#i hope he goes fawns over yes man and STOPS BOTHERING ME | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

omg-imagine · 5 years ago

Text

⊱ Persistence ⊰

Pairing: Johnny Utah x Reader

Request: Could u do one where the reader is a nurse who runs into Utah a bunch of times and he flirts and she just isn’t impressed but he keeps going and then she finally sees it - @jadore30

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: Language, mention of alcohol

A/N: Thanks for requesting this! Love Johnny Utah and I’m glad that I finally wrote a little something with him. I’m sorry for the terrible title, I couldn’t think of a good one lol. But anyways, I hope you like it!

Johnny Utah was an overconfident, cocky bastard.

The other nurses would fawn over him whenever the FBI agent dropped by the hospital after a case goes awry. You, however, couldn’t understand the appeal of him. Sure, Utah had an irritatingly handsome face and a body seemingly sculpted by the gods themselves. However, they still weren’t enough to make up for his arrogance.

Not to you, at least.

It was close to midnight when you were paged to the emergency room after taking a short break. You had rounded the corner, noticing how empty and quiet it was before heading towards bed number twelve where your new patient was waiting. Pushing aside the privacy curtain, you cursed under your breath when you saw Johnny sitting on the hospital bed, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

“Seriously, Utah?” You spoke, exasperated. “This is the third time this month alone.”

“What can I say? I wanted to see you tonight, darling,” Johnny winked as you examined his injuries, which all seemed very easy to treat. Well, that’s what you had thought until you saw him holding an ice pack on top of his swollen wrist, most likely from a sprain.

Shaking your head, you might as well do your job now so that he could soon go on his merry way. With a deep sigh, you took a pair of gloves from the supply cart nearby and put them over your hands. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Johnny watching as you gathered the things you needed to clean the gash on his arm.

“What went wrong this time?” You asked him, gently cleaning the tender skin around his wound with a cotton pad dipped in solution. The cut was deeper than you had initially thought, and he definitely needed stitches for it.

“Drug raid,” he answered, and you caught sight of his tongue darting out, licking his chapped lips. “One guy got away and put up one hell of a fight. I didn’t see his knife at first, so that took me by surprise.”

“You didn’t wait for back-up?”

“There was no time, and I thought I could handle him by myself.”

Johnny flicked his dark hair to the side, his chestnut-brown orbs then staring at your concentrated gaze. You noticed the heat rising up in your cheeks when you briefly locked eyes, and you felt something—unexplainable. Swiftly, you looked away, your focus returning to the task at hand.

“And your wrist?”

“Tripped and landed on it. Doesn’t really hurt though, I’ve been through a lot worse.”

You nodded before you threw out the dirty cotton pad. You then switched to a new clean pair of gloves before threading a needle. “So, do you call the main desk first and check to see if I’m working before getting yourself injured while on the job?”

“Is it bad wanting to get treated by the best nurse in California?” Johnny let out a low chuckle before wincing at the stinging sensation of the needle’s sharp end piercing through his skin. “But if I say yes, will you finally agree to go on a date with me?”

“Not happening,” you declined, but you couldn’t stop a smile from appearing on your face. “Not in a million years.”

“Come on, please?” He pleaded, batting his lashes at you as if it would help his case. “Just one date, that’s all I want.”

You were used to this by now, the constant flirting and his silly attempts in asking you out. Ever since you met him four months ago, Johnny had been quite relentless, doing everything he could to convince you to give him a chance. But you simply weren’t impressed by him, and you would much rather keep your relationship with Johnny strictly professional.

“No, thank you, Utah,” you responded as you finished up your meticulous stitching, wrapping the inflicted area with a bandage afterwards. “I think we’re all done here. I’ll have you brought over to imaging and get your wrist checked out.”

Johnny gave you a short nod while you peeled off your used gloves and tossed them in the bin. For a minute or two, you watched in silence as he inspected your handiwork. Seemingly satisfied, his attention reverted back to you, flashing a cheeky grin at the same time.

“I don’t do it on purpose, by the way,” he noted, pushing himself off the edge of the bed before standing close to you. You could feel Johnny’s warm breath against your skin as you glanced up, locking gazes once again. “I don’t get hurt just so that I could see you. I guess it’s one of the perks that come with the job.”

“Sure it is,” you added incredulously. “Well, I’ve got rounds to do in a bit. You can wait here, and I’ll let the technician know that you need an x-ray.”

“Are you coming back?” Johnny wondered out loud.

“I’ll have Barbara bring you there,” came your response. “She’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

“But is she as beautiful as you, angel?” He tilted his head to the side, amused by his own inquiry. “If she’s not, then I’m not going.”

You laughed, taking a step back from him. “Okay, it’s your choice, but I have to get back to work.”

Turning around to leave, Johnny’s uninjured hand suddenly reached out to grasp yours, causing you to look behind. A quick second passed, and you swore that there was a shift in the atmosphere. You couldn’t think of a proper word for it other than electrifying, and truth be told, it had left you confused. His unwavering gaze sent a shiver down your spine, and you recognized the feeling as a sign that you were attracted to someone.

But this was Johnny you were dealing with. You weren’t supposed to feel like this, you had thought that he was the worst. You didn’t really know him, and he didn’t really know you. To him, you were probably just another pretty face that he wanted to sleep with and couldn’t take no for an answer.

“Desperation is not cute, Utah,” you stated as he pulled you towards him, your feet allowing it.

“I’m not desperate, I’m persistent. There’s a difference,” Johnny explained. His eyes drifting down to your mouth, quietly imagining how it would feel on his. “You know, I’m not going to give up on you that easily. Go ahead, play hard to get. But I can see it on your face—you like me, too.”

“Did you also manage to hit your head during the scuffle?” You raised a brow at Johnny, who shot you a faint smile. He then lifted your hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it softly before gently lowering it down.

“I’ll see you around, darling,” he said sweetly, and you felt your heart skip a beat. With a small wave, you then made your exit, walking to the nurses’ station down the hall.

As you prepped for the last three hours of your shift, you couldn’t help but reflect on what had happened between you and Johnny. It was odd because for one moment, you had forgotten about all of the reasons why you weren’t interested in him. Instead, you could only think of how gentle his calloused hands were as he held you, and the strange spark you felt when your eyes met.

“Thinking about Agent Utah?” Barbara’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts, and you tried to act naturally in front of the older woman. “Don’t even lie, hun. I knew that Utah would eventually get to you.”

“God, no,” you denied with a shake of your head. “How’s his hand?”

“Not too damaged, fortunately. But we did have a lovely conversation about you on our way up to imaging.”

You abruptly stood from your seat, almost stumbling backwards as Barbara giggled at your flustered reaction. “Nope, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Of course, you don’t. You’ve always been a stubborn little thing, especially when it comes to Johnny. How many more hospital visits will the poor man have to make until you finally realize it?”

Narrowing your eyes, you stopped yourself from launching into one of your usual tirades about Utah, not having the energy to do so right now. Sinking back down on your chair, you exhaled heavily and did your best to forget about him for the rest of the night.

Go ahead, play hard to get. But I can see it on your face—you like me, too.

Johnny’s words echoed in your mind. You didn’t know how he got to that conclusion, and he couldn’t be further from the truth.

A crush on Utah? The mere thought of it was absurd.

But was it?

---

A week later, you found yourself sitting at a local dive bar after a particularly exhausting shift at the hospital. The place was as busy as it could be on a late Friday evening, and with a stiff drink in your hand, you tried to ignore the ruckus happening around you. Emptying your first glass of the night, you were about to call the bartender over when a man took a seat right next to you.

“What’s a nice lady like you doing in a dump like this?” The stranger asked, his breath reeking of cheap liquor.

“How original,” you said dryly, not even turning to look at him properly. You just wanted to be left alone in peace. Was it too much to ask?

The man simply brushed off your comment as he ordered two bottles of beer, not giving you the chance to ask the bartender for a refill. Huffing, you rolled your eyes at him as he tried making awkward conversation with you. You couldn’t have appeared any less interested at that moment, yet he was oblivious to the fact.

“Babe! I’m sorry I’m late.”

You whipped your head to the side and saw Johnny approaching you with a wide grin.

“Babe?” The stranger hissed, his face turning red once Johnny was standing near you, an arm draping behind your shoulder and pulling you close. “You didn’t mention that you were with someone.”

“She doesn’t have to,” Utah answered for you. “You shouldn’t be bothering women like that. Didn’t you see her face? You were boring her to death!”

“Johnny,” you chided him. “Enough.”

“Yeah, listen to the lady, Johnny,” the other man sneered. “You don’t look like you treat her right. I think she’s with the wrong person.”

“Dude, just please leave us alone,” you spoke, hoping that the situation would die down.

“Whatever,” he muttered as he got up and began walking away. “She ain’t worth it anyway.”

Johnny was ready to throw a punch when you quickly gripped the back of his shirt and held him back. “Stop, it’s okay.”

“Asshole,” he mumbled bitterly before his attention went back to you. “You alright?”

Nodding, you smiled a little at Johnny as you patted on the empty seat beside you. “Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for that. I was ready to walk out of the door until you showed up.”

“I’ve always had great timing,” he chortled, sitting down on the bar stool as the bartender came by to take his order. “I’ll have a gin and tonic, and—what would you like, babe?”

Babe. The word fell from his lips so effortlessly, and you froze for a second. You thought you would have scolded Johnny for calling you that by now. But as the two of you continued to gaze at each other, it never came.

“I’ll have a margarita this time,” you requested without glancing away from Utah. “Are you stalking me now?”

“What? No, I’m not,” he chuckled as the corners of your mouth curved slightly. “Honestly, I’m not. I was in the area and decided to get a drink.”

“Okay,” you responded, believing him. “How are your stitches?”

“Still intact. My wrist is also doing fine now that the swelling’s gone.”

“That’s great,” you pointed out. “I thought I was going to have to treat you if a bar fight were to erupt back there.”

Utah shrugged slightly. “I would have gone through with it if you hadn’t stopped me. No one should speak to you that way.”

“Thank you, I really appreciated your help, Utah. Perhaps I’ve been too tough on you.”

Johnny blushed as your drinks were set in front of you. Raising your glasses, you clinked them both together before you each took a sip from it. You had never imagined having drinks with Johnny, but now that you actually were, you thought that it was quite fun. You felt at ease, the stress and tension from today’s shift melting away.

You talked the entire night, sharing laughter here and there. You weren’t sure if it was solely the alcohol to blame, but you found yourself letting your walls down for Johnny, no longer feeling guarded around him.

And it was blissful.

The conversation flowed so smoothly between you two that you didn’t realize how much time had flown by. The more you learned about Johnny, the more you started to believe that he was a genuinely good guy. And if tonight was any indication, he truly cared about you. As you chatted, you wondered in the back of your head if Johnny had been right all along.

Maybe you did like him.

“So,” he said as he slid some money across the counter to pay your tab along with his. “About dinner?”

You giggled before hopping down from your seat. “You are a very persistent one, Agent Utah.”

“After tonight, you owe me one,” he remarked, moving near you to offer you his arm, which you gladly accepted.

Together, you exited out of the establishment, a soft and chilly breeze blowing through your hair. The streets were silent as you strolled down the sidewalk hand-in-hand. A part of you didn’t want the night to end yet since you were enjoying your time with Johnny.

“Surfing? The FBI paid you to learn how to surf?” you questioned him, approaching the steps leading up to your apartment building.

“Yeah, they did since I was undercover,” Johnny revealed as he halted, his hand still holding yours. “And before you ask, it turns out I’m pretty good at it. I should give you lessons one day.”

“One day,” you repeated as you felt him squeeze your hand. Nearly a full minute went by before you cleared your throat. “Well, um, I should really get going. I don’t want to keep you for too long.”

Johnny released a light chuckle, the butterflies immediately fluttering inside your stomach at the sound of it. Feeling bold, you leaned up, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek before you let go of his hand. He gave you another one of his charming smiles, causing your heart race.

“Until next time, sweetheart,” he grinned as he watched you head up the stairs, only to stop when you reached the last step.

“Hey, Utah,” you called out. “I’m free tomorrow night if you still want to have dinner.”

“I’d have to check my calendar,” Johnny quipped, and you pretended to look annoyed. “I’m just teasing you. Of course, I would love to have dinner. I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“Sounds great,” you agreed, waving goodbye to him one last time before walking up to your door, a smile tugging at your lips.

Johnny Utah was an overconfident, cocky bastard, but not anymore. Not after tonight.

Not when you were finally his.

#johnny utah x reader #johnny utah imagine #johnny utah fanfic #keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #point break #reader insert #my fics #request

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possibly-starker · 5 years ago

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CherryDust. [Starker]

Murray smiles, greeting the audience, “Thank you! Thank you, you’re really too kind,” he says, taking his seat in the iconic velvet chair.

“Today we have the honor of having Peter Parker and the Cherrybombers on today’s show!” Murray beams as the crowd goes wild, whooping and cheering, Murray winks at the camera as he begins again, “Please, put your hands together, for what I think might be the most influential band of this generation!”

The sideline band plays the Murray Franklin jingle as Peter Parker and the Cherrybombers emerge from backstage, blowing kisses and throwing up peace signs. The crowd eats it up, losing their minds over the boys. Murray gives them all sort of half-hugs as they take their seats.

Finally the crowd dies down a bit. “Boys!” Murray greets, “It’s been so long since we’ve had you on the show,” Murray starts, exaggerating his motions, “Last time we had you on you all were about 16, right?”

Peter smiles politely, “Actually, Steve was 17.” Murray nods, “Yes, of course, and although we’re so happy to have you on the show, and of course we all love you, we have to talk about the recent drama going on between you and a rival band- ElectricDust.”

The crowd boos at the name, once thought of as few boys skipping supper with their family and refusing to go to church, now associated with drugs and statism, sex before marriage and cuss words.

Peter giggles, “They’re not much of a problem, Murray. They’re just a bunch of little boys thinking that if they behave badly enough, they’ll get somewhere.”

“They’re mongrels.” T’challa laughs. The audience laughs along with him. Murray chuckles, “Yes, but what are your thoughts on their new song ‘Rotten Cherry’? People are speculating it’s about your band, Peter.”

Peter fakes a smile, “I don’t think I’ve heard it, Murray.” He turns to his band-mates, “Have you guys heard it?” They all collectively shake their heads, murmuring ‘no’.

Murray nods, “Personally, I don’t think that Stark guy could carry a tune even if it was in a bucket!” Everybody in the studio laughs again.

“Tony tries too hard to be hardcore, he ends up looking like an idiot.” Peter sneers, “He’s a child.” The crowd makes noises of agreement.

Peter fakes a smile when Murray leans over and touches his thigh, “You know, they’re degenerates, Peter.” Murray says, almost lovingly. Steve looks like he wants to say something, like he wants to stick up for his band-mate. “I know, Murray.” Peter says, shifting away a bit.

Murray looks at Peter longingly, before turning to the camera, “We’re going to take a short break, and afterwards Peter Parker and the Cherrybombers will play their new hit single- Dewdrop Daisy!”

The cameraman gives Murray a thumbs up, and the beeping light on the camera turns off.

“Why don’t you meet me in my dressing room, Peter?” Murray says, standing up and adjusting his tie.

Peter feels sick to his stomach

“Okay.” He says sweetly.

The mosh pit smells like weed and sex, and Tony adores it. ElectricDust had a full house, not one ticket left over. Tony cards his hand through sweaty hair, “I hope you motherfuckers are having a good night!” he yells into the mic. The crowd screams back something obscene and Tony grins.

“If you want to fuck our bassist, scream at the top of your lungs!” Tony laughs, the crowd erupts in a loud roar, and Bucky, ElectricDust’s bassist, blushes.

The crowd dies down, and Tony speaks smoothly into the mic as he adjusts his guitar strap, “This next one was written for a nice piece of ass and his cronies,” the crowd ‘ooo’s and Tony can’t help the smirk forming on his lips, “‘Rotten Cherry’ is dedicated to my very good friend, who I know inside and out- Peter Parker!”

The crowd chants Pe-ter Par-ker over and over, and Tony hopes this preformance is somehow seen by the small brunette.

He feels like a god among men.

“You’re fueling the flames by talking about them.” Natasha scolds, leaning against he desk as the boys sit in her office. “You’re supposed to be a good christian pop/rock band- calling people ‘mongrels’ isn’t what you guys are supposed to do.” she glares at T’challa.

“ElectricDust is a problem, I, as your manger am supposed to deal with, is that understood?” The boys look at their suede shoes and mutter statements of agreement.

“Good.” Natasha says, placing her hands on her hips. She goes behind her desk and digs in a cabinet, retrieving a sleek styled red velvet envelope, “I’ve accepted an invitation to a little something I think you all might like.” she smiles, handing Peter the envelope.

Peter holds it carefully, looking up at Natasha with wide, confused eyes. “Go on and open it, we haven’t got all day.” She says in a motherly tone. The boys all gather around Peter as he opens the envelope cautiously, as if he was scared of what was inside.

He pulls out a dazzling blue card, very official looking.

‘PETER PARKER AND THE CHERRYBOMBERS HAVE BEEN NOMINATED FOR ‘BAND OF 1981’ ALONG WITH THEIR SONG, ‘DEWDROP DAISY’.

PLEASE REPORT TO ASGARD, U.S.A. FOR THE AWARDS CEREMONY.

LOKI LAUFEYSON, PRESIDENT OF OPALITE RECORDS.’

It says, in a swirly gold font. Peter keeps re-reading it, eyes shifting like crazy, looking for a sign that this is a fake or a joke. Steve’s breath hitches and Beck lets out a whoop of laughter, high-diving T’challa.

Peter finally looks up at Natasha again, who’s smiling softly. “Is this real?” Peter asks, out of breath. Natasha nods, “As real as they come.”

Opalite Records.

Who cares? It’s only the most exclusive record brand in the world, It was only the award ceramony that turned David Bowie and Bob Dylan down- no big deal.

Peter began to hyperventilate.

“Dude!” Quill yelled, grinning ear-to-ear as he entered the band’s trailer, holding up a velvet envelope.

Tony looked up from his guitar, “What do you want?” Quill slapped the envelope on the coffee-table in the middle of the trailer, looking quite proud of himself. “Open that shit up, Stark.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but leaned forward and picked up the envelope nonetheless, “If this is another bill for your porno-mags, Quill, so help me god-” he stopped mid-sentence after pulling out the card inside the envelope, face controrting.

‘ELECTRICDUST HAS BEEN NOMINATED FOR ‘BAND OF 1981’ ALONG WITH THEIR ALBUM, ‘MAN OF IRON’.

PLEASE REPORT TO ASGARD, U.S.A. FOR THE AWARDS CEREMONY.

LOKI LAUFEYSON, PRESIDENT OF OPALITE RECORDS.’

Quill beams as Tony looks over the letter, “And you said I was a shit manager.” Tony leans back into his chair, “You are.” Quill completely deflates, walking over and snatching the card out of Tony’s hand, huffing, “Do you know how many strings I had to pull to get you considered for the ceremony?”

Tony tries to look stern, but Quill looks like he’s going to bitch all day if Tony doesn’t cave in, “Fine, fine, whatever man, thanks, you did well.” Tony sighs. Quill smiles again, “Finally, I’m getting the recognition I deserve.” Tony snorts but doesn’t reply.

Quill clasps his hands together, “I’m gonna grab a beer, they opened a bar just down the street- wanna come?”

Tony shakes his head, “Grab me a pack of Marlboros while you’re out.”

“Looking sharp, Parker.” Steve smiles, leaning against the dressing room doorframe. Peter grins, fixing his cuffs in the mirror, “You really think so? It’s not too much?”

Steve shrugs, “It’s nice. Very you.” Peter shoots Steve a playful glare, “Is that supposed to be a compliment, Rogers?”

“You overthink things, Peter. You look fine.” Steve sighs, crossing his arms. Peter scoffs, “Fine is for church, I need to look better than fine; we’re going to the awards ceremony to top all award ceremonies, Steve. It’s going to be televised.”

Steve lets out a soft laugh, “You’re so different from the Peter Parker I knew in highschool.” Peter looks confused, “That’s a good thing, isn’t it? I was a nobody in highschool.”

“You were my friend. Just because you didn’t have people fawning over you left and right doesn’t mean you were a nobody. You liked Star Wars and turning your homework in early.” Steve looks slightly offended, and Peter gives him an unamused stare, “As much as I love you, Steve, being your nerdy little highschool friend in the middle of NowheresVille, Wisconsin doesn’t get you invited to the Opalite Records ceremony.”

Steve’s offended look blends into a sad one, “We started this band out of your uncle’s garage. It was for fun. This isn’t fun, anymore Peter. It’s not fun when it’s all you think about.” he says softly, walking out of the room.

Peter doesn’t realize that Steve’s gone until it’s time to leave.

“Baby, listen to me,” Tony says over the phone, “I know I cheated on you, but I’m a changed man, just come to this shindig with me for a few hours.”

Pepper sighs over the phone, “You know, I would, Tony, but I just can’t be bothered right now. Goodbye, love.”

click

Tony curses under his breath as he flips through a few more pages in his notebook, settling on a one night stand he had met last week. He dials her number.

“Hi, you’ve reached Wanda Maximoff-”

“Wanda!” Tony smiles, remembering her name, “Listen, babe, how’d you like to go on a little date with me tonig-”

“-I’m not here right now, but you’re welcome to leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible!” the recorded message chirps and Tony’s face falls, he slams the phone down on its hook.

He groans. He’s called just about every girl he’s ever interacted with, and not one wanted to accompany Tony to the awards ceremony.

“Woah,” Scott, ElectricDust’s keyboard player, says, entering the trailer’s makeshift livingroom, “Someone’s havin’ a bad day.”

“Wanna go on a date with me, Scott?” Tony says with a strained laugh. Scott fans himself, “On a date? With you? How could I possibly say no?” Tony buries his face in his hands, obviously stressed. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what I figured.”

“Have you tried, you know, actually being nice to your dates?” Scott says, grabbing a canned beer from the minifridge. “I heard that works wonders.” Tony narrows his eyes, “What do you mean? I’m always nice to my dates!”

Scott raises his brow, opening the can, “Really? You made me drive that blonde girl home yesterday because she didn’t want to so much as look at you.”

Tony stays quiet. Point taken.

Scott takes a few sips of his beer before belching, “Hope you find somebody, Tones. You got about,” he checks his wristwatch, “6 hours before we gotta leave.”

Tony groans again and then continues to flip through his notebook.

The theater is gorgeous, a large crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling and painted angels on every wall- Peter feels almost inferior in a place like this.

“Darlings!” Loki announces from across the room, striding over to Peter and his bandmates, “You all look absolutely ravishing.” he smiles. “So glad you could make it!”

Peter nods dumbly, blushing. “Thanks so much for inviting us, Mr. Laufeyson, it's a real honor.” Steve steps in, firmly taking Loki’s hand in his and shaking it. “Yes, well, the media would absolutely die if you all weren't invited- there's champagne and wine being served at the lounge if you want any.” Loki quickly says, before sashaying away.

Peter’s practically glowing as he turns to face his bandmates, “I think that went really well.” he grins.

“Jesus, Scott, could you be any worse of a driver?” Bucky sneers, holding onto the door handle as Scott swerves. “You’re lucky I'm not making you take the Metro, tin-man.”

The car is cramped and hot, making it difficult for Tony to snort a nice clean line. “We’re 30 minutes late,” Bucky says, almost annoyed, “Step on it.”

Scott turns around to face the brunette, running through a red light, “You know, you're a real bitch, Buck.” Tony sighs, finally getting a good half of the powder up his nose, “Eyes on the road, Scotty.” he mumbles, sinking back into the leather seat.

Scott says something under his breath, but turns back around and continues to drive.

Peter chokes on his sparkling water when he sees a very certain group of people get pass security.

What's worse is the fact that they're completely ignoring the dress code, showing up in denim jeans and t-shirts. Peter thinks he's going to puke.

Tony feels ecstatic when he spots that tuft of curly chocolate hair in the crowd, excusing himself from his bandmates as he pushes through the sea of Hollywood's elite.

“Parker!” he yells, and Peter tries to pretend he didn't hear it, turning away and taking another sip of his sparkling water.

“Don't be that way, princess!” Tony grins, finally catching up to the small thing, ”I just wanna talk to you.” Peter doesn't respond, which just makes Tony more restless, ”Parker, c’mon, baby! Let's catch up, preferably in the back of Scott’s car, but whatever works for you.”

Peter gives in, reluctantly, looking around to make sure nobody important is looking before speaking, “What the hell are you doing here? Did you come here just to ruin my night?” Peter hisses. Tony laughs, which just puts Peter more at unease, “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart, me and my boys were invited.”

“Unlikely.” Peter scoffs. “Invited to clean the floors more like it.”

Tony looks more annoyed now than anything, “My boys have worked just as hard as yours to be here, Parker.” Peter huffs, “You’re kidding. You don’t actually think you deserve to be here, right?” Peter let’s out a breathy laugh at the idea. “You’re nobodies, Stark,” he begins, poking at Tony’s chest, “You make music for losers, for outcasts. You’re only here because you gained popularity by dissing my band.”

Peter smiles up at Tony and walks away, leaving Tony alone with his battered ego.

Peter and Tony avoid each other for the rest of the night, despite their bandmates mingling and laughing with eachother, enjoying tiny cheese platters and white wine.

Peter’s too stubborn to make amends.

Tony just wants to give him space.

Finally, at around 12, the lights dim down and everyone is ushered into the seating area. Loki walks on stage, holding several envelopes in his hands.

“Thank you all for coming,” he says, sweetly, into the mic, “It means a lot to my record label that you took time out of your busy lives to visit little ole’ me.” the crowd giggles at that, Peter included.

“Now, without further ado- I give you the 22nd annual Opalite Records awards ceremony!” the crowd cheers and claps, buzzing with excitement.

Peter crosses his fingers, and Tony wishes they had something stronger than champagne.

After a grueling 2 hours of watching other bands and solo artists receive awards, Loki finally announces that he has the final and most important award of the evening.

“Everyone in this room is awfully talented,” Loki says, smiling softly, “But these people are just... better. Don’t take it too harshly, now.” he opens the card, slowly and teasingly, Peter thinks he’s going to pass out from the anticipation. Tony’s on his fifth glass of red wine, and he’s showing now signs of stopping.

“And the winner for band of 1981 is...”

Peter’s palms are sweaty, and he’s on the edge of his seat.

“My, what a surprise, it’s ElectricDust!”

Peter’s world comes crashing down around him, he glances over to where Tony and his goons are getting up, stumbling over their own feet.

It’s not fair.

“Woah, hey Peter, are you oka-” Steve begins, trying to comfort his friend, but Peter jolts up, interrupting him.

“I’m... going for a walk.” he declares, voice breaking.

Tony watches as Peter quickly makes a bolt for the exit. He taps Scott on the shoulder, “I’ll be right back.” he mumbles.

Scott’s eyebrows furrow, “Dude, it’s speech time! You gotta go up ther-”

“Make up something!” Tony grins, already making his way towards the exit as well, “Thank my mom for me!”

Peter sits on the cold, concrete steps outside of the theatre, hot tears streaming down his face. He had worked so hard, and it didn’t even matter.

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice softly speaks from behind Peter.

“Did you come here to rub it in?” Peter sniffles, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Tony takes a seat next to Peter, “No. I came here because I care.”

Peter laughs, rolling his eyes, “Am I supposed to believe that?”

Tony shrugs, “Believe what you want, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

They sit in silence for a while.

“Thank you.” Peter says softly, not daring to look up at Tony. “What you’re doing it’s- you’re a good guy.” he says, shyly.

Tony smiles, “I don’t give a shit about the award, or being even nominated, in all honesty, that Loki guy gives me the creeps.”

“Why’d you come here then?”

“I wanted to see you. I was hoping writing a song about you would grab your attention, but I think I like talking face-to-face better.”

Peter smiles, a gorgeous ‘I-don’t-know-I’m-smiling’ kind of smile, and Tony’s heart swells.

“I’m sorry I said all that stuff about you.” Peter finally says, gaining the courage to look Tony in the eye.

“I’ve been called worse- no hard feelings.”

Peter’s eyes light up as he giggles.

“Listen, I don’t exactly have a date for this thing,” Tony jabs a thumb at the building, “Know anybody who might wanna, I don’t know, get together? Even if it’s just for tonight.”

Peter pretends to think for a second. “I might; but he’s really hungry, so you might want to ask him after a burger. Or 5.”

Tony laughs, standing up, extending his arm so that Peter can grab it, “The night’s still young, princess.”

Peter beams, letting himself get heaved up by Tony, “We best make the most of it.”

🌻🌻🌻🌻

The absolutely beautiful moodboard was made by the fantastic @starkermoodboards !! She makes fucking stellar boards so why are you not following her.

This fic took forever to write, so appreciate it please 😔 i’m also sorry this is so long????

-Red.

#starker #ironspider #peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #tony stark #starker fanfiction #fluff #starker fic #starker fluff #tooth rotting fluff #hnghjnndh its 1 am

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phantomphangphucker · 5 years ago

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Ectober Day 16: Locks - This Is A Little Bit Much Chap. 1 - My Ghost Just Got Squared

What does the ghost of a half-ghost look like?

Danny sighs at the board, philosophy mixed with ghosts and his parents' tech was honestly more concerning than it had any right to be. Watching as his teacher slaps a hand on the whiteboard, “everyone's ghost is locked away inside them. Existing in its base undefined state. Waiting for deaths key to imprint on it it’s true form”. Before pointing at the guest, who’s wearing a white lab doctor's coat, “Dr. Lewis here, lovingly provided to us by the Fenton’s, will be demonstrating this in a way I’m sure you’ll find riveting”.

Anyone who wasn’t paying attention, which wasn’t very many since nearly everyone always did when something was about ghosts, is acutely interested now. As Dr. Lewis stands up, waving around what looked like a neon green mirror on a red sliver handle, “this device, the Ghost Mirroring Key, will allow us to glimpse inside the keyhole. See what your ghosts look like at their base form at your current age”, Danny groans internally as the guy keeps talking, “now because ghosts often retain the clothing they died in, none of your clothing will change or glow. All we’ll see here is your basic ghosts ghostly attributes. Skin colour, hair colour, ear shape, if you have claws, if you have fangs, eye colour, and any other more unique traits. Such as equipment, flames, permanent ghostly tail, or even a cape or cloak”.

Needless to say, Danny’s a bit freaked out by this. Just how much like Phantom will he look? What about Dan? It’s always haunted him wondering just how much of Dan was Danny and how much was Vlad. Because physically? The only Vlad attributes he had was the cape and red eyes. The rest was all stuff either both of them had or just Danny.

Watching his parents' doctor friend, Dr. Lewis, pass around the little mirror-like palm-sized plates; and tentatively taking his own. Danny’s not exactly surprised that everyone else is eager, they really don’t have any reason not to be. And honestly? Danny was curious too. Just way less curious and far more nervous. If anything Danny’s more curious about what his friends will look like. Man he wishes they were in the same class. But pretty well everyone in grade twelve was doing this, okay, it was probably everyone. Something tells Danny that this was going to become something of a senior year tradition. Getting to glimpse your ghost for a day.

Dr. Lewis clears his throat, sitting on the corner of the desk, “now that that’s all sorted, simply place your hand on the device for ten seconds. You’ll turn invisible for a few seconds before gracing us all with your ghostly selves”.

Danny only stares down at it, watching his reflection and mentally making black hair white and blue eyes green; while the rest of his class instantly uses it. Glancing his eyes around, Danny can’t help but snort at Dash looking like a green wingless gargoyle. Expected, but still funny. Kwan literally looks the same but purple-skinned and red-eyed. Paulina, who’s fingers are just a little too long with pink skin and long lazily flaming red hair, is fawning over Star's white hair and green eyes. While Star goes on about how every ghost and human wouldn’t be able to look away from Paulina’s hair. Which just descends into them complimenting each other back and forth.

Looking around the rest of the room, no one really looks scary. Dale’s fangs stick over his lips, Todd’s claws are closer to blades, and Mikey didn’t have lips at all; but no one really looked non-human. Well okay, Lily has a second set of arms.

Danny bites his lip and looks back down to his ‘mirror’ before getting slightly started by Dash, “what? You afraid of your own ghost Fentit? Or are you just afraid it’ll be as weak and loserish as you”.

Dale laughs, “of course! Poor little freak won’t be able to look at himself without screaming!”.

Jasper sighs and shakes his head, “guys be nice, this is probably horrifying for the guy. Today will be like an exercise in not running away for him”.

Danny grumbles as he side-eyes the jocks, “that’s honestly more insulting than helpful”, before looking back to the mirror. Getting startled again by someone kicking his foot.

Turning around to see Valerie, he’d honestly forgotten she was in this class too, seeing as neither often showed up or showed up on the same days. Danny has to restrain a smirk at her red skin as she points a clawed hand at Danny’s mirror. Speaking while rolling her purple eyes, “just do it. I mean I can deal and you know how I hate ghosts”.

Danny grunts but turns back around, biting his lip again before tentatively putting his hand on the ‘glass’. Of course, putting this off meant everyone was staring at him.

Danny flips over his clawed whitish-green hand a few times, it also glowed far more vibrantly than was normal. While Paulina cries out, “what?! Why’d that loser freak have to get white hair too!”. While Dash huffs, “yeah, Fentina is nowhere near cool enough to share colours with Phantom”.

Danny looks down into the mirrored surface in time to spot Valerie’s red hand pat at Danny’s flaming hair. How funny that looked is the only thing really stopping Danny from cringing at his reflection. White flaming hair was very very Dan. Least he still had his green eyes, which like everything else, were glowing strangely bright. Danny’s just chalking that up to him already being partway ghost. He’s got no clue why there’s a tip of green flames to his hair though.

Most of the class goes back to talking in their little groups while Danny checks out his, fuck those are bigger than Dan’s what the fuck?, fangs; and sticking out his, pointed and elongated but thankfully not forked, tongue.

Danny tilts his head back as Valerie taps on his shoulder, resulting in her snorting at his face, “green eyes too? You better make sure you don’t get offed wearing monochromes”, squinting at him, “what’s up with your glow though?”.

Danny shrugs, he had no damn clue, “well I am around my folks' stuff and frequently get accidentally shot by it. Probably been accidentally consuming ectoplasm for years”. Valerie hums in agreement.

Dr. Lewis claps his hands, “remember this only lasts for a few hours. So enjoy your unlocked states while you can. And please, try not to get unlocked permanently through natural means anytime soon. Ghosts may have powers and you may all look very cool, but they’re still dead”.

Danny can’t help but chuckle, he was never going to see this look again. Since he couldn’t actually fully die anymore.

Putting his chin in his palm as Dr. Lewis walks around to look people over, causing Danny to notice there are white flames where they logically shouldn’t be if it was his hair. Looking down at his chest and going wide-eyed at the white and not weirdly brightly glowing flames of what he damn well recognises as his cape. The sides pinned together via two green skulls and a smoking shadowy black chain. Sticking his left hand behind him to scrunch up the familiar plush-lined velvet fabric, with a mental groan. Of course, that was here! Before near panickedly groping through his hair flames for the crown. His hand stilling as his fingers push against the flaming metal, that’s why there’s green tipping! His crown is literally hiding inside his hair, since it wasn’t actually meant for someone with fucking flaming hair. Danny can’t help but laugh over the image of the crown just floating above the flames, like two feet above his head. Like a damn sims icon. Ancients that would look silly!

Danny leans back in his chair and stares down at his Ring Of Suffering, of course, something like this would be imprinted on the very base of his ghost.

Overhearing Dr. Lewis speaking to Valerie, “I’m not surprised at least one of you has a cape”, making Danny look behind him, this time actually noticing that Valerie’s got a cape. Red and thin with black lining. From the looks of it, Danny guesses it’s about knee length, unlike his which drags across the ground for about a foot. Dr. Lewis continues but is addressing the whole class this time, “having things like artifacts or tools. Such as a guitar or maybe a ring. Means that something is a source of power for your ghost, that other ghosts don’t naturally have”.

Todd laughs as he smacks the whip on his hip, “so we’re basically better ghosts”.

Dr. Lewis tilts his hand in the air, “you could put it that way, yes, but it’s more so that you have a niche and special skill. This could be a bad thing in some situations”, while Danny mentally grumbles about how being High Ghost King did indeed suck sometimes, Dr. Lewis clears his throat, “as for capes or cloaks. They’re simply signs of power, skill and leadership in some form. Ghosts with capes or cloaks are always a cut above the rest. The apex ghosts so to speak. More fanciful capes and cloaks, means more powerful or important. Things like length, number of colours, accessories, details, etcetera. A ghost with a simple brown cloak would be below, so to speak, a ghost with a simple brown cloak that had clasps”.

Danny easily hears Valerie mutter, “damn fucking right. Even my ghost is better than ghosts”. Making Danny chuckle, before tensing up over Dr. Lewis looking him over. Mentally chanting, ‘don’t notice the crown, don’t notice the crown, don’t notice the crown’. While the rest of the class comment about how ‘of course little miss gymnastics would be a powerful ghost’.

Dr. Lewis pokes at one of the large green skull clasps with a raised eyebrow, chucking, “I’m not sure if Maddie and Jack would be proud or bothered. You’re going to be something impressive”, he laughs, “well here’s hoping you don’t retain you skittishness of ghosts in the afterlife”.

Danny’s about to thank his lucky stars before Dr. Lewis parts away some of Danny’s hair flames and raises both eyebrows at Danny, “well then. I’m not going to claim to understand how or even why. Just do me a favour and don’t be a human-hating ghost”.

Danny gives the guy an awkward nod and just decides to be glad that Dr. Lewis’s body blocked him from the rest of his classmates' sight. Valerie of course, heard everything, being the only person sitting near Danny. Whispering at him, “so that green isn’t part of your hair”. Danny just shrugs awkwardly.

When the bell rings, Danny doesn’t really want to stand up but he’s also brutally curious about his other friends now. He already knows they’ll look at Valerie and smirk. Then look at him and cringe. Well, it’ll probably be in reverse order but still.

Valerie whacks him on the arm, “well get up you lucky, or unlucky I don’t really know, asshole. Also fuck that cape’s soft”. Danny chuckles and rubs his neck, “tell me about it. Pretty sure the inside is damn plush, I could sleep in it”.

Valerie snorts as she gets up and starts walking, looking back at him, “you got a damn napping cape. Figures”. Danny can’t help but blink and start laughing, before shaking his head and getting up; cape tail flopping onto the ground.

Resulting in whom ever’s still in the classroom to stop talking, as now that Danny’s not slouching or hidden by the chair the capes collar flames are extremely noticeable. Danny walking out to whispers over the cape and how it’s ‘highly decorated’ and ‘really fancy’.

Shouldering his way past Dash and his merry band of pricks, while Dash sneers, green fangs on full display, “wow I’m surprised Fentaco hasn’t run screaming yet. What? Am I not scary enough?”, making a point to attempt at snarling.

Danny, kind of done with Dash’s shit and having the confidence and pride boost of his kings wear, rolls his eyes, “hardly”, smirking and baring his own fangs a little, “and Dash, this is how you snarl”, before giving Dash a more proper and threatening snarl. Starting the jocks.

Valerie bumps shoulders with Danny as they walk past, “the hell Danny?”.

Danny rubs his neck before pointing at her, “oh don’t tell me your cape isn’t a bit of a confidence booster. And Dash looks like a knock off gargoyle. A one in a million ghost. And it’s Dash, still human. No powers. Working heartbeat”.

“Point”.

Both turning their heads as Dash shouts at them, seeing him pointing at Danny, “hey! What are you doing with a cape!?!”.

Danny rolls his eyes, “doing better than you apparently”, before running his hand through his hair, easily revealing the flaming crown, and speed walking away. Danny

Valerie pokes him as they’re approaching Sam and Tucker, pretty well everyone staring at them, “you are going to trip someone with that thing. And I know you’re used to getting odd looks but this is a bit much”. Danny shrugs, looking around a little, he hardly noticed. Basically everyone stared at him as Phantom. Fenton got it less often and it was usually more mocking.

Danny smiles seeing his two other friends also with capes. Was it surprising? Not to any of them. Tucker’s got nearly black skin tinted green, with a near floor-length off white cape lined with gold and etched with hieroglyphs.

Danny pats him on the shoulder while his two friends stare at his hair, “how very Egyptian Tuck. Red eyes kinda suck though”.

Sam pokes his hair with a pale nearly white green clawed hand, “says Mr. Fire hair”.

Danny pokes her horned helmet right back, “least I have hair”. Her green eyes and purple cape covered in green vines, was one hell of a reminder of Overgrowth. It honestly made sense that the ghostly bullshit they’ve all gone through has affected their base ghosts.

Sam and Tucker look Valerie over then, both chuckling slightly. Tucker stretching out some, “wow, the whole quartet got capes. Nice”.

Danny nods and looks around, “not the only ones”, jerking his head at Mia in a black cape with a red grid pattern and Hanna in a purple cloak. Danny couldn’t really help looking to see if she had some kind of time-related clasp or something. She didn’t, but it would honestly be weird if she did.

Valerie shoulders him, “well yours is still the most excessive thing I’ve ever seen”. Danny just rubs his neck and shrugs.

Eventually, the bell goes off and they’re stuck going their separate ways, largely because Danny’s stuck running off outside. Ghost sense making him groan. Though blinking and wondering just what the hell going ghost is going to look like right now. So he zips into a bathroom instead of out in the open. He transforms and stares in mild shock. The whites of his jumpsuit glowed slightly green, same with his hair; which was oddly not flaming. His skin was black and all the black on him seemed to suck in the light. His glow, normally white, was green. To say Danny was confused would be an understatement. Muttering down at his hands, “what the fuck? How the heck is my ghosts base ghost different from my humans base ghost. My ghost from and human form have different base ghosts...What the absolute fresh hell?”. Well, at least his Kings get up was easy enough to turn invisible.

Shaking his head and phasing through the ceiling and promptly kicking Technus in the face.

“You look strange ghost child! Perhaps you are trying out some new styles yourself!”.

Danny laughs, “I unlocked Phantom 2.0, and I must say, it’s made me one hell of a glow bug!”, before blasting Technus in the face. Blinking at his hand over how absurdly bright the blast had been.

Technus springs up, “you are stronger whelp! 2.0 indeed!”.

Danny shrugs, “don’t know what to tell ya dude. Wait! Hey! Get back here!”, rushing off to fly after the fleeing villain. Who cries, “I must regroup!”.

“Oh I don’t think so!”, Danny slams him over the head with the thermos and sucks him in. Wiping his forehead and looking around. Shaking his head at some people taking photos. His weird look was going to be the talk of the town for days.

Turning invisible and flying off into the bathroom. Locking the bathroom door to really stare at himself in the mirror. Waving his hand around to see he’s leaving light tracers, pale green ones. “Sam and Tuck are going to lose their shit”.

Shaking his head as he transforms back, before leaving the bathroom. Only to bump into a red-skinned Wes. The bathroom door getting stuck slightly open when it caught on the end of Danny’s cape.

Wes looks him up and down with Halloween orange eyes, “why the hell don’t you look just like Phantom. How do you always manage to pull something off? And what’s with the cape?”.

Danny smirks, “oh? I thought everyone knew Phantom was a King. Since you seem to think he’s me, then, of course, you’d see me with a cape”.

Wes glares down at the ajar door, “I ain’t seeing shit Phantom”.

“But I thought you just said you could see a cape?”.

“I hate you”, crossing his arms and looking around, seeing they’re alone, speaking more seriously, “seriously though. What’s up with the look?”.

Danny shrugs, “dude you know I’m a weirdo. And everyone knows Phantom’s fucking weird. Wouldn’t surprise me if he wasn’t entirely dead or some shit”, shrugging and pulling out his phone, “oh and apparently Phantom looks weird today too”.

Wes deadpans, “yeah, I bet you do”.

Danny holds up his phone, showing a pretty decent photo of Phantom 2.0 he’d already found on twitter. Wes snatches the phone and stares before gesturing wildly at the screen, “what the hell is this!”, looking up at Danny, “how?!? HOW!?!”.

Danny shrugs and takes back his phone, “for once, your guess is as good as mine. I don’t even think ghosts are supposed to glow that brightly. Wish I was there”, smirking and looking back at the bathroom, “an up-close look would be really neat”.

Wes just glares and kicks in the door, nearly tripping over Danny’s cape as he goes.

Danny throws his arms over Sam and Tucker as the wave bye to Valerie. Tucker chuckling, “so are you actually going to go home like this?”. Danny shrugs, “folks know what’s happening today and literally insisted on seeing my ‘ghost unlocked’. Not surprised but first...”. Danny looks around and points to an alleyway, “have y’all checked out Phantom on twitter lately?”.

Sam rolls her eyes, “giant tech companies are slowly crushing the middle class and destroying the youth through mindless distractions”.

Tucker shakes his head as Danny steers them into the alley, “so that’s a no then. And Danny dude, I don’t think anyone has. Too interested in being ghosts, sorta, for a day”, poking him, “you’re the only one that this isn’t a novelty for”.

Danny lets go of his friends and spins around to be in front of them, looking excited, “oh that’s where you’re wrong. I’m about to slightly blind you”. Before transforming, rings brighter than usual, and floating in the air. His green glow making the alleyway look eerie, like it was part of the Ghost Zone. Tucker and Sam both gaping at him.

Tucker eventually snorting, “dude, when you’re literally a half living paradox I thought I’d seen the most impossible thing ever. But now you’ve literally got two base ghost selves”.

Sam nods, “that seems more impossible actually”.

Danny sticks his hands out to the side, “I know right! I know I like to joke about being a glow bug but this is excessive”, dropping one arm and charging a painfully bright ecto-blast, “and I’m stronger. I think I may have actually startled Techy”.

Both Sam and Tucker are shielding their eyes, Tucker giving him a thumbs up anyway, “dude you could actually blind someone with that”.

Sam shakes her head and pats Danny’s arm as he extinguishes the blast, “so a ten-second mirror-touch gives you a multi-hour power boost”.

Danny smirks, “video game power-up mode unlocked”.

Tucker snorts, “what bonus achievements do you think this unlocked?”.

“Mass confusion, pissing off Wes level three, one confused call from Vlad, and at least twenty new FentonWorks inventions”, Danny taps his chin, “oh and one mild existential crisis because I have TWO BASE GHOSTS JUST WHAT THE HELL?”.

Tucker snaps his fingers, “Pokemon dude”.

Both Sam and Danny look at him, “what?”.

Tucker rolls his eyes, “come on dude. All the best Pokemon have three evolutions, and a mega-evolution”, Tucker counts off his fingers, “there’s your first, human. Second, ghost. Third, halfa. ‘Cause let’s be honest, halfas are stronger than y’all would be if you had just skipped straight to death. Besides, you were probably full ghost for a bit before getting half your life back. And now this”, gesturing at Danny, “your stronger, got a flashy appearance upgrade, and it has a time limit. It’s fucking megaPhantom. Your mega-evolution, the Ghost Mirroring Key your Phantomite”.

Danny borderline squeals like a little girl and Sam sighs but smiles, “you two are dorks”.

Danny waves goodbye to his friends with a little amused pep in his step, pushing open his houses front door only a little while later.

Speaking with mirth, “I’m home! Please come and check me out so I can escape the poking to flee into my humble lair”.

Jack laughs at his sons' humour as the two parents indeed come to look Danny over in the living room. Danny’s not even surprised they start poking at him and lifting up the cape. His dad running his hands through both sets of flames before pointing at his hair, “that one’s colder, and flames are pretty fearsome”.

Danny tilts his head at the approving tone his dad used, “you seem... happy? about that?”.

While Maddie brushes imaginary dirt off his capes shoulders, “the capes impressive too. You’ll be strong”.

Now Danny’s really confused, because that sounded approving too; even a bit proud. But promptly internally cringes as his mom goes to ruffle his hair, nearly stabbing herself with his crown. Jerking her hand away only to motion for him to bend forward for her to get a better look.

Danny’s practically holding his breath waiting form them to say something. His dad speaking up, “of course a Fenton would wind up ruling ghosts! Teach them how to behave and keep them in line!”.

Standing back upright, “okay seriously, why are you guys happy about this? I figured you’d be, you know, not. ‘Cause ghosts”.

Maddie successful ruffles his flaming hair around this time, “think nothing of that sweetie. We fully expect you’ll be a ghost someday. You’re already so ghostly as a living human”.

Jack nods, “and with you being obviously destined for strength those other filthy ghosts won’t be able to bother you over being a Fenton! Not that any Fenton would ever let a ghost harass them freely!”.

Danny’s flat out stunned and gapes a little, before shaking his head, “so wait, you guys want me to become a powerful leader ghost? That could potentially be a threat?”.

Jack grabs both of Danny’s shoulders, “better you to be a strong ghost than a weak one, when around them. And Danny-boy, you could never be a threat. If any ghost could resist a ghosts nature to be evil, it would be a Fenton’s ghost! Besides! If we needed to catch you I’m sure I could just coax you to join me for some fudge!”.

Maddie nods and smiles at Jack, before turning to look at Danny, smiling softly, “now, of course, we don’t want you to become a ghost. To die but not rest”, shaking her head, “but you’re already so much like one that it’s obvious you’ll become one. Setting off detectors, being affected by anti-ghost weapons, bloodblossom allergy, you snarl and purr, baring your teeth and curling your hands like claws”, while Danny’s realising he acts way more ghost than he though, Maddie shakes her head again, before continuing to speak, “with all of that how could you not become a ghost”, glancing at Jack, “and though it would be funny watching your father coax you with food, I’d rather us be long gone by the time you join the Ghost Zone”.

Danny rubs his neck, cape bunching up a bit and still feeling a bit thrown, “uh, thanks”.

Jack nods with a smirk and puts his fists on his hips, “of course Danny-boy! And this way we’ll now know what you look like as a ghost! So will your friends!”.

Maddie smiles and motions for her two boys to follow her into the kitchen, “and when things eventually come to pass, everyone will know not to shoot at you or hurt you”.

It takes a beat for Danny to follow, far too stunned. His folks wanted to see him, not to examine him, but to be able to recognise him as a ghost? So they wouldn’t harm him? By the time he gets into the kitchen, he’s barely keeping tears from flowing down his face. Promptly hugging his mom from behind and nearly whispering, “thank you. You-you don’t know how much that means to me”.

Maddie grabs and rubs her thumb over one of Danny’s green arms. Leaning her head against his head resting on her shoulder, “always sweetie. Ghost or human, and regardless how tall, you’ll always be my little boy”.

Danny squeezes her a little tighter before promptly hugging his dad, who was somewhat awkwardly standing behind them. “Thanks too, dad. I promise I’ll always come for family fudge. Maybe when things happen, and if you guys wind up ghosts too, I’ll come find you. Bring you some”.

Jack squeezes back hard, “I could think of no better thing you could do”, patting Danny on the back firmly, “who knows! Maybe you’ll have to keep us in line!”. Making both of them laugh and Danny wipes his eyes quickly before sitting down.

Danny can’t help but smile throughout dinner, which doesn’t go unnoticed by his parents.

Maddie asking, “you really were worried how we’d react to you as a ghost, huh?”.

Danny rubs his neck and looks around, “how could I not? You guys hate ghosts and chased after Phantom even though he was pretty good”. Not to mention the fact that Danny was Phantom and his third biggest fear was that they’d still shoot at him even if they knew. The second being anyone dying and the first being becoming Dan.

Jack chuckles a bit awkwardly, “yeah we were a bit quick to the trigger back then. But everyone learns! You’ll have to learn to be a leader even! Judging by the crown”.

Maddie smiles and giggles slightly, “though I don’t think you’ll be doing much learning”.

Danny tilts his head, “what do you mean by that?”, before eating some more of his mash potatoes.

Maddie points at his spoon, “that. Your eating around your fangs-”.

Jack cuts in, “which are really impressive!”.

“-with ease. Like you just know how. And I don’t think you’re even noticing when your ears swivel, like you’re used to it. You easily move around your cape to keep it out of your way and you’re not fiddling with the ring. Like it’s always been there”.

While Danny’s internally freaking out a little bit about that all being apparently a little too obvious. Maddie continues, “so even your body knows what’ll be. All you’ll have to learn, I think, is how to go about being a leader. I’m sure you’ll do well though”.

Jack nods and pushes away his cleaned off plate, “you’ll be respected and looked up to! Good! Like, well, like Phantom!”.

Danny blinks, he knew his parents' opinion of Phantom had changed some. But to hear that so bluntly was stunning. Threatened to make him tear up again. Clearing his throat to distract himself, “I guess my bodies already got things figured out”, rubbing his neck before blinking and going wide-eyed at his parents, “wait, are you guys thinking of calling a truce? With Phantom?”.

Maddie nods, “we’ve been thinking it over for a while now. And we really have heard everything you kids have said about him”, ruffling Danny’s flames, “and you look a lot like him. And thinking of that, you as a ghost. You’d probably be a lot like him. Quick wit and...and defending others. Being helpful”.

Jack laughs, “honestly! You look more ghostly than he does!”.

Danny can’t help but chuckle, that’s because Phantom was only half-ghost and Danny currently looked full ghost. “I bet he’d get a good laugh out of that. And I’m glad, for the truce thing. He’s a good ghost”.

Maddie nods with a smile while Jack speaks up, “I imagine he’s pretty confused today! A bunch of teens running around looking like ghosts!”.

Danny snorts and pulls out his phone, looking down at the picture of, snort, megaPhantom, before looking back to his parents, “yeah about that. You know how he frequents the school?”.

Maddie raises an eyebrow, “yeah?”.

“Well, what’s supposed to happen if a ghost uses the Ghost Mirroring Key?”.

The two parents exchange a glance.

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kiruuuuu · 5 years ago

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Smoke/Mute oneshot in which two nerds fall for each other. Also, as usual, part of it devolves into utter chaos :) (Rating T, fluff fluff fluff + humour, ~9k words) - written for my kindness war with @nutbrain 💖💖 Take that! I do hope you enjoy it and I hope you also know how much I adore you. Please never change 💗

Mute raises an unimpressed brow. When Sledge told him he was about to meet their ‘chemistry whiz’ who apparently matched Mute’s own penchant for anything science, he’d pictured something…

Well, not something like this. Not an aged goon too short for the t-shirt he’s wearing (yet filling out the sleeves nicely nonetheless), not someone folded onto his chair like an ape, and certainly not someone with a haircut better suited for the military than a lab. He’s an odd mix of latent energy, smug grin and laziness, and Mute immediately decides not to like this show-off.

He’s always been picky and so far it’s served him well – while other friend groups publicly fought out private issues, complained about betrayal, miscommunication, ignorance, Mute sat in his corner with his one or maybe two friends and simply watched. Focusing on his own success, he’s always fared better than if he tried to get along with those around him, and the results don’t lie: mid-20s, and he’s just been recruited into one of the world’s best special forces. He works well enough in a team and is aware his superiors can’t demand more than that, even if Aurelia expressed the wish for him to socialise more than he’s used to. Her right-hand man briefly tried to bond with Mute over their shared heritage but backed off as soon as he earned a carefully blank stare. He knows more than he lets on, Six does as well, but for now they’re leaving Mute be.

Going by his gut feeling, trusting his first impression has rarely failed him, and so he fells his judgement while the hoodie-clad thug in front of him greets him cheerfully. “How ya, nice to meet you, I’m told you can backseat engineer a tad and help me with my project. Been a right bastard recently, innit?”

Mute blinks. Self-centred, he writes on his mental list, outgoing – the horror! –, big mouth, carefree. None of the bullet points make him want to spend more time in this guy’s presence than necessary. It doesn’t help that it’s entirely unclear who or what has been a right bastard, whether it’s the project, the dude, maybe Mute himself, who knows? He sounds like one of Mute’s former classmates who dropped out to sell weed and graffiti abandoned stations at night. “Yes”, he replies hesitantly to buy time. “So… what is it you’re working on?”

In an entirely misguided attempt at getting Mute settled in at the base, Sledge has spent most of the day sending him back and forth between operators with increasingly mundane tasks which Mute identified much too late as intended conversation starters which usually resulted in two lines of awkward small talk and a task done mostly in silence. He nearly refused to step anywhere near this last SAS member but when Sledge mentioned the magical word science, Mute’s interest was piqued. Seems like this will be just another disappointment, however, because this schoolyard bully surely isn’t -

“A Lewisite derivative less prone to hydrolysis and ideally as long-lasting as Adamsite while being less identifiable. I don’t want those bloody terrorists shooting up on dimercaprol immediately to counter the effects.”

Well. Mute briefly considers whether he’s merely saying this to be funny, maybe learnt it by heart to impress a few birds in the pub, but when he spots the emblem of arsole on this guy’s jacket like the crest of a prestigious school, he realises that he’s dead serious. “You realise that’s illegal as fuck?”

This earns him a bright smile. “Yep!”

“So you want to poison a whole group of people”, Mute clarifies, just to be sure.

“Lethally poison them to death until they die”, the man confirms with an amused nod and again, it takes Mute a moment to register he’s not being facetious.

He throws a glance at the chicken scratch notes spread out on the table separating them. They look chaotic yet detailed, and most of all they look like a challenge. “What did you say your name was?”, he wants to know distractedly and almost misses the lazy grin spreading on the guy’s face.

~*~

Mute still doesn’t like him. Contrary to how often they hang out, Smoke certainly ranks nowhere near his favourite people to spend time with which might seem unfair but he’s just – annoying, really, won’t stop bragging or talking too loudly, keeps taking and using Mute’s stuff without asking and is much too handsy for his tastes. He never properly learnt personal boundaries and is forthcoming to the point of rudeness, at least in Mute’s opinion, but for some reason gets along well enough with most of the other operators. It baffles Mute how easily he navigates social situations, does so without a care in the world and, while Smoke gets yelled at often enough, he also gets what he wants a surprising amount. Mute was brought up to be reasonably polite, withdrawn, not a bother, and Smoke is… the opposite. He goes out and declares for everyone to hear, so someone is bound to listen. It’s enviable, in a way.

But no, Mute’s personal ideals resonate much more closely with Glaz’, and Twitch’s, and Rook’s, and together they form an alliance of loyalty and trust and meet up just to be themselves. It’s a relief not to worry about what comes out of his mouth and even more of a relief to realise he’s actually found friends in Rainbow. He doesn’t consider Smoke a friend, not really, more of a necessary evil which just won’t go away and so he’s developed coping mechanisms.

This, too, sounds harsh in his head. He has to admit there are moments when he genuinely enjoys Smoke’s company.

“Why are you so quiet, lad? Cat got your tongue?”

Compared to Thatcher, Smoke is an angel. As awe-inspiring and competent as the SAS legend is, he seems to take personal offence to Mute mostly keeping to himself and has set out to coax the social chameleon, the starry-eyed, hopeful young man out of Mute who’s been dreaming of being a part of the whole his entire life yet was too awkward to figure out how. Little does he know that under Mute’s taciturnity hides an even more misanthropic nerd who’d be happy surrounded by nothing but technology for the rest of his life. Not all who talk little have little to say, but not all who talk little secretly want to star in High School Musical.

“Mike, you must’ve spent the first twenty years of your life in silence”, Smoke pipes up from where he’s lounging on one of the other tables in the workshop, letting one of his legs dangle and playing a freemium game on his phone, “because with how you dither on, you sound like you’ve something to catch up on, now that you’ve one foot in the grave.”

Mute has to admit: he’s excellent nuisance repellent. He hides a grin as Thatcher’s attention shifts. “I certainly would spend twenty years in silence if it meant you’d have to shut up yourself.”

“Gladly, if it’d make you stop molesting the youngins. I saw you chase Manu around yesterday, she should really get a restriction order.”

“All I wanted was to help her calibrate her gun -”

“She’s bloody GIGN, granda, she was born with a Magnum in her tiny baby hands. And whatever you do, she’ll never calibrate your gun.”

Despite knowing Thatcher genuinely only wants to help, Mute leaves the two to their usual banter, content in not being a part of it: they both seem to enjoy their bickering and it’s best not to make himself a target. Besides, Smoke thoroughly relishes being insulted, if his and Mute’s early interactions are anything to go by. Smoke called him young, Mute replied with ‘as young as you wish you were’ and since then, he’s been a puppy following him around with a delighted expression, fawning over every harsh comment directed at him.

“Oi, babe”, Smoke addresses him and Mute wishes he’d mind the nickname, yet whenever he remembers the other ones which were in the running, he can’t. “You think Mike here hates molecules whose atoms are all in covalent bonds?”

The question comes so out of thin air that Mute needs a second to process it. “I – what? Why?”

“Because they’re unionised.”

Mute stares at him for a bit longer before it clicks – it’s Thatcher and he means the other pronunciation of unionised and dear Lord, the joke is fucking atrocious, it’s impressive how awful it is, and before he knows it, his sides start hurting. Air eludes him as he does a silent laugh which hurts and Smoke has never looked this stupidly proud before. Not even after he made Glaz throw up by shovelling vanilla pudding out of a mayonnaise glass into his own mouth.

“What”, says Thatcher, looking completely unamused. “Are you laughing at me?”

Gasping, Mute shakes his head and waves him off, and Smoke is still grinning triumphantly. “Copper carbon potassium”, he mutters and sets Mute off once more because only he would call someone who massively outranks him a cuck and hey, that gives Mute an idea. While the two continue barking at each other, he pulls up the periodic table on his phone and starts putting things together.

Seconds before the two actually come to blows – and Smoke would have the advantage, Mute has seen him in the ring and he does not mess around –, he announces: “Fluorine argon thallium iodine carbon potassium erbium.”

Watching Smoke repeat it in his head and translate it feels like waiting for a firecracker to go off, and he’s not disappointed when it does and the other man dissolves into full-bellied laughter which nearly throws him off the table.

“What does that mean?!” Thatcher is getting more and more agitated.

“He called you a fartlicker”, Smoke chortles and Mute doesn’t even get to defend himself, explain that it wasn’t at all aimed at Thatcher, before the very same rolls his eyes and simply storms off.

“I didn’t mean him”, Mute complains and crosses his arms when Smoke saunters over to plant his arse on his table instead.

“Oh, I know, but now he’ll be pissed for a week and leave you alone.”

“I’ll apologise.”

“Are you nuts? Don’t feed into his ego. Vain bastard.”

Mute scoffs. “Says you.”

And oh, the surprised face he earns is entirely warranted. He doesn’t suppose anyone looks at Smoke closely enough to notice him glancing in the mirror a lot, or that his mismatched and ill-fitting clothes are carefully chosen and that he takes pride in his appearance. He certainly makes sure his muscles show at least. “Yes, well”, Smoke murmurs, having lost the thread of their conversation and idly running his hand through his short hair. “Oh, speaking of – I should have this cut.”

“Don’t. I like your hair.”

Smoke shoots him another astonished glance and pets his semblance of a hairstyle. Mute does like it more now that it’s grown out a bit, and he bets Smoke could look cute with it even longer. “You really should stop catering to people’s egos, they might get used to it.”

“Trust me, I’ll be the first one to mercilessly argue you into the ground, should the situation call for it.” It wouldn’t be the first time either, not after Smoke claimed drinking through a straw not only made you more drunk but also faster, that alcohol is a good way to stave off the cold and that people eat five spiders in their sleep each year. At this point, he’s half suspecting Smoke of digging up misconceptions purely so he can witness Mute tearing them apart.

“Now let me check whether you can spell ‘turdsniffer’ with the periodic table.” He takes a seat next to Mute and together, they try to come up with the best insult they can. Mute is extremely happy with CoCKBaSiN, Smoke proudly presents BUMnOsEr, and by the time they land on AmErICaN SnOBScAm, both of them are having trouble breathing.

“If everything else fails, we can always call people C4H4AsH”, Smoke concludes and points at his jacket. “A good old-fashioned arsole.”

Of course. Mute is beginning to wonder whether he ever washes this particular piece of clothing. “And no one will be the wiser.”

“Except for us. Because we have such good chemistry.”

“Alright. You can stop now.”

“If we were a laser, we’d be set on stunning.”

“James.”

“Is it getting hot in here or is this just our bond forming?”

Mute corrects himself mentally: there is no way in hell this idiot could ever be cute. “Why do I even talk to you.”

“No idea”, Smoke retorts cheerily. “But I’m glad you do.”

~*~

Unsurprisingly, he needs a little help from those who know him better than he does. They’re having lunch together, Rook in his everlasting hunger went out voluntarily to buy them fancy sandwiches and is still complaining about the place being out of baguettes whereas Twitch happily wolfs down her ciabatta without a peep, and then Glaz says mid-munch: “We’re having a spa day on Sunday. Has Julien asked you already?”

“Can’t, I’m setting skips on fire”, Mute shrugs and grins at Twitch’s horrified expression. “Not literally. But we have some hypotheses to check and usually, it ends up with us burning our notes because everything went arseways.”

“Arseways”, Rook repeats quietly to himself and Mute is relieved none of them know enough about English and Irish dialects to notice just how much slang he’s picked up from Smoke along the way. He’s made the mistake of greeting Montagne with an automatic ‘how are you’ before and ended up with intimate knowledge of the man’s health-related problems.

“You can always ask Jordan for help, just mention the setting on fire part and he’s in”, Twitch suggests reasonably and for a second, Mute actually considers it. He doesn’t mind Thermite, the man is sociable enough to fill silences before they turn awkward and perceptive enough to leave Mute alone when he needs it. Still, he was looking forward to a weekend of loud music, a few drinks and greasy takeout which he allows himself so rarely, with no space for anyone else. And while his friends’ plan of just chilling probably would drain the tension out of him just as effectively, he’s not going to ditch Smoke after he already agreed.

“You’re seeing James a lot recently”, Glaz comments in between bites.

Is he? More than he used to, Mute supposes, but it’s gotten better. The bragging has diminished or stopped bothering him so much seeing as Smoke usually includes him in it these days, and they’ve found more common ground – music was a big one, ultimately there’s not much of a leap from hardcore punk to avant-garde metal seeing as they can meet somewhere in the middle, and gaming is another. Even the fact that Smoke only ever wanted to play the games in which he’s better than Mute has subsided. They compromise more, Mute realises: Smoke tests his limits less often and Mute doesn’t judge as much anymore, the verbal pushing and shoving has turned into good-natured playfighting. It’s not about who’s right, it’s about having a good time, and on the rare occasions on which they bring up serious topics, Mute doesn’t get as worked up anymore and Smoke knows when to take a break to sort his thoughts.

“I like him”, he summarises his musings with a nod.

“And I remember the time you called him a copper nitrogen terbium argon”, Rook chimes in.

“Silver. Ag is silver, not argon.”

“I will literally never be able to remember this.”

Another reason why Mute is glad to have Smoke – there are some inside jokes they share which just don’t translate to his real friend group. “He’s much more bearable these days.”

“He’s worn you down”, Twitch corrects him with a smile and he doesn’t object. “Why don’t you ask him if he wants to join? He’s nice enough and he can’t be worse than Jules.”

“Hey!”

“Sure.” Mute shoves the rest of his brie with cranberry into his mouth and gets up to track Smoke down. The words echo in his head: he’s nice enough. There’s a few descriptions he’d deem fitting for the Brit but nice isn’t one of them – above all, he’s opportunistic. If there’s nothing in it for him, he won’t do it, but fortunately ‘entertainment’ has proven to be reliable bait for him, rendering him predictable. Mute likes this. He knows what to expect, knows when Smoke will play along, and also knows he does so willingly. Smoke doesn’t mind being tricked or manipulated into something provided it’s done overtly.

When he finally stumbles over him, he’s not alone: Fuze is talking rapidly at an irritated-looking Thatcher with Smoke at his elbow, and judging by everyone’s body language, it’s a topic which should’ve been cleared a while ago. Meaning it’s about being team captains. Since Fuze can express his displeasure best in his mother tongue, he tends to seek out colleagues who know it well enough, Thatcher unfortunately being one of them – Smoke seems to be his moral support, though he appears less supportive and rather more bored to tears.

Fuze has been a thorn in Glaz’ side for a while, ever since he dropped a comment about Rook which left his younger teammate secretly shaken and uncertain, and Mute has to fight down the urge to provoke the Uzbek whenever he sees him since. He can’t stand anyone messing with his friends, especially not on a topic like this. And with Smoke standing there, hip cocked and expression unguarded, he gets an idea.

“Hi, sweetie”, he mutters quietly enough to be convincing yet loud enough for Fuze to hear and puts an arm around Smoke’s shoulders.

He might be slow on the uptake sometimes, but right now Smoke’s spontaneity triumphs. Making it look natural, his face lights up and he wraps an arm around Mute’s waist, pulling him closer and greeting him with a soft: “Hey, babe.”

Before them, the Uzbek momentarily loses his train of thought before continuing his rant.

And oh yes, if there ever was anyone perfect for this kind of stunt, it’s Smoke. He spends half his time touching Mute already anyway, fixing his clothes, fiddling with his phone (including taking it out of his pocket), feeding him usually questionable things, leaning into him out of laziness, peering over his shoulder while steadying himself on him – the list is endless and has long stopped bothering Mute though he rarely initiates contact himself. Right now, he’s very glad for this familiarity between them.

Seemingly uninterested in the proceedings, Mute pushes a hand into Smoke’s half-long hair and starts petting it. It’s as soft as its glossiness promises but if he’s honest, he wouldn’t have minded one bit if it was coarse or greasy because the face Smoke makes all of a sudden is priceless. He didn’t expect his features to go slack like this, for him to melt into this touch completely, and he has to suppress a chuckle. It seems he’s finally found an off switch. The longer he massages his scalp, runs his fingers through black hair, the more the grip around his torso loosens and the more Smoke sways in place. He looks like he’s got trouble keeping his eyes open and it’s, well, it’s endearing in an unexpected way. And Mute already knows he’ll shamelessly exploit this knowledge in the future.

Still, he hasn’t achieved his goal of pissing off Fuze enough for him to stop hissing at Thatcher, and so he pauses his ministrations to watch in amusement as Smoke returns to this plane of existence very, very slowly. He blinks, shifts his weight and presses his compact body more against Mute’s in the process, and he’s so dazed and adorable that the one thing which most likely will achieve the intended effect doesn’t even seem like such a bad idea anymore.

So Mute leans down and kisses him.

Fuze trails off mid sentence.

It was just a brief touch of lips on lips, but despite his stupefaction, Smoke possessed the presence of mind to tilt his head into it, slide his eyes shut and capture Mute’s lower lip between his own for a second and hey, that’s much better than him shoving his tongue down Mute’s throat as a joke or maybe him slobbering all over Mute because that’s kind of what he was expecting. When it’s just nice instead, he makes no move to hide his smile and straightens back up to catch Fuze’s eye innocently.

And while Smoke’s hand drops lower and starts groping Mute’s butt, the Uzbek’s expression darkens. He spits one last sentence at Thatcher and turns around on his heel to stride away with purpose.

Wordlessly, Thatcher just looks at them.

“What just happened?”, Smoke wants to know meekly, visibly overwhelmed with the situation and Mute could really get used to this.

“Fuze was being a scandium astatine tungsten holmium rhenium”, Mute explains matter-of-factly.

Thatcher shakes his head with a grin. “Little shits”, he murmurs, but to Mute’s ears it sounds grateful. He leaves them to it, still holding on to each other for some reason.

“You wanna take a spa day with us instead of vegetating in the lab this weekend?” He’s gently massaging the base of Smoke’s skull now and notices his eyelashes flutter. Cute. It’s cuter than it has any right to be.

“What, give up gaming till morning for sitting around and talking about feelings?”

Mute snorts. Is that what he thinks they do in their spare time? “I’ll pet your hair if you say yes.”

“… when are you guys meeting up?”

And he can’t help but give Smoke a quick hug while laughing before relaying the details.

~*~

“Mark.” A hand on his shoulder, him curled around a warm body, and a pleasant dream lingering – he’s not at all ready to wake up. “Mark, get up. It’s late.”

He huffs a sigh, hears it echoed from the small creature next to him and stretches before cracking open an eye. Sledge is regarding him with a fond smile, whereas Diana, pressed against him on her side, pretends to be still asleep. The living room is empty save for a myriad of bottles and glasses and oh, that means everyone’s gone already. Sledge has already changed into sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, pads around barefoot and tidies a little while Mute sits up on the couch, strokes the corgi lady’s soft fur with one hand and checks his phone with the other. u home yet?, Smoke asks and it’s just like him to remember Mute’s schedule despite being on the other side of the world.

was sharing body heat at Seamus, gonna head back now, he replies and pictures Smoke’s slightly irritated expression. While he’s never had an issue with Glaz, Twitch and Rook, Mute’s newly-developed friendship with Sledge caused frankly amusing uncertainty which surfaces either in territorial aggression or thinly-veiled jealousy. He ignores Mute’s assurances that the Scotsman has a long distance boyfriend somewhere seeing as no one has ever heard him mention him (but Mute knows the signs), and instead tries his best to keep Mute’s attention, unaware that he’s competing with Sledge’s dog more than anything, and that no one could ever surpass the small fluffball.

“How’s James?”, Sledge asks in a tone so natural that Mute wonders when it became so self-evident that he’d know about every detail in Smoke’s life.

“Bored a lot. Now that they’ve cleared out the base they’re just staying in the hopes of catching some stragglers who didn’t get the memo. Unlikely, but Six is right in saying if there’s a chance, they should take it. He’ll probably be back some time next week, or so he hopes.” It’s past three now, so no wonder everyone’s gone already. Since he lives in walking distance, Sledge probably figured he’d let him sleep off all the alcohol he consumed much too fast earlier – without Smoke around, it’s only half as fun, thus Mute drank like he was getting paid for it and must’ve passed out while cuddling with Diana.

His phone buzzes. It’s a singular question mark and Mute can’t help but grin at its passive aggressiveness. found the perfect snuggling partner, he replies and figures there’s no need to be cruel, so he attaches a photo of the corgi now rolled up into a ball.

“Want to take some of Moni’s salad with you?”

Mute perks up at that and trails after the Scotsman into the kitchen. Normally he’d have left straightaway, but he’s got nowhere to be tomorrow since Rook and Twitch want to go clothes shopping and Glaz was prescribed some quality time with the rest of his team, and Smoke is unavailable. They’ve both wrecked their sleep schedules over the past weeks due to time zones, and still there’ll be a period tomorrow when Mute won’t be able to contact him. He’s not looking forward to it. If he asked, Sledge would let him sleep over and probably entertain him the entire day, but it’d be inevitably coupled with a few stern words Mute imagines normal dads to direct at their children, and he’d rather avoid parental guidance. He’s old enough to make his own decisions now. Like taking photos of himself naked and deleting all of them a second later, because no. Just no.

“I can’t believe there’s some left over”, he states to distract himself from what he’d even do with nudes.

“There wasn’t. She set some aside for me earlier because she knew all of you would devour it.” And though Mute knows Sledge is kind and caring, he can’t help but wonder whether he’s feeding him specifically because Twitch snitched about him accidentally skipping meals. He should ask her tomorrow.

what about me?, Smoke wants to know and Mute almost hears his pout in his head. If he’s honest, it’s not even close. Diana is affectionate to a ridiculous degree and has never accidentally elbowed him in the crotch so she’s the clear winner – but he has to admit there was an evening they spent pressed against each other on Glaz’ couch which was uncomfortable until Mute stopped fighting against Smoke and simply put an arm around him to save space, and he barely caught anything happening on screen for the rest of the film because there was also a casual hand resting on his thigh -

“Do you miss him?”

Mute realises he’s been staring at his phone for entirely too long and Sledge is already done putting some of the delicious potato salad into a container for him. His cheeks start heating up but he can’t deny it, so he nods. It’s been a few excruciatingly long weeks and though Smoke’s expressive enough in texts, it’s just not the same.

“Have you told him that?”

And here we go. He rolls his eyes, snatches the salad with a muttered thanks and goes to put on his shoes. she smells better, he types out just to be a brat.

He pauses in the door when Sledge calls his name and expects him to meddle some more, already prepares his defence: Yes he knows, yes he should tell him, but what if he doesn’t reciprocate, and it’s such a commitment, and it’s been a while, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, and what if they don’t want the same thing -

But Sledge just says: “Get home safely. Good night.” He probably figures Mute knows all of which he’d like to say instead.

On the way back, his eyes are glued to the screen once more. They exchange good-natured banter, gossip a little over some of their colleagues’ work ethics, and then go back to complaining about the whole mission which currently separates them so inhumanely.

I sware tho when im back ill spend one day eating one day sleeping and one day gaming

Those are three different, consecutive days I assume?, Mute clarifies. If so, that sounds like a party I’d like to attend.

babe ill invite u to any party esp if its just us two

Mute is beaming. Smoke is probably expecting him to pick his message apart, make a crude joke about parties in his knickers, plan ahead for when he does come back or maybe even switch topics entirely, and on any other night Mute would indeed go for one of these options. But he’s still giddy with a slight buzz, remembering the dog’s warmth and wishing it was Smoke’s instead, that he instead makes an offer. Provides bait, in a way. Gives Smoke a chance.

Do you enjoy spending time with me that much?, he asks.

And though he firmly expects Smoke to laugh it off maybe or just take a while to reply, it’s nearly instant and so open it tugs at his heartstrings. yes, Smoke writes. Nothing else. Mute’s cheeks are starting to hurt. There’s no sarcasm, no dismissal, just a yes and he couldn’t have hoped for a lovelier answer.

That is, until he receives the next message and realises he was wrong, oh so wrong.

iodine lithium potassium uranium, it reads.

And while it’s not perfect and a little awkward, he couldn’t care less because today is the best day of his entire life. He actually tears up a little, scans the words over and over again and ignores their turning blurry, tries to come up with an appropriate reply – it needs to be just as honest, that much is clear, Smoke is taking a leap and Mute needs to make sure he catches him, and that’s when he runs into a lamp post.

It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened sooner, going by how little attention he paid to where he was going, but that doesn’t make it any better. He hits his head on metal, hard, clutches the valuable potato salad with one hand but drops his phone with a loud clatter and a curse. A quick glance establishes that yes, it’s actually broken, pieces having flown off, screen cracked, and still he doesn’t care.

Because Smoke likes him. Likes likes him. And looking back, it was glaringly obvious, wasn’t it? But somewhere among the countless hours they spent together, Mute had convinced himself that a friendship is all it was and that he should feel guilty for the surreptitious glances every time Smoke took off his shirt in his presence, that he shouldn’t mess with their dynamic and maybe Smoke only allowed him to touch his hair and no one else because… well, there was no good reason, now that he thinks about it. It’s remarkably long by now, Smoke hasn’t had it cut once and Mute vaguely remembers complimenting him on it. It suits him. Mute wants to bury both hands in it and hold him still while snogging him silly.

The phone is a goner. Doesn’t even turn on, so he puts it in his pocket, rubs the pounding spot on his forehead reminding him of his obliviousness, and only then realises the problem with this whole situation: he’s got confirmation from Smoke now.

But Smoke doesn’t know about his feelings. He doesn’t know Mute likes him back. And like this, he can’t tell him.

“The fuck?”, Rook slurs drowsily upon opening his door. He’s wearing pastel pyjamas with polar bears.

“I need your phone”, Mute replies, breathing hard from having run all the way. The conversation with Smoke made him go the wrong way yet once he’d oriented himself, it turned out the Frenchman’s flat was closer than anyone else’s, so he’d come here. “It’s an emergency.”

“Is anyone hurt?” He wobbles back into the apartment and emerges again carrying a potentially life-saving device.

“Only James’ pride”, Mute mutters and snatches it out of his hand. Then realises yet another problem. “This is his old number. You don’t have the new one?”

Rook looks ready to fall asleep against the door frame. “Wha? He has a new one?”

“Yeah, he dropped his phone in the sea two weeks ago. Fuck. Do you know who might have it?”

“The hell’s going on, Mark? Is he okay?”

If he wants Rook’s cooperation, he should probably tell the truth. “Yes, but he told me he liked me and I accidentally smashed my phone, so I can’t answer him. He’ll probably go to sleep soon and I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him. I’d really like to text him. And I know it’s dumb and I probably shouldn’t have woken you up -”

“Call Timur.” Mute hesitates. “I’m serious, call him, he might have it. He won’t mind.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mark, you’ve never asked us for help in anything personal. When your jammer went arseways and you were bummed for a week, we had to forcibly drag you out of your flat. Yes, I’m sure. And I’m glad you’re here.” He still can’t bring himself to wake up more of his friends, forcing Rook to take his phone back and call Glaz himself. “Besides, you two are made for each other. Manu is gonna scream my ear off when I tell her.”

He smiles at that. “Do you want some of Moni’s potato salad as thanks?”

“No answer.” Rook hangs up, distractedly glancing at the object Mute is offering him. “Wait, did you say Moni and salad?”

A few minutes later, they’re in Rook’s car, listening to horrifically repetitive pop music and eating salad. “What about Seamus?”, the Frenchman suggests with his mouth full while Mute is busy calling next to everyone on Rook’s friends list.

“You know he’s gonna be the smuggest git. I’d rather avoid all the I-told-you-so.”

“Fair enough. Here we are.” Rook parks the car in the middle of the street and together, they knock on Glaz’ door until it swings inwards to reveal an extremely unhappy Kapkan.

“Oh shit”, says Mute. Apparently quality time implied a sleepover. He hopes they’ve only woken up one of the pack.

“There better be a huge fire somewhere”, the Russian growls.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that”, Rook begins to explain when one by one, the other Spetsnaz flock to the door to stare them down. Glaz, at the back, seems more worried than angry, but everyone else is visibly resentful.

“You know what, forget it, we’ll find someone else”, Mute tries to interject and avoids Fuze’s furious stare, but it’s too late.

“Mark needs to confess to James, but he destroyed his phone and I don’t have the new number. Do any of you have it?” There’s a certain impressive quality to watching Rook, still clad in baby blue bears and physically less imposing than literally every single one of the discontented men before him, calmly ask them for help with such a mundane issue.

As expected, Fuze basically explodes. “What!”, he yells and only narrowly gets stopped by Kapkan and Tachanka before he can lunge at Mute. “You two weren’t even -”

“Have you asked Manu?”, Glaz pipes up from the back, over the raging Uzbek’s shoulder.

“I will skin you! Fucking brats -”

“She’s not answering either, probably set her phone to silent. You think we should stop by?”

“Do you think this is funny? Ridiculing -”

“Worth a try. I’ll tag along.”

Mute ends up with Glaz on his lap in the front, while the three angry Russians occupy the back bench: Fuze is pissed over the Brits taking him for a fool just because they acted flirty whenever he was around, Kapkan is pissed that Fuze is pissed, and Tachanka is pissed over having to sit next to the other two. None of them are wearing any shoes – or shirts, for that matter –, except for Glaz, fortunately. It’s a complete mystery to Mute why they came along, but now he has to deal with aggravated Russian being thrown back and forth behind him.

“What about Seamus?”, Glaz inquires curiously and nearly falls into Rook’s lap at a particularly sharp turn.

“He’d be a smug shite and I don’t wanna deal with that.”

“Fair enough.”

Twitch is clad in pastel pyjamas with a cupcake print. She also seems understandably intimidated over being faced with six guys upon opening her door, three of which disgruntled and rearing for an actual fist fight.

“Mark needs to declare his undying love to James but blew up his phone and now none of us have his new number. Do you?”, Glaz explains the issue so badly that Mute wants to smack him.

“Why are you on their side? They were constantly provoking me!”, Fuze hisses in the background.

“Then it’s your own fucking fault for getting upset about love”, Kapkan snarls back.

Once Twitch is done literally hopping up and down with unbridled joy after having confirmed it three times, she admits: “I don’t have it, no. Didn’t he only give it to you, Mark? Have you asked Seamus?”

“We don’t wanna deal with his smartarse attitude”, Rook explains.

Twitch blinks, uncomprehending. “You can’t be serious.”

She sits perched on Mute’s lap for the drive whereas Fuze is forced to sit on Tachanka's, a fact over which he seems utterly infuriated. A small brawl happens halfway through, with Glaz trying to stay out of it as much as possible, and Tachanka threatening to open the door and dump Fuze’s crusty arse outside, and if Mute is honest, he hasn’t had this much fun in ages. It’s like free entertainment, and though worry nags at him, he knows they’ll eventually be successful.

Sledge is remarkably awake and even a little flustered, even more so when he eyes the crowd on his front lawn. “Is the world ending?”, he asks politely.

“Do you have James’ new number?”, Mute replies with another question and ignores Fuze kicking at his heels before getting dragged away and shoved around a bit by Kapkan.

“What, did you lose your phone after he confessed to you and now you can’t answer him?”

“How does he know everything?”, Rook whispers in Twitch’s direction, awestruck.

“That was a lucky guess”, Mute accuses him, because how.

Sledge pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mark, he told me a month ago that having you would make him both the happiest and the luckiest man on earth.”

Mute gapes at him. In the background, Kapkan snaps: “You hear that shit? That’s fucking cute, you numbskull, and you’re not going to rain on their parade!”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the surprise.” Sledge’s deadpan tone implies that he’s thoroughly done with both of them – probably hinted heavily, with either of them dismissing him. “Come on in. I don’t have his number, but I know someone who would.”

They file into the house which doesn’t look much different to how Mute left it more than an hour ago, which is odd: the same lights are still on, meaning Sledge didn’t go to sleep, yet the mess is still there. He must’ve been doing something important if it kept him up till now.

“Mike’s known him for a while, so he’s likely to have James’ number”, Sledge announces and starts rifling through drawers. “But he turns off his phone at night and I don’t know where his stupid caravan is parked right now. I wrote it down somewhere.”

Mute spots a closed but running laptop on the coffee table. “Maybe you’ve got it saved on here”, he wonders and just as Sledge chokes out a panicked Mark no, flips it open.

And is faced with a very handsome, very hairy, and most importantly very naked guy on a webcam who seems surprised to see him.

He closes the laptop again. They could’ve heard a pin drop in the following silence.

“Well”, Sledge murmurs, “that, uh, was Adriani- Adriano.”

That answers that question. Mute’s face is burning.

“Tell him we’d like to meet him properly once he’s put some clothes on”, Tachanka speaks up cheerfully.

“Guys, I found more of Moni’s salad in the fridge”, Rook announces with his mouth full just as he enters the room, though he stops dead when all faces turn to him. “What? Did I miss something?”

For some reason, Thatcher looks the least surprised out of all of them to receive a gathering in his abode – or rather in front of it, because his moving temporary home hardly offers enough space to house eight people. It was a relief to take two cars to get here, even if Sledge seems ready to murder someone after chauffeuring three arguing Spetsnaz around.

“This puppy here wants to propose to James but since he melted his phone in the microwave, we need you to tell us exactly where he is so we can fly over”, Tachanka explains even worse than Glaz did previously and Mute just puts his head in his hands.

Thatcher scowls at them. He’s wearing pastel pyjamas with rocket ships on it. “Is this a joke?”

“Do you know James’ new number?”, Sledge takes over with a deep sigh and yanks Fuze aside the moment he tries to elbow Kapkan. Mute is no longer surprised over the fact that the Scotsman feels more like a dad to him than a friend. “I believe it’s time sensitive.”

“I don’t have it”, the old man grumbles, much to everyone’s exasperation, “but I know someone who does. Just a phone call away, come in.”

Easier said than done – one by one, they squeeze into the limited space, with Rook and Twitch climbing up to the bed and letting their feet dangle into Glaz’ field of view, while Fuze and Sledge sit down by the tiny table. The rest stands awkwardly as Thatcher rummages around aimlessly until he finally finds what he’s looking for. Namely his phone.

“That’s where you keep it?!”, Sledge wants to know, aghast. “What if there’s an emergency?”

“Well you’re all here, aren’t you.” Thatcher takes another two minutes to turn it on and by then, Mute has lost all patience.

“Let me do it”, he offers politely and adds silently: for the love of Christ. “Who am I calling?”

“Tze Long. He’s an old friend from Hong Kong, James and I know him from years ago. He’ll know.”

He vaguely remembers hearing the name before, so he navigates to contacts, tries not to look too hard at the notes Thatcher has added to a few of them, like Brunsmeier (public nuisance) and Cowden (good lad) until he lands on Nizan (hide all food). It takes him a few seconds to regain his composure but then he’s finally spotted the name Thatcher mentioned and presses the green button. He doesn’t have to wait long, seeing as it’s currently morning in Asia, but he was not at all prepared for the booming greeting nearly shattering his eardrum.

“Morning, honey, having trouble sleeping again? Want me to read you another bedtime story, hm?”

And though Mute has never met this man in his life, the sultry tone makes it painfully clear there’s absolutely nothing innocent about his offer. Even worse: since Thatcher set his phone’s volume to eleven, literally everyone in the cramped room heard.

Mute has to correct himself: today is one of the worse days of his life.

“Give me that”, Thatcher hisses and snatches the phone out of Mute’s hand. “Listen, I have visitors.”

Since he failed to lower the volume, all present continue to hear both sides of the conversation, whether they want to or not. “Wonderful! I’ve been telling you to get out more, dearie, have more social contact or you’ll end up a bitter old fart.”

“That means you need to behave.”

“I always behave. You know me. I’m extremely obedient.”

The two Frenchies on the bed are shaking with silent laughter whereas Thatcher is getting redder by the second. “All we need is James’ number. Do you have it? We have a youngin here who wants to marry him.”

“Just confess, actually”, Mute chimes in but gets ignored.

“Oh my. Yes, I have it. Do you have something to write?” Sledge holds up his phone with the notes app open as confirmation, and what follows are the longest five minutes of Mute’s life because Thatcher insists on being dictated one digit at a time, repeats it even though everyone can hear the man on the other end of the line clear as day, and then asks Sledge to confirm it. They go through the process twice to be sure and by the end Mute is ready to strangle somebody.

Thatcher thanks his ‘friend’ and hangs up on him mid-sentence, to everyone’s relief, seeing as any sentence that begins with ‘and remember to replace the trousers that we’ can’t end well. And then it’s done. They hold a collective breath as Sledge pulls up the number he just saved and presents his phone to Mute.

He’s almost forgotten why they’re all here, but the serenity of this moment hits him out of the blue – he’s about to make a life-changing decision, yet he’s convinced it’s the right one. He really, really likes Smoke. Absence did make his heart grow fonder, he spent a few sleepless nights reminiscing over all the genuine, heartfelt, entertaining, meaningful moments they shared and realised he feels incomplete knowing he can’t just meet up with him, can’t just take a spontaneous day trip by his side or just laze around at his place. This is one of the things Smoke has learnt: leaving him alone. Not always, but sometimes Mute just needs time for himself, and of all people he didn’t expect pretentious, flashy, loud Smoke to acknowledge it.

He can’t wait to tell him that he feels the same way he does.

“Can you let me through?”, he asks, expecting the others to move out of his way for some privacy, and reads the room much too late. He’s almost furthest from the door, a door three Russians are blocking. Kapkan crosses his arms.

Okay. He gets it. He interrupted their sleep, wasted their time, irritated them to hell and back, and yet they stuck it through. They… kinda deserve to hear this.

Wordlessly, he dials the number and tries not to let his racing heartbeat affect him – anxiousness is crawling up his throat, clogging it, and the fact that he’s doing this in front of eight other people doesn’t fill him with confidence. What if Smoke’s sleeping already, went to bed confused and dejected? What if he’s changed his mind in the meantime? Every beep increases his dread and leaves him more restless than before and he’s not even aware of fidgeting until Sledge reaches out and squeezes his hand reassuringly. He could’ve smooched him for the gesture, just like he could’ve thrown something at Rook for pulling a dumb grimace simultaneously.

And then Smoke answers the call. “Yeah?”, he says, sounding tired yet curious. He hasn’t gotten any sleep all night and it must be morning for him too.

“James? It’s me.” Twitch gestures emphatically and so he switches to loudspeaker, as much as he doesn’t want to. Even Fuze looks invested at this point.

“Oh, how ya babe. What’s the craic?” Now that he knows it’s Mute, he’s much more lively and Mute wants to kiss him so badly it hurts.

“My phone died, I’m really sorry. Or rather – I walked against a street light and smashed it on the floor.”

“Shit. Are you alright? I could tell my messages weren’t coming through, so I figured something happened.”

His concern feels like a warm blanket. Mute is grinning like a lunatic but is long past caring at this point. “Yeah. Well. I’m just calling – I need to tell you something.” Tachanka stands up a little straighter, the smile on Glaz’ face grows and even Thatcher looks almost proud.

“Do you?”

Just like his question earlier, it’s a prompt. And just like Smoke earlier, he won’t leave him hanging. Mute gathers all his courage, looks around the room… and no.

He has a reputation to uphold. He can’t just blurt it out, can’t lay himself bare like they’re expecting him to.

And so he asks: “Are you a carbon sample, James?”

Visible and, on Smoke’s part, audible confusion. “Huh?”

“Because I’d really like to date you.”

Rook puts a hand over his eyes, Fuze continues to frown in ignorance and Kapkan rolls his eyes so hard it must’ve hurt. But somehow, Mute knows that he did exactly the right thing when he hears Smoke’s relieved laughter, undignified chortling conveying just how grateful he must be to hear this. “Babe”, he chuckles in disbelief, “you’re unbelievable.”

And despite the presence of so many other people, this is still only their moment, because it’s only the two of them giggling like idiots. “So”, he begins once their amusement has died down a little, “does that mean we’re -”

“Yes”, Smoke cuts him off. “Hell yes. There’s no way I’m gonna sleep now, I can’t wait to see you.”

“Fucking finally!!”, Kapkan yells and the entire caravan erupts into chaos – there’s cheering, clapping, a few complaints over their behaviour in the past, and Rook and Glaz actually exchange money. Thatcher pats him on the back, Kapkan nearly breaks one of his ribs with a meaningful nudge and Tachanka loudly proclaims his blessing. Mute just laughs, caught in the middle of it all, picturing Smoke’s flabbergasted expression over the sudden commotion and wondering how in the world he’s going to explain the whole situation to him later.

“The hell’s going on”, the phone in Mute’s hand asks and even he doesn’t know.

“I’ll talk to you later, James, love you, bye!” Smiling, he hangs up and switches to text messages, starts outlining the events of the evening while the storm continues to rage on around him.

“Admit it, you coward!”, Kapkan barks, and Twitch calls for a celebration, Sledge mentions he’s tired and would rather go home, Tachanka predictably exposes him with a crude comment about his boyfriend waiting for him, Glaz remarks favourably on Thatcher’s pyjamas, and Thatcher mentions he’s got a few pieces of cake in the fridge for an impromptu party, to which Rook replies with his mouth full that there’s only one piece left, and eventually even Fuze murmurs: “Alright, it was a little cute.”

But Mute only hears half of it because he sent Smoke a heart and received a heart back as well as the follow-up of with how much electricity there is flowing between us we must be a galvanic cell and good Lord, he wasn’t even aware of how fucking doomed he was.

~*~

Smoke is radiant.

He looks good on a bad day, but right now he’s bloody gorgeous – sleeves pulled up to reveal tanned skin, long hair combed back instead of parted according to no logic at all, and eyes gleaming. With every moment that passes, he becomes more and more ethereal, incorporeal, unapproachable, like a piece of art which can’t be touched or else it’d be ruined, like a mirage. They haven’t seen each other for a month so he might as well not be real at all, or maybe all their conversations over the past few days didn’t happen and Mute dreamt of his interest being reciprocated, and if nothing happens in the next second -

Smoke drops his duffel bag, reaches up and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s sweet and impossibly tangible, convinces him that this is really happening and so he prolongs it, relishes the contact of lips on lips. When they part, he’s left light-headed. “I’m back”, Smoke informs him unnecessarily.

“You’re early.” He nods. Both of them are beaming. “You didn’t even go home?”

“I came straight here.”

It’s a little awkward, Mute doesn’t really know how to react other than grinning like a dumbass, but it seems neither of them mind. “You wanna take a shower after the long flight?”

“Wanna join me?” He hesitates and Smoke picks up on it, carries his bag inside and closes the door behind them. “Babe, don’t worry. We’ll go slow. We can just laze around all day, do nothing. I’m just happy to be here.”

Mute is not fully convinced that it’s what he himself actually wants, but he agrees with the sentiment of finding their own pace. “Me too”, he admits quietly and runs his fingers through dark hair. It’s as soft as always, the feeling addicting, just like Smoke’s mouth, and so he kisses him again. They’re both oddly shy, conscious of themselves, and Mute recognises it as uneasy vulnerability. This is uncharted territory for both of them and in order not to overstep any boundaries, they tread carefully. “You look so fucking good”, Mute murmurs in between kisses and smiles when Smoke hums contentedly.

“See, when you say things like that, it’s really hard not to just spread my legs and tell you to go ham”, Smoke mutters, making him snort and interrupt their making out. “But I’ll be a gentleman. I promise.”

He senses there’s more to it than that. “If?”, he prompts expectantly, brows raised.

And Smoke’s smirk is unbearably smug. “If we do it on the table periodically”, he finishes.

They look at each other. He’s so fucking perfect Mute just wants to hold him and never let go.

“We’re going to be insufferable, aren’t we.”

It’s not a question, more of a fatalistic statement, and yet Smoke agrees with a joyous: “God I hope so.”

#rainbow six siege #smoke #mute #smoke/mute #fanfic #oneshot #these two will be the death of me especially when they're this cute #also props to that tumblr post about periodic table based insults #with love from potassium iridium uranium

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argylemikewheeler · 6 years ago

Note

Ok but If/When Will comes out What would everyone’s reactions be? What ab Steve, what ab… just everyone I don’t even know but like,,, Especially w/Steve

|| Okay I love thinking about Steve and Will being friends. I really think that nurturing soul would love Will with his whole heart. And that’s a fact. So here we have Steve (and Jonathan) talking to Will. It’s sweet, it’s serious, BUT it’s mostly a lot of funny dialogue to keep it light. I’ve been writing mostly sad stuff lately so this is a happy funny one xo ||

Steve is at breakfast one morning. Joyce had work late the night before and is driving El to a doctor early that morning, so she isn’t around. Hopper is at work before Will even feels the sun come through his window. When Will comes down the hall and sees Steve at the kitchen table, munching on toast with Jonathan at the stove, he knows what it means. Well, like, he doesn’t really know what it means because what it’s supposed to mean doesn’t apply to his brother. Him and Steve are just friends. But, he knows what it could mean if Steve and Jonathan were both like Will. But they’re not. And he doesn’t want to think about it anyway. Not really.

That’s his brother. And that’s his old babysitter.

“Hey Will!” Steve says, placing his hand over his mouth but still talking with his mouth full.

“Hi.”

“Morning, bud.” Jonathan turns and waves with his spatula. “I’m making eggs if you want some.”

“I’m… not hungry.” Will isn’t sure why he’s uncomfortable. He shouldn’t be. There’s nothing weird about this situation. He just can’t help but feel the stark difference of how it would be if Jonathan woke up to Will and one of his male friends making breakfast. How would it read? Would Will be found out in a second–

It’s all very confusing to Will, but none more confusing than his head when he simply thinks about Mike. God, Michael Wheeler, just the name makes Will feel like he’s being choked. It’s like getting stabbed in the chest while the walls lean in and try to crush him to death. It’s not enjoyable. It’s the most painful love he’s ever felt. But it’s love. Will knows this and it’s horrible. No one would understand. Or at least he doesn’t think so.

“You’re sixteen. You’re hungry.” Steve says without chance for argument. “You were out late last night! What were you up to? Anything good?” Steve asks in a way that Jonathan scolds him for, but Steve pleads innocence.

“We went to the movies.” Will doesn’t remember the movie they saw. He was so distracted by the fact that he failed to end up sitting beside Mike he couldn’t pay attention. He was on the end next to his sister. She held his hand through all the scary parts– was it even scary? Will can’t remember feeling a single thing. He only remembers the sinking embarrassment warming his face as he thought about how hopeful he had been to be close to Mike. How fucking stupid.

“Have a good time?”

“I think so.” Will shrugs, pulling out a chair. “The ice cream was good.”

“Oh! So you got ice cream too! You guys had a full night out!” Will has a suspicion that Steve keeps talking in order to smooth over the awkwardness of being in the Byers’ kitchen in his pajamas. Will hopes his distracted, exhausted nature isn’t contributing to Steve’s running mouth. It’s not his fault. It’s so not Steve that’s the problem.

“I wish you would have told me you were going to get ice cream. I would have given you some money.” Jonathan says, looking at Will over his shoulder.

“I was fine. Mike owed me from the arcade the other day.” Will sits down and pulls his chair in. The metal legs are loud again the floor and cuts up the conversation. It leaves Will to think about Mike– touching his arm and assuring him he’d buy him his favorite cone without even asking what flavor– for just a second too long.

He feels sick. He feels anxious. God, he’s lovesick.

In the pause, Jonathan plates his pan of eggs and places it in front of both Steve and Will. He places a fork in Will’s hand firmly, giving him an in-arguable look. Will folds and prods the food. His brother checks his watch, twice, before muttering something about needing to get dressed sooner rather than later.

Has Will mentioned his brother is a terrible liar? Because this is the time to do so. Will was a master of deception, of keeping his truth feelings about boys and girls (or actually boys rather than girls) to himself, while Jonathan remained as open as a book. It’s a curse, Will thinks, at least in some ways. He has a brother that gets to date who ever he wants, and the only issue is that he can’t seem to cover up when he’s going out. Never who he’s meeting up with. But Will has to explain that no he won’t be taking a girl to prom. He can’t. He won’t. He’s in love with Mike Wheeler.

Jonathan leaves Will alone with Steve, like a strange set up, and goes back to the laundry room. Will pokes the eggs, debating whether or not he wants to cover them in pepper. Just so he can do anything but actually eat them. He thinks he’s going to throw up.

Steve moves and cross his legs under the table. He turns and faces Will more openly. Oh God, Will thinks, what did Jonathan leave Steve to talk to him about? Steve is… well, there’s a possibility that Steve is like Will. Like, a half chance. More than a half chance. There’s a rainbow sticker on the bumper of his car. There’s a least a pretty good chance. But if Jonathan left Steve with him that meant he knew and–

“Jonathan tells me you’ve been really weird lately.” Steve says without preamble.

“Oh. Wow. Thanks.”

“No, okay, not like that.” Steve puts his fork down. “No one is weirder than Jonathan. The man is an enigma. You are not even close, please. Don’t think you’re like him at all. You have friends, Will.” He laughs and Will feels warmed.

He snorts out a quiet laugh and lifts a forkful to his mouth. “Yeah.”

“He just means you seem off. You go to work, you come home, you sleep, you eat– well, sometimes you do. He says you’re quiet.”

“Hm.”

“And he knows you won’t tell him since he’s your brother, but, if you want to talk about anything, I’m your number one fan, kiddo. You know that.”

“I know… I know.” Will mutters, chewing. Steve sits up straighter, like he expects Will to start talking right then and there. Will lowers his eyes to his plate and denies him. “Thanks.”

Steve sighs but nods, patting Will on the shoulder as he stands. His back is turned as he pours himself a cup of coffee and Will is allowed the privacy to bite his lip and weigh his options– should he actually talk to Steve? It’s forced but it’s an opening. Will watches as Steve knows where all the mugs and spoons are. He’s fit into their house perfectly and quickly. He’s comfortable, knowing exactly what each moment and movement is evidently saying about him, about how close he’s choosing to feel to Jonathan. Even if Jonathan doesn’t feel the same way.

Will takes the bait.

“Hey, Steve?” Will tries not to roll his eyes as Steve turns around quickly, light in his eyes.

“Yeah, kiddo?”

“Can I ask you a personal question?”

“Of course you can.” Steve sobers up with a sip from his mug. “Ask away. Just don’t ask what my GPA is, please. I’ve been keeping it a secret from Jonathan for years. He only hangs out with me because he thinks I’m smart.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Not with biology, I’m not.” Steve chuckles, sitting back down. “But, that’s not your question. Please. Go on.”

“Uh, I mean, you kind of answered it.”

“Your question was whether or not I’m stupid?” Steve lifts an eyebrow. Steve might not be stupid, but Will sure feels fucking idiotic. “What’s up?”

“I just wanted to ask… if, you know…” Will spins his fork around in a gentle circle. It’s incoherent, but then again so are his feelings for Mike. Nothing makes sense when he thinks about it– about how his heart doesn’t seem to understand what the rest of the world expects from him. “If you’re gay.”

“I am, yes.” Steve says it without a moment of hesitation. He doesn’t even laugh or have an uncomfortable grin to ease the tension. He admits it. He knows it. It sounds like he loves it. Pride had never looked so comfortable. “But you already knew that.”

“I- I- uhh.” Will knows it’s obvious now. Asking a question he already knew the answer to? That’s a dead give away; he just wanted to hear someone else admit it to give him the all clear. “I just wanted to check.”

“Check?” Steve repeats. “Something make you think I wasn’t?” He teases Will, reaching over and gently nudged his elbow on the table. “Was it my recent trip to New York with my male roommate or the sticker I have on my car that made it questionable?”

“You don’t look like it.”

“I don’t look gay.” Steve cocks his head, looking offended. “You say that like it’s a good thing… Does it bother you that I ‘don’t’?” Steve’s asking all the right questions. He is too good at this.

“No… I just wish that… wish that I didn’t…” Will mutters, his words fumbling together.

“That’s fair.” Steve shifts and crosses his legs again. “Does it bother you, people thinking that you are?”

“Steve, I am.” Will says quickly, the ending of his previous sentence rushing out before he can stop it.

Steve blinks. He smiles. “Does that bother you?”

“N-No. At least, I don’t think so. I’d just like to be able to keep it to myself for like, five seconds.” Will sighs, folding his hands in his lap. “I look like–”

“I don’t think it’s anything with your appearance, Will.” Steve cuts in. “I think it’s your fawning look at Mike.”

Will doesn’t even have an argument. He has no counterpoint to how hopelessly in love he must look to everyone. Mike must see it. God, he is a fucking idiot. Will wishes he hadn’t opened his mouth. Just knowing how embarrassing his feelings were was enough. He didn’t need other people to be aware of them too.

“Have you told him?” Steve asks. Will shakes his head. “Have you told anyone?” Again, Will shakes his head.

“No. I can’t tell anyone.”

“Well, whether or not I look it, I can keep a pretty good secret.” Steve reaches over and takes Will’s hand. “And you know what else? I promise I’ll forgive you for saying I don’t look gay if you promise to talk to me about whatever you’re feeling.”

“You don’t have to be my mom, Steve.” Will mutters, his eyes darting around. Anywhere but Steve’s kind and sincere look of concern.

“I’m not. I’m being your friend. Because it’s hard out there. When I was sixteen, I would’ve needed two beers and money to tell you I was gay that quickly. I don’t want that for you. And neither does Jonathan.”

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Will feels the walls start to lean in. He pulls his hand from Steve to prepare to hold them at arm’s length.

“No. No he doesn’t. But, I can tell you that he’s more than okay with me and I want to extend that feeling onto you. Tell him when you’re ready, but know he’s not a menace. He’s weird but he’s not a bigot.” Steve lets Will pull away and doesn’t reach for him again. Instead he turns the fork back toward Will. “Eat up before it gets cold.”

Steve turns back to the table and lifts his coffee cup. He clears his throat and minutes later, Jonathan comes back into the room. His clothes aren’t any different. He’s honestly the worst liar.

But Will isn’t, because he decides, in a burst of strange impulse and excitement, that there isn’t a lie he’s going to tell anymore.

“Hey, Jonathan?” Will says, taking another forkful of eggs. He holds it by his lips, ready to fill his mouth and silence him in a second’s notice. “Egg’s are good.”

“Oh, thanks I tried something a little–”

“And I’m gay.”

Steve spits up his coffee all over the table, coughing and choking. But he’s laughing; he’s completely grinning as he wipes his mouth.

“Wow.” He says to Will, coffee dripping from the tip of his nose. He looks like he’s shocked, like he wants to be just as scared as Will, but there’s something else. His eyes are getting glassy suddenly and his eyebrows are furrowing together ever so slightly. He’s tearing up. Pride took yet another form.

“O-Okay.” Jonathan says, lowering himself into the third seat. He looks absolutely sidelined. Will feels so powerful. He’s visible but he’s in control; heart eyes but stiff upper lip. “Umm, uh… Fuck, Steve what do I say?”

“Well ‘okay’ isn’t it.” Steve says with a laugh, still wiping his face and shirt. “Try ‘I love you’ or, oh, I don’t know, ‘I’m glad you told me’?”

“I– yeah. That. Proud. Love. Happy. All of it.”

“Jonathan, why are you acting so surprised? He didn’t tell you he killed someone. You’ve heard a lot more startling things from Will– from this whole town.”

“I am surprised!”

“Are you kidding!” Steve says, waving his arm out to Will.

“Hey, you said I didn’t look gay.”

“You told my brother he looks gay.”

“NO! No. I– stop. Both of you!” Steve places his hands on each of their shoulders. “As the in-house professional in this topic, may I?”

“You told my brother he looks gay.”

“I didn’t!” Steve sighs heavily, shaking his head. “I’m just saying, Jonathan you left me with Will. You left me with your brother after saying you thought something was wrong. To me, that kind of says something.”

“I didn’t think that! I thought he’d talk about his one annoying teacher or something.” Jonathan shrugs. Will blinks at the two men in front of him. He somehow doesn’t feel like the stupid one anymore.

“You left me, your only gay friend with your brother, who you’ve told me you feel like you can’t quite understand about some things, because you thought he was going to approach me about… academia? Jonathan, I’m an idiot!”

“You are not.”

“I am! I’m gay and I’m stupid but God, you’re worse. You’re straight and clueless!”

“Sounds like Mike.” Will mutters under his breath, continuing to eat.

Steve turns his head quickly to catch Will’s mildly-dejected expression. Will expects a scolding or a pep talk, but Steve just starts laughing again. He points at Will, tapping the table near his plate. “We have a winner: gay and hilarious.”

Will can’t help but smile too. Gay and. Not gay but. It’s a positive. Will hasn’t been changed by admitting anything, just like Steve. He was still able to sit at their table and have coffee. Will is still able to eat with his brother. His life is still in tact. The walls are still far away, giving him space to breathe. It’s freeing, to know that if anything, no matter who loves in him return, Will still loves himself.

“Thanks for telling me, Will.” Jonathan says finally. Correctly. “Have you told Mom? Any of your friends?”

“No. God no.” Will laughs. “You think I want to tell Mike? Ha. No thanks.”

The table stills. “Why don’t you want to tell Mike?” Jonathan took Will’s approach; asking a question he already knew the answer to.

“Nope. Nope. One confession per day. No no no.” Will says, pushing back from the table. “I’m not falling for that.” It was bad enough Will was falling for something, someone, else. He didn’t need to fall face first into never-ending embarrassing torment for having a crush on his childhood best friend.

“Okay.” Steve says, placing a hand on Jonathan’s arm, stopping him. “Okay. You don’t have to talk about Mike. Or any boy. That’s your business. But if you need an ear. We’re here, okay?”

Steve has coffee stains on his shirt and Jonathan still looks like he’d seen a ghost, but they were still the two faces of the only people who were truly seeing Will. They were still able to look him in the eyes— this time not wistfully staring at his best friend– and smile back at him.

Maybe not all coming out situations would end like this for Will- well, hopefully not, he didn’t like bearing his soul in his pajamas that much– but this was at least a safe first time. Maybe with his friends it’d go different. Maybe Mike would turn away with a look of fear and disgust, but at least Will knew what acceptance looked like. That was his first memory of being an honest teenager. Sure, there were many other memories of being loved that Will had to hold close, but this one felt special. It was finally a secret that felt good to keep.

ao3

#i could continue this fun verse to go through each other people and their reactions if you liked this kind of lighthearted approach #lmk i loved writing this #started the minute i got the prompt lol #will is gay #lil byeler background #prompts #i'm so worried about the reception to this one idk y #i just let the situation go without stopping to think about it #it's so self indulgent sorry #sweet gay steve

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chwrpg · 5 years ago

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Murray, I have asked you repeatedly not to call me "woman".

A NOTE FROM ADMIN R: Oh, oh, oh ! Y’all don’t know how happy I am to be accepting this application. Dylan is truly one of my CHW faves and to have her taken up by you, Cailin... that’s just an honor. I can not wait to see what you do with her, but I know one thing... this dash ain’t ready fro the looks Dylan is about to serve us. Thank you so much for applying and welcome back, love !

OOC NAME/ALIAS, PREFERRED PRONOUNS, AGE & TIMEZONE:

cailin, (she/her), 25, est

DESIRED CHARACTER:

queen mother, dylan davenport

HOW ACTIVE WILL YOU BE?

8-10

SECONDARY CHOICE:

taylor flick

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER:

Dylan is shrouded in beauty, bold fashion choices, witty comebacks, and her daddy’s debit card. But the woman wearing the Amina Muaddi heels to 7/11 is much more interesting than her out of this world clothes. If Chanel’s head is in the clouds, Dylan’s feet are planted on the ground. She’s the fuel to the fire, the one who gets shit done. Things don’t move without her — and that includes the fashion scene in Rosewood. Dylan could’ve been a surgeon, she has the brains and attention to detail for it, but, you see, what Dylan says or doesn’t say goes. She predicted high waist jeans making a comeback before Vogue did, telling the girls one day during first period. So she’s a bit of a culture oracle. It’s why people care about what she’s thinking, who she’s endorsing, what designers she’s buying. They even want to know what she’s watching on a monday night. Her confidence and sincerity is inspiring. When she’s not taste making though, she’s the loyalest, most straightforward friend you can find in her tax bracket. Balancing the thin line between being no-nonsense and fun to be around. She does it well, though. In fact, she does most things well (driving not included.)‌ Her peers boast about her style and charisma, her professors brag about her work ethic and creativity, her boyfriend….well, her love life is a tumultuous roller coaster but every icon needs a fixer upper. Plus she gets diamonds every time he fumbles.

SAMPLE WRITING:

( Alexa, play Daddy )

The day Dylan was born she became a daddy’s girl. Stevie Wonder could see it. Dada was her first word much to her mother’s chagrin. He never raised his voice at her, never got impatient with her when she spilled her juice or threw her food. He got up in the middle of the night so his wife wouldn’t have to even though he had meetings at 7 in the morning. It didn’t stop there, though. Mr. Davenport didn’t put her down at parties. He carried her around on his hip as he mingled and held court, demanding on no one use baby talk for his brilliant baby girl. “She’s smart like her mom.” He would say to his captivated audience. For her third birthday he rented out an entire amusement park. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t yet tall enough to ride the rides, she had asked for it so he made it happen. He was a doer and a fixer, but he wasn’t perfect. Mr. Davenport had always been a better father and provider than a husband.

So, when she was five, her parents went through a nasty divorce. The papers their lawyers drew up cited irreconcilable differences but she’d come to realize, many years later, that was just how rich people skirted around the truth in hopes of keeping people out of their business. In truth, Mr. Davenport had spent the better part of his career sleeping with secretaries, temps, and clients. Basically anything that was of age and not nailed down. Mrs. Davenport had only grown tired of it after watching Halle Berry cry over Eric Benet on Oprah. But like she’d taught Dylan, Mrs. Davenport thought three steps ahead, and had arranged to have a cheating clause in their prenup. She saw the board before she’d even stepped foot on it. And, Sure, they’d been in love when they got married at twenty three, but a cheater never changed its spots, just his lies. In an instant, she got half of everything. Twenty percent of his future earnings, and 360 lipo for a girls trip to Maui to celebrate her emancipation.

All Dylan got out of the deal was two houses, two birthdays, two Christmases, two cars she still couldn’t drive when she turned sixteen. The court awarded them joint custody, ruling they both had enough sense to figure out the schedule on their own. But since that was the year her mom went back to school for her PhD, Dylan spent the majority of her time with her dad and a nanny. Those double holidays also served as a good distraction from the heartbreak she couldn’t explain. Though she was sharp as a whip and actually funny, not laugh because it’s a kid funny, but really funny, she still couldn’t wrap her little mind around why her parents drove to separate houses at the end of the night now. At all those parties, what stuck out the most was everyone saying what a handsome couple they were, how lucky they were to have another. They danced and laughed. They seemed so happy. But looks are deceiving and lucky for her, the loneliest year of her young life was also the year she met her best friend.

( Alexa, play Wannabe )

Dylan and Chanel became an instant package deal, and she thanked her father for not being able to keep his dick out of seedy holes because she wouldn’t have went to school in another district if her mom hadn’t won the house in the divorce, and she wouldn’t have sat down next to Chanel at show and tell, and they wouldn’t have bonded over their pretty dresses, or shared their organic apple juice. God worked in mysterious ways like that. She had a partner for life, and nothing came between them. Not even boys. And, despite having the power to date any eligible bachelor in her grade, she really liked one in particular.

The day she brought Paxton home her took one look at him and chuckled. Dylan figured it was because of the grill he hadn’t learned to talk without slurring with yet, but her mother had other ideas. “He reminds me of your father.” She said, long after he’d gone home, but not before Dylan spent fifteen minutes walking him to his car. The driveway was super long but her lipstick was nonexistent when she returned. That didn’t matter though, because Dylan knew what that meant. Her mom thought Paxton was charming, likable, handsome — but she also knew he was a liar and a dog. They argued for well over an hour, and she said some things she regretted but that’s what teenage girls did, they rebelled against becoming their mother all while doing so. She didn’t realize just how much he was like her father until she caught him DMing other girls on instagram and got a diamond necklace out of the deal. Still, it was clear that he could shoot a man in broad daylight and she would always be daddy’s little girl, nothing could change that.

“Daddy!” Dylan whined, clinging to her dad’s arm as they traipsed through another commercial property with their real estate agent. Today was the day she was finally going to buck up and switch locations from her dad’s pool house to an office space in scenic, downtown Rosewood. Being interviewed by magazines had been life changing, sitting front row of the hottest runways next to A-listers had its perks, doing a skincare routine video for vogue was dope, but expanding her business because the calls wouldn’t stop coming in to be styled be Dylan and her associates? That was something she’d done herself from the ground up. She’d started with styling her friends and now she was going to style the world.

( Alexa, play Successful )

Her heels were tall enough to greet God but she still only reached his shoulder. “I hope this one has vaulted ceilings.” Her tone was way past passive aggressive. She would’ve dialed it back had their agent not been set to make serious bank off of this, but had only been showing them office spaces with disgusting lighting and rude doormen. For all of their sakes, she hoped this one was better. “I need two sessions of hot yoga after the last mess you showed us, at least. My chakras are all out of wack now. Thanks a lot, A.” She was being dramatic but her dad didn’t stop her. He just smiled that infamous smile at the agent and excused himself to the back of the elevator to take a call. Dylan rolled her eyes when she caught their real estate agent, Angela, fawning. She was a slender woman with the proportion of a fashion model who only modeled in theory, never practice. With cropped hair and full lips. She’d been their families real estate agent for decades, found the house her mom had one in the divorce, but Dylan couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d slept with her dad while he was married to her mom, and for that she hated her.

The light dinged to signal they were at their floor, and the elevator doors slid open. When she bothered lifting them from a lengthy text she was typing to her beau, her eyes lit up like when her dad gifted her a patek for her eighteenth, or the G-Wagon that was still collecting dust in the garage for her sixteenth. Whatever the occasion was, she was aglow just like then. The floors were European oak, all the walls were white sans a charcoal accent wall that would be the space of her future desk, and yes, the ceilings were vaulted with windows to match. It was beyond.

“Daddy!” She squealed, running around the space and dreaming up renovation ideas. “This is the one. It’s, like, perfect.” Dylan ignored the real estate agent when she repeated the price tag. 1.2 million may have been a lot for some people, but some people weren’t his little girl and Angela should have known that by now. “Wait. I need to call Chanel!”‌ Dylan could bet she’d be calling Chanel the day Play got down on one knee ( What?‌ A girl could dream ) before she even said yes. She was greeted with a selfie when she unlocked her phone, tapping her chanel platform sneaker clad foot against the wood while the facetime call connected, “What do you think about staining the floor another color?” She asked before absolutely beaming when Chanel’s face appeared on the screen.

“I found it! I found the perfect space.”‌ Without another word, she flipped the camera and did a little dance when Chanel’s excitement nearly exceeded hers. She knew a squeal of absolute glee when she heard one, “I know! Ok, so Just imagine a chaise here, we can install some shelves here. Do you think we can get a Prosecco fountain?…” She walked her through the office like Angela had done moments before, moving out of earshot so her dad could handle business, while they discussed all the possibilities. “Today an office with a view, tomorrow Dylan Davenport’s Fashion Academy,” she beamed.

All her daddy had to do was sign on the dotted line, and she knew he would. He was, after all, her doer. He wouldn’t dare break that illusion…right? The journey from the bathroom back to the main area of the office space was a short one, and she was all smiles until she rounded the corner only for her dream to turn into a nightmare. Her face cracked along with the screen of her phone as it hit the ground and shattered, “DADDY!” She screamed. The sight of her dad and Angela kissing over paperwork causing her to gag instantly.

“Honey, let me explain…..”

There was nothing to explain. Horrible step parents was Jasper’s lane, not hers.

( Alexa, play Ring Off )

ANYTHING ELSE?

1985.

#accepted #submission

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k-marie-lagesse · 6 years ago

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Fairy Chasers: One

I am posting this for fun and am not sure if I will ever finish it - I probably will. I hope whoever reads this enjoys it and shares it with others. :-)

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I ran out of that house as fast as I could, but being as bulky as I am that is a hard task to accomplish when running from the slender and gangly Thomas. I trip on my exit – damn my clumsiness! – and trip over my feet to slide on my chest over the dirt path of the Thumb Mansion.

Thomas leaps over me and lands in front of me. His golden hair is dripping in blue-black ink and his eyes are ablaze in anger with Henry’s little prank. Me…? Well, I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and now Thomas is likely to dish it out at me instead of his twin brother, Henry.

“Katone!” he reaches down and catches my shoulder. I’m too heavy for him to lift so he mostly just pinches my shoulder until I start to stand on my own. As men we should fight it out, but as a guilty-conscience human I can’t bring myself to beat-up someone half my size.

“It was not my prank, Tom!” I defend before he even begins to chastise me.

Thomas Thumb is twenty-one this spring, I’ve just turned seventeen. Our mutual party, Henry, is expected to marry some Grand Lady of the Court almost twice his age this summer. He will be leaving us soon and I do not get along with Thomas very well.

“I do not care if it was not yours! You likely had a hand in it!” Thomas gripes. Seeing as how Henry is nowhere in sight he has no other person to yell at other than me.

Yes, I did have a ‘hand’ in it, but in my defense this little town is a bore to be in. Little Hampshire is a small village with many guards since the Minor Royals take residence here.

Minor Royals they are called, there are about fifty across all of Catherdus. Each Minor Royal is in charge of a district of Catherdus under the call of the Royal Court, since there is no longer a royal family. The Thumb family had been elected to take place of the original Minor Royal after it was discovered that the previous family were neglecting their power over the people.

I was born here, in Hampshire of the Gornen District. My family died a long time ago. I don’t rightly have any memories of them. The people who took me in afterwards were old and passed by the time I was nine. I then began my work as a stable boy for the Thumb family, right before they were made into Minor Royals of Gornen.

I now work as a head trainer in the stables of Hampshire – this little town is mostly known for their fine steeds and small farming community. The finest house in all of Gornen is this very mansion I am trying to escape.

I see Henry over Thomas’s small shoulders and narrow my eyes at the rich pest. I look at Thomas as he continues, now more at a ramble than a shout. This is only stage two of his five-stage ranting. He starts at a full-blown shout to a soft ramble in which it sounds like he is forgiving one only to suddenly get very quiet. Stage four is when he starts to stare one down only to end with a severe punishment in stage five.

I step back, preparing for a full run to Henry who is crawling under the shrubbery of the fine mansion. Thomas narrows his eyes on me – holy crap! I missed stage three… I run.

Thomas starts to shout at me and I leap, tackling the shrubs and knocking Henry out of them. Once Henry combat rolls out of my grip and lands on his butt a shadow falls on him. Thomas is tapping his foot – oh it’s worse when he starts with a foot-tapping.

I race out of the yard before Thomas even begins. I stop running the moment I exit the open gates of the mansion grounds and then just walk. Henry is a sneaky guy, but we’re good friends. I walk through the town and can feel the judgmental glances thrown at me as I pass.

Not many people like me. They think I am talented with horses, but lack in knowledge, intelligence and charms. I don’t live my life to be likeable, much like Henry.

He lives his life at the fullest. He dishes out lies to get what he wants like a child will pester their mother for more cake as long as there is some. He’ll sleep with just about any woman he meets if it promises a good time without worry or concern for the consequences.

I live differently from most villagers and Henry.

I am not one to take risks or get involved with people in any way. I like to live my life safely, which is odd to most people seeing the size of me. Some believe I am half-giant, but I am almost certain that if I were I would be even taller.

I am six feet with five inches, which makes me the tallest person in all of Gornen. I am broadly built, but not at all fat. I am a healthy person, though I suppose feeding myself takes a chunk from my paychecks.

I look like a warrior, and though I can hold a weapon of almost any weight I don’t know how to wield any instrument of brute force. I can fight with my fists, but I only know how to street brawl due to living on the roads for so long.

People around here will buy the horses I train because I promise quality, but they don’t ever take time to meet with me. I’m fine with that. I don’t want them getting to know me either. I’m fine with just Henry and Saxon talking to me.

Saxon is also a monster in size, though… not as big as me. He is six feet tall and is actually a warrior. He’s trained in many different kinds of combat and keeps trying to get me to join him as a gladiator in Torekin’s arena south of here.

Torekin is a city I sometimes travel to in order to deliver my steeds. It is also a part of Gornen, but the size of it is massive in comparison to our little village. There are markets and inns, Torekin is so large they have what they call ‘parks’ and even gardens for the public. They are well-known for their gladiator ring, The Archrival.

Saxon is a seasoned gladiator with a good standing, though he has never arrived to the final round. That is more due to the age requirements to compete in the finals than his skill level. To compete for the championship one must fight to the death with their opponent, so there is an age requirement. One must be at least thirty years of age to compete, and Saxon is only twenty-three.

I enter my shabby home and remove my shoes to drop into my cot. My house doesn’t have much, but I can say with complete honesty that it is mine and I earned it through my hard labors.

I know that Henry is going to come by – he always does once he’s been caught. I am also expecting Saxon over. He visits me at the start of the week since he works only over weekends. He has no home here and only an apartment in Torekin, so when he comes to Hampshire he stays with me.

I suppose one can say that the three of us have created a bit of a pseudo family together. Though Henry has family he does not seem to get along with them other than his brother, Thomas. Saxon is the same, after the death of his mother his father remarried and he has not gone home since.

Saxon left only a week after his father’s marriage five years ago and now we’re sort of a family. The village is weary of us when all three start to hang around town together. We’re a dangerous group… well, we’re a lively group.

My door opens and I sit up to see Saxon entering with his weapon sack slung over his shoulder. He places the long and thick satchel against the wall before removing his coat and saying, “This past week was hectic.” He has a new bandage on his arm.

I don’t ask about it – if I ask him about every wound he gets working at that damned arena I’d sound like a panicking mother. Instead I ask, “Why are you here so early?” normally he does not arrive until well past midnight.

He snorts, which means the reason is an annoying one. “Martha came to the arena and took one look at my bandages and sent me home. She said she didn’t need me to come in tonight looking like that seeing as how the reason I’m even there is to bring in the women customers.”

Martha is sort of the owner of the arena. I say sort of because she is the daughter of the owner and she pretty much runs the place now. She has been trying to change the ‘look’ of the arena by hiring ‘prettier’ fighters. Saxon was hired due to his good looks and has since proven his skills in battle.

Saxon pushes the golden locks that fall over his eyes – he use to have his hair cut short so they would not be a bother to him as he fights, yet Martha has it written in his contract that only the stylist she hires may touch his hair. He messily combs his hair into his hand and then ties it up in a weird bun. He hates his long hair.

I frown at the flop on his head. “I’m sorry?” mostly I’m sorry he isn’t allowed to even manage his own hair. The one time I went to the arena she started writing up a contract and tried to get me to sign it. Like hell I was going to sign something she whipped up on the spur.

“Yeah, me too.” he had arrived to the arena to fight, not to blow kisses at the fawning maidens. Yet that was in his contract as well, he is to blow a kiss at least once within the three days of the fighting. I warned him to look it over closely before signing it – he said he could handle the fine print.

We leave the hut to the market to buy the groceries for the week. Once we’re finished with that we return to find Henry leaning against the door of the hut. He stands and mutters, “Man, Tom really gave it to me this time. He says I have to go to the Mountain Spring and collect a bucket of water and bring it back to him… twice.”

The Mountain Spring is not that far if one goes straight to it, but the climb is hard so most take the long route which is not only less steep but less dangerous. The Mountain Spring sits near the old enchanted castle that has been boarded up due to the old Briar Curse.

Saxon chuckles at Henry’s disdain, “I don’t know what you did this time, but whatever it was… you probably deserved the punishment.” Saxon is a firm believer of ‘you do the crime you better prepare to do the time’. I am not.

I get too bored of this little town to not do some kind of crime – yet I am also nowhere near as bad as Henry. Saxon, on the other hand, is a saint… until he comes home and we coax him into something deceitful.

“Yeah, yeah… want to join me?” Henry waves his hand and changes the subject back to his actual punishment. “It’s a long trek to go on my own, besides… didn’t you guys say you wanted a closer peek at the old castle?”

We see it often since the village is rather close, but we live on the flat surface the mountain rests by. I shake my head and look at Saxon, “Did you ever say you wanted to see it?” I’m pretty sure the one who said they wished to see the castle closer was Henry.

Saxon shakes his head, “No. Warriors do not like things with the word ‘magic’ ‘enchanted’ or ‘cursed’ in the title. We are taught to fight physical things, not something invisible.”

Henry groans again, “Come on! I don’t want to go alone!”

Every time we’ve ever gotten in trouble in our lives it always starts with that: “I don’t want to go alone!” and it is always leaving Henry’s mouth, as it is this time as well.

Saxon sighs, “I suppose I can spare the time. I did get home early this time.” He looks at the sun as it is sailing slowly across the blue sky. He looks at me and says, “We have time for him to go up once and come back.”

I would say no, except I hear that the Mountain Spring grants wishes and I am a sucker for any chance of asking for some extra gold. While Saxon is a little vain and Henry is a liar I am definitely greedy.

We pack a small lunch and then start our trek through the forest to the mountain pass. If it were Saxon and I we would have taken the side that is more difficult to climb – we like challenges. Yet since we are walking this way with Henry it is better to go the long way and not hear him gripe about it – though he is likely to gripe about the sweat, heat and walk… so why do we even bother?

As we walk about an hour I hear him begin his song of wails, “Gross, I’m sweating.” All hard work comes with a little bit of sweat, yet Henry never has to work. “It’s so damn hot!” Saxon works in an arena of hot sand and the hard sun hitting his back – this is nothing to him. Henry then whines, “How much further?”

Saxon spins on his heels to face him, “The more you complain the longer this walk will take. So shut your loud trap for another hour and we will graciously get there!” ah, there it is – classic Saxon answer.

We continue on through Henry’s side whines and arrive to the side of a deep spring. The water is crystal blue and there are small fishes swimming in the silver of it. “I’m a little underwhelmed.” I admit as I put the satchel on the ground.

Saxon nods, “Yeah… I always sort of thought the spring would look… a little mystical-.”

“It’s deep enough for a dive!” Henry jumps in before either of us can stop him. The water splashes and soaks Saxon with Henry’s momentum. He resurfaces and sighs in pleasure, “It’s cool too.”

Saxon on the other hand is patting at the wet spots on his clothing and shivering as he mutters, “Too damn cold.” He looks past the spring to where a thin waterfall is falling down from the grates of the castle walls. “Water is likely cursed.”

Henry stops splashing around and looks at him with some alarm, “What?”

Saxon points to the waterfall, “Yes, you are surely to lose all of your hair now.” He nods to confirm his thoughts.

Henry drags his feet through the water as quickly as he can and climbs out. “No! I can’t lose my hair!” he digs his fingers into his burnet strands of stray hair and holds it tight.

I shake my head at them, “Come on, fill up your bucket and lets go.” I get a strange feeling like we’re being watched. I don’t like it. I never felt this way before and only started to feel like it the moment Henry stirred up the spring water.

“Right, but… how about we take a look?” Henry points through the grates of the castle walls. He starts to scale the cliff side by the grate, his foot slipping in the moist dirt. He pokes his head in through the grate bars and mumbles, “I see thorny vines.”

Saxon climbs up with more grace than Henry and follows suit of poking his head over the trickles of water. “That place looks unnerving.” He glances at me, but I stand rooted to my spot. “Come on, there is no one here.” He says, but I still feel the eyes on me.

I sigh in defeat before trying to climb the moist slope. I’m clumsy so it proves tricky. My boot slips into the wall of mud and I struggle to loosen my boot of it. When I finally do something pokes out.

Saxon looks at me, “What is it?”

I reach into the new crevice of the cliff, the trickles of water falling onto my hair. I pull at the muddy trinket until it loosens and I lose my grip from the force. I fall back and land in the spring. The mud detaches from the trinket and I am holding what looks like a dirty sword hilt.

I surface and try to shine the mud off and reveal the ruby studded hilt to Saxon who jumps down to join me in the freezing water. He rubs at the little mud left behind and lets out a low whistle, “This is nice.”

“What is it?” Henry asks as he climbs down to join us, now refusing to near the water too much until Saxon deems it safe. Saxon wouldn’t know if it were cursed water or not, but teasing Henry is a rare chance and Saxon isn’t going to give it up that easily.

Saxon evaluates the finery of the markings and style of the item before saying, “It appears to be a hilt. I wonder what happened to the blade?”

“Maybe it broke off?” Henry asks, but the hilt end is too smooth for that to be true.

Saxon shakes his head, “No, it doesn’t actually look like it ever had a blade. Or… it somehow got removed without tarnishing the hilt or even leaving behind a mark.” He hands it back to me, “You found it, so you should keep it.”

I accept the hilt and then look at the place in muddy wall where the hilt had been and see a hole into the castle courtyard. I see briars with hundreds of thorns enclosing around the stone, but then I see feet scurry past. A golden anklet with a rose hangs off of her right leg.

I race to the hole and climb through, “Katone!” Saxon shouts at me as I climb onto the courtyard to look around, but the person is gone. For some reason I… sensed that she was scared. For some reason I am sure it was a she as well.

“Katone, you cannot go in there. It is against about ten different laws!” Saxon enters after me, but stops as he looks around the courtyard. “Holy, we’re in the old enchanted castle.” There are so many enchanted castles in Catherdus that I am not at all bewildered by it.

Henry enters and smiles all too cheekily, “Let’s explore-.”

“No. We will get caught-.” Saxon begins, but Henry is already running off ahead. “Henry!”

I whisper to Saxon, “I saw someone here.”

Saxon glances at me again. “Really?” he looks unnerved by the castle. Yet again I think that his excuse for warriors not liking magic is because he fears magic. Whenever a magician arrives to town to show some magic off for a profit Saxon would refuse to join us for the show.

I nod, “Yes, come on.” I follow after Henry who is running up the stairs that encircle a tower, “Don’t fall!” I shout at him as he continues to run at a speed I would not think safe.

I follow up at a slower pace. Looking at my track record when it comes to stairs I know better than to run up on without safety rails. Saxon is behind me, only going at my pace because there is no space to pass me. We enter the tower through the door at the top, “Henry?” I call, but he isn’t here.

“Where did he go?” Saxon asks as he looks around the room. There are a few thin briars over the table and chairs, but the room looks like a guard tower. There is a door across the way that is open a little.

“My guess is that he got bored of waiting for us and continued on.” I reach the door and open it to be in a wide hall that passes over the courtyard below us. I see Henry racing ahead of me down this hall and into the door ahead.

The hallway has no walls, just a few pillars to hold up the roof. If I wanted to jump I could and I would most definitely die from this height. I walk in a brisk pace to the door and open it with Saxon on my heel.

“We really shouldn’t be here.” Saxon warns me.

I don’t answer – he’s right. We shouldn’t be here. This place is boarded up and has guards at the front gates at all times. There must be a reason for that. If we are found here we could be in serious trouble. Henry would have a pass from the issue due to being a Minor Royal, but Saxon and I… we’d get the full brunt of the crime.

We enter what appears to be an armory and Saxon’s eyes glaze over as he starts to take in the beauty of the weaponry hidden here. He touches a few and begins to examine others – he looks like a child in a toy store. He is excitedly looking things over and no longer fussing over the detail that we shouldn’t be here.

I leave him to his treasury and continue searching for Henry. Saxon is right about this, we should leave. My eyes must have been playing tricks on me because there is no trace of life anywhere within this castle.

I enter into a hall with ten-foot statues on either side of me. The vines are curled around most of them, but I can still tell what they are. They are statues of former kings, or so is my guess with the crowns on the heads of the men. Not a single one is the same.

Then I arrive to the end of the hall where a long red curtain hangs over an archway, much like the decorative ones that hold the statues. The end of the curtain is torn and slashed so I can see the boots of another statue. This arch is taller, about fifteen feet tall, so my guess is the statue is just as tall. I pull on the curtain to move it, but the old curtain is stiff and doesn’t move.

I yank on the fabric and it tears off. I drop the end I am holding to see… me? There is no crown on this statue, and the inscription at his feet is a little worn and dusty. I rub my arm and sleeve on it and try to make out the ancient script.

This script was before the Turnover though and I can’t really make out most of the writing. Some of it hasn’t changed, but with time the language has become new. “Anakastes,” that must be his name. Yet what follows is harder to read. I am called stupid for the fact that I cannot seem to learn our current form of language, but I can read ancient texts – sometimes.

“Es Scholates de Miagyk.” In smaller it reads, “Serker.” I believe that translates to ‘Is Scholar of Magic’, but Serker has no meaning to me. He is holding the king’s scepter in his hand, but not bearing his crown. This man was no king, but he was highly respected.

“Anakastes.” I repeat – why does that sound familiar?

“Over here.” Someone whispers, so I turn to face the right hall, since the foot of Anakastes is a split in the hall. Down the right there is a hall of portraits and a large set of doors. I glance to the left and the hall ends at a decorative fountain.

I walk down the right hallway and take quick glances at the portraits. The kings and queens stare at me as I pass their forgotten memories. I push on the door to find myself in what appears to be a library. I never fancied books, yet reading has always been a difficult task for me.

Yet I find that the names written on the binds of these books are easy to read. “These are all ancient textbooks.” I peruse through the collection passing through the shelves until I come to an old table with drawing and markings carved into the surface.

“An alchemy table.” Alchemy has been restricted to only those who have a license to practice magic. To get such a license one has to take exams and practice mystic arts in an academy. There is a book sitting on the table that I approach.

The sigils of the page are vexing, even in their messy state. Someone had written this page by hand, so I reach for the book to see if it is all handwritten. I flip towards the front and see that each page is written by hand. It appears to be a magic diary – a book in which magicians keep track of their studies and researches.

The writing is crude so I can’t very well understand much. The first page is a page that merely reads the owner’s name, the date in which they began their practice with this diary and what practices in magic they have at that point.

The owner was Anakastes himself. The practice in magic seems arcane and most of it would be illegal these days. He was, as many people would classify these days, a necromancer of a sort. He was not one that transferred his own life essence – no, he just happens to be able to raise the dead. He had other practices, yes, but just being able to disturb the dead was considered the act of necromancy and death was the punishment.

The next page is a simple spell that nurse mothers use to soothe babes, nothing like what his former practices appear to have been. I read on, skipping the pages until I find something darker. Mystic experiments, those are nearly illegal to do. One must have years of magical experimentation before they are allowed to attempt creating something with the mystic powers.

Magic is more natural and less harmful, while mystic practices are unnatural and tend to come from heaven or hell, depending on the types of practices. This practice was an attempt to merge both heaven and hell arts together.

I skim the diary until the end of the practice – which is the page the book had been open to. Chaos is formed, was this truly the root of chaos magic? Was Anakastes the one to discover such a dark art? I start to set the book down when the page turns slowly to the next one.

It is written in Anakastes’s hand. “Forgive me my king and my queen, for not even my practices can waken your daughter. I will now take my leave, may the kingdom of Gornen be safe under the Keeper’s gaze. Anakastes.”

“There you are!” someone shouts from behind me and I jump in my spot. “Whoa, calm down.” It is Saxon who approaches me. He nears me and says, “When I finally caught up to Henry we went searching for you. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find someone in this place?”

I hadn’t wandered far, “No, sorry.” I close the book and follow Saxon out, but as we make our way through the hall I look out the windows between the statues to see a garden.

“What is a garden doing up here?” I press my face against the dirty pane to see the front gates of the castle across from there. Wait – what?

“Up here?” Saxon repeats, “This is the ground floor, Katone.”

He opens the door that should lead to the armory to reveal a wide throne room. Henry is sitting in the dusty throne looking like he belonged there. He looks at us and says, “Where was he?”

“He was reading in the library-.” Saxon begins.

Henry flinches, “No offense, Katone, but… I thought you couldn’t read?”

“I can read ancient texts…” it was what my parents taught me before their demise. By the time I was taken in by the elderly couple all I knew was ancient text. They tried to teach me the new language, but… it never stuck.

“What a strange skill.” Henry says rather bluntly. He stands from the throne room, “Come on! While we were looking for you I found something interesting!” he races off.

“Henry! We need to go, it will get dark-!” Saxon begins, but Henry had run down the hall past the throne room already.

We follow him to a dead end, “What is it?” I ask as we stand by a suit of armor.

“Notice how there are no vines here?” Henry asks us all too determined to show off some interesting secret.

Saxon shrugs, “Sure.” He knows that delaying the answer or being sarcastic will only make leaving this place all that much harder.

Henry reaches towards the wall, but the moment he nears a violet streak of light flashes like lightning at him and lightly burns his hand. He giggles, “That hurts a shit, but isn’t that weird!?”

Saxon catches Henry’s hand to assess the damage, but the marking begins to fade away, “Magic.” Saxon growls, since Henry was blessed by a wise women at his birth to be resilient to magic and its effects.

Saxon was blessed to be handsome, but I was too poor to meet with a wise woman. What I am is all natural, though I cannot say I am all that much. Each wise woman has a different gift they are likely to give, for a great fee. Depending on which wise woman one takes their child depends on the gift given to them.

Henry’s parents took him to meet Ashara because he was born weakly due the pain tonic his mother took made of magical substance and they hoped she would make him resilient to magic and its effects. Saxon’s parents took him to Maraga in hopes of granting him more beauty.

Henry pulls his hand free and says, “Cool, right?”

“It hardly is.” Saxon mutters.

“Say ‘shereed’.” A girl whispers. I turn to look over my shoulder, but there is no one there. It was the same voice that had spoken earlier – who is it? “Did you hear that?” I ask my companions.

They look at me, “Hear what?” Saxon asks.

“A girl.” I answer.

“Did you say a girl?” Henry perks up.

“Yes. She said… say shereed-.” The moment the word leaves my lips there is a soft crackling on the enchanted wall and the surface shimmers to reveal a door. We stare at it.

“Oh shit.” Henry falls to his knees and crosses his arms over his chest before beginning to recite the Keeper prayer, “Behest they Keeper, for thee is Kept. Forgive the doings of wrong I have done-.”

“Henry, cut that out. You aren’t even an avid follower.” Saxon chastises the teasing. He is an avid follower so he finds the act rather insulting. “Besides, you are saying it all wrong.”

I reach out to the door and touch the knob without any magic stopping me. I swallow hard before pulling it open to see a staircase leading up towards the top of the tower. I look at Saxon who nods at me, “Might as well see.”

Henry jumps to his feet, “This is going to be awesome!”

I lead the way, placing my left hand on the wall as we climb to keep my balance. We arrive to a wooden door without a doorknob. Henry pushes on it, but it doesn’t heave. “Locked?”

I shake my head as I reach out to where the doorknob should be and I feel it. I clasp it in my hand – how did I know it was there? I just… knew it. I open the door and within there is a canopy bed untouched by the years of time. “All of that for a bed?” Henry gripes. “I suppose after a climb like that I’d need a bed…”

“Sh.” I hiss as I hear a soft breathing, “Someone…?” I reach out for the long curtain around the mattress and open it to reveal a maiden. Her hair is golden and curled around her pretty face. “There’s… a girl.”

Henry perks up again and nears, “Oh, a pretty girl-!”

Saxon pulls us both back, “Do you realize who we just found?”

“No.” Henry says having skipped every history lesson he ever had.

“No, that can’t be-.” I point towards the girl as the puzzle pieces begin to come together, “Aurora?” I ask, “Princess Aurora?” I repeat with obvious disbelief.

Henry crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head, “No, Aurora was turned into a swan.”

“That was Odette-.” I correct. I was the one who went to our history lessons. I should know better than him.

“No, no, Odette was the one turned to stone with that whole slipper after midnight thing.” Henry says firmly.

“That was Elena-.”

“No, Elena was the one that traded her body-form to become sea foam to release the Celestial City of the sea and is now in the sky.” Henry says with complete certainty.

I gawk at him, “What?! No, the Celestial City has forever been in the sky. She traded her life for the freedom of Atlantis-.”

“No because Atlantis is a myth.” Henry is serious right now.

I try again, “Elena was not the sea foam princess. Serena was-.”

“No, Serena was the one with all of the hair.”

I bite my knuckles in frustration – I give up!

Saxon is silent the whole time and I look at him for help. What he says isn’t much better, “I thought Atlantis was the forbidden city of the mountainside?”

My jaw loosens, “No, that…” I shake my head, “Did you ever go to school?”

Saxon shrugs, “Most of the days, but I did tend to sleep during a few of the history lessons.” He admits.

“The forbidden city is The Forbidden City.”

Henry shakes his head, “No, that doesn’t sound right.”

I sigh in defeat, “You guys suck.” I face the maiden again, “Uh, one of you shake her… or something.” I wave at her – I don’t do well around the other sex. They laugh a lot, talk a lot – muse too much. Henry is the one with most practice with the female kind.

Saxon reaches his hand out, but Henry catches his wrist and says, “NO!” his eyes are wide and he is quite frightened. “Never wake a girl – they’re crazy mean when you wake them.”

He would know.

Saxon shakes his head, “I don’t care. If this is the cursed princess we need to wake her up.” He pulls loose to try again, but just as his hand nears her he pulls back and literally jumps three feet away from the bed. His eyes are wide and sweat drips down his forehead.

“That was sudden.” Henry mutters before leaning against the bed and saying soothingly, “Hey, Princess Odette-.”

I flick him in his ear, “Aurora.” He’d get his own mother’s name wrong.

Henry sighs, “Are you sure, Katone?” he asks before finally resigning and agreeing. “Princess Aurora, it’s time to get up. If you’re here past six people will notice-. No, wait. That’s one night stands.”

I groan – idiots, the both of them. I pull him away before saying, “Why don’t we just get someone of authority up here?”

“We are not supposed to be here.” Saxon reminds us.

“Yeah, and Thomas’ll kick my ass.” Henry adds.

Damn it. I look at her before asking, “Why did you stop, Saxon?” it was just so sudden.

Saxon shivers, “I was reaching out and suddenly spiders were crawling everywhere and-.” spider? There weren’t any spiders anywhere. That bothers me though, because I know just how freaked out Saxon gets with a single one. He continues to rant and spew his fears and shiver, but I don’t hear him anymore.

My eyes are focused on the girl. Wait… she’s the one I saw in the courtyard. She is lying on the covers, not under them. I see her bare feet and the gold chain anklet that hangs round her right ankle. I saw her earlier. She was awake.

I reach out, but stop when her body changes into that of a bear and she roars at me and goes for me. I jump back, much like Saxon, but once I finally calm my breathing she is back to normal.

Henry is resilient, right? Maybe he should near her? I grab him without turning to see him and throw him towards her. “You do it.” I am not playing with bears and magic today.

Henry slides on the floor before falling on top of her. “Oh-!” he tries to scramble up, but Saxon kicks his foot into Henry’s lower back, causing him to fall forward once again. This time his lips lands on the edge of hers. He flies up and starts shouting, “Stop! This isn’t fun anymore!”

Saxon doesn’t kick him again as he sprawls from the bed and literally crawls on the floor to get away. “You’re the one who made us come in here to begin with!” Saxon shouts angrily, “If I get punished I better get you back!”

Saxon has a clean record, after all. If this tarnishes it then he will never forgive Henry for it. He will probably go the Keeper to pray that he strike down his foolish friend-.

“He… hello?” a feminine voice calls from behind us as we glower at Henry and his dramatic show of hurt.

My body tenses and from the looks of it so does Saxon’s. We turn to face the pretty maiden with violet eyes sitting in the bed. She looks at Saxon, then at Henry and finally at me.

Her eyes stay on me and they fill with tears before she says, “Anakastes! I was so scared!”

Ana… kastes?

I stumble back – what the hell did we just do?!

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Forgive any grammar mistakes - I'm just trying to get myself to start publishing things I write. :-) And thanks for the support if your enjoy this! <3

#brothers grimm #spin off #my writing #fairy tales #fantasy

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iheardarumorxxx · 4 years ago

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Midnight Sun, Chapter 6 - Blood Type

Did you guess that this chapter opened up with Weirdo stalking Bella? Because you guessed totally right.

Our ‘hero’ is going on about how he spends the entire day of school watching Bella through the surface thoughts of other people. See, it’s totally okay for Eddie to use people as his own personal Bella CCTV, because they are paltry and insiginificant hoomans. Who cares that it’s extremely creepy and invasive not just to Bella, but to the people who’s heads Eddie has decided to hijack. It’s not as if they matter anyway, right?

He shits on both Mike and Jessica again and I’ve already ranted at length about why neither of them deserve it, so I’m not gonna do it again. But I am gonna talk about Angela. I don’t like Angela. It’s not really her fault that I don’t like her. She’s soft spoken and sweet and kind, but the problem that I have with Angela is the same problem that I have with Esme. She exists to be a soft, fragile woman, hand-wringing and the only ‘good’ friend that Bella has. She doesn’t actually have a personality to speak of.

And now at lunch, Eddie is TRYING SO HARD to set up a red herring about why Bella is Looking Sad after glancing at the table he’s usually sat at. He goes on for like a whole ass paragraph wondering if she’s sad because she’s gonna miss the stupid dance that she’s made perfectly clear she doesn’t want to go to. He’s supposed to be an uber smart Pire with a brain so much bigger than mine, but the thing is? I can use fucking context clues to understand that Bella looked at the Cullen table, noticed that Eddie wasn’t there, and then looked sad because he wasn’t there.

See, Eddie. I don’t need your stupid mind-reading powers to figure shit out.

I'd never paid much attention to a human's diet before.

Edward Anthony Masen Cullen. YOU WERE A FUCKING HUMAN BEING LIKE A CENTURY AGO. Yes, I give you that diets and shit have changed since you needed to eat food, but the fact still stands that you absolutely had to eat food yourself at one time. AND YOU HAVE TWO MEDICAL DEGREES ON TOP OF THAT. If you were, like, in your fucking 500s or something, I might buy this bullshit (excluding the fact that you have two medical degrees). But you aren’t. You died in, like, 1901.

I motioned with my finger for her to join me.

Small point for SM and Midnight Sun here. In Twilight, when this scene happened, Bella said that he lifted his hand and twisted his wrist and like, crooked his finger in a gesturing motion and it was way too many words just to say ‘he motioned me over with his finger’ or ‘he beckoned me over’. At least this book didn’t pull that shit just to pad out the word count. This time.

"Why don't you sit with me today?"

A nitpick, if you will. The way that Eddie boy phrases this question makes it feel a lot more like a command. He isn’t asking if Bella wants to sit with him. He’s not really leaving that clear No option open for her with this phrasing. It feels extremely controlling and based on what we know about Eddie and his controlling tendencies as a boyfriend, I don’t like it.

Eddie and Bella are talking, all the while Eddie is going on about how he’s SO DANGEROUS and shouldn’t be friends with Bella and how part of him wishes she would just get up and leave because that would be safer for her.

Hey, Eddie. Why don’t you get up and leave, you pissant? Sure, he’s going on and on about how it’s hard to stay away from her and how he’s so IN LUV with her, but dude? If you genuinely think you’re dangerous and shouldn’t be around her DON’T BE AROUND HER. You can’t pull this stupid shit where you go on and on about how she shouldn’t wanna be your friend or be around you while also asking her to eat lunch with you and hanging around her and STALKING HER AND SNEAKING INTO HER BEDROOM AT NIGHT. You don’t get to have it both ways.

"What are you thinking?"

NONE OF YOUR FUCKING BUSINESS DUDE! IF SHE WANTED TO FUCKING TELL YOU WHATS ON HER MIND, SHE WOULD! GOD FUCK OFF.

Right. Okay. I’m good. Caplocks off.

Ugh.

^^^ That is actually written in the book. And not as dialogue, either. It’s thought. It’s Edward’s thought and inner monologue. Wanna know why that sucks? There are a lot of reasons but the biggest one is this: SM goes out of her way to make it seem like Eddie is so old-fashioned and fancy. She makes him say some of the most ridiculous things in the interest of making it clear to us, the readers, that he is sophisticated. The Pire that is 109 and talks like a Walmart Brand Mr. Darcy just thought ‘ugh’.

I chided her

STOP with the creepy fucking paternal imagry. God, I am not a psychologist, and I would never presume to assume anything about anyone, but the way SM writes Edward and Bella’s relationship (and really all of the relationships in this series) reeks of Daddy Issues.

Mr. Banner was blood typing today.

This is absolutely fucking bonkers to me, and in the original Twilight, it was only an excuse for Bella to show of her FEAR of blood. Her ridiculous fear that was off the charts and over the top. They were just doing cell division, like, two days ago? And now they’re blood typing. And instead of theoritically doing so, they’re blood typing the actual students. Without written permission slips or warning anyone who might actually have issues with blood or needles in order to let them opt out. This isn’t how high school curriculam works, and it is absolutely not realistic. Even if it’s just a special one off thing, you can’t just stab kids with needles without parental consent.

but I wasn't hearing Debussy's notes for long

Bitch I fucking CALLED IT that he was listening to that Debussy song that first time he mentioned his favorite CD. Brownie points to me.

I wasn't going to stand around arguing with the wretch.

Leave Mike Newton ALONE, dude. And ‘the wretch’ is real rich coming from the guy who thought ‘Ugh’ a few paragraphs back.

Anyway, Bella got so sick and dizzy from one little drop of blood that she’s about to pass out on the sidewalk. It was stupid in Twilight and it’s stupid here. If Mike had lost an arm and was just pulsating blood? Sure, I’d buy the reaction, but a little tiny prick on the finger? And he sits like a couple of tables away from her? It’s an over the top reaction and if I was anyone in that class, I would think she’s doing it for attention.

Eddie just eats this shit up, though. Because its an excuse to fawn all over Bella and be a big strong man to rescue her.

The ‘I usually am’ in response to Bella saying Eddie was right about something made me see red for a minute. I fucking HATE this pompous, stuck up, douche canoe.

"People can't smell blood."

Good news, guys. I’m a vampire. I know this because I, too, can smell blood. I am now sparkley and Better Than You. So it is written.

But in all seriousness? Ed? You’re a fucking moron.

Anyway, Bella gets out of going to gym by ‘looking pale’ and Eddie comes to the conclusion that we have all figured out long before this that Bella thinks Eddie is attractive. Bella goes against Mike’s clear wishes not to invite Eddie to the beach with them, and invites him anyway, but because it’s La Push and, ya know, Werewoofs, Eddie can’t go to there. But instead of just saying he has plans or doesn’t like the beach or something, he just shits all over Mike some more and it makes me angry.

I was almost angry that she was leaving me.

Okay, I’m gonna level with you guys and share something personal. I had a really possessive boyfriend in college. Like, had to check in, let him know where I was and who I was with and all of that shit. He got mad at me if he didn’t hear from me for a while and was constantly accusing me of cheating on him and shit. That line right there? That like really freaks me out and gives me flashbacks to that terrible relationship. This is a red flag if I’ve ever seen one. Things like this are why people say that Edward Cullen is an abusive boyfriend.

And right after this line, he’s fucking dragging her to his car and insisting that he drive her home. It’s just creepy, guys. It’s all the warning signs that someone could ever need about someone, but it’s being treated as this loving relationship and it just makes me so uncomfortable.

There is something I wanna say in regards to Eddie. As a character, it’s okay for him to be kind of an asshole. There’s room for growth in that, there’s something for the character to strive to change. But his behavior is painted in this light that makes it seem like he’s wonderful and amazing, all rose colored love fantasy, and so he never changes and never learned to be a better person. And the shades of abuse are there, not even hidden in subtext but overt, and that is why I hate Edward so much. Not because he’s an asshole, but because I’m supposed to like him just the way he is, and not hope that he changes for the better.

The way that Bella talks about her mom makes me mad. That’s more of a rant for Twilight, but even just the things she says out loud are annoying. She talks about the woman like she’s incapable of taking care of herself, despite the fact that the woman raised her for 16 years. In Twilight it’s worse, because when she even bothers to think about Renee at all, she’s talking down about her.

They’re in front of Bella’s house having a dumb conversation about Eddie being DaNgErOuS again, and I want to puke with how heavy handed the ‘romance’ is supposed to be. Bella is like ‘i don’t care if you want to murder me and leave my corpse out in the woods’ and Ed is like ‘well... actually...’ and I hate that I’m supposed to think that they’re in love.

They’re having some more inane small talk. Literally this entire relationship is just small talk until they get to the sparkley meadow and make out a little, and then it’s ‘i would die for you and love you so much and you’re my everything’ like zero to sixty. I will admit that I fell for my partner really quickly, but we also talked about more than the fucking weather and our families. We had actual meaningful conversations and got to know one another.

This chapter ends with Eddie telling Bella to be careful at the beach (like any good father would) and laughing at her when she gets annoyed about it. The fact that he laughs at her expressing annoyance pisses me off. And he calls her an angry kitten again.

God, but I hate this asshole.

That’s chapter six, guys. Feel free to reach out in messages and DMs if you wanna chat, or if you have any recommendations for what my next book recap should be. Feel free to buy me a snack, my CashApp cash tag is in my bio. Until next time!

#sierra recaps stuff #midnight sun #midnight sun spoilers #ms chapter 6 #abuse tw

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