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aconstantstateofbladerunner · 3 years

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Naive Melody Chapter 4 Snippet

I feel like no one is reading this fic but I'm desperate to get it out there, so here's the first scene of the next chapter.

Here's the link to the rest of the fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34421470/chapters/85662910

CW for: pregnancy, implied sexual assault

Days bled together. Nights lasted weeks at a time. Everyday, Inko was escorted from her room to different parts of the mansion seemingly at random. Nursery some days, then the library, maybe outside. Sometimes all or none. The only consistent point on the schedule were mealtimes. Inko never felt more like livestock.

Father stocked her stall/room with frilly dresses and jewelry. The sort of tacky extravagance typically reserved for dolls. Inko was convinced a particular yellow monstrosity was a life-sized version an outfit a childhood toy of hers wore.

She considered looking for it if she ever got some free time in the nursery, which was rare. They didn’t stick her on young childcare like when she was a teen, thank the gods, but instead she got stuck learning about babies with the mothers. ‘Learning’ was maybe a strong word. Rather they’d gossip about whoever wasn’t in the room, maybe while changing or nursing, then scold Inko for not paying attention to either. That tied with morning sickness for the most uncomfortable part of a given day. It wasn’t enough to be trapped with women stuffed unnaturally large with multiple children it triggered a primal reaction of disgust and horror, but they also revealed in their own captivity. Conversation topics included bragging about how many babies they had and praising Father for providing everything. Even the two who walked away from Mitsuru’s bootlicking giggled at Inko’s obvious discomfort. The way one might make fun of an immature child scared of their own shadow. Whatever mad science or unholy quirks let these women give birth dozens of times without health complications must also alter their minds into complacency. No other explanation made sense.

Is that going to be me?

As much as she hated being confined to her room most of the time, it was the only place Inko could be alone. She could watch tv with three channels, play dress-up like a child, or sit and contemplate her miserable existence. Not much, but no one watched her do it. Sometimes she daydreamed about a hero raid coming to save her. Or being back in her old apartment. Once, she forgot to buy eggs for dinner, and a neighbor caught her rushing out and offered some of his. No charge. Mr. Asa was his name. Inko didn’t see him much. He worked a late shift as a security guard somewhere. He was always nice though. Even the neighbors that weren’t had a charm to them. Or maybe just a lack of malice. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder for them sabotaging her. In moments like that, Inko almost convinced herself that those happy memories alone could sustain her. But then she’d wake up the next day and the whole mess started over.

The cycle must have been going a while they way she started to recognize the pool of guards assigned to her. Only around ten or eleven of them, changing shifts throughout the day. Teenaged siblings with quirks strong enough to be useful but not so useful they got field assignments. Or perhaps they were only useful enough for now. Like the dead boy on the slab in the basement with the doctor. Gangly limbs and acne highlighted their youth. Funny. When Inko was a child, she thought the guards looked so grown up.

At least, she assumed they were her siblings. Made more sense to stock the yard with bodies on hand instead of recruiting. And why would Father recruit teens instead of adults? Was there anyone besides the mothers and the Doctor not of Father’s blood around?

Father himself didn’t stick around long.

“I have other projects that require my full attention.” Exact words. More credence to Inko’s theory of multiple mansions. And what kind of emperor didn’t have more than one palace?

Would they have the same set up as here? Inko wondered, lying in bed with the TV on in the background. Is it just a matter of capacity, or would they be trained for different purposes? Most of us who got to go outside have a directive related to All Might. The women at least. Except Kamiko. Although, being the acting head of the Hero Commission probably got her other orders about All Might. Is she from here though? She comes here for meetings sometimes. And she’s a lot older so maybe she grew up here before I was born.

Inko rolled onto her stomach to watch TV. It was already starting to feel uncomfortable. But maybe there was a chance she could squish the parasite.

One of the only channels on the TV showed nonstop hero gossip shows that speculated All Might was hooking up with every woman seen in the same room as him. Just like he said they did. She huffed. Today’s subject was a random actress she didn’t recognize. Inko dreaded the day when one of her siblings showed up on this stupid show. For all she knew, they already did.

Maybe she’s from a different mansion. She frowned. Maybe I’m not the only ‘success’ with All Might. The thought turned up her lips. Are you seriously jealous? Get a grip.

She turned off the TV. A group of kids played outside. Her old apartment was near a school. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend she was back there. Relaxing a little before she got dressed for work. Or settling in for a nap after some reading. Her situation was kind of like a few of the books left behind there; the protagonist finds herself pregnant after a one-night stand with the rich and famous but also mysterious hero, and sat around wistfully wondering what to do. Minus the villain conspiracy.

What would he say if I told him I was pregnant? She did not touch her stomach. Inko thought about it all those weeks ago, staring down the barrel of a positive test. She still had his number, and Father wouldn’t know until she told him. Maybe All Might would have protected her. Rescued her. Or paid her to get an abortion and stay quiet. But Father bugged her phone, so she’d never find out which anyway.

But what if I did? Scenarios flew through her mind. I could have called All Might up for a date, which I was ordered to do if I didn’t get pregnant the first time, and then explained the situation on a piece of paper or something so Father couldn’t listen in. She pictured a fancy dinner in a lavish restaurant, All Might promising her everything on the menu when she slid a napkin with a message on it across the table.

“I’m pregnant, but my father is a villain who wanted me or one of my sisters to sleep with you in order to get pregnant so he could groom your child into a weapon.” But I didn’t know about the weapon part until later. And that’s way too long.

“My father wanted to use me to get to you, but now I’m pregnant and need help.” But what if All Might thought it was a ruse to blackmail him? Or force his hand on the pregnancy? I could just not mention it.

“My father is a villain using me to get to you, and he’ll kill me if I don’t. Please help me.” That should be enough.

Then All Might would sneak her out the back and whisk her away to his home, where she’d relay everything she knew about Father and his operation so All Might could destroy it. And with her newfound freedom, she’d get the abortion herself. Unless, All Might wanted to keep it. Stay together.

Would he though? She rubbed the sheet between her fingers. That night, he walked with her on the beach for hours, long past the point of conversation. Inko pushed him to tell stories that bored even him. Anything to keep him talking. Talking delayed the inevitable. The hotel lights loomed over them the whole time, but he never mentioned them until she did. He followed her lead. Which was worse in a way. It left her with no plausible deniability to Father. How she prayed that the experience itself would overshadow her directive, if only for a moment or two. That’s how it worked in the stupid books. The women forgot all their problems and priorities the second some random hunk of beef made eye contact. Dumb as they are, at least they enjoyed themselves.

The books always ended with the couple together, either with a kid or one on the way. Happily Ever After™. In short, fiction. Inko was smart enough to know at least that much. Just because All Might respected her boundaries and said nice things didn’t guarantee he’d embrace her and a baby. Did she even want the baby?

A woman screamed distantly down the hall. One of the mothers must have gone into labor.

Yeah no, fuck that. She pulled her pillow over her head. The parasite can get gone. If All Might still wants kids, we can adopt. Inko squeezed the pillow harder. Where do you get off acting like he’ll just agree to settle down with you the second you show up? He’s a hero. He has options. He probably says all that nice crap to everyone. It’s all a fantasy! You aren’t special! She screamed into the fabric. If only she cried enough to drown herself. Or the Doctor would take her way in the night like the kids who cried themselves to sleep. Only issue was she wanted to live.

It doesn’t have to be. Not the part about being with All Might, but him saving her. He was a hero. How many complete strangers does he save every day? He doesn’t need to care for them to help them. It’s just his job. His job that includes locking up villains. And their co-conspirators…

Inko rolled onto her side. I won’t know what he’ll do until I get out.

How the hell do I get out?

#toshinko #midoriya inko #all might #yagi toshinori #all for one #dad for one #grandfather for one #my hero acedamia

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mxvladdy · 4 years

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Beelzebub- True Form

Three more boyos to go!

Next up: Leviathan

Beelzebub-

The embodiment of starvation. The sharp contrast between his healthy and fit forms is truly baffling.

Mouths are scattered all over his gangly form. It is the only human thing about him as he is faceless otherwise. When hunting they release a mist or plague of locusts depending if his hunger is physical or emotional

His hunting form is juvenile and frail. Naturally small and unassuming, it is perfect to lure his victims close and ensnare them forever. He attracts souls with an overwhelming hunger. It’s a lure filled with false promises of substances and warm. When close he latches on like a parasite and gorges until there is nothing left but an empty husk.

Once full his form shifts into something- greater- his small body growing and stretching. It’s somewhere along the lines of a human growth spurts, or puberty, but is done in moments. It’s uncomfortable for him; the rapid growth takes a lot out of him.

When fed he is larger, but still skeletal in form. It’s a permanent reminder of his new immortal purpose. His skin is like stone, hard and grey but translucent. It is stretched tight around his frame, like an artist canvas over his jet black bones. The texture of it emphasizes all the odd twists and turns of his bone structure and whatever else lies underneath his flesh.

Each raspy breath he draws from the many mouths scattered around his body rattle his disjointed skeleton. His bones clinking together with every exhale to create a truly chilling symphony.

When crazed with hunger he loses himself. In his younger years as a cardinal sin he was responsible for wiping out land masses and civilizations to try and dull the ache before his brothers could contain him.

His gluttony isn't only for physical sources of substances. Slabs of meat only go so far. He will latch on like a leech, to anything that radiates his current emotional cravings. Love? Happiness? Fear? He wants to experience it all. Filling and cramming every little space with whatever sensations he craves. Till the deadened feeling in his chest is a little less.

There was a time where he was very close with his brother sin greed. During their younger years as demons they would terrorize the mortal realm, a deadly duo. Both unable or unwilling to control their new urges.

He hates this existence. He’s empty and it drives him mad. Was he like this in heaven? Honestly, Beel can’t remember anymore. He doesn’t think so. He had his brothers and sister to keep him in order and a different name. At the time he was called Temperance, right? He thinks. It’s a bit foggy.

But what hurts him the most is that his family structure is fractured now. There is a hole where Lilith used to be, and no amount of souls or food will ever fill that.

When he met you it helped a little. But he has to be weary.

He has better control of his abilities now then a couple centuries ago so you don’t have to worry too much. He likes having you around. It fills part of the void that he’s been struggling with for so long. Being with you makes him feel like dirt has finally hit the bottom of what he thought was a vacuous void inside.

Sometimes his natural abilities seep out when he is hungry or frustrated from another family row. He gravitates towards you then, searching for that odd human comfort demons just don’t possess. He sips slowly on it; with your permission of course. Not the wisest idea- but an idea nonetheless.

Mini Fic

Sleepy Sloth Boi- Hey. Can you check up on Beel? He had a bit of a argument with Asmo today Sleepy Sloth Boi- Apparently he ate a homemade face goop? IDK, it’s stupid. Sleepy Sloth Boi- I would, but I’m stuck in a remedial class with Lucifer Sleepy Sloth Boi- I don’t know when I’ll be out- Ok! Is he in your room?- Sleepy Sloth Boi- No, at the gym. Asmo called him and chewed him out. Didn’t go well. Trainers called me. He busted up some equipment and might have eaten someone... They want him out. Oh... K I’ll head over now-

You frown down at your D.D.D and stuff it in your bag. This wasn’t the first time this had happened. You had heard stories of his terrible temper when hungry. Most of the time you have seen him just mope, huddled up in the kitchen eating his feelings. He was always open to talk though and you usually could convince him out of the kitchen so Lucifer didn’t have an aneurysm over a barren fridge.

The gym isn’t far from the house. A short tram ride and a walk down a couple of familiar streets. You have spent every Saturday morning with Beel there, spotting him. Not that you really could. With the amount of weights he was dead lifting, but he appreciated the company nonetheless. You ring up the front desk dashing across the street. It goes straight to voicemail. Crap it must be bad. You round the corner right before the gym and skid to a halt. Glass and metal litter the cobble street. The shards flicker off the lights of the street lamps drawing your eye to the sheer amount of damage around you. Some equipment even stuck out of the wall adjacent to you.

You make your way closer. “Human! Tis’ not the best time to be here. We are having a bit of an issue.” A terrified trainer scuttled towards you, mandible clicking in alarm. “You best turn back. We don’t need your body littering the streets too.” They wave a three fingered claw back up the street. On cue a weightlifting machine was launched through the remaining window exploding on impact with the road. A few more trainers run out after it, yelling and pushing at each other to get out of the way. A dark black mist bellows out after them.

Well shit.

“I’m actually here to try and help.” You smile down at the tiny demon trying to instill some false confidence in them. You think you could handle this. You didn’t want to call in the cavalry to get him. Knowing Beel, it would only trigger his guilty conscience. “If you could give me a moment.” Ignoring the little creature you creep forward, careful of the broken glass and praying that no more equipment got launched.

“Beel?” You call out peaking your head through the gaping hole on the side of the gym. "Hey, Belphie texted me. Wanna talk about it?” The inside of the gym was dark. Wires hung and sparked dangerously in front of you. A large burst pipe blocked most of your vision. “Beel?” You could hear his loud bone chilling breathing. He was close.

“Careful.” You jump swallowing the curse that threatened to slip out. Beelzebub emerged from the darkness at the back of the gym. His eyeless face locking onto you. “You are close to a line.” His many mouths move in unison. Some rumbling as he spoke, others just drawing in rasping wheezing breaths.

“Thanks.” You jump back onto the street. “You wanna come out? You look a bit cramped.” He was comically too large for the allotted space. His goliath sized body packed into a little sardine can. He rattles for a bit considering. You cock your head to the side looking at the empty street. “Plenty of room out here.” You wave at your sole spectator and give them a small thumbs up. They blink in horror over your shoulder. Eyes locked on the beast emerging.

“I’m sorry.” He drags himself out. Thick steel like claws causing the little trainer hiding behind you to whimper. Beel’s fingers dig into the stone and mortar. Oph- this was going to cost a bit to fix.

“It’s ok big guy-happens to the best of us.” You say casually. Once he was outside he shivers in the cool afternoon air. His bones creak as you approach him. “May I touch you?” You approach hand raised. He never cared if you touched him in his human form. It centered him a lot of the time. He enjoyed the feel of your soft and giving flesh against his smooth hard skin. But this form was slightly more dangerous for you well being.

Beel shakes his head at your movement melding back into the dark hole. His mouths open wide to release a plume of black smoke. The trainer cries out, scurrying back further down the street. You hold your ground however. Chin up definitely, unafraid at what you knew was coming. The thick black vapor coats your skin. It latches on to you and seeps through your pores. You feel him in the back of your mind running through your head, searching for something. You breathe slowly, letting him shuffle through your psyche.

You feel a flush of warmth, a near giddiness that brings an uncontrollable smile to your face before it is gone. Snuffled out like a candle in the wind. A slow chilling tingling begins in all of your extremities as he feeds off your emotions. He pulls at your center, eating away at your mental state. An odd empty ache blooms in your chest, you need to untangle yourself before he bled you dry.

He pulls back then, knowing when he has gone too far. The pallor of his skin is richer now. A darker grey than before. The waxing sheen gone and replaced with a deep purple hue underneath. His cobweb like veins thumping with life. “Thanks~” His rattles remerging onto the street. His oblong head nudges your shoulder, checking on you. You pat at it, careful of the mouths and razor sharp teeth.

“Of course; don’t mention it.” You turn on weak knees to the trainer. Looking at complete ease with the cardinal sin currently wrapping his many limbed and mouthed body around your comparatively tiny frame. “I guess this is not super common?” You ask, waving at the destruction. They shake their head.

“He-he ate Gordin.”

“Ah-ye. He does that. Sorry.” At a loss, they accept the sleek business card you thrust at them with your free hand. “Call Mr. Morningstar. He can work on the repair finances with the manager.”

“But Gordi-” You wince as the little demon’s mandibles tremble, voice getting frantic. Could demons shed tears? You were about to find out.

“Beel?” Cupping his large head you stare at him, eyes traveling over his face. His mouths snap shut, body turning smooth. The only movement from his was his hearts beating steady beneath his translucent skin. He stood still like a statue carved by a deranged artist. “Beel.” You say again more firmly. You step away from his hooked fingers. “Spit them out.”

He doesn’t move. His inner rattling becoming louder and more defensive.

You roll your eyes and look back exasperatedly with a shrug. The other demon stares speechless in terror. Or with the dawning realization of just how absurd this whole situation was. You turn back to Beel, fists balled on your hips. “If you don’t I guess I’m going to eat all these snacks I brought.” The death rattle stops. You could feel his full focus on you now aghast. “I’m serious. Mammon even went and bought those new limited release batwing chips too, extra spicy.”

He hacks suddenly, back arching like a cat as a large seam opens on his skin where his stomach (stomachs?) region was. A bulky demon covered in purple viscous sludge tumbles to the ground with a wet squelch. Their skin was a sickly color and their eyes wide in terror.

“Gordi!” The other trainer pushes past you and grabs at the trembling demon, pulling him away from the hungry mouths.

“Thanks, Beelzebub.” You walk him quickly down the abandoned streets once the two others had fled. He lopes behind you, gaunt body swaying in the light breeze. Once you hit the more crowded streets he moves closer to your back. Other demons on the street give you a wide berth, eyeing and swatting at a few straying arms or fingers that attempt to grab them or their things. You move quickly, hoping to avoid having to scold him again for eating more demons.

“I’m sorry.” Beel croaks once more when you finally come to a stop at an empty park bench. He sits next to it expectantly. The grass and foliage around him weathering and turning to dust at his touch. His arms subconsciously start stuffing the dried grass and flowers into his many mouths.

“It’s ok.” You repeat yourself coming to rest on the park bench. Without preamble you dump the contents of your bag onto the ground. He croons in delight at the mound of snacks being pushed to him. “Eat up. Take a breather and then we can talk. If you want.” With that he dives in.

Beel munches in silence, mismatched limbs unwrapping-or not- the treats and popping them into his little mouths. You watch for a bit before getting preoccupied with a book you borrowed from Satan. You don’t know how much time passes before a boney finger pokes at your forearm. The same arm then hovers by your nose offering you a pudding cup.

“Ah, thank you!” You close your book and take the flan pudding. He had finished most of the food and had calmed considerably. Most of the mouths have disappeared, closing as they were sated. He scoots closer, the oppressive neediness of his sin dulled to an almost non existent thumping in your stomach. Easy enough to ignore, especially now with a sweet treat boosting your mood. “Feeling any better?”

Beel grunts, scratching at his knobby spine. You watch him for a moment. Reading his emotions in this form was hard. Thankfully, you knew the reason for the outburst this time. First time you stumbled upon him like this had been an absolute circus. A terrifying, and destructive circus. He had been in full form that night. Locusts and clawed fingers moving in blurs, swiping at everything that came near. The younger brothers screaming at him over the sounds of breaking furniture and the buzz of insect wings. They dodged around his tantrum trying to calm him before Lucifer returned from a meeting.

“It’s a damned ice cream cup!” Satan roars, close to shifting himself. The tell tale heat of his body starting to radiate out and singe the carpet beneath his feet. Beel screeches back, flies and spittle spraying out over them. Asmo yelps and drags you out of the room with him.

“Ugh! The moment he gets all gross and buggy I’m out.” He shudders, locking the door on the apocalypse happening on the other side. “Hopefully Mammon can slow Lucifer down so they can neaten up.”

“Is he going to be ok?” You look back watching the solid door shudder under the weight of a body being thrown.

Asmodues sucks his teeth dismissively, bright nails clicking away at his phone. You glance at it seeing that he had messaged Mammon to bring some take out too. “Oh ye, this happens from time to time. He just has to let off some steam. Then we can stuff him with food and he’ll be right as rain. You want anything hun’?” You shake your head stunned by his carefree attitude as the house shook around them.

Beel had come to apologize for his behavior later that night. His human form a little banged up, but no worse for wear. You went out for ice cream in hopes to cheer him up. Offering an ear too if he needed an outsider's perspective. You were also curious about his true nature and had a thousand and one questions to ask. He was apprehensive at first. It was clearly a sore subject for him. But over time he opened up, speaking freely about his struggles and fears of destroying his family's already shaky foundation with his gluttony.

“Asmo is furious with me.” He sighs, bringing you back to the present. He rests his head on your shoulder, careful with his weight.

“He’ll get over it.” You stroke his cool skin tapping at a closed mouth. It opens and licks your finger. It was as close to a kiss as this form could get to. “It’s not like he can’t make more.” Beel huffs, rubbing his head into the soft fabric of your sweater.

“I am nothing but a burden to them aren’t I.”

“Never.” You don’t hesitate. He grumbles unconvinced. “Hey,” You nudge him off your shoulder to look at him. “Remember last Saturday? How you helped Levi get his limited edition statue?”

“I just stood in a line.” He pouts. “And I only did that because I ate his Ruri-chan mochi’s.” Oh- you didn’t know that part.

“Well, I still think you’re a good brother.” You cover. “ Tell me, would any of the others do the same? You beat yourself up over every little mistake. How many times has Asmo or Mammon swiped one of your snacks?” He hums contemplatively, nails clacking on the concrete.

“But I always lash out when they do that.” You nod kicking your feet up to lounge on the bench, back resting against his. Grabbing at a set of arms you wrap them around your waist playing with the fingers that weren’t razor sharp.

“Yes, and? Asmo just did too. Runs in the family by the looks of it.” You chuckle. “ So why should you be the only one not allowed to get upset? But next time call before rampaging through the city, K?” You smile up at his monstrous visage. He smiles back hesitantly before coming closer.

Beelzebub nips you gently with his primary mouth. Large fangs careful not to break the skin. A cute little display of gratitude. He tastes your sincerity on you. Sweet and smooth on his tongue. “Thanks,” He rumbles. Cradling you close, he rises to his full height. “I think I’m ready to head back now.”

You snuggle into his unyielding body checking your wrist watch. “Yeah big guy? Guess it is almost dinner time.”

He picks up the pace.

#Obey me beelzebub #obey me fandom #obey me headcanons

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pluto-art · 4 years

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Syncytium - Chapter 3

Title: Syncytium - Chapter 3 - Sodium Bicarbonate Words: 7,115 Rating: T

Fan Fiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13712482/3/Syncytium

As always, I recommend the fan fiction version, which includes all italics. Other than that, enjoy the full story below the cut!

September 16th, 1993 - 11:48 PM

Two little feet raced pitter-patter down a chatter-filled hallway in A.C.M.E. Arts & Sciences, its occupant laden with pen and petition, eagerly calling out to any hapless individual that came her way as that ever-present tam-o-shanter bounced atop her head.

"Signatures! Come put down your signatures! Sign the petition! Bring baseball back to A.C.M.E.!" Olivia called out, her little jingle ringing in its thick Scottish accent down the corridor and bouncing off the walls. "Baseball for all! Hear you shout! Let them know or we'll strike out!"

Like a fuzzy brown bullet she shot through the school, passing students and teachers, janitors and gym instructors, nearly running into the wall on two occasions, and receiving a sharp reprimand of "Watch it!" or "Land sakes!" from those whose book pages and scarves she ruffled on her flight down the hallways.

"Let your voice be heard! Put your name down! Have a- OOF!"

Olivia gasped as she landed on the hard, linoleum floor, having been knocked back by something tall and firm. She shook her head and looked up... and up... and up, into the stern face of Basil, teacher of Advanced Science and Deduction. Even for a mouse he was rather lanky, towering above Globetrotter and practically a giant to Olivia. The only other mouse in the school who reached his height was Pinky. He glared at her, one eyebrow cocked in silent judgement as he peered down from above, a great slab of papers cradled snugly against his side.

"Oh...," Olivia mumbled, gulping as she quickly stood up, face scrunching, and shook off her clothes, her little tam-o-shanter and petition laying very sorrowfully at her feet.

Basil sighed.

"Young lady," he began, bending down to pick up her hat and place it securely back on her head. "This is the third time this week we've met under unnecessarily chaotic circumstances and it's become... rather an interference in my daily schedule. Would you kindly keep harnessed certain frivolities at play, Miss Flabbergast?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Basil," Olivia muttered shyly, and not unkindly. "I'll be more careful."

She picked her clipboard with petition up off the floor, a little embarrassed.

"Sign my petition...?" she ventured, holding up the paper for Basil to see. He bent down to get a closer look at it.

"What's this for?" he asked.

"It's for a baseball stadium!"

"Baseball stadium?"

"Yes!" Olivia said, nodding excitedly. "So we can get sports back to the school!"

"Sports?" Basil nipped, practically spitting out the word as though it was a nasty slur. "Miss Flim-Flam, the last thing this university of science and culture needs is a bunch of dimwitted degenerates galloping about chasing after a ball. You'd do better to abandon the whole matter, in my opinion."

Olivia hung her head.

"But I doubt it will amount to anything," he continued, picking lint off his cardigan in a snooty fashion. "The most you could hope for is ten signatures, at least. Continue on your hapless venture if you must."

"Really?!"

"Yeeees yes yes. Now, run along."

"Thank you, Mr. Basil! I'll get more than ten. You'll see!"

"Jolly good," Basil replied curtly, sarcastically, pausing to flick a piece of dirt off Olivia's jacket. "Good day to you."

Olivia watched him as he went, his long shoes snapping click, click, click against the floor. She drew out a long breath of utter relief. Basil was fairer than Globetrotter. Anyone was fairer than Globetrotter. However, he still could get a bit cross when rubbed the wrong way, and it certainly wasn't the first time she'd gotten on his irritable side. She'd have to be more careful.

And so, as she continued her trek down the school hallways, calling out as she went (a bit more quietly this time), she jogged rather than sprinted, slipping between passerby with an "Excuse me" or "Pardon" and taking extra precaution not to bump into any more teachers, especially Globetrotter...

"Petition! Come you all and sign! Redefine!"

Maisy tossed Olivia an annoyed glance as she ran past, huffing a little and flipping back her hair as she dug through her locker.

"Since when did the principle allow kids to run around the school? I didn't think he'd be cool with that," she muttered.

Next to her, a chocolate-furred mouse leaned against his adjacent locker, deep in silent conversation as he texted rapidly on his phone.

"Why do you care?" he asked, not looking up at her.

"I dunno. It's just... This is like... a high-profile university, right? There shouldn't be any kids."

"We're kids."

"Um... Excuse me. I'm like... nineteen."

"Yeah. That's young, Maisy."

"Whatever," she spat, flicking her hair back again as she found what she was looking for: a red pencil with yellow flower print slapped all over it.

"Olivia is Flaversham's daughter," Gadget spoke from across the hall at her own locker, snapping her bulbous goggles atop her head as a matter-of-fact. "Everyone knows that." Tillie nodded next to her.

"Okay, but, like...," Maisy continued, pulling out a journal and tucking it under her arm, "... he works. When does he have time to watch her? He just lets her run around the school?"

"Well, isn't Mrs. Judson her nanny?" Tillie offered helpfully, albeit rather quietly. "I think that-"

Several students sprinted by. Tillie paused to let them pass before continuing.

"I think that she watches her in the nurse's office most of the day and lets her run errands."

"Yeah, but-," Maisy began, before being cut off herself as another batch of students trundled by, and then another. "But that doesn't give her leave to just-" More students. "To just run around whenever she-" Even more students. By this point, she could barely even see Gadget and Tillie. "Oh my gosh! I hate not having neighboring lockers!"

"It's lunchtime, Maisy," the male mouse said beside her, closing his phone with a sharp snap. "We should get going."

"Ugh. Fine. I'm starving anyway."

And so off they went, quartet heading for the cafeteria at the prompt hour of 12:00 PM, taking care not to bump into anyone as they entered the huge room.

Unlike the rest of the school, this area was terribly outdated. Or, rather, it had none of the classiness that the majority of the facility offered. Far from being dressed up in a mahogany coat, with comfortable seating, double-pane windows, and classical music that pumped itself like oxygen through the more casual areas of the building, the cafeteria resembled nothing less than something vomited out of an 80s shopping mall. The blue and purple paneling; the flashing neon food signs; the Whitney Houston music trapped perpetually within the speakers. It had it all. Students called it "The Flashback" or "The Blot", depending on who you talked to. The space had been heavily renovated a decade ago in an attempt to reflect the aesthetic at the time, and if the principal in office hadn't been ousted at the time for his radical ways the facility may very well have looked quite different by this point. As it stood, the cafeteria was an eye sore for some, a breath of fresh air for others, and it was a popular spot in which to congregate. If nothing else, the music was a relief. There was only so much Chopin one could take.

Chatter filled the dining area as the quartet entered. Already the tables were filling up, the smell of pizza and dumplings heavy in the air. Once upon a time, the food had reflected the decor: posh, healthy, and expensive. And then, of course, the cafeteria had been renovated, and with it the menu. No one had ever bothered to change the hot dogs back to ham; the grilled cheese back to caviar. Lemon sherbet tasted much better than shitake, and the students liked it that way.

"Think they're gonna have the jelly sauce again today?" Gadget asked, standing up on tip-toe to peer over at the food counter.

"Ew. Gosh. I hope not. That stuff is gro- HO MY GOSH," gasped Maisy.

"What?" Gadget asked, looking around, eyes wide. She hoped another wasp hadn't broken into the cafeteria again. Two had welcomed themselves in in the last week and she didn't think she could handle the stress another day.

"He's here," Maisy stressed, clutching at her heart and grabbing hold of Gadget's shoulder rather tightly.

Tillie and Gadget followed her gaze all the way across the floor to the food bar. There stood Pinky, dressed today in lab pants and a blue and gray striped shirt whose sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Had it not been for the ridiculously long white lab pants that spilled over his shoes, Gadget thought he might have looked rather fetching. As it stood, though, he didn't. Maisy thought otherwise.

"Ugh. He's so hot."

"So hot he melts your brains?" the male mouse quipped, back to texting on his phone.

Maisy shot him a nasty look. Tillie didn't even notice.

"Wow. Clam chowder special," she mused, completely serious as she stared, astonished, at the counter.

"You're focusing on the food?!" Maisy exclaimed, flabbergasted. Tillie remained oblivious.

"Oh, I hope Mrs. Brisby isn't too early today. I rather like lunch break...," Tillie mused, loosening her shawl a little.

"But you also like her classes," said Gadget, smiling.

"I do. They're fun."

"Learning about weeds is fun?" asked Maisy.

"Agriculture is more interesting than you think it would be! You should try it sometime. It's fun!"

"Tillie, the only fun thing about this school is the lunch break."

The dark-furred he mouse with them rolled his eyes, his hands in his pockets.

"Seriously, Maisy? Not even the Chemistry class is interesting?" he mentioned, incredulous.

"Okay, well, that is a little bit interesting..."

The he mouse sighed.

"You're incredible. Our parents are paying good money for this school. You should be grateful. Come on. Let's stake a seat."

A few tables down, a gaggle of mice, moles, and a rat or two sat, chattering loudly. One of them, a black-haired mouse in a frilly, once-piece dress, sash around the middle and dark hair tied up in a bun, stood up in her chair and waved in their direction.

"Maaaaaaisy, girl! Come on! We've been waiting for you!"

"GIIIIRL! I was just about to ditch these losers! Gimme a sec!" Maisy called back, beaming. "Sorry, guys. I gotta go."

"Wha-..? But I thought we were gonna-" the male mouse began, taken aback.

"Sorry, Dex. I forgot I'd promised Marvell I'd be here at noon. We'll catch up later, I promise. Okay?"

"Yeah. Sure...," Dex shrugged dejectedly.

"Thanks, Dex. Bye, y'all!" said Maisy, and she ran off to join the loquacious group.

"Bye, loser!" Gadget joked back, shaking her head. "Airhead."

"Remind me why we hang out with her again?" Tillie asked, as the remaining three headed for the food bar.

Gadget shrugged.

"She's been my friend since middle school. I'd feel weird just ditching her."

"You wouldn't be missing much," Dex muttered, although there was a hesitancy in his voice.

Gadget threw him a sideways glance as she grabbed a tray, Tillie and Dex following suit.

"You know that's not true, Dex. She's a bit into herself, but you know she loves you."

Dex shrugged.

One by one, a steady line of students at the bar filed past the counter, picking off a box of salad here, a cup of macaroni there. Things reached a stand still at the chili bowl. Dex and Gadget stood up on tip-toe for a couple seconds, flattened back out on their feet, stared at each other, and rolled their eyes, sniggering. But of course...

The hold up, as per the norm, was Pip, one of the restaurant hands and the only chipmunk in the entire school. He was terribly chatty, not to mention contentious if you dared complain about any aspect of the food. Either something was wrong and he needed to comment on it, or someone he recognized as a friend had just crossed his path. Judging by the chipper tone of his voice, Gadget guessed it was the latter today.

"So what's with this petition? Lemme see that paper, sister!"

And he whipped from someone's hand a petite clipboard entrusted with several sheets of lined paper. He read through it quickly, nose almost touching the paper.

Gadget, Dex, and Tillie peered around the crowd ahead of them to see who had handed him the paper. Oh. Naturally.

There stood Olivia, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet as Pip perused her petition, a wide, expectant smile on her face. Was there no place she wouldn't invade?

"Hmmm," Pip mused, tapping his foot a mile a minute as his keen eyes roved over the paper one more time. "Weeeeeeell, I don't usually sign these things, buuuuut... baseball sounds like a worthy cause. Ya' got a pen?"

"Here you go!" Olivia squeaked happily, extracting from the inside of her coat pocket a blue pen and offering it to Pip. He took it swiftly and signed the petition just as fast.

"Just make sure you get me a position as umpire!" Pip said, handing her back the petition and pen.

"Oh, I will! Thank you!"

"Say, uhhhh... how many signatures you got on that thing so far?"

"Twenty-three!"

"Heeeeeey. That's not bad!"

"Come on, Pip!" a student piped up, brows furrowed.

"Yeah, we've got class!" a girl vole squeaked from behind the trio.

"All right, all right already! Sheesh!" Pip nipped back, rolling his eyes. "Hey. You keep gettin' those John Hancocks, okay?" he said, winking at Olivia.

"Um... Okay!"

And with that, she was off, not even bothering to grab an apple or a cracker, something that others cast glances at her for. Olivia passing up an opportunity to nab some food? She must mean business...

"She's so cute," Gadget mused, watching Olivia sprint around, on the hunt for more signatures, as she moved up a couple steps in line.

"Yeah," Dex said, arms folded. "She's a trip." Despite himself, he smiled after her. Little kids amused him sometimes, even if they could be a bit pesky underfoot.

As more students spilled into the cafeteria, fingers pointed, some quite shamelessly, in the direction of the food bar. Dex followed the invisible lines to a spot some paces behind them in line. But of course. They were all directed at the new teacher, Ronald Pinkus. The girls seemed particularly smitten, giggling and whispering and acting, in Dex's mind, perfectly idiotic. In fact, come to think of it, as he looked about the room, most of the girls were in deep conversation, their eyes trained on the same subject in the room, including Maisy's group. He shook his head. This was a university, not a middle school. Daftness came in all ages, he supposed.

"What?" Gadget queried, taking notice of the furrowed brow and the folded arms.

"Nothing," Dex muttered, shuffling forward a few paces as the line moved ahead. Both he and Gadget grabbed a plate of chocolate cake.

Gadget looked back at the new teacher and snickered.

"Don't let it get to you."

"She's just as bad as everyone else."

"Who? Maisy?"

"Yeah..."

Gadget shrugged.

"It's probably just a phase. Next week she'll fall for Basil again or someone."

Trays full, they set off to find a table. Tillie waved at them from a corner. They headed towards her.

"I dunno. I kinda...," Dex began, then stopped as they reached the table, sitting down with their trays. Tillie was already deep in her bowl of clam chowder.

"You what?" Gadget asked as she pulled her chair up.

"It's... whatever."

"What?"

Dex picked up his spoon, swirled it around in his own bowl of clam chowder, then set it down. Screw it. He grabbed his fork and dug into the chocolate cake instead.

"I miss when we used to hang out more."

"What are we talking about now?" Tillie asked, only half-interested.

No one said anything right away. Gadget picked at her sunflower seed salad for a minute, then spoke.

"You're her brother. She'll come back around eventually."

Dex shrugged again. He was about to shove another large piece of chocolate cake into his mouth when something lightly bumped his elbow. He turned and looked down. It was Olivia.

"Sign my petition?" she asked, her little whiskers upturned in a wide smile.

Dex couldn't help but mirror that infectious grin. In the distance, something... someone... caught his eye. It was Maisy. She frowned at him and shook her head. Dex frowned back. He took the clipboard and pen from Olivia's outstretched paws.

"You know what? Sure, kid. Baseball, right?"

"Uh-huh! We're going to have a mascot again, too! I hope..."

He handed her back the clipboard and pen and ruffled her hair, or, rather, the top of her tam-o-shanter.

"Break a leg, kid."

"Thank you!" she beamed, and off she went.

Dex smiled. In the background, Maisy shook her head. Dex snapped his fingers and winked, finger-gunning her. She rolled her eyes and went back to talking to her friends.

"Ugh. He's such a tease," complained Maisy to her company, twirling a strand of her long, golden hair as she sipped soda through a straw.

"He just cares about other people. Heck, I signed her petition," the black-furred mouse said. "How come you never hang out with your brother anymore? He's been lookin' kinda sad..."

"He's not even my real brother, Marvell. He's just my half-brother. You know that. Do we look like we're related?"

"But y'all used to be so close! What happened?"

Maisy shrugged.

"I dunno. We just... shifted."

"Don't you mean 'drifted'?" offered up a boy rat next to her.

"Whatever," Maisy shrugged. "Anyway, what do you guys think of him?" she smirked, jerking her head in the direction of Pinky still in line at the food bar.

All at the table turned their heads to look at him. He seemed to be picking out quite an odd assortment of foods: a hot dog, two cups of custard, and several pieces of cheese - just cheese. Every person that passed him a "hello" he greeted with a chipper "Good morning!", and his attitude towards the servers was polite and enthusiastic. Those around him couldn't seem to keep the smiles off their faces. Even the students generally known to be more reserved or stuck up couldn't help but throw him a curious glance. He was, for lack of a better term, "sunshine-y".

The boy rat popped several corn puffs in his mouth, his dry expression unchanged.

"He's kind of a twink, isn't he?"

Maisy slapped him on the shoulder playfully.

"He is not!"

"Dude. Come on..."

"He's not that young," Marvell said, filing her nails as another of their group, a white mouse in a red shirt and with a yellow sash tied about his neck, came and sat down beside her, a cup full of fizzy raspberry water tottering dangerously on the edge of his tray. "He is kinda cute, though..."

The white mouse set down his tray carefully... but not carefully enough. Slip went the cup, the mouse grabbing it before its contents could spill out entirely.

"AH!" Marvell yelped, jumping a little. "Stuart, that's the second time this week!"

"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry, Marvell!" the little mouse said, apologizing profusely as he skittered off towards the food bar. "I'll go get some napkins!"

"Awww, man. I just washed this," lamented Marvell, picking up a corner of her frilly blue frock, now tainted with fizz. "Well... At least it's just water. I can work with this, right? Looks kinda... sassy?"

The boy rat sat up, the better to look at Marvell's new fashion statement. The water had painted the rounded edges of one side of the dress. It could have passed for an interesting pattern if one squinted hard enough.

"Yeah, sure. You could pass it off as the new look," he suggested, smiling.

"Hm," Marvell replied, smirking as she sat back down, ringing out the dress edge.

Maisy didn't seem the least bit phased.

"I think he's kinda hot," she said, eyelashes fluttering as she sipped at her soda noisily.

"Hotter than Globetrotter?" sniggered the boy rat.

"Okay, Globetrotter's in his own league. Okay? I can never compete with that."

"Ummm...," Marvell mumbled, covering her mouth in a vain attempt to hide her embarrassed smile as she pointed to a figure behind Maisy's back.

"What?" Maisy asked, craning around slightly to look before swiftly turning back 'round in her seat again, shoulder hunched as she visibly blushed. "Oh my gosh," she whispered, burying her face in her hands.

The boy rat beside her could barely hide his laughter as Globetrotter walked past them, his nose deep in a very thick, very red, and very heavy-looking book. Had he actually been paying attention to their conversation Maisy might have had more reason to involuntarily add a bit of color to her cheeks. As it stood, however, he had not, and so continued towards the bar, oblivious to the fact that he was now fifth in line behind Pinky.

"That's astounding!" Pinky exclaimed, tray of food all but forgotten as he leaned across a glass awning in front of him, totally invested in Pip's latest story. "But... how were you able to keep the syrup layer from separating?"

"Oh, that's easy!" Pip replied, and on and on he went.

Two students ahead of Pinky peered back, interested. Others behind him simply chuckled... or tapped their foot impatiently. To Globetrotter it was complete gibberish. The culinary arts was a branch he rarely dabbled in unless absolutely necessary. Although I do make a mean rigatoni, he thought to himself before shaking his head disgustedly. Where the heck did that come from? He was supposed to be engulfed in Brownian Motion and Stochastic Calculus, but, as it stood, he found his attention inexplicably pulled towards a much... lesser subject. It was unfathomable how anyone could be so intrigued by such mundane topics as the properties of pancakes and how effectively one might prepare them, but the fanaticism with which his coworker now described it was almost... infectious. Nevertheless, Globetrotter frowned as he checked his watch. 12:18 PM. They were wasting precious time. He was wasting his precious time.

"Will you move along already!" he called out, voice peppered with vexation. "I've got class in twenty-seven minutes!"

"Oh! So sorry!" Pinky called back, paws quickly grabbing hold of his tray once more. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Pip. Good luck with your pancakes!"

"Same to you, my good man!" Pip squeaked back. "What a pleasant fellow," he muttered to himself, smiling as Pinky walked off towards the refreshments bar, laden with food.

Globetrotter huffed and moved forward, grabbing a single bowl of fruit and a cup of cottage cheese on his way down. As he passed the pasta section, he paused, reached out a hesitant paw towards a plate of spaghetti, then quickly snapped it back, sighing and frowning sadly as he moved on to the refreshments, grabbing a banana on his way over and angrily slapping it down on his tray.

He stopped beside Pinky, who was humming and pouring himself some English Breakfast tea. Globetrotter huffed again. Flavored water - a poor man's excuse for caffeine. How anyone could drink that stuff was beyond him. He went for the coffee, pulled down the carafe lever... and grumbled. Empty.

"Is there any place in this building that can afford a mouse a decent cup of coffee?!" he whined, popping his empty cup back onto the others.

"Oh, that's a shame there, isn't it? Have you tried the tea, Brain?" Pinky offered helpfully, as he popped a lid on his own steaming cup.

"I refuse to bow my knee to such a lowbrow form of refreshment," Globetrotter bit back, picking up his tray. "And it's Brian, you nincompoop."

"Well, how do you know you don't like it if you don't try it? Poit!" Pinky replied, unfazed by the retort.

"If I liked it I'd drink it. Good day to you."

And off he went, choosing a spot as far back in the room as possible, Pinky sadly watching him as he picked out a table devoid of occupants. Pinky looked back at the empty coffee cup, a light whimper escaping him as he stared at it dolefully. He turned back to focus on Globetrotter, who was once more lost in his big red book. Students who sat nearby gave him as wide of a berth as they could. Pinky's ears drooped. What a sad little man, he thought. But it wasn't long before they perked back up again. Why, yes. Of course! Beaming, he set his tray down at an occupied table ("Watch this for me, will you?"), and rushed out of the cafeteria, leaving several students at the table to stare after him, puzzled.

Flip. Globetrotter turned a page of his massive tome, popping a grape in his mouth and crunching down on it satisfactorily. Flip, flip, flip. He looked to his right. A girl mouse sat nearby, also buried in a book. A huge pink bow sat atop her head. He recognized her. She was one of his students. Teresa, her name was, if he recalled correctly. She was one of his brighter subjects, but struggled with the occasional mathematical theory. As it was, her nose practically brushed the pages of a book that Globetrotter recognized by sight alone: Calculus by Gilbert Strang. Teresa sighed deeply, her unironed brow effectively relaying her frustration. She looked up... and jumped a little as she noticed Globetrotter staring at her, a light pink almost the exact color of her bow kissing her cheeks. Globetrotter slowly ducked back into his own texts, his peripheral vision catching Teresa shifting her seat over a notch in embarrassment.

A paw reached out to grab for his coffee, and he looked up when it touched nothing. Right. No coffee... Sighing, he popped another grape in his mouth, biting into it rather harder than necessary. Nearby, at another table, several students whispered.

"Did you find out what he teaches?" a girl vole asked, her question laced with ardor.

"Yup. He teaches Trozology," replied a male rat next to her, a pair of thick headphones hung about his neck.

"What the heck is that?" voiced another female rodent at their table, a cream-furred mouse decked out in purple - purple shirt; purple pants; purple socks; purple everything.

"I dunno," the rat shrugged. "Sounds kinda cool, though."

Globetrotter frowned. His ears twitched as tinkling laughter echoed from another table beside him.

"I knooooooow. He's so cute!" chuckled a rosy pink-eared mouse. She spoke in a barely-contained whisper along with the rest of her group, all of which sported bulky backpacks laid out on their table and decorated with all sorts of patches, stickers, and keychains. "I hope I can get a spot in his class!"

"I think he still has slots open!" one of her friends, a field rat, spoke up. "As far as I know, though, no one's actually signed up."

"Whyyyyyy? He's adorable! I'm gonna sign up just so I can stare at that face every day," a girl hamster said.

"What if you don't even like the class?" the second friend spoiled. "Maybe it's a dud. And we don't really have time in our schedules for another course..."

They all paused sadly and contemplatively at this. Then the first girl perked up.

"Well, I guess we'll get him all to ourselves then. If no one else likes the class then we'll stay just for the teacher!"

"Yeah, until every other girl does the same thing. You know we're not the only ones with the hots for him," the hamster said, taking a swig from her soda bottle.

"Well, then I guess we'll just have to fight for him," smiled the rat nonchalantly as she picked at her nails.

"Fight for him?!" yelped the other girls, covering their mouths at their loudness. "Oh my gosh. Seriously?!"

"Yeah! Anyone who comes up, we'll tell 'em to meet us at the park at two. No knives. Just like... nail clippers and hair curlers or something..."

"No no! Wait! We tell them to meet us at the baseball stadium!" offered the hamster, soda pop forgotten.

"You mean the one Olivia's petitioning?" the girl mouse asked. "It's not even built yet!"

"Yeah, but when it is we can tell them to meet there!"

"Winner gets dibs. They get to call first date," said the rat.

"And the loser has to pay for the dinner tab."

"Yeah!"

"Oh my gosh, you guys are so funny," the mouse chuckled.

They all laughed gaily.

Globetrotter's frown deepened, his mouth hanging open, another grape suspended in mid-air. Was Pinkus really... that popular? He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the conversations now swimming about his consciousness, when yet another light exchange, a distant one this time, caught his ears.

"... thinking of actually dropping Globetrotter's class to take that Ronald guy's one. It's just as many credits. Probably way more fun."

Globetrotter gulped. He tried reading a sentence in his book, only to find that he kept gracing the same words over and over and over again. Blast it. He couldn't concentrate. He plopped the book down on the table and went to devouring his cottage cheese, all around him oblivious to the private war going on in his mind.

Why do you care what they think? They're kids. They're idiots.

Yes, and have you forgotten what happened when Basil came to the school two years ago? They went gah-gah over him, too.

They didn't all abandon my class!

Nooooo, but half of them did. And Basil taught a required course at the time. Same as yours. They all went for his. He was much more interesting than you.

That's neither here nor there! I'm still employed, aren't I? My class is still sought after.

For now, and only because it's required. This new guy is significantly more popular. What if his class becomes required? What if it's worse than before? What if you become... old hat?

"No!" Globetrotter yelled, out loud. Half the cafeteria paused to stare at him. He sunk in his seat a little. How embarrassing...

In mock resoluteness, he grabbed the book before him and went back to reading. But he was only truly pretending to read, the bright crimson covers a pathetic excuse for a hole in which the frightened mouse hid.

The truth was that, despite his behavior being anything but amicable, his notorious reputation in the school had garnered him something akin to a celebrity status over the years. The course was required, certainly, even though he wasn't the only teacher who taught it, but the struggle to survive the rigorous schedule and harsh grading system he doled out had become a flat out challenge to the students. How long could you last? Would you manage to nab the ever elusive 'A' during a semester? One pupil even became famous for handing out "I Survived Globetrotter's Class" t-shirts. They hated the teacher, but reveled in the challenge. It was something that Globetrotter became ironically comfortable with over the years. Being notorious was better than not being noticed at all. He couldn't abide the thought of being second fiddle; of falling into obscurity. He'd never had reason to be concerned about it for seventeen years, even during Basil's "reign", but now...? Now he had legitimate competition. In all his years at A.C.M.E. Arts & Sciences, he'd never known an instructor so heavily discussed, so quixotic, so beloved, even on the very first day of his employment. Pinky was new and different, in all the wrong ways to him, yet in all the right ways to the students. And it terrified him.

On a sudden whim, he whipped out a pen from his inside jacket pocket and wrote feverishly on a napkin in front of him. He didn't see the tall figure approach him.

"Hello, Brain!"

Globetrotter practically leapt out of his skin.

"AH! Wh-... You..! Don't... do that!" he remarked, hastily stuffing the napkin and pen back into his coat pocket. He clutched at his heart, taking deep breaths as he rested his head in his palm.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Brain!" poor Pinky replied, resting a hand on Globetrotter's back comfortingly. Globetrotter shrugged it off, literally.

"And don't touch me! I just... h-had this... p-pressed," Globetrotter snapped, still catching his breath. "Who knows where your... paws have... been..."

"Oh, well, they haven't been far, Brain. They're always at my side! Ha-ha!"

Globetrotter cocked an eyebrow up at him, speechless. There was no way anyone could be this inordinately stupid.

"Mind if I join you?" Pinky asked, all innocence, that perpetually sunny smile never leaving his face.

"As I matter, of fact, I-"

"Oh, thank you!" Pinky initiated, grabbing a chair and pulling it close up to Globetrotter. Too close for his comfort. Apparently, personal space was something of a foreign concept to this character. "You know, I don't usually eat in public. Don't want to miss The Brady Bunch, you know? Hm hm. But it's rather nice out here! I might come and sit with you more often."

Heaven forbid, Globetrotter thought, ears reddening.

"Would you kindly refrain from mentioning that abomination of a tv show in my presence? It sickens me. And I don't appreciate your unnaturally close proximity."

"Come again?" Pinky asked, cocking his head.

"Move," Globetrotter said, managing, with difficulty, to push Pinky and the chair he sat in over an inch.

"Well, you could have just asked," Pinky chuckled, still smiling. He complied, scooting his chair a couple more inches away from Brain.

"Thank you," bit Globetrotter, turning away from Pinky and directing his attention back to the giant tome in front of him. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like a little privacy."

"Oh, but, I came to give you something!" Pinky exclaimed, and Globetrotter, despite himself, shiftily looked over as the lanky mouse dug in his pants pocket for... something. "A-ha! Here ya' go!"

And he handed him... a teabag? No. Not a teabag. It was too big to be a teabag.

Globetrotter took it from him tentatively, two fingers holding it away from his body as if it might explode.

"What is it?"

"Chicory root! I just thought that, well, when you couldn't find any coffee it reminded me of my mum. She used to be a big coffee drinker, too. She stopped recently, but she still missed the taste. Chicory root tastes a lot like coffee, only better! M-Maybe you'd like it, too?" Pinky offered helpfully, a tinge of shyness peppering his smile.

Globetrotter looked up at Pinky, nonplussed... and a wee bit confused. No one ever gave him anything; not unless he directly asked for it. To be fair, no one was ever bold enough to even attempt to show him much kindness, seeing as the result was often times a sharp reply and a sinister glare. This newcomer obviously hadn't learned the rules yet.

"Teachers... don't usually give me gifts," Globetrotter admitted. "Not unless I ask for them." Nevertheless, he pocketed the chicory root.

"Perhaps that's because you don't ask nicely, Brain? People give you lots of things when you're nice to them!"

It wasn't so much the statement itself, but the boldness of its deliverance that took Globetrotter aback.

"Sooooo... you're saying... I should be nice... to get rewards?"

"Oh, no, Brain! That would be taking advantage! You should be nice to people, 'cause, well, it's nice! And then they're nice to you! Don't you like making people happy?"

"No."

"Not even a little bit?"

"No one has ever given me reason to."

"Well, maybe they would if you showed them a little smile!"

And he actually stuck two fingers up against Globetrotter's cheeks, pushing up on each side in an attempt to draw something close to a grin on his drooping face.

"Ohhhhhhh. There's that smile, Brain!"

"Would you get off?!" Globetrotter blasted, waving his arms around as he flung Pinky off of him. "I told you not to touch me!"

His cheeks and ears burned red at the sound of laughter nearby. Some of the students had been watching and were now drowning in a hushed fit of giggles. Naturally...

"You dimwit. If you're still sitting in that chair in five seconds, I shall personally have to harm you," threatened Globetrotter, cheeks reddening worse than ever as his paws balled into fists.

"Do I get a prize if I leave in four?" Pinky smirked.

"One..."

"Or maybe I'll get one if I stay longer! It pays to be persistent sometimes, Brain."

"Two..."

"You know, you're rather funny when your ears turn red. Nya-ha-ha!"

"FOUR...!"

"Going, Brain!"

And with that, he was off, picking his food up off his tray to take back to his room, giggling to himself and humming, of all things, "Camptown Races" as he headed for the doors. One of the teachers, a Dr. Dawson, smiled at Pinky as he walked past him. And Dr. Dawson... Oh, have mercy. Dr. Dawson started singing along with him.

"I say. I do recognize that tune, young man!" Dawson said, grinning warmly. "Camptown ladies sing this song! Doo-dah! Doo-dah!"

"Camptown race-track five miles long! Oh, doo-da day!" Pinky sung back, beaming.

Others joined in. Still others. Soon, almost the entire cafeteria, minus Globetrotter and a few stragglers, was decked out in song.

"Gwine to run all night! Gwine to run all day! Bet my money on the bob-tailed nag! Somebody bet on the bay!"

And with that, everyone burst out into hearty laughter, Pinky's wail the loudest of all. He and Dr. Dawson exchanged a friendly word or two, shook hands, and with that, Pinky departed, leaving a trail of chuckles behind.

Globetrotter blinked, his mouth hanging slightly open again. Whatever had happened was... terrifying. This bloke didn't just have an effect on the students, but on the whole school. Even the teachers were getting involved! It was official. This needed to end. He had to be stopped...

\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

Pinky was still humming "Camptown Races" all the way back to his classroom. He'd just reached the door when a little someone came pitter-pattering down the hallway after him.

"Mr. Pinky! Mr. Pinky!" she called, hat bobbing wildly up and down on her ruffled, furry head.

"Hello, Olivia!" Pinky said, grinning from ear to ear.

"That was amazing!" she gasped, panting. "Mrs. Judson said she could hear you from the nurses' office. She was singing with you!"

They both giggled at this.

"Well, tell Mrs. Judson that Mr. Pinky is glad she enjoyed the song!" Pinky said.

"Oh, I will! I will! By the way, umm... do you have any more classes planned?" Olivia asked, tucking her paws behind her and rocking back and forth, the pink cheeks only complementing her humble posture. She looked awfully cute.

"Hmmmmm. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"Is that a Friday?"

"I think so."

"Yes! Yes, I will!"

"2:00 PM sharp tomorrow, little lady," Pinky said, winking at her.

"2:00 PM sharp, Mr. Pinky!" Olivia repeated, saluting him. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

And off she trotted.

"Oh! Olivia!" Pinky called.

Olivia stopped and turned around, her mouth in a curious little 'o' shape. Pulling a hand out of his pocket, Pinky tossed her a bag of crisps. She caught it with a trained paw.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed, popping open the bag and tossing a chip in her mouth as she ran off and around a corner.

"Olivia!" Pinky called again, a hand to his mouth.

"Hm?" she queried, popping her head around the corner.

"How many signatures?!"

"Thirty-seven!"

"Woo-hoo!"

"Woo woo!" she called back, before flying off once more.

Pinky smiled, giggling to himself, as he turned the door handle and disappeared inside.

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Author's Notes:

- Marvell is an original character created by a friend of mine who goes by the cognomen of "Geeky". You can find her lovely art and cute character on Twitter at: GeekyBlackGirl

- Flip phones weren't exactly in wide use in '93, but I cheated here for convenience's sake and story purposes.

- The book that Teresa was reading, as well as the book Globetrotter carried around with him, are actual published works. Stochastic calculus is, apparently, a very advanced form of the subject. Brain considers it light reading.

- Your typical volcano science project is partially composed of baking soda, which, in turn, is made up of sodium bicarbonate. The whole thing is a reference to Globetrotter's explosive personality, and how he views the current predicament as such: one big problem on the verge of erupting and destroying his position if he doesn't do something... and fast.

- Globetrotter going for the cottage cheese and fruit, while sadly eschewing the pasta, is due to the fact that, in this story, he has terrible bowel and diarrhea issues. He's been told by his doctor to avoid certain foods, but finds this... a struggle at times. I dunno why I decided to give him this problem, other than the fact that it amuses me. Lol.

- Olivia is a lot of fun to write. :)

#fan fiction #pinky and the brain

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parkerpeter24 · 5 years

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Quizzes End Up In Kisses ~ Peter Parker💕

Part-7 of the Eight Days Of Valentine series

Part 8

Warnings: fluff, thank you.

Sorry for I'm late. Also, I don't know anything about schooling system in the U.S. so forgive me.

Middle school was exhausting, not to mention stupid, and you dreaded going to High school. Going everyday to a place for nearly your whole life, a prison called school, was never on your checklist. It was a pretty basic list and all the things you would want to do one day were mentioned in it.

And Peter Parker had managed to get on the top.

Entering Liz's house, you were met with loud noise and kids scattered all around the living area. The snacks and drinks were placed neatly on the kitchen slab. You sighed before moving in and placing your small gift in the pile that was placed near the christmas tree. You were invited to the party by Liz and you had nothing better to do on a Christmas eve and maybe you would find Peter here too. MJ was in the extreme corner of the room which was illuminated by a bright lamp under which she read a book. You smiled at her and her book choice, 'Great Leadership by Kimberly Davis.'

You moved towards the kitchen where you spotted Liz greeting her friends. The party went on, you stuck to MJ in the back until she needed to get back home and you didn't.

Few people were still left, probably close friends of Liz, when you spotted Ned and Peter near the window, whispering something to each other. You moved towards them setting aside the glass of juice.

"Hey Peter, Ned!" You greeted cheerfully. Ned waved, greeting you back while Peter straightened a bit, the soft light hid the mild blush covering his cheeks. It wasn't hard for you, or anyone for that matter, to figure out that he liked you. He wasn't good with secrets.

"Hey, (y/n)." He replied when Ned cleared his throat . You didn't want to seem desperate by asking him out or truth be told, you were shy yourself and didn't want to convert your friendship into awkwardness.

The room was starting to clear and you were now having a proper conversation with both the boys, majorly about school and homework when a loud voice pulled you out of the on-going topic.

"Hey losers!" Flash yelled, indicating the three of you."You need to come here." He called out, you rolled your eyes but nonetheless moved to where everyone left was gathered in a small circle. You sat beside Liz as everyone settled down and Liz started talking, "So, I have a game for everyone." She grinned and then you zoned out, staring at the boy in front of you. Brown eyes squinted slightly in concentration as he tried so hard to steal a glance at you whereas you were, absentmindedly, full on gaping at him. Only, you, Liz, Betty, Flash, Ned and Peter were left in the room.

"(Y/n), you wanna put something in?" Liz asked, popping your Peter bubble.

"What?" You asked, not having listened to a word she said.

"You wanna put something in the bag?" She pointed to the small bag placed in the centre. Where would it even come from, "And since you're the last one, you get to have the first chance." She grinned. By now, it wasn't really hard to guess that the group was playing seven minutes in heaven.

You grabbed the bag and got up, throwing your bracelet in when no one was watching and shaking the bag. You fished the bag and pulled out a small keyring which was way too familiar. A blush covered your cheeks as you realised whose it was. A small Darth Vader keyring that you gave Peter on his birthday. You looked to Peter who looked like a reindeer caught in headlights. You heard Flash laugh, "Do you think these guys are going to hold hands?"

Soon you were pushed into a room, Peter just behind you as Liz locked the door.

You sat on Liz's bed and Peter stood against the wall across you, the tension was undeniable. A few minutes were passed in silence before Peter cleared his throat and sat beside you on the bed. You watched him in anticipation as he ran his fingers through his hair, "(Y/n), you know, we don't have to do anything just because Flash would probably never leave this."

You felt a bit disappointed but you couldn't let Flash tease Peter for this, "Yeah, I know how to shut Flash up." You smiled.

You told Flash that you had made out with Peter and the look on his face was precious. Maybe it would be the other way around and instead of Flash teasing Peter, you would tease Flash for Peter had his first kiss before him. No one has to know that he didn't.

.•°☆°•..•°☆°•..•°☆°•.

It's been almost a year since then and everybody but you had forgotten that night. And you could never.

You saw Peter leaning against your locker as you made your way through the sea of teenagers.

"Hey!" You greeted your best friend, "Where's Ned?"

"Maths." He answered, shrugging. You smiled at him as you pulled out your Chemistry textbook.

"I'm already bored seeing this textbook." You complained walking beside Peter as you began your trip to the classroom.

"I know, Mr. Smith can be tough on us kids at times." He laughed, watching as you rolled your eyes at no one. "By the way, you prepared for the test?"

"Nope." You replied as soon as the question left his mouth, popping the p in the word.

"Well, you need to. This test makes up 33 percent of our total grades this semester." You sighed at this, nodding your head in understanding as you reached the class.

.•°☆°•..•°☆°•..•°☆°•.

You were at your desk for the past one hour, staring at your Chemistry textbook. Oh how you hated the subject. You were dozing off when you heard a series of knocks on your window. Although knowing it was the one and only, you were shocked and awakened from your sleep.

You ran to the window, unlocking it and letting your masked friend inside before locking it and pulling the curtains. Peter was always careless, not at all good at hiding his identity considering that you figured out, but you saved his ass.

"I'm so jealous of you." You complained and his eyebrows furrowed.

"Why?" He asked.

"You know, you get to do all cool superhero stuff and you're still gonna face that test tomorrow!" You exclaimed, burying your face in his chest and taking in his warmth as he wrapped his arms while laughing, "My mom is gonna kill me." You sighed.

"Okay, let's practice together then." He stated, moving towards your study.

"Aren't you tired?" You asked.

"Not for you, I'm not." He replied shyly and turned away from you to hide his own blush as a faint pink covered your cheeks.

Studying with Peter was rather distracting, not that you haven't done it before, but with time it seemed to have become difficult to focus on the subject and you were more interested in the pout that formed on his lips when he didn't understand something, or the way he squinted his eyes to focus, or the way his fingers played with the pencil when he was thinking something, or the way his eyebrows creased when he got an answer wrong. You were so busy admiring him.

"Okay, I got a good question for you." Peter said, pulling you out of your own little world.

"Shoot."

"And element X is divalent -" He started but you groaned, cutting him off.

"Oh, I hate X and Y questions!" You whined.

"Come on, you don't even know the question yet." Peter replied, "You need to practice if you want to get good grades on that test."

"Okay, I'll study. But, I have one condition." You said, smirking and Peter gulped. He knew that smirk. Something bad was going inside your mind whenever you did this. Before he could ask anything, though, you said, "If I answer ten of your questions correctly then you have to kiss me." You said. Your heartbeat was incredibly fast but your face showed the same smirk as Peter's cheek turned a crimson shade.

"Okay." He said, "I got some questions for you." He smirked, choosing the set of questions that he knew you would be able to answer easily.

"First question." He started, smiling at your nervousness as you tapped your fingers gently against the table. You wanted this as much as he did, "The number of moles of solute present in one kilogram of a solvent is called as…" He trailed off waiting for an answer.

You smiled, "That's easy. It's molality." You answered sweetly, batting your eyelashes at him.

"Correct. Don't get too excited (y/l/n), it's just the first question." He replied, mocking your tone which made you giggle.

"Your impressions are hilarious Parker." You teased, laughing as he smiled proudly.

"Wait till you hear my Thor impression." He beamed, "Anyway, the next question, The metal used to separate copper from a copper sulphate solution is?" He asked.

"Ferrous." You replied.

You didn't expect the questions to get harder but what do you expect from Peter Nerd Parker. You were on the ninth question and you were getting more and more nervous, "What is the chemical name for baking soda?"

"It's, Sodium something… Sodium Carbonate?"

"No. It's-"

"Sodium Bicarbonate!" You yelled, making him laugh at your eagerness.

"Oh, shut it Parker!" You scolded, nonetheless smiling.

"Okay, so are you ready for the last question?" He asked and you just nodded. This was a perfect and probably the only chance you'd get to kiss the boy you'd had a crush on for the longest time. "Now, (y/n). Which radioactive element is used in heat pacemakers?" He asked.

Shit!

Elements were your weakest part. You stared straight into his eyes, pleading for a hint as you rack your brain for the answer. At this moment, both of you knew that Peter would kiss you no matter what, but you wanted to get it right.

"Plutonium?" You mumbled a question. Peter, having heightened senses, heard that and stood up from his seat, making you stand up and follow him to the centre of the room. He sighed, facing you with furrowed eyebrows, "Was it wrong?"

He just stood there for a moment before suddenly pulling you flush against him. Your hands instantly wrapped around his neck and a yelp escaped your throat before you felt his lips over yours. Moving at a slow pace. It was sweet, it was all you needed. Your hands tugged at the curls behind his head and he pulled you closer, resting his forehead on yours, "Correct."

You smiled so wide, your cheeks started to hurt. Suddenly you couldn't help what you said out aloud, "Kissing you was on my checklist since Middle school." He laughed at this.

"The infamous checklist?" He asked. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"You knew about it?" You asked back for his answer.

"You're not good with secrets either. I heard you and MJ talking about it." He replied sheepishly.

"And you didn't tell me?" You asked, smiling.

"It was an accident." He said in a small voice, parting from you slightly and you shook your head softly as your gaze fell on the wall clock.

"It's nothing." You smiled, "Hey, I think you should go. It's getting late." He nodded, giving you a final peck on the lips as he grabbed his mask, moving towards your window.

"Peter." You called out. He turned back to face you, waiting for you to say something, "Don't forget about the Spanish quiz day after tomorrow." You smirked and he knew that smirk.

Taglist:

@harrysbbby @overly-obsessed @luckyfiction17 @avengersgroupchat @ollieologys @afictionaladventure16 @hollandraul @clqudsparker @spider-manholland @screamholland @angelhaz11 @farfromhaz @drunklili @spideyyeet @fairytaleparker @venusparker @dazzling-rubabe @kitkatd7 @hazmyheart @angelic-holland @littlekidsteve @audreylovespidey706 @ironholland19 @lauras-collection @spideyyeet @cherryredparker @ploont @cucumberfingers @angel-spidey @spideygirl2003 @greatpizzascissorstaco @the-crazy-fanfictionist @lovabletomholland @lovelytholland @parkerdrabbles @parkers-fidelity @tom-holland-is-spiderman @tomsrebeleyebrow @hollandcuddles

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curious-minx · 4 years

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October 2010s Music Deep Dive!

A mock up poster for the only possible music festival line-up I would be willing to risk my life attending. Tony Allen’s passing has caused the entire Octoberfest to be cancelled indefinitely, but all proceeds from ticks will be given back to the community.

Hope all of you special nobodies and overblown somebodies reading this right now are having a smashing start your first o November. All last month I had taken it upon myself to listen to as many albums and fragments of albums released sometime during the month of October spanning the entire 10’s decade, 2010 through 2019. This is all probably a result of drinking too much dead water, Quarantine brain, undiagnosed Autism, magical thinking and the death of boredom. I have created a Spotify playlist sporting 25 hours and 4 minutes worth of music with an arbitrary amount of albums getting multiple songs, but largely one song/album. This project did create a sense of madness because of the volume of music that gets cranked out. How can we expect anyone to properly criticize music when it is nearly impossible to keep up with it all? I largely culled these albums from Allmusic’s Editorial Choice section, but I did have to use Rateyourmusic to fill out the hip-hop and R&B gaps. In gathering up all of this music I am attempting to see if spooky music was relegated to the October season and any other possible trends. Even though October has been laid to rest her swelling calendar breast still contains a treasure trove of music worth discussing. Grab your broom, sharpen your heels and get the cobwebs out of your ears because we’re going on a Deep Dive!

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The 2010s Old Souls and Musical Auteurs

I consider any musician or band that endures more than a decade worthy of this veteran label. Music biz lifers seem found solace in the October release schedule. A trend that has carried onto the new decade with October 2020 offering revitalized releases by Elvis Costello and Bruce Springsteen reunited with the E Street Band. All three main members of Sonic Youth, Moore, Gordon and Renaldo are still harnessing that spooky Bad Moon Rising energy and carrying it over into their solo releases.

KIM GORDON’s NO RECORD HOME

The first truly proper solo album by Kim Gordon following up her pretty good noise rock releases under the Body/Head moniker with Bill Nace. No Record Home towers over Thurston Moore and Lee Renaldo’s mostly okay solo releases because of how truly experimental and refreshingly modern sounding No Record Home is. This album sounds like it could easily have come out from a young Pacific Northwest Trip-Angle (RIP) label upstart. Instead, Gordon is defiantly aging gracefully and remains an all around important feminist voice in experimental rock music. No Record Home did not pop up on a lot of “Best of the Year” lists in 2019, nor did Gordon embark on any kind of touring for the release. I am hoping that more people will eventually discover this great album and realize that Gordon was truly the best, most truly experimental aspect of Sonic Youth. Her vocals on this album are the best she’s ever sounded because she built these songs and sounds with the intergral collaborator, producer Justin Raisen. A glimpse at Raisen’s Wikipedia page is a who’s who of great artists of the past decade: Yves Tumor, Charli XCX, and Sky Ferreira. The collaboration occurred at an AirBnB shared between Gordon and Raisen and birthed the first single of the project “Air BnB.” A song that completely sets the tone of the album and features one of those amazing music videos in the same line us Young Thug’s “Wyclef Jean. “

Björk - Biophilia

Can you name the last album the rolled out with its own app? Nine years have come and gone and I certainly can’t think of another album with such wholesome ambitions. Björk was getting passionate about ecological concerns in her native Icelandic home with Sigur Ros and using her sphere of influence to try to good. 2014 the app has found a permanent home in the MOMA, but outside of this curio status the album itself is still a worthwhile addition to the Björk canon. Biophilia finds Björk in musical scientist mode using sounds captured from a Tesla coil and making a whole musical universe onto herself. The rest of the 2010s found Björk going for bigger and more ambitious projects that continue to frustrate those who wish she would go back to her poppier roots. She remains one of those most consistent solo artists around and someone no one will be able to predict what she does next. The only thing is certain is that it will be visionary and will probably include a wildly ambitious rollout and a new piece of physical art like Biophilia’s $800 tuning forks.

NENEH CHERRY - BROKEN POLITICS

Featuring production duties for the second time from Four Tet (who also pops up in the October playlist with his 2013 album Beautiful Rewind). Broken Politics in Cherry’s words, “is about feeling broken, disappointed, and sad, but having perseverance. It’s a fight against the extinction of free thought and spirit.” The music video for single “Natural Skin Deep” was filmed in Beirut, a backdrop made even more painful given 2020’s Explosion. Cherry is an artist with deep spiritual and blood connections with artists central to jazz’s history. Broken Politics also features songs built around Ornette Coleman samples. This is all to say that Neneh Cherry is always going to be someone tapping into a creative cosmic vein that spans generations, and with that comes a hard wisdom. Two years later we’re still dealing with the same god damn guts and guns of history.

OTHER NOTABLES:

(Cat Power - The Wanderer; John Cale - Shifty Adventures in Nookie Wood; Tony Allen - Film of Life ; Neil Young & Crazy Horse - Psychedelic Pill ;Bryan Ferry - Olympia; Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Ghosteen ;Yoko Ono - Warzone; Vashti Bunyan - Heartleap; Elvis Costello & The Imposters - Look Now; The Chills - Silver Bullets; Weezer - Everything Will Be Alright In The End;Laurie Anderson - Heart of A Dog;Janet Jackson - Unbrekable;The Mercury Rev - Light In You; Rocketship - Thanks To You; Van Dyke Parks & Gaby Moreno - Spangled; Donald Fagen - Sunken Condos; Prefab Sprout - Crimson Red; Pere Ubu - 20 Years in a Montana Missile Silo; Negativland - True False )

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TRILOGY OF BLACKSTARS

Three last albums released by three titans of 20th century songwriting. Two of them follow the trajectory of an older artist getting rejuvenated by a younger backing band. Lulu is beyond a meme at this point and is considered one of the most confounding flops since Metallic Music. Like Metallic Music, Lulu will get a reappraisal and find its audience. Mr. Blackstar himself Bowie considered Lulu one of his favorite releases. “Junior Dad” alone makes this album a worthy addition in Lou Reed’s discography. Scott Walker invited some similarly hairy and intense younger rock studs into his private castle and pulls off a far more natural combination. Soused fits like a velvet glove on a elegant corpse hand swirling thick slabs of guitar and demonic percussion. Scott Walker effortlessly orchestrates between elegance and moribundity whereas Lulu wallows and thrashes against the ugly riffage.

No riffs or oozing wall of sound are anywhere to be found on the sparse and pointedly elegiac You Want it Darker. Leonard Cohen never went full on sleazy I’m Your Man ever again but he didn’t become adult contemporary either. You Want It Darker finds Leonard and his son Adam Cohen. When Leonard passed away he was the only one to get a full David Bowie like museum tribute, Lou Reed only got a corner of a library. Cohen is far and away the most accessible mystical Jewish Buddhist monk with a penchant for fedoras and having a masked man with a leather belt beat him in the recording booth [citation needed]. You Want It Darker is the only one of these mortality laden kiss offs to win a Grammy. I do wonder if Cohen would have ever allowed a more adventurous production to touch his staid and timeless old fashioned sound. Tom Scharpling divides Leonard Cohen into his Pre-Fedora and Post-Fedora days. If you are being literal about that demarcation that still gives you a pretty vast body of music I just want sad bloated blurry black and white Leonard Cohen with a banana or the smiling cad on Songs of Love and Hate. Even the floppy fedora era has worthwhile albums and he sounds like if Serge Gainsbourgh was a muppet Gargoyle, he’s reliable. I will always beat myself for not buying that official Leonard Cohen raincoat at the Jewish Museum Leonard Cohen exhibit, but I hope someone has and they are finding comfort with Cohen’s music. A lot of his latter day period is comforting in a sardonic sexy mind bending nursing home sort of way.

I am glad that these men were ultimately spared from having to deal with Covid times and even someone as tasteless as Brian Wilson’s Ghost can acknowledge that it’s more important than ever to keep your elderly loved ones locked away in a well ventilated pod.

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(INSERT ARTIST HERE) SEASON

For a few sticky sweet select few artists the month of October proved to be a suitable release launch pad for more than one album. The Mountain Goats and clipping. have just joined the October two-timer club this year. The reigning queen of October releases is Taylor Swift and Adrianne Lenker. In chronological order swift released Speak Now, Red and 1989 probably Swift’s biggest run in terms of critical and commercial success. None of these albums have a particularly big place in my heart, in fact speaking on behalf of Brian Wilson’s Ghost Ltd. I’m not the biggest fan of America’s Sweetheart, Sweet Tea Poet Laureate. All three of these albums all came out in the latter part of October and based on the Target brand synergy roll-out felt as inevitable as pumpkin spice. Haunted. Sad Beautiful Tragic. Out of the Woods. These are either song titles taken from these three albums are the names of the under utilized Romantic Halloween Horror Comedy genre. Lady Gaga might have been spooking it up on American Horror Story, but Swift gives a far more chilling performance in Tom Hooper’s midnight madness of Cats and I could envision Swift excelling really well as a horror film actor. Especially in a role like Scarlett Johansson’s Under the Skin.

You cannot get more polar opposite from Swift than Adrianne Lenker. Who released her first solo album abysskiss and the second Big Thief album of 2019 Two Hands. Lenker will have also gone on to make her third October release this year with her second solo album songs & instrumentals. Striking that such a ghostly autumnal band would have only released one album in October, but autumnal feeling albums are not beholden to release calendars. The song “Not” from the Big Thief album Two Hands is a watershed breakthrough moment for the band and put Lenker and her band on the map. In 2019 Big Thief became a band that could get booked onto a Goodmorning American performance slot and more or less made Big Thief one of the rare 2010s indie bands to become more or less a household name.

Other notable artists to have released more than one album on October 2010s:

Less notable artists to have multiple October releases: James Blunt Korn

Calvin Harris

Kings of Leon

Pentatonix

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FORMER HARBINGERS OF HYPE

These are October releases from artists that once felt like whenever they put out an album a wider array of outlets and publications seemed to care more and would spill more digital ink over them. The big three artists that had the biggest drop off in attention and acclaim that stick out to me the most are Titus Andronicus, Justice and Why? All three artists debuted with strong starts back in the aughts, but according to critical reception more or less crashed and burned. Titus Andronicus’ Local Business was one of the last times Titus Andronicus would get positive marks from Pitchfork. Local Business a fun and shaggy follow-up to one of the most self-serious concept albums of the 2010s.

Justice’s Audio, Video, Disco similarly is a follow up to a highly acclaimed album that set the bar high enough to doom Justice into never living up to the hype. Justice’s 2007 s/t heralded them as the next Daft Punk, but unlike those soulful and thoughtful robots Justice mainly wanted to make big ridiculous unfashionable synth prog rock. Audio, Video, Disco is simply cheesy fun and even though we live in a world better off without parties and gatherings this album helps you feel like you are in high-def IMAX monster mash on the moon.

The leaves us with Why?’s Mump’s Etc. an album that already had the job of following up an already divisive follow up record Eskimo Snow. Why’s Alopecia is a really important 2008 indie blog rap album that helped thrust the online indie blogs into the hip-hop genre hybrid experimentalism. Why? would never make another universally beloved album again and with Mump’s Etc. ended up permanently in Pitchfork’s hate pit. In the original release review the Pitchfork writer essentially deems this album an act of “career suicide.” The whole review is essentially an assignation of Why?’s figurehead Yoni Wolf and taking him to task for all of his awkward lyrical blunders and the fact he is narcissistic enough to be a musician writing about his career in a meta fashion. Yet when I listen to Mump’s Etc. I am more or less enjoying Yoni Wolf’s personality and find the whole thing to be pretty charming. A perfectly serviceable 3.5/5 release that a media outlet like Pitchfork turns into a flexing opportunity to show how that they have the power to make or break a career.

A.C. Newman, an artist who appears on this playlist with his terrific 2012 Shut Down The Streets took to Twitter to scoff at the idea that a good Pitchfork review has done anything for his career. Shut Down The Streets currently remains the last solo album Newman has released under his name choosing to focus on his main gig with the New Pornographers. The Internet based hype machine is even more ADHD addled and twitchier by the day. The joy of doing this deep dive allowed me to revisit a lot of these artists and acts that I had fallen out of touch with. I had completely forgotten about King of Convenience’s Erlend Øye who released the album Legao in 2014. I rediscovered a good deal of bands like the Editors, The Dodos, Kisses, Black Milk, Crocodiles, Empire of the Sun, Juana Molina, Jagwar Ma, Here We Go Magic, Dale Earnhardt Jr. Jr., YACHT, Peaking Lights, The Twilight Sad, Elf Power, Swet Shop Boys, Radio Dept, Allo’ Darlin, Foxes In Fiction, and HOMESHAKE are all bands not trying to change the world or challenge listeners with avant garde experimentation. Instead I feel like I maintaining relationships with old friends on the edge of obscurity.

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A HISTORY OF CHRISTMAS IN OCTOBER

A tradition stretching back as far as 2014 not October’s Idina Menzel’s Holiday Wishes, but Seth McFarland’s Holiday For Swing sweatily released on CD, digital, and vinyl on September 30, 2014. 2015 then brings us a Chris Tomlin and Ru Paul Christmas albums because every force of Neo-liberal good must be balanced with evangelical contemporary Christian music *shutters.* 2016 finds the Christmas in October era reaching a complete and utter nadir with R. Kelly’s final official LP 12 Nights of Christmas and A Pentatonix Christmas, but also buffered by Kacey Musgrave’s Christmas. 2017 only had time for Gwen Stefani’s You Make It Feel Like Christmas and no one else could evoke this feeling in October. On 2018, Michelle and Barack Obama’s combined one and only Christmas wish comes true, no not cancelling those drone strikes, but getting John Legend to join the October release jamboree; Eric Clapton claps open his guitar’s butt cheeks and hatefully squats out a half assed Xmas album defiantly opening the album with “White Christmas” [eyeroll emoji]; and finally 2018 found the Pentatonix announcing in October that Christmas Is Here. I apologize for all of that crude butt talk about the hateful racist Eric Clapton, but(t) I have festive gluteus Maximus on the mind, because in 2019 Norah Jones got her alternative country gal trio back together to remind us to shake our Christmas butts. Eat shit commercial shit, today’s Santa’s birthday! That’s the magic of the October release schedule!

The hallowed Christmas in October tradition continues on in 2020 with Dolly I-Beg-Thee-Pardon releasing A Holly Dolly Christmas right on time on October 2, 2020 (Carrie Underwood missed the memo and unwraps her unwanted My Gift in September 2020). Meghan Trainor, Goo Goo Dolls, and Tori Kelly released Christmas albums. Can you believe Seth MacFarlane comes up twice in this article, because his sleazy J. Michigan Frog croon is processed and grated like Parmesan cheese snow flakes all over a rendition of White Christmas. What a time to be alive!

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WHERE DID THEY GO?

A Brief Case For Class Actress’s Rapproacher

Among my October music travels I encountered one artist that really impressed me with her proper LP debut Rapprocher. The trio fronted by Elizabeth Vanessa Harper is essentially peddling the kind of competent moody 80’s inspired synth pop that belongs on a lost Donnie Darko sequel. Harper’s vocals are striking and expressive and they are melded with constantly propulsive bed of shiny synths and glossy barely-there gated percussion. Outside of an 2015 EP called Movies featuring exciting production contributions from Italo-disco icon Giorgio Moroder there has been nothing else from Class Actress. Highly recommend you check them out especially if you want to find the sweet spot between Chromatics and Kylie Minogue.

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THE OCTOBER 2010s MASTERPIECES

(Robyn - Honey, Big K.R.I.T. - 4eva is a Mighty Long Time ,Miguel - Kaleidoscope Dream, Crying - Beyond The Fleeting Gale , M83 Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming ,SRSQ - Unreality, Sufjan Stevens - age of adz, Joanna Newsom - divers, VV Brown Samson and Delilah, Kelela - tear me apart , Neon Indian - VEGA Intl., Fever Ray - Plunge , Antony and The Johnsons - Swanlights (goodbye album) , Caroline Polachek - Pang , Sky Ferreira - Night Time, My Time . Bat For Lashes Haunted Man, James Ferraro - Far Side Virtual , Grouper - Ruins , Kero Kero Bonito -Bonito Generation , DJ Rashad - Double Cup)

Maybe if I surround this VV Brown album with more well known artists she’ll finally get some more clicks? I should also mention that Joanna Newsom’s Divers is nowhere on my Spotify October Music playlist because Joanna Newsom thinks Spotify is bananas, and she hates bananas. I know I should also mention Kendrick Lamar’s good kid, m.A.A.d city and Tame Impala’s Lonerism. That’s the maddening thing about October music that just when you think you covered all your ground you find another hidden hump underneath the carpet. I feel remiss without mentioning striking debut and instant hidden gem Tinashe’s Aquarius, which did you know has a new album art on Spotify. Death Grip’s No Love Deep Web. T_T I didn’t even get around to making a big verbal mosaic to Thom Yorke’s witchy Suspiria soundtrack.Corpus Christi! I forgot to highlight The Orb album in the collage with my other veteran artists! As you can see this project nearly ruined me. I did not necessarily listen to all of these albums from front to back, but I did listen all of the songs on the playlist and chose them from the immense collection of October releases. I am pretty sure this is the kind of content for no one in particular but I really needed to get it out of my system. Let’s meet back up October 2030!!!!!

(Thank you to my beloved partner, best friend and Spotify provider Maddie Johnson XD)

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7sdLaNNaqWpKEKXRZ3jNqY?si=SLZxUwLMQYOQ5wA1xuZc7w

#spooky #spooktember #spooktober #spooktacular #octoberfest #autism #best of #music festival #Joanna newsom #sufjan stevens #kendrick lamar #tame impala #Taylor swift #big thief #Adrianne lenker #ru paul #kelly klarkson

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laughing-with-god · 6 years

Text

Pen Pal 1.5

Summary- As a lonely person, the idea of exchanging letters with someone apart from society was actually quite appealing to you. In a random act of charity and desperation, you sign up for a pen pal and get paired up with an inmate named Jungkook. The letters were meant to help him cope with prison life, but little did anyone know it was actually driving him more mad.

Warnings- Yandere/Prisoner Jungkook x Reader. Mature themes. Mention of mental disorder.

Words; 5.4k

“Have you ever felt so connected to someone that you didn’t understand why they were inside another skin and inhabiting a different body than you?”

He supposed that he should’ve been more displeased with where he landed himself.

A cage of a jail cell that was six by eight feet and enclosed with brick walls that were so old, the paint was chipping off more and more each day. The only entrance and exit being the harsh bars of the metal doors where a police officer could always be seen patrolling the passage ways, eyeing inmates with a judgmental glare as if he knew each and every one of their stories and how they were menaces to society.

But if Jungkook was being true to himself, he couldn’t find any need to relate to his fellow prisoners fantasies of being in the outside world once again.

He had no desire to integrate back into society.

He hated the world for a long time.

He hated how obnoxious and fake people were in the modern era. He hated how capitalistic and money hungry the economy was. He hated how surface level and crude the general community was.

From the time he was born, his peers would only approach him because they had hopes of being friends with the son of a rich power-broker.

They would smile to his face and claimed to like him, but behind his back they would complain about how ‘boring and weird’ he was.

Indeed, as a youngster Jungkook had been very introverted.

He loved drawing, and this caused looks of confusion as most boys his age would enjoy a game of football or soccer more than doodling. The only reason he got invites to playdates or birthday parties was due to his family’s social status. He was quick to catch on when his ‘friends’ would always push to go to his house, to play with his toys and to drop the Jeon name when bragging to other people about the ‘friendship’.

However as Jungkook got older, the less he cared about such trivial matters. As an insecure little boy, it bruised him quite a bit. But as an older teen, he accepted it as a harsh reality. No one liked him for him, yet it wasn’t as tragic as it sounded. Because, he didn’t accept them for who they were either. The world and Jungkook had a mutual understanding for each other. He despised them for it used him.

So when he went and got himself locked up, he really didn’t have that much remorse for what he would miss of the outside world. The criminal psychologist said he had a problem with feelings in general; having a low emotional capacity for settings or situations but a heightened one for certain people in his life. But Jungkook paid this analysis no mind. After all, how many different settings, situations or people can he encounter while serving a life-time sentence at one of the most highly guarded prisons in the country?

He did what he had done, and he was at peace with everything concerning the matter.

When other inmates would rant about how they missed very basic things of life; non-cafeteria food, going to parks, having your own home and schedule, Jungkook didn’t care for the sentiment at all. In fact, he thought they were weak to not even be able to handle prison. Really, how bad was it? You got a bed to sleep on, a toilet to shit in and was fed three time a day. With the way these fuckers ranted, you would’ve thought they were world war soldiers talking about home life whilst serving in the trenches. Pathetic, really.

One day, Jungkook walked into his cell after a decent work out only to spot a pristine and angelic white envelope on his bed (more like a slab of metal with a cheap blanket on top but what did you expect of a cell?). This caused Jungkook to quirk a brow at the odd sight, he was pretty particular with boundaries and it annoyed him to see his roommate not respect his space.

“Joon, I told you not to leave shit in my area.” Jungkook motonously commented to his cell mate that was currently on the top bunk, book in hand. This caused the older to peek from his spot above and glance down at the lower bunk.

“Uh...that’s not mine. Plus it has your name on it and everything, bro.”

Jungkook sighed and pressed his tongue against his cheek in an angry tick that he had adopted years ago. He really just wanted to head to the showers and he couldn’t imagine who would be writing to him. His family having disowned him for his crimes and everyone else having forgotten him or shunning his existence like he had the plague. Not that he was too disappointed with these developments, he could spend the rest of his days without a word from anyone from the outside and he would still die content.

With a huff, he snatched the envelope and opened it with very little grace.

‘Dear Mr. or Miss. Prisoner…..’

Jungkook’s doe eyes skimmed passed the delicate but noticeably rushed handwriting, soaking in the words with hesitance at such unexpected vulnerability from an utter stranger. It wasn’t a long letter (Jungkook was finished reading it after 30 seconds or so) but he plopped himself on his bed to re-read the letter when he was done, showers somehow forgotten.

Said person who wrote to him managed to sound very weak and tired through diction alone. However, this moment of weakness from the stranger was somehow not at all judged by Jungkook. This revelation startled the prisoner himself, given that he had always made it a habit to look down on those whom lacked the mental strength that he did. A fucked up social darwinism philosophy that was only heightened by being around meager sheep while he was a full on ruthless psycho. But why? Why did he feel pity this time instead of the usual disgust whenever someone was so bare and raw to him?

The answer was simple.

He related to you.

He felt as though you had put it best into words exactly what he felt when he was living out there in the public. The world was scary and he didn’t blame you for being paranoid or locking yourself up. He could practically feel your fear from where he was; locked in a tiny cell and miles upon miles away from civilization. He got the sense that you were different, like him. Most people he had encountered in his lifetime have always been okay with how the world was, not acknowledging the sinister characteristics that came along with it. Authenticity was oozing from your writing as you did way more than just acknowledge the bad; you did your best to stay away from it all together. In a weird way, Jungkook found this cute. You were like a frightened child that hid under your bed to avoid the evil babysitter, escaping was your pure and innocent plan of action. Which was different from Jungkook’s more violent actions….but he concluded he liked the contrast between you two. While you decided to take it out on yourself and starve yourself from stimulation just to keep away from the barbaric world, Jungkook took it upon himself to make everyone else pay.

“It it that stupid Pen Pal program?”

Jungkook glanced up from the paper to see his cellmate hang his head from the bed above, watching Jungkook with questioning orbs. Jungkook just scoffed at the upside down face and nodded.

“I just threw my letter away. I heard they put all of us in that program because it’s a tax-write off for them. It’s bullshit.” Namjoon told the younger.

Jungkook didn’t supply the other with an answer. Instead he carefully folded the letter and placed it smoothly under his pillow. Then, he headed out to the showers while thoughts of what to write back to you filled his mind.

‘Dear Y/n,

Well I would feel rather….accepting.

I think you must be a very wise person to keep yourself far from the wretched claws of society…..’

Jungkook tapped the capped pen against his chin, looking over his writing for any errors or mishaps before he signed off entirely.

His letter was more in response to yours, after all you hadn’t given him that much to reply back to. But still, some communication was better than none at all. Jungkook wanted to let you know that he understood your fears. Hell, he even shared them with you. He hoped that you believed him when he told you that he also harbored disdain for your enemy. And he also wanted to learn more about such a like-minded individual. Surely, you both had to have other similarities too, right?

He added the request for an image of you toward the end of his letter, just out of sheer curiosity for his long-lost twin. He didn’t care what you looked like but he wanted to scratch the itch of placing a face with the writing, knowing the urge to know would never go away until he saw your face.

Other prisoners watched shocked as they witnessed Jungkook make his way to the mail room to drop off a letter to be sent off, knowing that he never made contact with the outside world.

Jungkook found himself pacing his cell in an anxious manner, arms crossed and brows furrowed. His stomach was tied into knots and his palms were clammy, hinting at one of the first times that he’s ever been nervous.

He really was hoping for a response from you.

He knew that it was very childish and sad to be so giddy for a letter, but he couldn’t help but get excited at the prospect of another note. It was refreshing to be able to talk to someone who wasn’t a felon. Someone who wasn’t there in person yet still reached out to connect with a corrupt scanderal such as himself.

Which is why when the usual mail carrier came down the cells, cart in hand with envelopes, pictures, money and presents for inmates, Jungkook found himself holding his breath and wishing for the first time ever that the carrier would stop at his cell.

He had never been on the receiving end of such transactions, he had no one on the outside to look out for him. But the faceless recluse that had reached out to him in a cry for companionship had fogged his mind, leaving hims restless and jittery.

Could it be that he found a genuine friend?

One that didn’t use him for his reputation (unlike his former childhood friends) and accepted him as the fuck up he was.

“Letter for a Jeon Jungkook?” The middle-aged man paused in front of the barren cell, sticking a pristine white envelope through the metal bars. It was almost comical the joy that bursted through his chest and the way he leaped to attrive the holy piece of material. As if it glowed bright in the grim and grey limbo that he was stuck in.

Not being able to withhold the anticipation, Jungkook quickly took the letter to his bunk and carefully slit it open.

‘Dear Jungkook,

Words cannot express how thankful I am that you answered my pathetic call for help…’

The writing was noticeably neater than the first letter. Jungkook noted with a smile how much longer this one was prior to the last. The inmate forced himself to pore over every detail at a slower pace, not wanting to accidently skim past any vital information yet also wishing to savor the ritual.

You seemed very blindly kind to someone who was a wretched crook. In fact, you claimed to be very grateful to hear from little old him. The feeling was utterly foreign, the idea that someone was out there that genuinely wanted his friendship, someone who genuinely wanted to know his most bland personal preferences, who was practically pleading for his written company. It made him feel wanted. After some thought he decided that he quite liked the new feeling. Even at his worst; locked up for a lifetime sentence, you went out of your way to kill his loneliness. He almost giggled when you told him of the disorder that the world had labelled you with, it was awfully funny to him that you both were called mentally unstable. You two now had that in common as well. He felt a sudden stab in the gut when you mentioned your sister. He guessed if he had to identify the emotion it would be closest to sympathy or guilt. He supposed he felt...bad for your loss. Jungkook smiled widely.

Yes! That’s it! He felt bad for you!

God if the psychologist who said he had no emotions could see him now...

Towards the end of your writing, you mentioned not being a ‘looker’. As if the paper itself burned him, Jungkook dropped the object with great haste to dig through the envelope. You had sent the picture! He almost forgot that he even asked for such thing.

And there it was, a small 4x6 printed image of a lovely face smiling shyly at the camera.

Your face was small and round, skin serene and creamy with its (porcelain/olive/honey/amber/cinnamon) hued pores that was the canvas for your darling features. Your nose was benevolent and perched regally as well as perfectly centered amidst the sculpture that was your appearance. The bridge of the blessed feature dipped discreetly and softly, complimenting the luminous orbs that were vividly painted with a the crispest shade of (color) that he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The enchanting irises were artistically framed by magnetizing dark eyelashes that were as long as they were seductive. Somehow he just knew that the colors supplied by whatever commercial printer didn’t do the color-pads of your eyes justice, imagining the shiver that will go down his spine when he could be bare to them in their full and unfiltered glory. They held a humane gentleness but still….a simmering witt was also bubbling under the surface. Overhead the eyes were carefully groomed eyebrows that were neat and shapely, one was elegantly arched in a expression of somber joy.

Underneath your nose was a pair of nectarous ruby red (or flowery pink) lips that looked perfectly cushioning to any lucky man who would have the chance to collide theirs with yours. Your pristine and snow-white teeth were barely poking out, show casting your shyness even when plastering on a friendly smile. It’s as if you were unable to let yourself be one-hundred percent bare even in something as basic as a grin. He wondered what kind of mellifluous sound would erupt from such a devine cavern. Your (color) hair was sadly put up, unable to flow freely in the still-frame image. Even though he had very little to study, he still knew that he would want to (straight hair; run his hands through your silken strands) (curly hair; bounce the fluid swirls of your playful mane). An odd urge to inhale the scent of your shampoo was what Jungkook felt next.

Lost in his own self-induced trance, he didn’t realize that he had been staring for so long until he felt a shadow loom over his figure.

It was his cellmate and suddenly the infatuated man became all too aware of his slightly ajar mouth and his widened eyes that were stuck on the flimsy printed picture that was tightly held in his grasp (as if terrified that someone would steal the chef d'oeuvre...in an abode of criminals, this fear was somewhat relevant). Quickly, he masked his expression to that of usual indifference.

“You’ve been sitting there staring for like eleven minutes. You good?”

He just nodded, not a fan of frivolous speech or furthering conversation with people he cared none for. Still, the fucker persisted.

“You sure? Your girl didn’t send you something naughty or something, right?” This was said in a matter of humor, an attempt to relieve the dark aura that Jungkook seemed to exude in every social interaction. However, the serious face that Jungkook had on gave the other the impression that he had hit the mark precisely. Joon’s jaw dropped and an eager grin formed at the corners of his lips.

“Really?! No way! Can I see?” The over-sized goon attempted to stride forward, hands already out-reached to grasp at the first smut he would’ve seen in a long time. Out of primal instinct to keep what was his away from the snubby hands of others, Jungkook pulled back. But the fool had enlarged limbs and this meant his lengthy arms were very capable of plucking the picture off of Jungkook’s safe grip.

Greedy, Namjoon ran his eyes over the photo. His grin slowly slid off as he realised that it was indeed nothing sexual. Nonetheless, his eyes lingered far longer than Jungkook cared for….before promptly returning the image to it’s rightful owner, whose jaw was clenched and teeth now grinding at the recent events.

“Who is she?”

“My pen-pal.” Jungkook promptly answered whilst hiding both the letter and photo under his pillow before placing his head on it, staring up at the bunk above him.

“Damn, if I’d know that I could’ve gotten someone like that….” A brief pause as Joon climbed up his bed as well. “I definitely wouldn’t have thrown mine away.”

Jungkook felt the familiar agitation hit him, tongue pressing against his cheek and he wondered if it was too late to request a cell change.

The lights went out and ponderings of what to write back filled Jungkook’s mind along with the bewitching photo that was just directly under his head…

Opting not to go to breakfast, Jungkook stayed within his cell.

He elaborately printed his response back to you.

‘Dear Y/n,

I thought you were a very smart person but obviously not…’

The inmate was sure to make you aware of how breathtaking you were, but also very careful in tip-toeing around just how gorgeous you were to him. He could have written a dozen novels about your exquisite appearance alone, but obviously he was unable to do such thing. He didn’t want you to think he was a creep and halt all communication with him. In an effort to get closer to you, Jungkook added some sentiment in regards to your loss, adding an anecdote about his mother for dramatic effect.

Now, it was time to fulfill your wish to see him as he had seen you.

He had no problem with such request. Not that he ever paid attention to such pointless gossip, but he had always heard whispers of how handsome he was. Jungkook didn’t consider himself to be a little Fabio on any scale, but he knew he wasn’t hard on the eyes of the opposite sex. The trouble was, how exactly would he be able to send a photo?

After a year in prison, you get to learn that there are two ways you can survive in such element. You either adapt or you crumble.

The fittest of the inmates learned real quick how to make prison into their home. Some men have been here so long that they grew connections and were able to bring some things from the outside world in.

Jungkook made plans to visit one the older inmates, knowing that he could trade a candybar for a favor of sneaking a photo out to you. For now, he folded his letter and placed it in the envelope, awaiting his picture before being shipped off to the mailroom.

‘Dear Jungkook,

…..I guess you’re not the worst face I’ve seen….’

Jungkook smiled as he fondly traced the words that you have written onto the paper only days prior. He imagined your endearing face scrunching up into a thoughtful expression as you scribbled your response back to him. You were funny and he couldn’t deny the sense of pride he felt when you admitted to his attractiveness. In the past, he never gave a fuck if people thought he was the next Ryan Gosling or the ugliest mug they’ve ever seen. But he felt a weird sense of relief behold him when you said that you indeed thought he was good-looking. He didn’t want to imagine what he might’ve felt if you called him ugly or stopped talking to him after seeing his face.

But that was not the best aspect to be seen within your writing.

The best thing that caused his chest to erupt in a warm and fuzzy feeling was when you agreed that you also felt a connection between you two. That you found him to be ‘marvelous company’ and you enjoyed his letters. This just confirmed his suspicion that you were somehow tied together. That you two were meant to stumble upon each other in the most unconventional way. Jungkook was sure of it, that you two have defied the odds that cruel reality set against you ‘mentally unstable’ pair and found peace along with understanding within each other.

Jungkook didn’t know how to describe you. Surely a ‘pal’ wasn’t it.

You were like another half of him.

Like you both have fallen from the same star and were unfortunate to fall on this damned earth. Surrounded by the bizzare ‘humans’ and called odd for not being one of their species. Jungkook decided then and there that you two were mates.

And yes, Jungkook meant it in the primal and borderline barbaric ways that animals did. He would prove his worthiness as a male specimen, he would shelter and feed you, he would breed and produce offspring with you. Regular people would look at this plan and consider it cave-man like, but he thought it was considerably more romantic this way. Animals mated for life and were not afraid to get murderous when someone threatened this sacred bond. What was so wrong with such animalistic viewpoint? Humans were the worst type of creature and he was not at all interested in their fake way of obtaining a lover. And he got the sense that you weren’t either. Dates, chocolates, flowers? How is it that those things were put on a pedestal as a grand show of affection but having a genuine connection with a person was not? Jungkook couldn’t strain his brain to understand such mindset.

This all left the forefront of his mind when he read to the last parts of your letter. Eyebrows going up in surprise at the ‘P.S’ adage that was never before seen from you. His smile slipped off his face when he saw what you wished.

You wanted to know how he landed himself in prison.

Now….that was a touchy subject.

He really didn’t want to scare you away.

You were too understanding, too alike to him for Jungkook to ever want you to run away. He knew that no matter how much he could try, his crimes were inexcusable. Even the holiest of saints would hinder their forgiveness.

Jungkook came to the conclusion that it would be best to tell a white lie until he had more of a connection with you to reveal the truth.

Sure, he was utterly enthralled by you but he didn’t know how deep your affections lied with him. He just needed more time to spin a perspective to fill your ear with, he needed to get his claws deep within you, he needed you to be as dependent on him as he was with you. Jungkook decided to create a fake story to keep you close to him.

Jungkook smirked and grabbed a pen and paper for the next letter.

‘Dear Jk,

My day to day is also lifeless, I’m afraid…’

It was lunch time and Jungkook sat alone in his usual corner of the table, mystery meat forgotten in favor of absorbing the new letter that you had produced for his addiction.

The first paragraph had the psycho inmate smiling as he pictured you in your tiny apartment, dressed in comfy clothes doing the most mundane things. He liked to spend his free time just imagining what your comfy ‘nest’ was like, picturing your tiny frame skipping around it. You sitting on a sofa, bundled up in blankets and one of his oversized sweaters, book in hand and steaming hot cup of hot chocolate in the other. You in the kitchen, humming some tune in your dulcet voice as you attempted to make him a home cooked meal, frowning when you realized that you had not followed a certain step correctly like the cook book said. You laughing at the movie that played on the television screen while you both reach into the popcorn bowl at the same time. What Jungkook wouldn’t give to live in the little nest with you. To occupy the same cocoon that you created.

He often found himself fantasizing about being the brave one for you.

The one who would go to the outside world on your behalf. He would get you groceries, get a 9 to 5 to pay the bills, go out at 3 am to get you lady products or any random craving. Wouldn’t that be nice? It would be similar to a caregiver role. Him taking care of you so you just had to stay your pretty self at home, keeping it warm and pillowy for his return. You would be so thankful for his willingness to go out into your worst fear for the sake of your happiness.

But then, as the letter continued, Jungkook’s mood soured.

Your mother had violated your space and made you feel awful.

Jungkook felt rage in that moment.

He never held so much hatred for someone he had never met before.

He instantly knew that he didn’t like your mother.

A piercing sensation thundered upon his chest. The cursed image of your sweet face covered in tears fogged his mind’s eye.

God helped anyone who fucked with you.

Jungkook folded the letter and put it in his pocket, shoveling some tasteless cafeteria food to distract him the familiar hellish itch that screamed at him from underneath his skin.

Later that day, Jungkook responded with a letter of his own.

He attached the drawings that he had mentioned to you, somewhat bashful that for the past weeks all he had been able to draw was you. But he brushed the feelings off and focused on another task; getting you to start calling.

He would often see inmates taking up phone booths, talking and laughing with loved ones from the outside for a couple minutes at a time. Jungkook wanted that for you two. He wanted to hear the blessed voice that he knew you had, and he wanted you to become familiar with his as well. After all, you would be hearing it a lot in your lifetime.

‘My Dearest Y/n,

I’m sure you must’ve gotten busy, why else haven’t you written in a week?’

Jungkook was slowly becoming irritated at the lack of mail he has been receiving. It had been five days since you had responded and Jungkook felt anxious at your sudden silence. You were a sweetheart and would never abandon him. You weren’t like those other wretched people, right? No! You couldn’t be.

Jungkook shook his head and mentally cursed himself for even thinking that for a moment.

You must have gotten busy.

Maybe your mom didn’t give up on pestering you.

‘My Dearest Y/n,

Where have you gone? You haven’t forgotten about me have you?’

Jungkook couldn’t bear the silence. He was slowly growing restless. He needed the stimulation that was your communication. Without it, he had no new material to fill his mind. No new scenarios to daydream about. NOTHING to get him through the day in the colorless cell that began to taunt him. He attempted to distract himself with the picture of you as well as your

former letters that now had tear stains because of his new habit of crying over them, knowing they might be the last he ever gets from you.

‘Y/n,

This isn’t funny anymore….’

Jungkook was not only uneased, but now he was worried. Thoughts of what could’ve possibly caused your silence now haunted his mind at night when he attempted to get what little rest he could. Time was only worsening his growing paranoia each day that he didn’t receive a letter.

He knew you lived alone and had very little outside communication with anyone. The main ones being him and your mother. Jungkook could only assume that your mother and you would be taking a break due to your mother’s mental breakdown. And that left him. Stuck in a penitentiary with no way to reach you. He nearly punched the brick wall of his cell when he came to the realization that something could’ve happened to you and no one would’ve known. If you didn’t answer this letter, he didn’t know what he’d do.

‘Dear Jungkook (or should I say Easter Bunny?)

I know what you did.

I know that you lied to me.

I know you’re a murderer.

Friends don’t lie to each other, Jungkook.

I think it’s best if we find different Pen Pals.

All my best wishes, Y/n.

The letter fell to the ground as Jungkook stared in shock at the absurdly short and cold answer he got from you.

He underestimated you.

You found out.

Jungkook felt his temper flare as well as his breathing.

He’d be damned to let you go.

You were soulmates….couldn’t you see that?

Jungkook never thought he’d have to rely on this but he had no choice.

In the cell block, there were some people whom have been there for 30 years, and other for 30 days. Prison 101 is to not fuck with the guys who had time under their belts. It was best to respect them and acknowledge that they have connections. But respect was the last thing on his mind as he stormed into the tiny cell room of an old geezer whose been committing crimes since before Jungkook was even born.

The older man was used to people coming to his cell, usually asking about how to get hands on a cell phone or how to get the precious kitchen duty to sneak food. Over time, the man humored many childish inmates with some insider tricks. Almost everyone had talked to him at some point, but Jungkook was one of the very few whom did not approach him seeking an easier ride. Thus, he was shocked to see the young and deadly figure swoop into the area, eyes dead and jaw clenched.

“You’re going to do something for me.” Jungkook said this monotonously while maintaining eye contact. The older man couldn’t ignore the shivers that went down his spine but he still acted calm, knowing you couldn’t show weaknesses to the younger and violent inmates.

“Is that so?” The older quirked a brow at Jungkook though the rusty mirror and went back to shaving his face. The younger was behind him and just tilted his head and stepped forward, still staring at the man through the reflection of the glass.

“You are going to sneak me out of this joint.”

This caused the older to laugh, not believing his ears at such a ludicrous request.

Jungkook came up behind the older, mouth close to his ear and eyes lifeless and inky as they held the older’s through the mirror.

“Listen here you senile fuck, I know that you know who I am and what I did. It’s your best interest to listen to what I tell you. Would you like to hear a secret?” The petrified and frozen man nodded, not having the balls to disobey or look away. “I never told the jury that I didn’t murder those people on my own….I had a partner. A partner who is still out there and would surely take care of your pretty little daughter I hear you talking on the phone to.”

Jungkook smiled as the man grimly agreed to do whatever he wished.

Now, he just had to inform you of his upcoming arrival.

‘My Dearest Y/n,

I see you found out about the nickname the hideous press gave me.

Well….this type of revelation is best talked over in person.

I’ll see you soon.’

Author’s note; so....both JK and Y/n have mental problems, just to clarify. Also, this wasn’t part two bc I think of this as just the other half of part one. There will still be a part two and three. Please let me know what you thought bc a full inbox makes for a happy writer. It’s challenging to write for a Y/n character bc the point is for you guys to identify with her in the story and I wanted you guys to feel like you truly are her so when I did the part where Jk becomes very obsessed with the pic, I wanted to add details but obvi not everyone has the same characteristics so I added diff options...pls let me know what you thought of this.

#yandere bts #bts yandere #yandere jungkook #jeon jungkook #BTS jungkook #jungkook #kim namjoon #namjoon #yandere kpop #bts #bangtan boys #love #pen pal #kpop #my writing #yandere

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avenging-criminal-bones · 4 years

Text

Talking to Air

Irondad & Spiderson

Word Count: 1510

Warning: Angst, INFINITY WAR SPOLIERS

Summary: What happens on Titan during Thanos’ trip to Wakanda

Note: I absolutely hate the Marvel creators (not really, I love them bc movie GOLD) But I definitely am not one to cry at movies or books, and IW and Endgame both had me in tears. Endgame multiple times.

* * * * *

"Mr. Stark!" Peter takes off, webbing his way towards Tony. He stops though, when Tony gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Peter stills and watches as Tony throws his arm back, a knife forming with the nanotech. Tony crosses his arm in front of him now, to try and stab Thanos, but he catches Tony's arm. Thanos breaks the knife and in the blink of an eye was stabbing it into Tony's stomach.

Quill glances at Peter, gauging his reaction. When Peter's eyes blow wide and he inhales like he's going to yell, Quill grabs him and pulls him into the shadows. He keeps one hand over Peter's mouth.

"Peter! It's me. Its... The other Peter. It doesn't matter. If you want Stark to have any chance at living, you need to keep your trap shut." When Quill is satisfied that Peter will stay quiet, he takes his hand away from his face. When Quill lets go of Peter, the young boy tries to take off running, quickly being re-held. "You don't understand do you? You going equals Stark dying."

Peter's eyes flash open and the realization dawns on him. Nodding, he gently works his way out of Quill's grasp.

"Y-Yeah. Okay I get it." Peter looks over the slab of moon in front of him at Tony and shudders.

Tony looks terrible. His face is pale and his breaths are coming out as sharp wheezes. Thanos cups Tony's head in one of his hands and the gentleness makes Peter want to scream. The image doesn't last for long though, because Thanos is backing away and then vanishing into a cloudy portal, the gauntlet clamped into a fist.

Peter looks quickly at Quill and when the older man nods at him, he takes off running. "Mr. Stark! Are you alright?" He skids to a stop in front of his mentor, who was seemingly sealing his wound with the nanotech.

"I'm fine, Peter." His voice comes out harsher that he had meant, but he doesn't have time to apologize. He probably wouldn't if he did. Instead, he glances around, scanning every face in the small group. He stops at Doctor Strange, who has a sort of calm sense of doom in his eyes.

"Tony... It had to be done." His voice holds caution as Tony's-- and everyone else's faces twist into anger. "It was the only way."

Quill's head snaps up, anger clear on his face. "The only way?! The only way to what? Die?"

Peter winces at the loud volume of his voice and Tony notices, taking a step closer to him. "Talk quieter, bullhorn."

"What did you just call me?" Quill steps forward, bringing his face inches away from Tony's.

"ENOUGH!"

All heads snap to Strange, who with an air or authority, quiets the group.

"No, Star Man-"

"Lord."

"Whatever. But no. It was the only way to win." He stands now, and paces around where Thanos had vanished.

Nebula speaks up for the first time as she removes boulder after boulder from off of Drax. "No, you idiot. You just signed all our death sentences." She finishes digging and Drax stands up. The two of them walk up to be with the rest of the group, Mantis quickly following.

Suddenly Drax starts laughing. Loud guffaws making Peter wince again and back up away from the group. "You don't sign sentences. You write them silly." More laughter follows until Strange sends a sharp 'knife' of magic flying and inch away from his head.

"No the time, buddy." Quill warns quietly, shaking his head.

Nebula glares daggers at Doctor Strange and marches up to get in his face. He doesn't flinch, even when she starts yelling. "We are ALL going to die, because you made some stupid 'selfless' decision." She continues to yell but goes to a foreign language. Periodically the name 'Gamora' comes up and Quill balls his hands into fists.

When she's finished it's Peter's turn to speak from a few feet away. "Maybe. But we have way better odds with Mr. Stark." Tony would have said something snarky to contradict the kid, but he didn't get the chance.

"Exactly." Strange looks at Peter and then Tony, "He's a smart one Stark."

Peter almost squeals in excitement as he turns to beam at Mr. Stark, but the happiness isn't returned. Tony's glare sobers Peter up immediately.

"You stupid idiot! You should have let me die!" Tony's hands fly up to his head, running through his hair anxiously. "Do you realize that Thanos only needs one more?" Shaking his head, Tony storms up to Strange and yells in his face. "One, Strange! And then we die."

Everyone's faces rapidly fall from anger to fear. After fear, only two fall all the way to acceptance.

Tony and Stephen.

The morbid silence is lifted by Drax. "When he gets the last rock, we will all die." He looks around at everyone's faces for confirmation. He gets none. They're all too afraid that if they speak the words aloud one more time, reality will catch up sooner. "I'm going to take your dreary, silent vocal chords as a yes."

Peter had ender up wandering further away since Tony's explosion. Ever since then it has been really loud. As much as Peter would like to say that it hasn't been bothering him, that would be a lie. He was sitting on a rock about fifty feet away. He didn't realize that they had been talking about him until he hear's quill saying, 'where is Spidey anyways?'.

"I"m over here. I'm coming. Sorry, guys." He jogs back to the small circle, he shares a quick glance with Mr. Stark. Tony looks as though he's about to question Peter, but a loud rumbling in the distance pushes all thoughts from his head.

Quill groans and pulls out his blaster, "Well that's annoying."

"Tell me about it!" Peter looks like he's about to throw up. "I'm feeling it ten times more tan you guys."

Mantis speaks up for the first time since she walked up as Tony takes a few steps towards Peter. "W-What is it?"

No one answers for a second, but it's a second too long. Mantis steps over to Quill and buries herself under his arm. Everyone is looking towards the rumbling noise when it happens. The only one who sees is Quill. "Guys!"

Nebula turns in time to see the last of Mantis turn to dust, everyone else turns around to find air where she stood. "He's done it. He got the last stone." Her voice is monotone, but her eyes betray her and fear is clearly seen in them.

Peter scans everyone, but his gaze stays locked on Drax as his arms start to disintegrate. The big man's eyes blow wide in fear as he calls out for his friend. "Quill!"

He turns at the call of his name, a knowing sadness in his eyes. "No..." By the time he take a step forward, his own body start to shudder.

"Steady, Quill." Tony looks at him with caution. It's a hopeless effort. Within seconds there are only four of them left. Realization dawns on Tony and he snaps his head to Strange.

The mystic was just sitting there meditating with stoic features. He meets Tony's gaze and cocks his head to the side. "This is the only way. You are the only way, Tony." Suddenly, it dawns on him. One in 14 billion. He goes to confirm with Strange, but the words would have fallen on air.

"Mr. Stark..." When Tony hears the kid's-- his kid's -- voice, he almost doesn't want to look. "I don't feel so good."

Five, simple words make Tony turn around, his eyes already burning with unshed tears. He shakes his head and looks up at Peter's scared face. Once a vibrant, bubbly kid, now reduced to tripping and scared.

No. Not Peter Please not him.

"I-I don't- I don't know what's happening- Mr. Stark, I don't-"

Tony shakes his kid and mutters, "You're alright..."

Peter comes plowing into him, full force as his legs start to give out underneath him. Tony is surprisingly fast to steady him and starts wrapping his arms around the boy to hold him up.

"No! I-I don't wanna go. I don't wanna- Dad, please! I don't wanna go." The pleading breaks Tony's heart. He knows what's coming next, Peter knows what's coming next. God he's only sixteen! "Sir, I don't wanna go. Please."

Tears fill both of their eyes when Tony gently, slowly lays Peter on the sand. The pleas stop stringing from Peter's mouth when Tony rests a hand on his chest, grounding the younger boy. Peter glances away, but a second later, his is meeting his mentor's watery eyes one final time.

"I'm sorry." The weight of those is too much for both of them as Peter's body is reduced to ash in Tony's arms.

Dad, I don't wanna go.

Tony knew the minute that the boy uttered them that those words would haunt him for the rest of his life.

Dad...

#peter parker #tony stark #thanos #iw spoilers #infinity war spoilers #infinity war #nebula #peter quill #mantis #drax #angst #sad #spiderman #iron man #starlord

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thedeevirus · 5 years

Note

JEALOUS EDWARD NYGMA

yallsothirstyfored said:Annoying things they do to get each other’s attention when they are busy or interested by something else and they crave for attention.

Enjoy!

Also added to Nygmobblepot Ficlets on AO3

***

‘Evening’.

Henry smiled widely. First rule of The Foxglove; Always be happy to see the customer. Or at least their wallet. In this case, Henry didn’t have to pretend. The man on the bed was dressed in a green suit with dark, chocolate brown eyes and one lean, long leg draped over the other. Far more attractive than the obese sixty five year old widow he had been ‘entertaining’ the night before.

‘Evening handsome’, Henry replied, walking towards his client, ‘What can I do for-‘

The door slammed behind him, making Henry jump. He swallowed hard as a large, waxen skinned figure loomed over him. Even as he began to sweat, he wondered how the pasty brute had hidden behind the door!

‘I-uh- I don’t usually see more than one cl-client’, Henry stammered.

The massive hulk advanced on him, causing Henry to fall backwards into an armchair. He pressed himself back as the monster (it didn’t feel right to refer to it as a ‘man’) glowered down at him with bloodshot eyes. A musky odour rose from its tattered black suit.He noticed the other man get up from the bed.

‘We’re just here to ask some questions’, the man said breezily, ‘But I suggest you answer quickly. “Else Grundy here will get cranky’.

Grundy moved around the armchair and placed both slab like hands on Henry’s shoulders. Henry cleared his throat.

‘Talk about what?’

‘Penguin’.

‘Penguins? Like the birds?’

The man in green leant in and even though he was smiling, Henry suddenly wasn’t sure Grundy was the one he should be most worried about.

‘Here’s a riddle for you. In the next five seconds there will be a dead man in this room if he keeps asking stupid questions. What is his name?’

‘H-Henry?’

‘The Henry that has Oswald Cobblepot aka ‘The Penguin’ as a regular client?’

‘Yeah?’

‘You don’t sound very sure’, the man smirked as he stepped back, ‘Jog his memory big guy’.

Ed grinned in relish as Grundy began to exert pressure on Henry’s shoulders. Having his own ‘hired goon’ was a rush he could get used to!

Grundy shook Henry gently. Ed had already warned Grundy not to get carried away until they had the information they wanted.‘Ah! I’m sure! I’m sure!’ Henry cried desperately, teeth clacking as he was lifted bodily out of the chair and slammed back down again and again.

‘You not Henry?’ Grundy demanded.

‘I’m Henry too! I’m Henry and I’m sure!’

Grundy looked at Ed. Ed nodded and Grundy stopped abruptly. As Henry shook his head dizzily, Grundy slowly released his grip. Henry flopped back into the chair. His eyes widened as Grundy placed both hands on the head of the armchair instead, at either side of Henry’s skull.

‘What do you wanna know?!’ Henry gasped.

‘When did Oswald first hire you?’

‘A few years ago’, Henry said, wincing as he hesitantly rubbed his shoulders, ‘When he was mayor’.

This surprised Ed. He had been in total control of Oswald’s schedule back then. Every moment had been accounted for and he had rarely left Oswald’s side. It was what had made him an exceptional Chief of Staff.The thought that Oswald had subverted his fool proof system by sneaking off behind his back irked Ed. Had he not trusted him to tell him where he was going?Ed shook his head annoyed. Why the Hell did it matter? It was ancient history. But ancient history was, by nature, full of mysteries and Ed couldn’t stand to leave this one unsolved.

‘Why?’

‘He said he wanted to tell someone how he felt about them and wanted to practice’.

Ed fidgeted with his gloves. Oswald had started coming to The Foxglove because of him?

‘You didn’t think that was strange?’ he asked.

Henry shrugged.

‘No. We get weird requests all the time here. He also wanted to practice kissing’.

Ed gave a bark of laughter. Bet Oswald thought that had been money well spent.

‘And what do you do for him now?’ Ed asked, feeling a bit better that Oswald had been the death of his own carefully planned machinations, ‘Please don’t include any intimate details. I’m not sure Grundy’s charming childlike innocence could handle the imagery’.

Henry chuckled politely at Ed’s joke. Grundy gave a low growl and he stopped.

‘Nothing really’, Henry said.

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘It’s true!’ Henry said hastily, ‘I don’t need to leave out any details ‘cause we don’t do anything ‘intimate’’.

‘Then why does he come here?’ Ed demanded.

‘Sometimes he asks me to kiss him, hold him or massage his bad leg but we mostly just talk’.

‘About?’

‘Mostly about how he’s making the city better’.

‘I bet he talks about that a lot’, Ed said sourly.Oswald’s favourite subject had always been himself.

‘It’s actually really interesting!’ Henry said somewhat defensively, ‘Do you know crime’s dropped 85% since Oswald invented the licence thing?’

‘Of course I know!’Henry flinched at Ed’s harsh tone and Ed adjusted his glasses self-consciously.‘Continue’, Ed said, fingers drumming on a nearby table.

‘Honestly, it’s hard to keep track since we kinda talk about everything. Music, art, theatre, his mother…’

Henry trailed off, thinking.

‘He never mentions anyone else?’

‘He talks about an old friend called ‘Jim’ sometimes. Is that you?’

‘I’m the Riddler. I ask the questions here’.

Ed felt a flash of vindication as recognition materialised in Henry’s eyes. It felt good to see his reputation hadn’t been put on ice like he had been.

‘Sorry Mr Riddler’.

‘What does he say about Jim?’

‘That he wishes they were on the same side. I think Jim’s a cop though so that makes it kinda difficult for them to be friends’.

‘If you think Penguin knows what friendship means then you’re a moron’, Ed said darkly.

‘Maybe’, Henry said thoughtfully, ‘I know people call Oswald a monster but he’s always been a perfect gentleman with me. I think he’s a very lonely man’.

‘It sounds like you feel sorry for him’.

‘I just think it’s sad he needs to pay money just to have someone to talk to. He seemed a bit happier at our last appointment though so maybe he’s found someone?’

Ed felt his eye twitch involuntarily. Oswald? Find someone?!Henry’s familiarity was also bothering him. Since when did Oswald let rubes like this moron call him by his first name?!

‘So there’s nothing else between you and Oswald?’

‘Of course not. I’m a professional’.

Ed bit back a curse. The whole reason they had come to The Foxglove was to gather ammunition for Ed’s ultimate revenge against Oswald. One of Ed’s spies had told him the Penguin used the facilities weekly and had a ‘favourite’ host. Ed had overestimated Oswald’s attachment and cursed his impaired mental state. Yet another crime to lay at Oswald’s doorstep.

‘Well this is a bust’, Ed growled.

‘I’ll make sure you’re refunded for the session? if that’ll make things better?’

‘You actually think we’re paying for this?’

‘Guess not’.

‘You look glum for someone who’s still got all his limbs’, Ed said, heading for the door, ‘Say anything about this little visit to Oswald and Grundy might change his mind’.

‘Wait!’ Henry said suddenly.

‘What?!’ Ed snapped, hand on the doorknob.

‘If you’re really The Riddler, I have a message for you from Oswald’.

‘Wait, Oswald knew I was coming here?’ Ed asked.

Suddenly Ed saw an image of the new coat his usually shabby Narrows informant had been wearing when he had given him the information earlier that day. Bait at the end of Oswald’s hook. Ed gritted his teeth. He should have noticed that! The old him would have noticed that! The pleasant memory of the sudden recognition in Henry’s eyes also became bitter ashes. So, he only knew Ed’s name because Oswald had told him in anticipation of Ed following the trail. Not because Ed’s fame preceded him.

Ed numbly watched Henry pull on a green jacket and a derby hat along with some reading glasses, too furious at having fallen for Oswald’s bait to do anything else. Too nervous at what was coming next.

Henry spun on his heel dramatically and Ed’s eyes widened. It was like looking in a mirror and somehow more disquieting than the dread Ed usually felt looking at his actual reflection. With props identical to Ed’s own effects, the similarity was astonishing. Even Grundy could see the resemblance, judging from how his head was ponderously swivelling between he and Henry.

‘Riddle me this!’ Henry declared, striking a flamboyant pose as he read from a cue card, ’They say “If you love something let it go. But if it keeps coming back who does it belong to?”’

Ed was silent.The impression had been startlingly accurate.Oswald had obviously intended it as a cruel jab. A reflection of who Ed had once been. Who he should be. Forgotten glory that he would never experience again.Instead, inspiration had struck like lightning.Two could play at this game.But Ed preferred an audience.

‘I-uh don’t think you’re supposed to answer’, Henry said, turning the card over to show the blank opposite side, ‘There isn’t one on this’.

Ed shook his head, chuckling to himself.

‘No. I think I got the answer just fine. You wear this getup often?’

Henry’s eyes darted away and Ed’s eyes narrowed.

So, it seemed Henry hadn’t been entirely truthful about the ‘intimate’ details.Ed blinked hard to dispel and unwanted image of Oswald in a tuxedo, stroking a top hat suggestively.This had the strange side effect of conjuring another memory.Isabella.Was Oswald trying to replace his first love? Or was it just another subtle insult at Ed? Look Oswald can have a second chance too!If it was the former, it was ridiculous! What Ed and Isabella had had was special! It didn’t matter if Oswald had apparently known this Henry for longer! Ed and Isabella’s short courtship had been Oswald’s fault!But then, why did the thought of Oswald using Henry as a petty insult make him so angry instead of it being Oswald genuinely missing him?! Ed did not miss Oswald. He hated him! That was the whole reason they were here; to get ammunition!Ed’s thoughts were so frantic and mixed up that it took him a few minutes to notice Henry babbling placatingly.

‘L-like I said, whatever’s going on between you two, my relationship with Oswald is strictly business and um, if you like, I mean, you have booked me for the hour, we could have some fun of our own?’

Ed glared at Henry as Henry blithely continued digging his own grave.

‘We could make it even? So, you know, there’s no need for anyone to be…. jealous?’

Ed smiled poisonously.

‘There’s no need for you to be conscious’.

Grundy’s large fist descended, squashing Henry’s derby hat flat. He crumpled into an insensate heap on the floor.

Ed considered killing him but decided against it in the same instant. Killing him would surely signal to Oswald that his little pantomime had gotten under Ed’s skin. Ed grinned in relish as he pictured Oswald’s reaction to the little show he was forming in his own head. How delicious that Oswald had given him the idea! Even better was the thought that Oswald would figure that out.

Let Oswald have his dress up doll. Oswald hadn’t known Ed would come here. He had hoped. He was so obsessed with Ed it was pathetic!He’d never have the real thing. Not even if he came begging on his knees for forgiveness. Looking up at Ed with tears in his green eyes, grasping his jacket, pleading. The ‘King of Gotham’ on his knees. Had he ever been on his knees in front of Henry? Did he act out his fantasises in this very room?Longing and lusting for Ed. Desperate for his love. His attention.Ed felt his cheeks reddening and inhaled slowly.He noticed Grundy looking at him, brow furrowed in concern.

‘Ed okay?’

‘Best I’ve felt in days’, Ed said cheerily, pushing the worryingly erotic images to the back of his mind.

Grundy smiled, reassured that his friend was feeling better and jabbed a thick thumb behind him.

‘Window?’ Grundy suggested.

Ed stepped over Henry and glanced outside, surveying the alley below.

‘Good thinking buddy. Meet you outside’.

Ed headed for the door as Grundy prepared to relocate Henry’s unconscious body. He glanced back over his shoulder as he opened it.

‘Don’t try too hard to aim for the dumpster down there’, he said.

#nygmobblepot #nygmobblepot fanfic #Oswald Cobblepot #edward nygma #Solomon Grundy #Gotham

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elizabeth-234 · 5 years

Text

Dream a Little Dream

Summary: Peter falls asleep on the subway and the dreams he has had since his European vacation continue to plague him.

Warnings: Canon death mentioned, endgame/FFH spoilers

Word count: 4k

Hi Friends! While I should be working on my essay I finished this instead. This is Far From Home compliant (So FFH and Endgame spoilers below) but disregard the end credit scenes of FFH, please! Be aware that it focuses on the aftermath of Far From Home/Endgame for Peter. Hope you enjoy!

The cold metal of the window seeped into the skin on his forehead. Peter’s shoulder pressed against his aunts as the subway hummed along their route home. How far away the time it seemed when he was thrumming with life and what it might bring. He’d been back from his trip for less than a week now and the melodious tone of his life had turned flat. Somewhere between then and now the New York scenery lost its rose tint and viewless smog permeated the air.

The golden lights of the car hit the cement walls illuminating one side of Peter’s face. His eyes drooped down as his forehead tried to sink further into the glass. It seemed that sleep was a fantasy for him now. Anytime his eyes closed fitful visions plagued him from the past year and after Europe, Mysterio’s illusions were added to the reel. Peter struggled to keep his eyes open and the flashing lights blurred together in the vision of his crossed eyes.

The golden tones caught his attention and before his eyes closed all the way they fragmented, crumbling and fusing to form a painfully familiar mask. One eye glowed eerily against the fogged glass. Peter moved his eyes right to avoid the burning gaze and the jagged edges gave way to a dark crevice. He knew what was lying behind the remnants of the red and gold mask but his eyes were drawn to the fissure. The grotesque bone radiated around the orbital socket and the longer Peter looked, the more he was drawn into the black hole. The lights flared and Peter jolted back when the worn skull seemed to smile at him.

He blinked and the reflection of his face took the place of the ghostly vision he just saw. A scoff crossed his face as he stared at the dark circles and haunted pallor of his face. May looked concerned but he just shook his head and turned back to gazing out the window. She had been as supportive as she could and was always willing to listen or take him to therapy or do anything he needed but Peter couldn’t speak about it. Couldn’t speak the words that were constantly on his mind.

There was this hole welling inside of him. This socket that sucked every happy thought and stray laugh he had down into its belly. There was no way he could begin to explain it. To try and say what he wasn’t sure he had just made up so he kept quiet and tried to stay a float.

Another charity event May hosted came and went. He was proud of his aunt. She survived an impossible situation without him and not only did she survive but May thrived. She took that impossible situation by the horns and did something with it. Did something good. It was just like her to want to help people never minding that she was in her own state of distress. If showing up and giving a peace sign was the help she needed, Peter would go to a thousand charity events and put up with all the questions from the press. He shuddered thinking about all the cameras and eager people.

It was sad to see how little people were interested in the foundation today. He couldn’t count the number of times his adversary came up and, worse than that, how many times he stood there while the people screamed to him about Mr. Stark. The name brought with it a hurricane of memories and wounds. He couldn’t walk to school without seeing shrines built for the man. He was glad that everybody finally loved Mr. Stark, but it pierced his chest when he looked into the monumental spray paint eyes he would never see in life again.

May’s fingers carded through his hair and he smiled at her reassuringly. Concern tainted her eyes but there was nothing he could say. Nothing he wanted to say right now. On top of everything, these dreams were dogging him. They either kept him from sleep or woke him in the middle of the night. Most nights he could keep quiet and still. Though his heartbeat sounded like loud procession to him, he knew that no one else could hear the cacophony. Some nights though the dreams were so life like that it left a visceral reaction cascading through his body and May would end up rushing into his room trying to calm his cries.

Peter sighed as he checked how far they had to go and hoped that she would be able to get some rest tonight. Maybe he could start a new book series and read until the light climbed through his window. It wouldn’t be the first time he resorted to such a method. It wasn’t full proof but the depleted and lighter circles under May’s eyes the next morning was worth it. His leg bounced up and down, and May rested her hand on it to still his movements.

“It’s okay, Peter. Why don’t you close your eyes and try to get some sleep? I’ll wake you when we get to our stop.” Her eyebrows raised and a hopeful smile played across her lips. He nodded and closed his eyes. It would be easy to pretend to sleep and the time to turn off his brain was too tempting.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep.

A loud noise was swiftly falling from above and on instinct Peter looked toward the noise. Rattling metal forms plummeted down as a green haze seeped through the space. His hands came up over his head and he dropped down to a crouch preparing for impact. At least this time he was prepared for the weight threatening to crush him. At least this time he knew it was coming. The lockers slammed into place erecting the skeleton of a hallway. When the only sounds were his harsh breath and the newly fallen objects cementing themselves in the ground, he rose off his haunches; relief falling on his shoulders.

A cloaked figure stood at the end of the hall shrouded in shadows. Peter swallowed a lump down in his throat at the familiar sight. He knew what he should do. He should run. Chase down the hall and fight the demon standing there obscured by the green fog. How hard could it be? He had overcome every other enemy he’d come face to face with. This was just another one. Take them down and save the day. It was easy. But something held Peter in his spot. He tried to take a step forward but his legs lagged behind him like he was walking through a molten tar pit. His shoulders sloped toward the ground in predetermined defeat and his body felt the burdens of the fight before it began. He knew in the back of his mind that he’d been in this hallway before, many times before and that they’d fought. The outcome of their battles was beyond his memory.

The green fog condensed in the hallway and his head spun upon inhaling the fumes. He needed to get out of there. Peter turned his back to the figure and started running in the opposite direction. His legs burned but he pushed them faster. His breath came out in heavy gasps. The figure appeared before him standing with his arms clasped in front. Peter gave one a large bust of energy and used it to propel himself over the figure to keep his momentum going. He could feel the gaze burning into his back but he kept going.

The figure reappeared and Peter knew that there was no going around it. No amount of running away would ever result in being free from this apparition. He stopped short and the two stared at each other. A sense of betrayal filled Peter but he couldn’t remember why. The hate and anger that filled him were too abstract in the moment but he fueled the emotions into energy.

He struck fast and brought his foot up to kick through the main body but it sliced through smoke instead. His teeth ground against each other as he spun around looking for the man and missed a hand coming straight toward him. He staggered back, pain blooming in his forehead, and sunk into the lockers. His head rattled in time with the metal doors and like a domino effect they echoed down the hallway creating a staggered drum procession. It resounded in his ears and Peter held his hands over them to block the influx of noise. The lights brightened and combined with the noise his senses screamed.

The warmth leaked from his back and he was so focused on himself that he missed the hand coming toward him again until it gripped his neck. The pressure steadily grew. Peter was lifted up and his legs did a strange dance, jerking in the air. He tried to kick forward but was met by more smoke, which he inhaled as he struggled for breath.

The hand contracted and his fingers came up, grasping at anything he could hold onto. He tried to pry it away but it remained like a noose. His chest was burning and the pressure spread from there up to his brain until he felt like an overfilled balloon. Whimpers escaped his throat as the man’s eyes torn into him, desecrating his hope. When it became almost too much the hand let go and he collapsed to the floor. His hands came up automatically to feel his sensitive neck as his body was wracked with violent coughs.

Laughter ricocheted through the air and he forced himself onto his hands and knees before getting up. He was still coughing and sucking the air greedily. The hall was empty and he started to walk. Clutching his side he went down the hallway, not minding the sting in his shoulder when he burst through a door. The door slammed shut and he leaned against it trying to catch his breath. Maybe he was safe here. He walked toward the windows missing the green mist surging from under the closed door.

He stumbled toward the windowsill, eager to get out of the building when a large slab slammed into the ground. The jagged edges rose taller than him and everyway he turned more slabs fell, pining him inside a circle. Multiple Spidermen stared at him from all sides. The confident version of himself he was used to seeing on the news was replaced. Instead he was met with a sorrowful looking figure. His shoulders were wilting, yearning for the ground and the powerful muscles he had developed by all his superhero activity looked small and weak in the mirror.

His frustration mounted and he ran through the mirror breaking it into pieces that turned to mist instead of falling to the ground. The momentum propelled him so he ended up falling through the window he had been close to before. The glass scattered around him, cutting into his skin and leaving gashes through his suit.

The hard grass crashed into him and he stared wildly at the dark atmosphere around him. Something drizzled down his face and his fingers came away with a dark liquid coating them. Why weren’t his cuts healing? The mist seeped along the ground and covered the gravestones, concealing the names engraved on them. For the first time that day he was grateful for the green nuisance. He didn’t want to see what names were lurking underneath, what names were etched permanently into the stone.

He climbed onto his feet and walked backward, afraid to put his back to the graveyard. His spine went stiff when he ran into something solid and his breathing rushed out of him when he felt strong hands fall on his shoulders. The stiffness abandoned him and he was nothing but pliant when the hands turned his body so he was facing whom he backed into.

Rich brown eyes twinkled at him and he was surprised to find he was almost as tall as the man. His growth spurt must have been hard at work now that their eyes were nearly equal but he decided not to say anything about it. It wasn’t the time.

The goatee quirked with a smile and Peter’s breath caught in his throat. The hands resting on his shoulders slid down his back and forced his face against the man’s chest. Peter couldn’t move, still not believing who was standing in front of him but as he breathed in the man’s familiar scent of gasoline and pine he relaxed into the man’s frame. His arms came up and he gripped the material of the suit, relishing in the thought that he was leaving wrinkles in the suit. That there would be some mark for the man to remember their interaction by.

“It’s good to see you, Kiddo.” The familiar voice spoke in his ear and to his horror Peter found tears clouding his eyes.

“Mr. - Mr. Stark?” His voice was hoarse and it took him a couple of attempts to get the words out. The chords in his neck ached with speech and the fingers left residual pressure around his neck.

The arms slid back to his shoulders and Mr. Stark’s eyes looked to inspect his costume. Peter fumbled with his mask, wanting to see the man with no barriers. He tried to brush his matted, sweaty hair out of his face but it just fell back on his forehead.

“Look at that hair, kid. You’re going to look like Thor when he had his princess hair pretty soon. And as soon as you’re able to grow some facial hair I expect you to try and grow the goatee.” Peter’s lip wobbled as he tried to respond but he couldn’t think of anything to say to the man who he looked up to.

“Hey now. I’m just kidding. Plus I don’t know if you could pull off my signature look.”

“I- Mr. Stark, you did it. You did it.”

“Did what, kid?” The lump only got bigger and Peter grabbed the front of the man’s suit not caring that he was acting needy. He had to say this.

“You saved everyone. You saved me, Mr. Stark.” It was the simplest way he could express everything he wanted to say to the man.

It was the utter truth, too. Mr. Stark saved him. He saved him not just from enemies or difficult fights but more importantly from himself. Mr. Stark showed him confidence and determination at a time he wasn’t sure of his purpose.

At the beginning when Peter got his powers there were times where he would sit alone and overlook the city’s silhouette. He tried protecting everyone but day after day he would consume the news to see that more people were hurt. People he didn’t save. He would have to isolate himself for a while after that. The feeling of hopelessness became a constant companion. Then he found Mr. Stark sitting on his couch flirting with Aunt May and the world had never been the same.

The man humbled Peter. He gave him expectations that Peter yearned to live up to. After the events of his homecoming dance settled down Peter felt like he was drifting in a limbo. He declined the offer to be apart of the Avengers. Something he was proud of but he felt isolated and alone afterward. His stomach clenched at the memory of his emotional state during that time. Sleep time was nil and not even school could act as a distraction. Above all he was worried that Mr. Stark would go back to ignoring him; that it would be like the beginning again.

Then one day a familiar car was waiting for him in the circle drive at school. The windows were tinted and Peter expected to see Happy’s gruff face. He was surprised and not so secretly pleased when it wasn’t Happy in the drivers seat. A wide grin stole across his face and Peter practically skipped to the car. Mr. Stark asked him about school and listened with an indulgent smile. Peter chatted away and pretended not to notice when the man seemed to be overcome with emotion when he mentioned the Vulture.

Mr. Stark’s hand turned white as he gripped the wheel. The other was clenched on the armrest and though Peter didn’t stop talking he reached his hand over and gently placed it over Mr. Stark’s. It seemed to do the trick and the man’s fingers loosened and gripped his hand tightly. The man’s eyes returned to their clasped hands throughout the car ride.

It became a sort of routine with them after that. Mr. Stark would pick him up from school, sometimes even letting him skip school, and they would just hang out. Some days they would go out and explore New York together; share their favorite eating spots or see a new museum. Mr. Stark would always wear some type of disguise. Of course it didn’t really conceal much of his identity. If the Avengers cap didn’t do it, the signature glasses would be the give away. It was the quiet days that Peter liked the best. The days were they would spend their time tinkering in the lab or watching a movie together.

A change Peter noticed was that Mr. Stark started to… hover. It was nothing huge but the man was hesitant whenever Peter left the room. Peter could feel his eyes follow him as he left and the relief in them when Peter returned made his heart stutter. The man was also more prone to contact now. Mr. Stark didn’t even seem to be conscious of it and would just reach out to rest his hand against Peter’s shoulder or back, like he was making sure Peter was still there. Peter’s cheeks blushed when he remembered their first hug, well not-hug they had because they “weren’t there yet”. Now Mr. Stark would hug him every time he dropped Peter off and he couldn’t even pretend to be too cool for them. They were one of the best parts of the day.

He also humbled Peter. Had shown him unconditional love and strength. God, so much strength. Because of the man standing in front of him he had purpose. He knew his strengths and weaknesses. When everything went black although Peter’s skin crawled, he knew that if anyone could find him in the darkness it would be Mr. Stark. Mr. Stark was his friend, his mentor, and most of all he was a father to Peter. He never doubted Mr. Stark after that. He was never scared that he would be alone again. Now that wasn’t the truth anymore. Mr. Stark had left him. The man saved the world at the cost of his own life and it wasn’t fair.

Somehow, though, Mr. Stark was standing here in front of him as solid and real as ever. Peter could hardly believe his eyes but the feeling emanating from his chest was real. In seriousness that Peter wasn’t used to Mr. Stark looked straight into his eyes.

“I am so proud of you, Peter, for everything. You’ve made the world a better place and I cannot wait to see what you are going to do next.” His arms wrapped around Peter once more and this time Peter didn’t hesitate in reciprocating. He held on for dear life, squeezing everything he could out of the embrace and injecting everything he left unsaid into it.

Mr. Stark seemed to have got the messaged for he tightened his arms. Peter felt a well surge inside him and a sob escaped him. He felt soft lips on his forehead and tried to see through his wet eyes.

“I always knew you were better than the rest.” He said with a smile before wiping the tears away under Peter’s eyes. Peter leaned in and inhaled his scent, storing it in his memory. Mr. Stark rested his hand on Peter’s cheek, which blushed bright under the utter love in the man’s eyes.

“I love you, Peter.” His smile widened. All the sadness and pain lifted from the man’s shoulders, leaving him free from all the burdens stalking him in life. Peter’s own smile froze on his face as the man started disappearing.

It wasn’t like The Decimation. There were no crumbling pieces floated in the air. This was almost worse somehow. Mr. Stark was just fading. Nothing would be left of him, no trace that he was ever here. His smile was disappearing, blending into the darkness behind him. Peter’s hands slipped through the material he was clutching. He tried to grasp at anything he could but they came back empty.

His breath caught and Peter stumbled back, afraid to take his eyes off the man for a second before tripping on a stone. The ground rushed up to greet him and Peter’s arms came out before he fell flat. It was only a second but when he looked back up there was nothing but green mist.

Dragging himself onto his hands and knees, Peter let the drool and tears stream down his face and onto the ground. He was gone… again. A burning erupted in his chest and Peter curled into himself, resting his head on the slab of cement between his hands. His sobs weren’t dignified cries. They were raw and consumed his whole body, leaving his muscles aching.

He lifted his head and watched the tears drip down, staining the slab. His eyes finally focused on the stone and realized it was a gravestone. The blank stone shifted under his gaze and instead of fading the words glowed to life. No!His mouth opened as he inhaled swiftly. The name burned onto the back of his eyes. He tried to scream and started backing up to get away from the name. His arms shook and he ended up falling backward, hitting his head on another gravestone causing his vision to go black.

His hands seized his hair as the sound of the subway voice chimed. The beating of his heart burned its tune through his veins. May was hovering beside him with a worried expression. She brought her hand forward, ignoring his flinch, and wiped the tears away from his cheeks.

“Peter? Are you okay? What happened?” He couldn’t face it, couldn’t bear to look at the emotion on her face and buried his head into her jacket. His arms came up to grasp onto her sweater not wanting her to disappear into the green mist, too.

“I miss him so much, May.” Her hands smoothed down his hair as she leaned her cheek on his head.

“I know, sweetie.” They stayed connected for the rest of the subway ride. The lights made Peter’s eyes ache but he wouldn’t shut them for fear of what he might see. When they made it back to their apartment May tucked Peter in bed after taking his shoes and jacket off. She was heading to the door when he whispered. His voice cracked and May wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to himself.

“I didn’t even get a chance to tell him I loved him.” Her eyes watered at the yearning that poured out from him.

“He knew, Peter. He knew.”

Thank you!

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kuriquinn · 6 years

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An Inch of Gold [Interlude IV]

Author’s Note: Yeah. I did that. Another update within little over a week. I was just so excited about getting my patreon up and running that I suddenly got inspired! As usual, pretty unedited. This is for everyone who wanted a bit of Adult!Sakura awesomeness. With some Adult!Hinata awesomeness too, because I love the supermoms! Also, um, little bit of graphic violence here.

I still haven’t updated the links on here for IOG, so if you intend to read the story from the beginning WHICH I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU DO IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THIS STORY SINCE IT WAS UPDATED IN 2017, the story is located in full on FF.net / Ao3 and wattpad.

Blackened bodies line the floor of the stone-enclosed rotunda, gaping holes where their hearts should be, and shrivelled remains of those organs crushed nearby.

Konohamaru flips the last of his opponents over his shoulder, directly in the path of Hinata, who shoves two fingers forward and detonates the chakra surrounding its heart. The bat-like creature screams, wings shaking, and then drops to the floor.

“Think that’s all of them?” he asks, glancing at the two women.

The ground shakes again, forcing them to center their chakra against the floor to keep upright. There is a movement across from them, and then it seems as if the entire rocky wall in front of them, from ground to ceiling, suddenly breaks off.

Hateful yellow eyes glare down on them from on high, and a giant foot steps down, landing several metres away from them.

Konohamaru groans. “I had to ask, didn’t I?”

Sakura sighs. “There’s always a big one, isn’t there?”

The veins in Hinata’s eyes pulse, and her pupils flick back and forth quickly.

“There’s more than one seal on this one!”

Which makes sense, considering its size.

“How many?” Konohamaru asks through gritted teeth as another foot stomps down, forcing giant craters into the floor beneath its clawed toes. Drools drips from the creatures maw, splashing over them.

“Eight!”

“Eight—like the Eight Gates?” Sakura cries, thinking fast. Everyone knows the location of those, if only from study.

“Exactly!”

The giant, shambling creature reaches down, trying to grasp hold of them in its mottled blood red hand. The shinobi scatter in different directions, but it almost grabs hold of Hinata. The curse-seal seems to make it faster than something of its size should be.

It swings for Sakura next, and she meets the blow with a snarl, punching its grasping hand away. It does not seem bothered by the blow, and once again goes for Hinata.

It specifically seems to be targeting the women, perhaps knowing that they are the key to its destruction. The constant flailing makes the ground shake and granite fall from above them, and in the distance, Konohamaru can hear something collapse together.

It might be durable, but it’s hindered by this place. If it keeps moving around like this, it will bring the place down!

Which might not hurt it, but it could cause cave-ins elsewhere, and hurt his students and their parents. If only there was—

An idea occurs to him.

“Mrs Boss! Did Boruto ever tell you how his class passed their Academy final?”

Hinata and Sakura’s eyes flick toward each other in a look of dawning comprehension.

“We need to confuse it first, so it doesn’t know who to get to,” Hinata says.

Sakura nods. “Alright, Konohamaru—we’ll follow your lead on this one!”

“Right! Kage Bunshin!”

Four clones of him appear—the maximum he can sustain while also having them use any long-term A-rank techniques—and at the same the two women form hand signs for Henge.

Seven Konohamarus scatter as the curse-seal creature brings down its hand, raking across the stone ground. They spread out in a circle around the beast, and it tosses its head in frustration trying to decide who to go after first.

Using its momentary pause, the seven figures form their next bevvy of hand signs, and call out, “Isshi Tojin!”

A swirling seal formula radiates from all seven points, reaching to the edges of the circular room. Within the string light formation, the creature freezes, unable to move beyond it.

“Hinata!” the Konohamaru copy across the room suddenly says. “I have an idea, if you’re game! But it could get messy!”

“Everything is already messy,” the Konohamaru-copy to its right says.

“Konohamaru! Can you keep the circle together on your own for a few seconds?”

“As long as it’s only a few seconds,” Konohamaru and his clones chorus.

“Alright then!” the clone that is Sakura says. “And…now!”

The copy beside her breaks in to a run, the sealing circle around it vanishing as it darts forward. Konohamaru grunts, feeling as if a heavy weight has been added to an already difficult burden, but holds tight.

Sakura maintains her own part of the seal until the last possible second, before letting go—Konohamaru snarls in effort as the weight doubles—and grabbing hold of the clone. At her touch, the transformation is undone the women revert to their normal forms. Sakura crouches, grabbing Hinata’s around the left bicep and right thigh, and then propels her toward the giant.

In midair, twin lions flare to life as Hinata barrels to the creatures middle. As Hinata pierces through its abdomen, Sakura takes her position once more in the sealing circle.

Konohamaru shudders, still struggling under the weight of the jutsu, but then Sakura is focussing her chakra, taking much of the burden off of him.

The beast’s back arches, and they can see frenzied, jagged movements beneath its leather skin—Hinata using her Jūho Sōshiken from inside. Within seconds, blue flames burst from its abdomen and Hinata lands on the ground in a rain of black blood and viscera.

“I got three,” she says grimly, spitting out blood.

Konohamaru and Sakura allow the Isshi Tojin to break, and Sakura darts forward as the beast falls, knees folding beneath it and screaming in agony. Leaping through the air, she yells—“SHANNARO!”—and slams two fists directly into its head, sending shards of bone into its eyes and brain.

That’s two more, Konohamaru counts, leaping up onto the creature’s chest and snarling, “Doton: Doryuso!”

Giant spikes of earth punch through the earth beneath them, puncturing it just above the abdomen and through the ribs.

“Did I get them all?” he demands, even as the creature continues to stir beneath them.

“No, there’s one left!” Hinata calls from the ground. “You just missed the heart by inches!”

But Sakura is already charging forward, sliding into a crouch and kicking outward with her right leg. One of the spikes is shattered all the way through and begins to topple. She has it in her hands then, balancing the enormous slab of condensed mud, and brings it down hard on the left side of the giant’s chest.

The beast gives one last screech and twitch, and then goes still.

The three of them wait, panting, for yet another wave of enemies to come at them, but it is utterly silent in the echoing chamber now.

Konohamaru lets out a breath and leans on his knees. “Oh, man, what a relief…I don’t think I could do anymore!”

Hinata and Sakura glance at each other, and smile.

“I must look a real mess,” Hinata says, anxiously pushing a blood-slicked lock of hair behind her ear. “I hope I don’t make Boruto and Naruto worry, thinking I’m hurt.”

“You look fine,” Sakura grins. “I’ve seen much worse. And they know you better than to think that could hurt you.”

“Hm.” Hinata nods. “Alright, let’s go.”

They start toward the rickety staircase, and something occurs to Konohamaru.

“Hey—hey, wait! I have a name for that combo you guys used: The Boss Lady Stream!”

“Not now, Konohamaru…”

つづく

Hope you enjoyed it! Also, this is the last Interlude before the end of the story. Gasp! I know! Who knew this story was ever going to end?! But as of right now, I’ve got five chapters and an epilogue outlined. Of course, when I predict how many chapter I always tend to be a little off, and I really like the idea of having the fic be 40 chapters in total (including prologue, interludes and epilogues), but we’ll see…

If you enjoy my writing, I encourage you to check out my patreon, where I am publishing my original fiction! Every little bit helps!

栗

#kuriquinn #an inch of gold #iog #inch of gold #naruto fanfiction #time travel #time-travel #timetravel #sakura uchiha #hinata uzumaki #konohamaru sarutobi #supermoms

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cordytriestowrite · 6 years

Text

When I'm Miserable

Loki x Reader

Chapter One - All Other Chapters

Summary: Loki abandons his attempt to rebuild his relationship with Thor after realizing his brother will never fully trust or understand him. He finds himself drawn to a girl, now guardian of her little sister after their mother's sudden death, and tries to teach her the lessons of love, forgiveness, and acceptance before their differences tear them apart.

Salem, Indiana. When you first moved away from the small city and its six thousand residents you hated telling people where you were from.

"Oh, Massachusetts." They would say.

"No, Indiana." You would correct.

"I didnt know there was a Salem in Indiana." They would finish with a confused look on their face before going back to their more interesting California lives.

Now you were back and those conversations ceased to be a staple of introduction, but so many things had also ceased to be discussed. Food, art, culture, current events, all subjects thrown aside in the face of everyone's new favorite topic: what are you going to do?

"How are you going to handle raising your little sister?" They would ask.

"Did your mom leave you anything?" Inquired the snoopers.

"Are you okay?"

And were you okay? What a dumb question. Who would be okay being torn from the beginnings of a life they were building for themselves and coming back to a home without a mother? Who would be ready and to accept guardianship over their little sister and step into a parenting role no one had ever prepared them for?

You took a large sip of your beer, letting the carbonation tickle the roof of your mouth before swallowing around the bitter lump in your throat. It was 4pm on a Monday and you were on your second drink. Your bleary eyes glanced around the room, practically empty save for two older men further down the bar.

You hadn't been old enough to even enter a bar when you last lived in Salem. It felt odd to sit on the rickety wooden stool and think back to a time you desired this, the ability to legally drink in the O'Haimes Tavern and enjoy a Friday night with friends while listing to the live band. Had you been able to tell your teenage self you would end up here on a Monday afternoon to drown your sorrows all alone...

"Thanks for covering for me Rach." A frazzled looking women strolled quickly to your side of the bar, from the back room still trying up her long blonde hair. The other bartender, Rachel, you assumed, nodded sympathetically as she poured a set of double whiskeys for the men down the bar.

"No problem, I know how hard it is to adjust to Jason going back to school."

Your glass had only been a few centimeters off the bar top, which was lucky for you as your grip loosened and it wobbled dangerously before settling in its upright position. The noise brought the two bartenders' attention to you but you couldn't be bothered to care. You fumbled through your buzzed, sluggish movements into the purse thrown haphazardly into the seat next to you. You grasped your phone tightly and brought it to your face, throat seizing up fully as your sedated mind took in the unread texts and missed phone calls.

Where are you?

Did you forget about me?

Are you okay?!

You tried to keep an air of calm about you as you paid your bill and exited O'Haimes but you could tell by your slight imbalance that you probably didn't fool anyone. You hurried along the sidewalk as fast as your wobbly ankles would carry you, the edge of Salem High School's property revealing itself a few blocks later. You couldn't help but mumble to yourself as you made your way around the wide chain-link fence to the school entrance.

"Please be there. Please be there. Please be there."

And there she was, looking put out and pouty sitting on the blue bench just to the left of the front doors. She was on her phone and hadn't yet noticed you so you slowed down and straightened your spine. The walk had sobered you enough to put on that mask of calm you couldn't conjure at the bar.

As you got closer she still didnt notice you, too absorbed in her phone to look up. You shook your head and smiled. Her generation was so lucky to have cell phones to entertain them while they wait, all you had was-

Your thoughts stuttered to a stop as a tall man appeared from around the corner and sat next to your sister. He was close to her, his head bent towards her, and she looked up at him and smiled. He smiled back and you could feel a wave of protective instinct wash over you like a cold shower. Your pace quickened until you were in a full on sprint.

"Amanda." You said so loudly and forcefully you practically barked your sister's name like an order. Both your sister and the man next to her looked up in surprise. You raced up the steps, your once unreliable equilibrium steadied by an alert, on-edge version of soberness.

"Finally!" She exhaled dramatically, like your tardiness was exhausting. She tucked her phone into her back pocket as she rose from the bench.

The man next to her stood as well. He looked impossibly tall next to your little sister, all short and fragile looking. You took a step closer to the man and squared your shoulders. While you still had to tilt your chin to look him in the eye you were not at the same height disadvantage as your sister.

"Hello there-" he began before you cut him off with a solid, clear tone.

"Stay away from her."

"I beg your pardon?" He asked. His accent startled you for a moment, so unlike all the midwestern accents wriggling in your ears since coming home last month. You blinked twice to regain your focus and your resolve.

"Stay away from my sister. She's under age. Did you know that, pervert?"

"I'm well aware-" he started, adjusting his glasses, but this time his words were interrupted by Amanda's profuse apologies, her hand on your arm pulling you back down the stairs and away from the well dressed, bespectacled threat before you. You maintained eye contact, harsh and defiant, until you reached the first step down and were forced to turn or risk falling down the four concrete steps and make a fool of yourself.

"What were you thinking?!" Amanda shrieked as she continued to pull you by the arm. You turned back to catch a glimpse of the man as you turned the corner but he was gone.

"A grown man should not be hanging around a high school preying on teenage girls." You stumbled slightly but caught your footing. Looking back you found the block of sidewalk slightly raised. It had snagged the tip of your shoe as you took a step. You sent your glare down, ready to take a larger step upon arrival of the next uneven slab.

"He's the librarian. Hanging around the school is kind of his job. You would have known that if you weren't drunk."

You stumbled despite the level ground beneath you at your sister's words. She slowed down and finally let go of your arm, only to fold hers across her chest and glare at you with a disgusting amount of judgement.

"Is that why you were late? You were drinking in the middle of the day again?" She wasn't expecting an answer because she already knew what she was saying was true. You knew what would come next as well, it was the same argument as last time and the time before that.

"You're going to die on me too if you don't cut it out. You'll get in an accident or drown in your own vomit or destroy your liver and-"

"I know Amanda," you sigh heavily and pinch the bridge of your nose, eyes closed so you didn't have to see her face. "I know."

"And now you're ruining my life. Mr Loki is really nice and now he's going to look at me like everyone else does." While her voice began loudly and passionately it trailed off into quiet uncertainty. Your ears pricked up and your vision sharpened, a different kind of safeguard mindset than the one you had earlier against this Mr Loki. You had to protect her from herself now, those thought of self doubt that consume and devour from the inside.

"How does everyone look at you?"

"They look at me like my mom just died. Like I'm helpless. They all pity me." A sob bubbled out like a punctuation at end her statement. You reached for your sister, so young and fragile and in no way undeserving of the looks and the glances she must be catching, and pulled her into a tight hug. You rocked her back and forth so severely her feet had to lift and fall in time to your swings to keep you both from toppling to the ground.

"I'm sorry." You murmured into her hair, "I'm sorry for a lot of things."

She said nothing but held on to the back of your shirt like her life depended on it. You pulled her back by her shoulders so she could see your face with its reassuring smile and kind eyes.

"Tomorrow I will come pick you up on time and apologize to Mr Loki."

"Sober?"

"As sober as a judge." You promised. She reached her fist between your chests and extended her pinky. You wrapped your own around it and kissed your thumb. She did the same. Your journey home continued after that, side by side you strode leisurely and your mind wandered back to the front steps of Salem High School and its librarian.

"Amanda?" You started. She hummed in response to show she was listening.

"What kind of name is Mr Loki?"

She laughed loudly and it reminded you of your mom's laugh when she found something surprisingly amusing. Your stomach flipped at the similarity and at the fact that you would never hear them laugh at the same time like that ever again.

"Apparently he was named after some Norse god or something. It's a weird name right?"

You both giggled and ducked your heads against a gust of wind then walked the rest of the way home in companionable silence.

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backtothestart02 · 6 years

Text

25 Days of Westallen Fanfiction: Day 24 - Before the Hood [5/6]

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Synopsis: AU - Before he donned the name Robin Hood, his name was Barry Allen, and all he wanted was to be with his love, Iris West.

...

Chapter 5 -

The cold rain poured down over Collin Woods with a distinctly cruel wind the day young Barry Allen was transferred from county jail to the royal prison.

Said to spend the rest of his life there, because so severe were his crimes – according to Sheriff DeVoe and Prince John. Until the next full moon, he was allowed no visitors. No one but the guards walked silently passed his cell. He was slid cold grit underneath the impenetrable bars. Being chained as he was to the wall by ankle and wrist, a heavy iron ball latched dragging behind one ankle, he would not eat on the days he could not reach the food shoved into his cell. He would have to watch from just out of reach as flies flew in and devoured his sole meal.

Most of the time Barry lay still on the large cement slab meant to be his bed, the wadded fabric a makeshift pillow beneath his head. Even the birds did not come and chirp by his window, and when he tried to look out of the small square hole in the wall, all he could see was shades of gray – more of the prison, the ground, the guards’ attire. There was no color except the blue of the sky, and even now that seemed more void of color than it had ever been before.

He couldn’t look at his parents or anyone at the trial. He could hear his mother crying, but he couldn’t meet her eyes. His mother and father must be so ashamed. He wouldn’t have done a thing differently, but he hated that they had to see this. He hated all of it. And most of all he hated that he didn’t know what had happened to Iris. If he thought he was helpless to see what had become of her before, now he was completely incapable. He was more caged up than she had been, and the likelihood of ever seeing her again was slim to none. He would have to be broken out, and he doubted even Cisco, for all his strengths, could manage that.

On day thirty-one, Henry and Nora Allen came to see their son in prison. Nora’s eyes were brimming with tears. Henry’s face was crestfallen. But Barry forced himself to look at them, so they could see the regret and apology in his eyes, to show that he understood the shame that had befallen them because of what he had done, and even more so because he could no longer contribute to their household. They deserved that from him. They had been deprived of it for thirty days.

“Son,” Henry said, stepping forward and wrapping a hand around one of the bars.

Barry couldn’t reach him. He could come close, but even with Henry reaching his hand into the cell – which the guard nearby growled at – Barry could only meet him halfway. Henry’s arm fell to his side, and Barry succumbed to tears.

“I’m s-so, so sorry, Father. For…for everything. For disappointing you, for-”

“No,” Henry interjected. “I’m sorry for not telling you how proud I am of you. To see how determined you are, how much you want to help, and how deeply you love your mother and I and…and Iris.”

Barry’s eyes widened.

“I know you did exactly what you thought needed to be done. You cause me no shame, nor your mother.”

Nora nodded. “We just love you, Barry. We just love you.”

And Barry broke down completely, his words almost incoherent.

“I love you both, s-s-so much. I-”

“We know. We know.” Nora nodded.

“We love you, too,” Henry said. “And we always will. And we will visit you. We will come. You will not be forgotten.”

Barry could hardly contain himself. The outpouring of love from his father was more than he’d ever felt before. Not that his father had been unloving before, but since his rejection of the medicinal trade. things had been a little strained. He knew his father still loved him and was doing his best to respect his wishes, but he hadn’t felt this level of support in a long time. He only wished it hadn’t taken something like this to come to an understanding.

“All right, that’s enough!” The guard said gruffly, forcing Henry and Nora Allen to retreat.

“No, no! That’s my- That’s my baby!” Nora pleaded, but both Henry and Barry reassured her. They would see each other again. This wasn’t the end.

…

Late that night, the wind howling outside his window, Barry found it impossible to sleep. He shivered in the cold, no blanket provided. And while rain didn’t drip or pour into his cell, the sound of the wicked air still kept him painfully awake, his mind buzzing yet his body tired from the emotional strain put on it that day.

Guards had moved on from his hall. There were none to be seen, and he knew they must be either only walking the main passageways or pacing in front of the entry to the prison. Many slept, never expecting an escape attempt. Barry didn’t know if there had ever been one in the history of Collin Woods prison to put this impression upon the lax guards in the night time hours, but he was grateful for it.

Because stealthily, quiet as night, a figure came into view before his cell, and it was not a prison guard.

Barry’s eyes widened, and he sat up immediately.

“Cisco?”

“Shhh,” his friend hushed, pulling out the keys he’d obviously stolen and unlocking the door.

“What are y-”

“I’m getting you out of here is what I’m doing,” he whispered harshly. “Can we not wake up the good-for-nothing guards?” He glared up at him, but Barry saw past it and the genuine worry there, and the relief.

“Thank you, Cisco,” Barry said, watching as his friend unlocked every shackled locked on him until he was free.

“Yeah, well, what are friends for?”

Barry hugged him tightly.

“Okay, okay, we can hug it out later.” Cisco pushed him off, and Barry chuckled quietly. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

“And then what?” he asked, once they were out of the cell.

“We’ll figure that out later.”

“You don’t have a plan?”

Cisco put a finger to his lips, and Barry silenced himself. Miraculously the two escaped unnoticed, a cloudy sky shielding their sight in the open once they’d passed the prison doors.

…

Barry and Cisco ran to the thick of the forest where Cisco thrusted a bag at him from behind a tree. He changed quickly, so he was out of his prison garb and returned to his friend.

“It’s your satchel. A different one. This one has food and some money, and a hat newly made by your mother.”

Barry glanced up at him. “My…?”

“Yes.” Cisco nodded. “This escape plan was not solely put together by me. The Dibnys, your parents and Mr. Raymond all contributed, and we all won’t know a thing as soon as you’re gone. Everyone loves you and they can’t bear to see you locked away. But you have to go, and none of us can come with you or it will raise even more suspicion. People could be-”

“Tortured,” Barry concluded. “I understand.”

Cisco nodded again. “So, you have to go now. And don’t look back. You can’t-” He stopped, and his face fell when he realized Barry had found something inside the satchel that he hadn’t expected.

Barry pulled it out and found a glittering ring staring back at him. He lifted his wide-eyed gaze to his best friend’s.

“From your mother,” Cisco told him. “To give to the woman you intend to marry, whoever that may be.”

“Cisco.”

“It can’t be Iris.”

“Cisco!” He heaved a heavy sigh. “It can’t be anyone else.”

“The last time you went to see her, you were arrested. Do you know how hard it was to get you out of prison? You can’t go back there. You have to go.”

“Not without seeing her.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have taken the ring,” he muttered under his breath.

“Even if I hadn’t gotten it, I would risk going back to prison to see her just one more time.”

Cisco ran a hand through his hair, exasperated.

“Okay, look, you can’t- Would you risk all of our lives too? Everyone who went out on a limb to save you?”

Barry hesitated. “Okay.”

“Thank you.”

“You have to do it.”

“What?”

“You have to rescue her and bring her here, so I can say goodbye.”

“No.”

“Cisco.”

“No! She’ll insist on running away with you, and then everyone who has helped you will be as good as dead.”

“Cisco, I can’t leave without seeing her. I have to say goodbye. Our last time can’t be when I was dragged off to prison. I won’t let it.”

“Arggh.” He sighed roughly. “Okay, fine, look. I’ll see what I can do. Don’t- Don’t move.”

Barry nodded. “I won’t.”

“The things I do for you,” Cisco muttered under his breath, and then he was gone in the thick of the trees.

An hour later, just when Barry was really starting to worry, a figure emerged from the trees. Holding his breath, Barry nearly fell to his knees when he saw it was Iris. Cisco was there too, but he hardly saw him, and his best friend knowingly stayed behind so the two lovers could bid their final farewells.

“Oh, Barry.” She clutched him tightly, refusing to let go. “I thought I’d never see you again. I thought-”

“I know, I know. Me too.”

“It’s been so horrible without you. I’ve cried every night. Marlise told me horror stories of what you must’ve gone through in prison. I so wanted to visit you, to make it just a little bit easier for you, but I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t-”

“I know, I know.”

He pulled back and kissed her, then pressed his forehead to hers.

“I know.”

Iris sighed shakily.

“So, is this it?” She licked her lips. “Do we run?” A tear slipped down his cheek, and she caught it. “We don’t, do we? We don’t get our happy ending.”

Barry lifted his head.

“If anyone but me leaves tonight, everyone in town will be suspect. People might think I had help. They might be interrogated, even tortured if it’s more than one. And you? You and me? That’s… They’ll go after my family, after Cisco and his family, and the Dibnys with all their little children…”

Iris’ eyes filled with tears.

“I understand.”

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” He swallowed hard. “All I’ve ever wanted was just you and me and our happy ending.”

She nodded, trying not to sob.

“Me too. That’s all I want still.”

He sighed. “I know.”

“Where will you go?”

“Cisco gave me some ideas,” he said, deciding not to tell her about the wild man in Black Pine forest. “I’ll be okay.”

“And will… Will you ever come back to me?”

Heartbroken, Barry tried to find the words. To help him, he fiddled around in his satchel for that most precious memento.

“I don’t want to marry Julian. He’s awful, just terrible. I can’t marry him, Barry. I can’t. I’d rather di-”

Iris held her breath as the ring came into view, a beautiful magenta jewel shining in the center.

“Barry.” She took it from him to marvel further at its beauty. “It’s… It’s-”

“Yours.”

Her eyes flashed to his. “What?”

“It’s from my mother,” he explained. “She wants me to give it to the woman I intend to marry.”

Iris’ heart leapt into her throat.

“I can’t imagine that being anyone other than you.”

“I…I don’t know what else to say.”

“Say you’ll marry me, Iris.”

Tears filled her eyes. “But…But you’re leaving. And you’ll be wanted the rest of your life. You can never come back here, or your life will be at risk. You have to go. And you won’t let me come with you. I don’t know how we could ever-”

“Is that a yes?”

Iris wanted to protest further. She’d given him so many legitimate concerns, and he hadn’t addressed a single one. But she was so in love with him, and she wanted to believe. She would believe in their happy ending as long as he wished it of her.

“Yes,” she said, giggles slipping out of her as soon as the smile spread across his face. “Yes, yes! Of course!”

He picked her up and spun her around all the while smiling, and he kissed her soundly when he set her down. Then he took the ring from her grasp and slid it onto her finger. She felt like she was flying.

“Make it into a necklace if you have to,” he said. “Anything so you don’t lose it. I need you to have it when I come back for you.”

She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “You’re coming back?”

He nodded. “I know it’s impossible now, but I’m going to find a way to come back. I’ll clear my name, and we can finally be together.” He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed each finger, then met her eyes. “Do you believe me?”

And in that moment, she did. She really, truly did.

“Yes,” she said. “I believe you.”

He kissed her again and again and again, and then held her close because God knows how long it would be until he could hold her in his arms like this again.

“Barry…” Cisco said after a while, a warning in his voice as the sky started to lighten.

“I know.” He took a breath and took a step away from Iris, holding onto her hand until the last possible moment. “I love you, Iris,” he said, his heart pouring out to her with every word. “I’ll always love you.”

“I love you,” she gasped, unable to keep her tears locked away.

“I’ll come back to you. I promise.”

Then he picked up his satchel, gave a quick, fierce hug to his best friend for whom he would forever be grateful, gave them each one more meaningful, loving look and disappeared into the night.

Her whole heart stolen from her, Iris forced herself not to break down. Not when Barry wasn’t there to pick her up again.

“Iris…” Cisco urged, and she forced herself to snap out of it. To go back with him to her prison and be in her bed before either DeVoe was the wiser.

The return was a success. She thanked Cisco profusely, hugging him just before he left, and then tucked herself into bed. She looked longingly at the beautiful gem on her finger and then held it close to her chest.

“Come back to me, Barry,” she whispered, imagining his arms wrapped around her in a room they could call their own. “Come back to me.”

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

#25 days of westallen fanfiction #westallen secret santa #westallen #fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #for jade4813

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slothgiirl · 6 years

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blinding part 1 (a theo raeken/reader story)

mariella gallagher, lydia’s younger cousin, has always had a soft spot for theo raeken, and now that they’ve brought him back to help, she can’t seem to help herself when it comes to him. it also doesn’t help that she’s slowly losing her grip on whatever powers she has as an empath.

ao3 // part 2 // part 3 // part 4 // part 5

“So why can’t I go with you exactly,” I asked Lydia after she was done explaining the plan to everyone except Hayden and Mason who were actually in class like they ere supposed to be. If my aunt wasn’t faculty who knows how we would be getting away with suddenly leaving class, ditching class, and arriving late all the time. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather go with you.”

Just the thought of encountering the ghost riders again was enough to make me want to vomit. And seeing as Scott and his packs whole m.o. was to run towards danger instead of away, we would probably run into them sooner rather than later.

My cousin sighed impatiently, “because we don’t know what we’ll find at Caanan. At least here we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Even if we don’t know how to deal with it yet,” Malia said with a scowl.

“I’d still rather take my chances with whatever you find there than the ghost riders.”

Kira threw an arm around my shoulder, smiling as reassuringly as she could after the ghost riders had taken a whole party full of teenagers down in the bunker and none of us had been able to do anything to stop them, “don’t worry Mari, I’ll protect you. I won’t let them come near you.”

“And you’ve got Liam,” Scott said smiling at his beta.

“Just hurry back,” Liam told him, “we’re stronger together.”

“Hell yeah,” Malia grinned.

I took my seat next to Kira in art, happy to be able to phone in this class. Ever since the ghost rider’s showed up I’d been jumpy and stressed and I kept scratching at my arms. What made it worse was I could feel how freaked out the rest of the pack was.

It was almost enough to make me want to take my meds again.

Almost.

“You wanna talk about it,” Kira asked, not looking up from her painting. Her still life wouldn’t have looked out of place in a gallery. Meanwhile I was still cleaning up all my sketch lines and pretending that I knew how to shade objects.

I shrugged, “it’s fine. We’ll figure this out soon and then-“

“Don’t say that. If you’re not okay then talk to me about it,” she told me, looking over at me, “maybe it won’t solve anything but you might feel a little better.”

Sighing, I put my charcoal, giving up on getting any work done when I could barely keep my hand steady. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about it, but the only person that I had ever felt comfortable talking to about my so called powers, that were completely useless and more of a pain in the ass than anything, had turned out to be a horrible person and was now rotting wherever the skin walkers had dragged him down into.

“Mari?”

Her concern was warm, gently waving towards me, the mental equivalent of a hug. I might as well. “I’ve just never not sensed something from anything. But the ghost riders,” my voice broke, remembering the events from the bunker, “there was nothing there. Nothing. Like they weren’t alive, at least not in any sense of the word I know.”

“I thought they were going to take me,” I tell her, looking down at my feet as I wipe the welling tears from my eyes. “I mean at least you can all fight or do something. I just feel so useless sometimes. Like I can sense what people are feeling, even catch some thoughts if it’s a strong emotion but that’s it.” Hell, werewolves could sense emotions by smelling the air or scent or chemosignals whatever those were.

Her concern spiked, intertwining with a tinge bitter guilt.Kira leaned over and squeezed my shoulder, “but they didn’t get you. And you’re not useless. You’re kind and gentle and you calmed Liam down, anchor-less Liam and Malia. Like made them calm down.”

“Stiles can help Malia calm down.”

Kira rolled her eyes, going back to her painting, “just take the damn compliment.”

I laughed, “still think your kitsune abilities are way cooler.”

“You wouldn’t if you were the one training with my mom. I wish I could montage through all the five in the morning wake up calls.”

We both laughed.

“Mariella? Kira? Please be mindful of the noise level in here,” Mrs. Sanchez called out to us.

We both nodded.

When I went to pick up my slab of charcoal, my hand was steady enough to risk my sketch.

“So Scott leaves and you immediately decide to try and catch a ghost rider,” I ask Liam and Hayden skeptically.

“We can’t just sit around and do nothing,” Liam said defensively.

“Well you can all try and do that,” I said, “I’m going to go to therapy and not deal with any of this and especially not go looking for trouble.”

“Trouble kind of already fund us Mariella,” Mason said gently, “and we need to figure out how to stop them. If we catch one we could figure out what they want and make them leave.”

Which made sense even if their plan was insane and they still had no way to channel that much lightning at once. “Okay,” I admitted, “but I still want no part of this.”

“Couldn’t you do it,” Hayden asked Kira as she walked up to us gathered around Liam and Mason’s lockers. “I mean you are a lightning kitsune aren’t you,” she clarified raising an eyebrow.

“Thunder,” Kira corrected, “and yes I could if we had a few decades for me to learn how to channel that much lightning at once.”

“Sorry,” she added, looking around at us, her shame and insecurity leeched into the air, “but I just don’t have the training yet.”

“Yet,” I said, hoping to reassure her. Her mom was a thousand years old, Kira had plenty of time to get all her nine tails and become an amazing thunder kitsune.

“Sure you’re alright going by yourself,” she asked me, changing the subject.

I shrugged. It was pointless to lie when three of use were supernatural creatures who could hear someone’s heart speed up when they lie, so why bother. “I’ll live.”

“Corey and I could go with you,” Mason offered. “Safety in numbers and all that.”

“See,” I said throwing the rest of them a pointed look, “it’s not just me.” They’re all werewolves and suddenly they think horror movie logic of splitting up and dying doesn’t apply to them.

“Not like you can drive,” Liam said shamelessly.

“I was nervous,” I protested for what had to be the thousandth time, “and the dude was an asshole, he wanted to fail me.”

“Didn’t Lydia say you ran a stop sign?”

I groaned, “it wasn’t even my idea to get my driver’s license. I don’t even want to drive. You don’t let crazy people drive cars.”

Mason grins, “but you’re not actually crazy.” Which was true. It turned out that everything that every psychiatrist had chalked up to hallucinations and paranoia was actually true.

“I thought I was!”

Miss Morell smiled sharply as I took a seat on her couch. “I’m assuming you’re still off you’re medication.”

“Yeah,” I said, feeling guilty about it all over again. “I just feel better without it. And I’ve only had one migraine this week so progress,” I told her twiddling my hands. “I mean I should eventually start to be able to block people out. . .right?”

“And if you are not able to block people out,” Miss Morell asked the question that had kept me up so often over the last few months, “what will you do?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I mean I don’t want to always have to deal with people’s emotions in my head. When someone around me gets really sad it makes me sad, their emotions bleeding into mine and I hate that. It scares me. But I also don’t want to spend the rest of my life dazed from taking anti-psychotics. No combination of pills felt right. Some were really bad and this last one muted things pretty well but I still felt wrong.”

It made being around Liam hard. No one ever knew what would set him off and I hated how I could feel his anger well up inside my throat like it was my own.

How I could feel my lab partner’s anxiety and nausea turn to stress the longer I sat there next to him, all my own thoughts magnified in funhouse mirrors until I was stressing over whether I had remembered to write my name on the test even though I knew I had. Over whether any of my friends in Beacon hills were really my friends or if they were just being nice to Lydia’s cousin.

“Have you considered a solution that isn’t on on end or the other,” Miss Morell asked, her emotions as remote as she herself could be, a god deigning mortals with her presence.

“What do you mean?”

“You could take a low dose,” she explained, “just enough to keep your own mental health intact without cutting yourself off from your own abilities.”

“I don’t know,” I said, thinking about how excited I had been when I realized that the connection went both ways. Their emotions could bled into my own, but I could also influence people’s emotions.

Would I lose all the progress I had made?

“You don’t have to make any choices now,” Miss Morell said smiling for the first time since I’d arrived, “Just something to think about. I’ll see you next week?”

“Yes.”

Because I had to go to therapy. It had been one of my dad’s conditions of coming to live with my aunt instead of spending my time going in and out of a psychiatric ward.

Third wheeling to Corey and Mason wasn’t actually bad. It certainly didn’t feel as much as third wheeling to Malia and Stiles had been or Scott and Kira. Liam and Hayden were just a nightmare of too much PDA.

They also didn’t even bring up the ghost riders even once which immediately made me love them. We hadn’t spent much time together seeing as I was a year older and had spent most of my last year in Beacon hills in a hazy fog of anti-psychotics in hopes of shutting everything out.

“Don’t hate me,” Mason said, as Corey chose a song off his phone, “but I think Troye Sivan is massively overrated.”

“No,” Corey protested, “that’s just-you’re wrong.”

“You can’t tell me I’m wrong just because I don’t care for his music. I’m entitled to my opinion especially when my opinion is right.”

“Doesn’t make it an opinion then does it,” Corey quipped back and I tried to block out the nauseatingly sweet smell of fondest and love that filled up the car. I take it back, Corey and Mason are just as bad as the other couples although Lydia and Stiles are mostly pop rocks and something refined like channel no. 5 so it really wasn’t bad.

Corey played a song before turning to look at me, “what do you think Mariella?”

“I-“

“You’ve got to listen to the whole song first to get the full experience.”

“Okay,” I told him, “but I can already tell you it sounds fine but I probably wouldn’t go out of my way to listen to it again.”

“Told you,” Mason laughed.

Corey shook his head, “you two have no taste.”

“Oh I think I have plenty of taste,” Mason replied looking over at his boyfriend.

Corey blushed, his face achieving the level of pink many beauty youtubers could only hope to replicate, “I think you mean I have great taste.”

I popped my earbuds in and raised the volume as high as it would go hoping to block them out as they drove to go drop me off at my aunts house. Six months and I still hadn’t gotten any better at blocking people out. Lydia wasn’t even sure if I could.

I sighed and stared out the window.

#teen wolf #theo raeken #theo raekan imagine #theo raekan x reader #theo raeken imagine #theo raeken x reader #its already mostly up on ao3 but im like crossposting things on Here now too so...#mine

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gingerandwry · 6 years

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Montgomery, Alabama

After Birmingham my next step was 1.5 hours south, the state capital Montgomery, another historically-charged city in the South. I read it was pretty sleepy (truth) so I decided I would just spend a few hours there but my time did not disappoint. Even more so than Birmingham, Montgomery is a step back in time with important lessons for the present. If only they would learn....

My first stop off I-65 was the brand new National Memorial for Peace and Justice. It opened last year to commemorate victims of racially-motivated violence, from slavery to police killings, but its primary focus is lynchings. Atop a grassy hill under a low slung roof hang 400 rectangular iron slabs, one for each county where lynchings took place (mostly in the South, but parts of the midwest too). On each slab is engraved the name of the county and the people who were lynched there (tho only a fraction of the victims and their stories are known). The pathway slopes downward in a loop until the slabs’ hanging effect becomes unmistakeable. Along the sides are engraved inspirational quotes and the shocking stories of some of the victims (one man was lynched after a coat went missing). The horrific details of torture and death are not spared. Outside this roofed area an identical set of 400 slabs lie on the ground like a field of coffins, waiting for each county to pick theirs up and display it, in an attempt to create a truly national memorial and a semblance of accountability. It’s deeply saddening and moving, a truly provocative, moving, overdue addition to our country’s national monuments. But unlike, say, the Vietnam Memorial, here you must have your bags inspected, pass through a metal detector and be told not to take selfies with the statues of tormented slaves in chains. How awful that those precautions are still needed.

From there I moved to Montgomery’s most famous institution, the Rosa Parks Museum. It has two halves: a children’s wing that tells a very simplified version of black history from slavery to Jim Crow (all while sitting on a “time machine” bus with hydraulics driven by the robot Mr. Rivets); and a wing focused on Parks’ protest and the ensuing bus boycott. Annoyingly the ticket person didn’t tell me that the first part was for children when he sold me a ticket, so I wasted 30 minutes riding this Magic School Bus. At least I was all alone (except for Mr. Rivets) so I didn’t have to give up my seat to anyone.

I decided to postpone the second half of the museum and walk through downtown Montgomery to the capitol building. The main street, Dexter Ave, has not changed much since Parks was arrested there almost 65 years ago. Most of the storefronts are deserted and judging by the signage left behind, they have been empty for decades. Some of the structures are quite beautiful and historic, such as the fountain at Court Square (originally a slave market and later the bus stop where Parks boarded that bus) and the Winter Building (where the Confederate leaders sent a telegram to their generals permitting them to fire upon Fort Sumter, which started the Civil War). But mostly it’s pretty bleak. Even the more modern government buildings at the end are really unattractive smorgasbords of too many architectural styles.

The capitol building itself is fairly nice. The grounds are well-maintained, and they had the decency to remove the Confederate flags from their massive monument to the Confederacy.... (Fittingly I had the disgust of seeing Jeff Sessions pass by as I was photographing the monument.) The building has undergone several expansions and renovations and even tho there has been some attempt to restore original details, it still looks like the interior came from Julia Sugarbaker of “Designing Women.” The walls are mostly painted pink and lavender, and the carpeting and chandeliers are quite... ornate. The original Senate chamber is where the Confederacy was born, and the front steps are where Jefferson Davis was sworn in as president. (Over one hundred years later, MLK would address 25,000 supporters from those steps after they walked in protest from Selma, the first attempt ending in the police severely beating the marchers.) Weirdly I think I saw maybe three people working in the entire STATE CAPITOL, not to mention the dozen I saw walking around the city for an hour. It is sleepy there....

Montgomery has an interesting way of addressing its dual history as the birthplace of both the Confederacy and the Civil Rights Movement. The public signage is notably impassive: “This happened here. This happened there.” Of course true objectivity doesn’t exist-- they use “secede” and “secession” a lot, rather than, say, “rebel” and “traitor”-- but I do think the state has struck the right chord. They know how divisive their history continues to be. They clearly just want to acknowledge historic events and keep the government neutral in these heated discussions, a wise lesson for Alabama. (My biggest gripe is that I saw nothing acknowledging that Montgomery began as an important port for slave trading. Even the sign at the riverfront only mentioned that the port traded a lot of cotton, grain “and other commodities”.)

The non-state sites, such as the Rosa Parks Museum and the Lynching Memorial, stir enough passion to make up for the official indifference. My next stop was the National Civil Rights Memorial, an homage to 40 people who died as martyrs during the Civil Rights struggle, Some of them were active protestors; others were bystanders whose deaths helped propel the movement. Some are familiar, like Medgar Evers, Emmett Till and MLK; others are unknown. The terrifying, harrowing personal stories hit hard. Outside of the museum is a water sculpture designed by Maya Lin (of the Vietnam War Memorial) that is solemn and dignified, while its flowing water and circular design suggest the struggle has always been happening and continues to this day.

After this it was time for lunch at Dreamland, a small Alabama BBQ chain that was as delicious as it was friendly. It’s in an area just northwest of downtown by the riverfront that is undergoing a promising, well, gentrification. It’s full of beautiful old brick factories and warehouses that are being restored and converted into lofts, galleries, restaurants, bars, etc. It sounds tragic to coastal ears, but I think Montgomery could really benefit from development that draws in young people. And the restorations look remarkable.

After lunch I walked to Old Alabama Town, a collection of small old homes spread across several blocks that display what the city used to look like (I’m not sure when exactly). It was cute and charming but not architecturally noteworthy and hardly worth the walk over. I went back, past the Hank Williams statue, and popped over to the riverfront, also not worth the walk (at least not on a grey winter day).

My last stop was back at the Rosa Parks Museum to see the “grown-up” wing I missed before. It’s one of these museums that makes you sit through various presentations rather than proceed at your own pace. I’m not a fan of that, especially when I’m tired and trying to get to Mobile before the rain and dark arrive. The first video describes life for blacks under segregation and explains how the bus segregation was the most hated of all, which was actually pretty interesting. It tells Rosa Parks’ backstory as well, but although it explains how she worked with the NAACP, it glosses over how much of her protest was plotted in advance so that the museum can stick to the “just a tired lady on the bus” narrative. Once that video ends, some doors open and lead the viewers into a room designed to look like a bus stop, complete with the shell of an old bus. In the windows a video is playing, and for the next ten minutes actors in the video recreate the scene when Parks wouldn’t give up her seat. It sounds weird-- and it was-- but somehow it works. (Fun fact: under city law Parks was allowed to sit where she was and did not have to give up her seat, tho neither she nor the driver was aware.) Unfortunately I had to skip the self-guided history of the boycott (which is really the best part) because my meter was running out. I also decided to skip the Lynching Memorial’s sister Legacy Museum. It sounds amazing, but I wanted to get on the road and frankly, it sounds really depressing, and I had had enough for the day.

I then left for Mobile (to be continued) and while I was having dinner there I caught up on the news of the day. It turns out that while I was touring Montgomery’s and Alabama’s tortured history of discrimination, the US Supreme Court handed down a decision in the case of Domenique Rey. Rey is a Muslim man on death row in... Alabama. After exhausting his appeals, he asked that an imam be allowed to pray with him during his execution. The state told him that only the officially sanctioned (Christian) chaplain would be allowed. Rey appealed, citing the Constitution’s anti-establishment clause which forbids the government from favoring any religions. The Eleventh Circuit stayed his execution but the US Supreme Court decided against him. The new conservative majority of five thought that because his petition arrived just weeks before the execution, he was only trying to delay it (nevermind that he filed as soon as he learned the imam would not be allowed). Even many conservative commentators think this will go down as one of the Court’s worst decisions, along with Dred Scott and Plessy (which I learned about on the time machine bus tour!). Curiously, after the Eleventh Circuit stayed the execution, Alabama figured the jig was up so they changed the rule so that no clergy of any faith would be allowed to comfort the condemned during an execution. This echoes the state’s tactics during the fight against segregation, when they closed parks, pools, schools, etc. rather than integrate them. Alabama, will you ever grow up?!

#montgomery #alabama #travel #intentionaltravel #gaytravel

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