of it, unedited too

Hyhqwv

“I wonder what’s going on right now,” I was in my living room couch and checked out the latest news on YouTube from my black laptop. New York City has been going wild on the internet lately. There have been pictures and videos of dead bodies and people proclaiming that they saw monsters. News stations are even going on saying that deaths are occurring at random places with no evidence for a reason. The subway, buildings, even some at the theme park. The unknown cases are causing major panic for most, parents aren’t even letting their children go outside.

“I don’t think anything will happen today,” my dad replied to me while he was in the kitchen.

“And you probably just jinxed it,” I continued scrolling through the page, skimming at the titles until I found something. The headline said Children Are Not Safe Anymore. I clicked on the video, there was a dead small girl inside a house. She looked like she was only five years old. No injuries at all. The babysitter said she was in the kitchen while the child named Alexa was in her bedroom playing with her dolls. Apparently, Alexa was the daughter of a new model, Lumi Katsmann, and she was too busy to have much time with her. I suppose she kept the little girl inside like most would but now there’s no certainty that would work.

I went on my phone to see if Twitter or Instagram has anything. When I turn on my phone, there was a text notification from Sora. Saying that I was late

Sora has been my friend since middle school because of me being the first person she met. She’s nice, but does have a bit of a temper, doesn’t really matter though. When summer began, we planned to meet up the day after she comes back from her summer trip, July 2nd at 3:15.

2:31

Sora: Jackson, you’re late

Jackson: But I thought you said at 3:15

Sora: I said 2:15

I scrolled through my phone all the way until I got to when we planned the outing. As I looked at the conversation, I realized that she did say 2:15. Well shit. I got up from the couch I was laying on, my legs wobbled from not standing up for a few hours. All I had on were bowers and a T-shirt I used when I sleep so I decided to change clothes.

“Are you going anywhere,” I forgot to tell dad.

“I’m just meeting up with Sora at the park,” I spoke while rushing to get myself ready. I put on a white shirt with black stripes, blue jeans and a pair of Nike shoes. Before I left, I grabbed my phone just in case something else happens today and went off.

“Bye dad.”

“Be careful Jackson.”

“‘Kay,” as I close the door.

I turned around to go to the destined land, the park. Sora would be a bit moody when I make it there for being late but I guess I should tell her what’s been happening lately. She would at least be intrigued, she’s interested in mystery. I know enough things about her that people would think we’re childhood friends, but we’ve only known each other for five years. Now thinking about it, we’ve been together for a long time. I remember in freshman year, I even got interested in her, but I knew things would get awkward between us, especially if something bad happened. At the end, I decided to not say anything, eventually the interest faded away. Now, everything’s chill and we’d hang out every few days or so

Some good breeze was passing through me while walking. The weather said this was one of the best summer days ironically. Aside from that kid’s death, perfect weather , good time of relaxing, it has been an enjoyable day so far. And now I’m about to be at the park.

Wrgdb Eulqjv Wkh Ixwxuh

It’ll be a few seconds before I make it to the assigned area. It was more silent than usually, no sound at all really. I stood as I got to the entrance. The breeze flew throughout knocking some leaves off the trees while I saw something terrifying.

Blood.

Dead bodies.

Sora’s dead body.

Right in front of me.

Impaled.

Her brunette hair dyed with blood.

What happened?

What caused this to happened?

Why is everybody dead?

Their guts are even showing.

Why?

I see something over there.

It looks big.

It looks like

A Chinese dragon.

It has claws.

They’re covered in blood.

Buried in blood.

Run.

Run!

RUN!

I ran as fast as I could in the wish of survival. A girl, light brown hair, walk past me, walking to where it was.

I stopped. “Don’t go there! You’ll get yourself killed!”

She paused her walking and turned around. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine,” she smiled while her hazel eyes glistened in the distance as she continues to the land of demise.

I have no time to save her, she would die either way, so what’s the point? She chose to go there. It doesn’t matter now.

My mind was in survival mode, the side of humans which doesn’t make them think heroically in the shows. Reality is different, we’re selfish in this mode, you do whatever to survive. People probably don’t except this fact, hell, even I don’t like to except it sometimes, but one day they have to.

I was running through the streets. Bumping into people the entire time. Looking at me like they should. I looked like I saw the depths of hell and ran like a madman. I didn’t care, I saw something that could’ve killed me. I was getting tired, I needed to rest. I was about to come up to an alley, I turned to the dark surroundings, sat down and closed my eyes for a second.

“Wow, how ironic you came here,” the voice sounded like a kid’s. I opened my eyes, Nike shorts with bright green sneakers. Looking up I saw more of the child, white shirt with a few stains, a black hoodie with bright blue highlights, half zipped. I wasn’t sure if they were a boy or girl. Their black hair was droopy and went down to the middle of their neck, but by the voice, I’m guessing it’s a boy. What really caught my attention was his eyes. The left one was only a deep sea blue, somewhat rare but still normal. Then there was his right eye. There wasn’t even a pupil or iris. It was silver in background but covering most was a design that looked like a black sun.

“Alleyways are popular here aren’t they? And you came to the alley where I live,” I looked around and saw it was decorated a little bit. A calendar and a few papers on the wall which contains drawings that each said ‘accomplishment’. There was even a small dream-catcher.

After a few seconds, I noticed, “How old are you?”

“Ummm, I’m about to turn thirteen soon, but don’t think about messing with me,” he was definitely lying. He was much shorter than me and his voice was barely deep. He seemed like he was in around the end of elementary school. What questioned me was that he was saying he lived in the alley. He was too young, he’d die. “Wait a minute, what’s that on your forehead?”

My black hair covers the majority of my forehead, but it looked like he saw something there. He began to reach it with his hand.

“What do you think you’re doing,” as he split the front hair. His face started looking surprised, confused, but had some excitement.

“Woah,” he smiled,” you’re one of us,” he turned around and paused for a second to think. I was in confusion the entire time. Who is he? Why is his eye like that? What does he mean by one of us?

“Let’s go,” he grabbed my hand immediately and got me up with incredible strength for his size.

“Hey Aladdin! I have defeated the dragon th-,” then appeared the girl with light brown hair.

Phhwlqjv

“Wow, finally we found somebody else,” the girl has a yin-yang T-shirt and blue baggy shorts, nothing that revealing, but there was something black poking out of her chest.

“Who are you people,” how was she still alive,and she said she defeated that thing. Why did she call that kid Aladdin? That’s a fictional character, who would name their kid Aladdin?

“Glad you asked! We are Black Sun Tale! We are people who have special abilities and defeat these monster, creature things. And you’re apart of it!”

“What,” These people are insane. How am I apart of this? I thought to myself.

“You didn’t explain everything Annette.”

“Why don’t you call me by Belle?”

“Because your ‘code names’ are stupid.”

“I think they’re cool,” she said in a pouty face

“They’re fairy tales!”

I saw them bicker at each other for the next two minutes until I had enough, “Can you explain to me what is going on? I don’t know who both of you are and somehow I’m a part of this group? Why?”

“Well-” the girl called Annette started speaking until the sun-eyed boy stopped her.

“Let me do this, explaining it with your peppy attitude will make him think we’re insane.”

“Fine,” she said with crossed arms.

“Okay, so see my eye? Well Annette-”

“Belle!”

“Whatever, Belle, has a black sun mark too. Show it.” the so-called Belle lowered her shirt to show a black sun mark on the top of the left side of her chest.

“And if you look at your forehead, you have one too. Oh and for a bit more detail, we have three members so far and I’m the leader.”

“How are you the leader.” I questioned him. I didn’t believe a group that defeats creatures that kills would be a little kid.

“I was the one who got this stuff in the first place and found all of you guys. I’ve also been though some traumatising shit, how do you think I’m living here? My family kicked me out? Why the hell would they do that,” his voice filled with anger, it looked like he was about to cry.

“Can you calm down. Look sure I’ll join whatever you’re doing. I just have a few more questions.”

Belle came into the conversation, “Um sure. What do you wanna ask?”

“Well you said that there are three members right? Well then who’s the third member?”

“Oh! Well, um, uhh she’s not that active with the group lately. She’s the youngest in the group, turning twelve in two weeks, but she’s, what do you call them, oh, a shut in. She was to be somewhat hyper like me, and she annoyed Aladdin even more than me because of her being a fangirl over stuff like anime and such. Now, she’s consumed by the internet and almost never goes out. She also sleeps more at day than she does at night, but I think she’s Aurora, or Briar if you like the book more, from Sleeping Beauty!”

“Second, what are your real names?”

“Oh fine, since you’re in the group. I’m Annette Jasofy, Aladdin’s name is Ayu, he never told me his last name for private reasons, and Briar’s is Roselle Karzen. Oh I forgot to ask, what’s your name?”

“Jackson Bardsly,” I wasn’t hesitant, they were younger than me, they couldn’t do anything. “Lastly, how old are you guy’s?”

“I’m fourteen, Aladdin-”

“Ayu!”

“Yeah yeah, he’s twelve and Briar is as I said, eleven. And we’re wondering about your age?”

“Seventeen.”

“Thanks, I can’t wait to see your power, so Aladdin what do you want to do now?”

I didn’t notice but Ayu was observing the whole conversation. He had a bored look but still had a bit of curiosity in his eyes.

“I don’t know, shouldn’t we let the newbie choose,” he spoke with a somewhat sarcastic tone but looked at me.

“I would like to meet the third member,” Ayu looked at me with a face that said he did not want to go there at all, “but I think I’ll go home… My friend was at the park.”

It was silent, even Annette wasn’t sure what to say. Ayu then grew dejection on his face. He walked up to me slowly and raised his arm to my shoulder. Having small tippy toes and eyes down to the ground.

“It’s fine, you can come here anytime… We’ll help I guess.... And don’t worry, something like that happened to me too,” he was quiet at first but by the end he was smiling with some hope in his eyes.

After we said our goodbyes, I left to my house. Unsure of what to tell my dad, and thinking of what to do tomorrow. Should I just stay home and be on my laptop all day? Or should I hang out with those kids. Questions flying all around on what to do.

“I’m back, Dad.”

“How was your date?”

I froze for a moment, thinking back on what happens, but I about that aside.

“First of all, it wasn’t a date. And… Nothing really happened.”

#my regretful writing #writeblr #writblr #writers on tumblr #wattpad #cursed #i still miss jackson tbh #oliver didn't exist yet #i dislike this #but this was technically the first time i took writing kinda seriously #so it's important considering the long run

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writings-from-the-hart · 5 years

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Planes, Trains, and Automobiles

Just as promised this is the beginning of the three-part post about answering @quilloftheclouds questions for my Wip Renegade. To kick things off I’m going to start with Modes of Transportation, I thought about adding pictures but that’s time-consuming and would make this post longer than it already is. So if you guys want to see some pictures of the Modes of Transportation in Renegade let me know, I post them!

Modes of Transportation

The world of Renegade is a mix between Tron: Legacy and Blade Runner 2049, a blend of both cyberpunk and post-apocalypse dystopia. For a world set two millennia past ours (2200) transportation isn’t what most people from our generation would think it to be: there aren’t flying cars, skyscrapers don’t serve as spaceports, and people don’t regularly take trips to the moon or live on Mars. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t cool futuristic modes of transportation, most that travel on something known as The Grid (a network of synchronized power that runs below every interstate, highway, street, and connects at the center of each City-State like hubs to give every citizen of the Republic power). Without The Grid life wouldn’t be able to function, the world would find itself in cold darkness or in other locations scalding heat of the sun without means of protection.

The Grid runs like ley-lines, connecting everything in the Republic to make it work like one giant machine, these lines can best be seen at night and truly showcase how vast the network is. It’s like a collection of different colored lights running along every surface in the world, some following vehicles. The Grid distributes power to transportation, homes, factories, and other buildings in the Republic.

HyperExpress

This is the bullet train of the future that can travel up to 2,000 mph, it utilizes a vacuum tube in order to reduce air friction and increase its speed. Not only is HyperExpress an ultra-fast bullet train it also serves as a kind of subway for all Caste citizens, not only the higher/wealthy ones. The HyperExpress system runs much like the railroad did when it first started laying track in 1830′s America, it’s the veins and nervous system of the Republic when it comes to transportation, stretching from one City-State to another across all connecting contents. Both cheap and highly efficient.

Air-X

Flying cars aren’t an option for civilians, scientists in the Republic tried to make it happen but after many try fail cycles it was deemed safer to not put the public in such contraptions. So only Air-X remains, the only commercial flying vehicle in the Republic skies. These are unmanned, piloted by A.I or small Androids, freight containers with a small cab build into the front. Using Air-X frees highways, interstates, and the oceans from unnecessary cargo shipment by vehicle or ship and instead acts much like a miniature plane of sorts. Small shipments use hover technology in their motors while larger shipments passing overseas use twin-jets or quad jets depending on the load.

ePath

Much like HyperExpress there is a network of tube-like structures following smaller highways in City-States civilians in both the middle castes and high castes can use who: ride electronic bicycles, electronic scooters, or even walk. The system is at least 17ft above the road, keeping pedestrians a safe distance from motorized traffic, is climate-controlled all year round, and also offers conjunction points were either 1.) City-State district limits begin and end or 2.) A transportation module such as HyperExpress is available. This allows civilians to hop off ePath and use another mode of transportation or walk directly about the City-State as they please.

ThunderHaven

Human beings have been entranced with the idea of flying for decades and pushing the limits of that idea, ThunderHaven provides that extra push into the unknown. Following in the steps of countless airplanes and military jets that have both teased and pushed past the sound barrier this is the super-fast plane that not only pushes past and surpasses the sound barrier, it full on blows it away entirely. ThunderHaven travels 8 times the speed of sound and is also capable of breaking out of Earth’s orbit and touching the stars if it pleased. Its design is sleek, made of the finest materials to keep the body both lightweight and strong, and also windowless. Fear not, inside passengers have a choice between a real-time visual of outside the plane or movies. ThunderHaven has three travel classes for each caste: low, medium, and high.

Electric Vehicles

Just because cars don’t fly in 2200 that doesn’t mean they don’t hold their usual allure if anything cars in the Republic are far more diverse and better suited for Earth (as well as people). Pulling power straight from The Grid once a vehicle is in motion, tends to stay in motion running on pure liquid energy without producing climate-damaging greenhouse gases and nitrogen oxide. They can travel for miles and never need to stop to charge while within City-State limits (near a central hub) because The Grid is most powerful there, however, once beyond City-State limits and in outer rim districts/Outlands The Grid is less powerful and vehicles need to recharge after 600 miles. Most vehicles are outfitted with solar panel cells built into their framework, so they remain lightweight, efficient, and ready to charge at a moment's notice if you’re in the outer rim districts/Outlands. Any caste of citizen can own an electric vehicle, what varies from caste to caste is the classification of vehicle.

Speedsters: These are unhinged, drag-racing, high-performance “cars” with a design that primarily revolves around speed and elegance, most high caste citizens own Speedsters due to their designs and the materials that go into creating them. It’s costly. Speedsters usually never adventure past inner City-State districts because many are low clearance and wouldn’t survive the rough terrain of outer rim districts/outlands. Much of a Speedsters appeal originates from the sleek design they take on: wheels built tightly into the frame not bulky in any way, smooth aerodynamic design, and many resemble “classic muscle cars” from the past giving drivers a nostalgic feeling. While they are pretty to look at and comfortable to sit in people are also drawn to what lies underneath, a powerful engine that pushes past all known boundaries of horsepower. Speedsters can be defined in two simple terms: powerful and fast.

Cycles: These are vehicles that are not allowed on ePath and resemble sport motorcycles in design. Cycles are extremely slender, hold up to usually only one person (driver), and have tire technology called tilt-tread to allow the cycle to perform tighter turns without risking the driver. The front wheel is locked forward so steering is done by tilting Cycles, not turning the front wheel (why tilt-tread is so crucial). However, when attempting certain maneuvers a pair of small fins spring out behind the driver to aid both balance and braking. Speed can be increased by twisting the twist throttle back towards the driver (located on the right-hand side handlebar). Most Cycles also come with small twin jets seated by the back wheel, this allows faster speeds to be reached efficiently. Unlike Speedsters, Cycles can adventure beyond inner City-State districts and endure some of the rough terrains of outer rim districts/outlands pose. All kinds of citizens from Castes ride Cycles due to their affordability and ability to go beyond inner City-State limits.

Trail Blazers: Rugged, usually larger than all other forms of electric vehicles, Trail Blazers are designed to do as their name suggests: pave new ways through the wild territory without being stopped. These are the vehicles that can easily adventure into the outer rim districts/outlands without a second thought, large tires paired with reasonable ground clearance to avoid hazards the terrain may pose and not sink into softer ground due to roads becoming less frequent the further they adventure. Trail Blazers adapt to the terrain around them by extending spikes from its tires for better traction and adjusting its suspension for either better ground clearance or shock absorption. Only high caste military personnel drive these vehicles.

Roadsters: The last classification of Electric Vehicles, these are sporty vehicles that sit between the Speedster and Trail Blazer category. Their primary design isn’t based on speed or being able to survive the unforgiving landscapes of outer rim districts/Outlands, instead, it’s comfort mixed with style. Built with enough ground clearance to adventure into outer rim districts/Outlands while maintaining a sporty design these vehicles are made for the middle caste families. Roadsters are often referred to as “the family vehicle”, outfitted with a third-row seat (unlike most Speedsters and Cycles) that is roomy and comfortable it’s the ideal vehicle for traveling in groups.

And there you have it folks, the modes of transportation in the world of Renegade! I had so much fun basically spilling all my thoughts about this fictional world I’ve created and fallen in love with. If you have any questions or want to know more just send an ask or anything! Part two of worldbuilding questions for the world of Renegade is the Social Structure.

#WIP: Renegade #worldbuilding #modes of transportation in Wip: Renegade

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kuro-gossips · 6 years

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Splashes of Colour

Chapter 4: Shades of Purple

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Shortly after having a vision of his soulmate -- not the first and not the last, he is sure -- Grindelwald holds a debriefing for his subordinates. The heterochromic man commands to one them, “I want you to go to the circus now. Give my note to Credence and begin his journey.”

Nagel nods and quickly excuses himself from the room. Rosier, elegantly dressed as ever, haughtily declares in her heavy French accent, “When we’ve won, they’ll flee cities in the millions. They’ve had their time.”

“Now, now. We don’t say such things out loud. We only want freedom. Freedom to express who we truly deserve to be.” Grindelwald pacifies, a smirk curling up through his lips.

The French woman agrees, a finger positioned on her chin in contemplation, “To annihilate non-wizards.”

The Dark Lord’s eyes flash -- patience wearing thin -- when he speaks next, “Not all of them. We are not merciless, but the beast of burden will always be necessary. Rosier, if you please.”

The blue-eyed witch knows what he is referring to, even if he doesn’t explicitly say it, and retrieves the skull-shaped hookah for her Lord. Grindelwald takes a deep breath in and exhales the smoke that models itself into the Obscurus, black fog swirling with intermittent red flashes, and then resolving into an image of Credence Barebone. His acolytes vibrate with excitement, except for the wizard of Asian descent, Krall, who seems sullen at the sight.

“So, Credence Barebone. A boy nearly destroyed by the woman who raised him, yet now, he seeks the mother who bore him. He’s desperate for family, for love, and he is the key to our victory. We must make him believe that we can provide that information to him.” Grindelwald proclaims, his mismatched eyes shining with an unbridled lust for power.

Krall, a nervous tick in his dark eyebrow, says, “Well, we know where the boy is, don’t we? Why don’t we just grab him and leave?”

“No, he must come voluntarily… and he will.” The Dark wizard shakes his head in response, while explaining. His gaze returns to the suspended vapour form of Credence in the centre of the room. “The path has been laid and he is following it, according to plan. The trail that will lead him to me, along with the strange and glorious truth of who he is.”

“Why is he so important?”

“Who represents the greatest threat to our cause, Krall?”

“Albus Dumbledore, of course.”

“And if I asked you to go to Hogwarts, where he is hiding, and kill him for me, would you do it for me?” An unkind grin graces Grindelwald’s face. “Credence is the only entity alive, who can kill him.”

Krall stumbles through his rebuttal, quickly correcting himself as he catches his Lord’s stern glare, as if daring him to finish his initial train of thought, “You really think that he can kill the great-- can kill Albus Dumbledore?”

“Oh, Krall. I know he can. But will you be with us when that happens? Will you?” Grindelwald whispers, imparting a knowing look on the other man. The powerful wizard is able to discern that Krall is not completely faithful to him and to their mission because he has Seen it in the near future. Then, he addresses the rest of the room’s occupants, “Now, leave.”

In the vacant space, the blonde wizard recalls Newt’s freckled face in the subway tunnels of New York, contorted in agony from the electrical shocks he had sent at him and the distraught expression after he had learned that being too physically far from his soulmate is such a cause for concern. He can’t help but derive pleasure from the sight -- such a delicious image painted over the boy’s delicate features. He ponders many things as he takes a seat, a sinister smile on his face, looking out at the bustling streets of the French capital and enjoying a cup of tea. Grindelwald is intrigued by this so-called magical growth as a result of being in a mutual soulmate bond. Now, his next important issue to address is how to persuade the British onto his side. He knows the other has a soft spot a mile wide for magical creatures and that includes the Obscurus contained within Credence. The Dark Lord lets out a pleased hum as plans start to from in his head, soon to come to fruition.

He summons Vinda back a while later; she awaits his command, “Yes, my Lord?”

“Retrieve the Ministry’s records on Newton Scamander.” She bows at her waist and goes to complete Grindelwald’s bidding.

***

A beautiful woman, porcelain skin with hair as dark as night, is kneeling beside a trunk filled with extravagant costumes. She strokes the dark blue dress on top, the material is smooth under her touch, too similar to a snake’s skin. She knows her performance is about to begin and she knows she will hate every moment of it. However, she doesn’t have much choice at the moment. Nagini had needed a way out of Indonesia, away from human traffickers who had sought her out for prostitution or slavery. Skender may be the trash of the magical community, but the next option was far worse. So, she decided to display her ‘unique talent’ in the circus show instead.

“Nagini!” It’s the boy she has become close with over the past couple of months, Credence. His hair has thankfully grown out from that terrible haircut that he sported when she met him. He rushes towards her with an urgent whisper, steel bars separating them, “I think I know where she is.”

Credence must be referring to the identity of his birth mother and she confirms her suspicions when she reads the note he hands her, a frown forming. Regardless of her personal feelings, Nagini meets his chocolate brown eyes, sadness ever present because she knows how it is to be lost. She remains wary at the thought of this Grindelwald person who sent the note. She wonders if Credence can trust this man -- after all, she’s heard the whispers.

“We escape tonight.” He promises, hope burgeoning in his eyes for the first time since his initial meeting with Percival Graves in New York. He thinks he can find his true family and identity, and maybe then, he can stop feeling so utterly lost.

The ringmaster, Skender, appears through the tent’s flaps and angrily shouts at Credence, “Hey! I’ve told you to stay away from her, boy. Did I say you could take a break? Clean out the Kappa.”

He jerks the curtains between the two closed and scolds Nagini, telling her to get ready for her show. Credence barely contains his rage as he eyes the hanging cage, full of Firedrakes, plotting.

***

The night is clear and filled with gleaming stars as Tina Goldstein wanders through the streets of Paris. The now reinstated Auror, far from home and on a self-appointed mission, walks with an air of confidence, so unlike nine months ago in New York. Somehow, despite her elegant gait, her shoulders are still burdened with personal troubles, thoughts commiserating inside her head. Her long, black trench coat glistens in the dim light as she approaches a statue of a robed woman, gracefully posed upon a giant slab of stone, where her fellow disguised witches and wizards are disappearing into. Dark eyes dart back and forth, ensuring that the non-magical citizens aren’t watching her, and she ducks into the sculpture.

Tina arrives at the entrance of a bustling circus with several tents, the largest one in the centre. A banner is strung across that reads: ‘Circus Arcanus: Freaks and Oddities.’ Street performers line the sides of the main walkway: half-trolls displaying incredible feats of strength, a half-elf juggling knives and other dangerous objects, and a pair of albino twins spitting flames between their open mouths. There is a magnificent creature Tina has never seen before -- its long, plumed tail coiling with feline-like finesse -- staring out from behind sturdy iron bars. The Auror hears the crackling of fireworks erupting in the sky above her.

She slips into the crowd of the main tent, dark eyes intent on searching for the lost Obscurial boy. She tries her best to blend in as Skender, the circus owner, grows increasingly frustrated at his freak’s rebellious behaviour. Credence, somewhere off in the back, makes eye contact with his female friend. Noticing Nagini’s gaze, Tina follows it and finally locates Credence. She begins to move towards the boy she had failed in New York. Skender is furious as he lashes his whip at the bars, “She is forced to become…”

Tina tunes out whatever drivel the burly man is spouting, it is unimportant to her. At last, Nagini gives in and slowly morphs into the body of a snake. Before anyone can react, the large snake strikes at Skender through the bars and yells something in Parseltongue. The ringmaster collapses, bleeding from the wound in his neck. Credence, eyes dark with emotion, snaps a stick at the cage containing the Firedrakes, who soar to freedom. The fabric of the big top catches aflame, screams erupting from the crowd, people stomping and running over each other to the exit. Tina tries her best to navigate through them.

A state of panic settles over the circus as the Firedrakes wreak havoc, tearing patterns through the night sky and trailing showers of sparks. The multitude of creatures are terrified and angered. A Hippogriff is rearing back, while its handlers attempt to rein it in. Performers are scuttling to and from, packing up their belongings, house elves are shoving everything into boxes that fold in on themselves until they become small enough to carry. Tina appears with a resounding snap and flicks her wand to put out the fire. The malnourished Zouwu bursts forth from its crate and leaps away from the screaming humans, roaring out of fright, face scarred and battered. Skender dismisses the creature, knowing any attempts to capture it are futile, so he gathers his workers and boards the carriage. Tina sees Credence in the distance and calls out his name in vain. He is already too far to hear her.

Tina confronts Skender and demands whatever he knows about Credence’s objective in Paris. The man claims that he is looking for his family, and somehow that surprises Tina, despite the fact that she knew that Credence is an orphan who had been adopted by cruel and wicked Mary Lou Barebone. After the bearded male whizzes away with his merry band of freaks, she is confronted by a West African male, judging by his accent, and the two of them discuss Credence’s fate at a nearby cafe. The female Auror optimistically assumes that they’re after the Obscurial boy for the same reason: to save him.

But she is very wrong, and she finds this out the hard way when he disarms her and throws her into an underground cell, one of the walls covered in markings and notes. The brunette sighs, defeatedly, and falls into an agitated sleep.

***

Newt and Jacob successfully track Tina down to her current imprisonment, courtesy of Kama. Following the spectacle that the Zouwu makes in non-magical Paris shortly thereafter, the group of friends are forced to seek shelter in Nicolas Flamel’s house. They clamber through the doors of the empty house, the place is eerily quiet, but they get settled in nonetheless. The British wizard heads down into his case to acclimatize its newest addition, while Tina supervises the unconscious body of the Senegalese man and Jacob desperately searches for food.

He reappears a good twenty minutes later, curly mop of hair peeking through the opening and viridian eyes observing the brunette. The Muggle breaks the awkward silence with a loud grumble emitting from his stomach, a drop of sweat rolls down the side of his face as he becomes the centre of attention. Jacob laughs, sheepish, a hand coming up to wipe at his forehead. Newt fondly smiles, the bags under his eyes even more pronounced -- something Tina finally notices now that they are in decent lighting. Newt appears haggard and worn, but as she opens her mouth to speak, he interjects, “Well, I suppose we all could use some food right about now.”

The round man wants to offer his help, but the magizoologist is already out the door and by the time he turns around to talk to the American Auror, she, too, is sweeping through the hallway, muttering about needing to report to the French Ministry. Jacob throws up his arms in defeat and sits down to watch the dark-skinned man while he waits.

***

Newt knows he shouldn't have volunteered to go searching for food, seeing as he is having difficulty keeping his eyes open, but he doesn't want to stay in such a stuffy environment. Things have been tense between him and Tina, especially with the last couple of letters that were exchanged. She has been insistent in persuading him to visit New York, spouting pleasantries about missing him, and frankly, it made him uncomfortable. He fears the woman has taken a liking to him, but he cannot possibly return those feelings when his mind has been spinning out of control since his soulmate's identity was revealed. As he blearily peers at the rows of food in the small market, his green eyes glaze over and he stumbles into the shelf. He wheezes lightly, gripping his chest as he tries to catch his breath, but Newt doesn't think he can remain conscious for much longer. There is a delicate hand that rests on his shoulder in a comforting manner as someone says something in French to him, but he can neither understand the language or has the mental faculties to perform a translation spell. His eyelids slip closed and just as he is about to slump to the ground, he is faintly aware of someone propping him up, bearing the brunt of his weight.

When the magizoologist comes to, he is alone in a drawing room, laid out upon an elegant chaise and his coat is neatly folded on the side table. Newt glances around the room, evaluating the layout with a keen eye, looking for possible escape routes and objects to defend himself with. This is certainly not the first time he’s been taken without his consent and it won’t be the last -- not in his line of work. His brain stops its calculations when a fair-skinned witch with darkly coloured hair and vibrant blue eyes glides through the doors. She has a tray with tea trailing behind her in the air, a polite and somewhat cold smile graces her lips as she notes that he is awake. She presents him with a teacup, which he takes with a soft 'thank you,’ but then stares at it with apprehension. Her mouth twitches with a bit of humour.

“I assure you, Mr. Scamander, the tea is not poisoned or drugged. Although, it seems you could use a bit of a Pepperup potion.” Her English is fluent, but laced with a French intonation. Newt flushes slightly, ashamed to seen disrespectful in any manner.

“How do you--”

“You have become quite famous, no? An author who writes about magical beasts… It is not everyday one stumbles upon such a well-known person after all.” Her amusement is still apparent in her voice as she explains. In truth, it is because she has seen the files associated with him, but the man doesn’t need to know. Newt fondles the rim of the plate the teacup is on in an attempt to gather his bearings. “My name is Vinda Rosier. Just Vinda is fine though.”

He recognizes her last name, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pureblood families of Europe with an affinity for the Dark Arts; it instantly makes him wary, but he schools his face to not react adversely. Newt is polite if nothing else, so he says, “Then call me ‘Newt.’ No one really calls me by my full name unless I’ve done something unruly.”

“Very well… Newt.” There is a vague sense of distaste as his nickname rolls off her tongue, unused to such casual language, but it makes him grin a little. He takes a sip of the tea, Earl Grey, he pleasantly notes.

“Thank you for your help earlier. I don’t know what might have happened if I was taken by some less kind people.” The redhead confesses, grateful that Vinda seems like a reasonably decent person, and because of this, he doesn’t expect when Europe’s most wanted Dark Wizard waltzes into the room. Newt scrambles back on the sofa, dropping the teacup and desperately unsheathing his wand, but he knows he cannot possibly hold his own against Grindelwald. Vinda is fast to respond in order to prevent the cup from shattering on the ground with a Levitation charm. His body unconsciously trembles with the traumatic memories of the electricity that ran through his body in New York and his outstretched hand shakes with it, yet the opposing wizard makes no movement to attack him. Instead, the older man nonchalantly approaches and sits next to him. Green eyes anxiously meet mismatched ones for a moment, before skittering away to the small space between them. He chokes out, “W-what are you-- Are you going to kill me--”

A surprisingly warm hand encircles his raised wrist and gently lowers it down -- it’s such a drastic contrast from Newt’s last encounter with the other wizard that the touch causes him to take a sharp inhale. A thrum of soothing magic courses between their connected skin and Newt shivers pleasantly at the sensation, making a sly smile to cross the other’s lips. Grindelwald knows how much their interaction affects his soulmate; he watches as the colour returns to his cheeks, watches as the dark circles under his eyes recede slightly, watches how the fine lines smooth out across his face, watches as his breaths deepen and pupils dilate marginally. All of it is involuntary, but fascinating to witness. He, himself, can feel the hackles of energy rising within him, being in close contact with his soulmate; his magic sings beautifully in his veins.

“Now, Mr. Scamander, why would I kill my soulmate? Someone exclusively made for me?” He says slowly as if talking to a child, lips tilting upwardly ever so slightly. He brings Newt’s hand up to his mouth, laying a light peck on it, a flush rising high on the younger’s cheeks.

“Well, that’s not-- I mean, you didn’t seem to feel that way last we saw each other.” The magizoologist confesses, eyes cautiously peering into the heterochromic ones of Grindelwald. Neither of them notice when Vinda slips out of the room -- she knows her Lord needs space and peace to intricately weave his words into another’s mind.

The Dark Lord makes a sound of agreement, then proceeds to explain, “You see, I’ve looked into you after our… encounter in America. I admit I was only curious at first as to why Albus was so taken with you that he would valiantly defend you from expulsion, but then, I realized your potential, Mr. Scamander.”

Newt holds his breath and waits for the Dark wizard to continue. He doesn't dare interrupt.

“Who in this world would sacrifice so much for creatures that many deem to be beneath them and for what reason? It has been a long time since I have come across someone as dedicated as yourself to any cause. You want a better world, a world that will readily accept the wondrous nature of these beasts, but you must realize that world will not come to actualization without some sort of action, do you not?”

The magizoologist swallows audibly, managing to stay the trembling in his hands slightly, before he replies, “Perhaps, but that does not mean I would agree with the subjugation of any human being, regardless of their magical prowess.”

“Is that what they have been saying about me? Oh, how foolish.” The Dark Lord chuckles. “I do not seek tyranny over the non-magical, my boy. They are not lesser, simply of other value. I want to assimilate the magical and non-magical communities, so we can be free to be who were are, without fear of revealing ourselves and suffering the consequences of inane laws. There is no need for unnecessary bloodshed--”

Grindelwald pauses for a moment when he sees a disbelieving and affronted look flash over his soulmate’s face, “--but yes, some must perish in order for there to be change. Wouldn’t you want a world where your beasts can roam without worry of being hunted for sport or salvaged for parts? I-- no, we can make that happen.”

Newt has to break eye contact with the man because that is the only thing he truly desires. He is silent.

“Tell me, Newt, does my magic lie to you?” Grindelwald grasps his scarred hands again and it is such a contrast between unmarred hands and his own. The younger wizard lets out a small breath as he feels another pulse of magic run through their connection -- the sensation is an intense mixture of comfort, sincerity, and passion that he almost snaps his hands away immediately. The Dark Lord’s grip is firm, however. “Am I lying to you?”

The younger man has great difficulty coming up with a reply and Grindelwald knows why. It’s a feeling that reverberates deep within Newt’s chest -- something he tries desperately to ignore -- because the redhead realizes that Grindelwald is not lying; he has not lied the entire conversation. It didn’t mean that Newt could trust a word he was saying, the Dark Lord is known to twist his words, known to have a silver-tongue, capable of persuading almost anyone; he knows that he must still be vigilant.

At the same time, it is so difficult and somehow, everything feels so utterly right when he’s in Grindelwald’s presence. The blonde continues speaking -- voice hypnotic as ever -- eyes fixated on Newt’s softer face, whose gaze is still averted.

“Not to mention, what would your dear Ministry think of your soulmate being none other than Gellert Grindelwald?” Newt sneaks a glance at him. The sneer on Grindelwald’s face is filled with disgust and reality hits the magizoologist with the force of a charging Hippogriff. “Do you think they will idly stand by and let you go on your merry way? Or do you think they’ll imprison you, leave you to suffer in a cage, and then torture you? And what of your case, Mr. Scamander? They’ll use everything at their disposal against me, including you and anything you treasure.”

Green eyes widen and freeze at the cuff of his shirt, where their hands are still intertwined. He retracts his arm abruptly, stumbling to his feet -- almost growing dizzy from the vertigo -- and stutters, “No-- uh-- I can’t-- I can’t do this right now. If-- if you’ll excuse me...”

Newt grabs his coat, flings it around his shoulders, and flees the building without another word. His heart flutters because the cold, hard truth is staring at him in the face:

Grindelwald let him leave.

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